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angriel · 1 year

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Eywa's Chance: Now I know Pt. 4

Warning: Widowed! Jake Sully, Warrior! Reader, Sexual Themes (will put signs), Angst, Absolutely Ass Writing, 17+, Violence, War, Chaos, Peace. Skypeople reader, Jake x Reader

Again...

Jake woke up with (Y/n) on his chest it seems that he's cuddling you, he stares at your face and touched it. He couldn't understand why he feels his heart tug when he sees you. He's not sure if it's because you're like Neytiri or it's been a long time since he felt those mixed emotions.

You tossed in your sleep and moaned "please don't", his ears perked up and he instinctively wrapped his tail around your leg and he brings you closer to him. He caressed your back as if to comfort you from your nightmare.

Unknown to him you woke up from his tail wrapping around your legs as he brings you close, you panicked internally while keeping your eyes shut. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?! IS JAKE THE FUCKING SULLY, THE OLO'EYKTAN AND THE ONE AND ONLY TORUK MAKTO OF THIS LIFETIME HUGGING YOU?! You aggressively thought to yourself. You thanked Eywa that Jake couldn't hear your thoughts, because if he did his he'll have his stupid smirk plaster on his face.

"I know you're awake (Y/n)" Jake Said while looking down to you, "Shit" you whispered and you know he heard you "enjoying this babe? " He teased you while Holding back his laugh. You Immediately broke his hug and stood up, he watched you in amusement and stood up too.

"Get ready we'll continue our training" He casually said. Now you don't know if this man is playing with your feelings, calling you pet names, embracing you and consoling you for a moment, and then proceeds to act casually to you and ignoring your existence.

He walked up to you and whispered "Be a good girl today so we could finish earlier m'kay?" those words shot electricity throughout your body, you stumbled and he caught you with his right hand supporting your stomach area. "whoah there" he said, you decided to run out of the tent and go outside.

Jake knew how dangerous it is when your link with your avatar was interrupted, so he decided to teach you how to hunt using a bow. And there you are perfecting the form of firing a bow, he scans your form circling around you he made some adjustments on your back and lifted your arms higher.

"Take a deep breath in and then shoot at the target" he said, you followed what he said and your arrow went straight into the bullseye earning a whistling praise from him. " Damn girl you're a natural at this " He said with astonishment.

"What can I say? Never underestimate the power of a sniper user" (Y/n) said proudly as her ears and tail moved slightly, "Don't overestimate yourself babe" Jake firmly said. "Try and shoot these" He said while quickly throwing 3 fruits on the air.

You moved while aiming at the 2 of them, you successfully shot it and jake whistled again. When you were about to shoot the other one you suddenly tripped at your own feet and fall with your face first, Jake Chuckled at your clumsiness and catched the fruit he threw and ate it.

"See? told you, don't overestimate yourself darling" He said while chewing on his food. "Ever heard of don't talk while your mouth is full?" You argued back and he threw his arms up as if surrendering to your little bickerings. You rolled your eyes and picked yourself up.

After some time your muscles ached all over as Jake forced you to use the Bow over and over again, you silently cursed him on your head but still comply because you're afraid in making him mad.

"Stop" he commanded, You stopped what you're doing and raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking him why. "let's go, we're done for today" he said in a monotone voice. Well that was weird. First he cuddles you, give you pet names and then staring at you weirdly.

Unbeknownst to you Jake is fighting with himself, he knows that you're not Neytiri and you're your own person but he can't help but see the similarities. He ended the lesson and turned his back from you to go to his banshee, knowing you're following him he mounted his ikran and supported you as you climbed on.

" Hold tight, NEYTIRI. " The name of the person he always longed for slipped out of his mouth, you were confused and you feel a pang of pain rising on your chest. "Who's Neytiri?" You asked, but he immediately commanded his ikran to fly back home.

Even after you were both home you can't help but remember what he said to you, who was Neytiri? And who is Neytiri to him? You tossed and turned failing to get some sleep. You know you needed rest for tomorrow but you can't get the name Neytiri out of your mind.

You thought of that name until the sun rises and you knew that you're fucked. You went out of your tent to do some stretches and waited for Jake, a few moments later you saw the familiar Male Na'vi approaching you. You waved at him and greeted him but he didn't pay you any attention and somehow he got colder to you.

You didn't know what happened between you two, all the moments of you two joking during training and the pet names he called you are no more it's like you're with another person. It all went downhill when he said that name and you're determined to know who that is.

A few months have passed and he kept giving you mixed signals, where he calls you pet names and being flirty and all and then he suddenly gets cold to you and ignoring you. He's fucking your feelings up! And today is your last straw.

You decided to confront him and you know that it has something to do with Neytiri, that name lingered in your mind every night from the pass few months and it made your performance in your training drop.

He scolded you because of your lousy form in your archery skills, "What the fuck? I said straightened your back not arch it darling" He said while adjusting your torso, "And this arms fucking straighten it" He said getting annoyed each second.

You're getting annoyed too and the built up frustrations from the past months suddenly exploded. "You know what? I can't take this anymore. FUCK YOU JAKE SULLY" You said while throwing the bow on the ground. He stared at you whil you're walking away, he clicked his tongue and suddenly he took your arms and pinned you against a nearby tree with your hands up above your head.

"What did you fucking say?" He said while his eyes darken, you don't know where in Eywa's name you found a courage to fight back but you did. "I said Fuck. You Jake. Sully" He growled and pinned you harder against the tree. "you're getting braver aren't you? You little bitch" He said while he moves his face near yours.

"Yes! I am! Why do you do this to me huh?! Are you playing with my goddamn feelings?!" You screamed at his face, his hard gaze soften and his ears pulled back as his grip on your wrists started to loosen. You took this opportunity to free yourself and put a distance between you two.

"Wha-? I-" Jake stumbled at his words unable to say something appropriate to you, you shot him a deadly look and proceeded to comfort your wrist with an already forming bruise. "You keep sending me this mixed signals Jake! I can't ignore this anymore" You said way calmer than before as tears made it's way to your eyes.

"The way you keep calling me pet names, the way you flirt and touch me. It hurts Jake, it hurts" you said with your voice breaking. "Why? Why are you hurting when you don't feel anything for me?" He stupidly said.

"You! - You Fucking Skxawng! Of Course I have feelings for you! You don't know how crazy my heart beats when you flirt with me and then ignore and be cold to me the next day! You know fucking nothing!" You said and you proceeded to run away from him, You run past him hitting his shoulder on the process as he contemplates what just happened. He stared at the ground for a few moments until he realized that you ran deeper in the forest.

"Shit" he whispered and proceeded to follow you, he kept shouting your name while searching for you worried that you're lost in this Pandoran Forest. He kept searching and searching until he found you in THE TREE OF SOULS. You were interacting with a wood sprite with tears silently fall down to your cheeks, the way the light of the tree illuminates your face was beautiful. You were Ethereal.

That's when he realize that he's silently falling for you from the past months, not because you're similar to Neytiri but because you're you. He silently watched your every move, every smile and every small chuckle you let out tugs at his heart.

He let's himself be seen by you and the smile on your face dropped, and not surprisingly his heart dropped too he hate seeing you hurt. "What do you want?" You said, not earning a reply to him you felt yourself got Angry and you turned your back at him.

"You know if you're only gonna make this worse don't! Because I -" You were caught off guard when he took your arms spun you around to face him and you felt him crashing his lips against yours, your eyes widened at his sudden action and you pulled out from the kiss.

"Please don't play with my feelings any more Jake, it's slowly killing me" you pleaded to him, but he just shook his head "allow me to explain" He said, he sat to the ground and you followed his actions.

Jake explained everything, including who Neytiri was and what happened to him when his mate died. You took pity on him but it doesn't justify the way he treats your feelings. "I lied to myself (Y/n) everyday when I see you my heart goes crazy. I kept denying everything because I still believe that Neytiri is the one for me but now I realized that I should follow my heart" He said while looking at you.

He grabbed some strands of the Tree of Souls and gave some to you, you took it and raised your eyebrow at him "You wanna meet Neytiri?" He said, You nodded and he grabbed his hair and connected his Tsaheylu with the strand, you followed his actions and did the same. You immediately felt a strong surge of energy and suddenly you saw Jake with a Female Na'vi.

Jake hugged the Na'vi and she hugged back, he turned to you and motioned for you to come. You did and greeted the Female Na'vi "Oel Ngati Kameie" she returned it and said " you have taught her well Ma Jake" She said.

"I'm (Y/n) nice to meet you, I assume you're Neytiri?" You asked politely. She nodded yes and she took your hands on her, she cups her hand on your face and examines your entire existence and finally said "So you're Eywa's gift to Jake, I'm happy Nga za'u ftu peseng?" she asked, " Za'u oe ftu'rrta" she chuckled.

"How Ironic" She said, she suddenly hugged you and whispered "Please take care of Ma Jake, I know you're Jake's new mate" You nodded and she broke the hug, you can see Jake teared up at the sight of his 2 mates getting along.

"For you Ma Jake take good care of her Rutxe? " She asked him and he chuckled and nodded, they hugged again and her ears perked up. "It seems I have to go now, Hayalovay, Eywa mengahu" she said, she pulled you two for a group hug and she slowly disappeared. You two were taken back at the tree of souls, and as you regained your consciousness there are certain names that flooded your mind.

You felt as if Neytiri sent you names, you mumbled the word strange. You turned your head to Jake you saw him crying his tears silently flowing down his cheeks. You suddenly hugged him and he hugged you back, you both hugged each other for a long time until Jake decided to break it.

"It's strange I keep hearing names on my head" you said to Jake. He looks at you and asks you what is it, "it's Neteyam, Lo'ak and Tuk?" You said while holding your head. "that's probably your hallucinations as it is your first time connecting with Eywa" he said. You nodded and then you stood up.

He stood up towering you as he was a few cm taller than you, he looks at you and hugs you, you hugged him back feeling his warmth on your body. You both went back to the High camp and before you go to your tent you stopped him and gave him a kiss on his cheeks, his eyes widened and he put his hands on his cheeks where you kissed him.

Before you entered your tent you said, "You know I kept wondering who is Neytiri, but after today's events. I finally got to meet her" you stopped for a moment to breathe deeply and then said.

"NOW I KNOW.."

Nga za'u ftu peseng?

(where do you come from?)

Za'u oe ftu'rrta

(I come from earth)

Rutxe?

(Please?)

Hayalovay, Eywa mengahu

(Until Next time, May Eywa be with you)

Tags:

@fluloa @cleverzonkwombatsludge @thatsenoughformelol @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @erenjaegerwifee @soxfix @dorck26 @vampsclassiffied @1950schick @lovekeeho @fanboyluvr

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mangoshorthand · 4 months

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Arrow of Time- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Chapter 1 (Hard Feelings Part 5)

SUMMARY: When the mother of all teenage tantrums causes time itself to fracture, Five has to travel back to 1831 to repair the damage. But will he be able to cope with what he finds there? Chapter 2 >> << Back to prologue

You've had a shit day at work, Aoife has a secret and Five has a panic attack.

We're looking at a big ol' time jump friends.

Chapter One: My Bambina

“Now look: p(𝑥) is a polynomial and k is an integer. So we gotta put the 𝑥-2 on the outside and then what do we put on the inside….?” When she stares blankly, he prompts her, “We start with 𝑥 cubed…and what then?”

Aoife sits at the desk, looking up at him with his own eyes. The same expression of panicked frustration is still there, writ large.

“ Cosa non capisci, cara?”

“ Tutto!” she exclaims, throwing her arms in the air and a whine entering her voice, “I still don’t get it, Dad.”

He sighs, running his fingers down his face before turning from the dry erase and placing the lid on his pen.

“This important stuff, tesoro. We have to grasp this to understand limit cycles.”

“Why won’t you let me just try?!”

He lets out an angry sigh, praying to a deity he doesn’t believe in to give him strength. Five is not a patient man by nature, but the last thirteen years of fatherhood had expanded his capacity tenfold…but everyone has their limit.

“You know why,” he grinds out, teeth gritted tightly together, “because you’re averaging a D+ in math and if you try to time travel without even basic understanding-”

From the entrance hall, the grandfather clock chimes, just audible up the attic stairs. Immediately, her head whips to face him, throwing down her pencil.

“You said we’d stop at seven.”

“Aoife- you have to get this.”

“You promised,” s he says, looking for all the world as if he’d been applying thumbscrews rather than teaching her rudimentary polynomial division, “that’s so unfair!”

He stifles a groan. God help him- he loves this girl more than life itself but her overly-developed teenage sense of injustice is infuriating, especially when she puts on that goddamn ‘woe is me’ voice.

Suddenly, he finds himself smiling; it’s pretty cute, now he thinks on it. His little girl, all anger and injured entitlement.

“Okay,” he says, softening, “just humor me for five more minutes and then I promise I’ll let you go. Come with me to the study.”

With a huffed-out sigh expressing that she is the most unfairly treated child in the world, Aoife follows his blink with her own, alighting from her portal sat atop Reginald’s desk.

“Smooth landing,” Five says, approvingly. “One tip though: never blink somewhere so specific unless you can see it or you know damn well that the space is empty: you’re sitting on a fountain pen.”

Aoife hops off the desk immediately, letting out a noise of shocked dismay as she turns to see the ink-spot spreading on the butt cheek of her favorite white jeans.

“Don’t worry, it will come out in the wash,” he murmurs, sitting down casually behind the desk and reaching into the lowest drawer.

Aoife takes her own seat across from him, looking around the study with interest. Dad had never exactly forbidden her from coming in here without him, but he made his disapproval obvious if he ever caught her in here alone. If he thought that would stop her finding the room fascinating, then he’s even more of a dumbass than Aoife was quickly coming to suspect he is…that she's been coming to suspect both her parents are, actually.

“Take a look at this. I call it a temporal ambimeter: I built it around ten years ago.”

Onto the desktop, he carefully places a small instrument: Attached to a three-footed metal plinth is what looks like a full circle protractor marked with incomprehensible measurements. It drifts, turning a sedate three hundred and sixty degrees clockwise. On top of the circle, seeming to float, is a spindly metal needle, held at a perfect horizontal along the protractor’s diameter by invisible forces. Even from this distance, Aoife can feel a tingle in the ends of her fingers.

“This is time,” he says, simply, ghosting his finger along the line of the needle, static crackling there as he does so: “This is an absolute line of polarity. Can you feel it?”

Aoife nods, fascinated in spite of herself.

“Go on,” he said, smiling slightly, “feel it like I did.”

Stretching out her fingers Aoife, imitates her Dad- sparks flying as she runs her fingers along it like a tiny theremin. The sensation is like blood rushing back to fill dead fingers. Mentally, it’s more complex than that.

“There’s something…it feels.”

Five helps, though he’s barely able to put it into words himself, “Like putting the last jigsaw piece in?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, “it feels…right.”

“That’s because it is. Come here.”

She stands on slightly numb legs and walks around the desk to where Five waits for her with an arm outstretched. Though she resists slightly, (ever more often shying away from cripplingly uncool parental affection), he puts his arm around her anyway.

“Watch.”

For this demonstration, he only needs to reverse time five seconds or so, but it’s always an effort, especially when taking somebody else. At least he doesn’t need to physically move their bodies.

Aoife felt time contract around her under her Dad’s power, holding onto his arm for dear life: he’d never done this with her before.

“Watch,” he says, voice cracking with the strain.

She looks down at the instrument: the protractor shudders to a halt and turns anti-clockwise along with the physical sensation of time reversing, speeding up as Five really gets hold and reverses the seconds.

“The…needle stays in place though.” he says, still straining “S-still feels like the last jigsaw piece, right?”

He’s right: though the rest of the instrument wavers in the current of Five’s power, the needle stays perfectly still.

He grunts and relinquishes his hold on the seconds, taking a deep breath and stretching out his neck. The protractor begins to turn slowly clockwise again.

“See,” he says, grinning at Aoife, “that’s a constant. No matter the timeline, no matter the paradox, that’s what stays in place. It’s what I access when I manipulate time, and you will too, one day. But cara, this stuff is fragile. That’s why you need to have a sound theoretical understanding before you try, okay? You know I don’t say this just to be a tight-ass, right?”

He pulls her closer as he says it, planting a kiss just above her ear.

“ Capisco papà. Posso partire adesso?”

“Sì, he sighs, “I need to go for a bike ride anyway. But not before I get a hug, right?”

She hugs him, laying her head on his shoulder momentarily before throwing off the childish impulse.

“You’re still my bambina whether you like it or not,” he says, raising his voice as she leaves, laughing at her little ‘uggh’ of disgust. Had he been like this when he was thirteen?

No: he’d been like this by the time he was nine. When he was thirteen, he was far, far worse.

Dad had cycled for as long as she could remember. It was only recently she’d noticed just how embarrassing his bike shorts and helmet were, but at least she didn’t have to be seen with him when he was out on the bike.

When she’d heard the door close and could be sure her mom was busy in another part of the house, Aoife blinked from her bedroom back into her father’s study, concealing the notebook under her sweatshirt.

This room had once been her grandfather’s but in the years since his death Five had worked his way so naturally into using it regularly that it was now informally acknowledged as his. Until it became firmly her father’s domain, Aoife had never dared step foot in here. Even now, his bedroom, (all but untouched since his death) is the one room in the house Aoife has never dared to go.

The oil-paintings of him still hanging around the house held a curious fascination for her, and this one above the study fireplace was no exception. He stood tall, hand domineeringly over a walking cane. She and her cousin Santi both agreed: Reginald hung like a spectre around the house along with those of the tortured children the Umbrella Academy once were. He was cruel, exacting…and had been her personal bogeyman ever since she could remember. The portrait always started with cold eyes, so unlike those of her young father hanging in the living room. Five’s portrait always made her smile; Reginald’s always made her feel like she was being watched.

The journals are kept in a locked, glass-fronted cabinet and it had only taken her an hour of searching the study to find the key. They’re ordered from 1-6 and each number has several volumes. She started from 01, I and has just finished 05, VII. Reading these journals has been spookier than Aoife had even imagined. Reading about her Uncle Klaus being locked in a mausoleum in 04, XII had given her nightmares for a week.

Quite why Reginald has this hold on her imagination, she doesn’t know, but keeping it a secret is electrifying. Perhaps if she told Mom and Dad about her pre-bedtime reading, the spell would be broken. The journals concerning her Dad have been generally less interesting: he seemed to have been the perfect student and Reginald had only positive things to say about his skills (although was less impressed by his ‘‘impudence’). Nevertheless Aoife placed 05, VII back beside 05, VI and reached to pull the next journal out of line.

Reading roman numbers did not come naturally to Aoife, yet after a quick look at the previous journals, she realized something was wrong: 05, VII was followed immediately by 05 IX … there was one missing from when her father was eight.

For now, she took 05 IX and blinked back into her room…this was a mystery for another day.

Work is…not great right now. You’ve always been ambitious, (something Five regularly teases you for) and you worked hard over your twenty-year career. You’ve been at your new firm for three years now and you’ve got the fancy private office and a team of thirty subordinates. It’s busy and exhausting but it would be fine if the bullshit ended when you got to a certain rung on the ladder…but it actually seems to get worse.

For one thing, it turned out that the VP of sales position you had just lost out on went to an old coworker of yours: a guy called Charlie. He had been a smug chauvinist when you knew him and didn’t seem to have changed. He’d acted surprised when he bumped into you, but something about his shit-eating attitude had made it clear how much he was loving this. It was clear he hadn’t forgotten the time Five broke his nose in the parking lot of your joint workplace. You’d noted with satisfaction that surgery had still been unable to correct the damage: his nose was permanently misshapen.

Also, you’d recently raised eyebrows by turning down a huge FMCG contract; no matter how much they were willing to pay, there was no way you were going to be involved with it after you found out that it was the same people behind JUICED, trying to get back into the market after the poisoning scandal you and Five had uncovered. It was a cockroach of a company: surviving anything, no matter how severe.

So now, mentally drained, you lounge in the main living room, having dumped your stuff unceremoniously on the floor. You were absurdly grateful when Lila, unasked, had poured you both a glass of wine. Now, she lies at the other end of the sofa, trying to take your mind off it with talk about her son: the nephew you’d known since he was seven.

“He seems okay…” her mouth pulls downwards, “but I don’t think things are going well at the lab.”

You sigh, “why?”

