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alwaysmicado · 1 year

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It's always been you

3.3k words | NSFW 18+ | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: angst, age gap (unspecified), swearing, brief mention of p in v sex, brief mention of disordered eating and suicide, mention of black eye, toxic relationship, drug use, reader's coping mechanisms are unhealthy Summary: After a year of dating Dieter Bravo, you are forced to face reality. All good things must come to an end, right? A/N: Nothing is more painful than realizing the person you love is not good for you.

Enjoy the hurt and let me know what you think! I'd love to hear from you! 🖤

“Baby, please just listen to me,” Dieter implores. You huff and shake your head, avoiding his pleading eyes. “It didn’t mean anything. It really didn’t, okay? I- I don’t want her,” you can hear the desperation in his voice. He’s a good actor, you gotta give him that.

“Baby?” He takes a step towards you but knows better than to touch you right know. Even if that’s all he wants to do. Wrapping his strong arms around you, feeling your heartbeat against his chest, inhaling your scent. He says your name softly, his voice laden with anguish. You turn your head a little and your eyes find his. Dieter’s beautiful brown eyes. The eyes you've been losing yourself in for the past year.

“Please just tell me what I can do to fix this and I’ll do it. Anything. Please,” he takes another step towards you and whispers, “I can’t lose you.” Arrogant asshole. The illusion is gone.

You furrow your brow and tilt your head, studying the man in front of you. Dressed in his favorite pair of gray sweatpants, a loose white shirt that accentuates his tan skin, perfectly disheveled hair just screaming to be played with, sad puppy eyes. He looks like always - irritatingly handsome.

Something's off though. His body language, usually relaxed and confident, is teeming with insecurity. You smirk at that thought. Dieter Bravo, enigmatic celebrity and notorious playboy, insecure because of you. What a joke.

“You really think I'm fucking stupid, don't you?” Your voice is steady, every word filled with venom. “Just some silly girl you can use to get your dick wet and feed your ego.” He winces at that. Good. “I know you're used to people bending over backwards for you, blowing smoke up your ass and never saying no to you. But guess what, they don't give a shit about you.” Your face is heating up and you can feel your restraint slipping.

“I'm sure she made you feel really good, Dieter. Like a real star.” You snort sardonically and smirk, “Did you give her the same speech you gave me when we met? How you're this misunderstood guy just trying to get by and find real love?” You look around, shrugging your shoulders mockingly. “Either you're losing your charm or she's just a lot smarter than I am. Would've made everything so much easier if I'd left that first night, too, huh?”

Dieter huffs, averting his gaze and rubbing the nape of his neck. Your eyes follow the motion of his ringed hand, now clearly seeing the fresh hickey adorning his neck. Mother. Fucker. What the actual fuck is wrong with this man? And what the hell is wrong with you for putting up with his shit for so long? Seriously.

You’re actually very well aware of what's wrong with you, but that doesn’t really help you. Never has, if you’re being honest with yourself.

The hurt inside you becomes unbearable. Your lips start to tremble and you bite back a sob. You’re surprised at the feeling of wet tears running down your hot cheeks. What’s happening with you? You never cry in front of other people - especially not Dieter.

He hates it. Seeing you cry hurts him more than anything you could ever say to him. Unable to see you like this, he starts pacing around the living room, feverishly running his hands through his hair.

“Don’t you dare look away,” you spit out, making him turn around with an exasperated sigh, lifting his gaze to meet yours slowly. He cringes at what he sees in your wet eyes. The harm he's done. The spark in your eyes he loves so much, gone.

“You ripped my fucking heart out, Dieter,” you sob, tears streaming down your neck. You press both of your hands over your racing heart and claw at your shirt, nails digging into your flesh so hard it hurts.

Dieter reaches out to you, eyes wide, “Baby, I know I fucked up. I'm so-” “Fuck. You,” you shout at him, startling the both of you alike. You've never raised your voice at Dieter, no matter what bullshit he put you through. But you can’t take it anymore. Fuck always being the bigger person. Not like it ever got you anything.

And did he really just try and say he's fucking sorry?

“You ripped my beating heart out with your bare hands, felt my bleeding flesh in your palms and now you seriously have the fucking audacity to tell me it didn’t mean anything? That you're sorry?” You laugh mirthlessly and wipe your wet cheeks. Dieter swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He has no response.

Your head hurts and you feel weak despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Crying is exhausting. Having your heart stomped on is exhausting. Realizing the man you love will never be good for you is killing you.

You sit down on the sofa, close your eyes and inhale deeply. Dieter approaches you slowly and sits down on the far end, turning his body towards you, but giving you space.

Eyes closed, head resting on the backrest, you press the heels of your palms onto your eyes. You can hear Dieter's breathing, can smell his cologne. A birthday present from you he's used every day since unwrapping it. You remember that day well.

After the extravagant party with all of Dieter's fake Hollywood friends was finally over, you two went skinny-dipping in his pool. You started splashing water at each other, laughing without a care in the world. At some point, Dieter caught you in his arms, pulling you towards him, hooking your feet behind his back. He looked so happy, his beautiful features illuminated by moonlight. He kissed you slowly, passionately, savoring the taste of your lips. “I love you, you know,” he murmured, nudging your nose with his. “You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. Gonna do it right with you.” And you believed him. How foolish of you.

“It's easier for you like this, isn't it” you note quietly, turning your head to look at Dieter. “What do you mean?” His voice is raspy, brow furrowed in confusion. “Being the bad guy,” you scoff like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “You've convinced yourself that you're a bad person who can never be good and that's why you act the way you do. Makes it easier. You can just point to your shitty behavior and tell yourself that's why people leave you.”

You furrow your brow and shake your head. “Don't you see? It’s you, Dieter. It’s always been you. It’s not the drugs, or the people you fuck, or the shit that happened in your childhood. You're the problem. It’s you.”

You huff and make for the door, in desperate need of fresh air and space.

“You think it's so fucking easy being me. Got it all figured out, huh?” Dieter's agitated voice yanks you back. “You have no fucking idea how it is. Everyone wants a piece of me and as soon as they got what they wanted - drugs, sex, fame - they fucking leave me.” He gets up and closes the distance between you two in a few strides. You don't back away.

You’ve never needed to be close to him more than right now and it positively kills you that you can’t. You can’t wrap your hands around his waist, press your face into his chest, hold him tight until your heartbeats synchronize. You can’t. Not anymore.

“You're the only good thing I got and I know I fucked up. I know I'm an asshole and I don't deserve you, but please,” he takes your hands in his, squeezing them gently, “please stay. I was high off my ass and I couldn't tell you her name or what she looked like if you asked me. Please let me fix this.”

Dieter leans in, leaving barely any room between your bodies. You can feel his breath on your face, feel the heat radiating off his body. His big sad eyes are piercing your soul, pleading with you, desperately seeking to convince you. Nice try. You know this will happen again. Dieter Bravo won't change. Not for you, not for anyone.

You take a deep breath, maintaining eye contact. “I’m not leaving you because you fucked someone else in our bed last night, Dieter. I’m leaving you because you're so convinced you're bad that you won't even try to be better. Not even for me.”

Hot tears are starting to make their way down your cheeks again. Dieter gives you a sad smile, gently cupping your face with his hands, wiping away the evidence of your sadness with his thumbs. “Please don't cry, baby,” he murmurs. His voice is strained, the corners of his mouth twitching.

You put your trembling hands around his wrists and slowly lower them from your face. “I'm done being just another person who got caught up in the whirlwind that is you and got lost on the way. I can't do it anymore.”

Before Dieter can say something, you interrupt him by softly pressing your right hand to his chest. His heart is racing. “It felt like you killed me last night,” you deadpan and Dieter’s breath hitches, his eyes going even wider. “I'm so so-” “But you know what?” you look into his eyes intently and shrug, “I’m still here, so I guess I’m not dead.”

“I’ll go on without you,” you nod, a wistful smile playing on your lips. “I’m done, Dee. Finally done.”

----------

You lean against the front door of Dieter’s mansion, chest heaving, trying to steady your breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly. Over and over. The dull pain in your head gets worse and you suddenly have the overwhelming urge to throw up. You turn around to face the concrete wall and empty your stomach contents onto the ground, trying as much as you can to not get it on your clothes.

Your throat burns, tears are streaming down your face and the throbbing pain in your head is all-consuming. Your vision starts to get blurry and you can hear your blood rushing in your ears - louder and louder - until everything is quiet. Peaceful.

----------

I’m sorry. I want you to be happy.

Dieter’s note on the nightstand does nothing to you. Your heart feels numb.

You see the glass of water and the Advil next to the note. You’re wearing a clean shirt, not the one you were crying and throwing up on a few hours ago. Dieter must have changed you into one of his. Your pants are neatly folded on a lounge chair standing in the corner. Light is flooding the bedroom you've woken up in every morning for the past year. Weird to think it's the last time today.

You sit up too fast and your head pounds violently, so you try and move as slowly and carefully as possible. The pill doesn’t go down easily. Your throat burns and even the tiny gulp of water you need to swallow it feels like someone’s dragging hot knives from your tongue all the way down to your bleeding heart.

Why do you keep doing this to yourself? You know Dieter, you know what to expect from him and you also know yourself. Still, you let yourself believe. Believe that you could be loved. Believe that someone could know you - really know you - and still love you. But it’s always the same. To know you is to love you less.

It’s your fault. Dieter showed you who he was from the beginning and you still let yourself fall for him. You knew better than to open up your bruised heart to him and yet, you did. That was your decision, not his. And the most fucked up thing? You’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Loving Dieter hurt. Badly. But for a brief moment in your life, he showed you that you were capable of loving someone and being loved.

You know he was telling the truth about that. He did love you. Maybe still does. It doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve had your taste of pure happiness and that’s more than most people will ever experience in their life. It’s okay. It was always going to end this way.

----------

Three months later

It’s hot outside. Too hot. So you usually just stay inside your new apartment after you come home from work. Shutters closed, AC blasting until the sun goes down and you can finally open the windows to let the cool night air inside.

You’re on your balcony, finishing up your nightly bottle of white wine. You can smell the summer night, hear the hum of cars driving by, people eating and laughing, crickets chirping peacefully. When you close your eyes, you feel a comfortable buzz. This is okay. You’re still here, haven’t jumped off your balcony or slit your wrists. Too final, you think.

You don’t actually want to die, you just want to be as numb as possible. Numb the pain that is simply too unbearable to face fully present. So you drink and you pop Xanax bars and you either don’t eat or stuff yourself so full you throw it all back up.

And you fuck Ben from work.

Turns out he'd had his eyes on you for some time before you went into his office with the goal to get bent over his desk.

Swaying your hips, batting your eyelashes, tracing his arms and shoulders with your fingertips, purring into his ear how you need him to take care of you did the trick. Two minutes after entering the office, Ben was already balls deep inside you. He made you cum on his cock, spilled his seed on your ass and drove you home after. You fucked him again in the parking lot of your apartment complex, riding him until you both were a sticky mess. He didn't ask if he could come upstairs and you didn't offer. “What did I do to deserve you, hm?” he asked when you were both laying in his bed a few days later. You lifted your head from his chest to look at him. He was beaming at you with undisguised admiration. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips and buried your face in his neck. Ben was kind and attentive and handsome - he was everything you could wish for. What a sane person would wish for, anyway. But that wasn't you. And he wasn't Dieter.

You're alone tonight, sitting on your sofa, a glass of wine in your hand. You stare at your phone, index finger hovering over the Instagram icon. You shouldn't be doing this. Really shouldn't. 'Cause every time you do it, you end up crying yourself to sleep despite the alcohol and pills.

Fuck it. You open the app and are greeted with Dieter's face laughing into the camera. He's not alone, as usual. A pretty girl is hugging him and pressing her plump lips to his left cheek. You want to vomit.

He stopped texting and calling you a few weeks ago. Probably got tired of you never replying, you assume. And it's not like there aren't thousands of women out there just waiting to take your place by his side and in his bed. Why would he waste his time on a woman who broke up with him?

You're sure that Ms What's-her-face from his Instagram doesn't nag him about doing too much coke or fucking other women or meeting her parents or starting a fam- You throw your phone across the room and start sobbing violently. Three shots of Whiskey and too many Xanax bars later, you pass out on the sofa.

You stop stalking Dieter's Instagram after that night. You need to get your shit together before you do (even more) irreparable harm to your body and psyche. No more social media, no more alcohol, no more pills, no more Ben. He doesn't make a scene, letting you know that he'd like to stay friends. You know you don't deserve his kindness.

A few quiet weeks go by and you start to feel a bit better, now that you're not treating yourself like complete garbage. You eat well, take walks when the weather's nice and you've started dating a guy you met in the small coffeeshop near your apartment. Life is fine at the moment. You're fine.

----------

Loud knocking on your front door rips you out of deep sleep. You open your eyes in confusion and check your phone. It's 2:26 am. Probably someone coming home drunk and knocking on the wrong door. You wrap yourself in your blanket tightly and close your eyes again.

Another loud knock, now accompanied by a voice saying your name. You grunt and reluctantly get up, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. You look through the peephole and your heart skips a beat.

“I'm sorry for waking you, babe. Thanks for letting me in, I-” Dieter looks down at his feet, fidgeting with his rings, “I didn't know where else to go.” You hand him a cup of chamomile tea, sitting down beside him on the sofa. “It's okay,” you nod, looking at his face intently. He's wearing his signature sunglasses. You assume it's because he wants to hide the evidence of his excessive drug use.

You both sit in silence for a few minutes before he lifts his head to look at you. He puts his right hand on the cushion between you two, wordlessly communicating his need for your touch. You gently place your left hand over his and move to intertwine your fingers. Dieter's breathing becomes heavier.

“What happened, Dee?” you ask quietly. When he doesn't answer, you move your right hand towards his sunglasses, watching carefully for any signs that he wants you to stop. You take the glasses off slowly and gasp when you see what he was hiding. It wasn't dilated pupils, it was a massive black eye.

You trace the swollen skin under his left eye with your thumb, causing him to wince. “I guess her husband found out?“ you ask with a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood. Dieter chuckles, shaking his head. “I'm sorry,” he says, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You shrug your shoulders, “I already said it's okay you came he-” “That's not what I mean,” he interjects. “I'm sorry for everything, for hurting you. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness and you're better off without me, but I want you to know that I really am sorry.”

And just like that, the heart you've worked so hard on fixing over the past few months breaks all over again.

Tears are silently falling from your cheeks as you lie down on your bed. You're on your side, eyes closed, tears pooling on the pillow when you feel the mattress sink under Dieter's weight. He's removed his jacket and pants, now lying on his side, mirroring you, in his boxers and shirt.

He caresses your cheek and murmurs, “C'mere”. You lay your head on his chest, your right hand resting above his heart. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, kissing the top of your head.

“I do love you, you know,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

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neteyamsilly · 2 years

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Chapter three had me a mess😭 please it was so real like, gave me flashbacks to when i forgot to tell my parents i had an ear infection and passed out, they came home to me laying on the floor with blood leaking out my ears🧍🏻‍♀️

What is it with dads and expressing their worry through making you think they hate you… like i tried to GASLIGHT MY DOCTOR INTO IGNORING THE INFECTION WHEN IT GOT WORSE CAUSE I WAS SO SCARED😭

Anyways, what if reader like refuses to talk to Jake for days so he’s like convinced she’s still mad at him and hates him (miscommunication makes my bones rattle😍) while reader is just terrified of Jake telling her something like he’s disappointed in her so she’s trying to out it off as much as possible???

just an idea my silly goofy daddyissuesveteran mind came up with, whatever you do will feed me for day🙏 Ik you have another series lined up but avatar is engraved in my mind rn and it won’t leave anytime soon so if you right a family AND romantic angst fic with very specific and niche bits of fluff then i will worship the ground you walk on😍😍🙏🙏

GODDAMN ANON WHAT........ but i get it... the more it gets worse the scarier dads get bc they dont know how to express their worry in a healthy way and hate feeling that way so they get angy (they dont know how to comfort) 💀 your dad was probably horrified because im over here cringing at the blood from ears PLEASE

and oh the good old miscommunication trope LMAOOOO i hate it but i love it. jake is like the perfect character for this and it's very likely this would happen. reader would definitely not want to see his reaction but jake would keep thinking that she has a right to hate him now because what kind of father drags his child home bleeding in immense pain and NOT notice??? so he'd not say anything at all EUGH

THANK YOU BY THE WAY 😭😭my avatar brainrot is not leaving as well, dont worry! but now my people pleaser brain wants to know what niche ur into so i can master it LMAO

#irma mirma ask mask #irmanons: 🫀

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askskyverseandchill · 1 year

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Introducing Ask Skyverse and Chill!

Sky: Hello internet! Skyverse and Chill crew here! Welcome to our new ask blog! We're all generally pretty new to this sort of thing, so please be patient and ask us anything! Anyways, I'm Sky! I'm just your average BF fangirl from one of the best mods! You've probably heard of me, so I won't linger too long. UwU Hey girls...and Skychi, go ahead and introduce yourselves! Skyblue: Oh, hey guys! I'm Blue...u-uh...I've never really done this sorta thing before either, so uh...w-well I like good food and funny j-jokes and...uh... Faker Sky: Psht, relax. We all know everyone loves you because they're horny. Skychi: Okay, who the heck let HER onto this blog?! Faker Sky: Ski. Ski: Hi guys! ^w^ Skychi: [sigh] ...why did we let her run the account? Sky: Because she's the most friendly, ALRIGHT?! Now can you all PLEASE let Skyblue continue? Skyblue: ...o-oh...I-I was pretty much done already! S-sorry! Sky: [sigh] ...then let's move onto Skychi, please? Skychi: Okay, sup anons? I'm Skychi, the cool and based one. My interests are anime, manga, technology, and guns.

Faker Sky: Wow, kinda cringe, TBH.

Skychi: Bitch, SHUT UP, I'm talking!

Faker Sky: Fine, gosh. Sky: You're going last now. Skychi, continue. Faker Sky: OH MOTHERF- Sky: SKYCHI, CONTINUE! Skychi: So uh...yeah, anyways I'm probably the only one here besides Ski who isn't relentlessly fucking horny. Any/all pronouns are fine, but I prefer they/them. Sky: Oh that reminds me, everyone else, list your pronouns. I'm she/her. Faker Sky: Bitch, ALL the rest of us are she/her. Neeeeeext! Sky: [sigh] Skychi: Anyways, I'm a genderfluid, badass memelord. I don't drink, but I occasionally smoke. Also I'm the most fourth wall aware. Skyblue: Ohhhhh, is that what this is? Faker Sky: Oh god, please tell me we didn't fucking invite Miko to this. She's a fucking terminally online loser. ...no offense Skychi. Skychi: None taken, and GOD no, don't worry. Ski wanted to, but it didn't pan out. Ski: She's just kept screaming and saying "Get that thing away from me!" when I tried to ask her, and she seemed so scared, and I felt so baaaaaaad! 😭

Faker Sky: Heh...dumb bitch thinks you're dangerous because I like you, lol. Sky: Fak-...Sky, shut up! Faker Sky: Fiiiiine... Sky: Skychi? Skychi: Eh, I'm done. Ski? Ski: Hi everyone! I'm Ski and I wanna meet new friends here! 😄 I like to sing and make lots of arts and crafts! But my favoritest thing is to spend time with my friends! ...that's it! ^w^ Faker Sky: ...that's it? Ski: I am a creature of simple comforts. Faker Sky: Okay, baller. Sup, dorks? I'm just your totally normal, ordinary Sky. The best Sky, and don't you forget it! I like eating creepypasta (the edginess and negativity soothes my soul) and also hanging out with these weirdos sometimes, I guess. Anyway, I'm single and ready to mingle, so- Sky: Sky, this isn't a dating app. Faker Sky: Oh, I know. Skychi: [sigh] ...this isn't a lewd roleplay account either, Faker. Faker Sky: Then why the fuck are we on tumblr in 2023?! Ski: Elon Musk killed Twitter. Faker Sky: Oh yeah, I forgot why I agreed to this. Yeah, that makes sense. Still, I'm gonna miss that god awful bird site. Skychi: Don't. I almost made an account there, but decided not to. Best decision of my fucking life, lol

Faker Sky: Yeah, but I like to feed off the negativity and engage with assholes while also being a bigger asshole...anyways I'm here if you wanna ask me or my dork friends any questions. Also, did I mention that I am absolutely not a lovecraftian monstrosity in disguise, and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying? Skychi: Dude, we've already seen your eldritch form. Faker Sky: ...you have? Sky: Yes?! Skychi: SEVERAL times! Faker Sky: ...when? Skychi: Bitch, you tried to eat Blue! Faker Sky: ...oh. ...shit. So anyway, Skychi is lying. Skychi: [groans and facepalms] Faker Sky: Anyways, we'll be here whenever we feel like it, so I guess ask your silly questions, dorks! Sky out! Sky: [sigh] ...Skys out.

