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clottedcreamtea · 3 months

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chapter 11!!! sorry ive been absent if anyone reads these fanfic cahpters on here???

i got in a car crash and that was actually minor but then the semester started killing me (engineering major if i hadn't said that already!) and i only just got back into my cookie run hobby! so enjoy a silly chapter as i keep writing this! (this is the home stretch really. probably 5 more chapters max?)

"NO!”

Royal Milk Tea Cookie shot up from where he was laying with a scream, eyes teary and voice hoarse. A giant wave of pain struck his body full force, and the scream of fear quickly shifted into a scream of excruciating pain.

“The painkillers must be wearing off,” A voice quickly noted from beside Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s bed. “Nurse! Please refill the IV!”

IV? Nurse? Royal Milk Tea Cookie furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to remember what had happened to leave him feeling so awful in his body.

“Hey, sweetheart!” The Cookie that had called in the nurse was now speaking directly toward the blue-eyed Cookie. He did his best to maintain eye contact, but the way the Cookie was looking at him made him feel almost as though he was a child again. It was patronizing, to say the least. “Are you feeling alright? You shot up with quite a shout!”

Royal Milk Tea Cookie thought back to the dream… no, nightmare. What was it about? A wedding? And some monster crashing it? “Yeah,” Royal Milk Tea Cookie shrugged, flinching at the movement and regretting his reaction. “Yes. I’m okay. Where am I?”

The nurse, refilling the jam IV, shared a concerned look with the doctor Royal Milk Tea Cookie was speaking to. The doctor cleared her throat before speaking. “You’re in the hospital wing of the Hollyberry Kingdom. Do you remember why you’re here?”

The Hollyberry Kingdom? Royal Milk Tea Cookie scoffed. Why was he so far from home? “Um, no?”

A sharp inhale of breath was heard from behind Royal Milk Tea Cookie and the doctor quickly shooed the nurse away. She looked back to her patient and took his hands in hers. “You’re here with several of your friends from the Creme Republic. You were in a very bad accident yesterday and your friends are all very worried.”

“Accident?” The Oyster heir repeated, confused.

“Yes, sweetheart. You’re covered in bandages in the hospital wing right now. Do you remember what happened to you?”

Royal Milk Tea Cookie shook his head slowly, trying his best to think back to the previous day. There was a nice bedroom, and there were lots of people in the courtyard on the way to his room… someone else was there. Maybe it was the librarian he spoke to in the museum wing?

The doctor sighed through her nostrils and patted Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s crisp hands as she flattened her white pants and prepared to leave the room, adjusting a few medical instruments surrounding the prince’s hospital bed. “There’s a lot to catch you up on, but I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed right now,” She approached the door but didn’t yet turn the golden handle. Royal Milk Tea Cookie felt like that gold color looked familiar for some reason. “Would you feel comfortable having a visitor? Or do you want to wait for a bit? I know you just woke up.”

This was confusing. Royal Milk Tea Cookie didn’t feel overwhelmed and had no idea what had happened to put him where he was. People were with him? An accident? A visitor? Everything made his brain feel muddy and unable to focus. Even so, maybe seeing someone he was traveling with would help him realize what was happening. He slowly nodded as he answered. “Yeah,” He said, tentatively. “Yeah, I’m alright with a visitor.”

The doctor nodded in response. She smiled a knowing smile, as if there was something Royal Milk Tea Cookie was forgetting. He ignored it. “Alright. Give me just a moment and then I’ll send him in.”

The door opened and then shut behind the doctor, and Royal Milk Tea Cookie could see her silhouette in the windows of the hospital room as another Cookie approached her. There were murmurs, likely of the doctor telling whoever this “him” was that Royal Milk Tea Cookie was completely stupid and couldn’t remember anything from the previous day. Or however long it had been since he’d been away from home. Seriously, why was he even in the Hollyberry Kingdom? The blue-eyed Cookie rolled his eyes and went to roll onto his side before shouting at the pain he had just imbued onto himself through his poor choice of actions.

The hospital door quickly swung open, nearly flying off its hinges, as what Royal Milk Tea Cookie could only describe as a God among Cookies rushed into the room. He could feel his mouth drop open and jam fill his face as he watched every small movement this Cookie made. His hair was a wonderful cream color, his eyes a wonderful green, though they had bags so heavy under them that Royal Milk Tea Cookie could have packed a week’s worth of clothing them. Regardless, this Cookie was gorgeous, and Royal Milk Tea Cookie was sure he’d never meet anyone else like him. By the divines, he thought, please let him be single.

“Are you okay?” The Cookie breathed, staring intently into baby blue eyes that couldn’t seem to look away. “You screamed. Did you hurt yourself?”

“Ah,” Royal Milk Tea Cookie coughed, trying to make himself not look a fool before this man. “Yeah. I rolled over. And it hurt. The doctor said I got into some accident or something, but I’m fine.” He shrugged again, having learned nothing from his previous conversation, and couldn’t hold in the groan he let out.

“Oh, Teacup,” The Cookie breathed, voice hitching. Royal Milk Tea Cookie looked back toward him and saw tears welling in his eyes.

“Woah, um, are you okay?” He really wasn’t sure what to do. Strangers didn’t usually cry in front of him.

“Divines,” The blond Cookie took a deep breath and wiped his eyes before placing a hand on Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s cheek, trailing down his arm before locking their hands together. Royal Milk Tea Cookie felt a shiver go through his entire body. Thank goodness every movement was painful, otherwise, he’d have leaped on top of this man within seconds of meeting him, and that was no way to make a first impression. Instead, Royal Milk Tea Cookie stared intently at their intertwined hands as the Cookie spoke again. “I’m sorry. By the divines, Royal Milk Tea Cookie, your mother would have my head if she learned what’s happened to you. To everyone…”

The golden Cookie paused. Royal Milk Tea Cookie filled the silence. “What happened to me?” Green and blue met once more. “The accident. Um, other Cookies traveled with me. What happened?”

The air suddenly felt heavy. The warm hand in his suddenly left and Royal Milk Tea Cookie felt as though he had said something wrong; as though his words were poison and the air was a cup of tea that this wonderful Cookie had been drinking, no longer safe.

“The doctor said you were suffering from amnesia,” A tear fell. “She didn’t say how severe it was, just that you seemed confused.” More tears. His voice didn’t waiver. The golden Cookie didn’t bother to wipe them away this time. They just kept falling.

“I’m sorry,” Royal Milk Tea Cookie sat stone still, eyes wide and voice hitching on the first syllable. “I just can’t remember what happened.”

“Do you know who I am?” The Cookie asked, patient and calm, though the tears suggested something very important was being forgotten. Royal Milk Tea Cookie shook his head slowly. This was the wrong answer. A shaky breath emerged from the golden Cookie, who quickly stood up and brushed off his pants before excusing himself to speak to the doctor who had walked out several minutes earlier. Royal Milk Tea Cookie was left alone in the room.

He had been able to fall asleep again, thankfully. The painkillers had kicked in again, numbing the waves of hurt that struck the blue-eyed Cookie every ten minutes or so. The nurse brought him a book to read. It was about amnesia and how to deal with the effects. It wasn’t permanent (or likely wasn’t permanent), just a setback.

His mother’s guard entered the room a little while after he’d woken up from his nap, greeting him and apologizing for not being able to protect him from the near-death experience he’d had just 24 hours earlier.

“What?”

“The ceiling, my prince. It nearly crushed you to death!” The Pearl Legion guard specified. Royal Milk Tea Cookie felt his heart drop. He took a few deep breaths.

“Um,” Royal Milk Tea Cookie messed with the blankets in his bed for a minute. “I, um, don’t think I can talk about this anymore. The doctor said she didn’t want me to get overwhelmed.”

“Oh, I apologize,” The Pearl Legion guard quickly rushed out, trying to cover his tracks and undo the effect his words were having. “I thought that after Clotted Cream Cookie had come in…” Royal Milk Tea Cookie shook his head, but that name caught his attention.

“Clotted Cream Cookie?” He repeated. “That was who came in first?” The room door quickly opened and the doctor rushed in.

“What’s happening here?” She sounded irate.

“He told me about what happened–”

“Absolutely not!” The doctor began shoving her hand into the guard’s chest. “I had lengthy discussions with every Republican on this island. Amnesia can not be dealt with unless you are delicate. Cookies have had awful meltdowns when they are reminded of trauma their body tried to rid them of.”

“I’m sorry!” The guard quickly responded. The doctor, however, was having none of it. Royal Milk Tea Cookie felt his breath quicken, as though the walls were closing in on him. No, as though the ceiling was caving in on him.

“I want to see Clotted Cream Cookie again,” Royal Milk Tea Cookie managed, trying to control his breathing and failing. He needed a hug. A hand to hold. He needed someone and Clotted Cream Cookie was the only name he could think to mention.

The doctor was opening the door and shoving the Pearl Legion guard out as fast as she could. “I’ll bring him right in, darling, sit tight.” The door shut and seconds felt like hours. Tension was growing in Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s chest. Marble cracking. Smoke. Screaming. A dragon.

The door swung open. A tall, blond figure emerged and was beside Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s bed in the blink of an eye. Clotted Cream Cookie was holding his hand, squeezing it ever so slightly while Royal Milk Tea Cookie remained upright, trying to slow his breathing down.

“Hey, hey, shh,” Clotted Cream Cookie’s face was stained with tear tracks. Like how he looked in the museum wing. “No, hey, take deep breaths, okay?” Royal Milk Tea Cookie nodded. “In,” Clotted Cream Cookie took a deep breath. Royal Milk Tea Cookie tried to copy it but his breath was shaky. Still, he inhaled. “And out,” Clotted Cream Cookie puffed out air as he spoke. Royal Milk Tea Cookie tried to copy. He squeezed his companion’s hand tightly.

“What happened to me?” Royal Milk Tea Cookie was crying. He didn’t know what was wrong.

“I’ll tell you later, Teacup, I promise. Right now let’s just take some more deep breaths, okay?” Royal Milk Tea Cookie nodded. Clotted Cream Cookie smiled, warmth filling his previously heartbroken eyes. He repeated the mantra. The blue-eyed Cookie slowly began to calm down, breathing evening out.

Maybe an hour passed. Nothing was said, really. Just assurance that everything was alright and that Royal Milk Tea Cookie had no reason to stress. Or at least, not at the moment. There was very clearly something important that was happening that he had forgotten. Clotted Cream Cookie remained sitting beside the hospital bed regardless of how many times Royal Milk Tea Cookie had implied the hospital bed was big enough for the both of them.

“I don’t want to irritate anything. You’re in bad shape, Teacup.”

“You keep calling me that,” The shorter of the two noted. “That’s not my name. Is that some nickname I have?”

Clotted Cream Cookie stopped and thought for a minute. He was only in a white shirt and black pants. Royal Milk Tea Cookie thought he looked quite average. Apart from his stunning figure and beautiful face. “It’s mostly just a nickname for me. No one else knows that I call you that, I don’t think.”

“Why not?”

“How caught up are you with where you are and why?” Clotted Cream Cookie was changing the subject. Royal Milk Tea Cookie wouldn’t have let him get away with it if he weren’t so handsome.

“Not very. Hollyberry Kingdom, accident, hospital.” Royal Milk Tea Cookie fiddled with his blankets again. “Can you tell me why I’m here, now?” Clotted Cream Cookie looked nervous about the subject. “I promise I won’t freak out. I want to know this time. The guard had just started talking.”

A big exhale. Hands in his. A soft expression. Divines, what had happened to him for Clotted Cream Cookie to act as though he was speaking to someone about to pass away? “You are a child of legend. Your mother made a deal with a dragon and then broke it, so now we have to find your mother before the dragon does, or it’ll destroy so many places and kill so many Cookies.”

His eyes widened. That was a lot to take in.

“Are you okay?” Clotted Cream Cookie looked up at pale blue eyes. “I can stop talking.”

“No, you can keep going.” Royal Milk Tea Cookie assured. “It’s just a lot.”

Clotted Cream Cookie nodded. “I know. There’s worse. But I’ll take it slow. We’re about a day’s journey from the Vanilla Kingdom, which is where your mother probably is, along with Tea Knight Cookie, your father. We learned about him through the museum head, Eclair Cookie… but while we were in the museum wing… the dragon found us. And it, uh,” Clotted Cream Cookie’s eyes were tearing up again. He quickly wiped the tears away and rushed through the recap. “The dragon wrecked the museum. The ceiling collapsed and Cookies got hurt.”

“Including me?”

“Yes. Bad. I didn’t…” He couldn’t keep the tears back. “Royal Milk Tea Cookie, I thought you were gone. For good.” Tears poured down his cheeks and he kept choking on every word. “And you didn’t remember anything when you woke up and there’s only so much time left to find Oat Milk Cookie–” Clotted Cream Cookie was sobbing, folding over and hiding his face in his hands while pressing himself into his thighs. Royal Milk Tea Cookie held out a hand and ran it through his hair, trying his best to comfort the blond.

“I didn’t realize how close we were, I’m sorry.”

“The doctors told me I shouldn’t reveal a lot to you at once,” Clotted Cream Cookie managed through his hands. It was muffled but Royal Milk Tea Cookie heard it. “I just can’t lose you. We only just found each other again.”

He tried his best to think back to everything in the Republic. To his mother, working on the Convocation after Mille-feuille Cookie and Canele Cookie had been found guilty of numerous crimes. Seeing Financier Cookie after several years apart… seeing her fiance. Seeing Clotted Cream Cookie. How did that work? Clearly, Clotted Cream Cookie was attached to Royal Milk Tea Cookie.

“Were we friends as kids?” Royal Milk Tea Cookie asked, trying to piece together the mental puzzle.

A forced laugh through tears. “Oh, yes. We were such good friends.”

“But something happened, didn’t it?”

“...yeah. My father was power-hungry. You and I didn’t get to see each other for nearly a decade. Not until your initiation as Ambassador of the Republic.”

Royal Milk Tea Cookie nodded along. He reached out for Clotted Cream Cookie’s hand. It joined his easily, as if it were programmed into him. “I hope I remember you. I don’t want you to be without me again.”

Clotted Cream Cookie smiled bittersweetly and planted a soft kiss on Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s hand. “I hope so, too.”

#cookie run #self insert #clotted cream cookie #crk #royal milk tea cookie #potr #fanfiction #crk fanfic

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whumblr · 2 years

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Breaking news

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1 - Continued from Part 54

Jay woke, confused at first by the darkness and the pain, making him think he was still in the warehouse. But all the chaos and panic and shouting were now replaced by a deep quiet, only disturbed by his own soft hitches of breath.

Even though his eyes were open, his state was closer to unconsciousness than to actually being awake and it took him a while to get used to his new situation.

The cold concrete was now replaced by a soft bed, where he lay on his stomach, arms resting next to his pillow and he felt the needle of an IV pull at the crook of his elbow as he moved. He didn’t hear any beeps, which was a comfort, knowing he wasn’t too far gone to be hooked on any machinery.

Unfortunately, the only thing that pierced the fog around him with some urgency was the searing pain across his back. Not to mention his broken body that didn’t thank him for the manhandling and struggles – he couldn’t call it a fight – of the previous evening.

His involuntary winces and movements only made it worse and he squeezed his eyes shut, squeezed his hand into a fist.

His hand however tightened around something warm and Jay startled when it moved in his grip and held his hand.

Above him, someone stirred. Someone keeping watch at his bedside. Or well, someone who was supposed to keep an eye out.

Dennis sat in the chair next to his bed, fast asleep. His head slumped back against the cushion, facing Jay, and his arm stretched out over to the bed, his hand resting under Jay’s. A personal wake-up call should Jay wake before he would.

Another squeeze in his hand woke him up.

Dennis blinked and turned towards him as he noticed he was awake, he moved lightly to get up but decided against it half way and settled back, just lightly leaning over the armrest towards Jay. His blank and still groggy expression made way for obvious relief.

Jay smiled up at him, though his lips twisted it into a wince, pain and exhaustion screaming at him to just please fall back into his deep slumber so his body could focus on healing up.

“Hey.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, a breath really; he couldn’t be sure his vocal cords actually worked.

Wincing and hissing he tried to push himself up to lie on his side so he could look at his friend.

“No, no, don’tdon’tdon’t,” Dennis shushed and clamped a hand around his, gently coaxing him not to move. “Just rest, please. Go back to sleep. It’s the middle of the night, let’s talk in the morning.”

“Where…?” he just managed to bring out. His eyes darted about the room. It was dark and besides Dennis, there was no one else.

“You’re in hospital. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

Yes, he realised he was in hospital. “But—“

“It’s alright, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay. Just, please, sleep.”

“Den…” he mumbled, eyes fluttering closed. “Where is…”

When he opened his eyes again, he felt better. Well rested and the pain had lessened; probably repressed by a shit-ton of painkillers. Nothing to complain about, there. Though he was a little worried he’d open his wounds and he didn’t move yet.

The room was basking in light now and he wondered how long he’d been asleep. He noticed Dennis standing next to him and he heard a soft whispered argument above him, which was probably what had woken him up.

“… he’s doing.”

Dennis hissed in a barely contained rage. “Oh, now you’re worried? This is the third time I have to see him like this in hospital because of you! Get. Out!”

“Wait…” Jay siddled up to lie on his side this time, before Dennis could stop him again. His voice was ever so weak, but the two men looked down at the sound of him being awake. Dennis with a somewhat pained and apologetic yet exasperated expression.

He gaped up, staring in disbelief at the man Dennis was hissing at.

And he deflated in relief, now able to put the intense worry that had gnawed at him since last evening to rest.

Zayne didn’t look too good but he was in far better condition than Jay. While Jay could barely move, here Zayne was out and about, checking up on him, arguing, and best of all: not being dead.

“Fuck, I was worried that—“

“You killed me? Nah, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Zayne grinned.

“Clearly,” Dennis muttered. He didn’t move from Jay’s side and kept a close watch on Zayne, even though the door to the room was open and two police officers stood outside keeping an eye on things as well. Not to mention…

Zayne brought up his hands, cuffed together, and pulled the collar of his shirt down to reveal his shoulder that was all bandaged up, showing where Jay had hit him.

“They, erm, removed the bullet and… well,” he looked over his shoulder to the two policemen, “time for me to go.”

“But you’re still hurt.” Jay looked him over. The left side of his face was completely black and blue, one eye almost closed with all the swelling, his arm was wrapped in bandages hiding the cuts Jay had made (cue a tinge of guilt for Jay). He looked completely exhausted and actually leaned against the wall to keep himself up. He tried to hide it, covering with a casual cool stance, but Jay could clearly see he needed the support.

“I get to recuperate elsewhere,” Zayne reassured him with a wry smile.

“Why wou—“ But when Zayne lightly inclined his head towards the door and rattled his handcuffs, he got it. “Oh.”

“Just came here to see… well, if you were awake.”

“Which he is now,” Dennis said somewhat accusatory, and he locked eyes with Zayne making it clear he had outstayed his welcome in his opinion.

“Right, well, yeah. Guess I’ll see you. Just…” he hesitated and the policemen behind him came in and nudged him gently by the arm. “Well, for now a quick thanks will do.”

He nodded at Jay, let his leather jacket be draped over the handcuffs, and pushed himself off the wall to leave. He looked back and gave Jay a quick wink, leaving Jay a little confused and not quite sure what to say.

The policemen escorted him out and Zayne meekly followed.

But he did perk up a little as he noticed a beautiful blonde lady waltzing in and powerwalking up the hospital hallway. An older couple followed in her wake, shuffling after her. Zayne nodded at them in passing and smiled to himself.

At least he did get to meet Jay’s sister.

“Jay, what the fuck, I can’t leave you alone for two years before you get beaten to shit again!?”

“Hey, Laura,” Jay smiled into his pillow. Her tone was harsh, as always, but Jay could see the concern plain on her face and he was sure she was doing her utmost to stop herself from crying. There was still a mighty need to protect that she’d always had and Jay bet that she felt guilty for not being here for him. He knew his sister quite well.

“Why are you face-down?” She reached out to the blanket. Dennis already took a step forward but Jay was first and gently grabbed her wrist. That was one reveal he just wasn’t ready for.

“Need to heal up first.”

Laura pulled back, her hand now softly brushing at the spikes of hair over his forehead.

His mother sniffled softly and took Laura’s place at the bed, hands hovering over Jay’s shoulder, not sure if she could touch him without causing him pain and she settled on a soft stroke over his cheek with the back of her hand.

Jay answered her soft sobs – “oh my boy…” – in a whisper, that it was all going to be fine. And this time it was no lie, no false comfort. Because it was going to be alright, even though things seemed bleak now. Things could only get better.

His father just stood at the end of the bed, looking forlorn and his knuckles white as his hands tightened around the bed railing.

But as Jay was still lying face-down, he couldn’t see everyone without twisting his neck.

“Could you help me?” he asked Dennis, voice still hoarse. “I want to sit up – it’ll be fine, Den, I’m drugged out on painkillers anyway – just don’t touch my back, please.”

With some effort, Dennis helped him turn around and Laura sat next to him so he could lean on her. His mother clasped a hand in front of her mouth when Jay turned and the bruises on his face, that he got to hide in the pillow at first, showed. Jay caught it and flashed a small apologetic smile. He was just very glad she couldn’t see his back.

Dennis awkwardly took a step back and coughed. “I’ll erm, wait outside for a bit. Family first.”

“No, you won’t, Dennis,” Laura cut over him. “You’ve just as much right to be here. Sit down.”

Dennis raised a brow in mild surprise and meekly sank down to perch on his chair again, though with a soft grin.

“What happened?” Laura demanded.

“Just picked a fight with the wealthiest man in town,” Jay said.

“And?”

“We won.”

Laura scoffed, but leaned into him. “You call this a win?” she said in a softer voice, watching his arms tremble as he tried to sit up straight.

“You should see the other guy.” Jay grimaced.

“Really, well, where is he because I’m sure I can give him a piece of my mind.”

Jay looked at Dennis and they both couldn’t help but grin, knowing Emery’s state.

“He’s in prison.”

Dennis followed the family out and walked them over to the elevator.

“Still putting on a brave face and hiding the pain?” Dennis scolded him lightly when he entered the room again and saw Jay had to hold himself up on one arm, slumped over, now panting and pain clearly showing on his face. Pain that he refused to show just five minutes before.

“Well, should be the last time,” he panted lightly.

“I say. Your mother asked me to convince you to become an accountant instead.”

“Might not be a bad idea. We need someone to go over Emery’s finances.”

Jay lowered himself to lie down again. Sitting up took more energy than he thought and he scooted over so he could lie on his side now that he finally had a moment to talk to Dennis alone.

“Do you want some alone time before they come back tonight? Rest up? I can leave for a bit?”

“No, stay, please.” There was still lots to talk about, lots of blanks that needed filling, lots of thoughts that needed airing.

Dennis helped him to lie down comfortably and covered him. He himself had bags under his eyes and Jay did feel a little guilty keeping him here after he obviously spent all day at his bedside.

"So Zayne’s already off to—“

“Prison, yes,” Dennis helped. He sounded rather upbeat, but Jay seemed to have to process it and he softened. “Even if you don’t press charges he could be going away for quite some time. For all the things he did for Emery.”

“But he was threatened.”

“A judge may take that into account, but still.”

Jay wondered if he should press charges. He did want to against Emery and he was probably going to have to if he wanted to make sure this whole thing had been worth it. But it wasn’t really something he wanted to think about now. There was still so damn much to think about, the entire circus that was going to follow this all. He’d rather think of happy things, all the ways he was going to get his life back.

“Also, he wasn’t threatened into torturing you,” Dennis continued, voice hard all of a sudden. Jay added the ‘so wtf is this now?” in his mind, as the incredulous tone of Dennis’ voice betrayed him but left things unsaid.

“No, I know, it’s just…”

“You plan on sticking up for him in court after you told them he… what he did to you?”

“Of course not.” But with all they went through last evening and the tiny ways they tried to help each other out… things had become more complicated than ever.

“Why did he want to thank you?” Dennis asked. “Just before, when he was here?”

“I guess because if we hadn’t forced his hand, Emery would have killed him anyway. Zayne was convinced he could walk out once his debt was settled,” he filled in his friend on what had happened, “but Emery said he planned on killing Zayne anyway after that.”

“Looks like we overcomplicated things,” Dennis muttered, but he did seem a little shocked.

Jay thought back to how Emery still denied everything and seemed so confident of getting away with it all. “Do you think we still have enough on Emery?”

“I’d say him being caught red-handed, right in the middle of trying to force you to kill a man should do the trick.”

“But he has someone working for him, he has a mole. He knew you sent the email.”

Dennis fidgeted at that and looked away. “I thought he might, but…” he started in a small voice and swallowed hard. “I really shouldn’t have. It was…” He looked back up at Jay, eyes swimming with guilt and unshed tears. “I send the email to try and draw their attention away from you. Like, they’d have worse things to worry about or they’d go after me. But… I didn’t think… it just made things worse.”

“It didn’t,” Jay lied through his teeth, “Don’t—“

“Don’t do that, he did that, right?” Dennis nodded at his back.

Jay just about made a mental note to never ever under no circumstances tell Dennis why he got whipped, but he couldn’t lie to his face here.

“I… yes,” he relented in a whisper. “But that was because… it wasn’t just you, I was too stubborn and…”

Dennis took a deep breath and held up a hand. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Den, please, you saved us.”

Dennis scoffed lightly at that, glancing at Jay’s back, but he did look up and met Jay’s eyes this time.

“How did you know?” Jay asked, anxious to move on from this. “How did you find us?”

“Police traced the car from your building, with the help of traffic camera’s. They lost track of it as soon as it turned towards the wharf, but I knew then that the first stop we had to check was that warehouse along the old docks. Sure enough, they found the car easily enough and could surround the building.”

Silently impressed, Jay raised a brow. Though he also wondered how much they’d seen, and if Dennis had seen…

“Does everyone know?” he asked.

“Everyone as in our company or the whole country? I mean we're a newspaper, we’ve already written up a story about Emery’s arrest and the involved reporter. Which the news picked up, so…”

Great. He closed his eyes and scoffed; the irony of having to try and hide everything for months at work only for it all to be published as breaking news in his own newspaper.

“Jay,” Dennis said firmly. “It’s over.”

“Well, yeah.”

“No, listen to me. Everything, It’s over.”

Jay simply stared at him, the words not fully penetrating his brain yet.

But it was. It was over. The last few months had turned everything into such a new normal for him that it took him a while to process it; no one was going to be waiting for him when he’d come home this week. No one would threaten him. No more new injuries, no more hiding, biting through the pain, putting on a brave face. No more stress.

