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resident-gay-bitch · 2 months

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Sirius Black has been in a whopping total of one relationship. In fourth year, he had a very lovely girlfriend by the name of Mary McDonald. He and Mary are still good friends and he adores her wholeheartedly, and their relationship was really just a bit of good fun.

Sirius Black has kissed a whopping total of sixteen people. All, except Mary, have meant nothing more than a fleeting kiss and a bit of fun. Fourteen of them have been girls, and two very secret ones have been blokes.

Usually, when Sirius gets kissed by whatever fling he’s having at that time, it’s because they want him to shut up. Sirius has a tendency to ramble. He goes on these long, extravagant rants about things that excite him or boil his blood. He gossips and rambles and chatters until his mouth is dry and his jaw hurts too much to say anything else.

He annoys people. He knows that. He’s working on it, slowly. He’s not getting very far, in all these years of trying. He knows this because when he talks for more than three minuets straight, his current make out buddy will just pull him into a kiss and shut him up for a while. And then, if he starts talking again afterwards, they’ll huff and roll their eyes and that’s when Sirius finally stops. He sinks in on himself and hides away and won’t say much about anything for hours.

Sirius only really gets spontaneously kissed when he’s being annoying. He knows this now. And he hates it.

He’s really trying, but he struggles. He struggles so much, it’s just so hard to shut up sometimes when you have such strong emotions like he does.

But he never expected to be too much for James.

He’s rambling, he knows he is. But James never seems to huff or roll his eyes. Sometimes it seems like he zones out and doesn’t listen, but Sirius honestly doesn’t even mind, because James is still there. He might be in his own head, but he’s always still there, and eventually he’ll tune back in and nod along and even ask questions which prompts Sirius to talk even more.

So when Sirius has been rambling for the better part of ten minuets, and James suddenly grabs him and drags him into a quick kiss, Sirius shuts down.

His best friend in the whole world just made him shut up. He’s even gotten insufferable to James. And he knows he’s going on and gossiping about things James doesn’t care about, but if he really doesn’t want to listen he could have just asked.

He didn’t need to make Sirius feel like shit about it.

And it doesn’t help that Sirius has been dreaming about kissing James for years now.

He shuts off, stops talking, and brings his knees up to his chest, “Sorry.” Sirius mutters, and closes his eyes for a moment.

He wants to cry, but he refuses to be so annoying in front of James.

“Sorry?” James asked, sounding confused and kind of offended, “Sorry.” James repeated, and he sounded kind of gutted.

He knows. The worst part is that he knows. He figured it out. He must have. He knows, just from one simple kiss that Sirius is madly in love with him, and that he too hates himself for talking too much. He’s just ruined everything with his inability to shut his fucking mouth.

James has probably been waiting for Sirius to shut up since he got into the dorm, and the only way he could figure out to do it was to kiss his mouth shut.

Sirius is going to cry. He can’t bring himself to say anything before he crawls out of James’ bed curtains and climbs into his own. He draws them shut and curls up under the covers, casting a silencing charm around him before crying himself a headache.

James pokes his head into the curtain after a while. And Sirius really tries his best to not cry more but he can’t help it, he’s so annoying that his cries outweigh the fucking charm.

Just like his mother said. Insufferable chatterbox. He should have let her sew his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry.” James said, sitting at the very end of Sirius’ bed, knees curled to his chest and cheeks stained with sticky tears.

Sirius couldn’t bring himself to say anything, too afraid it would annoy James more. He hates annoying his friends, especially James. Oh, James.

“I shouldn’t have-“ James cleared his throat, “I know we’re best friends, but… well, I suppose we’re not now. But you’re- you’re the one person I’ve always trusted, and you already know, so I’m just gonna say it, okay? I’m… I’m queer.”

Sirius tensed and looked at James, “What?”

“I’m queer.” James confirmed, “And I- I’m sorry I just… I thought maybe you- maybe you felt the same. Sometimes I wonder… when you… you look at me like- like I’m… I don’t know. It’s stupid. It’s all so- I’m so fucking stupid.” James sniffled, rubbing the back of his palm on his nose, “I don’t want to lose you over some stupid feelings, and I know you hate me. I’m sorry your stupid best friend is a queer, I know it’s- I’m… I’m sorry, okay. But I need you to know- I’ve always wanted you to know.”

“You’re…” Sirius sat up, pulling the blankets to his chest, “You’re queer?”

James nodded, “Please don’t tell anyone.” He looked at Sirius through glassy eyes, “Please don’t hate me.”

“James I-“ Sirius launched himself forward, placing his hand over James’ and squeezing it tight, “I’d never hate you. Never. Why would you- Jamie… I’m… me too, okay. I’m… I’m queer too.”

“What?” James sniffled, “You are?”

Sirius nodded, “But I don’t understand what this has to do with me… with me needing to shut up.”

“It has nothing to do with- Sirius…” James pleaded, dipping his head to search Sirius’ eyes, “Where did you get the impression I wanted you to shut up.”

“You kissed me, James!” Sirius defended, “People only ever kiss me like that when I’m being annoying- need to shut up. I… you found my stupid rambling so annoying that you needed to shut me-“

“I don’t find your rambling annoying or stupid, Pads- I’m… don’t you… wait- people do that? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m ashamed, obviously, James.” Sirius sobbed, bringing his hands to his eyes, “You’re stuck with a best friend who can’t shut his mouth. Why would I annoy you more by rambling about my petty problems that are entirely my own fault.”

“Because you’re my best friend.” James muttered, pulling Sirius’ hands away from his face, “And you’re meant to tell me these things so I can protect you from them… oh, Sirius, love, I’m so sorry.” James frowned and wiped some of Sirius’ tears away with the calloused pads of his thumbs, “I’m so sorry people treat you that way. I don’t feel like that, love. You know I enjoy your rambling, I love the sound of your voice. It brings me so much comfort.”

Sirius sniffled, “So why would you shut me up like that?”

“Sirius…” James tipped his head with coy smile, “I didn’t shut you up, love. I kissed you.”

“I don’t understand.” Sirius whispered.

“Sirius…” James pressed, “I kissed you.”

Sirius could only blink at him, the dots unable to connect themselves in his head.

James smiled, huffed a soft breath through his nose that Sirius took as an amused sort of laugh. They looked at eachother for a moment, and only a short moment before James was cupping Sirius’ cheeks and pulling him in close to kiss.

This time when James kissed him, it wasn’t to quiet Sirius. It was simply to kiss him. And James kissed him deeply, breathing a heavy sigh through his nose at first contact. His fingers dug deeper into the plush of Sirius’ cheeks and he opened his mouth, slipped in his tongue, and moaned a contented sigh. James kissed Sirius because he wants to kiss Sirius.

Because James seems to feel the same way.

“Oh.” Sirius muttered when the kiss broke, both desperate for air, “You fancy me.”

“Bingo, love.” James murmured, smiling dreamily up at him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips all wet and swollen, his eyes all glassy and soft. He looked positively chaffed to have just done that, and Sirius found his heart leaping out of his chest at the sight.

“You weren’t kissing me to shut me up?”

James shook his head, “I kissed you because every time you go one one of those rants I fight the urge to kiss you all over. Sometimes I even zone out completely and come up with a whole scenario in my head where I kiss you, and you kiss me back, and sometimes we shag and sometimes we don’t, and we lay in bed together, and I get to lay on your chest and listen to it vibrate as you ramble some more. Sometimes I imagine falling asleep to it, to you, because I love you, you make me feel safe. The sound of your voice makes me feel safe, Sirius.”

“Oh.” Came a shattered sob out of Sirius’ mouth, and he melted. James laughed at him softly, wiping the tears in Sirius’ eyes and pulling him in tight for a hug. He even went so far as to scatter kisses all over Sirius’ head.

“I promise I only interrupted you because I found you so unbelievably beautiful in every way that I simply couldn’t resist anymore. I’m so sick of holding back and waiting.” James leant down to kiss his brow, “I don’t want to wait anymore. I want you now.”

“I want you now, too.” Sirius muttered, curling into James, “You make me feel safe too, Jamie.”

“I know, love.” James chuckled, “You tell me all the time.”

Sirius blushed and wrapped himself tighter around James, “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yeah.” James muttered, and couldn’t stop smiling about it.

“I love you.” Sirius whispered as his lips brushed against James’. He pressed a singular, soft little kiss there before whispering more, “I’m sorry if I annoy you with-“

“You don’t. You can’t.” James promised, kissing him again, “Sometimes I wish I was the only person you’d ramble to, so I might get to be special.”

“You are.” Sirius smiled, “You’re the only person who doesn’t find it insufferable.”

“You’re the only person I’d never find insufferable.” James grinned and kissed him hard and deep again. It lingered for a while, the kiss, until their lips were swollen and they were panting for air. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” Sirius promised, “The person I save my most special rambles for.”

James giggled, “And I’m yours. The person who could listen you nonstop talk for the rest of his life and never grow tired of you.”

“You’re mine.” Sirius agreed.

“Lay with me?” James asked, almost desperate sounding, “Let me lay on your chest whilst you finish telling me everything you wanted to say before?”

Sirius smiled and nodded his head, “And once I’ve finished that, I’ll ramble on about all the ways and reasons I love James Fleaumont Potter, because I’ve been dying to talk about that one for years.”

James kissed him through a smile, and they did exactly that.

★ ★ ★

OH MY GOD I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. SIRIUS DESERVES BETTER AND NOW JAMES IS GOING TO GIVE HIM EVERYTHING HE DESERVES AND MORE!!! THEYRE SO IN LOVE I CANT 😭😭😭

Someone find me a James to spontaneously be kissed by please and thank you

If you want to read more of my work you can find it all here :)))

Just tagging a few people who expressed interest in this little drabble, all my prongsfoot shippers have got to stick together in these sparse conditions I swear: @vintagetee13 @fiendishfyre @snarky-magpie @groundzero-v @lapassemirroir @siriuslycomplex

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mmyrrhh · 1 year

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Eyes on the road

Summary: A car ride with your favourite lieutenant.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 648

Notes:

Fluff

Mr. Riley strikes me as the kind of person who will listen to country music while driving and tapping the steering wheel rhythmically in the process.

My sideblog got shadowbanned so I’ll be posting my fics here until the issue gets resolved (if it gets resolved).

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You’ve been driving for two hours straight, and the silence between you grows longer as the miles pass. Despite your efforts to engage him in conversation, he appears content to remain silent, responding only with brief, cryptic remarks.

“Where are we going?”

“That’s confidential information.”

“How long until we arrive?”

“We’ll get there when we get there.”

Touché.

He was deep in thought, with his right hand steady on the steering wheel and his left arm resting casually on the open window. He had an air of confidence about him, seemingly able to take control of anything that life may throw his way; missions, injuries, cars, you. Oh boy, the power he has over you.

Every time he had to shift gears, he did with such poise and grace, releasing the wheel but securing it with his thigh so it wouldn’t drift away. You watched him every time he did that, anticipating the moment he’d place his hand on you instead.

His mask obscures his face, but you know there is concealed road rage lurking beneath. Now and then, a reckless driver would surpass you, and he would mutter a curse under his breath as his gaze followed the car. Other times, he would instinctively put his hand in front of you, inches away from your chest, acting as a human seatbelt.

Inches away...

The scenery is, well, nothing: an endless expanse of dirt, as far as the eye can see. And with the quiet between you, the boredom begins to set in. You figured a little music would lighten up the mood, maybe even spark a discussion of some sorts. You turn on the radio, shuffling through the stations until you find one that works. You turn up the volume and turn your attention back on the road. Ghost doesn’t comment on your action but has a lot to say about your taste in music.

“It’s shite,” he mutters under his mask.

“It’s the only one that works,” you comment back.

“It’s still sh*t,” he repeats.

“We don’t have any other option, Lieutenant.”

“There’s always another option, soldier,” he explains. “In this case, you could always turn it off.”

Is this an order or a suggestion? Better go with the safe option. You move your hand towards the radio button, but he catches it mid-air, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

“Don’t; let it play if you like it,” he whispers, his eyes still focused on the road, “my preferences should never dictate yours.”

In that moment of unexpected kindness, you turn to look at him.

You become immediately drawn to his profile and begin to examine any characteristic you can distinguish beneath his balaclava.

His brows appear sparse and washed out; is that genetic or permanent damage from a fire? His dark brown eyes are half-closed, emitting a sense of melancholy; that, or he’s tired from all the driving. He suddenly lets out an audible sigh. Your eyes travel to his lips; you can distinguish a faint outline through the stretched fabric. His Adam’s apple moves with vigour every time he swallows. His collarbone, chest, arms, abd-

“Eyes on the road,” he commands. Shit; caught red-handed once again.

You lightly cough in embarrassment and obey. Neither of you speaks.

As you continue driving down the road, he suddenly takes his hand off the wheel and goes straight for the volume button, turning it up.

You turn to look at him in confusion.

“It’s Johnny Cash,” he explains, shrugging.

“Johnny Cash, huh? Any relation to… John Price?” you quip, trying to lighten the mood.

“You and your fucking jokes,” he says with a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

And with that, the silence between you settles once more. But this time, it’s no longer oppressive, no longer boring. It’s a comfortable silence, with Johnny Cash speaking volumes about you and your lieutenant’s silent bond.

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#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader

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amyispxnk · 6 months

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Just Stay

Summary: Every time, staying was so easy. It was natural. Then you couldn't.

A/N: there's a bit of confusing writing in some places - it's 2am and I've been writing this for almost 2 hours straight, spare me. I hope you guys like this because it genuinely took so much effort. Pls show some love.

A/N #2: after letting this simmer for a bit im feeling like i hate it and it's really stupid and umm yeah so yeah! I physically cringe every time I remember this exists

Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: alcohol, drug mention, brief very light smut, pet names, language, smoking cigarettes, translated Spanish that may well be incorrect (let me know if there are any mistakes please), violence and death, guns, fluff, angst, unwanted attraction from a guy (nothing like SA but it’s just kinda uncomfy and he kisses her but she didn’t want him to NOT JAVI)

Used a prompt from @luvmake “things said between kisses”

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

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You groaned as you shut the door to your apartment behind you, tossing your keys on the table by the door and shrugging your jacket off, walking over to your fridge to find something to take your mind off things.