#skyverse #faker sky #fnf sky #pow sky #skychi #skyblue #ask me stuff #skyverse and chill #asks open

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dodo-begone · 4 years

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Crotch Goblins

Pairing: Purpled x Reader, Ranboo x Reader, Tommy x Reader, Tubbo x Reader

Request: wait would it be cringe if i like. requested your take on the yandere kids

Word Count: 1.6K

Warning: yandere, fighting mentioned, stalking, fear of abandonment, anxiety, stealing, kidnapping, the egg

A/N: This is all platonic! Nothing romantic.

Ranboo

This poor child lives in constant fear of forgetting you. His memory issues are a big problem and it affects everybody he loves. And his anxiety definitely doesn’t help his situation; it only feeds his paranoia of losing you.

To prevent losing any precious memories of you, he’ll write down so much about you. He’d probably have books on books just dedicated to things about you he wants to remember. Another way to always remember you is to never be away from you! It’s much harder to forget somebody if you’re constantly around them!

If you allow it, he’ll fucking cling to you. He loves the attention and reassurance you give him. Aw yeah he's a poor memory boy and constantly scared of Dream and enderwalking. Please stay by him??? Pretty please??

He’ll occasionally come over to your house in search of your company. Though he won’t tell you that directly. It’ll be under the pretense that he’s very scared of something happening and wanted to stay with you for some comfort. Not all of that’s a lie though. He always goes to you when he’s anxious; you’re his safe place. You make everything right and good again. You found it rather endearing that he trusted and liked you so much. Baked treats would always be on standby for his visits.

He’ll slowly start to stay at your house for longer and come back quicker. Soon he’s practically living with you. You’re not bothered by it at first, and you don’t think about it after a while. The domesticity of the situation just feels right. Why would you disrupt something like this?? And he deserves some of this. After all, the dsmp isn’t a nice place, and especially not to Ranboo. Why don’t you just let him have this?

Tommy

Tommy lives in constant fear of you abandoning him. Or worse, having someone take you from him. He’s lost so many loved ones already, and he doesn’t know how many more he can live through. You’re one of his most prized possessions, besides Tubbo and the Disks. Above Tubbo, but a close contender with the disks.

He’s gonna be clingy af. And he’ll do anything you want him to. By that, he really means anything he thinks you’d want him to do or something that’s “necessary”. Overall it’s just bad stuff. Be prepared for some warfare to happen just for you.

No thought, only fighting. Fights will break out over the silliest things. Like he wants attention from you? Fight! Someone getting too close?? Begone thot!! This is his friend! Not theirs! Back off.

After every fight, you’ll bandage his wounds while lecturing him. Not a single thing you say will be properly heard by Tommy. Your words would slur together in his ears, turning themselves into a beautiful song. Did you know your voice sounds really good? Oh yeah, you make the pain go away so quickly too. Your medical skills are just so fucking good, can’t you see?

There will be no question that he’d steal for you; he’d do it without question or request. If he finds anything that you might like or need? Yoinked as soon as the old owner isn’t looking. Finders keepers, after all. The smp is a dog-eat-dog world. And you deserve the fucking best shit man. If you find out it’s stolen, you’d return it in a heartbeat with so many apologies. You somehow found it somewhere and you didn’t know it was theirs. Wow you must like Tommy if you’re covering for him like that!

You’d be dragged around by Tommy on some days. All a grand tour to show you his creations, and he begrudgingly shows you some of the builds by the others. He feels somewhat inadequate when he eventually shows you his stuff. Like his multiple cobblestone towers. But you’re giving such nice compliments for each one. And they’re all so unique too. No two compliments are the same. He is a really good builder, huh?

Tubbo

He’s going to be protective of you. Not overbearingly so, but definitely is watching out for your safety a ton. With him having watched the lives of those he loves fall apart around them, he doesn’t want the same fate to fall upon you. He can’t go through that cycle again, and especially so soon. You’re so nice too. You definitely don’t deserve that fate.

Micheal took a liking to you really quickly. If Micheal likes you, that means that you’re a part of the family. He doesn’t care what you have to say, it’s just facts. You have a problem with it? Try bringing that up to Micheal. Want to tell him that you aren’t a part of the family? Exactly. So that means that you are a member.

Oh and you help him so much, which he’s thankful for. And it’s not just to a specific type of task either. You help with everything. Building, cooking, caring for Micheal, the whole biz. With you doing so much and putting so much effort into everything, that must mean that you love him like he loves you, right? Nobody does this much for somebody else without loving them. So the obvious answer is that you love him back!

Will do anything in his power to convince you to move in with him, Ranboo and Micheal. Like really hard. He pulled all of the charms and stops. And there’s a very slim chance that you didn’t move in. Though you would eventually. There isn’t a chance in hell that you wouldn’t be living in that house by some point. You’d be moving in with or without your consent. Maybe one day you just woke up in the mansion. Oh hey why do you look so confused? You agreed to move in already silly, don’t you remember?

There’s no and, if, or buts about it; he’d get Ranboo in on it also if he wasn’t already. They’re platonically married after all. And the three of you are all friends. So it’s obvious that Ranboo would be in on it as well. If he isn’t, then he’d turn a blind eye to Tubbo’s behavior. Huh, yeah he didn’t notice that at all. Nope, nothing odd happening here.

Would absolutely get you to help him on every little task that he could. Especially with building and taking care of little Micheal. The builds would be little cottage core stuff. Such sweet and quaint things. Not too much or too hard, but very pleasing to the eyes and the feeling of accomplishment the two of you got at the end of the project felt incredible. Children can be such a handful too, so any help for Micheal will be much appreciated. Plus it’s so much fun to play with children, especially children in Micheal’s age group. The more time you spend with them, the less time you have to spend with anyone else. Which leads to a smaller chance of being taken from them.

Purpled

This man? Oh he’s so fucking happy that you and him don’t have many relations outside of each other. It’s so much easier for you two. Since you two are so close, it’s easy to coerce you into living with him. Yeah it may be far from the rest of the smp, but that’s okay. It’s not like you had any friends there. It’s easier to stay safer so far away from everything. And you know what’s even better? Nobody would even notice y’all disappear!

Before y’all moved away, he always conveniently showed up at random times. It was always during times when you were alone or felt alone. Really helped you there; made you feel loved that somebody noticed and was there for you. Though it was odd how often he appeared at just the right moment. You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth though.

He always knows what to get you. What your favorite flowers are, what food you like, what your favorite color is, your favorite gift items. He even knows your dislikes. Even the ones you don’t tell him. You know, anything a good friend would know.

If somebody even remotely offends/scares/harms you, they’re in fucking trouble. That? Yeah, that’s a valid reason to start a fight. He’ll beat them within an inch of their life and threaten to do it again if they even thought of hurting you like that. >:( Definitely got them to stop talking to you.

Since he’s working for the egg, he feels like the egg could maybe protect you?? Yeah he’s not completely under its control and he sees how crazy the other members of the eggpire are, but it can’t be that bad. The others are just praising it, talking about how it could make all of his deepest desires a reality. Not many people like going to the egg, and they wouldn’t be looking for prisoners there. So it should be safe for you. Well, safer than the outside world. And his deepest desire is your safety and love, so that should be easy to gain if he brought you to the egg, right?

There is no question: he’d kidnap you to bring you to the egg. Though it’ll be after a while of trying to persuade you to come with him for that. You heard so many horrible things about the egg, so it’d be better if you didn’t get involved with that. So if his attempts to get you to the egg fail, then some forceful measures will be used. It was for your best interest after all.

#c: purpled #c: tommy #c: tubbo #c: ranboo #tw: yandere #dodo writing #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #purpled x reader #ranboo x reader #tommy x reader #tubbo x reader #yandere #tw: fighting #tw: stalking #tw: anxiety #tw: stealing #tw: kidnapping

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sweetberrysmooch · 4 years

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HC: Call This The ‘Can This Man Cook’ Section

(….. I don’t think these men can cook 😔)

First post pog :D I wrote a majority of these super late at night, so please forgive and let me know of any mistakes you find <3 Also, it’s a little long lol

Characters: Dream, George, SapNap, Badboyhalo, Wilbur, Technoblade, Philza, Quackity, Fundy, Schlatt.

Warnings: None, except for a kinda risqué comment in Philza’s. Oh and I guess there’s mentions of eating meat in case someone wants the warning :3

Song Recommendation: I Love You So- The Walters

Hella fluffy! Hope you enjoy <3

From best to worst:

#1: BadBoyHalo-

Bad is the best at cooking on the server. He is the creme of the crop, absolute top one percent, king shit at cooking.

He can cook, bake, and temper chocolate perfectly, what more could you want?

His favorite to-go recipes are cheesy garlic bread and a special spicy chicken and rice recipe which he typically makes when the boys are over at his house for the night. When he’s with you he goes for something a little smoother, some mulled sweet berry cider with a smoked cod fillet, eaten under the light of candles while you quietly chat about life and your fellow friends. It’s always one of Bad’s most anticipated hangouts, and he’s very careful about planning when it comes to those days.

While he appreciates being complimented on his food or his skills, deep down he wants to have someone to cook and share his knowledge with so the cooking process becomes much richer. He’s cooked for so long and learned so much, but it means nothing if he can’t share it with another person. The moment you come to him and ask him for help on any kind of recipe, he’ll drop almost everything to help you.

Side note; he absolutely carried lunch and dinner for his fellow DTeam members. While Sapnap would mostly take over breakfast, Bad would be hounded by begging puppy looks from these adult men who couldn’t cook and kind of just sigh and get the ‘kiss the cook’ apron ready. It’s not like he hates it or anything, but the endearing factor kinda slips off after a few years of adult men groveling.

(Bad’s hands rest over yours, dwarfing them entirely as he helps you cut the pasta sheet straightly. “There you go!” He encourages, squeezing your hand gently and stepping away, moving back to dice the vegetables on the cutting board next to you. A comfortable silence falls, and with it comes something in Bad’s heart softening. The worries and exhaustion in his mind ease, and he slips into a contented routine of finely chopping and slicing. It’s been a while since he’s felt so calm. There’s nothing that can ruin this-

The front door slams open. Footsteps walk in and approach the kitchen and you both hear it,

“Baaaaaaaaad.” Bad cringes, taking a step back.

“Baaaaaaaaaaad, we’re hungry.” Sapnap.

“Yeah Bad, feeeeeeeed uuuuuuus.” George.

And then, from around the door frame, a white mask peeks in. Nobody says a word, but you can feel Bad deflate next to you like let go balloon.

“It’s alright, big guy.” You laugh, grabbing his forearm and leaning up against him. His sad puppy eyes make you smile a little, and you try to reassure him. “We can hang out alone another time. Let’s keep working on the pasta.” He sighs, but still returns your smile. “Yeah, another time.”)

#2: Philza

Sigh…. he can cook. Not quite as good as Bad can, but better than Quackity. A solid second place. It stems mainly from being so knowledgeable that he just knows and has tried so many different foods, but since he doesn't actually do much cooking, I'm making him a flaky second place.

Doesn’t mind cooking, but doesn’t love doing it either. He’s always focused on so many different things that he’ll forgo eating to keep working on what he’s doing. He mostly cooks for Techno and Ranboo or the few guests (you) they seem to receive. Makes great stew, and even better roasted chicken, is absolutely immaculate when it comes to cooking bird.

He didn’t teach Wilbur or Techno shit! I wish I could say it’s because he wanted to but just couldn’t, but he was literally like “hmm. Im a little busy now, maybe next year” every year!! But, this being said, if you ask him to make something with you or teach you how to cook a particular dish, he will agree to help you. Old age has really mellowed him out, and after certain events, he realizes he needs to stay a bit closer to those he cares about from now on.

He likes sweets well enough, and will always thank you for any gifts you make for him. Along with growing older, he’s had time to lose his pickiness he had in his youth. If he does end up cooking with you, he’ll prefer doing the harder recipes over easy ones. He will lose it laughing if it turns out bad, so don’t worry about any disappointment (his children make up enough of that ^^).

(“Now,” Phil starts, washing his hands quickly as you wait for him next to the cutting board. “Pufferfish needs to be prepared perfectly, or we will die when we eat it. But I don’t need to explain to you how a pufferfish works, now do I?”

When you shake your head no, he comes up behind you, tarnished wings bound and hair pulled up in a pony tail.

“The meat of a pufferfish is very delectable, and much better with a glass of wine.” He grins cheekily, “ If this works out well, which I’m sure it will, dinner will be delicious.”

It falls quiet for a second, and as your hesitantly looking over the fish that may be your last, you gasp when you feel him press up against you back and rest his chin on your shoulder. “Maybe there’ll be other delicious things to eat as well,” He murmurs into you ear, before leaning back and busting out laughing. Your face feels stupidly hot. Dilfza quest activated.)

#3: Quackity-

Quackity:

Quackity can cook. I know!! I’d say he’s like the third best cooker on the list. And he’s not half bad at baking either.

He likes making up stupid bad recipes and trying them out with you, even if at the end of it the one of you up chucks your damned creations the hour after. Despite his reigning need for chaos though, he knows how to make a decent amount of recipes and strives for praise when he’s actually putting forward effort. He’ll arrange little dinner dates (“A handsome man and his very pretty friend, good food made by yours truly, and La Chona, what do you say, baby?”) and will sit there with a 🥺 look on his face until you tell him if you liked it or not.

He tries to act like he’s unaffected by your words, but even a small, “That was really good.” will make him turn red and giggle like a schoolgirl. He tries to play it off, but it’s easy to tell he loves the complements. Will also never tell you anything you make is bad. You are a deity descended upon minecraft Earth and he is but your prettiest disciple who will uphold your honor and treat you like you should be treated!!!! But he’ll then promptly choose to help you with and guide you into cooking/baking better ^^; He loves you!

As for baking, he really likes making cakes because of how simple they can be. It helps calm him down when he can just slip into bake mode and follow a recipe and make something nice at the end of it. Speaking of, he also has a sweet tooth, but not quite as bad as Techno does. Any sweets or food you make for him is always eaten, and always held in high regard. Will try to entice you into feeding him 👀👀 so watch out.

(He’s doing it again. You try to avoid looking directly at the dopey lovesick smile Quackity has on his face at the moment, but as you lift the fork up, you get a better idea.

You look at him (to which he seems to melt a little under your gaze), look at the fork, and then back to him, raising the piece of cake up to his lips. His expression turns flabbergasted and his blush deepens.

He doesn’t seem to believe you for a second, until you nudge the cake close and flash him a smile. Then it’s like a switch has been flicked; he giggles, blushing, and eats the cake right off the fork. He’s gone back to smiling that silly smile again, this time even brighter, but it’s okay. You try to ignore the way your heart speeds up in your chest when he begs you for another piece.)

#4: Schlatt-

Another cooker~! He specializes with formal dinners more than anything else, and adores a good steak.

During his presidency, he didn’t cook very often. Quackity and you had to keep him fed through most of it, and the memory of watching you cook in his kitchen while he looked over work papers at his dining table leaves a mark on him, sealing a new crave for domesticity that he hadn’t ever wanted before.

Sometimes he would cook though. You, Quackity, and Tubbo would all gather around and eat together every once in a blue moon, when Schlatt was sober and calm. It feels tense at the table but also not in a way? Schlatt always seems to be chillest during dinner, a mix of the alcohol wearing off and the emphatic family feel that comes with Tubbo, Quackity, and you surrounding him.

He loves cake! It’s one of the few desserts he’ll eat, but you have to watch him closely or he’ll gorge himself of the treat. Indulge him and invite him to make a cake with you, and it will be one of the most interesting bakes of your life. How Schlatt got three eggs to stick to the ceiling is beyond you, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s completely fucking sober and hamming up his own cluelessness. You probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for him hiding all the other eggs around your kitchen as well. How did he get one on the top of your door without it falling when you opened it? That’s between him and god.

Overall, a good 4th place on the list.

(“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Schlatt says, deadpanned, looking you right in the fucking eyes with an undisturbed egg sitting perfectly straight on his head.

“Where are the eggs, Schlatt.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Schlatt.”

“Yes.”

The container you kept them in is completely empty on your kitchen counter, once full of eggs but now reduced to a desolate husk of its former glory. Speaking of former glories, your president turns around, arms crossed and stands there silently.

You look around. Theres one in the door handle of in the pantry, another wedged between two slices of bread in your bread box, and- oh god. On the fucking ceiling. Three, stuck to the ceiling, unmovable. After a full minute of dead silence you manage a “What the fuck have you done?”, and Schlatt turns to look.

“Oh hey. There they are.” Your mind turns into a rock, shatters, and crumbles into dust.)

#5: Dream-

Honestly if you’re looking for edible food that tastes range from ok to good Dream is your man. 5th place.

He knows a lot of ‘depression era’ type recipes just because he’s pretty homeless and his man hunts don’t allow him much time to hone his skills. Stuff like bread or mushroom stew comes easy to him after so many times of having to do it on the run. Bread is the only baking he won’t screw up.

Can cook meat well enough too, but doesn’t really do anything special to it (besides his sauces).

To elaborate: Over the unknown span of his life, he’s acquired these recipes for forgotten and questionable sauces that he’ll store in little jars and leave at your house for you to use. They’re odd, and the ingredients aren’t ever what you think might be edible, but they’re surprisingly tasty none the less. He likes to show you a new one every month or so to keep things fresh.

Pretty general about sweets, but has a severe love for chocolate, especially dark chocolate. Has never had one, but dreams about chocolate cake. It’s high on his bucket list and written another four times over.

One of his favorite things to do with you is bake, mainly because of how ruinous it always turns out. No matter your skill, Dream’s vibes decimates any luck the two of you will have while baking. It’s scientifically proven. You left the cupcakes in for a minute-JUST a minute over what they should’ve been and they came out rock solid. Dream tried to eat one anyway. Best part was watching him try to bite through the shell.)

(He thinks he’s over selling it, half-gnawing on the brown cupcake (it was supposed to be vanilla, he thought) and making stupid growls when his teeth barely break through the surface, but the feeling he gets when you start laughing hysterically next to him wipes away any negative thought he had and fills him with utter joy.

It's very late into the night, and you’re both a little loopy, but all the while you still lean against him as you giggle, the spot tingling where your hand rests on his arm.

His heart thumps crazily, before sinking. Oh god. He’s in love with you.)

#6: Technoblade-

Knows a lot, but very little. He can cook the meat perfectly fine, but there’s a difference between being cooked and tasting good. He doesn’t know how to season them. Salt is the bare minimum you get.

6th place ^^; sorry king.

He’s good with potatoes though. I like to think that the countless hours spent potato farming had to account for something. He likes having cheese and butter on them every once in a while, but for the most part just eats them salted like an animal. It’s practically a show to watch him eat a cooked potato in three bites without anything but salt on it.

Big man loves food though, even if he doesn’t eat like it. Steak and cooked fish are high on his list of foods, but only if it’s cooked by Philza. And eventually you fall into his “I trust to eat this from you” category as well, but he has a special place in his heart for Phil’s cooking. Rabbit stew is at the very top.

He also eats a lot, being 6’10 and 200 something pounds of muscle, gotta consume quite a bit to keep him moving.

As for the sweeter variety of food, he’s got a massive sweet tooth. The moment you make him an apple pie or honey candy or anything of the like, he’s immediately enamored with you. Sweet things are hard to come by on the smp, especially with how far out he lives, but it’s a secret weakness of his that is very easily exploitable.

(You’ll be the death of him, he thinks, watching you closely as you trudge your way through the freshly fallen snow towards his house. Your normal pack is lighter than it usually looks, and he worries that you may slip and hurt yourself on the ice before you make it to the door. But still, you keep walking until you're standing at his doorstep, fist raised to knock when he opens it for you.

You look surprised for a second, and then a grin splits your face and his heart races.

