#i barely made it home because i couldn’t control my crying

[ionlycareaboutyou]

-

[moonlinos]

Call my bluff, call you ‘babe’

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers, fluff

♡ CW: Implied smut, alcohol consumption. Twenty solid seconds of angst, but it doesn’t even really count. It’s just tooth-rotting fluff.

♡ Word count: 5.5k

♡ Synopsis: Minho has been your best friend since you two could barely form coherent sentences. He was there when your last baby tooth fell, he was there when you failed your high school exams, and he was there as you walked down the aisle.

♡ A/N: This was going to be just word-vomit fluff to make me cry, but I couldn’t control myself and before I knew it there were… so many words.

You were four years old when you met Minho. It was the first day of kindergarten, and you were assigned seats together. The entire day was spent with you chatting to every kid you could reach from your seat while Minho quietly sat painting and doodling by your side. You vaguely remember thinking he was odd and whining to your mom about how your seatmate was boring, and that was why he was the only kid in class you didn’t talk to. She smiled and told you maybe you should make an effort to talk to him. That same day, you racked your little brain for a reason why your seatmate might be so quiet and promptly decided that he was too shy to start a conversation himself. You then asked your mom if the fact that you didn’t talk to him might have made him sad, to which she hesitated, and that was enough to have your bottom lip wobbling.

You remember tears streaming down your cheeks as you frantically sobbed, inconsolable at the fact that your seatmate was sad and that it was partially because of you.

The next day, you asked if Minho would like to use your special glitter pens — you even told him you wouldn’t mind if he used your favorite colors. That was really all that was needed to plant the bud of friendship between you two.

Ever since that day, you two slowly became inseparable.

You attended the same elementary school after begging your parents, writing a very concise list of reasons why you two could not possibly be separated. Reasons such as the fact that Minho still didn’t know how to tie his shoelaces, so it would be dangerous for him to be alone in a new school. Or the fact that you were always losing your gloves, and Minho always carried an extra pair in his backpack just for you, so you would surely catch a cold if you didn’t have him beside you during winter.

All extremely valid reasons.

Minho began walking you home from school when you were both nine years old. He was often left alone due to his parents’ work schedules, which made him become the most street-smart kid in your class. You had to beg your mom for a week, but she ultimately caved in.

Your favorite thing to do on your way home was to stop randomly and doodle on the sidewalk with chalk, with Minho joining you in no time. You even had your favorite little sketching spot — right in front of a nice old lady’s flower shop, where you two would spend far too much time decorating her entrance pavement with flowers, rainbows, and smiley faces. She would later introduce herself to you, Ms. Kim, and would always thank you both with a flower of your choice. You always picked tulips, and Minho always picked daisies.

On one hazy winter day, you and Minho were eager to adorn the flower shop’s entrance with a new set of doodles since the ones you had done just yesterday got covered in snow. As you two did your best to dig through the piled-up snow with your gloved hands, you suddenly felt something hard slide down your throat. Your hands stilled, and you turned to look at Minho with wide eyes.

“What happened?” He asked. “Did you lose your glove in the snow this time?”

You shook your head frantically, careful not to swallow. “Teeth,” you simply said.

Minho looked at you like you were crazy, squinting his eyes as he studied your face. “What?”

You felt tears well up, and he immediately abandoned his mission of shuffling through the snow before pulling you into a big hug.

“Why are you crying? Don’t cry. I hate when you cry, I feel weird when you cry,” He said, but no tears left his worried eyes. Minho never cried, that was something you had learned a while back. 

You, however, cried until Ms. Kim noticed you two from the window, cooing as she approached you two with a gentle smile. You tried your best to explain your predicament. Minho sat with you behind the wooden counter, holding your hand in his, the smell of flowers making everything feel less catastrophic than it did ten minutes earlier.

Ms. Kim explained that you had no reason to cry, as it was normal for kids to swallow their baby teeth. And you remember harshly shaking your head and explaining with a trembling voice that you hadn’t cried because of that. You had cried because that was your last baby tooth, which meant you were officially a grown-up. You didn’t want to be a grown-up. Minho wasn’t a grown-up yet, with his last baby tooth still holding on proudly in his gums. You didn’t want to be a grown-up all alone; it would be terrible and sad.

That afternoon, you two went home together in silence, your respective flowers clutched in your hands. Minho was never good with words. Sadness engulfed him because he couldn’t do enough to make his best friend smile again. What was the point of a best friend if they didn’t make you laugh when you were crying?

Minho walked into school the next day with a proud smile on his face before placing his last baby tooth on your desk. You eyed it curiously, brows furrowed.

“There, I took it off last night,” He simply said. “Now we’re gonna be grown-ups together.”

At eleven years old, your daily after-school video game appointments began.

You had just cut your hair short; a bob you thought looked cute on your favorite singer turned out to be cataclysmically unflattering on you. And, at eleven years old, it was earth-shattering and definitely the end of your life (despite what your mother told you).

You spent every second out in public with your hair hidden by a beanie, hoping it would distract people from your disastrous haircut.

Except it had the opposite effect.

One particular day at school, a boy came up to you simply to inform you that your head looked like a mushroom before running away, laughing with his friends. They were foolish words spoken by a foolish boy, but you were eleven. Once again, earth-shattering and the end of your life.

You avoided everyone the entire day — including Minho, whom you always talked to no matter your mood. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him for much longer, seeing as he walked you home every day, so you simply prayed he wouldn’t notice your puffy eyes or that he at least hadn’t heard any of the other kids making unfunny jokes about your haircut.

After school, Minho sighed in feigned annoyance when you told him you had lost your gloves again before retrieving a pair from his backpack. Like a habit, you asked if he wanted to hang out at your house, although the answer was always unchanging.

“My mom’s baking a cake,” you told him. “We can play video games and then eat it together.”

Minho hummed in agreement, adjusting his backpack before grabbing your hand as you two began your daily walk to your house. It was something you always did, never walking anywhere without your hands clasped together. These past few months, however, this once ordinary gesture had begun making your heart beat faster. You didn’t understand why, and you would rather not think about it because every time you did, the words from your other friends would echo inside your head. Their stories about how they felt their hearts racing when their crush had hugged them or even looked their way, making you question if maybe…

But it couldn’t be. Minho was your best friend. How could he be your crush?

It was another one of those afternoons, your mom busily making you two sandwiches as you and Minho played New Super Mario Bros on your Wii under the blanket fort you always meticulously built. Minho had been acting weird all day — even weirder than you, who had to endure all the asinine jokes and hurtful words from your peers. As you completed the last level for the umpteenth time, saving Princess Peach, Minho all but threw his controller to the side. You turned to shoot him a questioning look, which went ignored as he rummaged through his backpack.

He retrieved a crumpled-up piece of paper, which he promptly gave to you.

You cocked your head, awaiting some sort of explanation, but Minho simply picked up his controller once more and hit play on the game.

Unfolding the paper, words greeted you in Minho’s messy handwriting.

YOUR HAIR LOOKS CUTE. STOP HIDING IT.

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could say anything to him, Minho reached out and snatched your beanie from your head. Your short hair and bangs cascaded onto your face, partially obscuring your view. But you could still make out his side profile, where a faint smile appeared on his lips.

After that, you two were silent for the rest of the day, eventually dozing off under the tent lulled by the sound of your mother’s hand mixer and Mario’s theme song. The sun eventually set outside the window, and you woke up to two plates of your mother’s cake waiting for you on the coffee table.

From that point on, your beanie was left forgotten inside your drawer.

You were fifteen when you realized that perhaps your feelings for Minho weren’t all that platonic after all.

It all started with a letter on Minho’s desk on a rainy Friday. October 25th, Minho’s birthday.

Minho’s quiet nature hadn’t changed one bit since you first sat beside him at four years old. He would rather die than start a conversation, rarely went out to the movies with your friend group and, most importantly, hated being the center of attention. That was why he told no one about his birthday since you two began high school this year. It was the subject of much debate among your little group of friends, with some bribing Minho with his favorite snacks or promising to do his assignments until college just for some sort of clue; a day, month, even the day of the week he was born.

But Minho never budged.

So, seeing a letter on his desk on the day of his birthday was odd, to say the least.

You arrived back to the classroom late after chatting to your friend from another class in the hallway, catching as Minho sat down with a puzzled look on his face and an open letter in his hands.

“What’s up?” You asked, sitting on the desk in front of him.

He looked up, thick glasses crooked from a dodgeball incident earlier that week. “Yumi found out it’s my birthday today,” He informed you, a bit too nonchalantly. “She organized a birthday party at her house tomorrow with our friends.”

You immediately took the letter, reading it and blanching at the words written in the girl’s pretty handwriting. She had found out Minho’s birthday by snooping around Facebook until she found his mother, who had a plethora of pictures of Minho on his previous birthdays. Not only that, the letter ended with a paragraph where she confessed her feelings to him — with all the clichés and dramatics only an adolescent crush could provide.

You still remember your first thoughts upon learning that information: Oh, Yumi. Of course a girl like her would do something like this.

You cringe at your words now, but at fifteen, you deemed no girl worthy of your best friend. Especially ‘girls like Yumi,’ who in your eyes all but threw herself at him. At the time, you thought you were looking out for the boy who was practically your brother. Now, you understand you were simply an insecure fifteen-year-old who allowed ugly, misogynistic thoughts to brew inside your mind out of fear of losing Minho. For your immature brain, every girl interested in Minho was an enemy because they could easily take him away from you.

And Minho had never reciprocated any girl’s feelings, always politely turning down the few confessions he had gotten during middle school. You were ready to berate Yumi, your brows immediately furrowing as your face contorted, but Minho beat you to it, speaking before you could utter a word.

“I know I should be mad, but isn’t it a little… cute?”

You couldn’t help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips like a burst of disbelief. You also couldn’t help how your hands began to tremble as your heart shot up to your throat.

“Cute?” You asked with the strongest voice you could muster. “You think her invading your privacy is cute?”

And Minho simply shrugged, tapping his fingers on his desk. “A little bit. I know you don’t really like her, but she’s part of our friend group,” He said, taking the letter from your shaky hands. “Plus, she’s always been nice to me, and she is cute.”

That was all you could physically bear to hear, excusing yourself from the conversation with the lie that your friend had called you from the classroom window before sprinting out into the hallway. As you continued walking, your palms grew clammy and your heart weighed heavily in your chest.

You felt tears well up in your eyes once you reached the stairs. Sitting on the steps, you cried into the cardigan of your ugly school uniform. You didn’t care that you would be scolded for skipping class; all you cared about was that your best friend was going to be taken from you.

After school, as you and Minho were about to exit the school gates — your hands tightly clasped together as they always were — Yumi appeared carrying a cake, the rest of your friends behind her as they all sang happy birthday. 

Minho blew out the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered as his best friend, Chan, shoved his face into the cake. Minho yelled at him, grumbling with glasses covered in white frosting, but ultimately laughing along. Yumi was quick to clean his face with a napkin, earning her a smile from Minho before he released your hand to gently squeeze her rosy cheeks.

You remained quiet, forcing out a smile and looking up at the sky every now and then so your tears wouldn’t fall.

All because Minho had let go of your hand.

Minho’s fifteenth birthday — that was the day you learned you could fool everyone else, but never yourself.

Your seventeenth summer was a drag.

Minho had just been broken up with a couple of months before, Yumi crying as she explained her parents wanted her to focus on her studies, and having a boyfriend was simply a distraction she couldn’t afford if she wanted to be a doctor someday. An unwilling participant in the entire situation, you sat awkwardly at the bus stop as she spoke.

You were ready to witness Minho cry for the first time in your life, maybe yell about how unfair her parents were being, but he simply pressed a kiss to her forehead just as your bus arrived.

Not much had changed when he began dating Yumi, with you learning that suppressing how you truly felt was worryingly easy. You still hung out with them, battling through their cuddles and kisses like a soldier on the front lines of a war. Never unscathed, but always strong. Nobody needed to know about how you cried into your mother’s arms almost every night before falling asleep.

The only change had been you and Minho’s daily gaming appointments. You two had since outgrown your video game phase, both now interested in diverging things that made it impossible for you to enjoy them together. You discovered your love for flowers went beyond doodling on the sidewalk in front of a flower shop, but Minho complained that growing flowers was too time-consuming, and he loved dancing, which you were far too uncoordinated and lazy to even try doing.

And so, you two settled for simply hanging out together at your house. Your room had easy access to the roof, which you two took full advantage of, setting up a permanent blanket fort where you would snuggle up with pillows and talk for hours after school.

That summer was no different, with Minho stretched out across the old mattress, watching the light pink sky slowly fade away as night set in while you two busied yourselves talking.

That was the day you finally gathered the courage to ask Minho about his breakup, desperate to understand why he had appeared so unfazed. After the one-year milestone of their relationship in February, you had begun to make peace with the fact that she would probably be around for a while.

Minho shrugged at your question, hands resting on his stomach while he gnawed on his bottom lip. He explained he was sure that he liked her, but it turned out he valued her as a friend much more than as a girlfriend.

You couldn’t help but scoff at the answer. You knew Minho better than you knew yourself at times, which was why you knew he was lying through his teeth.

“Why did you stay so long with her, then?” You questioned, the resentful lilt in your voice a bit too obvious. You cleared your throat before adding, “I mean, you surely didn’t act as just friends.”

“I guess I felt lonely before,” He explained. “I was selfish for staying with her, but I enjoyed having someone. Was especially nice after…” Minho trailed off, dismissively shaking his head, and you remember being close to throwing him off that roof as he kept being so damn enigmatic.

“After what?” You prodded, “Minho, I’m your best friend. What’s the point of us talking if you’re not gonna tell me the truth?”

He turned his head to look up at you, the darkening sky making his eyes gleam as if they held an entire galaxy of stars. You felt that familiar nervousness return.

“It was nice to not be so alone after so many years of pining after someone.”

You cocked your head to the side, and Minho had the gall to chuckle at your puzzled expression. You shook your head, mumbling to yourself that your conversation was pointless if he wouldn’t tell you the whole truth.

Lying next to him on the mattress with a sigh, you could feel the weight of Minho’s gaze on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You remember the moon was already high in the sky by the time one of you finally moved — Minho, who slowly inched his hand closer to yours before clasping it tightly in his. Despite your racing heart, you thought nothing of it. He was now single, so it wouldn’t be ludicrous to assume a habit you two had cultivated for many years would naturally return.

However, after some beats from your erratically racing heart, Minho’s fingers intertwined with yours. You had never done that before, always holding hands in a way that all but screamed platonic.

That night, with his thumb caressing your skin and his hand squeezing yours, Minho finally spoke the truth after so long.

“It’s you,” He said, tone nonchalant but voice audibly shaky. “Think I’ve been pining after you since I was nine and ripped my tooth out ‘cause I thought that’d make you stop being sad.”

You remember gasping quietly and his hand tightening around yours as the clock ticked and your silence remained. You remember finally mustering up the courage to turn to look at him and being met by an expression you had rarely seen on Minho’s face in the thirteen years you had known him — he was scared, wide eyes dancing around your face as if he looked for an answer in your features, his chapped lips parted slightly as if he was ready to backtrack the moment he saw any hint of doubt in your eyes.