It was over.

And sure, there was still a boatload of aftermath to deal with. Heal up, process everything, a probably nerve wrecking case they had to deal with in court…

But for the first time in months, he could relax with the peace of mind that he wasn’t going to have to worry about what was going to happen the next day, and he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Continued here (epilogue)

That was the final chapter. A huge thanks for all readers! This was a blast to write and I hope you had as much fun with the story as I had. While the main story is over, I still have a few drabbles coming up and next week’s the epilogue. There’ll be some irregular updates so I won’t have to say goodbye yet :)

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @snuffhimout @susiequaz12 @coldresolve @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpinggoodtime @starnight-whump @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime

#whump #hurt/comfort #h/c #aftermath of whump #aftermath of torture #caretaker #post rescue #comfort!#thanks so much for reading #and all the support and lovely messages #home is where the hurt is #hiwthi #Jay #Dennis #Zayne #my writing

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sugar-bunii · 3 years

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Adrenaline rush

You and Octane have been going steady for about 4 months now, everything has been perfect so far but something was missing. You’ve always wanted to be sexually intimate with him but he hasn’t been picking up on any of your hints.

First it was asking to shower together but he was too worried about taking off his prosthetics, next it was when you asked him if he wanted to try something new. He got exited but started going on about the new sushi bar that opened. Another time was just you walking into the room in a towel after showering, he quickly covered his eyes and left so you could get dressed.

As clueless as he was you decided to ask him directly once he got home from the arena. 9:47 rolled around and he opened the door excitedly, “Hey, you’re home early what’s up?” You ask him as he settled down next to you on the couch. “We got a flawless victory and the announcer said we deserved to go home early and take a break!” He wrapped his arm over your shoulder and you put your head on his arm. You thought if you were going to ask it might as well be now.

“What’s up with that look on your face, are you thinking about something?” He asked, taking his mask and placing it on the table. “I was just thinking of a way to celebrate this victory of yours.” You strattled him and kicked your leg on the other side of him. “Woah what’s this about?” He said with a smirk. You whispered in his ear “how about we take this to the bedroom?” A look of excitement washed over his face. “I thought you’d never ask!” He said with excitement, picked you up and practically ran to your room.

As he placed you on the bed he switched the playlist you were listening to, “Why’d you do that?” Slightly joking but almost offended. “I’ve got a special playlist I’ve been working on” he states and sticks his tongue out playfully. He puts on a playlist called “bangers” and the first song that plays is The hills by “The Weeknd.”

“Kay, now where we’re we?” You take off your shirt and he does the same, he stares at your topless body for what feels like forever, “wow,,,you look absolutely stunning” you feel a blush come over you due to the unexpected compliment. He began kissing your stomach, slowly moving his way up planting kisses all over your body, your scars, and taking his time with your stretch marks. You can hear him counting with every kiss.

He hovers over your neck, hesitating before resuming with the kisses “67, 68, 69 hehe 69, 70, 71…” he giggles and continues. The kisses started to become more and more passionate, leaving hickeys on your neck “mine, mine, mine” he mumbled as he ventured from your neck, to your jaw, moving to your lips.

As he pressed his lips to yours he moved one of his hands against your cheek and another slowly moving toward your sweatpants, “is it okay if I-“ you cut him off “oh please help yourself” you say as you waste no time getting back to connecting your lips. You place a hand on his chest and break away from the kiss gasping for air.

Octane pressed his forehead against yours as you both pant, “god I love you so much” he says “I love you too” he smiles as starts working his way into your panties and rubbing circles around your clit. The sudden movement sent a feeling of sensation through your body, your heavy breathing triggered something in Octane to start moving his long now dampened fingers faster at an exhilarating speed.

“Let me hear your pretty noises my love” Octane says as he began kissing your neck once more, as you moan in his ear you receive what sounded to be a mix between a growl and a moan from him. “Please~put them in me” you beg, with a slight hesitation Octane slips two fingers into your dripping wet pussy. “God you’re taking me so well, mi amor~ don’t cum yet, we still have a few more rounds to go and I want to make it last” He says with a raspy tone into your ear.

He pulls his fingers out of you as you’re on the verge of your climax, you let out a small simper and Octane seems to have noticed. “Oh what’s the matter baby, did you want me to keep going?” He says tauntingly. Octane slowly moves down your body trailing his hands, wandering almost like they had a mind of their own.

Octane propped himself up as he was hovering above your pelvis, he slid your sweatpants down every so slowly that you thought you would lose your mind if he didn’t hurry up. For being one of the fastest legends he sure did like taking his time with you. “Oh my, you’re soaking wet just because of these little guys” he says licking his fingers clean of your lingering taste. “And you did say I could help myself.” He says with a smirk.

He stood up and pulled something out of the nightstand next to the bed, “I picked this little bugger up last week.” He says sticking his tongue out at you. “You’re really taking your time tonight, aren’t you?” You ask impatiently “I’m exited and I kinda like making you wait.” He stuck out his tongue and opened the package to reveal a vibrating tongue piercing. He replaced the bar in his tongue with the rubber covered piercing and quickly got back to his position.

“Are you going to be able to handle this?” He teases. “It’ll depend on how well you can use it, but we’ll have to wait and see” you say in response. “If you say so” Octane says as he turns on the little bug in his mouth, as soon as the vibrations hit your lower lips your back arches and your hips buck upwards. Octane steadies your hips and pins then to the bed, for having such a small build he’s so much stronger than you’d think.

As he’s slurping up every drop that drips from your pussy the piercing is perfectly hitting your sweet spot. As he focused more on your clit one of his hands teased the surrounding area of your dripping hole. “God your little hole is so pathetic, dripping just from this piercing, let’s see if you can handle three fingers this time. Just tell me if it’s too much for you, okay?” Octane says reassuring you, making sure you feel comfortable. “Okay, I~” you’re cut off by his fingers curling inside you, keeping a steady pace but fast enough to satisfy his constant need for speed.

Steadily Octane began going faster and faster, in and out of your pussy, the noises from all of your juices leaking out with the speed of his fingers. You run your fingers though his hair and your other hand grips the sheets as you teacher your climax. “Octane, oh god, I’m gonna cum” you desperately say, bucking your hips and arching your back more and more. “Good baby, cum in my mouth, you’re doing so good for me”

As you finally reach your climax you thought it would be over from there, but as Octane held your legs down and locked in, you know you would be there for longer than you anticipated. “Oh good girl, but we’re not doing this for your pleasure, we’re doing this for me, it’s so fun to see you squirm and moan just because of me” You could feel your body getting hotter and hotter, the room smelt of sex and “It wasn’t me” by shaggy filled the silence in the room aside from the sound of the piercing in Octane’s mouth buzzing away as he started to ride you over the edge.

As you moaned his name and gripped his hair he would continue to rub your clit and finger your dripping hole, he moaned praises into your pussy and spat on it from time to time. Soon tears started to form in your eyes from the overstimulation, he had been eating you out for what seemed to have been hours but he didn’t seem to have lost any stamina from fingering you as fast as he did.

Octane started to slow down the pace of his fingers, looking up at you. Your body was twitching, tears stained your face, and you let out small whimpers and he finally removed his fingers from your drenched hole and replaced the burnt out piercing with the original bar that was in its place. “You did so good for me, baby. I’m so proud of you.” He said as he grabbed a wet rag from the bathroom. As he cleaned you up he praised you and told you how much you meant to him.

After he got you cleaned up he pulled an oversized shirt from the closet and clean underwear for you to put on. He placed you on the couch, put the bedsheets in the washer, and drew a bubble bath for the both of you.

He picked you up off the couch, undressed you and put you into the bathtub. “Are you gonna join me in here?” You ask with little energy. “Of course my love, I just need to remember if my legs are waterproof or not.” As he takes off his leg he looks at the small writing on the back of them: made for any type of terrain, adventure, and damage. “We’ll be fine”

He removes what little clothing he had left on him and slipped into the bathtub behind you, grabbing the shampoo and washing your hair. For how rough he was a few minutes ago he was quite gentle scrubbing the shampoo into your hair. “I love you mi amor, I really do mean it, you’re my everything and I would do anything to keep you happy” Octane rinsed your hair and planted soft kisses on your neck and shoulders. “I love you too, we should do this more often, Ive been trying to drop hints but I didn’t think you were picking up on any of them.” You respond as you move your hair to make way for his kisses.

“You have? I guess you just have to be more straight forward with me, but if I think you’re dropping hints I’ll ask before I assume.” He says in response rubbing body wash on your shoulders and arms. “Sounds good to me, thank you again, I love you.” You say with a slight hum to your voice. “I love you too y/n”

End

———————————————————————

Thank you for reading!! This is my first fanfic and it took me just about two days to make. Expect more in the future unless I get flagged for inappropriate content.

I may or may not have had to look up if octanes prosthetics were waterproof, but I’d say I like how this turned out!

#octane x reader #fiction #apex fanfic #octavio silva #imagines #apex imagines

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beauvibaby · 3 years

Text

tough decisions — j.oleksiak

a/n: finally another pcos fic, this is based around my symptoms with it, hopefully it’s relatable to most of you!!

warnings: pcos, anxiety, surgery and mentions of covid

“Hey, babe, I should be there in ten.” Jamie answered cheerfully, assuming you were calling to see how far out he was. “I’m sorry, J.” You mumbled, hiding back a groan at the pain tightening in your lower stomach. “I just don’t feel good tonight, could we reschedule?” You asked, letting out a small wince as you leaned against the counter. “Of course, are you ok? You sound hurt.” The concern in his voice only made you feel worse, you managed to hum in response, “oh.” He mumbled into the phone, clearly picking up your message.

You two had been dating for a little over six months, and now that he thought of it, he couldn’t recall a single time when you were on your period and miserable like this. “Did you want me to come over? I can bring you dinner?” He offered, waiting hopefully for your response, “actually that would be great.” You sighed, wanting nothing more than to take a hot shower and hope the cramps got better once you ate. “I’ll unlock the door for you, I’m going to take a shower.” You told him, adding a soft goodbye and an I love you, he repeated the sentiment, a frown etched onto his face as he stopped to get dinner.

You had just slipped on some loose fitting clothes when you heard Jamie walk in the front door of your apartment, “Y/N?” He called out, smiling when you rounded the corner in a shirt of his that you had stolen “accidentally”. He held a bouquet of flowers in front of him along with a takeout bag from your favorite restaurant, “hi pretty girl.” He murmured when you pouted at him, “I love you.” You sighed, burying your face in his chest, “I love you too.” He chuckled lightly, kissing the top of your head. “Wanna eat something? It’ll make you feel better.” He offered, getting a huff in response, he took it as a yes and walked with you wrapped up in his arms to the table. “It hurts.” You explained with a hiss as you sat down in the chair, reaching for your food, he knew it took a lot for you to admit you were in pain, “is it always this bad?” He asked with furrowed brows, taking a bite of his food as you nibbled on yours, suddenly feeling nauseous and worried eating would make it worse. “When I get it, yeah.” You told him, going on to explain the issues you struggled with, the missed cycles, heavy cycles, cramps, all of it. If you could tell him you love him, you can tell him this.

He nodded as you spoke, absorbing the information you spit out, “m’sorry baby.” He sighed, not liking having to watch you like this. You shrugged, finally forcing some of your food down, some relief coming over you as you had something in your stomach. He didn’t push you any further as he saw the look in your eyes, the way you got quiet, he cleaned up the table, leaving you with your plate as you continued to take bites here and there. “I’m going to go change.” He kissed the top of your head before walking down the hall to your room where he knew he had a pair of sweatpants stashed away.

Well he was in there, he quickly googled what you had told him, pcos was on repeat in his mind so he wouldn’t forget it as he typed it into his phone, he read as much as he could, being sure not to be gone suspiciously long.

He got the gist of it, irregularities, heavier cramps, bleeding, mood swings, particularly sad ones.

Infertility. He pushed that one to the back of his mind, he wanted kids with you and while it was early to say that, he knew you two would figure it out when the time came.

When Jamie came out you were nearly half asleep at the kitchen table, your eyes were heavy and when you looked at him he could see the blankness in them. “You can go home, Jamie, I’m probably just going to go lay down.” You sighed, standing up and clearing your spot. “No, I wanna stay with you.” He answered instantly, giving you a soft smile as spun to face him. “Really?” You couldn’t help but grin, catching him off guard, “of course.” He rolled his eyes with a smile, out stretching his arms for you. “Good, sometimes I’m scared to be alone when it hurts so much.” You whispered up to him, pecking his lips when he leaned down to you. “You know you can call me whenever, even if I’m on a roadie. I’d call you back as soon as I saw it.” He explained to you as you pulled him along towards your bedroom, you nodded as a cramp started up.

“Come here.” He demanded gently, flopping down on the bed and pulling you with him, he adjusted you so you were laying on top of him. He lightly began massaging your lower back, feeling you relax into him. “That feels good.” You hummed, blindly running a hand through his hair, knowing he loved when you did that. He smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“J?” You asked after a while, he’d stopped rubbing your back once you didn’t feel the pain anymore, “yeah?” He shifted slightly, careful not to move you too much. He turned his head to meet your eyes where you were resting on his shoulder. “I left out one thing about it.” You sighed, shuffling yourself to be sitting up more, your boyfriend nodded, although he already knew what you were going to say, he wanted to let you say it. He rested his hand in your lap for you to play with. “Go ahead baby.” He assured you, when you met his soft caring eyes you couldn’t help but get emotional. “It’s super common for pcos to cause infertility and I know we’re not there yet but you deserve to know now, and if–“ you stopped to breathe and the tears started flowing. He rushed to sit up with you, “there’s no ifs, I’m here for the long haul, ok?” He assured you, cupping your face to keep you looking at him. “I already knew that baby, I looked it up while you were eating.” He added, frowning when you cried harder. “You looked it up?” You sniffled, “that’s so sweet!” You groaned, hugging him tightly. He sighed into your hair, “I think you need some sleep.” He laughed, feeling you nod against him.

“Goodnight baby.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead as he laid down with you, relishing in the small smile on your lips as you finally felt at ease for the night.

***

Time had passed, and you both fell into a routine, eventually moving in together once you hit the one year mark. And that was already some time ago.

But over the last few months you both had noticed a change in your symptoms and decided to schedule an appointment with your doctor.

***

Jamie got out of his truck the second he got your text that said you were coming out, due to covid protocols put in place, he was unable to come in with you for your appointment, which made you even more on edge than you thought it would. You figured you’d done it plenty of times before, but knowing that he couldn’t come inside was terrifying.

He watched the doors of the medical center with concern as he rubbed the back of his neck, when he saw you walk out, eyes darting to find him as you shoved your mask into your purse, tears already pricking the corner of your eyes. He stepped forward, taking his weight off the side of his truck as you spotted him, “hey, hey, Y/N.” Jamie mumbled as you wrapped your arms around him in a shaky hug. He felt his heart clench as you cried into his shirt, “baby, talk to me.” He spoke gently, pushing you back enough to meet your eyes. “Surgery.” You squeaked out, you both knew it was a possible outcome, having done the watch and wait method for over a year. He listened intently as you recited nearly everything word for word that the doctor had said.

***

That was three months ago, a simple surgery that plenty of people have and it goes smoothly, turned into a three month process, between the pre op, and the scheduling, and the ultrasounds.

But now, now it was finally time for you to go in, and you were terrified and calm all at once. You weren’t scared for the anesthesia, or for the actual removal of the cysts, you were worried that something would go wrong and they’d have to remove your entire ovary, granted that would still leave you with one, but that didn’t make it any less disheartening.

The doctors had come and made their rounds, each one going over everything with you, over the statistics and the possible complications, only furthering your anxiety. When your gynecologist came in, dressed in her scrubs and ready to have you wheeled off to the operating room, she could see the way you were panicking and squeezing Jamie’s hand tightly. “I know she’s going to be put to sleep, but is there something she can have to take the edge off?” Jamie asked as you looked over with a pleading face. “Yes, of course.” She came over and rested a hand on your shoulder, “you’re going to do great.” She assured you, giving Jamie a reassuring smile as well. The second she left the room you burst into tears, “no baby.” He gave you a soft smile, pulling his mask down to kiss your forehead, “it’s going to be ok, no matter what happens. You’re so tough.” He wiped under your eyes, looking over as the anesthesiologist came in, along with a nurse, “I’m going to give you something to take the edge off, you should feel it pretty quickly alright?” He explained, waiting until you agreed to connect it to your IV.

Jamie watched as you took a couple of deep breaths before looking at him with a much calmer face, he held in a chuckle, “you feeling it baby?” He asked you, giving you one last hand squeeze, you nodded lazily. “Yeah.” You answered, already feeling sleepy, he couldn’t help but smile at how girlish it was making you act, “alright, I love you.” He reminded you with one more kiss to the forehead as they popped the brakes off the bed, “I love you.” You repeated as you stared up at the ceiling, he could tell you had a kind of blank face under your mask. He was just glad to see you not freaking out, as he felt the anxiety transfer to him as they rolled you away, leaving him in the empty room to wait for you.

It felt like an eternity to him, as he knew the surgery was only supposed to take thirty or so minutes, but he also knew they wouldn’t tell him anything until you were already waking up in recovery.

That was nearly three hours later, and he literally jumped to his feet when the doctor came in. She assured him everything went as good as she expected, it was just more difficult to get too, nothing went wrong and you were coming out any moment. He thanked her repeatedly as he felt his heart rate settle, after staring at a wall for so long, he turned to Google and that only worsened his anxiety on why it was taking so long.

When they finally brought you in, you still hadn’t seen the doctor because you had been so out of it, so you instantly looked at him with wide eyes, more awake now. “You did good, baby, don’t worry.” He assured you, standing beside the bed once they locked it in place, the nurse smiled as she charted everything on the computer beside you. “Are you Jamie?” She asked with a giggle, making your face heat up under your mask, “yes.” He answered, not tearing his eyes off you as he could see the puffiness in them from your breakdown earlier. He laced his hand with yours, rubbing it reassuringly as you sighed in relief. “She was asking for you before she could even keep her eyes open.” The nurse told him, earning a soft chuckle from his mouth. “Sounds like her.” He hummed in agreement, tuning into the nurses words as she started telling you what you needed to do before they would let you go, both of them surprised when you did them instantly, the doctor signing off on your release as you seemed more than fit to go home in the care of Jamie.

He was more than attentive to your every need, almost to the point where you got annoyed, but you knew he meant well so you let him do whatever he thought you needed.

You were extremely grateful to have him here with you, knowing that just because you’d gotten it fixed this one time, doesn’t mean it won’t come back. He didn’t let you think like that for long as he brought you back to the present with a gentle kiss to your temple as you leaned on his chest. “S’proud of you.” He mumbled, even though you didn’t do anything, he knew it took a lot for you to make the decision to do this. You didn’t have to answer as you curled further into him, a silent thank you for everything.

taglist: @boqvistsbabe @tortito @2manytabsopen @heybarzy @barzysreputation @yzas-stuff @iwantahockeyhimbo

#Jamie Oleksiak #Jamie Oleksiak imagine #Jamie Oleksiak fic #imagine #imagines #big rig #nhl

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darthkruge · 3 years

Text

Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Help

Summary: The five times the Senator!Reader needs Anakin’s help but refuses to ask for it and the one time they do

Warnings: Language, reader is afraid of vulnerability, reader is going through it, angst, violence, fluff (it ends on a positive note, I promise)

Words: 4k

A/N: This idea has kinda been bouncing around my head for a hot minute and I finally decided to just go ahead and write it. And somehow it became the longest fic I’ve ever written! Is this self-indulgent? Who’s to say?!

(not my gif)

Okay, so a right, then a left, then another left, then-

You groaned. You’d been going over the cryptic instructions Padme gave you back at the temple but they were, unfortunately, not helping. It was your first time alone in Coruscant and you were completely lost in the painfully literal sense. You had just been given your first actual mission with the Council as a senator, something you’d worked your entire career for. As an added bonus, you were on the same planet as your boyfriend, Anakin Skywalker.

You’d gotten close over the last year and were elated when he asked you on a date the last time you were in the same place. This was the first time you were together in the two weeks it had been since then.

Anyway, you were currently wandering around the bustling Coruscant streets, looking for the market. Well, you were looking for the market. Now, you realized you would probably never find it and were just trying to make your way back.

You debated calling Anakin. You could. He would be able to guide you home easily, you rationalized. But it’s Coruscant! How difficult could it be? If people came here for missions all the time and didn’t get hopelessly lost, so could you! And Anakin was probably busy anyway, you didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, the relationship was so new! You didn’t want to annoy him. After weighing the odds, you pushed down the urge to reach out and decided to just find your own way.

This logic was ridiculous, you realized far too late. Fuck. There was no way around it, you were going to be late. Or at the very least, cut it exceptionally close. You started running, heart racing. It would be so stupid to be late to your first actual Council meeting because you got lost. You wanted them to take you seriously and think of you as a professional. Tardiness as a first impression went against all of that!

After sprinting and taking several aimless turns, by some stroke of magic you found your way to the Temple. You checked the time and realized you had two minutes to make it to up several flights of stairs.

Fuck it. You decided, taking off in a run. You took the stairs two at a time, stumbling occasionally before unceremoniously bursting through the doors to the meeting.

You gulped in air quickly, chest heaving while you desperately tried to calm your heart. You inelegantly brushed a hand through your hair and gave an awkward smile.

“Hi, uh, everyone! Hi! I’m,” You took a quick break to breathe in some more oxygen as your gaze shifted to Anakin. He looked amused and concerned as he took you in. He gave you a discreet and supportive smile and head nod. You gave your own in return. He believes in me. “I’m Senator Y/N L/N”

II.

Honestly, you didn’t know how your speeder had broken. You’d been flying them for years and, despite being a senator, you were pretty damn good at it. It was something that gave you solace as a kid, those little moments of freedom. Even then, though, you were a decently cautious person and didn’t break many of them.

Thus, you ended up in your current predicament. Staring at the fried wires under the hood of your speeder, trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong. You knew Anakin was freakishly talented at fixing basically everything. He could probably look at the speeder for 10 minutes, know what’s wrong with it, and get it back to you in perfect shape.

You think this is why you don’t want to tell him. What if he thought you were stupid? Shouldn’t you be able to figure this out yourself? You fought with your instincts, feeling the conflict build inside you.

You knew he wouldn’t judge you. You knew he’d be glad you came to him for help. Even so, you felt physically incapable of moving to call or find him.

Frustrated, you turned back to your work. You decided to pull this one gear, thinking it might do something. Well, you were right about that. A stream of oil sprayed out of the speeder, coating you in its thick, black paint. You stood there frozen for a second, trying to mentally comprehend that you had just been sprayed with oil because you were too afraid to talk to the man you were in a literal relationship with!!

You groaned, wiping your hands on your pants before grabbing a towel to wipe some of the grease off your face. You walked back into your apartment quickly, praying to the Maker that no one would see you like this. Honestly, they’d probably smell you first and run the other way.

You finally got back without problems and made a bee-line straight to the bathroom. Pulling off your clothes and turning on the hot shower, you sighed as you finally felt the oil washed off your skin. You spent about twenty minutes in there, scrubbing furiously to ensure you didn’t smell like a fucking garage.

Finally, you went out and saw Anakin sitting on your bed, messing with a piece of wiring.

“Hey, Y/N! Did you know your speeder was broken? It looks like you blew a cable, easy fix, don’t worry. I’ll have it ready for you by tonight.”

He looked up and saw your exhausted state and the clump of dirty, grease ridden clothes you were holding.

His brow furrowed, trying to piece it together. “Maker, what happened to you?”

“I had a fight with the speeder. And lost”

Anakin bit back a laugh before his confusion compounded. “Wait, you know I can fix this, right? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was an idiot. I mean, I did something and broke an entire speeder and somehow didn’t even know what I broke! It’s humiliating!”

“Cables are hard, it’s not your fault you didn’t know what to do, love.”

“Really?” You asked, unconvinced.

“Really. Come on, let’s go throw those clothes in the wash and I’ll get back to fixing this.”

“Oh, no, Ani you don’t have to-”

Anakin cut you off with a kiss, distracting you enough to quickly take the clothes from your hands.

“I’ll have it ready within the hour, my love.”

III.

Who the fuck decided to put the plates that high up?!

You jumped again and again, arm outstretched as far as possible. Once again, you didn’t even get close. Sighing, you looked around the apartment and noticed a ladder. It looked a bit unsteady but you would be fine, right? You were a whole ass senator, you were sure you could handle an old ladder.

Pulling it over to you, you climbed up and reached out. Much closer this time, but you still couldn’t reach them. You went on your tiptoes, eyebrows furrowed and lip bit in concentration. You angled your body just a little further, a little further-

The ladder was suddenly ripped out from under you and you desperately shot your arms out, hands clawing to try and stop your imminent fall onto the hard kitchen tiles. Bracing yourself for the inevitable pain, you squeezed your eyes closed.

“Y/N!!” You heard as your fall suddenly stopped. You opened your eyes and noticed you were barely floating above the floor. Anakin ran toward you and noticed the ladder strewn on the floor beside you.

“What the hell were you doing?” He said, offering you his hand and pulling you up.

“I was just-” You gesture lamely to the plates, realizing how ridiculous you must look.

“Y/N, no one can reach those! Next time, just call me, I’ll get them for you!”

“But-” You sigh, hating this. “I wanted to be able to do this, I don’t want to rely on you and your Jedi powers all the time”

Anakin’s gaze softened. He knew you had trouble relying on others. Even so, he couldn’t even start to think of what would have happened if he’d arrived home even 10 seconds later.

“I know, baby, I know. But, please, try. You’d have to rely on me a lot more if you break your legs falling off a ladder.”

“I know” You reply softly, giving him a shy smile. “I’m working on it, I promise”

IV.

You’d been up all night working on a new presentation for the Council. You’d spent hours going over it, the facts, the plans, the details. Everything was set. Well, everything except one little piece. To make your point stronger, you needed the statistics from the latest Jedi missions.

The only people with access to those were Anakin and Obi-Wan. You knew, logically, that if you asked Anakin he’d give them to you without hesitation. He supported you always and knew that you only used your power as a senator to improve lives.

Even so, there was that part of your brain that told you he wouldn’t give them to you. He would think you’re just trying to use him for his connections as a Jedi. Or perhaps he simply wouldn’t care enough to search through the reports to find the information.

All of this was, of course, completely inaccurate. But you’d never had someone who actually wanted to help you. It's always been “okay I’ll do this for you but only if you do this for me, too.” No one ever looked out for you and you’d grown accustomed to it. It’d become almost comforting, in a way. At least you knew what to expect.

