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arcane-vagabond · 2 years ago

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Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Five

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Five

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, Mean girl Mandy, Flirting, Alcohol, Siren call, Supernatural elements, Kind of suggestive/smutty but not really? idk

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Alright, alright! The ball is starting to roll! We've got a lot going on now, I think. Can't wait to hear y'all's thoughts! Also, shoutout to @goldenseresinretriever for letting me bounce ideas off of her! You the real MVP!! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! I will be referring to that Google form from now on! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist

“I thought the bonfires happened the other night?” You asked Bob as the two of you made your way down the practically deserted streets. It was late, and the only people out were the young adults still looking to have a good time. The family friendly activities had ended hours ago, and now it was time for the partying to start.

“They were supposed to,” he said, eyes scanning the dimly lit street, “but they got postponed because of all the rain the other week. This was the only night that worked for most everyone around town.”

“That works out for us, I guess,” you hummed, hearing the sound of crashing waves grow closer as you neared the beach.

“Hey, thing one and thing two!”

The two of you turned around to see a grinning Bradley jogging up behind you, and you turned with a smile to greet him.

“Hey, Bradley!” You chirped. “We thought you’d already be down at the beach with everyone else.”

“I was, but I forgot my phone at the house,” he said, waving his phone in his hand. “So I ran back to grab it. Everyone else should already be down there, though.”

“We better get a move on before all the drinks are gone,” Bob mused, already moving once again. Bradley fell into step alongside you, bumping your shoulder with his.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, Skipper,” he joked, casting a smirk down at you. “You been avoiding me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you giggled.

Bradley scoffed, giving you an offended look that was made less serious by the grin on his face. “Me? Avoid you? Don’t be ridiculous. Who in their right mind would avoid a sweet, little thing like you?”

“You must not really know her then,” Bob snorted. “She practically cut my hand off when I went for the last fry at lunch today.”

“That was entirely your fault,” you huffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “You know how much I love french fries.”

“Yeah, enough to cause grievous bodily injuries, apparently,” he smirked. You scowled at him before looking back at Bradley who was also smirking at you.

“He’s being dramatic,” you offered with a shrug.

“Barely.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you griped as the three of you walked down the stairs and onto the beach. You could see the glow from the various fires flicker in the night, groups of different people huddled around each one. “I have to set an alarm every morning to wake up before he does if I want any bacon.”

“Oh, trust me,” Bradley laughed, steering you towards a fire on the edge of the grouping, Bob in tow. “I grew up with him. I know how much bacon he puts away.”

“I am not that bad,” Bob huffed, earning identical dubious looks from both you and Bradley. You giggled when Bradley quirked his eyebrow at you.

“Sure you aren’t, Bob,” you laughed, earning a scowl from your best friend.

“You made it!”

The three of you turned to see Nat waving at you, the rest of the squad already settled in on the towels surrounding the small fire. You felt a shiver run up your spine as you made eye contact with a pair of mossy green ones. You looked away as your cheeks warmed, letting Bradley guide you across the fire and down on a group of towels, Bob on your other side.

“So,” said the brunette sitting next to Jake, blue eyes calculating as she took you in. She was just as beautiful as the last time you saw her. Tan skin glowed in the light from the fire, body lithe and athletic. She looked like she walked off the cover of a fashion magazine, and her narrowed gaze was trained on you, lips curled into waht appeared to be a permanent sneer. “You must be the tagalong I’ve heard so much about. Skipper was it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at Bradley as he stiffened next to you, a glare fixed on his face as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” you said, offering an anxious smile as you looked back at her. “That’s what they call me anyway.”

“It’s cute,” she said, tone indicating that she most certainly did not find it cute. “I’m Mandy. You’ve probably heard of me from the others.”

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m not surprised,” she continued with a smirk. “I’ve known everyone here since we were in diapers. We go way back, you know. Don’t feel bad if you end up feeling left out in our conversations, okay?”

You shifted again, this time knocking your knee into your bag. The shells you carried with you jostled, clinking together, and you blushed when everyone looked at you.

“What was that?” Mickey asked, peering over to get a better look. You lifted your bag as you began to pull each shell out and placing it carefully on the towel.

“Oh, these are the shells and things I’ve been finding everywhere!” You smiled, running your fingers over the conch. “Aren’t they amazing? I’ve never seen so many beautiful shells in my life! And they’re all perfectly in tact, can you believe it? It’s like someone just plucked them up off the ocean floor and set them out for me to find!”

“That’s quite a collection,” Nat chuckled, shooting a smirk off to the side. You followed her line of sight, and your eyes made direct contact with the mossy green ones from earlier. Jake looked at you with an expression that could only be described as awe as he took you in, eyes peering down to where you cradled the conch gently in your hands before looking back up at you. His eyes shone in the firelight, a hint of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. You felt another blush creep up your neck, and you leaned forward to place the conch closer to the fire for everyone to see. You heard a sharp intake of breath, and you looked up to see Mandy with a look of rage and shock on her face as she stared at you. You realized quickly she wasn’t staring at your face, but rather down at the base of your neck. Her eyes darted up to meet yours and her expression shifted quickly into one of cold contempt.

“You actually carry those around with you?” She sneered, scoffing out a laugh. “What are you? Five?”

You frowned up at her, suddenly feeling self conscious as you glanced around the group. Their smiles had shifted into looks of irritation as they glared at the brunette.

“Oh, I just-”

“I mean,” she sniffed, cutting you off, “I suppose it’s fitting for someone who looks like you though, right? You’re not exactly dressed to impress or anything.”

You looked down at your clothes, a frown on your face. You weren’t normally self conscious. Sure, you didn’t look like a model like Mandy, but you didn’t think you were hard on the eyes. You had dressed for comfort though, and it was plain to see in your jean shorts, tank top, and white button up. Mandy wore a pair of cutoffs and a tight fitting tank top that showed off her figure, and her makeup was immaculate. You hadn’t seen the point in putting any on. Should you have?

“Mandy,” Bob growled, glaring in a warning.

“Oh, I know she’s your friend and all, Bobby,” Mandy continued, a viscious smirk poised on her lips. “But let’s be honest. I mean, we’re among friends, right? And friends should be honest with each other. You’d be lucky if anyone gave you the time of day looking like that. Nevermind the silly, little shells you’re carrying around everywhere. You really should have left those back at the house, you know. And tell me you brought something nice to where for the ocean dance festival. Can you imagine if you wore some frumpy shorts to something like tha-”

“Shut up.”

All eyes turned to Jake who was glaring into the fire, eyes cold as the water that lapped the shore behind you. Mandy narrowed her eyes at him, rage clouding her features.

“Excuse me?” She spat, turning to face him. His gaze shifted to her, jaw clenching.

“Was I not clear enough?” He said evenly. “I said ‘shut up.’”

You hadn’t even realized that tears had gathered in your eyes until Bob laid a gentle hand on your shoudler causing you to jump. You looked over at him, sniffling as he gave you a concerned look. You wiped at the corner of your eyes, scrambling to your feet. You felt everyone’s eyes on you as you shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding their gazes.

“I’m, uh,” you gulped, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I’m gonna go get something to drink.”

“I’ll come with you,” Bradley said, moving to his feet and giving you a gentle smile. “I’m parched.”

You turned to Bob with a watery smile. “You want anything?”

He studied you for a second, eyes uncertain. You gave him a look that you hoped communicated your need to pretend like you were okay, and he pressed his lips together.

“Just a beer.”

“You got it!” You smiled, trying and failing to add your usual cheeriness to the statement. You gave a half smile that you were sure came off as more of a grimace as you made your way towards the line of coolers on the other side of the fires. Bradley followed you silently, and you kept your head down, feeling the tears start to stream down your cheeks.

You knew you were being silly. They were just words after all, and you were a grown woman. You shouldn’t be letting silly words get to you like this. But why did they hurt so bad? You knelt by one of the coolers, fishing out two beers and a coke. You handed one of the beers to Bradley, refusing to make eye contact with him as you pushed the lid to the cooler closed.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing onto your arm gently, pulling you so that you faced him.

You kept your head down, and Bradley let out a sigh.

“Listen,” he started, hesitating as if he were choosing his next words carefully. “You shouldn’t listen to Mandy, okay? She’s a stone cold bitch on the best of days, and, well, she’s never been told ‘no’ a day in her life. She’s always gotten what she wanted, when she wanted it.”

“What’s your point?” You muttered, glancing off to the side as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Bradley let out another sigh, taking his hand from your arm to run it through his hair.

“My point is that she’s taking her new experience with the word out on you, and it’s not fair. I know it’s hard, but just ignore her, okay? She’s just jealous.”

“Of me?” You scoffed, finally meeting his gaze. Bradley smirked down at you, casting you a wink.

“You’re pretty great, Skipper,” he hummed. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Now, come on. Let’s head back to the others, yeah?”

You nodded, and the two of you made your way back to the fire. As you approached, you noted that Jake was the only one still there, eyes trained on the flames in front of him, seemingly deep in thought. He jumped when Bradley plopped down next to him, leaving just enough room for you to slide in between them.

“Where’d the others go?” Bradley asked, twisting the top off his beer and taking a swig from the bottle. Jake grimaced, gesturing around towards the other fires.

“Take your pick.”

Bradley hummed, leaning back on the towel with his legs outstretched towards the fire. The three of you were silent for a moment, and you felt a tingling sensation on your left side. You turned to find Jake already looking at you, eyes soft as they took you in. Your breath caught in your throat, cheeks flushing. You thought you should have been been creeped out with how intensely he was staring at you, but you felt oddly comfortable under his gaze. In fact, you found yourelf sitting up a little straighter, almost preening under his gaze, and a small smile tugged on Jake’s lips as he took you in, eyes blazing as they reached your neck.

You jumped as Bradley suddenly leaned over in front of you, breaking the spell you found yourself under. A shit eating grin was etched onto his face as he looked at Jake.

“Did you know Skipper here always wanted to be a mermaid?”

You felt yourself begin to splutter as your cheeks warmed for a different reason, eyes growing wide as you peered between the two men. Bradley waggled his eyebrows as Jake’s own shot up on his forehead. A smirk graced his lips, giving him a devilish look to his already handsome features. He looked at you, smirk intensifying as he saw your flustered state. He leaned forward, smirk growing into a grin as you glanced away.

“Is that so?” He hummed, warm breath ghosting over your face.

“I will remind you that I was, like, five at the time,�� you snapped, glaring at Bradley. He only chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked lazily up at you.

“I think you’d make a cute mermaid, don’t you agree, Jake?”

Jake nodded with another hum, eyes taking on a look you couldn’t place, but it made you squirm nonetheless.

“Just imagine her swimming around with all her little fishy sidekicks,” Bradley teased, eyes alight with mischief. You scoffed, turning to face him.

“As if,” you snarked, “my sidekick wouldn’t be a fish, it would be a stingray.”

Jake quirked an eyebrow. “Why a stingray?”

“Oh,” you blushed, your nerves kicking up again. “Because they’re my favorite.”

Jake nodded slowly, like he was trying to commit that fact to memory. Bradley snorted beside you, and the two of you looked over at where he was smirking, eyes peeking at Jake before looking back at you.

“How could I forget?” He drawled, taking another sip of his beer. “I met Rusty when you and I were snuggled in bed the other morning.”

“That’s not-”

You were cut off by a growl to your left. You turned to see Jake’s entire expression had changed. His jaw was clenched, eyes trained on Bradley as if he wanted to take his head off. His fists were clenched so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was drawing blood from where his fingernails dug into his palms. He was almost too still as he glared at Bradley, the other man looking smug as he took in his friend’s appearance.

“Are you okay?” You asked the blond, and his eyes glanced over at you, gaze seeming to soften as he took in your concern.

“Bradshaw!” Reuben called from across the way. “Get your ass over here!”

Bradley heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes as he got to his feet. “And that’s my cue,” he muttered.

You watched as he strutted over to where Reuben and Mickey were gathered with a group of people you didn’t know, leaving you alone with Jake.

“He’s such an ass sometimes,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Isn’t he one of your best friends?” You asked him with a giggle. Jake’s demeanor seemed to relax at the sound.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled, casting another glare over at where Bradley stood chatting and laughing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You frowned, noticing how tense he still seemed to be. He looked back at you, hesitating before letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just feeling a little overheated or something,” he muttered, flexing his hands as he uncurled his fists. He moved to stand, and you followed suit.

“Think I’m going to go take a walk to cool off,” he mused, rolling his shoulders back. You frowned, rubbing a hand over your arm.

“Oh, okay,” you said, glancing at the ground, shifting your feet in the sand that covered the towel. Jake seemed to hesitate once more, chewing his bottom lip.

“Do you want to join me?” He asked you, his green eyes hopeful as you met his gaze. You felt a smile tug on your lips as you nodded.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you murmured, moving to grab your bag. You stopped when you noticed it was placed neatly on top of the towel you had been sitting on previously, shells already back inside.

“I, uh,” Jake stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want anything to happen to them, so I put them back in your bag. I guess I should have asked first instead of just moving them. I’m sorry if I-”

“No,” you smiled, “it’s okay. Thank you.”

Jake gave you a nervous, tight lipped smile before nodding. “You can leave your bag here if you want. No one is going to take it.”

You returned his nod, gesturing for him to lead the way down the beach.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, the ocean waves crashing off to your right, and the cool, night breeze ruffling your hair.

“Listen,” Jake started, stopping to turn to you, eyes earnest as they took you in. “I’m sorry about Mandy-”

“Oh, no, Jake,” you frowned, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologize for her.”

“No, but I do,” he stated firmly, face serious as he looked at you. “It’s my fault she’s taking it out on you. She’s been so convinced that she and I are going to end up together, and now that she knows that’s not the case, she’s on the warpath.”

“Jake,” you sighed, “I understand feeling some kind of weird responsibility for her, but her actions are her own. You shouldn’t have to apologize on her behalf. She’s a big girl just like I am, right? We’re adults who are capable of making our own decisions and apologizing for the wrong we do. None of this is your fault.”

He didn’t look convinced, and you took his hand in yours to offer him some kind of reassurance. A bolt of electricity ran through you, causing you to let out a gasp, and a warmth rushed over you, causing you to squirm. You felt like a magnet, drawn to Jake in a way that you couldn’t even begin to understand. You wanted to feel more of him, to consume and be consumed by him. You had never felt anything like it in your life, and you looked up at him hazy eyes to find that he wasn’t any better off.

His own eyes had a haze to them, seeming to glow in the moonlight. His breathing came out labored, almost like he was fighting to maintain his composure. His eyes raked over you, a hand coming up to rest on your cheek, and you nuzzled into it without thinking.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper as he inched closer to you.

“You’re just saying that,” you muttered, leaning into him.

“No,” he stated firmly, causing you to jump just a hair. His other hand came up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer so that you were practically molded against him.

“No,” he said again, gentler this time. “I mean it. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

If it were possible, you were sure your skin would have heated up even more than it already was. As it stood, a pleasant warmth spread through you at his proximity, and the hand that was cradling your cheek slowly drifted down until it brushed the mark on your neck. You let out a wanton cry at the shock of pleasure that jolted through you at the simple touch, and Jake smirked down at you, stroking softly over the mark again and again as he drew more pleasured cries from you.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, leaning his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose against the tip of yours. “I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t find it in you to feel embarrassed at the intense amount of pleasure you felt at the simplest of touches, too focused on the way his hands felt on you. You raised your own, one hand cradling his cheek as the other ran through his golden hair. He let out a groan as you tugged gently on the soft strands, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that spread across your face. Jake’s eyes met yours, the green of them so intense that it took your breath away. He glanced down at your lips, slowly leaning in-

“Jacob Seresin!”

You gasped, grasping at your ears at the almost inhuman shriek that pierced the night air. Jake pulled back, placing you almost protectively behind him. You peered around him to see Mandy glaring at him, blue eyes practically glowing with rage. Her gaze turned to you, and you shrank back slightly, hiding behind Jake a little more. This only served to make Mandy even more irate, and she snarled as she stomped closer to the two of you.

Jake bristled, standing taller as he continued to block you from Mandy’s warpath.

“How dare you,” she spat at him, lips pulled back into a sneer. “You’re mine.”

“No,” Jake growled, “I’m not.”

You shifted behind him, moving out from behind him slowly, and the pair turned to look at you. You gave them a sheepish smile, as you inched around Mandy, hands up in a form of surrender.

