#I’m sure they’ll talk about their feelings right away and nothing drastic will happen before they can < LYING | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mellowswriting · 4 years ago

Note

OMG CONGRATS ON THE FOLLOWERS MY LOVE!!!!💙💙 I would love to request something angst but with a happy ending with Frankie please!!! I’m open for anything! Thank you so much!!!

Always

pairing || Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x Reader

summary || You step in when Frankie’s ex leaves him with their baby and in turn, find your own little family.

word count || 7,213

warnings || angst, hurt/comfort, parental abandonment

a/n || Thank you so much! Somehow this started as something small and then exploded into my longest fic on this blog. Enjoy! (p.s this gif does things to me smh)

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The last thing you expected was a phone call at the crisp time of 11:43 pm. It had been a long day already with your job being a disaster and you were half tempted to just let it ring so you could stay in the warm, safe cocoon of your bed...but something in your gut nagged at you to pick up, told that it was important. The bleary sight of Frankie’s name on your phone screen had you sitting up and rushing to hit the green ‘accept call’ button - he would never call this late unless it was serious.

He sounded wrecked, his voice panic-stricken and cracking over words too rushed for you to understand, and your heart began pounding. In all of your years of knowing Francisco Morales, you had never heard him like this. Not when he called you while he was out on deployment, not when he whispered to you about the horrors he had seen overseas, not when you comforted him after the shitshow that happened in South America.

“Frankie, slow down. I can’t understand you,” You tried to make your voice calm and reassuring but your worry bubbled through anyway, and you threw back the warm comfort of your blankets to scramble for clothes. Whatever this was, you needed to be there. There was no way in hell you would just listen to your best friend go through it over the phone. “What’s going on?”

A deep, shuddering breath crackled through the receiver, then “Eliza left us. She just...she just fucking left.”

Your breath caught in your throat and acidic anger ripped up through your chest, nearly suffocating you in it’s intensity. The mere idea of her walking out on Frankie and their new baby after all she had already put him through...god, you could just scream. It was forced down with a harsh swallow - it was not the time for your own anger. With your sweatpants and hoodie yanked on, you paused, struggling to find any words of comfort. “I’m on my way, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

“Ok” Frankie whispered and that was how you knew just how bad it was - he didn’t try to convince you not to come out so late or that you could just come in the morning like he did any other time he was in crisis. “Please don’t hang up.”

“Frankie…” You whispered. Your heart ached for him, wrestling with your anger. “I won’t. I’ll stay on the line, I promise.”

You rambled about any and everything as you drove. He needed to hear your voice, needed to be distracted, but you felt a bit ridiculous talking about the boring things you dealt with at work that day while he was in crisis. It helped, obvious by the way his breathing evened out as he listened and hummed in response.

There was no telling just how many traffic laws you broke as you sped the few blocks between your home and his. All you could do was be glad you weren't pulled over and managed to throw your car in park and kill the engine in the gravel driveway within ten minutes of leaving your own house. The front door swung open before you even managed to get out of your car and you practically sprinted up the steps to wrap your best friend in your arms.

Frankie stumbled back slightly as you collided with his chest but he curled his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck nonetheless. No words passed through the nonexistent space between you. There wasn’t any need. You pushed the door closed behind you before you led him further into his living room and settled next to him on the couch. The sight of his bloodshot eyes and the exhausted slope to his shoulders had a wild mix of anger and sadness whirling through you.

“Where’s Isabella?” You whispered.

“She’s asleep upstairs. Eliza dropped her off and she just...slept right through it all, the entire argument.” His voice was hoarse, a testament to his rough night. “I...I can’t do this on my own.”

“Hey, you aren’t on your own.” You said, your tone soft but leaving no room for argument. “I’m not going to tell you it’s going to be easy, but you sure as hell aren’t alone. You have me and the boys. God knows Santi will be happy to flex his status as godfather even more.”

That pulled a half-hearted smile from Frankie. It was fleeting, gone in less than a second, but you counted it as a win nonetheless. Watching that far away look return to his eyes made you chest ache and you were desperate to break the spell of worry and anger that hung over him. Somehow knowing that you couldn’t even if you tried brought you no closer to peace.

“Have you eaten?” You asked as you carefully brushed a hand through his hair, appreciating the curls that were usually hidden under his hat. Frankie leaned into the touch and you smiled softly at his acceptance of the comfort you offered.

“No, but I can’t eat right now.” Frankie grumbled. The intensity of the anger, the shock, the fear, it all gave way to a mind-numbing exhaustion and he just wanted to sleep. You sighed but didn’t push him. “M’tired.”

“Alright, c’mon. Let’s get you to bed.” You heaved yourself from the couch and offered Frankie a hand to pull him along with you. He grumbled quietly to himself as you ushered him up the stairs, the both of you mindful of the sleeping baby. Frankie flipped the baby monitor on and took a moment to observe the grainy image of his little girl, fast asleep and entirely unaware that their lives had just changed drastically.

“She deserves better than a broken family.” Frankie whispered, the image of defeat as he sat heavily on the edge of his bed. There was nothing for you to say in that moment, nothing that would ease his burden or change his mind. So instead of speaking, you just sat next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulled him into your side and rubbed his back in slow strokes. Just when you thought he might be calm enough to lay down and get some sleep, Frankie went stiff against you and groaned. “Fuck, I have work tomorrow!”

He was up and pacing a hole in the floor before you could even blink, grumbling out a quiet rant about the insanity of his situation. It seemed like he was a step away from spiraling out completely - and you knew just how to prevent that. Francisco Morales was a military man through and through; give him clear instructions and he’ll tackle a task with all he’s got. All he needed was for someone to help him see past the panic to the next step.

“Frankie, stop.” You stepped in his way and put both of your hands on his shoulders firmly, only continuing when he finally looked you in your eyes. “Call the office now and leave a message for them to cancel your tours for the next couple of days so you can get your head on straight. It’s a family emergency. They’ll understand. And after you call them, you need to lay down and at least rest your body, because Isabella will need to be fed in a few hours and you need to get some sleep while you can. I’m staying the night -”

“Wait, what? No, you don’t have to -” Frankie interrupted but was met with your finger at his lips, almost cracking up when he pouted against it.

“I don’t have to, you’re right. But my best friend needs my help and the little girl that I adore deserves to have a dad who isn’t ripping his hair out from stress. If the tables were turned and I was the one in this position, would you let me convince you to leave?” You took your hand away from his face when you shook his head ‘no’ and you gave him a small smile. “Exactly. So, I’m staying the night and I’ll be here to help wherever you need for as long as you need me. Okay?”

Frankie nodded. After that, it was easy to get him burrowed under his covers. His eyes drooped the second he was settled, and with a final brush of his hair off of his forehead, you turned to head back downstairs and set up a makeshift bed on the couch. A hand shot out from under the blankets to latch onto your wrist and Frankie sounded almost child-like when he whispered, “Please stay.”

And who were you to deny such a sweet plea? You curled up on the opposite side of the bed, exhaustion finally dragging you under after the day’s insanity. Two hours later when a shrill cry had you both sitting bolt upright, you threw back the covers and slid out of the warmth of Frankie’s bed right along with him.

“You go make her a bottle and I’ll check her diaper, alright? You asked around a yawn, already shuffling off to the nursery. Frankie made a tired noise of agreement and went downstairs, leaving you to scoop up his crying infant from her crib. “Hi, Bella. Let’s get you changed, yeah? Does that sound good?”

Once she had a clean diaper, you carefully carried her down the stairs and into the kitchen where her father was warming up a bottle. He smiled at the both of you as you approached and reached out to rub his daughter’s back where she lay against you, chest-to-chest. You could see the doubts worming their way back to the forefront of his mind by the way his smile faltered, and you put Isabella into his capable hands.

“We’ve got this, Frankie. One day at a time.” You murmured to him before leaning down to coo at Isabella, grinning when she gave you a gummy smile. “Yeah, your daddy has you. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

And as you looked at the matching pairs of chocolate eyes sparkling at you in the low light of the kitchen, you could feel in your gut that you were right.

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

After three weeks of staying at Frankie’s house nearly every night, the two of you had a schedule down packed and after two entire months, Frankie realized you were right. It sure as hell wasn’t easy - far from it, in fact - but everyone had stepped up just like you said. You would care for Isabella when Frankie was at work more often than not with Will and Pope picking up responsibility here and there where they could. The true savior here was you. You woke with Frankie in the morning, held his daughter up so he could kiss her forehead before he left for work, cared for her until he came home, and still stuck around to help after.

You were a fucking goddess, and Frankie knew he would be lost without you.

Each day that passed had Frankie’s anger dissipating just a bit more. With his focus solely on establishing a new normal for his daughter, there wasn’t really time for him to think about just how screwed over he got. He was fooling himself into thinking that the storm of emotions that thundered in his chest didn’t need to be handled. Logically, he knew that. The clouds would crack and it would all pour from him eventually, he just didn’t know when.

The boiling point hit on a Saturday. A beautiful day by all other standards; the sun was bright in the cloudless sky, leaving the air shimmering with warmth. The plan was to take a walk to the park with Isabella before meeting the guys for lunch, even though she wasn’t really big enough to enjoy the jungle gyms. In reality, Frankie just wanted to spend some time with his two favorite girls out in the sun. You had Isabella on the couch, getting her dressed after changing her diaper and rambling at her all the while.

Frankie loved the way you talked to his daughter, as if she was entirely invested in whatever mundane story from work you were recounting, taking her gurgles and the spit bubbles she blew as excited responses. The stack of mail in his hand momentarily forgotten, he leaned over the back of the couch with a small laugh.

“Ya know, I don’t think she understands the intricacies of office politics.” He teased, his grin growing when you tossed him a glare that had no heat behind it.

“And I don’t think she understands the intricacies of piloting helicopters, but you don’t hear me making fun of you when you ramble on about rotors at three in the morning.” You grumbled. The smile on your face betrayed any attempt to sound annoyed.

Frankie barked out a laugh. “Touche.”

With Isabella dressed and ready to rumble, Frankie intended to give the mail in his hands a once-over before heading out the door - until a large, yellow envelope with the state’s stamp inked in the corner caught his eye. What the hell did he do to have the state government contacting him? He racked his mind as he tore the envelope open, trying to think of any recent wrongdoings that could’ve gotten him into some legal mess. Maybe that red light last month actually caught his license plate last month. God, this was the last thing he needed right now with everything else he had going on, and -

The five words stamped across the top of the papers made his heart lurch in his chest. ‘Voluntary Relinquishment of Parental Rights’, right there in bold lettering. Eliza’s signature was scrawled at the bottom along with a notary’s. He expected sadness, even tears, but no.

No, Frankie was fucking enraged.

White hot anger surged, leaving his teeth gritted and the papers crumpled slightly in his clenched fist. It had been years since he felt that kind of rage, somehow even worse than the anger he felt during the absolute shitshow that was the mission in South America. A shuddered breath escaped from behind his teeth as he desperately tried to grasp the urge to throw the papers to the ground, along with anything else within his reach.

“Frankie?” The sound of your voice calling out to him sweetly, laced with concern and confusion, somehow only made that rage spike. The fact that you had put your entire life on hold to help him care for his child, the child Eliza swore up and down that she wanted with him before disappearing on them both, had him infuriated on your behalf as well as his own. Just how many lives was Eliza going to change forever with no remorse? Frankie tossed the entire pile of mail on the couch and stormed off to the kitchen, not wanting you or Isabella to see him in such a state.

He had no idea how long he stood braced against the kitchen counter with his eyes squeezed shut, desperately trying to find a way to tamp down on the intensity rolling through him. There was a quiet conversation coming from the living room, two voices too low for him to make out, and there was suddenly a hand on his own. Frankie finally opened his eyes to see you standing next to him, giving him a soft look that disarmed him and made him feel guilty all at once.

You shouldn’t have to be here. You shouldn’t have to deal with the bullshit that always seemed to follow Frankie around every fucking corner. You were too good for his troubles, you deserved better. Frankie hated that he had brought you down this hole with him.

“Where’s Isabella?” Frankie croaked out.

“I called Will, he’s got her in the living room.” You said, your voice just as soft as the expression on your face, and Frankie wanted nothing more than to bury his face in your neck and cry or smash something on the ground just for the satisfaction of seeing it break. The confliction of his wants only made him angrier. “I saw the papers. What do you need?”

“What do I need?” Frankie repeated with a humorless chuckle before hitting the countertop with a clenched fist, just hard enough to make pain shoot up his arm - and the dam broke. “Anything! Anything but a life where the mother of my child doesn’t abandon us at the drop of a fucking hat!”

The coffee mug that sat next to the coffeemaker was the unfortunate victim his impulses chose to meet the sudden, desperate need to get this rage out of his body. His arm reared back, ready to smash the ceramic mug right onto the tile, but the firm grab of two hands kept the lucky cup in one piece. You grabbed his forearm with one hand and wrapped the other over his, securing the mug in his grip as you stepped into his space and settled him with a firm look.

“No, not here. Not like this, not with Isabella so close by.” Shame lanced through Frankie viciously. You were right, as always. How fucking stupid was he to think - “Let’s go.”

“What?” was all he could mutter as you set down the mug and began pulling him towards the front door.

“You’ve got Isabella, right?” You asked Will when you paused to fish your keys from the table next to his door, only continuing in your march towards your car when Will confirmed. Frankie’s guilt-ridden confusion only grew as you pulled out of his driveway after ushering him into your passenger seat. “You need to deal with this in a healthy way. Because god knows you have every reason to be downright enraged. Hell, I even wanted to throw shit around for a while.”

Frankie could only stare at you, his anger and frustration simmering lower the more you spoke. There was a light in your eyes that he recognized, the same one that you had last year when he had to comfort you through the downfall and heartache of your last relationship. It was anger and sadness all wrapped up into an intense shine he recognized all too well.

“But we are going to do these the smart way.” You continued and met his eyes as you pulled up to idle at a red light. There was… something there beneath the empathy, something hovering at the edges of your expression that he just couldn’t place. “Because you are my best friend and I love you and your daughter way too much to let you destroy yourself.”

Heat flushed up his neck at the candidness of your words. Oh, god, he could not let that tiny, hopeful part of his brain latch onto that at run with it. No, it would reignite too many old feelings and needs to let himself hope. Of course you loved him and his child - you were his best friend after all. There was no point in letting himself even consider it beyond that. Not when he could destroy everything good he had left in his life.

Frankie just nodded, trusting in whatever you had in mind. Less than five minutes later, you pulled into the town’s recreational fields and it clicked in his brain. The batting cages. He smiled slightly despite his inner turmoil. This was exactly where he had taken you when you finally got over the shock of your ex-boyfriend’s betrayal and stepped right into an unfathomable rage.

He let you put the ridiculous helmet on his head and gratefully took the aluminum baseball bat from your hands once you got to the small fenced area where he could finally let out his anger. The quarters clinked as you slid them into the slot and you smiled at him from behind the fence.

“You might feel stupid at first, but it helps.” You called out over the whirring of the pitching machine powering up and Frankie laughed. He had told you the exact same thing, verbatim when you had complained that the whole idea was ridiculous.

The harsh crack of the bat meeting that first baseball was like taking a sledgehammer to the wall he had built around his anger. The next one had him grunting into the effort he put behind the swing of the bat, letting every bit of his rage and resentment sing in his veins and bleed into the impact against the ball. Each swing had him building up, had tension racking his back and shoulders only to be released with the ringing sound of aluminum and revived the moment his arms fell to his sides.

“I just...I can’t fucking comprehend it! First, she was so excited. Went on and on about having the whole thing. ” He called out through each swing, knowing you were there behind him, hanging off of the fence to watch and listen. “The house and the kids and the - the fucking white picket fence life. All of it! And then she wanted all of that, but not with me. No, she’d co-parent and find some other man to shack up with because apparently I wasn’t enough for her. Yeah, it hurt and all but at least she was still around! And out of nowhere, she just fucking left! It’s bullshit!”

The aluminum echoed harshly where Frankie threw it to the ground, his hands ripping his hat off to muse his hair roughly before settling back on his head. Every ball hit was like a point knocked off of his frustration. It wasn’t exactly fun, but it felt good.

“Another round?” You asked and Frankie turned to see you with more quarters poised and ready to send more baseballs flying at his head. He nodded, more grateful for you than ever in that moment.

“But at the same time, I am so glad she left when she did. It’s so conflicting because I’m pissed that she put us through that but at least it’s over!” Frankie continued, the pressure finally easing in his chest as he said the things that were building in his mind the last two months. “She jerked me around for so fucking long. At least I don’t have to worry that she’ll change her mind again. At least I can… move on, move forward in my life.”

He didn’t even have to ask you for another round when the last ball had been pitched. This time, he said nothing. Neither did you. Frankie just needed to vent, to be heard. He didn’t need advice or pity or words of encouragement. Well, the encouragement he would need later. The rest would just make him even more angry. Every crack of the bat meeting a ball had the anger receding and exhaustion creeping up to take its place. There was a special kind of relief in the absence of anger - it didn’t exactly feel good, but it wasn’t bad either. Almost numbing.

The bat clattered to the ground after the last ball was sent rocketing into the netting. Frankie was done, for now at least. It would come creeping back in, he knew, but he also knew he could handle it. He felt like he could handle anything with you by his side, with your support and… and your love. It was nice to be taken care of for once. You took the bat back to the office as he plopped himself down at a picnic table and a few moments later, a cool water bottle, dripping with condensation was pressed against the back of his neck. It was soothing against his skin, overheated by the harsh sun.

The two of you sat together at that table for nearly an hour, not having to speak to convey how either of you felt in that moment. Frankie was beyond grateful, and he could tell you were happy he was feeling better just by the way you rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades. He almost lamented at the loss of your touch when you pulled that hand away, only to have you settle it on his just like you did back in the kitchen.

You were always there, always managed to make him feel better. Even when his life was crumbling around him, there was solace to be found in you. In your words, your touch. You never made him feel ashamed when he exposed his sadness or his anger, never made him feel less than. It was impossible for that small flame not to flicker back to life deep in his heart. The spark of hope for the future, especially if you were in it.

“Thank you.” Frankie choked out, unable to express himself any more than that. It didn’t matter, he knew that. You knew how much this little foray into stress relief helped him.

“Always, Frankie.”

Later that night when all was quiet in his home, when the Miller brothers and Pope had left and Isabella was safely asleep in her crib, Frankie was still exhausted. The boys had come over instead of dragging him out to a restaurant and it was a blast, as always, but he couldn’t help the heavy way his shoulders were set for the rest of the day. He just wanted to sleep.

The last thing he expected was the tears. An overwhelming feeling of being entirely unwanted washed over him and he was too damn tired to fight it off, so he sat himself on the edge of the bed and cried. No matter how logical he was with himself, no matter how much he reminded himself that he was well loved despite Eliza, the feeling just would not shake.

Embarrassment layered on top of the sadness when you popped your head into his bedroom, hair still wet from the shower you just took. Frankie wiped the tears away with rough fingers as he turned away from you, giving an entirely fake laugh in a vain attempt to brush it off. He should’ve known better. You padded right up to him and gently cupped his cheek to guide him to look back up at you, and the understanding smile you gave him paired to the gentle brush of your thumb under his eye to wipe a stray tear away had his chin trembling against his will.

“C’mon,” You whispered. Frankie watched you clamber onto his bed through tear-blurred eyes and settle against his pillows, your arms open in an invitation for comfort that he took without a second thought. Frankie laid his head on your chest, wrapped one arm around your waist, and closed his eyes before he could talk himself out of it. This was dangerous ground, letting himself take comfort in you this way. You brushed your hand through his hair, sighing softly as you relaxed. “We’ve got this. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Frankie’s voice was slurred slightly with his sleepiness, the craziness of the day finally pulling him under. “Yeah, we do.”

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

At eight months old, Isabella was growing into a vibrant, happy little girl and you couldn’t be more proud. You hadn’t expected to play such a large role in her life, but now you couldn’t imagine doing anything else. According to her pediatrician, little Bella was as healthy as a horse and blossoming. ‘A textbook case of healthy development’ was what she had said at the last checkup, leaving you and Frankie to grin at each other. The first appointment after Eliza left was nerve racking with Frankie bouncing anxiously the entire time until Dr.Weston gave them the exact same response - Frankie’s daughter was right on track.

The relief on his face had broken your heart. How could that man ever think he wasn’t doing right by his little girl? You saw him with her every single day. You saw the way he babbled along with her while spooning baby food into her mouth. You watched him lie on his belly with her in the living room during tummy-time, trying to help her strengthen her neck. You woke up to him stripping the blankets off of the bed when she couldn’t fall asleep anywhere but his arms and wanted her in bed with you both. If there was anyone who could attest that Francisco Morales was an amazing father, it was you.

And you made sure to tell him that, as often as you could. It made the most delicious flush creep up his neck and paired with that bashful smile he tried to hide by pulling the brim of his hat further down, you could barely keep yourself from kissing him. Guilt ate you alive every single time you had those urges. Frankie was thriving after such an awful ordeal, and there you were, lusting after him like some over-excitable teenager.

It was impossible not to feel so... domestic in your current set up. You slept at Frankie’s so often that your own home felt almost foreign when you would show up for more clothes or to grab something for work. You worked from his kitchen table or couch, tapping away at your laptop as Isabella slept or played on her playmat in front of you. The instinct to refer to Frankie’s house as ‘home’ and the way you saw the three of you as a little family was new and something you had to nip in the bud right away.

That type of thinking would inevitably end in heartbreak when Frankie sent you on your way once he didn’t need as much help with Isabella. At least you knew it wouldn’t be anytime soon and could enjoy it while it lasted, especially since the home was currently plagued with a two word nightmare neither of you expected.

Sleep. Regression.

You sat in the glider with Isabella slumped against your chest, her cute little face pressed against your sternum as you rocked sleepily. Her eyelids fluttered every now and then, but there was yet to be a moment you could settle her into her bed. Frankie had tried before you, but even daddy’s arms weren’t good enough for the fussy baby. He was rooting around downstairs, searching for a little stuffed hippo that sometimes helped her calm down, but at that point, you were willing to just sleep right there in her nursery.

The door cracked open slowly and you peeked one eye open to see Frankie shake his head slightly as he walked in. You held back a sigh. That damned stuffed hippo was going to be the death of all three of you, apparently. Frankie made an urgent noise and your eyes flew open, your eyebrows pinching together in confusion. With a baby constantly on the verge of either falling asleep or waking up, the two of you learned to communicate without words, instead using pointed looks and hand gestures to get a point across.

Frankie gave a pointed look Isabella and you tilted your head down to get a good look at her, and good god you could barely believe your luck. A very long, drawn out transfer from your chest to her crib later, and you and Frankie were creeping out of the nursery, careful to avoid the creaky sections of the hallway. The second the door was closed, you held up a hand for a quiet high five with the goofiest grin on your face, and Frankie obliged with a chuckle.

You practically threw yourself onto the bed you were starting to consider your own, yet another dangerous road, you knew that much. The stubbornness both you and Frankie held strong to had neither of you willing to let the other take the couch, insisting that ‘no, you need good sleep.’ and ‘well, you do, too!’. Each night you spent curled up next to him and waking up a hairsbreadth from each other had you positively yearning.

It was nearly three in the morning and both of you had work in a few hours. The idea filled you with dread, and that was how you found yourself whispering to Frankie that you were calling out because ‘exhaustion is the best reason to use a sick day’. He cracked up at your antics as he crawled in next to you, but the look he gave you once he was settled in… it made your heart flutter in your chest. It was an exhausted, relieved, and grateful expression all rolled into one and in that moment, you felt like you could look at him forever.

You didn’t get the chance to. Frankie slid his arm under your shoulders and pulled you against him. It was too familiar of an embrace for you to shy away, even though you knew you should. You should’ve stayed on your side of the bed with plenty of space between you if you wanted to avoid heartbreak, but instead, you snuggled close to him and set your head right on his chest. You could let yourself indulge in the fantasy that he was yours for just a bit longer, especially if it meant getting this unforgettable experience of curling up with the man you adored.

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you closer to the abyss of sleep, until his chest rumbled as he spoke, making you blink up at him.

“Thank you, cariño.” Frankie settled his hand against your head, playing gently with your hair.

“Always, Frankie.” You whispered back, a smile on your face even as you slipped into the most peaceful rest you had in years.

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

The house was full of people. For the first time in months, Frankie threw a cookout. It was something you had missed dearly, inviting everyone over for food and beers and a bonfire if the mood was right. Isabella was beyond happy to see everyone she loved all at once, the nine month old squealing with delight at each person who scooped her up from her bouncer. You watched carefully, always ready to swoop in if needed while Frankie ran in and out of the house between the kitchen, grill, and living room.

You had been worried it might be too much for him, the pressure of so much socializing after such a hard time, but he was all grins and twinkling eyes as he ran about. It warmed your heart to see that happiness radiating off of him. God, had you missed it. Things were finally looking up and it felt as if you had let go of a breath that was held in for far too long.