This was how you ended up seeing your beautiful boyfriend across the halls of the Jedi temple and walking another way. Your heart tugged painfully and your brain screamed at you. Why don’t you allow yourself to trust him? Why would you assume the worst? Why can’t you fight these thoughts?

You took one more look back at him. You didn’t want to be closed off by any stretch of the imagination. You wished you could turn off the thoughts and the doubt. You knew Ani didn’t deserve it. You sighed. There he was, training by himself in the courtyard. You looked away and took a moment to compose yourself before your legs carried you away and toward your good friend.

“Hey, Obi-Wan, could you help me with something for the next Council meeting?”

You were running. You were running and as fast as you moved, you never got closer to him. You were never safe. A masked figure was chasing you and you just couldn’t get away. Your legs burned with the effort, your lungs straining to grasp oxygen. You were exhausted to your core, your sheer panic the only thing keeping you awake.

You looked back and saw the man gaining on you. Tears started streaming down your cheeks. You knew what he was capable of and had no doubt he would kill you if he caught you. You didn’t want to die, not like this. You didn’t want him to beat you. You were so, so scared. You screamed as he caught up to you, your body no longer moving. You pleaded with your legs to work, reasoned with the heavens, did anything you could, and yet you wouldn’t budge.

The stranger’s claw of a hand twisted around your neck, squeezing. You fought. It was pointless. You began to black out, feeling the life slip out of your body. Dark spots appeared in the corners of your vision and you tried once again to kick your way out of his grasp-

You bolted awake, eyes shooting open. Your chest was heaving and tear stains marked your cheeks. You placed your hands on the bed sheets, bunching them up and trying to feel the texture to remind yourself that you were safe. You tried to breathe, tried to calm yourself but nothing was working.

You got up, pacing quietly. Out of all the nights to have a nightmare, it had to be today. The one night you and Anakin weren’t together. Since you had to hide the relationship, you couldn’t technically share an apartment. This didn’t stop you from spending basically every night together, though. His chambers became yours after the first month or so of dating, neither of you wanting to spend time apart.

But, unfortunately, the Council seemed more cautious as of late and you didn’t want to risk it. Thus, you decided to spend tonight apart. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now. You grabbed one of his Jedi robes, pulling the black fabric around your body. You were immediately calmed by his scent and wrapped it closer around you. You started to make your way down the hall. You knew it was risky but after that nightmare, you just needed him.

You made it to his apartment, went to knock on the door, and abruptly stopped. What are you doing? You can’t just go to him! He’s exhausted, he’s been working all week! He finally got home from a mission and you want to wake him up in the middle of the night because you had a nightmare? It wasn’t even real! Maker, get a hold of yourself, Y/N!

Your hand hovered over the door. You wanted him, you did. But those lingering thoughts, those lingering emotions remained. A childhood of neglect, of constant feelings of unimportance left scars you couldn’t avoid. You hated that your parent’s inability to show you affection or care manifested in your inability to be vulnerable. Despite this, you somehow understood. You’d spent years letting them in and only getting invalidated in return. Like all patterns, this one wouldn’t go away just because you wanted it to.

Now, every time you tried to let Anakin in, it’s like an alarm was tripped in your brain. Every part of you that wanted to allow him to know you was combated with the overwhelming fear that, if you did, if you went to him for comfort or help, he would think of you as a burden. He’d leave, just like the rest of them did. So you pushed the urge for comfort aside, dropped your hand, and made the lonely walk back to your room.

You got back to your room, mentally beating yourself up. You wished your brain worked differently. You wished you would allow yourself to be loved. You wished you could trust, fully and completely. You sighed. Knowing you wouldn’t be getting any sleep, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat on your cough, the room solely illuminated by the moonlight. You kept Anakin’s robes around you, wishing it was his arms. You sat like that until morning, sipping the drink on and off until it grew cold. You were zoned out, staring out the window at the Coruscant traffic. Your thoughts either drifted to him or your past trauma. Maker, you wished you could change it.

Fuck. You’d been driving around on your speeder, zipping in and out of alleys, for the last twenty minutes. There was a bounty hunter after you. A damn good bounty hunter, at that. Being a high profile senator, it made sense you’d run into the occasional person trying to kidnap you. Or kill you.

Damn, this bitch is good. You kept trying to lose them but you couldn’t shake them. You didn’t even know who they were but it didn’t matter, you supposed. At the end of the day, regardless of who was in that speeder, they wanted you dead. And if you didn’t figure out how to get out of this mess, you would be.

They’d been shooting at you for a while now but you’d been able to avoid the blasts. Whether it was skill, luck, or a combination of both, you weren’t sure. Even so, you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shoot back at them, as you stupidly forgot your blaster. Who could blame you, though? All you wanted to do was go for a ride to clear your head, you didn’t expect to be fucking shot at!

You continued like this for a while. All you had to do was get back to the Temple. You were probably about 10 minutes away if you continued at this pace, 7 if you really pushed it. You looked ahead and saw the walls of it come into view and suddenly safety didn’t feel so far away. Despite the circumstances, a smile graced your face. You could do this.

Or maybe not. As you tried to swerve between more buildings, they hit you. You felt your speeder plummet 10 feet instantly and screamed. Your engine sputtered and your heart dropped. Mind racing, you tried to drive but came to the chilling realization that there was no way you’d make it back. Your engine was done for, it wouldn’t make it 3 minutes, yet alone all the way back.

Your mind went to him. Anakin. Fuck, you loved him. You let out a humorless laugh. Since you started dating, you almost never asked him for help. You couldn’t let him in. Something in your brain stopped you every single time. And yet, now, all of that felt stupid. It felt juvenile. When you looked at your speeder, slowly but surely stalling and the bounty hunter approaching, you felt this overwhelming sense of clarity.

You were going to die. This person, they would get to your speeder and shoot you. You didn’t have a single weapon. It was inevitable. Your mind, however, wouldn’t relent. It was stuck on him. In this moment, you pressed the comm button in your speeder, hoping beyond hope that it would still work.

“Y/N?” Anakin’s staticky voice cut through the speeder and went straight to your heart.

“Hey, Ani” You said, your voice broken up with unshed tears.

“Y/N? Where are you? What’s happening?”

“I’m- Anakin, I’m in trouble. A bounty hunter is after me, my speeder is hit and going to stop working probably within the next 20 seconds. I don’t have any weapons to defend myself. I, I, uh, I need your help”

“I’m coming to get you, stay where you are.” His voice was firm, his need to protect you overruling everything else in his body.

“I’m just a few-”

“I’ve got you, love. I can sense you in the Force. I know where you are”

Of course he could. You took a few deep breaths and you speeder sputtered out, stopping in a deserted alleyway. You looked around and saw the bounty hunter, now obviously male, stepping out and making his way towards you.

“He’s here, Anakin” Your voice was tight, anxious. You were quiet, paralyzed by fear.

“Please, Y/N, fuck! Hold on, I’m almost there”

“Ani, Anakin I’m scared! Ani! Ani!” You were hysterical now, screaming and sobbing his name as the man punched the top of your speeder, fracturing the glass. He pulled you out of it by the hair and threw you harshly onto the concrete.

You yelped in pain as he kicked you directly in the ribs. He backhanded you across the face, the power from his hit making blood pool in your mouth. Harshly you spit it onto the ground, looking up at him with pure hate.

He placed the blaster to your head, right on your forehead. You let your eyes flutter closed. Your knees were scraped, legs bruised. You were sure at least one of your ribs was broken. You could feel blood running from your temple. Your arm was radiating pain from landing on it. Despite all this, the only thing you thought of was Anakin. Funny, you thought, how the brain chooses what to focus on in its last moments. All you hoped was that he didn’t feel responsible for your death. All you hoped was that he knew you loved him.

“You’re finished, Senator”

“I don’t think so” Anakin’s smooth voice, tight with anger, cut through the air. His lightsaber unsheathed, he swung it directly into the man. You gasped, everything happening so quickly. As soon as the blaster was gone from your forehead, you scrambled back.

Anakin walked up to you but, from the shock, you pulled back even further.

“Hey, hey, it’s me, it’s Anakin, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you”

You whimpered, looking at him and placing a hand on his jacket before harshly jumping into his arms. He gripped you to him, both of you sighing in relief.

“You came for me”

He looked at you like you were insane. “Of course I did! You needed me, you called! I’m always going to be there for you, Y/N. I am always going to show up”

“Thank you” You said, voice muffled against his chest. His hands raked through your hair while you just breathed him in. His scent comforted you, his strong chest and large arms grounding you after a day so intense and horrifying that nothing felt real.

You were still trembling, the aftershocks quite apparent.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. You’re safe, he’s dead, he’s gone. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again, I promise.” Anakin whispered these affirmations into your hair, holding you until the shaking ceased.

“Thank you for calling me, Y/N. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“It wasn’t that hard, to be honest, I- wait? What do you mean, you know it couldn’t have been easy for me?!”

Anakin looked at your sheepishly. “You honestly think I haven’t noticed your problems with asking for help? We’ve been together for almost a year and, contrary to popular belief, I can be quite perceptive. I didn’t want to call you out on it, I assumed you’d be embarrassed. But I’m glad that when it actually came down to life or death, you called me.”

“I’ve always known I could call you, Anakin. Please, I don’t want you to ever think my inability to be vulnerable is rooted to anything you do. You’re, fuck, you’re perfect. You’re kind and compassionate and caring and you’re always looking out for me. Look, I know I haven’t been too open about my past and I still struggle with that. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’ve never had someone who actually wanted to be there for me. This thing where you care and want me to come to you when I’m hurting or simply just want affection or company or help with the little things, it’s foreign to me.”

Ani’s heart broke at your words. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you back then, Y/N. I hate that this” He said, gesturing between you both “is unique to you. But, seriously, anytime you need anything I’m someone you can come to. I honestly want you to come to me. Regardless of if you think it’s something small or this life-altering favor, ask me. I doubt I’d turn you away and, on the off chance I do, I’m not gonna hold that against you.”

“You won’t leave? Even if I show you all of me? Even if I rely on you?”

“I won’t leave you, beautiful. So long as you allow me to show you all of me, too. And you let me rely on you, too.”

Your eyes widened at his words. “Of course! Of course, Ani! I’m here for you, I got you, too, always.”

“I know you do” His flesh hand went up, cupping your cheek.

“I know you do, too.” You sighed into his touch. You were exhausted beyond belief, your body and mind pretty much shutting down from the stress of it all. Even so, you relaxed further into his body. Yeah, this was new. Yes, it was scary. But you were going to try. Even though it terrified you, you wanted to be loved. You wanted to be loved by him.

tagging julia bc she asked when i was textpost-complaining about having to edit this <3

@anakinswhore

#megan writes #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x gn!reader #anakin skywalker x gender neutral reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker angst #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker

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kitcat992 · 2 years

Text

Identity Crisis - Chapter 22 - Welcome to Wakanda (PREVIEW)

Exiting the lavatories of the Quinjet, and stumbling on his way out, Tony cracked his neck from one side to the next. The mechanics of his armor made a similar noise of their own. Though much louder, and far more acoustical.

“No better way to find out you’ve packed on a few pounds than to squeeze into some outdated alloy,” Tony chimed back, though not necessarily at a volume the men upfront could hear.

His voice was kept far lighter than the mood that encompassed them. Nearly erroneous to the stress-induced air that filled the aircraft.

There was no questioning why he was putting on a show. And who it was for.

“Mark 43 probably wasn’t the best pick for our grab-and-go escapade.” Tony flexed his fingers and the red armor encasing it, making sure each digit bent and stretched properly. “Looks like I’m gunna have to cut back on aunt hotties cooking, spiderling.”

Half-laying, half-sitting on an upright cot tucked in the back corner of the Quinjet, Peter looked Tony up and down. His brows knitted together as Tony approached him, and he struggled to sit up for a better look.

He wasn’t alone. Bruce gave Tony a once-over as well before returning to the machines at Peter’s makeshift bed-side.

“Or you can, you know...accept that this is what your body does when it consumes something other than a diet of coffee and gluten free waffles.”

Tony stopped flexing his fingers. The corner of his mouth lifted up into something that was a cross between amusement and snark.

“You’re just jealous the italiana bellissima sends me monthly care packages with home-baked, sweet iced cinnamon rolls.”

Bruce frowned, his index finger pressing along buttons of the heart monitor with a deep V creasing into his forehead.

“Is that what you’ve been feeding to the rats in the lab?”

Tony glowered.

Bruce smirked.

Meanwhile, Peter hadn’t let his eyes off Tony. Not even to blink. He could hear the quiet, almost muted sounds from the IV pumps and heart monitor Bruce tampered with. But all of it was the least of his concerns.

His palms pressed heavily into the narrow, flimsy mattress on the cot. His fingers began to tug at the edges of his blue and yellow Midtown School of Science and Technology sweatshirt — it was the first and quickest thing they could grab from his quarters in the compound. Sam practically tossed it his way, along with a hasty goodbye, as Steve rushed them to the hangar bay.

Peter fought to lift himself upwards again, his elbows beginning to tremble. Nearly sending him flat on his back.

Tony didn’t seem to notice how unsettled he’d become.

“Oh! Check it out,” he said instead, turning towards Peter. One finger flipped open the panel of his forearm. It popped back like an old CD player, and Tony twisted his arm so Peter could get a better look.“It took a good amount of fine tuning. Had to make a few net decibel adjustments, not to mention a Quid Pro Quo for some Pym Particles — won’t lie, that one hurt my pride a little bit. But viola! Finally installed that ultrasonic pulse annex.”

For a fleeting second, Peter looked at the open panel of Tony’s Iron Man armor. The cylinder device, something he could’ve easily mistaken for a small pocket flashlight, sat nestled between a bout of wires and plates. It looked as if it had never been anywhere else in its life; especially not in Peter’s hands — in the gym — where it tossed Sam a good ten feet across the basketball court.

“Kicked the can down the road long enough, don’t you think?” Tony went on as if Peter wasn’t looking at him like he’d morphed into some mystical creature with flying wings that replaced his repulsors, and scales that overtook the shining red and gold metal. “Didn’t have time for a test run yet. But hey, I never worked well with dress rehearsals anyway. Not my style. Maybe we’ll get the chance to iron out the kinks before heading stateside again. Clear out some rotting trees for the good king and his people. Just you, me, and mother nature under the stars of the middle east. Whacha think?”

The way Peter looked, he didn’t have a single thought running through his head.

Until he spoke.

“You’re in your suit.”

#I'm striving to get this chapter up before my birthday #i can't believe I started this series when I was like 26 #and now I'm turning 30 #wtf #someone save me from this goddamn series #it consumes so much of my time #fanfiction #irondad #spiderson #whump #writing #peter parker #tony stark

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scoopsahoy · 3 years

Note

hi can u do a sequel to the derek pregnancy fic where u were pregnant for a full nine months and go into labor one night when yall r asleep

ぺ word count ⋰ 1.8k

✰ tw ⋰ none :)

❍ cw ⋰ birth

ꨃ part one

✐ masterlist

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

You opened your eyes to a sharp pain in your back and stomach, causing a sharp breath to enter through your nose.

“Jesus,” you whispered to yourself. You gently pulled Derek’s arm, which was wrapped around your stomach, off of you. You sat up with a struggle, as you were heavily pregnant. You looked at the alarm clock to see it was almost six o’clock in the morning.

The pregnancy was nine months, meaning the baby would be human. You found out at five months that it was going to be a girl, and Derek couldn’t wait to have a tiny version of you running around his loft.

It was a rough nine months. It destroyed your knees, hips, ankles, and gave you massive, dark stretch marks. You’d become insecure about them, but Derek didn’t care.

He was sad that you were insecure about them. He called them your ‘battle scars’, always making sure to make you feel better about yourself when you looked in the mirror.

Even having been with him for over three years, you’d never seen the sensitive side of him that came out when you got pregnant. He made you breakfast, massaged your feet, and would even help you wash your hair sometimes.

You loved it, you just wish he’d been like this the whole time you knew him.

Moving his arm woke him up, and he reached over and lightly ran his hand up and down your back.

“You okay?” he mumbled, still half asleep.

“I think so-”

Just then, you felt a massive puddle forming under you. It dripped onto the floor and you felt a pressure in your belly.

“Derek,” you said in a monotone voice, standing up. You looked at the wet spot on the bed, and he did too.

“Did you pee yourself?” he asked innocently.

“I think my water just broke.” That seemed to wake him up, because he immediately shot out of bed. “Get the hospital bag,” you told him as he slipped his shirt on. He nodded and practically ran to the other side of the loft, returning with a crossbody bag.

He helped you put your shoes on and when you stood back up, he took your hand, helping you to the elevator.

You’d never seen him so nervous and distraught, anxiety reeking from his body. When you got outside and to his car, he made sure you were strapped in before running to the driver’s side and zooming to the hospital.

When you arrived, he didn’t even bother parking straight. He dragged you inside, calling out for help. You both looked up to see Scott’s mom, Melissa. You let out a sigh of relief when she ran over, followed by a nurse with a wheelchair.

You eagerly sat down in it, letting them wheel you to a room you didn’t even know the number for.

Once you were changed into a hospital gown, you laid in the bed, an IV in your arm, and bracelets on your wrist. Derek sat next to you, holding your hand.

“Have you had any contractions yet?” Melissa asked.

“No, not yet.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Sometimes water will break before contractions start, but they should get here soon.”

“I didn’t think you worked in obstetrics,” you said as you adjusted the blankets.

“I don’t. I figured I’d stay with you for a minute though. Is there anyone you want to call?”

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.” You looked at Derek. “Can you grab me my phone?” He nodded, pulling it out of his pocket. “Thanks.” You opened it and scrolled through your contacts, finding the name Stiles.

Stiles was one of your best friends, and he was eager when you announced the pregnancy. He told you he wanted to be there when you gave birth and made you promise you’d tell him when you went into labor.

Even if it was six in the morning.

You held the phone up to your ear, hearing it ring a few times.

“Hello?” said the groggy voice on the other line.

“Hey, what are you up to?”

“Sleeping,” he said simply.

“Well, I figured I’d let you know I’m in labor, but if you wanna go back to sleep you can.”

“You’re what?” he yelled, making you pull the phone away from your ear.

“My water broke. I’m at the hospital.”

“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be there.”

“I can’t control-” He hung up. “-when the baby comes.”

You sighed and smiled at Derek.

“I’ll come back when you start pushing, okay?” Melissa said, giving you a smile.

“Okay. Thank you.” She left with a smile.

“Are you gonna call your parents?”

“I never even told them I was pregnant.”

“Really?”

“Did you forget I haven’t talked to them in years?”

“I just figured this might be something they should know. You know, since they’re about to be grandparents and everything.”

You sighed. “I’ll call them sometime. Just not now.”

He nodded. “I’m gonna go get some food from the vending machine, do you want anything?”

You nodded. “A Snickers would be nice.”

“Okay.” He leaned over and kissed you. “Be right back.”

No one else had seen this side of Derek except you. He wasn’t the same person he was to Stiles, or Scott, or even his uncle, Peter. With you, he was soft and sweet, always making sure you had everything you needed and wanted. You doubted anyone would believe you if you told them half the things he’d done for you over the years, even before you started dating.

Fifteen minutes went by quickly, and before you knew it, Stiles ran into your room, his shoes squeaking and his breath heavy.

“You haven’t given birth yet, have you?” he asked as he sat next to your feet.

“Nope, not yet. I haven’t even gotten contractions yet.”

“Is that good?”

“Just means it’ll take longer.”

He nodded. “Great.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

Just then, you felt a heavy pressure and pain course down from your stomach to your legs, your hand reaching for Stiles’, which was right next to your knee.

“Nevermind,” you groaned, closing your eyes and inhaling sharply.

He winced and an ‘Ow’ left his lips.

When the contraction died down a moment later, you let go of his hand. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” he said, shaking his hand.

“That was not what I was expecting it to feel like.”

“Better or worse?”

“Way worse,” you chuckled. “Jesus. The next few hours are gonna be Hell.”

‘Few hours’ was an understatement. It was now seven p.m., and your contractions still weren’t anywhere near as close as they needed to be.

You’d tried everything the midwife suggested to speed it up: walking around the room, sitting in a chair, sitting on a yoga ball, drinking tea and water, peeing, laying on your left side, and you even tried falling asleep.

But none of it worked.

At this point, you were sweating, crying and in some of the worst pain you’d ever felt.

The doctor decided to see how far dilated you were, which was two centimeters, eight away from being able to push.

“On the bright side, you’ll be able to deliver naturally,” she said.

“What does that mean?” Derek asked.

“No c-section.” You both let out a sigh of relief. “Once you get to four centimeters you’ll be in active labor, which shouldn’t be as long as early labor.”

“Thank God,” you whispered.

Even though it wasn’t as long as early labor, active labor was ten times more painful. It was definitely the absolute worst pain you’d ever felt.

But your boyfriend and best friend were there for you the entire time, even through your random bursts of anger, sadness, and pain.

When you were told you were at nine centimeters, you looked at Derek.

“I can’t do this, I don’t think I can do it.”

He stood up and leaned over you, gripping your hands. Stiles stood at the other side of the bed.

“Hey,” he said, softening his voice. “Are you kidding me? If anyone can do this, you can do this.” You let a tear fall. “Babe, I’m scared, too. But guess what? We’re gonna have a baby. A tiny version of you. We’re gonna have a little girl. And she’s gonna be awesome. Okay?”

You nodded. “I love you,” you whispered. You looked at Stiles. “Be ready for me to crush your hand,” you laughed.

“I’m ready,” he said somewhat reluctantly. “Just try not to break any bones.”

You smiled.

“Alright, Y/N. You ready?”

Screams filled the room, both Stiles and Derek wincing at how hard you were squeezing their hands.

You pushed a total of six times before you felt a massive relief of pressure, and you gasped for air. Your cheeks were soaked with sweat and tears, your legs tingly.

You let go of their hands and, just like before, Stiles shook his hand in the air. You breathily chuckled at his reaction as the nurses wrapped the crying newborn in a blanket.

They handed her to you, now having stopped screaming, and you started crying all over again.

She was beautiful. She had the same pale green eyes that Derek had, and bright red hair.

“She’s a ginger,” he whispered.

“My dad is, maybe that’s who she got it from,” you said.

Only a little while later, Derek was next to you in the bed, and you both just watched her sleep in his arms.

You’d never seen him so happy. He had a soft smile plastered to his face and he was a natural at holding her.

You let Stiles hold her, and, just like your boyfriend, you’d never seen him happier. An uncontrollable grin formed as he sat in the recliner with her, letting you and Derek have open arms for a little while.

Once Scott and the rest of the group arrived, you decided to tell them the name you settled on: Charlotte Allison Hale, Charlie for short. Allison was your best friend before she died, and you figured it would be a nice tribute to her.

Scott loved it, and it pleasantly surprised you. You were worried it would make him sad, and you knew it probably did, but you were glad he liked the name, too.

You spent the next few days in the hospital, learning how to change diapers, breastfeed, and all of the other essential things included in being new parents.

Stiles was there every day, other than going to school. He went to his classes, went to lacrosse practice, and then immediately came back to the hospital.

You liked being at the hospital and having some help from the nurses and Stiles, but being able to go home and spend time just the three of you was your favorite thing in the process.

And it made your heart melt watching Derek with her. For the first few days he didn’t let you get up during the night and insisted he go check on and feed her with the bottles of breastmilk you had pumped while at the hospital.

You were finally in a place where you were genuinely happy with everything in your life. And you couldn’t have asked for a better one.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #imagine #derek hale #derek hale fanfic #derek hale fanfiction #derek hale imagine #derek hale fluff #derek hale x reader #derek hale x reader fanfic #derek hale x reader fanfiction #derek hale x reader imagine #derek hale x reader fluff #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf fluff

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yoshkeii · 3 years

Text

𝟹𝚛𝚍 𝚆𝚒𝚜𝚑 | 𝟹𝟻𝟶+ 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝

࿐ character: Nobuyuki Kai, Tsukishima Kei, Shouhei Fukunaga

࿐ prompt: 3) “You keep staring at me.” 7) “You’re safe now. Breathe.” 9) "Please never do that again."

࿐ type: imagine

࿐ requested by: anon for my 350+ event.

⌦ male!reader (he/him)

⌦ tw: panic attack (on Kai’s part.)

⌦ slightly suggestive?? on Fukunaga’s part- (its just.. thighs...)

⌦ ‘for the event, could I request an imagine with the dialogue prompts, 7, 9, and 3, with the characters Kai, Tsukishima, and Fukunaga? male pronouns‘

A/N: writing for characters i haven’t yet makes me have to use my brain to be original but its a fun process lmao- also hopefully i portrayed the panic attack for Kai’s part okay. Ive had some personally but they are really hard to explain for me.

𝚃𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚊 / “𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎.”

Being the fifth 1st year on the Karasuno team, you really found it hard to fit in and communicate with the others. Adding on with not being in the main set or switched out often. During practice you mainly look different.

Often taking off some piercings you had that would make stuff difficult to play in, often just having the classic small earrings on. Your h/c hair being slightly longer than most boys, often tying it up into a half-up french twist during practice while you left it down during school hours to hide your piercings from attention.

After another rough afternoon of practice, you slumped down against a wall sighing in relief as you shut your eyes. Sweat dripping down your face, “another tough.. practice” you heaved softly to yourself. Sitting there silently you just listened to the idle chatter of the other members and the squeaking of rubber on the hard floor. Flinching at the sudden cheer of your name from Yamaguchi, you opened your eyes to see him with Tsukishima aside of him.

“Hurry up y/n! Tsuki’s gonna leave ya if you don’t!!”

“A-ah shit! M-my bad, Tadashi-”

Quickly standing up you jogged over towards the two, already having your bag in hand. “Sorry about that..” you sighed, “..today was just really tiring..”

“It’s fine! Today was pretty tough than usual” Yams replied reassuringly.

As you three left practice you walked each other home, it often went like this. You and Yams bickering about your interests and what happened throughout your day, while Tsukishima just listened. Usually butting in with a retort or a salty joke at one of you. But as the distance grew close, Yamaguchi left first home. Tsukishima second. Then leaving you to walk home alone which wasn’t very far from his house luckily. But this time... he’s walking you home first, claiming he wanted to talk a little longer with you, oddly enough to hear.

Agreeing reluctantly, you both walked down the road towards your house.

“You said you wanted to.. talk right?” You looked up at the short-haired blond, head tilting to the side. “..but you’re oddly quiet now! What’s up with that-”

“Nothing in particular idiot.”

“Is that so Kei?” “You’re so weird sometimes yknow that”

“Same goes to you piercing-boy.”

