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bullet-prooflove · 11 months

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The Choice - Nestor Oceteva x Reader (feat: Miguel Galindo)

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Companion Piece to the Choices!Series

Nestor doesn’t expect company this late at night.

It’s a little past midnight and you’re already in bed, fast asleep. Despite the fact it’s been over eight months since your injury, you’re still recovering. You tire easily these days, he thinks it’s your body’s way of trying to get you to slow down, to settle, to take some time to find yourself. He smiles when he thinks about the languid kisses he’d stolen from your mouth as he undressed you, of your hands tangling in his hair as he plants kisses down the curve of your throat before he guides one of his t-shirts over your body.

You’re relaxed when he tucks the sheets around you, his palm smoothing the hair away from your face as his lips brush over your forehead. When you’re breathing evens out, he retreats to the kitchen, turning the music down low on the Alexa as he puts away the dishes.

When there’s a knock at the door, his gaze strays to his gun, resting on the sideboard near the front door. His fingers wrap around the grip, the weight of it feeling like an old friend in his palm. It’s only when he peers through the peephole and sees Miguel standing there, that he sets the weapon back down.

Even dressed casually Miguel looks like he’s stepped off the cover of GQ. He’s wearing designer jeans and a leather jacket that Nestor knows cost more than most of the furniture in the apartment. His hair is artfully tamed into that cross cropped side parting of his. Comparatively Nestor is wearing the faded grey Method Man t-shirt that David gave to him before he died and black boxers shorts, his hair is a mass of loose curls falling across his shoulders like a mane.

“Mikey?” he questions, holding the door open. He opens his mouth to say something else but already Miguel is striding past him like he owns the place. For the briefest of moments Nestor regrets letting the other man sign the lease as a guarantor.

“I need to talk to you.” Miguel states as he deposits himself on the couch, his arm coming to rest upon the back of it. “I…”

He trails off and Nestor follows his gaze to the jar of multicoloured paper flowers perched in the centre of the coffee table. He watches as Miguel’s brows furrow into a frown before he gestures at the origami roses.

“Where did you get those?”

Nestor knows he’s at a crossroads and he only sees one path because he remembered that time, right back in the very beginning. The one when you were sitting across from Miguel, your hands working almost by compulsion as you folded and plucked at the delicate petals of a napkin. He remembers being captivated by it, the grace of your movements, the elegance in the finished product. It was something you did to keep your hands busy; you had explained to Miguel at the time.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer because the bedroom door is opening and you’re standing in the doorway, rubbing the back your hand across your blurry eyes as you say.

“Are you coming to bed my love?”

It feels like he’s been handed a gun with a bullet in the chamber and asked to play Russian Roulette. Miguel’s head snaps towards you, his mouth setting in a firm line as he registers your attire. One of Nestor’s t-shirts and a pair of black cotton panties.

“How long?” Miguel asks his gaze darting back to Nestor.

Nestor shrugs because honestly, he doesn’t know. Your relationship isn’t linear, it’s a series of moments where the two of you exist in the same space. He doesn’t keep track of it the way other people do. There’s no six-month anniversaries, or Valentine’s Day dinners. There’s just the two of you, together, making the most of the time you have.

“You must have some idea.” Miguel says forcefully. “Months?”

Nestor shakes his head; he knows it’s been longer than that. He thinks it might have been over a couple of years since you buried that body in the desert together.

“Around two years.” He tells Miguel honestly.

Miguel laughs and it’s bitter, Nestor can practically taste the sourness on his tongue as Miguel rolls his eyes to the ceiling as if praying for strength.

“So, it’s serious then?” Miguel questions, his eyes surveying the rest of the room. Nestor can tell he’s cataloguing all of the small personal touches you’ve added. The Aztec style blanket thrown over his recliner from where you’d fallen asleep reading earlier, your book – a feminist retelling of the Medusa myth set on the side table. His gaze lands on the wild flowers, those pretty dried blooms with those vibrant pops of colour and his jaw tightens. “Because it looks like you’re fucking living together.”

“I’ll give the two of you some space.” You begin, pulling the hem of the t-shirt down to cover your panties.

“Oh no.” Miguel says, gesturing for you to step out of the bedroom and join the conversation. “Let’s get this all out in the open, I want to know more about my friend’s paramour.”

“Mikey, this isn’t about her…”

“Of course, it’s fucking about her.” Miguel snarls, jabbing his finger in your direction. “You’ve let a fucking assassin into your life, into your home. I feel I should be conducting a fucking intervention.”

“OK so I feel like I need to be wearing pants for this conversation.” You tell the two of them. Miguel waves his hand, dismissing you from the room. It’s only the look that Nestor gives you, that prevents you from biting back at the other man.

Let me handle this.

You comply with his wishes before heading into the bedroom to dress. By the time you return, the tension in the room has increased tenfold. You’re fully dressed with your go bag slung over your shoulder. You’ve packed a couple of clothes and a sudoku book because from the looks of it, this is going to take all night and you think its better you’re not in the vicinity because you still want to kill Miguel for the position, he put you in all those months ago and the expression on his face right now is equally as murderous.

“I am going to go,” You tell the both of them as you remove your leather jacket from the coat stand and pull it on. “Let the two of you talk.”

“You should stay.” Miguel says, his gaze on yours as he leans back into the couch, seemingly completely at home in his surroundings. “I want to know how you infiltrated my fucking head of security.”

It’s the ‘head of security’ part that does it. Not friend, not brother, not the man whose been by his side since he was a fucking teenager. The sheer fucking audacity of Miguel Galindo astounds you.

“Are you even listening to yourself right now?” You snap at him, eyes blazing. “Infiltrate? He’s your fucking friend, treat him like one.”

A silence falls, your words hanging in the air as the two of you stare at one another. There’s a fury in this man, you can see it in the way his shoulders tense and those dark eyes fucking burn like coals as they bore into you. He forgets that you’ve met men far more dangerous than him, that they’ve had their fucking hands wrapped around your throat, that one tried to bury you alive in the desert once he was finished with you. You’ve lived your nightmares, surpassed your demons and you’ve come back from hell with a thirst for blood. Miguel Galindo may have done some nasty shit, but you’ve done worse.

It's the simple act of Nestor clearing his throat that diffuses your rage, it brings you back to the present, reminds you that this isn’t your fight. As much as you may hate Miguel, he’s an important part of Nestor’s life, you can’t just wipe him off the face of the earth no matter how much you may want to.

“Let me know where you land.” You say quietly to Nestor, your lips brushing his cheek before you close the door to the apartment quietly behind you.

He knows what you’re doing, you’re giving him an out. It shouldn’t have to be a choice, his lover or his friend but if it comes down to it you’re telling him you’ll bow out gracefully. If it needs to be one way or the other, you won’t fight him. It’s self-sacrificing bullshit, but it’s part of the reason he loves you. You’ve always had his best interests at heart.

“She’s right Mikey.” Nestor says finally as he sits on the edge of the recliner. “When’s the last time we actually talked?”

He watches the cogs turn in Miguel’s brain as he considers his words. He’s trying to pinpoint a time, a date, an event but it all comes back to the exact same thing. He doesn’t remember the last time he asked Nestor anything about his life.

“I guess we haven’t.” Miguel says, rubbing his palms over one another. “The last time we spoke about anything personal was Emily. We sat on the stairs at my house and you said ‘honesty buys honesty’. Do you still believe that?”

“I never lied to you Mikey.” Nestor tells him, raking a hand through his hair. “I just didn’t tell you.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie.” Miguel states accusingly.

Nestor shakes his head before inhaling deeply. He normally doesn’t have a problem keeping his temper but this shit right here, the hypocrisy of it…

It’s starting to piss him off.

“Then I guess it’s time for us to put a few things on the table.” Nestor says frankly as leans back in his chair. “You have questions, ask them.”

“Why?” Miguel shoots at him. “Why settle down now? Why with her? You’ve never wanted that before.”

Nestor sighs because that is to fucking far from the truth he isn’t even sure where to begin.

“It was never available to me before.” Nestor explains, his eyes meeting Miguel’s as he searches for the tiniest fragment of understanding. “You know how hard it is to maintain a relationship that’s built on secrets. You can’t let that person see that side of you, you can’t tell them what it is you really do. It tears you apart inside, it eats you up and eventually that relationship, it dies because there’s no trust.”

“You’re talking about me and Emily.” Miguel says, his gaze lowering to the wedding band on his finger as he rubs his thumb over the gleaming metal.

It’s then that Nestor loses his temper, because somehow, it’s happening again. Miguel is hearing what he wants to hear, twisting Nestor’s words to reflect on a situation in his life.

“No I’m talking about me.” He erupts, his voice raising as the frustration of what feels like decades surges through him. “About how I haven’t had a fucking relationship in years because it always ends the same way. Not everything is about you Miguel! You preach loyalty to your family, but I am your family and I have been nothing but loyal to you. I have killed for you, I have bled for you, I have protected the ones you love but there’s no space for me, not the way there used to be.”

“So what?” Miguel asked him, jabbing his finger at the jar of paper roses on the coffee table. “This is your way of proving a point?”

Nestor wants to scream, he can feel that urge brimming in his chest as he stares at the man he’s known for the majority of his life as if he’s never seen him before.

“The point is Miguel, that I found someone who makes me happy. Someone whose knows everything about me and accepts it, someone who loves me for me.”

“Who loves you?” Miguel laughs and the sound grates on every single one of Nestor’s nerves because it is so fucking dismissive. “What do the two of you even talk about? Top ten ways to torture someone? The type of knot to use when you’re staging a suicide. She doesn’t love you; she’s fucking using you!”

“Christ Mikey, it’s not fucking about you.” Nestor finds himself shouting. “You think we sit here and talk about the latest happenings in the Galindo Cartel? What you’ve been up to that day, who you’ve been seeing? No we fucking don’t. We talk about books, about music, about life, about shitty normal things and the other crazy shit we get up to. You aren’t even a topic of conversation.”

Miguel looks at Nestor as if he’s slapped him, like he can’t comprehend that he’s not a factor in this relationship. Nestor hopes it fucking stings. He watches as Miguel leans forward, his hands clasped together as he speaks in a low authoritative tone.

“Nestor, I want you to be happy.” Miguel states. “Just not with a fucking woman, who can take a man apart like he’s a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop.”

“You’re not hearing me.” Nestor shakes his head vehemently.

“No, I am hearing you perfectly. You want to settle down, have the white picket fence and fuck out a bunch of babies that’s fine.” Miguel informs him, before using his palm to draw a line underneath the statement. “But this thing with her, I can’t have that. It’s too much of a distraction.”

“For you or for me?” Nestor asks cocking his head to one side. “You still have my loyalty Mikey, my relationship hadn’t effected my ability to do my job over the past two years and it won’t effect it now. You need to accept that this is happening, with or without your permission.”

He hears Miguel’s intake of breath, sees him recoiling because Nestor has just thrown down the gauntlet and he knows it’s the last thing that Miguel ever expected. He has never denied the other man anything but he won’t give up his shot at happiness, he’s not letting him dictate who he falls in love with. If it puts a target on his back so be it, the two of you can weather it. He’s done being the lap dog, the one that’s coerced into submission. He won’t let Miguel take you from him, not now, not ever.

Marcus’s words ring in his head, that warning from when he’s first found out about the two of you.

At some point you’re going to have to make a choice, Marcus had told him. And I pray for your sake you make the right one.

When it came to you there is no choice because he loves you with every single fibre of his being.

“Alright Nestor.” Miguel says as he raises to his feet, fixing the lapels of his leather jacket before he meets Nestor’s gaze. “You’re out. Effective immediately.”

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darling-cas · 3 years

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Hoax (an original story)

I amaze myself sometimes.

My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.

This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.

I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.

I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.

Until next time...

Cas.

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The air was midsummer sweet.

It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.

And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.

His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.

Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn't been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.

The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one.

Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.

In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.

Even now, when the sky wept tears of sorrow, its beauty never vanished.

The weather came on suddenly, as he passed the welcoming sign for Higdon's Harbour. The roads became slick, a ghostly fog settled in, and the colours were muted a few shades darker by the clouds above. Rivers trickled down the mountain side, disappearing into shallow ditches. Waves started to leap and jump to catch the increasing wind. All while the sky cried on and on.

Jake drove on through the town. Classic rock thumped softly in the background and raindrops tapped on the roof of the car. He had planned not to stop for the night until the next town over. He had driven through several rain storms since the start of his trip, and this was nothing.

But the cracks in the sky's broken heart continued to grow with exceptional pain. Tears of despair quickly turned to tears of anger. The beating on the car became more aggressive as the wind wailed daunting threats and the ocean frantically waved its arms.

It became too much, too quick. Jake was used to driving through bad weather, but not seaside storms. Not gusting winds and sideways rain. Plus, he decided, he was already making good time. So when the flashing green neon sign reading Beaumont Motel came into view, he didn’t hesitate to pull off the road, into the parking lot, and turn off his car.

A bell jingled above as Jake pushed open the door. He stepped into the warmth of the lobby, drenched through his clothes and soaking the carpet under his feet.

“Turned nasty out there real quick, didn’t it?”

Jake threw off his hood, shaking out his damp, blonde hair as he caught sight of an older woman with long grey hair smiling at him from behind a wooden desk.

She pulled her beige cardigan closer around her, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “Looking for a room, hun?”

“If you happen to have one available,” Jake replied, walking towards the desk and setting down his backpack. Judging by the lack of cars in the parking lot, he was more than confident there were plenty of empty rooms. Still, he glanced at the woman’s name tag and flashed her a smile. “Vera.”

“Oh, hun,” Vera chuckled. Her fingers tapped away on the computer that looked too new to be in the small, tacky, lobby with flower-patterned wallpaper. A lobby that was decorated with simply a small sitting area off to the side, a dusty fireplace warming the room, a dark wooden desk, rouge carpet, and outdated lighting fixtures. “I think I have one or two available. For how long will we be seeing your handsome face around?”

“Only a night,” Jake said. “I’m just passing through.”

“Storm pushed you off the road, huh?” Vera turned around and grabbed a key off one of the hooks on the wall. “It should only last the night. Nightly storms are common for us during this time of year. Here you go, hun.”

“Thank you!” Jake took the key before picking up his bag once more, throwing it over his shoulder.

“If you’re looking to warm up a bit, Kay & Elle, the pub next door, is open for a few more hours,” Vera informed him, fixing her wool cardigan on her shoulders. “A lot of the locals inhabit the place, but we’re friendly folks here. I’m sure they’ll keep you entertained for a bit.”

“Thank you for the suggestion!” Jake pulled his hood back over his head. “Have a good night, Vera.”

She waved him off with a dazzling smile. “Enjoy your short time at Higdon’s Harbour.”

Rain beat down around Jake as the lobby door closed behind him. The sticky air promised an onslaught of thunder and lightning, but it had yet to develop. With a glance at the metal key in his hand, Jake made out a marked 9 engraved at the top. His toes were cold as he quickly made it to the door and inserted the key before pushing the door open and stepping into the musty smelling room.

It was just as drab as the lobby. The double-bed was dressed in off-white coverings. Cream walls, dark carpet, and tacky seaside pictures. Along with two side tables by the bed, a small TV on top of a mini fridge, and a bathroom door on the far wall.

It wasn’t the nicest looking room he’d ever stayed in, but he would also be lying if he said he hadn’t stayed in worse before.

With a tired and uncomfortable sigh, Jake tossed his bag onto the bed, peeled off his wet coat, and padded off into the bathroom.

He never really thought of going to the pub Vera had mentioned. His only plans that evening consisted of taking a scalding shower before crawling into bed. Maybe watching some TV or reading the book at the bottom of his bag to spice up the night.

Yet, once the two former items on his agenda were checked off, an uneasiness fell over him. Neither the TV nor his book could hold his attention. The bedsheets itched his legs. His heart thumped in his chest, just fast enough to be noticeable. He couldn’t sit still.

Lightning flashed outside and Jake’s head whipped in the direction of the window. The pub came into view; the two porch lights twinkled in the dark and laughter sounded in time to the pounding storm. It shimmered in the lightning’s afterglow, the rain creating a silver mist of magic around the stone building.

Jake tossed off the sheets and threw on some clothes and his damp jacket. The pull in the pit of his stomach pushed him towards the front door without Jake even really realizing what he was doing. But he chalked it up to boredom and the anxiety of being knocked off his schedule.

He left the warmth of his room behind, almost crashing into a figure as he gently closed his door. An apology was on the tip of his tip tongue when a feeling of nausea washed over him. He felt dizzy, stomach turning. But it was gone between one blink and the next, along with the person. Jake got a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye followed by bells and laughter as the door to room 8 snapped closed.

The thunderous weather started to overload Jake's senses and the urge to get to the pub was greater. With his head down, the figure fading from his memory, Jake made his way across the parking lot.

A drink or two would kill some time, he thought to himself. At least it would help settle the uneasiness and put him to sleep.

The mist around the pub seemed to glow as Jake drew closer, but he was too busy keeping the rain out of his eyes to pay much mind to it. Warmth shot up his arm as he pushed the door open, a jingle filling the room.

The smell of liquor and smoke tainted with the slight scent of sweat greeted Jake as he stepped over the threshold of Kay & Elle. The low rumble of a banjo filled the space, bouncing off the wooden rafters, mixing with the low mumbles and chuckles of the clusters of people scattered around the room. It wasn’t a full house, but crowded enough given the storm outside.

With his footsteps sounding off the wood floors, Jake made his way to the dark-oak bar. He received a few stares and nods of acknowledgment as he walked by men and women alike, sitting at tables and standing by pool tables. As he walked past, he took in the stone walls, the empty stage in the back, the shimmering yellow lights, and the photos of fishermen, smiling ladies, and vast landscapes littered throughout the walls.

He took off his jacket, his heart having settled from the moment he entered the pub. Jake wasn’t a man who believed in faith, but in his bones, deep in his marrow, he knew this was where he was meant to be, for whatever reason.

“Well ain’t you a fresh face,” the elder man behind the bar remarked as Jake sat in one of the barstools, just a few seats down from a hunched over figure nursing a glass of whiskey.

Jake placed his wet jaket on the chair beside him as he chuckled. “Hard to be a stranger in this town.”

“Small-town life, my boy. Everyone knows everyone.” The man threw a towel over his shoulder, his dark hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, causing the wrinkles on his slim, tan face to be on full display. His green eyes sparkled in welcome and his smile pulled at the faded scar on his left cheek. “Passing through?”

The dim lights jumped and danced off the many bottles lining the wall behind the bar. A muted glow hugged the bar, the music changing to the beat of a fiddle.

“I am, but the storm took me off the road for the night,” Jake explained.

“You staying at the Beaumont?”

Jake nodded. “The woman, Vera, recommended I stop by for a drink.”

The words tasted bitter, full of half-truths and false tales. But Jake wasn’t sure why, just as he wasn’t sure how to explain his need to be sitting in the pub at that particular moment.

“That woman,” the elder man chuckled with a shake of his head. “She sends more business this way than any billboard ad ever could. Well, have a drink while you’re here…"

“Jake.”

The music skipped a beat as the fiddle played a harsh note. The air turned bitter and cold. Jake’s limbs urged him to run, screamed that he made a mistake, scolded him for giving his name so willingly. But it was a reflex; the word leaving his lips before he understood what was happening. An impulse came over him, the same one that pulled him to obey the man's demand and order a drink.

No one seemed to notice the odd behaviour, aside from the hunched over figure a few seats down. His depthless brown eyes flashed to Jake, grey hair falling across his pale, sweaty forehead. There was a look of pain and madness in those eyes. Jake opened his mouth to say something when a draft of beer appeared in front of him. And suddenly he couldn’t remember why his limbs felt tense or why there was a cold sweat on the back on his neck.

“Nice to meet ya, Jake,” the bartender smiled with a gleam in his bottle-green eyes. “Name’s Murphy.”

“Likewise,” Jake raised his drink before bringing the glass to his lips, downing half of it in a few gulps.

The hunched man tipped back the last of his whiskey, slamming the glass hard on the bartop.

“Murphy,” he spoke in a husky voice, like the sound of asphalt and gravel.

A flash of irritation, with just a hint of sadness, came over Murphy's face. He didn’t say a word as he quickly prepared another glass, sliding it gently in front of the stranger.

“Take it easy, Harold. That’s your third now.”

Harold grunted, shooting back half the glass without a word.

Murphy sighed, every other emotion but worry washing from his face for the smallest moment, before he turned back to Jake with a smile on his lips.

“So, where were you headed before the rain knocked you off track?”

After another smaller sip of beer, Jake explained his mountain travel plans and his desire to reach the great peak that waited for him at the end.

“Good on ya. Do it all now while you’re still young and can move about,” Murphy said with a chuckle. “This a solo trip? Or are you with someone special? Perhaps they’re waiting for you back in your room?”

“No,” Jake chuckled, ignoring the grunt of clear annoyance from the man a few seats down from him. “Just me.”

A glimmer appeared in the old man's eye. “So no one speical then? No sweetheart waiting for ya?”

Glass rattled as Harold slammed his empty drink back down on the bar.

Jake cast a sideways glance at the stranger. Restlessness rushed through him as he slowly sat up straighter. Tension gripped his limbs as Harold turned to look at him. Those unnaturally dark eyes shined with intensity. They held so much knowledge, so much pain, so much fury that Jake couldn’t look away.

“Don’t waste your time with such things, boy,” Harold grumbled, voice rough and firm. His brows were pulled together so tight they were touching, as the bar cast his face in shadows of back and grey. “Love is pointless.”

He said the word love with such hatred, Jake felt as if the stone structure surrounding them would cave in and collapse.

Murphy, for his part, looked just as on edge. It was a fact that did little to calm Jake's sudden nervousness.

“Harold,” he sighed. “Let’s take a moment-”

“There is one thing that is certain when it comes to love,” Harold continued, eyes gazing unblinkingly at Jake. “It is nothing but pain. Love is made up of pain and heartbreak and bitter ends. It is a useless and pointless part of the whole damn human existence.”

A hush fell over the bar, as if even the other guests could sense the mood Harold had brought about. The upbeat tone of the fiddle suddenly switched to a soulless wail. . A shiver ran up Jake’s spine and he begged his body to turn away, to dismiss the man and be done with it. But he couldn’t. His unmerciful gaze pulled him in and suddenly Jake was drowning in the scent of liquor and smoke and dead leaves and depthless seas.

“You fight so hard." Harold gripped his glass, and a crack started to appear. “You fight with all you have and give yourself completely and it's no good. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you do is good enough. Love is about fighting a losing battle and in the end, only one person suffers the consequences. And it's usually the one who fought the hardest.”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was firm, loud, booming over the music as Jake jumped back in his seat. He didn’t realize how intently he’d been listening to Harold. How he was hanging on to every word like it was air. Or how, while talking to the terrifying man, for the first time since entering the town, Higdon’s Harbour glowed with colour.

An angry, remorseless, pulsating red colour.

Harold held Jake's gaze for a moment longer, intense eyes cast in complete shadow, before turning back to the bar.

“Thanks for the advice,” Jake found himself saying, voice shaking more than he'd like to admit. He didn’t mean to speak, the words simply rushed out of him with an aftertaste of smoke.

Clearing his throat, Jake downed the last of his beer before pushing the glass towards Murphy for a refill.

A hush fell around them for just a few moments, the tension already starting to subside. Jake felt his shoulders drop as he slowly sipped his beer and Murphy slid Harold a glass of water. After some small talk with the old bartender, Jake felt himself able to breathe once more. His body started to relax, the fog lifting from his head. He was breaking the surface and forgetting all about the darkness of the ocean and the murdered limbs of the trees on the forest floor.

While on his third drink, Murphy started to get busy with the other parties of the bar. Tables started to ask for refills, and drenched couples walked through the door, the wind roaring behind them. He drifted more and more between the bar and the tables. And it was about that time that Jake decided he would soon be calling it a night.

“You shouldn’t have stopped, boy.”

Ice crawled up Jake’s spine at the sound of that sandpaper voice. Murphy was off to some seemingly remote corner of the bar. Jake couldn’t help but notice that every new body who walked in stayed far away from the bar, from him, and from Harold.

Jake gripped the tall draft in his hand, foam and condensation running through his numb fingers.

He turned to face Harold, those black soulless eyes dragging him into the abyss. He was in a freefall, too much rushed through him all at once. A thumping started at his left temple and his heart dropped to his stomach as he fell and fell and fell from the bowels of the sky through the open arms of the corpse-like trees.

“You shouldn’t have stopped,” Harold spat, teeth clenched and head hung low. “You should get out of this cursed town before they get you too. They know you’re here. They knew you’d be here before you knew you’d be here. They got to the rest of this damned town. They got her. Get out before they get you too, boy.”

Fear rooted Jake in place. Fear for what, he couldn’t tell. But in the back of his mind, in the depth of his soul, he knew Harold was right. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have stopped. Yet, the thought of leaving caused his heart to clench and spots to form behind his eyes. Without his control, he found his lips forming the words -

“Who are they?”

The lights flickered with the time of the thunder clashing outside. The fiddle faded out and the haunting strings of a violin floated through the room, accompanied by a soulful woman's wail.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t provoke this man. He should just pay his tab, get up, and leave. But it was unexplainable, much like the whole night had been. He simply couldn’t help himself.

Harold completely turned to Jake. The harsh lines on his face caught the glow of the dim lights. His eyes burned with unattainable wisdom and passion. Jake's heart started to race, limbs locking into place as he noticed the music slowed. Along with, somehow, every other body and soul in the bar. A haze filled the room, a mist blurring and engulfing everything that was not Jake and was not Harold. Even the storm seemed to hush, with only the woman's cry continuing on.

