#this idea was supposed to be drawn EARLIER this month but i just remembered it like yesterday so I finished it today JHDGJDSHG | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychesalcove · 8 days

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WHEN YOURE ALL ALONE, ILL REACH FOR YOU (when you're fellin' low, i'll be there too)

college au! jason grace x gn! reader

yes, from amandamariee

⚠️: reader is a bit of an overachiever, crying, being overwhelmed bc of school work, shitty ass writing (sorry gang) not proofread AT ALL

in which ; jason comforts reader who is overwhelmed by school work due to finals.

a/n: thank you so much for the request babes!! i hope this lives up to your expectations,, i loveee fluff and comfort fics so so much like it's actually scary 😔 ALSO i made the reader have a history major – just in case anyone was wondering :)

finals season was upon the students of new rome. cafes were filled to the brim with students, workbooks, and the sound of typing on laptops (that were specially made for demigods, of course).

you were one of the studnets who found themselves at the cafe more often than you would like to admit. earlier today you were at a popular cafe downtown with annabeth, but, around two hours into your study session, you wanted a change of scenery.

and that's how you found yourself back at the condo you and jason shared.

ᝰ

your wooden desk that you had gotten at ARC had every surface possible filled with studying items. old assignments, papers your professor handed out, your notes, and every color of highlighter imaginable.

your tea (which jason had made for you) was long forgotten on the edge of the desk, close to tipping over onto the carpeted floor of the bedroom. you had been in the same posion on your chair for about an hour and a half, eyes focused on reading an essay you had wrote a couple months ago.

jason would have already had you take a break by now, but he was downtown. you and jason were supposed to meet with the seven for dinner tonight, but you decided to stay home and study more. jason had insisted on staying with you, but with much persistence on your end, he was out the door and on his way downtown.

and of course, when you're studying for the most important test of this year, your dyslexia decided to act up. you had been stuck on the same sentence for about 5 minutes now. the words kept getting jumbled in your mind, floating from place to place on the page. the monster attacks you could deal with; but not being able to read a simple sentence?

you sighed heavily through your nose, setting down your pen onto the desk. this essay should be easy to read; you were the one who wrote it after all. your eyes shifted from the essay to the rest of your desk. you had no idea how you were going to manage getting all of the information you needed for the test in your head.

you reached for your laptop that was under a folder, because you decided that it might be easier to do work digital instead of on paper. you quickly logged into your laptop, and went to google classroom.

your eyes were drawn to the notification icon, seeing that there was one. you clicked it, mouse hovering over the writing that appeared on the screen: a comment from your professor.

y/n, i've seen you do amazing work in my class this year. what happened with this? i know you have more potential than what you wrote. i'll have to give you a D for this one, but it shouldn't affect your grade to much considering you have an A. it'll bring it down to an A- or a B at the most. i'll hope you gain your skill back in further work.

oh.

you quickly changed the screen onto where your grades were shown. there it was. a B. you knew that it wasn't a bad grade or anything, especially remembering when percy showed his grades to you once, but it still didn't sit right with you.

this was your best class, the one you always understood and got at least an 80 or higher on. you've never gotten a D.

tears quickly filled up your eyes, causing you to bink rapidly in an attempt to keep them at bay. you looked at the desk, in hopes of feeling better by now staring at the large B on your screen, but it only made it worse. all the papers and assignments quickly overwhelmed you, seeing how much you still had to do.

how will you even pass this test if you can't write a simple article about an artifact?

with that thought in your head, tears quickly started dripping down your face. a rational part of you told you that a small assignment like that didn't show your worth of the class, but the emotional part of you quickly overtook that thought.

as you sat there, posture rigid and tears freely falling down your face, you were to focused on your own being to register the sound of a door opening and footsteps going down the hall twords the bedroom you were in. you only got out of your head when you felt cold hands rubbing up and down your upper back.

"hey, love, what's wrong?" a voice, that you quickly recognized as jason's, said. you didn't know how to verbally respond, so you coughed hard and brought a hand up to your face to try to remove the tear stains from your face.

jasons hands moved from your back to go over your shoulders, hugging you from behind. "how about we get you into a bed first, hm?" he questioned gently, leaning awkwardly so his face was closer to your ear. after registering what he said, you nodded slightly as you made a move to stand up.

jason aided in getting you up, and then put a hand over your shoulder when the two of you started the short walk to the bed. he let you sit first, and then quickly followed in suit. he sat in front of you, letting you get a clear image of his blonde hair and concerned face.

he grabbed your hands and held onto them lightly, giving you the option to leave his grasp at any point. "love, try to copy my breathing, okay?" he instructed, making eye contact with you. he slowly took a deep breath in through his mouth, waiting for you to follow. once he saw the movement , he slowly exhaled through his nose, again, waiting for to follow his breathing pattern.

this continued until jason deemed you collected enough to talk about whatever made you upset. "want to tell me what got you so worked up, my love?" he asked again, softly smiling at you when you two made eye contact.

you quickly explained your situation in a shaken voice, still getting own crying. his eyebrows knitted in concern as he listen to you, and his thumb started slowly rubbing circles on your knuckles when he noticed your teary eyes.

once you finished speaking, he took you into his arms and held you gently. "how about you take a break. i'll make you tea, and you can eat if you want. then, we'll come back, and i'll help you with whatever you need help with. sound good?" he explained, already making a move to stand up with you.

ᝰ

the two of you quickly found yourself in the kitchen. jason had dimed the lights to emit a soft orange glow from above, and turned on the stove light as he filled the kettle up with water.

"you know, you're amazing at what you do, love." jason said, turning to you as he turned off the sink water after the kettle was filled up. "and, i know that you also know that, somewhere in there," he continued, brining up a finger and pointing at his head. you chucked softly, making jason get a small grin on his face from making you laugh, even if it was only little.

he walked over to the stove and placed the kettle on the stove, turning on the stove top, then moving over to where you sat on the counter. he gently wrapped his arms around your waist bringing you into a gentle embrace. "yknow you could have asked for my help earlier, i would have stayed with you, my love." he said as he rested his head on your shoulder.

"i know, but i wanted you to go out. i didn't want to keep up cooped up in here with me just because i didn't want to have dinner with them." you said as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, bringing you closer to him.

"i never feel 'cooped up' with you, love. and i wouldn't have minded not going, although leo and piper seemd very pressed about you not being there tonight. said they wanted to meet up with you tomorrow to 'add to their gossip'." he said, chuckling lightly at the thought of leo and piper.

you smiled softly as you thought about your friends, knowing how much they meant to you. just then, your stomach growled, notifying both you and jason that you were starving.

"how about we make you some toast? then we can go back and start on some flashcards for you, sound good?" jason asked, pulling away from the embrace and walking over to the pantry, signaling with his hands for you to follow.

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy pjo #percy jackson x you #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #hoo x you #pjo x you #jason grace x reader #jason grace x reader fluff #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n

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cobaltperun · 2 months

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Lost (24) - Landing in London

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 3.3k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-And when the night falls in around me, I don't think I'll make it through, I'll use your light to guide the way, 'Cause all I think about is you-

She used to be lonely as a child. Woodsboro was a small place, children often met through parents, and her mother had her when she was young. Meaning while her parents were raising her their classmates and friends went out to party or went to college, meaning they had no kids Sam could hang out with when she was really young. So, Sam was lonely, Sam was alone, quickly learning that she couldn’t really go to anyone for company. Kids at kindergarten talked about watching cartoons with their parents, but Sam never had that. Her father, the only father she ever knew, even if she wasn’t his biological daughter, did his best, gave up on his dreams so he could take care of her. Her mother did the same thing, working, coming back home, taking care of Sam. They didn’t really struggle, they weren’t rich, but they had plenty, but Sam was lonely.

And then the greatest gift Sam ever received in her life made the loneliness go away. Tara was born, a month earlier than she was supposed to be, and sickly, soon to be diagnosed with asthma, but she always, always looked at Sam with those expressive brown eyes and a happy smile that made Sam promise she would always protect her little sister.

Her parents didn’t count on a sick child though, they didn’t count on all the medical bills, on all the time they’d need to spend taking care of Tara and taking her from one doctor to another. Looking back, perhaps finding out Sam wasn’t his daughter was only the excuse her father needed to leave them, because he could no longer handle having a sick child and now that the other one wasn’t his, well, it just gave him another excuse. Not to mention Christina was starting to drink some time before he left. He ran away, never to be heard from again, and Sam hated him for leaving Tara like that.

So, with him gone, money became a bit of an issue, and the only reason people didn’t really notice was Christina’s inherited house. Hell, Sam had no idea until several years later that Christina took money for Sam babysitting Chad, Mindy, and Wes. Sam didn’t say anything, because that money was used to pay for Tara’s medicine, and Sam would always protect Tara.

That was how she, now an angry teenager swung first before asking any questions when she saw an unfamiliar kid talking to Tara. That kid turned out to be you, trying to help Tara, but Sam didn’t know that at the time. She wouldn’t have even remembered your first meeting if Tara wasn’t angry at her for attacking you like that.

It was almost funny how the two of you were so drawn together, how Tara, without even knowing your name got angry at Sam. Tara was shy though, but she kept seeing you every now and then, and even though she never approached you, she’d tell Sam she saw the ‘cool girl’ in the hall between classes. So, Sam asked around as subtly as she could, finding out you were the only child of a rich family that recently moved to Woodsboro, but other than that she couldn’t find out anything about your family. She did learn you had an interest in martial arts, which explained the quick reaction when Sam attacked you.

Sam still remembered her anger when Tara, near the end of that year, and sicker than she was in a long time, told her how their mom didn’t pick her up from school and how she stood in the rain for an hour and a half. Yet, despite the temperature that was too high for home-made medicine, despite the cough and runny nose and all the other symptoms, Tara still looked happy, because she properly met you, and you carried her home in that rain. And when you dropped by the next day to check on Tara because she didn’t show up in school Sam saw the admiration in Tara’s eyes and somehow, without an explanation, she felt at peace.

And then you became a constant in Tara’s life, acting as her shield from the world. Sam remembered it as if it happened yesterday, the scene she walked into a few months before she left.

~X~

Tara hadn’t been this sick in a long time, she couldn’t even lie down without having a coughing fit, but Sam couldn’t panic. She couldn’t do much more than pick up medicine or make Tara some tea. She had to put faith in her mother to take care of Tara, because sooner rather than later Sam would leave and Tara would be left only with their mother.

She still called her mother, just to ask how Tara was.

“W-what is it,” her mother answered and hiccupped, drunk, and Sam’s blood ran cold.

“Where are you? What about Tara?!” Sam demanded, for a moment wondering if she really could kill her mother, because she wanted nothing more than to do that, and that desire frightened her, strengthened her need to get away from Tara to protect her.

“At home, she’s fine~,” her mother drawled, and Sam wanted to crush her phone, to let her rage out, instead, she just ran home, barging in and running upstairs to Tara’s room. She didn’t hear coughing, she didn’t hear anything as she ran down the hallway, and she was frightened of what she would find when she opened the doors, but instead of Tara in pain or not breathing at all, she found Tara with you.

You were sitting in a not so comfortable position, leaning back against the rather uncomfortable headboard. You held a pillow to your chest, and Tara was right there, leaning on it and sleeping peacefully, half lying down, half sitting, but not coughing. She had the yellow teddy bear Sam bought her years ago next to her, and she was holding your hand. From the corner of her eyes Sam noticed an almost eaten plate of soup, one that her mother definitely didn’t make. It was from a local restaurant, so you must have bought it for Tara.

Sam’s knees nearly buckled from relief, but the look in your eyes made her freeze, you were angry, but you couldn’t move, not without disturbing Tara’s peaceful slumber, and even as pissed as you were you wouldn’t do that. Sam saw you wanted nothing more than to get into a fight with Sam for leaving Tara alone when she was this sick, and Sam would have let you hit her as hard as you could, because she felt like she deserved it. Yet, you didn’t. Not because you cared about Sam, no, you talked every now and then and you were civil with one another, so no, it wasn’t because of Sam. It was because Tara would be sad if you and Sam fought, and you wouldn’t allow that.

It was you. When Tara was sick and left alone by her mother, she didn’t call Sam, she called you, and you came. With how sick Tara was, she barely remembered calling you, she vaguely remembered you were there, but she most certainly didn’t remember sleeping while leaning back on you.

~X~

The next time Sam saw you and Tara like that was after Tara was attacked, only there wasn’t a pillow between you two this time. Sam could never repay you for how much you cared for Tara while she was gone, because she was sure you’ve spent countless sleepless nights taking care of sick Tara, or simply keeping her company when she felt alone, abandoned by everyone else. Later, while you were training for your last two matches Tara told Sam about those times, about how she would always worry that you’d get sick taking care of her, yet you somehow remained resilient, not once getting sick. Tara also told her about all the times she had you watch The Babadook with her, or the times she just called you over so you could just hang out, do homework together or research random things.

Tara was always the happiest when you were with her, and Sam would forever cherish the memory of Tara laughing while the two of you danced at your wedding.

It was, naturally, a small wedding, the two of you, her and Danny, Chad with his girlfriend at the time, Mindy, Anika, Gale, Sidney with her family, and Kirby. And Tara looked more beautiful than ever, laughing, unable to keep the smile off her face for a moment, and her happiness was contagious.

Sam would have given everything she had to go back to those times, to the time when Ghostface was a thing of the past, and not a threat she once again had to deal with. To sit at the dinner table with Tara and you, making plans for whatever you wanted to do this week, instead of sitting at her computer, yet again realizing that the cult dedicated to Ghostface actually existed.

She should have known it was only a matter of time before he came back, and in the darkness of the night she looked at her window, seeing him there. Her real father, taunting her, putting the mask on her reflection, his mask, the same mask she put on when she killed Bailey.

“I like the design,” the monster told her, and she knew exactly what he was talking about, the dog painted on the mask, proving the belonging to the cult.

Sam got up abruptly, her chair scrapping against the floor. She needed to tell Tara and you, she needed to make sure you were ready and careful. She found you and Tara in the living room, on the sofa, with Tara sitting on your lap and flipping through a magazine while you hugged her from behind and rested your chin on her shoulder, occasionally kissing Tara on the cheek or the side of her neck.

“Sam? What’s wrong? You look worried,” Tara noticed, of course Tara noticed.

Sam should have told her right then and there, she should have told Tara everything. How she’s been lurking online, looking for any signs of Ghostface coming back, how she saw her father more and more often and the medicine was no longer working as well as it used to. Instead, seeing how happy you two were, she shook her head, staying quiet. “Just something at my job. What got you two so excited?” she tried to put on a smile.

Tara and you remained silent, as if exchanging a silent conversation by just briefly glancing at one another. “We’re having a baby!” Tara’s words shattered what little sense of relaxation Sam had left.

Tara would more than likely be the one getting pregnant. She’d be in even more danger than usual, and the child would be in the constant danger from Ghostface, no matter where Tara and you moved to. And in that cold September night that one thing that made Sam’s body tremble wasn’t the temperature, it was the fear for her sister and the life Tara was trying to build with you.

“Sam?” you spoke up when Sam didn’t respond.

“Oh! Sorry! That’s great! Congratulations!” she put on a fake smile, but her mind was already creating plans to infiltrate the cult. She’d just take the place of the one with the dog on the mask. She just needed to find him or her first.

~X~

It was the middle of the October, in the early morning, and Sam was watching a building from a busy coffee shop, with nothing but newspapers and a cup of coffee that had long since stopped steaming. She barely touched the coffee, frankly, she just needed some kind of cover. The unassuming blonde woman, no older than twenty-three left the building in a densely populated block. It was just at the edge of an area with high crime-rate, more importantly it was an area where one could easily rent an apartment without having to answer too many questions, so perfect to hide, or use as a base of operation for following someone. Sam narrowed her eyes and waited to make sure the woman wouldn’t come back right away before slipping into the building.

She had followed the woman enough times already to know which apartment was hers, so, when she got on the fourth floor she looked around and dropped to her knee to pick the lock, only to realize the apartment was unlocked.

Did the woman notice her and was setting up a trap? Or was she just that carefree? It didn’t matter, the girl was slightly smaller than her, looked slower and weaker than Sam as well. Worst case scenario Sam would get injured, but she’d come out on top, no matter what. It wasn’t this girl Sam was worried about, even if she left her alone she wouldn’t be able to beat you, it was the rest of the cult that worried her.

So, she stepped inside, on edge and ready to strike at any sign of movement, but the apartment was empty. No one was inside and she even checked to make sure there wasn’t a hidden room behind the mirror. So, she went and searched the place for clues about the cult. The notebooks gave her very little, and she’d have to deal with the girl’s laptop when she was alone. Still, hoping she’d find something in the laptop she stashed it away in her bag and hid in the girl’s bedroom. All she had to do now was wait for the woman to come back.

And sure enough, about an hour later she heard the doors opening. The blonde had no reason to suspect anyone was in her apartment, and she actually whistled happily when she stepped into the bedroom. As for Sam, she just sneaked up on the girl and grabbed her from behind, slitting her throat before the girl could even figure out what was happening.

She did it, she easily killed the woman that had the mask with the dog, but it also frightened her, because the woman was only a few miles away from where Tara and you lived. She moved there two weeks ago, and Sam was willing to bet she was going to attack Tara and you, or Sam herself, soon.

After that Sam got lucky, the cult meetings required the mask to be on at all times, and that they would use a voice changer, which meant no one really knew who the other Ghostfaces were. But she got into the cult, and though she wanted to start slaughtering them, she couldn’t get close to anyone without raising suspicions.

And then an opportunity that she couldn’t pass up on came up. The leader wanted to kill your father, and then get your mother to give him as much money as she could in return for her life. That would fund the next step of the leader’s plan.

Sam volunteered, killing your father in an apartment falsely rented in your name, in cold blood, stabbing him multiple times, taking her revenge for everything he and your mother did to you. Taking her revenge for them hiring Thomas and making Tara cry while you were in a coma, for making her cry for you, for nearly successfully arranging your murder… She may have stabbed him a few times too many in her fury.

“That’s enough, Ghost-Dog,” Ghostface pulled her away from the body and she shook him off, wiping the knife clean of blood and breathing heavily as she stepped away.

“Still, this will look convincing. Now, I’ll go deal with the Mrs. L/N, you need to get Y/N L/N to come here,” his words made her heart stop for a moment.

Why did he want you there? What did he plan to do? If he wanted to attack you that would be the perfect opportunity to end the biggest threat. The two of you could end the leader of the cult, you could take his mask and the two of you could then take care of the rest of the cult members.

“Ghost-Dog? Call Y/N and get out of here, let the police do the rest,” she could hear the confusion in his voice even through the voice changer-

They weren’t attacking you? They were framing you? They were making sure you were locked up? But Tara was pregnant! You couldn’t protect her from jail!

Still, if she didn’t follow the orders, she’d lose her chance and Tara would be in an even greater danger.

So, Sam nodded. “Yes, sir,” she spoke evenly, once again seeing her father tauntingly smirking at her. She was making things even worse. She was taking Tara’s greatest protection away from her. She was betraying you. She was betraying her sister. But maybe this would protect Tara in the long run. Maybe with you gone she’d go into hiding?

When the leader left and Sam was sure she was left alone she turned off the voice changer and called you.

“Sam?” you sounded relieved to hear her. “Do you have any idea how worried Tara is, you asshole. Come back home!” you still scolded her, and despite blood dripping from her hand Sam still smiled a bit. If she could protect Tara, if she could only protect Tara…

“I don’t have time to talk, I need you to come and meet me somewhere, right now,” she didn’t need to fake urgency, she knew exactly what she was doing, she knew it would be unforgivable, that you would never trust her again, but she still set up the trap for you. And you walked into it, like a fool that trusted her.

~X~ March 24th, 2027 ~X~

Sam sat at a bar, drowning her sorrow in whiskey. Funny how things turned out. She despised her mother for drinking, she scolded Tara for drinking, yet here she was, drinking her problems away. She spent five months in the cult and had nothing to show for it but one dead Ghostface and blood on her hands. Danny was dead, Tara was captured, and she had no idea where she was. After getting you framed, she became somewhat of a second in command, seeing as she basically took care of the greatest threat, so she wasn’t assigned to whatever location they were holding Tara in.