Work was stressful, but of course it was. You were a DEA agent working to take down Pablo fucking Escobar. Of course it was stressful.

The only thing that lessened the burden was your partner, Javier Peña. It was a rocky start for the two of you, him being very closed-off and already having a reputation which made you not want to get involved with him at all. But you got to know him after a while and here you were 2 years later, being able to call yourself his friend.

You groaned again when you realised you had absolutely no alcohol in your fridge or anywhere in your living space. Then your mind went back to him, Javier did live next door.. and when does Javier not have alcohol on him?

After listening out for the all-too-familiar sound of skin slapping against skin and not hearing anything (you didn't want a repeat of the last time you showed up unannounced) you figured it was safe to go over.

You made sure the door was locked behind you - you can never be too safe, even when you're going next door for just five minutes - you quickly padded over to his apartment, knocking on the door.

When he opened it, he was shirtless. Of course he was, it's Javi. You clenched your teeth together as you fought to not look at his chest and spoke.

"I'm out of alcohol." You stated, at which he raised an eyebrow.

"What do you want me to do about it?" He questioned as if he had no clue what you were getting at.

"Let me have some of yours."

He stayed unmoving.

"Pleeeeeeease, Javier." You pouted, clasping your hands together dramatically before he chuckled softly and opened the door further to let you in.

Once he'd closed it behind you, you looked around. Sure you'd been to his apartment before, but you always liked to analyse things. Maybe it was from being an agent, but you had always had this little trait.

You noticed a movie was playing on the TV as you walked into his kitchen, not being able to tell what it actually was since it was paused at an awkward frame.

"You watching a sex movie, Javier?" You teased, leaning back to look at him as you shut the cabinet.

"Yeah, totally." He said, rolling his eyes before sitting down on the couch.

You held the whiskey bottle in your hands as you stood there for a moment. He didn't tell you to leave at any point, so maybe he wouldn't mind if you just..

You fell down onto the couch beside him, crossing your legs beneath you and bringing the glass of whiskey to your lips.

He still didn't say anything, just glanced at you quickly before shrugging to himself and continuing to watch the movie.

2 hours later, this is a long fucking movie, the ending credits rolled and you might've fallen asleep. It wasn't your fault he had such terrible movie taste that might've also been in complicated Spanish that your fuzzy, whiskey-filled brain didn't want to translate.

The third time he'd said your name you bolted upright.

"Who's it? What happened? Javier? Javier!" You spoke quickly, realising where you were and what you were doing when you looked back at him.

"'s just me. Calm down. Maybe we'll take some of this away." He murmured, picking up the whiskey bottle and taking it with your glass back to the kitchen.

When he came back, you had already drifted off again and he sighed before shaking you awake.

"Stop fucking waking me up." You murmured, cosying back up on the couch for the third time.

"You can't sleep over, missus."

"Why, got a special lady coming over?" You teased with a wiggle of your eyebrows.

"Dios Mio, you're insufferable." He muttered under his breath. "Just stay then, okay? I don't even care."

"Thank you Javiiii." You grinned at him as he walked away to his room.

"You're welcome querida.” He answered before shutting the door and crumpling on his sheets. That was the longest you two had been that close to each other and your touch was doing a lot of things to him that he didn’t want to admit.

His brows furrowed as he sighed, turning the lamp off and willing himself to sleep.

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Your nails dug into his skin so hard you probably drew blood before he stilled inside of you, spilling into the condom with a final thrust.

He stayed there for a moment and appreciated your figure, eyes squeezed shut and your skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, chest rising with your heavy breaths and your arms having moved from his to being thrown above your head, hair all over the place on your face.

The oversensitivity started getting to both of you and he reluctantly pulled out, disposing of the condom before bringing a cloth over to you and cleaning you up gently before doing the same for himself and getting rid of that too.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress and lit a cigarette, puffing out the smoke before turning back to face you.

You were propped up on your forearms with a lazy smile on your face, totally fucked-out. It had taken so long for you two to take the plunge, but now you had finally done it and it was incredible, you were insatiable, always coming back for more. He definitely lived up to that reputation.

You reached for the cigarette and he gave it to you. After taking a long drag, you flopped back down onto his bed and handed it back to him.

“I don’t really wanna get up, y’know.” You said slowly after a few seconds of silent smoking. You had never done a sleep-over with him - after you started fucking - and thought that you might be crossing a line with the implication of doing so in your words.

He debated your words in his mind. He didn’t like getting attached, he didn’t let the informants stay over, and they didn’t really care. It was their job.

But you were different. He knew you, worked with you, and you had fucked enough times for there to be someting more brewing between the two of you.

He stubbed out the cigarette and lay down beside you, brushing some hair out of your face before pulling the blanket back on top of you both and turning around.

“Just stay, then.”

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You were pressed up against a wall, panting heavily as you quickly reloaded your gun and dared a look around the corner. Shouts and gunfire filled your ears, your head pounded and your eyes stung.

You ran from the corner down the hallway and into a room, killing another one of the men. It was noone important, and it was getting fucking annoying by this point. How many people had to die, how many did you have to kill until you would just get an actual lead? A few years ago, this would’ve killed you inside. You were weaker mentally and probably would’ve resigned, not wanting to steal the lives of so many for such futile results.

You walked outside of the house and leaned back against the wall, eyebrows knitted together as you tipped your head back and exhaled deeply. Everyone who was in that building 20 minutes ago was either dead or had slipped away. The person you were looking for had slipped away.

“Todos en la sala principal, ¡date prisa! (everyone in the main room, hurry up!)" Your leader’s voice sounded from inside and you pushed yourself off of the wall, turning the corner and immediately falling to the floor as a gunshot rang through the air.

Fuck, fuck, fucking shit.

Clearly, you had missed one of them and his dumb plan was to pick all of you off by himself instead of just running away and thanking God for letting him escape.

You fired a shot at your attacker, getting him in the arm and causing him to cry out in pain before shooting again and watching his lifeless body hit the path.

You dropped your gun as you shuffled over behind a crate and your eyes pressed together as the pain started to get to you. After looking down and assessing the wound, you confirmed it was nothing fatal having entered and exited just your calf. You pushed yourself up from the floor as someone else rushed down the alleyway, making you scramble for your gun again until you realised who it was.

“Shit! It’s just me! What happened?” Javier shouted to you as he came to a halt in front of you, crouching down and checking the wound.

“Some guy was still here, I was coming back in and then he shot me.” You pointed in the general direction of where you remembered his body now lay. “Over there.”

He nodded before quickly pulling you up on your feet, then noticing how your knees buckled when you tried to stand straight on your own.

He gave you his arm and you held onto him as you walked back to the rest of the group, returning to the office shortly after where they patched you up and told you that you weren’t allowed on the field for a week to make sure you didn’t put too much strain on the muscle and injure it more severely.

You were getting your coat from your office when he knocked on your door, poking his head in.

“You leaving?” He asked as he stepped inside, taking his hands out of the pockets in his leather jacket.

“Yeah. Finished everything before 3 in the morning for once.” You joked, earning a small laugh from him.

“I just happen to be leaving too. Want me to uh- bring you back?”

He knew you didn’t have a car, arguing that the apartment block was only a 30 minute walk away so why waste the money if you barely left the town, and it worried him enough without your being injured.

To be honest, you were on edge recently. Things had been getting more dangerous, more gruesome, more exhausting. You were getting more sloppy too, having more close calls than you would’ve liked to, having less time to take care of yourself. So, his invitation was more than welcome.

“Sure, yeah.” You accepted and stood up, walking over to him and taking the hand he offered you. Probably for stability, you thought, but you wouldn’t mind just holding hands with him anyway. Fuck, you felt like a stupid kid with a crush. You couldn’t let yourself get distracted by love either.

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You made it home and smiled as your cat ran up to you, rubbing her head against your legs and purring. You crouched down - with a little more difficulty than normal, obviously - and scratched behind her ears affectionately before getting back up with Javier’s help and taking your shoes and coat off. He was about to walk in with his shoes on before you quickly stopped him and tutted disapprovingly.

“I don’t like how you Americans wear shoes inside the house. Off.” You scolded, before walking over to the living room slowly.

He shook his head with a smile before taking his shoes off and following behind you, leaning back against the wall as he waited for you to do something.

“They said I gotta clean the dressing, or change it, or something. I dunno. Gave me a little instruction thingie. So- I’m gonna go do that..” You trailed off at the end.

“You want me to stay?” He questioned as he crossed his arms in front of him, t-shirt stretching deliciously over his arms, making your mind replay the memories of him doing very lewd things with them to you and dampening a spot in your panties just at the thought of it. Probably wasn’t a good idea to fuck with a gunshot wound that was barely 12 hours old though; you quickly blinked a few times to get your thoughts back in order and wet your lips before nodding at him. Yes, you did want him to stay. He offered such a sense of security and protection for you even before the stakes got higher, before Pablo’s men started literally bombing places, killing everyone and anyone, and before you got shot. You needed him, and you were realising that it wasn’t just in a sexual way anymore. It scared you and you almost took the non-verbal yes back until he walked up to you and pulled you out of your thoughts again, looking down at you and staring for a moment, as if arguing with himself in his mind. One side finally won when he bent down and kissed you on the forehead gently, pulling back and murmuring an okay to you before you spoke up again.

“Just stay, make yourself comfy. You can take my bed if you want-” He stopped you before you could finish.

“I’m not taking your bed, querida. Either I’ll join you in it or you can just stay there alone. I don’t mind the couch or anything.” He suggested.

“You can join me in it.” You told him before making your way to the bathroom to sort out your wound, thinking about the entire day.

Another unsuccessful raid, then you got shot, now Javi’s staying in your apartment for the night and it wasn’t because you had sex.

Yeah, it was scary.

And it was scary for him too when you clung to him in the night in your sleep, scary when his hand instinctively reached out to stroke your hair soothingly, scary when he almost leaned forward and kissed you before he could stop himself.

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You had to have been in this damn office for the past 3 days straight, working on report after report and chasing lead after lead. People were enjoying the holiday season as it neared vacation time for schools, Christmas ads and music were starting to play and the streets were decorated with so much red and green it made you sick.

The clock on the wall glared at you from across the room as you squinted at it, trying to read it as your eyes drooped like they had been doing for the past hour.

You finally deciphered it and realised it was 2:45AM. Okay, you’d been here for just over a day, but still.

Javier was also still in the building, you heard him walking around and he’d even come in to check on you - bother you - a few times, the latest one being just half an hour ago.

Now he was knocking on your door again and didn’t wait for you to reply before walking inside.

“Got some unfortunate news.” He said, the smirk on his face saying otherwise.

“What.” You demanded, head falling back on your chair as you prepared for literally anything to come out of this man’s mouth.

“We’re snowed in.”

“We’re what.” Your eyes widened. You were this close to finishing your work for the day, night, 2 days, whatever it was, and here he was telling you that you couldn’t actually leave.

“Yeah.” He sighed, coming to sit on your desk, fiddling with the little objects and pens littered around it. “It’s fucking crazy. We never get snow like this here. And because of that, there’s no way to get rid of it when there’s an obscene amount of it.”

You groaned as your head moved from the chair to face plant on the table with a huff of annoyance, him laughing at your state before his expression softened when he realised how tired you looked, then remembered that you were here when he arrived 9 hours ago and you were still here, and you were probably there before he came.

“You can go to sleep, y’know.”

“I have too much work left, Javi. If I leave it then it’ll just get piled up and I’ll have to stay here for-” You paused to work out the amount of hours you’d been in this office. “For 25 hours, again.”

His eyebrows shot up at the number. “25 hours? Jesus Christ, hermosa, please go to sleep. I’ll do the work for you, okay?” He offered, watching as your eyes already started to close.

“Seriously? Thank you.” You yawned. “Where would I sleep though? I can probably find a shovel or something around here and head home, they wouldn’t be that unprepared…”

“No, just stay. There’s a couch in the breakroom. I’ll go find you a blanket or something. ‘S fucking cold.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You smiled, getting up and trudging out of the room and down the hallway to the room and slumping down on the couch.

He came back 5 minutes later with a blanket and laid you down before gently draping it over you.

“Here. You all good?”

“Yeah, thank you, you’re my favourite babysitter Javi.” You joked with a lazy smile, watching his eyes crinkle as he grinned back at you. He had a really nice smile, you mused internally, watching it grow when you realised you’d said that out loud.

“Thanks.” He smirked, before leaning down and kissing you on the forehead. That’s as close as you two got to kissing each other and you wouldn’t go any further for now.

“Don’t let me sleep for too long, okay?” You told him before your eyes drooped shut and you lay down completely.

“Te amo. (I love you)" You mumbled, half-awake, before blacking out completely as exhaustion overtook you.

Well shit.

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“Listen, I just think you’ve been too stressed lately, Javs. Gotta loosen up a little, no?” He could hear your grin through the phone. You chewed on the end of your pencil, thankful that he couldn’t see your face right now because the nervousness was evident on it and you’d be surprised if he couldn’t hear it anyway.

“Don’t have time to loosen up, queirda.” He countered, the sound of his pen scribbling something furiously onto the paper echoing through the phone. Working again.

“You sure about that? I thought you’ve been loosening up with me quite a bit.” You smirked, making him roll his eyes again.

“Fine. I’ll come to your stupid party thing.”

“Thank you.”

“Whatever.”

You hung up the phone before looking for an outfit to wear, settling on a tight black dress that came to your mid-thighs, a cropped denim jacket and some black heels. The party was tomorrow but you liked to have it planned for sure, trying on the outfit and scrolling through makeup looks for half an hour until you got tired, showering then falling asleep.

The party came around and you looked good. If you hadn’t thought it yourself, the other people there made it evident enough - your friends had given you an appreciative whistle and a rush of compliments as you walked over to them, you felt a few stares on you as you walked, and Javier made his appreciation of the outfit known to you as well.

“Don’t you look good.” He said as his eyes roved over your features, lingering on your tits for a moment longer before they came back up to your eyes again.

“You like the outfit or you want to take it off me?” You teased, hugging him before walking with him to get drinks and then going back to your friends.

When he noticed that there was not just one friend who might not even come as you told him on the phone as a way to get him to accompany you, his smirk turned into a scowl and he glared at you.

“Don’t be pissed, Javi! I just wanted you to loosen. Up.” You nudged his shoulder and introduced him to your friends.