“I can’t stay for long,” you say, having spent at least 30 minutes to get there. “But I wanted to drop this off for you before you went out to hunt again.”

Out of the bag, you pull another smaller leather bag and hand it to him gently. It rests heavy in his palm, and for a moment he’s sure it’s ender pearls that you’ve brought him. But still he opens it, and he’s immediately taken aback by the smooth golden candies you brought him.

“They’re honey candies.” At this point you’re practically grinning. “I thought you might like some while I was making them last night.”

He doesn’t have to see his own face to feel the deep blush setting in on his cheeks and ears. You…. you’re so…… sweet. You are very…. sweet, he admits to himself, and he is very not attached to you. Not at all.)

#7: Fundy and Sapnap tie.

Fundy-

Has his old man's cluelessness but is a fast learner. He doesn’t have much time to expand his food repertoire so it’s pretty much the basic stuff that he’s eaten during the war or before that when he was younger.

He really likes cooking though, and will invite you to come cook with him for dinner or lunch if he wants to hang out. When they were together, Dream had given him an old dusty cookbook that had several recipes he hadn’t ever heard of before, so that’s where most of what he tries to make comes from. His favorite to date was a special mutton dish that he asked you to try with him on his last birthday. It was just the two of you, but he had never had so much fun before.

Doesn’t like eating fish however, there’s just some bad vibe he gets when he thinks about cooking one or catching one. (Desperately ignores the fish fucker. Desperately ignores the fish fucker. Despera-)

Loves sweet berries as treats, seeing as that’s the only sweet thing he grew up with. Not too big on other sweet flavors. Likes honey in his tea though.

7th place cooker, will get higher as he learns more dishes.

(He raises his wine high with a laugh, clinking your glass with it as you both giggle drunkenly.

The lamb you had cooked together turned out amazing, juicy and tender and flavored with crimson fungus juice. The recipe was from an old cookbook he had, he faintly remembers telling you, hiding the fact that it was Dream’s cookbook that he was given after a particularly nasty argument.

He doesn’t want to think about him, especially not while he’s with you. Especially not when it’s his birthday.

So instead he ponders the trip through the nether he took with you to harvest some of the fungi, how the juice was tangy and slightly bitter, but how it had done wonders when basted onto the meat while frying.

You had looked so happy when you two plated the dish, so proud of him, all in a way that Dream never was.

Even now, as you tiredly smile at him from across the table, cheeks pink and eyes focused solely on the moment you were sharing, he feels at peace for once. This is what contentment felt like. Oh, how he loves you so.)

Sapnap-

Shame the shit cooker. Ok ok, he’s not as bad as some of the others on this list, but that’s just because he can make a half decent breakfast. It’s not much competition.

Bad has desperately tried to teach this boy some cooking besides eggs and toast, but the only things that seem to have stuck are mashed potatoes and grilled pork chops. Neither of which he even likes enough to make often.

He prefers fish to meat, and would eat any kind of cod you offered to him. Likes smoked salmon a lot, it’s something Bad made for him a lot when he was younger. He tries to recreate the dish, but comes up short and feels disheartened when it isn’t like Bad’s. He’d appreciate any time you took with him to learn how to make the dish, and it wholly sticks to his mind afterwards. He never forgets the experience, and treasures it very closely.

Likes not-sweet sweets. Not bitter per say, but just not very sweet. He likes chewy taffy in particular, but the old lady kind that lasts 60 years but gets hard in 6 minutes after being exposed to open air. Gotta be polite about it too, or he’ll end up embarrassed and pout for an hour.

(He’s eaten 6 of those fucking taffies since you sat down on the couch, completely straight-faced as the two of you of you listen to Dream and George talking.

At this point you’re completely checked out of their conversation, solely focused on the taffy Sapnap keeps eating. Where does he even get those? How many does he have?? You’ve been friends with him long enough to have seen him pop a taffy every other second of the day. He seems to have a stash on him at all times tucked away, filled with paper-wrapped pastel covered sweets.

“Want one?” Sapnap asks, holding out a light blue taffy with a little star drawn in yellow dye on the wrapper.

“What?” Startled, you lean back a bit and realize you had been staring him down as he ate, and flush with how rude that probably seemed.

“Want a taffy? I don’t mind sharing with you, cutie.” He winks and offers the taffy again. “....” You gaze at the taffy curiously. You’ve never seen him offer another person one of his precious taffies before. Hmm. “...Yes, thanks.”

You take it delicately, unwrapping the wrapper and taking a bite of it experimentally. It’s very lightly sweet, soft and chewy and surprisingly pleasant.

Sapnap watches you from the corner of his eye, softly smiling when he sees you eat the rest of it. Glad to see someone else has good tastes around here.)

#8. George-

Meager man makes a meager meal. I said what I said!!! This flatbread boy knows diddly squat, and the only things he can cook successfully are bread and mushroom soup. Which he will make. And that’s all he’ll make. Any food that isn’t that is cooked by either Bad or Dream, and he’s still picky about it.

He’ll make you the soup and bread ladies and gents. I’m not saying they’ll taste great together, but he will definitely make them for you. Anything else he’s pretty critical about, and he doesn’t care much for treats or dessert. He does occasionally like dark chocolate though, which he and Dream will beg Bad to make for them. Soon he begs you to make it for him, and then you have to go ask Bad how he makes it so George won’t complain about how it tastes different from Bads. It’s a weird situation. You make a lot of chocolate. Dream and George linger at your house for weeks on end until you get fed up and shoo them away with a broom.

To his credit, even though he can’t cook much, he’s really proud of his mushroom stew. Any time you let him cook, his go-to is his mushroom stew. He likes to feed you and know that you’re not hungry somewhere, and to top it off he gets to show you his prized dish; not Bad’s or Dream’s stew, but his. He’s cute or whateva…

(George places the bowl down in front you, stepping back and turning to grab his own, before sitting down next to you. He immediately begins to eat, and you give him a half glance as you bring the soup up to smell it.

It… doesn’t smell that bad, actually. Not burnt, at least. You spoon some of the soup into your mouth.

Despite all you’ve seen of George’s cooking, this is pretty well made. It’s nice and warm, and the flavors are rich and the mushrooms soft. You choose to ignore the small smile of his face next to you, and keep eating your soup quietly together.)

#9: Wilbur

Wilbur can’t cook for shit. Literally nothing. This man knows apples grow from trees and that animals are made of meat and that’s it.

You think Wilbur made any of his food when he was president or exiled or ever? Not a chance. He ate anything given to him, Tubbo and Tommy absolutely brought this man all the food they could find so he wouldn’t get eat straight trash or starve throughout the presidency. Techno slid him bare cooked potatoes in Pogtopia and he thought “oh this slaps….. this is the pinnacle of food”

Which I know, not really sexy. But! This means that the moment you feed him something a step up from a bare cooked potato he is in food heaven. He especially loves saucier kinds of foods with lots of flavor and spice to them, it’s just so fucking good. Food becomes his kryptonite after you feed this silly man.

With sweets, however, he isn’t that much of a fan. He does like those small lemon creme crackers, and you and da boys are the only ppl he’ll share them with.

(You hear him before you see him. The familiar clambering at your window draws your attention away from the pork you were dicing, and one look over your shoulder shows a disheveled but grinning Wilbur.

“I hope I’m not too late for dinner.” He jokes, brushing off his pants before approaching you to press a kiss to your temple. Soon after that you hear another set of clambering, and two pairs of stomps reveals one Tommy and one Tubbo respectively.

“What’s for dinner tonight, mate?”

“Hope you don’t mind if we join in!”

You sigh, turning back to hide your smile before they can see it.)

// Hope you enjoyed! I might write a pt2 of this later with some other ppl in it lol we’ll see :3

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straybreeze · 3 years

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GX MONTH 2021

Day 1: “Hero Signal”

We’re kicking things off with everyone’s favorite hero Judai/Jaden Yuki’s birthday! Show the fluffy boi some love!

Yay, this is my very first time participating in a Tumblr event! Thank you @gxmonth for making this, I'm so excited!

I tried my best to include my OC as well, I hope it won't be too cringe lol.

Also, I would like to remark here, that I'm not a native English speaker, so if I made any grammatical errors or other mistakes, please let me know!

Word count: 2475

Pairing: implied spiritshipping

Warnings: slight angst

Happy, happy birthday Judai.

The sun was already high on the endless blue sky, showering the small apartment room in golden light when a big, orange and round thing pushed the door open with its head. The cat made his way through the mess and straight to the bed, where his owner was still sleeping. Confuting his own respectable weight, he jumped easily into the bed and snuggled up to the sleeping boy’s side, purring loudly. The quiet snoring suddenly stopped as the boy slowly opened his deep brown eyes, his hand automatically searching for the cat’s fluffy head.

“Let me sleep, Pharaoh! Just five more minutes!” Judai pleaded and covered his eyes with his free hand.

But it had been proven to be an unacceptable answer to Pharaoh. If he was hungry, nothing was an excuse for being late for breakfast. And in fact, it was almost lunchtime.

“Meow!”

However, Judai still didn’t seem willing to move, so he had to try harder.

“Ouch! Pharaoh, I know you are hungry, but I’m not your food! Don’t eat me!” Judai moaned as he sat up reluctantly. He squinted in the vivid lights, reaching the phone on the nightstand. The screen was showing 11 AM and the date below: 31th August.

31st August. The last day of summer. And his birthday.

Judai almost forgot about his nineteenth birthday. But to be honest, this day is going to be just like any other of the past week. He had nothing to do besides sitting at home and feeding Pharaoh occasionally. There was no real difference from what he did ever since he arrived from his last journey.

In fact, he was stuck in Domino City and had to stay there until he would eventually get a phone call from Chancellor Samejima. In the past one year of his life, an incoming call from his ex-headmaster meant one thing: a new job is on the sight. Not that Judai minded that. He loved travelling around the world and solving intriguing cases with his dueling skills. He didn’t continue his studies in a college, nor joined the Pro Leagues like his other friends. No, he just did the same as in his Academia years: slacking and occasionally saving the day. That is the duty of the heroes after all.

…And at least he could be useful in something as well.

Judai spent the last two weeks in this apartment, which he and Johan were renting together. In the first days, it wasn’t so hard to stay put, but Johan went on a holiday to his family in Sweden more than a week ago. He promised that he will get home before the end of summer, yet he messaged his roommate that he had to stay for a few more days. So in the end, Judai was left alone for his birthday.

Okay, not completely alone. At least Pharaoh was there for him, he thought as he strolled out to the kitchen to find some breakfast for his hungry cat. And for himself.

One year had already passed since they graduated from Duel Academia. A lot of things happened to everyone and it appeared that nobody had the time to greet Judai on his birthday. At least none of his friends told him that they would like to see him today. No missed calls, no unread messages yet.

Have they already forgotten him?

No, that was nonsense. They might be just… busy.

Sho and Manjoume have joined the Pro Leagues right after their graduation, so they were already living their restless life just like his other pro friends, Edo and Kaiser. Well, in his Academia years Judai already got used to that Edo is as much unavailable as the Emperor of Japan himself, but it appeared that Kaiser is that kind of celebrity too. Since he more or less recovered from his heart condition, he started a Cyber Pro League along with Sho and they both attended various events actively in the country and lately overseas too. Of course, Kaiser was told that he must not overstrain himself and stress too much in general, but Judai would bet that he disregarded all of those rules anyway. Especially because he hadn’t talked to him in months, so he must be busy as hell as always.

On the other hand, as far as Judai knew the Tenjoin siblings still lived in North America – Asuka was still studying in Duel College for sure while her brother, Fubuki-san was… doing something too, he assumed? Judai hadn’t heard much of them lately, but he knew that Fubuki-san followed his younger sister to chase his dreams and become an idol abroad. Judai didn’t know much about the school system of America, so Asuka might have classes at this very moment, maybe that’s why she hasn’t called him yet.

For his younger friends, Kenzan graduated from Duel Academia this summer, while Rei is going to start her last year in October. Maybe they are both on a vacation right now, enjoying themselves on a beach or something. It was still summer anyway, Judai couldn’t blame them for that.

And oh, there was Aurora, too. She was the roommate of Edo (and maybe his stepsister as well? Or something more? Who knows. She was a mystery anyway), who befriended him less than a year ago. Judai supposed she doesn’t even know that this day is his birthday.

After he gave some salmon flavored cat food and fresh water to Pharaoh, he decided to grab a bowl of cereal for breakfast and lunch at once.

As much he wanted to act like his birthday was nothing, if it was just like any other day, it made him hurt deep inside that nobody, even his closest friends haven’t paid attention to him on his day. He already got used to that his parents don’t care about him, but he thought he found a new family in his friends.

Maybe he was wrong.

But hey, it was him who abandoned them in the first place, Judai reminded himself. He was the one who left the Academia without saying goodbye and ran away from them straight to another country. He shouldn’t feel sad, because he knew that their friends would be estranged from him sooner or later. And he was the only one to blame.

Judai was so lost deep in his thoughts that he didn’t even realize that the milk was long overflowed the bowl and it was already spilling down the table. Pharaoh didn’t waste a single second: he leapt to the white liquid dripping from the edge of the table and licked it with such joy as if he had never tasted it before in his entire life.

“Dammit!” Judai moaned, then hastily wiped the milk off from the table and the parquet.

Oh well. He hadn’t been awake for ten whole minutes yet, but he already knew, birthday or no birthday, this was not going to be his day.

As the day continued, Judai climbed back to the bed and chose to do nothing today besides watching silly TV shows. He could have gone out at least for a walk, that’s true. He lived in Domino City after all, the city he loved the most. If you are a duelist, this is the best place for you in the entire world, especially if you live in downtown. The coast was not too far, Kaiba Land and other fun places were within easy reach too. But nothing was entertaining enough if you had no friends around.

“I feel like you’ve forgotten something,” Judai heard a familiar voice from all of a sudden. Slowly, the television screen became blurry as he was still staring at it, and a demonic shadow appeared at the end of his bed.

“Yubel,” he spoke their name aloud as he closed his eyes. “What did I forget?”

“Me,” came the obvious answer. “Why do you feel so lonely?”

“I’m not lonely. I’m just…” Judai began but then realized that the sentence had no continuation. “No, Yubel, everything’s good.”

“You sure?”

“Uh, yeah! I’m glad you’re here. It is enough for me.”

“You are a bad liar, Judai. You know that?”

“Hey, I mean it! I’m glad you are here, Yubel.”

“… I know.” Yubel smiled, gentler than it was imaginable from them. As they took a short break, their heterochromatic eyes curiously scanned the boy who was bound to them for an eternity. “But I still don’t understand, what is the matter with you?”

Judai didn’t answer their question. At least with words. He thought it was enough for an answer that he checked his phone every five minutes if someone messaged him already. But sadly, nobody had searched him so far.

It was already late afternoon when he finally heard the standard ringtone of his phone. He almost fell asleep again, and the vibrating sound made his heart pound in excitement. He immediately grabbed his phone, but when he checked the screen, he had mixed feelings.

The caller was Aurora, Edo’s roommate. And the last one who Judai thought would call him on his birthday.

“Hello, Rory! What up?” he greeted her, a soft smile unintentionally crossed his lips. But it had soon vanished when Aurora didn’t answer immediately. “Rory? Is something wrong?”

“Judai,” she spoke finally. Her usual melodic voice was trembling somewhat as if she was nervous. “I’m glad I could reach you!”

“Yeah, I mean, you could have totally called me all day! I had nothing to do, you know.” Maybe he shouldn’t have hinted things like these, but still.

“I see. Sorry, Judai, but may I ask you something?” Aurora’s voice still didn’t sound too firm.

“Sure, anytime!” Judai’s eyes sparkled at thought of the adventure. “But you’re fine, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah. I just… need to talk with someone. With you.”

“Really? Well, I’d gladly chat with you, but if you wanna talk about some… girlish thing, you know I’m not your man.”

“You will be completely fine. I wanna talk about something else, not girlish things.”

“Something happened with Edo maybe?” Judai guessed.

“Not at all! Ahw Judai, stop asking questions! I will tell you everything if I see you in person. So get ready and come!”

“Come where?”

“I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance of Kaiba Land in fifteen minutes.”

“Why there? You’re not even a duelist—„

“See you later, Judai!”

Before Judai could remark that he may not be there in fifteen minutes, Aurora had already hung up the phone. Surely, she became weirder and weirder. Maybe it was Edo who was a bad influence on her.

When Judai arrived at the said place, he was nearly jumping out of his skin. He was curious about what Aurora wanted to talk to him about, and at the same time, he was glad that he finally had a reason to leave the apartment.

Though it was still a bit unexpected that he would spend his birthday with Aurora, but why not? They were friends after all. He should have thought about her sooner.

“Judai!” Aurora shouted and waved him from the distance.

As he came closer, Aurora silently turned around and headed into the Park. It was almost sunset, the monstrous structures of Kaiba Land were glowing in orange.

“Okay, would you tell me now what are we doing here?” Judai asked while he barely could keep up with her.

“You will see, I promise!”

“Come on, Rory!”

“No worries, we are almost there!”

And that was all she told him, no matter how hard he tried to get more information. But the sparkle of hope ignited in his heart, that something bigger was standing behind this weird invitation.

Kaiba Land was slowly emptied out as the closing hour was coming, so they didn’t meet too many people. Especially as they got deeper and deeper into the amusement park.

They were nearby the rollercoaster when they finally stopped.

“Judai,” Aurora turned to him. “I know that this whole thing came from all of a sudden, and I’m so happy that you followed me without a question anyway.”

“Well, actually—”

“I hope you know that it means a lot to me. Not just me. To all of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Judai, you have amazing friends. And you are the best among the best for all of them.”

“Rory, I’m not sure I understa—„

“SURPRISE!!”

Shouts were coming from everywhere, and suddenly a shadow of a whole crowd appeared in the dim lights of the setting sun. Before Judai could have the time to react, a short figure stood out from them and started running towards him.

“Happy birthday, Aniki!” Sho shrieked as he bumped into Judai and embraced him closely. Shortly after, he found himself surrounded by people. Surrounded by his friends.

“Happy birthday, Judai!”

“Judai-sama! I wish the bestest birthday in the world to you!”

“Nice to see you, loser! Where the hell have you been for this long?”

“Yeah, Judai, we were all waiting for you!”

“Happy birthday, Aniki-don!”

“Damn, I missed you so much!”

Everyone was there. Asuka and Rei. Manjoume, Fubuki-san and Kenzan. Sho was still holding onto him, almost crying.

“Hehe, surprise! I came back from Sweden today just because of your big day!”

Even Johan was there. He came home finally! Judai couldn’t help, but sudden warmth flowed through his body as Johan hugged him along with everyone else. Even Manjoume was in the crew.

“Hey guys, you flatter me…”

“See, Edo? We almost missed the group hug because of you.” Another familiar voice came from the distance, and when Judai glanced up, he saw Kaiser Ryo and Edo Phoenix’s silhouettes were approaching them.

“Don’t blame me because Kaiba Seto himself wanted to talk with me. But I assume you can still join the group hug if you’re really that desperate.”

When the pros reached the crew, they greeted Judai in unison.

“Happy birthday, Judai!”

“You two…”

“In fact, these two were the masterminds for this plan,” Aurora joined the celebration too. “Happiest birthday for you!”

With suppressed tears in his eyes, Judai looked around his friends. Yeah, Aurora had right. He had the best friends in the world and now he felt terrible guilt that he had ever questioned them. Yubel were right after all, for not understanding what was his problem. Now he didn’t understand too.

“Okay, who wants some cake?”

“WAIT, we have cake?” Judai asked in shock. How the hell did they bring it to here?

“Of course! I mean you have it, Judai,” Asuka corrected him.

Before Judai could shout in happiness, his phone started ringing again. To his surprise, Chancellor Samejima called him.

“Happy birthday, Judai! Are you ready for your next adventure?”

Judai couldn’t help but smile again.

“Ready as I’ll ever be!”

#gxmonth2021 #yugioh gx #ygo gx #yuki judai #jaden yuki #fanfiction tag

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august-anon · 4 years

Text

Unrestrained Revenge

This was meant to be part of tickletober 2020 but i never finished it, so it became it's own fic instead lol. Promised y’all a full-length BNHA fic from the backlog after the last Witcher fic, so here this is! Hope you enjoy!