“Let me tell you a story, son.” Harold’s voice turned mystical, the words floating in the air between the two. “Cause I’ve lost my friends, my family, this whole damn town, and yet no one will believe me. They think I’m a nut-case, a man full of grief. But I ain’t, you hear? And maybe you’ll believe me. Maybe you won’t. But they took my wife-”

“Your wife is missing?”

Jake’s pulse jumped as Harold leaned in close, his blood-shot eyes burning crimson red. “For years now. Cause they took her.”

“They?” Jake repeated, feeling physically ill.

Harold nodded. “The fairies.”

He should have laughed. He should have backed off. His mind should have been yelling at him that the man was senile, crazy, insane. He should have bid him goodbye, called over Murphy, and been done with this place, this man. This man who was staring at him with all the earnestness in the world.

Fairies.

The word danced around in his head, bells and whistles suddenly joining in with the escalating violin. Suddenly, the whole town made all the sense in the world and yet, none at all.

“Fairies?” Jake spoke slow and steady. “They’re just folklore. A myth.”

Even as he said it, the words turned to dust on his tongue. He wanted to wash the taste out with his beer, but found he genuinely couldn’t move.

“The Harbour Fairies,” Harold whispered. “Nasty creatures. And if you believe they’re just a myth, you’re as foolish as the rest of them. If you believe there isn’t more to this world, that we’re the only beings here, you’re blin. These aren’t just some little buggers who pick your berries and sprinkle dust. They are savage, mischievous demons.”

Jake started to shake his head, mostly to clear the fog that had started to form. “I don’t-”

“We here grew up wearing our clothes inside out and carrying bread in our pockets to stop the little people from leading us astray,” Harold spoke with more urgency than Jake had heard all night, “But little good it did. Everyone was blinded by what was right in front of them. These creatures play tricks. Oh, they love tricks. And not the fun kind. No, the kind that leads you over a cliff or dead at the bottom of the sea. They are unpredictable forces of nature who lead you in the woods, and suddenly you're never heard of again.”

“And they got your wife.”

“They stole her,” Harold spat the words into the air. His gaze flicked towards the red-head who walked past them, beer in hand, before he spoke again. “They took her from me. Everyone here believes she ran away, but I know. I caught them you see, I saw it with my own two eyes. One day she was in the garden, the next…”

… she walked into the woods, never to be seen again. Jake knew because he saw it himself. He watched it play out in Harold’s aged eyes. And suddenly he was inserted into a story that was not his. He didn’t feel right; too tight in his skin, eyes unable to properly focus on the greys, blacks, and whites of the world. But he still watched.

A grass-stained seven year old boy cradled the arm of a pretty girl with messy blonde hair. They sat in a treehouse, feet dangling over the edge, kicking at the clouds. The girl had tear-tracks running down her cheeks and dead flowers stuck in her hair. She was biting her lip, nodding as the boy spoke.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” he whispered sternly.

“I didn’t mean to,” her lips trembled, gaze moving to anything but the boy before her. “It wasn’t my fault.”

The boy shook his head as he ran his hand over the forming bruise. “You gotta be more careful Cathy. What if something were to happen to ya?”

“Then let's get out of this town, Harry,” a seventeen-year old girl twirled in the headlights of an old pick-up truck. The waves crashed against the shore in the distance, the sun tenderly kissing the horizon goodbye. The girl’s blonde, messy braids whipped around her shoulder, dress bunched at her ankles. She stood before a brown haired boy, grass-stains on his jeans, leaning against the red truck. “Let’s pack up and leave after graduation next week.”

“And go where, Cathy?” The boy shook his head. “I have a job lined up on the boat and you have-”

“Nothing! I have nothing!” She threw her hands in the air. “I ain’t got nothing lined up. Just my next shift at the diner. I want to go to school, you know I do. But papa-”

“Don’t worry about your father,” the boy grabbed at the girls skirts, pulling her so close their hips touched. “I told you, I’ll protect you from your papa.”

The girl bit her lips, forest green eyes glancing over the boy's shoulder. Her face was tender but the look of caution never left. As if she wanted to believe the boy holding her but her heart refused to pay heed. “Promise?”

“I do.”

Applause thundered across the crowd, the waves beating against the rocky cliffs. The man lifted the woman's veil, tucking a piece of messy blonde hair behind her ear before gripping the back of her neck. He leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. Whistles and wails filled the air, a screaming violin starting to play as the newly-weds walked down the aisle.

She held on her husband’s arm like a life-line, biting her lip as her father clapped the bride-groom on the shoulder. Her eyes darted around the crowd, the same look of caution from five years ago still masked her face.

It was a look that never left her face, a look that was forever present in the back on her eyes. It was the only thought Jake found he was able to form; the look of a woman who was scared. The look of a woman who was holding a secret.

And maybe she was, for that look stayed with her for all the years to come, Jake noticed. He watched Harold's and Catherine’s life play out before him, just as Harold described. The twenty plus years together. The moments of tender love, the moments of bitter fights. The squealing laughter and howling sobs. The funerals and the weddings, The slamming bottles and doors leading to nights together and alone. It wasn’t the best marriage, but what marriage is, Harold said.

They never had kids, their life centred around just the two of them, their fading love and the growing tension. Every second leading up to that moment, in a garden of muted yellows, reds, and oranges.

Flowers in her messy hair, a near fifty year old Catherine knelt before a bed of dirt. Sunglasses covered her eyes, dirt stained her knees, finger nails, and cheeks. She was silent as she worked.

A door slammed in the distance. “Catherine!”

The tension became electricity in the air. Catherine’s head snapped up as footsteps made their way to the backyard.

Jake noticed it at the exact moment she did. The wind switched directions, bells jingled off the tree tops, mystical laughter floated out from the forest on the other side of the garden.

Catherine turned slowly. The flower fell out of her hair. She tossed the sunglasses onto the ground and her bruised, deep green eyes glowed against the muted world. She walked towards the tree line, footfalls light. Laughter bubbled past her own lips and, between one step and the next, she was gone.

“... the forest swallowed her up and I knew they got to her.”

Jack was back in the bar. Everything rested as it had, and he himself wasn’t even sure if what he had just witnessed was real. Surely not, but the description and details felt real, tangible. As if, for a moment, he truly stood in Harold's memories.

“The forest was the only way out,” Harold’s eyes were wide, urgent, and the brightest things in the whole bar. “It was either through the house or the forest. And she’d been acting out for years. Always in the garden, out on her own. They got her, it's the only answer. But,” a pause, eyes shifting. “I know where she is.”

Jake swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. “You do?”

“An island just a few miles out in sea. A rocky cliff, that's where they stay,” Harold nodded, talking more to himself than Jake. “She's there, with them. I’m taking my boat out tomorrow morning. I’m going to get her and-”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was enough to make Jake jump back. He never noticed how close he had been leaning towards the old man. Just as he never realized how tightly he was holding his warm, untouched third glass of beer. He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his jeans as the pulsing in his left temple grew stronger.

As he looked around the pub, Jake took in all the faces looking his way. Eyes bounced between him and Harold, whispers and murmurs accompanying the flute and violin pair. It was only when Murphy loudly, purposely, cleared his throat that the inhabitants of the bar started to look as if they weren’t listening.

“Harold,” Murphy spoke softly, placing a hand on Harold’s tense shoulder. “I think it's time to head home, friend.”

There was a fight in Harold’s eyes, Jake could see it. That bloodshot, haunting, soulless gaze held a fire and life to them, ignited by the hatred for creatures that couldn’t exist. But the moment Murphy spoke, the moment Harold looked around the pub and saw all the eyes on him, the fire vashined. It was as quick as releasing a breath, there one minute and gone the next.

Harold held Jake’s gaze. There was still so much left unsaid, unanswered, and Jake found he didn’t want him to go. His mind and soul craved to know more about fairies and their secret world.

A laughter echoed off the rafters, and Jake realized for the first time that night how terrified and exposed he truly was.

“Tomorrow morning,” Harold grunted as he stood, the invitation loud and clear. Jake didn’t understand why Harold was inviting him along but it somehow made all the sense in the world.

With no other parting words, with not so much as a glance at any other living soul in the pub, Harold walked out. Back hunched as he disappeared over the threshold, rain and wind howling as they swallowed him whole.

A hush carried on throughout the pub for a few heartbeats. Until the flute faded back into the plucking of a guitar. Someone cheered, laughter followed, and soon the lively atmosphere of the bar was back once more. As if the haunted man with an implausible story wasn’t present a few moments before.

“Is it true?” Jake found himself asking, tongue sliding across his chapped lips. He turned in his chair, facing Murphy, who now stood behind the bar. He hoped his shaking hand wasn't noticeable as he raised his beer to his lips. “About those… about the fairies.”

The word tasted like strawberries and metal on his lips.

Murphy glanced up for the glass he was cleaning, scar strained across his cheek as he pursed his lips. “They’re urban folktales. Myths passed down through all the generations of the Harbour.”

“And his wife?”

Murphy paused. He let out a sign, placed the glass under the bar before turning to Jake. Worry and concern shinned in his eyes.

“She left him,” he explained softly, mindful of the ears around. “Packed up and left, just like that.”

“Just like that?” Jake raised an eyebrow at Murphy’s hesitation.

“There were… rumours about cheating and drunken fights but…” Murphy took a breath, crossing his arms on the bartop as he leaned in close. “Look, Harry's a good guy, difficult but good. Our families know each other well. And Cathy… well she had a hard life with her father. She wasn’t all there before she left and Harold took it hard. He still won't get help and has himself convinced the Harbour Fairies are behind it. Says he’s seen things with his own eyes that explains it.”

Jake swallowed, leg bouncing restlessly. “He’s going out tomorrow morning-”

“Yeah,” Murphy nodded solemnly. “We’ve tried to stop him, talk sense. But he won’t listen. And he’s at the age and point now where we've given up - what can ya do.”

A lot. Jake glanced around the pub, taking in the numerous people laughing, chatting, drinking. He didn’t know these people, he shouldn’t judge, but they could be doing something to help that man. He may be talking crazy but… was he?

The more Jake studied the bar, the more it felt like a fog was lifting. The pieces were falling into place. The math was suddenly starting to make sense. And Jake refused to acknowledge the answers that were before him.

“Where is she then?” Jake asked, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. “His wife. Catherine.”

“No one knows,” Murphy admitted. “She got out of this town, that's for sure. And no one has heard from her since.”

“No one checks in?” Jake couldn’t hide the disbelief from his voice. “No one’s tried to find out where she is or what happened.”

Murphy watched Jake for an uncomfortable moment. His eyes looked him over, mouth twisting as if to say something. But then his lips shut, he blinked, and he shrugged before pointing to the still full glass in front of Jake. “You want another?”

Jake's breath caught in his throat. Claws bit into his spine. His skin felt too tight as a breeze brushed the back of his neck, red flashing in his vision. The room was too small and too big all at once. He didn’t know why he was feeling such a way or what had brought it on. But his gut knew it was because of this town.

And he knew he wanted to get out.

The door to the pub shut as a couple walked out, but the noise still rattled against Jake’s bones as he shook his head.

“No,” he stood up, hand shaking as he pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar. “I think I’ll call it a night actually.”

Murphy picked up the money, either not noticing the odd behaviour or choosing to ignore it as he smiled. “Well, Mr. Jake, I hope you enjoy the rest of your short stay. Maybe someday we’ll get to see you passing through the Harbour again.”

“Who knows,” Jake gave a nervous chuckle, “It seems anything is possible.”

He left the pub in shambles. The smell of ashes and fowl fish followed Jake as he made his way to the door. Tables were knocked off centre, chairs were tipped over. The banjo played too loud and slightly off key. Men and women alike stumbled over one another, drinks spilled onto the floor. Even Murphy’s slicked back pony was a mess, falling into his dark, sweat covered face.

The illusion was breaking, the corners being pulled back to show something ugly and monstrous. Something those who inhabited Higdon’s Harbour refused to acknowledge.

Jake stepped over the threshold, blood pounding through his veins. He welcomed the rain beating down on his face, the wind biting through his damp jacket and nipping at his icy skin. The door to Kay & Elle closed with a thunderous bang. The banjo and hysterical laughter was replaced by sorrowful wind and wailing rain.

He stood there for a moment, face turned towards the sky as he tried to will air into his lungs.

He needed to get out of this town.

Whatever force pulled Jake towards the pub earlier was controlled by a demon. He didn’t know what purpose it served him, to hear about Harold and the fairies… fairies that shouldn’t, didn’t, couldn’t exist…

Someone squealed and giggled across the parking lot. With a jump, heart in his throat, Jake started to make his way back to the safety of his room.

And he was almost there, just a mere few steps away, when his body suddenly felt as if it were stretched too thin. Nausea overcame him and his head spun. The rain pierced his skin like devilish needles and the wind sang a woman's lullaby in his ear. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, thunder crashing as someone bumped into his shoulder.

It was an innocent tap, the woman clearly too captivated by the lady on her arm to notice him. But it did all the damage in the world.

“Oh!” She gasped, the sound like a thousand bells. She grabbed his arm, full-lips pulled back in an apologetic smile as all the air vanished from Jake's chest. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn't breath, the pulsing in his left temple was suddenly magnified by ten. The warmth of her hand on his arm spread through his whole body. He no longer felt the wind and rain beating against him, he was too allured by her auburn curls, high-cheekbones, and hazel eyes that glistened like moss coated in morning dew.

She was the most hauntingly beautiful creature he had ever beheld. And every part of his being begged him to run.

“Are you okay, Jake?” Her partner spoke up. They were holding one another so close, arms locked tight, it was as if they were one. Gravity pulled them together; where one moved the other followed. A simple stranger such as himself could not doubt their adoration and love.

Jake ripped his gaze away from the red-headed woman and looked at her partner. He took in her slim face, the dirty dress, and messy blonde hair pinned back with a flower.

It was then that Jake noticed that both women were completely dry.

It was then that Jake realized they knew his name.

It was then that his eyes met the blonde’s green ones, and he saw it all.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” a seven year old boy with grass stains on his knees told the six year old girl with a bruised arm.

“I didn’t mean to,” she trembled, and Jake realized she wasn’t avoiding the boys gaze. She was looking at someone else. She was looking at the young auburn haired creature standing a few feet away, invisible to the boy and eyes tense with worry. “It wasn't my fault.”

Be more careful, the boy told her at the exact moment the creature met the girl's gaze and said, I know. I’ll protect you.

“I told you,” said a seventeen year old boy as he gripped a sixteenth year old's skirts. “I’ll protect you from your papa.”

You know he can’t, Cathy, The auburn creature said, standing over the boy's shoulder as she held the girl’s green-eyed gaze. I’ll protect you from them both.

The blonde trembled. “Promise?”

With all the power of the forest and the sea. I promise.

She was there, always there. She did all she could to keep her promise. But it seemed even she was limited in her abilities.

Jake watched Harold and Catherine's life play out once more. As the twenty plus years faded together, the moments of tender love vanished. The fights were more frequent, more aggressive than Harold let on. He stumbled home in the dark more than once, eyes bloodshot and words slurred. There were many years of fights and screams. Fists were thrown and bones were broken. And the red-head was there through it all, helping as best as she could. She cared for Cathy, tried to protect her, but it wasn’t enough.

Run away with me, Cathy. It's the only way.

And run she did.

It wasn’t a laugh that called Catherine to the forest that day in the garden as Harold’s raging voice bellowed off the walls of the house. No, it was not a laugh at all, but her name, spoken in bells and chimes, love and warmth.

Catherine stepped over the threshold of the forest, laughter on her lips, as she jumped into the arms of the beautiful red-headed fairy.

She didn’t leave, wasn’t taken. She willingly left her delusional old life for one of magic and wonder and respect.

Jake stumbled back a step, shaking off the hand of the creature before him. His head was spinning, his stomach turned and his vision blurred as he truly saw the two ladies before him. As he noticed the glow around them, the electricity that danced in their wake.

This town, these people… how could anyone let a woman suffer as Catherine did and not do anything? How could they not see what was right in front of them?

And these creatures, the fairies, Harold painted them as the demons and yet, this fairy was Catherine’s saving grace, her lover, her protector...

They shared a look, the two lovers, before turning back to him. They didn’t say another word as the fairy smiled at Jake, white teeth flashing, and blew him a kiss. They turned to leave, Catherine giving him a wink over her shoulder, before disappearing into their hotel room. Right next door to his.

Jake stumbled as fast as he could to his room, slamming the door behind him as he tried to catch his breath and will his mind to understand what the hell was going on.

It took him a few moments to realize, for the first time all night, he was completely dry.

----------

Light had yet to transform the morning sky when Jake sped out of the Beaumont Motel parking lot. The rain had stopped and the winds were whisked away. Grey clouds lingered in the sky, suffocating the rising sun on the horizon.

What was once a piece of art to Jake was now the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

The mountain reached its claws to the sky, holding all the trees and buildings in the palm of its hand. The roads swerved in and out of its fingers, weather-worn homes running up the forest-speckled hills, trying to escape. The ocean leaped for joy as it played with the rocky cliffs, trying to capture and destroy anything it could reach. The boats bobbed in the water, begging to be let free, while the docks pointed their fingers to the open sea, luring in any desperate and lonely souls to the corrupt town.

The ocean was painted an angry blue against the grey light. The white-capped waves pounded against anything in their way. What Jake once thought was a place of harmony, he realized now, was an illusion.

The image had been shattered, broken beyond repair.

The land had won after all, he realized now. It had conquered Higdon’s Harbour and all within it. There was no agreement, no compromise to live in peace. For nothing could truly defeat nature.

The land cackled against the last remains of the raging storm winds. For it knew the game it was playing; it knew who truly ruled the town. And it was not man.

Jake made it out before the first kitchen light flickered on. Before the inhabitants of Higdon’s Harbour woke and started about their delusional lives. His heart pounded in his chest the whole way, hands shaking as they gripped his steering wheel. Even when he passed the city line, his body refused to relax. Not as the sound of chimes echoed on and on and on in his head.

By the time Jake remembered Harold, he was long gone. And he was too far out to turn back. Too far out to hear the news, or see the headline of the Higdon’s Harbour newspaper that morning. And to hear the otherworldly laugh that accompanied it.

Man Crashes Boat Off Rocky Cliffs In Desperate Search Of His Wife.

#oringinal character #original writing #original story #fairies #tog #acotar #fanfiction #tog fanfic #tog fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #cas writing #personal

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goodlucksnez · 3 years

Text

short t/odoroki quirk flu

AGED UP T/ODOROKI

I wrote this IDK i if it good or if i should continue but enjoy

It was October again...a glorious October, all red and gold, with mellow mornings when the valleys were filled with delicate mists as if the spirit of autumn had poured them in for the sun to drain — amethyst, pearl, silver, rose, and smoke-blue. The dews were so heavy that the fields glistened like cloth of silver. Todoroki walked in the dewy morning to the agency his feet dragging on the slightly darken surface. The golden light pierced his orbs the headache he had been nursing kicked up in intensity and he winced in response. As the blue outline of the agency began to come into view, he swallowed his pride and gathered the energy to push the metal doors open into the warm interior.

Todoroki at the age of 24 created his agency to the dismay of his father. He had around 50 employees who all reported to him. When he entered the building the dull hum of the fluorescent lights pained him and he winced as he made his way into his office ignoring the pain and the increasing congestion in his face.

Once he sat down in his chair, his assistant came rushing in. “Good morning Sir.”

“Please Nightmare I told you to call me Shoto. But continue.”

“Of course, your morning was uneventful I assume. Well, here are your files and remember you have a meeting at 2 o’clock.”

“Thank you, Nightmare. If you could take all my calls this morning, I have a bit of a headache.”

She nodded and closes the door more quietly. As Shoto opened the desktop and logged into the files of the arrest in the past week. As he clicked on a rather interesting case called position dagger his nose started to itch and run. As he sniffled back the congestion the itch increased in intensity. He scratched his nose with his left hand. While he began to type, he found his eyes beginning to close and he turned his chair away from his desk as his breath begin to hitch.

“-ISSHoo-!! hhisSShww!- ISSHwww!”

As he covered his nose and mouth with his hand, he could not help but notice the small amount of snowflake flutter out before melting in the inside of his palm. He brushed off the strange incident as a rare occurrence, just a mishap with his Quirk. When he turned his chair back to his desk he could hear the fast footstep approaching signaling an interruption from an employee. Before the person in question could knock he pushed the button under his desk that automatically opened the door. What he says before him was no surprise. The lightly blue wavy hair was up in a messy bun and her eyes told the story something was up.

The girl spoke. “Sorry, Sir but you are needed on the front lines, The Kanto region as requested backup from all Pros in a 50 miles radius.” The girl spoke with such speed and clarity he was honestly impressed. “He gathered his thoughts quickly and cleared his throat before speaking “Thank you Melody I assume this is because of the recent gang-related violence.”

“Yes sir they seem to have taken multiple locations hostage and are asking for all pros to be bought before them.”

They both nodded in unions knowing this was some type of trap, but still, public safety was their number one concern. He gathered his gear and headed to the roof waiting for his transit to pick him up.

-----

Once he made his way to the first location he could see other familiar faces as other Pros glance his way. He simply nodded and took his place in line and observed the situation. The front of this building which looked like some kind of bank was barricaded with what looks like any furniture the gang out find. Police lights and helicopters danced over the reflective windows and he could see some moving shadows inside. He groaned the bright lights were not helping his headache and he pushed back the intensive thought that it may be getting worse. Within minutes the door opened and a figure approached the police line and shouted.

“Welcome to your doomsday hero's” The voice was amplified and bounded off the walls of the other building in complete clarity. Immediately all the Pros were on high alert. The gang was known for pulling stunts like this and failing their resolve to end hero society was strong.

The leader of the Pro's stepped forward. A man Todoroki had never had the pleasure of meeting but attended many meetings with. He had a teleportation-type quirk and was known as the multiplier.

“We have gathered as you said now let the hostages go and we can proceed.”

The figure laughed and pointed a weapon to the line of pros and spoke. “You call these Pros I bet I could take every one of them with my eyes closed, what happened to the good old days where only one could instill fear in the heart of us.”

Todoroki sighed he was tired of hearing this type of speech from gangs. But soon the man continued. “Why I see nothing but failed offspring of those who had all the power and look at them now all lined up ready to get executed.”

The words sparked something in Todoroki and he could feel his left side spark for a moment, he quickly stopped the flame and shook his head. But the man continued.

“Fine let the hostages go we have no use for them.” As the hostages were released comfort heroes quickly gathered them and took them aside to be evaluated and tend to any wounds they had received.

With a sudden crack, the pavement they stood on began to shake and crumble with lightning-fast reflexes all of the pros dispersed many activating their Quirk to stay grounded

Todoroki build a nice bridge a few feet off the ground and stood on it and watched as the earth opened up most likely a Quirk from one of the gang members still inside the building.

The chief commander spoke. “Is it a fight you want?”

The figure lowered its head as dark clouds began to gather over them the distant sound of thunder could be heard and as the figure raised it to head their eyes black and glazed over he simply stated “it’s time.” And the battle began.

Rain began to pour as the gang member-initiated his weather-type quirk and soon all of the pros were in a rainstorm. Todoroki wiped his hair from his eyes and set his eyes on the visual of the front of the building. Soon many members of the gang were beginning to exit the building activating their type of quirks and you could see a full battle was in store for him.

Todoroki hated heavy rain. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, and unless it was humid, made part of his quirk completely useless. Luckily, he still had some cover from the rain, but the strong wind and rain made him regret designing a sleeveless hero outfit.

Whatever. He didn’t have time to be cold. Todoroki knew he was in danger when a fist connected with his torso and he was knocked prone. As he gathered his vision again, he could see a short-haired man had him pinned to the ground and was getting covered in some type of grey substance he realized it was cement. He acted quickly and activated his fire to melt the thick substance and he soon kicked the gang member off himself and darted into the nearest alley to recover and rest. He knew he was bleeding when thick crimson began to block his vision.

Luckily for him, all of the pros combined with the strength and protection of others quickly defeated the gang, and what was a battlefield within minutes could be seen as a failed attempt to go back to their old ways where one hero was in charge.

---

He doesn’t remember how he got back to his agency he just remembered the bright fluorescent lights of their little medic and the white cotton sheets which were slowly turning red. He closed his eyes as he felt the healing power of one of his nurse’s power course through him and within seconds the pounding of his head lesson to a degree.

He sat up groggy and winced in pain as he could feel his muscles were sore and the congestion, he had been fighting back all-day shift in his face. The cheerful nurse he had hired spoke up “Well sir I’ve healed all of your injuries but overall, the battle was a success.”

He nodded and smiled a little he looked at the clock across the room and saw it was midafternoon he pushed himself off of the bed allowing his feet to connect with the floor and slowly walked back to his office.

Once he lowered himself in his chair, he took a minute to collect his thoughts however it was at that moment the itch decided to rear its head again and he found myself hunched over in a pre-sneeze limbo.

“Heh’Psh’ieww!!! Heh-ISHieww! hih’PSH! Hih’PSHH!!”

As the sneezes racked through his body, he felt the tight grip he normally has on his fire slip, and as he sneezed for a final time a rush of flame burst from the young Pro. Like his father, the flames licked the side of his face and his eye began to tear from the immense heat. As he looked at his arms, he could see the flame-resistant material struggling to stay intact, this flame was even hotter than his father's….as he sniffed and tied to gain control of his quirk, he heard a sound. He flicked his eyes over and saw the source of the noise.

