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hongnanglen-arina · 4 years ago

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Tasty | Choi Seungcheol/S.Coups

Genre: Crack, Fluff, Smut

Pairing: Seungcheol x fem reader

Warnings: sexual content (:

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Hey there! My dear Ro ( @binniesthighs ) and I wanted to exchange something nice for this years Valentine’s day so we decided to attack and crush the other with one member of SVT that has the most affect on us atm... hahaha and this piece is the final result. I hope you’ll like it Ro.... hrhrhr ♡

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The cafe was nice. There were all kinds of flowers hanging upside down the ceiling, giving the whole facility an effortless romantic charm. It was a new cafe and your boyfriend agreed in visiting it with you after you had shown him photos on SNS. If someone saw Seungcheol for the first time, they wouldn’t believe that this man has a soft and romantic side. And lucky you could call him your boyfriend.

Seungcheol’s hand let go of yours when he payed for your order. Normally you would fight over paying but today he won the discussion back at home to spare strangers to witness your little fight.

It didn’t take long until you could sit down with your order, admiring the location from a different angle. Seeing flowers everywhere and not only above your heads made you feel as if you were in a flower field on a lovely sunny day. It was different to all the other cafe’s you’ve visited so far.

“If the beverages and desserts are good too, I might become a regular here,” you smiled widely, clapping in your hands excited and Seungcheol chuckled.

“Sounds like I have to save money to pay for all your visits then?” You glared at him and he held his hands up in defeat. “Okay okay, sorry.”

Shaking your head, you took your hot cocoa and waited for your boyfriend to take his as well. Clinking them with giggles and as you were carefully taking your first sip, you heard Seungcheol say, “Happy Valentine’s, princess. I love you.”

You stopped in your tracks and almost dropped your hot cocoa because of his sudden confession, your cheeks heating up as you sheepishly replied, “I love you too, Seungcheol. Happy Valentine’s day.”

“Enjoy.” You nodded and took another sip. It was really good.

It seemed as if your boyfriend thought the same when you noticed his smile after trying his drink. You reached for the little fork to start with your cake when Seungcheol lifted up his dessert, holding it in his hand while taking a bit of the whipped cream on his finger.

Your gaze lowered and wondered if they didn’t give him a fork or anything but there was one on the little tray. When you locked eyes with him, you saw a smirk on his lips when he put the finger in his mouth slowly.

Why did it make you swallow so thickly? You shouldn’t be this affected by it.

Trying to concentrate on your own dessert, you were about to finally try your cake when you saw Seungcheol from the corner of your eyes have whipped cream on his finger again and you wanted to know if he did this on purpose. He waited until you looked at him and opened his mouth, poking his finger with the tip of his tongue first and letting it circle it afterwards, cleaning it.

“Tasty. Just like your juice. So sweet… and I can’t get enough of it.”

The piece of cake fell down your fork and you blushed furiously, instantly looking around to check if anyone heard his words. “Yah, you can’t say that here!”

“Why not? Everyone should know how easily it is for me to make my little girl wet.”

“W-what??? S-Seungcheol!!” You tried to hush him. With no avail and it got even worse when he stood up, causing everyone to look at him when he cleared his throat loudly.

“I would like to inform all of you that this cute girl here in front of me is my girlfriend. I love her so much. She’s sweet just like this dessert in my hand. Not just her looks and personality but also when she’s aroused and I’m buried between her legs-“

“SEUNGCHEOL!!” You almost screamed, wanting nothing more than to disappear from this world. What the hell was he doing!?

“I’m just telling the truth, princess. Your juice is so addictive, I could eat you out all day long.”

The people around you were either shocked or cheering you on, some even filming the whole scene with their phones.

“Y/n, you could spread your legs here and I will show everyone how we do it.”

“OKAY, WHAT THE HELL!? I’M LEAVING! OH MY GOD!!” Jumping off your chair, you headed in the direction of the door but your boyfriend grabbed your wrist, making you stop.

“I mean it, princess. Let’s give them a little show. Maybe they want to have a taste, too?”

“Are you crazy?!?!?” Trying to free yourself from his grip, he easily grabbed your other wrist and pulled you closer. “Believe me, I know what I’m doing,” he smirked and roughly pressed his lips on yours.

—

With a loud gasp you opened your eyes.

Your view wasn’t completely clear and sharp at first so you automatically blinked several times, noticing that you are in your bedroom and on your bed, cosily lying, wrapped in your blankets and having the scent of fresh linen filling your senses.

So it was just a dream. Absentmindedly you pouted to yourself. The date with your boyfriend felt so real and the little snippets you still had on your mind made you feel sad because it wasn’t but felt so real. Well, you definitely didn't need the second half of it though. You smiled to yourself and made a mental note that you should do a cafe date with Seungcheol soon when you felt something underneath your blanket, shuffling between your legs to be specific.

The moment you realized what was going on, you gasped out loud again, hands quickly grabbing and holding onto the sheets beside you. Something warm and wet touched your core and you wanted to close your legs, just to be stopped by two big hands. Seungcheol held you spread open for him so that he could continue doing what he had started.

“B-baby…” you stuttered, slightly overwhelmed by the pleasant wake up call.

More ruffling and your boyfriend lifted the covers a little, showing you his face. The look on his face was rather cute considering what he was doing to you. “Good morning princess.” After a wink, he disappeared again and left you no time to talk some more as his hands grabbed your thighs again, this time a bit tighter. His mouth was back on you, mouth sucking at your sensitive folds, moving them from side to side, just to stimulate your nerves.

Seungcheol was taking his sweet time with you.

You felt his tongue drawing circles over your clit, almost touching it but never giving you the direct contact. Unable to suppress the need, you tried to grind your hips against his face but when your boyfriend noticed it, his big hands held you in place, holding you down when he blew cold air on your clit, causing your body to shudder. Biting down on your lip, you let your head turn to the side, closing your eyes to concentrate on the feeling only.

He moved his hands, letting his nails dig into your flesh and giving you a pleasurable sting when he scratched along your thighs until his hands left them and moved closer to your core, spreading your folds with his thumbs to get better access. Your breath hitched when his tongue pressed against your entrance, dipping in and out slightly to tease you while the cold tip of his nose touched your skin. Seungcheol’s soft breath tickled you while his wet muscle pushed deeper into you. Just when you thought you would get more, he pulled out to place a faint kiss on your clit. He repeated it again and again, sometimes even thrusting his tongue in and out twice before giving a kiss.

Since his grip on your legs was gone, you were able to lift your hips, begging silently for more and after a while Seungcheol obeyed. While he kept your folds spread with one hand, he used to spread your juice with the other one and also to cover his long fingers with it. You had given him a lot already and combined with his spit, it was easy for him to cover your whole sex with it. Your legs trembled as you felt him prep you for the next step.

An impatient whine could be heard from you and for a second you thought you could feel him smile against your core before he started to kitten lick your clit, finally giving you more friction.

You were lost in the feeling, lifting your hips just to meet his movements, guiding his tongue to the spots you preferred. Switching from working on your clit, he occasionally left it to tease your folds, sucking at them, just to give your clit a stronger suck afterwards.

Your legs were shaking beside Seungcheol’s head, chasing your high, you stopped suppressing the soft noises that left your mouth. The sheets in your hands were pulled out from underneath the mattress when your boyfriend’s middle finger suddenly pushed into you. Arching your back, you accidentally made his finger enter you even more, clenching around his digit when he twisted his wrist a bit to cause friction on your throbbing walls.

The thin layer of sweat on your body soaked the blanket underneath you as you tried to meet Seungcheol’s rhythm. After a while a second and third finger was added, filling you even more. It felt so good to feel his fingers in you but they would never replace the perfect feeling his cock would give you every time you two had sex.

Another whine left your lips, followed by a moan when he flicked over your clit with the tip of his tongue, his fingers still pumping in and out of your throbbing hole.

“Oh god… I’m…. I’m almost there…..”

Seungcheol hummed satisfied against your core and bend his fingers upwards, touching your g-spot and rubbing over it without a warning and you had a hard time to keep your legs spread and not to crush him in between.

You wiggled your hips, unsure if you wanted more or if you wanted to escape this sweet torture.

The moans were getting louder and louder as he kept the pace, placing one hand on your lower stomach to intensify the friction on your sweet spot deep inside and you could feel your orgasm approaching. Steadily but not fast enough for your liking so you rolled your hips against him to help you get there. With one hand now above your head, your knuckles turned white as your grip around the headboard tightened. And with one hard suck on your clit the wave of your orgasm washed over your body, a broken cry coming from you when everything became blurry for a second. You had to close your legs because of the intense waves but you couldn’t because Seungcheol’s broad shoulders kept them open. He crawled up your body a little to place soothing kisses on your stomach while waiting for your orgasm to fade, his fingers slowing down in your core as you clenched less.

Your eyes were still closed but you noticed him move, expecting him to get a wet cloth to clean you up as he always did, but he just crawled on top of you and watched your face, mouth slightly open because you were still trying to control your breathing.

The moment you met his gaze, he was licking his fingers clean and you couldn’t help but to wipe his chin with your index finger. He thanked you with a soft smile which you returned. Neither of you talked. The both of you were lost in each others eyes, admiring the other and almost forgetting about the fact that you were naked, him between your legs and his erect cock pressing against your core.

Seungcheol was the one to break the silence. “Ready for round two, princess?”

You bit your lip sheepishly. “I’m not sure if I have enough energy for that.”

He chuckled at your words and softly bumped your nose with his. “Don’t worry. Just hold onto me. I will do the work.”

Giving his plump lips a quick kiss was your way to give him your approval, making him reach to the little drawer to get a condom. “You’re so tasty, it always makes me hard and longing for more… I can’t help it…” he admitted with flushed cheeks before taking the foil package between his teeth to rip it open.

You watched him without a word. Just the sight of him on top of you, preparing himself for the second round caused your own cheeks to heat up and you felt the urge to tell him to hurry up.

When the condom was rolled over him, Seungcheol adjusted himself, guiding his length so that it’s tip was lightly entering you. He placed his arms on each side of your head and waited until you wrapped your arms around him.

“Ready?” His voice was low and he waited for your nod before pushing forward. He didn’t hold back at all. He knew you were already prepared and wet enough for him, all of him. Also he knew your body like no one else. Sometimes even more than you. Your boyfriend made you realize it often enough in the past.

Seungcheol muffled his low grunts in the crock of your neck as he bottomed you out, lifting his hips to let them snap back in such a force, you were moaning loudly against his ear, grip tightening on his back.

“O-oh god!” You felt his hands cover the top of your head to protect you from hitting it against the headboard as he fucked you hard and deep, slurs of curse words leaving his lips but were muffled in your neck. With each trust you felt his balls slap your ass and without a second thought, your hands traveled down along his muscular back, leaving faint scratches on their way until they grab his ass.

His movements staggered for a split second and that was the sign for you to give him a smack on his ass. “F-fuck, y/n!” He groaned and sped up his thrusts, showing you that he was close. Although you thought you couldn’t reach a second orgasm, you felt the familiar pressure deep within your body that you gave your boyfriend’s ass a squeeze.

“M-mind… to help me for a second time, baby?”

Seungcheol propped himself up to look at your eyes and even though he needed his own release, a smile formed on his lips and he help his hips still for a moment, letting his cock stay deep in your core before grinding his hips against yours, giving you friction on your clit again.

You opened your mouth but except of your moans and whines, no full word could be heard. Bending your legs, you moved your hips as best as you could, meeting Seungcheol’s grinds. His mouth found your neck and sucked at the spot below your ear, causing you to dig your nails deep into his skin. The pleasant pain let him instantly snap his hips back and forth and before you could warn the other, you two reached your orgasm at the same time. Him shooting his load into the condom while your pulsating walls milked everything he offered.

You lost track of time when you felt him shift and throw away the used condom, pulling your form against his chest. The pace of his heartbeat hasn’t fully normalized just like yours and your bodies were covered in sweat but neither of you cared.

Seungcheol pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Let’s sleep some more, it’s still early. Later I want to go to a cafe with you. There’s a new one down the road and my friends told me it’s really good.

Your eyes grew wide as you remembered your dream. “Yah, can you read my mind or something?”

Seungcheol just wiggled his brows with a grin. “I’m your boyfriend. I know what you like, princess.”

Oh yes, he definitely knew. But in your thoughts you hopes that the last part of your dream won’t ever come true.

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morganaspendragonss · 4 years ago

Note

if your looking for a bth prompt what about used in sacrificial ritual where tk gets abducted on a run and carlos is the lead detective on this case of people getting murdered as sacrifices and they arrive in time to save tk but the ritual involved cutting limbs off and tk ends up losing a leg? perhaps w lots of fluff at the end? <3<3

anon, i cannot tell you how excited this prompt got me. i’d been toying with a very similar idea for weeks and this was the push i needed to actually write it - with certain modifications to fit your idea. (i promise it has a happy ending!)

i’m super proud of how this came out, and i hope you like it as much as i do!

@911lonestarangstweek day 7: Free choice!

Two months ago, TK vanished, snatched while out on his evening run. Carlos will do anything to get him back, even if that includes running himself into the ground.

ao3 | 4.9k | cw: kidnapping, depictions of violence, death and injury, forced amputation, career-ending injuries

It’s been two months.

Two whole months since TK left for his evening run with nothing but a shouted goodbye and a promise to be home soon.

Two months since Carlos hadn’t even turned around, because apparently the dishes were more important than his husband.

Two months since they found TK’s shattered phone and wallet, abandoned in the park next to a pool of blood.

Two months since Carlos’s world came crashing down around him.

He blames himself - how could he not? He’s been the lead detective on this case for months; he’s the one who’s so far failed to catch the guys who have mutilated and killed so many people, and now might do the same to his husband. More to the point, he’s the one who is supposed to protect TK, and it’s clear he’s resoundly failed in that department.

His captain had tried to take him off the case, once they’d found out that TK had become the latest victim. But Carlos had informed him in no uncertain terms that he was going to keep looking for his husband, even if he had to go above his head to do it.

They’d allowed him to keep the case, but Carlos knows he’s being watched. They think he’s having a breakdown and, the thing is, Carlos isn’t entirely sure they’re wrong.

He hasn’t slept in their bed since the night it happened, when he got woken up at two am to the sound of his ringtone blaring through the room.

“Reyes,” Mitchell had said, tone heavy. “I… Shit, Reyes. You gotta get here. There’s another one and I… I really didn’t want to be telling you this over the phone, but…”

She’d paused, and Carlos had sat bolt upright in bed, suddenly all too aware of the empty space next to him. And, in that moment, he’d known; even so, he’d still choked out a quiet, “No.”

“I’m sorry, Carlos. I truly am.”

He’s been living in a daze ever since, work and TK the only two things on his mind. He eats when he has to, barely sleeps, and never hangs out with their friends anymore, which he almost feels guilty for. They’re suffering too, Carlos knows this, but he can’t afford any distractions right now. If he were to be out somewhere and ends up missing the one chance he has to get TK back, he’d never forgive himself.

He’s just about to leave for another shift when there’s a loud, insistent knock at the door. Carlos rolls his eyes and goes to yank it open, about to tell whoever it is to leave him alone.

Only to come face-to-face with a very determined looking Grace Ryder.

“Grace,” he sighs, irritation dissipating. “Can this wait? I’ve got a -”

“I know you don’t have an official shift today, Carlos,” she interrupts, folding her arms. “Just like I know you’re working yourself to death, and I’m not going to stand for it anymore. You’re coming out with me, no arguments.”

Carlos shakes his head. “Grace… I can’t.”

“Oh, yes, you can.” She clicks her tongue, levelling him with an unimpressed stare. "You should be thanking me; Judd was planning on bringing the entire crew down here to stage a full intervention. Now, I managed to talk him out of that one, convinced him the last thing you need right now is a house full of people, but I will not hesitate to go back on that. So you've got two options. Either you go back upstairs and get changed and I'll take you out for coffee, just the two of us, or I'm gonna unleash my husband and the full force of the 126 on you. Choice is yours, Reyes."

He sighs, wearily meeting her eyes. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"No, sir, you are not."

Carlos closes his eyes and hangs his head, knowing just how stubborn Grace Ryder can be. “Alright,” he says, though his every nerve is screaming at him for it, “you win. Give me a minute.”

She smiles encouragingly at him. “I’ll be here.”

The coffee-shop Grace takes him to is mercifully empty, both of people and memories. He wonders if she did this on purpose, but figures it’s more a stroke of pure luck, his first in months. It’s a nice place; he’ll have to remember it for when - if - they get TK back.

Grace quickly returns with their drinks, placing a sandwich in front of Carlos, too. “Don’t even argue,” she warns. “I won’t hear it.”

Carlos forces a smile. “Thanks, Grace.”

They sit in silence for a while, Carlos keeping his gaze turned to the table, picking listlessly at the sandwich. He can feel Grace’s eyes on him, feel the tension in the air between them, and part of him wishes she’d just come out with it already.

The other part wants to run for the hills, but he’s pretty sure Grace would catch him before he got too far.

Eventually, she sighs, setting her mug down and leaning across the table. “Carlos, we miss you,” she says softly. “I know it’s tough, but you’ve barely spoken to any of us since it happened. We’re worried.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“No.” She shakes her head, voice still unbearably gentle. “You’ve been keeping yourself busy. There’s a difference. And that’s okay, up to a point, but you haven’t given yourself a break in two months and that is not okay. You know TK wouldn’t want you to be doing this.”

“You say that like he’s dead.”

Grace sucks in a sharp breath. “Sweetheart, you know that is not what I meant -”

“Maybe you’re right,” he cuts in, ignoring the pain in his chest as he finally looks up at Grace. “It’s been two months; you know as well as I do what survival rates are for missing persons, even in normal circumstances.” His breathing trembles and he squeezes his eyes shut, images of the bodies they’ve found so far flashing through his mind. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks next. “You also know that the third month is usually when the bodies appear. We’re running out of time, Grace, and I don’t - I don’t know if I believe any more.”

“Carlos Strand-Reyes, I did not just hear you give up on that boy.”

He smiles humourlessly. “Not on him, Grace. On me.”

A long silence follows his words, though Carlos can feel the disappointment and worry rolling off Grace in waves. He should probably feel guilty for ruining a perfectly fine day, but he’s just so tired. He’ll do anything to have TK by his side again, but each day that passes is another day that TK slips further and further away from him, and it’s difficult to hold on to hope.

“I’m terrified,” Carlos admits quietly, tears pricking the back of his eyes. “Any day now they’re going to tell me they’ve found another body, and it’s going to be him, and I won’t be able to handle seeing him like that. You don’t know what they do to them, Grace, it’s - it’s -”

His breath hitches, and suddenly Grace is next to him, gathering him in her arms as he breaks down in sobs against her chest. She shushes him, running a gentle hand through his hair and, for a brief moment, she makes it easy to push away memories of sightless eyes and missing limbs and slit throats.

Grace holds him close, murmuring assurances Carlos doesn’t really hear, until he’s cried himself dry. Then, she pulls back, swiping her thumbs under his eyes, unshed tears shining in her own.

“You’ll get through this, Carlos,” she says, wobbly smile on her face. “No matter the outcome, we’ll all be here to help you get through this.”

Carlos nods, but, privately, he thinks she’s wrong. If TK dies, he’s not sure he’ll be able to find a way through that, no matter how many people are by his side. Because the only one he really, truly needs, won’t be there.

Carlos rubs his eyes, his vision blurring as he stares at crime scene photos, as he has been doing for the past however many hours. He must have gone through these thousands of times over the past eight months, and yet he’s still drawing a complete blank as to clues that could help them find the killers.

They’re always too careful, never leaving any DNA on scene, never caught on camera, never seen by witnesses. There’s not even much of a common denominator between the victims, aside from the fact that they’re all young - the oldest being 38 - and they were all alone when they were taken.

The only consistency in this entire thing is the bodies. Official cause of death is always a deep cut to the throat, accompanied by at least one limb being cut off when the victim was still alive, sometimes more. They never find the missing body parts, which bothers Carlos more than it probably should.

He rubs his eyes again, blinking hard to try and stay awake. He didn’t sleep well last night, which is nothing new, but the past two weeks have been exhausting. After Grace’s coffee outing, the 126 have been stopping by regularly, one or two at a time, to check up on him and make sure he’s doing okay. Carlos appreciates it, he does, but he doesn’t have the energy for it these days.

He’s so tired that he doesn’t notice Mitchell walking up to his desk before she’s standing right next to him, casting a shadow over his papers. Carlos looks up, and dread washes over him at the grim expression on her face, the tense set to her shoulders.

“We’ve got another one.”

Carlos makes a noise halfway between a choke and a sob. “A body?” he whispers, looking up at her fearfully.

“A disappearance,” Mitchell corrects, and Carlos doesn’t even feel guilty for the relief that floods him at that. “Industrial estate across town, one of the workers got nabbed when he went for a smoke. Same MO, no witnesses - it’s them.”

He nods, praying that Mitchell doesn’t notice the way his hands shake as he gathers up his papers. If she does, she doesn’t say anything, though he catches her exasperated head shake when he turns back to face her.

“Let’s go.”

The crime scene is, as always, pristine, and Carlos can’t help but be frustrated, even if this is what he’s come to expect. The case had been wearing on him even before TK was taken, but now it feels like every dead end is a spit in his face, like the universe is taunting him directly.

He’s about to wrap up the scene when a young officer comes barreling towards him.

“Detective!” he yells, panting. “Detective Reyes!”

Carlos stops, raising an eyebrow as the officer skids to a halt in front of him, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he gasps. Straightening, he clears his throat, pointing across the street. “There’s a hidden speed camera over there.”

Carlos blinks. Of all the ground-breaking news he imagined might warrant such dramatics, speed cameras weren’t one of them.

The officer heaves a long-suffering sigh, which, under any other circumstances, might be amusing. “We’re not sure yet, but, looking at the angle, we think it covers the place the guy got taken from,” he explains, and Carlos’s eyes widen. “If it does, we might be able to get some ID, maybe even a license plate. I know they’ve always been careful not to get caught on camera before, but they might not have known about this one. It’s a chance, Detective.”

Carlos breathes out shakily, mind reeling from the officer’s words. It’s a chance. An honest-to-god chance. “Have we pulled footage yet?”

“Doing that now.” The officer grins boyishly, and Carlos feels a small smile tugging at his own lips. He can’t let himself get too invested in this; there’s every chance that it’ll turn into yet another false lead. And yet.

Something like hope lights up Carlos’s chest, and he dares, just for a second, to believe in it.

It works.

It fucking works.

They don’t have an ID - the killers are at least smart enough to cover their faces - but they do have a plate, which they’ve managed to track to a warehouse on the outskirts of town. Carlos taps the steering wheel of his cruiser anxiously; they’re parked in some trees just out of sight of the building, and he itches with the desire to jump out and go.

Every second they wait here is one more second in which TK is still with them, suffering, dying. He chews on his lip, then turns to Mitchell.

“We clear on the plan?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I am. Are you?”

“What -”

“I know what this means for you, Reyes,” she interrupts, not unkindly. “I know what might be waiting for you in there. Now, if it were up to me, you would be benched. It’s too personal, and you’re way too close to it. But, since it’s not, you’ve gotta promise me that your head is screwed on tight, you hear me? We’ve got a good plan, and it’ll work, but it’s only good so long as we are all following it. So, you tell me. Are we clear on the plan?”

Carlos swallows thickly, glancing back in the direction of the warehouse. Mitchell is right - he is too close to it, and he’d be thinking the same thing if the situation were in reverse. He just… He can’t fathom being anywhere but here right now.

He can do this; he knows he can.

He has to, for TK.

“Yes,” he says firmly, meeting her eyes. “We’ve got this.”

She nods. “Alright, then.” Her gaze shifts past him and she jerks her chin up. “There’s the signal. Let’s move out.”

It’s almost too easy, in the end. The suspects are woefully unprepared for an ambush, and Carlos doesn’t even need to fire his gun, which is always a good thing. They find the guy who was taken today in the same room as his kidnappers, a little worse for wear, but not too injured, all things considered.

Carlos wants to be happy about that, but he can’t. Not when TK is still nowhere in sight.

Mitchell takes over managing the scene and questioning the hostage. He’ll have to remember to buy something for her in thanks when this is all over; she’s been a rock over the past three months, often covering for Carlos with their supervisors when things became too much.

He glances around at the swarms of police and paramedics filling the warehouse, feeling oddly detached from it all. He’s itching to go looking for TK, but there’s only so far he can push things - though he’s being no help here, he has to maintain an appearance if he wants to not get fired.

That appearance being, the calm and collected detective, which is the furthest thing from what Carlos is right now.

His hands tap restlessly at his thighs, his senses dialled to eleven with anxiety, which only spikes when he sees an officer making her way towards him, a grim look on her face.

Please, god, no.

Carlos moves to meet her, but he’s not able to form the words for the question he needs to ask. Fortunately, she takes pity on him.

“We’ve found your husband, Detective,” she informs him.

Carlos swallows around the lump in his throat, trying to tamp down the fear. “Is he...?”

“Alive,” she says, and Carlos could cry with relief. “But he’s in bad shape. I’ve been told not to let you back there.”

He stares at her, dumbfounded. “I appreciate the concern, but my husband has been missing for nearly three months,” he says tightly. “It would not be a wise idea to keep me from him any longer.”

She hesitates, biting her lip uncertainly, but eventually relents under Carlos’s hard stare. “Alright. Follow me.”

Carlos is led down several corridors until they stop outside a door, guarded by two other officers. The woman who brought him has a whispered argument with them, but Carlos pushes past her to glare at them, his patience at an end now that he knows that TK is mere feet away from him.

“I told her to bring me here,” he says. “That man in there is my husband; I’m going in there one way or another.”

The two officers exchange a glance, then wearily sigh and nod, stepping to the side. Carlos doesn’t bother to thank them before rushing inside, coming up short at the sight of three paramedics crouched around a body on the ground. He can’t really see much of TK yet, but he feels frozen in place, his mind suddenly rebelling at the thought of having to witness what three months of captivity have done to him.

He shakes his head and wills his feet forward, feeling like he’s walking through treacle as he rounds to TK’s side. Bile rises in his throat and he can’t stop the gasp that escapes him when he finally catches sight of his husband - it’s worse than anything Carlos had imagined, and he’d imagined a lot.

TK’s completely naked; the paramedics have lain a sheet over his lower half, but it does little to hide his emaciated state, his entire body outlined with sharp corners where his skin seems almost shrink-wrapped to his bones. Carlos can count every one of TK’s ribs, and the hollow of his cheeks is deeply pronounced. His torso is discoloured from bruising and he’s horribly still and pale - Carlos would think he were dead if not for the barely there rise and fall of his chest.

That’s not the worst of it, though. Carlos’s eyes travel down TK’s body, cataloguing his injuries, before sticking on his left leg.

Or, rather, the space where his left leg used to be.

Carlos barely refrains from throwing up, his stomach turning at the bloody mess in front of him. This isn’t… In the back of his mind - in his nightmares - he’d known that this was a possibility, but he’d never prepared himself for actually seeing it. He doesn’t know if he could have prepared himself, even if he’d tried.

“Detective.”

He’s broken from his horrified staring by one of the paramedics, now standing in front of him. Strange - Carlos hadn’t noticed him moving.

He sighs, obviously disapproving of Carlos’s presence here, but his expression holds nothing but sympathy. “Your husband is lucky we got here when we did,” he says. “But I can’t make any promises, and he is nowhere near out of the woods yet. To be perfectly honest with you, Detective, it’s a miracle he’s still breathing right now. He’s severely dehydrated and suffering from starvation - it looks like his kidnappers were giving him just barely enough food and water for him to survive. I’m also worried about infection in his leg, plus there might be injuries we can’t see yet. We’ve done everything we can for him here, but we have to get him to the hospital as soon as possible. I’m assuming you’re going to ride with us?”

Carlos immediately nods. There’s no way he’s going to remain here, even if he knows he won’t be able to stay with TK when they get to the hospital. He trusts Mitchell to handle things, and he wouldn’t be of much use anyway, even more so than before. Not after everything he’s seen, everything he’s heard.

The paramedics get TK loaded on a gurney and Carlos follows them out, eyes locked on TK’s still form. He brushes a hand through TK’s limp hair, forcing back the tears burning in his eyes.

“Hold on, my love,” he whispers. “I’m here; you’re safe now.”