Almost everyone was out in the backyard, soaking up the last of summer before fall got her chilly grip on the world, with you and a few others inside chatting. Isabella had just woken up and boy was she ready to go. Those chubby little legs flailed as you wrestled her into a clean diaper and back into her pretty pink dress. You leaned back with a small laugh once she was finally dressed, letting her have the free reign to roll over onto her belly.

You glanced up at Will where he sat on the couch a few feet away taking a break from all the chitchat, and he grinned at you, muttering something about her being just like her father. You couldn’t agree more. You went to pick her up and carry her outside where she could get some sun and squeal at more guests, but your hand met the carpet instead. Isabella grinned at you less than a foot away, propped up on all fours as she scrambled away so quickly you worried she would get rug burn before you realized - holy shit, she’s crawling.

“Go get Frankie!” You said to Will, who was staring at Isabella with a proud grin. He jumped to his feet, ever the good soldier taking commands, and you scooped the giggling little girl into your arms. “Look at you go! Oh, I’m so proud of you, sweet girl!”

A frazzled Frankie skidded around the corner out of nowhere, half of the crowd piling in behind him in worry, and internally you cursed Will for not informing him that nothing was wrong. Before Frankie could even ask, you motioned for him to sit down a few feet from you and he listened despite the deeply confused look he wore.

“Are you gonna show daddy your new trick, Bella? Huh? Go on,” You cooed as you set her back down on her hands and knees, and she took off like a bat outta hell, scrambling for her father, who watched with wide eyes. Frankie broke off into a loud laugh and picked her up to cradle her against his chest, his eyes bright with unshed, happy tears as the crowd of friends and family let out whoops and claps.

“Oh my god!” Frankie laughed wetly, shuffling forward on his knees to pull you in for a hug with his little girl in between you. Your cheeks hurt with the huge smile you wore as you wrapped your arms around him. The way he looked at you tore through your chest with the most pleasurable kind of pain and the urge to kiss him would have been undeniable if not for the friends that surrounded you. So you cleared your throat and leaned back, pushing his bicep gently.

“You better get back to that grill before everyone in here starves to death.” You tease and leave it at that, gathering Isabella in your arms to take her outside. What you didn’t see was Pope grabbing Frankie and dragging him up the stairs before he could make it outside along with you. You flounced about the backyard, the hem of your sundress fluttering at your knees as you let everyone get a chance to coo at the happy girl in your arms.

Everyone was so happy, all smiles and laughs as they caught up with each other about the various going-ons of their lives, and you wanted to capture it so you could look back on the happy memories.

“Hey, I left my phone upstairs. Do you mind if I leave her with you? I should be right back.” You asked Pope’s girlfriend, Jessa, who eagerly accepted the baby time.

You climbed the stairs easily, humming some silly tune as you pushed open Frankie’s door. With your phone fully charged, you popped it off of the charger and sat on the edge of the bed to check your notifications. There were few messages here and there, mostly from people letting you know they were on their way a few hours ago, so you were content to make your way back outside with the sound of voices caught your attention. It was a low, metallic sounding conversation, but the TV was off, leaving only…

On the screen of the baby monitor were Frankie and Pope, both of them standing with their arms crossed tightly over their chests. If you didn’t know better you would have been worried they were about to fight with the way they glared at each other, but whatever it was wasn’t any of your business. You were going to leave but the sound of your name made you pause. Eavesdropping is wrong, you reminded yourself, even if you were painfully curious, and you made for the door once more until you heard Pope said, “You have to tell her, Fish!” and you froze entirely.

“That woman loves you! She loves your little girl. You’re going to lose out on a good thing if you keep going like this, man!” Pope hissed and for a second, all you could hear was your own heartbeat. He couldn’t mean what you hoped he meant… right?

“I can’t! Isabella is already down one parent, and that… that amazing woman stepped in and saved us both. What kind of a father would I be if I risked my daughter losing a good woman? And for what? Because I'm in love? Absolutely not.” Frankie said in a tone you had never heard from him before. It was harsh, ringing with finality, and it absolutely tore your heart in two.

But the halves of your heart were made whole by the single sentence, ‘Because I’m in love’. Frankie loved you. He said it. You heard it with your own two ears and suddenly those fears of yours felt absolutely ridiculous. That man and his daughter was your family, no two ways about it. And you couldn’t let him go on thinking that you didn’t love your little family more than anything in the world.

So you snuck back downstairs, your heart flying in your chest as you rejoined the little party and tried to act as normally as possible. In reality, you were paying more attention to the back door than anyone who tried to talk to you, giving little ‘mhmm’s instead of answering the questions anyone asked you.

Yeah, you could be entirely oblivious sometimes.

The second Pope and Frankie emerged from the back door you were on the move, excusing yourself from the conversation you hadn’t really been a part of anyway. The confused look Frankie gave you when you asked to talk to him inside was being adorable, his eyebrows scrunched together and head tilted to the side just slightly. He followed you in nonetheless, leaning against the kitchen counter as he popped open a sweating beer. Before he can even ask what’s going on, you step into his space and put your hands on his chest gently, watching as his confusion melts into surprise.

“You are never going to lose me.” You whisper. “Neither of you.”

A blush bloomed up his neck and over his cheeks. “You...you heard that?”

“Didn’t mean to, scouts honor.” You smiled at him, trying to imbue him with the ease and absolute happiness you felt. “The baby monitor was on.”

“Oh.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the simple response and press up on your tiptoes, your hands sliding up to drape over his shoulders so you could play with the curls at the nape of his neck. The breathy sound that escaped Frankie’s chest had your need mounting, desperate to feel his lips on yours, and you lean forward to brush your nose along his. “Say it, Frankie.”

“I love you.” He said it immediately, whispered it into you with a grin so bright it lit up the room with his happiness. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” You barely get it out before he leans forward to kiss you, soft and desperate and happy, all at once. Frankie’s hands fell to your hips and pulled your body flush against his, and it made you to grin against his lips.

You were giddy. That was the only way to describe the excitement that left you almost vibrating with energy as you melted against Frankie’s chest. His lips were sweet, touched by the strawberries and grapes he snacked on as he grilled.

“You love me, huh?” He muttered and pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed with a goofy smile that made your heart lurch in your chest.

“Always, Frankie.”

#frankie morales x reader #frankie 'catfish' morales x reader #frankie 'catfish' morales #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x y/n #frankie morales x you #frankie 'catfish' morales x y/n #frankie 'catfish' morales x you #francisco morales #Triple Frontier #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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weelittleweasley · 4 years ago

Text

Transfer Student | Draco x Reader

Prompt: After transferring from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to Hogwarts, all of Hogwarts’ eyes is on the new girl. An American Gryffindor? Everyone wants to be your friend, steal a glance from you, or ask you on a date. Can Draco resist the hype or will he end up all for the new girl?

Warnings: None! Just some fluff and longing looks from bitch boy Malfoy

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: My requests box is very full oh my LORD. I’m trying to churn them out as consistency as possible, so if I skip a day with no imagines, it’s mostly for me to take a breather and catch up on my actual work for my job and school.

America was home, no matter where you were in the world. You grew up an American and lived your life with that culture and their customs. Going to school at Ilvermorny was a treat. Tucked away in the mountains in Massachusetts, it was your happy place, full of other kids from across America, studying magic. But things changed drastically when your father was offered a position at the Ministry of Magic overseas in London. Your parents were thrilled, a prestigious job in a new country; your father accepted the position, no question. You on the other hand were more nervous than anything. Moving meant new school, new friends, new start. Not to mention, if you moved within the country, you would still attend Ilvermorny. But now that you were moving overseas, it really meant a new start with a whole different school with a whole different body of students.

Your mother was insistent that you would be just fine starting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. “Mom,” you insist, “I’m an American among a sea of people from the UK. I’m going to be a fish out of water. They’ll know the moment I open up my mouth!”

But there was no changing their minds. You were moving to London whether you liked it or not. So you had to say goodbye to all of your friends at Ilvermorny. Although you expressed your anxieties about moving and switching schools, the rest of your friends were jealous of your move. Saying how London was a beautiful city and they were so jealous of all the culture and events happening. It did seem exciting, you always wanted to visit Europe, but not like this.

Soon enough, you were on a plane to London from America, your things packed up and ready to ship you off to Hogwarts. When you arrived, your heart raced with excitement and nerves. London was a little grey and stormy, but it was still beautiful. People most melodically and dressed neatly. Men in suits, carrying around briefcases, heads tilted down as they ran to work. Women dressed cleanly and beautifully, walking to work, in and out of shoppes. Your mother gave your hand a squeeze as your father insisted you took the Tube to your new home.

London was very different from your hometown. Much more hustle and bustle with busy people, but its people were much kinder than Americans. Strangers offered you small smiles as you looked at your surroundings. As you arrived to your new home, you couldn’t help but feel out of place. Everything was different. Even the oven. You couldn’t think about how long it was going to take to get you adjusted to this life. You drag your suitcases into your room, flipping open the latches. “Don’t bother unpacking, honey,” your mom calls. “You leave for Hogwarts tomorrow, remember?”

Your stomach sinks. You couldn’t even get used to your new home because tomorrow you had to get used to your new life at Hogwarts.

The next morning, you arrived at the train station, confused as ever. Your mom and dad walked with you through the station, interrogating you on what to tell the Professors when they asked for your information at arrival. “My name is (Y/N), I’m the transfer student from Ilvermorny, I’m going to be a junior,” you start.

“You’re a sixth year student,” your father corrects. You look at him, confused. “The education system here is different, sweetie. You’ll technically be going into year six at Hogwarts.”

Sighing, you know that this was going to take some getting used to.

----

You watched your parents wave goodbye to you, your mother with tears in her eyes. Your heart drops, not wanting to leave your parents to go off to somewhere that was completely foreign to you. As the view of your parents fades, you walk through the train, looking for an empty stall to sit. People sat with groups of friends, laughing, picking up right where they left off. Why couldn’t you have been a first year student? This would have made things so much easier. As a sixth year, everyone had friend groups and you would have to wiggle your way into one.

Finally, you find an empty car and plop yourself down on the seat, laying your head back. Here’s to the start of a miserable year, you think to yourself. You play with the charm bracelet on your wrist that your mother gave to you when you started school at Ilvermorny. The bracelet had a Thunderbird charm on it, the mascot of your house at Ilvermorny, and the same house as you parents. You were a proud Thunderbird, but now you had to be sorted into a new house with a new breed of people. You only hoped that whichever house you were sorted into had the same type of people as Thunderbird did.

As you mindlessly play with the charms on your bracelet, the car that you sat in’s doors slid open. “Are you alone?” a blonde haired girl asks you, noticing you amongst the chaos of the cars around you. “Would you like some company?”

“That would be nice, actually,” you offer her a thankful smile.

The blonde haired girl sits down in the booth across from you, pushing all of her thick hair to one shoulder. “Your accent,” she notices, her eyes widening. “It’s American,” her dainty English accent points out as you blush in embarrassment. “It’s lovely.” You slightly smile and blush, silently thanking her. “Are you a transfer student from Ilvermorny?”

You nod, “Yeah, actually. My name is (Y/N), by the way. I’m a jun-I mean a sixth year student.”

“I’m Luna,” she shakes your hand politely. “I also a sixth year. Look! You’ve only been here for five minutes and you’ve already made a friend in your year!” Your heart swell at the word friend. At least you at Luna to tag along with. The two of you talk for a while, you telling her about America and why your family moved to England, confiding in her about your nervousness about the new school and making new friends. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble making friends, (Y/N). Everyone at Hogwarts is very friendly. Besides, once you get sorted into your house you’ll make a ton of friends that way!” Your stomach churns. “Do you reckon what house you’ll be sorted into?”

Shaking your head, you reply, “Nope. Back at Ilvermorny I was a Thunderbird. But I don’t know if that means I’ll get sorted into a specific house at Hogwarts.” You reach into your backpack and pull out a pack of Fruit Roll Ups. “Want one?” you open the box to her as she gives you a hesitant look. “It’s good I promise,” you giggle. “If you don’t like it, you can force me to eat a gross British snack,” you tempt as she laughs before taking one from the box.

The two of you sit in the car, peeling open your Fruit Roll Ups, munching on the sticky snack. As you laugh at Luna getting it stuck in her teeth, another person comes to the car door, sliding open, making you yelp out scared, them surprising you. “What’s that?” the red headed boy asks, referring to the snack you munch on. You just look at him, bewildered that he just burst through, no introduction, no hello, no nothing. “Oh, hi Luna,” he smiles as Luna waves. The red headed boy looks at you. “You’re new,” he states as if you didn’t know. “I’m Ron Weasley,” he smiles at you warmly, making every bad thought about him leave your mind.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you reply before tossing the ginger a Fruit Roll Up. He catches it, eyes wide with excitement as he tears it open.

Ron sits next to Luna as he peels his Roll Up. “Your accent. You’re an American,” he points out as he looks to Luna who smiles sweetly.

You tease, “Really? I didn’t notice.” This makes Ron let out a chuckle before eating his Fruit Roll Up in two bites. “I’m a transfer from Ilvermorny.”

“Ron! Where did you go?” a voice calls from the hall. Suddenly, a girl with brown hair, wrapped in a stripped cardigan appears with a worried look on her face. It instantly relaxes when she sees Ron sitting next to Luna and you, wrappers in his hand from the Fruit Roll Up. “Ron, you can’t just interrupt two people’s conversation and then eat their snacks.”

Ron puts his hands up in defense. “She offered it to me!”

The girl rolls her eyes at his antics before walking into your car. The booth was getting awfully full very quickly. “I’m sorry about him. He has the mental capacity of a teaspoon,” she says, making Ron let out an offended hey! “I’m Hermione Granger. You are?”

You shake her extended hand with a smile. “(Y/N), I’m a transfer student fr-”

“Ilvermorny! I heard we were getting an American, but I didn’t believe it! Wow! It’s so nice to meet you,” she exclaims, scooting closer next to you. “Are you excited to be here? Which house do you think you’ll be sorted into? From what I’ve heard about you, you were a Thunderbird, correct? I reckon you’ll be a Gryffindor by the looks of it,” Hermione fires away. You were little taken aback by how forward she was, but you had to admit it was sweet.

All of your fears of not being able to make any friends slowly faded away.

----

It has been a week since you arrived at Hogwarts. As Hermione had predicted, you were sorted into Gryffindor, making her cheer out in delight. “Yay! More girls!” she hugged you tight when you entered the Gryffindor common room. “They can be much,” she refers to Harry and Ron behind her with a little giggle.

You had to say so far, you adjusted well to Hogwarts. You did miss your friends back home, but whenever you started to miss them, you found Hermione or Luna and they would always cheer you up and make you feel right back at home. Your classes were interesting, but hard at Hogwarts. Your Professors were all brilliant, some more intimidating than others. Regardless, you worked hard for your grades, doing study groups with Hermione, quizzing yourself with Luna, and spending countless nights in the library.

However, much to your surprise, you were the talk of the halls at Hogwarts. Whenever you were in the hallways, you would feel people’s eyes on you as you walked beside Luna, whispers throwing your name around. Your anxiety grew. What did people think of you? Did they think you were strange? Did they hate that an American was in the school?

It was actually quite the opposite. People were fascinated by you and how charismatic you were. You were kind to everyone, offering people smiles, making conversation in the Great Hall during meals, offering help with studying. You were the it girl of Hogwarts.

That was a new concept for you since you always blended in at Ilvermorny. Maybe it was time for a change. You were getting invited to parties, asked to hang out on weekends in Hogsmeade, and not to mention, you were a few people’s crushes. “Hi (Y/N),” Seamus waved at you with a shy smile.

“Hey, Seamus,” you smile back, brightly, unaware of his blossoming crush on you. His cheeks turned beet red as you wiggled your fingers back at him. Hermione laughs next to you as a bunch of Gryffindor boys in your year watch you walk down the hall, you tossing your hair over your shoulder. “What’s so funny, Granger?” you ask, pushing her shoulder lightly. “Is it so strange that I say hi to everyone in the halls?”

She just shakes her head. “Are you that blind?” she laughs. “(Y/N), nearly every boy in our year fancies you.” You furrow your brows. Hermione groans, knowing you didn’t understand her slang. “The boys all think you’re cute. They’ve got crushes on you.”

Rolling your eyes is disbelief, you enter your History of Magic class. “Yeah, right, Hermione. The day everyone has a crush on me is the day pigs fly,” you plop down in your chair, grabbing your book out of your satchel. “Besides, I’m sure it’s just the new girl crush. It’ll be over within the next week, I’m sure of it.”

Hermione looks at you knowingly. “(Y/N), you’ve been here for two months now.” You just ignore her comment and continue getting ready to take notes for class. “There’s no denying that you are the popular girl,” she teases you as you fake gag. “I’m serious. I dare you to flirt with anyone in here and see their reaction,” she whispers to you.

You look around the room to see who would be the person most likely to shoot you down if you flirted with them. Two desks over was Blaise Zabini sat next to Draco Malfoy. You smirked and nudged Hermione as if to say watch this. “Blaise?” you ask, his head shooting up to look at you. “I think I forgot my quill. Do you have one I could borrow?” you bat your eyes at him.

A cheeky grin comes across his face as he hands you the one in his hand. “Forgetful today?” he smirks as you giggle. “You can borrow my quill any day,” he winks at you as Hermione fake gags, making Zabini rolls his eyes.

“Why don’t you ask Granger for one next time? The mudblood is always prepared,” Draco speaks from behind Zabini.

Anger rises in your chest as Malfoy laughs about your best friend. “Why don’t you just keep your fat trap shut and cry to daddy about how much you hate this school, Malfoy? No one wants to hear it out of you, least of all me,” you spit before turning away to do your work. Hermione smiles as you, squeezing your hand. “See? Malfoy doesn’t have a crush on me!” you tell her, making her laugh.

Meanwhile, Draco glares at Zabini. “Don’t tell me you fancy the American girl too.” Zabini keeps his mouth shut, knowing what’s best for him. “What is everyone’s obsession with her? She’s American, not from outer space.”

Blaise shakes his head. “Come on, Malfoy. She’s proper fit, isn’t she? Not to mention, she’s quite cheeky and has good banter.”

Draco just slaps Blaise upside the head. “Oh, please,” he huffs. “There’s plenty of girls like that in this school. She’s not the only one.”

Throughout class Draco thinks to himself about what the entirety of Hogwarts’ student body saw in you. He ignored the lecture going on in the front of the classroom and dreamily watched you during class. You sat there, biting down on your lower lip gently in concentration, scribbling down notes as your nose scrunched up when a question came to mind. He could see the wheels churning in your head when you asked a question and then the lightbulb flick on when it was answered and it made sense. You let a small dance play on your lips when you answered a question correctly faster than Hermione. You hair flopped on head perfect as you pushed strands back as they fell. Your eyes twinkled with curiosity and playfulness like a child. Draco’s heart thumped a little louder when you let out a giggle when the professor made an awful joke. His heart nearly stopped when you looked over at him and caught his gaze, your cheeks taking a rosy hue as you looked away shyly. Draco didn’t look away for a second. He wanted you to know he was observing you. Shit, he silently thought as he felt his heart rate pick up when you sent a cheeky wink his way. He was caught.

You left class that day, a little pep in your step. You didn’t think much about people having a crush on you, but something about Draco Malfoy staring at you during class made you giggly. “What are you on about?” Hermione pokes your side. “I know you aren’t happy about that lecture, so spill.”

“Nothing,” you smile as you walk down the hall. “Can’t I just be happy?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. She had a feeling she knew what was happen, but rather than embarrass you about it, she kept to herself. “Alright,” she sing-songs.

------

The more time passed the more Draco found himself thinking about you and itching to get to class just so he could tune the professor out at steal longing glances at you. Sometimes you would catch him as he sent a little wink your way as you blushed. Sometimes he would catch you staring at him which gave him way too much satisfaction of knowing you liked him just as much as he liked you.

You had no problem talking to boys, but Draco was different. You didn’t talk to him much because you were too scared you were going to embarrass yourself in front of him.

But Draco on the other hand found any excuse to walk right up to you in the halls and strike up conversation. He would see you walk down the hall, his eyes zeroing in on, dismissing his friend group as he made his way up to you. He didn’t care who you were with whether it was Luna or Hermione. Draco just slid himself next to you with a sly, “Where are you off to, American girl?”

You did not try to stop the blush from appearing on your cheeks. “What’s it to you, Malfoy?” you tease as he laughs.

“I’d walk you there if you let me,” he suggested as you glanced to Luna or Hermione as they would fall behind to walk to class with Ron or Harry. “Ah, alone at last,” he’d tease as your friend walked away, earning a teasingly slap from you. “Don’t worry, I won’t try and pull anything on you.”

As you sat in another class of History of Magic, you doodled in your notebook. When the professor turned his back to write on the chalkboard, you see a small origami dove fly over to your desk. Curiosity gets the best of you as you peel it open to see a little note scribbled on the inside.

American Girl,

I need to ask you a very important question.

You look to your left to see Draco staring straight ahead at the board, but his eyes look towards you with a sneaky smile on his lips. You shake your head, a grin teasing your lips as you write back, And what would that be, Mr. Malfoy?

When the professor turns back around, you send the note back to him. You watch him scribble for a while, your curiosity eating away inside of you. Finally, he folds the note back up and send it your way quickly.

The note lands back on your desk as you ravenously open it, dying to know what the question was.

You. Me. Hogsmeade. This Saturday.

Your heart flutters and you want to giggle, but you hide your smile and scribble back coyly, That’s not a question, Malfoy.

Again, you send it back his way, watching him open it as you bite your lip to contain your smile as you pretend to pay attention to the class. From your peripheral vision, you watch him scribble back. The note lands back on your desk and you let it sit there for a second, making Malfoy sweat. You let a solid ten seconds pass before looking at the note, pretending to be shocked to see it on your desk, before peeling it open slowly as Malfoy lightly laughs, watching you do so.

So it that a yes?

You smile and write out as slowly as you possibly can. It’s a yes.

The note makes its way back to Draco’s desk as he catches it from the air, ripping it open. He smiles impossibly wider and laughs a “yes,” a little too loud for your professor to hear.

“Mr. Malfoy? Would you like to share something with the class?” your Professor asks.

Draco realizes that everyone’s eyes on him, including you as a deep shade of pink rises to your cheeks. Draco sends you a wink before standing up from his seat, your heart beating fast. What is he doing? “Actually, yes,” he retorts. “I’ve got a date with the new girl,” he declares. Girls all turn to you before immediately whispering to those around them as some boys groan and others cheer Malfoy on.

You just sit there, blushing like a fool. Hermione grabs your arm. “No way,” she speaks.

“You better believe it,” you whisper, eyes not leaving Draco’s as Zabini high fives him. Saturday could not come quicker.

#draco #draco imagine #draco malfoy #draco x female reader #draco x you #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy fanficiton #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #hp #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagine

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shai-manahan · 3 years ago

Note

35 for Wesley🙏

Wesley - 35. grabbing the other’s hand to pull them back to them

"This is not very...ideal."

Wesley sits uncomfortably in the chair across yours, both elbows resting on the table as they read the newspaper, although 'pretend to read' would probably the better term. As strange as it is, they never liked using them to get information. Lazy, lacking, unreliable--those were their words. They always preferred coaxing the right people for the facts, calming them with tricky smiles and mesmerizing words. Next thing you know, they have new trusted contacts at their disposal.

That is until this whole ordeal. Apparently, making enemies of the marshal and other dangerous people they'd been very secretive about can put a stop to that habit. So, instead of showing off their usual charming self, Wesley is now forced to hide under a cap, sunglasses, and thick layers of clothing that probably makes it hotter than it should be.

Hard to give pity to the person who destroyed your career.

"What's not ideal?" You raise your cup to your lips. "This place? Your tea? Me talking to you? Or the universe not doing what you want it to?"

The newspaper lowers an inch, the hands holding them fiddling nervously. "Now you're exaggerating."

"Am I?" You give a light shrug before leaning back into your seat. "Seems like the last two might have crossed your mind."

"Oh, for-" They lower the paper again, letting it fall to the table this time. "That's not what I'm talking about."

"Then stop being cryptic and say it. You know, tell the truth for once."

They mumble in response.

"What was that?"

Wesley sighs as they take their sunglasses off, hazel eyes staring at you. Maybe they think it's part of their charm, that it's how people are allured to them, easily trusting the things they do. You wouldn't know, of course. You're immune to all of those. Or at least you'd like to think so.

You take a sip from your drink, waiting for them to start. Somewhere beneath that calm exterior, they're already trying to piece together what they have to say. Best not to interrupt.

"I'm talking about your meeting with Alonzo later while I hide out here all by myself."

Or maybe you should have.

Very slowly, you put down your cup, careful not to let it spill. It's safer there, you think, away from your hand. Away from any temptation to do something drastic. Then, taking a deep breath, you glare at the fool in front of you. "Want to come along? Let's have a bet how many words you can say before Alonzo strangles the life out of you." You press your hands together. "Oh wait, maybe they'd just shoot you and then strangle me instead. Sounds fun."

