#don’t worry I’m okay just a bit anxious and jittery | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mypoisonedvine · 3 years ago

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𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐𝘐 - 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙚) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐)

𝙘𝙝𝙖��𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || the finale.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 3.5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || fluff, angst, implied smut, domestic goodness, more EMOTIONS!!!

six months ago...

Bucky wrung his hands a few times before knocking on your door, feeling his heart beat a little faster when he could hear the sounds of your footsteps on the other side. He'd been dreaming of a day like this for so long— the day he finally acted on this secret obsession he had, the day he stopped fantasizing and started realizing— but all this time, part of him had never really thought he'd go through with it. I mean, there's a pretty big difference between jerking off to videos of dominant women and actually getting spanked, slapped, and choked by a dominatrix after paying her an insane amount of money per hour.

But frankly, Bucky needed a big difference from what he'd been doing. He'd been alone for a little too long, he needed someone else's touch before he lost his mind. And he knew that he needed something more substantial than a hook-up, someone who wouldn't expect him to be dominant at all. Even in a kink-less, vanilla hook-up, there’s still an onus of dominance, that’s what Bucky had realised. He’s still supposed to initiate, to guide, to be fully in control… and he hates how it feels to be in control. He’s not used to it, and it doesn’t feel right, and it just makes him sure he’ll do something wrong. So here he was, standing at your door, hoping you’d take away his freedom to do something wrong.

The latch turned and you opened it.

Fuck.

You looked great. Too great, almost overwhelming. Even better than the pictures on your website.

You looked so much softer than the women he saw whenever he searched up femdom porn (yes, that was pretty much the first thing he did once he figured out google— thankfully he had also figured out incognito mode), but your presence was twice as commanding. Your eyes scanned over him quickly and your face stayed annoyingly stoic.

You invited him in; And since then, you’d had him wrapped around your finger.

Even knowing to a certain extent what he was getting into, he could’ve never prepared for how quickly he’d fall for you. Not that he was exactly new to the feeling, but he thought guilt might eat him alive: because of course he felt awful for developing real feelings for you. You were just doing your job and he was falling into the same trap that probably every dumbass client fell into.

Or maybe they actually knew what they were doing and understood how to separate fantasy from reality. He couldn’t decide which one was worse.

He spent a few hours trying to decide while staring up at his ceiling— certainly a better way to spend the time than being social or taking care of unfinished business, right?

But leave it to you to change everything with just three words. Make me yours.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about those words— or about the way you said them— since the moment you spoke them. He hadn’t stopped changing his mind on if he could really believe you were his or not. He wanted to, more than anything; and in those brief moments he did, he felt a joy that he had no idea what to do with.

He frowned as he turned his back towards the mirror, looking over his shoulder to watch his finger run over the fading scars on his back. They’d be gone for good in less than a week, but he knew you had left plenty of permanent marks on him— just unfortunately not those that anyone else could see. He liked the way these scars looked under your fingertips much more than his; he liked everything about being in your arms.

Since you’d texted him to ask if you could have a serious talk with him soon, he worried he wouldn’t get to feel that again. In fact, nothing worried him more.

He was typically antsy as he waited for you to answer the door— he had been since that very first time so long ago— but this felt entirely different: not as jittery, but a thousand times more anxious.

At first he’d been wishing you’d answer it right away, but then he heard your bolt turn and panic landed on him like a dangling anvil dropping on a cartoon character. Suddenly the last thing he wanted was for you to open that door, to be standing there looking all perfect and shit, to smile at him and greet him and invite him in. He didn’t want it; he couldn’t take it.

But you did it all anyway, though it was obviously and immediately a new situation entirely, compared to every other time you’d done it.

You were dressed differently, still formal but definitely toned down. Nothing sexual, at least not objectively. And your smile, though it still made his heart skip a beat just like always, was noticeably softer and maybe a bit sadder.

He stepped in past you, and you surprised him by sitting next to him on the couch rather than across from him on your chair. “Do you want, like, water or anything?” you asked, breaking the silence for a moment.

“No, I’m fine,” he nodded.

Bucky had gotten pretty good at silence these past few years; it didn’t bother him, in fact he barely even noticed it. But this silence made him remember why everyone else hated silence so much: it was heavy and thick and made him overcome with the need to blurt something out. “Everyone calls me Bucky,” he finally admitted. You smiled.

“Do you want me to call you that?” you asked.

He considered your question, trying to imagine you saying it. “I… I used to think it would be better, but now I like the way you say ‘James’ too much.”

“If you thought it would be better, why did you ask me to call you James?” you pressed.

“Because I didn’t want you to know who I was.”

“I know who you are,” you informed him. “I always knew.”

He swallowed as the pit formed in his gut, glancing away to hide from your gaze. “You did a good job of… of pretending you didn’t. You never seemed scared of me.”

“Because I wasn’t. And I’m not.”

He couldn’t imagine how; but then again, if there was any truly fearless woman, he figured it would be you. “I thought you’d beat me up better if you knew what I’d done,” he admitted, almost smiling but not exactly feeling very happy. “Thought you might want… revenge.”

“Surprised that didn’t make you want to tell me.”

He laughed a bit at that. “Yeah, fair enough.”

You asked him a very different question next, one that made his throat suddenly dry: "Have you ever had something that was all your own?" you spoke gently.

"Not for a long time…" he trailed off, letting his eyes unfocus as he stared down at your floor before finding the courage to look up at you again. “Is that what you wanna be?” he asked, already wishing he hadn’t said anything in case it was too presumptuous, but you just smiled back at him in a shy sort of way.

“Something like that,” you mitigated.

His eyes darted around your face— from your eyes glancing away, to your lips that you gnawed on for a moment, to the little crease between your brows— and he found himself leaning forward before he even realized it. “Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer, you just kissed him first; he was so relieved that you did it, too, that you took control so easily and just let him melt into your kiss. As good as it felt to submit to you, he enjoyed the new freedom he had in this moment as well— the freedom to reach up and grab your waist, to brush his hand over your hair, to tilt his head and deepen the kiss further.

It was hard to define exactly where it went from innocent to sensual to sexual, but by the time you were straddling his lap and running your fingers through his hair, it was definitely sexual.

“I want you,” you breathed against his lips.

“Have me,” he offered immediately, “I’m yours. Always was.”

He breathed in sharply when you moved your hips just right to rub up against his swelling cock through his jeans, making him grip your waist a bit harder. “Good boy,” you whispered. “You’re so good, James.”

He believed you this time, finally.

For your first real date, he took you to Coney Island. Not the classiest affair, and he promised to take you somewhere really nice next, but you didn’t mind. It was jarring to see you in casual clothes for the first time, something summer-y and light which was everything opposite to how he was used to seeing you; but he liked it, and he liked knowing a secret about you as you walked through a crowd of carnival-goers that were none the wiser.

He walked you through the fair and explained how he remembered it, showed you the few things that hadn’t changed much. He bought you a hot dog and even won you a prize at one of the games; that one where you throw a baseball and it measures your pitch speed? Yeah, it’s rigged, but he pitched lefty and it seemed to even everything out. (It’s not cheating, okay? It’s beating them at their own game, literally.)

So with a massive teddy under one arm and his waist wrapped in your other, you two walked through the winding pier, under twinkling lights and over walkways towering over the ocean below. And then you fooled around a bit on the ferris wheel. It was the ideal Coney Island experience, for sure.

Bucky didn’t have a ton of friends, per se, but he was excited for you to meet them. Meeting friends was certainly a step, though; hopefully a step you were willing to take, but he didn’t want to ask you to do it without at least having a title to introduce you with.

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he finally told you.

“I kinda thought I already was,” you laughed.

And so, with more pride than he might have ever had for anything before, Bucky finally got to take you to meet everyone (‘everyone’ being a mix of his friends and his coworkers, who may or may not be his friends because he couldn’t always tell) and say “I want you guys to meet my girlfriend.”

Of course you were amazing with all of them; you continued that tactful “I know who you are but I’m pretending I don’t to be nice” thing that you’d started with him, and everyone seemed to appreciate it. You cracked a couple jokes, everyone laughed.

You lied about how you and Bucky met, or at least answered very strategically. Everyone at least pretended to believe you.

Afterwards, they all said something about how great you were or about how lucky he was. The only thing he ever said back was “I know.”

Now that he could kiss you without breaking any rules, he never wanted to stop. He hardly ever did, actually. He kissed you basically whenever he could get the chance; you two didn’t even go out much anymore because he wasn’t very good at keeping his hands to himself, but you weren’t exactly complaining about staying in. You were too busy kissing him back, and teasing him mercilessly while you were at it, to do that.

You had already found the fastest way to get him needy and begging, not that any way took very long. If you kissed him while you straddled his lap, wrapping your arms around him and slowly grinding against him, he lost it in minutes. And you really seemed to get a kick out of watching him lose it, just as much as always.

It made him realize that the way you looked at him before, in sessions and scenes together, was a lot less of an act than he’d assumed at the time. He just thought you were a really good actress, or that he was really whipped; and maybe the first was true, and the second was absolutely true, but regardless it had become clear that you had it almost as bad as he did from the beginning. It gave him even more respect for how well you controlled yourself, he certainly hadn’t had much self-control at the time— after all the whole ordeal was about losing control, and occasionally about trying to gain it back.

He didn’t ask you to quit your job. He didn’t want or expect you to; but you did cut down your hours, which gave the two of you more time together.

To be totally honest, part of him got a bit titillated to imagine you with your other clients. He didn’t like the idea of other men touching you, but he smirked at the thought of them begging to touch you and being denied; he liked knowing that you didn’t do with them even half of the stuff you’d done with him when he was your client.

But he wasn’t your client anymore. He was your boyfriend, and he wanted the world to know it.

six months later...

He let you struggle to reach the top shelf for a moment, just because you looked cute on your tip-toes with the tip of your tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth, before he finally relented and helped you grab the bottle of rice wine vinegar.

“Thanks,” you smiled as he set it in the cart.

After that you let him grab everything, content to stand on the end of the cart and push you around as you reminded him what else you needed.

“We’re out of Captain Crunch!” you remembered as he passed the cereal aisle, pointing to try to get him to turn.

“Yes, and we need to stay that way,” Bucky explained sternly, “that shit is addictive. Only way to avoid it is to not have it in the house.”

You frowned but accepted that he was absolutely right, though you groaned when he took you to the refrigerated section to stock up on chicken breasts. “I swear, you would eat these for breakfast if you didn’t think I’d judge you for it,” you joked.

“What’s wrong with chicken breasts?”

“They’re just so… bland!”

“Not if you season them right,” he corrected.

“Which you don’t,” you rolled your eyes. “Come on, at least splurge on some chicken thighs. They’re basically the same but so much more flavorful.”

“Fine, but no more making fun of my cooking,” Bucky decided, placing the breasts back on the shelf and grabbing two packs of thighs instead. “I’m still adapting to 21st century sensibilities.”

“Right,” you nodded, though he caught your smile in the corner of his eye— you knew he couldn’t exactly claim to still be as conservative as he was raised to be in every way.

Like any well-planned grocery run, it ended at the frozen section where you got some fruit bars and frozen vegetables (you had this theory that frozen vegetables tasted better in fried rice than fresh ones, and so far you’d proven him right) and he got a pizza to have for dinner in a pinch. When shopping alone before, he always did self-checkout to avoid being seen anymore than he had to… he still did it with you, but he didn’t even think about who might be looking at him, because all he saw was you.

You drove for this trip, and he always felt oddly soothed by riding passenger with you at the wheel. He liked to close his eyes and lean back a bit, or occasionally look over at you (but if he did it too much you complained that he was being creepy and distracting you). It shouldn’t be too much of a surprise that he enjoyed the feeling of you taking control, considering everything, but it was one of those little ways that he hadn’t expected. He just felt so comfortable, so safe with you, and never he felt like he was a burden for asking you to take the lead when he didn’t trust himself with it. And that applied to everything— driving, cooking, speaking up in crowds, all those little things that sometimes made him anxious.

There were some things he didn’t have any trouble being dominant about, though. He was very protective of you, for example, and tended to be uptight about how late you went out for walks or where you should be going alone. And he didn’t struggle to ask you for what he wanted— he was getting a lot better at asking for help, specifically.

He used to ask you to say that you loved him, instead of just saying ‘I love you’ himself, because for some reason it was easier to make you do it first. It started as something he’d beg for in the throes of passion, fingers digging into your skin as his eyes watered (as they often did in intimate moments): please, say you love me— jus’ need to hear you say it, please? And you were always sweet about it in return, of course I love you, James, my good boy, I love you so so much. But then he’d ask you to say it whenever he felt like it— he’d come up behind you while you were reading or cooking or something and kiss the top of your head or the shell of your ear and try to act nonchalant as he asked you love me, right?

You’d laugh and roll your eyes before you answered, but it was, thankfully, always a ‘yes.’ Eventually you figured out how often you needed to say it to make him stop asking all the time, which was probably a little too often.

“I love you,” you blurted out randomly as you turned on your signal and leaned a bit to make sure it was safe to make a left— case in point.

“I love you too,” he answered back with a smile.

“I don’t mind saying it so often,” you added, “but you know that I love you even when I’m not saying it, right? I love you all the time.”

It was a simple question, probably mostly rhetorical, but it hit him harder than he expected. “Yeah, I know,” he managed to get out evenly enough that you didn’t notice he was tearing up a bit.

He put the groceries away while you took the trash out; you liked to keep the fridge pretty organized, and it was an adjustment at first, but by now Bucky had it down pat. Before you, he hadn’t even considered that the contents of a refrigerator could be aesthetically pleasing.

Dinner was leftovers in front of the TV— you two were almost done with Frasier, but after that you had ten seasons of Friends to get through. You had tried to encourage him to watch more challenging stuff— you know, True Detective, Hannibal, dark cerebral stuff with arguably more artistic merit than classic sitcoms— but Bucky had had enough darkness in his life that he didn’t need it in his fiction. Maybe he’d find the time to catch up on the last 80 years of dramas and murder mysteries after he caught up on the last 80 years of comedy.

After dinner you were going to do yoga and Bucky, not in the mood to embarrass himself with that, retired to the bedroom a bit early to read his book— he’d heard a lot about this Harry Potter guy and now that he was on the fourth book and could hardly put it down, he understood the hype. He related a bit to the unwilling war hero in its protagonist; most of the time the series enthralled him, but occasionally something would hit too deep and he’d have to put it away for a couple days. At the moment, though, he was in one of the easy parts where it was just about schoolwork and childhood antics.

He instinctively glanced at the door when he heard you open it— he wasn’t sure how long it had been time-wise, but he’d gotten through quite a few pages— but he only quickly looked up at you as you shut the door behind you, before returning his attention to the book he was reading. “So, Bucky…” you began.

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“James.”

It wasn’t any one thing that got his attention— not just the tone of your voice or the way it got a bit deeper, not just the look you gave him, not just the way the air of the room seemed to shift all at once. It was everything about you that made his body react instantly. He shut the book and set it aside, sitting up straight to look at you expectantly.

And you seemed to notice his instinctual obedience, considering you just barely smirked at him, raising an eyebrow as he spoke his reply: “Yes, Mistress?”

#sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader #sub!bucky barnes x domme!reader

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queen-haq · 3 years ago

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Fic: A Woman Reborn - Part 9

Fic: A Woman Reborn (Part 9)

Pairing: Billy Russo X Reader (from A Woman Scorned)

Rating: R / 18+ only

A/N: This is a sequel to A Woman Scorned and takes place a few years after the events of AWS.

MasterList (includes links to AWS and previous chapters here)

Summary: You and Billy are happily married when tragedy strikes, jeopardizing your relationship and everything you two have built together. Can the two of you find your way back to each other or is the special bond you once shared broken forever?

beautiful moodboard courtesy of @thatbritishactor

It was Saturday afternoon and you’d already tackled all the things you needed to do for the day. After returning from Chicago yesterday, you’d spent the day unpacking and doing laundry, and earlier this morning you’d completed your grocery shopping and done some meal preps. Staying busy helped keep your mind off things like your mom. And when your brain wasn’t focused on her, it was concentrated on stupid Billy. His arrogant words still rung in your ear, infuriating you every time you thought about it. Nope. Absolutely not. You refused to waste any more of your mental energy on that jackass.

The one thing you still had to do was have a conversation with Karen about Matt, sooner the better. You really should have talked to her before storming off to Matt’s and sleeping with him but that night your mind had been on other things. You really hoped Karen wouldn’t be hurt. Even if she was with Frank now and they seemed happy, seeing a friend date an ex was awkward. The last thing you wanted was to jeopardize your friendship, especially as she’d been very supportive during the past few years.

Hesitantly you picked up the phone and sent Karen a text asking to meet for drinks.

She replied shortly after and the two of you set a time and place.

Feeling jittery and anxious, you decided to go for a walk.

***

Later that evening you and Karen were at a restaurant, catching up when the conversation turned to your mom.

“You should take more time off. Frank and Curtis will understand,” Karen said, biting into a crunchy piece of crab Rangoon.

You followed suit, shaking your head. “No, I’d rather work.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? I asked the guys about the details for the service, I thought maybe you wanted us to be there-”

“Didn’t want to inconvenience you guys. Plus, she and I weren’t very close.”

Karen gave you a knowing glance. She didn’t ask you to elaborate, and you didn’t volunteer any information. Something in her expression conveyed that she understood complicated family dynamics and the desire to keep the past in the past- for which you were grateful.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

Nervous, you bit the inside of your cheek. “I need to tell you something. I… I hooked up with Matt last week.”

Karen quirked her eyebrow, surprised. “Oh.”

“I know you guys used to date before, and I shouldn’t have done it. I just – well, it happened. I went over to his place and we started talking and-”

“Y/N, seriously, you don’t need to explain. Matt and I went out on like three dates, that’s all.”

“Are you sure? If you’re upset with me, I get it.”

“I’m not hurt, don’t worry. What I felt for Matt, it was a crush. Nothing more. He and I are better as friends and I’m…” She dipped her head to the side, wearing a glowing smile. “I’m happy with Frank.”

“You guys seem really good together.”

Karen sipped her wine. “So are you and Matt dating or just hooking up?”

“I have no idea. I’m glad it happened though. It was fun,” you admitted, chuckling. “To be honest, we haven’t even gone out on a date.”

“Okay…” her voice trailed off, a hesitant expression on her face.

“What is it?”

She exhaled a resigned sigh. “Please be careful. Matt is a great guy but he doesn’t let people in very easily.”

“I know how that is.”

“And he likes to take on the weight of the world on his shoulders. It’s easy to start seeing him as a knight in shining armour - but he’s not. So don’t fall in love with him thinking he’s perfect, he’s definitely not.”

“No danger of that, don’t worry.”

The truth was, you never wanted to fall in love again. You were ready to move on, maybe even be in a relationship with someone, but you refused to risk your heart like before. Your relationship with Billy had meant everything to you, he’d been your whole world, and losing him had devastated you completely. You didn’t simply lose your husband after the accident, you lost your entire sense of being, your confidence, even your self-worth. If falling in love and losing it meant experiencing that depth of pain and self-loathing again, you didn’t want any part of it.

“Are you okay?”

You offered her a small nod. “I’m fine.”

“I heard Billy’s back at Anvil again.”

You bit down on your lip, avoiding Karen’s gaze. “Yeah.”

Tomorrow would be the first time you’d be seeing him since he came to your hotel room in Chicago and you weren’t looking forward to it. Not for a second did you believe his words that night were sincere. You still remembered how he’d look at you before the divorce, the sheer contempt and hatred he felt for you. After he came out of his coma, he was repulsed by you, your appearance, your personality – everything that made you you – and it all chipped away at your confidence until there was nothing left. And now he was pretending he wanted you? You weren’t a fool. He was up to something and you wanted no part of it.

“How’s that going?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “All he wants to do is goad me into arguments.”

“How do you think he’ll handle the Matt thing?”

“It’s none of his business.”

“Is he still with Dumont?” Karen asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” you bit out. “Look, do me a favour – don’t tell Frank and Curtis about the whole Matt thing. It’s still pretty new and I just don’t want any lectures from them.”

“Why would they? It’s none of their business.”

“Yeah well, Frank told me the other day I needed to be patient with Billy and-”

“You’ve been more than patient! You don’t owe Billy anything, especially when he despises you and treats you the way he does.” Karen paused. “I shouldn’t-”

“It’s fine. It’s true.” Even though you pretended it didn’t bother you, you cringed internally. You’d always been reserved, preferring to keep things to yourself, but in the last two years people who you considered family had been witness to your crumbling marriage and all your humiliations. You hated it, it made you feel vulnerable and exposed and pathetic, another reason why it was crucial you moved on – you wanted to stop being an object of pity for the world.

“You deserve to be happy.”

The genuine sincerity in Karen’s words touched your heart. “Thank you.”

“And don’t worry, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

You sent her a grateful smile.

“Frank mentioned that there’s some sort of gala you guys need to attend soon?”

It was the annual fundraiser that had become a significant networking function within the sector. For a mid-size company like Anvil, attendance was critical because it provided a lot of exposure to affluent clients and potential for lucrative contracts. In the first year after Billy’s accident, there had been no Anvil presence and it had negatively impacted the company’s bottom line. The following year, you rectified the situation.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty important event.”

“So you’re going?”

“Have to. We purchased a table for 6 and it was bloody expensive. Frank wasn’t happy about that.”

