#also pray for me I have my finals presentation tomorrow and i’m. scared. so good luck to me

[carpetbug]

a little mullo for your troubles

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

here is the second last part besties wahhh I'm so sad its coming to an end!! I'm also so sorry about this part, it'll break a few hearts :'( Love always, Steph xx

Part 11 | parte undicesima

warnings; heartbreak, swearing & angst - i'm sorry in advance. word count; 2185 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. final update; Wednesday 18/08 5pm AEST. tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

A few days had passed since the Villa match and Amelia had heard from Jack when he returned to Birmingham. He sent her a simple text to let her know he made it home. That’s it. The two went from previously not going more than 24 hours between FaceTimes or calls or memes to a simple made it home a few hours ago, thanks for a good time x.

No “speak soon”, no promise of a FaceTime , no double kiss at the end of the text that would have typically been there otherwise. If anything, she was more mad that he made her feel like a side piece; like one of his instagram girls that she knew he entertained throughout the week. Amelia knew that she, for lack of better terms, fucked up. She fucked up their friendship, and was praying to all of the Gods that would listen to help her not fuck things up with Ben, too. However, the fact that she didn’t go to church as often as she should have is probably the reason that Ben refused to make eye contact with the girl. It was either that or…he already knew.

“Benj, hey, wait up.” She called as he walked out to his car after a particularly long day at Cobham.

“Don’t call me Benj,” he coldly stated without turning around, continuing his stride.

“Okay fine, Chilly. Wait up will you!”

“Don’t call me Chilly either, that's reserved for friends.”

“Okay, if I can’t call you Benj, or Chilly, what can I call you?”

“The best mate of the guy you fucked multiple times on Saturday night” He spat out at her, as he finally turned around, ready to see the shocked look cast over Amelia’s face as she stood a couple feet away from him. He wasn’t expecting to see Mason at his car, just across the way or Jorgi at his, a few cars down. But they were there and it didn’t matter; they were going to find out sooner or later, anyway.

“He told you.”

“He told the group chat, Amelia. The fucking group chat! How does that make you feel? He’s already bragging about it. Your bed isn't even cold yet! It probably doesn’t bother you that much though - you’re just like him.”

“He fucked you when he knew exactly how I felt about you, having gone to him for advice as to how to apologise to you. I called him on Friday after I left your house and gushed to him like a bloody little girl because I was so happy you forgave me, and that we had kissed. And then, just like that, you let him weasel his way between your legs.”

“I know I should be taking this out on him, and I will don’t worry, but you knew what you were doing also. You knew exactly how I felt about you. I was ready to commit to you that night and you said you wanted to be friends, that you needed time to heal or whatever. So I hope you’re happy and are healing, because I take it all back.” With that, Ben turned around and got in his car, driving away from the girl who felt remorse worse than she ever has in her life.

Witnessing the whole exchange, Jorgi gave Mason a nod to say “go check on Ben, I’ll look after Amelia” and walked up to the girl from behind. Without scaring her, he firmly grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her to his chest where she let go of all of the emotions she had been keeping inside. With every stab of the knife that was Ben’s words, she felt herself becoming more vulnerable and exposed than ever before. She refused to let him see her cry. That wasn’t something she was willing to let anyone see; she didn’t realise all she had been holding together until she no longer had to, until she had the physical support of Jorgi holding her up in the middle of the training ground car park.

Ushering her to his car - she could collect her own another day - Jorgi�� put her inside before any other first team members - or worse, staff members - could see the distraught girl and drove them both back to her place where he spent the rest of the evening comforting the girl and letting her know she wasn’t alone. He had even made a desperate call to Fede, asking for advice on how to cheer the girl up. Of course, her Italian ex-lover had been worried the moment his national teammate had told him that the girl was inconsolable and was just about ready to board a flight to her, but Jorgi had calmed him down too. Fede’s advice of coffee, warm pyjamas and clean sheets had done the trick of putting the girl to sleep for the night.

The next few days had come and gone, and the two heartbroken almost-lovers were back to the beginning - Ben ignoring Amelia and Amelia trying to get Ben in a room. But it wasn’t to be. Towards the end of the week, Amelia had received a phone call from Mr Mancini, formally inviting her back to the Italian National Team staff for the upcoming friendly matches and preparation for the 2022 World Cup. Without any hesitation, she accepted her role and began to prepare the necessary procedures that would need to be implemented or maintained during her time away with the Italian side.

Sharing the news with her fellow Italians, Jorgi and Emerson, she decided that she wanted to be the one to tell Ben. She wanted him to know, whether he cared or not, that she wasn’t running away from him and that she would see him soon.

“Chilwell, please stay behind after the session.” She decided it was best if she requested it in the company of the rest of the first team and also the staff members. She was being selfish but she didn’t want him to run away from her again.

He remained sat in his seat as the rest of the team and professional staff left for the evening. Arms crossed, slouched down, looking at everything else in the room but the girl who was nervously wringing her hands together.

“I’m leaving for international duties tomorrow morning.” With that sentence, he stopped tapping his left leg and looking at the cornice details. Instead, his attention was focused on her.

“But we don’t break up for internationals for another week.”

“I know, but Mancini has requested I come earlier to settle back into things over there.”

“It’s only an hour flight away, how difficult could it be?”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me go.”

Silence. Ben didn’t have an answer for her. Of course he didn’t want to see her around Cobham on the day-to-day basis they currently had to endure, but that doesn’t mean he wants her to go back to Italy. Even if it was only for a couple of weeks. Especially if it meant she was around Fede again.

“Well, much to your dismay I'll be back here in 3 weeks. And, Italy are playing England in the last friendly match of the break.”

With a slight nod of his head, Amelia presumed that their conversation was done with. She turned to gather her paperwork and heard the chairs behind her move, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. She sighed into her hands. How did she let this happen? She preached to Ben how much she didn’t want to be selfish with his heart, and that's exactly what she did. But hey, it takes two to tango. Deciding there was no time like the present, she dialed the contact that once made her smirk but instead only made her furious to look at.

“Amelia, hey, how are you? Sorry it’s been a hectic couple of weeks.”

“Cut the crap Jack, you never intended to keep this friendship after you got what you were after.”

“Excuse me? You wanted it just as bad as I did.”

“You’re right about that, I thought I wanted it. Now, though, all I feel is regret. You know Jack, I knew from the moment we met that you were just my type, the kind that only calls me late at night. I knew a guy like you, and he treated me more or less the same. I gave myself to him, over and over for the better part of 3 years, and it was only when I left that he decided I might have been worth it... worth him.”

“But not you, you couldn’t help but run to your group chat and brag about your latest conquest, about how you made me feel wanted, only to rip it all out from under me the next morning and every day since. Honestly Jack, I think it's time you grew up a little. For Ben to confide in you how he was feeling and for you to just have blatant disregard for your so-called best mate. I can’t believe you would stoop so low. I know I'm in the wrong here too, but you are his best mate for crying out loud! How could you do this to him?”

“I don’t even want to hear what you have to say, I just needed to get that off my chest. Lose my number Jack, find some other hopeless girl that you can lure in with your foolish words and sweet nothings because I’m done. I’m done with whatever this was to you.”

______________________________________________________________

“You’re probably not going to believe me, but you have no idea how happy I am to see you here,” I heard from behind me, spinning around on my heels to see the ever-charming, boyish grin I used to love with my whole heart. This time, it's a different kind of love - it's an unconditional love shared between two people that are glad to exist together in the same crazy world.

“Federico, amore mio.” (Federico, my love) I stood up from my place on the bench at the Technical Headquarters and Training Ground of the Italian Football Federation, bringing the taller, heavily tattooed man into my arms. A gentle rock from him, side to side, to let me know that he can feel the weight of my moral compass.

“Vieni, cammina con me” (come, walk with me) He looped our arms together, and we strolled around the perimeter of the pitch that I was using to visualise my plays for the upcoming games. By the time we made it to the first set of goals, Fede had had enough of letting me mull over my own thoughts.

“Tesoro, Jorgi called one night a couple weeks ago. As smart as he is, it turns out he is hopeless at calming down an emotional female. While I'm not proud of knowing exactly how to calm you down, being that it was more often than not my fault you were inconsolable in the first place, I had to get some information out of him as to who upset my favourite girl in all of England.”

So I launched into the story, telling him everything from Mykonos to that fateful night a few weeks ago. Fede being Fede, he wanted to know everything, but I stopped just short of letting him know how many times Jack took me to paradise (much to his dismay). By the time I had wrapped up, we must have walked the pitch at least 3 times in its entirety, before retiring to the centre circle where we sat on opposite sides of the half way line staring at each other.

“I’m sorry that I ruined you for any other man,” Fede spoke solemnly.

“Fede, no - it was my stupid mistake to sleep with Jack.”

“No, let me finish amore. I’m sorry that I made you love me so deeply, and convinced you that the way I treated you was the right way, that the way I was with you was what you expect in every man to come after me. This Jack, he sounds just like me about 5 years ago - before I met you. But Ben, he sounds like the man I am trying to better myself to be, to be the man that deserves the kind of love you have to give.”

“I want you to listen to me. You need to fight for Ben. From what I have heard from both yourself and Jorgi-”

“That boy cannot keep his mouth shut to save himself,” I muttered under my breath.

“Amelia, you have a heart that deserves to be loved. Open yourself up to Ben. Tell him how you feel. From experience, you are very hard to ignore when you’re so vulnerable. Be honest with him, apologise, make him feel wanted, not like a second choice. Let him know how much you care for him, and equally how much you want him to care for you. He will see your sincerity and realise just how truly irresistible you are.”

Part 12. | la parte finale

[softtransbf]

Fresh Blood, Old Scars Part 1

You'd disappeared 15 years ago without a trace- what's Yancy supposed to do when you walk into Happy Trails Penitentiary and don't recognize him, because he's transitioned? canon compliant trans!yancy/reader

Reader: he/him trans man, no physical description

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of violence, canonical and parental. deadnaming and misgendering before either of you came out (none by anyone who knows the correct name/pronouns)

Word Count: 2,690

“Hey Yancy, I heard there’s fresh blood comin’ in today for some sorta museum heist.”

“Oh? Know anything else about these guys, so we can give ‘em a proper welcome, Bambam?”

“I know some. The first guy, Mark Iplier, claimed to have been in charge of the whole thing, but from what my sources said, it’s the partner that ran the show- just real quiet-like. I’ve been told that he don’t say a word.”

“Got a name for this, uh, silent partner?” He chuckled at his joke.

“Y/N L/N.” Yancy’s stomach dropped the way it always did when he heard that last name, your last name. Get your shit together. Wrong first name, and Bambam said he and his. Bambam don’t use pronouns other than they/them unless they’re sure. It’s just some guy with the same last name.

“Yance, you okay?” Tiny waved his hand in front of Yancy’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, just, uh, thinkin about how best to greet dese guys. The usual, wit Don’t Wanna Be Free ready just in case?”

“Right off the bat? You really think they’re that high of a flight risk?” Sparkles finally spoke up.

“I, uh, I don’t trust dem silent-types. They’s always schemin’, got somethin goin ahn in their heads.” And if he's anything like- yeah. Gone before you know it.

“Okay, if you say so. I’ll go let the others know.” Yancy didn’t even register who was speaking; he was too lost in memories.

- 15 years earlier-

Yancy knew it wasn’t cool to be excited for the first day of school when you’re a senior in high school, but he didn’t care. He didn’t need or even want to be cool- all he needed was to be your friend. Well, maybe not just friend. You’d been gone for almost the entire summer, and he’d spent the whole time figuring out how to both ask you out and tell you that he’s a guy.

He practically skipped across the street to your house so you can walk to school together, like you had every day since middle school. He knocked- nothing. Rang the doorbell- still nothing. He checked the back door and the spots where you had hidden spare keys over the years- nothing. All the curtains were drawn, too, so he couldn’t see inside. He kept trying as long as he possibly could before he had to sprint to make it to class just barely in time. All day, he kept an eye on the door, waiting for you- the two of you made sure to sign up for the exact same schedule before you went on your vacation. At lunch, he went to the office to see what he could find out.

“Y/DN isn’t a student here anymore- Mr L/N just told us last week.”

“What? Do you know where they went?”

“I’m sorry, hon, I don’t. All I know is that Y/DN is no longer a student here.”

He’d never ditched a class in his life, but that was the last thing on his mind as he ran home, crying. He didn’t stop crying for weeks.

-Present -

He’d never wanted to be wrong more in his life, but there you were. Looking better than he’d ever dreamed, following Mark around silently as he blabbered on about wanting to rally the other inmates to try to break out. No. I lost you once, and it cost me everything. I’m not about to lose you again. He quickly spread the word to skip pleasantries with the new guys and prepare for the song. As he was, you made eye contact with him from across the room. His heart dropped; you didn’t recognize him. You looked right through him, with the same calculating expression you gave everyone else. Of course he wasn’t gonna recognize you, dumbass. You’ve been on hormones for years and have had top surgery. Usually Yancy loved that he couldn’t see anything of the person he used to be in the mirror, but today he hated it more than anything in the world. Stick to the plan, Yance. He doesn’t recognize me, but it might be better this way. This way, I can get him to stay and get to know me as I am now, and he won’t be disappointed that I haven’t become anything like what we dreamed of so long ago.

Yancy couldn’t have planned it better, Mark practically begging Jimmy to punch him through the wall right before the show started, leaving you alone.

The number went great, as always, but then you showed him a picture of your parents. He knew that picture; you took it when the four of you went on a vacation together before you started your freshman year of high school. He also knew that he had once been in the picture, but you’d cut him out. The tape and staples that had been holding his heart together since you left fell away.

He stuck with his usual response to people citing family for wanting to leave, for the most part. No one at Happy Trails knew about you, and he’d killed his parents before they could leave him, so he’d kept his true abandonment issues to himself. Face to face with you after all these years, though, he couldn’t stop himself from adding “they’re always just gonna leave you behind” and a warning about trifling with the past. You flinched a little at both of those, and a spark of hope ignited in his chest- maybe you hadn’t forgotten about him, even if you didn’t recognize him now.

Then you still chose to leave. The rest of the rather single-sided conversation was a blur to him. Later, as he was tending to his injuries in solitary, he remembered calling you handsome and/or beautiful and your blush when he did. And, of course, you knocking him flat on his ass. He’d challenged you to a fight, because he’d always been able to beat you before. The part that truly left him confused, though, was why he offered to help you break out.

All he’d wanted for the last fifteen years was to go back to the day you left and beg you to stay. He’d told himself dozens, maybe hundreds, of times that if he ever saw you again, he’d do everything in his power to keep you with him. On his darker and angrier days, he truly meant everything. But here you are, and he offered to help you leave. This is what you get for even hoping someone might stick around. Let’s just do this. I gotta stop in with the warden first, though…

“Me? Out there? With you?” He chuckled. You had no idea that, with that simple gesture, you offered him everything he’d wanted for so long. Fuck, I don’t deserve him. I still love him, but he deserves someone better than the angry, selfish man I am. The fragments of his heart splintered even more. “I, um. I done a lotta bad things. And, uh.” He made himself brighten up. “This is home! For now, anyway. Maybe next time parole comes up, I’ll, uh” take it and go find you like I should have fifteen years ago. And I’ll spend every minute until then trying to become the kind of man you deserve. “Anyway, I gotta get back to it. You take care now, you hear? And, hey, visitation! Every third Sunday!” You looked down at the box you’d brought with you, and he ran. When he got back to his cell, he cried genuine tears for the first time since that August day when his world turned upside down.

- 2 weeks later, visitation day -

He knew hoping you’d come was a waste of time, and that he was just setting himself up for more pain. He’d learned the hard way that when you were gone, that was that. But still, there he was, looking up every time a guard walked into the room. As expected, they never called his name. The rest of the inmates gave him a wide berth as he went back to his cell for the night, and they were right to. He was itching for an excuse to fight. No one gave him one, though, so he told himself he’d find one tomorrow and got ready for bed.

When he got to his cell, it took him just one second to realize there was someone on his bed, pull them off, and shove them against the wall. It took him three more to process that it was you, and then another five to step back and let you go.

“Sorry for scaring you, Yancy. I didn’t mean to. It’s just… it’s visitation day, but I’m still wanted for the escape you helped me pull off, and I haven’t decided if I want to come back for good or not.” He stood there, frozen. You chuckled nervously. “I get it, your turn to be the quiet one. I’m sorry about that, by the way. There was a lot to process all at once, and I just kinda shut down when I get overwhelmed.”

I know. I remember that you didn’t say a single word our first day of high school, Yancy wanted to say. He wanted to say something, anything, but you being there and so close was just too much.

“Okay, so, honesty time; there’s a specific reason I came back.” You took a deep breath. “I haven’t been able to shake this feeling that I know you, somehow. But I know I’d remember meeting you- no way I’d forget someone like you. Anyway, I'm probably way off base and ridiculous. I guess I just wanted to tell you?” You ran your hand through your hair. “God, that sounds even flimsier than it felt in my head. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It, uh. It means a lot that you came back to say that.”

“Uh, Yancy? What happened to your accent?”

“Shit. Um. C’mere.” He muttered, as he sat down on his bed and pulled you down next to him. He prayed that you couldn’t hear how his heart started racing when he noticed your knees were touching. “No one here knows that the accent isn’t how I always speak. Not even the warden. I’ve been here five years and haven’t dropped it once. Anyone learns about this, and you’re dead, understand?” He knew that the threat was empty, but you seemed to believe it.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I gotta ask, though- why fake it? It seems like a lot of effort. You don’t owe me an explanation, of course, but since you’re heart-on-your-sleeve about your parents, it must be one hell of a reason. I bet it’d feel good to let it off your chest. I can promise to leave and never come back if you do- a burden shared is a burden halved, and if I’m gone, you can be 100% sure no one here will know.”

He took a deep breath. “Something flipped my world on its head, and I needed to distance myself from who I was before. That’s an odd phrase, though- ‘a burden shared is a burden halved’. Where’d you pick that up?”

“Oh, um. The mom of someone I loved a long time ago used to say it a lot. It just kinda stuck, I guess.”

“Loved, huh? You break their heart, or did they break yours?” Yancy was surprised he got the words out without his voice shaking or cracking. You were silent for a long time, and Yancy was sure he’d pushed too hard and you would completely shut down or, worse, leave altogether.

“Sorry, I haven’t talked about this… ever." Your voice shook. "I’ve never talked to anyone about this. I don’t know if I was loved back, but if so, I was the heartbreaker. I didn’t mean to be- I couldn’t control having to leave, and I didn’t know I wasn’t coming back until it was too late. I couldn’t say goodbye. I’ve hoped every day for the last fifteen years that my feelings were unrequited, though. I’m happy to have the pain of an unrequited first love if it means she wasn’t heartbroken.” The incorrect pronoun stung a bit, but you didn’t know, and you’d loved him back all those years ago. He was invincible.

“Have you tried reaching out? Even if your feelings were one-sided, I think you owe it to both of you to say them, at least once.” He reached out and took your hands without thinking. You didn't stop him, and he felt like he could fly.

“I tried, actually. About eight years ago, I'd, uh, escaped and was finally an actual person again after everything that was done to and taken from me, so I started looking for her. But it’s like she vanished off the face of the earth five years to the day after we were separated. It’s actually how I met Mark- I got into some deep and shady shit looking. I only gave up last year. Nothing turned up in seven years of searching, so I have to figure that she did something incredibly stupid a decade ago and got herself killed.”

“I didn’t die. Just the name did.” Yancy breathed. A half second later, he realized he’d said it out loud, and his heart stopped. You took your hands out of his and scooted away.

“Yancy. Are you trying to tell me that you’re- that we- oh my god. It is you. I knew I knew you. Everything else is different, but I should have recognized your eyes. I guess some part of me did. But you- I- I thought you were dead.”

“As you can see, I’m not dead, Brain. And for the record, your feelings were definitely not one-sided.” He reached out and cupped your cheek with one hand.

“Shit, Pinky, it really is you.”

Yancy had dreamed about how seeing you again would go in a million different ways. Not a single one of those included you practically jumping into his lap and kissing him with a lifetime's worth of love and want.

He let out an undignified whine when you broke the kiss. “Wait, wait. You knew from the second I walked in here who I was, didn’t you? You tried so hard to stop me from leaving… but then you helped me do just that. You chose to stay here when I asked you to come with me. Then I came back, and you got me to say all those things… And we’re both trans and wound up here? This is all just. So much. I can’t- I can’t do this.” You got off his lap and scooted to the far end of the bed.

“What are you saying, Y/N? That you’re leaving? Again?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

You stood up and faced him. “You do not get to play that card. You don’t know how much I went through trying to find a way to tell you I was sorry, that I didn’t know that the trip was a permanent one until we were on the other side of the country. Dad said that I'd never see mom again, and he’d kill me if I tried to get in touch with you or anyone else from back home. He broke my arm to prove he meant it. I can’t stay here to unpack all of this. I have to go. But you can come with me. I mean it even more now than I did last time. I’m not leaving you, I’m leaving here.”

You walked to the cell door and looked back at him with a sigh. “But I know you, and you have a family here. I’ll get you my address- it’s your turn to come to me, when you’re ready. I’ve waited 15 years to be with you again, what’s a little bit longer?” Without giving him a chance to respond, you kissed him again and were gone.

[ktheist]

muses. familiar!cat-shifter!yoongi x witch!reader

83.“My friends get so annoyed by how much I talk sometimes.”

x

“i thought witches don’t have friends.” yoongi scratches his arm, opening the fridge and checking out what little sustenance you have in it.

not much.

“and i thought familiars are supposed to indulge in their masters needs and wants,” hands on your hips you look at him with knitted brows and a pout.

but exactly five heartbeats later, you hear your phone buzzing and you’re hurrying to grab your bag, “i’ll be back!”

a second after the door closes shut, your head pops back in, the sulking pout now gone and in its place, the most brilliant smile and brightest twinkle in your eyes, “let’s have chicken for dinner! i left the money on the counter so you can order it and we can eat together.”

and then you’re gone.

min yoongi grumbles, eyes burning holes in the fifty dollar note lying on the white countertop.

‘did she think i’m broke or something?’

well, yoongi was quite literally homeless and living on tree branches in the deepest part of south korea’s reserves. but he was only living there because his last witch died from greed.

take over the world. become queen of every species on earth.

that sort of greed.

but you?

this 20-something year old pays - well, the humans like to call it tuition fee - to be a slave to an education that isn’t even beneficial to witches.

huh.

yoongi feels sorry for your bodiless ancestors who got burned at the stakes. if they had graves, they would be turning in them but they don’t because they took the risk to learn and practice witchcraft even if it was forbidden in their times.

now you’ve got all the reasons to learn - humans got so stupid that they stopped believing in anything besides logic - but you’re using him to predict what’s going to come out in your tests.

x

“ugh, my tailbone’s about to liquidize from having to sit in that exam hall for five freaking hours.” mina grumbles, stretching her arms over her head.

“okay, but why the fuck do we have to write a 10 page essay on why plato think our end goal is happiness?” soyeon’s scrunches her nose, as if physically cringing at the remembrance of it.

“isn’t that like, a statement? weren’t we supposed to talk about rousseau?” nayeon’s brows knit together in utter confusion.

“shit.” you’d expect soyeon to be cursing but it’s mina.

after a series of mina freaking out and the rest of you trying to calm her down by saying whatever possible answer they discussed could very well be wrong because nobody recalled hearing the professor mention who this rousseau scholar-guy.

except you.

and it wasn’t the professor who mentioned it.

it was the grumpy shapeshifting cat you’ve taken in who also happens to have futuristic premonitions.

almost as if they could hear your thoughts, soyeon turns to you, “we should’ve trusted ___’s instincts.”

technically, you were doing some reading on rousseau’s natural law theory when the girls sneaked up on you and scared your literal soul out of your body. they were surprised that you were even studying so you passingly mentioned having a strong, unquestionable feeling that he’s going to make an appearance in finals.

“you girls should’ve listened to me,” you cheekily proclaim, hands on your hips and chin tilted so high up, you can almost see the sun.

“oh great finals goddess, please tell us what you think will come out for criminal procedures,” mina gets on her knees without a care in the world and starts praying for you.

it wasn’t hard to stroke your ego and your friends know that better than anyone. so you tell them what they want to know on a pretense of ‘just predictions! don’t put all your eggs in one basket. i might be wrong!’