He hopes, somehow, that TK hears him.

“Oh my god.”

Carlos looks up from the bed at the sound of Owen’s voice. His father-in-law has a hand over his mouth, shock written all over his face at the sight of TK - what little that can be seen underneath all the bandages and machines he has hooked up to him. Carlos had done his best to prepare Owen for what he’d face when he arrived, but it had been an impossible task. He’d barely been able to get the words out, for one, but there was no explaining just how bad things are.

Nothing will ever be the same. Not that Carlos had ever expected that it would, but when (if, he reminds himself) TK wakes up, it will be to a completely different life than the one he had walked out of all those months ago.

The physical injuries alone would be bad enough - and, god, he’ll have to do so much at home to make it safe for TK - but he’s more worried about how this will have affected him in other ways. Carlos can’t imagine the level of trauma his husband has suffered, and he just prays that they can find a way to get through it.

Owen’s face crumples as he makes his way across the room, collapsing heavily in the chair on the other side of the bed. He reaches out as though to touch TK, but snatches his hands back just as quickly, expression stricken. “Oh my god,” he repeats.

Carlos lets him be for a few moments, allowing Owen to process what he’s seeing at his own pace. He turns away so that he can have some semblance of privacy, though he can’t ignore the soft sobs he hears. It’s almost as though they’re mourning TK, even though they now have proof he’s alive, which is more than can be said for the last three months.

Eventually, Owen sniffs, and turns to address Carlos. “Have they… What did the doctors say?”

“Nothing concrete,” Carlos answers, focusing his gaze back on TK. “If he makes it through the next few days, then they think he’ll have a chance, but that’s a big if, Owen. There was so much damage. His organs weren’t functioning properly, he has a head wound from when he was first taken that never really healed right, and his leg… It had become infected where his kidnappers cut it; they had to take some more in surgery to stop it from spreading any further.”

He tears his eyes from TK to meet Owen’s gaze, almost wishing he hadn’t when he sees his own pain and grief reflected back at him. “It’s bad, Owen,” he chokes out. “I don’t know… I don’t know what I’ll do if…”

He shakes his head, the words sticking in his throat. Not that he really needs to say them; they’re both thinking the same thing.

“The doctors probably told you, but they’re restricting visitors to two until he’s more stable,” Carlos continues, eyes dropping back to the bed. “I know the team will want to see him, but do you think you can hold them off for a while? Just for a couple of days, until we know more. I don’t want to keep them from him, but I just…” He trails off, guilt welling up in him even though he knows this is what’s best. “I know it’s a selfish thing to ask, but I think it’s for the best, for everyone.”

“I understand,” Owen says gently. “I’ll let them know. And… I’ll do my best to prepare them, for when they do come and visit.”

Carlos nods his thanks and the two lapse into silence, broken only by the hiss of the ventilator and the beeping of the heart monitor. Proof that TK’s still with them, but each noise sends another bolt of pain through Carlos’s heart.

He squeezes his eyes shut, finally allowing the tears to fall down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Owen,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

Owen gasps. “What for?”

“I was supposed to protect him! This was my case, I’m the reason he got taken, the reason he might not make it. He could still die, and it’s all my fault!”

Carlos drops his head into his hands, chest heaving from the force of his sobbing. Distantly, he hears the scrape of a chair on linoleum, then Owen’s hands are on his shoulders, turning him into an embrace. Carlos falls into him, not caring about the almost childlike way he clings to his father-in-law.

“You found him, Carlos,” Owen whispers, rubbing circles on Carlos’s back. “You found him. Any chance he has at making it through is because of you. That’s what matters now; it’s the only thing that matters.”

It’s several more weeks before Carlos’s prayers are finally answered.

TK was declared stable some time ago, the doctors saying that, barring any unexpected complications, they should expect him to wake up. They hadn’t said anything about what the damage might be once he did wake, but Carlos hadn’t wanted to ask; at this point, he can’t focus on more than one thing at a time, else he knows he’ll fall apart.

He’s practically lived at the hospital since they brought TK in. He’s pretty sure Owen, his parents, and the 126 came up with a rota for making sure he wasn’t starving himself, because it was always someone different who attempted to pull him away from TK’s room for food or sleep in an actual bed. Carlos resisted as much as he thought he could get away with, but he’s not stupid. He knows he needs to keep his strength up if he’s going to be of any use once TK wakes up.

It happens early one morning, when the sun is just beginning to filter through the blinds. Carlos is already awake, keeping a vigilant watch over his husband, though he doesn’t quite believe it when TK’s eyelid twitches.

He holds his breath, waiting, and, just when he’s given it up as a trick of exhaustion, it happens again, both of his eyes cracking open this time.

“TK?” he breathes, half-rising from his chair. He reaches out and grabs TK’s hand, which moves - actually moves - in his, and tears spring to his eyes.

It takes a few more minutes before something like awareness creeps into TK’s face, his eyes fully opening for the first time in weeks. Carlos just sobs at the sight, drawing TK’s attention to him, at which point his expression turns to shock and disbelief.

TK’s mouth moves, but he can’t force out any words, causing panic to flash over his face and his breathing picks up. Carlos leans forward, squeezing his hand and stroking his cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says softly, reassuring him. “You’re okay, I promise, everything’s going to be okay. You’re in the hospital. I’m here, and you’re safe. God, TK, I swear I’m never going to let anything happen to you ever again, I swear it.”

TK shakes his head, still not understanding, so Carlos reaches to press the call button. He forces a smile for TK’s sake, though his mind is crowded with worries about what their next steps will be. It’s going to be a long time before they can even think about going home, he knows this, but everything is so uncertain now.

Carlos wants to believe that there can be some sort of normality in their future, but, right now, it seems like a distant dream.

Time passes.

He brings TK home.

It’s hard, so much harder than he thought, but they have a whole team of people willing to help out as much as they can. Paul and Grace often bring food, usually stopping to talk for a while afterwards. The others - most often Marjan and Judd - sometimes come by and take TK out in his wheelchair for a while, giving Carlos time and space to relax or tidy. Letting TK out of his sight was difficult at first, and he still gets anxious watching him disappear out the door, but he knows that the 126 would do anything to keep him safe.

He just has to trust them, which he does, implicitly so.

Owen’s also a frequent visitor to their house, staying overnight a time or two in the beginning. Carlos is grateful for it; he doesn’t know how he would have coped if not for Owen’s steady presence while they were still figuring out their new reality.

TK struggles a lot, even with simple things these days. The head wound caused brain damage, leading to migraines and he has problems with speech and carrying out tasks. It breaks Carlos’s heart to see him, but he forces himself to keep up a front, only letting the emotion out when he’s alone - or, rarely, with one of the 126.

He suspects TK knows anyway, but they don’t talk about it.

It’s a long few months of recovery, of pain and exhaustion and frustration. But it’s all worth it, because it means that TK is alive. It means that Carlos has him back, and they can work on getting better together.

It means that, one golden morning, Carlos wakes up to see TK’s beautiful green eyes already open, watching him intently. He reaches out to caress TK’s cheek, then leans in and presses a gentle kiss to his lips, lingering for a long moment.

And, when he pulls back, TK smiles.

And it feels like everything is going to be okay.

66 notes · View notes

internalsealpanic · 4 years ago

Text

Cosmonauts

Summary: You always call Tim space related nicknames. No one knows why.

A/n: This is technically a follow up to Art Gallery Smile but it can be read on its own. This was posted on mobile so Idk how bad it got formatted. Will edit when I get to my laptop.

Warnings: mentions of panic attack and anxiety. No graphic detail but just in case. (Yes, I gave Tim anxiety. Fight me.)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“IT WAS ZOMBIE ADJACENT,” Roz protests, shoving another one of Tim’s fries into her gaping maw in a vain attempt to stop the petulant pout retching its way to her lips. You roll your eyes hard enough that your entire head follows along with their movement, taking a nibble of your own fries. Roz scowls, mouth twitching the way yours does (4 times to the left and 4 and a half times to the right) it was honestly the only way to tell that you two were related in any shape or form.

“It wasn’t even close, you deep-fried stick of margarine,”

“It shambled, didn’t it?”

“So does Space Case over here when you don’t funnel enough caffeine into his system, what’s your point?” You bite out leaning back, slinging your arm over the back of the bench and over Tim’s shoulder making his breath hitch. Tim can feel his skin heat up. For once, he’s thankful for just how much Roz hordes your attention. He’s starting to run out of excuses for the color of his cheeks. Not that you ever fell for any of it from the way you hummed every time he stammered out his excuse.

Based on the way your hand flexes and not so subtly moves away, you noticed his flush but made no comment. Instead, you grin- all sharp teeth and cocksure and smug bastard- leveling your older cousin a look which roughly translated to ‘Checkmate, motherfucker’. Despite his apprehension, Tim can’t help the smile that twitched on to his lips. Your eyes flickered to him. It might just be his imagination but Tim was pretty sure he saw fondness chip away at your smug grin. Tim kind of wants to lean into your arm but instead, he leans forward pretending to pay attention hiding his smile in his hands. His face is gonna get tired from smiling too much around you.

"It wasn't even close,"

"It was freaky looking,"

"Damn woman, you're being real judgy there,"

“Back me up here Duckie!” Roz screeches, shoulders hiking up making her look like a frazzled cat about to hiss pulling Tim away from his reverie. You roll your eyes all the way to the back of your head while Steph just snorts. Tim sighs. None of you have stopped calling him ‘Duckie’ or ‘Ducktective’ after that stint of being ‘Drake’. Admittedly, it wasn’t his best idea but you didn’t have to laugh that hard and slap your knee. When you were done laughing, you vehemently protested the name change by wearing your precious, well-kept, one of a kind Red Robin hoodie for the duration of the ‘Drake’ thing. You had said it was to bring him back to his senses (sense of fashion). Maybe you just wanted to fluster him. He certainly couldn’t put it past you. It worked. Oh, it definitely worked. Now, all he could think about was how nice you looked in his colors which inevitably lead him to think about how nice you would look in his shirts, in his clothes- Damn it. He’s doing it again.

Roz clears her throat. It is loud and rough and it makes all of you wince despite the already loud atmosphere of the cafeteria. Really what does Roz expect him to say? One, Tim wasn’t fully paying attention. How could he when you two are smooshed together on a cramped cafeteria bench with you still wearing your Red Robin hoodie? Tim’s surprised he isn’t keeling over. Two-

“See! Even our darling-” Tim’s brain short circuits. “Space Cadet can’t even defend your bullshit,” you laugh reaching over to Roz’s drink leaning a little too close to Tim’s face. He can almost feel the heat radiating off your skin.

If I lean in just a little more, I could probably…

“It isn’t bullshit!”

“You’re right! Bullshit has more substance-”

“Sooooo, what’s with all the space nicknames for Tim? When do I get one?” Steph asks casually, popping another of Tim’s fries into her mouth.

Has he even eaten any of his fries? It’s almost gone and he’s eaten at most one.

You choke making a pained noise, likely due to said carbonated drink going into your nostrils (and possibly your lungs), as you turn away. Your neck visibly red from where Tim is sitting. Based on the sparkle in Steph’s eyes, she can see it too. A manic grin spreads on Roz’s face wide enough that Tim legitimately worries that it’ll split her face wide open. A shrill sort of giggle escapes her which has you whipping your head to her direction to scowl at her. It does absolutely nothing to deter the sheer glee on her face as she sneers back to you. Some secret conversation passes between the two of you. Tim and Steph watch in slow motion as mortification creeps on to your face.

Suddenly (not really), Tim’s thankful that his only sister is practically a saint. At least compared to the horror that is Roz.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, you have a plethora of space-themed nicknames for him when you aren’t busy calling him whatever endearingly aggravating name Steph came up with that week.

Cosmo

Space Case

Space Nuts

Rocket Man

Martian Manhunter

Marvin (the Martian)

And your favorite, Cosmonaut.

At first, he figures it was because of his obsession love for Star Wars and Star Trek but no, that couldn’t be it since you had started calling him that long before you two ended up marathoning the entirety of Star Trek instead of working on your project. He can still remember just how engrossed you looked while watching as you hugged your knees to your chest leaning forward as you waited for the next episode to start up with bated breath. Your features highlighted by the glow of the laptop screen making it very easy for Tim to memorize the contours and angles of your expression. Yet another moment Tim really wanted to capture with a photo. You even did your mouth twitch thing without noticing.

He really wanted to just keep an entire album of all the different expressions you made. Wait. That sounds weird. Does it sound weird? It probably does.

Then again, maybe you called him those because of just how much of a weirdo he was. He couldn’t blame you if you did. But he found that highly unlikely. Sure, you can be mean at times (a lot of times) but you were too oblique for that. Years in customer service made sure of that. Your jabs were usually of the subtler, more needling variety. The type that makes you pause for too long. Plus, you said every nickname with a fondness that made his heart skip a beat. It was like when you called Roz or Steph ‘Fucker’. Maybe a little warmer. Or he could just be imagining that. Probably. Hopefully not. It was hard to get the honey-sweet way you said them out of his head.

Maybe they were just jabs. Lighthearted one. They could have just had easily been comments on just how much he spaced out. Tim has a tendency to live in his own head and it shows especially when he’s stressed or tired or both. Sometimes he would completely shut down as a result of excess anxiety. He can still remember the number of times he had let his anxieties run rampant letting them drag him away from the moment. His breaths were too quick to back then. He felt like he was gonna faint but then you just smiled at him like you were there for him which as it turned out you were. You gently squeezed each segment of his fingers until his breaths slowed. Even when he did fully calm down, you didn’t relinquish his hand. You held them firmly in your own even as you looked entirely unsure of what to do and what to say. You didn’t whisper the usual ‘you’re ok’ or the classic ‘you’ll be fine’. No, you just sat there with him quietly. Letting his feelings ebb and flow as he needed them to.

Tim really isn’t sure what he did to deserve even knowing someone like you but he would do it again and again if it meant being able to stick close to you.

Roz, ever the agent of chaos, throws a conspiratorial smile around the table like a flail. You look like you’ve been hit by one.

“Sorry, Steph. You won’t get one,” she says glancing at you. Steph pouts before she and Tim follow Roz’s gaze expecting you to glower or snarl or get up to deck her. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. You just kind of sit there frozen and mortified with a face that simply says ‘Oh. God. This is happening.’. All you can really do is mouth a ‘fuck you’. This obviously pleases Roz. Say what you will about Roz, but there is abso-fucking-lutely no denying that she is petty as hell when it comes to revenge. Nothing is sacred to this woman. Nothing.

“Why’s that?” Steph asks innocently, smiling around her bendy straw also enjoying this rare chance to torment you.

“I’m so glad you asked!” Roz answers her voice twisting into a horrifying facsimile of a daytime talk show host. You peel your arm away from the backrest and place your arms over your head and neck as you do in an earthquake drill bracing for impact. By the way, you were shaking, you’d think there was an actual earthquake. Your reasoning can’t be that stupid.

“My dear Stephanie-” Steph scrunches her nose at the overly sweet tone Roz lathers on her name but makes no move to interrupt. “(y/n) only uses space-related nicknames for people they think are- and I quote- ‘waaaaaay outta their league’,” You let out a pained groan and Steph’s face unfurls as she lets out the loudest snort, loud enough to draw the attention of several tables around them.

Tim’s mind is still reeling, still trying to process what Roz just said.

Him?

Out of your league?

Excuse him, isn’t it the other way around?

What the hell?

“Tim, for the love of Alfred, please unhear that,” you plead wetly, parking your head out just enough for Tim to see just how red your face has gotten. “God, please unhear it or I might just die,” Tim kind of didn’t doubt that you would. Steph somehow laughs even louder at this. Roz, not one to miss pouring salt in the wound, laughs along with her. You look like you wanted to implode out of existence. You could certainly try but Tim seriously doubts the universe is kind enough to let you escape.

Yeah, Tim’s brain has officially left the building. He’ll be back at 9 o’clock sharp tomorrow. Promise.

“You mean to tell me that-” Steph chokes, unable to control her laughing fit. “-You’re telling me that you’ve been watching them pine for each other for over a year now and you just let them?!” Steph wheezes still holding her stomach.

Roz looks offended and makes a whiny little noise. “Weeeell, technically I offered to wingman-”

“YOU WERE GONNA CHARGE ME FIFTY BUCKS,”

“Hey, matchmaking is hard,”

“It isn’t worth fifty bucks!”

“You’re right! It is worth so much more,”

“God, I hate you,” you groan into the table.

“God can’t help you now, kid,”

Tim frowns, mind backtracking to dissect the information. Apparently, his brain decided to clock back in.

They knew. Even Roz ‘I don’t give a shit what you do as long as it doesn’t affect me’ Andrada, noticed. Was he that obvious?

A year? Wait. No. Over a year. They knew about this for over a year.

Lastly, what do you mean each other?! As in mutual? Mutual pining?

As if reading his thoughts, you ask “Wait… what do you mean each other?”

Roz blinks at you not entirely sure if you’re being funny. When you give her a look, she slumps back in her chair. “I’m related to a dumbass,”

“That you are. Speaking of dumbasses-” Steph whips her attention to Tim giving him a shit-eating grin.”-You said you were waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask (y/n) out, right?” Steph waves her hands doing jazz hands as she points at your still dumbstruck figure. She’s smiling as if she was the world’s best wingman at the moment.

Tim suppresses a groan. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured it,”

Roz reaches into her pocket and produces a lighter. Grabbing the last of Tim’s fries and lighting it. “There. Mood lighting. Do the thing.”

“Ah yes, because surely the scent of burning potatoes is gonna sweep (y/n ) off their feet,” Tim said flatly crossing his arms. He knows he’s definitely focusing on the wrong thing but as with all things it was easier to procrastinate. This is especially true when you’re afraid of the outcome.

Roz huffs, waving the fry to extinguish it and muttering something about beggars and choosers. “Trust me kid that isn’t hard to do. Besides, did you not hear the part where I quoted (y/n) about you being ‘outta their league’,” You open your mouth to protest but slam it shut when Roz gives you a lopsided grin looking like she had a mountain of dirt on you which she likely did. He was definitely thankful that she has never met his family. He’s pretty sure Gotham wouldn’t survive.

“How could I possibly be out of (y/n)’s league. I- I don’t- I mean- I’m not-”

Your body twists his way fast enough that he’s sure you either have whiplash or a twisted spine. Your eyes are set on him glowering as if he’d said something wrong. He’s pretty sure he didn’t although he did have a talent for putting his foot in his mouth. Your jaw is set tight, your teeth almost grind. He could see the tight hitch in your shoulders. He is 100% sure you’re going to deck him.

“Do you want it listed alphabetically or what?”

“What?”

“Structure it like an argumentative essay. Speak nerd.” Roz instructs, earning her the full force of your glare. Your face pinches even more. Maybe this was the part where you implode.

You suck in a calming breath before turning back to Tim.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are a fucking moron, and here’s why:” Taking another breath, you turn to face him fully your cheeks reddening but you press on either from pure unadulterated spite or determination.

“You quite literally co-run a multibillion-dollar corporation. You’ve been doing that since you were seventeen apparently. You know several languages and you are not only fluent but proficient. You’re well versed in an insane amount of fighting styles. You are the smartest dumbass I know-”

“Preach!” Steph jokes.

“-You can basically operate any machinery I put in front of you. I have no doubt you can Macgyver one up if you fucking wanted. You could hack into any system you want just as a joke. You could probably throw the entire global economy into the toilet just for shits and giggles. Need I go on?”

Tim looks at you wide-eyed and speechless. You shrink a little as he continues to gape at you but you keep looking him in the eyes daring him to refute your claims. Really what was there to say? As much as he wants to come up with something witty to snap back at you, his chest is too crowded with warmth from the absolute sincerity of your voice. He knows you didn’t set out to make him fall deeper in love with you but he feels like he’s in free fall with your gravity pulling him downwards. Tim can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears.

You shrink again, your mouth twitching. “I-” Another calming breath. “I said too much. But my point stands!” The infinitesimal gap he felt between the two of you practically vanished. Still, he could do nothing but stare. Words fail him in the most inopportune moments even when you look so desperate for any kind of response. You swallow thickly looking like you think you’ve ruined everything when the fact was you haven’t. Quite the opposite really. Tim feels like he could take on the entirety of Gotham’s rogue gallery right now. Still, his brain was drawing a blank.

“Mood,” His brain has short-circuited and is now beyond repair. His palm is in his face before he even sees your reaction. You give him an entire speech about how great he is and all he can say is ‘mood’. Looking over at Steph and seeing her phone on her hands, he can tell she’s already transcribing the events to the group chat. Well, It can’t get any worse.

You giggle snort eyes slamming shut from the force of your laughter. Joy suffuses throughout your tense body, loosening your tense muscles. “Thank you for proving my point,” you say between gasps.

Tim falls victim to the infectious smile spreading on your face. He feels the warmth crowding his chest grow fuzzy.

Now’s your chance.

Tim takes a steadying breath. He rolls his shoulder back to straighten his posture. He waits for you to calm yourself a bit. When you do, he asks as confidently as he can “Are you free this Saturday?”

“No,”

Oh crap. He knew he screwed up. He feels cold seep into his feet.

You shake your head at his panic. “I work Saturday, ET,”

“Oh, I-”

“I have all of Sunday off though,” A hum of excitement spreads through his limbs. “Name your time,”

“9 AM?”

You give him a look roughly translating to ‘You aren’t going to lose sleep over a date, so help me’.

“11:30?” He corrects. You smile and hum seemingly making the oxygen in the atmosphere disappear. He finds that he doesn’t mind, not when he feels like he’s floating on zero gravity.

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

Bonus:

Steph: Tim’s a dumbass😌🙃

Damian: Thank you for stating the obvious, Brown.

Step: 🙄 Do you wanna hear about it or not?

Dick: 👀We’re listening…

Steph: (Y/n) made this whole speech about Tim and all Tim could say was 'mood' cycgu9c8ychic8td 5d8fcouv9ygpuv

Jason: F

Duke: F

Cass: F

Babs: F

Dick: F

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

Thanks for reading!!!!!

Taglist:

@idkmanicantenglish, @batarella, @batarella-mini, @birdy-bat-writes, @anothertimdrakestan, @founduebitches , @lucy-roo

#tim drake imagines #tim drake x reader #tim drake #batboys #step brother #wingmanning is hard #batfam #red robin #dc fanfiction #dc x reader

193 notes · View notes

carelessannie · 4 years ago

Text

maybe it goes like this: steve builds his pack (part 1)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Read on A03

Read the Tony courts Peter wip

Stucky focus (Steve x Bucky)

A sweet, slightly angsty backstory in three parts (ending in Stuckony).

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, Middle/High School Au, talk about family death, public non-sexual submission, steve beats the shit out of some bullies

---

Maybe it goes like this:

Steve can’t remember life with a pack, but knows for certain that his Ma grieves for them. Ever since he was a boy, he would catch his Ma staring at fading photos of strangers, wiping tears from her eyes, and denying it when Steve would ask why do they make you cry.

It’s not until later in his life that Steve learns the truth about pack bonds, about the decision an Alpha makes in life to form a familial or an intimate bond with their packmates. His Ma refuses to let him learn about packs from school, instead sitting him down across the table, like an adult, Steven, and he learns about orientations and secondary genders when he’s nine years old.

His Ma explains the way kids will turn into adults: first establishing their orientation as Dominant, Submissive, or Versatile, and later in high school, presenting as Alpha, Beta or Omega. She threads their fingers together, and asks Steve if he can notice what she is, and he concentrates real hard, trying to decide, as his Ma laughs.

It’s okay, Steven, you won’t be able to tell what other people are until your own body has developed.

Steve nods, pretending like he understands, and asks his mom about her presentation. She gives him a sad— sad? — smile, and says she’s a Submissive Beta.

It’s silent as Steve puts those two things together with the strong, beautiful woman he admires as his Ma, and is still confused. He asks about packs, and Alphas, and what intimate and familial packs are— gaining an amused shake of the head from his Ma.

Why don’t I just tell you about my pack, yes?

Steve nods eagerly, desperate to hear the story of a family he never had,

My pack was intimate, Steven, which means we all loved each other very much and decided to live together. I met my— our Alpha when I was in nursing school, before you were born. She was already mated to two Omegas, and they had been searching for a Beta to join their pack. We fell in love. I met her Omegas, and all four of us were very compatible— do you remember what that means, hun?

Mhm, like when you know you belong with someone even more than anyone else.

Right, good, so we all belonged to each other, understand? We lived in our Alpha’s house, and all of us worked jobs in the city. About a year after joining her pack, I met your Pa. He transferred to the hospital I worked at, and he was also a Beta, like me, but he was Dominant. I introduced him to my pack, and they loved him too. Within a year, we were mated and I had you. Makes sense, Steven?

Yes, Ma. But… What happened to them?

At this, his Ma goes silent, breathing deeply before finishing the story for her son.

Do you remember the difference between packmates and bondmates, Steven?

Um. One is forever, right?

Yes, good, if you are in love or committed to a pack, they are your packmates, whether you are intimate or not. But sometimes, two people, or a whole pack, want to make their relationship last forever, and they become bondmates. All people have the private part of their necks, remember? You have to know, sweetheart, the only way to start a bond is to bite each other there while mating. We’ll wait to talk about mating until you’re in middle school, okay hun?

Yes, Ma.

Good boy. Now. The other important thing about bonding is that it ties your soul to another person’s forever. Any person of any orientation can bond with whoever they’d like, as long as they’re compatible. But you have to know, and this is so important, that once you bond, your souls become one. My whole pack was bonded, but… Daisy… hun, our Alpha died of cancer. She got very sick, and died. And when one bondmate dies, everyone who shares the bond gets sick and dies too.

… Ma, but. Why didn’t you die?

I decided, once I got pregnant with you, that I didn’t want to risk bonding to my pack. Your father and I loved each other so much, and you were the symbol of our love, not a bite. And I’m thankful, sweetheart, because I get to be your Ma and watch you grow up.

Do you miss them, Ma?

Every day, Steven.

Steve doesn’t remember his Ma mentioning her pack again after that day, but he did start to notice that she would get sad a few times a year, around forgotten birthdays and anniversaries. She would spend all of her days working hard to provide for the two of them, and always made sure Steve knew he was loved and valued, even when she denied herself the opportunities to find a new pack.

Looking back, Steve can see that they didn’t have a lot of luxuries or comforts, and definitely didn’t live in the best part of town. He had a few friends in Bushwick, growing up in the nineties it was a poor place to live, but they were perfectly happy to play in the streets during the day, and lock their doors tight at night.

As he ties up his laces, he thinks about his small family and is immeasurably happy. There’s no one he loves more in the world than his Ma. He hates the thought of getting on the bus and driving far away to switch middle schools, but his Ma reassures him that he will love meeting new kids and making new friends.

So he grabs his backpack, tightening the knots holding the straps in place, and hops down the stairs, only sparing one look to his Ma on the front step.

It’s a long bus ride to the school, more than thirty minutes. Over the summer, his Ma found out that the school system wanted him to transfer to a better school because of budget... something and overcrowding—? He’s actually not quite sure why he can’t go back to his old school, but his Ma made it seem like William Alexander Middle School thinks he’s special and has asked for him specifically. So yeah, Steve is really excited.

He’s going into Seventh grade, and gets his own locker, and gets to go to art class.

Steve spends the whole bus ride reviewing the schedule he already has memorized, and comparing it with the school map that his Ma printed for him, tracing his finger around from class to class. Bus to Nurse to Homeroom to Algebra to English to Nurse to Lunch to Gym to Art to Nurse to Bus.

The day passes this way, Steve confidently following his map around the school and taking notes in his small notebook. It’s not until Gym that he gets nervous, remembering his last asthma attack, and hopes the nurse told his gym teacher about his restrictions as he files into the gym and takes a seat on the floor.

“Steve Rogers?”

“Here.”

“No, Steve, I need to talk to you,” Steve looks up and sees his gym teacher, a really large man with a beard, waving him to the front of the class. The other kids turn to whisper to each other as Steve walks forward.

“I— did—”

“Steve, I have a note here from the nurse, saying you cannot participate in most exercises because of your health issues. Because of this, I’m going to suggest you join the sixth grade class, which will go at a better pace for you, and let Mr. Howlett help you further, okay?”