She tried to keep Tara safe, and all it accomplished was the death of her boyfriend and her beloved, pregnant, sister, now being in more danger than ever before. Everything she touched she ruined, that was the summary of her life and she felt awful, she felt cursed, she felt like she had no right to ever hold her sister again.

“Your tip saved Sidney’s life,” she heard Kirby’s voice coming from the side and just barely lifted her head to look at the FBI agent. She didn’t care how Kirby managed to find her, Kirby somehow ended up finding her a couple of times over the past half a year, at this point Sam didn’t really question it. Maybe she was just that predictable.

“And Gale?” she asked, even though she felt the answer in her bones.

“Dead. It took too long for my mole, Ghost-Wolf, to take the snake mask and go after them,” Kirby sat down in front of her and slumped back against the chair. “Things aren’t so bleak though. Our newest ally found Y/N,” she managed to smile a bit, despite the circumstances.

Sam nodded. She failed to protect Tara, but you would be able to do it. You’d keep Tara and your child safe. “Good, I’ll finish this, three nights from now,” she decided right then and there, she’d put an end to the cult, or die trying.

Taglist: @alexkolax

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #scream #jenna ortega x reader #sam carpenter #x reader

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spn-etc · 5 months

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The Deal and the Damage Done

Pt. 1

A Supernatural fanfic featuring a mix of OC's and canon characters

Also, my first fanfic, and I hope it's not too cringe 🙄. I'm a huge dork and not the absolute best with pick up lines unless they're absolutely cheesy, as you'll see in this chapter.

The story will be set in an AU, I am supposing, or perhaps some time after season 15? If any of you have timeline ideas, I am open to them because it's a work in progress. Essentially, a girl meets the Winchester brothers twelve years after her dad goes missing and they may just have the answer to her questions about his disappearance. I am leaning to a little Dean action too! Or Sam! 😄

But I enjoyed writing this, and got the story down in under an hour, with a bit of editing after. Which is an impressive feat for me, because I will typically keep editing and never publish a thing. But I hope whoever reads it gets some kind of enjoyment out of it, because I am already working on more parts. Please feel free to make any suggestions, or ask questions, or comment anything, really. I appreciate it!

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

Dad always loved to gamble, and he was always dealt a winning hand. Call it the Jacobs luck, but Dad could bet the deed to Nana’s house and get away with it. Nana would still be running her mouth of course, but that wouldn't stop him. And, he and the house were in one piece. That all changed about the time I was eleven and my little brother, Cash, was nine. Dad went out to the bar with some friends.

It was Saturday night as always, and Mom was warning him about coming back before the crack of dawn. We had church Sunday morning, and she didn't want to tell the pastor that Samuel Jacobs was going to miss another service. Well, Mom saved herself some embarrassment, you could say. Because on that summer morning, Mom, Cash, and I waited for the father that never returned.

I can remember all the details today. I'm sitting at the kitchen table with my little brother, flipping through one of Mom's home goods magazines, and nibbling on burnt pieces of bacon. Cash is sighing loud enough to annoy my mother, who is calling up all of Dad's buddies asking where he is. I can remember her face wrinkled with worry, and how I spent the rest of the day in my Sunday dress helping Mom try to locate Dad. Several days, weeks, and months passed, and then years. The investigation remained open. Last thing Mom ever heard was that Dad was chatting up some guy at the bar, that they left and then he never returned. Friends of my father said he was some pool shark. They thought they heard the name Scratch, or something along those lines. A drifter, they said, that was seen at pool halls and some dive bars.

Mom never really moved on after that happened. I suppose she got by as best as anyone when they lose their life partner, their soulmate. I still try to understand to this day, but I can't really feel much past the burning sensation deep inside whenever Mom and Nana say, “You keep it together, Leah.” I’ve been keeping it together for twelve years now, while everyone else gets a little sympathy.

So, here I am at the local diner on a Thursday night. I'm replaying everything in my head when I remember this was the date that Dad disappeared, June 21st. Cooler now, than when the sun baked my little town earlier, I can still feel the reminder of scorching summer heat in this humid-ass diner. I wish the managers weren't so cheap as to keep the thermostat up. Anyways, the minutes turn into hours, and I can only roll so much silverware or refill the already full napkin dispensers. So, I just bide my time, watching for the time I get to go home and cook dinner. That's when they come in.

Two of them. Handsome visitors I’ve never seen before. One just slightly taller than the other. But, I’m drawn to the one with the dark blonde hair and beautiful green eyes. They grab the booth in the most out of the way corner of the diner, which lo and behold, is my section. I could slap myself, I can't believe my luck. And on top of being the best looking customers I’ve had, I finally have company to occupy an otherwise boring shift. So, I plaster on my best smile and go to greet the guys. “Alrighty then, gents, how are we doing this evening? Can I start you with anything?”

The men were clearly in a conversation, when I interrupted them, and normally I’d be a bit sorry. But, I'm eager to stop staring at the clock and then maybe I’m just a bit nosy.

Whatever awkwardness there may have been melts away when the blonde flashes his devil-may-care grin. “Sure thing. My partner and I will have two black coffees, a salad and a bacon burger for me, and uh, you got any pie?”

“You bet, hun. Best cherry pie this side of West Virginia.”

“That the only good thing?” he says, giving me that cheeky grin, while the brunette rolls his eyes and looks away.

“Don't know,” I say, smiling back. “Depends on what you like.”

My fiance likes to tell me that I'm a shameless flirt, and I tell him it never means anything. It really doesn't, except for a good tip perhaps, and his phone number at the top of the merchant receipt.

“You seem like you know your way around,” the blonde continues.

“Can you tell me if you’ve seen anything going on around here lately? My partner and I, we’re detectives for the local precinct. Heard about some disappearances, anything?”

This, of course, catches my attention immediately. I see my manager out of the corner of my eye, but I continue my conversation anyways. “Hey, uh, you don't mind if I take a seat, do you? It's dead here. I think I have some time to kill.”

“No, not at all,” answers the brunette, who moves over so I can take a seat. I now have their undivided attention, which is rare any time I share about my dad in this town. For the next hour or two, I relay the same story I’ve given anyone, who had all dismissed the case by now, though my family and I know better. Both men take turns asking me questions, and I begin to wonder if I had been onto something for the past years since Dad disappeared.

“ Is this guy, the one that left with my father, he’s still out there, right?” I ask, and I feel a lump in my throat.

“You could say that,” the blonde says, but I can see in his eyes something much worse, and I’m afraid to ask further questions for the first time in awhile.

“What we’re trying to get at, Leah, is we may know where your dad is.”

“That's impossible,” I say, shaking my head. I haven't heard of one cop yet that has ever had any leads, and I am more curious now than before.

“Not one cop in this county, or all of West Virginia, has ever found anything on my dad. And I should know, my brother and I have looked through anything and looked anywhere to try and locate Dad. I don't know, maybe this was a mistake for me to talk about something like this." It scares me for a second. I wonder if I am as crazy as my brother, who's even more adamant that our father is still out there somewhere. This isn't something I normally talk about, except with family. Most anyone else would say I should have moved on. But with the Jacobs family, it's hard to say that things ever really stay buried.

“Wait, Leah,” the blonde says, grabbing my hand.

“You don't have to believe everything we say, but I'm telling you, there are other people out there, just like your dad, who are in trouble. We can help you, if you just trust us.”

I’ve known enough crooked people in my life to never immediately take someone at their word. Even my father. I don't know how these guys think I’m going to put my own life in their hands, much less anyone in my family. But, my already burning interest gets the better of me.

Sitting back down, I rummage for a scrap of paper and finagle an old receipt from a pocket. Pushing the wrinkled piece of paper towards the blonde would-be cop, I state my terms. “Okay, I may work with you. But, I’m calling you. Not the other way around. And I would appreciate it if this was between us, because my family’s been through enough. But, swear to God, if anything should happen - my brother's a corn-fed son of a bitch, and he’ll be out for blood.”

The two men look at each other, not very long, but a second to weigh up what I’m saying.

“Alright, deal,” the blonde says, taking the paper.

“I’ll let you know if I see anything going on, but just so you know, everyone else has declared the whole case a dead end."

“We're not everyone else, sugar," 'ol green eyes says with a smirk, and I hurry them out of the diner. I watch the Impala roll out of the lot. Nice car. And then, I think, it's more than likely I’ll never see them again. The whole thing was odd, when you think about it. No one's ever really asked about my dad in years. I'll just try my best to push it out of my mind, the same as I do around this time each year.

It's ten o'clock by the time I pull into the driveway in the old pick up truck given to me by Charlie, a neighbor further up the road. Old family friend, and he's there when anyone’s in need of something - food, money for rent, or fixing any car trouble. My brother typically helps me with the truck, though, so I almost never need anything like that from Charles. Speaking of, I’m kicking myself. I had meant to ask Cash to look at the truck as the engine barely turned over this afternoon. Now, it's just another day until I find something else wrong.

I’m rushing straight through the door of 1112 Black Oak Lane, and the house is quiet and dark. The only light on is in the sitting room, where Mom is passed out in the recliner. Pretty typical for her on a given evening, but I'm wondering where Cash is because he said he’d be home. Mom’s out like a rock, so I have to shake her awake.

“Mom. Mom! Mom, wake up.”

“Hmm? Oh, hey there sweet pea,” Mom barely gargles out. “What time is it?”

“It's fifteen past ten. Where's Cash? I thought he wasn't going out with friends. It's a work night.”

I know Cash enough that he's bound to go back on his word, but he knows better than to leave any of his family in the dark about his whereabouts. I could just brush this off and leave dinner on the table for him, but the conversation from earlier is still running through my mind.

“ Mom, did Cash tell you where he was going?”

“Going? Cash was in his room, Leah.” I can't trust Mom's memory, judging from the empty bottle of liquor next to her. So, like any of the odd times when Cash goes off without warning, I'm going through the house and checking every other room, the porch, shed, and garage. I even go down to Charlie's house with Mom in tow.

It's after midnight when I‘ve tried everything and no one's heard from Cash. There's one thing I haven't tried. They likely won't answer, but my stomach’s doing flips as I replay that same day twelve years ago. Against my better judgment, I dial the last number I had in mind.

“Hello?” comes the gruff voice from earlier at the diner.

“I need your help. “

#fanfic #spnfandom #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #mystery #dark fantasy #paranormal #small town gothic #monster hunter

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samstree · 3 years

Text

Just a Little Pretense

Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

AO3

“… It would be to take you off my hands!”

Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.

Jaskier blinks, impressed.

All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.

Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.

Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.

His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.

But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.

“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”

A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.

Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.

And closes it.

Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.

More than convincing.

Except, it just might be … too convincing.

Wait—

Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.

“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.

It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.

Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a façade of indifference.

The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.

And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.

“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.

Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.

Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?

Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.

The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.

Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.

Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”

The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.

He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.

“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”

“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”

Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.

“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.

“I never meant it, Jask.”

“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”

Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”

Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.

Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.

He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.

“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.

Geralt hums, lips pursed.

“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”

Still, no smile.

“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”

Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.

“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”

Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.

“Yes, dear.”

Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.

Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.

A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #reverse trope #fake breakup #geralt x jaskier #post mountain #hurt/comfort #geralt of rivia is a sap #soft jaskier #jaskier is an idiot #don't mind him #established relationship

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neoncrowpen · 3 years

Note

Hey Crow, can you write male reader as Tommy's son? not Charles, but maybe his older brother or an only child? Whatever works for you. We know that Tommy was more openly affectionate while Grace was alive, attentive too, but after she died (and I'm referring to his conversation with Charlie inside the wagon after Johnny Dogs took them to Wales) he shut himself off, and buries himself in his work, though he is still calm and warm towards Charlie in the scenes we've seen so far (+his bad health in S5.) That makes me think about reader wanting to spend more time with him especially after his marriage to Lizzie and the birth of Ruby; but then Tommy becomes a politician. Which brings me to this request - what do you think about reader breaking into Tommy's office in the House of Commons, hoping to get some of his attention but it backfires? Tommy yells at him instead and reader tries to explain himself but Tommy wouldn't hear it. I just really need some angry Tommy/dad Tommy content and I really enjoy your portrayal of him in my first two requests. I hope that this one is okay, too.

As you sped off in a good sprint, you thought of your uncle Finn. He had driven you into the city after you lied to him about ‘wanting to spend time with your favorite uncle’. Either you were taking on more of your stepmother’s traits or Finn was the dumbest Shelby in the family. It didn’t matter in the end. You got to exactly where you wanted to be.

You had been studying London city maps for a while and it paid off. Funny how maps worked and told anyone where everything was. It was a new concept that delighted you. Your father would be so proud that you got here all by yourself. Trouble was, how to get inside.

“I’m a Shelby,” you told yourself. “And I can do anything.” You eyed the alley to the side, noting a delivery man loading a cart with food and tea items. Bingo. You easily crawled underneath, stowing away. As your plan worked, a rush of excitement ran through you. The delivery man wheeled the cart inside without noticing his extra cargo. However, you only got as far as a storage room. You watched an aide load a different tea cart.

Dad took tea. He took tea often. It was a good, calculated risk, you thought. When the aide was turned around, you crawled into the second cart. You tucked yourself even further as the aide placed more tea cups underneath the cart. You kept your sigh of relief to yourself as the second cart started to roll down the hallway. You tugged back the thick, white tablecloth to read the office names. Williams. No. Baskins. No. Dick Johnson? You snickered, still no.

And there it was. Thomas Shelby, MP.

Yes.

The aide slowed the cart pass your father’s office. After making sure the coast was clear, you rolled yourself out. The lockpick kit you lifted from Finn earlier proved useful now. It wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be. At first, you had the tools all switched around. Then, a few people walked by, and you his yourself behind the second cart again. Frustration started to give you a decent headache until you heard a satisfying click.

“Just wait till Dad sees me,” you snuck inside, leaving the door wide open. “He’s going to be so surprised!” The office was much smaller than you thought. Your dad’s office back home was twice the size. Dusty books and boring colors didn’t capture your attention. The windows didn’t have any curtains to hide behind, so all gray daylight streamed into the room. No secret passageways or nonsense here. You scrambled underneath your father’s desk once you heard oncoming footsteps.

Ah, a perfect place to surprise him. This plan was your best yet. Everything was going so well! You couldn’t wait for your father to come in. He would be so proud of you and your cleverness. This definitely warranted a good reward. Ice cream? A tour of the building? It didn’t matter. All you really wanted was for your dad to tell you how clever you were and smile at you.

You couldn’t remember the last time he did smile at you.

A set of familiar footsteps stopped in the doorway. You heard the distinct sound of a gun clicking into place. It was subtle, but you knew the sound. Last month, your father taught you how to use a gun and why it wasn’t a toy. Your excitement couldn’t be contained much longer. You jumped out from underneath the desk with your hands raised.

“Papa! It’s me! Look! I made it all the way here!” you shouted. As your eyes adjusted to the daylight again, you were not greeted with your father’s smile. Instead, Thomas’ breath hitched, his grip tightened.

“What the hell, Y/N? You nearly fucking—what are you doing here?” Thomas berated you. His hand immediately closed the office door behind him. Your face started to fall.

“I was reading the map of London and I figured how to get here,” you gave him your proudest smile. “And now that I’m here, we can spend the whole day together! Isn’t it great?” You waited for your father to congratulate you. Thomas grabbed the scruff your shirt collar and forced you into one of his office chairs. You winced at his grip. He never grabbed you like that before.

“You’re supposed to be at school.” He sounded angrier than you thought he would be.

“Uncle Finn took me out. I tricked him! You’re right. He is the dumbest Shelby,” you laughed. When your father didn’t laugh with you, yours faded. His eyes glared down at you.

“And did you stop to think that this was a good idea?” His question cut into you. When you didn’t answer right away, he shook your chair, startling you. Why was he so angry? You made a good plan and you executed it perfectly.

“I just missed you,” you admitted. “I never see you anymore.” Hurt flashed in your father’s eyes. You watched him exhale a long breath except no cigarette smoke came out of his mouth. Thomas tucked the gun away. He walked towards his desk.

“I could’ve seriously hurt you. Guns are not a toy, remember?”

“I remember. But, you wouldn’t hurt me.” You mustered a different smile this time. It didn’t matter if your plan was clever or not. You could just settle with being here with him. Thomas dialed the phone on his desk. A new excitement made your heart beat faster. “Are you going to order tea for us?”

“No,” Thomas flatly told you. “You’re going back to school where you belong.”

“What? No,” you shook you head. You jumped out of the chair and rushed towards his side. Your hands grabbed his suit jacket. If you could just hold him really tight, like you did when you were younger, maybe he’ll understand. “I want to be here with you.”

Thomas pulled you off. “This isn’t the place for children.”

“But—

“Stop this right now, and listen to me.” You looked up. This was not your father. This was wrath. His tone felt like a knife sinking into your chest. “You may think this was a clever thing to do, but you’re wrong. This is, by far, the dumbest thing you have ever done. What if someone hurt you? Grabbed you? Would you like that? For a stranger to come and grab you and take you away?”

“No,” your voice broke. You bit your lip down hard. You heard someone knock at the door. An aide tucked their head inside.

“Afternoon, Oswald. If you could please wait with my son outside, his uncle will be by to take him back to school soon.” Thomas bent down to you. He gripped your wrist as if he was hurting you on purpose. “You will not do this again. You hear me?” You nodded. “Say you’re not going to do something stupid like this again.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid ever again.” Your eyes more drawn to the floor than to the man in front of you. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

As the aide guided you out of Thomas’ office, you went over the plan in your head again. Every single thing you did was thought-out. Every move was deliberate. None of it worked. You glanced back at your father. He ran his hand down his face. The same frown you had gotten used to hardened on his face.

This was your fault. You resolved that he would never smile at you again.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #imagine thomas shelby #son!reader #child!reader #male!reader #imagine request #fic request #thomas shelby gif #peaky blinders imagine #imagine peaky blinders #peaky blinders

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peachy-panic · 3 years

Text

WHUMPTOBER DAY 3: “WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”

This is the next chronological piece of Do No Harm, continued directly from this chapter.

Tag list: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump

WARNINGS: Medical procedures, referenced/implied noncon, slavery setting, the usual.

The young doctor seems a bit skittish and far less cruel than the other Facility employees, and that comes with the dangerous notion that perhaps he doesn’t plan on hurting him. But that notion requires a naivety of which Jaime is no longer capable. He, of all people, is aware that cruelty can disguise itself in many shapes and sizes. Just because it isn’t obvious doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and that only makes it all the more dangerous.

There’s no use in hoping either way, he decides. Dr. Tate will either hurt him or he won’t, will either touch him or he won’t, and Jaime can’t — won’t — react. He has already made that mistake once today and will certainly pay for it later in ways he doesn’t want to think about now. He would do well to remember that he doesn’t hold any power here. Not in this room, this building, this life. And that, despite any arbitrary written rules, Dr. Tate is free to do as he pleases.

At least he had removed the restraints from his mouth and wrists. Jaime can console himself with this small mercy.

Those had always been the worst part of nights with Mr. Torley, on the all-too-frequent occasions he decided to use them. He was clearly very into them, and even more into Jaime’s fear of them. In addition to the claustrophobia they stoked in him, the use of restraints in bed had always felt something like a mockery. What use was it to restrain someone who can’t fight back regardless? The binds on his wrists and ankles were nothing more than accessories. The shackles in his mind did all the work to keep him still. And Mr. Torley knew that.

He does his best not to think about that now. Not to think about Mr. Torley at all, since that was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. Distantly, he wonders how long the influence of his first Keeper will continue to stain Jaime’s existence beyond the termination of their six-month contract.

Dr. Tate, who has been buried in the cabinets above the sink for several minutes, turns back to him sporting bright-blue gloves that adhere tightly around his slender hands. He meets Jaime’s eyes for half a second before his gaze darts somewhere just to the left of his shoulder.

“We need to run a couple of tests,” he says in a detached, clinical voice, all notes of lightheartedness from earlier removed. “I’ll need to collect some samples from you.”

Jaime nods once in acknowledgement, squeezing his fingers tightly, unconsciously around the edge of the table. There’s an unnatural pause in his cadence, and Jaime when looks up, he watches a slight twitch of movement in the doctor’s jaw.

“Please remove your pants and underwear,” Dr. Tate says, his voice taking on a lower pitch. “You can leave them on up to your thighs, if you’d like.”