“yoongi, i’m home,” you singsong, swinging the door open only to have your shoulders sag at the lack of a certain black haired grump who would usually be sleeping on the couch and grumble for you to ‘shut up, i’m taking a nap.’

“huh, he’s not here.” you kick off your shoes and pad over to your room only to have your heart flutter at the sight of a cat snugly curled up in your bed.

“yoongi!” you squeal, dropping your bag and books on the floor before bounding over to the bed and gathering the slumbering feline in your arms.

the cat’s golden slits seem to appear on guard until they soften at the sight of you. he yawns widely as he stretches in your arms.

“i’m home, yoongi.” this time, your voice is barely above whisper, hand scratching his furry body as you lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling.

“you were right about rousseau and now my friends think i have some sixth sense,” you prattle on while the weight on your chest starts curling himself up - you have no strand of doubt that if you just looked down, the black feline will be snoring away as if he doesn’t have a single ounce of care for your story-telling.

not that yoongi’s ever showed an interest in your life besides the magic that you happen to bottle up and exploded the day he was walking around in seoul out of boredom.

you’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you wake up to the sound of ‘here’s your chicken’ and a ‘thanks’ before the door clicks shut.

“was that the chicken?” groggy but hungry, you march over the kitchen where yoongi - now in his human form - is taking out the boxes with your favorite swicy chicken restaurant symbol from the plastic bag.

“with the way you were snoring, i didn’t think i should order dinner at all,” he says nonchalantly.

“i-i don’t snore!” you almost scream, cheeks heating up.

“uh-huh,” there it is again, the nonchalant tone that almost drives you up the wall. then he turns to face you, index finger tapping the corner of his mouth, “you’ve got some drool there.”

almost as if possessed by a chaotic spirit, you trudge to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you in your haste. your reflection stares back at you with bed hair pointing everywhere and alarmed, round eyes as you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand only to notice nothing there. you repeat the motion once again and true enough, not a smidge of drool is present.

“that lying-!” you huff, marching back to the kitchen with one objective in mind.

“lying isn’t very nice, yoongi,” you say, barely putting a lid on the boiling anger.

“being too trustful isn’t very witch-like either.” he counters, a swicy chicken in hand and bright red sauce in the corner of his mouth.

“i curse you into a monkey!” you scream, index finger pointed in his direction.

but instead of the black haired familiar morphing and turning into the animal you cursed him into, he continues eating without even batting an eye.

“what- but-” you look at your hand and then back at him, “i cursed you!”

“you can’t curse your own familiar.” he finally says halfway into your quarter-ish life crisis, “now sit down and eat before your stomach starts grumbling too.”

you huff in bashful frustration. face too hot to even look at yoongi in eye but you’re too hungry to throw another fit.

believe it or not, this is just one of your routine in your daily life - him teasing you, completely nonchalantly and you getting worked up over it and end up making a fool out of yourself.

in a few hours, you’ll end up forgetting it ever happens and end up cuddling the cat that’s curled up on your pillow. you’ve just finished revising another topic of your next exam.

the next time you wake up, it’s to grown sized male snuggling into your chest, his arm slung over your back and your leg wedged between his. there’s not so much as a hair’s breadth between you.

“y-yoongi,” you stammer out, unable to think properly.

but when the aforementioned man simply groans and nuzzles his face in between your boobs, your cheeks hit up and your hand ends up swinging in the air before it hits its target.

his cheek.

now he sports a red handprint on his porcelain skin as he goes around, making coffee for himself while you diligently study at your desk. it’s some time in the afternoon that a furry ball leaps into your lap and kneads your thighs with his little paws before curling into a ball.

“aren’t you so cute?” your heart flutters at the adorable little fur ball, hand scratching the underside of his neck and giggling at how he’s purring in appreciation.

you end up dropping your apple pencil and shutting off your ipad. carrying the clingy furball in your arms, you plop down your bed.

“ugh, my back feels like it’s gonna crumble off like biscuit crumbs,” you lament, not caring if the sentence makes no sense.

but before you can think of any other sentence that makes no absolute sense, you feel the weight on your stomach shift, the furball you were caressing now turning into a lump of skull with actual human hair as it holds itself up and places its forehead on yours.

“how is it that you willingly take me to bed when i’m a cat and slap me in the face like i’m some pervert when i’m my human form?” this time, you know he’s teasing you because he’s smirking like he’s amused.

“it’s different because you were a cat!” you thank merlin that your voice comes out strong and certain.

“i’m still me no matter what form i take though,” his hand is warm on your thigh. his breath fans your skin, “still a man.”

“it’s different,” you know you sound meek compared to when you started out.

but your face is hot and your heart is palpitating inside your chest. all of a sudden you feel too shy to even look at him. so you cast your gaze to the side. relief floods your system when he lifts his head from yours. but it’s short-lived. teeth bite on the delicate skin of your neck. not enough to hurt but enough to incite a surprised yelp from you.

and a swing of your hand.

that’s how yoongi ends up with another red handprint on his other cheek. the first one is barely disappearing.

and you, with a hickey on your neck that you don’t know what to explain to your friends tomorrow when you meet them for the exam.

but one good thing comes out of it. after the slap, a rope materializes and wraps itself around yoongi. it’s pure magic and not even he can undo it.

“stop teasing me,” you start, sitting on the chair with your legs crossed.

“start treating me like i’m a man even in my cat form and i’ll consider that,” he counters.

at that, you lift an eyebrow, all of a sudden feeling a rush of confidence, “start acting like a man in your human form then.”

that’s when yoongi looks at you like you’ve challenged his essence. his existence.

“untie me and i’ll show you what a man is, master,” he challenges back.

it’s the word ‘master’ that gets your stomach fluttering with butterflies.

“you have two heads but you’re using the useless one to interpret what ‘a man’ means?” eyebrows rising to the ceiling, you pretend to be surprised.

“you’re a witch but you don’t even know how to use a spell,” he shrugs, reverted to his nonchalant self.

and that’s what irks you the most. how he acts like it has nothing to do with him but rubs your lacking in your face.

“lay down.” you order and his body is sent flying backwards, barely missing the wall in his abrupt descent.

yoongi groans, gathering himself once again.

“see, i know you can’t go against my words,” you say, triumphant.

“how did you find out?” he strains his neck, trying to look at you now that he’s laying down.

“the way you always did what i asked and last night, you ordered the chicken anyway even though i was sleeping and i could’ve slept through the entire night.” those were suspicions - you only confirmed it when you gave him the direct order.

“fine, you win,” he announces, barely caring about the argument.

“good.” you nod, mentally willing the rope to untie itself. but nothing happens.

you try again.

and again.

and again.

“can i please be released?” yoongi finally says after one too many mental tries.

“uh, wait,” you push yourself off the chair and tread over to manually undo the knot that keeps the rope tightly wrapped around yoongi.

“you can’t do it with magic?” comes the million dollar question.

you sigh, dejected, “i think i need to be angry - or feel strongly about something to get my magic to work.”

that’s what happened when yoongi met you. overstressed and barely focusing on your surroundings, you ended up getting run over someone who was on a bike. everything just kept going wrong. you ended up bawling your eyes out on the sidewalk - the man who ran over you started panicking thinking he broke a bone.

“i’m cool now though.” you shrug, easily dismissing the dejection and whatever that upset you before.

the rope comes undone and yoongi shimmies himself out. but before you can do anything, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist and pulling you down until your knee digs into the mattress in between his legs, your faces too close. if he’d just tilt his head, his lips would easily brush yours.

“yoongi,” you warn but he shushes you.

“try getting the rope to move with magic,” he instructs, voice uncharacteristically soft and soothing.

you take a deep breath, eyes trained on the rope lying around him whilst trying to ignore the millimeter distance between your faces.

you move your index finger and the rope lifts itself up. you motion to the left with your finger and the rope gradually slithers through the air in the direction you’re pointing.

“it’s working,” you almost squeal, beaming.

and in your excitement, you seek yoongi’s gaze, only to see the rope crashing against the ground in your periphery.

“good,” a smile plays on his lips.

all of a sudden, you’re out of breath, the perpetrator also being the cause of the rush of blood to your face.

thanks.

the words doesn’t really get passed your lips because his feel feather-light but his fingertips on your cheek is calloused but grounding. that’s how you know this isn’t just some dream.

then he pulls all of you down. the sudden shift of motion illicit a gasp out of you. but the shock stricken state is short lived. you find yourself breathing in his musky woody scent.

he leans down, kissing the delicate spot on your neck that makes your heart wretch inside your chest.

“yoongi, maybe we should take it slow and practice some other time?” you suggest and he chuckles, the sound ringing in your ear like a blissful melody.

“i’m not doing this for a practice run,” he confesses ever so casually, “i took on the form of a cat because you told me about the one you have back home. but you got too familiar with it that you forgot about me.”

he licks your flesh like a cat would. it’s supposed to be an innocent, cat-like gesture but something about the way his male body is hovering over you makes the fibers in your system go on panic mode. you wish the bed would open up and swallow you whole but you’re not powerful enough for that.

yet.

“i’m upset,” he sulkily says and sinks his teeth into your skin.

x

the fading redness on his left cheek where you first slap him is rosier than ever after your third slap landing on that one.

“when are you gonna let me go?” his voice echoes in the silence.

you turn around to see the man sitting cross-legged on your bed with his hands on his sides, the rope tightly wrapped around him. after he bit you, the rope ended shooting up and around him, as if it had a mind of its own and sought to protect you by disabling your neck-biting familiar.

oh, you sport similar hickey on the other side of your neck now too.

“hmm,” you tilt your head in contemplation, “after my last exam?”

“that’s like, in a week,” he grunts, “how am i gonna bathe? and eat?”

“you have two heads, yoongi. figure it out.” you shrug and turn back to your books and ipad.

x

note. this was requested by an anonymous as part of my drabble game.

[lilbabycee]

Need some more miles embarassing / outing his parents content that shit is too funny!

appreciative // steve rogers

↳ pairing: steve rogers x reader

READ ALL GOOD

this must be done:

you and steve’s son, miles, has a never-ending supply of energy and with that comes a never-ending supply of questions

you’re so proud because he is the smartest little baby you’ve ever met and his vocabulary and articulation is getting pretty advanced as he gets older

so you’re not surprised when you’re curled up on the couch in your living room, a book in your hand and blanket draped over your legs, and your son comes padding into the room

he parks himself in your lap and sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking while he just blinks at you

his baby blues drill into your forehead as his long eyelashes brush against his skin

absent-mindedly, you tug at his wrist so that his thumb pops out of his mouth and sigh, closing your book and putting it on the coffee table after bookmarking your page 

the moment your book is out of your hands, miles grins, moving further into your body and lays his head on your chest, comforted by the softness of it that he can’t get from his father

“mama,” he starts, little fingers playing with the bracelet on your wrist. you note that he looks a little nervous but you want him to tell you himself

you rest your chin on the top of his head while you comb your fingers through his thick hair

“yes, baby.”

“you know how my- my birthday is tomorrow?”

“yes, i do know how your birthday is tomorrow. how old are you gonna be, miles? show me.”

he proudly holds up four fingers and you blow a raspberry into his cheek which makes him giggle

“that’s right, honey. you’re gonna be four, which means you’ll be a big boy-”

miles gives you a deadpan look and you stifle a laugh when he crosses his arms and tells you for the millionth time: “mama, i’m already a big boy.”

“mmhm,” you chuckle. “are you excited for your party?”

he nods but twists his lips to the side, raising his hand to stick his thumb back in his mouth but you stop him halfway

“what’s going on, bud?”

“i- i- i wanna- i wanna,” he huffs sweetly, stopping to think about what he wants to say before opening his mouth again, “i’m scared.”

this shocks you - your son is quite literally fearless. he isn’t scared of what most kids his age (and adults) are terrified of: the dark, clowns, monsters under his bed - he’s braved it all with no qualms at all

“what’re you so scared of, baby?” your mind goes to a thousand different terrifying scenarios and your voice immediately bleeds concern like an open wound. even miles can sense it - you can tell because he leans back and his eyes dart between yours as he places a comforting hand on your arm

(you almost laugh because who’s supposed to be the parent here?)

“s’not that bad,” he goes back to fidgeting, averting his gaze from yours. “i just- i’m scared ‘cause- ‘cause if i don’t like my present, what do i do?”

your heart stops trying to beat out of your chest and instead a huge smile spreads across your face

“oh my god, you scared me, honey - is that all, miles?” 

he still refuses to meet your eyes but he nods

your laugh is relieved as you run a hand up and down your son’s arm

“if you don’t like the present, bud, you just smile, say thank you and move on. they don’t have to know you don’t like it.”

your heart falls again when your son finally looks back up at you, eyes wet and bottom lip trembling as he attempts to hold back tears

“but that’s lying! i don’t wanna lie, mama!”

jesus, this boy is more like his dad than you ever realized

but your heart is threatening to burst because it’s so full with all of the love that you have for your compassionate almost four year old

“oh, angel,” you coo and he buries his face in your breasts, fisting your shirt as sobs shake his body

rubbing his back, you try to think of a viable alternative for him: “shh, shh, relax, relax. would it make you feel better if i just tell everyone not to bring presents-”

“no!” he exclaims, looking up at you desperately. “i want presents! i just- mama, i don’t wanna be mean.”

you only realize how long his hair is getting when you brush it out of his eyes: “sweetheart, they won’t mind if you don’t like it. as long as they know you’re grateful and appreciative in the end, hmm?”

“app- appre- appreciate-? mama, i don’t know that word.”

you smile while helping him sound it out

“you know what appreciate means.” he nods. “appreciative is the same word, just as an adjective. it means the same thing as grateful.”

“so i tell them when i don’t like my present but i have to be appre- i have to appreciate it.”

“well, yeah, but maybe don’t tell them-”

“okay, mama!” he kisses your cheek before hopping off of your lap and running out of the room with a “thank you!”

the sun shines down on miles’ outdoor birthday party. miles - who has invited all of his friends from pre-k and all of the avengers - is showered with affection and compliments all day, spending plenty of time hanging out with his favorite uncle bucky 

miles is having so much fun that he almost forgets about presents altogether, but tony keeps urging you and steve to open them now because he wants to see miles’ face when he opens his gift

(it was a starkpad that you definitely yelled at tony about later because he’s four and you already have a headache just thinking about how much time you’re gonna spend prying it away from him)

so you’ve formed a circle, you and steve flanking miles on either side as he tears open the paper to a reveal a multitude of presents

and thankfully, the people in attendance all know your son fairly well so he’s loved every single gift he’s opened

“love you peter! love you shuri!” miles stands up and throws himself into the two teenagers’ legs when he sees that they’re taking him to disneyland and your heart warms at the way all of their eyes light up

but trouble ensues when wanda hands him his present and he rips it open to reveal... a train set?

miles quietens and although nobody else really notices, too busy chatting away, you observe the change in his demeanor because it’s obvious that he doesn’t like it. he once said to steve verbatim: “daddy, i don’t like trains. trains are stupid” to which steve laughed and subsequently told him off for 

(”stupid is not a nice word, miles. would you like it if someone called you stupid?”

“...no i wouldn’t, daddy.”)

“what do you think, miles?” wanda probes, an excited smile on her face and there’s a pause where you silently pray that miles won’t say anything-

“mama said i should tell the truth so... i don’t like it, auntie wanda. but mama also said i should be ‘preciative, so thank you!”

and you’ve never wanted to the floor to swallow you as much as you have in this moment

people quieten while miles puts the train set aside, stands up and heads over to his auntie wanda

wanda, who looks to be absolutely crushed, furrows her brow in confusion and looks at you

you casually look anywhere but her, feeling your face heat up and instead choose to busy yourself with gathering the wrapping paper into one pile 

you hear snickers come from behind you and when you look over your shoulder, steve is red in the face with trying to hold back his laughter, as is bucky, but sam, rhodey and tony are actually just full-on cackling at your discomfort

a fierce scowl you send their way makes them shut up... just for a minute, though

you chance a glance at wanda and feel a sense of relief when you see miles trying to cheer her up, arms wound around her neck while he presses a huge kiss on her cheek with a loud “mwah!”

(she’s still staring at you but all you can do is mouth a regretful “sorry!”)

luckily, that was the last present and you take this opportunity get as far away as possible from this entire situation

heading into the kitchen to throw the paper away, you feel a strong body behind yours and when thick arms wind around your waist, you know that it’s your husband. you turn in his arms to face him and scowl at the mirth in his eyes

“baby,” he wheezes, still chuckling, “wanda’s pretty upset. what did you tell him?”

“oh my god,” you bury your face in your hands because this is so embarrassing and you feel awful. “i- steve, he literally came to me yesterday because he was so scared that he wasn’t going to like his gifts.”

“why didn’t you tell him to just not say anything... or lie?” steve’s laughter intensifies and it’s hard to refrain from grinning youself

“i did! and then he burst into tears at the mere thought of it and i didn’t know what to do! so i told him that if he was just honest and appreciative, then everything would be fine and nobody would think he was being rude-”

steve cuts you off with a roar of laughter, tears spilling from his eyes as his head falls onto your shoulder

“why are you laughing?! this is your fault! he did not get that moral compass from me.”

steve only laughs harder

“shut up, stop! it’s not funny, babe, people are gonna think i’m a terrible mom.”

“doll, no one thinks you’re a terrible mom,” steve immediately sobers up and looks you straight in the eyes. “people were just telling me how good it is that you’re teachin’ him to be honest.”

“stop lying.”

“i’m serious!” he holds his hands up. “on my way in here, people kept stopping me and telling me that he’s such an honest, polite little boy. he could’ve thrown a fit like a lot of other kids would if they didn’t like what they got for their birthday - but he didn’t. and that’s because you’re a great mom.”

you smile bashfully and you hook your fingers in his belt loops, pulling him towards you. you lean in to capture his lips between yours, grateful that he’s provided you with some reassurance, and he tightens the grip of his hands on your waist, running his tongue along the seam of your lips as he deepens the kiss

“daddy, mama- ew! gross!” 

miles runs in but stops short, covering his eyes dramatically when he sees his father with his tongue down your throat

steve pulls away from you with a fond smile on his face as you sigh, forehead resting on steve’s shoulder

“what’s up, buddy?”

miles runs to his father and raises his arms, making steve lift him up and sit him on the countertop

“i ‘pologized to auntie wanda,” he tells you

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” he swings his legs back and forth, looking between you and steve, “i was being a meanie. but she said it was fine and then she said she’s gonna take the trains back to the store.”

“that’s great, miles, i’m so proud of you,” steve hugs him and kisses him on the cheek which makes miles beam, proudly showing off the gap between his two front teeth. “but you weren’t being mean. sometimes there’s just such a thing as being too honest, y’know?”

miles nods, “i guess so, daddy. i miss you, can you guys come back outside?”

“yes we can, sweetheart,” you run a hand through his hair. and before steve can even bring him back down, your son jumps off of the counter (”oh my god!” you squeal because this boy is going to give you a heart attack) and sprints out of the room

on his way out, you grab the back of steve’s neck to pull his lips back to yours but are interrupted again by a very insistent voice

“and no more kissing!”

“bud, who are you talking to?” 

that’s bucky’s voice

“uncle ‘ucky, mama and daddy are kissing! at my birthday party!”

bucky gasps: “no! ew!”

“i know!” 

i am crying goodbye

[1-mini-1]

“The Devilish Faux-Naïf” Chapter 1: The Girl from the Tobacco Shop

 “Good morning.”

I met Shikishima on an insignificant, rainy day in June. Even now, I still remember his clear voice and the sound of the rain reverberating inside my ears. My father’s lifestyle consisted of him going out to drink in the afternoons, and because of this, I was designated to manage the store in the evenings. That day, my friend and a classmate came by to invite me out to get castella cake, but I skillfully dodged the invitation by saying, “sweets get soggy on rainy days and it makes them taste bad, so let’s go some other time”. I felt kind of tired after, and right as I started smoking the cigarette I sneakily hid away in one of the store’s drawers, my mother found out and gave me a good smack for smoking. Afterwards, I was sleeping in the storefront like I usually do. I was falling further and further into a dream. My friend and I were just about to open the door to our favorite cafe to stuff our mouths full with castella.

“One cigar please.”

The rain falling from the heavens passed through the outside of my ears and struck my eardrums. I screamed. I was uncertain if what shook my diaphragm and exited my mouth could be considered a human voice. After propping my elbows up and raising my head, I saw an unfamiliar man in the boring storefront. I’m sure my drooling face was horrendous. He was laughing. After leaving behind eight sen and a carefree smile, he left. He was really pretty.

He came almost every day at the same time and bought the same brand. Out of the many brands we had, he would only ever buy “Shikishima” and then go home, therefore, I ended up nicknaming him Shikishima. I started to proactively manage the store. I sold tobacco everyday without my father's orders . My mother also stopped coming to keep an eye on me. My friends stopped inviting me out. The conversations we exchanged were shallower than the ones I would have at the neighborhood barbershop, and while I was shopkeeping, they were still for killing time, but the few seconds I spent with him were an irreplaceable bliss for me. I wondered if something was wrong with me. I stopped doing everything outside of managing the store and kept selling tobacco. I could tell that my mother’s watchful gaze turned into one of skepticism after a while. I felt like she would randomly want to ask during dinner what I’ve been up to, but I ignored everything. Even though we were having my favorite eggplant stew, the food didn’t make it down my throat. My head was full of my thoughts about him. I wanted to know more about him, even though I didn’t even know his name.

“We’ve been seeing each other a lot lately,” he said. Those were the first words he directed at me, the girl sweeping an insignificant tobacco shop.

Today was the day of the yearly festival that prayed for our shopping district’s prosperity. The city I lived in, Anemone, was close to the harbor and many merchants gathered there. It was usually a noisy place for that reason, but I felt that there were more people in town that day. Stalls lined the temple grounds and paper lanterns started to light the premises. If I didn’t have anything going on, I would be managing the store, but that was not the case today.

“Machiko, sorry to keep you waiting.”

I heard a voice coming from the festival. I assumed that he would climb the stairs up to the temple grounds, so my back was completely turned to him. I let out a dumb shriek then turned around to find Shikishima.

“Ah! Shikishima, don’t scare me like that!”

He looked a lot younger than when I saw him at the shop.

“Sorry for inviting you out suddenly,” he said in his usual, kind voice. We came to the festival. It always had countless stalls set up, and, therefore, was crowded with people. But I didn’t care about that today.

‘It’d be a pain if one of my classmates saw me here…’

While having peaceful delusions, I felt a little proud of myselfー I came to a festival with a handsome man. We enjoyed the single road of stalls. At the end, we found a candy apple stand. The candy apples lined up next to each other glittered red, reflecting the light of the paper lanterns.

“Candy apples are pretty, aren’t they?”

After saying that, Shikishima stopped walking for a few seconds and looked far off, into the distance. Then, he bought a candy apple and gave it to me.

The moon was beautiful on the way home. The croaks of the frogs in the rice paddies distracted me from the silence between us. I hesitantly asked, “Shikishima, won’t you come to my house sometime? I mean, my mother’s cooking is really good and I was thinking that I want you to try it too. If you don’t want to, that’s fine but…”

I went and said it. My voice gradually grew softer, blending in with the croaking of the frogs, until I couldn’t hear it anymore.

“Hm, yeah, is it ok if I come tomorrow?”

I’m sure that’s what he said. I didn’t hear him wrong.

I didn’t go to school the day after the festival. The previous night, I rushed into my mother’s room and prostrated myself for the first time in my life. Throughout the night, she taught me how to cook. Running from corner to corner, I took out a cigar from the storefront for Shikishima to use. I’ll give it to him as a present.

My father woke up to scold his bad daughter for being noisy first thing in the morning, but it seemed like he was moved by the enthusiasm I was putting into my housework and also helped in the major cleanup. The house (that was built about five years ago) was rejuvenated from our family’s teamwork. Night came, and I waited for Shikishima to come to the usual storefront. However, he didn’t come at the time we promised to meet yesterday. I thought it was strange because he always came at this time to buy cigarettes, but no matter how much time passed, Shikishima didn’t show up. I, who hadn’t slept a wink, finally fell sound asleep. This wasn’t any different from my usual store-watching. Even though morning eventually came, Shikishima didn’t come. After that, I didn’t see the person called Shikishima ever again.

Winter came. Class ended, and I was chatting with my friend on the way home.

“Why don’t you go to Tokyo?” My friend asked.