Karen laughed. “Yeah, he’s also pissed about having to wear a tux.”

“He has no choice. It’s a formal event. Black tie and all.”

The two of you made plans to go shopping together and eventually the conversation turned to Karen’s work and the latest article she was working on.

***

Billy couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you reviewed the financial metrics for the last quarter. It’s not that he wasn’t paying attention, he definitely was and he was happy that Anvil had met the target projections, but this shit was a lot more enjoyable when you were the one explaining them. Especially when you looked so hot doing it. Dressed in a black and white plaid tweed dress that was moulded to your body and paired with turquoise heels – a combination that shouldn’t have worked but hell yeah it did – you discussed the metrics and the upcoming quarter. Frank and Curtis liked to lead meetings sitting down but that wasn’t your style. You preferred to walk around and own the room when you were presenting, making eye contact with your audience and speaking to them directly as if you were telling an interesting story rather than reciting dry data. Of course it annoyed Billy that you never looked at him.

As easy as you made it look though, that kind of effortless presentation skills didn’t come easy to you. You practiced and prepared. He recalled countless nights where he played the part of the audience, where he helped you practice when you were especially nervous going in front of the investor board at Valiant, how there were times you were feeling low or uninspired and then he’d have to shut your laptop and force you to take a walk with him so you could rejuvenate yourself mentally.

More and more he remembered small details about your married life together and the hollow ache in his chest expanded. You liked sleeping in whereas he was usually up at the crack of dawn, whether it was the weekend or not – a habit he formed from being a marine. You hated cooking, and you were terrible at it. But every once in a while you’d be inspired to cook something for him which he’d be forced to taste and no matter how hard he tried to mask his reactions you would always see through the ruse. Then he’d have to coddle you and appease you to make you feel better which was his favourite part. When you were on your period you turned into both a raging bitch and a crying mess but he also loved how needy you were during those times. You’d be more affectionate than usual, asking for hugs, clinging to him while he prepped hot water bags for your body aches. You were so damn independent most of the time but not when you were sick or feeling unwell and then you turned into a high maintenance mistress who he absolutely loved lavishing attention on.

That was something else he remembered clearly: the constant state of panic and fear he was in at the thought of losing you. It didn’t matter if everything was fine and things were going great, he was always paranoid that you’d leave him.

“So if there aren’t any other questions, that’s it. Enjoy your lunch!”

Your words brought him out of his reverie, and he realized everyone else was leaving the boardroom. You, however, were busy typing on your laptop, back to work as always. That was the thing about you, you were a workaholic and it was him who had to remind you to establish boundaries and take care of yourself. “You should have taken more days off,” he remarked.

You looked up, apparently surprised he was still lingering in the room. “I’m fine,” you replied in a clipped tone.

“Are you? I know how messed up things were between you and your mom.”

“You don’t know anything.”

As you gathered your things together, he stood up and approached the door, leaning back against it. He loved watching you, especially when you were hellbent on ignoring him. You tried to act unaffected but he knew you and your body too well, knew when a heated blush started at your neck and slowly spread up to your cheeks, how your hands shook ever so slightly because your heart was pounding so hard, how aroused you got when all he did was simply look at you.

You approached the door, stopping in front of him. “Get out of my way, Billy. I have things to do.”

He angled forward slightly, finding himself in the perfect position to breathe in both your perfume and the scent of jasmine in your shampoo. Compelled to touch you, he reached out to brush the bottom strands of your hair. “Want to know why I love this new haircut so much?”

You looked taken aback by his words, your cheeks flushed. “I don’t give a shit.”

He smirked. “Gives me a better view of your body. Front and back.”

You rolled your eyes. “Really? That’s a terrible line.”

He laughed. “It’s the truth.”

“It’s bullshit,” you countered.

His eyes dropped to your lips, aching to taste you. He hadn’t kissed you in so fucking long, he missed it, missed the way you’d moan into his mouth and grab him. The way your tongue played with his, how frustrated you’d get when he teased you mercilessly, your soft groans when his beard scraped against your soft flesh, the friction turning you on.

Your breaths grew heavy, drawing his attention to the swell of your breasts and it took every fucking bit of self-control he had not to sink his face into your tits. He used to be able to make you come just by playing with your nipples – were you still that sensitive? Could he still do it? His cock twitched, he was dying to find out.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Your attempt at sounding calm was utter bullshit, he could hear how excited you were in the breathy tone of your voice.

“Like what?” he teased, cocking his eyebrow. “Like I’m picturing you naked right now? Like I’m remembering how fucking sweet your pussy tastes when I’m eating you out? How goddamn divine your cunt feels when I’m inside you and you’re screaming my name?”

“Stop!” you snapped, taking a step back.

“I bet you’re dripping wet right now.”

Your eyes burned with rage and passion when you met his gaze. “Fuck you!”

“Ready and willing, sweetheart.”

Tension blanketed the air, thick and palpable, you trying to cling to your hostility, him curbing the urge to storm over and fuck you on the boardroom table. He felt your resolve waver with every second, the desperation in your eyes akin to an animal trapped. You turned around suddenly, refusing to look at him, and he knew it was a defensive tactic, a way for you to hold onto your anger so he wouldn’t slip through. Fuck that. He moved forward until he was standing behind you, his front flush against your back, his hands on your sides, fisting your dress. He saw you grip the edges of the boardroom table, squeezing so hard that your knuckles were visibly paler than the rest of your skin.

“I know I said two weeks,” he murmured, nuzzling your hair, inhaling you in. “But we don’t have to wait that long. We don’t need to.”

“Oh, was that for my benefit? What do you think is gonna happen in two weeks, Billy? Do you think I’m just gonna get over everything and spread my legs for you?”

Annoyed, he pressed himself tightly against you, wanting you to know exactly how goddamn hard he was for you. “We start new.”

“But I’m not interested in that. I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

Your words hurt, even though the rational part of him knew it was a lie and a form of self-preservation. You were trying to protect yourself but he wasn’t going to let you hide from him. His hand slid in between your legs, trailing up. Your breath hitched in your throat, hips swaying closer – exactly what he wanted. Fingers pressed against the fabric of your lace panties, finding them soaking wet, because no matter how much you fought with him you still wanted him. Even though he was desperate to fill you with his cock and fuck you senseless, he held back. You pulsed under his touch as he expertly caressed your pussy and soon your body rocked against his erection, silently urging for more – but he didn’t, instead only teasing you. “Been so long. Hasn’t it?”

Your body arched against him, boneless and fluid when his fingers thrummed inside you. He reached around to cup your left breast with his free hand, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple which he felt despite the layers of fabric. “You want this. You want me…” he insisted, nipping your earlobe.

A guttural moan escaped your lips.

“Say it, babe.”

He sensed you emotionally withdrawing from him right away, the moment now broken. Fuck! He wanted to kick himself for pushing you because the demand in his voice broke the spell you were under.

You pulled his hand away from between your legs and started straightening your dress. “You’re good at getting women off, Billy. You always have been. So, yeah, I want you but it doesn’t mean anything.”

He released his grip on you, physically maneuvering you around so you were facing him again. You were spouting bullshit and he was sick of it. “You expect me to believe you feel nothing for me? That’s a fucking lie, sweetheart. We both know that.”

“What do you want from me?”

He contemplated sweetening his words so it didn’t piss you off further – but decided to go with honesty instead. “Everything.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You wanted the truth.”

“But you’re not giving me the truth. What you’re doing is feeding me lines, you’re trying to seduce me because you want something. So why don’t you just drop the act and tell me what it is?”

Anger swept over him. “Why is it so hard for you to believe I want you?”

“Because you had me and you threw me away! You broke my fucking heart!”

Your lips trembled as you lashed out at him. Hurt saturated your voice, it was etched on your face, and all that anguish instantly elicited a flood of shame and regret within him. “Y/N, I-”

You shoved him away. “If you ever touch me again I’m going to put in my resignation effective immediately.” You were back in control. The walls were up, all signs of vulnerability already tucked away. “I’m not a fucking toy for you to play with and I’m done putting up with your shit. The only reason I’m here is because your friends begged me for help.” Jaw clenched, laptop flush against your chest, your gaze was icy-cold and your voice blank. “If you harass me again or pull another stunt like this, I’ll fucking walk out of here and never look back. Anvil will sink without me, and so will Frank and Curtis, and you’ll be the one responsible.”

He didn’t give a shit about Anvil or even Frank and Curtis. All he cared about was you and making things right again. “Can we just go somewhere and talk? Please?”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

You were pissing him off. How was he supposed to fix things if you wouldn’t even talk to him? “Stop being so goddamn stubborn.”

Before you could fire back a response, Curtis walked into the boardroom. Immediately his eyes drifted between him and you, obviously picking up on the tension in the air. “Everything okay here?”

“No, Curtis, everything isn’t okay.” Your voice was firm, rigid. “Every time I turn around your buddy here is either trying to provoke me into a fight or outright harassing me and I’m sick of it. I can’t keep working like this. I won’t! So you can either convince him to leave me alone or I put in my resignation. Your call.”

You stormed out, careful not to touch Billy as you walked past him.

“Really?” Curtis asked, giving him a disappointed glance. “I get that you two are divorced now but you can’t just go around disrespecting her. She doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit, not after everything she’s done for you. And us!”

Billy exhaled a heavy sigh, taking a seat. “Wasn’t trying to piss her off. Just wanted to talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to listen, and she doesn’t have to.” Curtis took the seat next to him. “Leave her alone, Billy. She just lost her mom and she’s probably still hurting from the divorce. She needs time to recover and she can’t do that if you’re always talking smack to her face.”

Billy remained quiet, digesting Curtis’s words.

“I know you don’t remember any of this but there was a time when you loved that woman. You would have died for her and she’d have done the same. Just cause things changed for you and you hate her-”

“Of course I don’t hate her!” Billy snapped.

Curtis shot him a pointed glance. “All you’ve done for the last year is bitch about how much she’s stifling you. Then you messed around on her and filed for divorce. Maybe you don’t hate her but you sure as hell don’t care either. At least let her be so she can move on and be happy.”

Billy started pacing the floor. “All of that was before - when my head was still messed up from the accident and I was confused. But now things are different, everyday I’m around her I remember more stuff. It’s all coming back and I’m not gonna give up on us! She just needs to let me prove-”

“Bro…” Curtis sent him a pitying glance, like Billy was some kind of fucking idiot. “It’s too late for that after everything that’s happened. You gotta see that.”

“Fuck you, Curtis! You don’t know anything about me and her, the shit we’ve gone through. I’m not gonna walk away from her just to make things easier for everyone!”

Curtis stood up. “Fine. Do what you want. But you keep pushing her this way and she’s gonna run and never look back. Hope you’re ready for that, brother.”

Alone again now that Curtis left, he flung a chair across the room.

***

A week later

It started off like any other day. Work in the morning, catching glimpses of you while you went in and out of the office, in the hallway, during meetings. Since his last confrontation with you he kept his distance at work – not because he was giving up like the entire fucking world wanted him to do, but ‘cause you were still grappling with the loss of your mom and he didn’t want to make things more difficult for you. So yeah, he stayed away during the day - but at night, no, he couldn’t do that.

He rented an apartment in one of the buildings in your neighbourhood, facing your new place, and set up the perfect spot to see into your living room and bedroom, and for the past few nights he watched you to his heart’s content. Davina came over one evening and the two of you hung out, drinking and talking. You looked happy, which made him smile. The next night all you did was work and drink by yourself, and he worried about you pushing yourself too hard.

Tonight he planned to do the same again but Frankie and Curtis insisted on hanging out so he spent most of the evening with them. Things were still strained between him and Curtis after their last argument but they’d avoided the subject of you and mostly talked about other shit.

It was almost ten when he came back to the apartment. He was grabbing a beer from the fridge before resuming his position at the window when cold dread struck in the pit of his stomach. The same instinct that had saved his life many times over when he was out in the field, warning him that he was in danger. Forgetting the beer, he quickly went to the window and grabbed the binoculars to check on you.

You were dressed in some asshole’s shirt, your legs bare, flashing a contented smile that Billy knew all too well. The same smile you wore when you were happy. Sated. When you’d just been fucked out of your mind. And then he saw the fucking lawyer, naked and grinning, putting his arms around you – you – and you turned around to kiss him.

He thought he knew pain, thought he understood the full depravity of violence and what it could do to someone’s mind, their body, how it could break them piece by piece. He’d been tortured before, he’d also been one to torture others, killing out of necessity, out of amusement, because he’d been a soldier following orders but also because it served his own selfish needs. So this, this fucking absolute devastation of his heart should not have felt as terrible as it did, because he knew goddamn well there were worse forms of pain – and yet, this, this was the one that knocked the breath out of his lungs and crushed him mind, body and soul.

You.

You brought his world crashing down.

A/N - Feedback is adored and cherished :) Please leave your thoughts on this post or in my askbox. I always love to hear from you guys!

And if you’re bored or interested in reading Darkling fic written by yours truly, I’ve been reposting the chapters on my Tumblr . Feel free to check it out.

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#billy russo x reader #billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #billy russo x you #a woman scorned #a woman reborn

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absolutelyfizzing · 3 years ago

Text

He can't hurt you anymore

Bucky x reader

Description - Reader is the barista that Bucky has befriended at his local coffee shop but he thinks you may be hiding something. Your boyfriend might not be as kind as he tries to come off as. One day Bucky investigates and intervenes. Takes place around TFATWS but the shield isn't a factor. After the events of Endgame. Its pretty platonic Buck x Reader but it's sort of implied that future romance is probably a thing.

Warnings - TW DOMESTIC ABUSE!!! This is a big part of the story, if this is triggering for you, DO NOT READ THIS!! If you are in a situation where you need help getting out of an abusing household please get help. also endgame spoilers! Theres some cussing as well and female pronouns are used.

Word count - 4700 ish?

A/N - I am writing this from how an abusive relationship was for ME, how I acted, and the ways that I felt. This is in no way a generalization of how these situations are for most people nor is it a romanticization of abuse. Please reach out to someone or even me if you need help or you want to talk about anything. Do not read this story if you will be harmed by reading this, PLEASE.

MASTERLIST

Bucky's favorite part of his day was when he went to get coffee from the small shop down the street from his apartment. He didn't have many places he liked to go outside of the small room that he often felt trapped him but he knew that it was good for him to get out and interact with people. His therapist had told him as much.

He really didn't even like the coffee that much, he found that it made him jittery, but he went just to say hi to you. He always got the same order and usually got there around the same time so sometimes you would even have his coffee ready just as he was walking in. When you did things like that it made his heart flutter. He liked you in a romantic way but you only ever lightly flirted. Not wanting to scare you away, he never pressed and he kept his conversation moderately friendly. He had noticed that sometimes you seemed off. More so than he would say might be caused by a bad day.

On these days your eyes would be flying around the room and your hands shaky. You normally had bags under your eyes and you might even have bruises around your body. He also noticed that on those days you would cover up more but he could catch a glimpse of a purple bruise on your arm under your sleeve when you moved.

As he walked into the shop, he saw that today would be one of those days. He had been going to the coffee shop that you were at for probably 6 months and he had never seen you this shaken up. You seemed to be fully zoned out as you automatically did the cleaning in front of you. He had to clear his throat a bit to get you to notice him and when he did he regretted it. You flinched and your shoulders tensed before looking over to him. You relaxed a bit and a wide smile appeared on your face. He could vaguely tell it seemed to be fake but it was one of the best fake smiles he had ever seen. He almost commented on it before he noticed the bruises on your neck and arm.

"You okay?" He questioned, eyebrow quirked and his tone lightly teasing. He guessed they might be from whoever you were sleeping with having been a bit rough, something that he wouldn't have judged you for anyway. When you tensed up a bit and drew your hand to your neck he saw the look of slight fear cross your eyes.

"Oh I'm fine!" You recovered, "Didn't have time to cover them up this morning." You smiled and put your arm back down. It looked like you were going with his guess that they were from your boyfriend but in a non threatening way. His smile lessened a bit and he got out his wallet.

"Well, you know the drill. Medium americano with cream and sugar please." He sighed and he put some money in your tip jar while winking at you. You blushed and nodded before turning around to get started on his order.

While you were turned around he heard the bell on the door ring signaling that someone had entered. He turned to see who it was only to be met with an unfamiliar face. This was a bit of a rare occurrence considering he came here so often and he knew almost all of the other people who walked in. This man was large and domineering. He didn't look abnormal in any way, just that his eyes didn't hold the kindness that Bucky searched for when meeting someone new. The man pushed past Bucky to stand at the counter and knocked on it loudly, trying to get your attention. When you turned, you looked like you saw a ghost.

James studied you carefully as the color slowly came back to your face and the large smile that didn't quite seem right was plastered on your face again.

"Hey, babe! Can I get you something?" you asked him kindly and James realized that this must be your boyfriend. He noticed the slight waver that was in your voice as you spoke to to man and the way that your hands began to shake a bit.

"No thanks, I just wanted to check on you to see how you were doing and to apologize again. I was just heading in to work." Your boyfriend smiled and you flinched for a moment before taking a deep breath, bracing yourself.

"No worries, I already told you I forgave you." You grinned, this one looking more like it reached your eyes. "Have a good day at work!" You chirped at him. His hand came to your cheek and James saw you flinch before the man leaned in to kiss you. As soon as he pulled away and left, you turned back to the drink you were making for Buck and your hands were unsteady.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" He tentatively asked. He didn't want to push but he had a bad feeling stuck in his stomach.

You turned to him, ready drink in hand, "I'm doing great, thank you for asking, James" You smiled and Bucky nearly swooned when you used his name. He adjusted his glove a bit and fidgeted with the sleeve on his metal arm, a habit he had when he was anxious.

"Do you mind if I drink it up here? I'd love to chat a bit." He did this pretty often. There was a seat next to the counter for employees that he would occupy on days where the shop wasn't too busy. You gazed at him and nodded enthusiastically.

"How are you now that you're all settled into the new place?" You asked gently and he smiled. He appreciated that you remembered details about him. It made him feel less crazy for having known so much about you.

"It's good! The bed still doesn't feel right and there are still boxes lying around but I cant seem to get myself to unpack all the way. If I didn't have this part of my day then I think I'd be bored out of my mind" He said. You blushed a bit and smiled. You always liked hearing about how he was doing, you worried about him. He had told you at some point that he was a veteran and that he had some issues adapting to his new life. You didn't bring it up often so as to not scare him off but you liked to check in when you could.

"You might want to start looking for something else to occupy your time then, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be here." You mumbled. You were still smiling a bit but your gaze had saddened.

"What do you mean? Are you leaving the city? Heading back home?" he questioned quickly. You had told him that you weren't originally from New York. You chuckled a bit at his panic.

"No, but might be moving in with my boyfriend, that guy who came in earlier." You explained but he still had a confused look on his face.

"Why does that mean you wont be working here?"

"Oh I don't know, he is trying to get me to quit while I'm figuring out life and stuff. Thinks I might be more helpful around the house and he has enough to support us both." you tried to explain but you knew the logic in your statement was flawed. The reality was that your boyfriend wanted you to be financially dependent on him but you were ignoring that as the bruises around your throat reminded you what happened to girlfriends who talked back. You looked into Bucky's eyes to find him staring sadly.

"You should be able to keep working if you want to." He sounded urgent and you laughed it off.

"You're just mad cause you won have an excuse to see your favorite barista anymore." As you turned back to the cleaning around the shop to do. It was a quiet morning so the silence was slightly deafening. You both didn't speak for a couple minutes before James broke the silence.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" he asked very lightly. Like he didn't want to scare you off. "I'm guessing your boyfriend left those marks and earlier when he came in-"

"It was an accident" You stated quickly. Urgently. Pleadingly. You still weren't looking at him but you had stopped cleaning. "He didn't mean to, he felt bad about it." You continued before turning to James. There were tears in your eyes and you tried to smile reassuringly.

"Those kinds of accidents shouldn't happen, Y/N" He muttered, trying not to make you feel attacked at all but also wanting to let you know that he knew something was wrong.

"It was my fault." You began.

"There is no way-"

"No it was. I messed something up and-and it was on me. James, you don't need to worry about me." Your voice was shaking a bit. "Please, don't worry about me." you were pleading. Your eyes were begging.

You both stood in silence for a moment before you began moving around. You didn't really have a task to be doing but you couldn't be still. You just couldn't be still.

"I am worried" he whispered and you felt the tears in your eyes threaten to fall. You knew you situation wasn't good but you didn't feel like there was anything you could do. And you were partially still convinced that your boyfriend didn't mean it, even though past experiences had already proved you wrong. You knew that after the 5th time, it wasn't accidental. But fear and guilt held you back. You were not an aggressive person. When he yelled at you he made you feel weak. You crumbled. You would never be able to escape.

You went through the rest of your shift in moderate silence. You worked when customers came in and when they left you would try to make yourself seem busy around the shop. James sat patiently, you knew he was gong to want to walk you back to your boyfriend's apartment. Your stomach clenched as you prayed that your boyfriend wouldn't be home.

After your shift you agreed to let James walk you home, you only lived a few blocks away. You didn't talk much and you felt guilty for creating that atmosphere. When you reached your building you stopped and turned to him.

"Thank you for walking me home." You smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow?" You asked and Bucky nodded.