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

After a drink or two, he had loosened up a little, until someone who had had more than a drink or two came over to your group and whistled at you. You turned to face him and.. He definitely wasn’t unattractive. But he wasn’t as attractive as the guy who you came here with.

Javier had just gone to get more drinks and the timing was so bad it was funny. The guy was trying to chat you up and you considered it for a second. You and Javi weren’t anything official, just friends with sometimes benefits really, and you weren’t seeing anyone else of course, so what harm could be done with a little flirting? You were just entertaining this guy for a bit, you weren’t actually going to do anything.

Apparently this guy thought you wanted to do something more though, getting closer and closer to you and even trying to kiss you once - you quickly turned around and pretended your phone buzzed, reaching inside your bag for it and praying he wouldn’t try that again.

The world just seemed to hate you though, because Javi was a few feet away when he did try that again, and you didn’t react quickly enough this time.

His lips slammed against yours, and that’s when you saw him watching you, completely rooted to the floor. Then he turned away, storming out and slamming the door to the bar shut behind him. You pushed the guy off of you so quickly he almost fell over and ran after Javier, chasing him as best you could in the heels whilst calling out to him.

“Javi! Javi, wait!” You shouted as you cupped your hands around your mouth, cursing when he didn’t stop.

“Javier, fucking wait!” The use of his full name got his attention for a second, and he was about to start walking away again when your hand gripped his forearm tightly.

“What is your problem?” You gritted. “You seriously made me chase after you in these fucking heels!” You exclaimed as you gestured to the ridiculously uncomfortable shoes.

His jaw was clenched as he looked down to them, then back up at you.

“I don’t get you. You lied to make me come here so I could loosen up a little, and I thought maybe you actually wanted to hang out with me as well. I thought that was a part of it. But then you- you’re kissing another guy? You’ve never even kissed me, and how long have we known each other? How many times have we fucked? How much have I done for you, and how much have you done for me, but the closest we’ve come to anything like that was a kiss on the fucking forehead?” He seethed, aggressive gaze burning straight through you.

He wanted to tell you he loved you. Don’t you know how much I fucking love you? Can you not see it? I know you feel it too. You said it yourself.

He hadn’t told you about what you said that day it snowed yet.

“Javi..” You began after a minute. “I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me. I didn’t want him to.” You admitted, and suddenly his mind cleared. Maybe it was because he had one too many drinks, but he jumped to conclusions. He got too protective of you and you weren’t even his.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He murmured.

There was a moment of silence until you spoke up again in a smaller voice. He’d never seen you look so timid in your life.

“You want to kiss me?” You asked, recalling what he’d said before.

“I- yeah.” He sighed, looking down. No use trying to avoid it now.

You tilted his face upwards before cupping his cheek, leaning in, and kissing him. His eyes widened slightly before he reciprocated it eagerly, one hand curling around your waist and pulling you closer as the other rested on the back of your neck, suffocating you with the kisses and his body. You’d seen so much of each other before and this was the final thing left for you to do. Now you had finally gone and done it.

When you broke from the kiss, you were both panting as his forehead rested against yours.

“Do that again, please.” You said as a grin creeped onto your face, making him let out a low chuckle before obliging your request.

That night, you didn’t have to ask him to stay. He just did.

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You had never been so angry in your entire life, you reckoned. You paced around the room, running a hand through your hair before stopping to look at him again.

"Los Pepes? Really, Javier? Really?!" You said in a raised voice. Of course he had gotten involved with Los Pepes. And now he was getting fired for it.

You had started dating only a few months ago and it was actually going pretty well. He was a really good partner, always did his best to communicate, bought you things, treated you well, had a really big cock.. And you loved him, you really did.

But this was really bad.

"It's not my fucking fault! They helped enough, didn't they?"

"They're brutal murderers!" You shouted before turning away again. "I fucking knew it. I knew there was something wrong. You've been all skittish lately, Los Pepes have been coming up so much in our reports.. I just never thought you'd do something like that." You sighed, looking up from the floor to meet his gaze and feeling your eyes well up with tears as it came crashing down on you that he was going to leave.

"I'm sorry, querida, I can't-" -stay.

"Did you even think about me when you did all this shit? Did you think about us? I thought I was actually important to you, but clearly not." You scoffed bitterly.

"Baby you are important to me-" He began, reaching for your hand.

You batted it away before immediately taking it back and squeezing his hand tight before you felt the tears fall.

"Then why did you do it? We would've- we would've gotten them eventually! It would have just taken a little longer, but this wouldn't have happened! Javier, I can't-" Your entire body shuddered as you sobbed in front of him, and it was like somebody was stabbing him in the heart, twisting the knife around before pulling it out along with his heart with which he loved you so much.

"Please. Please, just stay. We can figure something out. I'll fix it, you can't leave me. I can't do it. Javier." You pleaded, sniffling as you grasped his hand tightly. You didn't want to let go. Of him. Of this. You had liked him for so long and it finally came together and he pulled this shit and now it was all over.

"I can't."

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Thank you so much for reading. Wow that was long. I hope you liked it, and I hope it made sense and it was as good as it was in my head. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and requests are open. 💞

#javier peña #javier peña angst #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #amyispxnk fics

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patrophthia · 10 months

Text

just curious | theodore nott

pairing: theodore nott x reader

genre: angst, mutual pining (but they don’t get together boo 👎👎👎 me), theodore wears glasses (yes that’s it’s own genre), reader is called princess by everyone bc i didn’t want to use yn in this

wc: 2.2k

note: i wrote this in two hours while listening to super shy - new jeans (intended for it to be a cute fic) and ended up with this angsty little piece, it’s a wip i ended up abandoning but am putting it up for anyone who might like that sexy pining genre of not ending up tgt, also was gonna stay on my docs but got too emotionally attached to not post it (you better talk to me about this theo or i will cry)

Theodore is a friend of Draco. That's how you know him. Theodore Nott: the tall, cute, and quiet friend of Draco's who's eyes —when he smiles, like really smile, curves upwards in an adorable manner. Theodore who, whenever you were to hang out with Draco's friend group, keeps a closed off expression that is so hard to gauge and read that you gave up the second time you met the lad.

The door clicks open and you prepare yourself for what's to come next, taking in a deep breath as you try your hardest to play it cool. Theodore steps into Draco's living room, shopping bags in his hand as Pansy follows him from a few steps behind.

You try not to think too much of it, friends hold shopping bags for their friends all the time, it's only natural. Pansy smiles when she meets your eyes, her voice soft as she nags you on why she hasn't seen you in so long. "Draco ought to bring you around more, I know you're his friend before ours but there's no reason for him to keep you to himself like he does."

Draco scoffs at that, "it's not like I don't invite her, she just doesn't want to come to stuff."

That's not exactly true though. You do want to come to stuff —if anything you loved going to them, Draco's friends have always been very welcoming and accommodated to your every need; it's just that every time you were to spend time with them, it seems like you can't take your eyes off of one particular person (hint: it's not Draco himself).

And quite honestly, you doubted whether he even knows your name. "In my defence, work has been hectic," you deflect with a small laugh, your eyes betrays you and drift to where the real reason stood. Theodore meets your eyes straight on, and offers you a nod as if he's only noticing you now and was saying his greetings. Yeah, he definitely does not know your name. "But I'm here now so let's enjoy it."

Pansy pouts but let's up when Astoria calls for your group of friends from the kitchen, Blaise right behind her with an apron wrapped around his stature. "Well?" He cocks his head. "What are we waiting for?"

Dinner went by smoothly, mostly Blaise stuffing you with his cooking and Pansy catching up with; asking every question she could possibly think of. You didn't mind if for the most part, actually quite enjoying the attention as the group went on and on. "You're shy, aren't you?"

The question is weird, and not exactly directed at you so you turn back to your plate as you take a bite of Blaise's lasagna (Draco helped cook the noodles for this, he wants you to keep this in mind). You feel something kick mid-chew, looking up to the person sitting opposing you; only to see Theodore with his full focus on Pansy.

You turn to her as well and she laughs as she repeats her words. "You're shy, aren't you?"

"Not really?" You don't think you are, not really. You're just trying your hardest not to make it obvious that you're interested in someone at this very table who does not seem to be interested in you one bit. "At least I don't think I am."

Astoria laughs kindly, finding you cute as she says: "you've just been quiet today, you're never like this with Draco and I."

Yeah well Draco and Astoria weren't plaguing your every thought every time you were within one metres of them. "Oh." you murmur. "I guess I'm a bit tired today."

"Work?" Blaise suggests and you shake your head. "What is it then?"

"Just Boy problems," you say off-handedly, quickly regretting it when their faces turn to one of interest. "But it's nothing big, I promise."

"Are you seriously going to tell us that and not elaborate?" Draco looks offended, hell, he feels offended that you weren't elaborating. "What did that dickhead do?"

Your heart warms at the fact that your friend cares about you enough to immediately hate on whoever might be causing you boy problems but are quick to dismiss the situation. "Nothing, drop it."

From the look on their faces, it looks as if they weren't going to drop it anytime soon. Pansy opens her mouth, ready to say something when Theodore clears his throat, letting you hear his voice for the first time tonight. "Why don't you tell them about who you saw at the shops today, Pans."

Her eyes light up suddenly, going off on how she ran into her scumbag of an ex boyfriend as she was shopping for a new dress. Your eyes found Theodore's, sending him a small smile as you mentally note down on how you'd have to thank him for it later.

And when he offers you a small smile in return, his dark eyes softening —yet not enough for you to see those half moons you hold oh so dear to your heart, you try to remind yourself that he is nothing but a man doing the bare minimum.

"Stay the night," Astoria says softly, "it's late, Princess. I can't have you heading back on your own at this hour."

As much as it sounded pleasant, you can't help but feel like you might be intruding their night (even though you've spent countless night crashing at their place after a bad break up before, you guess that it's just different now that you weren't staying to cure a broken heart with a comforting shoulder —Astoria— and someone bad mouthing your ex —Draco—). "I can't," you tell them. "And trust me, I'll be fine."

Draco isn't chuffed by your answer, looking apprehensive as he thought everything over. Blaise and Pansy left for their shared apartment mere minutes ago so it wasn't like he could ensure your safety with them. But someone else was still here though, "Nott, can you take her home?"

Theodore startles from his spot by the coat rack, pausing with one arm in his coat as he looks at Draco like a deer caught in headlights. Cute. He then glances at you before hesitantly nodding.

This is bad. Oh god. Okay.

"Great," Astoria says with a smile. "Take care of our Princess, please." She then turns to look at you. "Call me when you get home safely, okay?"

At your nod, she hugs you goodbye and sends you out the door. Theodore walking slowly by your side. He's silent when he opens his car door for you and you try your best not to swoon. "Thank you."

He hums in acknowledgment as he walks over to the driver's side, Theodore does a double check to make sure you had your seatbelt on before he started the car. The ride is quiet, save from the song playing from the radio; a familiar tune you can't place a finger on.

He asks for your directions and you tell him, sneaking glances as you did so. His hair is longer than it was the last time you saw him —but to be fair, it has been months since you did; a few dark strands cover his eyes and you resist the urge to reach out and push them away. Maybe even taking out a hair clip from your purse to pin it back just so he wouldn't have to deal with it again.

It's calm and overwhelming at the same time, sitting so still and tranquil next to Theodore like this. You want to say something, you want him to say something; anything if meant you get to hear his voice again. If it meant you get a chance to memorise it and compartmentalise it in a folder that is ardently his.

"Oh thank you by the way." He looks at you for a split second before turning his focus back to the road. "For switching the topic back there."

Theodore only nods and you try not to cry. Why won't he speak? It's almost like he doesn't even want you to be interested in him.

"I really do appreciate it."

He hums this time around, a low note vibrating from his chest. It's either a nod or a hum, that's all you're ever going to get from Theodore, huh?

You bite the inside of your cheeks, looking straight at the road as you did so. Should you even attempt to make small talk? All your attempts have been futile so far so why even try. You didn't mean to huff, or at least not as loud as you did, your arms instinctively as you looked out the window absentmindedly.

This catches Theodore's attention though, prompting to finally say something. "Thinking about those boy problems again?"

You don't answer him, you don't let yourself feel the satisfaction of finally hearing him speak for the second time tonight. You don't say anything related to that topic whatsoever. "Do you have a girlfriend, Theodore?"

You can hear the hitch in his breath, see the surprise in his rapid blinks, feel the shift in the air. The car pulls to a stop at a red light, the tail lights of a car a few metres in front of you shines your faces the same shade.

He looks at you and you hope —no pray, that he doesn't notice the sparkle in your eyes as you look at him. Or maybe you do, you can't tell anymore. The only thing you can tell is that you are so incredibly into Theodore Nott, and him driving you home is not helping your case at all.

"No," he says earnestly. You don't let your eyes flicker to his lips, you don't let your eyes flicker to anything else but his eyes, trying to gauge him for something; anything, only to end up finding nothing. "Why are you asking?"

A car honks from behind, breaking the two of you away from your trance. "Just curious."

You thank Theodore as he pulls to a stop outside your house, he —just like you would expect from Theodore Nott, only nods at your thanks. And when you bid him goodbye with one leg out of his car.

He tells you, "Goodnight, Princess."

Princess, that's what your friends called you. That's what Draco Malfoy called you at the ripe age of ten years old where the two of you would play royalty and would later be his favourite nickname for you, then further on your other friend's choice of name for you. That's what Theodore Nott calls you because he does not know your name.

"Goodnight, Theodore." You shut his car door behind you, and take a few steps to your front door before turning over your shoulder. Looking back at him at once, finding him reaching for his glasses within his glove compartment; ones with round wired frames that settle flatteringly on his high nose bridge. He shuts his glove compartment box and you turn back to your front door. And unbeknownst to you, with your back to him, Theodore turns to look at you once, and then, twice when you finally enter your house, before finally driving off and into the night.

Curiosity kills the cat, that’s what Theodore thinks as he unlocks his front door. Curiosity kills the cat, is what he reminds himself time and time again as he sheds off his jacket. Curiosity kills the cat, that’s what he knows from the start. But how could curiosity really kill the cat if it was already dying?

If it had already yearned for something for long; a clenching thirst yet to be fulfilled, if it was already wailing to just be held, would curiosity really kill it then?