“I’m just going to head back so you two can talk in private,” you murmured. Jake looked like he wanted to argue, but Mandy’s glare had you moving before he could say anything.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked back towards the bonfires, already missing Jake’s touch. You had never felt anything so intense in your entire life, and you wondered what had come over you to make you act so brazenly. You weren’t one for hookups, but you weren’t even sure that’s what that was going to be. He had held you so gently, like you might break or run away at any moment. You had been so ready to give him every part of you in that moment. You knew you should have been worried at that thought, but a large part of you thought that it felt right, that you should give yourself to him. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself wanting to turn around and go back to him.

You were about halfway back down the beach when it started. It was quiet at first, distant. But then it grew louder, and you found yourself slowing to a stop, turning towards the crashing waves to your left.

The song was beautiful, melancholic. It was unlike the one you had heard before, this one sounding more animal like than human, but you still found yourself drawn to it. It called to you, begging you to listen, and you did, feeling the sound drift through your mind and pulling you in. You weren’t sure when you started walking, but you felt the sand shift beneath your feet as you slowly made your way towards the water. The fires faded from your sight, the churning waves beckoning to you like gentle hands that promised refuge. The song grew louder, all consuming, blocking everything else out but the need to answer. You felt the wind whip your hair around you, the cold sting kissing your cheeks as the crashing waves grew louder, the song more desperate. The sand beneath your feet grew cold as you ventured into a spot where the water met the shoreline. You’re almost there, the song called to you. You felt a relieved smile tug on your lips at the thought of finally reaching your goal and answering the song. You felt the water come just up to your toes before retreating back. You closed your eyes in anticipation. Just one more step.

You let out a cry as you were yanked away from the water, a strong hand on your upper arm. Your arms reached for the water, your mind still foggy as a loud, keening cry sounded from the water before disappearing entirely. You whirled around to see Javy staring at you with an intense worry, Nat just behind him, worry clear on her face.

“Wha-” you mumbled, pressing a hand to the side of your head as it began to pound. “What happened? Javy?”

“Hey, Skipper,” he murmured gently, pulling you closer, away from the water. “We’ve been calling you for a while now. You okay?”

“I…” you trailed off, glancing between him and the water. “I’m not sure.”

“How about we get you some water, yeah?” Nat suggested, wrapping her arms around you as she led you back to the bonfires. You nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” you muttered, glancing back at the ocean. “Yeah, okay.”

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jensky2000 · 1 year ago

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In case you haven't heard, I started a new fanfic on AO3. It's a WIP. The first 5 chapters are posted. More to come in two weeks. (or less.) A wee peek below ⬇️ (Readers can attest. Nothing is what it seems in this story.)

"I Love Her First"

In a small three block radius in Glasgow, Scotland, Claire owns a flower shop and Jamie is a firefighter. Claire and Jamie are best friends and roommates. Claire is in a relationship with Frank. Jamie is happily single. Claire and Jamie's friendship is different than most, but it works for them. When things progress with her and Frank, Jamie has to admit to his real feelings before it's too late.

Chapter 1 "The Firefighter"

I set both slow cookers to low. It will be ready before dinner break with plenty of time to spare. I can see everything from the top floor of the firehouse. The sun is well over the horizon. The shops are open, and a few people meander along the street. Howie, Mr. Johnson’s son, parks in the fire lane in front of his father’s shop. He has been warned a dozen times for that. Agnes across the street waters her flower boxes. She lets them overflow while she waits to catch a glimpse of Mr. Johnson. Her neighbor will complain about the puddles on the sidewalk. It’s a very quiet and predictable neighborhood. Quiet is good and it has been all night. The rest of my crew are sleeping. I have an hour before dayshift shows up. I make myself comfortable on the couch and flip through the channels. My phone buzzes next to me. I tap on the screen. My roommate.

Claire: Sorry I used the last of the milk for my coffee. Could you maybe pick some up on your way home. Please. You know I hate shopping for food. Also Frank is picking me up at the shop for an early dinner before he leaves.

Jamie: I will pick up milk and anything else we need. Send me a list. Have fun with Frank.

Have fun with Frank. Frank and fun do not belong in the same sentence. She loves him. And she’s my best friend and roommate so of course I need to be supportive. Frank and Claire have been together since our final year at Uni. Frank is older. She met him at a party. Ironically the one party Claire went without me. I was on a date. If I was there, things would have played out differently. I would have steered Claire away from Frank. It’s not that I don’t like him. Not at all. He’s fine. He’s just Frank. She can do much better.

Claire: You’re the best. See you later.

Hm. I drop the phone next to me and find a mindless show to pass the time.

I must have dozed off because before I know it I hear the banging of the lockers downstairs. “Jamie, my boy. You’ve done it again. Smells incredible. What is it?” Dougal, the fire chief, deep voice echoes in the quiet lounge.

“My Ma’s beef stew. I may have tweaked the recipe. Threw in some extra spices.” I stretch and look at my watch. “In 7 hours turn the knob to ‘keep warm’. You’ll be all set to eat.”

He searches the counter. “Did you make the biscuits too?”

“Aye. They’re in the fridge with instructions.”

“Ah you’ve done good, kid. Now get out of here.” He pats me on the back. I take one step towards the door and the alarm blasts. Dougal rushes to his office. I follow him and lean against the door frame.

He looks up from the screen. “Fire at Sullivans Bakery. We got this. Go.”

“You sure?”

“Go. You need your sleep.” He waves me off. I grab my things and run down the back stairs to stay out of the way. The sirens blare loud enough to alert the whole neighborhood and surrounding ones too. I head in the direction of the flat that Claire and I have shared for the past four years. It’s three blocks from the firehouse. I stop at the corner store to pick up milk and a few other things. My phone buzzes. Another text from Claire reminding me to feed DB. Our cat. Claire named him David Beckham. I quickly shortened it to DB. I climb the stairs to our top floor flat and open the door. Immediately I feel stifled. Claire likes it a balmy 74 degrees year-round. I on the other hand prefer it frigid. I lower the temp and climb into bed with the tv remote..

Hours later, I wake to the sound of my alarm. The remote sits on the bed next to me. I was asleep before I even had a chance to watch the morning news. The tv hums quietly on the wall across from me. I scroll through the channels. Station after station no mention of the early morning fire at the bakery. It’s in the other direction of Claire’s flower shop so no worries there. I pick up my phone. A bunch of missed texts. Claire sent me a picture of a flower arrangement. She does that when she’s particularly proud of one. A text from Rupert going into great detail about the fire this morning. Electrical. Everyone is safe. That’s the important part. Another text from Chloe canceling our plans for tonight. Time to get up. I shower, throw on a t-shirt and gym shorts. DB naps comfortably on the windowsill. I order a pizza. Half pepperoni. Half plain.

I settle on the couch with the pizza on the coffee table and beer in my hand. The doorknob wiggles. Claire. She always has trouble with the lock. I hear voices. She didn’t bring Frank here, did she? She wouldn’t do that. Not since last time and that disaster. She pushes the door open and quickly closes it. She’s alone. I can relax.

She whispers, “Mrs. Cook is such a talker. I lied and said I wasn’t feeling well to get away.” She looks at the pizza then back to me. “Why are you here?”

“Pfft. Hello to you too, Claire.” I take a swig of beer and take in her outfit for the first time. Sleeveless, tight black dress emphasizing her generous curves, bare legs. I quickly focus on something else before she catches me.

She throws her bag on the counter. “Tsk. You’re cranky.”

“My date canceled.”

“What was her name again?”

I grunt. “Chloe.”

“Aw. Why did she cancel?” She sits next to me on the couch.

“She didn’t say. It was a second date. No big deal. I wasn’t that into her.”

“That’s right. She was the low talker. Played with her hair too much.”

“Mm hm.” I reach forward to take another slice of pepperoni and offer her a slice of plain. She takes it happily. Her tongue moistens her lips after the first bite. She groans and leans forward to see the top of the box. Her dress rides a little higher. Now I’m licking my lips. She hums, “Antonio’s. You went all out tonight.”

She settles in next to me. We sit shoulder to shoulder. “How’s Frank?” I ask because I should.

“Frank. He’s good.” She takes a bite and snuggles closer. I glance at the goosebumps on her thighs. The air is too cold. That will be the next thing she says. “What’s the temperature in here?”

“Don’t you worry about that.” I mumble and close the pizza box. I stretch my legs out on the coffee table, and she does the same. I follow the lines of her long legs. “Frank was ok with you wearing those?” I point to her strappy black stilettos.

“No. Of course he wasn’t. I was eyeball to eyeball with him. I might have been even a little taller. Whatever. They look cute with the dress.”

“Mm hm.” I agree and laugh at something on tv.

“Oh shit. I just remembered what I wanted to tell you!” She grabs my forearm. “Frank wants to get a tattoo. Can you believe it?”

“Uh no. Frank. Christ no. What and where?”

“The symbol for doctors. Whatever they call that…on his bicep. He’ll never go through with it.” She shrugs. “It’s a pity. I do think they’re sexy.”

“You do?”

“Oh yea. Major turn on.”

“Really? Do you think I should get one?”

She twists her body to face mine. “Hm. I think one right here would be hot.” She places her hand on my left pec and squeezes. “Your fire station number or truck. Flames. Or…” She traces a design with her fingertip. I grab her wrist and kiss the inside.

Her breath catches. “Jamie.”

“Claire.” I hold her gaze.

“What are you thinking?” She bats her lashes.

“I’m thinking my date cancelled. Frank’s gone. It’s still early. I thought maybe we could…” I waggle my eyebrows.

She holds back a smile. “I mean we’ve already seen all the latest releases on Netflix.”

“True. And you’ve been stressed with work and such.” I toy with the hem of her skirt.

“It does relax me. Will you go down on me?”

“Aye. If you like…” My cock twitches.

“I like.” She giggles. I stretch my neck and ask for her mouth. She holds up her finger. “Ah ah. You know the rules. No kissing.”

“Claire.” She has all these stupid rules. No kissing. No sleeping in the same bed. Not during the day. She used to make me shut the lights too. I got that one overturned. I want to see her.

“Jamie.” She gives me a stern look.

“Fine. Take your panties off.”

She stands before me and raises her dress. Tiny black lace panties. A scrap of fabric. A thrill runs through me knowing Frank hadn’t a clue what his lass had on under her dress. But I do. Fuck I do. I salivate knowing what comes next. She pushes them over her hips. I slide to the floor and rest my head back on the cushions.

“Sit on my face, Claire.” My voice is hoarse with desire. She straddles me and lowers her body until she meets my mouth. I have the best view in Glasgow. No. The world. She holds onto the back of the couch and rides my face. I’m relentless. I want her to come and quick because I’m aching for my turn. I clasp onto her hips and double my efforts. She calls out. Nothing incoherent either. She’s very clear. My name followed by instructions. It’s a major turn on. I don’t care if the whole building can hear us. Yeah our neighbors suspect something. Frank doesn’t. That’s all the matters. Because if he found out I fuck his girlfriend, she would end this. And that cannot happen.

“Oh God, Jamie. Yes. Yes. Don’t stop.” She holds my head in place as she comes all over my chin. I lick up every last drop. She moans. “Christ. You’re so good at that….”

I pant, “Get down here and ride me.”

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” She moistens her lips. I’m tempted. Very tempted.

“Next time. You’re tight and soaking wet. I want to be in you.” I push my gym shorts down. My cock springs free. “Get on.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Condom.” I open the coffee table drawer and she takes one out of the small box hidden in the back. We learned a long time ago to keep them close by. She rips the wrapper off with her teeth and covers my cock. She lowers herself down taking me whole. My head rolls back. I pull her dress off and undo her bra. She likes to stay covered. I’m not having it. I like her breasts bouncing in my face.

"Did you feed remember to feed DB?" She changes her angle. Christ.

I grunt. "Yes. I fed him."

"I'm worried about him. He's moving slower than normal." She pants as she picks up the pace.

"He seems fine to me."

“Jamie.”

“What?”

“I’m going to come again.” She bucks her hips furiously.

“Ok, so?”

“I didn’t want to catch you off guard. Then you’ll get excited and it will end too soon. You hate that.” She never stops riding me. We’ve gotten very good at having full conversations while fucking.

“I do. But contrary to what you think, I do know when you’re close. There’s no catching me off guard.”

“You know?”

“Aye. Your walls squeeze my cock so tight sometimes I think you are going to break it off.” I smirk. “There’s other signs too.”

“Like what?”

Careful. “Other stuff.”

“Tell me.”

“You make noises.” And your face has the sweetest, sexiest expression sometimes I think about it when I’m not with you, and I get hard.

“I do not.” She pouts. It’s too cute. I lift her up and slam her down. My balls are getting tight.

“Oh aye. And loud too.”

“Do I feel like I’m close now?”

“No. But I can make you.” I bite my lip and sit up straight until her legs spread wider. I take her nipple in my mouth and suck hard. She whimpers and her head rolls back. That’s it. There we go.

“Oh Jamie. Yes.”

“You’re tight and very close. Ride me and we’ll come together.” And she does. My balls ache. She’s going to have rug burn at this rate. “That’s it, lass.”

She frowns.

“I mean, Claire.” I give her a tight smile. She laughs. It does something. It vibrates through her. Through me. There we go. Her mouth pops open. I’m tempted to kiss her. As I always am. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s only natural. I slam her down one last time. We both call out. I can almost hear our neighbors cursing us out.

I rest my head on her shoulder while we catch our breath. She goes to pull away. I bite her. “Jamie! Let go.”

I release my grip. She stands and walks away still wearing her stilettos. I watch from the living room floor. She’s right. It’s never long enough and I hate it. She tosses me a box of tissues and a water bottle before she enters her bedroom. Minutes later I hear her shower running. I would join her if this was more than sex but it’s not.

#outlander #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #outlander fanfic #ao3 outlander #outlander ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3outlander #writer #story telling

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trekscribbles · 7 months ago

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The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

Eliot hit the ground forearm-first, rolling along the left side of his body to spare himself as much pain as possible. Lancaster’s shot went high—he heard it thud into the wall, well past the desk he’d landed beneath—but his attention was on the sound of Parker’s footsteps as she broke from cover. One, two, three... The door crashed open, and Lancaster’s answering shot came four seconds too late.

Parker was safe. The rest, he’d figure out.

The radio buzzed against the floor in the middle of the lobby, and he heard a muffled, “Ford, I have Parker. Come around to the front. Lancaster’s still inside with Spencer.”

Thank God for J.B. He really didn’t know how he was going to repay him.

“Hear that?” Eliot called. “Now it’s just you and me. We can still walk out of here before the police show up.”

“No one’s walking out,” Lancaster said. “But you’re right about one thing: we don’t have time to play. Stand up. I won’t shoot, I just want to talk to you face to face.”

Eliot snorted. “Somehow, I’m doubting your sincerity.”

“I give you my word.”

That was as good as useless, but if Eliot wanted to keep him talking long enough to chance an escape, he had to play along. “All right,” he said, sucking in a fortifying breath before straightening behind the desk. His right leg throbbed, and he could feel the blood soaking into his jeans—another pair of Sunny’s ruined. He’d never pay her back at this rate.

Lancaster stood across the room, his derringer aimed at Eliot’s chest. “See you worked your hands free,” Eliot said, rolling his shoulders. “What took you so long? We shouldn’t have been able to beat you down the stairs.”

Lancaster grinned. “I had to stop at my safe. Didn’t want this to get caught up in the explosion.”

He lifted a gun belt, and Eliot snorted. “Don’t you think you’re taking this cowboy thing a little too far?”

“This isn’t a cowboy thing,” Lancaster sneered. “This is a Colt Model 1860 Army Percussion Revolver, owned by Jesse James himself when he rode with the Quantrill Raiders. I bought it for $230,000, but I figured once I found the James treasure, it would sell for twice that.”

A flicker of color outside caught Eliot’s eye: police lights. Their sirens joined the wail of the alarm, and Eliot did his best to push the noise to the back of his mind. “Hard to dig up a treasure on someone else’s property,” he said.

“Well, with you out of the way, that won’t be much of a problem.”

Eliot eased a step backward, shuffling to keep from putting too much pressure on his right leg. “You don’t know Sunny June very well.”

“I don’t need to,” Lancaster said. “That’s the beauty of money. You never have to get your hands dirty.”

“Until now,” Eliot said.

“Until now.” Lancaster lifted the gun, sighting down his arm and closing one eye. “A fact I’m about to remedy.”