“It’s your fault, really,” she says, giving you a slightly stern look, “I knew those researchers wouldn’t have a chance, but it’s you that got it into Santi’s head that he’s under some kind of moral obligation to all mankind or something.”

You look down…she’s not wrong. You were definitely very vocal in encouraging Santi’s attempts to ensure his healing powers could be harnessed by medical science.

“He’s not obligated,” you say, guiltily, “but it is important to at least try.”

“Yeah, and now he’s put his entire life on hold to be some kind of bleeding-heart lab rat.”

There’s no real anger in her voice: Santi was always a sensitive boy and now he’s grown into a principled young man. Though Lila doesn’t share his ideals, she’s proud of him for having them.

A static buzz; a crash from the atrium and the sound of labored male breathing. Five.

You’re off the sofa almost before Lila’s registered something’s wrong. Five half kneels and half lies on the tiles, covered in sweat, gasping for breath and clutching his chest. His bike lies on top of him, his ankle caught in the chain. His eyes are wide, terrified: his breath comes in desperate, vocalized “hahs” low in his chest.

Immediately, you kneel behind him and place your body between his and the floor.You recognise the symptoms immediately.

“H-help,” another of those pained grunts of breath, “my heart.”

“It’s okay. It’s just a panic attack,” you say, holding your arms around his chest as Lila appears in the living room doorway, “you’ll be okay.”

“N-no!” beneath your arms, his heart kicks like a rabbit in a snare.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” you soothe…but it’s worrying. He’s not had a panic attack like this in over ten years.

With another <ffssht>, Aoife appears, she looks from her Dad to you in panic.

“He’s okay; he’s just having a little turn. Can you get the bike off him, honey?”

“I-I-‘m fine,” he wheezes, trying to reassure his daughter without much success.

“Shh. Don’t try to talk. Just breathe. Count the seconds.”

As Aoife manages to remove the bike, you smile gratefully up at her.

“Good girl.”

She sits beside you both and takes Five’s sweat-slippy hand. As he slows his breath and tries to ride out the feeling of doom, he squeezes Aoife’s hand.

“You okay shitface?” says Lila, catching Five’s eye.

He nods, eyes still wide and heart still skittering.

“Shame,” she quips.

“When you’re ready, tell me what happened,” you whisper soothingly into his ear.

“Later,” he breathes.

When his breath is almost steady again and some part of the all-consuming fear recedes, he stands up shakily, holding one of your hands each. His spandex cycling gear whispers as his limbs unfold from one another.

“I’m fine,” he says, sounding more like himself, “I just had a little freakout.”

“Did you take your pills, papà?” Aoife hangs off his arm now, resting her head against his bicep.

“ Si cara, non preoccuparti. Starò bene. Ho bisogno di sdraiarmi.” he kisses the top of her head before translating for you and Lila, “I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down.”

“Do you want me to blink you?”

The bike shorts don’t have pockets, but he puts his hands to his hips as if they did, his body leaning forward in his characteristic swagger. Still breathing a little harder than normal, he gives her his cheeky, almost grimace of a smile and vanishes is a buzz of static.

His voice echos down the stairs from the 2nd flight,

“I’m not that broken down, sweetie!”

She laughs, grins farewell to Lila and blinks away herself. The sound of quiet drumming issuing down the stairs lets you know she’s back in her room.

You turn to Lila, holding up a single hand in farewell.

“I should check on him. I probably won’t be down again tonight- I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?.”

“Night chicken

“Night”

You follow them to the attic. Apparently you’re the only one who uses the stairs these days.

In the last five years, the attic has been completely renovated for your family’s exclusive use. Although you prefer to sit and be sociable downstairs, you have a family living space for when you want some privacy. It’s cosy: the sloping ceilings only add to the feeling of being pleasantly enclosed.

Aoife’s old bedroom has been turned into a space to do her homework and learn the theory of time travel while her new room, (another of the old storage rooms), is devoted to sleep and her drum kit. This had been a gift purchased by Lila. While it had clearly been designed to torture Five (in which you were collateral damage), Aoife had really excelled under Lila’s tutoring. This had delighted you all, (although Five pretended to Lila that he didn’t care), and now the parts of Aoife’s bedroom walls that weren’t covered with a psychedelic jungle, (courtesy of Uncle Klaus) were covered in posters of Cindy Blackman and Meg White with the White Stripes

Before heading to your room, you drop in on Aoife.

“Hey. Sweetie?”

She scowls immediately. It irks you and not even how much she looks like Five when she pulls that face can soften it.

“What?” she says, annoyed, “can’t you knock?”

“Excuse me young lady” you say, hearing yourself use the ‘mom’ voice that makes you feel a million years old, “I’m happy to knock in future and I should have done it this time, but I expect you to ask nicely .”

“I shouldn’t have to ask.” she snaps, “I’m thirteen, Mom. I deserve my privacy!”

She’s always been a daddy’s girl, but recently things have gotten worse between you and her. Five’s a brilliant Dad and he doesn’t shy away from discipline when needed, but you’ve had to play bad-cop with Aoife more often than him. You never exactly disagree on parenting but your moral standards for Aoife are higher than his. Last year, when she punched Whitaker Crane in the face for making fun of her sweatshirt, Five had given only a brief show of disapproval before asking whether she’d used her right or left hook. He’d left it down to you to lecture and ground her.

Partially as a result of his attitude, Aoife is always on the offensive when it comes to you. Arguing with her is not what you came in here for so you take a slow, deep breath.

“Are you okay, after all that?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because that wasn’t nice to see.”

“It’s okay Mom.” she says, rolling her eyes, “I’m not a kid , I can deal with it.”

“It doesn’t matter what age you are, he’s your dad. That could still be scary.”

She rolls her eyes and pouts (something Five says she got from you) as she throws off your hand.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay sweetie,” you sigh, “but stop with the drumming please.”

“Mom,” (she draws out the word so it sounds like: ‘MoOoom’) “it’s like nine PM.”

“Yes, and your dad needs quiet!” you say, feeling the stern look on your face. “Don’t you have a math test you need to study for?”

She huffs out air like an angry horse and throws her drumsticks onto the bed in a slight show of temper.

“ Fine .” she says.

“Thank you.” you reply, eyebrows raised at the little display of temper, “now: goodnight, love you.”

She grunts.

“Aoife?”

“Goodnight.” she says, grudgingly.

Aoife watches you sigh and withdraw before leaving the drumkit and crossing to her bed where Reginald’s notebook lies hidden between the sheets. Before her Dad appeared dramatically in the atrium, she’s been reading Reginald’s notes on him from when he was nine. They were strange: when he was seven, Reginald had still been writing about Five’s budding ‘chronokinetic’ abilities, but this edition of his journal had so far only mentioned his blink-accuracy.

She knew that her Dad (like her) had been forbidden to time travel when he was young and the disastrous results when, at her age, he had travelled decades into the future and couldn’t return. It seemed that something when her father was eight had put Reginald off developing this aspect of his power and made him institute this new rule.

For her part, Aoife has another pre-bedtime secret which developed a couple of months ago: almost as soon as she started reading 05, III.

Grabbing the old Wonder Woman alarm clock still beside her bed, she pulls her covers up over her head and checks the time. It’s 21:09. She closes her eyes and tries to feel for it, reaching for that sensation for which she now has the words to describe: the polarity…the final jigsaw piece, searching for that sense of perfection.

There: the needle. The… polarity . And somewhere underneath (or maybe within?) the drifting dial that reminded her of a protractor. She wills it to reverse.

Is it happening? She opens her eyes a crack.

21:10…so no.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes again and accesses that intuitive sense of perfection. There it is… there . Back inside or back underneath, she visualizes herself grabbing and pulling: molding time like clay…and then it happens. She feels it again, like when Dad took her with him. The air around her becomes thicker: her entire body fills with static, like stepping through a waterfall of cool electricity. Somehow, she knows when to stop.

As the feeling dissipates, she opens her eyes again, heart beating madly.

It’s 21:05.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @rorygi1more, @jamiebower88 (sorry for clogging up your notifs with my double post, taglist pals!)

Chapter 2 >>

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03. Here is a link to the whole series

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lily-drake · 3 years

Text

De-Aged

Jason: holy shit- she's so tiny!

Dick: *agitated* Jason, focus, what do we do??

Jason: *coos at the baby Marinette* I haven't seen her this small in forever.

Dick: we need- Jason! Focus! what do we do???

Jason: *shrugs* wait it out? I don't know.

Inspired by @bambicambi

Annoyance coursed through Marinette’s veins as she saw the new Akuma of the day. Of course it happened when her family came to visit. Looking up to the sky and praying for strength she turned her back to the chaos, something she would soon regret. Her brothers were asking her what the heck was going on, and as she opened her mouth a baby pink ray of light hit her, and Marinette poofed and in her place sat 4-year-old Marinette Wayne.

Jason and Dick stared at the small child on the ground in shock and after the moments were over Jason eagerly picked her up and spun her around.

“Holy sh*! She’s so tiny!”

Jason called out as he held the small giggling girl to his chest. Dick, was rightfully frustrated and walking in small circles and quickly said,

“Jason, focus, what do we do?”

Upon hearing Jason making cooing noises, he swiftly turned to look at Jason.

“I haven’t seen her this small in forever!”

He exclaimed, nuzzling his nose against the small Marinette.

“We need-Jason! Focus! What do we do?”

Jason shrugged as he held Marinette against his hip. She giggled and tugged at his jacket.

“Wait it out? I don’t know.”

Dick opened her mouth, but stopped when Marinette began to speak.

“Jay-Jay! Ride! Ride!”

Jason’s grin grew and gently set her down while holding her hand. He squared down and carefully released her hand. He could not express the pure amount of joy he felt when she climbed onto his back and wrapped her tiny hands around his neck.

“Jason, have you just forgotten the weirdly dressed flying child that not only turned Marinette, but all of Paris into kids?!”

He…had forgotten. But can you blame him? Marinette was so tiny when she was a kid, and he hadn’t seen her like this in forever.

“Look, contact Zatanna while I keep her safe and distracted.”

Dick sighed in relief replying,

“Alri-wait a minute.”

Jason was already running with a giddily screaming Marinette.

“No fair, I want to cuddle my baby sister too!”

He sighed in frustration, and no he was not pouting. Quickly pulling out his communicator he dialed Zatanna.

“Hello?”

“Hey, so I’m in Paris visiting some family, and this flying kid in really weird clothes is going around de-aging people. Could you come see what’s going on please?”

“Pardon, but what?”

“Yea, it sho-“

Dick quickly ran through the streets dodging beams that were now directed towards him. Why did stuff like this always happen when they traveled?

A few moments later a portal opened and he had never been more relieved to see Zatanna in his life. Zatanna looked around and looked at the villain. As she studied it and was about to jump in, a neon butterfly mask appeared over the child’s face and she realized what this was.

“I can’t do anything, sorry Dick.”

“What?! Why?!”

“This is ancient magic, probably the most ancient magic in the universe. There should be others…, see,”

She said pointing to a cat-like figure in the distance. Dick stared in confusion, what was happening?

While Dick was trying to figure everything out Jason was having the time of his life with Tiny Mari. He was especially thankful that when she was blasted that her clothes were transformed into a white t-shirt and overalls with lions stitched throughout them. He had taken so many pictures of them. We’re people running around everywhere scared, yes, yes they were. But that didn’t stop him from enjoying as much time as he could with his tiny sister like he used to.

“Jay-Jay! There’s a fairy in my pocket!”

“How is there a fairy in the Pixie’s pocket?”

He asked jokingly while swinging the hands back and forth!

“Lookin lookie! It’s a Ladybug fairy! She’s so pwetty.”

Marinette held Tikki in both of her hands and jumped up and down trying to get him to look. Jason chuckled and looked down at the toy. It was cute, he had never seen something like it before. Then it blinked, and flew out of Marinette’s hand, and oh gosh, IT CAN TALK?!

“Marinette, you need to help Chat Noir defeat the akuma?”

“Akuma matata!”

Marinette called out with a giggle. Jason would have laughed, if it weren’t for the flying bug thing talking to his sister, who was currently 4, telling her to help someone defeat the crazed villain.

“Woah! Are you insane?! Look at her?! How do you expect her to fight?!”

The thing looked conflicted before sighing and saying,

“Well, do you want to fight it? You just need to wear the earrings, I can run you through what you need to do!”

“No!”

Marinette screamed.

“I want to be like you and daddy! It’s my turn to help people!”

“Marinette, you're too young.”

Tears began to well up in the small child’s eyes.

“I-it’s no fair! You al-always say that! I want to help!”

She finished stamping her foot definitely with a sharp glare. Jason sighed in exhaustion and turned to the floating creature. He mumbles under his breath,

“Can’t believe I’m letting this happen.”

He knew by the way Marinette was gripping at her ears and the definence in her stance. He could easily take them by force, but he didn’t want to hurt her or make her angry and feel betrayed.

“Can you assure above all else that she will be completely and utterly safe. I will join as well in my hero suit to make absolutely sure.”

“Yes, she has a partner as well who will watch out for her.”

He sighed in relief at that, but there was a new and very heavy weight on his chest that wouldn’t leave until this event was over. He listened to the fairy tell Marinette what she needed to do and almost smiled at the determined face she was making. Her cheeks were so chubby and-no, focus! He pulled out an extra domino mask he always carried with him and zipped up his leather jacket. When he turned around there was a burst of pink light and where Tiny Mari once stood stood his sister in the cutest outfit he had ever seen! It was similar to his old Robin outfit, but closer to Tim’s as she thankfully felt that there needed to be pants. She had small wings on her back with a black cape with red bottom edges that shielded them from view. And in her hands was a tiny yo-yo. Before anything else could happen, he quickly pulled out his phone and took pictures. He wanted to show this to Bruce and brag, sue him.

Soon after that they both left to the rooftops. He was honestly surprised by how easily she maneuvered around the roofs and how easily her yo-yo grappled and released from things. They soon landed next to a Cat Woman knock-off who turned to look at them in surprise and exhaustion. When Marinette saw him she quickly turned to him and tugged on his sleeve. Jason crouched down and Mini-bug leaned close to his ear and whispered,

“Does Selie have a son?”

Jason snickered and glanced up at the kid. He seemed to have heard them if the ears twitching and confused look said anything.

“No Pix. He was just inspired.”

“Oh, okie-dokie!”

“So, I’m assuming you two know each other and she was hit out of suit?”

“Yep, basically.”

“Right. Well, we just need to break the wand, but I can’t get close.”

“Little Lady, cast your charm.”

Mini-bug puffed up her cheeks making her old —and most adorable— thinking face before yelling out while throwing the yo-yo into the air,

“Lucky Charm!”

“A red and black spotted rubber bullet dropped into Mini's awaiting palms. Jason promptly took the bullet and loaded it into his gun, it was the perfect fit. The hideously dressed child flew over to them and flourished her wand creating the opening Jason needed. With one quick shot the bullet flew through the air and hit the wand causing it to snap. A black and purple butterfly began to fly out and mini quickly caught it. She quickly released it bouncing on her heels in pure joy as a wide smile grew onto her face.

“Told ya I coul’ do it!”

“Yes you did, good job Pix.”

Chat Noir, who they hadn’t noticed disappeared, came back with the bullet and handed it to the small girl. She threw the bullet into the air jumping up as well and yelled out,

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

Millions of Ladybugs flew through the air repairing damages and Turing people back to normal ending with Ladybug herself. Ladybug looked around confusedly and saw Chat on her right and Red Hood on her left. Memories of the past hour flashed through her mind and she promptly hid her face in her hands and a deep blush bloomed across her face.

“This is a disaster, a complete disaster.”

“I don’t know Bug, was it?”

Jason asked with a crap eating grin.

“Yes.”

Came her mumbled response. Jason laughed and ruffled her hair, Marinette was too miserable to care.

“We should go make sure golden boy isn’t panicking too much, don’t ya think?”

Marinette sighed tiredly and nodded, I guess so.

“Sorry Chat, I promise I’ll explain later. Bug out.”

And as quickly as she could she swung away with Red Hood laughing and not too far behind.

“B is going to hate that he missed this.”

He called through the air causing a loud groan to escape her lips.

“Don’t show him!”

“Too late Pix, already sent them all to the group chat.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you to Babybug.”

Marinette groaned again and Jason laughed all the way to where they found Dick and Zatanna talking in an alleyway.

Taglist:

@queenz-z @aespades @fandomsaremylifeline @stainedglassm @toodaloo-kangaroo @prettylittlebutterflie @trippingovermyfeet @liquid-luck-00 @unoriginalmess @buginetye @miraculouslydumb @aurcad123

#maribat #BDBWM2021 #bio!dad bruce wayne #marinette wayne #marinette dupain cheng #sibling au #sibling daminette #sibling jasonette #shenanigans #fluff #day 14 #cute #de-aged #mlb x batman #dc x mlb #mlb x dc

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havocsedge · 2 years

Text

Gavin tries to escape, to flee like he's so used to doing all his life. But the intergation room is small by design and now Nines is standing in the doorway- nearly touching the top of the doorframe with his head, the tall motherfucker. He didn't mean to duck into here but his brain hadn't exactly been operating functionally. "Just- just get lost, okay? Forget that even happened."

"I could never forget the feeling of kissing you." Gavin's still tingling lips twitch in memory. Nines stands so infuriatingly stoic, the only inclination of emotion in his yellow spinning LED.

The human growls with cheeks that grow more blotchy by the second from Gavin's mix of embarrassment, anger, and panic. "Well you better! In fact, just forget about me too, I'll ask Fowler to reassign you. Or me, I don't fuckin' care."

Nines passive stare doesn't budge an inch. "You don't want either of us to be reassigned."

"You don't know what I want, asshole." Scowls the shorter man.

Now the android advances in calculated steps, one at a time as if approaching a panicked, wild animal. And really, Nines is. "I know you want me to hate you, to abandon you. But you can't make me hate you, Gavin."

The laugh that rings is so hallow, Nines can practically hear the self hatred echoing within. "Oh yeah? Just wait. It's my special talent."

One more step closer. "You hate yourself, and you expect everyone to do the same. So you make them hate you before they can naturally turn. If you hurt them first, then they don't have the chance to get you instead-"

Gavin's arms wind around himself, as if to protect himself from the truth. "You don't know what you're talking about, Nines."

He tilts his head ever so slightly, the space between continuing to shorten. "Don't I? You admire Hank but you know he views you negatively, so you might as well give him something to really hate. I know you-"

The human throws a hand out to shove Nines away but the android remains in place, not budging even slightly under Gavin's wild and vulnerable gaze. "No you fuckin' don't know! I'm not some fuckin' run down car you found out back. I'm shit now, nothin' left. You can't fix me, you can't make me better-"

Nines' hand raises in the air between them, retracting his synthetic skin into the natural paper white hand as he reaches out. Ghosting over Gavin cheek before properly cupping the stubble ridden skin, Nines murmurs "You don't need to be fixed, Gavin. And you don't need to be anything but what you are now. You are not a broken car. You are a flawed person, a human- the most intricate and complicated animal there is."

"I'm a worthless piece of shit, Nines! Don't you remember how I treated you when you first joined? I know Connor has told you what I did to him too! And you still think there's something salvageable in this fuckin' mess?" Gavin hits his free palm against his own chest so hard Nines' ring blinks red for a moment before the soft yellow circulates again. His fingers curl and bunch into a fist, thumping against his ribs one more time before smooth fingers circle his wrist.

"You don't need judgement, you need understanding." Nines squeezes the fragile human bone gently, thumb tracing over the vein there to feel the rush of Gavin's blood. "If there is one thing I have learned about humans it's that they are all as you say, messy. They are all broken in their own way." Nines pulls Gavin's face back so that he's at least facing Nines, even if his eyes are everywhere but the android. "But if I can let you in a secret.."

Gavin curiosity is piqued, glancing up at his partner for the first time since they entered the interagtion room.

"So are androids." Nines' thumb rubs over Gavin's lower lip, slow, methodical. "So am I."

Gavin can't control the sudden huff of incredulous laughter that puffs between his lips. "You? Mr Ken doll. Mr top of the Rk line? You're broken?"

The corner of Nines' lips twitch. "Even after I deviated, for a long time I only cared about my mission. My purpose. I still operated as the machine I was built to be, and we have solved 100% of our cases since partnering."

