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mumms-the-word · 3 months ago

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Daydreams

Characters: Rolan x fem!Tav (Fawn) Summary: Rolan's apprenticeship isn't everything he thought it would be. On yet another dreary day of retail, he lets his mind wander to the frustrating adventurer he met at the grove and left behind in the shadow-cursed lands, a beautiful woman named Fawn. A/N: A gift for the AMAZING @orangekittyenergy for her birthday!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY friendo!!! Also this is a companion piece, a continuing of this fic about Rolan in Last Light Inn <3

Rolan could taste blood again, coppery and bitter and sharp. It no longer alarmed him. In truth, the taste of blood had become something of a daily occurrence, for one reason if not another. Just another perk of the job, he thought, his mood dark.

He rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth, searching for the source of the blood. Two tender spots lined the inside of his right cheek where his teeth had broken through the soft tissue—old wounds, about two days old, from when his master had struck him with the side of his staff for answering out of turn. The spots were sore, but they weren’t bleeding. He kept searching until he felt a sharp but fleeting pain along the side of his tongue. He managed to hide his wince.

He must have bitten down on his tongue, but he couldn’t remember when. Was it when Master Lorroakan had sent one of the books flying toward his head this morning, or more recently when a customer had wasted half an hour of his time complaining about the shop’s herb selection (as though Bonecloak’s Apothecary were not literally across the plaza) and he’d literally chewed on his tongue to avoid yelling that at them? Perhaps it didn’t matter.

He sighed softly through his nose and eyed the potions stocked underneath the counter. They had a few healing potions, and a quick swig from one of them would surely heal his bruised and bleeding tongue…but then he’d have to pay for it.

Or would he? It wasn’t as though Master Lorroakan minded the shop at all. The bastard never came down from the top floor of Ramazith’s Tower, let alone venture outside of the Upper City, even with his magical portals that linked Ramazith’s Tower with Sorcerous Sundries. No, it was Rolan’s job to man the shop, keep track of the stock and proceeds, and listen to customers and adventurers alike complain about everything.

Some glorious apprenticeship this was turning out to be.

He again contemplated the potions but decided against it. He might be the one manning the sales counter, but Master Lorroakan kept an animated armor or two around to keep order, not to mention magical images of himself to test cocky adventurers who thought they could con their way into a reward for the Nightsong. One of them would surely tattle. If Master Lorroakan chose to care, it would mean another “surprise test.”

Rolan wouldn’t be surprised if the surprise test was another myrmidon attack.

He swallowed down the saliva and blood that had mixed on his tongue and tried to forget about the pains in his mouth. And face. And body. He rolled his shoulders to try and ease some of the stiffness there and shifted his weight on his aching feet. Just another few hours and he could close up the shop and return to Ramazith’s Tower. Perhaps his master would be in a better mood today. Perhaps he would finally let Rolan learn a new spell or two. Perhaps…

Perhaps he was just fooling himself.

Since arriving at Baldur’s Gate, he had learned almost no new magic or magical theory, and what little he had gleaned was from books he had attempted to read when Lorroakan wasn’t looking. Instead what he had learned was how to quickly memorize the shifting pricing and stock for Sorcerous Sundries, how to listen to a complaining customer’s every third word to get through the ordeal of listening to them with less of a headache, and that Lorroakan’s Nightsong venture attracted a very particular brand of increasingly stupid imbeciles—sorry, adventurers. There was one outside right now, still shouting at one of the animated armors about the injustice of not getting to personally see Lorroakan.

Get in line. The bitter thought practically crackled inside Rolan’s mind. He rolled his eyes, mostly to himself.

He had half a mind to cast silence over the adventurer, over this entire shop really, and dull the chaotic, neverending combination of spellcasting, customer chatter, and general chaos. The shop was never quiet, what with all the magical items humming or crackling or occasionally catching fire, or the elemental summons they conjured every morning swirling with water or creaking with the full weight of their molten rock forms, or the clanking of the animated armors. There was always something happening inside the shop, something colorful or dangerous. Sometimes it was amusing. These days most of it was just annoying.

He remembered when he thought all the lightly controlled chaos was thrilling. His first day at the shop and at Ramazith’s Tower, finally in a place that would appreciate his talents. Finally somewhere with color and light, unlike those dark and twisted shadow-cursed lands they’d just escaped. But that excitement had quickly faded.

It was hard to maintain a sense of excitement and wonder when his training involved his master lashing out with violence for every wrong answer given to every nonsensical, impossible question. He wanted to be angry—he was angry—but the anger tangled up in his mind until he was never entirely sure if he was upset at Lorroakan for not making sense, or at himself for failing to understand and learn.

These days, very little made sense.

He sighed. What he wouldn’t give to have Cal and Lia here. Just to chat over the counter, if nothing else. But more than that, just to see them again. Ever since Lorroakan had refused to let Cal and Lia join them at Ramazith’s Tower, they’d been off finding work around the city and taking rooms at various inns and taverns. Last he heard, they were trying to find rooms at the Blushing Mermaid, just a few streets away. So close, and yet so far.

He hadn’t seen them in a few days. Either they were busy, or he was. They left notes, and he sent notes back, but he hadn’t seen them physically in a while. He missed them.

But at least they were safe. There had been a moment when he thought they were gone for good. Gone forever. He still had nightmares about it, if he let himself linger on the memories too long.

He folded his arms loosely over his chest, letting his mind wander back to that time, only a few short weeks ago. Most of the early days in the shadow-cursed lands were a haze. A drunken dream he stumbled out of only at the last minute when the shadows attacked him outside the docks of Reithwin. It should have ended with his death.

But then she appeared.

Fawn.

Gods, he was furious when he saw her. Why her of all bloody people in Faerûn?

He smiled a little to himself now, remembering. He’d snapped at her and griped and sulked, and she had just let his words glance off her like flimsy darts against an adamantine shield. Completely unfazed.

He still remembered the look of concern and worry she wore before he’d yelled at her.

Even in that darkness, half-illuminated by his torchlight and the moonlit magic that protected her from the shadows, she had been…lovely. Distractingly so. Even with her eyebrows drawn with concern and the down-turned corners of her mouth, the softness of her lips and hair had distracted him almost entirely. And that distraction had made him angry. How dare she meddle in his affairs again?

But he’d be dead without her. Days of introspection had finally let him admit that to himself. And more than that, Cal and Lia would be dead without her. It was only because of her that they had survived Moonrise and made it out alive.

He shook his head to himself. What an annoying, infuriating, maddeningly baffling woman Fawn was.

He wondered what she was doing now.

Probably wrapped up in some chaotic adventure, no doubt. Chaos and danger seemed to follow her every step wherever she went. Or perhaps she intentionally sought it out. That seemed just as likely.

Maybe one day he could walk into chaos at her side.

He blinked, the thought taking him a little off guard. At her side? He uncrossed his arms and rubbed at his temples. Maybe the stress of retail work was getting to him. It was much more likely he’d never see her again, so what was the point of even thinking about her?

But…he glanced around the shop. All the customers were either busy studying the wares or milling about. No one looked ready to approach the counter just yet, which gave him time to…well. Daydream.

Just for a moment.

He bent and rested his forearms against the counter, allowing his back a brief rest as he let his mind wander back to her. The beautiful Fawn. These were daydreams, right? So anything could happen there.

In his mind’s eye, he pictured her walking into the shop with a crooked smirk on her plump lips, her green eyes glittering with untold mischief. She’d approach the counter and stop, setting a hand on her hip, and tilt her head to one side, her soft brown bangs brushing against her forehead.

You up for an adventure? she might say. Or perhaps, Long time, no see. Or maybe, I thought I might find you here.

He would fondly roll his eyes and respond with something clever. It took you long enough.

And she would laugh. A bright, sparkling laugh that would buoy his dampened spirits, or a sweet, quiet giggle meant only for his ears that would make his calloused heart flutter.

Perhaps he’d get lost in staring. Perhaps he would find himself tracing the line of her nose or the shape of her ears, find his gaze trailing down the scar on her right cheek. Perhaps their eyes would meet, infernal gold with wilderness green, and he’d find in her gaze answers to questions, about her, about the two of them, that he had asked himself a dozen times since they parted in Reithwin. Or perhaps his gaze would linger on her lips, his favorite distraction, and he’d think, not for the first time, not even for the hundredth time, about what it must be like to kiss such lips. To take her mouth with his own and consume her. To pull her body against his and fit himself against her curves and lines, like a puzzle piece locking into place, two parts of one whole.

He straightened up suddenly, hands pressed against the counter, and shifted his weight. He ought to know better than to entertain such thoughts in the middle of a busy work day.

He tapped his nails against the counter, mostly to get out some of the pent-up energy that had been building up inside him. Click-ck-ck-ck. Click-ck-ck-ck. Click-ck-ck-ck. Another noise to add to the din of the shop.

It was a stupid thought anyway, and he was a fool for playing the lovesick idiot in his dreams. Even if she walked through those doors—and she wouldn’t, he was quite sure—there would be no leaving with her. Not with Master Lorroakan holding his leash.

Oh, he could leave whenever he wanted, sure. But that would mean leaving behind the most lucrative apprenticeship he could possibly secure as a refugee of Elturel, not to mention leaving behind all the treasures of Ramazith’s Tower, be that arcane artifacts or tomes rich with knowledge. His place was here—his purpose was to stay here and make a name for himself, to provide for his family, to become the greatest wizard he could possibly be. He had the natural talent. He wanted to hone it into something awe-inspiring. Something that had value so great it would be impossible to ignore or dismiss.

If that meant dealing with Lorroakan and his insanity…so be it. He could endure it. The violence. The impossible questions. The dull inanity of retail work. He could. For Cal. For Lia.

And…in a way, for Fawn. To prove to her that he was as good as his word. That he was a wizard worth knowing, but more than that, to prove to her that he could learn from his mistakes and improve his craft. Perhaps, eventually, to prove that he was a man worthy of her attention.

He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his cheek, on his tongue, in his back, his feet, and rolled his shoulders. Better get back to work, then.

Back to mindless, repetitive, neverending work.

He was just turning away to check the organization of the trinkets and potion bottles beneath the counter when he heard an all-too-familiar masculine voice at the front entrance.