It's weird. It's weird how —now that he thinks of it, he can't seem to recall you ever going on a date. Not a single one. While him on the other hand; yeah, he can't exactly count the amount of dates he’s gone on in the past month on one hand.

It's not entirely his fault though, he’s trying to put himself out there; trying to find the one despite knowing that said one is constantly running around the back of his mind and was sitting in his passenger seat mere minutes ago. But he chooses to ignore it because one, it's wrong and there was no way you could ever reciprocate his feelings. And two, even if you were to reciprocate his feelings, he will never cross the line between platonic and romantic.

He’d take the endless yearning over any potential heartbreak any day because the second he crosses the line, there's no turning back. And no amount of romantic feelings you might have for one another will make up for the years of friendship between him, you, and most importantly, Draco. The blond was your best friend before anything else, and he doubts you’d ever risk ruining your friendship for someone like him.

So, for now, he’d settled for the guilt he feels every time he sees you; he’ll hold back on his urges even though it’s clearer to him now, in this very night, than ever that you are as infatuated with him as he is with you.

He’ll take off his glasses, he’ll place them by his bedside table, he’ll lay in his bed, cold and alone, he’ll try to fall asleep and not think of you, he’ll try and try to make it through tomorrow, make it through the date that Blaise had set up (yet again) for him that will inevitably be the worse hours of his life and think about what it be like had his date been you instead.

— from bee: yeah i wrote this theodore with jeon wonwoo in mind so what about it?? theodore is so wonwoo coded idc idc

#ive been going through a svt brain rot lately and have just made theodore every single member of the group #jeon wonwoo as theodore nott makes my brain go brrrrrr #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott blurbs #theodore nott angst #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott angst #theo nott fanfiction #Spotify #🧳: my writing

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whumpy-wyrms · 6 days

Text

The Last Lab Rat #15: Broken Dreams

previous | masterlist | next

content: recapture, lab whump, captivity, mind control, self injury, drugging, murder mention, winged test subject whumpee, creepy scientist carewhumper

Dew and Anton have a much needed conversation about stuff (things will only get worse before they get better i’m afraid)

—

The drive home was long and quiet.

Anton stared ahead as the windshield wipers went fast and rain pattered on the roof of the car. The roads were dark and empty, and thunder boomed in the distance. After a while, Anton turned in to a trail, mud splashing under the tires as he drove through his forest.

He looked in the backseat.

Dewey was sleeping, still and quiet. He’d fallen asleep after only a few moments of lying curled up in the backseat, letting himself drift off to the sound of gravel rumbling beneath the tires. He was weak and bloody and broken. Anton tried to ignore the sound of blood dripping onto the car floor.

God, this had never happened before. Nothing like this had ever happened before. What would Pierce think? If he found out Anton had let his test subject escape?

It hadn’t been a big deal at first. He knew what Dew and Sasha had been scheming, and Anton thought it was cute that the two of them were working together. Anton had just wanted to give him a sense of control, a small taste of a false freedom to latch onto, just something to keep him satisfied. He thought that even if Dew did escape, Anton would easily bring him back. He’d teach him a lesson not to leave, and they could have a laugh about it in the future after everything went back to normal.

But Anton had never expected, not in a million years, for his sweet little lab rat to do something not even Anton himself could stomach; murder. Dew had killed someone, taken a life, just like that. Sure, the clone wasn’t a real person. Anton could easily make a new one. Nobody saw it happen or would ever know about it. Anton wasn’t worried about whether or not he’d get away with it, because he knew he would.

Anton was worried about Dew. Maybe it was his own fault; this was what happened when he chose to let his test subjects have an ounce of freedom. Maybe he should’ve known better. He should’ve known better.

Anton arrived at his cabin and sighed. He hadn’t been one to listen to music, but maybe he should have, it sure seemed to help Dew during his spirals. He was still sound asleep in the backseat, chest rising and falling slowly as he breathed, so oblivious to the world around him. Anton stepped out of the car, ignoring the pouring rain soaking into his clothes and hair, and gently picked Dew up. He ran into the cabin while holding his test subject tightly against his chest, sheltering him from the rain.

Anton went straight to the lab, trying to avoid Sasha and their wandering eyes. They’d find out Dew was back eventually, but for now, all Anton wanted to do was sleep his thoughts away.

He cleaned Dew up, taking care of his bloodied clothes and matted hair. Then Anton dressed him in soft, warm pajamas and gently laid him to bed. He closed the latch of the vents, locking it tight. No more of that anymore.

Anton didn’t even know how to move forward from this. He should punish Dew. He should. That’s what Pierce would have done… Although, Pierce never would have let a test subject escape in the first place. He would have erased Dew’s memories, got rid of his free will, made him a hollow shell of a person.

Anton wasn’t going to do that. But what should he do then? He was growing soft. He had been too lenient, too… friendly. Dew wasn’t his friend, he had made that very clear.

As he lay in bed, staring at the blank ceiling alone in the world, Anton couldn’t help but think. Fuck, Pierce would be so disappointed in him.

. . .

I’m back.

The words repeated in Dew’s head over and over again. In the span of only a few hours, he went from being finally home and safe to finding himself back with the person who tormented him. Back to being a test subject in that horrible lab. Back with Anton.

A wave of terror flowed through him as he remembered last night, and he hid under his bed again. A million questions were flowing through his mind but he felt too tired and numb to do anything but quietly weep under his blankets.

It was most likely a very long drive back to the lab last night, but Dew wouldn't know, falling asleep too early to tell. He supposed it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know the directions to the lab or the way back home; he’d surely never see the outside world again.

After who knows how long of sleeping, he had woken up in soft pajamas, cozied up in warm blankets in his bed. He was so comfy, melting into the warmth. It was as if last night had never happened.

He really thought— he really thought he escaped, that he’d never be back here again. And that only made this all the more devastating.

He had been home, with his friends. They were there and they had been shot with tranquilizer darts by the scientist, so so close to danger and yet so far. It hurt to think about what would’ve happened if they had woken up, Dew bloody and broken, Anton standing there with a smug smile on his face. There was no knowing what the scientist would’ve done to them.

And then he was taken away from them again. He didn’t even get to talk to them before he was whisked away.

Dew knew things would never go back to normal. Not when he lied, tricked, and schemed behind his captor’s back. Not when he escaped and got caught brutally murdering his own clone that had replaced him all these months.

He shuddered thinking about it. Dew killed someone. Not just anyone, but another version of himself— the old him, the Dew who was free, the Dew he had always wished to be again. He killed him. Who could do such a thing? He felt sick— with himself and with the world. But most of all, with the scientist.

Anton. Dew hated him, more than anything. He was filled with so much burning anger that for a moment, he wished his clone had fought back and killed him instead. That would have been revenge against the scientist. Anton would have lost.

But he didn’t. The scientist had won. Again.

And that was terrifying. More than Dew could ever hate someone, he was so, so afraid. He could never be more scared of anything more than Anton. This man could control every aspect of his life easily, he could hurt his friends. At this point, Dew didn’t care what the scientist did to him anymore because he knew he couldn’t escape it. There was nothing Dew could do but cry and hope that whatever punishment Anton was planning for him wouldn’t be too painful.

. . .

Anton walked into his test subject’s room quietly, not wanting to accidentally startle the poor guy awake if he was still sleeping. He clicked the door shut, then realized that Dew wasn’t on his bed where he had left him. Anton looked around, noticing the bathroom door was ajar, light off. Dew wasn’t in there either. Anton’s eyes widened, could he really be…

“...Dewey?”

Anton knelt down beside the bed, lifting up the blanket to peak underneath. Sure enough, his test subject was hiding from him again, skittish and afraid. When he noticed the scientist staring, Dew shuffled deeper under the bed against the wall, trying to create as much space between them as possible. Anton clicked his tongue and let go of the blanket, letting it cover Dew back up, and stood up.

“You’ll have to come out eventually, Dew,” Anton said, setting the tray of food on Dew’s nightstand and crossing his arms. He got no response. “The silent treatment, huh?”

Anton leaned back against the wall and took a cookie from his pocket, taking a bite. “Aren’t you hungry? I’ll give you a piece of my cookie if you come out. As a treat. It’s really good.”

The only response Anton got was quiet sniffles muffled by the blanket. “Dew, I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll be okay, I promise. You’re safe.”

“Your… friends are safe too.” Anton’s voice was soft, as if he was trying to sound comforting. “Everything was taken care of. No blood, no body… no knife. It’s– It’s as if it never happened, okay? Nobody’s hurt, nobody’s sad, nobody knows. Everyone woke up like normal, completely fine, if not a bit tired from that party they threw you— your clone.”

Anton hesitated. “And you left a note, telling them you’d be gone for a few days, visiting distant relatives. They won’t suspect a thing. It leaves me the perfect amount of time to make a new clone and have it take the old one’s place. I have plenty of your DNA samples; you wouldn’t have to give me your blood, you wouldn’t have to do a thing. It was no big deal really, what you did. It changed nothing.”

The silence itself was driving Anton mad. He had no idea what his lab rat was thinking down there. They both royally fucked up this time.

“If you won’t say anything… that’s fine. I’ll just… assume you’re okay with this arrangement then, and I’ll go make another clone.”

There was a whimper coming from under the bed, followed by a couple sniffles. “N-no.” Dew said quietly.

“What was that?”

“No. Please don’t. Please.”

“I can hardly hear you under there,” Anton said. “If you want to talk, you’ll have to come out. You… don’t have to hide from me. I don’t want to hurt you, Dewey. You’ve put yourself through too much already.”

Dew’s breath hitched, failing to stifle a sob. “I-I can’t”

“...Why not?”

“I’m s-scared…”

Anton fidgeted with a pen in his pocket. “I’ll tell you what. I bet you have about a million questions floating through that little brain of yours, right? If you come out, you can get answers. I just want to talk, Dew. Talk. That’s it. You… You don’t have to be scared.”

You’ve been talking, Dew wanted to say, but quickly pushed that thought away. Arguing never worked before, nothing ever worked before. It was best to do as he was told from now on.

Dew timidly crawled out from under the bed, clutching his chicken plushie in his arms. He avoided looking at the scientist, and curled up in a different corner of the room. Anton had never seen him so afraid, so broken.

Anton forced himself to give a friendly smile. “How are you?”

No matter how much he wanted to act strong, Dew couldn’t stop himself from breaking down the second the question was asked.

“I-I didn’t wanna do it,” Dew squeaked, looking up in despair. “I didn’t mean to- to kill him. It- it happened so f-fast— I’m n-not a murderer! I didn’t wanna do it! I didn’t wa–wanna do it!” Dew’s voice broke down into uncontrollable sobs, his chest heaving.

If this was anyone else, Anton would give him something to calm him down, but Dew hated needles, and Anton didn’t want to scare him more than he already was. He sighed. “It was just a clone, Dewey. It wasn’t a real person. I promise, everything’s okay now. You don’t have to be sad.”

“I w-w-wanna go h-home. I was home, I… I got out. M-my friends, I didn’t g-get to talk to them— I d-didn’t want you to h-hurt them. Wh-why did you take me away? Why c-couldn’t you just set m-me free? I was out.”

It was a sad sight. Anton had always tried not to feel bad before, but this… it overwhelmed him. Maybe the only way to calm down and eventually see eye to eye, was to do what Dew always did to calm himself.

Anton dimmed the lights, causing his lab rat to curl into himself at the sudden change. The scientist walked to the other side of the room and picked up Dew’s MP3 player, then he crouched down in front of him, simultaneously caging him into the corner. He grabbed a blanket off the bed and sat it on the floor beneath them, a soft cushion from the cold, hard floor.

Dew stared at him while Anton turned on some music. They sat there for a long time. The only way they could tell that the minutes were passing was when each song ended and a new one began.

“Do you wanna talk now?” Anton asked after a while, when Dew had started to relax.

Dew nodded, taking a deep breath. “You cloned me,” he said numbly.

“That, I did.”

Dew looked up. “That’s why nobody was looking for me.”

“Yes.”

“The whole time?”

“Yep.”

“Nobody knew I was gone?”

“Nope.”

“How’d you do it?”

Anton’s face seemed to lighten up at the opportunity to explain something scientific to him. A small, familiar distraction from the gravity of this situation. “It was quite easy, actually. All I needed was a DNA sample, your clothes, a memory eraser, and the cloning chamber on the other side of the lab. It was on your first day, actually, when I got your blood, remember? It took a few days to make the clone, and once it was ready, I gave it all your stuff, drove down to your old house and set it free. I obviously had to erase its memories of the past day, so it wouldn’t remember me or my lab.”

“After that,” Anton continued. “It was like you had never left. I don’t actually know what it did as you. I could’ve made it so I’d be able to see through its eyes if I wanted, but I didn’t think I needed to.”

Dread pooled in Dew’s stomach. There was so, so much about this man that Dew did not know and couldn’t begin to understand. If he had cloned him without Dew realizing, what else had he done to him?

Dew ignored the fact that he felt so utterly helpless, and swallowing his nerves, he decided to ask more questions. “If– If you could make clones this whole time, why didn’t you just experiment on a clone of yourself instead? Wouldn’t that be… easier?”

“I did,” Anton replied. “For five years before I got you, the only test subject I had was myself— and obviously I didn’t experiment on animals, that’s unethical. Sometimes I would experiment on a clone of myself. But it got to the point where it was getting too dangerous to do that anymore. And that’s why I got you.”

“But—”

Anton shushed him. “I needed a test subject separate from myself. I couldn’t keep experimenting on a clone because, well, he’d be me. He’d know all my weaknesses. We’d have the same strength— he’d be stronger, even; enduring everything I'd put him through. He'd easily overpower me if he could, maybe even outsmart me. I needed someone smaller, and weaker, someone who didn’t know me like I know myself. Like you.”

Dew swallowed down his unease. “Then– then why didn’t you just take a clone of me instead?”

Anton looked surprised at the question, as if it was obvious. “Because… I needed the real you, and a clone isn’t the real you. Unlike my mentor, Pierce, I like my test subjects to be themselves, to be their own person and to have their own personality. I want them to be real. Clones are just… a fake, a facade. Making a clone of someone feels like a cheap, easy way out.