---

Fandom: BNHA

Ship(s): EraserMic

Characters (lee/ler): Switch!Aizawa Shouta/Switch!Yamada Hizashi

Word Count: 1870 words

Summary: Hizashi decides to take advantage of Shouta getting a little tangled up in his capture weapon. Shouta, of course, can't let that go without revenge.

[ao3 link]

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

Shouta, in his opinion, worked far too much (which probably meant Hizashi, what with his three jobs, was working an alarming amount, but that was besides the point). He spent eight hours a day in a classroom, and several hours after that grading. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he worked patrols all night as if he didn’t have to be back in the classroom most mornings.

So screw him if he wound up walking around most days in a half-asleep haze.

It became increasingly apparent one afternoon after he and Hizashi had gotten home from their day jobs at the school, for once neither of them being required to head to their second (or even third, in Hizashi’s case) job of the day. Hizashi went to feed the cats while Shouta headed toward the bedroom, looking to change into something more pajama-adjacent.

Only, the problem with being half-asleep most of the time was that you could wind up being rather clumsy. Which was how Shouta found himself in his current predicament: being tied up in his own damn capture weapon. When his struggles only wound up tightening the scarf around him, Shouta gave into the mortification of getting stuck and called for help.

“Hizashi?” He ground out. “I could use some help.”

He heard Hizashi’s footsteps draw near the bedroom and braced himself for the teasing.

“Babe? What is i--” the door opened, and Shouta cringed. Hizashi started laughing. “Shou--babe, how did you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

Hizashi continued laughing as he circled around him, and Shouta couldn’t tell if he was trying to decide where to start or if he was just trying to find the funniest angle to look at him from.

“I don’t think you’ve gotten tangled up this bad since high school.”

Shouta jerked in his tangled bindings and growled. “Will you just help me?”

“Alright, alright, chill out Sho-chan! We can fix this.”

Shouta slumped a little as Hizashi approached and started tugging at random segments of his capture weapon, trying to find a way to start untangling him. He huffed when it didn’t seem to do anything except make the parts that were still loose, tighter.

“You really got yourself stuck, didn’t you…?” Hizashi murmured.

Shouta rolled his eyes. “Get on with it.”

Hizashi pinched his bottom rib. “Behave and I-- What was that?”

Shouta, who had jumped and quietly yelped, quickly cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

A sly grin began to grow on Hizashi’s face. “Shouta,” he sang, raising his hands shaped into claws. “Are you lying to me, my love?”

Shouta stumbled back a few steps. “No.”

Hizashi raised an eyebrow. “You really think you can lie to me, babe? After all this time we’ve known each other?”

“Hizashi, don’t you da--”

Shouta cut himself off with a yelp as he stumbled over his own feet and landed on their bed. Hizashi cackled and bounced up onto the mattress after him, clawed hands still hovering tauntingly between them. Shouta struggled harder in his self-made bonds as Hizashi started wiggling his fingers.

“Hizashi--”

“I can’t believe I forgot you were ticklish, my own fiance!”

“Hizashi--”

“I think it’s very wise of me to do this when you can’t fight back,” Hizashi nodded sagely. “You are far too good at hand-to-hand.”

Before Shouta could reply with a quip about how Hizashi relied on his quirk too much, Hizashi’s hands were back on his ribs. Shouta swallowed another yelp and pursed his lips together, squeezing his eyes shut. Luckily, his ribs weren’t a bad spot, and the gentle pinches Hizashi was subjecting him to were easy enough to resist.

“Aw, come on, baby,” Hizashi tried to goad him, moving down to wiggle his fingers into Shouta’s sides where the scarf wasn’t covering him. “Just laugh! You’ll feel better!”

“You wish,” Shouta ground out.

“You’re right, I do wish. That’s why you should do it.”

Shouta locked his jaw and squirmed around as much as he could, but he couldn’t exactly get much leverage when he was wrapped up in his own capture weapon. Dammit, he should’ve been paying better attention to what he was doing.

It wasn’t like he necessarily minded being tickled, certainly not, and he always enjoyed having Hizahi’s hands all over him. It was just so… embarrassing. His face flushed and his grin was silly and his laugh was weird. Plus, he preferred being restrained on his own terms, rather than getting stuck due to his own clumsiness.

“Sho, if you just give me a giggle or three, this will all be over so much faster,” Hizashi teased, squeezing his hips and making Shouta grunt.

“Fuck you,” Shouta bit out.

Hizashi winked down at him. “Maybe later, Sho-chan.”

Shouta felt his heart stop when Hizashi’s grinned widened, eyes getting a mischievous glint to them. He tried to shuffle his body further up the bed, but Hizashi simply grabbed a loop of capture weapon to keep him from moving away.

“Good thing I know all your tricks,” he said with another wink. “I’ll have you giggling in no time.”

Hizashi then leaned down, pressing little pecks of kisses to his cheeks, jaw, and ears. Unfortunately, Hizashi was right: this action did almost always end with him giggling. The soft, playful affection was certainly one of Shouta’s secret weaknesses, but the thing Shouta hadn’t admitted to Hizashi about this little action was just how much Hizashi’s mustache tickled. Even with his lips pursed and his face scrunched up, the giggles bubbling up in Shouta’s chest began shaking his whole body, escaping from his nose.

“Here they come,” Hizashi sang into his ear.

Hizashi’s hand scratched down the top of his thigh as he pressed a ticklish kiss just underneath Shouta’s jaw. Shouta gasped, and his laughter escaped before he could stop it. He wished he had his hands free to hide his face. God this was so embarrassing.

Especially with Hizashi gazing at him like he’d hung the moon and the stars. It only made his face burn more.

“You’re beautiful when you smile,” Hizashi said.

Shouta didn’t even bother responding through his giggles. He simply rolled over to bury his burning face into the duvet. Unfortunately, that just opened up a whole new expanse of ticklish skin for Hizashi to exploit. He dug his fingers underneath and in-between loops of his capture scarf, somehow managing to pinpoint all the most sensitive places on Shouta’s back, making him cackle and kick his legs out.

“Hizashi, please!”

Hizashi chuckled. “Alright, alright.” He rolled Shouta over again, grinning down at him. “Let’s get you untangled, then.”

It took an absurd amount of time for Hizashi to get Shouta untied. It certainly didn’t help that Hizashi kept sneaking little tickles here and there, making Shouta squirm, which only tightened his bonds further. When Shouta was finally free, he tossed his scarf across the room with a scowl, making Hizashi fall back against the bed in laughter.

“Oh yeah?” Shouta growled, sweeping a hand through the hair in his face and holding it out of the way. “You think that’s funny? You like to laugh?”

“Oh, lighten up, baby. You and I both know you didn’t hate that.”

Shouta ignored the flush he felt rising into his cheeks once more.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said.

Hizashi’s eyes went wide and he started to sit up, but Shouta launched himself at him before Hizashi could escape. He pinned Hizashi down against the mattress, suddenly wishing he hadn’t thrown his capture weapon aside in his tantrum, and swiftly settled over his hips, pressing Hizashi’s hands into the mattress above his head. Hizashi squirmed around underneath him, already bubbling with nervous giggles.

“Sho--Shouta, come on, babe--”

Shouta cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know, ‘Zashi. You seemed pretty keen on taking advantage of my situation.”

“Baby, please--” Hizashi yelped, trying to free his hands.

But Shouta could hear the giddy undertone to his voice. Hizashi hated this just as much as Shouta did, which was to say, he didn’t hate it one bit. Quite the opposite, in fact Even if they’d played like this less and less over the years, to the point of them stopping entirely for a brief time, the game remained the same, and fake, weak protests had always been a part of it.

“The difference between you and me, babe,” Shouta said, giving Hizashi one of his terrifying grins, “is that I never forgot that you were ticklish.”

Which meant that Shouta knew exactly where to target to get Hizashi howling.

And Hizashi clearly realized that too, because he gasped and tucked his red face into the crook of his elbow. Shouta was tempted to call him out on it, to remove the ways to hide his face since Shouta hadn’t been able to hide his, but he decided to have mercy and simply dive in.

See, what Hizashi had so foolishly forgotten was that the two of them shared a weak point. Shouta and Hizashi both had horribly ticklish necks, both easily ranked as one of their worst spots. Hizashi didn’t do much to protect his neck, but Shouta’s ticklishness was certainly one of the reasons he kept his hair so long and wore his capture weapon everywhere: it was much wiser to hide the sensitive spot away than to let his friends have access to it.

And so Shouta kept Hizashi’s hands pinned to the bed, leaning down to bury his face in Hizashi’s neck. A squeal (thankfully not quirk-powered) ripped from Hizashi’s lips as Shouta gently scraped his stubble against Hizashi’s throat, and the sound only got louder and more high-pitched when Shouta brought his lips and teeth into the equation.

There were small bursts of laughter here and there, but it seemed like Hizashi was so overwhelmed by the sensation that he couldn’t do much more than shriek and squeal and yell out wordlessly. In Shouta’s opinion, it was fucking adorable.

“Had enough yet?” Shouta teased, carefully keeping his voice monotone to set Hizashi on edge.

He didn’t even bother waiting for an answer before pressing his lips to a weak point under Hizashi’s jaw and blowing a loud raspberry. Hizashi’s laughter (or, more accurately, screaming) went silent at that, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

As the sensation faded, Hizashi gasped and called out, “Enough!”

Shouta backed off instantly, freeing Hizashi’s hands but not climbing off his hips just yet.

“Your endurance is down,” Shouta said.

Hizashi rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face was bright and happy. “Yeah, yeah.” His grin morphed into something a little more mischievous. “You know what I’m in the mood for right about now?”

Shouta raised an eyebrow. “A nap, hopefully.”

Hizashi’s laughter rang out through the apartment once more as he pulled Shouta back down onto the mattress with him. He pressed a lingering kiss to Shouta’s lips before squirming out of his arms and worming his way under their mound of blankets.

“A nap sounds great, Sho-chan.”

Shouta snorted. “It fucking better, after all that,” he replied, and climbed under the blankets himself.

And for once, the two of them slept peacefully, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms.

#tickle fic #My writing #bnha tickling #lee!aizawa shouta #ticklish!aizawa shouta #ler!yamada hizashi #lee!yamada hizashi #ler!aizawa shouta #ticklish!yamada hizashi #bnha #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #erasermic

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carmen-s-coat-sandiego · 4 years

Text

LAST NIGHT.

Content type: Fluff, little angst

fXf

Word count: 1249

[Carmen × Reader]

THIRD POV

Standing staring at the city from her rooftop Y/n sighed heavily sitting down almost defeated. She loved traveling the world with Carmen and her crew but after last night she feared that she would have to give this up or that she'd get kicked out.

"Player." Carmen looked around the empty room where Y/n stayed in while they were in France. "Yes Red?" He hummed his attention divided by the game he was playing half-heartedly.

"Do you know where Y/n is?" She asked entering the room looking for her wallet and phone to make sure she didn't take off. "According to the tracker she's... well right there." He frowned now turning to the screen where the red dot flickered.

"Unless she suddenly turned into a Shadowsan 2.0, she's not here." Carmen muttered knocking on the bathroom door only entering after a moment of silence.

"I'm telling you red. She's right there- no wait." He changed the angle of the screen and realised where she actually was.

"She's on top of you." Player said making Carmen scoff with a slight blush. "No she's not!" She sounded a bit more defensive than she intended.

"No not like that Red. Above you." He said amused pointing at the roof even if she couldn't see. "Right." She nodded heading for the window sticking her head out looking up at the roof.

She got out jumping grabbing a hold of the roof lifting herself up. She stood up straight she saw Y/n hugging her knees staring out at the city inhaling deeply huffing as she exhaled. Slowly she approached walking up behind her.

"Beautiful night." Carmen said making Y/n yelp and jump up missing her step tripping stumbling to the end of the roof. Acting quickly Carmen grabbed her wrist pulling her back onto the roof holding onto her as Y/n panted with big eyes.

"That could've ended a lot worse." She mumbled staring at Carmen. "Yeah." The crimson theif nodded watching with sad eyes as Y/n pulled back hugging herself.

"Sorry for scaring you." Tucking her hands into her pockets exhaling sharply. "It's no big deal." Y/n shrugged turning back to face the city.

"Like last night?" Carmen asked softly making Y/n tense not daring to look at her favorite thief. She didn't have anything to say well she did but she was terrified of saying anything that could jeopardize her spot more.

After a few minutes of silence and staring Carmen decided on breaking the silence. "Y/n please say something." She asked soft eyes observing every inch of her friend.

"I-uh... I'm sorry." Y/n didn't know what else to say. "For what?" Carmen asked frowning not understanding what her problem is. "Last night." Y/n was starting to get defensive hugging herself tighter.

"What is the big deal?" Carmen asked gesturing at the h/c woman. "Seriously?" Y/n turned to Carmen and only then did she see her glossy eyes in the city lights.

"Y/n?" The thief forgot about being annoyed now only worried. "Just say it. Just tell me I'm not welcome anymore." She was flailing her arms around as her voice grew more wary with every sentence.

"Whoa! Wait! Stop!" Carmen grabbed ahold of her shaking shoulders. "Say it." With a quivering lip Y/n looked at Carmen making her heart break a little. "Say it so that I can go right now. Tell me I overstepped and messed up." Carmen finally understood what she meant and what she was worried about.

"Y/n." She sighed somewhat relieved her voice came out just below a whisper. "Say it." Her voice cracked as she struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat. "I'm not saying it." Carmen said her brows furrowing as her eyes seemed to turn glossy too.

"What?" Confused Y/n looked at the scarlet thief with a frown. "If by overstepping you mean last night wasn't appropriate I wouldn't mind being inappropriate more often." Carmen said honestly making Y/n inhale sharply standing back holding her hands up. "Okay. I'm confused." The small chuckle that came from the woman in red made her smile but still she was confused.

"I've never been good at communication." Carmen shrugged taking Y/n's hands in hers stepping closer.

"They do say actions speak louder than words." Y/n shrugged remembering one of her grandfather's quotes cringing when she realized how weird it is to think of her grandfather right now. "They do." Letting go of one hand Carmen cupped Y/n's cheek leaning down stopping inches away from her giving her time to pull away if she wanted but Y/n couldn't and didn't want to.

Leaning further down making Y/n gasp as the gap between them got closed. Closing her eyes Carmen forgot about the world around them the only thing on her mind was Y/n, her soft lips and her sweet scent.

When she pulled away she saw Y/n standing with a silly grin on her red face with sparkling eyes, she couldn't help the chuckle and blush. "I think I get it." Y/n said turning more red by the second her ears burning as she leaned into the hand on her cheek.

"Good." Taking a step closer with a hand on the other woman's waist Carmen pulled her close holding her against her with her hand in her neck a thumb stroking the end of her jaw just beneath her ear. Y/n gently grabbed a hold of Carmen's arm while her other hand was placed on her shoulder. Even now she could smell the sweet scent of Carmen, a strawberry and vanilla kind that fitted her so well.

This time Y/n leaned up capturing Carmen's bottom lip between hers. Closing her blue-grey eyes she leaned down into the kiss tilting her head slightly making the kiss easier for both of them.

When the two broke apart Carmen sighed leaning her forehead against Y/n's both still had their eyes closed smiling like idiots.

"I honestly didn't know you felt this way- wait I am not misreading things right?" Y/n said suddenly slight panic rose making her rapidly scan every inch of Carmen's face.

"My reaction last night wasn't obvious?" Carmen asked with an amused eyebrow in the air. "What?" Y/n frowned again relaxing in the thief's gentle hold.

"Seriously? I could see on the camera feed how red, Red was." At Player's comments she rolled her eyes shaking her head looking down at Y/n again. "I didn't notice." Y/n said mostly to Player.

"I was surprised to say the least." Carmen admitted. "Oh." It explained why she didn't move or say anything and just stared.

"I wouldn't mind doing it again." Carmen shrugged making Y/n blush. "To almost get caught or the kiss?" Y/n asked knowing what she meant but she wanted to hear her say it. "Hmm..." She pretended to think about it.

"The kiss. Definitely the kiss." She pointed at Y/n with a small smirk. "Ditto." She giggled.

Y/n laid her head on the thief's chest closing her eyes for a moment then opened them staring at the city hearing nothing but her favorite thief's heart beating. A smile spread across the woman's face as she wrapped her arms around Y/n staring out into the city resting her cheek against her head.

⇩⇩⇩⇩⇩⇩

AUTHOR NOTE:

Comments are welcomed as long it's nothing negative.

I've never really done requests but I've also never done a Carmen Sandiego book,

so feel free to put in requests - I'll try and make content accordingly then.

DIFFERENT SHIPS:

I will try and do different ships. (If requested.)

I WILL NOT DO:

Because obvious reasons. (I have nothing against people who ship them.)

Shadowsan × Carmen

Shadowsan × Zack

Shadowsan × Ivy

Player × Carmen

Player × Zack

Player × Ivy

Zack × Ivy

I WILL ALLOW:

In a platonic/friendship way. (I have nothing against people who ship them.)

Carmen × Graham

Carmen × Ivy

Carmen × Zack

Carmen × Shadowsan

Carmen × Player

Shadowsan × Zack

Shadowsan × Ivy

Shadowsan × Player

Player × Zack

Player × Ivy

Zack × Ivy

#carmen sandiego one shot #carmen sandiego x reader #carmen sandiego 2019 #carmen sandiego reboot #carmen sandiego #carmen sandeigo netflix #carmen #sandiego #cs reboot #cs #carmen x reader #carmen one shot #carmen imagine #carmen sandiego imagine

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midnxghtsunwrites · 4 years

Text

SMOKESTACKS | 16, NO MORE SURPRISES

warning: ⚠ domestic abuse ahead ⚠

FOR THE SIXTH TIME IN TWO hours, Nadine's phone blares its annoying ringtone. She could only assume that those calls are coming from the same people she's been avoiding for the past week. Nadine has managed to take the week off of work to avoid seeing Gemma and/or Jax.

Now, she's sat in a bar on a Friday night, sipping on a gin and tonic and bobbing her head to the music playing over the speakers.

She glances at her screen to see the familiar name pop up.

Jackson Teller.

She was in her feelings when she changed his name in her phone and she doesn't see herself changing it back in the near future. Honestly, she doesn't know what to do. It seems impossible to avoid these people considering everywhere she turns, someone associated with the club is in her face.

Of course, her friendship with Lyla was the only constant and based on the fact that the porn star brings up Jax in every one of their conversations, he knows it too. Does she want to just wait it out until they're tired of trying to reach out to her or does she try to make another getaway?

She just got here and she loves her job and her kids and she already can't imagine leaving them.

Guess she'll have to suck it up.

"I really can't tell if you're drunk or just vibing," The voice belongs to a black woman who'd been sitting beside Nadine for the better part of thirty minutes. She has an eyebrow raised and a glass of scotch raised to her lips, "Or both."

Nadine shakes her head in amusement, "Definitely both." Sticking a hand out, she introduces herself, "Nadine."

"Amelia." The woman shakes the teacher's hand, "Why haven't I seen you around before?"

"That is a great question," Nadine jokes as she sips her drink. She's barely tipsy, which is far from where she wants to be. The conversation continues to flow as the woman is drowned out by Nadine's phone blaring obnoxiously for the third time in ten minutes, the teacher ignoring every call.

Noting this, Amelia tilts her head in interest, "Boyfriend?"

The teacher scrunches her face at the thought, "Nope."

"Girlfriend?"

"I wish."

"Almost boyfriend?"

At Amelia's teasing tone, Nadine rolls her eyes in amusement, "Definitely not."

NADINE WAS DOWN THREE GLASSES of whiskey before she felt the effects of the alcohol on her senses. She giggles, fruitlessly as she tries to drink from her glass only to miss completely and basically pour it down her shirt.

Amelia bursts out into laughter, drunk to her ass. The women had been drowning themselves in tequila shots — for reasons they choose not to admit. Apparently, Amelia has lived in Charming her whole life — she's an OR nurse at St. Thomas's Hospital and extremely talented when it comes to her job.

Nadine didn't get much more than that.

"Oh, crap," Nadine snorts as the woody aroma from the alcohol wafts to her nostrils.

Amelia points in amusement, her eyes squinted as a loud laugh escapes her, "You smell like a bar!"

The teacher nods and leans back on her stool, almost falling on her back, "That's 'cause we're in a bar, silly!"

Staggering forward, Nadine peers through the mirrored wall behind the shelves of alcohol — the clear space allows her to look at the rest of the bar patrons behind her. She takes note of the large spot on her grey shirt and groans, exaggeratedly as she throws her head back.

