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acute-crashout-jeyuso · 20 days ago

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Sacrifices/ BTR Book 2: a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 5: ten minutes..

Flashback January 14th, 2025 4:51 PM

Jey paced in front of the bedroom door, sighing for what felt like the hundredth time. It was almost 5 o’clock, and Rhea still hadn’t let him in since they’d gotten home from therapy. Every time he knocked or tried to talk her through the door, she stayed silent, her hurt and anger radiating from the other side like an unbreakable wall.

Finally, Jey had had enough. “Fine,” he muttered to himself, “if she wants to act like a kid, I’ll act like one too.”

An idea sparked, and he made his way down the hallway to his son Jeyce’s room. He dug through the toys until he found exactly what he was looking for: a mini karaoke machine. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he picked it up and made his way back to the bedroom, setting up camp right in front of the closed door.

Turning on the karaoke machine, Jey cleared his throat and scrolled through his phone for a song with a karaoke instrumental track. He pressed play, bringing the microphone up to his mouth, and started singing in a horribly off-key voice that could probably be heard throughout the house.

“Rheaaaa… your body is like a Pangeaaaa… I can’t get you out of… whatever rhymes with Rheaaa…”

Inside the room, Rhea pressed a pillow over her head, trying to block out the sound of Jey’s absurd singing. “He’s really doing this,” she mumbled to herself, her frustration mingling with a hint of reluctant amusement.

Outside, Jey continued, his voice getting louder and more dramatic. “RHEAAA… why can’t we talk like adults… why do we have to close doooors?”

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes through the door, but he kept going, determined to break through her silence, even if it was with his ridiculous off-key serenade.

“RHEAAAAAA, I won’t stop singing until you open the doorrr…ahhh…”

Rhea rolled her eyes, pressing the pillow down harder over her ears. “I swear if he doesn’t stop singing…” she muttered, still clinging to her frustration. But despite herself, she could feel the corners of her mouth tugging upward in a reluctant smile. Jey was impossible, and somehow, that made him even harder to stay mad at.

Jey continued his off-key serenade, now moving into a full performance mode. “RHEAAA… HOW COME WE CAN’T JUST RIPTIDE THIS IDEAAAA…”

Inside the room, Rhea glanced at the door, her brow furrowing. She couldn’t believe he was still at it.

“RHEA… YOU’RE ACTING LIKE A CHIAAAA PET-AH,” he sang, drawing out the “-ah” in a way that made no sense whatsoever. “I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY BUT IT SOUNDED BETTER IN MY HEAD-AH…”

Rhea rolled her eyes again. He was clearly just throwing in words that vaguely rhymed with her name, and she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to stay mad. She clutched her pillow tighter, trying to block out the sound, but he was relentless.

“And now-ah… GUITAR SOLO!” Jey shouted through the microphone, launching into a dramatic “guitar” riff, complete with exaggerated mouth noises. “Bow-bow, BOWWWW, chika-chika-BOW-BOWWWW…”

Rhea couldn’t hold it in anymore. She let out a laugh, muffling it with her pillow as she shook her head. It was impossible to stay angry when he was out there making a complete fool of himself just to get her to crack a smile.

“RHEAAA, I KNOW YOU HEARD THAT SICK RIFF,” he called out, tapping on the door with a playful beat. “OPEN UP, BABE! I’LL GIVE YOU ANOTHER SOLOOO!”

Rhea bit her lip, trying to compose herself. She stood up and took a few slow steps toward the door, rolling her eyes again but unable to hide her grin.

Finally, she called out, “If I open this door, will you stop with your ‘concert’?”

Jey’s voice immediately perked up. “Only if you promise to let me finish my encore, babe!”

Rhea sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. But a small, reluctant smile crept across her face.

Jey grinned as he got up, brushing himself off before stepping inside as Rhea opened the door. Before she could say a word, he pulled her into a gentle kiss, letting his lips linger for a moment, as if trying to dissolve any lingering tension between them.

“Look,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth and sincerity, “I get it… it’s a tough thing to talk about. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, okay? Whenever you’re ready to share, I’ll be here to listen.”

Rhea nodded, a small, vulnerable smile breaking through her tough exterior. His words seemed to ease the weight she’d been carrying, even if only a little. He leaned in, kissing her forehead this time, his thumb gently tracing the back of her hand.

Then, with a sudden change of tone, Jey smirked. “How about we ditch the heavy stuff for a while? I’m thinking we order some Chinese food, get enough fried rice to feed an army, and find the crappiest old movies we can. The worse the plot, the better.”

Rhea let out a genuine laugh, the kind she hadn’t felt in days. “Crappy old movies and Chinese? You really know how to spoil a girl.”

Jey chuckled, pulling her closer as he led her down the hallway toward the living room. “Only the finest for you, babe.” He winked, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close as they walked together.

As they settled on the couch, Jey pulled up DoorDash on his phone, listing out every ridiculous item he could find. “Egg rolls, dumplings, beef and broccoli…oh, and don’t forget the wontons.”

Rhea nodded, making her own suggestions as they put together their absurdly large order. And when the food finally arrived, they sprawled out on the couch, plates in hand, as Jey flipped through channels to find the perfect terrible movie.

Settling on an 80s action flick with absurd stunts and cheesy dialogue, Jey wrapped an arm around Rhea, pulling her close. “Nothing like some bad TV and good food, right?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers laced with his. “Perfect night.”

— Later that night..

After the horrible movie marathon, Jey was determined to lift Rhea’s spirits and keep the night fun. “You see that? That’s your fiancé putting in work… look at that… you ain’t never had a man like me in your life, baby…” His playful teasing broke through the heaviness of the day, and Rhea erupted in laughter as he showcased his dance moves to the song “Candy” by Cameo.

“You don’t know what you are signing up for, babe… look at that… that’s Samoan genes, girl.” His antics were so ridiculous, so carefree, that Rhea found herself laughing harder than she had in weeks. In this moment, everything else faded away—the darkness that sometimes clouded her mind, the shadows of her past.

Once the song ended, Jey, high on Rhea’s laughter, jumped onto the bed beside her. He leaned in, kissing her softly, then pulled back, his eyes serious yet tender. “I just want you to know that you can talk to me,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This is our safe space together, Rhea. No one could ever come between us.”

His words struck a chord deep within her. Rhea felt the weight of his promise, the sincerity behind his eyes. He kissed her again, more passionately this time, and she melted into him, feeling the warmth of his affection wash over her. It was a beautiful difference compared to the pain of her past—a gentle reminder that love could be safe, that she could trust him completely.

As the next song played softly on the stereo, “I Like It” by DeBarge, Jey stood up, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Come here,” he said, extending his hand.

Rhea took his hand, feeling the strength and security in his grip. He gently pulled her up, wrapping his arms around her waist, guiding her into a slow sway to the sounds of the ‘70s. The music wrapped around them like a warm blanket, and Jey began to sing softly to her, his voice smooth and soothing.

“I like it,” he crooned, his eyes locked onto hers, “You send chills up my spine every time I take one look at you…”

In that moment, Rhea rested her head against his shoulder, feeling a wave of comfort wash over her. The worries of the world outside faded, replaced by the warmth of their connection. Here, in his arms, she felt safe. Jey would never hurt her; he was nothing like the ghosts of her past.

As he continued to sing, his voice filling the air with love and reassurance, Rhea realized how far she had come. “See?” Jey teased, swaying a little more. “Ain’t nobody can dance like me. You’re just lucky to be with a star like this.” He twirled her around gently, and laughter spilled from both of them, the joy so pure it felt almost healing.

As they danced, Rhea couldn’t shake the feeling that this was exactly what she needed—a moment of laughter, love, and the undeniable truth that together, they could weather anything. In Jey, she had found her safe haven, a place where the past couldn’t touch her, and for the first time in a long time, she felt free.

When she asked him to sit down, he didn’t hesitate. He turned off the stereo, and they both settled onto the edge of the bed, an air of heaviness settling between them as the music faded away.

“Did you know… about Matt?” she asked quietly, her voice beaming through with hurt. The question lingered in the air, and Jey felt his heart twist at the pain he saw in her eyes.

He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice soft. “Cody and I… we overheard him outside Cody’s bus back at Survivor Series 2023. He was insisting you wear those chaps for the segment… kept going on and on about it.” Jey shook his head, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes at the memory. “I didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way he talked to you… or treated you. That’s why I told you at WrestleMania that you deserved better. I wasn’t just saying it, Rhea… I meant every word.”

Rhea stayed quiet, processing his words, her mind going back to all the times her friends had tried to warn her. “Damian and Finn… they were always trying to talk to me about it,” she murmured, a faint sadness in her voice. “I thought they were crazy for a bit. I guess I didn’t want to believe it.”

Jey’s hand found hers, giving it a gentle squeeze, silently reassuring her. “I wanted to approach you.. but it was not my place to speak of it to you. We did some promos together Rhea but we never really talked after those said promos’…”

She looked down at their hands, the weight of her own guilt pressing down on her shoulders. “If you’d come to me… I probably would’ve listened,” she admitted, her voice trembling with the vulnerability she rarely let show.

Jey’s thumb brushed over her knuckles as he looked at her with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Rhea,” he whispered, his voice steady, “I would never manipulate you or pull stupid stuff just to control you. I’m not him. I’d never hurt you, not like that.”

Rhea took a shaky breath, feeling the relief of his words wash over her. But there was still something gnawing at her, a memory she couldn’t let go. “Do you remember… when you pushed me?” she asked, her gaze falling away from his, her voice barely above a whisper.

The question hung between them, and Jey froze, immediately understanding what she meant. The memory in Portland, back in September, flashed in his mind—a night filled with tension, frustration, and a moment he wished he could take back. He could still see the look on her face, the hurt in her eyes, and it haunted him more than he’d ever let on.

“Yeah,” he murmured, the regret evident in his voice. “I remember.”

Rhea’s hand tightened around his, grounding herself as she finally let herself speak the words she’d been holding in. “I think… that moment scared me because, for a split second, I thought you might be like him.” Her voice cracked, and she looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes. “But now I know you’re not him, Jey.”

Jey swallowed hard, his own eyes misting over as he held her gaze. “Rhea, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’d give anything to take that moment back. I… I was so angry, I just… I lost control for a second, and I hate myself for it. You have no idea how much I hate myself for that.”

She reached up, her hand gently cupping his cheek, grounding him in her touch. “I know, Jey,” she said softly, her voice laced with understanding. “And that’s why I trust you… that’s why I’m here.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, letting her words wash over him like a balm to his guilt-ridden heart. For a long moment, they sat in silence, the weight of their shared pain and healing filling the room. When he opened his eyes again, he saw nothing but love and forgiveness in her gaze, and he felt something within him begin to heal.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For giving me a chance… for letting me in.”

She smiled faintly, her thumb brushing over his cheek as she leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips—a kiss filled with all the promises and trust they had built together.

“Just… promise me one thing,” she murmured as they pulled away, her forehead resting against his.

“Anything,” he replied, his voice unwavering.

“Treat me right..”

And in that quiet, intimate moment, they both knew that, no matter what the future held, they’d face it side by side—healing, learning, and loving, one day at a time.

Jey pulled back from their embrace, a playful glint in his eye. “Alright, now that we got all the mushiness out of the way…” he teased, reaching over to turn the stereo back on. The soft, rhythmic beats of Ne-Yo’s “Sexy Love” filled the room, setting a sultry atmosphere. With a smirk, he leaned in to kiss her, his hands warm and steady on her waist.

Rhea couldn’t help but melt into him, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. In one swift motion, Jey lifted her onto his lap, pulling her close as they swayed gently to the music. The lyrics wrapped around them, the chorus echoing in her ears, “Sexy love, girl, the things you do… keep me sprung, keep me running back to you.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, savoring the texture and warmth, the familiar scent of him filling her senses—a comforting blend of his natural musk and something uniquely him. She paused, pulling back slightly to look at him, her gaze softening as she took in the man in front of her, the man who had given her strength to trust and love again.

Jey looked up at her, his dark eyes full of affection and something deeper, something that made her heart pound. His hands traced soothing patterns on her back, grounding her, reminding her that she was safe here, with him.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice sultry, “you got me wrapped around your finger, right?”

Rhea let out a small laugh, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Good,” she replied softly, her lips brushing against his, “someone’s got to keep you in line.”

Jey chuckled, his smile widening as he tightened his hold on her. They sat there, wrapped up in each other, with only the soft music and the sound of their steady breaths filling the space between them.

As the song continued to play, Jey’s gaze grew more intense, his voice lowering to a tender murmur. “You’re my everything, you know that?”

Rhea’s heart clenched, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. She leaned down, her forehead touching his, her voice quiet but full of conviction. “And you’re mine, Joshua. I don’t know how I got so lucky… but I’m not letting go.”

Jey smiled, a gentle, genuine smile that made her feel like she was the only person in the world. “Good,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “’cause I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Their lips met again, a soft, unhurried kiss, filled with all the words they couldn’t say out loud. The song continued to play in the background, the lyrics wrapping around them, reminding her that this was real, that this love they shared was something worth fighting for.

As they held each other, Rhea felt a profound sense of peace wash over her—a feeling of safety and belonging that she hadn’t felt in years. In Jey’s arms, she had finally found her home, a place where she could be vulnerable, where she was loved and cherished for exactly who she was.

—

January 15th, 2025, 9:13 AM

The silence in the home gym was punctuated only by Jey’s labored breaths and the clink of weights as he struggled through another shoulder workout. Every lift was a reminder of the shooting, a painful echo he couldn’t seem to escape. Each rep brought back flashes of that night, of blood and panic, of Rhea’s tear-streaked face as she held him, her desperate voice pleading for him to hold on. He clenched his teeth, forcing the dumbbell up, but the ache in his shoulder forced him to set it down with a frustrated grunt.

The door opened, and Jon walked in, already geared up for his own workout. He took one look at his brother, noticing the exhaustion etched into Jey’s face, the strain that wasn’t just physical. Jon stepped onto the treadmill, starting a steady jog, his eyes occasionally glancing at Jey with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jon asked gently, breaking the silence.

Jey hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. The weight of everything he’d been holding in was heavy, almost suffocating. He climbed onto the bike next to Jon, setting the resistance as he pedaled slowly, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Man…” Jey began, his voice low and hesitant. “She’s having nightmares every night, Uce. Every damn night. She keeps saying my name, keeps begging him not to shoot me.” He swallowed hard, the memory of Rhea’s restless sleep gnawing at him. “She keeps saying, ‘Don’t shoot him, shoot me instead.’”

Jon’s face softened, understanding the depth of what his brother was carrying. “Have you asked her about it?”

Jey shook his head, running a hand over his face. “Nah, man… I don’t know if I should. I don’t want to make it worse for her. I told her I’d take her pain if I could, that I’d carry it for her… but, fuck, Uce. I’m stressed. I don’t know if I’m strong enough for both of us.”

Jon’s gaze turned serious, and he slowed the treadmill, eventually stepping off to sit on a nearby bench. He motioned for Jey to join him, and Jey followed, wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing.

“Jey,” Jon started, his voice firm but filled with empathy, “you’ve been carrying a lot, man. More than anyone should have to. But have you really… and I mean really, thought about everything you’ve been through?”

Jey’s brow furrowed, his gaze dropping to the floor as he considered his brother’s words. “What do you mean?”

“Look,” Jon said, taking a deep breath, “you and Rhea lost the baby back in September. Have you two ever really talked about that? Have you told her how you felt, seeing her in the hospital after… after her attempt?” He paused, letting his words sink in. “And has she told you how she felt, seeing you in that hospital bed after you got shot?”

He’d shoved those memories down, telling himself he was strong enough to handle it. But had he really processed any of it?

“Everyone’s life has changed, Uce. The last three months… they’ve changed all of us,” Jon said, his voice heavy with the weight of his own realizations. “I mean, think about it. One minute, I’m calling Rhea a whore for… breaking up your family. The next minute, I’m donating blood to save her life.”

Jey’s eyes met his brother’s, and he could see the turmoil in Jon’s expression—the lingering guilt, the confusion, the acceptance that came only after everything had already fallen apart.

Jon continued, his voice softening. “I’m not trying to make this about me, but do you know how hard it was for Trinity, right? To go from talking to Takecia every day to… now talking to Rhea every day. It’s like everything shifted overnight, and we didn’t have a choice but to adapt.”

Jey hadn’t thought about it that way. He’d been so wrapped up in his own pain, his own guilt, that he hadn’t fully considered how much everyone else had been forced to change as well.

“We don’t regret Rhea, bro. We love her. But everything happened so fast,” Jon admitted, his voice filled with a quiet sadness. “I don’t think any of us really had time to process what it all meant, what it did to us. And maybe… maybe that’s why you’re feeling so overwhelmed.”

Jey’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Jon’s words settling over him. He hadn’t allowed himself to truly think about these traumatic events, especially the one where how close he’d come to death himself. It was like he’d been running on autopilot, surviving each day, without ever truly facing the enormity of what they’d been through.

“You’re right,” Jey whispered, his voice breaking. “I just… I didn’t want to think about it. Any of it. I thought if I just… kept moving, kept pushing through, it would go away.”

Jon placed a comforting hand on Jey’s shoulder. “You’re not alone, man. We’re all here, dealing with it too. And maybe it’s time we stop pretending like we can just ignore it. Maybe it’s time we start facing it. Together.”

Jey nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek as he finally allowed himself to feel the weight of everything they’d lost—and everything they’d somehow managed to hold onto.

For the first time in three months, he felt a sense of some type of clarity. It wasn’t about being strong enough to carry Rhea’s pain. It was about sharing it, allowing each other to heal. And maybe, just maybe, that was the kind of strength they both needed.

“Thanks, Uce,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Jon pulled him into a brief, tight hug. “Anytime, bro. We’re family—that’s what we do.”

As they pulled apart, a sense of determination settled in Jey’s heart. He knew what he had to do now. For himself, for Rhea, and for the future they were building together—one step at a time, one healing moment after another.

—

11:58 AM

Jey wandered through the aisles of the baby section, scanning each shelf with intent. He wanted something perfect, something that would mean more than just an ordinary gift. His gaze finally landed on a sleek, grey and black car seat, and a smile tugged at his lips. It was practical, yet it held the promise of the future they were building. He reached for the box, hefting it into his cart with a sense of purpose. Nearby, he spotted a display of soft, colorful baby toys, and he grabbed a few of those as well, picturing Rhea’s face when she saw them.

After gathering everything, he made his way to the flower department, his eyes instantly drawn to a bouquet of lilies. The soft white petals reminded him of Rhea—strong, resilient, yet carrying a quiet beauty that most people didn’t get to see. He picked out the bouquet and headed to the cashier, his mind already racing with the words he wanted to say to her.

Once he loaded everything into his Mercedes, Jey drove home, the anticipation building with every mile. This wasn’t just a gift. This was his way of starting a conversation they’d both avoided for too long. It was time to stop running, to face everything they’d been through together.

Pulling into the driveway, Jey took a deep breath before grabbing the bouquet and stepping inside. He found Rhea curled up on the couch, her eyes on the TV but her mind seemingly elsewhere. She looked up when he walked in, her face lighting up with a smile as she took in the flowers in his hand.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, sitting up and taking the bouquet from him. She breathed in their scent, her smile soft and curious as she looked back up at him.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, letting it linger before pulling back. “I just… I wanted to talk to you, babe. About some things we’ve both been holding onto.”

Rhea’s expression shifted, a hint of hesitation in her eyes as she began to speak, but Jey gently placed a finger to her lips, silencing her with a soft shake of his head. “No, Rhea. Let me say this first.”

She nodded, settling back into the couch, her gaze never leaving his as he sat down beside her.

“I know you’ve been having nightmares,” he said softly, his voice filled with understanding rather than accusation. “I hear you every night… saying my name, telling them to shoot you instead.” He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Rhea’s eyes filled with tears, her lips parting as if to respond, but Jey continued, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her cheek.

“When we go back to therapy, Rhea, we have to lay it all out. No more hiding. We’ve both got things buried deep, things we’re too scared to talk about, thinking maybe they can’t hurt us if we just keep them locked away.” He swallowed, his gaze searching hers. “But that pain… it’s still there, isn’t it? It doesn’t just disappear.”

Rhea nodded, her voice a soft, broken whisper. “I’ve tried so hard to be strong, Jey… to push it all down and pretend I’m okay. But… you’re right. It hasn’t gone away.”

He reached up, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down her cheek. “We’ll do this together, Rhea. All of it. But… there’s one thing I need you to talk to me about now.” He took a steadying breath, his eyes never wavering from hers. “Tell me about Demetri.”

Rhea’s breath caught, her body tensing as his words hung in the air between them, heavy and unyielding. The name alone seemed to open a door she’d kept locked for so long, and for the first time, Jey could see the fear, the pain, and the memories she’d buried so deep they had become part of her.

The room grew silent as Jey waited, his hand still on her cheek, his eyes filled with a mixture of patience and understanding. And as Rhea looked back at him, she knew that this was the moment—one that could change everything.

And so, she took a deep breath, ready to finally confront the darkness she’d kept hidden for so long.

—

January 27th, 2025, 7:45 AM

Jey’s Mercedes rolled up to the Mead School, the morning light casting a soft glow over the campus. Inside the car, Jeyce sat quietly, gripping his customized Judgment Day lunchbox tightly as he stared at the looming building. He was dressed in a vintage black Usos shirt, blue jeans, and black Vans, his expression a mix of nerves and determination.

Jey glanced at him in the rearview mirror and offered an encouraging smile. “You got this, little man.”

Rhea reached over, giving Jeyce’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll be here to pick you up right at four, okay?”

Jeyce nodded, his eyes betraying his anxiety despite his attempts to stay calm. “Okay.”

The trio made their way to the school’s main office, where Jey and Rhea filled out the final paperwork. The registrar handed Jeyce his schedule and a map of the school, pointing out that his first class was on the second floor. He glanced at his schedule—English, Math, History, Science, Art, and finally Gym. Six periods in a new place, surrounded by people he’d never met. His stomach twisted with nerves.

Rhea leaned down, brushing a kiss on his cheek. “You’re going to do great, Jeyce. Just remember, take it one class at a time.”

Jey added, “It’s okay to be scared, buddy. Starting somewhere new is tough, but before you know it, you’ll find your way—and you’ll make friends.” He ruffled Jeyce’s hair with a grin. “Who wouldn’t want to be friends with Main Event Jey Uso’s kid?”

Jeyce managed a small smile, his confidence bolstered by their words. He took a deep breath, nodding as he tucked the map and schedule into his backpack. With a wave to Jey and Rhea, he headed down the hallway towards his first class, trying to push the fear aside.

By the time he reached the second floor, the bell had already rung. He spotted his English classroom and sprinted toward it, arriving just in time to open the door. An older man at the front of the room looked up, his eyes kind behind his glasses.

“You must be Jeyce Fatu,” the teacher said, a warm smile on his face.

Jeyce nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m Mr. Wilkins, your English literature teacher for the rest of the year.” Mr. Wilkins extended his hand, and Jeyce shook it, feeling slightly more at ease. “Go ahead and take a seat in the back, Jeyce.”

Jeyce nodded and made his way to the back row, settling into his seat as he scanned the room. The other kids were busy chatting or on their phones, barely giving him a glance—until one kid looked over, eyeing Jeyce’s The Usos shirt with a sneer.

“Wrestling is for babies,” the kid muttered, just loud enough for Jeyce to hear.

Jeyce felt a spark of anger flare up, but he tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the map he’d been given. Yet, the boy didn’t stop.

“My dad isn’t a baby,” Jeyce said quietly, his voice steady despite the heat in his chest. “He’s the best wrestler in the world. And so is my bonus mom.”

The kid snorted, rolling his eyes. “Your dad isn’t a wrestler. Wrestling’s fake anyway.”

Jeyce clenched his fists, taking a deep breath. “He is. He’s Main Event Jey Uso, and my bonus mom is Rhea Ripley. They’re both champions.”

“Bonus mom?” The kid laughed, the taunting edge in his voice growing sharper. “You mean your actual parents are divorced? Who cheated on who?”

The mocking tone hit Jeyce like a punch to the gut. A part of him wanted to ignore it, to be the bigger person like his dad always said, but the words cut deep. He could feel the other kids around them watching, waiting to see what he’d do. His fingers tightened around the handle of his lunchbox, his anger bubbling to the surface.

“Hey, settle down back there,” Mr. Wilkins called, casting a warning look in their direction.

But it was too late. In a flash of frustration and hurt, Jeyce swung his lunchbox, the weight of it making contact with the kid’s head with a solid thud. The room went silent, every eye turning toward the back of the classroom as the boy let out a startled yelp, clutching his head.

Mr. Wilkins’ face darkened as he hurried over, his voice firm. “Jeyce! That’s enough. Both of you, stay seated. I’ll be contacting the office.”

Jeyce’s heart raced, the reality of what he’d just done hitting him. He slumped back into his chair, his chest heaving as he looked down at his lunchbox, his mind a swirl of regret and anger.

His first day at his new school was definitely not off to the start he’d hoped for.

—

Jey and Rhea stood in line at Starbucks, both of them scanning the menu as they waited to place their order. Rhea’s eyes lit up with excitement as she nudged Jey. “I need three cake pops and a refresher, ASAP!”

Jey chuckled, shaking his head at her enthusiasm. “I think I’ll try that caramel macchiato. Need a little something sweet today.”

Just as he was about to say something else, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he noticed an unfamiliar Connecticut number flashing on the display. Frowning, he answered, “Hello?”

A woman’s voice on the other end spoke up. “Hi, this is Vanessa Cameron from the Mead School’s Middle School Division. Is this Joshua Fatu?”

Jey’s face shifted into a look of concern, and Rhea immediately picked up on it, watching him closely. “Yeah, this is him. Is something wrong with my son? We just dropped him off like ten minutes ago.”

Vanessa sighed on the other end. “Mr. Fatu, there was an incident involving Jeyce. We’ve placed him under Individual Supervision Suspension for the rest of the day.”

Jey’s eyes widened, and Rhea’s brows knit together with worry as she strained to hear the conversation. “An incident? What happened?”

Vanessa explained, “It appears there was an altercation. Jeyce hit another student after an exchange of words. Unfortunately, he’s refusing to speak about it, so we’re still gathering details.”

Jey’s frustration was oozing out. “And what about the other kid? What’s being done about that?”

“We’re addressing each student involved individually,” Vanessa replied. “Since this is Jeyce’s first day, we’re willing to overlook it this time, but you’ll need to meet with the principal when you pick him up later today to discuss this further.”

Jey rubbed a hand over his face, taking a steadying breath before responding, “Alright. We’ll be there.”

He hung up and turned to Rhea, who looked at him expectantly. “What happened?” she asked, her tone laced with concern.

Jey let out a sigh, trying to process the news. “That was the school. Apparently, Jeyce got into a fight. He hit another kid… They’re putting him in some sort of supervised suspension for the day.”

Rhea’s jaw dropped, and she blinked in disbelief. “Already? But he was so excited this morning… What happened?”

“Apparently, they were exchanging words, but he’s not talking about what was said,” Jey replied, his voice tinged with frustration and worry. “They’re going to overlook it since it’s his first day, but we have to meet with the principal when we pick him up.”

Rhea’s face softened, a mix of concern and determination flashing in her eyes. “He must have been provoked… It’s not like him to start something, especially not on the first day.”

Jey nodded, but there was still a storm of worry brewing inside him. “Yeah… I don’t know what it was, but if he’s shutting down already, something must’ve really gotten under his skin.”

Rhea looked at him, her voice quiet but firm. “We’ll figure it out, Jey. This is a big change for him. Maybe he just needs time to adjust.”

Jey took a deep breath, nodding as he reached for their order on the counter. “Yeah… Let’s hope that’s all it is.”

They shared a look, both silently agreeing to do whatever it took to make Jeyce feel secure in this new chapter of his life, even if it meant facing a few bumps along the way.

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sith-qween · 2 years ago

Text

Come, Let Us Teach You

Fandom: DBZ

Pairings: Reader x Vegeta, Reader x Nappa, Reader x Raditz

Words: 3.6K

Rating: M (later on)

Warnings: Sayian Reader, Mating Cycles/Heats, Ginyu Force, Dark Frieza, No protection, probably more, I will update as we go lol

After floating around in the darkness, your body unmoving and your senses dulled; you started to wonder if maybe you did die after all. There was nothing but darkness, and you were alone. It was comforting and yet it scared you, you had only really just started to put together your life and it was snatched up from under you like a drop of the hat. It was eerie how easily everything could end, just like that; with no rhyme or reason.

Then you tried, as a last ditch effort, to move your fingers; surprised when you actually felt something under them instead of nothing. It was kind of scruffy and worn, but it was also somehow soft; and very familiar. Taking a deep breath your chest lifted before slowly falling, a very dull scent reached your nose as you realised the same feeling was also all around your body. Was it a blanket? Testing it, you moved your hand, grabbing a fistful of the sheets before the pain shot up your arm causing a weak groan to escape your lips.

Your body tensed up from the waves of pain the movement had caused, 'Okay, definitely not dead yet..' you thought to yourself in pain. Taking another breath to try and reanimate your heavy body takes some conscious effort to manage to finally peel your eyelids open. [E/c] optics flickering shut once more before they open to the blurry haze of faint and dull colours of your room. Noticing that you were in one of the housing rooms, and not a healing tank, you started to wonder why that might be and your mind slowed down and reeled back, trying not to overwhelm you and cause a dizzy spell.

"[Y/N]" an uncharacteristically soft voice called out to you. Your mind tried to figure out who's voice it was, none of them ever sounded so soft and careful, it almost scared you. Then the silence followed once more, shutting your eyes to try and rebuild some kind of strength. You turned your head in the direction of the voice, eyes opening again to see three very familiar faces. Something about seeing them caused you to relax again, and another part of you wanted to scream, who knew what they would do; the things they would say and how they would lecture you and make you feel worse.