You stuck your tongue at him, revealing a silver ball on your tongue. How- How has it not caught that sooner? Has it always been there? He just stared intently at it then you, back and forth as you continued to talk about whatever... comeback you had. Was it a comeback? Or were you just talking. He didn’t fucking know at this point. His mind clouded with whatever.. thoughts he had. Before the soft raising of your voice snapped him out of them,

“..Kei! What’s up with you- You just keep staring at me? Are you not feeling well or sumn’??” you questioned, eyes squinting at him.

“N-no.. I’m f-fine..” Tsukishima stuttered.

“Hey!! You stuttered! That’s not the Kei I know-”

“I didn’t stutter- Now shut up dumbass-”

𝙺𝚊𝚒 / “𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝙱𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎.”

It was finals week. Having less time to relax and have fun, you were here stressing out in your room. Sitting at your desk with a laptop, notebooks, textbooks, everything. You needed to pass. You needed too, this being your last year at Nekoma made it your last stretch.

Letting out a deep sigh as you slammed your head on your desk, the books and paper lightly cushioning the harsh contact. You were so stressed. Overwhelmed. The stabbing thoughts of being a disappointment stabbed your mind, heart, and even soul. You were scared of it. Deciding to get some fresh air, you got up and started to leave your room. As each step was taken, your legs felt like jello. Not solid. Worrying yourself, you grabbed the doorway as you swung the door open. Standing there for moment, everything felt weird... You felt weird.

You didn’t know what was happening. Your mind was too hazy. Clustered with confusing thoughts.

Collapsing onto the floor, your knees roughly meeting the hardwood floor possibly bruising them. Struggling to regain your breaths from the hyperventilation, you had no luck. Grasping at your shirt for closure. You just kneeled on the floor.

Not noticing the front door opening from down the hall, the sudden bag drop. And the surprising warmth of Kai’s hands met yours and your face. Hot tears dripping down your face as your body continuously changed from hot to cold. Not being able to understand the words slipping out of the vice-captain’s mouth, he quickly took note and engulfed your body into his. Arms securing comfort around your back as he started to massage your scalp.

Releasing your trembling hands from your shirt, you slowly grasped your boyfriend’s jersey. Chin resting on his shoulder as he whispered reassurances and comfort to you, the tears dripping down your face didn’t stop. But you had shortly stop hyperventilating, having uneasy shaky breaths still. Hearing the particular words slip past Kai’s lips,

“You’re safe now. Breathe. Baby please...”

𝙵𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚊 / “𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.”

Having Fukunaga as a boyfriend is really really nice- His personality and yours meshing well together, his presence is really comforting oddly enough. Even if its just him and you sitting in silence together in your shared space or him spitting out jokes he thinks out of the top of his head in any moment- It never fails to make you laugh or feel uncomfortable, and that means the world to him.

But as of now, your flustered expression only made the short-haired male look up at his boyfriend with a dorky expression... inbetween his lover’s thighs. His cheeks slightly squished as he lightly pushed your thighs with his hands that were on the sides. The silly grin on his face only made your face flushed up more, never really thinking Fukunaga would be.. kinda a thigh man.

You were just insecure about them. But he proved you wrong in the most adorable way. His dorky face being squished lightly inbetween them as he giggled softly are your expression.

“My lil’prince is flustered~” he cooed, placing a soft kiss on your inner thigh, earning a squeak from you.

Fukunaga gazed up at you, his eyes glittering at the cute noise you let out. He kissed you again in the same area, retrieving the same noise but with a few more words.

“S-shou! Stop that!! Y-you I’m pretty ticklish babe-” You angrily muttered, your rosy face making you look soft more than angry.

Without a reply coming from him, he did it again.

“I s-swear to g o d, S-Shouhei..!! Please never.. do that again..” you muttered, the deepened color of flush on your face signaled it was a lie.

“..not even in be-” before Fukunaga could finish his snarky reply, you shoved a pillow on his face.

“SHOUHEI NO-”

#at-dusk;- 🌆#events;- 🎏#folder 📁;- 𝙷𝚊𝚒𝚔𝚢𝚞𝚞 #kai nobuyuki x male reader #kai nobuyuki x reader #tsukishima kei x male reader #tsukishima x reader #fukunaga shohei x male reader #fukunaga shohei x reader #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x male reader #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #hq x reader

149 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 5 ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh.

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

------

chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

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Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them.

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop.

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.)

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine.

He paid you a visit in the early morning.

The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop.

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way.

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time.

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured.

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’.

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do.

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly.

Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink.

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt.

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor.

You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

It was your only self-imposed criteria.

You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible.

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent.

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day.

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool.

“Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!” It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice.

You caught it but said nothing.

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

What.

What the fuck.

Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat.

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body.

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong.

It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp.

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup.

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea.

It was you.

The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip.

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours.

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

“It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.”

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink’s inspiration?”

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.”

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak.

He didn’t.

Keigo stared down at the drink, then you.

Holy fuck.

This was ambient?

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you.

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

“What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

“Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

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Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it.

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it.

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand.

During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach.

Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing.

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday.

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality.

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli.

Quirk potential:

Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused.

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it.

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind.

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut.

By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon.

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

[birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

[birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this

You snorted.

[birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching.

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early.

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks.

Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting.

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later.

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups.

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction.

Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand.

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms.

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you.

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough.

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass.

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you.

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz.

You just had to keep moving.

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh.

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits.

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative.

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know.

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics.

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel.

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war.

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you.

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training.

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight.

Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window.

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak.

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again.

Something was seriously fucked up.

Then Hawks called your name.

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse.

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you.

Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious.

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass.

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him.

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass.

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms.

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop.

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind.

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

“(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely.

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest.

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body.

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression.

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly.

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage.

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee.

With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more.

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out.

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds.

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals.

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation.

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths.

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat.

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain.

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red.

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile.

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg.

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag.

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement.

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations.

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass.

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely.

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking.

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort.

“There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid.

Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises.

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg.

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side.

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble.

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together.

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did.

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife.

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather.

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you.

“Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue.

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg.

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream.

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of.

(Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

“We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs.

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends.

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears.

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state).

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him.

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay.

You were friends, right?

Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch.

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil.

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity.

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat.

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more.

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot.

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo reader insert #hawks reader insert #hawks fanfiction #reader insert #mha x reader #tw blood #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n

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cyhyr · 3 years

Text

KakaIru Maze 2021: Decoding Ancient Lost Languages

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: T

WC: ~4540

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Mysterious Injuries, Old Gods, Sacrifice, Poisoning, Curses, Hospitalization, Hopeful Ending, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Hair Loss

A/N: *~*Throws Confetti*~* I. DON'T. KNOW. WHAT. I'M. DOING.

I did the barest amount of research for this fic. *~*More Confetti*~*

Read on The Archive

Normally, Iruka would balk at the idea that he should be carried through the front gates after a mission, no matter how gruelling. He has an image to uphold, and what if one of his students were to see him broken and weak after one of his missions? He’d either never hear the end of their worry or, worse, lose their respect as a strong shinobi capable of teaching them.

So no, this situation is far from normal.

He holds on tight around Kotetsu’s shoulders and buries his face in his teammate’s hair. His back is on fire, carved wounds shifting and worsening with each step. Some kind of curse-seal, or a time-released jutsu; whatever happened, Izumo couldn’t use the mystical palm jutsu to heal it, not without causing further excruciating pain and making the wounds ooze and seem to cut themselves deeper into Iruka’s back.

They had cut their losses and abandoned the mission. Iruka’s fūinjutsu was vital to its success anyway, and he was—is—in constant agony.

Thankfully, they enter the village just after nightfall. Iruka can feel a bit relieved over that—most of his current students are home and inside at this time, so the chances of being seen by any of them are slim. He bites his lip to stifle a cry as Kotetsu pushes off a rooftop a bit harder than usual and it shifts him too much.

They’re halfway to the hospital when the ANBU team flank him and Kotetsu, escorting them the rest of the way. One of them, Cat, runs close enough to talk.

“Report.”

Iruka can’t. Kotetsu responds, “An injury that responds poorly to normal medical field ninjutsu.”

“Is he awake?”

Iruka nods, knowing Cat will see.

“Iruka-sensei, can you speak?”

He shakes his head.

Kotetsu says, “He’s been in too much pain to do much more than nod or shake his head.”

“Rokudaime-sama wants you and your other teammate to report directly to him once Iruka-sensei is admitted to the hospital.”

Kotetsu fumbles another step. Iruka grits his teeth and groans, holding back a scream. “Sorry, Ru,” he mumbles. To Cat he says, “Of course, ANBU-san. Izumo’s checking us in at the gate. I’ll collect him and report, once I drop Iruka off.”

Iruka doesn’t remember being admitted. He does remember Sakura’s startled cry as he’s placed face-down on a gurney and his wounds are finally able to be seen in harsh fluorescent lighting for the first time. Gods, he’s tired of being face-down in hospital beds.

Will something, anything, have the wherewithal to fucking strike him in the chest for once, please?

He passes out.

A hand is holding his own gently as he wakes, extremely disoriented and floaty on painkillers. He blinks his eyes open and turns his gaze to the man beside him. Iruka smiles faintly. “K’shi,” he slurs. Oh, they have him on the good drugs.

“You are never leaving the village again,” Kakashi whispers harshly. He bows his head and kisses Iruka’s hand in his own and continues, “Hokage’s orders.”

“I‘ll go rogue,” Iruka mutters, closing his eyes. “What’s in my IV?”

“From what Sakura tells me? Everything.”

“That explains.” Iruka stops, trying to think of the rest of his sentence, but a fresh flood of painkillers just flowed into his arm and he hums instead.

“I heard from Kotetsu and Izumo what happened,” Kakashi continues. “Are you able yet to talk about it as well?”

“Nope.” Iruka nuzzles into his pillow. He’s feeling really floaty and he’d like to go back to sleep.

Kakashi chuckles. Iruka receives a kiss to his hair and a tighter grip on his hand. “Sleep, then, my love. I’ll see if Sakura can get you on something less strong, enough that we can talk soon.”

“‘Kay. Love you.”

He falls back asleep.

When he wakes the second time, there’s a different kind of energy in the room—a different sort of love in the air, and Iruka knows it sounds crazy but he can just tell, even with his eyes still closed, when he’s around Kakashi or if he’s around Naruto.

Now, it’s Naruto.

Also, he can feel the carving in his back, so whatever they’d had him on before they’d lowered the dosage or put him on something else entirely.

“Hey, Naruto,” Iruka says, opening his eyes.

In the chair beside his head, the blond bundle sits, knee twitching. With his bandaged arm crossed over his other and his head bowed in thought, he almost looks like the adult he’s so close to being, instead of the teenager he still is. They argue good-naturedly about it all the time; Naruto insists that he’s an adult, but at eighteen, he’s still technically a teenager and Iruka reminds him of it as much as he can.

“Iru-nii! How are you feeling?”

“Like someone took a carving knife to my back,” Iruka scoffs. “Also, strangely drained.”

Naruto nods. “Sakura-chan said that the new pain medicine has the side-effect of making it feel like you’re chakra-exhausted. But,” he frowns, “she also said that the dose should be strong enough that you wouldn’t be in too much pain when you wake up.”

“It’s bearable, Naruto. You…” He sighs, “You didn’t see me when I came in, did you?”

He shakes his head. “I was out with Kiba and Shikamaru. Kakashi-sensei told me about you this morning, when we got back. You’ve been drifting in and out for, like, three days!”

Iruka buries his face in his pillow and groans. There goes his hope that the carvings won’t scar.

“He says he’ll be by later,” Naruto adds. He shivers comically. “I still don’t see why you’d pick him of all people, Iru-nii.”

Iruka smiles. “You have a different experience with him as his student.” The smile fades and he asks, “Has there been any progress made on fixing my back?”

Naruto sobers. “See, that’s the thing. Every time Sakura tries to get close with some kind of medical ninjutsu—or even with normal healing balms and stitches—the cuts react violently. Like there’s some bad chakra embedded inside them.”

“Has anyone had a Hyūga come and look at it?” Iruka muses. “If there’s chakra in the cuts, then a Hyūga would see it with the Byakugan.”

Naruto jumps up. “You’re a genius! I’ll go and check with Sakura-chan!”

Iruka watches him leave and sighs fondly. Kakashi did well with him, he thinks, and then closes his eyes and drifts.

At least he’s able to move around on his own now. Iruka washes his hands in the bathroom and then braces his palms on the sink. It’s been almost a week, and no one is any closer to figuring out how to fix his back.

Having a Hyūga look at the wounds didn’t help. It nearly blinded Hinata. Iruka still feels horribly guilty about it, but she can still see and activate her Byakugan, so he’s been told multiple times to let it go.

What she had seen made everyone uneasy though. A slimy discharge of chakra oozing from the wounds, bright and powerful enough that Hinata had to close her eyes against it.

Sakura has a small team of medi-nins on his case, researching at all hours. Two days, and they still haven’t found anything.

Iruka’s frustrated.

Kakashi visits every night and Naruto most mornings. It’s nice, but he’d rather be back in class with his kids.

He had to get a blood transfusion last night. His back hasn’t stopped bleeding, and the blood loss finally caught up to him.

Iruka turns his back to the mirror, takes off his shirt gingerly, and looks over his shoulder at the carvings. He frowns—it looks odd. This is the first time he’s gotten to see the wounds, and he can’t imagine no one's noticed…

He leaves the bathroom and hunts around in the stack of drawers by his bed. “Ha!” He finds a pad of paper and a pencil, and heads back into the bathroom.

It’s difficult, transcribing the still bleeding wounds onto paper through a mirror while looking over his shoulder. It’s even harder once the dose of painkillers he’s on fully metabolizes and he’s not yet done. Twisting his upper back, stretching and sitting on the edge of the sink so he can see his lower back—it aches.

A voice comes from the other side of the door, along with a soft knock. “Iruka-sensei? Is everything alright?”

Sakura.

He places the pad and pencil on the counter and slides the door open. “Sakura, has no one realized that the wounds are words?” he asks.

She looks startled. “Huh?”

“Could you please clean them for me again, and check that I’ve transcribed it correctly?” Iruka reaches back inside the bathroom and gives the pad of paper to Sakura. “I’m sure Rokudaime-sama will be interested in this.”

Sakura finally catches up. “Yes! Um, let me get you another dose of painkillers, and a flush kit. If you could sit back down, Sensei? I’ll be right back!”

Iruka just about collapses onto the mattress, leaning his elbows on his knees. Finally, some answers are on the horizon.

“It’s no language the cipher corps recognize, nor is it a code in our archives.” Kakashi has his arms crossed and a shoulder leaning against the window. “But they do agree with your assessment—it’s definitely a message of some kind.”

Iruka sighs, picking at the hospital food. “Validation is nice, but I was hoping for an end to this pain.”

“I know, love. Me too.”

“When can we expect word back from Sasuke?”

“If it is Otsutsuki, Sasuke should arrive as soon as possible, per my order. If not, he likely will only return a messenger hawk with the information.” Kakashi leaves the window and comes to sit on the mattress beside Iruka. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Iruka hums and leans against his partner, resting his head against Kakashi’s collarbone. It’s not comfortable, but it is comforting. “I miss sleeping with you,” he whispers.

Kakashi kisses the top of his head. “I miss you too, love. The house is too quiet without you.”

Iruka stares at the encoded characters transcribed from his back. He’s… discomfited. He’s been staring at the words for almost a half-hour, trying to make sense of it.

It doesn’t change.

Iruka knows this language.

Not… not well enough to read it outright, but enough that with the characters cleaned up and a fresh copy in his hands, one that was written down while the scribe (himself) wasn’t in immense pain, he recognizes it.

“Iru-nii!” Naruto steps in for his morning visit. “How’d you sleep?”

“As best as can be expected,” Iruka mutters. “Naruto, can you do me a favor?”

“Hmm? Sure!”

Thank the gods he still has his moments of dull-headedness. “In the office at home, I have a scroll with the Uzumaki clan seal on it. It’s the only one, middle shelf. I need you to get that scroll for me please.”

“Nii-chan, why do you have an Uzumaki scroll?”

Iruka sighs. “Go get the scroll, and I’ll explain when you get back, okay?”

Naruto leaves through the open window, his footing unsteady. But he leaves and that means that Iruka can breathe and take the time to think of a way to tell him, when he gets back, about how he found out that they are actually distantly related.

Actually, no—how is he supposed to—shit. Iruka drags a hand down his face.

Hey Naruto, oh this old scroll? Found it in the archives after Tsunade-sama left office! It was in a box marked with my parents’ names on it. Yeah, turns out that my father was a refugee from Uzushio, just like your mother! Oh, and funnily enough, Umino is also a branch family of the Uzumaki!

That’s… not going to go over well, is it.

Break a thing for fragments. Break the fragments for dust. Break the dust, and break what remains. Here is fire.

To forge a sword, to fight, to curse your enemies on the eve of battle. This is the story of blood and its exits.

A word that sanctifies the change that comes when the seared skin peels. Words spoken in ritual to inspire an unmerciful Change. To speak them aloud is to hear the sword hiss.

All these things share certain patterns.

“Mercy,” saith the Altar, “is found only in shadow.”

…

Iruka wakes gasping, not realizing that he’d fallen asleep. He pats his lap for the scroll Naruto had brought him, and startles as he realizes that it’s not there. It—It had been there just, just a little while ago, hadn’t it???

“Mercy is found only in shadow,” he mutters to himself, looking around his room. “Mercy is found… There!” The scroll, the one with the Uzumaki clan seal, is rolled up and tucked neatly away on a table on the far end of the room. Iruka gathers his strength and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

He tries to stand.

And fails.

He catches himself on hands and knees, and then feels his elbows weaken and give way. His cheek hits the tile and he hisses. He tries to push up again, but can’t…

Can’t…

…

The Altar holds a spark.

Freol is the mouth, the door, the flame, the altar, and the reward.

Knife and sword shed blood for Freol; what is spilled is hers. Fires burn for Freol; what is consumed is hers.

“Iruka! Iruka, please, wake up!”

“The breath of Freol brings change and endings,” Iruka slurs, barely awake and compelled. He can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t speak anything other than this ancient language. “‘Mercy,’ saith the Altar, ‘is found only in shadow.’ Let those who gather near Freol be blessed and cursed. Mercy is found only in shadow. Mercy—”

“Naruto, tell me Sasuke has gotten back to us.”

“He hasn’t! And-and Kurama has no idea what Iru-nii’s saying, either!”

Kakashi shakes him, taps his cheek. “Iruka, come back, please.”

Iruka tries to say I’m sorry Kakashi but what passes his lips is a murmured, “‘Mercy,’ saith the Altar, ‘is found only in shadow.’”

Sakura stands in front of him solemnly. “We gave him a high enough dose of tranquilizer that he shouldn’t even dream, Kakashi-sensei. My team—”

Kakashi holds up a hand to stop her from speaking. He knows he doesn’t look good, knows he hasn’t been home in over forty-eight hours, but he can’t… he can’t stop. Iruka… “What about the scroll that was in his room?”

“Naruto said Iruka-sensei had him collect it from his home office,” Sakura says. “But no one can read it. We have been able to determine that it’s in the same language as the carvings he transcribed from his back, though.”

Kakashi looks up. “The cavern he and his team had been in—where were they?”

Sakura turns to the map hanging up in his office, and points, “East of here, near a village on the coast. Naruto mentioned—”

“The scroll is from Uzushio,” Kakashi muses, “and it has an Uzumaki clan seal on it. I’ll bet we’ll find more information about all this in the ruins of Uzushio.”

Sakura nods. “But Kakashi-sensei, you can’t—”

“I know.” He sighs. “Take Naruto and go. Find out what’s causing this. Find out how to fix it.”

She nods again and turns to leave.

“Sakura,” he calls out, softer. She stops, but doesn’t turn back to face him. That’s good; he might not be able to say this to her face. “This part comes not from your Hokage, but from me, personally. Please. He’s… Iruka’s everything. Please, find something.”

She gives him a thumbs-up over her shoulder, and says, “We won’t let you down, sensei.”

Kakashi watches from the windows as the nurses check Iruka’s vitals and change out his fluids. She bows to him when she’s done and then turns to leave; Kakashi holds up a palm and says, “Wait.”

“Hokage-sama?”

“How… How is he?”

She smiles softly, gently. “We’re taking good care of him, sir.”

“That’s all Sakura told you to tell me, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.”

He sighs. “Thank you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Her smile turns just the tiniest bit mischievous. “A higher budget for the hospital in the next fiscal quarter wouldn’t be remiss, Hokage-sama.”

He waves her away, “I’ll see what I can do,” he says with as much humor as he can muster. She leaves, and he goes to sit in his chair by Iruka’s side.

They had to intubate him today. Kakashi couldn’t get away from the desk long enough to be here for him; not that it mattered, because they were keeping him sedated even before shoving a tube down his throat. But it matters to Kakashi because he can’t…

He can’t do anything.

He’s stuck here, managing the village, while his students are out looking for answers to whatever mysterious illness his partner has fallen to. And all he’s good for is holding Iruka’s hand, and maybe going and lobbying for an increase in the hospital budget.

His hair is limp and matted from long weeks in the hospital. Kakashi runs his fingers through the ends of brunet strands and hopes that, when Iruka wakes up, he’ll let Kakashi wash his hair.

“Please get better,” Kakashi murmurs into the clasp of their hands. “I need you. Please.”

“Sakura-chan.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m getting real sick of goddesses thinking they can ruin everything, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

Mercy is found only in shadow.

“He needs another blood transfusion.”

“Take mine,” Kakashi offers. “We have the same blood type.”

“Hokage-sama—”

“Just take the damn blood,” Kakashi snaps. “Whatever he needs, please, just. Just do it. Take it.”

The nurses bow. “Yes, sir.”

Footsteps in the hall, rapidly approaching, signal Kakashi to a messenger. He stands up and crosses to the door just as Shikamaru slides it open, panting from his run.

Shikamaru turns to the nurses and says, “He needs a bone marrow transplant.”

The nurse looks at him, startled, and says, “Whyever for?”

“Naruto sent ahead a messenger.” Shikamaru glances at Kakashi and finally catches his breath. “The one word Iruka-sensei had said, Freol? It’s the name of an ancient deity of the Land of Whirlpools, one whose purview is to change its followers. One of the ways it does this, as Sakura describes it, is through a kind of radiation poisoning.”

“But that doesn’t explain the,” Kakashi gestures vaguely, and then ends helplessly, “speaking in tongues.”

“The message said they’ll explain that part when they get home,” Shikamaru says. “Naruto and Sakura are on their way back, arrival is estimated at thirty-one hours.” He turns to the nurse. “Can we perform a transplant?”

She hums thoughtfully. “Normally, I’d say yes. But Iruka-sensei doesn’t have any close blood relatives, and if his own marrow is compromised as you say we can’t assume an autologous transplant will be effective.”

Kakashi’s heart stops. “But—”

“But,” the nurse continues, “we can start him on a treatment regimen which will increase his white blood cell count. We’ll start checking in with frequent blood tests. We can also start on a broad-spectrum heavy metals sequestration; we’ll cover Iodine, thallium, caesium, plutonium, and curium. They’re the most common.”

Kakashi motions to her, and says to Shikamaru, “She’s my favorite.”

“You shouldn’t have favorites, Kakashi-sama.”

He groans. The nurse smiles and says, “I’ll go order those tests and treatments,” and then ducks around Shikamaru and leaves.

Kakashi holds the scroll open on his desk, reading the translation Sakura and Naruto brought back. It’s a puzzle in its own right, but coupled with the Uzumaki scroll Iruka had kept in their office, Kakashi finds himself even more thoroughly confused.

“I understand how you came to the conclusion of radiation,” he says. “But I don’t understand how this is supposed to explain why Iruka began speaking the language. Because that is what happened, isn’t it?”

“That’s where a little bit of Iruka-sensei knowledge comes in handy,” Naruto says. He steps forward and points to a line near the bottom. “‘Many others can open the way. Few can place a seal where there was none before.’ And then I remembered this one, off-hand comment Iruka-sensei had made when we were kids. That the people from Uzushio were really good with fūinjutsu.”

“And that has to do with Iruka?”

“Kakashi-sensei,” Naruto groans, like he’s the genius and Kakashi is being deliberately stupid. “Umino is an Uzushio family! ‘Few can place a seal where there was none before’! I’ve seen him do that, just, poof, barrier seals.”

“Naruto, I know he’s from Uzushio. What does that have to do with his condition?”

“Freol,” Sakura says. “When he and the other chūnin got close to that cave. She recognized him as one of hers and marked him.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because the same thing happened to Naruto when we got close.”

Kakashi stands up, vaults over the desk and puts his hands on Naruto’s shoulders. “You’re alright?”

“Kurama beat her up and kept me safe,” Naruto nodded. “But I could hear her. She said something like, ‘the flames will consume, or change, or seal at my whim.’ She was angry.”

Kakashi sighs and drops his hands. “And even Kurama doesn’t recognize this goddess?”

“Actually, once they came into contact, he did recognize her,” Naruto says. “Freol was a protector of the Land of Whirlpools, he says, a creator of soldiers superior to ninja.”

“Superior?”

Sakura interjects, motioning back to the scrolls on his desk. “Right here, see. ‘Hers is the flame which hides in the flesh and the soul and twists both into something new.’ But also, this line, ‘What is left behind is Changed, and may Change others in turn.’”

“Kurama was able to tell us about Uzushio as it once was, back in the warring states,” Naruto continues. “That there would be those who would willingly sacrifice themselves to Freol, for the chance to Change into something more. Something different.”

“A superior soldier,” Kakashi muses. “And this Change. This is what’s happening to Iruka.”

Both of them nodded. “That’s what we think.”

“How do we stop it?”

“That’s the thing,” Sakura’s face falls. “I don’t think there’s a way to stop the process once it starts. Freol marks those she wishes to undergo the Change, and then… Well, all of the writings we managed to find say that the sacrifices either come out stronger, or their families seal their bodies into stasis, or—”

She stops, choking on tears she fights back with every bit of training she’d gone through.

“Or they die,” Kakashi finishes in a soft, defeated voice.

All three of them stand silent in the office for a long time.

Kakashi finds himself sleeping in Iruka’s hospital room most nights. The treatment is hell on his partner’s body—the windows are covered with heavy curtains now, to keep out the sunlight which could very easily burn his skin on the medication; hair which was once limp and matted is now starting to fall out every time Kakashi pulls a brush through it; his lips are chapped and broken around the tube, his skin dry and thin everywhere else. The nurses had to change his IV from his arm to the back of his hand today, because the veins in his arm are becoming too thin to support the needle.