When you turned to head into you building, he didn't leave. He waited. He knew something was wrong but he didn't want to create a mess for you if he didn't need to. He stood against the building before walking in behind someone who was entering. He made his way to the address he had caught on your key earlier and stopped about 3 floors down from yours. He wouldn't intervene unless you needed him and he could listen in from further away. One of the few times he was thankful for the super serum.

"Where have you been?" a growl sounded.

"I was just-"

"Your shift ended 30 minutes ago. Were you talking to that leather wearing asshole? Huh?" There was a yell. "Were you cheating on me, you bitch?!"

"No, babe, Bucky just walked me home, he was just being nice. The person taking over my shift was just a little-"

"He walked you home?" He screamed, "You're just whoring yourself out to anyone now, huh?"

At this point Bucky had heard enough but he noticed that the stairs were closed and the elevator was taking forever. He was hitting himself for not going up to your floor to be more prepared. His heart was pounding and he could feel his eyes watering.

"Babe, I'm sorry, he didn't mean anything by it, I promise-"

He heard a yelp and something making impact and he decided he was done waiting. He didn't know why the stairs were closed but it didn't matter. He broke the door to the stairwell open and he sprinted up them as fast as possible. It was easier to hear your whimpers as he got closer and he could still hear hitting.

When he made it to the door he didn't hesitate to break it in. When he entered the apartment he felt eyes on him. In the corner of your living room you were hunched in a corner, breathing heavily with tears streaming down your face and a fresh broken lip, your boyfriend leering over you with his fist clenched.

"Get the fuck away from her." Bucky felt himself growl. He didn't want to hurt this guy in front of you, knowing that would traumatize you more, but it was taking everything in him not to snap his neck right then.

"What the fuck are you gonna do?" Your boyfriend sneered, "You have no right to come in here and tell be how I'm supposed to deal with my girlfriend. Get the fuck out!" Your boyfriend had moved away from you and you took a bit of a breath. Bucky noticed the shaking of your body as you breathed and he saw red.

Before he really considered what he was doing Bucky was already moving toward the man in the middle of the room, his metal hand clenched. He moved to grab your boyfriend's arm and when he tried to block, going into the fight cocky, Bucky decided he would put him in his place. With what seemed to be minimal effort, Bucky turned the mans arm around and jammed his knee into his back. Once your boyfriend was on the floor, in less than 10 seconds, Bucky had his knee on his chest and his metal arm on his neck.

"You will never lay another finger on her again, you understand me? You're gonna go to fucking prison and you'll never be able to get near her again." Bucky growled at the man who was struggling futilely beneath him. He pressed on his neck harder and waited for his body to give out, holding long enough that he would be knocked out for at least a few minutes so he could get you out of there.

Bucky looked up at you and you were still shaking in the corner, seemingly still terrified. You looked so different from the girl he had come to know. Bucky realized that he might have just made you more scared of him but he knew it was worth it to get you out of the situation. You gulped and took a deep shaky breath before moving to stand up. Bucky moved to stand also to go over and help you but you immediately say back down.

"Hey, doll. I'm not gonna hurt you-" Bucky started but you cut him off.

"I know, I know I just..." You took another shallow breath and looked at the man Bucky was no longer holding down. He could get free and move toward you now if he were to wake up. Bucky understood your gaze sighed a bit, looking around the apartment he now realized probably belonged to your boyfriend. He then noticed the belt on your boyfriend and moved to take it off so he could tie him up with it. He heard you whimper and he made a guess as to why, his heart clenching once again. He quickly bound the large man's hands and attached him to a support beam in the middle of the room. He checked the bindings using larger movements than he needed to so that you would see they were tight from your spot across the room. Bucky then stood and slowly made his way near you. Instead of trying to get very close, he opted to sit against the wall about halfway between you and the man tied up in the room, trying to make sure that you didn't feel threatened by him and that you knew your boyfriend was no longer a threat.

"I'm gonna call a friend okay? You're okay now." Buck said gently to you and you nodded. Your eyes were watery as tears began to fall and you scooted a little closer to Bucky, still not sitting close enough to touch. Bucky made no move to push you. He instead just dialed the only person he could think of.

"Hey, Sam... You in town?.. I know but I need some help. I need the police here and if you could drive too that would be great. I got someone here I don't want going in a cop car... I know that's a lot to ask but I wouldn't be asking if it weren't serious... Please?.. That would be great if she's there." It seemed that the 'please' made the person on the other line agree. Bucky hung up and looked toward you. "Someone's on the way, okay? Do you need anything right now or need any medical help thats urgent?"He tried to be gentle but he couldn't hide the fear in his voice. If there was severe damage somewhere he needed to know now.

"N-no, it wasn't that bad. It's just my face and my ribs I guess but I've healed from worse." You mumbled, trying to be reassuring but then realizing that you may have made him feel worse. "I'm sorry" You mumbled as the tears began again.

"Whoa, what on earth are you sorry for?" Bucky asked as he felt his own eyes begin to water.

"Its just that-" you took a breath for a moment and tried to calm your shaking, "this isn't your job and I'm sorry that you have to deal with it and that I couldn't do it on my own." You cried a bit, Bucky barely being able to make out your words with how quietly you were speaking. He wasn't entirely sure how to help. He experimentally slid a hand along the floor toward you going very slowly so you could move or tell him to stop if you wanted. Instead you moved your hand and reached out so your fingers were touching on the floor. You still didn't move closer to him but the nonthreatening contact made you feel a bit better. He spoke up quietly.

"Y/N, I know this has been a really hard day for you and probably been rough for however long you've been with that asshole but you need to understand that this is not your fault. You did not make him do this to you and you did not deserve it. You will never be in a room alone with him again, okay?" He made decisive eye contact with you and you nodded a bit. "I am going to make sure that nothing happens to you now, I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you again." He sounded reassuring and you scooted just close enough that his hand was holding yours. He smiled lightly at you and you jumped as you heard a knock at the doorframe of the entrance where the door had been practically broken off its hinges.

You tensed up immediately and Bucky stood a bit protectively in front of you, letting go of your hand in the process. You saw a tall kind looking man at the doorway, his frame slightly hunched to make sure that he didn't startle you too much. You looked at him a bit fearfully and took a deep breath before glancing at Bucky and then smiling lightly at the man in the doorway. He watched you carefully as he stepped into the apartment.

"Hey there, my name is Sam, I'm just gonna get him out of here. There's a police car with his name on it downstairs. I brought someone with me who's going to help get you out of here to somewhere safe, okay?" He smiled at you as he moved toward the man tied up in the center of the room. As the bindings came off you skittered back toward the corner a bit and only eased once he was dragged out of the room. From the doorway came a redhead with bags under her eyes. She looked like she hadn't gotten good sleep in a while and you felt like you recognized her from somewhere.

"I'm Pepper, is it okay if I come in?" She looked nice and she had a motherly presence. You nodded and smiled a bit. Her gaze softened further and she walked slowly toward you and as she walked past Bucky she touched his arm lightly, conveying something that you didn't quite understand. "Can I help you up?" she asked as she stood in front of you, her hand reached out. You nodded and put your hand in hers, allowing her to pull you up. You felt the damage that had been done more clearly when you stood up, there was definitely something wrong with your ribs and your stomach. She carefully and slowly put an arm around your shoulders as she herded you out of the apartment. you looked back to where Bucky was standing and he smiled at you reassuringly but his eyes seemed sad. You let yourself be led to a car outside with a man that Pepper called "Happy" driving. She sat in the back with you and made casual one sided conversation to put you at ease.

Back at your apartment Bucky began to try to pack you a bag. He knew that Pepper would take good care of you and wouldn't let anything happen. He would meet you at the Avengers tower later, assuming you would be staying there until you felt comfortable living by yourself at your own apartment again. He moved through your ex's apartment with a critical gaze, noting holes in the wall and a gun in the corner. He presumed it was to protect against home intruders but he didn't doubt that it had been used to threaten you too. He found the bedroom and got to work getting some things that he thought you might want like a hoodie that looked like yours and some personal belongings that were clearly your possessions. He was trying very hard not to accidentally grab something that was your ex's and once he had a full bag he headed out. He saw Sam leaned against the wall outside your building and Bucky immediately got worried.

"Wheres-"

"He's already booked at the precinct, I've got my guys on it and he isn't going anywhere." Sam reassured, having known what Bucky was going to ask. They began walking to the tower, not wanting to get in a car and knowing that the walk wasn't going to be too long.

"Sorry I had to call you, I know you were probably busy. I just didn't know who else to ask." Bucky stated quietly.

"You did the right thing, Buck. You probably saved that girl's life back there." Sam smiled a bit at the man next to him and Bucky felt a smile tug at his mouth too.

They both made light conversation as they made their way back to the tower. When they did, Bucky took a deep breath. He hadn't been back here since right after Steve left. He hadn't seen Pepper in a long time either. He needed to talk to her when he got inside to thank her and to see if she was okay. He knew she probably didn't want to see him very much but she had still helped you when he asked.

Back at the tower you were finally cleared from the medical wing. You were still shaky but you were masking it pretty well and you were about back to where you functioned daily where you could fake smiles if you needed to. Pepper stayed by you the whole time and you met a little girl named Morgan who was very excited to tell you stories that put you at ease. Eventually Pepper led you to a room that she said you could use to sleep and shower in for now and that you could call the AI if you needed anything at all. You asked it to tell you when Bucky got back and it said it would. You also now knew that you recognized her as Iron Man's wife but you didn't mention it, knowing she had lost her husband semi-recently. You also recognized that Sam, who you had met earlier, was the Falcon. Then came the question of who was Bucky. You knew there was a James Barnes associated with the Avengers but you'd never seen him and you knew he had a metal arm, something that you weren't sure was part of Bucky. You showered and cried again in the shower but this time out of relief. You realized that you didn't have to go home to that awful man and that you were finally safe.

The AI, you thought you'd heard Pepper call it FRIDAY, let you know that Bucky was in the building along with Sam. You dressed in the clothes that pepper had given to you, a pair of sweats and a loose T-shirt, and left your room. You carefully padded down the hallway, prepared to ask FRIDAY where you were if you got lost. Instead you saw Bucky down a hallway carrying a bag that you recognized as your own. Now that you were a bit calmed down you knew what you had to do. You got closer to each other, Bucky smiling slightly, and he stopped so that he wouldn't get close to you if you didn't want him to. Instead you continued walking toward him until you got close enough that you could wrap your arms tightly around his waist. He stood in shock before dropping the bag and wrapping one of his arms around you tightly. You reached out to the other one and felt the hardness of it. You guessed then that he must be the winter soldier that you'd heard about but you continued to wrap it around yourself so that he was hugging you all the way. You took a deep breath and smiled slightly.

"Thank you, James." You murmured and you heard his heart pick up its pace. He tightened his arms around you and sighed.

"You’re welcome, doll" he accepted the thanks with a bit of apprehension but this wasn't the time to argue about whether or not thanks were needed. "I promise I'm not going to let anything happen to you again." He stated quietly and he was reassuring himself more than you. Your arms tightened around him more and he decided that he would protect you with all he had if you would let him.

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inkandpen22 · 3 years ago

Text

Unlikely Allies (1/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2k

Part Summary: Y/N is the Telemarine Princess. She’s devoted to her family, including her uncle Miraz, who’s keeping many secrets from her. When her aunt gives birth to her cousin, her brother runs away, leaving Y/N lost...

Masterlist

Y/N

"Princess Y/N?" A faint voice appears in my dream. "Princess!"

I wake up yawning and stretching out my limbs. I whine, what time is it? "Yes, what is it?" I grumble, rolling onto my side.

"Your Royal Highness," the servant greets as they enter my room and I assume they bow. "It's your aunt, she's given birth!"

I fly up from my laid position and immediately climb out of bed. "Take me there at once!"

My maid rushes me to my aunt and uncle's bed-chamber. It's the early hours of the morning, but I don't care! A cousin! Finally! People travel in and out of the room as I turn the corner. Lord Glozelle stands outside the door, guarding it.

He bows his head as I pass, "Your Royal Highness."

I enter the chaotic room, utterly gleaming. A circle of people surrounds the bed, chatter high.

"Auntie?" I make myself known.

The crowd parts, allowing me a path. My aunt lays in her bed, holding my baby cousin. My uncle is beside her, smiling ear to ear as he stares down at the baby.

My aunt looks up at me with a bright smile and waves me over. "Y/N! Come!"

I hurry over to her side, settling down on the edge of their bed. The little boy is wrapped securely in a gray blanket.

"Your cousin, a boy!" My uncle tells me, overjoyed.

My aunt extends her arms out to me, handing me the child. He's utterly precious. The true Telemarine black hair is already on his tiny head.

"Hello! You're so handsome!" I greet him, allowing his small hand to wrap around my finger.

"Y/N, your aunt and I were talking," Uncle begins, glancing between me and his wife. "We would like you to be the Godmother."

My eyes grow wide. "Truly?"

"It would be our pleasure," Auntie giggles, placing her hand over mine.

"I would be honored!" I laugh breathlessly. "Thank you, Uncle! Auntie!"

Suddenly, fireworks erupt outside, signaling the start of the celebration. "A son! A son! Lady Prunaprismia has given Lord Miraz a son!" One of the guards announces from the tower to the village.

"My Lord!" Lord Glozelle barges in frantically. He notices me and bows swiftly. "Your Royal Highness!"

My uncle sighs, a tad annoyed by the interruption. "Yes, Lord Glozelle?"

"It's Prince Caspian, he's gone!"

"What!" I panic and hand the baby back to my aunt before I rise off the bed. "What do you mean gone?"

"It'll be okay, Y/N. We'll find him," Uncle Miraz tries to assure me calmly as he stands.

"Where is he?" I question the Lord.

"My men say they saw him ride into the forest," Lord Glozelle informs.

"What! No! He'll die!" I rush out. "There are Narnians!"

"Those are mere superstitions, your tutor has plagued your mind!" My uncle laughs. "Narnians are extinct. Come Lord Glozelle, we'll begin the search immediately." My uncle stops at me, before departing. He brings his hand to my cheek gently with a comforting smile. "All will be well, Princess."

I nod, praying he's right.

Satisfied, he departs with his men, the room shrinking in population. I turn my attention to the balcony and the full moon. "Caspian..." I whisper my brother's name, praying he's alright and safe.

________________________________________

A few days later...

I ride toward the soldiers gathered by the river's side. I take notice of their wagons... they're empty, how odd. I dismount my horse and spot my uncle.

"Uncle!" I call over, gaining his attention.

I hurry over to him, Lord Gozelle, and the other members of Lord's council. They appear to be in a rather heated argument.

"Is everything alright?" I question worriedly. "I was on a ride when your men told me to return to the palace."

My uncle forces a convincing smile as he ushers me away from the men privately. "Yes, My Dear, I'm sorry to have frightened you."

"You're not telling me something," I accuse knowingly. "Is it Caspian?"

Caspian

Peter, Susan, and Trumpkin hide behind a pile of lumber, watching as my uncle and his men discover the mess we've left.

"I say we shoot now," Trumpkin suggests.

Susan preps her bow and arrow. That's when I see her, Y/N... my sister.

"Wait!" I place my hand over Susan's arrow.

"What is it?" She asks.

Miraz ushers her away, his hand pressed to her back. Something's wrong.

"My sister..." I mumble.

"You have a sister?" Peter questions.

"Y/N..." I whisper her name in a daze as I watch her. "She's speaking with my uncle."

Out of my peripheral, I see Peter searching for her. I can tell when he does because his features shift from confusion to astonishment.

Y/N

"Return to your ride. Everything is okay, promise!" Uncle Miraz guarantees. "My one request is that you stay out of the forest. Go straight to the palace."

"It's Narnians, isn't it?" I interrogate enthusiastically as he escorts me to my horse. It would be the only reason the guard has been so jittery and anxious. "They do exist! Oh, I knew it!"

"You and your fairytales," he laughs, helping up onto the saddle. "Be on your way, My Dear. I'll return shortly."

"Alright, I'll go tend to your baby for you," I tease him, sending him a wink.

Miraz

As I watch Y/N ride off down the path toward the castle as I asked, Lord Gozelle appears beside me.

"You should tell her," he advises.

"That her brother is a traitor and has brought back our greatest enemy" I shake my head, turning over my shoulder to join the Lords again. "No, it'll destroy her."

"Why do you care for Y/N, but Caspian is dispensable?"

"Y/N would never betray me," I state with utmost certainty. Then, I snicker. "Besides, she's a young lady. She can't take my throne."

Y/N

I ride along the path that lines the forest. The trees blur as my horse gallops swiftly back to the castle. My mind is wandering with curiosity. Miraz tells me that there's nothing to be worried about, but I can't help and question whether this is true. Abruptly, a cloaked figure appears on the path, blocking my way. My horse becomes startled and I'm bucked off, hitting the dirt with a thud. The wind is knocked out of me and I struggle to catch my breath. The cloaked figure hurries over and grabs me, dragging me off the dirt path.

"Get off of me!" I scream, thrashing about. "I am Her Royal Highness Princess Y/N! I will-" Then, the figure removes their hood and my eyes recognize my brother. "Caspian..." I whisper in disbelief.

"Hello Y/N," he grins.

"You're alive!" I fly up from my position, wrapping my arms around him frantically. Then, I fully process the news and pull back. "Wait until Miraz hears! He's been so worried!"

"No, no!" He rushes out. "You mustn't tell him you've seen me! Y/N, he's behind all of this..."

"What? No, no, that's impossible. He-"

"When he learned he had a son, he sent assassins after me! I had to run!" He squeezes my shoulders urgently. "It's all true! Everything Dr. Cornelius taught us, it's all true!"

My eyes grow wide, it can't be... "You mean about Narnians!"

"Yes! Aslan, the Kings, and Queens of Old, it's all-"

"Caspian, you can't just run off!" A male voice interrupts, followed by rushing footsteps.

"What if Miraz..." A girl begins to shout, but as she, a boy, and a dwarf appear from behind the greenery briskly their eyes land on us.

The dark-haired girl looks down at me strangely, as if she already hates me despite just meeting me. She seems like a know-it-all. I don't even know her name. The boy, tall and blonde, peers at me with parted lips. Surprise not easily hidden. The dwarf, well, he glares a lot. Two out of three already hate me. Caspian must be telling the truth, these truly are Narnians.

Caspian glances between the two and myself. "Y/N, this is-"

"Let me guess, High King Peter," I determine, meeting the boy's gaze.

He appears more astonished than before if that's possible. What? Just because I'm a Telemarine doesn't mean I don't know the legends of Narnia.

"You revealed yourself!" The girl huffs. "She's going to run and tell Miraz!"

"Let me guess, Queen Susan," I remark a bit snarky as I help myself off the ground and brush myself down. "I wouldn't tell."

"Are we just supposed to take your word for it?" Peter challenges.

"Miraz may be my uncle, but Caspian is my only brother," I argue.

"And your loyalty lies with your people, right? Am I wrong?" He presses further.

"And you're loyal to the Narnians?" I snicker mockingly. "Last I checked you disappeared for over a thousand years."

"Even the Telemarine Princess agrees with me," the dwarf huffs with a roll of the eyes.

"At least my family didn't murder millions of innocent creatures," he fires back.

I reach for the dagger resting on my belt and point it at the boy. "Take that back!"

Fearless, he steps forward, directly in front of my blade. "Your entire empire is the reason Narnians are almost extinct!"

"Our father wouldn't have harmed any creature!" I scream.

Caspian wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. "Y/N, Y/N, calm down!"

"Enough of this, we have to return to the camp," Peter announces assertively as he begins to march away. "Bring her."

"No, we're not taking her with us!" Susan shouts.

"We have to!" Peter argues over his shoulder.

Caspian presses a hand to my back, leading me in the direction Peter is headed.

"What? I'm not going!" I challenge.

"Good!" Susan scoffs.

"You must," Caspian tells me calmly. "You know of us now."

"I rather drop dead," I fire back.

"That can be arranged," Peter grumbles ahead.

"Shall I send you back to wherever you came from?" I threaten the former High King.

He turns over his shoulder with a glare. "Anything to be dimensions away from you."

"Stop it!" Caspian finally breaks, looking back and forth between the two of us. "Please..."

"Miraz will send the Lords after me! It's in your best interest to let me go!" I reason with them.

"Perhaps she's right," Susan uncharacteristically agrees with me. "Caspian, we can see her another time. For now, we have to be smart."

Caspian's clearly torn, an internal battle ensuing in his mind. "What if Miraz finds out we've been together. He may retaliate against you."

I frown, "Miraz would never... he cares about me."

"I'll formulate a plan," Peter interjects, causing my brother and me to look at him. "A few men and I will sneak into the castle in two days time. We'll stage it like a kidnapping to avoid any hostility toward Y/N from your uncle."

"That gives me two days to prepare and learn what I can about what Uncle is planning," I try to convince Caspian.

"Very well, but be careful until then," he practically begs, bringing me into a hug.

"Goodbye Caspian," I mumble against his chest as I part from him. This is harder than I had expected. "Now go! Before any guards ride by!"

He nods and begins to back away. "I'll come back for you!"

Susan and Caspian run off in the opposite direction with Trumpkin. Peter lingers behind for a second, walking backward to follow them. "I'll send messages to you until it's time," he informs me. "Be ready!"

I nod, feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of what will happen in two nights. "Yes, alright," I manage to say with my voice shaking.