But nothing followed. They all watched you with care, almost as if they were scared their gazes would break you, like speaking might shatter you in your fragile state. However, even in this state you could feel something, something old and familiar start to bubble up. Seeing such soft and pitiful looks coming from them caused your eyes to narrow in their direction. A sudden wave of strength washed over you, even if it was only there to prove a point. Seeing it you sneered and pushed yourself upright, ignoring the screams and protests that followed in your body, fueled by your Saiyan Pride, you wouldn't sit back and let them treat you like some lesser being.

Almost instantly, the three twitched as if they wanted to move forward and make you rest, but the glare that followed made them stay where they were. They could see it in your eyes, the pride and defiance that was fueling your body now, and there was a glimmer of pride reaching their eyes at the sight. You were weak, broken, and maybe even a little bit terrified; but you weren't dead yet.

Having sat up, you needed to take a few heavy breaths, the movement having taken a lot more out of you then you had originally expected, but instead you shut your eyes and took a single deep breath; fighting against all of your natural urges. Opening them you looked over your body, seeing the bandages that covered the lengths of your arms, covering the obviously red and scarring marks from when the ground shattered and cut into your skin. Aside from that, you could see all of them, the bruises. The large dark purple marks that danced with greens and yellows, painting your once clear skin.

You were not wearing your normal suit, instead it was a simple tank top, but you could feel the tightness around your stomach, your brain wincing at what kind of damage could be under the bandages there; well aside from the ribs that had been clearly broken. Taking a few painful breaths you knew they had taken you to a pod before, you weren't nearly as bad or as broken as you should have been, but you had been bad enough to be left with leftover pain.

The silence had been hanging in the room for far too long. The only sound was your slightly broken breaths, and the soft sounds of you moving around in the bed. None of the men said anything, they just waited patiently in silence for you; which you found weird as well. Glancing over at the trio with a confused expression you silently hoped one of them would explain, not knowing just yet if you trusted your voice not to break and waver at the moment.

Noticing you were finally ready, settled in, recomposed; the three finally moved. Shifting around into more comfortable positions from where they lounged in your room as your eyes fell on Vegeta. He stood against the wall with his arms across his chest, his face watching yours intently.

"I'm sure you have many questions, and before you ask; I will try and get you up to date with what has happened." he said, his deep voice slicing through the heavy silence like a knife. While he seemed his normal composed self, you could see the caution in his eyes as he spoke. Giving him the smallest nod he took that as his sign to continue on.

"The other day we seemed to have an unwelcome guest who overheard you before we left for the mission, needless to say that Lord Frieza doesn't take that kind of crap, from anyone. After his little warning, we took you to the Medical Bay where they managed to patch you up. Cuts and bruises were the least of your worries. He managed to break 7 ribs, as well as your collar bone. We had to put you in a special tank that tends to inner damage, so you will have to deal with a few scraps for now.. after that we brought you back here, waiting for you to come to."

The silence followed again. Peeling your eyes from the Prince you looked over at Nappa and then Raditz, before glancing back down at your covered body. Taking in a deep breath to try and absorb the information you have been given, you could feel the remains of the broken ribs in your chest, the phantom pains lingering and scratching into your chest as you breathed a little deeper than normal. Yeah, the damage done was believable, especially considering that Frieza had tossed you around like some kind of rag doll, you were surprised that was all.

"Now that you are up to speed, why don't we go and get something for you to eat, surely you need some kind of nutrition." he stated, his words breaking through your train of thought. Looking over again you pressed your lips together and gave him a small nod. Yeah food sounded like a perfect idea, however at the moment with the stinging in your muscles and the ghosting pain; what you really wanted was to have a warm shower.

"Food sounds great, but I think I will shower first; and then I can meet you three down there." you said watching the three hesitate before nodding. Without thinking about it further, or even stopping to give a crap that they were in fact still in your room, slinging your legs over the side of the bed and forcing yourself up, ignoring the protests in the movement. On your feet now, your tail followed behind you, helping to give you the added stability that you knew you would need as you grabbed a towel you had in the closet and some undergarments before vanishing into the small bathroom you had.

In the background you could register the sound of your door closing and sighed and you turned the hot water on and stepped in, feeling the water instantly scorch your skin. The feeling caused a small hum to escape your lips, making you feel something other than pain since you woke up. Each drop that cascaded your body, caressed and soothed the ache that had come to be noticed in your muscles, making it easy to relax into the water.

…

With the ability to move around freely again, your natural Saiyan instincts were starting to kick in and take the pain as a challenge. Like a few broken bones would actually stop you from carrying on and keeping up with missions, with training. You mentally scoffed at yourself as you ran the towel through your [H/L] [H/C] hair, stopping to put it aside to pull on your favourite undergarments, needing something more normal to help ground you after the incident. Looking back over at the damp bandage you had removed the clothing you had been in before you didn't exactly want to slip back into that, but before you could confirm you wanted your normal suit you heard a faint groan in the other room, like someone trying to get comfortable.

Your head turned to the door and you narrowed your eyes. You could have sworn you had heard them all leave earlier, and you grabbed the damp towel and wrapped it up around your chest, nothing but the [F/C] straps of your bra showing. With caution you moved to the door to the bathroom and pushed it aside to poke your head into the room to see Vegeta having got comfy on the couch, looking over some of the things you had kept near it.

You let your eyes draw over his form sitting there, watching as his fingers carefully fiddled with the object he had selected to busy himself with. Sensing that you were there he froze, his hand stopping and then setting down the object as he slowly lifted his head to face you, standing there in the door half naked. You could feel the soft prickles of the goose flesh starting to prick away at your skin and in the moment you couldn't tell if it was the bite from the air after your shower, or how he was looking over your body. Without thinking you gripped the top of your towel closely and gave him a curious look

"I thought you were going with the others to get food.." You started watching as he lifted his brows and offered a small shrug of his shoulders in response.

"Never mind that," he brushed off, clearly having something else on his mind. Then his hand stopped fiddling and you could feel your gaze jolt to his now steady hand, something about his loss of focus on the object made an uneasiness start to bubble up in your chest. As his head turned and his gaze landed on you, it was hard to tell if it was from the cold bite from the air, or how his eyes were wandering over your form - that caused the shiver that ran along your spine. His eyes watched you, a flame of emotions dancing and fighting behind his eyes as they locked with your own.

"Do you have any idea the situation you had gotten yourself into?" he asked, his voice was a sharp tone, cold and serious. However behind your eyes you knew there was meaning to it, even if his words did sting a little bit, "The fact that you are standing here alive, is both a blessing, and a curse. Lord Frieza doesn't let anyone walk out alive; he's killed people who served him loyally, simply because he was bored. You should be afraid, terrified as to why he left you alive.."

You could feel the realness of his words hit you. You feel each word sinking into your skin as reality starts to race at you, causing your eyes to drop from his, inspecting the floor. Your brain reeling back into the very thought of it, he could have destroyed you, left you to die, or just kill you then and there - it wasn't like it would have been very hard. Each thought raced in your mind, rushing past one another causing you to become distracted, and it wasn't until a strong hand lifted your chin did you realise that you had even spaced out.

"Did you even hear what I said to you?" he snapped, his face mere inches from your own. Your body jolted and you protectively tighten your grip on the towel, narrowing your eyes.

"Of course I heard you! Think that it's very easy to hear?! 'Don't worry, you're being kept alive for fun'!?" you snapped back at him, fighting the urge to unwrap your tail from your waist, wanting nothing more than to lash it in frustration. While holding your ground, you watched as his eyes flickered across your face, and slightly lower; taking in the much closer sight of you. Something about how predatory his gaze seemed, made you feel weak at the knees, something you had never felt before, with anyone. It was new and you were torn between being furious at him, and wanting to find out why he suddenly had this effect on you.

"You stupid woman! Do you understand how hard all of this is on us as well!?" he growled, his tone dangerous and threatening, and yet you could see it in his onyx gaze, there was something more to his anger. Something hidden within, and you glared back, "Don't you realise that we don't want to lose you! We can't lose you! I can't lose you!" he snapped, his words spewing out faster than he could control them, leaving the two of you in silence for a few moments, as your gaze softened with confusion. You could see the turmoil behind his eyes, he was fighting with himself, his words had taken you off guard - but also himself as well.

Then his lips were on yours, hard and heavy. Something about the way your lips connected seemed urgent, hungry. Having been so confused, your body jolted at the sudden action, and you melted into his kiss at first. However the second you could feel the smugness tug at his lips you stood your ground, pressing back just as hungry. Lips moving together in a fight for dominance, as he has grabbed your hips, pulling you closer to his own, needing to feel you closer, know that you were there, with him in that moment.

"You have made more than just a mark of lust on us, and I don't plan on giving that up - that will be solely mine," he started as he pressed back against you, rushed, urgent. Advancing on you until your back hit the wall and you were trapped between him and the wall. "You will belong to me." he stated. His tone was serious and his eyes met yours, your chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath. Something about the wild lust driven look in his eyes, held something more passionate and it ignited something within you, something you had promised yourself wouldn't happen with any of these beastly Saiyan men.

There was a flutter in your chest, something so foreign and different, it controlled your actions. Still holding the towel around to cover yourself, you pressed against him, pressing your lips on his, this time starting it, demanding it; and oh, was the Prince ever so happy to give you what you wanted. Grabbing your hips once more he pressed in closer, one of his hands toying with the edges of the towel that hung over your thighs, covering your modesty. His fingers brushing against your chilling skin, you should feel shivers race up along your spine, and goosebumps starting to reline your flesh.

He must have felt it, he had to have felt it because his hand moved higher, closer to the one spot you didn't even know you wanted him, until it had happened. Unlike the last time you had spent with him, you rolled your hips against his hand as it brushed against your mound.

Breaking away from your lips he grinned down at you, with a smirk that only spelled trouble, and you would be lying if you said it didn't excite you. Moving away he trailed kisses down your neck, making sure to stop and give one spot just under your ear a little extra attention before moving lower, taking his own sweet time trailing kisses so soft, it was hard to imagine it was Vegeta doing it. Not bullying you by pulling the towel away, he pushed it aside, revealing you to him as his fingers pulled the thin material to the side.

There was no teasing, there was no stalling; he was getting straight to business. Now kneeling before you he dove in, his tongue assaulting you quickly, brushing over your most sensitive place, causing a loud gasp to slip past your lips. A hand slapped over your mouth as you blushed, a hot glare being sent down to the man between your thighs as he grinned against you, running his tongue over the full length, making sure to suck and nip on your clit as he did so.

Everything you had been working so hard to fight and deny since you joined the squad of hooligans was starting to fly out the window. However you could feel the ache in your body, and the dull strain as the wall created some friction against your skin, and the beautiful contrast between that and the blooming pleasure was enough to make you question your sanity.

Had it been any other day, any other time, any other situation; you would have pushed him away in a fit of rage at being handled. But you couldn't place why you didn't push him away, why instead your fingers danced through his ravenous black hair, teeth grinding into your lip as you fought to keep quiet. Maybe it had been because your body was so weak and tired after your little roundabout with Frieza. Maybe it was how brutally honest he had been moments before, and the fact that he actually expressed some kind of emotion towards.

Whichever was the case, all you knew was that this felt so much better than anyone you had been with before. The very idea of why was sitting on the tip of your tongue; maybe it was because of the emotion that had been expressed - and would obviously be twisted or denied at a later time. Perhaps it was even because there was some kind of previous connection with the man; he wasn't just someone who would do it for the night. Mind you, any of this being said aloud would be quickly shouldered off by both of you, and clearly laughed about by the other two.

The moan escaped your throat before you even noticed it bubbling up. His tongue danced along your folds, stopping only to roll over your bud before he continued his attack. You would be lying if you said it didn't surprise you how good he was at this. He hadn't even touched you with anything but his mouth and you were already puddy in his hands. Oh how you hated that he had the upper hand, that he had the control over you like this - but how you also craved to live in this moment, just savouring the pleasure the prince was granting your body.

However you both knew it wasn't long, and the prince was clear to show his knowledge of this. Nipping at the bud he put his thumb over it and started to tease it that way as his tongue continued to devour you. In those moments the room was silent aside from the breathy pants coming from you as his assault continued. Leaning your head back into the wall you didn't even notice as your tail wrapped around his forearm, fighting to keep him where he was while you bathed in the bliss,

"Vegeta..." you breathed out as you felt the string snap. Everything came undone as your fingers tugged lightly at his scalp, your release breaking forth as he continued to eat you to the very end. You could feel the pleasant tingle that danced along your spine as you reached the end, your body relaxing against the wall as your eyes opened to face the ceiling before glancing down to the prince between your legs. Watching as he licked his lips, you could feel a shiver run along your spine.

Silence fell between the two of you, your eyes holding his onyx ones. You could see in his eyes, the thoughts, the consideration and the agony. He was making a choice and something deep in your core was hoping to be able to guess what the choice was. Your eyes never left his as he slowly stood, the sexual tension sparking between the two of you before he fixed the towel that covered your modesty before speaking,

"You should hurry up and get dressed, I am sure the others are wondering what is taking us so long." His voice betrayed every emotion you could see in his eyes. You could see the lusty haze, the wild desire; and yet all you got was a calm and collected voice, acting like this was nothing. Blinking a few times in surprise you couldn't form the words to reply as the prince turned and stepped outside of your room, shutting the door behind you to give you some privacy to change before you both would head on down to the lunch room.

AN: Hey! Here's another chapter for ya! Gotta start getting spicy here, so i hope you enjoy reading this! Remember AO3 sees it first!

Find me elsewhere, https://linktr.ee/DesolatedSith

I hope you enjoyed!

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thatoneitaliangirl · 3 years ago

Note

Umm hellooo 👉👈 may I request Venti’s fem s/o asking to have a baby with her? After they’re married and stuff ofc ehchvhgggvb

Hi! Sorry this took me so long, I'm taking a summer class this semester and life is crazy and ahhhhhhh!

Anyway, here is your story! It's not very long, but I hope you find it entertaining! I didn't mention if they were married or not, but you can assume they are if you want to. I left it open to interpretation.

Thank you so much for requesting this from me and I hope you have a wonderful day!

Venti x Reader

About- Venti want's to talk to reader about having a baby.

Warnings- Mentions of superficial wounds from a commission, implied sexy times at the end.

Word count- 1,074

Something has been on Venti's mind for a while now.

Being immortal, he's never truly thought about having kids. Sure, he's seen them around Mondstadt and plays with them like the kid at heart he is, but one of his own? He's not even sure if it's possible!

But, then he met you.

He didn't even know who you were, you just showed up in Mondstadt one day looking for commissions. But there was something about you he couldn't quite place that made you feel special to him for some reason. He tried asking you, but you avoided him like the plague. It wasn't until you decided to help out the traveler with a commission that he finally had the opportunity to talk to you.

He and the traveler are tight, so they didn't mind him tagging along. You, on the other hand, did NOT seem pleased. Every little comment he made, every stride he took, every time he laughed, you looked physically in pain. Like his mere presence was just too much for you to handle. And when you fought, you just looked so familiar . . .

He finally got the courage to corner you after the fight and ask you and was extremely shocked at the news. Apparently, during the Archon war, you two had fought. It was a misunderstanding; you, a small god new to the world and scared, were just trying to defend your territory. And Barbatos being merciful, let you escape. He honestly didn't think you'd make it, being as weak as you were. But somehow you were able to survive and live in hiding for many years.

A god without people or land, wandering aimlessly for hundreds of years with no sense of belonging.

You had avoided Mondstadt for so long but finally decided to stay for a bit. After all, their god had been gone for a very long time. Boy, were you wrong.

But in the end, you two settled your differences. You're still incredibly weak, hardly would anyone call you a god in this day and age. Despite this, you've done your best to protect the people you've come across, defeating hilichurls and Abyss mages on your travels. Weak or not though, you are still a god.

One with a Gnosis just like his own. So, in good faith and a bit of a guilty conscience, Venti decided to help you. He didn't want the Tsaritsa to find out about you, especially since they don't know what she plans on doing. The best thing for you would be to stay by his side. And so you did.

Neither of you expected to fall in love with each other, but those things just happen.

But, that brings us back to the present and back to our original thought.

Does Venti want kids with you? Yes, yes he does. But do you?

He looks at you from across the room. You just got back from a commission about an hour ago and are dressing your wounds. Venti walks over and hands you fresh water and you thank him. It pains him to see you hurt. You heal faster than a normal human, but nowhere near as fast as him. Sometimes, he sees the Traveler in you, and you in them. Both powerful in your own right, but weak compared to a god.

"I'm sorry." Venti whispers, just audible enough to hear. You look up at him and laugh.

"Venti, how many times do I have to tell you? Stop apologizing! I've survived this long without your help, haven't I?" He smiles back, sitting next to you. Your smile always brings his mood back up.

"Well, if I had been there, you probably wouldn't have gotten as banged up. You sure you don't want my help?" You roll your eyes.

"Positive, Ven." Venti watches as you clean up, noting nothing too severe. A few cuts, a few scrapes, no worse than poor Benny gets daily. He swallows and sighs. Should he ask you? Maybe now's not the time.

"Why are you looking so melancholy, Ven? Cat got your lyre strings?" His eyes widen.

"Please, don't curse me with that!" You laugh, a perfect melody to his ears. Venti bites his lip and decides to give in.

"I have something very important to ask you," He looks up at you, looking into your eyes. Very rarely do you see him this serious.

"You don't have to answer right away- you don't have to answer at all if you don't want to, but . . . It's just . . . I," You look at him, concern filling your eyes and he's entranced.

'Abort mission, ABORT-'

"Maybe I'll ask later-!" He tries to get up, but you grab him by the wrist and pull him down. Elementally you may be weak, but physically? All those years of training and fighting have gained you some muscles! Much more than Venti has, at least. Not that that's saying much.

"Venti, what's the matter? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" He lets out a defeated sigh and shuts his eyes tight.

"Iwannahaveababywithyou!" You blink in surprise.

"I'm sorry, what?" Venti opens his eyes and looks at you.

"I want to-" You nod encouragingly.

"Have a baby with . . . You . . ."

"Oh."

"Oh?" You cough into your hand.

"Well, I hadn't really thought about it. But," You look up at Venti, a nervous but bright smile on your face.

"I love you more than life itself. Having a baby with you, starting our own little family . . . It sounds . . ." You laugh and pull him into a hug.

"It sounds amazing Venti!" Relief floods off of Venti as he tightens the hug, pulling you as close to him as he can. He never thought you would actually say yes! I mean, there are so many reasons you could have said no, but you said yes!

"You're the muse to my music, the melody to my song, and the meaning to the words that I sing. Having a family with you would make me the happiest man in all of Teyvat!" You pull back from the hug seeing tears of joy run down Venti's face.

"You're so corny, Ven!" Venti smirks and wiggles his eyebrows.

"I may be corny, but I'm also something else that rhymes with it!"

"Oh my gods, Venti!"

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact venti #genshin impact venti x reader #venti #venti x reader

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imasimpforshanks · 4 years ago

Note

Hello, I just saw the alphabet requests. Could I please get the fluff alphabet with Luffy? Thank you sm!

Fluff Alphabet - Monkey D. Luffy

a/n: hi hi hi! thank you for requesting! I hope you enjoy 💗

A-Activities (what do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?)

Luffy is a complete child at heart. He enjoys doing anything and everything! So long as you are there with him, he doesn’t particularly care what it is you are doing – if it’s with you he knows he’ll have the time of his life.

However, if Luffy were to pick something as his favourite activity to do with you, he would choose a water fight (weird considering his vulnerability to water but that doesn’t cross his mind in the moment). Chasing one another around, stomachs aching from laughter, cheeks sore from grinning too much. He’s never had so much fun, and he can’t tell if it’s because of the activity itself, or because it’s with you (ultimately, he decides that it’s both).

B-Beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?)

One of the things Luffy admires most about you is your unquenchable thirst for adventure; it’s own that rivals his own. You want to explore, live life freely and on your own terms. In Luffys eyes there is nothing more wonderful than that.

Honestly, Luffy thinks everything about you is beautiful. Every. Single. Thing. Right from the top of your head to the very tips of your toes. But, there is something about your laugh that he just finds so unbelievably intoxicating. When he hears you laugh - so carefree and so happy - his grin grows even wider. He wants nothing more than to hear that laugh for the rest of his life.

C-Comfort (how would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?)

This captain is a lot more emotionally intelligent that people think. He’s very in tune to what people like and dislike and he uses this knowledge to help comfort people. For example, on thriller bark after they find Zoro injured luffy attempts to give him a whole ass barrel of sake because “Zoro likes sake so it’ll make him feel better.” This same logic would apply when he’s trying to comfort you. He’ll find or do something you like because well it’ll make you happy. If food makes you happy, he’ll get you some food. If cuddles make you happy, well then you best be ready to be suffocated.

Another way I can see Luffy comforting you is by trying to make you laugh and smile. When people are laughing and smiling, they’re happy, right? So, by that logic all he’s gotta do is be goofy and then you’ll laugh like you usually do!

D-Dreams (how do they picture they future with their s/o?)

When he becomes the pirate king, you are right there with him. He can’t see himself settling down (by this I mean living in one place permanently). Luffy wants to travel the seas with you forever, going on adventure after adventure after adventure. He hasn’t really thought much about kids or anything like that, but all he has thought about is you and him growing old together.

E-Equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or rather passive?)

Luffy is definitely not the passive one in the relationship, but I also wouldn’t say he’s the dominant one. He’s dependent on you and you’re dependent on him. It’s a relatively equally balanced relationship but it could even be argued that it’s only that way because of how Luffy is. He often just does what he wants when he wants regardless of your opinion. However, he also allows you to do the same. That’s not to say he doesn’t sit back and listen to your concerns if you voice them.

F-Fight (would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?)

Fights are a very rare occurrence in your relationship. Luffy isn’t one to maintain an argument for very long often cracking a joke or doing something silly causing you to laugh and break the tension.

On the very rare occasion that you are having a serious fight, Luffy can be extremely stubborn. Once he’s got something in his mind, its hard to make him think otherwise, so more often than not you will have to be the one to apologize if you want to move on from this.

G-Gratitude (how grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?)

Luffy is very aware of everything that you do for him, and he absolutely gushes about it to everyone he comes into contact with. He can’t stop talking about you. People who have never met you before suddenly seem to know about every single time you gave up a portion of your dinner to Luffy because he was still hungry but Sanji wouldn’t let him have anymore because dinner was over.

H-Honesty (do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?)

Luffy is an open book. He cannot keep a secret to save himself. Not even a good secret like a surprise party for you or something, in fact, the crew have to be the ones to plan surprise parties for you on luffys behalf cos he gets too excited and just blurts it out straight away. Basically, if there is something he isn’t telling you the only explanation is that he genuinely forgot. But as soon as you ask him, he’ll tell you - without hesitation.

I-Inspiration (did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?)

Being with Luffy has helped you to be a little more carefree. He has taught you to embrace your youth. What’s the rush in growing up? Why does everything need to be so serious all the time? It’s okay to loosen up, and goof around as long as you are still dependable.

J-Jealousy (do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?)

Luffy does get jealous. But, not in the usual sense. He doesn’t get jealous of other people interacting with you, or with you interacting with other people. He trusts you fully, so there’s no reason for him to be jealous in that front. However, what he does get jealous about is you spending time with others, without him. Luffy gets serious FOMO, so if you’re doing anything and he’s not invited, that is when he gets jealous. This sweetie just wants likes to be included! On the off chance that you are doing something without him and Luffy starts to feel jealous, he will simply insert himself into the conversation or the activity. He does NOT care (LMAO).

K-Kisses (are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?)

Luffy is a very energetic kisser. There’s no real rhyme or reason to his movements he just smashes his lips against yours. He’s eager and enthusiastic, which can make him a bit sloppy at times, but he doesn’t care.

Your first kiss took you completely by surprise. The two of you were just hanging out then before you knew it, he had kissed you. It happened so quickly they you barely had time to process what happened, but he was just sitting there looking at you while giggling his little heart out.

L-Love confession (how would they confess to their s/o?)

When it comes to telling you how he feels, he approaches it as he does everything else; directly. He’s never been one to beat around the bush, rather always speaking his mind and being up front. With you it’s no different. The second he realizes how he feels about you, he’s on his way to tell you. No hesitation, no doubt, just 100% honesty. It doesn’t matter where you are or who might be around, Luffy will tell you in that very moment.

M-Marriage (do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?)

Marriage isn’t something Luffy has really thought about. The two of you are together constantly, you know you love each other, so why would you need to get married? It’s not that he’s against getting married, it just isn’t something he’s particularly concerned about. Well… that is until he hears the words ‘wedding’ and ‘party’. Once he’s heard that Luffy is set on getting married right then and there (that’s basically his proposal too). Any excuse for a party.

N-Nicknames (what do they call their s/o?)

To be honest, Luffy mostly just uses your name. He likes it because it belongs to you which makes it special. He does like to find out what nicknames you had as a child, he thinks those a pretty fun and makes him feel as though he’s known you for your whole life, so he does also use your childhood nickname/s.

O-On cloud nine (what are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?)

Luffy gets even more clingy. Clingy may not be the right word, but it’s the best way to describe it. When he’s in love he feels an overwhelming urge to be near you all the time. He craves your presence and your attention so is constantly asking you to play or chat or anything! He really just wants to spend time with you, more so than usual. The whole crew actually picked up on it quite instantly because they noticed the lack of Luffy in their day-to-day schedule. They knew it was more than platonic relationships Luffy had for you when he was five minutes late for lunch because he was too overjoyed by your attention.

P-PDA (are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?)

He’s all about showing affection both platonically and romantically. He catches you (and others) so off guard because one moment its silent and the next thing you know you’re hearing “gomu-gomu no…” and being tackled to the ground by a pair of rubbery arms. If Luffy wants to kiss you, he’s going to kiss you. He doesn’t have a care in the world about who may see.

Q-Quirk (some random ability they have that is beneficial in a relationship?)

Can promise you a life full of excitement. You never need to worry about your relationship getting ‘boring’ or ‘being stuck in a rut’ because that will never happen with Luffy. Each day is filled with adventure and something new to experience. There’s a whole world out there that you can experience together.

R-Romance (how romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?)

Many people wouldn’t expect it, but he is indeed romantic. It’s far from cliché and strays from the typical notions of ‘romance’ but it’s romantic, nonetheless. Luffy is just unapologetically himself. Because of this anything he does for you (even the littlest of actions), you know it’s sincere and comes from the heart. That is what makes Luffy romantic.

S-Support (are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? do they believe in them?)

Not supporting you in your goals and dreams goes entirely against Luffys character. He truly believes you, and anyone else for that matter, can do whatever they put their minds to. He is your number 1 supporter, actively helping you every step of the way. No one believes in you more than Luffy.

T-Thrill (do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship or do they prefer certain routine?)

When you’re with Luffy you don’t need to worry about spicing up your relationship. You will never once experience a boring day. The relationship is constantly filled with new places to go, and new things to see, and you’re fortunate enough to be able to do all of it together.

U-Understanding (how good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?)

Contrary to popular belief, Luffy is very emotionally intelligent (I said this earlier actually). He can read people freakishly well, and his s/o is no different. In fact when it comes to you his emotional intelligence only multiplies.

V-Value (how important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?)

As with most of the other relationships (platonic and familial) in his life your relationship is very important to him. For Nico Robin, he declared war on the world government. For Sanji, he went up against a Yonko and her crew. You would be no different. He would go to the ends of the earth (maybe further) for you. It’s just how he is. His relationships and his dream to be pirate king are not mutually exclusive, meaning, he can’t have one without the other.

W-Wild card (a random fluff headcanon?)

Brings you random little knick-knacks, or like a little memento from EVERY SINGLE island you go to. The items range from a pretty shell he saw on the beach to a funky looking figurine he spotted in a market.

X-XOXO (Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?)

Luffy loves to kiss and cuddle. He’s an extremely affectionate person. He practically clings to you like a koala bear. That physical contact is something he enjoys a lot; it’s really reassuring for him.

Y-Yearning (how will they cope when they are missing their partner?)

As long as Luffy is distracted and kept busy, he’ll be able to cope. He entertains himself and slowly counts down the days until he can see you. He builds up the excitement and he becomes like a child the night before a school unable to sleep or keep still; he just wants to see you.

Z-Zeal (are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind?)

This has been established already. All relationships (platonic, romantic, familial) hold a special place in Luffys life. He declared war on the world government, fought countless fearsome opponents all for the sake his friends (sometimes even people he just met). Your relationship with Luffy would be no different at all. In fact, for you, he would do all of that and much much more.

#one piece #one piece x reader #mugiwara no luffy #one piece headcanons #one piece imagines #fluff alphabet #monkey d luffy

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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like a secret in your throat

y’all asked for whump. y’all got whump. title from “Vampires Will Never Hurt You�� by my all-time favorite band, My Chemical Romance

whump, hurt/comfort with a happy ending!

tw: manhandling the bard, vampire transformations (side character), non-sexy biting, blood mention, canon typical injuries/violence

---

Geralt looked up from his mug of ale when he realized that Jaskier had stopped playing. Instead, the bard was chatting merrily away with a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark cloak. The hood obscured most of the stranger’s face but Geralt caught the reflective glint of a bead or piece of metal braided into his matted black hair. An instinct tickled at the back of the Witcher’s head but Geralt couldn’t quite place the feeling. Something was wrong about this little tableau but he couldn’t figure out what it was; his medallion wasn’t reacting to anything in particular and Jaskier seemed perfectly happy, lost in conversation with the dark-haired man.