A curly green-haired man was standing in his office with his mouth agape and was producing a sound that could only be described as a skipping record. Todoroki closed his eyes and put his head in his hands as he regained control of his quirk and said with a muffled voice.

“Hello, Midoriya.”

----

#Vic writes #sneeze #sneezy #snez #sneezefic #snezfic #bnha fic #bnha todoroki

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fugitive-96 · 3 years

Text

Uptown Girl (A TG/TF story)

"Yes, we'll go over those tomorrow morning. I've got a meeting with the board of directors at 17:00 so I won't be able to get to those yet, just give them to me when I get to my office tomorrow, oh I've got 13 messages too? Great well I'll check those after my meeting, okay thanks Claire." Hanging up his phone David Prammer leaned his head against the headrest and sighed in the back of his limousine.

He was a very wealthy man, head of a cosmetics company that his family had been running for nearly a century now, but the workload was a lot for him. He was never greedy or ungrateful for his fortune, but at the same time he wouldn't have described it as his 'ideal life'. He'd always been surrounded by wealth and now had a job that he'd inherited rather than actively chosen to do.

Honestly if he could drop his job tomorrow he would, but unfortunately things weren't that simple, although David wished things could be more simple.

Pulling out some earphones he plugged them into his phone and surfed through his playlists before coming across one song he didn't recognize.

"Uptown Girl?" He said curiously.

He was hardly a music aficionado as it was, but he'd never heard of this song before, let alone put it on his phone.

"Hey Frank, you ever heard of a song called Uptown Girl?" He called to his driver.

"Can't say that I have mister Prammer." He replied.

David leaned back in his seat puzzled for a moment. Maybe it was one of those songs that came free with the phone he thought, and maybe he'd just never noticed it. Then again he'd had the phone for over 3 years, and every day he'd listen to music on his way to a meeting.

He shrugged and figured why not mix things up a bit, so he leaned back in his seat and hit the play button.

"Uptown girl, she's been living in her uptown world, I bet she never had a backstreet guy, I bet her momma never told her why.."

David quickly found himself getting into the song, nodding his head slightly and moving his shoulders to it before closing his eyes and relaxing in his seat.

As he was getting into the music the limousine drove into a tunnel, the lights inside of it rushing through the limousine's interior highlighting David for barely a second as each one passed in time with the beat of the music.

As he sat there with his head back the song filled his head making him feel lighter, more comfortable as he lay his back drifting into a state of complete relaxation as an invisible force flooded his body.

His face which had tired looking eyes and slightly saggy skin became more taut, giving him a face that no longer resembled anyone, his features had becoming a blank canvas waiting to be given an identity. His neck too looked slimmer than before.

Still oblivious to the changes his shoes began to loosen on his feet, before his suit legs also began to move slightly as they looked baggier around his lower legs, whilst they tightened around his upper legs along with his belt creaking as it was stretched to the sides. His ankles also became more visible as his legs lengthened.

His suit jacket seemed to drop abruptly at the shoulders, as well as his sleeves also looking baggier. The sounds of cotton sliding around were interrupted by a sudden crunching and churning coming from his torso, with his shirt being pulled in where there was once a visible gut and the suit jacket pulled further inwards at the waist.

He then became slightly elevated in his seat when a slushing sound came from his rear, before his body pushed his chest out as his spine cracked, before relaxing now with two visible mounds sticking out through his shirt. As that occurred his lower half jiggled slightly along with a quite and abrupt slurp sound as his suit lay flatter against his crotch. This caused David to let out a moan through his closed lips, but upon hearing it sounding more like a woman it was enough to temporarily snap him out of the haze he was in.

He sat up lifting his hand that had been resting against the car door after feeling what he thought was pins and needles, only to be shocked when he saw his palm and fingers twitch and crack as they slenderized whilst his nails grew out into a more manicured form leaving him with feminine hands. The changes he saw carried along the rest of his arm when his sleeve fell down to his elbow revealing the continuation of the changes. This was too much for David causing him to pass out in his seat with his body still sitting upright whilst his head hung downwards, before out of nowhere a black fedora materialized onto his head with a rim wide enough to conceal his face.

This was quickly followed by the same crunching and churning sound from earlier now coming from his head and face, an audible snap from his jaw along with his lips slapping together.

His shoes then began to pulsate, sucking inwards against his feet before effortlessly tearing open, the torn leather folding out like a blossoming flower as it reached under the back of his feet pulling together into glossy black heels, whilst the toes of his shoes pulled forward and pointed out into the same glossy black completing the set of heels that revealed David's shrunken feet.

His baggy suit legs then began to quiver as they morphed together, slowly pulling their way up his body revealing supple calves and smooth hairless skin covered by tights before stopping just below his thighs, his widened hips and thighs stretching the upper part of what was now the skirt section of his suit until it burst out into a flowing lower half of a dress with a frilled upper section, the whole thing stopped just above his knees.

His sleeves pulled themselves up into his suit jacket before vanishing, followed by his suit jacket and shirt losing detail as his collar receded and his buttons vanished. They morphed together into one single grey piece of clothing that connected to the dress section covering his bottom half, highlighting his now curved figure and the feminine arch to his spine. It then began to shorten, pulling itself partway down his body, leaving his shoulders and part of his upper torso bare whilst it came down further at the back, revealing his smaller torso as his shoulders had shrank and pulled further inwards along with his collarbone being more pronounced along with his shoulder blades. It ran down over his breasts stopping once the peak of the crevasse between them was visible.

By now it had formed a full dress with no sleeves or straps over the shoulders, before the grey colour of it shifted to a black followed by patches of white fading onto it. A black band then slithered out from behind him as it wrapped itself around his waist pulling the dress slightly tighter, further highlighting his new curvature. His phone had vanished as his earphone cord pulled into the earpieces which began to dissolve into a golden liquid that ran down his ears, before the drops formed into a set of dangling earrings.

After that his skin finished smoothening out, any blemishes or hairs vanishing before his already smoothed out skin took on the most golden tan you could imagine, giving his new body a flawless finish that most women would die for.

Despite his head being tilted forward and hidden by the hat there was still some of his face visible, and it was clear from the visibly puffier lips that were glossed over in lipstick that nothing physically remained of the man that once sat in the back of the limousine. There were now visibly pronounced cheekbones as well as the tip of a petite nose peaking out from under the hat.

When he came to David felt groggy as he moved the hat out of his vision and was quickly taken aback by his new form. He looked down at the pair of breasts on his chest before touching them to see if they were real, only to quickly pull back in shock at their sensitivity. A coldness ran down his back and after reaching a hand around to find it mostly left bare he realised there must have been no bra underneath the dress.

That lead to him inspecting his new attire, running his hands down the dress feeling the comfortable material whilst also taking in his new curvature. He moved the skirt section aside and ran a hand down his lower left leg feeling how smooth and supple it was now, staring in shock at the heels that adorned his feet.

The weight on his ears lead to him realizing he now wore earrings and he could feel longer hair kept contained by the hat. With all the other changes he noticed he was thicker in the back and after gently reaching a hand down felt a lack of what used to be between his legs, but after feeling his chest he didn't want to know what would happen if he reached further into his crotch.

He was utterly speechless, he couldn't think of anything to say as he looked up panicked which revealed his new feminine face, which was adorned with makeup and his thinned eyebrows on top of the other features made him look incredibly attractive. Realizing they'd left the tunnel he looked out his window and was abruptly taken aback by not only his reflection, but also what he saw outside, as the city he'd lived in his entire life was now unrecognizable.

Everything around him was strange, it looked like somehwere around the 1940's with the cars, the buildings and the fashion, but there was a weird foggy looking glaze over everything. Looking around the car it then became clear that he was no longer in the same vehicle, it was much smaller and less comfortable, with an older looking interior with his driver wearing a new uniform. If he had to guess he'd swear it looked like the interior of an expensive car from the 40's.

He was about to ask his driver what was happening but upon trying to speak his name nothing came into his mind. He'd been friends with his driver for years he thought to himself, how could he forget his name?

He saw the car pass by a broken fire hydrant before it pulled up by a vehicle repair shop.

David still in complete panic began to notice mechanics approaching who were singing the song he'd been listening to earlier which made his whole body stiffen, he couldn't move or even speak as his body sat there with a panicked expression, all he could do was cry out desperately in his mind as the song began to flood his every thought.

"No, this isn't right! I'm not a woman, I'm an uptown girl. NO! God please get out of my head! I'm getting tired of her high-class toys. This isn't real, It's just a dream and when she wakes up, and makes up her mind. Please! I never asked for this, I never asked to be looking so fine. I mean, I wondered what it would be like to have a new life but she's got a choice. No, none of this has been my choice! You can't treat a girl like me this way! Oh no, did I just think of myself as an uptown girl. I'm looking for a downtown man. I was thinking that I'm looking so fine. When she's walking, she's looking so fine. When she's-an uptown girl-looking so fine-when she's walking-looking for a downtown man. What are you doing to my mind, and why is it feeling so fine?"

The more time he heard the lyrics the less he began to panic and the more he enjoyed them, he couldn't tell if they were eroding his mind's attempts at resistance or if he was just letting the lyrics slip in, either way the pleasure of hearing those words was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

"Ooh.. is this how it feels to be an uptown girl? It feels so good to be an uptown girl. Oh, I think I've made up my mind."

With that whatever his name was before didn't matter to him, what she was now was all that mattered, and soon it would be all that she ever was. Thoughts of jewelry, pretty dresses, makeup and looking hot as hell flooded her mind, wiping away everything else as her once fearful expression shifted into a pleasured grin.

'*Giggle!* Well I'm an uptown girl, and I've always been living in an uptown world.' Echoed through her head as all traces of David Prammer had been expunged, she was the uptown girl now.

She sat there watching the mechanics working and cleaning the car listening to the song they were singing, it was truly quite charming she thought. She rolled down her window as she sat with a smile on her face just enjoying listening to the music and watching those delightful downtown men at work. She'd never been around men like them before but she could think of nothing but how much she wanted them.

Her driver seemingly adjusted to the new reality walked over to her door and opened it, and almost as though it was second nature to her she stepped out, her left hand resting on her collar bone as she strutted in her black heels, clearly knowing how to walk as a woman and look good doing it as the mechanics followed close behind her still singing and dancing.

As she strutted gracefully around the place she couldn't believe how good it felt, she'd never felt anything like it she thought as she continued showing off her body. She was an uptown girl, tired of living in her uptown world as she teased the men with her body, before she too started to dance to the song that was flooding her mind.

She was in sink with the mechanics with a grin on her face, she was part of this world now, all there was was the song, her song. She'd become a part of it, and it had become a part of her. She could do nothing but grin ear to ear as she danced.

She took one of the men by the arm after he offered it and let him lead her over to a motorbike which she climbed onto the back of, holding onto him before taking of her hat and shaking out her luscious blonde lochs as she was driven away from the repair shop, which had a billboard on its roof displaying 'Uptown Cosmetics' which featured her posed alongside their products, her new and easier life had just begun.

#tg #tf #tgtransformation #tgtftransformation #tgtfstory #tgtf #gender transformation #gender bender #1980s #music video #1940s #1940s women #identity death #mind alteration #minderased

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septembers-kingdom-of-dreams · 3 years

Text

September's Kingdom of Dreams

Chapter 4

BODY OF 37-YEAR OLD HIKER FOUND IN CAMPING TRAILER!

Nancy Baker was reported missing two weeks ago. Now, with a devastating result, the search has come to an end. Mrs Baker's body was found in her camping trailer in the Alaskan woods. She was determined to have died of internal bleeding two weeks ago, although the cause of those is currently unknown.

Mrs Baker was an aspiring fantasy author, whose Queen Nauria trilogy had great success within the past years. She is survived by her husband, Mr Mark Baker, and their five year old daughter September.

***

His entire life, Mark Baker had been the most normal man anyone could ever think of. Anything he'd ever wanted was to live a happy, long life with his family.

But that normal was over now. Nancy was gone and left him with a few new housemates. Uncertainty. Worry. And worst of all, silence. The house had never been so quiet before.

September was staying with her grandparents while he was settling all the paperwork around Nancy's death. There were bills to pay and documents to fill out. Losing a part of your heart was expensive. It took a toll on you, both emotionally and financially.

It was late in the evening and the sun was setting over the house in the suburbs. Mark was in Nancy's study, sorting the remainder of her writing. So many unfinished stories, stories she'd never tell.

And suddenly the telephone rang.

It took a moment for Mark to realize what was going on. For a few seconds he stared at the phone in utter confusion. Then he realized he should probably pick up the call.

He reached out and shivered when his fingers touched the cold black plastic. It was an old phone. Nancy had liked old things.

Then he took the call.

"Mark Baker, how can I help you?"

A rough female voice. Nancy's mother. "Mark. Who's the next dreamer?"

Mark frowned. "Mrs Clifton, I just came home from a funeral. I literally just had to bury the love of my life. Don't you think this is the wrong moment to ask?"

"Mark, this is serious. If a dreamer is violently killed, the energy can leap over to anyone. Hell, it could be your own daughter for all we know."

His brown eyes suddenly widened. "September?!"

He could practically hear his mother-in-law nodding. "September. Mark, I think she's next. I saw her drawings today... it's exactly what Nancy drew as a child."

He shook his head. "Nancy always told her stories from... from the other side. I'm sure she's just drawing the things she heard of."

"She's not, Mark." Mrs Clifton took a deep shaky breath. "She's drawing a war."

***

"Hey Grey, what are you doing later on?"

He glanced up and his brown eyes met Syllie's. She grinned at him. A strand of her curly purple hair was hanging into her eye.

"Oh, I don't know yet, probably go out and eat something..." Grey shrugged his narrow shoulders.

"If we don't get arrested that is." Syllie smiled, showing her small white teeth. "We live in dangerous times after all."

"Syllie, we work in a library. What can possibly go wrong?"

"Grey, we live in a dictatorship."

"Shhhhhut up, you'll be heard." He chuckled. "I can't wait til my shift is over."

"Oh, you and your constant desire to eat." Syllie picked up a stack of books. "Can you help me with these?"

"Sure."

He was about to pick up the second stack of books when suddenly the door crashed open, followed by heavy footsteps. He needed a second to get what was going on. Then the realization hit him with white-knuckled terror.

"Hands up!", a rough voice bellowed as the two of them found themselves surrounded. Syllie dropped the stack of books and raised her shaking hands.

***

Grey had never thought that he'd be arrested. He'd seen it happen to others, yes, but he'd always thought of himself as entirely ordinary. He wasn't the type of person to go and join the resistance. He was a librarian, for fuck's sake, not a fighter.

And yet, here he was, tossed into a dark cell in the vault of Calderia's castle, with no explanation or idea of why he'd landed here. They'd separated him from Syllie too, she was somewhere on the other side of the dungeon. He'd heard hushed whispers about a doctor, but he didn't know a thing. All he could do was wait and stare at the wall of the cell.

"Hey."

Grey spun around to see a man's sunken face in the corner of the cell. He hadn't noticed him before.

The prisoner had cotton candy hair, although it was tangled and bloodcrusted, and intelligent dark blue eyes. His freckled skin was so pale it looked like wax. At first Grey didn't realize what about the man's appearance unsettled him. Then he abruptly realized that the man had eight arms, an unsettlingly long spine and way too many legs, giving him the appearance of a human caterpillar...

He flinched and the man chuckled. There was a bitter note to his voice. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you."

"Wh-what happened to you?", Grey stuttered.

The stranger unrolled his long thin body and Grey realized that underneath the prisoner uniform he was completely emaciated.

"The doctor had a bad day." The stranger's voice was soft, but the bitter note was still there. "And on those bad days, he likes to... experiment."

"Oh. Oh God." Grey hugged his knees. "Does he experiment on everyone?"

"Lately, yes." There was a hint of a cynical smile on the man's thin face.

"Well, that's reassuring." Grey shuddered.

The stranger seemed to have noticed his anxiousness. He slithered over and curled up next to Grey.

"Sorry," he mumbled, biting his cracked lip. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just... haven't talked to anyone in a long time."

Grey glanced up and realized that the prisoner wasn't much older than him. Early to mid twenties, at a stretch. He looked just as scared as Grey felt, he just did a better job at hiding it.

"Nah, I'm sorry," Grey mumbled. "I've been kinda insensitive too."

"You kinda lose track of everything down here, don't you?" The prisoner anxiously chuckled. He turned his head a little and glanced at the ceiling. "I honestly think I'm losing my mind at this point, it's been so goddamn long... I'd deal with the experiments, but the isolation is so much worse."

Grey's eyes suddenly widened. "Wait. I know you."

"Quite a lot of people do." The stranger's smirk was tired. "Or rather, used to do."

"You're-"

"Ey you!", a guard suddenly yelled at him, interrupting Grey. "Get up. Doctor Hallafeen wants to see you."

The pink-haired prisoner's eyes widened in fear when the guard opened the gate.

"Don't beg, just don't beg," he stuttered while Grey was shackled. "That makes it worse, just stay quiet, please!!"

#september's kingdom of dreams

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alolanrain · 4 years

Text

Have some random HC’s for the Champions. Their all in different lengths and I’m on mobile, as always, so be prepared for a LONG post.

——————

I love the very personal, and maybe a very heavy projected, HC I have that Ash is actually really tired all the time but his ADHD just gives him the drive to go Do Things because if he doesn’t he gets really bad anxiety and the giant need to Stim his arms off if he’s not moving. Like it’s hard for him to find the Zone to where he can sit still and not completely vibrate off his seat. So when he’s in Alola he like buys a bunch of different stim toys and Professor Kukui is kind of put off bu the amount he gets and the variety. Like I’m talking chew toys, the ones with silent buttons and tiny joy sticks, ones that just have weird textures that you just rub between your fingers, etc. Ash keeps them up in the loft near his bag of clothes and away from where Rockruff/Lycanroc can get to them and only takes one until it’s either destroyed/lost/or he ends up giving it to one of his friends who need to get some extra energy out and they usually forget to give it back to him until the end of the day. Kukui starts to see Ash’s grades rise pretty steadily and even starting to surpass a few others in the class, though he still lacks in certain categories like Math and Reading. Surprisingly Ash is excelling rapidly in the writing and history portion and during history lessens actually gently corrects Kukui on a few more really big recent events.

——

So like all the Champions father around for a more personal Q&A type of interview and one of the questions are “what’s your favorite type of flavor/food/dessert/etc? and why?”

Ash excitedly blurts out honey and that actually surprises a few of them, they honestly thought Ash would just say that he liked all foods. He goes and explains that his Grandma, before she past away, in Galar had this GIANT honey farm and she had stacks upon stacks of books ranging from dinner books to dessert books that use’s honey in the dishes. She had different flavors of honey, honey ice cream, somehow frozen honey that you suck on like a lollipop, this list goes on and on. She died when he was around 8 and all her bee Pokémon were donated to other honey farmers that she knew and wrote into her will. Delia wasn’t a fan of the bee Pokémon’s so she didn’t get one and Ash was really sad about that. He deflates afterwards and admitted he’s never had any of those treats/foods after her death besides plain honey sticks because he can’t find anything else that matches up to his Grandma’s honey and he’s not very keen on going and finding some bee Pokémon on his own since they need extensive care and constant attention which Ash can’t give with his lifestyle and work load.

Wallace soon pipes up that his favorite food of all time is actually mint chocolat ice cream because he and his dad, before he passed away from stage two Cancer, would go out each weekend in the summer tk a nearby ice cream stand and buy one come each before walking around the park that was right next to their house.

Leon adds that he actually likes food with lavender some how incorporated into it because his dad also liked lavender as well. He always brings a few lavender flowers every time he visits his dads grave with Hop when both are free to do so and that there’s only one restaurant in Wyndon that makes lavender ice cream and he and Raihan goes and get one after every match they have together. Even though Raihan likes stuff with Lemon in it instead of lavender.

Wallace jokes that Steven only likes plain stuff with vanilla in it but Lance fires back that Wallace always tries and makes homemade vanilla ice cream every year in Stevens birthday because he loves him.

Cynthia joins in that she craves mangos most of the time and she admits that she gets that from her Grandpa and even owns a giant cook book with all kinds of recipes with mangos incorporated.

Diantha likes dragon fruit a lot though she doesn’t have anything like a cookbook, she really likes this one restaurant that has a cooked dragon fruit dessert though.

Alder likes anything with cinnamon, he gets some light jokes at his dispense because of his hair color and him liking cinnamon, it was something he always loved from childhood.

———

Lance surprisingly wears the least amount of sleep wear among the Champions while Ash wears the most.

Like the most Lance is willing to wear on his very rare days off is a see through tank top and like some basketball shorts and that’s it.

Ash on the other hand is wearing a pair of sleep shorts under some giant pajama pants he snatched from one of his friends, a shirt, thick ass sweatshirt, and two pairs of socks on his feet.

———

Leon has this thing where he swaps one of his pillows with one of the reigning champions pillows. Like he has a red silky one from Lance, a soft white sliky one from Diantha, a long tan cased one from Alder, a black one from Steven and Wallace, and finally a grey t-shirt cotton one from Ash.

R*se tried to sneakily switch those pillows out for ones that actually match Leon’s room decor and bed spread. Leon got really offended that Rose would do such a thing, let alone having a fucking spare key to his house when Leon knows for a fact he didn’t say R*se or Oleana could have one, and promptly moved all his stuff from his house back to his mum’s and then sold his Wyndon house. R*se called Leon a child but Leon had called him out over Twitter and started the trend #PillowSnatcher

———

Alder can sing and sing very well. He usually only does it when one of his fellow colleagues are stressed or panicked. It’s deep and ironically his favorite song to sing under his breath is Chocolate Rain.

He finds it worryingly that he sings to Ash most of the time after he joins them on the line up, that and Leon is also an increasingly new occurrence.

———

Lance is League DadTM and Diantha runs an account where she, Cynthia, Alder, and the rest of the League try and catch Lance being a DadTM to Ash, Leon, and younger league members. It’s always captioned with “League Dad Strikes Again!” And Lance both hates it and loves it so much because it means he’s getting soft but Lance also doesn’t want to stop being a League DadTM because of the way the younger League always smiles more brightly at him when Lance remembers what snack or drink they like to consume after a hard day or by even just remembering their name at all.

He especially loves it when Ash gets all tired, this happened when he was much younger and started out as Lance’s secondary Champion, and sways on his feet back and forth nearing the end of a social gathering or some other kind of high end event. He was Lance’s escape excuse and he also liked to pick Ash up and have the kid snuggle into him. That action always bright him some sort of comfort knowing that he’s helping Ash.

———

On Mario Kart night they always end off it with a short Disney movie. Ash always finds himself squished between Lance and Leon. They’ed take the deepest couch to accommodate both Leon and Lance’s shoulder width. Ash would be settled on Leon’s chest and Lance would be facing away from the screen and curled up in Leon’s side. None of them really remember when this started but it soon became their end of the night ritual.

Leon also had to carry Lance and Ash back up to their secret rooms and more often then naught Leon got pulled into one of their beds for continued cuddling.

———

Speaking of Game Night!

Ash is usually the first one to the house that they always rent, and by ‘rent’ I mean it’s Wallace’s passed Uncles house that was given to him through his Will and that Wallace let’s people rent it out because it’s big and fancy and really affordable, and sets up everything.

This is where Ash’s keen sense of smell comes into play heavily becaus to him if one Champions smell mixes with another it could cause him to go into a bad headache. Like if the two Champions are cuddling or standing together Ash is completely fine! It’s just the objects that reek with their smell.

Wallace and Steven are by the lover sofa closest to the fire, Cynthia and Diantha have their blankets and pillows spilling onto the floor off of the two person sofa because that’s how they usually end up, Lance is mostly on the floor or he’ll join Alder who has the longest Sofa in the furthest in the back because he likes to read and also people watch the other Champions having fun, and Ash and Leon mostly share the more deeper width couch since Leon likes to use this time to catch up and sleep and Ash likes to use Leon as a cuddle buddy.

All their stuff is color coded as well; Wallace has teal, Steven has gray, Diantha has black, Diantha has white, Alder had reddish-orange, Lance has a dark red, Leon has purple, and Ash has dark blue.

Usually at the end of the night everyone kind of steal one thing from everyone else’s piles throughout the night. Like Wallace and Steven would be sharing one of Lance’s blankets and Wallace would have stollen Diantha’s Pangoro Pillow Pet. Alder has taken one of Ash’s pillows that had fallen to the floor and one of Stevens gray weighted blankets out of his thirty-something spares because EVERYONE likes to steal his weighted blankets instead of bringing their own.

———

All the rest of the adults are very worried for Ash’s mental health and would constantly ask if he’s okay or if there’s anything they can do to help support him or his friends. Like the kid could ask for anything and they’ll try their damn best to get it for him because Ash has risked his life for the world and their Region. It’s the least they can do for him.

This also causes Ash to get very awkward and uncharacteristically shy most of the time or to start crying softly because what their doing is a hell of a lot more then a lot of people back at his home town and this is including his mom and Professor Oak who prefer not to talk about Ash’s... Little Incidents.

The first crying session had Lance practically pulling tooth by tooth out of Ash until the older champion got the whole storie. Lance then preceded to pull every blackmail, illegal evidence, and use almost every advantage of his title and position to get the kid to be able to meet Lance’s therapist. Ash was floored and very shy through out most of it until the end when Lance’s therapist made a little headway into Ash’s obvious PTSD and problems.

It’s kind of become their thing that every time Ash is home for more then a few weeks he and Lance would go to their Therapist for a joint session over something they both share. After they leave they go to a nearby tea shop and talk about some much more lighter subjects.

———

Ash bickers a lot with most of the Legendaries. It’s gotten to the point of sibling like name calling. There’s videos taken of Ash calmly calling Zekrom a dirt eater or Kyogre a off colored off sized Wailord.

