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therenlover · 3 years

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In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter One (A Three Chapter Helmut Zemo/Reader Fanfic)

(Thank you to the wonderful anon who requested angst and smut between Zemo and the reader because Zemo had to be away from her on the run!)

Synopsis: A year after working together with Zemo in the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam and Bucky seek him out once again in need of shelter from John Walker. Meanwhile, Zemo’s wife resents his absence and prepares for guests.

Tags: Flashbacks, Depression, Alcoholism, Separation Anxiety, Arguing, Struggling Marriage, Reunions

Rating: T (E in future chapters)

Warnings: Guns, Swearings, Reader shows signs of alcoholism/alcohol abuse, Reader uses a hot shower as a mild form of self harm

Word Count: 5000~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

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Helmut Zemo was not often a man backed into a corner.

He was smart, resourceful, and had nothing left to lose. If it came down to the line, he would do whatever had to be done within his morals to achieve his goals, even if that goal was simply staying alive. The Baron bowed to no man, and made his enemies, no matter their size, fall to their knees with sheer wit instead of brute strength. That’s why, when he stood backed into an alley with the barrel of James Barnes’ gun to his forehead as the Falcon watched on, it was strange that he didn’t try to weasel his way out.

“We need answers,” Sam said, hands in the pockets of his dark hoodie. Bucky wore a similar one, only he wore a baseball cap instead of keeping his hood up. “How the hell did you break out of prison for a second time?”

Usually, Zemo would have replied with a clever quip. He had never been one to back down from a fight. This time, though, he looked almost frightened as he raised his arms in defeat. “I got in contact with friends on the outside during our short adventure together. They decided to help me out once I was re-incarcerated, willingly I might add. I had no part in the plan, but who would look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“And I guess I’m just supposed to assume you had no part in getting my pardon revoked?” Bucky spat.

“If you hadn’t noticed, James, I’ve left you alone,” A hint of his usual mockery slipped into Helmut’s tone, but he quickly pulled it back, “Believe what you want about me, but I’ve had some time since last year to… re-evaluate my feelings on the world. You had no choice but to do the things you did as the Winter Soldier, and as long as you pose no threat to society now I have no qualms with you,”

Despite the strangeness of Zemo’s response Bucky remained unphased. Sam, on the other hand, was less stoic.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the government is looking for Bucky and I harder than they’re looking for you, and it’s kind of all your fault, so excuse me for not giving a shit about your supposed sudden change of heart!”

“Can we get to the point? I’m afraid my flight leaves in an hour and I would hate to be late,”

“Cut the bullshit!” There Bucky went, pushing the cold metal closer to Zemo’s furrowed forehead.

“Bucky...” Sam warned.

“No, Sam, I can do this. Did you or did you not actively attempt to get my pardon revoked when you took us to Madripoor? Because thanks to you, a worse symbol than Sam is now standing unchecked with the title of Captain America AND he has access to the last of the new super soldier serum AND he’s trying to get us killed so we can’t tell the world about the awful shit he does,”

“I-” Zemo went to speak and, for the first time since he had met him, Sam believed he was being genuine. There was a tremble that made its way through him, all the way to his raised hands and even his voice. It was enough that Bucky even lowered the gun minutely. “I understood that by following my lead, the both of you were risking a lot. I didn’t intend any specific malice with my actions though, no. If I may… the two of you have attracted a lot of attention here in the past few days. I assume Walker is very close to finding you?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look before Sam responded. “Maybe, why?”

“I have a safe house,” he continued, “I don’t stay there often so the location isn’t compromised, but it’s my next stop. Might I suggest we take this conversation on the road? I would hate to host your reunion with Mr. Walker in an alley over my corpse,”

There was a moment of complete stillness. Zemo remained, face dark with that strange deer-in-headlights look, a perfect statue, as the barrel of Bucky’s gun remained pointed firmly in his direction and Sam shared what seemed to be a completely silent conversation with Bucky. It was true that they had been burned before. Zemo was a man with his own agenda who did what it took to fulfill it. That being said, he had returned willingly with them back to prison before he was broken out, and without his help, the band of freshly minted super soldiers would still be running around Europe causing chaos. In the end, Bucky lowered his gun slowly before tucking it away into his boot holster.

Zemo grinned.

“Don’t think this means we trust you,” Sam groaned, pointing a finger at the man.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, gentlemen, I believe we have a plane to catch,”

As the trio began to make their way out of the alley Bucky and Sam fell to the flank of the group. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Bucky asked, eyes darting between his two companions. Sam shrugged.

“At this point, I’m doing whatever it takes to get home to my family in one piece. If that means I have to ride in Zemo’s stupid private jet again and lay low for a while, then that’s what I’m gonna do, because Sarah and those kids don’t deserve to lose me all over again,”

“But don’t you think he’s acting a little… weird?”

“Don’t worry, I have my eye on him. If he tries anything we can just throw him out front when Walker tries to shoot us,”

“You’re doing a very poor job of concealing your conversation,” Zemo shouted.

Bucky stormed ahead as Sam laughed.

“Oh, shut up!”

Surprisingly, the drive to the airstrip was mostly uneventful, as was the relatively short flight from Zurich to Avignon. There was, of course, the usual cutthroat banter and tension so thick you could feel it like a fog hanging over the group, but in an unusual twist of fate, the baron did very little to initiate. Of course, he wasn’t fully innocent though. He never was. That being said, even as his chauffeur carefully navigated the stone roads to the dropoff point he was strangely quiet. He had texted someone earlier to have the house prepared for their arrival but he kept looking down at the phone as if a response would come. It didn’t.

Sam appreciated the break from the noise. To him, it was a moment of peace after a few months of constant opposition. For the duration of the trip, he had chosen to shoot a few choice quips Bucky’s way before taking a long nap. Bucky, on the other hand, was only growing more suspicious of Zemo by the minute.

After his time with Hydra, Bucky had become intimately acquainted with the type of man that Zemo was. He was ruthless, driven by ideals that couldn’t be changed by any amount of debate or theory read inside a prison cell, and willing to do whatever it took to fulfill those ideals no matter the cost. There was remorse but no regret. A man like that doesn’t just stop believing in the thing that led him to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, because once the impetus is gone so is the only thing upholding their sense of self.

In basic terms, he was hiding something. Bucky was intent on finding out what that thing was, a thing important enough to make Zemo of all people shut the hell up and tell his enemies exactly where his safe house was, and he wasn’t going to rest until he did. The answer came easily enough in the end, but not before Sam and Bucky were forced face to face with the strangest thing they had ever seen, even when including aliens and wizards. That thing was Zemo buying flowers.

The trio had gotten out of the car somewhere around the center of the city and continued towards the safe house on foot. A few minutes after they started, though, Zemo had spoken.

“I apologize, but I’ll have to stop for a moment,” He said, holding up a hand to alert the two men trailing him to the fact that he was about to stop. Sam quirked up an eyebrow.

“At a flower shop?”

There, to the right of them, was a small fleuriste. The window was a burst of bright color. Pinks, reds, whites, purples; a certain bunch of spring blooms had caught Zemo’s eye. He shrugged. “It’s rude to arrive at someone’s house asking for a favor without a gift, Mr. Wilson. Excuse me,”

With a comfort that said he had been into the shop many times, Zemo walked through the door and began conversing with the shop owner in perfect French, even referring to her as tu instead of vous as he made his purchase.

“Did he just say someone’s house ?” Sam asked Bucky, eyes widening.

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I think he did,”

“So, we’re just showing up at someone’s door,”

“Yup. Not to mention they’re someone who aligns themself with him,”

A groan escaped from Sam as he ran his hand down his face in disbelief. “I didn’t expect much from Zemo, but damn,”

“It’s your fault for expecting anything from Zemo in the first place,”

“For once, you’re right,”

They dawdled for a moment. As their conversation stilled, Zemo returned, now burdened by a sizable bouquet from the window. Around them, the city was starting to get off of work. Families walked together as businesses had their 5 o’clock shift change. Somehow as the world around them came to life it didn’t look at Sam and Bucky with anything more than a passing glance. They were tourists, nothing more. For a moment Sam understood why Zemo would go to a place like this for safety and anonymity.

Without ceremony, the trio began walking towards their destination once again.

“I apologize for the delay,” Zemo said, keeping his pace brisk and remaining about a foot ahead of his companions, “I suppose it’s become a bit of a habit that I buy Y/N flowers whenever I come back. We shouldn’t be long now, though, the house is just a few more blocks away, maybe 3 minutes by foot,”

“Y/N?” Bucky asked. The name felt heavy on his tongue, familiar. That had to be a coincidence though. Zemo would never align himself with anyone who had worked for Hydra, and there was no other place he could have heard that name and had it hold any significance. Right?

Zemo chuckled. “Y/N is our host. I’d appreciate it if you tried to maintain some semblance of respect when we arrive, she tends to have quite the temper and it would reflect badly on me if she believed I was asking her to indefinitely house two people who would happily send her to prison,”

“About that,” Sam chimed in, “Who the hell are we about to be staying with? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t, and by extension, I also don’t tend to trust people who trust you,”

“I assure you, Sam, Y/N is more trustworthy to you than I will ever be,”

“That doesn’t answer my question, nor does it make me feel any better,”

“She’s American, and like you, she is seeking shelter from the government. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Man, at this point I feel like you’re not telling us because she’s actually some sort of crazy Sokovian sleeper agent who’s gonna stab us in the back while we sleep. Am I crazy, Buck, or am I right?”

Bucky, who had been trying his best to stay out of the conversation, replied. “You are being unnecessarily evasive, Zemo, though that’s nothing new…”

“Right? Like, I’m really grateful that you’re lending us a hand, but I’ve gotta be honest, if I think for a second things are going south-”

Sam never got to finish his sentence.

Suddenly, Zemo stopped short, turning around and looking Bucky in the eye with a madness neither he nor Sam had ever seen before. His whole body was stiff, rigid. The hand that wasn’t cradling the flowers delicately was gripped in a fist at his side. He looked angry, but underneath the anger, he really just looked scared. “You will not touch her. Do you hear me? Do what you’d like with me, I have made choices worthy of punishment, but you will not touch Y/N. If you so much as think of it, all bets are off. Do you understand me?”

Bucky nodded, sharp. This was certainly interesting. Sam just smirked.

“Is there something else you want to tell us?”

Zemo walked up a small set of stairs towards a home to their right. “No, Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe so,”

The building was a nice one, all tan stone with dark wrought-iron fixtures on its many windows. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal midtown manor-house for some upper-class member of the community. The normalcy of it all hid its true purpose in plain sight. It was genius, really. Over a dividing wall made of the same yellowing stone, Sam could see a small sliver of vibrant green garden space and a pool at the side of the building.

With a steadying breath, Zemo knocked on the door.

“You have to knock on the door of your own safe house?” There was a hint of incredulity in Bucky’s voice as he crossed his arms. This was going to be a disaster. Why had they agreed to this again?

“A little etiquette goes a long way, James, especially when you’re already in the doghouse,” Then, the door opened.

Bucky froze. There, standing in the doorway with a pistol in her hand and a fire in her eyes, was a woman he thought long dead: you. This couldn’t be right! He had killed you back in ‘02 with the rest of the AAHR...

You quirked up an eyebrow at Zemo.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,”

They were so fucked.

________________

The day, on your end of the world, had gone by much slower.

It started off like any other, with the alarm on your bedside table blaring as you opened your eyes and your arms reached out into the emptiness in the sheets beside you. Sometimes, when Helmut’s flight got in late enough, you would wake up and reach to the side only to find that he had appeared beside you in the night. Those were the best kind of reunions. They were free of pretense, no bitterness or resentment clouded your sleep-heavy brain when you opened your eyes to his peaceful resting face, and you could simply fall into the comforting rhythm of husband and wife. If you reunited with a clear head things tended not to go as well.

You groaned. It wasn’t as if there was even a guarantee he would come back, especially not after the way you’d left things last time. The philosophy of attendre et espérer, waiting and hoping like an Edmond Dantés type, wouldn’t do you any good, at least not anymore.

Maybe it was time to start moving on…

Tomorrow. You could start thinking about the next steps tomorrow. For today you’d enjoy what you had.

Getting out of bed was difficult but you managed. The sun streamed through the curtains that billowed gently in the breeze near your balconette, brilliant gold beams illuminating the dust that danced in the air. The first thing you did was shuffle along to the corner and pour yourself two fingers of brandy from Helmut’s private collection. It was like a morning ritual these days, a numbing agent against the loneliness. Once the drink was downed you moved on to the closet to get dressed.

Dressing yourself wasn’t of much importance these days. You couldn’t exactly leave the house, and nobody was visiting, so more often than not, it was easier to just wear the same pajamas for a few days until you knew Oeznik would be around to drop off groceries. Today, though, you felt… filthy. Not dirty in a physical way, just sticky and filthy and unclean under your skin and in your very heart. Maybe a shower would help.

You looked around the closet with a clinical eye. It was difficult to be in there, surrounded by lavish dresses and expensive suits that you and your husband had worn arm in arm while plotting the downfall of the Avengers before your unsteady alliance had turned into so much more. Everything still smelled like his cologne. In the small, often-closed, walk-in closet, the scent had only intensified, covering every article of clothing with a fog of cedarwood and sage. It made you sick, choked the air from your lungs and left you gasping for even a single breath that didn’t sit heavy on your tongue with the bitter taste of that familiar musk.

The alcohol had helped. It always did. The remnants of its burn in your mouth formed a sort of guard against the scent of the closet as you searched through a pile of shirts for something soft and easy to wear. Your hands suddenly stilled.

“Zemo, I’m gonna be honest, this is the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

“I’m hurt! That’s one of my favorites,”

“Where did you even get it, a 90-year-old grandpa’s closet? Jesus Christ, it looks like something out of a shitty 70’s flick about family values,”

“I’ll have you know that I thrifted that sweater. It’s very eco-conscious you know,”

Your heart hurt. Well, no, your whole body hurt, but your heart ached a little more prominently as you carefully picked up the sweater and held it to your chest. It was terribly ugly, 4 sizes too big even on Helmut and covered in an olive and forest green argyle. Somehow he was always able to pull off the oversized thing no matter how ridiculous you had always insisted you found it. When was the last time he’d worn it again?

The memory evaded you.

Still, it was a happy relic, happier than most of the monuments to a failing marriage that lined the shelves of your beautiful personal prison. It wouldn’t hurt to hope that by wearing it, you might rub just a little bit of that lost happiness off onto your present-day, right? With one last forlorn glance around the closet, you gathered up the sweater and a pair of jeans before getting out as fast as you could. With the scent of cologne clinging to you, the shower wasn’t just a good idea now, it was necessary.

So, you showered. You took the stupid foot-long exfoliating brush Helmut loved so much and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed yourself under the near-boiling stream of water until your skin was pink and raw. Disappointingly, even the new skin felt filthy. It was better, though, less intense. With some lotion and a little bit of Neosporin on the fresh patches of blotchy red, you were able to feel okay. Not good. Not clean. Just… okay. At least you didn’t smell like him anymore. The clock read 12:14 when you finally made it out of the bathroom in search of some real food.

Lunch, if you could call it that, was a silent affair. The fridge was almost empty and the pantry was only a little less bare, so you threw together a cheese sandwich, not even bothering to waste butter and grill it. You ate it plain with another glass of brandy out on the pool deck. It was gone sooner than you hoped it would be.

Oh well.

You finished your brandy with a sigh. Only seven or eight more hours until you could finish your day with a few more drinks and pass out in bed until nine or ten once again. Ah, dreamless sleep. That sounded divine. Now if only you could fathom any non-depressing way to spend the time between sleeping and waking. Swimming was out, the chemicals would burn your freshly eviscerated skin. Playing solitaire for the fourth day in a row sounded like absolute hell on earth. Even watercolors, a usual calming respite from the torturous and neverending monotony of life trapped alone in a house you had no help in stocking, were off the table ever since you’d run out of paper.

Somewhere inside the house, your phone dinged.

The second the sound hit your ears you jumped, dropping your glass and letting it shatter into a thousand tiny shards on the stone of the patio.

Phones were a difficult thing to own for someone who was trying to stay out of the eyes of the government. They were too easy to track and could tip off enemies to your location with very little error needed on your part. Even searching the internet for innocent things was too risky. If your search history was too similar to that of the alias you had used before Helmut went to prison, it would have been easy for them to find a connection and send someone to track you down. Still, you kept a cell phone charged and ready on the kitchen counter despite the risk for one reason and one reason only: Emergency contact with your husband.

He never texted from the same number on more than one occasion, always switching from burner phone to burner phone as he flew across the country doing god knows what, but if he was ever in a situation where emergency contact with you was needed, he was able to reach you at your number immediately. It had only happened a couple of times, and each time he had been in a considerable amount of danger. So, when you suddenly heard the sound you dreaded more than anything else in the world, you were quick to rush inside, even ignoring the shattered glass at your feet as you shoved through the doors and found the phone.

The small, LED display was lit up with the notification. It made your heart both soar and sink.

Flying home with two guests. Prepare the two rooms for their stay. We will be there by 5 at the latest - B

You read over the message several times before letting the phone fall from your hand and back onto the counter with a dull thud.

That absolute asshole.

Three months. Three months you had spent sitting alone. Three months without a call, or a text, or a letter, or even a word of when he was coming back by way of Oeznik. Three months! And after three months of loneliness and sleepless nights and empty bottles on the drink cart he reaches out through an emergency line of contact that almost certainly means he might be dying only to tell you he’s bringing two strangers into your safe house, the place even he refuses to stay in too long in order to not give its location away. The scar on your spine was starting to burn as you leaned up against the counter and cried.

It was ridiculous to think you had ever believed him capable of more tact than that.

Really, it was your fault. From the beginning, you’d had too much faith in a man incapable of being trustworthy, even to those closest to him. You knew that, and yet you had married him. Maybe the soft touches and sweet lies he had spoon-fed you had made you weak. Maybe you always had been.

“I’m not a child, Helmut, I know what I’m doing!”

“I don’t think you do,” he shouted. He was a few drinks in now, you both were. The nights before his departures never tended to end well when you both drank. “Because no matter what I do to protect you, you have the need to disobey me! Have you considered that I do the things I do for your own good!”

“Oh! Oh yes, the things YOU do!” You slammed your glass down on the table as you stormed over to Helmut, “I sit here all day like a fucking dog in a cage while you fly to fucking Ibiza and flirt with supermodels, but YOUR story is just so fucking tragic! I’m your wife, Helmut! I’m not an animal or your property, I’m your goddamn wife! You can’t just order me to sit and stay like a dog,”

He glared down at you, eyes hawkish and glinting in the low lamplight. For the first time in years, he looked threatening, “You may not be a dog, or a child, or my property, but you are a weapon! It’s my job to keep you here, away from the-”

“Excuse me?” You interrupted. The two of you stood, inches away and yet miles apart. Slowly, the drive in Helmut’s eyes faltered. “Say that again. I dare you,”

“Schatz, I-”

“No, Helmut, you meant it so say it again. Call me that again. I fucking dare you,” Tears were streaming down your face now. He took a step towards you, hand extended to wipe them away, but you were quick to take a step back out of his reach.

“You misunderstood me,”

“I don’t think there was anything to misunderstand,”

You swept the shards of your glass tumbler into a dustpan, hands still shaking even ten minutes after you’d read Helmut’s message to you. As you worked, your last conversation before he’d left echoed in your mind.

How had it all devolved into that? It wasn’t hard to remember Helmut before prison, jaded and broken and lonely. He had been so much like you and yet so different. Each of you seemed to be the perfect balm for the others' wounds. In the end, despite all of his flaws, you had found yourself in love. Now that he was a different man, was that love gone? You couldn’t say. All you knew for sure was that you weren’t nearly drunk enough to be facing the confusing feelings in your brain. With the last of your energy, you emptied the dustpan of glass into the trash can and returned to the house, sweater itchy against your irritated skin, to ready the guest rooms.

The job wasn’t a long one. You had never used the guest rooms in all the time you’d spent at the Avignon property, so the sheets were already clean. There was just a thin layer of dust on the furniture that needed to be swept away as you checked to make sure the dressers were bare and the bathrooms were stocked with amenities. Then, when that was done, you were left to your thoughts as the hours ticked by.

Most of the time you spent sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. It sounded terrible, and in all honesty it was, but what else could you do? The house was already spotless so cleaning wasn’t an option, and you didn’t quite feel like doing much of anything as you stared at the clock and tried to remember a time when your life was less of a disaster. As it got closer to five, though, you started to get antsy.

You had tried your best to not think about the obvious issue of the guests. Zemo was not the type to threaten his home, even if he wasn’t happy with you, so usually having anyone who wasn’t Oeznik or another paid lackey aware of the location of your safe house would be a big no in his book, but then you started thinking of the implications of him bringing people into your home. Your home, not his. Was he on his way to kill you? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe he was bringing your replacement.

Now that thought made anger bubble up in your throat. You were no stranger to the idea that when your husband was away, he could be doing anything. There was no guarantee when he slept in lavish hotels or drank the night away in elite lounges that he kept his wedding ring on. The fact that there were two guests meant it was unlikely he was bringing two mistresses, but never impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to Helmut.

No, it was more likely he had finally decided it was time to end your suffering. The shouts and boisterous laughter that started to sound directly outside of the front room window only confirmed the for you. Slowly, you crept towards the door and grabbed a small pistol from its place in the umbrella stand. If he wanted you dead you weren’t going to go without a fight.

Through the curtains on the front door, you could just barely make out the trio. When you saw them your blood ran cold. It was one thing if he needed help to take you down, but getting the Winter Soldier on board? Your rage only grew by the minute.

Helmut said something, probably planning the best course of action to catch you off guard, and you sneered. Two could play at that game. When he knocked on the door you opened it calmly and held the gun with your finger just barely ghosting over the trigger.

