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toxicanonymity · 6 months

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The Raid.

2.7k, dark!Javi P x f!reader | SERIES MASTER

There's now a HOT GIF by @iamasaddie and HOT ART by @bonezone44. PT. 2. | THE RAID masterlist

Your gaze falls down his tac vest to his tight jeans and a bulge you didn’t see before. Peña follows your eyes, looks down at himself, then sighs. "Ay, pobrecita" (poor little girl), he whispers insincerely, putting on a frown. He uses his gun to nudge your chin up and bring your eyes back to his.

WARNINGS: I8+, canon-typical violence, drug abuse, dubcon blow job (power dynamic / transactional / drugs), jacking off, fingering, cumplay, manhandling, handcuffs, gunplay, degradation, kidnapping

A/N: Yes, it's raider Javi. . . inspired by the original raider Joel fic (not the whole series and it will not progress the same way). Tysm 🖤

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You're lying on the sofa in your boyfriend Jack's slum house while he and a buddy count stacks of cash on the kitchen table and bitch about their street dealers. It’s a typical night. One friend is still playing grand theft auto on the floor. Every surface is littered with bottles, takeout boxes, crumpled up foil, and baggies. You're laid out on the sagging sofa, scrolling your phone, about to drift off.

There's a loud rap at the door. "DEA." Your heart jumps to your throat and you jolt upright.

"FUCK," Jack yells and grabs his gun off the table. "Go to the bedroom, you'll be fine," he tells you as he heads to the kitchen and out the back. You sit there in disbelief that he's leaving you. The DEA doesn't knock again before busting down the door. "DROP YOUR WEAPONS."

Several agents swarm the house, wearing bullet-proof vests, crouching as they prowl around, pointing their guns.

Two men approach you while a few more agents mill around the house.

"Don't let anyone leave," says a mustached man on his way through the house.

"Got it, Peña," confirms one of the men standing in front of you. Peña nods, glances at you, then sees Jack running away and rushes out after him.

Both of the men in front of you are big. One taller, one more muscular. They look at you like you're a piece of meat. They guard you for a few minutes, keeping their guns trained on you. They talk about you like you're not there.

"Pretty girl,” the tall one says.

The other man takes a step back, craning to see out the window before answering, "we got time, Ed." Ed, the taller one, puts his gun in his vest and unbuckles his belt. Meanwhile, you bolt off the sofa and try to dodge the other man on your way to the door. A third agent catches you and shoves you back to the original two, asking "Lose something'?" He sticks around.

Ed, with his pants still unbuckled, slaps you across the face with the back of his hand. It stings, but you laugh at him as if it doesn’t hurt.

With that, the newest man steps forward and raises his gun to your head. You flinch and your courage drains away. "Clothes off, he demands." You look to the door for help, but no one's coming. Yet another agent is making his way over. Your'e shaking as you strip down to your underwear with four men now facing you.

Ed lewdly grabs his crotch. "Woulda been a whole lot happier with this." Then he brings his gun to your face and prods your cheek. "But let's see what this pretty mouth can do."

. . .

A few minutes later, you’re relieved to hear voices and footsteps outside. Peña skids through the door, panting. He removes a pair of aviators as he takes in the scene. Under his green bullet proof vest, his tan shirt is darkened with sweat. His brow furrows at you in your underwear with the barrel of a gun in your mouth.

"Dejenla, pendejos," (leave her alone, assholes) Your heart flutters with appreciation as they slowly back away.

"She tried to run," one says. Peña points his gun at them, arms straining his sleeves. The men back away obediently. "Outside. All of you," he tells them calmly but sternly. They disperse, slowly and sheepishly. "NOW," he booms. They leave the door cracked. “Cerrado” (Closed), Peña snaps, and they shut the door.

When the door closes, it’s just you and Peña. You reach for your shirt on the sofa to put it back on, but he points his gun at you. "No. Don't fucking move." He’s still catching his breath. He walks backwards, keeping his gun fixed on you as he makes his way to the front door. He reaches behind himself and locks the deadbolt, then holds the gun with both hands again.

"You wanna go to jail?" He asks and you shake your head no. He approaches you in no hurry, still aiming the gun at you."Cause that's what's s'posed to happen."

You look into his big, brown eyes, trying to connect with something.

"Here’s what happens," he starts, his breath still somewhat labored. "I take what’s mine and the DEA’s. . .”

You nod.

“and when I let them back in, they take what they want.” He gestures to the drugs and money on the table, then wipes his brow. "So. . ." He takes a moment to breathe, then raises his eyebrows. "you want them to take what they want," he gestures his gun down your body. "Or want me to take you in?" He wets his lips and his eyes fall to your bra for a moment.

"Neither,” you plead.

He sighs and finally lowers his gun. He uses his left sleeve to wipe his brow but the sleeve is almost too short. His hairline is matted with perspiration. He bends forward and braces his hands on his thighs to look at you, right hand holding the gun against his jeans.

"Here's what we're gonna do. . ." His face is tense, but his voice is low and soothing. "We're gonna make a deal, aren't we?" He nods. He wets his lips and looks you over. You nod back, just barely. Your gaze falls down his tac vest to his tight jeans and a bulge you didn’t notice before.

Peña follows your eyes, looks down at his pants, then sighs.

"Ay, pobrecita" (poor little girl), he whispers insincerely, putting on a frown.

He uses his gun to nudge your chin up and bring your eyes back to his.

"Be a good girl for me," he says. "And we'll see what I can do."

You nod.

“You can call me Javi,” he offers, and you tell him your name. Your wallet is right there anyway.

"Can I put this away?" He asks, holding up his gun. You nod. "Nowhere to run," he warns you as he slips the gun into his vest. He adjusts himself then braces both hands on his thighs again and hardens his face. "Try something, and I'll let them back in for an hour, then cuff you myself. ¿Comprende?"

You nod again.

"Dime que comprendes" (tell me you understand).

"Yes," you confirm. "Entiendo." (I understand).

"Que bueno, pobrecita" (Good). He lets his eyes fall down your body hungrily. "How should we make this deal official?"

You reach for his pants. He puts his hands out of the way and rests them loosely on his hips. His pelvis pushes forward as you palm the warm, ample bulge in his tight jeans. The front of his shirt has come slightly untucked from his foot pursuit, exposing a sliver of tummy that expands with his breathing as his cock hardens under your palm. You catch a waft of his sweat and it sends a pang between your legs. You give him a slow, sensual rub with pressure.

“Mm, good girl.”

His massive hand comes to your face. He grips your jaw and makes you look at him. You pause your hand then continue rubbing him and you feel yourself getting wetter. Then he squeezes your mouth open and looks at your teeth. His face is inches from yours and he reeks of tobacco. "Not bad. . . at least you stay away from the pipe,” he raises an eyebrow. He looks at the side table of the sofa, littered with empty prescription bottles. "How long have you been using?"

You don't answer. You slowly rub him and let your mind escape to a world where this is just a nice dick hardening warmly under your palm.

"When's the last time you were clean more than a week?"

Unsure what he wants to hear, you say, "Maybe a year."

"And how long have you been with that jackass?"

"I'm not." You're not. Not anymore. Not after this.

"Mm-hm," Peña nods judgmentally and you feel a wave of shame when you see things through his eyes - a trap house and a loser boyfriend. "How does he fuck you?"

You don't answer.

"Does he make you cum?" His hips push forward and the outline of his tip presses against your palm.

“What do you want,” you snap defensively and his dick twitches under your hand.

“You need to figure that out,” he says flatly. You meet his eyes and see desire. In different circumstances–like if he wasn't such an asshole–you'd hop on this man's dick in a flash, so you try to pretend he’s just a guy.

You reach for his belt buckle. His lips pout and his eyebrows go up with a tilt of his head. “Not a bad idea.” You unbuckle his belt, then unbutton and unzip his jeans. He’s not wearing underwear. His dark hair is trimmed close, almost shaven. His cock is thick, tan, and gorgeous. You work to free him from his restrictive pants, and it’s quite a package you’re looking at.

His dick bobs heavily right in front of you, almost grazing your nose. You take it in your hand, thumb resting on its crown. You gently squeeze and admire it and it’s not long until he’s fully hard. Then you glance up at him and he’s looking at your mouth. You hover your lips near the tip and glance up at him again. He gives a go-ahead nod. You suck the tip into your mouth. Your tongue flattens under his shaft, then curls around the smooth, veiny skin. Holding his dick in your mouth, you tug his pants down lower and take out his balls before returning a hand to his cock. His balls are on the bigger side of average, symmetrical and only a little fuzzy.

“Ohh, pobrecita.” His voice is soft and dark, like Duvalin (nutella).

Desire stirs between your legs. He sucks in air through his teeth as you suck more of him into your mouth, and his tip nudges the back of your throat. You cup his balls in your free hand and he lets out a low, quiet moan.

“Tan suave, tan mojado. . .Tu boquita inmunda” (So soft, so wet, your unclean little mouth).

You give his balls a light squeeze and his hands go to the back of your head, one following the other. He pulls your head down on his cock.

"You're a good little slut," He pants and thrusts his hips, his length sliding down the back of your throat– you try not to gag. "Just need somethin' in this mouth to keep you outta trouble." Tears sting your eyes from the gag reflex. "Look at me, pobrecita."

It's not easy but you try to look up. You watch him study your face for a few seconds as he fucks it. Then you can't suppress it anymore. You gag and pull your head away, afraid you might actually retch. His grip relaxes, but one hand stays on the crown of your head. He takes his cock in his hand. He kneels down on the floor and with his free hand, begins to take your panties down. You're suddenly very aware of how wet and throbbing you are from having his dick in your mouth. He's soon aware, too, but he doesn't make a move to get on the sofa with you. He strokes himself with your saliva. "Open your legs."

You obediently spread them but not far enough. He grabs breast and shoves your upper body back into the couch cushion, then he turns his attention to your cunt. He looks at it studiously and knits his brows.

“Que lástima” (what a shame), he mutters as he admires your glistening hole. “I’m a generous lover, too.”

“¿Que lástima?” you ask.

He shakes his head apologetically at your pussy, then meets your eyes. "Won't stick my dick in junkie cunt, sweetheart."

He returns his gaze between your thighs and wets his lips. “Juicy as it looks.” You huff and begin to close your legs. He places his massive hands on your knees, spreads them again, then runs his hands up your thighs and spreads them more. He tilts his head as his thumbs reach the creases of your thighs. Then he plants his thumbs on your outer lips and spreads you open to the cool air. His nose twitches as he examines you. Your clit throbs and you gush wetness. He puffs his cheeks out with an exhale. His dick is still hard between his legs, and he’s not touching it – his composure and self control is a little psycho.

He gathers your slick, sniffs it with a barely visible snarl, and adds it to your saliva on his cock. Then he fists his cock while staring between your legs. His free hand reaches up to tear your bra down on both sides, and he lets out a quiet moan at the sight of your tits. He jerks himself with his right hand and his left hand goes between your legs.

You're laid back on the sofa with your hips at the edge and he's kneeling between them. He runs the backs of two digits through your folds, then inserts his thick middle finger and rotates his hand palm up. He pumps it twice and adds a second finger.

He pumps himself and fingers you and when he's about to cum, he points his cock right between your legs. He cums all over your mound, dripping down through your folds. He wipes his tip off on your inner thigh. Then, his massive left hand returns between your legs, sliding through his own mess. He fucks it into you with two fingers. He watches your face with a subtle, devious flicker behind his stare as he keeps fingering his cum into you.

The lewdness ofi t makes your walls tighten around his thick digits. He curls them so his hand is rubbing your clit and his brow furrows as you begin to come undone. Your body tenses and your hips lift into his hand. Your back digs into the threadbare cushion. You bite your lip but fail to suppress a moan. He sucks in a deep breath watching you cum.

“Good girl.” He withdraws his fingers and brings them to your mouth. You suck off the salty, tangy blend and swallow it.

He gently pats your cunt. "This is mine, now," he nods, then clenches his jaw and looks back and forth between your eyes. "We’re gonna get you clean, pobrecita. Entonces puedo usarla" (Then I can use it). Then he stands up and puts his cock back in his pants. "Put your clothes on, let’s go," he says. He picks them up off the sofa and drops them in your lap.

Javi is watching you get dressed when someone knocks at the front door. Peña moves toward the door, and on instinct you start to make a break for the back exit, but he sees you in the corner of his eye. “Ay, putita,” (little slut) he mutters as he bolts toward you. He catches up just as you'ved opened the door. His massive hands grab your arms roughly from behind, and he shakes you. "You were doing so fucking good," he spits through gritted teeth as he wrangles you back into the kitchen. He slams you face first up against the fridge and pins you with his left forearm while he grabs his cuffs.

"You asshole. You're really taking me in? On what??"

He regains his composure and brings his mouth to your ear in a near whisper. "Not to jail.”

"Then where are you–"

His voice is deep and quiet. "Callate, pobrecita." (Be quiet). He closes the cuffs, then tightens them. "It's for your own good."

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If you like this, consider raider Joel (read warnings).

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Thank you so much for reading and engagement!! Your support and interaction really keeps me going when other things drain me and drag me down. I love you guys.

Note: In general, if someone else’s work inspires yours, please share their work and give a shoutout.

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#raider!javi #raider!javier peña #dark!javier peña #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader #toxicanonymity ☠️#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #tw dubcon #cw drugs #javier pena narcos #narcos fanfiction #dark!javi #dark!javi p #the raid ☠️

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pininghermit · 7 months

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Come Find Me (Chapter 2)

Chapter 1| Chapter 2|

Summary: "A curve, a line, a valley..." tracing the words your voice follows explaining every letter that you trace. Your desperation sinking in as you manically repeat the words.

Genre: Romance & Mystery

AN: might edit later ;)

He couldn't understand it, no matter how hard he stared at the paper. An entire hour had passed, but the letter in front of him remained a page full of illegible strokes. The room offered no respite for it was barren of distractions—no other books, no additional writings, not even a pen or another piece of paper for Adrian to use. All that remained was the crumpled letter in front of him.

Somehow, Adrian did not possess the knowledge of the script from your body. He could understand the oral tongue, but the written language eluded him. Frowning, Adrian traced the unknown letter with his fingertips, and for a fleeting moment, it was as though his fingers remembered the curves of every letter.

In a vision that swept over him, Adrian saw through your eyes. The same blurred letter lay in front of your gaze, and your hands moved frantically, tracing every letter with a sense of urgency. The shallowness of your breath, the trembling of your fingers, and the tears that welled up—all of it was mirrored in Adrian's own experience.

"A curve, a line, a valley..." tracing the words your voice follows explaining every letter that you trace. Your desperation sinking in as you manically repeat the words.

"Take me to the library," Adrian commanded the maids, using your authority. The room seemed to freeze as he uttered the words, a palpable tension hanging in the air. But the maids remained unmoved, their faces turned away from him, their silence a haunting chorus of defiance. It was an unsettling display of rebellion that left Adrian baffled.

Until, finally, one of the older maids stepped in, her movements betraying her reluctance to acknowledge his presence. She barely bowed to him, and her voice carried a disingenuous tone as she spoke. "Princess, his highness is not in the library as of now; he i-"

"I do not seek him. I wish to go by myself." He needed to know the contents of the letter. The only piece of you he could find in your room. Only thing that could lead to you.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Adrian asserted his will. Shadows danced in the corners, and the soft rustle of the maid's garments filled the silence. The scent of delicate perfumes lingered in the air, a reminder of the opulence that surrounded him.

"What for, my highness?" the maid replied, her tone dripping with false concern. "The views in the library are not that beautiful. Should you desire, we could arrange for a walk in the garden."

"I do not ask for views; I need to visit the library, right now!" Adrian's frustration simmered beneath the surface, his voice an echo in the grand chamber.

The room felt like a gilded cage, every surface adorned with intricate designs that glittered in the ambient light. It was a world of luxury and decadence, but one that seemed to stifle rather than comfort.

Adrian's words hung in the air, a declaration of intent that echoed in the opulent surroundings.

The maid's condescending expression seemed to intensify, and the rest of the maids gazed at him with similar hostility. She turned away to address the guards, her voice sharp and commanding. "Your highness would be taking a walk. Go and clear the gardens."

The guards departed with a synchronized nod, leaving Adrian alone with the defiant maids. The room seemed to close in on him, its walls adorned with exquisite paintings that told tales of forgotten grandeur. But amidst the splendor, there was an undercurrent of tension and unease.

"And as for you, your highness," the maid continued, her words dripping with venom as she approached him. With a slow, calculated step, she closed the distance between them. Her fingers reached out, seemingly tender as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. It was a gesture that should have been affectionate, but it carried an undercurrent of mockery, a subtle reminder of the strange role reversal they found themselves in.

"It would do little good to stare into pages you cannot read," she taunted, her voice laced with cruel amusement. "It would be immensely saddening for his majesty to know of your little tantrum. After all, what good would those books do after your marriage to another?" Her tone grew colder as she continued, "As a future consort, your role would not be bound to such expectations."

With a motherly touch that felt entirely fake, the maid then seated him in front of the mirror, where a decadent array of jewels awaited. She deftly began to braid his hair, adorning it with intricate jewels. Her words continued to cut like a sharpened blade, each syllable loaded with disdain.

"Y/n, just focus on birthing an heir, as your mother did," she sneered, her fingers working with precision.

Adrian felt a shiver run down his spine as the maid's touch lingered, her words hanging in the air like a poisonous cloud. The room, the maid, her vicious words all faded into the background as an unsettling realization struck him.

No book, no pen, no paper would ever help him understand the words of your letter.

Your frantic attempts in his vision were not foolish acts of oddity; they were you trying to memorize the script and words, anything that would help you understand its contents.

Princess y/n was illiterate, trapped in a world of exquisite luxury, yet denied the simplest of knowledge. The room felt like a gilded prison.

Amongst all that turmoil, Adrian was acutely aware of the rising feeling of shame that filled his body, your body. Your shame. What had your prison made to bear for such shame to burden all your sorrows? The shame of your illiteracy that this place made you aware of every passing second.

"A valley, a stroke, a circle," in an unlit room, you moved your hands instinctively, tracing those familiar patterns even in the enveloping darkness. The shadows seemed to dance around you, playing tricks on your senses as you traced the shapes in the air.

But they weren't your hands. They were different—larger, stronger, colder, but they could write. You would write. On a scratched-up page of a bound book, with a broken quill, you transcribed all that you could remember. The room held an eerie silence, broken only by the faint scratching of the quill against the paper, a solitary sound in the obscurity.

You had spent years waiting for this one chance, and you couldn't let it go in vain. The air held a heavy, musty scent, as though the room had been untouched for decades, preserving the secrets it held within its walls.

In a body that could understand the letters, you cared little for the price the bargain had exacted, or for the presence of another inhabiting your former body as if it were a matter of fact. The words flowed from the quill, as if compelled by an unseen force, a connection that transcended the boundaries of time and space.

But your hands faltered as the words on the paper stared back at you, stark against the dimness. It had to be wrong. Maybe you remembered incorrectly, perhaps a letter misplaced or a detail overlooked. The room seemed to close in on you, its walls pressing in with an oppressive weight.

This couldn't be true. Surely, fate would not be so cruel after all the time you had spent searching. It was as if the words on the paper seared into your soul, and in a moment of despair, you pushed the paper away into the inky darkness of the room you had awoken in.

Yet, it remained visible, even in the dim light. Drenched in the puddle of spilled wine, the words continued to mock you, their inked forms swimming in the crimson pool.

Title: Courtesan Name: Maya Cause of death: Childbirth

She was dead. The one you had sought for so long was gone, lost to time. The one you had pleaded with your father and brother for, the one you had sacrificed so much to find—she had died fourteen years ago. Your mother was dead.

They had watched you grovel at their feet for her, binding you to bargains with empty promises of a single reunion. Maya, the courtesan of Darem, was dead, and your mother had been taken from you long ago. The truth crashed down upon you, a devastating revelation that shattered the last remnants of hope you had clung to.

Equipped with truth for the first time in your life. The only path that lay in front of you was the one that led to Darem, where all had occured.

The place where you would pay your debt of this body. The last debt of your existence.

Golden eyes glimmered in the unlit night of the new moon. The world around you seemed to hold its breath.

#alucard #alucard x reader #castlevania #adrian tepes x reader #role swap au #angst

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laawlesss · 2 years

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;; New Prescription ..

— ;; minific monday! a oneshot every monday, usually under 5k words.. (..usually..)

>> in which you have a surprisingly domestic moment with Law.

; words ? ; 3.7k.

; warnings ? ; none.

; genre ? ; domestic fluff/comfort.

; request ? ; no.

; pairing ? ; trafalgar d. law x reader.

; notes ; this was so much fun to write can u tell i love law. no pronouns used for reader so can be assumed however u like :) sig code flirting bc i’m a medicine nerd, and bepo is a dog in this fic (sorry bepo </3) . also !! link to my new discord server, where u can get early snippets / releases <3 stay hydrated ily. crossposted on ao3.

The bag over his shoulder was heavy, tugging at him painfully. The numerous items weighed him down, but by now he was far too used to the familiar weight. Yanking his hat down further on his head, he sighed, eager to get home to his apartment, to you. He’d just completed a nearly sixty hour shift, having to constantly be on call for his practice and the oddly numerous emergency surgeries that had come in. Being the most reliable and skilled surgeon on staff and having too many new graduates and too few experienced surgeons, he’d been called in to take over as patients flooded in from a bus accident. He hadn’t been home in almost three days, and he missed a soft, horizontal surface to sleep on.

His steps to his door were slow from weariness, and he shifted to dig his key out of his pocket, unlocking his door and stepping inside. He was greeted by his massive dog, leaving strands of white fur all over his black slacks and crumpled coat. “Hey, Bepo.” He set his keys on the counter and dropped a tattooed hand onto the dog’s large head. The dog gave a soft woof, tapping around on the hardwood in excitement to see him again. It was heartwarming, seeing his lumbering dog rush to greet him.

However, he didn’t see you. His brow furrowed slightly, and he gently pushed past Bepo to lay his overnight bag on the sofa, kicking off his shoes and setting them by the front door. He silently walked room to room, his yellow eyes searching for you. You hadn’t told him about potentially going out, not that you needed to or that he asked you to, but you usually kept him updated on where you’d be in case he got off shift and you weren’t home. He checked his phone again, only to confirm that he hadn’t received any messages from you.