Eliot braced himself to turn and run, but Lancaster didn’t shoot. Instead, he bent his knees, set the gun at his feet, and slid it across the floor toward Eliot.

“Pick it up,” he said.

Eliot stared at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Shooting at the range is one thing,” Lancaster said, sliding the gun belt off his shoulder and fastening it around his waist. “But I’ve always wanted to know how I’d measure up in a real gun fight.”

“Your gun is 150 years old,” Eliot said. “And mine has a range of like seven yards. Not exactly worthy of the O.K. Corral.”

“You scared?” Lancaster needled.

Eliot laughed. “That don’t work on professionals, hoss. I got nothing to prove to you.”

“Then put it this way.” Lancaster spun the cylinder on his revolver, sliding bullets in as he spoke. “I’m shooting either way. You can pick up that gun and defend yourself, or stand there and take a bullet. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Fire sirens joined the cacophony of alarms, but no one was coming inside. Waiting for the bomb squad, probably—he had to keep stalling. Slowly, he lowered himself into a crouch and reached for the derringer, his eyes on Lancaster’s right hand. He’d holstered the gun and stood with his feet planted wide, grinning.

“How do you see this going down?” Eliot asked.

Lancaster flexed his hands. “You pick up the gun. It’s already loaded, but you’ll need to cock the hammer. Stand with it at your side, and then we draw. Fastest man wins.”

“Speed’s got nothing to do with it if you can’t land a hit,” Eliot said.

“Then I guess we’re about to test your aim.”

Great—Eliot had no idea if he could shoot. Probably, given his other skills, but it would be just his luck that guns weren’t one of the weapons he was apparently proficient with. But even if he could shoot, even if he could manage to hit Lancaster at the edge of the derringer’s range, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Whatever he’d done in the past, whoever he’d been before… he didn’t want to be a killer. Parker had trusted him to follow her out, and if killed Lancaster now…

He wasn’t sure how much of himself would stay behind.

“On three?” Eliot asked. He’d picked up the gun, frowning at the feel of the short handle in his palm, but was careful to keep it pointed away from Lancaster.

“So you can shoot on two?” Lancaster said. “You’re not getting inside my head, Spencer. Just draw.”

“It’s not really drawing if I don’t have a holster,” Eliot muttered. He lifted the gun carefully, keeping it at his hip as he rose on his good leg.

“There’s no talking your way out of this one,” Lancaster said, sneering. “Either way, you’re not getting out of this alive.”

Eliot went still. “Either way?”

Lancaster’s fingers twitched, and his gaze darted toward a clock on the wall over Eliot’s head. “You think you’re the only one who can stall?”

Alarms and sirens screamed. Eliot’s heart pounded, sending stabs of adrenaline through him—but no fear. Time was up, and he was getting out.

He’d made a promise.

“You assumed I had to call to set off the bombs,” Lancaster said, misinterpreting his silence. “That ain’t the only way to do it. I would’ve taken a long lunch, only to come back and find the evil Mr. Ford had made good on his threats again—but this will work. You’ve got about ten seconds to decide whether you want to go out with a bang or a bullet.”

Eliot fired. He aimed high, hoping to take Lancaster by surprise, make him flinch—hoping to steal an extra second while he turned for the door. Lancaster’s gun clicked behind him—a misfire—the idiot had probably tried using the ammunition in the gun belt. He didn’t look over his shoulder to see if Lancaster was following. He fixed his eyes on the doors—on the golden hair he could see beyond them.

The explosion started above them. Without the charges in the basement, the building shook, but held—windows burst overhead, raining glass down on the sidewalk outside. The firefighters and police flinched at the sound, hurrying to usher spectators out of the way. Eliot’s leg gave out and he stumbled, caught himself on one hand, and ran on. He was ten feet away—seven, five, two.

The next charges blew as his hand hit the door, and the force of the blast threw it open, glass shattering around him. He lost his feet, crashing into the sidewalk as heat exploded against his back, and then something hit his head—

#leverage #leverage fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #the bushwhack job #eliot spencer #good old fashioned western shootout #ish #i might play with this some more in the ao3 version #i keep going back and forth with whether or not i want parker to know that lancaster gave eliot a gun #i think it'd be fun to show that part from her pov #but i also think if lancaster gave a gun to eliot when parker was there #she'd just take it and shoot him. no nonsense. eliot may have stopped her once but she only has so much patience #but anyway. enjoy the silly western showdown

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silverwings22 · 1 year ago

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Song of the Sea: Chapter 47: Dying of Love

Series Warning: explicit smut, alien anatomy (it's a monsterfucker fic, guys), major character injury, grief, canon typical violence, autistic meltdowns, and my terrible attempts at Mando'a Chapter Warnings: mind control, extreme injury, explicit smut, trauma, disability

Previous chapter:

Next chapter:

Shiani lay back on the bunk of her cell, staring at the grate ceiling. CX-2 hadn’t come to get her for three days, even though he’d said he would. She couldn’t make herself call him Tech, not yet… but he would be. Tech was in there, if her pushing so hard hadn’t had him sent back to the nightmare that had taken him away the first time. She could still hear his cracking voice, in pain and afraid. “If I know, he can take it away again.”

If she ever got her teeth into Hemlock’s throat, he wouldn’t have to worry about venom. She’d tear his windpipe out.

The whole facility rumbled and rocked a little under her, and she propped herself up on her elbow. The motion was rhythmic and repetitive, a faint thunderous crash in the background of the facility as the lockdown alarm lights came on.

“Princess?! What’s happening?” Several siren voices called, frightened sounding.

Shiani sat the rest of the way up and listened for a moment longer. “Laser cannons. The Chainbreakers are here. Everyone into position, and be ready on Omega’s signal.”

There were murmurs and the sirens tucked themselves into the back of their cells, making sure they were out of sight of the Zillo enclosure.

She heard the quiet movement of children behind the wall and Omega whispered for her. “Shiani. I’ve got four friends here, I need you to cover for them.”

“Four babies.” She repeated. “You go, Omega. I got the babies.”

“Bayrn’s a real baby.” A tiny voice peeped, and Shiani pressed her face against the vent to get a good look at them. A young mirialan boy, a pantoran girl holding a restless tarlafar infant, and an iktotchi girl were all peeking back at her. “And he’s gonna cry. They’re gonna find us.”

Shiani shook her head. “Bring littlest baby here, close to me.”

The pantoran girl, Sami, scooted closer and held him near where the siren’s face was. One of her headtresses worked its way into the wall to give him something to hold, while she leaned her mouth near and starting singing in a soft, gentle voice. The baby relaxed and cuddled into Sami’s arms with a happy little sound. The others smiled, unable to resist the infectious peace the siren’s song brought.

Inside the unit, Omega had climbed out of the wall and pulled a lever to drain the Zillo’s enclosure. Shiani smiled, turning her head to see as the giant angry reptile hauled itself up and started roaring and attacking all the movement it saw. The control station was ripped off the wall and thrown, and the sonic generator they’d been using to harass and control the Zillo was knocked over before it started scaling the walls. “Three. Two. One.”

The power went out. Jax, the mirialan boy, looked at Shiani. “You knew it would turn the power off?”

“Not the Zillo. Empire.” She grinned, pulling her headdress out of the wall. “Zillo eats power, they have to shut the generator down or it’s gonna get bigger and bigger. Come around the hole Omega showed you, and we’ll follow it out.”

The kids nodded, coming around to find at least two dozen sirens coming out of their cells. There were hugs as they were reunited, and Shiani crawled to the door of hers and dragged herself out of the cell. “The Zillo went up, we’re following it to the hangar. Grab any weapon you can find!”

The sirens started yanking pieces of rebar and debris as weapons, while Omega ran over and helped Shiani to her good foot. “You okay?”

“I’ll know if we find a transport.” She smiled, hugging Omega tightly. “Look at you. Sergeant, just like your father.”

Omega smiled brightly and nodded, up under Shiani’s arm to help her along. They made their way to the service ladder leading from the containment unit to the generator, which they could use to get to the hangar. “Can you climb, Shiani?”

“I got arms and tentacles still. You lead the way.”

Jax squirmed. “I’m scared of heights… I guess I wouldn’t be a very good soldier.”

Omega gave him a calm, kind smile. “My brother Wrecker is afraid of heights too. He’s the strongest soldier I know.”

Shiani patted the boy’s arm. “Being scared doesn't mean you’re not brave. In fact, the only time you’re really brave is when you’re scared and do it anyway.”

He nodded with a shaky breath and Omega led the way, him following with Bayrn on his back, Eva after him, and Sami after her. Shiani let them get up a little way before waving for the sirens to follow her. She had to drag herself up with one leg down, but she wasn’t giving up.

She had to get the kids and sirens to a shuttle. Then she could go back and find CX-2. She wasn’t leaving without him.

We’re going home, Tech. Together.

Three stormtroopers stood between Shiani and the shuttles that could get the refugees and children to safety, and she didn’t have a weapon. She and the kids were behind a couple crates, the sirens hiding in various places behind them, as the three troopers walked towards them.

“Scream will attract attention.” She muttered. “If I have to use it, you all gotta run straight for the hangar.”

Omega put the other kids behind her bravely and nodded, preparing to drag them to the safety of the shuttles even if it meant leaving Shiani to hold the line. She knew it might have to come to that… she hoped not, but-

One of the troopers shot the other two in the back. “Causing trouble, Havoc 5?”

Omega’s head popped up, eyes wide. “Echo?”

He pulled his helmet off, revealing the much-beloved brother with a smirk.

Shiani giggled. “I forget you have ears sometimes. Where’s your stuff?”

“I had to change clothes to blend in.” He showed her the droid hand he had hooked onto his scomp.

Emerie Karr walked over from behind him, and Shiani bared her teeth sharply. The woman held her hands up. Echo waved the siren to stand down. “She’s with us, Shiani. Easy.”

The siren closed her eyes and nodded, waving the other sirens over. “Can fit them on a shuttle?”

Emerie nodded. “There is one in bay 4.”

Echo handed Emerie a set of coordinates. “Take them here. We’ll catch up.”

Emerie looked anxiously at Omega as she backed up next to Echo. Shiani turned and gave orders to the sirens to follow Emerie. “Doctor Karr, you speak Tuskan sign?”

“A little, yes…”

“Close enough to siren sign they can understand you. They’ll follow you.” Shiani told her.

Emerie blinked in total disbelief. “You and Omega are going to remain behind?”

“We don’t leave our own behind.” Omega said firmly. As long as there was a single clone in Tantiss, she was going to fight.

Echo nodded. “Hemlock’s got the rest of the Batch.”

“And there’s someone I need to find.” Shiani took a bent piece of metal one of the sirens handed her that she could use as a cane.

Emerie nodded, glancing at Omega before handing her a datapad. “This will give you access to the whole facility. Good luck, Omega.” She took the sirens and kids to the bay with the shuttles.

Omega looked at Shiani and Echo. “Let’s complete the mission.” She didn’t know what Shiani had planned, but she trusted the siren.

Shiani looked at Echo. “If you get back to a shuttle before me, you go without me.” She said firmly. “Understand? I will find my way back to Pabu.”

He nodded, eyes serious. “Alright. But I don’t like it.”

“That’s okay. I have to do this.” She turned and started back into the facility while he and Omega headed for the detainment unit where the clones were being held. They’d need backup to infiltrate where the rest of of the Batch were being tortured.

Shiani took the left hall, leaning against the wall with one hand and the broken metal crutch she had in the other. She had to find CX-2 and convince him to come with her. She had to save him, bring him back to Tech. He might be near the containment cells, hopefully looking for her too-

She heard a blaster cock before she saw it and turned, finding herself facing another CX trooper with a different style helmet. “You. Princess.” He said in a modulated, dead sounding voice. “You have been a distraction, and a waste of resources. There is no useful information coming from your continued interrogation, and therefore there is no reason for your continued existence.”

Shiani started down the barrel of the blaster, eyes watering. She wasn’t so much scared to die, not after Eriadu and wishing for death for so long after… but she didn’t want to leave Tech. If she didn’t find him, he wouldn’t ever be Tech again.

Crosshair said Clone Force 99 died with Tech. But he’s not dead… I have to save him, and all of them. I can’t-

A blaster shot came from over her shoulder, hitting the CX trooper dead center in the chest. He crumpled like flimsi, and Shiani turned her head to find a soldier she knew still in the firing crouch. “CX-2!”

He straightened up and walked to her, hands moving automatically to her hips to steady her. “What are you doing here? The other cells were all empty. Why did you not leave with the other sirens?”

“I came back for you.” She leaned into his chest, fingers curling into his chest plate automatically. “I won’t leave without you.”

“... you came back for me?” He seemed stunned. “Princess Illumai…”

“No. You know my name.” She pulled at his chest a little, shaking him slightly. “Come with me. Tell me where your tracker implant is and let me get it out, and we’ll go together. Hemlock can’t find you if we run.”

“I have told you, I do not remember-”

“I do!” She shook him again, voice cracking. “And I’ll spend forever reminding you of who you are. Just please, please let me save you. You saved me on Eriadu, and I can save you now. Where’s the tracker?” Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she begged him, shaking, and he automatically reached up to wipe them away with his thumb.

“It is in my arm…” He said quietly, gesturing to his upper right bicep. “You… can remove it?”

She nodded. “It might hurt, but I can be fast. I promise.”

“I am… used to pain.” He said, a little forlornly.

“I’ll take it out, and I won’t let anything hurt you ever again.” She promised. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll kiss it better, if you want.”

He nodded, leaning against a wall next to her so he was steady, and she dug her claws under his right paldron. It came off with a click, the siren familiar with how to remove clone armor. She ripped the fabric of his blacks underneath open, revealing a tanned arm. Some scars were new, but she’d anticipated that.

She slipped a tentacle into his hand. “Squeeze if it hurts.” She murmured before gently poking the arm until she felt the metal of an implanted tracker the size of her pinky nail. She pressed her lips to his arm first, then shifted and sank her teeth into the spot.

Squeeze squeeze squeeze.

She leaned back, red blood dripping from her mouth, and spat before using her claws like forceps to catch the little chit and drag it out from under his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She murmured, throwing it to the floor. “I’m sorry, Tech.”

She squeaked when they were suddenly in reversed positions, her back to the wall and him leaning into her. “What did you call me?” He murmured, fingers coming up under her chin. All she could smell was blood in the tight space, but she couldn’t look away.

Something had just flipped.

“Is something wrong?” She whispered.

“Say it again. The name.”

“Take your helmet off.” Shiani pulled at his shoulder straps. “Let me see your face.”

He didn’t question it this time, releasing the seals and throwing the entire contraption to the floor at their feet.

Auburn hair was growing back curly after having been shaved. His handsome, angular face bore scars concentrated around the left eye, where his goggles had broken out. One dragged across the bridge of his nose, another through the bottom of the plush bottom lip… but it was him. She’d never forget those beautiful golden-honey brown eyes, staring at her though without even squinting. She was close enough his nearsighted self could see every detail of the scar on her cheek and blue freckles across her own nose. “Tech.” She whispered. “Your name is Tech.”

His mouth crushed into hers, heedless of the taste of his own blood behind her teeth. His arms wrapped around her waist, crushing her between him and the wall while her arms locked around his neck. Claws dragged through his hair, pulling slightly, until he groaned into her mouth. “Say it again.” He muttered, mouth moving down her chin to her neck and lightly nipping at her throat. He needed to hear a name, to be a man instead of a weapon. If she said it enough, maybe CX-2 would die and he could be the man she had come back for.

“Tech. Tech Illumai.” She dropped her head back and gave him access, the terror and danger of Tantiss dropping into a background buzz. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Tech, alive and breathing hard against her skin. His heart was pounding under the Imperial chest plate, but she could take it off him later. She didn’t have time right now; she needed him to remember her. “I found you, Tech. I’m not letting you go again.”

His knee wedged between her thighs as he pinned her against the wall, devouring her mouth. His fingers hesitated at the start of her zipper, but Shiani pressed his hand closer until he took it and pulled it down from her collar to the crotch of the prison jumpsuit. A relieved sigh slid across his lips at her permission, and his fingers slid down her stomach. He could admire her later, as much as he wanted to now, but their time was limited and he needed her right now.

Shiani gasped when his hand slipped into her underwear, but hooked her bad leg up over his hip to give him more access. His right hand hooked under her knee to hold it there, squeezing her calf muscle lightly. Squish squish squish.