Everyone froze.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,” you said, rage coursing through every nerve in your body. You may have been in retirement for quite a few years, but you still knew how to handle a gun. Everyone there, except maybe the Falcon, knew that. As Zemo went to open his mouth, you prepared for a firefight.

“Because I brought you flowers,”

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a/n: Sorry that only one chapter is out! The fic is just getting very long and complicated and I wanted to make sure you got as much as possible before the next episode drops lol. I’ll be working pretty much nonstop from now until then, though, so the next parts should be out soon!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @dazzlingseb, @avgravy , @sarahsilver , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx

Please do not post my work on other sites, thank you!

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader

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gigawatt-conduit · 2 years

Text

When the world comes crumbling down,

Know I'll be there.

Though our fleeting moment has gone,

You're not, you're not alone, yeah.

As you turn your eyes to the stars

Oh, I’ll be there.

With my chorus guiding you,

Forge ahead.

[RWBY]

#rwby #team JNPR #rwby volume 9 #rwby volume 7 #rwby volume 8 #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos #lie ren #Renora #arkos

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ellana-ravenwood · 4 years

Text

Sick Day - Batfam x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : It’s never fun to be sick. Duh. But when you have loving parents there to take care of you, maybe it isn’t so bad ? Just short little snippets of the first time each Batkids fell ill in Wayne Manor, and how Bruce and his wife (you :D) dealt with it.

Another “burst of the moment inspiration” story, just a little drabble. Promise I’ll post something more elaborate soon :), hope you’ll like it :

My master list blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

(Thanks to that anon who mentioned the kids getting shots, that gave me with this an idea on how to start this fic :D. The original beginning was different, I think I like that one better hehe.)

"Mister Wayne, if you keep doing this, I'm not going to be able to give your son-Bruce for god's sake !"

Leslie Thompkins, for the first time in her long career, was about to lose her patience and give up on...giving a simple shot to a baby.

She has seen worried parents before, of course. The one that clung to their child’s hand, or those who would cry because their little one was in pain…

Babies that young, who had to get vaccinated for the first time, never really experienced this sort of quick pain before.

A lot of them would cry more out of surprise than because it really hurt. Oh and when the parents were extra worried, you could be sure the baby was even more likely to burst into tears, sensing his parents' distress.

Yes. doctor Thompkins gave shots to a LOT of babies, and saw a LOT of worried parents before…But never had she met someone quite like Bruce Wayne.

He always came to her when his kids were sick. He could go to a fancier office, or to one of those pricy fancy private hospitals. But no.

No because, when it came to his kids’ health, there was no one he trusted more than Doctor Leslie Thompkins.

So it was no surprise when he brought his youngest son, Thomas, to get his first shot ever. What was a surprise though, was his reaction.

"And now you know why I'm always the only one in the room when this happens."

You say, smiling apologetically to the doctor. But ah, at least your husband's reaction eased a little the tension in your body brought by the mere idea of your baby being hurt.

Every single time Leslie got the syringe close to your little one, Bruce would reflexively grab her wrist and stop her from giving the shot to his son.

Ridiculous, really.

But it seemed it was something he couldn't fight.

He apologized the first time he did it, as Dr Thompskins smiled and said it was ok, rather amused. But then the second time, it was getting clear he didn't seem to quite control himself. At the third time Bruce was visibly sweating. Dr Thompkins finally snapped as she tried for a fourth and fifth time to give a shot to little Thomas (who, at barely 2 months old, was much too young to even understand what was happening, but by his little smiles it was clear he was happy every time his father would come into his vision).

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just…I thought I could do it, but I can't."

And oh. Oh it's adorable the way he turns to you, his eyes saying "I'm sorry" as he takes his son back in his arms and holds him against his chest. You weren’t sure if it was to comfort little Tommy, or if he was comforting himself.

"I think I should just let you two handle this ?" He asks, unsure. He doesn’t want you to be mad or to think he’s abandoning you.

"I think this is a good idea Bruce, yes."

You smile at him reassuringly. It’s fine. It was always fine.

"I'm sorry, sorry I'm letting you do this alone once again. I just can't…"

"Oh it's ok my Broosh, I know you hate shots. I can handle it, and little buddy here sure can too."

Thomas coos happily as you pick him up delicately from his father's arms. Bruce resists a bit, before finally giving in and letting you take hold of the little one.

He lays a hand on his son's head, looking fondly at him (of this look he only gives his children, of this pure look full of unconditional love, and a hint of “what did I do to deserve this sort of happiness ?”) and then sighs, press a soft kiss to your forehead, murmuring a last “I’m sorry, my love” and leaves the room.

He feels a little ashamed to let you do this once again, but you've always been the strongest one out of the two. After all, you willingly decided to marry a man like him…

"Alright Mrs Wayne, ready ? And here we-oh not you too (Y/N) !"

"I'm sorry I'm sorry, I don't know what took over me, it was just a reflex too !"

You apologize, as you let go of the doctor's wrist…

Yeah, it was just a gut reaction to seeing a scary needle approaching your baby's thigh. In your line of um, nightly work, you came to be very wary, of syringes. You still remember vividly that time Tim got hit with one of Scarecrows’ needle, and how terrible this night had been...

"Ok ok, now is fine. Go. I'm ready. Go fast though, now. Now I’m not looking. Go. Go. Go."

Tears welling up in your eyes at the mere thought of this happening, you look away as you hold your son still (something he doesn't like as clearly shown by his little sound of protest, and as he starts to fuss about), and in one, two seconds…it's done.

And not a peep from your son.

He just stopped making any sound (he've always been rather vocal), his eyes went wide, and he made a face that looked like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to cry or not. Then there’s one more second, and Leslie had a soothing bandaid on his little leg, and you were holding him against your heart, and the pain was so fleeting and already gone, that he just gets over it quickly, feeling your love.

Calming down instantly, not noticing the tears in your eyes (thank god, or it’d be a sure way to make him weep too).

And so he doesn't cry. And everything is ok again.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it ?”

“Actually, it was.”

You say, barely holding your tears in, your son cooing in your arms

“Um...I was talking to Thomas.”

Leslie answers, amused. And just like that, you both burst into laughter.

After a few minutes of this uncontrollable fit of giggles, you thank Leslie for her help, and leave the room, joining your husband who had been walking back and forth in the waiting room, nervous.

He comes immediately to you and Thomas, and as soon as the boy sees his dad he smiles widely and giggles. Bruce gives him a soft smile, before turning to you :

“How was it ?”

“For me ? Not great. For Tommy ? He didn’t even utter a sound. Our little guy is brave !”

You kiss your son on his forehead, and he giggles and coos even more. There’s a short silence, before Bruce says :

“I’m sorry...”

And then he takes you in his arms, sandwiching little Thomas who’s protesting a bit. Damn, his parents could be so clingy !

“It’s ok my Broosh, I already told you. It’s ok.”

You sort of knew since you stepped into the doctor’s room that you’d end up being the one having to hold your boy anyway.

You knew oh too well how squeamish he was whenever HE had to get a shot done (and oh who would’ve thought the big bad bat hated getting shots so much uh ? You were pretty sure he would rather getting actually shot than take a tiny needle in his arm any day of the week...Alfred always had to fight with him to inject anesthesia when treating him for wounds). It was actually sort of a requirement, that you’d be next to him to give him your hand when he absolutely had to get a shot.

So understandably so, he always skipped on his children’s vaccins. He just couldn’t bear to see anyone he cared for to get that very things he hated so much, it just made him feel ill.

And you’ve always been fine with this. Since that very first day when you took Dick there...But Bruce always felt bad.

Because whenever you’d get out of the doctor’s office, you’d have fresh tears in your eyes, because you were just too pure for this world (is what Damian would say).

Dick always took advantage of this. He was never really scared of shots, and thought they didn’t really hurt...But oh, oh he would always cry a river of crocodile tears just so he’d get extra cuddles and ice cream.

And then, that cheeky little bugger passed that knowledge of “when we get shots, or we get sick, the parents literally let us do WHATEVER we want !” to his little siblings (you were actually pretty sure your kids would pass secret ways to manipulate you and Bruce along to their younger siblings and..you were oddly fine with it. You loved those kids too much to care, really).

This thought reminded you of that very first time Dick fell sick, shortly after you and Bruce officially adopted him.

And how much you guys freaked out.

It was both a pleasant, and terrible memory.

And oh. Oh you already dreaded the day Thomas would have his first real fever...You still remembered how it happened, with all your other children.

“What is it ?” Bruce asks, always knowing when something was on your mind. And so you say : “Nothing bad, this just reminds me of when Dick got sick for the first time while with us...”

A light of recognition ignited in Bruce’s eyes, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

Bruce only had fond memories of when he was sick and his mom and dad would take care of him.

He thought they were the best, wether they’d hold a “barf-bucket” for him, or stay up all night because he was too feverish...

What he never realized though, is that having a sick child was actually absolutely terrifying ! Bruce often felt sick himself, when the kids were ill.....ah, but nothing ever beats those first time each of them got sick.

DICK

Dick wasn't as young as Thomas, when he first came into your life. None of them were. But he was still a cute little bean, your baby.

Eight years old, and oh so sweet and nice and cute and you could just squish his little cheeks all day (albeit from the few outburst of anger at times, but hey, he was but a child, every kid throw tantrum from times to times).

He had been living with you and Bruce in the Manor for the past six months, when you had your first fright, and realized that being a parent meant being worried about your kid's well being for the rest of your days

Dick was definitely a tiny kid when he came in your life. He was rather short, only having a growth spurt when he was around 14/15. Barbara Gordon used to tease him to no end about this, up until he finally caught up with her and ended up being taller.

But yes, his small stature for his age, maybe made you baby him even more than the others, sometimes.

Ah. That first time little Dick Grayson was sick at Wayne Manor.

You. Freaked. The. Fuck. OUT.

You and Bruce, both.

Coincidentally, Dick became ill ON THE ONLY FEW DAYS OFF ALFRED WOULD TAKE A YEAR !!

Every year, for a theater festival, Alfred would take off to his homeland, to England, in London to be exact, for but a few days.

The three of you were in the batcave. Bruce was getting ready to go out, while you were on the bat computer and Dick was training on the side, doing some acrobatics on the trampoline Bruce installed.

And then he came to you, pulling on your sleeve, and he was so pale...

“I don’t feel too well.”

He said, right before throwing up for a few way too long seconds, as tears welled up in his eyes...it was never nice to throw up, and once again, no matter how mature he acted, you were reminded that Dick was but an eight year old child.

But he wasn’t only crying because throwing up fucking sucked. He was also crying because he thought you were going to be mad at him.

You reassured him, as you cleaned his little face up, and Bruce (who looked quite green himself...later on, you’d discover than when his kids or you were sick, he felt sick too...quite a strong reaction, really) carried him upstairs.

You were frantically googling how to take care of a sick child, as Bruce stayed with Dick, holding a bark bucket to his face, and drawing soothing circles on his back with his hand.

The panic dumbed the both of you down. It seemed like you couldn’t think, as you tried to make Dick as comfortable as he could.

You could feel your anxiety blowing through the roof, and knew that Bruce was close to have a panic attack himself (he was prone to them, although you and Alfred were the only one who knew).

You didn’t know what was worst, the fact he was sick and had no idea what you were supposed to do, or how much Dick was sobbing and apologizing.

“Should we call Dr. Thompkins ?”

“I don’t know her number, Alfred is the one that calls usually...”

“Should we take him there then ?”

“I don’t know, Alfred is-”

This went on for a little bit, as Dick was throwing up and crying. Saying “sorry !” every two seconds. But...Instinctively, Bruce was trying to soothe him with those warm pats on his back. And you were caressing his hair, empathetic. And...

You decided to not go to the doctor today, Dick was sick, but not sick enough to take him to an emergency. And in Gotham ? Leslie was needed for a lot, especially in evenings like this.

“Alfred um, gives me flat soda when I have a stomach ache ?”

“On it !”

You say, bolting on your feet and running to the kitchen, taking a cola and opening it up. Meanwhile, Dick’s fit calmed down, and he seemed to instantly feel better as he probably threw everything he needed to up...

He seemed content, cuddling against Bruce as the man was softly patting his back in small circles, and using his other hand to hold his head delicately.

You and Bruce were definitely not experienced parents yet, and it showed.

It showed by those first few minutes of utter panic, as your child got suddenly sick. And it showed as how you instantly just thought of calling Alfred...

That day, you both realized though, that you couldn’t always rely on the butler when it came to raising your son. For situations exactly like that one.

Both you and Bruce were still young, and scared to make mistakes but..You had to try. And you had to keep a cool head. Your motherly instinct kicked in.

It was so odd, seeing the big bad bat, wearing his costume without the cowl on (he didn’t have time to take it off as he rushed upstairs with the boy in his arms), looking so worried...

Bruce was so pale, and you could see that in a way, he felt his son’s pain too...Which just made your head click, and take action.

“Ok, ok we can do this. Keep the barf bucket close, let’s wait for the soda to get flat, and um...let’s try to distract him. A movie, perhaps ?”

Dick nodded, and although he wasn’t throwing up anymore, he seemed too weak to stand up (or maybe he was faking, could be, honestly, with that one...doesn’t matter) so Bruce carried him again.

And it was a sight. Bruce was a tall man. And Dick was a very small kid.

It was cute. and in that moment...In that moment it felt like you both suddenly realized what it meant, to be a parent.

Bruce, holding his son in his arms, feeling the little one’s heartbeat and slowed breath as he was kinda nodding off...was this how his own father felt, when holding him ? It was nice. It was a surge of pure love, and knowing that he would die for that kid if he had to. Hell, he would burn the whole world, for that kid.

It was so odd. The situation wasn’t that crazy, Dick probably just ate something bad, and with the trampoline and all the jumping around...he got sick.

As a child, you had those rapid sick moments of having a bad stomach ache, which would turn into throwing up, to then feel better. Those sudden moments when your own parents would take care of you...

Ah. You hadn’t realized how much worry being a parent would bring. Bruce didn’t either. You guys adopting Dick felt like an obvious thing to do. Felt like it was meant to be...

But it wasn’t just yet, that you felt like a mom. Or a dad.

It took some time to build. Just like it took time for Dick to call you “mom” and “dad”. And in that moment, as your kid (yes, your kid) was sick, that was it...

Finally. Yes. That was it.

You were a mom.

Bruce was a dad.

Dick was your son.

Of course you panicked as he suddenly got sick. But now, it was in your hand to properly take care of him. And thus started the first ritual you’d ever make with one of your children.

Dick, when sick, liked chicken noodle soups. Made by you. He liked cuddles, up until he turned 12 or 13, then he acted as if he was too grown up for them. This eventually stopped when he turned 19, not long after Jason’s death...He regressed back to a little boy in some ways, and needed you. And Bruce.

You’d often drive to Bludhaven just to give him chicken noodle soup and sprite, when he got sick. Even as he grew older and older...He loved it. No one could ever beat his mom babying him, when he felt under the weather.

JASON

"Hey buddy, are you ok ?”

“Yes, yes I’m ok mom.”

He smiles at you sweetly, his eyes half-closed, and clearly still relishing in the fact that he can finally call someone “mom”. But this happiness he felt whenever he realized he was finally safe, and had a home, was oddly dimmed, this morning.

“Are you su-OH MY GOD !”

Your hand is burning, as you lay it on his forehead.

He’s burning up !

“Hey wow hey, kiddo, come here, you’re not feeling well are you ?”

But Jason shakes his head, and says :

“No I’m good. Just tired, but I’ll wake up soon.”

He smiled again, but it felt all wrong.

Of course, you didn’t take his words for it, even if you knew Jason wasn’t a liar. But the fact spoke for themselves, your kid was NOT alright. No matter what he was saying.

Turned out, you were definitely right. He really wasn’t alright.

In fact, Jason had...pneumonia. A bad case of it. That he probably caught when he was playing earlier that day, in the snow, with Bruce, staying out up until his lips were blue and he was soaking wet !! Bruce could just never resist him, and didn’t have the heart to say “no” when the kid kept asking on playing more...

He dearly regretted it. But you reassured him, this wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t.

You rushed to the hospital, Bruce holding a tiny little Jason wrapped tight in a few warm blankets. And the doctor confirmed you made the right call, taking him to the ER.

It wasn’t like with Dick, where it was obvious the boy had a mild sickness. No. Jason really looked bad, and ready to drop.

You and Bruce let once again your parental instincts kick in and...It was the right call.

When Jason woke up, he let out a string of apologies and you realized...You realized the kid was terrified you wouldn’t want him anymore if he bothered you too much. Was scared to death that you’d want to take him back where you found him, that you’d give up on him.

His real life father bolted at the first signs of troubles. His mother was a drug addict for whom he was never good enough to try and get cleaned up.

He was abandoned, over and over again along his short life and...he was absolutely terrified that if he was too much of a nuisance to you two, you and Bruce would leave him as well. That you wouldn’t bother.

And it broke your hearts.

Softly, when Jason finally got better, after a few days of utter nightmare for you and Bruce, you took him home. He still needed some rest, as he was a little sick, so you tucked him comfortably in his bed and finally, you told him :

“From now on, you promise me to tell us when you don’t feel ok ? Wether you think it’ll bother us or not. You will never bother us, little buddy, ok ?”

“Ok”, Jason said, unsure.

“What do I have to say or do, to convince you you’ll never be a nuisance to us ?”

The question took Jason by surprise, and he wasn’t quite sure of what to say. In his feverish state anyway, he had a hard time thinking. He heard himself say :

“Stay with me ?”

“Of course. Always little one, always.”

And as he softly drifted to sleep, feeling the cold and soothing towel you would wet over and over again to put on his forehead, he heard you hum a song from your childhood, that would become a song always sure to put him to sleep.

He was out, when Bruce said : “I’ll stay home tonight.” A shame, really. Because maybe, maybe if he heard that the Batman was going to skip patrol just to keep an eye on him...Then he’d know he would never bother him. Ever.

That he would forever hold a dear, prime place in his heart.

Jason woke up the next morning, and found you and Bruce asleep on the floor, right next to his bed. You were still holding a towel that had long since dried up, and one of Bruce’s hand was clutched tightly on your shirt.

The basin full of cold water laying on his bed side table was almost empty. Jason smiled.

He felt better after a few hours of good sleep, and slowly got out of the blankets, pulling them with him, to then lay down next to you two, throwing the thick quilt over all of you.

Later that day, Alfred found the three of you all cuddled up. He snatched a picture. Picture that was framed, amongst some of your favorite of your children, in your office. And in Bruce’s.

The way you sung him to sleep when he was sick...When he died, it was the last thing he thought about. When he saw the bomb would explose before Bruce could save him.

He thought of how soothing it was, to be taken care of by you. And your humming voice rung in his ears, as he realized he was going to die. Right there.

Oh. Oh he wished he could be a little sick eight years old again, forget all his worries, and just fall asleep with the sound of your voice in his ears, while his dad would hold the both of you in his arms...

TIM

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, go back to bed this instant !”

Tim was the most difficult one, when he had a fever. He was a bit of a workaholic (like father like son ?), and always wanted to help. He hated being too sick because then he felt useless.

Your boy just wanted so much to be there for everyone, that he often forgot himself in the process and...yes.

His first real fever/sickness was punctuated by you constantly trying to get him back into bed.

You almost never even knew Tim was sick !

The boy was so used to taking care of himself, that he tried to handle everything on his own. He even took an appointment to the doctor himself ! But then, before having the chance to go there, he passed out in school, which resulted in a call from his principal that ended in Bruce almost having a heart attack.

You understood him of course. It wasn’t really a nice feeling to be called out during a business meeting to have someone tell you your son passed out in school !

It was just a little flu, but the fever and lack of sleep got the best of him.

Bruce didn’t even tell anyone where he was going, as he rushed to the school. You met him there, as he was walking out of the building, with a little sleepy Tim in his arms.

“I can walk, I swear I can walk.”

The boy was saying, yet his head was on his dad’s shoulder, and the up and down bobble of Bruce’s walk was clearly putting him to sleep.

Your husband settled your son in the car, and drove home.

“He was trying to convince me he could finish his school day, and that he had a group work today and didn’t want to let his friends down...”

“Sounds like Tim alright...”

You said, looking back at his sleeping form in the back seat.

Bruce nods, but you could see something was on his mind. You always knew, when something was on his mind. Brushing a few fingers on his cheeks, you ask :

“What is it, my Bruce ?”

His eyes are on the road, of course. But he flicks them quickly to you, and he knows. He knows he can’t lie to you, or get away with telling you half-truth.

You’ll know, if he’s not really telling you what has been worrying him. He takes a deep breath and, with a small voice says :

“Is this...my fault ?”

At first, you don’t understand, and you say :

“I’m pretty sure it’s because that boy never wears a damn sweater, and we’re in Gotham in the middle of Winter haha.”

But then...Then you realize what he means.

He’s talking about the fact that Tim always seem to overcompensate for something. Always seem to want to be there for everyone, forgetting sometimes he’s just a ten years old boy.

Tim was the only one out of his siblings that became Robin for no personal reason, but just because he loved Batman and wanted to help him. Just because he wanted to help people.

He didn’t have a tragic backstory (although he unfortunately got one later on...), he didn’t have a reason to become Robin, other than his good nature and really wanting to help...

And Bruce let him. Allowed him to do this. Even after what happened to Jason, he let Tim sneak in your life and become Robin.

You’d argue that Tim didn’t leave you guys much of a choice, and sort of had a “well I’m gonna help you no matter what, deal with it” sort of attitude. But you understood your husband’s worries.

He was afraid that he was the one that made him that way. That it was because of him, that Tim worked his health off.