“Ya know, I don’t know why it seems like everyone wants to go to Tokyo. It feels like they’re worried about something. I’m fine with staying here.”

According to my friend who was waiting for her sailor parents, the number of girls heading up to Tokyo was increasing. Because of that, it seemed like some people were worried that young women would eventually disappear from this town.

“Plus, there’s no way I have enough money to go to Tokyo. Even if I wanna go, I can’t.”

We got to my house while having that conversation. It was cold today, so I didn’t want to man the store. Thinking that my father wouldn’t find me if I went to my room, I snuck home through the back door, but because he was taking care of the garden at that moment, I was ultimately entrusted with watching the store.

‘There’s no one who’ll come to buy tobacco on a day this cold…’

I filled a bottle with hot water as I mumbled to myself then exited the storefront.

‘Tokyo huh, I wanna go… I hate this town.’

Deciding that I would dream of Tokyo today, I fell asleep. In my dream, I was living together with a handsome man. He would eat the meals I cooked and gush about how delicious they were. Before seeing him off, I would kiss him in the entrywayー

At that moment a cold, strong wind blew. I woke up with a moan.

‘I was having a good dream though…’

I was still half-dreaming as I stretched, lost my balance, and fell from my chair.

‘Ow…’

When I opened my eyes, I saw a small parcel on the counter. Curious, I looked at its contents. Inside, there was a single castella cake.

Chapter 2...

[oddeyecadia]

aren't humans supposed to be scared of death?

lucifer/main character

also posted on ao3

__

His glare alone could kill a thousand souls.

It wasn't a fair battle for (M/C) only had one, the same soul that was almost some demons' dinner earlier.

Most of the time when his eyes would fall on her, her heart would skip a beat and she'd forget how to breathe. Right then, she was still at lost for breath, but only because it seemed like he wanted to rip her lungs into pieces. A contrast to how gentle he was holding her in his arms moments ago.

It was times like these that (M/C) wished she had even half of Beel's athleticism. Adrenaline wasn't enough to increase her speed, but at least it helped with distracting her from her aching feet. There were two– no, three demons chasing her. If it was only one, she would've decided to fight, but their number didn't give her a choice but to run for her life.

She turned to an alleyway hoping to find somewhere to hide and found nothing but a dead end.

"You done wasting our time yet?" A panting voice came up behind her.

Trying to catch her breath, (M/C) quickly turned to the owner of the voice. The same demons who she turned down– one she might've given a black eye –were blocking her way. There were five of them now, five demons with hungry eyes starting at her. Where the hell did the other two come from?

She backed up and widened her stance. Running away and hiding from them were crossed out, there was no way she could get out of this situation without at least trying to defend herself. With a sprained feet and a trembling body, she for sure wouldn't win, but what choice did she have?

One of them spoke. "If only you just accepted our offer. You really had the guts to reject us, you, a human!" There was a hint of disgust in his last words.

She was about to say how she would rather lose her soul than accompany them to The Fall when the same demon aggressively pulled her by the wrist, making her squeak. His grip was so tight that it stung her skin, but she couldn't careless. All she wanted right then was to give the demon multiple kicks in the balls.

The others cheered him on as his face moved closer to hers. Gritting her teeth, she tried to pull away but his grip only tightened. She could feel his breath on her neck when he said, "Such a pure soul too. Free dinner's about to be good."

Her stomach flipped in the most unpleasant way as she shut her eyes, expecting to meet pain. Memories of soft crimson eyes flashed through her mind and she found herself internally calling for its owner.

It was only then that the fear started to sink in.

As if her prayers had reached the celestial realm, in a matter of seconds, the tight grip on her wrist disappeared and her feet was off the ground. Harsh wind blew through the alleyway and the scent of musk she loved so much hit her nose. She didn't need to open her eyes to know who was holding her but when she did, the same crimson eyes met hers and suddenly, all the tension in her body faded away.

She had always felt safest in Lucifer's arms.

(M/C) could almost taste the bitter atmosphere filling his office as Lucifer stood in front of her with his arms crossed. Daring to look him in the eye once, she regretted that decision immediately when a chill ran down her spine. She held onto her own arm for comfort.

Whenever his brothers would misbehave, he'd scold them for an eternity as one of the many punishments. He haven't said a word ever since he fought the group of demons who tried to murder her tonight, though. She'd rather have the repetitive reminders and sarcastic remarks than his silence that was more terrifying than the Devil King himself. She haven't even met said king.

After moments of hesitation, she finally found her voice. "Lucifer, I'm–"

"Mind telling me what you were doing alone in the streets of Devildom in the middle of the night?"

(M/C) gulped at his sharp tone. "I just– I needed to buy supplies for my school project due tomorrow, so I went out to get some."

"And you chose to go alone?"

"Well, everyone's already asleep."

"You of all people would know that I would still be in my office even at this hour. I would have been willing to accompany you if you asked." It was obvious that he was trying his best to keep his composure, but the way his voice was getting louder and more aggressive was ruining his facade.

She took a deep breath, praying to his father that her next words wouldn't fuel up the fire too much. "I doubt that you would even leave your desk if I ask you. Besides, the store wasn't that far and I didn't wanna bother any of you."

"That is not an excuse!" She didn't know it was possible but the furrow on his brows got even deeper. "It is irresponsible to do school projects the night before the deadline, first and foremost."

He lost her at the word irresponsible. (M/C) was pretty sure she had received this very same talk for over a million times, she didn't need to hear it again.

The way he spoke with such authority reminded her that she was talking to Lucifer, the Vice President of the student council and Diavolo's right hand man, not the Lucifer who would wake her up early in the morning so they could have the table on their own during breakfast or the Lucifer who put his coat on her when she accidentally slept on the couch.

This was the Lucifer his brothers would daydream of punching on a daily, but still the Lucifer she'd risk everything for.

"What's wrong? Having trouble falling asleep?"

(M/C) only blinked at the demon. She should've known she would run into Lucifer when she decided to roam around the halls of the House of Lamentation when everyone was asleep. It was rare for him to leave his desk at this hour, though. Perhaps luck just wasn't by her side.

"Uhm, yeah kind of." She answered honestly.

"May I ask why?"

She could only bite her lip. Was it a good idea to say she was just missing her room in the human world? Or that she was craving for her parent/s' hug? Would he even understand what homesickness was? It didn't matter, she wasn't scared of opening up to him but knowing Lucifer, he'd probably report this to Lord Diavolo and knowing Diavolo, who knew what ridiculous human event would he attempt to pull off if he found out. Although, it would be fun to watch the crown prince try, it would only remind her more that she wasn't in the human world with her family.

She gave Lucifer a hopefully convincing laugh. "Oh, it's pretty stupid. Levi and I watched a horror movie earlier. It's kind of hard to sleep when the creepy stuff keeps replaying in my head."

"Hmm. I never thought you'd be the type to be scared of fictional monsters, (M/C)."

He was right. (M/C) was in literal hell for Devil King's sake. No monster or ghost could ever scare her anymore.

"I guess you just don't know me as well as you thought." She said, keeping the act.

It took him too long to speak again that she was afraid her lying abilities were getting rusty. "Well then, I have a suggestion." A grin formed on his lips. "How about we share the bed?"

Her breathing stopped as the room grew several degrees higher than usual. Share the bed? Share the bed?

It seemed like her head didn't have control of her mouth for she just said, "Sure. Why not?"

Later as (M/C) felt the other side of Lucifer's gigantic bed dip, she started to realize why Why not? was such a stupid thing to ask.

It was like she was on her first day at RAD again, growing an interest in the most powerful demon in Devildom. She couldn't help it, he was undeniably attractive and the way he so confidently presented himself was gravitating. Lucifer was, for lack of a better word, hot.

But that was only what he was to her, an eye candy that was way out of her league. He was too much of a stuck up for her anyway, so she decided not to let her feelings grow into anything more.

She thought she had managed to forget about her embarrassing crush, but the way her heart almost jumped out of her chest as she felt him lay down beside her told her otherwise.

"(M/C)." He called.

"Yup?"

"You're going to end up falling off if you stay on the edge there. It is much comfier here in the middle, come."

The way his voice dropped at the last word made her feel things, particularly in her lower region. She shook off the thoughts before it could conquer her whole body. Giving the wall she had been staring at for minutes an internal farewell, she finally faced him for the first time she lied in his bed that night.

The butterflies in her stomach flying around for fun were now in chaos.

Right before her was Lucifer in a plain black shirt, looking as ethereal as ever. With a cheeky smile on his lips, his gloveless hand gave the space beside him a pat and she settled closer beside him like the fool that she was.

"Happy?"

He chuckled, most likely at how her face was heating up. "Very. So what's the true reason?"

"Excuse me?"

"What was the reason you couldn't sleep?" He must have noticed how she froze for a second for he let out another snicker. "Don't act so surprised. You laugh for no reason whenever you aren't being truthful. A pretty bad liar for someone so cunning."

She should feel embarrassed but the way he noticed this little fact about her just made her grin. "Alright, you got me. I didn't lie about the horror movie, though. We did watch one but... yeah, it's not the reason I couldn't sleep."

Crimson eyes just stared at her as if asking her to continue. (M/C) sighed. "I was just missing my life back home. That's all."

"Are you not enjoying your stay here?"

"No! No, of course not. I like it here. You and your brothers are like family to me. Sometimes I just miss my family in the human world, you know?"

He hummed in what seemed like understanding. "It can't be helped. You've never been away from them for this long, correct?"

She shook her head in response, chest getting heavy at the fact that she haven't talked to her family in months. "No. I guess this is normal, though, I'm just naturally a family person. I rarely even go to sleepovers just because it feels weird not being a room away from them."

"Is that so?" His eyes avoided hers. "We aren't as different as I thought."

Most people would be taken aback if they heard his last words, but (M/C) knew better. Lucifer wasn't the most affectionate brother. In fact, he seemed like someone who'd leave all his brothers tied up on a railway if he could, but in truth, he would just leave to destroy the train itself. "You don't like sleepovers too?" She joked.

Something in her chest blooms when a small laugh came out of him. "If what we are doing now is what you consider a sleepover, then no, it is certainly to my liking." Their eyes met again and she swore she melted right then and there. "Regardless, the purpose of a sleep over is well, to sleep. Unless you really are terrified because of that horror film."

"Pff. Why would I be terrified? I'm with the strongest demon in all of Devildom."

"You are aware I could kill you, no?" It was almost funny how causally he just said it.

She shrugged. "So could anyone."

"Death doesn't scare you?"

"I mean, honestly I'm much more scared of hurting the people I'd leave behind." She answered without hesitation. "You're probably the one not scared of it." Could you even die? She thought of asking but decided to keep her mouth shut.

An odd expression grew on his face, a look she haven't seen before. It was much softer yet gloomier for some reason. "No." He let out a deep sigh as he avoided her eyes again. "Losing someone because of death, however..."

He didn't continue, and he didn't have to. The sorrow in his voice already had the weight of a thousand words.

"You know how dangerous it is out there, especially for a human. May I remind you that you're nothing but a walking dinner for most demons." He continued.

"I know that, alright? You don't have to remind me. I promise, I won't do it again." She said, taking defeat for she just wanted to get this over with. Running away from a gang of demons as she feared for her own life took a lot of energy out of her and she just wanted to rest, but she knew Lucifer was far from done.

"You better. Can you imagine what would happen if I didn't find you sooner? Not only would you get hurt and ruin the exchange program but you also–"

Something in her snapped, heart dropping deep into her stomach.

Of course. Of fucking course.

"I also what?" She asked confidently despite her whole body trembling. She didn't miss how his eyes widened for a second. "Could've damaged yours and Diavolo's reputation? Could've given you more paper works and bills to pay?"

(M/C)'s fists clenched, slapping herself internally for even thinking that he actually, genuinely cared for her, that she was important enough for him to risk his life protecting her when all this time, he was just protecting someone else's name.

All the hand holding, the good night kisses, the times he asked her to stay in line on the phone for comfort, the soft smiles, it was all done for business. He must've noticed how fond she was of him and took it to his advantage.

He was doing all of those only to make her experience at the Devildom more pleasing so she wouldn't write anything negative about the student exchange program. It was all about the stupid exchange program. In the back of her head, she already knew this could be the case, so why did it still leave a heavy weight in her chest?

She scoffed pityingly at her own foolishness. "What else, huh? I could've ruin Diavolo's dreams of strenghtening the relationship between the three worlds–"

"This isn't just about that." He let his fists fall on his side.

With tears forming in her eyes, she dared to step forward. "Well, sorry, Vice president! I didn't mean to give the student council another headache."

"(M/C)."

"I'm sorry for leaving a bad record to Diavolo's precious–"

"–YOU COULD'VE DIED!"

In the aftermath of the shout, the silence seemed so deafening. It was his turn to take a step closer and it was only then when she noticed it.

He was shaking. "You could've died." He said, softer this time. "This is more than just because of the program. I nearly lost you." There was that odd expression again.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as her mind went back to one of their previous conversations in his bed. Not missing the way his hand kept slightly lifting up and back down as he talked, she took the initiative and placed her own on his cheek. "But I'm still here." She said, almost in a whisper for they were so close, their bodies were almost touching.

He put his hand on top of hers, gently kissing its palm as an unspoken apology. It wasn't much, he was still the avatar of pride after all, but it warmed her heart that he was trying.

Taking her hand and intertwining it with his own, his head dropped to her shoulder. His soft breathing tickled her skin. As she thread her fingers through his hair, she couldn't help but appreciate this side of him. This was the Lucifer no one had ever seen, the Lucifer who despised even the thought of not being by her side, the one who loved hand holding, the one who'd turn into a blushing mess whenever she'd kiss him out of nowhere, the Lucifer only she got to see.

With a deep sigh, he finally spoke again. "What am I going to do with you?"

She tried to pull away to respond but as soon as she moved, his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back in. (M/C) couldn't protest, she didn't want to, so they stayed close for a long while.

[mando-chicken]

Tiny Spots | Clones and Their Cats

“When Commander Thorn’s Tooka, Spot, goes missing, he enlists the help of his brother, Commander Fox, to try and find his beloved pet. When they find her, however, they’re both in for quite the surprise.”

Another chapter based in the ‘Clones and Their Cats’ universe. The basis is literally just what it says on the tin - some of the clones have cats (and some other pets too) - all these fics will largely focus on the clones and their animal companions. Not all chapters/works are in chronological order, this one is set a few months before the first one.

Other works in the series:

Cat Sitter

Read on AO3

Tag List:

@cxptain-rex​ @spaghetti-666​

A knock at Fox’s door caused him to groan loudly, scrubbing at his face with a hand, before glancing at the chrono that sat on his desk, noting that he had been working at the massive piles of flimsi before him for almost two hours. His frown deepened when he also noticed that he had only managed to get part way through the first pile. “Come in,” he huffed, snatching the next document from the pile and scanning the mess of words that seemed to go on forever without actually saying anything of any real importance.

 Fox immediately narrowed his eyes when Thorn’s familiar head popped through Fox’s doorway, offering him a sheepish grin. “Uh, hey Fox, is Spot in here?” the younger clone asked, glancing around Fox’s office and at all of the usual hiding places of the Tooka in question.

 “Haven’t seen her all day,” he shook his head, returning to reading the flimsi before him, “did you try checking the storage rooms?” The sound of an affirmative, “the street out back?” Another affirmative, “and what about the Doctor? You know Spot likes to hang around at the vet clinic or at her apartment when you’re out on patrol.”

 “Dalthic says she hasn’t seen her either.” Thorn’s voice is unusually subdued, and when Fox looks up he can clearly see the way his eyebrows wrinkled. He still seemed to be glancing around the room, as if expecting the cat to suddenly poke its head out of one of the flimsi filled crates – something the animal was indeed prone to doing – because the boxes in Fox’s office were clearly superior for a Tooka to sit in compared to any other.

 Fox made a respectable effort at holding back an exhausted sigh, only allowing a brief puff of air from his nose to signal any sort of displeasure. Sure, technically it was none of his concern what happened to the cat, but Thorn absolutely adored the little creature and it was rather sweet the way he lit up the moment he spotted the ginger furball. Admittedly, Fox himself had grown somewhat fond of the Tooka, enjoying her quiet company when he was stuck in the office, even if he could live happily without the unseemly number of cat hairs that coated his blacks and found their way into his cups of caff. Not that he would ever admit such a thing aloud, that would only encourage more brothers to try and get their own hands on a pet.

 “She’ll be fine, Thorn, she knows the streets as well as any Guard,” he breathed, “I’m sure she’ll be back here in time to wake you up for feeding tomorrow morning.” Thorn had learnt very quickly that cats did not tolerate late feeding. Whenever he was out, Spot had evidently decided Fox was the lucky person who would get woken up by her ungodly screeching for food, forcing him to feed the animal, lest he have to spend the next few hours trying to sleep through the sound. So much for her being Thorn’s sole responsibility.

 Thorn only frowned at his words, shaking his head slightly, “that’s the thing, she hasn’t been to my quarters this evening, and it’s hours past feeding time. You know she’d never miss out on free food and especially not a main meal.” The trooper was shifting slightly, his fingers drumming along the side of his helmet as he clutched it in one of his hands.

 It was enough for Fox to take pause in consideration, the flimsi in his hand drooping slightly as he began to think to himself. No matter what, Spot was always present at mealtimes, often arriving a little while early to ensure no one forgot her feed.

 “And it isn’t just that either, she’s been throwing up recently, and keeps trying to hide from everyone. I thought she just wasn’t feeling well and it’d pass on its own in a few days, but now…” he trailed off with a sigh, looking down at the floor. It was typical of Thorn to think he had somehow failed his pet before they even knew if anything was actually wrong with her – a habit it seemed he had picked up from Fox himself – and he decided to quickly put an end to the line of thought.

 “Look, vod, I’m sure she’s fine. Have a little faith in her.” Fox placed down the document he had been working on, “go on and do your patrol, the boys will be waiting for you. I’ll just finish up these priority documents and then I’ll go and look around the barracks.” He was fortunate to have finished most of the priority work beforehand, only a few documents required for important meetings within the senate the following morning, and the rest could wait a while longer. It wasn’t as though Fox expected to get much further through the nasty piles of flimsiwork anyway.

 Seemingly, his reassurances were enough to take off some of the edge off Thorn’s worries, and the other commander was quick to give Fox a nod, straightening up and sliding his helmet smoothly into place. “Thanks, vod.” Thorn’s shoulders lowered slightly, as if his tension was slowly being drained away.

 Fox nodded back, beginning to shoo his fellow commander from the room with a few waves of his hand, “don’t worry about it, just make sure to keep the little beast in your quarters where you can keep an eye on her once I find her.” From the way Thorn snickered slightly and muttered a quiet ‘sure’ as he left, Fox’s gruff, annoyed tone hadn’t exactly come out as such.

 Within half an hour Fox had managed to scribble the final approval signature into place on the documents he was working through. He placed it on the pile of completed work with a relieved sigh, taking a moment to roll his wrist, frowning slightly at the way it ached with the movement. Although it wasn’t quite late, Fox knew he would have to be awake before dawn to begin some preparations for a guard detail later the following day, so he was determined to get a reasonable amount of rest beforehand.

 After taking a few moments to ensure everything was left in order, Fox exited his office and began the short journey to the main barracks attached to the lower story of the Guard building. If the Tooka wasn’t in Thorn’s quarters or office, the local alleyways or harassing the local vet for affection, then there was a solid chance she would be hiding out in the barracks.

 Luckily for Fox, the men were good at keeping their sleeping areas practically spotless – as per the regulations – so there were only so many places Spot could try to hide. But it seemed that no matter how many rooms he checked, nor how many brothers he spoke to, there were no signs he could find that would lead him to the cat’s current whereabouts. No one had seen her, not since the previous evening at the latest.

 Fox had been searching for well over an hour before Thorn eventually returned from his short patrol of the nearby area, only just taking the time to switch out with the next trooper assigned the route, before he was back to Fox’s side, questioning him on his progress. They both agreed to spend only another hour searching for Spot at the most, knowing they were both needed the following morning. Despite their efforts, however, neither of them could find the elusive feline, and Thorn was eventually the one to call the search off, albeit reluctantly.

 Defeated, but agreeing to spend some time in the morning continuing their search, Fox returned to his quarters for the night. It took him only a few minutes to mindlessly work his way out of his armour, setting it all aside in a neat pile, before he fell back onto his bed. The thin mattress did little to cushion his small drop, but he hardly cared, moving into a slightly more comfortable position on his back before grabbing his datapad from the side table.

 He silently skimmed through the ever-growing list of updates, ensuring there was nothing that urgently needed his attention. The screen of the datapd was the only feature illuminating the room, and Fox was silently musing to himself about how the Guard medics Fibula and Tibia would probably be berating him for causing potential eye strain, when he picked up the distinct sound of a Tooka’s meow.

 Practically rolling off the edge of the bed, Fox quickly dropped down to the floor, using the brightness of his pad to light up the small space beneath his bunk. It took him all of about four seconds – enough time to curse Thorn and the tube he was birthed from – before he reached out and snatched up his comm unit, calmly summoning the other commander to his quarters.

 By the time Thorn managed to reach him, Fox had switched on the lights and had settled himself on the floor. “When you adopted Spot, what exactly did the vet tell you to do?” Fox asked, glancing up at Thorn. His voice was soft and almost conversational, but his eyes glinted dangerously in a way that had the other commander shrinking slightly under the older clone’s gaze.

 “The Doc’ told me plenty of things I’d need to do…” he slowly answered, curling in on himself further when Fox made a show of taking in a deep breath, holding it for a moment, and then releasing it. He was mad. “Why do you ask, ori’vod?” Thorn was scared to ask but prayed to whatever deity was out there that he could perhaps try and suck up to the other commander and somewhat lessen his wrath, or at least what amount of it got directed towards him.

 Fox, however, saw through his futile attempt, eyes narrowing on his dangerously, “Don’t you ‘ori’vod’ me, Thorn,” he growled, “come and look what your cat’s done.”

 There was little room for argument with Fox’s tone, and cautiously, as if approaching a fierce predator, Thorn slunk his way closer, sliding down to kneel on the floor beside Fox’s bed. He glanced under it, only to gasp in both surprise and slight delight at what he saw. “Spot’s had kittens?!” he whisper-shouted, trying to be considerate of the five, tiny bundles of fur currently snuggled up close to Spot’s side. Thorn had the sense to at least attempt to look sheepish, but it was hard to maintain it with the way he kept having to fight down the urge to grin at the adorable kittens.

 “I thought you said you’d gotten her splayed months ago!” Fox couldn’t help snapping, “what the kriff are we supposed to do with kittens, di’kut?”

 Thorn gave a nervous chuckle, scratching at the back of his neck, “Uh, yeah, about that…” he merely offered an apologetic smile, though it began to look more and more like a grimace the longer Fox scowled at him. “Look, I’m sorry, but I got caught up with all the chaos we were having recently, and it just slipped my mind.”

 Fox had practically buried his face into his hand by that point. “That still doesn’t answer my question. We don’t exactly know how to deal with newborn kittens, nor what we should do with them.”

 “We can just ask Dalthic, she’s a vet, she’ll know how to look after kittens,” Thorn replied, reaching out to gently nudge one of the restless baby Tookas with one of his fingers. The fearsome clone commander looked as though he was going to burst into tears and desperately clutched his chest with a hand when the kitten made a tiny ‘mew’ sound in response.

 Fox already had his datapad out, shooting a brief message to the vet who had been kind enough to help Thorn adopt Spot in the first place. “You’re going to have to apologise to the poor woman, I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate being woken up at this hour,” he grumbled, sparing a glance at Spot and noting tiredly that it was indeed his blanket that the cat had stolen to give birth on.

 Thorn nodded, but didn’t seem to be paying much attention, too absorbed with stroking Spot’s head, informing her of just how adorable her kittens were. Spot was vibrating with happiness, purring so loudly that Fox was slightly worried the walls would start shaking if she purred any louder. “Some of the other brothers have mentioned wanting pets, maybe we could keep the—”

 “Absolutely not.” There was no way they would be keeping the kittens, much less giving them to other brothers in the Guard to keep as pets. As far as Fox was concerned, they had already broken enough regulations by deciding to keep one Tooka in the barracks, six would just be asking for trouble. “We’re not going to be keeping any of them, as soon as they’re old enough we’ll give them to the Doc’ and she can find them homes.” He absolutely meant it, no matter how put-out Thorn looked at being so quickly shot down.