"Or maybe you could just not go at all."

You blink. "Well, that's even worse. Only I die in that scenario."

"All I'm saying is..." They bite their cheek as they stare out of the window, their fingers unknowingly picking the newspaper apart, bit by bit. At this point, they're going to cause a whole mess of this table unless you stop them.

"What?"

Wesley clears their throat. "Tell them you've got your hands full today, and we can work on our own." They shrug hesitantly, as if not sure themself if that is indeed the best course of action.

"And you think that'd go well?"

"Why not? It's what we used to do. Me and you. Together." You feel their leg brush into yours under the table, and were it not for the blush that creeps into their cheeks and the sudden shifting of their leg that results into it hitting the table painfully hard, you'd have thought it was intentional. But that would never be them. Disguised or not, they'd never make a move on you in public. Definitely not after what they did.

The silence grows awkwardly. You didn't have that problem before when you both were younger. You always had something to talk about. Something to share with each other. Something to work on. Before any kind of silence arrived, the two of you were already starting to move towards another goal or another conversation.

Maybe that's the problem.

Maybe you've talked and moved too much, without learning what you really are to each other.

Does Wesley ever think about that?

The vibration of your phone pulls you out of your thoughts and you pluck it from your coat to see one message from Alonzo. At least it wasn't a call this time.

Naturally, the momentary relief immediately washes away when you read the text.

Where the hell are you?

"Great."

"Something wrong?"

"Alonzo's there already. One hour early. One freaking hour. Why do they always have to do that?" You let out a groan. "Well, gotta cram now, I guess."

You take one last gulp from your drink and stand, waiting for a response. For a farewell. But Wesley's attention is solely focused on their cup, running a finger along its rim. That's how you know it's over. They have nothing else to say anymore. Nothing else to show.

What did you expect?

You walk past them without another word, and your hands are just about to dig back into the comfort of your coat when warm fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back to where you were. Wesley is right there, standing, brows furrowed as they glance down at the floor.

You wait for them to say something, like you did earlier. Patience. Wait. Just wait. They'll explain why they stopped you. They'll give you a reason to stay. All you need to do is wait.

"Stay," they eventually say in a low voice, almost a whisper. "Stay with me for today. Let's talk."

That's all they give you.

Then their grip tightens. Not to the point that it hurts you, no. It's gentle, almost like a pleading gesture, and you could pry your wrist away if you want to--leave them alone, yearning for your presence, like you did when they left you in the dust. And you should. You should forget what you had, forget those little glimpses of affection, because all of those are now in the past. What remains here is a common goal for two people. Same targets to chase after, same murders to solve, same city to save.

Instead, you stay. Instead, you both stand there like idiots waiting for some miracle to happen. Wesley looks up with questioning eyes; it's now their turn to wait for a response, but what are you supposed to tell them? What do you want to tell them?

Your brain, as usual, tells you to say no. It's the logical thing to do. There's no need to make Alonzo even angrier than they already are.

But that's not what you really want, is it?

You think of the possibilities.

Maybe this is your chance to learn the whole truth; to mend what you had; to start something new.

And maybe, just maybe, if things don't go well, this would be your chance to let it all go. And then you'll both be ready to do what you really need to do. Sacrifices are easier to make that way.

Settling on a decision, you take another deep breath and stare into Wesley's eyes as you utter, "I'll stay."

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tripleaxeldiaz · 4 years ago

Text

like it’s a little secret, like it’s all he has to give

for @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels <3

read on ao3

He didn’t mean for this to happen.

Well, no. He wanted it to happen, had been planning to make it happen with a lot more wooing and sweeping off of feet to get them to a perfect moment where he could tell Buck exactly how much he loves him and needs him in his life.

So he did want it to happen, of course. He just didn’t expect it to happen like it did — after a night out with the team, in the dim light of his living room, during a tipsy game of Truth or Dare like they were in high school again. Buck had said, “Dare”, and the three beers and two shots swimming in Eddie’s brain said, “I dare you to kiss me.”

And he did.

And one kiss turned into two, turned into making out on Eddie’s couch, turned into stumbling blindly toward the bedroom, turned into fingertips burning trails up backs, whispered confessions into necks, and muffled moans of yes and more and please and Eddie.

So it happened. It’s still happening.

That isn’t the problem.

The problem is that it happened six months ago and they still haven’t told anyone.

It’s not that they don’t trust their friends or that they aren’t serious about each other. In fact, they’re probably too serious about each other, about making this the thing that sticks. The morning after their first night together, they talked for hours about their past failed relationships and insecurities, laying every, ugly part out for each other to see.

“I just want to be enough,” Eddie said, throat as raw as his insides felt.

Buck’s hand slid up his back to scratch through his hair. “You’re more than enough for me. And I’d like to stick around and prove that to you, as long as you’ll let me.”

“Forever, ideally.”

“Forever it is.”

“I’m gonna fuck this up.”

Buck shrugged. “So will I. Maybe we give ourselves some time — fuck things up quietly before we let other people know?”

Eddie kissed Buck again, softly, soundly, relief surging through him because Buck gets it and wants to make this work and, this way, he feels like they may actually have a chance.

So that was that. Nothing really changed — Buck was still at the Diaz house more often than not, but now sleepovers meant Buck was in bed with Eddie instead of on the couch (except for the half hour before Chris woke up when Buck snuck out to the living room). They were still a dynamic duo on calls, they just also had each other after calls now too, especially bad ones. They were able to get to know each other as boyfriends instead of just best friends, figure out what they wanted and needed from a relationship, and smooth out the bumps they hit on their own, without any outside influence.

Now, they’re in a good spot. The best spot. And six months is a long time to keep quiet about something that makes Eddie so happy he could explode. But—

“They’re gonna be mad,” he says, head pillowed in Buck’s lap, absently picking at the label of his empty beer bottle. Buck hums, fingers combing through Eddie’s hair, the TV softly playing some reality show about a yacht crew.

“You don’t think they’ll be happy for us too?”

“They probably have a betting pool going on us. Then they’ll be mad and gloating.”

Buck’s hand stills on his head. “Eddie, if you don’t want to—”

Eddie scrambles up to sitting, taking both of Buck’s hands in his because he’s stopping that train of thought right now. “I do want to. I really do. I’m just—”

“Nervous?”

Eddie nods, absently placing a kiss inside Buck’s wrist as he gathers his thoughts. “I trust you. More than anything. And I trust us. I just don’t trust anything else, not yet. We’ve been in our own little world for a while, I just need to get used to that not being the case anymore.”

Buck’s quiet for a minute before he leans forward, kissing Eddie’s forehead. “I don’t really trust anything else either. I’m happy to wait and follow your lead. As long as you know you’re stuck with me.”

Eddie kisses him quickly before laying back down, Buck’s hand automatically threading into his hair again. “You’re stuck with me, too. Even when cute, injured bikers try to steal me away—”

He feels a sharp tug on his hair. “I knew you did that on purpose!”

Buck’s jealous streak is a mile wide, Eddie’s known that since the day they met. So what if he’s exploited it a little while they’ve been sneaking around? How could he have known for sure that a little extra flirting on a call would get him blown within an inch of his life in a storage closet as soon as they got back to the station? He’d surely expected it, but…

Whatever. Sue him. His boyfriend’s hot when he’s territorial, and he’s only a man.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie should have known the universe would start fucking with them almost immediately.

The team has never been shy about trying to set both of them up — there’s always a friend of a friend or a second cousin or a neighbor that would be perfect for, as Hen so lovingly puts it, “our hot and lonely coworkers”. It’s only gotten worse in the past month or so, when a team trivia night turned into a team-and-significant-others trivia night, “forcing” Buck and Eddie to pair up to even things out. Ever since, he’s been cornered almost every day by Hen and/or Chim, each with a handful of people that would love to take Eddie out to dinner, and he knows they do the same to Buck. He’s pretty sure they have a shared spreadsheet about it.

“Come on Eddie, Nick is great! He’s tall, he owns a gym, his dog is cute—”

“Chim,” Eddie cuts him off, pulling his head out of the fridge to face Chimney and Hen seated at the island. He could end it now, just tell them I don’t want to go out with your new personal trainer because I already have a boyfriend, but it’s the middle of shift and everyone is still lingering from lunch and...it’s too much right now. Over Chim’s shoulder, he can see Buck looking at him from the couch, probably thinking the same thing (because they do that a little too often). Buck just raises his eyebrows and shrugs, saying I’m following your lead. Eddie falls a little bit more in love with him.

He focuses back on Hen and Chim. “I appreciate you guys worrying about me in your own weird way, but I’m fine. Plus, I have a thing and Chris’ school Thursday night anyway.”

He does not have a thing at Chris’ school, and he feels bad using his kid like this, but drastic times call for drastic measures.

Hen holds up her hands as Chim deflates just a little. “Fine fine,” she says. “We know you’re busy.” She looks at Chim, and they have a quick conversation with their eyebrows before he gets up and slowly walks toward Buck.

“So, Buck, my dear pseudo brother-in-law. How’s your Thursday—”

Buck doesn’t even look up from his book. “No. Maddie and I are having a wine night, and we’re gonna talk shit about you the entire time.”

Chim squawks at that, and Eddie does a bad job of turning his laugh into a cough. It does get them to back off for the rest of the week, though Eddie resigns himself to this vicious cycle of theirs until he can finally shake the feeling that everything he and Buck have been building will dissolve through his fingertips as soon as they let anyone else in.

It’s vicious but predictable. Easy to follow, easy to get ahead of. It gives Eddie a little room to breathe while he sorts his head out.

Naturally, that’s when Abuela decides to get involved.

Eddie’s never been able to refuse her anything — that’s how he ended up at her house on his day off in the first place, fixing a broken dryer and tightening cabinets and anything else she happens to remember she needs while he’s here. He really doesn’t mind, and he’s happy to spend any time with her that he can, but she’s been...prying. All day. As casually as she can, but he can tell she’s fishing for something.

“Edmundo,” she says as they sit down for lunch. “You’re telling me you can’t even remember the last time you went on a date?”

Of course he can — he and Buck haven’t been able to go on many “normal” dates since they got together, but they did manage to coordinate a weekend in Ojai a few weeks back where all they did was eat, lounge by the pool, and have sex in their much-too-fancy-for-them hotel room.

That counts as a couple of dates, right?

He shrugs instead. “I’ve been busy. Between work and Chris, I’ve just got a lot on my plate. I don’t really have time for dating.” And I don’t think my boyfriend would be too happy about it, he thinks.

“Of course,” she says. She keeps eating like that’s the end of that, but he knows there’s something else. When she finishes, she pushes her plate aside and looks at him dead on, with that There’s no way you’re getting out of this look in her eyes. “You know, if you did want to get out there again, my friend Diana has a granddaughter around your age that just moved to LA and wants to meet some people.”

There it is.

“Abuela, I really don’t think—”

“It doesn’t have to be a date, it can just be dinner! The two of you getting to know each other. She’s sweet, she’s beautiful, and she’s a teacher, so she’s great with kids. At the very least, she could be a good friend.” She reaches across the table and grabs his hand in both of hers. “You work too hard, Edmundo. You deserve to do something nice for yourself, and that can be as easy as going out to a nice restaurant with a pretty girl for one night.”

He should tell her. He should tell her everything, even though Buck’s not here, even though he still has a stupid voice in his head telling him that as soon as their bubble pops, the likelihood of everything going belly up will skyrocket. He doesn’t want to lead this poor girl on, but Abuela is also looking at him all sad and hopeful, because she does want him to be happy, and—

“Fine. One dinner.”

Abuela cheers, actually cheers, and hugs him tightly before getting her phone. She calls Diana to set everything up themselves, rather than giving Eddie the girl’s — Chelsea’s — number. By the time he leaves, they’re set for 8pm next Friday at an Italian place downtown, and they each have a description of what the other will be wearing. “Like a real blind date,” Abuela says, and Eddie tries not to actually kick himself for falling into this trap.

He needs to get out of this. Abuela wouldn’t give him her number (“so your first meeting will be as magical as possible”), so he’ll just have to tell her right from the start on Friday. He feels bad, but hopefully she’s as nice as he’s been told and she takes it okay. And should he tell Buck? Probably, but is it even an issue if he’s not actually going through with the date? Buck’s working an overnight on Friday, so he won’t even be around when he’s supposed to be out. He could smooth it all over himself and then really sit down and get his shit together to figure out how they’re going to tell everyone, so no more fake dates happen ever again.

He’s got this. It’s not his best idea ever, but it’ll have to do. Everything will be totally fine.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Eds? You home?”

Shit.

Eddie scrambles to shut his bedroom door, tripping over himself in the process and landing flat on his back. That’s how Buck finds him, and his stomach drops as he watches Buck’s face switch between worry and confusion as he takes in Eddie’s button down and slacks.

“Uh, hey,” he says. Buck offers a hand to help him up. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m on my way, just needed to grab my phone charger,” Buck says as he pulls Eddie up, checking him out again like he’s confirming that his brain isn’t playing tricks on him. “You’re awfully dressed up for your night off.”

Eddie sighs heavily through his nose. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid, and if he had left 10 minutes earlier like he meant to it would have been fine. But now Buck’s here, and he refuses to lie to him. He’s already been lying by omission enough this week.

“Abuela kinda set me up for dinner with her friend’s granddaughter,” he says quickly, panicking when Buck’s eyes go wide and his cheeks go pale. “But,” he moves closer, placing both hands firmly on Buck’s shoulders, taking it as a good sign that he doesn’t pull away, “I’m just going long enough to tell her that I’m very taken and this whole thing was a mistake. I promise, nothing was ever going to happen.” Buck does pull away then, and Eddie’s hands fall heavily back to his sides. “Buck, please—”

“I know,” he says quietly. “I know you wouldn’t do that to me. But Eds, I told you I’d follow your lead when it came to telling people about us, and if that meant fake dating other people that’s cool, I just wish you talked to me about it first. We’ve got to communicate and stuff, we’re on the same team here.”

“You’re right,” Eddie says. He slowly reaches for Buck’s hands, relieved again when he lets him. “I should have told you. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, and I didn’t want you to worry or think things were bad with us, because they’re not. But still. I’m sorry.” Buck doesn’t move, just stares at the floor. Eddie squeezes his hands. “Are we good?”

Buck finally looks up, and Eddie can’t get a read on his emotions like he usually can. But he squeezes his hands back and gives him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re good. But I should get going.” He slips out of Eddie’s hands and out the front door without another word.

There was no yelling or accusations or anything bad, really, but Eddie still feels gutted, like every fear he had about messing up is starting to manifest like he knew they would. He should go after Buck, tell him how much he loves him, how much he trusts him, but he’s 20 minutes late now, and when he pictures Chelsea standing all by herself in a crowded restaurant looking for him, he feels a whole different wave of guilt crash inside him.