———

Back to the favorite food thing. Ash has this stupid fucking OP ability where if he consumes any kind of thing with honey in it, all his open wounds/big bruises would magically stitch back together. No one, and including Ash, knows where he got the stupid ability or when it started to happen but after every big Incident or when he gets hurt Ash, his friends, or a league member would go quickly grab him something with honey in it.

His favorite so far has to be some hibiscus tea with honey that Professor Kukui made him after they had come back from saving Lusamine. Ash had gotten large bruises at his side and Kukui worriedly watched them slowly disappear after like five minutes and Ash had gulped down three cups of the cold tea.

#wolfy talks/writes #headcanons #ash ketchum #professor kukui #champion lance #champion leon #champion diantha #champion alder #steven stone #champion cynthia #champion wallace

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builder051 · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020 day 29: emergency room

powers/no powers, Bucky vs depression storyline

TW for suicidal ideation

_____________________

“Tell me if you feel really bad,” Steve tells Bucky as he tucks him into bed around noon on Sunday. “I mean... you know. If your mind feels worse. Than you just want to be up here by yourself. I’ll take you out to the farm. I’ll take you to the hospital.” Steve gives him a pleading look.

Bucky reluctantly nods. He lies back against the pillows and pulls the quilt up to his chin. “I just want to go to sleep,” he whispers.

Steve nods. “Ok. I can stay if you want. Until you drift off.”

Bucky snakes his arm out reaches for the bottle of quick-acting melatonin on the bedside table. “I’ll be ok.” He pops the easy open lid, shakes out two, and tosses them back. They taste terrible, but he resists making a face. He deserves disgusting pink tablets. He deserves the throbbing headache. He deserves the repetitive thoughts that tell him he’d be better off dead.

“You sure?” Steve asks.

Bucky sets the bottle back down and murmurs, “Yeah.”

“Ok.” Steve gives him a wan smile. “I’ll be downstairs. Yell if you need anything. Or text.” He nudges Bucky’s phone closer to the bed. “Or call. Whatever you want.”

“Sure...” Bucky closes his eyes, if only to get Steve to stop talking.

“Come check on you in an hour or two?”

“Fine.” Bucky hopes he’ll be asleep.

“Alright.” Steve begins to retreat toward the door. “It’ll be ok, Buck. This’ll pass. I promise.”

“Hm.” Bucky turns slightly so his ear is buried in the pillow. He knows he ought to believe Steve. But he also knows that today isn’t the day for his words to be true.

Bucky drops off quickly, though for how long he has no idea. He wakes feeling warm and groggy, a thin layer of sweat beading up on the back of his neck and his unshaven upper lip. Light still streams in around the curtained window, so not too much time seems to have passed, but whether he’s been under for twenty minutes or two hours, it seems to have been enough time for him to spike a fever.

Bucky rolls over onto his stomach, pressing his forehead into a cool spot on the pillow and attempting to breathe in deeply through the barrier of the memory foam swaddled in organic cotton. He smells a hint of laundry soap, though it’s almost completely overtaken by the scent of his own musk. He’s spent far too much time in bed lately without letting things air out.

Bucky’s hit with a wave of disgust that quickly turns to self-hatred. What is he doing with his life? He quit his job months ago; he’s bringing no income into the house. Steve can easily keep them afloat, but when he’s constantly using up sick days and vacation to take care of Bucky, his employment is in danger as well. And that’s Bucky’s fault.

Steve would be better off without him. Bucky’s had the thought before, and now it returns with a vengeance. Steve deserves the opportunity to live without the dead weight of Bucky tied to his side.

But Bucky can’t live without Steve. He can’t care for himself; he can’t open his pill bottles with just one hand to work with. He’d miss his appointments because he either wouldn’t remember or wouldn’t care. Bucky knows Clint and Laura will always be there and willing to help him out, but Steve’s something else entirely. Steve is his. But at the same time, he can’t claim ownership of Steve at all.

Bucky looks around for something to use. Something to take. But his heavy-duty meds are all locked up downstairs, and their aren’t any razors or scissors or sharp objects of any kind in the bedroom. If he goes into the bathroom to look for something, Steve will certainly hear him moving around and come to see what’s going on.

Bucky’s eyes sweep the room and come to rest on the bottle of melatonin on the bedside table. It won’t kill him, he knows, but it’s worth a shot. Maybe he can choke himself on disgusting pink spit,

Bucky pops the lid and pours the tablets directly into his mouth. He swallows at them, forcing them whole into his throat where they burn and poke as the muscles squeeze and simultaneously attempt to accept and reject the foreign objects. He coughs, and several pop back up into his mouth with a splash of mucousy spit. Bucky grimaces and swallows it all down again.

Suddenly there’s a soft knock on the door, and the knob begins to turn. Bucky still has the melatonin bottle pressed against his lips as he struggles to down what’s in his mouth and stuck in his throat. His eyes go wide with panic, and he freezes, unable to force his body to change positions.

“Buck?” Steve says softly, opening the door a crack. He peers inside, then pauses a moment as if he isn’t sure what he’s taking in. Then, “What the hell...?”

Bucky tries to swallow again. Most of the tablets have disintegrated by now, and they run down his throat in a gritty mush that turns his stomach with its medicinal sweetness. “Um...” he starts, his voice quiet and watery.

“What’re you...? How many of those did you take?” Steve rushes forward and pries the bottle out of Bucky’s hand. He peers inside and gives it a little shake.

Bucky’s heart pounds, for it’s clear that the thing is mostly empty. He hadn’t factored in the possibility of getting caught. It’s not that Steve looks angry; in fact, he just looks concerned; but Bucky’s never felt a stronger urge to stop living and disappear from the face of the earth.

“You took a lot, huh?” Steve looks at him with wide, worried eyes. “You don’t... You’re not feeling good, are you?”

Bucky stares at him a second, then slowly shakes his head. He realizes his hand is trembling, and he balls it into a fist in his lap. Bucky’s breaths come in shaky, and tears threaten to spill from the corners of his eyes.

“We need to go,” Steve says softly. “Ok?” He sets the melatonin bottle down and reaches for Bucky’s hand. “It’s not really an attempt, but, like...”

“No,” Bucky whispers. His stomach turns, and he gulps.

“I don’t know if I can keep you safe. And you’re...” Steve uses his other hand to gently cup Bucky’s cheek. “You’re not feeling so good, are you?”

Bucky slowly shakes his head.

“I mean... We can call it poison control. Say you mixed your meds up. Whatever you want. I just don’t think you should be at home right now.”

Bucky just stares blankly at him. “’M not getting dressed,” he mumbles. His head hurts, and his body feels heavy and uncooperative. Nausea plays around his jawline and the top of his throat, threatening to connect with his stomach and turn things even nastier than they already are.

“You don’t have to,” Steve assures him. “Come on. Let’s go.” He sweeps back the covers and offers Bucky his arm. “Just shoes, that’s all you need.”

Bucky shoves his feet into a pair of Birkenstocks and shuffles downstairs, then follows Steve into the garage. He lets Steve buckle him into the passenger seat like a child, then tips his head back against the headrest. He catches sight of himself in the rear view mirror, taking in his pallid countenance and dark, nearly bruised-looking eyes. His lips look red and wet, and the lightest of pink spots bloom above the stubble on his cheeks. He looks ill, which Bucky supposes works in his favor.

“Ok, here we go.” Steve starts the car and backs out of the driveway. “Short drive.”

It’s only about fifteen minutes to the hospital, but for Bucky it feels like an eternity. His stomach jumps into his throat at every stoplight, and the vibrating motion of the car increases the ache between his eyes.

“You ok?” Steve asks around the ten minute mark.

“Hm,” Bucky replies, unable to move his head to nod. It would be a lie anyway, so perhaps it’s better for him to keep his response neutral.

“You’re going grey.”

“Oh.”

“I’m gonna pull over--” Steve starts. Then, “Fuck.” Steve signals to change lanes, but a red sports car immediately swerves in front of them from the other direction. Steve slams on the brakes, and Bucky’s seatbelt clamps down tightly across his stomach and chest.

Without warning, warm and overly sweet fluid begins to pour upward from Bucky’s throat, and before he knows it, his lap is drenched in foamy pink. Momentarily unsure of what’s happened, Bucky inhales and is left choking and sputtering.

“Hang on a sec.” Steve brakes again and manages to make it to the shoulder. He stops the car in a stretch of gravel and immediately throws open his door to sprint around to Bucky’s side.

“Here.” He helps Bucky lean over as his stomach continues to empty itself.

When he’s finished, Bucky flops back into his seat, eyes closed and mouth open, panting.

“I wish I had water or something,” Steve says apologetically. “They’ll have something for you in the ER.”

“Hm.” Bucky gives a tiny nod. He keeps breathing deeply as Steve roots around in the glove box for a handful of napkins.

Once he’s satisfactorily cleaned up, they continue on their way. “I’m so sorry that happened, Buck,” Steve says. “I’m sure there’ll be some Zofran. Some kind of anti-emetic.”

“Do I have to tell them what happened?” Bucky asks in a hoarse whisper.

“You mean the puke? I’m pretty sure that’s self-explanatory.” Steve nods to the damp bile-smelling patches on Bucky’s pants.

“Everything else?” Bucky squeezes his eyes shut again as Steve turns to park the car in the hospital lot.

“That’s up to you,” Steve sighs. “I don’t want you to lie, but I also don’t want you to have to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s your choice. Not mine.”

“Mm.” Bucky taps his teeth together. He’s exhausted, perhaps from the melatonin, or perhaps from the events of the day. “Can I... go to sleep? Just escape for a while?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says honestly. “You can tell them you’re tired and want to rest. I think you’re pretty sick.” He brushes away stray hairs that Bucky hasn’t even realized are stuck to his clammy forehead.

“And you’ll, uh, be there?” Bucky asks, a wave of anxiety suddenly washing over him. “When I wake up?”

“Sure will,” Steve replies. “I always will, you know.”

“I, uh...” Bucky stutters. He swallows hard, unsure if he’s pushing down vomit or emotion. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Steve says reaching to take his hand. “Of course.”

19 notes · View notes

ninja-go-to-therapy · 4 years

Text

Humiliation, Take 2

The original has haunted me since about December 25th 2019 so here have this rewrite

Summary: I really don’t think a summary is necessary but fine. Cole wakes up numb, being carried by a stranger. It only goes downhill from there.

Trigger Warnings: minor pet whump, dehumanization, creepy/intimate whumper, Koshiro in general, and just like... general uncomfy vibes associated with the aforementioned warnings. If that sounds like it would bother you, please don’t read!

2318 words

Cole woke up feeling... strange. He could feel his body moving, being rocked up and down, almost. Everything was numb.

He fought to open his eyes. They were so heavy, and it was almost nice to just sit here, wherever he was, and let the rocking feeling drag him back to sleep.

Almost.

He blinked slowly, even the dark sky too bright for him. It felt like daytime, he thought, but everything was a stormy grey.

There was a canopy of trees up above, snow falling through and coating the ground.

If he could feel his body, he would probably be shivering.

His head was against something solid and kind of fabricy and - oh, was he being carried? That explained the weird rocking, it was whoever was holding him, just walking. What had happened, anyway?

“Wha’s going on?” He mumbled, his words slurred and slippery. Whoever was carrying him didn’t respond.

This time, Cole was certain he had shivered. He wasn’t dressed properly for the weather whatsoever, and shit he was cold.

Had he gotten injured in a fight? No, he couldn’t remember fighting. Actually, he couldn’t remember much of anything. He remembered the ninja all splitting up for the day to search for information about... what had they been working on, again?

That was it. Nothing past that. How had he ended up here?

“Put me down,” he slurred, but once again, whoever was carrying him didn’t respond.

For the first few minutes, he allowed himself to believe that it was one of his friends who was carrying him, perhaps because he’d been wounded somehow?

Something felt funny around his hands.

He stared.

His wrists were handcuffed. Handcuffs, he reasoned to himself in his clouded mind, were not a very good sign.

Wait... he knew he needed to just nudge together the pieces, but he honestly just wanted to go back to sleep and worry about it when he woke up. He was so tired... and confused... and handcuffed, that seemed important.

Wait, this sounded kind of like a kidnapping.

Oh shit.

“Let me go,” he said, but his mouth was full of cotton, his limbs were made of lead.

Whoever was carrying him chuckled. Like, an actual chuckle. Why did bad guys always chuckle?

The trees disappeared, and the sky was vast and open and wide, and fuck, now there was a lot more snow.

Whoever was carrying him set him down, ever so gentle. In the snow. Where it was literally freezing.

It was so cold he almost didn’t care. He was pretty sure that was bad.

Cole struggled to stand, or at least sit up, but he was stuck on his back, staring up at the gray sky, and for the first time he really sympathized with turtles. Maybe VSCO girls had it right.

He flopped his head side to side, at first to get the hair out of his eyes, and then in a poor attempt to look at his surroundings. His eyes first fell on his kidnapper.

Something about him seemed... familiar. Cole couldn’t put his finger on it. He decided if it was really that important, he would remember what it was.

His captor seemed relatively young — maybe in his late twenties? He wasn’t sure.

He was wearing a dark coat and a beanie, his hair peaking out. He was Asian, with dark hair and eyes to match. He was almost attractive — though he would probably be more attractive if he wasn’t a kidnapper. You know, setting the bar high.

He was just... staring at him. Not saying anything, not moving, just staring down at him with a creepy grin.

Uncomfortable, Cole flopped his head to the other side to see what else was around him. From what he could tell, he was in a clearing, trees on all sides. In the clearing was what appeared to be a little house. Nothing too magnificent, in fact, it almost looked cozy.

Towards the edge of the clearing was an odd wooden pole with a little piece at the top that jutted out horizontally, and then a piece at the end of that, shorter than the horizontal one, that went up vertically. It looked like it would be good for hanging things. But what would you even hang with a thing like that?

His captor sat down beside him, brushing the hair away from Cole’s face. It was much too intimate for a kidnapper, and Cole found himself wishing he could move away.

“Morning, pet,” he murmured, stroking Cole’s hair with a fondness that left Cole feeling even more uncomfortable.

He shook his head away, but his captor just followed him.

“We have a lot of work to do,” he said, and something about the way he said it filled Cole with dread.

He picked Cole up again with a level of care that was really starting to freak him out. What the hell did this guy even want with him? How had he kidnapped him, anyway? He looked completely ordinary. Completely ordinary people generally didn’t kidnap ninja.

It wasn’t until his handcuffs were hooked from the stupid wooden pole that he realized what it was good for hanging, which, as it turned out, was people. His feet were just barely off the ground, and if he pointed his toes then he could just touch the top of the snow.

“You’re gonna be so pretty,” his captor said, touching his cheek with some sort of twisted, condescending fondness. He was taller than Cole, but not by much. He was just the right height to be about even with him while Cole was being suspended.

“Lemme down...” Cole slurred, weakly kicking his legs. Of course, it hardly did anything, and he was left feeling much like a fish caught on a hook.

“You’re adorable,” his captor grinned, petting his hair. “Now, be a good boy and stay here.” With that, he turned on his heal and went straight inside the house.

The world was quiet, like someone had muted it with a TV remote. The only sound Cole could really hear was his own heart pounding. No birds chirped and no wind whistled, and he almost found himself wanting his captor to come back, if only to fill the silence with something.

Still, since he was alone, it was probably the right moment for a daring escape. Which would probably be a lot easier if he could feel his legs.

He swung himself on the pole, attempting to use the momentum to edge closer to the end of the horizontal piece. He forgot, unfortunately, about the stupid little vertical piece at the end. Perfect for keeping a victim from escaping. Dammit.

Still, ninja never quit, and so he tried to get his feet to touch the ground so he could lift the chain on the handcuffs over it... or something.

Which, as all things were, was easier said than done.

Feeling was very slowly returning to him. Stupidly, the most prominent thing he could feel was the strain on his arms. It wasn’t terrible yet, he’d certainly willingly dangled for longer (he was a ninja, for the first master’s sake), but it was different when he wasn’t holding himself up. The handcuffs bit into his skin awfully like this.

His captor came back out, holding a large box. Distantly, with his head full of fuzz, Cole wondered what was in it.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

His captor pulled a pocket knife from it. Oh man, if he was going to be stabbed, couldn’t it at least be while he wasn’t dangling? This just seemed cruel.

The blade was brought to his neck. Cole clenched his teeth, having resigned himself to the pain that was to come, but then his captor spoke.

“Hold still now, pet, we wouldn’t want to make a mess.”

And then the knife was slicing through his shirt. And he was no genius, but he was pretty sure that was different than being stabbed.

Fuck, shit, other curse words, damn this was colder than anything he’d ever felt. The cold hit him so hard his vision went white. He couldn’t feel anything, his mind and his body were detached from each other, he was going to freeze to death.

Something wrapping around his neck brought Cole back. He couldn’t tell what it was, especially not with his eyes squeezed shut like it would keep the cold out. But it was odd, and scratchy, and kind of felt like the tinsel he’d helped put up around the monastery the other day.

Wait...

He opened his eyes, but kept them squinted.

“What are you doing?” Cole slurred, jerking his neck in a pathetic attempt to get it off. His captor just laughed, continuing to wrap the tinsel around him.

It was tied right, almost digging into his skin. It was looped and knotted and when one string of it was gone, another was pulled from the box and began where the last ended.

The strain on his arms only increased.

Why?

What the hell did this guy have to gain from — from dressing him like a Christmas tree?

“You’re doing so well, you’re gonna look so pretty for me,” his captor murmured against his ear.

Cole shuddered. This guy was fucking psychotic. He’d lost his mind — or maybe he’d never had a mind to lose in the first place.

When the tinsel was gone, out of the box came Christmas lights. It wasn’t hard to figure out what would be done with them.

The lights were wrapped around him even tighter than the tinsel was, each knot accompanied by a sadistic bit of praise from his captor. “So pretty,” his captor would say, “you’re so, so pretty, pet...”

The worst part was that Cole couldn’t do anything about it. His body refused to obey him, the most he could do was flop his legs back and forth, which, needless to say, accomplished nothing.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked, his words barely finding their way out of his mouth.

His captor shrugged. “Symbolism.”

“Huh?”

“Why get yourself a few meaningless presents when you could get yourself something even better than the whole tree? Something you know you’ll actually enjoy, that you’ve been wanting for such a very long time.”

He didn’t like that he was apparently what this guy “wanted”.

His captor ran a hand through Cole’s messy hair. Cole wanted so desperately to tell the guy to fuck off or kick him in the groin, but somehow, he didn’t think it would accomplish much.

He was so cold and he couldn’t access his powers — were the handcuffs vengestone, or was it whatever was slowing down his brain and turning it to mush?

He was shivering so hard that his entire body was practically spasming.

“Almost done, pet, just a minute longer.”

“Don’ call me that,” he mumbled.

His captor stopped. He gripped Cole’s chin harshly, eyes narrowed.

“I will call you whatever I want, pet,” he said, jerking Cole’s head up. “You’re mine now.”

What the fuck what the fuck what the fu—

The lights were finished off and out of the box came a star shaped tree topper.

What the hell was wrong with this guy?

The topper was placed on top of the pole.

“There we are,” he captor said, like he wasn’t committing the weirdest, most uncomfortable act of torture Cole had ever been put through. “Look at you... tied up all pretty for me like a Christmas tree... what would your little friends say?”

They would help him. They would save him. They wouldn’t think it was his fault.

“They’d think it was pathetic. They’d think you’re pathetic.”

No they wouldn’t.

“But I, pet, I would never think so low of you. I know what you can be. I can help you become that. Become perfect.”

Cole glared at him.

“You weren’t meant to be a ninja, no. A good ninja would never let himself be so vulnerable.”

His friends would understand. They would...

“Hell, a good ninja would never let himself get captured like this in the first place. A good ninja wouldn’t let his guard down.”

He couldn’t even remember what had happened. Was it his fault this was happening?

“You’re a waste of a ninja. I doubt your so-called friends even plan to waste their time looking.”

He was wrong. He was wrong. His friends cared about him.

He knew this man was crazy, was trying to get inside his head. But his thoughts betrayed him, and he couldn’t stop himself from spiraling into truly considering the idea. Of course his friends cared, but... they had forgotten him when he was a ghost. They had let him get captured before without even telling him the plan. They had left him, all alone, to die, in that cold, dark, horrible cloud —

“Oh, you’re so pretty when you cry.”

Shit! It had only been a few minutes and he was already succumbing to this guy’s twisted words. The ninja wouldn’t give up on him, they were family.

“Don’t you worry, pet. They may not have cared, but I do. You’re mine.” As if to reiterate his point, his captor traced his fingers down Cole’s face delicately.

Cole tried to shake him off, but it got him nowhere.

“So pretty,” his captor hummed, going back to the box and pulling out a camera.

“I’ll have you all trained up in no time. Just you wait.”

Tears were pushing at the back of his eyes again and he couldn’t find the energy to repress them. His face was burning as he cried, whether from shame or lack of oxygen he didn’t know. Maybe both.

He hated the way this man talked to him. He hated being practically naked, tied up, powerless.

“Now smile for the camera, pet.”

29 notes · View notes

bleedingthirium · 5 years

Text

Nines x Reader (Nightmares)

Um, sorry-not-sorry I wrote this??? It was an unfinished Nines x Reader that no one asked for. Okay, thanx, bai. (Quick note, yes I am getting to my requests! This was just something I needed to finish!) As always, sorry if it’s crap. Apologies if Nines is out of character; I think this is my first time writing him. The ending is weak but it’s midnight and I don’t care. NO BETA, WE DIE LIKE DOUCHE-BERRIES!

Being with Nines was extremely difficult. He wasn’t the type that was physically or verbally affectionate. Normally you didn’t mind because you weren’t an overly affectionate person, you didn’t like people touching you. But you couldn’t deny there were moments where you wished he was physically affectionate in some form. Especially when you went to an empty bed most nights. Such as tonight. You had asked for him to stay with you but his excuse was that androids don’t require sleep in the way humans do, and to ‘sleep’ would also mean losing extra hours he could utilize and be productive with. In fair compromise, Nines stayed until you fell asleep, so he isn’t entirely inept as a boyfriend.

You didn’t know this, but Nines literally watches you fall asleep. Not in a creepy way, but in an endearing way. The steady rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair slowly comes out from your messy bun, your top lip escapes its hold from the bottom, leaving the slightest gap to see a glimpse of pearly white teeth that belonged to someone with a radiant smile… He stayed for those moments; because they also calmed him too. As per usual, once you were asleep, he quietly left the room. Gently closing the door behind him before he retreated downstairs to the living room. It was a couple of hours into reading a particular chapter in a psychological textbook (for research purposes) when a sound out of the ordinary reached his ears. Straining his ears (or, more specifically, allowing his audio processors to work on overdrive), his grey eyes narrowed for a moment before turning his attention back to the book. Grey orbs skimmed another few words before the sound interrupted through his audio processors again, causing his LED to flicker to yellow. The fact he heard it a second time he knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Slender fingers slowly closed the book as grey orbs lifted up to the ceiling, the sound seemingly located transpiring from the master bedroom. Eyes narrowed in concern. When he heard a more distressing sound come through, he snapped the book shut, placed it down on the table and made his way upstairs with purposeful strides. Your levels told him that you were still asleep, he was unable to detect any other bodies in the house so he knew you weren’t in any immediate danger. However, the sounds coming from the bedroom were quite disturbing for a time as late as this. He switched the hallway light n as he passed the switch so it would provide enough light for him to see without startling you awake. Opening the door to the room you both shared, he could visibly see your lower half squirming while your arms lay either side of your head; almost as though someone was on top of you and pinning you down. Small whimpers of pure terror fell from your lips but nothing more disturbing than that. Nines didn’t want to envision what you currently were through your sleep. His LED spinning red as three quick strides had him by your bedside and sitting on the edge of the bed. He placed a hand on your shoulder, fingers clasping firmly but gently around the smaller mound of your body. You seem to have struggled more upon the physical weight being placed down upon a body part, regardless it was an innocent area like a shoulder, but it still projected back into your nightmare. “Y/N? Wake up. I need you to wake up for me.” Usually people tend to be gentler and cooing with their words upon waking someone up in the throws of a nightmare, but this was Nines, he operated very differently from everybody else you knew. However, you’ve known him long enough to know that this was his gentle side talking.