 It was six weeks later, when Spot was happily sitting in one of the crates in Fox’s office, with four kittens spread out across his desk’s surface and one kitten attempting to lay on top of his datapad while he was using it, purring away happy and content, that Fox realised yes, they would indeed be keeping the kittens.

[rokutouxei]

the wonder that’s keeping the starts apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop's most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo's pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 4 OF 22

She is… persistent.

The kind of persistent that would be inspiring if the persistence wasn’t pointed in his direction. Theo isn’t anti-social—he’s not the kind of person who would purposefully avoid conversation or hide from people, because he knows that, especially with his major, building networks is a thing. 

But she’s different, because it’s not like she’s doing it for any sort of plus or gain on her end—at least in Theo’s mind—so he doesn’t quite understand why she’s like this.

“Do you have a favorite book?”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Why’d you decide to work at Dragon’s Hoard?”

“What’s it like being a business major?”

She asks just a handful of questions in a day, as if not to scare him off. But she makes the most out of his patience. She sits there, the book he’s lent her in her hand, a finger stuck between the pages to mark where she was last at. She gives an answer for every question she gives, as

“Me? Man, I wouldn’t be able to pick a favorite book…”

“I really like Japanese food, actually, but…”

“Hmm, I’m thinking of getting a part-time too, so…”

“It’s prettier on paper. Everything is prettier on paper in the lit department…”

Something about her persistence reminds him of Vincent, in a mirrored way that he can’t quite put into words. She and Vincent both have something thrumming in their veins that pushes them forward. It’s something he doesn’t understand, because it’s never been like that for him.

So one day, he finally asks:

“Why me?”

“What?”

Theo asks it out of nowhere, and she looks up at him curiously from between the pages of Ocean Vuong.

“What do you mean, why you?”

“It is what it is.”

“Okay, mister vague-posting,” she rolls her eyes at him, but there’s a smile on her face. “I don’t know, really. You’re interesting, I guess.”

It’s not the eloquent answer he expected out of her, but he’s a little relieved it’s not anything more complex. He doesn’t know what he would done with that sort of information. “Glad to have been entertaining, then.”

 “What do you think of yourself, a shiny thing?” she says, laughing. “You’re just more than you show yourself to be, and that’s the fun part. I just might see through you, Theo.”

“You do not.”

“I do! You’re all barbs but Vincent calls you the sweetest thing and that’s all I need to know. Maybe I can even guess your favorite color.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Is it yellow?”

Theo didn’t have a favorite color. And even if he did, yellow might not be that high up on the list of contenders. But in that moment, he considers it: yellow, the color of Vincent’s hair, yellow, the rye fields of their home town, yellow, the color of childhood summers and painting in the backyard, yellow, the colors on their bedroom wall.

Maybe this silly girl was right. Maybe yellow could be his favorite.

“Lucky guess, hondje,” he says, instead, watching the sun blossom, bright yellow, on her face.

--

“You’re trying to justify a friendship with a guy who called you a dog?” he asks, tucking beautifully-tinted violet hair behind his ear. “You deserve better, Toshiko-san.”

It’s late afternoon, and she’s sitting in the gazebo near the Arts Building, the small, undignified hangout spot of the school’s already tiny literary club. Her friend and senior, Dazai, sits across from her on the table with his glasses on, squinting at her in confusion.

Dazai graduated a bit back, being two years older than her, but he’s still studying under the department.  For some reason or another that she could not comprehend, he decided to take his MA in Japanese Literature here as well. One shared intensive writing workshop class with him has made them good friends.

“Called? No, present tense. He calls me a dog,” she corrects, shaking her head as she finally lifts her head up from the book she is highlighting. “I mean, he uses my name… sometimes… rarely… okay nearly never, but somehow he’s figured out calling me his puppy in Dutch is a good nickname.”

Dazai shakes his head. “Sounds like a fuckboy,” he comments, readjusting his glasses into place, as he flips his readings back to the right page. “Steer clear unless he has a huge cock, I guess?”

“Shut up, oh my god!” she exclaims, rushing over to cover his mouth with her hands. “No way, no way. He’s a business major, and I don’t want to be in a relationship with a business major of all things. Besides, there’s a better option than him in the same house. Does arts too.”

“Oh? Pray tell, who might it be?”

“His brother,” she whispers, conspiratorially, “is Vincent.”

Dazai blinks. There is a moment of silence before he can compose himself. “No way. Van Gogh? He has a brother? He’s still here?”

“Yes, him, the ‘genius of the College of Arts’, he ‘who haunts the hallways of the Fine Arts Department’, the professors’ favorite ‘artistic genius’,” she rattles off, having memorized the rumors with how many times she’s heard it. “The only reason I know he’s still here is because it would have been huge news if he actually graduated.”

“Seven years in the shitty College of Arts? He’s some sort of masochist for sure,” he comments. She poses no comment to the fact that Dazai took his undergraduate studies here, too, and now he’s also doing his masters… here, too. “But you’re telling me the guy at Dragon’s Hoard is his brother? His brother is a business major?”

“Look, I know, I was surprised too,” she says. “I was already shocked enough that he was the friendly barista at the café when you told me… but to know they’re related? They’re like ice and fire.”

“Exact opposites, huh?”

“Either way, that’s the story of how I got into some sort of mini modeling gig and into a friendship that I did not expect or want,” she says, finally finishing her story, with a wave of her hand like a conductor at the end of a piece.. “I’m trying to make the most out of it, though.”

Dazai nods, but his face is full of disbelief. “Yes, by sticking around a guy who calls you a dog in his free time.”

“No nickname will stand between me and getting people to read some good old poetry.”

“That’s not the point, Toshiko-san, but if that’s what makes you happy.”

For a moment, the two of them return to their studies. She, turning back to the book she’s highlighting and annotating for a class tomorrow. Him, going back to his readings for tonight’s class. The College of Arts’ literary club used to be open to everyone, but after dwindling membership, it became one that was limited to the Department of Literature’s students—or, rather, all of the students are immediately made part of it, and could hang out at their said sad, lonely gazebo if they want. That didn’t make it any more popular, though, so she’s made it her and her friend’s little nook for studying when she’s not in the library.

“Say, what made Vincent a legend in the College of Arts?” she suddenly asks, just as she reached the end of a page. Dazai hums, finishing a passage he’s reading before looking up.

“Isn’t it because of his style?” Dazai answers, though hesitantly. “I’m sure the painting hanging in the Dean’s room is his.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure of that too, but…” she pauses, thinking of Vincent in his studio room, planning his paintings, the corkboard, and the canvases. “Why didn’t he just…get it over with? Why hasn’t he graduated? I’m sure there’s some sort of—apprenticeship or studio that’ll take someone like him when he paints like that. Maybe they’ll give him an allowance too. And with the number of recommendations that he can get from the professors?”

With a hum, Dazai offers: “Maybe you can ask his brother.”

They make a face at each other, laugh, and get back to studying.

--

Dazai’s class starts at five in the afternoon, running up until seven p.m., and while there are days that she waits out for him at the gazebo for dinner, tonight was a special day. The Office of Student Relations has meetings on Tuesday mornings; and while they do post their announcements online the next day, the fastest way to get the news from them is to check the bulletin board outside their office at six p.m., which is when they post. Sitting on a bench right outside the office, she waits for the assistant or secretary to post what she’s waiting for and—

There he is!

“Hello,” she greets, standing up from her seat and walking toward the bulletin board. The secretary smiles and greets her back, tacking the notice to the board.

“Waiting on the requirements?”

“Sure am,” she answers, wringing her hands behind her. “Been very anxious.”

“Well, here they are. Best of luck.”

“Thank you!”

The secretary takes his leave shortly after that, returning back through the large wooden doors of the antiquated office. She left behind, stands in front of the bulletin board with her eyes closed, and takes a deep breath.

This is it. The requirements for her dreams, right in front of her.

She opens her eyes and takes out a flyer from the small pocket that the secretary had pinned onto the board. A flyer detailing the requirements for the one-year, international scholarship program of the Office of Student Relations.

A long, laundry-list of requirements, from filling in forms, requesting official paperwork like transcripts and recommendation letters, submitting portfolios, and passing a certain number of assessment interviews.

“I can’t afford to get distracted,” she says, to no one in particular, as if saying it out loud will make it real, will help it come true much easier than it actually will take. This is what he was all supposed to be—a small, pleasant motivation, a distraction for when idle, but not one that will stop her from what she originally intended to do.

This.

To go away.

But…

She tucks the flyer in between notebooks, thinking quietly to herself, But those are only books, so it can’t be that bad—can it?

[hoboal87]

Elastic Heart Chapter Seven

Title: Elastic Heart - The Fight

Characters: Y/N Y/L/N, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, OFCs

Pairing(s): Sam x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Sam continue to see each other despite John's warning.

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Cursing, angst, implied smut, pregnancy, talk of abortion, John Winchester is a bad parent, parents are assholes.

Notes: Series will be mostly canon compliant, taking place during season 8/9. Also, for purposes of this fic Sam was born in '84 instead of '83.

AN 2: This was oringally part of chapter 6, but I (along with my beta) decided it would be best to have it as a stand-alone.

Beta'd by @deanwinchesterswitch

Please give a comment or reblog and let me know what you think!

Elastic Heart Masterlist

Read Chapter Six

Chapter Seven: The Fight

May 2003

Y/N POV

When Sam shows me his acceptance letter, I burst into tears. A mixture of happiness and sadness consume me. I know it’s his dream, it’s his chance to get away from his dad, but a part of me selfishly wants him to stay longer. I get my acceptance into the university thirty minutes away the next day, mom and dad insisting it’s the right one for me. I still plan on taking the following year off, but I have yet to inform them of my plan.

The day before graduation, I’m on the floor of the bathroom for the fourth morning in a row, emptying the contents of my stomach. I chalk it up to nerves, Sam leaving in less than a week, finals and graduation. I feel a cold towel on the back of my neck, and turn my head to see mom behind me, trying her best to soothe me as I fight the urge to vomit again.

“Honey,” she says, rubbing my back, “maybe we should take you to the doctor?”

“Mom,” I offer weakly, knowing all the color has drained from my face. “I’m fine. I think it’s just a stomach bug. I don’t even have a fever.”

“Either way, you’re staying home today, I’m gonna call the school.”

“Mom,” I try to protest, dry heaving over the toilet. “It’s the last day, no one’s gonna believe that I’m sick.”

“It doesn’t matter, Y/N. It’s only a half-day, your teachers will understand. The ceremony is tomorrow, and you need to keep up your strength, your father and I would hate it if you couldn’t go.”

I try to stop her, but she’s already out the door, and I can hear the muffled sounds of her calling the school. I gather myself and head back to my bedroom. I crawl into my bed, pulling the covers over my head and sleep for hours. I wake up late in the afternoon, feeling slightly better. My eyes focus on the framed photo on my bedside table; a present Sam had given me weeks earlier on what he called our six-month anniversary. I smile, thinking about how he sheepishly explained that it had been six-months since we had met. It was from one of our first dates, nearly ruined when I got my period. It suddenly dawns on me. Shit.

I hop out of bed, making my way to the desk where my day planner sits. I frantically open it to the beginning of the month, looking for the subtle stars that I would have put on the pages, nothing. I go back another month scanning the pages desperately, assignments, and the occasional date with Sam being the only thing written on them.

“Has it been since March?” I whisper to myself as I count the weeks. “You cannot be this girl, Y/N. Ten Weeks.” I cover my face with my hands, thinking back. Spring Break. “Shit.”

“Y/N? Everything okay?” Mom calls from outside my room, perhaps I’m not being as quiet as I thought. “You feeling any better?”

“Yeah, mom, I just…” I open the door to come face to face with her; concern etched on her face. “I think I’m gonna go for a walk, get some fresh air.”

“Would you like me to go with you?”

“No, I won't be gone long,” I say, grabbing my wallet as discreetly as I can, heading downstairs and out the front door. I make my way to the drug store, praying that I’m wrong, we’d been so careful. The chime of a bell pulls me out of my head as I enter the store. I feel a sense of relief as I look around, noticing that the store’s empty besides the pharmacist behind the counter. He’s new to Weldon, and I rejoice knowing he won’t recognize me, smiling at me as I walk past him.

I stand in front of the row of tests, I hear the chime again, bringing my attention to the door, and I begin to panic as I recognize one of my classmates. I grab a test and make my way to the counter, quickly paying. I rush home, run into my bathroom, and tear the box open, carefully reading the instructions. I slip back into my room, quietly shutting the door behind me, and sit on my bed watching as my clock slowly passes the time. I take a deep breath as I compare the stick to the box. Positive. Crap, crap, crap. I throw the box and instructions away, keeping the test, willing it with all my might to change. If anything, the pink plus becomes more dominant, taunting me.

I stare at the test in my hands, unsure of what my next move should be. How am I gonna tell Sam? What about Stanford? I’m unable to stop the tears from flowing.

“Honey, are you sure you’re okay?” I hear mom’s voice on the other side of the door. “Maybe you shouldn’t go out, you should-” she opens the door just enough to walk in. She stops in front of me, and I can hear the concern laced in her voice. “What’s wrong?” I know I look a mess, face blotched, and eyes puffy. I grip the test tighter in my hands and shake my head. “Y/N, whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“You’ll hate me,” I whisper, not looking up. “I can’t-”

“Y/N, I could never hate you.” She closes the door behind her. “You’re my daughter, and I love you.”

I open my hands slowly, revealing the test to her. It takes her a moment as she takes a step closer, taking it out of my hands.

“Oh, Y/N,” she whispers, handing it back to me. "How— how did this happen?"

"I'm sorry.” I choke out through sobs, “We didn’t mean to. I— I—”

“Shh..” she sits down next to me and wraps her arms around me, placing a kiss on my head; I’m prepared for yelling, not this. She holds me against her as sobs leave me uncontrollably. “Sam?”

"I thought we were careful. It-It was an accident."

"What was an accident?" Dad says as he walks by my room, "Sarah, Y/N?” He looks between us. I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another sob. His eyebrows furrow at the sight in front of him. “What's going on? What's wrong?"

"Rob, you should sit," I feel the bed dip for a moment as mom steps away from me, and guides dad to a chair in the corner of my room. She gestures to me to move towards the end of my bed, so we’re both facing him. "I want you to stay calm, okay?" He nods reluctantly. "Don't jump to any conclusions, Y/N is going to need you," Dad’s jaw clenches and his breathing becomes heavier as he prepares himself for what mom is about to tell him. “Y/N is..” mom’s own voice is shaky, she takes a deep breath, “pregnant."

All the worry and confusion on dad’s face immediately fades away. His face grows red, his brow furrows, and his breathing becomes rapid. He stands up quickly, pacing the floor of my bedroom. He’s silent as I continue to cry, my shame and embarrassment consuming me.

“Sam,” he rasps, unable to look at me. “He- he took advantage of you.” I can see a vein throbbing in his neck,

“Rob. Y/N’s old enough-”

“That boy is over 18, Y/N is a minor… I should go down to the sheriff’s office right now and—"

“Daddy, no!” I cry, trying to reason with him, “Sam, he didn’t- he didn't do anything to me. It’s not his fault.”

“Like hell, it isn’t!” He continues pacing in front of me, mom grabs at his shoulder, trying to get him to sit back down. “He’s clearly been conditioning you ever since the attack. He made sure that you thought he was your savior so that you would do anything for him."

"Rob, calm down, this isn't good for Y/N, what’s done is done, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Y/N and Sam, they’ll have to deal with the consequences."

"No, Sarah. We told her that boy was bad news. Now Y/N's in trouble." He turns to face me. "You aren’t having that baby,” he says sternly.

"Dad,” I barely muster, “you can’t. Please.”

“Rob, let’s talk about this.” Mom tries to argue, “maybe we should-”

“You’re not having it.” He points at me, “and you’re not going to see that boy again." Dad leaves my room; mom quickly follows him.

For the rest of the night, I hear muffled arguing. I fall asleep, still clutching the test in my hands. When I wake up in the morning, dad doesn’t speak or even look at me. As I sit down at the table, he immediately leaves, and I want to break down. Mom offers a sad smile, eyes puffy, and red. She runs her hand down my back, leaning forward to press a kiss to my forehead. “We’ll get through this, Y/N.”

When we arrive at the school the next day, I search the hallways for Sam. I find him standing outside the auditorium watching as parents file in. 'You can do this, Y/N.' I'm about to touch his shoulder when he turns around, widely smiling when he sees me standing behind him. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Missed you yesterday," he says, placing a kiss on my cheek. "Your mom said you were sick." My whole body stiffens, and I take a shuddering breath. He pulls away from me slightly, noticing my blotchy face, and the tears I'm trying to fight. "Y/N/N, what's wrong?" I shake my head and look down at the floor, not ready to say the words. “You're scaring me. It can't be that bad, talk to me, baby."

"It is that bad," I whisper, bringing my eyes up to meet his face. “I- I thought it was stress, or a bug or something. Then I realized, it’s been weeks.”

“Y/N/N.” His eyes search my face, trying to make sense of what I’m telling him. “Weeks since what? What are you trying to say?”

A shattered exhale leaves me, “I’m pregnant.”

All the color drains his face, "No, you can’t be,” he shakes his head. “We always use protection."

“Spring Break?” I mutter, choking back the lump in my throat, using all my might to not break down in front of him.

“That was over two months ago.” Sam paces in front of me, stopping when he catches sight of me. “You’re sure?”

I chew on my bottom lip, nodding my head.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" he asks, running his hands through his hair, apparent concern lacing his voice. “I would have been there with you.”

"’M sorry,” my voice cracks, “I didn’t know. This is my fault. I should’ve-”

"No, Y/N/N, this is not on you. It takes two, and I should’ve—we both should have been more careful," he says, pulling me back into a hug, holding me as I sob into his chest. We stay like that for a few minutes; I can hear him sniffling and feel his hands leave me for a moment to wipe his eyes. He lets me calm down before speaking again. "What do you want to do?"

"Dad wants me to get rid of it," I say against him.

"Your dad doesn’t get to make that decision,” he says firmly. “What do you want, Y/N/N?"

"I don’t know.” I was still processing everything. I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to do. Neither mom nor dad asked me what I wanted. All I can think about are our futures, how badly we both want to get away from our families. Now, it doesn’t seem like a possibility. I can’t get rid of the baby; it’s Sam and me.”I want to have it," I pull away, my eyes fixated on the ground, “but if you don’t—"

He stops me, softly cupping my face and guiding it up until our eyes meet and then smiles warmly. “Y/N/N, I love you so much, and this,” he splays a hand gently over my stomach, "is our baby. If you want to keep it, Y/N/N, I'm here."

"What about Stanford?" I ask softly, it is his dream, and as much as I don’t want him gone, I don’t want him to feel forced into staying.”You’ve worked so hard.”

“Come with me,” he says, taking my hands in his. “You, me, and the baby. We’ll go to California; it’ll be the fresh start we’ve both always wanted.” A glimmer of hope wells up inside me, and I smile. “Away from our parents, everyone who knows us, we can do whatever we want.”

“Don’t say something you don’t mean.”

“I mean it, more than anything. I love you, no matter what. I think we can do this, together, I’ll figure everything else out. Take a few days, I still have to tell my dad about Stanford, and I’ll tell him about the baby too.” I can’t believe what he’s saying. “I’m leaving on Monday, and I want you to come with me.”

“You don’t have to do this, Sam,” I look back down at the ground, “this can be your out.” John’s words from months ago replay in my head. “I’m just some girl from a town you were working a case. I was never gonna leave this place. You can tell me the truth. If you don’t ever want to see me again, I’ll understand. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to trap you.”

“I love you. And I’m gonna love our baby so much. Monday, at 7 a.m., I’ll be waiting for you.”

Sam POV

Sunday comes quicker than I expect it to. Dad wants to leave the night of graduation, just like he threatened, but I convince him to wait out the weekend. He and Dean had been working back-to-back hunts for the last month, and though neither of them will ever admit it, they’re exhausted. I already quit my job at the grocery store and I use the little money I have saved to buy a ring from the pawn shop—a simple gold band with a small square-cut diamond. One day I’ll get Y/N/N the ring she deserves. With Dean in town, I know I can easily get into the bars and earn some extra cash for the trip. Dean’s always been the better player, but I need to get as much as I can, for Y/N/N and the baby.

I should have proposed the moment she told me about the baby, but it would have seemed forced. I don’t want her to think that the only reason I want to marry her is that she is pregnant. I want her with me; I want her to be my family.

There is only one hitch in my plan; Y/N/N’s parents. At seventeen, we would still need her parents’ consent to be married. Not only will I need their permission, but I also need their blessing. ‘They’re very old-fashioned.’ Y/N’s voice rings in my ear. They never quite warmed up to me, only tolerating my presence when necessary. That will have to change now; I’m the father of their grandchild, I’m going to marry their daughter.

Dean and dad are out, so I pull out a button-down from the back of my closet. I haven’t worn it since Valentine’s Day, but it’s the nicest piece of clothing that I own. I lift my pillow, inspecting the ring once more before putting it in my pocket. I pull up to Y/N/N’s house and notice a dim light coming from her window. I take a brief moment, calming myself before walking up to her front door. I knock and pace in front of the door, reminding myself to breathe. I hear grunts on the other side before the door swings open.

“You’ve got some nerve showing up here, Sam,” Y/N/N’s father appears in front of me.

“Sir, I want to talk to you about Y/N/N,” I say, trying to keep myself calm as I see the growing anger on his face.

“You took advantage of Y/N, and now she’s in trouble.”

“I didn’t-” I take another deep breath. He can’t possibly believe that; I have to make him understand. “I love Y/N/N, and I take full responsibility for what happened. Y/N/N and I-"

“There is no you and Y/N,” he snaps. “You stay away from my daughter."

"I’m sorry, Mr. Y/L/N, but I can’t do that. Y/N/N's carrying my baby, and I want to be with her, forever." I scramble for the ring in my pocket. I open the box to show it to him. “I want to do the right thing, sir, I want to marry her.”

"That’s not going to happen, Sam," he says, dismissing the ring and stepping out from the doorway and onto the porch. "You ruined Y/N's life, and she wants nothing more to do with you. She’s spent the last three days broken up over everything, Everything she’s worked so hard for, it’s all gone down the drain, thanks to your foolish behavior. She’s asked her mother to make her an appointment at the women’s clinic, and then this will all be over. You can go back to your own life, and Y/N can go back to the plan we made. There will be no baby.”

“No,” I whisper, “She said… she can’t.” She said she wanted to keep it, what changed? “Please, Mr. Y/L/N, let me talk to her.”

"She can, and she’s going to. You will not be talking to her anytime soon. Don’t you think I know what you’ve been up to? The only reason her mother and I allowed you two to date was because Y/N begged us. She told us you were a good person, and I’ll admit you had me fooled. I know you've been conditioning her ever since the attack, making her reliant on you. You’re lucky I haven’t gotten the sheriff to arrest you, stay away from our family.”

"Sir, please. I- I have never done anything to hurt your daughter. Please, can I have five minutes with her?" I’m desperate. I need to talk to her. I need her to know that I’m here.

“No. Y/N has already made her decision, and we will not allow you to talk her out of it. She doesn’t want to see you again.”

“Please, leave our family alone,” Y/N’s mother says, appearing behind her husband. “Haven’t you done enough damage? We all want what’s best for Y/N; as soon as all this is over, we’re moving. This is too much for her.”

“Please, I love your daughter. I want to marry her, that’s why I’m here.” I show the ring to her mother. “To ask for your blessing and your permission, she and I can do this. Please, just let me see her,” I beg them. “Please.”

“She’s resting.” Her father sighs, taking the ring from his wife’s hands and handing it back to me. “Sam, this was a difficult decision for Y/N, and she didn’t come to it lightly. You should go.”

I leave the house, defeated. I know she wouldn’t have made that decision without me. If it’s what she wants, really wants, then I can understand, but I still want her with me, baby or no baby. I have to hope that she’ll show up tomorrow morning. She has to.

Pulling back into the motel parking lot, I spot dad’s truck, but the Impala is nowhere to be found. A part of me is happy that Dean isn’t here; there’s no way I can tell both dad and Dean about Stanford and the baby. It’s going to be hard enough to tell dad about Stanford, but having to also tell him about Y/N/N, and admitting he was right about us, that scares the crap out of me. He had made it clear that he thought she was too young, and that we were getting too serious, too fast.