“Oh, Bruce, my Heart...No. No it’s not your fault. It’s just how this amazing little boy is wired. I actually think that thanks to you, he’s more focused and taken care of. The gods can only imagine what Tim Drake would’ve done if he hadn’t been trained by Batman himself...If you said “no” to him pestering you about becoming your Robin, he would’ve taken it upon himself to go out there anyway. And then...I can only imagine what would’ve happened. So no. No it’s not your fault. It’s just...how he is. He reminds me of you a lot, actually. And I’m so, so glad he managed to convince you...Couldn’t imagine my life without that little one in it. Even if he does give me grief often, overworking like that. But it’s not your fault. It’s not. On the contrary.”

It took you a while, to convince Bruce he didn’t create Tim the way he sort-of created Dick and Jason. But you managed to, as you always did. You could be very convincing. Plus, the boy helped. It was clear his dedication came from himself mainly, that he was just born this way.

Too clever and smart for his own good, destined to be a Robin...and maybe a Batman, one day ?

Yes. Tim was the only one that wasn’t in it for himself. For personal reasons. He just wanted to help...

But after that first time he got sick, he understood that sometimes, it was ok to rely on you or his die. That in fact, he would gladly do so !

That day, Bruce carried him to his bed, even as the boy protested he was alright. Finally, you’ve had enough and ended up sort of lecturing him...gently.

“You need to rest, sometimes, ok ? If it’s too much, if you’re too tired, physically AND mentally, you need to take a few steps back...and let others take care of things, and of you. Ok ?”

“But-”

“No buts Timmy. It’s important. If something bad happens to you because you’ve been ignoring your own body, your own self...What will happen to those you want to help ? In order to continue what you’re doing, you need to take some pauses. Like right now. You are sick. You passed out in school. So...It’s gatorade and crackers time.”

Gatorade and crackers.

Tim’s favorite drinks and food.

Gatorade and crackers.

Two things that were rarely found in Wayne Manor. You always tried to give healthy balanced meals to your kids. Especially to Tim, who had the opposite of a balanced diet when he came into your lives (the fact he often had to take care of himself as his parents were too busy meant he often chose his own food...and of course he’d rather have ice cream than broccolis).

But the fact that you were now giving him Gatorade and crackers meant...Meant that Dick was right. When they were sick, you would do anything to make them comfortable.

Coincidentally though, Gatorade and saltines helped out, when one was sick.

On that first time he became sick after starting to live with you, Tim found that it was ok, to relax sometimes. That he didn’t have to waste his life away 24/7 for others, and that he could enjoy some down time.

It only happened when he was sick, to your great dismal. You constantly tried to convince him to take a break (just like you did with Bruce...but although it worked with your husband, especially as he got older, Tim was just very stubborn, and wanted to help too damn much). You even had to trick him into it often.

So although you hated seeing your kids in any kind of pain, you were almost glad when Tim got sick. Because it meant he would really take care of himself. Or rather, letting you take care of him.

That first time he got sick, he ended up leaving his bed...only to go cuddle up in yours and Bruce’s, and enjoy some down time. And learn that, it was ok, to take care of himself.

Hell. You’d hammer this fact in his head if you had to.

Gatorade and crackers, while watching movies in yours and Bruce’s big bed, was why Tim thought that in the end, being sick wasn’t too bad.

Extra points if you two were in the bed with him, snuggled up all nice, safe and warm.

CASSANDRA

Cassandra didn’t like TV, when she was sick. Instead, she liked you reading her stories better. And you’d read to her all day, if need be. Switching from time to time with your husband.

She had trouble sleeping, even when sick and weak. Listening to your voices telling her all those wonderful stories was soothing beyond measure.

The first time she fell sick while at Wayne Manor though, her first reflex was to go hide. Because when she used to be sick with the man who called himself her “father”, with David Cain (that scum), he used to get so mad at her.

As if it was her fault, she became sick.

So she’d run away. Curl into a ball. Wait for it to pass. And then face him, healthy again. It was easier to confront him when she was ok...So she’d rather run away and face the consequences, rather than stay around him while sick.

And so, her first instinct was to go hide.

She went to the attic, and did what she used to do.

Curled up in a ball, in front of the round window. And wait. Alone.

It’s Bruce, who found her. He was casually checking the GPS he put on his children. They still thought they got rid of it, the sweet kids...but as if he’d only implant one. He knew it wasn’t really ethical, but after what happened to Jason, he wasn’t willing to take any chances.

During the day, he would check a few times, and usually during boring office meeting, to see where they were. That day, he saw Cass in the Manor’s attic, and didn’t think much of it. Cass was a curious one, who took it upon herself to explore everything in the house.

But when he came home, and she was still there, his guts told him something was wrong...He rushed to the attic, and found her.

And his heart stopped, when he saw her laid on the floor, curled up into a ball, and softly moaning because she had a bad fever.

She wasn’t asleep, even in this state she fought sleep, afraid to have nightmares (and while having a fever, she couldn’t just wake up to escape them...).

Bruce carried her out of the attic, holding her tight in his arms, his heart bleeding as he realized why she isolated herself while she needed help.

People often misjudged Bruce on that matter. Saw him as a cold harsh man. But oh; oh if it was touching his children or you...He would feel so much. Too much, even. He just loved you all to death.

When he brought her downstairs, and you saw her, you immediately entered “mom mode” and fussed over her, getting everything you needed to make her comfortable...but as it turned out, all she wanted was to feel yours and Bruce’s presence.

To hear your voice, and feel you were there.

And so without thinking, you picked up a book and started to read it to her. And you could feel her relax, let her guard down. A rare occasion she would truly let herself be chill.

The first time Cass got sick while living under your roof, her first instinct was to hide and lick her wounds all by herself. It was to lie on the floor and hope it would pass fast. It was-

The second time she felt under the weather, she immediately went to you. It was early in the morning. And it’s only thanks to Bruce’s amazing reflexes that Cass didn’t throw up all over you two, as he pulled you away from her just in time...To then take care of changing the sheets, while you held your daughter’s hair as she threw up in the master’s bathroom’s toilet.

And then Bruce went downstairs to take a “barf-bowl”, the one actually, that her mom used to take for him...ah. He always used that one for all the kids. Call it nostalgia.

The second time Cass got sick while under your care, she didn’t hide. She wasn’t dreading it, even as she got even sicker than the first time. No.

No because now, she knew she’d always find you so you could take care of her. Ah, and Dick, Jason and Tim gave her many tricks to fake being sick and have you all for herself...

DUKE

Duke was older than any of your kids were when he started to live at the Manor. He was already in his teens. He wasn't a tiny bean like the rest of them, when he came in your family...

And yet. Yet the first time he fell sick, you babied the hell out of him.

So what if he was sixteen ? Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have all the care a child should have when he wasn’t feeling well.

And so you were ready to take care of him, when Alfred came to you this morning to tell you “Master Duke” wasn’t feeling well.

However, when you got to his room and indeed saw he was feverish, he refused to talk to you and just wanted to be alone.

And then it hits you.

Duke was sixteen.

He wasn’t a lost little eight years old boy who had just lost his parents, or never even had parents. He wasn’t a child in dear need of love and cuddles.

He was sixteen.

And he wanted HIS mom.

What happened to his parents was too fresh.

And they weren’t dead...In a way, seeing them lose their mind with no chance of ever getting better was worst.

Duke was sixteen.

And there, sick, all he wanted was to have his mom’s care again.

Yes. Duke’s case was different than all your other children. Because his parents were still there. Because he was older. Because everything was so fresh, at the moment.

In time, in the coming years, he would come to feel just like his siblings did. But right there, just mere few weeks after he moved to the manor, and mere few days after Bruce helped him find his parents...

Duke was homesick.

He missed his dad. But he missed his mom even more. Probably for the same reason that your kids loved to have you around so much, when they were sick...

There was no doubt in your mind that Duke’s mom was amazing at taking care of him when he felt ill. She probably had her own tricks, to make him feel better. Tricks that you did not know...And so you asked.

You simply asked.

Because you wanted to make him feel better. You wanted to be there for him, even if right now, he didn’t want you around.

If he truly wanted to be left alone, you’d leave some medicine and leave him be. But your guts were telling you he was just sad, and the sad was translated into him pretending he wanted to be alone.

Your guts were right.

Duke wanted his mom. Yes. But he also didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, right now...He just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He knew how motherly you could be. He didn’t want to project his mother on you. He-

“What do you need ?”

You asked, and the answer came to his mind instantly. He spoke before even realizing he was doing it :

“My mom used to make a perfect drink of warm water, honey, ginger and lemon.”

And as you tried to recreate his mom’s drink, never quite getting the measurements right (you could see on his face it wasn’t like his mother’s), Duke slowly felt better.

Because...Because yes. He missed his mom. And the way she took care of him. Especially on sick days. But...It wasn't everywhere that one could find someone who cared so much, that they were willing to spend their entire day trying to get a drink right, right ?

And when Bruce came home, and asked him if he was “alright champ ?”, Duke realized one thing...

Yes. He wanted his parents. Yes, he missed them like hell. Yes, his sick days would never be the same...

But he wasn’t alone. As Bruce joined in trying to make the perfect drink of “warm water, honey, ginger and lemon”, Duke came to the realization that his situation wasn’t as desperate as he thought, this morning, when he woke up feeling under the weather, and without his mom to take care of him.

Because you were still there. And were planning on staying there for a very long time. Of course, you could never replace his mom. Just like you never replaced Dick’s, or Damian’s...You just, became another mom to them.

And Duke...That first day of being sick in Wayne Manor ? He felt like he was finally willing to let you become his second mom. To let Bruce become a father figure. To have this found family, in this tough times...

Sick days were never the same than when he was a little kid and still had his parents around.

Duke was sixteen. Growing up wasn’t easy, especially after what he went through. And sick days would never be the same...But it didn’t mean they wouldn’t be nice, as he slowly let you and Bruce, and his newfound siblings, take care of him.

Yes. To have this found family in this tough times was quite a joy.

DAMIAN

To the surprise of many, Damian actually didn’t resist too much being taken care of when he first got sick under your roof.

Damian actually loved being sick, because it meant snuggles time with you, safe and warm under a blanket on the couch, watching his favorite movies. It meant your soothing fingers running in his hair, making him feel peaceful and relaxed.

It also meant that he’d have you all for himself.

With five siblings (with a sixth one on the way), it wasn’t always the easiest thing ever, to get his mom only for himself. Yes. He loved to be sick, and babied by you.

The first time he got a bad fever, a few months after he arrived at the Manor, he dreaded falling ill because...

Well. Because he was raised in the League of Assassins. And being sick, no matter how much, was not considered reason enough to not train. To not do what his grandfather told him to do.

He used to work through the sickness. Even if he felt like passing out (and he did, a few times, which earned him hours from his sleeping time taken away...).

So Damian hated being sick.

Until. Until he became ill for the first time when living with you.

By that time, you and Bruce had learned how to manage a sick child. And although Bruce still felt physically ill too whenever his children were, he managed nowadays to be somewhat ok and take care of them without wincing.

It happened not long after Damian started to call you “mom”. He fell asleep while you guys were watching a movie and...it’s what instantly told you something was wrong.

No matter how bad a movie would be, Damian would NEVER fall asleep in the middle of it.

Ah, and sure enough, as you checked his temperature you realized he had a bad fever. And so you carried him to his room, tucking him into bed.

He woke up as you were doing that, and looked at you, utterly surprised. What was going on ?

“Get some rest buddy, you’ll feel better soon.”

You said, smiling. And at first, Damian didn’t understand. He had been so conditioned in ignoring his own well being, that he didn't realize something was wrong with him. But then, you laid a hand on his forehead, and said :

“Ah it doesn’t seem like it’s such a big sickness, I’ll go get you some medicinal tea and...What do you want to eat ? If you’re hungry ? Maybe you’re not, sometimes when I’m sick I just don’t wanna eat anything.”

Sick ? Was he...Sick ? Yes. He was. But it was so mild, that he didn’t even think he needed to rest. Or...Didn’t he ? He was just so used to still work even when sick.

“What-What about school ?”

He asked, and he was surprised his voice sounded so weak and tired. Was he always feeling like that when sick ? Yes. But...Something was different.

And then it hit him.

“I think it’s ok if you skip a few days’ buddy.”

The difference was that, when he was sick while amongst the League of Assassins, he was always terrified that his grandfather got tired of him and send him hitmen (it happened a lot before, while he was sleeping for example, and it always happened to test him, test if he was ready, and willing to kill and ask questions after). That he didn’t find him useful enough.

While here, with you, he felt safe. He felt loved. He felt warm.

And so his body wasn’t in a “fight or flight” state. He was just...sick. As any normal kid would be.

When with the Al’Ghul, he somehow managed to convince himself to keep going, to work through the pain. And oh, it’s wonders, what the brain can do when you really want to.

But here. Here he didn’t have to act tough. To keep walking or he’d end up dead. Here. Here he was safe. And loved.

So he felt the sickness, the fever. He felt it’s true effect.

“What do sick people eat ?”

He asked, and at first you didn’t think much of it. You started to tell him Dick loved chicken noodle soup while Tim preferred saltines. Cass would never eat much, neither would Jason, but they’d always say yes to some flat sodas.

He seemed unsure of what he wanted, so you asked him a simple question :

“What do you usually eat, when you’re sick ?”

It was such an innocent question. But it made him almost cry.

Usually ?

Usually...

“Well...”

He hesitates, and you sense there’s more to things than you originally thought. Finally, after looking at your encouraging smile, he says :

“When I was sick before, I still had to train. And then they’d tell me I’m weak.”

In one sentence, you understand everything. And you could punch yourself for ever thinking that he got taken care of when sick. And then the next second, you hold him tight in your arms, and once again, Damian is surprised.

But pleased. He had been touched starve most of his life, this was nice.

“My poor baby...”

He didn’t even complain you called him a baby, and let you hug him. And then...Then you spend time with him, trying to find the perfect ritual to make him feel better while he was sick.

You had such rituals with everyone. Formed on the day they first got sick. Damian needed his own thing too...

Thus was created the “couch nest”.

It involved covering the living room’s couch with at LEAST one quilt, then Damian would bring the pillows (and maybe some stuffs animals, or even real ones...Titus often sneaked in) from his bed, and you would tuck him in with one or two more quilts.

He would then spend the rest of the time watching TV and movies with you. Or with his siblings. Or his dad.

And it was so comforting, to be wrapped up like that. Almost like laying in a hug. It made him feel like he was perpetually held by you.

Damian used to hate being sick. Because he hated being weak.

But this changed. Just like he changed. Thanks to his family. Thanks to you.

Now, just like Tim, he almost loved, being sick...

************

“This sort of reminds me of that time Dick got his first fever...”

You were thinking about all those terrible, yet sweet days, of your children being sick, as you walked up the stairs to your house, a hand tightly weaved around your husband’s.

Bruce was holding a sleeping Thomas in one of his arm (the boy was so small he could even fit in one of his hand, really), and felt relaxed. Here. With his son, and his wife, the love of his life. And with the knowledge than when you’d push the door to your house open you’d-

“Father ! Mom ! How is he !?”

Both you and Bruce quickly put a finger on your lips, and Damian throws his hands on his mouth, regretting his scream. But he was just so worried.

He couldn’t come with you to the doctor’s office as he had school (plus you were pretty sure he would’ve been 100 times worst than Bruce, trying to stop Leslie by any means necessary), and had been thinking about his little brother’s first shot all day.

Damian, just like his dad, wasn’t very fond of shots. He hated that his brother (wether the youngest one, or one of the older one, really) had to go through this.

It was always silly to you, how both Bruce and Damian, who’ve been through much worst than small little shots, hated those so much...Silly, and very cute.

Damian was looking critically at his brother, checking him silently for any signs of distress, for any “mistakes” Doctor Thompkins would’ve done, and seemed satisfied that the boy was fast asleep in his dad’s arm.

And Bruce...Bruce was smiling.

He felt so relaxed. And happy.

When you pushed that door, it opened on Damian rushing to the two of you, worried about his little brother. But it also opened on Alfred, who baked some comforting food, and brewed some tea for you, knowing how hard on you this sort of things could be (and yet how you insisted to take your kids to the doctor yourself, and not let Alfred do it, because you wanted to be there for them).

It opened on Cass smiling, and ruffling Damian’s hair as to reassure him.

It opened on Tim, who took a small break from his college study to come down and spend some times with his siblings, ready to relax in front of a movie (it was family movie night !).

It opened on Duke, who’s hands were full of DVDs, and who was excited to try to convince y’all to watch “Ninja and Pirates 6″, or something of the like.

It opened on Jason, who was smiling in such a way that no one would ever know all the things he went through. And it made Bruce feel all nice and warm inside...even as the little shit mimicked him having to take a shot. Squirming and looking as if he was about to faint. And ah, he hated to admit it, but his boy was impersonating him really well.

And it opened on Dick. His first kid. The one that, one day when getting sick, was who made Bruce realize what it truly meant to be a dad. The one who knew the best how much he hated seeing any of his children sick, or getting shots.

On Dick, who was laughing really hard at Jason’s impersonation, and giving him feedbacks about what to improve to make it even better.

The door opened on his family.

And as the ruckus surrounding him woke Thomas, as Damian yelled at Jason and Dick for being so loud, and as Bruce’s eyes fell on you, while you looked at your little tribe with love in your eyes...

Bruce felt relaxed. And so, so, oh so happy.

________________________________________________

This is yet another one of those stories I’ve been posting a lot lately, that do not take me very long to write and in which I don’t put that much effort, but that I really enjoy writing nonetheless ^^. And I hope you enjoyed reading it :), I’m nervous actually this isn’t up to your standards hahaha...Yes, hope you still liked it. Don’t hesitate to leave a little feedback etc etc ^^. Thanks in advance !

See you soon with something much longer and on which I spend a lot of time working ;).

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softomi · 3 years

Text

Overdue

prompt: I know I’m running late – I’m sorry. Things haven’t worked out the way I planned. But believe me when I tell you I am on my way.

- A Postcard by Lang Leav

pairing: atsumu x reader (ft. osamu)

general taglist: @graykageyama

Being the older brother, even if by mere minutes, Atsumu always felt that he had to look out for his sibling. After all, his mother instilled into him that no matter what, he should always be there for Osamu and vice versa. On many occasions Atsumu took that to mean that he could take his stuff, as long as he returns it (which he never does), because after all, they’re brothers.

On other occasions, it meant that Atsumu had to learn to be the first to set his pride aside. He reasons its because he’s the older brother, but Osamu knows that Atsumu is just too clingy to stay mad at his brother for a long time.

But there were many times, many days, many fleeting moments where taking care of his younger twin made him think “I wish I didn’t have a brother.”. Yet, the moment something happens to Osamu, he’s quick to act as the third parent.

“Why are you so stupid!” Atsumu screams at his brother’s back, “You shouldn’t have climbed that stupid tree.”

Osamu turns on his heels, gritting his teeth, “Shut up! You did the same thing last week!”

“Yeah! Well!” Atsumu is balling his fist, their mother entering the room due to the commotion, “What if something happened to you? Huh? Mom would blame me for not watching you!” The young Atsumu begins to blubber, “What if something happened?”

Osamu learned at the young age of ten, just how much being the older brother put a toll on Atsumu. So on their eleventh birthday, Osamu decided to give Atsumu a birthday present.

“I’ll be the older brother this year!” The young boy declares, “So it’s my turn!” He points at his confused brother, “To take care of you as the older brother.” For something so seemingly simple, Atsumu was star struck with the idea.

And every year following, they took turns being the big brother.

They even drew up a contract, the big brother responsibilities contract. As the older brother, you must take care of the younger, you will take responsibility for the younger brother’s actions no matter how stupid, and above all else, the older has to sacrifice things for the younger brother. Signed by both Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu.

When they were thirteen years old, Osamu took care of Atsumu when he caught the flu. When they were sixteen years old, Atsumu used the last of his money to buy pizza for his hungry brother. When the clock struck midnight, signaling their seventeenth birthday, Atsumu asked for the money back. During their twentieth year, Atsumu took a month off school and training to help Osamu set up his business.

“You don’t have to.” Osamu tried to reason with his brother.

Atsumu lifted a box from the back of the rented van, eyes staring up at the glow of the restaurant sign, “It’s what big brothers are for.”

Osamu stops Atsumu by the shoulder, “We’re not kids anymore, who cares about the big brother crap.”

“I do!” Atsumu scowls.

Osamu realized at the later age of twenty, that Atsumu clings to the title of older brother. As he watches his brother carry the box into his new restaurant, Osamu wondered if there would ever be a point where Atsumu would stop being there for him. But he also wondered, if there would ever be a moment where he could finally grant Atsumu release from the title.

At the age of twenty-three, you waltzed into Atsumu’s life.

Atsumu likes to say that it was a meet-cute. You like to say that it was the day he tried to take your head off. You interned for the Black Jackals as a sport psychologist. On your very first day, as you walked the sidelines towards the coach; you heard a mere shout. You ducked out of reflex, just barely missing the ball as it smacked against the ground behind you. Atsumu jogged with an apologetic expression and a compliment that your reflexes were killer.

Throughout your internship, you refused to go out with Atsumu. Even though the first time you bluntly rejected him, Atsumu says that you never truly said that he didn’t have a chance.

“You said.” Atsumu liked to push your buttons sometimes, “I remember.” He’s got a silly grin on him, “The first time I asked you out, you said ‘Sorry, I don’t date athletes I work for.’” Atsumu looks at the time on his phone, he takes your badge off you, “Your internship is officially over. You no longer work for the Black Jackals. One date, it’s all I ask.”

It truly wasn’t the romantic date. He was shamelessly taking you out to eat at his brother’s restaurant. You were no stranger to his twin but when you two sat in the booth, Osamu coming over to personally take your orders; Atsumu wasted little time in announcing, “Order anything you want, the most expensive item even. My big brother is paying.”

“I thought you were the older brother Atsumu?” You vaguely recall Atsumu mentioning Osamu as the younger twin.

Osamu rests a hand onto his brother’s shoulder, his grip causing Atsumu to yelp, “Yeah, we like to do this thing where every year we switch off being the older sibling. I just can’t wait! For our twenty-fourth birthday. I’ve been eyeing a new set a knives that’ll match the new dish machine I’m planning on getting next year.”