He nods, satisfied with my response, before jogging off to join his sister and friends. I stand in the woods, alone, utterly dazed and confused. One minute I'm riding home, the next I'm reunited with my brother and learn that Narnians are alive. On top of that, everything about my life that's been concrete, such as my home in the castle and my love of my aunt and uncle are being taken away. My brother or my people? That's the question and I only have two days to figure out an answer.

_____________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @i-hav-no-life @hellomyweirdos @candyheartsandcigarettes @gillybear17 @hauntedphotographybookstaco

#narnia imagine #narnia #narnia fanfiction #caspian x reader #prince caspian #peter pevensie #King Peter the Magnificent #peter x reader #peter #susan pevensie #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie

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worminstuff · 4 years ago

Note

Maybe all of their reactions to one of their student's having an anxiety attack possibly because they're falling behind on work and panicking or their class gets too loud. I was wondering as well if i could be Cloud Anon? (If you do name Anons that is)

|| I don’t think I can do all of them because that was genuinely take so long, (the short blurb one was almost 4K words) so I’m gonna do a few, I hope that’s okay. And I do do name anons but it’s been a really long time since anons sent anons like that, but I do! I don’t remember all of the ones there are but, ill try to make a post or something ||

Mr.Blade, Mr.wastaken, and Mr.Jacbobs helping student!reader with panic attacks!

Warnings: panic attacks, anxiety

Word count: I dunno

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Mr.Wastaken

Mr.Wastaken sits in his class for about an hour after school ends so if anyone needs extra help they can come sit with him and he’ll do homework with them. Even when it’s not math work too.

Today he was sitting with y/n, one of his students in his third period class.

The cringe worthy noise of Mr.Wastakens chair sliding towards the desk y/n was at made them close their eyes.

“I know ,I’m sorry, should’ve just picked it up and moved it.” He offered them a smile, expecting the sweet smile that y/n usually would return but they didn’t smile.

Dream paused. That’s strange. He thought, but he didn’t bring it up.

“So we’re working on some quiz corrections right?” He asked, they nodded, “easy peasy, no big deal. Which ones gave you trouble?”

Y/n explained their trouble with certain ones, their voice quiet and shaky. Y/n hadn’t looked him in the eyes yet, which he noticed. Their eyes were trained on the paper.

Dream started to explain one of the problems they pointed out, drawing a little explaination beside it. He quickly stopped when he heard a small sniffle.

He looked back up at y/n seeing they paced a arm over their eyes. His brows furrowed, he quickly became worried.

“Hey, hey,” he placed a gentle hand on their shoulder, “what’s going on?” He figured it probably wasn’t just the math on the desk in front of them.

Y/n sniffled again before replying, “I just- there’s so much work due and I can’t bring myself to do it cause there’s so- so much and and” their voice was shaky as y/n pulled their arm from their face. Under their eyes were wet, stained from the smooshed tears.

“Oh kiddo..I get that. How about I exempt this grade, actually I’ll just put it at a 100 since we’re moving on to a new unit, and we work on something else maybe?” He offered another smile, this one more comforting. “And we can go steal some snacks from Mr.Dudes room too.”

Y/n nodded, “thank you.” Their voice was still soft but less sad. Dreams heart melted.

“Dont sweat it kiddo, and if it gets like this again, please let me know. I don’t mind hanging out with you after school so we can do this whenever you need. I’ve got your back, kid.”

Dream hated seeing his kiddos upset, he would always do anything for them.

^^^^^^

Mr.Blade

There was a new student in Mr.Blades class. they were new to the whole school too but Mr.Minecraft put Mr.Blade as their home room teacher.

The reason Mr.Minecraft did so, unknowing to Mr.Blade was because this student was super anxious being new, and he thought techno would deal with this well.

Mr.Blade didnt usually have a home room class, it was usually his free period. So this ment y/n and him were alone each morning.

This freaked y/n out because obviously she didn’t know him, and he came off as very...scary.

Mr.Blade didnt realize they found him scary until about a week in to them being in his class.

He noticed multiple things. y/n never looked him in the eyes, they never asked for anything, and they were always jittery. This particular morning, it seemed ten times worse.

“Are you okay there?” he tried to soften his tone, he really didn’t want them to be afraid of him.

Y/n only nodded, but their eyes screwed tight for a moment before looking back to their computer. They’d been staring at it for a while now, silently shaking and ringing their hands.

Mr.Blade was well aware of the wordless lie so he stood from his desk and made his way over. He squatted down and placed his arms on the edge of their desk, resting his head on them.

He waited a moment, thinking they’d close the computer. They didn’t.

slowly, he placed his hand on it and slowly closed it. He waited a bit longer, letting y/n calm down a tad by themself before he said anything.

“What’s going on, kid?” he tried to look into y/n’s eyes but they were closed. “Can you look at me? I’m not angry, i’m not gonna yell or anything.”

Y/n opened their eyes slowly but surely, and Technos hesrt just about shattered.

He didn’t often get soft over his students but the pools of tears in y/ns eyes made even his cold heart ache.

He waited a moment, giving them a moment to breathe and see he wasn’t a threat or anything.

“Stressed.” Y/n said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah? How come? What’s stressing you out?”

Y/n explained how much they didn’t like being new and having to be caught up in classes was really stressing them out.

Mr.Blade quickly understood, and sympathized.

He helped y/n make a little planner, and even drew little drawings on it to make it more fun. Once they had a planner, both made a plan together so the work load didn’t seem so much.

Afterwords he even called some of y/ns teachers to see if they could accommodate in any way. He even offered to teach the materials to them in their free period, as long as y/n didn’t have to turn them in as assignments or anything.

They agreed of course.

^^^^^^^

Mr.Jacobs

Mr. Jacobs classes were often hectic. That was sorta his nature and the students just followed in his footsteps.

Usually it wasn’t a problem because karl was able to keep it from getting too out of hand, but today everyone seemed a bit to energized to want to listen.

They were working on a map project so they were working and talking with friends and just being sort of wild.

Karl noticed quickly, one of his students y/n, was getting a bit overwhelmed by it.

“Hey, hi, hey, what’s going on?” He stood so his back was facing most of the class, and y/n was in front of him.

Y/n was shaky, and looked visibly nervous.

“S’ just a bit loud.” Y/n said, offering a small smile. y/n was internally screaming. Thought they were good at hiding it, they were moments from snapping and curling into a ball hoping for some quiet so the feeling of impending doom would end.

Karl nodded, he read her like a book and instantly understood.

“Can i give you a hug, kiddo?” He asked, his head tilted in parental like worry. Y/n nodded and he leaned down to give her a quick hug before standing back up to go back to the front of the class.

He gave her two thumbs up. Then whistled loudly, getting everyone’s attention.

“Quiet game! Whoever wins gets forty five dollars. That’s right. Forty buckeroos. “

The class was instantly silent. Y/n’s shoulders relaxed, and she shot karl a thankful smile. He ruturned one similar.

#dream x reader #dreamsmp #dreamteam #dreamwastaken #dream team fanfic #dream smp #dream fanfic #dreamsmp teacher au #karl jacobs fanfiction #karl jacobs #karl x reader #techno fanfic #technoblade fanfic #techno x reader #teacher!techno #teacher!dream #teacher!karl

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morganaspendragonss · 4 years ago

Note

hiya. could you write a fic where tk has a panic attack from carlos’s pov? 😘🧡

i can indeed! this is combined with an idea jamie ( @silvarafael ) had and very kindly allowed me to write - i hope you both enjoy! the first section is also based on a vague idea i had after watching the ep.

ao3 | 1.9k | 2.10 spoilers

TK is silent the entire drive home, choosing instead to stare out the window with his jaw firmly clenched, his hands making fists in his lap. The silence extends all the way into the house, right up until the point when he flops down on the couch with a loud, frustrated sigh, burying his head in his hands.

At this point, Carlos knows not to push when TK is like this; he’ll talk when he wants to, and not a moment before. So he simply walks over, sitting next to him and placing a hand on TK’s back, rubbing gentle circles. TK slowly relaxes under his touch, unfurling his body, and Carlos is all too happy to let him shift into his arms, holding on and pressing kisses on the top of his head.

I’m here, he’s saying - not with words, but he knows the message gets across regardless. It may have only been less than a year since they started dating, but already they don’t always need words to communicate.

“I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable back there,” TK says suddenly. “I know my dad kind of dragged you into it all, and that must have been awkward for you.”

“It wasn’t my favourite interaction with your dad ever,” he admits.

TK snorts. “Understatement,” he mutters, and Carlos laughs, tilting his head in agreement. “I am sorry, though, really,” TK continues. “It was amazing of you to even be there; you didn’t have to be. I’m sure there are hundreds of places you’d rather be than an intervention session for my dad.”

“You mean supporting my boyfriend through something difficult and important?” Carlos corrects gently, shifting to catch TK’s eyes. “Because there’s nowhere I’d rather be than there.”

TK blinks at him, managing to hold his gaze for all of two seconds before he blushes and looks away. He takes Carlos’s hand, tapping restlessly on the back of it - a sure-fire sign he’s still worked up about something, so Carlos leaves him be, waiting for it to come out.

“Is it bad that I’m pissed at him?” TK’s voice is quiet, small, and it’s mirrored in his body language when he turns to Carlos, drawing his legs up and hunching his shoulders. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to connect with him, and it just feels like he’s constantly throwing it all right back in my face. And he’s… He’s such a fucking hypocrite. Ever since my first overdose, he’s been going on and on about how good it is to talk about my feelings and how I shouldn’t keep things bottled up, yet he insists on hiding this shit from me.”

TK laughs, short, sharp, bordering on hysterical. “He didn’t even tell me when he was fucking dying; I had to find that out by myself. And I’ve tried. I haven’t stopped trying.” He deflates, sinking back into Carlos with a defeated sigh. “But there’s only so much I can take, you know? I can’t… I can’t keep doing this, Carlos.”

Carlos’s heart breaks for his boyfriend. He wishes he could take the pain away; as it is, all he can do is hold him, and hope that he has enough words to at least dull the ache somewhat.

“It’s not bad to feel what you feel, TK.”

TK looks up at him, eyes wide. “You don’t think so?”

He shakes his head, kissing him again. “No. I think… I think your dad has treated you pretty unfairly, actually, and you’re well within your rights to be mad at him right now. But, I also think that you said it yourself; there’s only so much you can do. Before you can take care of your dad, you have to take care of yourself, and you can’t do that if you’re worrying over him.”

If TK’s eyes were any wider, it’d be comical. “But -”

“No buts.” Carlos smiles tightly, keeping his tone gentle. “TK, babe, you just led an intervention into your dad’s mental health, which I know was hard for you, yet you did it anyway because you love him. You tried, but if he doesn’t want to engage, then there’s nothing you can do.”

TK is silent for a long time, staring down at his lap. He’s still holding Carlos’s hand in one of his own, but his free hand is rubbing the material of Carlos’s shirt between his fingers; Carlos doubts he’s even fully aware he’s doing it.

“I know that,” he says eventually, voice little more than a whisper. “I do. I just wish he wasn’t so goddamn stubborn all the time.”

Carlos’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he speaks before he can stop himself. “Guess it runs in the family.”

TK stares at him, open-mouthed, and Carlos immediately regrets his words. He’s halfway through an apology when it’s like a dam breaks, and TK breaks out in giggles, his head thumping against Carlos’s chest.

“You’re lucky I love you, Reyes.”

Carlos grins and pulls TK as close to him as physically possible. “I really am.”

The call comes early the next morning, waking both of them up. TK grumbles as he smacks his hand against the nightstand in a blind search for his phone; the sight would be adorable if Carlos weren’t so tired himself. After the exhaustion of the past few days, he’d been desperately hoping to have a peaceful morning for once, maybe even - god forbid - to spend some quality time with his boyfriend without the threat of parents or work or sudden emergencies hanging over them.

Clearly, though, it’s not to be, as TK suddenly sits bolt upright in bed, all traces of sleep gone.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he promises to whoever’s on the other end, before lowering the phone and turning to stare at Carlos, terror obvious in his eyes.

“TK?” Carlos asks when he doesn’t speak, sitting up and slowly reaching out for him. TK startles at the contact, but quickly leans into it, covering Carlos’s hand with his own.

He swallows once, twice. “Buttercup’s sick,” he whispers. “Dad had to rush him to the vet’s. Carlos, what if… What if…”

He trails off, shaking his head viciously, as though he can erase the thought from his mind. Carlos quickly moves to steady him, stroking his thumbs across his cheekbones to calm him down.

“Let’s get dressed, okay?” he says, knowing reassurances won’t mean a thing right now. “Then we’ll go, and we’ll know more.”

TK just nods, quiet as they go through the motions of getting ready. Carlos makes sure to press an apple into his hand before they head out; he knows it will likely go uneaten, but it’s the only choice he has, given he knows that TK will refuse to stop for breakfast without finding out about Buttercup first.

If the drive back from Owen’s yesterday was silent, today’s is far worse. TK’s hands are constantly moving in Carlos’s periphery, alternating between fiddling with his apple, tugging on his clothes and hair, and rubbing at his face. On the rare occasion he does try to stay still, his hands end up twitching in his lap, followed by a sudden burst of anxious movement before falling back into some semblance of a pattern.

Carlos presses his lips into a firm line, accelerating more than is technically legal; at any other time he’d make a joke about how TK’s turning him into a criminal.

They’re forced to stop at a traffic light, and Carlos curses under his breath, getting jittery himself as the drive extends. He turns to check on TK, then curses again at the sight of his boyfriend’s pale face, his wide eyes and trembling body. TK gasps, then again and again, a hand going to his chest, and Carlos knows what this is.

A panic attack, but the second he reaches to help, the lights change and he’s forced to keep driving. He keeps one eye on TK the whole time, heart beating faster as he seems to get worse, and he’s thankful when he spots an opportunity to pull over, taking it immediately.

TK stares, shaking his head frantically and gesturing in a motion that Carlos takes to mean keep driving. His mouth opens and closes but he can’t form words, breaths coming short and fast. He folds in on himself when they stop, eyes closed and forehead almost touching his knees as his body heaves and shakes.

Carlos unbuckles himself and shifts as close as he can, placing one hand on TK’s back and taking his hand in the other, rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb. He’s had to do this a few times over the course of their relationship, shootings and kidnappings and disasters taking their toll on his boyfriend.

But that doesn’t make it any less difficult.

“You’re going to be okay,” Carlos says, pushing his own fears aside. “Just breathe slowly, in and out, that’s it; it’ll be over soon, I promise.”

He keeps it up, murmuring assurances he barely registers himself until the shaking lessens and TK’s breath slowly but surely begins to even out. He straightens in his seat, eyes still closed, and leans his head against the headrest.

Carlos pulls back, giving him a moment before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

TK shakes his head, then immediately changes his mind and nods. Still, it takes him a few seconds to speak. “What if it’s the cancer, Carlos?” he asks, peeling his eyes open, despair written all over his features. “He could - He could die, he could be dying right this second, and I don’t know if I can handle that, not after everything else.”

“I know,” Carlos says. “You just have to remember that we don’t know anything yet, and you have to believe that Buttercup will be fine until we do know more. We’ll take it from there, and if it is the cancer - which, yes, it might be - then we’ll all be around to support each other. Buttercup’s strong, though, I’m sure he’ll fight whatever this is with everything he has. He’ll be fine.”

Carlos smiles, noticing how TK is pretty much hanging onto every word he says. He takes a deep breath, briefly looking away before continuing, “As will your dad.”

TK frowns. “Who said anything about my dad?”

“TK.”

He sighs, hanging his head. “You’re right,” he admits, “this is a little bit about my dad. The longer he puts off this surgery, the more scared I get that the cancer will come back and we won’t get as lucky this time. I know it’s stupid, and I know I should be focused on Buttercup right now, but…”

“But,” Carlos agrees, reaching out and squeezing TK’s hand. “It’s okay, and it’s not stupid at all, I promise you. Let’s just take this one thing at a time, okay? First, we’ll get to the vet’s and find out how Buttercup is, and then we’ll see about having another conversation with your dad - maybe telling him what you’ve told me?”

TK exhales shakily, then nods. “Okay. Okay.”

Carlos gives him a small smile, squeezing his hand once more before shifting back in his seat to keep driving. “I’ll be right by your side,” he can’t help but say. He’s sure TK already knows, but the reminder can’t hurt, especially after what just happened.

TK stays quiet, but Carlos doesn’t miss the mumbled, “I don’t deserve you,” from the passenger seat.

“Wrong,” he replies, eyes on the road. “You deserve the world.”

And, in his periphery, TK smiles.

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sunsetcurvecuddles · 4 years ago

Note

If you're still doing the prompts you should do the gang (alex, julie, luke, reggie) and (platonic) cuddles!!! (I'm so soft for them and have read every jatp fic tagged platonic cuddles KFKZKDKD)

you know what ask and you shall receive. i wanted to write core4/juke cuddles today so here’s a mindless piece with cuddles and nothing else.

sit tight like bookends // 1.5k words // ao3 link in reblogs!

Luke’s kind of having a terrible day.

It’s not terrible for any reason. He’s just grouchy. For starters, he misses being alive. It’s nice to be able to touch Julie now, and to occasionally be visible to people with her help, but it’s not the same. On a day like this in the past, he might have gone for a hard run, just to sweat and feel his heart race. Or maybe taken a nap. Or eaten a bunch. He knows ghosts don’t get hungry, but he misses being able to eat just for the sake of it sometimes, for the comfort of warm food on a cold day.

Not that he can feel the cold anymore either. But whatever. You get the point.

So he's having this terrible, grouchy day, and he ends up spread-eagled on Julie's bed, even though he knows he's not meant to be in her room. It just sucks how long she's gone at school every day, and he knows he's not supposed to visit her at school even more than he's not supposed to be in her room. He's not even prying through her stuff this time! He's just innocently feeling sorry for himself.

Even with his eyes closed, he can feel and hear the presence of someone else poofing into the room. Then he hears Alex's voice, "Dude, you know you're not supposed to be in here when Julie's not home."

Luke cracks open one eye. Alex is standing with his hands in his pockets, but his shoulders aren't all up against his ears like they get when he's anxious. More than anything, he looks that particular, Alex-brand mixture of irritated and concerned, eyebrows raised, lips pressed together, eyebrows furrowed. "C'mon, man. What gives?"

Luke sighs, long and dramatic, and snaps, "I don't know, okay?!" mostly just because in the moment, it feels good to be a little terse. Then the moment ends, and he feels bad, his stomach turning all tight and guilty. "Sorry, Lex," he groans, dragging his hands over his own face and then keeping them there, so he doesn't have to see Alex's expression melt into that other Alex-brand look, the one where he's halfway between knowing and affectionate. Somehow, that face is worse than the irritated-concerned one. "I'm just... I dunno. I don't wanna be a ghost any more. And I miss food. And Julie's still not home. Today sucks."

"That's fair enough," says Alex, like he always has when Luke is whinging for no reason, because Alex only ever tells him to shut up or be reasonable or quit whining when he's really being ridiculous, and Luke appreciates that, that Alex knows when to let him ramble but knows when enough is enough. Luke feels the mattress move as Alex sits on the end of the bed. "Like, you shouldn't be such an asshole about it—" Luke can't help but smile at that, knows Alex is grinning too without even looking "—but it's still fair." A moment of silence. In his mind's eye, Luke can see Alex staring into the carpet like it holds some answers for him, thinking hard enough it basically counts as a workout. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Alex asks eventually, soft. He means it.

Luke shrugs. It's nice in this dark little cave he's created with his hands. "I don't know, man."

"Okay," says Alex. The mattress shifts more under Luke. Then, Luke feels his right side glow with warmth as Alex lies down beside him. Sometimes he wonders if since they became ghosts, he can actually feel his boys' auras, or something, because he's sure this sense of care and steadiness didn't radiate off Alex quite like this when they were alive. Maybe it's been since the Orpheum, actually. Luke can't really remember. "C'mere," Alex encourages him. "I'm good for hugs today, if you want some."

Maybe once upon a time Luke would have pretended not to be eager, but even then, he would have done a bad job, and now he doesn't even bother with the act. Immediately, he takes his hands off his face, blinking against the return of the light as he turns to Alex, flings an arm across Alex's chest and a leg over Alex's hip, snuggling up tight until he's plastered to the side of Alex's body. Alex just laughs, quiet, extends his arm out so Luke can pillow his head on Alex's shoulder, one hand coming up to mess up Luke's hair even more than it already was.

For a moment, they lie there together, Luke relaxing until he feels more and more like his body and Alex's body are synced, breaths coming in and out at a similar pace. The bitter, jittery feeling in his spine eases back, lets go of his tongue, so he feels less likely to bite at whoever comes close.

Which is good timing, because there's another whoosh, and this weight lands behind him, on the bed as soon as they arrive.

"You guys are cuddling without me?" Reggie says, but he doesn't sound upset. In fact, he sounds delighted that there's cuddling happening, period. There's scuffling, and then two thuds, because Reggie knows better than to let his shoes touch Julie's bed, and then Luke feels a different warmth, sweeter than Alex's, more caramelised, and Reggie spoons against Luke's back, his nose burying into Luke's neck and one arm laying all the way over him to rest on Alex's chest.