She fumbled her hands down to his waist, flipping his belt open and grateful for the lack of codpiece. He shoved her jumpsuit down her shoulders so it dropped below her hips, bucking into her hand when she wrapped it around his cock. Whatever injuries he’d sustained from the fall that she’d have to catalog later, this felt the same. She pulled him free of the tac pants, stroking him firmly. “Kiss me again, Tech.” She breathed, and he eagerly gave her back his mouth. The energy in him was coming back alive, a brightness she hadn’t felt in so long that it felt like daylight after an interminably long night. Tech was her sunrise, and she’d always loved lights.

She guided him into her and swallowed his feverish moan, rolling her crooked pelvis into him to meet every movement he made. “Tech.” She mumbled against his lips. “Tech. Tech. Tech.” She kept whispering his name, sliding sloppy kisses against his lips and jaw.

His left hand grasped at every part of her he could reach, squeezing her hip and sliding under her bra to palm her breast, cupping her cheek, groping her ass, everywhere. The right stayed steady, keeping her left leg locked into the curve of his hip while he tried to remember what it was like to be a person with someone who loved him this much. It was fuzzy, incomplete flutters of memory and emotion, but he knew it was her. And he knew his name sounded right from her lips.

Shiani didn’t care if she came, as long as Tech came home with her after this, but the genius turned assassin’s subconscious memory kicked in and his metal fingers moved between her legs to find her clit and work it over in tight circles. Shiani whimpered into his shoulder, shuddering and squirming as she simultaneously rode his digits and cock to her climax. Tech groaned into the curve of her neck, squishing her a little harder into the wall as he pumped her full of his spend and panted against her skin.

Shiani clung to him, trembling, until he could push himself upright correctly and slip out of her heat with a dazed expression. She cupped his cheeks in her palms before he could get far, drawing him back into a softer kiss. “I love you.” She murmured. “I’ll help you remember, I promise.”

He rested his head against her forehead, brow scrunched as he tried to think of something. “Mirshmure'cya.” He finally mumbled.

“That’s right. Mando’a.” She cooed.

He kissed her forehead, not sure why it felt correct, and looked at her. There was blood from her mouth on his now, and his arm was still bleeding sluggishly. They both stiffened after a series of six blaster shots. “I must get you out of here. There are untracked shuttles in Bay 4 that were likely not destroyed by the Zillo’s escape.”

Shiani nodded, quickly righting her underwear and zipping the jumpsuit back up while he tucked himself back in his pants and buckled his belt. He scooped her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest despite the wet bloodstain. “We can go back to Pabu.” She murmured softly.

“I will need my helmet. I… cannot see well. The visor is corrective.” He explained.

She picked it up with her tentacles and put it back on his head. “We’ll get rid of it when we get home. We’ll get your glasses fixed.” The people of Pabu didn’t need to know Tech had been the face under the helmet that terrorized them. She’d burn it, that was fine. The friendly faces of Pabu would help him heal, and he’d be back with his brothers. They’d all heal together from this.

They were almost to the hangar and she was trying to decide how she was going to explain this to Hunter and Crosshair, when she heard Omega’s gasp. “Shiani?!”

Tech spun around, finding a rain soaked trio of Hunter, Crosshair, and Omega staring at them. Crosshair’s right arm ended in a stump at the wrist, his hand severed, but he and Hunter were both suddenly moving for him to brace his rifle on the sergeant’s shoulder and Hunter to crouch and draw his pistol. Tech set Shiani down, starting to move in front of her and reach for his own blaster.

“No! Wait!” She knew what they were seeing. The operative that had kidnapped her, bleeding and carrying her with blood around her mouth. It looked like a fight she’d lost, but they didn't understand. She had to stop them, before something happened that they’d regret-

She dove between the three brothers before Tech could even unholster his pistol, but the other two had seen the threatening motion and pulled their triggers.

Bang. Bang.

Shiani was stock still, arms outstretched, when two rounds of plasma slammed into her unarmored chest. One hit just above her left breast, the other her right side ribcage. She blinked, slowly looking down at the burn marks on her jumpsuit, before a trickle of blue sluiced out of her mouth and her sides above her tentacles started to stain from blood leaking from her gills. Her paused breath started up again, shallow and shaky, and she collapsed backwards into her lover’s arms.

“Shiani!” Omega screamed, but her voice was eclipsed by a scream from the assassin that blew out his vocoder it was so loud. Hunter covered his ears, unable to take it, but Crosshair choked.

He’d heard that scream before. He knew that scream. He hadn’t heard it since he was a cadet, but he knew it.

Shiani’s body was going limp rapidly, but she started trying to push his helmet off. They had to see his face. They had to know it was him and save him if she couldn’t do it anymore. She managed to crookedly shove it over his head, fingers trailing across his cheek as she smiled mistily. “B-brothers… Tech.” She mumbled. “D-don’t hurt th-them…”

“No. No, you cannot leave me now!” He scrambled to put pressure on the wounds. His throat was raspy from screaming, but he didn’t care. “Princess!”

She let her head rest on his shoulder, panting and coughing up more blood. Omega was yelling about a med kit on the wall, which Hunter was running for. Crosshair tried to crouch by Tech, but he blocked the sniper with his shoulder. “Do not touch her!”

“It’s okay…” She mumbled. “Tech… they’re gonna save you now…”

“You are not going to die. I will not allow it.” His jaw was trembling, and she could only smile at him. He was here, she couldn’t have been sad about dying if she tried. Tech was right there, arms around her. She’d never been unhappy when he held her.

“You gotta let Hunter treat her. He’s got the med kit.” Crosshair was arguing, but his voice sounded like she was fading back underwater.

Is this why the Harmony and Melody sent me back? To save Tech? They said he wasn’t with them… I was so silly to be angry with them. I hope they forgive me… I’ll tell them how grateful I am when I get there…

“Stay awake! Princess, do not fall asleep!” Tech was finally letting Hunter get close enough to pour bacta on her, but he wouldn’t put her down enough to let anyone see how bad it really was. “Princess? Shiani!”

He said my name…. I’m so happy.

#clone force 99 #the bad batch #star wars #fanfic #tbb tech #explict #original character #tech is alive #tech smut #monster fucker #song of the sea #tech lives #oc shiani illumai

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mowu-moment · 2 years ago

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good fucking gravy scryfall you really had to take that opportunity

#memetg #mtg #i go on the scryfall main page and notice the cards aren't pride month anymore #and i'm like 'hm i wonder what it is'#and i see the first three and hear alarm sirens in the back of my mind

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greenorangevioletgrass · 3 years ago

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openin' up | b.r.b.

pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x actress!reader

summary: it's an ordinary morning in their new house, and bradley gets enlisted for help with an... extraordinary warm-up for a morning rehearsal. [part of "the actress & the aviator" universe but can be read as a standalone]

word count: 1.8k

warnings: established relationship, domestic fluff, bradley is a simp but so is the reader, they're engaged y'all, language, smut [blowjob, dirty talk, switch!rooster, switch!reader, brief daddy kink, spit kink, cum eating, this is really filthy but soft i promise]

notes: i'm BACK, Y'ALL! i literally started this fic back in early october but life happened (i worked out of town, got out of a relationship, got into a new relationship. whew!) so i've only got around to finish it now. im a little rusty, so however much love you can give me would be greatly appreciated <3 thank you and happy reading!

✨ follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it! ✨

***

The house in San Clemente is new. The novelty of the living room furniture is apparent, bright and shiny and smelling faintly of packing boxes, save from Goose’s old piano they brought home from Virginia. The fridge only has three takeout menus pinned onto it, from the first week you moved in. The shelves and displays have barely gathered any dust on the books and awards and vinyl collections that newly inhabit them.

But the rhythm in how the two of you go about your day in this new home— your shared home… It's effortless and familiar. Tried and tested. Bradley’s alarm sounds off early in the morning, way too early, but you’ve learned to tune it out. But the prolonged absence of the human furnace you sleep with makes the bed all cold and empty, and it’s hard to go back to sleep like that (you wish you were being dramatic, but it’s true.) By the time Bradley gets out of the shower, you’re usually there, sleepily brushing your teeth and giving him a minty kiss good morning.

This morning, you’re already in the kitchen by the time he’s dressed for work. He hears you first; a cacophony of strange noises that would otherwise be alarming if it weren’t for how routine it is now. All the hums and sirens and lip trills and are those meows you’re doing for warm-up?

“Morning, songbird.” Rooster saunters in with a kiss to your temple. Then, as he pours his coffee, nearly back-to-back as you hold a steaming cup of tea, he chuckles to himself.

You groan, catching the amusement right away. “Whoever thought it was a good idea to have a singing rehearsal so early in the morning is clearly not thinking,” you grumble, voice still gravely from sleep.

“Whoever thought it was a good idea to stay up late and binge Fleabag like she hasn’t seen it 4 times is…” you level his cheeky comment with a glare and he backtracks behind his coffee cup, “…clearly regretting it now.”

You pinch his side, scowling but not really. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Bradley does a shoulder wiggle in response, so bright and chirpy so early in the morning. A multitude of fun contradictions; tall and broad and imposing in his flight suit, sleeves tied up around his waist, yet at the same time…

Soft and domestic and adorable as he puts the bread in the toaster and cracks a few eggs to scramble (he does it with one hand, too, that cocky fuck.)

You love him so much, it’s ridiculous. It is so ridiculous, in fact, that it gives you an idea…

“Hey, what time do you have to be at work?”

“0900, why?”

You hum, taking a thoughtful sip of your magical concoction of ginger, honey, and lemon. And then…

“Can I suck your dick?”

He bursts out laughing. But then, seeing your completely straight face, he stops. “Wait, for real?”

“I’m serious! For singing purposes. I need to open up and warm up my throat.” He opens his mouth again to comment, but you cut him off, “And don’t ask me how I know this works. But it does.”

People would say your love story is one for the movies. A movie star and a naval aviator falling in love while filming thousands of feet in the air. The two worlds collide, and your lives are intertwined forever. It’s a grand Hollywood romance.

Nobody would ever expect that your happy-ever-after is a comedy.

“Well, jeez, buy me dinner first, ma’am.” He rolls his eyes playfully, as if his heart rate wasn’t picking up. He tries to keep it cool, teasing her right back. “Also, is that the only reason? I am hurt.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” there’s an air of innocence in your reply —a stark contrast to your request. You come up behind him and wrap your arms around his middle. “That you look so good in your uniform, and I want you to fuck my face? Come down my throat?”

Okay. Maybe it’s a slightly raunchy comedy.

There’s a heavy three-second gap. Three seconds of Bradley’s tightening grip on the spatula and the pan, from the three seconds of your figurative grasp right where you want him.

Three seconds of his slow, bracing draw of breath.

“Honestly?” He pipes up, “Yes.”

Click. You turn the stove off and he has to remind himself to let go, and let you turn him around. Amusement, intrigue, lust, and love painted his face like a swirl of colors. God, you adore him.

You back him into an empty counter, careful not to bump into any hot mugs or pans. “You know I like seeing your suit half done up like this...” Your voice is still rough from sleep, and he swears it’s the sexiest sound his brain can comprehend. “Makes really, really wanna swallow you whole ‘til I choke on your cock. Will you let me do that?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. His lips fall open slightly, but no sound comes out.

You love him like this. All dazed and dumb when you’ve barely done anything to him. It makes you feel powerful. And there’s no power trip quite like knowing you hold the reign.

Even when you give it up.

You bat your eyelashes, sighing just a little when his dick, now fully erect, flexes against your belly in attention. “Please… Daddy?”

Fuck.

Bradley Bradshaw is still just a man. And as stubborn as he is (and he is plenty stubborn, ask anyone), he is running out of reasons to believe that this is a bad idea. Then again, who is he to deny his fiancée a blowjob for her own sake?

He groans, guttural as he grabs a handful of your ass. “‘Course you can, baby.”

You lean in for a kiss, tender and loving despite everything, and he wants to melt into your touch. It’s oddly comforting to see that amidst the absurdity, it’s still you and it’s still him. And wherever you are, whatever you do —be it having breakfast or doing weird things for warm-up—, this is home.

And home is where you sink down to your knees, taking his pants and boxers down with you on a random Thursday morning.

His cock stares right at you, veins running along the sides as it curves ever so slightly to the right. A pearly bead leaks out of his pinkish tip, and you dart out your tongue to taste him. And a taste is never enough —you want to devour all of him.

He can feel the ground pulling from underneath him. One hand with knuckles white on the counter, the other cradling the back of your head. Not quite pushing you, just… caressing you as you adjust to his girth.

Bradley is a big boy, and you say this with no exaggeration whatsoever. It always hurts a little at first when he fucks you, no matter how much he’s made you come before that, and giving him a blowjob is no different. Exhaling slowly through your nose, you relax your jaw and draw yourself closer inch by inch…

“Shit, baby…” His dick is all snug in your warmth, his dream woman on her knees, and he feels on top of the world. “You gonna be a good girl, take all of Daddy’s cock? Come on. Open up, that’s it, that’s… fuck.”

He reaches the back of your throat, making you gag, and it takes him everything to not lose it at the blissful sensation of you tightening around him.

“Breathe, breathe…” he rakes his long fingers through his hair, although he’s probably partly saying it to himself, too. “You okay? D’you need a minute?”

Your glassy eyes look up at him, and he’s praying please please please I might not even last a minute like this…

It’s a strange, delicate balance of your relationship dynamic. In your obscured vision and compromising position, it’s Bradley who surrenders himself to you. Gentle. Careful. Vulnerable. It makes you feel fucking glorious.

So you shake your head slightly, and drag your mouth along his heavy shaft.

“God, baby, you feel so fucking good… so perfect, my baby’s so perfect, Jesus fuck—” he swallows heavily, and groans just as heartily. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? I’m the only one who gets to fuck your mouth like this. I’m the only one who gets to come inside you— forever. Fuck, I can’t wait to marry you…”

You look up at him when you hear that, and he finds your gaze, catching the humorous, mischievous glint in your eyes. His brain is in your mouth, and he couldn’t care any less. If you’re gonna tease him all week for what he said, so be it. Because the truth of the matter is, he means it.

With his whole damn heart.

And as the pounding in said heart picks up, so does the rush of blood all over his body. Your hand joins your mouth at the base of his cock, stroking him closer and closer to his release. And he all but loses his mind. His fists open and close as tingles run all the way to his fingertips.

“Baby, baby, baby…” he chants, almost feverishly, “I’m so fucking close, baby, pleasepleaseplease, can I come, please baby, I need to— fuck… fuck. Fuck!”

Warmth pours into your mouth, and you make sure to catch every last drop of pearly white he’s giving— surrendering— to you. Not letting him go until he rides out the very last waves of his orgasm. And when he does, you rise up to your feet and face him.

All flustered and fucked out just for you.

You cup his chin between your thumb and forefinger, motioning him to open. Bradley leans back against the counter, tilting his head up and sticking his tongue out for you. His brown eyes are fixed on you, waiting, wanting like he hasn’t just come less than a minute ago. And when you spit his release back into his mouth… he closes them like he’s coming again.

He takes every single drop just like you did, and swallows it all. But even that’s not enough. He pulls you in by the back of your neck for another searing kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your lips.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him one last time and pull away. Taking a hearty sip of your tea and humming a simple five-note scale. “Mm, much better.”

Bradley watches on, all dumbstruck, as you continue your vocal warm-up while washing your hands and grabbing plates to set up on the table. Carrying on and minding your business as if nothing had happened.

Well.

Apart from the cheeky look you share as you continue your ordinary morning routine. Making your new home a little more lived-in everyday.

And then, he grins widely, pulls his pants back on and turns the stove back on to finish cooking. “Man, I love morning rehearsals…”

#bradley bradshaw #the actress & the aviator #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster imagine #rooster smut #rooster x reader #top gun maverick #ava writes

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iknowsescapingjourneys · 2 years ago

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(A/N: I have literally never written a fan fiction in my life so this is going to be an adventure. I have an eighteen chapter series planned for this if things go well. I am a white girl that grew up in the middle of nowhere, USA, so if I get any British slang wrong or accidentally mess up something when it comes to his culture, please correct me! I am completely open to concrit.

Other than that, there’s not many triggers in this chapter. Kinda new to Tumblr, I was an embarrassing teenager the last time, pls don’t look at my posts, so I don’t know what needs to be tagged. There’s some fighting, but nothing graphic or gory. Mentions of theft. That’s about it. I am going off of the interview with the directors that say that he is an adult, and there will be smut in later chapters.