He’s dying.

Iruka’s dying, and all Kakashi can do is hold his hand and watch.

And, gods, the last thing they said to each other… Iruka was speaking a different language and Kakashi was begging him to wake up.

Will he really have to watch Iruka die, knowing that he’ll never get to hear I love you from those lips again?

Kakashi buries his face in his arms, carefully arranged over Iruka’s thigh. He used to have such thick, muscular thighs; it’s barely skin and bone now.

Alone, with only his dying partner to hear—or not—Kakashi lets himself cry.

“I’m going to try something.”

“Naruto, please—”

“No. Kakashi-sensei, Iru-nii is strong. And Freol won’t pursue him if he goes through the Change, right?”

“There’s no guarantee of that.”

“He’ll be stronger, just like the other sacrifices who survived. Kakashi-sensei, all Iru-nii needs to do is survive.”

“The Change—”

“We’ll deal with it when we’re on the other side of this!”

Naruto places his hands on Iruka, and the Nine-Tail’s Cloak bubbles up around him.

The monitors, registering Iruka’s nervous system, don’t react. He’s in no further pain.

Kakashi feels the tiniest bit lighter. “I hope this works, Naruto.”

“It was Kurama’s idea,” the teen grins. “He remembered that normal healing jutsu wasn’t working before; but he was able to beat back Freol himself when she came after me. So letting Iru-nii use Kurama’s chakra as a kind of life support—it should keep Freol from making this worse at least, right? While he gets better?”

It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t work.

But it does.

Almost a week later, the nurses are removing the tubes from his throat, and Kakashi is pacing the room waiting for the tranquilizers to wear off. Iruka should wake up any minute now. Naruto’s plan worked. Iruka made it through, and his most recent blood test showed no abnormalities due to radiation. They stopped the heavy metal sequestration yesterday, but the white blood cell proteins will continue for a few days still, to help prevent further infection.

They still don’t know what kind of change Iruka’s undergone. At least, other than the physical.

His hair is gone. Sakura has assured Kakashi that it will grow back. It’s so odd, though, seeing his partner without hair. They’ve put a cap on his head to keep him warm—his body temperature has been fluctuating oddly the last day and a half, and in particular today he’s running cold.

Also, his scent has changed. He hasn’t told anyone about it yet, but Iruka smells different. Less like old parchment and a swift river, and more like… like a waterfall and the deep, loamy scent of rich, black earth. It’s not a bad change. But it’s significant. He’s already taken an overnight to summon the pack and have his ninken memorize Iruka’s new scent, just in case it’s permanent.

“K’shi?”

He’s across the room in a flash, holding Iruka’s limp hand and holding back tears.

“I thought—”

“My K’shi,” Iruka slurs, turning his head to face him and closing his eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

The tears fall anyway. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Iruka hums. “L’ve you.”

He’s still on a considerable amount of pain medication, Kakashi realizes. He laughs wetly, leans forward and kisses Iruka’s forehead. “I love you, too. Rest, dear.”

“M’kay.”

And just like that, he is breathing slow and steady, his eyes close gently, and he is sleeping peacefully for the first time in months. Kakashi falls back into his chair with a huff and tips his head to the ceiling, still holding Iruka’s hand, and also, finally, finding an easy sleep.

#kakairu maze challenge 2021 #decoding ancient lost languages #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #KakaIru #my writing

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years

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Words: 5,103 Gabriel x Reader Warnings: none! A/N: This is part of a series! Read Part 1 first!

Your name: submit What is this?

The first door standing open down the long hallway was obviously your bedroom, and Gabriel wasn’t shy about stepping inside. At first, he simply stood in the center and glanced around eagerly, bouncing a little on his feet as he surveyed the space.

Cas followed him in much more tentatively, but curious as to what his purpose was.

“This is it, huh?” He strolled over to the small desk in one corner and picked up an open notebook and some loose papers, studying them closely. Apparently, nothing there really held his interest because he abandoned them quickly and started sliding open desk drawers.

“This is—I think this is what humans would call an ‘invasion of privacy,’” Cas said.

“Gabriel, I really don’t think you should—” Cas tried to argue, but the archangel simply shushed him and opened the cover. He ran his fingers over your handwriting—the impressions were deep on the page and he liked the slanting, hurried cursive. “Ghouls in Minnesota, Vampire in New York, Werewolf in Arkansas… This is nothing but hunting notes,” he said with disappointment, flipping through the pages.

“What did you expect?” Cas asked him.

“Something with a little more insight into who Y/N is, perhaps,” Gabriel said, shutting and typing the journal closed again and replacing it in the false bottom of your drawer, kicking it closed with his boot. “Hopes, dreams, roots, deepest secrets… that sort of thing,” he said.

Cas’s brow drew down low over his eyes again. “Knowing Y/N, I seriously doubt you will find any of that in writing in here…”

“Well, that’s just wishful thinking. Best case scenario. I will just have to get creative,” he said. Gabriel spun and looked at the small bedside table. There was a novel sitting on it and he grabbed it, opening it to the bookmark. “Y/N is an avid reader, hmm?” he said, more to himself than to Cas. “This is an ambitious read.” He studied the bookmark which was a folded piece of paper. When he opened it, it was a printed photo of you, Sam and Dean, and Cas. Sam had his arm draped over your shoulders and all of you were smiling for once. Gabriel stared at it for a long moment and Cas watched his expression soften into a thoughtful, faraway look. Finally, he folded it up again gently and replaced it in the novel, leaving it on your side table just the way he had found it.

Next, Gabriel went over to the dresser and glanced at Cas with a smirk on his face. “You know, it’s strange but most humans keep their delicate underthings in the exact same place—top drawer—” he said, grasping the handle.

Cas slammed his hand into the drawer keeping it closed and Gabriel looked at him in surprise. “I really think you’ve done enough spying.” Cas’s voice and expression were stern now, but it only elicited a mischievous glint in Gabriel’s golden eyes.

“Spying? I’m just trying to get to know this Y/N better,” Gabriel argued, doing his best to sound innocent. “I mean, so far all I know is she’s related to the two meatheads and hangs around with you. And, though it may be a surprise to you, that doesn’t actually tell me anything I’d like to know.”

“If you want to get to know her, why don’t you just go visit her now? Or wait and meet her when she’s back.”

Gabriel gave Cas a skeptical look. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Sam and Dean will have no problem with me sniffing around their Baby Sister. They’re not known to be particularly suspicious or protective.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Especially after all those Dead Dean Days…”

Cas grimaced a little at the thought. “Well… you also saved them by facing Lucifer. They will not have forgotten that. You redeemed yourself, at least in part,” Cas said, tilting his head in his familiar habit.

The archangel looked surprisingly uncomfortable with Cas’s sincerity. “Fine. Enough snooping. Come on, brother,” he said, laying a heavy hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Let’s grab a drink and you can tell me all about losing your grace and what mortality feels like.”

Cas frowned, but he didn’t object. He was glad just to get Gabriel out of your room…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Several weeks later

You leaned your head back on the pillows and let out a frustrated groan. “UGH! Where is this doctor?!” you demanded.

Sam gave you a look. “I’m sure he’s on his way,” he said gently, trying to placate you.

You threw off your blankets and climbed out of the hospital bed onto your feet, moving a little hunched over as you rolled your IV stand with you.

“Whoa, whoa! Hey!” Dean jumped up and stopped you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I can’t stay in that bed another minute or I’m gonna lose it!”

“We’re not even sure if you’re going to get released today, so you might as well get used to the idea that you may have to stay in that bed for a couple more days,” he retorted. “So, get back in bed!”

You vehemently pointed a finger in his face. “HEY. You’re not my doctor! You don’t get to boss me around!”

Dean drew himself up to his full height and gave you a severe look.

You didn’t waver. “I’m not scared of you!”

This drew a laugh from Sam and when you glanced over he was shaking his head. “Y/N, please just at least sit down. I’m sure the doctor—”

“—is in!” As if on cue your doctor strolled through the door, you chart in his hand. He gave you a big smile. “Alright, Y/N. Hop back up on the bed again, would you? Let’s see how you’re doing.”

He hadn’t even examined your incision yet and the words were spilling out of you. “Can I go home today?” you asked urgently.

This elicited a laugh from him and he gave you an appraising look. “As soon as I know, you’ll know,” he said diplomatically.

You tried to be a good patient and sit perfectly still as he checked your incision but you couldn’t help fidgeting and chewing your bottom lip. The doctor straightened back up and crossed his arms. “Well, no sign of infection. Incision seems to be healing nicely, so—” “YES!” you exclaimed.

“SO,” he continued through a smile, “I’m going to release you but with very strict instructions. I need you to really hear me right now, Y/N. Okay?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes. I’m listening.”

“NO lifting anything heavier than a few pounds—you know what, no lifting anything, okay? Absolutes seem safer with you. And you are NOT to be doing anything physical for 3 more weeks, at which time you can start with some easy physical activity. Long walks, some stretching, that kind of stuff. And you will need to get another post-op check-up around then too.”

You nodded. “Okay. I got it.”

“Now, your brothers here ARE now in charge since I can’t be there to keep you in line,” he said, a knowing smile on his face. He must have overheard you and Dean from the hallway.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you argued.

“I’m not kidding. You need to let them take care of you. And you two,” he said, pointing at Sam and Dean in turn, “need to make sure she rests.”

A gruff laugh escaped Dean. “Easier said than done.”

“I know,” the doctor said. “I’ve been dealing with her for only about a month. You two have been dealing with her for a lifetime,” he joked, shooting you a glance.

“I’m right here, you know!” you burst out. “I can hear everything you’re saying!”

The doctor laughed and held out a hand to you. “Y/N, it’s been a pleasure to watch you recover. Now be well, and rest.”

This time you didn’t have anything snarky to say and just grasped his hand in yours and shook it. “Thank you. For… not letting me die and stuff.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re welcome. Gentleman,” he turned to Sam and Dean who both shook his hand and thanked him repeatedly. “The nurse will be in shortly to take care of that IV and check you out. Take care.”

You watched him go with a triumphant smile on your face. Sam and Dean both looked a little anxious, however. “Oh, come on, guys! He said I’m fine. We can go home!”

“You heard the doctor though. Seriously, Y/N. You’re on house arrest,” Dean said forcefully.

“Whatever. I don’t even care. Just get me out of here,” you said climbing down to your feet again. Soon a nurse came in and removed your IV. You kicked Sam and Dean out of the room so you could change out of your hospital gown for the first time in what felt like years. Another few minutes and you were stepping into the hallway, a huge grin on your face.

Sam shouldered your bag and gave you an appraising look. “You alright?” You were still a little hunched over. Straightening up completely still made you sore.

“I’m great,” you said. “Look! I’m wearing actual clothes!” You glanced down at the sweatpants and t-shirt you had pulled on. “Sort of.”

Dean couldn’t help smiling at you fondly while shaking his head. “You sure you don’t want me to go grab a wheelchair? It’s a bit of a walk.”

You scowled at him.

“I’m being serious, Y/N,” Dean said, the gravel in his voice deepening. “You’ve only done short walks around the floor.”

“There is no way in hell you’re getting me in a wheelchair.”

You managed to make it out to the Impala, though Dean had insisted on driving right up to the exit to pick you up. You slid into the back seat and sighed. “Oh, I missed you, Baby,” you said out loud, sinking in to the familiar seat and breathing in that particular smell that always made you remember road trips and hunts and late-night cheeseburgers.

Dean smiled at you in the rearview mirror. He lowered his voice and turned to Sam. “You talk to Cas?” he asked in an undertone.

“No. It still just keeps going straight to voicemail,” Sam said. “But he texted me again… to explain the origins of pineapple,” Sam said, a tight smile on his face. “It took like 30 texts.”

“What the hell is going on with him? He’s been weirder than usual.”

“Well, he has been trapped at the bunker alone for kind of a long time…” Sam said.

“He could have talked with us if he would ever answer his goddamn phone,” Dean countered, turning onto the highway. “Maybe he’s finally cracked.”

“Who?” you asked, leaning forward and resting your hands on the back of the front seat.

“Nobody,” Dean said. You scoffed.

“That’s convincing…” you said under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Why don’t you just focus on getting all healed up and let Sammy and me worry about everything else, alright?”

“You know, it’s weird, but my cells do that part pretty much on their own. It doesn’t require much conscious thought on my part. So, if someone has cracked—”

“Nobody’s cracked,” Dean said gruffly, hands steady on the wheel.

“You just said—"

“I just said nothing for you to worry about,” Dean said finally.

You let out a frustrated growl and changed tactics. “Fine. I’ll change the subject,” you said smugly.

“Thank you…”

“Any news on Gabriel?” you asked loudly, sinking back into your seat comfortably.

There was a long, silent pause from the front seat and you could see that Dean’s grip on the steering wheel had tightened.

Sam turned partially around, one arm on the seat back and looked at you. “You know there isn’t.” “No, I don’t know that. You two are obviously keeping something from me, so I think it is fair to assume you’re keeping other stuff from me too.”

“We really don’t know anything about Gabriel,” Sam said, sincerity written all over his face.

You chewed your bottom lip anxiously. Sam took in your expression. “Have you—seen him again?” he asked.

“No. No, nothing like that but since that happened, I just have this feeling—he said we would be seeing each other again and it’s like, in my core, I know that’s true.” You looked up and caught Sam’s eyes, they were steady on your face and narrowed slightly in concern. “I know that doesn’t make any sense and I know you and Dean said he’s gone but it’s such a strong feeling. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“I believe you,” Sam said. “For now, I guess we just have to wait…”

Many hours later, Dean finally pulled the Impala into the underground garage at the bunker and opened the door for you. Inside, an archangel and a graceless angel perked up as they heard noise in the garage. Cas shot upright and glanced over at Gabriel, who only smiled serenely back at him.

“Showtime!”

Cas gave him an apprehensive look and started off in the direction of the garage immediately. Gabriel followed, but at a leisurely pace, seemingly completely unconcerned.

But Cas didn’t know that this was mostly an act. There was a strange sensation in Gabriel’s chest and it was growing the closer he came to the moment when he would see you—meet you—for real this time, not in some mind dreamscape. He couldn’t even explain to himself why but he felt that this moment was going to change everything for him in some way—he knew no reason why that would be true. He had been fascinated with you since he first became aware again and had been thrust into some role connected with you… but he had this feeling, like a heavy block of cement in the middle of his chest sitting on top of his heart which was maddening in its oddity. It was like expectation and something more had solidified and despite all his trying he couldn’t shift it.

Dean pushed through the door into the bunker trailed closely by you, and then Sam hauling your bag and his own. “Cas?!” Dean roared. “Are you alive in here?”

Cas came hurrying around a corner in the hallway and his expression stopped all of you dead in your tracks. His blue eyes were wide and his face was quite pale, further making the shocking blue stand out.

“…what’s going on?” Dean asked. He was immediately reaching for his pistol.

“Don’t panic, but there’s someone here—”

“How is that supposed to make me not panic?!”

“Cas, do I need to get Y/N out of here?” Sam demanded over your shoulder, already trying to move around you to shield you protectively.

You were surprisingly quiet and Dean looked over his shoulder at you. Your heart was pounding in your chest. “Cas, who is it?” you asked quietly.

He only swallowed at the tightness in his throat and opened his mouth to offer some kind of explanation, but no sound came out. You felt like you didn’t really need him to answer anyway. You already knew.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

A second figure now came around the corner and Dean dropped his duffel bag where he stood, his fists clenched.

“Welcome home, Winchester Clan!” Gabriel said cheerfully, his arms spread wide.

There was just a stretch of tense silence between all of you which the archangel finally broke again. “Dean, if you wouldn’t mind just stepping a liiiittle bit to your right so I can—”

“What the hell are you doing here? How are you here?!” Dean demanded, his jaw tensing.

“That’s how you want to start this?” Gabriel asked, a grimace on his face. “Come on, Dean. I’m here to help. I’m not here to kill you over and over again. Not this time. I promise. Scout’s honor.” He made a small cross over his heart with one finger. Gabriel tilted his head, trying to look around Dean to get a better view of you, but it wasn’t necessary because the next moment you stepped around him slowly.

He couldn’t help the small smile that grew on his face. You found the golden light in his eyes staggering, just as you remembered it from your vision.

“…you,” was all you could get out. Sam and Dean exchanged a tense glance.

He bounced a little on the balls of his feet and slipped his hands into his pockets, actually the result of nerves, but he was hoping it just made him look nonchalant and nonplussed. “Me.”

“You’re—but you’re… What are you doing here?” you asked quietly.

“I told you we’d be seeing each other again, didn’t I? You didn’t believe me?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow at you. You didn’t answer, just peered at him intensely.

He inclined his chin a little as he studied you. “Here—” he said. He moved around Cas and started toward you but was immediately met with loud yells and threats from the Sam and Dean causing him to stop abruptly and raise his hands, palms out. “Guys, guys, guys! Would you two just chill? Really! After all we’ve been through… I’d like to heal what’s left of that nasty gunshot wound if Y/N will let me. Or are you opposed to that? Because she’s in a lot more pain than she’s letting on. I’m guessing she’s hiding it so you two won’t go all crazy protective over her for the rest of her life.”

“No, I’m not!” you argued. Gabriel gave you a skeptical look.

“I can feel it,” he said. When he spoke those words there was something almost desperate in them. “Let me heal you. Please.”

You swallowed hard at the nervous lump in your throat and stepped around Dean again, giving him a small glance. “It’s okay,” you said.

Gabriel stopped right in front of you and gently touched two fingers to your forehead.

You straightened up immediately and breathed in a deep breath, completely filling your lungs, something you hadn’t been able to do without pangs of pain since you’d been shot. Your shoulders relaxed and you gave him a grateful but perplexed look. “Thanks.”

“Welcome home,” he said again, but this time it was quiet, like it was only for your ears. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the fingertips that had just touched your skin. They felt strange, almost like the sensation when your foot falls asleep.

Dean suddenly interrupted the moment by pushing past Gabriel and heading toward the front of the bunker at high speed. Cas turned and jogged to catch up with him, wilting a little under the scowl Dean sent his way.

“Cas, you couldn’t have given us a heads up?” Dean asked angrily.

“You don’t think I tried? He broke every single phone I had and all the new ones I managed to get a hold of. And it’s not exactly like I could just fly over, is it?” he finished bitterly.

Sam stopped next to the two of them and dropped his duffel bag. “So… all those weird texts weren’t from you,” he said with sudden understanding.

Cas looked confused. “What? Weird texts? No. What weird texts?”

The Winchesters and Cas suddenly heard laughter behind them and turned to see Gabriel standing in the doorway with a satisfied smirk. Their expressions were stern.

“Oh, come on! That series of texts about the fuzzy toilet seat lid covers? The ‘bedtime thoughts’ texts? Pure genius on my part. You have to see the humor in this!” Gabriel simply watched as the muscles in their jaws twitched.

Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Goddammit. What the hell is going on?” He turned and looked to Sam who was still just staring in Gabriel’s direction with somewhat wide eyes.

“It’s really not that complicated, Dean. I was sent back to watch out for Y/N. And that’s really all I know.”

This caused deep wrinkles in both Sam and Dean’s foreheads. “Okay, first of all, your definition of ‘not complicated’ could use some adjustment. I would say a DEAD archangel coming back to life is pretty complicated. Second, why does she need anyone more than us watching out for her?” Dean growled.

“Well, seeing as she was just shot and almost died I don’t think I need to really answer that question,” Gabriel snarked back.

Dean’s jaw and fists tensed and Cas stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from attempting to throttle the archangel. Gabriel only smiled serenely.

“That wasn’t their fault,” you argued, having just appeared behind Gabriel in the doorway, feeling sick again because you knew your brothers were already blaming themselves. “It could have been any one of us.”

“But it wasn’t,” Gabriel pointed out.

You looked suddenly weary. “I don’t know why we’re still talking about this at all. I’m completely fine. Better than fine now that I’m magically healed me up. I feel like there are more important things we should be discussing.”

Gabriel raised a finger, like he had a sudden idea. “You’re right. Chiefly, I need to know everything about you. Your likes, your dislikes, formative childhood experiences, deepest darkest secrets—”

You crossed your arms over your chest and were about to snark something back at the archangel but Dean beat you to it. “Alright. That’s enough!” he growled. “You were supposedly sent here to protect her, not be a total creep. You’ve just met her and you’re already trying to invade her privacy,” he said gruffly, his green eyes piercing on the angel’s face.

“Well, technically I think he already—” Cas tried to stop himself but it was too late and your eyes snapped over to Gabriel as he winced and anxiously ran a hand through his hair. Your mouth was hanging partially open and your expression was incredulous.

“What the hell did you do?” you demanded. When he didn’t answer and only shrugged vaguely, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown, you turned to Cas again who was doing his best to look anywhere but in your direction. “Cas… Cas! Look at me!”

Gabriel spun and locked his eyes on Cas as well. “Brother, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be quiet…” he said through his teeth, keeping a forced smile fixed on his face.

“We all know you aren’t good at lying, Cas. Even a lie of omission. Are you really going to lie to me? After everything I’ve just been through?” You purposely tugged on his heartstrings and walked toward him so he had no choice but to glance at you as you moved closer. “Cas, I almost died. And you’re not going to tell me what this archangel who is supposedly here to watch out for me was up to?”

Gabriel shot you a look that was both a little stunned and impressed. “That’s low,” he said. You raised your eyebrows at him and then turned back to Cas again.

You could see the internal turmoil crescendoing until it finally burst out of him. “He went through some of your things in your room. I tried to stop him but—”

“Dude!” Sam exclaimed, his jaw clenching with anger. Dean shut his eyes against the rising tide of rage and his fists tightened. `

Your jaw dropped open again and you turned back to Gabriel and away from a very conflicted-looking Castiel. “What the hell!?” you demanded angrily. “Haven’t you heard of privacy? What exactly gave you the right to go through my room?”

He looked a tinge guilty for a moment before rearranging his features into a questioning expression. “Well, I think I should know a little about my charge—”

You shot a glare at him that was piercing and Gabriel felt his throat tighten. “Your charge? Let’s get one thing straight right now… I’m not your ‘charge’. You do not get to boss me around or make decisions for me.”

Gabriel tilted his head and gave you a peculiar look. “Well… strictly speaking I don’t think that’s true… You see, I’m supposed to protect you which means that I get to decide—”

You interrupted him angrily. “No. No, you don’t get to decide.” You looked at Cas and your brothers who all looked pretty unhappy about what had just played out. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” As you started down the hall, you heard his footsteps following behind you and as you reached the door to your room you spun to face him. “What do you think you’re doing?” you demanded.

Gabriel looked around as if he was expecting you to be talking to someone other than him, but he saw no one else. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I’m just doing my job. You said you’re going to bed so I’m going to watch over you and—”

You angrily bit the inside of your cheek. “No. You’re not. You can stay the hell away from me while I sleep. You’re not setting foot in my room again.”

“Oh, come on! Y/N, please. You’re not really mad about—”

You turned abruptly and slammed the door in his face. Okay, so maybe you were really mad… “You know I can just appear in your room! I’m an archangel. An oak door isn’t—” The door whipped open again and you stood there fuming.

“Go away.” Your voice was quiet but Gabriel could easily hear the anger in it and for now he decided just to back off. You slammed the door in his face again and he sighed heavily, running a hand back through his hair.

Sometime later, Cas wandered down the hall and found Gabriel sitting on the floor, his back up against the wall just beside your shut door, his legs stretched out in front of him. Gabriel looked at him as he approached.

Cas didn’t say anything, just took a seat beside the archangel on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him and staring at his shoes. Gabriel broke the silence first. “Look how far I’ve come,” he said, his tone clearly sarcastic. “I used to lead legions and now I’ve been assigned as some kind of glorified babysitter and here I am, a fallen archangel, sitting on the floor outside her door.”

“You probably wouldn’t be sitting here on the floor if you hadn’t botched that meeting with Y/N so spectacularly,” Cas mused. To his surprise the archangel actually laughed and glanced over at him.

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that, Castiel.” Gabriel sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “I have a tendency toward self-destructive behavior.”

“When I was an angel, I mean—with my grace, so did I,” Cas said. “Perhaps there is something about being so-called ‘immortal’ that makes us reckless with our own lives.”

Gabriel sighed again heavily. “Perhaps.”

Cas looked over at him and he could see genuine worry on his brother’s face. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine in the morning. She’s tough. Strong. But kind-hearted. She’ll let you make up for it.” Cas fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “I see such a mixture of Sam and Dean in her.”

This only drew Gabriel’s brow down more deeply. “That’s what I’m worried about,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t know why I was sent to protect her, but I do know how reckless the Winchesters are with their lives. And all without a single drop of grace.”

Cas’s lips curved ever so slightly in a thoughtful smile. “Yes. But selfless.”

Gabriel glanced over at his brother and felt a pang in his heart for his graceless friend. “Do you miss your trench coat and suit?” he asked him.

Cas’s eyes lifted in surprise at the question and he glanced down at his sweatshirt, picking a piece of lint off the sleeve. “I do. But… it felt wrong wearing it somehow. Like being in a suit of armor while not on the battlefield.”

Gabriel nodded and leaned his head back against the wall. A few moments of comfortable silence passed before he broke it. “I’m sorry for being such a dick since I arrived. All the phones… all the lying… all the snooping. It’s strange to say but I had a level of-—anxiety,” he tilted his head in a question, not even entirely sure that was the right word for what he had been feeling, “about meeting Y/N. And I still messed it up.”

Cas sighed again and patted a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Tomorrow is a new day.” He climbed to his feet and looked down at the archangel, a strange sight sitting like a child on the floor during time-out. “Tomorrow. Goodnight, brother.”

#gabriel fanfics #gabe x reader #gabriel one shots #archangel #gabriel series #supernatural #spn fics #spn fanfiction

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream VII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 034

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave; They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Brave

Broken hearts are made for two

One for me and one for you

Tell me have you heard the news

We are now in love

Fall break from school is scheduled during the last three days of the last week of October. Before she can take some time off, Iris has midterm articles to write and grade. Barry is busy testing DNA samples or whatever it is CSIs do so they don’t see each other for several days after he leaves her house the morning after Wally’s party.