You remember smiling at him and how his expression shifted into pure confusion. All it took was for him to finally have the nerve to hold your hand in the way he’d always wanted to, and for you to use his courage as a catalyst for your own. You remember how you closed the distance between you two and pressed your lips to his. You remember it feeling weird because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

But you also remember it feeling right because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

Your transition from being best friends to being in a relationship was easier than you had ever thought it would be — it was also slower than you could have ever imagined.

Minho never asked you out or confessed his feelings beyond what was said on the roof, and neither did you. It was a shared knowledge between you, a silent agreement that didn’t need words — at least for now. The little gestures and subtle changes left no doubt in your minds that you two were, in fact, no longer just friends — like how you began to always intertwine your fingers while holding hands, or how Minho would pull you onto his lap when you hung out with your friends, or how you would rest your head on his shoulder as he played with your hair during lunch break.

Your friends certainly had questions, the confusion written all over their faces easy to read like a book, but you both knew they also understood your relationship without you needing to make a big deal out of it.

You picked him up from dance class every weekend, sometimes arriving earlier just to catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, as Minho insisted he was too embarrassed to dance in front of you.

One day, thoroughly unprompted, he reached into his backpack as you two exited his dance academy and pulled out a yellow tulip. You had furrowed your brows at the sudden gesture, and Minho nonchalantly told you that planting your favorite flower was surprisingly easy. Since becoming teenagers, you had stopped going to Ms. Kim’s flower shop, and you had long forgotten about how you two used to have your own respective flowers back in the day.

It seemed Minho hadn’t forgotten.

That was one thing you had come to know about him only after you began dating. Although he seemed cold and distant on the outside — rarely communicating his feelings through words — Minho secretly kept a mental note of every little detail about the people he cared about, and he unfailingly found a way to communicate his feelings through actions. Such as promptly handing you a brand-new flower he had picked before you even had the chance to mourn your tulip as it began to wilt.

You, on the other hand, had always been the type of person to communicate through words; spoken, written, or read, which is how you began saving your best daisies from the small garden you created in your backyard and practicing your flower arrangement skills exclusively by making pretty bouquets you could gift to Minho (always with little notes hidden among the flowers).

Your once explicitly platonic roof dates also left no room for doubt, as making out under your usual tent became a hard-to-break habit. In fact, that was how your family found out about your relationship. You were eighteen, with graduation just around the corner, when your mother caught Minho kissing you as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of having to be apart from him during college (although you both knew that would never be the case, as you always moved mountains simply to stay together).

Everything was slow-paced, and neither of you had any desire to rush anything. Once, Minho told you he had waited eight years to finally kiss you, and somehow, that anticipation was what had made it all the more special.

And so, your first proper date only happened six months after your first kiss, and your first fight only happened a year and a half into your relationship. Not to mention your first I love you, which had been a slip-up that happened only in your first year of college after a drunken night with Chan and Minho. Your head on his lap, your tulip nestled among his daisies in a pretty vase on the coffee table as Chan hummed along to some song that came from his phone. You felt as if your entire being was filled with pure gratitude at that moment, and the liquid courage that flowed through your veins only helped you mutter out how much you loved Minho.

He looked down at you, hands cupping your cheeks with a silly smile adorning his face, and simply answered, “Well, I love you more.”

Your carefree attitude toward your relationship was almost a contrast to the one you had with your friendship. You and Minho had met so young that you could never truly pinpoint when you had become such close friends. You always wondered if that was what led you two to be so easygoing with what most people rush into. Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

You remember one of Minho’s new friends, Changbin, asking something about your sex life at some party during freshman year, and you two nonchalantly answering that you didn’t really have one. Your friends’ shock was understandable, but you and Minho only laughed.

Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

It was Minho’s 21st birthday, when your flowers were no longer in bloom, but your love remained blossoming like it was mid-spring. He had, as always, vetoed any and every plan of a celebration suggested by your friends. He opted to stay in with you, cuddling under a blanket fort like you had been doing for so many years. Chan graciously offered to sleep at a friend’s dorm, leaving your small shared apartment just for you and Minho.

He hadn’t planned for anything to happen, and neither had you. You were simply lying together, watching the flickering of the candles you had set up around the coffee table, recounting the innumerable memories you shared when you suddenly felt the earnest, all-consuming need to have Minho as close as possible.

It was clumsy, both of you inexperienced and nervous. Your teeth crashed together and your hands gripped each other tightly, the realization of the intensity of your yearning becoming undeniable. At some point, the entire tent collapsed on top of you, and laughter filled the room for a brief moment before being replaced by your sighs and whispered moans.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was you and Minho.

Graduation day was a blur in your mind.

It had all started with Minho and Chan drunk at eleven a.m., offering you the awful-tasting omelet they had cooked in your cramped kitchen. They then went on to zone out for most of the ceremony after stumbling out of your apartment.

You approached Minho after he was done taking pictures and getting scolded by his family for being drunk on his graduation day, his mother giving you an apologetic look as you whisked him away.

“You’re stressed,” you pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” you replied with a sigh, resting against a large tree far enough away from the hustle and bustle of recently graduated students and crying families. “So is Chan. Don’t think I’ve seen him this drunk since Jisung’s birthday party last year.”

Minho chuckled, shifting on his feet and toying with the fabric of his gown. You furrowed your brows; he only ever got fidgety when hiding something. You learned that for the first time when you were thirteen and he had to wait until your birthday to tell you he’d gotten you two tickets to see your favorite band, and again when he had to keep Chan’s then-girlfriend’s plans of asking him to move in together a secret.

“You’re not nervous ‘cause of graduation, are you?”

You remember the way he stilled almost immediately.

“We always tell each other the truth, right?” He asked.

You remember the way your whole world spun as he pulled out a small box from his pocket and how everything seemed to fade into a white mist that surrounded Minho like a spotlight as he proposed to you.

Your wedding was small — both because that was how you had wanted it to be and because of your lack of money for a proper party.

After graduating, Minho became a dance teacher at the academy he attended as a teen, teaching little kids who he said always reminded him of you two. You used the money your parents had saved for you to travel after college to buy the old flower shop that held so many memories from your childhood. Neither of you used your degrees, and neither of you made a lot of money, but you were overflowing with an infatuation for life and a love for each other so great that it made up for any silly inconvenience that dared to come up.

The ceremony was held at a local church — although neither of you was particularly religious, that was the cheapest place available. You opted to walk down the aisle together; hands clasped the way you used to do for many years while walking home from school. Minho held onto a daisy bouquet you made, while you held the single tulip he had picked out for you that day.

“I’m not good with words,” was how Minho began his vows, the glow of the fairy lights and candles adorning the church rendering his attempt at hiding his tears futile. That was the first time you had ever seen him cry in the twenty-one years you’d known him. “But I think that never mattered with you. You know me better than I know myself. Most times, I don’t even have to say a word, and you’ll still understand me. It’s been this way since we were four, and you understood why I was so quiet, and you still chose to be my friend. Thank you for understanding me, and thank you for allowing me to love you. Loving you is what I do best and look how lucky I am; I’ve been able to do it for my whole life.” He then shot you a grin, the back of his hand wiping away your tears. He ended his speech with a line that was so very Minho, thought up with sincerity but spoken primarily to make you smile. “You’ve always felt like home, and I can’t wait to feel that way until we’re both food for the worms to eat.”

You had never cried so much as you did on the day of your wedding — which was remarkable, seeing as you’d been a crier your whole life. You remember the irony of it all; Minho, who had never been good with words, telling you about his love with words that came from his heart and spilled from his lips without any rehearsal, while you were rendered speechless and too emotional to even attempt to form a coherent sentence.

Your wedding vow was a simple, choked-up, “Thank you for being my best friend, Minho.”

Minho carried you home from the church, with your cheeks flushing pink and his smile beaming as your friends made rice cascade around the two of you like snow. It turned out the boy who hated attention didn’t mind the spotlight so long as it meant showing off his love for you.

Your honeymoon was spent in your small house above your flower shop — which you named Daisy’s Tulips — where you cuddled under a blanket fort the entire day, only leaving the comfort of the pillows and fluffy covers well after midnight to adorn the sidewalk in front of your house in a brand new chalk drawing.

“Can you imagine if we never said anything?” Minho suddenly wondered aloud, his chuckle echoing through the quiet street. “We were both pretty good at hiding our feelings for so long.”

And you simply shook your head, painting a daisy with white chalk on the sidewalk. “Minho, I know you. You wouldn’t have let me keep pretending after finding out I liked you too.”

“Who says I would have found out?”

“You said it yourself,” you explained, “I know you better than you know yourself, and that’s reciprocal. You would’ve found out ‘cause I can never hide anything from you.”

And Minho smiled, taking your hand in his just as you were done with your drawing. Your gaze shifted toward him, and you admired the man he had become. From the shy little boy who sat beside you to the quiet teenager with thick glasses to the man he had grown into; you loved every version of Minho you had the privilege to meet throughout your life, and you were certain you would love every new version of him you came to know in the future as well.

“Of course you can’t,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. He then added, “Thank you for being my best friend.”

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist

[waywardcrow]

Christmas blues.

Summary: Someone hurt his fairy and Bucky will do everything to fix it and give you the Christmas you deserve.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader.

WC: Almost 2K.

TW: Overprotective Bucky, sad reader because of an abusive ex, Christmas blues, talk about revenge and torture but just mentioned, crying, talk about cheating from reader’s ex and ex best friend, pinning dumbasses, ugly Christmas sweaters and Bucky wearing reindeer ears, kind of drunk writer (aka me), let me know if I missed something.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, please tell me if I make grammar mistakes.

Part of the Take my hand (wreck my plans) series.

Pictures from pinterest, graphic and dividers by the amazing @ firefly-graphics so all credits to the creators.

Something had happened, Bucky knew it.

You were different after coming home from visiting your parents. They were going on a cruise ship for Christmas so you’ll be spending it at the compound with everybody for the first time.

He could thought it was the perspective of not spending the holidays with your blood family but you were so excited before you left to have Thanksgiving with them, it didn’t make sense.

Every time someone tried to engage you in decorating the tree or bake cookies for the kids, you smiled politely and declined, leaving everyone worried.

“What’s up with fairy?” Sam asked when he arrived with Sarah and his nephews; they agreed to spend the holidays there so nobody feel left out.

“We don’t know” Natasha replied watching you leave after they failed once again, this time you didn’t want to go ice skating.

“You don’t know?” Sam raised a brow, crossing his arms in front of his chest with a silly smile “I didn’t thought you were familiar with the concept.”

Bucky left them bickering to go find you and he did, your gaze was set in the sunset, not paying much attention to the cold in the air that surrounded you in the balcony.

“Hi sweetheart” you barely reacted, more used than him to Bucky being charming with you.

“What are you doing here? You could catch a cold” Bucky saw you take in the thin layered Henley he was wearing, practically nothing compared to your coat.

“I don’t get sick, honey” he reminded you, making your skin heat despite the winter, feeling like a dumbass. What a scientist you were “I appreciate the concern, though.”

You nodded.

“Are you alright?”

“I should be the one asking that” he said, bumping you gently with his shoulder, Bucky was too delicate with you still but he made every day an effort to be more open, especially with you. He watched your lips become a firm line and his heart started to beat faster in his ribcage. Something had happened, he was sure “I’m here if you want to talk fairy, we all want you to be ok.”

That broke you.

A tear escaped your control and Bucky’s heart sink down, he couldn’t help it when he hugged you making you hid your face in his chest, making you wrap your arms around his waist.

He let you cry; rubbing circles in your back and when you calmed down, Bucky took you to your apartment to make you hot chocolate.

When it was ready Bucky sat next to you in your colorful coach, watching you took a sip while making a mental list of all the awful ways he will torture who hurt you.

“I ran into my ex while being at home” you said without looking at him, making Bucky’s whole body tense. He only heard a few things about him from Tony and Pepper but none were good “he is engaged now, to my ex best friend.”

Oh Bucky would rip his arms away from his body.

“Did he… what did he said to you?” he got closer to his fairy; it should have been very bad to have you crying like that.

Your lower lip trembled so did the mug in your hands so Bucky put his right one on top of yours.

“He said I was invited to the wedding, that Lara and him were grateful I brought them together like they didn’t cheat on me for a year” your voice cracked and more years followed.

That bastard, hot anger cursed through Bucky’s body, he will make them suffer.

“And then Louis made fun of me for buying too much in the Christmas market, he said he was sorry I don’t have anyone to spend Christmas with, like an adult so I have to overcompensate being childish.”

The entire time your eyes were focused in your hands, so embarrassed to be this honest with him when it was your idiotic ex who should be very concerned about what was coming to him, he will recruit Nat and Yelena and Tony to make sure he will pay for every one your tears.

“He is right” you said wiping your tears with your sleeve “I’m childish and dumb and…”

“Hey, hey” Bucky stopped your self-destructive train taking both of your hands in his “none of that is true, fairy” he reassured you making you look at him “he is an asshole, an abuser” Bucky spited that word out, thinking about someone like you having to live with people like that jerk made him want to punch him until his metal arm got tired “he is wrong, you are not what he says.”

“Thanks Bucky but…”

“Ah ah, I’m not letting you be mean with yourself, you’ll do the same for me” it was true, you were so gentle with him and always help him to be gentle with himself too “you deserve the whole universe, honey” Bucky cupped your face in his hands and your breath caught in your throat.

His ocean blue eyes were so kind, so full of trust that it was impossible to not believe his words.

God, he wanted to kiss you so bad but it wasn’t the time so he left a kiss in your forehead “You are not alone, you are so loved by everyone that meets you and it kills me that you have to suffer all that shit, I’m so sorry fairy.”

You hugged him and stay there for a while, feeling the pain in your heart becoming easier.

The next day  Bucky was knocking in your door before breakfast.

You were feeling bad for telling him all that, for letting him see that part of yourself that wasn’t bright, he had enough pain in his life and still he took yours and made it less heavy.

“Bucky? What are you doing here?” he looked so handsome even wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater you’ve ever seen “what are you wearing?” you whispered, not so sure if you were still sleeping, he was wearing reindeer ears too.

Did Tony and Bruce mess with the time lines again?

“We are going shopping, fairy” he handed you a matching sweater that looked your size “get ready, we leave in ten minutes to get waffles” and with that he disappeared in the hallway.

Confused you did what he said, maybe he needed help with his shopping and it was the least you could do after oversharing the previous night with him.

You met him in the elevators with your ugly sweater on and he smirked.

“You look good, fairy” bashful, you gave him a tiny smile and he felt it like a victory.

And the madness began.

True to his word, he took you for the best waffles you ever eat and then to the Christmas market in Brooklyn, still wearing his silly outfit, parting the crowded area like if he did that every random Sunday, oblivious to the chatter around you both and the not so discreet pictures some took of him. His whole attention was on you.

Bucky could recognize when you liked something, Louis words were still echoing in your mind but he made you feel so safe with him that remembering all your work with your therapist was easier and if you doubted before buying something, he would buy it for you.

You wouldn’t let Louis and Lara take anything more from you and he would help you with that.

“What do you think of this one? It seems perfect for Sam” he told you showing you a funny looking owl with a Santa hat, making you giggle.

“Put it some goggles on and then it will be perfect” you said without thinking, feeling all the cold leave your body when he throw his head back and laughed “oh no, forget I said that, poor Sam.”