Please let me know what you think! I will also do requests for one-shots if anyone has anything in particular they’d like to see.)

Reckless Driving

Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Chapter 1

The crunch of glass beneath the PVC of Doc Martins seems to become an increasingly familiar sound. The stretch and curl of fingers in her gloves causes the sound of metal claws scraping together to echo through the showroom of the commercial jewelry store, barely audible as an alarm blares heavily above her head. The night vision equipped in her helmet makes it easy to see the glass case she’s peering down at, and with a slam of a gloved, clawed fist, the barrier shatters into a hundred sharp, sparkling pieces that fall to the floor and the display below. Claws curl easily around necklaces and rings, dropping them into the cargo pockets of her pants.

She knows how long it takes the police to show up, and she knows that she has three minutes left, if she’s lucky. She’s been here longer than she usually prefers to be, having had a difficult time busting the first display open. The police scanner in her ear chatters away, reports of her misconduct and theft a hot topic. She scoots to her left, repeating her earlier process, and zipping up the pocket when it feels heavy against her thigh.

She turns on her heel to dash to the employee exit in the back, but finds herself colliding with something, a mix of blue and red and black. She stumbles back, eyes widening beneath her masked helmet. Her first instinct is Spiderman, who she is more than well acquainted with, and not in any way that could be deemed positive. Her fist flies through the air without thought, stopped short when it’s grabbed mid trajectory and used to push her back into the broken display case. Her back arches to avoid sharp shrapnel, and she kicks a leg up, outsole colliding with a denim clad knee.

Denim? She pauses her onslaught long enough to get a good look at who exactly has wandered into her crime scene. An eyebrow raises beneath the LEDs of her helmet as she takes him in. This, this was not Spiderman. What looked to be heavy liner circled the mask’s eyes, dripping down below the eye holes. The suit was covered in spikes, both built into it and adorned with bracelets, and belts, and even protruding from the leather jacket that hung loosely on his frame. A guitar was strapped across his back, strings messily sprouting from string trees.

She was pulled from her analysis when a heavy boot made contact with her chest, sending her flying back into the cash register of the jewelry store. She could hear sirens approaching over the sound of the alarm screaming, and she knew flashing lights were only moments away. Her eyes flickered back up to the man encroaching on her space like a predator stalking its prey.

“Man, look at the time,” She spouts, notes of sarcasm and nervousness sprinkled throughout her otherwise surprisingly even tone. “Guess I should probably head out.” She continues, throwing her upper body to the side to avoid another well aimed kick. This time she notices the yellow and blue of ladder laced cords.

“Blue laces, huh? Seems like an odd color for someone working with the cops.” She taunts, managing to pull herself over the counter of the cash register, shoving open the door to the back room with her own boot as she backs herself up.

The man seems to pause for a moment, running his eyes over her figure with a look of confused conflict. “Y’know lace code?” He asks, and she can’t help the laugh that bubbles from her throat.

His accent is thick, and it’s immediately apparent to her that he is not from around here, though New York was known to have a melting pot of people. His voice is deep, but not intimidatingly so, and she finds she actually quite likes it, even from the small sampling she’s heard so far. Her eyes glance down to her own laces, strung up in a similar fashion. One side yellow, the other side purple.

“I might,” She finally answers with a grin, knowing that the duration between the question and her answer was probably long enough that he knows she was taken aback by his accent.

She turns the lock to the back exit with clawed fingers, being as delicate and quiet as possible as she continues to attempt to distract him long enough to get herself out the door.

The heel of her palm presses against the metal lever of the doorknob, her eyes locking on a shelving unit just a leg’s distance away.

“I like the pin,” She mentions, gesturing with her head towards the large A of the anarchy symbol adorned on his jacket. When he glances down in an effort to see which one her eyes have locked on, she kicks her leg out, sending the shelf crashing between them, creating a makeshift barrier.

She knows if he’s anything like the Spiderman she’s used to, he’ll make quick work of throwing it to the side, but it’s a divider long enough for her to slam her hand down and barrel out of the metal door keeping her from her motorcycle.

The pads of her non-gloved fingers press down hard on a button strapped to her thigh and the bike roars to life in a brilliant light show, greens and purples illuminating the dark alley. She throws a leg over the seat, straddling across the leather as her foot slams into the gas, lurching forward as the metal door flies open again to reveal the lanky frame of the man she’d fought with moments prior.

By that point though, she was practically a bat out of hell, motorcycle weaving through alleys so fast that she wasn’t much more than a blur. To be fair, she’s well aware that he could probably catch up to her if he wanted to, using the webs to leap from building to building. Track her down, wrap her up, deliver her to the police.

For some reason, it doesn’t surprise her when he doesn’t.

______________________________

He couldn’t be arsed to chase after you, if he was being honest. First of all, this was a chain, and the markups on the shit they sold was enough to make his anarchist blood boil. Combined with the fact that the cops were out to get her, (and he would rather die than be seen working in collaboration with pigs), it seemed less than important to go swinging through a city he wasn’t entirely familiar with to repossess some cliché engagement rings and some overly gaudy necklaces.

So he knew it wasn’t guilt about letting her get away that rattled around in his head a day later. That conclusion lead him to where he was now: staring down at his boots as they moved him through the night, barely cognizant of what was going on around him as he shifted through thoughts that seemed to pop up faster than he could shoo them away, akin to pop-ups on a shady website.

His tongue ran back and forth over the metal of his lip ring, feeling the shift of piercing to flesh with each passing movement. A stem he often found himself utilizing when he was overwhelmed with his own mind.

He’s only pulled from his thoughts when a familiar sound erupts through the silent air from across the park he’s meandering through. His head snaps in the direction of the noise, pierced brows furrowing slightly. The rumble of a bass guitar, clearly played by someone with experienced fingers, because the tune sounded incredible.

Through the light foliage, definitely planted by a city council in order to make the area look more ‘organic’, he was just capable of making out a feminine frame propped on the black plastic playground border. He couldn’t say he recognized the song, but it definitely had an edge to it. A bite. He liked it.

She didn’t seem to notice him as he made his way over, eyes locked on the way her fingers caressed four thick strings, and the way they reverberated as she pulled away from each one, the timbre of each note filling the air.

“A little late to be putting on a show, innit?”

He can’t choke back the laugh that climbs from his chest when her head swings up to make eye contact with him, her fingers stuttering on strings that release a roar upon her mis-strum. He makes note of the way her eyes widen, akin to a deer stuck in the headlights of a car. Clearly she wasn’t used to people stumbling upon her little solo jams.

“Not much of a show.”

The woman in front of him mumbles, her eyes downcast once again in embarrassment, though he was just capable of making out the dusting of blush that adorned the apples of her cheeks. He settled himself on the plastic divider next to her, brushing off a piece of mulch that threatened to fall to the grass outside of its designated area.

“Not sure about that, princess. Can’t say I wasn’t enjoying it.”

He watches her blink a few times, face twisting in confusion a little as she glances up at him. He takes the chance to let his eyes wander the details of her complexion: the little laugh lines on the corners of her lips and nose, the way her eyes shimmer in the dim light of the lamp post, the gloss applied to her lips.

“Princess?”

She asks, and he realizes that she thinks he’s some prat trying to harass her in the middle of the night. He gives an apologetic smile, his lip ring reflecting the lighting and enunciating the gesture.

“Seems like I’m about to make a total cock-up of this whole situation.”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead, warm flesh brushing cold metal bumps of thick metal captive beads.

“Promise I’m not tryna chat you up. It’s just a ‘abit.”

He watches her frame deflate from the bristled posture it held moments prior, and he relaxes slightly as well, leaning back as palms dig into rough wood shavings. His eyes wander her before he gets to her shirt and the back of his large, ringed hand hits her shoulder.

“You like R&B?”

He asks, fingers gripping on the hem of the black material and pulling it slightly to flatten the material so he can get a better look at it. Her lips twitch in discomfort for a moment, an action he doesn’t miss, and he pulls his hands away, not embarrassed but feeling a little bad for what definitely seemed like harassing this girl now.

“Erykah Badu is the background track to just about every trip I’ve been on.”

She says softly after an extended silence, and the little grin that climbs the corner of her lips is not lost on him. Maybe she wasn’t completely under the impression he’d lost the plot. He pulls his phone from his pocket, glancing at the time.

Then he glances at it again, eyes widening. How had he managed to fuck around until two in the morning? If people weren’t pissed because they were looking for him, they’d be pissed the next morning when he couldn’t drag his arse out of bed.

He was honestly a little disheartened by the fact that he’d managed to absolutely flounder the entire conversation, just to pick himself up right as he had to leave.

“Really should get going. I’m absolutely gutted I couldn’t ‘ear you play more of that bass.”

He says with a grin, long legs pulling to a stand as he tried to remember what direction he’d come from and how to get back. His spidey-senses tingle right before his hand wraps around his wrist, and he yanks it away at the last second out of instinct. She seems dissuaded by the rejection, and he does his best to soothe the burn with a grin.

“Sorry, doll. Just not used to being touched.”

He apologizes, raising horizontally pierced brows as an invitation for her to speak her mind. It’s the least he could do for harassing her and then fucking off right as they started to actually have a conversation.

“Do you think I could have your number?”

He’s no stranger to being hit on. He’s no stranger to being the one to hit on others, either. And he can’t deny that she’s a very beautiful woman. Still, he knows better. This isn’t his universe, and he’s not here to make friends, and especially not here to shag around whatever version of New York this was.

“I’m flattered, really. Can’t say I think that’s the brightest idea though. I could be mad, y’know?”

The woman’s shoulders drop slightly at being pied off, and he reaches out to set a hand on the pewter gray of the shoulder of her shirt.

“Don’t take it personal though, princess. I’ve just got a lot on my shoulders at the moment.”

He reassures, letting his hand drop back down to his side and turning on his heel before he stared at her too long and changed his mind. The last thing he needed to do was find himself attached to a civilian, especially one that he’d have to dimension hop for. The cons far outweighed the pros.

Hobie Brown was a rebel, but he wasn’t daft.

#hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x fem!reader

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honestlywrites · 4 years ago

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Anemone | Viktor x Magic! Reader (Part One)

Lumen AU credited to my wife: @meliapis

Summary: You are a magic user that grew up in the depths of Zaun, escaping through the only way you know how--the University. There, you hone your skills as a botanist and do your best to ignore the fear of finding your soulmate and that one day, your power will grow overwhelming and hurt not only you, but them.

T/W: Descriptions of death, nightmares, and paranoia.

A/N: Hi all! Thank you for being here--this is the first time I’ve written in a while so please be kind but special shout out to my Tumblr wife who inspired me to write for the first time in years and is ever the source of my inspiration. Please enjoy!

Part Two / Part Three / Masterlist

Anemone; a genus of the flowering plants in the buttercup family Ranunculaceae. Plants of the genus are commonly referred to as wildflowers. Meaning forsaken, sickness, anticipation, and undying love.

You see visions of blue, swirls of light emanating out from the darkness, sweetly calling to you like a siren. The anxiety ebbs at the edge of your visions when all of a sudden, a loud ringing grows even louder in the back of your mind, a gentle nudge startling you out of sleep. You had fallen asleep at your desk, again. Your eyes adjust to the bright sunlight and you slap your hand down on the alarm clock nearby when a brilliant golden ball comes into focus, floating two feet away–staring at you as if a ball of light could have eyes.

“I know, I know,” you mutter, reaching out and gently cupping it in your palm, bringing it over to the crook of your neck. “It won’t happen again.”

You feel another loving bash against the side of your neck and let out a small laugh.

“Okay, I’ll try not to let it happen again, but no promises,” you state and stand from your desk, stretching out your sore neck. You hear a few pops and groan at the sharp stabbing pain. The copper ball drifts over your shoulder to the back of your neck and rubs gently against you, warmth building against your skin. You let out a soft sigh as your muscles relax ever so slightly.

“--hurt your back,” you catch the tail end of his voice as the lumen settles in the hollow of your collar bone. Hearing the accented lilt come through, you smile and cup it in your hands, holding it close to your face. It shines brighter, like the most beautiful piece of polished metal, and fear creeps into your chest as you place a kiss on top and whisper to it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” you place it back in its home on your left shoulder and begin to prepare for the day, walking through your bedroom to the kitchen. Your apartment looks like a forest, plants growing all around you from pots on the ground and hanging from above. It fills every inch and crevice with life, creating a chaotic mess of foliage all around you.

Finding a spare clean cup, you warm up some coffee at the stove and grab the watering can, beginning the long and arduous morning routine of watering your plants. As tedious as it proved to be, you relished in the simple activity like a reminder to yourself that you could do more harm than good.

Memories of the dream creep back into your mind. Ever since the use and production of Hextech had been kicked into high gear, the anxiety and fear began to weigh on your shoulders again. The haunting dreams of magic were coming back and you were paranoid at every corner that someone would come out and claim that you could use magic as some miracle of Piltover. But, that wasn’t it at all. You could barely use it, if anything it used you. After all these years, you had some sort of grasp over it–like a transference of energy but you still didn’t understand why only you had it and constantly sought out answers. One of the reasons you chose biology, actually, and yet to no avail.

You just remember the fear. The fear of your mother, and the fear in that man’s eyes when he tried to break into your small hovel in Zaun. He came in with a mask on and yelled at you to shove everything of importance into the bag, so you did. It was just when your hand touched his skin, he crumpled into ash as if you sucked the life out of him. The room glowed bright blue and the only thing you felt was energy, but the horror that filled your body outweighed any positive that you could have gained. Lines of blue potential thrummed through your veins as you stared in horror, crumpling into a ball on the floor. And when your mom came home, you were so scared it would happen to her too, that you would suck the life out of her like some monster, but she grasped you in her arms and whispered in your ear. That was the first and last time you took a life.

A weight fills your hand as you feel a pressure lifting up the front of the watering can, a bright light flickering as you laugh and pull it back. The poor plant in front of you had been drowning and the sweet little ball of light had stopped you from causing terror any longer.

“Sorry about that,” you remark and smile, watching it shimmer with light. It was getting so bright, and had been since the second you stepped onto the University campus. You knew he was here somewhere, and fear had stopped you from pursuing him any further. There was no question that you loved the person on the other side of that lumen, but it was a firm boundary you had placed in front of your heart. If you met your fated soul, you would serve as nothing but a danger to them and yourself. Sure, you could heal a cut by absorbing energy from a plant or a rat, but the man’s face remained in your mind and you couldn’t bear it being the face of your lover.

The shrill screech of the kettle shakes you out of your stupor once again and you brew some coffee, pouring it into your mug before leaving to change and get ready for the day. A pile of dirty clothing stacked high in the corner stared back at you and you sighed, pulling on the only clean clothing you owned and throwing a lab coat on top of it.

“What do you think?” you ask the ball of light that swiftly swirls around your body as you stare into the mirror. “I’ll take that as good.”

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, your lumen floats back to its crevice by your collar bone as you grab your newly cooled coffee and head out the door for another day of staring at leaves through microscopes. It was more exciting than it sounded, or at least that’s what you told yourself.

The greenhouse beside your lab warms the interior as you gaze down into the microscope beneath you, observing the cell walls of this conifer tree that grew in a different region than in Piltover. You can see the way that the plant’s cells grew closer together rather than spaced loosely apart and hypothesize that it was because of the climate. Turning to the side, you make a note to ask for more samples.

Taking a moment, you lean back and stretch your spine from the hunched over position where you loomed over the microscopes. You should invest in a stool rather than the chair, but there’s never any room in the budget to buy a stool because you’d much rather buy more plants or get a new small greenhouse to test different soil samples or even get an invasive species to see how they would react with the native plants of Piltover to ensure that you could identify them when the time came.

You look down at the little ball hanging out on your shoulder, turning a bit dark golden at the edges out of irritation.

“What’s wrong, hm?” you ask and cup him in your hand, bringing him up to your face. He gently rubs against your cheek and it feels like a caress as you smile and place a kiss atop the ball before placing him back down by your shoulder, the color brightening. And for a second, you think it is because he’s pleased with you, but the radiance only grows, as does the fear building in your chest.

Your mind is swirling deep in thought when a knock rings out from the wooden doors, startling you and making you jump slightly.

“Who is it?” you ask, looking down at the frumpy clothing you threw on this morning. You don’t remember any scheduled guests and you can only stare at the bright little lumen on your shoulder.