“Look around you. Indulge your curiosity! Sorcerous Sundries is the finest purveyor of magical miscellany for miles around.”

Rolan turned his head a little too quickly, scarcely daring to believe it. Gale, that pretentious wizard from Waterdeep? But if Gale were here, then surely—

His eyes fell on her immediately, watching her laugh at something Gale said, or perhaps something the tiefling, Karlach, said. He felt himself go a little slack-jawed with surprise. He wasn’t imagining this, right? That was actually her—Fawn was actually walking into the shop with her companions in tow.

Whatever he had imagined in his daydreams and fantasies, the sight of her there in the real world was far superior. Even his best imaginings couldn’t quite capture the way her hair, tied up and back, swung gently with each step and brushed against her shoulders, or the way she moved with grace and confidence. With her staff secured on her back and her easy smile, she looked perfectly at home among the crackling magic baubles and spell summons as she carefully stepped around a wandering illusion of a crab and looked around the space.

Suddenly the shop felt alight with color and wonder again, with her occupying a space in the room. Was he only imagining a fizzling new magical energy in the room now that she had arrived, or was that simply something that always happened when she entered a room?

Gods, she was beautiful.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak just yet, but it didn’t take her long to notice him. The delight that lit up her features was enough to sustain him the rest of the tenday. “Rolan?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Fawn! What are you doing here?”

She laughed and jogged over to him. “Well it is called Sorcerous Sundries, isn’t it?” she said with a wink. “I figured I should check it out. What are you doing here?”

“This is my apprenticeship,” he said, shrugging.

“This?” As she reached the counter, she stopped short, her smile fading. “Rolan…”

“It…has not been what I expected,” he admitted, unconsciously lifting a hand to his face. He caught himself before he could touch one of the bruises and clenched his fist, pressing it down onto the surface of the counter. “Master Lo—”

But she didn’t let him finish. She leaned over the counter and cradled his cheek gently in her hand. The touch of her warm skin made all other thoughts fall completely away. There was that look of concern again, the down-turned corners of her mouth, and he felt himself faltering under such a look now where before it had only angered him.

What had he done to earn such compassion from her? After all the times he’d yelled and snapped at her, tried to drive her back or insult her—he may have let his imagination get the better of him, to let himself fantasize that perhaps she would regard him as a friend, or (perhaps foolishly) a would-be lover, but he never actually expected…

“What happened, Rolan?” she asked, her thumb brushing featherlight against his cheek.

Gods, he would give anything to banish that concerned look away and see her smile instead. If this weren’t the middle of his work day, if there weren’t animated armors and Lorroakan illusions watching him at every hour, he’d abandon this counter now and follow her anywhere. But that simply wasn’t an option, and he didn’t feel worthy of it just yet.

Still…

He reached up and took her hand, gently pulling it away from his face. Normally he would let it go, try to push her away, but today…for now…he could take a small risk.

He kept hold of her hand as he lowered their hands to rest on the counter. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said quietly.

He felt his chest tighten as she shifted her hold on him, turning her hand so that she could hold his more comfortably. She didn’t look convinced, but she seemed willing to let the matter rest, at least for now. More than that, she seemed willing to linger.

He offered her a slightly crooked smile and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Enough about me,” he said. “I want to hear what you’ve been up to. Tell me everything, and leave nothing out. It’s not every day the savior of the world comes walking into our humble shop.”

She rolled her eyes at his teasing, but settled against the counter, still holding his hand, and began to chat. He smiled to himself as he listened to her recount the latest adventures since they’d last seen one another, content to listen to her voice. The whole time, she never let go of him and she didn’t seem to mind when he began to rub absent-minded circles into her skin with his thumb.

It all felt so natural and easy. Comfortable. Normal. Unlike so much else these days. There was chaos, there was bitterness, there was frustration…and there was Fawn, who felt like a breath of fresh air and the crackling of new energy all in one.

Funny how things change.

If he weren’t physically holding her hand, he might have convinced himself she was just an illusion, something his bored and tired mind had conjured just to get him through another monotonous day. But no, she was here. She was here, and she didn’t look any the worse for wear, and she made the entire room glow with her mere presence.

And she was beautiful.

Maybe one day he would actually tell her that. Out loud, outside of his daydreams.

But not today. He bit his tongue gently on the un-injured side and contented himself with simply listening and holding her hand. Ten minutes ago, he was certain he’d never see her again. Now, it was enough to know she was in the same city as him, adventuring and getting into trouble mere blocks from where he manned this dismal little counter.

The world looked a little brighter now that she had walked into his shop. He could work with that.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRIEND #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #my fic #rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan x tav #other tavs #fawn #I hope you love it <3 <3

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sappy-seresin · 2 years ago

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Fawn (B. Bradshaw)

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x female!reader

Warning: hints at domestic abuse, hints at toxic relations, mentions of injury, angst, light cursing.

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is enamored by the Hard Deck's newest waitress. Taking notice of a shift in your demeanor, he finds himself wanting to get to the bottom of your newfound skittishness.

Series Theme Song: I’ll Be Around by Garrett Kato

Word Count: 5.8k

A/n: MY WORK IS NOT TO BE POSTED ELSEWHERE, especially without consent. Do not steal the work of other writers, thank you.

Gif creds: @mads-weasley

You've always carried yourself with elegant poise, your shoulders high with delicate confidence as you strut your way through life. That’s the first thing Bradley noticed about you, and he’s continued appreciating further the more your presence sealed itself into his life. You’ve been working at the Hard Deck for nearly six months now, and subsequently have earned yourself a space in the Dagger Squad friend group, without being a naval officer. Your space in their lives is a lot like Penny’s, other than the fact that you’re a few years younger than all of them. That fact has had all of them feeling protective over you in their own merit. Each of them have done their fair share of looking out for you, always stepping in when someone was heckling you at the bar or pulling you into the groups antics when you seemed overwhelmed on a busy night. Penny always watches from afar, glad to see you smiling among her favorite squadron.

Admittedly, Bradley loves how easily you melted into the group, and appreciates that everyone seems to care about you nearly as much as he does. He’d never admit it out loud, but you’re the first person he looks for when he enters the Hard Deck. His eyes automatically manage to plant themselves wherever you are when he walks in, an elegant smile taking over his face at the simplest sight of you. You always return the gesture, making a point to pour his drink before he even has the chance to order.

Recently though, your poise has dimmed. Your smiles never quite reaching your eyes when you cater to the aviators beck and call. Bradley attributed the change as stress, at first. The summer months are some of the busiest at the bar and it's your first time experiencing this level of rush. The moment he started picking up on your newfound skittishness, he couldn't shake the feeling that there's more going on than being overworked.

Your confidence is now sporadic, fleeting as you jump at loud noises and sudden movements, always playing it off with a lighthearted joke when any of them question it. He notices the way your smiles falter as soon as the groups focus shifts elsewhere, the facade slipping away when you're sure no one's watching. Yet, Bradley always is, unbeknownst to you, watching your every move. He catches every time you gulp to gain composure and the way your knuckles flash white with how hard you grip your tray after being jostled by a passing customer.

Tonight's no different as Bradley's kept his eyes trained on you from the moment he walked in. He watches you slip through the room in a fawn-like state, doe-eyes jumping around the room as you fade in and out of the shadows. Unlike your old, confident self that always managed to light up the typically muggy space.

“What’s got you lost in thought, Rooster?” Natasha’s voice cuts through his staring, pulling his attention from where you’re delivering drinks across the bar. He glances at her and Bob, who’re both staring back at him curiously.

“Does she seem off to you?” He asks simply, letting his eyes trickle back to you. Natasha’s eyebrows knit together before she follows his gaze, realization filling her immediately.

“Y/n?” She thinks out loud, accepting Bradley’s curt nod as a yes. “I mean, sure. I've noticed she’s been a little more skittish and accident prone than usual lately. What about it?"

Bradley shrugs, sipping his drink, not wanting to overshare a story that isn't his. Though, his mind flashes to the last time you'd spoken, affirming that he'd been right about foul play behind the scenes. Even after you forced another lie to keep yourself from admitting the truth to him in the bar just days ago. "I just feel like something isn't right." They fall into silence, Bob and Natasha accompanying Bradley in watching you. Each searching for any signs of foul play, or make any observation that could give insight on what's going on. The truth is, Bradley knows something isn't right. You confirmed his suspicions three days ago, though you refused to vocalize that he's right.

With his eyes trained on you, Bradley recounts the times you've proven to be 'accident prone' the past several weeks. Wonder fills his brain at memories of you brushing off seemingly small injuries as if they were normal, though you'd barely gotten a scratch in the previous months he'd known you. Bradley's mind flashes to the first time he questioned an injury, his eyes fixated on the soft wrap adorning your wrist as you wiped the counter nearly a month and a half ago. His hand clenches around his drink as he's now able to pinpoint your cover stories, though he has yet to figure out the culprit behind you fabricating those stories.

“What happened there?” Bradley asked, gesturing towards your bandaged hand. His eyes raking over you while you blinked at him for a second, letting a sheepish grin meet your lips.

“Oh this?” You joked, raising your hand absentmindedly. “It’s nothing really. I slipped during a game of one on one and caught myself weird. It looks worse than it is, doc says I need to be in the brace for a few weeks so it’ll heal.” Your voice was light and bubbly, but something in your eyes had Bradley unconvinced that your story was factual.

He took a swig of his beer, clearing his throat as he met your eyes again. Opting not to question you, he smiled. “I guess you need to work on your game.” The gentle laugh you released sent shivers down his spine as he watched you.

“I guess I do,” you agreed, topping him off with another beer before leaving to serve another customer without looking back.

He recounts the second time now. He caught you wincing when you bent down to grab a fresh case of beer you were moving to the back. your tight intake of breath had Bradley feeling uneasy.

“You alright, Darlin’,” his voice showcased the concern he’d been feeling. You grimaced at him, gladly accepting the hand he offered to help you up.

“Yeah,” you breathed, discomfort evident when the case slid against your rib cage. “I tweaked a muscle at the gym last night. Just a bit sore is all.” Your cheeks tinted pink at the twinkle in his eye with all his attention solely focused on you. He pushed himself from his position at the bar, inserting himself behind the counter before lifting the case from your grasp with ease. Your sheepishness grew when he leaned to brush past you, grab the last case before glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Where do you need this?” You gaped at him for a moment, not expecting him to do the work for you, but collected yourself quickly. Leading him to the back instead of responding.