"Not seeing how this makes you messy-"

"-And then, it changed.' Nines continues. "The mission, the job, it no longer held it's priority in my life."

"What changed?"

"You."

Gavin's eyebrows furrow.

Nines smiles softly at Gavin's confusion. "Now you are my priority. When I go into standby, it's no longer cases that I cycle through." He reveals, the fingers that held Gavin's wrist loosing enough to trace down his forearm. "Now I cycle through memories of you, of us."

The human looks shocked yet hopeful, as if watching the best dream unfold before his eyes. "Nines.."

"As a detective I should put the welfare of the city and my job above all else. Yet, at the end of the day, I care about you above all. And I would not try to "fix" that for anything." The android leans closer. "Just as I would never want to fix you. I love the man you are, not a theoretical version of you."

A broken gasp shudders between them when love lets loose from Nines lips, hitting Gavin square in the entire of that massive brick wall he'd built. The fortress keeping him from the world, from Nines. It chips slowly but surely, Gavin's other hand raising up to tangle in the fine white fabric of Nines' jacket, holding onto the android with a desperation that makes Gavin's scarred fingers shake. "I just don't want to drag you down in the water with me."

Nines hums and lays his lips upon Gavin, inhaling and categorizing every single scent that wafts into his sensors. "Luckily, I have no need to breathe."

#idk just some dumb shit #really in my reed900 and gavin feelings #my writing is so shit and dusty im sorry #its been a while #my writing #reed900 #gavin reed #rk900 #detroid become human #dbh

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aenaxes-moved · 3 years

Text

momentum

[hunter x afab!reader] hunter thinks it's a good idea for you to learn hand-to-hand. and if it's a way for you to see him sweaty, sleeveless, and in close quarters, who are you to turn down the perfect opportunity?

warnings: unprotected vaginal sex

w/c: 4.7k

a/n: i'm a simple creature—i see the sexual tension of hand-to-hand combat, and i am brought low. also the marauder has a cargo hold for literary purposes, now. anyways enjoy my first nsfw fic on this blog. reposting bc tumblr censored me :/

“Try again,” Hunter orders as he crouches down beside where you lie sprawled, chest heaving and arms limp on the training mat. “Just like I showed you: trap the wrist, lock the arm, twist and throw.”

“Unlike you,” you wheeze, struggling to lift your head off the floor, “I’m not exactly built to throw people around.” You forego your weak attempt to get up, and you swear you feel your teeth rattle as the back of your head hits the mat with a dull thud.

You turn your head, meeting the sergeant's piercing gaze with a weary half-grimace half-grin. There’s a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes—maybe incredulity—that he might be training a half-fledged jedi in the brutally graceful art of floorslamming an opponent over a shoulder while the others had taken Omega on a trip to meet the natives. It’s something you should know well, having spent your youth under the wild and unrelenting martial acrobatics of master Voss, but at the end of the day, you would choose swordplay over brute physicality without hesitation.

Especially if you’re facing off against an opponent who can and has hefted you high above his head and practically launched you across the training mat.

If Hunter’s amused at all by this knowledge, he only makes it known with a huff.

“Empire’s out for your head; you need to learn to fight in more ways than your fancy jedi training. That includes hand-to-hand just in case you lose your lightsaber. Again.”

“That was once, Hunter!” you whine, warmth spreading across your cheeks. But he’s right. Loathe as you are to admit it, no amount of force pushing would have gotten you out of that mess on Onderon, and it was a miracle (otherwise known as Echo) that you’d found your lightsaber at all.

It’s an embarrassing memory and, deeper down, a dangerous one that could have ended in more than stray blaster fire. Petulant as you would like to be, Hunter has a point. So you reach up, flapping your hand about until you feel Hunter’s hand wrap around yours, callused and firm, and yank you up to your feet. You stumble as you regain your footing, but as soon as you’ve collected your bearings, you’re shaking your hands out and bouncing on the tips of your toes.

“Fuck it. Let me try again.”

“Do you want me to go slower on the approach?” Hunter asks, this time, a sure note of playful teasing dancing over his tongue. The corners of his lips curl up, imperceptible to most, but you’ve flown long enough with the crew to pick up on his slight giveaways. You narrow your eyes, fixing him with an accusatory frown.

“‘Imps won’t slow down for you y/n,’” you parrot his words with a sour expression, begrudging theatrics complete with an exaggerated eye roll.

Hunter laughs, but he’s already drawing back into a low crouch, arms raised and muscles coiled, ready to strike. You take the brief moment of clarity between your warm up and readying stance to admire him, his hair tied with his bandana, piercing eyes set in a razor focus as his chest rises and falls, even, steady. The sharp clarity is made complete, authentic, with his garb. Having swapped his standard blacks for a sleeveless top, a sheer veil of sweat glimmers brushed over the toned muscle rippling under his skin. It’s an appealing point of motivation, a reward for the small price of being thrown around for the past hour.

“You’re learning,” Hunter smiles, small and crooked, but a smile that breaks past his stolid stoicism nonetheless. “Attagirl.”

Your heart flutters, and you lunge.

Two rapid steps, and you’re meeting Hunter in the middle as he rushes towards you. Right foot, anchor heel, pivot, and the sharp wind of his arm shooting forward nearly knocks the breath from your lungs as it just barely brushes past your cheek.

He’s fast. But you’re faster, you challenge, and you shoot your left arm up, closing your grip with your right hand and trapping his forearm in your hands just beneath the hem of his glove. And when you find secure purchase, confident enough that he can’t counter, you yank with a sharp, vindictive shout. For the first time today, your grip holds.

You feel him roll over your shoulder, guided by your hand, compelled by gravity, and you’ve won. After all the blocks and parries and attacks-turned-scrambling-defenses, you’ve got Hunter exactly where you want him. Hunter may have size, bulk, experience—well, everything other than the Force—that you don’t, but if he’s taught you anything during your time with the batch it’s that timing is king.

You whoop as you feel his back roll off yours, squeezing your eyes shut as you claim your victory into the empty cargo hold.

You forget, however, the unspoken and very important step of letting go.

As soon as the split-second of simple victory flashes through you, you yelp, pulled off your feet and centre of balance flung off to the far reaches of the room. You’re reduced to an ungraceful flail of limbs and panicked disorientation as you fall, bracing yourself for an imminent collision and a sure promise of a bruise the day after. But instead of the forgiving, plasticky foam of the floor, you land with a soft oof on something else, harder than the mat, damp, bony…?

When you open your eyes, you’re propped up on one elbow, your other shoulder dipped close against Hunter’s chest, and your nose just a breath away from his collar, and, Maker help you, you can see his collarbones, sharp and clean through his blacks, rising and falling rhythmically with his heavy, straining breaths. You lift your head just in time to meet Hunter’s eyes, lightly curtained by one single swath of perfectly mussed stray hair, pupils blown wide with pride, wonder, and—

Shit.

“Uh, yay me?” you offer weakly, hoping you can blame the tremble in your voice on bone-deep exhaustion, not the blooming heat roiling in your gut.

“Yeah,” Hunter says, eyes trained on yours, steady and still.

It doesn’t take force sensitivity to feel the tension buzzing high in what little space separates your faces, the boundaries of playful sportsmanship bowing under the weight of testing curiosity, circling, prodding. The breath that passes your lips quivers, of which you’re only aware when you see Hunter’s eyes flick briefly to your lips. He lingers a moment, and you swallow hard, almost audibly, when you catch a flash of his tongue darting over his lower lip.

It might be an adrenaline high—his dilated pupils, the wild thumping of your heart against your ribs. High velocity combat and being thrown flat onto your back would do that.

You hope it isn’t.

The silence is enough to steal the sound from your tongue, just low breathing as you hover above him. It demands to be broken, something to be the first push back into the rhythm of which you have become so accustomed, the comfortable banter and competition devoid of anything more than meaningless flirting. Because for his ruggedly handsome looks, his commandeering presence, an aura that had men and women sending him drinks from across the bar, you had never let yourself seriously entertain the idea of being able to have him.

It’s hard to entertain attraction, much less romance, when you and the batch are high priority on the Empire’s list to shoot on sight, but the possibility has kept you awake at night, fingers shoved between your thighs while he sleeps two doors down. The fantasy of having, breathing him in like air, makes you feel alive, makes you feel the rare and fleeting feeling of safety. You, exiled jedi. Him, one of millions, the dedicated soldier sworn to a cause.

And yet, here you are.

Hunter lifts one hand from the floor, reaching up to brush the hair from your eyes, and you find yourself having to bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from turning your head and nuzzling into his palm, from pushing close and staying, indulging. And while your mind blurs in the frantic flurry of fighting it, he gives in freely, turning his wrist to run his gloved thumb over your jaw. It’s the softest you’ve ever found standard issue blacks to feel, but more importantly, it’s the closest he’s ever been.

“Yay you,” he whispers.

Hunter leans forward, sliding his hand across the side of your neck, his thumb soft at your ear as he curls his fingers into your hair and closes the distance. One moment there’s a vast breadth of space between you; the next, you feel Hunter’s nose brushing over your cheek, his breath ghosting over your skin for that last moment of separation. Then you’re moving with him, meeting his lips with soft motions pleading for more as you slide one hand up into his hair and press your chests flush.

He doesn’t taste quite like your dreams, all smooth, sweet freshness dancing over your tongue. Instead, there is raw exhaustion and strain bitter and heady on his skin as he licks over your lower lip. But no matter; it is real and present and Hunter all the same.

The training room silence is broken when he nudges a knee between your legs, pressing close between the want pooling low in your belly, as you barely manage to muffle a whimper into his mouth, breathy and high as you break away to gasp. Hunter grants you that moment of rest, and he’s pulling you back down against him again, holding you tight.

“I’ll stop if you want,” he mumbles against your lips. “We stop, and we forget this ever happened. But.” He pauses to nip at your lips. “You give me the word, and we take this as far as you want, y/n. Understood?”

You nod, too busy chasing his tongue to feel his gaze fixed on you. And, as always, your blissful ignorance does not escape Hunter’s watchful eye. You whine as you feel his fingers close around your chin and lift, pulling away just enough that you can see his dark eyes steady on yours.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whimper, reduced to little more than pleading submission, doe-eyed and dreamy as he slowly runs his thumb over your lip. “Want you, Hunter. Need you.”

“Attagirl.”

He makes a noise that sounds like quiet laughter, but all you care about is that he’s nuzzling against your skin and holding you close. Hunter kisses you with a trembling restraint that you practically feel vibrating under his touch, the excitement of being able to have, the roiling fear of intimacy, vulnerable and open under your palms.

It’s something you know well. You feel the same.

“We should really wash up,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“‘Fresher’s big enough for two,” you say a bit cheekily.

“You really want it all, huh?” Hunter chuckles, squeezing the back of your neck as he presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Never get anything if you don’t ask,” you smile against his lips.

“Can’t disappoint the lady, then, can I?” he grins, dropping his head back down onto the training mat. You sigh, resting your cheek on his collar for a single breath before you feel him shift beneath you, pulling you into his lap as he sits upright. Hunter offers you a final peck, a promise for more in just a short while.

You silently promise you’ll return to the hold come morning and clean up the mats before Echo can chew you out for any sloppiness, but cleanliness is the least of your concerns as you stumble with Hunter towards the threshold, all soft laughter and kisses strayed off their mark. Whatever concerns about anything other than the bliss of the now are even more obscured as the refresher doors slide shut behind you. You laugh as Hunter twists out of his blacks, which almost has you tripping out of your own, but he’s there to catch you, sturdy arms and warm skin to pull you into the stall and under a startling shock of cold water.

Maybe it’s that brief shock of cold before the showerhead runs warm that offers you a moment of clarity, the space and quiet to realize where you stand and take in the man before you. You’re no stranger to proximity, having spent more than one mission squeezed up against Hunter’s side, but closeness doesn’t begin to describe where you stand now, bared to each other beyond simple undress.

A smattering of scars stretches over Hunter’s skin, an organized chaos of milky pockmarks and slashes so often hidden under his armor. You recognize a few, blaster fire and frightened memories of blood and acrid fear, and the rest you save for a later night when you’ve sated the flutter in your chest as your eyes drift lower.

It would be embarrassing, how your mouth waters when you catch sight of his cock, half-hard and framed by a dark thatch of curls. But any need for shame is dismissed by the sheer gravity of want because he’s thick. You had always imagined him to be big—that isn’t much of a surprise—but your stomach churns delightfully at the thought of him stretching you open, making you feel him for days after.

“You’re staring,” Hunter huffs softly.

“Can you blame me?” you breathe.

Hunter laughs, rich and resonant over the patter of the shower spray, and he reaches that short distance forward, gently taking your hand in his and lifting your palm to his lips. You step backwards, letting him crowd you between the wall as you cup his cheek.

His hands, rarely bared to his brothers, let alone you, are strong and weary with scars of war, and he lets them follow the slope of your arm, tracing down your shoulder, your waist, and coming down to your hips, seeing in full clarity under his fingertips.

“Hold on tight.”

“Hunter, wait—ah!”

You yelp as he slips his forearms under your thighs without warning, hefting you up against the cool metal. In your hazy delirium, it occurs to you that you’re both exhausted from sparring and that him holding you up would only wear him down further. You want to tell him you’re perfectly fine on your feet. But whatever protest you may have had planned dies on your lips with a choked sob when you feel his fingers knead into the soft skin of your thighs and tug.

You arch off the wall, breath catching in your throat when you feel Hunter shift his hips forward and anchor you in place as he grinds his cock over your clit. Any hope of forming coherent words, let alone sound, is completely beyond you, now. Heat coils in your gut, all-consuming, white-hot tension pulled tight and ready to snap with each slow motion he makes.

And—the bastard—he’s good at it, too, leaving you squirming under his grip when he shifts away, cruelly aware of the brief moment just as your pleasure crests. Hunter lets you whine, filling the space with firm, insistent kisses over your collar: enough time for your high to ebb, enough time for him to stoke the frustration, the need tight in your core. Then he’s pressing your hips against the wall again and chasing you forwards, hips flush as he nips over your jaw.

All you find yourself able to do is dig your nails into his shoulders and sob.

“Shit, are you crying?” Hunter gasps, nearly dropping you down into a helpless heap under the warm water.

You shake your head wildly, locking your ankles around the small of his back as you keep him in place. It’s enough to startle him back into stillness, and he readjusts his grip on your thighs, the weight of his cock heavy against your throbbing cunt as you gasp for breath.

“I just—I’m fine,” you laugh, bordering delirious as stray drops of water catch on your tongue. “Just fuck me, Hunter. Make it better,” you breathe, chest heaving as you lick your lips. “Please.”

You know the expression that flashes across his face, the need to tease and prod, making gentle light of a dire situation. But this time, Hunter does not entertain it with his signature deadpan drawl, instead meeting you with a soft, imploring kiss.

“So pretty when you beg,” he whispers.

You open your mouth to offer a snappy retort; even in your desperation, there must be some dignity. Instead, your ears fill with the sound of your stuttering gasp over the water pattering against the refresher walls as, finally, finally, you feel the blunt head of his cock dip into your cunt.

Hunter pushes into you with a maddening slowness, one that reduces you to breathless whimpering broken between what gasps you can take. You dig your heels into his back and meet him with a straining moan because Maker, he’s even bigger than you thought, and it’s everything you’ve ever needed.

“Gotta breathe,” Hunter grunts, sinking deeper into you.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a reminder for you or for him, but you manage to slip in a gasping breath before he’s nudging up against a spot that has tears blurring your vision in dizzy euphoria. And when you come down from that high spark, legs jerking over his arms, he’s still pushing impossibly deep into you.

You watch him in a dazed trance, fixed on how his brows furrow with each quiet, flinching gasp that passes his parted lips as your cunt flutters around him. And how, through it all, his eyes never leave yours, boring into you with a fierce intensity, devotion, demanding your attention and pleading for your touch. It’s more than pure physicality, sex under the crushing uncertainty of a bounty and the shadow of conquest at your heels. He reaches for you, as open as he’s ever been, and you reach back.

“Hunter, I—”

Your words give way to a long, aching moan as you feel the sharp dip of his hips finally press up against your ass, filling you like you’ve always been meant to take him. (And you have, you swear, to him, to everything you know.)

“Gonna start moving, okay?” Hunter says through a shuddering sigh. He trails one hand up your side, thumbing over your chin while you tremble in his arms. “Cyar’ika, tell me I can.”

“Please,” you whimper.

And he delivers. You whine, feeling the slow drag, the toe-curling burn as Hunter eases almost completely out of you then pushes back in, just as slow as the first. He’s measured in his motions, and if you could see past the tears welling in your eyes, you’re sure you would see the razor focus over his features. There’s a tense edge you can barely make out from your slack-jawed disorientation, a restraint behind each careful thrust. He’s savoring it, you think as you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

But when Hunter jerks forward, punching the breath from your lungs as he drives up hard, pulling an obscene noise from your lips with a stuttering apology, you realize it’s not some way to draw this out as long as humanly possible. And as good as it is now, it’s not enough.

“H-Hunter,” you start. “Hunter, you—you don’t have to hold back—!” Your voice rises to a wavering pitch when you feel his thumb trail down your stomach, nestling close above where you part around him as he starts to rub gentle motions into your clit.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps sharply with you when he presses deep again.

“You—you physically threw me across the cargo hold—like an hour ago,” you laugh through hiccupy sighs.

“That was different,” he chokes out a soft chuckle. “I want this to be good. For you.”

Trembling wildly, you muster the strength to lift your hand to his cheek, stroking over his wet skin as the refresher patters down around you. The aching stretch of Hunter’s cock between your thighs ebbs into something sweet, warming your chest when he turns his head to kiss your palm.

“You are good to me,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his skin. “I want this. I want you.”

You hear him inhale sharp, holding his breath as he meets you with dark eyes, wide and searching. To his gaze, you offer him a soft smile. And it’s enough.

You barely have enough time to loop your arms around his neck and hold as Hunter shifts his grip, firm and high up on your thighs, and starts a brutal pace that has you near screaming into his neck. Your legs jerk helplessly with every relentless thrust, and you find yourself knotting your fingers into his hair, cradling his head for some—any—purchase you can find.

It’s reminders like this that while Hunter doesn’t have the imposing stature or towering height of his brothers, his sheer presence alone is overwhelming, surrounding you and consuming you whole in ways the others simply could never. The power is intoxicating, crushing in its pressure, the submission and release to pleasure it demands of you, and you sob, a whiny, choked sound you barely hear over the frantic, wet slap of Hunter’s skin against yours. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and it’s so, so achingly good.

“Fuck, I’ve always—” Hunter gasps, craning his neck to nuzzle up against your jaw. “I’ve always wanted to do this. To have you like this.” You turn your head, meeting him in a lopsided kiss, all tongue and shared breath. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

“More,” you whine, crying out when he pins you against the wall, just so he might reach between your thighs again and thumb insistently over your clit.

Even with the water showering over your skin, you’re distinctly aware of the tears streaking down your cheeks, only fitting for the overwhelming sensation building in your core, cresting in blinding heat with every drag, every ridge of his cock moving inside you.

He fucks into you with soft noises, low enough that they might be drowned out by the sound of water if you weren’t pressed so close. It’s fitting, that the stolid discipline of a sergeant might follow him off the battlefield and into the bedroom, but as characteristic of him as it may be, you can’t bring yourself to particularly care—not when he’s holding you up like a ragdoll and bending you to his pleasure. You cling tighter to him with a muffled sob.

It’s nothing like your nights alone in your bunk, wishing for a warm body and something more than hopeful fantasy. Where your fingers only offered you a shot of momentary bliss, this feels like you’re falling apart in his hands, utterly powerless in only the best of ways as the coil in your gut draws tight.

“‘m close,” you croak as the heat seeps bone-deep, spreading down your spine, blazing in the tips of your fingers, and finding home in the buzzing haze between your eyes. “Hunter, I’m—I’m so close.”

“Let go,” Hunter croons, bearing the rough pad of his thumb harder against your clit, pressing firm with every thrust forward, soothing as he draws back. Your cunt squeezes down around him with the spike in want pooled in your gut, drawing a low moan from his lips, and he meets you with a thrust hard enough that you squeal. “Doin’ so well, cyar’ika.”