“Hey hey, we promised a limit!” Atsumu shouts.

That was the first date of many and loving Atsumu came easily. He kissed your fingers with eagerness, held you like you were the most important person in the world, and gave you all of his undivided attention. Atsumu followed you like a map leading to hidden treasure that was your lips.

You were perhaps everything he could have ever wanted, everything he ever wished for. For the first few months of the relationship, you wondered why previous girlfriends of his would ever let him go. He reasons that they all said he loved many things, but they were just simply not one of them.

Atsumu knew that when he loved something, he was always there. He attends every volleyball practice, he attends the family Sunday dinners, and he attends your college graduation.

But just like Atsumu had mentioned, he loved many things.

“Hey. Where are you?” You were shivering, hands wrapping around your arms.

“Shit.” Atsumu speaks, “I’m so sorry babe, I was helping Samu pack his things. He’s moving apartments and you know how he is, he does things last minute so I’m making sure he’s starting early.”

“Okay.” You breathe out, “But did it have to be today? This was really important to me.”

“It’s just a gathering. Samu really needed my help.” Atsumu clears his throat, “But if you want, I can head over there right now.”

“It’s fine.” You speak, “Just, next time, be here.”

“Of course!”

Osamu looks up at his brother, “Were you supposed to be somewhere else?”

Atsumu grabs some of the empty boxes, “Yeah, y/n was getting together with some of her friends. Something about introducing me to them I think.” Atsumu’s foot hits some of the book he’s stacked on the floor, “Dammit Samu, how many cookbooks do you need? You’re such a hoarder.”

“You should have gone.” Osamu watches him stack the books neatly into a box.

“Then no one would be here to help you.” Atsumu clicks his tongue, “Mom and dad are out of town, the guys are all busy, even your girlfriend isn’t over here helping; good pick there Samu.”

A book smacks Atsumu on the head, “You’re so stupid!” Osamu throws another book at him, “You ruin my life.”

Atsumu grins, sticking a tongue out to his brother, “You ruin my life too.”

If volleyball was his first priority, Osamu would be his first, first, priority and you concluded, you must fall behind both. That night was the first of many, and loving Atsumu became harder.

“Just go!” You threw your hands to your side.

Atsumu was hesitant, a jacket in his hand, “Look, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” He takes a step to you. You turn your head away when he leans in for a kiss, instead, he presses a slow peck onto your cheek, “Samu just really needs me right now.”

“Yep.” You state bitterly.

“I’m sorry. Happy birthday.”

It’s the last thing he says before he runs out the door. Instead of eating the cake with you that night, he spends it taking a drunk Osamu home, patting his brother’s back as he vomits into the toilet bowl. Even though they were twenty-seven, Atsumu took responsibility to make sure his brother was okay.

“I think we should break up.”

Atsumu thought you were joking, “Hahaha, very funny babe. You have my full and undivided attention.”

“I’m serious.” Your expression didn’t falter.

The cheery sound of the restaurant didn’t match the way Atsumu’s world was crumbling. He was still in disbelief, “What?” He tried to put up a smile, “Stop joking.”

The brief tune of happy birthday is played in the background, the workers clapping along as they sing.

“Atsumu, I just feel like I didn’t know what I was getting into when I entered this relationship.” You were trying to keep him calm, you’ve known him for five years, you’ve loved him for five years; just as hard as he loved, it was hard to let go.

You gathered your things. Atsumu slammed a hand onto the table, “Stop!”

The restaurant quietens, a spotlight on you two as you sit back down, “Atsumu.”

His phone rings. You raise a brow, his brother’s contact showing up. Atsumu picks up the phone, “What?” Atsumu frowns, “Now?” He hangs up the phone, “I have to go.”

You rub the back of your neck, “Of course.”

You two walk out of the restaurant together but you leave alone.

“Samu?” Atsumu walks into his brother’s restaurant, “Everything good?”

“We’re getting married!” The two in front of him wave their hands in his face. It was almost taunting, “I proposed this morning.” Osamu can’t help but stare into his lover’s eyes, “I wanted you to know first before we tell mom on Sunday.” When Atsumu doesn’t answer, Osamu checks the way his brother’s fists are balled, lips in a scowl. Osamu knew the telltale signs, like they were ten years old again, Atsumu was about to break, “Tsumu.”

“Couldn’t this have waited!” Atsumu, quick to anger but quicker to tears, “Couldn’t you just have told me on the phone.”

“I thought you’d be excited to be the first one to know.”

Atsumu uses his hands to push away stray tears, “I have to go.”

At twenty-eight, Atsumu feels as though the weight of the world was on his back. The silence of the apartment was like a gunshot wound and you packing your things shot another bullet into him.

“Let’s talk.” He’s refusing to let you leave.

You set the suitcase onto the ground, “Atsumu.”

“Don’t call me that.” He wants to sound strong, because he has to be strong, “You never call me that.” But he can’t sound strong when it feels like he’s losing everything he’s ever wanted.

“Atsumu.”

The more you said his name, the more it hurt, “I can fix it, whatever is wrong, I can make it better. I can be there more, I’ll stop being late, I’ll clean the whole place for the rest of our lives.”

“Let me ask you something.” He’s hopeful at your words, “If we got married, if we had kids; would Osamu still be your priority?” Your words felt like a blow, “Because I’m okay right now, as your girlfriend, I am okay. I understand that he’s your brother and you absolutely love him to death. You run to him when he needs you and he runs to you. But when I look to our future, why do I still see you running to your brother.”

“We don’t need to worry about that.” He takes your hand into his, “We just have to worry about right now.”

“But even right now, it’s always later.” Palm rested onto his cheek, “I’m sorry Atsumu.”

He holds you by the wrist, “Give me one chance. One more time to prove to you. It’s all I ask.”

Maybe it was the way he was so sincere, just like the day you fell in love with him, “Okay.” His shoulders are lifted when you whisper, “Next month on the 20th, I leave for Tokyo. 4pm. Send me off.”

“That’s it?”

You nod, “That’s it.”

He marked it on his calendar, set reminders leading up to the day and for the days in between, he was there. He was at every lunch, always home early, wrapping you in his arms to remind you of the bliss. But the closer the day got, the more anxious you felt. The more you wondered if he would remember that the 20th was a Sunday.

“I’ll meet you out front.” He kissed your lips, “I promise I’ll be here to send you off.”

You kept your arms wrapped around his neck, “Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

Atsumu was on edge the entire day. He checked his phone constantly; it didn’t help that his phone went off every hour to remind him. Nothing, he was thinking nothing would ruin the day.

“What’s up Samu?”

“Hey, so did you want to take the same car to mom and dad’s?”

“What?”

“It’s Sunday.” Osamu spoke, checking the calendar just in case, “Yeah, it’s Sunday. So you wanna take the same car or what.”

Atsumu looked at the time, four hours until you were to leave, “I don’t think I can make it this Sunday Samu.”

“Why not?”

“There’s something important I need to do today.”

“Okay, but you know you’ll have to make it up to mom.” Osamu sighs, “Her precious boy missing will be like the end of the world to her.”

Atsumu laughs, “Yeah yeah yeah. I’ll see you guys next Sunday.”

At two hours left, Atsumu was prepared to arrive earlier. A bouquet of flowers in his passenger seat as he drove down the highway, ready to greet you, ready to keep you in his life. Then his phone rang.

“Samu, seriously, I’m not coming.”

“Atsumu.” This wasn’t the voice of his brother, it was his fiancée, “We won’t be able to make it to the dinner either, are you sure you can’t go?”

“It’s fine babe, it’s not that serious!” Osamu’s voice heard lowly in the background.

“Not that serious? You’re in a hospital bed.”

“I just bumped my head.” Osamu yells.

“You have a concussion!” She shrieks back at him. Her tone lowered when she turns back to the phone, “Atsumu, you still there? Samu said you had something important to do today and it’s totally understandable if you can’t go to the dinner; but maybe you could stop by the hospital; they want to keep him over night, I could go to the dinner and explain to your parents.”

An hour and thirty minutes until you leave.

Osamu’s fiancée ran out the door the moment he stepped in. Atsumu scowled at his brother, “What stupid thing did you do this time.”

Osamu is happily eating a jelly cup, “Climbed a tree.”

“Of course, what if something happened Samu?” Atsumu lightly pushed Osamu’s head, “You’re so stupid.”

“So,” Osamu tosses the empty cup into the trash, “What’s so important today that you are skipping dinner?”

Atsumu looks at the time, “Y/n is leaving for Tokyo, she’s got some work to do there for a few days.”

Osamu notices the way his brother looks pressed for time, “So romantic, you’re gonna send her off.”

“You’re not gonna die are you?” Atsumu’s leg is bouncing.

“No.”

“This is why I said you gotta be careful Samu.” Atsumu’s phone goes off, he stops the alarm.

“Look, if you need to leave then go.”

Atsumu crosses his arms, “I can’t always be there for you!” His voice was starting to get louder, “I can’t always be responsible for taking care of you!”

“Okay!” Osamu’s growled, “You didn’t have to come here!”

“If I didn’t then who else would be here!” Atsumu began to weep, his lips in a scowl, “I’m older. I’m the older brother, through and through, if I wasn’t there for you, who knows what would have happened.”

“You act like you’re ten years older than me!” Osamu barks, “You’re only 4 minutes older! Stop treating me like I’m a burden! You’re the older brother, so what!” Osamu falls back onto the bed.

Atsumu’s phone goes off again. An hour left.

Osamu looks at the anxiousness in his brother, “Just go.” Osamu waves a finger, “Whatever it is that’s going on between you two, it’s more important than me. Just go.”

Atsumu doesn’t waver, “But.”

“You wanna sacrifice for me, get out of here.” Osamu catches the way his brother’s lips twitch to a smile.

“I’ll bring you back food, whatever you want, just text me.”

Atsumu is running out the door. Forty-five minutes left when he enters his car. He curses when he hits a red light. Fingers finding your contact, your voicemail plays in his ear.

“I’m on my way!” He’s shouting, heart beating out of his chest, “Please, believe me, I’m on my way. I’ll be a little late.” He’s heavy breathing, “but I’m coming.”

Fifteen minutes left but he’s still twenty-five minutes away. You listened to his voicemail, waiting patiently on the sofa. You have to start getting ready to go. You wish the elevators would move slowly, maybe get jammed for a second. Even as the taxi pulls up, you linger outside of the car door.

“I’m sorry, could we just wait a few more minutes.” You say to the driver.

Five minutes passed.

“Do you still want to wait?” The driver asks.

A sigh leaves your, “No.” You were already behind schedule, “Let’s go.”

You stare at your phone screen, hoping for a message from him. The sudden jolt of the car makes your head collide with the passenger seat. Your hand rubbing the throbbing part of your head as you hear the driver yell about a lunatic.

“I’m here!” Atsumu ignores the driver, banging on your window, “See, I’m here.” He’s pulling the locked handle of your door, frustrated that it wouldn’t open.

When you unlock it, he swings it wide open. Out of breath, he’s pulling you by the back of your neck; the kiss making your head spin. Before you can even register it, the sunlight bounces off his fingers; a gold band sitting between his index finger and thumb.

“And I will always be here.”

“Oh my god.” Your jaw is dropping, “What are you doing.” He’s getting on his knee, your breath caught in your throat, “Don’t.”

“Will you marry me?”

Your palms are pressed together, your fingers pressed to your lips. There’s a long pause and you take his hands into yours, “No.” The way his smile falters makes your heart clench, “Not like this.”

“What do you mean? This is what you wanted right?” He holds the ring out to you.

You run a hand through your hair, “I only wanted you here and you did that. You’re here.” You take the ring, settling it against his palm, “That’s all I ever wanted, that’s all I asked.” You pull him by the cheeks, squishing his face with a smile on yours, “You proved to me that you can be here; I mean you’re late but we can work on that.” You peck his lips quickly, “We can talk about marriage another time, but I wasn’t asking you to propose to me. It’s a really cute but very extreme gesture.”

His eyes are brimming with tears, “I thought I’d lose you forever.” Atsumu was truly soft hearted.

Your phone goes off, the alarm breaking the air between you two, “Shoot.” Your hands fall from his cheeks, “I’m late. I don’t think I’ll make it to the train.”

“I’ll drive you.” Atsumu perks up, “Right here, right now.”

“You’re kidding.” You laugh but the thin smile on his face says otherwise, “You’re literally so busy. You have volleyball practice tomorrow, it’s Sunday you’re parents are expecting you for dinner, and what if something happens to Osamu while you’re gone.”

“Practice doesn’t start until nine in the morning, I can make it back if I don’t sleep; my parents aren’t expecting me today, and Samu is in the hospital with a concussion plus he has his future wife. He doesn’t need me anymore.” Atsumu rests a smirk on his lips, “Give me something harder.”

“Wait, Osamu is in the hospital?”

Atsumu blinks, “Yeah, that’s why I was late. Oh yeah, I borrowed this from Samu too.” The ring twirls on his finger.

“You were going to propose to me with your brother’s ring.”

“Hey!” Your gaze shoots behind your shoulder, the cab driver pressing his horn, “Am I taking you or not?”

Atsumu is apologizing to the driver, grabbing your bags from the back of the car, he still pays a hefty tip to the driver for the inconvenience. As the driver leaves, Atsumu lifts your bags with one hand, the other extending out to you.

“Shall we go on a road trip.”

You take his hand, lacing your fingers with his, “But first, we should stop by the hospital; you need to return the ring.”

“You’re right.” He nods, “It’s too ugly for you. You need something big, something grand. I’m thinking diamonds.”

You cackle while settling yourself into the passenger seat. Two hours into the drive, Atsumu peeks at your sleeping figure. His thumb rubbing against the back of your hand. He presses a kiss your fingers. He knew all too well that diamonds would never suit your taste. You were about simplicity, less was more, actions louder than words. How he was going to propose, what ever ring he was going to choose, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you; that you were with him and that with one phone call, he’d be running to you.

#haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #haikyuu #atsumu scenarios #haikyuu scenarios

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anfie-in-the-box · 3 years

Text

Dreamtale_Not_Found

Notes

Remember this thing I wrote out of the blue for Aftermare Week by @bluepalleteuniverse? Well, now the story truly begins!

Warnings: depression; a bit of manipulation, guilt-tripping, and an overall mean attitude of a random villager towards both Nightmare and Dream; not a panic attack, exactly, but definitely something similar.

Do tell me if there's anything I missed!

。。。

A negligible shift

Nightmare is done. He needs a change. Something. Anything. Please.

He sits between the roots of the Tree, hugging himself with both hands, chin on the knees. The position gets awkward, uncomfortable, but he doesn't have it in himself to move. He's drained.

He's fearful, uneasy with the deepest pain that never ends, but he's also empty. That's how it feels, at least. It's a void that nothing can fill, not even anxiety and doubts that have Nightmare in their cruel cold claws. The way misery blooms in the emptiness of his being is so alluring though, so mesmerising. Nightmare lets himself drown in the feeling. Nightmare never fights it, like he never fought the villagers, neither verbally nor physically. He's weak, isn't he?

But he isn’t evil. He's not. Can't be.

Right?

These thoughts break him more than any of the villagers ever could. Nightmare doesn’t know who he is anymore, and that makes it so much more frightening. He can't bear it. He's not brave, and he's not strong.

His hands are trembling. His whole body is trembling, Nightmare notices belatedly. His vision is blurred, too; he's crying again. He can't help it, useless even against his own tears.

Nightmare hugs himself tighter, so tight it almost hurts.

Can it be that the villagers are right? Were right all along?

No, no, no. Please, no. He doesn't want to be evil. He doesn't want to be a freak. It's supposed to count, right? He tries, he really does. It must count.

If only Nightmare could find a way to prove himself. Abruptly, he stops hugging himself, both hands limp by his sides. Does he even deserve this poor attempt of comfort? Is he really what the villagers say, a useless, stupid, good for nothing villain?

No!

The tears keep flowing down his cheekbones. He doesn't hiccup, doesn't sob, doesn't tremble anymore.

He's drained. Done.

He really, really needs to change something. Or something to change — and wouldn't that be perfect?

Too good to be true.

His fingers touch the grass beneath him, and the trunk of the Tree is solid as ever, always there to rely on.

Nightmare tilts his head back. Just then, he sees the apples. Black, but also some golden.

Maybe... Just maybe, but...

He'd need to stay alone for that though. Dream consistently declines any help requests from the villagers, seemingly determined to never leave, but he’s just too kind, there’s bound to be someone he can’t say no to. It’s a matter of time. And waiting is fine by Nightmare, now that he has a plan. He’s not wasting his time anymore; instead, he’s being patient, ready to take the first chance he gets. It’s a smart move. Besides, the reward will be worth it.

Tired, Nightmare wipes the tears with his sleeve and makes himself as comfortable as possible, resting beside the Tree’s rough trunk. If he’s lucky, he’ll even drowse and nap a little.

。。。

Ironically, an opportunity comes up later that day.

Nightmare doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point since some noise wakes him up. When his head gets clearer, Nightmare realises it’s two voices, one his brother’s and the other only distantly familiar. A villager, then.

“Please, don’t talk so loudly,” Dream pleads in a small voice. “Nightmare is sleeping.”

How Dream always manages to be so caring and gentle is beyond Nightmare’s understanding. His little brother doesn’t deserve all that. Luckily, Nightmare knows what to do. Currently, he just has to keep listening intently, and it’ll be better if they think he’s still asleep. So no movement or sound. Nightmare’s good at that, he likes to think.

“Of course that useless garbage is sleeping in the middle of the day. But who cares!” the villager says, clearly irritated. They do lower their voice, though, if only to please Dream a little. “We need your help, and you can’t sit this one out!”

Dream sounds tired and somewhat hurt when he replies, “I’m so sorry if my brother upset you, but please, don’t talk about him that way.” Only when the villager mutters a “Yeah, whatever” that Nightmare barely hears from his position on the other side of the Tree, Dream continues. “Can you tell me what’s so important you think I need to leave the Tree?”

“Took you long enough to ask! Some guardian you are!” the villager huffs. “Just so you know, Ava is so sick she’s dying, it’s getting worse, and we’ve tried everything, but nothing helps! There’s no cure but the golden apples. It’s our last hope.” They insist, not giving Dream a moment to hesitate, “Come on! Do you really want us to lose Ava just because you decided to be stubborn?”

Nightmare tenses. He knows exactly how much of a bleeding heart his brother is. No chance he’s turning this one down; not when it’s a matter of life and death. He’s coming to the aid if only this one time. Meanwhile, Nightmare can set his plan in motion — prove himself worthy and good. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to get better. Finally.

Despite himself, Nightmare smiles. However, he keeps his sockets shut, just in case Dream decides to check on him before going to the village. He will go, without a doubt.

And indeed, Dream gasps, terrified, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry to hear it! Of course, I’ll help poor Ava!” Then, there are steps and rustling, quiet huffs, and at last, this specific sound of a fruit being picked from the Tree. Nightmare knows that sound, although he’s never done it himself. Nobody asked for a black apple, after all. Nobody wanted it.

Nobody wanted him.

But now, that’s alright. He’ll just show everyone that he can take care of the golden apples, too. Everyone loves them, and they will love him as well. It’s so easy, Nightmare just cannot fathom how he hadn’t come up with it before.

For a few seconds, there’s a pause.

“What are you waiting for? You got the apple, now let’s go!” the villager hurries. Suddenly, the steps sound much closer to Nightmare, and he’s been ready for that, it’s exactly the reason why he never opened his eyes, then why does he jerk?

Luckily, it doesn’t give his act away. Dream sighs and whispers, ever so softly, “I’ll be right back, brother. Sleep tight.” He goes away and says a bit louder, worry evident in his voice, “Let’s go. I really hope we’ll arrive in time...”

If the villager replies, Nightmare doesn’t hear it. He counts to a hundred five times, just to be sure, and gets up only after that.

This is his chance to make the tables turn.

。。。

For a minute, he simply stands there, looking at the Tree, his chest heavy with anticipation. His gaze is fixed on a single golden apple, the nearest to him. The one he’s going to pick and keep from harm all by himself.

While Nightmare stares at the apple, a strange feeling arises in his entire being. It’s light and unobtrusive, but also comprehensive. He’d try to identify it if he had more time, he thinks. As it is, he can’t quite put a finger on it right away and so just lets it be.

It’s getting late, Nightmare notices. The sky darkens steadily, the sun already gone. Pinks and purples linger on the horizon, and for the first time in a while, Nightmare finds himself appreciating the view. It’s been so long since he last enjoyed... anything, really. Everything except for misery and pain has become dull, faded. Being able to drink in the sight now, suddenly thrilled by that fleeting moment between day and night, relishing in the cool breeze...

Nightmare forces himself to look away. He has a plan to execute, and Dream might come back any minute. His brother is nice, but... he doesn’t understand. He wouldn’t even if Nightmare explained. So he has to do this alone.

Not like it’s the first time anyway.

Deepest sadness and utter hopelessness creep back into Nightmare’s mind and heart, but before they take hold of him, little guardian decisively comes closer to the Tree and reaches for a golden apple, the one he’d chosen before.

A moment stretches to what seems a tiny eternity. That’s what it feels like to Nightmare, who freezes, terrified. His hand trembles. The apple is so close, one slight movement and he’ll have it, feel its surface. Is it warm or cool? Nightmare wonders, distantly. Is it soft or hard?

After a long, long pause — one that lasts barely a minute, Nightmare’s mind knows, but his heart doesn’t believe it, — his hand withdraws. He holds it with his other hand against his chest, aching all of a sudden.

What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he do this? He’s a guardian just like Dream, who’s done this plenty of times! It’s so simple! It should be simple.

But his body refuses to cooperate. He’s shuddering, so anxious and afraid it’s suffocating. No wonder his chest hurts.