“Here’s perfect,” you told him, gesturing where the other cases were already stacked. He obliged, putting the cases in their designated spot, shooting you a content smile. “Thanks for doing that.”

“Not a problem, darlin’,” he waved off, knowing fully well he’d move a thousand more cases if you needed him to. You blushed again, the gesture melting his heart in the same way it does every time it graces your cheeks.

“Well, I appreciate it,” you reached out to squeeze his arm, the movement making the sleeve of your t-shirt slide up in the slightest. Bradley swears he saw a finger-shaped bruise peeking out just below the worn fabric. He eyes flickering back to your face quickly to keep you from noticing he’d seen anything. “My tweaked muscles do too.”

His mouth felt dry as he studied you, mind reeling about what's hiding behind the inconspicuous lie. Your hand dropped when his grin faltered, suddenly worried that you'd made him uncomfortable.

“I guess you need to work on your form,” he knew he was wearing his emotions on his face, though his tone remained intentionally light. Though he wanted to inspect the blemishes hiding under your sleeve, he knew it wasn’t his place. Mentally though, he pulled you against his chest and gently assured you that he’ll protect you from whoever gave you those bruises.

Your face dropped at his words, hands fidgeting against the fabric of your jeans. “I guess I do,” you agreed, deja’vu hitting you after repeating the words you'd spoken to him weeks prior. You hesitated, realizing that his subtle repetition means that, to a certain degree, he knows your explanations don’t match the truth. The thought of him not believing you made the room shrink around you, blurring Bradley’s figure with the anxiety of him finding out. “I should get back to the bar.” Though you were talking to him, the statement seemed to be whispered to no one before you brushed past him with a forced smile.

The last time he questioned you was just three days ago, and the memory of the sight of you has his hand strangling his glass, his blood boiling when he catches sight of your split lip from across the bar.

He'd been dismayed by the fact that you were, not so subtly, ignoring everyone in the squad that night. He noticed how you always kept your back towards them, sending another server to their table whenever they tried flagging you down. He lost sight of you for awhile, though his eyes never stopped scanning the room, hoping to pinpoint your figure assisting customers somewhere in the crowded room. He thought you left after ten minutes of gruel searching. The belief had his shoulders feeling heavy, his mind reeling with questions as to why you'd been silently swerving everyone all night.

His attempts to find you were forgotten as he came to terms with the fact that you didn't want to be found. Until he excused himself to go to the bathroom, needing a moment to collect himself to escape the thoughts of you.

The plan averted the second he gripped the bathroom door handle, the thick wood flung open before he'd even had a chance to pull. A string of apologies left your lips before you froze, realizing that Bradley was the one you'd nearly taken out with the door.

"Y/n, what-" His words caught in his throat after getting a good look at your face. You gaped at him like a deer caught in headlights, showcasing a bruised cheek and split lip that had him prepared to blow a gasket. His expression tightened as he scanned over the rest of you for anymore blemishes, though there wasn't anything else out of the ordinary. You let the door close with a soft 'smack' unable to cover your stunned demeanor. "What happened to your face?" He cut straight to the point, itching to find the "someone" that hurt you.

You opened your mouth to speak but he waved his hand to stop you.

"Another basketball game or a mishap in the gym?" A gentle sarcasm graced his voice, his eyes indicating that you can't get out of this one without telling the truth. His reference back to your past excuses made your hands shake anxiously.

You blinked at him, pointing a pleading look in his direction. Knowing he wasn't going to drop it, your shoulders deflated, though you weren't ready to accept defeat just yet. Lifting your head high, you wiped the shock from your face and replaced it with tenacity.

"Nasty spill while surfing yesterday," you quipped, no evidence of hesitation in your tone as you blatantly lied through your teeth. You hoped he would respond in the same way he had the last two times you found yourself in these subtle moments of confrontation. Wanting him to crack a lighthearted joke about working on your drop-in's, but you knew he wouldn't so you continued. "My board smacked me right in the face before I could stop it."

He sighed in frustration, ripping at his neat curls before dropping his hand again. You flinched in surprise, unknowingly giving him more belief that his suspicions were right. "Now you're just blatantly lying to me," he sighed, relaxing his face so you could see the sadness in his eyes. "Y/n, if someone's hurting you, I need you to tell me. You don't have to manage this on your own, and honestly, I hate that you don't feel like you can trust me. Let me help you."

"There's nothing for you to help with," you immediately insisted, though your teary eyes told him a different narrative. "I'm just clumsy is all." There was deep conviction weaved in your weak explanation, paired with an unwillingness to shed light on the truth. Which was that your boyfriend, Tanner has a short temper. His latest outburst being the cause of your battered surface and spirit.

"Y/n," Bradley pleaded, stepping closer to you, but you shuffled a step back.

"I have to get back," you rejected his advancement, brushing past him without another glance. He'd been frozen in defeat for the minutes following the chance encounter, staring in the direction you'd retreated with a heavy heart. Shaking himself off, he entered the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, hoping it was enough to rid his face of the worry lines wrinkling his forehead after speaking to you. Though he wanted to find you when he made his way back to the table, he forced himself to sit down, knowing you wouldn't speak to him about the topic and further.

The rest of the squad is seated at the table by the time Bradley's able to pull himself out of his head. Mickey tips his head at Bradley upon noticing he'd tuned back into the conversation for the first time since Mickey had sat down. Bradley musters a wink in Mickey's direction, bringing his cup to his lips to soothe the dryness of his throat, though his eyes subconsciously trickle over to you, mind reeling on how to get you to tell him the truth.

A loud crash sounds from across the bar awhile later, interrupting everyone’s attention away from the story Coyote was telling. Bradley had managed to distract himself from his thoughts enough to actually enjoy the night with the squad, periodically laughing as everyone spouts off ridiculous stories.

Bradley’s eyes flit over the room, expecting to find an old drunk struggling to pull themself off the ground, or maybe even the beginning stages of a brawl. What he doesn’t expect to find is you, standing frozen in place with your face resembling a ghosts. The second you squat down to begin picking glass up off the floor, Bradley’s moving to break the space to help you, eyes caught on the man towering over you with an infuriated expression.

“Where the hell have you been?” The man’s voice rings in Bradley’s ears once he’s close enough to hear. “I’ve been calling for four days, why haven’t you answered?”

“You broke my phone,” you snip. Your annoyed tone contradicts the trembling of your hands as they clumsily gather jagged shards into your hands. “I haven’t had the time to get a new one.”

“Everything okay, Y/n,” Bradley cuts in, sizing up the guy in front of him as you look at him for the first time in days. The man's got a few inches on Bradley, but he’s far from intimidating. The stranger clenches his jaw at the sight of him, his lips curving into an arrogant sneer as he puffs out his chest in Bradley's direction.

“Y/n’s fine,” he answers for you, balling his hands into tight fists. “Right, baby?” The nickname makes Bradley’s skin feel like it’s on fire due to the way it drips off the man’s tongue in a sickly sweet manner. Bradley's known you have a boyfriend for awhile. He was disappointed to find out after Hangman had jokingly tried his chances with you. Your admission of being taken was the sole hold up on him outing his feelings for you, but the sight of the guy shooting daggers at you makes his skin crawl. No man should look at his girl in the way this guy's looking at you.

Bradley watches your hesitant nod, your eyes barely ghosting over him as Penny slides a broom into your hand, helping you off the floor. You quietly thank her, gently assuring her that you’re okay, before returning your attention to cleaning the mess. Clearly wanting nothing more than for your boyfriend to be anywhere but here causing a scene. Penny observes the three of you, mentally weighing whether or not to respect your assurances that you have the situation under control. One nod from Bradley is enough for her to return to her spot behind the bar, assisting the few customers that aren't watching the altercation unfold.

Growing more irate with your lack of attention, the man takes a step toward you. "You want to look at me while I'm talking to you?" Bradley's blood boils at the malice directed at you, his instincts forcing him to step closer to you as well, ready to jump in if he tries to lay as much as a finger on you.

"Tanner, you need to leave. You can't just come in here, guns a-blazing, while I'm working and expect the conversation to go well while you're causing a scene," there's a waver to your voice when you say his name, your attempt to remain composed is only half effective when your eyes jump back to the floor after catching Tanner's icy appearance.

"Where the hell else am I supposed to find you when you're obviously doing everything in your power to avoid me," Tanner snaps, his face glowing red with anger. "I tried your apartment four times and you were never home. So, where the hell have you been?" You instinctively flinch when he raises his hand, shocking Bradley into registering that Tanner's the culprit to blame for your split lip and bruised cheek. Your reaction to him walking into the bar, and now flinching at his sudden movements, is enough affirmation of what Bradley previously suspected.

"Alright man, she told you to leave, so it's time for you to go," Bradley's speaking on autopilot now, stepping forward enough to place his hand on Tanner's chest to keep him from advancing any closer to you.

Tanner sneers at Bradley, his gaze falling to the hand planted on his chest. "I suggest you get your hands off me, before I make you," he snarls, shooting Bradley his best intimidating glare before contorting his face in understanding. "So that's what you've been doing the last few days." He backs out of Bradley's grasp, looking at you with a fake humored expression.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bradley's eyes follow your voice, noticing the way your eyebrows furrow together in confusion.

"You've been screwing him, haven't you," Tanner accuses pointing a finger at Bradley. "I've been looking all over town for you and you've been fooling around with this prick. Dude, you're wasting your time. She's not even worth it."

Bradley interrupts before you can discount Tanner's words, refusing to let this piece of garbage tarnish your character. "She's worth more than you can comprehend, clearly. I can assure you that she's not fooling around with me, or anyone else for that matter. I know her well enough to know that she wouldn't cheat, even if it's warranted for a guy like you."

"A guy like me," Tanner replays those words, emphasizing them while he gestures toward himself, feigning surprise. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," Bradley quips, narrowing his brows. He's surprised when Tanner raises his eyebrows, urging him to voice his thoughts. "A guy that's dumb enough to lay a hand on a woman." You suck in a breath at the declaration, your eyes flying to watch Tanner's ego take a hit at the fact that he's been caught. You shudder, knowing full well that Tanner being caught means that your lies are out in the open now.