“I’m never forgetting it doll, it’s exactly what I’m going to give him” he paid for the owl and gave the old lady in the vendor cart a smile that probably extended her life a decade.

Three hours later, lots of pretzels and hot chocolate you both were taking your car to go back home.

“Thank you for today” you said with a quiet voice when you parked outside the apartments “I know yesterday I was a lot, this made me feel better.”

“You’re never a lot, fairy, you are perfect” there was something else behind his words but before you could ask, Sam shout startled you.

“Hey, lovebirds, Sarah and Clint made lunch” he was wearing only shorts and a t-shirt which was insane but the basketball equipment explained a little, same as the presence of Thor, Cass, AJ and Yelena who looked very proud of herself.

“Let’s go” you said and follow the others, not noticing Bucky’s disappointment matched yours.

Christmas Eve was so much better than you expected, Natasha and Yelena didn’t leave you alone for a second, Wanda helped you wrap your presents, Tony, Morgan and Pepper would hug you randomly through the day and kiss your cheek, the rest of the team did things like that and you felt so loved.

Bucky made sure of it.

He didn’t tell you Louis and Lara were being taken care of, he probably never will, instead he choose to spend the afternoon making letters to Santa with the kids, having the perfect view of you from the living room while laughing at Morgan’s antics who tried to convince AJ and Cass that Happy was Santa. Nate was buying it by then and it was adorable, the chaos also reminded him of his sisters.

“Who wants dessert before dinner?” Yelena asked from the kitchen, the young widow didn’t miss the chance to steal sweets while you and the others cooked and apparently she wanted the kids to do the same.

There was a loud chorus of enthusiastic answers that made him wince even if the disapproval of the parents in the room made him smile. After a short but intense discussion, Sam and you convinced the others to let it happen, it was Christmas after all.

“Just one cookie, ok? We have to wait for dinner” Sam said holding the tray for them and the little munchkins yell, sugar high already “they are not for you, terminator.”

Sam tried to take them from him but you took the tray from your friend.

“Don’t listen to him, take as many as you want” you said, making a silly face at Sam who responded with a similar one.

“Thanks, fairy” Bucky took one of your cookies and barely noticed Sam going towards the Christmas tree “they smell so good.”

If that didn’t make your skin feel on fire, Morgan’s words did.

“Auntie fairy, you are under the mistletoe with Mr. Barnes” a giggle escaped the little girl and then the others kids who laughed at your reaction. The adults in the kitchen stayed in silence, despite Natasha’s “kiss her, dumbass” comment and Bucky… Bucky was looking at you like you were the only one he could see.

Biting your lip, you doubted for a heartbeat before standing in your tiptoes and giving him a kiss, short and sweet, just like you.

And then, Tony let out a wolf whistle, Yelena an exasperated sigh and you could hear Sam in the back asking who dressed an owl like him and put it in top of the tree but your focus was mostly in the handsome man in front of you who took you by the waist and kissed you again.

Merry Christmas lovelies! Hope you like this one, please tell me what you think, if you want to see more about Bucky and fairy, etc.

Love, Lily.

[berryhobii]

Reconnect (myg x reader)

Pairing: Idol!Min Yoongi x black!wedding designer!female! Reader

Word Count: 6K+

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, mentions of secret relationship, mentions of a wedding(but not Yoongi and the reader’s), reader and Yoongi are engaged, Smut(18+ but I don’t control what you consume), unprotected sex(please speak to your partners before engaging in this), vaginal sex, squirting, creampies, riding, doggy style, mating press/missionary, oral(f receiving), soft dom Yoongi(he’s super soft and vocal but also goes kind of rough😊), rough sex, multiple orgasms(f and m receiving), brief aftercare and mentions of amazing aftercare, reader has goddess locs(color and length not specified), reader also has that Wendy’s Strawberry Lemonade kitty, reader also also has nipple piercings, reader got a fat ass because who doesn’t appreciate a nice booty?

A/N: Hi! This is my second time uploading something. I’ve had this story in my drafts for a while. I had been writing it using she/her pronouns so I’ve been spending the past few days to change those to you/yours. If I missed any, I’m sorry but please let me know so I can make the story more cohesive. Reader is black but their skin color isn’t really described but I believe I referred to their nipples being dark so that’s it. My next post with either be a GreekMythology!Jimin or a Gamer!Jungkook. The Jimin story is actually really long so I think I’ll turn it into a small series but I’ll post the 1st chapter sometime next week. Thanks again for reading! Criticism is greatly accepted and I hope my black and melanated girlies feel good reading this! Have a good day.

~

“I’m sorry, baby. I know I said we’d have dinner but we have to do some last minute recording.”

You tried not to sound disappointed when you replied. “That’s okay. I understand.” And you truly did. You knew how important his job was and that it would be a priority of his.

You just wished that it didn’t take so much of his time. You understood that his music was his life and that it was his dream career. All of his hard work had led up to being able to do what he does now; to make music and inspire the millions of fans that listened. You were so proud of him. Seeing him live his dream filled you with a different kind of pride and emotion. He was happy and that’s all you ever wanted for him.

Still, you missed him. You two had barely spent any time together the past month while he’s been preparing for their new album. He’d come home long after you’d fallen asleep and he’d sleep into the afternoon, just to rise and immediately get ready to go again. You couldn’t even have breakfast together like you used to. You could barely even start a conversation before he was cutting you off with a kiss and rushing out of the door.

While you had your own career of designing wedding dresses, you still had so much free time on your hands. You had already designed your newest collection and it was currently in production to be created. You’ve even made multiple visits to a few stores and they were running amazingly. There was only so long you could bury yourself in work before your heart began yearning for Yoongi’s companionship.

“I promise when this is finished, we’ll go on a trip. Just you and me.”

That made you smile. You and Yoongi have traveled a lot together over the years; Bora Bora, Italy, The Maldives—and each experience had been just as memorable and romantic as the last. He proposed to you in Italy at the Orange Gardens. It was such a magical moment. Just thinking about it made you want to cry. The entire trip was just absolutely perfect; from taking a gondola ride on the gorgeous waters to the 5 Star hotel they stayed in for 3 days and 2 nights, all the way to the candlelit dinner where he got down on one knee. You remember it fondly.

While the promise of a trip together didn’t fix your loneliness now, it gave you something to look forward to.

You couldn’t fight the smile in your voice. “Okay.” Your eyes went over to the stove where dinner was cooking. You had just finished searing some steaks that were finishing up in the oven. There was no point of putting them away for him to eat later. They wouldn’t be as flavorful or tender.

“Hey, is it okay if I bring you some dinner? I know you haven’t eaten yet.” Your tone shifted to one of slight teasing but you knew you were right. His pause of silence was proof enough.

“You don’t have to do that, baby.”

“I want to though. I made steak and I’ll feel better knowing you’ve eaten. I won’t stay long or distract you.” Just knowing he had a home cooked meal would make you happy. You would nag him constantly about drinking too much coffee and eating take out. It came from a place of love, however and Yoongi never minded. He loved having someone so attentive to his health when he’d blatantly ignore it. It showed you cared. Also, he secretly loved being babied by you. He’d never admit it out loud or to his friends but you knew. There was nothing better than coming home, a bath prepared for him to soothe his sore muscles, a meal on the table, and cuddling into your soft breasts while your rubbed his back—always being careful with his shoulder.

Your already nurturing nature and tendency to baby Yoongi increased tenfold once he got surgery. You barely let him leave the bed, even following him to the bathroom to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. A little bit stifling but he was so grateful to you. You always took care of him.

“Then that sounds great. I’ll leave my door open for you. I love you, baby.”

“I love you too. See you soon.”

With a giddy pep in your step, you finished cooking dinner, packaging it nicely in cute Tupperware before putting it in a bag. You had already showered and your clothes were fine but you wondered if you should put on something different. While Yoongi thought you looked good in anything, you still liked to look pretty for him; wearing dresses and heels whenever you went out, keeping your nails and toes done, and making appointments to get waxed every month. Self care was important to you. It not only made you feel good about yourself but it was also something you just liked to do for your husband.

Deciding to change your clothes, you slipped on a t shirt maxi dress that hugged and showed off all of your curves, along with some short open toed shoes to show off your freshly painted white toes. It was simple but still dressy and feminine, just your style.

Checking your hair once more in the mirror and smearing on some lip gloss, you grabbed the bag of food and your keys before exiting your home.

~

HYBE Studios was a pretty moderate drive from your apartment. The reason for that is to keep crazy fans from ever finding it. Once the company realized other idols were having their homes broken into, there was a decision to move all of the boys about 30 minutes from the company in a luxury gated neighborhood. You had to admit, you missed your old apartment you shared with Yoongi since that was their first place together but you also couldn’t complain about the walk in closet and the jacuzzi bathtub.

You greeted the security guard in front of the car garage, him lifting the block to the garage. After parking close to the company cars that were often used to transport the boys during RunBTS, you exited your car and made your way through the side door to the lobby.

You nodded at the secretary, everyone already knowing who you were and letting you pass with no issue.

Yoongi’s studio was on the 8th floor at the end of the hall. Namjoon’s was just a short distance away as well.

Once you reached his door, you entered the pin code on the keypad. Besides a few staff members and the boys, you were one of the few with the password to his studio. He just preferred silence and no disruptions so the code was only used during emergencies or whenever you or the boys came to visit. There was also a group chat for everyone with his code, adorably named ‘The Plastics’, courtesy of Taehyung. If they ever needed to come to his studio, they’d send a text beforehand so he’d know to expect them.

The beep sounded and you opened the door, smiling at the sight of your husband who was cutely leaned over on his right palm as his eyes scanned the production screen for his music. You didn’t get most of it but you always found it adorable when he’d try to explain. He’d get so invested in telling you how reverb and delay could either make or break a song that he’d never see how endearingly you’d stare at him. And he’d always get surprised when you’d lunge to bite his cheek.

“You are just too adorable! I have to bite you!”

His headphones were around his neck so he turned at the sound of his door opened, a smile immediately rising to his face at the sight of you. He removed his headphones, standing to greet you.

You could barely put the food down before his hands were around you waist, pulling you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck, cuddling into his body as you inhaled his cologne and the gentle scent of his favorite body wash.

He pulled away a little to press a few pecks to your forehead. “Hi baby.” His deep, slightly tired voice sent shivers down you spine. It was almost like his regular voice was just his morning voice constantly and out of all of the little things you loved about him, his voice was towards the top of your list—right after his newly grown out hair, his hands, and that little habit of him slurping whenever he’d explain things.

You inhaled a deep breath, basking in the affection. “Hi.”

You two just held each other for a moment, locked in an embrace and not wanting to let go. This was your special kind of intimacy, just not speaking or moving, simply holding one another.

Yoongi considered himself a pretty private person. A little ironic considering he was a world famous idol who’s whole job was being put in the spotlight. However, when it came to his personal relationships, he did his best to keep that as private as possible. Just imagine the uproar when people found out he was engaged. You had been hidden from the public eye for 3 straight years before you got engaged. How? One part extreme luck, the other part moving quietly. Your relationship started off with you meeting for the first time at a staff member’s wedding. You had designed her dress and she was so amazed and in love with how you created her dream dress that she insisted you come to her wedding. Always happy to see people overjoyed with your work and excited to see your design in action, of course you agreed. Coincidentally, you were sat pretty close to the table the boys were at. When you recognized them, you softly smiled and introduced yourself, expressing how you were a fan and how many women said they were using BTS songs as their wedding songs. Yoongi was drawn in instantly, your gentle voice and sparkling eyes as you talked about your clients drew him in. He could tell you were passionate about your career, just like he was.

After exchanging numbers while the bride and groom were cutting the cake, you two mainly texted and called each other in your free time. It took about 4 months for you to go on their first date since Yoongi had to go to America for promotions. He thought you’d lose interest since he traveled and couldn’t take you on a proper date but you never minded. You liked talking to Yoongi and found yourself developing feelings for him. He was trying and effort was one of your biggest green flags for a partner. A little distance wasn’t that big of a deal to you. Of course, you wanted to be able to be close to him and hold his hand and maybe even kiss but you knew what you were signing up for when you started talking.

Once Yoongi went on break, he started dedicating a lot of time to you; dates, inviting you to his place for dinner and wine, and learning more about you. He didn’t think you would get along so well. Talking on the phone was vastly different than being in each other’s physical presence but you had melded together like the pieces of a puzzle. You were so gentle and compassionate, always looking after him and giving him affection he hasn’t gotten in years. You were perfect for him and vice versa.

Your eyes slowly blinked up at him, just taking in his handsome features. You could spot the bags under his eyes, feeling a little sad that he was running himself ragged.

“You look tired. Have you slept since his morning?”

He hummed. “I took a little nap around lunch. The new couch came in.” You turned a little to look at the new addition to his studio. Before, he just had a small leather couch, moreso for decoration than comfort. Once he got a bigger studio, he upgraded his furniture but kept that couch. After some prodding from you, he ordered a new and more comfortable couch—one that could become a pull out bed for those overnights at the studio.

“It looks great.” It was a dark grey color, wide and stretched enough to fully support 2 people if you wanted to spoon on it.

“Yeah. I just didn’t think it would take that long to get it in the door. Namjoon almost knocked over my synthesizer.” He said that with a shake of his head. You giggled, imagining the tall and clumsy man scrambling to pick up the keyboard.

“I can only imagine. I brought food. You should eat it before it gets cold. I should go.” You tried pulling away from him only for him to tighten his grip on your waist. You let out an “oof” as your face met the hard planes of his chest. All that physical therapy and time in the gym had really bulked him up. While you loved his body regardless, you definitely weren’t complaining about the extra muscle. He was filling out this black shirt just fine.

He nuzzled his nose in your neck, inhaling your favorite perfume that you’ve worn since he met your. It was one of his favorite scents. His hands rubbed up and down your back, feeling all over the material of your dress.

“No, stay. Eat with me.”

Yoongi could be very affectionate and straightforward when he wanted to be, normally when you were alone. He’d never show this side in public. Not because he was ashamed of his love for your, far from that. He just preferred to keep their intimate moments private. Maybe a little kiss here and there and some hand holding but moments like this were for you only.

Your manicured fingers went to his nape, scratching at the hair there. “I don’t want to distract you.”

“You’re not.” He pulled back to look you in eyes. “I want you to eat with me. I feel bad we couldn’t have dinner at home.” And he did. He knew his job demanded a lot of his time and attention and even if you understood that, it didn’t stop him from feeling guilty about leaving you alone all the time. He knew you could entertain yourself and had your own life outside of him but he still felt bad not being able to spend as much time with you as he wanted. He missed you just as much. While he loved his job, nothing beat coming home to your warmth and affection. To be honest, he was getting a little touch starved.

He led you over to the couch, waiting for your to sit before going to the mini fridge in his studio.

“Do you want juice?” He asked as he pulled out a couple of drinks. He always kept some of your favorites in his mini fridge just in case. You didn’t drink caffeine or really any alcohol, water and juices were your favorites.

You nodded your head, beginning to take out the Tupperware containers. They were still nice and hot. He placed a juice down on the table, along with an energy drink. You frowned at that, leaning forward to pick it up.

“You need to drink water. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those coffee cups on your desk.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed but couldn’t hide his smile. You were too good to him. Sometimes he felt like he didn’t deserve you. Taking the energy drink from you, he went back to the fridge to grab a water instead.