He feels his entire face flush dark red as the other students behind him whisper and laugh. He’s a seventh grader, not a baby sixth grader. He holds eye contact with the gym teacher, folding his arms across his chest, but still grinds out a, “Yes, Sir,” like his Ma would want him to.

“Good, it’s settled. Here, Mr. Howlett has sent James to show you where to go.”

Steve turns to find a small, smiling boy waiting for him at... parade rest? What—

“Alright Stevie, let’s go,” and the boy turns on his heel, marching across the gym as Steve scrambles to keep up.

James slows down slightly, letting Steve catch him, “First things first, my name is James Buchanan Barnes, but most people call me Jamie. I hate it, but it’s better than nothin',” he looks over at Steve, eyeing him up and down, “Second, Mr. Howlett is friends with my dad. You stick with me, and this class will be a breeze, capiche?”

Steve swears his eyes are falling out of his head, and he nods his affirmation.

“Good,” is all Jamie responds with before grabbing his hand, tugging him to join a younger, smaller group of kids in the gym. As they approach, Jamie lifts their hands in triumph, “I found him!”

Feeling betrayed, Steve rips his hand free in embarrassment, but Jamie just smiles wider and pulls him towards their gym teacher, Mr. Howlett.

How this man could be bigger and scarier than the last teacher, Steve doesn’t know, but refuses to hide behind Jamie as they approach, and instead stands up even taller. Mr. Howlett makes a grunting noise, flipping through a few papers on his clipboard, before looking up at the two boys.

“Rogers?”

Before he can respond, Jamie pipes up, “Yeah! Here’s his note from the nurse, and he’s my friend and— and can I help him out? Please?”

It’s pretty clear that Mr. Howlett couldn’t care less either way, but all Steve can see is the raw, eager look in Jamie’s face as he begs their teacher to help Steve.

Huh, he thinks, the only other time I've seen this look is when Ma begs the pharmacist to refill my inhaler prescription when her paycheck's late.

“Whatever, Jamie, just keep outta trouble, ya hear?”

“Yes, sir!” Jamie delivers, with a crisp solute to match, and pulls Steve towards the back of the class.

They settle down, and Jamie keeps holding onto his hand. Steve glances over and sees Jamie quickly look away, suddenly shy.

“Jamie?”

The smaller boy looks over, hopefully, “Yeah, Stevie?”

“Thank you, I didn’t think I’d get a friend on my first day, much less the best one in the school.”

Jamie ducks his head again before turning his brilliant smile in Steve’s direction, and Steve continues before he has a chance to respond, “and Jamie?”

“Yeah, Stevie?”

“I swear, cross my heart, that I’ll find you a better nickname.”

Jamie’s eyes widen, and then he’s laughing, loud and doubled over. He grips harder onto Steve, who can’t help laughing along, even as they get funny looks from the class and a gruff, c’mon, quiet down, from Mr. Howlett.

Shaking his head, Jamie tries to catch his breath as he responds, “ I— I think— I’d love that— Stevie.”

And all Steve can do is smile back.

---

It takes a week for Steve to settle on Bucky, and when Bucky says he loves it, Steve runs all the way home to tell his Ma.

---

Steve and Bucky have Gym class and Lunch together almost every day for a year, and spend the whole summer waiting for their schedules to be mailed, hoping for at least two classes together.

They get their wish.

---

Halfway through eighth grade, Steve gets sent home with a stamped letter from his guidance counselor. For the past few weeks, the guidance counselor has asked him and Bucky to have lunch in her office, and the boys always shrug and agree. Today, after finishing lunch, she hands both boys an official letter for their guardians to discuss with them.

“Whaddaya think’s in it, Stevie?” Bucky asks, squinting at the letter as he holds it up to the light. The boys are heading straight from lunch to the nurse’s office to get Steve’s medicine, like they do every day, and Bucky grips tight to his hand, intertwining their fingers, like he does every day.

“I dunno, Buck. Maybe she’s gonna tell your Ma that you smell and needa bath,” the comment earns Steve a light shove, and an affectionate, “Punk,” in response.

“Jerk,” Steve replies, a reflex, and reaches out to pull Bucky closer, “I wouldn’t worry ‘bout it, Buck. She’s been real nice up ‘til now—”

“Yeah, I know, I just don’t wanna bother my dad if it’s somethin’ bad.”

They fall silent for a moment, both boys knowing how busy and strict Bucky’s dad can be. Steve sees Bucky’s head drop, lost, as he looks at the letter in his small hands. He slows them to a stop, turns Bucky around to face him in the school hallway, and hums in approval as Bucky meets his eyes and slowly tilts his head back. He grabs onto both shoulders, squeezing lightly, and pulls Bucky up close. Fingers tighten in the back of Steve’s shirt as Bucky clings to him, and he nuzzles into his best friend's hair, comforting, while rubbing across his shoulders.

“So sweet, Bucky. There’s no way your dad could be mad at you, alright? Believe me?”

He gazes down into soft, glazed gray eyes, and freezes. Bucky is slightly trembling against him, looking at him like he’s a revelation. Steve feels a calm settle into his bones as he reacts purely on instinct, reaching up to grip Bucky around the neck.

A few things happen in quick succession.

First, Bucky’s eyes roll up into his head, breath leaving his body in a woosh along with a high pitched whimper.

Second, Steve widens his stance, straightening his back, and Bucky sinks, fast, to his knees, gripping onto Steve’s thighs for balance.

And then, out of the haze—

“STEVE ROGERS, YOU RELEASE THAT BOY IMMEDIATELY,” and the trance is broken.

Steve is horrified to see Bucky curled up on the floor, and he stumbles back. Large arms wrap around him, herding him away from—

“STEVIE, no, please—” the voice of his best friend, his Bucky, follows him down the hallway along with small broken cries, and Steve fights hard against the strong arms that hold him,

“C’mon, kid, it’s okay. Just gonna call your Ma and getcha settled,” but Steve doesn’t care.

His boy is back there, somewhere, calling for him, needing him, and he can’t get back, he can’t protect, he can’t save, he can’t— breathe.

---

It’s okay, hun. Shh, sweet boy, it’s okay.

— Sarah, he had Jamie on his knees, submitting—

— no, I don’t think Jamie has stopped crying yet—

— only a few more months, it’ll be fine—

---

Steve wakes in his bed at home, confused.

“B— bucky?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” his Ma pushes past the door, “you up alright?”

He blinks his eyes a few times, disoriented, “Where… what—”

“Shh, hun,” she holds out a glass of water, which Steve takes gratefully,

“Ma, where’s Bucky?”

His Ma looks nervous, and straightens the sheets on the bed, “Steven, Bucky is just fine. How much do you remember about what happened?”

The memories are sticky, “I was just hugging Bucky. He was scared that his dad would be angry about the— oh! The letter from the counselor. Ma, I have an important letter for you. Officially stamped and everything,” his Ma just nods, so he continues, “I dunno, I was hugging Bucky in the hallway, and then something was… different. Like really heavy between us? And all I wanted was to keep him safe, but then… Then they took him, and—”

Steve looks into his Ma’s eyes, suddenly horrified, “I hurt him, didn’t I?”

He must’ve, that would be the only reason they knocked him out and separated him from his— from his—

“No, Steven, not like that. You absolutely did not hurt him,” then what... “You were the perfect Dominant, hun, and it’s not your fault, okay sweetheart?”

“Dominant? Ma…”

“Hush, Steven. I’m going to tell you something important, and you’re going to listen to me,” he nods once, so she continues, “the letter from your counselor was very important, Steven. Remember how boys and girls start to present around your age? Your guidance counselor has been monitoring signs of presentation between you and Bucky, signs that were confirmed today in the hallway. Steven, today you presented as a Dominant, and Bucky submitted to you. Do you know what this means?”

“T— that we’re… compatible?”

His Ma nods solemnly, “Yes, exactly. The doctors are not sure yet if Bucky is Submissive or Versatile, but you are a strong Dominant. My strong boy.”

“But Ma, why was it so bad?”

She sits on the edge of the bed, scooting so that she can pull Steve closer,

“Because, hun, both of you dropped.”

“Dropped...”

Ma hums, finding the words to explain,

“A lot of times, when a Dominant and Submissive are together, they go into a headspace. It’s calm, it feels right and certain and instinctual. Usually a Dominant will take more control, and the Submissive will allow it, naturally. If this doesn’t happen in a safe, private space, or if it’s interrupted, both parties are at risk of dropping. That means you could feel sick, lost, and upset— and even panic or become depressed,”

Exactly like what happened to me, Steve thinks,

“— and with you and Bucky, you both passed out from the stress. That’s why I need to know if you’re okay, Steven,”

It makes sense. Now that Steve knows what to look for, he can easily recognize not only moments where Bucky has submitted easily to him, but also moments where Bucky challenged him and he ended up claiming Bucky’s submission in an argument. His best friend, the boy who fights for him and is always at his side— it’s overwhelming. All Steve wants to know is—

“Ma, please, what happened to my Bucky?”

“Steven, don’t—“

“I need to know—“

“He’s still in a drop, hun.”

Steve swings out of the bed, “How? It’s been hours,” he hears his Ma stutter out something, but feels a resolve settle, “I’ve gotta be with him, Ma.”

“No.”

“But—“

“I said no. His pack is sending me updates, but was very clear that they want you to stay away from Bucky for now. He needs time to recover and understand what’s happened, as do you. And, as your principal recommended, both of you are switching lunch periods and transferring classes, to help reduce the stress of being around each other, is that clear?”

Not even sure he’s heard right past stay away from Bucky, Steve drops back into bed in shock. No more Bucky? He can’t even comprehend what his day would look like without his best friend next to him, and just like that, he’s destroyed one of most important relationships in his life.

Hot, wet tears fall through the night as he wraps around his sheets, wishing he was holding onto a smaller, dark haired boy with crystal blue eyes.

—

There are only two months left until summer, and they feel like two years without Bucky.

Steve cries himself to sleep for the first week.

In the second week, he tries talking to the adults in charge, all of whom give him pity and suggest he’ll get over it and move on.

By the third week, Steve is angry. He snarls at classmates, teachers, anyone who looks at him the wrong way. He gets sent home with a note about his behavior, and his Ma just gives him more useless pity.

During the fourth week, he’s walking the hall to his last period of the day, when he hears a plea for help and the slamming of a door echo from the boy’s bathroom. He runs inside, ready to take down a bully, and sees two eighth graders pinning someone to the bathroom stall. He steps in just as they punch the boy across the jaw,

“Hey assholes, why don’tcha pick on someone your own size?”

The boys whirl around and sneer, dropping the smaller kid in a heap on the ground.

“Look what we have here, a pint sized savior,” the larger of the two smiles wickedly, as he sizes up Steve, and the other one delivers a kick to their initial target for good measure, “Wonder where you got the balls, tiny?”

Steve throws his fists up, and the boys smile even wider, amused. The larger bully lunges for him, suddenly, and Steve absorbs his tackle, trying to roll them around on the floor to get on top. He delivers a well aimed elbow to the guy’s throat, which has him sputtering, and drives his knee down between the kid’s legs, earning him a satisfying howl.

“Yo, kid, it’s okay, c'mon it was just a joke—“

The other boy’s words barely register as Steve lands one, two, three hard right hooks to the bully’s face, before pushing off his chest and standing to his feet. The second kid scoots past Steve, hauling his friend up and escaping out the entrance.

“St— Stevie?”

All of the rage expels from Steve’s body as he turns to find Bucky smiling up at him from the floor where the bullies had dropped him just moments earlier.

He approaches slowly, and notices just how bruised Bucky is, just how tired he looks. Steve catalogs the blood on his face, dark circles under his eyes, possibly dislocated shoulder, and gaunt expression with care, touching as little as possible.

“We should— we should go to the nurse, Buck. It doesn’t look good.”

Bucky nods and attempts to get to his feet, but lets out a weak groan and sinks back down to the floor.

“C’mon, jerk,” Steve teases, trying his best to hide concern and devastation, pulling Bucky back to his feet on his good side, “do I hafta carry ya the whole way?”

There’s a weak laugh that could also be a sob from Bucky, and Steve tries to take more of his weight as they limp towards the nurse’s office.

He feels hopeful after hearing a barely whispered, “Punk,” in return.

---

The nurse lets the two boys cling to each other on the small cot, and proceeds to call both of their packs, asking for both kids to go home early for the day.

Steve glares at the nurse the whole time, knowing that he only has a few precious moments with his best friend before they’re separated again.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, Stevie?” the younger boy looks up adoringly, “you okay?”

“I’m fine, Buck, how— are you okay?” He does his best to hold back tears that are welling up in his eyes, and enjoys the solid feeling of Bucky, safe and warm in his arms.

Small fingers run over his cheeks, wiping away a few stray tears that had slipped free, and Bucky’s smile just grows, “So much better now, that’s for sure.” He wiggles a bit, and Steve laughs lightly, gripping his friend’s waist tighter.

He leans down, brushing his nose against the shell of Bucky’s ear, and whispers, “Nothing has been the same without you, Bucky.”

A shiver goes through Bucky’s body, Steve feels it by proximity, and Bucky remains silent, until Steve hears one hitched breath, then another. He pulls away slightly, looking into Bucky’s face as the smaller boy dissolves into tears. Bucky pulls himself closer, burying his face in Steve’s neck as great, giant sobs tear him apart. All Steve can do is shush him gently, kiss him on the head, and rock them back and forth, waiting for his Bucky to calm down as the minutes pass in silence.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,”

Steve looks up, turning his body to guard Bucky’s vulnerable one, and sees Bucky’s Beta father and Omega mother standing in the doorway, expressions both shocked and resolved.

“Steve, can you tell us what happened?”

It takes a few minutes for Steve to explain how he saved Bucky, and when he finishes, he watches the Beta and Omega exchange a knowing look, before they take a seat near the nurse’s cot. Neither move to take Bucky away, which is perfectly fine with Steve, who just holds his friend closer. A quick glance gown confirms Bucky has stopped crying and fallen asleep, sniffling lightly.

“We need to talk to you, Steve,” he hears Bucky’s dad call for him, and reluctantly looks up at both of them, noticing the guidance counselor also waiting in the doorway. He nods to allow them to continue,

“I’m afraid we haven’t handled this situation well, son,” Bucky’s dad continues, “and it seems to have hurt both of you boys. I’m sorry, and want you to know we only wanted the best for Jamie.”

“I get it, sir,” Steve shifts slightly, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. “Does this mean I can see Bucky again?”

The Beta leans forward on his seat, making sure to focus on the younger boys, “Yes, Steve, we want you and Jamie to keep being friends, at least until you go to high school next year.”

He can’t even help the relieved sigh and small smile that take over his face, letting his eyes fall shut as he relaxes back onto the bed. Good. He doesn’t even spare a thought for their friendship after middle school, completely convinced that in this moment, him and Bucky will be together, forever.

---

Steve and Bucky fall back into their old routine, classes and lunchtime back to normal, and the news of Steve’s fight spreads like wildfire throughout the school. Both boys find themselves surrounded by new friends, many of whom knew Bucky but hadn’t hung out with Steve before, and he enjoys watching his best friend thrive in newfound popularity.

As summer approaches, Bucky starts talking more about going out for football in eighth grade. Steve always knew he loved sports, and had often encouraged Buck to keep playing baseball when the younger boy would get frustrated, so he naturally pushes his friends to try out. What he isn’t prepared for is how little he sees of Bucky over the summer. He barely notices at first, still seeing Bucky a few days a week, but then he starts to get rain checks on his invitations.

“Sorry, Stevie, rain check— I’m doing drills with the guys all day,”

“Aw man, rain check? I’m at conditioning every day this week and literally can’t get free,”

“Maybe rain check for this weekend? The guys are running plays all day, and I just gotta be there,”

“— you understand, right Stevie?”

And Steve does understand. He decides to give Bucky a little more space, only asking to hang out once a week, if that, and focuses on preparing for high school. He spends more time with his Ma, and she helps him pick out a brand new backpack from Walmart. When he protests, saying his old backpack is just fine, she shakes her head and insists on buying a product that will last. He fills it with notebooks and new pencils and pens and even a pack of colored pencils with a shiny dual sharpener.

It’s a few weeks before school starts that his Ma receives a letter from the school system. He’s decorating the cover of his notebook, laying across their living room floor, when his Ma comes and sits next to him on the floor.

“Steven, I have something to tell you.”

“Okay, Ma, one sec,” he takes a few moments to gather his pencil shavings, packing up his colored pencils, putting them in the correct order, and closing his notebook, stacking everything neatly on top.

“What’s wrong, Ma?”

“Remember when you went into middle school, and the government had to move you to William Alexander because the school closest to us was overcrowded?” Steve nods, he does remember, “Well, they don’t have the same issue with the high school here. So you’re going to be going Bushwick High, which is just a couple blocks away from us.”

“Oh, I thought I was gonna be going to school in Park Slope again, near Bucky?”

“I know, Steven,” his Ma gives a small pat to his head, before standing up and heading for the kitchen, “why don’t we have a snack and talk about it more? They sent a list of classes, and you get to choose electives and everything.”

Steve tries calling Bucky that night, eager to tell him about his news, but just gets the answering machine. He tries two more times that week, and comes up blank.

Within a few weeks, Steve is walking into Brooklyn High, confident and proud, and barely spares a thought about missing his best friend at his side.

#stucky #steve pov #steve x bucky #d/s fic #childhood friends #soft stucky #fluff #minor angst #steve beats the shit out of some bullies #mcu #fanfic #MiGLT #omegaverse

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pls-let-me-out · 4 years ago

Text

Invisible String

21st of December

“Do you not like my friends?”

Will almost jumped out of his skin. Niccolò was standing just a couple of feet from him, with his hands in his pockets, and a scowl on his face. He was wearing Will’s–it was actually Niccolò’s, but Will had always worn it–scarf, and a black beanie.

Will’s lips tightened. What could he say? He did like them. They were fun to be around, and had a great sense of humor. Plus, seeing them tease Niccolò was entertaining.

“It’s not that,” Will settled for. “It’s–I don’t know.”

“You do know,” Niccolò said. “Just–nothing. We should go. Seen anything you like?”

Will shook his head. They were looking for a Christmas tree, apparently they would be shooting a little video for a Royal Family thing. When Niccolò was explaining it, Will was too busy being scared to death to listen thoroughly.

“Wait!” Will called, when Niccolò was already at the end of that tree aisles. Niccolò looked back at him with a frown, which had Will’s fingertips tickle with the need to smooth it out. “Can we get hot chocolate before we head out?”

Niccolò rolled his eyes. He didn’t say no.

“What do you mean presents?” Niccolò asked, his face turning into an even more prominent scowl. “We don’t need to get each other gifts.”

“I’m not spending money for this dumbass,” Will said, taking the cup from Niccolò’s hands to take a sip. He was immediately kicked in the shin by Niccolò, but the biggest punishment was the taste of that thing inside. “Is this death? Am I tasting death?”

“It’s coffee, you genius,” Niccolò said, taking the mug back. “Sorry I’m an adult and don’t put milk in it.”

Will just grimaced. “I see why you’re so bitter. You’re poisoning yourself.”

Niccolò opened his mouth, but Piper interrupted them before he could talk, hitting the wooden table. She sighed, exasperation clear on her face. As clear as the fact that the gifts exchanging wasn’t her and Annabeth’s idea, probably Persephone’s. Maybe even Hazel’s.

“What Annabeth and I are trying to say, is that it’s only normal you two exchange gifts. You will spend Christmas together, won’t you?”

Will turned to Niccolò. “My time and company are going to be your present.”

“Hope you kept the receipt.”

Annabeth rubbed her temples. “Guys.”

“Honestly, if you want us to have gifts so much, you should just buy them for us,” Niccolò said, looking smug in his chair. “Then we’ll give them to each other. We’d be even more surprised!”

Will sighed. “Don’t be rude, you ass. I honestly haven’t even changed my money to euros.” He grimaced. “I guess I’ve been kind of leeching off of you.”

Niccolò shrugged. “It’s my fault you’re here in the first place.”

Annabeth clasped her hands together. “Then what’s better than using the Royal Family’s money to buy each other gifts?”

“Not buying each other gifts,” Niccolò said.

“Donating the money to charity.”

Niccolò nodded, very vaguely waving his hand toward Will. “Yeah, that, too.”

“I honestly don’t even know what I could buy you,” Will said, putting his elbow on the table and his chin on his fist. “What could you possibly want? You’re already rich.”

“I’d like McDonald’s. I haven’t had it in so long.”

“We can arrange that.”

“I’m not sure there are any McDonald’s around.”

Will grimaced. “Isn’t this city a nightmare?”

“I’m not even replying to that,” Annabeth said. “C’mon guys. You’ll have to put something on social network sooner or later, it could be the two of you opening gifts. People want to see you.”

“People can see me on Google Image,” Niccolò replied. “Seriously. It’s none of their business what we’re doing.”

“You are a public figure, Nico.”

“Also,” Piper continued. “As you know there’s always been speculation about your sexuality. People are wondering whether you and this soulmate of yours will be lovers or platonic.”

“And I’m sure they’d love it,” Niccolò said.

Will couldn’t help a grimace. Up until a few decades back, courtship between two soulmates of the same sex wasn’t accepted. Will hadn’t even thought it would be an option for them. Niccolò was a prince, didn’t he need to have heirs or something?

Fuck. It only made things more complicated. Will knew himself, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop wondering, if there was even a sliver of hope for the two of them. He buried that hope thinking about his parents.

“I’m sure they’d love to see me with a boy, wouldn’t they.”

Will’s eyes snapped back up at Niccolò, and it hit him like a bucket of cold water. He had forgotten how cold the other’s face could turn. How his voice could become blank. How distant he became.

“They’d love to see me bonding with a man, wouldn’t they?” Niccolò asked, as if he the words were clawing out of his throat.

I’m bisexual! Will wanted to scream. I’m bisexual so stop saying shit like that, like it’s disgusting. He wanted to say it, instead he just pushed the chair back, and stood. What was he expecting from someone who had lived his whole life in a palace? It was only a given that Niccolò would be homophobic. In times like this, Will’s life reminded him of a staged joke.

“It’s just gifts,” he said. His voice was steadier than he thought it would be. “Let’s just take a scarf each and be done with it.”

“It would be different. You’d be soulmates,” he heard Piper say, but he was already leaving the room. He could feel eyes boring holes in his back.

Before letting them use the sleigh, Piper took at least a hundred photo. Most of them had either Nico or Will with an indignant expression on their face, as the other talked passionately. Ten minutes later, and Nico couldn’t remember what they had been bickering about.

He was half hunched over his sleigh, the cold wind in his face, on the path ahead he could see both Will and the instructor. He could see them, when his eyes weren’t forced closed by the pain in his knee.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever done,” Will said later, when they were sitting on the panoramic spot, feet dangling over the edge. A smile was spitting his face open, darkness had already began falling. He was dressed in a bright orange suit, so that the instructor wouldn’t lose him on the track. Nico had little to laugh about, since he himself was in green. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Nico managed a grimace. The huskies were panting, just a few meters away. The instructor had disappeared back into the hotel, soon Will and Nico would have to get going.

“Kayla would have loved this,” Will said, his voice softer.

Nico knew those eyes. They were the same he had in every photo with Bianca and Hazel, that love struck gaze brothers wore only when they were talking of a sister. So Nico asked about it, heart hammering in his chest. “Your sister?”

Will nodded. He never talked about his family, or at least not with Nico. He should have been a fool not to notice the strange atmosphere and gazes exchanged between Will and Piper. A part of him wondered if Will was falling for Piper. He wouldn’t be the first to do so.

“Yeah, the oldest. Kayla Knowles.” He shrugged, and took a deep breath. “Don’t you think it’s crazy, how we’ve lived alone for days, yet not talked about anything of our lives? Do we–do we actually know each other?”

Nico tightened his lips. It was not the time to talk about the mess they’d made, pain shot through his knee. “I don’t think we do.”

Will nodded. “Yeah. I thought so.”

For a moment, less than a second, Nico wished Will had fought him. He put his hands under his thighs, to avoid doing stupid things, like poking the mole under Will’s left eye, and bicker like only they did.

“This is the part where you start telling me things about yourself,” Will said. He put his chin on his bent knee, giving Nico a sidelong glance.

“Oh. Uh. Elysium. That’s my kingdom’s name. Ancient Greeks believed it was part of the Underworld, for a time. Black flowers grew on the shorelines, and it was so hard to reach them. Too many storms. I thought it was Elysium too, when I was little.”

“Isn’t your father also called Hades?”

Nico grinned. “Grandfather thought he was so funny, when he chose his sons’ names.” He cleared his throat, embarrassment darkening his cheeks even more when silence stretched. “Isn’t it your turn now?”

Nico thought Will mock him, at least a little. ‘Maybe I should tell you the story behind Texas’. Will didn’t, as if he understood how personal Elysium was to Nico, what a great thing it was to admit that, for a time, he’d been foolish enough to want the throne.

Will took a deep breath, his knuckles turned white where he was holding the railing. “I have eight siblings. Lee, Michael, Austin, Kayla, Jerry, Gracie, Yan and Victoria. Lee and Michael were older than me. Now I’m the oldest.” He sniffled, bringing his gloved hand to his nose. “When they–we didn’t live together. We saw each other during holidays, birthdays sometimes. The first year after Michael and Lee died, I didn’t know how to be the oldest. It’s different, you know? I always had them, and they were before me. If the youngers needed something, something clever, they went to them. I couldn’t bring myself to see the others, after the two of them died. I didn’t–I didn’t have anyone to go to.”

The breath was knocked out of Nico’s lungs.

Will chuckled. “I guess I overshared a bit. Sorry.”

“You didn’t,” Nico blurted, so fast Will whipped his head around. He cleared his throat, spoke with far more calm. “You didn’t overshare.”

“You sound pretty put out.”

“I was just thinking about what I wanted people to tell me, after I lost Bianca.” He tasted bitterness on his tongue, so heavy it laced through his words. “I can’t remember.”

“I don’t want you to tell me anything.”

“Yeah. Neither did I.”

Will put his head on Nico’s shoulder. His hat was cold, a bit wet with snow, his breath warm, even through all the layers. Nico leaned against him.

The others were waiting for them inside the hotel. Piper and Leo had managed to convince Jason to stay one more night, to sleep in an igloo room together. Nico had half a mind they would try seducing him. Percy and Annabeth would go to Paris, Annabeth wanted to see Notre Dame. She had never seen it in person. Nico recommended her to see the Dome of Sacré Coeur Basilica first.

“You were talking about Paris?” Will asked, sliding down next to Nico with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands.

Nico ignored that it’d been a gift from the instructor. Only for Will. With Nico standing right next to them. It seemed impossible for Will to go anywhere without having someone fall for him. It had to be the curls. Or the freckles. Maybe the eyes, always so bright and beautiful.

Nico shook his head, to get himself out of the trance.

“-there a couple of times, with my family,” Will admitted, nodding his head. He took the cup to his mouth, and grimaced at the first sip.

“Did the Hot Instructor poison you?” Nico asked. He knew it wasn’t possible, but at least then they’d have a good reason to send him to jail. Or at least never seen him again. He wasn’t so petty after all.

Will huffed. “It’s too hot.” A glint lit his eyes, as he looked at Nico through a thick layer of eyelashes. “Just like the instructor.”

Nico scoffed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, if you’re into bulky men that spend their days riding towards the sunset with huskies.”

Percy snorted. “Who isn’t into that?”

Nico bit his cheek. Annabeth caught his eyes, cocking an eyebrow. Nico sunk lower into his chair, tightening his grasp on the cup holder. Nico didn’t need to look at Will to recognize the mirth in his eyes.

“Anyway,” Leo said. “Before omo celoso here interrupted us, we were listening to a story.”

“You should really stop treating people’s lives like they exist for your entertainment,” Jason told him. Piper giggled, and Leo sent him a wink. Jason’s whole face turned as red as a tomato. Nico imprinted the memory into his head, just in case he ever needed to have something to tease Jason about.

“I was telling them about the time I went to Paris,” Will said. He grimaced. “We were on the Eiffel Tower when my Father’s girlfriend discovered he was cheating on her.”

“With whom?” Leo asked, eagerly leaning on the table.

Will and Piper both burst out laughing. “Well,” Will said, clicking his tongue. “I was eleven at the time. My parents, uh, they divorced when I was eight.”

“Just a quick note,” Piper said. “His oldest half-brother is two years younger than him.”