"My girl, my business," Tanner shrugs, "You're way out of line buddy, and I suggest you-"

“Do we have a problem here,” Bradley’s glad to hear Jake’s voice for once, some of the tension in his own chest alleviating at his colleagues authoritative tone. Jake stands tall as he positions himself in front of your shaken figure, his pointed gaze fixed solely on Tanner. He makes a point to flash his toned biceps by crossing his arms over his chest to add to his hard exterior, letting his eyes do plenty more talking while he sizes Tanner up.

“That’s up to him,” Bradley responds, nodding his head towards Tanner, who looks seconds away from throwing a punch.

“This is so like you, Y/n,” Tanner laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Letting your friends save you from your own battles instead of handling them yourself like an adult. You get off on being the damsel in distress, don't you?” He's glaring at you over Jake's shoulder, seemingly unfazed by the aviator acting as a human shield.

"Y/n's more than capable of handling herself," Jake assures Tanner, tightening his expression. "But here at the Hard Deck, we have a strict "no harassing women" policy, and you're disrupting the peace." Jake's eyes fall on Reuben and Javy who are now on standby behind Tanner, prepared to restrain him if necessary. Reuben gives him a curt nod, winking at you for a little extra encouragement. They've got you covered. "Now, you have two options. You can either walk yourself out of the bar, and leave my friend Y/n here alone. Or, I'll drag you out and let Rooster have his way with you." Jake pauses again to give Tanner a second to process what he said. "I can assure you that only the former is going to end well for you."

"Now you're threatening me? You seriously think I'm afraid of a few boys in pansy ass navy uniforms?" Tanner's expression grows more manic with his incredulous words, unable to keep himself from chuckling in disbelief.

The response is enough to make Jake snap, his arms falling to his sides as he swiftly nods at Javy and Reuben as a cue for them to move. "Alright, parties over buddy." Tanner thrashes the second the men intercept him, easily dragging him towards the door.

"You bitch," Tanner shouts, eyes locked on you while he lamely tries freeing himself from their grasp. He has a clear shot of you now that Jake's not planted in front of you. Instead, he's trailing behind the three of them as a form of damage control if a last line of defense if necessary. "You'll pay for this."

Bradley shifts to dart in Tanner's direction, his slow burning anger transforming into full-blown rage at the mans threat toward you. Though, his movements freeze when a hand grasps his forearm, his fiery eyes meeting your tearful ones as the ruckus in the room fades from his ears. The room around him spirals out of focus with you being all that he sees as he struggles to refrain from ripping away from you to beat Tanner until he forgets your name.

Your touch is feathery while you blear at him. He swears he's going to light on fire until you utter the only request that could possibly cool him down. "Please, stay with me." Bradley immediately returns to a grounded state, the thoughts of giving Tanner a piece of his mind dimming while you wordlessly beg him not to leave you alone. "Please, Bradley." Those words are all it takes for him to break the space, shamelessly pulling you against his chest to shield you from anymore hurt. You fall against him in exhaustion, your hands fisting the soft Hawaiian button up he's wearing to give yourself more assurance that he's there.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs into your hair after a few moments of holding you. You're sniffling into his chest while the atmosphere of the bar returns to normal, the onlookers suddenly feeling wrong about watching you break in Bradley's embrace.

Bradley easily flags Penny down with an urgent look, grateful that she stops what she's doing to assist him. "I need to get her out of here," he informs her in a hushed voice once she's close enough to hear. She wordlessly nods in understanding, sadness crossing her features at the sight of you practically rattling in his arms. "The glass is all in one place and just needs to be thrown away."

"I've got it covered, go," she encourages him, noticing that the three who'd taken Tanner outside have yet to return. "I'll have Pete pull your truck around back so you don't have to worry about any confrontations."

"Thanks Penny," Bradley hums, making sure not to jostle you too much while passing his keys to her. You lift your head to thank her as well, mustering a delicate smile as she carefully squeezes your arm in reassurance.

"Take care of my girl, Rooster," she commands lightheartedly, but he picks up on the weight behind her statement.

"Of course," he breathes, running his hand up your back to get your attention. "Ready to go, darlin'?" You bob your head in response, itching to get out of the sticky bar after having far too much attention on you. The interaction with Tanner replays in the back of your mind while Bradley guides you toward the back door with his hand rested on the small of your back.

Pete already has the Bronco parked by the back door when you guys reach the exit. He pulls the door open just before Bradley's able to reach it, stepping aside to let you two pass before bowing his head at Bradley.

"Appreciate the help, Mav," Bradley affirms, which Pete just shrugs off as a silent way of telling Bradley it's the least he could do. Pete makes sure you're both in the car before walking back inside, sympathy overtaking him at the image of you deflating in your seat.

The car ride is comfortably silent outside of natural road noise. The fact that Bradley has no idea where you live dawned on you about ten minutes into the drive, but you don't bring yourself to ask where he's taking you. Preferring not to be anywhere that Tanner can find you.

Your friendship hasn't gone much farther than hanging out when he visits the bar, other than the few times Natasha invited you to meet everyone at her place when you got off. Oh, and the movie night everyone had at Bob's when you offered to be their DD when they'd still been around by last call. Yet, you trust Bradley enough to feel at ease as he navigates the nearly vacant streets of San Diego.

"We're here," Bradley announces, putting the Bronco in park after pulling into his driveway. He glances at you with a comforting smile, rushing to hop out so he can open your door for you. You gracefully accept the hand he offers you, climbing out of the truck timidly. His hand finds a home on the small of your back again, acting as a guide while he leads you to the front door and lets you both in.

"Your place?" You think out loud, as he unlocks the door, gesturing for you to enter before him. He grins, suddenly feeling sheepish as he drops his keys on the small table next to the door.

"Yeah," he nods, scratching his neck. "I figured you shouldn't go home. Is this okay? I can take you somewhere else if you want."

"This is perfect," he blows the air out of his cheeks at your assurance, making a point to lock the door before guiding you to the living room. He gestures to the couch, which you gladly plop down on, relishing in the plush comfort of the cushions while Bradley watches you.

"Can I get you anything? There's water, tea, and probably even a few beers left from the last time the guys came over," Bradley curses himself for sounding so soft, though you don't seem to mind.

"Water would be great," your supportive smile is the first Bradley's seen all night, sending his stomach twisting in knots as he retreats to the kitchen. While he's gone, you take time to study the living room, your smile widening at the old family photos with his parents along with various pictures of the squad scattered across the shelves. The room is tidy and smells subtly of cologne, it's coziness urging you to melt further into the couch.

Bradley freezes in the doorway, secretly admiring how cozy you look in the safety of his house. I'm screwed, he thinks to himself, shaking his head to rid himself of being awestruck by you. You glance in his direction at the sound of his feet shuffling across the floor, graciously accepting the glass he slides in your hand.

"Thank you," you whisper, clearing your throat after taking a sip of the cool water before placing the glass on the coffee table in front of you. Your body stretches back into the couch as Bradley fills the space next to you, making a point to leave enough room so that you don't feel claustrophobic.

A thick silence falls over the room, neither of you knowing what to say now that you're alone. The impending conversation weighs on both of your shoulders while the two of you look everywhere other than at each other. Bradley speaks after several moments of grueling silence, unable to bare the elephant in the room.

"I'm so sorry for not vocalizing my suspicions sooner," the apology surprises you, not having anticipated the softness of his response. Part of you assumed he was going to be angry with you for not fessing up and asking for help when you had the chance. "I mean, I know you don't play basketball, and then I saw those bruises on your arm, but I didn't feel like it was my place to pry. I should've just said something before he had more chances to hurt you." He frowns at the newest blemish on your lip, scabbed but still fresh with only being a few days old. The bruise on your cheek has faded into a dull yellowish green, time giving it enough time to kickstart the healing process.

"It's my own fault. I was dumb to ever get involved with him," you croak, downcast eyes trained on the floor. "My friends told me he was a walking red flag and I didn't listen. I willingly fell into his trap on my own accord. So please, don't apologize for not saying anything sooner because it's been my fault all along. Your questions were all I allowed you to do."

"Hey," Bradley whispers, wordlessly asking for consent to cup your jaw in his hand, his thumb gently swiping the tear gliding down your blemished cheek after you nod in approval. "None of what he did to you is your fault. You hear me? I don't want to hear you blaming yourself for a man that didn't know the first thing about treating you right." Bradley's voice is gentle as he addresses you, not leaving any room for you to feel insecure in being with him. He never wants you to feel small again, and you won't as long as he has anything to do with it. "He had no business laying his hands on you in a way that misconstrued love as violence. The blame is solely for him to carry, not you. Okay?" His eyes plea that you absorb everything he's telling you. He needs you to understand that Tanner is the perpetrator at fault, not you. The tears flooding your cheeks are indication that you're grasping what he's telling you, but he has to be sure.

"I need to know that you're hearing me Darlin'," the statement is more of a request as he wipes at more of your tears, his heart quenching at the subdued sob that forces its way out of you. All you can do is nod, not trusting your voice. "I need to hear you say it."

"I'm hearing you, Bradley," you sniffle, stammering over the knot in your throat. "The blame isn't mine." With that, more choked sobs erupt from your body, encouraging Bradley to pull you into his lap without caring whether it's the appropriate move or not. Your lack of opposition assures him that you're okay with him holding you while you come unglued in his embrace for the second time.

Countless encouragements that he's got you and that you're going to be okay quietly float from his lips while you melt into him. The innocent closeness brings you a small sense of the relief you're craving. His softness allows you to feel safe enough to simply let yourself accept the truth and feel all of the emotions you've been numbing as a form of self preservation for the last few months. For the first time in months, the breaths filing your lungs aren't clouded by heaviness because an inescapable weight has lifted from your chest. You bask in the weightlessness of your breathing, the sensation bringing a fresh round of relieved tears. Your sobs transition into meek sniffles as Bradley patiently comforts you, his own tension releasing when he senses that you're going to be okay.

"Thanks for rescuing me," you murmur after a few moments of quiet, thankfully allowing him to rid your cheeks of the final evidence of tears. Bradley loses his own breath when his eyes fixate on you again. Though your eyes are bloodshot and glazed from crying, cheeks flushed with a delicate pink tint, Bradley swears you've never looked more beautiful.