Ignoring the smug smile on your face, he sat next to you, waiting for you to open all of the containers. The smell was delicious, making his stomach growl.

Your handed him some chopsticks and a few napkins before sliding the steak over to him. “Here. Try it.”

You ate in silence, him using his chopsticks to place some pieces of steak and vegetables in your bowl. You smiled, the cute ways Yoongi showed he cared always making your heart warm. Fans knew he was more subtle in showing he cared and that wasn’t any different than him in private. You had to learn that his love language was acts of service but in a more quiet way.

After you finished eating, he helped clean up the containers, giving you some wipes to clean your hands and the table.

He let out of a groan as he sat back down on the couch, belly full and fully ready for a nap. But he knew he had to get back to work and that meant you had to leave.

“Thanks, baby. It was delicious.” His hand came to rest on your thigh, rubbing the soft skin. You hummed, placing your hand on top of his.

“Of course. I’m happy you liked it.” You both rested for a moment before you began moving. “I should go. You have work to do.”

You barely made it to your feet before he was tugging you back down on his lap. A surprised yelp came from your lips at the sudden movement, ass meeting his thighs when you landed. He situated you so that you straddled his hips, his hands immediately going to your ass.

“Baby….” You pouted, feeling a little shy all of a sudden. You were normally the one who initiated physical affection so for Yoongi to do it so roughly surprised you. You weren’t complaining, however. The way his eyes were hooded over and how he looked up at you with that dark endearment made your belly tingle. You knew where this was going.

“Stay.” His left hand pressed your body down so your chest squished against his. “You come here in this dress and my favorite shoes…”

You adjusted yourself to wrap your arms around his neck. “I hardly wear these.”

He shrugged. “I love anything you wear. You look so sexy.” His hand traveled up your dress, moving it up your ass so he could grope full handfuls of the fat. While Yoongi appreciated all parts of your body, your ass was his favorite. Genetics, exercise and a little bit of happy weight had all accumulated into jiggly ass he loved to squeeze and slap. When you met, you were pretty thin but in shape nonetheless. Fans speculated that you gained ‘happy relationship weight’ since Yoongi treats you right. Whatever the reason, he thanks the higher power every day for it.

You could feel the heat beginning to spark between you, along with Yoongi’s growing boner pressing against your panties. Now that you thought about it, it’s been a little while since you’ve been intimate. You and Yoongi have barely had any time for quickies, let alone a full session of sex. And you two could go for hours if you wanted. On the day of your engagement, you barely left the hotel room because you couldn’t keep your hands off him. How could you? He was your fiancé. Mmm, that word just got you hot and bothered.

Your hands ran up his neck and into his hair, scratching at his scalp. The low hum of contentment that came from him spurred you on. You brought your faces closer together, lips hovering before you trapped him in a kiss. He hummed again, lifting his head to kiss you deeper, hands still squeezing at your ass.

Your kiss grew more heady, both of your hands massaging each other and trying to stroke any piece of skin you could. Yoongi began pushing against you to make your roll your hips against him. His cock could probably cut glass from how hard he was. You always got him excited with barely doing anything. To be honest, he started getting hard the moment you entered the room. Just your presence got him feeling almost immediately horny.

And it was the same for you. Your cunt had began getting wet the moment Yoongi turned around in his chair. He just looked so comfortable and effortlessly sexy and the way his muscles strained against that shirt made your imagination run wild.

You pulled away to inhale a deep breath. “Yoongi….please…”

His lazy smirk sent a rush straight to your already wet pussy. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

God he was such a tease but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it.

“I need you.”

That was all he needed before he moved to flip you onto your back. You bounced against the soft couch cushions, barely getting your bearings before he was back on you, pressing his lips to yours.

His large hands traveled up your dress, lifting it over your belly and breasts. He leaned back to get a look, letting out a groan at the absolute beauty under him.

Your chest was heaving from just a little kissing, your goddess locks spread out under you, glossed lips plump and ready for more. You were so gorgeous and he made sure to let you know.

You squirmed under the compliment, feeling giddy and a bit bashful. You always received compliments and the occasional catcall and while you accepted the respectful ones gracefully, none of those ever mattered to you. Yoongi’s praise and compliments put you on cloud 9 and you really believed him.

His hands traveled up your body to your breasts, eyes catching something under your bra. He pulled the annoying piece of fabric down and if he could get any harder, he probably would.

“Fuck. You’re wearing your piercings? Did you come here to try and kill me?” The little diamonds sparkled under the light. He remembers buying the jewelry for your birthday last year. He also remembers sucking the sensitive nipples until you were crying just an hour later.

You giggled, biting your lip. “Of course not.”

His smirk widened. “You little sneak.” His hands went to grope at the soft flesh, a sigh falling from your lips. His thumbs ran lightly over the stiff peaks, pulling more sighs and little squeaks from your lips. Your nipples had gotten so much more sensitive after piercings. Yoongi couldn’t be too rough on them when you first got them, being careful of your healing process. He could barely touch them without you gasping in the slight pain from healing. Of course, he never complained, understanding your pain so he just stopped touching them. He just didn’t think it would test his control so much; seeing you walk around without a shirt sometimes, the already silky and delectable breasts looking more appetizing from the little barbells. Months had passed along with many maintenance appointments before you announced that they could be touched without pain. With the pain gone, your sensitivity skyrocketed and with Yoongi’s skilled tongue beginning their assault, your pleasure had been taken to a new level.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer and his mouth open to lick over your nipple. You let out a moan as his tongue swirled all around your piercing. He switched to the next one, giving it the same treatment.

The heat between your legs was becoming too much, your panties beginning to feel uncomfortable from how they were sticking to you.

“Yoongi….” You whined. His eyes lifted to lock on your flustered face, lips parted as puffs of air came through them, your eyes desperate and pleading for anything. Everything.

Reluctantly pulling away from your nipples, he helped you pull the dress from your body, tossing it somewhere in the room. Neither of you cared.

He kissed from your breasts to your tummy until he reached the apex of your thick thighs. You immediately dropped them open, revealing yourself to him. He groaned at your desperation but also at the sight of your soaked underwear. The thong barely covered anything, the baby blue fabric now dark from your arousal. It was practically leaking from you, the bottom of your ass shining. Kissing over the stretch marks that streaked down the inside of your thighs, he whispered words of praise to you.

“Fuck baby. You’re so fucking wet.” He couldn’t help himself, surging forward to suck on your clit through your panties. A shiver racked your body, your hands coming down to bury in his hair. The friction wasn’t as good with your panties still keeping his tongue from making direct contact with your clit but it was something. And it felt so good.

Your hips jerked against his face, trying to get more. His hands dug into the meat of your thighs, holding them open as his tongue licked at your clit.

More moans fell from your lips, pleasure causing your vision to go blurry. You felt so close already and he’s barely done anything. Blame it on you not having a proper orgasm for weeks. Your hands just didn’t feel the same and Yoongi had thrown out all of your vibrators once you two started having sex.

“You won’t need these anymore. All your orgasms should come from me.”

Now you were remembering why he threw them out in the first place. Only he could rip pleasure and orgasms from your body in seconds, playing your body like a piano.

Your hand came down your body, tapping against his forehead. He pulled away slightly, eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort. You really only stopped him when you were shaking in overstimulation and he knew you hadn’t even cum yet so why were you stopping him?

When he pulled back, you grabbed onto your panties, pulling them aside to reveal your fat and dripping pussy to him.

How the hell did he get so lucky? Did he save orphans in his past life or something? Not only had he managed to put a ring on a kind, generous, and absolutely amazing person who treated him like a King and opened up the deepest parts of him, he also managed to snag a submissive, slutty, and needy woman who could ride his cock for hours and bend in ways he’s only dreamed of.

There was no way.

Eyes darkening in lust, he dove back in to capture your clit, licking at it more furiously than before. The heat from his mouth made that pressure build in your lower belly, your toes curling from their position in the air. Your loud moans only pushed him further, shoving 2 fingers in your tight heat. Your slick walls gripped his fingers so tightly that he could barely move them.

“Y-Yoongi! I’m gonna-“

He curled his fingers up, pulling away from your clit to lean up close to your face, his breath hitting your cheeks. “You gonna cum? You’re such a good girl.” He pressed some kisses to your open mouth, fingers thrusting in and out of your in a superhuman pace, veins and muscles in his arms shifting and bulging from the exertion.

When your orgasm crashed, you swore all of your senses except touch disappeared. You couldn’t hear and your vision blurred from the tears that had welled in your eyes. But Yoongi didn’t stop.

Your hand flew down to grab at his wrist, back arching as he continued his assault, helping you ride the huge wave.

He pulled his lip between his teeth. You were so sexy.

Once you came down, he slowly pulled his fingers from your, the digits glistening in your release. He sucked them into his mouth, moaning at the taste. He just couldn’t get enough.

Now he wanted more. Standing from the couch, he pulled off his own shirt and pants, taking his briefs with them. His hard cock slapped against his stomach, red at the tip and practically pulsing.

You bit your lip, thighs squeezing together as your pussy throbbed. Fuck you were so wet.

He flopped back on the couch, patting his lap. “Come ride this cock, baby.”

Not needing to be told twice, you crawled over into his lap, taking your bra and ruined panties off on the way.

His hands gripped your ass once you were straddled on his hips. You could feel the heavy weight of his cock pressing on your ass and it filled you with excitement.

Reaching your hand back, you gripped his cock, pumping it a few times. He groaned, head falling back against the couch at your touch.

Delivering a sharp slap to your ass, he growled, “stop teasing.”

His deep and demanding voice sent shivers down your spine. Never one to disobey, you lifted your hips, lining up his cock with your entrance. You rubbed the tip over your opening to gather some of your wetness before you slowly began sinking down on him.

A moan came from both of you as his thick cock began splitting you open. Your walls were squeezing him so tight that he felt like he could cum right there but he refrained. He wasn’t even all the way inside yet.

Your mouth was dropped open as his cock stretched you open, head tossed back and eyes closed as you basked in the feeling. Each ridge and vein was pressing against you in the most delicious way, the slight curve pressing against that spot deep inside of you. You felt like you could cum again just like this.

Once your ass met his thighs, you both let out sighs. Not only from pleasure but from being able to be close like this. This is what you needed; this closeness, this union, this intimacy. Sex was so much more to you than just getting off. It bonded you and brought you closer than ever, love spilling over and intertwining your hearts and souls.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in for a sweeter and more sensual kiss.

“I love you…” you whispered against his lips.

“I love you too.”

Your hips began rolling against him, slowly at first to get accumulated to the stretch. He assisted you with one hand on your ass and one on your hip.

Before long, you began raising your hips, falling back down on his lap. The low clapping sounds spurring you on.

Yoongi groaned against your lips. “That’s it, baby. Faster.” With another sharp slap to your ass that made you moan, you bounced faster. Your ass jiggled each time it connected with his thighs and a part of him wished he could see it but the blissed out look on your face was too good to pass up.

Unwrapping your arms from his neck, you leaned back to get that perfect angle, your hands landing on his knees. A squeak fell from you as his tip began bullying your soft spot. Your head fell back, mouth dropped open as that delicious feeling began building in the pit of your stomach.

“Ah! Yoongi! Your cock feels s-so good!” You felt drunk, mind hazy and awareness faded. All you could focus on was the feel of him under you and the way his perfect cock slipped in and out. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, electricity spreading all the way to your fingertips and making your toes curl.

Yoongi couldn’t take his eyes off you. He didn’t even know where to look; your breasts, face, where you were connected? He could see how your arousal was dripping down to wet his pubic hair, a ring of your wetness coating the base of his cock. You were truly was a sight to behold.

That pressure was building faster than you thought. Sliding your hand down your body, your fingers connected with your clit, rubbing the nub in fast circles.

“Yoongi!”

He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Your walls clenched and constricted around him, almost suffocating him. His hands rubbed at your nipples, flicking at the piercings. You were seeing stars, the stimulation was too much. His hands roaming you, your own fingers on your clit, and his cock inside of you was all too much.

That pressure…..

“I’m cumming!”

Your hips lifted from his cock, it falling out to slap against his stomach. Your fingers rubbed at your clit until some drips of liquid came out. The motion of your fingers caused the droplets to fly everywhere, some landing on the cushions as well.

Once you were done riding it out, he was flipping you back on the couch, head pressed into the cushions and ass up in the air. He delivered a few slaps to your ass, pulling some moans from your at the sting. Your head was swimming, the sudden movement making you a little dizzy but that dizziness quickly left when Yoongi entered you again.

His cock entered you in one swift motion, hips immediately working to push and pull against you. Your ass clapped back on his hips, the fat jiggling and rippling with every move. His own orgasm was just over the horizon.

“You are so fucking sexy.” Each word was punctuated by a thrust. “You come in here looking this good and then you bounce on my cock until you squirt? Why the fuck have I been spending all my time here when you’re at home?” He was really talking to himself. Only a true idiot would leave a hot piece of ass like this at home all day. And he must really be a true idiot, probably the dumbest man alive. But not anymore.

Your moans were rising in pitch. With this position, you could every inch, every curve, absolutely everything. You could barely breathe, your brain only being able to form utterances of his name and begs of faster and harder.

That feeling in Yoongi began cresting, balls drawing up as his orgasm washed over him. His hands gripped your hips and ass hard enough to bruise but you could care less. He could bruise you up all he wanted.

His orgasm spread from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, shuddering his whole body. “F-fuck….” He breathed out. That was probably the hardest orgasm he’s ever had in his life.

Your own breath began to even out. You thought that was the end but you were suddenly flipped around back on your back. Both of your legs were hiked up over his right shoulder, thighs pressing into your chest in Yoongi’s absolute favorite position.

“You think I’m done with you?” His smirk was teasing and it caused more arousal to drip from you. He reached his hand down to line himself up before pushing into your heat. A gasp came from your throat at the intrusion, your hands coming to grip at the back of his neck.

His hips set a brutal pace, balls wetly slapping against your ass.

“Oh my god! Y-Yoongi!”

It felt like he was in your throat, every thrust hitting you in all the right spots. Your nails scratched at his neck, the slight sting only pushing him harder. He could feel your walls tightening, a tell tale sign of your orgasm. Your breasts bounced with every push, dark nipples looking incredibly enticing.

“Cum, baby. That’s it.”

Your body seized up as your second orgasm full body absorbed you. Your vision spotted white and your ears were ringing.

But not even your orgasm made him stop or slow down. He pushed faster and harder, the squelching noises getting louder as more and more wetness spilled from you.

It was like your orgasm wouldn’t stop. Wave after wave came over you. Every nerve was lit on fire, your mouth dropped but no sound came out. He had taken every word from you.

When he felt you squirt on his cock again, he shoved his full cock inside. Your toes curled so hard that you could feel them crack, legs shaking but he held them tightly. Your hands smacked against his shoulders as the stimulation became too much. You were so full.

“Yoongi!”

“Take it. Take all that cock, baby.”

You had no choice but you didn’t care. You’d give up every choice if it meant he’d fuck you like this.

He rolled his hips against yours a few more times before his own orgasm washed over him. He groaned into your throat, a full body shudder racking his body.

Lifting his head, he connected your lips in a soft kiss, a complete turn from what just went down. You hummed against his lips, hands roaming his soft skin.

He moved your legs from his shoulders, massaging your slightly sore muscles as you kissed. You both let out small moans as he pulled out of your heat, his cum flowing out of you.