“Thanks,” Will said. He fixed his eyes on Nico, before dropping to the table. “Very helpful. Uh. So, we were on the Eiffel Tower, and my father’s girlfriend sees him passing the waitress his number. She goes absolutely mad, and she was right, really. My father’s a really lewd man. So she gets his phone, calls a cab for herself and orders a flight back to California. She finds the messages he had exchanged with his lovers.”

“God, that’s so disgusting,” Annabeth said.

“That’s not the worst he’s done,” Piper replied.

“Wait, how do you even know?” Percy asked her.

Piper sent Will a panicked glance, and he cleared his throat. “We were neighbors. Kind of.”

“Oh my God, isn’t that so cute?” Jason exclaimed, his eyes on Nico. As if he knew Nico was storing teasing material. As if this was his revenge. They knew each other well enough for it to be possible. “You two would have met through Piper!”

“So no one’s going to talk about the fact that we discovered it now?” Percy asked. He was ignored.

“I can’t believe we’ve been robbed of the chance of introducing them to each other!” Leo wailed loudly, gathering the attention of the other costumers. “We’d’ve held it over Nico’s head for the rest of our lives.”

“Holding something over my head?” Nico scoffed. “With your height?”

Leo hit him in the shins from under the table, making him hiss. He sent the hit right back, but hit the table.

“Jealousy’s taking your aim away, hombre,” Leo commented.

He was lucky Will’s attention was on Annabeth, or Nico would have used him to replace the table leg.

“I’m absolutely not jealous,” Nico hissed, trying to hit Leo again. He hit the table instead, a jolt of pain shot through his leg.

“You know, just because you’re prince doesn’t mean you can destroy the furniture,” Will chirped with a sickeningly sweet smile, using napkins to rub the spilled chocolate. “By the way, you now owe me a free chocolate.”

“You lost two sips at most.” Nico took a long sip of his coffee, the bitterness heaving on his words, not only his tongue. “If you want another, go back to flirting with the instructor.”

Will leaned closer, batting his eyelashes with a coy smile. “Maybe I’d rather flirt with you for another.”

Nico shoved him by the shoulder, a grin stretching on his lips. “Fuck off.”

They both laughed.

Will fell on the sofa next to Niccolò with a loud sigh. Before turning the TV on, he complained about his tiredness, his old age, the weather.. Niccolò didn’t say a single word, but his eyes were

“The house is silent again,” he said.

“Yeah.” Niccolò cleared his throat, looking away. He crossed his legs, looking like he didn’t know how to act now that they were alone. They would be for a few more days, so he’d better get used back to it. It was unnerving Will.

“I’d gotten used to having them around. Have you always been so close to your cousins?”

Niccolò grunted. “I wouldn’t say we’re close, even now.”

“You look like it.”

“Maybe we are.” He stayed silent long enough for Will to think he wouldn’t add anything. “With–with Jason. It’s more complicated with Percy. I’ve seen him much more than Jason, and we–I had–” He cleared his throat, but his hands were shaking, and Will wanted to wrap his own fingers around Niccolò’s. He knew the other wouldn’t like it, though. “He was already around when Bianca died. So. I took him out on him.” He passed a hand through his hair. It wasn’t very long, less than an inch, what with being cut short in the military.

“He looks at you like you are his little brother, though.”

“I hated it back then.” He nodded toward the television, before Will could do as much as thinking about asking more. “So, why are you on YouTube again?”

“I just realized I never got around to watching your eleven awkward moments.”

Niccolò groaned.

Niccolò was around fifteen years old. He held a scepter, or what looked like it. People all around were looking at him, cameras going off. He kept looking around, never keeping his eyes on something a second too long. Then, he mouthed at the King, and his words had been written as subtitles:

What was I supposed to do now?

The MC smiled at Niccolò. Niccolò nodded and smiled. Hazel talked, the MC responded. Niccolò looked at the crowd. Cheers and screams grew louder. Some people shouted his name. Others that they wanted to marry him. Niccolò grimaced.

Prince Niccolò: Great King of Shut the Hell Up

Niccolò got out of the car, walking toward the entrance of the hotel without paying much attention to the people screaming his name. That is, until someone shouted “Prince Neeks!”

It was a reporter. And Niccolò, disdain clear on his face, closed the button of his jacket. His lips were tilted downwards, his chin and nose all scrunched up.

“It’s Niccolò.”

Will was doubled over in laughter, half down the couch. Niccolò sat still, only a slight twitch on his mouth, not quite a smile. Not quite a frown either.

“So, how does it feel like to be the Prince?”

“Well. I’ve always been a prince, so. It feels like every other day feels.”

The reporter laughed. “Can’t say I know what that is.”

Niccolò nodded. The reporter nodded. They nodded at each other.

“God, this is such a torture.”

“You really do make everything awkward. I wish I’d filmed our first few hours together.”

Niccolò groaned from behind his hands.

“I would be a billionaire by now.”

“Nico say hi!” Came Piper’s voice from behind the camera. She was filming an Instagram story.

Nico looked up. He was sitting in front of a piano, a grimace on his face as soon as he took in the scene. He didn’t move.

Eventually, he waved. He sent a panicked glance to something behind Piper’s phone.

“Say hi!” Piper insisted.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“But I did!”

“You should’ve said hi.”

He hesitated. Sighed. Waved again. “Hi.”

“You have a beautiful soul,” a girl told Niccolò, holding her phone in his face.

His gaze was focused on something out of the frame, a grimace on his face. “Yours, too.”

The girl’s phone fell, her gasp alerting Niccolò that something was happening in front of him. From the ground, the camera still recorded.

“Sorry. You were saying about your sauce?”

Niccolò fell asleep a little after their third video. It wasn’t even half past ten, but he snored lightly. Will lowered the TV volume, put the red blanket with reindeers on him, and leaned back into the couch.

Niccolò was beautiful. He was beautiful under the sun, when the snow glowed all around them. He was beautiful in the morning, when he always stopped mid-stairs to rub his eyes. He was beautiful as Will watched him, with the blue light of the TV, the golden one of the fireplace, shining on the little pout he always wore as he slept.

The knot enveloping Will’s stomach tightened. He took the remote again, and searched for another video. He was met with his parents’ faces in the home. They were young back then. He clicked before he even realized it.

“Before Apollo’s new auto-biographic film comes out next March, we decided to take a walk down memory-line, with the evergreen love between Apollo and Naomi. Both young when they met, they had just become part of the music world. Their first single together sold millions of copies, enough to–”

So enthralled on the old family photos, Will didn’t realize Niccolò had awoken, and his hand had sneaked around Will’s wrist.

“So you are a fan?”

Will looked away from the TV. It was so strange, hearing the woman talk (gossip) about his family, and having Niccolò in the same room. Guilt fell heavy on his chest, constricting his lungs.

I’m their son.

“I–” His breath broke.

They are my parents.

“They –”

They are the reason I can’t look at you and think we could ever work, even if we fell in love and were crazy for each other.

“A fan, yeah.”

Niccolò smiled, stretching his arms. When he stretched his legs, he grimaced. “Yeah, I thought so. You looked pretty taken with Apollo the other day.”

Will nodded. “Yeah.”

“He has a sister, you know?” He yawned, his mouth opened so much his jaw could have dislocated.

Will nodded again. He knew. He had only met her on two occasions, his brothers’ funerals. If his siblings’ funerals were the only times they would ever meet, Will hoped to never see her again.

“I don’t like her,” Niccolò mumbled. His eyes drifted closed, and a second later he was snoring again.

Less than a minute, and his cheek was on Will’s shoulder. Dark hair brushed again his nose, and he took a long breath. Pomegranate. Niccolò tasted of them.

Will turned off the TV, and closed his eyes. He wasn’t tired, but he matched Niccolò’s breath. He slept.

Spotted!

Prince Nico of Elysium and his soulmate have been spotted being cozy in Livigno. Although their stay in the Italian city was made public days ago, clear photos of them hadn’t been released yet (go to gallery). The Prince’s sexuality has been subject of speculation for many years, with Cupid’s–stage name of famous pap–confirmation that he is, indeed, homosexual. However, it isn’t known whether the Prince’s soulmate might be homosexual as well.

The Royal Family hasn’t released any statement regarding the nature of their relationship, although close sources state have stated, that ‘The Prince is quite taken with a close friend of his,’ but the name hasn’t been revealed. Who between Nameless Soulmate and Nameless Friend will win the Prince’s heart?

Stay tuned to discover!

Latest updates:

Naomi to be featured in Apollo: between glory and reality

Is Tristan McLean’s daughter Piper’s new suspected sweetheart an ex Hollywood kid?

Apollo: between glory and reality, ten reasons to watch it

#solangelo #riordanuniverse #nico di angelo #percy jackon and the olympians #will solace #percy jackson #rick riordan #riordanverse #rickriordan #apollo

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simsadventures · 5 years ago

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Better Like This- Chapter 1: The Squad

Chapter Summary: Reader is on her way to her new department, the SVU, or as people like to call them, the Avengers. She thinks back to her previous department and is introduced to the squad. Nothing can happen, right?

Warnings: I used one swear word, sue me, other than that: none, it is a police AU, beware

Pairing (in this chapter): Alpha!Tony x Omega!Bruce, Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader,

Word Count: 2121

A/N: This is really just an introductory chapter to get this thing going. Bear with me please, it will get better, I promise. More action coming soon! x

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

Your feet carried you along the hallway. This was it, you were finally here. The one place you’ve dreamed about, the ones towards which all of your hopes were inclining. The special victims unit of New York’s police. Most people, however, called them the Avengers for the dedication to avenging the unfortunate victims’ souls and lives. You knew you couldn’t work for this team unless someone put a good word for you and your well-done job.

So you kept your head down, and after the police academy went to work for the missing persons unit to prove you were a more than capable of handling the job. One thing that stood in your way, and not only in the police work was your presentation. Ever since you presented as Omega when you were 17, your life changed dramatically. You were used to the stereotypes and aggressive and touchy Alphas by now, and with your training, you could take on most of them.

You could, however, see that most Alphas in the police academy and then later in your previous unit weren’t trusting your skills and they were undermining your every step of the way. But you came back stronger, more determined and definitely more than ready to show all those assholes that you were more than a womb for their seed or a pretty face. You were tough! And you were about to prove it!

The team of the SVU was a big one, the whole police department knowing that these were the crimes most common in NY and in this case, the more, the merrier. The unit was run by an Alpha, naturally, but from what you heard, he was one of the good ones.

His name was Captain Rogers, and from the photos you’ve seen from the numerous arrests you saw, he was really handsome, with that big bulky arms and enchanting eyes. Not really your type if you were honest with yourself, he looked like too much of a goody-goody, but, who knows, right? But looks aside, all departments knew that this Captain was fair, doing his job so well some people wanted to see him in a chair of a Commissioner, even though he was only 30-35, who could tell, right? You were actually really excited to work for/with him and most importantly, to learn from him. Hopefully, you’d get the chance.

Other than him, however, you didn’t really know anyone from the team. You could maybe tell one or two names, but that was it. You really hoped these people, even though most probably mostly Alphas, were not as horrible as your previous team. You didn’t mean to offend anybody, but they really were just bunch of knot-headed idiots…

All except the only Beta on the team, and your rock for the past two years. His name is Vision or short Vis, and he really was one of the main reasons why you stayed on the team and didn’t give up on your dream. It was him telling you almost every day that you were good enough and that you could do big things, if only you wanted and were determined enough to actually start doing them. Soon after you guys met, he introduced you to his fiancé, Wanda, also a Beta, who is an artist- she does everything from oil painting to creating sculptures from old washing machines (yup, she’s done that!).

Sure, you did have some friends from college, but you mostly lost touch with them, never really feeling as if you fitted between them. The Alphas really only saw you as a piece of meat, and the Omegas… well, they were friendly, and all but you could see that their only aspiration in life was to get mated, give their Alphas as many pups as they could and.. that was it.

However, there still was one exception (there always was, right?) and you were thanking whatever God was sitting upstairs for bringing her into your life. Her name was Gamora and, just like you, she wanted to prove to everyone that Omegas were as valuable in the society as any Alpha. She was now part of the fire department in NY, the only Omega in the whole unit, and you couldn’t have been more proud of her.

You stopped before the door to the office. You shouldn’t be thinking about your whole life right before you’re starting a new job. You cleared your throat, took three calming breaths and opened the door.

What you could already tell from just the one step you took into the open-office, was the lighter air that surrounded you. You could smell all three presentations mingling in the air, and the atmosphere could only be described as calm. Which is definitely not the word you would use to describe your previous job. Sure, stressful, constricted, too-much-testosterone, those words you could use, but calm? Friendly? Never.

Few people looked up from their works, slightly nodded their heads and smiled, but nothing really more than that as you continued on your way to the Captain’s personal office.

Knock, knock. “Come in,” you heard from the inside of the room. “Ah, detective Y/L/N. You are a little early, I like that!” He smiled, warmly at you as you shook his hand. “Captain Rogers, I’m really thankful for this opportunity and-“you couldn’t finish your sentence as he raised his hand and smiled again. “Don’t thank me, detective. It was your hard work and so many successful arrests and finding of the missing people that got you this job. We are thrilled to have you here.”

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. When he raised the hand, you really expected him to shut you up by saying that he had to employ you, or that he doesn’t expect you to last so you shouldn’t really be thankful. But the warmth which radiated from him, his friendly smile, those were not the things you were prepared for.

“So, to get to the work, I’ll pair you up with one of our senior detectives, Scott Lang. Give me a sec.” He went around you, opened the door and yelled: “Hey, Lang, your new partner’s here.”

Which was followed by a loud laughing howl by what you thought was Scott. “Excuse him, he is just a big child sometimes, but somehow, he is really good at his job.” Steve looked at you, half amused. “’s ok. I’m really used to pretty much anything, sir.” You smiled at him as you smelt an Alpha coming to the office.

“You must be Y/L/N! I’m so excited to meet you! I mean, sheesh, your stats? Unbelievable, you gotta show me all your secrets, dude!” He then grabbed you and pulled you into a bear hug. What the fuck is happening?

“I mean when I heard I was gonna be paired up with you? Man, I almost fainted! You are like a fracking legend thanks to that Rumlow arrest!” He was literally beaming. You couldn’t help your own smile as you watched the Alpha ramble on and on.

You giggled when Captain stopped Scott from going on with his outburst. “Alright, you can fangirl over your partner later, Lang,” he turned to you with an apologetic shrug, to which you just smiled and rolled your eyes playfully. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the squad, and after that, we got a job to do. Come on.”

“Listen up, squad. This is detective Y/N Y/L/N. Detective, this is your new squad, your new family. Detective Tony Stark,” he showed you a smaller Alpha, with a smirk on his face, obviously full of himself but he didn’t look at you like you were a piece of meat. Just amused look seeing a newbie, really.

“He is also like our IT genius, so whenever you have a problem, he is your person.” The Captain continued. You both just nodded at each other, and the introduction continued. “This is his Omega, doctor Bruce Banner, he is our forensic guy and pretty much anything science-going on, it goes through him.” Bruce hugged you, “It is so nice to meet you, it must be overwhelming to come to such big new squad, but these idiots are really fine.” He smirked at you, and you laughed. “Hey, who you calling an idiot, huh? We’ll talk about it at home, LOVE!” Tony’s voice beamed behind Bruce. He just rolled his eyes and shrugged, “Yeah, whatever you say, my big bad Alpha.”

You really laughed out loud and even snorted a little, which caused little laughs all around the squad. “With a laugh like that? You’ll be just fine here, sweetheart.” Said the only female voice on the team, a Beta who introduced herself as Natasha. You liked her immediately. “I haven’t heard such teasing between Alphas and Omegas in a long time, that’s all.” “Well, sweetie, get used to it because the teasing here? That’s a daily tea!” She smiled and winked. “Oh I can’t wait, bring it!” You all laughed when suddenly, the front door opened.

Before you could actually notice who was coming in, you could smell them. Two Alphas. One’s smell was very regular, and due to your suppressants (which you were really taking as a precaution in your line of work), all Alphas smell more or less the same to you. You can smell the testosterone and the “strength” if you could call it that.

But the other Alpha was different. You took another whiff of air, and it suddenly hit you like a tidal wave. This Alpha (you couldn’t yet see if it was a man or a woman, due to the squad surrounding you) smelled like heaven to you. It was a combination of sandalwood, the smell of forest shortly after rain and something else, like a spice which you weren’t able to identify. But you didn’t really care.

The only thing running through your mind was one word: MATE! MATE! MATE! Was it possible?

Not that you didn’t believe in true mates, your heart was romantic enough to keep that hope alive. But as you were growing older, and none of the Alphas you met ignited any fire in you, you started to slowly give up.

But now you were sure. He or she was here and though you would never say it out loud, the Omega in you started purring contently. You could remotely hear the team talking about something, a joke maybe? You weren’t sure as you went on your tip-toes to try and see who walked through that door. You could see 4 eyes looking your way, one pair brown and you felt that those weren’t those eyes you were looking for.

The second pair was icy blue and when you looked into them, you felt as if the Alpha could see right into your soul. You wanted to look away, tried not to be the stereotypical Omega, but you just couldn’t make yourself let go.

There was a scenario in your head, for when you’d meet your Alpha. You tried not to think of it, but it was there, in the back of your mind. You would look at each other, walk towards each other, touch each other’s cheek and smile and just be happy. You didn’t need a fairytale, just this little act of future love and affection.

Your feet, therefore, carried you towards this Adonis of an Alpha, still looking into his eyes. What you didn’t expect, however, was the Alphas loud growl. It stopped you in your tracks. You wanted to whine but stopped yourself. You were an adult with some self-control. Even if you could feel this control slipping away each second you were in the Alpha’s presence.

He snarled, shook his head and turned around to run out of the open-office and, probably, outside of the building too.

The whine escaped your lips however hard you tried to suppress it. What was this Alpha’s problem? You immediately started to blame yourself, for probably not being his type, or not being pretty enough, but you stopped yourself. You used to blame yourself for every little misstep, for every bad mood of your father’s, Christ, even for the rain pouring down too hard when you had to do something outside. But the longer you spent with good friends like Gamora or Vis you realised, other people’s issues had mostly nothing to do with you.

So you knew that this wasn’t your fault! He just left without even getting to know you, touching you… What was this Alpha’s problem?

Next chapter>

Tags: @kneel-begyourpardon @bellamys @crazybutconfidentaf @carlya65 @boxofteenageideas @hiken-no-stark @get0verit @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @mywinterwolf @cat-of-your-eye @iheartsebastianstan

If your name is striked, for some reason Tumblr won’t let me tag you. Dunno what to do with it, so sorry :(

If you’d like to be tagged comment/message/send an ask. If you like the story, please reblog :) any comments are appreciated, even the critical one. Always a space to get better, so let me know what you guys think. <3

#alpha bucky barnes #alpha bucky #alpha bucky omega reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #avengers #avengers a/b/o #avengers fanfiction #bucky fanfic #new fic alert #new fic #better like this #first chapter #policeau #a/b/o

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

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Dad Fluff: Ohana

A followup to this very short drabble about Mina drawing a family photo!

CW: Vague references to Danny’s past torture, but nothing specific. Brief referenced to enforced malnourishment/near starvation.

“You’re officially obs-… obsessing,” Nate says softly, dropping onto the couch next to Danny, leaning over and tilting his head to try and get a better look at his face. “L-Love, talk to me. You’ve been looking at th-th-the picture she drew for… longer than can be g-good for you.”

“I wasn’t in the picture,” Danny whispers, still holding it in his hands. Looking at the stick-figure attempts to draw Nate and Mina herself and even Toto, a ball of black and brown squiggles with eyes. “I don’t know why, why she wouldn’t-”

“Danny,” Nate says seriously, taking the paper from his hands and turning it over. “You are the p-p-picture. Look at you, here.” He points, tapping his finger against the drawing with a soft crackling sound as the paper shifts in his hand. “You’re so… you are s-s-such the center of her life that she didn’t have en, enough room to draw you if you didn’t have your very own s-side.”

Danny’s lips press slowly together, and he nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “I never drew myself in, um, in the pictures, either,” He says, finally. “I used to draw Mom and Dad and Ryan on one side, and… and, um, then myself over in the corner or on another paper, because that’s how it felt-… sometimes I didn’t draw me at all…”

“Danny.” Nate set the drawing down entirely, laying it carefully on the coffee table, taking Danny’s hands in his. “Look at me, love. Please.”

Danny’s jaw is locked but trembling as he raises his eyes, slowly, to meet Nate’s.

They’re both older, and stronger, and Nate likes to think wiser, but Danny’s eyes are still the same. Bright sparkling blue, the only time in his life Nate has seen the color blue and called it warm. His freckles have deepened with time, rather than faded, and Nate lifts one hand to cup his face, rubbing a thumb slowly over an old scar on his cheek, feeling the shift in skin texture under his touch.

“This is n-not that family.” Nate keeps his voice gentle but firm, not quite insistent. Danny nods, but he’s scared, and the fear shows through even when he tries to hide it. He’s never been a good liar, and he’s a worse liar with Nate. “I kn-know we all bring things from our childhoods-… but we are not your parents. And Mina is not Ryan, and she isn’t y-you, either.”

“It just felt like-”

“Like you weren’t part of us,” Nate says softly, and Danny nods. Nate sighs and slides his hand down Danny’s neck, over the hints of scarring there, then curves his palm around Danny’s shoulder, pulling him close. Wavy red hair tickles against the side of his neck as Danny’s tension collapses. “This is your family, Danny. We w-worked hard to build it. We… we worked so hard to get the fucking ch-chance to build it. This is our f-family. And you’re her whole world.”

“She drew my scars. She drew them in bright red, they’re what she sees, it’s all anyone ever sees, is what h-he left on me-”

“Ssssshhhhh. I know that was h-hard to see.” Nate closes his eyes, tries to remember what he and Dr. Rosa had talked about when it came to helping Danny through his dark moments, encouraging him to keep talking, to pull himself back. “Did you h-hear what she called them?”

“My… my pretty marks,” Danny whispers, and Nate begins to run his thumb on Danny’s shoulder through his long-sleeved shirt, thinking of doing this in Alberta, feeling the shift of bones under his thumb when Danny had so little weight at all. Now there is a gentle roundness, strength he’d rebuilt in himself year by year. “She called them pretty marks.”

“There. She didn’t see them as bad, D-Danny, she just sees them as part of you. The same way she calls that weird thing on your hip your ‘blue spot’.”

“It… it is an actual blue spot on my hip, though,” Danny says doubtfully. “I stabbed myself with a marker at the last group home before Mom… It is a blue spot.”

“And your marks are p-pretty to her.”

“I just… it hurts, to see me not in the picture again, Nate.”

“I know. But she’s n-not you. She didn’t d-d-do that because she didn’t think you belonged with us, but because she c-c-couldn’t fit how important y-you were when the rest of us were in the way.” Nate’s efforts are rewarded with a nearly-silent huff of laughter from the man in his arms. “I know it’s h-hard not to bring it with you… I sometimes want to g-go to confession and I haven’t b-been Catholic since I was s-s-seventeen…”

“What’d you confess to?” Danny asks, curling more against him, and Nate sighs with a kind of relief as he pulls him closer. “Just… sucking dick?”

“Yes.”

Danny blinks and pulls back, looking up at Nate with surprise. “Did you actually? To a priest?”

Nate grins, and watches Danny’s internal battle between his need to still be sad over the injury in his mind and the idea of a sixteen-year-old Nate Vandrum talking about blowjobs in the confessional booth. “Couple of t-t-times. Some oth, other stuff, too. I was a really bad C-Catholic.”

“If you did it and still went to confession, you might actually have been a pretty good one,” Danny says, and the two of them break up into relieved laughter, Danny’s hands splaying over his face not to hide his scars but just to hide his smile.

“Danny, you are M-Mina’s family. You’re w-w-with her every day, all day-”

“-Except during Mom’s Morning Out, which, I really wish they’d change the name of that fucking group-”

“… let me finish, D-Danny. Mina wants for nothing. She is warm, and fed, and educated, and clothed, and l-l-loved.”

“I was most of those things,” Danny says, softly, but he’s coming back, Nate can tell. Pulling himself out of the spiral inside his mind, starting to feel more present, less like he slipped beneath the surface of a dark pool.

“You were some of th-them all of the t-t-time, but you never had them all, all of the t-t-time. And she does. You were the one who brought up adoption, you are the one who taught her the alphabet, you were the one to d-d-decide we weren’t going to watch those episodes I d-d-downloaded of Mister Rogers any longer and we’d let her watch s-s-something made in the last ten years-”

“I still watch them,” Danny says, softly. At Nate’s raised eyebrows, he shrugs. “Call it my confession. Forgive me, Father, for I have watched educational children’s programming from the eighties-”

“Hey, now. Some of us recovering Catholics like the ‘Forgive me, Father’ stuff, but… I’m n-n-not one of them.”

Danny flashes him a bright smile, and Nate feels an absurd sense of victory. He wants to raise his hands in triumph. He settles for pulling Danny in for a kiss.

“Sorry, Professor,” Danny murmurs against his mouth.

“Now, see, I l-like you calling me Professor…”

Danny laughs, softly. “Put your tie and jacket on and I’ll take it right back off you again, Professor Vandrum. But… I… I get it. She drew me bigger than everyone else because I am important. And she probably thought, since it’s the same paper, that it still counted as being all together…”

“Kids tend to d-d-draw themselves larger than they really a-are, compared to other people,” Nate says softly. “If they feel secure, and s-safe. You saw how big M-Mina drew herself.”

“Right. Bigger than you,” Danny says, blinking, looking back down at the paper. “And I was the biggest person.”

“I h-hate admitting this, but you’re the one she g-g-goes to first when she’s scared, or hurt, or has a n-nightmare or feels sick to her stomach. You’re the one she asks for juice and ah, applesauce. That’s all you, Danny. You’re not part of our family, you are our family. We built every single thing we have because of you. You chose me-”

“-… was made for you…” Danny murmurs, and then stops when Nate shakes his head.

“No, love. You chose me, and didn’t l-let go. You chose to say y-yes when I asked. You chose to agree when Mina’s birthmom liked us in our profiles. You chose Toto at the H-Humane Society, you chose every single thing we are. You built your own f-f-family, love, and she can’t picture us without seeing you as b-b-bigger than everyone else.”

Danny nods slowly, rubbing at his face, at his eyes, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

“I know this is hard for y-you, love, and always will be, but… this is your family. You, and I, and Mina… and Toto… and, fuck, even your brother.”

Danny’s smile widens. “What do you think he’ll say if I send him a photo of what Mina drew and tell him she called them ‘pretty marks’?”

Nate shakes his head, leaning over to hold Danny’s face in one hand again, kissing his forehead, feeling the worry-wrinkles smooth under his mouth. “He’ll say, ‘it’s ab, about time someone other than Vandrum and I noticed you’re gorgeous’,” He says, softly.

Danny snorted. “He’s never called me gorgeous in my life or his.”

“Not to your face.”

Danny’s smile is infectious, and Nate pulls him in for a kiss knowing the tightrope has been walked, they’ve cleared the worst part of the shadows that threatened to sink their claws in - at least for now.

They’ll have this conversation again, in a hundred different ways, every time something pushes Danny towards the fears and worries built by a lifetime of having to earn the love that should have been his birthright. They’ll have it every time Danny is reminded or forced to relive years spent desperately trying to earn the mercy of a man hellbent on his slow, inexorable destruction.

But they have the foundation. They’ve laid the path, together. When one of them falters, the other holds the weight, until they can find their own way out. That is their marriage, and has always been, and will always be.

That is Danny’s family.

“It’s sm-small, and b-b-broken, but we made it ourselves,” Nate murmurs, and Danny lets out a peal of surprised laughter, loud enough that Nate shushes him, worried about waking Mina so soon after she’s fallen asleep.

“Did you just quote Lilo and Stitch at me?”

“No.” Danny raises an eyebrow, and Nate puts his hands up in surrender. “I quoted it to m-myself!”

“No, it’s fine, I like that movie, you know I do.” Danny slides arms around his waist, holding him tightly.

After a few beats of silence, Danny says softly, “Ohana means family, Professor Vandrum.”

“Family m-means nobody gets left behind.”