His hand tenderly cups your cheek again, his eyes the softest they've been all night as he drinks the sight of you in. The rational side of him wants to curse himself for being so enthralled by you at such an unfortunate time. You just experienced one of the most humiliating nights of your life, and spent the last twenty minutes broken in his arms for God's sake. But all rationality escapes him as he soaks you in, completely defenseless against the relentless adoration beating against his ribcage.

"I'll rescue you any time it's needed Darlin'," he promises, and you know he means it. You bask in the comfort of his arms for the rest of the night, enjoying the lighthearted conversation and the way he seems comforted by your presence. In the dim light of the room, with a TV show softly playing quietly in the background, you eventually lull to sleep, Bradley's steady heart beat being the last thing you remember before succumbing to the delicate darkness.

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A/N: That's it!! My first TGM fic is on the books!! I've got various works in the making, but this one flowed so naturally as I was writing and I'm ecstatic to share it.

There's a part two dancing in the back of my mind, but I'll let feedback and continued inspiration decide whether or not the story continues or ends here.

PART TWO IS IN PROGRESS

Tagging some moots/pages that I enjoy. Feel free to request whether or not you'd like to continue being tagged in future fics <3

Tags: @glen-powells @bradleybeachbabe @writingshae @happilycameron @rosiahills22 @roosterforme @avaleineandafryingpan @fandomxpreferences @fanboygarcia

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lucky-clover-gazette · 4 months ago

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the relationship between volo and (adult) player character in a "volo wins and brings the player with him" au would actually be insane. levels of toxicity unfathomable to anyone outside of that fucked-up dynamic. the degree of obsession he would have with earning the respect of the single sentient being in the world with actual free will... the way she could use that obsession against him... messy messy messy, should have just stayed in hisui

#i've read a few volo wins fics where the player character/akari just like. fawns #or pouts without any real purpose #what about psychologically tormenting him back #on purpose #what is a god without a willing worshiper?#sorry this is weird and edgy but i'm on a fanfic bender and having Ideas #volo pokemon #volo #pla

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chiangyorange · 2 years ago

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love me some cassandras, the girl ever

anyway go read ITBOTB and VFP RIGHT fucking now for prime cassandra content because my fucking god. it is so bleak being a cassandra jones liker

In The Bottom Of The Bottle - @beeceit

vigilantism for fun and profit - @radishhqueen

we’ll meet again soon - me

#vigilantism for fun and profit #in the bottom of the bottle #we'll meet again soon #rottmnt fic #rottmnt #casey jones #rottmnt casey jones #rottmnt cassandra #cassandra jones #my art #hi if ur weird about itbotb cassandra being plus sized i will kill you on sight <3 #beloved fawn beeceit says she is that size and i am but a humble soldier #peepaw multiverse

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bi-hop · 5 months ago

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I’m probably going to edit the hell out of this, but I’m stuck in the car and writing random stuff from my WIPs is the only way I can survive this highway without exploding-

#stuff it nyx #fic WIP #falin touden #marcille donato #farcille #it’s technically from a Farcille fic #i say technically bc it’s more so just a Falin fic just #feelings of all kinds come up though #anyway always thinking about their school days #maybe bc I’ve been watching some r//gu recently #and the MC gets fawned over by girls #Marcille’s fan club is more academic but still #wires crossed in my brain i guess

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odessastone · 8 months ago

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sighing and kicking my legs thinking about them again

#😌#overwatch #symweaver #symmetra #lifeweaver #she’s so enamored of him canonically…#it’s funny bc in my fic I had Niran be the fawning one who goes on narrative rambles about how much he loves Satya #then this story came out and gave us the flip side from Satya’s POV - how much she cares for him while he gets to play it cool and collected #aaa I just love them so much 😭😭😭 they love EACH OTHER so much 😭😭😭

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surrogate-fawn · 1 year ago

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End of Term (NYC College AU)

Part 1 of 2

(Link to Part 2 will appear here when posted)

Summary: Fawn is a small-town girl from West Virginia trying to find her future in the Big Apple. She's left everything from her past behind her . . . or so she thinks. During her final exams, Fawn is completely unaware that she's been pregnant since before the semester began -- and her labor has started. As her discomfort grows more intense throughout the day, Fawn gets a little closer to discovering the cause of it. Hopefully, it doesn't take her too long to figure it out.

((This story features Newt, who belongs to @mittysins.))

TW: Cryptic pregnancy, graphic bodily descriptions, implications of past abuse, emotionally traumatic birth experience.

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

I still wasn't used to the subway trains. Sitting on one was like riding an elevator sideways during an earthquake. The g-force of every start and stop made my stomach lurch, and I still almost flew outta my seat every time. I could expect to be a little queasy by the time Newt and I reached our last stop -- and that was when I didn't wake up sick.

"Bleh. I blame YOU for this!" I text messaged Newt, despite the fact he was sitting a few seats over. He was sitting in our usual spot, but that morning I needed to sit in the back corner, where I could curl up and rest against the wall.

I saw Newt check his phone from the corner of my eye, and seconds later I got his reply: "How is indigestion MY fault?"

"I didn't even want takeout until YOU asked for it." I was sure to put a goofy emoji at the end of the message to show I was being sarcastic.

"Sorry. Cravings." Newt replied. A second later he sent a gif of a cartoon cat shrugging.

I leaned over and met his eyes with a deliberately exaggerated frown. There were several strangers sitting between us, and I probably looked crazy -- but what else was new in this city? I hit 'send', and watched Newt check his phone. I delighted in his held back snicker when he saw the giant picture of a middle finger on his screen.

That morning marked the start of our first finals week as freshman at Queens College. Newt and I had stayed up as late as possible, doing some last-minute study cramming at my apartment. Now that Newt was entering his second trimester, he was trading in his morning sickness for late-night cravings of Chinese food -- specifically steamed dumplings with fried rice (but it had to be plain rice, he'd cried when I'd accidentally ordered the pork rice).

"You're a bad influence on me, lol. I need to stop joining in on your craving binges." I hugged my backpack tighter to my stomach as my guts cramped again.

"I'm not the one who ordered two boxes of sesame chicken and three extra egg rolls." Newt retorted. A second later: "Not to mention the lo mein."

"The lo mein was supposed to be for lunch today! >:("

"Ye right. ;)"

Fine, yeah, I'd overdone it last night. I could barely contain myself around food anymore. Ever since I'd arrived in New York City that past summer, I'd been overeating. I guess I was eating my emotions. The stress had been piling up all fuckin' semester!

Moving from the suburbs of West Virginia to such a huge city had my nerves fried by the time I settled into my teeny-tiny apartment that was more expensive than a house back home. Stacked on that was the anxiety of starting school. Stacked on that was the fact my roommate, Makayla, refused to do her share of chores. Stacked on that was homesickness. Stacked on that was studying enough to not lose my scholarship. Then stacked on all of that, my one and only friend in this city was dealing with an unplanned pregnancy.

If my next-door neighbor hadn't been Newt, I'd still be floundering. Without a doubt. We clicked at first sight, as if we'd known each other in a past life. He was my lifeline. Newt had lived in Manhattan all his life, but Queens College was the only local school within his budget and that's how we'd ended up in the same off-campus student housing. He was the one that taught me street-smarts -- which roads to avoid at night, where the best Mom-and-Pop restaurants were, how to hail a cab, and how to read the hieroglyphics that were the subway maps. Although we'd only been friends for barely a month when he knocked on my door with a positive pregnancy test and tears in his eyes, I'd never thought twice about being his shoulder to cry on and his hand to hold.

I didn't care if worrying over him added to the stress of my new life here, it was a worry I gladly carried.

But it seemed all that stress was finally catching up to me.

As the train came to another screaming halt, I was twisting myself into a pretzel. My stomach was cramping again, straining hard to move along the mountain of food I'd eaten twelve hours earlier. The doors slid open, and several passengers I recognized as fellow students stood up. Newt joined them, slinging his bookbag over his shoulder and plucking the air pods out of his ears. I knew I needed to get up, but my legs needed a few extra seconds of convincing.

"You good?" Newt asked as he watched me lift myself off the seat in segments.

"I'm fine," I said, walking with him onto the platform. "I just hope that Pepto kicks in soon."

"How many exams you got today?"

"Three," I groaned, my head falling back on my shoulders. "Chemistry, biology, and that stupid-ass remedial algebra class."

"Ha! I've only got two," Newt gloated, pausing to zip up his oversized red jacket.

"Uh-huh, but don't you have to wait eight hours between them?"

"Gives me plenty of time to study," he said as we continued up the station stairs. The sonofabitch was talking like he hadn't been complaining all week about his morning class and evening class having the same exam day.

"Please," I smirked, rolling my eyes, "I know you're just gonna play The Sims 4 on your laptop."

We both shivered as we walked out of the muggy underground and into the biting cold winds coming off the harbor. I pulled my hood over my head and pulled the drawstrings tighter around my neck.

"You can't prove anything," Newt grinned, his breath coming out as a soft cloud.

I gave him a comedically unamused look. "You're pregnant, so I'm not gonna hit you."

Newt chuckled and placed his hand over the small, four-month bump that was hiding under his jacket. "Thanks for the save, kiddo."

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

The walk to campus was only two blocks, but it felt like I was forcing myself to trudge through mud. I regretted ordering so much food. Clearly, I hadn't learned my lesson, yet.

My overeating the last few months had me in a constant state of bloat. It always felt like a giant water balloon was sitting right on my guts. I was peeing every few minutes, my kidneys working overtime to get rid of the extra fluid I was holding. Gas bubbles were always rolling through me, too. They were mostly just annoying blips of movement but recently they'd gotten painful.

The worst were the large pockets of air that got trapped under my ribs. They would stay there for hours sometimes, making it excruciating to breathe. Nothing in the world could help me when I got like that; I just had to go about my day in agony and wait until the pressure spreading my ribs apart decided to move along.

By now, I was kinda used to functioning while my intestines were trying to kill me; but, God, they were trying extra hard that day.

My stomachache flared up right outside the library, the shortcut I took to get to chemistry class. I sat down on a bench, gripping the edge of the seat and trying not to double over. My sides ached, and a deep stabbing pain plunged deep inside my abdomen. The invisible knife twisted, and I realized I was holding my breath.