Geralt returned his gaze to his mug and let his mind wander.

Jaskier did seem perfectly happy to be without him on nights like these, when they were back in civilization and the extroverted bard could branch out and meet new people. That was the problem, in Geralt’s opinion.

Lately the Witcher had found himself contemplating what life would be like on the Path if he decided to travel alone again. Winter wasn’t close enough for him to excuse himself and go North, but he’d developed a strange and uncomfortable dependence on the bard that he needed to be weaned away from. It wasn’t healthy for either of them.

It wasn’t safe.

If he grew too close to Jaskier, then…

Wouldn’t that be a weakness? Wouldn’t that be a vulnerability and a dangerous closeness? Geralt couldn’t risk forming a connection like that. He couldn’t allow himself to hope for something so organic and pure to develop between a half-monster and a youthful, bright-eyed bard; Witchers weren’t meant to get nice things. That was not his lot in life.

And yet…

Some mornings, when he only barely cracked his eyes open and used his heightened senses to peek across their campsite, he saw Jaskier looking back at him, a curious glint in those pretty blue irises. Geralt couldn’t pinpoint the emotion the bard’s face held; he was bad at that, and the uncertainty of the younger man’s feelings scared him. He could handle rejection, but acceptance? If Jaskier was as loving and openminded as Geralt thought him to be, it could prove to be a problem. Jaskier was too good for a Witcher. He didn’t deserve to be trapped by a life on the Path, dying too young because he was foolhardy and quick to fall in love.

The Witcher’s introspection came to an abrupt halt when the Jaskier in question appeared beside him, flushed and grinning. “Geralt, dear heart, are you ready to retire for the evening?”

“Are you asking me to bed?” the Witcher smirked, smothering the very real ache in his chest at the thought of curling up next to Jaskier like that. “Or do you need to borrow our room to entertain a guest?”

“Oh, no, I have no plans of that nature.” Jaskier’s already pink face darkened a shade and Geralt’s stomach flipped. “I’m actually rather tired. I was hoping to get some decent sleep tonight before we flung ourselves back into nature tomorrow.”

“Hmm. I’ll be along shortly. Don’t wait up.”

“See you in a bit then, dear heart.”

And Jaskier disappeared up the stairs.

Unfortunately, the Witcher didn’t realize he wasn’t the only one watching Jaskier slip into their rented room with a longing expression on his face.

---

“We need to set up camp for the evening,” Geralt announced, bringing Roach to a stop and sliding gracefully down from the saddle. Jaskier loved the way his Witcher looked when he did that, like some kind of fairytale Prince or knight errant. The way his long, silver-white hair shifted and fluttered against his shoulders in the dusky light made him look more like a fantastical painting than a century-old Witcher; even with his scars and his pallid skin tone.

The unconventionally enchanting sight made ballads stir in the most romantic corners of the bard’s busy mind. Words pooled and shifted behind his eyes, arranging themselves into neat rhyming couplets or quatrains.

Geralt of Rivia, tall and fair,

With golden eyes and silver hair;

Whose glare could even douse the sun,

And send a Gryphon on the run.

The bard barely kept himself from sighing aloud as he removed his pack from across his shoulders and unfolded his bedroll and thin travel blanket. The material felt fragile between his calloused fingertips and he sighed forlornly, “I’m going to need a new blanket soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it. And I’ll get Roach some new reins while I’m in town,” the bard waved his hand nonchalantly, as if spending money was no big deal. It really wasn’t, all things considered. They would be able to travel far more comfortably if Geralt would allow them to stop in Novigrad and access his University accounts more often. Alas, Witchers are stubborn creatures. “I see the way they chafe her poor muzzle, Geralt, so don’t argue. If you really insist you can pay me back by letting me write a song about the color of your eyes.”

“My… eyes?”

“They’re rather pretty, dear heart, and I think the world could do with a ballad about how they glow when you turn your face toward the sun.”

Geralt felt the back of his neck grow hot and he glanced away, “Hmm.”

“Well, let me know what you think in the morning. I don’t need an answer right away.”

Geralt finished setting up a decent pile of firewood and brought it to life with an efficient burst of Igni. He glanced across the flames to Jaskier and grunted, “I’m going to catch us some dinner. Make tea.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier saluted, smiling. Geralt rolled his eyes, grabbed his crossbow, and disappeared into the darkening treeline. Jaskier began to hum as he set up their tea kettle and filled it with water from the waterskin. The humming turned to quiet singing as he measured out two mugs worth of tea from the sachet of dried leaves.

Singing that was cut off with a sharp, sudden cry.

---

Geralt heard the bard scream once. Only once.

The sound punctuated the air before leaving an uncomfortable, grating silence in its wake.

The Witcher took off towards their campfire without a second thought, allowing his instincts to take over and guide him safely back, the potency of Jaskier’s fear hung thick and sour in the air, growing stronger the closer he came to their clearing. When he burst back into view, chest heaving from the sprint, he widened his eyes at the sight before him:

The cloaked figure from the tavern had Jaskier wrapped in his burly arms. One large, long-fingered hand had immobilized Jaskier’s wrists by pressing them into the dip at the base of the bard’s spine, forcing his elbows out and pressing his chest even tighter against the stranger’s.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt beseechingly through his dark, damp lashes. His mouth opened in a silent cry of confusion and pain when the man tugged at his wrists and forced his arms to bend awkwardly. The bard wriggled and strained against the stranger’s iron grip in an effort to escape but the man only snarled in irritation and jerked him back into place. “Bad bard. Stay put, little thing.”

Geralt took a slow step towards his swords, trying to reassure Jaskier with his expression that: Everything will be okay. I will get you out of this. I will protect you and keep you safe… somehow.

Jaskier needed Geralt to pay attention and protect him from harm.

Geralt had failed.

The Witcher watched with wide, horrified eyes as the hulking man keeping Jaskier captive shifted slowly into a far less humanoid form. The baubles braided into his hair jangled and clinked as his nose elongated and his eyes widened. His arms lengthened to form clawed bat-wings and his face thinned and covered over with a layer of grey fur. Fangs burst forth from his gums and slid over his previously humanesque canines. His voice, which had been rasping odd little sounds in the Witcher’s direction, faded into an terrible shriek.

A Katakan.

A Katakan that had snuck in and out of civilization without Geralt so much as smelling it; one that had Jaskier pinned against its chest, the claws of its unoccupied hand sharp and dangerous as they hovered near the bard’s ribcage, ready to pierce but unwilling to waste precious blood unless absolutely necessary. It screamed again, even more shrilly. “Want him!”

Geralt dove forward and pulled his silver sword from its sheath. He swung it in an elegant arc and narrowed his eyes, “Let him go and I might let you live.”

The Witcher’s words were a lie and they both knew it.

The Katakan twitched its long ears in annoyance and hauled Jaskier even closer. It wrenched his arms painfully and the bard whimpered, blue eyes filling steadily with tears. Geralt’s heart seized wretchedly in his chest and he tried his best to ignore it; he couldn’t let his feelings distract him until Jaskier was safe.

“I want him,” the monster rasped, readjusting the bard in its grip. It turned Jaskier around until he was facing the Witcher, releasing his wrists just long enough to pull his hands around to the front before capturing them again. It grazed its two long fangs against the column of Jaskier’s throat and trilled happily. “He sings so pretty. Talks so sweet. Bet he tastes sweet like he talks.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “He does have a rather pretty singing voice. I suppose that’s why I can’t have you killing him.”

“But he will sing for me,” the vampire shrugged. It shook Jaskier like a toy and the bard’s tears finally fell. He whimpered again when the vampire leaned close and told him: “Sing, little thing. Let me pull lovely music from your veins.”

Jaskier shivered visibly. He gave a few panting, strangled sobs as he slipped into panic, too frightened to move with the vampire’s fangs so close to his neck. He wanted Geralt to finally swing that stupid sword and get this over with. He wanted to curl up in Geralt’s arms and never leave for the rest of his life. He wanted to be taken to Kaer Morhen and hidden away in safety, fuck his music career and the rest of the world. He wanted Geralt to stay in his presence forever, never letting him out of sight again. He wanted…

Before he could finish his thought there was a sharp, piercing, all-encompassing pain at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

A keening wail filled the air once.

The vampire bit down harder, its tongue sliding against the skin of the bard’s neck in an effort to urge the blood to exit faster.

There was another high, piteous cry for help and then...

The world went black.

---

When Jaskier opened his eyes again, the world was even darker than it had been before; mostly because the light from both the moon and their campfire was being blocked out by the broad plane of Geralt’s chest, which Jaskier found himself cradled against almost… lovingly. Above him, he heard the Witcher murmuring: “Jaskier, please. Please wake up, Julek. Come on, bard, I kn-”

“G-Geralt?” he managed to croak. He followed it with a very eloquent, “Hunh?”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher sagged with relief, pressing his forehead against the bard’s and breathing in deeply. He tightened his arms around Jaskier, pulling him even closer as his frown disappeared, “Melitele be blessed, you’re alive!”

“Should I not be?” Jaskier asked. He tried to sit up on his own and winced when a bright burst of pain flared out from his shoulder.

“The Katakan- You were bleeding so much and I-” Geralt was, as always, at a loss for words. Jaskier waited patiently, still feeling drowsy and half-alive, and allowed the Witcher to gather his thoughts. His neck ached and his left arm tingled fiercely every time he tried to flex his hand on that side.

“Did it… Am I a vampire now?” he asked. The absurdity of the question broke Geralt from his confusion.

“No,” the Witcher answered swiftly. “You’re still very mortal-” a hand swept through Jaskier’s hair, calming him further “-And unfortunately still very fragile.”

“Are you going to beat yourself up over this for the next week and somehow twist it around until it’s all your fault?”

“Hmm,” Geralt looked away. Jaskier was still being held so very tenderly in his arms, laid across the Witcher’s lap like some kind of swooning maiden. He rather liked how close he was to Geralt and hoped to stay that way for just a little longer. The Witcher surprised them both by letting a full sentence slip into the air between them, “I don’t like seeing you hurt, Jaskier, especially not when… when I was close enough that I could have prevented it from happening at all.”

“Your medallion didn’t give you any hints about this thing back at the inn when I was talking to him? He seemed completely normal, if a little monosyllabic. I’m used to monosyllabic, anyway,” the bard joked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. It didn’t work; Geralt lifted his head and stared into the fire, his brow already furrowed as he slipped into his private realm of self-loathing. Jaskier was still laying across his lap, his neck and shoulder giving off pulsing aches with every beat of his heart.

Eventually the Witcher spoke again, his voice low and full of frustration. “Katakans are different, they don’t- they don’t set off my medallion the way other creatures do, and they can disguise themselves as people. They can move and talk like people; you saw it transform.”

“I did,” Jaskier grimaced. “And it wanted me to sing while it drank my blood.”

“You didn’t do very much singing,” the Witcher grumbled. “You screamed twice and fainted. It nearly dropped you.”

“If I remember correctly,” the bard smiled playfully, “Someone said my singing was too pretty for me to die.”

“Hmm.”

“It was you, Geralt. You said that.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier tried to sit up again and nearly passed out from the pain that screamed through the entire left side of his body. “I- Geralt, I-”

“What’s wrong, Julek?” the Witcher asked, adjusting the bard until he was more comfortably enclosed in Geralt’s arms, his back leaning against one of Geralt’s bent legs for support. Geralt’s other leg was straightened out before him and Jaskier let his calves fall atop the Witcher’s thick thighs. They looked like a painting, with Jaskier reclined as he was and Geralt looking at him like that.

“Everything hurts, dear heart. My whole left side feels aflame.”

“It’ll burn like that for a day or so,” Geralt shushed him. “You bled quite a lot, you were bitten, and you hit the ground pretty hard.”

“You didn’t catch me?”

“I was a little busy beheading your attacker and keeping you from becoming a member of the undead,” Geralt scoffed. “Pardon me for not carrying you to safety first.”

“Well since you let me get injured, you have to kiss it better to gain your pardon,” the bard insisted. Geralt’s eyes widened comically and his hand clenched where it was resting on Jaskier’s lower back.

“It’ll- It would hurt if I kissed your wound,” Geralt replied shakily, trying to escape while he still could. Jaskier wasn’t about to let him. Not again.

“Then you’ll just have to kiss my lips instead.”

“Jaskier?”

“Hush, Geralt. I know how you feel about me, and I feel much the same about you. Let’s skip the words bit, because I know that’s not your favorite, and get right to the kissing.”

“Oh, uh...” The Witcher allowed himself to smile. It was a soft, nervous thing but it made his eyes crinkle at the corners and Jaskier felt himself fall even further in love with his darling Geralt. “Alright.”

Geralt cupped the back of Jaskier’s head carefully, tilting his own chin down, and brought their lips together slowly. The bard’s lips were soft and plush and warm beneath his own, giving just slightly but not wilting beneath his touch. It was better than anything he could have imagined. When they pulled apart, Jaskier frowned.

“Was it bad?” Geralt asked automatically, more nervous than he had ever been with another lover.

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “I just don’t think I’m healed yet. I may require another. Or several more.”

“Well, if the patient thinks it’s necessary,” Geralt grinned, leaning forward again. Jaskier pulled himself up a little to meet him, ignoring the lances of hurt in his arm. “I suppose...”

#geraskier #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #whump and fluff #jaskier whump #katakan #yes i know they can also turn invisible #but that wasn't really gonna help the plot here so sorry #geraskier whump #whump with a happy ending #geraskier whump and fluff #bouncey's endless getting together fics #kissing #first kiss #getting together #jaskier in trouble #wounded jaskier #protective geralt

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

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the countdown

— A reflection on what New Years mean and a New Years kiss.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: fluff, 2020 year rant kinda idk man

word count: 1,679

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble, but I don’t know how to shut the fuck up at all. I made It as short as I possibly could, took 5 rewrites. so, take this huzzah. check out the rest of the collab here!

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New Year’s Eve.

It’s a day of endings, a time of reflection, recollection, and remembering.

Time is a finicky thing, convoluted and twisted in ways that people often spend a lifetime trying to understand but can only come to the conclusion that time is memories.

New Year’s Eve is the time to think about what you did in these past three hundred sixty-six days.

Did you have any New Years’ resolutions this year?

Most people are basic, routine, repetitive. It makes sense that the thing most people wish for every year is to make more money, to lose their hated weight, to become more confident, sexier, and to travel the world. Everyone wants some form of weird self-love because we are humans, and humans are so desperately craving to find happiness in life, taking it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.

Happiness is weird too.

Happiness is a mixture of chemicals in your brain that controls whether you feel normal or not.

Serotonin, dopamine, endorphins.

A terrific trio that the world always sought to have.

It’s not so easy to have all three; humans are made so weirdly after all. Too many chemical imbalances, receptors, and creators not perfect, and sometimes it’s not even that. It can just be the way the sun shines just too brightly through the cloudy skies, and suddenly that trio is gone.

So, humans consume.

We consume and consume and consume.

This year more than most.

Social interactions are needed to be human, many of us found out this year. You may love four people with all your heart, but going a near entire year with just four people when you’re used to so much more can be challenging, strenuous, exhausting.

But we remember the good things that made us happy this year.

We remember the way that the cold air whipped across our bare faces and the way that huddling up with your friends makes you both warm and cold. Reminisce in the way that the sun shines in deep rich purples and pinks as it breaks through the horizon, a simple, powerful portrait for your eyes only because art will never be seen the same by people who look.

We remember the terrible things this year too. The days were you were an asshole, a jerk, a bitch. How you whined and groaned about nothing. How you were mean for nothing. How you lied and cheated and stole. Admitting to it is one thing, but being able to look back on it is another thing.

You’re human; you have to remind yourself, part of being human is making mistakes. We humans are full of errors from our basic biology, so when you make them, recognize them, and make an effort to be better.

Perfection is not what you should seek, but the betterment of yourself and to others.

We remember the sad, too. Bowed heads as we count the ones we lost this year, tears streaming down your face because they died and because you didn’t get that promotion that you worked tirelessly on. Failure is something we all know of; we all experience it, in the many different shapes it comes in, and yet we are still so easily embarrassed by it.

Failure is okay. You can’t be better or grow to be better without failing once, twice, how many times it takes.

But it is New Year’s Eve, so we try not to think about the latter two; we celebrate the future of a new beginning, not the meaning of the past year.

We celebrate because we humans are selfish, loud, demanding.

We scream to the heavens on this day because fuck the world, we made it to another year, and for that, we demand a celebration.

You know this; you always have.

New Year’s Eve is yet another disgusting, selfish holiday, but you don’t mind it.

You want to be selfish.

You want to see your friends and family on the last day of the year and into the new one and groan loudly when someone exclaims that: ‘wow, y/n, I haven’t seen you in a whole year! Don’t hug me; I haven’t showered since last year!’

It’s stupid to be selfish in this way, but it weirdly comforts you. A weird promise that you might not be doing all too bad in this world, in your life.

But right now, you’re exhausted, so terribly exhausted, you can’t even fight to keep your eyes open.

It’s dark outside. The moon is shining brightly in the vast wide sky, stars barely visible with the city pollution and the great light of the rock in the sky. It’s not a white New Years’ Eve, not this year in Japan at least (a kid with some stupid crazy quirk had actually managed to ban snow for six weeks). In the woods is a house that is large, bright, and warm. There isn’t much going on in the house from the distance, but the closer you near it, the louder the voices become, the more abundant it becomes that there are over twenty loud, near annoying adults who are playing a million drinking games.

Aoyama is hanging on the ceiling, demonstrating how he can get his laser beam to swirl around him like glass art as he spins.

Mina breaks dances on the pool table because someone told her to “break it,” and she might be a bit too drunk to realize what she was doing was not what was asked. Kirishima and Kaminari are stumbling against each other, laughing as they cheer her on, their eyes crossing as they watch the pink girl send ball after ball unintentionally into the holes.

Tsuyu is not surprisingly winning a game of beer pong against Iida. They’re only allowed to use their quirks for this game, and her tongue is better suited for this than Iida’s pipes.

Uraraka is still doing a kegstand, her early proclamations of how her zero-gravity training has made her the keg stand champion seem to be entirely accurate.

Ojiro is currently trying to find a word that rhymes with tail for the Kings Cup game he is playing with Shoji, Tokoyami, Dark Shadow, and Mineta. They’re undoubtedly the drunkest of them all, this is the seventh round of the binge drinking game, and all five of them have yet to tap out.

Kouda is begging Midoriya and Bakugou to stop taking shots as they both pulled the ‘take seven shots’ Jenga piece on the Drunk Jenga set for the third time. They’ve played as a team after being assigned as ‘mates’ in Kings Cup two hours ago. Poor Kouda is not set out to handle these assholes and having a drunk, instigating Sero as his own teammate is not helping in the slightest.

There’s a boom in the kitchen that rattles the windows. Still, no one even flinches as Sato, Hagakure, and Jirou stumble out of the kitchen, their blushes basically radiating light onto the walls as cake mix drench their bodies. Hagakure screams out for their uncaring old class to hear that sonic waves do not cook cake mix.

Momo, who is sitting in a rocking chair, sips her drink smoothly. It’s her eleventh bottle, and the creation quirk holder is barely tipsy; her metabolism was untouched.

And Shouto?

Well, that was easy.

He’s sitting on one of the lover’s seat, his body as upright as he could be, your body flushed to his side as you sleep. Shouto is drinking his own mixed drink that was prepared for him by you, still cool in his right hand. He’s warm, content, and at peace even with the chaos going on behind him. It was normal.

Shouto shifts his gaze over to your sleeping face, his chest warming pleasantly at the sight of your squished cheek and small puffing breathes. How you got so exhausted today was beyond him, he did warn you that daring everyone to start drinking the instant everyone woke up today was going to backfire, and it seems he was correct.

His hand reached for your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek softly, the warmth of your flesh nipping as his colder fingers. You sighed contently in your sleep.

Chuckling, Shouto rested his head against yours, his heart speeding up quickly when you buried your face even further into his neck. Small smacks of your lips raising goosebumps as you spoke of your content even in your sleep.

By god, did he love you.

“Alright, everyone, please make your way over to the living room! We have one minute till the New Year!” Momo yells above the group's noise, and somehow everyone hears her and makes their way over.

“Aw! Look at y/n-chan! Knocked out like a baby!” Mina coos delightfully, her lips in a pout and her eyes shining brightly as she stumbles onto the armrest by you.

Shouto debates whether he should tell Mina to back off or to agree with her, but it’s far too late for him to decide when numbers begin flashing on the screen.

“FIVE!”

Shouto feels you stirring, your head lifting off his shoulder and your bleary eyes gazing into his. You look tired, sleepy, drunk, and oh so confused.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” you slur to Shouto, voice thick and husky.

“FOUR!”

“Looks like you woke up just in time,” Shouto comments, his fingers swiping at your face, fixing up the slightly ruined makeup. “It’s the countdown.”

“THREE!”

“Oh, good,” you sigh, your arms softly wrapping around Shouto as if he was made of clouds. Shouto laughs at the delirium still trapped in your eyes. “I made it.”

“TWO!”

“Thank you for making this year wonderful,” Shouto sincerely states, his hand setting down his drink and wrapping around your waist, pulling you toward him.

“ONE!”

“Thank you for loving me,” you cheekily sigh, and with the one still painted on the wall, Shouto pushed forward, kissing your chapped, sticky lips as the year ended and the new one began.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

“I’ll always love you.”

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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cybertronian-cupid · 4 years ago

Note

I'm feeling really uneasy having to spend the holiday season with my family, so, if that's not a problem, could I request some fluff with TFP decepticons? Like,, comforting their s/o, making sure they feel safe and happy?

You didn't specify which ones you'd like best, so *rubs back of neck* what happened was a bit of a fluff surprise story. Hopefully it makes you smile Anon, and makes the holidays atleast a little more bearable.

*squints* though I think we should have the comfort styles of the Cons written somewhere... Keep an eye out, they'll be posted as soon as they get pieced together in some semblance of sense. ~Gregoria🏩

We hope you like it, Anon, and we hope this holiday season treats you well. You deserve nothing but happiness~Mila 💟

Holiday Surprise Fluff: Poly!Reader x TFP Decepticons (sfw)

(Yes. All of them. That includes the troops.)

............ ............ ............ ............ ............ ............

Being partners with Steve had its perks. Sure, there were some drawbacks as well, but considering how close all Vehicons were, that just meant the human suddenly had a whole lot of love and support, when one of these aliens decided to zoom into their life.

And well, when Breakdown met them and saw just how close the other guys are with them, and how nice they are treated by this fleshie, who's to blame the poor mech for falling for them too?

Knockout flirted with them once, and caught feelings when they laughed and flirted right back at him.

The rest of the ship caught feelings for the little organic faster than the cosmic rust, with the High Command being the most confused and vary over trying to express their feelings about it.

After all, their human isn't just a partner of one Steve.

They are a partner of all Steves, and soon of the Insecticon troops as well, with officers falling prey to their charms one after the other. In a sense, they have the whole ship wrapped around their tiny fingers, and soon they earn the affection of the Communications officer, Second in command and the Lord of Decepticons as well.

With ALOT of compromising and weekly reminders amongst the top three, that their human loves everyone aboard the Nemesis. The whole Nemesis.

How they manage that, remains a mystery to everyone aboard and yet, the morale has never been higher, so who is going to look a gift horse in the mouth? Noone, that's who.

🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

Steve drives them through the groundbridge straight into the command center.

Sondwave greets them with a merry tune, Lazerbeak chirping happily as they are swooped up into familiar well maintained servos.

"Here you are, " Knockout kisses their face all over, before glaring at Steve. "If I remember correctly, today was MY turn to pick OUR lovely fleshie up"

"But you just did sir," Steve answers prompting a groan out of Knockout, before rushing off towards the barracks laughing.

"So, what ARE you guys planning?"

"We can't tell you just yet," Dreadwing smiles at them. Skyquake is leaning against his twin, nodding.

"It would ruin the surprise."

They pout and look at the ceiling.

"Not even an itsy-bitsy clue? Come onnnn, you guys have been driving me crazy for long enough."

Airachnid giggles, skittering off her perch and extending a welcoming servo for them to step on. She holds them close to her spark, heels clicking as she walks.

"Not even that. Orders from the Second in Command."

"I thought you were ALSO Second in command."

"Who isn't at this point," Shockwave points out when the femme places them in his servo, pressing a quick kiss before dragging the two warriors with her, off to who-knows-where. Being carried and placed from servo to servo was a thing that took some time to get used to, and yet, they are always handled with such care and love they can't really stay mad at their partners for too long.

They gaze up into the red optic staring at them.

"Shockyyyyy,"

"No,"

"Shockerrrrs,"

"The answer is still no," his voice is firm and unyielding, but his finials are wiggling in amusement.

Whatever the others are preparing is clearly going to be good.

"Come on, can't you just tell me? " they try again, genuine laughter from the Warlord snapping their attention to the entrance. Disappointment setting in when he is not actually standing there.

>>Patience, little one,<< the recording echoes from Soundwave, who steps through the groundbridge a moment later, with parting words of

"And enjoy the show."

🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

And what a show it was. Almost an hour of all fliers, spinning and looping around each other, acrobatics of transforming mid-flight to blow them a kiss, before transforming again and resuming what has clearly been practiced time and time again with how perfect their forms were.

They couldn't look away even if they tried, each segment of them all dancing in the air grander than the last, topped off by Predaking creating rings of fire for them all to fly through.

It was a spectacle of the kind they have never seen.

Their excitement has them almost jumping in place when all commanders return to the bridge, optics twinkling with glee at their s/o and their clear enjoyment and pride.

"That was just the start," Starscream smirks knowingly, with Breakdown presenting them with a thick coat.

"Just wait till you see what our Liege has in store for you,".

🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

They honestly expected a gladiator match. Hardshell, Dreadwing and Skyquake against Megatron and Soundwave. Or perhaps some sort of a firing range, or anything that would indicate a show of strength, or precision and cunning. They wouldn't be surprised if the Warlord somehow decided to do it all inside of an ice cave just for the extra challenge.

They didn't expect to be taken to one of the empty mines.

They did not expect there to be decorations put up, a mix of what they know to be Cybertronian designs with different Earth influences mixing into them all and still looking stunning in their own way.

And they did not expect every grounder of the Nemesis to be present.

"What is all this?" they ask, their eyes roaming over everyone. Their frames polished, their engines humming in sync, as they all break into a song.

A song about them.

They caught a glimpse of the title one night, when Megatron forgot to put that particular datapad away.

"Oh it's nothing," he waved their question off, settling them down in their bed above his berth.

"Megs, what are you planning?"

His grin and a tilt of his helm had them laughing, the expression on their face earning them a chuckle of his own, and yet no answer beyond the teasing "You'll see".

Any questions directed at others about what they think could be in the works, were met with the same grin and chuckles of "You'll see, it's a surprise."

Arms wrap around them from behind.

"Happy holidays," Steve says, nuzzling his helm against their head.

"Care for a dance?"

Dating Steve had many perks. Dating the whole Nemesis, has around a million more. And they have all night to count them all, as they dance and laugh with their wretched, evil, horrible, no good Decepticons.

At a house somewhere on the planet, there stands a very, very irked Makeshift, currently tangled in strings of lights, reminding himself that he is a vital part of the operation "Our Human Will Have The Best Holiday Celebration". He's been bossed around this way and that, without much rhyme or reason for a week now, and at this point, he would much prefer to listen to a certain Seeker screaming his voicebox raw, than to be listening to yet another round of 'All I want for Christmas'.

He will have someones spark if he isn't the one that gets to cuddle with The Spark of Nemesis for at least a week after his mission is complete. He knows those will be well deserved after the madness he's being put through.

#Tfp decepticons x s/o #tfp decepticons x reader #Poly!reader #poly!reader x decepticons #Tfp decepticons #Anon

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firstfrostfall · 4 years ago

Text

A Cold Lament - Chapter Two

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

Somehow, Anna had collected quite a bit of jewelry in her twenty-three years of living. She never necessarily went out of her way for it- it would just find its way to her. She was enamored by shiny things. You know, the things that glimmered when you held them in the sunlight the right way. Stones, sea glass, gems. Really whatever she could get her hands on. But she was especially fond of sea glass. She always loved sea glass.

It started off with small things at first, like sea glass, when she was a little girl. Because of this love, Magpie was the nickname her grandmother had given her.

Her grandmother would say things like, be careful, you’ll cut your hands on the sea glass, my little Magpie.

When she got older, more so into her teenage years, she would be gifted with various pieces of jewelry for her birthday or other special occasions. Each piece was beautiful, surely. She couldn’t deny the appeal that came with a pair of diamond earrings, those certainly caught in the light well, but she would’ve been just as happy with a particularly glossy stone from a rocky beach. Jewelry, or whatever stone it was, didn’t have to be expensive, she just liked how they glinted in the light. Like a magpie. She felt quite silly about it.

Nevertheless, she preferred sea glass to anything.

Growing up, she kept her entire collection in an ornately carved hope chest at the foot of her bed. There was no organization, no rhyme or reason for the placement of any of it. Of course, she kept the most expensive pieces tucked away in a separate gaudy jewelry box, nested in swaths of black velvet. The hope chest, on the other hand, was entirely in disarray. Anna liked it that way. It was her big box of things.

She brought the hope chest with her when she went to live with her aunt. It was a nightmare to travel with, surely, but it was hers. For the past year it remained at the foot of the bed she shared with her five other cousins. Living with her aunt and cousins under one tiny roof was an adjustment for her. It was different. The war changed a lot.

The war changed everything.

A family torn apart, and a girl sent packing off to her aunt’s home in an unfamiliar factory city hours from the only home she ever knew.