#whump #only not really #trauma recovery #dad fluff #epilogue #nate vandrum: a knight in soot-stained armor #daniel michaelson is a tall smol bean #mina vandrum #scarring #scars #tw: brief reference to past starvation #tw: brief reference to torture #reference to foster care #referenced past emotional abuse #recovery whump #recovering whumpee

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cilldaracailin · 4 years ago

Text

Killer Queen

Hello my Tumblr lovely’s!

Who is ready for some more! It’s a good one if I do say so myself! ;) Hope you all enjoy!

Suze xx

“One of the most important things you can do on this earth is to let people know they are not alone.”

Robyn had left Taron just after four and it gave him some time to catch up with Lyndsey, quickly explaining to her about his little fan meet on the beach. While on the phone with him, his publicist did a quick scour of the usual social media outlets and as predicted the fan picture had appeared on social media but not received the backlash he thought it was going too and his posting of the Instagram picture had appeased most, though Lyndsey felt the need now to warn Taron that his visits to Ireland might not be completely media free as before, Taron’s whole body slumping onto the duvet in the tent as he listened, returning his answer with heated tones.

“I just need to give you the heads-up Taron, you know this. Don’t get crabby with me.”

“Sorry Lyndsey.”

“Look I know you want to protect her.”

“It’s more than that.” Interrupted Taron.

“And Robyn had proven herself very capable of dealing with the media Taron.”

“But it’s so different when it will involve her home.”

“And it won’t come to that and Taron, you know some reporters already have been at her home back in September and it was fine.”

Taron sighed heavily, rubbing his tired eyes. “Sorry Lyndsey.”

“Don’t be sorry. I know you love her and have this undeniable urge to defend her and watch over her but it’s not always possible Taron and at some point, you are going to have to accept that, especially if you keep inviting her to your events. It is going to get people talking as you bring her into the public eye more. If you want to protect her, you will have to leave her at home but if you want her by your side, now or in the future as something more, you will have to be ready to completely let her into your world.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry to me Taron.” Laughed Lyndsey. “Robyn has without a doubt gotten under your skin and believe me, I think the world of her and you know that.”

“I do.”

“Then trust me.”

“I do.”

Lyndsey smiled into the phone. She had worked with Taron for so long, she could read every emotion he was feeling from just the tone of his voice and his reactions and knew immediately he had a bad night’s sleep. “You are tired. I need to you to sleep tonight for me.”

“I will.”

“Taron…”

“I will Lyndsey and sorry again. It just rattled me. It’s not something I expected and wasn’t prepared for the photo.”

“And you dealt with it as you always do, with a cool and level head. You trust Robyn?”

“Of course.”

“Then let’s just wait and see Taron. Normally stuff like this either blows up or floats around before it dies out. I am sure the premier will have more of a reaction than anything and before you say it, sure your picture and visit to Ireland will more than likely be a question asked of you while on promotion but you know how to answer these questions Taron and you know I have left it up to you as to how you want to do so. Robyn is a firm fixture in your life and most people understand it is because she saved your life and you don’t have to make excuses for that Taron. You should never make excuses for that.”

Taron nodded to himself. “Thanks Lyndsey. Sometimes I forget that part.”

Lyndsey rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that shit Taron. You can’t bullshit me.” She heard him laugh a little. “I want you to stop over thinking, go and enjoy Robyn’s show tonight and then sleep, as best you can and I will see you bright and early at the Radio One studio on Sunday.”

“Sure.”

“And get as many hugs in as you can and remember them because as far as I can tell, Robyn’s hugs are the only thing that can calm you down lately.”

Taron chuckled. “I will try.”

“See you Sunday.”

“Thank you Lyndsey. Sorry for bugging you.”

“You don’t bug me Taron. Frustrate me at times but I know for a fact you do that to all the women in your life.” At last she heard a genuine chuckle from him. “Go and enjoy your last few hours of freedom.”

Taron ended the call and let his arm fall away from his ear, his phone falling from his hand and onto the soft duvet. As always, he let his worries over take him and once again it was another woman calming his fears. With Lyndsey’s promise to further double check everything for him, he found himself breathing a little easier and putting the thoughts of the photo to the back of his mind. Instead he focused on the evening to come and another chance to watch Robyn on stage in her element and he was just a little excited to see her in her stage gear once more but his face frowned as he remembered all the kisses from the night before but Robyn had promised him it wouldn’t happen again.

“And I am not jealous.” He said turning his head to look at the two dinosaurs who still sat together inside the tent as he had left them earlier. They both grinned back at him. “I am not.”

But his beating heart and rise in body temperature said otherwise. Taron rolled over into his stomach and let a muffled scream out into the pillow, his anxiety about the photo, his upcoming tour and his love for Robyn causing emotions and feelings he was finding so hard to cope with. He reached for his phone and pressing number one on his speed dial, groaned once more into the pillow.

“Hello love.”

“Hey mam.”

“Taron, love what’s wrong?” Tina could immediately hear the deflation in her son’s voice.

“Mam I can’t do it anymore.”

“Do what love?”

“Robyn.”

Tina just about heard the whispered of the woman’s name who had wiggled her way into her son’s heart because his voice was laden with sadness. “Taron?” Tina listened to silence for a few seconds. “Taron, sweetheart?”

“It hurts too much to love her mam.” He turned his head sideways on the pillow. “Even more so because I can’t tell her because that fucker hurt her so badly she not only believes she doesn’t deserve to be loved but that it’s something that doesn’t exist and I can’t sit here anymore and not tell her that I love her because it is what she deserves and she needs to know that love is wonderful and thrilling and she is most definitely worthy of it and I want to be the one to love her. I need to be the one.”

“Ok Taron you need to slow down, stop speaking in riddles and start from the beginning.”

With a rush of words and long sentences, Taron burdened his mother with his worries and woes, once starting to speak, finding it hard to stop until he had managed to get everything off his chest, including the fact that he was actually very jealous of the stage kisses.

“Mam why are you laughing?”

“Taron this is what love is, what it does to you and I know you love her.”

“And you still stand by your advice of not telling her?”

“Yes.”

“Mam!” He groaned.

“Yes Taron I still do even more so after what that fucker as you call him did to her.”

“That was actually Robyn’s mam’s words, not mine.”

“I really need to get Robyn’s mam’s number. I would like to have a chat with her at some point.”

“Mam don’t change the subject.”

“You told me when you met Robyn, she wouldn’t let you in and it took a lot of trust for her to open up to you and it was a man who betrayed her trust Taron. The fact that she has let you in speaks volumes for how she feels about you.”

“I wish she would just tell me.”

“Women don’t think like men do.”

“Well I know that mam.”

“And I don’t just mean thinking with certain body parts.”

“Ugh mam seriously?”

“Well Taron you went into some detail about that kiss and a pair of short purple shorts so I am just returning with the information you have given me.”

“Maybe I should talk to Guy.”

“Taron, Robyn has been badly hurt in the past and I know you know that but because it was a man who did it, she will be very guarded when it comes to a new man in her life. She will be scared to let one in, to actually admit she loves one even if that one is you Taron. She won’t open her heart to someone for fear it will be broken again. A woman’s heart is a very delicate thing, especially a torn one.”

“Mam I know she loves me.”

“And I am sure she does but Robyn has to realise it for herself.”

“Her kiss made it pretty clear.”

“And that was a kiss from a bet. There is a difference I am sure between a kiss from a bet and a kiss she wants to give you of her own accord.”

“But it was a kiss.”

“Sweetheart, women are complicated.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.” Taron rolled over into his side. “I just don’t know how much longer I can wait to tell her.”

“As long as it takes Robyn to tell you. You want to protect her and show her that you love her than keep doing all the wonderful things you have been doing for her. She will come around Taron.”

“It’s so hard mam.”

Tina felt for her son. “Is she worth it?” She asked. “Is she worth the traveling and the tiredness and the longing that you have worth it for one hug, or one cuddle you get from her?”

“Of course.”

“Then you will wait Taron. I know you chose your career for your love of acting Taron and I don’t hold your choice against you and you know how proud me and your step-dad and your dad are of you but for a woman to step into your world, you are asking a lot. However, Robyn has taken it all in her stride and is joining you for your premier, one which will be filled with press from around the world, live TV coverage and more publicity than Robyn will have ever faced. I think it’s clear she loves you if she is willing to do that for you. Also, she cooked for you and baked. She definitely loves you Taron but please try and be patient with her. If you rush her, you could trigger some of those feelings of rejection she still has in the back her mind.”

“I don’t want that to happen.”

“Love is hard Taron. No one said it was easy.”

Taron sighed. “If it was easy it wouldn’t be real.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true. Just keep doing what you are doing love. Robyn has a beautiful heart and you know I adore her and how she looks after you but you keep doing these little things for her and soon, she will come to her senses.”

“How long…”

“As long as it takes her Taron.”

“Thanks mam.”

“Anytime love. You are not going to blurt it out this evening?”

“No mam.”

“Even after you see her dressed in leather.”

“Mam!” Taron’s scoff turned to a light laughter. “Though I have seen her in a towel.”

“Taron David Egerton!”

Taron chuckled at his mam’s scolding. “And she has seen me in one too.”

“Taron!”

“I love you mam.”

“Yeah and I love you. Be gentle with her heart ok? Like I said, it’s been torn before and still a bit brittle.”

“I will mam.”

“Taron, I truly believe you can heal it for her. Just give her the time to figure that out.”

“Thank you mam.”

“Ring me tomorrow when you get back to your flat ok?”

“I will do.”

“And tell Robyn I said hello.”

“I will.”

With a heavy sigh, Taron dropped his phone onto the pillow in front of his face. He trusted his mam’s advice and judgement more than anyone’s and although it was not what he wanted to hear; he knew she was right. Robyn had been treated horribly before and he knew himself she was guarded but when it came down to him, he also knew she trusted him and he would do nothing to break that trust but taking his mam’s guidance, he knew but hated that he would have to wait for Robyn to figure out that she loved him as much as he loved her.

After a nap, he hadn’t realised he had taken until he woke up, Taron quickly showered and changed, pulling his black hat onto his head again and made the quick ten-minute walk to the hall with five minutes to spare before the performance started. Robyn’s little head massage had helped to ease a niggling headache he had felt earlier, knowing it was from lack of sleep but the two paracetamol he had routed out from her drawer had lifted it completely and as he sat on the inside edge of the row four, he kept his hat on his head and his eyes on the programme, one that he bought from Jane on the way into the hall, ignoring the smirk on her face.

With his closeness to the stage and his second time watching the show, he noticed things he hadn’t before, including how tight Robyn’s stage outfits actually were and her facial expressions as she sang and danced and the wink she definitely threw his way before she slid down the fire pole and he chuckled as she smoothly slid down the pole with ease and grace.

The other thing he definitely noticed was the stage kiss between Robyn and Cathal just before the first act ended and he was sitting up in his chair, the programme twisted in his hands again as Cathal grabbed Robyn by her hips and pulled her tight against him and kissed her hard. What upset Taron the most was that he could see Robyn place her hands on her co-stars chest to push him away from her and the flicker of anger in her eyes before she put her arms around him and turned them around so her back was to the audience, Cathal’s face going straight into her neck. Taron glared at him, hearing his teeth grind and a very quiet growl come from deep within him. Robyn had told him that she had spoken to Cathal and he had been warned not to kiss or touch her and he had clearly leaped over boundaries once again and Taron was fuming as he sat, putting his hat back on his head as the house lights came back on.

He saw Jane walking towards him, selling raffle tickets and he motioned towards her.

“Hey you.”

“Is there any way I can talk to Robyn?” He asked quickly trying to keep his voice steady.

“To Robyn?” Jane asked.

“Yeah. Any chance?”

“Well I am not too sure. The cast have about fifteen minutes to catch their breath and change before they are back on stage.”

“Please Jane.”

She looked to him and sighed. “Come with me.”

Taron stood up and dropped his programme on the chair and followed Jane out through the main doors of the hall and around the front of the building and then through a side gate. They walked down a narrow pathway and out into a very small open garden with a picnic bench on which Robyn was sitting her head in her hands. Taron mouthed thank you to Jane and quickly walked over to stand in front of Robyn.

“You need a squishy hug?”

Robyn looked up in surprise to see Taron standing in front of her and without a word, jumped down from the picnic table and into his open arms, snuggling deep into his warmth, feeling his arms hug her tightly.

Before the show started and once she was dressed and ready to go, she had spoken to Cathal about the stage kisses and he assured her he wouldn’t try anything but he broke his promise just before the first act ended and their kiss after their duet was hard and fast and horribly wet and Robyn had tried to push Cathal away but he only pulled her disgustingly firm against him but somehow she managed to break their kiss, push him on his chest hard and turned their closeness into a hug, Cathal’s face immediately going straight to her neck, into where Taron always nestled his face so closely and Cathal’s hot breathe on her neck made her skin crawl and a cold shiver run right through her.

Once the stage went dark, Robyn shoved Cathal away from her, lifted her knee and aimed hard for his crotch before she ran down the steps ignoring all her cast mates who called her name and stormed outside, taking to pacing up and down the small garden before taking a seat on the picnic bench, her head in her hands. She was thoroughly frustrated. She hated being taken advantage of and had already been in a position like that with Keith and she had worked so hard to get over him and how he treated her and she could slowly feel her insecurities creeping back in as Cathal made her feel as small as a mouse. Keith often used his physical strength against her and Cathal was doing the same and Robyn hated feeling not in control.

She was running shaking hands down her face when Taron’s voice filled her ear and there he was standing in front of her, his arms open for a hug and she didn’t need to be asked twice if she wanted a hug. She was desperate for comfort that only Taron could give her and he did it with his wonderfully strong arms, warm chest and beating heart.

“Breath darling.” Taron whispered into her curly hair. “Take a breath.”

“I am going to murder someone by the end of tonight.”

Taron chuckled into her hair. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

Robyn snuggled more into his shoulder and allowed herself to sink into him, feeling his hands rub up and down her back, the material of the cropped top moving so eventually his hands met with the heated skin of her back. He rested his hands flat on her lower back, his thumbs grazing softly back and forth over the dip in her skin above her skirt.

“Hey Robyn, we need to get that costume change going. Oh sorry!” Dee had walked out to once again locate one of the female leads of the musical to get her ready for the second act but she was wrapped up in a cosy looking cuddle in the arms of man who had appeared from nowhere. “I will give you a second.”

“Thanks Dee. I will be there in two.”

Robyn ran her hands in circles around Taron’s back before gripping his long sleeved stripped t-shirt in her hands. “Thank you.” She murmured into his t-shirt.

“You ok?”

“Not really.” Robyn felt how Taron’s whole body froze for the briefest second before he resumed his back rub for her. “But I will be.”

“I am going to have a word with him.”

Robyn pulled herself from Taron immediately but her hands were still wrapped around his back. “No you won’t.”

“Robyn he cannot fucking do that do you. It’s disgusting and almost harassment and I won’t have anybody do that to you.”

“True but you won’t go near Cathal.”

“Robyn…”

She placed her hands on his cheeks. “He is already going to find it hard to walk straight for a while. He doesn’t need any words.”

Taron grinned under her hands. “Stiletto?”

“Knee.”

Taron winced but moved to place a soothing kiss on her head. “Good girl.”

“I told him yesterday it was going to happen if he tried to kiss me again.” She felt her hands being taken, as Taron took them from his cheeks. “You can understand somewhat because like me you still get flashbacks of Florida but sometimes I get some from Keith and unfortunately unwanted kisses are part of them.”

“Robyn…”

“Not ours.” She confirmed immediately. “But the force of what Cathal does is uncomfortable and unprofessional.”

The Welshman immediately engulfed her in another hug, desperately wanting to show Robyn what a kiss should be but her little confession only further confirmed his talk with his mam earlier and Robyn was definitely more than a little brittle and now was not the time for a kiss so instead he hugged her so close to him.

“Thank you Taron.”

“I am always here for you Robyn. Always.” He was trying so hard to keep his cool, knowing the arsehole who was taking advantage of her was only a few footsteps away and while on the outside he was showing himself to cool and composed, inside he was seething.

“Ahem.”

Both turned to see Dee once more standing at the door.

“I am really sorry Robyn but we only have five minutes. I really need to get you changed.”

“I am coming Dee.”

Robyn let Taron go and took in his concerned eyes which were frantically searching hers. She lifted her hands and fixed his hat so it sat straight on his head. “I will be fine. I always am.” She assured him, moving forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. My knight in shining white and navy stripes and a black hat.” She half smiled. “Go and enjoy the rest of the show.”

“That bastard better not touch you.”

“Well he has to…”

“Out of script I mean.”

“Don’t charge the stage Taron.”

Her words made him grin a little. “He tries anything and you may have a new cast member.”

“Robyn!”

“I had better go.”

“I will wait for you at the end of the show.”

“You had better.”

Robyn turned away from him and walked quickly back into the backstage area and through the curtain for the female dressing area.

“You have three minutes.” Dee said holding a make-up brush while Laura was beside her with a hairbrush. “And he is beautiful.” Robyn didn’t answer her as she sat in the chair but she whole heartedly agreed with the make-up artist but Taron was more than beautiful. He was perfect. “Might need to hold off on the blush for the second act.”

“That was some hug Robyn. You get them often?” Asked Laura as she stood behind her and quickly fixed her hair.

“How did you see the hug?” Robyn asked her with her eyes closed as Dee topped up her eye shadow.

“We all saw it.”

“You all peaked out the door?”

“Naturally.”

“Jesus.”

“And we are all a little jealous of it.”

“He gives good hugs.” Robyn confirmed. “Everyone saw it then?”

“Everyone but Cathal and Jude.” Replied Laura.

“Jude is livid.” Dee explained as she fixed some smudged eye liner. “Pulled Cathal outside the hall to talk to him.”

“Steve would be stepping in if he was able.”

“Just my luck that he happened to break his hand.” Sighed Robyn.

“Your male friend, that’s Taron right?” Asked Laura as she sprayed Robyn’s hair, seeing the curls bounce as Robyn nodded. “He’s something else.”

“Yeah he is.”

“Ladies, we nearly done? We have about thirty seconds.” They heard Jude call in through the curtain.

“Go and get changed.” Said Dee as she let Robyn up from the chair. “And hey, Cathal really struggled into his leathers. We watched.”

Robyn moved over to the clothes rail and quickly stripped down and pulled on her dress for the opening scene of the second act, making sure it was straight, her heart racing. She had never known a man like Taron before who knew her so well, who knew what she needed and she desperately needed the hug and it seemed he did too and she also knew he was mad. She could see it in him even though he tried his best to keep his anger in, she could feel the tension in his body and she had never felt protected and loved more than right there and then.

“You have about five seconds to get on stage. Just go from stage left.” Jude met her as she came out from around the curtain. “I am sorry I can’t replace him Robyn.”

“It’s ok.” She said as she walked past him and to the side of the stage.

“No it’s not. I have spoken to him and he knows.”

“We haven’t a chance of the AIMs award.”

“We have every chance. Now go and kill it like you always do.”

Robyn nodded, her eyes going to Taron as he sat back in his seat. She had been able to see him the whole show and when she thought it would have made her nervous, it was the opposite and knowing he was there only made her want to perform perfectly and hit every note and give the best performance she could managed because Taron had travelled to see her and support her. With a long breathe she skipped on stage a little later than normal, turning her focus on being Mimi, looking Cathal in his eyes, showing him that she was not taking any of his shit.

As Taron sat back in his seat, he was still furious and once more the programme was twisted in hands. He was so glad he had been able to see Robyn in between the two acts, thankful he could be there to give her some comfort but he was pissed off and his anger stull bubbled under his skin, even more so when he learnt that Keith had taken advantage of Robyn through one of the most intimate gestures a man can get from a woman. A kiss.

“Fucker.” He muttered under his breath as the house lights dimmed and the music for the second act started to play. Robyn took the stage a little later than the night before, going straight into her song and Taron could see her standing straight and keeping directly in character with Cathal. He didn’t understand how she could do it but like he was a professional actor knowing where his responsibilities lay so did Robyn and she showed that by her perfect performance.

He was on his feet cheering and wolf-whistling before anyone else in the hall and he didn’t care. It was what he had wanted to do last night but because he was keeping a low profile, he couldn’t but now that Robyn knew he was here, once the house lights went up before the cast took their bow and sang their final song, he was clapping hard. His standing ovation spurred everyone else in the hall to get to their feet too and when Robyn ran on stage to take her bow, Taron whooped and called even louder, seeing her laugh at him and she blew him a kiss and gave a curtesy.

He freely sang along as the cast took an encore of Seasons of Love and applauded until they had all left the stage. He side stepped from his chair, into the walkway to let the people sitting the row he was in to get out before he sat back in his seat. He was even more proud of Robyn compared to last night and as he sat on his chair, his joy for Robyn turned a little sad as he thought about how this time tomorrow, he would be back in London and up to his eyes in work. His flight was early the next morning and Robyn had promised to bring him to the airport as she always did but he wasn’t really looking forward to it. He never did enjoy saying goodbye but this weekend had been so special for him because he had been the one to spoil and treat Robyn and he loved doing it for her. He was so thankful it wouldn’t be another eight weeks or so before he saw her again, only two weeks until they hopefully would see each other for dinner in Paris.

“So, was it better the second time round?”

Jane walking over to him broke his thoughts. “Absolutely. Thank you again for getting me to her.”

“You are more than welcome.”

“Guess I really owe you that signed photo now.” He smiled as Jane blushed.

“Robyn told you about that then?”

“She tells me things.”

“I am sure she does.” Jane nodded. “It was nice to see you again Taron and that little smile. Good luck with your tour.”

“Thanks Jane.”

“I’d imagine she will be out quicker tonight. You can go and wait at the curtain if you want.”

“I think I will do that.”

Taron got to his feet, slipped on his coat and made his way over to where the curtain separated front of house from backstage and stood waiting patiently for Robyn to come out. He was looking forward to going back to hers, letting her shower and although he didn’t have any more surprises for her, he just wanted to give her the longest cuddle as they lay in the tent.

“I told you I have nothing to say to you. Just piss off Cathal.”

On hearing her heated tones, Taron ignored the shouts of entry refusal from the people at the curtain and barged straight through the black material into the private backstage area of the cast members, seeing Robyn and Cathal in a stand-off, some space between them. He briskly walked to Robyn and stood in front her, his back right against her chest.

“She said piss off, loud and clear.”

Robyn was more than relieved that Cathal had played the part of Roger as he was supposed to play it during the second act and didn’t even attempt to try anything and any kisses they shared were simple stage kisses and nothing more. Once their final bow was taken, she was the first off stage and into the dressing area, pulling her tattered dress over her head and hanging it on the hanger before she pulled on her jeans and Taron’s Hawaiian shirt. She had worn it to rehearsal, needing to feel a comfort and security from having a piece of him with her and after she had buttoned the middle buttons, tied the bottom ends of the shirt in a knot, so it sat on the waistband of her jeans. She was more than ready to say goodnight and go home, shower and change into her wonderful cosy dolphin PJ’s and another piece of Taron’s clothing, sit in her tent and eat the cupcakes Taron brought her yesterday and just be in her own home with him. As she grabbed her bag and coat, she said a quick goodnight to her other cast mates and director and made her way towards the curtain but she was stopped by Cathal who pulled on her hand, Robyn dropping it like it was a hot coal.

She was about to tell him to leave her alone again when Taron suddenly appeared and stood in front of her, saying it for her, his arms moving out a little so Robyn couldn’t get by him.

“I just wanted to talk to her.” Cathal frowned at the presence of the new man in front of him, blocking his view of Robyn from him.

“I don’t think she has anything she wants to say to you.” Taron replied, trying to keep his temper at bay.

“Look I just want to apologise to her.”

“And I really don’t think it’s good enough.”

“Taron…” Robyn placed her hand on his right wrist.

“You really have nothing to do with this.” Cathal said as he took a step closer to Taron. “You are not her boyfriend.”

“And neither are you.” The Welshman returned. “But I am a man who has respect for women and you clearly don’t. Touch her again and…”

“And what? Is that a threat?”

Taron laughed. “No mate, I don’t need to threaten you. Not when Robyn can do that all her own. How’s the prince jewels feeling?” He asked with a half grin. “Lucky it wasn’t her heel that made its mark.”

There was a titter of giggles from around the cast members as they stood watching the confrontation.

“I don’t need to be her boyfriend to show her respect. It’s what a man does but clearly you are not a man but a boy, taking advantage of a situation because you know otherwise you have no chance. She is much too good for you anyway.”

Taron had learnt his lesson from New Year’s Eve and with the training from Kingsman still fresh in his mind not too mention that still bubbling anger, he quickly dodged the oncoming punch that made its way to him, grabbing Robyn and pulling him with her as he side stepped to the right, Cathal falling over onto the floor in heap as he over balanced when his fist met with blank air.

“You never stood a chance. Tosspot. You ready to go Robyn?”

“Definitely.”

Robyn said a quick goodbye to her friends, not even apologising for Taron’s sudden appearance and keeping his hand in hers, led him out from the backstage area and out of the hall into the fresh night air.

“You are really following through with this knight in shining armour thing, aren’t you?” She asked him.

“I heard you tell him to piss off and I kinda saw red. I wasn’t going to let him even speak to you after what he did earlier and we are going the wrong way.” Taron turned his head as Robyn led him away from the bridge that brought them towards her house.

“I feel like a spice bag.”

“What on earth is a spice bag?”

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #Love #Friendship #Emotions #Protection #Knight in Shining Armour #Cuddles and Hugs #Musicals #Kisses #Anger #Robyn and Taron

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penny-anna · 5 years ago

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@abluescarfonwaston as I said I got like 4 stars for this meme and no specific requests, so I’m just going to talk at length about the fic I have the most to say about, which is sandstorms and hazy dawns

hooray!!

She comes to him in the night, breath hot against his ear, and says, “can we keep them?”

This opening scene takes place between the 2nd and 3rd scenes of the story... this is probably needlessly confusing as the rest of the story is in chronological order but, this is where I wanted to start & I can do what I want.

“No,” he says.

He feels her weight shift as she lies down beside him. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

She noses at his neck, at the side of his head, nuzzling him. He feels the beginnings of a purr down in her chest, feels it in her and inside himself. “I like them.”

He touches her head, burying his fingers in her coarse fur the way he hasn’t for years. It’s been a long time, since they were as close as this. When they are together she sleeps an arm’s length from him. For days at a time they’re apart. He knows her only as a flash of white on the edge of his vision, a scent in the air. She wanders for miles, for weeks, following her own path, and he sees her not at all.

so let’s talk about the break up!!

Geralt & Dag used to have a more ‘normal’ person + separated daemon relationship (like most witchers), in which they would only split up for long periods out of practical necessity. they broke up for several years following events in blaviken. here is my extremely rough rendering of how that went

geralt: why you let this happen. you’re supposed to be my conscience :(

dag: umm how is this my fault? you asshole?

geralt: fuck off

dag: fine i will!! *fucks off*

geralt: wait no i didnt mean it :(

i have no intention of ever writing this scene as i don’t think i could do it justice. in my head he also throws a rock at her tho. bcos he’s an angry boy & an asshole.

however!! the strain in their relationship would not have started there. when i was writing this fic i was imagining that the fact of being separated would in itself put a strain on any person/daemon relationship, which i felt was implied by the HDM books. & then since writing it I read The Secret Commonwealth which more or less confirms that separating does just cause people’s relationships with their daemons to break down sometimes.

I think I said this in another post but, I imagine that the newly acquired ability to have separate experiences would make them more and more able to seriously disagree on things. and physically separating for long periods (even if only for practical reasons) would force them to get better at functioning alone which could in turn make them more and more emotionally distant from each other.

He scratches at the join of her neck and jaw, and that purr grows, long and deep and contented. She lays her head down beside his, and he holds her. He’s aware of her tail flicking, restless. She’ll be awake a while yet and so will she. They always sleep and wake at the same times, no matter how many miles separate them.