He was about to dial your number, thumb lingering over the ‘call’ button, before he pushed into your shared bedroom and he saw you curled up amongst the plush cushions. You were wearing one of his sweatshirts, the size of it nearly dwarfing you, covering you like a dress. You were clutched onto one of the pillows, your legs wrapped around it as you dozed sweetly. It brought a soft smirk to his face, shutting off his phone and laying it on the large desk that was set on one side of the room. His gaze kept flickering back to your slumbering form as he tugged off his doctor’s coat and set it on a hook, making a note to wash it later.

Swiftly changing into a loose tee and a pair of basketball shorts, he strode to the bed, pulling off his hat and setting it on his nightstand. Bepo came strutting into the room, and he used a paw to swat at the man’s leg, only to be lovingly hushed as the ravenette laid down. He shifted to resting on his side as he propped himself up on an elbow, yellow eyes fixed on you. You looked so relaxed, so calm. Your lashes fluttered on the swell of your cheeks, your hands covered by the ends of the long sleeves of his hoodie. He wasn’t really a romantic, but he wanted so bad to fix this image of you permanently in his brain.

Reaching out his other hand and using his long fingers to sweep back a strand of your hair, he was struck with sudden tiredness. He’d managed a few quick naps here and there at the hospital, but nothing long and rejuvenating. And yet here you were, dozing without a care in the world, taunting him. He’d tease you, but he didn’t mind. You were busy with your own job, and likely missing him from the way you clutched onto that pillow so hard. His knuckle brushed over your cheek, and your eyes slowly fluttered open, before going wide as you recognized his form.

“Law!” You shot forward, releasing the pillow and latching onto him tightly, burying your face in his broad chest. Sleep still clung to the edges of your eyes, but you pushed it back, relishing in your partner’s warmth around you. His arms came to encircle you, firm against your abdomen. His eyes were heavy, but he smiled, happy to finally have you back in his arms. You hummed, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “I hate when you have long shifts.” Mumbling, you closed your eyes, taking in all of him.

“Mm. Me too.” He retorted, holding onto you tightly as if you would slip away out of his grasp. He inhaled slowly, admiring you. He’d never tell you just how comfortable you made him feel, just how at home he felt with you securely tucked in his arms. It killed him to be away from you for sometimes days at a time, but it was what his job required, and he couldn’t see himself doing anything else. “Really rubbing it in, asleep when I come home.”

Your eyes widened and you pulled back, quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know when you’d be home and I just wanted to lay down really quickly—“ You began to ramble, guilt flooding your system as you tried to unnecessarily explain your actions.

“Y/N.”

“God, it probably made you feel so bad, since you only get short naps at work, and then here I was, knocked out in bed—“

“Y/N.”

It took him repeating your name a second time for you to shut up, biting your lip and looking up at him with sorrowful eyes. You seemed genuinely upset, and it amused him. Your brow was furrowed and you clutched onto his shirt, unable to meet his sharp gaze. How could you be so stupid, of course he’d be upset with you! A massively long shift, he was probably exhausted, and you were napping away like nothing mattered.

“I was teasing.” Law mused, and you let out a breath after a short moment. Of course he was. Curse him and his indecipherable tone. You could rarely tell when he was kidding and when he was serious, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. Being laid in bed with you was reigniting his exhaustion, tugging at his weary eyelids. Sleep threatened to claim him soon, but he fought it, too enthralled in spending time with you. He hadn’t had the chance to hold you in three days, he’d be damned if he didn’t cherish you while he was awake.

“You’re so mean.” You groaned, resting back in Law’s embrace. You reached for one of his hands, gently tracing over the tattoos there. He sucked in a breath, a slight chill running down his spine. He loved when you did that, ghosting your touches over his inked skin. The first time you’d done it, resting against his chest, he’d stared at you like you’d grown another head, his heart beginning to pound as your gestures made him fall further in love with you. A wave of affection rolled through him, and he pressed you tighter to him.

Sighing, he let his head fall against yours, his dark hair tickling your cheek. Law rolled the two of you over, moving to lay his head on your stomach. He kept his arms around you, giving a little hum as you began to rake your hands through his fluffy mop of hair. He was entirely relaxed, your other hand moving to rub over the tight muscles in his back. Annoyed by the fabric of his shirt brushing over him repeatedly, he pushed himself up momentarily to tug his shirt over his head and toss it across the room before making himself comfortable again.

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked softly, your hand hovering over his shoulder blades. You wanted to help him relax, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He was finicky about touch and physical affection, you knew from experience how resistant to it he actually was. He didn’t like to do anything in front of others, even just hold hands, but behind closed doors he became a bit touch-starved, eager to hold you whenever he could.

“No. Please.” His voice was strained, his face pressed into your front. Three long days he’d been away, three long days without you. The feeling of you affectionately rubbing his back was so soothing, so comforting. It was getting harder and harder to fight sleep, with one of your palms sweeping over the expanse of his back and the other massaging his scalp. Something about your actions reminded him of his parents when he was a child, making him want to curl up and never leave your side.

Thoughts he would never vocalize rushed through his head, his exhaustion taking down his verbal filters. “You look good in my sweatshirt.” He murmured, his words muffled since his face was pressed into your stomach. Law shifted again, moving to lay between your legs. He felt more comfortable, clutching onto you more easily. You smiled, humming in response.

“You think so?” He was adorable when he was tired, when he let go of his aloof demeanor. He let himself be held, be caressed, be cared for. He was always so independent, intent on doing things himself. It was only after you brought it up to him a few months after your relationship started that he began to let you in and let down his guard. You knew it was difficult for him to really open up to others, and it filled you with a sense of love and pride when he finally did confide in you about his rocky past.

Law raised his head to meet your gaze, his yellow eyes half-lidded. He sat there for a second, before pulling himself up and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You were surprised, he rarely initiated anything. Usually it was you, meekly pulling him into kisses. You quickly adapted, your lips moving to match his, your arms curling around his neck. He sighed against your mouth, holding himself up with his strong, muscular arms as he sat between your legs.

“Fuck, I missed you.” His words were whispered mostly to himself, but you heard him. He was so utterly attached to you, being away from you for three days was nearly painful. He almost hated the way you had him wrapped around your finger, the way he would do anything for you. Exhaustion still fogged his mind, but he couldn’t get enough of you, aching for you to be closer. Three days without you, three days he couldn’t hold you. His love language was more quality time than physical touch, but god did he crave your touch.

You let him rest his head on your shoulder, slowly letting more of his weight fall into you. His breathing tapered off, cuddling you the same way you had held your pillow when you’d fallen asleep previously. His soft breaths puffed against your neck, a repetitive feeling that soothed you. It was nice, seeing Law fall asleep, using soft hands to slowly massage the tightly held tension out of his broad shoulders. He seemed more vulnerable, the usual furrow in his brow gone as he drifted off. You smiled, pressing a feather-light kiss to his head as you let him rest there.

Your mind ran in lazy circles, a hand lazily tracing the large jolly-roger-like tattoo inked on his back. With every twitch in Law’s sleep, he tugged you closer, his grip tightening. It just sent a new wave of love for the man in your grip through you, returning his unconscious embrace the best you could. Half-hearted, lazy hums left your throat, entirely content in being used as a pillow. He needed sleep, and you weren’t about to disturb him.

— — —

Hours later, Law awoke with a start, gripping at the sheets. He noticed your absence immediately, yellow eyes immediately narrowing. Rolling onto his back, he rubbed his face with a large hand, sighing. He hadn’t wanted to fall asleep so soon, but sleep had claimed him before he had a chance to protest. Finally being back in your arms, rested against you, it had lulled him into the comfort he had craved for three days. Resting his arm over his eyes, he debated going back to sleep, a twinge of irritation striking in him that you weren’t in the bad with him anymore.

Law suddenly pushed himself up off the bed, catching a familiar enticing scent drifting through the air. His limbs were stiff from being still for so long, but he shoved it aside and swung his long legs off the bed, stretching before heading to the door. Were you cooking? His stomach rumbled eagerly, having gotten used to granola bars and energy drinks for the entirety of his long shift.

Stepping back out into the apartment, he heard you singing quietly from the kitchen, likely unaware that he had woken up. A smirk breached his face and he paced around the corner, admiring the way you happily prepared his favorite meal. The deepening light of the afternoon sun drifted through the wide windows on one side of your home, casting you in a golden glow. You looked like an angel.

He paced to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind and leaning his chin on the edge of your shoulder. You startled for a second, before you leaned your head against his and let yourself relax in his hold. “Did I wake you up?” Your voice was smooth and slow, your eyes never leaving the hot pan in front of you. You’d made his favorite dish for him too many times to count and the recipe was ingrained in your mind, you could prepare it with your eyes closed if you had to.

“No.” His eyes closed, his soul greedily relishing in the domestic moment. Bepo clicked over, nosing your side before slumping down to lay at your feet, his tail wagging and thumping quietly against the floor. Law let out an exhale, still feeling tired. He’d need another long snooze to feel more like himself, luckily he had the next few days off. “You could have, though. I would’ve helped.” He didn’t like waking up without you.

“I know, but you needed sleep. And you looked so comfortable.” You smiled, reminiscing on the sight of him, hair tousled from your hand and from shifting in his sleep, his body finally fully relaxed for once. “And cute. You looked cute too.” You cooed, leaning your head back to meet his now piercing gaze. The man gave a disgruntled sound, pinching your side, causing you to yelp. He snickered, and you stuck your tongue out at him, turning back to focus on the fish you were grilling on the stove.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, absorbed in your own little bubble. Your heartbeat was slow, your smile complacent as you finished up the meal, plating two servings. You shared your meal, able to get a few words from Law on the patients he’d performed surgeries on during his shift. He’d thanked you for making his favorite meal, murmured about the coworkers that he found obnoxious, and sneakily slid Bepo a tiny bit of his dinner. Each and every small thing he did was endearing, every movement met with your loving gaze.

You loved the way he held himself, the way his hand dropped to give Bepo a scratch behind his floppy ears, the way his golden eyes would flicker to you then almost shyly away as he spoke, the darkening shadow across his jaw proving that he hadn’t had the opportunity to shave in a few days. His subtle motions of affection, nervous and hesitant, his long fingers brushing against your hip as he helped you clean up after dinner, his smile when you goofed around with Bepo.

Soon, after washing and drying the dishes, and exchanging a few quick, affectionate kisses, Law was stretched out on the couch with you laying on his chest, Bepo eagerly leaping to squeeze onto the cushions with the two of you. You laughed, your boyfriend grunting as the giant fluffy dog nearly trampled him to get comfortable, pulling you closer to him. You happily pressed yourself as close to him as you could get, humming. This was your home, the place you always wanted to be. Your own little slice of heaven, smushed between your boyfriend’s hard chest and your dog’s furry side.

The large flatscreen played some ignored movie on the other side of the room, the afternoon sun long having since faded to the cold, elegant navy blues and purples of night. The colors of the screen cast framing lights on your faces, the moment picturesque. Bepo’s soft snores soon filled the room, and you turned your head to gaze up at Law’s relaxed expression. One of his arms supported his head, and the other was slung languidly over your form, his yellow eyes were fixed on the TV but you knew he wasn’t really watching it. He seemed deep in thought, his gaze unfocused.

“You should get your own prescription. Write one for yourself.” Tilting your head, you watched him shift his line of sight down to you, adoration sparking in your chest as you saw his pupils expand when he looked at you splayed over him. You knew it was an unconscious response of the body, for the pupils to dilate when someone looked at someone else that they felt a strong loving emotion for, but you never expected to actually see it happen until you’d begun your relationship with Law.

“Oh? For what?” He mused, raising a hand to rest it on the top of your head. He was in such a state of calm, so content laying with you. He’d never imagined that he’d find himself in such a domestic relationship. He always pictured his career as a surgeon a solitary thing, pushing to make himself and his late adoptive father proud. But when you had shoved into his life and refused to leave, sticking to him like a stubborn suture, he developed a soft spot for your intriguing personality. Now, he didn’t know what he’d do without you to come home to.

“Me.” Your mind raced, and you pondered for a second. “PRM?” You nodded, trying to draw on the things Law had taught you.

“PRN.” He corrected, a warm, amused smile on his face. It was rare to see such an expression, it left you awestruck. The way his cheeks tinted slightly, unfamiliar smile lines becoming present. He looked so… boyish. So unlike the serious, determined man you were so used to. “AM, PM, QH.” He ruffled your hair, his eyes lidded and full of love.

“PRN.. As needed, morning, night… what’s QH?” You looked so adorable, eyes so full of curiosity. He was happy to talk about medicine, about anything with you. He wasn’t one for endless conversation, but if you asked, he’d find something to regale you with for as long as you wished. You just happened to take an interest in something he was an expert on, making it leagues easier to entertain you.

“Every hour.” You let out a soft laugh, burying your face in his chest, eyes catching on the dark ink there. His hand slowly began to move down and rub small circles into the base of your neck and the top of your back, your skin igniting at the touch.

“Diagnosis, doctor?” You grinned.

“Acute infatuation.” Law murmured, and you paused, your heart beginning to pound rapidly in your chest. Curse him and how smooth he could be at times, you loved his stupid nerdy side. Sliding yourself up, being careful not to put your weight too heavy on the man beneath you, inclining your head to press a light, loving kiss to his lips. You loved him so much, you felt as though your heart would burst at the seams.

Law returned your affections, pulling you impossibly closer. You basked in each other’s presence, curled up together on the old, fraying couch, your massive dog dozing with his head rested on your legs. The domestic bliss was pleasantly suffocating, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You loved the man in your arms with every fiber of your being, and you had no doubt that Law felt the same for you. Every waking thought was filled with him, how he was faring at work while he was away, the way he looked in casual clothes as he paced around the apartment. Everything about him was perfect to you.

The two of you eventually broke away, Law gently guiding your head to rest under his chin. You wrapped your arms over his broad shoulders, tucking yourself firmly against him as you cuddled with your soulmate. Three words threatened to spill from your lips, but you bit your tongue, choosing instead to tap a slight rhythm on his arm with the pad of your finger. You knew it was difficult for him to say that he loved you, but you knew how he felt all the same. The words didn’t matter, he showed his love for you in every moment he spent with you, the way he treated you with such kindness and care compared to everyone else. You were special to him, just as he was to you.

The pattern you tapped was soft, something you’d done for months. Law even found you doing in your sleep, making his heart flutter just the slightest amount. He let you spell out the phrase, tapping once, pausing, then four times, then thrice. It had taken him a decent amount of time to figure out exactly what it had meant at first, but once he had, he found himself tapping it back to you. Tapping it on the table as he ate, on his desk as he wrote prescriptions, on your back as you lay against him in bed. ‘I … LOVE … YOU …’, tapped in short syllables.

With a sigh, he gave you an affectionate squeeze, his next words sending your heart into a panic. Sure, his voice was soft, barely a rasp, but it was enough for you. “I love you too.”

#— 🤍 ; minific monday!!#trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #one piece fic #one piece x reader #one piece au #modern au #domestic fluff #one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law

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madsworld15 · 2 months

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Part 2 of Heal Me, Hold Me, Make Me, Know Me

Part of my Asexual as Folk series

I won't be able to write much this weekend, so I am hoping this installment will tide people over until either Sunday evening or Monday morning.

Twenty minutes later, Brian stood up and walked back inside the hospital. He didn’t want to have to make any decisions about Justin’s care, but if Jennifer needed him to help her, he would. He couldn’t exactly say what had changed his mind, but it came down to the fact that he didn’t want anyone to have to be alone in all this. He and Jennifer included.

Weird. I’ve always pushed myself to be independent and not need love. Now, here I am, deciding that if she asks me again, I will make a decision with her about her son. Her son, who I care deeply about, against my better judgment.

When he stepped back inside, he found Debbie standing off to the side, talking to Daphne, who was crying, and Michael, who was not. Brian knew he should talk to Daphne, they had a mutual bond because of Justin, and she deserved to hear about it from him. But, he was still so numb and adrift after the meeting with the doctor. He wasn’t sure he could handle all of Daphne’s emotions on top of that.

So, instead, he turned toward the other end of the hall, where he was certain Jennifer would still be. Without a word to his family, Brian headed toward Justin’s. He hadn’t taken more than two steps when he felt a hand envelope his own. He looked down to see long, slender fingers. Without looking up, he knew that they belonged to Emmett. Bless that sweet man for always knowing the right thing to do in a crisis. Brian was closer to Michael, even when they were distant from each other, like now, but Michael was useless in situations where emotions ran high. No, Brian didn’t need Michael right now; he needed Emmett.

The two men arrive at the conference room once more and find Jennifer sitting where Brian had left her. She had her cell phone in her left hand and a crumpled tissue in her right. A pile of used tissues sat on the table in front of her. She was staring, unseeing, straight ahead. Emmett immediately sat down next to her while Brian hung back. He’d been touching and hugging people more in the last 5 hours than he had in the last 5 years. He was at his limit.

“It was his birthday.” Jennifer’s statement came out in a whisper, wettened by the tears still flowing down her face.

That one sentence broke Brian. His knees buckled, and he had to force himself into a chair of his own. How had he forgotten it was Justin’s birthday? What god and what universe allows a person to be attacked an inch of his life on his birthday?

“Fuck.” Brian let his breath out, and the tears started anew.

Emmett squeezed Jennifer against his side as he also reached for Brian’s hand.

“What can I do?” He asked, looking between the two people he was trying to keep steady.

Jennifer bit her lip and then finally turned her head toward them. “I called his father. He’s not coming. It seems he believes Justin brought this on himself.”

The anger within Brian bubbled to the surface, and he clenched his fists, forgetting that Emmett had one in his grip. He couldn’t believe a parent would be so heartless as to say he deserved to be bashed. And to say it to his obviously grieving ex-wife, the mother of said child? Unforgivable.

“I thought my dad was bad.” Brian spat out, the words feeling like fire on his tongue.

Jennifer gave a wet laugh, “Craig is, well, he’s something. I just regret that it took me until now to officially leave him. Justin deserved better.”

They all fell silent for some time. Brian could hear every tick of the clock on the wall. He wanted to know if Jennifer had made any decisions yet, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Emmett, who hated silences, even if they were comfortable, cleared his throat and spoke up.

“What matters most is that you are here now. He is lying there in the ICU, broken and bruised, in need of his mom, and you are here.” Jennifer nodded to indicate that she understood.

“I’m sorry.” Brian’s voice filled the empty space left behind when Emmett stopped talking.

“Brian –” Emmett started to reassure him that he had nothing to apologize for, but Brian shrugged him off.

“I should have followed him out of the club. I shouldn’t have been a colossal jackass to him in the days leading up to this. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have felt the need to go to Babylon.” Brian rambled, his eyes fixed on his hands that were still in fists.

“Brian, YOU are NOT to blame.” Emmett’s words came out firm but loving. “You didn’t punch him and kick him. In fact, you have only ever respected him and cared about him.”

“As for Babylon, I was the one who urged him to go out for his birthday. He just wanted to have a quiet night in and watch movies. If we are going to play a blame game for why he was there, then I am the reason, not you.”

“Neither of you are to blame.” Jennifer butted in. “You both were there for him when I refused to be. We can’t sit here and blame ourselves for the actions of those three who attacked him. We all have to be strong and support him through the road ahead.”

She paused, got up from her seat, and moved closer to Brian. Then, surprising him, she leaned over and wrapped him in a hug.

“You heard the doctor. Justin has multiple surgeries and months of rehab to look forward to. He’s going to need people there to support him.”

Brian hesitated before he wrapped his arms around Justin’s mom as well. He breathed in her vanilla scent and allowed her warm embrace to comfort him. Here was a woman who had every right to hate him. He was much older than her son and was Justin’s chosen partner. Instead, she chose to love and appreciate his presence in her son’s life. This was all foreign territory for Brian. Most people immediately criticized his influence on the people he cared about, thinking he was too selfish. But, Mrs. Taylor was here accepting him as he was for the sake of her son. A small voice at the back of Brian’s brain told him not to get comfortable and that she would probably turn on him eventually. But for now, he was going to soak up this feeling. It helped to keep his fears at bay.

Jennifer pulled back, “We should probably go and update the others, Daphne and…that woman…”

“Debbie.” Emmett and Brian said at once. They shared a small smile.

“Yes, Debbie. We should update them.” Jennifer stood up and grabbed her purse. She deposited all the used tissues in the trash, wiped the tear tracks from her face, and put on a fake smile before she left the room.

Emmett followed her soon after, but Brian hung back briefly. He needed to compose himself. It was one thing to allow Emmett and Jennifer to see him break down. He couldn’t do that in front of Daphne. While it wasn’t the first time Debbie or Michael would’ve seen him crack under pressure, he wasn’t in the mood for their comfort right now.

He needed to be sure that when he went out there, his demeanor reflected the stoic person he always was. It would encourage the huggers of the group to leave him alone. Which, if Debbie could be counted on for anything, it was running her mouth. He was sure more people probably arrived by now to stand vigil for someone they didn’t really know but mattered to Brian, so they cared. Sure enough, upon reaching the part of the hallway where he’d left Debbie before, he found Lindsay and Ted had joined the group.

“Doesn’t anyone have anything better to do? It’s not like he knows you are here.” Brian rolled his eyes and pulled out his cigarettes. He knew he couldn’t smoke inside, but damn did he want to.

“Then why are you here?” Mikey whined from his spot next to Debbie.

Brian shook his head slightly in disbelief, pinched the bridge of his nose, and finally responded.

“Because he’s my bo— because we are seeing each other.” Brian caught himself before he said the dreaded word, but a look around revealed that Debbie, Lindsay, and Emmett were giving each other knowing smiles.

“I’m grateful that someone has been here with him since it happened.” Daphne stepped forward and moved to touch Brian’s arm, but he took a step back.

“Yeah, well, someone had to. He was pretty beat up.” Brian shrugged and tried to act nonchalantly.

“I was there too.” Michael started to chime in, but Brian stepped up to him and cut him off.

“You stood there and didn’t do shit!” His frustration at the whole situation poured out of him and landed on the one thing he could control — Michael.

“Fuck off, Brian! He wouldn’t have been out there if you’d paid him any attention!” Michael spat back, his words having no truth to them but still cutting deep.

“The two of you need to stop!” Debbie got between them, giving them both a stern mother look.