Luckily, drunk Nadine still has some sort of logical reasoning, "I'll be right back — I gotta clean this up before it stains."

Amelia just tilts the rim of her glass of scotch towards the teacher and sends her a dopey smile, "Have fuuun." She sings, joyfully.

"I willll," Nadine mimics as she throws cash for the drinks on the bar counter.

Fortunately, the dark spot hadn't dried in the time it took Nadine to go through the line of women standing outside of the bathroom. A lack of stalls seemed to be the verdict for the long queue. Standing there in the bathroom, she hovers over the sink, wiping a damp paper towel over her tank top.

The stain is almost out — the woody smell being replaced by stale tap water. She should've just kept the stain there if that's the case.

Suddenly, it's like time stops. Chills run down her back and the hairs on the back of her necks rise. Goosebumps line her arms as she furrows her eyebrows. There's a sinking feeling in her gut — so deep that Nadine is knocked out of her drunken stupor and forced to grab on to the ceramic sink.

Almost as if she could predict it, there's a knock on the door. Nadine blinks profusely and calls to the person, "Someone's in here." That doesn't make the person on the other side back off — no, instead, the doorknob that was once locked is twisted and pushed open.

So much for locking the door. She ponders.

The figure that enters is tall — and so familiar. It's too dark for her to see a face but for a moment, Nadine assumes that Jax found her. She didn't put it past him considering he has so many connections that probably tipped him off and she doesn't put it past him to break down any barriers between them.

This leads her to her beginning sentence, "You don't have to check up on me, Jax. I just need time to myself."

As the figure steps closer, Nadine's breath hitches in her throat. Fuck. Tears fill her eyes as she looks upon the man that's caused her so much turmoil for two years. The man she fucking ran away from. Ezra Moore in all his mysterious obscurity stands just feet away from her.

She tries not to let her gaze shift to the pepper spray in her bag.

The man smirks, sadistically as he steps further into the room, almost steps away from his target, "This place should really get some better locks."

As his patronizing tone, Nadine jumps towards her bag on the sink, only to be shoved backward by her assailant. Her back lands against the filthy tiled wall and he holds her there, a grimey hand wrapped around her neck.

There were times when she loved to peer into those chocolate brown eyes — they used to give her a certain comfort. Now, they're the epitome of terrifying.

"What? You thought you could get away from me, you little bitch?" He growls, leaning so close into Nadine that the palm of his hand pushes into her larynx and the stench of cigarettes and nasty beer invades her senses. "No matter how far you go, what name you use, or if you change your phone — I will always fucking find you."

"Please —"

"Shut the fuck up!" He yells into her face, spit flying to land on her cheek (the way my COVID brain just threw up). "You know you can't run from me, Nadine." His voice lowers as he jerks her head to the side and leans towards her ear. His lips wrap around her lobe, bringing tears to her eyes. His grip tightens, taking her breath from her — "You've been a little slut since you left me, haven't you? Fucking Jax Teller? That little biker I've been seeing around here?"

She can't speak. She can't breathe.

Ezra doesn't care.

"Answer me!"

Whipping her head around swiftly, she shakes her head and gapes her mouth, wanting to speak but no words can make it past Ezra's tight grip. Seeing this, he loosens it for a split second so Nadine can muster a small, "No."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for, "Don't fucking lie to me! That's all you've been doing since I met you." He forces her to look at him, frowning for a moment at the sight of tears running down her cheeks, "You're a fucking liar, you know that? And such an actress. Even right now — all these crocodile tears that you've been saving for me. For two years. All that fake love. Did you even love me?"

Nadine watches in pure horror as Ezra's voice breaks and tears begin to fly down his face. This man is insane, she sobs. Thoughts flurry through her mind as his grip loosens significantly. She's so taken aback that even her mind seems to be lagging. She wants to go home where the locks work.

"I did." She whispers, cringing as her voice cracks, "I-I do. I do love you, Ezra." It pains her to speak these lies, but she has to go and the only way to do that is to feed into his crazed actions, "I love you, baby. So much." She lifts a shaky hand to cup his cheeks, willing her tears away at the thought of touching her oppressor. "I'm sorry I left you. I don't know what I was thinking."

Her back stiffens when he falls into her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He sobs, savoring the feeling as she runs a hand through his scalp. It was something she did years ago to help him out whenever he had a stressful day — she used to love doing it.

Now, she feels like she needs to take a shower in acid to scrub the feeling of him off.

Her neck is sore when he releases her — surely, she has bruises.

Now is her time to get away — with that thought, she swiftly thrusts her knee up in between his legs and pushes him off of her body. He falls to the floor with a pained groan, cupping his groin.

"You bitch!" He screams at her as she shuffles along quickly to make her getaway. She snatches her bag from the sink, grabs her pepper spray and unleashes hell on the man writhing on the floor. He screams bloody murder before Nadine exits the room, closing the door behind her.

Nadine tries to wipe away the messy mascara under her eyes before heading for the exit of the bar, ignoring as Amelia calls after her.

The teacher drove home in fear that her shaky hands would make her swerve into oncoming traffic. That and her blurry vision, eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. She's spent too much of her life crying over that man — she'll be damned if he gets anymore from her.

Taking extra precautions, she checks behind her every few seconds to make sure she isn't being tailed — even taking the long way home.

When she arrives at her apartment complex, she double checks the locks on her car before making her way up the stairs, her key already in one hand and her pepper spray in the other. When she sees another figure crouched by her door, the woman jumps. She doesn't want any more surprises tonight.

As she steps closer, arm extended with her pepper spray, her eyes catch sight of the familiar dark hair and the lit end of a cigarette. Nadine holds her breath as she realizes that that cigarette belongs to the woman she's been ignoring for the past week.

With a broken voice, Nadine freezes and whispers, "Gemma?"

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#charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam #jax teller imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller x black reader #charlie hunnam x black reader

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calypsoff · 3 years

Text

Sixty Eight. Part 5

I feel like I am stealing someone baby and I feel bad, but I am not leaving him here, I refuse to leave him especially when we are going home. I rather he be safe, I did say to Rajad that is not drunk where he is if TJ does realise but I don’t think he will, Chris and him are both going to be a mess together “looks cute on you that” pointing at Rich, he rolled his eyes as I picked up the car seat and Mel got the bag “stealing babies is fun” walking behind Mel to leave the building, Rich looks so awkward holding Camron like put some love into it, he’s not a piece of meat now “have you all got a car to go home?” I asked Tootie, they are waiting here “waiting on Uber” frowning at her “should have asked, I could have got you an SUV, but you are all ok to get home yes?” I am so knackered, and I see paparazzi outside this place already “you go home and rest, you look exhausted” I sighed out “I am, thank you” Mel is holding the door open for me “thank you” holding this car seat that I have no idea how to use “can the driver put this in?” I questioned, the paparazzi is really close to me, they need to watch out “move back!” Rich spat with Camron in his arm “can you put this in thank you” he looked at me shocked “oh yes” the driver took the seat “let me get in first” it’s like three in the morning, I need my bed right he now.

I don’t know what instinct I have kicking in, but I just feel like I am concerned that he hasn’t been fed, waiting for the call to connect because Noella was around him then “hey, did any of you see this baby get fed? Like I can’t say because I been busy?” I hope they saw “all I saw and then was told, his friend said can I leave him here and he was already asleep but that was it” rolling my eyes “ok, see you at the house” disconnecting the call “time to go to and get something for him, like maybe clothes and diapers and some food? Maybe milk, Rich you heard that” I think I may feed him something because this is not good, imagine how long he has had that diaper on for “you think if we wake him he will cry?” I shrugged “he didn’t wake up when Rich held him” now Mel is on a mission, she is going to go out of her way to wake him, but he needs too “are you going to change the diaper?” Nodding my head “I’m not that kind of person, so yeah I will do that. Not his fault his father is busy partying” Mel is touching his face to wake him; he’s going to be in shock when he wakes up.

Camron is awake but very quiet, he hasn’t cried but we have all the stuff to take care of him tonight “I am so tired” I complained, Noella has put him the baby seat in the kitchen and he’s just looking, he is so cute “so I have done the bottle for you, should be perfect. This is a good test if you think of getting pregnant again so soon” Noella laughed pointing out, I cringed “if I need you I will call you” grabbing the bottle from Noella, I am so nervous about this. I am going to be feeding this child, Noella changed the diaper for me and put the babygrow on, he is so good bless him and I feel he’s like that because he’s always with someone new, which is sad “shall we have milk” I shook his bottle “da” he reached up “oh my gosh, were you hungry?” Taking the cap off and placing the bottle in his hands, he snatched it off me so quickly “I will take him upstairs, if anyone asks he’s in bed with me” unbuckling him out of the seat “come here big boy” he is a big boy, laying him in my arm just above my bump “I don’t like this already” I cringed “you want me to take him up” shaking my head, holding him close to me and quickly used my other hand to fix the bottle. His cutie little eyes just staring at me, he is so hungry I feel he isn’t taking any breaths “ok, goodnight” walking off to go upstairs, shuffling along to the stairs and Noella is right, I will not be getting pregnant any time soon because I can’t do be doing this, I have decided already.

I fell asleep scared thinking he would end up falling off the bed but he didn’t, I woke up to Camron just sat on the bed staring at me “you know Chris wouldn’t like this” he is so adorable in the morning, I am so shocked he hasn’t cried at all. I am unsure on why but I feel like he hasn’t because he’s used to random people, he touched his head and pulled his hair “come here” holding my hand to him, extending my arm and just helping him to come closer “pulling your hair for” he smiled at me, he is the cutest thing “my god, Camron you are too adorable” he looked at my bump and then smiled, reaching over to my phone “let me take a picture” I am wondering where my husband is actually because clearly he isn’t here so where the hell he is, Camron placed his hands on my bump and and used it to get up “excuse me” grabbing his arm, he need to not squash my daughter. He smiled so wide stood up and I quickly took a picture of him “sit back now baby” sitting him back so he fell back, he will be ok there. Adding a caption ‘found a random baby in my bed’ pressing send, I sniggered to myself, I know his mother is going to flat out have a meltdown over this. Throwing my covers off of me and getting out of bed slowly “my daughter didn’t like you touching her baby” I groaned out getting up, turning to Camron “hey baby” let me take another picture of him, he looks so happy laid out on the bed. Taking another picture of him giggling ‘My husband looks young’ pressing send, I just keep adding to my IG story.

Walking into the living room “I hope I don’t have a son” I announced as soon as I got into the room “why baby?” my mother questioned “because they be trying to attack their peepee all of the time, like come on! I was literally hitting his hands away” my mother is laughing out so much “they don’t change either, they grow up with their hands in their pants, chile no. I don’t want a boy” I am so glad I am having a daughter now “you playing Majesty” placing him down on the floor “plays nicely now” placing him in the play pen “so no boy eh?” sitting next to my mother “I hope not mom, I just can’t be dealing with battling him not touch his dick, like stop” my mom sighed out “they are all the same Robyn, trust me. They love touching it, where is your husband” she has reminded me, I need to chase him up “I am checking on that” I will ring Rorrey, actually Rajad. Scrolling to his name “clearly he isn’t here so where is he” tapping on Rajad name “none of the boys came home Robyn” placing my phone to my ear as it rang out “hey sis” Rajad is a good boy “where is my husband?” I asked “Drake’ penthouse suite, he is on the floor asleep. We all here” of course he is “what happened when I left my spy?” he better tell me “he got drunk, badly drunk. Sick on his flooring drunk, Rich and one of Drake bodyguards drove the cars back to the home” nodding my head “take care of him, tell TJ his son is here too” he better pick up his damn son.

Majesty is so mean, she done bullied that boy. Pulled his hair twice too for nothing too, I think it’s because he attempted to touch her toys and she disliked that, but she needs to share with her sassy self “did you manage to see Joyce? She asked about you at the club, I said to her that you’re busy chasing Chris” I laughed “I only said I am going to say hi to him, you’re so silly and I did. We sat and spoke for a while actually; she was saying how excited she is for you to have the baby. That the home Chris has got her has been a dream, she enjoys the privacy and that the family that dislike Chris hate him even more, they did pop into the home. I said it happens, but she was sweet as always, are you feeling nervous about giving birth?” nodding my head “oh yes, and then decided that I won’t be having another straight away either. That is a hundred percent too much for me to be doing that but I am nervous, I want a pain free birth but I can imagine it being the worst, I just know the pain is going to be terrible” my mother doesn’t seem fazed at all “all three of you had big heads, I say had but you still all do” I would tell her how dare you but I will laugh it off “rude” she isn’t wrong at all.

Rajad said that they dropped the cars off at the home so I thought I would do some investigation, they parked it not on the drive because obviously the gate is closed but outside the home at the side which is stupid because I mean it should be inside the drive so I got Mel to do it for me, she can apparently drive these things, I mean she is saying she can but I don’t think she can put the engine on. They at least put the keys in the post for me “not like seeing you out here Rihanna” looking away from the car “oh hey Justin” he got off his bike “you just moved in” hugging him “yeah, like just down the road, I been meaning to bump into, I mean literally bump into you. It’s actually very weird seeing you pregnant, but beautiful as ever. It kind of takes away my childhood dreams of being your boyfriend” I laughed moving back from the hug “you never said you had a crush on me?” I said dumbfounded “boyfriend was about you! Didn’t you get it?” shaking my head laughing “you know what Justin, can you do me a big favour. My friend is stupid, but can you park both of these cars on my drive please, they were left here. My husband isn’t home, and I can’t drive these” it’s just funny that I am here asking Justin Bieber to park the cars “oh for sure, anything for you. Just stand and watch my bike though” stepping my back laughing “here is the key for the big one and tell her to get out. She is gong to do something stupid” I swear Mel is so basic, she is acting like she knows she can do it and she can’t “since we are neighbours, are you going to cook me something nice?” Justin shouted as he made his way to the car “I will think about it!” this boy is going to be at my home now, Chris will have a new friend soon.

I just posted about Justin parking my cars, it’s all over the blogs. It was an hour ago and every news outlet has it up, they did not wait “oh my god, Rihanna. I am so sorry” TJ rushed in, he actually scared me “woah, TJ. It’s ok” he looks a little worse for wear “Camron, hey. Sorry” he went over to his son, seeing my pale ass husband. He looks terrible “don’t bother kissing me if you are feeling like death, just don’t” he looks terrible “I don’t feel too good, I smell too” I gagged “you know what, throw the suit away, go in the shower and then bed” I pointed at him “I feel the same, I will shower with you” Rorrey said as he walked back out of the living room, Chris walked off with his head low “I’m not well mom” I sniggered at Chris saying that to my mom, she was only just stood there “oh my god, like I think Chris ruined so many things. Also I know a secret” Rajad smiled “like the hell what?” he leaned into me and whispered in my ear “it’s a girl” I gasped “that man!” I spat, Rajad laughed “he told everyone when we got to the penthouse, Drake was also drunk and they was just dancing around and then he was sick. And then he started telling everyone, then Rorrey and Chris got emotional together, it was super funny. He fell asleep on the bathroom floor” he pointed at TJ “man, it’s bad times. I am so sorry, like for real, I just. I am sorry. I am ashamed. I am going to the hotel now, I am sorry” waving him off “it’s fine, he is happy and fed. Don’t feel that way or let that bitch make you feel that way either” I know she will be.

That ugly ass bitch baby mother is giving hell but I do not care, hooting and hollering to the blogs saying that is my son, baby have the child. I need to see to my big child that made a whole lot of mess I heard “oh you in bed” he is already in bed “yeah, I had a quick shower, I need sleep” making my way over to him “the clothes are in a bag on the bathroom floor, I just want to say thank you. Robyn you did so much for me, I am still trying to process it but you got me on my knees. Like I can’t” I shushed him “just rest up ok, I will let you sleep for a while and bring some light food up. You been up to no good too” Chris groaned out laying onto his side “I don’t feel too good, I don’t” he closed his eyes “I am not shocked, you just rest” pressing a kiss to his forehead, he has literally dragged the wet towel across the bedroom floor and collapsed in bed, I will let him off just this time because other then that I would have been mad. He did have a shower, so I assume. Picking up the towel, as long as he isn’t sick in the bed I will be ok.

#chrianna ff #chrianna fanfiction #chriannaff #fanfiction #fanfic #chrianna

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karmaisntswag · 4 years

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company . lov

—

▷genre;; angsty fluff

▷what to expect;; a lil gore, adult language,, angst,,, and wholesome league content!!!

—

hi :),, uHm, hey. i’m bee!!! and this is my first fanfic. be prepared to cringe your life away lmao.

enjoy :D

A loud gasp made the quiet night not so silent.

“Oh my god, oh, my god, oh, my god! Dabi! Look!” The voice belonged to a short female standing at around 5′2, the excitement in her tone obvious as she ran from between the trees. Himiko Toga.

The blood sucking, childish, psychopath heroes all around Japan were worried about was out and about which was extremely dangerous given the current price on her head. But, she knew she was safe, and she’d stay in that state for however long she had company. It was like they were taking shifts. First, the girl was left with Twice. Then, Shigaraki, Kurogiri, Dabi, and now, it seemed they’d all come.

“Oh! Hi Shiggy!” Himiko came to a halt, eyes brightening as she saw the leader. A little wave followed right after her greeting, her left hand clutching tight onto a decapitated head, fingers tangled in the dark, messy hair of the woman. For a moment, it was like she’d forgotten what was in her grasp.

“Toga?” Tomura’s harsh voice sounded unnatural in the calm setting. An eyebrow lifted with his words, his head motioning slightly to the head as his nails scratched away at his neck. Blond hair fell against her cheek as Toga tilted her head slightly, smile disappearing only to be replaced with a pout, then a face of realization. She held up the head. “This is my new friend. Isn’t she pretty?” The head turned, facing the others; eyes open and rolled back, mouth sewn shut.

Dabi scoffed, “Beautiful, c’mon crazy, are we done here?” - “What!? No!! Look at her! I saw people talking about shruken heads on the t.v yesterday and wanted one of my own! Look! I did the sewing myself!” The head was thrust forward towards the now annoyed male. He gave a sarcastic smile to the teenager, reaching behind him to grab Tomura’s wrist, bringing his hand forward and planting all five of his fingers on the head. Toga screamed. Tomura huffed, ripping his arm from the ravenette’s grasp and planting it by his side.

“Fuck off. Toga. We’ve been here long enough, let’s go.” The leader walked off, Dabi whistling as he followed, shoving his hands into his pockets. With sad yellow eyes, Himiko stared at the pile of dust on the ground. Her new toy already ruined. Gently, she sat herself down on the ground in front of it, head tilted as she just stared at it, a bird flying towards her, landing infront of her and on the dust.

Alive.

Dead.

Not even a seccond later and it’s life had come to an end. She wondered how it’s family would react- if it had any, that is. Was it a mother? Did it have little babies to feed? Was it out hunting, or did it just want to make a friend?

Looking at the bloodied knife in her hand, wondering who the cries were coming from, Toga bit her lip, drawing her own blood.

It was like an instinct. What was she supposed to do now? Eat it? Get kicked out, and called a freak, again? Or, was it better to just leave? Go on the run again, alone. Another desperate cry left her lips, delicate hands dropping the knife, and moving to her hair, tugging lightly.

Why couldn’t it just stop?

She was finally feeling at home with the league- finally, feeling comfortable, yet she had to go and mess it up again. She couldn’t help it.

It all seemed like fun and games for Himiko, but she couldn’t stop anymore. It had become an undying, ever hungry need. A necessity. She needed it to live.

The thrill, the screams- every singly thing that came with cutting up her next disguise gave her a purpose, but, she hated it.

Love and hate really weren’t so different after all. It was so easy to love the things you hate, and hate the things you love. The blond didn’t know which catagory she fell into. Did she hate loving it, or love hating it?

Four fingers came to wrap around both wrists, pinky lifted as her beloved leader moved her hands away from her hair, resting them on her lap. Shigaraki crouched down infront of the crying girl, quickly decaying her point of focus. The bird.

At this point she’d made a whole story up for the animal, only to make herself feel more guilty- to make herself cry harder.