The ring box sits in the center of the bench; I can’t bring it back inside, not until I talk to dad. I take a couple of deep breaths, calming myself before exiting the car. Maybe once he learns I got a full-ride, he’ll understand, it’s only four years. I pull my key out, slowly unlocking the door as I prepare myself for whatever may happen next.

“Hey, Sam,” Dad’s walking between the dresser and the spare bed, packing his duffle bag, whistling as he takes in my appearance. “A little dressed up for hustling, don’t you think?” He laughs as my cheeks burn. “How’d it go? Make any money? Swindle some college kid out of his trust fund? Or maybe you got some old bat to leave you her fortune, set us up for life?”

I laugh uneasily, setting my keys and phone down, dreading what I’m about to tell him. I rarely see him in a mood like this, I huff, struggling to find my words.

“C’mon, Sam, you know I’m just fuckin’ with you.” He zips the bag up and sets it on the floor. “You say good-bye to Y/N yet? Don’t drag it out; it'll only make things worse.”

“I—”

“It’s for the best Sam. Maybe in a few years, after we finish the job, you can come back and see her again. She’ll probably be married, have a gaggle of kids running around.” My heart stops beating at the mention of kids. I know what he’s doing; he wants me to be ready for her to move on, he still thinks I’m going with him and Dean. “She’ll probably just get her M.R.S. degree while at college.”

“Dad,” I stop him. “I- I have to tell you something. Why don’t you sit?”

“Oh-kay.” He’s confused but complies, sitting on the edge of the bed, “What’s going on, Sam?”

I pace in front of him. ‘Stanford first. Then Y/N and the baby.’ I know he isn’t going to like anything I’m about to tell him. I look down at the dark green carpet of the room, never having paid attention to it before. I look back to dad, concern, and impatience etched on his face. I’m leaving in the morning; I can’t have them both in the dark, tell him.

“IwasacceptedintoStanford,” I blurt out. He furrows his brow, and I realize he didn’t understand me. I take a deep breath, preparing myself to say it again, this time more deliberately. “I was accepted into Stanford, full-ride,” I say clearly, “and I’m going. There’s early admission, and I have to be there in a few weeks.”

“S-Stanford?” He says in disbelief, a small smile forms before he shakes it off, hardening his face. “Sam, we talked about this. There’s no reason for you to go to college. Your brother and me, we need you.”

“It’s what I want, dad,” I say calmly. “Y/N/N and I-”

“Y/N,” he sighs, “of course it’s about her,” he groans, burying his face in his hands. He is silent, and I can see his shoulders tense and nostrils flare before he’s off the bed, pacing in front of me. "Y/N is a minor, Sam. You can't just up and take her with you to California. You do know what happens when you take a minor across state lines without their parent’s permission, don’t you? It’s called kidnapping. And I’m sure her parents would have no issue pressing charges against you. We've all tolerated your little romance,” he huffs, “but it's time to move on." I knew what that tone meant, no room for argument. "She's a nice girl and all, but she isn't cut out for the life we lead, you know that. You belong with your brother and me, and she belongs here."

“She's coming with me,” I state, trying to keep my voice steady. I wanted to ease into this subject, but I can see from just this moment that there’s no easy way to do this. "Her and the baby.”

He looks like I just hit him with a ton of bricks.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Sam! She’s pregnant?” Dad roars, “she’s knocked up, and what? Goddammit, son, I told you. I told you to be careful, I told you to end it with her, and now you think you are going to ride off into the sunset? You’re going to take her away with you, from the only place she’s ever lived? She’s trying to trap you here, Sam, don’t you see that?"

He paces back and forth in front of me, his anger rolling off him in waves. I try to stay calm; he’s shocked and pissed. "You barely even know the girl. She could be sleeping around with half the boys in your class. You’re just gonna believe her when she tells you that kid is yours? No, Sam, I’m not gonna let you ruin your life just cause some little slut-"

All I see is red. I have dad on the floor before either of us realizes it’s happening. I’m holding him down as my fist pulls back and connects with his jaw.

“Don’t you talk about her that way!” I yell as my fist comes down again. I can already see a bruise forming at the base of his jaw, and I can feel my knuckles getting scrapped with every hit. "It's my baby!"

He doesn’t fight back at first, letting me get in a few more hits before his hand connects with my cheekbone. He flips us over, easily holding me down. He keeps me pinned there as I thrash against him. His palm meets my face again, and he loosens his grip on me. I pull my hand back, going for the final hit. I don’t realize that he’s trying to calm me down.

“Sam, you can’t let this girl ruin your life, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

I hear the door open, and dad’s distracted as I land another blow. Dean pulls dad off of me, as I try to go in again. “What the fuck is going on?” He inspects dad as I get up, feeling the bruise forming on my cheek. Dean steps away from dad, and I go charging in again.

“That’s enough!” Dean shouts, stepping between the two of us. “Sammy, back off.” He looks back at dad, who’s wiping the blood away from his nose. Dean walks me away from dad, fights between us rarely got physical, and Dean knows that. Him needing to pull us off of each other could only mean something serious. “Talk to me, man, what’s going on?”

“Nothin’,” I pant. Dad lets out a sarcastic laugh. I move towards him again, jabbing the air as I try to close the space between us. Dean is quick to push me back, “Don’t talk about her.”

“You’re a selfish son of a bitch; you know that? Gonna walk away from your brother and me?” Dad spits out. “For what? Some girl? College?”

“Sam? What is he talking about?” Dean looks at me, questioningly.

“I was accepted into Stanford. And I’m going. I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Wait, tomorrow?” Dean steps back, and his eyes go wide at my confession. “Sammy, you can’t. We need you.”

“I’m going, Dean, it's something I have to do. If I stay here any longer-”

“Sammy…” Dean runs his hands over his face, guiding me towards the door. “Let’s take a drive before you say something you’ll regret.”

“Fine,” I say, picking up my keys and exiting the room. Dean’s close behind me, entering the car as I turn the engine over.

“Something else you want to tell me, Sammy?” He asks, picking up the box. “Something to do with Y/N?”

“No,” I snap, grabbing it out of his hands and placing it in the glove box. He opens his mouth to speak again, “I mean it, Dean. Drop it.”

Y/N POV

I gather my things quietly, packing as much as I can into a large duffle bag. I write out a note and leave it on my desk, hoping that Sam and I will be long gone by the time mom or dad find it. They are making plans to send me away soon, sending me off to live in the middle of nowhere until the baby’s born, and I can put it up for adoption. I called Jana last night, asking her to take me to the motel, I know I can trust her to keep my request a secret.

I quietly make my way down the stairs and out the front door. Jana’s already at the corner where our streets intersect, warmly smiling as I get into her car, quietly sipping on a coffee. The smell makes my stomach turn, and I use every ounce of will-power I have to not vomit in her car. We sit in a comfortable silence as she drives towards the motel. I take in the town one final time, knowing I very well may never come back here. She drops me off in the parking lot and insists on staying until she sees Sam, but I assure her I’m okay.

I walk up to the door, knocking on it softly—grumbling coming from the other side. John answers the door, a look of surprise on his face when he realizes it’s me.

“Mr. Winchester," I say, looking around the room, noticing the alarm clock next to Sam’s bed, 6:15. "Is Sam here?"

John takes a deep breath, seemingly turning something over in his mind. He looks down at the bag at my feet.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, Sam’s gone," he says, pointing to where Sam usually parks his car. "He left last night."

“W-what?” I look into the room. “He said--” John smiles sympathetically at me. “He’s coming back, right?” I asked, hopefully. John shakes his head. “Can I call him? It’s important.”

“Left his phone here,” he says, gesturing to the side table. “Said he didn’t want to be bothered anymore.”

“But what about...?” I move my hands to my stomach, John’s eyes follow, and he lets out a sigh.

“He told me about the baby,” he says looking where my hands were gently laying. “I hate to be the one to tell you this Y/N, but he decided he wants nothing to do with it. Said it’s too much.” He takes another long breath as if what he’s about to say is going to hurt him. “Said he,” John closes his eyes as the words come out of his mouth, "doesn’t want to be saddled down with a kid.”

"What?" I can’t believe what I'm hearing. "Why would he say that?"

"I don’t know, darlin’. I told him if that’s how he felt, then he should talk with you.” He brings his hand up to his chin, and I notice a small bruise forming there. He rubs the scruff forming on his face, “He thinks that you got pregnant on purpose so you could trap him into staying here. ”

“I- I wasn’t, I’m not.” I shake my head. "I'm going to have the baby," I blurt out. “My parents wanted me to- to have an abortion, but I told them I couldn't." I take a long breath, trying to keep myself calm. "They want me to give it away, but- I don’t know, I want to keep it. It’s my baby.”

“You do whatever you think is right, Y/N. And if I hear from Sam, I’ll tell him what you’ve told me. Here,” he says, grabbing a notepad off the table and writing a number down. “You need anything, you call me, okay?”

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester,” I say, folding the paper gently and sticking it into the pocket of my bag, letting the tears I'd been holding back fall freely.

“You can call me John, Y/N, we’re family now.” He smiles warmly. “Let me take you home, darlin’.”

We don’t speak on the drive to my house; the only sound filling the air is my sniffs. John parks in front of my house, and gets out to come around and help me exit the truck. He stands there for a moment, before gently pulling me into a hug, reminding me to call him if I ever need anything. I smile and nod, wiping the tears away as I turn away from him, walking towards my home. I look back once more, and he gives me a smile and a wink. My parents are out the front door before I’ve made it halfway there. Mom keeps her arms around me as dad charges towards John’s truck.

“You keep your son away from my daughter. If you don’t, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” John says, stepping away from the truck. “I’d choose your next words wisely.” Dad’s body stiffens as John approaches him, eyes shifting to me, then back to dad. “I know about Y/N’s condition, and I am no happier about it than you are.” It's the last thing I hear before mom ushers me inside. I watch from the living room window as John and dad continue talking for several minutes. As soon as he’s gone, mom and dad walk me towards their car, confirming what I already know; they’re sending me away.

Sam POV

We’ve been out for hours, Dean spending most of the time trying to get me to tell him what was going on between dad and me. He already knows that it involves Y/N/N, guessing that she was trying to get me to stay. “A-As long as you didn’t knock her up. Last thing any of us needs is a baby showing up on our doorstep.” I nearly choke on my beer.

“But you always wrapped it, right, Sammy?” he laughs, taking another shot. I nod hesitantly. “Then you got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.”

“Yeah.” A part of me wants to tell him, Dean’s the only one I know I can trust to help us through this, make dad understand. But as he finishes off his beer gesturing at the bartender for another, speech becoming more slurred, I know I can’t tell him, not like this. He’s pissed off enough at the thought of me leaving; I can’t disappoint him further.

“Stanford, huh?” He throws back another shot. I know he’s trying to cover the bitterness in his voice when he grumbles, “Dad’s never gonna let you go.”

“He can’t stop me; I’m nineteen. I’m not like you, Dean, I want to be more than just a hunter.”

“You’re just gonna go off, knowing what’s out there and not do anything about it?” Dean accuses, tossing back another shot of amber liquid. “Live some college-boy fantasy life? Join a frat?” He’s becoming more belligerent. “You should’ve dumped Y/N weeks ago. She won’t be able to handle the long-distance.” Dean brings the brown bottle to his lips. “Can’t let some chick stop us from what we do best.” Some chick. I want to punch him in his face. “They always fall hard, Winchester’s have a-always had a-way with the ladies.”

“Whatever you say, Dean.” He’s drunk and probably won’t remember any of this later. “Let’s go,” I say, pulling him off the barstool, and he nearly takes us both down. I walk him out of the bar, putting him in the back seat of my car so that he can sleep it off. I settle into the front seat, cautiously reach into the glove box, and pull out the ring. She’ll be there. She loves you. I repeat it over and over until sleep consumes me.

A rapping on my window pulls me out of my deep sleep, a security guard telling me to move along. Pulling out of the bar’s parking lot, I notice the time, 6:30. Shit, I need to hurry, I told Y/N to meet me at 7:00. Dean grumbles in the back seat as I pull into the motel’s lot and shut the car off. I’m already at the door to our room by the time he stumbles out of the back, but before I can stick the key in the lock dad swings the door open. Dad rolls his eyes as Dean struggles to stand upright.

“Dean, why don’t you go take a shower and sober up? We’re leaving in an hour,” he snaps, taking in our appearance. Dean mumbles in response as he pushes past me. Dad closes the door behind me and inhales deeply. I open my mouth to speak, but he raises his hand to stop me. When we hear the shower running, he turns to me, rubbing his face.

“Sam,” his eyes meet mine, “I know we both said some things last night.” I walk past him, not acknowledging him. “But you can’t just walk away. You can’t walk away from your brother and me. We need you, Sam.”

I consider his words and then grab my bag off the floor. “I’m going, and you can’t stop me.” I walk to the door, “Y/N/N will be here soon, and we’re leaving, together.”

“Y/N’s not going anywhere with you, Sam,” he says as I reach for the doorknob. “She called after you left, she and her parents agreed that the best decision for everyone would be termination. She doesn't want you around anymore. She wants you to stay away so that you both can move on with your lives.”

“No!” I shout, turning back to face him, I can feel the heat pooling in my face. “She wouldn’t do that; she loves me. What did you say to her?” I’m only inches away from him and can see the discoloration in his face from our previous fight. He continues to stare at me, face devoid of emotion. As I wait for him to answer, my anger gets the better of me, and my hand goes through the wall. “I know you said something,” I accuse him. “What did you say to her?”

“The only thing I told her,” he sighs, “is that you would support any decision she made.” My vision is hazy as I hit the floor, sobs leave my body, and I can’t breathe. "I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, and I'm sorry.”

He pulls me into a hug, something that he hadn’t done in years, and lets me sob against him. “Y/N wants to be able to forget any of this ever happened, and I think you should too,” he says, trying his best to be comforting. I didn’t know how long I had been crying when dad finally spoke again. "I found us a case in Mississippi, and if we leave in the next hour, we can get there before dark.”

I pull away from him. Of course, the next thing he would bring up is a case. I’d just lost my first real love, and all he can think about is a case.

“No,” I mumble, wiping the tears away from my eyes.

“Care to speak up, Sam?” Anger replaces the calmness that filled his voice moments ago.

“I said, no.” Rolling my shoulders, I stand to my full height. “I told you last night that I’m leaving for California today. With or without Y/N/N, I'm done hunting.”

“You really are a stubborn son of a bitch. You’re gonna just leave your brother and me?” I don’t respond. "Just like that, huh? You get accepted into some fancy college, and now you're too good for us? Is that it? You'll never have a normal life, Sam. Whatever you do, you're going to put anyone you care about in the line of fire. You think you can handle that?” He scrubs a hand down his face. “Goddammit, son, think about your brother, you're just gonna walk outta here without a word to him? You think Y/N wants to have a kid with someone who has no respect for their family?"

"You don't know a fucking thing about me and Y/N/N.” I get into his face, “I love her. I want to marry her. I'm going to convince her to keep the baby."

"If you really care about her, you'll respect her wishes.” Dad lowers his voice when he hears the shower turn off. “She wants you to stay away, wants nothing more to do with you, and you will not manipulate that young girl into keeping a baby she clearly doesn't want just because you think you do.” Dean emerges, and dad pauses for a moment. “Let her move on with her life, son, and then you can too, with your brother and me. In a couple of months, you'll forget all about her."

“I’m done,” I huff, reaching for my bag.

“Sammy,” Dean pleads, “C’mon man, we talked about this, Y/N will understand.”

"You can’t control me anymore, dad,” I say bitterly, facing him once more. “I’m not going to be your obedient little soldier anymore. I fucking hate you. You robbed Dean of his childhood, I never had a chance, and now, when I’ve got the opportunity to start over, you think I’m going to pass it up, for you? I would’ve—for Y/N/N, but never ever would I do it for you,” I reach for the door. “All I ever wanted was to be normal. You won’t stop me this time.”

“You walk out that door, don’t you ever come back, you hear me? Ever.”

I look at Dean a final time; I can see his eyes glistening, his jaw clenches as I turn the doorknob. ‘I’m sorry.’ I open the door, taking a shuddering breath as I do the only thing I can; leave.

Next Chapter

@manawhaat

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@traceyaudette

@that-one-gay-girl

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

[lia-jones]

Growing Pains - Chapter Two - Victor, not Sir

After the meeting with the CEO, I got a call from Goldman to inform me of the department I would be assigned to: the financial department. As a part of my internship, and as investigation for my thesis, I was assigned three French companies to assist with the investment. Besides that, I would help in any way I could, taking someone’s work if they were absent or just assist my supervisor.

They assigned Ted Kasey as my supervisor, one of the top people in LFG investment team. He and the CEO were usually on good terms, having regular lunches and meetings, and it was obvious he had Victor’s consideration. Ted Kasey was a charismatic red headed guy, with a hearty laugh and a slightly prominent beer belly under his suit, hinting at how he enjoyed drinking socially. Probably in his forties, he was a genius in investments, only matched by the CEO himself. And because of that, and also because everybody loved him, he was deeply respected.

Victor Lee’s reputation in the company was very different. He was also respected, but the kind of respect you conquer from fear. He was known to have very little patience to those that didn’t meet his standards, and for being incredibly standoffish, not letting anyone come close to him, at risk of being insulted.

Every morning he arrived to the office he would mutter a quick “Good morning” and head immediately to his office, unless he had to scold anyone in the room. In that case, he would drop an angry “In my office immediately”, and whoever he summoned would come out red as tomato and barely speaking. Fortunately, the CEO had yet to speak to me since I started working in LFG. My first day started with introductions over coffee and a welcome cake, and I found on my desk a personalized mug with my name and LFG logo and some company stationary. That day, the CEO spent all day in his office, not bothering to come say hi. Goldman made excuses for him, but I couldn’t care less. If what people were saying was true, if he was that ruthless and overbearing, I’d rather keep him as far as possible from me.

For that same reason, I was more than happy when Ted offered to present my first report on my behalf. And it sort of became a habit, Ted going to talk to Victor every time I was summoned, claiming it was his responsibility as my supervisor. I couldn’t be happier with the arrangement. I didn’t have to deal with the vicious CEO and I didn’t have to interrupt my work, so that suited me just fine.

Two months had already passed, and I seemed to think of Daniel less and less, the memories fading along with the pain. It still hurt sometimes if I focused too much on the subject, but the fact that no one there knew what I had been through made things incredibly easier, since I didn’t have to deal with the shame. I could be just me, without the stigma of a fate I did not chose for myself.

To be honest, the moment I decided to move to Loveland for the internship was the moment I decided I would leave Portugal for good. My savings were enough to make a deposit to rent a beautiful one room apartment in the most traditional part of town and to get myself a used car to commute. I immediately made friends with my front door neighbor Levi, and I learned he was a Krav Maga instructor, so I started taking his classes. I also had Diane as a friend, a co-worker in the same department that was a domestic account manager. One day, in the coffee room, I made a joke about Goldman being the bravest person in the world for working that closely to the CEO, and Diane overheard me and just poured her heart out. It turns out she had a major crush on Goldman, and judging by the number times Goldman would drop by her desk, always with a feeble excuse, he was crushing on her too. We became good friends right there and then, united as girls often become when they start talking about their crushes.

I had friends, hobbies and a good job. I was well settled, and life seemed pretty good. I was on my way to happiness. I could feel it.

But, of course, no good deed goes unpunished, and no rose is without its thorns, and all the things people say when they have a good thing going but it starts to go sour, so it wasn’t really surprising when my car decided to break down in the middle of Loveland’s main avenue, on my way back home, at 8 pm, under pouring rain. I managed to pull it to the curb, and opened the hood from inside, talking myself into getting out and get heavily rained on to take the usual precautions.

The umbrella I took with me outside didn’t help a bit, the wind blowing on it and turning it inside out. It took me less than two minutes to get drenched, while I tried to signal that my car was parked there and needed assistance. Distracted by the conversation I was having with my insurance company, trying to have my car taken to a mechanic, I didn’t even notice the black sedan that stopped right in front of my car.

When I turned to face the road, I was startled by a tall man in an expensive suit, standing right beside me, holding an umbrella. I jumped back with the scare.

“Do you need help?” The arrogant cold voice gave away his identity even before I had a chance to look at his face. It was LFG’s CEO, Victor Lee. I sighed loudly in relief.

“No, Sir, I just need to call a mechanic. I got it, don’t worry.” I said, trying to be polite while I wished for him to go away fast. I didn’t need to cuddle the CEO on top of my predicament.

“You shouldn’t be alone this late, especially with this weather. And in any case, it will be very hard to find an open shop at this hour.” He spoke like I was stupid to want to fend for myself. “Get in my car and warm yourself, while I make some calls.”

I nodded sheepishly and went inside my car to get my purse, cursing the Gods for putting me in such a situation. Seeing he had a bad temper, I avoided the CEO like the plague, wanting my work to speak for me more than myself. I sat on the passenger front seat of his car and fidgeted awkwardly, while he turned up the heater.

“Take your blouse off.” He asked. I blinked at him, horrified. He looked at me, offended. “This is not a seduction tactic, I just don’t want you to call in sick tomorrow because of a pneumonia. You have a top underneath, you’ll remain decent.”

I nodded, dawning on me that now that my shirt was wet, he could see through it. And with the heater, my top and skin would dry faster without a wet shirt of top of it. I removed my shirt awkwardly trying to move the least possible, not wanting to bother him. But to my dismay, he was getting more aggravated by the minute.

“Why are you moving like that? Did you leave your motor skills at LFG?”

I took a deep breath and finally removed my shirt, unable to avoid a wet sleeve to slap his nose.

“That’s what I was trying to avoid.” I said, my voice flat. He turned to retort, but his eyes fell on my hands and widened, and he quickly turned his face the other way. I immediately looked down to see what made him turn away so fast. And I could dig a whole, crawl there and die. My nipples were hard from the moist and the cold, and were perfectly noticeable under my wet top. I immediately crossed my arms in front of my chest, the sudden movement seemingly noticed by him and making his cheeks blush slightly, by the little I could see from his face.

As I prayed to God to send a lightning to strike me, or a hurricane, or perhaps a nuclear bomb, he removed his jacket and put it over my crossed arms.

“Here. You look cold.” He said, his poker face back on. And the embarrassment was such I almost whimpered in agony. “Let me make that call.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to forget where I was and what just happened, while he spoke with what seemed to be his insurance company, basically ordering them to come get a car that they didn’t insure and take it to their mechanic. He finished the call abruptly, and remained silent, staring at the rain hitting furiously on the windshield. After a minute, or maybe less, his phone vibrated. He picked it up immediately.

“Yes? (pause) Yes. First thing in the morning. (pause) Then make it happen. (another pause) Good.” He hung up and turned to me. “Give me your car keys.”

I handed him the keys as quickly as possible. He took his umbrella from the back seat and went outside. In a matter of seconds, the headlight of a motorcycle was visible in the night, stopping near my car. Victor handed him the keys and quickly returned. He turned to me again.

“Your car is being taken by the mechanic shortly. You will have it fixed tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I’m taking you home.” And with that, the CEO started the car and we drove away. I was dumbfounded at how quickly he solved my problem, but what confused me the most was the fact he was doing it in the first place. If he just kept driving, instead of stopping to help me, he would be having a fine meal at his luxurious home, dry and pristine as he always was, possibly surrounded by concubines that looked like supermodels. But here he was, looking like a drowned rat, his coat wet and starting to wrinkle due to my wet top, taking me home.

We drove without a word, until he broke the silence.

“Are you… enjoying your work at LFG?” He asked, like he didn’t care much about the answer, just making small talk to stave off the awkwardness.

“Very well, Sir, I’m learning a lot.” I answered, happy to think about something other than my hard nipples.

“Enjoying your life in Loveland? I see you made friends already.” His voice was still stern, but a bit softer. As if he was glad I was making friends.

“People are very friendly here. It wasn’t hard.” I answered shortly.

“Just pay attention to the people you interact with. You’re alone, don’t have any family here��� It could be dangerous.” Why did he care? I shrugged it off, probably the polite thing to say to a girl living alone, I thought. The comment didn't sit well with me though.

“You don’t need to worry, Sir. I can take care of myself.” I said, trying not to be rude.

“Good.” He swerved the car to the right, stopping at the curb. “We’re here.” I noticed we were near my building’s entrance.

“Wait, how did you know this is where I-“

“Can you please get inside so I can go home?” He interrupted me, annoyed.