"We were cuddling without you, because Luke was being a miserable grouch, but we've been interrupted," Alex says primly, and as Luke manages a mildly offended hey!, Reggie laughs, not phased at all. Luke can feel it as it vibrates from Reggie's chest to his own back, the tangibility of his joy making Luke feel warm from the inside. Reggie and Alex start bickering over the top of his head, and he doesn't really pay attention to them. Some part of him is trying to string some lyrics together, about being warm, about being able to feel someone else laughing because they're pressed so closely to you that their happiness feels just as much your own. But he's not quite sure what he's trying to say, yet.

They're still there when Julie gets home from school. Luke hears the door open and close, feels Reggie go tense, like he's worried they're going to get yelled at. But Julie only sounds kind of exasperated when she says, "Seriously, guys? Boundaries?"

"Luke's having a bad day," Reggie explains right away.

"Not anything serious," Alex corrects him, "just in a bad mood."

Luke nods and wriggles a bit between his boys, sits up so he can look at Julie properly.

The feeling of his heart in his mouth when he sees her will apparently never stop. She looks tired and ruffled from her day at school, hair a cloud around her face where he can see she was running her fingers through it as she thought in class, skirt crumpled at the hem where she would have wrinkled it in her fist, rubbed the fabric between her fingers. She dumps her backpack on the carpet and offers him a grin, and he can't remember what in the world he could have been grumpy about. If being a ghost brought him to her, being a ghost is awesome.

He looks around at the bed and realises they're going to have to rearrange, but Alex and Reggie seem on the same page at the same time, because they're his favourites and he loves them and he wants them close to him always. They move, adjusting and shuffling around, until a spot for Julie appears in between Alex and Luke. With a relieved sigh, she flops down, and Luke might be fooling himself, but he thinks he feels her energy, too. It's softer than Alex or Reggie, enveloping, like warm water scented with something beautiful.

She leans over Luke to kiss Reggie's forehead hello, then kisses Luke on the mouth (she tastes like the cherry bubblegum Flynn always carries around), then she turns to kiss Alex on the cheek. "I have homework to do later," she says, but it comes out a little garbled as she surprises herself with a yawn. Luke, Alex and Reggie exchange a fond look over the top of her head — she'll be asleep before she knows it. Alex nods his head at the clock on her desk and mouths I'll wake her up, because Luke and Reggie both have absolutely zero time perception.

Luke wraps his arms around Julie's waist and holds her close to him, and she settles in, Alex curling up to hold her from behind while Reggie moves up a bit, so he can press himself to Luke and run his hands gently through Julie's hair at the same time. Their different kinds of warm all stitch themselves together, weaving over Luke's body like a blanket, like a shield. All that's wrong with the world is on the other side, kept away from him by Alex's fingers rubbing little circles into Luke's side, by the feeling of Julie's chest rising and falling with her breaths, by the movement of Reggie's arms over his head. By all of them curled as close to him as they can be.

Luke's day isn't so terrible after all.

jatp taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed!!): @queenmolina @nickalicious @bi-reginald @malecacidd @burntchromas @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @cinnamonstickrayofsunlight @chickwiththepurpleguitar @fairylightsandrainydays @joyandthephantoms @fighttoshine @michelangelinda @queenofthequillandink @random-nerd-3 @silent-silver-slip @apolo81 @evashmz @bagoffriedrice @thedeathdeelers

#malecacidd #jatp #julie and the phantoms #my fic #juke #jukebox #core4

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blinder-secrets · 4 years ago

Text

Count For Me

tommy x anxious reader, 2164 words

a/n: i’m not gonna say the reader is having a panic attack specifically, more that they’re experiencing a lot of anxiety, so take that with a pinch of salt pls. i’m not suggesting this is how all anxiety feels or that it can be alleviated like this every time, im just basing it on my own experiences so enjoy!

You’re sat in the kitchen, or rather, the stairwell to the kitchens. You had every intention of making it there, of sitting at the large oak table in the fore-room, and having tea. Bread. Of letting Frances relax and serving yourself. But, instead, you’re on the last step down, legs bouncing on the balls of your feet.

It can only be described as fretting, incessant worry; your mind is agonising over things already done, over what’s to come next. It isn’t guns, or business, or family arguments that’s got you. It’s something invisible. Unknown, but biting away regardless. It’s sitting on the step and thinking about everything, and nothing — it’s losing yourself entirely, feeling the hand tighten around your throat, the dread, the weight of it in your chest. You sit and you feel afraid. After all you’ve seen in the world, all you’ve been through with Tommy. It’s your own head that works itself against you now, your own commentary that rots your mind in the quiet moments. Fuck. If you said it aloud they’d laugh you out the room. If you told Pol she’d say you were sick, that you needed air and spirits, and none of this Shelby wreckage to pull you down.

‘In the kitchen, Sir.’

Oh, Christ, Tommy’s home. You hear him, direct and toward where you're hiding. From his footsteps, it seems like he’s coming from the opposite wing, so he’ll make it into the kitchen before you ever did.

He calls your name through the hallway. It bounces off the cool tiles.

‘I’m here, Tommy,’ you say back in a false tone; you dread him finding you more than the rest of it.

You’ve got maybe a minute to collect yourself, but from the way your feet are sinking through the stone of the floor beneath you, that’s not going to happen. He arrives in the kitchen, says your name again. He can’t see you from where he is.

‘On the stairs,’ you tell him.

Once he’s in front of you, your energy spikes. It’s easier to ignore the feeling when you’re with him. He tucks it away for you, somewhat, just a bit. ‘What is it?’ he asks, shaking his head slightly, his lips parted. A cigarette leaks smoke from between his fingers. He’s taken his coat off, but the jacket’s still there. Still dressed like he could leave again at any moment.

‘Nothing.’ You smile. ‘Are you back now?’

‘For now,’ he answers. He steps forward, places the back of his hand against your forehead. ‘Are you sick?’

‘No. Just wanted to sit somewhere.’

He doesn’t believe you, he knows you too well. You still your knees but they’re bouncing again before you can offer an explanation.

‘Tell me,’ he insists, clueless.

Where do you start? What could you possibly say that would make sense. I was going to make lunch, Tommy, but then I sat down here and I couldn’t get up again. ‘Nothing,’ you repeat, pausing to force a swallow. ‘I don’t know, really.’

He takes a drag. On the exhale, he offers the smoke to you, silent but willing to help. You shake your head; it’s not your habit, it doesn’t calm you like it does with him.

‘Has something happened?’ he asks. He’s patient, waiting for you to give him a way in, prepared to go slow when you need it.

‘No, nothing’s happened.’ Nothing you knew of. You were doing fine, going about the day like normal, and then suddenly you weren’t. It had already swamped you before you realised it was coming. ‘It’s just my head,’ you say, forcing the words over a breath that hadn’t quite made it. ‘I think it’s out to get me, Tom.’

He sighs. His lips pour smoke onto the tiles as he looks down. Another stress for him: you sat on his shoulders like the rest of it did, weighed him down without meaning to. You feel yourself rock forward, your head pulling into your chest, like there’s string attached from your chin to your heart and now it’s constricting. ‘Sorry,’ you pant, though you may have said it in your head. It could’ve been a thought amongst the sea and you wouldn’t have known. Sorry for the stress, Tommy, sorry for it all.

‘Hey,’ he says, repeating it firmly after a pause. ‘Hey. Look at me.’ His hand goes to your face, fingers leading your chin upwards until your gaze is on him. ‘Whatever it is, it’s just noise, alright? Just shit in the trough.’

Your lids drop a fraction. ‘Tommy…’

‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘You’re here, with me, right, in the kitchen. Don’t let it pull you under.’

You don’t want to. You’re scanning him, looking for something to ground you, the gold of his cufflink, the button of his waistcoat. Nothing sticks. You’re trying to focus but it’s splitting your attention again. Filling your head with the noise, the pull, the drag. ‘I think I’m going mad,’ you say. Your head’s so tight you can’t make sense of it.

His brows draw together. You focus on the crease in the skin between them. ‘What is it?’ he asks. ‘Eh? What’s worrying you so much?’

‘I don’t know,’ you answer honestly. It sounds like a plea but it’s all you can give him.

You feel like a horse on the track; everything’s past you, behind you, loud in the stands and betting against you. There’s a worry to your left but it’s overtaken by the one on your right. So much at once, too often and too fast to know which is the biggest problem, which is the one causing the damage. If you could pluck something out, you would. If you could tell him, it’d be the first thing you did. There isn’t an answer to his question that doesn’t just make it worse — the more you try to put a name to it, or explain, the harder it gets to breathe. You can feel your heartbeat in your wrists.

Swearing, you drop your head again like it’s a lead weight, letting his fingertips drag up your cheek with the motion. ‘I can’t tell,’ you say weakly. ‘Feels like I’m drowning.’

The ring you’re wearing sits loose on your index finger; you spin it around the knuckle nervously, forcing a shallow breath each time the ruby completes a loop. If you look at him again you might cry. He didn’t ask for this, he didn’t know what to do with you anymore than you knew yourself.

Clearing his throat once, Tommy puts the cigarette between his lips and bends to grab you with both hands. He takes you by the elbows, thumbs tight on your arms, and pulls you to your feet before you have room to complain. You try to avoid his gaze, but his head ducks and chases your eyes until you give in.

‘Listen,’ he starts. He takes the cigarette out, blows the smoke away before he talks. ‘I won’t let you, alright? No-one’s drowning here.’ He looks certain, dedicated, his eyes dig through yours and back into the noise. ‘There’s nothing going on in there that we can’t sort. Okay?’

You want to believe him, so you nod. The next breath you take swells your chest into his.

‘Come here,’ he says briskly, pulling you after him as he walks you deeper into the kitchen. ‘When we were in France—stand there.’ You’re put by the table. He goes to the nearest drawer, pilfering through the silverware as he continues, ‘When we were in France, they told us we had to count.’

‘Count?’

‘To still our hands.’ He turns, pushing the drawer shut with his hip, and files through the forks he’s now holding. ‘Bullets, cards. Saw John counting his teeth once.’

You blink like it’ll help you listen. Everything he’s saying is going in, but bouncing back again. It rattles in your ear canal like coins down a well.

‘Here,’ he says, offering them to you. ‘Count them.’

You hesitate. Then he grabs your wrist, sets your palm straight, and pours the cutlery into it.

‘Go on.’

Mumbling an agreement, you turn to the table and put the first fork onto the wood. One. Two. You hope he doesn’t notice the slight shake along your fingers, the clumsiness as you pass forks from one hand to the other.

‘Do it out loud,’ he guides, as he stands beside you. He exhales, dragging it out and pushing the smoke over your shoulder; you’d forgotten he even had one lit.

‘Three,’ you say. ‘Four.’

All those cigarettes. Lips barely his unless there’s one between them. They’ll get him one day, you think. The cough will get worse and then it’ll be you, on your own in this big house, you looking after Charlie, you with the ache and the grief and the silence.

‘Stop thinking,’ he chides. ‘Count.’

‘Five, six, seven.’ You sigh. The forks clatter on top of one another. ‘Eight, nine. This is stupid, Tommy. Ten.’ You turn to him, expectant of something else, something more helpful.

He just raises his eyebrows, gesturing for you to pick them up again. ‘Now do it over.’

‘Again?’

He nods. The cigarette is extinguished, flicked to the floor and crushed between his sole and the tile. ‘You do it again, and again,’ he lists, ‘until it feels like you can breathe.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

It takes four rounds of it before your chest loosens; four tens, over and over, forks placed down and picked up again as you count. He stands in silence the whole time, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the table. How he doesn’t tire of it, you don’t know. He clears his throat occasionally but doesn’t say anything until you break the rhythm.

‘I think it’s worked,’ you mumble, taking care as you set the last fork down. ‘I feel better.’

It’s not all gone, but you feel calmer. Stiller. Your hands aren’t as jittery and the room feels big again, cold and empty and utilitarian.

He sighs, heavily, thankfully. The noise loud and partnered with a rough tone. ‘Alright,’ he says. He clicks into motion, pulling his hands free and turning to you so that he can bracket them around your face. His fingers are rough, warm, grounding. The rings stamp your cheeks, cold like ice. ‘What did I say, eh? Nothing we couldn’t sort.’

You smile limply and put a hand to his wrist. ‘Thank-you, Tommy.’

You hadn’t expected him to break through it, to make you pause. Breathe. It’s usually the other way around, you calming him. You sifting through the muck. It had never crossed your mind that it would work in reverse.

‘Next time,’ he says quietly, ‘you tell me.’ His chin dips a fraction, blue eyes laced with intent. ‘You tell me as soon as it get’s too much, alright?’

‘Okay,’ you promise, nodding between his palms. ‘Sorry.’

His lip tweaks slightly. ‘What have you got to be sorry for?’ he asks. Then he tilts up to kiss your forehead and, pulling back, utters ‘my silly girl’ under his breath.

You can’t smile. The question almost loses you again. You have plenty to be sorry for, you think, handfuls of apologies shoved into each corner of your brain. ‘Let’s do something,’ you say quickly, chasing the scatter away. ‘Distract me, please.’

He kisses you, lips firm and sure against yours in an agreement, a promise. ‘I have something to show you,’ he says afterwards. His grip on your face drops and he takes a hand instead, fingers curling around your palm. ‘The new horse is here.’

‘It is?’ You cling to him, put your free hand around his bicep and pull tight to his side like the closeness will help. He looks at you like he understands. ‘Well, show me then,’ you push, almost able to smile into it. ‘She was pretty from what I remember.’

‘Very pretty,’ he agrees. ‘Come on.’

You follow him through the house and across the drive. He doesn’t stop talking the whole way, which is unlike him, but he knows any silence will just cause you to slip again, to overthink until you’re tumbling. You answer his questions, dumb as they are, like he doesn’t already know the answers. You tell him what you had for breakfast, what you read in the paper. He asks, and he drawls, and he comments on the bloom of the roses as you pass them. He keeps going and going, until you’re so wrapped up in him, and the house, and the world outside, that everything else falls quiet. Peaceful. He fills your head with his own voice and you thank him for it. You thank him, and you hold on like it’s the only thing keeping you above the water.

‘You alright?’ he asks, checking once you’ve reached the stables.

‘Yes, Tom.’ You smile, meaning it. ‘I’m with you, remember?’

#tommy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #this was only short and feels HORRRRRRRRFICALLYYYY exposing in terms of my experience with my horrible brain so #enjoy but avert your eyes and forget i exist thankyou!#mostly sharing because i know we all want to imagine tommy shelby looking after us :( <3

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badapricot · 4 years ago

Text

Lovely Writer: Count 20, 21, & 22

Based on the promos and the end of the Episode 8, these chapters should be included in Episode 9 of Lovely Writer. Keep in mind that they often cut scenes or move them around. And yes, this includes Nubsib and Gene’s first time.

Count 20

After leaving Siam Paragon, Gene waits in his condo. While he’s there he gets LINE messages from Nubsib telling him to eat and wait for him.

After, Gene gets drunk texts from Aey that include closeups of his lips and pictures of a man. Gene asks who the man is and Aey says Gene is too jealous, but the man isn’t Nubsib.

Gene says he isn’t jealous and goes to get dressed to meet Aey. He’s not a parent but he is worried about Aey being drunk at a bar with some random man.

Gene goes to the hotel bar and is relieved to see Aey is sitting alone.

Gene tells Aey to pay so they can go but Aey buys Gene a mojito.

Aey says he’s surprised Gene came without Nubsib and Gene remembers that he hasn’t texted Nubsib back or told him where he went. He goes to text him but Aey stops him from grabbing his phone. He tells Gene that they were talking right? And Gene doesn’t want Nubsib to interrupt them like last time. Gene says fine but they can talk at home, they don’t need to do it at the bar.

Aey asks Gene if he likes Nubsib and goes to touch his face. The bartender brings Gene’s drink over and interrupts them so Aey stops. He tells Gene that he could tell Nubsib likes Gene.

Gene asks Aey if he’s gay and Aey says yes, he doesn’t like women. He’s actually prettier than most women.

Gene can tell that Aey is very drunk to be talking like this so he orders him water, but Aey just orders another alcoholic drink. He asks Gene why he hasn’t touched his mojito and tells him he’s cute.

Aey says it’s stupid but he’s happy that Gene was worried enough to come see him at the bar. He says that a kind person like Gene can like him so he should stop liking Nubsib and like him instead.

Gene says he wants to go home and Aey says Gene doesn’t have to—he can hold on to him tonight.

Gene doesn’t have the strength to push Aey away and he’s surprised by how much stronger Aey feels now when before he seemed so small. Nubsib steps in and covers Gene’s mouth so Aey can’t kiss him.

Nubsib and Mhok have arrived from the after party. Aey asks what they’re doing and Mhok takes Aey away to talk. Nubsib is so scary, Gene doesn’t dare to look at him or speak.

Gene sees his untouched drink on the bar and the thousands of baht Aey threw next to it and feels guilty so he goes to drink the drink, but Nubsib takes it and drinks it all at once.

Nubsib says they can go back now and takes Gene to his car. Once they’re inside he aggressively kisses him and asks Gene what he should do with him.

Nubsib asks Gene “Do you know what you did wrong?” and Gene says he was wrong to go and talk to Aey even though Nubsib told him not to, and Nubsib tells Gene no, he was wrong to make him worry. He tells Gene he gets very worried when he can’t contact Gene.

Gene says he told Nubsib that he’s not a kid so he doesn’t have to worry and Nubsib tells him that he told him already, it’s not related to his age. Nubsib worries about Gene because he’s his important person.

Gene finally tells Nubsib “...sorry” and Nubsib kisses his cheek and tells him not to forget this.

Gene asks if Nubsib is still mad that he came to see Aey and Nubsib says yes, because he’s not just protective, he’s also possessive.

Gene admits that he also got jealous when he thought that Aey might have been at the bar with Nubsib.

Nubsib tells Gene that they’ll make a deal. Nubsib will always tell Gene where he goes if Gene does the same. Gene agrees.

Gene asks how Mhok knows Aey and Nubsib says they’re friends. Gene thinks that’s weird cause they never seemed close to him.

Gene also can’t comprehend Aey liking him even though it came from his mouth. He asks Nubsib why he likes Gene even though Gene isn’t super handsome or rich and Nubsib says that Gene is cute and he likes him. So what? And if Nubsib likes Gene, then so can other people.

Nubsib drives Gene home and Gene gets LINE messages from Aey. He asks Gene out for another drink. Gene says Aey has drunk enough and mentions that Nubsib drank Gene’s drink. Aey then asks about what Mhok and Nubsib talked about. When Gene doesn’t answer, Aey tells Gene that he drugged his drink—the mojito Nubsib drank. Aey tells Gene that Nubsib should soak in a cold bath all night if he really drank it.

Count 21 (Nubsib POV)

Nubsib thinks Gene looks very cute but weirdly anxious and jittery.

He tells Nubsib “You ate...” but can’t bring himself to say it.

Nubsib asks Gene if it’s hot and if he wants him to turn on the air conditioner and Gene freaks out a bit. He asks Nubsib if he’s feeling hot and then tells him to speed home.

As soon as they get back to the condo Gene pushes Nubsib to take a cold shower to save money on the electric bill. Nubsib tells Gene it’s just a bill, it’s not a big deal. Gene starts listing the other benefits of cold water like that it won’t dry out Nubsib’s skin and it will help burn fat.

Nubsib laughs and thinks Gene being weird is cute. He goes to take a shower and then comes out. Gene goes into shower next and Nubsib peeps at Gene’s phone. He sees that Gene was reading an article about sex pills.

Gene comes back to the bedroom and berates Nubsib for not taking a cold enough shower. Gene noticed steam on the mirrors.

Gene showers and then comes out wearing Nubsib’s clothes, which make him look small.

They lie in bed together and Nubsib starts playing up the symptoms in the article he saw Gene reading. He says he feels hot and Gene checks his forehead. In reality, Nubsib is only hot because he’s lying in bed with Gene.

Gene puts Nubsib’s head in his lap and says they should go to the hospital. Nubsib says, “I’m hot so I need to go to the hospital?”

Gene finally admits that Aey texted him and told him that he drugged his drink with sex pills.

Nubsib asks Gene where someone would even get pills like that (as a joke). He then tells Gene that he’d never drink something if it looked suspicious. He’s totally fine.

Gene doesn’t believe him because if Nubsib was normal, he would have hugged him already.

“Do you want me to hug you?”

“No it’s just usually like that.”

“Okay, so I’ll hold you tight later on.”

Gene narrowed his eyes. “Then why won’t you just hold me now?”

“...”

“It’s because you’re uncomfortable right? You don’t have to pretend to be a good person, you can tell me about it.”

Nubsib wants to comfort Gene but he likes how worried he is about him. He tells Gene he’ll go to the bathroom and take care of himself later. Gene says then it must be bad right? The pills are strong.

Gene says that if he doesn’t go to the hospital, he needs to take care of it himself.

Nubsib tells Gene to relax and that they should just go to bed. He says, “I told you there’s nothing. You were just fooled by me.”

Gene doesn’t believe Nubsib and pounces on him. He tells Nubsib that he’ll help him himself. Nubsib tells Gene that he doesn’t have to force himself to do anything and Gene says he’ll only use his hand.

Nubsib tells Gene it’s fine and Gene says, “Don’t be a hero.”

Nubsib says, “At this time, you haven’t accepted me yet. If we do it like this, it’s me taking advantage.”