On the Wednesday of Fall Break, the first day off, Iris lets herself sleep in until almost 10, and then she packs up her bag, stuffing a notebook, a couple of pens, and her laptop in, before dressing comfortably in a pair of dark leggings, and a white oversized CCU hoodie she stole from her brother. Throwing on a pair of white low-top Chuck Taylors, Iris heads out to Jitters. It’s a rainy day, and other than workers who’ve no choice, not many people are out. A storm is brewing for later in the night, the sky dark and cloudy, but for the moment, it’s just a steady rain that has Iris walking carefully to her car and driving a lot slower, thanking her lucky stars that she finds a parking spot right in front of the coffee shop.

Back in high school, especially once her dad had gotten her a used car during the beginning of senior year, Iris and Linda would come to Jitters to do homework or stare at the college boys who would come in. The coffee shop has expanded since then, buying the small antique store that had been next door and adding more seating and a bar that specializes in alcoholic coffee brews. It’s still one of Iris’s favorite places to work because now the manager is a young Black woman with wild curly hair always dyed in one bright color or another and a soft spot for mid to late 90s R & B female singers. The shop is comfortable, with couches and overstuffed chairs in mismatched browns and beiges and blues set up near the walls and windows and several tables, two- and four-tops, taking up the space in the middle. Two of the walls are exposed brick and the others are painted stark white and feature framed prints in wild colors. It’s changed since she was a child, but Iris likes to think that she’s changed with it, that as this integral part of Central City has grown and added light and color and comfort, so too has Iris.

Today, her plan is to outline at least two entire stories from interviews she’s completed over the last couple of weeks before she even thinks about leaving the coffee shop. She settles into one of her favorite spots, a soft navy armchair behind a small circular table. She sets up her laptop, her notebook with her notes, her pens, and once a waiter drops off her brown sugar latte and a chocolate muffin, she lets the sound of the rain, and the Erykah Badu playing on the speakers, get her into her work.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Iris looks up just as Barry stops beside her. She’s been at Jitters for just over three hours now, and her shoulders are cramped and she’s coffee high and hungry. The rain is still pounding down, so hard that it looks like it’s raining sideways, and Iris curses her inability to get any work done in her own home. Besides all that, she’s reeling. She’s just outlined a story of a man explaining the story of the woman he’d loved his entire life: from growing up together in a small city in North Carolina, to becoming best friends and de facto siblings when his parents died and her dad agreed to foster him; from not dating but seeming like it in high school, to falling for other people in college; from having other spouses and children to one night of passion before they found their way back to each other when she decided to leave her husband after his wife died. It was a ride from start to finish, such a roller coaster of feelings—of love and pain and joy and heartbreak—that make Iris feel a bit heavy with them, a little loopy with them.

Barry stands to the side of her, towering above her, in as simple an outfit as what she’s wearing, a pair of black joggers and a white sweatshirt. She’s startled that he's there because she figures that he should be at work, but her heart does tick up at the sight of him. That is, until she lets her eyes rake over his lean frame. He looks a little...down, like a physical manifestation of the story she’s just outlined. His hair is messier than usual and his eyes aren’t carrying their usual sparkle, in addition to the darkening bags that frame them. He’s also a little stubbly, his jaw covered in a fine layer of coarse hair, his pallor a bit ashen.

(Iris will also admit that she thinks he looks sort of, well, good, like this; but that’s neither here nor there and she feels terrible—and maybe a bit perverted—that she’s lusting after him when he’s obviously going through something.)

“Hey,” she responds softly, and she stands up to assess him further. He seems so much taller than her like this, when they’re both in sneakers. She hasn’t seen him since the morning after Wally’s party a week ago when he dropped her back off at her car after spending the night at her place. They’ve talked a bunch and FaceTimed once, but she’s missed him. She reaches up into his hair, rubbing at his scalp a little until his eyes close and he lets out a soft little moan. She keeps at it and then touches gingerly at his face, at some of the moles dotting his cheeks, at the stubble he’s grown. He reaches up to stop her, eyes still closed, and it startles her a little bit. She goes to pull her hand back, but then he holds on to her wrist to bring her hand down and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

She’s never seen him like this. He’s always so open and, maybe not happy, but never so melancholy. There is always a pep to his step, as her grandma used to say, a smile on his face that always said that he feels some sort of contentment in his life. And obviously, people are allowed to have days like this. But it does something to Iris, to see him this way. She wants to lash out at whoever has made him look like this, like he’s drowning in emotions that he can’t easily pull himself out of.

“Bear, you okay?”

He nods, a little woefully, and he catches her eyes again. She bites at her lip as she stares back at him and, on impulse, she leans up to kiss him. It’s just a little more than a peck, something to tell him that she’s there with him; but he takes it a step further, kissing her harder, biting at her lip enough that there’s more pain than she’s expecting. She moans at him and he pulls back, breathing labored.

“I’m sorry,” he speaks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “You didn’t hurt me. Well, a little, but I didn’t hate it.”

That gets a more real smile out of him, and he thumbs at her bottom lip. “Hmm, I guess my good girl is a little bad.”

Iris rolls her eyes and gives him a look, sobering for a minute. “Bear, what’s up? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he nods at her table and asks, “you get a lot of work done?”

She eyes him, wanting to ask again. But she knows how she is when she doesn’t want to talk about something and so she lets it go. For the moment.

“Yeah. Or, at least, I’ve done most of what I set out to do.”

He nods, casts his eyes out of the glass, looking at the rain for a moment, watching it fall in heavy sheets. Normally, Iris likes the rain. It’s soothing and she enjoys how it makes the world take a moment to slow down. When she was a little girl, her grandma (her dad’s mother who grew up somewhere at the bottom of Georgia) used to say that when it was raining, and particularly when it was storming, that the Lord was doing His work and that it was the time to be still. They’d have to sit quietly, usually with the TV and the lights off, and just be. And while life doesn’t allow her to drop everything because it’s started raining, there is always a hushed feeling that comes over her when it rains, something tranquil, but also a little turbulent, a little uncontrollable, quite like the very rain she’s reveling in.

“Wanna come over?” he wonders, voice unsure.

She nods readily. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”

He goes to return her mug and plate while she packs her bag back up. He meets her at the door, opening up a large umbrella and throwing an arm over her shoulder to lead her out into the rain. She walks with him past her own car as he takes her a short black away to where his Jeep is parked. He helps her into the Jeep first, watches as she tucks her bag under the seat, and then closes the door before walking around to the other side.

They ride to his house in silence. He lives far on the south side of town, a good twenty or so minutes from downtown if they hit the highway. Instead, he takes the streets, adding another ten minutes to their drive. Iris doesn’t mind; as she said, she likes the rain, and in this big Jeep, tires sluicing easily through the flooding roads in a way her car definitely can’t, she’s enjoying the ride. He had silently connected her phone to his car’s Bluetooth, so she took it to mean that the music choices were hers. She contemplates finding something that he might like, but she figures he likely wouldn’t even be paying much attention. So she decides on one of her slower playlists, ones with songs that dip and fade, that take listeners on a journey of highs and lows, and she lets it play. The lyrics tell too much, so i guess that i should mention; that i am in no condition; to put you in this position; i might fuck this up, although with the heavy weight on Barry’s shoulders right now, she can’t tell if she’s talking to him or vice versa.

He takes them past one of the major shopping districts in the city, past the Apple store and the Michael Kors shop and the one restaurant her dad took her to when she graduated college where pasta dishes run nearer to forty dollars. These shops, and the nicer mall and a couple business buildings that rise as tall as those downtown, lead into longer stretches of road where trees interspersed with beige or cream apartments begin to take up where businesses once stood. He turns into the familiar subdivision that she remembers; it’s a little older than some, which makes sense if his parents were able to buy and pay it off before they were gone. That also means that none of the houses are the same cookie-cutter versions that tend to make up most subdivisions these days, where houses are identical save for the color and the trim and what children’s toys litter the front yard.

He presses a button on his visor and the garage opens as he maneuvers the car so that he can back up into the driveway. He stays in the driveway, though, the music cutting out—but whatever the case, you're my favorite mistake; more than happy to make you—when he turns the ignition off. She waits for him to come around with his umbrella and he half picks her up to pull her out, holding on to her as he walks her through the garage.

She’s as quiet as he is, taking in her surroundings, trying to get a better sense of who he is by what he’s got going on in his house. There isn’t much in the garage; there are a bunch of boxes neatly stacked on one wall, a couple bicycles in another corner. There is a wall full of tools and a couple tables that have science looking tools on them, like a microscope and several bunsen burners and petri dishes, though nothing looks as if they’re currently being used.

He leads her through a door that opens up into the kitchen as he presses another button to close the garage. His house is as cute on the outside as it is on the inside, although she wonders how he might feel if she were to call it cute. The kitchen is large, done in white, gray, and green, with steel appliances, gray marble countertops, and the look of a place that doesn’t get a lot of use. They both stop to toe their shoes off right outside of the kitchen where a couple other pairs of Barry’s shoes lie. His living room is pretty big: a wide space that features a real stone fireplace as the focal point and a large screen television situated above it; a huge sectional in a slate gray with a few throw pillows; and a big square wooden coffee table. It’s masculine and clean without being gaudy or too bro and Iris wonders if he did this himself because even if she never knew her, she doubts a woman who loved flowers as much as his mother would decorate her living room this way.

The dark curtains on the windows are open wide and Iris can see the backyard but the rain coming down in sheets keep her from being able to make out much besides the patio with what looks like a grill and wicker furniture. Iris remembers being told that his dad had been a doctor and his mom some sort of university researcher and the house matches that.

Barry lets her hand go to tug his sweatshirt off, revealing a plain white t-shirt that rises up over his taut belly. She doesn’t avert her eyes, giving herself permission to track how the sweatpants hang off his slim hips and how he isn’t so much sculpted as he’s hard and tight, with just the beginnings of abs. He catches her staring and he smirks at her before dropping down in the corner of the couch, one leg spread out along the seats of the chair.

“Come here,” he tells her, and she moves toward him, sitting so that her back is pressed against that hard chest and his arms are wrapped around her. She grabs a hold of his forearm with both her hands and settles her head in the crook of his elbow. She’s surrounded by his scent, lemongrass and clean cotton, and for a while, the only sounds are his breathing and the pounding of the rain. He touches her, the hand she’s not holding on to stroking up and down her thigh. Her leggings are pretty thin and she feels his touch fully; if she concentrates enough, she can feel those beloved calluses on his hands. He rubs his hand towards the juncture of her thighs and then over her hip and then back again, and like always, his touch ignites something in her, even as she’s wondering how she might be able to help him out of whatever funk he’s found himself in.

“You ready to tell me what’s up?” she wonders a while later.

“Hmm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Not yet. Tell me about your day.”

She shifts so that she can look back at him, noting the way his eyes have darkened a touch, become grayer like the sky outside, and it’s different from the bright blue-green she remembers from the day of the festival or the wicked blue-gray they always are right before he pushes hard into her.

He blinks down at her and licks his lips slowly. It’s not an explicitly sexual act, even if her body thinks it looks that way, and Iris finds herself lost in it, in whatever he’s emanating. It’s erotic in that it’s intimate, a whirlwind of whatever hurt made him seek her out at Jitters, of whatever still lies unexplored between them, of the attraction that doesn’t ever seem to dissipate.

When she pulls herself out, she tells him, “I was working on a story today. One that made me feel a little bit like how you might be right now.”

“Yeah?”

Wanting to look at him more comfortably, she uses his pause so that she can turn around fully and seat herself on his lap, straddling him. His hands automatically go to her hips, one sliding inside the waist of her leggings so that he can touch her skin.

“Tell me about this story,” he requests. She knows that he’s asking so that he can think about something other than what’s on his mind, so she does, giving a little more than she would originally, working out how she might want to tell the story in her blog.

“It was a couple,” she starts, “that grew up together, in the country. They bonded by playing together in the lake, climbing trees, and playing pranks on each other. And then they start to grow up. Their swimming becomes fraught with tension, the bathing suits showing the same skin, but more, ya know, both of them recognizing the differences, cataloging them, thinking about them, remembering them. They don’t act on it, because they’re friends, and he doesn’t actually understand what it means, that he’s 13 and he keeps dreaming about her at night, waking up with a wet bed and a pounding heart. And then his parents die and her dad, who’s a do-gooder in the community and had been his parents’ best friend, takes him in. Now they’re siblings, but of course not. Regardless, it makes it all harder and odder because she sleeps right down the hall from him, their shared bathroom always smells like her, and he understands now, that he likes her smile and the way she speaks and the curves she seems to develop out of nowhere.”

Barry squeezes at her and she pauses as he asks, “And what about her? How does she feel about him?”

“Well he doesn’t know it, but she’s there too. At first she thinks that she’s just conflating it, confusing their friendship. Because she doesn’t laugh with anyone else like she does with him and she never has as much fun with anyone else as she does him and she never feels as comfortable with anyone else as she does him. He’s her best friend. But she sees him, one night, in his room where the door hasn’t fully closed and he��s, well, he’s masturbating, touching himself, eyes closed and moaning, and for the first time outside of the books she’s read, she feels something. And she knows it’s not just because she’s seen him naked because she’s kissed boys before, she’s felt them hard under her before, but something about this feels different for her.

“But she doesn’t act on it. And he doesn’t either, because remember, he only thinks this is one-sided. They graduate. They go to the same college. But their majors are different and their friends are different. She joins a sorority; he gets into a couple of clubs. Their paths separate, even if they still laugh and talk and be when they’re home for the holidays. Then she gets a boyfriend.”

“She never had a boyfriend before this?” Barry questions.

Iris shrugs. “Sure. But it was high school and the beginning of college. They were mostly hookups that didn’t last. This guy is serious. He’s a couple years older, got his own place, and eventually she moves in with him. Heartbroken, he gets a girlfriend too, one of her friends. That doesn’t last long because she figures out that he’s a little bit in love with the main girl, and then he moves on, to someone sweet, someone who’s been not so subtly hinting that she wants to go out with him.”

Barry seems to be engrossed now. She can’t say that the dark look he was sporting is completely gone, but she can see that he’s not as deep in it, interested in the story she’s weaving.

“They go on to marry these people, even if their hearts are not fully in it. His wife has a kid first, her baby comes next. And meanwhile, they’re still friends. Her dad is still his guardian, so to speak; they are together for whatever holidays they don’t spend with their spouses’ families. They still laugh and talk and be. They still look a little too long and want a little too much.

It comes to a head one Christmas. The gods or fate or just some movement on their parts mean that they both go home to her dad’s house with their spouses and children coming in the next day. But her dad is called in to work so they order take out and watch movies in front of a fire. And they laugh and they talk...and they hug and they kiss and they…

“Be?” Barry tries, a tiny little smile on his face.

She matches it. “Yeah. And it’s beautiful, transcendent. But they’re married. To other people. With kids. So they vow to forget it, to never bring it up again. A couple of years pass. They don’t laugh as much, don’t talk as much. She’s having troubles in her marriage. He is too. He actually consults a divorce attorney because he thinks that it’s unfair to both him and his wife, to live like this. And then the wife dies in a car accident.”

“Oh damn,” he mutters.

“Right,” she agrees. “He’s wracked with grief and more than a little guilt, because he loved her but was never in love with her and she had no idea he was going to leave her.”

“What about her? The one he loves?”

“She’s there for him. She consoles him, cares for him, takes his kid when it gets too hard. Her husband doesn’t like it though. Thinks she’s doing too much, thinks that there’s another reason she’s over at his so much. Later, he learns that this wasn’t a new accusation, that even before she and her husband got married, the husband would question their closeness, would wonder what, if anything, had ever happened between them.

“Eventually she gets tired of it. Her kid is older, in their teens now, and she leaves her husband, packing her things and her kid’s too and moving back in with her dad for a while.”

“And what happens between them?” Barry wants to know.

“He and his son come over more. They hang out more, the four of them, going to dinner and to the movies and to the arcade together. And when their kids are gone, at sleepovers or game nights with their friends, they laugh again, talk again. Fall in love again.”

The ending is implied. Iris closes her eyes when she’s done, letting Barry continue to rub at her back, his fingers so so warm on her skin.

“It's a happy ending,” he says, eventually. “But getting there was a little...depressing.”

Iris chuckles softly, lightheaded again at having gone through that again. It likely didn’t make Barry feel any better, but she’ll take the win that it took his mind away from his own problems, if only for a little while.

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees. “But it reminds me that just because it’s not easy and just because it takes some time, it doesn’t mean that things aren’t worth it.”

He nods, slowly, thinking.

“What about things that are...easy? That come like breathing? That start as a simple dance and just, just keep going?”

She stares down at him and she knows that this is rhetorical. She can see the question in the depths of his eyes, feel it in his hands still kneading her flesh. It would be easy to retreat, to tell him that nothing is ever easy, even if the reality is that it is because they are, because they fall into each other so effortlessly, that she’s terrified. There are always hiccups, obstacles, and the fact that she can’t find any keeps her on edge, waiting, anticipating trouble she knows must be coming. She doesn’t want to believe it, wants to stand firm in them—stand firm in the lyrics she keeps hearing, if you decide to stay, know that there is no escape; there's no one here to save you—and she holds onto that as he asks,

“Don’t you think it’s worth it, Iris? Even if it’s this easy?”

She can’t speak, but his eyes are imploring her to answer. Pleading with her for a response. And however terrified Iris is, or however much Iris tells stories, she is not a liar. So she nods and whispers to him, “yes.”

Without waiting for her to say anything more, he kisses her. He squeezes at her waist and leans up to capture her mouth. She meets him with his same fervor and it’s different, this kiss. She knows the passion of his mouth when he’s high, the boldness when he’s teasing her. But this is new, this is fervor, warmth and agony and doubt and pleasure, all wrapped up together.

(Something also tells Iris that there is another word for this, that this is the part of the story where feelings would be laid on the table, where hearts would be splayed open and she’d say it, or he would, and the other would respond in kind, with declarations of adoration, of infatuation, yearning, of any other word that means what she can’t say yet.

But she feels it, what she’s wanting to say, what she thinks he is saying, in this kiss. It is slow and nasty, all tongue and mouth. Her eyes flutter closed at the feeling, at how he licks into her mouth and then sucks on her bottom lip, at how he licks against her tongue and then holds her face to bring her closer to him. She feels it, she feels it, she feels him…)

He stands, holding on to her, and she wraps her legs around his waist, tightening her arms around his neck as he carries her through the house. The kisses don’t stop, though they become shorter, more mouth now, and he takes her down a long hallway past several doors until he turns into one at the end of the hall. She makes a quick note of the light gray and burnt orange decor, the side tables holding books and knickknacks, the one window that spans nearly the entire wall, but she focuses most heavily on the king-sized bed on which he throws on her, the soft comforter half hanging off the bed.

Her clothes come off first, Barry pulling her sweatshirt over her head and yanking her pants over her hips. He comes out of his own clothes as she discards her underwear, and then he’s between her thighs again. But she wants something else first so she taps his shoulder to flip them and then she’s hovering above him.

She gives him a kiss, slow and sweet, and then she makes her way down his chest, kissing as she goes. She loves the feel of his skin against her lips, likes how his skin tastes as she presses tongue kisses on him. His belly clenches and unclenches under her ministrations, and by the time she’s looking back up at him from her position near his crotch, she can see the way his chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing.

She reaches for him, wrapping her fingers around his dick. It’s long like the rest of him, and thicker than she would have expected just looking at him. It’s a pretty dick, the base the same color as him, the head slightly pinker. It’s a little veiny, but the skin is smooth, and already he’s starting to leak. She lifts her eyes to find him watching her, his own gaze hooded. In her peripheral, she sees his hands grip the bed sheets and she revels in how she hasn’t even done anything and his control is starting to slip.

“Tell me what you want, Bear.”

She says the words softly, but Barry doesn’t miss the cheek that lies under it, if the slight smirk he gives her is any indication.

“Your mouth,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming about that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”

She shudders at the tone of his voice, at the vision of her on her knees for him. She likes it.

“I bet you have too,” he guesses.

Without a response, she licks him, holding him at the base and running her tongue up one side of him. She does it again, and then one more time, acquainting herself with the taste of him and the satiny feel of him on her tongue, and then she adjusts and covers the whole of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

She hums around him and she sucks him down, taking him until he hits her throat. Then she pulls back until just the tip remains. She licks around his head and sucks him there, letting the spit pool in her mouth, letting it mix with his own wet. She opens her mouth and lets it slide out, dripping down onto him, and her own body starts to drip at his wrecked whisper, “god, baby, look at you.”

She adds her hands, palming his testicles in one and rubbing her spit down the length of him with the other. She finds a rhythm, sucking him down, inch by inch, hollowing her cheeks as she goes, and then stroking his back up. Barry keeps his hand clenched in the sheets, but he cants himself into her mouth, rocking his hips lightly. She’s getting into it, loving the way he responds to her.

“Come here,” he says, suddenly, reaching for her, and she pulls back with a soft pop.

“Barry?” she furrows her eyebrows in question.

He gives her a gentle smile and grabs at her arm; Iris moves at his request, crawling up his body.

“But you didn’t finish,” she says, pouting a little.

“I know. I want to come when I’m inside you.”

She’s mollified by that, and he settles her on his lap.

“You were so good though, baby,” he says, kissing her. “My good, good girl.”

He reaches down to touch her, slipping his fingers easily into her sex. He groans into her mouth at the feel and he pulls back to ask,

“Is this all for me? Did you get wet sucking me off, good girl?”

She nods, rocking her hips against his hand, against his sex still hard beneath her. “Can, can you…?”

He tilts his head at her, fingers still caressing inside of her. “Can I?”

She huffs out a small laugh because he’s always fucking with her. “You said you wanted to come inside of me,” she reminds him.

“I did, didn’t?” He takes his time removing his fingers, eyes on her as he does. Even with the window curtains wide open, the dark sky has the room dark

(and she doesn’t dismiss the fact that the window faces the side of someone else’s house, where they could be seen if the neighbors were so inclined to watch)

and his eyes look a little like molten lead in the faint rainy light like this. He goes to reach over to his bedside table but Iris stops him.

“I want to feel you,” she says.

He licks his lips and she doesn’t mistake the twitch of his dick she feels under her. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m on birth control. And I trust you.”

He nods once and again, and then he takes her by her hips and slides her down his cock.

After, Iris decides that this time is the single most erotic experience of her life.

They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way.

She rides him, and he’s so full in her like this, so deep in her like this. His back is against his fabric headboard and she’s so close to him, her knees jutting into the headboard, her thighs holding around his hips, her breasts rubbing against his chest, nipples pebbling with each brush on those hard planes.

She holds on to him with her hands holding the back of his neck, softly scratching at the nape. But he’s touching her, always touching her, his hands caressing her spine, and then holding her waist, and then squeezing her hips. He guides her: keeps his favorite pace, smooth and languid; bring her up to the tip and fucks her back down; shows her how he wants her to roll her body when he’s full in her, so her clit is brushing the soft hairs on his pelvis, the sensation incredible.

He uses his mouth too: to kiss her throat, deep tongue kisses that’ll leave marks she knows she’ll have to cover up; to whisper against her mouth, “see how easy this is; see how good, baby; fuck, see how good this is; yes, yes, yes, my good girl.”

And Iris feels so caught up in it. She can’t stop looking at him, loving when the lightning slashes across the room and illuminates those eyes, the constellation of moles on his skin, his wet, pink mouth. Her body hums with pleasure, soaking her thighs and his, tightening around his dick as if it never, never wants to let him go. She voices her satisfaction, in soft sighs and heavy pleas, and his name on her tongue like a chant, or better, a song, “Bear, Bear, Barrryyy.” They’re so close, her skin sticking to his wherever they’re touching, chest to chest and ass to thigh. She feels full and whole and filled...with him and with desire and with, and with love, the thought of it making her shudder and close her eyes.

“No,” Barry whispers. “Don’t. Just let it, just let it...stay here with me. Can you do that for me? Be brave for me?”

She nods, head heavy as her body starts to reach its climax, as her body loosens at the same time that it tightens and she has to fight to hold on to him. “Yes,” she moans again, holding his gaze again.

He touches at her face, holding her cheek and staring back. “Good girl.”

She doesn’t know whose climax triggers the other. She just knows that at the same time that her body explodes, fluttering wildly around him, he comes too, so hard that she feels him throbbing against her walls, that she feels him filling her up with his cum.

He doesn’t let go of her right away. He just holds her, hands at her hip and her face, and then he kisses her, cementing what they’ve just done, cementing what Iris feels for him.

“It’s the anniversary of my mom’s death,” he says, out of the blue. “And when I went to visit my dad earlier, I found out that he’s sick, something with his heart, and I’m-I’m reeling.”

It’s been a long while since they separated and Iris climbed off of him to pad into his bathroom and warm a hand towel under warm water to clean them both. They’ve been lying in his bed, only half under the covers as they let their bodies cool. It’s quiet now, so quiet that Iris has thought he’d fallen asleep; she’d almost fallen asleep. But when he speaks, she blinks wide and then turns her head to face him.

“14 years today,” he adds. He’s looking up at the ceiling as he talks, but Iris feels the hand that’s settled at her waist tighten, the move bringing her closer to him. She understands that he just needs the contact, so she turns so that she’s all the way curled on him, one of her legs thrown across him, her arm tossed over him too, hand settled on his heart. It’s beating slow, steady, and so she strokes his bare chest, right it.

“How’d you find out?”

“I was still at school,” he tells her. “It was a Friday and some of my friends had convinced me to go to a football game, so we were there pretty late. Games could run until 11. I was 17 so I had my own car. It was an old car; we’d bought it from a guy she worked with. By this time, my dad had been gone for a couple years, and my mom was always working late at the lab, so when I got home around 10:30 that night and the lights were out, I wasn’t surprised.”

He shifts a little and continues. “I took a shower, put some leftover pizza in the microwave, and just as I was sitting down to eat, the doorbell rang. It was the police looking for her next of kin to tell them what had happened.” He sighs heavily. “I got lucky. The courts let one of my friend’s parents take me in until I graduated a few months later. I was able to get a work study job in college to pay my bills since the mortgage was already paid off.”

He says it all like he was lucky, but there is nothing lucky about losing both of your parents in that matter, even if one of them was still physically alive. Iris knows from experience that he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for his story. But she can’t help the way she wants to comfort him, and so she lets herself do that, tightening herself around him, snuggling even more into his chest.

“How are you feeling about your dad?” she asks, mumbling against his skin.

“Devastated. He looked like, like, I don’t know, like he’s giving up. I don’t get to go see him too often, every couple of months, really. And he looked so different from when I saw him last: smaller, frailer. I think there might be something he’s not telling me. Like he’s been sick longer than he says he has.”

“Is he supposed to get out soon?”

“Another couple years. But I don’t know if he wants to hold on that long.”