The slight shift in demeanor sets Jaime on edge, but he doesn’t hesitate at the command, even as a familiar panic claws at the inside of his throat. He drops forward from the table, his legs taking his weight. His thumbs hook the waistband of the thin, cotton pants he had been returned in, and he doesn’t allow himself a moment of hesitation before pushing them unceremoniously off his hips. He takes Dr. Tate up on his merciful offer to keep them partially on his body. The cold, sterile air inside the clinic is sharp against his exposed skin.

Jaime’s eyes find the ceiling as he prepares for the touch he knows is coming. He doesn’t look to see whatever tools and instruments Dr. Tate is laying out on the silver tray beside the exam table. He doesn’t have to. “We need to run a couple of tests.” Whatever foolish hypotheticals Jaime once held in regards to WRU — what they did and didn’t know about the treatment of their wards — had long been shattered.

Of course they needed to test him for sexually transmitted diseases. They can’t have a Domestic Companion spreading something to the next paying customer that buys their time and exposing their innocent charade.

There’s a pause in Dr. Tate’s movement, but Jaime doesn’t look away from his spot on the ceiling tile.

“I’m going to touch you, now.” Dr. Tate’s voice is low and measured. “I need to examine you for bumps or sores, any abnormalities.” He clears his throat. “And I’ll take a swab from your urethra. It might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt you.” Another pause. “Please, tell me if it does.”

Jaime’s grip on the table tightens, but he otherwise doesn’t react. Distantly, he is grateful for the warning, the bare explanation, mortifying as it is. He knows that the doctors here are not obligated to explain anything to the Companion patients, to seek consent in any form. Their consent was implicitly given in the contracts they signed at intake. He just as easily could have left Jaime gagged and bound to the table and gone about the procedure without so much as a word to him. Jaime is glad he hadn’t.

Instead, Dr. Tate’s touch is light and professional. His gloved hands don’t linger, they don’t poke and prod to get a reaction from him. It seems, even, that he touches him as little as possible. Almost as if he is as eager to get this over with as Jaime is, which doesn’t feel quite possible.

The fluorescent strip of light next to his focal point on the ceiling burns at the edge of his vision, but he doesn’t look away, using the mild discomfort as an anchor to hold himself steady. He concentrates on that instead of the gentle touches, gritting his teeth against any traitorous urges his body might provoke. Mr. Torley had loved that about Jaime — his responsiveness to touch — but not as much as he loved using it against him.

His stomach sours at the memory, fresh humiliation creeping into his cheeks at the idea of something similar happening now. He doesn’t think Dr. Tate would tease him the way his Keeper had, but he still doesn’t relish the idea of becoming physically aroused in front of this young doctor, who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him and, in another life, Jaime might have found pretty.

The thought is gone almost as soon as it comes, too painful to linger on. The idea of another life. A normal life. A life at all. These are thoughts Jaime is forbidden to have. The phantom sting of an electric shock lights up the column of his throat and Jaime winces.

“Sorry,” Dr. Tate said quickly, misunderstanding the movement and withdrawing his hand. Jaime’s eyes finally fall to his as the doctor takes a step back, inserting the long swab into a glass tube and sealing it with a cap. “The worst part is over.”

Jaime is numb all over, but he nearly laughs. He knows that having stepped foot in this facility again, the “worst part” has not even begun.

“I’ll need to collect another sample from your mouth,” Dr. Tate continues, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, and Jaime absently wonders why they even bother wasting extra product on the patients here. “And we’ll draw some blood—”

Something catches his voice mid-sentence and Jaime’s eyes flick up to his again. Dr. Tate looks at him, and then pointedly, hurriedly away. Jaime swears he can see his pale cheeks reddening.

“You can— We’re finished with that part.” He stumbles out. “Feel free to cover yourself up.”

Jaime does as he’s told, finding it somewhere within himself to be grateful that the doctor had kept the procedure professional. He couldn’t say the same thing for every encounter he’d had in the facility clinic before.

********

Sebastian knows what happens next, and that’s why he finds himself taking his time with the rest of the visit. As soon as he’s completed the mandated intake exam, he is supposed to mark the patient as cleared in his chart and alert the handlers to come collect him. To take him back into the part of the facility where Sebastian has never set foot; the “residential” wing where the unclaimed Companions are housed between contracts. On all the promotional advertisements, it’s depicted as a dormitory-like accommodation. Now that Sebastian knows just how little truth exists behind their lies, he can only imagine it’s nothing of the sort.

His mind conjures images of iron-barred cells and concrete rooms, of medieval dungeons with chains and darkness and filth. It’s a sensationalized version of what he assumes is probably the truth, but that doesn’t mean the reality is any less horrible. After what he’s seen in his time here and everything he’s heard, he has no doubt that the people who are forced to reside here between Keepers are subject to the company’s own brand of horror. Frankly, he’s in no hurry to turn his patient back over to their hands a moment sooner than he has to.

The boy is silent and entirely pliable throughout the whole exam, allowing himself to be moved when necessary and not so much as flinching when the needles for the blood draw break his skin. Sebastian is glad when the more… invasive parts of the exam are over. The boy had been no less compliant during them, maybe even the opposite, but Sebastian hadn’t missed the subtle changes in his posture, the way the muscles in his hands clenched and released around the edge of the table as he touched him as little as possible.

He had looked up at the ceiling instead of at the wall behind Sebastian, as he had done previously, and Sebastian had silently prayed that the position wasn’t intended as a way to hold back tears. He doesn’t know how he could live with himself if he made this kid cry.

When the blood has been drawn, the test samples submitted for lab processing, and a full physical performed, Sebastian has run out of ways to delay the inevitable. He closes out of the boy’s patient profile on his screen and turns to him, hands folded professionally in front.

“I’ll need to alert the handlers that your intake exam is complete,” he told him, probably unnecessarily. He hadn’t looked to see how long he had been in the system, but from his behavior, he assumes it’s been long enough to break his spirit. He probably knows these protocols better than Sebastian ever wants to. “They’ll come and escort you back to the residential quarters.”

110750 nods once without looking at him. “Thank you,” he says flatly. Then, there is a moment of pause before he lifts his eyes and seems to level Sebastian with something more sincere. “Thank you for… for letting me get cleaned up.”

Sebastian feels like shattering into pieces all over the cold linoleum. Instead, he tries for a smile and lands somewhere in the realm of a tight, thin line at his lips. “Sure,” he says, a bit mortified to hear the crack in his voice.

He watches 110750 take slow, measured breaths as Sebastian makes the call he desperately wishes he didn’t have to make. He tries not to stare as they wait in tense silence for the handlers to arrive. Of course, Sebastian could leave the room if he wants. The intake procedure is done, and so is his minimal obligation to patient care. But something feels wrong about leaving him. More than that, something feels utterly wrong about this boy being taken out of the clinic, away from his line of sight, where he can’t see what will happen next. He only knows it won’t be good.

A split second before he hears the clinic doors whoosh open, Sebastian steps closer to his patient, lowering his voice to a quick, urgent whisper. “Keep an eye on that broken nose,” he advises. “If you have any trouble breathing as it heals, please don’t hesitate to let your assigned handler know that you need medical attention, okay?”

The boy hitches in a breath but doesn’t respond. Sebastian takes half a step closer.

“Look, you have a right to medical assistance,” he says, the words feeling like treason on his tongue despite knowing their written truth. “Even here. Even now. You can always come see me here if you need to. They can’t legally prevent you from requesting care. Do you understand?”

Unexpectedly, something dark flashes in the boy’s eyes. Something less like the fear and dread he had witnessed earlier, and something much more akin to anger. Anger at Sebastian?

Before the interaction can go any further, they are interrupted by the unceremonious swing of the exam room door. The same two men who had brought him in - one with a fresh bandage on his face - push their way in, stepping between Sebastian and his patient.

“Up you go, 7-5-0,” Handler Hernandez barks, and the boy is on his feet before he can finish the command, his hands behind his back, head bowed.

“Oh, look who finally decided to behave,” the other one - Smith, maybe? - taunts as he sizes him up in a way that makes even Sebastian’s skin crawl. Just as he had prior to the visit, the man shifts his gaze to him, a sneer permanently embedded into his expression. “Does he get a lollipop for good behavior? Maybe a sticker?”

The boy doesn’t look up at him, but Sebastian thinks he sees his throat move. He feels a swell of rage rise into his throat, coming to a boiling point for the second time since he entered the room with this boy, but he swallows it back, keeping as level an expression as he can manage.

“He was perfectly agreeable,” he responds tightly, refusing to play into whatever mockery he’s initiating.

Smith answers him with a dismissive snort, turning his attention back to the boy like a predator who just found fresh meat. “What do you say, sweetheart?” He asks, the thick rubber of his boots squeaking against the tile as he takes a step too far into the boy’s personal space. “Think we can go the easy way back, or would you prefer to do things the hard way again?”

The beat of silence in the room is painful as they await his response, which comes eventually in a subdued voice, through slightly gritted teeth and with his eyes on the floor. “The easy way. Sir.”

A snort from Hernandez breaks the tension. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, he is escorted from the room and seems to take with him all the air in Sebastian's lungs. Naively, desperately, he hopes for the briefest moment of eye contact before he’s taken away from him. But his eyes stay downward, even as a large hand curls around his bicep and makes him stumble in his gait as he’s yanked forward. Sebastian watches helplessly as he disappears from sight, one singular thought slicing through his mind on a loop:

Who did this to you?

#whumptober2021 #slavery #whump #like bbu adjacent?#Do No Harm: Jaime & Sebastian #medical setting #referenced noncon

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imatechbummerliketomholland · 3 years

Text

I wish this trip never ends (sstbthw part 2) - h.h

Word count: 3768

Warning: angst, swear, mention of smoking

Pairing : harry holland

Request: no.

N/A: okay, i took me almost a whole month to write this but i'm kinda need to work on school too. Remember, english is not my first language, so be kind if you spot mistakes, i really tried my best. I asked you who the reader was supposed to end up with ... I'll let you figure it out but ... don't hate me for the end ... because after all ... it might not be the end. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Love you all! xx

taglist : @angeliquekalampoka , @harryhollandsgirlfriend (the one and only harry holland's girlfriend to me)

ღღღ

previously - and you can find part 3

Restoring a relationship of trust and regaining the bond that you both had was particularly difficult. You had to learn to find your place in Harrison's life, but also in his relationship with Grace. You were roommates and friends, but it was complicated to plan meetings with Harrison's busy schedule. Between his job search after the cancellation of his Netflix series, his photo shoots, his dates with Grace, those with his family. It was getting harder and harder to find a moment to reunite with the two of you. It was without counting your schedule.

You were supposed to meet at noon for lunch at that restaurant Harrison told you about where he took his mother earlier this year, for Mother's Day. You felt uncomfortable going to such a place. It was very fancy; you had taken a look at the menu and you knew in advance that you would not be able to afford to split the bill. That was sometimes one of the downsides of being friends with Tom and Harrison. They sometimes forgot that their salary was significantly higher than yours. After all, they were still simple, good-natured guys, never saying no to a quick takeout meal or ordering pizza, drinking a beer at the local pub. And sometimes, they offered to go to prestigious places, not paying attention to money, wanting to please their friends or family.

Currently you were in your room. You were throwing countless of clothes across the room, trying to choose what you could wear to this lunch. Harry stopped dead when one of your dresses flew out of your room, right in front of his nose, blocking his way. You had left your door open and your spontaneity got the better of your best friend.

“Easy, Tiger. I had no idea your clothes had the capacity of Dr. Strange's cape.” He joked before coming into your bedroom.

You turned to find Harry leaning against your doorframe, a smirk encrusted on his face. You gave him an unamused frown and his smile widened. This wasn’t funny at all; you were stressed as hell. It’s not like you still had feelings for Harrison and try to impress him – to be honest, you still had feeling for your friend, but not as intense as before, you had drawn a definitive line on the possibility of a romantic relationship with him, which had helped you a lot. – But you didn’t want to be dressed down and looked like a clown.

“Come on Munchkin, it’s just a lunch. At worst, Harrison can still make it looks like he invited you out for charity, sort of “Make a Wish” event” Harry joked, in his significant humor.

“Go to hell, Robert. Don’t you have a pack bag to make, mister “I’m going to Spain to help my superstar brother to hold his tea while he��s filming”?”

“Rude… I’m a film director, now”

Not for that, you thought to yourself, but don't have the balls to tell your best friend. You didn't want to take this joke too far. You smiled at his cute pretending offended face. You pouted mockingly before biting your lip. You loved the dynamics of your relationship so much. Your humor, sarcasm, your outspokenness, that's what brought you together. Harry pulled you lightly from your closet with a comforting wink. He chose Yves Saint Laurent poppy red wool jersey flared pants that Tom gave you on your birthday. You smiled at his choice. You liked these pair of pants because they were sparkling with vitality, the color was flamboyant. Harry then gave you a satin pearl-colored shirt from Zara and you laughed at the drastic brand difference.

“Oh I see. A classy look but no more than £ 1000 that's pretty smart,” you joked.

The choice of your outfit once again proved the reality of hanging out with wealthy people. You were not poor; you could even be grateful for the life you had had. But it would never occur to you to give your friends clothes that were going over the miles and cents. To be honest, you wanted it. You wanted to live up to the gifts your friends sometimes gave you. But the truth seemed quite different: you had cried over the price of a used Rolex you wanted to give Tom for his birthday. Even having saved for 6 months, you could not afford such a gift.

“Shut up, don’t be so dramatic. Wear that necklace Harrison gave you for Christmas. I’m sure you’ll look fine”

“Thank you,Baz…I guess. ”

You kissed his cheek and then invited him out of your room so you could get ready. It didn't take you more than thirty minutes, time to put on the outfit your best friend had chosen and to put on light makeup. When you were finally ready, you walked to Tom's room. He had offered to take you to the restaurant where you were to join Harrison. But when you got to his ajar door, you could hear the soft sound of a slight snoring. You let out a chuckle before ordering an Uber. You knew he had spent almost a full month in Los Angeles and hadn't returned until early last week. You wanted to leave him as much as possible alone so that he could rest before his trip to Spain for the reshoots of his film Uncharted. Tom was a boy who loved being in touch with those close to him, but you also felt his need to recharge his batteries. That's why you preferred to let him sleep.

You went down to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water before leaving. When your Uber arrived, you left a note on the refrigerator to let the boys know you were safely gone. It was little everyday things that made you look normal that you enjoy. A post-it on the fridge, a table organizing household chores had been drawn up. Note to yourself; It was Harrison's turn to take care of the laundry.

☙♡❧

You had really hoped this was just a grotesque nightmare. That it wasn't real. He was going to arrive; he was just stuck into the traffic. Isn't it?

But you were there, waiting for over an hour and a half, without any news from your friend. Some people watched you with pity eyes, the others didn't give you any attention. You internally thank Harry for choosing your outfit. You didn't look like a lost kitten in this prestigious setting. It didn't prevent you from being ashamed right now. The waiter had urged you to order several times but you had told him that you were expecting someone, that he would arrive any minute. The last time, you didn't know if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

But it never happened. Harrison never came to your dinner. You were alone, sitting at a table, pathetically waiting for your friend to show up. It didn't look like him. He had never stand you up before. And not to improve this embarrassing moment, the waiter came to you again. This time, with a man in a suit. He was elegant, carried himself proud but diplomatic. They stopped at your table, a tight smile on their faces. No doubt the man in the suit was to be the manager.

"Miss, my employee told me that you seemed to have occupied this table for a while now. I am sorry to tell you that if you do not order a few things, you will have to leave the establishment"

You looked at him with misty eyes. You have never been so ashamed in your life. You just nod your head, not trusting your voice just yet. After taking a deep breath, you finally apologize to them before telling them that you are going to leave. The manager of the restaurant, out of politeness awkwardly apologizing for this uncomfortable situation.

You've finished the Dry Martini that you allowed yourself to, paying for it with whatever pride you have left. You pulled your cellphone out of your purse and decided to call one of the boys. After three rings, he picked up.

"Hey ... can you please pick me up?"

Your voice was shaky, you were so ashamed but it was less distressing than having to walk the Walk of Shame to your house or cry in an uber. You hung up and shared your location. You left the lobby, leaving the restaurant, standing in front of the entrance to the establishment. The air refreshed your cheeks burning with shame. Luckily it wasn't raining today. Which was pretty nice compared to that early summer you had had.

When you saw Harry's car pulled up in front of you, you slid into the passenger seat without a word. The curly redhead gave you a heartwarming smile but you definitely could see a spark of annoyance in his eyes. You sigh, resigned while shrugging your shoulders. It was obvious that your friendship with Harrison was still shaky.

"I'm sorry, love. He's a jerk about it."

Coincidentally, like a mitigating circumstance, your phone vibrated, receiving a notification from Harrison. You were chewing your lip with a sort of anguish and irritation, watching the message the blond had sent you.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. My agent called me for a pretty urgent casting briefing. She's detained me until now. Are you still okay for this dinner?"

You were angry. You were mature enough and had known the boys long enough to understand their obligations. The fact that Harrison had a lastminute meeting with his agent and missed your dinner wasn't a problem. The problem was, he made you wait for over an hour and a half before notifying you. You wanted him to call you to let you know, or a simple text just after he knew for the meeting. You typed a short answer, shorter than this was impossible. "No". You rested your head against the headrest, turning your gaze to your best friend.

"Hey, he's a Netflix star now" you replied to his last words.

Your voice cracked on the last syllables and your eyes filled with tears. You weren't usually that emotional but the anguish and shame really took over you. Harry noticed, unsure of how to instantly respond to your distress. He would have liked to stop on an emergency lane to take you in his arms but he already had 2 penalties to pay, respectively for speeding and prohibited parking ... a third fine would not be really welcome. He simply placed his hand on your thigh, drawing circles on your pants to comfort you. He simply moved his hand to shift gears and instantly rested it on your leg whenever he had the chance. This gesture soothed you, enjoying the touch, grateful to have someone as your best friend to mop up your pain.

☙♡❧

Arriving at the apartment, no sign of Harrison. When you walked in the kitchen, you saw Tom sitting at the counter, scrolling his phone. He looked up at you, not directly noticing your annoyed expression.

"Wow..you're ... gorgeous. I love these pants on you"

You smiled, a little amused by the compliment. Of course he loved the pants, it was a gift from him. But your smile didn’t reach your eyes. With a look on your expression then on the clock, the actor understood that something went wrong. Harry was right behind and still no trace of Harrison. It was suspicious. Tom gave you a worried look.

"Do I have to ask…Never mind, I’m still going to ask. How was lunch with Harrison?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask him? Oh wait... right, he didn't show up" you said sarcastically although you could hear the hurt in your voice.

Tom frowned, biting the inside of his lower lip in annoyance. Harrison was his best mate since forever and he knew him so well. It seemed strange from Harrison to not show up. The blond has told him he was happy to see you again and walking through this whole awkward “feeling situation” because he didn’t want to lose you. In a quick movement, he rose from his stool to walk around the counter. The next second, he took you in his comforting arms and you finally let yourself go under the sight of the two Holland brothers.

“It seems like you need a break of all this shit” Tom said while he ran his fingers through your hair.

You let a little laugh escape through your tears. He wasn't wrong. You really needed to get away from this whole situation for a moment. But how? Harry watched the scene unsure of what to do. You were his best friend and it seemed like the solace you found was never in his arms. He had tried in the car, however, as best he could. He walked over to the counter to make you both a cup of tea. It seems that as cliché as it sounds, tea comforts you, as the English person you used to be. As the redhead waited patiently for the water to boil, a flash of genius - according to him - crossed the glare of his eyes.

“Why doen't she come with us to Spain?”

His brother's words seemed to suit Tom, who released his hold on you. You opened your eyes wide, not sure of what you had just heard. Go to Spain, with them? Once again, you knew you were going to argue on this proposition. The idea was not bad, Spain seemed a rather pleasant country. But you had just graduated and had a student job to save as much as possible. However, you could not afford to leave for several days in Spain, at the last minute. Plus, what were you going to do while Tom was filming and Harry was assisting him? He was sure the film's production crew wasn't going to give you a pass because Tom had decided.