“I couldn’t just keep a clone of you knowing that the real you was out there living your life. Clones don’t mean anything to me. They’re not real people and can easily be recreated and replaced. I wanted the real you, Dew. And I’m so happy I got it.”

“Will you make another clone of me? Like you said?” Dew asked, fearing the answer.

“Yes, most likely. Unless, of course, you want your friends to think you’re dead? They’ll be awfully sad about that I think. It’s in your best interest to be cloned again.”

“How would they think I’m dead? I thought… you got rid of the body?”

“I did, but I could always fake your death. That’s… what Pierce used to do when he got new test subjects, sometimes. I could clone you and kill the clone, make it look like some horrible freak accident. Everyone would think you’re dead and that’d be the end of it. But I don’t think you want your friends to be sad, do you, Dew? I’m giving you a way that’s beneficial for all of us.”

“Except me.”

“...Except you.”

“Fine. Clone me again, I-I guess. My friends will figure out something’s wrong eventually.”

“They hadn’t for almost three months.”

“Well, I don't want them to be sad.”

Anton smiled and ruffled his hair. “Good choice.”

Dew looked down and fidgeted with his hands. So, that was it, then. He’d just given up. He’d just agreed to be replaced by a clone. That entire escape plan, those weeks of crawling through the claustrophobic and cold air ducts, had all been for nothing. He was back where he started, and far worse. He was completely and entirely defeated. He lost.

“Hey, where’s Sasha?” Dew asked, looking for the only friend he’d ever had in this terrible place.

“Oh, they’re upstairs.”

“So… are you mad at them for- for helping me?”

“What? No. I mean, I didn’t realize that they were such a great escape artist,” Anton chuckled. “I guess it makes sense though. They’re a snake, after all. But no, I’m not mad. They were just… doing what was right, I suppose. We’re both their friend, they just wanted to help you.”

“Can I talk to them? Please?”

“Oh,” Anton looked around awkwardly. “I um, I actually didn’t tell them you’ve returned. They were in their room when we got home last night. I just… couldn’t bear to break the news to them? They still think you’re free.”

Dew stood up. “What!?”

Anton stood up after him. “It’s fine—”

“You need to tell Sasha I’m back! You can't keep this a secret from them!”

“But I'd feel bad. I don't want to disappoint them. I don't want them to hate me.”

“Grow a fucking spine Anton! You made this happen! You ruined everything!”

“Lighten up, will you?” Anton said, playfully poking Dew’s stomach. “Where’s birthday Dew? Where’s the Dew that had fun throwing balloons around, or watching TV with me? Or—”

“‘Birthday Dew’ is fucking dead!” Dew hissed.

“That’s a shame,” Anton tutted. “I liked that Dew more than this one.”

“I should have ran when I had the chance,” Dew hissed, hopping over the bed and away from the corner he and his captor had been sitting in. He couldn’t go anywhere, but standing on the opposite side of the room was much better than being anywhere near the scientist. “I should have fucking ran!”

“You wouldn’t have gotten very far, I’m afraid.” Anton’s voice darkened, and he pulled out that horrible device Dew recognised and turned it on, activating the mind-control. “Don’t move,” Anton said.

He watched his test subject’s eyes go wide in horror, the blood draining from his face. “N-No, you—”

“Don’t talk.”

Dew was fuming on the outside. But on the inside, he was more scared than he’d ever been in his life.

“Yes, I made a spare.” Anton waved around that remote as if it was nothing. “Of course I made a spare. Why wouldn’t I, when I knew what you and Sasha were planning?”

Anton walked closer to Dew in slow, deliberate steps. His body was still, frozen in place, once again so easily cornered. Dew couldn’t say anything.

“I think you underestimate me, Dew. And that’s a dangerous thing for you. I feel I’ve been letting you off too easy. It was all my fault, really. I wanted you to have some freedom, because I didn’t want to see you so completely hopeless. But now I realize that it only made you more comfortable to act out against me.

“You’re never leaving this place again. I thought I’d given you enough time to accept your situation, but you’re simply too… too determined to escape me. It’s admirable, truly. But it’s gone on long enough.

“Let me put all this in perspective, Dew. It doesn’t matter if you run away, because the world won’t accept your wings. If you let anyone see them, they’ll catch you and turn you into the authorities, where other scientists will get their grubby little hands on you and perform far worse and merciless experiments than I ever had. Face it, Dew, you know you belong here.

“And if you don’t accept that, I could make you want to stay here. I can control your mind, Dew. I can control your thoughts, your desires and dreams. I could make you yearn for experiments. But I don’t. Because I want you to come to trust me naturally. I want you to choose to be loyal to me.”

“And I thought…” Anton laughed. “I thought you were doing so good, too. We had fun together, didn’t we? I thought we were making progress.”

Anton didn’t want to say the next part, but it might be the only thing he could say to finally convince him. “If you try to escape again, I’ll hurt your friends. And I know you know I’m capable of it. I could erase their memories of you, destroy any evidence of you ever existing in the outside world. There are so many things I can do to make you stay here, but I’m going to continue to give you a choice. I don’t want to resort to those measures, Dew. I want us to trust each other.”

Dew stared blankly. So there was really nothing he could do now. All hope was lost. He’d rather endure an eternity of horrible pain than see his friends get hurt because of him. He had truly lost everything. This was his life now. Of course it was, rang a little voice in the back of his head he had tried to ignore for so long. It had always been, from the start.

Anton shut off the device, and Dew was in control of his body again. He collapsed to the ground and brought his knees to his chest.

“...Will you still let me fly?” Dew asked, quiet and broken.

“Of… Of course,” Anton said. “I won’t ever hurt your wings.”

“Okay.”

“As for Sasha… of course I’ll tell them you’re back. When the time is right. You’re both friends… after all. It wouldn’t be right to separate you.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“I’m thirsty.”

Anton held his hand out. “Let’s go to the lab and get something to drink, alright?”

“Okay.” Dew grabbed his hand and Anton pulled him up. They walked into the lab, Dew unrestrained but obedient. He stayed by Anton’s side as he filled up a glass of water, and Dew slowly drank it.

“Now, Dewey, I wanted to say I’m proud of you for coming back so nicely last night.” Anton smiled brightly, the praise making Dew’s stomach turn. “But… I still have to punish you for escaping. There’s an experiment I’ve been wanting to do for a while and— hey, don’t worry. It’ll benefit you too, y’know. You just sit tight while I start preparing it.” Anton ruffled his hair, ignoring the tears forming in his eyes.

Dew couldn’t do anything but nod along, numbly watching Anton gather his clipboard and tape recorder. Another experiment? Really? After everything that had happened, Anton just wanted things to go back to normal? Dew felt sick to his stomach.

He should have ran. He should have fought back. He should have murdered Anton too, with that knife, when he could. He should have called out to his friends, screamed for help that wouldn’t have come. He should have gotten away when he had the chance. But instead, he fucking complied. What was he thinking?

The scientist wanted acceptance? Okay, sure! Dew would accept this life. He’d be his test subject. He’d stay here in this lab with that monster, but he’d do everything in his power to make the scientist’s life a living hell in the process.

Dew grabbed a random vial of liquid from a shelf and drank it.

“Dew!” Anton exclaimed, dropping everything and rushing over to him. “What the hell?!”

Dew flinched. “I– I just—”

“Shut up.” Anton picked up the vial his test subject had just drank, and rolled it over in his hands, reading the label. In a split second, Anton’s horrified expression warped into one of concern, then surprise.

“You just— Oh man. I um, I forgot all about this stuff. You just drank something I created a very, very long time ago. It’s supposed to, um, make whoever drinks it extremely happy. Like, ecstatic.” Anton laughed, and to Dew’s horror, he laughed back.

“What?!”

“Remember that first round of experiments I ever did on you? This was the stuff that made you unable to stop laughing.”

“Ser- seriously?! This isn't funny! This isn’t— hahahaha— fucking funny!”

“Why did you do that?” Anton asked.

“I– F-fuck you! Fuck you!”

“No, seriously Dew, why the hell did you do that?”

Dew giggled, almost painfully. “Make this stop!”

“Why did you drink something when you didn’t even know what it was? I have dangerous and deadly things all around my lab, if it was something else, it could’ve killed you. Surely you knew that.” As Dew continued laughing maniacally, Anton’s eyes went wide in horror. “Is… is that what you wanted?”

“No!” Dew cackled. “I don’t want to fucking die, Anton! I want to make every single little thing harder for you if I really am going to be your test subject forever.” He laughed, tears forming in his eyes. “Because– because the experiments are just gonna get worse from here on out right? If I cause problems for you then– then it delays whatever fucked up thing you’re gonna do to me. Because nothing I do to myself could be worse than the shit you have planned for me, I know that.”

“No, Dew, look at me.” Anton grabbed Dew’s arm and pulled him closer, making eye contact. “You don’t know that. And you just told me your whole stupid plan. I can easily stop you from doing any of that. I could keep you sedated permanently, keep you docile and relaxed and completely defenseless. You don’t want that, do you?”

“Fuck— hahaha— you! You would've found out my plans anyway!” He spat. “Just like all the other times! No matter what I do, you always win! If hurting myself is what it takes to get you to open your fucking eyes, that’s what I’ll do!”

Anton never should have played their game. He never should have let Dew leave, if he knew this was going to happen. He had ruined everything. “Stop this.”

“You made me like this!” Dew roared with laughter. “I was– I was happy before. W-with my friends! You took everything away from me, Anton! You ruined my life!”

The worst part was, everything Dew was saying was true. And Anton knew that. But he wasn’t going to admit it. “I didn't ruin your life, Dew. You’re still alive and your life here is just beginning. You’ll come to see that eventually.”

“I’m tired of listening to you, just m-make this stop!”

“I don’t have the antidote. We’ll have to wait until it wears off on its own.”

“Damn. This sucks!”

“C’mon, Dew, let’s… let’s go back to your room.”

Dew slapped his hand away. “No! No, I–I can’t go back there again! Not yet! It’s suffocating—”

“Okay, okay, fine. We can sit out here. Just don’t touch anything else.”

Dew hopped up into the air, flapping his wings rapidly. He curled up in a ball, and focused on his wings beating into the air around him. “Talking makes me laugh less. I need to keep talking,” he said.

“Okay,” Anton said, sitting down in his spinny chair. “You can talk to me about whatever you want, about anything.”

“Okay… Anything. Anything… I-I…” Dew choked back a sob. “I can’t stop thinking about it, I can’t get it out of my head.”

“What?”

“What I– what I did! The screams, the blood, it- it was horrible— and- and it… it was me! My clone! And- and he did everything I was too much of a coward to do. He– he lived a better life than me.” Dew giggled painfully. “And I just ended it… just like that… How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Live with– with hurting people? Don’t you feel remorse? How can you even- even live with the guilt weighing on you like this? It’s torture!”

“I guess I… Never had to worry about that. I’ve lived here all my life with Pierce and his test subjects, and I guess he just taught me not to feel guilty. It was just a fact of life for us. I didn’t know any better.”

“That sucks. What a freak. I wish—”

“Dew, let’s not talk about him right now, okay?”

“...Okay.” Dew wanted to keep talking, though. “My wings are getting tired.”

“You can touch the floor.”

“Sweet.” Dew stopped flying and collapsed on the hard tiles, laying flat on his stomach while his wings covered him like a weighted blanket.

“I cannot believe this is my life now.” Dew giggled into the floor.

Anton felt relief mixed with sadness. He should feel good about this. He won.

Dew sat up, criss crossed on the smooth tile floor, and stared up at the scientist with a grin on his face and tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, A-Anton. I shouldn’t have drank that. I just didn’t wanna be experimented on. I won’t do it again. Please don’t wipe my brain.”

Anton sighed. “I won’t, I promise. And I wasn’t actually going to conduct that experiment today, I was just gonna talk about it. But I think we both needed a break.”

“I think that experiment will be shit. I don’t want you to do it.”

“You don’t even know what it’ll be yet…”

“I guess not.”

“Y’know, Dew… You don’t have to be scared of me. You don’t even have to hate me. We could start over, work together. …Become friends.”

Dew snorted. “I think it’s a little too late for that. Nothing will be normal after what I did, after everything you put me through.”

“...I suppose not.”

“Hey, why’d you even make that stupid laughing stuff an-anyway?”

“It’s not– I didn't think it was stupid, at the time.” Anton sighed. “It wasn’t for me. I wanted to see if there was a way to just, uh, take away someone’s… bad feelings completely.”

“Pfft. You couldn’t just get them antidepressants? Or therapy? Or– or better yet! Set them free?”

“It wasn’t like that, and that wouldn’t have helped. I… I needed something that could have an immediate effect. Something they could drink that would make them feel better, happy, completely ease their pain and mental anguish in the moment. Something that could make them never feel sadness ever again. I thought it would help. As you can see, it backfired.”

“Help who? Help what?”

“That doesn’t matter. I was young and… didn’t have my priorities straight.”

“You said you’d answer my questions!” Dew exclaimed.

Anton rolled his eyes. “These questions have nothing to do with you.”

“Well I’m not fucking happy, Anton. It’s painful as hell. It’s like it’s stealing all the air from my lungs and forcing me to laugh, and stretching my skin to make me smile. And yet I can’t seem to feel upset about it. I feel elated. It’s fucking horrible.”

“I know, they said the same thing.”

“Who?!”

Anton changed the subject. “In any case, I’m glad you drank that instead of… something else. Thankfully this won't have any negative side effects.”

“Well when the hell will it wear off?”

“I don’t know… A few hours?”

“A– a few hours?! Hahaha. I can’t do this anymore!” Dew collapsed to the floor, crying and sobbing in a ball.

“For what it's worth, I really am sorry,” Anton said, voice so soft and genuine. Dew didn’t trust that for a moment, but just hearing him utter those words had affected him more than he would’ve liked. He looked up at his captor. Dew just wanted it all to be over, he just wanted the pain to stop. If this really was the rest of his life now, he’d have to make the most of it. He didn’t have any other choice.

“Can I—” Dew hiccuped, futilely attempting to wipe his never ending tears. “Can I have a hug?”

Anton looked surprised for just a moment. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. “You’re not gonna… stab me in the back during it, are you?” Anton joked.

Dew laughed. “No, I don’t have a knife.”

“Yeah, then um, sure.” Dew ran to him and wrapped his arms around Anton, gripping his lab coat and crying into the scientist’s chest. Anton held him, slowly petting his hair and rocking back and forth. What a long fucking day.