Yoongi helped you clean yourself up, giving you a large elastic to tie up your hair. The sweat would definitely make your roots curl back up but that was a problem for another day. You put your dress back on as Yoongi pulled his shirt and pants back on. Your underwear found themselves tucked into his back pocket. A little silly considering he had endless access to you pussy but you guessed it was some man thing.

When Yoongi went back to his computer, leaning over the chair to click at some things, you visibly deflated, mood dampening. Was he really going back to work? You guessed you did just come to drop off food, the sex was a bonus and you did say you would leave afterwards. You just couldn’t help but feel a little sad and used. Yoongi was the king of aftercare, always running you a bath or giving you cuddles as you two calmed down from lovemaking. It’s not like this one moment would make you think Yoongi didn’t care but you did feel a little defeated.

Gathering your things, you were about to approach the door but Yoongi’s voice stopped you.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t turn to face him, feeling a little embarrassed. “Home. Aren’t you going back to work?”

A snort came from him. “Of course not.”

You gasped when his body pressed against your back, also the feeling of his boner was right on your ass.

“Yoongi….”

“You really think I’m about to work and let you go home so you can wash my cum out of you? I’m fucking you until you can’t walk.”

Maybe you should come to the studio more often.

[odiesdayoff]

So Undercover (3)

pair: Dark!Edward Nashton x fem!reader

summary: You get a little too caught up in an undercover job to unravel the Riddler.

warnings: intimidation; threats; murder; gaslighting; stalking; mentions of past noncon/smut

Part 2

“He called me a whore. Said I needed to be taught a lesson.” You wrapped your arms around Edward’s neck and buried your face into his shoulders. He got to the library as fast as he possibly could, in just about twenty minutes from the time you called. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

He gently stroked your back and let you cry into his shirt. “They made you talk to a serial killer and didn’t think that he would target you?”

You shook your head. “It’s not even a successful thing. I barely know anything about him and he knows everything about me. I think he’s going to kill me.”

With how hard you were crying, Edward’s smirk was unseen by you. He couldn’t help it. You’d fallen right into his little trap. “It’ll be okay.” You pulled away from him and allowed him to wipe the tears from your cheeks. 

~~

It was all too…surreal. To say the least. Going back to the precinct, back to work after everything that happened. You tried to hide the heat that remained on your cheeks, surely leaving at least a small tint of color different from the hue of your skin. How could embarrassment feel so much worse after the fact? All you had to do was go into the commissioner’s office and tell him that the mission was pointless. It was like telling a parent that they were wrong. 

You pushed open the thick oak doors and immediately locked eyes with the man. Pete Savage. You didn’t exactly know what his deal was, but he was never one of the “good” or “not corrupt” cops in the bunch. The doors squeaked unceremoniously shut behind you. It was then that you no longer felt like an adult, but rather a kid who was called to the principal’s office. “I wanted to talk about the Riddler Case, sir. I, well, I don’t think it’s working.” The words articulated themselves much better when you practiced them in the bathroom mirror. 

He gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk and you hesitantly took a seat. You couldn’t control the way your leg began to bounce, even with your hand resting on it. “What’s the problem?” His voice was attempting to sound kind, though the hint of annoyance still seeped through. It was still up in the air whether he was only being kind because he felt bad for you or it was just because you were a woman. 

“I no longer feel safe in my home or at work. I don’t know if you’ve seen the report from the other night, but my apartment was broken into. That, and the… sample I provided.” The embarrassment crept up once again, blood rushing to your cheeks. Admitting that a crime so personal had occurred seemed to be worse than the crime itself.

He gave you a lone nod and sighed. Was…he stopping himself from rolling his eyes? “I’m aware. I couldn’t help but notice that there were no signs of a break-in and as for the sample, are you sure it wasn’t some residue of a night you don’t want to admit to your boss?” The smirk grew as he began to think of the situation. 

“He made a key. That also means he’s been there before.” The idea had only just come to your mind. What if he’s been in your apartment while you were sleeping? You wouldn’t put it past him. You had already asked your landlord to change the locks of your front door. “And at the library. He cornered me and threatened me.”

He folded his hands and leaned forward. “You’re aware that our insurance policy covers psychiatric care, right? We have no evidence to confirm that you’re in danger. I’ll relieve you from this case for your own sake.”

You wanted to scream, cry, protest, and tell him exactly how he was wrong. Instead, you weakly nodded. You should’ve known he wouldn’t take you seriously. “Thank you, sir.” Tears threatened to spill, but you held yourself together.

In the back room again, you sorted files while angrily whispering your complaints about the commissioner. Pete Savage was nothing but a ridiculous misogynist. Corrupt, too. How can you be presented with all this information and still claim that you weren’t in danger? Who knows what might’ve happened had you not been able to use the fire escape? Not like he would care all that much.

Annette leaned against the doorframe, watching you as she usually did when she didn’t want to do her job. “Thompson told me about some secret mission you were doing while I was away. Also, I heard you just got thrown off of it.” You didn’t know what to call her slightly mocking tone. Was it holier-than-thou? I told you so?

“I left.” Anything more than a curt response was more than she deserved.

“Mhm. Well, I wouldn’t do anything like that. Not in the job description.” Like she ever did what was in her job description. That would be far too much to ask of her. How you were getting paid less than her and remain her subordinate only cemented the existence of extreme corruption in this precinct.

You angrily set the files on the floor. Well, more passive-aggressively than angry. “I was just trying to help.”

You had to keep pushing the thought of the videos and photos existing as a form of blackmail to the back of your mind. So what if you lost your job? It’s not that you necessarily enjoyed it. Life would be so much better if you could leave it and this whole godforsaken city behind you. 

~~

The older man at the desk worked relatively slowly to take in your phone and laptop. He only raised a brow when you asked for the same makes and models to trade in. “Most people choose the upgrade plan for an extra hundred.” He would repeat this until you could no longer count them on two hands. 

The sun had set by the time you reached your apartment. Your landlord handed you the new keys to the locks right as you stepped into the building. For the first time in a while, you felt safe. Nobody was watching anymore. You could breathe. 

As soon as your laptop connected to the wifi, you started to look through the online job forums. The sooner you get away from the precinct, the better. With each link you pressed, the screen would flash entirely black, only for a fraction of a second. Must’ve been a buggy site.

You sipped your tea and continued to look through the job openings. It had been quite a while since you had to do this. You were lucky enough to get your job straight out of school. Maybe you’d actually get paid what you deserved this time. 

The screen flashed again, this time a deep shade of green. You lost control of your cursor. It inched towards the top of the screen, your eyes following it while running your finger across the touchpad. It opened a new tab and then started typing. 

<?> DID YOU THINK YOU COULD GET RID OF ME <?>

You nearly choked on your tea. The laptop redirected to the same website you used to chat before. You stood from your chair. How could he possibly get in so fast? After you had been so careful? 

<?> You forgot about the windows.

He was right. You hated that he was right. In the rush of trying to cover all of your bases, you’d forgotten one of the most crucial entrances to your apartment. For all you knew, he was already through and waiting for you to try and close them. 

The front door. You could leave through there, call the GCPD, and he’d have nowhere to go. A one-way ticket to prison, or more realistically, Arkham. And you’d finally have the sense of freedom and relief you’ve been desperately wanting. 

First, the deadbolt. Then, the lock on the doorknob. You expected to see your escape when you frantically swung open the door, but there he stood. A boot collided with the door when you tried to close it on him. One gloved hand wrapped around your neck, the other on your hip.

This wasn’t like the library. That was public and he had to somewhat keep his plan contained. One curious bystander trying to be a hero could ruin everything. You were entirely in private, especially after he pushed himself in and kicked the door shut. 

“You’re so predictable. Naive. How did I know you’d try to outsmart me? I’ll give it to you, you’ve got a lot more going on in that head of yours than any of those cops you work with or politicians you work for. You’re still nothing compared to me.” He pushed you further back into your living room as he spoke. Maybe he was right all along and he knew you more than you knew yourself. He saw right through you. 

You clawed at his hand, scratching the leather in an attempt to loosen his grip. “I’m done. I’m not working with them anymore!”

The hand on your neck moved to gently stroke your hair. It would’ve been comforting if not for the leather catching and pulling the hair by accident. His other hand pulled you closer, against his chest. “I know, I know. That doesn’t matter anymore.” He cooed, voice still distorted by the mask. “Do you still have my gift?” 

There’s no way in hell you would admit that you kept it. The biggest reason wasn’t sentimental, you just had no idea where you could possibly throw it away. It’s been gathering dust in your closet ever since that night.

You couldn’t tell if he was smiling at your hesitancy and subsequent lack of an answer. “Don’t worry, why use it when you have the real thing right here? After all, I deserve a thank you.”

“For what?” You stumbled back farther until you hit your kitchen counter. It was then that you knew you were cooked. He pressed his body against yours, feeling the heat of his jacket seep through your shirt. 

“Your promotion.” His hands roamed around your body. He slightly chucked at the sight of your confused expression. “I take it they haven’t found her body yet.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Body?”

He stroked your hair. “Can’t say I don’t do anything for you. There’s a phone in my back pocket for you to call her doorman to make sure. Maybe she’ll still be kicking.” 

Shaking like a leaf, you reached into his back pocket. The device you felt was a burner, blocky, and lacking a touch screen. The number, saved as DOORMAN , was preset and ready for you to dial. You held the phone to your ear and listened to the dial tone. 

The man answered with little to no emotion. Probably nearing the end of his shift. “Hi. I need you to check on the woman that lives in C11.” You couldn’t tell if the fear in your voice was evident through the microphone. 

“Who’s this? Why are you calling?” He didn’t seem to care. None of the urgency that you desperately needed was there.

You shook your head. “No, no. That’ll waste time! I think she’s going to hurt herself and I need you to go up there right now.” The Riddler’s hands trailed lower on your body, caressing your thighs. 

The doorman shuffled from his seat and you could faintly hear him walking up the stairs to Annette’s apartment unit. He knocked, but the door was opened slightly already. The squeak of the hinges was caught by the phone’s mic. 

He screamed and you didn’t need to know what he was seeing for your heart to fall to your stomach. The first tear broke the seal and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying. Hands pressed against your panties, trying to increase the friction of the fabric against your clit. “Who are you? Why did you do this?” The questions were directed towards you.

“I, I didn’t…” None of the words could form in your mouth. They could barely appear in your brain in the first place. The phone was snatched from your hand and the call ended. He threw the phone on the floor. Your hands were now free to try and keep his at bay. “What do you want from me?”

“At first, I wanted to see how much you GCPD pigs knew about me. I’ll have to admit, you intrigued me.” He caught a grip on your wrists and pushed your hands against the counter. “You don’t even know what you do to me, baby. I just want you.” If it wasn’t him, it would’ve made you swoon. It could have even been sultry. Maybe if Edward had said it.

“No. No, I’m nothing special.” You weren’t sure what your tactic was anymore. All you needed him to do was leave you alone. Preferably forever, but just tonight would work as well.

Through the mask, his eyes narrowed. He shook his head. “Don’t think like that. You can help me fix this city. Fix me .”

[copper-16]

been thinking about your platonic andrea + lola fic especially since andrea missed the last penalty that took atletico out of the CL. would you ever write a fic about that?

idk andrea feeling really guilty and pulling away from the team and lola reminding her that she’s more than just her bad moments on the pitch?

:)

The way this ask made me GASP...I posted this fic OVER a year ago and someone still remembers it? I cannot explain my excitement, especially because it's such a little niche/rarepair fic. It makes my YEAR when people still remember those silly little fics I made. If rarepair or platonic stuff was more popular I would probably have a million fics to write, honestly.

I wasn't ever planning to write about them again - but I pumped something out solely because I was so excited by you mentioning it 😭 It's not a full fic necessarily which is why I'm just posting it on here.

I Try, I Try

Andrea misses the penalty, crushing Atlético Madrid's dream of playing in the Champions League. Crushing Lola's dream of playing in the Champions League. The defender struggles to cope before she receives an important reminder.

If there was one thing that would have motivated Lola to save every single one of those penalties, it would be the sight of Andrea on the pitch after missing her own. It was burned into her brain it felt like, the image of the younger girl right next to the celebrating Rosenborg team, her head in her hands. 

Lola was absolutely disappointed after the loss. But she had been lucky to have a long career, to have won a Champions League trophy, to have experienced so many losses and victories. But the defender was still young, and it was a different kind of pressure and expectation to be the one to take the final penalty in a shootout. Especially one where the result determined if they had a shot at playing on the international stage. 

And Andrea hadn’t even flinched when she had been selected, insisting that she was ready. She was putting on a brave face, Lola could tell. 

But it was that kind of strength and the right attitude that made good players great ones. The keeper was proud of her for being a team player and fighting till the end, even if it wasn’t their day. Even if she wanted to cry, the blonde made her way around to her other teammates, patting them on the back and holding back her clear upset. 

Lola simply wished it didn’t have to end this way. The younger girl had been nearly catatonic in the changing room, on the bus ride, on the plane. 

It had been Carmen who had taken Andrea home, given that the two of them lived in the same apartment building. Lola had pulled the older defender aside, asking her quietly to keep an eye on their younger teammate. 

When the keeper asked Andrea if she wanted to come over to her and Christina’s apartment, she only received a muted head shake in response. The younger girl could barely even look her in the eyes as she brushed the keeper off, though not unkindly. 

It had taken less than two hours for Carmen to call Lola to come over, her voice filled with worry. 

The older woman rode a strange line sometimes, wanting to respect Andrea’s boundaries while also understanding that sometimes people didn’t always exactly say what they wanted. She did feel a certain responsibility to protect the defender from the harsh realities of the world, but she couldn’t solve everything. 

Personally, she hated the fact, even if she knew that she held no control over it. 

She makes it to Andrea and Carmen’s apartment building in record time, meeting her former partner by the door to the younger girlfriend’s apartment.

“I could hear her crying in her room when I was making her some food and I…I don’t know. She hates being alone, it feels more like she’s trying to punish herself than process,” Carmen said with exasperation, but underneath her tone is thinly veiled worry. 

“You probably aren’t far off,” Lola acquiesced, turning her head briefly to look at the door. “I’ve got her, you can go back up to your place. Don’t forget to ice your knee,” the keeper said with as much captainly authority as she could muster. Carmen rolled her eyes good-naturedly, saluting her teammate somewhat mockingly before she turned to head back up to her own place. 

Lola lets herself into Andrea’s apartment, and despite the fact that the defender’s door is closed, she can hear the muted sounds of crying that ring through the space. She doesn’t even hesitate, striding over to the younger girl’s room before she opens the door gently, poking her head in. 

The soft crying noises shut off abruptly, the entire room entering into a precarious stillness. Lola felt her heart sink at the evidence of the girl’s sadness, even if she knew it was there. 

The older woman doesn’t even bother with asking for an invitation, she simply moves into the room, climbing into Andrea’s bed with her. 

This bed held a million memories, at least for the keeper. Late-night conversations and confessions, the loudest of laughs, a safe space for tears. The mattress greets her warmly, sinking under her as she moves her body closer to Andrea’s, placing her hand gently on the defender’s back. 

“Lola, go away,” Andrea insists, attempting to sound more firm than she felt. Her words come out sounding more like they are from a tearful child, not that Lola cares. 