“Yeah! That’s it, you’re coming with us”

“Tom, I have a student job. I can’t just…decide to go to Spain.”

“You never take a leave, come on. It’s not negotiable”

You were looking at Harry for help but he just shrugged. After all, he was the one who had initiated the idea of including you on the trip. You were trying to find a valid excuse to stay home. You really didn't want to impose yourself.

“I can’t afford that” you said, trying your best to convince him to quit the idea.

“I don’t care, it’s not even a problem. You coming to Spain with us.”

"Omg, does Z dominate you in bed to make you so bossy in life?"

Harry almost spitted his tea and laughed out loud while Tom gave you shocked eyes with pinky cheeks. You had always been sassy but hanging out with the boys had made you even more sassy than ever. How many times haven't you heard Tuwaine or Harry make fun of Harrison or Tom on the sex subject? Being a girl seemed to make you an untouchable character. The boys had never teased you about your relationships or your sexual partners. And while you've always had feelings for Harrison, you've had your own experiences. Anyway, you had just gone with the flow and Tom's brand-new romantic relationship with his co-star gave you the perfect opportunity.

“That's not the point.” stammered the actor.

Your smile widened, proud of your joke and the way Tom reacted. You heard Harry clear his throat. He had his phone in his hand and his own smile didn't bode well for you.

"The production is okay but it's at Tom's expense."

“You got to be kidding me…”

☙♡❧

You ended up in Spain with two of your best friends. You knew you had limited time before Tom had to fly back to Los Angeles for some Spider-man: No Way Home reshoots. So, you enjoyed as much as possible: accompanying the boys to the golf course - even though you weren't very involved in the sport -, spending time to visit touristic places when they were on set, talking with Rachael and other people from the set. You really enjoyed your trip.

On Wednesday evening you went out to a restaurant with Tom, Harry and two other friends/tom’s colleagues. You couldn't deny that it was fun. You had the opportunity to sunbathe a little while walking through the streets of Madrid. Spain was doing you good and not once did you think about your wobbly friendship with Harrison. You've just left the restaurant when a few fans politely show up to take pictures with Tom. You couldn't help but smile at the thought of how kind Tom had always taken in a few snaps when his fans approached him respectfully - and there weren't too many of them -. You sighed with pleasure before stepping away from the group. You leaned against a wall and took out the packet of cigarettes that Tom had asked you to keep in your clutch bag. Being an occasional smoker, he wouldn't blame you if you took one from him. You tilted your head back to admire the dark starry night when you felt a presence by your side. You narrowed your eyes in mischief as you looked sideways: Harry was there, his nose wrinkled from your cigarette. He didn't like it too much Silence filled your bubble despite the hubbub outside. You were in public and it was not surprising to meet travelers and Madrid residents mingling with the crowd to enjoy this pleasant evening.

"I wish this trip never ends." You finally said, breaking the silence.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Instead, he was just looking at you. You were a little tanned, the Madrid sun had done wonders on you; your loose hair framed your face and the summer dress you had chosen for the restaurant looked great on you: It was a short red floral summer dress with a shingle collar. Light enough to keep you from suffocating but decent to wear on any casual occasion. You were beautiful, stunning. His heart exploded at the sight of you, so much that it hurt a few times.

"I wish I had been there for you more." he finally confessed

You finally turned your head towards him and shrug your shoulders, smiling shyly but sincerely.

“You were working, Baz”

“I meant…not only here in Spain. I’m sorry to have let you down recently”

You give him a confused look. He hadn't been a bad friend but he kept implying it. You just shook your head negatively to brush his words away. Harry had always been important to you. He had been the first to step towards you. It was him who introduced you to the rest of the gang. He had always been concerned about you.

The night you met, you immediately clicked up with him. And to be honest, for a moment, you thought he liked you that night. But he never took that step towards you and you never did either. You dreaded that if you kissed him, he would think you were interested in his notoriety by proxy. So you just acted like any reasonable person would - accept the status he gave you. And the second time he asked you to join him with his brother and his friends, you met Harrison and your heart exploded.

"I'm glad you brought me here"

“I'm happy you accepted to come.”

“I didn't really have the choice, Baz” you joked.

He laughed slightly. You weren't wrong, he and Tom had practically dragged you onto the plane, leaving you no choice to be by their side. But you could only thank them, especially Harry who had the idea. You took another hit on your cigarette before leaning back to check out where Tom was with his fans. He seemed to be talking with the girls and didn't seem overwhelmed. So, you didn't want to interrupt him and were just going to wait for him to finish. Harry played with his hands nervously, looking straight ahead and then at you. He seemed to be repeating this game for several seconds before finally asking the question that was in his mind.

“Have you heard from Harrison?” Harry asked quite casually

“He sent me several texts to apologize and wished me to have a good time in Madrid.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?”

You swallow hard before looking at him. There was an indecipherable glint in his eyes and you weren't sure what to make of it. You drew another puff from your cigarette, maybe that would save you from entering this conversation. But Harry's presence was all around you and you couldn't really escape. So you've decided to be honest.

“It’s complicated. I suppose so...”

“Mhmm”

“But my friendship with Haz is important, I don't want to lose him because of it.”

“Yeah, you can't imagine how well I understand you” he sighed

“What do you mean? Who’s the lucky girl..or guy ?”

Harry turned to you frankly and you did the same, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette. You are well aware that the conversation was taking a more serious turn. He moistened his lips and walked over to you. Harry was full of things: he was full-loving, sarcastic, talented, daring, impertinent. But Harry was mostly awkward when it came to love. Not just an attraction, no, love with real feeling. Delicately, hesitantly, he reached out to your cheek, stroking it with the back of his fingers, cautiously. You were frozen, your eyes fixed on him admiring his audacity.

"She's the most beautiful girl I ever seen." he said with a small smile.

Harry walked over to you and your heart was pounding at breakneck speed. Harry had ... feelings for you? You were really confused. Since when had he developed his feelings? Why didn't he tell you about it? Why hadn't he tried anything so far? So, were you right from the start? Was there a tension between you since the beginning of your friendship, since your met? But above all, did you want him to take that step? Instinctively, your body responded. You parted your lips and closed your eyes. You enjoyed the warmth of his hand on your cheek and were waiting for the touch of his lips. But it never happened.

"Hey baz, y/n..we're going back to the hotel" Tom said, taking his eyes off his phone. "I…Mhmm sorry, did I interrupt something?"

#harry holland #harry holland x reader #harry holland fic #haz osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield #tom holland

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cinnoasch · 3 years

Note

I just had an idea, Akechi with an S/O (their not dating yet) and they have a toxic boyfriend and when Akechi meets him he just thinks, "guess i have one more target" and he tries the hardest to keep up the Detective Prince facade in front of this guy because he's just filled with so much rage at this one man.

A/N: Ohoho, I love this idea. I had an idea for a bad ending of sorts, but let me know if any one wants that ending as well. Thank you Anon and hope you enjoyed! And hopefully this turned out alright!

C/W: Toxic relationship on/off, slight cursing, angst(?)

Word Count: 1885

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

Hostile Third-Wheel (Goro Akechi x Reader)

“You look upset Y/N. Did something happen?” Akechi asks, looking up from his paperwork when he notices your expression.

You let out an annoyed sigh, waving your phone in the air as you sit across from him. “My boyfriend. He accidentally reserved a table for 3 for our date tonight and being the stubborn lazy ass he is, refuses to call the restaurant to change it. He told me to invite a friend.”

“On your date?”

“Mhm, and he said...” You say as you hear your notification ring. “To preferably bring a girl... ‘Just kidding, winky face.’“

“He sounds like quite the charmer. And you can’t change the reservation yourself?”

“You know how the restaurants are, they rather have the person who did the reservation to change it.”

“You do make a valid point. Well then, how about inviting me?”

You look at Akechi in surprise. “You want to tag along on my date? Wouldn’t you just feel like a third wheel?”

Akechi smiles lightly, “Well, I guess I would feel like somewhat of a third wheel, but I have never met your boyfriend. I’d like to know what your taste in significant others is like.”

“Not funny. But I will say, it hasn’t been... the best. I think I really... got it this time.”

Akechi noticed the hesitation on your face and in your words but he didn’t mention it. He knew the many heartbreaks you had been through, although he never met any of your previous significant others. He was the one that you called during those nights, hearing your crying and hoarse voice as you explained how you recently were dumped. While it hurt more for you than him, Akechi could not help but feel upset. He may be the only one who harbored feelings between the two of you, but even if you did not return those feelings; he’d still be there for you no matter what.

“Anyways, I am allowed to join you two right? Your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“Not at all. He says he’s fine with it. So see you tonight at 7? It’s the one restaurant near Seaside Park in Odaiba.”

"Ah, I’ve been there on occasion. If I remember correctly, you often frequented the restaurant with your previous significant others. You know if you keep bringing them to the same restaurant for dates, it’s not as special as it seems.”

“I know, I know. I guess I just stick with what I’m comfortable with. Any who, see you tonight!” You say with a wave as you take your leave from Akechi’s apartment.

When you close the door behind you, your smile fades. You had been through this too many times before. You knew what was going to happen tonight. And after tonight, the cycle would repeat itself just like it always had for the past few months.

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

“So, this friend of yours, is Goro Akechi?” your boyfriend asks as you two walk the path heading to the restaurant.

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“No particular reason. I just hope you don’t think about leaving me for him. We’ve been through this enough times, so you know the drill. We always come back to each other.”

“I know... the thought never crossed my mind.”

“Not even once?” They ask, tilting your face towards them.

“Not even once.”

“Good.” Your boyfriend removes his hand and opens the door for you. “Let’s keep it that way then.”

You sigh quietly, straightening out your clothes as you walk through the door. You never knew why you always got your hopes up. Breaking things off and getting back together was what your relationship was. You knew from the start that the relationship wasn’t good, but you always found yourself drawn back. You always questioned why this was the way that things were. Were you just content with any type of love? Even if it was the worst kind? Or were you just denying the fact that you could never have anything better than this?

You feel your arm being tugged as you look up to see your boyfriend trying to move you along to the table.

“C’mon, your friend’s waiting.”

You give a nod as you walk to the table with your boyfriend. Akechi waves with a smile when he sees you two, and stands up from his seat.

“Hope you weren’t waiting long, Akechi.” You say with a small smile.

“Not at all. So this is your boyfriend? I’m Goro Akechi, pleased to meet you.” He says holding his hand out for a handshake.

Your boyfriend introduces himself, lightly shaking Akechi’s hand as he does. The three of you sit down at the table and decide what to order before starting a conversation.

“So, how long have you two been dating?” Akechi asks. A small smile graces his face, however he was staring intently at your boyfriend. You noticed that your boyfriend did whisper something to Akechi earlier while they were introducing themselves, so you were somewhat concerned.

You’re about to answer but your boyfriend slings an arm around you with a grin. “Y/N and I have been dating for a few months now.”

“A few months? Is that so? Y/N told me they’ve had a few other significant others within the past few months.”

“Ah, that’s them trying to save face. Y/N and I have a sort of on/off relationship. They just can’t get enough of me so they always come crawling back.”

Akechi glances at you but quickly turns his gaze back to your boyfriend. “Really now? How peculiar, you don’t see those quite often anymore.”

“I guess not, but guess we’re just made for each other.”

Akechi only nods in agreement, his fists were clenched underneath the table. Was he upset that you lied? Yes. But the thing that bothered him the most was your boyfriend. He could immediately tell that your boyfriend was bad news when he saw you two walking up to the restaurant. How he had that condescending look on his face when he talked to you, his words just now, implying that you couldn’t do any better than him. It made Akechi’s blood boil.

It seems that I have a new target to take care of.

Soon the waiter comes and takes your orders, silence filling the air for a few seconds until your boyfriend speaks up.

“So, Akechi. You’re that Detective Prince that’s always on TV right?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

You twirl your straw in your drink, already knowing the question that would pop up.

“You must have a lot of fans, right? All those girls surrounding you must be nice.”

“Well, fans are expected, although all of the attention can be a bit much at times.”

“Ya don’t have to lie, you must love the attention right? Though I’m surprised you aren’t dating someone yourself. You could get any girl.”

“I suppose. But I bet if you were in my shoes, you’d relish in the attention wouldn’t you? You strike me as the type of guy who... sleeps around I would say.”

You shoot Akechi a look, but he only dismisses it with a smile and laughs. “Aha, I apologize. What am I doing asking those sorts of questions with Y/N here?”

Your boyfriend chuckles, “Oh, Y/N doesn’t mind. Isn’t that right, babe?”

“Like hell I don’t.”

“Oh come on, Akechi’s just joking around.”

Akechi grins, “Well... it seems my deduction was correct. You are that type of guy. Truly despicable. Y/N deserves much better than you, don’t you think?”

Your boyfriend stands up angrily, “What the hell are you trying to say?”

“Other than you’re a piece of shit?”

You stand up next, “Alright, let’s all calm down now. Akechi, a word?”

Your boyfriend sits back down, crossing his arms as you take Akechi to the side to talk to him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? You’re the one who’s forcing yourself to be in a relationship with that dumbass over there.”

“Who I date is none of your business.”

“It is my business. Who’s the one who has called me every time crying because they got dumped? What’s even worse is that you do nothing to get yourself out of it.”

“Who says I haven’t tried?”

“Y/N. Look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve actually tried to get out of your relationship.”

You clench your hands, unable to look Akechi in the eye. Who were you kidding? You had simply accepted how things were going to be between you and your boyfriend. An on and off relationship that only hurt you.

Akechi sighs. “Look, I’m only saying these things because I care about you. And if you won’t break it off, I’ll do it for you.”

The look in Akechi’s eyes told you that he was dead serious. Yet, there was some hint of malicious intent behind his words. Would Akechi really turn to violence to break things off between you and your boyfriend? Well, that question wasn’t needed since you were made aware of Akechi’s hostile side.

“Fine. I’ll break it off. Just give me some time.”

“Hmmm, no. Do it now.”

You glare at Akechi. “Now? Are you crazy?”

“Like I said if you don’t, I will. And my methods are much worse than a simple ‘I’m breaking up with you’.”

You only nod, not wanting to barter with Akechi any longer, and walk back to the table where your boyfriend sat. When he sees you walking back, he stands up with a smile. “So, did you tell Akechi off? Ha, I bet the look on his face was priceless.”

“Actually no. I’m breaking up with you.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m tired of this, me staying loyal for some piece of shit boyfriend who sleeps around. I’m done with you.”

“You bitch!” He raises his hand to slap you but Akechi appears behind you and grabs his wrist forcefully.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Your now, ex-boyfriend looks at Akechi in fear. You didn’t want to turn around because you were sure that the look Akechi was giving this guy was one that could kill.

“Now, if you would please lower your hand once I let go.”

Your ex-boyfriend only nods and once Akechi lets go of his wrist he bolts out of the restaurant.

You let out a sigh of relief as you turn to face Akechi. “Thank you for that. I guess a push was all I needed.”

“Not a problem. But if I may ask Y/N, why did you put up with it? The Y/N I know would normally break it off immediately when it became that type of relationship.”

You chuckle a bit sadly as you seat yourself back in your chair. “You know, I thought so too. But eventually, it just became a cycle. My thoughts started to invade my mind, telling me that that type of relationship was the best that I could handle. That it couldn’t and wouldn’t get any better. I’m pathetic aren’t I?”

“Your taste in S/O’s could be considered pathetic I suppose.”

“Low blow, but I’ll take it.”

“Well you did need to hear it. Anyways, I think we can salvage this failed date somewhat. What do you say Y/N?”

“Sure, why not.”

#goro akechi x reader #persona 5 #goro akechi #persona 5 royal #p5

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

Text

next to you

I’ve wanted to write this exact scenario for rowaelin for so long and today I was supposed to write for agkol so obviously this came out. Rowaelin - 2.4k

part 2

“It’s totally fine,” Aedion says, his broad arm a warm weight around her shoulders as they both take in the room before them. And the bed. Aelin doesn’t move to take a step any further than their perch in the doorway. “He’s away for the weekend, he won’t know.”

A more sober Aelin would probably protest, but as it is she’s had a couple too many glasses of wine and she really doesn’t fancy having to order an Uber back to her own place.

She had come over to Aedion’s under the pretence of watching a movie with her cousin and his girlfriend, but she had made the first mistake of inviting Dorian who had made the second mistake of bringing the wine.

One thing had led to another which had led to the four of them lying around in various states of non-sobriety in the roof garden of Aedion’s building. At one point she’d slung on his fleece for extra warmth as she curled into Lysandra’s side as they watched the stars. Aedion and Dorian had stood at the railings looking over the city, sharing a smoke as they spoke in voices too low for Aelin to hear.

All in all, a good night.

The view from the roof terrace catches her breath each time she visits, it’s high enough to capture the lines of the city in all directions and being so high up, at such a step back, always feels like a breath of fresh air.

Aedion has a cool apartment, one she wishes she could afford, with it’s basement gym, the scenic garden and it’s unfailing hot water system. It’s a shame she doesn’t spend more time here.

She chews her lip as she takes in the tidy bedroom before her, the crisp green sheets on the bed, the orderly desk in the corner with only a laptop and a lamp atop it, the laundry hamper in the corner surely holding the dirty clothes that in Aelin’s place live on the floor until she can bring herself to wash them.

It wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world to crash in Aedion’s roommate’s bed for the night. Like Aedion says, he’s away for the weekend and she can change the sheets afterwards so he'll never know she was there.

She can’t believe she’s actually considering it but the wine is wearing off slightly now leaving her feeling like she wants to collapse into the giant bed and bury herself beneath the covers.

“Well,” Aedion says from her side, his voice only slightly slurred. “It’s here if you want it. I’m going to hit the hay. Whatever you decide, don’t walk home. I can call you a cab.”

“You’re sure he’s away for the weekend?” Aelin says as she shrugs out from underneath his arm.

“Hundred percent,” Aedion nods as she steps closer towards the welcoming bed.

Well, it’s decided then.

“Ah,” Aelin moans as she finally collapses onto the bed. She can’t believe she ever considered getting a taxi home, the sheets beneath her cheek are luxuriously soft and the mattress - gods the mattress. She could sink into it and stay here forever, it cups and moulds around each of her curves and she can’t help the sigh of satisfaction that slips out of her.

Aedion’s laugh sounds from behind her as he shuts the door. “Night, Ae.”

Her own response is muffled into the brushed cotton beneath her. She lies still for a moment, resting her eyes as the buzz of the booze settles into her. There’s a thrumming beneath her skin, and the room spins somewhat as she lays still with her eyes shut gently against the sensations. Her fingertips are definitely tingling, a sign that she knows she’ll feel rotten in the morning, but for now the bliss of a dark room and a soft bed beneath her are all that her mind can care to contemplate.

It’s been a while since she’s hung out with her cousin, both of them just busy, and she’s missed him. She’s missed the easy companionship they have and the slick conversations they have, only aided tonight by the presence of Dorian and Lysandra and the wine.

She snorts a laugh into the sheets and the movement causes the button of her jeans to dig into her stomach. She forces herself up with a groan and just manages to tug off the stiff denim, slinging the offending item across the room somewhere.

She laughs to herself at the thought of her already messing up such a clean room.

She doesn’t know Aedion’s roommate that well. She knows he’s called Rowan, and that he’s twenty-eight and now she knows that he has a disgustingly tidy room. Or he did, she adds to herself as she throws her top to the other side of the room.

Rowan only moved in with her cousin a couple of months ago, but from his room she can guess he’s uptight and quite possibly deathly boring. How Aedion lives with someone like that she doesn’t know, Aelin’s own roommates - Manon and Elide - are the perfect level of chaos with just enough order to function.

Aelin considers her options as she slumps on the corner of his bed, clad only in her underwear. Sleeping in a bra is uncomfortable but would she want to be naked in this stranger’s bed? Whether or not she changes the sheets afterwards he could be sweaty or gross or worse. He could have had guests in this bed before her.

Her gaze lands on a chest of drawers tucked against the wall on the far side of the room and before she knows she’s tiptoeing across and tugging open a drawer. Bingo. In-keeping with the rest of the room there are rows and rows of neatly folded t-shirts and before she can second guess herself she tugs out a black one, tugging it over herself before slipping off her bra and dropping it to the floor.

Another thing she’s learning tonight about Aedion’s mysterious roommate? He’s absolutely huge.