He’s going to fix this, all of this. He has to. And he’s got a 30 minute drive to think of a new plan.

~~~~~~~~~~

The drive ends up being closer to an hour, and all Eddie does is convince himself that the next time Buck sees him, he’s going to realize that Eddie’s not good enough for him and break up with him on the spot.

The restaurant is loud and crowded, lit mainly by the low candles placed on each table. Eddie’s eyes scan the room until he spots her at the bar — emerald dress and gold heels, just like Diana had told him. He slides into the empty seat next to her, awkwardly waving to get her attention. “Chelsea?”

She looks at him with a warm smile. “Edmundo, right?”

“Eddie’s fine.” He steals himself, figures ripping the band-aid right off is probably the best thing to do. “Look, I’m really sorry—”

“That’s not a great way to start a date.”

Guilt curls tighter in his stomach and up his arms. “This has been a huge misunderstanding. I’m kind of— I’m already in a relationship, and we haven’t told anyone, and my abuela was just trying to help, and she knows I can’t say no to her, and now everything is falling apart.” He feels even worse dumping all this on a woman he’s known for three minutes, but his brain seems to be doing its own thing at the moment, he’s just along for the ride.

She looks at him for a minute, before waving the bartender over. “Well, you’re here, and you sound like you’re about to lose your mind. Have one drink with me, and tell me everything.”

So he orders a Jack on the rocks and spills his guts — tells her about Buck, about why they kept everything under wraps, his plans to fix everything, how he’s so fucking scared that once everyone knows and their little fantasy world is gone, Buck will realize that he can do better, that he deserves better, and Eddie will have to put himself back together somehow. He’s not sure exactly how long he talks, but Chelsea listens intently to every word, and Eddie actually feels better when he’s done.

She finishes the last of her gin and tonic and looks him right in the eye. “I know we just met, but can I be real with you?”

Eddie nods as he knocks back his own drink.

“Your plans suck.”

He laughs and almost shoots whiskey out of his nose. “Yeah, I think I’m starting to figure that out too.”

“Look — you love your boyfriend, right?” she asks as she hands him a napkin.

“Of course. More than anything.”

“And he loves you.”

He thinks about the way Buck looks at him, no matter where they are, like he's the only person worth looking at. How it took a little while, but now he actually feels worthy of a gaze like that. “Yeah, he does.”

She shrugs. “Then it sounds like you have nothing to worry about. You have each other — everything and everyone else is just background noise.”

It’s such a simple thing, something Eddie’s known for months now, but hearing it come from someone else gives his mind that final shove that makes everything click into place and finally stick. They do have each other, he and Buck are a team, on and off the clock. That’s not going to change, if anything because they’re both too stubborn and in too deep to let it change.

“I know you’re already a teacher, but you should seriously consider becoming a therapist if you ever switch careers.”

“Believe me, this is nothing compared to the middle school problems I deal with on a daily basis.”

He shudders at the very idea of dealing with that many 13 year olds. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but thanks.” Slumping back in his chair, he scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t even know how to start fixing this.”

Chelsea hums, face scrunched as she thinks. “You said he’s at work right? With all your friends too?” Eddie nods. “Sounds like as good a time as any to tell them. And remind Buck that you're with him one hundred percent.”

Eddie’s never been one for big, romantic gestures, but she’s right, and this is for Buck. He’ll do pretty much anything for Buck.

He stands, takes some cash out of his wallet for their drinks and places it on the bar. “Thank you Chelsea, seriously. This was...weird, and not a good first impression of me, but you’re a lifesaver.”

She smiles that warm smile again, and it feels real, no trace of pity or awkwardness. “No problem, I’m happy to help. Maybe we can get coffee sometime, as friends? I didn’t get a chance to dive into my own relationship woes.”

“Deal,” he says, laughing as he hands her his phone to actually get her number. They hug goodbye, and he all but sprints out the door and back to his truck, mind already racing trying to figure out what the hell he’s going to do once he gets to the firehouse.

If he’s honest, this “date” really couldn’t have gone any better. He hopes the rest of his night turns out just as positive, too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The team’s in between calls when Eddie finally arrives, which is great but also does not give him a lot of time to prepare himself for whatever comes next. Rationally, he knows everything will be fine — the team will be thrilled for them, Buck will be thrilled — but there’s still that nagging voice telling him that Chelsea was wrong and that everything’s going to blow up in his face.

He shoves that voice as far away as he can and walks into the station.

There’s no plan this time beyond “find Buck”, which he does pretty quickly once he gets up to the loft. Everyone else is up here too, it seems, but he sees Buck first, curled up on the couch and watching Hen and Chim play Super Smash Bros. He has that same blank look he had on his face when he left Eddie’s earlier, and Eddie hates it. But that’s exactly what he came here to fix.

Buck double takes when he notices him at the top of the stairs, slowly unfurling himself to stand. “What are you doing here?”

A thousand thoughts fly through his head, trying to coalesce into some sweeping romantic speech that would reassure Buck of all the things Eddie’s sure he’s doubting right now. But nothing feels right, nothing even begins to scratch the surface of what Eddie’s feeling, has been feeling for the past months. Everything is fleeting and empty, pale in comparison to the technicolor love he feels every time Buck so much as looks in his direction.

Words aren’t working, but Eddie really isn’t a man of words anyway — he is, however, and man of action.

“I’m communicating,” he says, taking three long strides across the loft to Buck, grabbing his face in both of his hands, and kissing him hard. He tastes like smoke and peppermint and something fundamentally Buck that Eddie’s addicted to, and he feels a smile against his lips as Buck kisses him back in earnest. He’s not sure if it’s been seconds or years when they finally pull away from each other, but they’re both breathless and Buck is glowing and Eddie doesn’t care about anything else.

“I love you,” he says, hands still on Buck’s cheeks. “And I’m sorry. I’m always on your team, as long as you’ll let me be there.”

Buck’s smile somehow gets even bigger. “Forever, ideally.”

Eddie’s laugh bubbles out of him as he leans back in, but stops when he hears a throat clearing somewhere to his right. He looks, and everyone — everyone, including people who were definitely downstairs when he got here — is staring at them with varying degrees of shock and excitement on their faces. Ripping the band-aid off works in his favor again.

“So,” Hen says slowly from the couch. “This is new.”

Eddie shrugs as he grabs Buck’s hand. “Not really. Unless six months old is new, I guess.”

“Six months old?”

“Closer to seven, actually,” Buck says.

There’s a clatter as Chim drops his controller and stands, arms up over his head. “That means I win!”

“Whoa, hold on, you do not—”

The loft erupts as everyone swarms Hen, talking technicalities and logistics of what was apparently a very elaborate betting pool. Buck hides his face in Eddie’s shoulder as he laughs.

“Do you think they’re actually happy for us?” Eddie asks. “Or mad that we screwed up their winnings?”

Buck looks up, resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Probably both. But I’m the real winner here.”

“And a huge cheeseball,” Eddie says.

“Better get used to it, because you’re not getting rid of me,” Buck says, winding his arms around Eddie’s waist and kissing him again.

“Forever, right?” Eddie asks as they break apart, foreheads resting together. All he sees are Buck’s eyes, sparkling blue in the light of the loft and so full of happiness — happiness because of Eddie — that he wants to drown in them.

“Yeah. Forever. No turning back now.”

Eddie likes the sound of that.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fic #911 fox #9-1-1 #happy season 4 everyone!!!#can't wait to see these idiots again in 7ish hours #ficcery

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doctenwho · 4 years ago

Text

Parental Demeaning

Hello! Thank you for the request! I loved the idea of this, but I wasn’t too sure how to go about it. I only really have my parents to go off (they’re not at all like the ones written) but it’s hard to put myself in the mindset of it without context (and since parents are all drastically different), but I tried and hopefully it’s alright!

I had to read a couple articles to find some lowkey emotionally abusive things, and I tried to put as many as would fit, but still make sense in the fic. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Emotional/ Verbal Abuse.

Word Count: 4,230

Summary: Up in the prompt! :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to creator!)

It really wasn’t often you got to go home and see your family and friends. As much as you loved them, there was just better things to see and do in space with the Doctor. It was no one’s fault, the Doctor would bring you to earth whenever you asked, but you just got so caught up in the Doctor and other planets and adventures.

It also didn’t really help that you basically lost all concepts of days and times when you were in the TARDIS. Without the sun rising in the morning and setting at night, you couldn’t be bothered with remembering whether it was day or night, or October or December. It was just then, or rather, now.

And even after all his years travelling, the Doctor was really no better when it came to times or days or months—but he usually got the year right when you asked. To be fair though, earth timelines really had no significance to him—it wasn’t like he’d have an angry mother if he missed Christmas or her birthday or something.

You on the other hand... you were just thankful the Doctor had mentioned the current date on earth because if you missed your mother’s birthday there would definitely be hell to pay. It really was a coincidence that the Doctor happened to prompt a visit to your home planet the evening before your mom’s birthday.

It would’ve been bad had you shown up months later having missed her birthday and not even rung her to wish her a happy birthday. She’d probably hold that over your head for years and years to come if that happened.

But you were saved before you could get yourself in trouble. The Doctor was basically your guardian angel at this point.

So, that following afternoon the Doctor had landed the TARDIS a street over from your parent’s house so they wouldn’t see you exiting and entering a police box like a lunatic with a man they’d only really met in passing.

“Come on,” you huffed, standing by the TARDIS door with your arms crossed over your chest and a pout on your lips, “I don’t want to go alone.”

“They’re your parents,” the Doctor raised an eyebrow, but he was smiling teasingly, “your parents, your planet. I should stay out of it. Besides, your mother barely knows me, I’d ruin the day.”

“You wouldn’t and you know it,” you sighed dramatically resisting the urge to smile at the glance the Doctor shot in your direction, “you’re going to make me suffer through all the questions they’ll ask that I have no answers too alone? They’ll want to talk about my work—which I don’t have, then they’ll ask how I support myself with that same job I don’t have!”

“Well, aren’t you a dramatic one today,” again with the teasing from the Doctor, “fine, fine. I’ll tag along. But, it’s not my fault if it upsets your mother on her birthday.”

“No, it’ll be my fault,” you smiled brightly, “they’re always telling me I need to get a boyfriend anyways; she’ll probably be ecstatic when I bring home a Doctor.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” the Doctor huffed a laugh as he finally moved to join you at the TARDIS doors. He opened the doors and stepped out, you following close behind, “I doubt a space Doctor is as sought-after as a medical earth doctor.”

“Depends on who you ask, but it’s close enough,” you waved him off. “Anyways, you’re just my friend who happens to be a guy, they’re too nosy for their own good. Last thing I need if for them to start searching you up online and finding literally nothing because you’re not even from earth. I don’t even know how I’d answer those questions.”

“I mean, technically you can find me online—a lot of people on your earth know about me. I’m quite the phenomenon.”

“Not really the same thing,” you laughed.

You waited patiently while the Doctor closed and locked the TARDIS, before the two of you were strolling in the direction of your parents' home. This visit was a surprise, since you didn’t have a cellphone that worked from Outerspace, so you really couldn’t contact them and let them know you were on your way beforehand.

And even if they didn’t want company for long (which was unlikely), you and the Doctor could always leave. The TARDIS is only a few streets away. You don’t want them to feel obligated to entertain you and the Doctor if that’s not what they had in plan.

The two of you walked side by side, chatting easily about your latest adventure on a distant planet. An adventure you certainly wouldn’t be bringing up to your parents. You arrived at your parent’s home in minutes, walking up to the door and knocking. The Doctor trailed along behind you, a balance of interested and indifferent about being with you at your folk’s home.

As expected, it was your mom to answer the door, swinging it open—and if the door happened to open outwards (which thankfully it didn’t), you probably would’ve been smacked backwards at the firm swing.

“(Y/N)!” she greeted as she drew you in for a hug. You returned the hug with practiced ease, dropping it as soon as your mother did. Then she was looking you up and down, which she always did whenever you returned after not seeing them for months.

After basically checking you out thoroughly, her attention snapped to the Doctor, who hadn’t moved since the door had swung open. She eyed him, to which he gave a small wave and a smile.

“You’ve brought a friend.”

She didn’t sound mad, nor happy. But that was probably a good sign. And even if she didn’t like the Doctor it’s not like she’d say anything with him here. She’d wait until you were visiting alone, whenever that would happen next, to complain and tell you he was no good.

“It’s the Doctor, mum,” you told her, “you’ve met him before.”

And that much was true. The Doctor had met both your parents in passing when he’d met you that first time. It was barely more than awkward ‘hi’s’ from both parties before the Doctor was sprinting away after some space creature tormenting earth. It still counted though.

“The Doctor, right.” She gave a nod, looking him up and down as well. She did that to everyone you brought him, including your friends from school. It was like she was trying to decide if she liked a person from their appearance.

“It’s lovely to see you again,” the Doctor grinned from where he was standing.

“Quite,” your mother replied. She looked between the two of you for a second before settling her attention on you and speaking again, “it’s about time you brought someone home. Well now, come in, come in. The both of you.”

Your mom ushered both you and the Doctor into the house. You slipped off your shoes and the Doctor frowned before doing so as well.

You tried not to laugh, since not once had you seen the Doctor without shoes. It was almost weird that he was now stood beside with just his socks on his feet. At least he was wearing socks, you couldn’t even imagine a barefoot Doctor.

“How nice of you to show up for your mother’s birthday,” your father called from the couch, barely looking away from the television, “you could’ve called ahead though.”

“We were travelling,” you lied, but it wasn’t a complete lie, “bad reception. Besides it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Well, colour me surprised,” your mother smiled happily. She casted a sideways glance at the Doctor, who’d distracted himself by looking at some of the photos hung on the walls.

You looked towards the man too, before clearing your throat to get his attention and sitting down on a loveseat across from the couch. The Doctor followed you, settling onto the cushion beside you while your mother disappeared into the kitchen.

“Tea, coffee, anyone?”

You glanced over at the Doctor, blinking at his shrug before you were calling back a, “tea for us!”

“Where are your manners?” your dad glanced towards you, “your mother is making you and your friend tea, and you don’t even say please? If you don’t behave, no one will ever love you, silly girl.”

“Sorry,” you ducked you head in embarrassment. “Thank you, mum,” you called back into the kitchen. Your mother didn’t reply, but it did seem to please your father. You planned to thank your mother when she actually brought the teas out.

You frowned; a bit upset that you’d been scolded in front of the Doctor after being in your parent’s home for less than five minutes. You leaned back on the loveseat, frowning down at your lap. You glanced up when you felt the Doctor’s elbow nudge you, but he wasn’t looking at you—instead focused on your father.

You raised a confused eyebrow at him, but he didn’t really notice it. You weren’t too sure why the Doctor was all but glaring daggers at your father.

No one said anything. You’d already been scolded once, the Doctor not really a talker in situations like this, and your father still distracted by the television. He tended to avoid talking and socializing unless your mother was there beside him, which was normal.

Your mother returned soon enough, holding a tray with four steaming mugs, a little sugar bowl and a small pitcher of milk. There was also a stack of four plates, four forks and a small, store bought birthday cake.

With your mother’s arrival, you father shut off the television so he could actually join the conversation. You knew if he left it on though, you mother would yell at him like she always did. You were thankful that they weren’t going to have one of those arguments with the Doctor in the room.

She set the tray on the coffee table, then got to work handing out everyone’s mugs. She started with your father, then the Doctor, then you. She casually managed to fill the silence as she distributed the mugs, “a coworker of mine bought a cake over to the house this afternoon, isn’t the lovely, (y/n)?”

“Thank you, mum,” you made sure to say after taking your mug into your hands, “it is a cute little cake.”

“I know!” she chirped, sitting back with her own mug, “it was the nicest thing. I mentioned that we hadn’t heard from you a while and that we weren’t sure you’d come around today, so she brought it over after work.”

“That’s very nice of her,” you mumbled, adding what you liked to your tea and stirring it up before taking a sip. You just let your mother drone on about her probably too nice coworkers. You gotten used to being compared to anyone who said anything nice to your mother at a young age, so it barely bothered you anymore.

“It is,” you mom grinned, “she was telling me about how her daughter is off at university, and how she comes home every weekend to visit-- what a sweet girl she is. You should be more like that. We hardly ever see you, and I assume it’s this young man’s fault?”

The Doctor looked like a dear in the headlight, mug lifted to his lips, but frozen there when your mother mentioned him. “No,” you came to his defense, “it’s just been busy. We’ve been travelling a quite a bit. There’s so much to see. I’m sorry I can’t visit as often as I’d like though.”

“Nonsense,” your dad frowned, setting his mug on the side table and crossing his arms over his chest, “if you really wanted to visit, you would. You’d make the time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, settling your mug on your thigh, “we’ve been over this, dad, I’m not nearly close enough to visit as often as I want. I get pulled here and there at...at work, and it was hard even finding the time to come visit you guys today.”

“We know darling,” your mother cooed, “we just miss you is all. You should be thankful that your father and I care about when you visit, lots of parents don’t care what their children get up to. We just like to know what’s going on in your life...”

“I am thankful,” you frowned, staring down into your mug, “I just... I’m busy. The Doctor and I have work to do, and I can’t... I can’t always be thinking about you guys and visiting. That wouldn’t be good for anyone.”

“No, of course not,” your mother relented, but the frown on her face clearly said she thought otherwise.

You felt bad that you couldn’t always be around for your parents, but you really needed a life. And there was absolutely no way you’d be passing up more trips into space with the Doctor for a few more evening tea parties with your parents.

It was still a bit weird for you to hear your parents requesting to see you as often as they did. You remember them always commenting about how you needed to grow up, and be successful in your own life. How you needed to move out and stop mooching off them—always telling you to stop burdening them, and become an adult.

And you had. You’d done exactly what they pushed you towards.

But now all they seemed to want was you back as you were.

Parents were confusing.

“Right,” your mother spoke brightly, as if the last few minutes of conversation hadn’t happened, “who wants some cake?” She always tended to skip right over anything she didn’t like the sound of. It was a trait you’d known your whole life.

You nodded your head, glancing towards the Doctor, who was still watching your parents as if he were trying to understand them. He’d barely had any of his tea, instead nursing the slowly cool mug in his lap. “Doctor?” you prompted. He turned to you giving a quiet ‘hm?’ in acknowledgement, “would you like a slice of cake?”

“Oh, no thank you,” the man shook his head, giving your parents a polite smile, “I don’t like to have too many sweets.”

“That’s alright,” you mother promised, “I’m sure I can bring the rest into work tomorrow. The two of us’ll never get through it all before it’s gone off, right darling?”

Your father gave a hum of acknowledgement, which seemed to please her.

You watched as your mom unstacked the plates, she cut herself and your father small sized pieces of cake, “how big, sweetheart?”

Your mother looked towards you, almost impatient. “Uhm,” you mumbled, “a bit bigger than your guy’s?” You requested.

The pieces your mother cut for them were about half the size of a regular slice of cake. You knew they liked to watch their sugars, but you didn’t really. You didn’t eat enough sweets in the TARDIS to really have to, so this was a bit of a treat.

Your mother’s eyes shot up to you, eyebrows furrowed in concerned thought, “are you sure? Should you really be eating that much sugar? Food is not your friend, honey. You’ve got to keep yourself in shape if you’re going to find yourself a nice husband.”

You blinked, frowning before you nodded, “yeah, you’re right. A bit smaller than you and dad’s alright?”

Your mother nodded happily, cutting a slice of cake for you and handing it across the coffee table. You eyed the cake for a moment, debating whether you really wanted to eat it. Maybe she was right?

Before you could put it down and refuse the sweet treat, the Doctor hijacked your fork and took a bit of the dessert. You gaped at him in surprise, blinking at his bright smile, “it’s really quite good,” he told you, “you look lovely, I’m doubtful any amount of sweets could possibly take that away.”

You smiled at him, silently taking him. You really had wanted to eat the cake, but not if it would jeopardize your figure- but if the Doctor was saying it was good, and prompting you into it—it was hard to say no.

You took back your fork when the Doctor offered it back, taking a bite of the cake for yourself. It was delicious. He’d been right. It was probably the best non-homemade cake you’d ever had.

“Where did your coworker get that cake?” the Doctor questioned cheerfully, dragging your mother into easy conversation, “a special occasion is coming up and I’d love to get a cake for it.”

“Oh!” Your mother set her fork down on the edge of her plate, “it’s from this nice little bakery downtown, the name should be on the box in the kitchen, I’ll check for you when I bring the plates into the kitchen. They’ve got really nice sweets.”

“Wonderful,” the Doctor grinned, “I’m sure it’ll be perfect for the occasion.”

You held you tongue before you could ask the Doctor what exactly he was talking about. Instead, you shoved another forkful of cake into your mouth and listened to the Doctor charm your mother over the little bakery downtown.

Time continued on, and before you knew it, you were stepping into your shoes at your parent’s front door. They were both stood in the doorway, watching the you and the Doctor put your shoes back on.

“It was so lovely to see you again, honey,” your mother beamed, moving in to hug you once more, “I'm so glad you could make it for my birthday.”

“Yeah,” you hummed, “it was good to see you too mum.”

“Come back soon, alright?” your father prompted, giving you a one-armed hug, “call ahead though, you don’t know if we’ll have plans or not. Our lives can’t revolve around you.”

“I know, but I really can’t,” you huffed, “reception is awful when you’re travelling. I’ve tried before and nothing goes through.”

Your dad gave a tired sigh as he pulled away, “you’ve always been so difficult.”

You opened your mouth to reply—to apologize—but the Doctor beat you to it, “well, it was lovely seeing you both again—or rather, meeting, I suppose. We must be off now, places to be and things to see!”

“Oh, alright,” your mom forced a smile, “we love you, sweetheart, and we’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “love you guys too.”

And then the Doctor was leading you away, pace fast. You threw a wave over your shoulder, which your mother returned before she was shutting the door. You were in a weird state between glad you’d managed to see your parents on your mom’s birthday, but mad at yourself that you’d made the Doctor sit around with you.

He had to have been bored. Your parents had barely acknowledged his existence throughout the hour-long visit.

The Doctor didn’t really say anything as the two of you walked side by side back to the TARDIS. He was almost stewing, but you didn’t know why he was mad. Maybe because you’d begged him to tag along. Was he mad at you?

When you arrived at the blue police box, the Doctor was quick to unlock it. You stood patiently, waiting to see what would happen when the two of you were closed in together. He was obviously angry about something; you just weren’t sure what.

You followed him in, shutting the door behind yourself. When you turned back into the room, the Doctor was already pressing buttons on the control panel. You stood for a second before finally speaking, “I’m sorry.”

The Doctor’s attention shot up towards you faster than you’d thought it ever had, but he no longer looked angry, “what on earth are you sorry for?”

“You’re not mad at me?” you asked skeptically, leaning back against the TARDIS doors.

“No, of course not.” He looked tilted his head, “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at those people you call parents.”

Wait, what?

“Why’re you angry at them? Did they say something to you?”

You don’t remember them saying anything mean to the Doctor, but you wouldn’t put it passed them to passive aggressively say something that could be considered an insult to an alien.

“No,” the Doctor blinked, looking genuinely confused, “they said something to you.”

“What do you mean?” you couldn’t help but ask. Did the Doctor see something you didn’t?

The Doctor let his hands slide off the console and drop to his sides, lips curling into a frown as he stepped towards you, “you really don’t see what they did wrong?”

“...no?”

“(Y/N),” the Doctor breathed, “your parents didn’t say a single nice thing to you tonight. Everything they said was some sort of twisted, belittling way of putting you down.”

“What are you talking about?” you questioned, not really understanding. “They didn’t say anything mean.”

“They were making little remarks, hidden away,” the Doctor insisted, “and I saw that they hurt you. You heard them, but you thought nothing more of the remarks because you’ve been hearing them probably your whole life. To you, they’re normal—normal behavior between parents and their children. It’s not, (Y/N).”

“What do you...”

“You didn’t even notice,” the Doctor frowned, standing in front of you, “and I doubt your parents did either, but I did, and I don’t like it. It’s not right. Not when everything they said this evening couldn’t be further from the truth.”

The Doctor took a breath before launching into a heated rant, “your mother commented on you wanting cake, insinuating that one slice of cake would make you gain weight, but you’re absolutely perfect the way you are. You can have as many sweets as you’d like, she doesn’t get to dictate what you eat,” the paused for a moment.

He didn’t stop for long, because not even a beat later the Doctor continued on, “and your father told you no one would ever love you for forgetting to thank your mother instantly for a cup of tea. That certainly isn’t true, because I love you and no amount of anything—especially forgetting to say thank you—will change that.”

“Doctor--”

“And don’t even get me started on those little remarks,” the man huffed, turning away from you, “your mother comparing you to everyone, or your father saying rude things like ‘you’ve always been so difficult’,” the man mocked in your father’s voice, “and none of its true, you’re not difficult, and you’re a far better daughter than your mother takes you for—I mean, look where we are, we came from space for her birthday, and all she does is comment on your figure, and try to guilt you into visiting more often.”

The man finally looked at you, all anger in his eyes bleeding out as he finally noticed your frown, “I... never really noticed.”

“You shouldn’t have to notice,” the Doctor sighed, moving to pull you into a hug that was so much more comforting than anything your mother could give you, “you shouldn’t have to notice, because it shouldn’t happen. What they’re doing is emotional abuse. They’re hurting you—whether intentional or not, they are.”

“I do feel awful every time I see them,” you couldn’t help but mutter into the Doctor’s chest.

“And you shouldn’t,” the man whispered honestly, “you really shouldn’t. You should feel good after seeing them. You should have a nice time with them—not be ridiculed and disrespected. I was only there for one evening, and I couldn’t stand the things they were saying about you. I’m so sorry that you’ve been suffering through that you whole life, (Y/N).”

You swallowed, unsure where to go from here. You really had never noticed—or maybe you’d never really paid attention to it. Never put the pieces together. But you saw it now. How everything they said made you feel bad about yourself, or hurt your feelings.

And it sucked.

“They said some pretty terrible things tonight, huh?”

“They did,” the Doctor sighed, holding you a bit closer, “but nothing they said was true in the slightest. They're abusers, and they’re wrong. They haven’t been very good parents.”

“Not tonight they haven’t,” you sighed. “My mom basically called me fat. Told me to watch my weight in a nice, roundabout kinda way.”

The Doctor bit his lip, before he gave a small nod, “but she was wrong. You’re perfect. She doesn’t get to say things like that to you when there’s no reason to be saying it. And there’s never a reason to say anything like that.”