“It’s Viktor, I’m with Hextech. Jayce and I wanted to borrow some plants to experiment with,” your heart skips a beat when you hear the familiar accented voice and you feel your throat begin to close out of panic. You remember this meeting, yes, you had tabled it somewhere and wrote it down on a piece of paper when Jayce initially approached you about it but all you could think about was the person on the other side of that door.

“Come in!” you squeak out and watch the door swing open to reveal a man. You never once were able to conjure the perfect picture of what your fated partner would look like, perhaps out of fear or simply because you knew they would always be perfect in your eyes, but this felt different. He was lithe and tall, and when you look up to his eyes–you know for a fact that you’re a goner. The golden of your–his lumen stares back at you.

The bright blue lumen at the base of his neck almost tries to burrow deeper into his vest and you know that the fear is eating away at you. You shine so brightly and you can see from the corner of your eye that his is too.

“Are you?” he asks and you slowly nod, your chest tightening as you struggle to breathe. Your lumen burrows even deeper behind his layers of clothing and you shake your head, grabbing his lumen that threatens to fly towards yours.

“I’m sorry, I can’t–” you mutter and turn, running into the greenhouses that appear to be endless with rows and rows of perfectly grown foliage. You slam back into the wall and slide down, sitting in the dirt as warm tears roll down your cheeks. You try to hold Viktor’s lumen close, to comfort yourself but he flies away from you hovering a few feet away. He’s hurt, you can tell, his usual bright luminous gold dulled down to a dark yellowish-brown.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and close your eyes, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as you shake with sobs. For a moment, it feels like the world crumbles around you. Your chest heaves as you struggle to breathe through the panic and pain. Visions of that man’s face, the nameless man that haunts your dreams every night, appear in your mind as your throat tightens, choking on the thick tears. He’s dead. He’s dead because of you, and if Viktor stays with you, it will happen to him too. No one ever stayed.

You can hear the swift sound of his lumen flying through the air away from you, making your chest physically hurt. It’s painful like your heart is breaking, that his lumen doesn’t even want to be with you anymore, but you hear a gentle crunching of a crutch in the soil and look up to see him walking toward you.

His lumen flies through the air toward yours and stops right in front of yours as Viktor hesitantly approaches you. The two of you are silent for a moment before he speaks.

“You know, it’s hard to chase after you in the dirt with a crutch,” he mutters and cracks a smile as you peek through your arms up at him. Nervously, you let out a laugh and rub furiously at your face, drying your face to try and look presentable.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, watching as he places his crutch down on the ground, leaning over to sit next to you in the dirt. His lumen floats close to the two of you, just hovering carefully as yours peers out from Viktor’s vest wearily.

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything,” he states and looks out at the greenery surrounding the two of you. You’re quiet for a moment as the two of you sit, looking out at the greenhouse, the light of the sun peering in and warming the air around you.

“You did all this?” he asks and looks back at you, startling you slightly. It takes a moment for the question to sink in, but you quickly nod and look out at the plants, suddenly conscious of the fact that he’s staring at your life’s work. It’s everything you’ve made and put together and the strings of thought quickly begin to merge back together.

“Yes, I grew all of it,” you begin to explain and feel him staring at you, your cheeks flushing with warmth. “I didn’t put it all together by myself, of course, but I planted all of them and cataloged all of them. Some of them are new, actually, thanks to you–”

“It’s beautiful, I’ve never seen so many plants,” he comments and you smile, reaching out to gently rub at a leaf. “And the air is so fresh in here, even fresher than outside with all of the filters and such.”

“Yes, well, it’s the oxygen from the plants. It’s so pure. It’s how I kept my home in the Undercity pretty regulated. I’d like to think my mom’s life was prolonged because of me,” your smile drops a little at the mention of your mom and you think back to her passing when you were away at University and got the letter. You rushed off in the middle of the night to go help her and she refused your aid, stating that it was her time to go.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you look back at him, your eyes tracing the curve of his face and the way his hair falls in gentle curls. He is so beautiful, his eyes shining bright like polished metal. You didn’t want to mess it up, mess him up. He was perfect and you would only tarnish the bright gold that he was.

“It was a while ago,” you mumble and stare down at your hands.

“Why did you run away from me?” he asks and you swallow nervously, it getting caught in your throat like a knot. “I promise, I’m not frightening, I can barely throw a punch.”

Another laugh bubbles up and you shake your head.

“I was–am scared. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve never been good at relationships,” you explain and look over, hoping that he understands. Your dreams from last night creep back up into your head as you try to stomp them down. You want this to work out, you need it to.

He turns back to look at the plants once again and you notice the mole that adorns his skin, just above his lip.

“I don’t think you will hurt me,” he speaks and reaches his hand up to gesture to the plants. “You made all this, and it’s beautiful and alive. I don’t think you could do anything to hurt me.”

You follow his hand out to stare at the forest of foliage you had grown, each individually and carefully planted with love and for a second, you believe him. This was your garden, your kingdom of greenery in which you ruled. And he sees that, he sees you, just as fractured and imperfect as the details of the leaves you grow. A twinkle of light catches in the corner of your eye as a bright beam of light shines the second your lumen finally takes a chance to venture out of his vest. It brushes his and the light blinds you again, finally solidifying your connection. Your heart warms in your chest as you suspend your beliefs. Choosing, if even for a moment, to enjoy this attachment.

Your head drifts to his shoulder as you begin to tell him about the plants, mind drifting to the task he had approached you with. You think about giving him a monstera to work with as it’s a relatively easy plant to take care of and are tolerant of irregular watering, not needing constant sunlight. He listens and hums in agreement as you suddenly realize you’ve been holding him from getting back to his lab.

“I’m so sorry,” you jump up and nervously look down at him. “You’re probably busy, I can grab you a plant, I just have to pot it–”

You look around for a spare set of gloves and a shovel, you know you have some somewhere. They always went missing, this place was a labyrinth.

“Don’t worry about it, Jayce probably thinks I need a break anyways,” he states and grabs his crutch, pushing himself off the ground with it. You look up when he stands, seeing how tall he is in comparison to you. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Today? No,” you check your watch and realize it is already midafternoon as the hunger pangs settle in your stomach.

“I meant lunch, but now we have to go,” he states as the two of you begin to walk down the pathway,

“You don’t have to, I feel bad–”

“Do not worry, Hextech has proven quite profitable,” he smiles and you roll your eyes, shaking your head.

“I think I remember reading somewhere that you weren’t in it for the money,” you state and hold open the glass door for him, rubbing the bottom of your feet on the mat to remove any dirt.

“It’s a perk,” he shrugs as he suddenly turns to cough, one turning into two and then a string violently shaking his chest. You place your hand on his shoulder, feeling the familiar push through your veins as energy transfers from you to him. His coughs slow and you sigh, thankful for the coffee that morning as fatigue begins to hit you.

“Are you okay?” you mumble and muster up a smile, even though you feel your body weigh heavily with exhaustion.

“I’m fine,” you scan over his face, and the hallows of his face seem to deepen a bit with solemnity. “Just a cough.”

You nod and feel the anxiety creep back, rubbing your hands together nervously.

“Why don’t you pick the place?” he proposes as you grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“There’s a cafe a block away that serves princess cakes,” you state, trying to lighten the mood.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a princess cake,” he tells you as you gasp dramatically, quickly explaining to him the wonders of a princess cake. There is an atmosphere lingering in the air, the fact that the conversation from before isn’t over, but it’s only midafternoon and you had time to leave for later. For now, you could just let it take root.

Part Two

#viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane fanfiction #arcane series #arcane league of legends #lumen au #viktor x you #league of legends x reader #reader insert #soulmate au #soulmate #arcane netflix #arcane x reader #arcane x you

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lovely-angst · 4 years ago

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the first time they meet you

a/n: im trying things out with doing three quick fics with one prompt. lmk how you like it.

genre: fluff

pairing: bakugou x reader, hawks x reader, dabi x reader

summary: the first time he sees/meets you

word count: 1.6k

08.04.21

bakugou - coffee shop

it was a long, long day of patrol for bakugou.

he had so much on his plate that day from staying late the night before to finish some reports and then having to wake up early for his daily patrol—not to mention all of the inconveniences of catching and apprehending some wannabe villains.

thankfully, he was able to get off work by the time the had begun to set. golden hues decorating the evening sky as bakugou walked back towards his apartment.

his feet were sore and ached from being on his toes all day. all bakugou wanted to do was to relax in the comfort and silence of his home.

taking a seat on a short concrete block wall, bakugou pulls the mask up over his eyes to push his bangs back, allowing the subtle breeze to cool him down as he took a small breather from his exhaustion.

he didn't have the energy to do anything.

"dynamight?" a small voice calls out before bakugou turns his head in their direction. you stood a few feet away from him timidly, but a smile on your face as you gently approached the unapproachable male.

"sorry, i'm not doing any autographs or pictures right now," he mumbled out exhaustedly, but to his surprise, you shook your head. "no, i'm not here for that," you say before taking a step back to gesture towards the cafe behind you, "i was wondering if you would like to come in and i can quickly get you something to eat and drink?"

bakugou glanced over at the empty cafe before glancing back at you and back at the cafe.

"it was a shock to see you outside the cafe and you look really exhausted. it's the least i can do for you," you continue, "you don't have to worry about fans, i'm about to close the cafe right now, so no one should be coming,"

bakugou knew that he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself when his feet ached with every step and the tiredness was beginning to consume his body.

"fine, just this once," he answered, pushing himself up and off the concrete before following you, who beamed with happiness.

as you walked in, you held the door open for the pro hero before you stepped back out to grab the menu board before flipping the sign from 'open' to 'close', letting the door shut behind you.

"would you like some coffee? or do you prefer tea?" you question as you walk behind the counter, preparing a few things for him. bakugou sat down at one of the empty tables, glancing around at the peaceful and aesthetic atmosphere.

"tea," he states, "i'm not a big coffee person," you hum in response, "i'll get you one of our refreshing tea drinks then. i think you'll like it."

it wasn't long before you came back out with a thirst-quenching drink and a nice hearty little sandwich with it.

"i added a sandwich for you filled with healthy and light ingredients so it'll give you the energy to finish your day. i hope the drink is to your liking as well," you explain, listing out the different ingredients, "i'll be here cleaning up while you finish. take your time."

bakugou was very thankful for the sandwich if he was honest—he was starving, having skipped his lunch earlier. taking a bite of the sandwich, he noted the different textures and flavors that mixed well together. ontop of that, the drink was great by itself and even better with the sandwich.

his eyes drifted off towards you, who bobbed your head gently to the quiet background music of the cafe, moving in every which way to finish closing up your shop.

after quickly finishing off his small meal, he brought the dishes back to you and you happily accepted them, declining to accept any payment, "it's on me! you enjoying the meal is more than enough!"

"also, why not try stopping by during one of your early shifts for some coffee? relax and refuel before your long day as a hero?," you suggest with those bright eyes of yours.

bakugou couldn't help the slight lift of the corner of his lips, "i might just have to."

hawks - after a mission

hawks had just gotten done with a rather stressful rescue due to the many kids on the site he had to protect. thankfully he had all of his feathers and was able to use them to protect the kids while his sidekicks were busy securing the villain.

"are you kids okay?" hawks questioned as he was able to usher them into a safe corner away from the action. "i'm okay mr.hawks!"

hawks let out a small smile before patting the young child on the head. "where is miss (name)?"

hawks opened his mouth just as a soothing yet worried voice cut through the sirens and the commotion. turning around, hawks laid his eyes on you and his heart skipped a beat.

stepping aside from the kids, you ran over towards the children before kneeling down on their level to give them all hugs, checking them over for any injuries, "oh, i'm so glad you are all safe! i was so worried! are you okay? are you hurt anywhere?"

one of the little girls shook their head before pointing up at hawks, "i'm okay! mr.hawks saved us!"

turning around, you quickly stood up before giving him a very polite bow, "thank you so much, hawks! i am forever grateful!"

"no need to be so formal! i'm just doing my job," he responds with a smile, only for panic to set in when he sees the blood streaming down from your head. "miss! your head is bleeding, we need to get you checked out!"

"oh, i think this is from when I blocked the kids earlier from falling debris. i feel fine," you respond, which makes hawks worry even more.

hawks quickly calls for his sidekicks to stay with the children while he goes to get you checked up on. thankfully, there was a medical team nearby and hawks waited with you as they patched you up.

"again, thank you so much for saving my kids back there. I don't know what i would do if they had gotten hurt. you're an amazing hero." you compliment, sitting on the back of an ambulance as the medic carefully wraps your head to stop the bleeding.

"i could say the same about you," hawks starts, "you didn't hesitate to risk your life for those kids—you're the real hero. "

a shy smile forms on your lips as you look away from the very handsome man in front of you, "well, i love my kids. i'd do anything for them."

hawks couldn't help but admire you.

"i'm (name) by the way," you say, holding a hand out towards the hero. hawks smiles at you, reaching over to give your hand a firm shake.

"hawks. nice to meet you, (name)."

dabi - flower shop

dabi usually hated the rain, but today, he was thankful for it.

he had just escaped from some pro heroes and hid in a small alleyway in a quiet part of town away from any heroes. the cool droplets of water felt refreshing on his burning skin after overusing his quirk. though, he wasn't sure the injuries he sustained would heal quickly with the rain.

hearing a small bell ring, dabi quickly pressed himself up against the wall as he listened for any movement.

"ah it's raining!" a voice called out before their alarmed footsteps ran about, causing the puddles to splash every which way. suddenly, a pail of flowers fell into his view before you quickly bent down to pick them back up.

sensing someone staring, you turned and your eyes were met with his bright blue ones, causing you to squeak and fall back, "y-you scared me!" you cried before picking yourself back up and frowning at your dirtied outfit.

"hey, are you okay?" you asked as you carefully walked toward him. "you're bleeding! let me go get a medical kit," you explained before running around the corner to your flower shop.

but dabi knew better.

you were going to call the heroes on him, you only used that as an excuse to get away. standing up with all of the power he could muster, dabi limped his way down the street as far as he could—away from you.

"hey! where are you going!" you cried as dabi heard more splashes behind him, your small pitter-patters against the puddles.

turning around, dabi's eyes widened as he watched you chase after him in the rain, your hair getting wet with the rain and sticking to your face as you caught up with the male.

"let's hide from the rain over here," you say as you gently help dabi away from the rain before settling him down on a bench. "don't you know who i am?" dabi asked frustratedly, but you just continued to clean and dress his wounds. "sorry, i don't, but i can care less about that right now," you respond to dabi's surprise.

dabi watched as you carefully cleaned him up, watching the raindrops slide down your soft skin.

"that should do it," you say, standing back with a smile. dabi follows your movements, "thanks doll, but i gotta run," he responds, throwing his hood over his head.

"oh, well, stay safe then," you respond as the two of you enter back into the rain. he gives you a playful smile before vanishing from your view.

walking back to your flower shop to finish bringing your flowers back, you thought that would be the last of him. but to your surprise a few days later, tied onto the handle of your shop was a blue rose with a note attached,

'thanks for the other day, doll.

- dabi'

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 4 years ago

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hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language.

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it.

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar.

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp.

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough.

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined.

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull.

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes.

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet…

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall.

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air.

The street in front of you was a warzone.

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe.

Safe…

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way.

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part.

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention.

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit.

The villain.

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears.

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.”

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.”

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer.

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way.

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop?

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts.

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar?

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below.

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you.

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood.

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements.

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask.

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.”

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks.

You had thought that very brave.

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire.

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach.

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk.

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows.

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention.

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene.

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm.

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor.

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions.

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view.

Oh, fuck. That was a person.

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it.

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch.

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg.

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be…

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human.

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye.

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet.

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening.

He was bleeding.

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes.

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on.

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse.

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut.

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it.

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body.

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it.

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin.

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath.

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach.

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.”

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye.

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment.

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—”

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood.

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain?

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped.

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question.

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.”

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you.

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear.

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion.

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance.

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.”

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat.

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?”

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack.

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood.

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap.

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital.

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five.

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision.

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned.

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest.

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint.

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts.

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum.

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero?

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms.

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion.

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk.

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero.

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp.

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you.

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you.

But was it worth it?

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie.

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet.

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first.

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure.

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it.

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion…

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you.

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again.

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you.

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor.

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in.

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees.

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone.

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window.

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?”