She feels them first, the tears. She tries to hold him even tighter, tries to crawl into his skin almost, trying to stem his pain. He doesn’t cry for long, just a few sobs, and then he’s inhaling deeply and wiping at his eyes. But it must be enough because he sounds a little hollow when he says,

“And truthfully, I’m not so much sad as I am mad, that he seems to be giving up. On getting out. On me.”

She hums, not dismissively, but because she understands. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes, I hate my mom.”

He sort of jerks up at that. Not fully, he looks down at her, eyes widened in shock. However inappropriate it might be, she finds herself laughing a little at his expression. Then she explains.

“I know that addiction is not a moral failing. I know that she struggled right up til the end. I know both of those things as completely as I know anything else. But sometimes I wonder why my dad wasn’t enough, why me and Wally weren't enough. I wonder what she was trying to find in those pills that she couldn’t find in us, and I get so pissed that she let it take her away from us.”

She’s startled when he moves. He pulls himself from under her, letting her fall onto her back, and then he’s hovering above her, holding himself up on his elbows. He falls into the spread of her thighs, his sex nuzzling comfortably against her still warm center.

“I’ve seen some of the worst effects of addiction,” he says, “when their bodies end up on a slab of metal and it’s my job to dissect the things around them, to even sometimes help detectives dissect their lives to figure out what happened. And something I’ve learned is that it’s always, always about them. Never about the people they love.”

He searches her face, brushing a piece of hair back from her forehead. “And whatever your mom was or wasn’t thinking, you are enough. You are more than enough, Iris.” He leans down and gives her a kiss, deep and dirty, and she moans in frustration as he pulls back from her. He gives her a grin, one more reminiscent of the Barry she’s used to.

“Repeat after me,” he commands. “I, Iris West…”

“Really, Barry?”

“Yes, come on. I, Iris West…

She sighs, but says it. “I, Iris West…”

“Am more than enough.”

She licks her lips then, blinks, works to not let the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corner of her eyes escape.

“Am more than enough,” she whispers, finally.

Barry’s smile turns fond. “Good girl.”

She shakes her head because she doesn’t know what else to do besides kiss him. Which she does, deeply, reaching down to grip him in her palm. She pauses, just for a moment, to tell him “you know that you are enough too, right?” and she kisses the look of awe off of his face. It’s a long while before she stops kissing him, and then it’s only to moan into his mouth, to let him whisper his dirty somethings into her ear.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

They’ve just shared a shower. Barry is throwing on another pair of sweats and a hoodie and Iris puts her own leggings back on, sans underwear, and thumbs through Barry’s closet for another sweatshirt to put on.

(There’s no reason that she can’t put hers back on, but she’s feeling particularly sentimental and she wants to take something of Barry’s with her, something that smells like him, that feels like him.)

“None, really.” She pulls out a red sweater that reads Central City University Track & Field and throws it on over her bra. “Why? You kicking me out.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Of course not.” He glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Wanna get dinner? And then go with me to my tattoo appointment? It’s at 8 tonight.”

She smiles at that. “Sure.”

They take the highway back downtown. The rain is still beating steadily and there is still the occasional rumble of thunder, the sporadic flash of lightning. He parks a bit further in the arts district, in front of a restaurant specializing in wood-fire pizzas and craft beers. This time, she knows to wait for him to come around and open the door for her so that she can walk under his umbrella. Once he locks his jeep, he grabs her hand, and they walk the couple doors down and into the restaurant.

The place is brightly lit, in direct contrast to the dark sky and even the faint light that had been on at Barry’s place. The weather assures that it isn’t densely packed, just a couple booths of families and what looks like a couple, so they’re seated quickly and easily. They eat fast since they’ve only got an hour before his appointment. In the meantime, they both keep the conversation light. It’s been a day, for the both of them really, and Iris doesn’t think that she can cry twice in a day.

After he pays, she goes to the bathroom and he tells her he’ll wait at the door for her. She goes in and it’s as brightly lit as the rest of the place and she quickly does her business and washes her hands before heading back out to where he knows Barry is waiting in the little space between the outer door and the door to the restaurant.

She walks through the place and out of the restaurant door, likely too quickly and without really looking. She takes several steps, straightening out Barry’s sweatshirt again, and then she’s bumping into what feels like a solid wall, almost falling backward. A quick hand reaches out to catch her, the hand large, easily wrapping around her forearm.

“Shit,” she says, shaking her head to clear it as she looks up. “I’m sorr..Scott?”

He doesn’t move back right away and so she has to look up, up at the man holding on to her. Scott Evans is the literal definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He’d been her editor when she’d work at CCPN right out of college, and she’d had the biggest crush on him. Tall with dark caramel skin and a neatly trimmed beard, he’d been the one to help guide her in the ways of mass story-telling. They’d gone on one date and Iris is not actually sure why they’d never gone on another.

“Iris West.” He says her name slowly, his grin widening at the same pace. He gives her a once-over, slow and heated. “How’ve you been?”

“R-really good,” she says, stumbling a little at that grin. Even if she doesn’t actually regret never seeing him again, Iris can admit that a man this good looking makes her a little tongue-tied.

“Yeah? I’ve been catching your blog when I can. It’s some good shit, West. I can see why you left our little paper.”

“Please,” Iris rolls her eyes with a little laugh. “There’s nothing little about Picture News.”

He shrugs, humble all the way. “Still, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Scott. I appreciate that.”

“It’s the truth.” He looks down at her, swiping at his lips with his tongue, and she suddenly realizes that they’re still too close. She steps back fully from him, glancing over Scott’s shoulders to see Barry watching them, his expression unreadable.

“Um,” she speaks, catching his attention. “I gotta go Scott.”

“Oh yeah; of course. We should get together soon. Maybe do dinner.” Scott looks back out of the window where rain steadily pours. “It’s still raining out. Can I walk you to your car?”

Her eyes don’t leave Barry’s and he tilts his head, waiting for her answer. “Scott, I’m not alone.”

He turns as if he’s just realizing that Barry is standing there. Barry is still quiet and only lifts his eyes to look at Scott when he mutters, “oh, hey man.”

Barry nods. “What’s up?” Then he looks at Iris. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I am.” Her voice is soft, cautious, and she throws one more glance at Scott. “It was good to see you.”

He graces her with that smile again. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

Barry takes her hand and they walk back to the truck. They’re on the road again, driving to a neighborhood near her own. For a second, she thinks he’s going to take her home, but he passes the road to her apartment and goes on to a neighborhood featuring several bars and little shops that cater to the college crowd. He pulls into the parking lot of a place called Black Gold, the lights inside near as bright as those in the pizza place.

Again, she waits until he comes around and turns as if to get out. He stops her though, holding the umbrella high, standing in front of her open legs. He does his thing, his stare like he's trying, and succeeding, to get inside her mind.

“That your ex-boyfriend?” he wonders.

She shakes her head. “Ex-boss.”

His expression doesn’t change. “All your bosses look at you like that?”

She swallows at the sudden feel of his hand on her thigh. The rain is pounding and drops fall on them, but she’s not noticing it. Instead, she’s caught in the storm that’s returned to his eyes, in the feel of his hands inching steadily toward her center.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” she says, instead of responding to him.

One corner of his mouth lifts, and the confident, bordering on cocky, Barry is looking at her now, even if that sparkle hasn’t returned quite yet.

“Nah,” he says. “Not jealous. You’re here right now. And you were with me earlier, moaning for me, coming for me.”

He slides his hand between her thighs and because she is, almost literally, always thirsty for him, wet for him, her legs spread easily. He fingers at the crotch of her leggings, and she knows that he can feel her warmth through the thin material. He thumbs at her until she gasps against him, finding her clit in a way that reminds him that he knows her body better than she knows it herself.

“He ever touch you like this?” Barry asks, voice a whisper above the rain. “Make you whimper even without getting your clothes off?”

She is whimpering, as he keeps his thumb on her clit, rubbing on her in slow circles. That’s all he’s doing: touching her with one hand, looking at her with those eyes that tell as much as they conceal, with his voice a deep rumble that rivals the thunder. He might be turned on, but he’s proving a point, naming himself as someone who, well, who owns her, even if she recognizes that no man should claim any power over her.

Heat spreads through her, a low, simmering sort of heat, but it’s enough that her folds grow slicker, start opening like the flowers of a petal waiting to be plucked. He keeps rubbing at her, staying on her clit, staring in her face, so much that she can’t hold his gaze. Because it feels better than it should, and her wet is soaking through these too thin leggings, and her breaths are coming in longer, coming in heavier.

“Tell me he hasn’t, Iris,” he says, commands, and Iris throws her head back, legs widening at their own volition, hips canting against his hand. “Tell me.”

“No,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed. “He never even touched me at all.”

“Tell me it’s just me,” he adds and she’s too far gone to note the pleading in his voice. “Tell me no one has ever touched you like this.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Just you, Barry, shit, just you.”

“Good,” he groans. “Good, good girl.”

Even if touch is the word he’s using, Iris understands that it’s more. She understands that they’re both wrapped up in uncertainty, never too sure of where they lie in others’ affections, never too sure of where they lie in life at all. She understands that he’s asking her if she feels it too, if she’s there with him, if this too easy, this too natural, feeling is a first for her too.

He’s asking if she’s brave enough to tell him the truth, if she undertands is meaning-understands that I'm no walk in the park; all these scars on my heart; it’s so dark here-even as she’s wondering the same, as she’s feeling the same, wondering if the churning feelings of abandonment make her unworthy somehow. Wondering if he’ll come to see that unworthiness.

Barry leans forward, just a touch away from her mouth, eyes blazing.

“There’s only you too, Iris,” he says, unprompted. “I swear I’ve just been waiting for you.”

He closes the distance to kiss her and that’s enough to take her over. It’s not a powerful orgasm, not like usual, but it does make her shut her eyes tight, make her limbs seize up as she rocks her hips through it. She breathes out, and she can’t stop the little laugh that comes out.

“You really are a dick,” she muses, opening her eyes slowly.

“A polite one, though,” he says, as he stands straighter and holds his hand out to help her down from the car. He holds the umbrella high over her. “See how I’m making sure you don’t get wet.”

“You didn't think of that earlier.”

His grin is devastating but it doesn’t hide the plethora of emotions in his eyes: the simmering lust, the faint traces of insecurity, the grief that’s been hovering all day...the love she doesn’t think he wants to hide anymore.

She hikes up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek, and then she walks beside him into the parlor, words flashing in her head like a sign, but if you’re a warrior, there’s nothing to fear; nothing to fear.

And later that night, as she cuddles up next to Barry is his large comfortable bed, she listens to his soft breathing, the sound a melody to the rain still pattering against his windows. She listens and she stares at him, taking in his features, softer than they were before, the stress of today easing away with every second he’s lost to sleep. A flash of lightning lights the room, and it catches her eyes again, the new tattoo, the purple ink bright on his skin, covering the space from a lily on his shoulder to just over his heart. It goes dark again, his room blanketed once more, but in her mind’s eyes, she can still see the vibrant ink on his skin, the pretty drooping petals of an iris.

Cause you're so brave

Stone cold crazy for loving me

Yeah, I'm amazed

I hope you make it out alive

#westallen fanfiction #westallen #barry x iris #iris west #strangers to lovers

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keelywolfe · 3 years

Text

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.9 (BAON)

Summary: The final chapter! Let's hope it lives up to the story name, shall we?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge knew that he wouldn’t be able to carry Stretch for long. They were barely down the hallway to the stairs when warning twinges started up in his leg, and he could only ignore it for so long before he setback his own recovery. He resented that lingering weakness, hated that someone had stolen, albeit temporarily, his ability to physically take his willing husband to wherever he wished to put him. Hated that Stretch no longer flung himself at Edge from their front porch, trusting that he would be caught.

A return to that would come, he reminded himself. For now, he simply had to get Stretch to the car. He wasn’t about to let him walk downstairs with the delicate bones of his feet exposed to the floor of that filthy, junk-strewn warehouse anymore than they already had and perhaps Stretch realized that as well. His protests were brief and faded quickly.

“babe, no, your leg!” Stretch made a weak attempt at squirming loose, “i can walk!”

“You are in your bare feet,” Edge said shortly, “there is angel knows what foulness on this floor, and I am not letting you go.”

“guess i can’t argue that," Stretch sighed. "okay, captain. make it quick.”

“You’ve never said that before,” Edge murmured and Stretch let out a startled laugh that was always lovely to hear, but especially tonight. He really was all right if he could laugh like that, deep and sweet and loud.

So, Edge carried on down the stairs, past the melting remains of some kind of chemical foam, and Stretch didn’t struggle, a wise choice considering it would probably have sent them both tumbling down. He simply sighed and wrapped his slim arms around Edge’s neck, his skull resting lightly against his shoulder.

He was exhausted, Edge realized belatedly, already mentally berating himself. Of course he was, it was past the point of being late and going more into early, and the only sleep Stretch had had tonight was deliberately induced unconsciousness.

Better not to think about that. Seeing Stretch awake and hearing his laughter already relieved some of the raw, achy heat in his soul, there was no point in agitating it again. Surreptitiously, Edge ducked his head enough to breathed in the sweet scent of his husband’s magic, letting it further ease the dimming clamor of his LV demanding retribution. Much as he hated admitting when his brother was right, it would be best to let the Embassy security teams handle the kidnappers. Not that Edge wouldn’t be intently watching the results, but Edge knew himself well enough that he couldn’t promise not to react with violence if he saw any of them in person.

They’d stolen from him. Not a possession, no, love was not something to be owned, but it could be given, along with his soul, and Edge had given his to the very person they’d tried to use as a mere tool to be bartered with and after, they would have surely discarded him as nothing more than a useless object, a means to an end.

There was only one punishment suitable for that and Edge did not trust himself not to mete it out.

Outside, the night air was cool, refreshing after the dusty warehouse, and there was a new vehicle amidst the Embassy cars. An ambulance, the lights swirling silently atop, and the back doors were open with a stretcher already on the pavement. When the attendants saw them, they started forward, and in his arms, Stretch tensed, shifting as if to crawl up and over him in a wild attempt at escape.

“no,” Stretch said shortly. “no, no, no, don’t let the damsel in distress pose fool you, i am fine. all i need is a stiff drink and some zzz’s, this is me not consenting to any medical treatment.”

“Love—” Edge began. Stretch swung around to look at him, the pale glare of his eye lights accusing, and he backtracked, choosing his words carefully, “You were drugged. Perhaps it would be best if you were checked out.”

That suggestion was met with fierce scorn as Stretch scoffed, "yeah, i was drugged and now i am wide awake. i can tell you my name, my address, and my shoe size, and whoever tries to get me into the back of that wah-wah-mobile is gonna know it, too, when i shove my foot up their ass.”

“kinky.” Edge whirled to see his brother’s smirking face as he strolled towards them. “wellie, well, well, went fishin’ and got a hellava catch, eh, boss?”

In his arms, Stretch stiffened so briefly, he might have imagined it. He blinked rapidly, once, twice, as if to clear his vision, then relaxed again, settling on a wheedle in Red’s direction, “fishing jokes are so cliché, cooking is better. i’m the best cupcake in the bakery, so let him wrap me up and take me home. come on, tell them i’m fine.”

Red scratched the back of his skull lazily, “dunno, honeybun, might need a tune-up and an oil change—”

“quit switching the metaphors!” Stretch let go of Edge long enough to flip a middle finger at him.

Red snorted, amused, “yeah, yeah, he can take you home. if,” Red stressed, “you take a mo’ to strip off the new gear those assholes gave you.”

“aw, gee, red,” Stretch batted a pair of imaginary eyelashes, “you’ve never asked me to strip before. i’m not even wearing a g-string, where will you stuff the dollars?”

“cute,” Red’s grin widened in a way that made Edge want to carry his husband far away. The way he bared his teeth venturing into the realm of amused cruelty, and the flick of his tongue absurdly lascivious, “it’s evidence and we need it. if you’d rather change up at the bone factory, bet the docs could take a chance to check you out—”

“no!” Stretch yelped, “no, no, fine. you have something for me to change into?”

“yep.” And Red pointed to the back of the ambulance. “in there.”

Stretch rolled his eye lights. “wow,” he said dryly, “that trap isn’t even subtle. you want i should strap myself into the stretcher, too? check my vitals, start an iv?”

“it’s the only place to change, so either trust that we’ll do a catch and release, or…” Red trailed off meaningfully.

Stretch heaved a sigh and started squirming in Edge’s arms, wincing at the gravel as he was carefully set on the pavement. “back to fishing, huh? fine, fine. but if it drives off in the hospital way when i climb in the back, I’m shortcutting at the first stoplight and then we can play tag across town.”

“I won’t let them take you anywhere you don’t want to go, love.” Edge signed a little ‘x’ over his chest. Stretch’s scrutinizing look shifted to a soft smile and even though he would have preferred a doctor checking him over, Edge wouldn’t do anything to break the trust shining in his eye lights, not for anything in the world.

“okay, babe,” Stretch said, “give me five.”

He climbed into the ambulance, pulling the rear doors shut behind him. After a few minutes of the vehicle shaking and muffled swearing coming through the door, Stretch remerged. The clothes weren’t his own, but they fit, soft pants and a neon-bright sweatshirt that Stretch could have chosen himself, a far contrast to the cheap, bland clothes their kidnappers forced on them. Edge suspected his brother’s hand in it and wondered with some resignation if Red sent someone to purchase them tonight or if he simply kept spare clothes for them all in the dingy hole in the Embassy basement that passed as his office, for just such an occasion.

Probably the latter, Red was never one who minded delegating, but some things required a personal touch.

With visible distaste, Stretch handed over a large brown paper sack to Red. “take ‘em,” he said flatly. “burn them, whatever. i never want to see them again.”

“fair enough,” Red handed the bag off to one of the Embassy security who was standing close by with a muttered order. “all right, newly engaged goes next.”

Their Human friends were standing close by, both silently watching the entertainment, which was fair after the recent show upstairs. With the spotlight turned his way, Jeff hastily nodded and Antwan carefully set him on his feet, his hands lingering and reluctant to let him go.

“You two can head on home,” Antwan said, “We’re taking one of the Embassy cars.”

“yeah, okay, sounds good.” But Stretch didn’t return to Edge. He went to Jeff, leaning down to pull him into a tight hug that was fiercely returned. “hey, we made it, and you even got a special prize to top it off. congrats, bro,” Stretch told him.

It was charming the way Jeff’s cheeks went visibly pink even in the harsh overhead lights of the parking lot, but if this horrible night could end for him on a smile, Edge thought it fitting. No one said a word until the friends ended their embrace, Jeff heading into the ambulance to change and Stretch returning to Edge’s side, if not his arms.

“hey, honey bun.” Stretch paused, giving Red a questioning look, “i’ll have your cell phone back to you tomorrow.”

His face twitched but Stretch only nodded. He turned in a circle, his gaze searching, until it landed on Edge’s car parked on the far side of the lot. He started towards it and as slippers were included with his new wardrobe, Edge reluctantly allowed Stretch to walk on his own towards it.

Before he’d taken two steps, a small voice came from behind them. “Can I ride back with you two?”

Alone on the crumbling pavement, Blue stood there, his hands twisting together and his starry eye lights hesitant and hopeful. For the second time that night Edge cringed inwardly at not thinking of him.

“sure, bro,” Stretch said immediately. His eye lights flicked briefly to Edge to confirm, surprising him.

Of course he could come with them, why wouldn’t he…they needed to invite Blue over more often, Edge decided abruptly. They saw him often on movie nights and group events, and he knew that the Swap brothers had lunch together once a week, but he should spend more time with his brother, and with Edge.

Once, they’d been decently good friends, before his relationship with Stretch subtly cooled things between them. They could be friends again, better friends, if only one of them took the first step. Interesting how traumatic events could be a hell of an incentive.

“Of course,” Edge told him, and tried not to notice the sudden gratitude that filled Stretch’s face. He dug into his pocket for his keys and tossed them to Blue, who caught them with a jangle. “In fact, I’d prefer if you’d drive.”

Blue brightened visibly at the show of trust, darting over to the car. He held open the door as Stretch crawled into the back and didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow when Edge followed him.

“home, jeeves,” Stretch said. The last word broke on a deep yawn and he shifted to sprawl across the backseat, his skull in Edge’s lap.

“Seatbelt,” Edge chided.

“you put it on me,” Stretch grumbled. He didn’t move as Edge did, only settled in more comfortably once the belt was across him. He was asleep before they’d even left the parking lot, without so much as an ounce of deception in his long, slow breaths.

Cautiously, Edge settled his bare hands on him, choosing where to settle them with some care, one hand on his clothed side and the other on his skull with more palm than fingers. He wished for a pair of his gloves to keep the sharpened tips safely concealed. Earlier, he’d wanted his hands exposed and ready to be used, and now in the aftermath, he wanted them tucked away again, the same as he’d learned to conceal his other, more Underfell-ian tendencies. Only bringing them out when they were useful, like a set of heirloom dishes, then hiding them at the back of the hutch again to gather dust.

(don’t think of it that way, do not)

He resisted the urge to clench his hands, closed his sockets and tried to concentrate on the feel of warm bone under his bare hand. Stretch often carried spare gloves for him in his bag, never questioning Edge’s preference, never mocked or teased; he didn’t just accept that quirk, he embraced it and tried to help. If he were awake, he would have been pleased at the bare-handed touch, he would understand the significance of it and Edge focused on that.

It helped soothe some of his agitation and when Edge opened his sockets again, he was surprised to see the Embassy gates already looming ahead. “Drop us off, you can take my car home tonight.”

Blue nodded silently, his gaze focused intently on the road. There wasn’t even a teasing, if pointed, joke about Edge letting his car out of his sight. The car didn’t matter, all that was important was in his arms right now.

He pulled into their driveway and Blue held the door again as Edge carefully lifted Stretch into his arms. He paused long enough for Blue to press a gentle kiss to his brother’s skull, murmuring something Edge did not hear, then carried him inside as the car pulled out of the drive behind him. He hoped Papyrus was home, surely he was, and that he would know that Blue could use some friendly companionship after this night.

He would know, Edge decided firmly. This was Papyrus he was thinking of and it was likely he already had a pot of strong tea and some very interesting cookies ready to share, along with a blanket and some Mettaton reruns. Blue would be fine for tonight and tomorrow he could come over again, after they’d all had some necessary sleep.

He carried Stretch inside and settled him on the sofa. Upstairs would have been better, but he needed a moment for his leg to recover before taking him any further. Not that Stretch noticed, he only slept on, sleepily burrowing into the blanket Edge draped carefully over him.

Indecision seized Edge then. There were things that needed to be done, but leaving Stretch here alone made uneasiness stir in his soul. In the end, he checked the door and window locks to make sure they were secured and that their alarm system was on before he reluctantly went upstairs to run a bath and lay out pajamas. It would be testing Stretch’s ability to sleep through anything, but those Humans had touched him, laid their filthy hands on him. A quick wash would go a long way for both of them to get some decent rest.

He waited for the tub to fill with foamy bubbles, the unsubtle floral scent of lavender filling the room, before heading back downstairs. He halted on the landing, his soul seizing in his chest, to see that the sofa was empty, the blanket thrown carelessly back.

Edge closed his sockets and took a long, deep breath, settling his rattled nerves. Yes, Stretch was missing again, but this time, he suspected he knew exactly where he’d gone.

The sliding glass door was now unlocked, and Edge opened it to step out into the backyard. Dewy grass clung to his shoes as he walked and the horizon was overflowing with purples and pinks and deep orange, heralding the arrival of the sun.

The fence was standing open, confirming his suspicions, and Edge opened the coop door to find Stretch sitting on the floor, heedless of its less than sterile state. Nugget was in his lap, magnanimous surrendering her a scritches to her small, adopted duckling that was curled up on Stretch’s knee, mumbling out sleepy little quacks as it was gently stroked.

Stretch didn’t look up. “hey, babe,” he mumbled.

Edge sank down to sit next to them, pressing their sides together from shoulder to hip. “You could have warned me,” Edge said.

It was lightly said, but Stretch flinched, shifting to rest his head on Edge’s shoulder. “sorry, wasn’t thinking.”

“I’d say you’re still not,” Edge agreed. “are you even awake?”

“prolly not.”

They sat together in the dimly lit coop, the silence broken only by the faint sleeping rumbles from the chickens. Neither of them were prepared for Cheese to stir, going from sleeping to wide awake in an instant the moment they noticed the open door. With a riot of happy peeps, they hopped from Stretch’s knee, dodging Edge’s grab as they ran outside to plunge into the new pond, swimming circles in the clear water.

They followed them out, “No, not right now,” Edge began, preparing to wade in if necessary to secure their tiniest poultry companion.

“eh, let ‘em play," Stretch yawned. He sank down on the walkway they’d finished only the day before. “let them have some fun. may as well, i'm really tired, but i dunno if i can sleep yet."

Edge nodded and settled next to him again. The brickwork was hard beneath his tailbone and he made a mental note to have a bench of some sort installed. He should have thought of it before, Stretch enjoyed watching his pets, and both the patio and the porch swing were too far away for proper observation. Rather than allow Stretch to sit on the stones, he pulled his love into his lap, holding him close without impeding his view. "We can wait until you're ready."

"gonna have nightmares,” Stretch said abruptly. His voice was smaller and knowingly weary. "i was scared, you know, but andy was there, and he was scareder. his face was," Stretch gestured at his own face and shook his head. "i couldn't let him get hurt. i couldn’t."

It ached to hear that soft confession, though he’d known Stretch must have been frightened. He pushed the image of Stretch waking up terrified and surrounded by enemies out of his mind, saying firmly, "You didn't, you protected him."

"he wouldn't need protecting if he'd stayed in his seat on that bus all those months back,” Stretch said sourly and that was a notion that couldn’t wait for his therapist to address.

"Don't,” Edge told him softly, “Don't take on blame that isn't yours, you don’t deserve to carry their guilt."

"heh, yeah. you're one to talk."

“I know. So you can believe I know what I’m talking about.”

“don’t worry, babe, i know something about carrying guilt that ain’t yours, too.” Before Edge could question that, Stretch sighed heavily, confessing, "i knew one of the guys."

That was a chilling admission. "You did."

"yeah, he used to work at classic books,” Stretch said. He shifted in Edge’s arms, unconsciously pushing in closer. “had an issue with monsters, but i didn't think anything of it. lots of humans do. he never said anything out loud that i ever heard. last i knew, thomas said he quit. thomas was happier for it, he was about to fire the guy, anyway, him quitting made his life easier."

“Does my brother know this?”