“I-I’m sorry,” her voice was quiet. Void of emotions, eyes brimming with more tears, a knot forming in her throat. She wanted to stay quiet. “I’m so sorry, S-Shiggy. I’ll leav-e.” Himiko’s large, slightly puffy eyes locked with red ones for a moment, before the sob broke through, causing her to jolt forward, and Shigaraki’s arms to wrap around her small frame.

Her cries grew louder as her head rest against his chest, hands gently rubbing her back. He thought the head being destroyed was what had her so bothered, the bird meant nothing to him.

“Don’t be silly,” he scoffed, “why on earth would we want you to leave? Your quirk is useful, and you’re a vital part of this team.” Another sob sounded at that, and he slowly pulled away, a loud, exaggerated huff came from behind the girl, her eyes widening, as she spun around, startled, and quickly getting defensive, stained knife at the ready.

Despite her instant readiness to attack, there was no need. It was only Dabi, head facing a little away from the two, arms open, ready for Toga to make home in.

She stubbornly refused, arms crossing over her chest as she glared at him, “I don’t like you very much, right now. You suck. Broke my new toy.” Himiko grumbled, tone completely serious.

In a quick act of surrender, the burnt male raised his palms, mumbling a, “sorry, sorry,” which the girl seemed pleased with. A tiny smile gracing her chapped, bloodied lips, she lifted herself off the ground, slowly walking towards the taller, and wrapping her arms around his torso, his snaking around her neck, as his head came to rest on top of hers.

He knew. He’d been told.

Toga felt closest with Dabi.

They had joined together after all, for more or less the same reasons too. He was like an older brother to her, and so, she of course got attached. He would never admit it infront of any conscious person, but so did he. There, was teasing-, bullying and names involved, it was only to be expected from the two, but they didn’t mind. That was how those who saw eachother as family were meant to banter, right? They knew it was all fun either way. So, when Dabi saw Toga sobbing after he ruined her creation, he instantly knew that wasn’t the reason. Sure, she’d of course have been sad, but the feelings wouldn’t have been strong enough to make her cry. They’d never been in the past, and he’d done way worse then burning a stupid person’s, stupid head.

Then, he saw the bird, and it all clicked.

So, now he whispered, fingers running through the girl’s hair as he coaxed her into a sort of calm, her sobs turning into weak whimpers, eyes screwing shut as her brows furrowed in concentration. Shigaraki sighed once more, stopping his scratching, to call for their transportation, and his oldest friend to arrive and take them home.

“Hey, can I come in?”

No reply came, only the sound of a door lock clicking, before the door finally opened seconds later to reveal an annoyed, half asleep Himiko Toga. “What?” She muttered, yawning, fists rubbing at her eyes. “Whaddya want? It’s two am.”

Dabi smiled, pushing past her, and closing the door behind him with the simple excuse of; “if you do this to me, why can’t I do it to you?” Toga only flipped him off, dragging her feet back to her bed covered with a teddy bear, much larger than herself. One of the bear’s ears were cut off, the opening sewn shut, as well as the stuffed wound from a missing eye. Smaller plushies also littered her room, many joining the bear in having injuries from Toga’s tantrums or stitched features. By the time Dabi tore his eyes from a lamb with no limbs in the corner of her room, back to the once again sleeping girl, the smile was gone. He walked towards her, plopping himself next to her, before moving the bear, and laying down in it’s place, arms wrapping around Toga who instantly shifted towards him, a small kiss being pressed to the top of her head, his own eyes shutting.

“I love you, Himi.”

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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Whumptober Day 11: Defiance

CW: Creepy/intimate whumper, captivity, references to pregnancy, conditioning, restraints

(See the Fillis Angst Parade AU that I wrote with @whump-tr0pes for context on why Daniel Michaelson’s father is doing all these mean spicy things to Finn Dunham. As always, I am immensely grateful for Athena letting me be mean to her OCs!)

This takes place before Finn agrees to be Patrick’s plaything and during Ellis’s pregnancy.

Finn knows when the man of the house is home, because someone will hear the sound of the car in the driveway, engine rumbling like some terrifyingly large contented cat, and everyone suddenly tenses up. Finn watches from their place polishing pristine antique silver with narrowed eyes as the household staff around them suddenly goes backs straight, chin up, working hard.

Finn might, too, if they were a paid servant and not a fucking prisoner. They don't bother to change a damn thing about how they stand. If anything, they let their shoulders hunch even more, slouching with obvious purposeful anger. They let their teeth grind together against the feeling of the cool metal shackle welded onto one ankle, the scrape of the heavy chain that connects it to a hook in the wall.

There are hooks in all the walls in every room here. Not that Finn’s seen much more than kitchen, formal dining room, casual dining room, and one of their living rooms. One. Of five. Finn has provided medical services to families with children who had to live in fucking clapboard shacks but oh, the Michaelson group has five separate living rooms in one single house. And they have multiple houses.

There’s a beach house, they’ve been told, where they could be sent if they need to be even more alone. They know what that means… it means further from Ellis, who they haven’t seen since they were captured. It means further from any chance of… of anything.

There’s this house, and a beach house. There’s a third house in a neutral territory they use for business negotiations. There’s a fourth - a fourth goddamn house - somewhere deep in the northern woods. Deep in anti-Syndicate territory.

Corrine Michaelson had laughed when she showed them where it was on a map, her fingers curved over their shoulders like claws. Like a bear trap, she’d murmured, as Finn’s stomach dropped. We close on your kind from both sides, when we want to.

Why are you showing me this? They had known the answer. Weren’t even sure why they’d asked.

Sure enough, Corrine’s sharp red fingernails had dug into the nape of Finn’s neck as she answered, because you’re never getting out of here alive to tell anyone.

So, four houses. And of course, there’s the ‘small’ summer estate where Daniel Michaelson lives, separate from his family, but close enough to be controlled.

All this space, and Finn has seen so little of it. They saw more of Danny’s house in three days than they’ve seen of the Michaelson’s mansion in… they don’t even know how long they’ve been here.

They hate the Syndicates more every single time they have to dust the same damn side table, make careful note of all the hooks in the walls, the ceiling, the subtle ones that you could bring up out of the floor.

They lost count after eighty-seven hooks and they haven't even been allowed in a third of the immensity of this house. And they're not counting the basement, with entirely different hooks that aren’t just made for connecting chains and restraining… prisoners? Playthings? What even do the Michaelsons do with all those hooks?

They know what Corrinne does with the hooks in the basement, at least. They’ve had to try and save people after she uses them, sewing up injuries and feeding IVs with the woman breathing down their neck and counting the seconds, killing anyone they can’t save before the arbitrary time limit is up.

Finn is becoming better at emergency triage every day, and feels all the lives they couldn’t stabilize fast enough weighing on their back, staring back at them through the silver they polish during the day.

They’re trapped in a mansion built by monsters, and they have absolutely no idea how they will ever get out.

The ankle cuff seems ridiculous. Finn’s not going anywhere - not while Ellis is here, somewhere upstairs where they can’t get to them. But the Michaelson family sure as fuck doesn’t take any chances. Finn hasn’t even seen Danny - not in the entire time they’ve been held here, not since they’d escaped, before they’d stumbled into a Michaelson trap and…

“Oh, here’s an interesting scent.” Fingernails scraped over Ellis’s stomach, like claws that didn’t quite break the skin, as Ellis thrashed and kicked and spat curses right back in Corrine Michaelson’s face.

Only Ellis and Finn had been flat-out captured - bad fucking luck, but Ellis had been sick for days and Finn had taken their eyes off the road at just the wrong second. They’d swerved, lost control on the gravel that ran along the shoulder of the road, went into a ditch. There’d barely been time to get Sam and Isaac piled into the other car with the others, and Finn and Ellis had ended up surrounded while the team got clean away.

They’d been certain they’d just be tortured for information, Finn forced to their knees on the ground with cold metal pressed against the back of their head and Ellis held by Michaelson syndicate scum like a ragdoll until Corrine’s chin had raised. Finn had been so sure the next thing they’d see was a Syndicate holding block, and the last thing they’d see would be their own blood on the floor.

It was only later, in retrospect, that Finn realized the Michaelson matriarch, rather than taking the time to think over how to kill them, was scenting the air like a fucking wolf smelling prey.

“Patrick, love, come over here and tell me if this is what I think this is.” Corrine’s hand had pressed flat to Ellis’s stomach.

Ellis, pale in the darkness, had spat in her face. Corrine’s lips pressed together into a thin line, sparking disgust as she wiped the spittle from her cheek.

“What is it, darling?” Patrick had circled around behind, and Finn had struggled and kicked and fought and cursed but it hadn’t done them any good. They’d had to watch as Ellis was held still so Patrick could lay his hand just below his wife’s, touching Ellis like they weren’t a person at all.

Patrick’s teeth had flashed bright white in the dim evening light. “Oh, Corrine, congratulations are in order,” He’d said, with pure gentleness and joy. “This little rebel is with child.” His eyes had been dancing, sparkling even, as he turned to look down at Finn. “Yours, I presume?”

“Go to hell,” Finn had snarled, heart pounding. “Get your fucking hands off of them!”

“So yes, then.” Patrick looked at Finn, lingering a little over the lines of their face, in a way that made Finn’s skin crawl. “Lucky you. And lucky them, to get to bed you.”

“Fuck off.” Finn’s stomach had dropped to somewhere near their knees at the interest, the fascination, thick in Patrick Michaelson’s voice.

Corrine ignored the exchange, smiling back at her husband. She would have looked beatific and saintly if it weren’t for the bloodlust raging in her eyes. “How wonderful, Patrick. You know what this means…”

Patrick sighed happily. “I do, darling, and it’s wonderful. We’re going to have a baby.”

Finn hadn’t quite understood, at first. Not until they saw the blood drain from Ellis’s face. “Over m-my dead body,” they whispered, and Corrine Michaelson laughed.

“Yes, silly mother, that would be the plan.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at Ellis, turning to look at the guards who had circled around them. Too many guards, too many guns, no escape.

“Put that one with my things,” Corrine said smoothly. Her eyes scanned over Finn, then. “What about this one, love? Kill it? I don’t need it.”

Someone handed Corrine Michaelson a handgun - they couldn’t see who - and she pressed the cool barrel against the center of Finn’s forehead. Finn had felt the first real panic, then. Their life meant so fucking little to her. They would die without ever meeting their child, wouldn’t be there for Ellis, who would go through… whatever Corrine Michaelson had planned… alone.

Patrick looked over just in time for Finn to whisper, “P-please, no,” just in time to see the tears in their eyes.

Patrick’s breath caught, and then he had flashed that brilliant, charming smile again. “No, I don’t think so, darling. I’d hate to waste that body on an early grave, wouldn’t you?”

Corrine’s head tilted, scenting Finn, staring down at them with cold eyes. Between the chill of Corrine’s appraisal and the heat in Patrick’s gaze, Finn cringed back. Patrick’s eyes only burned brighter. “Look at you, you pretty thing… No, I’d like to get a closer look...”

Corrine pulled back the gun and Finn let out an involuntary sob of relief.

“I love you,” Ellis said, intensity in their dark eyes as Finn looked up. “No matter what happens, Finn, I love you, okay?”

“I love you, too.” Finn had struggled to their feet only to feel a blow against the back of their head that sent them sprawling, insensible, back to the ground.

Finn’s eyes had closed to the sound of Ellis screaming their name.

Their eyes had opened to a basement prison cell, and Ellis nowhere to be seen.

Now, they clean silverware on the ground floor of a sprawling mansion knowing Ellis is somewhere so close - just upstairs, just up the stairs and down the hall - and yet impossibly distant, thanks to the chain on their ankle, the locked door.

Does Ellis still scream for them, wherever they are? And Finn just can’t hear it? Are the bedrooms soundproofed?

Finn lives a life of constant neverending adrenaline and tension. They are woken before dawn to help prepare breakfast, kept on their feet through the day without breaks, either taken downstairs to administer medical aid to prisoners or up here cleaning and cleaning and fucking cleaning. The exhaustion - mental and physical - makes them sleep dreamlessly like a corpse, every single night when they’re locked into their tiny room. They are the only ‘servant’, so far as they can tell, who isn’t a paid employee.

The only slave, if they’re honest. Or hostage. But you can’t be a hostage if there’s no one to make demands, to, right? No one is here to save Finn, or to bargain for them. No one but Patrick Michaelson, whose eyes follow Finn through every room like slime running down their back, like a hand between their legs.

For the first couple of months, Finn had wondered if they’d be brought to the basement one day only to see their team - Isaac and the rest - held in the cells, for Finn to fix and fix and fix until they can’t be fixed anymore. But there’s no one.

Every day, the balance between relief that the team hasn’t been captured and a horrified understanding that no one is coming to save them gets a little more one-sided.

The other servants are all paid, and come and go between work and home, and Finn… Finn isn’t like the rest of them at all. When Patrick and Corrine Michaelson are not at home, the staff is relaxed, casual, joking and chatting with each other as the day’s work gets done. They don’t talk to Finn - they’ve all been told not so, although no one will admit it.

Finn is sure it’s purposeful - an isolation tactic with some larger purpose meant to wear them down.

Joke’s on you, assholes, Finn thinks, working the special cloth deep into the grooves of the silver until even the barest hint of tarnish is gone. I don’t want to talk to any Syndicate trash in this house anyway.

They’re just fine being alone with their thoughts. Alone, it’s easier to stay clear and hold themself together. Alone, they can try to keep planning for some nebulous future escape, one that comes alongside the partner they know is here, somewhere, but aren’t allowed to see. No, Finn wakes up alone each morning in a back room behind the kitchens on a narrow cot with a single lumpy pillow and a thin blanket.

They eat what they’re given, when they are led out into the kitchens to start their workday - usually some kind of oatmeal porridge, every once in a while an egg or something - and the day is full of chore after chore after chore. At first they fought, and spent whole days in that single dark little room on the cot.

Five steps to one wall, four to the other, just a cot, a toilet, a sink, and dull brick walls. They lasted two weeks, maybe, that way.

Maybe less. Hard to tell.

That had lasted until the screaming from the basement, and Corrine coming to Finn’s room to flatly state they could help her provide medical care to the rebels down below, or allow them to die, and it would be on Finn’s head if they did.

They gave up the fight, then. Now, they take the chores, because at least it lets them see something other than bare walls and the stupid fucking kids’ TV show pillowcase they have on their stupid fucking captivity pillow. They are taken down to the basement at least once a week to give first aid to tortured prisoners who will probably never see the outside of that basement again, but at least the prisoners talk to them.

They’d never forgive themselves if they let them simply die, if there’s even a chance some of them might be rescued. They never recognize anyone - the Michaelson territory has its own anti-Syndicate groups fighting for a better world. Finn is starting to doubt that a better world is even remotely possible, but that might just be the constant captivity and isolation talking.

Ellis is upstairs, and their stomach must be starting to round out by now. Has it been four months? Less? Maybe more and they’re five or even six months along? Finn’s heart twists at the knowledge that they’re missing the changes, that Ellis must live through them all alone, wherever they’re held. Ellis feels the baby’s kicks all alone, will go through each checkup with the doctor the Michaelsons keep on-call alone, will give birth alone, alone alone alone.

Finn, meanwhile, will continue to work, and eat, and sleep, and scream... alone.

They’re not even sure if Ellis knows they’re still alive.

One of the servants gave Finn copies of some of the sonogram photos from the last checkup - Finn sometimes sees the doctor having the machine brought into the house, and it hurts not to know what they’re saying to Ellis, not to be able to sit there and hold their hand.

They’d had these stupid… ideas, about how this might work. About sitting next to Ellis in an office, holding their hand, the two of them meeting eyes and smiling and saying to each other, the baby looks like you, or maybe just the baby looks like a smashed grape with fingerprints, or…

No. Whatever those appointments look like, they happen somewhere upstairs, and Ellis stares down the Michaelsons and the doctor perfectly fucking alone.

Patrick and Corrine never tell Finn a fucking thing.

But… but at least someone here has a fucking heart. One old servant, been with the family for years, she says, who brings Finn sonogram photos printed in secret. They’ve hidden those photos under the cot’s thin sheets, slipped between them and the plasticky mattress. A suggestion of light and shadow, barely human in shape but still Finn had known the moment they saw exactly what they were looking at.

The baby - their baby - looked more like some strange child’s drawing of a frog or a teddy bear than it did a developing human. But the servant had known how to show it all to them, had pointed to each shadow one by one and explained what it meant.

“And this,” she’d said, taking Finn’s hand and folding their fingers so only the index finger remained, pressing Finn’s own touch to a series of small light spots that seemed to sort of line up, “is the spine. Just how it should be. Straight as an arrow.”

She’d moved on to the next photo, the next. Naming them all. Heart. Kidneys. Fingers. Toes. Given Finn an impish smile when she noted that the baby was a girl.

“You can see the little nose, if you look just right at this one…”

It was the nose that broke Finn.

The baby, the one that grows inside the love of their life and the one that will be raised to believe her kidnappers are her family, has Ellis’s nose. The profile was unmistakable. Finn had had to send the servant away then.

They had cried, curled up on their cot clutching the photos of the tiny life that they had helped to create and might never know, for hours. Until the pillow was damp, until they felt emptied and wrung out, until they had no tears left. And then, because hell doesn’t give a shit if you need a good cry, they had gotten up the next day right on time to be put to work again.

Now Finn stands, watching the servants scatter to their places as the head of the household servants calls out that Patrick is home.

Finn holds a single spoon up - the silver shines so well they can nearly see their own face reflected in it like a funhouse mirror. Stretched out around the edges, blurred, just a smudge of skin tone and shadowy eyes. They might need a haircut.

Funny how it doesn't matter one solitary bit if they get one. No one they care about is ever going to see them to notice.

The team must be far away, by now - if it’s been months with no rescue, they must have understood there wasn’t any way to get Finn or Ellis out of this. Not this time. Maybe they’ll link up with another team, come back with stronger numbers. Maybe not.

Somehow, Finn doesn’t think they’ll stop trying. They’ve just started to doubt whether or not it’s possible.

Finn's hint of a smile is bitter and bleak as they listen to the sound of the front door opening and closing, the booming, lilting Irish brogue of Patrick Michaelson ringing through the entryway, echoing down the hall, straight to the formal dining room where Finn has been chained for polishing duty.

"Dinner menu, Mrs. Verona?" Patrick asks, not yet visible to Finn but his voice seems close. Just on the other side of the wall. It’s strange and something Finn can’t quite understand, but there’s an odd warmth that curls inside them whenever they hear his voice. They get the feeling that they understand what it means to be a moth and see a light shining through a window. "Corrine will be taking hers in the basement tonight."

Finn's lips thin. They’ll be dragged down with a first aid kit later, then. Lovely. High Queen Bitchison McBitch the First will be dining in the torture chamber, how fucking classy.

"Tonight is smoked oyster for the first course…"

Finn tunes it out after that. It doesn't matter what comes after the oysters, what the second or third course is. It doesn't matter.

Finn is going to be fed what they are always given for dinner. They’ll be handed a bowl full of whatever is scraped off of the fucking bastard's plate - or his monster wife's, all mixed up together. If they finish every bite Finn won't eat at all. Dregs of wine served from half-empty glasses, and Finn’s given no water until they drink Patrick’s leftover wine or whiskey.

One night they were fed a nearly-full glass of both and ended up drunk and morose alone in their little room, and it had to be on purpose, it had to be.

Is it degrading? It might be, if Finn even gave a shit any longer. All they really care about is somewhere else in this house, locked up. Finn wonders, idly, if Ellis has broken anyone’s nose yet. Their smile relaxes, just a little, when it occurs to them that the answer is almost certainly yes.

“I wasn’t aware my little captive finds polishing my silver so entertaining,” Patrick says from the doorway, and the smile drains from Finn’s face, immediately. They hadn’t even heard him move. “You know there are other things of mine I could have you polish.”

Finn swallows back the disgusted curse that they have ready on their tongue, too aware of the armed guards that are always just a few steps behind Patrick Michaelson, entirely too aware of how much it hurts when those guards are given the order to beat them.

“N-no thank you.” If their voice trembles, it’s from holding back their hatred. But Patrick smiles, anyway, as he moves into the room with perfect self-confidence, a man whose presence takes up every inch of the room right to the walls, leaving Finn feeling almost breathless. Like Patrick sucks out all the air until he’s the only thing left to breathe.