“Maybe if you’d done something, they wouldn’t have been able to kick his head and cause his brain to swell!” Brian threw at Michael despite Debbie’s admonishment.

“Brian!” Debbie turned all her attention to him. “I know you are hurting, and when that happens, you make those around you hurt, but placing the blame on Michael isn’t fair, and you know it.”

Brian was so angry at everything going on that he couldn’t even see straight. He knew Debbie was right, but it didn’t help that her son wanted to try and claim he was there for Justin when he wasn’t. He’s never once cared for the blonde ever.

“I’m going to get a coffee.” Brian stepped away from Daphne and the Novotnys.

“I think we should all go home and get some rest. We can come back in a few hours, in shifts, to visit him during visiting hours.” Debbie said, looking around at the family like she meant business. “That includes you, Brian. You need sleep, honey.”

The thought of going home terrified Brian. Even if Jennifer was there to keep an eye on him, Brian couldn’t imagine going across town to his loft right now. It was too far away.

“Debbie, is it?” Jennifer finally stepped forward, “I think Brian should stay here. Just in case something happens. I don’t want to be here alone.”

Brian would never be able to say it, but in that moment, he thought Jennifer was heaven on earth.

*****

As the sun rose, Brian sat in that sterile hallway. Jennifer was right next to him with her hand on his knee. After Debbie and everyone else had left, Brian had calmed down enough to allow Jennifer to give him the barest of touches in the hours since she hadn’t moved her hand, not once.

Brian leaned to the right, allowing his right arm to support his head. He knew he should probably sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Justin lying on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. It was something he would give up his loft and all the money in his bank account to never see again.

He heard a muffled noise next to him. It sounded like voices, but he couldn’t make out the words. Brian rubbed his eyes and straightened up. He looked over to Jennifer and found her looking at him expectantly.

“Huh?” Brian stifled a yawn.

“I asked what you do. What’s your job? I’m assuming you have one.”

Brian let out a chuckle. “Advertising Executive.”

For the first time since Justin had jumped off the stage at Babylon Brian smiled, genuinely smiled.

“Sorry. You reminded me of Justin just then. He would’ve smirked at me and said, ‘Assuming you have a job’.” Brian ducked his head and stared at his hands, which he had his right grasping his left with the thumb and forefinger applying pressure to his left palm.

“Don’t apologize,” Jennifer whispered. “I love knowing that others appreciate his sarcasm and wit like I do. He’s always been so much brighter than his peers. He got a 1500 on his SAT. Did you know that?”

Brian shook his head, then tilted his chin up so he could make sideways eye contact with the woman next to him.

“But I’m not surprised. He told me once his father wanted him to go to Dartmouth. I knew then he was smarter than I could ever hope to be.”

Jennifer reached across and separated his hands in order to clasp his left one between both of hers.

“I don’t know you very well, Brian, but I know you are kinder and smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Brian scoffed. But stopped the minute Jennifer continued.

“You saved my son's life. I will always be grateful to you for that.”

Brian’s throat thickened, and tears threatened to fall once more. He was saved from responding by the appearance of Justin’s doctor.

“Mrs. Taylor, it’s still not visiting hours, but we decided as a group that Justin might benefit from human contact that isn’t his medical team.” The doctor took a deep breath. “Would you like to see your son?”

Then he paused briefly before adding, “You can come too, Mr.” And then he looked stressed that he didn’t know Brian’s name.

“Kinney. My name is Brian Kinney.” He stood up and walked with Jennifer down a completely different hallway.

“Be aware Justin is still unconscious and on the ventilator. But we were able to lower his settings and hope that by tomorrow he can be weaned off.”

Brian and Jennifer silently nodded their heads. He found himself grabbing onto Jennifer’s hand and holding on tight. His brain couldn’t make up its mind whether or not he wanted to be touched. Most of the time it all felt too much, but as they walked toward the door that Justin lay behind, Brian felt the need to have something grounding him or else he might float away.

How could it be that this young man has changed his whole center of being in just 6 months?

Brian held his breath as they arrived at Justin’s room. He could see him through the glass doors and adjoining columns of windows. For someone whose personality made him brighter than sunshine and bigger than life, Justin was now so pale and small.

The sounds of the ventilator worked in tandem with the steady beat of Justin’s heart monitor. If it weren’t for the bandage around his head and his hand propped on pillows with rods sticking up out of it, Brian could easily say he was sleeping. In fact, Justin looked so similar to all those early mornings that Brian woke up to find him in the bed next to him.

“He looks as though he could wake up any moment,” Jennifer spoke his thoughts out loud. Brian just nodded.

He removed his hand from Jennifer’s, and she immediately moved in, placing her loving hands against any visible part of his face she could find.

“Oh, Justin. I’m here. And Brian’s here. You aren’t alone.” At Jennifer’s words, Brian sat in the chair on the other side of the bed and squeezed Justin’s leg.

“I’m right here. I see your hurt, Justin Taylor.”

If Jennifer was curious about Brian’s words, she didn’t say. Brian was grateful for that. He sat there silently, watching Justin’s heart beat out the steady rhythm. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if he should pray to God. But then he remembered he didn’t believe in that sort of thing. All those years of being forced to sit in a church and pray for absolution from sins he never committed turned him away from any kind of all-powerful being.

As if she could sense his thoughts, Jennifer spoke. “Do you believe in God, Brian?”

Brian shook his head, not wanting to say too much, but then one more look at Justin, and he changed his mind.

“I was raised in the Catholic church. My mom forced me to go multiple times a week until I was 12. Then I got taller than her and simply refused to go. I already knew I was gay and couldn’t bear sitting through lecture after lecture about how I was going against God. How could God create me as I was supposed to be but then hate me?” Brian shrugged.

“So, I stopped going. Met my best friend, Michael and went to Sunday dinners at his house instead.”

“I was never an avid churchgoer, but I guess you could say I believe. In times like this, I feel like it’s all I have.”

Jennifer ran her hands along Justin’s blankets, tucking them or straightening them where she saw fit. After a few minutes of this she looked up at Brian, and gave him a sad smile.

“You wouldn’t understand, but when you become a parent, the person you once were stops existing, and in its place is someone who would do anything for that child in your arms. If I could trade places with him right now, I would.”

“I do know. I have a son.” Brian licked his lips and allowed his mind to turn to Gus for the briefest of moments.

“That’s right. Justin drew a picture of you and him for the art show.”

“Gus.” Brian forced a smile and looked up at Jennifer.

She smiled to herself, “You know, Justin had a stuffed bear when he was little that he named Gus.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” Brian smiled back at her.

“But, I’m not a father.” Brian had become too uncomfortable with his vulnerability, so he put his walls back up. “I simply gave a donation so that my friends could have a child.”

Jennifer’s hand landed on top of Brian’s, “I would hazard to guess Justin sees you better than anyone else. And since he drew you taking care of your son, I’d say you are a dad.”

#queer as folk #brian kinney #justin taylor #fanfiction #alternate universe #asexual spectrum representation

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meilunye · 2 months

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✧.* crumpled paper

✧ Characters: Scaramouche & Lumine (not necessarily ship) ✧ Written for: V4. Fortune - The Genshin RNG Zine ✧ Word count: 2,4k ✧ Fortune chosen: “Every flower blooms in its own sweet time.”

Lumine finds the Wanderer in the midst of a dilemma.

In the long months she had spent roaming the surface and underworld of Teyvat, Lumine had uncovered countless secrets: hidden cults, ancient civilizations buried under sand and moss alike, mysterious signs of fate most people failed to decode.

Over time, she had grown used to it. Some enigmas were easy to unfold, while some required time and effort she couldn’t afford to spend dwelling on them. She let the course of her quests guide them through the thickest tangles of the world, turning a blind eye to the deeper unknown.

And yet, what confused her the most was a simpler matter. Something utterly trivial that ought not to be as infuriating as it was. And so, despite the feats Lumine could boast in her record, she failed to see why, exactly, the majority of citizens considered Adventurers as their personal shoppers.

Alright, sure, she wasn’t expecting to seek gold or hunt gods when signing up for daily tasks from the Guild. Yet, spending her summer days collecting fruit and shrooms for a local villager who was just a tad too lazy to walk out of town was somewhat unnerving.

“One more mushroom, and that should be it for the day,” she muttered. Not even Paimon had chosen to tag along, preferring the comfort of their inn bed to nap on rather than dirtying her hands with mushroom picking in Avidya Forest. “At least I’m getting paid.”

Right as she was lost in her greedy thoughts, her mind racing to the delicious lunch she was planning to enjoy later in the morning, something fell on her head. Lumine glanced at her feet. A crumpled paper ball was resting between her boots, like an alien object plunging from the sky.

Was it a scrapped page from a Forest Ranger’s notebook? The rainforest was their scouting territory, after all. Maybe they were conducting some research higher up on the tallest tree branches. And, of course, the only stray piece of junk had to land on her.

“Just my luck.” She collected the tiny ball and stored it in her bag, to dispose of later. “Now, where to find the last mushroom…”

Her gaze ran up to inspect the majestic trunk of the centuries-old tree. The next wooden platform awaited her further up, probably brimming with hedges and herbs of all sorts. With a resigned sigh, Lumine climbed up the ladder, the breeze howling as it caressed her bare thighs.

A patch of dirt lay at the side of the wooden platform, where mushrooms peeked from behind thick leaves. Lumine shoved her hands into the soil, pulling at one of them to rip it from the ground, and held it fierily in her palms. She was done, at last.

Something feather-light fell on her head again. Followed by a second, and a third. Okay, now it started to look less like a coincidence and more like harassment. Lumine glared at the foliage above her, expecting to find a mocking hilichurl or a similar prankster.

What met her gaze, instead, was a pair of familiar sandals and a disgruntled complaint. What was he doing out there on his own? Not quite the encounter Lumine had foreseen for her morning walk in the forest.

Although every muscle and nerve in her body advised her against getting any closer, Lumine had never been known for her use of logic. She followed her gut and silently pulled herself onto the branch the man was sitting on.

“How odd to find you anywhere without the Archon.” Lumine dropped down at his side, not bothering to get permission first. Old foes did not owe each other kindness. “Something on your mind?”

Scaramouche— No, the Wanderer, as he now went by, was not responsive. A scowl was all the reaction he had to offer to the uninvited guest, his hand busy frantically scribbling on the white page of a notebook. Ah, so he was the culprit.

Stubborn (and quite honestly out of better things to do), Lumine didn’t leave. She stayed there, humming a tune under her breath and kicking her feet in the air, while waiting for any sign of acknowledgment to come. The Wanderer was headstrong, but she made for a good rivalry.

And she won the unspoken contest.

“What do you want?” The Wanderer turned to face her after what felt like ages, dropping the notebook on the branch between his knees. Most of the pages seemed to have been ripped out already. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”

Lumine shrugged. “I’m done with my work. Some unidentified flying objects were hindering my job, however.” She took the paper ball out of her bag and showed it to him, a cocky smirk on her lips.

“Ah, that.” Showing no apology whatsoever, the Wanderer averted his gaze again. “Do not blame me. You shouldn’t lower your guard while roaming the forest.”

A roll of Lumine’s eyes marked the end of that poor attempt at conversing. Even though socializing had never been an issue for her, given her popularity wherever she went, introverts like the Wanderer were her weak spot.

There was a difference, for her, between dealing with quiet folks such as Kazuha, who became talkative when solicited, and with adamant walls like the Wanderer. Those who weren’t sure when or how to speak, be it out of shyness or politeness, were more manageable than those who refused to do so.

Silence fell for a long time.

Lumine kept her gaze over the horizon. Groups of Aranara were playing among the leaves, visible only to her and a lucky few others. The wind from the shores carried the gentle echo of birdsong. Ah, she should head back soon. Paimon might have woken up by now.

Surprisingly enough, it was the Wanderer who broke the silence first.

“In your travels, you’ve certainly met all kinds of people,” he whispered, indigo eyes glued to the page he was scribbling on. “And I’ve witnessed firsthand the number of requests for help you receive on an average day. What makes people worthy of being lent a hand, in your book?”

Lumine pressed her lips together. “I am not sure about that,” she admitted with a weak shake of her head. The question was genuinely surprising coming from him. “But everyone is worthy of being listened to, at the very least.”

“I see.” The Wanderer lifted his head, finally looking at something that was not his notebook. Rukkhashava mushrooms shimmered in the sunlight on the tree in front of them. “Even ancient foes?”

Well, Lumine wasn’t as dumb as not to catch on. “If you want my help, why don’t you just ask?” she considered saying, but scratched the idea. Direct approaches would hardly work with someone like him. “I said everyone for a reason.”

As if his doubts were thawed at once, the Wanderer opened up to her in one single waterfall of words, like water breaching through a dam. And it was oddly pleasant to hear honesty pouring out of his mouth.

“I came here to escape from the Dendro Archon, actually,” he explained.

Lumine held her knees to her chest, her head tilted to pay utmost attention to what he was saying. “Did you fight?”

“Nah,” he shrugged indignantly. “I’m merely exhausted to have her disappointment haunting me like a ghost.”

From what Lumine had seen and learned so far, disappointment was not a common emotion for Nahida. Was the Wanderer showing struggles in his rehabilitation progress, or threatening to fall back into old destructive habits? He didn’t seem harmful, however. He was on his best behavior. “What is she unhappy with?”

“My thesis?” The Wanderer showed her the product of his work. Paragraphs written in clumsy handwriting crowded the page, thoroughly stricken through by thick ink lines. “I mentioned last time that she enrolled me in the Akademiya. It’s weirdly entertaining, but… these papers. I can’t seem to get them right.”

Writing wasn’t Lumine’s forte either. She was the brawns more than the brains, whereas her brother excelled at a bit of both. “I’m sure she knows you aren’t well-versed in prose. You’ve never attended a proper school, nor received scholastic education before.”

“That’s not the only issue.” The Wanderer ripped off the page with a groan, crumpled it in his hand, and tossed it off the branch.

Lumine caught it before it could go too far, though, using her brand-new Hydro powers to trap it in a bubble. “Stop littering the forest.”

“Quiet.” Another grunt, then a sigh. “Even after resetting the past and erasing my previous existence, I cannot find my place amidst the crowd. Every day, the Archon watches me return from class alone, as quiet as a stranded fish on the shore.”

What weird comparison was that? It must be something he stole from Nahida and her out-of-line analogies. “And?”

“And,” he echoed, frustration visibly piling up within him, “every day she asks me with that annoying little smile, ‘Wanderer, how is it going with your fellow students?’. Damn it, the gloomy look on her face when I say I don’t talk to them… Ugh, so irritating.”

Too bad Lumine could see right through him. He was sad, more than annoyed. “How does it make you feel?”

“My chest clenches, and it pisses me off.” The Wanderer scoffed. “I don’t even know what it means. I hate feelings. Pointlessly complicated to understand, and with far too many strings attached.”

A peal of laughter shook Lumine’s torso at that. Oh, how to believe the person sitting at her side was an ancient magical being, a former criminal, and a convicted murderer? His attitude towards himself and his emotions was akin to an immature child’s.

It would be endearing, were it not for the past they shared. Some things could be explained and understood, perhaps even mended… but not forgiven nor forgotten.

However, Lumine wasn’t as selfish as to deny advice to a forlorn soul in need.

“What haunts you is probably the guilt for letting her down,” she explains, patiently, with the calm of a teacher. “Even if Nahida does not enforce any expectation on you, you built some for yourself. You’re convinced that failure to succeed and excel will lead to her disappointment.”

An ominous glare came her way. “I do not recall asking for counseling,” the Wanderer spat. “Save your wit for those helpless adventurers who get surrounded by hilichurls on the daily.”

“You’d better listen to my unsolicited advice, instead.” Lumine rolled her eyes and sagely chose to ignore his remark. “I see two possible solutions to your issue. One, you talk to Nahida openly about your concerns, and let her soothe them in person.”

Sometimes, being told to her face that people still have hope for her is all it takes to clear up the stress that made a dozen nights sleepless. She did not know whether or not the same applied to the Wanderer— judging from his disgusted grimace, though, it was likely a no.

“No, thank you.”

“Of course,” Lumine nodded. She should have seen that coming, indeed. “Two, you let it slide and keep walking your path. And you accept that, in the end, it will be alright.”

The Wanderer groaned. “That’s such simplistic talk. If anyone could manipulate their worries on demand like this, there wouldn’t be a single unhappy soul roaming Teyvat.”

Ah, so it did bother him, after all. If direct suggestions were not the Wanderer’s cup of tea, Lumine could try another approach: analogies worked well with Klee, the most naive among her acquaintances. Hopefully, he would appreciate them too.

“During my days in Mondstadt, I often listened to the bards singing their hearts out at the inn and plazas.” Lumine stretched out her legs as she stared absent-mindedly at the tips of her boots. Her gaze was actually aiming farther, farther ahead: to the bygone days in the land of breeze.

The Wanderer did not dare to interrupt her tale. He was fidgety, nervously shifting on the branch and sketching frantically on the corner of the notebook page.

“One poem in particular is carved into my heart. It’s the story of a pear blossom, still unripe and closed amidst an ocean of white petals.” She closed her eyes, trying to recall the gist of the plot. “All of its friends had bloomed before it. Left behind on its own, it tried and tried to be like them— it pushed its limits, and ended up exhausted and more lost than when it had begun.”

The Wanderer frowned. “Flowers don’t have feelings.”

“The blossom felt inferior and miserable,” Lumine cut him off. “It thought, ‘if every other pear flower on the tree has already bloomed, why I alone am unable to?’. Night after night, its insecurities tore it to pieces.”

The Wanderer lowered his gaze. At last, the true meaning behind Lumine’s story was sinking in. “Then what?”

“Then, one day, its moment came,” she continued, happy to see his engagement. “As the spring sun rose above the horizon, the blossom opened its petals to catch its warm rays. And, though it was late and self-conscious, its corolla shone the brightest on the whole tree.”

The notebook slammed shut. The Wanderer rested his palm above its cover, a deadpan expression painted on his face. “Nonsense,” he commented.

“Perhaps,” Lumine chuckled. “Regardless of the metaphor, I do believe everyone has their own pace. As long as you don’t lose sight of your goal and keep persevering, eventually, your moment of glory will come.”

There was also a solid chance that, simply enough, academic life was not suited for the Wanderer. But in Lumine’s book, such a realization would also fall within the spectrum of blooming: he would find new aspirations, talents, and dreams.

“I must go.” The Wanderer stood up, weightless on the branch. “I hope you don’t expect a thank you for your sob story about blossoms and bards.”

Lumine sighed. Oh, if only he knew how easy he was to read… Ever since he had turned into his current self, freed from his past identity and tragedy, he had been wearing his heart on his sleeve. Even if, maybe, only someone as sharp as Lumine could pierce through his facade.

When she glanced up, she was alone once more. Only a crumpled paper ball lay solitary at her side.

A shy gust of wind combed through her hair in a playful dance.

“Heh, you’re welcome.”

#meifics #lumine #scaramouche

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 years

Text

I'm So Sorry (Part 3)

Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Jason Todd, Red Hood, Dick Grayson, Nightwing

Word Count: 5035

TW: Whump, Secrets, Heartbreak, Self-Loathing, Blood, Angst

Series Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Dick found your weeping, crumpled form on your bedroom floor moments after you discovered Jason had left. He had noticed Jason’s absence in the living room and bathroom and had figured out what happened. Silently, he lifted you off the floor and carried you over to the bed. After tucking you in, he left so you could have some space and hopefully, some sleep. But the sheets still smell like cigarettes and aftershave which just made you miss Jason even more. After tossing and turning half the night, you finally drifted off into a restless sleep full of clowns, knives, and Jason’s blank emotionless stare.

The next morning you sent Dick home. You felt awful he had slept on your couch as well as having spent most of the last few nights in the hospital with you. He hadn’t been on patrol since the night he found you and Jason, and you suspected he was using a few of his vacation days at work to be with you during the day. So, after much silent gesturing and prodding, you finally convinced him to leave.

But you quickly began to regret it. It was the first time you had truly been alone since you were taken and without the usual distractions, your mind would not stop replaying what had happened. Finally, you decided to take a nice long bath. Which was a mistake. Because the moment you flipped on the light in the bathroom, you caught your reflection in the mirror.

Blood had seeped through the bandages on both sides of your face, forming a scarlet stained smile across your cheeks. Just like your dad had wanted. No wonder Jason left you. How did you expect him to even look at you with this sickening reminder of what you were carved into your face?

With a muffled cry of rage, you pried the mirror of the wall and hurled it to the floor. The glass shattered across the tiles, sending tiny, jagged shards flying through the apartment. But you didn’t care. You ran to the guest bathroom and tore the mirror off that wall as well. This time as it crashed to the floor, pieces ricocheted up and cut into your feet and legs. But you didn’t care. Mirror after mirror (you owned an annoyingly large amount of them you realized) ended up in shattered heaps on your floor. Bloody footprints mapped your crazed path throughout the mess. But you didn’t care. Anything with a reflective surface soon joined the glass on the floor, until it looked as if a tornado had ripped through your apartment. But you still didn’t care. You grabbed the reflective photo frame Tim had given you and Jason for Christmas, ready to hurl it to the ground. But at the last second, you caught a glimpse of the picture.

You had just recently replaced the original picture with one from the day Jason proposed. In it, you were smiling wildly up at him. A real smile, not this horrific mockery of one that now permanently adorned your face, but one full of love and happiness. And Jason…. his cocky little smirk couldn’t hide the adoration you could see sparkling in his eyes. Even in this single moment frozen in time, you could see his love for you shining through every inch of his body. The love that you ruined with your lie. And, oh, how you cared. Drawing the frame tightly against your chest, you sank to the floor amidst the broken glass and bloody footprints. Just another one of the things you had destroyed.

Dick found you hours later, curled up in a ball on top of what was left of your mirrors, arms still clinging to the frame even in sleep. He hadn’t said a word about the mess, and he asked for no explanation. He simply lifted you carefully from the debris and carried you to the shower. It took a lot of convincing, but he had eventually coaxed the frame from your hands and helped you brush off as much glass as possible without cutting yourself further. Then he left the bathroom to give you some privacy.

An hour later when you finally emerged, you were shocked to see most of the mess had been cleared. Two full trash bags by the door were the only real indication that anything had happened. Dick sat you down and rewrapped your face since you had no way to see what you were doing without a mirror. He smiled sweetly at you when he finished and stood. “I’m going to run down and pick us up some food. Anything sound good? I know that place on the end of the block has that soup you love.”