“Suppose so,” you frowned, “it was good cake.”

“It was,” the Doctor grinned, “which is why we’re getting our own from that bakery, one that we’ll eat until we we’re sick. I’m not letting your parents tell you how to live, it’s not fair.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “this was the special occasion you were talking about?”

The man grinned beside you, hopping towards the console again and pulling a lever that faded the TARDIS away from its parking spot, “had to cheer up my companion and make her feel special—I'd say that’s a pretty special occasion, wouldn’t you?”

<><><><>

I hope this was satisfactory, and thank you so much for prompting! As always, if it’s not what you were looking for, feel free to prompt me again! Apologies if the parents don’t read right, I never knew writing parents could be so hard! Didn’t know how to write a spontanious visit to the folks, so just went with a birthday.

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #reader insert #doctor who #doctor who 2005 #TARDIS #prompt #writing prompt

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theghostofashton · 3 years ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic with the missing Kurt&Blaine conversations that should’ve happened in On My Way after Karofsky’s suicide attempt. Given they’ve both struggled with mental health and Kurt’s feeling of guilt I feel like they would’ve had a lot to talk about

omg yes! i’ve wanted to ever since i watched the ep so thank you for giving me a reason to!

(tw for talk of suicide - nothing worse than canon and nothing graphic)

Kurt doesn’t make a move to leave the stage, even once everyone else has. At first, Blaine thinks he just needs a couple minutes to soak everything in. But by the time everyone else has made their way off the stage and out of the auditorium, Kurt still hasn’t moved. Blaine pulls out his phone and shoots off a text to Finn, saying they’ll be late and asking if he will please tell Burt and Carole that Kurt’s safe.

Okay? Blaine can’t be sure of that. But he doesn’t plan on leaving this room without Kurt securely in tow.

“You ready to go?”

Kurt doesn’t acknowledge him, still staring down at his lap.

“Honey?” Blaine ventures, a little more concerned now. Kurt’s been quiet for the past couple of days, understandably so, but it’s a scary kind of silence. The kind that feels like it could turn drastic, impulsive, at the drop of a hat. The kind no one would be ready for.

“Did you mean it?” Kurt says, finally.

“Mean what?” Blaine bends and sits down next to him, brushing against Kurt’s shoulder.

“When you sang me that song. Losing your mind. Losing control.” Kurt replies, and his voice is so soft. He finally lifts his head and meets Blaine’s eyes.

“Kurt-”

“Was that what you were trying to tell me?”

Blaine exhales. This is not at all where he thought this was going. His heart’s beating a little faster now, like his body knows more than he does about how uncomfortable the rest of this conversation is going to be.

“Maybe? I don’t know. I wasn’t really trying to do anything. I just knew I wouldn’t want to sing it in front of everyone in the choir room. I just wanted you to be there.”

“Why?” Kurt reaches for his hand and squeezes it.

“You make me feel safe,” he says, simply. “And that song- I needed to feel like that. Gave me courage.” He sees the corners of Kurt’s lips perk up and flushes a little, pressing closer against Kurt’s shoulder.

“It was before.. everything,” Blaine continues. “A really bad coincidence, it wasn’t supposed to be- I really did think it was inspirational.”

“How?” Kurt asks. “That song was so sad.”

“Sometimes- I dunno, I kinda feel like I’m waiting for my cough syrup? Waiting for it to get better, you know?” His voice has begun to shake, and Kurt seems to pick up on it too, because his other hand comes over to wrap around Blaine’s, and he squeezes tight. “And I know it will. The waiting just...really sucks.”

Kurt’s lips brush against the side of his head. Blaine closes his eyes and tries to drink in every last bit of the touch, every last spark of Kurt.

“You were my sign. You know that, right?”

Blaine does. He’s never mentioned it, never wanted to take that away from Kurt, but he’s known ever since he set that latte on the table and locked eyes with a pair of the saddest, most emptiest ones he had ever seen.

“You made me feel like I was gonna be okay. I wasn’t alone anymore. And I really, really needed that.” Kurt’s voice is thick. When Blaine looks at him, he can see the glassiness starting to take over. “I mean, it never got to be as bad as Dave, but freshman year, especially, I-”

Blaine cuts him off. He can’t help it. He slides his hand out of Kurt’s and lunges forward to pull him to his chest. Kurt exhales against him, and his arms come up to wrap around Blaine’s shoulders.

They stay like that for a few moments, just breathing each other in. The warmth of flesh and breath and life, that could have, if things were just a little bit darker, been so easily taken away.

“I thought about it in the hospital,” Blaine offers, when they’ve pulled away, but Kurt’s head is still resting on his shoulder. He stares determinedly at his lap, not daring to look up. “After Sadie Hawkins. I never- I never did anything, and I didn’t actually want to, but it just felt like...”

“Like it’d be easier? To just do everyone a favor?”

The extent to which Kurt knows, to which Kurt has felt, makes something large and achy form in Blaine’s chest. It’s overwhelming. He can’t take this away, not from either of them. Not ever.

“Yeah.”

“I love you,” Kurt says thickly. “I’m so glad you’re still here.”

“I love you, too,” Blaine replies. “And I am so proud of you.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“What? Why?”

“He called me nine times, Blaine.” Kurt’s crying as he says it. “Nine times, and I didn’t pick up once. If I would’ve-”

“You could’ve stopped him? Talked him down?”

“Yes!”

“Kurt, Karofsky terrified you for years. It got so bad that you had to transfer schools to get away from him. I’m glad he apologized, and you guys worked your stuff out, but...” Blaine reaches for Kurt’s hand, this time, and looks into his eyes as he continues, “you don’t owe him anything. You really, really don’t.”

“Everyone deserves a friend, Blaine.”

And suddenly, Kurt isn’t the senior, with the Glee club full of friends and the family that loves him and the best damn father in the world. Suddenly, he’s back to being the lonely, the isolated, the suicidal freshman that didn’t have anyone in his corner and knew how painful that was. He still knows it, and he knows he doesn’t want anyone else to ever feel that way, even if they may have hurt him in the past.

Damn Kurt’s giant heart.

"I’m going to go see him,” Kurt continues. “In the hospital. I know you may not agree, and you don’t have to, my dad gave me a whole lecture last night on how there are certain times you have to be selfish, but-”

“I’m driving you.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll wait in the car, or out in the hallway, if you want, but I’m not letting you go alone,” he says. If Kurt is doing this, Blaine is doing this with him. He isn’t sure he has the guts to actually go talk to Karofsky - Blaine still has morals, and yelling at someone after a suicide attempt, even if he is part of the reason Kurt almost did the same, just feels wrong to him - but he’ll do anything to ensure Kurt is safe.

Kurt nods against his shoulder. Blaine kisses the top of his head. “You’re not going today, are you? Because I really don’t think I’m up for that.”

“No, after Regionals.”

“My parents said I could sleep over tonight,” Blaine says. “I told them what happened, and...”

Kurt lifts his head to look at him. “Can we have a movie night? I just- I want to be with you.” I want to hold you, and commit every single part of your body to memory, and remind myself of how close I got to losing all of it.

Blaine stands, and Kurt stands with him, not letting go of his hand. Kurt shifts so that their shoulders and hips are pressed together, and tucks his head right back into Blaine’s shoulder as they make their way down the steps and toward the auditorium’s exit.

Blaine can feel Kurt’s breaths puffing against his skin and the warmth of his hand in his, and he smiles.

This moment feels like the sign.

#klaine fanfic #klaine #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #glee fanfic #suicide tw #neha writes #Anonymous

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emilia3546 · 4 years ago

Text

Shadowsinger Part 10 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

*****

Rhysand hadn't found anything new, he still had a long list of who might try something this drastic, but it would take far too long to search every place they could be. Feyre hadn't found anything in Cassian and Nesta's room either. Gwyn paced around Azriel's room once more, surely there was something they'd missed. Something moved in the corner of the room, and Gwyn froze,

"Rhysand," she muttered, "Something moved." Before he had even turned around from the corridor, the darkness moved again, and something shot towards her. She almost screamed, but something stopped her, it wasn't that darkness of before, no, this was a shadow. "Where is he?" She whispered, and the shadow swirled around her feet, nothing.

"Is that one of his?" Gwyn nodded,

"It must have gotten scared and hidden." She held a hand out for the shadow and it swirled up her arm to rest on her shoulder. "It's okay," she muttered, "We'll find him." Rhysand narrowed his eyes,

"I've never seen them leave his side, ever. They hide, but with him, never away from him." Gwyn shrugged, not quite noticing the way Rhysand stared after her as she followed the shadow out of the room.

"Where is he?" She repeated, and the shadow only pressed closer to her, "Do you know where he is?" The shadow fluttered again, "Okay, left hand for yes, right hand for no. Do you know where he is?" The shadow flickered between both hands, "You're not certain?" Left hand. "Can you find him?" Left hand. "He's alive?" Left hand. "Did you get scared and hide?" Right hand. "Are you still here on his orders?" Left hand. "To tell us where he is?" Right hand. "To help us when we go and fetch him?" Right hand. "To protect something?" Left hand. "Me?" Left hand. Gwyn couldn't stop the tears from forming, even as Rhysand stepped out of Azriel's room. He stopped moving at the sight of her tears, and stepped towards her, but stayed a couple of steps away from her,

"Gwyn." She met his eyes, saw the concern shining there, but concern for her, not for his missing family, "We're going to find them, we are." Gwyn nodded,

"I know. I, the shadow, it says its here to protect me, it says that Az made it stay for me." She rubbed her eyes with the back of a hand,

"You talked to it?" She nodded,

"Sort of. I can't understand it, but it understands me, it's going to my left hand for yes, and my right hand for no." Rhysand sat onto a chair across from her,

"Does it know where they are?"

"No, but it thinks it can find them, Az at least." The shadow had fallen still, and remained that way for about and hour while Rhysand and Feyre collected Azriel and Cassian's notes on Illyria, and tried to narrow down who could have taken them.

"This will take too long, anything from the shadow?" He called from another room

"Not yet. Perhaps a map." Rhysand reappeared with one moments later, and the shadow immediately swirled around a spot on the map,

"That's still a big area, can it be any more precise?" The shadow raced to Gwyn's right hand, and she shook her head, "That does narrow it down, though, there's two camp lords who hold sway over that area, and a few other minor lords, but only three who openly oppose us." Gwyn nodded,

"Az's spies?"

"He pulled them out a few days ago, we had reason to believe that they were compromised." Shit.

"So we have no way of finding where they are? Can't we send someone else in?"

"Perhaps, Nuala and Cerridwen might be able to get in, but they'll be obvious as not belonging there if anyone sees them. I don't want to risk whoever it is getting spooked and doing anything rash."

"You mean killing them early."

"Yes."

"Don't sugarcoat it." She snapped, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh shit, she'd just snapped at her High Lord, "I'm sorr-" Rhysand laughed, actually laughed,

"Relax, Gwyn, don't tell Feyre I admitted this, but I do need someone to snap at me occasionally." Gwyn stared at him in disbelief, forgetting her worries, her tears drying up, Are you okay to come back to the River House, we need to tell the others. Gwyn nodded, and squeezed her eyes shut when Rhysand winnowed them away.

*****

Azriel spat in the male's face, his brother just let out a course laugh,

"Aw, does baby bastard not like it? Oh well." He strained against the chains, but with the enchantments, his strength wasn't enough, and he slumped back into the chair. "Now, talk to me, dear brother, how do you talk to them?" He jerked his head towards the shadows, still swirling around the magic binding them, desperately trying to reach him,

"In the common tongue." Azriel's head snapped to the side as a heavy fist slammed into his jaw, he shook his head, blinking to recover,

"You're familiar with this situation, don't make me take this further."

"Then don't take it further." Azriel met his gaze, the eyes that were so like his own, but filled with coldness, cruelty.

"How do you talk to the shadows?"

"In the common tongue. Are you stupid?" Another blow. At this rate, he'd be lucky to go one day without a broken jaw.

"Don't fuck with me, my patience is not endless."

"I'd say it's non existent, but that's a long word for you." Anger simmered in the male's gaze,

"Why do they talk to you?"

"Now that is an entirely different question. They talk to me because I'm a shadowsinger." His brother rolled his eyes,

"I know that. How did you become a shadowsinger?" Azriel shrugged, "How can I become one?" Azriel laughed again,

"You can't, either you are or you aren't."

"I need it, you don't understand."

"Try me." The male stepped back,

"You're just as useless as you've always been. I need that edge in the coming battles, we're going to claim our birthright as ruling family, even without father, it's my birthright, I will be camp lord, even without your help." Azriel smirked again,

"You sure about that?" His brother surged forwards, and slammed his fist into Azriel's nose, bone crumpling under his fist, making tears spring to his eyes, even as Azriel tried to blink them away,

"Shut up! You have no idea what you're meddling in, bastard, none of you do. You will tell me how you gained mastery over them." Azriel shrugged, ignoring his broken nose, bruised jaw, and numerous cracked ribs,

"I don't think so."

"You will. Or it won't be you getting hurt next time." With that his brother walked out, leaving Azriel alone in the darkness, but the moment he left, the restrictions on his shadows lifted, leaving them free to rush back to his side,

Azriel!

I'm fine. Don't worry.

Our sister says she can feel us, she knows where we are, and she's shown the High Lord. Hold on.

Gwyn?

Safe. She's safe, worried, but safe.

Gwyn was safe. It didn't matter then, so long as he got Cassian and Nesta out, nothing else mattered. The shadows swirled around him, guarding him as he tried to make out anything of the dungeons around him. They were still with him when he passed out.

*****

Rhysand had marked out all potential places where prisoners could be held in the area Gwyn's shadow had indicated, too many. Even discounting those that could never hold powerful fae, there were too many. Gwyn stared at the map,

"Any hunches?" Rhysand asked,

"Why would I have a hunch?" He shrugged,

"You found the rooms first, any hunch is better than nothing." Gwyn ran her hand across the map, her bracelet glowing brighter when she moved her hand to the left. She blinked and moved her hand to Windhaven, to Emerie, the bracelet shone bright.

"I can find Nesta." She breathed, returning to the marked points. The room held its breath as she checked each one, nothing. Feyre squeezed her other hand,

"There might be some sort of shield." Gwyn nodded, or Nesta could be dead. No, she couldn't be. She turned to face Feyre, Mor and Amren sitting silently behind her,

"What happens if we can't find them?"

"We will."

"What if we can't?" She leaned back on the map,

"I've considered it." Rhysand rubbed his face, "Worst case, we can't find them and, you know, best case, we can't find them, but we work something out to keep them alive. In a few days, if we still have nothing, I'll call a meeting, figure out who's most excited at the prospect of modifying the laws, and we can go from there." Gwyn nodded, at least someone had considered it. She closed her eyes, Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. Almost of its own volition, her hand moved across the map, falling still on an unmarked keep, but the bracelet shone bright as the sun.

"What is that?" She muttered, the shadow leapt up from where it had settled on her shoulder, racing around that spot on the map,

"Abandoned is what it is." Mor muttered, standing up to see where she was pointing, "It was Azriel's father's keep, but he died in the war, his legitimate sons moved out afterwards."

"So no-one would think anyone was there?"

"Perhaps." Mor mused, "We can easily get Nuala and Cerridwen to check if its still empty. We'll know by tomorrow." Rhysand nodded,

"Okay, let's do it. We're going to find them, Gwyn. Thank you." Gwyn offered him a small smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, all she could do now was wait.

Even reading was too difficult with her mind occupied with worries,

"Hey," Mor flopped onto the couch across from her, "They're gonna be okay,"

"Yeah."

"Here, I thought you might want this." Mor handed her a leather jacket, Illyrian fighting leathers, covered in Azriel's scent. "He's always kept a spare set at the townhouse."

"Thank you." Mor squeezed her hand,

"Nuala will find him, then we'll rain hell down on whoever took him from us, okay?" There was nothing but kindness in Mor's gaze, kindness, and perhaps gratitude, although for what Gwyn had no idea.

"Okay." She would, she would destroy whoever it was, and if he was hurt, there was nowhere that would be safe for them, not from the vengeance she would bring down. For the first time since yesterday morning, she really smiled.

*****

A scream split the air, and Azriel jolted awake, female, down the corridor to his left, she screamed again, a scream of utter terror, and Azriel tried to rise, but he was still chained to the chair. On the third scream he recognized her voice, Nesta. If Nesta was screaming, then,

"Don't touch her!" That was Cassian, Nesta screamed again, but differently, she might have been screaming in horror this time, then she screamed Cassian's name, and every sound that reached his ears had Azriel straining against the chains, someone was hurting them, or at least one of them. He managed to shuffled the chair forwards, and Nesta's screams grew louder, she was being moved towards him. Cassian bellowed again, threatening hell for anyone who hurt her, Nesta was still screaming his name when she appeared in Azriel's field of view, three males dragging her backwards along the corridor. She kicked out, but they kept her off balance, chuckling at her scream when Cassian shouted her name again. She fought as one of the males let go to open the cell across from Azriel, and tossed her inside, Azriel winced at the crunch as her ankle wrenched sideways. She glanced around, and let out a sob seeing Azriel, but her attention was immediately snatched away from him at the sound of a thump from where she had come,

"Cass!" She screamed, slamming herself against the bars of her cell, "Don't hurt him," she screamed, "Cassian!" Another two males appeared from that corridor and Nesta dropped to the floor, not noticing them step towards her.

"Don't even think about it," Azriel snarled, shuffling forwards, and his brother's voice sounded from the stairs,

"Then tell me, how do I control the shadows?" Nesta scrambled backwards as one of the males kicked out at her. "I warned you that it wouldn't be you getting hurt from now on."

"You can't." One of the males drew a dagger and held his hand out for the key to Nesta's cell. "You can't, damn you!" His brother nodded, and the male unlocked the door. Shit, no-one else should be here, this was his burden to bear, and his alone, "She has nothing to do with this!" Nesta glanced around, there was nothing she could use to fight with, and from the look of her, she was already injured, he met her terrified gaze. "No-one knows why shadowsingers have their power, not even me." The male stopped at a gesture from Azriel's brother.

"Go on,"

"Go on? That's it, I don't know how you could even try to control them." The male with the dagger stepped towards Nesta, and she dropped into a fighting stance. Azriel jerked the chair forwards, and it slipped, sending him sprawling, face-first, onto the floor, his bruised jaw shrieking in pain. He couldn't see from this angle, but footsteps faded, and the bars of his cell clanged, as it someone had kicked it on his way past. He didn't care, just so long as they'd left Nesta alone,

"Az?" She whispered, "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He muttered, "Just a bit battered, what happened to you?"

"I'm okay, they got bored, I think," Azriel managed to flip himself over, so that he could at least turn his head to face her, "Cass is worse." Her gaze returned to that corridor she had come from, "Where are we?" she whispered,

"My father's old keep. They'll come for us, just hold on." The impact of the floor still had his head spinning so he barely registered when the guards returned to take Nesta somewhere else again, only her kicking an screaming alerted him. He was just conscious enough to have a shadow sneak out and make a set of keys fall from the closest guard's belt, the shadow floating it to Azriel. He still couldn't get the chair upright, and passed out again, waking to the sound of a key in his door.

Without having been fed, overpowering the guards was not an option, so Azriel waited until they released him from the bindings, one of them slamming a fist into his stomach, leaving his chest heaving as he fought to refill his lungs. Memories flooded into him, this was the first time he had allowed his focus to slip enough for the fear to set in. He closed his eyes against the flames from the torches lining the walls, only sheer force of will keeping his breathing slow, measured. Never again, this time, he was older, this time, he was stronger.

He had a key now, step one complete. Step two, escape.

Azriel watched the guards' rotations closely, marking when they changed, where the guards went, how long it took for changes, who was slowest. The day it took to note the rotation was perhaps the longest he'd ever lived, his mind full of images of Cassian and Nesta, of what his 'brothers' might be doing to them at any moment. Flames filled his vision, and he blinked to clear the memory, but it wouldn't fade, and cruel laughter surrounded him. No, no, no, he scrambled backwards, but smoke filled the dungeons, filled his lungs, and he coughed, again and again, until his stomach heaved, trying to empty itself, but came up empty. As the smoke kept surrounding him, Azriel dropped to the floor, in a vain effort to escape the smoke, his vision hazy as that damned laughter continued. The torches, one of them had fallen to the floor, there must be some sort of magic enhancing the flames, and, that was oil, there was oil on the floor, covering the floor, not just of his cell, but the whole of the dungeons. No wonder the guards were running. They were going to leave him here. He choked again, trying to call for someone, anyone to get that torch, but couldn't manage anything louder than a whisper.

Extinguish that torch.

He hoped desperately that it wasn't too late, that the shadows had actually heard him, but they did shoot out of the cell, leaving him alone and shot for the torch, choking the flame, blocking its access to air. Slowly, too slowly, the flame sputtered and finally died, mere seconds before the flame would have met the oil.

Azriel lay still, letting the smoke rise above his head, waiting for his lungs to clear out, his head to clear. The guards hadn't returned yet, this was his chance, the only one until the next day, he slowly got to his feet, shaking his head and silently unlocked the door, shadows cloaking his movements as he ghosted down the corridor towards where Nesta had come from. The smoke cleared as he made his way down the corridor, at least Nesta and Cassian had been safe from that particular 'game'.

When he rounded the corner, Cassian was all he could see, leaning against the back wall of his cell, his eyes were closed, and Azriel sucked in a breath at the sight of his wings. How any Illyrian could bear to hurt another's wings was beyond him, especially as Cassian's had clearly been carefully targeted, almost every joint was dislocated, at least partially, perhaps Nesta had been able to try and reset them, but his right wing was drooping on the floor, the main bone snapped in two. On another step, Azriel saw Nesta huddled against her mate, tucked into his side, her face buried in his chest. One more step and Cassian's eyes flew open as he shoved Nesta behind him, tension releasing from his muscles as he recognized Azriel,

"It's just Az, Nes, it's okay." He muttered, "How?"

"I stole a key. Let's get out of here, can you both walk?" Azriel himself was still slightly limping, but Cassian nodded,

"Yeah, Nesta, she's okay, they only went for my wings." Nesta pressed against him at that,

"We'll fix them," she promised, and helped him to his feet, waiting for Azriel to unlock the door, "How did you get rid of the guards?"

"They set a fire and ran." Nesta's eyes widened, and she paused, as if unsure what to say, and she just grasped his hand, "It's fine, Nesta." Cassian clapped him on the shoulder, dropping into a familiar position on his right, with Nesta between them as they made their way back towards the dungeons' entrance. He'd just about started to relax when a winged silhouette filled the space atop the stairs.

#fanfiction #fanfic #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #gwyn #gwyn acosf #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel

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ayellowcurtain · 4 years ago

Text

I can be your lover

chapter 3

Robbe doesn’t think too much about grabbing his phone anymore, clicking on the name, scrolling through the page, clicking on some old pictures just to see him again, watching the new stories, Sander partying with his friends until the early hours of this morning. It’s part of Robbe’s routine to check Sander’s social media like it’s brushing his teeth or skating back home hearing his music.

He brought it to himself so he has to suck it up. Sander is more than well adjusted to his new life, his new friends.

The conversations that used to happen constantly throughout every day changed a few months back and are now just a quick exchange of texts every few days, nothing longer than ten minutes, and nothing too deep inside each other’s lives too. Robbe still misses Sander like he did when Sander first moved away but he doesn’t have the space to say it anymore.

It was obvious that distance would push them apart. They were too naive to think they could beat it.

He missed his opportunities time and time again. The ticket he had to go visit expired a few weeks ago and he knows it was the last straw for Sander to give up on them completely, no matter how much Robbe tried to explain and how many times he apologized for not finding the time or courage to go visit.

Robbe is terrible with words but he managed to say them when he felt it but he’s a disaster with actions and he didn’t take one with someone that’s all about actions speaking louder than words.

“Baby, are you busy today?” He hears his mom’s words like they’re on the other side of a tunnel. He looks up and she’s smiling, repeating her words now that she has his attention.

“No...No, I’m not really busy, why?”

“I was thinking about going to the mall and shopping.” He can feel her excitement in her voice. They don’t do this often: outings that don’t involve their doctors or grocery shopping. And his mom has been doing really, really good and Robbe thinks if he lost one for his lack of attitude, he shouldn’t do the same with his mom.

“Okay. Let me just change.” He smiles back and she claps her hands, leaving his room to go grab her things. The last thing Robbe wants to do is go out but he’ll force a smile on his face and hold however many bags she needs him to hold.

to Jens: Do you want to do something tonight?

I need some beers

He puts his phone inside his jacket to give his mom his full attention for the afternoon, hoping Jens has planned something for them to do by the time he’s back home tonight.

Robbe doesn’t need anything but he lets his mom buy him lunch and when she shows him this perfect black leather jacket that looks a lot like one Robbe used to steal from Sander, he lets her buy it for him too. He checks his phone but there’s no message from Jens yet so he texts Zoe, inviting her for some coffee with his mom before they head home. It’s nice to see her again and his mom loves Zoe so much but Robbe can tell something is up. Zoe keeps looking at him in the way she does when she’s worried. He doesn’t ask because his mom is there and he doesn’t need his mom in the middle of whatever drama Zoe is hiding from him.

On their way back home it’s colder than expected after walking for so many hours inside the mall, the sun is completely gone so the temperature dropped drastically and Robbe finds any excuse to open the bigger bag he’s carrying, putting his new leather jacket on, searching for his phone to put inside the outer pocket. He holds it tighter and the screen lights up, showing the notification of a few new messages from Jens.

to Robbe: No plans but you can come by if you want, play some video game

talked to Jana yesterday

She told me Sander is hooking up with a girl…

Robbe stops walking, carefully reading every message again to make sure he didn’t misinterpret what Jens was saying. He knows he should read this with the biggest grain of salt because Jana has moved back a few weeks ago and she barely knows Sander but in the back of his mind, for a reason Robbe can’t understand, he thinks she might be telling Jens the truth.

to Jens: How does she know that?

He can guess the answer - Britt and her big mouth - but he doesn’t know what to say.

to Robbe: Britt told her that he’s been sleeping with someone for a while now but it’s nothing serious

probably just a fuck buddy

he did repost stories with a blonde girl tho

Robbe leaves to answer Jens later when he’s home, and he opens Instagram instead, Sander’s profile picture being the first one available for him to watch - his favorite hobby - and he clicks on it without thinking and there it is. Robbe keeps his thumb on the screen to freeze the frame.

It’s a stories of someone else that Sander shared. It’s too fast for Robbe to understand what’s going on but he stops when he sees Sander laughing, with sparkly eyes that are the sign that maybe he’s a little tipsy, always in a better mood after a few beers, his hair messy from what Robbe assumes to be strange fingers running through his locks and the girl finally turns back to look at whoever caught them making out, blushing with the brightest red lips and Robbe takes his finger off the screen and it’s over in the next second.

“Robbe…” Zoe is standing next to him, his mom a few steps forward waiting for them.

“Am I like the last one to know?”

Zoe presses her lips together, trying to justify not telling him about it but Robbe doesn’t really care. It’s his fault anyway. Sander has every right to move on and post it all over social media.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket and Zoe wraps her hands around his arm and forces him to start walking again, acting as nothing happened to his mom while they walk Zoe home and then go home themselves.