“I—”

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder.

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?”

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?! You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment.

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first.

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch.

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own.

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown.

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?”

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right.

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?”

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed.

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again.

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?”

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name.

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.”

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing.

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch.

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall.

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?”

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.”

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips.

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing.

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment.

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported.

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability.

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t.

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you.

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this?

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight.

“Your hands are all fucked up.”

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself.

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty?

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.”

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit.

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.”

Well, maybe not that carefully.

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.”

“Let me see.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.”

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that.

And none of his current ones would, either.

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion.

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder.

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted.

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.”

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you.

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric.

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden.

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you.

“Hello?”

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch.

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his.

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?”

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all.

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.”

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head.

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows.

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation?

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero.

Was he confessing your secret already?

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view.

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and—

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.”

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them.

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood.

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.”

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window.

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street.

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth.

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago.

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.”

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.”

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero.

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall.

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone.

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete.

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you.

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice.

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.”

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?”

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum.

“Okay, hold on.”

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone.

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out.

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people.

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too.

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little.

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief.

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful.

But your stomach was still in knots.

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers.

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying?

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped.

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.”

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum.

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears.

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.”

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you.

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life.

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed.

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole.

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.”

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior.

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory.

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.”

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.”

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over.

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.”

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?”

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.”

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop?

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?”

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand.

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.”

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded.

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say.

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.”

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel.

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them.

“I-Is that all?”

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?”

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?”

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?”

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?”

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything?

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance.

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.”

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.”

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.”

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression.

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished.

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.”

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone.

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found.

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit:

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret.

But I’m going to have to face him again.

215 notes · View notes

nastybuckybarnes · 4 years ago

Text

In a Heartbeat - Six

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Fluff, Language, Implied Smut, Angst, Injuries, Angst,

Word Count: 2.9K

A/n: hi here’s the second last part! I hope you guys enjoy. I’m in a weird place mentally right now because there’s been so much going on in my family life that I have no idea how to process. But I hope you guys enjoy this because I really enjoyed writing it. We will have one more part and then this series will be finished!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

The smell of coffee pulls you from your sleep.

Eyelids flutter open and you’re confused for a moment until you remember last night. A small smile spreads across your face and you stretch in Bucky’s bed, taking note of the sore spots on your body.

You push yourself to a seated position and take a look around the room.

Bucky’s gone, but you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen.

You slowly leave the bed and walk to the bathroom, stopping on your way to pick up your discarded clothes.

After you’ve finished, you make your way to the kitchen, your heart filling with warmth when you see him.

He’s got his bare back to you as he prepares something, wearing nothing more than a pair of sweatpants.

“Morning,” you whisper, trying not to startle him. He glances over his shoulder and smiles at you. “Good morning.” You walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

He stops whatever he was doing and holds your hands, leaning into your touch and sighing.

“How’d you sleep last night?” He asks after a moment of silence, pulling a pan off of the hot element then turning around to look at you.

You smile up at him and he swears his heart melts.

You're so beautiful. Glowing and angelic in the early morning sunlight peeking through a partially opened window.

“Not too bad at all.” He smiles, leaning down to press a soft and sweet kiss to your lips.

“Yeah, same here. Got far more sleep than I should’ve, though,” he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck. A soft sigh slips past your lips and your head falls back, granting him more access.

His hands find your hips and he hoists you up onto the counter, knocking a glass off and sending it shattering to the floor.

“Jesus!” You exclaim, jumping at the sound and hitting your forehead against Bucky’s. The two of you groan, the brunet’s eyes widening with fear.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaims, looking between the broken glass, your face, and your chest as if to see if your heart’s about to give out.

You smile softly at him and cup his cheeks gently, pulling his face up until he’s looking at you.

“It’s okay, James. I promise I’m not as fragile as you think. I can handle a few loud noises.”

He sighs and bumps his nose against yours a few times before lowering his head to the crook of your neck.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I worry about you, (Y/n).” You wrap your arms around his torso tightly, one hand finding its way into his hair to massage his scalp.

“I worry about you too. Of the two of us, I think you’re more at risk than I am.” He chuckles against your clavicle and shakes his head, pressing his lips against your skin while mumbling “it’s not a competition to see who’ll die first.” Then he pulls away to stand upright and look at you with those piercing blue eyes of his.

“But just because my line of work is dangerous doesn’t ever mean that I don’t worry about you.” You lean up and kiss him softly, ending the conversation as your lips move more passionately against his.

He pulls away after a long moment, eyes dark and lips kiss-swollen.

“You stay up here while I clean this up. Then... how about we take this to the bedroom?” You nod, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you watch his muscles flex while he cleans up the broken glass.

~*~

You sit in front of your apartment in Bucky’s truck, his hand in yours as the two of you talk about your heart.

“I’m not as fragile as you think I am, James,” you reiterate for the thousandth time. He sighs, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand.

“I just want you to be safe, doll. I want what’s best for you.” His words anger you far more than they should and you pull your hand from his grasp.

“I wish everyone would stop assuming that they know what I need. Everyone always thinks that they know what’s best for me but they don't! I know what’s best for me. I’m sick of being treated like a child because of my illness. I just want someone to take my side for once and let me be me and live my life the way I want to! Is that really so much to ask?!”

Your outburst has your heart beating hard and, as if sensing that, Bucky tries desperately to defuse the situation.

“Doll, I do have your side, I just-”

“No! That should be it! If you had my side you wouldn’t be justifying treating me like a child, James.” He frowns, reaching for your hand only for you to pull it out of reach.

“I-I’m just gonna go.” You leave his truck without another word, frustrated and flustered but not willing to go back on what you said.

He sits in front of your building, three little words on the tip of his tongue and absolutely flabbergasted with the way the day has taken a turn. Things started off so well this morning.

You rake your hands through your hair, glancing at your phone as it starts to ring.

You can’t talk to him right now. Maybe later, but not right now.

Half an hour later, Natasha is blowing up your phone too.

You don’t want to talk to them.

You feel like shit for blowing up on Bucky like that but you needed to get your point across. All your life you’ve been treated like a child, even into adulthood. Nat hovers around you like a mother hen and now Bucky’s doing the same.

It absolutely isn’t unreasonable of you to want them to treat you like an equal. As much as they say that you’re more than your illness, you know that they still see it whenever they look at you, and you absolutely hate that.

~*~

“Miss (Y/l/n), can I use the washroom?” You glance over at the little girl before smiling softly.

“Not until Tommy comes back, Sammy. We can’t have too many of you out at one time, okay?” She nods, thumb in her mouth as she resumes her colouring.

You’re doing your rounds, making sure all the students are doing well when the blaring of the fire alarm goes off.

A few kids scream in fear, but you shush them quickly, eyes finding Wanda’s as ice shoots through your veins.

You’re not supposed to have a fire drill today.

“Okay everyone, single file. Follow me. Leave everything where it is, okay? We’ve gotta get out just like we always practiced. Right outside onto the field, c’mon,” Wanda says, standing up and leading the way out of the classroom. You stay at the back, waiting until all the children are out of the room before closing the door and following after them.

You descend the stairs, dark clouds of smoke already filling the hallways and making kids cry.

The school is hectic and chaotic as all the teachers try to get their students to safety.

As you reach the field you stop dead in your tracks, looking at Wanda with wide eyes.

“Tommy’s in the bathroom,” you whisper, horror plain as day on your face as you turn back to the burning building.

Smoke is pouring out of a few open windows, and the last few people are trickling out, some of them crying, some of them laughing, thinking it’s a game.

Sirens fill the air but you’re already running back to the building, knowing he’d be far too terrified to leave the safety of the bathroom.

“(Y/n) no! Wait for the fire department!” She shouts, but it’s too late. You’re already back in the building, a wall of heat slamming into you.

You take a few careful breaths then take the stairs two at a time in your haste to find the boy.

Your heart is already beating far too fast, you know that, but you can’t stop. Not now. Even as the smoke rises and the air gets stuffier you continue up the stairs.

Tommy’s somewhere in the burning building and you’re not going to leave him.

“Tommy!” You shout, squinting as a cloud of black clouds your vision right as you reach the second floor.

You crouch down, pulling the hem of your blouse up to cover your mouth and nose. It’s both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it prevents smoke inhalation, but on the other hand, it’s preventing you from getting the oxygen you need.

“Tommy!” You try again, pushing your way through the familiar halls until you get to the boys’ bathroom.

You hear faint crying and you swear your heart shatters in your chest.

“Tommy!” You push into the bathroom and find Tommy cowering against the far wall, tears staining his cheeks.

“M-Miss (Y/l/n)!” He scrambles to his feet and launches himself at you, hugging you around your waist and sobbing against your chest. You kneel down with him, hugging him tightly and rubbing his back.

“I-I didn't know wh-what to d-do and I was s-scared!” He cries, sniffling against you and holding onto you for dear life.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay. But we need to leave. Do you remember what your daddy told you about fires? Cause I’m gonna need you to be my personal fireman, okay?” He sniffles a few times then nods, pulling away to wipe the tears from his eyes and take a few deep breaths.

“Alright. Let’s go.” You push out of the bathroom and are instantly hit with intense heat and the stench of smoke.

You push Tommy’s head down and as out of the smoke as you can and lift your other hand to shield your eyes as you try to find an exit.

The staircase has been engulfed by the fire, the flames devouring the only exit besides a window. But those are bolted shut to prevent any accidents.

Your chest tightens and your vision blurs, heart hammering much too hard in your chest. Your ears begin to ring and your knees buckle and you know you need your pills. Or at the very least, you need to sit down.

“The art room! It has the big windows and the heavy doors! Daddy says that heavy doors block out the smoke better!” You nod and follow him into the art room, collapsing on your knees as soon as the door is closed. You can’t breathe. The air just won’t find your lungs.

“C’mon miss (Y/l/n)! The window! We need to break it cause then they can hear us.” He grabs your hand and yanks with all his might, and his determination is enough to have you forcing yourself to your feet and banging on the window with as much strength as you can muster.

Tommy’s pounding against it with all his might, and you can’t help the tears that finally fall down your cheeks as your legs give out.

“Keep trying, Tommy,” you rasp, chest aching and heart pounding. He looks at you in complete fear, not sure what to do.

“Miss (Y/l/n)?” He asks softly, crouching down next to you as you cough softly. You take a few slow breaths, your heart stuttering in your chest.

“Keep going, Tommy. You’ve got this. You’re a fireman, just like your daddy and your Uncle Bucky.” Bucky. More tears fall down your cheeks at the thought of him.

Your eyes fall closed, head lolling to the side as the last of your energy leaves you.

You wish you could apologize to him. Tell him that you love him, that you appreciate everything he does for you.

The ringing in your ears grows until it’s deafening. Until the sound consumes you and pulls you gently into darkness.

~*~

The fire bell rings and the men are all on their feet, grabbing their gear and pulling it on as swiftly as they can.

“Rogers! I want you to sit this one out,” Chief Fury says, his arms crossed over his chest. The men all slow for just a moment before resuming their haste, Steve the only exception.

“What? Why?” He’s never been asked to sit out of a job before. Fury waits until the other men have piled into the firetruck.

“Now, it could very well be nothing but the call... it’s for the elementary school. I know your little one goes there and I can’t have you on the cal- Rogers!” Steve’s got his suit on and he’s in the truck in record time, jaw clenched hard and hands balled into tight fists.

The men are silent, having pieced it together and not wanting to argue with their captain.

Steve will take the heat from Fury after. All that matters is making sure his son is safe.

Almost as if realizing that there’s not one, but two people emotionally invested in this case, the eyes turn to Bucky. The brunet has his own eyes pinned between his boots, fingers of his flesh hand trembling slightly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Sam whispers, his usual joking demeanour long gone.

The rest of the ride is silent, but as soon as they pull up to the school the men are jumping out and Steve is barking orders at them.

“Sam, you go make sure the building’s empty. Buck, you-” but the brunet is sprinting over to Wanda, a look of desperation on his face when he sees the tears on hers.

“Where is she?” He demands, his chest heaving and his entire world on the brink of collapsing.

“Sh-she went back inside to find Tommy. They never c-came back out.” He stumbles back a step, directly into Steve who waits impatiently for the news.

“She went in to find him,” Bucky whispers, the world around him going quiet as he turns and focuses solely on the burning building, searching for any possible sign of you.

Steve’s face falls, his heart crumbles and his whole world shatters.

“Tommy.”

The two race to the building only to be stopped by Sam and Clint.

“Entire entrance and staircase are up. There’s no way to get in there unless we break a window.”

Steve takes a few careful breaths then nods.

“Work on getting it as contained as possible. We’ve got at least two still inside.” Sam’s heart hurts for the blond as he races around the building like a chicken with his head cut off.

“Tommy!” He shouts, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice.

“Wait, Steve! Look!” Bucky points to a spot on the side of the building where a second thinner stream of smoke is leaving the building, this one in a different direction than the others.

A second opening in the building.

The two are running to investigate, and Steve’s heart bubbles.

“Tommy!” The little boy is crying in the broken window, head completely out to suck in as much fresh air as he can.

“Daddy!”

“Hold on, Tommy! We’re gonna get you!” He drops his head to his radio and calls for the truck to be pulled around.

“Daddy, Miss (Y/l/n) won’t wake up!” The little boy cries, his face dirty with tears and ash.

Bucky can’t breathe. He thinks he might be sick.

He’s definitely going to be sick.

He stumbles away from the building, away from the people and anyone who can see him and collapses on his knees, dry heaving into the grass while the others pull the truck around.

Steve's up the ladder and at the window, telling his son to move out of the way so he can break the window further.

“C’mon Buck. We’ve got a job to do. C’mon.” Sam helps him to his feet and Bucky nods, grinding his teeth together in a pathetic attempt at hiding his tears.

“Sam! Come give me a hand!” Steve’s voice says through the radio. Bucky follows to the truck, mind numb, body numb, and ears ringing.

“She’s in here, but her pulse is sporadic. We’ve gotta get her out now.” That lights a fire under the brunets ass and he’s nearly throwing himself to the truck right as Steve starts climbing down, Tommy clinging like a koala to his back with one arm, the other wrapped in a sloppy sling.

The ambulances are ready, lights flashing and stretchers at the ready.

Steve rushes his son over, his oxygen mask pressed against the six-year-old’s face.

“Set him down, c’mon.” He does as instructed and takes a half-step back to allow the paramedics room to inspect him.

Bucky’s eyes move from his nephew up to the window where Sam disappeared, his heart in his throat as he finally sees movement.

Sam emerges, his oxygen mask on your face and your limp body strewn over his shoulder.

A familiar head of red hair is pushing a stretcher right to the ambulance, ready to take your body as soon as Sam’s down.

He lays you down carefully and Bucky’s immediately at your side, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Buck, give us some space, okay?” Nat whispers, her voice fully professional, though he can see the pain in her eyes. He takes a deep breath but nods, stepping back and watching as you get rolled away.

A hand is on his shoulder and he glances over at the person.

“C’mon. We’ve got a fire to put out.”

#bucky x reader #fireman #Firefighter AU #fireman au #Fireman!Bucky #fireman!bucky x reader #fire fighter au #bucky x reader fireman au #bucky x reader fire fighter au #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky/reader #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader fluff #teacher!reader #bucky x teacher!reader

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thefandominator · 3 years ago

Text

Thank You For Sharing

The first thing that should have tipped Andrew off that something was up with Neil was that he pulled his hand away from Andrew where their pinkies were linked.

Neil needing some space from him wasn’t alarming per se, but it was unusual. There could be any number of reasons he’d pulled away.

It could be for no reason at all.

Andrew didn’t dwell on it.

Or, the foxes get more than they bargained for when they decide to watch a children's movie with Neil. Andrew, ever the protector, guides them all through it.

AO3 version linked here if you’d prefer.

Pairings: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard | Andrew Minyard & Original Character(s) | The Foxes & The Foxes

Word count: 3139

Rating: General

Warnings: Neil Josten has Dissociative Identity Disorder

Notes: okay so for anyone who is miraculously in all the fandoms i write for and has been following along as i post these: (1) this is the last fandom i am doing this for lmao i swear i won't be jumping from fandom to fandom posting DID AUs once a week for the rest of time, meaning (2) next week will be an update on one of the DID universes i have already established, but (3) unlike the three ficlets i've posted so far which i wrote in three days straight a few weeks ago, i have not pre-written the next fic so wish me luck for that (also, u can send me prompts if you want to see something specific). anyway, enough of that, please enjoy my take on DID!neil. constructive criticism is welcome (especially if you have DID/OSDD and notice some inaccuracies), and likes, comments and reblogs are encouraged! no content warnings that i can think of, but let me know if there is anything you think i should warn for

The first thing that should have tipped Andrew off that something was up with Neil was that he pulled his hand away from Andrew where their pinkies were linked.