Tears prick the corners of Nightmare’s sockets.

Come on! Why can’t he move? Just why?

It’s not fair. This might be his only chance. Dream made an exception today, sure, but it’s not every day someone is on the verge of dying. He’s going to come back, and stay beside the Tree like a good guardian he is, and nothing’s going to change.

Filled with despair and fear, Nightmare tries one last time, putting all effort he can into stretching out his hand.

It doesn’t work. His body doesn’t work, not properly, anyway.

What’s even happening?

Just then, Nightmare hears familiar footsteps from behind. The sound makes something in him snap. The pain in his chest, the tension in his body, the feelings in his heart, and the thoughts in his mind — everything dissipates, leaving him tired and empty.

And — oh.

Nightmare sees now. That light feeling was hope. And it’s gone.

“Nightmare!” Dream calls out, not quite close yet but already explaining himself. “Sorry I left when you were sleeping, I hope you weren’t too worried when you woke up all alone... I didn’t mean to take so long or to take any time at all, but it was urgent and you don’t sleep much, so I...”

Utterly exhausted, Nightmare shrugs his brother off with a quiet “It’s fine” and, when Dream abruptly stops talking, goes away to the other side of the Tree.

Leave it up to him to not do a single thing right.

Of course, it’s all in vain. Pointless and futile.

He’ll just sleep.

。。。

Only that night, Nightmare tosses and turns restlessly.

As energy beings, they don’t exactly need sleep, so for Nightmare, it’s more of a way to escape than anything. Being awake means thinking and feeling, while sleep, although it seems to last just for a moment without dreams Nightmare’s only read about, gifts him a blessing of unconsciousness. When he sleeps, it’s almost like time and space cease to exist.

Almost like he ceases to exist.

It’s sweet and alluring. It’s also terrifying.

But none of this matters anymore, because, after that incident, even light sleep just won’t come. It’s called insomnia, Nightmare thinks.

Something did change after all. For the worse, that is.

It really could have been funny, but after a week of long, long days and nights Nightmare’s forced to spend wallowing in his misery, he can’t find it in himself to laugh.

Tired.

He’s so very tired.

。。。

Credits:

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dreamtale © jokublog

Read English version on ao3

Read Russian version on ficbook or fanficus (to be added)

。。。

Notes

This story is canon compliant, which means Nightmare is six years old at the moment of the (absence of the) Apple incident. But because he never got corrupted, he has a chance to grow up, and that he will do. His meeting with Geno will happen years later, when Nightmare is an adult.

It will become obvious as the story progresses, but I felt the need to clarify right now. Maybe I'll remove this part of the notes later.

Also, since we don't know about Dreamtale as much as I'd like, I'm trying to fill in the gaps. All places and characters mentioned are my version of Dreamtale, except for Dream, Nightmare, Nim/the Tree of Feelings, and Neil. That makes Ava just a random name to make the dialogue feel personal.

Feel free to let me know what you think if you'd like!

。。。

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#anfie writes #dreamtale not found fic #nightmare!sans #passive nightmare sans #dream!sans #dreamtale #undertale #utmv #aftermare #I can't believe I forgot the ship tag (x

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cherienymphe · 4 years

Text

The Babysitter

Warnings: NON-CON, Dark!College!Peter, mentions of abuse/abusive relationships, slight age gap

!!! Please don’t read if any of this offends you !!!

summary: You are Peter’s first and only love, and all he ever wanted was to show you how much better it could be.

Peter Parker was a sweet kid, always had been. Maybe referring to him as a kid was a bit dramatic of you considering you were only four years older than him. But you had met the sweet brown eyed boy when he was in fact a kid. Eleven to be exact.

You recalled the way his eyes had widened up at you when he opened the door, a flush climbing over his cheeks as he nervously stammered. There was a bit of a sparkle in his eyes, a dazed look that made you chuckle. However, that dazed look was gone the minute his aunt informed him that you were there to watch him.

“A babysitter?” he had scoffed, face even redder.

You remembered how he had pouted and complained as you sat your backpack down, but his aunt wouldn’t budge. It had taken him more than an hour to finally leave his room again, reluctantly joining you in the living room.

“Pizza?” you offered him.

He eyed it for a bit before accepting, a pout still on his face. He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. The both of you just sat on the floor, watching tv and eating pizza as you waited for Ms. Parker, or May as she preferred, to come back.

“I’m too old for a babysitter,” he’d said after some time.

A slow smile crept over your lips, and you nodded in agreement.

“I think so too, but your aunt is just worried about you, is all.”

“I’m not a baby,” he protested, still refusing to look at you.

“Noo, but…what if something happened while you were here alone? What if you got hurt…and no one was around to call her?”

He was quiet for a minute before pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“She just wants you to be okay, Peter,” you reasoned with him.

“So that’s why you’re here? To protect me?” he questioned, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You swallowed a chuckle but nodded anyway.

“Yeah, Peter. I’m here to look out for you. Just think of me like a guardian…”

“Like a knight,” he suddenly said, nodding.

“Exactly,” you replied, reaching for a piece of pizza.

The two of you didn’t talk much for the rest of the night, but when his aunt came back home, he looked sad to see you go. Many of the nights after went much like that one had, but eventually, he warmed up to the idea more and more.

He always opened the door for you seconds before you could even knock, like he was waiting for you. That flush hardly ever left his face, and you soon became used to the sight of his red visage whenever you were near. The nights you watched him became less quiet and more rowdy.

You’d spend hours arguing over cartoons and other meaningless stuff. It only got worse when he got his first video game, and the competitive side in both of you reared its ugly head. Eventually, you became less of a babysitter and something more like a friend.

He started to talk to you about school and how left out he felt sometimes. You didn’t like nights like those, because they always made you sad. Peter was a sweet kid. He was smart and funny, and you told him that, encouraging him to make friends with people who liked the same things he liked. You knew he was a bit nerdy, but so were you, and you’d been where he was once upon a time.

Time seemed to fly by, and it wasn’t long before your senior year of high school had come. Despite how hectic it was to prepare for graduation and everything, it never interfered with the nights you watched Peter. You supposed that it came at a good time, because he was going to be 14 soon, and May had already mentioned she felt he was long ready to be at home alone. Truth be told, you were surprised you’d held your job for as long as you had, but part of you knew why that was.

It was no secret that Peter had a crush on you. He always looked at you like you hung the moon and was constantly craving your approval on just about everything. He’d done a good job of keeping the heat off of his face whenever you were around, but sometimes it would slip through anyway. You would never embarrass him about it though. It was cute. After all, you could remember some of your own childhood crushes, and maybe one day Peter would look back on it laugh at the crush he’d had on his babysitter.

You’d never considered that it could be anything more. He was just a kid, after all.

“You’ll…you’ll still come see me, right?”

The both of you were sitting on the couch, a large pizza between the two of you. You’d ordered it, feeling nostalgic for the first night you’d come over. Tonight was your last night. You’d be graduating in 3 weeks and off to the local college about a month after that.

You looked at him, feeling your heart clench at the way he wouldn’t meet your eye, just like that first night 3 years ago. You ruffled his hair, and he grumbled, pushing your hand away.

“Of course, I will. I’m only going up the street, Peter,” you said, stuffing your face.

He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes focused on the tv.

“Yeah, but… You’ll make new friends. College friends…and…you’ll meet college guys and stuff,” he mumbled.

You eyed him.

“That may be, but if I’m being honest here, you’re practically my only friend,” you confessed.

He whipped his head around to face you, eyes wide.

“Really?”

You chuckled with a nod.

“Yup! They always told me I wouldn’t leave high school with the same friends I went into it with. I never thought they’d actually be right,” you sulked.

“…but you still have me.”

You grinned at him.

“Yeah, I still have you. Believe me, I am going to still come around because someone has to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

Peter rolled his eyes, tossing his crust back into the box.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “I don’t care what the reason is, as long as you don’t forget about me.”

“How could anyone forget Peter Parker? Don’t be silly,” you laughed.

He didn’t join you, and you looked at him curiously as he suddenly turned his body around to fully face you. You found yourself smiling at how much he’d grown in the past few years. He was going to start high school soon, and that made you feel so old despite the fact that you were only just leaving it.

He eyed you for a few moments, that same spark in his eyes that was there that first night he’d opened the door for you. He clenched his jaw, looking incredibly nervous before he took a deep breath.

“Y/N… Will…will you wait for me?”

You frowned in confusion, leaning your elbow on the back of the couch, resting your head against your hand.

“What do you mean?”

He sighed, looking down for a bit before meeting your gaze. His eyes were so serious, much too serious for a 14-year-old kid. Your frown deepened.

“I think that you are so pretty…”

Your heart sank, and you straightened, understanding dawning on you.

“Peter…”

“Not pretty! No, that’s…that’s too lame to describe you. Y/N, I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. You’re so smart and funny and nice. You’re nice to everyone, even our downstairs neighbor who has never once said anything nice to you.”

You sighed, turning to face the tv.

“I know you think I’m just a kid-.”

“Peter, you are a kid.”

“Your 18th birthday was literally just last week,” he deadpanned.

“Shut up!”

“Y/N, please. Please! Just…promise me that you’ll wait for me,” he begged.

You looked at him, a frown on your face as you noticed the tears in his eyes.

“I know I’m just a kid, but eventually I won’t be. One day, I’ll be 18, then 19, 20, 21! One day I can give you everything you want, and I can make you happy and hold your hand-.”

“Peter,” you snapped.

“Y/N… Y/N, please. I love you…,” your stomach churned. “…so much. I know you don’t think anything of it, but I do. I love you, and… Promise me you’ll wait for me, and I’ll show you how much.”

You stared at him, unable to break from his pleading gaze. You had hoped this day would never come. You had hoped that his unspoken crush would remain just that. You’d never wanted to have this conversation, because you didn’t want to break his heart. And despite how much you should have in that moment, you didn’t. You weren’t going to hurt him.

You were sure that his feelings were fleeting, and that in 5 years’ time or so, he’d forget all about this. He’d look back on this moment with embarrassment, and you’d both be able to laugh about it. High school was four years, and a lot happens in those four years. You were positive that he’d move on, and that was the only reason you said;

“Okay.

“Y/N! Y/N wait!”

You ignored him, picking up your pace as you wiped the tears from your face. You winced as your hand brushed over your cheek, fingers trembling as you reached into your pocket for your keys.

“Y/N, stop!”

He grabbed your arm, harshly, and yanked you to a halt. You cried out, stumbling away from him as you ripped your arm out of his grip. You faced him, eyes hard with anger.

“For what? What could we possibly have to talk about, Chris?” you sarcastically questioned, throwing your hands up.

He glanced around as a few people stumbled out of the house, loud music briefly reaching your ears before it was muffled again. You crossed your arms over your chest as they walked past the two of you, glaring at the dark-haired man before you.

He suddenly sighed, looking a bit conflicted as he bit his lip. He hesitantly reached out towards you, taking a step forward.

“Y/N…it was an accident. I would never-.”

“It wasn’t an accident, and we both know it. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore, Chris. I just can’t,” you replied with a shrug.

He clenched his jaw, eyes darkening a bit as he took in your words.

“What the hell does that mean? Are you breaking up with me?”

“I didn’t think it needed to be said considering not five minutes ago you were slapping me like you were getting paid for it,” you snapped.

He glanced down, eyebrows furrowed.

“I said I was sorry.”

“…and I don’t care. You have a problem with my family, my friends, my clothes, my hair! You’re never satisfied unless I’m doing exactly what you want me to do, and now, I can’t even leave your side for 5 minutes to get a drink without you thinking I ran off to go fuck some random guy?”

He swallowed, and you shook your head at him.

“I’m sorry, okay? I get…I just get insecure sometimes,” was his weak defense.

You scoffed, a tear skipping down your cheek as you eyed him.

“You get insecure? So you hit me? Is that what you’re going to do every time you feel a little insecure?”

“No! I told you, it was an-!”

“I don’t care what it was, Chris. This is it. This is the last straw. I’ve put up with this for too long, and I will not be with a man that slaps me around just because his feelings are hurt. Get a therapist,” you sneered, turning away from him.

You yelped when he grabbed you again, yanking you to him. You reached out to hit him with your free hand, but he gripped your wrist, holding you to him.

“Y/N, please, lets just talk about this,” he begged.

“Let go of me,” you demanded.

He ignored you, instead shaking you a bit as he pleaded his case.

“Y/N, listen to me!”

“Stop-!”

You cut yourself off with a gasp when a fist came out of nowhere, getting Chris clean in the jaw. He was hit hard enough to collapse, and he gripped his face with a loud groan. You stumbled back, but a hand on the small of your back stopped you.

Grateful, you looked up, ready to thank your savior when you paused. Your gaze connected with that of familiar brown eyes, equally brown hair pushed away from a familiar face. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes widened, shock hitting you square in the chest.

“Peter,” you breathed.

He glanced at your ex-boyfriend who was clutching his face before gently grabbing your hand and leading you away.

“Peter, wh-what are you doing here?” you asked as you followed along in a daze.

“Um… Ned wanted to come check out this party he’d heard about,” he replied.

You stopped walking, and he did too, facing you as you eyed him.

“So you and Ned are still friends. I’m happy to hear that. It’s not like I would have had any other way of knowing…”

Your tone was a bit accusatory and Peter at least had the gall to look ashamed.

You hadn’t seen nor heard from Peter in over a year. You still talked to May occasionally, but never a word from Peter. It was so strange. You and him kept in touch somewhat regularly since you had graduated. The two of you weren’t exactly BFFS or anything, especially since you both made new friends as you each started the new phase in your lives, but one day, a year ago, it just stopped.

Your texts asking him how he was went unanswered. You wanted to know if he was excited for college and if he was sad to leave high school, but you never found out. You weren’t even invited to his graduation, something that had struck a nerve. After all, you babysat him for years, and as old as it was going to make you feel, you still wanted to see him graduate. It was a huge accomplishment that you wanted to witness.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually said.

You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Are you?” you genuinely asked.

He straightened, eyes widening as he blinked at you.

“Yes! I’m…so sorry, Y/N. Things just got crazy and different and I just had a lot to deal with.”

Your brows creased as you could visibly see the stress along his features. He suddenly looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. You started to grow worried.

“Is everything okay? May?”

“No, yeah, aunt May is fine. Everything’s fine, now,” he replied, scratching the back of his head.

You nodded.

“That’s good to hear.”

You had only gone a year without seeing him, but he looked so different. His jaw seemed to be taut with tension, and there was a crease in his forehead that hadn’t left since you’d seen him. He was dressed plainly in a dark grey t-shirt and dark jeans. He had gotten a bit taller, and you blinked in surprise. The last time you saw him, he was already a bit taller than you, but now he was even more so. You suddenly remembered your manners.

“Thank you, by the way,” you said.

He eyed you, suddenly very serious as he crossed his own arms over his chest. The t-shirt he wore stretched over his muscles as he did so.

“Who was that jerk?”

You sighed, glancing away.

“My ex-boyfriend,” you confessed.

His eyes darkened, and he glared over your shoulder.

“What were you guys fighting about?”

You opened your mouth to answer before thinking better of it.

“It was nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing,” he argued, eyeing you.

You heaved another sigh, turning your face away as you refused to tell him the truth. You realized your mistake when you heard his sharp intake of breath. His hands gripped your chin and face before you could do anything, a slight gasp escaping him.

“Your cheek is swelling,” he said, worry and wonder in his voice.

You pulled away from him, briefly closing your eyes.

“Peter…”

“Did he do that?” he asked, disbelief and outrage coloring his tone.

“Peter, he’s my ex now, okay? It’s not going to happen again,” you said, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

You had never seen him look like that in all the time you’d known him. Sure, he got mad sometimes, especially when things didn’t go like he expected them to, but now he looked angry enough to kill. His hands were clenched into fists, face tense with rage. A wild look was in his eyes.

“Peter, I’m okay,” you said, stepping towards him.

“I should have punched him again,” he spat.

“I’m not going to argue with that, but please don’t. I’ve had enough violence for one night, and I just want to go home-.”

“I’m coming with you.”

You paused, blinking up at him.

“What? Peter, no. You came with friends. Go have fun with them, don’t worry about me,” you replied.

He shook his head, grabbing your keys out of your hand.

“No, I’m going with you. You need to put something on your face,” he disputed.

You opened your mouth to argue but decided to pick your battles. With a nod, you led him towards your car. You didn’t have a chance to say anything before he was sliding behind the wheel. To be honest, you were emotionally exhausted for the night and was quite relieved to relax in the passenger seat. You didn’t even know Peter knew how to drive, now, and your heart clenched as you felt like you had missed so much despite only missing a year.

You laid your head against the rest as Peter pulled away from the noisy house, listening to your directions instead.

“You…kind of have the worst taste in men,” he sheepishly said.

You gasped, mouth falling open in shock and mock outrage as he held a freezing bag of peas to your face.

“Are you seriously blaming me, right now?”

He spluttered, a flush taking over his face as he rushed to correct himself.

“No, no! Of course not. I’m just saying… You know how you are,” he added.

You frowned at him, narrowing your eyes a bit.

“No, how am I?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Remember that asshole you dated your freshman year of college? Or that jerk way back in your junior year of high school?”

You did actually. You’d ended up crying all night on May’s couch when you should have been watching Peter because Dylan had dumped you for some more popular girl. Peter, in all his chivalry, had let you have the rest of the pizza while he listened to you cry your heart out. You didn’t even want to talk about Nate.

You’d brought him over to May’s one day when you went to visit her and Peter after being in school for a few months. Peter hated him from the first moment they’d met. You remembered how angry you were that Peter was acting like such a kid and embarrassing you in front of Nate. You’d even said some pretty harsh words to him, something you apologized for when Nate inevitably showed his true colors.

“How could I forget,” you quietly mused.

Maybe Peter had a point. Looking back, the guys you’d dated had shown red flags from the start, all of which you had ignored. Even tonight shouldn’t have come as a shock to you. Chris was always so jealous and irrationally angry over the smallest of things. You should have left the minute he started telling you to stop visiting your family so much.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Peter apologized. “None of this is your fault.”

“No, I’m glad you said it, Peter. You’re not entirely wrong,” you sighed. “I see the signs and I just…ignore them.”

Peter didn’t respond, instead running his eyes over you as he shifted the frozen vegetables. He swallowed, suddenly stepping back.

“What did you see in any of them?” he quietly asked, almost desperately.

“To be honest… I don’t know,” you responded with a shrug.

Peter sighed before setting the cold bag on the counter behind you, resting his hand there.

“Is it…because they’re older? Or even just your age?”

You frowned in confusion, tilting your head at him.

“I’m sure that’s not it. What makes you think that?”

He stepped away from you, shoulders tense as he turned around and stared into your living room.

“I stopped talking to you a year ago because…because I was trying to move on. I was tying to forget you,” he quietly admitted.

Your frown deepened, a dreaded feeling take hold in your stomach.

“What?”

He turned around, dark eyes troubled.

“I was trying to forget you. You were enjoying college and new friends and new boyfriends, and I got tired of trying to show you that I was becoming someone you could be with. I thought that maybe you deserved better and someone who could relate to you more, but then…”

He released a shaky breath, face hardening as he stared past you.

“Then I saw you tonight…with him. He was hurting you, and you were screaming, and I wanted to hurt him like he was hurting you.”

“Peter…”

Just like that last night, a realization was coming to you, and you didn’t like it. His eyes softened as he looked at you.

“Do you remember…”

“Peter, don’t.”

“…when you said you’d wait for me?”

You scoffed in disbelief, pushing away from the counter to walk around it, leaning against your stove as you looked at him with wide eyes.

“Peter, that was years ago! I… I just didn’t want to hurt you,” you confessed.

His face fell a bit, and you felt like you were going to be sick. You had never wanted to hurt him. Everything that you had done was to prevent that. You thought he would have forgotten.

“You only said that to spare my feelings?”

“I thought you’d move on!”

“I tried!”

You pressed your back into the metal behind you, eyeing him as his eyes glistened. Desperation took over his features, and his lips trembled.

“I tried so hard, but… I love you.”

“Peter, no-.”

“I have been in love with you for years. I thought I could forget, but I can’t. I wanted you to live your life, but tonight just proved to me that I should have never tried to let you go. I should have been by your side as soon as I graduated. Tonight never would have happened if I had been,” he ranted.

“Peter-.”

“I can protect you, now. I mean…I could have protected you for years, but now I have the freedom to actually do that.”

“Peter, you don’t have to do that,” you argued. “That isn’t your job.”

He licked his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Do you remember that first night you came over…and you said that you were just there to look out for me? To protect me, like a guardian?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Well, now it can be my turn.”

“Peter, no! Okay?”

You felt like a broken record. He walked towards you, face determined.

“You don’t know the things I can do, Y/N. I can look out for you better than any of those other guys out there! I know you think I’m being silly and that I’m just oh so young-!”

“You are!”

“I’m 20, Y/N! 20! That’s 4 years younger than you! You have friends that are 20,” he desperately argued, eyes wide.

“That’s different!”

“How?”

“…b-because,” you lamely replied.

“I’m not good enough to be with you?”

“Peter…you’re just… You’re so young. No, four years isn’t a big deal, but I babysat you. I watched you grow up with me, and we’re at such different stages in our lives. We want different things-.”

“I want you,” Peter tearfully interrupted.

You swallowed.

“…and I want you to want someone else,” you quietly said.

“That’ll never happen,” he whispered.

“Peter, please,” you tried to reason with him.

He took another step towards you.

“I can make you so happy. Y/N, I can give you so much, you have no idea. You don’t know who I am, now or what I can do or what I can give you. Just give me a chance,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Peter, please leave.”

He paused, face crushed as you held his gaze. You wanted to look away, but you had to stand your ground if you ever wanted to get through to him. He suddenly exhaled, a newfound determination seeping into his features.