"Fawn?"

I looked up at Newt, who had doubled back to check on me. His first class was on the other side of campus, and the library was where our daily routes split for most of the day.

"I'll be fine," I said, waving him away. "I'll buy a soda at lunch. That usually helps."

Newt glanced over his shoulder, down the path he was supposed to take, and then stepped a little closer. "I won't be out of here until five. Don't wait up for me, okay? When you're done with exams, just go home."

"Yeah, I will," I nodded. "That sounds good."

Newt nodded back, looking a lot more at ease. "Is it okay if I come over with some soup later? I found a new recipe online and it looks really good!"

"That's fine," I said, stretching my arms over my head to loosen up my torso. "Just use your key. I'll see 'ya then, bud."

"See you then." He gave me a two-fingered salute and continued on his way.

I checked the time on my phone and sighed. I had to get moving again, or else I'd have half my final exam score deducted for being late. My chemistry professor was a real stickler for being on-time.

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

I'd moved to New York City to finally get my degree in Botany & Plant Science. It'd been my dream for a while to become a researcher and study the pharmaceutical use of plants. Having a pair of old hippies as parents will inspire that interest in 'ya. Queens College was the best scholarship I could get out-of-state, and I had to be out-of-state. I just had to be.

I already had trouble fitting in with my classmates as a "mature" undergrad student. Since when was twenty-nine considered too "mature" for college?! All of my subjects were basic introductory courses, and that meant I was surrounded by fresh-faced teenagers less than a year out of high school. Even Newt wasn't that young. He'd taken a few years off before college, but apparently twenty-four was still young enough to fit in with the crowd.

At least not having any classroom friends meant I was left alone that morning. I sat in my assigned seat and watched the rest of the students file in from the hallway. The desk allowed me to hunch down when my stomach clenched again, the muscles in my abs pinching hard. I crossed my legs and bounced my foot, trying to distract myself from the storm brewing inside me as the professor laid out the rules of the exam period.

I was in pain for that entire hour. It was hard to keep up with the time limit. I had to pause on several multiple-choice questions -- sometimes because they were challenging, other times because the stabbing, twisting pain was flaring up. I began fantasizing about how good I'd feel after I was able to get my hands on a soda, and that daydream carried me through.

Shockingly, I was one of the first students to stand up -- and I'd finished with barely eleven minutes to spare. My professor nodded at me as I placed my exam packet on his desk, and he quietly wished me a good winter break as I shuffled out the door.

Freedom at last! There were about two hours to kill before my biology exam, so I was sure with a light snack and some rest I'd be feeling better by then.

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

I'd worked hard to build up enough of a nest egg to live off in New York. I'd squirreled money away for three years in a secret bank account, and lied to Alexander about how much my hourly pay was. My scholarship covered only part of my housing costs, and I knew living off savings couldn't last all four years of school. However, I was not going to stress over buying a three-dollar root beer when it felt like I was being wrung like a washcloth.

The dining hall at Queens was a glorified cafeteria: fold-out tables, plastic chairs, too much noise and not enough space. I really wasn't hungry, but I knew if I skipped out on lunch I would regret it later. So, I stopped by the Nathan's stand to grab a hotdog and bag of plain potato chips to go with my large cup of carbonated medicine.

I made do with sitting at the empty end of a crowded table, where the huddle of dudes at the other end were playing Magic: the Gathering. That stuff was more Newt's scene than mine, so I put my earbuds in and pulled up the YouTube app on my phone.

The Peanuts Christmas special played on my screen as I nibbled on chips and washed the salt away with long swigs of root beer. I was hoping to summon a little Christmas spirit to help me not feel so dead inside. It was two weeks away, and it was the little candy-red cherry atop my mountain of things to worry about. Between hesitant bites of hotdog, I wondered how I could pry some gift ideas out of Newt last-minute. I'd already gotten him an Amazon gift card, but I wanted to get him something a little more per-.

I sucked a sharp breath through my nostrils, choking on half-chewed bread as my stomach cramped again. It didn't feel the same as the hundreds of other cramps I'd been having. This one was bad. It was really. Fucking. Bad! I curled up in the seat, my hands dipping inside my hoodie pocket to press against my stomach. Even through three layers of clothing, I could feel my muscles clenching.

And it just wouldn't stop. Most of them would fade after a few seconds, but this one just kept going. I doubled over, pressing on my belly and praying the pain would stop.

And then it stopped.

I sat up straight and looked around. No one nearby was paying any attention, but my freckles turned pink anyway as I quickly rose and tossed what was left of my food in the trash. I chugged the rest of the soda.

There were still two exams to go, but I was already checked out for the day. I knew there was a bottle of cupcake vodka leftover from Makayla's birthday party last month. Mixed in a milkshake, that stuff had been sweet enough to give me both a sugar high and a buzz. Maybe if the soda didn't do the trick I'd go home and try soothing my stomach with one of those. I deserved one already, and it wasn't even noon.

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

It hurt to be upright.

My biology exam was half lab work and half a written test. The class was split into two groups: one to do the lab first, and one to do the written exam first. Guess which one I was in.

I was white-knuckling that clipboard as I quietly shuffled from one specimen sample to the next. Identify this bone. Identify that leaf. Is this a rock or a fossil? I was rocking my weight from side-to-side as subtly as I could. The cramping hadn't eased up since lunch. I was feeling this one down to the soles of my feet and keeping 'em moving was the only way I could stay standing.

At the apex of the cramp, I grit my teeth as a new pain bloomed deep inside my hips. I leaned my weight over the table, disguising the motion as trying to get a better look at a specimen. A knife-like stab hit my cervix and the ache radiated between my legs.

Ah, okay. I knew that kind of pain, even if it'd been a while.

No wonder the indigestion was so bad. I always got an upset stomach the day my period was due to start. 'Course, I could never tell when I was due. I tried tracking them, but ever since puberty they'd been on a schedule of their own. My cycles had been mild spotting for most of that year, so I figured there was a mighty buildup of Mother Nature in there that was trying to come out. No wonder I was already cramping so hard.

Oh, boy . . . and from my experience, I could tell I was in for a world of hurt once I actually started bleedin'.

I made it through the written half of the exam free of carnage. The pain was somehow easier to deal with when I knew it was all just hormones. At the water fountain down the hall, I popped a few ibuprofen out of my purse and downed them. There, now I knew I'd be feeling better once those puppies kicked in.

Another two hours, and I'd be free to go home.

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

I was relaxing on a sofa in the library when I suddenly felt a pouring wetness in the crotch of my pants. Ah, fuck. Fuck!

I left my backpack behind in a panic and speed-walked to the nearest restroom. I subtly pulled my hoodie as far over my hips as possible, hoping to hide anything that leaked through my sweatpants as I shuffled past other quietly studying students. I cussed myself out in my head for not thinking to put on a pad as soon as I started cramping.

Once I was hidden away in a stall, I inspected the damage. My underwear was damp with a watery pink discharge as well as several dark red clots. Yes, some of it had seeped through my pants, but not enough to be noticeable. I could still feel it dripping down into the toilet as I tried to clean everything up.

All it took was that first drop of blood for the cramps to reach their full strength. That was always the case when I missed a few periods. I pressed my lips together to stop a groan from escaping as I doubled over and hugged my midsection. My entire torso throbbed and clenched inward. My toes curled inside my sneakers as the pain once again trickled down to the soles of my feet. My jaw locked up as I grit my teeth against the pain, and I felt a charlie horse starting in the back of my neck.

Everything. Fucking. HURT.

The cramp left me feeling slightly weak. It didn't just disappear, it just . . . settled back into my muscles as a soft, constant ache. I held a wad of toilet paper between my legs for a few seconds, and in that short amount of time it was soaked in pastel pink. The floodgates had opened, and it wasn't going to stop. This pink discharge was no doubt going to become a full red tide by the time I got home.

I returned to the couch wearing a cheap cotton pad from the restroom vending machine. Although it wasn't smart, I swallowed two more ibuprofen dry. I sat curled up in the corner of the sofa, killing the last forty minutes before my exam watching videos on my phone.

The cramps just kept coming. I kept feeling blood gushing out of me and into the pad. My labia were constantly throbbing, and not in the good way. Every time I cramped, it felt like I was being turned inside out.

I seriously considered blowing off my algebra exam. I would fail the class, but I could just re-take it next semester, right? Maybe I could re-schedule the final if I brought in a doctor's note? Well, fuck . . . no, I couldn't do that. My health insurance wouldn't fully cover an emergency room visit and I doubted a doctor's note from three days after the final would be able to save my sorry ass.

Besides, I hated remedial algebra so much I felt nauseous at the thought of doing it again. I was just gonna have to suck it up and get through it like everyone else. Then, I wouldn't have to think about anything else until tomorrow.

God, why me?! Why today of all days to start the worst period in the history of mankind?!

I wondered if there was some cosmic deity out there who was taking joy in my suffering. If so, at least this pain was good for something in the grand scheme of things.

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

Despite the biting December air, I felt sweat dripping down my back as I trudged across campus to attend my last exam. It hurt to walk. It hurt to stand. Hell, it just hurt to exist. I made myself keep a steady pace, although my body was demanding I stop with every cramp. When that telltale stabbing would start in my lower back, all I wanted to do was lay on the floor and cry; but I was a grown-up, and I had grown -up stuff to do.

When I sat at my desk, my hips jolted up as if the hard plastic seat had burned me. I let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and my face burned in embarrassment as everyone turned to look at me. I started a chesty cough to disguise the sound.

I hadn't noticed it when sitting on the plush couch, but my labia were ungodly swollen and sore. This was not something that usually happened during my period. I knew my hormones were way out of whack this time around, so . . . maybe it was some weird hormonal reaction?

Whatever it was, it wasn't making the exam any easier.

My whole weight was sitting square on my pelvis in that uncomfortable classroom desk, and it was torture. I tried sitting as far back as I could to take the pressure off, but that just made my tailbone hurt, too.