Patrick isn’t exceptionally tall, or broad, but still everything about him seems outsized. He fills Finn’s mind with distinct clarified hatred. It was Patrick they’d seen first, when they woke up after their capture. Patrick was the first to come down into the basement to look at Finn chained and gagged in one of their little torture cells, beaten and bloody. It was Patrick who had dragged a finger slowly up Finn’s stomach and chest as they struggled, watching them with delighted amusement. Patrick had shoved a hand down their pants just to watch the blood drain from their face in a sudden terror of what they thought might come next.

Then he’d simply turned and ordered the guards to make absolutely sure Finn did not die. They have more than pretty hair I’d like to see a little more of, don’t they?

Patrick was the one who had had Finn moved to the kitchens and kept in the tiny room.

Corrine looked at Finn and saw nothing but a pair of hands she could use to provide first aid to dying victims until she discarded them, but it was the way Patrick looked at them that really, really made Finn want to sink into the floor and disappear.

“Fair enough, love.” Patrick doesn’t move to leave, though, only leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of himself, watching Finn with perfect focus.

“I’m not your love.” After a pause, Finn looks up, swallowing. They keep their eyes narrowed, cover up the nervous flutters of real fear with anger, defensiveness. Remind themself that Ellis is somewhere in this house… at least, they hope so. “Can I… help you?” Their eyes flick to the two armed guards standing on the other side of the door behind Patrick.

Neither of them so much as blinks.

In a better world, Finn thinks, those men might have fought against the Syndicates, and won. Instead they’re all trapped in this world, and the two men have flat eyes that stare right through Finn and hands that never leave the guns they wear on their hips.

“Actually, I think you can.” Patrick smiles at him, all warmth and light, and Finn shudders, just a little, at the way there’s a strange need in them to step closer to that smile. “Sit for dinner with me tonight. I have an important subject I would like to discuss with you.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Finn wishes that their voice sounded stronger, but the words come out almost weak. A token protest.

“Can’t say I’ve ever had to,” Patrick answered with gentle good humor. “And that wasn’t a request. You will join me for dinner, and I will speak to you about Ellis.”

Finn, lip curled back from their teeth and ready with a new insult, froze. “What about Ellis?”

“Ah, see, there’s the prickle of interest I was looking for. The mother of my child-”

“They’re the mother of their own fucking child, and mine,” Finn snapped. Patrick only smiled wider in response, and Finn inwardly groaned. Damn it, that’s what he wanted, was to rile me up. Why do I always let him do it?

“The mother,” Patrick repeats, continuing as if Finn hadn’t spoken, “is having a few concerning health troubles, lately. If you want to know more-”

“Health troubles?” Blood rushes in Finn’s ears. They are aware, very suddenly, of every possible pregnancy complication they’ve ever read about or even heard mentioned in passing, the way that stress can cause serious problems, and is anyone on earth more stressed than a pregnant person held fucking hostage by fucking Syndicate monsters who want to steal their baby? “I-I’m a… I have some medical knowledge…”

“I know, Finn. Just think of what help you could be to the mother, if you had the option, hm?” The smugness that wove into his voice, the way it deepens Patrick’s lilting Irish brogue, has Finn nearly ready to try and break the chain off their ankle so they could choke Patrick to death with it.

Not that they were entirely sure he could die.

“What…” Finn swallows, aware with a sickening flip of their stomach of the weight of Patrick’s eyes as he watches their throat move. “What do I have to do to… see Ellis?”

“Oh, we’re negotiating, now, are we.” Patrick speaks in a voice like a purr, low and rumbling. Finn felt it on their skin like a film of something thick and suffocating, standing perfectly still as Patrick moved away from his position in the doorway and walked towards them. He paused, just to their side, and Finn’s eyes lowered without their consent to stare down at the cloth in one hand, the silver spoon in the other.

For a moment - just a second - they are sure they’ll feel Patrick’s lips move against their ear.

Then the Michaelson patriarch moved slowly around them in a half-circle. His guards stepped into the room as well, watching Finn with a cold gleam. They’re watching Patrick play with his food, Finn thinks, lifting their chin again, willing it not to tremble. They’re enjoying this.

“I’ve been-”

Patrick’s hand settles on their lower back and Finn goes quiet, feels their spine suddenly stiffen in response. He’s too warm, too much, and Finn would rather die than let him do what they think comes next but they’d rather live than leave Ellis here, trapped alone.

So their fingers go white-knuckled on the spoon and the polishing cloth, their chin lifts even higher, and they try to remember that dignity and pride aren’t what keep you alive when the Syndicates have their eyes on you.

“I’ve been good,” Finn whispers, blood rushing to their face, tears pricking hot at their eyes. For Ellis. Just to see Ellis. Please let me see Ellis. “I can help treat the pregnancy.”

“Do you think you can?” Patrick’s hand presses harder into Finn’s back, forcing their hips to bump forward into the table. Finn’s eyes widen in panic, heart beating fast in their chest like it wants to run from this as much as they do.

The watching guards smile, nearly as one.

Patrick is going to bend them forward onto the table and fuck them right here, isn’t he? And Finn could fight but all their body does is feel suddenly horrifyingly cold.

“Yes,” They whisper, to answer his question. When his other warm lands, just as warm, just as heavy, on Finn’s shoulder, they have to bite back a sob.

For Ellis. For Ellis for Ellis for Ellis-

“That’s good to hear, little Finn.” Patrick’s teeth graze at their ear, and a shudder runs through Finn’s body, shivering want from their scalp through their toes. They don’t want anything like this, they hate this man more than they’ve ever hated anything on earth, but the soft hot breath of his whisper against their ear is horribly, unbearably good. “Tell me you’ll be a well-behaved, polite, pliant little medic for me.”

Finn closes their eyes, takes a deep, shaking breath in. They can’t throw up all over the table no matter how badly they want to right now. They can do whatever it takes. They can do whatever they have to do, for Ellis. “I can be good-... a g-good medic, for you.”

“Say you’ll take good care of my baby, little Finn.”

“I’ll-” Rage burns away the odd constriction they feel weaving around them, slowly but surely, like Patrick is spinning ribbons to wrap them up that they can never unwind on their own. Finn has a strange image of a maypole with children dancing around it from some movie they saw years ago. “I’ll… take good care of my baby-”

“That’s not what I told you to say.” Patrick’s lips move to graze their jaw, and the silver spoon in Finn’s hand drops with a clatter onto the table top. They stare at the guards, who only grin back, guns on their hips. “Tell me it’s my baby, Finn, and have dinner with me. Then you can see Ellis tonight.”

She’s not your fucking baby, you fucking monster, you piece of fucking shit on a shoe, you-

“Fuck you,” Finn whispers with vicious intensity. Suddenly, Patrick pulls away, and the air is full of his scent and a sense of something verdant and green just over the horizon. There is a half-second, with revulsion in their blood and fear in their pulse, that they would still follow him to the end of the horizon to see it.

Then the moment is gone, and they wonder with a whole new level of panic where the fuck that thought came from.

“Fair enough. I have an heir and have raised many children to adulthood,” Patrick says amicably, waving one hand in a dismissal. “We’ll simply monitor the mother and see what happens, I suppose. Here I thought you might actually want to see them, but I see I misjudged you.”

No matter what happens, Finn, I love you, okay?

I love you, too-

“Wait!”

Patrick stops just before the doorway, looking over his shoulder. There’s a smattering of gray in his close-cropped black hair, a hint of it in the rakish stubble that never quite leaves his jaw and chin. Crows-feet and wrinkles, here and there, only seem to make him seem ruggedly handsome. The deep brown of his skin has what feels like an impossible sense of warmth, like bright sun is always shining on it even on cloudy days.

He’s a monster, he and his wife both. They hunt down people like Finn and Finn’s team and kill them or use them up and then dispose of the bodies when they’re done. Ellis and Finn are just the newest toys in the toybox, and they have no idea how long after the baby is born the two of them might be allowed to live.

“Yes, Finn? Did you have another insult to fling my way?” Patrick’s eyes sparkle with amusement. The bastard knows exactly what Finn is going to say.

“It’s-” The words stick in their throat, tar that coats their vocal chords and fills their lungs as they fight to breathe around the humiliation, the anger, the pain. “It’s… it’s your baby, Patrick. Not-... the baby is yours.”

“Say it again.” Patrick turns to face them, but doesn’t move closer this time.

“It’s your baby.” Finn’s lips feel numb. It’s a lie but what if it isn’t now? Is she still going to be their baby if they’re dead before she can form a memory of them? Is she still their baby if Corrine and Patrick teach her to hate the rebels, to hate the very people who made her?

Is she a Michaelson or a Dunham or-

“Again.”

Finn closes their eyes, tears trickling down their cheeks. “It’s not my baby,” They whisper. “But yours.”

My daughter. My baby. Ellis and I made her together, she’s supposed to be a symbol of hope, you fucking bastard, how dare you make me lie about her before she’s even born, how dare you-

“Good. Not my will but thine be done. Not that I’m Catholic, but the sentiment fits. That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” Patrick snapped his fingers, and his two guards moved on Finn at once. They flinched, but one guard grabbed their hands by the wrists to pull behind their back, and they fought every instinct that told them to fight back, kick or something, and let the handcuffs be closed around their wrists. They let the chain be unlocked from their ankle.

They let the guards lead them to stand before Patrick, who takes their chin in his rough warm fingers, and lifts it so they looked him in the eyes. For a second they expect him to say, get on your knees. What comes out instead is, “Do you like smoked oysters, little Finn?”

“I-I… does it matter?” They sound almost as thrown off as they feel.

“Mmmn. I guess not. You’ll eat them anyway or I’ll choke you on them. Let’s talk about the issues we’re having with the mother over dinner. I’ll have your kit brought up from the basement and let my wife know she’ll have to send for our personal doctor if she wants care provided to the rebels tonight.”

His hand slides around behind Finn’s head, grips into their hair to force their head back as he leans in and takes a deep breath. His smell, cologne and the green hills, floats around Finn, soaks into their skin and settles deep within their lungs. They find themself leaning in to Patrick’s scent - and then recoiling back as the disgust hits them all at once.

Why would they lean into it? And why can’t they stop thinking he looks so fucking handsome?

Patrick hums, looking them over. “I want something pretty to look at tonight. And you’re definitely a pretty one, aren’t you? I could stare at you all night.” He chuckles, tightening the grip on their hair until their knees buckle at the flash of pain and something infinitely more shameful, and then he pulls away and walks back out the door. The guards shove Finn to get them moving right behind him, and they stare at Patrick’s broad back in his perfectly tailored suit as they scramble to get their balance and walk fast enough to keep up.

They are redressed in a suit and tie themself, dressed up like a doll, placed in a chair with their hands cuffed down to watch Patrick eat. They are forced to say that Ellis is carrying Patrick and Corrine Michaelson’s baby again and again, until the words are nearly numb to them. The words are hollow and they are damnation.

They are a test of what Finn will give up to have Ellis, however briefly, just for a second, for any moment at all.

The answer, of course, is that they’ll give up everything. They’ll give anything.

Later, when they are brought handcuffed and forced to their knees - when they can see Ellis but not touch them, lay their head to their rounded stomach but not put their hands there to feel their own baby kicking, they wonder - briefly - if it’s going to be worth the cost.

Then Ellis runs their fingers through Finn’s hair and it is, it is worth it, it will always, always be worth whatever they must give to have Ellis, the baby, to grasp on to the threads of what’s left of their family and world.

The next night, they serve Patrick, Corrine, and Ellis their dinner in perfect silence - they will only be allowed to see Ellis if they don’t speak a word. Except for four.

They are forced to say it’s not my baby, to Patrick’s glowing, proud smile, before they are given permission to kneel next to Ellis’s chair. Close enough for Ellis to brush their leg against Finn’s shoulder. Nothing more than that.

Long before they offer themself to Patrick to get some small shards of mercy, he is already breaking them. Before he brands them, before they are tied to his bed and cry out his name and beg him, screaming, to stop and for more, they were already a toy, a plaything. It’s only the way they are played with that will change when they give up the very last bits of themself they have left.

For Ellis, and for their baby, Finn Dunham can and will give up anything.

Patrick Michaelson knows it.

---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript @burtlederp @raigash @sableflynn

#whumpober2020 #no. 11 #defiance #captivity #restrained #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #honor bound au #ash whumps athena #defiant whumpee #angry whumpee #forced to betray #pregnancy tw #captured #whumptober 2020 #daniel michaelson's au #fillis angst parade

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years

Text

Déjà Vu (Or are we losing our minds?) VII -Modern!Shirbert

A/N: Based on that one tumblr post that I lost but I hold dearly in my heart -Danny

Words: 1,408

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Seven: Blythe's Flowers.

It's been very rare to have known you,

very strange and wonderful.

-F. Scott Fitzgerald.

“Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen!” Gilbert said as soon as he opened the door. “Hope you had a great night– Winter won’t defeat us, guys!” He dropped his bag behind the counter and put on his apron, ready to start the day.

It was then that an extremely cute, disheveled woman, barged into his flower shop and yelled:

“I need to say ‘fuck you’ in the most lavish way possible,” She slammed fifty bucks on the counter. “Make the most offensive bouquet you can think of.”

___________________

Done was an understatement. Anne was sick of this push and pull situation with her exboyfriend.

He’d lied, cheated, and then played the victim part all too well for his own good, and she was about to pluck it all out. She had the screenshots, she had the love letters that were filled with lies. She had everything, and she only needed to add the cherry on top.

“Um- Hi,” The man behind the counter said clumsily. “I- uh, I… did you just say you want to give someone an offensive bouquet?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” She said defensively. “I’m not the bitch in this story! He had it coming for months!”

“Alright, okay,” He raised his hands. “None of my business…”

The man looked around the shop like he had no idea where to start.

“Uhh… Oh! Okay so, did he cheat?”

“Excuse me?” Anne blinked.

“Well, I have foxglove over here…” He walked around the counter to show her the pinkish flowers. “They're all about insincerity… I guess it doesn’t need to be about cheating…”

“Oh but he did!” Anne growled, looking at the flowers as if they were making fun of her. “For five fucking months! Can you believe it?”

The poor guy stepped back at her outburst, raising his eyebrows in slight panic and grabbing a bunch.

“Okay, foxglove it is…” He mumbled. “I also have geraniums, but I consider their looks a bit too friendly for this situation, though they represent stupidity in some cases…”

“Stupidity fits nicely in my bouquet,” She sentenced.

“Sunflowers are perfect for this!” The man said, excited about finally getting a hold of the situation. “False and haughty people...”

“I thought I was the only flower-nerd in town,” Anne couldn’t help a little smirk to show up at the man’s eagerness. “Of course, that was a silly thought considering you own a flower shop.”

“If you’re gonna do something, you better do it thoroughly, right?” He shrugged, picking more flowers as he walked back to the counter.

“Yes,” She agreed. “Where does one learn so much about flowers and their meaning, though?”

He stopped for a second and looked at her like he’d never been asked that question before.

“I…” He frowned. “Huh, well… books?”

“That makes sense,” Anne grinned. “Flowers are one of the most beautiful creations on earth, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” He nodded. “They’re fresh, vibrant, and they smell good!”

“They feed the bees!”

“They feed me,” He snorted, grabbing a sunflower and talking to it. “Thank you for that, Madame.”

Anne beamed at the sight. ‘What a dork’ she thought.

She shook her head then. No! She was there because a man had broken her heart, she wasn’t going to allow another man to have his way with her so soon after Roy. Not today, Satan.

___________________

Did he seriously talk to a flower in front of the pretty costumer?

Yes, and he would be cringing about it for the rest of his life.

“So,” He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. “This guy… is he an exboyfriend?”

The woman stood in silence for about ten seconds. He was about to apologize and say it was clearly none of his business when she let out a scoff.

“I mean, yes. Obviously,” She stated. “I wouldn’t be buying a bouquet that says fuck you to my father.”

“Well, some people have shitty parents, and sometimes saying ‘fuck you’ to their faces only makes things worse, so...”

“My father is lovely,” Her voiced softened. “But I do get your point… I guess that if you have a knack for theatricality, insulting your parents without them knowing must be cathartic.”

“I agree, though my dad was also great,” He smiled, then looked down at the bouquet he was making. “This guy, however…”

“Roy,” She sneered. “He’s a twat.”

“I see,” Gilbert eyed her carefully. “I’m sorry if I’m being too snoopy, but why are you paying for this when you could just delete his number and keep going?”

“Because he’ll propose to one of my college friends today,” She had that dangerous glint back in her eyes. “And I’m about to give her the best engagement gift she could’ve asked for.”

“Oh,” Gilbert tilted his head. “Was she… uh, the one that..?”

“I don’t know,” The girl brushed it off like that really wasn’t her priority. “For all I know, he’s been sleeping with different girls while dating me, so she could very well be one.”

“Ugh,” Gilbert grimaced. “that’s exactly how you get syphilis…”

“Right!?” She replied heatedly. “I went to the doctor as soon as I found out, he’s so gross! Luckily I was fine, but I hope he gets rabies.”

Gilbert let out a childish laugh.

“That’s not an STD,” He replied stupidly.

Seriously, just kill me already, Gilbert begged silently, but she smiled.

“A girl can dream…”

“Well, all done,” He said after two minutes of carefully mingling the flowers.

She examined the bouquet, an astonished smile on her face.

“It’s amazing! If I didn’t know what it meant I’d say it’s beautiful...”

“Anger can be pretty too,” He replied simply, the image of her sudden intrusion and her frown in his mind.

“You’re right,” She grinned, then rummaged through her pockets. “How much, then?”

“Oh no,” Gilbert frowned, lifting a hand. “Just take it.”

___________________

“W-What?” Anne blinked in surprised.

“I won’t stand here and watch you pay for this,” His eyebrows were scrunched down, but his mouth was slightly turning into an amused grin. “It’d be rude.”

“Rude?” She let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s your job!”

“It’s for your exboyfriend,” He replied. “I won’t let you spend money on a person that sounds like trash!”

“I can’t accept it for free!” Anne rolled her eyes. “I’ll have my gratification later, when Lauren finds out what an absolute ass her fiance is!”

“Wait, what?” The man tilted his head. “Didn’t you say he was going to propose today?”

“Well yeah, but it’s not exactly a surprise, they’re making a whole lunch date to make it official–” She shook her head, realizing how surreal it was to share all this private information with a stranger. “Listen- uh, What’s your name?”

He was about to reply when a second costumer entered, distracting him from the chat.

“Hello,” She watched as he straighten his posture and smiled warmly at the person. “I’ll be with you in a second,” then he turned back to her. “Listen, whatever you’re doing, I hope you don’t hurt the girl too much, she’s not to blame–”

“I know that!” Anne replied in slight outrage. “I’m not making this to rub it on her face, I’m trying to make her see he’s not what she thinks he is!”

“Okay, fine!” He whispered back in the same tone, raising his hands in defeat. “Just making sure…”

“Here,” She tried to shove the fifty bucks on his hand. “Please, just take the money.”

“I won’t,” He chuckled, softly pushing her hand away along with the bill. “Tell you what, don’t pay me in cash. But please, do come back after you’ve done your whole romantical heist to tell me how’d it go, you can’t leave me like this.”

His eyebrows then raised in expectation, a pleading smile on his face as he patiently waited for her reply.

“I…” Anne hesitated, then bravely offered, “only if you let me buy you lunch so we can talk about it during your break- if you have a break, I mean, I don’t see anyone else working here…”

His eyes shone at the mention of a shared lunch, wich she found endearing.

“See you later, then,” She mumbled, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about her offering. She grabbed the flowers and stopped once more. “Oh! Sorry, I almost forgot- what was your name, then?”

He smiled widely, extending one hand for her to shake before leaving.

“Gilbert.”

Taglist.

@ninizkd @http-itsrebecca @fuckthisshitimoutyall @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @little-boats-on-a-lake

#twoidiots writing #anne with an e fanfic #anne with an e #anne shirley x gilbert blythe #anne shirley cuthbert #Gilbert Blythe #DV fic #shirbert #shirbert fanfic #awae

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years

Text

Van has just come back to the land of the living, rubbing his eyes groggily as you enter the room.

“Shit,” He croaks, “I meant to get up before you. Wanted to surprise you.”

“Don’t be silly,” You brush him off, but secretly you’re pleased that he remembered. He’d been talking about it all week, sure, but you wouldn’t blame him if it slipped his mind first thing in the morning.