Anna remembered the day vividly. It was in the middle of summer, 1917, and the trip was dreadfully rainy. She traveled by train and cab to get to Birmingham.

When she eventually arrived at her aunt’s doorstep, she was soaked. The brim of her hat drooped under the weight of the rainwater. She knew her aunt was barely scraping by, she had so much on her plate already, she didn’t need the additional burden of a niece added to that roster. Her aunt had five children of her own, a husband away at war- but Anna had nowhere else to go.

So she stood there, surrounded by luggage and suitcases and trunks full of whatever she had left, waiting for her to answer her pleading knocks. When her aunt did open the door, she quickly ushered her niece in and helped her get settled with all of her belongings.

A few weeks later, word reached them that her uncle died in France. Her aunt was frantic after receiving the news, and understandably so. Not only had she lost her husband, but another source of income for the family. There was no one coming home to work in a factory.

Anna began selling whatever items she could to make extra money to cover the cost of a sixth mouth to feed. She sold dresses, silver hairpins, and combs, shoes, miscellaneous books. She sold almost anything and everything. Her belongings were finite, however, and soon enough, she had sold as much as she could.

Except for her jewelry, except for the hope chest.

She had accumulated enough valuables in the chest to scrounge up a few months rent for her own flat. A shabby little place, not too far from where her aunt lived. She even had a little extra money leftover to tuck away for her family, just enough to help them get by for a little while longer. There would be more space at her aunt’s house now that she was gone, too. More room for her cousins in their bed, one less mouth to feed, one less body to clothe.

It pained Anna to look at the chest. It pained her even more to open it. Almost everything she had collected was gone. Of course, she kept a few things, the items that were the most precious to her. An opal ring, a pair of diamond earrings, a golden bracelet, a jar full of sea glass. Each unrelated, but with their own meaning.

There was no point in moping around about it. She could spend another twenty-three years collecting more shiny things.

She was learning to make do with what she had.

Of course, now with her own expenses, she was also learning that her money was finite as well. This made her aunt worry for her terribly.

Finding a job had been difficult, to say the least. She spent hours reading through newspaper after newspaper, clipping away at any job advertisement that she thought she could even remotely qualify for. Most of the time, she wouldn’t receive an interview or would be flat-out rejected on the spot.

It was discouraging- but made sense to her. She really was just a girl, from a village barely anyone had ever heard of before, with a resume that was, to put it plainly, terrible. She never held a job before, and her only experience came from a few accounting courses from a couple of summers back. Truthfully, the courses were something to pass the time, to keep her from boredom while the days were long and hot. She never expected to actually need those skills.

One morning, however, there was a series of frantic knocks at her door. It was no one other than her aunt, giddy and exclaiming that she may have found her a steady job.

“I have a friend from church who can help you,” Her aunt said. “She set up an interview for tomorrow, three o’clock. You’ll be speaking with her nephew. She’ll pick you up from the house. She’s a good woman.”

Anna hugged her aunt tightly at the news, a wave of relief washing over her. Until, she realized, that she wasn’t sure what exactly she was interviewing for. That was when the panic started to settle in.

But alas, when fortune drops something valuable on your lap, it’s best not to question it.

That was where she found herself currently, a few days after the interview, staring at her reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror while she got ready for her first day. She was brushing through her hair, smoothing out the curls from the rollers she had slept in. The wan morning light made it a soft auburn that curled down past her collarbones.

She had been ready for work since dawn, and truthfully, even before then. She had a hard time sleeping and chalked it up to be a culmination of nerves for the day ahead of her, and the fact that her flat didn’t feel like a home just yet. In time, she hoped it would.

All throughout the night, the floors creaked, and the pipes hissed. She barely had any furniture, except for a wire bed frame and a hand-me-down mattress she had gotten a deal on. She was also pretty sure that the lock on the front door was broken, so she propped up a chair against the knob and hoped for the best.

Despite all of this, for better or worse, this place was her own. It eased the burden on her aunt.

Anna stood by the window while tucking her cream blouse into the waist of her maroon skirt. She spent the better part of her morning ironing out her clothes, desperately trying to ensure that the linen was fine and creaseless. Her iron was one of the things she couldn’t part with. At the very least, she could look her best with it. Or at least try to.

She glanced at the window one last time before slipping her shoes on by the front door, watching as tiny flurries of snow began to fall onto the city below. She smiled.

It was early this year.

Anna promptly knocked on the door to The Garrison at nine o’clock that same morning. The snow was still falling, each flake thick enough to catch in her hair, a contrast of white on red, but soft enough that it would not stick to the ground, instead, it melted on contact with the muddy pavement. Harry, the barkeep, answered the door.

“Miss Caldwell, good morning.” He took a step to the side so she could enter. His face and nose were flushed red, he must’ve arrived not too long ago himself.

“And to you, Mr. Fenton.” She smiled, her breath turning into clouds as she spoke. “Quite the weather we’re having.”

“I’ll say,” He closed the door behind her and turned the lock. “Haven’t seen snow this early since I was a boy.”

“It’s good luck,” She replied while shrugging her coat off. “They say an early snow brings good fortune.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when my toes are freezing off in the morning,” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Follow me, you can leave your things in the back room.”

Once Anna was settled, she stood behind the bar with her own apron tied around her waist, (already stained, mind you) given to her by Harry. The remainder of the morning was another lesson in “making do” for her. The pub wouldn’t be officially open until noon, so this extra time beforehand was for her to get a feel for everything. To put it plainly, it was additional time to practice.

No matter how hard she tried to mask her nerves and keep her composure, it was like she had two left feet. Spilling drinks, forgetting the difference between vodka and gin, pouring a pint incorrectly, and causing the foam to rise over the rim of the glass.

Despite the extra time she had spent on her appearance, smoothing out any wrinkles on her skirt, curling her hair, and flashing a smile at all times- she couldn’t have felt any more out of place, and painfully unprepared. There was so much on the line for her. She had her own place and an aunt who needed financial help. She would keep trying, she didn’t have any other choice.

Harry was kind to her, and as patient as he could be, but it became quite obvious that she was a terrible bartender. Embarrassingly so. Terrible enough that he insisted that she just watch him for the rest of their shift, assuring her that it was for the best.

“It will be a slow night,” He said, wiping down the remnants of the third pint she had spilled. “A good way for you to learn the ropes. Nice and easy.”

Anna nodded, accepting her wounded pride. In the late afternoon and early evening, business was slow. It was quiet, a few patrons here and there ordering a drink or two. She was able to observe Harry interacting with the regulars and took mental notes of what people seemed to like. She thought it was quite pleasant.

Until it wasn’t a slow night.

Evidently, there was a football game earlier in the day, and all of the men came trailing in afterward. The pub became boisterous and loud. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

“Just work on collecting the empty glasses,” Harry motioned with his head to the cluttered tables from across the bar. “I’ll take care of everything up here.”

Anna nodded, typing the apron around her waist tighter. She weaved through the crowds, deftly trying to avoid any leering gazes or comments. Of course, she made quite a few spills, and mentally kicked herself for being so clumsy, for letting her composure waver. In the beginning, she was slow going back and forth from table to bar, but eventually, she was able to get into a rhythm.

She placed the last few glasses on the bartop, exhaling heavily. The pub was finally empty. She glanced down at her blouse. This morning, the linen was freshly pressed and the color of cream, but this evening, however, it was stained with splotches of beer and other liquors. She frowned.

It was late.

Harry wiped a forearm across his brow. “You did well.”

“You’re very kind,” Anna wiped her hands on her apron, shaking her head. “I did terribly.”

He laughed, quite loudly.

“I’ll finish cleaning up here,” He nodded. “You go catch a breath in the back.”

“No, no, let me help with the clean-up. I made most of the mess.”

“You had a long enough day today, and you’ll have a longer one tomorrow.” He smiled, waving her off with his hand. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

Anna walked into the back room and sighed, collapsing onto a chair. She held her face in her hands. Her body ached, her feet especially, and her head throbbed. But more than anything, she was embarrassed. She was tired and wanted to weep. It was silly. Her first day of work and she wanted to cry. She swallowed sharply and stood up, untying the apron from her waist and tossing it over the back of the chair.

There was no point in crying, she would make do.

When she stepped back into the main room, Harry wasn’t alone anymore. It was the man who she spoke to a few days before, Mr. Shelby, standing by the bar with a glass in front of him. A cigarette dangled between two fingers, the smoke curling in the hazy lights above the bar. He didn’t notice her at first, and if he did, he didn’t make it known.

It wasn’t until Harry cleared his throat, that he tilted his head toward her.

Anna glanced down at her beer-stained blouse and grimaced. She certainly felt like a mess, she could only imagine what she looked like. With a sheepish smile, she combed her fingers through her hair and smoothed it all over one shoulder.

“Miss Caldwell,” He nodded.

“Good evening, Mr. Shelby,” She smiled, folding her coat over her forearm.

“Heading home?” He turned away from her.

“Yes, just about.”

“Mrs. Gray instructed me to walk her home on these late nights,” Harry quickly interjected. She could've sworn Mr. Shelby scoffed at that.

“Ah, waiting on me then?” The other man raised an eyebrow.

“No, no, of course not Mr. Shelby.” Harry’s voice wavered. Anna noticed his eyes widening, like he was nervous, almost.

“I’m sure you’re both tired,” He finished the rest of his drink in one swig, and then fully turned to her. “First day, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Anna could feel her face flushing. A disastrous first day, she thought. “Harry was an excellent teacher.” She could see Harry beaming at that comment.

“Ah,” Mr. Shelby nodded, stacking a few coins beside his empty glass. He placed his cap on his head and tipped the brim to the barkeep, “Goodnight.” He paused for a moment, and then he tilted his head toward Anna. “And to you, Miss Caldwell.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Shelby,” She smiled, her cheeks growing warm. “Thank you again, for this opportunity.”

He hummed in response, shrugging on his coat as he walked to the door.

By the time Harry and Anna had locked up the pub and were outside, Mr. Shelby was halfway down the street. She watched as he walked away, unable to tear her attention away from his retreating form.

As if on cue, it started snowing again. The little white flecks looked more like the ashes that spewed from the factory chimneys.

“This way, Miss.” Harry’s voice interrupted her musings. She blushed, feeling silly for mooning over a man she hardly knew.

Just as she was about to look away, she saw Mr. Shelby stop short. Anna’s heart skipped a beat when he turned around and looked at her from over his shoulder.

All was and quiet and cold.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years ago

Note

Can you write an imagine about Harry confessing feelings for you and you’re scared to open up but you finally do and then smut! Just like slow but seriously intimate. Hahahaha

WARNING: SMUT!!!! and some fluff!

Word Count: 3,923

Requests are OPEN! If you have a request for a blurb, oneshot, imagine, whatever, Send me a message HERE!!!

To add yourself to my Taglist, click HERE

CLICK HERE TO READ OTHER COMPLETED STORIES

Friendly reminder to please like and/or reblog. It helps more than you think :)

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

It was the way the light reflected in the colors of her eyes when she smiled, and the way his heart fluttered when she laughed. It was because she was the first thing he thought of when he woke up in the morning and his last thought before he went to bed. Those were just a few reasons Harry had fallen for Y/N. It started small, as it usually did. He met her through a friend of a friend at a party, another typical encounter. But Y/N was anything but typical. They introduced themselves to each other. He thought she was attractive, of course, but he was kind of seeing someone at the time. Well, that didn’t work out; another commonality. But their inner circles managed to keep crossing paths several times over the course of a year. Eventually, their circles combined and he found himself spending a lot of time talking to Y/N at these parties, and their friendship grew.

They began hanging out in small groups outside of the party scene. Sometimes he’d head back to her flat that she shared with a couple of roommates. Pretty soon, Harry and Y/N were talking almost every day and had gotten in the habit of having movie nights, alternating who got to pick the films. It always seemed platonic. Until one night.

Almost a month ago, now, it was Y/N’s turn to pick the movie. The Visit. She had been wanting to watch it for a while, but hadn’t dared to watch it alone; her roommates hated scary movies. So Harry agreed. They had talked for ages and already finished their takeaway by the time they started the movie. Her sofa was big. Big enough to fit four people. But they squeezed close to each other towards one end of the couch, like they always did, legs tucked under the blanket. Harry teased her, poking her sides during the tense scenes which always made her yelp and slap him. But she always smiled.

Then, a jump scare happened. Honestly, it got Harry pretty bad, too. He flinched, his whole body jerking, and his heart began to race. He almost certainly said a curse word or two, as well. He didn’t even notice Y/N was burying her head in his side, hands pressed tight over her eyes until he turned to say something to her. He snorted, but his first reaction was to wrap his arms around her and rub her back.

“I think I’m about done with this movie,” Y/N’s voice was muffled as she spoke into his shirt.

Harry let out a chuckle, “Oh, come on, we’re not even halfway through. It’s just a movie. I’ve got ya.”

Y/N leaned back and looked up at him. It was the first time he saw her scared. And for some reason, he got a better look at her at that moment than he had in the past year and a half of knowing her. He didn’t know why it clicked then. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline, or maybe it was all of the chocolate they were munching on throughout the movie; he had heard it was an aphrodisiac somewhere. Whatever it was, it caught him off guard. He couldn’t look away from her. It was like their eyes were locked onto each other’s and their sense of reality just went fuzzy. All he could think about was how soft her lips looked at that moment and how badly he wanted to kiss her. He noticed her eyes flickering from his, down towards his lips, then back up again. Maybe it was a trick of the light? Did she feel it, too? And just as he was about to make the move, Y/N seemed to suddenly snap back into herself and she shook her head, pulling away a bit.

“Yeah, sorry, I-Uhm,” she sat straighter, body turned away from him and eyes staring towards the floor, “Can we just pick another movie?”

“S-sure,” Harry stuttered, straightening up himself.

And she hurriedly pulled out her phone, scrolling through the options until she landed on Pineapple Express. They barely spoke the rest of the night, which was something Harry wasn’t used to with Y/N. She never stopped talking.

As mentioned, Y/N was anything but typical. She seemed like a walking contradiction. Super outgoing and would talk to everyone but somehow seemed to shy away with no rhyme or reason. She was loud and adventurous, but so soft and cautious at the same time. There were times where Harry thought he could read her like the back of his hand and others where he couldn’t even begin to know what was going on in her head. She was so obvious, but, yet, mysterious. One constant thing was that she wasn’t afraid to talk to Harry about anything. And I mean anything. She’d talk about period problems, farts, bathroom difficulties, food, boys, friendships, work, you name it. Opening up to him was never a problem until that night.

He couldn’t get her out of his head. The rest of that night was awkward, but by the next day, she pretended like nothing ever happened. At first, he thought he was going crazy. That he had imagined a spark between them. Until those moments happened again at their next movie night. And again at a party. And again while on Facetime at the end of a long week. Again, and again, and again. And all the while, his feelings for her grew. All he could think about was her. All of the songs he scribbled down in his journal were about her. Every intrusive thought was about Y/N, and every time they talked, he swore it would be the time that his thoughts would finally burst out of him.

Another movie night. It was at Harry’s house this time, purposely picked. Harry decided tonight was the night he was going to do it. He has been trying to pluck up the courage to say something for weeks now, and he wasn’t going to let another night pass by without telling her. He just needed the right moment to do it.

“What’s on the docket for this evening, sir?” Y/N asked, taking a bite of her sushi.

Harry swallowed his food and blotted his mouth with a napkin before he said, “Was thinking something scary if you’re not too chicken shit this time. Kind of over the rom-coms now.”

“Harry Styles doesn’t want to watch chick-flicks? Are you feeling well?” she teased.

Harry rolled his eyes with a smirk, “Must be the end of the world.”

“That’s the only logical explanation,” Y/N nodded in agreement.

They finished eating their dinner, grabbed some gummy candies, and ventured to his couch, sitting close together at one side where they started their typical pre-movie chat. The lights were already off, a faint glow from the television, and under-cabinet lights in the kitchen were enough for them to see each other.

“I’m pretty excited for it, honestly,” Harry smiled, giddily patting his thighs, “I mean, it’s not official, yet. They’re still in negotiations, but they want me to play the part, so there’s a strong possibility.”

Y/N was smiling proudly, head tilted to the side, “It’ll happen. I’m so proud of you! I can’t wait to see the movie, it sounds amazing!”

“Maybe you can visit me on set one day. Or go to the premier or something.”

“That’d be lovely.”

There it was again. That moment. He felt his body begin to stiffen, unblinking, and unable to break eye contact. Their smiles faded into something more serious now and he strained to fight the pull on his chest that urged him to fill the space between them. And like always, Y/N was the first to break.

Flustered, she cleared her throat, and looked towards the television, avoiding eye contact, “Right, what movie were you thinking? Were we gonna try The Visit again? I think I’m up for it, now.”

Harry froze, stunned for a moment. How could she so easily push this aside? Now was the moment. He wasn’t going to back down. He needed to get it off his chest, at the very least. If she didn’t feel the same way, that was fine, he’d figure out a way to get over it. But they at least needed to talk about it.

The left side of his lips twitched upward and he felt the blush rise to his cheeks, something that always happened when he was nervous, “Y/N, what is this?” he asked.

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed, turning her attention back to him, “What do you mean?”

“Come on, I can’t be imagining things.”

“What are you talking about, Harry?” She tried her best to sound clueless, but she was scared. And he saw it.

He took a deep breath, pausing for a moment while he attempted to collect his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, locking eyes with her and spilling his mind, “Look, I like you. And I just thought that maybe you felt the same? It’s just that...every time we’re together all I can think about is kissing you. Well, it’s not just that,” he muttered, “You’re all I think about. And then we have these moments where I think we might kiss, and then you pull away.”

Y/N stared at him, her face beginning to flush as she tore her eyes off of him and looked down at her thumbs which twirled together, hands clasped tight, “Harry….no you don’t,” she shook her head hesitantly.

He retracted, bewildered by her response, “What?”

She looked back up at him, forcing a smile through her sad eyes. He heard the crack in her voice as she started to talk, “You don’t like me. You’re just bored, and I’m here. We barely know each other.”

His mouth parted, unsure how to respond to that. At first, he was angry. But it quickly changed into confidence. He shook his head, smiling, “You’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong?” she repeated, tryingly.

“Yes, you’re wrong. I know you, Y/N. I know you say your favorite color is blue, but it’s really that orangey-purple color the sky makes when the sun starts to set. I know your favorite drink is a sidecar. I know that your favorite holiday is Christmas Eve. I know you detest mornings, but not as much as your hatred for clowns. I know you like to sleep on the side of the bed that’s furthest away from the door and if you’re not sleeping with someone, you line up pillows under your sheets in case an intruder comes in and they’ll stab the pillow person first,” that one made both of them laugh.

“Harry-” she started.

He shook his head, cutting her off and continuing, “You hate complicated Starbucks orders, you hate bad tippers, and you hate the sound of styrofoam rubbing against cardboard. I know how hard you work at your job and how underappreciated you are there. I know that you’ve always dreamed of getting married when the leaves just start to change colors and you’ve always wanted to have at least three kids. Your family means the world to you. Your dream vacation is Greece. You can’t decide if you’re a cat person or a dog person. You have a habit of falling for the wrong people and have gotten your heart broken more times than you can count, but you haven’t given up on love yet.”

His smile was wide and sure. And she stared at him, speechless, frowning slightly.

“See?” he urged, “I know you.”

There was silence again as they stared at each other. And her eyes began to pull away from his again, shifting down to her thumbs. His heart dropped, afraid that he just poured his heart out to her for nothing.

“Please say something,” he begged. He thought his chest was about to explode.

She took a breath, pausing with her mouth open for a moment before. There was barely a foot between their faces and he could see every crease of her eyes and forehead, unspeaking. It was the first time Harry had seen her at a loss for words, and he was terrified for what would happen when she finally spoke.

“Harry, I-” she started, her eyes searching his face, trying to find the right words to say, but nothing came. She sat there, sputtering.

Harry stared at her, waiting. And when she didn’t say anything, he pleaded with her, “Please don’t make me feel like an idiot, Y/N. Say something. Anything. I just need to know.”

“Yes, Harry, obviously I like you,” she finally forced out, taking a deep breath and locking eyes with him as she finally let it all out. It was like he had just unplugged a tidal wave of pent-up thoughts and they started to pour out of her, “But you’re Harry-fucking-Styles. And that shouldn’t matter, but it does! I’m not the kind of girl that dates the popular football star, Harry. I’m the one in the back of the class who no one notices. I keep my head down and only have three real friends. Do you know how stupid I feel for liking you?”

He couldn’t listen to her say such horrible self-deprecating things about herself anymore. Not when she sat twelve inches from him, her eyes illuminating from the glow of the tv and her soft lips taunting him with the words that kept echoing in his mind since the second they came out of her beautiful mouth. ‘Obviously I like you’. That’s all he needed to hear. Nothing else mattered. A smile was stretched across his face and he couldn’t hold back any longer. She was still talking, but he couldn’t hear a thing and he lurched forward, closing the space between them as he pressed his lips on hers.

The suddenness of it startled her for a moment, but once she realized what was happening, her eyes closed and she sunk into him, allowing it to happen. She felt Harry smile into the kiss, which only made her do the same, and he deepened it by snaking his hand up her arm and to her neck, tangling the tips of his fingers in her hair.

Her hands instinctively roamed to his chest, placing her palm gently against the soft cotton of his red graphic t-shirt and she could feel his heart beating rapidly as they kissed, their tongues now dancing together, lips moving in sync. Had she known she’d be kissing Harry Styles tonight, she might have thought to bring some chewing gum after eating all the sushi for dinner.

Harry felt her start to kneel on the couch and he leaned back as she began to hover over him, swinging one leg over his lap, straddling him now on the couch and she deepened the kiss, both of her hands now on his jawline. His member began to throb against his pants and his hands started to roam her back and sides and even grabbing onto her ass, squeezing firmly. He hesitated for a moment as his hands slid back up the side of her body, underneath her shirt and stopping just below the underwire of her bra.

He took hold of the hem of her shirt and pulled away to see Y/N breathing a little heavier, her lips swollen and slightly red from all of their kissing, and he was almost certain he looked the same, yet somehow she looked even more beautiful.

“Can I-?” he tugged on the bottom of her shirt.

She nodded, sitting back a bit to give him more room to lift her shirt up over her head. He stared for a moment at her perfectly round breasts that sat holstered by a baby pink bra until the urge overwhelmed him and he began to press his face to her soft, cushioned skin, doting kisses all over her chest. She felt his hands slide towards her back and unclasp her bra with ease, letting it slip down her arms and revealing her full breasts, cupping one and bringing her nipple into his mouth while he massaged the other with his free hand.

Slowly he began trailing his suckling kisses up her chest and towards her neck, making her head fall back as he hit a sweet spot, a small moan escaping her soft lips. It was the push she needed that sent her over the edge. She wanted him. All of the things she had fantasized about doing with Harry came rushing to the forefront of her mind. He was being so soft and gentle with her, making sure each kiss was intimate and deliberate. She tugged at his shirt, letting him know she wanted it off, and he pried himself off of her to allow her to pull it over his head to reveal his tattoo ridden chest and arms.

Immediately, he wrapped his arm around her waist and twisted her so that her back was propped up against the armrest of the couch and he was hovering over her. He began kissing her again, hand slipping down to her jeans and rubbing where her crotch was, making her hold her breath from the feeling. And when he started to unbutton her pants, he pulled away.

“Is this okay?” he asked, earning a vigorous nod, her mouth slightly parted.

He pulled her pants off, underwear going with it, and traced kisses from her toes up to her muff where he began to suck at her clit, running his tongue along her slit. Her breath shallowed when he inserted his fingers in her cunt, flicking them upwards as he lapped at her juices, unable to control her moans. He looked up at her as his nose was buried in her pussy, roused by the look of indulgence on her face and he pulled away, causing her to lock eyes with him.

Y/N leaned forward, pressing her lips to his once more. She began bent down, peppering his neck and chest with kisses, trailing down his stomach and he leaned back on the couch, legs separating as she slinked herself between them, knees hitting the floor. He watched as she unclasped his pants and slowly pulled them down to his ankles, eyes staring hungrily as his dick popped out of its hold, waving in front of her face.

She took hold of him at the base and used two hands to pump him, feeling every ridge and vein as she slid her hands up and down his erection. She dropped a hand, cupping his balls and massaging as she ran her wet tongue from the base of his member to his tip before taking him into her mouth. Harry’s jaw dropped and jutted forward from the sensation, watching her through half-closed eyelids as her head bobbed up and down.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as she took his balls into her mouth, pumping him with her hand.

She held out as long as she could, but Y/N couldn’t wait any longer. She wanted him inside of her. So she got to her feet and straddled him again, holding onto his shoulders for balance. His eyes were full of lust as he scanned her body, their eyes locking as she slowly lowered herself on top of him, with his help for guidance. Both of their mouths were parted, thin gasps as her warm box engulfed him, steadily bouncing up and down.

Everything about it was sensual. Every desirous kiss, every longing look, every craved touch, taste, and movement felt almost overwhelming. His senses seemed to go crazy and the world around them turned fuzzy. For a moment, he forgot who he was. He forgot he was a separate entity, not entangled as one with Y/N. She rode him with such passion that he couldn’t bear the thought of it ending.

He wrapped her arm around her waist again, pulling her tight into him as he readjusted her back onto the couch, hovering over her again. She sucked in air as he began to pump into her, painstakingly slow. Her back arched with desire, breathing his name and a small formed on his lips, bending down to kiss her.

She wrapped her arms around his body, pulling him closer to her chest as he took a firm grasp down at her waist, pushing himself deeper in her, slowly still. He could feel her hole start to throb around him and her breaths started to shudder, louder now. She was close.

“You’re gonna make me cum, Harry,” she whimpered, forcing herself to look at him.

He brushed her hair out of her face, trying to keep his pace to not throw her off her path. He stared down at her, searching her face as he panted. God, she was so beautiful. He planted a hard kiss on her lips and nodded, “Finish, Y/N. You can do it.”

Her eyes tightened in focus, and her mouth opened wider and wider as she gripped on his back, digging her nails into his skin, stinging as she sucked in a huge gasp of air, held it, stiffened as she finally released. He paused, letting her collect herself as she finally let out her breath and that’s when he began to pump faster.

Her moans started up again and he pushed his chest away from hers to get a better look, pulling her waist to his and watching her breasts bounce every time his hips collided with hers. He was close. He gritted his teeth, pumping faster now as he looked down at her, her hair sprawled on the couch underneath her, little red marks along her chest and stomach from him being pressed against her for so long, and a sign of their lovemaking shown on her collarbone in the form of a faint purple hickey which made him even more enthralled.

He felt the rush in him begin to rise like a ball of fire as he began his climax, gripping tighter now on her waist, not breaking eye contact. She bit her bottom lip as he went faster, and faster until he felt that ball of fire creep into his groin, and quickly, he slipped himself out of her. She grabbed hold of his soaking cock just as he busted, letting out a shaky moan, and she pumped him a few more times to make sure it was all out.

After a moment to collect his breath, he bent down and grabbed his shirt, using it to clean up. And before she could get her clothes on, Harry collapsed beside her on the small bit of space left on the edge of the couch, pulling her closer to him and pressing a kiss on the corner of her mouth. She turned to face him with a satisfied grin, and he tucked her hair behind her ear to get a better look at her.

“You’re amazing,” he said, looking between her eyes, “And I know that being with me sounds scary, but I promise I’ll always be there if you’ll have me.”

Y/N pursed her lips, trailing her fingers from his forehead, to his ears, and down to his plump lips which she traced with her thumb. She nodded, lips twitching upwards in a grin, “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he smiled, hugging her tighter.

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

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@thurhomish @odetostep

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

Text

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.1

Type: (mini)-series, Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 5600

Summary: Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

You knew for a fact that it was a load of BS. The truth is that words can break your heart. And that realization hits you full force the day you have your last exam to earn your bachelor degree.

If you pass, it will be a cause for great celebration. Spoiler alert: it’s not.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the series. Will be in two (or three) parts. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: I did something in here which I’m usually trying to avoid at any cost; in this story, I used Y/N Y/L/N. Does that count as a warning?

Warnings II: name calling, humiliation, panic attack!, bad poetry, mentions of vomiting and alcohol, the briefest mention of self-harm, angst, swearing, threats of violence

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You released the breath you had been holding, all your willpower put into not sinking into the chair in relief as Professor Phillips announced your grade – one that meant that you hadn’t failed.

In fact, you had just passed your last exam of your bachelor program so you were entirely in the right. In your head, an overexcited monkey started playing cymbals and you didn’t mind the noise despite how sleep-deprived you were from the past few days. A barely contained mad smile fought its way to your lips instead.

Mind you, as you thanked Professor Phillips and rose to your feet – your knees almost giving out, because HOLY SHIT YOU JUST GOT YOUR BACHELOR’S – you would swear you saw a brief smile on the professor’s face too as if he was amused at your antics.

But who cared if he was having fun at your expense?! You PASSED! You had been losing sleep, terrified of this exam, because everyone knew Phillips was a hard-ass – a fair one, but still a hard-ass – and you just passed his examination!

Time to pop the fucking champagne! The one Penny had been saving at the dorm from yesterday when she had finished her own degree; she insisted that she would wait for you, because you were in this together.

You couldn’t leave her waiting any longer and you didn’t have any intention to do so.

Leaving the room and walking into the empty hallway – because of course you came the last as if to prolong your torture – you breathed in and out and deliberately let the grin finally spread on your face fully.

You were free, you were ready to take on the world despite not being ready at all and you had Steve, who you suspected would be proud as hell and would celebrate with you tomorrow, graciously letting you and your roomie do it first-- and gosh, life was beautiful.