My pencil slipped in my wet palm as I desperately tried to fill the bubbles in on my scantron sheet. I wriggled my hips, trying in vain to find a way to sit that didn't hurt like hell. Sweat began to drip from under my sports bra beneath my layers of clothing. It was taking everything in my power not to beg my professor to let me take the exam while lying on the floor. Fuck, I'd even do it standing on my head -- anything to get the pressure off my poor vagina.

Ten minutes in I decided to leave my final grade up to fate. I was in so much pain, I no longer cared if I failed the class. I chose my answers based on educated guesses, skipping the solving process entirely.

I was staggering to my feet within twenty minutes, and my professor gave me a scowl when he saw my worksheet hardly had any equations written on it. He leaned in as I placed my scantron on his desk.

"I hope you know you've wasted your time," he whispered, glowering at me from under his bi-focals. "You may as well have not showed up."

The only answer I could offer was a nod. I hurried into the hallway, tears blurring my vision.

I knew I'd wasted my time. I knew I'd fucked myself over. The further I walked down the hall, the more I regretted not trying harder.

I threw the test after ten fuckin' minutes, just so I could go home and be lazy. I wasn't sick, I was just on my period! What sorry excuse was that for wasting tuition money? There were probably dozens of other students in the same amount of pain I was in, but they weren't throwing away their grades over it. God, I was pathetic. I was so determined to pass this stupid remedial class at the start of the semester, even if it was with a 'C', but in ten minutes I'd given up.

Maybe Alex was right. Maybe I was just too damn stupid to be here.

By the time I stepped outside, I was crying. I pulled up my hood to hide the tears and kept my head down as I began the long walk off campus.

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

The noon train wasn't as packed as the seven o'clock train, but it was still too full for my liking. That was what I hated about the city; you couldn't go anywhere without brushing shoulders with a stranger.

There were available seats, but I couldn't sit down. My lower lips were throbbing with my heartbeat. I had my arm wrapped around a standing bar, clinging for dear life against the g-forces of the train. My stance had to be wider than natural, or else my thighs would pinch and cause a hot, pulsating pain through my stomach. I knew I probably looked like a drunk trying to hold themselves up against gravity, but I reminded myself that New Yorkers see things like that on the trains all the time. No one would say anything as long as I kept to myself. My hood was still up to hide the leaks in my eyes, the flow of tears I couldn't fully control.

I clung tighter to the bar as I cramped again, and a warm gush soaked into the pad between my legs. My eyes dripped as they stared off into nothing, my mind going blank from the pain. A sudden "buzz-buzz" from the phone in my pocket brought me back from the void. I blinked my vision clear and checked the text message. It was from Newt, replying to a text I'd sent earlier:

"Sorry ur feeling so shit :( You going home?"

I rested my temple against the smudged chrome pole and typed my reply:

"On the train now."

Three grey dots appeared below my message.

Buzz-buzz.

"Still want me to come over??"

I replied: "Yeah. Makayla's with her boyfriend for the week and I need distraction."

Grey dots. Buzz-buzz.

"Awww poor bb. A whole apartment all to yourself. Glad I'm not THAT unlucky. /s "

I grinned and dried half my face on my shoulder. Newt had never fit in with his roommate's group of frat boy sports fans. Just like I had never gelled with Makayla's crowd of hardcore party girls. They weren't "bad" people, they were just . . . not "our" people.

"We need new roommates," I typed.

Dots. Buzz-buzz.

"Ye."

I felt another huge gush, and my thighs pressed together in response. My inner cheek bled as my teeth chopped through it. Fuck. Forgot to not do that.

That cheap pad didn't feel like it was gonna hold up much longer. The last thing I needed was to reenact the elevator scene from The Shining in front of two dozen strangers on the subway. I pulled my hoodie further over my hips, just in case.

"Fair warning," I typed, "my apartment might be a bloodbath by the time you get there."

Dots. Buzz-buzz.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!"

"Omfg."

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

"Ohhh my fucking god."

I angled my lower back into the stream of hot water, pressing my hands into the glass wall of the shower. I hung my head as my body gradually clamped down on itself like a vice, tighter . . . tighter . . . tighter. Now that I was safely inside the privacy of my apartment, I could finally deal with the pain how I wanted: whining like a 'lil bitch.

"Ohhh my fucking god," I repeated, the sentence crawling out of my mouth as a slurred moan.

The water splashed pink at my feet. A few dime-sized globs of red fell onto the shower mat and were washed away. My pad had been soaked through with that thin pink discharge, but hardly any real blood. My body must've been trying to break my uterus open like a piggy bank to get out what it needed, because I felt like I was dying.

"God," I dragged the word out for a solid minute in a deep, angry groan as I sank to my knees. I ran out of breath, but the pain kept going. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and pitched forward, eyelids pinched shut and teeth open in a gaping snarl. The muscles in my torso vibrated with tension. It was hard to breathe, my ribs too tight to get a full breath. The air I managed to suck in came back out as another drawn-out groan: "Fuck."

I'd been trying for hours to ease the cramping and indigestion that were teaming up to kill me. I'd taken enough ibuprofen to drop a horse. I'd taken Pepto-Bismol like shots of tequila. Heating pads had helped, but not for long. I'd put an ice pack between my legs to bring down the swelling, but the ice stung. I'd turned the temperature as high as I could tolerate and was now face-down on the shower floor, letting the water hit anywhere it could reach. My skin was scalded red, but the iota of relief I got was worth it.

Knock, knock, knock. Three solid knocks on the bathroom door.

I knelt there with my cheek in a puddle of water, too engulfed in pain to react.

"Soup delivery!" A cheery tenor voice on the other side, somewhat drowned by the water rolling over my ears.

Newt? What was he doing here? He didn't leave school until five. Shit, what time was it? How long had I been home?

I lifted myself onto my elbows, blowing out a long breath as I waited for the pain to fade. As soon as it did, I called loud enough for Newt to hear me over the roar of the shower:

"I'll be out in a sec. Just put everything in the kitchen."

"M'kay."

I didn't hear Newt walk away, but I heard his heavy crockpot being set on the counter -- the kitchen shared a wall with the bathroom. God, that apartment was tiny.

Ugh. I had to get up. I'd been in there too long. The water was turning cold. My hands and feet were pruney. I had to get up. I had to get up.

I climbed up the slick glass wall, leaving smeared handprints in the condensation. The higher I stood on my feet, the worse I felt; but if you'd asked me to describe how, I wouldn't have known what to say. I steadied myself, turned the water off, and opened the shower door.

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

There was a fresh bowl waiting for me on the counter as I stepped into the kitchen, but I didn't have an appetite.

"Don't like it?" Newt asked, serving himself a helping of soup from the crockpot.

My hair was hanging limp around my face and shoulders, dripping water like the branches of a weeping willow; but the droplets rolling down my neck weren't water. A sticky layer of sweat was coating my back and my legs beneath my plush winter pajamas. The bowl of homemade French onion soup sat untouched and steaming in front of me.

"No, it looks good," I said. "I just don't really feel like eat--ugh!" Another cramp started and this time I didn't hold back a moan of pain. "Augh!"

Newt set his bowl on the stove and took a few soft-footed steps towards me. "Does your period usually hurt like this?" he asked, rubbing his hand over my back.

I shook my head and braced my hands against the counter, unable to answer him with words. I tried to speak, but my mouth would only allow a series of small moans and gasps as the pain went on and on and on and -- fuck, this wasn't right! It had been almost a year since my last full bleed, but there was no way in hell this level of pain was normal!

I leaned over the counter, rocking my hips in a fruitless bid to shake away the twisting, stabbing, squeezing pain. As I struggled to fill my lungs with air, my mind scrambled for answers. Was this what endometriosis felt like? A cyst rupturing? A fibroid? Oh my god, what if it was a tumor?!

I felt more fluid dripping in globs onto my pad, and I let out a sob. "It feels so bad!" I whimpered to my friend, tears coming to my eyes. "I just . . . just want it to stop!" My lower back suddenly felt like it was going to break, and I let out another sob as my knees began to give out under me.

Newt saw me falling and he acted quick. His arms hooked under my shoulders, and he arched his back to try and keep me standing.

"Woah, hey!" he cried as he caught me in a low crouch, just before I'd hit the ground. "What's wrong?!"

My first thought was to tell him to put me down. He shouldn't be straining himself like that, and I worried about him even through the blinding pain. I opened my mouth to scold him, but that's when it happened. I will never forget the moment it happened.

A huge weight began to sit on my lower bowels, and I swear to god I thought my guts were going to fall out. A tsunami wave of nausea rolled up from that horrible sinking pressure and hit my stomach like a geyser. I dry heaved and sank lower to the floor as my mind was overtaken by one silent demand:

Push!

"Newt-!" was all I managed to gasp.

And then I was bearing down with all my strength.

I'd never felt anything more intense in my life. It was an unholy demon pressing down on me, and I had no choice but to submit.

A scream -- a full, honest-to-god scream -- ripped itself free of my throat. I rested just long enough to inhale, and then I was pushing again, my chin pressed to my chest. I felt a shift deep inside, pressing against my lower spine. Something was prying me open. Something was slipping its way down.

I screamed again as the realization finally dawned on me: Something was coming out!

"Fawn?!" I heard his frantic voice, but my vision was haloed in black. "Fawn, talk to me!"

I held onto Newt as my lifeline, until I ran out of the strength to push anymore. "Help me!" I panted, hugging him closer. "God, please help me!"

"What is it?!"

"I'm fucking turning inside out!" I cried, growling as I pushed the object lower into my pelvis.

At first, I was convinced my colon or something was about to pop out like a fucked up horror movie; but I felt the object heading to a different area of my body. I could feel my swollen labia pushing out into my pad.

"Augh, I think it's my uterus!" I sobbed as I strained -- unable to stop myself in both regards. "That's what's falling out!"

"What the fuck?!" Newt cried. "That can happen?!"

"Yes!"

"Oh, shit!" Newt jumped up and began circling the kitchen. "Where the hell is my phone?! I'm calling 9-1-1!"

"Please fucking do!" I yelled, dropping to all fours as Newt hurried to look for his phone in the living room.

Forbidding myself to push was like forbidding myself to breathe. It simply had to happen. Tears flowed from my eyes as I was forced to push out one of my own internal organs. Not just any organ, the one that would end my dream of having a family once it was gone.

This was hell. I was in hell.