“It is okay to be upset Andrea, it is okay to cry,” Lola tries, but the blonde still shifts away from her, and the sound of a stuttering breath punctuates the silence around them. 

There is a pause before the younger girl speaks again, her words dripping with rage. 

Not for the team, but rather for herself. 

“It is my fault that we lost. I shouldn’t be crying over something that I had control over.” 

Lola sits up slightly after hearing her words, placing her head in her hand, her elbow pressing into the mattress. When she speaks, her voice is firm, with little room for argument. 

“No, it is not.” 

The sheer force of her words is enough to make Andrea pause and relent in turning over slightly to peer at the dark-haired woman. 

She expects Lola to be looking at her with anger, with frustration. 

First, she lost them an important game, all because she couldn’t shoot a ball into the net properly. Like it wasn’t her only job to do exactly that. 

And now, she was acting like a child, hiding in her bed when all she wanted was a hug and a reminder that she wasn’t the worst footballer in the world. 

She was older now, and she needed to grow up and be realistic. There wasn’t time for all of her big, unnecessary emotions. 

But Lola isn’t looking at her with anger or frustration. She looks more apprehensive and concerned than anything else, and Andrea turns over more fully to face her. 

“I’m so sorry Lola,” she whispers, crushed by the thought that she was the one who ended not only her dreams, the dreams of the team, but Lola’s dream. 

The keeper shakes her head instantly, her expression filling with sympathy. 

“Andrea, it is not your fault. There were 120 minutes, and four other penalties besides your own. This doesn’t rest on all you, I promise,” Lola points out, but Andrea cuts her off with a humorless laugh. 

“Yes, but if I had just made my penalty, my one job, we wouldn’t be here,” she counters, averting her eyes from the older woman. 

“And if I had saved more of the penalties, or the goals, we wouldn’t be here either,” Lola comments, but it doesn’t seem to do anything other than upset the defender more. 

“That is different, and you know it. Nobody expects a keeper to save a penalty, but it is the job of the players to score,” Andrea’s voice is forceful, as though she’s trying to convince herself of the words. 

“By the time we made it to penalties, we had already failed our job. All of us, the whole team, not just you. Just because you are the one who went last, doesn’t mean that our failures for the whole game lay completely on your shoulders,” Lola argues, and when the blonde doesn’t say anything in response, she continues. 

“This is not your fault. We all miss penalties or make mistakes on the job. I can’t even begin to count how many mistakes I have made in my career Andrea, truly. As much as I hate it, it’s a part of the game. And it doesn’t matter how many times it happens, or how old you are, you are allowed to be upset over it. It doesn’t make you immature or weak to cry or feel upset,” the keeper emphasizes, and when she sees the younger girl’s lip begin to wobble, she knows that she’s hit the root of the problem. 

“I’m twenty years old, I shouldn’t be acting this way over a penalty,” she sputters, and Lola settles herself back on the mattress, pulling the younger girl into her. 

“I don’t care how old or mature you are, you are allowed to be upset about things. I am twenty-nine years old and–” Lola starts, though the defender is quick to interject despite her sadness. 

“Aren’t you thirty-on–” Andrea is cut off with a hand that quickly covers her mouth, smothering the rest of her sentence. 

“Shush, I am in my twenties and I haven't finished speaking. As I was saying, I am older than you and I still cry about things all the time, when I feel the need to. It is natural and it is normal, just like it is to talk to other people around you. There is no rule book that says you must go through this alone because you feel that you are the one at fault for the situation. All you are doing is punishing yourself when I promise, you don’t have to,” Lola reassures, Andrea now tucked into her side, her head laying on Lola’s chest. 

There is a pause as silent tears slip down the blonde’s cheeks, as the words of the older woman wash over her. 

“I am so sorry Lola,” she emphasizes, and it’s the repetition of the word that causes the keeper to look down in confusion. 

“Why are you saying sorry to me?” She asks, a little lost on why Andrea needed to apologize to her specifically. 

“You are further along in your career, these chances aren’t always easy to come by, and I screwed it up. I blew your chance this year, and who knows if we’ll have this opportunity again,” Andrea’s voice is small, emotion caught in her throat. 

“I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t…” 

The blonde’s words trail off, but the unspoken part of her sentence is heard loud and clear. 

Please don’t hate me. 

“I could never, I promise you that. You are my teammate, but more importantly, you are my friend. I am proud of you each time you step out onto the pitch, and I consider myself so lucky to be your teammate. We win together, and we lose together. I love you far too much to ever let something like football come between us, even if it is an important match. It’s just a game, and you are…tan especial para mí,” Lola vows, feeling the younger girl curl further into her side, a sigh of relief leaving her exhausted body. 

And it was true. The defender meant so much more to her than anything that football might bring or take away, and she would much rather prioritize that than over something she knew could slip out from under her at any moment. 

“Te amo pequeña,” the older woman murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of Andrea’s head. 

The younger girl snuggles into her further, tear tracks down her face finally beginning to dry as she settles into the taller woman. 

“Thank you Mama Lola. Te amo,” she whispers as she drifts off, disappointment now accompanied by the knowledge that she would overcome this. 

And by the fact that she didn’t have to do it alone.

[mariacrow]

❉ TFP Ratchet x reader ❉

It’s been some time since problems at home were keeping you away from it. You would stay in the base for days, weeks… Sleep on the couch and barely eat. When you wouldn’t go out to get food, Miko, Jack or Raf would bring some of their home cooking or just pick up something on their way to the base. Everyone is concerned for you… Especially Ratchet.

1st person

female reader

angst and fluff

takes place in the TFP base

bad mood, concern, crying, comfort

suggestive relationship between Ratchet and the reader

I overslept today, again… As usual, I couldn’t sleep so I stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning, I can’t even remember�� I was watching TV on the couch or just scrolling through my phone. I woke up at around 11:30am.

“Morning, sleepy head.” Ratchet said, working since early hours. He needs only a couple of hours of stasis to rest and go back to work. Last night he was still up when I went to sleep.

“Good morning…” I said in a groggy voice while going down the stairs, heading to the bathrooms to do my morning routine. Thankfully this base belonged to the military so it has bathrooms.

Bulkhead walked past me, seeing I’m not in the mood for morning talk. Then he approached Ratchet.

“She bunked in here again, huh?” he asked.

“Again.” Ratchet confirmed, sounding more concerned than irritated. Not getting his eyes off the computer and control panel.

“I kinda worry about her man…” Bulkhead said, looking at my direction.

“We all worry.” Ratchet said.

“You know she only talks to you, right? As in talk talk. THE talk.”

“Yes, I know, Bulkhead.” Ratchet sighed, “But this is not something she’d open up so easily about. Now can you let me work in peace? Please.” he wasn’t irritated by Bulk, it was the concern that wouldn’t leave his head keeping him away from concentration.

Bulkhead nodded, “I’ll go on patrol.” he said before he transformed and left the base.

“Very wise.” Ratchet said.

I went back to the little cozy human corner we made, sitting on the couch, checking my phone. No sounds coming from me except yawning.

“You need to eat.” Ratchet said.

“I’m not hungry…”

“Y/N, it is not healthy for your organism.”

“You’re a robot medic, for robots, not humans… If I’m not hungry, I don’t eat.”

Ratchet sighed in irritation, “For Primus’ sake. Bumblebee and Rafael will be here soon with some food and drinks.”

I didn’t respond to that.

“…Y/N. Come here.” he said as he stopped working, looking at me.

I sighed and left my phone, barely getting myself to stand up, dragging my feet to his working area. Leaning against the metal fence, keeping my head bowed. He was right at my eye level but I had no courage to look him in the optics.

“Look at me.” he said calmly, in a quiet and soft manner.

I looked slightly to the side.

“Y/N, look at me. Please…” I’ve never heard him talk like this before…

I finally looked into his optics like a sad puppy.

“What?” was the only word that I could muster.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong, I can help you.”

“You can’t help me-“

“I can. WE can. You just need to talk to us. I know you find it difficult to open up but now it is time. If you don’t want to talk to them, at least talk to me… I am your guardian.” he interrupted.

“You never wanted to admit you’re my guardian-“

“Well I am!” he interrupted again, he sounded kinda proud. “Perhaps I never wanted to say it in front of others because… I guess I just.. I don’t know…”

That made my heart ache… “It’s okay, Ratchet… I understand…”

“No, no it is not okay. I am here to protect you. I am here for you.”

I’ve never heard him speak like that… It made my face expression soften up. Everything has been piling up lately and this was my breaking point… I hid my face in my hands as I started quietly crying…

“I’m sorry, Ratchet… I’m so sorry… I didn’t want to hide anything from you, I just-…” I sobbed.

He didn’t really know how to react. He isn’t good at this, at comforting. But he could feel his spark ache… He might be a grumpy old medic but he isn’t sparkless…

He carefully picked me up, gently holding me in his servos as he brought me to his chassis. I couldn’t help but cling onto him like a baby koala, hiding in the crook of his neck while quietly sobbing.

“Don’t cry… Please, don’t cry…” he said, gently rubbing my back, “Everything is going to be alright… I’m here for you. All of us are here for you. I’ve heard it’s difficult at home…”

I nodded, “Yeah…” whimpering as I was trying to calm down.

“You can stay here as much as you’d like, sweetheart. You’re more than welcomed.”

I nodded again, clinging onto him harder.

“Shhh… It’s alright… I’m not going anywhere…”

“Th-thank you, Ratchet…” I stuttered due to my unstable breathing.

“But promise me one thing, sweetums.”

“Yeah..? Wh-what is it..?” I looked up at him as he looked down at me, bringing me closer to his face plate.

“Eat and drink. Do not neglect yourself, it is very unhealthy. You already lost weight, I can feel it…” he said while gently drying my eyes with his digit.

I nodded, rubbing my reddish nose. “Yes. I promise.”

“That’s a good girl.” he said as he softly kissed my forehead, scooting some hair away from my face. He made me smile and cheer up.

“Can I stay here while you work…? I mean.. here here…” here in his comforting embrace.

“Naturally.” he said with a warm smile as he held me with one of his servos, continuing to work with the other. I could feel his spark getting warmer which comforted me even more.

+ bonus +

Arcee, Bumblebee and Optimus in the back.

Arcee: …what in the-

Bumblebee: *while holding food* buzz beepboop buzzbuzz beepboopbeep

Optimus: indeed, Bumblebee. I have never seen Ratchet like this before either.

Arcee: well she definitely found his soft spot. Never knew he actually had one.

Optimus: Ratchet might be rough on the edges but inside.. he cares about all of us very deeply. *epic OP speech*

No, I don’t have a father figure, how did you know?

Dividers belong to @cute-sushi-roll , @conanstars 🧡

[ramblingoak]

The Cardinal’s Bride, Chapter 1: Heading West

~ A Romantic Adventure in the Old West: After being forced into a marriage with Mr. Saltarian by your father you are sent west to his estate in Nevada.  Along the way you end up meeting one of the cowboys you have always fantasized about... ~

~~ Please visit The Outlaw Brides Masterpost for later chapters and to read more stories from this world ~~

Thank you to @tasty-ribz for the wanted poster!  For some more amazing fanart check out: @meowsaidmissy (1 / 2), @snail-shell2335  here, @vahvco here, @ghulehgwen here, @rabidghoul here, @nocterish here, @enjoy-my-swearing​ here, @blacktie-whitenoise (1 /2), @z-xmyers (1/2/3/4), @foxybouquet here, _simpera_ on instagram and valkyrieinpink on twitter.  Also a huge thank you to @kissingghouls for all her help and emotional support.

Cardinal Copia x Female Reader ~ slow burn romance, adventure, violence, nsfw, 18+ only mdni, 2k words ~

He could remember the heat of the flames against his skin…the shouting…the screaming. 

He could remember everyone scrambling to escape…crying for their friends and loved ones.

He could remember seeing people for the last time…not knowing if they died from a bullet or the fire.

He could remember his face…watching from the edge of town…smiling…proud of himself.

He remembered these things every day…they ate away at him like a disease.

But most of all he remembered how much he hated him.