You gasped into his mouth as he pressed his lips against yours, hands holding you close as he pinned you in between him and the counter. You pushed against his hard chest, but he didn’t budge, and you whimpered against his lips. One of his hands found your hair while the other found your waist.

“Peter, Peter, stop,” you gasped.

He didn’t listen, both hands pressed onto the counter, now, keeping you trapped. You squirmed against him, and he groaned into your mouth. With reluctance, you bit his lip, and he pulled away with a pained gasp.

His wild eyes met your terrified ones, and his face softened. He reached up to brush his fingers over his bleeding lip, and you swallowed.

“Go. Please, just go, Peter,” you quietly forced out.

He looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it before listening to you. You let the tears fall as the door slammed shut behind him.

“No, um… I haven’t seen him since then,” you worriedly replied.

“Okay. If you hear from him, you’ll call me?”

“Of course, May. I’ll definitely call.”

You hung up the phone with a sigh, worry coursing through your veins. It had been weeks since that night you’d ran into Peter, and apparently, he hadn’t been in contact with anyone since. Guilt consumed you as you felt like this had something to do with you.

You called the number that you hadn’t dialed in over a year with no answer. You texted him, telling him that he should at least check in with his aunt. If anything happened to him, you didn’t know what you’d do.

You should have never given him hope that you two could be anything more. You should have broken his heart that night 6 years ago. It was silly of you to think that you could ever avoid doing such a thing. It was inevitable.

You rose from your bed, heading towards your bathroom to go shower when you heard a noise from your window. You’d only just turned around when something was over your mouth. You reached up in shock and touched what felt like…webbing? Your hands were bound together soon enough, and your legs followed. With a muffle scream, you fell over only to land in strong arms.

Your wide eyes focused on Peter as he held you, and you were powerless to stop him as he raised his hand, pressing a white cloth over your nose. You didn’t even remember closing your eyes.

“Have you lost your mind?” a somewhat familiar voice screamed.

You didn’t know how you knew that voice.

“Mr. Stark, please! Don’t-don’t freak out, okay?”

Stark. Tony Stark. That was how you knew that voice. You’d heard it on tv during press conferences and such plenty of times.

“Am I hearing this right? You kidnapped a woman, and now you want to keep her here?”

“You don’t understand, Mr. Stark…”

Peter’s voice lowered, and you suddenly realized you were lying on a bed. Your hands and legs were still bound with…whatever, and your head was pounding. You didn’t recognize the dimly lit room, and you struggled to sit up. Their voices were still lowered, and you started to wonder where you were.

You tried to sort everything out in your mind, struggling to come to grips with the fact that Peter had kidnapped you. And that wherever you were, it was far if Tony Stark was in the building too. That brought you to a question as to how Peter even knew Tony Stark.

You didn’t have time to ponder that much before the door opened and Peter filled the entryway. Your eyes widened, and you shuffled back on the bed as he closed the door and approached you. His steps were slow and cautious as if you were the one mostly likely to attack. His expression suddenly softened, eyes apologetic, and you realized that you were crying.

His hands were outstretched in a surrendering way before he slowly used one hand to get whatever it was off of your mouth. A sob escaped you, and he gently shushed you, framing your face with his hands.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, slowly sitting down in front of you.

“I-I’m sorry. Peter, I’m sorry. Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone,” you tearfully pleaded.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, shaking his head. “I would never hurt you.”

“You…you attacked me,” you replied, voice filled with confusion and fear.

He looked down.

“No! No, not…not really. I just need time. We need time for you to understand,” he argued.

You shook your head in confusion.

“It’s my turn to look out for you, now, and I can. I’ll tell you everything eventually, when you’re ready, but right now…”

He settled his hands on your shoulders, massaging them.

“Right now, I want to show you how much I love you. I want to prove to you that I can be everything you want, and I can give you everything you want,” he continued.

“Peter, I don’t want you! You’re my friend,” you sobbed.

He pursed his lips, a frown overtaking his features. He suddenly exhaled, shaking his head.

“I can be more than that. Let me show you…”

You cried harder when he started pushing you back. Your chest heaved, and you were practically inconsolable as he climbed over you. He freed your legs, but they were of no use to you as he easily pinned them down while he undressed you. He ignored your pleas, tearing your shirt and bra straight down the middle before tearing them off of your arms.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt his own taking you in, heat and humiliation flooding through you. He was quiet for a long time as he ran his fingers over your bare skin, and you shuddered when you felt him press a kiss to your chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin.

You kept your eyes closed as he ghosted kisses over you, taking his time to kiss every inch of you that he could. His touch was light and soft, so different from anything else you’d ever felt. He touched you like you were made of glass, like he was afraid you’d shatter with one wrong move.

You resisted when he parted your legs, but one hard squeeze on your ankle had you freezing. Your eyes flew open of their own accord when his lips latched onto you, tongue delving inside of your core as he coaxed an involuntary whimper from you. None of your boyfriends had ever returned the favor when you went down on them, and you had convinced yourself that it wasn’t a big deal.

You’d never felt someone else’s lips on you so intimately before, and you couldn’t stop your intense reaction. Fire bloomed in your stomach, and you couldn’t contain the moans that left you as you experienced the new sensation. You felt like you were floating, and you had to remind yourself that you didn’t want this, that your hands were currently bound together to keep you from fighting this like you wanted.

Peter pulled away before you fell over the edge, and you pleaded with him again as he climbed over you, now undressed. His eyes were swimming with determination as he brushed his hand over your cheek, eyeing the place where Chris had hit you weeks ago. He pressed his lips there, breath shaky.

“I’ve dreamed about this day for so long,” he whispered.

“Peter…if you love me…you won’t do this,” you breathed.

He reached between the two of you, trailing his lips over your face before finally pressing them to your lips. He kissed you fiercely, putting so much emotion into it that you found yourself cringing away from the intensity.

“I’m doing this because I love you, and because I want you to know that you deserve the best,” he murmured into your mouth.

One hand was beside your head, pressing into the bed.

“…and that’s me.”

You gasped when he entered you, fingers grazing his stomach as he set a slow pace. You blinked, mouth parted as tears sprang to your eyes. His hips were moving so slowly and so intensely against your own. You could feel every curve and ridge of him, and it awoke pleasure in you that you didn’t know existed. You turned your face away in an attempt to ignore what you were feeling, but it was no use.

Soft grunts escaped his lips, and he used one hand to gently grip your face, turning you to look at him. His brown eyes never left yours, dark hair brushing along his forehead as his skin started to glisten with sweat. His arm flexed, hand clenching the sheets beside your head as he bit his lip, never taking his eyes off of you.

You couldn’t keep the pleasure off of your face. You’d never felt this before. He was so soft with you, gentle in a way you’d never experienced. His touches were feather light, and he watched you like he was looking for the first sign of pain, of discomfort. It made you feel…good…loved, and you didn’t like it.

With a grunt, you struggled against your bonds. More tears escaped, and he wiped them away.

“Hey, hey…”

You shook your head.

“Peter…stop...please,” you gasped, stomach tightening.

“You don’t want me to,” he quietly refuted.

“Yes-.”

“I can feel that you don’t. You’ve been clenching around me, like you don’t want me to go,” he murmured.

More tears escaped, and your breath hitched when he slowed down even more.

“No, no, I don’t like this,” you argued.

But deep down, you did.

“You do! You know you do-.”

“No!”

“Let yourself be loved, Y/N. You’ve never been held right…treated right…touched right. But I’m here, now,” he groaned, brushing his lips over your neck.

Your nails dug into his stomach as you clenched around him, a coil building low in your own. You arched against him, and he bent down to wrap his lips around one exposed bud, teeth grazing your skin. He rested himself fully against you as one hand gripped your hair while the other dug into your hip.

“All I ever wanted was to show you that I can be the man you want,” he panted.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, now, teeth nipping at your skin every once in a while. You felt a dampness there, and when he sat up, you noticed that a few tears had escaped his eyes.

“I love you so much,” he breathed.

“Peter,” you protested as you felt that coil tightening some more.

One hand slid to the small of your back, and he held you against him. He pressed his lips against yours before murmuring:

“Come with me.”

And you did.

You gasped into his mouth as you spasmed around him, legs trembling and shaking like they never had before. His hands and mouth never left you, and you didn’t even realize when your hands were suddenly free, nor when they held onto him. Your bodies were slick with sweat, and as he talked you through it, you didn’t know if your tears were from fear or the overwhelming onslaught of emotion that came with this newfound feeling.

This feeling of being loved.

tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @xoxabs88xox @darkficreposter @sebabestianstan101 @girlingreen @villanellevi @harringtonsblackgf @opheliadawnwalker3 @mcudarklibrary @notyourtypicalrose @readermia

#dark!peter parker #dark!peter #peter parker #peter parker x reader #dark fic #marvel

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thesillylittlesnek · 3 years

Text

The Things That Waited

That’s right, i wrote some more! this was a writing project for school, but it turned out pretty well so here you are!

There was a forest beyond the gate. The trees were tall – tall enough to be seen over the top of the towering stones. They said if you could climb to their top, you could see the edge of the world. I never put much stock in that.

I had never seen the outside. None of us had. Outside there were cursed things, monsters that roamed the grassy woods. Monsters with fangs long enough to tear through steel. Strong enough to fell one of the tallest trees.

Or so they said. Those stories? Those I could believe. Because one of us had seen Outside. His name was James. He was my best friend, but he never told me what he saw out there. But I knew it was bad. No natural creature could have done that. Not to him.

He had stumbled through the gate, and for a moment there was light in his eyes. Excitement – the glory of his discovery, the adrenaline of doing what cannot be done.

But then there was the blood dripping down his cheek. Following the curve of his face, turning his pale lips red. Spreading, shockingly bright against the gray of his shirt. His torn shirt, half of it shredded, the skin beneath unrecognizable.

He had fallen to his knees, his own blood pooling around him. His knife was in his hand, stained with crimson. His eyes – his beautiful green eyes – they'd searched frantically, almost blindly. And they’d settled on me, kneeling beside him, pressing gloved hands to the worst of his wounds.

There was so much blood. I couldn’t understand how there could be so much. It pooled beneath us. It dripped, thick and heavy from our clothes. I remembered him pulling something from his pocket. It was a small marble, shadows swirling within. It hung on a silver chain.

I tried to tell him not to move, that he was only making things worse, but he reached up. The cold glass hung heavily against my heart. It seemed to throb – a steady heartbeat, contrasting with my own.

Pounding in my chest, frantic to save my James.

But I watched. He smiled once, fleeting and bright. The last burn of a star as it burns out and finally dies. I couldn’t remember crying, but my tears mixed with his blood all the same. And his green eyes faded, dulling. Losing their spark. Their life that had led him. Gone.

I could feel his blood soaking my shoes.

The marble hung around my neck, tucked neatly into the collar of my shirt. I protected it, made sure it never broke. I didn’t know why, but it was the last thing I had of James left. And that made it invaluable.

I grew distant. My emotions seemed to have no spectrum, only mindless rage and useless apathy. One day the rage won, an overreaction to a starving boy’s attempt to pickpocket. I fought with him, and it felt good. He fought back despite his size – and he wasn’t strong. But it was enough to hurt when he punched me.

It was only later, after I’d already won, when I saw the cracks spiderwebbing across the glass. The shadows’ heartbeat increasing – faster – faster – for the first time since I'd first seen it.

I felt tears threatening to spill. My last memento of James, broken as everything else. I closed my eyes against the burn, the marble slipping to the ground, shattering entirely.

“Hello, child. I must thank you for relieving me of that prison.” It was as though many voices spoke at once yet heard from a great distance.

I glanced up. The shadows seemed to have taken a form – now, this should have surprised me more, but at this point the world could have ended and I would have simply stood by and watched. It hesitated, its mouth, the only feature it had, quirking in what seemed to be a toothily grin of confusion. “Do you have a... name? Or something I can call you by?”

“Yeah, sure. Call me Lyss. What about you?”

It shifted away slightly, wide grin faltering. “I have no name to speak of, Lady... Lyss.”

I peered at it. “There’s a character in a book I read once – it was often just a smile, alone without a body. They called it the Cheshire Cat. Does Chessie fit? And you can drop the ‘lady,’ I'm just a schoolgirl.”

“That seems acceptable,” it said, and its smile widened toothily. “In return, perhaps wishes may be in order? For my kind are known as Jinn.”

“Wishes?” I asked, stepping a bit closer.

“Wishes,” it confirmed. “Three, though I warn you of the consequences should you take them.”

Hesitating, I tried to brush away the thoughts of lifeless green eyes. “I wish... no. I wish to see outside without threat of death.”

It didn’t respond, only reached for my hand. I followed it, the ghost of a smile tugging at my lips. It led me through alleys and cobbled streets led me to the eastern wall. Smiling almost like a human – almost - Chessie ran a shadowed hand across the bricks. They slid away, forming a smooth gateway. I stepped through, watching the Things That Waited – iridescent white monsters the size of lions, with the fangs of a viperfish - as they turned to stare, snarling curiously.

“Can I make a second wish, Chessie?” It nodded, its smile knowing and almost sad. It knew what I was going to do, knew what impulses I was running with.

“I wish James alive again – alive and well.”

I didn’t notice the way the Things sniffed at the opening in the gate, how one tentatively tested the edge. I was too focused on Chessie, watching as it sighed. Watching as smiling shadows enveloped us in darkness.

I did notice when out of the fog, guided by Chessie’s long-fingered hands, came James. Stumbling and skeletal but alive.

That was when I heard the screams. Chessie watched me – or I think he did. “You have one wish left, Lyss. You can wish your city safe, but once you enter again, your protection in the wild wanes. And your beloved James has no protection.”

Already I could see some smaller Things eyeing him curiously. “I wish...” I wish for the city to be safe. I should have wished that. But I was scared and reckless and hopeful all at once. “I wish for James and me to be immortal.”

I felt different immediately, and a good thing too, for a beast leaped at James. But it was unable to hurt him, claws glancing off harmlessly.

But I knew it was the wrong choice as screams echoed within the city, innocent blood spilling onto the cobbled streets and splattering the walls. And I knew if I could go back I would. But Chessie smiled one last time, shadows dissipating into light.

And the screaming stopped.

and there you have it: here’s the tag list, lmk if you want removed/added

@confused-as-all-hell @thebonecarver @matthias-is-alive @simping-for-solangelo @ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog @saltyfortunes @fuckinhotsauce @nightshade3465

#lin wrote something?#schoolwork #writing #blood cw #death cw #gore cw #do i need to put these warnings here?

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cunningambitousdetermined · 3 years

Text

i need a plot for this

yall so ive been trying really hard to get back into writing and i went to a writing camp this summer. im going to post a poem that i wrote there later bc im super proud of it but right now i have something else i need help with. SO basically there was a prompt about someone finding a letter or a note. that’s the prompt. so i wrote something, really liked it BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE TO TAKE IT FROM HERE. my basic ideas involve the two characters meeting each other again to do SOMETHING WHICH I DONT KNOW and slowly arcane (youll see when you read the story below) thaws and falls in love with kalon and kalon has always been in love with her and its like best friends to enemies to friends to lovers ya know? ANYWAY if you dont hate me for being inactive and needy, please read this and help me.

Dear Arcane,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 10 years. Wow. I don’t even know if you’ll ever get this, you could’ve moved. You could be dead. Oh god, that’s dark. You’re not dead, someone would’ve told me, I’m sure. So that must mean that there’s a good chance you have this, but I’m not even sure if you’ll read it.

He was right, as he most often was. Arcane had not planned to read the letter from the moment she read her name on the envelope, written in a neat sort of messy handwriting that could only come from one person. The letter had been sitting at her desk for a week before memories began to drown her and she knew she had to open it.

That’s not the point though, I’m sure you’ll read this. You’ve always been a sucker for the intimacy of written letters. Maybe that’s why I wrote to you instead of calling.

Arcane closed her eyes, the pounding of the memories at the door slowly consuming her. She took a deep breath and let them in. The whispers started to fill the room, every word echoing off the walls, like her past had become a living, breathing thing in her room. How could he write her now? After all these years. Anger reared it's small head in the back of her mind. How could he be so casual as if he wasn't the boy who ripped her heart out and tore it to pieces.

Maybe it’s because I did read all the letters you wrote to me. Even after the voicemails stopped filling my phone and the emails ran dry, your letters kept coming.

She remembers writing those letters, the pen shaking in her hand as it hit the paper. She remembers wondering what you said to someone like him, a friend who left you behind. The squeeze in her chest that tightened each time he didn’t reply. The break in her heart when the last letter she ever wrote was returned to her doorstep.

If you’ve read this far without tearing my letter to pieces, then I would say this is a good start to our reunion. I’ve missed you. Your stubborn ways, always trying to keep me safe. But you always came with me wherever I went anyway. I miss your secret smile, the one you saved just for me. The treehouse we built in your yard. Do you miss that? I wonder if you wonder about me. I wonder if I can even ask that of you.

She did miss them. But, those things that she missed were long gone. The treehouse was overgrown with vines, Arcane was sure you couldn’t even get into it anymore. She went with him on his stupid adventures because what would she do if he left and met new people? He would leave her and she would be alone. So she desperately followed him blindly, hoping it would keep him close. Arcane missed her secret smile, the genuine one she had always saved for him. He missed it. How could he miss something that he destroyed. With his one and only letter to her, he demolished any leftover love for him that hid in her heart. He couldn’t ask if Arcane wondered about him. That wasn’t fair. That night, ten years ago, was still a raw wound in her soul that she was pretty sure would never heal.

The rain was relentless that night, banging against every edge of the house, but a little girl was waiting by the door, not even flinching as the lightning and thunder clapped furiously. Arcane peeked her head above the window frame to find the mailman running through the storm, his frantic steps pounding through the floor of the house. Her eyes lit up with a hope that was slowly fading with each mail drop. She opened the door and hid the small smile that started to spread up her face with a cough.

“Hi, Dan!” Arcane’s voice gave away the excitement that was flooding her system.

“Hey, Arcane.” Dan couldn’t help the pitiful grin that he gave her. She waited by the door for him every day and each day there was no letter for her. It must be soul-crushing, he thought, waiting for a letter that never comes.

“Is there…?” Arcane was practically on her tiptoes at this point. Dan rifled through the letters, dread settling as her name wasn’t there. Again. And then there was a squeal. “Oh, Dan! I found it! I knew- I knew it- I told them!” Her sentences didn’t even come out fully as she beamed, her smile brighter than any ray of the sun.

Arcane had run into the house, a breeze following in her wake. Plopping down into the soft plush couch, she ripped open the envelope, not caring about the paper that flew everywhere in the room. A paper fluttered out, floating toward the ground. Arcane grabbed it, hands shaking, she could practically feel the sweat dripping down her face. Words were the easiest way to break someone. The letter only contained eleven words, yet they would stick with her for the rest of her life.

Stop writing me. None of it was real. You were nothing.

Eleven words. And they shattered her. Crumbling, shattering, a million pieces breaking. Sobs racked through her whole body, her chest shaking and trembling with each broken breath. She caught her face in the mirror hanging off the pale wall and didn’t recognize the girl that stared back. You were nothing. A scream tore through her, the ache of her heart so raw that even the sun seemed to cry, rain dripping onto the panes of the windows. And slowly, so very slowly, Arcane buried the ache and gathered the shattered pieces of her heart and encased them in an impenetrable cage, never to opened again.

The ache was still present now, ten years after the letter had arrived. The dullness of her buried hurt made her clench her fists around the letter that sat in her hand now, the same lopsided handwriting adorning it.

But, that’s not why I’m writing this letter. I’m writing this with an actual purpose, if you can imagine that. I didn't just write to rehash our friendship.

Arcane could feel her eyes narrowing, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the inanimate piece of paper. An actual purpose? To break her heart all over again? This time she did roll her eyes, even though no one was there to see it. But, it wasn’t the fact that he wrote her after all these years or that his tone was friendly throughout that made her body freeze. It was the last line that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention.

In all the years that Arcane had known him, he'd never been very dependent. He often just struggled in silence and figured them out on his own. Not once, not ever, had has asked for help. But, there the sentence was inked in his slanted, loopy writing.

I need your help.

Love,

Kalon

~~everything below here is stuff that doesnt have to be a part of the story but i still liked it and where it was going (idk please give me ideas)~~

The quiet, shock of the room seemed to weigh on Arcane. She flopped back onto her bed, the soft pillows cushioning her landing. I need your help. Those few, simple words, tugged at the strings that bound her heart. He needed her. The thought was fleeting as just as quickly as it came, it left. In its spot was anger. Now he needed her? After all those years when she needed him? What did he do then? Nothing. And that’s what she was going to do now. She huffed in satisfaction, tossing the envelope to the side. Her fingers reached into her hair, massaging her head. There were too many things to think about right now. Arcane squeezed her eyes shut as memories stung her eyes in the form of tears.

“Please, don’t leave me.” Arcane had whispered, her small breaths filling the one room of the treehouse.

“I don’t have a choice. You know I don’t want to go.” Kalon’s voice broke and he looked away so Arcane couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. It was silent.

“We’ll still be best friends right?”

“Yeah.” Kalon’s reply didn’t hold much conviction, causing Arcane to look over at him, confused, glossy eyes narrowing.

“To the moon and back, Kal, remember?” She said, her tone desperate. It was a promise they made one night as they were watching some cheesy movie on the old television set. The boy had told the girl that he loved her too ‘the moon and back’. Kalon had then explained that the two characters said that so that they would never be apart. They could meet at the same moon, always and then they could go back. And then, they would never be fully apart. Arcane had liked that. So naturally, she had grabbed Kal’s face and made him promise that they would go ‘to the moon and back’ if they were ever apart. It became a goodbye for them, a way of saying ‘I’ll see you soon’.

“Yeah,” Kal had replied, a smile barely curling through his lips, “I’ll race ya there.”