It was all too much. Dick was too kind, and caring, and amazing to let this go on any further. So, you slipped into your room and returned with the letter you had written in the hospital. It contained the truth about everything: who your father was, how you escaped his clutches and avoided him for so long, why you and Jason were taken, and what had really happened in the warehouse that night. It ended with a promise not to argue or put up a fight if Dick or the other Bats decided they wanted nothing further to do with you or they wanted to arrest you or something. You handed it to Dick.

He took it from you, hesitantly but he opened it and began reading. You watched as his face shifted from confused to astonished to horrified as his gaze traveled further and further down the page. It finally got to be too much for you, and you dropped your eyes to the floor as you shrunk further into yourself, just waiting for the angry uproar or cry of disgust you knew was coming. Instead, you felt Dick gently grab your hand. Looking at his face, you could see tears teetering at the corners of his eyes. “Your own father did this to you? I knew he was a monster, but to do that to your own child…. Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

He pulled you into a tight embrace, but you resisted. Still unable to speak, you gestured wildly at yourself then the letter trying your best to mime I lied or I hid. Dick understood your vague message and shook his head. “It’s okay. You did what you had to do to survive. And you aren’t your father. How am I supposed to hold something like parentage against you? You didn’t have a choice in that. But for the past two years, I have seen you be nothing but kind, considerate, and loving to every member of my family. So as far as I’m concerned, this doesn’t change anything.”

The dam you had built up to hold back your emotions imploded in an instant. You fell into Dick’s open arms and sobbed loudly into his chest. Your cheeks felt as if they were being ripped apart once again, but you couldn’t stop as relief floods your body. Dick wasn’t going to leave you. No matter what happened next with Jason, no matter what the other Bats say about your letter, you won’t be all alone.

As you released all your pent-up emotions, Dick rubbed your back and softly murmured, “It’s okay. No one will blame you for what happened because it wasn’t your fault. Please don’t blame yourself for this.”

When you had eventually calmed down, you pulled away from Dick and looked up at him. He grimaced slightly when he saw what had become of your freshly changed bandages but then smiled. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t put the medical supplies away yet.”

He started to turn away, but you grabbed the sides of his face gently between your hands. You pulled it down until your foreheads were touching and you desperately wished he could read your mind right now. You wished you could express what his help and support meant to you. You wished he knew how deeply you appreciated every little thing he did for you these past few days. You wished he knew that he was the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart. But even if you could speak, you didn’t know how to put any of that into words.

However, if you had learned nothing else over the last few days, it was that Dick Grayson somehow always understood exactly what you meant. He smiled at you, slightly cross-eyed due to your closeness, and whispered, “You’re welcome.”

At their request, Dick brought you to the manor to see the rest of the Bats a few days later. By that time, you were no longer wearing the sling or the bandages. Though you were still very self-conscious about your scars, so you wore a turtleneck pulled up to right under your nose. You knew you looked like an idiot, but at least it was better than the alternative. This was the first time you were seeing any of Jason’s family, besides Dick, since they learned the truth about your parentage. Dick had gotten your permission to let them read your letter and he assured you they all felt the same way he did about the situation. But you were still worried about how they would act towards you, especially Bruce. Other than Jason, Bruce had the most personal history with your dad and all of it was horrible. Regardless of what Dick said, you couldn’t imagine that he wasn’t the least little bit bothered by your confession.

Alfred greeted you and Dick at the front door the moment you walked up. The butler had always treated you like part of the family, and you were relieved when your interaction felt no different than before. As soon as you stepped inside, you were immediately tackled by Tim. You stiffened under his embrace as you tried to remain calm. For some reason ever since the warehouse, the smallest touch made your skin crawl and your anxiety skyrocket. It didn’t matter who it was or what kind of physical touch it was, it just put you on edge. With everyone but Dick. He was the only person’s touch who didn’t make you uncomfortable. Neither of you were quite sure why, but your best guess was that you still had vague flashes of him caring for you and carrying you while in the warehouse. Maybe your brain recognized him as your savior that night and gave him a pass. You often wondered what would happen if Jason touched you now but…..

Dick softly pulled Tim away from you, “Hey, bud, remember what I said.”

Tim let go immediately and took a step back. “Oh yeah, sorry. I’m just so glad you’re okay! I’ve missed you this past week.”

“I missed you too, Timmy. Sorry I missed our coffee date.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll just order twice as much next time.”

You laughed, “I don’t know if they’ll sell us that much coffee at once.”

For the past year, you and Tim had met for lunch every Friday. Jason never understood why you wanted to spend that much time with his brother, but the two of you had a surprising amount in common. You had often teased Jason that if they ever broke up, you might have to give Tim a call. He did not appreciate the joke.

“Y/N.”

You jumped as Damian materialized next to you. “Jeez, Dami. A little warning next time.”

“I was sorry to hear about your encounter with your father.” Both Dick and Tim froze and quickly shot you a worried glance. They both knew Damian wasn’t known for his tact or considerations when it came to the feelings of others. But you just motioned for him to continue. “As you are aware, my mother and grandfather are two of the greatest assassins in the world and both have tried to kill me on multiple occasions, one succeeded. I know the burden of that kind of parentage, and I understand why you hid the truth. But remember, my family has never judged me based on that fact, just as they will not judge you on yours.”

Tears immediately sprung to your eyes. Damian had always been civil with you, but you would by no means say you were close. But you knew the young boy had trouble trusting others and if he was willing to share this with you, he must truly view you as part of his family. You nodded in gratitude and hoped he could see the smile in your eyes, even if the one on your lips was covered.

Dick and Tim were both staring at their youngest brother, mouths gaped. Finally, Dick said, “Wow, Damian. That was really nice.”

The small boy just shrugged. “I didn’t mean it to be nice. I just spoke the truth.” He turned and walked into the dining room where Alfred was getting the table set for dinner.

Dick took a deep breath. “Well, okay. So, are you guys ready to eat?”

“Ummm…. Actually… Bruce wants to see Y/N in his office before dinner….. Alone.” Tim looked nervously at you.

You swallowed sharply. So you were right, Bruce wasn’t as accepting of the news as the rest of the family had been. But, then again, why would he have Dick invite you over for dinner if he was just going to kick you out?

“Okay, but I didn’t even realize he had an office up here. I’m not…. I don’t have to go down there, do I?”

Dick quickly reassured you, “No, no. Bruce does do most of his work down in the cave but he has an office upstairs for more ‘Wayne related matters’. I can show you where it is.” He gently took your hand and led you upstairs.

Even though he had lived there since he was a kid, you were still amazed that Dick didn’t get lost in the vast expanse of corridors and doors that made up the manor. The place was huge! Jason and your entire apart – your entire apartment could fit inside some of these rooms. Dick started to turn down one hallway, then quickly decided against it. Before you could ask why, you recognized the familiar decorations at the end of the hall.

“It’s okay, Dick. We can go that way. I’ll be fine.”

Dick still hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m living in an entire empty apartment. I think I can walk past an empty room.”

Dick nodded and led you down the hall. But as you approached the last door on the right, you wished you had let Dick take you a different way. Seeing the familiar “Keep Out” sign scrawled in Jason’s messy handwriting was more painful than you had expected. You stopped outside the door and placed a hand softly over the “please 🙂” you had added the first time Jason had brought you here. You bowed your head as you tried to control the storm raging within you. You felt Dick place his hand on your shoulder.

“Has he stopped by since…”

Dick shook his head. “No, or at least not that anyone has noticed. I call and leave him a message every few days just to let him know how you are doing, but I haven’t seen or heard from him since he left the hospital. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t blame him, Dick. I know you guys probably think I should, but I don’t. I didn’t lie to him about the Riddler or Bane or Poison Ivy. I lied about the Joker. The man who literally tortured and murdered him. I mean, my dad killed Jay. Regardless of whether or not he came back, he was dead. And the person that experience turned him into, that was all because of my dad. All the terrible things that have happened since that moment can be traced back to him. And I fucking lied about it. What’s worse is I lied because I knew this would happen. I knew the second he found out, it would be over between us, so I kept my mouth shut. For two years. So, yeah, I hate that he’s gone and it kills me everyday I wake up and he’s not there, but I understand why.” You turned to face Dick. “You told me what happened wasn’t my fault and that I couldn’t blame myself. But it is. Not what happened to my face, my dad is a psycho and I was kidding myself to think I could hide forever, but what happened with Jay… that’s completely on me. And I’m going to have to find a way to live with that.” You gave the door sign a tender pat and then started back down the hall, Dick close on your heels.

Bruce’s office looked just like all the other doors in the manor, but you could almost sense the powerful presence that lay on the other side of the wood. Dick knocked on the door and opened it slightly, “Uh, Bruce? Tim said you wanted to speak to Y/N before dinner? I was just showing her how to find your office.”

Bruce glanced up from whatever he was working on at his desk. “Yes, thank you, Dick. You can join Tim and Damian. We’ll be down shortly.”

Dick gave your shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze then left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. You nervously fidgeted from one foot to the other and pulled the collar of your turtleneck up higher, almost covering your nose completely.

Bruce motioned for you to sit across from him. Once you were seated, he cleared his throat. “So, Dick let me read your letter and he has been filling me in on your prognosis. I know the doctors at Gotham General don’t think there is much more that can be done about the scarring, but I wanted to assure you that if you want, I am more than happy to pay to fly in the top surgeons in the world to see what they can do.”

You blinked a few times in quick succession. “What?”

“I can’t make any promises they’ll be able to do any better than the doctors here, but whatever options are out there, they will be taken care of if you so choose.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused…. You want to help me with…. But I thought…?”

Bruce smiled sadly. “You thought I wanted to talk to you about your father. I probably should have made that a little clearer. To be frank, I don’t care who your father is.”

You blinked again. “Really?”

“Damian is the only one of my children who is related to me by blood. Yet each one of them is as much my son as the others. And I was raised by a man I view as a father even though we are not related. Blood alone does not make you family. You get a say in who you choose as your family, and you made it clear long ago that he wasn’t part of yours. That is good enough for me. As for Jason….” Bruce hesitated. “My son can be a bit stubborn at times and he holds grudges better than anyone I have ever met. It took us a long time to get back to a civil relationship and it has only been recently that he has started viewing us as family again. And I owe a large part of that to you. You helped Jason when he refused to let us help him, and I will be eternally grateful for that. Your father may have taken my son away from me, but you helped to bring him back. And if that was the only thing I knew about you, it would be more than enough. However, having gotten to know you these past two years, I have been greatly impressed with your intelligence, kindness, and strength. And if my son knows what is good for him, he will come to his senses and beg you to take him back.”

“Bruce, I…. Thank you.” This was not at all how you expected this conversation to go. Not only did Bruce let you completely off the hook for your lie, he also gave you his blessing for your relationship with Jason (not that it mattered at the moment, but still). “It means so much to me that you don’t hold my lie against me or my relationship to your family. I never meant to hurt anyone, I just wanted to be free of him.”

“I know better than most people the depth of depravity that man is willing to go to, so I could never blame anyone for trying to get away from him.” His eyes softened as he smiled at you. “And as I mentioned, you get to choose your family and we have chosen you as a part of ours, whether Jason decides to forgive you or not. I just hope that one day, you can view us as part of yours.”

For about the hundredth time that week, you felt a flood of tears flow down your face. Smiling broadly behind your turtleneck, you whispered, “I would be honored.”

You had been back home for a few weeks now and things were slowly getting back to normal. Or as normal as they could be when you were still struggling to eat or talk, people knew the truth about what you had tried to run from for years, and Jason had vanished from your life. Your once cramped apartment seemed so spacious and empty without him in it. But at least you had Dick and the other Bats, your new family. It wasn’t the same as having Jason of course, but at least you no longer felt as isolated or alone. However, you couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever see your fiancée again….

One night, you woke up from your restless sleep to see a familiar shadow standing at the end of your bed. You immediately pulled the covers up over your mouth, hiding the scars. This was going to be a difficult enough conversation, you didn’t need to remind him of what happened or what those scars represented. It was much too dark to make out any more than the outline of Jason’s body, so you couldn’t gauge his mood. Every scenario that had crossed your mind in the past month of how he would react if he ever returned played through your mind instantly.

While still covering your mouth, you called out in the steadiest voice you could muster. “If you’re here to kill me, can you please make it quick?” You didn’t really think he would take things that far, but you were hoping that comment might reveal how he was feeling about the situation. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was so emotionless and flat that it pierced your heart. Did he really feel nothing towards you anymore?

“Jay –” you saw his body tense at the nickname so you alter what you were going to say “- son, what was I supposed to say? You remember that guy who killed you? That’s my dad! Small world, right!” He tensed even further, almost hunched over at this point. You took a deep breath. “No, that’s not fair. I know this is all my fault and you aren’t to blame. In any of this. You’re right. I should have told you the truth a long time ago. And I was going to! I swear, I had it all planned out. I was going to make you your favorite dinner, with a bottle of your favorite whiskey and I was going to sit there and tell you everything. Any and every detail you wanted to know…. But two days before I had this planned, you told me your secret. And how was I supposed to tell you then? It was no longer a conversation of ‘Hey, you know the biggest villain in all of Gotham City? That evil clown who terrorizes people every chance he gets? That’s my dad!’. It was now a conversation of ‘Hey, you know the biggest villain in all of Gotham City? The evil clown who murdered you? That’s my dad!’.

“I knew the second I told you, you’d be gone, and I couldn’t lose you. Even after only the few months we had been together, I loved you too much. So, I took the coward’s way out and decided to never tell you the truth. I thought I had hidden my tracks well enough that he would never find me. And if he never found me, then the truth wouldn’t matter. I mean, even he thought it was crazy that I stayed in Gotham, hiding right under his nose. I thought it would be the last place he would look. But then that stupid newspaper announcement came out….”

Your face was burning in pain by this point. You hadn’t talked for this long since getting the scars and it was really working your muscles in ways you probably shouldn’t be yet. But you couldn’t risk Jason leaving before he heard everything you needed to tell him. “I fell in love with Jason Todd, the kindest, most loving, greatest man I had ever met. I swear, I didn’t know the other side of who you were until you confessed everything to me. Of course, I knew my dad had killed one of the Robins but how was I supposed to know that he came back to life, or who he was behind the mask? How was I supposed to know that the man I loved, was also the man who saved my life, by giving his?” You saw Jason’s head tilt to the side, uncertain of what you were talking about. You hesitated, unsure if you should share the next part or not. But you had come this far, and you wanted Jason to know everything. “l had wanted to escape from him for so long, but I never had a chance, there was never that perfect opportunity….. Until he killed you.”

Jason’s outline jerked in the darkness. You could see his hands clenched into tight fists, but you continued. “He knew he crossed a line and Batman would be coming for him in ways he hadn’t dared to before. So, my dad ran. He faked his own death by jumping out of a helicopter or something to avoid ‘the bat’ for a while. Normally when he was out of town, he tasked one of his goons to keep an eye on me, but things had escalated so quickly, he forgot. And I was able to slip away unnoticed with a few weeks head start before he discovered I was gone. By that time, I had a new name, a new look, a new life.

“And it was all because of you. That horrific, live-ending experience that has haunted you for so long, was the best thing that ever happened to me. It freed me from a man who had physically and psychologically tortured me for my entire life. It allowed me to feel safe for the first time I could remember. It let me see a future for myself that I never could have had before. And, eventually, it gave me you and your family. But I have never lost sight of what it cost you in return.

“I have lived with this guilt since the day it happened. I recognized that for me to gain my happiness, someone else had to lose their life. And I carried that with me every day. But then when you told me that you were that Robin, that you had come back…. It seemed like fate. And, I don’t know, I guess a small part of me thought, why fight fate? So, I never told you the truth. And I’m sorry, Jason, I’m so sorry.”

You looked at him expectantly. He had been absolutely silent for your entire story, face still hidden in the shadows. You needed him to say something, anything, just to get some idea where his head was at. But instead, he just noiselessly backed out of the room and shut the door. You stared dumbstruck at the place he had just been standing. No, this can’t be happening again! I can’t lose him again! It took almost a full minute for you to accept he wasn’t coming back. And it was only then that you fell apart.

The next morning, you reluctantly drug yourself out of bed. Before this past month, you had never realized how exhausting crying could be, especially the full body sobbing you had spent half of last night doing. You needed coffee and you needed it now. Maybe Tim’s awake and would meet me. What am I saying, of course Tim’s awake.

Shaking your head, you turned on the coffee pot and glanced out the living room window. You quickly did a double take as you noticed Jason stretched out asleep on the couch. He’s here. He’s still here. He didn’t leave again.

You wanted desperately to tackle him into a massive hug, squeezing him so tightly he couldn’t breathe, but you weren’t sure what he thought about this situation. Sure, he stayed but he also gave you no indication last night about his feelings or level of acceptance of you.

You pulled a second coffee mug from the cabinet and filled them both with the fresh brew. Then you added just a dash of creamer and a sprinkle of nutmeg to one cup and two sugar cubes to the other. Sneaking over as quietly as you could, you placed the cup with the creamer and nutmeg on the table next to Jason’s head. Then you slipped back down the hall and into your bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack.

A real smile was displayed on your face for the first time in a month. It might not be much, but it was a start.

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 years

Text

I'm So Sorry (Part 3)

Whumptober 2021: #9. Tears, #16. Scars, #21. Bleeding Through the Bandages, #31. Hurt & Comfort

Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Word Count: 5035

Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Dick softly pulled Tim away from you, “Hey, bud, remember what I said.”

Tim let go immediately and took a step back. “Oh yeah, sorry. I’m just so glad you’re okay! I’ve missed you this past week.”

“I missed you too, Timmy. Sorry I missed our coffee date.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll just order twice as much next time.”

You laughed, “I don’t know if they’ll sell us that much coffee at once.”

“Y/N.”

You jumped as Damian materialized next to you. “Jeez, Dami. A little warning next time.”

Dick and Tim were both staring at their youngest brother, mouths gaped. Finally, Dick said, “Wow, Damian. That was really nice.”

The small boy just shrugged. “I didn’t mean it to be nice. I just spoke the truth.” He turned and walked into the dining room where Alfred was getting the table set for dinner.

Dick took a deep breath. “Well, okay. So, are you guys ready to eat?”

“Ummm…. Actually… Bruce wants to see Y/N in his office before dinner….. Alone.” Tim looked nervously at you.

“Okay, but I didn’t even realize he had an office up here. I’m not…. I don’t have to go down there, do I?”

“It’s okay, Dick. We can go that way. I’ll be fine.”

Dick still hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m living in an entire empty apartment. I think I can walk past an empty room.”

“Has he stopped by since…”

Bruce glanced up from whatever he was working on at his desk. “Yes, thank you, Dick. You can join Tim and Damian. We’ll be down shortly.”

You blinked a few times in quick succession. “What?”

“I can’t make any promises they’ll be able to do any better than the doctors here, but whatever options are out there, they will be taken care of if you so choose.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused…. You want to help me with…. But I thought…?”

Bruce smiled sadly. “You thought I wanted to talk to you about your father. I probably should have made that a little clearer. To be frank, I don’t care who your father is.”

You blinked again. “Really?”

For about the hundredth time that week, you felt a flood of tears flow down your face. Smiling broadly behind your turtleneck, you whispered, “I would be honored.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was so emotionless and flat that it pierced your heart. Did he really feel nothing towards you anymore?

A real smile was displayed on your face for the first time in a month. It might not be much, but it was a start.

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

Thank you everyone for reading, liking, and commenting! I appreciate all of you!

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hobidreams · 3 years

Text

june 1869.

you’ve never been able to hide from him.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff? words: 2.3k contains: choices, consequences.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 21. start from the beginning?

The moment you reach your private chambers, you collapse against the door. Your heart softly shudders with strain as you finally let the first tears fall, trickling steadily down your cheeks. The bundles you carried in fall to the floor as you cover your face with your cold hands, trying to stifle the quiet sobs that seem so determined to come.

You had gone into town after your work today. Walked down, escorted by a guard that you pretended wasn’t there. (The king now insisted upon such a thing whenever you left the palace walls, but you could tell the guard thought the job much beneath him.) You had just finished picking up a few ingredients from the market traders and was on your way to see if the bookstore had received new products when your attention had been caught by the sizeable crowd gathered outside the town clinic.

“Please, please, give me medicine for my daughter!” The peasant woman clutched a child that couldn’t have been more than two years old. The babe’s crying was as raucous as the yelling, the noisy mix of voices all clamoring with want.

“I need to see someone! My side— It hurts every day. I can’t work anymore. My family’s going to starve. I need treatment!”

The physician’s assistant stood on the clinic steps with folded arms and a bitter, hard look on his face. “Are we running a charity? We need to eat too! If you can’t pay, you can’t see the doctor!” He slammed the door in their faces, leaving them out in the sweltering heat, crying out that they could pay next week or as soon as they could, they just needed help right now, but the door remained shut.

Your chest felt stiflingly tight at the sight, compassion’s hand squeezing hard around your heart because you knew you could help. You had to help. You took a step forward, ready to offer your services only to have the guard block your way.

“Su-uinyeo-nim. We must return to the palace.”

“No, I want to stay.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. They could harm you.” And if they did, then his own head would likely be on the chopping block. Ridiculous.

“They won’t. They just need treatment, and I’m a physician.” You didn’t have many of your tools here but you could at least take a look, provide a diagnosis or recommend some easily obtainable herbs.

“The king would not approve of putting yourself in danger.”

You opened your mouth only to shut it. The king wouldn’t approve of a lot of things, but how could you just stand here and do nothing? These people, they needed your skills.

You took another step forward.

“Su-uinyeo-nim.” The guard’s voice was firm. He indicated for you to start walking away, towards home.

You shot him a stare, the hardest look you could conjure, but didn’t move. Not yet, damn it.

“Oh—uinyeo-nim!”

You dallied long enough. One of the women had evidently recognized your outfit and was now barreling towards you with a fire in her eyes. “Uinyeo-nim, you can help me, right!? It’s my daughter, she’s been having a fever and—”

“No, she cannot.” The guard’s glare was as sharp as the blade that the hand on his sword promised.

“Oh, please!” She threw herself against the arm the guard tried to reign her in with. Threw herself forward trying to reach you. “My daughter, my daughter will die if she’s not treated!”