Your struggles began to slowly calm down as Nines voice cut through the screaming that was currently filling your head. But it wasn’t enough to yank you from your sleep. “Y/N, wake up please.” A gentle shake to your shoulder had you gasping in fright the moment you were suddenly yanked from your unconscious state, and upon seeing a figure looming over you during your flight mode of fear, you whimpered in fright and struggled to move away, the blankets holding you captive. “No. No! No no no no no please no.” you begged out those whispered pleas as you struggled to get away from Nines. His LED continued to spin a violent red upon your reaction, and his hands immediately withdraw to his side before he got up off the bed completely, kneeling down beside it instead to place the bedside lamp on and to show he meant no harm. He knew this was a reaction humans had when being suddenly awoken from a nightmare, therefore he decided a more docile approach would be more successful in getting you to calm down and come back to your senses; hence why he chose to keep the distance between you both with him crouching down by the bed, allowing you the extra height of authority and power over the room. “Y/N, It’s alright. Your safe, you’re home. Nothing will harm you here. That was my vow to you.” Nines spoke in such a gentle manner; it had been enough to calm you down and refocus since you’ve actually never heard him speak in such volumes… it was almost human. Upon seeing you able to recognize him, he very slowly stood up from his crouched position and perked himself on the edge of the bed once more, twisting slightly to look at you. “I detected a disturbance in your sleep pattern; I thought it best to wake you before you reached levels of distress. However, seeing your reaction, I fear I reacted too slowly.” You didn’t say anything except stare at him with fearful big E/C eyes. Your lips parted, brows furrowed into a slight frown as you tried to explain yourself, but the tears decided to blur your vision before you even had a chance to stop them. They fell down your cheeks, one tear after another. You weren’t sobbing out loud, you just sat there in such a numb state as those tears fell like a cascade down your cheeks. You had long since stopped struggling, shoulders drooped as you stared helplessly at him. Nines didn’t quite know what to do. He’s never seen your this distressed before. He’s never experienced such an adverse reaction from you either; he’s worried if he reaches out to you to physically comfort you, that you would only be triggered back into that frightened state again. But he couldn’t just sit there and watch you suffer alone like this. “Deep breaths, Y/N.” He gently but firmly instructed, this order obviously not being negotiable. “Do it with me.” He offered, gently holding out his hand, palm upwards, fingers outstretched, welcoming you to place your hand in his if you wanted to the physical reassurance. And you did, which was why you immediately placed your hand in his. His fingers enclosed protectively around your hand but he made no other movement to avoid triggering you unless you were the one who initiated it. Normally, from grounding techniques with victims, he would ask them to close their eyes but given your current situation, he knew that wouldn’t be a safe idea for you. “Keep your eyes on me. Breathe in for me. Deep breathe through the nose for 5…4…3…2…1. Hold for 3 seconds, 2, 1… and slowly exhale through the mouth for 5…4…3…2…1… Good. Let’s do it again.” Nines repeated this with you for a few more sets of breathing, he was even loudly inhaling and exhaling with you even though he had no need to with his systems. Regardless, this helped ground you with instructions and a guidance. “How are you feeling Y/N?” You took in a deep, shaky breath and held his hand a little tighter but answered honestly; “Better. I’m sorry for making such a fuss. It was just a stupid nightmare.” Nines LED had flickered to yellow; he had calmed down enough now that your levels weren’t spiking to what would have been critical for an android, but he still remained greatly concerned for your wellbeing. “I would hardly dismiss it as ‘stupid’ considering your reaction during and after being awoken. Would you care to discuss it? I’m under the impression that talking about things is most beneficial. I’m not a psychiatrist who can interpret dreams by any means, but I can offer reassurance if needed.” You shook your head, you weren’t quite ready to tell him about it, or relive the memory. It was very…graphic, and it even felt like it physically hurt even after being awoken. Your heartrate had slowed down but your pulse was still a little higher than normal for you, so Nines opted not to question you anymore regarding your nightmare. His sole purpose was to calm you down. “It’s still quite late, perhaps a cup of tea might help?” “Yeah, that’d be nice.” “Would you prefer I bring it to you?” You quickly shook your head, your grip tightening against his hand, “No! Please… I…I don’t want to be alone right now.” He noticed your level spiked momentarily at the sudden panic, but he didn’t mind if you came down to the kitchen with him if that’s what you preferred. From what he could gather from his research, it would have been beneficial for you to stay in a dimly lit room and remain in bed while drinking a calming tea, hoping it would help you become tired easier. However, that idea seemed to spook you, so he hadn’t any quarrels with you wanting to be up and about at an ungodly hour for a human. He squeezed your hand in reassurance, his thumb gently caressing against the palm of your hand. “Of course. Let me get your gown.” You let go of his hand and immediately wrapped your arms around your legs as Nines went to fetch the white cotton gown you wore regardless of the weather. Admittedly the lack of physical reassurance was a little hard. You wanted nothing more than for Nines to wrap you up against his chest and just hold you, but you also knew Nines did not work like that. He opted to hold your hand instead and you had to settle for that. Still, it didn’t quite help the insecurity that was settling in the back of your mind; the same one that your dream had been based upon.

Feeling a light material drape around your shoulders, fingertips barely touching your skin, you realized Nines had retrieved your gown and you were able to pull your arms through and wrap the material around your body in comfort. Hugging your arms tightly, you climbed off the bed and followed Nines out. Nines watched as you recoiled from any form of physical contact and so he waited for you to join him before leading the way out of the bedroom, down the hall and into the kitchen. While you sat on the barstool at the kitchen counter, he went about preparing you a tea. “Chamomile sufficient?” he asked, sparing a glance over his shoulder to see you nod at his choice of tea for you. Good, he felt better knowing you were having a natural herbal tea with benefits to calming and inducing sleepiness while being void of caffeine that can be found in the black tea you drink during the day.

Letting the teabag infuse in the water for a moment, Nines retrieved the teabag strainer from the top drawer before squeezing it out and passing the freshly brewed cup of tea over to you. He leant back against the stove, palms resting on the edge of the countertop behind him while he studied you as you sat at the counter island in front of him. His piercing blue eyes watched as your fingers wrapped around the mug and you seemed to favour cradling it protectively against your chest rather than drinking it. You barely said a word since walking out of the bedroom and you looked like you were about to cry again. “You look sad.” Nines gently said, and his, oh, so gentle concern was what tipped you over the edge and you finally let out a sob. A hand retracting from your mug to cover your face. “Y/N? What has you so distraught?” “Do I…Do I disgust you Nines? Answer me truthfully. Do I genuinely disgust you?” Your voice was rising to volumes of hysteria with each question you suddenly threw at him. “Y/N, we’ve been together for two years. I think I’ve proven that I fail to find you disgusting in any way, shape or form. Why do you doubt me all of a sudden?” You placed the mug down and dropped your tear-filled eyes from his cold, piercing blue ones. Hugging your own arms instead as your voice lowered to a hushed tone. “You haven’t hugged me; you refuse to touch me…and I don’t … I don’t know what I did…In the nightmare I’m – I’m not as smart as you…and you…I disgraced you…” “Enough.” Nines gently hushed you as he left his position from leaning against the stove to come around to you, pulling out a stool next to it and sitting down upon it. One leg bent with his foot resting on the steel bar, the other foot straight and planted on the floor. His elbow leant up on the counter while his hands clasped together, drooping over the edge. “You awoke in such a fright I feared I would only trigger your further by touching you. I must have misread your signals; had you required physical comfort; I would have given it.” His gaze softened slightly as he unclasped his hands and slender fingers reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “How could you think I’d ever view you as a disgrace?” slender fingers looped around your ear and rested upon your cheek, tugging gently to turn your gaze onto him. “Look at me, Y/N.” Hesitantly, your eyes met his again, and they almost melted beneath his gaze. Nines left himself open with vulnerability, something you rarely see him do – even with you.

“You are my priority. I have vowed to protect you with my life. At no point have I ever doubted your intelligence, your beauty, your heart, or the way you carry yourself every day. I love you.” Those three little words that Nines barely spoke had you throwing your arms around his neck, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond but after a second he wrapped his own arms around your waist and buried his face in your hair as you buried your face in his neck. “I love you too” you sobbed out, muffled against him. Nines quietly held you until you decided to pull away. By then, the emotions were beginning to catch up to you and you quietened down to a very tired state. Being able to read your vitals, Nines stated it was back to bed and even offered to stay the rest of the night with you. You didn’t mind this at all because it kept you calm throughout the rest of the night as you fell asleep against his chest. He cheated a little, however, by heating up his internal systems to a few more degrees warmer so it was cozy warm for you. He felt there was more to the nightmare than just tiny insecurities like that, but you were clearly exhausted and didn’t want to talk about it further, so he left it for now. He’ll gage your mood tomorrow morning. For now, he’ll watch over you as you sleep and hopefully keep those nightmares away.

#nines x reader #nines x reader imagines #RK900 x Reader #RK900 x Reader Imagines #Detroit Become Human #Detroit Become Human Imagines #Detroit become human Nines x Reader #DBH #DBH Nines #DBH RK900 #DBH Nines x reader #DBH RK900 x reader #RK900

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crowbarstodd · 5 years

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Course Of Nature (6)

TW: Brief mention of suicidal intent. I’ll mark the passage with two asterisks (**) before it starts and two when it ends. It’s really short and the rest of the scene will still make sense without it. Chapter Summary: Growth! Ladybug and Robin might not be at odds anymore, and some weird guy with a white streak in his hair helps Mari out. Word Count: 5,263 (a chonky boi) Rating: G except there’s one T scene so uh. PG???? Pairing: DAAAAAMINETTE Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven The thing about Paris being so dark, even at night, was that it was hard for Marinette to fear the things that went ‘bump’ in the night as a child because she was usually able to identify the source of the sound. That absence of terror followed her through adolescence and was probably the reason she felt so comfortable sitting on her balcony rail at two in the morning, when the night sky an inky, unending expanse, and the world was asleep. Everything that couldn’t be explained away by childhood pluckiness could be attributed to being granted magic via miraculous, and there lay the problem.

The park plan was weak. Now that she was divorced from the situation, she could clearly see that her plan consisted of blunder after blunder, and it was only luck that helped her capture the Akuma. Luck, and Andrena’s fast paralysis.

Robin had told her in one of their earliest patrols that she relied too much on her miraculous. Of course it was yelled in the heat of an argument, but he probably meant it, and he was probably right. She remembered clearly enough what he said; that she didn’t know danger because she had yet to truly experience it.

At the time, Marinette was too consumed by hurt pride to properly consider what he’d meant. Though she couldn’t bring herself to agree with him, she couldn’t help but think that there was merit to his criticism.

Marinette picked the park because it was a wide space, easy to clear of innocents, and easy to see in. She’d failed to consider that the visibility would likely give advantage to their long-ranged opponent, and that the lack of cover could increase the fatality of each attack that the villain sent.

She’d been overconfident, and until Robin and Andrena arrived, she had barely half an idea on how to beat the villain. But she hadn’t been scared, or at least not scared enough to think harder or work better. She hadn’t even stopped to check on Chat during or after his time as a cactus, because without realising it, she’d already accepted that it was something that could be reversed with a ‘Lucky Charm.’

In a way, it might have been better to just see the truth in that and not prod any further, but Marinette was an over-thinker through and through. Now that she’d come to this realisation she couldn’t help but wonder if she was being complacent with her duties. What if one day she came across a problem that couldn’t be solved with a chant of a charm. What would — what could she do then.

Marinette brushed a hand through her hair, closing her eyes as a cool breeze swept past her, bringing with it, an end to her introspection, at least for now. She tapped clean nails on the railing, bopping her head to the new rhythm, humming under her breath.

She should have seen him coming.

**“Don’t!”

She was pushed, not too harshly, back behind her white balcony rails, landing reflexively on her feet with bent knees. Perplexed, she looked up, astonished to see her new patrol partner, in all his traffic light glory, perched on her balcony, looking concerned. Concerned for her.

It took a moment to register his shout, but when she did, Marinette could only splutter out a breathless denial. “No! Oh geez, I wasn’t gonna jump, I swear!”**

Robin nodded firmly, but didn’t seem to accept the answer, if his analytical gaze was anything to go by. “Do you want to talk?” His voice was still gruff, but it was missing the harsh quality she’d gotten used to. To be honest she wasn’t exactly sure how to react to him when they weren’t fighting and he was acting so obviously kind.

“N-no, it’s fine. You can go back to what you were doing.”

He let himself into her room, took a seat on her chaise, and beckoned her over with a gloved hand. His thick brows were cocked, as if expectant, and she found very little choice but to oblige, so she settled beside him, offering him a cushion with wooden movements. This was far too strange for her liking.

“You looked deep in thought,” he commented lightly. She caught his eyes wandering, examining her room, and found that she didn’t really mind. It was a lot less ‘Adrien,’ than last year, but her crush had pretty much vanished completely as she learned to treasure him as a good friend. Where Adrien’s face used to be was now occupied by pictures of herself, her friends, her favourite looks and old design sketches she’d made and loved.

They looked nice, she thought, against the pink wallpaper. They looked like home.

“Yeah,” she agreed, unsure of what to say. “I guess I was... Thinking.”

She expected a snort from him, a huff maybe, or any assortment of disproving noise. Of course he knew she was thinking, he’d just commented that she was lost in thought! Instead he hummed like he agreed, and placed a hand on her shoulder, removing it a second later in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting pat.

“My... Colleague, Nightwing suggests exchanging questions might help. If you would like, you may ask me a question and I will do my best to answer truthfully.”

He looked just a little out of his depth, overly tense but clearly eager to do something to help. Marinette found that she liked this side of him, unexpected as it was. “I’d like that,” she replied.

Robin gave the briefest of grins.

“I was wondering... Why did you want to be a hero?”

“I’m a vigilante, I operate outside the law.”

Marinette could have probably helped her responding eye roll, but why bother. “The question’s the same. Why do you help people?”

Robin clicked his tongue, head turning a little to the left, away from her, as he thought. “At first, I believed that Robin was something I had the right to. That the position was important and that I was important because of it... Now... Well now I see that it is both my honour and my duty. Because I know things others do not, and because I can do things that others cannot, it’s the right thing for me to help. In the right way. Batman and Nightwing taught me that.”

Marinette squeezed his shoulder and shot him a small smile. As easy as he was to dislike, there was no denying he had heart. Intention was important to being a hero (which Robin was, despite his claims), and he had good intentions in spades. Truthfully, he was a good hero. Was Ladybug a good hero? Did people think Ladybug was good?

“My turn,” Robin asserted. His face finally turned back to look at her, and in his eyes she saw nothing but blazing honesty. “How are you?”

There were a lot of questions he could’ve asked at that moment. Many more she would have been happy to answer without much thought. But he asked that in particular, and she had a feeling he had been waiting to ask. He’d let her ask first, and her question was hardly easy to answer, but he did it so she could feel comfortable. So he could prove he was good. Did he always work so hard to prove himself?

The least she could do in thanks was to reply honestly. “I’m okay I think. For the most part, anyway. Sometimes... I just get tired.”

“Physical comfort can relieve stress. Would you like a hug?” The ‘Nightwing says’ that prefaced the question was left unsaid, but Marinette heard it loud and clear anyway. Her lips split to a toothy grin, and she couldn’t help but giggle a little at him. He was so stiff, almost robotic sometimes when he spoke, and Marinette thought it was strange he could be so uncomfortable with showing kindness when it was clear that it came so naturally to him.

“I’d really like that, actually.”

This second hug was much more comfortable than the first that surprised her during one of their patrols (technically speaking this was their third hug but there was no way Marinette was counting the disaster of what happened after Robin ditched the meeting), and now that she was prepared for it, Marinette could appreciate it.

The first thing she noticed was that’s the material of his costume felt pretty similar to leather. After that, the warmth of his hold registered, along with the firmness of his grip. His fingers were glued together like he was some sort of mannequin. It was probably a practiced pose, she surmised. It was funny and a little bit saddening that he had to train in something that should be simple and familiar to him. Maybe this hug wasn’t just for her?

He disconnected from her after a count of ten, finally looking satisfied that she was okay. “I’ll be leaving now,” he announced. Quieter, and less confident, he continued. “And... ahem... I care.”

He jumped off her balcony rather dramatically and disappeared into the night. She didn’t bother trying to make out his shape in the shadows, electing instead to shut her door and get some sleep.

Marinette’s head felt heavy as lead when she awoke (earlier than her alarm for once), but her eyes blinked open without too much protest, and her mouth moved to form a smile automatically. The events of last night were still fresh on her mind.

Yesterday she saw a new side of Robin, one she couldn’t have known he was capable of had he not shown her himself. He cared about his job, and he cared about the people. He cared about her.

The weekend was a welcome break from the usual hubbub that was her life, a much-needed peace. Her morning was spent perusing her collection of cloth samples to find the best match for her new summer dress idea. Anything within the cotton family was usually ideal for keeping cool, and Marinette had her eyes set on a square of grey-tinted, light blue chambray. But she hadn’t ever been fond of chambray dresses… Maybe a romper? Decisions, decisions…

She placed the square down with a huff, eyeing it critically beside her newly revised design. The thing about sketching something new was that she’d probably be needing more fabric, and frankly, she really wasn’t up for walking a whole block to get an extra meter. She glanced back at the design and groaned. She could almost feel it stare back, begging to be made. It’d look so much cuter on a person than on the page…

Marinette stomped her feet, just a little irritated with herself, but too overtaken by excitement to feel any sort of real anger. A quick snack, and then she’d go. With luck, she wouldn’t encounter any distractions and she could come back before one o’clock to finish her piece.

Trailing down wooden steps was a challenge with fuzzy socks on, but she didn’t fall once (don’t act too shocked, now), so she was in a relatively good mood as she entered the family bakery. “Hi maman!” Marinate greeted cheerily, giving her mom a swift kiss on the cheek.

“Marinette!” Her mother beamed, “perfect timing! I was just about to call you dear, your new friend is here.”

New friend?

Slowly, she pivoted on her heel. “Ah!” Marinate startled, placing a hand against her chest. She leaned against her mother, heart still pounding from shock.

It was less Damian’s presence that surprised her, and more his watchful eyes glaring straight at hers, unblinking as she saw him for the first time that day.

He was sipping calmly from his cup of tea, sniggering openly into his cup, as his brother (woah Dick Grayson was dreamy when he laughed) turned in his seat her an apologetic smile. “Hey there, Marinette right?”

“Uh… Yeah.”

Dick grinned, leaning on the back of his seat to get a good look at her face. “I was worried when Dami disappeared yesterday, and when I asked him where he went, he gave me a slice of Gâteau Basque, and I knew I had to come try all the other cakes. Your parents are really good bakers, Marinette.”

He had an energy to him that made him feel welcoming, and seeing Damian scowl at the back of Dick’s head struck her as familiar for reasons she wasn’t quite sure about yet. “Thanks! How’d you guys get here without getting caught by Paparazzi? I saw your other brother get hounded by a bunch of cameras like an hour ago on the news.”

Damian smiled, teeth bared like some sort of feral animal. “We used our superior evasive techniques.” Marinette was tempted to take a step back. Damian didn’t seem like the smiling type, and that look only barely passed as a smile.

Dick sighed tiredly, though his eyes, trained on his little brother, were still fond. “He tipped the paps off about Tim and took the long way ‘round them. They were easy to avoid ‘cause they were all swarming Tim…”

Marinette felt her lip twitch upward. It wasn’t that she approved of his actions, or that she wanted to encourage it, in fact she was sure Ladybug should feel upset about it. Marinette was bemused. “Sounds superior alright,” she allowed. She waved them goodbye as she made her way out of the store, stopped only by the sound of her mother clearing her throat.

“Marinette?”

She turned. “Yes?”

“Your shoes.”

Oh. Right, she’d come down to get a snack before leaving. Dick and Damian’s eyes felt like heat lamps against her cheeks, and she did her best to hide behind her hair as she ran back up to her room to slip on her flats.

She sped past the boys, shooting Damian a look when she heard him snicker at her. Her maman was waiting by the door, tin-foil wrapped croque-monsieur extended out to her. Marinate gave her mother a grateful hug, impatient to leave, and even more impatient to get her design started.

‘Lemon Crafts’ always seemed to smell vaguely of lemon zest and fabric softener, the most pleasing combination to Marinette’s nose, and she’d frequent more often than she already did if their yellow lights weren’t so painfully bright. It was lucky for Marinette that she could comb through racks and cloth bins of fabric with her eyes shut; the store was almost a second home to her.

They hardly ever re-arranged their layout, and the speakers were always broken so that a solid thrum of bzz rang through in a delightful tenor that flittered to the back of her mind, and out of her thoughts. Regardless of the time of day, or year, the place managed to look, sound, and feel the same. Marinette felt it was a sort of liminal space, one that was oh so easy to peruse and lose track of reality within.

Today, however, she had her eye on her phone as she sped to aisle three, skipping through a tempting assortment of prints and cloths to find the specific roll of cotton.

There was a tingling that started on the back of her neck that trailed down the base of her spine, which left her feeling antsy and uncomfortable. She heard the familiar click as her purse opened from the inside and kept her back straight and walking pace steady as Tikki stuck her head out.

If her Kwami had suddenly gone alert as well, nothing good could be happening. Or maybe it was something exceptionally good? Probably not, but optimism was always welcome.

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed quietly. Subtle as she could, Marinette looked down at her purse, at Tikki who’s head was hardly peeking out. “The man behind the cashier won’t stop looking at you. I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

Marinette looked at him from the corner of her eyes, hands running over denim blends, pretending to examine them. He looked young, just a little older her, probably in his first year of university. His brown curls were tucked behind him in a low pony, earrings dangling from his elf-like ears. He didn’t look particularly dangerous. “I think it’s fine, Tikki, she whispered.”

Tikki let out a disproving sound, but didn’t say anything else, choosing instead to settle herself back in Marinette’s bag.

The chambray was where it was the last time she’d come and bought it. Ten meters seemed excessive for a romper, but it’d be nice to have a collection with a running theme, and the fabric was just begging to be bought.

But was it worth it? 10 meters really was a lot, and it was expensive too! It was sixty-five euros, and while she had that money, she might have something more worthwhile to buy at a later date.

“Marinette he’s still looking at you!”

Her head raised to meet the cashier’s unfeeling, brown eyes.

She dropped the fabric like it was on fire, and left the store, walking as naturally as she could. Her skin itched, feeling his hard stare on her back, and she wanted nothing more than to sprint out of the store.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t ever remembered seeing him, and she knew almost everyone who worked at ‘Lemon Crafts’ on weekends because she visited so often. She really should have listened to Tikki earlier.

She barely made it out of the door, when her ankle twisted painfully, and she tumbled down to the ground.

Marinette gasped as she fell in what felt like slow motion, bag slipping from her hold as it slid against the pavement and away from her. Her blazer fluttered in beats, arms reaching out to catch her body before her brain could even fully comprehend her descent.

Her bag skidded to a stop, the lucky charm Adrien gifted her dropped to the floor with a click, yet she remained suspended, the tips of her toes the only part of her body still flat on the ground, the rest of herself held up by a grip on the back of her blazer.

“Geeze kid,” a rough voice greeted her, as her faceless saviour entered her line of sight, placing her back down. He was smirking at her, as though entertained by her clumsiness, face framed with wild black hair, marred by a strip of white. “Careful next time, yeah?”

Marinette nodded mutely, accepting her dropped items from the kind stranger. She watched his back as he left, hands in his pockets, strides wide and confident. He turned the corner, fluid as water, and slipped out of sight.

Strangely enough, he reminded her of Robin.

____

Marinette sat rigidly on one of the many beams that supported the Eiffel Tower. Her hands folded on her lap, too frozen with embarrassment to brush away the hair of her pigtails that were whipping her face thanks to the force of the winds.

Robin sat on the other side, far looser, with legs swinging, though his arms were crossed tightly against his chest.

Between them, ice-cream from Andre’s melted, untouched.

“How can I give you my apology ice-cream if you won’t even look at me?” Robin huffed.

She wondered if there was a difference anymore, between her mask and her cheeks, or if she looked like a tomato with legs. She turned her head to the side, unable to make eye contact with him, as she spoke. “I can’t look at you without thinking of that night.”

You were fine yelling at me just yesterday against that grossly garish villain.”

“Believe it or not, an Akuma is a great distraction.”

“I would argue that the Akuma was the goal and that the night is the distraction.”

“You would argue about anything, Robin.”

Marinette knew he was making faces at her behind her back when he didn’t reply instantly. She could probably operate like this for the rest of their time together, staring at rusted metal instead of his face. She already knew he was rolling his eyes, anyway.

Robin let out a familiar ‘Tt,’ and sighed dramatically. The old iron whined as Robin shifted. “If you’re still hung up about the kiss—“

“It wasn’t a kiss!”

“Well. Anyway—“

Marinette turned to face him at last, insistent and overflowing with humiliation. “It wasn’t!”