Aelin is far above average height for a woman and still, Rowan’s t-shirt hits mid thigh. She feels somewhat scandalous, in his room and wearing his clothes without his knowledge. A thought pops into her mind before she can help it - she hopes he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

Aelin launches herself back at the bed, sliding into the sleek sheets before flicking off the light at her side. She nestles in tightly, burrowing into the deliciously inviting bed and takes a deep breath. Gods this Rowan person smells good too.

She relaxes into the softness of the sheets and the euphoria that is lying on his mattress. In combination with the wine it doesn’t take her long at all to drift off.

When she wakes Aelin is aware of two things.

Firstly, her mouth tastes like shit. That would be the wine and not brushing her teeth the night before.

Secondly, she’s not alone.

It takes her a few beats to realise, but there’s a strong arm slung around her waist, tucking her into a broad chest. A puff of breath dashes across her neck as the man takes each slow, deep breath as he slumbers behind her.

Aelin lays still for a moment, her brain not yet fully turned on.

She definitely went to bed alone, but maybe-

“Dorian?” She whispers into the dark, trying to roll over to see him, but the strong arm around her waist is clamped too tightly for her to get anything more than a glance. She has no idea where Dorian ended up last night but it wouldn’t be the first time they had ended up in bed together.

“Dorian?” She tries again and the man behind her shifts allowing her an eyeful of the top of the head tucked into the crook of her neck.

Well, the man with the silver hair is definitely not Dorian, and as he shifts he tugs her tighter against him and shit. The pressure of morning wood against her backside is unmistakable.

Aelin’s mouth goes dry as her traitorous body grinds back into it, her ass rubbing against the hard length.

Nope.

“Hey,” She whispers, louder this time as she tries to pry his hand from her waist. “Wake up.”

The man shifts, rolling back slightly away from her, his hand sliding up from her waist to sit on her hip. A low moan sounds from the back of his throat as he begins to wake and damn if Aelin doesn’t clamp her thighs together at the sound.

She finally manages to wrestle herself up onto her elbows and she twists around to get a look at the man she definitely did not share a bed with last night when she went to sleep.

Yet another thing she’s learning about Aedion’s roommate Rowan? He’s fucking gorgeous.

In the dim light of the morning she can make out the sharp line of his jaw and the full curve of his lips, even as they twist into a slight frown. His silver brows are drawn together as he shifts and as his eyes flutter open she’s greeted by the most striking green eyes she’s ever seen.

“What the fuck?” Even his voice is sexy, the low rasp sending shivers down her spine, heat sparking from the hand still resting on her hip.

As though they remember that point of contact at the same time he jerks his hand back and repeats his earlier question. “Who are you?” He hisses.

“I’m Aelin.” She says as though it’s the most obvious answer. “What are you doing in here?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh and Aelin curses herself for how hot she finds it. Objectively, she is in the wrong, but she’s going to blame Aedion.

“What am I doing here?” He says. “This is my bed. What are you doing here?”

Aelin shrugs as if this is a regular occurrence, “Aedion said I could crash here.”

Rowan lifts his hand to draw it across his face, letting out another dark curl of laughter as he rolls onto his back, seemingly needing a minute to process the situation he has found himself in. Aelin catches the shadows of dark ink down his arm and curses her cousin for not introducing them earlier, she’s quite enjoying her morning.

“Did he now?”

She’s very much aware that she’s still tucked into his side, his right arm curled beneath her pillow as he lays back. She drops herself down from her elbows, her head is aching and Rowan doesn’t seem to be making sense of this any time soon so she may as well get comfortable.

He doesn’t shy away from her, in fact his thumb brushes against the cotton of his t-shirt covering her shoulder.

Rowan pulls his hand away from his face and tilts his head to face her fully.

Those green eyes make her feel like she’s caught in the most enticing of traps. She couldn’t look away if she tried.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” He asks, and Aelin shrugs as she glances down at herself.

It’s a glance that allows her the knowledge that Rowan himself is not wearing a shirt and the broad, muscular planes of his chest start her heart beating quickly. The ink on his arm stretches onto his upper chest and Aelin wants to touch.

“You should be thankful,” She says. “I almost didn’t.”

Rowan opens his mouth to say something, but then seems to change his mind. Instead he shifts up onto an elbow and rolls over so that he’s leaning towards her. Aelin can’t stop her brain from imagining how it would feel if he slipped his thigh between hers. How she could shuffle down slightly to press his leg right where she wants it, and the darkening of Rowan’s eyes tells her he’s contemplating giving her exactly what she wants.

When his eyes flick to her lips Aelin wishes she’d bothered to brush her teeth last night.

This is not where she saw her morning going when she was too lazy to call a cab last night but she’s far from complaining.

The cocky smile that slips onto his lips has her mouth dropping open. Short, sharp breaths draw her chest up and down and Rowan glances down to where she’s not wearing a bra beneath his t-shirt and the sleepy but still predatory smile grows.

Aelin can’t draw her eyes away from that smile, away from the wicked curve of his lips as his leg shifts closer to her beneath the covers.

“Aelin, are you-” The burst of light that fills the room as Aedion barges in burns her eyes and Aelin squeezes her eyes shut tight against it.

“Um, I… Rowan?” Her cousin manages, still frozen in the doorway.

Aelin knows what this looks like, Rowan is almost on top of her and she knows she’s flushed from his proximity.

He clears his throat as he eases back away from her, the cool air that fills the space between them clears her head enough for her eyes to flicker open.

“Yeah, I decided to come home last night instead.” His voice is tight, Aelin notes with a hint of pride. “Didn’t know you were offering out my bed while I was gone.”

Aelin can only bite her lip in what she hopes in a not-guilty expression. From the pure bewilderment clouding Aedion’s expression she’s not sure she achieves it.

“You weren’t supposed to be back until later,” Aedion says, his voice still sounding strangled. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen.”

Aelin snorts, tugging herself up to sit against the headboard, her thigh pressing against Rowan’s bare shoulder. His green eyes dart to the point of contact before locking onto her own and that gaze makes Aelin blush all over again.

Rowan huffs a laugh as Aelin says, “Yeah, me neither.”

She can’t draw her eyes away from Rowan’s face. She doesn’t care that he’s probably boring or uptight as she guessed in her snooping through his bedroom last night as long as he keeps on looking at her like that.

“Aedion,” She says in a low voice as she manages to draw her gaze from Rowan, who’s firm shoulder is brushing against her thigh beneath the duvet. “Get out.”

#rowaelin #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #the first draft of this was so much hornier #but i'm tempted to make this a prompt fic so held back

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

The Oncoming Storm 01 - The Flood

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Liu Kang x Reader or Kung Lao x Reader

Summary: Reader is a woman in her late 20s who had a peculiar childhood. She worked in her family dojo that was attached to a shop! You wake up in an unfamiliar place, wounded, with a somewhat familiar man. These moments will change your life forever.

A/N: I’ve been a huge Mortal Kombat fan for years and I saw the movie the other day. This reader x fic will follow the path/story/idea of the movies!! I have never done one of these before. If anyone is interested in it, I will continue on. It will either be Kung Lao x Reader or Liu Kang x Reader (or both, depending, bwahaha) but I haven’t decided yet. This is just the beginning. There will be plenty of fluff/establishment/smut if I get that far! Enjoy! Remember this is only for fun. Thanks for reading! Edit- You might notice the writing got better suddenly. I'm going through old chapters to casually edit.

Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

Your head was spinning. When you opened your eyes, you briefly caught the outline of a small room before it spun around you. Vertigo. It took ages for your head to stop spinning even in the darkness of your mind’s eye. Something cold and wet was pressed gently to your forehead, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Small droplets of water trickled over your brow, down your nose and irritated your sinuses. Others traced down the sides of your face and nestled into the mat of your dyed black hair. It was naturally stark white but you’d kept up with the black to better blend in.

Shifting, the bed beneath you felt plush and foreign. This was not your bed. Your bed was a modest bedroll that often left your back aching. What had you been doing that you would wake up somewhere strange? Flashes of a fight rushed into your mind. That was right! You’d been closing up shop for the night when men had rushed in, donned masks, and dressed in black. They’d been armed with blades.

You sat upright, fists at the ready and prepared for a fight. Your arms were aching and constricted, bound in tight cloth. Pain radiated down to your elbows and up to your shoulders. Coughing, your mouth tasted like smoke- acrid and sickening. Worse than that, you felt your heart beating too hard and too fast. There was a deep, familiar pain inside of you, a pain you hadn’t felt since your youth. You could picture in your mind’s eye your shop in flames and the dojo attached to it catching fire.

“Move slowly.” A confident but quiet voice consoled you. He was Chinese, like you, and his voice was soft but commanding. “You have a fever.” Careful but strong hands urged you to rest back down. In a snap, you knocked his hands away. He removed them with such grace and control that you knew he was either a dancer or a fighter. You guessed the latter. The room spun again but you forced your vision to focus. “I knew you were a martial artist but I did not know the extent of your skills.”

You caught a glimpse of the stranger. His short black hair was messy and pulled back from his forehead in a top knot. He had handsome features, dark eyes, and he was nostranger. You’d seen him before but today he was not wearing the wide-brimmed hat that you associated him with.

“You’re handy with a blade. I’m impressed.” He complimented. It was likely that he thought you were still threatened by him. Smart. You were. He’d been coming to the shop attached to your dojo every few months for the last couple of years. Each time his purchase was drastically different. Sometimes it was a weapon, sometimes precious stones, or herbs. Most times he came in just to have you sharpen a blade that you never saw him with again. You had allowed him entry to the dojo to watch classes and observe goings on. Sometimes he showed up every day for weeks a time. Sometimes you didn’t see him for months.

He’d been harmless. The only words that he’d ever spoken to you had been kind and reserved.

“Where am I?” You decided that was the right question. You knew who he was and what had happened for the most part. It was the ‘where’ that puzzled you.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You threw him a glance with dark eyes and he offered a smile that clearly said you wouldn’t get any answers from him until you gave yours. He was worried that your memory had suffered. The dizziness made sense now. You must have struck your head.

“It was late. I was cleaning up the shop before close when a group of men entered. They were trouble, treating wares carelessly. I asked them to leave since I was closing up. They donned masks and things escalated.” Things had more than escalated but it seemed to you that this stranger already knew many of the details of what had occurred without you saying. The men had threatened you with drawn blades and made demands involving you and your dojo that you had refused to bow to. “I had no choice but to defend myself.”

“You killed them.” It wasn’t an accusation. He just understood how your story ended.

“They left me with no choice. I didn’t ask for violence.” You turned your gaze. The room had finally stopped spinning but in a word, you felt like crap. Coughing, you recalled the fire and snapped your attention back to the friendly stranger. “My shop… the dojo!”

“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head respectfully. “The fire spread too quickly. There was nothing to be done.”

“I have to go. I…”

“You can’t go back.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t go back. Hanging your head, you resigned to the truth. He was right. You knew it. “I suppose not. I killed those men. I’m a murderer.”

“Those men were cruel and deserved the punishment you dealt them. As far as I’m concerned your action were justified.”

Your brow furrowed. He so easily absolved you of taking the lives of others. You didn’t think the guilt would fade so easily but now was not the time to dwell on it.

“How long have you had the dragon mark?” That was what he really wanted to discuss. His eyes sparkled even in the darkness of the small room- a still completely foreign and strange place. He’d offered you no answers even after you’d given him his.

“Dragon mark?” You didn’t have one as far as you knew. You’d seen others with a dragon marking but had never asked what it meant or why it had been there. You’d once asked your sister about it but she had never noticed the mark on anyone before. Then you’d never spoken of it again. You’d seen things that others could not in your youth and were nervous about bringing things like that up.

“On your back.”

You turned with a snap but it had been foolish. There was no way for you to see it at that angle. Pain shot through you as you searched for it with your left hand. Your forearms had been wrapped tightly but blood was seeping through the gauze, staining it crimson.

“Careful. You were wounded when you offered those men mercy.”

Much to your surprise, he took your hand in his own, the size of his strong hands dwarfing your petite ones. Then he guided your hand carefully to the mark on your lower back. There it was, plain as day. Raised skin in a circle with a dragon head in the middle. It was like a scar, as though you had been branded with it some time ago. Yet, you knew that it hadn’t been there that morning when you’d bathed.

“That’s… new to me.” You didn’t know how else to phrase it and laughed beneath your breath at how silly it sounded not to know it had been there.

“Do you know about the Order of Light?” He was feeling you out, gauging what you knew.

You were hesitant to answer, nervous that what you knew would get you into trouble. When most people entered your shop, they spoke amongst themselves. You learned many secrets that way. You were usually paid little mind unless you were teaching classes or fighting. You’d heard of the Order of Light before. Your curiosity had given you much more than you’d bargained for. You’d learned of other realms, Gods, magic powers. They were the sorts of things you’d read about in fiction. You’d never thought there was much truth to them but part of you had always hoped there was.

“Why do you know so much about what happened to me?” You answered his question with one of your own. It was about time that you got answers instead of just giving them.

“I heard the commotion at your shop. I came to help.” It was his turn to hesitate. “I confess that I’m fond of your dojo. It’s a peaceful reprieve for me. You bring light to a place that has very little.” He bowed his head apologetically, handsome face stern. “It was too late for me to do much but I saw the end of your fight. It was a graceful dance. You offered them mercy and were punished for your kindness. Then the building caught fire. You won the battle but it collapsed with you still inside. I pulled you free before it was too late.”

Funny.

You hadn’t noticed any burns. You remembered fire. You could feel the smoke still in your lungs but the only wounds you remembered suffering were those on your arms and the back of your head. They had to have been terrible. The cold you’d noticed upon waking up had only worsened and now your vision was spotty and hazy around the edges.

“When the authorities came to deal with the fire, I brought you somewhere safe. I didn’t wish for you to be caught.” He lifted his gaze and placed his fist against his palm with a polite bow. “I’m Kung Lao. Forgive my rudeness for not introducing myself earlier.”

You laughed.

There was no way!

You hadn’t heard that name in years. He was confused by your laughter and cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. I haven’t heard that name in ages. It’s not a common one either. You can’t be Kung Lao.”

“…but I am.”

“The only Kung Lao I’ve ever known died years ago.”

“That’s what was told to people when I left.” Kung Lao’s eyes were shining with amusement. The flicker of the candle resting on the small table next to the bed you rested in danced in his dark eyes. “Do we know each other?”

“If you are, in fact, the same Kung Lao who grew up here then yes, we did. I’m Y/N but I used to go by Y/N.” You hadn’t used your full name in years. It had rarely been used other than to tease you so you’d shortened it. Back then you’d been ill and the other kids had been afraid of you. “Kung Lao was my friend. A stubborn but sweet boy. We played together. He was one of the only people in town not afraid of me. Teased me which… made me angrier than it should have but he was apologetic afterward. The last time I saw him he gave me a purple flower. They don’t grow here anymore. I honestly have no idea where he got it. I could never find them again.”

Kung Lao was completely taken aback.

You supposed you could see the similarities. He could have been your Kung Lao all grown up, about twenty years later. He had similarly shaped eyes. Perhaps the familiarity of him had been why you’d trusted him to sit in on lessons. The idea that he was the same Kung Lao from your childhood made your stomach tighten up in knots. That was too much to deal with right now.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft and thoughtful as if he struggled to find truth in your words.

You bowed your head politely in greeting but it ached so terribly that you held it in your hands. Every movement felt like ice flowing through your veins. When you opened your eyes again your vision went from spotty to completely black. You’d gone blind! Panic raced through your thoughts and you blinked your eyes closed tight. Praying, you opened them again and were grateful that you could see even if your vision was still spotty. The room seemed hazier than before.

“Careful. Lay back and rest.” Kung Lao placed his hand on your shoulder to guide you but you pushed it away again.

“No, no. I should get something to eat. And some water. That will help.” You were sure that your vision was fading from blood loss or exhaustion. Either way food would help. You carefully draped your legs over the side of the bed. Your clothing was singed and bloodied. Gravity disagreed with your arms and your aching head, so you wound up hunching over. Kung Lao helped you sit upright again.

“Your fever is too high. What you need is a doctor.”

“You asked me about the Order of Light.” You ignored his concern in favor of more answers.

“Yes.”

“Then you know about the other realms, too? Is it true?”

Kung Lao was again taken by surprise and stuttered on his words comically.

“I must sound crazy. A man in a coolie hat, well the fanciest one that I’ve ever seen before, came in a few times over the years. I always thought he seemed a little funny. He referred to China as Earthrealm and mentioned the Order of Light in passing. I was curious as to what any of that meant and well, the internet is a fount of information, even for things like that. Most of what I read was on forums and conspiracy sites so I put next to no stake in it. Is any of it true?”

“I’m not the one who should be telling you this.”

“Kung Lao.” You scolded which incited a confident grin from him.

“Have you heard of Mortal Kombat then as well?”

You considered those words. You’d never heard them before so you shook your head no. At least you hadn’t heard them the way that he’d phrased them, as though it were something associated with the Order of Light.

“The mark on your back means that you’ve been chosen to fight.” Kung Lao began on what you were sure would be a lengthy explanation of what would come next but you had tuned him out. Your vision was blurring again. It faded around the edges and the world spun. You felt like you were floating.

“Kung Lao?” You interrupted, grasping blindly for him but your hands had gone numb. There was urgency in your voice.

“It’s okay. I’ll take you to Raiden’s Temple and there you’ll be guided through…”

“Not that. I can’t… I can’t see!” Panic was thick in your voice. Your breath was suddenly short in your chest and you collapsed against him, falling into unconsciousness.

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brandyllyn · 3 years

Text

Give me my sin again

Poe Dameron / f!reader [no use of y/n]

Summary: A strange fruit leads to unintended consequences. Alternatively: How you and Poe first got together.

Part of the "Goofballs in Love" Series of One-Shots: The Scoundrel’s Reward, Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, Flexibility (noun), Give me my sin again, Writing on the Wall

My Masterlist

Words: 3500k (Read it on AO3.) [complete] Rated: Explicit Warnings: language. explicit sexual content. PiV sex. theoretically sex pollen / aphrodisiac. but these two goobers were 100% down to start.

It was a beautiful night and Poe watched as you helped yourself to a bowl of fruit on the table between the two of you. You moaned as you popped a berry into your mouth and he grunted, looking away for a moment.

"You should try this," you said, holding the bowl out to him and he took it without looking at it too hard, slipping a juicy berry into his mouth and felt the skin pop and a flood of tart sweetness on his tongue. It was good and he reached for a handful more.

You were on a recon mission, dropped off that morning to meet up with a contact and scheduled to be picked up the next day. It was a simple mission - hardly dangerous. The only reason you were both on it was because you needed more time in the field and Poe was supposed to be evaluating you for General Organa.

Evaluating you did not extend to wondering if your skin was as soft as it looked.

Or if you would make that same moan if he buried his tongue between your thighs.

"Here have a roll," you tossed a piece of bread to him and Poe reacted a little too slowly, feeling it bounce off his shoulder before he could get his hand up to catch it. He frowned at you and saw you giggle. Maker, even your laugh was sexy.

"Ah, you eat the sinsai? You enjoy?"

The proprietor of the restaurant, a Karwheli, broke into Poe’s thoughts with his question and Poe turned to him. The man had been a lot of help so far - bringing out a variety of local unknown dishes when both you and Poe and balked at the strange offerings. Poe smiled at him. "Yes, we enjoyed it very much, thank you."

"You and your lady, have good time!" The man tapped the bowl with the berries in front of Poe. "Good time!" The man winked at him.

Poe paused, seeing you do the same across from him. "What do you mean?"

"Sinsai make strong feelings. Go make babies!"

He heard you choke and suddenly his tongue felt too large for his mouth. "We’re not-"

"We’re not together," you said quickly. He felt a small pang at that but ignored it.

The man’s eyebrows drew together and then he smiled again. "Doesn’t matter. Sinsai say you make babies, you make babies."

Poe blinked at the man and then you gasped. "You’re saying the fruit will make us make babies?"

The man nodded, smiling even wider. "Sinsai make make babies."

Poe’s eyes met yours across the table, saw the dawning look of horror on your face. "What happens if we…"

"If we don’t," Poe finished for you.

The man shook his head vehemently. "No good. Make babies. Must. You’ll see."