He tries to engage in whatever conversation his mom starts about picking which pizza they’ll eat tonight but his brain keeps replaying that quick clip over and over again even though he shouldn’t care.

Sander knows that he saw and he doesn’t text anything to Robbe, as he shouldn’t but Robbe expected him to.

He completely forgets about answering Jens and goes to bed right after eating half a pizza without noticing, turning his phone off, hoping he’ll wake up to some missed calls or texts from Sander, knowing it won’t happen.

The story is still there when Robbe wakes up the next morning. He clicks on Jens’ texts to finally answer him.

to Jens: sorry for disappearing last night, ate some pizza and passed out before I could tell you.

Thankfully, Jens is not online so Robbe won’t have to keep a conversation going when he’s still half asleep and in the worst possible mood.

He pushes himself to lie on his side, staring at the space next to him where Sander would usually sleep.

There were long months of miscommunication, frustration, and excuses because Robbe was too afraid of any change. He finally had the life he dreamed of, and two months after, Sander was moving to another country with no intention of coming back to visit every weekend. That change was big enough to paralyze him, unable to decide for himself what he wanted in their relationship. He thought they could maintain some degree of their relationship online while Robbe worked on himself but it wasn’t enough for Sander, clearly.

And Robbe couldn’t whine and beg for his attention so he kept his neediness to himself while their conversation got smaller and meaningless with time. The few things keeping them close are over now and Robbe can try to hide it all he wants but he knows it won’t be easy.

He clicks on another app that he opens frequently but this one just to look.

The airplane tickets aren’t too pricey, he just has to find one, buy and just fucking go there already! He can’t have another long semester letting the unknown eat his brain out. If he asks Sander he’ll give a too honest answer, cold without thinking about feelings because he’s hurt and he doesn’t care if Robbe gets hurt too because he brought this to them. Sander will be practical and Robbe needs him to be more considerate.

He stops scrolling when he finds a flight to Sander’s new town. His dad sent him his birthday gift in money and Robbe didn’t use much of it yet. Added with all the money his dad sends him every few weeks, it’s barely enough but it’ll work.

He buys the ticket before he can change his mind again and drops his phone on his mattress, looking forward. He has one hour to pack a bag and go to the airport. If he works fast enough he won’t have time to change his mind.

Robbe sits on his bed and grabs his school bag from the floor, unzipping it and turning it upside down on his bed to empty it, leaving the mess for him to deal with when he’s back. He doesn’t know for how long he’ll stay but it can’t be that long that he can’t fit in one bag.

If he tells anyone, as they did to him, they’ll end up telling Sander about his plans. Even Zoe would end up accidentally spilling the news to Jana and she would tell Britt. So Robbe tells Senne that he’ll need him to lie for Robbe for a few days. He needs to pretend he’s sleeping somewhere else so nobody will try to change his mind about jumping on a plane suddenly to go talk to Sander because of a social media post.

He’s the only one that won’t call him crazy or ask any questions.

When everything is planned with Senne, Robbe is finally done packing too, not giving himself even a second to look around and diggest the crazy plan he’s about to do, he’s almost late and the taxi is already downstairs, waiting for him.

He kisses his mom goodbye and quickly tells her he’s going to spend the week at Senne’s because he needs some help with Zoe. He’s out the door before giving a proper explanation or he would get caught in his lie, everything written all over his face because Robbe is that terrible of a liar.

The realization of how fucked his whole plan is only hits him when he’s already in his seat inside the airplane, high up in the sky, being offered some snacks that he declines.

He looks so desperate, jealous, and thinking sex will fix everything that he ruined. He looks and sounds hot and cold and confusing and Robbe hates the realization while he’s sitting inside an airplane, with no way out to go back home.

If he gets there and Sander is living a married life already with his blonde dream girl, Robbe will have to find a way to dig a hole and hide forever.

He sits forward, finally able to see groups of houses again down on the ground. The pilot tells them they’ll be landing soon and Robbe rushes to the bathroom before he won’t be able to. He washes his face and looks at himself in the mirror. He’s not doing a good job at hiding his nervousness.

He won’t even have time to hesitate while waiting for his bag. Everything he brought is in the compartment over his head. He only needs to get inside a cab and go to Sander’s place. In two hours or so he’ll have to deal with whatever he planned so quickly in his head.

Maybe if he asks what’s going on, it won’t feel so desperate. It’s not unfair to want to know where they stand. Even if it’s a closure that Robbe is not ready to have. He settles for asking, as calmly as he can, what’s going on between them now that there’s someone else again.

The airport is tiny and Robbe is a little bit lost, wandering without knowing where he’s supposed to go to find the taxis. Sander's address is still saved in a print Robbe took of their conversation before they started drifting apart.

Sander had moved to a better apartment that he could only afford because he was sharing with a few of his friends. Robbe remembers typing, asking why was Sander sending him that if they were barely talking to each other those days. He wanted Sander to tell him they were still okay enough but Robbe didn’t send the message, just said the place looked nice, and took a screenshot to save the address.

He asks the taxi driver if it’s a long drive and he shakes his head, looking at Robbe through the rearview, “Five minutes, not much more than that.”

Robbe sighs, trying to make some breathing exercises to prepare himself. Five minutes is not a lot of time, not enough either.

He tries to keep himself from overthinking as he jumps out of the car, putting his bag over his shoulder. The building seems very new, modern even and Robbe wonders how expensive it is to live there.

There’s a guy behind the desk when he walks in and he leads Robbe to the elevator, pressing the button for him, letting him go upstairs by himself. Robbe found a way to mumble, after giving the old man all his information, that it was a surprise so he wouldn’t call Sander. He seemed to get it, smiling and Robbe was giving the directions: on the third floor, the door on his right was Sander’s.

He fixes his hair, adjusts his bag on his shoulder, and stares at the door before knocking, hoping Sander is the one to open it, not one of his friends or the girl. He should have told him he was coming, at least Sander would have time to hide anything he might want to hide but Sander doesn’t seem unhappy to see him at his door. Robbe doesn’t remember what he had planned to say and Sander is quiet too, doesn’t look like he had much sleep time or any sleep for that matter.

He can barely open his eyes, wearing his underwear and a black shirt and Robbe doesn’t wait for another second, putting his hands on Sander’s neck, pulling him down for a heated kiss. He licks Sander’s mouth open, pushing him inside his apartment and Sander slams the door closed behind Robbe, gently taking his bag off his shoulder, finally awake enough to lead the way to a bed.

Robbe snuggles closer and carefully lies on Sander’s shoulder. He obviously changed the order of things but there’s no escaping a conversation now while they’re both wide awake, lying in bed together. Robbe wonders if Sander at least changed his sheets. He has to know what Sander is feeling but he’s so afraid of the answer.

He looks up and finds Sander already staring at him, with a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

“You know why I came?”

Sander lifts his eyebrows, looking elsewhere now and he sighs annoyingly.

“I’ll be surprised if I don’t.”

Robbe looks down again, at Sander’s hand casually just on his chest, like he’s waiting for Robbe to hold it like he would any other time. He doesn’t because it feels wrong yet but he walks with his fingertips over Sander’s knuckles, wanting to hold his hand, kiss him, tell Sander that there’s no way anyone else is better than them and that’s why he’s here.

“So…is this like Britt all over again?”

He knows it’s not the best way to ask if Sander still wants to be with him and just him but he can’t find another way to do it.

“No. I broke up with Britt right after our first kiss. And I’m not dating anyone right now. So it’s different.”

Robbe looks up knowing he’ll find an upset Sander, he doesn’t ask anything else to not risk his luck. He pushes himself up and looks at Sander face to face, staring at his still reddish lips, and kisses him again, leaving the rest of this painful conversation for later

#wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #sobbe #robbe x sander #I deleted the first post accidentally ):#please don't let this flop too bad

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kitkat1003 · 4 years ago

Text

Who Are You Really?

Just who is Yin Spirit?

Anyway finally made a Spirit fic

Cover Here

Ao3 link

Chapter 1: Escape

Spirit has been scared for a long, long time.

Not for forever, because there used to be good times. Good times were the days spent scampering through the forest and eating anything they could off of bushes and trees, finding out what was good and not while hiding from the predators that could never catch them. Good times were days following Mom around the Inn, helping mix up medicines and salves and watching as she fixed wounds and illnesses as if they were mere inconveniences rather than life threatening. Good times were scritches behind their ears, nights curled up on a branch or in a soft bed next to someone who cared, where there was nothing to cause nightmares yet.

But the good times are behind them.

They have been for a long, long time.

But Spirit won’t let that get them down! They’ve been around for...well, they lost count of the years a while back, because Mom was the one who kept count and they didn’t feel like asking. They wonder if they’re timeless, if they just keep going because no one has told them to stop.

They’ve told themself to stop plenty of times, but it never sticks.

But they have a day job! Sure, it doesn’t pay anything, but going around and helping spirits move on is something they think their Mom would be proud of. One of their eyes, the one their mom helped fix, can spot spirits without any trouble and that makes the job easier.

It’s the one on the left side of their face. The lonely one.

They’re good with their blades and they can fight off the occasional mean spirit if they happen to pop in. They’ve been busier, too, since they can’t rely on mortals to fend for themselves in smaller cases anymore.

Mortals wouldn’t know what to do, because the types of mortals who knew how to fend off spirits, who knew the sigils and magic necessary for self-protection, those died off long ago. Peacetime breeds lack of preparation; those traditions and that vigilance was lost to time. A lack of consistent danger leads to laziness.

Spirit isn’t lazy. There’s always danger.

The job is a bit lonely, though. Spirit doesn’t interact with humans without a disguise, because monkey demons seem to cause more of a stir than others. Spirit thinks Monkey King is the reason behind it, but then again, Monkey King has been missing for a while. And everyone blames Monkey King for everything. Demons and Gods alike hate him. Spirit’s pretty sure the name Sun Wukong is banned from being said in the heavenly palace, even.

They duck behind a building and through a secret passageway a few miles out from the nearest city.

They do have a second job, after all.

Bull clones greet them, red eyes glancing over them before moving out of the way so Spirit can enter. They pass through the very, very lavish halls of the building, down towards the basement.

Or, well, down towards the workshop.

They can tell Red Son is up in a tizzy, because things get hotter and hotter the deeper they go in. That usually means that Red Son is upset. He’s been upset more often lately.

Spirit tries not to think about how it’s probably because Princess Iron Fan has become someone who no longer reminds them of their Mom; rather, she’s more like their other parent.

“Hi Red!” they greet, and Red Son really is in a mood, because he scowls at the nickname.

He’s hunched over his desk, hair wild. It flickers, whipping around like actual flames rather than the controlled shapes Red Son prides himself in styling, and Red Son’s hands burn the metal tools he holds. When he flips up his welding mask, there are bags under his eyes, his pupils burning with exhaustion.

Spirit winces at the sight.

“I am Red Son! Address me as such!” he shouts.

Spirit flinches back a little. Sometimes Red Son’s shouting is easy to handle and other times they want to curl into a ball until the storm passes. This is more of the latter.

“Sorry,” Spirit mutters, and they mean it. “I keep forgetting. You used to be Red Boy, you know? I get them mixed up, so saying Red makes sure I’m right no matter what!”

Red Son glances over at them and softens. It’s a secret, but Red Son has always been a little soft. Soft isn’t what a Princess Iron Fan needs, though, so Red Son has put his heart on the shelf, so to speak.

It’s admirable. Spirit knows that as a kid, you have to do a lot to keep your parents happy, or else you won’t be good enough anymore and you’ll have to go. They hadn’t told Red Son that when they’d met, but they’re glad Red Son learned before anything too drastic happened. Princess Iron Fan hadn’t seemed like that type of parent when Spirit had first met her, but ever since Demon Bull King was sealed away…

Spirit sees less of Princess Iron Fan every time they visit. It’s likely for the best.

“You may call me Red in private. Not in public. Or around mother,” Red Son acquiesces.

Spirit smiles, warm.

“Thanks Red.” They reach into their pocket, pulling out a mechanical piece. “And here! That part you wanted!”

Red Son snatches it from their hands, and they jerk back at the violent motion, a shot of fear jolting up their spine.

“About time!” he snarls, but there’s no heat to it. Spirit knows Red Son enough to know when the anger is more performative, though they’re still a little wary regardless.

“It took a bit to find, you know. I was as fast with it as I could be, you know that,” Spirit assures. They take their favors very seriously, after all. If they fulfilled it in a less than perfect fashion, it might not count, and if it didn’t count then that would mean that they could get hurt.

“Yes,” Red Son mutters. “Adequate work.”

“That brings you up to…” Spirit pulls out their nifty favor book, flipping through the pages until they spot Red Son’s name. “Ten favors!” They tally it down.

Ten favors means Spirit can mess up ten times and not get hurt. Ten favors means ten degrees of safety, ten layers of protection. It’s another blanket of relief.

Red Son doesn’t deign that with a reply, setting the part onto the workbench and turning it around. He measures it out.

“This is more than enough material,” he mutters, glancing over at Spirit questioningly.

Spirit rubs the back of their neck, sheepish.

“Yeah, I know you said a specific size, but finding flame resistant, rust resistance, magically reinforced metal in a specific size isn’t easy! But, I got this lazer thing,” Spirit reaches into their pocket and pulls it out. “It’s tuned to the specific enchantment so you can use it to cut the metal! And you can keep the extra material!” They hand it over to Red Son.

Red Son rolls the device around in his hand, before glancing up at Spirit, seemingly unimpressed.

“I thought it was nifty…” Spirit mutters. They would have thought Red Son would like to have extra material. He’s always got another invention on the backburner, so more stuff is better, right? And they brought him a new laser cutter thing! What’s wrong with that?

Then again, Red Son has been a bit more particular about perfection as of late, so that could be the issue.

Spirit chews on the inside of their cheek and tries to not take it personally. Why bother, when fighting back will lead to nothing but regret and pain? They’re not strong, and they know that. If they were strong, they’d still have four eyes and a mom. So it’s easier to let it slide off their back than make a fuss.

Even if it does hurt a little. But that’s fine.

“I suppose it’ll do.” Red Son slides down his welding mask and starts cutting the metal down to size.

Spirit watches, rocking back and forth on their feet, because watching Red Son work is always fun. They used to watch their mom work, whenever there was a patient, and she’d always ask them to grab this herb or that gauze. From start to end, Spirit would see their mom fix up any health issue with practiced, simple movements. Always graceful and soft.

In contrast Red Son is very animated, when he’s in the zone, with sharp, harsh motions and dangerous flames that have them stepping back a few times. Still, Spirit has been getting a lot of parts for whatever it is Red Son is making, so it almost feels the same. It’s a wonderful feeling, to be able to help in the creation of something, whether it be a healed patient or...

“What’s all this stuff for?” they ask, because now that they think about it, they were never told.

Red Son freezes, and Spirit takes that reaction as reason for why they weren’t told. They take another step back, out of the immediate blast zone (last time they checked, Red Son’s explosive temper had a thirty foot radius, with the most dangerous flames being within ten feet of the explosion) and tries not to make a mistake that could cost them. They have their favors, but those only got so far, and they only have ten! They can’t lose them.

“If-if it’s okay to ask,” Spirit fumbles, fidgeting. Their tail curls around their leg, an anxious habit. “I was just curious on how you’re gonna use all this stuff I’ve been bringing.”

Red Son doesn’t turn, but his posture does loosen ever so slightly. “...Mother wouldn’t want me to tell you,” he does seem a bit apologetic at the refusal.

Spirit gets it. Princess Iron Fan knows them. Spirit doesn’t betray, but they’ll do anything for a favor. And if someone wants information they already have, why wouldn’t they give it away?

“Can I know what you’re making? You don’t have to tell me how you’re using it, I’m just curious.” They kind of like eavesdropping. Sometimes, when they finish a job around mortals, they’ll lurk around to pick up the town gossip. Mortals have a lot to talk about, since they don’t have mortal peril to contend with.

“It’s for a gauntlet,” Red Son admits. “A glove so powerful that the wearing could lift anything with it!”

His hair flickers wildly in excitement, voice rising in pitch and volume as he continues.

Spirit “oooo”’s in appreciation, clapping their hands.

“Sounds exciting!” They have a few guesses of what said gauntlet could be used for, but no one tells them to think for a favor, so they keep those thoughts to themself. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair. That stuff burns!”

Red Son does not laugh at their joke. To be fair, they’ve said it about a hundred times in the past thousand years. Red Son does smile, for a moment, before turning back to his work.

“See you, Red!” They get a wave as they leave, which means they’ve improved Red’s mood a little.

If Red Son is in a good mood, he’ll actually say goodbye, but a wave is far better than when he just ignores their departure.

They head up the stairs and then down the hall toward the way they came in, and nearly run into Princess Iron Fan in their haste to leave. Their vision is a little lopsided, one side of their face having one eye and the other having two, so they can miss things if they aren’t paying attention. It helps if they close one eye to even things out.

“S-Sorry ma’am!” They quickly bow, standing up straight a moment later.

They usually try to hunch over when they’re around others, since their height can be seen as an intimidation tactic or even a sign of disrespect, for those with big egos, but Princess Iron Fan could never be intimidated by them and to insinuate such would be the real insult. After all, Princess Iron Fan is the wife to the Demon Bull King. Clearly, size means little to her.

“Spirit,” Princess Iron Fan’s voice is colder than it has ever been, and Spirit shivers. “I see you have delivered your latest favor.”

“Yes ma’am.” Spirit nods with a small, what they hope is respectful, smile. “Do you have any other favors you need me to do?”

The Demon Bull Family has been Spirit’s greatest...well, ally is a bit strong, but Spirit likes them a lot, out of those that typically call for favors. While Princess Iron Fan has gotten less maternal over the years, she’s never outright mean to Spirit, and they take what they can get.

“No, we’re fine,” Princess Iron Fan waves a hand, before her gaze turns sharp.

Spirit feels their breath catch in their throat and they clasp their hands tight behind their back. Their tail goes ramrod straight, the tip brushing the floor.

“I’ll ask you once more,” she starts. “Align yourself with the Demon Bull Clan. You will have our protection and will be at our disposal.”

Spirit bites back a sigh, because Princess Iron Fan has asked them a few times to join, and they do appreciate the offer, really, but it just is...too much. Maybe they would have considered the offer more when Princess Iron Fan was nicer, but Spirit has seen the expectations she’s put on Red Son and they don’t have it in them to disappoint another parent.

They don’t know what she’d do, if Spirit failed her, but they know it would hurt.

“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t align myself with clans. I’m a free Spirit, so to speak,” they bite back a giggle at the pun.

Princess Iron Fan’s eyes flicker yellow and Spirit wonders if they’re going to have to run, but then she sighs.

“Very well then. Stay out of town for the next few months. For...your own safety. If things go according to plan, then…” Spirit nearly jumps back at the feral smile that graces Princess Iron Fan’s face. “Things are going to get messy around here.”

Spirit takes a shaky breath, and nods.

“Yes ma’am. Farewell.” They bow, and then run off.

Jeez. This is exactly why they keep away from all this stuff. The Demon Bull Family is scary, and Spirit just wants to dole out favors in peace.

They don’t have any favors in mind on the backburner, and no one has called for them, so they head to the nearest town outside of the one Princess Iron Fan has told them to leave, and decide to clean up the local spirit activity there.

The next few months are relatively uneventful, if only because there’s no new favors for them to spend their time on. Sometimes there are dry spells. They once went two years without a favor, and boy, was that a boring couple of years!

It gets really lonely, some days. They’ll play as a human for a while, intermingling with the mortals who have no clue what spirits haunt them.

Spirits don’t have to be people, they just have to be things that were alive. A dead relationship is just as haunting as a person. Dead hopes, dead wishes, dead family ties, dead lives you’ve left behind—all weights that cling to auras.

Spirit knows they have plenty themselves. They’ve lost a lot. It sticks around.

Being around humans is hard nowadays, though. They used to hang out around humans a lot. Helping their Mom out in the Inn with patients acclimated them to seeing humans of all shapes and sizes, but then they had to run. And they never stopped.

Staying around humans brings an itchy feeling that feels too much like grief. They don’t like remembering how things used to be, because that only ever hurts. So, when they get too entrenched in the past, they pull away, hide in the forests around the towns.

But they don’t fit in with the wild either. Far too used to civilization, they can never find a place to stay. So they wander.

No one can not notice the carnage that happens. Spirit recognizes Demon Bull King’s aura from miles away, and as the surrounding areas evacuate, Spirit heads towards the danger to investigate.

Normally they’d run away, but whenever they were around Demon Bull King, he seemed nice. Fluffy and kind and ever worried and furious about his son’s imprisonment, demanding Spirit send word to Red and come back with an update on the boy’s condition.

Usually, Spirit wouldn’t try to go toe to toe with the Guanyin, but Princess Iron Fan was inconsolable and Demon Bull King had nearly begged.

So they snuck in to give Red Son, then Red Boy, a letter, and Red Son had them send one back. It was an arrangement made simple, Spirit the messenger. They wonder if the Guanyin knew the whole time and was just letting them sneak around, but regardless, they gained a rapport with the family.

And then Demon Bull King was sealed away, and Princess Iron Fan was despondent. Nothing Spirit said could get her to stop crying, and when they’d relayed the news to Red Son he’d begged on his knees for them to sneak him out, so he could help his mother grieve and move on.

That favor was a hard one to decide on. Again, risking the ire of the Guanyin was not something Spirit was interested in. They knew what the Guanyin could do—she managed to reign in Sun Wukong and she could keep Red Son imprisoned. What would she be able to do to them, a monkey with less than a quarter of the power she’d dealt with before?

But Red Son pleaded, and Spirit caved.

Their history with the family makes it hard to be worried about their safety around Demon Bull King returns, but that doesn’t stop Spirit from worrying about Demon Bull King himself. Being imprisoned for so long is likely unpleasant, and who knows what happened to him underneath the mountain? How has it changed him? It’s not like something like that doesn’t hurt.

They could do without the violence, but Spirit doesn’t try to judge other people’s decisions. If they were locked up for a while, unable to see their family, they might be upset too.

But Spirit doesn’t really get angry, on the regular. Anger doesn’t do anyone good. People getting angry at them has only been bad for Spirit, so the idea of them letting that same anger fester in them so that they hurt someone is ludicrous. And what would their anger accomplish, anyway?

There’s enough pain in the world. Spirit doesn’t feel like adding to it.

They sneak around the levelled town, watching Demon Bull King raze the ground, wondering if there are any mortals hurt. Spirit catches a glimpse of a few spirits wisping around in the rubble, a moment later. They’re of all ages, some even children, and the sight makes them wince. None of this is right, mortals shouldn’t be getting hurt like this.

What did they even do, to deserve the ire of the Demon Bull King? Anything? Or is this all meaningless rage, directed at someone weaker, someone who can’t fight back?

A hand, reaching down towards them, grasping them by the neck and pulling them up, up, up. They kick their legs but their feet touch nothing, and the spoon comes in closer, and it digs, down, down, down—

Spirit takes a breath. There’s no point in letting the past cling.

They would say something, maybe say hello and distract Demon Bull king from adding the to death toll, but that would just get them killed. And Spirit has never been the one to step in and save someone. They’ve never been a hero, not when it counts.

Demon Bull King looks neither fluffy nor kind. It seems that, just like with Princess Iron Fan, time has hardened whatever fluffiness he had. It was as if the mountain had pressure cooked the lid on his temper, letting the anger boil over into the carnage below. And while the rage may have been….justifiable, almost, it still makes Spirit turn tail and run to the memory of stomping feet and angered roars that never were stopped by their mom’s pleads.

They duck away just as a newcomer arrives, weilding a very identifiable staff. Spirit doesn’t catch who the newcomer is, exactly, but it has to be Monkey King, right? Who else could wield the staff?

They scamper off to the sounds of a battle they don’t want to be in the middle of, passing by Red Son on the ground. The sight makes them slow their escape, stopping to kneel besides him for a brief moment. He groans, hardly conscious, and they place a bottle of healing balm in one of his jacket pockets for later, before they finally make it out of the battle range.

They don’t see how the fight ends, but they know Demon Bull King certainly didn’t win.

Town reconstruction is pretty quick. They haven’t caught up on all the different technological advancements mortals have managed in a thousand years, but last they checked this sort of damage would have taken years to fix, not just a month.

Mortals are pretty crafty in this day and age. Spirit doesn’t exactly interact with all the new technology because it all seems to change so fast. They interact with humans every once in a while, maybe a week at a time every few months, but they watch from the sidelines more often than not. They’ve been called a wallflower before and it seems fitting. They like watching the world pass by, and every time they think about joining the parade, the procession is moving too fast for them to feel safe jumping in.

It’s after a few days of scaling the rooftops of the newly rebuilt town, finding the lost spirits, and helping them fade into the underworld, that they get a summons. Being the wanderer they are, most clans who know of them give them a token of sorts, one that they can use to notify Spirit when said clan is in need of their assistance. They keep them on hand, hidden in their pocket.

Sometimes they’ll jump around to hear the different tokens clack against each other. It’s a fun sound.

They pull out their keychain of many, many tokens, and find the glowing one.

Ah. The Demon Bull Family.

Spirit considers ignoring it, but that would likely not end well, considering Demon Bull King’s newly-demonstrated-and-somehow-worse-than-before temper. So, they sigh, and press the glowing red eyes of the bull token, letting the pull of the call teleport them to where they need to be.

They appear beneath the looming figure of the Demon Bull King, and they quickly bow, before looking up with an anxious smile.

“Hello, sir,” they greet with a tiny wave. “It’s nice to see you again! I was pretty sad when I heard you were sealed away, so it’s nice that you’re out.”

They bite their lip, hard, to stop themselves from saying anything else.

Princess Iron Fan is sitting on Demon Bull King’s shoulder, and Red Son is at Demon Bull King’s feet, looking...uncomfortable. Spirit glances at him and smiles. Red Son remains stoic, silent, and upset.

It makes them wonder, because they remember Demon Bull King being able to tell if Red Son was in a bad mood just by how he wrote in his letters, always sure to tell Spirit to bring an extra something or other if the latest letter had revealed Red Son’s dour mood. How Demon Bull King can look at Red Son now and ignore the clear signs of sadness that are written in the red lines beneath Red Son’s eyes, the rage that comes from hurt that paints the tight set of Red Son’s shoulders, the frustration that reads in Red Son’s clenched fists, Spirit doesn’t understand. He sees it, right?

Maybe that’s just the eventuality of parents. The good ones die, or they stop pretending.

Spirit was hoping that Red Son would look happier after his father returned, instead of scared. They’d hoped things in the family would have gotten better, with Princess Iron Fan being happier and maybe kinder with her husband back at her side. But, well….being under a mountain and spat back out into the world thousands of years after is probably quite the culture shock.

Spirit worries. Red Son only has two eyes. Losing one won’t be as easy as it was for them, starting with four. If it comes to that, of course.