Gene says, “You’re not taking advantage. I’m offering to help myself.”

Nubsib reminds Gene that he promised to hold him tight and say it loud when he confessed.

Gene holds onto Nubsib and shyly says, “Like...like...like.”

Nubsib laughs because he’s so happy.

They smile and Nubsib asks if Gene still wants to do it.

Gene says yes because Nubsib’s hard.

Nubsib says it’s not because of any drugs, but because Gene is cute.

Gene’s face says he doesn’t believe Nubsib. He tells Nubsib that if he’s too embarrassed to go to the hospital then Gene will do it himself. He starts taking off Nubsib’s pants and Nubsib reminds Gene that last time he told him he wouldn’t hold back.

Gene isn’t listening and tells Nubsib to help him with his pants. Nubsib “helps” by kissing Gene and taking his shirt off. He takes his pants off too and Gene tells him, “I told you to help me.” Nubsib tells Gene that he is helping him, because he doesn’t want to do it alone.

Nubsib spreads Gene’s legs and Gene asks if they’re seriously going to do it. Nubsib says yes and they’re going to do it vigorously which makes Gene’s eyes widen.

Nubsib licks Gene’s chest which makes Gene very embarrassed.

Nubsib thinks that Gene looks like he’s not in his body, because he’s so inexperienced he’s oversensitive to everything.

Nubsib eats Gene out and wants to explore every nook and cranny for hours but stops because if he keeps going then he’s worried he’ll get too rough.

“It hurts, Sib.”

“Be patient.”

“I’m sore.”

“Yes, I know. I know.”

Wet eyelashes and tears. They rolled from the corner of his eyes and made my heart faint. I stopped what I was doing and my other hand, which was still free, gently stroked his small face.

We kissed and touched. Eventually, Gene’s heavy breathing lessened.

Even if I’m patient, there’s no way for someone to not get hurt during their first time. I poured more lube on my hand and moved forward. Knowing that Gene was suffering, I was also suffering.

Close to entirely inside his body, he tightened. I smiled even though my jaw gritted. I wanted to control myself so Gene wasn’t afraid.

In a hoarse voice I said, “It’s all inside.”

“...”

“Can you feel it?”

Gene nodded. I paused, waiting a little longer, before slowly moving my hips. Gene’s eyebrows which were still drawn tight, slowly loosened with time.

“Ah...ah!”

I was patiently moving slowly before increasing the speed little by little.

“Gene...Khun Gene.”

I moved the palm of my hand to support his buttocks, to soften the impact. Under my body, Gene moaned as if he wanted hide how he was feeling. The sound of the thrusting and the lube sounded rough.

“You’re...too big.”

“...”

I accidentally thrust too hard, until I heard a high pitched cry. Almost completely withdrawing from his body before invading again. I couldn’t help but say harshly, “Who taught you to speak like that?”

“I...can’t.”

The dim lights made me see it all. His red face and torso. The eyes dim with tears. The rhythm that moved his hips deeply. I moved both hands to hold his waist. Looking at the emotions on Gene’s face, I tried to remember it precisely in my brain.

“Gene, do you know...how long I’ve waited for today?”

“Yeah.”

“Call my name, let me know that I’m taking you, Gene.”

“...”

“Who is taking you Gene?”

“Sib.”

“...”

“Nubsib.”

I leaned down to caress Gene, and he hugged me. A small, cute moan was heard repeatedly in my ear before I thrust my hips deeper for the last time.

Buried so close that we were almost fused, made sure that the person in front of me was all mine.

Count 22

Gene wakes up with Nubsib’s forearm around him.

He tries to get up and Nubsib asks where he’s going.

Gene says that Nubsib has class right? And Nubsib reminds Gene that it’s Sunday, and he doesn’t have filming today either.

Gene says he wants to take a shower and Nubsib says it’s fine because he wiped him last night. Inside too. So Gene’s body is completely clean.

Gene pushes Nubsib and Nubsib laughs before kissing the hand Gene used to shove him.

Nubsib tells Gene to take a shower later and Gene says fine but he still wants to go to the bathroom. Nubsib carries Gene to the bathroom.

I automatically moved my arm around Nubsib’s neck. The quilt around me came off and the cold air from the air conditioner blew. I froze knowing that I was totally naked and not wearing any clothes. Faster than I could think, I tensed my legs to try and hide. But I cried out because of the sore muscles in my back.

“Ouch!”

“I know you’re shy, but don’t hurt yourself.”

“Isn’t it because of you?”

Nubsib’s sharp eyes lowered slightly. “Then I’ll take care of it for you.”

“There’s no need!”

Gene makes Nubsib leave. It’s kind of hard for him to stand but he manages. He notices that there are a lot of red marks on his body and hopes they go away soon.

Gene asks Nubsib to bring him some clothes and he does.

He carries Gene to the couch and Gene smells him cooking.

Nubsib then carries Gene to the kitchen and Gene gets embarrassed over how Nubsib isn’t even bothering to let Gene walk and is just wordlessly carrying him everywhere.

Nubsib gives Gene medicine and Gene asks if Nubsib is okay too after the drug he took last night. Nubsib says yes he’s fine.

Nubsib calls Gene just “Gene” and Gene says they aren’t the same age.

Nubsib says that might be true, but Gene is his boyfriend.

Nubsib says, “Would you prefer wife or beloved?” and Gene says, “Let’s stick with Gene.”

Nubsib carries Gene back to his bed and tells him to sleep.

Gene wakes up at 9AM and thinks Nubsib’s condo is really well stocked and he’s lucky to have a housekeeper.

As he makes breakfast Nubsib comes up to him and kisses his cheek, scaring him.

Nubsib holds Gene and asks if he’s going to write all day and Gene says yes.

He hasn’t gone back to his own apartment since the day of the event because he misses Nubsib so much.

Nubsib kisses Gene with tongue and Gene tells him to stop doing this when they just wake up. Nubsib says, “It’s a morning kiss. Never read it in a novel?”

Nubsib asks Gene to come to set and visit him today. He’ll take Gene out to eat.

They eat breakfast. Later on, Gene goes to meet Nubsib at the set.

There’s nowhere for Gene to sit on set and it’s too hot to stay outside so he goes inside and stays in an air conditioned room.

Aey comes in and says he’s surprised to see Gene. He thought Nubsib would keep him away.

Gene is silent and Aey acts why he’s acting this way.

Gene is so angry he can’t even speak—thinking about all the side effects the pills could have had.

Aey says that he lied to Gene because Gene didn’t answer him. He didn’t put in any drugs at all.

Aey says he’s sorry but he just wanted to get back at Nubsib by having him soak in an ice bath. He didn’t put anything in there.

Gene is frozen in shock.

Gene says playing a joke is one thing, but they could have called the police too.

Aey asks if Gene hates him and Gene says that if he hated Aey he wouldn’t be standing there talking to him.

Aey then asks if Gene likes Nubsib and Gene says yes he does.

Aey starts laughing to the point where he’s crying and says that it’s really cute how Gene thought that he liked Nubsib.

Gene thinks that between Nubsib and Aey, if all young people today are like this then he doesn’t want to leave the house.

Aey stops laughing but he stays smiling. He tells Gene that he actually saw Gene on Nubsib’s phone before the casting and he became interested because Nubsib doesn’t care about anyone but he cared about who was in that picture. That’s why Aey followed him to the casting.

Gene is so confused by the fact that Aey doesn’t like Nubsib.

Aey says that if Gene won’t be his boyfriend then he can be his friend-in-law and Gene doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

He tells Aey not to play pretend like this again and Aey laughs before leaving.

Gene meets up with Nubsib who comes in from set.

“Nong Aey told me he didn’t put anything in the mojito. So were you affected or were you not?”

“Mojito?” Nubsib’s eyebrows raised. “What mojito?”

“Don’t pretend to forget. Not even a week ago, the drink you drank for me.”

“Oh!”

“Oh!?”

“...”

Nubsib went silent. Seeing that reaction, I immediately guessed. I pointed a finger at him.

“You bad boy! You fooled me!”

“Gene.”

“At that time I was worried about you, but...”

“I told you multiple times I wasn’t affected. Don’t you remember?”

“...”

“Where would you get sex medicine from?”

“If it looks suspicious, I won’t pick it up and drink it.”

“I told you I wasn’t. You were fooled by me.”

#lovely writer #lovely writer the series #lovely writer spoilers #text

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wtfevenismypage · 4 years ago

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Observer Not Profiler PT.3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: You’re similar to a profiler, but you can tell almost anything about a person just from a single glance. What they had for dinner, if they took a bath or shower, their name, favorite color, if they lie, even if they’re good in bed. You’ve been running from the government ever since you got caught hacking into their systems and since then you have been diagnosed with Extreme anxiety, anxious tics, and paranoia. But now the BAU need you’re help in Identifying killers.

Warnings: maybe a curse word or two, mentions of death, anxious/nervous ticking, tic attacks

A/N: Hey all! Here’s part 3! Remember that requests are open! So is the taglist, however I may be closing the taglist in a few weeks! thank you for reading!

You never knew you were scared of being on private jets until Dr. Spencer Reid rolled along.

“Statistically, Private jets crash more so than commercial planes do. The rate is commonly expressed as the number of accidents per 100,000 flight hours. The accident and fatal-accident rates declined again in 2015. In fact, the fatal-accident rate fell below one to 0.84, meaning there was less than one fatal crash per 100,000 flight hours.”

You think he was trying to make you feel better, but it only made you even more terrified.

“I would like to join the Bureau!”

Emily smiles happily, she knew that getting to know you would be a blast, and your people reading skills would come in major handy.

“That’s wonderful!”

Garcia yells out before wrapping her arms around you, it makes you freeze at first, but the hesitation wears off and you hug her back before shaking hands with everyone else.

When you shake Dr. Reid’s hand, you linger for a second, barely a second, before shaking hands with Hotch.

“This is going to be difficult, you’ll need training.”

You nod, shaking his calloused hand firmly.

“Of course sir, I’m willing to go through all of the training in the world for this.”

He smiles, but barely, only noticeable if you were looking (which you are) and you feel ecstatic at the small gesture.

“Well, we have a jet to catch, so let’s hurry up. wheel’s up in thirty.”

The first few weeks of training were intense, you were physically trained by Morgan, he got you into shape and gifted you with a subtle six pack that you could see if you squinted hard enough.

Hotch trained you to handle a gun, which you kind of sucked at. Every time you shot it, you jumped five feet in the air and had a mini panic attack, which Hotch had to help you out with.

Emily, Rossi, and JJ made you into a pretty damn good interrogator, which made you smile every time they complimented you.

You were shocked when you learned that you actually did need lessons in profiling, you needed to learn certain behaviors at crime scenes when you couldn’t see the unsub. Reid helped you in that regard. He also told you all sorts of fun facts, which you happily listened to, you loved learning new things and you would even insist upon hearing the facts sometimes.

You and Penelope had races against each other to see who could get into what faster, so far you two were tied.

Today is the day though, your first day as an official member of the team. Surprisingly, you still couldn’t say the word profiler without spiraling, and you’ve been having anxious tic attacks all night and all morning.

As you walk into the doors to the big office in the early early morning, your wrists slam together twice, making you wince and rub them, feeling the bruises from last night scream in rage.

“I’ve gotta learn to stop that...”

You realize you’re the first in the office, so you just take a quick seat to try and ground yourself, but it instead spirals into a tic attack as you take in what’s finally happening after all of these long and torturous years.

“Y/L/N. You alright?”

You turn to the cold voice, seeing Hotch standing at the top of the stairs. You thought you were alone, you hoped you were, but if anyone was going to be at the office, you weren’t surprised it was Hotch.

“Oh, sorry sir, I’m just having first day nerves! I feel like I’m back in middle school...”

He flashes you an understanding half-smile, walking up to you and patting your shoulder.

“Don’t worry too much, everyone here is already obsessed with you, you’ll fit right in.”

You smile, trying to act like you were okay,but when your fist harshly collides with the side of your head, you sigh and clutch the now bruised spot.

“Well, the others should be here soon, your desk is right there, next to Reid’s.”

You couldn’t stop the pink heat that bum-rushed it’s way onto your cheeks, trying to avoid Hotch seeing by moving to your new desk an sitting down, subconsciously clapping your palm against the desk.

“Wowie. I’m all official and everything huh?”

You smirk before the door clicks open, people beginning to enter the once-empty office space and making your nerves go through the roof once again.

That is, until Derek and Reid walk in with Garcia chatting about something random with Emily laughing at her.

“Hey Y/L/N! How’s the day so far?”

Derek asks, sitting on your desk. You immediately swat him off with a fake pout painted across your lips.

“Hey, I just got this space, I’ll be d-damned if I let some-some sweaty man sit on it.”

They didn’t miss your nervous stuttering, but in the short time the team had known you, they knew you hated when your tics were the center of attention, so they simply gave sad smiles and moved on.

“We have a new case, Y/L/N, I’ll give you a moment to adjust, round table in ten.”

Hotch walks away, back to his office before Garcia plops down on your desk. Derek notices how you don’t shoo her off and throws a whole fit.

“So you kick me off but not Penelope?”

“Is Garcia a-a sweaty m-man? I don-don’t think so!”

You all laugh before they sit down, Reid sitting next to you and logging into his computer before setting his stuff down.

“You ready for your first case?”

Reid asks, you shrug in response, a nervous smile plastered on your face.

“I g-guess we’ll find-find out.”

Your wrists slam together again, making you hiss in pain a bit, Reid looks concerned and takes one of your wrists in his hand, gently brushing one of his long, slender fingers over your bruised nerves.

“Well a better question, are these going to heal correctly?”

He asked with a sudden seriousness that you didn’t particularly enjoy.

“Well I don’t know Mr. Genius, why don’t you tell me?”

He looks up at your sarcastic words and smiles a bit, cheeks being brushed with a bit of red as he answers.

“Well they won’t heal properly with your tics, if anything they could get worse, the veins in your wrists will actually get really damaged and it could affect your entire nervous system, you might want to get it-”

“Spencer, as much as I love listening to your rants, and I do, I don’t love listening to the ones about my health being in danger.”

He smiles and discontinues the topic, letting you take your wrists out of his gentle grip and returning to your computer.

“Alright everyone, let’s get to the round table.”

Throughout the entire case, you stick close with Reid, he made you feel safer than the others somehow. He didn’t say anything about you being with him the entire time, he just accepted the helpful points you gave him.

One night, you two were up all night trying to find a connection, laying out on top of a desk, listening to Mozart (he insisted) and trying to make a connection between the victims.

You had gotten so excited when you finally made a connection you started jumping up and down with Spencer, holding his hands happily as he joined your silly theatrics.

He seemed to be the only person that can relax your anxiety, even just standing around him helped slow your tics. You didn’t know why he relaxed you, he just did.

On the jet back to the BAU, the two of you shared earbuds to listen to classical music, you had left your headphones back in Oregon so Spencer offered his left earbud.

Even back at the offices when you were working with Penelope, he brought you green tea, telling you it would still keep you awake but it wouldn’t make you as jittery or paranoid as coffee would.

As soon as he left, Garcia started looking at you weird, giving you googly eyes.

“What?”

“You like him don’t you!?”

Your jaw drops, eyebrows furrowing down, your cheeks get all rosy. No way! You didn’t like him like that, you just enjoyed his company.

“No I don’t! You’re finally going crazy huh?”

“You totally do! You’re getting all blushy and everything!”

“I don’t like him like that! I’ve never liked anyone like that, why would it start now huh? It wouldn’t. I don’t like him.”

She gives you a doubtful look, but drops it, letting you spin around to another computer while sipping on your freshly hot green tea.

The next day, you take the elevator up with Spencer, Derek, and JJ, JJ and Derek were talking about some show, while you listened to Spencer ramble about how unrealistic the show was.

“But Spencer, Dr. Who isn’t very realistic, but you still love it don’t you?”

“Well yeah, but I’m immediately biased to Dr. Who for my love of it, with any other movie or show, I don’t hesitate to point out faults.”

You chuckle at that, Spencer’s passion for Dr. Who was unmatched for anyone else’s love for any show. It’s insane.

“Okay before pretty boy goes on about Dr. Who for hours, let’s escape.”

The doors open, allowing you and the other team members to walk in. Your desk was still fairly empty, not even a plant there to accompany your computer, you were still holding onto your runaway life, whether you admit it or not.

“Y/L/N, I need to talk to you. My office now.”

“What was that about?”

Panic bubbles to your chest, Hotch’s tone was too assertive, too aggresive. It was scary.

“I don’t know...”

Taglist:

@imsuperawkward @ithinkilovetruecrimetoomuch @l0ve-0f-my-life @hopebaker @thatonezesty13 @nightlygiggless @aberrant-annie @holybatflapexpert @spencerreidisbootiful @april-14-blog @jackryan-plz @ajwantsapancake @lightswriting @emilouu @yourmisosoup @lizziebritish @101donuts @rainsong01 @pretty-boy-genius @squirrellover1967 @gublerstyles @delievia @boxofsparklingmuses @annestine

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kitkat1003 · 4 years ago

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Where the Sea Meets Earth

Ao3 Link

Summary:

Tang's life has fallen into a steady, comfortable routine, one he feels no need to change.

So he doesn’t.

Until he has to.

Note: Hi! Lowkey used an idea from @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off when it came to Pigsy's rival. They make great content, give them a look! As always, shout out to my beta reader, @imnotcameraready, the most kind and patient editor out there. She edited this all in one night, the mad lad. Send love her way!! She goes by UncrownedKing on Ao3, check out her stuff! Anyway, have fun!

Tang’s routine is simple. Get up, watch Pigsy make breakfast. Steal an egg or two that Pigsy definitely didn’t make in preparation for such thievery. Follow Pigsy around as the noodle shop is set up for the morning. Listen to the hiss of oil in a hot wok, water bubbling in a tall pot, knife against the wooden cutting board, each slice precise with practice.

Admire the way Pigsy’s arms bulge with muscle as he lifts heavy boxes of spices, meat and vegetables. Watch the sweat on his brow build up as he tosses the ingredients in the wok, stirs the broth, sticks a pinkie in before pulling it out to taste the concoction, tilting his head to the side in thought every time before reaching for a different spice—

Chuckle when MK scrambles down the stairs, a second before being late. Wave back when MK greets him enthusiastically. Listen to Pigsy bark orders. Watch MK vanish out the store door, listen to the sound of the delivery cart starting up. Wait for the customers to come in.

Sometimes, between the breakfast and lunch rush, he will vanish into the town. He’ll peruse the shelves of a bookstore, maybe get a book or two. Then, he’ll come back to the restaurant and watch Pigsy work until closing, with the occasional interruption from MK or Mei. Pigsy will make dinner, and they’ll eat while watching TV before ending the night, asleep next to each other.

It’s a steady routine, one Tang feels no need to change.

So he doesn’t.

Routines are brought on by repeated motions and consistent action. He finds himself considering them more and more, these days. Tang follows the lines back, through time, to trace where each routine began, as Pigsy yells at MK to get going.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He lives off a trust fund from his late parents, as well as a few checks from his work in historic preservation. His family has passed down the stories of old for years, and he knows them well and by heart, because at 18 his memories had come flooding in, and suddenly he was older than time itself and yet just old enough to have sake enough that creating books and speaking on historical inaccuracies is easy to turn into a living.

A few years ago, he gave it up because it hadn’t seemed important to bother anymore after his parents died. The next year he’d wasted time coasting through town after town, sharing random tales for a meal, trying to forget that he was alone, until….

Two years ago, he watched Pigsy throw a customer out of his shop, threatening the unruly guest within an inch of his life, and thought Well then. Something interesting.

Tang had actually gone to the rival noodle shop first. It seemed a bit more inviting. Pigsy, for all his culinary achievements, is still very closed off, and his shop certainly reflects that. Sometimes, Tang wonders if Pigsy would get more customers if he’d change his attitude, but he never brings it up, because what would Pigsy’s Noodles be without Pigsy?

He watches from afar a few days, until the Pigsy’s rival shop owner not so subtly nudges him over, and the moment he walks in, he’s knocked to the ground by a very exuberant noodle delivery boy.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry—are you alright?” Tang sits himself upright to the sound of frantic apologies, seeing a kid no older than 18 fretting over him as if he’d been stabbed instead of simply knocked over.

“It’s fine,” he starts, a little annoyed but not rude enough to make the boy more panicked than he already looks to be.

“MK, what did you do?!” Comes the familiar gruff voice from the kitchen, and the boy—MK, Tang has gathered—helps him stand as the chef walks out of the kitchen, hands on his hips.

“I didn’t notice him coming in—I just knocked into him—it was an accident!” Tang worries, then, because MK seems scared, but those worries are swept away when the chef takes a deep breath and slowly, his stance relaxes.

“It’s fine, kid, just get those deliveries out, ‘kay?” his voice is so gentle, Tang remembers now he was taken aback. Now it feels so natural for Pigsy’s voice to be gentle. “I’ll take care of this.”

MK nods to that, jittery and anxious, and walks out with a forced slowness that Tang can tell is from worry and guilt. Once he’s left, Tang turns back to Pigsy, who lets out a breath and mutters something about how ‘this kid is gonna be the death of me’ before looking up at Tang with what Tang later learned is his customer service expression.

“Alright, c’mon in. Welcome to Pigsy’s Noodles, home of the longest noodles.”