And it really wasn’t. The night had started out almost fine. Robin was in the middle of a tantrum so there was that, but he was relatively nice, and she was doing a favour for Chat which was always good for supplying warm fuzzies.

~~~yes this is a flashback lmao~~~

Marinette had found him on a tree at Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, one knee bent to his chest, while his other swung loose and free, like it was at present. He hadn’t seemed surprised to see her come, though he was notably disgruntled.

“What do you want?” He had demanded, though less acidic than usual.

Marinette had shrugged and walked closer. “Just seemed like the right thing to do. Can I sit with you?”

“It’s your city.”

She used her yoyo to swing herself up, landing beside him with a thud, rustling leaves, her added weight pushing down on Damian’s branch. “It’s your tree. For now, anyway.”

They sat like that for half an hour, almost, just staring out at the park, and the late-night walkers, with their partners and their dogs. After that, the two of them started calling out dog-breeds they could see, and only when it was around two in the morning did the proper conversation start.

“Mind telling me why you stormed out?”

Robin’s response was bitten out with a certain degree of aggression. “Are you my therapist now?”

Marinette had shook her head, a little disappointed in her partner, but hardly surprised. “No, but you’re my partner now. I guess I’m a little worried.”

“It won’t affect my performance if that’s what you mean.”

Marinette knocked his elbow with her own, frowning. “No, I’m worried about you.”

Robin had turned his head to look at her faster than she’d ever seen him move before. He looked completely distrusting, but his eyes couldn’t lie, and in them she saw hope. “Why would you do that,” he’d sneered, upper lip curling.

“I’m not sure,” she had answered honestly. “Feelings are just like that.”

“If you mean to say that emotions cannot be rationalised, then you’re incorrect… But, thank you, I suppose.”

It was the first genuine thanks he’d ever willingly given her, and she was floored when she heard it. At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it, but now, knowing a little more about his past, and a little more about him (yes, she was still thinking about how sad it was that he didn’t know how to hug properly), her mind lingered on the moment. Why did he look so in disbelief that she would care about him?

“I’m experiencing what many would call jealousy,” he admitted, snapping a twig between his fingers. His eyes were set on the moon, but it was clear that his attention wasn’t. “Your partner— your other partner (The difference between the two was clear now. He was distinguishing between himself and his ‘rival’ and she hadn’t even noticed), seems to get along well with mine.”

Her heart had sunk at his admission, taking it as a jab against herself as a person. “Oh. Sorry, I guess. I’m sure Chat wouldn’t mind a patrol with you—“

“No!” Robin almost bellowed. He had looked completely against the idea. “I’m not jealous of their relationship in that I want it, well.” He let out a frustrated growl. “It’s not that I want us to be like them. Neither of us are irritatingly chatty or bright, we wouldn’t be able to emulate it anyway. No, I’m jealous because your other partner has enamoured mine.”

“I’m sure Nightwing loves you too.”

“I know he does,” Robin whispered back, almost afraid to say the words aloud. “But not at first. And not for a while. I’m sure my personality had a part to play with it, but… Well he liked Chat Noir from the beginning— he wanted Chat Noir from the beginning. Makes me wish I had that luxury.”

He loves you now. I can see in how he looked out you, how he reached out, he loves you now. There were a lot of things Marinette could have said in response, ‘he loves you now, included. Instead, she said nothing, and sat with him in silence, enjoying the browning leaves and almost comfortable seat on their tree-branch.

Her pocket buzzed. Almost embarrassed to have ruined the contemplative mood, she had pulled it out in a rush, shrieking when it slipped from her grip and plummeted down.

She went after it on instinct, momentarily forgetting her peculiar position on a tree, and found the rest of her body following after her phone.

Robin had reacted quickly, diving after her, holding her in a compact hold, his hand on her head to protect her from the fall. He rolled them over so that his back hit the ground first, but the momentum was too much, and they found themselves smashing against one another, lips smacking ungracefully, teeth knocking and foreheads rapping against one another. She rolled off him, hand over her mouth, stunned silent.

Their lips met.

Did that count as a kiss?

Surely not…

No way she could’ve just had her first kiss…

No way!

Robin’s mind hadn’t been as occupied, and he’d simply gotten to his feet, brushing himself off as he spat out a wad of blood. She could spot the gash on his upper gum where her two front teeth had tapped his mouth after their not kiss, and she would have felt a little bad if it weren’t for the fact that “you kissed me!”

Robin looked up at her, uninterested. “It was hardly a kiss, besides, you wounded me.”

“But you kissed me!”

“I didn’t intend to. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saved you, you’re welcome by the way.”

“You kissed me!”

Robin rolled his eyes, checking his utility belt to see if anything had fallen. “Fine, fine, I kissed you.”

It was silly, she knew that then, and she was reminded of how silly she was every time she remembered that night, because her reply would likely make her cringe for the rest of her life. “That was not a kiss!”

Silence fell between them, as Robin raised his brows, a smirk forming it’s way on his face. “Oh? But you said it was a kiss.”

All coherent thought left her mind, and was replaced by loud screaming that was barely louder than the beating of her overactive heart. Blood rushed to her head so fast a headache began to form, and her knees went weak. “It wasn’t!” Even to her ears, the argument was weak.

Robin leered, moving closer. She took a step back for every step he took forward. “But you said it was?”

“I was wrong!” Her back had reached the base of the tree, and Robin was still advancing.

“Unsurprising, but I think this time you might be right.” He leaned in so that he was mere centimeters away from her face, but he didn’t come any closer.

Right as she was about to stutter out another half-baked response, he broke out into snickers that tiptoed the edge of laughter.

She hadn’t ever heard him laugh before. It was husky, more breath than voice, but it was pleasing to the ear. He looked a lot younger when he laughed, a certain lightness took over his whole body, and she remembered he was just a kid, like her. She wished he’d laugh more.

Mortified about what had occurred, she wasn’t exactly happy with the situation, but she couldn’t bring herself to be mad, when he looked like that.

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

“You said it was a kiss?”

Marinette, not willing to have a repeat of their past conversation, shoved a spoonful of ice-cream in her mouth.

Robin tutted again, his trademark at this point, but this time the corners of his mouth were turned upward, and she found herself minding it less.

“It wasn’t a kiss,” she said at last. “My first kiss is going to be with someone I like, and it’s going to be a choice. That was an accident, and it doesn’t count.”

“Okay,” Robin agreed.

Marinette smiled.

“Ladybug?”

She looked at him, properly this time, and without any blushing. “Hm?”

“Why are you a hero?”

A little stunned to hear her own question repeated back at her (not that Robin knew she was the one who asked him), it took a moment for her to even comprehend it. Why was she a hero?

Because she was chosen?

No, she had tried to give away that responsibility once before, but she kept the job for a reason.

“Because I was given the opportunity to help,” she said, finally. “One that a lot of people don’t get. I found that even if I thought I didn’t want the responsibility at first, I couldn’t turn the job down. What about you?”

Robin’s nose turned up to the air once again, reminding Marinette of what a brat her partner truly was. “Because lesser people need someone like me.”

Silly bird. If he hadn’t helped her out, back when she was a civilian, she might have taken his response for its face value. But there was no way she could, knowing what she knew. “I bet you secretly have a really nice reason, you just don’t want to tell people.”

“Don’t act imbecilic. Of course I don’t.”

“Uh huh, sure you don’t”

“Eat your ice-cream and shut up.”

Marinette laughed, extending the cup to him. He took a small bite, nose wrinkling. He kept saying he didn’t like sweets and he kept acting like it too, but he could’ve turned her offer down and they both knew it. What a little liar she had as a partner.

It was the same combination as last time, only tonight Andre had decorated it with black sprinkles and a small, white marshmallow on top. Robin let her have it, not a fan of them, but he said nothing about the sprinkles.

It was divine on her tongue, melting almost instantly (though most of it was soup at this point), coating her mouth in a thick swirl of black and red. “What was this an apology for anyway?”

“I may have spoken out of turn when we fought Bud Omen. Nightwing suggested that I bring a token of apology.”

“Are you gonna get me an ice-cream every time you say something rude? Because I’m not sure you could afford that.”

Robin snorted, taking another bite of the ice cream. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

And really, she couldn’t. She thought she knew her partner that she had his whole personality down when they’d first met, and even more so during their first patrol. But Marinette found that the more time passed, the less she felt she knew about him, and the more she wanted to learn.

She didn’t hate her partner, of that she was sure. In fact, she might even be starting to like him.

End Notes: The ‘like’ is platonic, unfortunately, but we’re not they’re yet. We’ll get there eventually though! Their relationship is starting to shift now that they know more about each other ayyy. This chapter was really all about growth on Marinette’s side. Changing feelings about what it means and what it takes to to be a good hero, and changing relationships with her new partner.

Also! First glance of Jason, yeah the white streaked guy was Jason I really wasn’t tryna be subtle about it. What’s up with the weird cashier tho? And yes! Now you know what happened that night. Nothing big or romantic, but Robin confessed he was feeling jealous and lips smashed. I wanted to bring it up now rather than earlier though bc I feel like Marinette can use this as an moment to really consider. This happened in the past, but I wanted it to be seen through current Marinette’s eyes.

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bangtanfancamp · 5 years

Text

Honey (PJM)

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

•masterlist

•jimin idol au! x reader

•7.6k words

•fluffy stuff, she gets a bit angsty though, but swiftly back to the fluffy stuff. like a cotton candy sandwhich...idk. I regret that metaphor. Immediately 🤭😂🙈. Lol.

•one shot

• (technically in the same universe as this drabble, but can be read totally independent of each other) happy birthday, baby boy

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

Jimin was positively glowing today. The buzz around him was always electric after a performance, but it was extra fantastic today. He’d been in his element all night and it showed- he carried himself differently then. He stood taller, shoulders back, chest and perfect chin lifted to the heavens. his skin glistened under the can lights like fresh dew in the morning sun and god, were you helplessly in love with him.

After you’d accepted his proposal, he was insistent that you be present on as much of the tour as possible. He’d said he couldn’t stand to be away from you so he’d swept you up and away into his breakneck pace with him. Which is precisely how you wound up here- half a world away, snacking on a bite sized lemon tart behind the set of a British late night talk show and trying your absolute hardest to keep up as the boys were herded away to take photos following their performance.

The press tour for their new comeback had found the boys in five cities in the past four days- it had been relentless- but Jimin was beaming. Your beautiful boy was doing exactly what he was made for. Laughing and smiling with every stranger he met, enticing a crowd as he danced, drinking in this big fantastic world with bright eyes at every opportunity. You- however- were exhausted.

Sure it was exhilarating to see his life but it was another thing entirely to live it. Especially since this wasn’t actually your job- so you were never entirely quite sure what to do with yourself. You cheered on every performance and celebrated at every dinner, but there was also a tremendous amount of time where you couldn’t really be with Jimin and didn’t actually have something to do. You felt like such a stranger all the time who didn’t know how to keep up the pace.

You’d never been around this many people and you were terrified of getting in the way. No matter how incredible this was, it was still his job. You were a nervous wreck fearing you’d accidentally mess something up. Your elegant eggshell dance was getting overwhelming- that is, until you’d see him. His eyes would find you across the room and crease into those perfect moons and in an instant, you knew you’d do anything for him. You knew you were right where you belonged. You swear, that smile was how he got you to do everything these days. You weren’t really complaining either.

The crowd pushed you into a room filled with giant light panels and sweeping white backdrops- a perfect space to capture the seven golden boys on film. Jimin was standing coifed and perfect along the far edge of the room. He was still in his structured yellow suit from his performance and his presence honestly filled the entire room. His hair had been newly tinted the most delicious shade of honey for this comeback and swept away from his elegant face. The way it shamelessly showed off his bone structure made him look so regal and highborn. You’d be clamoring in line to take his picture too.

As the boys were arranged in line across the backdrop, you noticed Jimin’s eyes searching for someone. You’d assumed he was probably looking for a stylist or staff member until his ethereal grey eyes settled on you, waving you over. Hesitantly, you wove through the cloud of people and settled beside him.

“Yes, love?” You whispered.

“There you are. You’ve been so far away all night!” He was directed to form a bit of a long conga line-esque shape with his boys, him forming the caboose, and twisted his back away from you. You tried to slip out of frame, but he slipped a hand back to grab you.

“Hey, no. Stay with me. I missed you all night.”

“Jimin, you’re working. I’ll get in the way. You can’t use a shot if I’m accidentally in it”

“Then they’ll crop you out.” He insisted.

“Baby, I’m serious. Let me go.” You pleaded, nervously glancing around the set.

“Stay.” He said firmly, his voice resolute but sweet. “I want you by me.” He peaked back over his shoulder with the most dazzling smile. Shoot. And just like that, you were lost all over again.

“Jimin, that’s not fair. How dare you trick me like that.” Your brows furrowed as your lower lip stuck out.

“Like what?” He asked innocently. His giggle was infectious as he licked his lips to stifle a smile. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You know damn well how good you look right now. I don’t appreciate you using it against me” You pouted. He deftly slipped his hands behind him, tugging your wrists until they slipped around his waist. Curse this flirtatious boy. He knew exactly how to pull you in. Your eyes still danced around the room to make sure no one from BigHit was coming for your head, but when no one did, you felt your resolve crack as your cheeks happily pressed against his back with a smile he couldn’t see. The citrus swell of his cologne was warm and sweet, and God, it made you just want to take a bite out of him.

His head dipped forward as he laughed, showing off his beautiful neck. Forgetting yourself, you pressed forward on your toes, leaning into his back to come up and over to kiss the bare skin on his neck, a shudder running through him. God, he was so pretty. He’d gotten so much sun this year. First on vacation with the boys and then with you. The bright suit and dirty blonde hair just highlighted how beautiful his skin was these days. As the tip of your nose trailed across golden skin, You couldn’t help but sink a cloud of kisses into it as his airy giggle floated around your ears.

“See? You clearly missed me too. I don’t know why you’re complaining.” He winked back over his shoulder at you, wisps of blonde hair falling into his face. He tipped his chin down to give the camera heavy lidded eyes as his free hand snaked behind him to tangle with your fingers

“You’re a troll, you know that? Can’t stand you.” You sneared, nose scrunched but lips curled in a smile, tugging a hand free in defiance.

“What a shame. Cuz I can’t live without you.” He sing songed. “This tour is gonna get real uncomfortable with that kind of attitude, y/n. Just sayin.” He shrugged nonchalantly, a smug smile on his devilish lips. He hadn’t caught the way your heart sank at his words.

“It’s already hard for me.” You confessed to no one but yourself. Your words had been the smallest ghost of a whisper beneath your breath, but they pricked Jimin’s heart immediately.

“Hey. Wait….What?” Jimin shifted his weight back on his hip, his sculptured face softening in concern as you tried to slip your guilty hand away. Shoot. “Hey. No, don’t. I heard that, Jagi. What’s wrong?”

Your cheeks blushed softly, guilt tinting them pink at being caught. “Oh nothing. I’m sorry baby. Don’t worry about it. Forget that.”

“Y/n. How am I supposed to do that?” His free hand ruffled through his immaculately styled hair. It should have ruined it but only made it prettier. You sighed wistfully as you watched him spin his fingers through it. Taking a small step back, your shoulders dropped low, relieved to finally be fully out of frame as the tips of your right hand brushed his palm behind his back.

“Because I asked you to.” You said simply.

“Y/n. But you’re-God, I wish we could wrap this up so I could speak to you properly.” He sighed, displeasure clouding his features.

As the camera shifted to focus on an animated Hoseok, you took the moment to steal another kiss to the back of Jimin’s neck. He still smelled so clean and soft and so like him, but you could taste the salt lingering on his skin from his performance on your lips when you pulled back. He usually tasted so sweet, so like sunshine. The sharpness you tasted now reminded you that you weren’t just together in your own little world anymore.

“I’ll be fine, baby. Don’t worry about me.” You smiled into his skin again before slowly pulling away. Oh Jimin. You really did mean it. You loved him. You were so grateful to see his world and just be in the general stratosphere orbiting around him. How many people got an opportunity like this? You were fully aware of what a gift this was.

But at the same time, you felt so small in all this. What purpose did you serve here? How were you adding to the world? This was Jimin’s contribution- not yours. You felt lazy watching the entire room swarm to keep this machine going- stylists, directors, producers, performers. Jimin practiced and performed for hours a day just to fly overnight to start it all over again in a new city. You were barely keeping up, you hardly knew what was going on, and You just felt so…..small.

A stillness and displeasure had crept into Jimin’s features as the shoot progressed. His eyes were stony. His jaw set. He looked beautiful and furious and pissed.

You’d slipped back to the far edge of the room, your aura slowly collapsing in on itself as the night wore on, shrinking to hide yourself. You felt responsible for distracting him, like you’d just self fulfilled your own nervous prophecy that you’d accidentally eff something up on set, and you couldn’t bare to see the mess you’d made.

Jimin had immediately noticed the lack of your presence. The skin of his neck was cooling without the warmth of your lips pressed against it anymore, but he couldn’t move. And he couldn’t leave. Not yet. And It infuriated him. More than anything, he wanted to rush to your side. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he was willing to mold the whole world in his hands to fix whatever it was.

At this point, he was sweaty and tired and annoyed. He desperately wanted to take these damn contacts and all this stupid makeup off and just go hold his girl- but the shoot kept rolling on. His temper was beginning to flair with each new position they were shuffled into. He was ready to leave. When was this damn shoot gonna end?

Taehyung was the first to notice Jimin’s surly demeanor as he placed a loving hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“You look like you’re about to murder someone. What on earth is going on? Where’s y/n? I feel like I haven’t seen her all night.” He shook his shaggy bangs from his eyes, lifting his broad chin for the next shot.

“She was here earlier…..” Jimin sighed.

“Yeah, didn’t you see the lovebirds cuddling on the edge of the set?” Jin popped in, lips pouted and blowing hollow kisses out at the air. “Practicing for the honeymoon already, huh? I know you guys are gonna get married soon but calm down, bro.”

Ignoring Jin’s cheekiness, Jimin continued on. “Something’s bothering her. I just don’t know what. And for the love of god, this shoot will. not. end.” His words came garbled through gritted teeth.

“Do you think that’s part of it?” Taehyung queried.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asked.

“Well, I mean this is exhausting for us, but poor y/n just gets dragged around with us all day. She has to wait on us all the time. She probably misses her life back home.” Taehyung proposed calmly, shifting a hip to slip his hand in his pocket.

“She probably misses you. She came on a three week trip to spend time with someone who works eighteen hours a day and she just has to watch. She’s not at home in her studio or with her friends to pass the time. She’s probably lonely. And bored.” Jin added.

“Oh god, hyung. You’re probably right.” Jimin’s eyes found you across the room, leaned against the wall by the snack table before quickly starting out of the way as a stylist zipped by with a clothing rack. You didn’t seem like yourself. He felt like an idiot for not catching it sooner.

“Of course I’m right! Why do you sound so surprised??You should listen to me more often . I’ve got endless advice.” Jin said proudly. Taehyung rolled his eyes, fake gagging a little at his friend’s arrogance before being quickly being swatted in the shoulder. “Yah! I saw that. You’re lucky to know someone as wise and as handsome as me. Maybe if you listened, you would learn something.”

“Ow! I learned you hit like a girl.” Taehyung quipped, rubbing his arm.

“What?! Oh! Come here- I’ll show you how to fight!” Jin dropped into a boxing stance, crouched with his fists up, bouncing and darting around Taehyung. The shoot was quickly devolving into chaos as an enthusiastic Jungkook joined in the dance, happy to bounce and box and chirp around the other boys. Hoseok joined in, squealing out cartoon sound effects as Namjoon apologized to the photographer for their actions.

Jimin took it as his cue to slip away and find you.

“Hey, do you wanna get out of here?”

You jumped the second the crystalline whisper floated into your ears, gasping sharply only to be calmed by his gentle steady arms.

“Jimin? Where did you come from?” Your eyes wide with panic, looking back toward the chaos erupting on set, but Jimin slipped a ring laden hand against your cheek to pull you back to him.

“Wherever I had to to get to my favorite girl.” His smile was so sweet. “Hey, I’m starving and I really want to get out of here. Come with me?” How could you say no to eyes like those, so boyish and wide and full of hope.

“Okay,” you agreed, head bobbing your assent. He took his cue immediately, grabbing your hand and beginning to slip away. “But, wait! Jimin! Won’t you get in trouble? I don’t want to cause anything.”��

Jimin turned over his shoulder to dismiss you, but stopped the second he saw your face. Worry was making you chew your bottom lip as your sweet eyes looked wide and startled up at him. He knew better. He knew that face. You were an anxious mess. He wasn’t gonna get you anywhere until he addressed this first, but before even bothering with his words, he dipped down to kiss you.

Nothing passionate or heated- just something soft and gentle, to get your attention. A simple kiss to bring you back to earth. God, you’d missed this. You melted pliant into his lips, wobbling a little when he pulled back, luminous smile glittering across his face. He laced his fingers into yours.

“We won’t get in trouble. Promise.I’d like to see them try. You’re with me….I got you. Do you really think they’d have the nerve to mess with the future Mrs. park Jimin? Please. C’mon.” He winked and your spine tingled.

Jimin called a driver to meet you both at the back entrance and take you back to the hotel. He wove you through hallways and rooms you hadn’t noticed before to grab his things and swept you toward the exit. Before he walked out, he stopped- snatching a jacket out of his bag.

“For you, my love.” He slipped the oversized cream hoodie over your head and pulled the hood up over your face, hiding your hair, sleeves spilling over your delicate fingertips. “God you look good in my clothes. I always forget.” He licked his lips, eyes warm as they danced over you. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.” He slipped a mask over his jawline, popped a pair of shades over his eyes and tugged you into the night, guiding you into the black suv.

The ride back to the hotel was quick, quiet, peaceful. It was the first bright splash of stillness either of you had gotten to indulge in all day, and talking would just shatter it too soon. Jimin leaned back against his seat, manspread in his tailored yellow suit with his elegant neck craned back against the headrest. He’d undone his top few shirt buttons, the smooth skin underneath kissed by the night air. His fingers were busy raking through his thick hair as his eyes danced over the city. His hair had taken on an ashy hue in the streetlights, and as you both slipped into the night, his sultry eyes finally closed- if just for a second.

Window rolled down, you pushed your hood back a bit to take in the sights of a city you may never be lucky enough to see again. The wind whipped fluttery tendrils of your hair out of place, but you didn’t mind at all. It was the first time all day that you’d finally let your guard begin to drop and it felt amazing…

Your fingers reached behind you to twirl loosely with his on the seat between you. He happily took your hand in both of his, making a proper profession of caressing your knuckles softly. He still had his rings on from his performance, the cool metal occasionally tapping against your skin. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the contact and finally- you decompress.

It was the first time in days that you both sat still with no other people around. You couldn’t imagine how he exists under that kind of press all day long. It’s ignited a new respect in you for him and all that’s asked of him. It’s an impressive feat indeed for any human, especially one as sensitive and sweet as Jimin.

You wonder- for the first time -why it had never occurred to you on this trip to ask how he was doing. He had just seemed so happy despite all the reasons he should be overwhelmed so you assumed he was fine…but maybe you should get out of your head enough to check on him. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to-

“Hey baby, we’re here.” Jimin tugged at your fingers, snapping you back to the moment. “You floating off in space again?” He whispered soft as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. He was smiling like the midday sun at you again and there went your train of thought. “He’s gonna pull us around back so we don’t get spotted, but just in case..” he reached forward to tug your hood back up, this time swooping it so far it covered your eyes entirely . You felt like a fransican monk in stylish streetwear but you laughed and went along with it and Jimin loved you just a little bit more for it.

Once again, a simple task had taken longer than necessary for the both of you. They’d had to weave you through hallways and stairs and back rooms in an attempt to avoid the press and fans flocking in the lobby and valet parking. Jimin was sweet, whispering in your ear like this was a covert spy mission to distract you from how long this was all taking.

Forty minutes later, you were finally in your hotel rooms. Jimin had kissed your nose and told you he needed to get out of these clothes and clean up but he’d be right back with you. You took the opportunity to promptly collapse on your back on the luscious bed, limbs splayed like a high and dry starfish, and let all the tension of the day drain from you.

Your skirt, tights and heels were quickly replaced with soft pajama shorts, your bra and blouse immediately discarded, but found yourself crawling back into Jimin’s hoodie. It smelled like him, and the oversized cosiness of it made you feel lazy and warm-and you were 100% down for that. Dragging your bag over to your bedside, you dug around until you found your makeup wipes and began to scrub off the day. Legs crossed beneath you, you settled into your routine. You hair had been fortuitously flopped up into a bun, and your eyeliner was being gently smudged away as a happy tranquility descended over you.

Half an hour later, the door clicked as your Jimin made his way into the room. The press tour had been a lot- it had presented a lot of challenges you never expected, but that didn’t mean there were no rewards. One of your favorites was seeing Jimin like this- fresh from the shower, just a natural boy.

Your eyes danced over the clothes he’d snatched to throw on. Over how unfair it was that he somehow looked even better when he didn’t try- an oversized white T-shirt with a too wide collar showing off his pretty throat and chest, and soft black joggers- the epitome of comfort- that did nothing to hide his dancers stride or his perfect backside. Stupidly pretty boy.

So unfair.

“Hey, baby girl” he smiled, flopping on his belly beside you. His weight made you bounce a bit, giggling to yourself. His face was bare enough for his dusting of freckles to show, and all his pale honey hair flopped forward heavily into his eyes. As vain as he always seemed about his hair, by the end of the day on tour he was just perfectly too tired to style it and you adored it. It was so god dang boyish and cute, and You loved how you got to part it out of his eyes like a curtain every time you kissed him on the forehead like you did just now.

“Why do you still have all your jewelry on? I’ve never understood that” you reached forward to trace a finger lightly under the chain on his neck.

His smile is airy and light as he rolls over to face you.