As he wandered off Poe tried hard not to look at you, shutting his eyes and swallowing. "How many did you eat?"

"I don’t know," your voice drifted back to him. "A dozen maybe? How many does it take?"

"I dunno." He thought back, trying to remember how many a handful was. A half dozen? Maybe more? Did eating more make things worse? Also how long did it take to take effect? What were the effects? Were you at risk of not even making it back to-

"We should probably go before-" you start to say and Poe nodded.

"Yeah."

As you walked side by side back to the hotel in silence Poe felt his skin begin to tingle. Your nearness was always torture for him, had been since the day you’d come in from the Republic Navy and taken over blue squadron. You were a rock solid pilot and an exceptional Commander for all you’d only been in the Resistance for a few months. That alone was enough to gain you Poe’s respect.

But you were also just a good person. Poe had lost count of the number of times you had lightened the mood in dark times or made the galaxy a slightly better place for him and everyone else. You were a light in his day and he looked forward to any time he got to spend with you - even if it was just in endless strategy meetings.

He had, until this mission, thought he had done a good job at ignoring how attracted he was to you. How his body was drawn to yours and the heat that creeped under his skin whenever you were near. But now, with the sinsai fruit pulsing through his body, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Every sound you made flooded through his senses, the movement of your body near his enough to set him thrumming. He watched your ass sway as you walked into the hotel in front of him and he wondered what would happen if he set his teeth to one of the globes. Or what it would feel like in his palms if he cupped beneath them and lifted you against a wall with his cock buried inside you.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts, but now he was looking at your neck and his mouth watered. Fuck those berries were potent. It was going to be hard enough to sleep near you tonight before this had become an added complication. Sharing a room hadn’t seemed like the worst idea when it had been proposed. There were two decent sized beds, and it ensured you were with each other if something went wrong. But now…

The room felt small, hot. Poe tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to pull the sticky fabric from the back of his neck. Had it been this hot in here earlier?

"I’m going to-"

"Yeah."

You ducked past him into the refresher and Poe restrained himself from turning and following you with his eyes. When he heard the water turn on he groaned, trying not to image you nude and wet and…

The beds looked awfully close together. Maybe he could move them farther apart? He ducked down and looked but they were bolted to the floor. He glared at the offending metal, reaching a hand out to feel the hardware. It wasn’t much, probably even hand-tightened. If he gave it a little bit of a-

"Ha!" he grunted, pulling the bolt free. Now to just do the other three. He stood up and heard your shriek of surprise, reaching out quickly and steadying your body from where you ran into him. He felt sparks along his fingertips where they touched your skin and heat rocket through his body. You smelled… nice. Without meaning to his eyes fell to the way your tank top clung to your damp skin.

Your nipples were hard.

Fuck what was he supposed to do with that information? Were you as affected as he was? Did you want to touch him as badly as he wanted to touch you?

In later years, when you discussed what happened in that hotel room, neither of you would ever agree on who moved first. Who closed the gap between your lips and started the sequence of events that happened that night. Regardless, the gap was closed and your hands were around his neck and he heard you moan into his mouth and any thought he had about trying to ride out the effects of the fruit on his own flew out the window.

His hands rucked up the hem of your shirt so he could lay his palms flat to the skin of your back, feel the heat seep into him. His body was on fire, every pulse of his heartbeat throbbing in his whole body. He was already hard. Painfully rock hard and ready to be inside you. He clutched you to him and you adjusted yourself so that he was nestled right in the crook of your thighs, one of your legs coming up to hook over his hip.

The bed was close. Close enough for him to lean you back and crawl over you, his mouth never leaving yours. Your hands pulled his shirt over his head, lips breaking apart only momentarily. Your fingers on the bare skin of his chest made him shudder, his hand on your hip pulling you up closer to him.

"I want you," you moaned into his mouth and he groaned in return, wrenching himself away and looking down at you with wild eyes.

"Are you sure?" Maker he hoped you were. If he couldn’t get inside of you, couldn’t see your eyes roll back when you came, he was pretty sure he was going to die.

"Yes, please Poe."

He’d never made someone beg before and the sound of your plea sent rational thought reeling off. Your hands and his tangled as you each tried to get the other naked first. He managed to push your shirt up and off with no issue. He heard a pop, felt his pants go slack and you looked at each other with identical looks of surprise.

"Did you just-?" he looked down at his pants where the button was missing.

"Stop talking," you urged, pulling at his pants again, hands slipping inside. He hissed when he felt your fingers wrap around his cock, his lips dropping down to pull your nipple into his mouth and suck hard.

"Poe!" You gasped and he did it again, thrusting into your hand.

"Pants. Off." He ordered, his hands scrambling against the soft cloth of your sleep shorts. You helped, pulling them and your underwear off together and spreading your thighs wide so he could settle between them.

"Oh fuck," he groaned. He could feel how wet you were, his cock sliding along your lips with ease. He saw you bite your lip and reached down, parting your folds so he could press against your clit. Rubbing his cock up and down, coating himself in your slick.

You nearly arched off the bed. His hands grasped for the back of your neck, holding your face tilted up to his while he thrust his tongue into you in time with the rocking of his hips.

"You feel so good," he mumbled, eyes closed tight against the overwhelming sensations of your body.

"Poe I need-" your plea cut off on a gasp when he thrust his hips harder.

"I know," he whispered, moving his weight to the side and reaching one hand down between your bodies. His fingers found you, and when he began to circle your clit he notched the head of his cock at your entrance.

"Can I-?"

"Yes," you urged, canting your hips upwards and he slid inside. Sweet Maker, you felt good, like a part of him had been waiting for this moment his entire life. He eased himself inside you slowly, concentrating more on the movement of his fingers and the twists of your body than his cock. Your nails raked down his back and he slid himself fully inside you as you came. Your muscles clenching around him, a surge of wetness easing his way.

He held himself still while you breathed harshly in his ear. He could feel the aftereffects of your orgasm in every twitch of your body. "More?" He asked, hoping for an affirmative answer.

You nodded, hands clutching around his neck and he pulled his face back to look at you. Your eyes were open, lips parted. "Yes, more," you pulled his lips down to yours, thrusting your tongue into his mouth and mumbling. "I want everything Poe."

Oh he was more than willing to oblige.

The pace he set was slow. Deep. Pulling out nearly all the way and then pushing back until his hips ground to yours. His hand held your hips down, stopping you from moving beneath him. You whined softly, struggling to surge into him, to set a faster or harder pace. But Poe held firm, pressing your hip to the bed while he fucked you exactly like he’d been imagining.

"You had yours," he scolded, nipping at your chin. "It’s my turn."

"I only get one?" You grumbled, eyebrow raised in mock seriousness.

He bit your lower lip, pulling it gently before letting it go. "Greedy thing, how many do you want?"

You giggled and he thrust harder, hearing the laugh turn into a moan. "Poe."

He groaned in return, thrusting into you with more force. "Maker, I love how you say my name."

"Poe I-"

"I know," he reassured you, lips trailing down your neck. He pulled his knees up, shifting his position so he had you spread across his thighs. "I know, I got you."

He sat up, holding your hips in both hands to help keep you steady on his cock. From this angle he could see the way your face tilted upwards, your lips parted in worlds gasps. The way your breasts bounced while he fucked into you. The way your cunt stretched around him and the glisten of your arousal on your thighs.

He closed his eyes, head dropping back. "Fuck you look so good." He reached up with one hand quickly, grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand down between your bodies. When your eyes opened and your lips parted he smiled at you. "Wanna see you come again."

You nodded, fingers slipping down and gently teasing along his cock, circling him while he thrust into you. It felt… fuck it felt good and he nearly groaned from the loss when you moved away to focus on your clit.

Poe tried to watch the movement of your arm. Tried to time his thrusts to correspond with how fast or gentle you were touching yourself. But the sight of you was soon too much. He leaned back over you, hands propped up next to your shoulders. Fucking down into your wet warmth.

Your back arched when he did, your free hand lifting to clench at his bicep. "Poe," you whined, eyes squeezing shut. "More."

Poe nodded to himself, thrusting harder, pushing himself more roughly into you. He could feel his orgasm tingling at the base of his spine. "Please tell me you’re close," he begged.

"M’so close, I’m-"

You came apart. If he hadn’t been leaning over you Poe was pretty sure you’d have shot off the bed. As it was your body hit his and your arms clamped around him and he found himself falling forward with you. Pressing your body down into the bed while he let go of his control and groaned, his release flooding inside of you.

When Poe’s brain began to work again he thought he’d feel sated. Blissed out. And to be honest he felt both of those things. But he also felt hungry. Like he wanted more.

His nose was pressed beneath your jaw and your hands were stroking down his back in a soothing caress. He wanted to kiss every one of your fingers, to slip his tongue along the inside of your elbow, nuzzle his nose into your shoulder.

Well, that last one at least was easy to accomplish.

You giggled when he pressed his nose to you, tracing a path down your neck and then following it back with his tongue. He felt as much as heard you gasp, the soft shudder in your body, your thighs tightening on his hips.

"Again?" The breath of your voice caressed his ear.

It was an offer more than a question. He lifted himself on his arms, grinning down into your face. Your answering smile made his heart lurch. Thanks to the sinsai fruit he could already feel his cock twitching, ready to dive right back into another round.

"Again," he agreed, pressing his lips to yours before pulling away. "But this time I have some ideas I want to try out."

You winked and he felt his cock twitch again. "That’s good to know. Because I have some ideas of my own."

The night was young and the bed was big. Plenty of room to spend the next few hours exploring all of the ideas you both had. Which you did. Enthusiastically. And when the two of you managed to destroy the bed - the sheets a tangled and sweaty heap hanging off the side - he helped you move onto the clean one and cuddled against your back. He thought you might want to talk but you sighed into the pillow and slipped away into a deep sleep before he could do more than press a kiss to your shoulder.

There was always the morning, he figured.

He woke up groggily a few hours later, the morning sun slanting through a gap in the blinds that made him groan and blink.

"What time is it?" You asked with a yawn and he lifted himself slightly to look at the clock.

"Eleven," he grumbled, nuzzling his face back into your hair.

A moment passed. Then you both sat bolt upright. "Eleven?" You yelped at the same time.

The room became a flurry of movement. Your transport was going to arrive in fifteen minutes. Poe hopped into his pants, suddenly remembering that they no longer had a button.

"Here," you offered, holding out a small pin. "For your-" you waved at him and he nodded, trying not to notice that you weren’t wearing a shirt and your bra was lifting your breasts and offering them to him in a way he was more than willing to accept. And not to notice the dark bruise forming at the base of your throat that was obviously from his mouth.

"What?"

Poe jerked his gaze back to yours. "You should button your shirt all the way."

"What?" Your brows drew together, "Why…" You raised a hand and touched the spot and then your eyes went wide and you nodded at him, shrugging into your shirt and hiding his view of both the bruise and your magnificent breasts.

Poe and you arrived at the landing bay about ten minutes late, seeing Pava leaning up against a crate and tapping her foot. "There you are, Karé went looking for you."

"Sorry," Poe mumbled, tossing his bag up the ramp and reaching for yours to do the same. "I’ll go find her I-" He turned to look at her and saw the pack of deep red berries in her hand the same moment you did.

"No!" Poe and you shouted at the same time.

"What?" Pava’s eyebrows shot up. "What’s the matter?"

"Are those sinsai berries?" You asked with a worried frown.

"Yeah?"

"It’s an aphrodisiac," you told her, reaching to take the sack from her.

Pava snorted, twisting her body from you. "No it’s not."

Poe nodded, "Yes it is. We were talking to a guy last night and he told us-"

"To Karwheli," Pava snorted, "yeah. But not to humans. You really do never read your briefings, do you?" She took a berry and then held the sack out to him. "You should try one, they’re delicious."

Poe could feel heat crawling up the back of his neck, his jaw working but no sound was coming out. He thought he heard a small distressed sound come from you and he ignored it while he continued to stare at Pava - the pilot thankfully oblivious to your dilemma.

"Oh hey, it’s Karé. Karé!" Pava shouted, turning from the two of you and taking off at a jog across the landing bay.

He didn’t turn, didn’t look at you. His mind was crawling back over the events of the night before. The fruit had affected him… hadn’t it? He’d felt a burning need to kiss you, to be inside of you, to lose himself in the warmth of your body. It had been overwhelming, all-consuming… there was no way that was just-

"Oh Maker," he heard you mumble next to him. "Did we really rip each other’s clothes off for no reason?"

Poe finally turned to you, his eyebrows raised. "I’m not sure it was for no reason."

You looked away quickly, biting your lip. He saw you squeeze your eyes closed for a moment before relaxing and smiling at him. "So would now be a good time to confess I’m attracted to you?"

"Really?" He tilted his head, "I would never have guessed."

He caught your hand when you playfully punched him, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and then laying your palm over his heart. "We kind of went about this backwards but I’d like to do more… pursue… get to know you…" He stumbled over the words he was looking for.

"Poe Dameron are you asking me out?"

"Well, except for the fact that there’s not really anywhere to go on base, yes."

Your hand turned in his, fingers interlacing with his own. "I’d like that."

The hesitant smile on your face was lovely, and he couldn’t help but lean in and kiss you softly. His lips lightly playing along yours and then breaking away to press his forehead to yours.

"Maybe we should get some more of that sinsai fruit."

You drew back in confusion. "Why? It doesn’t… it doesn’t do anything."

Poe grinned, "Yeah but you see, I know this girl and she doesn’t know that…"

He grunted when you elbowed him and kissed you again. The fruit was delicious, and he had some ideas about what the two of you might do with a handful of sweet berries and a little bit more time.

Tagging people who have enjoyed these Goofballs in Love before (let me know if you don’t wanna be tagged): @wasicskosgirl @waatermelon-sugaar @rebellou @hansonveggieclub @be-the-spark-flyboy @aellynera @onfiretakemehigher

Special thank you to @foxilayde from whom a conversation sprung which inspired this.

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #Poe Dameron / Reader #Poe Dameron / You #poe dameron #star wars fanfiction #star wars sequels #goofballs in love

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pedrosbish · 3 years

Text

from me, the moon

word count: 1.7k

warnings: angst

*female reader x marcus*

He loved you with all his heart. And it terrified you.

You were both nineteen, in the prime of your youth, having only been dating for a year and a bit (one year, two months and eight days he had corrected you once) when you had come home to your modest, tiny apartment. The lights were turned off and for a split second you were worried that something had happened, something felt off.

Wandering further in, you noticed a flickering light coming from the bedroom and as you slowly pushed the door open, you were met with the sight of Marcus Moreno cursing as he attempted to light another candle, burning his finger when it wouldn't catch aflame.

“Baby?” You almost laughed out loud when he had whipped around, a loud gasp escaping his mouth, dropping the match to the ground. Pointing to the neatly made bed (which hadn't been done in awhile), roses adorning the white duvet and the multiple lit candles around the room, casting a calming light to fill the room. “What’s all this?”

“Mi amor.” He takes a step forward, holding something behind his back. “You weren't supposed to be back for another hour. Is everything okay?”

“Of course. I just managed to get away earlier today- not many customers.” Waving your hand around the room again, you glance your eyes around before looking at Marcus. “What’s the occasion?”

Gently taking ahold of your hand, he leads you to the bed where you sit, expecting him to take a seat beside you but instead he gets down on one knee, revealing what he had hiding behind his back. A ring. It was a simple thing, a golden band with a tiny diamond sparkling in the centre, but it still managed to make your breath hitch and your stomach drop.

“Mi amor, mi vida, I fell in love with you when I first saw you. I fell in love even more when I got to know you and when you somehow managed to agree to be my girlfriend. I would like to spend the rest of my life with you so I want to ask this one thing: will you marry me?”

Bile rises in your throat and your heart beats rapidly as you see the look on his face- hope, fear, love. Tears gather in your eyes as more time passes and he rocks onto the back of his heels, the hand holding the ring faltering slightly as he waits and waits and waits, before it falls to his side.

“Marcus...”

“Please say something baby.” Your heart breaks even more when you see the hopeful emotions on his face fall at your hesitation. “Please just say something. Anything.”

“I can’t,” you croak out as your head falls, tears rolling down your cheeks, avoiding the look of utter heartbreak on his face. “We’re too young, Marcus. We haven't even finished college yet; we don't have a steady pay check; we haven't even been-”