Trembling, you bury your nose in the juncture of his neck, but you’re pressed backward instead, a light, unyielding pressure at your neck before the back of your head is guided against the metal wall. Hunter holds you at the throat, nothing but a hovering presence of his warmth over your skin, but enough that he commands your attention, steady gaze, pupils blown as he thrusts up against you, pushing you higher and higher against that mindless gap of pleasure with every intent to pull you apart.

“Look at me, y/n,” he murmurs, low and hoarse. “Look at me when you come.”

He drives into you once more, hard, and the tension mounting in your gut breaks like a dam, flooding over your tongue in sweet, simple pleasure that pulses and shudders through your core. You feel it like your body, your visceral pleasure, is not your own, floating in a mindless state of bliss no longer anchored to anything but your rapidly beating heart and the shivering tremors buzzing at your fingertips. Lips parted in a silent cry, your lashes flutter as you let yourself be swept up in the peak of your pleasure, swept up in him, his gaze trained firm, fond on yours.

And you’re too fucked out to do more than gasp, breathy, stuttering inhales as Hunter settles his hands around your waist and starts a pace impossibly faster than before. Somehow, through the aching tremor in your legs and your limp form pressed up against the wall, you manage to keep your grip steady and keep your arms wrapped snug around Hunter’s shoulders. He pulls your pleasure, agonizingly long with no end in sight, chasing his high as you whimper and plead unintelligibly into his ear.

“C-Close?” you manage, digging your fingertips deeper into the sinew of his back.

Hunter hums, a feeble attempt to keep what little composure he has left, but you feel his movements lose the steady rhythm he had maintained thus far, forgoing fluidity and grace for the raw and primal need to satiate. Lucid sensation beyond you, you simply let him take his fill, lazily running your tongue over his lips and holding him tight as he continues to fuck into you with erratic, stuttering thrusts.

And not a moment later, Hunter bears your hips down hard on his, gasping like he’s taken his first breath of air as his climax thunders through him. You squirm in his hold with a thready groan, reveling in the warm spurts of come filling your cunt and oozing down the curve of your ass onto the refresher floor. For all your exhaustion, you curl your fingers at the base of his neck, pulling him close into a slow, lazy kiss, more languid touches than an actual kiss, but a promise of intimacy all the same.

Hunter tips forward and shifts one arm to wrap snug around the small of your back, propping you both against the wall with the other as the tension drains from his coiled poise. He sags forward with a final, shuddering sigh, pulling out of you and setting you on your wobbly feet, to which you promptly pitch forward against his shoulder.

He laughs and catches you with breathless ease.

“I have no idea how we didn’t slip,” you gasp through heaving inhales, shuddering as you feel warm rivulets of come dripping down the skin of your inner thigh. As the pleasure subsides, you return to your surroundings in a haze, faintly aware of the running showerhead, the steam, and you drop your head forward, knocking your forehead gently against Hunter’s.

“Neither do I,” he laughs and nuzzles close. “Next time, we’ll pick somewhere with less water.”

“Next time?” you prod, knowing full well that neither you nor Hunter were particularly fond of mindless flings.

“Next time,” Hunter grins, tipping his head forward and brushing his lips over your brow.

“If you two are done in there!” Echo’s voice, exasperation weary and gruff, cuts through the patter of water against the metal paneling with a bang, nearly sending you and Hunter scrambling apart if the refresher stall wasn’t already so narrow. “We need showers!”

“What do you mean ‘you two?’” Omega chirps from outside the door. You have to clap your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing aloud as you watch the rosy pallor drain from Hunter’s face as you hear her muffled protests as someone (likely Wrecker) coaxes her away.

“Not it—you’re giving her the talk,” you quip, biting back a smile as you peck his cheek.

“Maker help me,” he mutters.

#argh tumblr censored my first post #anyways #i originally wanted to write a sparring scene with wrecker but. i think that wouldn't really give you a fighting chance #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #bad batch x reader #yaej.writes #filter

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asweetprologue · 4 years

Text

tension in a touch

Octoberfest 5: Hover

People were afraid of Geralt.

As Geralt’s half-official barker, Jaskier was deeply aware of this. His main obstacle in improving Geralt’s reputation was not hate, despite what Geralt thought. The witcher didn’t discuss it much, but when people shied away from him, when their heart rates skyrocketed, when they cast him sideways glances, Geralt assumed it was because they despised what he was. A mutant, a freak of nature, a monster. And he was right, in many ways, but Jaskier thought Geralt sometimes didn’t quite understand why human beings hated things. Almost always it was because of fear, and Geralt made people nervous. Jaskier was there to comfort them, and then to rally them. It was a process.

Unfortunately, as they began traveling together Jaskier realized that he was afraid of the witcher too. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he hoped Geralt never picked up on it. Jaskier was drawn to the man anyways, of course. He’d been able to smell the adventure on him from across the tavern in Posada, literally. Dirt from the road, old blood rust and an air of tragedy clung to the man like a thick cloak. It had been a moment of clear and crystalized genius, when his eyes settled on Geralt. Jaskier had known that he would follow the witcher across the Continent even before he’d heard the man speak.

But all his enthusiasm didn’t mean that Geralt stopped being intimidating as shit. Jaskier, fresh faced and still not used to the rough and tumble way of the world, was a little scared of him. Geralt was careful, always projecting his movements and making himself obvious, but something in Jaskier’s hindbrain still raised its hackles and screamed at him to run anytime Geralt was near. It was pure instinct, an animal recognition of a predator nearby.

But it just wouldn’t do. If he was going to convince the world that Geralt deserved to be praised for his deeds, great as they were, he couldn’t be afraid of his own muse. So Jaskier decided that he would just do the exact opposite of whatever his instincts told him to do, until they learned to behave.

He forced himself to be close to the witcher, all the time. At night when they settled down to sleep, Jaskier desperately wanted to put his bedroll on the other side of the fire. Instead, he plopped right down next to Geralt, receiving a brief glare that made him sweat. When they ate at taverns, Jaskier sat in Geralt’s space, instead of allowing the table to act as a barrier between them. After hunts, he made himself help wash off the worst of the muck and blood and ichor, at least so that people wouldn’t truly bolt at the first sight of Geralt down the street.

Over time, he found that his palms sweat less, his fingers were steadier, and his heart stayed calm in his chest even when he was pressed shoulder to shoulder with the witcher. Geralt was often snappy, peevish and foul tempered, but he never hurt Jaskier after the first punch to the gut. And that was really on Jaskier for bringing up Blaviken. Generally speaking, Geralt was perhaps even overly cautious. He never returned Jaskier’s friendly gestures, carefully keeping distance between them as if he expected Jaskier to startle at every brush of their fingers. And he had, in the beginning. But slowly he felt himself grow less jumpy, a part of him learning to recognize that Geralt wasn’t going to harm him.

It was fine, the neutral ground Jaskier had been searching for. Things might have stayed that way, if not for the cockatrice hunt.

Jaskier had insisted on going along, as they were exceptionally rare creatures. He might never get the chance to watch Geralt fight another, he reasoned, and had worn Geralt down though a slow process of argumentation supplemented by a few strategically placed ales. Geralt had reluctantly agreed, warning Jaskier that he had to stay well away from the fight.

They had both underestimated the beast. Jaskier got too close, he could admit; Geralt wasn’t paying him any mind, focused on dodging the creature’s massive tail and razor honed beak. It was a fascinating fight. The cockatrice was like a strange mix between a rooster and a lizard, its beady eyes watching Geralt intently as it used the ends of its hooked wings to claw into the ground. The fight was fast, almost too fast for Jaskier to follow. Geralt was like water, here one moment and gone the next, baiting the creature into reckless attacks and popping up somewhere else to hack at its flank. Occasionally the cockatrice would attempt to take off, and a concussive burst of aard would echo across the small field that they fought in, knocking it back towards the ground.

Everything would have been fine, truly, if Jaskier hadn’t seen Geralt get knocked over by the cocktrice’s tail. He shouted in alarm from his place on the hill, far enough away not to draw attention to himself, if he’d kept his silence. The cockatrice, circling Geralt, looked up sharply at the sound, interested in a potentially less threatening meal. Milky eyes focused on him, and Jaskier felt panic pulse through his chest, so strong he wondered how he ever could have called his nervousness around Geralt fear at all. As the cockatrice turned to advance on him, he knew this was what real fear was.

In that moment, Jaskier didn’t think. He didn’t do the smart thing, which would probably have been to run back towards the village and try to take shelter amongst the smattering of houses there. He didn’t do the cowardly thing, ducking down to try and hide where he was. Instead, he did the incredibly stupid thing, and ran towards Geralt. The cockatrice, being directly in his path, was probably thrilled.

Jaskier ran faster than he ever had in his life. The cockatrice was barrelling towards him, and Jaskier took off at an angle, rushing down the small incline towards Geralt, who was already up from where he’d been knocked prone. Jaskier could see the moment that the situation caught up with him, Geralt’s eyes going wide and panicked as he realized the danger. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen Geralt move above a light jog before. The man usually let monsters come to him, rather than the other way around, but he was running now. He was amazingly fast, and Jaskier wondered who was faster. Geralt, or the monster.

The cockatrice had flown up, gaining some distance. Probably to dive down and catch him with some momentum. It gave Jaskier a precious extra moment, but he could sense the bird-like creature getting ready to move. Geralt was only feet away now, sword held in reverse as he sprinted towards him, and Jaskier’s lungs were burning with exertion and fear. The cockatrice let out a shriek above them, and Jaskier heard a rush of air past its wings as it dove towards them.

Jaskier ducked.

Geralt slammed into him almost at the same instant that the cockatrice did, throwing Jaskier bodily to the ground as a shimmering golden field sprung up around them both. The cockatrice slammed into it full force, its huge body impacting with a horrible cracking sound and spinning off to the side. Geralt winced at the force of it, the quen shield shattering apart harmlessly. He was curled protectively around Jaskier’s fallen form, one hand - the one that had been holding his sword, now abandoned - clutching the back of Jaskier’s head. Protecting him from hitting the ground when he fell.

For one brief moment the two of them were still, Jaskier fighting to get his bearings as Geralt hovered above him. Their faces were inches apart, Geralt’s panting breath ghosting over Jaskier’s cheek. His palm was warm against the back of his neck, and his strong thighs bracketed Jaskier’s hips in a grounding press of limbs. Though the danger had not yet passed, Jaskier felt a sense of pure, undiluted relief wash over him. Geralt was here, and nothing could hurt him.

It lasted only a second before Geralt was back on his feet, stalking over to the fallen cockatrice. The creature’s wing had been greviously injured in the fall, and it was no hardship for Geralt to dispatch it once he retrieved his sword. Jaskier sat up slowly, wincing at his newfound bruises. Better than a cockatrice talon in the back of his skull, he thought, but he’d still be sore in the morning.

Geralt stomped back over to him as soon as he’d finished the job. “I told you to stay back,” he growled. His face was stormy, but Jaskier had seen his expression just before the cocktrice dove. It had been just as panicked as Jaskier had felt, a naked fear and determination that Jaskier had never seen on Geralt’s face in battle before. He’d been worried. He was worried still. “I never should have let you come,” he grumbled, kneeling. Warm hands pressed over Jaskier’s shoulders, his chest, working their way through his hair to check for injuries. Where once it might have made Jaskier nervous, now he only felt warmth blossom under his breastbone.

Placing a hand over Geralt’s where it rest just under his collarbone, he said, “I’m alright, Geralt. I’m not hurt.”

Geralt glared at him. “Not for lack of trying, bard. What possessed you to shout at it like that?”

Jaskier blushed. He was winded from the sprint, heart still pounding away in his chest at how close he’d come to serious harm, so hopefully Geralt would attribute the flush to exertion. “I, ah. Saw you fall. I was afraid you’d been hurt.”

A strong eye roll was directed his way. Whoever said witchers couldn’t feel apparently didn’t recognize annoyance as an emotion, because Geralt was clearly experiencing it. “I would have been fine, Jaskier. You could have died.” His hand was still on Jaskier’s chest, over his slowing heart. Jaskier was supremely comforted by the touch, in a way that perhaps should have been concerning.

He gave Geralt a look he hoped was sufficiently chagrined. “It does seem I owe you my life, witcher. I hope to be able to repay you.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Just don’t go shouting at any more cockatrices in the near future.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jaskier said, and then added, “but I know you’d be there to rescue me if I did.” He gave Geralt a grin, to take a bit of the edge off of the statement. It was too much, he knew, too much trust to put in the witcher’s hands.

He was rewarded with an embarrassed huff of breath, and was allowed to watch as Geralt’s ears turned just faintly red. It was amusing, but Jaskier knew deep down that it wasn’t a joke. From then on, Geralt would always mean safety to him.

#october2020 #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #my work #fan fiction #fic #witcher #the witcher #I don't know how much I like this one tbh #I was kind of planning something different with it and it got away from me #maybe i'll expand on it later #anyways enjoy

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y00ngz · 3 years

Text

triggered.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: Love conquers all. But when does it not? OR that part when cheating happened and you’re supposedly hopelessly in love with each other.

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, manipulation, yandere theme?, this is basically a toxic relationship :/ mention of guns and suicide/self-harm, JK is a nervous wreck, JK mocks OC, he was low-key mean, ANGST, NOONA kink, dirty talk, smut (groping, fingering, kissing, degradation?, rough sex, unprotected sex, choking, switch?), JK is very much whipped, both oc and him are really simps for each other

Words: 2.5k+

(A/N: Wahhh, this is my first writing. I’ve always said I’ll never write but all these Jungkook thoughts in my head are just about ready to burst and I thought I might as well share with you all. Please feel free to let me know what you think, and try to take it easy on me. I hope you guys enjoy! :))

He's on his knees in front of you. A man so broken, releasing uncontrollable sobs and tears freely running down his eyes. "Please, I'm so sorry," He started. "I swear to God, it was a mistake! I don't even know how it happened! Noona, I was drunk and we fought. And you were so far ... so far away. You shouldn't have yelled at me! I hated it! You were far and you yelled at me!"

He was blabbering now. Nervous as hell because he knew, he knew he fucked up. Infedility is something you both agreed that would be a final straw. You both love each other so much, always expressing and exchanging words of affection. Always reassuring that nothing, NOTHING will ever tear your relationship apart because whatever it is, you both will work it out because you love each other. You'll do anything for one another. EXCEPT of course, if one cheated, that's just it. Because there's just no way that things can go back to normal after laying with another person. After being intimate with another being who is neither you or Jungkook.

"Jungkook, you slept with another woman. You fucked her. You put your dick in her!" You cried. It's your turn to sob. Saying it out loud made you feel the pain ten times worst. Finally acknowledging the pain that you tried so hard to deny because you love him.

You were ready to forgive him. But hearing yourself say it reminded you of all the pain and misery you endured. That while he was away, fucking another woman, you were in your bed crying because of how much you miss him and wished that he was with you to reconcile a misunderstanding.

"I can't stay here tonight," you began. You opened the walk in closet and grabbed a suitcase. "Or tomorrow, or the day after that." You started snatching clothes, anything that looks like yours and blindly throwing them in the suitcase. Tears continue to involuntary leave your swollen eyes. You've been crying since you found out. You knew this was it. It was THIS bad when he sent you a text the next morning of your fight "Noona, I love you so much and I'm so sorry. I did something that I shouldn't have ... but I know you can forgive me. We'll overcome this." You knew it was bad because he came home that night when he was supposed to come not until 2 weeks from now.

And here you both are. Nothing but despair in the air. You love him. God, you love him but this one just hurts so much. You can't even look at him.

"Noona, no - no, no, what are you" he's stuttering his words. Can't even speak properly. "Noona, please! Stop! You can't leave ! We will work through this!" He's panicking and his words are shaking. He's trying to pry the clothes out of your hands, trying to unload whatever's already loaded in your suitcase. "Noona! No! Please ! You can't leave me. You can't leave like this! " he sounds so broken. Voice cracking from crying too much and his entire being is trembling, finally reaching his breaking point. He dropped to his knees, "Noona, I can't - I fucking-" he's shaking so bad, his eyes are so red and blood shot and fear fills his eyes. He looks so terrified. "Noona, I will fucking die. I will fucking die before you leave me! " he shouted, bloody screamed shouted and for the first time in your life you felt scared because he looks just about ready to do anything to keep you here.

He opened the the drawer of your night stand and pulled out a piece that you both agreed to have for protection. He aims it at his temple after cocking it and you hear the hammer part of the gun clicking, all he has to do is to pull the trigger and your heart dropped. You feel blood rush and leave your face. Now it's your turn to shake, now it's your turn to be scared.

"I love you so fucking much Noona. If you leave, I'll die. I would die before you leave me! I don't want want to live without you. I can't live without you. Is this what you fucking want?!" Words spitting out of his mouth in frantic.

You dropped everything in your hands and reached out, "Jungkook baby, give me the gun." You say softly and slowly. "No!" And he pushes the barrel deeper into his temple, his eyes scrunching, the veins on his neck are protruding. "I swear I'll fucking do it noona!"

"Jungkook, please! if you really love me, give me the gun! I love you!" Youre voice is raising and he can sense the panic and fear from it. "If I give you the gun, will you not leave?" He asks so softly, lips pouting and he's still crying. He never stopped.

"Jungkook, please I love you so much. Just give me the gun. If you die, Jungkook I don't know ... I won't know what to do without you." Everything that you're telling him is true, but at the same time, you'll say anything just for him to lower the weapon from his head and to hand it to you instead. And finally, thank fuck, he did. With a deep sigh followed by a sob, he moved the gun off of his head and handed you the piece. You took it, quickly locked it and unloaded the magazine.

Jungkook looks defeated on his knees, both of his hands are covering his face and he is violently trembling from his cries. He hears you walk up to him and he looks up before throwing himself at you. Hugging you, holding you, never letting go. "Noona, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry! Please, you have to forgive me! I can't live without you Noona. I love you!"

He kisses the skin on your chest that is revealed from the shirt you're wearing. He's groping you now, antsy hands that have been dying to touch you. He mouths your nipple through your shirt and you hissed. Followed by his hands groping both of your ass, using it to pull you more and against his mouth. "Jungkook, I don't think -" he won't let you finish that sentence so he kisses you instead. His tongue already invading yours, teeth biting your lips. He's so frantic, too needy, he feels. He needs to have you now. He thought he almost lost you.

He walks you backwards until your back hits the wall. “Baby... tell me you want me” he says in between kisses. His hands are reaching all over your body, fingers trembling as they climb down to your stomach. With his other hand, he pushes your hair to the side and mouths your neck. Whispering words of affection and empty praises, nonstop apologies. He bites your collarbone, both hands now roughly gripping your hips, groaning “Say you want me please, I need you.”

“Jungkook ... I want you” You whispered, finally giving in. Silent tears make their way to your eyelids, but you don’t miss the way Jungkook’s mouth lifted in a smirk; smiling at you so mockingly. He kisses his way up to your lips again, smothering you with his, licking your mouth open before taking your tongue with his. “Yeah? You want me baby.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. His hands traveling down to your body, reaching between your thighs and openly palming your mound over your panties. “I know you won’t leave baby, I can only make you feel like this.”

“Jungkook - I, “ You tried to push against him. His hands feel good on you. God, does it feel good but you didn’t feel this was appropriate. You’re still hurt. “Shh baby, it’s okay.” He grabs both of your hands, holding them with one hand while his other gently pets your pussy. He pushes your panties aside, hissing at the feel of your wet cunt, dripping. “You get this wet for me baby? And yet you were gonna leave me?” He laughs. His fingers parting your pussy to spread your juices all over. Rubbing your entrance, teasing it, before circling your clit. You moaned, your forehead dropping to his shoulder. “You like it when I’m angry is that it? Or is it when I cry and look helpless? You say things you don’t mean, you say you’ll leave me just so you can see me cry and get wet watching me. You’re a sick fuck, Noona.” He’s completely mocking you now, all the while petting your pussy and rubbing your clit. He finally inserts his finger in you, two at that, and you moan. Loud whimpers shamefully leaving your lips.