“Do I? I honestly just forget it’s there.im so used to it all now” He’s so winsome and innocent as he scoops his hair out of his eyes to smile up at you. There’s really no reason to though- his grin is pressing his cheeks so high and tight that his crescent eyes shut anyway. You dip forward from your hips with a smile to blow at his bangs.

“You really are an old pro by now huh? How do you do this all the time? and how do I keep up with you?” You ask easily, shaking your head softly at the ethereal creature on your duvet.

“Do what? Get my hair played with by a pretty girl? It’s not that hard. They’re lining up around the block for it really. But None of them are ever as good at is as you though.....Plus, your services come much cheaper. Professional cuddlers really make you pay through the noise these days.” He settles back against your lap, the picture of contentment as you play with the strands.

“You punk,” you tease, popping him in the forehead. “For your sake, I will ignore the fact that you just called me easy.” A wicked eyebrow arched over your features as you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Not easy. You just don’t charge what your worth.” He said smugly, cuddling into your lap.

“Impossible, that’s what you are.” You sigh.

“Impossibly in love….with your heart.” He quips. Oh god that was corny. Unashamed, he presses on, beaming up at you with puckered lips, fingers crafted into two hearts.

“Ew! That was gross.” You pretend to wretch at his cheesiness, choosing to ignore the goofy swirl of warmth in your belly at his words.

“We both know you love it, y/n. You can’t fool me.” He says smugly.

“Oh can’t I? I could if I wanted to.” You defend.

“And why would you want to? Hmm? Why would you want to hide something from me?” His eyes flit up to you, suddenly a bit more serious. It’s the first time you notice he’s taken his contacts out- the beautiful chocolate eyes you fell in love with looking solemn up at you.

“Who says I am?” You shift beneath him, gaze suddenly infatuated with the rooms decor. God that orchid arrangement is ostentatious.

“Even Jin can tell. So you know it’s obvious.” He deadpans.

“All knowing Jin huh? Idk, I mean he’s pretty perceptive. I wouldn’t undercut him.” You ramble.

“Y/n….” he flips up, to see you at eye level. “You know if something’s bothering you, you can talk to me, right? If we can’t even talk to each other, we’re not gonna get very far. What is it, Jagi? Where have you been lately?” He taps your temple lightly, his face soft to show you every word is genuine.

“I don’t… um, I mean… there’s nothing wrong. Per say… I just…”

He pins you with a look that says spill and your facade begins to crumble. “Y/n… I didn’t give you this because I don’t know you.” His thumb brushes over the glittering detail of your ring. “You’re not telling me something.” At this, you melt. Just flop over and dissolve into a pile of mush as his honesty makes your heart squeeze. You hate when he’s sweet. You hate when he’s right. You thought you’d hid it better than this….

“Besides,” he continues, “Even if I didn’t know you, you’re a shit liar, babe. Those big eyes show everything. They just don’t give specifics- so spill.” His smile is kind but his eyes hold a challenge- he isn’t going to drop this. No way in heck is he letting this go. Brows furrowed, your resolve begins to crumple.

“Jimin….”

“Y/n…. Spill.”

With a heaving sigh, you acquiesce.

“Fine…” you huff. “I have no idea what I’m doing here! I’m an absolute disaster.” Your head hangs as you begin to pour heart out, hands flailing, downturned eyes completely unable to meet Jimin’s.

“I constantly feel like I’m in the way. I’m struggling to keep up with everything and I don’t- I don’t know what to do with myself. And all I can think of is - is this what my whole life is gonna be? Do I either have to go half the year without you or drop my whole life and feel lost and terrified to follow you around the world with no purpose of my own? I’m not part of the big hit machine, but everyone else here is. And everyone here is working so hard and I’m just… what? Here on vacation? Getting in the way and following my famous boyfriend around while he works? I feel like such a groupie… I feel like such a… a nuisance.”

“Stop.” Jimin clutches at your wildly flailing wrists. “Baby, stop. My groupie? Are you serious right now?”

“Yes! I am. Jimin, I love what you do. My God, you are so incredible when you sing and dance- the way you move- don’t make that sexual, you know what I mean- you…. you are the most amazing performer I’ve ever seen. You have worked so hard for this for so long. I remember when you were so stressed that you were barely eating or the nights I’d text you at 1am to tell you goodnight and find out you were still in the studio. And it’s paying off for you. Which is great because I don’t know anyone else who deserves this worldwide praise like you do- but baby, I’m a freelancer. I put in the effort but my work is never thriving. I can’t even begin to be in the same eschalon as you. I still have two roommates back home.”

“So? I have six,” his eyes are so warm but his brows are still knitted together, trying to follow what’s really underneath all this.

“Not because you have to. Not because you’d be on the street without two other people supporting your rent! I’ve got all these things I love to do, right? But they don’t pay the bills for me. My businesses have never turned into what I hope, but there are 14 year olds on Instagram who decide to sell something they make on whim and a month later it’s so successful that they’re verified…. and I’m… I’m just….”

“Baby?” Jimin dips forward to lift your chin. His eyes find yours and he smiles…. he simply smiles at you- warm and kind and lightfilled like nothing you’ve said has scared him the way it scares you. It helps you finish what you’ve started to say.

“I don’t want to hold you back!” It all rushes out in one clumsy exhale as you shut your eyes tightly, bracing for impact. “I want to be good enough for you. I don’t want to have to depend on you. I want to bring something to the table too. You’re Park Jimin. You’re already a legend. You deserve the whole world...you deserve a girl who works just as hard as you. Is just as successful as you. But I have so many dreams and hopes that just haven’t worked out. They’ve all failed so miserably compared to you and I…. I just… I want to be a wife you can be proud of.. I want … I want to be proud of me too.”

and that’s when the tears fell.

Silent. Unspectacular. Hidden but insistent as you fall in on yourself and Jimin’s heart breaks. He had no idea.

He’s always admired you so much.... He had no idea you thought so little of yourself and it makes him ache. He sees the whole universe when he looks at you. Surely you saw it too.

But right now, you didn’t. You’d been able to come on this tour because business had been that slow that you being gone for three weeks wouldn’t have made a difference. In his excitement to have you by his side, Jimin had offered to cover your share of rent for the month you’d be gone with him and that had been that. He was ecstatic to have you with him . He’d rattled off about it dreamily for weeks before you left. But as excited as you were to see his world with him, for the first time, it made you realize just how small your world was without him. It had bothered you ever since. This was Jimin’s first glimpse of it, and it wrecked him.

“Jagi…. baby, come here.” His airy voice is pleading as he scoops you into his chest. Your nose burrows into his neck, skin squeaky clean from the hotel soap, and you cry. Feeling hidden, unaccomplished and ashamed. You’ve never felt more exposed in your life- you never wanted to tell him any of this. You couldn’t bear the idea of how he’d look at you if he knew, but oh how wrong you were.

“Baby,.... I’ve always been proud of you.” His voice is gentle in your ear, almost a whisper. No one else exists in this moment besides the two of you. He presses his cheek to your forehead, his fingers lost in your hair as he holds you. “You were my best friend when I was a trainee. I felt like a wreck then- I was so stressed out I could barely breathe. But you always told me everything would be okay. Always. You’d remind me why I was special and that the world would see it one day.” You felt his cheek swell as he smiled. “But can I tell you something?”

“What?” You sniffled, a snotty mess beneath him.

“I never believed you.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. “What?”

He chuckled softly, his thumb delicately brushing a tear from your cheek.

“Nope. Not a bit. I loved hearing your words when you built me up, but I didn’t believe you. Not even when you’d get all starry eyed when you saw me dance or I’d sing to you.” He confessed.

“I never got starry eyed over you.” You mumbled, sniffling and hiding against his skin. Smiling, he gently pinched your cheek and held it.

“Liar.” He kissed your pink face and scrunched his nose at you. “But I’m serious, back then, I wanted what you said to be true. I really did, but I didn’t feel it. Not here. Definitely not.” He brought a hand up to his chest and placed it over his heart.

“I wanted the band to be successful so badly. I knew I could dance and perform, I knew what I could bring. But I thought my singing held us back. People would post videos of me missing my notes or of me tripping and falling on stage. I was smaller than everybody. I’d get ranked least attractive...I felt like the weakest link all the time. And that's what I believed. That’s the voice I listened to. More than anything. Even more than you. Because that’s what felt true. Not the sweet things from my best friend or even the nice words from fans or the other members. We were working so hard, but we never knew if our dreams would happen. People try every day and it doesn’t come true. I didn’t want to be the reason it didn’t come true for everyone else.”

You gazed up at Jimin as he wandered through his memories. Brow pinched and beautiful mouth frowning at the edges as he remembered a time when doubt consumed his world.

“But then there was you. You were so talented and kind and everybody liked you. Everybody. I fought Taehyung to get to close to you. He still won’t let me forget that he saw you first. But I didn’t care, I had to get to know you. You were so incredible and so out of my league. This impossibly pretty girl who I’d had a crush on forever …. I didn’t even think you’d talk to me. Do you have any idea how long it took me to introduce myself to you?”

Curled against his body, you looked up him in awe. He - liked you then? Before you even knew him? How had he never told you any of this? You thought you knew him inside and out, but it seemed Jimin had his secrets too. Eyes wide and soft, you pressed against his chest as you listened.

“But once I did, once we were friends, you’d tell me how amazing I was- all the time! Me! I don’t think you ever understand how insane that was to me. How much much it mattered when you’d say how one day the whole world would see how special the band was- how special I was.

“You’d ask me to sing for your over the phone. You made me laugh when I hated everything. You’d get furious when anyone would criticize me, and you’d make the biggest deal out of all the small accomplishments I thought didn’t matter. You were so kind to me when I was a nobody, when I thought I was small and when the world finally figured out who we were, you already knew because you’d been the biggest fan all along.” He looked down at you, eyes shining with a pride so bright it was hard to look at directly.

“And even after all that, I was still shocked when you let me take you on a date. You were my best friend- but I still thought you could do way better than me. I was nuts about you, don’t get me wrong, but I mean, I was such was a mess, and I....I am talking so much. Like way too much. I know that, but it’s just….. y/n, I need you get this. You saw me when no one else did. That’s why you feel like home, y/n. That’s why I knew I didn’t want anyone else but you beside me for the rest of my life.” He kissed the back of your hand.

“So…. if your life doesn’t look how you want right now, that’s okay. We’re still young. You have so much time. Where you are is normal. I’m the exception, babe. You can’t compare yourself to that. What’s happened with the band is a one in a million fluke. It cant be your standard, baby. If that’s your measuring stick, it’ll destroy you.....But i know this-if anyone can achieve their dreams, it’s you. Without you, I would never have achieved mine. So, if I can help take care of you now, I’m gonna do it. I don’t even have to think twice.” He shrugged easily. A happy lazy smile on his lips. “But i know you. You want to earn your way too. I know you’ll get there. But….promise me, be nice to yourself now. Don’t throw yourself away- for me.”

Cradled in his arms, you looked at the hand Jimin extended to you, pinky crooked and ready to hold on forever. “Promise me,” he whispered, the sound warming your bones. Silently, trouble melting from your shoulders, you sighed. One heave, long and slow enough to process all the love he’s just showered upon you. How could you do anything less than give him your forever? Trust him with your now when he believed in you so much?

“Promise.” You breathed, eyes wide, still dotted with tears and you slipped your pinky around his, holding on for dear life. He melted when you did, scooping you in tighter and pressing his lips to your joined fingers.

“My Jagiya.” His smile beamed down at you, and you felt yourself grow warm in his light. “Hey. Listen, I know I’ve talked a lot, but I’m serious about taking care of yourself. It’ll make life so much easier on the way… I promise. For tour, you don’t have to prove your worth here. Everyone loves you and loves having you around. The stylists all think you’re so pretty. The boys on staff all blush whenever you’re nice to them. Everyone here thinks the world of you. Please let this be a vacation from you feeling like the world is on your shoulders. Just rest here. Or do your art here. We can pick up some art supplies in London and you brought your camera. Jungkook and Tae would love to help with that. And no, you wouldn’t be in the way. People love helping you, y/n. You just have to let them. God I’m talking so much.” He bugged his eyes playfully. Wiping your eyes, you giggled at his silliness.

“Ugh…. baby. I love you. I want you here. We’ll have a proper vacation soon, but while we’re on tour- talk to me. You’re not in the way. You can hang out with us and come to practice and take photos and make art. This is a good thing. We’ll figure out how our world will look when we get married. I’m not willing to give you up. So we’ll figure out how to make us both happy, yeah? It’s that simple” his eyes are starry with promise. It makes you believe him. It makes you realize you’ve been looking at this all wrong.

After several beats of silence, you finally ask, “I’ve been way in my head over this, haven’t I?

“Yes! Dear god, yes.” Jimin slumps exhausted against the headboard. Faking offense, you smack his chest and he rolls with laughter, trapping your hands again and pulling you into him. “You think too goddamn much, woman!” he bellows. “But honestly, it’s just cuz your brain’s so big.” He teases, poking you in the forehead. “Guess I can’t have the smartest girl in the room without her short circuiting and forgetting she’s the most magical thing in the world.”

Sniffling, you protest, “I don’t think anyone’s smarter than Namjoon. “

“And he thinks nothing of himself too. Honestly. A pair of fools, both of you.” His eyes roll.

“Not bad company then. Maybe I should go ask for his advice too.” You bounce your eyebrows teasingly, and Jimin’s jealous streak flairs gloriously as he tackles you on the bed.

“Hey!” He puffs his chest out, eyes squinting in mock fury. “I didn’t rebuild your ego for you to run to another man.” He growls playfully.

“Namjoonie! Come coach me out of my self doubt!” You call in a seductive, breathy tone. Jimin is having none of it.

“And I did not sneak you out of that photo shoot to pretend flirt with my friend. You’ll pay for this.” He challenges.

“Come and get meh” you tease, slipping out from under him just to have him lunge after you. A sharp squeal echoes through the room as you bounce across the bed with Jimin hot on your tail.

“Aaaaaagh!!!!” Jimin lets out a growl as he snatches you around the waist, flopping you both down into the mattress. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he snarls, eyes devilish as he bites at the outer edge of your ear.

“No, I won’t,” you giggle. “Didn’t you hear? Park Jimin has a soft spot for me.”

“Oh does he?” His nose drags across your throat.

“Yeah, I’m his favorite,” you stutter out, suddenly breathless at his touch.

“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” His eyes flick up to yours, and you think he’s come to repossess your soul. Dear god, his eyes. His breath is warm and swirling close, and you try to gather the last of your wits to ask a question before you’re lost beneath him altogether.

“Jimin… baby. Hey.” His attention has fully been lost as his mouth becomes preoccupied with the curve of your thoat. “Jim-oh.” Crap, why is he so good at that? Stuttering, you push through the haze his touch had created, attempting to regain your focus. “ S-stop that… Jimin, I’m trying to...I’ve been meaning to a…”

“Why do you talk so much?” He asks, the tip of his nose playful against yours.

“Jimin,... I’m serious. I need to ask you…”

“What, Jagi?” Letting out a huff, he rocks back to look at you. His voice is calm, teasing, but Whatever self control he’s got is about to snap- you can tell from the way he’s pulling his bottom lip into his teeth, the way his sweet eyes have become so satisfyingly predatory. He’s as hypnotic as a snake right now, fully ready to consume you, and your dumb butt is trying to talk about his feelings. Why are you doing this to yourself exactly?

Pushing your hands against his chest to get some breathing space, you pull back to ask,” I’m sorry my timing is so stupid. Truly, I am. Trust me. But…. I mean, I haven’t bothered to ask how you’re doing. It just feels so inconsiderate of me. I’ve been too wrapped up in my own problems.” You roll your eyes, annoyed at your own thickheadedness.

Jimin’s glassy giggle rings through the air as he dips his forehead to yours, his luscious hair brushing wispy against your skin.

“Me? Oh baby girl. That big heart of yours. I’m fine. This is nothing. Come find me when we’ve been on the same tour for a year and a half. Just a month in? It’s still just all the fun stuff.” His eyes are bright and judgment free, ignoring the fact that he’s flourishing where you’ve been drowning.

“Oh… well, if it ever does get overwhelming, you’ll tell me, right?” You ask, still concerned and trying to save face.

“Trust me- you’ll be able to tell.” He mimics his own angry eyes and you both fall into giggles. “But yes, Jagi.” He drops down to kiss your nose. “I promise I will tell you…. Pinky promise.” He reaches for your palm pressed against his chest and weaves your fingers together- wrapping your pinkies together and linking your thumbs, kissing them gently to lock in his vow. Your eyes flutter soft and loving up at him as he does.

“Good.” You whisper. “Now…. where were we?”

Jimin smiles, triumphant as he stalks close to his kill. “You were about to prove why you were my favorite.”

“Oh was I?”

“Absolutely.” Jimin grips the back of your leg, and in one quick snatch, yanks you to him. Your eyes blow wide as you you yelp helplessly. God, always forget how strong he is, and how much you like it when he shows it off. Satisfied with your submissive reaction, his grin grows impossibly cocky as slots himself on top of you, tongue wetting his impossibly full lips as he finally begins to lean in when...

“JIMIN!!!! Jimin!!!!! We’ve got to do an after show Vlive!!” It was Hoseok, banging a ruckus on jimin’s hotel door.

“Oh my god, are you serious? I’m gonna kill J-hope.” Jimin’s forehead crashes into your neck defeatedly.

“Come on, Jimin! Get off y/n already so we can get finished! ARMY’s waiting! Namjoon tweeted we were gonna start fifteen minutes ago!! Check your phone for once. We all texted you, bruh.” Hoseok blasted through the door.

“Yah!!! All right! All right!! I’m coming!....stupid Namjoon.” He muttered under his breath. “I haven’t properly kissed you in days. Not cool, bro. Not cool.” Jimin pouted. His deep set eyes lost under the furrow of his brows as he brushed his thumb along the curve of your lip, forlorn and pent up.

Teasingly, you caught his thumb with the tip of your tongue and pulled it into your mouth. Warm and soft, you let it go with a gentle pop as you broke the suction and jimin’s eyes blew wide. “Go… I’ll be here when you get back.” You whispered, eyes bright and enticing.

Jimin wove hasty hands into your hair, his breathing ragged. “ wow....How the hell am I supposed to leave you after that?”

“Because…. I said so. And there will be more when you come back.” You winked, loving being in control now. He wasn’t the only one who could play the seduction game.

“Oh my god.” Jimin, swallowed roughly, his eyes heavy lidded as he tried to regain his motor functions.

“Now go, I’ll order room service for you to Hobi’s room. You never had dinner. Go give army a treat, and I’ll treat you when you come back to me.” You kissed his palm as your voice took on the sultry edge that always made Jimin melt.

“Can we do the thing? You know the one where..”

“I know what you’re talking about, Jimin,... and the sooner you go, the sooner you find out if my answer is yes.” You winked, before mouthing “its yes” silently as you nodded at him.

“Yup! There it is! I’m gone!” Pressing a smacking kiss to your forehead, Jimin bounded up from the bed as you fell into a fit of laughter. As he turned back to smile at you from the doorway, your eyes raked over him one last time before snagging on something that made you howl with laughter.

“Jimin- Wait! seriously??? Already? You didn’t even kiss me yet! Put your hands in your pockets! Or only be on camera from chest up!” You cackled at him. Confused, he followed your eyeline to-

“Oh god, is it that… yup. No, it is. God, Jagi, you’re dangerous when I finally get you out of that head of yours.” He reaches down to adjust his joggers, laughing bashfully at the mess you’d made of him.

“Gotta make it up to you somehow,” you shrugged from the bed.

“Hey, no…. I’m serious though. I’m glad you’re feeling okay now. You trusted me to tell me your heart, and that means a lot to me. You sure you’ll be okay if I go?”

“I’m sure. I have a vacation to finally start enjoying.” You smiled, stretching out across the bed. As you shifted, your (Jimin’s) hoodie crept up, showing off a sliver of your stomach and Jimin licked his lips again.

“My god. Look at you. I’ll be gone thirty minutes tops.” He bolted back, planting a kiss that made something along your spine tingle. “Wait for me. I’ll be back” he smiled, peeling himself away to leave before jhope returned with his racket.

“You better…… hey,” you propped up on your elbows and called out to him.

“Yeah?” He looked back, eyes alight with love.

“I love you, park Jimin.”

He blushed, genuine and sappy, eyes crinkling soft along the edges. “I love you too, y/n l/n. And hey, We’ve got this. The whole world’s gonna be ours. We’ll figure it out. We’ve got time.”

Your felt warmth pool in your eyes. You threw a pillow at him so he wouldn’t see you cry. “God, you’re such a sap.” You smiled.

“You know you love it.” He winked. “Bye, baby girl.”

He was right. You did.

fin.

277 notes · View notes

padfootagain · 4 years

Text

Balaenoptera Bonaerensis (I)

Chapter 1: Security Measures

This is the first chapter for my fic with a Bodyguard AU for our dear Cap! Thank you so much to @marvelcapsicle, who is hosting the writing challenge this fic is made for.

I hope you like this fanfic, please, read the author's note on the masterlist for this series concerning any link with real events!

I did, however, spent more than 8 hours researching different elements for that story so far, and have no doubt it's just the beginning… being a writer is hard…

Word Count: 3400

"Have I ever told any of you how much I hate our job?"

"Just… twenty times today. And hundreds more if you count all the times we had to wake up early to get on a plane."

"Taking a flight at 4 am doesn't make you 'get up early', it makes you not sleep at all!"

"I'm sorry you couldn't get your baby sleep, Bucky. But there were no better flights available on such a short notice."

"Did we really have to take that job?"

By Natasha's side, on the two seats before Steve and Bucky, Sam snorted, waving the newspaper he was reading to make his point.

"In these days, you should consider yourself lucky to have a job at all," Sam replied, shaking his head. "Seven months since that mess happened in Wall Street, and it's not getting any better."

By the window, Steve took a look at the clouds they flew across, cotton-like forms drifting slowly against the blue sky. He didn't react at all as the plane shook with turbulences, too used to flying by now to even truly notice. And if his blue eyes rested on the white puffs of water outside, his mind was set on work already. The file where he had gathered the information he had found - in the little time he had had to prepare their new job - was set open on his laps. He had stopped listening to his colleagues somewhere above the Pacific Ocean. Now that they were en route towards Townsville, having changed their flight in Darwin, he had stopped to act like he was listening altogether. Maybe others would have taken it badly, but his three partners were too used to his working routine to think anything of his behaviour. And as they flew across a cloud, the world turning solely into shades of white and light grey, Steve wondered who could have sent the threats that had pushed the editor of the Townsville Bulletin to hire Steve and his team to protect one of his journalist and three scientists they worked with. Apparently, it had something to do with the scientists' study of whales, although Steve couldn’t possibly imagine why someone would want to kill anyone about a study of the population of whales in Antarctica. That was beyond him.

But the threats were real, and at the thought, his eyes travelled back to the printed letters that were sent in an attempt to stop the research, and he had no doubt that it was a threat to take seriously. The message was, after all, quite explicit. Besides, they were paying for his services, so even if the threat wasn't real, it didn't exactly matter. He wouldn't complain about an easy job for once.

However, he wasn't sure to find who could have sent the threat. In the week he had been given to prepare his departure, he couldn't really find any lead. He reckoned that talking with the people involved would help clarify the situation, or at least, he hoped so.

He went through the file again, memorizing the names and faces of the people he would have to protect for the coming months.

Sofia Longbrook – PhD student

Dr. Rosa Alvarez Santiago – Postdoctoral researcher

Dr. Y/N Y/L/N – Researcher

Luke Savoy – Journalist

Lucy McGreed – Lawyer

Joshua Alexander – Lawyer

If the threats had been pointed towards only the journalist and the research team, chances were that the two lawyers involved in this whale study might get threatened as well soon.

At least three locations for their professions were to be secured, even without taking into account the lawyers for now. Plus each of their homes. And having some of them working on a major campus that held thousands of students would be a challenge to say the least. Adding to that limited resources, So much work to be done…

The voice of the flight attendant cut Steve's thoughts, forcing him back to reality. They would soon be landing. While he folded his papers and fastened his seatbelt, the plane slowly descending under the clouds, he checked the address of the hotel he had booked one more time. After dropping by the hotel, they would meet with the people who had hired them to discuss how the security could be handled, and more importantly, what kind of threats they were truly facing.

In the seats before ad next to him, Sam and Bucky were bickering, as usual, and he chose to ignore them for now.

All he hoped for was a smooth, calm mission for a change.

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

"This whole ordeal is absolutely ridiculous, Mark."

"Look, for the last time, Y/N: you've received threats. I will not sit down and wait to see if they were serious or not. You don't want to stop your research, and for some unknown reason, my reporter also refuses to drop the story, so all we are left with as alternative is to hire professionals who will keep you safe."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms before your chest.

"Look, we're talking about a trade. About something that involves money," Mark continued to argue. "And just like everything else that involves money, it is not so surprising to find people ready to go to extreme ways to deal with whatever goes in the way of their profit."

"I know, but…"

"No 'but'. By the way, Richard, I could use some help."

The director of your lab turned to you, but could only shrug.

"Honestly, I don't know what to say."

"You don't agree that it was the right decision to hire professional security?" the editor of Townsville newspaper asked with a frown.

"No, no, I think you were right to propose that," Richard replied, shaking his large moustache as he spoke. "All I'm saying is that Y/N is so stubborn, I really don't know what you want me to say."

You rolled your eyes again, but the ghost of a smile appeared on your lips this time.

"I just think that we're overreacting. Opinion with which you disagree, so I have to follow your and Richard's lead anyway."

"Exactly! Thank you!"

"I have to admit that I'll feel safer with a bodyguard around," Sofia, your PhD student, added. "Plus, if the one in charge of us at the lab could be a very sexy American wearing a tuxedo and dark sunglasses, that would be even better."

"They've hired bodyguards, Sofia," you replied. "Not Agent J."

"Aren't bodyguards supposed to dress up like that all the time? Kevin Costner was all dressed up too in that movie with the singer!"

"I don't know, honestly. I have to admit that I have never asked myself that question."

"I feel like the conversation has drifted…" Mark tried to bring your attention to the matter at hand, but he had already lost you and your colleagues.

"You have to admit that it's a rather good question!" Richard jumped in.

"Maybe they'll even have this kind of earpiece, you know, with the wire and everything," Sofia went on, a dreamy expression on her face as she tried to picture in her mind how her bodyguard would look like.

"They've hired only four of them," you replied. "I don't think they'll need any earpiece."

"Which, by the way, doesn't sound like much security," Joshua added. "I mean, shouldn't we all have one personal bodyguard?"

"There were no threats against you and Lucy, so…" Mark replied with a shrug.

"Of course, let the lawyers defenceless, as usual."

"What do you mean 'as usual'?"

"Ha… nevermind. I guess it's just my fate to die like this. You know, according to my astral theme I'm supposed to die a violent death."

"If you mention astrology again today, I can guarantee that you will die a violent death," you replied, pinching the sides of your nose.

"Sorry, but I'm nervous. And I always ask the stars when I'm nervous."

"Are they more talkative than Jesus? Or is the line busy for them as well?" Richard mocked, earning a kick from under the table.