At that, Tang has to snort. He saunters over to the barstools and sits as Pigsy goes back behind the counter, into the kitchen.

“I don’t know if long is the metric you want to brag about,” he snarks, settling easily.

Pigsy grunts in reply, already back to cooking.

Two minutes later, Tang gets a bowl of noodles placed in front of him.

“On the house,” Pigsy grouches, before Tang even thinks to reach into his coin purse. “For the trouble.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very sound business practice,” Tang laughs, taking a sip of the broth after it cools a little.

It was the best he had ever tasted.

“Don’t get any ideas about it.” Pigsy fidgets with his chef’s hat, face settling into a scowl, and yet Tang can tell it was all bluster with no substance.

He pulls a pair of chopsticks out of the free container, snaps them apart, and eats as customers flit in and out of the shop.

Despite the fact that he never stays in one place for too long, Tang finds himself sticking around more than just a few weeks, trailing through the streets and eventually finding himself back at the noodle shop. The noodles are delicious, cheap, and he finds the company of the chef a comfortable one.

Things get far more interesting when the delivery boy, MK, comes down late and gets an earful for it.

“Sorry—I stayed up late drawing the autobiography of Monkey King and I missed my alarm!” MK bows in apology, frantic, and Pigsy runs a hand over his face, pointing MK to a dirty table to clean.

MK gets to work quickly, but Tang turns to him with a curious expression.

“You like Monkey King?” he asks, and he hears Pigsy groan from the kitchen.

“Here we go,” Pigsy mutters, but he does nothing to stop MK from turning to face Tang with a wide, blinding smile on his face.

“Do I! He’s so cool, and strong, and handsome, and interesting! I’ve watched the animated series like, fifteen times!” he rushes up to Tang, pushing a very worn, bound together book.

Tang flips through it, more out of politeness than anything else, and finds himself pleasantly surprised by the intricacy of the sketches, the love poured into pages, notes on the stories themselves scrawled out next to the drawings.

“This is...surprisingly accurate,” He glances over at MK, who preens at the praise.

“Thanks! I’ve been drawing these, since, like, forever! It’s going to be Monkey King’s autobiography. Uh, unofficially, anyway,” MK rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It’s always nice to see the younger generation so interested in history,” Tang grins with pride as he adds, “You know, I know essentially every Monkey King story. I even wrote an academic paper on them. Published.”

He watches MK’s excitement grow. “Really?! Oh my gosh, that’s so cool! Can you tell me one? Pretty please?!” He’s bouncing on his toes, and Tang can’t help but chuckle.

“I could tell you a tale or two,” he starts, watching as the shine in MK’s eyes grow. “But I need something in return. A bowl of noodles, perhaps?”

MK’s smile drops, and he fidgets.

“I don’t know if I have the money…” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and then he turns to Pigsy, a question in his eyes.

“No,” Pigsy says, immediately.

Tang has never seen someone use puppy dog eyes like a weapon before, but MK pulls them off like a pro.

MK’s hands are clasped together. “Please?”

“I got bills to pay, kid! I can’t be giving free meals to strangers!”

“Well, I’m hardly a stranger,” Tang teases, smile widening when Pigsy reddens. “We met yesterday, remember~?”

“Shut yer yap,” Pigsy grinds out, but Tang has seen Pigsy far angrier, from his reconnaissance days at the shop across the street, so he isn’t worried.

Pigsy turns back to MK, mouth clearly open to rebuff the kid, but MK’s puppy dog eyes have been turned up past 100%. Tang watches as Pigsy crumbles beneath their gaze.

“Fine,” he grits it out between clenched teeth. “But this is a one time thing! I don’t have time for freeloaders around here. And not now! I got ten orders to make, that you have to take out,” he points to MK, who is nodding his head so quickly his face becomes a blur.

“Okay! So, in like an hour, okay Mr.Tang?” he turns to Tang, who grins, calm as ever.

“I’ll be here,” he responds, voice even, and MK busies himself with cleaning up the tables before Pigsy hands him the orders.

When MK disappears, Pigsy sighs.

“You know, pretty sure it’s rude to use kids to get free food,” he says, and Tang can only chuckle again.

“I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve used my knowledge to score many a meal before, this is no different. You’d be surprised what people will give for an interesting story.”

Pigsy snorts, at that, and rolls his eyes.“You a good storyteller, at least?” he asks, and Tang puffs out his chest proudly.

“The best.” After all, his papers got him a pretty good amount of wealth, so he’d hope he’s good enough to earn that.

Pigsy turns back to his prep work, shaking his head, but Tang sees the barest hint of a smile, before Pigsy turns away.

Despite protests from Pigsy, Tang comes back the next day with another story and receives the same free bowl of noodles. He doesn’t get noodles every day, not stupid enough to think that Pigsy could afford to give him one daily, but he appears at the noodle shop every day regardless, if only to watch the hustle and bustle of the place, watch Pigsy work.

Pigsy works with practiced motions, not a single measuring cup or spoon appearing in his hand. Pinches, handfuls of colorful spices thrown in with fresh vegetables. Tang watches him string out the noodles from fresh made dough, dropping them in the broth, stirring, always test tasting, constantly adding something else, another pinch of spice, until he’s only somewhat satisfied.

It’s a familiar feeling. The need to constantly make better, the chase for perfection. Is it any wonder, then, that Pigsy’s shop thrives? Customers learn that deliveries are often better than eating in, because Pigsy’s attitude is abrasive and he’s loud in the kitchen. Regardless, he runs a big enough business and makes good money, enough to keep MK as an employee despite MK’s many missteps.

Tang learns, through snippets of conversations, that MK lives upstairs. Pigsy gave him the job and the room. MK doesn’t talk of his parents, or any of his family really, but he has a friend, Mei.

Mei is as loud as MK is, and she’s familiar in the same way Pigsy. These people he meets at the noodle shop who come for company just like he does, lives slotting into each other with ease. Talking to them is like picking up a conversation left off a thousand years ago, stumbling only for a second before falling into the familiar groove.

Tang slowly learns the group dynamic, learns that MK’s parents haven’t spoken to him since he was kicked out, that Mei stays as far away from her home as she can for as long as possible, that Pigsy has nothing to his name besides his shop and himself.

Sees the family, the foundation, centered around the little hole in the wall restaurant, and keeps himself rooted, just for a little while.

The shop is closed every third Sunday of the month. That is the only day that it is consistently closed. Pigsy works seven days a week, twelve hours a day, without fail, except for that third Sunday. Tang forgets, one month, and catches Pigsy heading out in the early morning.

“What, forgot you can’t steal food today?” Pigsy greets him with a frown that softens into something like a smile.

“Maybe I don’t come for the food,” is Tang’s snappy reply, and he watches with satisfaction as Pigsy pauses, thinks, and then turns a dusty rose color.

Turns out, Pigsy’s ears blush with his cheeks. “Anyway, going on a walk? I might join you,” he turns.

Pigsy stares at him, as if he can’t tell if Tang is serious or not, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and starts walking. “I’m going shopping. Don’t get in my way,” is the response, and Tang takes it for the acceptance of the company that it is, and catches up to Pigsy with ease, stepping in time with him.

The perks of having long legs.

Tang watches as Pigsy charges his way into the market, eyes sharp for the best ingredients, the ripest vegetables—or, the vegetables soon to be ripe, to save for the later weeks. He gets a practiced amount for every ingredient that goes into his food.

“Have to get the meat weekly, but the produce can last if I make it,” Pigsy explains, and Tang nods.

“That makes sense. I never notice a drop in quality, regardless of the week,” he comments.

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure anything tastes great to a freeloader,” he grumbles.

“I’ll have you know I have a refined palette,” Tang huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Pigsy laughs then, raucous and loud, a sound Tang has never heard from him before. His heart pitter-patters quickly in his chest, and he thanks everything that his scarf hides his face and that Pigsy is short enough to not be able to spot his blush.

“Okay, wise guy,” Pigsy’s voice draws him back in. “You ever cooked yourself a meal before, then?” He elbows Tang gently, or as gentle as Pigsy is able to be, and Tang stumbles a bit before replying.

“Well…,” his voice alludes to the obvious answer, and Pigsy laughs at him all over again.

Tang decides he likes the sound.

A few months after Tang has cemented his spot at the noodle bar, Pigsy goes to usher him out of the shop one evening as he closes for the night and stops, right before heading up the stairs. He turns to Tang with an unplacable look.

“Where are you even staying?” Pigsy asks. “Not a resident, I think I’d’ve noticed a newcomer that was moving in.”

Tang shrugs at the thought. “Wherever.”

Typically, he’ll head out to a busy bar and ingratiate himself to someone, convince them to let him join their party, and sleep on a random couch. He’s always gone before anyone wakes up, to be sure he misses the questions that would come from the house’s inhabitants. If he can’t manage that, well, he’s not above sleeping on a bench somewhere. It isn’t cold out yet, so he doesn’t worry about it.

Tang very well could get an apartment, with the amount of money he has saved. He could, but then he’d be trapped.

He’d have to say that he’s settling down, that a place is going to become home. And no place has really been home, not since his parents died and he walked through empty hallways and empty rooms that once meant something and now meant nothing to anyone besides himself. He’d sold the house, stored the memories away, burned the rest and ran before the smoke cleared.

How could he stay, when there was nothing left? He’d settled in for the long hall, cemented himself as something soft like the earth, and then it had been ripped away from him like roots, tearing up the soil and leaving a mess in its wake.

So he became stone, and left without a word.

Pigsy stares at him, something almost like concern on his face. Tang watches Pigsy’s eyes glance up towards the stairs, and then back to him. Deliberating. Tang tilts his head to the side, ever curious about the concern. He knows Pigsy cares, and he knows Pigsy, beyond the gruff exterior, is pretty soft, but he’s surprised by this development. He didn’t think that care would be extended to, in Pigsy’s words, a freeloader.

Then, Pigsy sighs.

“I’ve got a couch, if you’re interested,” he says, and Tang

Tang just follows Pigsy up to his apartment. There’s a hallway at the top of the stairs, a door they pass by that Tang can hear pop music playing in.

“MK’s place,” Pigsy says, before Tang can ever ask the question.

They reach Pigsy’s apartment door, at the end of the hall, and head in.

It’s a cluttered space. Well, everything save for the kitchen is cluttered. The kitchen is pristine, so much so that the rest of the apartment pales in comparison. It’s not dirty, there’s no trash or dishes left out, but there are just random items, magazines, cookbooks strewn about the rest of the living space.

“Sorry about the mess.” Pigsy says as he pulls off his chef’s hat and coat, hanging it up by the door. He takes off his dress shoes, and pulls out a pair of slippers from a bin, putting them to walk on the carpet. He glances back at Tang expectantly. Tang pulls off his scarf and hangs it up.

“It’s no problem. I wasn’t an expected guest, I’m guessing?”

Tang takes off his shoes and pulls a pair of slippers from the bin. He isn’t surprised by the kitchen being clean, but he is a bit confused by the clutter. Pigsy takes care to keep his work space pristine, scrubbing it to sparking at the end of each work day. Perhaps this is a product of that, and Pigsy just is too tired to care as much in a space that is more his than it is his profession.

Somehow, that makes Tang concerned. He can’t pinpoint why.

Pigsy pulls off the random items from the couch, throwing them aside but scattering them further. He grunts in response to the rhetorical question.

“I’m gonna get a pillow and blanket. Don’t break anything.” Pigsy trudges off, and Tang looks at the clutter, and then at the perfectly good, half empty bookshelf.

By the time Pigsy gets back, Tang is sliding the last book onto the shelf. There’s still the other items that are less easy to categorize, but Tang would be remiss if he left perfectly good reading material to collect dust on the floor.

Pigsy opens his mouth to say something, and then abruptly closes it. He tosses the pillow and blanket on the couch.

“Uh...bathroom’s down the hall on your left. Night.”

Then, he vanishes into his room.

Tang finishes cleaning, and then goes to bed himself.

It becomes part of the routine. Pigsy never demands he come upstairs, but he never shuts the door on Tang, either, and Tang will never shoot down a free place to stay. Pigsy gets used to him, even. Sees Tang sitting on the couch, makes dinner, hands Tang a plate whatever it is and drops down on the couch to watch TV.

If it isn’t making fun of trash TV, Pigsy screams at cooking shows.

“You can’t just throw onion in it and expect it to work out!” he shouts.

Tang laughs. “Very bold from the guy who only serves one type of dish.”

Pigsy turns red. “I can make other food!” The argument is sound.

“I know,” Tang assures him, taking a bite of the steak salad Pigsy prepared. It’s the best he’s ever tasted. “You just choose not to, which I don’t understand. Why only noodles?”

The question throws Pigsy off guard, and Tang waits patiently for him to collect his thoughts. Finally, Pigsy sighs.

“They’re what I like to eat, I guess. Besides, if I made a full scale restaurant, I’d hafta get more cooks, hire waiters, ugh,” Pigsy looks disgusted just thinking about it. “The kitchen’s my place, I don’t trust any two bit cook to get it. I mean, just look at the ones on TV!”

He gestures to the television, as if Tang hasn’t been watching. Tang nods, glances at the screen anyway. “I like how the shop is. It’s small, but it’s good. Bigger doesn’t mean better.”

At that, Tang has to laugh. “You would think that,” he responds, and at Pigsy’s confused look, he gestures to Pigsy’s stature.

“Shut up,” Pigsy says with a blush. Tang can’t stop laughing, and Pigsy cracks a smile.

Living with Pigsy, Tang finds out, means dealing with all of Pigsy. This includes the moments where Pigsy can no longer keep a lid on his already hair-thin temper.

The clutter of the house suddenly makes sense when he comes up to the apartment to see Pigsy throwing books around the room, raging face red and pained and furious in a way Tang has never seen before.

“Bastards!” Pigsy shouts, voice hoarse.

He’s been clearly shouting for a while. His knuckles are bruised, and Tang spots a few dents in the wall.

“I’ll kill em! I-,” He freezes, upon seeing Tang standing by the door.

Tang watches as Pigsy reigns in his rage, somehow, forcing his shoulders to drop, standing up straight, letting out a breath. It looks painful.

“I see something’s bothering you,” Tang comments, direct and gentle as one can be when trying to talk to someone on the precipice of blind rage, as Pigsy breathes heavily.

“Leave.” Pigsy spits it out with a vitriol that is not aimed at Tang, but at something Tang isn’t a part of.

Tang knows this, and he won’t let Pigsy drown in it. He stands still, as the storm rages in blue eyes.

“No,” he is stone, hands clasped together. Pigsy grits his teeth, clenches his fists. The wave rises and crashes down.

“GET OUT!”

It’s loud enough to make Tang wince, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

At that, Pigsy goes boneless, slumping down on himself. Tang steps forward, carefully, quietly, and directs Pigsy to the untouched couch.

Untouched because it’s Tang’s bed, Tang’s space. Because Pigsy would only destroy himself and his things, would only rage at the things he deems worthy, and Tang wonders, why does Pigsy think himself worthy of this hatred, the anger that sits in Pigsy’s heart?

Pigsy sinks into the cushions. Tang takes his bruised hands and holds them, letting Pigsy breathe.

“MK’s folks,” Pigsy finally spits out. “They found out the kid’s got a good job and an okay place, and now they want a cut of his earnings.”

The tone of Pigsy’s voice is nothing short of derisive, and Tang understands the fury now. It’s funny, that he knows Pigsy enough to tell the difference between rage that’s performative and fury that’s real, but it’s not that hard for him.

Fury like this comes from care, and there is no one Pigsy cares more about than MK. MK, the boy with the sunshine smile who likes Monkey King and drawing and will work himself to death for anyone’s approval.

“I’d have told em to shove it, but MK’s got a soft heart, and they told him it was paying back for all the trouble they had raising him.” Pigsy laughs, and it’s very, very bitter. “Like they raised him. Mei probably was a better parent than they were, and she’s his age. Bastards.”

Tang swallows the information, takes a deep breath. He wouldn’t consider himself easily angered, but this? This makes him furious. He doesn’t express his fury like Pigsy does, isn’t destructive, is cold and quiet and deadly. But he saves that for later, for when he can look up MK’s parents and figure out how to ruin them when it comes to their jobs, their social standings, their lives.

“Technically, that could be charged as harassment,” he suggests.

Pigsy snorts at that, at least.

“Yeah, but MK’s only 17. He’s turning 18 in a few months, but until then they could drag him back, charge me with kidnapping, ruin his whole life just because he isn’t their fucking lap dog,” The rage returns, and Tang watches as Pigsy carefully clenches his fists, as if he were too quick about it he could hurt Tang.

It strikes Tang, then, that he has never been afraid that Pigsy would hit him. It never crossed his mind. Because how could it?

“I’m gonna commit a felony,” Pigsy mutters.

Tang snickers. “I’ll drive,” he responds.

Pigsy looks up at him, and Tang hopes the expression on his face bleeds the sincerity he feels.

“As if I’d let you anywhere near the driver’s seat of my car,” Pigsy smirks as he says it, and he relaxes a bit more, the anger draining out of him like water through a sieve.

Tang wasn’t aware that he was tense himself, but he relaxes a bit, too.

“But you’ll get blood on the steering wheel. And besides, it’s no fun not having a criminal record. I ought to start it sometime, right?”

“You don’t know anything about me, if you think this’ll be the beginning of my record,” Pigsy half laughs.

Tang shrugs. “You’re right. But, I’d like to.”

Pigsy looks up at him, then, the red in his face smoothing to something dusty and rosy and beautiful. Tang looks away first. “But, first, you need some ice and bandages for your hands.” He gets up to grab it.

When he comes back, Pigsy tells him all about the boy who would come in with exact change for the cheapest bowl of noodles, once a week every Friday. How the boy would ramble on and on about everything, and Pigsy would listen out of politeness, and somehow that turned to a fondness he couldn’t shake. How that boy came rushing in, half soaked in the rain, hiding out just for the moment before he was going to keep running. How Pigsy had thrown caution to the wind and moved mountains to get the kid to stay.

Tang listens, disinfecting the areas on Pigsy’s knuckles that are cut instead of just being bruised. He wraps them, gentle, and places ice on both. Even then, he doesn’t let go of the hands, lets them settle in his grip like they’d always belonged there.

“You’re a kind person, you know,” he says, when Pigsy is done. And he means it, too, thinking of MK alone on the streets, thinking of MK turning out like he did but without the funds to support him, a drifter with nothing and no one. It makes his stomach churn.

“Nah,” Pigsy shrugs his shoulders. “Just had a lot of time to get into practice with it.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Tang lets the conversation end, and turns on the TV. He cleans up the room when Pigsy falls asleep.

Pigsy makes him noodles the next day, without comment. Tang smiles and eats.

A lot of people miscategorize Pigsy as fire. Tang would like to propose a different point of view.

When he sees Pigsy, he sees the sea.

The ocean is never calm, but it can fall into a rhythm. Small waves, rippling waters. Crashing against the obstacle that is land, constantly pushing, constantly trying, constantly moving.

Pigsy will rage like a storm, he will shine like water in the sun, and he will fall into a rhythm as he works. He will push back against the rock that is indifference, and, like the ocean, he surrounds anything and everything, connecting every person he comes into contact with, as if they were the continents themselves. He ebbs and flows, forcing himself into the issues that plagues those he cares about, and yet pulls back and gives them space, never demanding anything other than their time, if they could give it.

The ocean is not harsh, nor is it merciful, but it is a force of nature all the same. And, if you weather its storms, it will carry you wherever you need to go.

And Tang sees a man who gives MK a reason to stick around when all MK wanted to do is run, Tang sees a man who never lets Mei skip a meal regardless of her status and wealth, Tang sees a man that makes sure Tang has a warm and safe place to stay, and sees the ocean carrying battered ships to shore.

Learning about MK’s family has opened up certain topics. Tang knows it’s only a matter of time before Pigsy asks about his life. That doesn’t stop him from stiffening, from going stone faced, when Pigsy finally brings it up.

“I don’t hear you talk about your folks,” Pigsy mentions offhandedly.

When he turns around and sees the expression on Tang’s face, he frowns.

“No,” Tang responds.

He says nothing else. Pigsy doesn’t press. Just turns back to making dinner. And Tang stares at his reflection in the teacup. He takes a sip. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t feel it.

“They died. Nearly two years, now,” he finally says, and it’s like dropping a weight off of his shoulders.

Pigsy grunts in acknowledgment. Doesn’t give him the sad stare, the ‘oh I’m so sorry’, he just glances back with something softer than pity and closer to empathy.

Somehow, it lessens the dull ache in his chest.

“They good ones?” Pigsy asks.

Tang smiles, just a little. “Yes,” he breathes, and it hitches, thinking about how they pushed him forward, how they never demanded but always encouraged. Tang wasn’t good at making friends, not close ones anyway. But that never mattered, because his parents were there.

And now…

“Mine are gone too,” Pigsy says, after some time and mostly as an afterthought. “It ain’t easy, dealing with it.”

Tang huffs a wet laugh, pushing up his glasses to wipe his eyes.“No, it isn’t,” He responds.

Pigsy slides a bowl yanduxian soup, with some some skewers of meat, and sugar coated haws for dessert. Quite the array of a meal. Pigsy sits across from him, and starts in on his own meal.

Tang eats. It’s the best he’s ever tasted, as always.

Looking up at Pigsy, something in his chest warms. He thinks about his parents and it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.