And how good it would feel to get his revenge.

~~~  ~~~  ~~~  ~~~  ~~~  ~~~  ~~~

“You will marry Mr. Saltarian and that is the final word on the matter.”

Your father’s voice echoed in your head as you looked forlornly out the stagecoach window.  Miles and miles of dry land had passed you by.  No longer were you surrounded by the fertile fields of your home, Missouri was far away at this point.  You were getting closer and closer to your fate.  Closer and closer to a man you had never met but would soon be calling your husband.

The comments about “dear Mr. Saltarian" started a few months ago.  You heard about how wise and handsome he was.  How he had a large estate in Nevada that was beautiful, but needed a woman’s touch.  That his job as a bank owner afforded him every luxury one could imagine.

But mostly how Mr. Saltarian needed a wife and how it was going to be you.

You had chosen not to comment on any attempts your parents made to talk about the man.  There wasn’t a point anyway, you had been told for years now that they were looking for a good match for you.  You couldn’t live with your parents forever and you didn’t want to, but why couldn’t you find someone that you loved?  Why did it have to be this man, miles and miles away from the only home you had ever known?

According to the whispers you had overheard from your father’s butler and a few of the cooks it was because of money.  Apparently your father had gotten a loan years ago from Mr. Saltarian and had been unable to pay it off.  Now he either must sell his business and your home or find some other way to repay the man.

“Luckily for the boss his daughter is pretty and unwed, that’ll be payment enough won’t it?” 

You had turned and ran back down the corridor as their laughter echoed behind you.  Flinging herself into your mother’s arms you had begged her to talk your father out of it.  Begged her to let you stay and find someone you loved to marry and let you have a chance at being happy.  She had remained stiff and quiet in your arms for a few moments until you finally had stopped sobbing, little hiccups escaping you as you tried to control yourself.

“My daughter, most women do not have the luxury to choose who they marry.  You will learn to love Mr. Saltarian just like I learned to love your father.”  Your eyes searched her face, looking for any sign of remorse for what she was doing to you but it remained impassive and blank.

You had finally resigned yourself to your fate, to be unhappy and basically sold to a man you barely knew.  He hadn’t even come with the associates and stagecoach he had sent for you.  There were six men in total, two drivers and four others that looked more like thugs than bank employees.  You watched as they had loaded the few trunks of belongings you were allowed to bring.  They were dressed all in black and remained quiet throughout their preparations.  

When a few of them started to check their weapons over before you all left you couldn’t help but look scared.  You’d never seen so many guns in your life, the only gun you’d ever seen up close was a small revolver your father owned.  These men had revolvers at their hips and rifles in their hands.  One of them noticed your wide eyed stare and chuckled. “You’ll be thankful we have these if we run into any bandits on the road.” 

The man that seemed to be in charge walked over to your father and mother and started speaking to them in a low voice.  You didn’t hear everything he said but he mentioned having to watch for a particular group of bandits on the way to Nevada.  He mentioned that Mr. Saltarian was worried about the stagecoach being attacked and you possibly being kidnapped.  What have your parents gotten you involved with?

Even though you were scared you couldn’t help a small thrill from racing through you at the mention of bandits and even the possibility of being kidnapped.  As a refined, sophisticated young woman you were supposed to show interest in delicate activities such as knitting, embroidery or just sitting quietly and looking pretty.  But you had always loved stories of the lawless west.  Tales of cowboys and bandits filled your head when you sat prim and proper in church.  When you laid in bed at night you often imagined what it would be like running into a ruggedly handsome gunslinger.

You especially thought about this while you touched yourself.

As the guard spoke more it was apparent that there was one person in particular that Saltarian’s men were worried about: The Cardinal.  You had heard of him before, his exploits often made the newspaper headlines and you had seen his wanted poster in the window of a few local businesses.  There were usually a few of the other members of his gang nearby as well, the papers had taken to calling them Ghouls.  The sketches they made of the Ghouls were frightening, they looked almost demon-like with their faces hidden behind silver masks.

But the one of The Cardinal didn’t frighten you at all.  Even with many sketches showing him to have odd, discolored eyes.  A white eye that people speculated was given to him by the devil himself.  You weren’t ashamed to admit you thought him handsome.  He wore what looked like black kohl around his eyes, making them even more mesmerizing.  The posters showed other ways to identify him, he usually had a mustache and sideburns and he often wore a long dark red duster.

No one knew his real name, or that of any of his Ghouls.  The rumor was that he had grown up in a church (and a devil worshiping one at that) if you believed some of the gossip.  Some people said he was unhappy with his place in the church and had murdered most of the upper clergy.  Others said the nearby town had finally had enough of the evil church and burned it all down one night, with many of the members still inside.  Either way it was said The Cardinal was one of the few surviving members and that he rode through the western lands with his Ghouls committing evil acts in the name of Lucifer.

You shook your head and brushed your hands down the front of your traveling dress.  It was a dress your mother had made specifically for your trip.  She had chosen a fabric that was white and blue and to you completely impractical for traveling in the dusty west.  It had already gotten stained while you were able to stretch your legs during the short stops the guards had allowed.  You did like that it had pockets though and you snuck your hand into one to grip the folded piece of paper you had slipped in there.

While the dressmaker and your mother had been speaking you had drifted to the shop window and seen one of The Cardinal’s wanted posters.  You snuck a peak back at the two women and glanced briefly out to the street before pulling the poster off the window.  It seemed such a silly thing to do, but you figured if you were being forced to marry a boring bank owner like Mr. Saltarian you should allow yourself a small thrill.  Something to look at when lying alone in the dark in your new home.

Your daydreaming ended when you heard a commotion outside the stagecoach.  One of the two guards that sat across from you stuck their head out the window to speak with the drivers.  You saw the other two guards that were on horseback ride by quickly, the horses kicking dust up as they sped off.  The men had their guns out and the sunlight glinted off the metal.  Your heart started pounding in your chest, what was happening?

All at once both drivers started shouting and you could hear loud popping sounds out in the distance.  You rushed to look out the window but one of the guards shoved you back into your seat.  “Stay down!”  The man turned and looked out the window and you could easily see the fear on his face.  The popping sounds started again and were beginning to get closer.  One of the guards aimed their rifle out the window and started shooting.  You couldn’t help but yelp and throw your hands over your ears at the loud sound.

The stagecoach suddenly veered off to the left and the momentum flung you and the guards to the side.  You were able to grip the window while the guards ended up on the floor, their rifles falling from their hands.  You looked outside and your mouth fell open as you saw numerous figures on horseback in the distance, quickly gaining ground to the stagecoach.  You couldn’t tell how many there were through the dust in the air, but the guards with you were obviously outnumbered.  You didn’t even see the two that had been on horseback anymore.  

As the group got closer one rider broke away and quickly started gaining ground on you.  One of the drivers leaned out from his seat in the corner of your eye and you yelped when he started firing at the rider.  You watched as he leaned to the side and his horse quickly maneuvered out of the way.  He then pulled his own gun out and fired off a series of rounds towards where the drivers were sitting.

The man was focused on where he was shooting and didn’t seem to have noticed you, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.  He brought his horse closer to the side of the carriage and you saw the group of riders behind him split with half going around behind you and the other going closer to the front, getting closer and closer to the drivers.

Abruptly he turned his head and your mouth fell open at what you saw.  Two familiar mismatched eyes looked into your own.  The other features you saw were familiar to you as well, a mustache and sideburns.  Over his shoulders was a dusty dark red coat flapping in the air as he rode next to you.  You brought your eyes back to his and a sudden grin flashed over his face and he winked at you before pulling away and riding around the back with his other riders.

A hard grip on your arm shook you out of your trance and you were pulled back into the carriage as the guard reloaded his rifle.  The drivers were shouting again and you could just make out what they were saying over the commotion of hooves and gunfire.  It was something you didn’t need to hear though, you already knew who was out there.

“It’s The Cardinal!  He’s found us!”

Go to Chapter 2: La Principessa

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

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[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

It Happened Quiet (DBS Broly x Superpowered! Reader)

(I gave the reader powers because I can 😈; implied future romance, ‘I can fix him’ literature)

When she’d first discovered her way with words, Y/N had been afraid to speak. There wasn’t a way she could control it. It hurt the people she loved, and only brought bad luck. Her voice only brought her fear—so she lived in silence.

Never did the possibility of helping someone with her power occur to her. Never did she think it would save the people she loved so dearly.

***

“Y/N, you good?!”

I looked up at Bulma incredulously and shook my head, but nothing could really compare to being able to shout no, i’m not fucking okay. But I’d given up shouting, at least until it became the last resort after our Saiyans got defeated. So I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, hid behind Whis, and muscled through the horribly disorienting feeling that only comes from watching gods battle—after all, I was one of those gods’ backup plan.

I bit back a scream as a stray blast exploded next to us, flying to my feet in terror—I should be at home, cuddled up on the sofa with a couple of chocolate brownies, watching some dumb soap opera or prank show on tv! Not shitting myself surrounded by a sea of lava, feeling the literal world quaking around me, risking my fucking life just in case the weapon of mass destruction inside my throat might come in handy. They had no idea how lucky they were I physically couldn’t complain. Well, Whis aside.

Then—a scream.

“Aaaagh!”

My stomach flipped at the sound of Goku’s agonized cry and I looked out from behind the refuge of Whis to see what had happened. I almost yelped as a body flew directly past my face, and Goku’s body crashed into the rock. I looked to Vegeta on the ground next to Bulma, totally out of commission as well. My shoulders slumped. It was definitely about to be my turn. I signed, asking of Goku was okay, Bulma watched my hands, then turned to him.

“Goku, Y/N’s asking if you’re okay!”

He smiled weakly. “I’m…”

I rose my eyebrows.

“I’m gonna need a minute…”

Shit.

A gentle swoop in the air behind me made me whirl around in alarm, seeing Whis calmly evade the rabid Saiyan as he roared in frustration, throwing punches and kicks furiously. My stomach clenched into a fist. I was definitely going to die.

Focusing on what I could control, I turned to Bulma, signing again.

Tell Goku to Instant Transmission all of you, I instructed.

“What? Why?”

I’m going to talk the crazy one down, you guys need to be out of the way.

She paled visibly in the glow of the lava. “Don’t need to tell me twice. Help me with Vegeta.”

He let out a pained groan as we struggled with his weight, but ultimately managed to drag him over next to Goku.

“Goku,” Bulma said, nudging him.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, “Can you Instant Transmission us out of here?”

“Uh…yeah…”

I turned to check in on Whis and the Saiyan—Whis was barely even moving. With a relieved sigh, I nodded to Bulma.

Get out of here.

“We’re out! C’mon Goku.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, trying to lift his arm.

“Oh—do you—do—“

“I…I got it.”

“It really doesn’t look—“

His arm finally lifted and curled, and they disappeared. I stared at the empty ground for a moment, then braced myself at I turned around.

“Whis!”

The angel cooly turned his gaze to me, dodging the Saiyan’s attacks.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Bring him over here! I got this!”

Whis rose his eyebrows, considering him, then looking back to me.

“Do you?”

“Just get him over here!”

“If you insist…”

In a flash, Whis landed in front of me.

“He’s coming, shall I move—“

“Oh my god, he’s huge—“

“Y/N…”

“It’s good, I’m good, just stay close in case I need a quick escape.”

I stepped out from behind Whis, fixing my eyes on the crazed, bloodthirsty pair that shifted to meet mine. My heart jumped at the Saiyan’s devilish grin upon finding a new target, but I held my ground, swallowing. My voice would work, it always works, there was no reason to think otherwise. I looked to Whis, gesturing and jutting my head to tell him to get out of earshot. He nodded and hovered, flying away. The green-haired berserker snarled at the sight of Whis departing and flew after him until—

“Hey!”

His head immediately snapped towards me. I fixed my gaze on his and relaxed my shoulders. The thought of getting a giant, glowing, green-haired and completely nuts Saiyan to obey my words, let alone hear them seemed incredulous.

“Come here,” I commanded.

Just as I’d feared, he only stared in confusion, then shifted his attention to where Whis once was, but he’d disappeared. He growled as she searched the area, then fixed his eyes on me again. My stomach dropped. Oh, fuck.

He started to fly closer to me, clearly sizing me up. I wasn’t going to give him a good fight, but I doubt a berserk Saiyan has such epicurean tastes in who they pummel into the ground. I gulped, holding his chilling stare as he closed in.

“Stop,” I said weakly.

His ignored my voice, and my stomach flipped. Shit, I was too scared. I needed to calm down. I closed my eyes, feeling the air grow static around me as he got closer. I opened my eyes, looking up to meet his gaze.

“Stop.”

He halted, and relief flooded my body. I let out a shaky breath, then smiled.

“Calm down,” I gently told him, “You don’t need to fight anymore.”

I watched with slight amazement as the tension in his shoulders released, and his hair slowly began to turn black again. The rage that clouded his eyes started to clear.

“Come here.”

He coasted over and landed in front of me. I swallowed, feeling my legs buckle as I was dwarfed by his towering, muscular figure. I glanced up, hoping to meet his eyes, but I only got an eyeful of his chest. I craned my neck to meet his eyes behind his dark hair. He was staring at me in bewilderment, and I’m sure I was doing the same.

“No more fighting,” I said, “The fight’s over.”

He frowned, muttering to me. “…Over?”

I nodded. “It’s done.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “But…”

“But?”

He looked away, posture sinking.

“What is it,” I asked.

“My…”

He frowned, then fell silent. I lifted my hand slowly so as not to startle him.

“May I?”

After considering my for a moment, he nodded.

I reached out and gently touched his arm. He tensed in surprise but relaxed soon after. I closed my eyes, seeing a blur of images—crashing and loud roars and unbearable thirst—until it finally zeroed in on a large silhouette. It was a man. He was hunched over, leaned against the mouth of a cave. Although I couldn’t see it, I knew he was frowning deeply.

“You were meant for more than this, Broly,” he said gruffly, “That bastard—King Vegeta—he did this to us. He’s reason why we suffer like this.”

His head turned to us. I swallowed, feeling uneasy. I didn’t like the feeling of being under his gaze.

“We will avenge ourselves, son.”

I heard thunder rumbling in the sky.

“I’ll make sure we get the justice we deserve.”

Lighting struck behind the man and my ears filled with agonized screams—I was blinded by pale white light, then blasts and battle cries, and in the midst, I could see the cold, dead body of a strange bearded man in a purple skirt. Wait—I’d seen him before, he was here, not just a moment ago…was he dead? My thoughts were violently interrupted as cold sweats covered my entire body as a shock of pain snaked up my entire arm and I pulled away from him, crying out despite myself. Gripping my wrist, I watched as my hand shook uncontrollably and turned to look back at Broly. He had crouched down in concern.

“You’re hurt,” he said softly.

I shook my head, trying to reassure him. “No, no, I—“

“I’m sorry…it’s my fault.”

He kneeled down, reaching for my hands and taking them in his. I froze, watching his large hands engulf mine. Despite their gentle hold I could feel the power coursing through them—power I just witnessed.

“I…know the shaking.”

I looked up at his face with more ease. His features were rough, but his countenance gave them a delicacy and care that was mystifying. He felt my stare and looked at me, but I timidly averted my gaze.

The tremors throughout my arm and hand went away as he carefully squeezed my hand a few times. It felt strangely warm between his palms; I wonder if he was using ki. I slowly took my hand back and he easily let go.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Ah, lovely, it seems you’ve tamed him.”

The pleasant lilt of Whis’s voice made my spine go erect with inexplicable embarrassment and quickly move away from Broly. I cleared my throat.

“Anyone left”, I asked.

“All that seems to be left is Lord Frieza…although he seems to be less interested in keeping up our little skirmish.”

I moved past Whis to fix my eyes on Freiza’s small form in the distance, my stomach twisting with disgust and fear. A pang of shame always followed when I remembered I still feared him, but I had to cut myself some slack—it was Freiza, after all.

“If Freiza’s all that’s left, this fight’s over.”

If anyone knows the extent of my abilities, it’s him. Despite the fact I could feel that he was staring at me from so far away, I turned around, looking at Whis.

“We should leave.”

“And what of…I’m sorry, I never got your name,” Whis remarked, turning his attention to the Saiyan.

“Broly,” he said.

I looked towards him again, but broke my gaze when I realized he was still watching me.

“Well, Broly…where do you have to go?”

“My father,” he said quietly.

Whis nodded. “Your father died on the battlefield, am I correct?”

Broly shrunk even more. “Yes. It was…my fault.”

“Your—“

I caught myself, going back to signing again. Broly eyed my hands in confusion.