Geralt loves her, his lion, his dæmon. He loves her with every fibre of his being. He loves her strength, her grace. He loves that she can take any shape she pleases, be a bird or a fish or a snake when the moment calls for it. He loves the distance she can walk from him. He would not have her any other way. He cannot imagine her any other way.

i was always going to have witchers w separating daemons for this fic. however i got talked into the idea of witchers w mutable daemons by someone in a witcher discord I’m in... whoever you are I have forgotten your tumblr so can’t credit you for your idea properly sorry!!

i was originally reluctant bcos it seemed to me that mutable daemons implied innocence & youthfulness, which is kind of at odds with how witchers seem to be perceived. however following the above discord conversation i realised it can also imply 1) that witchers don’t really have ‘fixed’ personalities, which ties in with their supposedly not having feelings; 2) ‘innocence’ but in a negative way, in the sense of immaturity & not having a properly developed mind and sense of morality.

obviously none of the above is actually true and witcher daemons are just shapeshifting adult daemons but, that is how people perceive it.

additionally, given how superpowered witchers are it seemed to fit that they would have found a way around all the weaknesses that having a daemon bring.

He knows that she loves him too. He understand why sometimes she despises him. He has cursed her, with his words and his thoughts, and she hates him for it. She has left him alone, and he hates her for it.

They say witchers feel nothing and they are not wrong. It doesn’t pain him when they are apart. He hasn’t felt that pain since he was a child. He barely remembers what it feels like.

She stops purring. Her breath puffs against his skin. “Stop thinking so hard,” she says. “Go to sleep.” Her tail has stopped twitching. “Go to sleep.”

“I think you and I might have got off on the wrong foot – as they say.”

this scene is supposed to take place offscreen shortly following the gutpunch haha

“White hair – no visible dæmon – two very – very scary looking swords – I know who you are.”

I don’t like when daemon fics recap entire scenes w the addition of daemons but I wanted to get this 1 change in so. here it is in a brief flashback. i elected to take out ‘big old loner’ bcos 1) listing 3 things is neater 2) I felt that not having a visible daemon would be a more notable characteristic for jaskier to point out.

not having a visible daemon is not necessarily a ‘tell’ that someone is a witcher or part of another demographic that can separate as people’s daemons are just out of sight sometimes.

It had surprised him, the ease with which that word visible had tripped off the bard’s tongue; that unhesitating acknowledgement that just because he couldn’t see something did not mean it didn’t exist.

He says, “hm.”

“Aren’t you going to ask my name?”

“No,” he says.”

“You can call me Jaskier,” says the bard. With a jerk of his shoulder he indicates the songbird-dæmon perched atop his lute. “This is Tansy.” The dæmon peeps a greeting. Receiving no response the bard goes on, “she’s a nightingale which I think is very sexy of her. You know,” he adds. “Because I’m a singer. And she’s a – a songbird.”

i realised while i was writing this that jaskier never actually introduces himself on screen. which seems like an oversight on the part of the writers tbh. means we can do what we want tho.

as i said in the a/n on the fic itself, I got the idea of giving Jaskier a nightingale daemon from two halves of a whole. usually I try and avoid just straight up copying other people’s form ideas but i just. fell in love with nightingale.

other forms I’ve seen for jaskier seem to tend VERY strongly towards birds which I find interesting! i’ve think I’ve seen maybe 1 daemon fic where he doesn’t have a bird daemon.

moving on to the name! this is tansy:

I do intend to get into this in potential future installments of the series, but Tansy is not her birth name (none of the main daemons in this AU use their birth names, completely independently of each other). she started going by Tansy relatively young and when he later changed his to match.

I think Jaskier settled relatively young - maybe 2 years before the time this fic is set - and being the overdramatic little punk he is hasn’t quite got over the ‘have i mentioned how cool my daemon’s settled form is today’ phase yet.

& finally before moving on, p much the first thing we learn about Jaskier & Tansy is that he is very happy and at ease with her and the form that she takes. this is important.

He grunts an acknowledgement – if only to get the bard to stop explaining.

“You’re not the best conversationalist, are you?”

A sudden tension, inside his chest. She’s close. He looks up and there she is, slipping into view on the clifftop.

“It’s just usually when you have a conversation you take it in turns to speak,” says the bard. “Rather than one person doing all the – oh.”

Dag makes her way down the ragged cliff, leaping from perch to perch in languid motions till her white paws touch the earth and she’s beside him. Stooping Geralt runs his hand over her head in greeting. Her eyes narrow.

this is another thing I have mentioned Elsewhere but i did fall in love w geralt’s daemon’s name in two halves of a whole (linked above) and went looking for something which had a similar feel to it. sorry.

i’m aware that Dag is technically a man’s name but given the kind of, inherent gender-bending nature of opposite sex daemons it seemed appropriate.

i confess i was also thinking of the dag in fury road.

seen a lot more variety in daemon forms for Geralt than jaskier! most common choices seem to be 1) wolf and 2) roach is his daemon. I’m really not into ‘existing animal companion as daemon’ bcos I’m firmly in the camp of ‘daemons as a manifestation of a person’s inner voice’ rather than ‘daemons as Companions’ so I can’t get behind daemon!roach (I actually find it actively offputting gfdlkjfskdh)

wolf is a p good fit imo but I find it a bit on the nose and I wanted to do something different. so. he is a giant kitty cat. & as someone (I forget who sorry) correctly identified she is leucistic rather than albino.

white mountain lions do exist but best as i can tell there’s like 1 photo on the entire internet. bummer.

He’s aware of the restlessly silent presence of the bard behind them shifting his weight, his dæmon fluttering about his head, aware perhaps that he’s intruding on something intimate.

Geralt straightens, and the bard takes that as his cue to begin again. He clears his throat and says, “what can I call her?”

It’s been a long time, since anyone has asked for her name so brazenly; in fact he isn’t sure anyone ever has. Geralt shoots the bard a look.

“Well, you must call her something,” he says, unintimidated.

“I do,” says Geralt. “You don’t.”

The nightingale-dæmon, now resting upon her bard’s shoulder, is eying Dag curiously, but she’s cautious enough not to approach.

one thing I’ve noticed when re-reading HDM is that characters very rarely refer to other people’s daemons by names, even when they know them. generally i’ve loosely kept to this in my own daemon AUs bcos 1) i find that when fics us each daemon’s name every time i get a bit lost as to whose daemon is whose and 2) I like the idea that using someone else’s daemon name is a very hm. intimate thing. hence geralt is reluctant to call tansy by her name, even though he knows it.

“Right,” says the bard. “Well, then.”

Come morning, Dag is gone, but not gone far. Out of sight, but not so far away he can’t feel her. She’ll come back when it pleases her.

He readies Roach for the path ahead, half-listening to the lilt of conversation that carries from the bushes; Jaskier’s voice, and the pretty voice of his dæmon.

The bard stumbles out into view, tousled and bleary from a night on the ground. “G’morning.” He ambles over to join Geralt.

i genuinely wanted to specify here that jaskier was having a piss in the bushes but i couldn’t find a way to get it in that didn’t seem kind of tasteless. that is what is happening here tho.

“What will it take to get rid of you?” says Geralt.

“My, someone woke up on the wrong side of the – ground,” says Jaskier. “More than yesterday. Where are we off to next?” He puts his hand on Roach’s saddle. Geralt swats it away.

“I’m going north,” he says. “You go wherever you want.”

“Maybe I want to go with you,” says Jaskier. In a flutter of wings his dæmon comes to rest on the pommel of Roach’s saddle, and he can’t shoo her away. He wouldn’t dare put his hands near her.

They say of witchers that they have no souls. They say their dæmons are something else, something monstrous. They say they have no respect for the great taboo. When they see him mothers’ dæmons snatch their children away.

“You don’t,” says Geralt.

“You sound awfully sure,” says Jaskier.

You don’t know what you’re asking for, Geralt wants to say. He doesn’t know how to say it in a way the bard would understand. He glowers at the nightingale-dæmon until she takes the hint and flies back to Jaskier’s shoulder.

He feels Dag before he hears her, the padding of her feet on the ground as she emerges from the bushes, the soft sound of her breathing.

Jaskier nudges him. “You don’t fool me,” he says. “You’re a big pussycat really. Don’t think I didn’t hear her purring all last night.”

did u know that mountain lions are the largest cat than can purr! here is a video of one purring. it’s very cute but also a little scary.

“You’re imagining things,” says Geralt.

“I absolutely am not,” says Jaskier. “She was practically shaking the ground.”

At that Dag actually laughs, a short and bubbling laugh of real amusement. Geralt shoots her a look. Jaskier is looking at her too, looking at her curiously, startled by this, the first human sound he’s heard her make.

Looking away from them Dag stretches out on the ground, lounging as if she has nowhere to be. Jaskier tears his eyes away from her and says, “is she always a lion? It’s just –” His dæmon pecks him hard on the neck. “Ow – it’s just I heard witchers’ dæmons don’t settle.”

He fastens the straps on Roach’s saddle bag, and his hands still. “They aren’t unsettled,” he says. “They’re mutable.”

“I don’t follow,” says Jaskier.

“They settle,” he says. “But they keep the ability to change, after settling.”

“Ah, I see,” says Jaskier, nodding. “But is she –” His dæmon fastens her beak around his ear lobe and tugs. “Ow – ow – alright – there’s no need to be like that,” he mutters to her.

“I’m leaving,” Geralt says. “As I said. Go where you please.”

The bard and his dæmon follow him north.

Chimney smoke rises down in the valley. He doesn’t know the name of the town.

Dag is waiting for him, draped in the branches of a tree. She’s been scouting ahead, or perhaps she’s restless, or perhaps both.

She yawns, showing off her teeth. “Did you lose them?”

“You know I didn’t,” says Geralt. He can hear Jaskier’s voice behind them in the woods, and so can she.

Her tail swishes. “Why not?” she says, and he knows at once what she means.

bouncing off what I was saying above re ‘manifestation of a person’s inner voice’. I like taking opportunities to show that a person & their daemon are 2 halves of the same mind.

“You know why,” he says.

“Tell me.”

And she says it in that particular tone, a tone with steel in it, and he has to answer. “He’s soft,” he says. “He’s young. What he’s asking for will break him. He doesn’t understand.”

“Hm,” she says.

“It’s best he realises sooner,” he says.

“You don’t know how soft he is,” she says. “You don’t know him at all.”

“You’ve seen her,” he says. “That’s what he is.”

Tansy is delicate – pretty – fragile. She weighs almost nothing. She comes close by him as few dæmons will and every time he tenses for fear that he might touch her, without meaning to – hurt her – break her.

u know that post about the person whose boyfriend was afraid of holding babies in case he didn’t know his own strength and accidentally hurt them? thats geralt.

Dag’s tail is moving in the air, no longer swishing, flicking in sharp, angry jerks. “We both know that’s not how it works.”

He knows what she’s thinking. It hangs between them, unspoken. Another little bird dæmon they had once known, a pretty, charming robin-dæmon who had melted away like smoke before his eyes.

I’ve only seen 1 daemon fic featuring renfri (and I don’t think it was strictly a conventional daemon au) and it gave her a shrike daemon, which i do think is fitting. however as w wolf for geralt I find it a bit on the nose.

additionally, giving renfri a daemon has the potential to kind of, shift things wrt the ambiguity of her character, so you have a choice to make wrt whether you want to shift it more towards ‘she’s outwardly scary’ or ‘she’s outwardly innocent’ and I went for ‘outwardly innocent’, in part so I could do this specific parallel but also bcos I just preferred that vibe.

i went for european robin bcos it’s a very nice match for renfri’s aesthetic, and 1) I’m a slut for aesthetics and 2) helps to make sure readers will know who this is about.

He might say don’t. Don’t make me think of it. But he doesn’t. This thing has been unspoken between them for so many years. He doesn’t know what will happen if he breaks the silence.

They’ve been on the road for five – almost six weeks. He’s growing used to the chatter and the birdsong. Jaskier hasn’t complained – hasn’t complained much – hasn’t complained as much as he’d expected, not even when his feet bled in his fancy shoes. He’s generous enough to share the coin he gets from playing. Geralt’s had worse travelling companions.

Jaskier blunders out of the trees. “There you are,” he says. “Trying to shake us?”

“Yes,” says Geralt.

Jaskier snorts, as if that’s a joke. He looks out over the valley, the distant strings of smoke hazy in the twilight. “Do you think they have an inn?”

“I don’t care,” says Geralt.

“I want to sleep in a real bed,” says Jaskier. “And I want a bath.”

“I’m not stopping you,” says Geralt.

“It’s going to be freezing tonight,” says Jaskier.

“I’m used to it,” says Geralt.

Jaskier nudges him. “C’mon,” he says. “You could use a bath yourself. I don’t like to say so, but you are a very – unusual smelling person.”

“You’ve said so several times,” says Geralt.

“Have I?” says Jaskier innocently.

“Yes,” says his dæmon.

“So I have,” he says.

“Go and find an inn if you want,” says Geralt. “I’m not stopping you.”

“Stop being ridiculous,” says Jaskier.

“I’m being ridiculous?” says Geralt.

“Yes,” says Jaskier. “Alright, how about this. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I can buy my own drinks,” says Geralt.

“But I’m offering,” says Jaskier. “A kind and magnanimous offer, out of the goodness of my heart. And also I think it’s going to rain and I want to get in doors, so stop being ridiculous.”

“Hm,” says Geralt.

They go to the inn. It’s begun to rain by the time they reach the town. Tansy hides herself away within Jaskier’s cloak. Dag doesn’t follow them down the valley, preferring to find a dry spot in the woods, preferring to avoid prying eyes.

The inn is crowded with people sheltering from the rain; two more strangers with hidden dæmons don’t get a second look. The rafters are lined with bird-dæmons, safely away from the crowd. Sitting alone in his corner he watches their movements, the beating of their wings. There was a time Dag might have changed her shape and joined them. A space like this is never comfortable for a large dæmon.

reading back over this story I think it’s hm easy to think of Dag as the Emotionally Mature one of them but she’s the one whose making a choice to like... hide from Regular People and has been doing it habitually for a long time, either by changing her form or just leaving him alone.

Geralt & his daemon do this for a number of reasons I think, in part for practical reasons, but also because he doesn’t want people go be able to get a fix on what kind of person that he is, and on some level wants people to see him and be immediately repulsed by his not having a daemon... this is a self-destructive behaviour that Dag is an active participant in. stop it Dag you’re supposed to be the smart one.

There’s a bard playing, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. He doesn’t sing as nicely as Jaskier. He’s made a poor choice of song, too, a quiet ballad, one of many about the beauty of the touch.

“Her hand upon my dæmon, the first in my life – it was like roses in the summer and I knew then she’d be my wife –”

1) i hate writing rhyming poetry and i am very bad at it. got away with it this time i hope bcos this is supposed to be kind of trite.

2) this is is what we call Planting. lol.

Jaskier pushes his way through the press back to their table. “As promised,” he says, sliding Geralt a mug of ale. Geralt grunts a thank you.

Jaskier sits, and regards him. Tansy flutters down to perch on the rim of his mug, dipping in her beak. Absently Jaskier strokes her downy back and Geralt tracks the tiny, intimate motion with his eyes. “Is this it, then?” says Jaskier.

one thing I was trying to convey throughout this fic is that spending time with Jaskier & Tansy is the first time Geralt has been around someone who has a Normal relationship with their daemon (as opposed to the ‘it’s complicated’ that geralt & dag have) for a long time and he’s very aware of the contrast.

“Is this what?” says Geralt.

“Is this how it goes?” says Jaskier. “It’s just that I can’t help but notice there hasn’t been a lot of witchering.”

“That’s not a word,” says Geralt, and takes a draft of ale.

“What?” says Jaskier. “Witchering?” Geralt grunts. “Maybe I’ll put it in a song and get people saying it.”

“Don’t you dare,” says Geralt, and Jaskier laughs a little.

“Really, though,” he says. “Is this it?”

“How many monsters do you think there are in the world?” says Geralt.

“How should I know?” says Jaskier. Still perched on his mug Tansy whistles along with the ballad. A moment later Jaskier’s fingers begin to tap along. “What d’you do when you can’t get any work?”

“I make do,” says Geralt.

“Hmm,” says Jaskier. Sensing he isn’t going to get any meaningful answers – or perhaps just bored – his gaze wanders to the bard. For a few moments he listens quietly. “Have you ever done it?”

“What?” says Geralt.

“You know.” Jaskier ducks his head in the direction of the bard.

“Been a bard?” says Geralt.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” says Jaskier, mock-stern.

“No,” says Geralt. “Not like that.”

He’s had another’s hands on his dæmon, more than once. He and Dag have sworn to themselves: never again.

“Hm,” says Jaskier. “No. Me neither.” Again he strokes Tansy, perhaps imagining it.

Tansy is still whistling along with the bard, giving the final notes of the ballad a few extra flourishes, and Geralt catches himself thinking that she and Jaskier would sing it better.

“I’ll be having the bath first – if you don’t mind,” says Jaskier.

“Hm,” says Geralt.

“Though don’t think I’m going to let you get away without bathing,” says Jaskier. “I know what you’re like, and, and your aroma is really starting to bother me.”

“Hm!” pipes up Tansy in agreement.

“Find someone else to annoy, then,” says Geralt. He sits on the edge of the bed, still in his armour. Jaskier is meandering about the washstand, unfastening his doublet, restless as ever.

He tosses his doublet onto the bed, and looks Geralt up and down. “You’re not planning on sleeping in that, are you?”

“Maybe,” says Geralt.

“What, do you think the inn’s going to get attacked in the night by – werewolves, or something?” says Jaskier.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” says Geralt.

“I can never tell when you’re joking,” says Jaskier, and unlacing his undershirt as he goes he wanders behind the screen.

“I don’t joke,” says Geralt.

“See?” Jaskier’s undershirt drapes over the top of the screen. Tansy, perched beside it, tugs at it with her beak, neatening it up. “There you go again.”

one of the biggest (& most underrated imo) challenges when writing a daemon au is characterising daemons... they’ve got to be like, recognisably the same person as the character, but at the same time ideally their own entity with their own personality. i found Dag came quite naturally, probably bcos Geralt is a character who definitely hides a lot of aspects of his personality, but Tansy was harder.

i imagined Tansy being very quiet with people who aren’t Jaskier & also very much the ‘put your clothes away don’t leave them all over the floor’ type of daemon.

Alone – or what passes for alone – Geralt begins to divest himself of his armour.

Jaskier’s trousers appear atop the screen. A moment later there’s a gentle splashing of water. A sigh.

geralt is definitely not thinking about the fact that jaskier is undressing. nope. he is not thinking about the fact that jaskier is naked in the same room as him. this is of no interest to him at all. He Does Not Care.

“This soap smells like pig fat,” he remarks.

“That’s because it’s made of pig fat,” says Geralt.

“Well. Yes,” says Jaskier.

Tansy is looking at him curiously from atop the screen. Caught staring, she opens her wings and drops out of sight to join Jaskier.

“Does Dag not come indoors?” says Jaskier.

“Now and then,” Geralt answers, before he has fully processed what Jaskier said. His hands still on his armour. “When did she tell you her name?”

this is something I do intend to cover in a future fic but I also don’t intend for it to be especially dramatic

“A few weeks ago,” says Jaskier. “I didn’t think much of it. Why? Do you mind?”

“Yes,” says Geralt.

Behind the screen water splashes. “Why on earth would you mind?” says Jaskier. Geralt doesn’t answer. “Well – I suppose that’s another one for the list of things I’ll never understand about you – like your sense of humour, and why you spend hours talking to your horse when you’ve a perfectly good dæmon.”

an extra dimension of geralt talking to his horse in this au is that he is used to having his daemon there.

Rising, Geralt begins setting his armour on the chair. “She isn’t always there,” he says.

“Well, yes, but it’s not as if she goes very far,” says Jaskier.

“Sometimes she does,” says Geralt.

In a sudden fluttering of wings, Tansy reappears atop the screen.

“How far does she go?” says Jaskier.

“As far as she pleases,” says Geralt.

A gentle sloshing of water. Tansy turns on her perch, peering down at her bard, something wordless passing between them. “Does it,” says Jaskier. “I mean, do you – I don’t know how to ask.”

“Spit it out,” says Geralt.

“Can you still feel her?”

“Yes.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“No.”

so this scene is (obvs) a kind of a call back to That One Bath Scene in canon. this is the first time they’ve been hm ‘domestic’ together and it’s a little awkward, especially for geralt, who is not used to it. all of which is in contrast with how comfortable they are around each other later.

& this is the most frank (probably) conversation they have over the course of the entire fic and it happens when they are physically screened from each other. and also jaskier is literally naked while geralt is opening up to him. this is all very notable for obvious reasons I hope.

“I see,” says Jaskier, though Geralt doubts he does. It’s difficult for humans to get their heads around the way he and Dag experience the world. Most aren’t interested in trying.

geralt here actively ignoring the fact that jaskier is making an effort to understand

He hears the water moving, and the padding of Jaskier’s bare feet on the floorboards. His clothes are whisked back down from the screen and half a minute later he emerges, his hair towel-damp. “All yours,” he says.

Geralt sits in the still-warm water, and soaks, and listens as Jaskier putters about on the other side of the screen, getting ready to sleep, listens to the steady back and forth of his conversation with Tansy. He hums, and she whistles along.

uh so if you’re an introvert I imagine you’ve probably had the experience of being Alone and Unobserved for the first time in an uncomfortably long time... i have this experience every day when i leave work fjgksfkgjfg

tansy & jaskier talk p much non-stop when they’re (semi)alone

When at last, the water cold, he ventures out from behind the screen, Jaskier is on the bed, scribbling something down in his little book.

“You can have the bed,” says Geralt. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Jaskier shifts over towards the wall. “We’ll both fit. I don’t mind if you don’t.” He glances up from his writing. “Though just to warn you, I’m reliably informed that I kick.”

“He does,” says Tansy from the headboard.

The room smells like candle smoke, and pig fat. The scent of the outdoors still clings to them to their clothes, to Jaskier’s hair. He sleeps facing the wall, the warmth of his body pressed to Geralt’s side. Tansy sleeps with her head tucked beneath her wing. Geralt lies awake, listening to Jaskier’s breathing.

geralt is not affected by this situation at all. he is not even a little bit uncomfortably attracted. nope. nuh-uh.

they don’t ever share a bed in the show but i gather it’s a normal thing to do in the books so for the purposes of this fic, this is a thing that it later becomes normal for them to do.

He mumbles now and then in his sleep. And true to his word, he does kick.

Morning comes grey, but dry. They eat breakfast in the tavern. Jaskier chatters, about the weather, the food, the song he was writing in the evening. Geralt tunes him out, and lets his eyes roam over the other patrons. His gaze falls on a pair of old men smoking long pipes. They’re looking at him, at the absence beside him, the empty space he occupies. Caught staring they look away.

Jaskier pokes his arm. “Are you listening to me?” he says.

“Hm?” says Geralt.

“I said you’re even more sullen than usual this morning,” says Jaskier. “What’s got into you? Trouble sleeping?”

Geralt turns his attention to his porridge. “You kick.”

“I’m aware,” says Jaskier. “I did warn you. Well, I dare say –”

A woman is approaching their table, purposefully, stoically. Geralt recognises her attitude. Jaskier is savvy enough to guess.

“You’re the witcher?” she says, as if it’s a question. Her dæmon, a large, horned beetle, clings silently to her sleeve.

always hard w daemon AUs to strike a balance between making it clear to the audience that everyone in this world has a daemon & including superfluous information about daemons who aren’t relevant to the story. originally didn’t include this woman’s but then decided I didn’t have enough background daemons.

this is something i actually paid a lot of attention to while reading the secret commonwealth bcos i wanted to see how pullman handles it.

additionally I think insect daemons are under-represented in daemon au fic so I have been trying to get in as many as I can.

“Well, he’s a witcher,” says Jaskier. Geralt nudges him to be quiet.

She says, “my sister has a job for you.”

The wind is picking up. The day is getting thin. Ahead, on the hilltop, the dark outline of a hay barn, stark and flat against the grey sky.

He dismounts, and ties Roach to a tree.

“Is Dag not joining us?” says Jaskier.

“She comes and goes as she pleases,” says Geralt.

“What, did you two have an argument or something?” says Jaskier. Geralt grunts. “Did you? About what?”

“You,” says Geralt truthfully, and Jaskier laughs as if he’s made a joke.

Dag is in the air somewhere above them. Irritated with him as she may be, she hasn’t gone far, this time. She’s watching the valley, her keen hawk’s eyes searching for any untoward movement.

He starts to climb the hill. Jaskier makes to follow. Turning Geralt holds up a hand, halting him in his tracks. “Stay with Roach.”

Jaskier adjusts the strap of his lute. “I can handle it.”

“This won’t be pleasant,” says Geralt.

“Honestly,” says Jaskier. “How do you expect me to write about all this if you never let me see anything?”

“I don’t,” says Geralt.

“Anyone would think you didn’t want me to immortalise your deeds in song,” says Jaskier.

“I don’t,” says Geralt.

“It’s stifling to my creativity, not to mention rude,” says Jaskier. “And wholly unjustified. I have a strong stomach.”

Wavering, Geralt glances at Tansy, on Jaskier’s shoulder. She hms in agreement. He drops his hand. “If you’re sure.”

In the doorway of the hay barn Jaskier turns his face away and retches. “Oh gods,” he moans. “Oh heavens. Fuck me –”

“Go and wait with Roach if you want,” says Geralt.

One hand braced against the door frame, the other over his mouth, Jaskier looks at him. He takes his head from his mouth. He shakes his head. Tansy flutters in the doorway, from the shadow to the light, and resolves. She flies into the barn, up, up to the rafters, and there looks down upon the bodies.

This is where they have brought their dead, this most remote outpost of their village, with the spiders and the rats and the dust. They brought the bodies here, a dozen or more of them, and piled them up, meaning to burn them, meaning to burn this lonely place to the ground.

They’re unmarked. The air is thick with the smell of death. The most recent lies near the door, her eyes open, staring up at the roof. She’s young. Her hair is fair. She’s dressed in an apron, as if she’d just stepped out of her kitchen – to the water pump, perhaps – when she was attacked.

One death such as this, two, they’d bury. This many, in as many days, they know what haunts them, and they fear it like nothing else.

“What killed them?” says Tansy from the rafters.

“Hm,” says Geralt. He crouches to look at the dead girl, to be sure there are no marks on her, as the village healer had said. Taking off his gloves, he touches her face, tilting her head towards the light.

why does geralt take off his gloves. bcos later i had a scene where he’s washing his hands and then it was pointed out to me that he normally wears clothes and so wouldn’t need to. shush.

It isn’t his place to interfere with how these people treat their dead; but this isn’t right. There’s nothing to fear here. They are only dead. The danger, the thing that killed them, has passed. There’s nothing to be gained in consigning their dead to this bleak, anonymous fate.

A scuffling, above. Tansy moving on the rafter.

“Geralt?” says Jaskier. “What killed them?”

“Shh.”

Geralt glances up, at Tansy. She’s perched quivering on the rafter. “What is it?” he says.

“Something moved.”

tansy being a very hm fastidious sort of person translates to being quite perceptive

“I didn’t see anything,” says Jaskier.

“You weren’t looking,” says Tansy.

Geralt rises. He reaches for his sword.

The barn reeks of death. In the semi-darkness he had taken it for one of the bodies piled around it. It’s rising now to its feet, its movements stilted, unnatural. You might take it for a lumbering thing, a slow thing you could outrun. You’d be wrong.

Tansy takes flight, flashing in and out of the light from the doorway, and as she does so it begins to move, crawling forward over the piled bodies with the speed of a darting insect, snatching, grasping at the air above it. Jaskier cries out. “Run!” Geralt barks, raising his sword.

this whole scene was hard for a number of reasons... firstly i don’t know a lot about witcher monsters and spent a while trying to find one that fit the kind of scene I wanted before saying ‘fuck it’ and inventing my own

and secondly I don’t know about anyone else but uhh whenever i want a story to include an action scene in my head it’s just like ‘and then a fight happens!!’

+ w this one as well as planning out the fight i had the extra issue of, how it manages to get hold of Tansy which I. hope i explained satisfactorily.

The sight of silver gives the dæmophage pause. It halts, its eyes wide and staring, its shoulders heaving. It’s a fluid creature and it no longer needs its human disguise. Its limbs stretch, its spine bends at an unnatural angle, its slit nostrils flaring. It has no mouth. It has no need of one. Frost spreads from its fingers, coating its hands and arms, the bodies beneath it, the packed dirt floor.

He’s aware of laboured breathing behind him. He’s aware, suddenly, that Jaskier has not run. He risks a glance over his shoulder and sees him pressed to the far side of the door frame, gripping the wood with one white-knuckled hand. His other hand is held, clenched, to his chest. The colour has drained from his face.