“Spirit,” Demon Bull King’s voice rumbles, far darker than it used to be.

It always had a baritone timber, but now everything is said with an undercurrent of a growl, as if he’s angry before anyone has even done anything.

It reminds Spirit of their father way too much. But that’s...fine.

“We have another favor to ask of you,” Princess Iron Fan continues for her husband. “We want you to steal Monkey King’s staff.”

Spirit opens their mouth to say yes, of course, as they always do, but then the words sink in, and everything comes to a screeching halt.

“What?” Is what comes out of their mouth, incredulous and terrified. “No-I can’t-how could I even lift it? Isn’t it a million pounds? I thought only Monkey King could wield it!” Their tail wraps so tightly around their leg that it hurts, as they tremble in place and refuse to look Princess Iron Fan nor Demon Bull King in the eye.

Red Son’s face shifts from neutral displeasure to panic, at Spirit’s refusal, before he steps forward.

“The gauntlet you brought materials for will fit you fine,” He holds it out, even as Spirit recoils. “It gives the wearer the ability to lift Monkey King’s staff.”

Spirit scrambles to argue back, again, because they can’t do this, is everyone here crazy? Sun Wukong isn’t someone they can sneak around, or talk around, or use a favor around. He’s a being that has gone up against the Gods, fought them head on, and won. The only person who could beat him was the Buddha himself, and the Buddha could only seal him away. Spirit isn’t strong, they’re just crafty and careful, and neither of those things matter when going against the Monkey King. Even if they managed to grab the staff, Monkey King would catch them before they took two steps away from him.

They’re so dead. Their hands clutch at their face as they try to control their panicked breathing. They blink a few times to focus and swing their arms out towards the Demon Bull family as everything bursts out of them.

“I-I can’t fight the Monkey King, though! He beat you, the Demon Bull King! I couldn’t even-how could I—” They’re rambling, half terrified they’re going to be killed for saying anything in dissent to the request, but far more paralyzed by the idea of fighting the Monkey King of all people.

Monkey King has not met them and owes them nothing, which is worse than if he hated them and owed them something. They don’t know what he’d do to them, if they met, but they know that they like being alive.

And fighting Sun Wukong is a good way of making yourself not alive.

“The Monkey King has chosen a successor. A mortal boy,” Princess Iron Fan explains. “He’ll be far less skilled, and far easier to overpower.”

Spirit bites back the argument that if that were the case, Demon Bull King would have won when he returned. Clearly, they’re being used as a pawn, and they don’t mind that usually, because it doesn’t always lead to them being put in the line of fire. And hey, pawns are pretty useful, right? They like being useful. But—

“How old is he?” They have to ask. It’s important.

“A mortal,” Princess Iron Fan says. “He could be no older than Red Son, in mortal years.”

Red Son is younger than they are. Red Son is a kid.

“No.” Their voice is sharp.

Red Son takes a step back, unused to the tone. Even Princess Iron Fan goes still.

Spirit doesn’t have a lot of lines in the sand. They’ll do just about anything for just about anyone. Just about, though, and they refuse to falter on this.

Ten years old and curled on the ground, clutching their face as their father roared, feeling the emptiness in their skull because he took it, he took it and it hurts—

“I don’t fight kids,” they say. “I don’t. The successor has to be a kid, right? Smaller than Red Son, and Red Son isn’t all adult, right?”

“I am an adult!” Red Son shrieks in outrage, but Spirit has tripped too far into terror to stop talking.

“I’ve been told the mortal brain doesn’t develop until one is twenty five, and Red Son isn’t at that age, right? Not with the way demons like us age, anyway. So, I can’t! I have a rule,” they shrug a little helplessly.

Oh god what are you doing you’re going to get killed shut up stop talking stop stop stop—

“And besides, you think I can beat someone who can go toe to toe with the Demon Bull Family?” they laugh, a little hysterical and shaky.

Spirit glances up and regret it, because Demon Bull King’s face is dark with rage. Red Son keeps staring at them like they’re already dead, and Princess Iron Fan’s eyes glow. They feel very, very small here, shoulders hunched up as they manage something that could be described as a smile if you didn’t know what a smile was.

Useless, Useless. If you keep messing up, maybe you’ll finally have a normal number of eyes, and wouldn’t that be funny?

“H-hey-I’m not a miracle worker! But I can give you some information, anyway. There are a lot of powerful artifacts you could use, I know where they are!” Spirit offers, voice shaking.

They fidget, staring up and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On them, or in their favor, either way. They can run anytime. They wouldn’t get far, they know, but they have to try in that situation, don’t they?

Demon Bull King’s eyes glow, a snarl on his face that curls up his lip to reveal sharp teeth the size of Spirit’s arm. Spirit trembles, and watches as Princess Iron Fan considers them, eyes glowing as well, before she pats a hand against Demon Bull King’s head and whispers something into his ear.

Spirit expects an axe a moment later, but instead—

“An acceptable proposal,” Princess Iron Fan says, finally.

Spirit manages to stay upright, so relieved they might just pass out. They won’t be dying today, probably. That’s good! Cool. Nice.

They’re mad at you. Can’t you feel it? You have to run, before they can catch you. Remember what happened last time? You can’t expect this to turn out well. Keep on guard.

They tug on their sleeves, shuffling their feet. Cool.

“So, to start, I would suggest the Jade Dragon blade,” they start, without prompting. “It’s in the manor outside of town. It’s an ancient blade passed down from the Dragon of the West Sea! Very powerful.”

They continue to prattle on about any and all artifacts they can think of that would be useful, from the blade all the way up to the weird blue power source locked up in a tomb that no one touches for some reason.

Spirit had gone to check it out, once, but looking at it made their eye, the lonely one without its pair, hurt. So they left it alone.

They talk for about an hour before they’re relieved, and they nearly trip over themselves in their haste to get out of there. They run in one direction until their legs burn, and curl into a ball on the ground, trying to breathe.

They said no. To Demon Bull King. They can’t just do that, they don’t have that type of power! That whole fiasco had to have shaved a favor or two of protection off of their tally. They’ll have to edit that in their book, when their hands stop shaking enough to be able to write.

It’s fine. It’s fine! They handled it, like they always do.

They’re going to come after you and take your eyes. They don’t even need a spoon. Demon Bull King’s claw will work just fine, it’s large enough. Or maybe they’ll use one of Red Son’s inventions, to make it more painful.

Spirit fights the urge to scream and buries their face in their knees. Deep breaths.

It takes them a few hours to calm down and they meticulously erase two tallies from Demon Bull King’s count. There’s still five left, they still have room for error, it’s fine. Sure, the sight makes their stomach churn and they hate to erase, but they have to. It’s better to know where you stand than to pretend, no matter how scary the truth is.

Satisfied, they tuck the book away and lay back, staring up at the stars.

They should really check out the town, though. The idea that Sun Wukong of all people has a successor is near ludicrous, but Princess Iron Fan probably wouldn’t lie to them. Either way, checking it out is imperative, especially since such a newcomer means a possible new client!

If Monkey King has a successor, maybe Spirit can be of assistance, can offer a favor. Just like with how a favor for Red puts them in the good graces with his parents, the same may be able to be said for Monkey King and his successor. And if that’s the case, then they’ll stop at nothing to make it so.

Maybe, if they plan this right, Spirit can finally be safe from everyone.

They have to try, right?

#kitkat1003 #Yin Spirit #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #monkie kid oc

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clonecest-bin-account · 4 years ago

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If nobody’s requested it, can I ask for the Dogma and Hardcase getting together scene? Love the AU and very much want more

(Oooh hell yeah! We still aren’t entirely back in romantic territory but that’s just because I felt like they should restart as friends before things can properly evolve)

(Part of this AU)

The situation is becoming ridiculous; it’s driving the entirety of the 501st crazy.

“We have to do something!” Jesse exclaims, sitting at the cafeteria with Tup and Kix. “It can’t be that we have to do two separate debriefs because these two morons won’t talk to each other!”

“And what are we supposed to do?” Kix asks. It’s in moments like this that he misses having Fives around - he always knows what to do when it comes to emotional matters - but he’s been requested by another battalion so he’s not here at the moment, which happens quite often, with him being an ARC now and all that.

“Maybe we lock them up somewhere until they talk?” Tup replies. He’d never suggest anything this drastic, but he’s beginning to get annoyed by this situation as well, and he wants it to end.

“Nah, it wouldn’t work,” Kix replies immediately. No, that’s a bad idea: they’d be at each other’s throats immediately.

“Unless…” Jesse mutters. He, unlike Kix, looks very intrigued by the idea.

“You’re not seriously thinking about doing it, aren’t you?”

“Why not?” Jesse replies immediately.

“I think it would work,” Tup insists, sharing a gaze with Jesse.

Kix sighs, knowing that there’s nothing he’ll be able to do to stop them. Oh well, might as well see this through.

“Vod, I’ve finally found it!”

“Wait, you mean…”

“Yes, the stories about the Captain’s secret stash of booze is true, ‘Case.”

“Jesse, you have to show me where it is!”

“Of course. Follow me!”

“Dogma, I need your help!”

“What did you break this time?”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, vod.”

“Am I wrong though?”

“… Are you coming or not?”

“Ugh, fine.”

Neither Hardcase nor Dogma suspect a thing, which explains their surprise when, once they come down the hallway, they see the other coming from the opposite way.

They both freeze on their spot, with Jesse and Tup that pretend not to know what’s going on, but this situation of stall doesn’t last long: the first one to move is Dogma, who’s about to turn around to leave, when Tup manages to get a hold of him.

“Oh no you don’t!” he exclaims, beginning to drag Dogma to the broom closet present in that hallway, the same way Jesse is doing it with Hardcase, despite the latter’s attempts at resisting.

Eventually they manage to throw them both inside, immediately closing the door, locking it - to unlock it they’d have to be as good slicers as Jesse, which seems highly unlikely.

No matter how hard Dogma bangs against the door, they don’t open it.

“Let us out!”

“Not a chance!” Jesse exclaims. He’s aware that they’re going to kill him after all this is said and done - Dogma surely will, maybe Hardcase will be more lenient - so he’s even more determined to see this through, cause at least it’ll be worth it in the end.

“Why don’t you have a chat? So we can all go back to living normally,” Tup intervenes. “We’ll come back for you in a bit, please don’t waste this opportunity.”

They both begin to walk away, ignoring the yells coming from the closet. Jesse only hopes that they won’t actually kill each other.

Speaking of them, Dogma still keeps banging his fist against the door, but in vain. Nobody helps them out.

Damn it! Of all things, why this?!

He hears a nervous cough. Right, he’s not alone.

He turns, and Hardcase’s awkwardly standing there, looking at everything else but Dogma.

This is going to suck so bad…

They have no idea how much time passes in silence; it feels like centuries. Surely they’ll come back for them soon, right?

… Apparently not.

With time, however, the rage Dogma feels begins to dissipate, making space for something that he isn’t even able to recognize.

Maybe they should talk, but what should they say? Where should they even begin? Oh well, they’ll never know if they don’t try it.

“Hardcase--”

“I’m sorry--”

They both stop, taken by surprise. Dogma is the first one to speak again.

“You first.”

“I…” Hardcase hesitates, just for a moment. “Dogma, I’m so sorry about what happened. I really shouldn’t have done that. You don’t have to forgive me or anything, I just wanted to say that I’m truly sorry, and that if I could, I’d go back in time to make things better.”

Ah. This is unexpected, definitely not what Dogma thought he’d hear.

Not that he hasn’t tried to apologize already, but maybe it’s because some time has passed since “the accident” but Dogma isn’t as mad as he - maybe? - should be. It’s just that Hardcase sounds so sincere and earnest… Besides, he’d lie if he said that he misses having him close, even though, actually, they weren’t even that close before that night.

He still misses it, he’s not going to lie. Besides…

“Well, in the end you were right, so…” he manages to say. They were right about Krell, while Dogma was keeping being a fool, believing him instead of his vode. “And, huh…”

He can’t help but to be overwhelmed by Hardcase’s gaze; it’s so intense that it makes Dogma feel small despite the fact that they’re both the exact same size. Still, after faltering only once, Dogma continues with a renewed determination.

“But I would like to give it a try, again. Maybe we can start back as friends--”

He doesn’t even get to finish the sentence that Hardcase extends a hand towards him. What?

“Hi, fellow trooper that I meet for the first time ever. The name’s Hardcase,” he says. “What about you?”

What is he trying to do… Oh, Dogma thinks he understands, now. Starting from scratch, huh? Once he wouldn’t have been able to do something like this - he was known to hold grudges to heart, and he held a lot of them - but now… Well, now things have changed.

A soft smile appears on his lips as Dogma goes to shake the hand that has been offered to him with his own. Turns out he’ll really have to thank Tup and Jesse for their crazy idea, huh?

“Nice to meet you, I’m Dogma.”

Tag list: @maulusque @menac-ika If you want to be added feel free to let me know! Just know that if you are a minor you’ll be tagged only for the sfw fics.

#assorted clonecest fics #clonecest #cloneshipping #dogmacase #clone trooper dogma #clone trooper hardcase #clone trooper tup #arc trooper jesse #clone trooper kix #my fics #dogma and hardcase live au #snap-p

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bowieandqueen11 · 4 years ago

Text

That’s Messed Up / Ben Hargreeves Imagine

Request: Hello💓 could I request a Ben Hargreeves X Reader where she is stressed because of her job/university and her family is stressing her out and she just needs a good cry or comfort? I hope you are having a good day☂️💜

This is honestly a big mood thank you <3

Comments are really appreciated and add me on Instagram @bowieandqueen11!

Ben, when he asked Five to bloop him into your house, wasn’t expecting to see you huddled up in the corner of your room.

The first part of the night involved a lot of waiting.

A little while before, he had been checking his watch at the corner near Griddys, watching it tick on and on before his eyes, every second getting a little bit further away from the time you were meant to meet at, and increasing the fear in his heart, inch by painfully slow inch.

Ben always had called you his hurricane. Just a rush of love and happiness and such hyper hope that it always whisked him away from whatever fear, whatever self hatred he was feeling. You always felt everything, love, anger, sadness, joy, to such extremes, that in the end, he was so wrapped up in you, he forgot what hating himself used to feel like. All encompassing, that was what you were, and god if he didn’t love you more than the world itself for it.

That’s why, when you’re not there, he notices the silence.

Chilled by the coldness of the metal on his wrist, he finds comfort from turning it to its side and reading the inscription you had left for him.

‘Happy birthday to the light of my life.’

Ben had never thought as himself as light, as anything resembling something bright, and yet he still always found the darkness strange, uncomforting. Living in the heart of the city, he had grown used to having the warm, orange glow of the streetlamps outside your window, filtering through the curtains as he held the most precious thing he knew in his arms. And yet, the light from the nearby lamp felt different tonight, frostier, somehow, and even the stars he had spent his whole childhood looking up at, dreaming of escaping into their light, seemed too far away to make a difference.

That’s when the first inkling began churning in the pit of his stomach, the thought that something was badly wrong with you.

Pulling out his phone, he ignores the other couples walking by on the sidewalk, which on any other evening would have made him smile, seeing his future reflected in them, and instead checks for new messages. Seeing none, he instead flicks through some old photographs stored on his phone: your first christmas together, his birthday, your birthday, your first date, all trying to calm him down. Telling himself to be patient, to wait a few more minutes before doing anything drastic, he places his phone back into his pocket and looks back up at the stars, back into the light, with a frown etched on his face.

When it had been an hour, and you still hadn’t turned up, that’s when Ben knew something was definitely wrong. You never, ever missed date nights.

The second, involved a lot of phone calls.

‘Five, I’m coming over - no, it’s about Y/n. Yeah - yes, yes I know what time it is! I think she’s in trouble, and I need your help, alright. Yes, I know Diego is crashed out, but it’s a two bedroom apartment for a reason, isn’t it? No, Klaus won’t be able to help with this one, plus I’m pretty sure he and Allison went out for the night. I don’t know, I just kind of zone out when he talks half the time. Yeah, okay, I’ll see you in a few.’

Before he starts walking, he decides to try leaving you a voicemail. Then he gets worried, and leaves you another one. Then, when he sets off, and he becomes scared, he leaves you another, and another, and another, until he finds himself ringing the doorbell to his brothers’ flat.

Five and Diego’s place wasn’t much warmer, either.

‘Look, I’m sorry about the mess, but letting Diego move in with me was probably one, if not the worst decision of my life.’

Like everything else in the room, the couch told a story, a testimony to the personality of its twenty year old owner. It was a piece bought more for style than overall comfort, quite cold and demanding and yet Ben still felt himself sinking into it. On top of the beige colouring, he could spot where Diego usually sat from the food stains that had been harshly scrubbed off.

Five pours himself another cup of coffee, sighing to himself as he dumps another cracked eggshell left on the counter into the bin. Taking a swig, he holds up his finger to stop Ben from talking prematurely, before he opens the fridge hidden in the corner of the kitchen and takes out two chocolate eclairs.

‘Eclair? If we don’t eat them now, Diego will eat them both in the morning. Or worse, Klaus will more than likely come crash here when he sees your not home yet, and then they’ll be gone before the sun even has a chance to rise.’

Ben turns down the food, but accepts a glass of water Five offers him in return. He takes tiny sips, trying to swallow his fear along with it.

Five settles into his armchair, placing the newspaper onto the small resting table nearby. Settling down into the cushion, he places one leg over the other and blows harshly over the top of his mug.

‘Okay, so what seems to be the problem with Y/n.’

As soon as Ben relayed what had been happening tonight, Five abandoned his coffee by the edge of the kitchen sink and transported the two of them straight into the corridor by your home.

When Ben opened your bedroom door with a small knock, and he saw the mess, he knew it was time for him to go, WIshing Ben luck with a small murmur of his breath, a flash of blue light disappeared behind the shutting door, and the two of you were finally left alone.

The third, was like a harpoon through his heart.

Stepping onto some scattered papers, Ben walks into your room and surveys the damage. A lot of your University work lay crumpled by his feet, your desk chair half on the floor and half still resting against the desk, as if a fight had occurred just before he came in.

‘Y/n, buttercup, what happened. Can you tell me what happened? Was it your family again?’

Slowly, so slowly, so as not to jostle you and make everything worse again, he came over to squat down by you on the floor. He places a hand gently on your shoulder, digging into your muscle to try and relax you, but you just try and shrug him away, burying your face deeper into your hands. You knew you had to be the strong one, for both of them. You knew Ben didn’t deserve this stress, more than anyone, but you just couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t take the work, your family, but you also couldn’t take Ben seeing you as weak.

Ben watched you with dipped eyes, trying to stop his hand from shaking as he rested it on your knee, trying again to get through. It looked as if you had retreated in on yourself, your touch somehow disconnected, and his voice is arriving over a radio set in another room. So, he does the only thing he could think of, the thing you used to do when he broke down after missions and used to hide under his bed, refusing to get out. Grace often tried, of course, to coax him out with the promise of milk and cookies, and Klaus had often come the closest, but he refused unless his best friend in the whole wide world was there with him.

So, he repays a debt he knows he can never fully repay, and he tells you over and over that he’s really here, that he’ll always be here. He tells you softly yet at a volume that reaches inside and soothes that which ran and hid from him, from all of them.

‘I’m sorry Ben. I’m so sorry. I- I’m...I’m sorry.’

'You have nothing to be sorry for. Y/n. I’m the one who’s sorry. I know how stressed out you’ve been with University, and I know how messed up your family’s been treating you. I thought going to Griddys would make it better, but I was wrong, I was so wrong. I’m so sorry for leaving you alone.’

Ben always said you loved like a hurricane, and he was right. When he moves to take your palms away from your face, and instead replace them with his own, you cried with more violence than any gale. You didn't break quietly, it was like every atom of your being screamed in unison, the wracking sobs heaving into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

Resting his head on top of your own, he reached out to rub your back, promising to himself that he would never leave you to fight your battles alone again.

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua season 2 #ben hargreeves #five hargreeves #tua imagine #ben hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy imagine #five hargreeves imagine #ben hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves angst #ben hargreeves fluff #klaus hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #justin min

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anileahvictoria · 3 years ago

Photo

Adam Kendall from My Little House on the Prairie.

Cutie Mark: Adam has always had a fascination with law and thought about becoming a lawyer many times, but ultimately decides he could do more good as a teacher for the blind. His cutie mark was inspired by the saying that justice is blind, so the scales of justice represent balancing his love for the study of law with his responsibilities as a teacher, and husband, and the cloth is Lady Justice’s eye covering that makes her blind, just like Adam is.

I accidentally referred to Little House on the Prairie as My Little House on the Prairie, and this fan art was born. More on that later, It's time for a rant. Adam is my favorite character from the series until I got mad and left the fandom cause they did this beautiful man dirty, so It’s time to rant about it.

#1. The Romance. The romance between Mary and adam was totally out of the blue. When Merry goes blind, she's shipped off to blind school, and her teacher is this capable, intelligent and hard-working young man named Adam Kendal. His teaching still is very much tough love, and he doesn't take crap from his students. Mary starts as a reluctant, uncooperative, self-pitying, closed-minded student doing things like throwing her things across the room. Adam handles all this brilliantly, saying stuff like: if you're gonna make a mess, your gonna clean it up. Doesn't baby her or pitty her AT ALL. Exactly what she needs. After a few months, Mary's attitude changes drastically, and she's thriving thanks to Adam. But when Adam sits her down to teach her some piano, she has a moment of self-doubt:

Merry: I could never learn...

Adam: I wish you would forget about that. Some of the greatest writers and composers in the worl were blind.Have you ever heard of John Milton?

Merry: Well of course. He- he wrote Paradise Lost, one of my favorite books.

Adam: Well, he was also blind. Now, do you want to play the piano or not?

Merry: There wouldn't be enough time. You know my family's coming to take me home. They'll be here in a few days.

Adam: It's been a long time, hasn't it, since you've seen your folks?

Merry: It seems like a lifetime. Adam, I'm so scared. I mean... I know I'm ready to go home... But here it's- it's easy, and I've always got you to help me.

Adam: Merry, you can't depend on me forever. And I'll be leaving too.

Merry: Where are you going?

Adam: To Winoka, to start a new blind school.

Merry: Why didn't you tell me?

Adam: I don't know. It just never came up.

Merry: Then I'm glad I'm going home.

Adam: Merry, it's not that much different out there. Not really.

And now it gets all angsty:

Merry: Yes, it is. I wouldn't expect you to understand. How could you?

Adam: Mary...

Mary: The world isn't like the Burton school for the blind. It... It's a huge, dark place filled with... hidden obstacles and... strange sounds and voices coming from faceless people. Even you. I've never even seen you.

Adam: Well then look at me.

... And then they start feeling each other's faces and, correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure blind people don't actually do that...

And then it gets randomly and weirdly romantic...

Mary: What color are your eyes?

Adam: Blue.

Mary: Your hair?

Adam: Brown.

Mary: Thank you Adam.

Adam: ...What do you look like, Mary? Ive never seen you either.

Aaaand more face touching.

So apparently, they're a thing now. I'd understand if Adam fell for her cause she looks like a literal angel (seriously, no girl has any business looking that gorgeous), but Adam's blind too. So he's going ultimately off of personality, I'm guessing. And when he first meets Mary, she is not a pleasant person. Yes, she does improve quite a lot, but what makes her any different than all the other students he's taught? It certainly isn't their age, cause Adam's 22 and Mary's 15 (back then, I guess it wasn't a big deal). Also, It creeps me way out that her teacher falls in love with her. The man who spends most hours of the day alone with a vulnerable teenage girl falls in love with said girl AND THEN asks said girl to work for him at his new school in a busy city away from her family where it would just be Adam, Mary, one old man who lives on the top floor, and a few students, not to mention Mary would also be spending the nights there... It's a good thing this isn't that kinda show cause there's a million different ways that could've gone... But because this is Little House on the Prairie, nothing happens, and Adam asks Mary to be his wife soon after she moves in.

#2. Regaining his Sight And Becoming a Lawyer.

This really makes me mad. When Adam gets his sight back and sees the faces of all his friends and, most importantly, his wife for the first time. It's beautiful and wonderful and heaven knows the man deserves a miracle like that, BUT his whole character changes. He goes from a responsible teacher and loving husband who knows who he is and where he's meant to be, to an ambitious young man who would rather chase his dreams of becoming a lawyer than take care of his responsibilities to the school he started, the children he teaches, and the wife he loves. I can understand wanting to go and see the world and do things you couldn't do before, but sighted or blind, he has responsibilities. Mary is kinda left in the dust when Adam makes all these new sighted friends and drags her along to all his fancy lawyer parties while he plays games, runs around laughing and talking, and leaves Mary sitting in a chair all by herself. Like, he doesn't even consider how she must be feeling! He doesn't try to include her in conversations or introduce her to his new friends; she's just a pretty thing that sits there to be cared for. And the thing is, this is exactly what Adam was afraid would happen to him when Mary thought her sight was returning a few episodes ago! Now Adam's new fancy friends get him an opportunity to take some fancy tests to become a lawyer and Adam, without a second thought for Mary, goes off to take the test, not evening considering who would run the school if he passed and became a lawyer. Then some bad stuff happens, and he can't make it to the test, and I'm all relieved cause we all know he belongs with his wife teaching at the school and now he'll see things clearly and get his head off the cloud and onto the here and now. But nooooo, this whole time Mary is hoping he'd fail (and so am I), but when she sees how heartbroken he is, she goes and has a talk with the professor and convinces him to let Adam take the test. He finally relents, and Adam passes and becomes a lawyer, giving the school away to a wonderful woman who teaches there. This whole thing is treated like he made the right choice when he obviously isn't! Not I blame this on the time period the show was made in. Back then, a man had to be ambitious and provide for the family and leave the teaching and such to the woman, so back then, it was a good thing he went off and became a lawyer, but still, I'm mad. Correct me if I'm wrong, but when Adam hands the school over to the lady, Mary no longer teaches there, which means that Adam has taken away Mary's dream of teaching on top of not spending nearly as much time as he used to with her and (though he doesn't realize it and I don't think anyone brings it to his attention cause men are supposed" to do all the work) doesn't let her do things for herself.

#3. He's Fictional.

This one makes me the madest. At first, I turned a blind eye to all these flaws cause I assumed Adam Kendall was based off an actual person, like most characters in the series, but noooo. They made him up just for the tv series. This means his romance with Mary WAS totally random, and Mary staying in the same building as he did BEFORE they were married WAS the writer's choice, and Adam regaining his sight and leaving his wife and school in the dust WAS ALSO THE WRITERS CHOICE! AND he was basically just made to me Mary's husband because Mary doesn't marry or have children in real life. So yeah, my favorite character's development went down the drain. But oh well, that's what we have fanfic and fanart for, am I right? Oh wait, this show is old. No one's made any good fanart/fanfic. K, I'm gonna go cry now. Bye

Also, if anyone has a different opinion or point of view, please tell me about it. I'd love to go back to loving this character, so please change my mind 🥺.