“Thank you, Sir.” I said, closing the door and running to my building. I heard him from behind.

“It’s Victor. Call me Victor, not Sir.” He shouted through the open passenger window.

I turned and nodded in understanding, and went inside immediately. It was only when I was already inside my apartment that I noticed I was still holding his jacket. And how the hell did he know where I lived?

[blissfullyshipping]

The Drawbacks of Protection (Thorin x Reader) 3/3

Requested by @deepestfirefun​ : You’re a human girl (surprisingly small one) and Thorin´s One who is fiercely protective of you as are also Dwalin, Fili, and Kili, because of the fact that dwarves find their Ones very rarely these days and when they do, they don´t stop at anything to keep their companion safe and you have been with them from the beginning. So when there seems to be a murderer among the dwarves in Erebor that almost manages to kill you by shooting an arrow at your side, Thorin and his company´s rage is blown out of scale, especially Thorin who will make the culprit to pay what he tried to do.

Fandom: The hobbit (Thorin x Reader)

Genre: angsty angst

Warnings: mentions of death, graphic death, mentions of miscarriage

A/N: 3000 WORDS?!!! why do I find it so hard to write this much for uni lol. The third and final instalment of this series. Sorry for the extremely long wait I was debating whether to keep it 2 parts or 3. Lots of gruesome punishment just remember that dwarves are very fierce people, this level of punishment is quite normal to them. also daenerys watching her brother die is the same vibes as this :)

 Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The door to your room creeks open and your husband enters the room. Meekly, he walks up to your bed, eyes cast downward. You watch him as he stands by your side, looking at your folded hands, refusing to meet your concerned gaze.

“Amralime?” you whisper in khuzdul. This one word alone makes him snap out of his daze to look towards you and you’re struck with the glossy guilt pooling in his eyes. 

You expected the company to blame themselves for your bed-ridden state, knowing the fiercely protective nature of dwarves. But you knew that their guilt was nothing in comparison to what Thorin must've felt when he saw you fall to the ground. 

You're battling with your own guilt too. Thorin had kept things from you just as you had kept things from him. You had been so excited to tell him after everything had calmed down.  

But there's no good news to tell now. Things have changed. You've been stabbed. The baby has died. 

How do you tell your husband that the baby, he knew nothing of, had bled to death inside of you. That you weren't strong enough to carry his unborn child. How can you add to the grief and guilt already plaguing his mind? 

“Y/N,” his voice hoarse “I am so sorry nunge.” Lifting a shaking hand he reaches to cup your cheek and you tense at his touch reflexively, the action making Thorin’s heart drop and your stomach knot. 

Everything hurts. Your wound throbs with pain and your head fills with anguish. It's too much. You've lost your baby, you nearly died, your husband blames himself for everything, you can't even let him touch you without flinching. It's all too much.

Thorin's arms hesitantly wrap around your frozen frame and you slowly melt into his touch as he whispers hushed words of comfort, rocking you back and forth like he would with a baby. Like the one you lost.

How can you tell him when he's blaming himself whilst he holds you? You wonder if it's better not to tell him. What he doesn't know won't kill him. Maybe it's best not to say anything and instead protect him from the truth.  

Isn't that what he did to you. Isn't that the reason you're lying here with a hole in your side? 

“I don't blame you Thorin. You were trying to protect me, it's not your fault.” You say softly exhaustion taking over your body, your eyelids becoming heavy.

Instead of replying, Thorin strips and slips into the king sized bed, wrapping himself around you, carefully avoiding your bandaged side.

You know the conversation isn't over. You know your words haven't really made a difference to his guilty conscience. Thorin holds you close to stop talking about himself, he wants to be here for you. But, you wonder how long this'll last. How long will you both be avoiding subjects? 

You lay in silence enjoying the comfort of your One, sleep slowly taking you. The company has already been informed that you're alive and healthy, but for now you need to rest. The problems the two of you face can wait until tomorrow. 

Thorin couldn't sleep. The entire night he finds himself listening to your breathing. Any short breaths or long pauses set his mind into a frenzy. He’s scared that if he closes his eyes you might not be here with him in the morning. Every time he does close his eyes, haunting images of your lifeless body engulfed in blood restrict him from getting any sleep. So instead he watches over.

You yourself struggle through the night. Although you manage to fall asleep, your mind is plagued with nightmares. You dream of the dwarf that put you in this state, his eyes never leave yours and the sick, sadistic smile haunts you. Once you’ve been stabbed the whole dream repeats itself. You never see Thorin come to save you, nor the company around you. Instead you're stuck in a paradox of pain, reliving the stabbing again and again.

You wake up drenched in sweat and panting. Tears streaming down your face as you clutch your empty womb. “The baby.” You whisper incoherently. “My baby!” You weep into your pillow. 

“Y/n?” You hear your husband whisper into the night. “What baby y/n?” His words shaking as he begins to piece the puzzle together.

“I'm s-so sorry T-thorin!” You cry unable to hold yourself together as you watch your king shake his head profusely, refusing to believe. “I was going to tell you after you caught the killer. W-when things we're calm T-thorin.” You clutch his hands in desperation hoping he'll understand.

His hands slip from yours as he hastily gets up and leaves the bed, pacing the room. You try to calm your cries as best you can, sobering from the nightmare, waiting for his reaction.

“You were pregnant?” He asks, his voice barely audible as he looks at you in disbelief. “We were going to have a baby?” All you can do is nod.

He shakes his head again, his knees barely lifting his body as he nears the foot of the bed. “No y/n please-no-tell me it's not true.” He mutters as he sinks to the floor his head resting on the mattress, fists balled in the sheets, he begins to cry.

You spring into action when you hear his soft sobs. You wince as you move to sit on the stone floor, resting his head onto your chest. Your motherly instincts kicking in, rocking the two of you  as he cries in your arms. You stay like this until the sun rises. 

“How did you know?” Thorin breaks the silence, his voice hoarse.

“The big sign was that I hadn't bled.” You smile, “and then Gloin came to give me my breakfast and I couldn't stand the smell of it, I can never say no to Gloins cooking, so I knew something must be wrong.” You laugh at the memory and feel Thorin smile as he sits up leaning against the mattress. 

“I'm sorry Y/n.” He says solemnly, and you see him staring at you. 

“It's not your fault Thorin. It's not my fault either.” You turn to look at him “and I know no matter how much I say this we'll still not believe it. But it's not our fault.”

“I failed as a husband y/n I couldn't project you.” 

“Then I failed as a mother Thorin because I couldn't protect our baby.” You snap back harshly, and sight. “you didn't stab me Thorin, that dwarf did. And you didn't kill all those guards, those dwarves did. I love you Thorin, but please...don't blame yourself.” You whisper, your hand trailing down his neck resting on his bare chest. He wraps his hands around your waist and lifts you easily into his lap, a warm contrast to the cold stone. 

“It's not your fault either y/n.” He says kissing into your hair. “I know you would never put that baby in harm's way. You will be a great mother amralime.” Silent tears stream down your face as you nod, playing with his hands. 

Loud knocks on the door brings you back to reality and you hastily wipe your face as Dealing walks in. 

“Thorin.” He stops shocked to see you both wide awake sitting on the floor, his eyes move to your tear stricken face and he sends you a tight lipped smile, before turning back to his king. “I managed to persuade him to talk. He's given us names.” 

You don't linger on how Dwalin persuaded the prisoner to talk, instead you smile at Thorin's worried gaze on you. Patting his chest and kissing his cheek, you reassure him to go. Thorin helps you stand you grip onto his arm turning to him.

“I want to be present at their trial.” You state. Thorin tenses and you hear Dwalin shuffle uncomfortably behind you. Eventually your husband nods and leaves. 

You sit beside your king in the throne room eyes locked onto the ten chained dwarves. There was no waiting with this trial. It was announced in the morning and now you sit in front of them. The throne room doors open and the public gasp as  two guards drag in a bruised and battered dwarf, his blond hair and beard stained with blood, he limps over to the rest of his group. 

Thorin slips his hand into yours and give you a gentle squeeze. Your own hand tightens as the dwarf locks eyes with you, his bruised, swollen lips curl into a grim smile. You return his stare with a cold look, wishing the worst of punishments for him. You look away when Thorin slips his hand out of yours and rises from his seat, the sound of his chair scraping the floor brings the throne room to silence. His voice echoing around the room asserting his power over the feeble prisoners. 

You zone out as the charges made against the traitors are read out. You didn’t come to listen to how they all think you’re weak and inferior. To hear just how long they had been plotting for your death, taunting the king with threats to your life. You came to see them die. Only once you see the life drain from their deceitful eyes will you be able to carry on with your life, and mourn the loss of your unborn child. 

Thorin sits beside you unmoving, and you pray to the Valar that his mind will also be able to rest when the trial is over. You take your enjoined hands onto your lap, playing with them to distract your dark thoughts, ignoring the feel of Thorin’s gaze. 

Once again, Thorin stands in front of the court to reveal his final verdict. You peer up at him watching the coldness in his eyes as he addresses the traitors. 

“You have all confessed to your treacherous crimes, to the plot of murdering your queen,” You flinch at the hardness in his voice, Thorin himself pauses slightly. “And to the deaths of members of our guards. For these offences against the state I sentence you all to death” You look down hiding your relieved smile. Even though you and everyone else in the room knew this would be the outcome, to hear those words being uttered out loud set you at ease. 

As the court and the rest of the public gather outside for the public execution, you watch by Thorin’s side as Dwalin sharpens his axe in front of the crowd and the line of prisoners. The first prisoner, a stocky round nosed dwarf, is dragged to the podium by the guards. Struggling to break free, you see tears streaming down his face and wonder if he had a family, a child of his own.  His neck is forced onto the slab of stone, Dwalin muttering something to him, that still his frantic movements. 

In one swift blow Dwalin heaves the axe down onto his neck, and the prisoners head drops to the floor, blood gushing out of his neck, staining the wooden podium. Thorin faces you, blocking your view of the graphic scene, with his broad chest.

“You don’t have to watch this Y/N, I can take you back to bed to rest” He whispers into your ear. You look up at him and shake your head gently, dismissing his concerned gaze and move him back to your side.

You watch as the prisoners come and go, laying their heads on the wet, bloody slab and meet their fate. On some occasions you watch their body twitch as Dwalin strikes them again to decapitate them fully. Before the next one comes to the podium guards mount the decapitated heads and bury them into the ground for all to see.

When the second to last dwarf is brought to the podium, you turn to your husband, looking him in the eye with confidence.

“Let me do this one.” You implore, Thorin’s gaze snapping to you in disbelief. He opens his mouth to retort but you cut him off. “He’s the one who killed Ernad, Thorin, let me avenge his death.” You plead. They had found that this particular dwarf had murdered the soldier assigned to protect you. Ernad, was a close friend of yours and gave his life serving you, you owe it to his family to take the dwarf’s life. 

Thorin shuts his eyes in frustration and holds his hand up, stopping Dwalin. “I hope this brings you the peace you’re looking for lukhudel.” 

As you step onto the podium the crowd begins to murmur, Dwalin looks at you confused when you walk over to him reaching out for his axe. His eyes widen and he questioningly looks over at Thorin, who must’ve nodded in approval for Dwalin hands you the weapon.

The prisoner walks over to the slab motionless, he didn’t say anything during the trial and he says nothing now. He doesn’t even look at you when bows his head ready for execution. The axe suddenly feels heavy in your grip as you think of what you’re about to do. This isn’t the first time you’ve taken a dwarfs life. Flashbacks of stabbing your attacker in the throat come to mind. Your vision obstructed by the memories of the blood oozing from his neck onto your hands. The same hands that will kill this man now. 

You look over to your One. Thorin already watching you, seeing the tears brimming in your eyes he gives you a single nod. You asked to do this, finish it. Blinking back the tears you bring the axe over your head and with all your might strike the murderer. The spray of blood stains you, just like last time, and the head drops to the ground. 

You hand the axe back to Dwalin and walk over to Thorin’s side again. 

“You instigated this whole plot.” Thorin exclaims to the final traitor, the bruised and battered dwarf stands alone. “I won’t let you die swiftly like the others.” You hold your breath when you see soldiers roll in a cauldron of molten lead, and you know what Thorin intends. 

The prisoner starts to plead for mercy as Thorin leaves you and starts walking to the cauldron. The guards around him push him to his knees, forcing his mouth open, his face facing the bleak sky. You see tears run down his swollen face as he bawls incoherent shouts for help. Thorin takes the ladle of molten metal and grabs the traitor by his hair, pulling him towards him. The look on Thorin’s face a stark contrast to the crying dwarf a few hours earlier. 

Holding the dwarf down the King pours the contents of the ladle down his throat, screams of agony echo across the land, as the leads starts to deform his body. You look away not being able to watch his body breakdown. The sounds of pain relinquish and you hear the crowd disperse after Thorin short warning, but still you do not turn back in fear of what you will find.

You feel your husbands presence behind you and he silently leads you back to your shared room. The both of you enter the warm room, Thorin seating you on the bed. Only now do you feel the ache on your side, you’re lucky the wound hasn’t reopened after lifting the heavy axe. 

Thorin comes back into the room with a basin of water and fresh bandages. He takes off your tunic, warm hands brushing your cool skin as he rewraps your wound. You watch him as he soaks a cloth in the basin, his brows furrowed slightly and you wonder what plagues him mind. He returns your gaze when he lifts your chin up and wipes the dry blood that had splattered on your face and hands

The trial is over. The dwarves responsible for the deaths of your soldiers, for your injuries, and for the death of your unborn. 

“Why don’t I feel any different Thorin.” You whimper into the silence. Thorin stops and looks up at you, closing his eyes and nods in agreement, he brings you into his embrace. 

“It will amralime,” he vows “this is just the beginning I promise.” 

The two of you stay like this, Thorin reassuring you with hushed words of endearments, rocking you back and forth as he set both your minds at ease. 

This is just the beginning, the beginning of a long road to recovery both physically and mentally. You don’t know how long it will take to return to yourself. However, you know that you’re not alone in your pain, Thorin holds you now as he vows to in the future, guiding you through whatever comes next, loving you no matter what. 

Amralime - my love

Nunge- my flower

Lukhudel - light of all lights

@letsbeinspiredby @tschrist1 @red608 @sacredburial24 @jumpingmanatee @ruruly20 @neoqueen306 @marvel-trash-was-taken @catthefearless​​ @slowlyyoungangel​

[blue-eyes-and-auburn-hairr]

Second Chances Chp. 3

Disclaimer: Okay, I got more notes than I thought I ever would, so while the world is quarantined...I wrote another part.

Warning: Mention of death, fluff, I don’t want to mislead anyone this will very much be a slowburn 

Summary: Can you imagine being widowed at such a young age to a man you thought you’d have forever with? On the anniversary of his death, on top of a mountain, you and Chris begin your new journey together.

Staring up at the sky, watching the lantern follow a path across the stars while taking a piece of me with it. People say it gets easier, but that really has not been the case. Each morning I wake up and my mind slowly drifts to memories that I try and keep locked away and each night the nightmares and terrors of the aftermath play like a reel. I don’t fight them though, I think when they finally stop, it will hurt more. My therapist obviously disagrees with me and we have been working on this but, I am just not ready. My ability to compartmentalize is scary and unhealthy but its been working for the last three years. It is harder to keep the emotions in check on days when you feel like you are being smothered. The phone calls, the text, the Facebook posts and tags from both our family and friends. All of that is sweet and supportive and great, but too much. Another reason I like coming out here and sitting on our mountain looking out at the world. 

I slowly turn around and watch as Chris is still watching the lantern on its journey, he makes eye contact and I force a half-smile. I see Dodger with his head down whimpering a bit, unaware of the circumstances but very much cued in to the emotions that surround him. 

He returns the smile but it does not reach his eyes.  

“Afghanistan, three years ago today,” I shrug not wanting to go any deeper, that’s enough of my past for one day. “That’s a story for another time preferable over some beers and a few shots,” another joke to cut the thick fog that surrounds us. Chris makes a move to reassure me, obviously feeling helpless at this moment. Dodger quickly gets up and sits down between Chris and I. He is facing Chris, watching his movements as though ready to defend me. I rub the top of his head letting him know that I am okay and so is the situation. “I’m okay boy, your pops was just trying to help,” I continue to stroke his head and then look up at Chris’ dumbstruck facial expression. “I...I have never seen him do something like that” he softly mumbled to himself and continues to look at me now with almost an expression of awestruck. 

“That was beautiful, genuinely beautiful, is there anything else you need to do?” I gently shake my head not making eye contact the mixture of gratitude and shame is swirling. I feel the tears and thickness in my throat return and shake that off as well.  

“We should start to head back then, it’s going to get dark and Dodger is such a baby in the dark,” He chuckles rolling his eyes. 

It was only about a fifteen-minute walk back to the car, but he was right, the twilight sky would only last for so long. Packing up my bag and making sure that I had everything, I met the boys at the start of the trail. 

“I am sorry if your hike took an unexpected turn,” I shyly shrug my shoulders “I feel like I owe you a beer or at least a meal to make up for that, I am usually not this grim of a person” I state trying to convince him and myself. 

“Not a chance,” he says while reaching down to pull the twig out of Dodger’s mouth. 

“I get it and I am sure you have to be up early tomorrow for your presentation and all,” I try not to sound as defeated as I feel. 

“I meant, no chance that you owe me anything. It’s absolutely my treat, do you know of any good places around here?” I tried to read his face, looking for pity, but all I could see was compassion. 

“There’s a nice pub a few miles away, small and simple,” trying to accommodate for him I also mention that there is patio seating that should fit Dodger’s fancy. 

We reach our cars at the same time that Chris announces that he is sold on the idea and says that he will follow me. The emotions of all of this finally set in when I sat in my car. I had not felt anxious or nervous throughout our entire time together until the moment I was away from him. I pushed all of that, for the most part, away and tried to drive perfectly towards the pub. Chris turned in the parking lot after me and got out and put the lease on Dodger again. I finally saw my reflection for the first time in hours and cleaned up the tears stains that still traced my skin. 

“I am not gonna lie, I honestly thought you were gonna keep driving when I pulled in here” I finally announce when I make my way over to his truck. 

“Well now I am wounded Thea, wounded,” he states while dramatically placing his hands over his chest. 

“It’ll buff out, I’m sure,” I say while bumping his shoulder and heading towards the door, I can hear him chuckling behind me. 

I head inside and ask the bartender if there was room on the patio for us to sit and order some food and drinks. She says, of course, hands me two menus and says someone would meet us outside shortly. 

I meet Chris back outside and he’s already made himself and Dodger comfy at a table. As I head over he gets up and pulls out the chair for me, which I know people roll their eyes at but I get a case of the butterflies every single time. 

After some time an older woman makes her way over to us to take our order, Chris takes my suggestion on the burger and laughs when I get carded for ordering a beer.  I roll my eyes and feel the blush creep across my cheeks. I dish it right back though and ask him when was the last time he even got carded, the squinting glare answered that question. The tension and awkwardness left and we slipped into casual conversation. 

I think we talked for 2 hours straight. 

We talked about everything and anything, it was so pure and real. My stomach started to hurt 45 minutes in from laughing so hard. “God, can you imagine growing up an only child or growing up differently than you did?” Chris asked me at one point, he was telling a story about his brother and neighbor daring him to jump from a roof onto a trampoline into a pool. He was proud to announce that he completely chicken out and thinks about how his life might be a little different if he followed through with it. 

“My brother and sisters probably used to pray to be only children growing up, but I honestly couldn’t imagine it any other way. I never take for granted how close-knit we are and I continue to be thankful.” He continued to smile at me and stare at my face, which was sweet but also a bit concerning. 

I whip at my face trying to see if I had something on it and ask him, “What? Do I have ketchup on my cheek or something?” He responds by rolling his eyes for the 39th time in the last few hours. 

“Roll your eyes at me again! I dare you!” He scuffs and goes to roll his eyes again but stops halfway and just starts laughing. 

“I just, I don’t want this to sound weird and freak you out.” He starts to rambles and it was cute but my god he was going to drive me crazy if he kept it up. I reach across the table and give his hand a squeeze in a comforting way. 

“I just, I feel like I’ve known you my whole life” he looks down at his phone “when in reality it’s only been four hours. I know that sounds crazy because I don’t even know what you do for a living, but I feel like I already know ‘who you are’ if that makes any bit of sense. I am just having a tough time believing you are real.”

It absolutely did. It made complete sense and it scared me, but it also gave me another case of butterflies.

“I’m a teacher.” I took the easy way out not toughing the other topic just yet. 

How does Chris respond? He rolled his god damn eyes again. With a retort of “Of course you are, why wouldn’t you be a teacher.” 

“That’s it, Dodger, come here and take your human away from me!” I shout at the sweet boy just trying to take a nap. “Dodger that is the 40th time he has rolled his eyes at me, you need to take him home and teach him some manners please!” I huff sitting back into my chair and watching Chris explode with laughter. 

“You are absolutely insane, I don’t think I have laughed this hard, for this long, in months. I am going to have a set of abs by the time this night is through.” Now it was my turn to roll my eyes at him. 

“So what do you teach?” He finally asked me after his waves of laughter have turned into small chuckles. 

“I am a middle school special education teacher” I state proudly. I truly love and respect what I do for a living and wouldn’t change it for the world. 

Chris is just defeated by this point and just places his head in his hands shaking it back and forth.  “You are really not helping prove that you are actually real” he mumbles into his hands. 

“Says the famous actor I met while hiking a mountain and inviting me to dinner, I left the realm of reality hours ago” I smirk back at him when he finally pulls his face out of his hands. 

The waitress walks over and asks if we need anything else. Chris holds up one finger to me seeing if I’m game for another round. “One more round please and two more glasses of water,” I ask while smirking at Chris. “Ohh also, can we get, I don’t know, maybe a to-go box of some sort that we can put some water in for the pup?” She nods and walks off while jotting it down in her little pad. She returns a few minutes later with all the check and drinks. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to twist your arm or anything,” he says while leaning over and scratching Dodger’s head. 

“Not at all, I just, unfortunately, have to drive home after this,” I say while shaking my head. “I normally cannot wait for this day to end, but today...meeting Dodger and I guess you..,” I smirk trying to make light of a tough sentence to put into words, “It really helped.”

“Well, I am just glad we found you.” 

“Me too,” I say giving his hand one more squeeze before we get up and make our way to the cars. 

Leaving the shot of Jameson sitting on the table, untouched, but always present, unquestioned but simply knowing.

I’ve never tagged anyone in a post before so let’s see if I get this right :)  @chi00072 @capstopavenger​ 

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Next entry for @badthingshappenbingo!

I AM NO LONGER ACCEPTING PROMPTS! The single-bone marks on the card indicate which prompts I have received and am going to write, and I finally have prompts that will earn me a bingo once they’ve been posted (but they’re not posted yet)!

This fic has also been posted to FFN and AO3, so you can check it out on my Assortment of Broken Bones collection on there if you like!

This prompt came from @tomato-bitch! She had a more specific scenario in mind for this prompt...

Prompt: Mugging Characters: Héctor and Chicharrón, pre-movie

---~~~---

The night was cool, but not chilly, the air crisp and refreshing in his... well, where his lungs would have been. The sky was clear, the stars were bright, and the moon was full—it would have been a perfect night to sit outside, either on the rooftops or around a fire, and talk with his nearly-forgotten family.

But Héctor was far from Shantytown tonight.

He wished he weren't. He would rather be anywhere but here, doing anything other than what he was about to do.

Drawing in a breath, he cringed, bringing his hands to his cervical vertebrae, still tender from a few days ago.

"You think you can just waltz in here, take our stuff?"

"I'm sorry, señor, really—I'll be on my way and never bother you agai—"

"Oh, no, you're staying right here."

He swallowed down the pain in his throat. His voice was still rough—it was part of the reason he hadn't spoken to anyone in Shantytown for a few days. A small part of the reason, anyway.

"What do you guys think? That left femur of yours would fetch a nice price on the market, eh?"

"What—no, no, por favor, don't! I-I promise I won't come back, I won't say anything—"

"But you want this, right? You took a pretty gutsy risk coming here to try to swipe it."

"I-I..."

"How about this. You do us a favor, and we'll consider not pawning off your unbroken bones. And maybe throw this in as well."

"I... sí, okay, I'll do whatever you want!"

Whatever they wanted... He pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding himself not to use that phrase again.

"Wait, wait, no, that's... I-I don't have..."