“I know what I feel for you. I know that I love you with all my fucking heart.” He pauses, his voice raw with emotion as he fights back his tears.”Please just say yes.”

~~~

You knew it was cowardly to run away, you know that now, but after explaining to Marcus that you weren't ready to marry him you had packed all your things and left. Avoiding all his texts, calls, attempts at catching you on campus, he eventually gave up and left you alone. It broke your heart.

Years had passed and you both had moved on. He got married, had a kid and moved away while you continued focussing on your job having set up your own business in the city. You were happy for him, really, and you tried to ignore the feeling of jealousy that sprouted in your chest whenever you heard news of him from his mother who you kept in touch with all these years (you figured he wanted nothing to do with you anymore after your rejection).

And that's why you were surprised to receive an invitation from Marie Moreno to come visit them.

The idea of seeing Marcus Moreno again nearly scared you into not going- something which Marie must have sensed when you had called her the day before you were supposed to travel as she made (empty) threats to hit you with her walking stick if you didn't come. It was something that you didn't want to risk.

Standing in front of their door, however, changed your mind and you had almost made it back to the rented car before the door opened and a young girl appeared, a large smile on her face. So this must have been Missy. There was no doubt about it; her dark brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled, her skin a healthy tanned gold - everything about her proved that she was Marcus’ child.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” She takes a step forward to shake your hand, not letting go. “My abuelita has told me so many stories about you like that one time you went over for dinner and my dad told you a joke so funny that a piece of spaghetti came out of your nose!”

“Of all the stories she has about me, of course she has to tell that one.” You mutter under your breath but the girl managed to still hear it, her smile widening.

“Or there was that one time when-”

“Missy!” A voice calls out from the house and your heart stills as footsteps draw nearer to you. “Do you have everything? We cannot be late to this thing again otherwise Mrs Flanagan is going to have my head on a spi-”

Your heart jumps in your throat when your eyes meet, those brown eyes that you could have stared at for years when resting on his chest as the world around slowly woke up for the day. He looks older, better, a beard adorning his face and a pair of thick framed glasses perching on his nose, but he also looks...the same. His eyes widen and take in the fact that his old girlfriend from his high school days is standing on his front porch.

“Hey.” You wave at him awkwardly with your free hand.

“Um, hello? What- what are you doing here?”

"Marie invited me...she said you knew about this.”

Marcus looks to his daughter for an answer only to be met with a sly smile and gleaming mischievous eyes. He opens his mouth to say something but before he can, a car pulls up on the street and Missy quickly grabs the bags he had dropped at his feet before running to the car. His mother's car.

“Goddamit.” He glances at you, too scared too stare too long and remember. "I'm really sorry about this. Should've known that they were up to something- they've been acting weird these last couple of days."

"It's okay Marcus."

Your laugh is angelic, like hearing an old song again after such a long time, and he tries to ignore the way his heart thumps wildly within his chest and his stomach flips within his stomach. He smiles, clearly lost in his own thoughts and you try to ignore the way your heart speeds up at the gesture and the butterflies in your stomach.

"Would you- do you want to come in?" His offer is tentative but it still means the world to you and you happily nod, moving past him when he takes a step back into the house.

It’s nice, homely, as you take in the framed family pictures lining the hall that leads to the kitchen. You grin at the mess in the kitchen, breakfast plates and bowls littering the counters- he still struggled to fin the time to clean- and he must sense your thoughts as he smiles sheepishly at you, moving to put everything in the sink.

“Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“Just water please.”

It’s awkward and tense, the air filled with unsaid things. You watch quietly as he gets a glass for you and fills it with water, eyes fixed on the task at hand instead of looking up at you.

“How-how have you been?”

“Good. Everything’s good.” You mumble, ignoring the way his eyes look you over quickly. “Not as good as you though! You got married. And you had a kid.”

He laughs, fiddling with the ring on his finger, and your attention is drawn to the simple band of gold. His smile falters as he stares down at it. “I did. She-my wife passed away about a year ago.”

“I’m so sorry Marcus.” Placing your glass down on the counter, you round it to stand in front of him. “How has it been?”

“Hard, yeah.” He nods his head and casts his eyes to the ground, trying to hide the tears that have started to gather in his eyes. “Missy has been dealing with it better than I have. But we’re- I’m getting there.”

You lift your hand and place it on his arm, comforting, and he closes his eyes at the contact of warmth. His eyes lift up to meet yours, not breaking away, and you hastily take a step back, away from him.

“It’s, uh, really nice to see you.”

Your cheeks redden as you nod your head. “It’s nice to see you too. Anyway, I should probably go and check into the Bed and Breakfast.”

You turn to leave, Marcus trailing behind, as you open the front door and take a step outside. A mixture of feelings torment you as you glance at him over your shoulder before getting into the rental car. Before you can drive off, he runs to your car window, signalling for you to open it.

“Would you maybe want to go to dinner with me? To catch up?”

Those brown eyes fill with a hope that you haven't seen for a long time, that you haven't seen since the last time you had the honour of being the centre of Marcus’ life, and it makes your heart beat just a little bit faster in your chest.

“I would love to.”

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bluegarners · 3 years

Text

By popular demand, I have written a Part 2 for mainstay for @viceturtle. Thank you so much @newsical for being an immense help with this!!

Part 1.

This chapter was inspired by this conversation between @bigskydreaming and @fuyunoakegata

ao3

There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness.

He thinks everyone has at least some degree of it within themselves. A refusal to move or consent to something. Sure, some don’t hesitate long. They give. They bend. They break. But the stubbornness is in that hesitation. That moment of ‘Am I really doing this? Should I be doing this? Why in the world should I do this?’. It’s about the pause, is what he’s trying to get at, that makes stubbornness so inherent to each individual.

It breathes in the form of grudges. Arguments. Games of she-said-he-said-they-said. Right or wrong. I told you so’s and I’m not sorry’s.

Jason does all of those things like it's second nature. He’s not going to pretend like he’s some saint who can understand the other side and reason with them. If he thinks he’s right, it’s not a matter of if the other person is actually right or wrong. He knows he’s right, so it doesn’t matter in the end. He knows what he knows, and if he doesn’t— whatever. Immovable object and all that.

So, yeah. There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness.

He calls Red Robin anyway.

“He’s gone.”

“Sorry, what? I need context for this. There’s a lot of people this could apply to—”

“Dick. Dick is gone.”

“Oh. Like, just now he left?”

“I don’t know. Some guy came and took him.”

“As much as I love vague conversations, this isn’t helping me and I don’t understand why you’re calling in the first place.”

“Dick is fucking. Gone. What do you not understand about that.”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Jason. What, is he not supposed to be gone? He said he was going to leave again. He already said ‘hi’ to Damian, so I don’t see why he would stick around any longer.”

“Hm.”

“Fuck me, didn’t you know? This was all just- just some visit for him. Sure, he’ll be back eventually, but fuck knows if he’s actually—”

He hangs up. Pockets his phone. Listens as the rain continues to drench the world outside of his little apartment. His shoulders hurt. There’s a bruise on his chest. Right between his fifth and sixth ribs. He has a split lip. He put ointment on it earlier but it still stings. His knees ache. He has a distant memory of his mother complaining about her knees too. Something about the weather making them act up.

He’s twenty-three.

He’s getting old.

On the table next to him is a box of cigarettes. Low-tar. Filtered. In his right pocket, there’s a lighter he got from someone years ago. He doesn’t know. Maybe he stole it. Found it.

He pulls it out. Shakes a cigarette out of the thin box. Holds the paper wrapped nicotine between his lips, lifting the lighter and thumbing the flink strike.

Click.

He shakes the lighter. Tries again.

Click.

Gotham hasn’t had this much rain in a long time. It’s nearing October. Maybe it’s in season or whatever weather does. He doesn’t know the term.

Click.

It’s raining outside. Jason can see it. There’s raindrops on his window. He can hear it clattering against the fire-escape. Gray and black and mixes of yellow from street lamps below. Jason is inside on the comfort of his couch. Sure, it’s not the best apartment, but it doesn’t leak. The ceiling is fine and he hasn’t had any problems with it before. His face is wet though. He doesn’t know why.

Click.

The cigarette falls from his lips and lands with a thud on the stained carpet. The T.V is on. Says the storm over Gotham will last for the next few days. An unprecedented seven inches of rain predicted. The GCPD is advising everyone to stay indoors. Crime is expected to rise with the water levels.

Click.

His clothes are still soaked. He’s probably ruining his couch. He can’t remember if he took his boots off or not.

Click.

Jason sighs. His chest feels heavy, like someone is sitting on top of him. It’s just him though. Only him in his apartment. He likes having his own space. The neighbors get loud sometimes, but it’s not as if he’s a five star resident either. It’s always been like this. He is…. Alone.

Click.

Dick was gone. Came back. And now, Dick is gone again. Did he do that? Did he drive him away? Is this his fault? Jason doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t know if he doesn’t care at all, but at least the rain is nice to listen to. Yeah. The rain is really nice. Consistent. Steady.

Click.

He didn’t take off his boots.

~oOo~

One month is all it takes.

One month and Nightwing is out spotted in Bludhaven, his photo splashed across every news outlet from Gotham to Metropolis. New Jersey missed its boy in blue and cheers at his return.

Nightwing stays in Bludhaven though. Red Hood stays in Gotham. Just as it used to be. Back to normal. Yeah.

The rain stopped a week ago.

Jason misses the noise.

~oOo~

“Won’t you come?”

“No.”

“Please, Master Jason? We would love to have you here. It has been too long.”

“I can’t.”

“I thought you loved turkey. There’ll be plenty of leftovers and I know you’ve been meaning to return the tupperware from last time. It’ll be good for you to leave that apartment of yours.”

“I have better things to do than play nice and talk politics in Brucie Wayne’s mansion. I’m not coming.”

“I know you have your own quarrels with Master Dick, but—”

“It’s not about him. I don’t give a fuck about what he’s doing or what stick Bruce has up his ass this time. I am not walking into the line of fire just to save everyone else an evening of beating around the bush. I. Am. Not. Going.”

“. . . Then won’t you at least visit? I miss you. I worry about you.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred.”

“I am too, my boy.”

Click.

Jason spends Thanksgiving out in the Narrows. He’s not rich, doesn’t want to be, but he has money. Plenty he doesn’t need to spend on himself. He goes grocery shopping. Fills two, three carts worth of canned food and rotisserie chickens. Goes home, carries the bags in all at once. Organizes them.

Single. Partners. Family.

He leaves his apartment. He is not Jason Todd. He is not Red Hood. He’s just some guy out in the Narrows.

He hands out the bags. Has the decency to look the people in the eyes, knowing he was that street kid once. Seeing his mother in each dirty, beaten face he comes across. Pitying the drunken men and the addicts. They accept his offerings. It would be stupid not to. No one says thank you. He doesn’t need them to.

He goes home. His arms are sore. The bruises have completely faded.

The apartment is empty.

Click

Sometimes, there are days where he doesn’t know why.

That’s a big concept: why?

He thinks it carries too much weight. Maybe if he had survived past tenth grade, he could’ve signed up for a philosophy or debate class, maybe shed some light on that particular question, but he didn’t. Survive. So, he only has his own mind to ponder the concept. He’s read a couple books. Never fully understood the words he read though. He would’ve liked to, but he didn’t. Understand.

But it’s up to interpretation right? So, here’s where he’s at.

Jason doesn’t understand or know why sometimes, and it becomes a problem.

He doesn’t understand why he got such a bad hand for parents. Why Bruce didn’t grieve like Jason wanted him to (so desperately yearned for, screamed for, died for). Why someone thought it was a good idea for him to live out a second-still-the-same life. Why he came back so different. (Was he? Different? He doesn’t think he came back wrong but he doesn’t know a lot. Well, he does. But, if he came back wrong then that means he wasn’t right to begin with and he’s always right and if he’s wrong then—).

He doesn’t know why he punched Dick. He didn’t want to. Not really. But he did. Want to. Badly so. Wanted proof, wanted penance, wanted forgiveness, wanted retribution, wanted that sting that comes with reality and the regret of a little something called mortality. Horse drawn carriage alongside Death, patting the seat next to it.

Okay, he knows why .

He doesn’t understand why, though.

Jason doesn’t understand why he gets so angry sometimes. It doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel right, like he’s supposed to be feeling something else but he’s just flipped upside down so there’s no point in trying to right himself. He’s always right anyway. Yeah. Yeah.

He doesn’t understand why he says things, why he opens his mouth at all when he regrets them so quickly after. He yells a lot. Raises his voice and spits mean words and cusses worse than anyone else he knows and regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. But he doesn’t learn. Doesn’t rethink it, doesn’t look back and remember the lesson he taught himself. You can’t be taught if you’re always right anyway, so what’s the point? Why regret it when he’s just going to do it again?

That’s a big word: why.

There are answers attached to the word. Reasons for the question being asked. Explanations and solutions and resolutions.

Jason is good at solving problems, is quick to work around it and get the job done. And a question is just a problem being asked, right? It’s verbal, that’s the only difference, so if he’s such a good problem solver, if he’s such a goddamn good thinker and understands things like philosophy and literature and great big concepts and words—

Why did he do that? Why did he say those things? Why can’t he make up his fucking mind? Why is he the way he is? Why does he just push and shove and drive away everyone and everything? Why did he come back different? Why did he come back wrong? Why didn’t Bruce love him enough to end things? Why was he worth a second chance when he screws up and regrets so much? Why do people still fucking try with him? Why can’t he get one goddamn thing right? Why is he always—

Click.

“Why didn’t you come to dinner?”

Click.

Red Hood is in Gotham. Nightwing is too. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The air is cold and there’s ice in the wind. It’s a clear night. A quiet frost coats the rooftop and Jason can hear his brother’s footsteps.

“We missed you, you know. Here, Agent A wanted me to give you these.”

Jason turns. Dick is holding out a duffle-cooler. He stands six feet away.

“They’re just leftovers. Turkey, sweet potatoes, casserole, pie; the fixings.”

Jason doesn’t move. Neither does Dick. To anyone else, it would look like a stand-off between Nightwing and Red Hood, neutral ground tensions. They both know it’s not.

It is cold and there is ice in the wind and the rainy season is long past. When they breathe, it erupts out of them in the form of white vapor and Jason can only think of the fact that it looks like smoke. His lighter still doesn’t work. It sits in his right pocket. He wants to take it out. Hear the click.

“There’s some beer too,” Dick adds softly, voice carried away and twisted in the sharp air. “I have a bottle opener.”

Nightwing walks a few paces away to sit against an A/C unit, shielding himself from the wind. He sets the cooler down beside him, unzipping the duffle and pulling out two bottles of a brand Jason doesn’t recognize, and pats the space next to him. Horse drawn carriage.

Why is a big concept. A big word. Maybe one of the bigger questions in the repertoire.

He doesn’t know nor understand why he takes the offered seat. He just does. It feels right to do so. Jason takes the offered bottle too and opens it himself. Hands back the blade. Takes a sip.

It’s cold. It warms him.

He doesn’t understand:

“Why?”

Dick swirls the alcohol around, bubbles rising to the surface. “Why, what?”

There’s a lot of things Jason could say. Could ask. He’s had two months to think about a question that would fit the answer he’s trying so hard to get; one that would satisfy the cavern that just keeps getting wider and wider, this empty presence that digs deeper inside him. He likes to think it would be a really intelligent question, one that would stump his all knowing brother; the one with all the answers in the world and a smile to accompany it. Dick had been on this pedestal for as long as Jason can remember. Had been placed so high above himself, even now, it’s impossible for him to reach, fingers a thousand miles away from ever grazing the top.

A lot of people would tell him he’s done this to himself. That the things he decides to do, his actions, what he says to other people and what they do as a consequence; all a product of his own creation. Even the cavern inside of him, filled with stalagmites and cobwebs and so many empty boxes, perhaps he did that to himself. He— He did that. To himself.

But Jason doesn’t like being wrong. Doesn’t like the fear that invades every nerve in his body when faced with the possibility of being so far off from the mark that it comes back and strikes him in the face. He’s paid the price for being wrong, has the scars and the memories and the stories to prove it, but he’s also been right, over and over again, and it feels so good to be right.

It felt good to punch his brother.

It felt good to have a reason to do so.

The anger, the fear, the possessive guilt that clung to him in those months where Dick was dead and he was at the wheel, knowing he was going to crash and burn eventually and probably take everyone with him. He played the long game and knew the end result. Jason had fooled himself with the thought of taking Dick’s place, thinking he could climb up that enormous pedestal he had placed there himself all those years ago. Torn down and resurrected today.

He doesn’t have a question though. Not a singular, all encompassing question that would piece together every missing hole inside of him and fill the void. His mother used to tell him he talked too much, that a big mouth like his would one day get him into trouble. She also told him that he was smart and curious and kind and so much more than anything she would ever be able to give him. Jason doesn’t understand why she said so many contrary things. Wishes he could ask her, have the opportunity to finally get the answers he wanted from her when he left everything behind just for a chance to do so. He can’t though. She died. He died too.

Dick didn’t.

“Why did you leave?”

His brother stops swirling the contents of his bottle, choosing instead to release a heavy sigh that travels into the air in a thick cloud of tired gray and remorse. “I wasn’t in a good place at the time. Leaving felt like the only good thing left I could do. Batman gave me the mission and I… I took it.”

“What part of letting us all think you were dead was ‘good’? How does that translate to ‘good’ in your world?”

“I wasn’t a part of that decision,” Dick says pointedly, setting down his beer and thunking his head back to rest against the unit. “I was still comatose by the time Batman had broken the news to everyone else. I told you, Hood, I had no choice. Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was all that made sense to do.”

He pauses, a hand coming up to scrub at the sides of his face. “Robin had just… died. Protecting me. I got captured by people with faces I’ve known my entire life and couldn’t escape them. I let myself get hooked up to that- that machine and exposed my identity to the entire world. Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to you all, had I stayed? Everyone knew who Nightwing was under the mask. It would’ve— People would have figured the rest out soon enough. When Batman offered me the opportunity to at least make something right, I took it.”

Something unsettles inside Jason’s chest. Leaking, fracturing. It feels wrong. He feels- “So, what? You left because you felt bad ? Gallivanted off as soon as the opportunity was presented? Oh, I’m sure you’d love to do that again. Hey, Nightwing, tell me, are you feeling bad right now? Would you like a one-way ticket to Spain? I bet that’d make you feel much better.”

Dick frowns, head swiveling to look at Jason. “If that’s how you’d like to picture it, then fine. Yeah, I felt bad about exposing my entire family’s identities. I felt bad about letting down Batman and getting myself taken. I felt bad about dying and not being—”

“Quit fucking saying you died! You didn’t. You put on a good show, I’ll give you that, but having a model that looks just like you being buried in the ground doesn’t qualify as you dying. Get the fuck over yourself.”

A sharp crack meets his words and Jason snaps his head over to see Dick’s bottle broken against the ground, the older man having knocked it over with his hand.

Nightwing’s white lenses are staring at him and Red Hood meets his gaze unflinchingly, if only for the reason that he can’t see his brother’s eyes. There was something to be said about clear eyes in a city full of smog and endless voids, and Jason has looked enough people in the eye to know when to blink and walk away. The dark does not have a gaze to collapse within and yet there is empty white surrounding them.

“Come with me.”

Why is too big of a word.

Jason follows anyway.

He’s at the end of his rope in asking questions he knows no one will be able to answer. Knows that the answer he wants is not one anyone is willing to give, or even can give. See, Jason knows why. Has an understanding with the concept in a personal way unlike anyone else will ever have. He knows, understands, gets exactly what the question demands with all of its little fallacies and conundrums and ever so many follow ups. If he could, Jason would shake hands with it, an agreement to never speak a word of its existence ever again. But, how could he ponder the question when he himself cannot bear to fathom his own existence?

Nightwing is already scaling down a fire-escape, duffle-cooler slung over his shoulder, and Jason watches his head disappear below the roof line. He stands up, feet numb and hands feeling bitten, and side glances the broken bottle and the one he’s leaving behind. Even with the bleak, gray weather, the glass twinkles and shimmers in the ice, and, just faintly, Jason can smell the alcohol in the wind. Gotham is a city filled with muck, grease, scum, and litter. There is no difference in adding their own to the ever increasing pile, and yet Jason cannot help amend himself with the thought that at least their trash is beautiful in the cold.

He walks over to the edge of the roof, peering down to where he can see Nightwing traveling up a different, rusted ladder, ready to seek a new vantage point for wherever it is he’s decided to lead Jason. He doesn’t have his helmet on tonight, just a plain domino to hide his face, and the frost cuts against his nose and lips. A shiver runs through his body and Jason slides down into the alleyway below, keeping his brother in eye-sight. Nightwing launches a grapple, clinging to another building about 200 meters away, and Red Hood follows suit, the chill buffering inside of his jacket.

They arrive at one of those motel looking buildings, the outward appearance completely abandoned. Bruce had built this many years ago, one of the first of several safe-houses, and for all intents and purposes, it served to only attract the kinds of people that knew how to keep their mouths shut. The “general office” is where Dick walks into, a separate facility from the boarding rooms. He waits for Jason to enter, having taken a back door of four inches of solid steel, and locks it behind them once the younger has entered as well.

Dick throws the duffle onto one of the chairs inside the room, and rolls his shoulders in a circular motion, a long sigh escaping him. Somewhere, Jason can hear the heater kicking on.

He thumbs his lighter.

Click.

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing, waiting by the door for Dick to make the first move. His brother says nothing though, continuing to move his joints around and rub his hands furiously together. He doesn’t even glance at Jason as he leaves the main room, entering another side door and into, what Jason assumes is, a bathroom. Left alone, Jason keeps his boots on and sits down.

Click.

He waits. Peels off his mask and winces at the pull on his skin. Rubs at his eyes and forehead. Sighs.

Click. Click.

He stares at the domino in his lap, regretting having taken it off. Dick could look him in the eye now. He didn’t— He doesn’t like that. You only look people in the eye when you want to convey something, be it emotion, honesty, or purely how much you don’t give a shit. Jason doesn’t know what it meant when he looked at all those people in the Narrows a few days ago. Doesn’t know what it meant when they looked at him. Who was he, then? He was no one. No one.

Click.

The bathroom door opens and Dick steps out wearing a thick tank top and a long pair of joggers. Just beyond the cracked doorway, Jason can see his Nightwing suit hung up against a rack. The remnants of irritated skin also pepper his brother’s face, red and splotchy.