You shook your head, not knowing what to say back to him after his declarations. Again, he laughs amusedly. “Yes you are baby, you’re a sick fuck. You’re enjoying this as much as me. Hmm? Am I right, Noona?” You grabbed onto his hand that’s between your legs, he was expecting you to pull it free from your pussy but instead you urged him, to go faster, to go deeper. “Oh you want to cum baby? Hmm? You want to cum all over my fingers? Say please. Be a nice a Noona and say please.” He reaches deeper, fingers curling to hit that perfect spot that has your eyes rolling back, head thumping and hitting the wall. “Please, Jungkook. I want - I want to - please-ah” He kisses you hard and messily, sucking on your tongue, plundering your mouth. “Yeah baby, go ahead, cum for me baby. Yess, that’s it. That’s it.” You held on to him tightly, eyes opening wide staring at him. You bit your lips as you fall apart on his hand. Loud whimpers escaping your lips and you grab his other hand to bring it around your throat. His hand automatically wraps your neck with it, giving you another devilish smirk. You love this shit, he thinks. You’re so fucking perfect and beautiful.

His hand tightens around your neck before pulling his fingers out of you. His eyes are blown, high as hell from watching you orgasm while his hand holds your neck in captive. He notices your legs trembling, unable to stand yourself up from the aftermath of your orgasm. He hoists you up, lifting you in a cradle position as he makes his way to the bed. He lays you down, tugging your underwear down. He does the same, pulling his sweatpants down to his thighs. He’s not wearing any underwear so his cock springs free and you see and hear it slap his stomach. He’s so hard. He’s leaking and making a mess just by fingering you.

You lift your shirt up to display your breasts. He sees you lick your lips in anticipation and he wastes no time spreading your legs as far apart as you can. He gives his cock a few pumps before putting his pointer and middle fingers in his mouth, wetting it to rub it on the head of his cock, mixing it with his precum and spreading it around. The sight before you is marvelous. Jungkook fucks like no other. And you can’t wait to feel his apologies by fucking you into oblivion.

He lines his cock against your pussy. The fat head of his cock slowly making its way in. You hear him moaning, almost whimpering at the tight feel of your pussy on his dick. “So fucking tight, fuck Noona.” He pushes all the way in to the hilt, both of you sighing in unison from pleasure. He didn’t give you any time to adjust to his size, he pulls all the way out only to fuck into you harder. He pushes your legs up, your knees touching your breast from how he’s folded you almost in half. And you brace yourself from the upcoming hammering of his cock in your pussy. He fucks you so hard, using his weight as he pounds into you. Pushing himself as deeper as he can. He’s grunting, moaning, biting his lips, “Is this what you want? You wanted me to fuck you like this? Hmm? Yeah, take it. Take it.” He’s knocking the air out from you each time he hammers into you, your mouth opens but no sounds come out, just airy breathy moans.

“I love you, I love you so fucking much Noona.” He reminded you. If his words felt empty to you, his cock will tell you otherwise. Then something in you snaps, you grabbed his face, holding his cheek with your hand while he drives in to you. “Did she feel as good as me?” You asked. His face almost fell, eyebrows furrowing, confused as to what you’re asking. “Was she as tight as me? Wet as me? “ You pinched his nipples and he let out a high pitch whine. His hips faltering, stuttering as he enters you. “Noona, I don’t-“ He’s at lost for words, head shaking because he can’t think of anything to say. “You can tell me, I want to know. Did you cum in her? Did she make you cum?” You pinched his nipples harder and he cried out. “Noooooo,” He whined out, “I didn’t cum. I couldn’t, Noona. It’s you, it’s only you.” You clutched the nape of his neck before pulling him to your lips, kissing him, loving him. Your imperfectly, perfect boy. “I only want your pussy, Noona. You get so wet for me and the way you squeeze my cock, fuck, I’ll cum just thinking about it.”

“Then cum. Cum inside me.” He growled before wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling you in deeper. He rubs your clit while he fucks you, “Not until you cum again, please cum on my cock Noona, I need to feel it.” He taps your little bud of nerves , gripping your waist with his other hand and using it as leverage to fuck yourself onto him deeper and harder. “You’re so fucking beautiful, let me feel it Noona. Cum on my cock, let me see your pretty pussy cream my cock.” You feel that familiar knot loosening in your stomach at his words. He lets go of your waist and took captive of your neck once again, wrapping it tightly around your throat and you feel yourself fall all over again. The harder he squeeze, the tighter you get. “Fuck yeah, that’s it. That’s it. God damn, Noona, fuck – I’m – shit – I’m cumming! I’m cumming Noona” You feel him spurt his cum inside you, can feel him pulsating, and you’re dripping. From both yours and his orgasm.

He stays inside you, not pulling out and lays his entire weight on top of you. He pulls you in before rolling to his side, bringing you along with him. You’re laying face to face with each other. He tucks your hair behind your ear and you’re staring at the love of your life in front of you. He is so beautiful and you think he can’t be capable of anything to hurt you.

You feel the tears silently making their way to your eyes again, the overwhelming feeling of the need to have each other close, or the need to fuck each other, is gone. And now you’re face to face with the man who gave you the world and the man who broke your soul.

He pulls you in closer, your face tucked in his chest. All night, you both cried. No words were said. Just kisses and tears. What will happen now?

#bts #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #jungkook angst #jungkook noona #jjk smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook yandere #jeon jungkook smut #jjk writing #my writing

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honeytae · 3 years

Text

Stop running from love.

hey bubs! honestly..i don’t know what this is lol it kind of got away from me. but it’s loosely based off of safety net by ariana grande. which is like one of my favorite songs in existence. i hope you guys like this angsty little piece of nothing?? lmao

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @jjlovr2015 genre: angst, fluff? word count: 2.2k

if you would like to listen, here it is:

You were doing it again.

Sabotaging yourself. Running away. Ghosting a man who had only ever shown you the utmost care and respect.

He’d already called multiple times today, frantic texts showing that he was now beyond worried at the way you’d seemingly dropped off the face of the earth.

You couldn’t blame him. You’d been exclusively dating for three months. Three beautiful and happy months alongside a great guy whose smile brightened every room he graced with his precious presence. Three months that you’d been able to not go into a panic about that very concept.

Until you fell.

The last time you’d seen Jimin was last week when he’d met with you after work for a quick bite to eat.

It was the same place you always went to; you didn’t even have to ask where you were meeting anymore, already on your way to the booth in the back corner with a stupid grin on your face.

The checker floored diner had become a regular spot for you two to stop at, as it was in the middle of the city and perfectly placed between both of your jobs.

That quick bite to eat had easily turned into a full dinner, along with a dessert that’s whipped cream ended up on the tip of his nose in an instant, your giggles causing him to grin wider as he played dumb.

It was simple, not extravagant or fancy by any means, but that was never needed with him. You always had so much fun with Jimin. He was gentle, sweet, caring. All the right things.

And it was when he was walking you back up to your apartment, his hand gripping yours in a way that was soft yet secure, sparkling eyes pressing into crescents when he smiled over at you that you came to a stunning realization; you were falling in love with him.

With a panicked last press of your lips to his cheek, you’d closed your door, leaning back against it as you stared ahead of you, absolutely paralyzed in the silence of your apartment.

You could not be in love. What even is love? Heartbreak, that’s what it is. One way or another, it will always end. You needed to pull back before you got too invested. But, fuck, was it too late?

Erupting into hysterics as you came to terms with what had to be done to protect both yourself and Jimin, you slid your back down the wood, placing your forehead on your knees as you curled up into yourself.

Since then, you’d made it your mission to put him off, every text going unanswered and each call going to voicemail.

And now here you were in your bed in the early hours of the afternoon, shades drawn to encase the room in pitch black. It matched your mood, frustrated and angry with yourself as you cried into your pillow.

You hated yourself for doing this to him. Shutting him out with no explanation; he deserves more than you. In the end, this was to his benefit. He’d go on to find someone worthy of his companionship, someone who didn’t want to disappear at the concept of love.

Someone with less baggage to drag along with them, someone who had a healthy idea of relationships and wasn’t shattered at their core.

While it was painful to ignore him without giving a reason, you knew he’d give up on you eventually. Everyone always did, and it was just for the best.

You hiccuped another sob as your phone buzzed on the table yet again, grabbing the pillow from beside you to sandwich your head between the mattress and the fluffy material, effectively muffling the noise of the vibration as you screwed your sore eyes shut.

“Love?”

You froze at the sudden unmistakable sound of Jimin’s voice calling for you, head spinning as you shut your eyes tighter.

Were you imagining Jimin’s voice beside you? Were you that far gone?

You were proven wrong when the blanket was pulled off of your body, cold air hitting the bare skin of your arms as the pillow was removed from atop your head.

You gasped at the sudden exposure, prying your eyes open to look up at none other than Jimin, the hurt and worried look on his face immediately causing you to sob again.

“Shit, baby, come here.” He rushed to sit down beside you, you easily crawling onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your back, palm smoothing up and down your spine as he slowly rocked you back and forth.

You sat there silently, letting yourself be comforted by him. For some reason, Jimin was harder to push away than the others. His arms felt so nice around you, like home.

But this had to be done. You wanted him to stay like this in your memory, his image remaining undamaged by any painful breakup.

“Jimin, I-I can’t see you anymore. We can’t be together.” You forced out, heart twisting in agony at the silence ensuing after your words, Jimin shifting you up his lap to look at you.

“What do you mean?” He asked in disbelief, eyebrows knitting together as his eyes widened, you shaking your head instead of giving him a verbal answer due to the growing lump in your throat at his undeniably heartbroken expression.

“We just can’t, Jimin.” You said lamely, your tight grip on his arm contradicting your words as his mouth gaped open at you.

“Wh- what’s wrong? What did I do?” He asked desperately, causing you to sob harder at him blaming himself for this.

“It’s not you, Jimin. You’re amazing, you deserve a better person.” You sniffled, Jimin immediately pulling a face of further confusion as he shook his head to dismiss your words.

“A better- what are you talking about?” He asked, chasing your eyes as you chose to divert them to stare at the blank wall in front of you.

“You deserve someone amazing just like you, Jimin.” You mumbled, the man sitting there in silence before he shifted off of the bed, making you think you’d finally pushed him away.

The feeling of his weight being removed from the bed both pained and relieved you, happy for him to be able to move on now, but sad at that same idea.

But you were taken by surprise when Jimin kneeled on the floor in front of you, forcing you to look at him as he reached up to hold your chin, eyes imploring yours to be more upfront with him.

“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. What are you talking about?” He repeated his question, silence lingering in the air at the words as you sat anxiously plucking the sheets below you with your fingers.

“Baby.” He called for you, his hurt tone causing your nose to scrunch up with more tears, his thumbs catching the salty water as his expression became more pained by the second.

“Let me in. Please, just let me in.” He pleaded with you, voice soft yet firm as he watched you break down in front of him, heart pounding in his chest at the mere thought of losing you from his life because of whatever insecurities you were not telling him about.

“I’m fucking broken, Jimin. You don’t want to be let in, believe me.” You said, voice weak and wavering from the emotions bubbling up in your throat, shaky from the nights of no sleep you'd gotten in the last week.

“Yes, I do. I’d accept all of you if you just gave me a chance.” He gripped your hands with his, intertwining your fingers to give a reassuring squeeze.

Staring at him, you did not know what to say. Nobody had ever pushed back on your walls like this. They accepted it, moved on, and lived a better life without you in it. You just wished Jimin would do the same.

But he was fighting you on it. Fighting you on something you didn’t even want to do in the first place.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. And that fucking terrifies me.” You explained shakily, concentrating on the feeling of Jimin’s palm running up and down your arm.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, either. It’s new, of course it’s scary. But I care about you, I want you, I miss you. I don’t want you to shut me out.” He said softly, his honeyed voice soothing you enough to make eye contact with his gentle brown orbs.

It was silent as you stared at each other, fear in his eyes and the same reflecting in your own. Studying his features, your heart twisted at his uncharacteristically dark circles, realizing he was probably running on the same amount of sleep you were at the moment.

“I don’t know where to go from here.” You sniffled, Jimin tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as his glassy eyes stared back at you.

Feeling confident enough to stand from the floor and sit beside you on the bed, he let you guide him up against the headboard, resting your backs on it as you let out a sigh.

“Stop pushing me away. Stop running from love.” He responded, his words sounding so genuine that you nearly burst out into tears again.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, placing your temple on his shoulder as his arms encircled your torso.

“I want to be with you.” You admitted in a hoarse whisper, head throbbing as you rested your weight on Jimin, body giving out in exhaustion as he held you to him, delicate as if you’d break. Hell, maybe you would.

“Me too.” He said without missing a beat, eagerness evident in his tone as you let your aching eyes fall shut.

“I just don’t know how.” You sighed, the man humming in response as he threaded his fingers through your hair, rubbing your scalp soothingly as he pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“We can figure it out together, okay? I don’t want to throw in the towel. Not without at least a little bit of a fight.” He joked, the heavy mood in the room being lightened a bit at the sound of your exhaled laugh.

You lifted your head to look at him, opening your eyes to meet his own in the dark room, barely able to make out his features as the sun must have gone in behind the clouds outside your bedroom.

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into, Jimin. I’m a mess. If you want to run, go now.” You spoke seriously, one corner of the man’s lips lifting as he bit down on his cheek, a habit you’d picked up early on as behavior he exhibited when he was hesitant to say something.

“Listen, I’m a mess too. This is nothing.” He reassured you, your eyes studying his features as he seemed to express a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before with him.

“Trying to break up with you because of my own baggage and insecurities? That’s nothing?” You asked with a humorless chuckle, causing the man to reach out for your hand, sighing out a breath of relief when you let him lock his fingers around yours again.

“Well, I guess that in itself is something.” He shrugged, shuffling to hover over you as your red eyes met his.

“But I will always fight for you. You’re worth fighting for.” He said firmly, your eyes becoming glassed over again before you picked your head up off the pillow to catch his lips in a kiss, your palms sliding to the back of his neck as his plush lips worked over yours.

Sensing your emotions, he pulled back only slightly to press his lips over your closed eyelids, the tender action causing your frown to deepen as you gazed up at the sweet man.

“I’m not going to leave you. Whatever’s been done to you in the past, I’m not a repeat of that. I would never do anything to hurt you, I promise.” He said softly, his words seemingly making your heart alive again as it began to pound rapidly in your chest.

And with that, you threw caution to the wind. Even if he broke your heart, you couldn’t stop that from cutting your experience with him shorter than it had to be.

Because Jimin was the softest, sweetest, most lovable man you’d ever met. He showed time and time again that he cared about you, that he wasn’t like the others. And to give him up just because of some bad past experiences was just not worth it.

“I trust you.” You whispered, almost scared to let the words fall from your lips, but relieved when you saw the wide smile on Jimin’s face.

“I trust you, too.” He said softly, tracing his finger over your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you again, laying down beside you to spoon your body with his, pressing his lips against your shoulder in a soothing action.

Laying in his arms, you felt more at peace than you’d felt in days. Being back in his embrace, you felt like you could breathe again, easily falling into much needed sleep with his warmth pressed to your back, his arms looped around your body as he pressed tender kisses to the shell of your ear.

Jimin was your home. And it felt so good to be home.

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svnaslove · 3 years

Text

silly, red lacy little thing.

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭; [request] @babiekawa ; Oikawa + reader, friends with benefits that end up having feelings for each other

sjfdkslf i got WAYY too carried away with this prompt and ended up making it a short series

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; suggestive themes

ask here if you want to be added to the taglist ♡

MASTERLIST | PART II | PART III

It wasn’t meant to end up like this. It wasn’t supposed to go this far. There wasn’t supposed to be any actual feelings involved.

But it wasn’t entirely your fault either. When this friends with benefits thing started, it was honestly something that just happened spur of the moment. Two friends at a party with a little too much alcohol and then you somehow ended up tangled in bedroom sheets with him the next morning. It just had to be Oikawa Tooru didn’t it?

And then,, you both just couldn’t stop?

Sounds nasty doesn’t it.

Sunday; 18:47

But there were rules that had to be set. You sat up in the bed, sheets wrapped around your naked body, it had been almost a month since this ordeal had started.

“Tooru, we need to set boundaries.” you had said trying to sit him up to talk to him.

His eyes dazedly followed your. His hair sticking to his skin due to his sheer layer of sweat and his chest rising and falling, breathing heavily. The aftermath of the “exercise” you had taken part of. Of course, you too, were still looking the same as him. As he heard those words leave you lips and he comprehended them he sat up straight a little too quick, snapping out of his daze. “Wha- why- what do you mean?” his eyes frantically searched yours.

“I mean,” you moved to reach for your shirt but it was too far. Oikawa noticed your struggle and handed you his shirt that he had just been wearing. You took the royal blue t-shirt and slipped it on, dwarfed to its’ size. “We can keep doing this. But I don’t want you trying to act like we’re some couple in public. You’ve been too touchy when we’re in front of Iwa and the old team.”

You recalled to the Saturday hangouts that the old Aoba Johsai team had, you being the old manager, also attended them often.

“What’s wrong with acting like we’re a couple?” he asked, his tone was flirty as he inched closer to you, his eyes still had a small amount of lust in them, giving butterflies to set free in your stomach. You swallowed, he was doing it again.

Saying things like this.

“Because we’re not.” you answered almost sternly as if scolding him like a school teacher would. You looked anywhere but where his eyes were, you sensed them hungrily trying to fetch your eye contact. You swallowed again, trying to slow down your pulse at his suggestion.

He pouted, a few seconds of silence went by until he broke it again.

“What do you mean I’m too touchy? I’m the same. ” he pouted, he was starting to slowly come out of his bedroom mood and back to his usual self, the bratty pretty boy, if anything.

Of course he didn’t realize it.

“You’re sitting next to me at every chance you get and putting your hands all over my body, my waist mostly. That’s not what normal friends do Tooru. I noticed Hajime suspecting us. He kept trying to shoot you looks but you were too busy being a dumbass to notice.” you retorted.

“I- why didn’t you tell me then?” he asked, his eyes had gone wide at the thought of what you were saying, was he really suspecting you two? His heart skipped a beat and he didn’t really know why.

“because dammit Oikawa you were whispering shit in my ear!” you snapped, unconsciously throwing the nearest thing that you could reach, unfortunately being your bra, not helping in your side of the argument.

He caught it and looked you in the eye, a cloud of lust in his brown orbs as he remembered the lewd things he had been whispering into your ear near his old teammates. A smirk grew and tugged at the corner of his mouth, “yeah but I know you liked it kitten, I saw the way you squeezed your thighs together.”

Heat rushed into your cheeks, were you flustered or pissed off? You went with a bit of both as your mind clouded, getting the urge to just throw something at him again. “Goddammit Oikawa.” you snapped again, violently throwing the blanket off of you as you proceeded to stomp out of his bedroom reached for your keys.

You had to put space between him and yourself. He drove you crazy in all the ways possible. Being his friend and knowing him all these years you had been fine. It was always just friends, best friends even. And you kept your distance because you knew what kind of guy he was. The Great King Oikawa, who all the girls swoon over. Keeping yourself from getting a crush on him was dare you say top priority. His flirty nature would break you if you did. And you had other things to think about, you needed to focus on school. But now this friends with benefits thing started and suddenly you’re starting to get feelings for him? This couldn’t happen.

He called out to you, still holding your bra, “what do you mean ‘Oikawa’? You always call me Tooru. At least call me Tooru, you’re walking around my apartment with nothing but my shirt and I’m holding your bra.”

“Shut up!” you yelled reaching for your shoes.

“Where are you going? You’re literally wearing nothing under that, come back and put something else on please?” he asked standing at the doorway of his bedroom holding your clothes.

“No.” you said, and you slammed the door leaving a puzzled Oikawa to his own.

Maybe it was not the wisest choice to leave his apartment with nothing but his shirt on but you were fine since it covered you until past your midthigh. You thought if you did reach out for your clothes from his grasp it would’ve messed with your argument. This was you building a wall. And it was stupid.

You groaned as you realized how embarrassing that was.

‘I’ll just stop this whole damn thing.’ you thought to yourself as you entered your car locking the door and putting on your seatbelt.

This was helping no one. You needed to stop yourself before it went too far. Maybe this was the too far. Who knew?

You pulled out of your parking space, doing a circle around it to be able to leave until you saw Oikawa lazily walk right in front of your car.

What the hell is he doing?

You honked your horn loudly but he was unphased, a stupid grin on his face. He walked closer to your car and you noticed a red lacy something in his hand. Your eyes widened and you flushed with embarrassment at the sight of what he held. You rolled down your window and his stupid grin reminded you of your anger at him again.

“what do you want?” you asked harshly.