“Happy birthday,” He grins as you hand him his warm mug of coffee. He takes it right into his hands, unbothered by the heat, and immediately takes a sip. Three years into your relationship you no longer openly cringe at him trying to blister his tongue every morning.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” You retort with a grin, climbing back into the warmth of your bed.

based on the prompt: Hi! Can I request a fic in which readers bday is valentines day and she spends the day with Van❤️

A/N: This probably went in a different direction than you meant it, but I hope you like it! Also I’m completely in love with this universe, and if anyone would like to read more of it feel free to let me know!

Word count: ~4.5k

As soon as your alarm goes off, you dread getting out of bed.

February in New York is as cold as can be, and as usual the frigid air has seeped in through the exposed brick walls of your apartment. Your first act of the morning is barely allowing one of your arms to emerge from the warm bubble of your comforter and sheets, your hand reaching blindly to turn the bedside lamp on.

Your second order of business is forcing yourself to peel away the warm, soft layers of protection from the rest of your body, your skin breaking out in goosebumps as you slowly get your feet off of the side of the bed, your toes landing in the plush rug your bed rests on. You take another deep breath before you manage to stand yourself up, stepping off of the rug and onto the chilly hardwood floors as you start to stumble out of the bedroom.

You scowl at Van as you go. He’s nestled happily next to your empty space on the bed, deeply asleep and oblivious to the torment you were being subjected to.

Your shared apartment relies mostly on natural light, so preparing coffee on early morning workdays means you’ve learned to navigate the space in near-complete darkness. The kitchen light nearly blinds you when you flip the switch, your eyes unprepared for the burst of brightness.

Van’s put the coffee filters one shelf higher in the cabinet than you can comfortably reach, and you groan as you hoist yourself up on your very tiptoes, barely able to grasp them with the tips of your fingers. But you manage, and soon the coffee maker is starting to sputter, warming up in preparation to make a pot for the two of you.

You head across the room to the thermostat, satisfied when it reacts to you changing the settings by coming to life, the vents creaking as lukewarm air starts to blow from them.

You head into the living room, then, tugging open the curtains that are covering the big window. It reveals the same city you’ve been staring at all winter; gray skies and dirty, slushy snow.

Once you’ve used the bathroom the coffee is ready, and you pour two mugs before heading back into the bedroom.

Van has just come back to the land of the living, rubbing his eyes groggily as you enter the room.

“Shit,” He croaks, “I meant to get up before you. Wanted to surprise you.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” You retort with a grin, climbing back into the warmth of your bed.

Your text messaging threads and Facebook wall are already full of messages from friends and family wishing you a good year. The rest of your feed is dedicated to Valentine’s Day, everyone and their uncle making long, sappy posts about their significant others, complete with a spread of photos. You’ve never made one for Van before out of respect for his hatred of social media, but this year it might be fun to join in with the tradition. You’ll have to ask him about it later.

Van’s set his coffee on his nightstand, wrapping his arms around your midsection. “How do you feel?” He asks, before burying his face in your stomach.

“Older,” You laugh, setting your phone aside. You pet his hair with the hand not holding your coffee. “Like I don’t wanna go to work today.”

“Don’t go,” He pleads, his voice muffled in your shirt. “Call off.”

It’s his go-to line almost every morning. You roll your eyes.

“It’s not that simple,” You tell him, as if you haven’t a hundred times before. “Plus, you’ll be at the studio all day, so it won’t even be worth it!”

“You can come to the studio with me!” He begs, right on cue.

“Shush,” You shut him down. “I’ll have plenty of time in the summer to drop by the studio.”

It’s hard to imagine that summer will ever exist, given the ice and snow that’s covered every inch of New York for months, but the thought of it still excites you. You’ll finally be getting a much-needed break from work, the band will be done working on this album, and you and Van will have nothing but quality time to spend with each other. The thought of it brightens up your day, as if the July sunshine has somehow magically transported here today.

After coffee you’ve got to force yourself to get ready for work. A few friends from your office have already wished you happy birthday this morning on Facebook, so you’re sure you’ll have people constantly stopping by your office to give you their well-wishes. You sift through a few outfits, feeling more self conscious than you have in months.

You end up tugging on a sweater dress that clings tight to your skin. It almost feels like it’s suffocating you, but when you step out of the walk-in closet Van’s eyes almost bug out of his head.

“Do you like this?” You ask him, your voice betraying your uncertainty.

“Love it,” Van nods before taking a glug of his coffee. “Proper sexy.”

You glare at him. “It’s so tight. I feel like a fucking balloon.”

Van rolls his eyes. “You can say it, doesn’t make it true.”

You head back into the closet in a huff, but Van’s approval means you leave the dress on. You pair it with a loose cardigan so that every single contour of your body isn’t clearly visible, and after deciding you look decent you struggle to roll on a pair of thick stockings and a tall pair of boots, preparing to keep yourself warm on the walk to work.

You share the bathroom with Van as you fix your hair and makeup and he shaves in preparation for his own day, and then he’s helping you into your warm wool coat, giving you a quick goodbye kiss before you head out.

Your thick layers of clothing make your buttoned coat feel like it’s squeezing you, so before you’ve gotten very far from your building’s front door you’ve already decided to unbutton it. It’s not windy today, and during your walk to the office you work up a bit of a sweat, so overall today is going better than usual.

As predicted, people stop by all morning and into the afternoon to wish you a happy birthday and gush about their Valentine’s Day plans. When they ask you what you’re doing to celebrate in return, you try not to be bothered by the way all of their faces fall when you tell them that you and Van have nothing special going on, just a quiet night in.

You run behind schedule all day from interruptions, and by the time you’re heading out into the snow to head back home you’re frustrated, trying to mentally calculate everything you’ll have to get done when you get back to the office on Monday to make up for your lackluster performance today.

“Christ!”

You jump when Van’s voice materializes behind you, and you turn on your heels to see he was leaning on the brick near the door, rushing to catch up with you, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

“You didn’t even recognize me!” He laughs in disbelief, the steam of his breath floating into the air.

“People smoke there all the time!” You laugh, happily taking his hand when he holds it out for you. You two start the walk home. “Good day in the studio?”

“Oh, it was class. I feel like I’m writing better than I ever have.”

You beam at the profile of his face, watching the nippy evening wind carry his exhaled smoke away. “Oh really,” You tease, “Why?”

Van’s been happier ever since you two relocated from LA to New York, but with the way things have been going so well between you two he’s been even happier, an extra pep in his step everywhere he goes. Everyday he looks like he’s on the brink of proposing. You’d be lying if you hadn’t sort of had your hopes up for today being the day.

“The summer,” He grins. “Can’t fucking wait.”

He’s lazily swinging your hands between you two, and you watch your hand move back and forth in his before you sigh.

“Give me a hit of that,” You insist, reaching out for his cigarette with your free hand. Van looks appalled, plucking it from his mouth to hold it on the other side of his body.

“You quit!”

“I’m not gonna start again over one hit,” You roll your eyes. “Not with you keeping me so fucking accountable.”

Van doesn’t look convinced, and you scoff.

“It’s my birthday! And fucking Valentine’s Day! Don’t you love me, like, at all?”

At this Van narrows his eyes. “Oh, quit,” He mumbles, but then silently passes over the cigarette.

You close your eyes at the taste of your first hit in months. God, you miss smoking so much. “Happy birthday to me,” You joke when you finally let the smoke out of your lungs, stealing another quick hit before you pass it back to him. “You know, you’re gonna have to quit soon.”

Van shakes his head on his next inhale. “Don’t think I can, honest,” He tells you on his exhale. “But I’m gonna give it a hell of a try.”

You snort, and you two fall into a comfortable silence the rest of the way.

Van doesn’t let go of your hand until the elevator arrives on your floor and he has to let go to unlock the door for you, ushering you inside.

“Oh my God,” You laugh when you see the inside of the apartment, which Van’s decorated with red, white, and pink streamers. “I’m not cleaning all of this up.”

“Course not,” Van laughs, tenderly touching your lower back as he heads into the kitchen. “Come open gifts.”

“I didn’t even ask for anything!” You protest. “Besides that new pillow. If you didn’t get me that, I’m pissed.”

Van throws his head back, laughing as you two come through the doorway into the kitchen. There’s a birthday cake sitting happily on the island, which Van has poked a billion candles into.

“I feel like there’s more than 25 here,” You try to count them with your eyes.

“Nope, 25 exactly,” Van grins, presenting you with your first gift. “I can’t take credit for this one, it’s from Bob.”

As soon as you pick it up you know exactly what it is, the wrapping crinkling around the edges of a picture frame, the glass panel cool through the paper. Van leans on his elbows across the kitchen island from you, a knowing grin across his face.

“Is this what I think it is?” You’re hesitant to get excited, starting to rip the wrapping paper away from the corners. “Holy fucking shit,” You gasp as the photo is revealed.

It’s a photo of you and Van in black and white, standing in front of the living room window. The contrast of the bright white lighting of the window against your dark bodies showcases both of your silhouettes. Bob must’ve taken it when you two weren’t paying attention, because you’re both laughing about something. Van’s hand is absentmindedly resting on your baby bump, which is showing up prominently in this photo.

“This is so gorgeous,” You murmur, unable to stop the tears that spring to your eyes. Bob had just been over last week to take these; you hadn’t expected him to have them developed and ready so soon considering the boys were extremely busy right now. You’re just getting settled into your second trimester, and although it seemed a bit premature for photos Van was adamant about capturing your newly blossoming stomach.

“I didn’t realize I already have such a bump,” You sniffle, still admiring the photo. Despite the fact it’s your maternity shoot your eyes are glued to Van, looking so content and joyful.

“Me either!” Van exclaims, rounding the corner now to admire the photo with you. “It’s gotten bigger this week, too.”

“I know,” You sigh, reminded of the way your sweater dress has been squeezing you all day. “Speaking of, let me change into something comfy.” Van holds his hands out for the frame, and you pass it over to him. “Can we hang that up tonight?”

“Your wish is my command,” Van jokes as you head into the bedroom, quickly changing out of your work attire and into one of Van’s baggy t-shirts and pair of leggings. You instantly feel more like yourself now that you’re out of your stuffy office clothes that make you feel like you’re middle-aged.

You’re much happier as you bounce back into the kitchen. “What else do you have for me?”

Van carefully places the photo down on the counter, heading back to the other side of the island and leaning down. When he stands up his arms are full with the pregnancy pillow you’ve been begging for now that your stomach is starting to weigh enough to make sleeping uncomfortable.

“My pillow!” You clap your hands together in excitement, reaching over to squish it. “It’s so soft. It better be as good as the reviews say.”

“It better be,” Van laughs as you take the pillow into your arms, trying to get a feel for the shape of it. “It cost a fortune.”

“Oh, shut up,” You tease, narrowing your eyes at him. He laughs, unable to keep a straight face. Van McCann? Worrying about finances? As if.

“Is this everything?” You ask, hauling your pregnancy pillow into the bedroom before returning.

“Well, I’ve got another one for ya, but I had to run it by you first.” Van is drumming his fingers on the countertop. You grab a knife from the knife block, playfully giving his ass a squeeze as you tug your birthday cake towards you, ready to slice into it.

“You can’t eat that yet!” Van protests, momentarily distracted.

“Why not?” You ask, as you lick strawberry icing off of the finger you’d swiped over the piping on the edge. “You know I always crave Salty’s!”

Salty-n-Sweet Bakery, two blocks away and right on your route to and from work, has become your favorite place to splurge on a cupcake or a danish during your pregnancy. You know Van’s paid a premium price for this cake, and you’re eager to see if it was worth the money.

“You haven’t even blown out the candles!” He grabs your wrist as you make to dig your steak knife into the flawless icing, undeterred by his argument. “It’s bad luck!”

“I don’t think it is,” You roll your eyes but surrender, setting the knife down. “Anyway, what were you running by me again?”

“What I was saying,” He glares at you playfully as he continues, “Is that I thought we’d use your two weeks vacation time and fly south so we can visit your family for a week, and then we can fly across the pond and see mine.”

“No fucking way!” You exclaim, birthday cake forgotten. “When?”

Van shrugs. “Whenever you wanna call off! Within the next couple’a weeks, ideally.”

You’re already imagining your parent’s face when you tell them you’re coming to visit. Since you and Van have told them the big news your mom has been calling you almost everyday for updates, eager to dispense the wisdom that only other child-carrying women can provide. You know it’s hard for them, what with their only child fleeing the state, but you hadn’t planned to see them until after the baby was born, so Van’s gift is the best surprise.

You know Mary’s been worried about you too. You’ve heard Van reassuring her that everything is moving along smoothly during their late night phone calls.

“I’ll check the schedule on Monday,” You promise, wrapping your arms around Van’s neck and leaning up on your toes to give him a kiss. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“I love you,” Van replies when you stop punctuating each thank you with a kiss. “Happy Valentine’s birthday.”

You snort at that title, and Van reaches into his back pocket for his phone.

“You wanna order dinner now? I was thinking we’d do that Chinese place you love.”

Your mouth practically waters as you head to the drawer in the kitchen where you keep the menus, tugging the one for the restaurant out. “You actually love me,” You joke, already pondering what you’ll order. “I actually feel so bad I don’t have anything for you.”

That’s the agreement; You tend to go overboard for Christmas, splurging on Van with a custom-built electric guitar, too many pairs of black socks, and embroidered scarves for him and his family, and in return you are not allowed to buy him anything for Valentine’s Day, so that you are allowed to enjoy your own birthday without the stress of finding the perfect gift for him a second time per year.

“You’ve got something for me!” Van pokes at your tummy. “Best gift I could ask for.”

“Aw, quit,” You laugh, but Van’s palm flattens against your skin, warm and reassuring, and you rest your own hand on top of his.

“I still haven’t felt him kick,” Van frowns when he finally pulls his hand away, reaching for his phone to start placing your order.

“Don’t call it a him when you don’t even know!” Your hand is still resting against your bump. “And I’m still early along, it only happens sometimes.”

“You want me to DoorDash it?”

You think about it for a second. “Nah. Let’s walk.”

Once the order’s placed you two get a head start on leaving. With only Van’s thin t-shirt on your coat can actually button, and after Van pulls his long, gray coat (your favorite of his) over his own shoulders you two head out, holding hands like always.

There’s foot traffic in LA, but not like this. The businesses are more spaced out there, so you’re required to at least make a partial drive in order to get somewhere by foot. But here it’s nice to have everything so close to your apartment, and to have the opportunity to stroll around with Van. Especially in the evening, when all of the lights of the city are twinkling.

You two are quiet, simply enjoying each other’s company, when a mother pushes a baby bundled up in a stroller past you two. “I was thinking…” You start, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Do you care if I post that photo on Facebook?”

“The photo Bob took?” Van asks, and when you nod he shrugs. “You mean like, tell everybody? Sure, but wouldn’t you rather wait for him to develop the rest?”

He’s got a point. You’re sure Bob has a ton of other gorgeous photos of you two. “I dunno,” You still sigh. “I mean, I can post the rest when Bob gets around to them. But I can see people at work starting to be able to tell. And everyone was acting like it was so pitiful we weren’t doing something crazy tonight! It’d be nice if they knew why we’ve been enjoying our quiet alone time so much.”

“And we’ve already held off so long,” You point out.

For the first week after that pregnancy test, when Van came home from the studio to find you pacing around the apartment like a madwoman, it had remained a secret between the two of you. It was a tiring week filled with early work mornings and late nights, the conversations between the two of you within the darkness of your bedroom stretching on for hours. Your voices quietly pondering if you two were ready to bring a real life human into this world, if your careers would allow it, or if you were better off scheduling an appointment at the local clinic. But by the end of the week the idea of starting a family was equally as exciting as it was terrifying, and so the decision was finally made.

But first pregnancies are at such a high risk of miscarriage, and you two didn’t want to get your families worked up over nothing. Both only children, the expectation of a grandchild from both sets of parents was not something to be toyed with. You two held off for another week or so, waiting with baited breath for blood in your underwear, or for your doctor to reveal this was all smoke and mirrors. But instead your ultrasound revealed a heartbeat, steady and strong, and you two finally called your families to spill the beans.

Van told the boys when they bugged him about being glued to his phone, asking you for constant updates when they had a few performances in the UK during your first trimester. And that’s how things have remained, but now you’re ready to share the news.

“I know,” Van beams, squeezing your hand. “I didn’t know we had it in us.”

“We?” You laugh. “Which abandoned social media page were you going to post on?”

Van throws his head back laughing, the breeze ruffling his hair. “Christ. Instagram, maybe?”

You snort.

“I’m serious!” Van’s voice climbs in pitch. “If I’ve ever had a reason to log on to that godforsaken app again, this is it.”

“Shouldn’t you warn your team first? They’ll probably have a heart attack getting the notification.”

Van shrugs, looking mischievous and carefree and every other reason you fell in love with him.

The Chinese food is even better than the last two times you’ve had it, you and Van joking through the entire meal that the chef was on his A-game today. And then you blow out your candles and each help yourself to a slice of cake with buttercream that melts in your mouth before retiring to the couch, bloated and happy.

It’s not long before you’re gripping the armrest of the couch, on your hands and knees atop the cushions while Van fucks the shit out of you from behind. Pregnancy hormones have only made everything feel more intense, and the sound of Van slipping in and out of you is unbearably noisy.

“That’s too much,” You grit out when Van gets a hand between your legs, his fingers trying to circle your clit. Any other day his fingers would be necessary to come, but today you can feel your orgasm building from lower down, deeper inside of you, and you know as long as Van doesn’t stop you’ll come from that alone.

“Oh, fuck,” Van laughs in disbelief, and you hear the leather of the couch rustle as Van wipes his fingers against the back of the sofa. “You’re soaked.”

“I know,” You groan in annoyance, pushing your hips back harder so that Van’s next thrust is twice as hard. The sensation has you crying out, your fingers aching from gripping the armrest so hard. Van’s rhythm falters for a second time, and you make a displeased noise in return. “Harder, babe, c’mon.”

“Woman, I’m giving you all I’ve got.” Van’s out of breath. “I’m about to bust.”

“C’mon, baby, c’mon,” You plead with him, your eyes squeezing shut as he has another burst of energy, his hands roughly grabbing your waist so that he can control the pace better. You know that Van’s still trying to figure out what to do with this version of you in the bedroom, more demanding and particular and forced into doggy style by your round belly, and if you think about it too hard you might laugh through your bleary state. To his credit, he’s handling the nightmare you’ve become amazingly well. So well, in fact, that the pressure that’s been building between your legs finally implodes, sending you into a fit of swearing and screaming Van’s name so loud you’re positive the neighboring apartments can hear.

Van shudders into his orgasm right after yours is complete, his chest hair tickling your back as he slumps forward, letting you support his weight until he’s finished, pulling out as he still twitches with aftershocks.

“Oh my God,” You gasp as you flop into a sitting position, your thighs soaked with a mix of sweat and come. Your stomach rises and falls in jagged zig-zags while you catch your breath, and you pat it like you might pat a dog that’s sitting for a treat. You feel a bit sorry that there’s another person that’s going to be witnessing all the sex you and Van will be having for another five months, but you’re even happier that Van still treats you like normal Y/N, and not just an oven cooking up his firstborn. “That was so fucking good.”

“You’re mental,” Van grins. He sees you smiling down at your bump, and leans forward to give your stomach his own pat. “Sorry, lad.”

“You don’t know if it’s a lad!” You cry for the millionth time.

“Speaking it into existence,” Van brushes you off as he lights a cigarette for his usual post-sex smoke.

You reach out for a hit, the craving crashing into you full force. And Van shouldn’t let you, but he does, affectionately rolling his eyes as he passes his cigarette over again for the second time.

“Do I really have to quit?” You whine when you pass it back, itching for your own. “I’m sure it’s not a huge deal.”

Van shakes his head. “Benji showed me tons of studies on it.”

You slump into the couch, exhausted and sated. “I’m too tired to take a shower.”

“C’mon,” Van nudges you. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

Clean and warm from your shower, you doze off immediately after you and Van slip into bed, preparing to watch some TV. When you wake up two episodes later, Van’s nose is buried in his phone.

“Told ya,” He smirks, shoving his screen right into your face. You have to blink the sleep out of your eyes before you understand what you’re looking at; an Instagram post with Bob’s photo of you two.

Buzzing to announce we’re expecting a little one this July, Van’s caption reads. Can’t wait xx

#van mccann #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann fic #vanfic #van mccann fanfiction #catb #I call this universe the #new york babyverse

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