Making your way down the corridor, with a grin ever-present, a leaflet that hadn’t been there before caught your attention. It appeared a handwritten note, styled in a regular column – a poem perhaps.

Still smiling, the curiosity took the best of you and you walked to it, peripherally noticing that along the walls, there was even more.

You froze in your step when your gaze fell on the first line; your very own name was staring back at you and it confused you at first, a brief surge of excitement lighting up your body, a naïve belief that perhaps Steve somehow decided to surprise you.

But Steve’s last name came next, which you found strange.

And then came the word ‘whore’ and your heart stopped, your gaze automatically flickering all over the page.

Your stomach made a painful somersault, your mind turning blank.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of that nightmare materializing in front of you, reading and re-reading the poem that almost resembled a twisted nursery rhyme over and over.

Y/N Y/L/N Rogers’ whore Bet she’ll get The highest score For sucking dick Having fucked her ass Let’s hope she’ll soon Be eating grass

Darkness battled to cut off your vision, the world swaying off of its place. Involuntarily, your trembling hand reached out and touched the paper, smooth under your fingertips, your frantically beating heart and the vertigo threating to overpower your sense of balance tying you to the reality, screaming at you that this wasn’t just a really fucked-up dream.

You tore the paper down, lump growing in your throat as you looked around for watchful eyes in sudden paranoia of being followed, only to find the hallway deserted aside from you.

Just you and many papers hanging on the walls.

As if you were just a puppet to a spiteful master, your feet carried you to the next leaflet, tears filling your eyes as you found the very same words written on it; a precise copy.

Your breathing picked up a furious pace, your chest crushed under a weight of an invisible elephant stomping on it. The corridor swam in the dampness of your eyes, your mind too quiet and yet screaming with millions of question marks and exclamation points, panic squeezing your lungs, nausea attacking your stomach.

What the hell was happening? Who would do that? Why? What was the goal? Was it just to ruin your triumph?

Because if that was the goal, it was a roaring success; the thousands of questions swirling in your head and the unexpected sting in your heart turned the fact that you had passed an exam into a faint memory.

All you saw was the words.

Rogers’s whore

Was that what you were? Was that how people who knew about the relationship saw you? Was that how Steve saw you?

The highest score for sucking dick

Was that what you were doing? Using Steve’s position to your advantage? Was that how you got through every exam including the one today, even if unwittingly? Was that what Phillips’ little smile had been about?

Hope she’ll soon be eating grass.

Was that a threat? Was someone wishing that happened to you or were they actually about to hurt you? Why?!

Hearing your own wheezing and feeling your fingertips prickling, your foggy mind did the only reasonable thing it could come up with; it led your steps into the nearest bathroom at lightning speed with no regard for how shaky were your feet.

You stumbled into the open stall, smashing the door shut and leaning onto them with your suddenly damp forehead, feeling the cold beads of sweat gather in your hairline, your cheeks drenching in tears.

When did you start crying so hard?

When did the trembling in your limbs begin?

What the fuck was happening?

What-how--why-but-

Your palms rested on the door as you desperately tried and failed to ground yourself and take control of your breathing. Your temples were pounding irritatingly, your gut painfully clenching--- and exactly in that moment that could have lasted a second or an hour, your fingers brushed over a piece of paper stuck on the door.

Darkness curled around your brain like a treacherous friend, another wave of nausea twisting your stomach.

It took you one blurry glance at the paper and you knew precisely what it was, choking on your sob, ripping the offensive poem off and tearing it to pieces which you blindly threw to the toilet, the flushing sound deafening to your ears.

Your shaky legs finally gave out, knees buckling, your body sliding down the stall wall, fingers pulling at your hair as you felt the dizziness engulfing your head, a bitter taste in your mouth.

You gripped tighter, hoping that the pain on the surface would overpower the pain and gaping hole inside, as another violent sob erupted from your throat.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

An eternity later, you felt your whole being float.

Your breathing was still frantic and interrupted with sobs, but a sensation resembling serenity spread in your very core—or perhaps it was just numbness?

You couldn’t seem to be able to tell the difference anymore.

The creak of a door made you cover your mouth to muffle the noises still escaping your lips for the fear of being caught – either being found in this state in general or found as in found by the person who wrote---that – being stronger than the subdued power of your previous breakdown.

It was probably too late for the newcomer to miss your presence, but over the slowly fading ringing in your ears, you could hear a few steps that came to a halt and then they sounded a bit quicker as the woman left.

Thank FUCK. You couldn’t do human interaction of any kind right now.

You removed your hand and breathed out shakily, blinking away the tears.

Shaking your head wildly, you gritted your teeth in a feeble attempt at bolster yourself. You had to get up off your ass and leave before there would be no longer way of avoiding a confrontation – god forbid a confrontation with Steve, who was probably still in a class, testing his own students.

You climbed to your feet, wiping the remains of your tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand and went to fix your ruined make-up, hopefully enough to look little less suspicious when walking through the campus.

It was probably a vain effort, because you were a walking epitome of a mess.

Rogers’s whore, sounded in your ears and you shook your head again, inhaling sharply through your mouth.

It was time to run and then break down again at the dorms. With Penny preferably--or did she think you were a whore too? You were fucking a professor after all-

Stop that!

Penny wasn’t like that. She understood. She’d be willing to listen all about this outrageous act of terror and would sympathize. Right?

Yeah, you’d talk about it with Penny, your amazing friend, who needed a celebration and a very generous amount of alcohol, which happened to be exactly what you needed too.

Yep, that sounded pretty good.

With one last determined glance on your horrible reflection in the mirror, you headed out.

The door nearly hit you in the face on its way back as you threw it open and froze in the doorway.

You did not expect to see someone so soon after leaving your improvised safe space… let alone him.

“Prof-professor Wilson,” you choked out, clearing your scratchy throat as he stood there, unmistakably waiting for you.

Because that was what you needed at the moment. The university counsellor and professor of psychology in one person.

Fuck.

He said you name in a mild tone, almost as if trying to tame a wild animal, but not quite – all his voice made you feel was shame at getting caught. And a bit of anger at the whole fucking world, because why couldn’t you have a tiny piece of peace after seeing that? Just a little shred of luck, huh?!

Oh, right, you were a whore who were only using Professor Rogers, paying for it in sexual favours.

“Mind if we talk in my office for a bit?”

“Not like I really have a choice…” you mumbled automatically, the realization of how rude it sounded dawning to you oh too slowly, your brain too tangled up in a web of self-pity and self-loathing. “Sorry. Of course. Lead the way.”

“Good. Thank you,” he replied, appearing unoffended. “And for the record, you do have a choice.”

Hadn’t you been a wreck with burning tear-stained cheeks, your face might have felt hotter at the kind remark.

At the slowest pace possible, you followed Professor Wilson to his office, dread and exhaustion filling every fibre of your being.

You noticed however that the walls that had been lined with odes about you, put up for everyone to see, had disappeared; possibly Wilson’s own work.

Somehow, it didn’t make you feel much better, the image of the previous addition to the corridors’ decor stuck in your brain. But hey, it was supposed to be the thought that counted, right?

And Professor Wilson was a nice guy. He offered you a drink – sadly a non-alcoholic one – attempted a joke saying that no, it was no trouble getting you one, which was the reason he offered.

Generally, he treated you as if he wanted to provide you with a safe space.

And then he kindly told you that he knew about the poem, because his cousin who’s in her first year here at the uni, texted him what the heck was the e-mail she received on her uni account about.

In other word, he gently broke to you that whoever had done this possibly sent it to every student in the database too.

You nearly threw up hearing that; the pit you had climbed up from and of which edge you were balancing, deepened. But you didn’t fall back there.

Yet.

It was probably because you were still too shocked at the information.

“I hate asking that question, but do you have any idea who did this?” Wilson asked quietly and you had nothing but a helpless shake of a head for a reply. You felt your vision blurring, dizziness fogging your brain again. “Can you think of anyone who holds a grudge against you for some reason?”

A scoff escaped your lips, cynical as you found the answer obvious from the verses.

“Besides dating Steve, you mean?” you noted sarcastically. Wilson waited for more, his eyebrows twitching in surprise and expectation before he got it under control. “Sorry, I meant Professor Rog-“

“Hey, you can call him Steve,” he assured you, so damn sweet and diligent. “I met him, you know, I’d go as far as calling him a friend. And right here, right now, he is not your professor, but your boyfriend. I’m talking to you as a counsellor so feel free to call me Sam if you’re comfortable. And to answer your question, I assume that it is as good motive as any, but the fact that the two of you are dating is practically a public knowledge at this point, so it doesn’t really narrow our field of suspects.”

Despite his openness and kind approach, you once again could only shrug, growing desperate by the minute. The urge to leave – because suddenly it made even more sense, him taking you here, he was friends with Steve, he was stalling – became unbearable.

You didn’t have the strength to see Steve now. You couldn’t. You would question every gesture, analyse everything and perhaps came to the conclusion that he agreed with the author of the poem and you desperately didn’t want that. You needed to forget about this, preferably with an unhealthy amount of alcohol, you needed to cry some more, you needed ice-cream and a hug and to bitch about everything and you needed a fucking nap that would last at least a week.

“I don’t know who hates me that much, I swear. Can I please go now?”

Sam cocked his head to side, a minute frown creasing his brows. “Is that what you want?”

Do you really want to leave before Steve gets a chance to get here?

You should probably feel guilty. You wanted to feel guilty, because that was you being a coward and it was downright mean to Steve, who would no doubt learn about this very soon and from someone else, but you didn’t have the capacity to think about anything at all besides feeling like you were going to explode any second.

“Yes. Thanks for being nice and all, but I—I’d rather go.”

“You have a roommate? A friend you live with and who’s in?” he fussed, voice gravely, amiable chocolate eyes observing you with worry. Did he think you were about to hurt yourself? Did you look like the type? Were you? You mentally shook your head. Jesus.

“Yeah,” you creaked, already rising to your feet, endlessly grateful that he was letting you go. “Penny. We— uhm, we were supposed to go celebrating.”

You nearly choked on the last word, feeling like everything but going out tonight. The idea of going out and facing all the stares cause by the widely-spread e-mail made your stomach clench.

You kinda lost the appetite to celebrate anything to begin with; all the relief and joy, which had filled every last bit of your being post-learning your grade, vanished and was replaced by a dark sticky substance filling your lungs, your gut, your veins, muffling the outside world.

Perhaps Penny would agree to a loud night in?

“You can still do that, that’s up to you. But please, get some sleep and don’t be alone. Here,” he stood up as well, handing you a card. “My number, even if you just need to talk to a sort-of outsider and word-vomit all over someone, okay?”

You couldn’t argue with his offer – you had a feeling you’d vomit soon, either verbally or literally. Still, you charmed a shaky smile that probably turned out a grimace.

“K. Thanks… Sam.”

“Any time.”

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Of course, Wilson’s unspoken question about moving quick to avoid an encounter with certain professor was painfully on point.

You bailed on Steve whom you were supposed to wait for even if just for a hug and congratulations, practically running to the dorm, your unsteady feet and tears still clouding your vision be damned.

You ignored the ringing of your phone, assuming it was Steve himself; bile rose to your throat at the idea of hearing his voice at that moment. He tried twice before you smashed the power button and threw the phone back to your purse, breathing out in relief and wanting to puke at the same time.

You truly couldn’t find the capacity to deal with him momentarily – you needed to be alone and safe from any prying eyes, preferably in the comfort of your shared dorm with Penny. You cried harder when you finally reached it, your feet hurting from attempting to run in heels.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that Penny somehow already knew, probably from the e-mail – it was written all over her face. And hadn’t her expression been enough, instead of a celebratory champagne she handed you a shot of a transparent liquid the moment you opened the door.

You turned it bottoms up without questioning it and asked for another. Penny grabbed the bottle of vodka waiting on the shoe rack and poured one for you and one for herself. You didn’t bother clinking the glasses.

Though the burn in your throat felt pleasant, it did nothing to sooth the burn in your eyes and heart. Penny’s embrace made it a bit better.

So did the third shot of vodka.

You didn’t switch on your phone that day again – and when it was nearing midnight, after a four-hour nap, you convinced Penny to go celebrate to the Freddy’s as you had originally planned to do. You pretended that no one stared at you and instead you danced and drank until your mind was swimming enough for the sorrow and anger to drown.

You were one lucky bitch to have Penny walk you home.

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Steve was sitting at his desk at the faculty office he shared with Bucky and was working hard at what he excelled at for these past days despite his genuine efforts at not doing so; getting absolutely nothing done at all.

His hands had grown somewhat unsteady, a reflection of how he was feeling, how torn and absurdly broken he had become. He was spilling drinks on a regular basis, items kept falling from his flimsy hold. His brain felt foggy these days as well, most likely a consequence of the shitty sleep he was getting.

His bed felt too big despite his rather large frame and too cold despite his body temperature usually running almost too high; the sheets smelled strange and foreign despite being his own and the bed screamed with emptiness on a volume that kept interrupting his already deficient sleep.

Four days.

Four days since one stupid poem knocked his world out of its orbit and everything that mattered crashed down. Well, perhaps not everything, Steve happened to like his job too and he still had it, but such detail seemed insignificant; it certainly did in comparison to the fact that he had been attempting and had failed to reach you.

Calls.

Texts.

Few e-mails when he felt particularly helpless and frustrated.

His messed up sleeping and eating schedule and the irregularity that came with the exam period would make a perfect case of him losing any notion of time – yet Steve knew about every second without you, practically counting them.

He could still see Sam Wilson standing outside the classroom he had been testing students’ knowledge in as if it happened yesterday. He could recall with painfully stark clarity the unreadable expression on his face and the ominous “Steve, man… we need to talk.”

Steve still remembered Tony Stark waltzing in the next day with a baby in some sort of a front backpack, agitated that someone had gotten into the database, let alone to send all the hate-emails, and how he announced he found the culprit and their accomplices in an hour, which apparently happened to be too long to his liking.

Steve would smile at the memory of the technical genius’ antics, but the gaping hole in his chest caused by the deafening silence from you prevented it. Hell, not even the vivid picture of Carol Danvers from the faculty of law, moonlighting like a member of the legal department of the university, made the corners of his lips rise.

And hadn’t it been quite a show, a downright uplifting experience.

Steve was watching the screen with a frown, a stone-solid clench to his jaw and a firm clench to his fists.

It was almost amusing really; Bucky kept going about Fury being a creep and not a spy, but despite the lack of a one-way glass, the space Carol and the girl was in – just like two other rooms, each with one man – resembled an interrogation room. Steve never had been more grateful for audio and video feed in his life, but he sure as hell wasn’t laughing in delight at being proved right.

In fact, it had been taking all of his willpower not to burst into those rooms and give a piece of his mind to every single person guilty of being involved in hurting you. In causing his life to collapse on itself.

Steve couldn’t quite recall the brunet Carol was roasting, but he suspected he had seen her in one of the classes he was teaching. She didn’t stand out from the crowd of students and he didn’t see anything special about her worth remembering; then again, he tended to forget to take notice of other pretty faces ever since he had laid his eyes on yours.

And right now, all he saw was a face of a vicious bitch who forced you into pushing him away and a single look at her had his blood boiling.

Steve truly wanted to punch the living daylights of her and that said something, because he prided himself in having moral objection to hitting women, especially from sheer anger.

However, the desire was growing with each piece of information he learned. Because Yvonne Whatever-Is-Her-Name was a piece of work for fucking certain.

She talked a guy number one, whom she was attending Introduction to Social Studies 101 and who had a very apparent teenage-like crush on her, into reaching out to his friend, guy number two, whom he often played some online video game with, into hacking the database, sending the e-mails and finding out when and where exactly your exam was, just so Yvonne herself could redecorate the corridors and bathroom and make sure you wouldn’t miss her work of art.

Carol was alternating between visiting each of the ‘suspects’ and man, did they sing like birds.

Steve wanted to strangle them all, but fuck, the hatred for Yvonne Burton specifically was already consuming him and gnawing at his very soul; yes, he found out her last name just so he knew his mortal enemy. He was going to burn her to the ground, one way or the other… not that Carol hadn’t been doing a fine job so far.

That damn brunet had tears running down her face, sobbing occasionally, but still rarely sassing back. Somehow, seeing her like that wasn’t half as satisfying as Steve hoped, because his mind kept wandering to you and wondering if you looked about the same and every time such picture formed in his head, he hated Ms.Burton a fraction more.

She had used a guy who liked her, which Carol blatantly pointed out. The lawyer didn’t seem to hold back her own snark if the question about how the culprits met – via some forum for bruised ego, was it? – was anything to go by.

“I might be a lawyer, but I’m begging for every art professor and author I know – stay away from poetry. What you wrote is a child’s rhyme really, but like every writing, it says a lot about who you are. And it gives me a plenty of ammunition. We have two names, one full, one last name pointing out a specific person from the context. If I play my cards right, we have defamation on our hands, libel to be precise. Congratulation,” Carol remarked in a surprisingly calm voice. The other woman visibly paled. Good. “And what about the last line? Is that… is that a threat of violence? I can make it harassment, but if I try hard enough, perhaps we can consider it something more serious…?”

“You don’t get to threaten me! You’re lying! I’ve done nothing wrong and so serious!” the girl – and really, in Steve’s eyes, she was nothing but a stupid girl who somehow managed to kick his life in its balls – exploded, jumping to her feet.

Carol levelled her with a glare and an irritated hiss. “Sit down.” Burton did, clammy hands curled up in trembling fists. “And you’ve done more than enough.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Oh don’t I? Be my guest then. Explain it. Your motivation, the legal side, anything. I’m all ears.”

“I love him!” the girl exclaimed and Steve grinded his teeth as a surge of rage shooting through his veins.

Like fucking hell she did. He didn’t remember even talking to her if he ever had to start with and she loved him?!

Was that really what this was about? This girl somewhat liked him and got obsessed? Decided to wreck his girlfriend? To what end? To drive the two of you apart? To make you hate him so he would run to her? To simply ruin your future? What the fuck was wrong with her?! She was a damn kid with hurt pride and zero efforts put in so far, because he couldn’t even remember her-

“Oh you really don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have done this,” Carol responded with a cold edge to her voice, apparently agreeing with Steve’s thoughts and being equally unimpressed with Ms.Burton dramatic confession.

“I’m fighting for him! Ain’t nothing wrong-”

Oh Steve would argue with that so hard. He could feel Sam watching him from the corner of his eye, but neither of them said anything as Steve gripped the edge of the table the monitors were on.

He was sure he was going to be sick, the edge of his vision doing something he only read about; as if truly turning red, crimson with hunger for blood. He never ever craved tearing someone in half, not a single one of the guys who bullied him in school, not the girls that laughed at him when he said he liked them; and make no mistake, he had always felt mad enough.

But right now, he tasted undiluted rage and it tasted like acid with a bitter aftertaste of iron and copper, searing hot on his tongue and spreading through his body, turning it heavy and nauseatingly light at the same time.

“No, you’re ruining his life,” Carol emphasized, leaning onto the table and glaring murder at the girl. “If this is your idea of fighting for someone, it’s pretty twisted. You could have done literally anything to make him notice you, hell, pick you, but leave if he still said no, because that’s a sensible thing to do. But instead, you hurt someone he cared about. And that means you hurt him too – not to mention that his name is in there, possibly putting a scrap on his reputation. If you did love him, you’d want him to be happy.”

Steve gulped and looked away, unable to bear the weight of Carol’s words, feeling the jab on his own person. Because he was familiar with being accused of ruining someone’s life and future despite seemingly loving them. God knew that on a rainy day, he wondered about his own ‘love’ and its purity too – and now, it was fucking pouring and Steve had been forced to question everything he knew.

Was this little brunet Satan a godsend in fact? Was she supposed to tell him to stop lying to himself about not being your doom? Just what kind of a mess this stunt would have made had you been working a steady job and this got to your employer?

A gentle hand reached for his shoulder, a silent support, and Steve found himself torn between irritated, grateful and deeply ashamed.

No matter how much he hated it, he should be on the list to get punched for hurting you too.

“So, sorry to break it to you, but you don’t love him,” Carol continued and with Sam’s palm on his shoulder, Steve forced himself to watch the scene, the grand finale. “You’re just a little girl with attitude issues, a crush that got out of hand, and a ton of luck for knowing a guy willing to help you. Guess what – you just ran out of that luck.”

Heavy silence fell on the interrogation room and Steve’s eyes slid shut, hearing Carol and Yvonne’s parting words.

“And just so you know, she didn’t get the highest score. She got a B.”

Steve didn’t even know that and despite all the shit they were in, he felt a surge of pride for his g- hopefully still his girl.

At the same time, the fact that he learned it from Carol and not from you as he still couldn’t reach you, felt like a punch to his solar plexus.

Carol entered the monitoring room with a discontent expression on her face, wordlessly telling Steve and Sam that the conversation, no matter how harsh, wasn’t satisfying enough.

Still, Steve glanced at her and nodded with severity.

“Thank you, Carol,” he rasped, surprised by how hoarse his own voice sounded; for the burn of rage in his stomach and the tension in his muscles, he almost forgot about the lump gradually growing in his throat with each hour of silence from you.

“My damn pleasure,” Carol huffed with slight irritation, one clearly not aimed at Steve. She subtly raised her eyebrows. “I kinda want to punch her, but I guess I’m not the only one, huh?”

Steve sighed and closed his eyes, his hands almost shaking with the said need. Still, it was surprisingly relieving to be called out on that and to learn that he wasn’t the only one. And when he opened his eyes again, the look on Carol’s face told him that she wasn’t blaming him one bit.

“You have no fucking idea, I- Jesus, I never wanted to—to-- so much in my life.“

The rise of one corner of her lips was sympathetic. “We’ll handle this, Steve. I know it’s hard to hear, but you can’t really help us here. Go home. Rest.”

The lump in Steve’s throat grew nearly suffocating at the idea of going to the empty apartment, where his uselessness became even more evident. Steve eyed Sam, searching with hope for any sign of a better advice, but the counsellor only nodded to second Carol’s thought.

“Go home and try to call your girl. She’ll pick up eventually.”

At that time Steve had done exactly that – however, the result had remained identical to those with his previous attempts. You hadn’t picked up and he had left a voicemail and a pathetic text that somehow seemed to be reflecting all of his insecurities and doubts about your relationship and it hadn’t turned out at all as he had planned – and then it had been too late to take it back.

He had sent another and another, almost hour after hour and he was gradually realizing that he was forgoing all hope and his faith in what you two had and what it could become in the future; and god, did he want the future so badly.

But he couldn’t always get what he wanted, could he? He thought that a miracle had happened when he had first met you and later heard your yes to the date. But here you were.

Four days from that terrible incident.

Did Steve even believe that you two were supposed to be together? He didn’t even know anymore. Perhaps it was an intervention from some higher power and you two breaking apart was meant to be, saving you a heartbreak and disillusions which were about to come later.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought and the sensation that felt like a punch to his gut, his insides cramping.

That was not true. You two loved each other. You had found something truly amazing in each other and you were about to reach out to him any minute so you could continue to your brighter future together.

…right?

Except a minute passed by and nothing happened, the phone Steve was toying with remaining silent.

No received text or e-mail.

No incoming call.

Another minute and then another ten, the phone still spinning in his hand in almost a reflex at that point and still not lighting up.

The knot in Steve’s gut turned tighter and tighter, the tension in his shoulders and jaw growing, his mantra of you surely contacting him gradually falling silent.

Finally, he came to the decision that only fools kept doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.

He was supposed to do that a long long time ago, the moment he had convinced himself that coming knocking on your dorm could be considered harassment… and would break his heart in case you’d shut the door to his face telling him you were done with him.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve swept through his contacts and dialled your best friend and roommate in one person.

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Part 2

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Thank you for reading!

Let me know what you thought! I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ doing something with randomly timed shots to a series, so… you know. I’m a bit nervous. And I guess that this is very different from what this series was so far too, so I hope it’s okay. Thank you :-*

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ombreblossom · 4 years ago

Text

speaking words unspoken

This is my gift for @bluejayblueskies for the 2021 @tma-valentines-exchange! I hope you like it!

AO3 link is located in the source :)

Summary: They're a week and some change into their stay at Daisy's safe house, and Martin is still having some trouble with the Lonely. Jon picks up on this and tries to make things better. And he does! In his way, but not before some miscommunication and exhaustion waylay his efforts (about 6.5K words)

The grocery store is awfully busy for a small town nestled in the heart of the Scottish Highlands. Residents of the village wander among a haphazard collection of shelves ranging from middling height to impossibly tall. There seems to be little rhyme or reason for where items are placed from aisle to aisle, forcing Martin to have to search around in order to find anything, increasing the number of people he inadvertently bumps into.

If Martin gave it any more than a cursory thought, he'd come to the conclusion that it's not entirely unexpected, the nearest Tesco many tens of kilometers away and only a smattering of towns in between.

Martin isn’t really in a position to have that cursory thought, though, as freshly escaped from the Lonely as he was. Nervous energy thrums along his skin, speeding his movements and making him quick to avert his eyes in the infrequent event someone meets them. Most people still easily pass their gaze over him, as if he were merely a wisp of tepid air lazily making its way across the store room—a left-over effect of his association with the One Alone. Martin doesn't mind so much the lack of attention paid to him, but he can't help but feel an uncomfortable pressure against his skin when other people are near.

He can't even be near Jon sometimes, not without the pressure overwhelming him, and doesn’t that just smart.

Martin resolved to brave the thick, after-work crowd for this, though, “this” being gathering the supplies needed for a relaxing night in Daisy’s safehouse following a rushed and terrified flight from London and everything that had happened with Peter and Eli-Jonah, Not!Sasha, and the hunters. They weren’t on holiday, Martin had to keep reminding himself. They weren’t on holiday, but he was probably the happiest he’s been in years, and he wants to celebrate that. With Jon.

With Jon. What a concept. He was elsewhere in the store, continuing an extended effort of picking up things they'd conceivably need for the long term. Just in case. Martin’s trying to not examine his shaky optimism too closely, but he is in love, and it's impossible to not consider his current position beside Jon as anything but a miracle.

Ah, there’s finally some room in the sweets aisle. Flanked on either side by various baking paraphernalia, Martin enters the aisle and heads straight for a small section of colorfully-wrapped bar chocolate. Not that Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London likes sweet chocolate—goodness, no. Or sweets at all for that matter. At least not things he classified as “obnoxiously sweet,” an ambiguous term if Martin had ever heard one. Over time, Martin has come to understand it to mean barely sweet, like an echo of sweetness that had once been present and is no longer. He's never said as much, but Jon likes his sweets like he likes his tea: oversteeped to the point of bitterness with the barest hint of sugar and the slightest bit of added color from milk.

And Jon does this unbearably adorable thing where he breaks the bar up into smaller pieces, not even according to the pre-set perforations, mind you, and nibbles on the thing for hours at a time, either to savor the flavor (which Martin cannot possibly fathom) or because Jon is a lying liar who lies about liking bitterness to that degree, and this is the one thing he has managed to successfully lie to anybody about.

It’s probably the former, but Martin would be delighted to find out it’s the latter.

So, he gladly picks up a couple of ninety-percent dark chocolate bars for Jon and turns them over in his hand, feeling the rough texture of the plain, if colorful, wrapping paper surrounding them. Martin does his best to dodge around other shoppers who've entered the aisle, picking up some granulated sugar, flour, baking soda and powder, and cinnamon for banana bread (his personal favorite). It stirs feelings in his chest that Jon had bought bananas several days ago with the (if not explicit, then quite obvious in hindsight) intent to let them over-ripen. Martin starts to head toward the cashier with the rest of his items when he feels a cool hand slip into his, interlacing their fingers together.

“Hey,” Jon begins, a soft warmth in his voice, “Did you get everything we needed?” Jon rubs his thumb in light, rhythmic circles onto his own, and it takes everything Martin has in him to not instinctively pull his hand out of Jon’s gentle hold. It feels nice—Jon feels nice—but it's very nearly too much right now. He hates this, hates constantly putting Jon in a position where he has to somehow intuit Martin’s feelings because not even Martin himself quite understands what exactly sets off the chain reaction of fear and pressure and too many people and the roaring—

There’s suddenly nothing but air around his hand, and Martin misses Jon’s solid presence acutely as much as he found it altogether too much. He doesn’t want to look over at Jon to see his placating smile, the one Martin imagined Jon wore as he all but dragged the both of them through King’s Cross station to barely make it on time for the soonest train to Inverness. That same smile that Martin watched Jon affect as he took on the bulk of the dusting and washing that needed to be done upon arrival at Daisy’s safe house. The same smile that Martin woke up to every morning, knowing that Jon had very likely spent several hours just sitting in their bed waiting for Martin to wake up to make sure he didn’t do so alone.

Martin looks anyway and isn’t surprised to see the smile in question.

If Martin had to describe it, he’d say it conveyed a sense of loss, of mourning, of wanting to protect what remained of a previous whole. It’s an implicit acknowledgement of the pieces of Martin that have been irreparably warped by the Lonely and an acknowledgement that Martin had already lost much to mundane loneliness long before Peter took advantage of his grief and recruited him in waylaying the Extinction.

He never wants to see that smile again, and so he looks away.

“Is there anything else we still need to get, Martin?” Jon rephrases and, after a long beat, continues, “Why don’t I finish up here and we can meet up in a few moments at the bookshop?” The bookshop that Martin knows that Jon knows is likely deserted at this time in the late afternoon, not too long before the elderly shopkeep, Fiona, closes her doors in anticipation of beginning her own nightly rituals. “I’m almost finished with the books we brought from London, and last time we were there—”

“Jon—” Martin sighs while Jon continues.