“Let me—” You started, only for the guard to shove her harshly back since he could not do the same to you. She cried out, almost toppling over from the force as she clutched her baby, but he did not relent.

“We are leaving.”

He began to boldly walk towards you, practically into you, leaving you no choice in the matter. You were too afraid he might hurt her further if you did not comply even though every step away felt like a blow to your chest, like tiny fists pounding against your ribcage, making you sore and ache because the stark truth was that your inability to help her wasn’t even entirely the guard’s fault.

All those years ago, you chose to stay.

You never opened the affordable clinic mother had dreamed of. You put your feelings before the wellbeing of all those people you could have helped then, and you did it again today. Selfish. Selfish and helpless and selfish. For all the work you’ve done, it never feels like enough. There are always more patients in need and here you are, living among this extravagance and opulence but really getting nowhere. Not with the king. Not with how much change you can bring to the people.

Even your tears can only be shed here, in privacy and cowardice.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper through your blurry vision, but these are just words. They do nothing in the end and every choice feels like the wrong one and that there will only be dire consequences to follow them.

“Su-uinyeo-nim?”

At Eunuch Kim’s muted voice, you startle. Hurriedly, you wipe the backs of your hands against your eyes. “Y-Yes?”

“The king has requested your company tonight.”

“Oh.” Shit. You’re in no state to face him, not for what he has in mind, but you must go. “I-I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Just allow me to… change.” You push to your feet, onto shaky legs as you sniff.

“Of course.”

The brief walk over in the cool summer evening helps to pull some of the sorrow from your mind (or at least tucks it away to be revisited later when you find yourself as always, alone). Eunuch Kim is kind enough not to probe into the heaviness about you today; he simply chats about the latest novel he has picked up in town, a study of birds that he recommends heartily to you. The king is not so kind. The second you enter his chambers, tilt your head just enough for him to catch your eye, he frowns.

“You’ve been crying.”

It’s not a question.

“I, um, simply had some dust in my eyes, jeonha.”

Searching for a distraction, you begin to undo the tie of your blouse. You’ve never purposefully let him see you openly upset, or at least not since this ‘arrangement’ began.

“Dust. Really.”

You nod, unwilling to meet his stare.

The floorboard creaks as he steps towards you. Covers your hands with his own so he can strip you instead. You can’t tell if he believes you; he is so quiet while he pulls layer after layer from you, letting the fabric drop to the floor in bunches of crumpled white and light blue. The warmth of his fingers on your skin feels like comfort, even when it’s only a prelude to his desire.

Isn’t it stupid, that some excessive part of you wants him to openly refute your lies even as you tell them? To undress your mind as hungrily he does your body until you have no choice but to be bared and free, released from the burden of your own thoughts?

“Get on the bed.”

Maybe it’s better like this. You are the only woman he has ever known in this way; you can’t let yourself be so greedy, to again let that selfish part of you want and want and want so much that appetite consumes you, bones and all. You press your palms and knees to the hard bedding. Squeeze your eyes together. Force the tears to stay back while you wait for the burn to come.

His calloused hands land on your waist, but it’s to urge you to turn over instead.

“J-Jeonha?” you question, confused when you see him already on his knees, that piercing gaze provoking goosebumps from your skin. “Why…”

His hands find your ass, urging you towards the edge of the bed. He throws the top layer of his robes aside before he spreads your legs apart, letting them rest against the wood.

What… What is he doing? You find your answer as the sokgot strips fall to the floor beneath his touch and abruptly, before your poor heart has time to prepare itself, his breath blows warm across your clit.

“Ah, this—!” Wild-eyed, you try to squirm back, hot with embarrassment that his face is this close to your crotch. It floods you with worry after worry about your scent, the possible bumps marring your skin, the tufts of hair, but he doesn’t seem to care about any of it as he hooks his hands beneath your thighs. “You’re not—”

Soft lips and a slick tongue are pressed flush against you.

Your entire body seems to quiver at the first lick; a single taste of wetness followed by a second, a third, a relentless fourth that makes liquid pleasure crest, surging upwards, a high, rushing tide in mere seconds. You buck, hands finding no support upon the sheets and part of you wants to cover your face instead, to let die the moans that surface with each gasp but that means you would miss the sight. This unforgettable sight: inky eyes between your thighs, the quick, pink tip of his tongue swiping heat directly into your veins. It feels messy before he finds his rhythm, settles into a beat that only reaffirms how he is irrefutably dominant even while he is on his knees before you, for once not breaking you apart but making you feel so dizzyingly whole you could burst.

While his fingers have learned almost every inch of you, this remains a scenario you never even thought to entertain, never even thought he would want. His pleasing only you. His putting you at the forefront of even his own satisfaction. Stop. The grip on your thigh tightens; you never want him to let go. Stop giving me hope. He does anyway with a drawn out suck, his stare as hazy and heady as if he’s been drinking the most exquisite cheongju.

Your body is taut, sweat beading down your spine. “This is— I can’t—”

“You can,” he quips back, and whatever words you could have said are stolen by orgasm. Taken, and made unbecoming moans that blow past the last shreds of your resistance now resting between his teeth.

It overwhelms you, this newfound sensitivity from being consumed; it makes you want to shirk back but he doesn’t let you. Somehow one of your legs finds its way over his shoulder and he uses that momentum to keep you against his stunning mouth, giving you what you need but never what you want. Each lick nudges you further off the edge, finding an acute bliss past every limitation you thought you had and you think, feverishly you think — it’s like he’s giving you permission to fall apart.

Tears coalesce at the corner of your eyes but you don’t notice. You don’t even know they’re there until wetness trails down your cheeks and even then you’re distracted by another peak, this one a muted swell that makes your muscles tense around his thin frame; he supports your weight without a word of complaint as his strokes finally dwindle in time with your pulses until both drop off entirely.

As he lets your leg roll off his arm, his breaths come almost as unsteadily as yours. Slowly, he retracts his wide hands from your thighs. Rolling his tongue against the inside of his own cheek, you watch him paint your taste in his mouth and don’t know what to make of any of it.

It’s only when a few tears cling to your eyelashes and blur your vision that you realize what’s happening. How embarrassing. You told yourself you wouldn’t do this on the way here and look at you now. You’re about to reach up to wipe away the tears, the damning evidence of your weakness when the king wraps his hands tight around your wrists. Pushes you back. Presses his knees to the bed as he hovers above you, all silence and heat and him.

“Um, j-jeon—”

He leans down and cuts you off with a kiss.

You gasp into his mouth but he doesn’t pull away. He is just soft, persistent, firm, and soft as he moves naturally across territory that should have been unfamiliar, but instead it feels like he’s been mapping, planning this capture for as long as you have. An impossible dream, yes, but the warm breath ghosting across your skin, lingering, is real. You open for him. For your first kiss. Your first kiss with him.

The warm fingers at your wrist squeeze harder.

“You… You can cry.” His voice is a murmur, delicate and hesitant against your lips, as if imparting a secret. “If you want.”

So you do.

You finally let yourself cry while he kisses you again and again, adjusting his angle to push you further into the pillows, releasing a wrist to cup your wet cheek. He kisses you with his nose pressed to yours, a tiny, precious moan finding freedom from someone’s throat.

Yoongi, your mind recalls, clinging to the syllables that belong to a word you’ve never dared to say aloud as he kisses you, kisses you, kisses you until both your mouths are swollen and your chest feels a bit lighter, his a bit heavier in exchange.

And when he finally pulls away, he holds you. His arms accept all your gravity for just a few lingering minutes more, a few heartbeats more, until it’s time for you to go.

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #ksmutclub #yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #min yoongi #bts imagines #bts scenarios #historical au #moonlit throne #rain writes #one of my favorite chapters #how do you feel about the king now?

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weebswrites · 3 years

Note

Heyy! I recently came across your blog and a absolutely love your writing! 🥰

Would it be possible to request an angst hc with the Obey me brothers? So maybe the bros were having a bad day and they lash out at the MC. The MC leaves them alone and the brothers don’t hear from them for hours and think MC just doesn’t want to talk to them but in reality MC got attacked and is barely alive. And maybe MC summons the brother with what little strength they have left so the brother is met with an MC laying in front of them almost dead.

Ah I’m sorry I know this is a lot so feel free to ignore this if it’s too much! Have a good day :D

A/N: YES YES YES I LOVE THIS THANK YOU ANON

The Demon Bros Saving Your Life (this will have swear words and light descriptions of violence so if that makes you uncomfortable read at your own discretion pls I love u guys)

Lucifer

“MC, please just leave me alone” he spat, trying to stay calm but losing his patience quickly

“Lucifer, I’m not letting you shove me away. You can do that to your brothers, but not to me” you insist, remembering your conversation where he said to ignore him when he tried to push you away

“I’ll do what I want to you, human, don’t forget your place” he boomed, so loud your eyes reactively filled with tears

“Fine, do what you want” you mutter at him before storming out, slamming the door behind you

He knew he fucked up, but wasn’t in the headspace to chase after you, so he stayed in his office and worked. He’d apologize later

You ran out of the HoL, just wanting to be out of Lucifer’s reach for a bit. You decide to go to Purgatory Hall to visit Simeon, your best friend outside of the HoL, but take the scenic route there to clear your head a bit and calm down. Before you know it the sun is setting, and figure you should get to Simeon’s sooner rather than later.

“Hey, aren’t you Lucifer’s bitch” you hear from an alleyway, and suddenly you’re just as annoyed as before. But you know better than to engage with any demons that are egging you on like that, so you keep walking

Then you’re grabbed from behind and slammed against a brick wall, hitting your head roughly against the surface

“Fuck” you exhale, vision already blurring

“Think you can ignore me, human? You’re weak here, nothing” the demon drove a fist into your stomach, causing you to cough

“I’ll show you not to come back to the Devildom ever again, filthy human”

By the time he was done you were a bloody mess crumpled on the ground, in the fetal position to protect your vital organs as much as you could, but you felt yourself losing consciousness

The demon spat on you before leaving, laughing as he walked away. Your body was in so much pain, and you felt yourself losing your grip on reality

You could felt your lips moving as your vision turned to black, and your last coherent thought before blacking out was realizing you were summoning Lucifer

“I...summon the Avatar of Pride...” you inhaled as much as you could, but his name came out a whisper, “Lucifer”

You saw his legs appear before you lost consciousness, thankful you were actually able to summon him

“What the fuck” was his first comment, as he didn’t see you at his feet, but as soon as he did he felt his heart shatter

“MC! Fuck, MC. MC?” he shook you very lightly, and when you didn’t respond he went into overdrive. He picked you up gently in his arms after examining where you were most badly injured, as to not make anything worse

He was in demon form from the moment he saw you, wanting as much of his strength at his disposal as he could have. He flew you to the nearest hospital (idk if there’s a hospital in the devildom but there is now) and demanded you be placed in the best care possible, and also made it very clear that he wasn’t going to leave your side

He watched as doctors sewed your wounds closed and put an IV in your arm, unable to take his eyes off their every move. After a few hours, the doctor turned to Lucifer

“They should wake up within a few hours,” the doctor said before leaving

“Thank you. Please mail the bill to Lord Diavolo and I’ll take care of it” he said, figuring that was easier than having to fill out the HoL on paperwork

He was then alone with you, and he scooted his chair next to your bed and took your hand in his, holding it gently

“I’m so sorry, MC” he whispered and pressed his lips to the top of your hand as he tried not to cry

He sat there for what felt like hours, but just twenty minutes passed before he felt you move slightly

Your eyes fluttered open, and you took a moment to adjust to the lights

You felt warmth around your hand, and recognized it instantly, looking to your side and locking eyes with Lucifer

“Luci” you whisper, voice hoarse from not having used it for hours

“MC, I’m so sorry” his voice was soft and you could tell how distraught he was, “I never should have snapped at you, it was out of place and rude and I’m sorry” he rambled on like this for a minute, and you just appreciated his genuine care for you as you listened to him speak

“Lucifer” you cut him off, “Thank you for taking care of me. I forgive you”

Mammon

“Just get a job! Then your brothers won’t shit on you all the time” you suggested. Mammon had come to you venting about how some of his brothers had ganged up on him again and demanded that they pay him back. You were more understanding than you probably should have been with him, but wanted him to be proactive and get himself out of this on his own

“It isn’t that easy! Damnit MC, I thought you understood me!” he snapped, and you decided you should just let him cool down

“Look, Mammon. I’m always here for you with this, but you can’t keep complaining about this and not doing anything about it when there’s an easy solution. I have to go study with Satan for a test we have, so I’m going to go meet him. Text me when you’ve calmed down”

You meant it to be caring, but his mind was clouded, and he took it as you pitying him and running away - his greatest fear

“Fine!” he huffed, turning his back to you

You were saddened by this, but genuinely had to go, so you turned and left, thankful for the bit of time that you knew Mammon needed alone to clear his head

You were walking to the library, in the middle of a text to Satan when you accidentally bumped into another demon

“Shit, my bad” you apologize, but the demon had no intention of letting you get away with that

“A human, eh?” he grabbed your shirt collar and instantly drove a fist to your jaw

“What the fuck” you tried to say, but couldn’t really speak

The demon punched you a few more times, and you thought that they had the strength of Beel with how much it hurt

Your body was tossed to the ground and kicked before being abandoned, and you wished you didn’t take the back way to the library

“I summon the Avatar of Greed, Mammon” you whispered, hoping your words were enunciated enough for the summoning to work

“MC!” he noticed you instantly, crouching down and putting a hand on your arm, “MC what happened. Wait don’t talk, can you stand?”

You began to sit up, which he took as a yes, and he wrapped his arm around you to help you stand

He studied your injured face as you stood, and wished he had the power to heal you instantly

“Come on MC, the hospital is close”

“T-Text Satan I’m not coming” you handed him your phone, not wanting Satan to think that you ditched him

Mammon exhaled a laugh through his nose, “You’re always thinking of others, MC” he commented, “We really don’t deserve you”

You just shook your head, feeling like you didn’t deserve the joy the demons brought you

Mammon stayed by your side until you were completely healed, which took a few weeks. He even signed up for a job with Akuzon DC. It was the most selfless you’d ever seen him, and you thanked him for his kindness once you were healed with a gift card to his favorite store

Leviathan

“Just stop! I get it, you have other friends, I don’t care. Go have fun with them” he snapped. Levi hadn’t slept in about 48 hours and you could tell

“Levi, please sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours” you try to comfort him, but he isn’t hearing it

“Whatever, MC”

You’re hurt by his attitude, but know he’s just exhausted. You turn to leave and plan to head back to him a bit sooner to spend extra time with him (quality time love language lookin demon) (also the avatar of envy but that’s not as funny of a joke so)

You were planning to meet with some classmates to study, but you ran into a demon on your way that had been bullying you for being human for the whole semester

You hadn’t told any of the brothers because you didn’t want to make a big deal about it, but you were worried suddenly what the demon would do to you outside of the school grounds

“Hey, it’s the human” she snarled, stepping in front of you to stop your path

“Sorry, I’m busy” you tried to walk around her, but she had no intention of letting you go unscathed

“Not so fast” she stomped her foot over yours to stop you and shoved you back against a light pole nearby

You felt the cold metal slam against your spine and grunted in discomfort

“Can’t take a little pain? That’s too bad” she said, taking you by your shirt and throwing your body on the road

She kicked your body for what felt like minutes while spitting insults at you, before leaving your weakened body on the ground

You tried to get up once she was gone but screamed in pain, not able to move a muscle

“I summon the Avatar of Envy, Leviathan,” you said, tears starting to run down your face at his name

“Levi, Levi please, help me” you whispered as he appeared

“MC, I’m here” he kneeled down beside you and inspected your body, “I’m here, don’t worry”

“Levi” your hand tightened around his jacket, “Help”

He picked you up, maintaining your position in his arms, and took you to the hospital as fast as he could while keeping you comfortable

He stayed by your side as much as he was legally allowed to while the doctors cared for your torso and x-rayed your foot. After a day or so you were allowed home, and he insisted that he stayed by your side until you were completely healed

Satan

“MC, I’ve asked you eight times to leave me alone, I’m clearly trying to read, can’t you take the hint?” he sighed exasperatedly and waited for you to leave, not intending his words to be so harsh but he figured you’d be fine

You were not fine! What the fuck Satan.

“Fine, screw you then” you retorted and left, slamming the door behind you

He realized that you weren’t fine, but wanted to finish his book. Then he’d apologize. But when we went to your room later that night to talk, you didn’t answer.

“MC, come on, open up. I’m sorry for earlier, can we just talk?”

Beelzebub was walking by, “I haven’t seen them since this morning, they left the house crying” he said awfully casually, “I never saw them come back”

Satan felt the blood drain from his face and he ran out of the HoL, ignoring Beel’s “I’m sure they’re fine now!” from behind him

He barely made it out of the doors before he was summoned, and he was confused before he realized the only way he could be summoned was by you

As soon as he was there he saw you, thrown against a dumpster, barely able to hold yourself up

“Satan” you called, voice weak, and he was at your side in less than a second

He stood in front of you and you got on his back, wrapping your arms over his neck

“Tell me what happened. Who did this” his voice was firm and you could almost feel the anger radiating off him

You muttered a name under your breath before resting your head on his shoulder, trying everything you could to not pass out

“Satan, talk to me. I can’t stay awake”

That scared him, so he walked to the hospital a bit faster, but gently still as to not cause you any extra pain

He started telling you about his book since that was all he did that day, but it ended up turning into a long apology for pushing you away and raising his voice earlier. You would have cut him off but you didn’t have the strength to, so you just listened to his words, noticing the thought he had clearly put into them throughout the day

“Satan-” you started, and he instantly stopped to listen, “I forgive you”

He was silent, a sense of relief and appreciation for you washing over him and he thanked you for your understanding of his anger as you arrived at the hospital

Similar to Lucifer, he demanded you to be seen by the best doctor there was on staff, price be damned. He watched intensely as the doctor checked you out, eyeing them up and down to make sure they were good enough and treating you with the same care he would

Once you were released he had Diavolo send a car to drive the two of you back to the HoL, where Satan had had your room prepared with new pillows (the kind you mentioned liking from his room, as well as new ones of the ones you had), freshly washed sheets and duvet, and a cup of your favorite drink waiting for you (he definitely didn’t bribe his brothers to get your room ready, not that it took much bribing)

In addition, each of the brothers had pitched in to get you flowers and a stuffed animal that you’d mentioned wanting, a few weeks ago. The sight of it all made you tear up, and you wrapped Satan in the tightest hug he’d ever gotten

Asmodeus

“I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, MC, but I just need some time by myself,” he said, and you could tell he was losing his patience

“Are you sure?” you offer one last time before leaving, wanting to make sure he really wanted to be alone

“Yes! I am!” he snapped, and you felt bad for pushing

“Sorry, Asmo. Feel better” you leave and take care to close the door as quietly as you can on your way out

You were having a bit of a bad day yourself, so you decide to go walk around the devildom and let the fresh air clear your head

Which ended up being a bad idea, as you ran into one of the demons that always hit on you in one of your classes.

“Hey, MC, you finally aren’t with any of those idiot brothers” he approached you and tried to touch your arm, but you pushed it away

“Oh, they’re fiesty. I’ll have to teach you a lesson” he spat on the ground next to you and before you knew it he pushed you against a wall and was punching you senseless

It felt like he’d never stop, but eventually it did, and he left you to bleed on the road. You tried to stand up, not thinking your injuries would be that servere, but you couldn’t move. You sighed and closed your eyes, exhaustion suddenly washing over you

You knew you probably had a concussion and some broken ribs, and that you shouldn’t lose consciousness, so you did the only thing you could think to do. You summoned Asmo.

“I summon the Avatar of Lust, Asmodeus” you spoke, and there he was

“MC! Babes, what happened? Where are you hurt” he knelt in front of you and looked over your body

“Ribs...and my head...” you whined, leaning forward for him to take you in his arm

Asmodeus was stronger than you realized, and he picked you up easily and started walking you back to the HoL. “Let’s get you laying down and I’ll call a doctor” he said gently, “Then Satan and I will take care of the idiot who did this”

Until you were healed he was by your side, bringing you anything you even thought of wanting and getting the classwork you missed from your classes

Beelzebub

“Hey Beel, what’s up!” you walked into the kitchen and greeted your favorite demon cheerily

He grunted, usually a sign that he should be left alone, but you wanted some Beel time and figured you’d just be cautious and give him his space

“How was your day” you asked innocently

“Not now, MC. I’m not in the mood” his voice was firm, and you took the message

“Got it, I’ll leave” you said apologetically, and left the kitchen. You were a bit upset by him pushing you away, but knew he just needed space. You decided to walk to get takeout for dinner, and made your way to the restaurant on your own.

That was a mistake. You weren’t even halfway there when you figured later you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time

“Is that a human? Here?” you heard from across the road, and sighed, hoping to get off easy

“Hey, human!” the demons walked over to you and you stopped, deciding to at least acknowledge them so they’d think they could insult you and move along

“Wow, I’ve never met a human in real life before” one of them smirked, “I wonder just how weak they really are”

“I wouldn’t test it, just because I’m a human doesn’t mean I don’t know some demons who would make your lives miserable if you hurt me”

The other demon scoffed, “You’re lying. What demon would befriend a human”

You were getting irritated at the attitude being thrown at you, so you decided to fight back with a little sass of your own, “Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, and Lord Diavolo, to name a few” you smirked and crossed your arms

“Bullshit” one of the two demons got in your face, “there’s no way a demon like that would look twice at you”, and before you could begin to think of a comeback you felt a sharp pain in your side

You looked down to see a gash in your side, thankfully seeming to not have hit an organ, but it was still bleeding pretty badly. You didn’t know what to do, but didn’t really have the chance to do much because a few strong punches were delivered to your core immediately after

“Fuck” you mumbled as you crumpled to the ground, and heard the demons laughing as they walked away. You felt yourself bleeding pretty heavily, and knew you wouldn’t be able to make it back to the HoL

“I summon the Avatar of Gluttony. Beelzebub” you said, hoping you remembered how to use your pact correctly

He appeared before you and you let out a sigh of relief, then wincing in pain at your own action

“MC!” he instantly took off his grey hoodie and pressed it to your wound, “There’s an underground hospital close, is it safe for me to lift you or can you walk”

“I think I can walk, but can you keep an arm around me” you ask, and he obviously does

You get to the hospital and are instantly checked in and brought to a care room. Beel holds your hand and lets you squeeze it as tightly as you need as your wound is sewn up, and then the nurses give you pain medication for the next few weeks

You didn’t know the names of the demons who hurt you, but Lucifer found out easily with his many connections, and he and the rest of his siblings, along with Lord Diavolo, made sure that the two demons never so much as thought about you ever again

Belphegor

“Belphie, please let me in” you knocked on his door again, not knowing what had caused him to storm off in the first place

The door opened, but before you could say anything Belphie was talking

“MC, I’m fucking pissed right now, and the last person I want to be around is you” his voice was sharp, and you almost teared up at how genuine his words seemed

“Fine, okay, I’m sorry for trying to help” you responded before turning and running down the stairs from his room in the attic, wanting to give him space but also run away from him

You were going to try not to cry, but as soon as you stepped outside the HoL you couldn’t hold back anymore. Sniffling, you walked to the park nearby to sit at a bench and think. You pulled out your D.D.D. to text Beelzebub and ask him to check up on Belphie, but didn’t even unlock it before someone sat down next to you

You didn’t recognize who it was, and you wiped under your eyes as the demon began to speak

But they didn’t say anything near what you expected. Well, you didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t to be called a filthy human by a stranger

The demon proceeded to call you names, but you were too mentally exhausted to fight back, so you just sat and listened as they tried to get a reaction from you

“What, aren’t you listening to me? Stupid human” and the demon started punching you. Hard.