#my little pony #fan art #my little pony fan art #little house on the prairie #little house on the prairie fan art #my little house on the prairie #blind #blind character #character design #adam kendall

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malethirsty · 5 years ago

Text

Loyalty - Tyler Lockwood

Summary: When Klaus’s #2 makes eyes with you, Klaus sets the two of you up. But when you encounter an issue, it’s down to you to pull through for the both of you.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (However Orgasm occurs once Tyler pulls out, make of that what you will), Homophobic comments, Elena and co. become villains

Inspired by: https://twitter.com/MaleThirst/status/1196818509830819841

Life had changed drastically since Klaus had found out how to make hybrids. He moved you quickly into his house & got his new army to guard you in case Elena and her friends tried to pull any punches, The Council did indeed cut you off, but the Mikaelson fortune was extended to you by Klaus & the day spent shopping with Rebekah helped you both to bond. What was the most surprising thing was that you were now spending more time with Tyler Lockwood. You expected Elena to surround a support group around him, or ask him to spy on Klaus, but she ditched him, as it had been found out that Klaus had sired Tyler, and thus Tyler was now fiercely loyal to him. It was good to have someone else to share an admiration for Klaus & on days when the Original Hybrid had to battle against Damon & Mikael, you took time with Rebekah to train the newest hybrid. It was a Friday night that you all finally got to take a break from hecticness of it all. “Don’t you usually go to the Mystic Grill on Fridays, love?” Klaus pondered as he saw you flopped down, trying to find something on Netflix. “I mean I would, but Elena and all her friends are there, and I know they’ll send me out of the bar.” Klaus could tell you were still a bit down following your exile & leaned in to give you a kiss “Y/N, You need to boost your confidence. I’ll send Rebekah to watch from afar, but also, to make them that much more pissed, tonight I’ll send you out to the Mystic Grill with Tyler as a date, make Caroline jealous.” You snorted, it did sound like a good idea but “Is Tyler up for this?” You asked, you wanted it to be his idea & not Klaus planting him there “I asked him, he said yes. He also said he has a thing for you as well, so I’ve booked you next to her hotel room where she’s staying for the night before flying out for some Miss Virginia thing, keep her up all night.” “And how would I do that?” Klaus leaned up to whisper in your ear “You know how love. Do you always do with me every night” you knew that Klaus meant to fuck Tyler and while the idea sounded good.

“I’ll let Tyler know to be ready at a quarter to 8.” Klaus smiled, dimples on show as you headed into the closet, to pick out some good clothing. In next to no time, whether it be a need to impress you or due to his newly acquired speed, Tyler was ready & waiting as he walked you down the street, hand in hand. Right behind you was Rebekah not only your escort but also giving dirty looks to those who were giving you & Tyler side eye, which was comforting to you, it was nice to know Klaus, Tyler & Rebekah at least cared about your wellbeing, even if the world around you was less than sympathetic. As you entered the Mystic Grill, you saw the majority of the building taken up for Caroline’s big title party. Rebekah positioned herself near the door as You & Tyler selected the same secluded booth that you had gone to the night You & Klaus became partners. Ordering your usual Chips & Garlic Bread, Tyler ordering the same with a massive burger, you eventually opened up the conversation. “So Klaus told me about you having a thing for me.” Tyler gave a slight grin “When did you know & why didn’t you tell me earlier?” “Well it was a while ago, after Dad died, I realised I was free from his vileness, and I was going to tell you after the funeral, but then everything with Mason and turning happened, I threw myself into what I had become instead of managing both my crush & that.” Tyler swallowed, clearly not used to letting out a lot “It’s alright Tyler, you went through a lot so quickly, I’m not angry and you had every right to work on yourself before hand.” Tyler grinned as his burger got placed on the table “Jesus Christ, That’s massive! How are you gonna get through that?!” Tyler shrugged “You know that before I was a hybrid, I played football right Y/N? I’ve always had a big appetite.” “What exactly is the appeal of football? I’ve never understood.” Tyler shot a grin at you “Y/N, tonight I’m gonnna give you a crash course.”

And indeed he did, outlining the rules of the game, his favourite team and some spectacular moments that he had achieved with Mystic Falls during his tenure as a player. Usually you’d scoff at sport talk but Tyler was so engaging in great conversation, that you didn’t mind a second, and as much as you listened to him, he listened to you discuss your likeness of musical theatre with the same enjoyment plastered on his face as you had when he talked. “Y/N, I’m having one of the best date nights ever, Little Miss Blonde over there couldn’t compare” you were about to start laughing when at that exact moment, Elena’s group came over to your table. “Well hello there” Damon said somewhat curtly “Hello Damon, I guess you’re here to intimidate us” you responded, “Now Y/N, me intimidate, never!” Damon mockingly feigned outrage “Well it’s not for the bourbon since there’s none at our table” you quipped back, Elena stepping in. “No we aren’t here to intimidate, we wanted to take a look at the man who stabbed me in the back last week, who sold us all to Klaus, who made me a blood bag, how you had the nerve to show up at our bar and stage some sort of mock date to get under Caroline’s skin”. Whilst Elena was right about trying to get Caroline riled up, she had no business questioning Tyler’s feelings for you, which made you angry, and looking over to where Tyler sat, you noticed he was gripping his fists angrily, trying bot to let an outburst emerge and ruin the night. Looking to your left, you saw Rebekah had heard what was going on and had stepped up from her table, with your own group of friends ready to back you up, you decided that you might as well strike back, wasn’t as if she could do worse “Wow Elena, your ass is jealous at the amount of shit that just came out of your mouth” Seeing Elena’s shit eating grin thinking that she had intimidated you fall was quite possibly the sight of the year, but you weren’t done, not at all “Firstly, Tyler was close to dying, so if I hadn’t said anything, he wouldn’t be here, also when was the last time any of you acknowledged me in your supernatural group of expertise? I didn’t owe you a God damn thing. And this ‘mock date?’ How would you know that Tyler’s feelings are genuine?” “Because I dated him for several months & as an ally I can tell when someone has feelings for men.” Caroline said now stepping forwards next to Elena to survey the scene. You turned to face Caroline, intending to give her the same verbal lashing as Elena “It’s about time someone told you Caroline, but having a group of Gay Friends who help you shop & quoting lines from RuPaul’s Drag Race does not make you an ally, it makes you an insufferable cunt.” A snorting laugh came from your left, and without turning, you knew that Rebekah had enjoyed your comment Now Caroline was looking like she’d been hit over the face with how red she’d turned, embarrassed she’d been called out at her party, good.

“Why would you have even gotten up with Klaus though?” Inquired Bonnie, “Yeah, what did he offer you: Money, Power, Immortality?” Jeremy seconded. “Nothing, what he did do was tell me about his loneliness & I remembered the times I felt pushed out and I thought if others could give me grace after being tossed to the side, the least I could do is return it to others.” “Oh Boo Hoo.” Damon prodded in, “Klaus is making an army without asking any of the wolves if they want in.” “How-” Tyler began angrily and Rebekah’s feet began to stomp towards the table, which Elena & Bonnie had acknowledged by the look of intimidation on their faces, however you stood up very suddenly, determined to stand your ground “How’s Vicki? Did you make sure she wanted to be immortal? You know, after you gave her your blood & snapped her neck.” An uncomfortable silence filled that section of the bar. “Bonnie, how is carrying Anna’s death going? You know the woman your current squeeze was dating? How were all the vampires minding their own business going before you tripped up the device & caused so much disaster, that almost caused Jeremy to die? Wasn’t that because all vampires were the same?, a pity story after your Grams passed, yet you stand with Damon and have the audacity to lunge after me. And you two” Y/N pointed at Elena & Jeremy, “You two are cut from the same cloth. Jeremy you knew about Bonnie tripping up the device, killing Anna & yet you two are dating and Elena you complain about Klaus needing your blood for something so little as turning which is somehow so bad, yet when Katherine didn’t open her legs to welcome Damon, he snapped your brothers neck, yet you forgave him somehow. I’m not saying you can’t forgive him, but if you’re going to let Damon’s miniature things go, then you need to let Klaus’s go. I’m aware that Klaus isn’t the picture perfect idea of humanity you all want, but you keep excusing the darkness in your own supernatural partners, not to mention yourselves, so you have some nerve isolating me like I’m the only one lavishing in it. Stay the fuck away from me.” You grabbed Tyler’s hand and marched out of the Mystic Grill. “Nice work-“ Rebekah began, but in your angry mood, you marched right past her with Tyler in tow. “Rude” she muttered under her breath as she reached for her phone to tip off Klaus that whilst you’d blown her off, you finally grew a backbone.

You walked several streets in a huff before stopping to breathe, at that point, Tyler hugged you. “T-Tyler, are you alright?” You questioned, “Yeah, it’s just that you could see me getting angry and you stood up for me instead. You were so scared of being confronted by them, but you stood your ground to their faces. You may not have faced down a vampire or a wolf, but you Y/N are the bravest out of us all.” You smiled “Thanks Tyler” he leaned in & kissed you. You took a moment to let Tyler endulge before you began to kiss back, running your hands down Tyler’s back before you were slammed into the lamppost. Whilst you wanted Tyler, you didn’t want to be written up for public sex, so you broke the kiss “Let’s get back to Klaus’s and continue this there.” “But what about antagonising Caroline?” Tyler questioned, but you had your answer ready “I think we’ve antagonised her enough, besides she’d probably rub herself to your moans and shit, I don’t want to give her the satisfaction.” Tyler let a cold smirk cross his face, he knew you wanted to be fucked hard, and that’s what he planned to do. Deciding to test out Tyler’s compelling skills on a homeless person, you gave him the room Klaus had booked out & you both made your way back to The Mikaelson Compound. It was empty, so you & Tyler could fuck as loud as you could, so he sped you up to your room and as the door closed, Tyler slammed you up against it, kissing you passionately, the same as he did on the street, however this time, your clothes were removed with vampire speed. Standing there naked, Tyler took in your nude form with a twinkle in his eyes, you blushed slightly which made Tyler smile “You’re cute when you’re flustered Y/N.” Tyler commented and with that he began to undress as well, intending to take time so you could see the goodies under his clothes.

As he removed his shirt, Tyler pulled you in for a kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he deepened it. You began to feel around his shirtlessness, tweaking at his nipples which make the newly turned hybrid moan in your ear, the sound like molten gold to you. Suddenly you were thrown with all of Tyler’s might onto the bed, Tyler made sure you were looking up as he disposed of his pants and underwear in one go, his cock standing proud and hard. He began to walk towards you, cockily flaunting all the while “You want this dick don’t you Y/N?”, you nodded, but that didn’t appease the hybrid who sped towards you and gripped you by the neck, softly yet dominant “Talk to me Y/N, do you want me to fuck you all night?, have you crying my name as I make you cum from my stroke? Answer me.” He spoke the last part cooly as he playfully tightened his grip on your throat, making you feel a bit light headed “Yes Tyler, please fuck me as hard as you can.” You moaned out, making him laugh “As hard as I can? God this is gonna be good.” He laid his hand out, spitting onto it before stroking his hard member, coating it with the makeshift lube all the while looking at you all sprawled out, naked for him, and while he tried to maintain his cockiness, you could see from the ripples of pleasure on his face. Once he had lathered himself up enough, Tyler didn’t waste anymore time and used his newly acquired speed to to thrust deep into your ass, making you cry out at the sting. “Fuck, shit, your tighter than Caroline.” Tyler moaned out, you couldn’t even form words from how big he was and how he was stretching you out so right, all that came out was a mewling cry, which the hybrid smirked at. Rocking his cock deeper inside your tight canal, he began a passionate pace, looking down into your eyes as he fucked you deep so he could see how you crumbled apart for him, how desperate you were to take his dick. He locked you in another kiss again, moaning into it as you trailed your hands down his back, until he slammed in balls deep, colliding head first with your prostate, you cried out & instictively tightened your grip, sinking your fingers into Tyler. “Sink it in pretty boy, scratch down my back till you draw blood while I fuck you the way Vicki & Caroline could never handle, but you can, you fucking slut.”

The rough dirty talk emerged a desire in you to meet Tyler’s challenge head on. You dug in harder as Tyler cried out from the mix of pain and pleasure, all thoughts of Caroline and the confrontation gone, all you both wanted to do was chase down your orgasms. Your fingers began to feel a bit moist and you took them away from Tyler’s back to see you’d got him deep that there was blood dripping “Taste it” Tyler panted in your ear “Taste me Y/N, I know you want to.” With Tyler’s encouragement, you locked eyes with him drew your tongue across your fingers, tasting Tyler’s blood. You moaned out from his taste, knowing it would incense him into fucking you rougher and indeed, Tyler began to rock into you so hard that the bed began to slam into the wall with every thrust. ”God, this is amazing, keep this up and I’ll cum for you Y/N.” “Do it Tyler, cum.” Once again Tyler squeezed your neck “I’m the hybrid here baby, you’re the human, I control you, I won’t cum till you cum apart from my dick.” Tyler’s words were accompanied by a sharp thrust deep inside you, well and truly smashing into your prostate, the driving force combined with his words was what it took for you to reach your peak and crying out Tyler’s name, you came in spurts over yourself. “Fuck, that’s hot, seeing you cum for me. You want to taste me again?” You nodded and began to move your hands to Tyler’s back again, intending to leave new marks, but instead you were met by Tyler’s full force as he slammed your hands to the bed. Groaning and spluttering out of ecstasy, his body also rippling with the same energy, Tyler pulled out and with a few simple strokes let out a loud moan as he came all over you, splattering you with even more hot cum.

As he calmed down, Tyler wiped his hand in his load, covering his fingers with the sticky white substance and held it up to your mouth “Taste it” he said again, reminiscent of when he wanted you to drink his blood, except this time, there was a more erotic tone to his voice, he wanted all of his essence inside you. Never losing eye contact with the Lockwood, you licked across your hand, taking in his salty sweet seed, even sucking it off your fingers while moaning which made Tyler grin “Fuck, if people only knew how perfect you are.” He breathed out “I do” came a distinctive british voice that could only mean... “Klaus!” you both exclaimed as you looked over to see the hybrid standing in the doorway, watching you both with a smirk on his face “I thought you were at the hotel making Caroline sulk.” “No, you should have seen though, Y/N pretty much tore them all a new one” “I don’t doubt that, Rebekah texted me and told me about it. She also told me you’d left without talking to her.” He eyed you closely “I was in an angry mood” you tried to explain, but Klaus held his hand up to silence you and you obeyed his command. “I have to say nice technique Tyler, you wanted Y/N to take his fill you of you and that you did. But now I want you to step back” With the sire bond in affect, Tyler took several steps away from the bed, Klaus grinning at his power as he walked towards you and to your excitement began to strip his clothing off “You’re going to watch as I now fuck Y/N, cause while you know how to fuck, you don’t have a thousand years of experience to you. You can masturbate to us if you want, as long as you cum once we have.” Klaus stopped at the foot of the bed, Tyler nodding as he fisted his hardening length “Good. Now love” he turned his gaze to you “Tyler’s got you ready for me, like a good sweet progeny, ready for another hybrid cock inside you.” He palmed at himself and nodding, you threw yourself back on the bed, spreading your legs. Oh yes, this was the life.

#Tyler Lockwood #Male Reader #Tyler Lockwood x Male Reader #Tyler Lockwood Smut #The Vampire Diaries #The Vampire Diaries Smut #Loyalty

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gentlemen-of-lies · 3 years ago

Text

Gentlemen of Lies, chapter 9

An explosive end

Previous chapter

Beginning

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Curt had no choice but to put his hands up. He couldn’t turn round either, not wanting to risk it. He had a gun against his head after all.

“Please. I’m just a civilian. The door was open, I was making sure no one had broken in.” His lie wasn’t flawless, but he was under too much pressure. He just said the first thing that popped into his head.

“No you’re not. You’re agent Curt Mega. Owen told me you’d be snooping around.” Owen? So Owen was a part of this. Curt knew it, he had been right all along. They were both in on it, whatever ‘it’ was.

“Where is Owen?” He asked, keeping his breathing under control as best he could. He didn’t really know what he was doing. He wanted to keep Lawson talking to stop the man from doing anything drastic, but considering a bomb was about to go off in less than fifteen minutes, talking really wasn’t a priority right now.

“Knocked out on the other side of the building. Looks like it’s just me and you.” If Owen was knocked out by Lawson’s own hands, then perhaps he wasn’t a part of this after all... but he still tipped Lawson off about him being here, so clearly something was going on.

“And what the hell are you planning on doing? Blowing this place with both of us in it?”

“That wasn’t the original plan, but you’ve put us both in a very difficult situation with your meddling.”

“Fine... but before we both go up in flames, I’d like to confirm. You are the mole, aren’t you?” It was a stupid question of course, but if Curt was about to die he wanted to at least die knowing he was right. He could almost feel Lawson rolling his eyes behind him.

“Yes, I’m the bloody mole, but I think we’re a bit past that, don’t you?”

“Can I turn around? My arms are hurting.” Lawson didn’t reply right away.

“Alright,” he permitted. Curt turned around and faced the man. It was definitely Lawson that was for sure. Same light hair, dark eyes. Except his eyes were much sharper than Curt had ever noticed them to be. “You seem pretty calm for someone about to die,” observed Lawson.

“Spies die with dignity,” replied Curt, his head up, eyes meeting Lawson’s. Lawson scoffed at him, but it was true. Curt hadn’t yet found himself in such a life threatening situation, and it wasn’t that he was brave or anything. He didn’t want to die, nor did he think he should die for some greater good. He was arrogant, that was all. He wanted people to think he was brave, to see he was brave. He wasn’t going to let Lawson make him look like a quivering mess.

“Hardly a spy. Just a child playing a game of cat and mouse. You got lucky.” Curt was itching to grab hold of his own gun, point it at Lawson, get him to drop his own. But he didn’t think even his reflexes would be quick enough. Lawson had the barrel of his gun pressed right up against Curt’s forehead, the metal digging into his skin. Curt’s eyes were fixed permanently on the trigger, frozen with fear at the thought of Lawson’s finger pushing down on it.

But all of a sudden, without Curt even noticing despite the fact that he was facing the rest of the room from where he was stood, a gunshot rang through the entire building, deafening. Shocking. Curt flinched, shutting his eyes tight, convinced the shot had come from Lawson’s gun, but... he opened his eyes. He was still alive. And he was the only one standing.

Lawson was on the floor, groaning, holding onto his shoulder. He’d been shot. Curt looked back up, now that Lawson was no longer blocking his view. Owen was stood there, gun raised, glaring at the figure on the floor.

“Owen...” breathed Curt, an unexpected feeling of relief flooding through him.

“Shut up,” Owen cut him off. “Just get out of the building. Run.” But Curt refused. Something forced him to stay, and he knew nothing that Owen said would stop him from staying until they were both out.

“No.”

“Oh don’t be a bloody hero, and leave. We don’t have time for this.” Exactly. Which was why Curt knew that Owen couldn’t argue for long. Curt simply stood aside, adamant. Owen scowled at him, but gave up trying to convince him. ‘Your funeral’ he could see him thinking.

Owen went over to Lawson instead, and bent over him.

“Switch off the bomb,” he said. “You don’t have to do this, switch it off and we can all leave. No one has to know.”

“He’s ruined it, he’s fucked it all up,” replied Lawson through gritted teeth, his voice difficult to understand over the clear pain from his gunshot wound. “This wasn’t the plan.”

“Save your breath,” Owen tried to persuade him, not in an angry way at all. Curt couldn’t help but notice the softness in Owen’s voice and demeanour. He had his hand on Lawson’s; the one pressed against Lawson’s shoulder. “Just give up, it’s not worth it.”

“I’m still getting out of here, but not with him in the way.” Owen glanced quickly at Curt, an unreadable look in his eyes, and turned back to Lawson. “I’m a dead man with him around, and I’m not letting them kill me.”

“You don’t have to let them, they don’t have to know.” Curt was beginning to get the feeling that he really wasn’t supposed to be hearing this conversation. It felt oddly private, which certainly added to the inappropriateness of the situation it was being conducted in.

“They’re not that stupid. The bomb’s about to go off, they’ll catch us. They’ll use their fancy lie detectors, and it’ll all be over. It was for him.” Had Lawson lost his mind? Who was ‘them’? Who was ‘him’? They really needed to get out of here.

“For who?” Asked Owen, and Curt was glad he wasn’t the only one who was confused.

“Who? Who do you think? Who used to work here, hm?” Something seemed to dawn on Owen, and his expression became more pained than sympathetic.

“Please. This isn’t your fight to fight, just come with us.”

“I’ll come with you. But not him.”

“For fuck’s sake, stop being so bloody stubborn and let’s just go. The bomb will go off, but we can at least get out alive.” Owen was clearly getting desperate, which was understandable considering they only had about five minutes to get out of here.

“I won’t tell anyone you were involved if you just let us all go,” said Curt, deciding to butt in. If it meant they could all leave, he’d say anything, whether he meant it or not. Owen looked expectantly at Lawson. Lawson said nothing, and whatever expression was on his face clearly burst any hope that Owen briefly had.

“Fine,” concluded Owen, standing up. “Then I guess I’ll stay here too.” Lawson whipped his head up.

“Don’t be an arsehole,” he almost yelled.

“Owen, please-” began Curt, but Owen glared at him so sternly that Curt immediately fell silent.

“I don’t leave my friends to die.” And Curt didn’t know if he was saying it to him, Lawson, or both. Perhaps he was saying it to himself.

“Really?” Replied Lawson. It seemed that they were both at a crossroads. Really not a good time to be at one. Curt couldn’t see the timer, and his heart jumped at every second that ticked by, always expecting the room to explode around themselves at any moment.

“Then I hope for our sake that Curt’s not your friend.” Owen looked at him, confused. “I’m sorry, Carvour. But I can’t trust him. There’s too much at stake.” And with such sudden, awful clarity, Curt’s eyes registered what was happening before his brain did. As he stood frozen to the spot, he saw Lawson’s hand make a grab for the handgun that had fallen near to where he lay.

Owen spotted this too, and luckily for Curt, his reflexes responded quickly enough to tackle Lawson to the ground.

But not quickly enough. Lawson had already grabbed the gun, and a shot ran through the room, even more deafening than the last, and within moments all three of them were on the floor.

By tackling Lawson, Owen had at least disrupted the path of the bullet. What had originally been aimed for Curt’s head, or chest- somewhere lethal- ended up instead in Curt’s leg. He was alive at least, but no less in pain, and was temporarily out of action. And he wasn’t the only one.

The shelves that were right next to the desk were dislodged by the sudden impact of the two bodies slamming against it. Owen barely had time to move out the way before the shelves came crashing down, the items scattering all over the place. Lawson on the other hand wasn’t in a position to escape. His shoulder left him unable to pick himself up in time, and as a result, he was now pinned under the rubble, with no way to crawl out from underneath it. Owen went for the shelves, desperately trying to pull them up and off the man. Curt wanted to help- despite not wanting Lawson to get away with this, the alternative was letting him die, and Curt was not morally indifferent enough for that. But he knew he was practically useless with his leg, and getting up was too much effort anyway. God knows how he was going to get out here himself.

Owen was struggling. The shelves were heavy, and Lawson was stuck fast, unable to get himself out at all with his shoulder. His legs were seemingly trapped underneath the boxes lying on the bottom of the shelf, obviously heavy judging by how difficult they were for Owen to move. Time was ticking on, and Lawson was no closer to getting out. With time, Owen would be able to free him. But there was no time, a fact which was getting ever more apparent.

Owen stopped, and stood there, rooted in fear, the terrible realisation dawning on him:

He had a choice.

It was between Curt and Lawson. All three of them could see it. And Curt didn’t have time to focus on Owen’s decision, because he already knew what it was going to be. Instead he turned inward, thinking of his life, his family, his mother. What would she say? The thought of her only son- her only child- dead after only two years as a spy. She never wanted him to be a secret agent. She was supportive; she had always been supportive. To the point where she was overbearing at times. But Curt knew how much she worried, and he hated that she was about to be proven right.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Owen say. “I’m so sorry.” The emotion in his voice was strong, weirdly strong. Was he that upset about leaving Curt? And here Curt was thinking that Owen hated him.

But suddenly he felt arms go around him, helping him up. His eyes flew open, disbelieving. Owen refused to look at him. Whatever he was thinking right now, there was nothing positive towards Curt, which made his decision all the more disorientating.

Curt couldn’t stand on his left leg, and he tried not to look at it, scared of seeing it bleeding. He didn’t like the sight of his own blood, certainly a flaw when one was a secret agent.

In a blur, he felt himself being rushed out of the room, desperately limping to the door. At least they were close to the outside, and not in some back room they’d have to manoeuvre themselves through. Within minutes, Curt felt the cold air nipping against his face, keeping him alert, as he was sure he was on the verge of passing out.

There was no time for either of them to stop, no matter how much they wanted to. He was certain Owen wanted to go back, but there was no choice for him. Neither knew the parameter that would be affected by the bomb, so they had to get to a safe distance, way out of the Bletchley compound. And Curt could only go so fast. By the time they reached a reasonable distance, Owen wouldn’t be able to return. And Owen knew that. Curt could feel the roughness of his grip, the anger in his hands as they dug into Curt’s arms.

When they finally reached a distance that Owen deemed safe enough to reside in, he deposited Curt on the nearest bench and to Curt’s horror started to run back in the direction of Bletchley. Despite the overwhelming pain in Curt’s leg, and the blood loss making him dizzy (he really should have been taking his shirt off right now and using it as a bandage at least), Curt had the sudden burst of adrenaline that enabled him to try and rush after Owen. Although he could already tell that there was no way he’d be able to catch up to him. All he could do was shout.

“Owen please, it’s too dangerous! You’ll never make it!” He knew his voice would probably alert anyone around him, but by this point it didn’t matter. In a matter of seconds, it wouldn’t be his voice that would be deemed the most disturbing.

Unfortunately, Owen took no heed. And all Curt could do was watch as Owen disappeared into the compound, hoping that Owen wouldn’t reach the hut in time- it was too much to hope for the miracle of Owen managing to get Lawson out and away before the bomb exploded.

By the time Curt reached the front gate, he couldn’t go any further. His leg buckled underneath him, and all he could do was sink to the ground, keeping count of how long ago Owen entered the compound.

And as he did, the sky around him exploded.

Perhaps that was an exaggeration. Curt couldn’t even see the explosion from where he was, although as he looked up, he did catch a vague sight of yellow and orange and grey mixing with the black colours of the nighttime city. But the noise itself left such a ringing in his ear, that he couldn’t even hear the sound of his own breathing anymore. He was listening to a flatline, that’s what it sounded like. It sounded like the end. The end of what, he couldn’t tell. The end of Owen? He hoped not. Despite everything, he really hoped not.

But the ringing was getting louder, and it was piercing into his head, clouding his vision. A tunnel of light pierced through, getting smaller and smaller.

Everything seemingly washed over Curt at once, every overwhelming emotion of the last... half an hour? Had it really been that short a time? Everything had changed in those thirty short minutes. Curt was no longer a newbie, a spy starting out in the field, unmasking a simple mole.

He was a different man. And there was no going back.

It was all too much for the moment, and what with the pain in his leg getting worse by the second, Curt could no longer handle it.

He fell to the floor, hardly aware of the sudden feel of a pair of arms attempting to grab him before he hit the ground in a dead faint.

#gentlemen of lies #spies are forever prequel #spies are forever fanfiction #tin can bros #curt x owen #starkid

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