Oikawa faked hurt and spread out the red lacy underwear that you had just been wearing. “You hurt me y/n.” he moaned sadly in a sarcastic tone. You rolled your eyes. “I thought i should at least bring this little thing back to you.”

Your eyes widened again as you noticed how many people there were in the parking lot now. Where the hell did they come from? You freaked out and your brain went static, “ Dammit ’Kawa don’t just strut that, this place is packed.” you spoke quickly, eyes wide in panic. An old couple noticed you two and what Oikawa had in his hands and threw a nasty look at you. Oikawa laughed, “I don’t think they approve.” he said. Dammit. His laugh is so damn pretty.

You noticed in your rearview mirror three cars behind you and anxiety grew in your stomach to the thought of having to keep them waiting.

“Just- Just- Ugh, I’m late, Just, ughhh I don’t want it okay? Keep it, put in your pocket, I have to go. Get away from my car I don’t want to run you over.” you half stuttered half yelled at him, mind clouded of judgement as you panicked.

Oikawa hummed, “mmm okay, but I’m returning it to you next time i see you.”

“Oh yeah, this Sunday we’re all gonna go meet up at the new café right? I already texted Iwa, Makki and Mattsun so you can’t get out of it.” he smiled.

A car honked behind you and you started getting more nervous at him holding you up.

“Wha- Whatever, fine. Just get away from the car, there’s people trying to pass Tooru.” You said, tiredly.

“okay, bye baby!” he said, waving it in the air. Anger rushed again, “PUT THAT DAMN THING IN YOUR POCKET AND DON’T CALL ME BABY.” you yelled at him. He hid the lacy fabric back in his pocket and threw back a teasing smile at you that pulled at your heartstrings.

Yeah, maybe this was the too far.

And you were gonna have to relive the nightmare of being around him and all of the emotions he gave you again in 6 days.

taglist is open !!

MASTERLIST | PART II | PART III

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willadisastercry · 3 years

Text

Lance ignores his asthma and Coran is not willing to be an accomplice pt. 2

It’s a race against the clock as Lance’s lungs worsen and his team scrambles to come up with a remedy before it’s too late. And though this whole mess certainly could’ve been avoided had he been upfront about his situation to begin with, his team will have to save the scolding for when Lance can focus on something other than the pain of trying to force air into his rapidly constricting airways. Altean technology works fast, but what if fast isn’t fast enough?

Part 1 / Part 2

“D’you check these yet?” Hunk asked as he threw open the topmost drawer of the in-wall storage space in Lance’s cabin.

“No, and it’s not in here either... I don’t understand wh—shit!” Keith cursed as he knocked over the trash can beside Lance’s nightstand and began scooping the contents back up.

“I don’t know where it could possibly be if—“

“—found it...” Keith interrupted as he held up the inhaler that had fallen out with the rest of the trash.

“Did you just get that from the... don’t you dare tell me it’s... oh, quiznak!”

“We’ve gotta tell Shiro...”

Keith was scared that Hunk would actually cry with the way his body tensed and his eyes glossed over.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Coran will know what to do,” Keith offered as he forwent cleaning up the rest of the mess he made for the sake of time.

“Bring that with you, maybe it can help him figure something out,” Hunk said after a second of staring blankly before he turned on his heel and joined Keith in a mad dash back to the training deck.

When they finally made it back they wished they’d never left.

Lance was collapsed onto his forearms with a very distraught Shiro rubbing circles on his back as he struggled to take in heaving breaths. He hadn’t even realized they’d returned until Shiro spoke up.

“Thank god you guys are back, just toss it—”

“It’s empty, this was his last inhaler...” Keith offered for the look of utter despair on Shiro’s face as Hunk sunk down next to them and placed one hand beside Shiro’s on his back and wrapped the other around Lance’s, receiving a weak squeeze in thanks for the small comfort.

“You’re gonna be fine dude... Coran and Allura are going to help, they can fix this. Just keep breathing as deep as you can,” he repeated over and over as Lance’s chest continued to hitch, the wheezes so loud and guttural now as his lungs worsened and his body grew more exhausted.

Understanding washed over Shiro all at once and then he was moving, maneuvering Lance’s struggling body despite the unwillingness of his lax limbs.

He was too exhausted to do much of anything aside from keep his chest rising and follow whatever direction his pliant frame was guided, letting himself be pushed back onto his heels as hands clasped his forearms and settled on his back to keep him from tipping over.

Every muscle in his abdomen was screaming. A similar tension burning up his neck and seeping into the sinews between his shoulder blades that made his head feel way too heavy to sit atop his shoulders. After not even thirty ticks of trying to summon the strength to keep it up he let it hang forward, the hands on him tightening their grips when he did.

He was extremely grateful they couldn’t see his face anymore because tears were beginning to form quicker than they could fall and he was sure he would have been fully sobbing at that point if he’d had any energy to spare.

“We’re meeting everyone at the infirmary then, you guys run ahead and let Coran know,” Shiro ordered as he motioned for Hunk to take hold of Lance while he turned away and crouched.

With some help he rose on shaking legs, Keith rushing to support his other side when his oxygen deprived legs protested the action.

“Woah, we’ve got you... thanks Keith...”

Their hands under his armpits kept him standing long enough to collapse onto Shiro’s back.

He literally only had the energy after that to throw his arms over Shiro’s shoulders and nestle his chin securely in the space between his own bicep and Shiro’s neck before his body sagged against his leader like dead weight.

“Go! I’m right behind you,” he shouted, his voice dark and fearful.

He could feel Lance straining against him as he followed after them, could hear the way his congested airways sputtered each time he tried to breathe.

Shiro made his way with steady urgency, not exactly jogging but not walking either, the anxiety bubbling in his stomach only forcing his legs to pump quicker as Lance got worse.

Keith and Hunk made it to the medbaby in record time though, both boys panting after sputtering to a halt once they made it through the whooshing doors.

The paladins knew today’s workout would be a doozy, but none of them expected to be doing this much running, especially under these circumstances.

Pidge was on the floor sorting through boxes of medicine and supplies carrying on an in-depth conversation regarding the compositional makeup of altean pharmaceuticals with Coran and Allura.

“Hey guys—wait why do you have...?”

“Empty...”

Keith answered a bit breathlessly as he waved the tube of navy and teal plastic in the air before gesturing to toss it to Coran who nodded and raised his hands in anticipation.

“...figured you’d want to take a look at the ingredients or whatever before Shiro got here with him.”

The air in the room seemed to thin as worry descended upon everyone.

“Christ, Lance!” Pidge exclaimed and sat back on her heels.

“Yeah, he’s not doing too hot,” Hunk said as he joined them, stealing the box of tubes and gadgets from Pidge to rifle through it himself.

Coran’s frown somehow deepened and Allura looked increasingly more distraught as he began filling them in.

“What level of dangerous is his breathing at?” Pidge asked hesitantly, like she didn’t want to hear the answer.

“He’s panicking and already really exhausted, so pretty dangerous. It’s one of the worst attacks I think he’s had in a while...”

Allura worried at her lip and kept glancing between the jumble of medical supplies and the medbay doors while she worked absently to ready a bed, the mice smoothing out wrinkles in the sheets and pulling down corners for her.

“Well, it was smart of number four to think of bringing this. I am synthesizing several medicines in likeness but none of them are exactly complete yet—”

“That’s—fuck, that’s not gonna be good enough...”

Everyone stilled at Hunk’s harsh interruption, his hands shaking in loose fists at his sides while he stared fixedly at the boxes of miscellaneous medical equipment in front of him.

“Lance can’t breathe, he can’t just wait for something to finish synthesizing, he might not be breathing at all when it’s done!”

Pidge scooted across the floor and laid her tiny hands on top of Hunk’s trembling ones.

“I think what Hunk means to say is that Lance’s condition is, erm, kinda dire and requires something that works as fast as possible.”

“Hmmm, I see. That is why the blue wilgam bark salve is strictly for prevention... this is indeed a rather tricky—ah, though I suppose I can try to extract and aerosolize whatever might remain of his earth remedy for a temporary solution,” Coran noted as he braved his stern concentration face and began separating the metal canister from the outer plastic to compare the words on it to the words on the bottles of medicine in front of him.

“And we can always place him in a pod for however long it takes to create an accurate remedy... he is truly in the best hands Hunk, do not fret so much,” Allura finished with a tight smile that was warm and assuring all the same.

It was strange how well she could do that, squash so much worry with such a simple act.

Coran hurried over to a station with lots of tools and canisters and turned on several machines that made various clicking and whirring noises.

Keith’s nose wrinkled at the new sounds but he couldn’t find it in him to feel angry about it. Not when they were going to help Lance when was in such bad shape.

“Okay, okay... those are good ideas,” Hunk agreed with a gasp, he hadn’t realized he’d been withholding air as he lost himself in his panic.

“Deep breaths, big guy,” Pidge urged, the weight of her hands bringing him back down from the brink of panic as his mind raced.

“Yeah, don’t forget that you’re the one who can actually breathe,” Keith chided gently with a hesitant hand on Hunk’s shoulder.

“Right... sorry. It’s just that these can get ugly really quick if—“

The doors whooshed open with an unsettling burst of air as Shiro emerged and crossed the room in a matter of seconds, a flurry of concerned exclamations filling the silence in between pauses of commotion that should have been hurried gasps for air.

But weren’t.

There wasn’t time to make sense of the lack of color in Lance’s face or the absence of movement in his chest as Shiro slid him off of his back, human hand trembling as he moved to support his middle and the base of his neck as he lowered his lifeless body onto the bed.

It was a grim enough sight to have even Allura’s mice crying out.

“Lance!”

“Holy fuck...”

Pidge was acting on autopilot as she pinched the altean breathing mask Coran had pulled out over the bridge of his nose and cupped it under his chin to secure the seal, Keith moving in eerie similarity to connect the tubing and flip the right switches on the machine when it became apparent that Hunk wouldn’t be spurred from his horror any time soon.

It wasn’t prepped because they hadn’t realized they’d be needing it so soon.

“No... nonononono—“

They aren’t sure how they heard it through the muddle of commotion and devastating silence but it stopped them all in their tracks, the faintest whisper of air passing his lips.

His very blue lips, go figure.

“He’s breathing, Hunk. Just barely, though...”

Lance’s eyes were open still and staring at nothing as his neck strained for air that was there now but still not accessible with how severely inflamed his lungs had become, the only sounds leaving his lips at all just rapid exhales where he couldn’t expel enough before his aching lungs screamed for more of what the mask was providing

“It doesn’t look like it’s helping...” Hunk all but sobbed as he gripped the base board of the bed so tightly his fingers blanched.

Lance’s eyes bobbed at that, struggling to locate who out of his friends was distressed through the tears welling at their brims.

They were puffy and bloodshot as silent tears spilled in a continuous stream, his eyebrows drawn together with pain and desperation.

“That’s because it’s not,” Shiro deadpanned, his hands working to soothe over Lance’s stuttering chest as his rasping breaths caught in his throat on their way out.

“Wh-how is it not working... it’s oxygen?!”

It was almost pitiful how helpless Keith looked as he stated the very blatant fact, his expression sharp and his tone prickly, like he didn’t know who or what to be mad at.

“His airways,” Pidge started weakly, her voice wavering, “they must be too tight for the air to get through...”

Shiro’s hand gripped Lance’s fiercely. It was ice cold.

The gravity of the situation dawned on his friends like a literal blow then, all eyes turning to Allura.

“Coran... he-he’s working on something, but...”

It wasn’t often that the paladins saw the princess hesitate. Her usual order of proceeding during a crisis was to do something brave or noble first and think about it later, but her impulse instinct was uncharacteristically absent as she stared at Lance’s greying face.

Her hands rose slowly, long fingers uncurling from where they’d been pressed tightly in her palms to reveal a subtle pink glow.

“Princess...”

“I know, Shiro... it’s just—I am scared it might cause him greater discomfort...”

“I don’t think we have time to worry about that, Allura,” Keith noted gravely from the foot of the bed where Lance’s eyes were half focused and darting between him and Hunk.

A status update from Coran made the tension in the room skyrocket further as he estimated another twenty or so dobashes before anything was viable.

It only took one more particularly worrisome sound of distress from Lance for Allura’s hands to descend on his chest with certainty, the pink furls leaving her fingers and settling on his body for not even a second before his back arched off the bed with a strangled gasp.

Allura grimaced as she called upon several energy reserves to ease the vice constricting Lance’s lungs as fast as she could.

A phantom tightness bloomed in her own chest as she visualized the pressure leaving his while she forced each passage back open, the channel she had opened between them by using her powers allowing her to feel the gridlock for herself.

She didn’t let up until Lance was sinking back into the pile of pillows and by then she was so lightheaded that her vision was spotting, but Keith was at her side and gripping her elbow securely before she could even stumble when the strength in her legs wavered.

“I am quite alright, just feeling a bit weak.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t you take a seat for a few anyway?”

Lance couldn’t really make sense of the conversations going on around him while he collected himself after being released from the pulls of Allura’s magic.

“It’ll pass, Keith.”

“Allura...”

Not that he was known for having stellar listening skills, but he was just usually able to follow along with the general flow of things even when otherwise preoccupied.

“Coran you said only eighteen minutes, right?”

The voices of his friends filtered back in slowly though, his skull throbbing still after the horrible pressure had lifted.

“Can you lift his head for a sec so I can secure the strap?”

He hadn’t been coherent of much of anything before, fixing what remained of his energy on the miserable stalemate in his chest.

“It’s only seventeen dobashes and forty three tics now...”

And then the twisted relief of Allura’s magic.

But after that his hearing seemed to flatline, zeroing in on a high pitched hiss that was either static or the oxygen flow of which droned on and dribbled into his present when the tension that had yanked every muscle in his body taught alleviated all at once.

It was so disorientating it almost nauseated him and brought a distinct rush of blood to his eardrums, the oxygen flooding his deprived bloodstream like a dam had broken and left him feeling utterly weightless.

Shiro was the first one to break through the barrier of cotton that muffled his brain.

“Easy, Lance,” he instructed when he didn’t start breathing normally right sway, too stunned by the sudden levity to remember how.

“Take it slow hermano, you’re okay now...”

Everything was still uncomfortably tight and restricted, but air was at least accessible even as his body struggled to acclimate to the change, his heaves greedy and crackling.

“I was able reduce the inflammation for now but there is a substantial amount of fluid that remains in his lungs.”

“Fluid? What like blood?”

“No, Keith, not blood. Phlegm.”

“Oh, gross.”

Lance let out an indignant huff at that and despite the restriction of the mask managed to return the look of disgust the mullet had given him.

“Why is that so bad if it’s just phlegm?”

“Because anything in your lungs besides air is bad, Keith. It’s your lungs!”

“Precisely, Pidge. And it will only keep irritating Lance’s but we cannot risk him progressing back to such a state before Coran has derived his medicine when my powers are not indefatigable.”

“Yep...” Lance winced.

In order to speak he had to battle against the congestion in his chest which made his already wrecked voice sound downright abrasive.

“Shhh, no talking!” Pidge hissed with a warning glare.

But when was Lance ever known to take good advice when it’s given?

“Think... I can feel th’fluid... s’not very—“

He didn’t have to elaborate any more than that to get his point across because the rapping of his own vocal cords against each other had him launching into a harsh fit of coughing that rocked his entire frame. The accumulated cloud of condensation in the mask never allowed to chance to dissipate fully as he hacked.

It sort of felt like he was drowning since he didn’t have the strength to get his arms underneath him while all of the crap that his stupid respiratory system produced to counteract the strain in his lungs only worked to suffocate him and his freshly reduced air passages.

“Shit someone help me get him up, it’ll be easier to breathe if he’s vertical...”

Hunk surged to grab the arm that was closest to him as Shiro slotted his own beneath Lance’s back and hefted him into what only partially passed as a sitting position. But the motion made his head spin and his stomach clench and then Hunk’s hands planted on either of his shaking shoulders to keep him from tilting over as Shiro slid behind him.

The others looked on with horror.

“You’re okay,” Shiro assured as he pulled Lance towards himself.

He was grateful for the solidity of Shiro’s chest, his hold firm enough that Lance didn’t have to work anymore to keep himself up as he slumped into it, but the tears started back up anyway when he continued to actively choke on what felt like nothing despite being upright.

But there wasn’t anything in his throat to actually choke on.

“Just gotta work through it...”

He was starting to get really tired of the exhaustion and malaise that came with being deprived of oxygen for an extended period of time.

“Paladins! Only fourteen—er, minutes remaining.”

“Hear that bud? You’re gonna be okay.”

He did hear but he’s shaking his head in the crook of Shiro’s arm where his head had lolled because he can’t wait that long. He can’t.

“Yeah, you’ll feel better real soon,” Hunk affirmed.

But Lance was verging on a hysteria that he couldn’t summon the strength to express when every muscle that can be strained in his body felt like it most definitely was. And with how acutely his ribcage ached he was also certain he’d displaced a couple of those false ribs made up of just cartilage too.

“Hey, no don’t get upset, you’re gonna be fine!”

He’s never been more exhausted in his life and he can’t communicate that he can’t wait that long because he hasn’t stopped coughing.

His eyes are burning from the amount of crying he’s done so he relies on touch alone when a hand cups his chin and turns it, deducing it must be Allura.

“Lance, can you hear me?”

A shakey jerk seems to be good enough for her.

“I know you aren’t the biggest fan of the healing pods, but I understand that you are in a great deal of distress still and I believe you have endured enough...”

“What are you—oh, yeah! We could totally just put him in stasis like you and Coran were for thousands of years and bring him out when the medicine is ready.”

“Yes, just as Pidge puts it. There is no need to extend the suffering of one of my paladins.”

Shiro set his jaw as he regarded Allura sternly, it didn’t matter what she believed if Lance didn’t agree and he knew how wary he was of returning to the pods after the harrowing experience that landed him in one for the first time.

“Is that something you want to do? It’s alright if you aren’t comf—“

“Please.”

His voice was small, hard even a rasp, but it didn’t need to be loud for Shiro to accept it as his answer.

“Okay...”

Lance checked out after that, allowing himself to save the energy it took to focus on what was happening around him.

So when he started registering Shiro’s voice in his ear he wasn’t exactly sure how both him and the respirator came to be at the foot of a cryochamber but he made a desperate noise at the realization.

“I know, bud. You’re almost there but we need to take the mask off.”

No one missed the fear that flashed across his face before it softened into resignation, or otherwise known as I don’t care, please put me in that stupid thing right now.

Shiro was still holding him and seemed to sense the urgency in it.

“I’m gonna stand up with you...”

It was so surprise when Lance’s knees hardly held any of his own weight before wobbling and giving out as Shiro stood with him still flush against his chest.

He regarded Hunk with a lazy roll through lidded eyes as he tipped his head forward and worked the strap off but held the mask in place.

Distantly aware of the burst of air from the pod opening and a renewed flurry of commotion around him, Lance tried to work with Shiro as he ushered him forward but his legs were too heavy and he couldn’t coordinate his movements well.

Someone else’s hands were on him, bending his knee so they could set one leg down in the pod and send the rest of his body with it. He thinks it might’ve been Keith.

The various sets of hands on him stay even after he’s securely in place, probably scared he would crumple if they did.

They were probably right.

“-nce. Hey, Lance? There you are, this is gonna suck but only for a second. I promise. Ready?”

You would’ve missed the brief hum from his somewhere deep in his sore chest if you weren’t practically inside the pod with him like Shiro seemed to be.

“Okay, now Hunk.”

The crackling heave that erupted from hims mouth was something a dying thing made, but he couldn’t hear himself or the horrible sound he made as consciousness began to swiftly melt away in stages.

First with the initial pressure everywhere after the removal of the mask.

And then pain because holy shit he couldn’t breathe.

But the cold creeped into his bones at light speed and the darkness wasn’t too far behind.

#lance whump #vld #voltron fandom #lance voltron #vld lance #lance mcclain #lance has asthma here #voltron whump #voltron #asthma #lance headcannon #voltron fic #voltron headcanons #voltron fanfic #voltron lance #voltron angst #hunk vld #hunk anxiety

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corysmiles · 3 years

Note

tiny tommy gets hurt. thats it, thats the prompt. send tweet. ily

Yes angst my beloved thank you anon :]

Little streamer au angst

cw// language, t!Tommy gets hurt (not very graphic)

——————————————————————

As a tiny in a world built for humans Tommy was very accustomed to getting hurt. He fell from high shelves, had heavy objects fall on him, and even occasionally got stuck under people’s things.