You tried to fight back at first, but compared to the strength of a demon you couldn’t really do much. Once you started losing consciousness the other demon left you to sit, laughing at your wounds

You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t want to bother Belphie if he was still in a bad mood, but you needed help. You pulled out your D.D.D. and saw a text from him, reading: ‘MC, I’m sorry. Please come back, give me a chance to explain’

As you couldn’t move, you realized your only option was to summon him, so that’s exactly what you did

“I summon the Avatar of Sloth, Belphegor” you suddenly got nervous, unsure why since you and Belphie were so close, but you knew he’d help you no matter what

“MC? MC holy shit” he sat next to you on the bench and you instantly leaned into him and started sobbing

“MC I’m so sorry, this never should have happen” he had an arm around you

You sniffled, “It isn’t your fault, I was just clearing my head” you reassured him, still hurt by his previous words but not at all blaming him for the other demon’s attack

He brought you back to the HoL and gave you ice packs for the bruises that were starting to surface, making sure you had everything you needed for the next many days until you were healed

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

A/N: This took me longer than I thought it would to write but I also kept taking breaks and had three classes today lol. But here it is !!! I love writing angst hehe so this was really fun

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #lucifer x mc #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me leviathan #leviathan x mc #obey me satan #satan x mc #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus x mc #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub x mc #obey me belphegor #belphegor x mc

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harrysweasleys · 3 years

Text

know-it-all // g.w

summary: Could you please write a fluffy fic about George and a Ravenclaw reader arguing about an answer on an exam or an assignment. And in the end it turns out George was right. And I would love it if you could include the exchange, "Don't say it!" "I told you so." "I said don't say it."

warnings: mentions of food

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i am back with my twin fics! woah! it’s been a while, sorry about that. life has been wild and i didn’t have much motivation but here we go! i hope you all enjoy!! x

[i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other platform!]

For what felt like the billionth time of that afternoon, you dropped your head onto the table and let your forehead smack against the solid wooden surface. You could feel different sets of eyes peering in your direction from other tables in the library, all silently questioning what was wrong with you.

The answer was simple: Potions.

Snape had set out a stupid assignment that, to be completely fair, was way out of your league. For every time you thought he was an awful professor, he sunk remarkably lower.

The topic of said assignment was one that you guys hadn’t even covered yet, and given by Snape’s tone of voice when a student had brought that very point up in class, he really couldn’t care less. It didn’t help that you were already ridiculously occupied with other end-of-year assignments — you didn’t want to get stuck teaching yourself a whole new branch of potion-making as well. You were barely sleeping nights and only showed up to dinner every second day, the library study hours becoming your very best friend.

It was just a lot.

It also didn’t help that you could see the golden rays of the sunlight pouring in through the dusty library window, signalling that it was once again the end of the day, and tomorrow, bright and early, you’d be handing in the assignment that you were nearly certain you’d botched.

Dinner was likely being prepared in the Great Hall right about now, the wonderful smell of roast potatoes and pumpkin juice running through your mind, but you honestly weren’t up to eating. You were feeling rather down in the dumps, forehead still pressed against the wooden table, and your mind reeling around the assignment.

“You look like you could use some assistance.”

You lifted your gaze, sure that there was now a bright red spot on your forehead, and glared over at George, who had just taken the seat across from you at the table. His grin was wide but his eyes were tired — you knew he was busy working on assignments of his own, as well his summer plans for opening the shop. Yet somehow he always found time to help you.

He tilted his head to the side when you gave him an exhausted stare, blinking rapidly before you processed his question.

“Do you remember doing this last year?” you asked, sliding over the assignment paper, giving a small cough to clear your dry throat. George, being in the year ahead of you, had quite the knack for Potions. He liked to say it was because it was just utterly fascinating and he was a purely, genuinely, naturally gifted student, but you knew he only did so well because he’s been brewing his own disastrous concoctions since he was a young boy. With practice comes skill, you always said.

And you prayed to Merlin that said skill would come in handy right about now.

His eyes scanned the paper and he gave a small shake of his head, “No, but I think you’ve got this wrong. You wrote Leech Juice here, but I’m pretty sure the answer is actually Acromantula Venom.”

You frowned, snatching the paper back from him — making him flinch and take a quick look at his fingers for any paper cuts — and stared down at your answer, “What? No. The obvious answer is Leech Juice. This was the only question I understood. I know the answer to this one, it’s the others that I can’t seem to figure out.”

He raised an eyebrow, “It’s Acromantula Venom, darling. That I know for sure.”

Though you were grateful for his presence and the fact that he was willing to help, you knew he was wrong about that one. Any first year could tell the answer was Leech Juice. But you didn’t feel like arguing with him any more than necessary with time running low, so you just gave your paper back and frowned.

“Can you help me with any of these? Professor Snape hasn’t said a single thing about any of these topics, and I’m sick of flipping through book after book, not even sure what I’m looking for,” you let out a sigh, “It feels like he’s purposefully setting us up for failure,” you muttered the last part under your breath, not wanting anyone other than George to hear your complaints.

His hand reached across the table and linked with yours, his soft fingers calming down the rapid, stressed-out beating of your heart, and gave you a small smile, “If he hasn’t taught you this, I’m sure that you’re not the only one having a hard time.”

You groaned, trying to pull your hand out of his, unfortunately failing as his grip was stronger than yours.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you said, voice low, “I don’t want to fail, even if everyone else does. That’ll always show up on my reports.”

He pursed his lips, giving you a small nod, “Alright, I get that. Why don’t you take a break? We’ll go eat, and then finish this up later, yeah? You can head over to the Common Room with me after dinner, I doubt anyone will say anything.”

A sigh left your lips as you began to place your parchment and books into a pile, George grabbing your ink bottle and quill — which had kindly left little indents in your hand due to aggressive use — and the two of you began to make your way to the Great Hall.

After leaving the library, you could feel a weight lifted off of your shoulders. As if the tense study environment that you had felt stuck in had now been leeched away from you. As if you could now think clearly. You gave George a small smile, thankful that he arrived when he did.

Merlin, why was sixth year so difficult? If it wasn’t for George’s calmness and sanity, you’d probably be a melted mess of failed papers and shining blue robes on the floor.

As you made your way into the Hall, heading towards the Ravenclaw table, George pressed a kiss to your forehead and muttered, “Acromantula Venom,” against your skin, shooting you a wink before he made off to his own house table.

You gave a small scowl, mouthing “Leech Juice” right back at him.

— —

“Oh, well, now would you look at that,” George grinned, looking down at the assignment you were shoving in his face. A bright smile donned your lips as you flashed the score, a bright red E.

Exceeds Expectations.

It wasn’t the O — Outstanding — that you were hoping for, but Merlin, did the E feel good. That meant you had done better than Snape was expecting — and better than a majority of the class, by the looks of it. They had all walked out with solemn faces and shoved their papers in their bags as quickly as possible. Even the Slytherin girl who sat behind you, the one who always bragged about perfect grades and how much Snape favoured her, had left without saying a word. That fact alone really boosted your pride.

“No thanks to your brilliant boyfriend,” George gave himself a pat on the back, giving you your now-crumpled paper.

“Oh, sod off,” you gave him a nudge in the shoulder as you sat down on the couch next to him, the Gryffindor common room rather silent for this early in the evening. Despite being a Ravenclaw, passing students didn’t mind your presence in their house. After three years of dating George and always being in the space, they barely even noticed the blue of your tie amongst the red ones anymore.

“Wait, what’s this?” George rapidly snatched the paper out of your hands — revenge for when you did it to him, most likely — and his eyes lingered on question number four, “Oh, well, would you look at that?”

You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest in preparation for his comment, “Don’t say it.”

His grin was so wide, you swore his cheeks would split, “You got Leech Juice wrong! And right here, scribbled in Snape’s hardly-legible writing, what does that say? It looks like A-Acro-,”

“Don’t,” you didn’t meet his eyes, a sour expression on your face as George rubbed it in.

“I told you so,” he leaned forwards, pressing a light kiss against your temple, arm slinging around you to bring you against his body. His warmth radiated through his sweater and it wasn’t helping the pettiness you were feeling in your chest.

“I said don’t say it,” you grumbled, snapping your head away from him and staring at the blank brick wall next to the fireplace. His laugh vibrated through your body, and it took everything in you not to turn around and laugh with him.

He placed one of his hands under your chin and turned your gaze to meet his, “Come on, I’m only playing. I’m proud of you, and I knew you’d do well. You were worried for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing!” you flailed your arms, letting them fall on your lap, “He sprung this out of the blue. Of course I was worried.”

“And you did brilliantly,” he pressed another kiss to your temple, sparks fluttering across your skin as his loving touch, “You always do, my brilliant little witch.”

You cracked.

A small smile made its way onto your lips as you leaned into his touch, loving the feeling of being close to him. And it felt even sweeter knowing that you hadn’t failed — that this was a victory hug.

“Love you,” he mumbled against your hand, bringing your knuckles up to his lips and pressing a kiss on each one. You leaned your head on his shoulder, bringing your lips to his neck to mumble the same words against his skin.

A victory.

taglist

@grierpilots @hxfflxpxffs @mikumana @msmimimerton @pit-and-the-pen @diary-of-an-onliner @thoseofgreatambition @theweasleysredhair @haphazardhufflepuff @awritingtree @thisismysketchbook @valwritesx @vogueweasley @hufflrpuffforfred @phuvioqhile @marvelettesassemble @shadowsinger11 @breadqueen95 @hahee154hq @inglourious-imagines @amourtentiaa @barneswidow @spacexcowgirl @lumos-barnes @gcdricreads @bolaurel @almostweepingbanana @ickle-ronniekins @iprobablyshipit91 @wand3ringr0s3 @susceptible-but-siriusexual @amhyeah @a-castle-of--glass @freddie1978 @lumosandnoxwriting @rosaliepostsstuff @darthwheezely @parseltongueswriting @pandaxnienke @esmeralda-a @freds-slut @slytherinlovesgryffindor

#george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley one shot #george weasley one shots

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omniscientwreck · 3 years

Note

I know I already sent u a prompt idea but it just hit me that once Essek goes into hiding, him and Caleb could end up easily having a conversation about their experiences, what they missed until they didn’t have it, or techniques, how similar/different their circumstances were, etc. There’s lots of potential (heh) for angst or comedy or both :)

Anyways, do what you will with this info ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

This is a really lovely prompt and I think I took it in a bit of a different direction than you were thinking, but I hope you still like it!

My partner got back last year from studying in another province for 3 years so for nearly half the time we've been together we've been apart so this is a little about that. Please enjoy!

----------

As Essek teleports in, he nearly crumples where he stands from sheer relief. The only thing keeping him from doing so is a fluffy black cat who’s immediately begun curling around his ankles. He lifts the offending creature and stares directly into mischievous green eyes, “Now sir, I understand you are excited to see me. I am glad to see you in good health Ernst but I must insist you allow me to walk unimpeded. Otherwise we’ll have an incident on our hands and you know how long that paperwork takes.” Ernst, who knows nothing of bureaucracy, blinks lazily back.

“It has to be done in triplicate Ernst! I think we’d both rather avoid that headache.” There’s a soft laugh from the doorway as he sets the cat on the ground and he scampers off to bother a sibling.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at dearest, that’s at least two hours of writing for something that isn’t difficult to avoid in the first place.”

“I know Schatz, I just missed you.” Caleb’s eyes crinkle and they quickly close the distance between them to fade into an embrace.

Pulling back, Essek can’t keep the smile from his face, “I missed you too. I missed this.” The house smells of bread and a light soup, Caleb smells of incense and firewood and he buries his face in his husband’s neck.

“You’ve been gone a long time, why don’t we eat? Tell me about your travels.”

Some time later, after he’s gone through the series of failed leads that had led to his eventual success in locating another beacon, untouched and unknown by the Dynasty, he lands on what’s really bothering him. “It’s much different than I expected, being in hiding that is.”

“Ja, I know that feeling well. The first few years, before I met Veth, it was very solitary.”

Essek nods, “It’s so strange, to be reading and to have a thought I can’t voice to you immediately. I had gotten so used to this, something I never thought I’d have, and now I find myself talking to empty rooms more often than not.”

Caleb nods, “Ja, sometimes when there was a knock at the door something in me would try to find a rational way for you to be on the other side of it. I remember that loneliness too, I would go weeks without using my voice in the warmer months, sleeping on the outskirts of cities and towns scrounging by on stolen food.”

An old bruise on Essek’s heart squeezes. They’ve told each other everything over the years, he doesn’t think there’s an aspect of his own long life that he hasn’t gone over with Caleb. In turn Caleb has gifted his story to Essek in chunks, as it had been bearable to talk about it. Every wound and scar, every silver lining and bright spot amidst so much darkness.

Caleb never deserved any of that. “I would almost prefer I didn’t have to use my voice. I cannot for the life of me keep names consistent with disguises. I had given out three variations on the same name in one city and had to leave when I saw two people I’d spoken with conversing.”

He earns a laugh with that, hearty and low in the chest. It’s his favourite sound, he’s missed that too. “Yes Mr. Lord Lord from around, we all know how you are with your personas. At least you have the benefit of disguise magic.”

He joins in the laughter then. Thinks back to a memory that is still accompanied by a dull ache, but that he can now look back on with a twinge of fondness. That version of him had been so lost, so sorely in need of guidance. He’d gotten what he needed, he is working towards better now, he’s taken care of his younger self and that feels good in a way.

“There are so many things I didn’t know to be thankful for. Even something as simple as walls and a roof to contain heat, or the padding of the cats’ feet.” He hears a cup rattle to the ground, “Hanz, if that’s broken it will come out of your paycheque.” he calls into the next room as a tortoiseshell cat bolts away from the scene of the crime.

Caleb just laughs again and Essek savours the melody. He’s missed the glow of the amber lights that float around the dinner table, the stacks of notes or stray books that litter every available counter surface, Caleb.

His wizard reaches across to take his hand, “I am glad you’re back Schatz. Now don’t think I haven’t noticed the limp you’re walking with. Let me take a look before we retire.”

He rolls his eyes, but the truth is he’s quite injured. “Fine.” he huffs and Caleb laughs at his put on annoyance. “It was dire wolves. They caught me off guard.” His eyebrows knot and he leaves to get warm water, soaps, and cloths.

“Schatz this is a deep bite, perhaps I should notify Jester?”

He shakes his head, “We went through all of Aeor without them, I will be fine.”

Hissing at the warm water poured over puncture wounds, Caleb starts talking again to distract him. “One of the things I used to miss was my name. I think this one suits me now, but that’s because people know Caleb. For a long time nobody knew me by a name and those who knew Bren were a danger to me. It’s strange to lose something as arbitrary and as important as a name.”

Essek nods, “My name was power in my corner for a very long time. Now it is just a bitter reminder in some ways. But I like how it sounds when you say it so I will keep it.”

Caleb smiles down at him, pressing a blessed kiss to his forehead and continues to wash and wrap his wound. “I missed you Caleb.”

“I missed you too Essek.”

“I will have to leave again one day.”

“I know Schatz, I will be here when you get back.”

“I will always come back.”

His wound is wrapped, their bed is warm. Before falling into his trance he curls back into Caleb’s chest and thinks that it will be a while before he can bear to leave again now that he has someone to miss.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Would lowkey kill to see Kauri attempting to write poetry in his relationship with Jake era (omg Jake helping him/being the one to write it down) I always forget that he was a writer and loves poetry and I love him 10 times more every time I remember

CW: Some references to past trauma, forced illiteracy, some brief internalized victim-blaming/slut-shaming, Kauri’s low self-esteem

Takes place after Worth the Risk and Kauri’s first glimpse of his own past

“This is fucking stupid. I can’t fucking do this.” Kauri picks up the notebook, hard-backed blue with little golden stars twinkling on the cover, and throws it full-strength across the room until it smacks into the wall and drops to the ground, open to his own scrawling, struggling handwriting.

Chris, wrapped in a big fuzzy blue blanket and curled up in an armchair playing a game on his phone or texting Laken or maybe both, flinches and looks up. “Kauri?”

Kauri looks away from the earnest concern in those huge green eyes and kicks ineffectually at the coffee table, hissing when he doesn’t actually miss and his toes connect with the hard wooden leg. “Fuck. Fucking-... bullshit, I’m an idiot trying to do this, just-... god damn it. I should know better.”

There’s a silence, and then Chris asks, softly, “Know better than, than... than to what? What were you, um, you doing?”

Kauri’s jaw is set and for a second he considers lying. He’s a good liar, after all, and Chris is always so ready to believe him, he wouldn’t even question it. Safer to lie, hide the ideas inside his head, talk instead about something soft and surface-level.

Safer to be stupid, always.

But he’s trying not to do that anymore.

He’s trying.

“Writing,” He says, finally. “I was... trying to-... write something.” The words are ground out of him nearly against his will. He glares at the notebook lying open on the floor, the scrawling handwriting of the fucked up slut still thinking he can be anything else. Looping and childish, too big almost to fit within the lines.

“Oh.” Chris pauses, and then brightens, setting his phone aside and straightening up. “You, you sad you think that you used to, to, to, to write, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Kauri’s head hurts, a sharp punishing ache. How dare he think in metaphor and simile, how dare he try to build the villanelle, how dare he remember vaguely arguing with someone in a coffeeshop over old poetic forms being superior to poems that don’t even try to fit within a rhythm, and he just-

This is so-

He’s so stupid, thinking he could just pick it up again like it hasn’t been a decade or close, like he’s still whatever stupid shit lived in his body before he-

signed up for this-

followed a fucking hot guy outside in the dark and got thrown into a van and made into Kauri.

“Well, my... my professor for, for, for, for Playwriting says... says writing is a muscle. You, you have to exercise. And you can’t do the, um, the, the, the-the heavy weights until you start with, with small ones.”

Kauri snorts, derisive, but it’s not because Chris is wrong - of course he’s not wrong. Part of Kauri knows it, too, that he used to write all the time, around the pounding inside his skull he knows that he used to scribble lines on napkins and paper towels and the margins of his study books, bringing together the poem itself only later, usually alone or with a boyfriend on the other side of the room. He used to be able to do this.

He used to do this all the time.

“I wish Owen had wanted someone who could write a fucking poem,” Kauri says, voice breaking on the tears that threaten. “Maybe then I’d still be able to.” He pushes himself to his feet and stomps over to scoop up the notebook almost violently. “Why are you taking Playwriting, anyway? I thought you wanted to do set design.”

“I, I do.” Chris shrugs, eyes on Kauri, watching him walk back towards the doorway that leads to a hall and then to the kitchen. “But I thought-... I, I, I figured-... maybe if I learn how to, to write a play, it would help... visualize. For, for, for set-building. You, um. You know?”

Kauri exhales, slowly, and then nods. “Yeah. I get it. That’s a good plan - I mean, not that I would know, I’m a college fucking dropout, right?” He laughs, bitterness in every word, in every sound.

“No,” Chris replies, simply. “You, you were... abducted. We were, um. We, we, we were stolen. Your words were, um, were stolen, too. That’s what Dr. Berger-”

“Fuck Dr. Berger,” Kauri snaps, and leaves the room before Chris can make any more sense and possibly break apart Kauri’s determined self-loathing while he still wants to soak in it.

Hating himself for what he can’t do - or what he’s been told he can’t do - is so much easier than trying to do it anyway.

Everything was easier than trying to get better.

So why is he still trying?

Notebook clenched in white-knuckled hands, Kauri climbs the stairs like a man moving to the gallows, one by one, his thoughts a swirling morass of self-hatred, and then he moves into the bedroom he shares with Jake here and stares at the rumpled covers on the bed.

He sleeps here every single night, wakes up to the same face pressed red on one side from the pillow, hears the same deep voice rumbling good morning, feels the same arm slide over his waist, the same scratchy stubble rubbing his jaw when he’s kissed.

I have generally found, in my work, the fucking therapist’s voice echoes inside him, that when you begin to do the work to rebuild, you will find yourself dedicated over time to reconstructing not just a room, Kauri, but the entire city that was once leveled. Does that make sense?

He’d told her it didn’t.

Kauri spent years dodging therapy whenever Nat didn’t talk him into it, and he hates going. He hates having to spill all the darkness inside him to someone who never stops being so goddamn calm.

But the first time she’d said, have you ever heard about the effect that solitary confinement has on the human mind? He had told her he didn’t know, but he’d started crying, too, and hadn’t been able to explain why.

Part of you knows, Dr. Berger had said gently. Part of you always knew.

He had never really wanted to know the person who had inhabited this skin, or try to be him again. But standing here looking at the evidence of the life he is slowly building - his clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor by the bed, his toothbrush in the little cup in the bathroom, a picture of he and Jake in a frame by the bed now, the very small silver ring he wears sometimes even though they’re not and they probably won’t but it kind of feels good to wear it sometimes...

He wonders if Liam Harker wanted a life like this one.