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, letting her memories flow down her cheeks and into the bedsheets, but eventually she had to get up. She pulled herself up and off the bed, limbs protesting at the use. She just needed a few days is all, then she wouldn’t even remember what she was crying for. Kalon didn’t mean anything to her anymore.

thank you for reading this far, i love all of you. just throw out ideas please. or give me some advice, i would love that. whether its about my writing or the plot i would love to have tips and constructive criticism on how to get better! tagging some moots who i hope dont hate me after this below the cut:

@natashxromanovf @pad-foots @griffxnnage @voidmalfoy @flxss-bxbblxs @alwaysreading @herondalesunsetcurve THANKS YALL I LOVE YOU MORE THEN I EXPRESS AND I DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT DESERVE ALL OF YOU AND YOUR LOVE

#my writing #a book?#writing a book #plot ideas #please give me some ideas #writing #original characters #and an original storyline #found letter prompt

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masonscig · 3 years

Text

pairing | mason x sofía

word count | 4.3k

warnings | angst, blood, body horror, gore. please let me know if i need to add any other tags!

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @masonsfangs, @queerbrujas, @nerdferatum, @peonylon, @yoru-no-nekousagi

author’s note | sorry in advance – i know this wouldn’t happen in canon like. at all, but i just love making mason do some introspection :-)

read on ao3!

•─────────────────•

He was sure that he’d ground a line into the linoleum floor from how fast he was pacing. Nate’s voice was long gone from his subconscious – at this point he couldn’t be comforted.

For fourteen days he’d been outside that room, day in and day out.

He left for the basic necessities like… showering when absolutely necessary, but if anyone dared to try to relieve him, he was a gnashing, snarling mess. After the first couple days, they just left him alone.

They wouldn’t allow him in.

The most he’d heard from her was a mumbled greeting (said to someone else) through a cracked door.

He slumped into the chair he’d parked outside the door, fatigue curling around his muscles, winding its way up his nerves, the brute of it settling on his eyelids.

Fighting sleep wasn’t that hard – it’d never been this hard.

He’d been a tense ball of both rage and distress for so long that the first time he unclenched – there, hunched over in an uncomfortable folding chair – was due to pure exhaustion.

The metronome on the other side of the door was the only thing keeping him awake.

As long as he could hear her pulse through the walls, he wasn’t leaving.

He had to do something to stay awake. She could call him in any minute now –

So he started counting. One, two, three.

This is so fucking stupid, he thought, curling his hands into fists so tight that his skin screamed at him to stop before he broke through.

But he kept counting, kept counting until he was well into the thousands, not caring how much time had passed.

Thankfully, her heartbeat was steady, strong, so he knew she was still on the other side of the wall. That’s all he could ask for since he’d been kept in the dark for days.

Counting at least kept his mind off of the things that (rightfully) tormented him.

Mason could count on one hand the times he’d been truly terrified in his life. Most of them had happened the past few years.

Lots of times if he tried hard enough, he could feel the fragmented remnants of fear from a past life he knew nothing about, but those moments were rare and fleeting.

He usually pushed them down, deep down, until they bobbed to the surface like some deep sea anomaly that was trying to tug at his curiosity. It normally didn’t amount to much, but every once in a while he divulged in it, experiencing that bone deep ache of something he didn’t even think himself capable of feeling in the first place.

Since he met Sofía, though, fear was interwoven into his everyday life, like the ashes of his past were meticulously sprinkled across Wayhaven and he couldn’t do a single thing but feel it over and over and over.

Nonchalance and deflection couldn’t shield him from the shit he’d been through the past two weeks.

He’d taken the worst tongue lashing from Rebecca he’d ever gotten – it was the first time he wanted to curl into himself and hide.

“You knew how she felt about this,” Rebecca whispered furiously, her eyes well past brimming with tears.

She blinked them away, tearing into him as they streaked down her cheeks and onto the linoleum, not even pausing to wipe them.

“Our policy has always been to turn those who are one hundred percent consenting to the process, and you deliberately breached protocol when you knew this wasn’t what she wanted.”

Agent Olmos was sobbing through her anger, striding towards him while he backed farther and farther down the hallway towards the exit.

He let her continue, as did the rest of Unit Bravo, watching wide-eyed from behind her as she tore him to shreds in the same warehouse she aided in making their home.

“I hope you know that you cannot run from this. I plan on pursuing punishment to its full extent,” she said through stuttered breaths. “The worst the Agency can give.” The threat tacked on at the end of her tirade haunted him for days. And he’d never forget the look of absolute dejection tugging at every inch of her body.

Unit Bravo had stopped trying to console him days before.

Well, Nate and Felix stopped.

Adam was… vastly less understanding. He was furious, nearly as furious as Rebecca, but for different reasons.

He’d shut Mason out the second he’d chosen wrong, siding with Rebecca immediately.

Nate was still on the fence, opting to try to maintain the peace.

Felix was the only one who’d stood by Mason through it all.

“We’ve been kept in Wayhaven to protect her, right? Well, he did what he thought was protecting her at the time. And she’s alive, right?”

Mason overheard Felix defending him in hushed tones, trying to plead his case to Adam.

Well, he was right. He did exactly what he thought would save her at the time.

But he really didn’t think, he did.

Seeing her in a crumpled heap of nothing but limbs and blood triggered the worst of that feeling he tried suppressing.

If he had to put a name to the feeling, he’d probably say it was like being struck by a lightning bolt. Fear zapped him, violently so, each nerve ending in his body on edge, leaving behind a painful sting.

He’d sunk his fangs into her neck before they could stop him, releasing venom into the bite as Adam’s hand grabbed at his shoulder.

“Let me fucking go –” he yelled, thrashing in Adam’s ironclad grip.

“Is she breathing?” Nate asked in a raised voice, directing Felix while trying to keep Adam from crushing Mason.

Felix crouched next to Sofía's bloodied form, pressing fingers to the other side of her neck, shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Yeah, she’s breathing.”

“We have to get out of here now, Adam,” Nate shook his head frantically. “We might not make it back in time –”

“We will.” Adam said matter-of-factly, jaw firmly set.

“Let him carry her.”

“Absolutely not, he deliberately compromised the mission –”

“There was nothing deliberate about it. Please, we need to go –”

“Guys?”

Felix’s timid voice tore them both out of their argument and Mason stopped thrashing for a moment to look where he was pointing: her neck.

The scar was shrinking before their eyes, the crescent moon disappearing, replaced with her smooth, warm skin.

A low groan of pain echoed through the room. They collectively winced at the sound.

“She’s healing.”

The first crack was the loudest, reverberating off of the walls like a gunshot, startling everyone.

But with each one an even scarier sound came from her lips, the garbled broken moans filling the space between them and sending chills up Mason’s spine.

“We have to go, now.”

Nate was demanding, not asking, at that point. Adam gave him a curt nod before releasing Mason, one hand still grasping his arm.

“Take her to the warehouse. We have to prepare for the worst case scenario. Be on guard.”

“She’s going to survive,” Mason growled, shaking out of Adam’s grip.

“We don’t have time for arguments, guys, she’s turning right now –” Felix was nearly shouting, frantic and unprepared to witness what was happening in front of him.

Mason’s arms were curling underneath her back and the bend of her knees before another word was uttered.

“Felix go with him –” Nate called after them.

“Got it,” he nodded, already rushing to keep up with Mason’s lightning fast gait.

Felix smashed the large glass door open with pointed feet, trying desperately to clear pathways before Mason could get there.

One of the shards split the skin of Mason’s cheekbone open, but he barely winced, determined to push himself to his absolute limit to make it back to the warehouse in time.

The way every muscle in his body screamed at him like they never had before was nothing if it meant she’d be safe.

He could ignore the pain, sure.

He couldn’t ignore what was happening in his arms, though.

Crack after agonizing crack, she was breaking apart in his arms, her body shattering and putting itself together.

All he could do was grit his teeth and push himself harder.

Felix was clearly more affected, his expression one of horror, trying not to react to her cries of pain.

By the time they made it to the warehouse doors, she was shrieking, her animalistic screams slicing through the dead of night.

“Where do we – what do we do –” Felix was panicking, looking to Mason for an inkling of guidance.

“My room,” Mason grunted, forcing himself to sprint the last hundred feet to his bedroom.

For the last few minutes of her transformation, he and Felix sat by her side, trying to hold her down while she thrashed through the pain.

Her body stretched and broke and grew underneath their palms, her entire frame changing before their eyes.

She was still bloodied, but not battered, all of her lacerations from their last fight zipping up until there wasn’t a trace that she’d taken any damage.

The room was tense, even more so when Adam stepped in, his gaze steely, his glare cutting.

By the time Nate joined the room (thankfully) the worst of it was over, and she stilled, transitioning from loud moans of pain to labored breaths.

“Is it over?” Felix whispered, his tear streaked face glistening in the light when he looked up at Adam.

Adam nodded, lips set in a firm line. “If she comes to, she’s survived. If she turns feral, we’ll have to finish her off before Agent Olmos arrives.”

Mason’s voice was guttural, eyes wild, coming from a place of protectiveness that surprised even him.

“You’re not touching her –” he pushed off of the bed and stood at his full height, chin tilted slightly to eye the other man with a menacing glare. “– not if I have anything to say about it.”

“It is not up for debate. We will not risk keeping her alive for your ignorant, selfish reasons,” Adam nearly spat, voice unwavering.

When he said he’d kill for the Agency without hesitation, Mason didn’t think Adam would take it this far.

She was a part of the team… she was one of them.

“You’re that comfortable killing one of your own?” He shouted, his own volume foreign to him.

He wasn’t that guy.

He was the laid back one. The one who didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone.

She’d done this to him. She’d snuck her way into his life a fucking song Felix played on loop until it was on repeat at the back of his mind for months and months and months.

“I’m comfortable following protocol, despite your apparent imperviousness to rules.”

“Adam, Mason, please,” Felix whispered from below. “She wouldn’t want this.”

Icy green and grey eyes were downcast, almost in shame at their outbursts.

Mason turned away from Adam, rolling his lips. “You’re right.”

“I apologize for arguing, but I will not change my mind.”

Mason nodded once, kneeling down next to Sofía's form as Adam slipped out of the door.

When she finally awoke, she was surrounded by the entire team – Unit Bravo and her mother.

She blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim lighting.

“Mason?” Her half lidded gaze stopped on him and her brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here – what happened – last thing I remember is getting knocked out –”

Struggling to sit up, she shifted her weight until she was upright. “Did we finish the mission? Did you guys make it out safe?”

“We have a lot to discuss, Sofía,” Nate said cautiously, stepping forward until he was looking over the bed.

“About the mission?”

“Not exactly.”

She stiffened at Nate’s tone, appearing a bit more alert, her eyes darting across each person’s somber expression.

“What’s going on?”

“You almost died, Sofía,” Felix murmured, struggling to keep his voice even.

She still looked puzzled, her eyes flitting between everyone in the room, gauging their reactions to what Felix said.

She landed on Mason, gaze pleading.

Tell me. Be honest with me, they said.

“Dammit, I had to – I couldn’t just let you –” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

Mason knew he didn’t fuck up, but it sure felt like he did.

She crumbled before him, her expression one of a person who’d realized her humanity had been stolen from her.

Fisting the sheets, she looked down at her clenched hands, before ripping the cloth away, staring at her body in sheer disgust.

“This can’t be happening –” she whispered, her breathing becoming more and more frantic.

She rotated her hands in front of her face, scanning her long slender fingers (that weren’t before) with wide eyes.

A choked sob silenced her, her shoulders, hands, lips trembling.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted, but we can work with you. We can accommodate you –”

She cut Nate off with a half-laugh, half-sob.

Whatever retort she was going to spit in his direction wasn’t coming, instead replaced with hysterical cries.

And whatever Mason planned to say to her wasn’t coming either.

He wasn’t one to preplan speeches, especially ones that were… apologetic (to say the least). His mind was completely blank as he watched the woman he thought he’d saved shatter in front of him.

He’d never seen her cry like this – he’s not sure anyone had.

She didn’t cry, not really, unless she was angry. Passionate.

Hadn’t seen her cry in a while, though. Couldn’t remember the last time she did, it’d been so long. He was to blame for most reasons she spilled tears.

And this time it was because of him. Again.

“Please let us try to help you,” Nate said, finally, somehow the bravest in the group, crouching down until he was on a knee, nearly eye level with her hunched form.

“There’s nothing we can do to undo your turning, but we can make you comfortable. It’s a little bit of an adjustment, but we can coach you –”

“A little bit?” She shook her head, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks.

Her head tilted up to survey the room again, her expression pained. “Why didn’t you just let me die?”

He stepped forward impulsively, jaw clenched. “Don’t say that.”

“You knew I didn’t want this – all of you knew I didn’t want this. Why did you let him change me?”

Change. But she was the same old Sofía.

“He’d already sunk his teeth in your neck by the time we noticed him move. We couldn’t stop him in time,” Adam said from the corner, brows furrowed, clearly uncomfortable.

Rebecca and Felix remained silent, clearly the most affected.

“I need all of you to get out.”

“We cannot do that, detective. There’s much we need to talk over –” Adam started, but she cut him off with a yell.

“If you don’t get the fuck out of this room right now, I’ll make you get out. Rebecca, that includes you. Get out. Now.”

The collective shock followed them out into the hallway as they straggled out of the room.

“Not you, Mason. Stay.”

The tone of her voice was enough to rattle him.

As soon as Felix closed the door behind him (after giving a worried glance back at Mason), she was pushing herself off of the bed. She struggled to stand upright like she was relearning how to walk again on new legs.

When she stood at her full height, she appeared to be tormented by the revelation.

She’d become taller than Felix and only an inch or two shorter than Mason. Her limbs were gangly, her body type completely different.

More tears fell, more sobs came, and with each cry he couldn’t help but feel himself cracking too.

“I did what I thought was right.”

“Did you? Did you really?”

“You were dying right in front of me. I couldn’t let you go, not like that –”

“Have you always intended on changing me? Do you care that little about me and what I want? Are you that selfish?”–

Fear – he was engulfed in it. The repressed storm – the one he’d always stood at the eye of – shifted, and he was engulfed in the monstrous waves, colliding with his worst fears at the same time he realized what they were.

He was going to lose her. And it was his fault.

He gritted his teeth, trying to come up with some kind of justification that didn’t sound selfish.

She spoke before he could collect his thoughts.

“My body is… different. It doesn’t even feel like mine anymore,” she whispered, plopping back onto the edge of the bed, head hung low.

“You’re still a detective. You’re still you. Nothing else around you’s changed,” he said.

He hoped that restating facts would be some kind of replacement for whatever jumbled mess was going on inside of his mind.

“No. I was supposed to decide who I’m going to be and you made the decision for me.”

His whole body stiffened, glued in place at the vitriol dripping from her words.

“You made my choice for me. I didn’t want this,” she repeated, shaking her head, hugging her arms around herself.

“You don’t have to be a detective –”

“Can you not just say you’re sorry? Is that really not in your vocabulary?” She asked, making a sound that sounded almost like a laugh, but not quite. “Have you seriously gone a hundred years without apologizing to anyone?”

She wasn’t exactly wrong.

Admitting fault was a weak point of his. Truth be told it cut his pride deep to say “I was wrong,” because he always had some kind of justification.

He was painfully stubborn. That didn’t bother him too much – not until those rare moments (like that one) where no matter how much he knew the other person was in pain, it was exceedingly difficult to form those three words and push them past his teeth.

The one time his impulse doesn’t kick in, and it’s when he should be desperately apologizing and groveling and begging on his hands and knees for forgiveness.

He’d thought for the longest time that a hundred years of an immortal lifestyle had wiped away all traces of his humanity, but it lingered.

Maybe that’s why she was a breath of fresh air – she was drawing those irrefutable human emotions that he didn’t believe himself to have anymore and tugged them to the surface.

She wasn’t a breath of fresh air – she was air. He’d been drowning for so fucking long, unchallenged, unchanging, and she came along like an otherworldly presence that wholly stilled his water.

God, was she his moon?

Did she hold that much power over his waves?

This revelation couldn’t have come at a worse time, as she continued despite his silence.

“I wasn’t supposed to come back here… now I’m trapped. I can never get out.

“I was supposed to be a doctor. I was supposed to be someone.”

The arguments he thought he’d spit out dissolved, as whatever he said next had to mean something. It couldn’t undo the damage, but it might could quell a sliver of her pain.

“You’re someone to me.”

She sank her teeth into her wobbling lip, no doubtedly harder than she intended, blood dotting the pink skin.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you for this,” Sofía murmured, voice surprisingly steady with her usual resolve, despite not being able to meet his eye as she said it. “Please go.”

And just like that, he was engulfed again.

He’d been nearly disowned by his teammates and prosecuted by his former boss, his entire immortal life in shambles, but he didn’t fucking care.

The only thing that mattered to him was whether or not she was going to speak to him again.

He squeezed his hands into tight fists again, trying not to think about what she’d said to him after she’d turned – she was understanding. She was kind. She was forgiving.

She was Sofía.

He’d robbed her of her humanity, sure, but he could’ve never taken away what made her Sofía. No one could do that.

“Hey, Mason. We’re having a meeting in thirty minutes,” Nate had said, sympathy written on his features like Mason was a tragedy and he’d already read the ending.

He thought if he waited long enough he could catch her and say what they both needed to hear: I’m sorry.

When the door finally opened (a minute before the meeting started), she stepped out, bookbag slung over her shoulder, not sparing him a second glance.

He stumbled after her, exhausted still.

He found himself hesitating to speak first, worried he was going to say the wrong thing, and nervous that she wouldn’t hear him out.

She was vastly more intimidating after her turning than she was before – her body had rearranged itself to be more predator-like. Of course he was scared.

But he didn’t fear her.

Her long legged stride was less determined than usual. Her posture was worse, like she was trying to hide. Her presence didn’t hold the confidence she used to have.

It was getting harder and harder to find what made her her.

But he still didn’t fear her.

As soon as they were settled in for the meeting (him perched against the seat she used to sit, her standing on the opposite side of the room), Rebecca commanded the meeting, demanding silence with nothing but a look.

“This will be our last formal meeting in Wayhaven, as we’ve all received new assignments.”

Mason’s chest twinged, his grip on the arm of the chair tightening until the fabric tore. No one else appeared as surprised as he was.

“Agent Du Mortain, Agent Sewell, and Agent Hauville, we’ll be relocating for the time being on a minor assignment while the Agency finds us something longer term,” she continued, surveying the room, not sparing Mason a glance.

“Sofía will not be joining us.”

The statement hung in the air like a thick fog.

“I’ve received special clearance for the time being. The Agency is giving me time to sort through my feelings before I decide whether or not I want to continue working for them,” she said, nodding towards her mother, both of them smiling ever so slightly.

When had they gotten so close?

“That’s awesome, Sofía,” Felix grinned, seemingly happy for the first time in weeks. “I can’t wait to visit you and have a sleepover for old times’ sake.”

She didn’t answer, her eyebrows furrowed instead like she was trying to break the news to him gently.

“I’m afraid this is the last time we’re going to see Sofía, Felix,” Nate murmured, reaching out to pat his bat cautiously.

“Ever?” His voice broke with the second syllable.

She dropped her bag and strode across the room, wrapping Felix in a tight hug. When she pulled back, her eyes were watering, too.

“I can’t come back here. Even if I choose this existence and I work for the Agency, they’ll never let me set foot back in this town, and… I don’t think I’d want to, either.”

“She’s right. I’m sure she will have to wait until the townsfolk die off until she can come back,” Adam nodded sympathetically despite his bluntness.

They were talking about her future – she was, too – without including Mason in it. Like she’d already made up her mind and everyone in the room knew but him.

No, he didn’t fear her. He feared life without her.

“Sofía,” he said, finally, voice low, ignoring the boring gazes of Adam and Rebecca.

She met his eyes, and for a split second he was relieved – her eyes were soft, forgiving, human, like the old Sofía.

It didn’t console him for long, though. She wasn’t looking at him the way she used to. She’d forgiven him, sure, but it was more than just that.

She looked at him like she’d moved on, her forgiveness magnanimous in nature, like she’d put it behind her – put him behind her.

Rebecca’s voice snapped him out of it, her tone biting. “Mason, you’ve been ordered to stay behind and stand trial. For the time being, you’ve been stripped of your title. If you’re granted amnesty, your Agent title will be restored, but for now, you’re to be taken into custody and prosecuted as a rogue. If you try to run, lethal force will be used without hesitation.”

Adam’s heavy hand on his shoulder made the situation much more realistic.

He really was losing everything. It wasn’t some horrific nightmare that he could shake himself out of.

The cuffs Nate clicked into place weren’t too tight (he made sure of it).

He couldn’t do a thing but watch Sofía say her tearful goodbyes to everyone.

She cried with both her mother and Felix, but pulled it together for Nate, snuggling her face into his chest. She even managed to get a hug out of Adam, despite his awkwardness.

When she made it to Mason, she tugged his shackled hands upward, slipping underneath his arms, tucking her nose under his chin.

He was stunned, the lump in his throat aching with regret.

He gripped her tighter, burying his nose into her hair. He knew exactly how she smelled, how she felt, how she tasted, but he was committing it to memory since it was the last time.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, arms trembling.

“I didn’t want the Agency to press charges. I tried stopping it. I’m sorry,” she whispered back, hands rubbing at his back in soothing circles.

“If I could take it all back, I would. I’m sorry,” he said again and again, trying to pour all of himself into her to show that he knew he was wrong.

“Maybe in another life.”

And then she was gone. And they were gone.

And he was still there. Still afraid.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc mason #agent mason #mason x sofía #my fic #tw blood #tw body horror #tw gore

38 notes · View notes

calpops · 4 years

Text

falling facade | c.h.

part one: falling flowers

A friendly date with Calum’s best friend’s sister was not supposed to tailspin into a night of blurry secrets and uncertain feelings. And yet, there was no telling of the fleeting taste of sugar and the warmth of being with each other. There was no denying all that lingered between them. And consequently, there was no escaping all of the repercussions and mixed emotions the night created.