He just really had hoped nothing bad would happen during the meetup with his friends.

Since he was staying at Wilbur’s apartment he had taken to lying in Wilbur’ clothes that were always strewn around his bedroom.

There was something about it that was so warm and comforting even when Wilbur couldn’t actually be holding the tiny himself.

Particularly, Wilbur’s beanie was Tommy’s favorite. It was incredibly warm and soft and the smell of shampoo made it so he could almost imagine just falling asleep in his brothers hair.

That’s why when Wilbur went out to get a few groceries Tommy curled up inside of one of Wilbur’s beanies to take a nap. He was awoken though to the hat moving and he yelped with a start as he felt a heavy pressure push against him.

He gasped as the weight made it harder and harder to breathe and the once comforting darkness started to become suffocating.

“Wi-Wilbur!” he tried to yell but the weight didn’t shift. Desperately he tried to pry his way out of the beanie until a he was able to see just a little bit of light.

And he almost wished he just stayed in the dark.

Because outside he saw his friend’s hands pulling out laundry detergent from somewhere above him and throwing it into his washing machine, the washing machine that was now much to close for comfort.

Tommy took a deep breath to scream for Wil again but suddenly the weight pushed him back away from the light and he felt himself begin to fall. Clothes piled up on top of the beanie as he was thrown into the laundry machine with everything else.

Tears sprung up in the teens eyes as he pleaded for his brother to help him but the lid of the machine was already closed. And even if it wasn’t there was no way Wilbur could hear him through so much fabric.

“Wil please!” Tommy begged as he struggled against the clothes, “Help me please! Please I-I don’t wanna die Wilbur!”

Then with a cry he heard the machine whir to life and the sound of running water underneath him.

“Fuck fuck fuck no please no,” Tommy cried as the sound of the water got closer and closer to where he was stuck.

Suddenly a ding went off and Tommy snapped up his phone from his pocket.

It was a text from Will.

-“Hey Toms in home where are you :)”

Panicked, Tommy typed as fast as he could even though his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

-“Please Wil I’m in the laundry machine help me please”

The water was nearly up to his chest by the time he had sent the text and as the water steadily rose he thought for sure he was going to die. He could barely even move as it was...he was going to drown there.

He let himself break down into tears when the water got to his face. He screamed and pleaded for anyone to save him but there was no sign of help.

The tiny took a desperate breath before his face was fully submerged under the water. Despair took over as the boy stopped fighting against the weight around him.

Suddenly blinding light appeared from above and Tommy let out a gasp of air as the weight around him shifted. He vaguely processed that he was being moved but his panicked mind couldn’t focus on anything except that he couldn’t breathe. Then the beanie along with himself surfaced above the water and Tommy sucked in as much air as he could, as more and more weak sobs escaped his body.

“Oh god oh god Toms are you okay? Shit, where are you? Holy shit please be okay,” he heard Wilbur beg though his hearing was so muffled he barely even registered it.

All of a sudden light hit his eyes and he heard his brother gasp. The next thing he knew he was laying down in Wilbur’s hand with the human staring at him with red eyes.

“Oh thank god you’re alive Toms,” Wilbur whispered while a tear fell down his already irritated cheek.

Tommy nodded slowly and silently leaned into Wilbur’s hand for comfort.

“I’m so sorry Tommy,” Wilbur sighed.

The tiny let tears fall as his panic started to subdue and the reality of what had happened hit him.

He had almost died.

He gazed up at his friend and let a large sob wrack his body. The hand underneath him shifted until he was being held close to the human’s chest.

“Shhh Toms,” Wilbur comforted, “It’s okay now I’ve got you you’re safe. You’re safe now.”

Tommy continued to cry into the human’s shirt while a large thumb gently rubbed circles against his back.

“I’ve got you Tommy you’re okay, everything’s okay,” Wilbur cooed while slowly bringing Tommy to his bed so he could wrap him up against his chest, close to his heart

He held the boy like that for hours until eventually the loud sobs were replaced by calm breathing. He knew he’d have to talk to Tommy about it when he woke up but for now he’d keep him safe while he slept; it was the least he could do for his hurt friend.

#corywrites #mcyt gt #mcyt g/t #little streamer au #t!tommy #g!wilbur #anon ask #ask #angst #hurt/comfort

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a-pretty-nerd · 3 years

Text

Self Indulgent Shigaraki Nonsense Part 5

Tomura Shigaraki x pregnant!reader

A/N: Oh wow part 5 and I'm still not done with this.

Warnings: Emotions? Cursing?

You tossed and turned in your sleep, groaning and moaning in frustration. Your joint ached, and fatigue plagued your body. You tried everything you could to get to sleep but nothing was working and on top of your aching body, the nearly fully developed fetus in you thought now was the perfect time for exercise.

Tomura laid beside you, having fallen asleep hours ago. But your movement and sounds of anguish gently woke him up. Groggy and a little frustrated he looked over his shoulder to see your upset form shift back and forth.

"Is it the baby?" He asked in a low, hoarse voice. You huffed.

"Everything hurts and they keep moving around and I'm exhausted but I can't fall asleep!" You cried. You felt silly crying like this to Tomura, you felt like a little kid throwing a tantrum. Weren't you supposed to be the mild mannered, mature and wise mother?

Tomura turned over to face you, his gloved hand reaching out and planting firmly on your enlarged belly. He gently ran circles around it, trying to sooth the mysterious being inside. He had grown used to this routine, grown used to the idea of you being pregnant. But the idea of being father and actually having a baby was still out of his reach. For now, he was content to have you tucked away and all to himself where he knew you would be safe.

"My fucking BONES hurt." You complained as you rubbed circles into your eyes. He chuckled at your declaration for a moment before wrenching himself from the bed and shuffling into the kitchen where you could hear him rustling about. You laid there and closed your eyes, trying to emulate the soothing sensation of rubbing circles across your belly. They clearly liked it better when Tomura did it. You didn't even know how they knew the difference.

"Here." Tomura entered the room with a hot cup of tea in hand. He sat it down on your bedside table as you struggled to sit up properly. You laid against the head board and slowly took the mug. "Careful. It's still hot." He noted, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you."

"Mhm." He watched you blow and sip on the tea, running his gloved hand up and down your calf.

"This is new." You scoffed.

"What?"

"You taking care of me." You smiled.

"What are you talking about? I've taken care of you before. Remember Jaku?"

"Ugh, I don't want to." You cringed. A particularly rough battle had left you broken and beaten black and blue. If it wasn't for Tomura, you would have been dead. But that was before you knew he loved you. Before you knew you loved him. "You're right you have taken care of me. But not like this before." Your smiled made him blush.

"This is a different situation." He explained. You chuckled.

"I know." You finished your tea and he took it from you to put the mug in the kitchen sink. But before he left the room you called to him. "Hey...Tomura?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Sure."

"No. Really. Thank you. For everything." He watched you for a moment, engraving that sweet smile of yours into his brain forever. Before nodding and walking back to the kitchen. You adjusted yourself, laying back down and watching him come back in and lay in bed. You watched him, your hand reaching up to gently scratch down his bare back. A comforting gesture he loves but will never out right ask for. It put him to sleep quick, and soon you followed him.

When you woke up the next morning, you found yourself alone in bed. You struggled to get up to use the bathroom and wash your face before waddling into the kitchen. A note had been placed over wads of cash on the kitchen counter. The note read:

I'm sorry there was an emergency and I had to leave early this morning. I left money on the counter for breakfast. Take it easy. I'll see you soon. I love you.

- Tomura

Money for breakfast? You looked down at the wads of 20 dollar bills and giggled. Tomura still had very little grasp when it came to money. He just never had to really worry about it. It's not that he wasn't good at budgeting or math, but, this was enough to pay the mortgage and groceries for the rest of the month. Some breakfast you'd be having. You took the cash and put it away where the rest of it went. You were to pay for everything in cash. The mortgage, the car payments, groceries, furniture, absolutely everything. As if that didn't make you look suspicious enough. But Tomura insisted on it because it wouldn't leave a paper trail to your name.

Your new name would have no debt no credit, nothing. It had to be perfect and unremarkable.

You fed, washed, and clothed yourself which took all morning now but finally you made up your mind to take a short walk to the local grocery store and do some shopping. Normal house wife shit, right?

So you waddled your fat ass out the door to take a leisurely stroll all the way to the super market. You looked up and watched grey clouds gently float above, bringing a cool breeze and the faint smell of rain in the air. You made it to the store before it started to sprinkle. The bright and fresh atmosphere of the store made you uneasy. Public spaces still made you feel out of place. Suspicious. Like you still had to hide.

You paused in the middle of an aisle, sudden movement stopping you dead in your tracks. The baby had been moving less, and the false contractions had started. Your midwife had taught you that this was normal, you still weren't due for a while longer, there was no need to worry. But they were a big pain in the ass.

You held your belly and took a deep breath. It soon passed and you went back to searching for your grocery list.

"First one?" A voice asked. You turned and found a young woman standing there pushing a stroller. She gave a friendly smile.

"Oh, yes."

"How exciting. I had a lot of false contractions with my first too. How far along are you?"

"I guess about, eight months. Give or take a week or two."

"You sure look it. I'm kim by the way, nice to meet you." She held out a hand and you shook it. Her bright smile and relaxed attitude bring comfort and warmth. You looked down to the stroller, an infant cradled towards Kim, and an absent-minded toddler glaring at the floor sat in the front. He angrily pouted at the ground, before his gaze slowly came up to you.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/-...." fuck! What was your new name again? You almost blew your cover. "Ota." You remembered. Thank God.

"Your the new family down the road aren't you?" Kim nodded in recognition.

"Yeah, yeah. How long have you lived here?" You tried to make conversation.

"Oh I've lived here all my life."

"Wow."

"Yeah my husband and I met in high school here and been together ever since. He travels for work now though, so,"

"My husband travels too." You told her. Shit. Was that the right thing to say? Could you really call Shigaraki your, husband? What would he think about that? He'd probably be irritated you even bothered to socialize at all.

"Oh really? What does he do?" You paused.

"Uh, he works closely with heroes." You croaked.

"Oh like management er' whatever?" She was so nonchalant.

"Yeah, yeah. Real boring stuff." You agreed. 'Er' whatever' what a great way to put it.

"Yeah mine's a lawyer for cities suffering from 'big hero blow-outs' they call em'. He works with cities about destruction of public property and what not. I don't really know the details or anything but hey, maybe our guys have crossed paths a couple times! What did you say his name was?" Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Uh, Ota. Ota Kurai." You lied.

"Kurai...huh..." Kim thought for a moment, taking in a deep breath and sighing. "Well, that doesn't ring any bells. How long have you been together." Was this something you were supposed to lie about?

"Five years now, I think." You pondered.

"You think?" She chuckled at you.

"Yeah, it's hard to remember sometimes. All of a sudden we went from friends to more. Its difficult to explain." She smiled.

"Yeah, I understand. Well, I better be off. The boys need a nap before lunch. It was lovely meeting you, Ota."

"Likewise!" You smiled back.

"See you around."

"See ya." And with you that you went on shopping, a successful venture. You were lucky you were able to purchase an umbrella in the store, it was really coming down now. You waddled along the sidewalk, making your way back to the stretch of suburbs you occupied. As you walked the final stretch to your home, the wind began to pick up. Violently wrenching the umbrella out of your hand and throwing it behind you. You turned, panicked and now vulnerable to the heavy rain. It came down fast and hard, the droplets almost painful on your skin.

You turned around to find your umbrella flying through the air, tumbling over to a distant figure. A young man, no, a teenager. The kid snapped to attention, jogging for the object from under his own umbrella and quickly making his way back to you. You tensed up, the weight of your groceries, the rain, your condition. Clearly you were in distress. You cursed yourself. You were once a feared villain. You fought the greatest heroes Japan had to offer and lived to tell the tale. You were an activist, pioneer, warrior, leader. You had the scars to prove it. And now look at you. A helpless, pregnant house wife.

"Here miss!" The boy called. You sniffed and reached for it as he handed it to you.

"Thanks!" You barked, trying to shuffled off without anymore talk.

"Let me help you with that!" He insisted, taking your groceries from you and shielding you from anymore rain. You were soaked by now. You couldn't argue, he insisted and you had to admit that the help was nice. He walked you home, standing and waiting at your house's gate as you took back your bags from him.

"Thank you for your help." You tried to be polite.

"Sure thing miss. No trouble. Are you sure you got it?"

"Yes. Thank you." You insisted, turning back to disappear into your home. Only to find the front door open. You let out a startled gasp. A familiar figure stood in the doorway, dark eyes glaring at the boy behind you. Your eyes shuffled back and forth between him and the boy. Shigaraki wore a painfully mediocre disguise. A face mask, and a black wig. From far away he easily blended into a crowd. He was always good at hiding himself in a strange way. He was an oddly good actor.

"Sara. You should be more careful." He barked your fake name in a fake tone. Like he was a concerned husband.

"Sorry Kurai, I didn't think the storm would get this bad." You chuckled in a panic. He approached you, averting his gaze from the boy. Hiding his face and taking the bags from you. You turned back to the boy who's eye shifted from Shigaraki then back to you. "Thank you for your help. Here." You shuffled around in your purse before handing him a few hundred yen.

"Oh no Mrs, really it's fine."

"No. I insist." You huffed with a smile.

"Thank you. My names Sato by the way, I live just down the road."

"Nice meeting you Sato." You smiled and closed the gate before waddling back inside. You closed the door behind you, panting as you recovered from your adventure.

You watched Tomura remove his disguise in a frustrated huff before putting the groceries away. You leaned against the wall after shuffling into the kitchen, leaving water to fall from you and pool on the wood floor. Soon he turned to look back at you.

"I thought there was an emergency."

"False alarm." He muttered.

"Are you mad at me?" You asked. He paused and gave a frustrated huff.

"...I told you not to get friendly with people. That puts you in danger." You scoffed. "You're soaking wet, you better shower off before you catch a cold."

"I didn't have a choice, okay? It's not like I sought out his help! He was just there, he insisted he help! And yknow what, I can't say I didn't need it. Because I'm incapable of doing anything apparently!" You shouted. Oh shit. He angered you. You could see it in his eyes. He hates it when you get angry, it makes him uneasy. "And I'm a walking beacon of chit chat too! Everyone wants to talk to the new pregnant lady. Last week, I had fend off like four old ladies from touching my belly. And the week before that, the clerk at the bookstore kept trying to sell me these weirdly religious parenting books. And- And today even! Today some other mom stopped me to talk about my false contractions at the store and I almost forgot our names and I- I-" You're crying now. He hates seeing you crying more than he hates seeing you angry. He slowly approached you, watching as you sniffled and sobbed and wipped away your tears.

"Come on, let's get you comfortable." He guided you to the bathroom to help bathe you in a warm bath to calm your nerves and ease your aching body. You shuffled out into the living room, the warmth of your pajamas easing your tense feelings.

"She wasn't that bad." You mumbled.

"Hm?"

"The other mom at the grocery store today. She was actually nice. She has two boys. She was really chill."

"Mh."

"I told her you worked in management with heroes and you travel a lot." You chuckled to yourself. "Her husband works as a lawyer for cities regarding damage from heroes. She said you might have crossed paths." Tomura pause and flashed a goofy smile.

"You never know. Maybe we have." He joked. You laughed for a moment before finishing your bath and getting changed.

"How come you came back?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well usually you stay away. But you've been here so long I figured you'd have left by now so you don't take any chances getting caught. Why'd you come back?" Tomura starred at your stomach and placed his gloved hand over it before looking up at you.

"I'm just finishing a few preparations. But I've made plans so that I'll be able to stay longer than I usually do." He didn't answer your question.

"Plans? Like what?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Don't tell me you put Dabi in charge." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Toga? No!... Spinner!?"

"Y/N. Please." He begged.

"Sorry. But you never leave someone else in charge."

"Well now I have a reason. I'm...I'm taking a few months."

"What? But what about your work?"

"I'm not quiting. I'm still the true ruler. It's just a small...vacation. I can go back at any time if an emergency occurs. But for now, I'm staying here."

"You really miss me, don't you?" He pulled his hand away and rolled his eyes one more time before strolling away.

"Of course I miss you." He said it like it was a well known fact. "I miss you every second. I miss working with you. It's so frustrating without you. You understand, you got it. You always knew what needed to be done, what I was trying to do. Now it's like herding cats to get the simplest of tasks done sometimes. I mean you- you were always one step ahead. Half the time I didn't even need to ask you to do something you were already there. You were so smart and cunning and strong."

"And now I'm just a housewife..." He slowly turned to look at you. "I'm just the knocked up mistress you gotta hide."

"No. You know that's not what I meant."

"It's how you make me feel."

"Y/N..."

"I miss it too, y'know. Working with you, with everyone. I miss doing something that actually matters. I miss the planning, and the training, and the fighting. I miss it all. And now look at me. I couldn't even fucking walk home from the grocery store without needing to be rescued. It sucks, it really sucks. I know I chose this life. I know I chose...." Your hand hovered over you belly. "But I just...I just..." You're crying again.

Tomura places a hand on your back and hold you close and the other to stroke your hair in an attempt to calm you again. You clung to him, rocking the two of you back and forth.

"I know. I know." He whispered.

"I just wanted...wanted to be happy. Like how- normal people are happy." You cried.

"I know."

"And I am- I am happy I just... I miss working so much. And I miss seeing everyone and seeing you and fighting heroes and just...I even miss negotiations!" You sobbed. Tomura couldn't help but flash a smile.

"I know. I'm sorry." Your crying started to subside for a moment. Giving him the opportunity to plant a kiss on your cheek.

"Tomura?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you." He nodded and placed his hand on your belly once more.

"So you'll be here for it?"

"Yes I'll be here." You smiled.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's the bare minimum."

#tomura shigaraki #tomura shigaraki x reader #mha #bnha #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura shiragaki #shigaraki x pregnant reader

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embrassemoi · 3 years

Text

No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb!

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】

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hawksugarbaby · 3 years

Text

Todoroki x male reader- Caramel and Honey

Fluff + Au where todoroki rebelled and never became a hero

Todoroki hummed to himself laying out the ingredients in front of him with his mixing bowl in the centre of the counter top, the mix of ingredients in organised lines from first to last except he was missing one ingredient.

It was soon to be your birthday, and todoroki being the gentleman as always was desperate to make you a cake as his local supplier. You deserved it for the kind smile you wore dropping of his orders at the back of the shop and hovering around for a few minutes to talk before disappearing into the wind again driving away in your van with (y/ln) Produce, stamped on the side of the van in big, black cursive.

He took over the shop from his mothers side of the family before she fell ill and had to go to hospital. not wanting anything to do with his disgusting father he chose to stay and manage the store of light pinks and pure whites. He heard your tires pulling up outside on the gravelly path and he opened the door for you to drop off your produce inside on the counters by the door.

"Hey Roki! How's it hanging, making anything special today?" you asked hauling a crate of freshly picked fruit for the season in and dropping it onto the steel top, wiggling under the weight and scooting forward a millimeter. "What do you consider special?" he asked bluntly helping you carry the boxes into the kitchen and put the items in their respective places.

Finally you brought in the cardboard box layered in bubble wrap filled with decorative jars of golden honey pockets of air suspended in the viscous liquid and Todoroki nodded happily in receiving everything he asked for. Sometimes you'd forget the blueberries, or the tea leaves or the bananas grown specially by your quirk. You grabbed a glass of honey flicking the lid open and dipped your finger into the glossy amber tasting it yourself.

"Something special? I would love a rustic honey cake. Just the way mum used to make it with our honey. Not the dumb store bought stuff, the stuff we make ourselves. With the bee's we lovingly care for, for a reason!" you shout but it was muffled by you sucking the honey off of your finger.

Todoroki wiped his chin and cleared his throat "you've got some... there's uh... like a little" you looked up at him and touched your chin the sticky threads of honey clinging to your hand. "Shit" you tutted and wiped it away with the heel of your hand getting that just as sticky as the rest of you. "Well this is embarrassing" you sighed and todoroki exhaled quickly, which was close enough to a laugh to make you smile. "Here" he ran a tea towel under the warm tap and wiped it over your chin and pressed it into your hand for you to clean your hands yourself.

He felt his own face light up red and grabbed a cup of blueberries in preparation for the blueberry muffins he would bake today and you blinked a few time's rebooting your brain after the short interaction making you flustered.