---

“It’s really dumb,” Kauri mutters, pulling the pillow over his face, burning red with embarrassment. “I didn’t even really mean for you to see it-”

“It’s not dumb,” Jake says, gently. Kauri feels the dip in the mattress as he sits down, feels the warmth of his hand resting on Kauri’s thigh through the blanket. “I’m sorry I read it. I didn’t know what I was looking at. If it was supposed to be a secret-”

“No. I didn’t. I forgot I left it out on the dresser. It’s not your fault. It’s so fucking stupid. I don’t know why I even-”

“Kauri.” Jake’s voice sharpens, a little. “Stop. Stop calling yourself stupid. You’re not, and you never were, and you don’t have to repeat what that asshole told you about yourself anymore, remember?”

Kauri swallows, hard, a lump in his throat he can’t quite breathe around. “When does it stop being his voice,” He asks, muffled, “and start being my own?”

“When you let it,” Jake says, rubbing his leg soothingly. “Just like my dad’s voice. You’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met in my life. I’m sorry I read it, but that’s because it wasn’t mine to read, not because it was dumb, or bad. It wasn’t.”

Kauri hesitates, then pulls the pillow to the side, looking at the sincere affection in Jake’s face, his slight smile. “Yeah? You’re not just-”

“Saying that? No, I’m not. I mean, I’m not, like, a poetry person-”

“It’s not even a real villanelle, anyway.”

“I have no idea what that means. I just... I thought it was pretty good, actually. When I realized-... I put it down when I realized you were writing about-... you know. Yourself.”

“Liam,” Kauri says, hoarse, barely able to pronounce the name. “I wrote-”

“Yeah.” Jake takes his hand, pulls it to his lips, presses a kiss to Kauri’s knuckles. “I know. It’s really good, Kaur. You should keep writing. I promise I won’t look at any stray papers I find anymore, yeah?”

Kauri takes a breath. He feels almost dizzy, in a way that is both terrible and wonderful. The way you open yourself to the people you love is a horrible, amazing risk. The way you spill the darkest parts of yourself, not things you’ve done wrong but the things you are afraid of allowing back into the light, in case it washes them all away again.

But the light he lives in now isn’t cold, and it isn’t taking him away from himself. The light he lives in now is sunlight.

“What?” Jake’s eyebrows raise slightly. “What’s that face for?”

“Jake. What if-... what if I ask you to? Read them?”

Jake’s lips press together, and he nods, smiling slightly, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Kauri’s hand. He’s always warm, Jake, even on the coldest days. He’s always warm. “I’d be-... be fucking honored, or something that sounds less bullshit than that, but I mean it. I’d be... I love you, Kauri. Seeing inside your head is what I want to do for-... for forever.”

“Maybe I’ll ask then,” Kauri says, and pulls Jake’s hand and then Jake himself, the taller, larger man settling on top of him, holding himself up on his elbows, careful not to rest all his weight. “I love you, too, you know.”

“Yeah.” Jake kisses the tip of his nose. “It’s pretty fucking great.”

Kauri’s eyes glimmer, but he closes them so Jake can’t see, and kisses his forehead. “It’s nice to think that I’m lucky and mean it.”

“I think you should read your poem to Dr. Berger,” Jake says, and when Kauri groans, he pulls back. “I mean it. She should know.”

Kauri wants to argue, but he looks into Jake’s eyes, and sighs, and says he’ll think about it.

---

AN APOLOGY

I am built from the hollow air left after your heart stopped beating

Your hands still gripped tight to the life they were ending

I know you thought of home but I don’t know where your home is

The sound of my voice is a green valley that only sends back screaming

Covered in smoke and dust that I told myself smelled like cologne

Pathways that remember your laughter silent in the years that followed

Have I done enough to build a life you would have enjoyed living?

I am built from the hollow air left over when your heart stopped beating

The heat of their hands as inevitable as a river tore down every foundation

Their cruelty buried you so deeply that only I remain

I don’t deserve the love that should have been yours to receive

The sound of my voice is a valley echoing back your screaming

I owe you an apology for walking around inside you

Crumbling ruins with my touch and calling it preservation

I’m sorry for every blade of grass growing through our bones

Am I nothing but hollow air from when your heart stopped beating?

Wildflowers grow inside me from soil windswept over ash

Is that life worth everything not quite dead so deep below?

Is Kauri Grant good enough to make up for Liam Harker’s loss?

In the valley of my body, does anyone but me still hear you screaming?

I owe you an apology and have to hope the life I live provides it

I wish I could ask for forgiveness from the shape of you

We’re both ghosts, in the end, mosaic pieces shattered in shadows

I’m sorry that I’m all that’s left.

I built myself from hollow air in the shape of a heart still beating

The sound of my voice will always carry the echo of yours screaming

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @orchidscript @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @moose-teeth @whumptywhumpdump @wildfaewhump

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tiny-banana-time · 2 years

Note

Imma give you SEVERAL cuz I can’t choose 😩

For JayKay:

33. Kissing it better

41. Kisses to shut them up

AND/OR

45. Sleepy kisses

YOU WILL GET SEVERAL! But only one for now because I need to go to bed 🙃

33. Kissing it better:

"And then I fold this corner… wait, what? How the fuck do they get that to… what? What kind of sorcery? How do I even know where that's supposed to be? …So if I fold these- ah, shit!"

He brings the cut finger up to his mouth, but isn't quick enough to stop the injury from staining his work first.

"Now I see why we stopped using you," he mutters around the wound.

Kaidan walks into the office a moment later, book in hand, and pauses to take in the sight awaiting him: Shepard hunched over his desk facing the opposite wall with little wadded up balls of paper littering every flat surface around him.

"Hey. You good, babe?"

When Jay turns around in his chair, finger in his mouth and face drawn down in a serious pout, Kaidan has to clamp a free hand over his mouth to cut off the laugh. It draws Jay's brows down even further, but gets him to relinquish his finger, examining it before he speaks.

"Kaidan, your laughter hurts. Not as much as my finger, but it hurts."

"How'd you hurt your finger? Anything serious?" It's Kaidan's turn to draw down his brows, a hint of concern coloring his face before Jay responds. He thrusts his arm out, injured finger extended and wound bared to his husband.

"The paper attacked me. It drew blood, Kaidan."

Is he…?

"Are you… saying you got a paper cut?"

"... Yes."

Kaidan draws his mouth taut to avoid smiling.

"Why uh-- what are you doing with paper?"

"Origami," Jay responds, as if it were the obvious answer.

"Origami. Of course." Jay frowns a little harder. "Well, here."

Kaidan crosses the room to Jay's desk, setting down his book amongst the crumpled remains of previous attempts and taking Jay's hand in his own. He examines the extended finger and the single little red line crossing the pad, no longer bleeding but still looking angry on his skin. Leaning down to meet it, Kaidan kisses the tip of the finger-- careful to avoid brushing the cut itself-- and looks to Jay.

"Better?"

The pout is far more difficult to maintain after the kiss, but Jay tries nonetheless.

"Hmm… maybe a little. Try once more? To be sure?"

The smirk he gets in return is playful affection as Kaidan places another kiss above the wound.

"Mmm… much better. Thanks, Kay." And oh, how that smile could light any room it tried.

"Of course. I'll uh, leave you to your work. Put some medi-gel on that first, though, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Jay smirks at the eye roll he receives in return, and heads to the bathroom for that medi-gel while Kaidan curls up on the living room couch. He doesn't even have time to put the container away before he hears the turning of a page, and the telltale "ah, fuck-" of Kaidan falling victim to his own papery wound.

He'll try not to rub it in.

#I think Jay takes up origami to help his hands heal after the war #he likes the hands-on crafts #not pictured- Jay complaining that it hurts worse than a lot of injuries hes enountered #because fuck papercuts #my writing #JayKay #mshenko #mass effect #kaidan alenko #Jay

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joyfulhopelox · 3 years

Text

Rosy Carnation

Pairing: painter!Min Yoongi x skater!reader (non-idol! au)

Genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst

Warnings: some talk about social anxiety, Yoongi is a bit harsh in the beginning but rest is just pure fluff

Word count: 6k

rating: pg

Summary: There was nothing in this world that Yoongi hated more than busybodies. Unfortunately for him one particular ditzy skater decides to break the peace by crashing into his life and offering him a rosy carnation

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner (thank you @mochi-molala for giving me the artistic approval for this think you didn’t realise how much it helped)

This is part 3 of my Love Blossom series and quite unedited, i tried but some mistakes may have escaped my notice

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

There was nothing more peaceful than being able to sit by the river in the early hours of the morning. Every day without fail, Yoongi would take advantage of the sleeping city and set camp by the riverside situated just on the outskirts.

The place was far from being secluded, its location sign-posted by the popular park that housed it. But he knew that during those hours no one bothered to visit, everyone was busy with their office jobs. It wasn’t that he was unemployed, it just so happened that his job allowed him to work from wherever and at whatever time. In fact, the more scenic the location the better for him. As a painter he had the freedom to choose his office, and his most prefered location happened to be by the riverside. The stillness of the morning, the sun just about to peek out from under the city skyline and the sound of the birds conversing amongst each other relaxed him. And if there was one thing that permitted Yoongi to paint without restrictions, was the tranquility of everything around him.

His normal spot, under a beech tree, was rarely used, the pathway that passed by it not being used by the general population. Sometimes he would spot the occasional cyclist passing by on their way to work, sometimes he would hear the scraping of the skateboards doing tricks in the skate park located behind the wall of trees that surrounded him. But no one ever bothered him, or was bothered by him. And it suited him and his needs just fine.

Yoongi disliked it when his flow was interrupted. Luckily for him, it rarely happened. No one threw him more than a glance as no one found the scene to be out of place. Sometimes he would be pulled out of his thoughts by the yap of a dog that got too excited at the prospect of a new human. Other times he would be questioned by the curious child that has never seen a painter at work. Those did not inconvenience him, the innocence and sincerity of the interference was enough to not disturb him.

However, what he miscalculated that day was the early start of the fishing season. One bad trait of being a painter working under your own schedule was losing track of time. And so when that one morning he trudged along with his canvas and his tools to his sacred spot only to find it occupied by fishermen he almost had a panic attack. He forgot all about that, and so unprepared, he did not know what to do or where to relocate. Pausing for a couple of minutes, his eyes scrutinising the men sitting on the riverbank in complete stillness, he contemplated on setting up his stool next to them. But when one of them yelled in glee at having caught a fish, he decided he’d rather not. Fishermen needed to be still because of the nature of their activity, that did not mean they were quiet people overall.

Disappointed and a bit frazzled, Yoongi picked up his canvas from where he set it next to his foot and left the area to scout for a substitute.

After what felt like a good few minutes of walking in circles, he found himself passing by a small public garden right in the middle of the greenery encompassing the riverside. He inspected it quietly, his eyes taking in the flower arrangements and the neatly cut grass. Has that always been there? Probably, it is not like he ventured out of his safe spot. But now, when forced to he realised that maybe there were other places where he could sit and paint in peace. Determinately, he walked into the small gated garden familiarising himself with the layout. There were some benches strewn across the space, all of them framed by vibrant rose bushes, some young oak trees judging by their height but what caught his eye most importantly was the small gazebo tucked away at the back of the garden gated by rows of variously coloured carnations. He decided that it would be the perfect spot, it would have to do for now. Not like he had any other choice. The morning was almost gone, the heat of the midday sun bleeding its way into the breeze. Soon the park will get busier and busier.

Dumping his belongings on the ground he sets off to unpack everything so he could get started. He felt strangely excited about this new spot he had found. Somehow, the novelty of the environment has given him the inspiration that he needed for today’s session. He normally shied away from new experiences, new people and most importantly unexpected circumstances, but this circumstance was more than welcome.

As he sat on his stool, paint brush in hand, the blank canvas staring at him, daring him to fill it with his vision he bit his lip. Suddenly so many ideas zoomed through his mind that he had a hard time deciphering which one sounded the best.

However, none of them made it on the actual canvas.

A skateboard zoomed straight past his feet,out of control, knocking into his carefully placed tools; acrylics and brushes scattered all over the ground in various corners of the gazebo. An exasperated yell and some harsh pants followed said abomination. Yoongi, who was too stunned to even form a sentence or comprehend what was happening around him, stared as you ran towards him at full speed.

“I’m so sorry, sorry sorry sorry” you repeated zooming towards him at breakneck speed. Still in shock Yoongi still couldn’t process what was happening around him. You were going to barrel straight into him but all he could do was blink, his brain still trying to catch up with the situation. One moment you were running towards the skateboard and the next moment found you laying sprawled at his feet.

“Ouch” Yoongi blinked once, twice, three times, and reality finally caught up with him.

He stared at the mess around him. His canvas was lying on the ground a few good feet away from him, its white clean surface now completely smudged with dirt and his acrylics and brushes were all scattered at his feet. The sight of his paints not only disorganised in such a fashion but also crushed and spilled all over the ground caused his stomach to drop. They were not the cheapest and they were also the only ones he had left. It was clear there was nothing to salvage, he had to go once more to the art store and buy more.

“Ohmygod i am so sorry!” The frantic voice was loud enough to make Yoongi wince.

You were not having a good day, and it showed. You started the morning by burning your toast. Then you forgot to grab your keys, which resulted in you having to beg your landlord for the spare in the early hours of the morning. To say they were not pleased was an understatement. You spilled coffee on your white top on your way to the park. And to top it all off you ended up hurtling towards an extremely handsome man.

You decided in the morning that you would try to learn that late kickflip your friends have been trying to teach you, but as a new skater you decided to practice in the garden just off the side of the skate park. One foot placement went wrong and your skate ran from under your feet flying towards the unsuspecting victim.

Luckily it did not hit him, however it scattered all of his belongings all over the dirty ground. It felt as if you were watching all of that happen in slow motion, when in reality it probably only took you a second to react. Trying to help and get a hold of your skate, you rushed to catch it in time before it disappeared into the row of carnations. But you miscalculated entirely the distance between you and the stranger, his foot halting your run.

And that is how you ended up there, on the floor, at his feet, covered in his paints.

You sprung up as fast as you could ignoring the tingling in your leg and started apologising profusely. However, the harshness at which you crashed on the floor combined with the speed at which you got up were a fatal combination. The blood rushed to your feet quicker than you could process and your knees gave out from under you. In an attempt to not crash onto the floor again you grabbed onto the closest stable object you could. Only, it happened to not be an object but a person. So with a clammy hand you latched onto the man in front of you.

Yoongi did not know what to do. You had grabbed onto him with such conviction that his brain malfunctioned. He hated to be touched, especially by strangers. And so when the fight or flight instinct kicked in he shrugged you off violently causing you to crumple on the floor once again.

“Ouch.” Your butt hurt and you wanted to be annoyed at him, but when you looked up to let your feelings known and your eyes locked onto his panicked ones, you paused. He looked ready to run off on you. “I- uh, am sorry” You tried once more to get up, this time as slowly as you could. You knew there would be a bruise later but it was not something you were unfamiliar with.

Yoongi did not respond to you. He couldn’t, his brain was still ready to shut down. He normally ran away from any human interaction, the nature of his job enough to facilitate such behaviour. Being faced with it and in such an unexpected way caused his anxiety to be at an all time high. And so he did what he normally does best; he retreated within himself completely ignoring your apology.

Silently he stepped away from you and crouched down to start picking up his belongings. With an anguished sigh he took in the mess that his acrylics had become. It was going to cost him a lot to be able to replace them but what other choice did he have?

Taking his silence as a sign of anger, you panicked. If there was one thing you could not stand was to see someone angry. Especially when it was directed at you. In an attempt to amend yourself to him you crouched down next to him and started picking up his stuff. “I am really sorry. I didn't mean to. It was just a new trick that i wanted to learn, and i am a newbie at all this and so i was scared to go to the skate park and try them. And I am a clutz and I knew this was going to happen at some point! The day has already started on such a bad note-”

You knew you were rambling, you were nervous. But Yoongi did not care about that. He just wanted you gone. He wanted his peace back, he wanted to get his work done and retreat back to his home and most importantly, he wanted you to get your hands off of his possessions.

Without looking at you, he harshly grabbed for the brushes that you had gathered in your hand. “Leave” he surprised himself at how resolute he managed to sound despite the slight waver in his voice.

“Are you angry? Oh my god you are! I am so sorry again, let me make it up to you! I really did not mean to destroy your work!” you get up once more rushing towards the canvas that lay a few feet away from the two of you. Picking it up you stare at the blank piece of material.

“Oh, are you an artist?” you turn to him, your eyes sparkling with excitement. Completely forgetting the incident from earlier you giddily walk over, the canvas extended towards him.

Yoongi could not believe his eyes, your brash behaviour in front of a complete stranger that has made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you was baffling to him. He contemplated for a second the thought of you being deaf, but then no because you had clearly heard him the first time. His anxiety quickly morphed into annoyance, if you weren’t going to leave he decided he would.

Taking a hold of the canvas you were handing over to him he pulled it out of your hands and stuffed it under his arm. Crouching down again he hurriedly stuffs his brushes and acrylics in his bag. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could before you had the chance to touch any of his belongings again.

“Hey, i-uh. Please don’t be angry. I really am sorry. Look you don’t have to leave, i will go” Yoongi paused, his hand hovering above his palette. Chancing a glance at you, his eyes widened a fraction. You looked completely frazzled. Not even looking at him, your eyes focused on your fretting hands. He could just about see a snippet of your face and the way your bottom lip was trembling slightly made his anger melt a little. Maybe he has been a bit too harsh on you.

“Yes” he offers offhandedly whilst placing his canvas back to where it was before.

At his change in tone your head snaps up and you gape at him. “What?” you breathe out in surprise. His soft but deep voice took you by surprise. It was extremely smooth and you had not expected it to come out of his mouth.

He did not offer you anything else, leaving you gawking at him, watching as he set up his canvas onto the easel. You were silent for a couple of minutes trying to understand what he had meant when it finally hit you.

“Ah! You are an artist! That is amazing, what type of paintings do you do? Is it nature?” you clapped your hands excitedly. “Of course it is nature Y/N, he is in the middle of the gazebo how dumb can you be” you muttered to yourself whilst shaking your head.

Yoongi glanced at you from his periphery. He wasn’t feeling as threatened by your presence as he had before, but that did not mean he was comfortable with you being there. He observed you for a couple of seconds watching as you muttered to yourself for the time being. He took it as a chance to set his palette down and tried to squeeze whatever was left of his acrylics onto it.

You realised a bit too late that you had started daydreaming whilst muttering to yourself and so with rosy cheeks you mutter another apology.

“You apologise too much.” Yoongi did not know where his courage had come from but he couldn’t stop the words spilling from his mouth. “I asked you to leave.” His harsh words caused you to flinch, but your eagerness to see him paint rooted you on the spot.

“Is-uh,” you took a deep breath in trying to calm your beating heart, “is it ok if i stay here and watch you?” You cringed at how voyeuristic that sounded. But you had to admit to yourself, the honey haired guy, with soft plump cheeks and pouty lips has caught your interest and you were not ready to part with him just yet.

Yoongi didn’t respond, he’s made it clear he wanted you gone, but he finally understood that the clumsy human that managed to wreck his set up was a stubborn one. He chose instead to ignore your presence and settle on his painting, giving you unspoken permission to do as you pleased.

Catching onto the meaning of his silence you beamed and sat yourself down.

Trying your hardest to be silent you bit your lip. You knew he wouldn’t appreciate you disturbing him any longer. Soon enough, you slipped into a daydream your eyes focused on the flowers behind the hunched form of the intriguing artist.

Yoongi sighed in satisfaction, his painting was finally finished. He had opted to use greens this time, the nature around him inspiring the concept behind this. However, he could not help but add the dots of red here and there, its fiery tumultuous colour breaking the tranquility of the greens. Just like you had thundered into his life just earlier.

“Woah” broken out of the daydream by the sound of his sigh, your eyes focused on the painting before you. You knew you were easily impressed but this painting was stunning. “That is so cool” you whispered in awe.

Yoongi blushed, he had been complimented a lot on his work, but there was something about the sincerity shining through your statement that frazzled him. He nodded in acknowledgment. He had enough knowledge to be aware that he needed to thank you for the compliment.

“Oh!” you sprung up suddenly the transition making him jump. “I am late!” You quickly picked up your skateboard. “Ah,” stopping mid run you turn back. Rushing to the bushes of carnations you pick one up. With confident stride you head back.

Yoongi watched you, once again his mind completely discombobulated by your abruptness. When you halt in front of him and push the flower into his hands he doesn’t know how to react. Instead he just sits there waiting for your next move, his mind once again preparing him to flee.

“It was nice meeting you….uh?” You realised you did not ask for his name, so as you urge the flower into his grasp you wait patiently for him to offer it to you. When after a minute of silence he doesn’t you try again. “What is your name?”

“So can you like...teach me how to paint?” you eyes brightened at the thought.

“What?” Yoongi sputtered. A week has passed since the first time you decided to literally crash into his life. A week of your mindless chatter. Even so, he had tried his best to ignore you and your childish view of the world. He was ignoring you, but it was not like he couldn’t hear you.

He was not expecting that request, and yet, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. Your randomness and innocence has been taking his breath away from the moment he saw you. You were all over the place, clumsy and random. He did not want to sit and ponder at that thought, feeling the shiver of anxiety creep back in. Schooling his expression to a neutral one he shook his head and went back to his canvas.

“No” the harsh tone of his voice made you flinch.

Not noticing the effect his words had on you he carried on, “You’d do a very poor job of it, and it hurts to think you’d waste all this material for some doodles.” Not giving you a chance to respond he sighed and put his brush down. “Finally finished.” He sat and observed his work for a couple of moments. He was satisfied, it was not his best work but he liked the outcome. The blue colour scheme gave him a sense of peace.

Realising the silence had gone on too long he turned around to face you. You were unnaturally quiet, your face scrunched up as if in deep thought. He would have thought you’d gone into one of your daydreams if not for the shiny gloss in your eyes. He could not understand why his heart did that flip, or why his mouth formed into a frown mirroring your own. Had he said something wrong? Mulling over his words he decided that maybe his tone was too harsh but you spoke up before he could try to remedy it.

“Ah, i see, you are right” you sniffed trying to mask the tears in your voice. “I am quite clumsy, there is no way i can make something as beautiful as this.” You gesture to his work, the canvas a swirl of blues, it reminded you of the ocean. You did not know why his words stung, it’s not like he didn’t have a point. You were probably incapable of creating something like that. Stick figures were all you could draw, and even those tended to be lopsided.