“I think they’d have liked you, if you’d met them,” he says, softer than he feels, because he’s never said anything about love but this is as close as he can get.

Pigsy looks up, cheeks glowing, and he smiles and Tang melts, just a little.

The apartment becomes lived in. During one of their shopping trips, Pigsy gets Tang a different outfit, muttering something about Tang needing something to wear when his clothes are being washed. Two outfits becomes three, becomes four, all hung up right beside Pigsy’s sleep shirts and chef coats. Tang gets his own toothbrush.

He buys himself books and they fill up the empty space on the bookshelves. He buys alcohol, stores it in Pigsy’s fridge and laughs off the comments about his poor taste in baijiu. He was never one to settle in, he never thought he could again, but slowly Pigsy’s apartment becomes their apartment and the change in his mind as he thinks of it leaves him wide eyed and spiraling.

Pigsy takes it all in stride, greeting Tang in the morning with something on his face that looks...pleased? Tang doesn’t understand it, and yet it makes his face feel warm when he thinks about it.

The winter months roll in, because while they have a weather tower to regulate weather it does not mean that they can ignore the need for seasons, and the apartment becomes colder.

“Do you not have A/C?” he curls up tight, beneath his blanket, and still shivers.

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you didn’t freeload all the time, I could afford to use it!”

Later, Tang will find this all as a facade. He knows Pigsy would never blame him for being without the funds to pay for heating. In fact, the noodle shop does better in the winter months, because of the desire for warm, filling food to combat the chill. He will later find out that Pigsy forgoes the A/C in his apartment to save up money to give MK a yearly Christmas bonus, both as a present and so MK can heat up his room.

In the moment, however, he just turns away with a huff.

Pigsy sighs. “The bed’s warmer,” he says.

Tang stares, blankly, until it finally hits him what Pigsy is suggesting. “Why, you cad! Trying to bed me when we’ve barely courted!” He leans back on the couch dramatically.

“Shut up!” Pigsy looks very flustered, and Tang grins, leading Pigsy to snap some more. “You were the one complaining about being cold!”

Tang sips his tea, and shrugs. Pigsy turns back to dinner to hide his blushing face.

That night, he moves to sleep in Pigsy’s bed. It’s a pretty large one, it isn’t as if there isn’t room for the both of them. The move is purely practical, after all.

Pigsy sleeps in a tank top and boxers. Tang wonders if the tank top is for his sake. They both get in the bed very stiff, neither wanting to acknowledge what’s happening. Tang curls up under covers, back to Pigsy. The bedroom is indeed warmer. Tang imagines the small heater sitting in the corner is likely the reason.

He turns his head. Pigsy is already asleep, trails of light from the outside signs segmenting his face. He’s snoring. He looks calm.

Tang stares for longer than he thinks he should, before he lets his eyes slide shut.

It becomes routine.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As whole, as Tang reminisces on the moments bringing him to his position, he’s quite glad he decided to stick around. It’s a strange place, this city, full of danger and mystery, now that MK is the monkie kid, now that the demons are free, but at the same time little has changed, and that is something Tang can appreciate. Every morning he settles at the noodle shop and lets life continue, predictable, comfortable.

And maybe that’s his mistake. That he thinks he can coast forever. The sea is many things, but predictable is not one of them.

The downfall starts when Mei mentions that one of her aunts has been trying speed dating.

“She made the mistake of signing up for the straight couple’s night. She told me that when she realized, she left faster than the speed date itself!” Mei taps her fingers on the noodle bar, giggling along with MK at the thought.

“Speed dating doesn’t make sense. I mean, how can you figure out if you like someone in a minute?” MK crosses his arms over his chest and ponders.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I knew I liked you in sixty seconds,” Mei boops Mk on the nose, and he laughs, before making a face. There’s a mixture of emotions there—disgust, confusion, fear?

“Yeah, but that’s different. We’re friends,” he stresses that last word, looking at Mei expectantly. “Just friends.”

“Well, duh! I was just saying,” Mei rolls her eyes.

Tang watches the tension roll out of MK like a breeze. He wonders...but will never waste an opportunity to snark, so he sets the thoughts aside for a moment and leans back on the counter.

“I’m sure I could charm anyone in sixty seconds. Where is this happening, exactly?” he asks.

Mei gives him a look. “I’m pretty sure speed dating isn’t for people who are already taken,” she tells him, and Tang blinks, confusion painting his features.

“What do you mean?” he asks.He jumps when Pigsy’s knife slams hard against the wood of the cutting board, harder than normal.

Tang frowns. “Pigsy, you alright?”

“Peachy,” Pigsy growls out, from the kitchen.

Tang stares, before shrugging it off. Pigsy’s moods aren’t entirely predictable, after all, and it isn’t as if anything terrible has happened today. Pigsy’s cooking smells as heavenly as ever.

He turns back to Mei and MK, but they’re disappearing out the door, MK with the next batch of deliveries in hand. Tang tilts his head to the side in confusion, before shrugging.

Oh well.

Pigsy is still stilted, when they head upstairs that night. He’s quiet during dinner, quiet after dinner, and instead of watching TV he goes back to the kitchen to make a dessert. Tang follows, sitting at the kitchen island, watching how Pigsy shuffles about, glancing occasionally at a recipe. Cocoa powder, flour, eggs, different ingredients come out. The oven is preheated.

“Something’s clearly bothering you,” Tang says, finally.

Pigsy stiffens. Runs a hand down his face. Sighs.

He keeps working, throws the dessert in the oven, sets a careful timer.

Tang waits, and waits.

The kitchen is silent, save for the ambience.

“What is this, Tang?” Pigsy’s voice is hard, hands resting on the kitchen counter, shoulders hunched as he finally speaks up. He sounds exhausted, from days and days of work. Tang frowns. “You steal food from my shop, you sleep in my house—you live with me, for pete’s sake, you—what is this that we have?”

And Tang, Tang doesn’t know what to say.

“Is this even something?”

He’s basked in the freedom to be himself, with Pigsy. A label defines, a label makes you inseparable. Tang comes and goes as he pleases, he doesn’t get pinned down, he’s one and alone, with Pigsy by his side.

He has called himself a ‘father figure’ to MK, but that is inherently different. There’s a degree of separation, with that label. He can still leave, and MK will not be too bereft. MK has others, Tang is just one. Pigsy wants more than that, he doesn’t want the separation, and Tang is always unsure.

“I just—” And there’s something quiet and breaking in Pigsy’s voice.

Tang says nothing.

“Whatever you want from me, Tang, you have it. I’ll-I’ll give you everything, just—”

Blue eyes, like the constant tide of the ocean, meet earth in Tang’s brown ones.

Tang is afraid he could erode.

If he stayed.

What would he become, if he shifted his foundation?

“Is there a point to this?” Pigsy asks. “Or am I just something you keep around? To say you have one?”

Tang knows that he is a man of words, of stories, knows he is Triptaka, is Tang Sanzang, and myriad others placed in the body of a single man, knows he has more knowledge in an inch of his brain than most gain in their entire lives, but he has nothing to say now.

His thoughts halt at the wounded expression on Pigsy’s face.

More than just anger and softer than just hurt, settled between an aching heart and a broken one.

“I…,” he starts, and then his mouth clicks shut, because he is, before and now, a coward eventually.

Whether he is captured by demons or putting his foot down against others’ bad behavior, he falters. And he is terrified, because the swell of his heart, the affection that warms him enough to burn, is too much to bear, to articulate.

So instead, he says nothing at all.

And he knows he’s erred, because Pigsy turns his back as the timer dings.

He pulls the set of mini cakes from the oven, sets them down on the counter with forced gentleness. Tang flinches at the harsh bang of the oven closing. Watches Pigsy’s chest rise and fall with harsh breaths that hitch with an emotion Tang can’t place, before Pigsy swallows, steels himself, stills. Clenches his fists as if readying himself for a fight. Tang doesn’t know what the battle is, wonders what side he’s on.

“Forget it.” He hears, finally, and Tang feels his heart jump in his throat.

The words sound like a relent, like something giving way. It strikes him like a spear through the chest, and he suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

The mini cakes cool in a few minutes, but it may as well be hours with how silent and still the kitchen is, and Pigsy sets one on a plate for Tang, placing it in front of him with a fork. Chocolate lava cake, something Tang had mentioned off handedly as an interesting dessert to try. Of course Pigsy remembered. Why wouldn’t he?

Pigsy vanishes into his room. The door slams shut. Tang eats.

It’s the best he’s ever tasted, like always.

He sleeps on the couch. It’s cold.

Pigsy doesn’t open the shop, the next day. Tang leaves early in the morning, before breakfast, to give him some space, and comes back from his leisurely morning walk to a closed sign hanging on the door. Unlike the last time, MK waves at Tang, hopping down the stairs excitedly. Pigsy gave him the day off, because Pigsy isn’t feeling well, apparently.

Tang sees the worried lines in MK’s expression and promises he will make sure Pigsy is okay. MK runs off, to meet Mei at the arcade, and Tang heads up the stairs. He passes MK’s apartment door and stands in front of Pigsy’s door.

He knocks.

“Pigsy?” He calls, loud enough that he can’t be missed. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

Silence.

Tang doesn’t know how to handle rejection, didn’t think it possible, from Pigsy. In the two years they’ve known each other, he has never been rebuffed. Has never been told, in no uncertain terms, to leave. Pigsy has shouted it without heat, before, but it has never rang true.

He stands outside the door for twenty minutes, trying to swallow something akin to fear crawling up his chest, as he slowly realizes the door isn’t going to open. He waits another ten minutes after that, processing the realization, the pain in his chest.

“Alright,” He says, finally, and he prays Pigsy doesn’t hear how his voice shakes. “Get well soon. I’ll see you in the shop.”

He should demand to be let in. He should kick down the door, do something. Be bold, be brave, courageous.

But he never was a fighter, so he turns on his heel, and leaves what is left of their relationship on the welcome mat.

He walks through the city, again, because he has nothing better to do now. There is no comfort from stepping into the noodle shop and feeling like home. There is no barstool with his name on it, no random bowl of noodles appearing at his seat inconspicuously, no begging for a story from MK, no fond looks from blue eyes in the kitchen.

Tang had settled into routines and expectations. The rug has been pulled from beneath his feet as he tries to grasp the idea that the comforts have crashed into dysfunction. He tracks every minute of the two years he’s spent here, tries to trace the beginning of the end like a true crime investigator, and still, he can’t decipher why the equilibrium shattered.

Change is a product of existence, Comes a memory from his days as a monk. You must let life flow like a river, accepting the directions it will take.

But Tang isn’t a monk anymore, and he is not flowing like a river or any such nonsense that sounds far more like what Sandy would say. He is analytical, he is intelligent, he is knowledgeable. Despite all of that, he is stumped by this situation, by what he is to do.

The answer, of course, is the simplest, but Tang is pretending not to be ignoring it, because acknowledging the solution means making a choice he can’t undo. To decide if he wants this to be set in stone. Can he tie himself down like this, can he make that choice to stay, forever if it comes to it?

At the same time, hasn’t he already? Just a day without being able to go into the noodle shop leaves him aimless. A day without Pigsy and he is lost, without much to do or see. He has centered himself about the warm air of noodles and the gruff smile of the chef making them.

And that is so, so terrifying. When you give everything, when someone is your everything, what happens when they leave? He’s dealt with that enough with his parents, and to become a pair, to be a part of something, he doesn’t think he has the strength for it.

But Pigsy gives and gives, and promised Tang everything, if only Tang would stay. And Tang is a coward, but not enough to ruin something so simple, so kind, and so honest.

He makes a decision, and heads to the bank.

The next day, the noodle shop opens. Tang is there when it does, settling into his barstool without fanfare. He follows Pigsy’s movements with sharp eyes, notes the rumpled form of his shirt, how his pants aren’t tucked into his dress shoes, how his feet shuffle against the tile instead of stomping with purpose. Pigsy moves slow, turns to look at Tang and has bags under his eyes—or could they be red from crying? Tang isn’t sure.

His heart aches, as Pigsy regards him with something like heartbreak. Pigsy says nothing, turns back to his work, and Tang watches.

Step one.

He heads to the market between the lunch and dinner rushes, picks out the ingredients from memory. He’s walked with Pigsy enough times to know what it is that he has to get. He comes back to the shop with an armful of grocery bags, heading upstairs to their apartment. Pigsy never locks it during the workday, and Tang uses that fact and knowledge to his advantage.

He has no idea how to do this, but he chops the vegetables and meat and sets the water to boil. Brings forth the memories of two years of watching Pigsy make the same thing over and over, and maybe looks up a recipe or two on his phone for reference.

By the time Pigsy comes upstairs, when the shop closes, it’s ready. Tang pours the servings into two bowls, and nearly jumps and drops everything when the door opens.

“Welcome home,” he says, braver than he feels.

Pigsy stares at him, at the bowl of steaming broth, and sets his chef’s hat on its hook. He pulls off his shoes, puts up his chef’s coat, leaving him in a t-shirt and slacks.

Tang watches Pigsy’s movements instead of thinking about how to approach the situation. He gets a little distracted, until Pigsy hops up onto one of the island chairs, pulling a bowl towards himself. Tang sits across from him, waiting for Pigsy to take a sip.

Pigsy takes the chopsticks offered, as well as the spoon. He takes a sip. His face remains carefully neutral.

Tang takes a sip a few moments after. He promptly sputters into his bowl, and laughs.

“God, this is terrible!” he can’t stop laughing, and he can see a smile peeking at the edges of Pigsy’s mouth. “I tried to make it like yours, but I guess I’m coming up short,” he glances at Pigsy, looks him up and down.

Pigsy’s face is dusted with a pleased blush. “Shaddup. And hey, it ain’t worse than my first attempt at cooking.”

Tang snorts at that one. “I doubt that. But, do tell. I don’t think you’ve ever told me why you decided to become a cook in the first place, anyway.”

This is the start. Tang makes Pigsy a meal, and Pigsy tells him a story.

That night, he sleeps next Pigsy, like usual, and traces the way the moonlight sets upon Pigsy’s face. He needs to do more. He needs to be more, and he’s pretty sure financial support would be somewhat helpful, so he schemes.

Step two.

A few days later, as the air between them settles into something like normal, he appears one afternoon, change in his pocket and bills in his wallet.

“A bowl of noodles, please.” He sets the money on the counter. It’s enough for at least three bowls of noodles, but that’s by design.

“Keep the change.” He evene winks, like it’s a joke

Pigsy eyes the money and then gets the most offended look on his face, as expected. Before he can make a move to either argue or even respond, Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and explains.

“Didn’t you know? This month is my charity month. I go to different establishments and pay to keep them afloat.”

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Pshh, I don’t need your charity to keep this place runnin’! Pigsy’s Noodles is a thriving establishment,” he rebuffs.

“So you’re refusing my service?” Tang responds, like a challenge.

He raises a brow, and watches as Pigsy gets redder and redder.

“One bowl of noodles, coming right up,” Pigsy manages through gritted teeth.

Tang hides a laugh behind his hand as Pigsy scoops up the money and grumbles, shoving two of the bills into the cash register and one into the tip jar.

Because MK had been bemoaning a lack of sketchbook paper, a lack of money for replacing such, and just like every time MK talks about something he wants, off handed or to complain because that’s how he deals, Pigsy will take some of the money that should go to the shop into the tip jar when MK doesn’t look, smiling to himself when MK excitedly realizes that, thanks to the tip jar, he can get what it was he thought he couldn’t—

Because Pigsy gives and gives and gives, pieces of himself scattered across and holding together the people he’s chosen to keep close, regardless if Pigsy is the one who ends up falling apart in the end, and Tang wants to fill up the spaces that Pigsy has lost from his generosity.

Tang takes his bowl of noodles and smirks, like he’s won. That night, when they’re sitting on the couch and watching TV, Pigsy leans his head on Tang’s shoulder.

“You coulda just said you wanted to start payin’ rent,” he mutters.

Tang snickers. “Where’s the fun in that? You got so red, I thought you were going to become a tomato.”

At that, Pigsy sits up.

“I’ll show you a tomato—c’mere!”

Maybe it’s a bit dangerous to challenge someone who knows all of your ticklish spots. Tang laughs until he cries, and concedes to Pigsy’s victory.

Step three doesn’t really register. He doesn’t think about it, because the first two steps have brought him back into that comfortable routine. Maybe he might have fallen into the same bad habits, if not for his hyperawareness of Pigsy’s moods in the following weeks. He doesn’t want to miss something, like he did before. He wants to be attentive, be kind.

He wants Pigsy to never again think of or ask the questions he did, that night. He wants Pigsy to know, immediately, what they are. Even if Tang is afraid to define it.

It’s a typical day at the shop, but Pigsy is a bit more tired than normal. Some days, this happens. Pigsy would never hire another chef, even though he has enough business to afford it, and being the only cook in a bustling restaurant means little breaks and consistent exhaustion.

Tang still makes them dinner, most nights. He tries a new recipe each day, because why not? Pigsy takes to each one like a food critic, and his descriptions have Tang in stitches every time—

“I never thought you could turn broccoli into soup.”

“Okay, so I cooked it too long!”

“You liquified a vegetable! Without blending! That’s like...did you use magic on this? Tang, did you use magic on this.”

—He’s not a very good cook, yet, but Pigsy eats anything he makes anyway.

Today, Pigsy is already tired, and he clearly doesn’t have the energy to deal with an annoying customer.

He has to anyways.

“This isn’t what I ordered last time! I ordered your original noodle bowl two weeks ago, and it tasted far better than this!” The irate woman slams her empty bowl on the counter.

Tang wonders if she understands the irony of complaining about a meal she finished.

“Ma’am, I make every bowl of noodles the same. I’m the only cook here. You either ordered somethin’ else, or your taste buds changed in two weeks.” Pigsy isn’t polite to customers like these, but Tang has to commend him for holding back, for still calling her ‘Ma’am’. Tang has a few different names he’d call her.

“I know what I ordered, and my tastebuds didn’t change. You clearly made it wrong! I demand a refund immediately!” She shouts in his face.

Pigsy goes from pink to red. “Look, lady, you finished your meal. I ain’t giving you back the money for shit you ate.” He spits, and she leans back, aghast.

“The nerve!” She leans back, aghast. “I don’t know what I expected from a pig—”

She freezes as a pair of chopsticks sticks its way between the two angry faces.

“Excuse me,” Tang starts.

His glasses flash, and he doesn’t bother standing. His arm divides the space, as he leans back in his chair with a bowl in his free hand. He pushes her back, ignores the look of confusion on Pigsy’s face. “I suggest you get over yourself. This behavior certainly isn’t doing anything for your looks.”

The woman leans back, crosses her arms.

“And you are?” She hisses.

“I’m his partner,” Tang says, and surprises himself with how easily the title falls out of his mouth. “And you don’t get to talk to him that way. If anyone is acting in poor taste, it’s you.”

Pigsy’s face is slack, his eyes are wide, and the red of anger on his face has given way to the dusty rose Tang has come to expect as Pigsy’s blush.

The woman opens her mouth, finger raised. Tang raises his eyebrow in waiting. But then she huffs, turns on her heel, and leaves.

Tang doesn’t give her a second thought, turning back to his own bowl of noodles—which have tasted the same in the two years he’s been eating here, so she’s full of it, clearly—before glancing over at Pigsy, who is staring at him with eyes full of something.

He has never seen Pigsy’s eyes shine like that before.

His face warms, and he buries it in his scarf and bowl. Pigsy smiles, and turns back to work.

That night, they’re sitting on the couch after eating another concoction that could barely be called food— “You’re getting better at this.” “You don’t have to lie to me.” “Bold of you to assume I would spare your feelings when it comes to your cooking skills.”—and Pigsy’s hand slides away from his lap and rests on top of Tang’s. Casual.

“My partner, huh?” Pigsy says over the buzz of the television.

Tang flushes. “It seemed an appropriate word to use.”

“Sure.”

Pigsy’s voice holds a laugh, and Tang could leave it here, he could. It would be far too easy to settle, to let it fall complacent.

But Tang has let the ocean lap at his heels, and now all he wants to do is dive.

“Hey,” he turns Pigsy’s face towards his, and—

Pigsy’s lips are warm.

Pigsy’s eyes are blown wide, and Tang closes his quickly, worried about the response, worried about Pigsy’s reaction.

Dimly, in the back of his head, he thinks ‘It’s the best he’s ever tasted’ and he has to squash the laugh that bubbles up his throat, because it isn’t appropriate right now. Pigsy's snout practically crushes his nose, and the sharp hairs on his face prickle Tang's skin.

He breaks away. Pigsy’s smile is blinding, a rare event. His face is flushed, both of them are flushed and Tang fidgets with his glasses. There’s a beat of silence, as they stare at each other, before they both turn back to the TV to avoid the ever so awkward eye contact.

They watch whatever’s on, for a minute of crushing silence.

“Alright,” Pigsy finally sighs, long sufferingly fond, and he leans against Tang as if tang were his rock. The ocean crashes against the sea, and the rock stays steady. “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

Tang inclines his head so it’s resting on top of Pigsy’s. The rock erodes, and becomes something new. Moves with the ocean, given enough time.

“Where else would I get free food?”

Pigsy laughs.

#lego monkie kid #freenoodleshipping #Tang #Pigsy #kitkat1003 #monkie kid tang #monkie kid pigsy

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