“if he didn’t before, pretty sure he already does now, but i’ll tell him during my little interview tomorrow.” In his arms, Stretch shivered, bones briefly rattling. “when i saw him, saw into his—” Stretch stopped abruptly, “anyway. he’s not a nice guy, babe. not at all.”

“I see,” Edge said, slowly. There were depths in that obvious diverting should be explored, questions to ask, but that could wait for tomorrow. “Let’s go inside and get cleaned up, all right?”

“yeah, okay.” Stretch crawled out of his arms to the side of the pond and rather than fruitlessly chasing Cheese, he held out a hand. It took hardly more than a touch of blue magic to pull the little duckling close, their pitiful quacks as they were once more robbed of their watery freedom filling the air. “yeah, i know,” Stretch soothed, “tomorrow, okay? i’ll let you swim ‘till you’re sick of it, kiddo.”

He returned the duckling to Nugget, who unsympathetically tucked the peeping duckling beneath her, and when Stretch turned back to Edge, his gaze sharpened suddenly as he watched Edge climb to his feet. “where’s your cane?”

“I was getting it as we speak.”

“uh huh, from inside the house, it’s so useful in there. you,” Stretch jabbed a slender finger at him, “you’re going to use it all day tomorrow, right? no bitching, either.”

Edge didn’t bother pointing out that it was highly likely he wouldn’t be doing much walking at all tomorrow, certainly not out of their home. Tomorrow would be full of questioning and paperwork, so many things that would need to be done. But first, they needed to finish off the night before dawn took it.

“Of course,” he agreed. He allowed Stretch to pull an arm over his shoulders, ostensibly to help him inside, but it wasn’t his leg that needed Stretch’s assistance.

His soul pulsed in his chest softly, settling at the feel of Stretch close to him, leading them both into their house, and when they finally slept that night, it was on the sofa rather than their bed, both of them freshly washed and with a cooking show playing softly in the background.

Lying together, Edge was acting the part of smaller spoon to Stretch’s larger one, and if Stretch guessed the position was one that put Edge closer to the door, he didn’t say. His face was buried into the back of Edge’s neck, his breath damp and even. Edge drifted on the borders of sleep, listening more to that quiet breathing than whatever the chef on the screen was saying.

“I can’t lose you.” The words escaped him, said to no one at all, less a statement and more a vow, a promise offered in the early morning light. I can’t, he thought to himself as he drifted, barely hearing the sleepy murmur in return.

“you won’t, babe. ’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Soothed, Edge let sleep claim him, trusting that he was safely caught up in the embrace of both slumber and his love.

-finis

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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katahnisharma · 4 years

Text

gone (4) | t.h.

Summary: tom is back from shooting cherry, but he’s not okay.

Warnings: this started as my entry to the lovely b’s writing challenge @worldoftom, but you guys were so amazing and wanted a second part. this is a very emotional chapter and there are mentions of anxiety, depression, and overall intense emotions so please be careful loveys ♡

A/N: hey guys it’s been a while but life has been really really difficult so i'm sorry for the wait! i'm not entirely sure if anyone still cares about this series so here’s hoping :) for this chapter i listened to light of love by florence + the machine and all good things come to an end by the og queen nelly furtado lol. also Tumblr apparently won’t let me link certain things so if you’re looking for my masterlist or playlist it’s in my bio ♡

IF YOU’RE STILL INTERESTED IN BEING ON MY TAGLIST PLEASE FILL OUT THE NEW FORM IN MY BIO BC I WILL BE REVAMPING IT!

gif by @hllands

“Hey, did I leave my notebook in the living room?” You asked, letting your tea bag soak in the mug Tom always saved for you. It was an unspoken rule, that dark blue cup with the constellations on it from his mother was yours only. You mentioned how beautiful it was once, and Tom remembered.

It went on the list with the others.

“You mean the one with the polaroid on the cover? No, it’s not in here.” Tom called back, scrolling through Netflix to find a movie for the both of you. He’d just come back from the junket for Spies in Disguise, and he immediately called his best friend over to spend the day with him.

Well, it was supposed to be more than just another day.

Because today he was going to tell you he loved you.

“Hmm, maybe I left it in my bag upstairs. I’ll get it when I’m done with the tea.” You said, setting your mug down on the counter. It looked like it needed sugar, so you rootled around for the little jar Tom kept in one of his cabinets.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go get it!” Tom said from the couch, his nerves beginning to make him jittery. He thought that while you were in the kitchen, picking a movie would help him calm down. But he couldn’t focus on any of the descriptions, and Tom could feel his heart beat faster and faster.

He needed to get up for a few minutes.

“Are you sure? Do you want me to pick the movie then?” You teased, knowing very well Tom hadn’t found a movie yet. It was a bit of a running gag, him never being able to pick a movie. You would bite your lip to stop from laughing when he eventually got frustrated and handed you the remote.

And even in his nervous state, Tom still grinned because of you.

“Yeah, yeah, like you’re any better. We’ve seen The Avengers twice!” He shot back, a smirk on his lips when he heard you scoff in the kitchen. Apart from your smile, making you jokingly annoyed was Tom’s favorite thing. He liked how cute you were when he teased you.

“Shut up and get my notebook, Tommy!” You laughed, and Tom felt his cheeks warm at the sound.

God you were so fucking perfect.

When Harrison woke up, he almost forgot where he was. But then his vision cleared and there you were, lying in the hospital bed. Harrison’s heart clenched at the sight, remembering the events of last night that landed you here with an IV in your arm. He sat up and stretched, the old wooden chair squeaking against the floor.

The sound was what made you stir, your mind waking up from the dream.

“Harrison?” You whispered, your eyes adjusting to the dim lights in the room. The hospital bed you’d fallen asleep in the night before seemed to glow next to you, but you realized it was just an IV hooked up in your arm. Harrison smiled softly, getting up and coming to stand by your side.

“Hey, you were out like a light.” He said, handing you the glass of water a nurse had brought. You gratefully brought it to your lips, feeling a little dehydrated from whatever fluids were in the IV bag. Harrison gave your free hand a squeeze before crossing to the windows, playing with the blinds to let some sun in.

“How long have you been here?” You asked, playing with the sheets mindlessly. Harrison thought about lying, telling you he’d only arrived a few minutes ago. Because he knew you’d feel bad about it, but you could always tell when he lied.

“Since last night. I stayed here, didn’t want you to be alone.” Harrison replied, and you frowned almost immediately. You felt bad enough that he’d driven you to the hospital on his day off, but knowing that he’d also spent the night sleeping in an uncomfortable, crappy chair didn’t help with the guilt.

“And before you say ‘you shouldn’t have’, just remember you would have done the same for me. So stop beating yourself up about it.” He said, going back to his chair. You winced when it made the same creaking sound, like it was about to break. Harrison noticed, and he couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“But this chair was really unbearable.” He chuckled, and you finally smiled again.

“Shut up, you idiot.” You giggled, chucking a pillow at Harrison right as the nurse peeked in. You felt your face burn as she smiled at the two of you, Harrison picking up the pillow sheepishly and biting back a laugh.

“Glad to see the patient is feeling better. Can I get you anything, love?” She asked kindly, picking up the now empty class beside you. You smiled at her, shaking your head. You really just wanted to be discharged so you could leave, hospitals always made you nervous. The smell of disinfectant and the general sense of uncertainty were not your favorite sense overloads.

“No, but thank you for everything. Do you know if I’ll be able to leave today?” You asked, and the nurse nodded her head.

“You should be all set to be discharged in an hour. The doctor will check in on you in thirty minutes and then you’re all free to go.” She said, taking the pillow from an embarassed Harrison. You giggled a little when she fluffed the pillow, and returned it to your bed.

“Great, thank you again!” She gave you one last smile before leaving the room, and Harrison breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank god, I’m really hungry.”

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For Harry, last night would probably be one of the worst and strangest of his life.

After Tom broke down and sobbed into his shirt for two hours straight, he became so frenetic that Harry was afraid he would end up accidentally hurting himself. Tom tried to pack a suitcase to go after you, but he almost slipped in the shower and was so disoriented that he ran into the bedroom wall. Then he tried to cook something on the stove for Harry, but left the fire on while he got distracted trying to find your favorite cereal. Tom wasn’t completely all there, and it was pretty obvious to Harry that he was having some sort of episode.

So once Tom was focused enough to eat the banana his brother opened for him, Harry called his mother.

“Mom, I need you to tell me the name of that anxiety medicine. The one that sometimes works as a sedative.” Harry cast a glance at Tom on the couch, watching him slowly chew the banana with glossy eyes. He had been silently crying at odd times this morning, and it was definitely making Harry nervous.

“Why? Harry, what’s happened?” Nikki immediately sounded worried, running over to the medicine cabinet. She kept the anxiety medicine mainly for Harry, who used to have pretty severe bouts himself. The episodes became few and far between, until they stopped altogether.

But now Nicki was concerned Harry was having them again.

“It’s not for me, Mum. It’s for Tom. I think he’s having some sort of breakdown, and I’m afraid he might accidentally do something stupid and hurt himself.” Harry said, looking over his shoulder to see Tom staring at the banana, almost lifelessly.

“For Tom? Harry, please tell me what’s going on.” Nikki said, clutching the bottle in her hand nervously.

“I think Tom and Y/N might be over.” Harry said, and the words had more weight than he thought they would. Like it was finally a possible reality, one where you and Tom weren’t together anymore.

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

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“Can you get in the car alright? Need any help?” Harrison asked, hovering over you as the two of you walked to the hospital parking lot. You rolled your eyes, smiling at his protective behavior. He’d been like this during your dischargement too, and it was sweet but definitely unnecessary.

“Haz, I told you. I’m perfectly fine, I swear. It really doesn’t hurt that much, and I can absolutely get into the car on my own.” You said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. Harrison sighed, biting his lip a little worriedly.

“Okay, okay, just making sure. I just don’t want you to aggravate the injury or anything. At least not until we get you home and set up.” He replied, and you couldn’t help it. You leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, watching Harrison’s mouth immediately drop open in shock.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“To thank you for being the world’s greatest div. I love you, idiot.” You said, laughing when Harrison slung an arm around your shoulder. He rolled his eyes at you, smiling playfully.

“You know I love you too, but you really didn’t need to give me that weirdass kiss.” Harrison chuckled, immediately ducking into the car before you decided to throw your purse at him. Scoffing, you got into the passenger seat and punched him in the arm.

“Ow! That hurt!”

“I’ll have you know my kisses are wonderful!” You giggled, clapping a hand over your mouth when Harrison started to fake cry and clutch his arm.

“If I agree, will you leave me alone?” Harrison laughed, starting the car and reversing out of the parking lot. You smiled wickedly, reaching up to ruffle his precious hair. Harrison recoiled instantly, whining at your little stunt.

“I take it back, I actually hate you.”

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“Where is he?” Nikki asked, rushing into the living room. Harry jumped up and led her to the bedroom, where Tom was curled up in a ball. Under the covers, he was crying softly and clutching what looked like a sweater. It seemed too small to be his, and Harry immediately realized it was your favorite sweater. The one Tom loved on you because it was what you were wearing when both of you met for the first time.

“Tom? Love, look at me please.” Nikki whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked over at Harry and mimed a glass of water, which he left to get from the kitchen. Once they were alone, Nikki gently pulled the covers back. Tom lay there, tears streaming down his face and the front of your sweater soaked.

“She’s gone...” Tom whimpered, trying to pull the covers back over his head. He was completely spent, the possibility that you were really gone hitting him like a train. Tom had pictured the rest of his life with you, and now nothing seemed worthwhile anymore if you weren’t there beside him.

“Y/N? Tell me what happened, Tom.” Nikki said, running a gentle hand through his hair. Tom relaxed under her touch, reminded of all the times in his childhood that he lay in bed upset. Breakups, rejections, failures, his mother had seen them all. And she'd always been there for him.

“We got into a fight...a big fight….and I threw my phone….”

“At her? Tom, how could you do that?” Nikki gasped softly, and Tom’s eyes widened. He found the strength to sit up, looking his mother right in the eyes.

“No...no! I would never hurt her! I threw it at the wall and I locked myself in the bathroom. But….when I came out….she was gone and there was b-blood on the f-floor and...I think-I think I-” Tom couldn’t get the rest of his words out, and Nikki knew enough to envelop her son in a hug.

“It’s okay...it’s okay, Tom.” She sighed, holding her eldest son close. The whole thing was confusing, but if Nikki knew anything about your relationship with Tom it was that it had been the best one he’d ever had. You were kind, intelligent, and strong, exactly what she had always wanted Tom to have in a partner. But hearing Tom cry and work himself up meant she knew what she needed to say. Tom had to stop living in his head.

“Tom? I want you to listen to me, it’ll be okay.”

“But….she’s gone and I hurt her….I can’t ever forgive myself…” Tom sobbed, but Nikki was adamant she would speak and get through to him.

“Look, the past is the past, it’s not in our hands. You have the chance to ask for her forgiveness, and explain what you’re feeling right now. Don’t let your past actions dictate the future, love. That would be a mistake, because I know Y/N. She loves you and she wants to be there for you. She’ll understand what you’re going through because she cares, that’s what a real partner does. They want the best for you because it’s you. You need to forgive yourself so that she can help you heal.”

“But what if she doesn’t w-want me anymore? I know I scared her….I never wanted to do that b-but she’s been hurt and left because of me….I’m afraid Y/N won’t love me anymore!” Tom cried, his body shaking a little. Nikki rubbed his back and took the water glass from Harry, who’d reappeared in the room.

“Darling, you have to try. You have to fight for the love you want. You don’t think your father and I have gotten angry with each other? We fight and that’s normal, but at the end of it all we come back to each other. I put my feelings aside and listen to him, and he does the same. That’s how it works, we love each other so much that I’ll forgive him and he’ll forgive me.”

Nikki took Harry’s hand and held it, and Tom was finally still. There was no more crying, no more shaking. It was just a moment frozen in time, the three of them together in a little room. Harry hugged Tom and Nikki kissed his forehead, and for the first time in 36 hours Tom wasn’t afraid anymore. The fight wasn’t plaguing him anymore, and neither was the aftertaste of filming that had been slowly poisoning his mind. All he could see was you, like a vision before him wiping his tears away. With that same smile that he had fallen in love with so easily, because it was purely yours.

And that was enough for Tom to be at peace with himself.

“Thank you.” Tom whispered, and Nikki was able to smile again. Harry ruffled his hair, making Tom punch him softly in the arm. He reached for the water glass and the pills in Nikki’s hand, knowing that he needed to take them.

“Take these two and it’ll help a little with the anxiety. It’ll also make you a little drowsy, but it might be good to sleep it all off properly. I’ll stay here with Harry until you wake up, okay?” Nikki said, and Tom let him expend enough energy to nod and smile.

“Just...just please make sure Y/N is okay? Make sure that nothing’s wrong?” Tom said, and Nikki squeezed his right hand. Harry had his left.

“Always. Now get some real sleep, you’re going to need it...”

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

“Can we please listen to something other than your terrible daily mix?” You laughed, Harrison clutching his chest to feign offence. He reluctantly handed you the aux cord and you smiled, knowing exactly what you wanted to play. Taking a couple seconds to sift through your own playlists, you found the song you were looking for and pressed play. Harrison smirked at your choice, rolling his eyes at the songs you played over and over again. He attempted to steal the aux back from you, but you dodged him quickly.

“Hey, focus mister! I’m not about to get into an accident right out of the hospital!” You said, giggling as he started to belt out the lyrics and dance. He laughed, rolling his eyes as he focused on the road again.

“I’m a great driver! I’m just trying to save myself from your shit music taste.” He said with a smirk and now it was your turn to roll your eyes. Harrison wasn’t a bad driver, but he definitely wasn’t a great one. The first time you had gotten into the car with him had been to get groceries and it was a disaster. He forgot to turn around before reversing and nearly hit a little old lady with her cart, and almost got hit merging onto the highway. After that, you were careful to look out for him even if it meant you became a backseat driver.

“Sure, Haz. Whatever you want to believe. Just please get us home in one piece!” You laughed, leaning your head back and letting the sunlight warm your face. If not for the events of the previous day, you would have basked in the glory of such a beautiful day.

But your mind turned to Tom, as it always seemed to.

“Hey, is my bag in the back?” You asked, suddenly desperate to check its contents. Harrison turned down the music, furrowing his eyebrows at your change in mood. You turned to look at him, a slight fear in your eyes. Harrison nodded, gesturing to the backseat.

“Yeah, it’s there. Why? What’s wrong?”

“I just...I just need to make sure something is in there…” You trailed off, swiveling in your seat to grab at your handbag. Harrison watched from the corner of his eye as you set it on your lap, rootling through it quickly.

“Whoa, whoa. What are you looking for?” Harrison asked, a little concerned by how frantic you seemed to be. With a sigh of relief, you feel your hands grasp what you’re looking for and you pull it out slowly. Harrison’s eyes automatically soften, seeing your eyes water with your most prized possession in your hand.

“Is that the notebook Tom bought you? The one he bought you when he found out you wanted to be a writer?”

“Y-yeah...it is. I just wanted to make sure it was still there, you know? That’s dumb, isn’t it? I mean...he probably doesn’t even want to be with me a-anymore. So...so why am I….why am I holding on like this?” You felt the dam break finally, the tears streaming down your face. Harrison bit his lip, pulling the car over and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Hey...hey...look at me.” Your tears were staining the cover, the little drops of water creating little streams on the surface. It felt like someone had pulled the rug from underneath you, and that you’d discovered there was no floor. What would you do without Tom? You loved him more than anything, but you were no fool. His anger couldn’t have come from out of the blue, it was something repressed that Tom had been feeling for a long time. Without warning, your insecurities began to mount.

Maybe he was bored of you.

Maybe you annoyed him.

Maybe he’d found someone else.

Maybe you weren’t good enough and he’d realized it.

And then the worst of them all.

Maybe the rest of the world was right.

“I’m losing him.” You whispered, and Harrison’s heart clenched at your words. He knew you were always insecure about dating Tom, but you’d never vocalized anything like this before.

“No, no you’re…”

“I’m not an idiot, Haz! I’ve seen the signs! H-he’s done with me….I’m just d-delaying the inevitable. I should have….I should have known I wasn’t good enough for him. He’s him and I’m j-just me, who the hell was I fooling? E-even the fans knew it!”

“Y/N...come on...that’s not-”

“He hasn’t wanted to spend any real time with me since he came back from Cherry. It’s like I don’t even exist to him, I’m invisible until he has to talk to me. I’ve tried five times to get him to have dinner with me and he rejected me every time, Haz. All I’ve heard for two months is ‘I’m going out with the boys, sorry’ or ‘Just going to sleep, don’t feel like eating’. And I tried to understand, I really did. It must have been so hard shooting a movie like that, it would be emotionally draining for anyone. Hell, even the book is emotionally draining-”

“I don’t think...”

“Let me finish, please? Haz, I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired, I’m so tired. I can’t fight for this relationship anymore when I’m not even sure if he wants it. He pushes me away all the time and it hurts me to see him like that. Tom isn’t happy, and I think it’s because of me. So I won’t hold him back anymore, I’ll just quietly disappear. No drama, no fighting, nothing. I can’t bear knowing I’m the reason he’s unhappy, it would kill me to think that.”

You broke again, the tears burning your eyes as you clutched the notebook tighter to your chest. It brought you a little comfort, knowing what you would have to do next. You needed to leave Tom, to let him live his life and be happy. You clearly couldn’t make him happy anymore and though that was something you’d struggled to accept in the last few hours, it was the right thing to do. You had no delusions about the way you looked, you always felt rather plain and boring compared to the beautiful women Tom was used to being around. He would be better off with someone else, someone as amazing as him.

Someone who isn’t you.

Harrison’s throat went dry as you slowly raised a hand to wipe at your tears, your eyes glossing over as you stared lifelessly out the window. He had a horrible feeling that you were serious about what you had just said, and he wasn’t sure how all this had happened. How could he have let you feel like this?

How could they not have noticed?

“Please, please don’t say-”

“Harrison, I have to. I can’t do this anymore.” You whispered, and Harrison stopped mid sentence. You never called him by his full name, it was always just Haz. He squeezed your hand as you cried, sobs wracking your body that made him cry too. You barely got the words out, but Harrison knew them before you said it.

“I have to leave because I love him.”

IF YOU’RE STILL INTERESTED IN BEING ON MY TAGLIST PLEASE FILL OUT THE NEW FORM IN MY BIO BC I WILL BE REVAMPING IT!

TAGLIST (PLEASE ONLY SEND AN ASK OR FILL OUT MY FORM!!): @tommyparkerr @grandmascottlang @toms-order @domestic-void @tomhollandsgirlfriend @cutiehollands @peeterparkr @jupiterparker @inlovewithmob-tom @veronicas-littleworld @da5haexowin @sergeantbxrnxs @hazsterfield @itsholyholland @underoosstark @stormyholland @let-me-luve-you @musicgirl234 @its-livelovelife @steve-thotgers @tiny-friggin-human @lavcnderparker @lucille-lovely @yeahbutmarvel @lokiislowkeyhot @spideymood @yoharryyouawizard @tomhollanders2013 @starlightseoksmain @jnej @spiderman-n @positiveparker @winterssoldierrs @heycreehere @galaxy-parker @sdrecsfics @doimakeitthroughthenight @wronglanemendes @brokensimpson @spnsoap @ninetypoundsofasthma @quitetommy @voltronshepard @marvelismylifffe @iluvmesomemarvelndc @annathesillyfriend @tiredfeels @scarlet-spiderr @hedwigthelegend @renesniajazza @bibliophile-grasshopp @tomhollandswhore @yeeterbenjaminparker @juliabuenooo @paradoxparker @pokeloisfk @machomango13 @nobledoritoman @cosmicdaya @hey-its-grey @toms-gf @cutesparker @whypeterparkerwhy @blissfulparker @xxtomxo @pastelpeter @hilllsnholland @hopespym @peterstrainingwheels @stuckonspidey @jacobsbatalon @steveroguhrs @spideypeach @spxderbarnes @stealth-spiderr @uglypastels @darlingtholland @spideyflicker @thollandss @out-of-my-way-extras @trustfundparker @clockblobber @asmilinghopelessromantic @zaynjawy @sholla4-314 @lemondropirwin @angelbabymed @in-the-corner-coffee-please @peterbparkcr @william-stanley @greenarrowhead @squishyhyunjin @starz-23 @spoopy-spooderman @whatevsholland @aestheticstom @tomzfrog @bebegomie @embrace-themagic @joshuaparkers @dancingoncrackedhearts @mlt2000 @spidergirl007 @headsup-itsmostlypeter @sspideytom @kisses-holland @hardestbattles-strongestsoldiers @infamousmany @theefactorygirl @aelinashryvver @sarah-moss2015 @honeybucks @fandomdarlings @yourwonderbelle @rexorangecouny @deni-gonzalez @mylifeasafangirlforever @random-writer06 @whitewolfandthefox @sweetlyth @notethereal @play-morezeppelin @fandoms-stuff @petesrparker @yavinmoon @sweet-baby-cakes @noswagswag @peteunderoos @jackiehollanderr @yadekms @practicallylivesonline @i-tried21 @stasye @unorganizedasf @tomshufflepuff @mejustbeingme @fanboy-tom @mimaligrl @theimpossiblehologramtree @diamonddia-mond @qrangr @parkeroffline @peterpumpkinparker @rosieredcheeks @delicately-important-trash @zabdisamor @peterbrokenparker @the-lost-fairy-tale @everestluke @gigilame @youllbemineandillbeyours @cherryblossomcharlotte @paintingbellarke @teawithbucky @tomhaz @multi-worlds @clara-licht @ppkrtingle @laurxn-robinson @lulueliott @lostinspidey @starlightparker @ddaeing @sincerelymlg @officiallygeek @maybemona @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @lowkey-holland @particularsof @saturn-aka-six @elysianparker @fangirlingisajob @hypnotized-so-mesmerized @deathofthrones @th0ttie4tommy @orowit @lauras-collection @itseightbeats @thomasholyholland @h-arrystyles @softboyparkerr @darlingxholland @marshyrebelcloud @kristinathecarat @florencxs @definitely-not-black-cat @spdys @wazzupmrstark @farfromhaz @plushparker @princepeteys @afterglowparker @softspiderling @geeksareunique @sltwins @belladonichaze39 @emmmybear @melrosaeparker @crazymexicanfangirl @beequeen8020 @escapetheshackles @siriuslyslyslytherin @eilishparker @violet-lilyy @w-jhxk-yj @doctor-spence-reidd @spacebitch2 @folkoftheair @himynameishooman @temptingholland @miraclesoflove @marvelobsessedteenager @hollandosterfieldfanfic @biebsmylife95 @hannihannelora @getmebieber @angiexyoung @markleehee

Gone Taglist: @tshdarling @hestoosirius @ana-cxst @aeciru @play-morezeppelin @bobo-bush @itsjusttor @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @autty0314 @name-me-regret @prfctdayas @youngblood199456 @fab-notfat @technolilly @hollandinq @theetherealbloom @littlebookbengal @spideyyeet @midnightbarnes @3prettyinpink3 @lulueliott24 @spxder-bxcky @spiderbibby @ietss @winterseba @sehunights @blahhhhhhhaaa @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @sixwyrxstuff @noelleivy @madeinthemidnightmemories @tryn25 @iriaaarb @marvelobsessedteenager @eleanornicolelocke @breakingnasa @iwishitwasthe-80s @wesleypiper @ihopethatwemeetinanotherlife @1dstark-blog @totesem @itstomhollands @stxfxniexreads @astrobxbeee @magicianraging @reveluvspecial @be-cautious-around-bri @audreylovesashton706 @whereverigoimightstay @natasha-stark-parker @jacksnoodlez99 @lifeisabitchandsoareyou @stabbyhat @blackeighteen @itisjustpaula @caitsymichelle13 @herondalism @ameliathackray @pluckypete @rachaeldonnaspiteri1 @farfromjustordinary @cosmicmndes @farfromhoran @giveme-gaskarth @likeit-or-leaveit @captured-firelight @spnsquirrel @some-random-stranger-007 @silver-bubbles @thevelvetseries @screeching-student-unknown @melrosaeparker

Moots Tag -let me know if you want me to take you off :)- @angelic-holland @fairytaleparker @honeymoonparker @screamholland @hollandstom @calmholland @spiesindisguise @neverlandparker @nnatasha @parkerpuff @the-claire-bitch-project @angelhaz11 @farfromhaz @blushypetey @hazinhoodies @spiderrpcrker @yeahimcrying @definitely-not-black-cat @quackeroos @ts-holland @t-holland2080

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker #tom holland angst #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader

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