Dick looks up and meets his gaze.

Click.

“This the part where you try to argue yourself right?”

His older brother frowns. “No, it’s not.”

Jason looks away.

Click. Click. Click.

“What’s that in your pocket?”

“Just some old lighter. It doesn’t work.”

“Ah.”

The stiff silence reverberates between them. Normally, when conversation isn’t invited, Dick would go off somewhere and find something to do; something in his head urging him to seek out an offering. It was a tactic the older man used often, something to hold or something else to focus your attention on making an otherwise shaky atmosphere comfortable. When he was still Robin, it was a ploy Jason found himself enjoying sometimes, where Nightwing would meet him on some pre-designated roof carrying hot chocolate or donuts and Jason would gripe to the older man about Bruce’s latest restriction or Batman’s newest growl. Their conversations would last well into the night and it was their secret they kept together, a fall-back to go to when things were too uncertain or days were too long.

Those memories were nice. Fond, even.

Dick does not have an offering this time.

“Did you believe I was dead?”

Jason sucks in a breath, fingers stilling against his lighter. “Yes.” Pause. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Jason fires back. “It was on live television for Christ’s sake, Dick! Half the world watched you die.”

“It’s not as if doctored film has never been done before, even if it was live. At some point, it cut off too. I’ve watched the video myself. My death wasn’t shown on screen.”

“There was audio. I could hear your heart stopping on the machine.”

“There was a lot of fighting going on. It was chaos.”

“Fine, I didn’t see you die and the video was shit. But Bruce told us you were dead. Batman told us you had died.”

“And Batman doesn’t lie.”

“Fuck you.”

Dick sighs, leaning back against one of the walls. “Look, I’m not trying to pick another fight with you. I don’t want to.”

“Then what. Do. You. Want,” Jason grounds out, rising from his chair. “I’m sick of this. I am so sick of not knowing what the fuck is going on with you and Bruce, with all of your little secrets and fake-deaths and—”

“It wasn’t fake,” Dick interrupts, standing his ground. “It may not have been for long, but my heart did stop. I died in that machine, Jason, and I’m upset you guys accepted that.”

“Well, what the fuck else were we supposed to do?” Jason erupts, flinging his arms wide. “Fucking poke at your body until you were alive again? Wait next to your corpse in the morgue with your suit on hand, just in case you decided to wake up?”

“You could’ve at least doubted, ” Dick hisses. Jason can hear the heater still humming. The room is cold though. Bitter. “At the very least, you guys could’ve looked into it. Bruce isn’t the perfect, untouchable beast we’ve made him into. He left a trail. A trail that would have led right to the fake body he created while I was comatose. A trail that would have shown the Batmobile needing repairs it shouldn’t have needed. A trail that would have shown the documents he forged to get me into Spyral. There were so many things, Jason! So many goddamn things that would have shown you guys I wasn’t dead!”

“If you wanted to be found so badly, why didn’t you tell us?” Jason snarls, that leaking fracture in his chest pooling into his lungs. “Why didn’t you say a single word if you were so desperate for someone to notice?”

“I already told you,” Dick says quietly. “I needed to make things right. Bruce offered a way to do it and I needed that; the space, away from everything, everyone, in my life that I knew I had failed. I don’t regret it, and I am sorry it caused so much pain, but—”

Click.

“—was it really so wrong to want someone to save me?”

The leak implodes and Jason stops breathing.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. I should be able to handle these things, but I— there was this moment where I convinced myself that none of what was happening was real and that it was all some nightmare I was watching.”

The blows had stung and burned in the way only rusted metal against bone and flesh could. His left eye was bleeding and his nose had been broken long ago. After the thirtieth strike, Jason had somehow convinced himself it wasn’t real. That he wasn’t there, in that old warehouse, and that he wasn’t some child-soldier-hero being beaten to death by a maniac who laughed and giggled at his pain.

“When I woke up, I really believed that. I-I was so convinced and then Bruce showed up and gave me this mission and, god, Jason, how could I have ever said no? I had failed. Bruce told me I failed. ”

He remembers that sadistic clock in the corner. Silent up until the last ten seconds. It had its own little tick, a click, and it was the stupidest looking bomb Jason had ever seen, bright red and just any old alarm clock with a few extra wires. A nightmare. All just a nightmare and Jason had begged the universe for him to wake up. For someone, anyone, to save him. For Batman to come swooping in and rescue him from his stupid fucking mistakes but—

Click.

Dick breathes out, a shuttering exhale that rocks him to his core. “Spyral, the mission, everything after… It was my penance, I think. Bruce’s way of forgiving me for failing. There was just no other way, Jason. It was all I had left. I guess I had just hoped someone was still in my corner, even after fucking it all up, you know?”

He does. Jason does know with a clarity that haunts him every morning he wakes up and finds the events unchanged. There are cobwebs and old boxes inside his cavern, the place where his soul used to be, but he knows. He knows he came back wrong. That he came back different. That something inside of him was missing when he opened his eyes to mystic green and an emptiness that plagued him until he came back to Gotham; rage, fear, and a deep sadness taking up that empty space inside of him. He doesn’t know how many times he’s asked himself ‘why?’ only to ignore the answer given to him. Too many.

And maybe Dick has asked that same question as well. Maybe he has his own cavern deep inside of him, filled with his own fragmented cobwebs and starved crates, ghosts that continue to follow his every step, and whispers that forever ring in his ears. Perhaps the dead carry memories and questions wherever they go, and perhaps that is their sole purpose. They only stay to recount and wish and want and only breach the word “if” and “maybe”.

But they are alive now. They live. They breathe.

Jason thought death connected himself to his elder brother, but perhaps it was the voids inside of them both that bound them together. The desperation that clung to their beings, seeking approval, seeking retribution, seeking out anything that’ll make them feel whole once more after having been stripped bare and left in the throes of Death's carriage. This was the tie that bound them together. It wasn’t Bruce. It wasn’t Robin. It wasn’t death.

It was simply the missing pieces inside of them. Brothers not by blood, but by the very nature of their search for meaning. And that was all.

“Yeah,” Jason says, the molten gravity of this answer leaving him boneless. “Okay.”

Dick stares at him with the same clear eyes he’s looked at his younger brother with since day one. Something passes behind those eyes, a shift in the monumental focus that is Dick Grayson’s ever present gaze, and the heater continues to thrum in the background, just as ubiquitous as Gotham always was and always will be for them. There was a fundamental alteration inside them both, something taken from them that can’t be replaced, and Jason feels as though he is not alone anymore. There is another presence, another existence, in his life full of betrayal that shares the same scars and the same emptiness that has captured him since the day Bruce stopped hoping for him.

“Okay?” Dick repeats quietly, and Jason can hear the echo inside his chest. “Is that all?”

“No,” Jason murmurs, easing back into the chair he had left. “No, it’s not. But I… I can’t do more of this right now. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t either,” Dick sighs, the exhaustion from his own ordeals weighing down his shoulders and causing him to slide down the wall. “It’s— I never wanted to, Jason. You know that, right?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I guess- We deal with it, right?”

Jason wants to laugh. Maybe give a little less weight on his back to the warm air around them, but it sounds like a lot to do. He exhales instead, something maybe interpretable as a tired grin lifting his mouth. “Another time, then?”

Perhaps that is a statement that can’t be guaranteed nor promised. Time is scarce in their world, more so than anyone else's, but it is a scarcity they are well accustomed to. Death had departed in Its carriage, the seat left warm by their presence, but for now, they had left and that was all that really mattered. Why they left, why they need time they don’t have, why the caverns inside of them exist. All questions that have been answered before. Maybe when the sky isn’t gray, or when the rain isn’t pounding against fractured ceilings, they can begin to make amends and go from there. But the safe-house is warm.

It is warm.

“Another time.”

#dick grayson #jason todd #spyral #agent 37 #nightwing #red hood #hurt/comfort #bad things happen bingo #what have i done?#part 2 #my fic #fanfic #txt #yes there will be a part 3!! i am not leaving this unresolved- this was just another conversation i wanted them to have

41 notes · View notes

ddaehyeon · 3 years

Text

ophiuchus - you have this limited stack of sticky notes. write whatever you want on it, and that note would magically appear somewhere in your soulmate’s line of sight during that day.

send me a member and a constellation!

— pairing: jung subin + gn!reader

— genre: fluff, soulmate au, office au

— word count: 1.5k

— requested ☆ victon masterlist

today will be the start.

that was the words scribbled on a blue sticky note you kept in between the pages of your favorite book. the last note you received from your soulmate. you randomly found it by your desk as you were working on your resume for a manufacturing company you were trying to get into. months had passed since you last got a note, so you assumed it was your soulmate’s final words to you.

a fascinating way to get to know your soulmate, although you doubt you ever got the chance to send your soulmate any type of notes. you can’t remember having that limited stack of sticky notes similar to what your friends would gush about during college. and your soulmate wasn’t too keen on giving off their identity either, settling for a few words of encouragement every other day and sometimes, random words. like really random ones. there was even a time they sent off a what seemed to be a grocery list.

though you got a hold of their last note, their other notes were no longer with you. with most of it only appearing in your line of sight, either too far to be reached or too awkward to pick up.

“good morning, you’re the new analyst, right?” a man with towering height greeted you, slumping a box on your table. things you supposed were necessary for your job. you peered over their id, their smiling photograph looking back at you. choi byungchan.

“i am.” a small curve made its way to your brim, lighting up your face a bit. though there was no point in denying that you were actually worried about what you were to do. the new environment adequate for your stomach to twist in both nervousness and excitement.

byungchan looked at the close area, the nearest cubicles were ones occupied by employees who probably had started their day way too early. already in the middle of typing out reports, with some answering phone calls and pacing in and out of the area. “our advertising manager is scary.”

a clearing of the throat stopped you from whatever question you were to throw as to why byungchan said that. another guy appeared next to your cubicle, he was holding a couple of brown envelopes. “am i?”

you shot a look on his id, his name easily spotted. jung subin. underneath, his title proudly printed. he was the advertising manager.

“just kidding.” byungchan let out a chuckle before grinning to the other. waving in your direction before leaving your cubicle.

subin watched him all along before he stepped closer to you, placing what he was carrying on the table. it was a few clippings and report summary of the former trends and advertising plans. “i compiled everything that you might need there, on the sticky note my email’s written. if ever you need additional data, just send me a message.”

“thank you,” you said with a nod. opposite to what byungchan had warned, subin wasn’t really scary. though you had to agree that his sharp look made him somewhat intimidating. gazing at the sticky note stuck on the top of the envelope, a cold feeling crawled onto your skin. breathe immediately sucked in, heart missing one beat— wait a minute.

“is something wrong?” subin asked, halting your train of thoughts, but not the trail of sensation that was rapidly setting in your body.

you shook your head, unable to commit to any verbal response.

his writing was familiar.

awfully familiar.

never did the idea leave your mind. for good days it remained there.

subin wasn’t in his office when you got there. you’d simply leave the files he had asked for only if you didn’t need some other monthly data. quite urgent of a need that you were willing to wait just a little bit until his meeting ends.

unable to hold still in sitting on the couch, you stood and wandered around his office. supplies tidily stacked on the shelves, a pile of documents on his table, most of the former advertising campaigns stuck on the bulletin adjacent to the sofa. the thing that caught your eyes the most was the handwritten weekly schedule. his handwriting.

once again, you ended up having a staring game with the paper. trying to analyze it as if it was your schedule, when in fact you were not really paying attention to what was written. all your focus fixated on how it was written. curving in rush, yet still neat.

the door swung open almost inaudibly or perhaps you were simply lost with your thoughts that you failed to perceive it. not until subin’s voice echoed in your ears as he stood behind you did you notice that he was already back.

“i’m free this weekend,” subin casually said, a chuckle heard from him afterward as he walked towards his table to settle down his notebook.

you shook your head, a little abashed of how he caught you in the act of staring at his writing. oh well, his weekly schedule. “that’s not it.”

nodding his head, he sat down on his chair. “then why were you looking at my schedule ever so intently?”

“just…” stepping away from the bulletin, you walked closer to his table. for a moment, you contemplated whether to tell him about your thoughts or not. but there was nothing weird with finding someone’s handwriting familiar, right? it wasn’t such a strange thing, right? meeting his gaze was enough of a reassurance, quite inquisitive too. “i think your handwriting is familiar.”

“it is?” he raised a brow at your words. “what do you mean?”

unsure of what to say, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind. “today will be the start.”

the puzzlement that came across his features allowed an awkward smile to come to your lips. maybe it was some kind of coincidence. he wasn’t that person, no? admittedly, that was quite a disappointment. you shook your head in an attempt to take the words back. “nevermind.”

that was ignored though, subin’s frown melted upon a realization. “so you were that person who kept on sending those animal doodles when i was a kid?”

and it was your turn to be confused. “what?”

a knowing smile lit upon his lips, welcoming and a bit nostalgic. eyes discerning, warm gaze as if he had found someone he had been looking for. “do you not remember drawing something on a paper and it disappearing?”

“wait, so you mean—”

there were only a few instances it occurred or at least that was the depth your memories could still recognize. around kindergarten, you had this notepad that you weren’t entirely sure how you got. its pages were pigmented in bright and whimsical colors. and you filled it with the same amount of playfulness through doodles of animals and flowers, most were silly, but fun to make. however, none of it lasted in the notepad, all disappearing after the day it was drawn. you didn’t mind though, thinking that perhaps someone just pulled it off or it just magically vanished.

it was magical, yes, but it didn’t just disappear.

“i even have most of it kept,” subin confirmed, pulling a drawer and retrieving his keys from it. lifting his hand, he revealed a keyring that had a small drawing of a bunny locked on it. the color of the paper familiar to you, regardless of the many shades of color there was. its blue tone was distinct. “this drawing was from you?”

you took a few steps closer to him to study the keychain which he ended up handing to you. shooting him a look, a question slipped out of your tongue. “you mean you were actually able to get some sticky notes from me?”

subin bobbed his head up and down, his smile spreading in delight. “when we were younger.”

later that day, subin insisted on walking you to the bus stop. the remaining rays of sunlight brushes upon your figure, two shadows moving from behind as the two of you strolled on the sidewalk. you were unable to hold any more conversations earlier due to the other office tasks both of you had to work on.

“so why haven’t you been writing?” you asked, breaking the silence that had been existing ever since you stepped out of the building.

subin shrugged. “i ran out of it.”

“i see.” you nodded at his words, feet stopping in one go when you thought of another question. something you’d been curious about. “what do you mean by ‘today will be the start’ on your last note?”

“oh that?” subin’s track halted as well, a moment taken to look at the sky. the colors altering to what seemed to have been the pigments of the sticky notes the two of you had exchanged— of orange and red. “it just meant that from that day onwards, i will simply allow fate to work, to bring us together.”

he turned to look at you, the curve on his lips was able to spark a glimmer in his eyes. “and it seems like it did.”

#victonwriters #victon imagines #victon scenarios #victon oneshots #victon fluff #victon #jung subin #subin #victon x reader #kpop imagines #requests #constellation prompts #to edit!#suddenly feeling rusty with writing after going all out with academic papers but anyways

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you-can-call-me-wanda · 3 years

Text

One Year

Pairing: Michael Monroe x Reader

A/N: I combined two requests into one for this imagine. A request for a one year anniversary story and a request for what dating Michael might be like. I hope I did both justice...

Today was yours and Michael’s anniversary and you couldn’t be more excited. You had been dating the blonde bombshell for a year now and you could confidently say it was the happiest you had been in your life so far. Being with Michael was like having your own personal cheerleader at all times. His never-ending optimism and excitement for life left you with your own positive outlook and gave you a newfound sense of self-confidence.

When you had first met Michael, you’d been more reserved, stuck in your shell so to say. He was outgoing and talkative and everything you wished you could be. You were instantly drawn to him like a moth drawn to a flame and much to your joy, he was drawn to you in the same way.

Your love and relationship with Michael was intense and passionate, but that was the way Michael did things. He went all in. No matter how big or little the adventure was, he gave it his all. He was passionate to a fault which was something you admired greatly. He knew what he wanted, and he knew what it took to achieve it. In your eyes, he was nothing short of brilliant.

You recalled vividly the first time he said he loved you.

It was only the second time the two of you had met. You worked as a barista at a local coffee shop, and he had come in for the second time that morning.

“Oh, hello again,” you greeted him as he came up to the counter.

You remembered the blonde stranger from earlier that morning. He had ordered some fancy sugar-filled concoction and had kept a rather upbeat and eager conversation with you as you had made his order. In the end, as he took his drink, he had introduced himself to you and wished you a good day before heading out the door.

“Hi,” he said, standing in front of you once again. “I know this may seem strange, but you just have to believe me on this. I think I love you.”

You were obviously taken back.

“I’m sorry?” you asked. You must have misheard the man.

“I love you,” he said again. “And I know we’ve just met and all, but would you like to go on a date with me tonight?”

Now, you would have normally said no to such a request, but something about this stranger had totally and completely enraptured you. You found yourself wanting to see more of him, wanting to see how this played out. It was completely unlike you.

“Um, sure,” you agreed hesitantly. “I’m (Y/N) by the way.”

“(Y/N),” Michael repeated with a smile. “Beautiful.”

****

“Babe,” you remember him saying. He was bouncing on his feet as he held up a notebook for you to see. “Look at this. We finished the song! It’s going to be a hit I can just feel it.”

You had only been with him for a couple weeks when his band, Hanoi Rocks, had begun to really take off. It seemed like everyday he was showing you some new idea for the album or for a song or something new he’d learned to do on the harmonica.

You sent him a smile while you quickly read through the finished lyrics he was waving in front of your face.

“These are fantastic Mike,” you said. “Are you going to the studio today to record it?”

Him and his bandmates had been in and out of the studio all week recording songs for their upcoming album.

He nodded his head. “Yep,” he said, “And I want you to come with me.”

You looked up at him with nervous curiosity. You’d never gone to the studio with him before, but that wasn’t what was so frightening about his request. You’d never met his mates before either. Michael had told you all sorts of stories about the rambunctious boys and you were aware that they knew of your existence and relationship with Mike as well, but you were honestly scared to meet them.

“Oh, I don’t know babe,” you said. “What if the guys don’t like me?”

You were surely much different than his friends. With all the tales you had heard about them, they seemed like the complete opposite of you. You were shy and quiet and could be described as demure whilst they were a rowdy bunch of self-proclaimed rockstars. There was no doubt they would find you underwhelming to say the least.

“What?” Michael said, honestly a bit astonished you would think that. To him, you were the greatest thing since sliced bread. “They’ll love you! I’ve told them all about you already.”

Upon seeing your worried and unconvinced expression, he continued.

“(Y/N),” he said, taking your hands into his and planting a quick kiss to the top of each. “I know sometimes you get stressed over these sorts of things, but I promise you it will be fine. They honestly can’t wait to meet you and I can’t wait for all my favorite people to be in one room.”

And just like that, you were agreeing to go with him to the studio. Michael just had a way with you. You didn’t even quite understand it, how he was able to speak directly to your heart. And of course, he had been right about it all being okay. You found yourself becoming fast friends with the rest of Hanoi Rocks and within a couple months of knowing them, could proudly say you saw them each as a brother.

****

“I got you a present,” he had said with a grin on his birthday.

“For me?” you asked.

The two of you had been together for almost eight months now and were hanging around in his bedroom at his flat. The party dedicated to him was still in full-swing downstairs, but he had pulled you away to the side, saying he had something to show you.

“It’s your birthday babe,” you said. “You’re not supposed to get me something.”

“I know,” Michael said, “But I’ve been wanting to give you this for a long time now and it felt like a good excuse to do so today.”

He procured a small box wrapped in twine from behind his back and held it out to you flat on his palm. You regarded him skeptically, but took the offering nonetheless.

Carefully, you unwrapped the small package. Lifting the lid off the box, you looked inside to see a key nestled in it. You took the key out and held it up to examine it further.

“A key?” you asked. “What’s it for?”

You were surprised to look up and see Michael blushing. It wasn’t often that he got nervous.

“It’s for the flat,” he said, biting his lip. “I was hoping you’d move in with me.”

You looked from him to the key and back to him again.

“Are you serious?” you said. “You seriously want me to move in?”

Michael nodded.

“What about the boys?” you questioned.

Michael shared the flat with his bandmates.

“I already asked them, and they said it was fine,” he said. “What do you think?”

“Yes,” you said without a moment’s more hesitation. “Yes, I would love to move in with you.”

Michael wrapped his arms around you at your answer and buried his head in the crook of your neck. You could feel his warm laughter against your skin.

****

You thought back to these moments and all the other wonderful memories from the past year spent with Michael. He was no doubt the love of your life and your future wrapped all up in one.

You looked over in bed at the man at the center of it all. He laid next you, sleeping peacefully. You had been awake for quite some time now, simply admiring him and watching his chest rise and fall with each breath he took.

You briefly wondered what he might be dreaming of before rolling over closer to him and cuddling into his side. You watched as his bleary eyes blinked opened and focused on your face.

“Good morning,” he said, stifling a yawn.

“Morning,” you responded, tracing invisible patterns across his bare chest.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Although still very much tired, Mike responded eagerly.

He hummed contentedly. “Hmmm, do what do I owe the pleasure of being woken up like that to?” he asked.

You smiled. “A year ago,” you said, “You walked into a coffee shop and told me you loved me. Exactly one year ago."

"Is that so?" Michael said, kissing you back just as you had kissed him, giving you no time to answer.

“Has it really been a year already?” he asked, pulling away. “It feels like just last week.”

“Funny how time does that, isn’t it?” you responded.

Michael flipped over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought.

“A year ago, I told you I loved you,” he murmured. “Would you believe me if I said I love you just as much today?”

“Depends,” you responded softly. “Would you believe me if I said I loved you even more?”

#michael monroe x reader #michael monroe imagine #hanoi rocks #hanoi rocks x reader #hanoi rocks imagine #hanoi rocks fic #michael monroe #wanda writes

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