You wiped your hands down and neatly folded the towel over the side of the sink and shook your head clearing the busy, buzzing thoughts from your head and drew your eye's away from him focusing on the calendar hanging next to the wall. Delivery, nothing, delivery, nothing, delivery + (y/n) Birthday. You grinned and pointed to the red circle around the familiar number on the calendar and twisted your neck to watch him stir ingredients together into a pale yellow batter.

"You remember my birthday?" you quizzed and he nodded furiously beating the whisked eggs into the mixture and poured in the cup of indigo berries fresh from the bush. "Hey are you busy right now?" Todoroki asked moving on from the topic of your birthday and lifted his eyes from your strong arms he'd seen carry so many boxes of fruit, to your joy filled (e/c) orbs sparkling happily at the prospect of him. HIM. remembering your birthday.

"I can be not busy?" you raise your palms to the popcorn roof and flick out your phone calling a coworker. "Hey Bro, could you perchance come get the van from the Todoroki Bakery and deliver the rest of the products?" you ask and pushed the phone to your ear with your shoulder and mouthed 'frozen fruit' to todoroki and you quirked an eyebrow. He nodded to the bottom drawer.

"No I dropped a crate on my foot carrying the peaches into the shop and It hurts to walk on it I dunno how driving would go" you chuckle nervously and wink to todoroki who just looked back down at his muffins filling the white, paper cases not quite understanding. "No, I know it's so unlike me! But it's okay, Todoroki said he'd give me a lift home but can you just do the rest of the rounds?"

Your brother agreed and you said your bye's on the phone. "I now have the entire day off" you said proudly and leaned your elbows on the counter admiring todoroki's fluffy hair straying further from the style it was originally in while he pushed the baking tray into the oven. "Wait but I should check your foot if you hurt it" he said crouching down and pressing his cold hands against your ankle making you flinch "no I didn't really hurt my foot I just needed to get out of work" you chuckle.

"Oh okay. Will your dad believe that, aren't you supposed to be the big strong son?" Todoroki craned his neck up to look at you still resting with one knee on the floor and the other pulled up like he was going to propose. You lost yourself in your thoughts again imagining that instead of his hand on your foot he was holding out a small grey box with a gleaming band tucked into the cushion.

"Hey what the fuck is this?" your brother laughed at the scene in the kitchen and you whipped your head up to see him leaning against the door frame uncaringly. "Uhh todoroki was checking if my foot was swollen or anything. No evidence of broken bones yet! So you should just get going with the van here are my keys!!" you said hopping over like a professional actor and shoved the keys into his hand. "Mhm i'm sure that's what it was. OUTSIDE!" he shouted at you pulling you round the corner clipping your arm on the wooden pallets leaning against the wall out back scraping up inside your elbow.

"Hey what the hell, that hurt!" you shouted lightly tapping the bleeding scratched that didn't seem to want to stop bleeding. "Look I know you like that todoroki kid but you can't just skip work to spend the day with him!" your brother turned around and looked at your face, mouth agape and eye's furrowed into annoyance and he shrugged "what i'm just being hon-" "ARE YOU BLIND OR STUPID!?" you shouted back thrusting your profusely bleeding forearm in his face.

"Oh shit what! are you feeling okay?" he panicked suddenly drawing Todoroki's attention and he poked his head out the back door. Being the observant boy he was, his eyes went wide and he jogged over to where you were standing and wiped the blood away with the already honey covered tea towel but the crimson immediately started pouring out again. "He needs an ambulance" the dual haired baker tightly wrapped the tea towel around your arm which was quickly soaked in red.

You moaned in pain and annoyance feeling your head spin. "What could he have cut his arm on?" your brother asked and you held your hand out in front of his face snapping your fingers closed against your thumb shutting him up. "There's a huge fucking rusty nail... on the pallet you dragged me past you dickhead" you huffed. The ground span and swayed around you and the brightness in your vision was turned down so you could barely see the outlines of the boys surrounding you.

And then you were on the floor.

And then you were in the hospital. Staring at the white plaster ceiling at midnight with no one by your side. "Huh" you hummed and checked your phone hissing at the brightness lashing the dark hospital room.

todoroki was in the shop with a bowl and cake pan next to him. The jar of honey you scooped from open and his phone laying open waiting for your answer to his text.

You replied to the questions he asked and Todoroki's phone buzzed on the steel countertop and he perked up immediately reaching for the electronic, slowly running out of battery.

Roki 💖🍰

Hey are you okay?

Fri 12:18

Do you like pistachios?

Oh also raisins, do you like raisins?

Probably not, no one likes raisins

I like raisins...

Anyway. Text me when you see this

Fri 18:35

Roki 💖🍰

I hope you wake up.

I wasn't supposed to get a delivery from you today

But I wish I was cause I like seeing you

You make my heart feel... weird.

Good weird

Sat 8:44

Still don't know if you like raisins and pistachios

Sat 12:27

Roki 💖🍰

It's your birthday tomorrow you know.

Sorry I didn't text yesterday but you were sleeping anyway

How can you catch tetanus so quickly

It's supposed to take 4 days dumbass.

You got it in like 1. You fainted because of the blood btw

Mon 13:21

Please just wake up for your birthday.

I have something special for you

But I need to know if you like pistachios and raisins

Mon 14:56

Roki 💖🍰

Happy Birthday (y/n)

Tue 00:00

You chuckled to yourself at the sweet messages todoroki sent you over the course of the days and glanced at the clock. "I wonder if he's still awake" you croaked and wiped your eyes from sleep then yawned filling your waterline with unnecessary tears.

Bumblebee 🍯

Hey Roki. I'm up

I like/don't like pistachios

And I like/don't like raisins

Sorry for worrying you. Promise I won't get anymore tetanus

I'm going back to sleep

Come visit tomorrow

today*

Sent

Tue 4:13

"You better not be awake dumbass" you mumbled and turned over on your pillow burying your face into the uncomfortable pancake for your head.

Seen

Tue 4:15

The baker smiled and finally started working on his surprise for you chopping his toppings and thinly slicing/ throwing away his toasted pistachios and crunching on a few raisins while working.

At 2pm he walked in and went to visit you with his surprise balancing carefully in your hand. He carefully tiptoed to your bedside and pushed your side slightly. You snorted and rolled over, opening your eye's to an amused todoroki settling himself into the chair next to your bed. "Something smells great" you muttered pushing your face back into the pillow and smiling. "Thank you for visiting" you muffled and todoroki chuckled nodding.

"Happy birthday" he smiled pulling the foil off of the top of your surprise. You peaked your eyes open and sat up smiling brightly. "I didn't know how your mum made it but I made my own recipe" he scratched the back of his head and moved to sit next to you on the mattress. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and kissed your cheek lightly before you could take off the handheld slice you were slowly lifting to your mouth.

"My heart feels weird around you" he sighed and thumped his forehead against your shoulder and you snickered, taking a soft bite of the sticky, nostalgic cake in your grasp. "I know. Thank you for the little updates by the way, very sweet of you" you emphasised the sweet as a pun on the honey cake but of course, it flew over todoroki's head. "But yeah. Thank you for the cake it's delicious" you complimented and leaned your head on his. "Can I go back to sleep now?" you joked and he smiled and pressed you down by your hard chest and lay on top of you. "Just don't sleep for 4 days again" he mumbled nestling into your t'shirt.

You stared down at the parting in his hair with huge, round eye's and put your hands on his back, grasping them together in a hug-ish type thing. "Okay"

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unfortunatelysirius · 4 years

Text

Wicked Charm, What’s Your Patronus? | Remus Lupin, Marauders Era

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」

One day in Defense, Professor Boomstick offers whoever can produce a corporeal Patronus an Outstanding on the next essay as well as an out on a test. When Y/N shockingly produces a wolf Patronus, well… you can assume the rest.

「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」

Why did I name a guy Boomstick? Because that word is fucking hilarious to me THAT’S WHY (also this sucks ass but tbh I'm just going with the flow nowadays whatever comes out comes the f out whether it’s shit or not) and for anyone who wants to get technical, believe me i already know what u will say

DEFENSE WAS Y/N L/N’S last class of every Friday and as of late, the only class she fervently dreaded. It was a mix of students from different Houses but dominated by Gryffindors. Three of the infamous sixth-year Gryffindor circle, James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin, were in there, each of the blokes gifted with a wand. Y/N didn’t pay them much mind at the start of the year but after a few months of mingling and getting to know her classmates, she had developed somewhat of an acquaintanceship with the boys, perhaps even a friendship. She was one of the other few Gryffindors in the room and after she particularly chewed out one of the Ravenclaws feet from the classroom for ruining her perfect attendance record (allegedly, the clumsy arse caused her a three-day sentence in the Hospital Wing) James and Sirius decided she had enough style and substance (“Marauder flair,” they called it) to invite her into their gang.

It was as unenticing on the inside as it was from a feet-on-the-ground outsider’s perspective. Y/N wasn’t very adventurous. She was miles away from Lily’s singlehanded definition of “studious”, but still a pretty mellow person, preferring to keep to predetermined routes and undetected on radars. She was an extrovert with introverted tendencies, mostly appearing at times with people who differed in lifestyle. Like James and Sirius, two peas in a pod.

Remus Lupin was much less of a firecracker inches from popping, his voice tampered and quiet, his disposition ripe with premature wisdom. Y/N found him likeable. Almost too likable—a noticeable kind of fancy that only prats would fail to see. Then that fancy became more; she didn’t remember how.

This was open to judgment from the gods, who could choose to interfere or leave Y/N’s recent change of heart alone.

Unfortunately for her with this newfound friendship and growing fancy, James and Sirius had enough arrogance to fit the Greek gods from ancient myth…

Zeus and Poseidon, at least. Maybe even Aphrodite, the bloody matchmakers.

Professor Boomstick, a stout, ashen man who oftentimes went into tangents about how the Muggle Army was a lousy old group of incompetent twats, liked challenges. He liked challenges for his students, specifically. He also liked favoritism and had yet to liken any students to his old pub buddies. Today Y/N and the Marauders all went to class expecting a test, but Professor Boomstick was already there waiting—and the room was empty of desks. Y/N stopped in her tracks, feeling Remus’s tall, lean frame smack into her backside. He apologized but she ignored him, sweeping her gaze across the floor. A group of students who found themselves there before her were huddling in a corner, nervous as sheep waiting to be sheered.

Y/N’s steps held an edge... She couldn’t deny she herself was nervous.

“Damn the test,” Professor Boomstick barked suddenly, catching Y/N’s bewildered eyes and holding them hostage. She swallowed hard. Surprises were not fun to her; she hated them with a passion. This old fart was just an arse to be incorporating one in place of a test on the history of Patronuses and Animagi she spent eons studying for. “We’ll see what you’re made of today without wasting parchment, can’t read your writin’ anyhow.”

“What exactly are we doing?” a long-faced, petite-nosed girl asked.

Professor Boomstick raised his wand and closed the door behind Y/N and the Marauders, throwing them further into the room. Y/N felt Remus’s arm brush her side and heat enveloped her from head to stomach. Glaring at Professor Boomstick, they all walked to stand with the other students, keeping a close eye on the crazy man they all called their teacher. Thank Merlin Defense professors never lasted.

“For any of you kids that can produce me a corporeal Patronus, I won’t just give ye bonus,” Professor Boomstick said, smirking at the huddle of students. “Ya got an essay due two weeks time on endangered species of the Wizarding World and that test we had scheduled today’s rescheduled for Monday. I’ll give any of ya who give me what I want a freebie on the quiz—and an automatic Outstanding on the essay. Still gotta turn three pages in though.”

The huddle of students struck up an excited exchange of whispers before going abruptly silent. Patronuses? That was hard-level shit and sparingly learned outside of class lessons due to its difficulty. Disappointment shuttered down the spines of each student, one at a time, as they all came to the same conclusion: this was a waste of time.

“What? None of ya have even tried?” Professor Boomstick demanded, bushy white eyebrows furrowing in the middle of his forehead. “May be a charm, but it could save yer life someday. All it takes is one loose Dementor and BOOM! Your soul’s been sucked right outta ya.”

Everyone flinched, some horrified at the sheer mention of Dementors. Professor Boomstick was right. No one really knew Patronuses and their uses. Advanced magic like that was too extensive, too dueling of a task.

Professor Boomstick was getting frustrated and impatient, glaring at each student individually. Crazy old man.

Y/N L/N nervously glanced at her classmates, mostly the marauding group of boys she befriended, before she stepped out of the huddle. All eyes automatically went to her.

James and Sirius were (in their opinion, rightfully) shocked she had this information under her belt the entire time—sitting on it, dwelling on it, never admitting to it where her friends were concerned. The two of them didn’t have any concept of privacy, both too invasive to be capable of secrets; Remus was nowhere near similar. Secrets were a part of his nature, only for the benefit of others and never his. If anyone could understand Y/N’s need to keep something like this close to her chest, it was Remus. Though, this wasn’t much of a secret. They all knew Y/N’s history and domestic life.

Remus glanced at her, an unreadable expression on his face, but her back was turned to him. She could feel everyone looking at her and picking out a single pair of eyes was too strenuous a task.

“Get on with it, L/N,” Professor Boomstick demanded.

“Okay, sir,” Y/N said. She would have never dared do this, but she was drowning in coursework from her other classes—any further work and she’d lose sleep, her grades suffering for it. Her mouth opened, inhaling a deep breath she braced.

Patronus charms were a complicated, beautiful species of magic. Arduous and dogging, it took someone particularly skilled to produce one—and you had to conjure one of your best memories, one of pure joy and exhilaration. Not just happiness, as one of Y/N’s old mentors incorrectly told her once upon a time. Y/N came from a family always preparing for the worst and through the years as the likelihood of a war reached its peak, her parents grew increasingly paranoid and enrolled her in a summer mentorship program as a precaution. She learned the Patronus charm from an eccentric man named Ellis Hawking.

Y/N’s happiest memory, the one that gave her pure, unadulterated joy, was when she was twelve and got to see her new baby sister.

“Expecto Patronum,” Y/N said when an incandescent smile reached her lips. All concentration went into her wand when she pointed. Her wand felt like it thrummed under her fingertips and she targeted the air just north of herself, where no one was in her line of sight.

Everyone behind her gasped when a shot of pure light emitted from her wand’s end, something growing larger as it left. Tendrils of silver and white swept the floor, coiling to become a translucent shape. The shape growled noiselessly, galloping on the ground like a wolf. It was a wolf. Majestic and sleek, making a turn to come running back at the caster herself—polarizing white eyes staring right into hers. Ears pinned back and slivers of silver hair standing on edge. All until it disappeared into the same device that made it. Creation and destruction, two separate words that meant the same: an inevitable, unavoidable cycle.

Y/N’s Patronus was last a dolphin when she first learned how to cast, not a wolf.

Her Patronus had changed.

“Bravo, bloody Hell—bravo, girl!” Professor Boomstick clapped enthusiastically. “For sure you’re gettin’ in my good graces rest of this here year. You’ve gotta be one hell of a witch casting a corporeal Patronus at sixteen! Bloody—”

Y/N stared down at her wand, completely bewildered.

Why did it change?

James glanced over at Sirius while Y/N was distracted, a grin breaking his shocked composure. Neither he, Sirius, or Remus expected that; while Remus was busy frozen and possibly panicking himself into early gray hairs, James was bursting on the inside from excitement. Sirius shared a similar expression.

“Looks like little Y/N’s in love with Moony,” he hissed under his breath, failing to lose his grin. “That’s gotta be it. I’ve read on this before.”

Sirius nodded, a faux solemnness combatting the electric shock darting around like butterflies on his face. “After General Prat’s done,” he said, and the two nodded like soldiers heading to war.

When no one other than Y/N could even produce an incorporeal Patronus, Professor Boomstick disappointedly released them—promising a nervous Y/N not to worry about the test or upcoming essay. James and Sirius automatically attacked at the last nameless student’s retreat, Remus trailing his two mates like a left-behind dog.

Sirius’s eyes zeroed in on Y/N’s wrist, where a charm bracelet dangled. It was covered in expensive-looking charms, one of engraved letters, a wand, a little wolf.

Whoa, cauldron’s bearings. There was a bloody wolf charm! What were the odds?

“Wicked charm,” Sirius said through a wink. Y/N’s eyes flickered between the two blokes then at her charm bracelet, not at all soothed in their presence. Still struggling to understand why her Patronus would be different, the two twats harassing her wasn’t desirable—especially since they looked like they did while meddling. Pranking. Causing mischief. Y/N made it clear ages ago she wouldn’t react kindly if they decided to fuck around with her the way they did with the rest of the Hogwarts student body. She liked her comfort bubble how it was, unperforated by buffoons best left six feet away. “Wolves. Did you get it to match your Patronus?”

Y/N bit her lip. “Well, actually—"

“Ah, Padfoot, obviously that wouldn’t be the case,” James said, slinging an arm around his mate’s shoulder. “She got it because it makes her think of a certain someone.”

“Who would I even think of? You guys are such prats,” Y/N said indignantly, narrowing her eyes now. Seriously, what were they getting at? They didn’t know anything, just perfectly well how drive anyone and everyone up the bloody wall. They’d drive a sane man mad!

“James, Sirius, don’t,” Remus said softly, appearing from behind. His eyes were wide with alarm, meeting Y/N’s at her sharp twist. He gulped at the annoyance in hers; James and Sirius had already done their damage. Idiots, they were.

“See, Y/N, I don’t think your Patronus has always been a wolf,” Sirius went on, pretending like neither Y/N nor Remus spoke in the first place. “Am I wrong?”

Y/N warily said, “No…”

“Did you know Patronuses can change to be complementary of their lovers’?” Sirius grinned obnoxiously. He shrugged his shoulders and nudged Y/N with one of his hands. “Just a thought. Maybe you fancy somebody, love ‘em.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and involuntarily, they looked at where Remus was standing. Remus froze again.

“We’ll leave you to it,” James said hastily, still grinning.

The bespectacled boy quickly lassoed Sirius around the neck and guided him to the door, calling to Remus that they’d be back in their dorm by the time he finished.

Remus awkwardly glanced over at Professor Boomstick. The man was just standing by his desk, drinking out of a flask, presumably waiting for his next class. Y/N sighed and unconsciously laced her fingers into Remus’s, dragging him away from their crazy-ass professor.

Once outside, Y/N faced Remus. “Is your Patronus a wolf?” she asked quietly, hurriedly. She didn’t want anyone to overhear, though the only likely soul left in distance was Peeves.

Remus looked at the ground. “Yes,” he reluctantly told her. He and the Marauders had yet to let her in on his furry little secret.

“Oh,” Y/N said and went silent. It’s not that she didn’t want to be in love with Remus, she just didn’t understand why she could have been so stupid to cast her Patronus in front of the entire class without contemplating her feelings for Remus first. Especially with prior knowledge that a wolf Patronus implied the chance of the charm caster being a werewolf. Students from the class would be beside themselves with rumors of Y/N being a werewolf herself.

As long as it wasn’t Remus being investigated.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, peeking up at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Remus, why are you apologizing? Because of what animal the charm was? I’m not a bloody idiot. I know. Good thing I’m the caster, no one else, right?”

“Why would you like me, let alone love me?” Remus asked. “I don’t understand. I’m—”

“No, don’t even say it,” Y/N said, meeting his gaze. She reached forward and held his shoulders. “You’re handsome, funny, and intelligent. The least mad of any bloke I’ve seen. That’s all that matters to me.”

The heels of her feet lifted off the ground so she could peck his cheek. Remus flushed red and flinched back, not having expected any sort of affection—but Y/N deliberately ignored his confusion. She snorted and turned to leave.

Remus stood processing the unlikely events.

Y/N didn’t hear corresponding footsteps and stopped walking herself. “I hope you at least somewhat like me,” she said over her shoulder. “Else, that’d be one bloody embarrassing confession.”

Oh.

Remus’s shoes squeaked when he jogged to catch up. With his cheeks still aflame, Y/N hoped that meant he did, in fact, reciprocate.

I might need to do something about everyone seeing my Patronus, Y/N thought. Stupid Hogwarts and its plethora of assholes waiting for worthy gossip.

She was sure James and Sirius wouldn’t mind Obliviating the entire school for her and Remus. The idiots did supposedly do anything for their friends.

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