My hips tried to jerk away from the pain as the object began to force itself though my vagina. I felt the object pressing against my pad as I pushed, and I wondered if it would be enough to hold it in. Maybe if I could somehow keep it inside me, the doctors would be able to pull it back in.

The next push told me I had no other choice but it let it out. What was happening was happening fast. Too fast. Too fast! Oh, fuck! I felt my skin yawn open and pull tight, creating a hellish burn that made me scream myself hoarse.

I hiked my pants down and craned my neck to see between my legs. The first thing I saw was a long strand of pink-red mucous clinging to my bulging lips for a few seconds, before dripping down onto the pad at my knees.

I saw a hint of something beginning to breech out of me. It was fleshy and covered in blood. It was somewhat blue colored and wrinkled, and I was terrified. My inside-out uterus was coming out of me, and I couldn't bear the sight.

I shut my eyes tight and screamed through another huge push. I had a flash of the thought: "Since when was my uterus this big? Isn't it supposed to be small?" But it was gone before I could dwell on it.

Newt's footsteps ran back into the kitchen.

"Okay, I found-."

Both his voice and his footsteps came to a screeching halt as they entered the room. I heard something drop to the ground, and it sounded like the heavy-duty casing Newt kept on his cellphone.

"Holy fucking shit . . . !" Newt's voice was muffled, as if he was pressing his hand to his mouth.

"If it's really bad, don't tell me," I begged through gritted teeth, a small sob jolting my shoulders.

Newt didn't say anything, but I heard him drop to his knees in front of me. I opened my eyes and saw him spreading a hand towel from the sink over his lap.

"It's not that bad," he said, taking my arms and adjusting them so I was holding onto his shoulders. His voice was uncanny -- it was obvious he was pretending to be calm.

Newt draped the towel over his hands and my heart dropped.

"W-what are you doing?" I asked.

"Don't worry. I've got you covered," he said. "Just push."

"Newt?" I asked, turning my face towards his. My heart was starting to pound behind my eyes. "What's happening to me?"

I didn't see him smile, but his tone remained steady. "It'll be okay, Fawn. I promise."

I gripped his arms tighter as another pain started. "Oh god, I'm dying, aren't I?" I groaned. I wasn't even scared at the thought -- at this point, death felt like the only end to this pain. I'd all but accepted it.

"You're not dying, Fawn," Newt said, brushing his cheek against mine. His fledging facial hair tickled. "You're fine, you just need to push."

Sighing, I lowered my forehead to his shoulder and followed my body's demands. The stretch continued, grew worse by the second, until something round and squishy slipped out and dangled between my thighs.

God, it was finally over.

All we had to do was call an ambulance and they could take me to surgery. However this happened, there was still a chance my uterus could be saved. My dream didn't have to be - !

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck, I was still pushing!

I screamed into Newt's body as my burning lips spread further over something wide for a few white-hot seconds. There was a disgusting splash that gushed over my inner thighs, followed by the softest little 'plop'.

I was empty. I felt hollow and numb. My body buzzed, but it felt dead. I was left gasping in deep breaths to steady my racing heart, staring off into nothing over Newt's shoulder. My eyes burned from sweat pouring down my brow.

"Fawn," Newt said -- his voice sounded miles away, "look."

"I don't wanna look at it," I sighed, wiping my face on my sleeve.

That's when she cried for the first time.

A warbled little mewl flew up to meet my ears.

I looked down, in the space between Newt and I . . . and I screamed.

A blue cord of flesh was hanging between my legs, coated in blood. It trailed down in a soft arch to the towel sitting on Newt's lap, where I saw the answer to every question I'd had that day.

Laying there between Newt's hands, squirming and screaming and blue, was a wrinkly newborn baby.

She was a girl.

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

End of Part 1 of 2

Author's Note: Thank you for reading Part 1! This is by far the longest fic I've written thus far. It's so long that I had to split it into two chapters! Part 2 will be available very soon. This story will be available on my AO3 page, just like all of my other fics! Feel free to follow me or any of my stories there under the same name.

#fawn drabbles #mittysins #borrowed ocs #fawn and newt #birth kink #labor kink #newt my beloved <3 #pre-relationship ship fic

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fawnfictions · 1 year ago

Note

Can I request general hcs for Wukong and Red Son crushing on a reader who uses a female reader?

little crushes

— wukong & red son x fem!reader

yessir, yesSIR !! apologies if red son is ooc, still not confident in writing his character <//3

;; romantic, no warnings.

WUKONG

- he is in DENIAL at first.

- he's found people attractive before, sure, but he's never had a crush on someone.

- doesn't know how to act, and may distance himself in an act of rash panic—he's scared of losing you as a friend, or getting too close and dealing with the loss of a mortal loved one.

- once he starts coming to terms with the fact that he likes you, he's scared.

- scared that getting too close to you will have you in danger of people that he regrets messing with, scared of eventually losing you and dealing with that pain, scared that you don't like him back.

- thankfully, he only really gets lost in these thoughts when he's alone.

- around you, he'll be a lot more touchy than he already is.

- loves wrapping an arm around your shoulders, or picking you up on his somersault cloud.

- if you're around when the Spider Queen attacks, or the Demon Bull King goes on a rampage, he's hauling your ass to safety.

- but when its more calm, and he has nothing else to do, theres a good chance that he'll drop by your house to freeload off of your snacks—definitely not because he desperately wants to spend more time with you.

- we all know that this monkey is LAZY, so he will be laying across your couch, packet of chips in hand, watching a movie based off his self, and living his best life while you're sitting there like,,, 'man? don't you have humanity-saving to do?'

- MK will absolutely notice how clingy his mentor is to you, and will not be ashamed to bring it up during one of his training lessons.

- Wukong will deny everything he says with an obvious blush across his face.

- but the young successor will try his best to play wingman, but he's not exactly subtle about it.

- cue him slyly walking up to you, like, "so, uh... what're your thoughts on Monkey King? brave, cool, handsome guy, right?"

- he will probably be the reason you two ever get to together, he'll accidentally end up confessing FOR Wukong.

- this monkey is so obvious, no one understands how you DON'T realise his crush on you.

- the way his face turns red when you wear a dress for a fancy occasion, or when he tells a joke and that harmonious laugh you have captures his heart.

- he will do ANYTHING to keep a smile on your face.

- unintentionally uses pet names on you, "hey, peaches—" "what did you call me?" "uh, n-nothing, nothing."

- if you let him, he'll love playing with your hair and styling it.

- human hair feels so different to monkey hair, it feels more fragile and delicate, soft and silky—plus, it smells nice.

- you get bonus points if your shampoo/conditioner is fruit scented, you'll catch him sniffing your hair and holding himself back from rubbing his face in it.

- please brush his hair, too, he'll fall more in love with you since its common for monkey's to show affection by picking through each others hair.

- he gets a little protective sometimes, as once certain demons realise his feelings for you, you'll become a target of kidnapping and being used as bait for their attempts at attacking the Monkey King.

- but, since you two haven't acknowledged your feelings for each other, you aren't as protected as you would be if you were his outright girlfriend.

- so enemies like the Spider Queen or the Lady Bone Demon, possibly even Macaque at one point, would definitely take their chances in taking you in their grasps to get a one-up on Wukong.

- and its probably during one of these moments, after he saves you, that he'll properly confess how he doesn't want to lose you because he loves you :))

RED SON

- this spicy boy—oh my goddd.

- immediately assumes he doesn't like you.

- thinks his crush on you is a feeling of annoyance, it will take him a while to realise its quite the opposite.

- since he thinks he 'hates' you, he'll spend a lot of time bickering back and forth with you, uselessly throwing insults around.

- its not until he doesn't see you for a while, whether its because he's busy with a project, or you've taken some sort of vacation, that he realises he misses his interactions with you, that he misses you.

- he'll be a lot nicer to you afterwards, which gives you a bit of whiplash.

- i feel like he'd be the type to buy you gifts and nice things, like he'd anonymously drop a pretty red dress off at your doorstep, or he'd give you a necklace claiming he just "happened to find it, and thought that it complimented your eyes".

- way to not be obvious, red boy.

- but he'd still playfully argue with you, he just wouldn't outright insult you as much.

- if you're friends with MK and go on his adventures with him, whenever Red Son goes to insult that group as a whole, he'll be like, "you guys are all insolent peasants... except you".

- i reckon he'd be reluctant to tell his parents about his feelings, and probably has a hard time on himself, thinking that he should've fallen in love with another demon, powerful enough to assist his family.

- but he forgets about those worries when he's around you <3

- when neither of you are busy, he just 'so happens to be in the same place as you, at the same time', an excuse he uses too many times for it to be a coincidence.

- you're out in the markets, just wandering around? he was in the middle of shopping there, himself!

- taking a stroll in the park? oh, he had just taken a step outside to clear his mind!

- at Pigsy's Noodles? he was on his way to conduct an 'evil plan' on Monkey King's successor!

- during the Spider Queen's attack, when the Demon Bull King was possessed by the Lady Bone Demon, he might come to you for comfort at first.

- definitely focuses on keeping you safe, though—no way in hell is he letting you be turned into a spider.

- you're definitely one of the very few people who help him with his temper.

- he doesn't lose it as quickly around you, instead, finding you rather calming, and often seeks you out when MK has gotten him particularly annoyed, or if his parents have upset him.

- will shy away from your physical touch, but deep down he does kind of crave it.

- is the type to blush if you brush hands walking past each other, or if your fingers touch when passing him an object.

- and my god—if anyone dared to flirt with you or look at you a little too non-platonically... he'd go off at them, yelling at them to respect a lady such as yourself, calling them a peasant for their advances on you, etc.

- and you're standing there like,, 'all he did was compliment my dress and wink at me'.

- if anything, you'll probably have to be the one to confess to him that you love him, but i can see him confessing his love after some pushing from other people ahem, MK, ahem...

- he'd act like it was a proposal, getting down on one knee or something <//3

- i said it before and i'll say it again, his love languages are gift giving and acts of service!!!

- expect plenty of gifts (probably more expensive ones, too), and inventions that will either, 1.) look really cool, or 2.) protect you in some way.

#lmk #lego monkie kid #red son #sun wukong #monkey king #red son x reader #sun wukong x reader #monkey king x reader #— fawns fics #romantic #headcanons

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