"If you don't have that kind of money on you, we have no problem exchanging your bones for it."

"...How long will you give me?"

"Get back to us in three days. Right here, the morning following the third night."

"Thr—you can't be—?!"

"If we don't get it then, we'll track you down. Don't think you can hide, amigo. We have ways of finding you. So do we have a deal or not?"

"...Sí."

"Good."

It was not the kind of money that he could make running errands. It was not the kind of money he could make on odd jobs, or even pawning off every item in his possession. He'd tried, even—sold his good pens, the only chair in his shack, even the blanket he used to keep himself warm at night. He spent a day running every errand Ceci threw at him. (She'd asked him what he was trying to save up for this time, what the plan this year was, what happened to his throat. He couldn't give her a straight answer.) The money he'd saved up had straight-up not been enough.

It was the night of the third day, and the money was due tomorrow morning.

Héctor had no other choice.

...At least, that's what he told himself. The police were still an option. They weren't exactly on good terms with him, and he wouldn't exactly be in the clear himself given he'd been the one trying to steal in the first place (in order to illegally cross the flower bridge), but he could inform them of the criminals who were threatening him. The police could take care of that, and... well... he'd probably be arrested, but even a week in jail was better than permanently losing half his bones to some scumbags in the underworld of the underworld.

But... if he went to the police and got himself arrested, he wouldn't be able to cross. Dia de Muertos was only in two days. Even if by some miracle they didn't arrest him, he wouldn't be able to get...

Sighing, Héctor shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. No, he had to do this. If he wanted a shot at seeing his Coco again... he had to.

He had to.

After waiting for a few more moments, he surveyed his surroundings again—the buildings were tall here, and quite old. It was still several layers above Shantytown, but old enough that very few people actually lived here these days. The Land of the Dead, normally quite bright at night, was dark here, with few working streetlamps and no lights shining through any windows. As a result, it was not the safest place to be. Héctor had learned that the hard way, and discovered the reason why it could be so unsafe.

And now... he was about to become part of the reason why it was so unsafe.

It's for Coco, he told himself, shutting his eyes. It's for her. You can just do this once, so you can see her again, and then never do it again.

He peered down the street from his spot in the shadows of the alley, looking in both directions, but it was still clear. Something within him desperately hoped that someone would be here, while another, deeper part of him begged whatever higher power existed to not let a soul cross his path. But it was either this, getting torn apart, or missing another chance at crossing the bridge.

Leaning against a cold wall, he waited in silence, listening for any sounds of movement. For the past few hours, he'd only heard the occasional stray alebrije, which soared in the distance overhead. There were no creatures here in these streets, skeletal, alebrije, or otherwise.

As he waited, his mind drifted, and he tried to picture how old Coco was now. It was hard to imagine her as anything other than the small child he'd left behind, hard to imagine anything other than her soft, young voice. But she was in her seventies now, he knew—older than Imelda had lived. He wondered what sort of family she'd made for herself—if she had children of her own, if they had their own children. He wondered if she was in good health now.

Maybe he'd get to see for himself in a couple days, if everything went right.

If it didn't... well, maybe he would be lucky enough to try again next year. He couldn't count on it, though—as much as he hated to think of his daughter in such a state, she may not be in the best health. This could very well be his last chance.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly missed the sound of footsteps. Sucking in air through his teeth, he listened—yes, someone was absolutely walking down the street, coming around the corner down the block. The footfalls were hesitant, as though trying to make as little noise as possible, though occasionally they moved in short bursts of speed. It was either someone who was very scared... or a criminal.

He desperately hoped it was not the latter.

Sure enough, someone came into view—they had a slight frame, and he could just make out the skirt they wore—a woman, then? Her feet made a pock, pock, pock noise as they made contact with the ground, and her bones did not clack—at least, not loud enough for him to hear. What was a soul like this doing here?

The still night air easily carried her quiet voice:

"No... no, th-this isn't right."

Héctor froze up, backing against the wall. She definitely sounded afraid.

"I thought I saw the path was...? Maybe it was f-further down?"

She was lost.

Carefully he poked his head out again—she wouldn't see him in the shadow of the alleyway like this. She was closer now, and he could see her better—from her frame and her voice, she sounded like she'd died young, what he could see of her clothing looked nice and clean, and she carried a big purse slung over her opposite shoulder. Meanwhile, her body language radiated fear and unease.

His immediate instinct was to approach her, reassure her, tell her the correct way to go, and, if she let him (people didn't tend to trust the nearly-forgotten, after all), help guide her out of this terrible place himself. But he held himself back, swallowing down the lump in his throat and feeling it plummet down to his stomach cavity.

No, he wasn't here to help her.

It's for Coco, he told himself again, gritting his teeth as he ducked back into the alley. It's for Coco, it's for her, you have to do this.

The woman was getting closer, though a part of him prayed that she would turn around, head back the other way.

It's for Coco.

She was getting closer. He could hear her nervous breathing.

It's for Coco.

Closer now. The stars reflected off of the tears in her eyes.

It's for Coco.

He did not want to do this.

But it's for Coco.

He did not want to do this.

But if you don't do this, you'll never see her again.

She was right in front of him, and he lunged at her, aiming for the purse.

The woman's scream tore through the night, and Héctor crashed to the ground—he'd missed. Immediately she took off running, and he reformed, charging after her. "Get back here!" he called, hating how rough his voice sounded, hating what he was doing, hating every part of this. "Just—please, just give me your money!"

She didn't answer, only screaming into the night: "HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE!"

Any other night and he would be running off to help. Was there anyone around here that would do that?

The terror of the idea struck him—what if someone else was here? What if someone came to her rescue, and attacked him? Took him to the police?

"HELP!"

He couldn't let that happen—he had to get this over with, but his broken tibia ached and his fibula was threatening to pop loose again—he wasn't going to be able to keep up with her. Let her get away, a small part of him said, but he shook the thought away—he couldn't do that, but he wasn't sure if he could catch her, either.

Whether by stroke of luck or some devil tempting him, the woman's shoes caught on an uneven cobblestone, and she stumbled and fell.

Leave her alone, the small part said, but he charged at her anyway. He tried to yank her purse away, but wound up yanking her back up to her feet. Rolling with it, he shoved her against a nearby wall. She was crying.

"Leave me alone...!" she sobbed, as he tried to tug the purse away.

"I-I... I don't want to hurt you, señorita," Héctor stammered. "Just give me—"

To his surprise, she fought back, shoving at his sternum and jostling his broken ribs. He hissed in pain, but very quickly realized a problem, as the starlight above them reflected off her shining white bones: she was a remembered skeleton, and he was not.

"Get away, get off of me!" she cried, kicking and shoving at him as he struggled to keep hold of her. Her foot struck at his bad leg, and he held back a cry of pain, but the strained noise came through his throat anyway.

Apparently encouraged by this, the woman shoved at his bad arm, and he felt the two cracked halves of it rub against each other.

He couldn't fight her—she would win.

He had to play dirty.

Pulling back the arm that she'd successfully pushed away, he swung his fist at her, swiftly connecting with her skull and knocking it off her shoulders. While she screamed again, he'd successfully stunned her enough to stop fighting. He grabbed her purse, yanked it off her shoulders, and ran.

"No, no! GET BACK HERE! HELP! SOMEONE!"

But there was no one else around, and Héctor bolted off into the night.

He wasn't sure which was heavier: the stolen purse, which he struggled to carry, or his guilty conscience, which threatened to tug his heart down to the ground.

---

Héctor did not take the purse back to Shantytown, but sought out a safe spot on the way back to the location where he was to meet the awful men who started this in the first place.

Are you sure you're not one of them, amigo? a voice within him asked, and he swallowed the lump down again.

Sorting through the purse, he found several useless objects—a book of some sort, a box of candies, a stack of letters... He set them aside for now, continuing to dig through the purse until he found what he was looking for: a wallet.

As he'd hoped, it had a fair amount of money in it—more than he would have expected someone to carry on their person, but... he wouldn't complain. Pulling a meager amount of money out of his own pouch, he put it with the stolen money and began to count.

To his dismay, it was barely not enough. Wincing, he dug through the purse again, hoping he'd missed something, and sure enough, he found a smaller wallet within. For a moment he wondered why she would carry two wallets... until he realized this one didn't carry money.

Smiling faces of living family members peered out at him—brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, nieces, nephews.

She had a family, too.

He turned to look at the other objects he'd set aside: The book was a sketchbook. The box of candies had a sticker label on the outside with a man's name on it. The letters were all addressed to different people with the same last name, in places in the Land of the Living.

She'd died recently, he realized—possibly on the way to mail these letters. She'd died, and had gotten lost, and he'd...

No, I had to do it. It's for Coco, it's...

Another thought shoved itself to the front of his mind:

What would Coco say, if she knew you'd done this to get to her?

His breath caught in his throat, and when he finally managed to breathe, it came in short, harsh sobs.

---

Héctor felt numb as he stood before them. He no longer had the purse; he'd hidden it away, feeling like he couldn't look at it any longer without getting sick.

"Ey, wasn't expecting you to actually do it," the man said, his mouth twisting into an unpleasant grin. "You came through, amigo."

I'm not your amigo. I'm not anyone's amigo, Héctor thought, but said nothing, staring off to the side.

"We could use someone like you."

"No."

"Suit yourself. Oh... but you wanted this, right?"

Again, Héctor said nothing, but didn't resist as the man pushed a large box into his arms. He did cringe when the man slammed a hand onto his back.

"Nice working with you."

Another voice spoke up: "Uhhh... jefe?"

They turned to see one of the other men, who had been counting the money Héctor had turned over. His stomach twisted.

"He's just... barely short."

"...Huh. You're right."

Héctor took a step back, wondering if he could make a break for it. "It's... it's only a little," he said. "If you give me another day, I could—"

"Oh, no, no, we had a deal." The man stepped up to him again, the friendly air he'd had earlier now long gone. "You make up the money to us, or we'll make it up with your bones."

"It's... I... I'm nearly forgotten, my bones are barely worth—"

The man lifted Héctor's chin with his knuckle, and Héctor grit his teeth as his head was turned to one side, then another, before he forcibly yanked himself away.

"No... I think you might have something worthwhile on you."

Héctor opened his mouth to protest, just as the man's fist connected with his face.

---

It was evening on Dia de Muertos, and Héctor had his scheme ready. His jaw still ached something terrible, but he reminded himself that he'd been lucky.

One tooth was a pretty small price to pay for being able to see his daughter.

But what about—

He shut down the voice again. No, focus, he just had to finish putting his plan into action, and then he could cross the bridge, and see his Coco, and then he would never have to think about the rest of this terrible, terrible week ever again.

"Hey, that's—"

"You!"

Instantly recognizing the voices, Héctor seized up in terror—no, this couldn't be happening, the police couldn't have found him this early—

"What do you think you're doing here, Rivera?! What are you doing with that?"

With a surge of panic, Héctor bolted, leaving behind the materials he'd fought so hard to retrieve, and any hope of seeing Coco that year.

He'd failed.

---

Héctor sat on the edge of his hammock numbly, having no other seat in his shack anymore. Dia de Muertos wasn't even over, but he couldn't even enact his plan—couldn't even go anywhere near the bridge. The police were clearly on the lookout for him—perhaps someone had given them a description of him as a forewarning.

He shuddered, one arm wrapped tightly around himself while his other hand massaged his jaw.

"You're back early."

Nearly falling backwards off his hammock, he looked up in shock to see Chicharrón standing in the doorway. The old man could move quietly when he needed to. "S... sí," he stammered, fighting to get back into a seated position again. "It's... it's not a good year."

He sat back, and the hammock immediately twisted, dumping him out the other side. He groaned, but made no effort to get back up.

Chicharrón stamped closer, grasped him by the heel, and yanked him away from the hammock. "Up."

Shakily he pushed himself back up to his feet, but couldn't keep his back straight for the heavy weight in his chest. Cheech looked him up and down, frowning, and Héctor sighed. "I didn't lose another rib, if that's what you're wondering."

"Then what did you lose?"

Perceptive. Héctor grimaced, showing his teeth, and turned his head to his right, so Cheech could see the missing tooth on the left side of his bottom jaw.

With a deep hum, Chicharrón turned around, stamping his way out the door. He didn't need to speak for Héctor to know that he wanted to be followed. Not particularly feeling like wallowing alone in misery tonight, he limped out after him. He would've snatched a bottle on his way out, but he'd sold that too a few days earlier.

To his surprise, Cheech immediately turned and climbed up the ladder (actually a series of boards nailed to the side of his house), sitting up on the edge of Héctor's roof, and Héctor joined him. The shack wasn't particularly tall, but it was still a nice view regardless. The old man produced a bottle that he'd evidently been hiding in his rib cage and took a deep gulp from it before passing it to Héctor, who gladly took a drink himself.

The alcohol took some of the weight off of his heavy heart, but it didn't make it go away entirely. It was better than nothing, at least, and Héctor and Chicharrón sat in silence for some time. No questions about how he'd lost his tooth, or why the night had been so terrible (other than the obvious). Just silence.

It was comforting, for a time. But the memories and thoughts of the past week didn't fade—of his failures, of Coco, of what he'd done. The latter especially still haunted him; every time he closed his eyes, he could see the woman's terrified face and hear her voice.

The comfort was soon gone, and the silence became suffocating.

"Cheech," Héctor finally said, voice choked. "Have you ever screwed up?"

"You think I'd be here if I hadn't?" Chicharrón snapped, yanking the bottle away and taking a swig, draining the last of it. He tossed the empty glass into the water below. "...Yeah. I have."

"What... do you do?"

"What can you do?"

Héctor snorted, leaning back to look at the stars, but it was cloudy tonight. It took him a moment before he realized Cheech was staring at him, and he gave a start.

"Wasn't a rhetorical question."

Oh. Héctor rubbed his jaw again, massaging the spot where he'd been hit. He couldn't go back to those men—there was no way he could get that money back without risking them trying to steal anything else from him. They may have already spent the money on who-knows-what anyway. He thought back to the woman, but he had no idea where she was staying. Even if he did, there was no way she would want to go anywhere near him. He couldn't blame her for that; he wouldn't want to go anywhere near himself either, after that.

"Well," he started, forcing a laugh. "I could... never do that again."

"Pshaw. Everyone screws up eventually."

Héctor shuddered. "No. Not like... not like what I did."

Shrugging, Chicharrón looked out over the town. "That it, then? Nothing else you can do?"

He thought about it further... and then he remembered. "Actually... I think there is."

"Yeah? What's—"

Héctor made to climb down off the roof, forgot he'd been drinking, lost his balance, and slid down off the inclined surface and into a pile of bones on the ground.

"Hm," Cheech grunted, staying up on the roof and tipping his hat over his eyes before leaning back. "Idiota."

---

He'd hid the purse away, in the midst of some fake plants, beneath the plastic wood chips that surrounded them. It took him a while to find the exact spot, and he earned himself a few odd glances when people saw him digging around. ("I dropped something here," he would explain, which wasn't technically a lie.) After a few hours of trying different spots, he finally unearthed the purse, carefully emptying it of any plastic chips before slinging it over his shoulder.

The next part of the plan was risky, but he knew a way to make it slightly easier. He swung by Ceci's place—her apartment, rather than her studio, and nearly bumped into her as she carried a basket of offerings to her door.

"Héctor?!" she cried, scrambling to keep a hold of the basket. "What are—ugh, I don't want to deal with your schemes tonight—"

"I—I know, Ceci, but please...!"

"I actually have the night off tonight, and for once—"

"I know Ceci, but I just—"

"Why are you wearing a purse anyway?"

"Ceci, por favor, I really, really need your help—just one thing, one."

He must have looked really desperate, because Ceci sighed, dropping her shoulders. "Fine. One thing," she said, stepping through the door to set the basket down. "What do you need?"

"I need... an outfit."

---

It was a nicer outfit than he'd expected—a warm cloak with a hood that he was sorely tempted to keep, but he'd promised her he'd bring this one back. To make sure he'd keep his word, she'd kept his goatee, which worked well enough, given he was disguising himself anyway. She'd also agreed to brush his wig, peppering it with some silver hairspray to make him look older. Instead of keeping the purse slung over his shoulder, he carried it in his arms, occasionally looking it over as he walked, rehearsing in his mind what he was going to say.

Still he felt uneasy as he reached the police department, and forced himself to walk through the doors without limping. A woman glanced up at him as he set the purse on the counter.

"I found this discarded near the street," he said, trying to hide the fact that his leg was in agony, as well as his terror that they would recognize him here. "Did... someone report a missing purse?"

After a brief conversation, the woman said she'd get it sorted out—a few people had reported missing purses recently. Héctor nodded, grateful, and left the building, nearly forgetting to mask his limp. He did limp back to Ceci's, though, exchanging the borrowed outfit for his original and his goatee.

"What were you doing, anyway?" Ceci asked, as he stuck his goatee back on. She was a lot less short with him than usual, and he chalked it up to the fact that he'd actually returned the outfit intact.

"Had to... return a stolen purse to the police," he said, quickly brushing his hands through his hair in an attempt to knock the silver out of it. He only succeeded in dusting the palms of his hands silver. "The police and I are, um... not exactly on good terms, heh, so I had to go in disguise so no one recognized me. They'd think I was up to something otherwise."

"You usually are," Ceci remarked, then swatted at his hand when he tried to brush it through his hair again. "Stop that, you'll get that silver everywhere." When he sighed, she crossed her arms. "You returned it, didn't you? What's there to be upset about?"

Good question. "Just... tired," he lied. He was hoping he'd feel better after returning the purse, but all of that woman's money was missing. Even if he'd been able to put it back, it wouldn't erase the fact that he'd chased the woman down and hit her.

He did have one extra thing added to the purse, however: a note.

I'm sorry for what I did. My daughter would never have wanted this. I hope you can enjoy your time with your family, on both sides of the bridge.

It didn't change what he'd done, but for now, Héctor hoped it would be enough.

[vydante]

Restart | Avengers x Male! Reader | 8

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Avengers x Male! Reader (romantically: undecided)

Plot: Dr. Strange said there was only one possibility of winning the battle against Thanos.

But when (Name) is forced into the past and into his younger body, he’s suddenly given the chance to start over and prevent the future from happening again.

So which route are you going to take? Are you going to risk the future and take preventative measures, or live life with the Avengers for the next 4 years, knowing what will soon come?

A/N: Long- 4.7k words. Hell yeah. Also: the GIF has little to do with the story LMFAO. There’s not really a fitting one, tbh... Sorry it took me a while to update, but hey, I promised in one of my last asks it’d be here by the end of July!

"Excuse me?"

"I do not know you to have hearing problems young Stark!"

You knew that your summer had been going a bit too smoothly. You just finished your nanotech suit, somehow with all this outdated tech, you had multiple wonderful shopping sprees with your mom (and as expected, your dad threw fits every time), and your summer project was going swimmingly...

That was until Thor had barged in with his hammer in one hand and a duffle bag in the other.

You pinched the bridge of your nose as Thor stared down at your slouched form with an intensity that made you uncomfortable, despite knowing that all that was probably on his mind was, well. You set down the hologram pad and turned around to fully face him.

You inhaled and tried to gather your thoughts.

"You're telling me... You want to go to China... Because...?"

His whole body seems to shake with his laugh. Your ears ring, having sat in a quiet room for nearly the whole day now. He stops laughing, but his infectious smile is still ever so present as he speaks up.

"I read on the interwebs of cuisine out of this world, and it said that this China has exactly that!"

You squinted and opened and closed your mouth, perplexed. You had so many questions- more so than before.

Where the hell had he heard that? That was so vague- cuisines? Since when was he into cuisine? And why China specifically?

Your lips were pressed in a thin line. You weren't too sure if you cared enough to know all of the specifics. And quite frankly, you're scared that it'll only give you more questions than answers- after all, anything goes when it comes to Thor.

"... Okay, and?" You tilted your head to add onto that sarcastic 'and'. "Why're you telling me this- I'm not your dad."

"Of course you're not my father! I am Thor, son of Odin, not of (Name)! I just want you to take me there!"

You rolled your eyes all the way into the back of your skull. Of course, he'd respond like that- he wasn't as accustomed to Earth humor as the Thor you knew. And with that ass-backward logic- that you had to be the one to take him there- didn't help with your frustration.

You picked at your chair's armrest, pulling at the already worn down faux leather skin bit by bit. You probably need to buy another chair, huh?

You exhaled softly, eyeing the Norse god who was grinning at you expectedly.

"... Why...? Can't you just- fly there? Using Mjolnir?"

Your eyes didn't miss the glint of said hammer. It probably won't be a comfortable ride, but it doesn't seem like the blonde would mind flying through the wind for a few hours at most. He patted your shoulders.

"Yes, but as you may know: I cannot speak Chinese."

He said that with an all too matter of factly tone that irked you, but also brought an ugly chortle out of your throat. You playfully slapped his hand away, eyes wide but crinkled with your wide grin.

"Dude- and who says I can?! I'm not all-knowing!" You waved your hands around with wide eyes painted with light mockery.

"Are you not?"

He tilts his head like a golden retriever. You snorted and turned around to try and focus back on what you were doing beforehand.

"No. Go by yourself, thunder thighs."

"But I even packed my stuff!"

He lifts his duffle bag- as if that was sufficient enough to call 'packing'. Hell, you wouldn't even be surprised if it was filled with random junk not meant for traveling. You rolled your eyes at how childish he was, standing there as if he was asking you to chaperone his field trip.

"Okay, and?"

That might be your new catchphrase just to combat all the silliness that was Thor.

He pouts his lips and tries to give you the puppy dog eyes. He's acting cute now, but you know if you take him to China he'll act a fool of himself. And besides, there's a high chance he won't find what he's looking for there.

You sighed quietly, knowing that Thor won't push you too far to do something you don't want to, but he'll definitely be sulking for a while afterward.

You mulled over it for a second, before it hit you.

China.

He wants to go to China. And where is China?

Right next to Nepal.

And where do you need to- oh, it doesn't need to spell it out for you does it?

You tried fighting back the grin, silently thanking the stars for having aligned right for you just this once, and pretended to debate on whether or not you should actually take him or not.

He rocked on the balls of his feet and dragged a whiny 'please?', which was the 'tipping point' for you. It wasn't, really- your mind was already made up by the sudden revelation, but still. A flair for dramatics wouldn't hurt.

"Ugh, you know what- fine, I'll take you to China." He cheered out loud, but you raised a finger before he could jump to conclusions, "But! Only for a weekend!" His expression dropped for a moment, but he was still grinning ear to ear, "I still have other stuff to do... Wha-!"

You felt your lungs get caught as he drops Mjolnir and his duffle bag on the ground, and your bottom was suddenly no longer touching the chair you were sat on. Instead, it was in the air now as Thor grabbed you from under your arms and bear-hugged you while swinging you around like a ragdoll.

"Hnng-!"

You wheezed into his neck, but he doesn't hear it over his boisterous laugh.

"You are my favorite Stark for a reason!"

Ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks at his bold statement, you smacked his back to let you down. You were struggling to breathe as he practically bomb rushed your lungs. He lets you down, but he's still hugging you tightly and swaying side to side. You coughed and patted his back, praying that he'll let go anytime soon for you to breathe properly.

"Relax, there's only- ugh- two of us so there's not- not much competition anyways. But- ack- thanks- now let go...!"

He finally relaxes his grip on you and lets you go, much to your ribs' relief. You groaned, sure that bruises were definitely going to form around your chest from him. He chuckles and mentions something about 'mortals', but you didn't care much to listen.

He picks up his stuff and turns around to your hunched form with a bright smile- brighter than the one he had earlier.

"So, should we go now?"

"You know, I'm not too surprised you got scammed."

You rummaged through your duffle bag, searching for some pajamas to 'sleep the night away', so to speak. You ignored Thor as he spread eagle on his bed with nothing but a waist towel to cover him, but it wasn't really doing much of its job as you can definitely tell his, ah, hammer was out in your peripherals. You made a mental reminder to get some eye-bleach later as your ears turn red. 

Your embarrassment goes unnoticed as Thor cried out dramatically.

"They said the food was magnificent!"

"Yeah, well, people lie sometimes. Or maybe their definition of good is different from yours. But hey, cheer up- we got to eat from other places, and they were delicious."

You weren't lying. The first day was spent looking for the particular restaurant Thor was talking about- and as it turns out, it was just a weird brothel. The 'cuisines' Thor was talking about was a crude translation of 'Chinese prostitutes' so that was... An experience. You two made sure to get that taken care of before you moved on.