They were all each other had now, all each other had always had. Alone in the world, nothing but the lab. Anton tightened his arms around him and buried his face into Dew’s shoulder. Sitting there like that would’ve felt nice, if it weren’t for Dew’s body uncontrollably trembling and silently laughing and Anton’s intense sense of guilt that never seems to go away anymore.

Dew was the one to break the hug, and take a shaky step back. He smiled even though it hurt, and laughed despite it feeling like a burning fire in his lungs. He was so tired. He stared at Anton as he walked backwards and scurried up to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. From the lab, Anton watched his test subject leap under his bed and pull the blankets and plushie underneath with him. Dew put on his headphones and curled up in a ball.

Anton turned Dew’s light off, and began to clean up the birthday decorations that they both had forgotten all about.

—

i laugh when i’m nervous (sorry for taking literally 2 months to finish this omg i feel so bad y’all!!! tllr will hopefully return to bimonthly updates after this!! i hope!) (also idk i struggled with this a lot and i’m gonna be real y’all i feel like it didn’t turn out very good… the next ones will be better though i prommy! yippee!!)

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole @sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl @catnykit @tettlod @delicateprincepaper @rejectedbytheempty @mijajaj @anothertawogsideblog @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @parasitebunny @bottlecapreader @thecareandkeepingofwhumpees @inkwell-and-dagger @vidawhump @thepotatoofnopes

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baronessblixen · 1 year

Text

On My Way To You

Season 6, angst(ish). They're driving and Scully is thinking about things. Like getting out of the car or not getting out of the car.

Wc: 1,597.

(written for Year of the OTP. The words I used for March are: road trip, fresh starts, acceptance)

Tagging @today-in-fic

There are no road signs to determine where they’re going. It’s just like Scully wanted it to be. She glances to her side where Mulder is fast asleep, his body at a strange angle. The sight puts a smile on her face, despite knowing he will complain about a crick in his neck later when he wakes up. Her hand flies to her own neck where the tension sits, spreading out. For once, it’s not a case. For once, they haven’t had to risk their health or their lives. A run-of-the-mill case, the only oddness its ordinariness.

Earlier, when she said she wanted to drive, Mulder handed over the keys without a single complaint. Long gone are the days where he shot her a questioning look, reluctant to part with the keys. Or maybe he’s noticed her subdued mood, her clipped answers. How often she’s stared into the distance these last few days, her thoughts everywhere except with their case. If he did notice, he didn’t mention it. But he let her drive, leaning his head against the headrest, and closing his eyes. Trusting her.

“What if we take a little detour?” She asked as they passed the town sign, half hoping he was already asleep.

“Hm?” He replied and by the rustling she heard, she knew he had turned his head to her. “Where are we going?”

She took her time answering, staring straight ahead. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

“Okay,” was all Mulder said. “Wake me if you get tired.”

“I won’t.”

He made a non-committal noise before he touched her thigh. She didn’t startle, his touch and his warmth welcome. “Wake me,” he said again. “I want to know where we end up.” He grinned at her before he resumed his original position.

That was hours ago, and they haven’t said a word since. Mulder’s breathing is even; she’s glad he’s catching up on sleep, knowing he never gets enough. For a while, she listens to the radio. First a classic rock station, then classical music. If only her mind wasn’t so loud. She tries to drown out the voices that keep chattering. The scenes that keep repeating.

It happened last weekend. The moment she can’t stop thinking about. She knew something was different the second she walked into her mother’s house. The uneasiness stayed with her as she took off her coat, as her mother kissed her cheek, smiling so hard that her cheeks were red.

“I have a surprise for you,” she’d said and that’s when Scully knew for certain. The surprise wasn’t her brother Bill, who was standing in the kitchen with a beer, talking to another man and laughing. A knot appeared in her stomach and as if sensing her uneasiness, her mother took her hand and squeezed it.

“Dana,” she said. “This is Brandon.”

“Hi,” he said, grinning at her with perfect teeth.

“Hello,” she mumbled like a grumpy teenager forced to join the family downstairs.

“Brandon goes to my church and he’s- oh well, you two can talk amongst yourself!” She pushed Dana towards him and as if on cue, Bill Jr. nodded at the other man and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her and the stranger alone.

“I thought you knew,” Brandon said, sounding apologetic. “Your mother said you were, um, single. That you were looking for a fresh start, just like me. She said we should… meet. She didn’t tell you?”

“She didn’t.”

“Does that mean you’re not single?” The corners of his lips twitched, showing his disappointment.

“I’m…”

“She’s single,” Bill Jr. waltzed back in, exchanging his empty beer bottle with a fresh one. He offered another one to Brandon, too, who declined. He didn’t ask his sister and instead grinned at her. “Right, Dana? You’re single. You’re not married. There’s no one in your life. There’s just… your work.”

Fuck you, she thought. She would have said it if it hadn’t been for Brandon standing there.

“Brandon, tell her about yourself. You’re gonna love this, Dana.”

“I’m a veterinarian,” Brandon said, uncertainty in his voice. “I have a five-year-old daughter called Emily and-“

“Thank you, Brandon,” Scully said, tears stinging her eyes. Her brother was still grinning, making her wonder how he could be this cruel. For the first time ever since they were children, she felt violent towards him.

“That’s exactly what you want, isn’t it?” Bill Jr. kept going as if Brandon wasn’t there. “You want a family.”

“I came here to have dinner with my mom,” she said, turning to Brandon. “I’m sorry you were caught up in this.”

“Mom was trying to do you a favor.”

“It was nice to meet you, Brandon,” Scully said, ignoring her brother. Bill Jr. was on her heels when she fled the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“To tell mom I’m leaving.”

“You can’t just go.”

“Watch me.”

“Dana?” Her mother came into view, her eyes darting between her two children. “You’re leaving? I know, I know. I should have told you about Brandon. Bill said it would be better as a surprise.”

“Thank you, mom,” she said, hugging her mother. Despite everything, her mother’s arms felt safe and comforting. She squeezed her eyes shut, tightening her arms around her mother. “I can’t stay. I can’t-“

“You’re throwing everything away, Dana. First your career, now you’re running away. Why don’t you get to know Brandon first? He has a child, a stable job. You have to accept that you can’t go on like this. Risking your health and… Brandon wants to settle down.”

“But I don’t.” The moment she said it she realized it was true. When she said to Mulder that she wanted to get out of the car, she didn’t envision what her family so obviously envisioned for her. She thought she did. Only then did she understand that it wasn’t at all what she wanted. She didn’t want a Brandon, a ready-made family. As easy as it sounded. All she wanted, what she imagined was sharing her life with someone, going home with…

Mulder. It all came back to Mulder.

Thinking back to that night, to leaving her mother there in the door, to her own realization, she has to fight back tears. Her mother has tried calling, has tried to apologize. Scully promised to call her back as soon as she got back home. Except that she doesn’t want to get back home, not yet. Maybe Mulder had the right idea all along. Keep going, keep driving.

“Are we there yet?” Mulder asks sleepily as if her thoughts have woken him up.

“Did I wake you?” She asks.

“My neck hurts,” he complains. “Where are we?”

“I have no idea. Does it matter?”

“You would tell me if something was the matter, right? I mean if it was something serious. Like… like what was wrong last year.” She hears the concern in his voice and feels his eyes on the side of her face.

“It’s not the cancer, Mulder. You can stop worrying about that.”

“So, this is just a regular road trip, huh? You won’t hear me complain. Kersh might but that makes it all the more exciting, doesn’t it?” He chuckles. “But I’m also here, you know,” he says, his voice gentler, the humor gone. “If you want to talk about whatever is making you go over the speed limit.”

“I’m not – oh.” She stares at the numbers there and takes her foot off the gas pedal until she’s just under the speed limit again. Mulder cracks open a sunflower seed, and the familiar noise helps her breathe more easily. She sees it now, what Mulder meant by saying that this is a life. It is their life. She doesn’t know about him, but she wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else. She touches her neck, where the tension begins to ease.

“Your neck giving you trouble too?” Mulder asks, as perceptive as ever.

“Just a bit,” she assures him. “We’ve been driving for a while.”

“Do you want me to take over?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Scully, it’s been hours. You must be tired.”

“I’m not.” That at least is not a lie, but Mulder’s eyes remain on her. She feels how worried he is, how much he wants to know what’s bothering her.

“At this rate,” he says, cracking another seed, “we could end up in Vegas. What do you think, Scully? Want to gamble away all your savings?”

“Maybe another time,” she says, a smile tugging at her lips. She’s thankful for the change in topic and Mulder’s attempt at humor.

“We could go see Elvis,” he goes on. “Or do you want to get married?”

He asks in jest. Of course, he does. And yet, and yet. Her heart leaps, her mind reels. What if? They’d still do this. Spend too many hours in cars, run into the darkness, and try to find the truth. But at the end of it all, they’d go home together, tear down that last wall between them, and share all of each other. Her mouth feels dry. She doesn’t want to get out of the car. She wants to stay in the car and keep doing this. With Mulder. Why not choose forever?

“Maybe I do,” she says, shooting him a look. She doesn’t expect the small smile around his lips. He doesn’t look surprised, no, he looks happy. He looks as if he’s been waiting for her answer for years.

“Then keep driving, G-Woman,” he says.

#i have no idea what this is #i fear it's bad #but if it is #still yay me cause i have written a thing #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

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jhynka · 1 year

Text

- failures

genre: angst. hurt/no comfort

pairing: ryohei arisu x reader

synopsis: arisu comes to you to vent on how tired he is, you react in a way he could never imagine

cw: verbal abuse, mentions of death

an: writer's block, writer's block, writer's block!!!!!!!! i tried to post this last night but tumblr crashed on me like 10 times already. anyway sorry if this isn't as good as my other fics the writers block is just so bad. this was originally a request from @a-simp-20 but the of post crashed and it also deleted the req from my inbox (its prolly the new aesthetic I'm trying out). anyway happy reading!

“You know, if you just listened to me, you wouldn't have become so useless.”

He looked at you, fighting back tears. Out of all the people, you were supposed to be the one he felt the safest with. Not even Karube and Chota should’ve compared to you. He should have felt at ease with you as if he escaped every trouble he had in the world. He had just received his report card from school earlier this afternoon and wanted to vent out how tired and unmotivated he was for school. Expecting comfort, he received confrontation.

“I told you a billion times, it’s not that you're tired, it's because you're lazy. Arisu, look at me seriously. Do you really think you're ready to even be in a relationship if you can't even get your shit together?” You scolded him angrily, annoyed by his complaining. If he just even got off his stupid games for even an hour, the outcome would've been better than this you thought.

“Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't listen to you and now I'm complaining about it, can you please just calm down? You’re scaring me.” Ryohei pleaded, with the tears that finally ran down his cheeks. Hearing you call him by his last name broke you. He had told you how much he hated his last name, he hated it so much because it reminded him too much of his teachers talking about how great his brother was compared to him. Two different Arisu’s, one great and one left purposeless.

You looked down at him, sitting on his room floor looking straight back at you with tears. Even though you felt pity and guilt at the back of your mind, you knew that if he learned his lesson well enough, maybe his future would have some meaning for him. Ryohei wasted his life enough.

“You're such a waste! You have so much potential and you just go waste it all! Do you know how hard the people around you work while you're just sitting there with your stupid games?” You said to him, even more disappointed.

His tears fell harder, he shut his eyes and curled up. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…” He repeated shakily, not knowing what else to say.

“No matter how many more apologies you say Arisu, it will never fix the fact that you've wasted your life.” You said solemnly. “We're done, I can't stay with someone who doesn't know what to do with themselves.” You followed firmly, trying to walk out and leave his empty house.

“Wait!” He shouted, getting up and pulling your wrist to make you look back at him. “Please, Y/N, don't leave me, you promised you wouldn't. I’ll fix myself, I promise. Please don't leave me alone. Please I'm begging you, I’ll do it, ill fix everything, just please stay.” He begged, crying and sniffling in between sentences.

Flashbacks of the happy memories he had during your relationship spun across his head. He didn't want this to be the end, he didn't want to be blaming himself for another failure. You pulled away your wrist as he walked behind you, and chased you down the stairs begging, pleading for another chance. No matter how much he begged, however, that didn't stop you from slamming the front door on him, as you went back into your car and drove off.

Watching you drive away in the pouring rain, with his tears pouring harder made his world go silent. It was his mother's death all over again. He was the one to blame for you leaving and knew that he would never deserve you or another chance again.

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trek-tracks · 2 years

Text

It's an old, well-worn routine.

Whenever Jim says, “you were right, Bones,” Bones quirks that funny half-smile and tells Jim, “I wish I’d gotten a recording of that as proof. I’d play it non-stop to get to sleep, care to say it again?”

And Jim just grins at him and won’t repeat it for the recorder, tells him it’ll go to his head, that he'll just have to wait for the next time; if it ever happens again, that is.

Bones is a man of many opinions, and Jim hates to admit, they're often correct. As he's matured, he's learned to give credit where credit is due.

Plus, he likes it when Bones smiles.

"You were right, Bones," he says, as they beam up from yet another mission where a near-disaster was averted, this time due to Bones' suspicion of the Emperor's head physician.

"That's a balm to my weary ears, Jim," Bones sighs. "Care to record that? I'll layer it on top of my white noise machine and have the sweet dreams of the vindicated."

Jim points out that asking for a recording of one's captain's voice to have sweet dreams to is probably against regulation. Bones rolls his eyes. No recording is provided.

"You were right, Bones," Jim says, handing Bones a glass of bourbon after a heartbreaker of a mission. Two dead, Spock almost the third, now back in one piece after six hours of surgery. He doesn't break out the Saurian brandy; that's for celebratory drinks. This is mourning.

"I'm always right," Bones says. "That's my curse. I wish I hadn't been. But next time..."

"I'll listen," says Jim. "I'll listen faster. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Jim. You did what you thought was right, and it worked in the end. We got the treaty. We saved more lives than we lost."

"You know that doesn't matter when I'm writing to the families."

"Yeah, Jim, I know that," sighs Bones. "But let's pretend I'm right this time, okay? And, by the way, when I get that recording, you can add 'I'll listen' to the end of it. It's a nice touch."