“—you mentioned Discworld, and it occurred to me that I have somehow managed to avoid reading any Pratchett, despite reading what I can only imagine was nearly every book left at all the second-hand bookshops in and around Bournemouth. Did you know—”

Jon keeps going with tidbits of what he knows of Terry Pratchett, which is an awful lot considering he just admitted to having not read anything by the man. Martin missed this, listening to Jon talk about anything and everything. He dare not interrupt him, even with everyone walking around them. He also refuses to throw Jon’s gift of distraction back at his face.

Color rises in Jon’s cheeks and his brows furrow when he presumably realizes he’s been talking for a while. “My point is I don’t mind finishing up here. Really, I don’t.” Jon’s trying to help. He’s trying to help, damn it, he repeats to himself. Lord knows that all Jon has ever done is try to help, in his way. Martin’s the one who can’t go five seconds without his fear around other people flaring out of control. Jon shouldn’t have to go it alone to preserve his comfort.

Martin takes some deep, steadying breaths. Jon waits patiently for him, his free hand fidgeting unobtrusively.

“No, I'm good," he asserts, threading his words with as much certainty he can manage, and decides then and there that it is so. "I have everything we need for dinner tonight here and a couple extra things, too." He waggles his eyebrows a little at this. "I assume that you're over here because you've finished getting the essentials."

Every time Jon laughs is an exercise in appreciating opposing extremes. His eyes close as if he can’t bear to look at the object of his amusement any longer, and the corners of those eyes crinkle in the prettiest way, taking the breath right out of Martin’s body when it happens. And he holds his hand in front of his mouth like his laughter is something to be smothered, never to see the light of day, the reasons for which Martin can't be certain, but he suspects he wouldn't like them. "Indeed. And a few extra indulgences," Jon teases, winking. Winking! Does Jon wink? Clearly he does, but this is new information, a treasure trove hidden among stormy seas. “I picked up some sausage; sausage always adds an extra depth of flavor to this sort of thing.”

Laughing lightly, Martin says, "Let's get going, then. We have an extremely full evening of relaxation ahead of us."

"Since when do you find cooking relaxing, Mr. Microwave Meals?"

"Since it's a safe activity that we can do together now that we're away from the Institute of Terror, Mr. Will Subsist on Granola Bars and Spite For Days at a Time If Left to His Own Devices."

Jon looks thoughtful suddenly. "Safe. Now there’s a concept," Jon says with no small amount of incredulity.

Martin pauses. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Jon?” Martin goes cold at the thought that Jon might have seen something and not told him.

“What? Oh, no. It’s just…” He trails off, his gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling. “This, being here—with you—is probably the safest I’ve felt in a long time. It-it almost doesn’t feel real. Like any little thing I do or neglect to do could potentially burst this bubble of happiness I’ve all of the sudden found myself in.”

It’s moments like these that Martin might actually be willing to believe that Jon is in his early 40s, the age he’d be now if the ridiculous lie he told about his age when they all started in the archives had been true. The pressing weights of repeated trauma, responsibility, and regret age his features considerably, and it hurts to look at. Martin wants so badly to smooth away the lines that seem to have taken up permanent residence between Jon’s brows however he can.

Martin ventures that he’s calm enough now to at least comfort Jon, if not enough to accept any for himself. He grabs the same hand that grasped his own minutes before and just. Holds it. Jon goes taught, like a newly-strung bow, words of reassurance waiting on Jon’s lips, that no, it’s okay, Martin, you don’t have to do this.

Well, too bad. Martin wants to do this, the Lonely’s lingering influence on him be damned. Martin draws Jon’s hand up to his lips and presses a kiss onto his knuckles. Jon gasps quietly, eyes wide. His grey-streaked dark hair is slipping out of its loose braid, whether from Jon playing with it in idle moments or from the wind that is altogether too often present in the Highlands, Martin couldn’t say, but the image endears him to Martin all the same.

“Well, take it from someone who’s spent a lot of the last year feeling not-quite-real: this is real, Jon. We’re here and safe, at least for now,” Martin assures him, grinning. “Let’s go pay for this stuff, yeah? And let’s go home.” Jon, momentarily speechless, simply nods his assent.

They’re able to leave the store with their purchases eventually and decide to make their way to Fiona’s bookshop anyway, picking up a few volumes while they’re there: a collection of Robin Robertson’s poetry for Martin and a geographical history of the Scottish Highlands and Terry Pratchett’s Guards, Guards for Jon to chew through. And neither of them would dare leave without giving Maggie, the resident feline guardian, some well-earned scritches. “It takes an awful lot of energy to mind an entire bookshop, after all,” Jon says every time they visit, all the while accumulating what could only amount to an unhealthy amount of cat hair—so much so that Martin’s started to find it laying about in the safe house. Jon doesn’t seem to mind it and says it reminds him of living with The Admiral.

It’s a decent walk back to the safe house. They started late enough in the day that the sun is already beginning to sink below the horizon, so they end up leaving after giving Maggie far fewer scritches than any of them would have preferred. Jon rebuffs Martin’s offer to carry all of their purchases, stubbornly hanging onto their books and his share of the groceries. This is becoming a familiar game to them, one that tends to escalate to silly, frantic grabbing for the others’ bags and eventually devolves into giggles and light shoulder bumping. Today, Martin manages to relieve Jon of his groceries, opening up one of Jon’s hands for holding, which Martin promptly attempts to take.

Jon turns his head to him and gives him a look that practically asks in his stead, “Are you sure this is okay?” The likewise unsaid “I don’t want to hurt you” bounces back and forth between them, and Martin answers by interlacing their hands and giving Jon’s a squeeze in hopes that it will quell the worry that’s carved into the lines of Jon’s face.

It does, and the contented sigh Jon makes is one of the loveliest sounds he’s heard. They continue their trek home, the route long and winding.

Not too much later, though, Martin notices something...off about Jon. He notices in increments almost minute winces when Jon steps on the leg Prentiss' worms ravaged, more frequent bumps into him that had nothing to do with showing affection but allowing Martin to take some of his weight for a moment, and some far-away looks.

Martin doesn’t quite have the shape of it until they’re talking about something or other, something simple, easy, meaningless in the grand, cosmic scheme of things, and Jon stumbles. He tries to laugh it off, but there's something not quite right about Jon's laughter this time. The way he bounces his shoulders in suppressed mirth is subdued—sluggish, even. An increasingly concerning picture paints itself in Martin’s mind.

A long, hard look at Jon forces him to confront the deep, dark circles under his eyes set against skin uncomfortably grey, nearly all traces of flush gone from his face, a stark contrast to earlier in the day.

How had he missed this? Maybe he’s been more absent than he thought. He’ll have to keep a close eye on Jon throughout the evening, maybe shepard him to bed if he seems to get any worse.

Only a sliver of the sun remains visible above the horizon when they arrive at the safe house, casting a soft orange glow over the vast grassy spread of the Highlands. Martin pays the sight little mind, though, all of his focus intent on the man in front of him currently unlocking their front door, and he can’t not notice how long it takes for Jon to insert the key into the locking mechanism.

As they’re putting away their groceries, visions of Jon doing the very same thing by himself play in his mind’s eye. He’s only able to summon disconnected images of the first several days of their....could he call it an elopement? Their not-so-great escape from the Archives? He recalls Jon preparing meals for them, bundling up to leave the safe house for groceries, washing their clothes in a small, foot-powered washing machine and later hanging them up on a clothesline outside to dry. Martin also recalls Jon bringing him overly-steeped tea and an old crocheted blanket when all he could do was sit on Daisy’s ancient green corduroy sofa and stare into the void in front of him, the sounds of lapping waves Coming ever closer.

All the while wearing that damnable smile. Shame pools within Martin, shame that Jon had had to take up so much responsibility recently and that Martin can’t say how well Jon’s been sleeping or taking care of his own needs in the meantime. If today is anything to go on, Martin supposes the answer to both of those questions is likely “no.”

“Martin, could you turn on the lights? We’re losing daylight fast.” Jon has a balancing hand on the countertop and is putting their dry and canned food items. Martin does as he’s asked, bathing the entire kitchen and living area in warm light. Martin walks back toward the kitchen area and is greeted with a “thank you” and a kiss. He could get used to this, used to feeling loved and appreciated.

“Is something bothering you, Martin?”

He looks at Jon, concern writ large on his still ashen face and eyes boring into him. Concern has no place being there right now. If anyone has any right to be concerned at the moment, it’s Martin.

“What? No. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve just been awfully quiet since we got home, and after what happened at the store, it’s not surprising that you might still be feeling...off.”

Projection, much? Martin wants to say but has the wherewithal to hold it back. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. Jon. I’m all right.”

Jon eyes him up and down, and after seemingly not finding what he’s looking for, nods once and smiles (again with the smile...) once more. “All right. You’ll tell me if something’s bothering you, though, won’t you?”

“Yeah, Jon, of course I will.” And he intends to mean it.

“Good,” Jon says and walks over to where Daisy keeps her cooking vessels, grabs her Dutch oven, and places it on the stovetop.

“Why don’t I be your line chef today, Jon, and you work the stovetop? You’re much better at the actual cooking part than I am.”

“Mmm. There’s a lot of prep work that goes into this and not a whole lot of actual cooking, so let me help you,” he says, shakily opening a couple drawers in search of a suitable chef’s knife.

“You sure? You’re looking a little peaky over there,” he replies without meaning to and curses his loose tongue.

Jon pauses midway through grabbing one of Daisy’s old wooden cutting boards and blinks slowly. “Oh…. Yes, I’m sure. What do you mean, looking ‘peaky’?”

“It’s just,” Martin starts, collecting the fennel seed, basil, rosemary, and the rest of the spices they needed for their meat sauce and a bowl to mix them in. Too late to not approach the subject now. “You’re exhausted, Jon. You spent most of our walk home either tripping over air or leaning on me for support.” He had wanted to be subtle, but subtlety is no longer on the cards.

Considering this for a moment, Jon’s eyebrows scrunch up in a way that Martin finds so endearing and opens a nearby cupboard to take out a couple onions and a bulb of garlic. “Sure, I’m a little tired,” he concedes, “but we have all evening to relax. I’d like nothing more than to cook with you, Martin.”

He should’ve known Jon was a sap. The signs were all there. “Well, how could I say ‘no’ to that?” He says and means it, though worry continues to percolate in the back of his mind.

“You can’t, and you know it.” Jon teases.

They go about preparing their meat sauce, Martin double- and triple-checking each measurement before pouring the appropriate amount of each spice into the mixing bowl and Jon dicing onions.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Chop onions without tearing up and cursing your hubris that ‘this time will be different’?”

Chuckling softly, Jon apparently thinks better of sliding his hand down his face before answering, pivoting to the most level deadpan Martin thinks he’s ever heard from him, “It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that I spent years perfecting my abilities. Training with the best of the best to strengthen my tears ducts to such a degree that they are, quite literally, incapable of passing tears from my lacrimal glands to my eyes.”

Martin raises a dark eyebrow, amusement in his voice as he replies, “You should probably see a doctor about that, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he draws out. “The real answer, of course, is my grandmother devoted a lot of her time to making sure I could at least cook according to a recipe along with providing some general rules of thumb. I chopped many an onion in search of culinary adequacy. Never progressed much past following recipes, though. Ask me to create something from scratch, and you’ll witness a horror the likes of which has never been seen before.”

“Just out of curiosity, which fear do you think takes credit for culinary disasters?”

“Probably depends on the nature of the disaster, honestly, but…. Hmm. Maybe Corruption? Or Flesh, maybe? Either way, it doesn’t bear thinking about, especially not while we’re preparing to eat ourselves.”

While Martin is rummaging through the fridge in search of where Jon put the ground beef and sausage, he hears a hiss coming from Jon's direction.

Martin whips his head over to where Jon's been dicing onions and his heart clenches at the sight of deep red blossoming over the wooden cutting board.

"Jon! What happened? You're bleeding," He says, stating the obvious, feeling like his throat is closing up behind his words. "Where are you bleeding from?" Martin crosses the room in record time, places a hand in Jon's shoulder and surveys the area in front of him.

Blood leaks sluggishly from a cut on Jon's middle finger. A splatter of crimson on the knife Jon has been using clues Martin in to what happened. "Jon, just stay right there, okay? I'll go grab the first-aid kit. I’m sure there’s some kind of antiseptic or disinfectant in there. I’ll be right back!”

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but Martin’s already gone, heading for the cabinet under the bathroom sink, head abuzz with worry and heart hammering in his chest.

When Martin returns, Jon’s running his hand beneath the running tap and blood trails down into the sink in pink rivulets. Jon glances at him, the same exhaustion that stared back at him when Jon and the rest left for Great Yarmouth on his face, a combination of physical exhaustion and the culmination of several months of emotional upheaval, of bitterly contemplating his own humanity and his role in Elias’ inscrutable plans.

“There’s no need to worry about the first-aid kit, Martin. Didn’t you hear? I heal, ah, preternaturally fast these days. See?” Jon holds up his hand to Martin, and, much to Martin’s surprise, the seeping cut on Jon’s finger is completely gone, no trace even of a faint scar.

“I...I didn’t know, Jon,” he almost whispers. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since I—since I woke up. From the coma.”

Martin mouths an “oh” and considers what this means in the context of what knows about Jon’s actions while he’d been working for Peter. It’s almost sadder that Jon ventured into Ny Alesund knowing that he couldn’t be permanently harmed—or into the coffin, for that matter. Walking into extreme danger knowing that he’d likely bring pain on himself but he’d almost certainly live despite it—”self-destructive” was even more accurate than Martin had imagined at the time Daisy said it.

Martin heaves a tension-relieving breath and hopes it doesn’t sound like a sigh. Making Jon feel guilty about something he can’t exactly help isn’t something he wants to do tonight. Or ever. “Why don’t I go put this back, then, and let’s pick up where we left off. I’ll take over the solemn duty of chopping onions if you start preparing the beef and sausage.”

“Yeah, that might be for the best,” Jon concedes too easily.

The room is quiet after that. Not much sound ever permeates the safe house’s walls, trees and hills absorbing much of the ambient noises of the surrounding area before they even get to their cottage. And they’ve both gone silent, the only sounds filling the room the sharp thuds of a knife hitting wood and the squelching of ground meat.

By time Martin’s done dicing one onion to replace the one Jon bled on and an extra onion that the recipe didn’t call for because “onions are flavor vehicles, Martin,” or so Jon claims, Jon’s still mixing the beef and sausage together.

“H-hey, Jon, I think you’ve mixed those pretty thoroughly, don’t you?”

“Mmm.” He stills, hands still submerged in the mixture.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks slowly, head and gaze drawing downward, like he no longer has the will or strength to work against gravity.

Martin reaches out a hand to shake him out of his stupor but thinks better of it. Has he somehow lost more color in his cheeks? “Jon, I think you should maybe go lay down or at least sit down.” Nothing. “I’d love to hear you talk about Discworld if you’re not ready to lay down yet.”

This seems to break him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. “Oh. Ah, yes. Right. I understand. I’ll, um, just go.”

What is there to understand, Martin wonders as Jon turns back to the sink and runs water and soap along his hands, movements almost comically slow if not for how worrying they are and the frenetic energy that usually accompanies Jon completely missing.

Martin reaches out a supporting hand, intending to grasp Jon’s upper arm. “The bedroom’s awfully far away; let’s get you to the sofa, and I’ll bring over some tea and blankets, yeah?”

With energy summoned from the aether, Jon leaps out of the way of his hand, throwing himself boldly against the lip of the countertop with a cry. “No. No. That’s all-that’s all right. I can get there by myself,” he says, chest heaving and the trembling Martin noticed more pronounced than even a moment ago.

“Jon, love, you’re not in any condition to be doing anything by yourself. In the most affectionate way possible, you look like you feel awful right now. Please let me help.” Martin’s unable to keep the pleading out of his voice.

Jon looks—Looks?—looks at him, eyes wide, almost bulging, fear and a host of other emotions dancing wildly in them. “No, n-no. You don’t have to…. Please, don’t. I didn’t want this.”

“Don’t what, Jon? What didn’t you want?”

“This. I didn’t want this.”

“Um. I don’t really understand, Jon, but let’s talk about it over on the sofa. We’ll be more comfortable there.” Martin takes a small step forward, palms of his hands facing forward in a gesture of openness and safety. This time when Jon leaps backward, he slips. Martin’s not close enough to grab onto him, and a split second later, the deafening crack of Jon’s head hitting the wood floor fills the room and clamps a vice around Martin’s heart.

Too shaken to yell his name, he bounds over to where Jon lies still and slides into a sitting position beside him. All Martin can see for a terrifying, desolate moment is Jon in that familiar adjustable hospital bed, crisp, undisturbed white sheets carefully arranged over top of him, attached to various monitors that have been silenced to not alert staff of his absent heartbeat and non-existent oxygenation levels.

“Jon. Jon. Come on. Don’t do this to me. Jon, do something—say something if you can. Please, don’t….” Should he move Jon at this point? Martin remembers from a rudimentary first-aid class he took when his mother’s worsening condition started to accelerate that you shouldn’t move people with suspected head or neck injuries without first stabilizing them, but they had nothing like that here. And there was still some question as to how far his healing ability really extended.

He has to be okay. Without giving the action any thought, Martin gently places a hand atop Jon’s chest to check for breathing. They’re shallow breaths, but his chest does rise and sink in a slow rhythm, and Martin lets out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding.

“Love?” He near whispers, as if Jon were merely asleep. “Come back to me.” He brushes away some of the fly-away hairs that have fallen onto his face. That is when Jon begins to stir.

“Jon? Jon!” Martin exclaims. For whatever mysterious reason, Jon is trying to wriggle away from him. “Don’t try to move yet. You hit your head pretty hard, and your healing isn’t immediate, Jon. Just stay put!” Jon wasn’t listening to him, still scrambling to move out of Martin’s reach.

That’s enough of that. Martin lays himself over Jon’s chest and holds him while he waits for him to calm down.

It takes some seconds, maybe a minute or two, but Jon does calm down eventually, becoming boneless in Martin’s arms.

“Hey,” Martin starts, “you with me, Jon?”

Jon lifts a hand slowly, making a so-so gesture.

“Okay. How’s your head?”

He winces. “Hurts.”

Martin hmms. “Do you feel dizzy?”

Jon gives a minute shake of his head.

“Okay. I’m moving us to the sofa, then. And don’t try to protest,” Martin warns.

Martin gets half-way to his feet, slips his arms until Jon’s legs and back, and proceeds to pick them both up off the floor. In the short time it takes to cross the room, Jon nuzzles his head into Martin’s chest. The frustration and concern and worry Martin’s feeling subsides somewhat in the face of overwhelming affection for this man, and he hugs him just a little bit closer.

“Stay here; I’ll be right back,” Martin says as he lays Jon down gingerly onto the sofa. He puts their dinner ingredients back into the fridge for the time being and puts some water on for chamomile tea. His thoughts drift as he waits for the water to come to a boil and some more as he waits for the tea to steep. He glances at Jon every so often, who has rolled over onto his side while Martin’s been gone.

“Hey, you,” Martin says as he sits in front of Jon at the edge of the sofa, the mug of chamomile making a soft thunk on the table.

“Why are you doing all this, Martin?” Jon murmurs into the worn fabric underneath him, and Martin can’t tell if he was supposed to hear it or not.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Jon.”

“Why are you staying so close to me, touching me? Taking care of me?”

“I would have thought the answers to those questions were pretty obvious,” Martin says mildly, carding his fingers through Jon’s hair.

Jon’s silence says everything.

Martin exhales and then steels himself for a delicate conversation. “I love you, Jon. Have done for quite a while now. If there’s anything I can do to lessen your pain and discomfort, I want to do it.”

Jon clenches a fist and refuses to look at him. “I know that, Martin, in every way possible. But...” he stops, apparently to think. He sounds wrecked. Tabling this conversation for when Jon is feeling better might be a better idea, but it’s rare that Jon gets the gumption to speak openly about the things really bothering him, so Martin’s remains quiet. “Things haven’t been easy for you since…. Christ, for a long time, I think. Since Prentiss, at least. But since leaving the Lonely, you’ve been…. You go away for long periods of time, and it seems like you can’t handle people being around you, too.”

It occurs to Martin that they’ve never actually addressed any of this together, not their individual traumas, not their shared traumas, not this thing, these feelings, between them. They’ve been testing the waters, so to speak, bit by bit. Touches and soft barbs and sweet words pass between them unacknowledged but nevertheless heartfelt. But so much else has also remained unsaid in the interim, he now realizes.

“And I get it. No one escapes one of the fears without being marked, and you’ve been marked thoroughly by the Lonely, Martin. It’s...it makes perfect sense that these things are happening, that you feel overwhelmed when people are near.”

He stops again, and Martin gives him ample time to gather his thoughts. Martin is still running his hand through silky salt and pepper strands when Jon lifts his head and looks up at him. His complexion still carries that worrying gray tint and his eyes are and cheeks shine with moisture.

It’s the darker green spot on the sofa where Jon had had his face pressed that really does Martin in, that causes him to throw caution to the wind

“Move back a little, Jon. Just a little, okay?” He says, low and soft. Jon mutters a “yeah” and does as he’s told. “Thanks, love. Now, hold still.”

Daisy’s sofa is by no means a large sofa, and Martin is by no means a small man, but he’ll make this work. He lays himself down beside Jon and works his arms around him, tucking himself into any space he can against him, the lines of their bodies almost completely flush with one another. His back is close enough to the edge that Martin constantly feels like he’s about to fall, but it’s worth it to have Jon in his arms like this. “I’m listening, whenever you’re ready to continue.”

Jon buries himself in Martin’s chest before picking up where he left off, prompting Martin to cup the back of his head and pull him in closer.

“You’ve borne the brunt of maintaining our relationship for so long, Martin, and now it’s my turn. I can take care of you when you’re far away, when you can’t be around people. I can do the shopping, I can cook. I can do all these things.

“And I can stay away when it’s too much for you to be around me.” He clenches the fist caught between them even harder. “I don’t want to be the cause of your pain, Martin. That’s the last thing I want.”

Martin considers all this for...several moments, really, and comes to an ugly conclusion.

“Jon...is this why you didn’t let me touch you earlier?”

A muffled “yes” reaches Martin’s ears, and his heart just breaks.

“We really should have a long conversation about this in the near future—preferably when you’re feeling better—but I want to say a couple things right now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course, Martin. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

Martin gives a little squeeze of gratitude and then continues, “For one, you’re right. There’s leftover stuff from the Lonely I’m dealing with right now, and sometimes it’s hard to be around anyone. And I hate it so much that ‘anyone’ sometimes includes you. From here on out, I’m going to try to tell you when I’m feeling this way, so you don’t have to try to guess. And if I’m reaching out to you, please trust me that I’m okay in that moment.”

“I do trust you, Martin. I trusted you to handle Peter. I trusted you to handle the Extinction. I’ll...do my best to trust you in this, too. I...I’m just deeply afraid of ruining this, ruining us.”

“Thank you. And I understand. I worry about that, too, but please also trust me when I say there’s not much that you could do that would ruin this.”

Nodding into Martin’s chest, Jon whispers, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. And second, I want you to know that, as far as I’m concerned, you don’t need to feel like you need to make up for anything.” Jon is tensing up, preparing to protest—he can feel it. “No, I mean it. Our relationship isn’t transactional. You don’t have to meet every comfort I offer you with one of your own just for the sake of reciprocation. That’s not how it works. You’ve done so much for me Jon, just by being you. That’s not even including the Lonely and everything that’s happened after, though I’m grateful for all that, too. You’re already here for me in every way that matters. You don’t need to do anything more.”

Martin places a kiss on the crown of Jon’s head, and they just lie there, soaking in each other’s presence, previous evening plans all but forgotten. Martin thinks Jon dozes a little bit, the stress of the evening finally taking consciousness away from him, but he’s proven wrong when Jon speaks up once more, muffled slightly by Martin’s jumper.

“For the record, I love you, too. In case that needed to be said.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘need,’ necessarily, but I won’t lie and say I don’t like hearing it!”

“I see,” Jon croaks. The man needs to rest. “Well, I guess if you don’t need it, then I won’t bother saying it.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” He laughs and feels the smile on his face widen.

“I have an idea, yes.”

“Good. Now, drink your tea.”

Martin pushes himself away from Jon to give him some room to sit up and to get a good look at this face. His face isn’t covered in tears anymore (now probably absorbed by the fibers in his knitted jumper), but he looks positively exhausted, eyes lidded and face otherwise lax in an easy smile, not at all like the one he wears with the intent to soothe. Martin places the still warm cup of chamomile in Jon’s hand.

“Still feeling up for a little dinner?” He asks.

Jon hmms and replies, “Yeah, I could eat a little. Just give me a few minutes to—”

“Absolutely not, Jon. I’m going to make dinner while you take a nap here. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. A nap sounds wonderful.”

“Good. I��ll wake you up when everything’s finished.”

Martin starts to dislodge himself from Jon when Jon reaches up to kiss his cheek.

“Love you. And good luck.” Jon gives him possibly the most self-satisfied wink he’s seen before taking a sip of his tea.

It’s not terribly cold in the safe house with a fire going, but Martin lays Daisy’s crocheted blanket over Jon anyway, and starts taking everything back out for dinner.

It’s meat sauce—how hard could it be?

#tma valentines exchange #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #tma #scottish honeymoon #set between mag 159 and mag 160 #idk if there's a unifying scottish honeymoon tag on here #miscommunication #panic #hurt/comfort #sickfic (arguably)#ombre writes #ombre writes fic

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aflyingcontradiction · 3 years ago

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The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 120 - Eye Contact

A cold and well-cleaned room, sterile metal tables that overflow with a gentle trickle of blood. The hearts that beat upon them spasm and spurt without any sort of rhythm, and were they to stand still for but a moment, it might become clear just how wrong they are in their construction. - Statement of Elias Bouchard

So when I first listened to this episode, I didn't realise that the statements referenced here are SPECIFICALLY those and ONLY those that Jon took himself. I also didn't remember what some of the references actually referred to. So I'm probably going to be spending this entire relisten going "Oh, that was THAT statement", starting with this bit, being clearly in reference to "Anatomy Class" (episode 34).

The doctor cannot bring himself to look at the tables, so instead, looks to the Archivist, whose eye watches him, and cannot close.

"Eye" singular sooo ... does dream!Jon appear as a cyclops? But no, I'm imagining him more as a three-eyed being. Two eyes closed in sleep, one Eye eternally open to watch.

Desperate, he tries to throw the apple at his observer, but it is too late. The doctor has forgotten how the elbows work, and wrenches it to the side with a sickening crack. He tries again to scream, but he hasn’t got the throat right, and the wheezing, half-choked gurgle that escapes would stir pity in the Archivist, if he had not heard it so many times before.

It's kind of fascinating to me that the doctor's nightmares focus not so much on the idea of inhuman strangers pretending to be human but on HIMSELF forgetting how to human. To be honest, that IS actually scarier, but not what I expected, exactly, given the origin of his nightmare.

He turns to see the familiar screen, the familiar woman beneath it. She looks up at him with an expression of recognition and weary dread. She types and types and types, her fingers a blur, flying across the keyboard, and yet never fast enough to outrun the relentless words that flow like dark water across the screen that stretches off into the sky.

Episode 65: Binary

He passes those places he can no longer watch – the silent wards of peeling skin, the empty warehouse of thick darkness and frightened children, the rusted train car that smells of eager, infectious hate.

Okay, so this one gave me trouble, so I ended up checking the Wiki to figure it out. The silent wards of peeling skin is Melanie's statement about the hospital. The empty warehouse of thick darkness and frightened children is Basira's statement about Rayner. The rusted train car is, once again, Melanie's statement. Why can he no longer access these? Basira and Melanie are both still alive, after all. Is it because they're being "protected" by their own Entities? But...

The rain is still there, though it is empty. The long and desolate road, slick with the downpour; a police car’s lights flashing over the unmoving van. The doors are open, and the too-familiar statues stand either side of the well-worn wooden box.

Daisy is about as Hunt as Hunt can be and has been for a long time, so why can he get to her nightmare just fine? So I don't get why Melanie's and Basira's nightmares aren't watchable.

Here he sees the train, twisted and pressed in on all sides, nothing but shrieking metal and cracked glass. He climbs inside, and takes his seat, mouth tasting of mud and soil, his eyes moving through the dust and grit unblinking.

Episode 71: Underground

He catches a glimpse of an advert above his seat: “Dig.”

"Dig" wasn't actually a statement taken by Jon, but then this nightmare is of the Buried, so it makes sense for it to be here anyway.

There is a door in front of him. A yellow door. He knows the dream it used to lead to; he knows it well. But that’s not where it leads anymore. He does not know what is behind it anymore, and he is deathly afraid of finding out.

This used to be Helen's nightmare, but of course Helen is now melded into the Distortion so yeah, going through that door would be one MESS of an experience.

The Archivist turns away. Behind him are the ants. They move like a terrible rolling wave along the hard-packed ground, and he can see every twitching antenna, every clenching mandible. Somewhere, underneath that twitching, burrowing mass, is the exterminator.

Episode 55: Pest Control

Before him rises an incinerator door, the glowing light of the flames curling around the cracks. With a wailing shriek, the door opens, and the burning silhouette that stands within is ingrained upon the Archivist’s racing mind. They smoke and sizzle, but still the worms crawl through her charred and pockmarked flesh, her now-singed red dress shifting with the movement beneath it.

Okay, this is interesting 'cause Jon is still in Jordan Kennedy's nightmare, but given how traumatised Jon was by Jane Prentiss, this may as well be his own. And his reaction to it as recounted by Elias actually does make it sound like this is one of the hardest dreams to watch because it hits so close to home.

When faced with her, he even longs for the terrible dream of the melted woman, who would see everything desolated without rhyme or reason. But she was beyond his reach the moment she knew he was there, so the Archivist can only stand and stare, as the hive goes about its infested, long-dead work.