“Run,” Geralt says. “Run!” Still Jaskier doesn’t move, and stepping back, not taking his eyes off the dæmophage, Geralt reaches blindly behind himself, finds Jaskier and shoves him backwards.

He resists, and in that resistance Geralt feels what has happened, feels it before Jaskier lets out a pained sound, before he says, choked, “Tansy.” For it’s not the resistance of one who doesn’t want to go; it’s the resistance of one tethered, of a tied-up dog trying to run from a fire.

The dæmophage is crawling forward again, one-handed. It’s holding something in its other hand, in a hand thick with ice. He can’t see what it is. He knows what it is. “Geralt –” Jaskier wheezes, and whatever he means to say next he can’t find the breath.

There are many vile ways to die, in the world. Few worse than your dæmon becoming meal to a creature like this, the life crushed from it, your soul slowly, torturously drained away.

He takes off the dæmophage’s arm first, the arm that holds Tansy, and its whole body jerks spraying dark blood across the walls, across the bodies. As its severed arm hits the ground its fingers fall open and he sees her, a fistful of icy brown feathers, but there’s no time to dwell on her, no time to dwell on if he was fast enough, if there is anything left to save. The dæmophage lashes out at him with its other hand, with its sharpening claws; he dodges, swings, and its arm falls to the ground, cut at the elbow.

It takes two strikes to cleave off its head. Its body remains half-upright, swaying, blood bubbling from its neck. He stands over it, sword raised, breathing hard. They’re fluid creatures. Half-shadow. You can never be sure.

It falls. It is still. He lowers his sword.

Behind him Jaskier falls heavily to the ground. Geralt turns to find him on his knees, shuddering all over, gasping, but still conscious, his eyes alert. He slumps forward, catching himself on his hands, and empties his stomach onto the dirt.

“Tansy,” he croaks. “Oh gods, Tansy –” He sees her, still in the dead creature’s hand, melted frost dripping from her feathers. He tries to rise. His legs won’t hold him.

She had been in its grip less than a minute. It must have felt like an age. Geralt is surprised he didn’t faint. Perhaps he’s made of sterner stuff than he looks.

so I don’t imagine this being as much a matter of Inner Strength as much as (as established early) Jaskier & Tansy having a very close and intimate bond, which in turn is a reflection of Jaskier being at ease with himself and the kind of person he is.

in short this isn’t a matter of jaskier being like, exceptionally brave so much as being like ‘hey! don’t you dare! fuck you!’

Stepping closer Geralt takes his arm and heaves. “I told you to wait with Roach,” he says. But the look Jaskier gives him, of mute, numb disbelief at his coldness, silences any further reproach.

He hauls Jaskier to his feet, but Jaskier tugs his arm from his grip. He wipes his face on his sleeve and staggers forward, falling to his knees once again beside her, reaching for her with shaking hands.

When he picks her up he lets out a gasp of relief – or terror – it’s hard to say which. She doesn’t respond to his touch. She lies limp in his hands.

Jaskier looks up at him, and voice unsteady he says, “she’s cold.”

He sets the barn alight. By the time he’s done it’s growing dark, and the wind has died away. He leaves it to burn on its hilltop, to be sure the creature is dead. He’ll tell the villagers to come back when it’s burned to the ground, to take the bones of their dead and bury them properly. They’ll do it, if not for the right reasons.

The barn is a red-orange blaze in the distance. Down in the valley there’s a chill in the air. He can see Jaskier’s breath, though it’s not cold enough for that. He hasn’t stopped shaking. Geralt builds a fire, so he can warm himself, and sets about fastening the dæmophage’s head to Roach’s saddle.

“Geralt, she’s still cold,” says Jaskier. He’s kneeling too close to the fire, Tansy clutched to his chest, hidden in his cupped hands. He’s stripped off his filthy doublet, dark with the creature’s blood. “Geralt. Geralt. She won’t wake up.”

i don’t know if it actually makes sense for jaskier to have got blood on him but listen i will take any excuse to have him take his doublet off bcos i’m just into it.

“She’ll wake up,” says Geralt.

“Are you sure?” says Jaskier.

“Hm,” says Geralt. He isn’t sure. You can never be sure. But if it had drained enough of the life from her that she was beyond waking, Jaskier’s mind would have broken. She’d be fading away. She was in shock. That was all. She’d wake.

If he’d been fast enough to kill it, but not fast enough to save her – he’d seen it before. He’d seen men and women, their minds broken into icy fragments, spending their last days terrified, in pain, alone. Unable to understand what had happened to them. Sometimes it was more merciful to let the dæmophage finish its meal, and kill them outright.

Not this time. He’d been fast enough.

“She – she won’t wake up, Geralt, she –” Jaskier breaks off in a ragged gasp. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Give her some time,” says Geralt. He fetches a blanket, and tosses it to Jaskier.

Jaskier doesn’t take it. “I can’t wake her up,” he says. “Geralt, what do I do?”

“Stop panicking,” says Geralt.

It’s no good. Jaskier understands what he’s saying, but he can’t keep his thoughts straight long enough to act on it. His mind is clouded. Where his connection to Tansy should be there’s nothing but confusion.

this was a fun opportunity to get a little bit into how the connection between a person and their daemon works :3

“I don’t know what to do,” he says. “I can’t think – Geralt, I can’t –”

His name falls again and again from Jaskier’s lips and it carries a silent plea. Help me. Do something.

He doesn’t know what to do. Or rather he knows what he ought to do, to offer comfort and warmth until this passes, but he doesn’t know how.

If he had seen it sooner. If he hadn’t let Jaskier talk him into taking him into danger. If he’d been quicker, smarter, harsher.

Tansy will get better. Jaskier will walk away from this.

double meaning in ‘walk away from this’ as in ‘survive this’ but also ‘will walk away FROM GERALT because of this’

Tension, behind him. He feels her long before he sees her, long before she ghosts into the firelight on owl-wings. She lands and with a soft rushing of air she’s herself again. Jaskier falls silent, startled at seeing her change, though he knew she cold.

“Jaskier,” she says. “Do you trust me?”

Half-watching, Geralt sees him nod.

“Put her down,” she says.

Jaskier hesitates. “But –”

“I know what I’m doing,” says Dag. “Put her down. Let me see.” Again he refuses, a wordless stammer of protest. “Jaskier. You’re panicking. Breathe deep. Put her down.”

Jaskier lays Tansy down. His hands are still shaking, but his breathing has slowed. That’s something. “What’s happening to her?” he says. “It hurts –”

He’d known it must. But Jaskier hadn’t said so, to him.

Dag noses at Tansy’s tiny, limp body. She licks her, once. “She’s just cold,” she says. “She’s just fainted. She’ll be fine.”

The back of one hand pressed to his mouth, Jaskier sobs.

“Shh,” says Dag. “Jaskier. Be calm.” Then she ducks her head forward, and touches him.

She touches her head to his face, nuzzling him, and at that contact a tremor goes through Geralt like a static shock. It’s only for a moment. Jaskier jerks away from her, as one would if a dæmon came too close by mistake.

this scene was inspired a bit by the part in The Subtle Knife where Pantalaimon physically comforts Will bcos he doesn’t have a daemon to comfort him. Obviously Jaskier does have a daemon, but he’s experiencing her being unconscious while he’s awake for the first time, making him essentially bereft of her.

He turns to look at Geralt, standing by Roach, no longer pretending he isn’t watching this. Their eyes meet. Geralt says nothing. Does nothing.

Jaskier turns back to Dag. Her eyes are lidded. Gingerly, Jaskier raises a hand to touch her. Geralt should cry out stop. He should go over there and drag them apart. He doesn’t.

Jaskier runs his hand over her head, the touch barely-there, just enough pressure to be felt through her fur. Geralt feels that touch like a gentle nudge somewhere within his ribs. It doesn’t feel bad.

He can feel, somehow feel birdsong in that touch. He can feel silk, and music, and laughter. It feels like the smell of perfume and candle smoke. Polished wood beneath his fingers. He’d had another’s hand on Dag before. It did not feel like this.

and THIS description of what touching (or being touched by) a person’s daemon would be like was inspired by how it’s depicted in Disciples of Apollo which is an a+++ daemon AU you should read if you like daemon stuff regardless of whether you’re a fan of M*A*S*H or not... please read it it’s so good.

He wonders what Jaskier feels, touching her.

i do intend to cover this. eventually. if i ever get around to writing more of this series.

Jaskier runs his hand over Dag’s head a second time. She purrs, low and deep in her chest. On the ground, Tansy gasps for breath.

my intention here is that Jaskier’s distress is part of what’s keeping Tansy from waking up, but then as long as she’s unconscious he can’t calm down, so by acting as a kind of stand-in daemon for him Dag is helping him Chill The Fuck Out sufficiently for Tansy to pull herself together.

“Tansy.” Jaskier’s hand falls from Dag’s head, and he reaches for her. “Oh gods, Tansy –” He cradles her in his hands. Her whole body is trembling.

“Jaskier,” she says, and at the sound of her voice all of his breath leaves him, his shoulders shaking, limp, weak with relief. He kisses her, holds her close by his face. Neither of them speak.

Geralt looks away. He meets Dag’s eyes, and she holds his gaze. He understands why she did it. He wouldn’t take it back. He’d do it again, and again. He still doesn’t like it. Dag turns away from him. She lies down beside the fire.

He tucks the blanket around Jaskier’s shoulders, and Jaskier murmurs thanks. He sits. He cleans his sword. The air smells like smoke. They shouldn’t linger here, in the dark. Jaskier’s breath is still fogging the air.

“We should go back to the village,” he says.

“Okay,” says Jaskier. Unsteady on his feet, he levers himself upright with one hand, the other cradling Tansy to his chest. “Okay.”

In the village lights are still burning in the windows. Geralt unties the dæmophage’s mouthless head.

“Should we,” says Jaskier, “talk about this?”

“Hm?” says Geralt.

“You know what I mean,” says Jaskier. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” says Geralt, and taking the creature’s head he marches away.

“I’ve heard of mixed signals,” calls Jaskier in his wake. “But this is ridiculous!”

am not actually 100% happy with this part, i wanted to get this line in but i couldn’t get it to mesh w the tone of the scene

The village is too small for an inn, but as well as coin the monster’s head earns them a bed for the night in the alderman’s house, and an invitation to dinner.

The monster’s head, and perhaps Jaskier; Jaskier, whose boyish smile and pretty dæmon had charmed the alderman and his wife at once, Jaskier, who had come back from the hunt pale, and shivering in a way they must recognise.

geralt thinks Tansy is very pretty. that’s just how his tastes run and he genuinely has no idea that most people don’t think nightingales are like, notably pretty.

There’s only one bed in the room they’re given but the alderman’s daughter makes up a cot. He tells Jaskier to take the bed. Jaskier doesn’t argue. Jaskier says nothing at all.

Since his outburst when they reached the village he’s spoken only to say yes and please and thank you. He lies upon the bed, staring at the ceiling, one hand stroking a slow, contemplative circle on his own stomach. Tansy sits on the pillow beside his head, plucking at his hair, grooming at him like a mother cat with a kitten.

Geralt washes the dæmophage’s blood from his hands. It has dried into the creases in his palms, under his fingernails.

“Will you come to dinner?” he says.

“Not very hungry,” says Jaskier.

Stretched out upon the cot, Dag raises her head. “You should eat,” she says.

Geralt sees her indoors so rarely. It takes him off-guard, sometimes, how large she is compared to human things. The alderman and his family must have been startled, to see him go on a hunt without a dæmon and return with one, but they had said nothing about it.

i did not mention that dag is in this scene before she speaks to emphasise that her presence indoors is unusual and unexpected. i am very smart.

She lies alert, tail flicking, watching over Jaskier.

His hands don’t feel clean. He washes them again. “You’re quiet,” he says.

“Hmm?” says Jaskier.

“Are you alright?” says Geralt.

“Since when do you care?” says Jaskier. “I thought you wanted me to shut up.”

“What will it take for you to give me some peace?” he had said, more than once.

“Hell or high water, probably,” Jaskier had answered, sunnily smiling.

If he hadn’t been fast enough. If the creature had taken something that could not be brought back – the light in his eyes. Warmth. A smile he’d never see again. Not like this. He didn’t want it like this.

once again double meaning re geralt thinking that jaskier is going to leave him because of this

He leans heavily upon the washstand. He breathes out. He’d been fast enough. Jaskier was shaken. That was all. He’d be fine.

“I’m just,” says Jaskier. “Thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?” says Geralt.

“What’s it to you?” says Jaskier. A moment’s quiet, and he says, “why don’t elves have dæmons?”

this is my no 1 issue w this fic (which i am otherwise happy with), I really wanted to get this conversation in but wasn’t quite sure where to put it. originally i was going to include it much earlier, and have it be in response to meeting the elves, but i couldn’t get it to work with the pacing and i needed something for them to discuss here so. here it is. i’m not 100% sure it works. i think i understand why jaskier is bringing this up now but i’m not sure how to describe it properly.

The question jars him. It’s like something a child would ask. Why it’s on Jaskier’s mind now, of all times, he can’t imagine. “You know why.”

“I want to hear what you have to say about it,” says Jaskier.

“It’s the way the world is,” says Geralt. “Humans have dæmons. Elves don’t. Others don’t.”

“You’re not human and you have a dæmon,” says Jaskier.

“You know why,” says Geralt again. He can feel Dag’s stare on him, accusing, but he can’t help his frustration. He has the sense that Jaskier is goading him – or trying to catch him out in a lie. He doesn’t know what Jaskier wants from him.

“Do you think it’s lonely?” says Jaskier.

“Being an elf?” says Geralt.

“Mm,” Jaskier agrees.

tbqh it’s just occurred to me now as im re-reading it that part of this is jaskier obliquely asking geralt about his own feelings about having a daemon.

Geralt begins to dry his hands. “You can’t miss what you never had.”

“I don’t know,” says Jaskier. “I miss all sorts of things I’ve never had.”

Geralt waits for him to expand on that thought. But he’s lapsed back into silence. “Elves find dæmons distasteful,” he says. “It bothers them. Like seeing someone with their insides spilling out. They think half-elves born without dæmons are stronger for it.”

At that, mystifyingly, Jaskier laughs a little. “Hear that, Tansy?” he says. “Maybe I would have been stronger if I didn’t have you, like a half-elf. What do you think?”

gjlkghjklghdfj i had so much trouble w this line bcos my beta fully believed that this was jaskier professing that he was half elf so i had to re-write it and somehow at least one reviewer has still thought that was the implication... he’s 100% not half elf in this AU sorry. if i ever get around to writing the sequel it will be evident that he’s not half elf (or like if he is he has no idea)

Tansy clicks her beak. “I think you’d miss me terribly,” she says. “Even if you’d never had me.”

His hands are dry. He stops running the cloth over them, and sets it aside. “Dag’s right,” he says. “You should eat.”

“If you insist,” says Jaskier. “Where are we going next?”

Geralt turns to look at him. He’s gazing up at Tansy, running a finger over her neck. “After dinner?” he says.

“Tomorrow,” says Jaskier. Geralt says nothing, but his silence must speak for itself, for Jaskier looks at him and says, “don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily.”

“Why?” says Geralt.

“I’m a glutton for punishment, I suppose,” Jaskier says. “Anyway. I’m working on a song and it isn’t finished.”

“Hm?” says Geralt.

Jaskier’s gaze drifts back to Tansy. “Still needs an ending,” he says.

i wasn’t sure how to end this story and this last line is very cheeky eheheh. i can do what i want.

thank you again for requesting!! i hope u enjoy this commentary. it has been a fun diversion. i’m very pleased w this fic and i love talking about daemon AUs. <3

#witcher daemon au

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blu-joons · 4 years ago

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DATING STRAY KIDS HEADCANON A⇴ Z ⇴ Kim Seungmin

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Seungmin isn’t a person who is massive on affection, but when the two of you are alone, he loves to cuddle you. Affection is his way of teasing you and messing around, he loves to tickle your sides and sneak up on you when you aren’t paying attention.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

The two of you had met through mutual friends and seemed to get along very well quite quickly. Seungmin wasn’t a person who rushed into dating or relationships, he was keen to get to know you well first. The boys spotted too how into you he was, he liked having someone around who didn’t constantly tease him, and they liked seeing him so happy too.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

Only once he was completely sure about his feelings did Seungmin decide to tell you how he felt. He was adorable, and a bit cliché with his confession. He took you to dinner one night, which from the start you could tell had an odd feeling about it. It was a matter of finding the perfect moment that night for Seungmin to tell you how he felt, and when you told him how you felt too, he couldn’t have been happier.

D ⇴ DATES

Seungmin liked to put a lot of effort into your dates together, things involving food were usually a favourite of his. He was a big foodie and enjoyed exploring new places with you. When the weather got warmer and the city was brighter, he tended to take the two of you outside more to all the events that were going on. When he was on tour, he’d always make sure to reserve one night in his week to be able to have a proper call with you without anyone else around, just to make sure the two of you still had time together.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

His first kiss, first crush, you were Seungmin’s first in most areas when it came to love. Like the rest of the boys, he’d never thought about a relationship or dating, until he met you. Seungmin was a little more reserved than the rest of the boys, he liked for love to find him rather than to put himself out there. He worried a lot too; he was desperate to be able to make your relationship work as well as his career too. It took a bit of time to find that balance, but you stayed right by his side and waited until everything fell into place.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

Seungmin was far too coy to really argue with you, he tended to try and sort through your arguments together before they blew out of proportion. Even though Minho liked to tell you differently, Seungmin hated confrontation and disagreeing with people, he was much more of a peacemaker. If the two of you ever did fall out, he’d usually give you a bit of space to cool down and think things through, then send a text to see if you were willing to meet up and sort things out. Whilst nothing too big ever came of your arguments, he still took no pleasure in seeing you upset or hurt, it was incredibly hard on him.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

The most important member of his family he wanted you to meet was of course, his sister. His family had always listened to the things he wanted and being with you was no different. His sister especially quickly warmed to you, seeing her little brother was happy was all she’d ever wanted, and seeing how great you were too was the icing on the cake.

H ⇴ HOME

There was little eagerness in Seungmin to move out of the dorm, he was quite keen on staying around the boys whilst Stray Kids was still growing. You were more than happy to wait until the time was right for Seungmin, you always understood that work was important to him, and as he always promised you, one day the time would be right for the two of you to find a home.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

Just like his confession, his first ‘I love you,’ was very cliché too. You found it adorable how he laid one night and muttered the words just as you fell asleep. As he watched your eyes open, he jumped slightly thinking you were asleep, the really was like something just out of a movie, but neither of you would have had it any other way.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

There were very few times when Seungmin would get jealous, he knew exactly what the members were like, and any time they tried to make him jealous, they were only doing it to get a reaction out of him. You were able to tell when he was getting jealous a bit better though, his smile would drop, and he’d disengage often with conversation to try and ignore what was being said. Luckily for Seungmin though, you’d soon be on hand to cheer him up and reassure him that there was no reason to get jealous.

K ⇴ KIDS

Growing up in a close family, Seungmin had always made it clear he wanted to have children in the future. Whilst he was more than open in talking to you about it, he was always quick to point out too that he saw it quite a long way into the future. He was never going to pressurise you into thinking too far into the future either, but he liked to share his dreams in the hope that they’d be similar to your own dreams too.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

Seungmin could always be seen with a smile on his face when he was around you, no one could make him laugh the way that you could. The littlest things sometimes would be enough to set him off. You loved when little giggles escaped from him the most, the way his cheeks would stick out and his hand would come up to cover his mouth so you couldn’t see him. Similarly, he knew exactly how to make you laugh too and he always used it to his advantage. It was impossible to have a bad day when Seungmin was around to make you laugh.

M ⇴ MISSING

It was hard on you both when there was distance between you both, for a few days, maybe even a couple of weeks you’d be alright, but as time passed things got harder. Luckily for you, Seungmin’s organised tour dates made things a bit easier, it was the one time of the week you were really able to look forward to something. For the rest of the week, you’d text and call when the both of you could, and he’d try and send you as many photos as possible of his adventures, but it never quite compared. The members and the fans that he saw on tour always made sure to take care of him though, passing him gifts and letters of you both to keep him going.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

He loved when you called him, ‘seungie,’ it was his favourite nickname you used for him. On his part, he tended to settle on, ‘love,’ or something similar, some may say they were cliché, but he loved to be traditional.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Seungmin was obsessed with your big heart, you were the kindest person he’d ever met, you always understood everything that he did which he was very appreciative for.

P ⇴ PDA

He wasn’t big on PDA, except for around the boys. If they teased him and pushed him too far, he wasn’t afraid to grab you for a kiss to quickly shut them all up. Day to day he preferred to just hold your hand or your waist when the two of you went out, but as soon as you got home, he’d pull you into a bigger hug.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

The biggest question that Seungmin usually asked you was if you were alright. You were always so understanding, but he knew that it must impact you too. Even though you’d always reassure him, a small part of him would always worry.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

The gifts that he was given on tour for the two of you were all held onto. When he came home from tour, he’d hide them in a storage box under his bed at the dorm to look back over. No one knew about it, not even you, but when he was missing you or having a hard time, it felt like he had his own personal memory box to look back over.

S ⇴ SEX

Intimate moments with Seungmin were very balanced, neither of you tended to dominate the situation you’d just let things play out naturally. He’s love to use his love language when the two of you are close, most other times he struggles to find the words, but in these moments he’ll never be quiet. At the end of those long days however he’ll much prefer to just lay down and cuddle with you and talk about your days. Whatever you’re comfortable with, Seungmin will always be comfortable with too, he’ll never force anything.

T ⇴ TEXTS

Seungmin will text you every day, whenever something pops into his head he quickly texts you before he forgets. Similarly when he’s on tour, if anything happens, big or small, he’ll always share it with you over a text to see your reaction.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

You were his best friend first and foremost, the one person who really understood him. Not many people had stood by his side over the years, but you were always first in line to have his back and make sure he knew just how proud you were.

V ⇴ VACATION

He tried to organise little trips whenever he could, even if it meant staying in Seoul. He loves exploring and trying new cultures, especially the food. Best of all, he loves having time away from being Seungmin and instead just being a boyfriend. Vacations are the time when Seungmin really lets you know how thankful he is for you in his life.

W ⇴ WHINING

If the boys’ teasing gets too out of hand, that’s when Seungmin will moan the most. Other than that he doesn’t tend to whine too much, he knows he’ll get your attention eventually.

X ⇴ XXXXX

Private kisses were Seungmin’s favourite, especially when you weren’t paying attention. He loved to come up and sneak behind you and press a kiss to your cheek. When he was desperate to give you a kiss, his hands would cup either side of your face and hold you permanently in position. You could always feel his smile when he kissed you, knowing you made him happy was the only thing you needed.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were everything to Seungmin, without you he would never have achieved the things he had.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

When he sleeps, Seungmin is incredibly cuddly with you, refusing to sleep until you’re beside him. You love how clingy he becomes when it’s time to sleep and how much he relies on you to sleep well. He much prefers being the bigger spoon and making sure you’re laying exactly where he wants you.

---

Masterlist

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irndad · 5 years ago

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lessons in love- b.b.

a/n: unofficial entry for @sgtjbuccky and @jaamesbbarnes follower celebration! i wasn’t able to snag a prompt in time, but i love you guys so much!!

summary: the things bucky barnes has learned while being in love, and the woman who taught him them. (it’s really sweet ur gonna finish w cavities)

wc: ~2k

In the mornings, she glows like starlight.

His mornings are different than they used to be. There was a time, not long ago (especially in the reference of his life), where time wasn’t an object, where days and nights would pass, and he would stay the same, stay in pain, stay chained or frozen or doing nothing he wanted but everything he was told.

It’s a strange kind of lovely, to wake up when he pleases, with sunlight falling all over his body, in the warmth of his own home. Stranger to have this woman, this tiny piece of heaven wrapped up in his arms. It’s golden all over, warm light and sweet vanilla lotion, the memories of laughter and knowledge that more is to come when she wakes.

She wakes as he thinks of it, and turns to look up at him, and he is as in awe of her as he always is. She smiles at him, her hands neatly folded over on her chest, propped up just a little bit. Her little sleepy grin- it’s the prettiest thing he’s damn never seen. Her smile is always so lovely, the first thing he noticed about her. The starburst of her eyes when she laughed, how she did it with her whole body, how she let the joy pull her in like a tide she couldn’t resist.

“Hey there, you,” she says, her finger tracing over his flesh arm. She’s on her back, next to him, and his metal one is on her back.

“Hey,” he says back, dragging her closer. She’s smiling still, warm fingers running up and down the length of the metal, a certain sort of warmth written across her features. SHe’s always been open with him, see, letting her thoughts paint her face like those green lights in the sky.

“What do you want to do today?” her voice is light, soft and sweet like warm butterscotch, and this is a thing she teaches him.

From the moment they met, she offered him the world. Let him decide things, small things, the type of tea they’d drink, which restaurant they’d go to. He’d never had sushi before, and on their third date, when she laughed at him drinking his nose because wasabi is spicy, okay, he felt like-

He felt like it was 1940, like he was the kind of man who knew how to love a girl right, how to be the kind of man who could be what she deserved.

She picks too, all the time, but the luxury of choice, of taking a beautiful girl on a date, in places like a sushi restaurant or a dive bar or a show-

She taught him normalcy isn’t out of the question, in fact- it’s in reach. Healing his happening, before he could even see it coming.

“I don’t think I really want to do anything, today,” he says, “I think you’re all the plans I need.”

____________________________

There is a certain kind of joy that is buried so far within the Winter Soldier, wrapped up in Bucky Barnes, so far from the man anyone could see.

He remembers things, sometimes, in dreams. The way his ma used to laugh, how she’d look at his father like a miracle, how she’d hum and dance while she cooked, and this simple, kind, forgiving love was something he’d known, something even then, had cherished.

And he’d forgotten.

More had it stolen, really. Time’s hard to grasp, and more often than not, he’s not sure if he’s ready to do any of what he does. Not ready to be an Avenger, not ready to be what everyone needs.

And he’d fallen in love, and on a summer day, heat wrapping around their home like a vice, the woman he loves is there. She is humming, mixing something over the stove, wearing shorts and a tank top, humming something light, along to the radio. They have a little tabletop one, something she found in a vintage shop (which is honestly insulting because he’s pretty sure the thing is younger than him so fuck that). And she’s dancing to some song, and she spins around, dancing slightly to her own music.

She’s really- she’s the stuff stars are made out of, and, everyone is, really.

He knows, cognitively, that she is not so special. She is not the result of some omnipotent being blessing his life with something incredible. He knows she curses too much and burns her mouth on coffee and gets carried away easily.

She’s not perfect. God knows 70 years have taught him nothing is.

But she’s his girl, his girl who laughs too loud and loves too much and dances like no one’s watching even though he’s everything to her.

When he kisses her, he realizes something he maybe already knew. No one feels like enough, no one feels ready or worthy.

But she pulls away, and looks at him like a miracle, and he knows. He knows what’s truly possible.

___________________________

The fact of the matter is, she’s not the kind of woman who sits til, who’s only job is to look pretty and attained galas and be on his arm.

No, she is much more than that, strong and brilliant. She is more than the man she loves, more than her beauty, more than what people see.

But she is only human.

So on the days when she comes home and every over breath is a sigh, a heave of a weight too heavy to carry, he knows this. There are days like this one, where she is tired, and her bright eyes are dampened by stress and a clear sadness. She’s his whole heart, a piece of him, and he wants to gather her up in his arms, love her whole.

She couldn’t do that for him, no one could. He can’t for her.

So instead, he walks closer to her, brushes his left thumb over her cheek, standing between her parted legs, looking down at her with the ghost of a smile crossing his face. She’s sitting, on her desk chair, and he swears he sees tears welling up in her eyes

“Hey, you,” he says, as tender as he can muster. All he can think is give me a smile, please. As if a simple upward curve of lips could fix everything. Fix anything.”

“Hey sergeant,” she says, and there’s the teary voice. It’s his girl though, the one he loves so much, still flirting with him, a bit silly, when she’s the one who should be romanced, swept off her feet.

Because he’s a super soldier, he pulls her up, in a swift motion, and god it’s worth it to hear her quick giggle, and for her to be eye to eye with him.