"You're an asshole," says Jim, but he smiles for the first time since Ensign Simons' death.

"And I'm right," says Bones, raising his glass. They both down it in one go.

"You were right, Bones," Jim says, after finally turning down his second chance at promotion to the Admiralty.

"Of course I'm right," says Bones. "Captaining a ship is your first, best destiny. It's who you are. It's what you do. But I can barely take credit for that. Any fool can see it. Which is why I'm surprised the brass offered you that promotion in the first place. They're the biggest fools out there."

"Well, I guess I'm going to wait a while to join them, Bones. Are you ready for another five years?"

"Who else is going to sporadically admit to me that I'm right?"

"This is why I can't give you the recording," Jim says. "You won't need me anymore."

"That's not true, Jim," Bones says, suddenly looking more serious than when he's performing a particularly delicate surgery. He looks Jim straight in the eye.

"That'll never be true. Do you hear me? You told me you'd listen. That will never be true. And I'm right."

Jim’s final mission is a solo trip, requested by the heads of two warring factions, looking to make peace to show their commitment to their planet's application for entry into the Federation.

Bones tells him not to go, that he’s got a bad feeling about this one.

Jim rolls his eyes. “You always have a bad feeling about this one."

"It's an especially bad feeling, this time. And don't you remember? I'm always right. You promised me you'd actually listen once in a while; this is why I need it on record--"

But Jim has a chance to bring peace, so Jim can’t stay. And Bones knows it.

And it doesn’t work.

Bleeding out after tensions erupt, knowing transporters are jammed and it’s too late for rescue, Jim spends his last minutes recording messages for his family and senior crew.

Bones’ message is last, and Jim knows just what he's going to say.

He puts on his most winning smile and says, “You were right, Bones. Next time, I'll listen. And now, here’s your recording as proof. Thanks for everything. I hope you play it non-stop."

After the ceremonies, the speeches, and the handoff of the Enterprise to Spock, Bones finally pours himself a glass -- bourbon, not Saurian brandy -- and watches his message.

"You were right, Bones."

It doesn't give him sweet dreams. In fact, he doesn’t sleep for three days.

He never plays it again.

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moni-logues · 7 months

Text

Woo Baby Baby

Pairing: Wooyoung x reader (gn)

Genre: angst, kinda song fic (Ooh Baby Baby by Smokey Robinson), established relationship

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Mistakes, Wooyoung knows he's made a few... A rough patch in your relationship gets a whole lot rougher when Wooyoung steps outside it on a business trip.

Content: drinking, referenced infidelity/the aftermath of infidelity

A/N: this was written tonight, very much a spur of the moment thing; idk where it came from, idk what it is but it's here 🙃 yeah apparently i'm writing ATZ now too!

It had started as a joke. You had crooned ‘ooh baby baby’ and he had asked you why you would sing that to him; he had asked if you had anything to confess to and laughed, pulling you closer for a kiss. Of course you hadn’t; you would never. But the line came into your head almost every time you thought of him: Wooyoung, your Woo baby baby.

Now you lay on your sofa, two bottles of wine deep, listening to the song on repeat. Your tears were dry; your face was puffy and almost sticky with salt. You waved the wine bottle in the air like a conductor in front of their orchestra as Smokey sang, over and over again, about how he did his baby wrong.

Oh, how your baby had done you wrong.

It had been a rough couple of weeks. You had resigned a month prior and the company had taken it poorly, throwing the worst they could at you while you worked your notice period; it meant long, tense hours in the office, over-time, bad relations with colleagues you had thought were your friends. The promise of your new job was not even close to enough to sustaining a good mood during your last month. You would return home tired, miserable, at the end of your tether.

Wooyoung had his stresses, too. They were preparing for an overseas business trip, a deal on the brink of either close or collapse; it was a make-or-break venture and no one could afford for it to break. Least of all Wooyoung, who had put all his savings into this. To say he was standing on the brink of financial ruin would not have been entirely overstating it.

You were snapping at each other, getting irritated by things that you wouldn’t usually notice, wouldn’t usually care about. He was upset for you, for not being able to do anything to make it better. You were worried for him, knowing that his trip could be the best or worst thing that had ever happened to him. Neither of you could funnel that emotion into tenderness or patience. A storm cloud took up residence over your apartment, the place you had so recently come to call your own, the two of you finally in one place.

You both started finding excuses to come home a little later—it wasn’t difficult, not with your schedules the way they were—anything to avoid another argument over who hadn’t emptied the dishwasher. You kissed each other goodbye in the mornings in a way that was routine, automatic, sometimes barely meant. You took turns going to bed early, one of you always asleep before the other joined.

You kept telling yourself it would be fine. You just had to leave your company and start at the new one. Woo just had to go on his trip, close the deal, and come home. Then it would be fine. You’d get back on track, on-kilter, back to normal. This was a temporary blip. You were happy with Wooyoung, of course you were, this was just not an easy time. That was all.

The trip did not go well. The deal didn’t tank but it was hanging on by the skin of its teeth; the investors (potential investors) were jumpy, asking for more and more data, pushing back timelines, hemming and hawing and, in your mind, stringing them along. You were not convinced they were really going to invest at the end of it all, but you didn’t dare say as much to Woo when he came home. He was so deflated, defeated, exhausted. He came straight in, took off his clothes, and got into bed.

You felt like he was avoiding you even more than he had been before. He seemed skittish, too, and distracted. You had started your new job by the time he returned, and you were feeling better, even if he wasn’t. You had determined that you would put in the effort, make up for the lack of it before he went away, do enough for both of you when you realised he had not returned in triumph.

He didn’t seem to want to let you so you gave him the space he seemed to need for a few days. It was eventually he who sat you down to talk.

The conversation did not go where you had expected.

Someone else. A mistake. A one-time thing. He never meant it to happen. He felt sick about it. He never wanted to hurt you. Everything was going so badly. They had drunk so much. He felt like everything was falling apart. He missed you; you weren’t there. He said a lot, and most of it missed you completely because all you could focus on was him and someone else. Someone else. You could picture it; you didn’t even need to know who they were or what they looked like. That didn’t matter. You could just see him, your Wooyoung, your ooh baby baby making his own Smokey Robinson mistake.

That was days ago now and you couldn’t stop seeing it. You hadn’t told anyone else, couldn’t face it. Telling people made it real and you were still, somehow, clinging onto the last vestiges of hope that this wasn’t happening. You were waiting for Woo to come back and say, hey it’s ok, that didn’t happen. It never happened. I’m still all yours.

He was saying that, actually. ‘I’m yours’. ‘I’m all yours’. ‘I never want to leave you’. ‘I love you’. ‘Please’. He had gone to stay with Hongjoong, just for a few days, to give you space, to let you process, work through it. He said he was going to make it up to you; he was going to win your trust again; he was going to make it better.

You were a long way from being able to let him.

You opened another bottle of wine and turned the music up, turned it up loud enough that you couldn’t hear your doorbell ringing, couldn’t hear your phone buzz on the sofa, couldn’t hear the knocking at your door.

He was just being polite; he didn’t need to knock because it was his apartment, too. He wanted you to let him in; he wanted you to open the door and step back, to say ok, we can talk, I’m ready now. He knew you wouldn’t be able to hear him so he input the code himself and walked into his apartment.

His heart broke seeing you like that, wine drunk and sad, singing the song you sang to him but all of it this time, all the words, singing his mistake, singing your heartbreak. He wished he could take it back. He wished a lot of things. He wished you would forgive him, would still love him; he’d have given anything. Forget the deal, forget his life savings. What did success mean if you weren’t by his side?

He walked over and sat on the sofa next to you. The fact that you didn’t move showed just how drunk you were; he worried that if you stood, you’d fall.

“Baby,” he said softly, testing the waters, seeing where you were.

You shook your head.

“Not your baby,” you mumbled back, nevertheless leaning your weight on him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He picked up your phone and turned the music down; he took the open wine bottle from your loose grip and put it on the coffee table where it wouldn’t spill all over the rug you had taken months to pick out. You mumbled something else, something that might have been a protest at one action or the other—or both—but you didn’t move to effect any change. You, instead, fell backwards, your head almost hitting the wall behind the sofa.

“Careful!” Wooyoung cried, reaching out to cradle you.

You swatted him away, muttering something about being fine.

You clearly weren’t and he knew it was his fault. He was on the bottom rung of a very tall ladder that would take a long time to climb. But he was determined he’d reach the top. He would. Whatever it took. He wouldn’t give up hope. He couldn’t.

He encouraged you off the sofa, scooping his arm under your shoulder and around your back to support you on your sea legs. You let him, not enough control of or strength in your body left to fight him anyway. He walked you to bed, tucked you in, kissed your forehead. He lingered just a second and, in that second, you reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt to keep him near. You tipped your face up and brought your lips to his. It took every ounce of his strength to pull away. He wanted it; with everything he had, he wanted to kiss you and make this all go away. He wanted to kiss you until the world around you dissolved; he wanted to kiss you until there was nothing left. But you were drunk, and, if he were really honest, you didn’t want to kiss him. Not really. Not sober. Not in your right mind. He knew that. And he’d already done plenty to erode your trust in him. He wouldn’t ever do that.

He pulled back, his lips leaving yours.

“Baby,” you whined, fist still clutched around his T-shirt.

“I’m here,” he replied in a whisper. “I’m still here.”

You let him go, your hand flopping by your side as your face creased, and your tears were refreshed. Your hands raised to your face, covering it, and you rolled away from him, trying to hide yourself from him as if he wouldn’t still be able to see you, to hear your crying, to look again upon the mess he’d made.

‘Pull yourself together,’ he said to himself harshly as tears pricked in his own eyes. ‘This is all your own fault anyway’.

He wiped a hand roughly over his eyes and decided that, tonight, he would sleep on the sofa. He wouldn’t go back to Hongjoong. He wanted to stay; he wanted to show you that he wanted to stay. He loved you; he would always love you and he was determined to make you see.

He whispered his love to you as he walked back out of the bedroom and sat on the sofa. He took a generous glug from the wine bottle and curled himself up small. There was always tomorrow. He couldn’t give up hope; he couldn’t give up on you. He only prayed you felt the same.

#atz fanfic #atz fic #atz x reader #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung angst #atz angst

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shurisasthmaticgf · 1 year

Text

Back In Your Arms: Shuri x Black! Fem! Reader

warnings: spoilers, mention of death, yelling, swearing, angst, lmk if i forgot anything

a/n: it's literally semester end for me and my brain is beyond fried so im sorry if this is ass lmao

The minute you found out Shuri was planning an attack on Namor and the Talokanil, you were already readying yourself to join. Although you never verbally told her, she already knew by the way you spent extra time training in the early mornings and late nights. It was only the night before that Shuri told you that you were not included in the attack on the enemy.

You paced around her lab growing more agitated by the second, "What do you mean I'm not going tomorrow?" Shuri repeated herself firmly, "Exactly what that means. I do not understand why you are making this so difficult." You stopped pacing and faced her, throwing your hands in the air, "So what do you expect me to do?" Shuri didn't look away from the monitor in front of her as she added finishing touches to something she'd been working on, "I have arranged for you to stay in Jabariland until we have finished business with Namor. You will be accompanied by Noxolo and Taji, per General's recommendation. M'baku has also ordered two Jabari warriors to stay back as well for you."

Hearing her plan of making you sit around and do nothing only frustrated you more. You brought your hands up to your head then exclaimed, "I'm supposed to just sit around holed up in a goddamn cave while you and everyone else go save the world?! Are you fucking kidding me Shuri?! T'challa and Queen Ramonda would allow me to-"

"YOU DO NOT SPEAK THEIR NAMES! YOU DO NOT GET TO TELL ME WHAT THEY WOULD DO. THAT DOESN'T MATTER! THEY AREN'T HERE- THEY'RE GONE. " Shuri's voice echoed through her lab, the force of her voice reverberating in your chest. The queen took a deep breath and slowly walked over towards you with narrowed eyes. A pit formed in your stomach as you stared back at her, the light that shone behind those deep brown seas was gone. There was nothing but hatred and anger as it consumed her from the inside out that you could only bear witness to.

Shuri stood eye level with you and she spoke through gritted teeth, "You are staying back. That is an order from me as your queen. Do you understand?" You lowered your head and answered, "Yes...your highness." The title taste bitter on your tongue and it was clear by the slight sarcasm in your voice. Nonetheless you conceded to her order, and satisfied by your reply Shuri turned back to what she was working on, not even bidding you goodnight like she usually would.

꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷

Nearly six hours had passed since you first arrived in Jabariland for the time being. You were being sheltered in a den far within one of the mountains. A small fire burned in the center of the floor and small wooden furnishings adorned by furs perfectly place around the room. You sat upside down with your legs over the back of a chair while your head dangled above the floor.

From the entrance of the den, Olaitan, one of the Jabari warriors on guard insisted, "There was no space on the door for Jack. If he got on the door then they both would have died!" You shook your head in refusal and the mix of beads and shells that adorned your hair clicked together. You swung your legs back onto the ground and sat up straight, closing your eyes for a moment as the blood rushed back to your head.

Before you could reply, Noxolo, one of the Dora Milaje who accompanied you, cut in, "I refuse. Rose let Jack die. There was room on that door, she was just selfish." You listened to the young warrior, watching how the large scar over her white eye crinkled when she narrowed her gaze. You pointed to Noxolo and chimed in, "See that's exactly what I've been saying."

Across from you, Taji, another Dora Milaje shook her head, "How could Jack and Rose fit on that tiny piece of wood? There is no way that both of them could have survived! Olaitan and I are right- Jack wouldn't have made it if he wanted to save Rose!" Her deep brown eyes sparkled with delight of thinking she was right. You and Noxolo looked at each other with exasperated expressions. It had been two hours of this debate and neither side was willing to admit that they were wrong or right.

You slapped your hand against the floor and said, "Jack could have fit. There was an entire MythBusters episode on this!" Noxolo snapped her fingers and confirmed, "Yes, and they confirmed that Rose and Jack could have fit on the door in five different ways." Taji asked, "Did they do this experiment in the Northern Atlantic Ocean in April at night time? With individuals who measure exactly the same to Rose and Jack?"