Mark let himself fall down on a chair, heaving a dramatically tired sigh.

"You know, working with you guys, who are supposed to have brilliant minds and all that, kind of brought down my expectations on life."

None of you bothered to reply to his comment, too busy discussing the bodyguards who would soon arrive.

Indeed, you waited now for their arrival, all of you gathered in a meeting room in your lab. The Marine and Aquaculture labs at the James Cook University formed a large ensemble of buildings, from the tanks used for experiments and research to the offices where you were now. The buildings were often referred as MARFU for Marine and Aquaculture Research Facilities Units. They were not the most impressive buildings of the campus, and yet their research was among the most advanced in the world in terms of understanding marine life. The studied topics were vast, and your own little team was but a fraction of the people devoting their lives to understand and protect sea life.

On the north-east coast of Australia, Townsville held one of the four campuses of the James Cook University, one of the main institutions in the country. Hidden behind the large medical centre, on the south tip of the town, the university stretched to the edge of the wilder areas of Mount Stuart, the town stuck between its slope and the ocean. The white buildings for Marine Sciences research were all gathered on the eastern part of the campus, in an ensemble of about 20 separate buildings.

You were for now waiting in one of the meeting rooms on the first floor of the main building for Marine and Aquaculture, looking around you at the blank white walls and wooden tables and chairs. A poster for the defence of sharks was hung on one wall, the light of the sun falling partially on its dark blue shades, causing the colours to wane after years of exposure to the too bright rays of the Australian sun. In the corner of the room, up to the ceiling, a spider had threaded its web, but it was only a little one, and none of you could be bothered chasing the arachnid away.

While your colleagues kept on bickering, your own mind wandered off, drifting back towards the element that had caused all this to happen.

You remembered getting the letter at your office, opening it without worry, thinking it was merely linked to your research. You were expecting some documents for a field trip with your students after all.

Instead, you found a letter reading that if you didn't stop your surveys on whales, you would pay for the consequences of your actions. If the word 'killing' was not explicit, the meaning hiding behind their phrasing was evident, and whoever had sent you this letter was ready to use violent ends to shush your voice.

Clearly, whoever they were, they had never met you in person, or they would have known that threats would be far from enough to make you back down.

Nevertheless, Mark and Richard had decided that it was best to call professionals. Apparently, Richard had a friend in the security business, who had recommended the team he and Mark had hired. Why did they have to go to all the trouble to hire Americans, that was another mystery in this crazy story, but you simply accepted whoever they chose, as your complaints were dismissed.

You doubted heavily that anything would actually happen. You were a researcher, and none of your work was secret. If it had turned into a political stance over the past few years, it was still not a secret. All your colleagues in the lab knew about your research. You had asked for help from the press and a law firm when you realized that your research might have more impact that you had thought of on an international scale; yet, here again, you were not trying to keep any secret. What were they going to do? Destroy the entire university? If whaling held a lot of potential money, it was still no reason to make so much damage, at least, not in your mind.

When you started to investigate the migrations of whales in Antarctica, nothing could have made you think that you would come to discover that a Japanese research program was misused. If your accusation that it was merely a cover story for killing whales and selling their meat had always been denied by the Japanese authority, over the course of the past years, it had become your crusade to shut down the whole program. One could not, after all, excuse the killing of hundreds of animals and call it 'science', not in our day and age, at least.

You knew you had made enemies by taking a stand. You had never tried to hide your purpose. It didn't seem to you that it was a game people would play with death and threats. Maybe you were wrong, though.

And now you were up to get a bodyguard follow you everywhere. That was probably the most ridiculous position you had ever found yourself into.

Who would be your guardian angel though? Your mind started to play a game, trying to picture features and hair and clothes, and you found it funny to imagine a rather large sixty-year-old bald man wearing a cowboy hat and a heavy Texan accent as your protector for the coming weeks.

Just as you settled on an image, Richard was called by the reception as the four bodyguards had arrived. And when the four of them stepped into the room minutes later, Sofia gave you a look that meant I told you so.

And indeed, they were all wearing suits, which you imagined was not that comfortable considering it was a warm 27°C outside and quite humid after the strong rains of the day before.

And well, they were all pretty… attractive people, you guessed. As you introduced yourself to each of them, you kept on thinking about how much your two female colleagues would make your life annoying for the whole duration of this nonsense, gushing about their bodyguards.

Everyone took place around the circle of tables at the centre of the room. A little bit of small talk went on for a moment while they were all served coffee, about their flight, and their accommodation here in Townsville, but the man in charge, Steve, soon became more serious.

"We've started to research suspects, but for now I have to admit that we couldn't pinpoint any individual as being a threat in your direct acquaintances."

"To be completely honest, we highly doubt that it's coming from anyone we are close to," Richard answered.

"Not any colleagues, or a rival from another paper?"

"No, no one comes to mind. The only suspects for us would be someone linked to the whaling industry, as Dr. Y/L/N's research could have negative impact on their business, if we manage to give it a proper exposure."

"No one else is working on this project, you're all here?" Natasha asked, and you nodded.

"On the research side we are three active scientists on the project, plus our boss Richard. Luke here is our link with the press, and Mark his editor. Lucy and Joshua are advising us on legal issues."

"Why? Does your research break the law?" Bucky asked, lifting his eyes from the notebook where he had been taking notes.

"No, of course not. On the contrary, we think someone else is breaking the law."

"Our final goal is to bring the situation to an international court," Lucy added. "That's why we're helping them."

"And the two of you didn't receive any threat?"

"No, none."

"What about the police?" Sam inquired.

"They have no lead. They asked for the University to strengthen their security," Mark answered. "The investigation is still on-going, but for now they have nothing. And a simple letter is not enough for them to dispatch officers, which is why we called you."

"As we have discussed before, we have made arrangements to stay here for three months. We'll assess the situation again in a few weeks, to see if you would like to extend your contract or not."

Mark and Richard nodded in silent agreement.

"We're going to need to make an inspection of the facilities to determine which areas are the most dangerous. Same for your personal homes. We'll spend a couple of days adjusting to the situation. Do you all work in different buildings at the University?"

"No, all three of us share the same lab, and Sofia and Rosa have the same office, mine is next door to theirs," you answered. "But I teach, and the classes take place on the other side of the campus for the most part."

"Alright," Steve nodded, and he seemed to be thinking hard. "We're going to take a look around, and one of us will be assigned to each of you who has received direct threats. If you want, we can take a look at your workplace tomorrow as well, and give you a few advices on how to lower the risks," he added to the two lawyers, before focusing on the rest of the group again. "Ms. Romanov will be in charge of Mr. Savoy, Mr. Barnes and Wilson will protect Ms. Longbrook and Dr. Alvarez Santiago, and I'll be protecting you, Dr. Y/L/N. We're going to take a look at all the areas where you go here, in these facilities, and tonight we'll check your homes. We'll continue our investigation as well to find who has threatened you. Depending on how large the areas we have to cover are, we might have to use cameras as well."

"We'll show you around, if you want," Richard offered, and you were all soon leaving the meeting room.

Steve had already studied the map of the building, but he did find some interesting details that were worth writing down. Some areas difficult to see from afar, and other hidden corners. He would have thought that the lab would be a challenge, but it was tidy and ended up not being a problem at all. You showed him your office while Natasha was leaving for the newspaper headquarters, and Bucky and Sam were taking a look at your colleagues' office. Steve walked around, checked the windows and what was outside, looking for an angle from which a shooter could fire.

"It would be safer to move your desk a little closer to the door," he advised. "That way, there's no chance anyone outside can see you by the window."

"Okay," you nodded, hiding your annoyance, and helping him move your stuff around the room.

Luckily, none of the piles of files on your desk fell, and in a matter of minutes, Steve seemed satisfied.

You checked the time. It was quite late already, but you still had a couple of things to finish tonight, you hoped to keep on working at the office for a little longer.

Steve exited the room to talk with his colleagues for a moment, and when he came back, he asked you if you could stay at the office for a while, which matched your plans perfectly.

"I need to talk to the security on site, and take a look at the building where you give your classes. Please, don't go home without me, ma'am."

You gave him a smile.

"I was going to ask you if I could have more time before going home, I have still some work to do. And, please, call me Y/N. Anyway, you would have to call me doctor, not madam," you joked. "Let's keep it simple though."

Steve gave you a little, pinched smile, but shook his head.

"It wouldn't be very professional of me, doctor. I'll be back soon. Mr. Barnes will stay in the corridor, if you need anything."

"Alright, thank you then, sir."

He gave you a nod and exited the room, closing the door halfway behind him, probably so that his colleagues could keep an eye on you from the corridor.

You heaved a sigh and unlocked your laptop.

Of course, you had to fall on Mr. Serious out of all people, huh?

These were long, long three months awaiting you…

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

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony

@rishlo @theshortegg @madamrogers

@luckyvee

@marvelcapsicle

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america fanfiction #captain america imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fanfiction #beth writing challenge #au #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine

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marinaaniseed · 4 years

Text

Goodnight, now

Song: Goodnight, now from the album Taste the secret by Ugly Duckling.

Summary: Bucky bails early on team drinks to spend time with you.

Pairing: Female reader x Bucky Barnes (mentions of female reader x Steve Rogers & Stucky)

Length: 1,389 words

A/N: A tiny bit of smut, poly relationship. Part 4 of the Death on the stairs series. Follows Get innocuous! and What became of the likely lads. I’ll make a masterlist for this at some point. See here for what this is all about.

***

There’s been a breakthrough in the HYDRA child trafficking case. The team is out celebrating and Bucky has turned up for a drink. It’s a futile exercise, but he knows that he needs to show his face, try to integrate a bit. He’s a member of the team because of Steve’s say-so. He still needs to earn their friendship.

He drains his glass and gets up to leave, saying goodnight to those nearest to him.

“Sergeant Barnes, where are you headed?” Thor shouts to him.

“I'm headin’ home for some well-earned rest,” he says, turning up the collar on his coat to offer some protection against the bracing New York wind.

“But it’s still early,” Thor protests.

“I've had a very long afternoon. I’m over a hundred, I tire easily,” Bucky responds.

“I’m over a thousand and I can go all night,” the Asgardian roars to widespread mirth around the table.

Thor has him there, he can’t deny that.

“I don’t like crowded places,” Bucky says, and that seems to go over better. Nobody else tries to stop him leaving, they just wave him off. Steve gives him a knowing wink.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, crowded places can be very overwhelming for Bucky. He likes to make sure he has an escape route or two, just in case. But that’s not why he wants to head back.

There’s someone very special missing from the celebration. You hadn’t wanted to deal with crowded streets or crowded bars when you were still using a wheelchair to get around. You’d told Bucky and Steve you’d be fine but they both felt bad leaving you alone. They’d agreed that one of them would head back early to keep you company, and Bucky had decided it would be him.

You’re tucked up under an electric blanket when he makes it up to your room. It looks warm under there, so different from the cold wind and the rain outside. He can’t see what you’re reading but you shut the book and put it down as soon as he enters the room.

“You’re back early,” you say with a frown. You weren’t expecting to see or hear from anyone until the early hours of the morning when Thor inevitably forgot his indoor voice.

A grandfather clock sounds off its chimes outside in the corridor, it’s only 9pm. Far too early for anyone to be back, let alone the man of the hour. Several people had told you how Bucky had taken out the target with non-lethal force before anyone else had even spotted her.

“I’m not in a partying mood, too old for it,” he tells you. “Looks cosy under there, is there room for another?”

“Sure,” you smile at him, “just keep your metal arm on the other side, I’m cold enough as it is.”

Bucky can’t argue with that, Steve’s forever grumbling at him for groping him with the wrong hand. He kicks off his shoes at the end of your bed, removing his coat and hanging it on the back of your office chair.

“One sec,” he says, “just gonna towel off my hair.”

You’d noticed the dark strands stuck to his face but hadn’t wanted to say anything. It was blowing quite a storm outside, it was a surprise that Thor somehow wasn’t involved in it.

Returning from your en-suite, Bucky took one last look out of the window before shutting the blinds and turning off the main light. The room darkens to a shade of grey, the only light coming from your bedside lamp.

“Actually, I’m pretty soaked,” he admits. “Would you mind if I stripped down to my underwear?”

“No, not at all,” you say, your heart hammering in your chest. You’d seen Bucky in his undies before, on the mission, but this was different. This time you weren’t pretending, you were in bed together intentionally.

You watch, trying not to make it too obvious that you’re checking him out, as he peels off his sodden jeans and socks. His Henley isn’t too bad, but that comes off as well, everything piled up neatly on your desk.

He lifts the covers the smallest amount to slip in next to you, he doesn’t want any of the warmth to escape.

“Yeah, this is cosy,” he concludes, draping his arm across your shoulders and tucking you in against his chest.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to jump into bed with me,” you tease him.

“Oh, it’s not that I didn’t want to,” he says, his hand idly stroking your hair. “It’s a big change for you, dating me and Steve. I didn’t want to rush you into anything, especially while you’re recovering.”

“Considering where I let you put your vibranium fingers before, you’ve been remarkably chaste.”

“Well, that was different,” he explains. “I was pretending to be your husband. I’m not pretending to be your boyfriend. I want to take my time, get to know you - all of you - properly.”

“Where would you like to start?”

“Here,” Bucky replies, bending his head down and gently raising your chin with his vibranium fingers. His hair drapes forward tickling your cheek as he brings his face closer, nose nudging against yours as he closes his eyes. His breath is hot and smells faintly of hops. Rough stubble burns your delicate skin in sharp contrast to the softness of his lips. Tentative at first, Bucky soon adds a little tongue, savouring the taste of you like you’re the richest, sweetest dessert he’s ever had.

You splay your fingers across his chest, running your fingers through the dark hair as you brace yourself against him. He’s bending further down, pushing himself into you, and soon you’ll be flat on your back beneath him.

When that finally does happen, he breaks the kiss, looking down at you. He looks a little dazed like he can’t quite believe it just happened. He’d kissed you before, on the mission, but not like this. This was the kind of kiss that made butterflies swirl deep in his gut, and sent an urgent message straight to his groin.

“Good?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Bucky’s dick is hard, digging into your thigh.

“Real good,” he replies. “I could do that all night.”

“I might want to sleep at some point, but I’ve heard worse suggestions,” you say, pulling him back down to you.

*** Layin’ in the sheets feeling lighter than air, Bucky wakes up with your right arm spooned around him. It’s a pleasant change to be the little spoon, that’s usually Steve’s position, the little shit likes to grind back against Bucky’s morning wood just to tease him. He knows he should get up, at least let Steve know where he is, but he doesn’t have the heart to move and disturb your dreams. He hopes you’re dreaming of him.

He certainly dreamed about you. He knows he’s the one setting the slow pace, content to kiss you until you were ready to sleep, mouth a little red and sore from where his stubble rubbed. But he also can’t wait until his dreams become reality. It’s honestly a minor miracle that his underwear isn’t damp and sticky right now. Just thinking about the one where you went down on him has him getting harder. Hair and makeup styled like you’d stepped straight out of the 1930s, his dick sliding between your garnet red lips as you look up at him through thick lashes.

Your hand creeps down a little as he feels his dick grow, straining against the cotton covering them. He hisses a little at the contact.

“Mmm,” he hears you mumble sleepily, “this feels like it’ll be fun to play with.”

Your hand grabs him properly and begins to tug, causing Bucky to groan. Maybe getting up can wait?

He’s about to yank his underwear down to free his aching cock when F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupts.

“Sergeant Barnes, there’s an urgent mission. Please report to the hangar immediately.”

“No, no, no - this, this is an urgent mission,” he grumbles as you release him, rolling away in disappointment. “This isn’t over,” he tells you as he throws on his clothes haphazardly on the way to the door.

You blow him a kiss as he leaves.

Next time, you’ll just blow him.

#366songshots #Winter Soldier #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #Female reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut

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aboutafox · 4 years

Text

WIP Time

I started writing “Far From Home” sometime in the summer of 2019 and I honestly didn’t expect it to take so long to finish. I probably thought I would be done by Christmas. Haha. Yeah, that one didn’t work out so well.

Since the writing process has been going on forever, I started several other WIPs in the mean time (because that makes total sense).

Anyway, I read over one of those WIPs last night and I still really like it. It has this rainy afternoon mood to me and is a much smaller beast (even though it’s still a multi-chapter fic) than FFH. I hope I can finish it, once I have the other story out of the way.

For some unfathomable reason, I decided that I wanted to write a story about the No.1 Bangel trope aka “What if there were certain consequences to IWRY?” last year. At the same time I watched the PBS documentary Vietnam and somehow this ended up making one story. The plot unravels on two timelines. One that goes forward from an inciting moment in chapter one, and one that goes backward from that moment through different flashbacks all the way back to Thanksgiving 1999. I don’t know if that would drive readers crazy. Probably. In my head it seems cool XD.

Here’s the first un-betaed chapter.

Someday

Fandom: BtVS/AtS Pairing: Buffy/Angel, Willow/Tara, Wesley/Fred Warning: None, IWRY Trope Supreme (in case you are averse to that) Wordcount: ~ 1800 (in this chapter) AN: Don’t get confused by the time frame and ages. I said the plot was a bit more tangled than just not remembering what happened on a day that wasn’t.

Chapter 1 - The First Time You Met

October 2007

It's dark outside when Buffy and Willow return to the castle. The estate is shrouded in a cloak of purple and onyx-grey. The lights in the windows glow like signal fires on the stone facade. Buffy puts her hand on the iron handle of the ancient double doors, and a slight tingle passes through her fingers. The metal warms under her grip, and with a creak and a sigh, the lock opens up, ready to give way to the building. The entrance to the castle is old; the spells not so much.

"I should be used to this by now, but home-automation-magic never ceases to amaze me," Buffy says.

"Psh." Willow waves her hand dismissively. "It's actually a really simple spell."

“Buffy raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

For some people, at least," Willow concedes.

Buffy humors her friend, although she knows the spell is incredibly complex. It took Willow, Tara and three powerful Elder-Witches of the Devon Coven two entire weeks to set it up. It isn't just a protective charm, but an enchantment that recognizes the people who live in the castle as well as their intentions. Only those considered friends are allowed to enter, and only as long as no force or coercion is involved.

Buffy holds onto the handle a moment longer, chanting her personal incantation. "Please be asleep. Please be asleep," she murmurs.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Willow teases.

"Hope dies last? It's after ten and he’s been in preschool all day. If he's still up, he'll be completely exhausted tomorrow." Buffy pushes the door open at last.

They tip-toe into the entry hall of the castle. Not that it makes a difference, but it feels like anything louder would unnecessarily jinx Buffy's luck. The foyer is only dimly lit, the few wall lamps are dousing the room in a soft and sleepy light. On the ceiling above them, small dots twinkle. A magic night sky has appeared on the vaulted arches, complete with stars and crescent moon, mimicking the firmament outside. A soft murmur resonates from somewhere upstairs, quiet footsteps pad along a far off hallway. Everyone who's scheduled for patrol or a mission tonight has already headed out, and a peaceful slumber has enfolded the building, the castle a sleeping beauty itself.

Buffy gives Willow a hopeful smile.

Her friend raises her hands thumbs up.

They exhale.

Then the hectic splat-splat-splat of gripper socks on worn-down sandstone tile shred the calm apart. A figure whips around a corner and crosses the entrance hall in a jubilant victory run. Blonde hair flying. Eyes wide open. A grin stretched from ear to ear, one tooth missing in the front.

"Mom! Mommy! Mom!" The shouts echo from the stone pillars and the walls and the noble lords and ladies in the baroque paintings seem to startle a little at the exuberance.

DJ jumps forward as Buffy kneels down and opens her arms. It's a practiced routine, their welcome ritual.

Willow laughs, "Told you. Nobody puts our baby in a corner."

Skinny arms encircle Buffy's neck and hold onto her tightly. Whatever she has hoped for a few minutes ago, being welcomed home like this is well worth any extra effort tomorrow. They have only been apart for two days, but now a wave of missing him and the pure joy of being together again washes over her. She kisses his forehead and nuzzles the side of his neck, and he squeals. DJ returns her affections with a big wet kiss on the cheek. He smells of minty toothpaste. The soapy scent of face wash. The clean cotton freshness of blue dinosaur PJs. And a whiff of Eau Sauvage.

Buffy freezes as the fragrance hits her. She hasn't noted the scent in years, but the flood of images that it releases, drowns out all other thoughts in her mind.

This isn't right.

"Mommy! Are you listening?! He fought a dragon! A real dragon!"

"What? What baby? Who fought what?" Buffy tries to focus, to pull her thoughts back to the here and now.

DJ fidgets in her arms, widely gesticulating with his hands. Pulling on her jacket. Punching the air. Making roaring sounds. Telling her of dragons and a man, no not just a man, a hero, who battled monsters in a mystical land beyond the night with his ragtag gang of misfit champions.

Buffy can’t keep up. Which one of the Watchers has told DJ such a lurid tale? He is anything but tired and bedtime slowly but surely creeps further and further away.

"Buffy?" Dawn appears from the same hallway as DJ, her face is frozen stiff in an overextended smile that usually belongs to car salesmen and Tupperware ladies. "Hi guys," Dawn greets them again in a hushed, placating voice. "Good trip?" She continues without waiting for an answer. "So Buff, Buffy, before you freak. Let me explain. DJ and I ran into him in town this afternoon, when we were shopping. Like during the day. Oh my god. I almost had a heart attack." She moves her hand over her heart. "I don't even know how DJ found him. But he like zeroed in on him right away. It was totally crazy. And he's actually here to...well he can tell you himself. But I said he could come over and stay the night. We have so much room. I didn't think you would mind. And...I hope you don't." Dawn whispers and rattles down the sentences at the same time.

"Dawn? I didn't get a thing you said. Who did you meet? Why would I be mad?" Buffy looks from Dawn to DJ, trying hard to decide who to make sense of first.

"Err, Buffy…" Willow has taken a step closer to them, and her hand grabs Buffy's shoulder, pinching it tightly. "Really, don't freak because I kinda am."

Buffy looks towards the hallway that leads to the common rooms for a third time.

Another figure has appeared in the dark corridor. He makes no sound as he walks down the hallway in slow, measured steps. His movements fluid and lithe, a living shadow, no motion in excess. Even without seeing his face, Buffy would recognize that walk a thousand times over. Could tell him apart from a row of a hundred men.

Blood starts to rush to her head. Her chest constricts. She feels dizzy. It can't be. He's dead. He's long dead and never coming back. She accepted that fact years ago. For a moment, she thinks she will throw up right here and now, or faint, but then her slayer-senses kick in and help her get a hold of herself. She takes a slow breath and pushes all feelings down.

A small cloud that covered the moon in the magic ceiling sky moves, and a dusty ray of reflected light breaks through.

He steps into its muted halo.

"Angel?" Buffy whispers.

DJ struggles and squirms in her embrace. "Mommy. That's too tight." She drops her arms and lets him go.

"Sorry. Buddy. Sorry." One of Buffy's hands moves up to cover her mouth, as if it was trying to hold in all the ghosts of emotions that suddenly want to escape.

"Hi," Angel says. His voice raspy as if it hasn't been used much as of late.

"You're alive." She can barely turn the thought into a phrase, fearful that he will vanish if she says the words out loud.

"Well...not entirely."

"Yeah, but you're..."

"I'm here."

She gets up from her crouch, trying to suppress the shake in her legs. Moving into a standing position takes forever. She doesn't know if someone is talking to her. If there are still other people in the entry hall or if everyone has left.

He looks exactly the same. His skin pale. His eyes deep dark pools. His cheekbones high and slightly gaunt. Everything is exactly as Buffy remembers. Except for his hair. His hair is different. It is shorter on the sides and combed somewhat over. It's a different side-part. Or maybe it's always been like that. She's so occupied aligning her mental image of Angel with the man in front of her that she forgets they were having a conversation.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Willow moving past her in slow motion. Willow's arms lift and move around Angel at a glacial pace. Willow hugs him and calls his name out loud. Her voice surprised and delighted.

And with that, the world around Buffy snaps back to normal speed again.

"Angel. Wow. You are here. How are you? How long has it been? Five years?" Willow exclaims.

"More like six here?"

"I -- wow -- How are the Phantom Forces? Or what do they call them? The Ghost Brigades?"

Angel shrugs and smiles and politely answers all the questions he's asked. He's fine. It's been longer for him than for them, how much he doesn't know. Time passes differently in other dimensions. They have recently gained a major victory against the demon armies of the Old Ones. So he's on leave. Angel seems attentive, but his gazes wanders from Willow over to Buffy, and then to DJ. There's confusion in his eyes and maybe something akin to disappointment.Then something else flutters across Angel's features like the wing beat of a moth, barely detectable, but when it has come and gone, it has drained all emotion from his face. Buffy knows that look. The ramparts are raised, and all the walls are up. She remembers the expression from the times when she asked too many questions about his past. From the months after he came back from hell. From their meeting right after she came back from the dead.

Buffy herself hasn't moved. Her feet and her legs are made of lead. She can't take a step, even if she wants to. She has played this moment over a million times in her mind, but now her brain is only white noise and static.

Another moment passes that feels like an eternity.

Then Dawn sweeps in and picks DJ up. "Alright, time for bed," she calls.

There are squealing protests and calls for more dragon stories that only subside when Dawn lets him ride piggy-back up the ornate wooden staircase.

"Good night, guys! See you tomorrow." Dawn shouts when she reaches the landing that leads to the first floor. "Angel, Buffy, and Willow can show you where the guest rooms are if you don't find them again."

#btvs #ats #btvsfanfic #bangel #iwry #fanfic #writing #wip #things i made

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