While the one place you- more like Thor- was looking forward to was not what it was chalked up to be, there were a bunch of other places that definitely made up for that in terms of actual food. Well, judging by Thor's pout, maybe it was just satisfying for you, anyways.

"But it does not quench my disappointment."

You pulled your clothes out and tossed the bag to the side. You made a B line toward the bathroom as Thor tried settling into his bed. You almost stepped onto the towel he, at some point, had now thrown onto the ground haphazardly.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me that tomorrow when we have to fly back to New York. Go to sleep, Aussie John Smith."

"I am still upset..."

Even with the door closed, you could still hear the disappointment heavy in his voice.

"Sleep. Now."

"God, I hope he's asleep."

Your eyes dart over to his slumbering figure, comfortably sprawled out onto the rather small bed- for a man of his stature anyways. You tried your best to put a blanket over him, lest he gets cold or something (really, it was more for modesty as both his moons were out in full display, along with everything else), but every time you looked away for even a second, half of it was on the ground. At that point, you just gave up. 

His loss.

You'll just need to remember to tip the workers here if they were to be greeted with his hammer at any point.

"He is, don't worry."

A disembodied but smooth Australian accent whispers back to you. Familiarity buzzes in the back of your head, but you dismissed it.

You hum in response and zipped up your jacket all the way. It may be summer, but where you were heading might be cold. And besides, it was the tightest fit you could pack in your bag. You adjusted your shoes and take one glance in the mirror in the adjacent bathroom. Your eyes linger around your neck, and you click your tongue.

You readjusted the leather collar so it wouldn't leave a mark on you later. It wasn't too thick, but it was definitely big enough to be a collar versus an itty bitty choker. You were torn between this and other styles of accessories- hell, you even considered making the same component your dad had- one over where your sternum would be. But your first model would always be your collar, so that was a start.

You figured that you being here, years before yours, had already altered it in some way. You figured that making this- your new suit- yes, it would change how things would turn up from then on. But technically, as long as you kept it in the back burner, you wouldn't really change the future, per se... 

Yeah. This suit was just a backup. In case... In case something happened to your more mechanical suit. Or if it was unavailable.

Hopefully, you shouldn't have to resort to doing something like that.

You gaze lingers a bit on the collar, and you tilted your head around. It didn't look bad per se, but you knew you couldn't just walk around wearing this. You could wear it under a collared or turtleneck shirt, but that wouldn't last long. It wasn't a viable long term solution- unless you just... Blend it into your lifestyle?

You shake your head, already having resigned to a previously made lapse in judgment.

You weren't too sure if you wanted it to be a collar, so you already had plans to make other versions of this, just in case. But for now, it was what you knew, so of course, it had to be the first model- for the nanotech, anyways. Technically speaking, this would either be Mark-22 or Mark-94...

It doesn't matter.

You walk out of the building, thankful that there weren't really many people around for a busy city as this. You shuffled around behind the hotel and into an empty alleyway. You tried your best to ignore the smell of rotting food- it wasn't as bad as some of the places around New York, but it wasn't pleasant regardless. There were also other scents mixed into the equation, but you weren't keen on lingering around to find out what it was.

You doublechecked around the corner just to make sure that no one was around before turning around.

"DAHLIA, how's it going?"

You murmured quietly.

DAHLIA was the name of your old A.I. The voice wasn't exactly the same as their original predecessor, but it was close enough. You would name it differently, but you were already used to DAHLIA, so it seemed redundant to make a new one right now.

There wasn't really anything too deep about the name- like how J.A.R.V.I.S. was named after Tony's butler, and FRIDAY was just a silly little joke. For you, you just named it after a flower that really... Resonated with you when you first named her, especially after the whole fight at the airport and finding your dad... Anyways. Nowadays, it was just a pretty name to you.

"All systems up and ready, doll."

The same voice from earlier replies back. Your hand traveled to your neck and activated your suit. You felt the metal form over your shoulder, down your spide, and up your scalp. You watched your own reflection in the puddle underneath you quickly replace itself with that oh-so-familiar yet smoother helmet. 

Your vision goes dark and all of the city ambiances is muffled, then it all goes clear. Colors and lights flash open, and there's a bunch of U.I. huds popping up everywhere. While you can hear perfectly, everything's crisper now, but not overwhelming. You gazed over all of the information in front of you... All systems working perfectly- it strikes you now when you realize this was your first time actually taking this model out of the tower.

"Good... Well, time to take this baby out on a joyride, yeah?"

"Who's this joyful for- me or you? Judging by your spiked heart rate, it's not yours, and I can vouch that it's not for me either."

You ran your tongue over your front teeth and resisted the urge to scratch your arm. And to beat DAHLIA's thick head in for being a brat. 

("You programmed me this way, doll." A phrase she said a lot, annoyingly enough. She wasn't wrong.)

"You can just say I'm nervous, sweetums." You made sure to lay it on heavy with the fake sweetness in your words.

Maybe it was just a gene that carried through from your dad to you, but it always seemed like your A.I.'s, no matter what, had more personality than the average person would like. But then again, it adds more flavor, no?

"Don't make me demote you to BUTTERCUP."

Buttercup flowers represented childishness, like what was spewing out of DAHLIA's computerized mouth.

"As if you'd have the gall to do that, doll."

You ignored the layers of mockery and rolled your eyes dramatically. She was right, but it'd take hell to freeze over for you to ever admit that to her.

"Just pul'up the route to Nepal."

There were a few pop-ups from scanning the room, but the main one you were looking at was a map from Chengdu, China, to Nepal. It was a little far for your taste, so you were glad it was nighttime.

You just hope that you'll be able to stay awake in the morning for the flight home... Who knows, maybe this trip will help with jetlag when you get home.

"Alright, let's take a stroll through Nepal... DAHLIA, you know what to do." 

Your repulsers flare up and you jet straight into the sky. Stabilizers on your back keep your flight up steady and smooth, a far cry from your previous model's jerky movements. 

"Camouflage Mode: On. Playing: Pumped Up Kicks."

"... Not the song I was expecting, but sure."

"Skip."

"Playing: Gangnam Style."

"Off- off, no- yeah, no- no, silence. Silence, yeah? I'm tired of your bullshit, missy."

"Sure thing, doll."

You wanted to throat punch the tinge of humor in her voice. It had already been around an hour into your flight to Nepal, and you were ready to rip your hairs out. You weren't rushing at first, not really, so you took your time on the way there. And boy, did you just want this to be over with. DAHLIA was nonstop playing the trashiest songs and acted like she didn't know what she was doing-

"Doll, if I may be allowed to interject in your brooding,-"

"I'm not brooding-"

"- I am curious to know how you plan to seek out the answers to your dilemma... Assuming you even have the questions to ask, if I may be bold in saying such. Which I am."

You suddenly stopped, hovering above the clouds as you blank out for a second.

"Well, shit- what the hell am I gonna ask?"

You almost pondered over it, but knowing that you already had all the time in the world to come up with questions and still had none prepared just meant that you weren't gonna get much in the span of a few hours.

You resumed your flight with a resigned sigh.

"You know what- I'm just- gonna wing it. Yeah, winging it."

"That's..."

"A dumb idea? Yeah, maybe, definitely actually, but uh, I'm too nervous right now to think. Just gotta- gotta keep flying baby, that's all we can do right now."

"And besides," a flash of orange easily catches your attention- too easily, considering it was all pitch black over the mountains of Nepal. There's a figure down in the mountains, and their head was pointed directly in your direction. "It's not like we have all the time in the world to think of questions right now, do we?"

The figure doesn't move. If anything, it just stands there and watches you, as if they were dissecting every movement you made as you quickly descended down to the ground. You surely didn't miss the U.I. hud blink in the corner of your eyes. 

'Repulsor Canons: On Standby'

You made no moves to tell DAHLIA to stand down with the repulsors just in case they weren't friendly. The fact that the person even knew you were there, what with your camo mode on, told you more than enough to warrant caution. Your heart beating thrums through your ears and you barely heard DAHLIA murmur with concern.

"No, not at all. Be careful, doll. The area displays signs of heavy spacial manipulation..."

You didn't ask any questions from that, voice already caught in your throat.

"You come here often?"

It was a lot less cold than you were expecting, but you still kept your helmet on just in case. A blow to the noggin wouldn't be pleasant, but it'd definitely hurt less with it on. 

Even with the helmet helping you, all you could see was a figure draped in robes, and they had a pretty long hood covering their face. They were probably like Strange, as you recognized that orange spark from anywhere... And besides, it was the only logical (despite there being actual fucking magic) explanation considering the only thing surrounding the two of you was mountains and dead grass.

"You are not native to this timeline, Stark."

It shouldn't have been a surprise that she knew who you were- everyone not living under a rock did- but hearing that still made your skin crawl. She knew who you really were- or at least, who you aren't.

"Then you'll know why I'm here."

"Funny of you to say that, when I'm confident not even you know why you're here..."

Your stomach lurched from being called out like that. You didn't know what to say to that- it wasn't like she was wrong. Not at all, actually.

She lifts her hoodie and sends you a smile, but you weren't too sure if you could trust her just yet. But it wasn't like you had much of a choice, considering she might be the one to actually provide you some answers. She waves her hand and orange sparks fly around you as your environment shifts. You step back and watched as building structures appear out of nowhere. It was... Beautiful, despite your hatred for anything that strays from science and into magic. 

"Told you..." DAHLIA whispers. You swallowed down the bile from the visual trip.

"Holy shit..."

The robed lady still looks at you, amusement dancing in her eyes as she nods her head towards the entrance.

"... If you'd like, we can discuss this inside, where it's warm. And we have tea, as well."

"I don't know what to do if I'm being honest with you."

If you were the Ancient One- or how she introduced herself-, you would've kicked yourself out of the temple for coming here half-cocked. You didn't even know where to start with this whole conversation now that you two were settled now.

You avoided her gaze and admired the architectural design inside the temple as you both sat across from each other. Your helmet now retracted as you glanced at your reflection into the cup of tea. Your hair was a mess, but it was tasteful, at least.

"I can see that. To come here with no goal in mind isn't a smart plan."

"But it's better than roaming around willy nilly. It's already bad enough I came so late. Besides... Coming here will at least be an attempt at some closure."

You fiddled with the cup, tracing your finger back and forth over the rim absentmindedly. 

"Closure to what, if I may ask?"

Your eyebrow twitched at the softness of her tone. Your grip on the cup tightened as a shadow loomed over your eyes. She looks at you expectantly and sips. Moments pass before a sigh escapes you and you lean back into the chair, running your hands through your hair.

"... Not too sure myself."

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and assume that, by the law of an unknown force," Sarcasm dripped with every word, but she didn't falter in her gaze, "You can't tell me... What'll happen in the future, huh?"

She shakes her head.

"There are endless possibilities the future holds that restrains me from giving a proper answer that'll satisfy you."

You laughed humorlessly. Great. Of course. What else were you expecting?

A weight settles in your chest, the realization that you might not even get any satisfying answer from this trip- this trip that you had been nervously looking forward to- creeps up your spine. You blink owlishly, and she mirrors your own expression.

"... Can you at least tell me what happens after- after my timeline? Or before I... Before I left?"

"I'm afraid not, Stark."

You licked your lips. Damn.

"I... See."

"I... This is also probably... Something you can't tell me, but... Did I- did I mess up this timeline? By coming back here, to- to 2013, by some miracle?"

She doesn't answer immediately. There was no contemplative expression on her face, rather as she was looking at you it was more like she was trying to figure out what you were thinking rather than vice versa. 

"... You already know the answer to that. Even the slightest discrepancy can derail this timeline's future from, let's say, your timeline's initial course."

"I guess... Yeah, you're right..."

You thought back to the first noticeable inconsistency- the ambush at the HYDRA base. You knew you felt off about it, and your gut took a plunge when you remembered days later- you weren't supposed to be the one to get the file.

It was supposed to be Steve.

There were many more afterward. The apology following that. Your lab being built- you wanted to slap yourself- what the hell were you thinking?! It wasn't supposed to be built until a year later- but here you are, a fully fleshed out lab- that looks nothing like your lab in 2014!

There were many more afterward, but they were so minor you weren't sure if they were meant to happen or not.

Not to mention your new suit- you were trying to bullshit yourself with excuses, that it wouldn't matter if you built it or not, so long as you don't use it.

"... Do you think I should... I don't know... Try and keep the timeline according to mine? Like, let the preventable fights and deaths happen? Or should I just... Try and steer it into a future where we... We have a chance?"

That was the beauty of time travel that many works of fiction played with. With the knowledge of what happens in the future, it was easy to alter it as you see fit. And with that type of knowledge, it held a lot of responsibility to hold back the want to just... Do something different.

Of course, it wouldn't alter your timeline, a timeline that already went through its course- the same course you were going through months ago. Like Bruce- or Professor Hulk?- tried to explain before the time-hopping you all did: if you altered the past, you won't change the current timeline, rather you'd just be creating an alternate timeline, is all.

(It was a shame that meant that you couldn't really go with Rhodey's initial plan to just... locate baby Thanos and... Y'know.)

She shakes her head, almost in silent resignation.

"... I, ultimately, cannot stop you. It is your decision to make, and yours alone."

"I'm just... Scared. What if..." You felt the ground beneath you shift, despite sitting still. Nausea crept into your skin, and you felt like you were being burnt suddenly. You held back from spitting out the bile taste settling in your mouth and opted to grind your teeth together till it went away.

You gripped your head tenderly and sighed, "What if I fucked up that one chance Strange was talking about...?"

"Strange?"

"What?"

She sets her cup, now empty as opposed to your still full cup, and straightens her back. Her eyes held a firmness that made you pull your head away from your hands to look straight at her.

"You mentioned Strange."

"... You know him?"

It was a stupid question to ask, but she didn't seem to mind. You fingers itched to scratch your arm, but you ignored it as she spoke up again.

"Yes. He is destined to become the strongest amongst us, as you should know by now. What did you say about him?"

Blinking, you tried to recall what he had said back when you were on Titan with him. It's been years since then, but you could still remember with slight clarity what he had said to your father that day.

"Oh, I think- he said that- before he- he died- he said something about there being a- a one in like, 14 million possibilities that we win against- well, our bad guy. He said something like, 'it was the only way'. Right before, well... He- uh, died."

It felt weird talking about a dead man- technically, a man who was still alive in this timeline. She pressed her lips in a thin line. She stares at you hard enough to make you want to crawl right out of it, but you knew she'd probably yank you right back.

You could tell she's trying to pick her words carefully, and that was instant red flags to you. What did she know that you didn't? What did she realize that you didn't?

What did she know that'd make her think over her words?

"... Stark..." Your skin prickled, her voice was soft just like earlier. Did she think you were sensitive? "Have you ever considered the possibility that maybe it was destined... For you to be here?"

"What- what do you mean...?"

You gripped hard on the chair's armrest. DAHLIA whispers something into your ears about rising heart rate, but your mind couldn't really process it over the Ancient One's words.

"I mean... Maybe it was fated for you to be here, years before yours, for them to see that one chance of success."

Masterlist

Tagged: @unsolvetheheckoutofit

[vintagemichelle91]

Brunch (Rafael Barba x Miss Fashionista)

Author’s note: *peeks over from lap top* Hiiii, I know its been a while. I missed writing so much as well as the fandom and seeing all this new theatre Raúl stuff has made me miss writing Rafael Barba. This little drabble had been sitting in my documents for ages and I finally decided to edit and post it. I hope you all enjoy it and I hope you don’t mind I gave Miss Fashionista a face.

Please let me know what you think and I’ll try and get back on here as much as I can!

It was a light early spring afternoon as Olivia Benson wrapped her light jacket around her tightly and walked down the park path gently as she kept an eye out for you. The both of you had agreed to meet in the park around noon. She smiled as she spotted you, hurriedly walking down the path from the other side of the park with the lunch tote in hand.

“Sorry, I’m late! A photo shoot ran late and then the deli was swarming with so many people! You’d think that on a Saturday afternoon they would opt for a restaurant for lunch,” you sighed and placed your crème colored Bottega Venetta clutch down beside you on the park bench.

“Don’t worry, I just got here myself.” Olivia confessed as she watched you begin to empty out the tote with all the goodies you had acquired. It was such a warm comfort for you to have gained her friendship over the time you and Rafael had been dating. Over time, Olivia become someone you admired. She was the epitome of what a strong and fearless woman looked like. You had also hoped that she would let you feature her in the magazine for the women’s empowerment issue that was going to be published in the spring.  “How are the preparations for Fashion week going?”

You looked at Olivia and shook your head. “I may or may not be on the verge of a breakdown. This time is always busy, but I also love it…so there is that.” You took a swig of your iced coffee as if it were liquor. This was your second one of the day, at this rate you were starting to understand why Rafael needed the caffeine fuel all the time and it was a habit you were picking up.

“You certainly are good at it, you and Rafael seem to flawlessly juggle career and love life perfectly.” Olivia said with a smile and proceeded to open her sandwich.

You waved your hand dismissively. “It sure isn’t easy, but it helps to have a fiancé who is ambitious in his career.” Something was gnawing away at you, some milestone that you and Rafael hadn’t hit just yet. “Olivia, I wanted to speak to you about something,” She looked at you with concern as she noticed the strain in your voice. Now that she noticed your demeanor more, Olivia could tell that you seemed a little worried. When you had asked to meet with her you had seemed completely fine, but now you looked like a nervous wreck.

“Is everything all right? Did you and Barba fight or something?” Olivia set her food down and waited for you to reply.

You laughed nervously and fiddled with your cashmere scarf. How could you find the words about your nerves over something so standard and bound to happen. You knew the day would come, even sooner once you had accepted Rafael’s marriage proposal.

“No, no everything is great between us. Its just tomorrow will be my first time meeting his mother and I am really nervous about it. I am almost terrified, but I haven’t told him yet. I know how important it is to meet his mother,” you finally let it all out because you were in pure distress. You had not realized how much you had been holding in. The idea of possibly disappointing Rafael’s mother scared you. “And I just-” You gulped as a sudden breeze passed between the two of you and it made your eyes water.

“Woah, slow down…take a deep breath.” Olivia rubbed your shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about, I am sure she will love you.” You felt your breath steady a little as you heard Olivia’s words. “Has he mentioned how she is to at least give you some sort of clue as to what to expect?”

You nodded, “I have a pretty good idea which is why I am a little intimidated. She seems to be very accomplished and her son is accomplished…what do you think she will think of me when I tell her I work for a fashion magazine, nothing as highly achieved as her only son.”

Olivia smiled in understanding. However, she thought you needed to realize that your insecurities about being accomplished had gotten the best of you. “Your career is incredibly impressive; you are accomplished…a young woman as an editor in a prestigious fashion magazine speaks volumes! Mrs. Barba will see that you are someone with a good head on your shoulders and very ambitious like Barba. Honestly, it is a perfect match. You both compliment each other so well. Don’t stress too much about this because then it will make things awkward.”

You sighed and figured that Olivia was right. The best you can do is push through this brunch tomorrow and be the best you can be for Rafael’s sake. The last thing you wanted was to disappoint him as well. “You’re right, I have to just relax.”

“You do, even Rafael had mentioned this morning how off you had been lately.” Olivia mentioned as she recalled him making such a comment on the steps of the courthouse earlier that morning. He had just gotten off the phone with you and he had frowned when he had hung up. “Honestly, everything is going to fine.”

“Thank you Olivia, I really needed to hear that. I just didn’t want to worry Rafael over this.” You confessed as you recalled this morning when you had spoken to him on the phone. He seemed to be relaxed over the past few days. Youdidn’t want to ruin that for him.

You spent the rest of the mid-afternoon talking and watching as others walked along the park path.  After Olivia got a call from Carisi and You got a call from your assistant, you parted ways and Olivia reassured you once more that everything was going to be fine.

_______________________________________________________________________

Calle Ocho Restaurant - 45 W 81st St, New York, NY

The Cuban restaurant wasn’t too crowded for Sunday brunch and you were pretty content about that. You clutched on to the bouquet of colorful flowers that you had brought for Mrs. Lucia Barba. With a small smile, Rafael guided the small of your back toward the table where his mother was waiting. After your talk with Olivia yesterday, you had relaxed a little and you weren’t as nervous as you thought you would be.

“Mami, como estas?” Rafael’s hand slipped away from the small of your back and he embraced his mother.

“Rafi! I am good and you?” Lucia held onto her son tightly as they had not seen each other for what seemed like ages. She was busy with the charter school and he was busy with his cases that when he had called earlier in the week to set up brunch, she was surprised.

“Estoy muy bien…mami, I want you to meet (y/n) …my fiancé,” Rafael stepped aside and presented you to his mother. “Cariño, this is my mother Lucia Barba.”

You stepped forward and offered your hand to her, “Mucho gusto en conocerla, Señora Barba.” You said perfectly in Spanish and Lucia was taken aback. “These are for you; I hope you like them because they are my favorite.” You presented the bouquet to the older woman. Rafael watched the exchange between the two most important women in his life.

Lucia was impressed. She gladly took the flowers from you and rose her brow at how perfect your Spanish was. Rafael had not mentioned that you spoke a bit of spanish. “Thank you they are beautiful and it is very nice to meet you, finally! Please call me Lucia, Señora Barba makes me feel old and after all you are to be my daughter-in-law soon! Let take a look at that ring!” She said excitedly as she noticed the rock on your hand. “It is beautiful, my Rafi always had great taste!”

“Gracias, mami.” Rafael said with a smile as all of you sat down at the table by the window.

“He humors me a lot.” Lucia winked at you who laughed softly in reply. “So, (y/n), how do you know Spanish so well?” Lucia was incredibly curious about the young woman her son had failed to mention for the past four months. He had mentioned you about three weeks ago when she had attempted setting him up on a blind date with one of the teacher’s she knew. When she had started tell him about the teacher, he stopped her abruptly and confessed that he was already seeing someone. He hadn’t mentioned the engagement because he had been in the process of purchasing the ring. He did not want to jinx it. Truth be told, she was happy to hear that he had finally someone special in his life. He had said so many great things about you. Lucia was very excited to meet the young woman who had stolen his heart.

“I spent a semester abroad in Spain and I picked it up rather quickly. I know it is not the same, but I do love the language.” You proudly continued to tell her about your time in Spain as you waited for the server to come by.

The rest of the brunch went by smoothly and you talked about all sorts of things. Lucia asked you about your family, your fashion career, and your hobbies. Rafael was hardly able to get a word in as you two happily talked. You even asked how Rafael was as a child and that earned her a glare when Lucia mention the time in grade school when he had worn one shoe that was different from the other. All in all, everything had gone better than what you had expected.

Just as you were finishing your coffee, your phone rang. She furrowed her brow to see who it was and hoped she could just shut it off. When she saw it was Audrey, your assistant editor calling, you figured you needed to pick it up. “Excuse me, its my work colleague and it might be a photo shoot emergency.” Both Rafael and Lucia nodded in understanding. You prayed silently that it wasn’t a fashion catastrophe as you answered the phone and went out into the terrace to answer it.

“So, what do you think of her?” Rafael asked curiously.

“Honestly?” Lucia answered him back with a question.

He gave her a knowing look. “Yeah, honestly.”

Lucia sighed and glanced out the window to see you talking on the phone. You complimented her son so well and she could genuinely see how much you cared for him. Lucia had noticed the sweet glances you and Rafael would share toward one another. The gleam in Rafael’s eyes were that of a man in love. “She is everything I wanted for you Rafi.”

Rafael lets out a breath of relief he didn’t realize he had been holding in. “She is definitely everything I wanted…” He agreed with his mother’s statement.

“She is definitely a keeper, “Lucia remarked as took a sip from her own coffee.

“I did, which is why I couldn’t wait to ask her and I took the opportunity on the trip to Switzerland…” Rafael said. “I’m sorry for not mentioning it sooner, but time ran out and I just wanted to make the trip more special.”

Lucia nodded in understanding. Her son was always one to take the chance when the time was right.  “You two are ready for the next step. Oh, this means I will get grandchildren sooner rather than later.” She said happily.

Rafael shook his head at his mother’s remark. She had been so adamant about grandchildren for the past two years. “Mami, one step at a time.”

“Oh, you know I am teasing you.” She laughed.

Rafael noticed that you were walking back in with a smile on your face and he smirked back at the sight of you. Lucia smiled at both of you from across the table giving the both of you her blessing.