“I look like a mess,” she says, wiping her eyes quickly, a stray tear or two escaping, rid of like they’re poison.

“You look beautiful.” He says it like an oath. She gives him another smile. “You always do.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re legally required to say that.”

“Didn’t you hear? No governments have control over my brain or anything anymore. I can decide what I want to say,” and he places his hand on the small of her back, pulls her in closer, “And I think you look gorgeous.”

She grins, the littlest thing, and leans her forehead against his.

She trusts him, when he wraps his arms around her middle, and she reciprocates. She trusts him, when he kisses her temple, lets her decide what she’ll tell him and when she does it.

“I love you for so many reasons, though.” He says, because he wants to, and he can. “You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever known.”

And he taps her chest, with his metal finger, and it’s all so silly, so dreadfully sentimental, his girl crying in his arms and him tapping her heart and telling her what she’s worth to him.

But when she kisses the tip of his nose, and hugs him back, it’s the kind of sentimental, the kind of richness you can excuse having, because it’s worth the sweetness.

Maybe 100 years ago he wouldn’t have known how to do this. He was young and stupid, and even then, he didn’t know how to love right, didn’t know how to be the other half of someone’s heart, how to be what someone like her needs.

It’s an ability he holds close to his heart, and just like so many things, he wants her to have the best of it, best of him, and with any luck, she will.

_________________________

One morning, it occurs to him, slow as the sunrise and warm as the sun. They’re watching something on TV, her head on his chest, her fingers distractedly brushing up and down the length of his arm. She smells like vanilla and gold, and her messy hair is a halo across his chest.

It’s not particularly interesting, the show they’re watching. It’s some random show on Netflix, and she’s focused on the screen, her eyes trained on the characters, and he swells with fondness.

It hits him, her so close to him, wrapped up safe in his hold, that she is the best thing that ever happened to him. He can imagine what the shrill cynic in him would say that he doesn’t have the best of experiences to compare it to.

But she’s a work of art, from the way she laughs, to how she fumbles with her phone to take a photo of him, how they text in post mission meetings, how she calls him Sergeant, how if he ever nicks himself on anything, she puts a band-aid on it even though they both know he will heal within hours.

It’s care and kindness that fills his life, with her in it and the warmth she provides. There’s lessons to be learned about healing and changing and how to love when being whole seems like an incorrect concept. Maybe it is.

“You’re staring,” she says, and it’s a testament to how welcome her presence is that the sudden appearance of her voice is soft like waves upon the sand. Never anything but welcome.

She’s baiting him to do the thing they always do, easy conversation of love and dosmeticity and-

It’s not the right moment. He’s got the ring, and he really should take her to some fancy place, do something that matches the amount of joy she brings to him every second of every day. This is a moment on the couch, watching shitty TV. It’s not the right moment. The ring’s in a different room.

“Marry me,” he says, like it’s the most sacred thing he will ever say.

Her eyes are wide, bright and gorgeous like she’s surprised, but he’s not sure if she’s happy-

“Are you- are you serious?”

“I have a ring- I know I should’ve taken you somewhere, I actually have a reservation and I had this whole speech,” and he’s losing it, what he hoped this would sound like, smooth like vinyl and romantic and what she deserves, “I just- I want to be next to you. Like this. Forever.”

It’s not enough. Not like the stories she reads. He’s not telling her her smile is the best thing in his world, how the way her hand feels his is the closest thing to peace. He hasn’t told her how she makes him a better man, how he loves her for everything she is, for all the things she’s taught him about life and love.

But when she gives him a watery smile, he has more to be grateful for, because she knows. She’s like that. She knows him.

“I’d be honored to, Sergeant.”

She kisses him then, laughter and tears and messy, hardly picture perfect, but perfect.

Perfect in all the ways a thing can be. In all the ways he’s learned to love.

@imthestarchild / @jitterbuck / @delicatecapnerd / @a-hecking-disaster @accio-rogers / @bucky-stan-031017 / @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl / @winters-beauty / @sergeant-32557038 / @notimetoblog / @youeverdreaming / @starkkbloodd / @who-the-hell-is-sebastianstan / @messy-random-bitch / @heckin-good-holland / @afoxwonderland / @radicalstars / @magicwithaknife / @thecreativeangel / @barnesvogue / @nedthegay/ @the-girl-with-no-wifi / @macfullyloaded17 / @iiincognitoo / @emgrace728 / @dangerouslovefanfic / @midtownsparker / @princessofasgard /@sammy-holland / @livingoffsavvyillusions / @yoitsnotkim / @pandartist / @painterwithhope / @vampireloveandfun / @gracethegeek9902 / @not-reptilian / @hocohoran / @holtzmanndestroymyass / @tomshufflepuff / @i-larb-spooderman / @xanziedanzie / @hanscait / @theglowstickofdestiny / @spillingpetrichor / @assembledorotherwise / @natcad / @demonspawn2468 / @creideamhgradochas / @stormbreaver / @sebbysstangirl / @stylesletic / @sireennotsiren / @bvckybarnes / @thunderous-flower / @scarlettsoldier / @mylovelymarvel / @pizzapatrol / @averyrogers83 / @itsaherokink / @ailynalonso15 / @softlysgtbarnes / @undiadeestos / @tomhiddleston-is-theloveofmylife / @buckybonky / @prince-of-poptarts / @acupofhotlatte / @jaamesbbarnes @sgtjbuccky @desibarnes @zeilenkrieg @7thchevronlocked @waywardemo @nerd-without-a-cause

@haru-ririchiyo @brokenheartsauthor @laurfangirl424 @themoonstruckmagician

@m00nlightdelights

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #bucky #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #james barnes #the winter soldier #Winter Soldier #the winter solider x reader #winter soldier x reader #winter solider imagine #winter so

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trashfor-imagines · 5 years ago

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The Music Series: Haikyū Edition! | 2

21 ft. Oikawa x Reader

Summary: You were always on and off with Oikawa in high school, but it was clear you were in love. However, it was hard knowing you would barely make the top three in his life. Warnings: None, really. A seasoning of angst, for taste. Spoilers: If you’re only caught up on the anime, this story mentions what happens to the characters in the manga after high school and their professional lives.

“Toru! There’s a difference between putting volleyball first and just not calling me to say you needed to cancel our date. You straight up didn’t show!” you yelled, tears welling in your eyes. You willed them not to fall. “I know I’m not your number one priority, no one is, but for once can you at least act like you mean it when you say I’m - a - priority?”

He stood there silently in the living room of his apartment feeling small and terrible. He left you waiting in the rain for a date that he wasn’t going to show up to. Again. The coach had extended practice and it didn’t cross his mind to tell you, simply excited to play more. This was the same old fight since high school and he knew he should have known better by now. He had always made volleyball a priority and you honestly didn’t mind - he knew that, but being young and dumb and incapable of communication, he’d always tell everyone you broke up with him because you thought he was obsessed with the sport and not because he was incapable of thinking of others’ needs. Iwaizumi had always told him he was a fool when it came to you and honestly he wished his best friend was there to remind him of what to do to fix this.

“You’ve had so many chances. You don’t respect me and I can’t do this. Call me when you figure out how to dial my number. Or don’t. You probably won’t.”

You slammed the door shut and it absolutely destroyed you to go home alone that night.

“‘Hit it until it breaks.’ Huh. Just like your relationship,” Takeru snickered at you as he looked at an old sports magazine in the dessert cafe you were at. He found an old interview of Toru in it. “My uncle’s an idiot. I’m sure he’ll call you soon, big sis.”

It’d been two weeks since you broke up with Toru and you’ve heard nothing. Not even a blip on social media. Feeling bad about yourself, combined with the fact it was summer break, you went home to Miyagi for some R&R. You had a few things for Toru’s mom that you’d been collecting so you stopped by to drop it off. Takeru just happened to be staying there for the week and asked if you’d take him out to do something. Now you were sitting at a cafe having kakigori and honestly his company was incredible, despite being almost 11 years younger than you.

“I can’t believe my only friend right now is Toru’s 9 year old nephew,” you sighed softly. Your college friends were busy with their jobs, internships, and extra curricular activities that they hardly had time to sit on a phone call let alone come over to watch you cry over Oikawa Toru for the hundredth time. You weren’t even going to try calling Iwaizumi about it. Last time you asked his childhood best friend to knock some sense into the man, he simply replied back with an upside down smiley face emoji. What the hell did that even mean?

Takeru’s cheeks puffed up and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Hey! I’m almost 10! And I can leave if you’re going to be like that. I swear, you’re just as bad as uncle.”

“Hey. No swearing of anything,” you reprimanded him. “And don’t go.”

“Fine, but only because I like you.”

“So... got a girlfriend yet?” you teased, changing the topic.

“Big sis, I know we Oikawas are good looking, but aren’t you a little old for me?” he deadpanned.

Your face lit up red. “You little brat! I wasn’t asking for me!”

School was starting up next week so you went back after a couple of days home. The Oikawa family actually cried when you told them you were going back, having missed seeing you almost every day like when you were in high school. They were an incredible family with their own quirks who loved each other so much. It was similar to your own.

It was Sunday afternoon and you were cleaning your apartment when you got a phone call from Toru’s mom, asking if you’d talked to her son today.

“No, I’m afraid we still haven’t spoken. Is something wrong? Do I need to get to him?” you asked, panic levels rising in your voice.

“No, no, my sweet daughter. Nothing like that,” she sighed softly. “He should really be the one to tell you this, but Takeru said not a chance. He was drafted as a setter for Club Atlético San Juan today. My son’s going to Argentina.”

You dropped your phone in shock, the noise of it clattering to the floor interrupting your short meltdown. Quickly picking up the phone, you apologized before asking questions. “When is he going? W-what about school? And you and the family?”

‘And me?’ you wanted to ask.

Carefully, you listened to every detail she could give you. Your heart was so heavy you were sure you’d sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Time passed painfully. Days turned to months. Soon it was a new year. Then it was graduation. You started a job as a graphic designer that allowed you to work remotely and you did freelance photography, often shooting for travel magazines. You moved home to Miyagi to live with your parents when you weren’t traveling, cutting out unnecessary expenses. It wasn’t smart to have your own place when you weren’t going to use it for 3/4 of the year. The truth was, life was lonely without Toru around. Sometimes you found your vision blurring with tears whenever your phone pinged as a new article featuring the setter was published, or when you let your mind wander to old memories.

You were in Australia when June came around. Life had been pretty exciting for you since April, picking up a photo journalism job for National Geographic touring Southeast Asia and Australia. You’d briefly gotten away from thoughts of Toru when you received a photo late one night from Iwaizumi of Toru and that cute little tangerine from Karasuno on the beach by a volleyball net. Apparently they ran into each other in Rio

(Y/N): Thanks Iwa. Iwaizumi: Np.

After Australia, you went home for a few weeks before you were on a flight to Bolivia to capture the Uyuni Salt Flat. It didn’t take too long to complete the job and you found yourself sitting in your hotel room and scrolling through Toru’s social media. Selfies on him throwing up peace signs, his teammates, sunsets, food, nothing out of the ordinary filled his feed. You didn’t scroll for long though; photos of the two of you would start appearing.

A notification pinged on your phone and your brows furrowed. It was his birthday tomorrow. Setting down your phone, you packed your bag. You were going home in a few hours.

While waiting for your flight, you wondered if that notification was a sign to call him. You stared at his number, unsure. Was it even his number still? You probably locked and unlocked your phone thirty times before setting it to airplane mode. It was time to board. The almost the entire flight home was sleepless as the need to call him grew and grew.

By the time you made it to Japan with over a day and a half of flying due to inconveniently timed layovers, his birthday was over. You wanted to look at his Instastory to see what he did. It was his 21st birthday. He’d been excited for that one because it meant he could “drink anywhere in the world.”

When you got home you unpacked and went about your day. It was midnight when you went to the rooftop terrace of your parents’ house and sat on one of the couches. You called stared at Toru’s contact photo for thirty minutes before you called, pressing the phone to your ear and waiting.

“(Y/N)?” You bit your lip, words suddenly leaving you. “(Y/N), are you there?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m here. Happy birthday, Toru. Sorry I’m a day late.”

“That’s okay, and thank you. It’s good to hear your voice.” His sounded sweet and gentle. There was a hint of a sleep as well, making you laugh quietly. Definitely partied. Definitely just woke up.

“It’s good to hear yours as well. So how was it? Turning 21.” You pinched your thigh out of nervousness.

“It was nice. My teammates took me out to a club. Definitely drank too much and stayed up later than I should have. Iwa would have been pissed.” There was a playfulness in his tone.

“Wow, wish I had been there.”

“Me too, (Y/N). I’m sure you would have done something cooler though. You’re really good at that stuff.”

You laughed lightly, “Well, you know me. I definitely already had a plan for your 21st when you turned 20.”

He laughed as well, boyish and familiar. “Really? What was your plan then?”

“I’d have thrown you a surprise party; invited Iwaizumi and your old teammates, our friends from college. The theme would have been Around the World. I would have set up a photo booth. We’d have drinks from different countries to try, play different drinking games, and dress like tourists.” Your vision began to blur and your voice wavered. “We’d stay up so late that-” You stopped mid sentence, covering your mouth with your hand as you tried to swallow your sobs.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” He sounded so concerned it killed you.

Sniffling, you wiped at your eyes furiously. “No. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too. My whole family’s been on me since we... You know. They call me all the time to tell me what you’re up to and where you’re going next. They really love your postcards and little souvenirs. Seriously... Thanks for looking over them.”

“Of course. I mean, your mom calls me daughter,” you laughed sadly.

“Yeah, she does, doesn’t she.” He paused and the conversation lulled for a moment. Clearing his throat, he spoke up again, “I’ll be home next week if you’re in Miyagi. It’s just a quick visit.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay.” You had so much more you wanted to say, but you wished him good night instead.

“Good night.”

Days passed and you wondered when he’d be home. You hadn’t heard from him since that phone call and you weren’t going to bother the Oikawas over this. His original plan was probably to come home and see his family. You only became a part of it because you called him. You had to be patient. If you fit into his plans, then you fit into them. You couldn’t force it.

It was Saturday morning when the doorbell rang. You were still in your pajamas when you answered the door, speechless to see Toru standing there with your favorite flowers in his hand. He smiled wide. “Let’s go out, (Y/N).”

Letting him in, you told him to make himself at home while you got ready. It didn’t take you long as you put together a cute new outfit you’d gotten the other day in town. Applying light make up, you checked your hair before heading downstairs.

The two of you walked into town, going to a cafe that you both often frequented throughout high school. He ordered your usual and it was a small crumb of relief to know that he still remembered something as trivial as a drink order. The two of you sat quietly, hands cradling cups, observing each other and taking your appearances. You'd both evolved in over a year. Toru had always been capable of being serious if need be, but his default settings were usually stuck at high school drama queen levels. He was definitely more mature and he’d always been attractive, but he oozed sex appeal right now and you wondered if it was because you were already biased towards him. No, you knew what it was. He had more confidence.

“I guess I should explain what happened. I called Iwaizumi that night after you left. He was pissed it was so late. He called me an idiot, told me stop wasting your time and grow up. I hadn’t told you about it, but I was struggling with a few things. Remember Jose Blanco?”

You nodded, sipping from your cup. He and Toru connected in high school when Toru wasn’t sure about what to do with volleyball anymore. He’d helped so much and was a great mentor.

“I was talking to him about a few things that were on my mind. Then you and I broke up. He ended up talking to some people and I got a call that I was going to play for San Juan. I got swept up with interviews and press statements and moving. The next thing I knew, I was half way across the world with no idea how to tell you I was starting my overseas career earlier than planned. I decided it was best I didn’t call you. I mean, we broke up because I didn’t know how to include you in my life the way you deserve.”

Sliding your hand across the table, you let your finger tips brush against his hand. Instantly he held your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles lovingly. Tears welled in your eyes. You’d waited for so long for Toru to finally see you completely and acknowledge what it was that he spent so many years of your youth apologizing for.

“Not having you there with me this past year was so hard. It felt like not breathing. I still love you, (Y/N), and if you can forgive me, I’d really like to make it work this time.”

Nodding your head, you sniffed, a teary but happy smile on you face as you wiped the corners of your eyes. “I love you, Toru. Let’s make it work.”

tag list: @hihiq

#oikawa toru #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu #volleyboys #the music series #fanfic #reader insert #one shot #imagine #21

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thenovelartist · 6 years ago

Text

Kitty’s Key, set 4

<Previous Next> 10. Victorian AU

“What are you making there, princess?”

Marinette sighed. “Remind me, why do I still let you in my room if the contest has been over for two weeks now?”

He smirked at her from his place lounging on the chaise. “Because you love me.”

“Love is a strong word, Chat.”

“Well, that’s the only explanation you leave your hatch open.”

He had her there.

“So, what are you making?”

“A costume piece,” Marinette said. “There’s an online contest hosted by a big-name theater director and so I entered. It was open to everyone, but there were different categories. I’m in the student category.”

“You should have gone for the professional.”

“No, I couldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, you could have,” Chat said, “But too late now, I guess. Anyway, you still haven’t answered what that pretty pink thing is on your mannequin.”

She sighed. “It’s a Victorian Era dress.”

“Oh?”

“For a princess.”

Chat smirked. “So, does it get to be worn by a princess?”

“What do you think?” she deadpanned.

“So you’re not gonna wear it?”

Wide-eyed, she stared at him. His smirk widened as he waggled his eyebrows. “You’d look stunning in it, princess.”

At that, Marinette blushed red and turned her back to him. “Stupid cat.”

He chuckled. “By the way, princess,” he purred. “You never did tell me why you didn’t confess to prince charming.”

Marinette froze.

“Because I heard from him that the date went really well,” Chat pressed.

“It did,” she admitted. That was the truth. She didn’t stutter too much and managed to keep her composure most of the night. Adrien looked as handsome as ever. And she was going to confess.

Until he dropped a cat pun.

He looked at her with this dorky grin and she knew… knew her heart was no longer settled on him. It was torn between him,

And a stupid superhero in black leather.

11. Mask Ball

For the life of him, he was determined to get the answer. She’d shut him down time and time again and now Adrien had had enough. He was going to find out once and for all why Marinette never admitted her crush.

“Chat,” she whined, looking at him from her skylight. “It’s late.”

“It’s nine. Tell me you aren’t usually up way later than that.”

She just glared at him.

“So,” he said. “I have a proposition.”

“A proposition?” she deadpanned.

“Yup,” he said with a smirk. “You are going to put on that dress you’ve been working on for the past week. And then I’m going to take you out dancing.”

She did not look amused.

Which… he expected, if he was honest. “And what I’m going to do is take pictures of you to submit—”

“No,” she quickly said. “It looks fine on the mannequin.”

“But mannequins don’t show how things move,” he argued.

She opened her mouth to argue but slowly shut it.

“Come on, princess,” he said, knowing he was close to winning.

She stared at him a moment longer. “It’s nighttime.”

“I know a place with killer lighting.”

“At nighttime,” she asked, skeptically.

“Yup.” It wasn’t like he’d just spent the last hour hauling mass amounts of lighting equipment up to an empty rooftop.

She pursed her lips.

His grin widened.

“If you’re lying,” she said. “I am never letting you in again.”

“Good thing I’m not lying.”

With a sigh, Marinette began ducking back down to her room. “No peeking!” she warned, right before the hatch slammed shut.

He would say he wouldn’t dream of it…

But…

He’d fallen for a really beautiful woman. Maybe one day he wouldn’t demand such self-control. You know, after rings and vows were exchanged.

Would she be okay if he wore a white suit? Maybe at a beach wedding? He loved the thought of a beach wedding. Sometime in the summer. She was probably more of a spring bride, but would she be okay with a summer wedding? And if he could convince her to have it at the beach, he’d definitely want to wear a white suit. Because he loved black and could pull it off, but there was something about a white suit—

“Okay.”

Chat startled at her voice and turned around—

Only for all the air to leave his lungs.

She shrugged, a dusting of pink covering her cheeks. “I… need help lacing up the back.”

He cleared his throat, hoping his ability to speak returned. “Of course, Marinette.”

He was going to die. A woman with a cute little blush was not allowed to ask him to lace up the back of a soft pink dress that highlighted her skin tone perfectly and expect Chat to survive. But, he was a professional. He could swallow his discomfort.

Of course, all the skin at her neckline being exposed as it was made things really difficult. Why? Because he really wanted to put his lips to her perfectly soft skin right at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Why now? All of a sudden.

His guess was as good as any.

Mind barely functioning, he was able to pull the laces tight to her form, one that seemed smaller than usual. “Done.”

She took a step to reach the gloves he didn’t remember her setting on her patio chair, then slid them up her arms to just past her elbows. Now, clothed in the full ensemble, she spun for him. “Well, what do you think?”

He thought he was going to keel over any second because hot damn, Marinette could pull off Victorian Era well. But he just couldn’t help but notice the way her waist was cinched in, and the way her breasts were rounded above the lower neckline of the dress … “You’re in a corset, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she sighed, tossing her head up to the sky in irritation. “And it’s not comfortable but it’s period accurate. How could you tell?”

He would take that reason to his grave. “Just a guess. Now, are you ready princess?”

She opened her mouth, but then snapped it shut as her eyes got wide. “No,” she whined. “I forgot the mask.”

“You made a mask?”

She nodded. “And it’s on my desk, but do you know how hard it is to move around in this thing?”

“I got it,” Chat said with a smile. “Be back up in a second.”

He slipped down into her room without any struggle and easily found the mask she was talking about. One that was as pink as her dress decorated with a ribbon and large, white feather.

However, considering he didn’t sneeze once on the way back up to her, it had to be synthetic. Thankfully.

When he got back up to the balcony, she wasn’t paying attention and instead looking out into the Parisian night. So, he decided to surprise her, coming up behind her and putting the mask over her eyes.

She gasped but quickly settled, letting him tie the mask off behind her head. “Is that too tight?”

“No,” she said, her voice whispery.

“Then, shall we go, princess?”

She gave him a smile that was going to knock him to his knees if he wasn’t careful. She looked like she was about to walk into a masquerade, and he wanted nothing more than to be the one escorting her. “We shall.”

…

Chat had an entire studio set up for her.

“How the heck did you get all this up here? No. How did you get any of this, period? This is high quality stuff.”

“My secret, princess.” With that, he pulled up a camera and snapped a photo before she was ready. “However,” he said, lowering the camera to reveal a smug smirk, “I’d happily divulge if a certain someone tells me why she didn’t confess to Adrien.”

She frowned, her cheeks heating up.

He smirked. “A secret for a secret,” he sang-songed before taking another picture of her.

“Chat, let me, like, pose or something.”

“Ah, but I’m here to capture your candid beauty,” he purred.

She snorted. “Stop it!”

“Never!”

It took a while for them to calm down and become serious, but eventually, Chat began actually posing her.

“Now, look in that direction, and stand confidently. Channel your inner Ladybug.”

She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Oh, if he only knew. “My inner Ladybug?”

“Exude confidence, Ma Minette.”

She whipped her head back towards him, her heart full out missing a beat at the nickname. “T-that’s new,” she stuttered.

Chat looked like that cat that got the cream. “I like it. I’m using it.”

She really didn’t know how to respond.

Eventually, Chat claimed he had enough pictures. “We’ll put them on your computer and you can see how much you like them all.”

“Hopefully, you’re half as good a photographer as you are a director.”

“Trust me, Ma Minette,” he said with a wink and making her heart miss another beat. “I know my way around a camera.”

She shook her head. “Well, it was all very kind of you, Chat. Do you need any help cleaning up?”

“Oh? You think the night is over?”

Marinette quirked her head at that. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t think I’m going to let you go without dancing with you, do you? You look like you could be the belle of a ball. I’ve already stolen you away and can do what I want with you. And I want a dance.”

Be still her heart. What on earth happened to her dork of a partner because there was a very suave young man in skin-tight black leather standing before her, words as sweet as honey falling off his tongue. “W-well,” she stuttered. “I… I suppose you can have once dance.”

His smile was wide and sweet and happy. Oh, so happy. She loved that grin and the soft look in his eyes that joy caused. “One is all I ask for.”

12. Post-Reveal (actually, more of a ‘Reveal’ instead of ‘Post-Reveal, but you guys aren’t gonna complain. XD)

There was soft music playing from a speaker he’d brought with him. He’d selected the song carefully, having mulled it over all day. Now, she was in his arms, swaying to the slow melody.

He had to assure her that they didn’t have to waltz. She’d been adamant on her inability to dance even though he knew it was a lie. However, he much preferred the closeness of simply being together, swaying to the music.

She’d taken off her mask halfway through the photoshoot, allowing him now to see her face clearly. Once again, he was struck by just how beautiful of a woman she was, and how lucky he was that she was in love with him.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you never told Adrien you had a crush on him?”

She groaned. “Why are you so persistent?”

“Because you had the perfect opportunity to tell the love of your life that you had a crush on him, but you didn’t. Why? I’m very confused. I set it up for you and everything.”

She sighed, remaining silent for several notes before speaking. “I was scared.”

“You chickened out? Really?”

“Yes… and no,” she said. “Not… like that.”

“You are making no sense,” he said, feeling more lost than ever.

“It doesn’t make sense to me either,” she whined. “Because I love Adrien. He’s just… so amazing. But when he—” She abruptly stopped.

Chat stopped dancing, taking a step back so he could see her face. Her lip was between her teeth and she looked downright embarrassed.

“But then,” she continued. “I was reminded of… of another guy. One I swore I wouldn’t fall for… and… I don’t know. Kinda… fell for a little anyway.”

Adrien’s heart clenched. What was his luck that he had to fall for two girls who were in love with other men better than him? He pretended his heart wasn’t being crushed into pieces. “And… you didn’t tell Adrien… because there’s another guy.”

She looked at him, her eyes locking on his. Next thing he knew, she was tearing up.

“Princess.” He quickly pulled her into his arms, cocooning her against his chest and rubbing her back. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m so confused,” she said between the tears.

He was, too. Mostly because he was struggling to weed through what the selfish part of him wanted to say and what the logical thing to say was. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Marinette.”

“No, it’s not,” she whined.

He sighed but continued rubbing her back while she choked out a few tears.

“Listen,” he said, once she’d stopped crying and he’d had a moment to collect his thoughts. “I know it’s hard, but you should make a choice and go for it. It sounds like this new guy caught you off guard.”

“He did,” she said. “We were supposed to be just friends.”

“But you fell for him anyway?”

She nodded against his shoulder. “And the worst part,” she continued, “is that I know he loves me. He’s said so for years, and I’ve just kept brushing him off because we’re friends and that’s all, and now I have the chance to be with the guy I’ve crushed on for years, and I can’t help it but think of him.”

Well, crap. Adrien really didn’t stand a chance now, did he?

“Then you should go to that guy,” Chat said, even though his heart was breaking up at the prospect of loosing both girls he’d ever fallen for. What crappy luck. “And tell him. From the sounds of it, if he’d been confessing for a while, the guy will probably fly to the moon and back on happiness.”

She sniffed, wiping her eyes and smearing the little make-up she had on. “I’m nervous to, though.”

“Why?” Chat challenged. “You have a guy who you know loves you and won’t reject you waiting for you to return his affections. All you have to do is say ‘hey, I actually like you, too’ and boom! Done. Easy as cake. You don’t have to face any rejection like you would have with Adrien with you sticking your neck out on the line. He did the hard part, and now you just have to press the big, fat ‘accept’ button and you’re golden. You’re the luckiest fricking girl on the planet.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with something.

And that was the moment he realized he was getting a little too passionate. He took a breath to steady himself. “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe I… was—”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It… it sounds like… like I hit a nerve with that.”

He took a breath. “Maybe a little,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She wrapped her arms up over his shoulders. “Don’t be,” she assured. “You have every right to be angry about that.”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “As much as I want to. She has the right to fall in love with who she wants to. And if she doesn’t want me… then honestly good for her.”

Her grip tightened. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m obviously an unlucky cat,” he said. “I trust that she would find a fantastic guy, and if she sees him more as marriage material than me, then good for her.”

“That’s not true, mon minou, don’t you dare—”

And that’s when each of them froze. Marinette went rigid in his arms, but Chat…

Chat’s heart was racing a mile a minute.

No. No way. No. It’s coincidence she called me Mon Minou. No. She can’t be. I’m not that lucky. I’m not…

“My Lady?”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #marichat may 2019 #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #fluff #budding romance

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