Jude Perry (who somehow fucked off out of Beholding's reach)

The dark building is newer, but he knows it well; knows the two lost souls who creep through it with an alert hunger on their faces. He recognizes that look from the other hunter, whose dreams he has watched for so long. They stalk the darkness itself, and hope to catch and kill it before it can do the same to them. They see him watching, but they cannot catch his scent.

And this one is Julia and Trevor's nightmare.

At last, he is in the moonlit graveyard – the oldest of the dreams. It is peaceful, cool and damp, as the rolling, boggy fields stretch out in all directions. He hears her calling pathetically from the bottom of the graves, but by now he knows there is nothing he can do but stare. She begs to be released, to dream of this place no more, but there is nothing he can do.

And this is Episode 13: Alone.

Another dissection room, another figure standing in its centre – but this one is calm. She simply looks at him sadly, a pity in her face that burns him worse than any flame. More than anything, the Archivist wants to look away, to turn his eye from her gentle sadness, from the disappointment in what she sees in him.

Is this Georgie, then, who is beyond the reach of fear, even when she is still being watched?

Elias: Hello, Inspector. Martin. I’m, uh, sorry to hear about Tim

Until this point I was still hoping that Tim had somehow survived, despite the fact that the narrative was HEAVILY signposting that he wouldn't for multiple episodes.

Martin: You didn’t just see it in me? Elias: Honestly, I didn’t look. For all my power, I will admit I am not immune to making the occasional lazy assumption.

People keep making this mistake with Martin, don't they?

Peter: Oh, and if you want to talk to a counselor, the Institute will of course cover any cost.

Okay, but like, why exactly is the embodiment of isolating-yourself-and-never-talking-to-anyone-about-anything suggesting counselling? Is this something along the lines of ... making sure Martin doesn't actually talk to his friends and colleagues thing? Giving him an impersonal outlet that won't create the same sort of connection?

My impression of this episode

So I spent most of the first listen AND the relisten trying to figure out which reference goes with which statement, but actually, looking past the "spot the reference" game, this episode is very well written and when you let the horror of it sink in, it's really rather - well - horrific: all these people, endlessly relieving their trauma every night, including Jon who's being forced to watch and cannot look away. Where the overall plot is concerned: I did not imagine Martin getting Elias arrested or Peter Lukas becoming the new head of the Institute - at all. It is a pretty lovely set-up for the next season.

#tma relisten #the magnus archives

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amintyworld · 4 years ago

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Doubts - Beginnings Part 4

WATERFALL (Part One), SUNSET (Part Two), SECRETS (Part Three)

A/N: Guess who back, back again-! Anyway, thanks to all the support in the last three parts, this series has been such a blast to write! I’ve finally decided on a name for it - Beginnings, so that’s what they’ll be titled with from now on to avoid any confusion. As always, links to the last three parts are above. I hope you enjoy! - Minty

TW: Surprise Pregnancy, anxiety/worry, blood/gore, alcohol/drinking, implied major character death, sickness, cursing. (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

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

They started construction on a house around a 15-minute walk from Phil’s house, on a hill that overlooked the waterfall in the distance. They didn’t know what they were doing, but Phil did his best to help out when he could and give advice, having been in a similar situation not too long ago. Wilbur went out searching for jobs when he could and managed to get gigs every now and then as he saved up cash to get everything they needed. It was a new feeling for the couple - Wilbur’s constant worry over his girlfriend, and Sally’s determination to not let the pregnancy control her. All in all, it was a bit of a frazzle. Tommy and Tubbo were a bit off-put at the fact that they’d be uncles at such a young age - nonetheless, they tried to take it all in stride.

Phil answered a lot of questions in the following weeks from his two younger sons, who didn’t understand how it all worked. A good example could be just last week when Tubbo gave Sally ginger ale and straw, leaving Phil slightly confused until he figured out Tubbo was trying to help her out since ‘her stomach hurt’. Tommy’s confused ideas of helping were a bit more out there than his brother’s - the Carrot Incident was a pretty good example - but it was clear that their hearts were always in the right place.

Technoblade was distanced and tried not to get too involved but helped out when he needed to - he told Phil that this was more Wilbur’s responsibility than his, which Phil couldn’t deny. The pig hybrid still hung around the couple and even eased their worries when he realized how absurd some of Wilbur’s concerns became - “You’re reading too much on those books, Wil. Just because it could happen doesn’t mean it will!” Technoblade was always available to talk and support his brother, who became a bit of a mess from it all.

Still, they were a happy family who was nothing but excited for the baby’s arrival - they were going on five months, and things had been going smoothly… at least, mostly smoothly.

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

Wilbur pulled up the covers on the bed as he left a tender kiss on Sally’s forehead. She smiled, yawning. “Wake me up for dinner…?”

“Of course, my salmon. You rest, I’ll make sure Tubbo and Tommy are quiet.”

Another yawn escaped the shifter’s lips. “You tell them if they wake me up they’ll be dealing with a very pissed off pregnant lady who…*yawn* won’t hesitate to kick their asses.” Wilbur giggled softly, brushing the hair out of his girlfriend’s face in a simple loving gesture.

“Get some sleep, okay?” Wilbur said. “I won’t be far.”

“I love you, Wil.”

“I love you too, Sally,” Wilbur said, turning off the lights to darken the room as he gently and softly closed the door behind him. Over time, most of his worries had eased, thankfully - but a few lingered in his mind that fizzled around his brain. Wilbur tried to push them away as he moved downstairs, resting his head against the counter for a brief moment, sitting on one of the kitchen stools. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he ran his hands through his hair once again. He had a gig later that night, but his body craved rest. Wilbur chose to ignore it, there wasn’t much use anyway. If he napped at this point he’d miss the job altogether, and he needed the cash. Bored, trying to distract himself, he pulled out his notepad and flipped to a fresh page as he rhythmically tapped the pencil against the paper, willing himself to focus his thoughts.

It felt strange to Wilbur to stare down at a blank page and not have anything to write. It was hard to describe how he felt, much less think of rhymes. So much was overwhelming his emotions and feelings, still, he tried to focus and scribble words across the page. Maybe if he wrote it all down, he’d feel better somehow - it always worked for him before. His notepad held all the times he was happy, all the times he was sad, upset, angry, confused… all hidden in words like a code only he could understand. It was the closest thing to a journal or diary that he owned, one of his most prized possessions.

Maybe it’ll comfort him now.

I’m struggling to breathe

Keep going

Protect her

Push forward

Wilbur looked down, his mouth turning down in distaste - this wasn’t exactly the lyrical poem that he usually formed. There was, as always, some truth in the words. It felt like he was ranting, almost. It didn’t make sense.

Everything will be okay

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed in thought at what he wrote. He was trying to reassure himself, but… it felt wrong.

Will everything be okay?

“Uh-oh, the notepad’s out,” Phil said jokingly from the doorway as he carried in what looked to be a large basket filled with the garden’s harvest - wheat, carrots, and potatoes. He quickly noticed Wilbur’s distress, his smirk quickly disappearing. “Wil? Wil what’s wrong?”

Wilbur sighed as he read the words staring up at him over and over. “Nothing really. Just a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“I see,” Phil said, not believing that for a second as he set the large basket down on the counter, methodically moving to store up the food. “You look tired.”

“I feel tired,” Wilbur said, finally closing the notepad as he let out a soft chuckle in the suffocatingly silent house. “Got a gig in an hour, though.”

“You need to sleep, Wil.” Phil scolded, his gaze stern.

Wilbur waved him off. “I’ve got a lot I need to do. It’s no problem, anyway - the club’s gonna close up in a few days, and then Jay said I might not get another job in at least a month while they restock for summer.” Phil gave him a look, hand on his hip as Wilbur held up both his hands in surrender. “I’ll get some better sleep then, I swear.”

“Good,” Phil said, his gaze softening as he turned back to the basket. “Are you heading to Melrose’s place tonight, or TBO?”

“Melrose. She needed me last minute to fill a half-hour slot, promised to pay double.” Wilbur said as he got up from the stool and stretched, heading over to grab a cup of lukewarm coffee that was left in the pot from the morning. Hey, coffee was coffee, and he needed to keep the sandman at bay - double pay was no joke, and with his earnings tonight he’d finally be able to get everything they needed for the new house and for the baby. He needed to go, and he had to do well.

“I hope she doesn’t expect to keep dragging you out last minute.”

“Hey, as long as it pays well-” Wilbur shot thoughtfully as he sipped his coffee. The two turned their attention as Technoblade entered the house, his weapons, and clothes covered in blood, a few of his kills on his shoulder. Phil grimaced.

“Techno, I told you not to track blood in the house, go around to the back-!” The smell of rotting and decay, potent, filled the boy’s noses as they pinched them, trying to get rid of the scent. Technoblade silently turned around, going out the front door again. “You better shower and change before dinner, don’t forget!” Phil called as Techno simply waved his hand.

“Yeah, yeah…”

Wilbur quickly chugged the last of his coffee as he put the mug in the sink and quickly followed his older sibling. The night was cold as he pulled his jacket closer around him, walking around toward the back of the house. The sky was quickly turning dark as the day began to end, stars not quite appearing just yet. Techno sat over the two dead sheep he’d brought into the house earlier, the nasty musk somewhat masked by the cold wind. The pig hybrid was focused as he ran his blade along the belly of the kill, carving and cutting out sizable chunks of meat which he began to wrap in some jungle leaves for storage. Technoblade liked hunting, and no one could deny his skill, knowledge, and precision of it. He was patient and always waited for the right moment to strike, always hunted smaller game because he knew others were too big to carry back home. The prey always usually went down in one hit, and if that didn’t do the job Techno would usually hold the creature down while he made a quick jab toward the skull. He pig prided himself on his hunts, which provided the majority of their meat for meals ever since the town decided to enforce a livestock tax on the people to raise a little extra coin.

Setting the packages aside, Techno looked up to notice Wilbur staring at him silently. “Uh, hey Wil. Whaddya need?”

“Can’t I just check on my sweet older brother?” Wilbur smirked, and Techno huffed, amused.

“You can, but you and I both know you don’t.” Technoblade joked as he walked past him, heading toward the river with Wilbur close behind, grabbing a cloth and his bloodied weapons along the way. The pig hybrid took a breath as he turned to look at his brother. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing important, really,” Wilbur said. “I’ve just been worried, I guess.”

“About Sally?” Technoblade asked, kneeling down beside the river beginning to scrub his weapons clean. “Don’t tell me you’ve been reading those parenting books again, I’m telling you they’re shit-”

“I’m worried about myself.” Technoblade’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at his brother, slightly shocked at the intensity in his voice as he sat next to him by the riverbank. Wilbur took a deep breath as he tried to release the stress from his mind, looking into the clear running waters. “What if I mess up, or… or I can’t be a good father? What if I’m the one who’s not ready, you know?”

“This has all been your decision, Wilbur. Your life. I can’t tell you that everything will be sunshine and rainbows because to be completely honest Wil, I don’t know.” Technoblade said honestly, moving to place his clean sword on the grass and moving to grab his axe. “But I don’t think you should be worrying so much about the future. Live in the moment, in the now. If things go bad, you’ll know what to do Wilbur. Trust yourself.”

“But what if I-?”

“Nope. No more worrying.” Technoblade said, cutting off his brother. “Just focus on right now, and as cheesy as it is, have a bit of hope.”

“When did you get so philosophical?”

“I’m wise beyond my minutes, young one,” Technoblade smirked as Wilbur laughed. Techno began to wipe off his face and neck of blood, rinsing the cloth in the river as he went.

“Do you have any parenting wisdom to place upon me?” Wilbur asked, half-joking.

“I mean, It’s not really my department. Kids aren’t really… they’re not my thing.” Technoblade said with a little shrug of his shoulders. “But if I had any advice to give you, it would be that if you have the same patience and love Phil had for us, I think you’ll do just fine.”

Patience and Love. Live in the moment. Trust yourself. His worries seemed to melt and dull in his mind, and he felt a lot better than he did earlier. “Thanks, Technoblade.”

Technoblade just saluted his two index fingers with a smile before moving to get up, ruffling Wilbur’s hair. “Be good to the little scamp, this family’s already crazy enough.”

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

Wilbur zipped up his guitar case as he grabbed his keys and the small bag of coins. Looking out the window, he could see the nightclubs and bars, restaurants and torched streetlamps slowly flicker to life, glowing against the dark sky. Like a whole new town lying just beneath the surface, revealed in the darkness. Sally walked over with his gloves and scarf, a gentle sad smile on her face as Wilbur took the wool gloves and pulled them on.

“Every time you leave, I miss you just a little more.” Sally said, wrapping the scarf around Wilbur’s neck and folding it neatly in front. “Do you have to go?” Wilbur warmly smiled as he gently cupped her cheek.

“You know I’ll never be far, my salmon.” He kissed her forehead tenderly as he brushed a bit of stray hair behind her ear. “You’ll close your eyes and when you wake up I’ll be right by your side, you’ll barely even notice I left.” Sally leaned in closer as Wilbur wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, his chin resting gently on her head. As they pulled away Sally’s eyes looked up to his, a worry and fear behind her gaze that seized Wilbur’s heart.

“Promise you’ll be safe?”

“When am I ever not safe?” Wilbur asked, leading Sally to cross her arms and look at him with a slight pout that made Wilbur laugh. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

With one final goodbye kiss, Wilbur shut the bedroom door behind him again, walking downstairs. He noticed Tommy sat on the couch, head in his hands and his blonde hair messed. He looked over to his younger brother, gently propping up his guitar against the stair railings. “It’s late, what are you doing up?”

“Nightmare.” Tommy mumbled, slightly sleepily.

“Do you... wanna talk about it-?”

“I’m not seven anymore, Wil. It was just a stupid nightmare, I can handle it on my own.”

Wilbur was quiet for a moment, processing what Tommy said, how he snapped at him. He sighed before looking over to meet the teen’s eyes. “If you’re sure you’re alright…?” Tommy nodded before Wilbur pulled him into a small hug, Tommy’s hand held onto his arms around him in comfort as he smiled slightly despite his current state.

“Heh. Thanks, Wil.”

“That’s what big brothers are for, right?” Wilbur smiled as he pulled away. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess I’ll be off.” Wilbur said, getting up from the couch to grab his guitar once more, throwing the straps over his shoulders. “That gig won’t play itself.”

“Good luck, Wil.” Tommy called before Wilbur turned, his heart warm and happy, giving him a smile and thanking him before taking his leave into the cold night air.

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

“Thank you, you’ve been an amazing audience!” Wilbur said as cheers erupted from around the pub. Moving off the stool, he grabbed his guitar by the neck and sauntered offstage, feeling happy with his performance. Within 30 minutes he managed to squeeze in four songs, which to his delight the crowd seemed to enjoy - at Melrose the tap was never empty, and as such the crowd was easily angered by the slightest things, or even nothing at all. The only somewhat mishap during his slot was when a bit of beer had splashed against his clothes thanks to a patron who had a little too much. They were quickly shown the door and the night resumed its somewhat peaceful pleasure.

He walked up to the bar and sat in the corner with his guitar, watching the next musician take the stage - it looked like a band from the amount of people. Wilbur knew he wouldn’t get paid in full until the end of the night after each performance was done, Melrose wanted to make sure they held up their end of the bargain instead of running off what the money. He had at least another hour in here before closing.

“Are you drinking or not?” Wilbur looked up to the bartender as he stared down at him, expecting some kind of response. He wasn’t exactly a big drinker, quite the opposite - the only times he’s ever drank were with Phil and Sally. Sally, once when they were both eighteen just to try it out - he winced remembering the monster hangover the morning after. Phil around a year ago when he turned twenty-one and they both shared a few beers together in celebration. Both times he’d gotten tipsy pretty easily, either because he wasn’t exactly used to drinking yet or because he was a natural lightweight, who knows. Either way, he wasn’t exactly going to risk getting drunk right now.

“Uhm, I’ll have a club soda, thanks.”

The bartender gave him a once-over, put off by his request before slightly shrugging his shoulders. “Suit yourself, buddy.”

“Alright, we’re Black Rose and we hope you enjoy the set! This first song is called ‘Sleepless’.” A guy spoke into the microphone, turning to his friends with a smile before counting them in as the music began to blast through the pub. It was a nice tune, and Wilbur found his foot unconsciously tapping along with the music. He closed his eyes and let the sound fill his ears as they began to sing the chorus. It felt right. There was a kind of emotional distress behind the singer's voice, in the twinge of his tone or in a voice crack or two that almost felt like magic.

“And I’m not going blind, I just keep falling, falling behind;

Time goes slow and fast, my heart’s pumping and my head has crashed;

Sit in silence and pretend like your demons are your friends;

Your thoughts are racing while you’re pacing, it’s all in your mind, sleepless~!”

“Hey Wil, you got a minute?” Wilbur jolted back at how close the voice was, as he looked over to see none other than Melrose - her blonde hair flowed down her back messily with a ruby red dress that complimented her blue eyes. She pursed her lips into a line, a signal she was thinking as her pen tapped against the clipboard in her hand. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine. What’s up, Mel? Hope my performance was up to par.”

Her lips formed back to a comfortable smirk. “Performance was great as always, Wilbur. You never cease to please.” Her eyes turned down toward her clipboard. “Though I’m afraid I can’t say the same for everybody. Tips came up a little short thanks to a few blanks, I’ve got to decrease your pay for tonight.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed. “Mel, you promised.”

“Look, Wil I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do.” Melrose let out a sigh, rubbing her temple in frustration. “I’m barely making enough to pay as is.”

As she turned to leave, Wilbur quickly grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Mel, you don’t understand, I need the cash.”

Melrose sighed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t we all.” She snapped slightly, yanking back her arm. “I told you I can’t do anything-”

“Rosie, come quick!” One of the bodyguards interrupted as he approached with a sword slung over his back. “Charlie’s getting wasted in the back, someone gave him vodka…”

“Goddammit, not again. Can’t that bastard ever get sober?” She huffed, giving Wilbur one last look before slipping back into the crowd. Fuck. Well, there goes a whole extra gig’s pay - with the pub’s restock he won’t be able to pay off everything now even if he had work twice each week...dammit. The due date was in April, he still had time. He could probably get another job while the pub’s down, he’ll have to check the town bulletin on his way home later. He turned back to his club soda, letting out a defeated sigh.

Guess I’ll be away from home more than I thought.

A scream from outside quickly tore Wilbur from his thoughts as he turned toward the sound.

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

Philza was a light sleeper. Being on the road and sleeping the wilderness had always made him jump at the slightest hint of danger, a sort of survival instinct that developed. It only increased when Techno and Wilbur came around, for the first time in his life he had someone else to protect and look out for than just himself, more he could lose. He guessed that’s why he jumped the gun a bit at teaching them how to fight so early - If he couldn’t be there in time, he wanted for them to be able to protect themselves. Even so, his instincts from way back then never stopped, which was most likely why the head of the family was awake now.

Muffled sounds came from below him, shuffling. Something was here, and whatever it was it wasn’t good. His heart beat quicker as adrenaline rushed into his veins. He grabbed his sword, leaned against the wall, and crept down the hallway silently. It was dark in the house, he could barely see a few feet in front of him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He couldn’t hear the noise anymore, which only heightened his senses as his heart beat faster.

Then, a groan which sent him backing up - that was much, much closer than before. Suddenly, he bumped into something that grabbed his arm and without thinking he swept his feet under whatever it was, sending them to the floor. “Ugh… hey to you too, Phil.”

He looked down and noticed his oldest moving to stand back up from where he fell against the floorboards, rubbing the back of his head. “Techno…?” He asked before quickly helping him up. “What are you doing, you scared me!”

“I was checking out the noise, same as you.” Technoblade said before readjusting his grip on his own sword. “Remind me to never spar with you when you’re in attack mode.”

“Will do.” Phil smirked. Both quickly tensed as they heard shuffling and groaning from down below, clear enough for the two to recognize the noise instantly. They looked to each other, eyes wide. Zombies. Where there’s one there’s bound to be more around in minutes. “Get Tubbo and Tommy, I’ll get Sally.” Technoblade nodded before turning and rushing off behind Phil as he rushed toward the end of the hallway, toward Sally and Wilbur’s room. Phil didn’t know how they managed to have a breach in the walls, but however it occurred it meant one thing - the next ten minutes were the difference between life and death.

He entered the room to see one of the rotting creatures standing over the shifter, who decked it clean across the face, her ears scanning her surroundings, green goop covering her hand. She turned to face Phil, who rushed forward and pushed his blade through the zombies’ skull, killing it for good. Both panted heavily as Phil checked her over, worried. “Are you okay, did it bite you?”

“No, no. I’m good.” Sally reassured him as she looked around the room. “Where’s Wil?”

“I...I don’t know, but... I’m sure he’s safe, wherever he is.” Phil said, trying his best to push his own worries out of his mind.

“Wait, he’s not back yet?” Sally’s eyes grew wide at the realization as her body tensed in worry. “He’s out there, with… with…”

“Wilbur knows how to handle himself.” Phil reassured her, worry growing in the back of his head and forming an uncomfortable spot in his stsomach. “For now we need to be more worried about ourselves - If we’re going to survive until morning we need to barricade the house, and fast.” Phil said, grabbing her by the wrist as they rushed back out into the hallway, Phil chopping another zombie’s head clean off its skull as they rushed past it toward the stairs. He could see Tommy and Tubbo wielding their swords as they tore through zombie after zombie in the living room, somehow making it into a sort of game as they smiled and laughed. Technoblade, on the other hand, moved chairs and tables against the two doors to block them watching his back as a zombie stauntered toward him, and he swept his legs under the creature and quickly curb stomped its skull, slimy green goo flowing into the wooden floor. Phil tossed Sally an axe that she caught quickly, feeling the weight in her hands and happy to have a weapon. “Clear out the ones inside.”

“Got it.”

Tommy jumped from the couch onto a tall zombie, piercing it through the chest and pinning it with his sword to a nearby wall. “Ha! Top that, idiot!” He shouted trumphantly toward Tubbo, who’s eyes lit up competitively as he attempted to hack a nearby zombie in half and managed to get his sword stuck.

“Uhm…”

Sally rushed in, ignoring the tender soreness in her tired body as she hacked the zombie’s head clean off with her axe as its body slumped to the floor. Quickly and effortlessly, she pulled out the lodged weapon and handed it to Tubbo. “Be more careful, yeah?”

“Uh… yeah, yeah…” Tubbo said sheepishly as he took his weapon back and Sally rushed to finish off Tommy’s pinned zombie. With a few strikes, it was down. Tommy grabbed his sword to get it free, tugging harshly to no avail. He got more anxious with each tug as Sally faceplamed.

“You stupid-” She muttered, handing him her axe. “Finish off the last two with Tubbo, and try not to lose another weapon, okay?” Tommy huffed in slight protest before Sally gave him a look and he rolled his eyes, taking the weapon and running off.

“I don’t think it’s gonna hold!” Technoblade yelled as he threw his back against the door, pushing it closed against what must have been around twenty zombies pushing and trying to get in with any means necessary. Sally looked over to Phil, who looked around frantically, trying to think of a plan, any plan at all. “Phil?”

“Phil, what do we-?”

A loud crash erupted - a broken window. Danger. Phil’s grip tightened on his sword as he began to shout orders. “Tommy, Tubbo, hold the back door NOW! Sally, stay behind me.” Phil’s tone was tense and sharp, and the two teen boys rushed like mice to do as he asked. “We just need a little more time, it’s gotta hold a little longer…” At this point, he was hoping for some kind of miracle. This wasn’t just a regular breach - this was a massacre. Rushing forward, he pushed the shadow in the dim light down to the floor, and quickly raised his axe to bring it down when-

“Wait wait wait-! I’m not one of them!”

Phil’s eyes squinted in the light to find… Wilbur. He looked like a mess, his clothes torn and ripped with green slimy goo staining the fabric. Phil’s eyes watered in relief as he quickly pulled his son in for a tight embrace, helping him up off the floor. “Thank god, don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“Good to see you too, Dad.” Wilbur smiled before the two let go, his eyebrows furrowed and his tone more serious. “These aren’t regular zombies, they’re stronger and more resilient. Last I checked they were taking down the square one house at a time, and from the looks of it most of them were not prepared for a visit.”

“...Fuck.” Phil cursed under his breath, his mind beginning to race once again. Did they have a chance?

“I ran as fast as I could to get here, I was so worried…” Wilbur said as Sally rushed forward to embrace him with a smile, running her hands down his face and through his hair, afraid she’d lose it again. Wilbur, in turn ran his hands down her arms, his smile brightening that it was real and alive and here-

“Good to see you’re not dead, Wil.” Tommy huffed against the door as the monsters on the other side growled and moaned, pushing their weight and strength against it. “But we have a bit of a situation here!”

“We need to get out of here.” Wilbur looked over to Phil. “If we stay any longer, we’ll be trapped. Once we’re out of here we can run into the forest to hide and wait out the horde.”

“But both exits-”

The two elder brothers looked at their father and answered at the same time in surprise. “The second floor window.” They turned to each other, sharing a brief smile. Technoblade looked over to Phil once more, his mind and heart racing as the voices in his head boomed louder, and he tried his best to ignore their shouts.

“Look, it’s risky, I know, but we’ve gotta try. We don’t have time.” He winced and grunted as the zombies on the other side of the wall grew more violent in their animalistic attempts to break in. Phil looked at his family’s faces, hints of fear and uncertainty in their expressions. Tommy’s arm went to stop Tubbo from falling over at a particularly forceful blow, and as Tommy’s nerves increased he could see Tubbo holding his hand and giving it a squeeze. Technoblade’s heels dug into the wooden floor as chairs, tables and wooden boards began to splitter under the force of the creatures outside. Wilbur pressed a soft kiss to Sally’s forehead as Sally’s hand drifted to her stomach instinctively at this point, her eyes filled with nothing but worry. He knew this was crazy, but if it meant that there was a chance they’d be safe, he’d risk it.

“Alright. Wilbur, make sure the window’s open and we have a clear way down. Everyone else, get ready to run.”

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

Wilbur’s heart stopped as he saw the creature’s teeth sink into Phil’s neck as he let out a scream in agony. Shit, shit, shit… he didn’t know where they came from, they blocked the stairs as they ran up, why didn’t he see it?! The zombie that bit Phil fell to the ground with a thud as Phil’s own blood seeped down his shoulder and stained his shirt. Techno stilled as he made eye contact with his father, who looked sad, knowing his fate. “Phil, I’m so sorry, I-” Wilbur trembled, his hand reaching out toward Phil, not knowing what to do, what to say. Phil’s head shook back and forth slightly before pushing his sword into Wilbur’s hands.

“You two need to go. Now. Before you lose the chance.”

Technoblade was stone faced. “Phil, we’re not leaving you-”

“There’s no time to discuss this, I said GO-!” Phil shouted sternly before going into a coughing fit, holding himself steady against the wall. Wilbur stepped forward, wanting to grab his hand, help him before Phil recoiled. “Wil… Techno… you need to go, that’s an order.” Silence fell over the two brothers, not wanting to leave their father. “Look, they’re not going to attack me now but they will attack you, now MOVE IT!”

Shuffling and groans grew behind them as Phil winced, feeling the infection flow through his body. They needed to get out before he turned, they needed to live, he wanted them to live-

“But what about you?”

Phil looked over to his sons with a sad smile. “I think I’ve taught you both enough to know what happens now.” Suddenly it felt like all the air in the room vanished. “Now do me proud and show me what we do if someone gets bit. Show me what I’ve taught you.” Phil could feel himself getting lightheaded, he was going to pass out, but he couldn’t… not until they both were safe.

Wilbur didn’t know what to do as he looked to Techno then to Phil, who slowly lowered himself to the floor, his back leaning against the walls of the home he built for them. Techno’s fists tightened as he turned to face his brother. “Techno…?”

“Get somewhere safe, okay?” His voice was heavy, serious. “Promise me you’ll get somewhere safe.”

“I… I will, I promise.” Wilbur said, trying to look at his brother to see if he had any plan. “But what are we going to-?” Before he knew what was happening, Techno shoved him through the window, closing and locking it firmly behind him. Wilbur began to panic, realizing what Technoblade was doing and trying to find some kind of grip before he slipped off the roof and landed in the bushes, pain and bruises blossoming on his body. Tubbo helped him up off the ground as Tommy’s eyes looked up to the window, confused.

“Where’s Phil and Tech?”

Tears pricked at the edges of Wilbur’s eyes as he felt his heart begin to throb without them here. Why, why why… Why did he stay? Why didn’t he let him stay? Why wasn’t he careful enough? It’s all his fault-

“Wil…?” Tommy’s voice wavered. “Where’s Technoblade and Phil?”

At that moment, Wilbur knew things changed forever. Phil and Techno were gone, they were gone and they were never coming back. He told Technoblade, he promised him that he’d get all of them somewhere safe, and with a heavy heart Wilbur knew it wasn’t here, not anymore. He wasn’t going to lose anyone else, he was going to protect them. He was going to protect all of them, if it was the last thing he’d ever do. That very moment what Techno said to him finally made sense.

‘If things go bad, you’ll know what to do, Wilbur.’

Right now, he wanted, more than anything in the world, to get them out of here. Tubbo and Tommy shared awkward glances as Wilbur took a deep breath for a moment, sniffling and wiping the tears from his eyes. Sally looked towards him concerned as Wilbur slid his hand into hers, looking towards his brothers with the same look and tone Phil had.

“We need to go. Now.”

28 notes · View notes

bella-spil · 4 years ago

Text

Bucky Barnes Fluff Alphabet

Here goes nothing!