At that argument you and Noxolo fell silent, making Taji and Olaitan laugh at you both. Desperate for a tie breaker you turned to the last person in the room who had yet to add their two cents into the debate. With a cheeky grin you asked, "Adisa, you're the deciding vote." The large Jabari warrior looked between you, the two Dora Milaje, and his fellow warrior.

A thick tension fell over the entire den, only the sound of the crackling fire at the center of the room could be heard. Adisa looked at you and Noxolo giving you a hopeful grin, but he responded, "I have never seen this 'Titanic' you all speak of." The four of you threw your hands in the air in defeat and annoyance as Adisa laughed heartedly at the disappointment he caused.

Purple flashes from your Kimoyo beads drew your attention from the rest of the group. You turned your back towards them and hunched over your wrist, waiting for a call to come through. It took a moment then you heard a familiar voice, "Ayo, Y/n." You held your beads closer and asked, "Riri? Why isn't Shuri the one calling me?" The student paused as if she was debating on telling you something before she simply replied, "She told me to call you." Your heart raced in your chest and you asked, "Why? Why would she ask you to do that? Is everything okay? Where is Shuri?"

Riri let out an exhausted sigh and told you, "Wait chill out. Take a breather, your girl is fine. She just has something she's doing right now aight? I was just calling to tell you they sending a flyer to pick you up. I'll see you when you get here, okay?" You but your lip nervously and answered much quieter than before, "Mhm. See you later." The call ended and you rested your head between your knees while taking deep breaths as you waited for the flyer to come get you.

꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷

The entirety of the ride back to the Citadel you were dead silent. Your leg bounced anxiously against the floor while you pulled at the coils along the nape of your neck. In your mind you replayed your last moments with Shuri before you left for Jabariland:

You step foot onto the flyer to see Shuri waiting for you with Riri by her side. While Riri grinned from ear to ear at seeing you, the queen did not wear the same expression. Exactly the same as the past few days, Shuri's face blank and emotionless, and her eyes looked empty. Your heart broke at the sight but you told yourself this was part of her grieving process.

It was as if Shuri was present but distant at the same time, just standing before you not making any motion towards you. Until you closed the space between the two of you by pulling her into your arms. Shuri then wrapped her arms around your body and rested her head on your shoulder. After a moment you pulled away from her and attempted to look her in the eyes. The queen turned her head slightly so she was looking just past you. A frown tugged at the corner of your lips and you held her face in your hands, "I'll see you when we get back, yeah?" Still refusing to look at you Shuri nodded ever so slightly in response but remained completely silent.

Your thumb grazed the side of her jaw and you placed a chaste kiss against her lips that she reciprocated. Slowly, your palms dragged lower, holding onto Shuri's neck gently and you quietly spoke so only she could hear you, "Sthandwa."

Finally, the queen's eyes met yours and you told her, "Be smart. Don't forget who you are." She nodded in understanding and you kissed her once more, "I love you Shuri." She held you tighter in her arms, squeezing you so hard it almost hurt- almost as if she didn't want you to leave. Your girlfriend pressed a kiss to your forehead and murmured against you, "I love you, y/n."

Shuri released you from her embrace and you walked further down the ramp to exit the ship. The queen stopped walking in front of the two Dora Milaje she'd assigned to accompany you. The two young women, Noxolo and Taji, were the youngest warriors in the group, but Okoye and Ayo recommended the two for the job.

The queen stopped the two warriors with a hand to the sterum, "You understand what is expected of you both, correct?" Noxolo and Taji replied confidently, "Yes your highness." Shuri lowly whispered to the two Dora Milaje, "Protect her at all costs." The two warriors once more answered in unison, "Yes your highness." Shuri stepped off of the flyer but not before looking over her shoulder to see you and Riri.

At the sight of Riri you cocked your head to the side and smiled. You pulled her into a side hug and told her, "Go kick some ass but promise me you'll be careful out there, aight?" The student gave you her word, "I got you, don't worry." You gave her a knowing look and she put her hands up in fake surrender with a laugh, "I'm being for real!" You punched her arm lightly and admitted, "I'm just teasing you don't worry." Riri turned to walk off the ship and said, "I'll see you when you get back!" All you could do was give a very convincing fake smile, because anything else and you would have ran back towards them and tried to stay. The flyer began to close and Shuri watched from the ground until it was no longer in sight with you in it.

꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷

The moment the flyer touched the ground and opened you were already trying to make your way to see Shuri. When the door opened Nakia was waiting for you while Ayo waited for Noxolo and Taji, pulling them aside immediately. You looked around to see many Dora Milaje missing. Slowly you turned back towards Ayo and noticed the paled look on Taji's face. The young warrior was out of earshot but the way she swallowed thickly and remained silent, accepting whatever Ayo was telling them made your stomach drop.

Whatever Nakia was trying to tell you started to sound like jibberish until you ran a full out sprint. You dashed up two flights of stairs and the long corridor leading to Shuri’s chamber. The beads and shells on your front braids smacked against your cheeks and eyes but you couldn't care less. The sound of running footsteps echoed behind yours and a woman called out, "Y/N! Stop!" Turning on your heel you faced Nakia, watching as she jogged up to you.

Tears burned your eyes as you shook your head in denial from already thinking the worst case scenario. Nakia held you by the shoulders and calmly spoke, "She is alive. She will be okay, Shuri will be alright, Y/n." Her words took a moment to register but soon you found your breaths slowing and tears stopping. Nervously you questioned, "What happened?" The older woman explained slowly, "While the rest of us were fighting on the ship, Shuri and Namor went off alone. I do not know the entre story, but all I know is they were battling on an island. Shuri has sustained multiple injuries that are being treated currently." As if she could read your mind, Nakia added, "You will be able to see her shortly. The healers must finish with her before then. You cannot get in their way."

Although your tears stopped falling you felt like you were going to fall apart all over again. Nakia gently placed an arm around your shoulder and led you away from Shuri's bedroom door. The chamber door opened and Nyakallo, the head healer, exited the room and waved you back over.

Nyakallo told you kindly, "Miss Y/N. You are able to visit her, she is resting now. If she needs anything you know how to call me." You thanked the older woman and burst into Shuri's room. Your girlfriend lay in her bed surrounded by pillows which made her look smaller than normal. Her lips were pale and chapped and her eyes shut with her hands resting over her chest. The concern on your face went away when Shuri cracked a smile and chuckled lightly. You groaned in annoyance and whined, "Even when you're seriously injured you still find the time to play with me huh?"

Shuri's eyes remained shut as she quietly answered, "I got speared to a rock. Let me have my fun...plus it's fun to mess with you." She could tell without looking that you were giving her an annoyed glare. You chose not to acknowledge the whole getting speared to a rock thing- that was for another time.

Your girlfriend hummed then requested, "Lay with me?" You pulled back her blankets and climbed into her bed next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Shuri slowly moved herself closer to you, and in the process you noticed how she was moving extremely stiff. The familiar and comforting smell of vanilla and ylang-ylang that clung to her sheets filled your senses. She rested her head on your chest and let out a breath that she seemed to have been holding for some time.

The two of you laid in silence until the queen let out a shaky breath, "I'm sorry. I yelled at you and I pushed you away recently when you were trying to be there for me. I'm sorry." You held onto Shuri's hand as she took another breath so she could continue, "I couldn't lose you too. He- he promised me he would-" Her voice broke as she remembered the promises Namor made and kept, resulting in her own massive loss. You gently shushed her, "Shhh. We don't have to have this conversation right now. You are supposed to be resting remember?"

Your girlfriend held back the tears that welled up behind her eyes, "Yes." She turned her head into your chest and you held her head closer to your heart. You stroked her head gently while whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Shuri's body started to relax against yours and soft snores fell past her lips. You kissed the top of her head and squeezed your eyes shut, thanking the ancestors and gods above that she was back in your arms again.

#black wlw #shuri x black!reader #black panther fanfiction #black panther wakanda forever #shuri fanfiction #shuri x y/n #shuri x reader

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 8 days

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I finally decided to listen to the Perfect Brains podcast, did all four episodes that are out so far in the last couple of days. And, okay, I wasn’t going to say this because I didn’t want to be pointlessly negative about something people enjoy – but now that I no longer hold this opinion, I can say, I was pretty skeptical when this was first announced. It felt like a weirdly manufactured pairing, since as far as I knew Sam Campbell and Lucy Beaumont had nothing to do with each other before Taskmaster, and it’s not even like they clicked with each other especially well during Taskmaster.

It felt like one of those things where people on Reddit (or, to be fair, Tumblr) see two people on a panel show and say “Oh my God, they should have a sitcom!” And then Avalon just gave them a sitcom podcast, not because there were any artistic reasons to believe that would actually work, but just because fans thought it would be a funny concept. This seemed especially true since they didn’t even have a format when they launched, just said “Okay you guys liked these two on Taskmaster, well here, subscribe to this then.”

And I wasn’t convinced it would work. Sam and Lucy don’t have anything that would make them work well together except that they’re both weird, and they’re not even the same type of weird, or particularly compatible types of weird. Zany characters can be very funny on their own, but when bouncing off someone else, the “straight man” role exists for a reason. The weird one has to be paired with someone who’s been tailored to fit with them.

I can say all those now because it turns out my concerns were unfounded – this shit’s hilarious. It still seems like a bit of a cynical idea that might have just got lucky, but it really works. Possibly because I didn’t need to be worried about the lack of a straight man. They have a “straight man” in the podcast, and his name is Sam Campbell. And it turns out it’s amazingly funny to listen to Sam Campbell playing the straight man. He’s surprisingly good at it.

There’s a kid at the autism centre where I work who speaks almost entirely in “scripts”, in which he’s repeating things he’s heard elsewhere (songs, TV shows), mostly talking to himself, sometimes he can be persuaded to answer a question but only if it’s a very simple one and he can answer with something from his repertoire of quotes. By last week, I’d spent probably 50 hours with him one-on-one in various sessions over several months, and I was very used to his voice. But then we introduced a new program that he didn’t like, and when I started doing it, he suddenly said “All done all done!” in a completely different voice that I had never heard before. It was significantly higher-pitched. He normally mumbles a lot but this was clearly enunciated. If I heard that voice out of context I’d never have guessed it was him. It was shocking to realize I’d heard him say thousands of words and this was the first time I’d ever heard his “real” voice. How he sounds when he’s talking as himself, and not scripting from other things he’s heard. (Not relevant to the story but just to be clear: I didn’t finish the program after he said that. I do not torture children for a living.)

That’s what I thought of the first time I heard Sam Campbell respond to one of Lucy Beaumont’s most absurd statements. Sam stays in character on everything, even situations where most comedians break character (Taskmaster podcast, Off Menu), so the first time Lucy caught him so off guard that he just gave a genuine surprise response, his answer shocked me almost more than her statement. I had that same moment of “Oh shit, I’ve heard you say a lot of words before but I think I’ve just heard your real voice for the first time.” It’s not constant or anything, Sam’s still mostly in character throughout this. But every once in a while Lucy will throw him right off and it’s delightful. Her mother had him unable to keep up any persona for pretty much the whole time he was on, I think he nearly forgot he was meant to be acting and just enjoy the stories. (Please note: That moment of “Oh shit, you became a different person for a moment there and I think that’s the real one” is as far as this analogy goes, I feel the need to clarify because I know the internet is full of speculation about Sam being somewhere on some spectrum or other and that’s not the point I’m making here. I have no theories as to what spectrum Sam Campbell may or may not be on. But I do have views on how funny it is when someone gets emotionally pushed to the point of suddenly turning into the “real” person, my view is: not particularly funny if it’s a child confronted with a therapy program they don’t want and you should probably back off, but very funny if it’s a comedian who’s too confused by another comedian’s mother’s holiday anecdote to remember to do his inflection.)

The biggest downside to this podcast is I just can’t imagine anything living up to that guest episode. Tim Key was so good that by the time his segment finished, I felt bad for Lucy and her mother trying to live up to that. But I needn’t have, as by the time Lucy’s mother was done, I felt bad for Tim having given his time to that podcast only to be comedically upstaged by someone who isn’t actually a comedian (although Lucy’s mother is a playwright, and she sure crafted some theatre in that episode).

I’ve gone through various phases in my assumptions about Lucy Beaumont. It started with – well obviously that’s a character, it’s funny. Then – she is committing to that bit really hard, is there any chance she’s just actually like that and has lucked into her career? Then – oh that was some shitty misogyny of me to even consider that, no one wonders whether someone like Sam Campbell is a character act, obviously Lucy Beaumont also has a differently-pitched voice of a completely different person that she uses in real life, she just never lets it come out in a performance. Then I listened to her on the Comedian’s Comedian podcast where she started talking about how all famous literature was written by ghosts, and Stuart Goldsmith gave her so many opportunities to clarify herself, he kept saying that’s an interesting idea but she means it metaphorically of course, and she kept saying “No I mean it completely literally, I think people are possessed by spirits”, and you could hear the moment when it clicked to Stuart that he wasn’t going to get her to admit she’s doing a bit because she’s not, and he finally said “Are you pulling my leg, Lucy?” and she said no, and then he hurried off the topic. And after that I stopped feeling bad about wondering whether Lucy Beaumont might be actually just like that, not some carefully crafted character. I mean, obviously some of it is crafted. Obviously she couldn’t get where she is if she didn’t know what she was doing and understand that some of her absurd thoughts are funny, and funnier if she plays into that. But I think she does mean this stuff.

Hearing her mother on that podcast has broadened my view of Lucy Beaumont further, to thinking – oh, she might be the normal one. She might be genuinely like this but only because that’s her compromise between the normal she was taught and objective reality. And she, being very intelligent (and you can’t have as successful a career as Lucy Beaumont with having lots of intelligence, even if that someone goes alongside the belief that 1984 was written by an angry spirit), figured out where to find the humour in that compromise and in the gaps, and it’s worked out great. That’s my current working theory. I’ll let you all know how it evolves in another ten or so episodes.

The guests were great, but the three episodes with just the two of them have been funny too. Sam Campbell obviously brings a lot to the table, I’ve had the theme song stuck in my head for 48 hours straight, so fuck him for that, and Paul Williams too for good measure. It is fun to listen to them pass the brain cell back and forth, jockey for which one gets to be the weird one, and Sam Campbell normally loses, which is funny. But he still gets to be the weirder one often enough for that to also be very funny. Four episodes in and I'm sold.

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