Neil needing some space from him wasn’t alarming per se, but it was unusual. There could be any number of reasons he’d pulled away. One of which could be the foxes that were around them in the girls’ dorm. Although, the only lighting in the room was coming from the animated movie playing in front of them so he doubted that anyone would be able to see them. So it probably wasn’t that.

It could be for no reason at all.

Andrew didn’t dwell on it.

The second thing that should have tipped Andrew off was when, a few minutes later, Neil climbed off of the couch altogether and sat on the floor, craning his neck forward as if trying to get as close to the action as possible.

That movement did give Andrew pause. Andrew narrowed his eyes at the top of Neil’s head, trying to see if Neil would give him any hints as to what was going on. The fact that Neil couldn’t feel Andrew staring at him and didn’t turn around was another significant clue.

He wondered if he was getting too dependent on Neil. With that thought, he elected to ignore Neil entirely.

Until the third and final sign. Which was less of a subtle sign and more of a blatant siren.

Olaf onscreen was rapidly changing shape as Kristoff shouted out the different objects he was turning into. Until–

“Ooh, Elsa!” Kristoff yelled.

The most delighted squeal of a giggle that Andrew could ever remember hearing pealed out from somewhere in the room.

It took Andrew a second to figure out the source of the sound. He finally stared down at Neil and he could tell he wasn’t the only one who did so, although the others likely had more shock on their faces than Andrew had.

Neil was oblivious to the stares for a few seconds. Then he abruptly became aware of them, and his head swiveled around the room, swiftly taking in all the foxes’ stares in the relative darkness.

“Neil, that was adorable!” Nicky exclaimed.

Neil’s shoulders pushed back as he tried to gain a few inches of height from his position on the floor.

Andrew waited for what was bound to be a scathing retort from Neil. But–

“Um. O– Okay,” Neil stammered.

Andrew could tell the foxes around him were frowning down at Neil and Andrew felt himself mirroring their sentiments.

Neil’s voice sounded off. It was slightly pitched up, and Andrew was certain he’d never heard Neil audibly sound that nervous in the entire time they’d known each other. It almost sounded like some anxious child was doing a Neil impression and failing miserably.

In fact. That was exactly what it sounded like. And that was probably exactly what was happening. Neil had mentioned to Andrew that he’d been front-stuck for a few days now, but it wasn’t like Andrew would forget that his DID existed entirely.

Andrew slid down from the couch and sat in front of Probably-Not-Neil. As soon as Andrew was situated, Probably-Not-Neil ducked their head to stare down at the bit of floor space between them.

Which, if this person were trying to convince everyone to calm down and believe that they were Neil, was the exact opposite thing to do.

“You’re not Neil,” Andrew declared.

Probably-Not-Neil shrunk in on themself and their eyes briefly met Andrew’s face as they peeked up.

“Am too,” Probably-Not-Neil murmured, again in that voice of a child trying to seem older than they were.

This was definitely not Neil then.

Andrew was quiet for a moment, deliberating how he should approach this situation. He heard the movie pause behind him. With how much time he spent one-on-one with Neil, he’d been the first point of external contact for plenty of Neil’s alters, but he’d never met someone as young and unaware as this person seemed.

Andrew was not a fan of meeting new people but, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, he knew that he would do whatever it took to help Neil navigate his DID.

Andrew decided that it was probably best if he started from the beginning.

“Do you know what DID is?”

Definitely-Not-Neil perked up in excitement. Their eagerness at being called on like they were the goody-two-shoes in class seemed to overshadow their insistence on playing the part as Neil.

“O’ course! It’s, um, Dissocive Identy Disorder.” They beamed.

Close enough. If they knew what it was called, they probably already knew something about what it was. “Right. Do you know that you have DID?” Andrew asked next.

“Um.” They shifted in their spot. “Yeah.”

“Good. Do you know who I am?” Perhaps it was presumptuous of Andrew to start with himself, but he was the one who interacted most with the alters, so it seemed like a logical opening.

They nodded nervously. “Andrew, right?”

“That’s right.” Andrew nodded back. If they knew who Andrew was, then maybe they knew to trust him too. “Now, listen carefully. Everyone in this room knows that you are not Neil.” Andrew was glad they spent most of their movie nights without the freshmen. “And that’s okay. You are safe here, with me and with these people. We will not hurt you for being yourself, alright?”

Definitely-Not-Neil finally looked up and made eye contact with Andrew. Naked hope and disbelief shone in their blue stare. Their eyes made a sweeping gaze around the room at the foxes around them and then settled on Andrew’s again.

“Really?” They were barely hiding the childish lilt to their voice anymore.

“Yes,” Andrew replied.

“Okay,” they said, wiggling a little in their spot.

“Okay.” Andrew paused. He wanted to ask them more questions, but he didn’t want to overwhelm them either. Maybe the best approach would be to leave it up to them. “Do you want to tell me about yourself?”

“Yeah, okay!” They beamed. “Um, I’m Johnny. I’m nine.” Nine? Andrew did not let himself hope that Johnny wasn’t a trauma holder. Hope would get him nowhere in a situation like this. “Um… My hair is blond. But not like your blond, like a different blond.” With every sentence Johnny said, they seemed to get more comfortable. “And, um, I’m smaller than this so these legs and arms are too long for me.” Johnny waved the aforementioned arms around as if in demonstration. “Um… Oh! I use he/him pronouns.” He said each syllable meticulously, like he was quoting someone who’d taught him to say it. “Um… I like planes and cats and chocolate.” He ended his incongruous list with another full body wiggle.

When it seemed that nothing more was forthcoming, Andrew nodded. “Thank you for sharing, Johnny.” Andrew searched for something else to ask or add and came up empty for now. “Do you want to keep watching the movie?”

“No,” Johnny replied, indignant. “It’s your turn now.” He blinked at Andrew.

“My… turn?” Andrew said.

“Yeah! Can you tell me about yourself, Andrew?” More blinking.

Andrew heard huffs and coughs around the room that he was aware were just the foxes trying not to laugh at him lest they get a knife to the stomach. With how focused he’d been on Johnny, he’d almost forgotten they were still here. At least they’d kept their mouths shut and their reactions to themselves so far during this interaction.

“Yes,” Andrew decided. It was only fair after all. Andrew wouldn’t be the one to teach a nine-year-old that life wasn’t fair. “I am Andrew. I am twenty. My hair is also blond but apparently a different blond to your blond. I am 5 feet tall. I use he/him pronouns. I like ice cream and cars and knives.” He added the last one to remind the foxes that he was armed and would not take being made fun of for playing along to a child’s wishes lying down.

“Thank you for sharing, Andrew,” Johnny replied sincerely.

Andrew tried to inject the same amount of sincerity into his voice as Johnny had. “You’re welcome.”

“Okay.” He did a full body turn and sat cross legged with his hands in his lap to face the opposite end of the couch. “Your turn,” he said to Kevin brightly.

Kevin’s eyes widened. “My turn?” he said, flabbergasted.

“Uh-huh. Can you tell me about yourself?” Apparently Johnny’s anxiety had worn off as soon as he’d realized he was allowed to be comfortable around them.

Panic swept through the room as the other foxes grasped what fate was likely coming their way.

“Uh, sure, Johnny. Uh, I’m, um, Kevin. I’m twenty-one. I’m 6 foot 2. I use he/him pronouns. I, uh… I like exy and history and, uh, apples.”

“Hair,” Andrew prompted.

Kevin turned to Andrew. “Hair?” He frowned. “My hair?”

Andrew stayed silent.

“Why would I– He can see what my hair looks like,” Kevin muttered.

“Hair, Kevin,” Andrew repeated, accompanying the statement with a glare this time.

Kevin huffed. “And my hair is dark brown,” he added reluctantly.

“Thank you for sharing, Kevin,” Johnny answered, just as sincerely as before.

Kevin nodded awkwardly.

Johnny turned to Nicky, who was seated on the chair next to Kevin. “Your turn,” he encouraged cheerily.

Nicky, as expected, responded with as much gusto as if he’d had days to prepare this bio, even going so far as to list five things he liked instead of three.

Johnny, as was now becoming expected, thanked him for the information, and then moved onto the next person in the circle, which was Dan.

And so around it went, with some people’s answers more animated than others (Aaron gave his bio with the same enthusiasm he would give pulling his own teeth out, but he did participate, which wasn’t an insignificant step), and with people chipping in to remind each other of the prompts or to argue over details like heights (Matt insisted he was 6 foot 4 and a half, but Dan maintained that it was maximum 6 foot 4 and a quarter) and likes (“Alli, just because you wear a lot of green doesn’t mean it’s actually your favorite color,” Nicky asserted).

But eventually, after they all had taken a much longer time than probably anyone expected, Johnny ended off with a sincere, “Thank you for sharing, Renee.”

“You’re welcome, Johnny.” Renee gave her most beatific smile.

“Can we get back to the movie now?” Aaron grumbled.

“Uh-huh!” Johnny turned back to the screen, seemingly unaffected by Aaron’s lack of excitement. “I haven’t seen this one.”

“Have you seen the first Frozen movie?” Dan asked.

“No! There’s another one like this?” Johnny was clearly ecstatic over this news.

“Yeah! There is.” Dan deliberated. “Do you want to see it first?”

Aaron groaned softly. Andrew guessed that it was quiet enough for Johnny not to have heard but he assumed Johnny wouldn’t work out what the huff was for anyway. The foxes had just watched the first Frozen movie a couple of weeks ago, so a repeated viewing so soon wouldn’t be ideal.

“No, um, I like this. It’s funny. We can keep watching.”

“Okay. We’ll do the first one another time then, huh?” Dan promised.

Johnny’s eyes widened and his mouth popped open.

It was perhaps a disproportionate reaction to the casual suggestion Dan had made. But Andrew supposed it was confirmation that they wanted him around. Confirmation that Andrew was telling the truth when he’d said that Johnny could be himself.

Johnny gathered himself after a few seconds and nodded vigorously, moving his entire upper body with the action, flashing a grin.

“That would be awesome!” he exclaimed.

As someone pressed play on the TV, Andrew rearranged himself so that he was sitting next to Johnny in front of the space he’d vacated on the couch. It was a facsimile of the positions he and Neil had been in before, but there was now some distance between their arms where previously their pinkies had interlinked.

Andrew was once again struck with the thought that perhaps he was too dependent on Neil. He tried to dismiss the thought as not worth considering but then some part of him that sounded eerily like Bee advised against it.

So maybe he was dependent on Neil. Was that actually a bad thing? He didn’t know how the situation with Johnny would have panned out without Andrew there, but it probably wouldn’t have ended up going as well as it did. So, he reasoned with himself, maybe Neil and his system were dependent on him. It couldn’t be a bad thing if they weren’t being unhealthy about it. If it was reciprocal.

He decided that he’d thought enough about this. It wasn’t a bad thing, and that was good enough for him.

He tuned back into the movie as Johnny snickered at Kristoff doing the Sven voice to appease Olaf.

That was far from the only reaction Johnny had during the next hour and a half. He laughed at the funny parts and sang at the singing parts and sniffled at the sad parts. Andrew was surprised that there wasn’t a lack of sadness in this children’s movie. Andrew himself didn’t shed a tear, but he could recognize that shedding a tear wasn’t an atypical reaction to the events happening onscreen, as evidenced by the amount of sniffing he could hear from around the room.

Eventually, the credits started rolling, and as the movie ended, Johnny’s near-monologue began. The foxes did their best to participate in what was becoming an almost scene-for-scene recap of the film as Johnny reviewed his favorite parts, but Johnny was barely letting them get a word in edgewise and he seemed content to keep going on his own.

After a few minutes of this, when it was clear Johnny wasn’t letting up any time soon, Aaron got up to leave without saying a word.

Johnny let out a “Goodnight, Aaron” in between two of his thoughts but didn’t leave any time for Aaron to respond or anyone else to echo the farewell before he kept going on about Olaf calling for a ‘Samantha’ who didn’t exist.

Kevin left shortly thereafter and was granted the same sendoff of “Goodnight, Kevin” from Johnny.

The remaining foxes gave Johnny their full attention for as long as they could, but it was clear that they didn’t have Johnny’s youthful energy, and also it was later in the night than any of them had prepared for, after the ‘Can you tell me about yourself’ discursion that they’d had.

Matt was seated on the floor between Dan’s legs, and it was on the third time that Matt shook himself awake after hitting his head on Dan’s knee that Johnny seemed to notice something was up.

He stopped himself mid-word, turned to Andrew and requested, “Can you take me to my bed now?”

Andrew imagined there was an inaudible sigh of unanimous relief in the room.

“Sure,” Andrew acquiesced.

They all staggered to their feet, exhaustion making their motions sluggish. Except for Johnny who bounced up like he was ready to run a marathon. They said their ‘goodnight’s to each other, and Nicky, Andrew and Johnny left the girls and Matt to the dorm, Johnny walking slightly like Bambi in an effort to get used to his aforementioned abnormally long limbs.

As they dropped off Nicky at his dorm on their way to the one Andrew and Neil shared with Kevin, Andrew noticed Johnny start to lose steam. By the time they made it through their door, Johnny was barely paying attention to where he was walking, instead fully focused on blinking repeatedly and rubbing his temples.

“Are you okay?” Andrew prodded.

Johnny glanced at Andrew for a second before going back to focusing on the middle distance. “Yeah. Just– someone’s here.”

“Okay. Do you know who it is?”

Johnny was silent as he presumably asked the alter for their name.

“Oh! It’s Neil,” he said.

“What is he saying?”

“He’s confused. He’s asking me what’s been going on. I’m tellin’ him about the movie.” Johnny grinned.

Andrew wasn’t sure that that was the recap Neil had been hoping for, but if Andrew had had to go through basically watching the movie twice with how thorough Johnny’s retelling was, then it was only fair for Neil to hear it.

Andrew went through his nighttime routine with Johnny as a silent shadow. Andrew wasn’t entirely sure if the silence was because he was so absorbed in the recitation of Frozen II’s best plot points to Neil or if it was because of dissociation, but Johnny was going through the motions nonetheless, which Andrew decided was the important thing.

When they were done, Andrew guided Johnny into Neil’s bunk and started the climb up into his own. As he was halfway there, Johnny whispered a “Goodnight, Andrew” keeping his voice down so as not wake Kevin who was snoring lightly in his bed.

“Goodnight, Johnny,” Andrew replied and completed his ascent.

He got himself under the covers and just breathed. He listened to Johnny’s breathing below him, waiting for it to even out. He didn’t want to fall asleep until he was sure Johnny and Neil were okay, because he knew Neil and his alters sometimes needed help grounding themselves when they felt particularly switch-y.

Andrew was not quite asleep and not quite awake a few minutes later when he heard Johnny get up out of the bottom bunk. Andrew turned his head, and even in the darkness he could see the attentiveness in Neil’s eyes.

“I think Johnny finally went to sleep,” Neil told Andrew quietly, in obvious relief. “Can I come up there?” he asked.

That was Neil, alright. Always asking, never assuming. Andrew could count on one hand the number of times he and Neil hadn’t shared a bed in the past few months and yet here was Neil, still making sure it was okay with Andrew.

“Yes,” Andrew answered, because what else would he have said.

Neil climbed the ladder, and he and Andrew shuffled until they were laying side by side under the sheets. It was a tight fit, made even more so by the bit of distance they left between each other, but they squeezed up against the railings on either side of the mattress to make it work.

Andrew breathed deeply, finally at ease, and felt his muscles relax as his eyes closed.

Just before he drifted off, he felt a light prod at his hand. It went away quickly. It was just a request. No insistence. No pressure.

Andrew linked pinkies with Neil, squeezed once and let sleep take him away.

Notes: this was a tough one for me to write because i don’t know how to write kids and i also don’t know how to write as andrew but i knew i wanted both to be done so here we are. also i know frozen wasn’t out when this would be set let alone frozen ii but l e t m e l i v e. leave a like, comment or rb if u wanna! love you for reading! xx

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