Taglist: @wednesday-add-em @kmuir1 @sea040561 @angrythingstarlight

Attractive:(What do they find attractive about you?)

He loves your eyes. And your lips. He loves how your eyes brighten up his day and how they can tell a whole story without saying a word. He thinks they are the most beautiful things on Earth. But he also loves your lips. Especially when you bit your bottom lip. It makes him want to kiss you so much.

Baby:(do they want to have kids?)

Before the war, he wanted to have kids. One boy and one girl. But he wouldn’t name his son after one of the lamest presidents. But now, after everything that has happened to him, he doesn’t know if he would be the best role model. Or even a good dad. He doesn’t want his kids to know that he murdered hundreds of people and that he was a criminal for 70 years. But you convince him over and over again that he would be the best dad in the world. Maybe, in the future he will see he will be the best father on Earth, regardless of his past.

Cuddle:(how do they cuddle?)

He will be the big spoon a lot of the time. You like being snuggled up in his arms like a teddy bear. He also likes having someone there, in his arms when he is going through one of his episodes. You are like a comfort object to him, something he can hold on to when he needs it.

Dates:(What are dates like with them?)

Entertaining. He will take you to the most extravagant places. He also likes to take you places that are from his past. Like his old home in Brooklyn, the Cyclone on Coney Island. He also likes to take you to the movies, where he complains that they don’t show any cartoons, only movie trailers. And amusement parks. He likes all of the new roller coasters that were invented and always want to try the biggest and scariest ones.

Everything:(you are my ____ ex: my world, my life)

You are his sunshine. Call it cliche, but whenever he is in a dark place, you are always there to guide him out of it. You are a beacon to him, and he will always follow you, no matter how hard.

Feelings:(when did they know they were in love?)

From the very first moment he saw you. Your attitude, your laugh, your smile, your everything. Once he saw you, he knew he couldn’t live without you.

Gentle:(Are they gentle and how so?)

Bucky will be a teddy bear to you. He will just randomly plant kisses to your head or when your back is faced to him, he will give you a bear hug from behind. He just does random acts of kindness. Sometimes he will leave you love notes while he’s gone on missions, or get you a bouquet of flowers just because.

Hands:(do they like to hold hands?)

Yes, he craves your touch. He loves when you hold his hand because it brings a sense of comfort that he missed when he was brainwashed by H.Y.D.R.A. He only flinches when you grab his left arm because of the trauma that comes along with it. But as you keep doing it more often, he eases a little bit more each time. It will just take him some time to get used to it.

Impression:(what did they first think of you?)

He thought you were so confident. So comfortable in your own shoes and you walked with a purpose. He knows it’s hard to find a girl like that, so when he saw you, ooo he had to have you.

Jealousy:(do they get jealous easily?)

Yes. 100% yes. Whenever you playfully flirt with Sam and Steve, he will just leave the room, to embarrassed to say anything. He doesn’t like seeing you flirt with other men, including his friends. He likes to know that you are his, and when you flirt with others, he feels like he lost you.

Kiss:(how do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Bucky will always try to get a makeout session with you, whether its when you and him are alone or when you are with the whole team. He just loves the feeling of your lips against his and will do anything to get it.

And he of course made the first move. He couldn’t resist your lips and just had to have a taste or else he knew he would go mad.

Love:(who said ‘I love you’ first?)

You did. Bucky wanted to tell you sooner, but he was too nervous. He didn’t know if it was too soon or when to tell you because he never felt this way about anyone before. It was like he was in middle school all over again.

But when you said it, it was music to his ears. He felt his heart explode and carry him to the stars. He was too stunned when you said it that he froze, and it took you a few minutes to snap him out of it. Then once he regained control of himself, he kissed you. For a long, long time.

And now, he says it all the time. Just not in front of the team. The only times he will do it in front of them is when he is drunk from Thor’s Asgardian Ale or he whispers it in your ear. But when you two are alone, he says it on repeat, he sounds like a broken record sometimes.

Memory:(what’s their favorite memory with you?)

His all time favorite is when you first kissed him. It felt like he finally had you in his arms and he would never, ever let you go. He knew he had won the lottery with you. And the night also led into something else, if ya know what I mean...hehe.

Nickel:(do they spoil you?)

If Bucky was as rich as Tony, he would buy an entire island for you. Even though he could just ask Tony to do that, he knows his manners.

But he grew up in the forties, when 3 bucks was a ton of money. Even when you go out grocery shopping with him, he will complain about how expensive the milk is. Spoiling for him is getting you an expensive necklace for your birthday or anniversary. But otherwise he doesn’t spoil you too much.

Orange:(what color reminds them of you?)

Pink. Pink reminds him of you. Pink is such a light color, but it can also be vibrant, bright and beautiful, just like you. Also he likes PINK, the store, and that's another reason.

Pet Names:(what pet names do they call you?)

Oh, he has quite a few. Mostly ones from the 40′s. ‘Doll’ and ‘toots’ most of the times, but he will also call you ‘baby’ and ‘sugar’.

Quaint:(what’s their favorite non-modern thing?)

He likes listening to music that he grew up with. And he likes dancing to it with you. You guys always have a ball when Bucky is teaching you dances from his generation. He taught you the Charleston, and you mastered it, and you guys have dance battles, judged by Steve.

Rainy Day:(What do they like to do on rainy days?)

Cuddle and watch movies with you. Over the course of dating Bucky, you caught him up on Disney and Pixar movies, and whenever there is a rainy day, those are the only things he will watch with you since he enjoys them so much.

Sad:(how do they cheer themselves up?)

Mostly, he works out whenever he is feeling sour. Lifting weights and punching as hard as he can into the punching bag takes his mind off of whatever was upsetting him. But he gets even more happy when you join him. He loves teaching you new moves and when you spar against each other.

Talking:(what do they like to talk about?)

He likes telling you about his past. What he did in the forties with Steve. He loves telling you weird and crazy things he did as a kid and how many times he had to fight someone for his friend. Bucky also loves it when you laugh along with his stories. He likes telling you about his past since he thinks he can connect with you better and that you get to know him a lot more.

Unwind:(what helps them relax?)

Cuddling helps him to destress the most. That and working out. And listening to music as well. But cuddles help him the most because you are basically his personal teddy bear, something that he can grab and lay with till he feels better.

Vaunt:(What do they like to show off/brag about?)

He likes to show you off. Everything about you. He brags about how well you do on missions and how many criminals you took out. Pretty much if anything comes up in a conversation, Bucky will somehow make sure your name ends up in it, one way or another.

Wedding:(how, where and when do they propose?)

Bucky does like to show you off. And you always knew him as a private person, so to your surprise, he proposed somewhere very public. On a date, on Christmas Eve, he took you on a tour of NYC. He took you through Times Square, Central Park, Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, and the Brooklyn Bridge.

And that's where he proposed. On the Brooklyn Bridge. Late at night with the skyline, bright lights and honking cars. And it was quite the scene.

You and him were looking at the skyline and then he got on one knee while you weren’t looking. He called out your name one time, and you went to look at him, but your found yourself looking down instead. Bucky got the attention of others walking by, who had their phones out the record the special moment.

You were tearing up, and put your hands over your mouth. You nodded frantically, and scooped you up in his arms for a bear hug and kiss. People in the background were applauding and cheering for you, and you found yourself blushing immensely. And when he slipped the ring on your finger, your eyes were shining as much as the rock on your hand.

Xylophone:(what's their favorite song?)

Put your head on my shoulder- Paul Anka.

Saturday Nights(Alright for Fighting)- Elton John.

Yes:(Have they ever thought about proposing to you?)

Of course!! For the longest time.

Zebra:(of they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

He isn’t a huge fan of pets, but if he had to get one, it would be a husky. You asked him why and his answer was, “I have two reasons, doll. One: they are like a nicer version of a wolf. Two: husky rhymes with Bucky.”

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lotornomiko · 3 years ago

Text

The Broken Hearted Comfort Chapter Seven (Not safe for work)

Strong dubious consent warning in this one!!

There had been a moment where a kind of thrilling rush had spiked through her, a keen exhilaration that was expressed deep within her heart the very second when she had dared make her threat be known, Belle pressing the very dagger she had stolen from off of the pirate earlier, against his belly now. With its oh so sharp and deadly point digging into that firm flesh, there had been that split second moment of feeling, where her anger and outrage had overcome all else of what she had been feeling. The fear and its many uncertainties, Belle feeling empowered if not brave, trembling with a determination and the idea that had been inside, Belle thinking she would do whatever she had to, even threathen to kill if need be, if it meant coming away safe from the pirate’s molestion.

That strong feeling and determination would die in the wake of a reaction most unexpected, that split second a lingering extension of time where she had glared her angriest into Captain Hook’s utterly shocked expression. A blink and you missed it moment, in which Belle had thought herself victorious and completely untouchable now, the change that abruptly came over the pirate, then made her cheeks flush with an angry and embarrassed warmth, the color blazing on her skin as the man began to openly laugh at her.

He actually shook with that unrestrained attempt at laughter, Belle’s own anger and mortification spiking, as she realized that this man did not take at all seriously the threat that she had tried to pose to him. She’d actually turn indignant, an angry huff of air escaping her, but try as Belle might, she couldn’t stop shaking, the trembling such that the dagger she held against him was so dangerously unsteady. She was so close to stabbing him through on accident alone, and didn’t even seem to realize it. Not until his hand clamped firm fingers around her wrist, Belle practically jumping in place from her fright. He had moved SO fast, faster than she thought even possible, and all it would take is a stronger squeeze from him to cause her real discomfort or even a hurt strong enough to get her to let go of the dagger.

Not knowing that Hook had grabbed her in part to steady that trembling use of the weapon, the pirate’s storm dark gaze was positively alive and dancing with his amusement. "Oh, sweet..." Hook then breathed out, his voice practically a husky purr. "You've got to be more serious then that."

She looked confused in response, Hook’s smile becoming a non too pleasant thing at that, his eyes darkening, voice still so husky and ill matched with the seriousness of the words that he was saying. "You've got to be swift, and you've got to be certain, when intending to kill a man."

"I..." Belle took a shaky gulp, the words dying on her tongue before she could attempt any more.

"There's no room for doubt." That husky toned pirate continued. "You have to be sure of what you want. No hesitating when the strike is right there. Otherwise you'll be overpowered, disarmed, and WORSE."

From the troubled look that darkened on Belle's pretty face, Hook thought that he could easily guess what it was that she considered as the worse. She was in part misguided, the pirate instinctively understanding that she had no real idea of just how bad things could become, of how much more grave and dire it would have been if the young woman had tried to bluff her way out with a dagger drawn on anyone other than the captain that so desired her. His crew would have had a field day, especially that of the men, more than a few having openly admired her, before their leader had turned so feral with his own possessive rage.

Without someone to protect her, without Hook, Belle would have left herself be open to even worse molesting than anything she might have imagined him having in mind. And if by chance, she somehow nerved herself to do the unthinkable, to actually take his life, or even just injure him badly, he doubted anyone would stop the crew from rioting and unleashing their brand of justice on her as punishment. She needed to be warned, to know first hand that this was not an option, that escape of any kind was not hers for the taking.

His amusement hadn’t sobered one bit, but it was a kind of twisted enjoyment he took in the idea of crushing this aspect of her fight for her. Belle still hadn’t released that hold of hers on the dagger, and yet Hook could feel how badly she was shaking through the steel grip that he maintained on her wrist. She tried to play it off, to act as if her violent trembling wasn’t quite so bad, but for all her anger and spirit, she was more troubled than anything by his laughter at her expense.

With a steely tone of voice, that was every bit regal and used to commands being heeded, Belle all but snarled her outrage at him. “Let go of my hand.” She said. “And we will see how little I hesitate this time!”

"Ah sweet, I see your time as the Queen's prisoner did little to douse out your own inner fire." Hook all but grinned at Belle. "But before you be gutting me....answer me this. Just how do you plan to fight your way past all of my crew? Pirates who are blood thirsty and sex hungry on the best of days, who will be wanting to avenge my untimely death?"

What was left of her fight surely died then and there at those words, Belle’s face taking on an ashen look of horror. She had actually blanched at such a question, the woman’s horror so palpable a thing. He might almost feel sorry for her then, but Hook was just as ruthless a pirate as any other man or woman aboard his ship, and he hadn’t forgotten that little fact.

He couldn’t resist teasing her, offering up a suggestion that he would quickly dash all hope of. “Well, now, I suppose after stabbing me, you could always try to fit through one of the window portholes. You are after all small and slim enough….curves aside...” He let an insolent look touch down on her breasts, before relentlessly continuing the torment, the lesson that she needed instilled in her. “Ah but providing you even KNOW how to swim, let us not forget there is all kind of nasties that lurk in these waters. A great many fishy monsters just waiting for the chance to take a bite out of a delectable piece such as yourself...”

It didn’t seem possible, and yet Belle’s skin, its color had actually worsened in response to that which Hook had been saying. As did her shaking, her body in quivering motion from head to toe. Pity blossomed within him with enough strength to make Hook want to gather the young woman close to him in a show of comfort and reassurances. He had to be sure though, that the lesson, the fear was properly in her, the pirate trampling on his own protective impulses, to instead offer yet another unappealing outcome that Belle could end up facing.

"And then there's always the Queen. As you have been so quick to point out, she'll be looking for you."

"She'll be looking for me regardless." Belle spoke in a whisper, looking that much closer to being defeated.

"I can make sure that she doesn't find you." Hook said it casually enough, though his breath was almost held in the hopes of a favorable reaction from her. One he did not get, the fear that she felt, that he helped worsen, couldn’t quite break her spirit, when it came to the price that he wanted. The price she was in no way prepared to pay, Belle’s eyes flashing with an upset that had nothing to do with her bluff being called, and everything to do with her disdain of him.

"For a price no doubt." She hissed, her chin lifting stubbornly, with a haughty kind of air to the motion.

"Just wanting my reward." Hook answered, unflappable in the face of that, or any other manifestation of her seeming dislike and ingratitude.

"Your reward?!" The way that she exclaimed those two words, made her voice and very manner come off as downright scandalized. "Even if I thought you deserved one, you expect too much from me!"

“And just what is this too much that you say I be expecting?” The pirate inquired. “A reward for a rescue is good form after all, and you more than owe me...”

“I owe you nothing!” She retorted, having yet to let go of the dagger’s hilt, or to stop her bad shaking. “I never asked you to rescue me...and you certainly didn’t do it out of any good intentions, you selfish, overbearing oaf!”

That last unsettled him, Hook wondering just how close she was to guessing just how badly he needed her. That motive, lacking any real rhyme or reason for how it had happened, and yet it had selfishly driven him to go after her. To take her, to outright steal her from the Queen’s grasp, and there was no true or pure reason behind it, Hook just wanting what---the WHO that he had been in so desperate need of.

It might gut him to admit just how badly, at least to her, the woman that was the highly sought after object of his twisted obsession. Wild for her, in a way that he couldn’t make sense to himself, let alone to HER, the truth of the pirate’s need for the beauty, might well be one that he took to his grave.

“There’s not many a man, hero or otherwise, that does anything in this world, without expecting to gain something from it. Be it money, or women, or fame. I don’t see why I must be so maligned for at least openly admitting MY reasons for undertaking such an endeavor.”

Belle’s eyes flashed, her pretty little lips starting to shape a retort he wasn’t in the mood to hear. He squeezed a gasp out of her instead, fingers clamped down hard enough that the lady finally let go of her hold on the dagger. In a swift move, that had it clattering harmlessly to the floor, the palm of his hand then cupped her cheek, a gentle, almost reverent touch, the pirate trying to guide her in for the kiss he was angling for.

With Belle up on tip toe, the pirate bent over his prize, their lips almost touching. Such a feather light caress, every word that he breathed out to her, literally felt by the brown haired beauty. “You gave yourself to me once...” He spoke as a way of reminding her, his eyes intent on hers. “Willingly, and freely even…:

He got the briefest of touch, and the satisfaction to go with it, before she snapped back her answer, shaking free of the palm cupping her cheek. “And I have been regretting it ever since!”

There was a real shade of anguish in her eyes, a haunted expression there that spoke of how extreme a distress Belle had found it, and had found HIM. He still hadn’t caught on to the damage done, to just how badly he had and continued to frighten her so, Belle all a quiver and it wasn’t desire that coursed through her at all. Lively though she was, the woman was also so pale skinned, trying to twist free of him, and settling for shoving at him with her own two delicate hands.

He was upset in turn, fighting back a snarl, that wicked and vile curse an expression of HIS frustration and worry. Even if he thought that Belle was overreacting, it left him with a very real problem, the pirate wondering just how in the world would he ever convince her to let him bed her, without a use of true force. Coercion and the gratitude card, the reward that he felt that Belle owed him, had all fallen flat at the attempt at using them as a convincing argument.

He just couldn’t understand, couldn’t come close to comprehending her own doubt and misgivings. It was inconceivable, the idea that he could have hurt her this bad, the man not realizing it was no longer just about the night in the alleyway, but the fear he had birthed within her with all of his bad behavior inside the Queen’s tower.

No closer to knowing of that fear’s existence, let alone having the means to understand and combat it, it was a mix of his curiosity and the frustration that got the better of him. With a tilt of his head, with an almost wounded look in his dark gaze, Hook didn’t have to fake the soft, almost hurt tone of his voice.

“Was it really THAT bad for you?”

Her answer was immediate, her eyes wide with her disbelief, the woman shocked by the question. As though she hadn’t expected him to ask her that, hadn’t thought he would have the nerve, Belle hissing back a question of her own. “You have to ASK?!” Not that she let him answer that, Belle all but shouting, “Yes, you brute, YES!”

For one frozen second, Hook reeled in place, wondering if there was a true chance of the possibility that he had hurt Belle worse than even he had first realized. He did a kind of grimace that was half a frown, the pirate trying to remember better that night in the alleyway, to think past the remembered feel of her, and the pleasure he had taken for himself. She had been crying, he was certain, though the rain fall had been such, that it had been hard to make out the tears. But there had been no missing the red rim of her expressive eyes, or the wounded look of her expression. Her trembling lips had shaped the sounds of discomfort, and even a plea or two, but he had been so lost, so utterly consumed with ALL that HE had been feeling.

Searching his memories further, he remembered how she had stumbled, for one moment too unsteady on her own feet to stand without the aid of another. Without his hand steadying her, and then she had slapped him, with the full force of her strength. She had run off after, and the fact that Belle had been able to walk at all, had been a good sign, hadn’t it? A sign that he hadn’t done as bad as he could have, her virginity ruined but not that of her body.

But now? Gazing down at the defiant and distressed young woman, the beauty wild in her struggles to get free of him, it began to make Hook doubt just what he had witnessed in that alleyway. She had lurched away from him on unsteady legs, but maybe that running away she had done, had been nothing but a mask to disguise just how badly she had truly been hurting. Because injured or not, sometimes sheer desperation caused a person’s body to do things it might otherwise not have been capable of, Hook remembering how he had attacked Rumplestiltskin, even after the monster had chopped off his hand. Rage had fueled him then, that and the desire to see Milah avenged. But what could have fueled Belle? Hurt alone might not have done it, suffering as she had been, as still now was, Belle intent on getting away from him. On escaping the villain who had inflicted his own permanent scar on her heart.

He frowned with that thought, with the idea of it, Hook able to admit to himself he had done his fair share of damage to the lass. He was still limiting his misbehavior to just that night, unable to comprehend doing anything else wrong. At least now he could speak the words that might be coming a little too late, the frown deepening on his face as his tongue faltered. “I’m...” That hesitation there, it was born of how uneasy he was, Hook not a man used to apologizing even when it was well deserved as it most certainly was in this case. “I’m sorry…”

Her struggling abruptly halted, Belle’s whole body seeming to stiffen in response to those words. She did not immediately move to accept such a shoddy attempt at an apology, but neither did she moved to outright reject it. Instead her eyes met his, that gentle blue still wearing keenly her distress. She searched his gaze, as though to test his sincerity, and for one beat of their hearts, he was absolutely serious. But it was almost as if he couldn’t help himself so wild with need for her, that he couldn’t leave things on so somber a note, or even behave. With his eyes taken on an intense smolder of a look, with his voice holding a cajoling element to it, he tried for the seductive, his hand again cupping her face.

“Let me make it up to you.”

Eyes back to suspicious, Belle could only maintain a wary silence. He should have heeded it too, the quiet that she snubbed him with, a warning to be cautious. Unable to tread carefully where she was concerned, the very next thing that came out of his mouth, was a blatant proposition. A sexual entreaty that showed how little he had thus far learned.

"Let me show you how much better sex between us CAN be."

Her lips had parted in her absolute shock, Belle seeming almost speechless in response. And then her gaze narrowed, not quite a glare managed, as she found her voice. "You, Captain..." She hissed in her most frostiest of tones. "Are outrageously misguided if you think that is in any way an apology a LADY like myself can or would ever be willing to accept. I don't know what kind of woman you are used too, but you will find that I am a different class all together."

That much he did not doubt, Belle indeed different. Far more beautiful and stubborn than most any other woman, she was making him crazy with his inability to seduce her into his arms. He didn’t come close to better understanding why it was proving so difficult, and normally this much of a challenge might have thrown him off the hunt. There had and was always other women to be found, ones that were eager and willing to join him in spreading their legs. But none of those other women, be they paid whores, or willing lovers, had ever had even half as intoxicating an effect as this pretty little brown haired wench has had on him. An almost drugging influence, she was like a siren that had caught him in her clutches, such a soothing enchantment worked upon him, and Hook would be damned thrice over before he let Belle refuse him anymore.

The weeks spent apart, all those fantasies alive in his head, it felt like they had been apart for just short of forever, and his lust was at a breaking point. With the desire flooding his veins, with his temper just this close to bursting, and his patience not only short, but at an end, he caught out and pulled her in. He had one satisfying moment of seeing a startled blue giving over to her panic, and then Belle was beating at his chest. She had realized it a moment too late, that Hook was done with the talking, with his attempts at reason and cajoling. She cried out, no more a threat with her fists, than she had been with that dagger, Belle knowing even without his scare tactics, there was dozens upon dozens of reasons why she would have never been able to go through with actually killing this man, With killing ANY man, and it had little to do with the fact that there was no real escape for her, and everything to do with the type of person she was. A kind hearted soul, one who simply didn’t have it within her to murder anyone in cold blood. She was simply too soft a heart, unable to truly hurt or treat anyone maliciously, not Rumplestitlskin, not the Queen, and certainly not even the pirate who so threatened her now.

She’d always be a victim, Belle realized, so long as she felt that way. Hindered by her own brand of mercy, that killing instinct that she lacked, Belle now knew what Hook had known from the start. That any weapon that she might try to pull on him, or on anyone else, would only be as a good as her bluff. A bluff that would never get stronger, so long as Belle wasn’t ready and willing to do a killing blow, and Hook knew and took advantage of that weakness.

She still tried to scream her way free, struggling ever more wildly, as he carried her off towards his bed. “Unhand me!” But her voice was pitched too high with fear, the woman unable to put any real authority to her demands. They were simply as overpowered as she was, Belle finding her fight mounting, heart racing at an alarming rate over what she expected to happen in just a few short seconds. That fear made the anticipated hurt seem all the worst, Belle so scared of the pirate who held her, his eyes wearing so dark and hungry a look. That blue was devouring her as though she was already naked, that smoldering color all rife with masculine desire and intentions. He was uncaring of her struggles, of the protests she let loose with, a single minded focus there that was far too disturbing in how much it fixated unwavering on her. Caught by it, by HIM, even Belle was starting to realize that something more was going on then what was at hand. Pirates may have a strong lusting reputation, all dirty and underhanded where women and their thieving were concerned, but this went beyond that, beyond all the stories.

It wasn’t right, HE wasn’t right, looking at her that way, both like he wanted her and that she was his entire world, Belle couldn’t claim to at all understand it. And this unreal and abnormal situation didn’t leave her much room to try, Belle lacking the luxury of the freedom to try and think her way through to comprehending what was truly going on with him.

She was worse off then that, unable to think or reason her way out of such a situation. The panic continued to build inside her, and for all those uneasy realizations that she had had, it didn’t take even a minute for Hook to reach the large bed in the center of the room. She was deposited onto a very firm mattress, with only minimal give towards the softer parts of it. She tried to sit up, tried to scramble away, but he was on her in a second, Hook’s hand never leaving her as he moved to join her on the bed. Belle was aware of saying things, of making a great many attempts that went ignored. The pirate was simply too determined and demanding, too focused on his own needs and desires, to pay any true attention to hers.

Situation still so unreal, Belle quickly closed her eyes to shut out the way that the pirate continued to look at her. But it left her other senses spiking, picking up the slack left over from her lack of sight. She could smell him better than ever, a clean scent of the sea and his leather, with a hint of masculine arousal that seemed to grow even stronger. Worse yet was that of touch, his face nuzzling the crook of her shoulder, so that she felt his firm lips kissing there, along with the raspier sensation of his beard hairs on her skin.

Belle nearly jumped out of her skin when the pirate moaned into her shoulder, the sound so blatantly sexual. His arm with the hook had looped around her waist, holding her fast while leaving his hand free to touch her. And touch her he did, skimming his fingers from her collar to down between her breasts. Belle was sure that if the pirate were to shift his hand just right, he'd feel the frightened, wild beating of her heart.

It only grew worse, Hook touching her legs now. It was a full handed caress, palm and fingers called into play as that hand moved from thigh to knee, then back again. Each sweep of his hand, caused her tunic to ride up higher, until finally she lay exposed save for the panties that Belle still wore underneath the prison garb.

Her breath hitched in her throat, when he laid a possessive hand over her there, with only the thin fabric of her panties to serve as barrier against the scalding touch of his skin. She couldn’t be brave any longer, her spirited self lost when the tears begin burning their feel in her eyes. Belle practically choked on a sob, such a weak and hysterical note escaping her throat. Her eyes stayed closed, shut so tight that she didn't see the reaction that the pirate had had to that choked out sound, nor was she able to comprehend the hesitating quiver of his hand, his fingers pausing from their blatant caressing.

"Are...." She could almost imagine him frowning. "Are you crying?"

Belle said nothing, didn't so much as nod or shake her head. But she trembled all the same, shaking and shivering as though caught up in a storm. She was so cold, and yet was burnt from wherever he had touched. Scalded by his lips, branded by his hand, and made crushed under his weight. It was all too much, the tears were then falling, the pirate having gently brushed his fingers over her shut tight eyes. Belle then heard him curse, and when she dared peek open her eyes, she saw him staring not at her, but at his fingers, with that of her tears glistening on the tips.

Hook's eyes no longer glinted with that ravenous look. Instead the pirate simply looked confused, as though he couldn't understand, could not comprehend why anyone, why Belle herself would be crying in this kind of situation. Nor could Belle understand Hook's reaction to her tears, why they would affect him to the point he'd actually stop mid way through his molestation. He'd actually frown, bringing those tear stained fingertips to his lips for a brief taste. And then their eyes would meet, Hook staring at Belle for a long moment, before letting out a stream of vicious curses.

Flinching, Belle saw how Hook reacted to even that. His hand would cup her cheek, his lips parting to say something. He seemed to think better of it, abruptly drawing back so that Belle was free of his touch completely. She quickly scrambled to put even more distance between them, not trusting him in the slightest. Her heart continued to hammer fast in her chest, almost hurting her with its frantic beats.

There was another one of those moments, where so many things went unvoiced between them. Hook stared at Belle, actually looked her over from head to toe, his eyes showing the struggle within him. He still wanted her, still wanted to bed her, but was also made disturbed by her tears. She didn’t understand, but neither did Belle make any attempt to wipe them away, aware that they might be the only thing keeping her safe from Hook's lusts.

Hook for his part, was shaken by the protective instincts that had been roused by the sight of Belle's tears. By the needs that insisted he comfort not scare her, that told him to take her in his arms for no other reason than to hold and reassure her. It was weird and practically unheard of, Hook the type to ignore or laugh at any weeping female. And yet with Belle, all it took was a few tear drops spilled and he was made undone, Hook at last realizing just how badly he was frightening her.

That fright couldn't cool down the fires of his loins completely. Hook still wanted her, was still obsessed with Belle, with the having of her. But it no longer seemed quite as appealing, to force his attentions on her so explicitly. The tears put everything into new perspective, made Hook realize how very bad his idea to show Belle by force how good sex between them could be, had truly been.

It left him to feel downright embarrassed, but also angry that his fantasies weren't playing out the way that he had imagined them to. That Belle herself wasn't acting the way he had come to expect, the way that he still needed her to. She wasn't supposed to cry, and she wasn't supposed to be scared. Her anger while unpleasant, seemed infinitely more manageable, than this tear streaked lass who shivered and shied away from his every touch.

When Hook had brought Belle to his bed, he had thought it all but a given conquest. She would resist, but as he continued to caress, stroke and kiss her, her protests would melt away. Until she was panting with need, and all too willing to spread her legs for him. Instead the very actions that were meant to seduce her into submission, had only made things worse, Belle scared and CRYING.

Hook still wanted Belle. Still wanted to do all the things he had fantasized about, to finish what he had attempted to start just a few minutes ago. But he was also realizing it mattered to him that Belle not be scared, that she would enjoy and want him back. But it was also adamantly clear that it wasn't going to happen today, or tomorrow, and God help him--them both, if it dragged on for more days than that. Because Hook felt near his limit, felt he could hold back for only so long, before he messed things up completely.

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To Be Continued....

8/30/2021 Updated, with various segments tweaked and rewritten.

---Michelle

#once upon a time #ouat #captain beauty #Captain Hook #Belle #Killian Jones #Killian X Belle #Captainbeauty #fanfiction #fanfic #the broken hearted comfort #season 2 cannon divergence #smut #romance #strong dubious consent issues and themes

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