5k words

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The party was verging on completion when Calum finally worked his way over to her; he had spotted her almost immediately after entering the yard. He almost didn’t recognize her after years of change and distance. She sat alone on the grass, back to the house with a bottle leaning against her leg. Music was becoming a background noise as the glitzy house party began to wither away. Calum approached her slowly and kneeled down, his own drink settling on the grass. Her head was tilted back, gazing up at the stars in a silent introspection. Calum knew she was aware of his presence; the slight shift in her position offering him a spot by her side. He took it without a word and pressed his back to the siding of the house just like her; let his eyes wander up as he cleared his throat.

“Hey, short stuff,” he began with; the old nickname coming off his lips in a teasing manner as it always had.

“You know I hate being called that,” she answered as she always used to. “Ever since we were kids.”

Calum nodded though she couldn’t see it, her gaze still captured by constellations. He let out a breath as his hand hovered over his drink and his eyes skirted down to hers. It was nearly empty and he couldn’t help but wonder how many she’d already had. His hand abandoned his cup in favor of settling on his lap.

“And I’ll have you know I hit my growth spurt since I last saw you,” she defended as she finally turned to catch eyes with him.

Dark hazel eyes were unblinking and unfazed. She had changed over the years, but her unflinching ability to hold eye contact stayed the same. Calum remembered her in hazy moments. Michael’s sister was sifted into the background of many memories. Now she was a thought at the forefront as Calum arched an eyebrow and took up the bait of banter.

“Yeah, how much did you grow? An inch?” He asked as she sighed with pouted lips and eyes that told him he was a fool.

“Two, actually,” she corrected in such a matter of fact voice Calum couldn’t argue; or continue to use his nickname against her.

“Alright. Arden it is then,” he conceded and though the name was foreign on his tongue after years of not using it the slight smirk on her face made him want to continue the practice. “How has Arden been lately?”

She gave him a pointed look and a smirk but shrugged, a forced nonchalance taking over. She picked at an imaginary loose thread on her striped pants as her feet wiggled and she figured out how she had been doing. Calum gave her time to think it over, craving an honest answer.

“I’d say I’ve been doing okay in some aspects,” she replied and shrugged again. “Maybe not as okay in others. I’m no famous rock star, that’s for sure.”

Calum bit back a sarcastic laugh at her last comment but let the reality of her words before wrap around him. Okay and not as okay. She was a conundrum, a kaleidoscope point of view; this and that all at once. Calum suddenly wanted to see from her eyes, see the shifting lenses and the light and reflections of how okay and how not okay she was.

“Last I knew you were off in Italy somewhere, what brought you all the way out here?” He asked, hoping that maybe Italy and her reasons for visiting were a part of the okay aspects.

Arden shifted, turning so her weight was on one leg and knees were bent and she could face Calum fully. She reached for the bottle she was nursing and took the last small sip from it before putting it aside and pursing her lips in thought.

“Michael didn’t tell you?”

Calum shook his head; confusion clear in the motion. He couldn’t remember Michael mentioning why his sister was here; just that she would be around for a while. He could jump to conclusions and assumptions. A visit finally due after years of evading the city. Needing a favor. Missing her brother. None seemed plausible enough to bring the ever unattainable woman to a standstill in a city she seemingly hated and avoided at all costs. She had travelled the world; studied abroad and backpacked through countries Calum had only ever flew over or saw through airport windows. Yet she steered clear of the place Michael had made a home. And evidentially, that meant she steered clear of Calum.

“A wedding. It’s actually in Vegas but I knew I’d catch hell if I came all this way and didn’t pay him a visit,” she explained and Calum could sense tension in her words.

He’d settle for that explanation; for now. It was thin and terse and he could tell there was much more to it than that. But he was never one for pushing. Time would do the telling much easier than she would. Or Michael, possibly, if Calum asked in the right way. The mood was darkening in a way he didn’t want; a frown cutting across her face as they sat in silence for a moment.

“You didn’t tell me you’re getting married,” Calum joked, hoping his words would lighten the conversation.

He was rewarded when she laughed, but it was all taken back when she sobered and an unknown sadness captured her eyes. It was fleeting; there and gone in an instant. Shying away from the not okay as she reeled herself back in from scattered patterns of shadows.

“Not my wedding,” she said with a slight eye roll and smile; an attempt to follow his lead of lighting up the mood. “It’s pathetic enough I’m showing up to this wedding by myself. Be even worse if I was alone at my wedding. It’s too bad I don’t even have a friend to go with me.”

Calum let out a sarcastic huff and tried to ignore the speculative gaze she now looked at him with. When she didn’t look away and he could see the gears turning—already knowing the thoughts playing in her mind from just one look—he began to shake his head.

“No,” he said before she could say anything else. “No, I’m not gonna be your date.”

The words felt heavy. Heavy enough to sink to the bottom of his stomach and churn. Heavy enough to make him look away from her pleading gaze.

“Oh come on,” she said, voice verging on cracking. “I never ask you for anything.”

“I never ask you for anything either. It’s worked so far. Let’s keep it that way,” he said, words quick to defend his no though his mind wasn’t so sure about it.

When she went silent Calum felt a pull to turn back, heart heavier and faster in its rhythmic beats. Her eyes were now downcast, hands in the grass as fingers tugged on blades and slow breaths escaped her. He was almost certain she was calming herself, as if the situation was enough to make her cry. To make her not okay. Calum felt himself regretting his no as she looked up at him with shining eyes. He stole himself and licked his lips.

“Why don’t you ask Ashton? He likes Vegas.”

“He’s busy,” Arden mumbled and Calum gave her an incredulous look.

“So I’m just your back up then?” He feigned outrage but dropped the act when she seemingly didn’t want to play along.

“I figured you’d say no. I was stupid to even mention it,” she said, trying to wave away the situation as she leaned back against the house, finding the stars once more. “It’d just be nice to have someone I’m comfortable with there. A little moral support.”

“It’s just a wedding, Arden, you’ll be fine,” Calum murmured though he wasn’t sure of his own words.

He’d never seen her like this before. Admittedly, he didn’t spend much time with her alone, ever, but of the memories he was bringing back in none held such weighted words and somber tones. Arden shook her head and emptied her hands of the grass she had pulled up. They drifted off in a sudden breeze and Calum pulled his jacket a bit tighter around him. The night air was cool and he wondered how Arden was fairing in a tank top.

“It’s just a wedding, you’ll be fine,” she repeated and grabbed for her bottle but dropped it when she remembered it was empty. “You try saying that when the ones getting married are your best friend and your ex.”

Calum’s heart sank and stomach twisted; the revelation hitting him hard. He couldn’t imagine that, couldn’t fathom what she must be feeling. She turned back to him and bit her lip.

“Don’t go,” Calum suggested but he knew it would fall on deaf ears.

“That’d be worse than showing up alone.”

“Bring Michael,” he said and even he couldn’t hold back laughter.

“You really just want to embarrass me, huh?” She asked with blazing cheeks and a disapproving shake of the head. “The only thing worse than showing up alone or not showing up at all is showing up with a sibling. I’ll just go by myself.”

They lapsed into silence and Calum took a moment to think, to feel, to see things from her perspective. She went motionless; no wiggle of her feet, no picking at threads or plucking at blades of grass. Her gaze left him and focused on the fence separating property lines in front of them. His heart was pounding hard and fast, eyes burning at just the thought of her situation. Of Arden having to face all of that alone. Of being the one to let her down. His mind was already made up when she spoke again.

“You know, the reception has an open bar. And it’s Vegas. We can ditch as soon as possible; go gamble or drink our woes away.”

“You had me at the open bar,” Calum said though that was a lie. She had him with her glossy eyes and a truth that must have been painful to admit. “As long as Michael’s okay with it.”

Arden smiled, the woes already washing away and being replaced by shining stars twinkling in her eyes. She leaned in closer, barely a breath away.

“Thank you,” her lips nearly brushed his cheek as her whisper carried to him.

Calum warmed at the almost kiss and watched as she slowly stood, eyes searching the remnants of the party. In their conversation more people had fled, the music had been low to begin with but was nonexistent by the time Calum was pulled back.

“I’ll go tell Michael now,” she decided and began to take off in search of him, but turned back to Calum with a smirk. “We leave tomorrow. At five.”

Calum let out a breath and watched her go. He’d be ready. Waiting. Curious and taken by his best friend’s sister’s sudden reappearance and the mysteries that followed her. She’d been evasive for years, as soon as the band took off so did she. Keeping her distance and the answers to mysteries with her.

***

“I don’t know how you suckered me into not only going, but into driving,” Calum mumbled as he switched lanes.

They’d been in the car a while already but the situation was still perplexing to Calum. The road to Vegas wasn’t long in retrospect; for all the time he spent in tour busses and on planes a four hour drive was minimal. But, he was still dumbfounded at the fact he was behind the wheel. Arden’s art of persuasion had grown in the years they were apart.

“I don’t know my way out of California,” she offered and Calum could see from the corner of his eye the way she stretched out in her seat, legs wiggling in her attempt to get comfortable. ”Besides, we’re in Michael’s Tesla, it’s not like you really have to drive if you don’t want to.”

“I still have to be alert and in control. I don’t trust self driving cars,” Calum rebutted and then thought for a moment, a new question suddenly striking him. “If it wasn’t enough you got me to drive, how the hell did you get Michael to let us take his car?”

Calum spared a complete glance her way for just a second, just to see the smile on her face and the way her nose scrunched up.

“Laid the sweetness on thick. Begged, even. Said I’d tell mum on him,” she answered with a giggle.

“You did not.” Calum bellowed out a laugh, suddenly transported to a time where that threat was very real.

If Michael wouldn’t let her play video games with them. If they teased her just a little too much. Got caught spying or reading her journal. A threat of telling always followed. Sometimes tears, but always a threat.

“No. He was nice enough to say yes after a little bit of a puppy dog pout and about thirty minutes of begging.”

Calum straightened and tapped his fingers on the console. “You know I have a car we could’ve taken.”

“Sure,” she said quickly and clipped. “But it’s not as cool as a Tesla.”

“My car is cool,” Calum defended with a staunch expression.

Arden reached over and patted his hand lightly, as if comfortingly, the contact a bit odd; hardly ever having been so casual in those encounters. Not since an almost brush of her lips against his cheek as a thank you last night. And rarely before that.

“Whatever you say.”

The rest of the drive was quiet between them even though Calum had hundreds of questions filtering through his thoughts. He didn’t want to ask when his focus was on the road. He wanted to be able to fully gauge her reactions to them, note if her eyes averted his gaze or her words were tight and said between her teeth. He wanted to know the truths. So instead they listened to music. Her playlist was moody; darker themes carrying the lyrics and heavy instrumentation creating the songs. He felt that maybe there was something to understand there. He often found that music spoke louder than words.

By the time they got to the hotel exhaustion from the drive was winning over. Calum was able to secure his own room last minute; coincidentally and perhaps luckily, across the hall from Arden. With another odd form of contact—an unsure hug that lasted mere seconds—they bid each other good night. Calum stumbled into his room, peeled off his pants and shirt and fell into bed; half dreading the next day and half anticipating his time with Arden. It took him a while to fall asleep, usually he knocked out as soon as his head hit the pillow. But there were too many thoughts and memories swirling through his mind.

Morning came in a rush. It took Calum no time at all to get ready for the wedding; merely showering and throwing on a suit. He wandered across the hall when he was done, wondering if Arden could use some company while she got ready, wondering if she might answer his questions in the meantime. The door swung open after the first knock. Arden stood before him in a bathrobe, hair in a towel and face clean of makeup.

“You’re not even close to being ready, are you?” Calum asked as she moved aside to let him in.

“Ten minutes,” she declared and shut the door before stalking off to the attached bathroom.

Calum was fully prepared for ten minutes to be twenty or thirty or even an hour. He couldn’t ask questions between the walls of the hotel and the obnoxious noise of an old hair dryer blasting on what he assumed was high. He was settled into a chair shoved in the corner, the muted curtains dominating the wall were pulled open just enough for some natural light to spill through and play against the patterns on the carpet. Before Calum could pull his phone out to kill time the hair dryer was shut off and Arden came stalking through the room, headed for her bag on the bed. She was quick in grabbing what she needed; a pair of shoes and something else Calum couldn’t quite make out. Her hair was dry and fell softly down her back; chestnut brown lightening from the sun. Arden looked over at Calum, a bite of a smirk on her lips as she backed away from her bag.

“Five minutes,” she updated with a promise and now Calum was apt to believe her.

When five minutes blew by and all was silent Calum stood from his chair; curious if five was turning to ten. He approached the bathroom door slowly; it was wide open and Arden stood dressed and ready. A red silk dress was heavenly against her skin and Calum wondered if maybe it was too much for a wedding; surely upstaging the bride—but then, for a moment, he considered that no matter what she wore no one else would compare. The dress was short but the Vegas heat provided reason for that. Her hair was now up but loose tendrils framed her face. Painted red lips were quivering and her face had gone flush; hands gripped the lip of the counter so tight her knuckles were visibly whitening. She looked up and caught Calum’s eye in the mirror; detached herself from the counter and moved to him with stiff motions.

“I’m ready,” she whispered with tight words and now shaking hands.

Calum wasn’t sure what led him to placing his hands on her shoulders—another form of touch they had never been comfortable enough to do—or why it was starting to feel so natural. He didn’t understand the way she responded, letting out a breath as if her worries were easing. Only when she locked gazes with him did he speak up and realize how hard this truly was for her.

“You know, we don’t have to go if you aren’t okay,” Calum offered; his sincerity on his sleeve and in his gaze.

Arden shook her head. “No, no. I’m fine. Just a little nervous; I didn’t drag you all the way out here for nothing.”

“Well, it is Vegas. We could just go gamble or drink,” Calum repeated her words back near verbatim and it earned him a smile.

“After,” she said with a decisive head nod and moved away from Calum’s touch and to the door.

He watched her turn her confidence on as they walked to the chapel and then saw it crash and plummet upon entering and having to decide between the bride or groom’s side. Posing as her date left the opportunity to hold her hand open; to give her some comfort while being authentic and playing the part. Her palm was warm and her fingers gave him an appreciative squeeze, and while Calum didn’t notice during that particular moment he responded by running his thumb along the back of her hand soothingly. As if by instinct.

“Guess we’ll go to Viv’s side, at least she didn’t dump me,” Arden mumbled and Calum felt shock tingle up his spine as she led the way to a pair of seats.

The mysteries of Arden’s past were presenting themselves in small offhanded sentences. In queried answers that were tight and hard to swallow. It was almost as if the more Calum found out the less he wanted to know. Yet he needed to; he needed to figure out the okays and not so okays.

Through the ceremony Calum’s gaze kept wandering over to Arden; noting the way she shifted uncomfortably, letting her whisper in his ear as the bridal court walked down the aisle. Her whisper of at least she didn’t ask me to be a bridesmaid, those dresses are hideous making him smirk as he knew she was attempting to cover her pain with humor. He kept his hand in hers and although they’d never done something such as that—possibly the closest being a high five as kids—it felt almost normal as time passed. And in the midst of the vows; generic words that made Calum roll his eyes, he realized there was more to Arden’s world than he realized. He couldn’t picture her ever dating the man at the altar. Simply put, and only ever said in Calum’s mind, he looked like a douche. Like his name was Chad or Justin or something of the sort. The ceremony became a blur to Calum by the time they were at the reception; the promise of an open bar looming past the dance floor.

If Calum hadn’t been holding Arden’s hand he would have lost her in the crowd. She moved with graceful steps past people in their way. The venue was dark but lit with flashing lights. It felt more like a house party than a wedding reception to Calum but the loud drone of music drowned out the chatter of people he didn’t know. The dark provided an escape for Arden as she managed to wrangle them through the crowd and into the shadows. They stopped just short of the bar, tucked into a corner where eyes couldn’t find them and she could catch her breath. Calum could sense it was becoming harder for her, that the ceremony had done her in and the first dance was more than enough to keep her there.

“Want to dance?” Calum asked before he even knew the words were in his mind. His hand was held out to her and in the moment he rationalized it would be a good distraction. Arden bit her lip as she contemplated.

“I didn’t think you were one for dancing,” she said but took his hand nonetheless.

“Guess you don’t really know me.”

“Not anymore,” Arden said and Calum felt the weight of those words.

As he pulled her closer and onto the dance floor the distance they’d had between them for years became more apparent. They were never particularly close growing up, but they’d been in each other’s orbits long enough to know one another. He realized in a mournful way the Calum she knew was still a shy teenager with dreams bigger than his mind could allow at the time. She knew someone who was uncertain and still trying to find a path to follow. A boy with a choice and no right or wrong answers. And he knew her to keep eye contact with volition but blush at the drop of a dime. Teeming with wanderlust but having nowhere to go. A girl with too many contradictions. Time had changed them and any fragment of what they once knew had blown away in years worth of winds.

The music had shifted to something slower, the lights easing with the song to glows scattered across the floor. Calum’s hands settled around her waist; with a light touch and questioning look to ask if it was okay. She communicated that it was by settling her hands on his shoulders. They found a rhythmic sway to the music even though their bodies were a bit stiff at another new form of contact. It took a few moments to warm up and relax. Calum explored her eyes, how dark they were against the glare of white lights. He had questions and now—while they were so close—seemed the best time to start asking.

“When did you even meet them?” He asked, referring to Viv and Chad or Justin or whatever his name was.

A timid and sorrowful smile captured Arden’s lips. He hoped the question wasn’t too much, wanting to avoid another glossy eyed or white knuckled incident. She sighed and Calum felt her hold on his shoulders shift slightly but stay present. He expected her to drop her hold, to fall into silence or turn and walk away. Arden was full of surprises.

“When I was studying abroad. Viv was my roommate and at the time my best friend. I dated Brett until my second year,” she explained.

Brett Calum mused, somehow, that was even worse than being a Chad or a Justin. He realized she kept the details to a minimum but held eye contact; Calum knowing it was the truth. A small bit of the truth that left more questions circling his mind but he was patient; willing to wait for her, knowing there was more than meets the eye.

Arden’s lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed as she thought back to a time he really didn’t understand. Her eyes were contemplative and Calum found himself diving back into them. Her gaze flickered and the lighting played against deep hazel and made it nearly golden for just a moment. He noted the way she squinted when lost in thought and was floored at the sudden panic that captured her now frantic stare. Her line of sight was past his shoulder. It had him turning, catching the bride and groom passing by. It must have been shocking for her; speaking of them in small and painful fragmented words in a world where their lives were intertwined. And now she was an outcast; seeing her old best friend in white with her ex at her side—looking as happy as a couple could be. Without thinking, without inhibitions, he pulled her closer and without hesitation she reciprocated; tucked her head against his chest and let her arms slide down and wrap around him. He felt her body ease against his, could almost hear the breath escaping her over the boom of the music.

Calum’s heart was racing, body buzzing and electrified but the world was in slow motion. The sound of the music faded and all he could hear was the thump of his heartbeat; wondered if she could hear it too. Surely, with her head to his heart she could hear and feel it as well. He chalked it up to the moment. Everything was just a little bit too much. The song was too slow and the lights were too dim and they were too close. The moment was too intimate and it left his reactions skewed. He was susceptible to the influence of everything around them. That’s what he told himself when his hands found the small of her back and his head dipped down, an intoxicating and now familiar scent of honey and peaches finding its way to him.

Arden pulled back and looked up. The heels she wore put them nearly at eye level. And once again Calum found himself moving without thinking, pushing a strand of fallen hair behind her ear and letting his fingers linger and trace down her jawline. She was quiet but Calum swore she moved into his touch. The thought of who they were and who they are entered his mind but it was fleeting. Titles such as best friend’s sister became meaningless in a darkened moment with minimal space between them. This time, with nothing but thoughts accompanying his movements Calum leaned forward; painstakingly slowly with minute movements, giving Arden time to think as well. Maybe his thoughts weren’t all together and rational and maybe he was under the influence of their surroundings and maybe she was too close for any other thought to break through. There were a lot of maybes that made up the moment she closed the distance and red lip stain graced Calum’s lips. It was demure and brief but somehow Calum felt audacious and that time itself had stopped to allow it. His mind was spinning with senses of Arden he’d never known before. She tasted of sugar and left him in an airy free fall.

All too soon it was over. Calum cleared his throat and Arden blinked rapidly. They both came back to reality and a silent understanding of it never happened and it doesn’t count—both separately convinced of the influence of the atmosphere—settled between them. Arden went back to resting her head against his chest and Calum’s hold drifted back down. The music had picked up in tempo but another understanding of we’re fine the way we are slowed the music and the world and with eyes closed the flashing lights didn’t matter. Calum still felt like he was falling; completely winded and not sure he’d ever land or what would be waiting for him if he did. He found himself lost in the moment and sifting through memories; moments in which Michael had mentioned Arden in the years he hadn’t seen her. He was trying to piece her together and hold them together, another sorrowful feeling tugging at his chest as he realized all of the circumstances. That little title in his mind ringing alarm bells he found jolting. He drowned them out in favor of pulling her just a bit closer.

The music cut out and the world made room for a bridal tradition that had Arden on edge. Her grip on Calum tightened at the announcement and a nervous bounce had her shifting weight from leg to leg. In a matter of moments the bouquet would go flying and land in the hands of the person to be married next. A crowd formed around the bride and Arden looked away.

“How about… we go get a drink,” Calum suggested, wanting to take her away from the scene unfolding before them. Wanting to mend whatever pain and heartache she may be feeling.

She nodded.

“How about two? And then we leave.”

Calum followed her lead, quick steps carrying them away from the situation. He heard the drop. Turned to see a bouquet of flowers landed where their feet had been moments ago; Arden luckily oblivious to the unlikely affair. He turned and picked up their pace, wanting to avoid the rush of people trying to find the tradition. Wanting to put plenty of distance between them and falling flowers.

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