Yoongi’s heart clenched. “Uhh-” he did not know what to say, it wasn’t as if he could take it back. He did not want to take it back, he wasn’t a liar. But maybe he could have turned you down a bit softer than he has. He may have been awkward in social situations and missed a lot of cues, but the tears gathered in your eyes were hard to miss. Even he could sense the sadness that overpowered the atmosphere.

“It’s ok, i need to, uh go. I’ll see you next time. Here” you quickly drop something next to his brushes and without a second thought you turn away from him and leave as quickly as you’d arrived.

With your back turned towards him, your feet taking you further and further away you could finally release the sob that has been threatening to surface.His words hurt. But you were well aware it was not the words that caused the tear in your heart. It was the unfeeling and harsh way he threw them at you. You contemplated whether or not you should chance a glance behind you, but decided against it. You did not think you could stand the sight of him stepping on the last bit of dignity you had. A rosy carnation.

Yoongi knew he usually missed a lot of social cues. For example when the curator asked him out for a coffee and he told them he stopped drinking caffeine because it caused insomnia. Or when the gallery director had wanted to shake his hand in greeting and he simply just stared at it. It wasn’t as if he was unfamiliar with them, it was just that it took him a lot longer to process these cues than the average human being.

When you’d left him the carnation he simply threw a glance at it but did not give it a second thought as he carried on painting. He almost left it there when he packed up his tools- almost stepping on it. He saw it just in time, the rosy colour attracting his attention. He bent down and picked it up gently; the flower was almost wilted from the heat. Prepared to throw it away he thought of you and stopped. The sight of your flushed cheeks, your distressed eyes and the gleam of your tears weighing heavily on his mind. With a sigh he cradled the flower in his palm, he would put it in between the pages of a book and press it dry.

Yoongi had no clue why he kept visiting the gazebo to work on his paintings. His previous spot so rarely visited that he’s almost forgotten where it was. He tried to convince himself it was because fishing season has not ended and so he would have been bothered by the men setting up around him. He tried not to think of the fact that the thought of not having your voice there, or the noises of the skateboard you practiced with caused him distress. He told himself it was because after a month of having you there with him, you became part of his routine. Like the background noise of a radio in the morning.

He could not pinpoint when your mindless chatter and pleas to ask him to teach you how to paint had become comforting to him. Even at home when he would try to read, he would pick up a book and open it only to come across a rosy carnation drying in between its pages.

You had made it a habit to leave him a flower every time you came to see him. He did not ponder too long as to why, but he’s kept them all. He did not want to ponder too long on that thought either. So he ignored it, but deep down he knew why.

Your eagerness, your clumsiness, your childish view of the world were enough to melt the wall he has built around himself. Somehow, you chipped at that wall with determination just like you did on the first day you met. Ungraceful and uncoordinated.

He knew you’d wormed your way into his soul and just like the flowers he kept pressing for safekeeping, he’s ingrained the memory of you into his brain.

When you’d started to ask more personal questions he found himself answering without a second thought.

“So, uh, have you always wanted to be a painter?” You were sat next to him tinkering with the wheels of your skateboard, from time to time getting distracted at the way his long fingers were clutching the brush. You blushed, thankful he was distracted by his work.

“No,” Yoongi paused to bend down and pick his palette and you thought that was the extent of the information he was willing to provide. “My parents wanted me to be a lawyer.” With a new colour on his brush he squinted focusing on getting the lines just right, the tip of his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.

The silence that ensued settled heavily around the two of you. “Oh,” your voice did not sound too surprised. Yoongi glanced at you, you were gazing at him with such understanding that he found it hard to tear his gaze away. “Are they happy you chose to do what you love instead?” You carried on, trying out your luck.

Yoongi looked away from you, he couldn’t say what he wanted to say whilst your eyes were digging deep into his soul. “I wouldn’t know.” He shrugged as if to make a point. “I left home to move here and haven’t spoken to them since.”

The words, heavy as lead, echoed in your brain. But they were not unfamiliar. “I am sure they would want to talk to you. My parents died when i was young and i was raised by my grandparents.” Your voice sounded casual, but the slight change of tone made Yoongi raise his eyes to look at you. You were smiling at him, your face not giving away any of the pain you were feeling inside.

Yoongi may have been socially anxious, but he was observant, he couldn’t help it, it was the nature of his job. His eyes picked up on the way your chin trembled and his ears caught the slight waver in your voice. He didn’t know how it happened until he felt the corners of his mouth raising up. And with an uncertain smile in your direction, he managed to erase the sadness that clouded over your face.

“Pick up that brush” his tone softer than you have ever heard it.

“Huh?” You didn’t know where the change in tone had come from, but it managed to take you by surprise.

“Pick up the brush,” he repeated his head nodding in the direction of said tools. “And come here.” He stood up from his stool gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you up. The contact of his cold hands on your warm ones made you shiver, but in the heat of the summer it felt comforting. You savoured the way his gentle hands pulled you into the chair and handed you the brush he had been holding. Softly he guided your hand onto the canvas and your breath stopped.

His hands, the hands you had been observing ever since you met him, were smooth. His long slender fingers imprinting themselves onto the back of your hand. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from the way the pale skin of his slender wrist peeked from under the long sleeve he was wearing. The skin on the inside of his wrist almost translucent enough to allow his veins to show.

“Like this” he steered the brush onto the canvas, his voice so close to your ear it made you your heart skip a beat. When the bristles made contact with the material of the canvas leaving the mark of the acrylic on it, you knew. Just like the doodle he’s made, his mark on your heart would be permanent.

Yoongi didn’t know when he started craving your touch. It just happened. He carried on giving you lessons, finding it ironic how adamant he was at the beginning to refuse you. Little by little he started looking forward to his morning ritual of setting up in the garden, your clumsy self stumbling in the gazebo just as he was about to set his easel down. He would not even sit himself first, he would grab your hand allowing himself to revel in the way your smaller rough hand would fit into his larger one and sit you on the stool. Handing you the brushes he would sit next to your skateboard and watch as you tried to create something on the canvas, your brows furrowed in concentration.

How ironic that you would switch places. He would sit for a couple of hours watching your uncertain movements and listen to the small sounds of glee when you’d manage to get the brush to do what you wanted it to. His heart would pound in his chest when your tongue would flit across your lips subconsciously and the small smile gracing his lips would be a permanent fixture on his face. He did not care that he hasn’t painted in a few weeks. He was more than satisfied watching you.

When your painting session would end you’d end up talking for hours under the shade of the gazebo, the smell of flowers wafting all around you.

And you would always leave with lighter hears and the crinkle of a smile indented in the corner of your eyes and him with a rosy carnation cradled to his chest waiting to join the rest of the others.

When one morning you didn’t arrive at your usual time under the gazebo Yoongi noticed. He decided to wait for you for hours, but when the sun bled under the city skyline and the night settled in he decided it was time to go home. With a heavy heart and an empty hand he returned home hoping that the next day you would arrive and tell him about your day.

But one day turned into two, which turned into a week, which then turned into two- and before he knew it a whole month had passed.

In the beginning Yoongi would wait for you patiently, hoping that he would hear your yelps or even your greeting from afar. When that did not happen, he decided he would use that time to continue painting, maybe you’d arrive halfway through and ask him about it. When that didn’t happen either he noticed that instead of a smile on his face he now wore a frown.

After a whole month of not seeing you he became numb to the feeling. He decided that he would not let his mind ponder too much on your absence. But he could not completely block the way his thoughts would return back to you, and he could not help the wistful gaze he would throw the carnations around the gazebo.

As the months of summer wilted into the chill of autumn, the day he decided to stop waiting for you was the day you once again stumbled into him.

Running as fast as your leg permitted you halted a meter away from him, your breath coming out in harsh pants. Yoongi faltered, the grasp he had on his brush slackening, the tool clattering to the ground. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. Instead his eyes took in the way your form trembled with exhaustion, stopping at the wrapped up parcel you had under your arm.

“I am so so so sorry” you rasped, the effort causing you to cough. Looking up at him, your gaze met his dark one. He did not look upset, or even disinterested. He looked concerned, then you realised the state you came to see him in.

Yoongi took notice immediately at the lack of skateboard, this time replaced by a crutch. The way you were favouring one leg over the other concerned him. Had you been in an accident?

“I am so sorry,” you repeated, taking him back to the first moment he’s met you. Your clumsy self apologising incessantly and rambling in nervousness. “I fell one day whilst on the way here, and i broke my leg. I did not mean to stop showing up i promise! I had wanted to come see you as soon as i left the doctor’s office but the injury was worse than i could have suspected and- and” your voice wavered, trembling in exhaustion, still not having caught your breath.

Yoongi got up without a word, his silent form approaching yours. When only a few inches were left between the two of you he places both of his hands on your shoulders halting your apology. Looking up at him your gaze softens, his eyes were glossy but his mouth curled up in a smile.

“You’re ok” he repeated over and over as if to reassure himself. Your eyes now mirroring his own watery ones you nod.

In a flash he hugs you tightly, your crutch clattering to the ground and the parcel under the other arm making a dull thud as it hit the dirty floor. You gasped in surprise, your arms not knowing where to settle themselves. After a couple of seconds your brain catches up and relaxes and you melt into his hug. Despite his hands being always cold, his hug is warm and inviting.

You think back to the first time you met, how his cold words told you to leave him be. The drastic change in his attitude and demeanour make you smile softly. You burrowed your head in his shoulder inhaling his scent. He smelt of oils and acetone with an undertone of something floral, and you gasp. Carnations.

As if remembering something important you pulled yourself away from his touch, the cold autumn air making you shiver at the loss of contact.

Yoongi is confused for a moment, his eyes widening in panic. Has he made the wrong move? Has he read your intentions wrong? His heart clenches at the thought of you not returning the feelings that bloomed in his chest. But when you offer him a reassuring smile and bend down, grabbing onto his arm for support his emotions settle.

“This is for you” your hands were shaking. Handing over the mysterious parcel, you waited patiently for him to take it.

He glances at it uncertainly, but when you push it towards him his hand wraps around it. With as much skill as he could he opened it with one hand. Tearing the paper away he gasped. The corner of a canvas is sticking through the whole.

Looking at you in surprise your nervous eyes urge him to carry on. So he does.

The paper now completely teared open, his eyes settle onto a familiar flower painted onto the canvas. A carnation.

You watched him open your gift. You had tried your hardest during the time you were stuck at home with a cast on to practice and after weeks of painful frustrated tears, you’d finally managed to get it right. You had wanted to convey your feelings in a way that he would understand without feeling the pressure to conform to societal norms. To show him how much his effort to accommodate you and include you in his secluded life meant to you.

“Did you know,” you were whispering, “that rosy carnations mean admiration?”

Yoongi finally got it, realisation dawning over his features. He looked up at you, overwhelmed by the emotions flooding his chest. You were still smiling at him a tear now running down your cheek. “I wanted to convey my admiration for you in a way that would be permanent.” The hand on his arm tightened as if you make a point. “So i tried my best to do that.”

Yoongi smiled, not the uncertain smile you were used to, a full smile, the gums of his teeth showing, his features softening.

“A painting is not eternal, but with the artist the painting it over and over again it can be.” His free hand cups your cheek gently. “So stay with me.”

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#yoongi #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #min yoongi #btshoneyhive #btsgoldnet #suga fic #yoongi fic #suga x reader #yoongi x reader #s: love blossom #angst #fluff #matsterlist #bts min yoongi #bts suga

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aliwritesfic · 3 years

Text

The Night Shift Part 9 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: Your first night at Frankies, yearning mostly . . . no hanky panky! (yet 👀)

Warnings: Talk of abuse, talk of death of loved ones

W/C: 2.2k

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Part 1 Part 10

Frankie was buzzing with adrenaline as he drove you and Manny back to the restaurant. His hand hurt slightly, but he couldn’t stop think about how damn goodit felt to punch Kurt in the face, how when he heard the fear in your voice, everything turned red. How it took everything not to crush the vermin under his boot. But, he would unpack those feelings later, preferably over a case of beer with the boys. They, of all people, would understand.

You got out of the truck to say goodbye to Manny, and Frankie didn’t miss how you rubbed your lower back, how even from where he sat, he could see the ring of a bruise blossoming around your wrist.

“Sorry that took so long,” you said, climbing back into the truck. Frankie glanced at the clock on the dash – barely five minutes had passed. “Are you completely sure it’s okay I stay with you?”

“I want you to stay,�� Frankie said. “Please, don’t get it in your head that you’re an inconvenience. I know you well enough by now to see that’s exactly where you’re heading.”

You laughed weakly. “I hate that you’re right,” you said, “I’m just not used to having extra help.” Frankie nodded, and waited for you to continue. “For a second in there, before you and Manny came in . . .I was terrified. I forgot I wasn’t alone and I – thank you, for what you did in there. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come in when you did.”

You slumped back in your seat and closed your eyes.

“I think this whole thing got rid of my hangover, though,” you joked.

“You’re young enough that you can bounce back quickly from hangovers,” Frankie said, taking the obvious hint for a change in the subject.

“Please, you’re barely older than me,” you said. “You’re like, what? Thirty?”

“Thirty-two,” Frankie corrected.

“Oh my apologies, you’re ancient,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Frankie grinned and shook his head. It amazed him how easily you could still make a joke, despite everything you had been through today alone.

It was almost sunset when he pulled up to his home. Golden light splayed across your features, making you glow. Stunning. The thought was in Frankie’s mind before he could stop it. You turned to smile at him.

“Nice gnomes,” you said gesturing to the dozens of gnomes of varying sizes that were scattered around Frankie’s front garden. He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced.

“Thanks. My Abuelo used to give me one every Christmas, right up until he died last year.”

“I’m sorry,” you said your voice sincere, “I know how hard that is.”

Frankie shrugged, not wanting to talk about how after his Abuelo died, he made himself sick with grief. Instead, he chose to share something happier. “He used to hide things in them, since they’re all hollow. Sometimes it would be candy, or money. Once he hid my first iPod in one.”

“Sounds like he was a cool dude,” you said and Frankie nodded.

“He was the coolest,” Frankie agreed.

You were quiet for a few moments, holding your arms across your chest. The toll of the day was written plainly on your face, weariness lending itself to the dark circles under your eyes, to the way your shoulders curled inwards. Without thinking about it, Frankie wrapped his arms around you. You leant into the hug, burying your face into his neck. He rubbed your back gently, careful to avoid the spot he knew you were still hurting. You stood like that for a while, warmth leeching into him, and when you finally pulled away, you were almost quick enough to hide your damp eyes.

“Wanna go in?” Frankie asked, already feeling colder without you. He wanted to tug you back, hold you to him and not let go. You nodded, still not looking directly at him.

Inside, the house was cool and dark. Frankie tugged his cap off and placed it on a hook by the door, running a hand through his curls to fluff them up. He was suddenly more self-conscious than he had ever been before. He very rarely brought women back here, and when he did, he never liked them as much as he liked you.

He tried to imagine what you were thinking – were you grossed out at his unwashed breakfast plate sitting in the sink? Was the number of photos of family and friends that hung up on the walls and sat framed on every surface excessive? He didn’t remember seeing any photos like that at your apartment. But then, he also hadn’t been looking.

“It’s uh, not much,” he said rubbing the back of his neck.

“It suits you,” you said. Was it a compliment? Frankie wasn’t sure, until you continued. “Like, at first, it seems a little understated, but the more I look the more I see how you it all is.” You wandered over to a shelf stuffed with books and records, most of them coming from his old room at his parents when they had cleaned out their home a few years back.

“Tell me to fuck off if I’m being nosy,” you said, tilting your head to read the spines. Most of the books were well loved classics – stuff that Frankie had read over and over until the covers became loose and pages began to fall out.

“Just don’t search the drawers in my bedroom, that’s where I keep all my vintage Playboys and a spare bag of mushrooms.”

You snorted with laughter and turned to face him properly. Your eyes were still puffy and red, but no longer teary. Frankie counted that as a victory. “You always struck me as more of an acid guy. Just like you’re striking me as a fan of Thai food?”

“Big fan, actually.”

“Excellent, I know this great place that delivers, I’ll pay.” When Frankie opens his mouth to protest, you hold a hand up silencing him. “Please, let me pay. I owe you big time for doing this, all of this, for me.”

Frankie eventually conceded, sensing that you were infinitely more stubborn than him. Thai food was ordered and delivered, the scent of the panang curry made Frankie’s mouth water. You sat across from him at the table, eyeing him. It took a few moment for Frankie to realise you had put one of his albums on – Erykah Badu, he quickly identified.

“Can I ask you something?” you said after swallowing a mouthful of pad Thai.

“Anything,” he said. Just don’t ask me how long I’ve wanted to fuck you.

“What’d you mean today, when you said it’s not my fault?”

Frankie wasn’t expecting that. “Well, all that stuff Kurt did – like trying to kill himself, that’s not your fault.” You shrugged, clearly unconvinced, so Frankie ploughed on. “It’s just a form of emotional manipulation. Do you remember Benny, the guy your friend went home with last night? His sister, Eve, kind of went through something similar. Her partner would threaten to hurt himself and her if she tried to leave. It wasn’t until she ended up in hospital that she told Benny and Will what was happening.”

You looked horrified. “Is she okay?”

Frankie made a wavering motion in the air with his hand. “Some – most days are better than others. She moved to Portland, met a really nice lady, they’re getting married in the summer.”

“Good for her,” you murmured.

“But like I said, it’s not your fault. None of it is. He’s the one to blame, if he tries anything. He’s in control of his actions, you aren’t.” Frankie’s voice was firm, and he refused to look away from you as he spoke. He needed, more than anything, for you to understand that.

The next few hours passed quietly, sitting next to each other on his worn couch, Netflix half forgotten while you drifted in and out of sleep. Eventually, when the sky turned from black to grey to pink, Frankie showed you the spare room and gave you some privacy, knowing you probably needed some time to yourself after the gruelling day. He knew that sometimes all a person needed was some time alone to process. He sat on the couch and pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket.

Andi, the waitress, had given him her number, followed by three x’s and a winky face. Once, Frankie would have opened his messenger app and texted her, asking her out. But now. . . he found he wasn’t at all interested. He crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash.

~*~

How long is too long to spend in someone else’s shower? Five minutes? Ten? Until the hot water runs out? Vanilla and honey body wash? Oh, shit that smells delicious.

You kept your thoughts light, avoiding the darkness that brewed in the forefront of your mind. You felt like you were going through a billion crisis’s, so instead of focusing on any, you decided to focus on none.

You thought back to Frankie’s intense gaze as he spoke to you at dinner, how incredibly sexy it had been. You were shocked you could think something like that after the day you’d had, but the thoughts had entered unwelcome into your mind. You tucked them away for later, when you weren’t so close to him and wouldn’t feel burning shame if you looked at him.

Stepping out of the shower, you took a deep breath and decided to truly inspect the . . . damage that was done today. Your wrist was already bruising and ached slightly when you thought too much about it. You faced your back to the mirror and twisted, grimacing at the sight of the damage Kurt had caused. Your lower back, like your wrist, was bruised black and purple. You quickly wrapped a towel around yourself, hiding the damage.

Deep breath, Spud, you’re stronger than you think.

Your grandfathers voice echoed in your ears. It was what he would say to you whenever you were hurt – just fallen out of a tree and fractured your ankle, sliced your finger open cutting onions, sobbing because the boy you had convinced yourself was your soulmate at fifteen just dumped you the day after you lost your virginity to him, it was always your grandfathers voice saying those words. Your heart ached with missing him.

The room Frankie had showed you was more of a home gym with a bed shoved into the corner than anything else. There was still a scattering of things that were undeniably Frankie in the room: a pile of old boots with holes in the canvas, a greasy looking toolbox, a poster for the Brooklyn Nets with players that looked like they had wandered out of the 90s. You didn’t know much about basketball but decided to at least keep an eye on when the Nets lost so you could rag on Frankie about it.

You grabbed your bags, assessing what Manny had grabbed. God, he’s good, you thought, realising he had packed you everything you needed. You dressed and grabbed your phone, breathing a sigh of relief when it was free of messages from Kurt. You typed out a quick message to Manny.

You are truly the most amazing friend anyone can ask for <3 thanks for packing my stuff.

Then, after a few moments, you sent one to Sara.

I broke up with Kurt, should I be sadder about it?

It was 7 in the morning, but within a minute your phone was buzzing with a call from her.

“Tell me you’re not lying to me,” her voice was hushed. You could hear her moving, a door clicking shut.

“I’m not lying. It’s done.” You laid back on the bed and closed your eyes. “It was a fucking nightmare to do though.”

“Spill, what happened? Are you okay?” Sara’s voice was louder now. You gave her the rundown of everything that had happened, from the lunchtime confession to the actual breakup to how you were now sleeping in Frankie’s spare room.

“Wait – Frankie? Benny’s friend?”

“Are you still with Benny?” This was different: Sara had a policy of one night only – anything more and she claimed they’d fall in love with her.

“Of course, he has a massive dick. But back to you missy, you’re staying with Frankie?”

You sighed. “Yeah, just until I get the keys to my new place.”

“Are you gonna fuck him?” Sara sounded hopeful.

“Oh, my god! No!”

“Aw, c’mon, rebound sex is good for the soul.”

“Maybe with strangers in seedy bars who have half a chance of giving me the clap. Not with someone I-”

“-Have a huge thing for. Please, I saw it the moment you spotted him at fight night. You’re so hung up on this guy and Benny says-”

“This conversation is over, it’s my bedtime. I love you and you’re wrong.” You hung up quickly, cheeks burning with the lie. Did you want to have sex with Frankie? Desperately. At the most inappropriate of times, like when you heard the rumble of his voice through the window at work, like when you caught a glimpse of his beautiful, unique side profile, like when you were alone and allowed your thoughts to wander to what could be under his jeans.

You sighed, frustrated with yourself and rolled onto your side. If you were braver, more sure that his attraction matched yours, you would have gone to his room, crawled into bed beside him, let whatever was meant to be, be. But right now, you weren’t brave. You felt like you had used up all your courage quota for the year in a single day, which was a ridiculous sentiment.

So instead of going to Frankie’s room, like the pulsing in your underwear desperately wanted you to, you closed your eyes and tried to sleep.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209 @quica-quica-quica @pintsizemama @phoenix-of-loki

#triple frontier #the night shift #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader

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