Your fault?

“Y/N is asking why it’s your fault,” Whis said.

He looked at me soulfully, his dark eyes filled with guilt and fear.

“I lost control. I always do…I hurt him…”

He fixed his eyes on the ground and his hair hid his face. I swallowed at the familiarity.

“Well, then, what are we to do,” Whis muttered to himself.

A glowing light suddenly surrounded Broly that made me jump back in alarm—was he that upset? I yelped and grabbed onto Whis as he shot up from the ground and into the sky. I watched in bewilderment until my eyes settled on Shenron and his subsequent departure. A wish?

Not too long after, a small ship flew into the darkened skies after Broly into space. Whis and I shared a look and I awkwardly let him go.

“Seems like that problem is solved; shall we reunite with Goku and the others?”

I stared quietly with a soft ache of disappointment.

“Yeah.”

[bard-llama]

WiP Wednesday: Ba Sing Se Body Swap

Who doesn't love a good enemies get body swapped fic? In which Aang is not prepared for Zuko's chronic pain or the realities of retail life and Zuko has more trouble controlling his airbending than expected.

The first thing Aang became aware of was pain. His head was killing him as he blearily opened his eyes to the first rays of dawn shining through his window.

Except it wasn’t his window, it took him a moment to realize. He was not where he’d gone to sleep last night – nor was he with his friends, which was greatly concerning. What was going on?

He groaned, rubbing his face in hopes of soothing the pain. It didn’t work, but it did reveal that his face felt weird. The skin around his left eye was all tight and textured and touching it just made the pain worse, so he quickly lowered his hands, looking around for a mirror.

What he saw when he found one did not make sense. Firstly, he had hair, which just felt bizarre. Secondly, it was not his face looking back at him. But it was a face he recognized (though the hair was new), and he chewed on his lip, trying to figure out why Zuko was looking back at him in the mirror.

There was a knock on the door and someone called, “are you up? Our shift starts in an hour.”

“What?” Aang blurted out, beyond confused. What was even happening!? His head felt like it was splitting apart and nothing made any sense and–

“At the teashop,” the other person said. Aang didn’t think he recognized the voice – but when he hesitantly opened the screen door, the old man who followed Zuko around was standing there.

“Good morning, Nephew,” the old man greeted, smiling at him.

Aang stared. 

“Let’s eat breakfast,” the old man invited and Aang followed him numbly into a small living space with a couch across from a table with two chairs. 

Aang sat down in one, wondering what was going on. 

“Are you all right?” asked the old man – who was apparently Zuko’s Uncle? Because he’d called Aang ‘nephew’, only it wasn’t Aang he had spoken to at all, because Aang’s face was currently Zuko’s.

His sense of bafflement and confusion was not helping with the pain. “My head hurts,” he managed to grunt, pressing a hand against his forehead as though that would do anything.

The pain spiked when the heel of his hand pressed against the scar tissue and Aang kind of wanted to cry.

The old man’s lips pursed in concern. “I have some of the pain relieving tealeaves still,” he said, voice quiet.

“Yes please,” Aang managed, closing his eyes.

He could hear the old man rise and begin to bustle around the room, but it barely penetrated his notice, so caught up was he in the pain. He couldn’t even think about what was going on or why he was Zuko somehow. All he could focus on was the way he ached, like white hot fire was pulsing through his head.

So he startled when the old man touched his shoulder lightly, holding a cup of tea and guiding him to sip at it. It tasted awful, but Aang didn’t have the wherewithal to resist and after a few minutes, it actually seemed to help.

The pain lessened enough that he could open his eyes – and he found that Zuko’s Uncle had closed the shutters, keeping out the bright sunlight. That and the tea made it slightly more bearable to exist at the moment and Aang let himself lean into Zuko’s Uncle, accepting what comfort was being offered. It was weird that it was Zuko’s Uncle holding him – but it was also weird that he was Zuko for some reason and it made sense that Zuko’s Uncle would be worried about his nephew. Even if that wasn’t who Aang was, he needed comfort desperately enough that he didn’t care.

Was this what it was like to be Zuko? Maybe that was why he was so angry all the time. Aang mostly just wanted to cry, but Zuko seemed like someone who would get mad in response to overwhelming stimuli.

“You should stay home and rest,” Zuko’s Uncle said softly. The words were genuine, but there was anxiety on his face that made Aang think that there was a problem with that plan.

Zuko’s Uncle had said something about a shift at a teashop. “But – work?” Aang managed.

Why was Prince Zuko working, anyway?

“Your health is more important,” Zuko’s Uncle said. He hesitated and then added, “I wish I could stay and take care of you.”

So did Aang, though he wished even more that this weird day would just stop.

He didn’t really want to be separated from the one comforting and familiar thing around him at the moment, though, so he shook his head – and oooh, bad idea, and his “I’ll come with you,” was slurred.

“Nephew,” Zuko’s Uncle said, voice terribly gentle. 

He was so clearly going to say something about needing to stay and rest, but once the world stopped spinning and making his stomach lurch, Aang whispered, “please.”

That made the old man freeze in surprise, but after a moment, he agreed, murmuring, “if you’re sure, Nephew.”

Aang knew better than to nod now, so he said, “I’m sure.”

“Then let us eat so we can be off,” Zuko’s Uncle said, slowly pulling away from Aang-in-Zuko’s-body to putter around the kitchen, preparing them food. Aang was absolutely no help, but all he could manage at current was sipping more of that awful tea.

By the time they were getting ready to leave, Aang’s head was actually feeling a lot better, though the world had taken on an odd hazy quality. It was kind of nice, making the glare of the bright sunlight more bearable. 

It took him a moment to realize that he vaguely recognized the area where they were. Was – was Zuko in Ba Sing Se for some reason? How!?

He didn’t have time to question it too much before they arrived at what was apparently their job. The teashop was small, but tastefully decorated in greens and browns and Aang was growing more and more certain that he was really in the Earth Kingdom capital. Or rather, that Zuko – the Fire Nation Prince – was in the Earth Kingdom capital. Had he somehow followed Aang and his friends here!?

As much as Aang wanted to ask, he didn’t have the chance before there were suddenly customers in the teashop and he was expected to make tea for people and he didn’t know where anything was and there was a line forming and oh spirits, he really, really wanted to cry. 

––

Iroh was worried. He had many reasons to worry, but chief among them was concern for his nephew. 

It was rare for Zuko to admit to so much pain that he needed the pain relieving herbs. Iroh was just glad he still had them after their time spent on the run.

But part of the reason Zuko avoided asking for the tea was its slight narcotic effect. He didn’t enjoy being incapacitated in any way, Iroh knew, and it made him sad that his nephew was so guarded that he’d rather be in pain than vulnerable.

So Iroh appreciated that Zuko was willing to take the pain relieving tea, even if it worried him. Unfortunately, it also had an ill effect on Zuko’s ability to remember tea orders correctly.

It was excruciating to be stuck brewing tea instead of comforting his nephew, but they needed the income these jobs provided. 

Iroh hated it. There was nothing wrong with a simple life – so long as it provided shelter for his nephew. And they’d only managed to acquire housing on an advance, so they really couldn’t afford to miss a day of work.

So he dealt with irritated and impatient customers and tried to take over what he could of Zuko’s job as his nephew slowly prepared drinks for people.

It was at least an hour before the teashop emptied and they had a moment to breathe. It was a very long hour and when the last customer stepped out the door, Iroh moved to hustle Zuko into a seat. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.

Zuko just groaned, dragging a hand down his face (and avoiding his scar). 

“Do you need more tea?”

Instead of answering, Zuko asked, “is this real? Because it hurts too much to be a dream, but what is going on!?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Nephew,” Iroh said, brow knitting with worry.

“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Zuko said. “I’m not your nephew. But I’m in his body? It makes no sense. What are you guys even doing in Ba Sing Se!? Did you seriously chase us all the way here!?”

Iroh’s concern grew. “Nephew?”

“I’m not Zuko,” his nephew said, staring at him with eyes that were intent, if slightly hazy. “I’m the Avatar.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m not Zuko. Somehow I’m in his body and I don’t know what’s happening or why it hurts so much but I’m not him. I’m kind of the opposite of him.”

Iroh stared, blinking intermittently. “Excuse me?”

“Is this real?” his nephew asked again. “Because it feels real and how is that even possible!?”

In all honesty, Iroh had no idea what to think. Was this a side effect of the pain relieving herbs?

“You’re… claiming to be the Avatar?” Iroh repeated uncertainly.

“I am the Avatar,” Zuko said, a stubborn frown on his face. “My name is Aang.”

“...okay,” Iroh said eventually. Perhaps it was best to just go with it. The important thing was that his nephew was able to sit and hopefully have time to recover before the next rush hit. If Zuko wanted to pretend to be the Avatar for some strange reason… well, he had always liked theatre. 

He was quite skilled, too. His facial expressions, his body language, all of it was very not-Zuko. Iroh was rather impressed, honestly. Worried, but impressed.

Unfortunately, the midmorning rush was soon be upon them. Zuko was a bit better now, picking out the correct teas for each customer’s order. He was still a little slow and Iroh had to take over cashing customers out, but they were gradually working out a rhythm to the system.

Naturally, that was when the door to the teashop was wrenched open and the Avatar stood in the doorway, expression livid.

“You!” Zuko shouted, pointing at him.

“You!” the Avatar snarled in return. 

The numerous patrons stared between the two of them and Iroh foresaw the possibility of losing their jobs – and possibly their covers and therefore their lives – fairly quickly. 

“Boys,” he said, “let’s take it into the back room.”

The Avatar huffed and clothing rustled all around the shop. “Fine,” he said, stomping towards the counter and past it, choosing the correct door to reach the kitchen (the other door was the owner’s office and was kept locked at all hours). Zuko sighed loudly in response and followed without protest.

Baffled, Iroh followed after them. He really shouldn’t leave the shop unattended – especially with customers present – but right now, he had bigger concerns. If Zuko attacked the Avatar and revealed their firebending…

“What did you do?” the Avatar demanded as soon as the door was closed behind them.

“Me?” Zuko asked in disbelief. “What did you do!?”

“It’s obviously your fault,” the Avatar said. “You’re the one with weird spirit powers.”

What?

“But I haven’t done anything!” Zuko insisted. “What are you even doing in Ba Sing Se?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“I’m in your body,” Zuko said, flailing his arms uncharacteristically. “It’s definitely my business! How do we fix this!?”

Iroh frowned.

“How would I know!?” the Avatar snapped, and when he gestured, a sudden breeze swept through the room.

“Careful,” Zuko reprimanded. “Strong emotions make bending volatile.”

“I am careful,” the Avatar grit out. He did refrain from moving this time, and no wind appeared.

Iroh looked between them, utterly baffled. “Nephew?”

Both boys turned towards him. 

“What–?”

“He’s in my body!” they both said at the same time, pointing at each other.

Iroh stared, gaze shifting from his nephew, who looked stressed and upset, to the Avatar, who just looked furious. 

His scowl was exactly like Zuko’s.

“I think I need to sit down,” Iroh heard himself say faintly, and it was the Avatar, not his nephew, who rushed to his side, helping him to a stool. Iroh couldn’t help but stare. “...nephew?” he asked, feeling unmoored.

“Yeah,” the Avatar agreed. “It’s me.”

“What – how–?”

“I dunno,” his nephew – who currently looked like the Avatar – said. “It’s obviously his fault.” He gestured at Zuko – or rather, Zuko’s body – and a breeze rustled Zuko’s body’s clothing. 

“Is not!” Zuko’s voice said immediately. “Why would it be my fault!?”

“You’re the spirit bridge,” the Avatar’s voice snapped. “Obviously a spirit is messing with us and it’s your fault.”

Zuko’s chest puffed up in offense and Iroh interrupted them.

“Children!”

They both turned to him with frowns on their faces.

“Let us not worry about blame,” he said rationally, “but rather, perhaps we can figure this out. What happened?”

“I woke up this way,” Zuko said in the Avatar’s voice. “I thought it was a nightmare, but the Avatar’s earthbending teacher convinced me this is real. She’s keeping his friends distracted.”

“Why?” the Avatar asked through Zuko’s mouth. “They could help!”

Zuko’s scoff was unmistakable, even in a foreign throat. “Why are you even here!?”

“Why are you here!?”

“I asked first!”

“Children,” Iroh said again, voice stern. “Let us discuss this civilly over tea.”

“But–”

Iroh leveled his best disapproving look at each of them and they grumbled, but said nothing when he moved to one of the teapots, lighting the fire with spark rocks rather than bending.

Aside from the stool, there was nowhere for them to actually sit in the kitchen – the one couch meant for employee breaks was just behind the counter, in full view of the customers – but that didn’t mean they couldn’t drink tea, and Iroh poured a cup for each of them. 

Zuko – in the Avatar’s body – took the teacup, but did not drink it. The Avatar – in Zuko’s body – accepted it gratefully, draining it quickly.

“What do we do?” he asked, clearly stressed. “How do we fix this?”

“First thing’s first,” Iroh said, “we need to get through this day.”

“You want me to go back out there?” The Avatar looked like he might cry and the expression was very odd to see on Zuko’s face.  

“It’s not that bad,” Zuko said.

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“‘Cause I’m you right now!”

“So what? It’s your job, not mine!”

“Boys,” Iroh interrupted before they could devolve into a fight. “Why don’t you both help get through this shift? Many hands make light work.”

“Fine,” Zuko huffed, causing a mini whirlwind that made the china around the room rattle. 

“Fine,” the Avatar echoed, “but you have to stop that.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose!”

“You must be serene, allowing the emotions to move through you rather than control you,” Zuko’s voice said, sounding wise.

Zuko himself did not care for that wisdom at all and looked like he was about to burst.

“Let’s just do our best,” Iroh said hurriedly. “We should get back to the customers.”

Zuko growled under his breath, which honestly sounded kind of funny coming from the Avatar’s throat, but Iroh kept his amusement to himself.

There were several disgruntled customers, unhappy at being left unattended so long, but Iroh pasted on his best smile and dealt with them.

Zuko did not find his center of calm and before long, the entire Lower Ring seemed to be gossiping about the airbender working in Pao’s Teashop. They got more traffic than usual as a result, leaving them no downtime to discuss anything. Which may have been a good thing. Fortunately, though the boys snipped snidely at each other, they limited their shoving to knocking shoulders.

Honestly, it was kind of sweet to see Zuko acting more like a child than his usual, even if it was with the Avatar’s face.

The hours until the end of their shift seemed endless, and when it finally arrived, they were more than ready to leave.

“Let’s go to the apartment,” Iroh suggested, and the Avatar’s expression was sullen (not an unusual look on Zuko’s face), but he agreed. 

“What is going on!?” the Avatar in Zuko’s body cried out as soon as they were back inside the apartment. He reached up and tugged on Zuko’s hair. “How is this real!?”

“Stop that,” Zuko – in the Avatar’s body – snapped.

--

then I think the Dai Li come by for a chat bc they hear about the airbender in the teashop and realize who it is and find them. "Aang" has to bluff HARD, and that is not his strongsuit.

Also, Zuko really struggles to control his airbending and Aang is annoyed by it because it's not that hard! Except it is for Zuko and hearing that Aang figured this out at like 5yo does not help his self-esteem. But maybe ultimately, he figures out how to be a lil more like... emotionally balanced??? Honestly, I have no fucking clue where this fic is going.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

[tetsunabouquet]

Basic Instinct Chapter 16

A/N: Here, we will get to precious Reader-Chan's side of what happened after the incident from chapter 13. Usual warnings apply, especially the abuse related ones. Masterpost

You dreaded going home more then anything, and dreading would be an understatement, really. You knew your mother was going to give you hell, but the scary part is that you didn't knew what to expect. That was the thing of dealing with a parent with psychiatric issues: You could learn the triggers and patterns but in the end there would always be an unpredictable element in play. And that terrified you. You felt like a soldier unwillingly sent to war, whenever you went home knowing she was angry. You knew the general things to expect and how to navigate the situation; but reality would always be different from the safe, tried simulations of training. There was always a chance of everything getting even more worse and getting hurt. Your mother's anger tantrums were definitely crossing the borders of physical abuse as of late, and her spiralling into her own anger and despair left you fearing for yourself. It had all started when you were nine, her relapse; and she was only spiralling further the more time went on. Entire days where you were ignored and given the silent treatment, where you were left scavenging the household for snacks because she didn't wanted to make dinner, entire days of arguing and fighting. All you wanted was to have your mother back, but the version she loved drifted away from you, slowly with time, and the worst part was that the reasons why you adored your mother so fiercely were getting blurrier. As if you were forgetting your mom, the version of her that you loved. Her memory drowned with time, as you looked at a mother you sometimes barely could recognize. Like a weird, inverse dementia, which made the times you needed someone or were you could remember who she used to be, all the more painful. Your father had died before you were born, so you couldn't truly mourn him at all. As a child when the fights began, you had prayed for this to be a lie and for him to come save you. But he, or the countless of other times you prayed for basically anyone to save you, never came for you. Everyone always turnt their backs to what was happening, you weren't worth fighting for to them. 'But Sei is different then everyone else. Sei actually loves me.' You thought as tears filled your eyes. You were in front of your doorstep, and trying your best not to shake. You were close to throwing up. With a deep breath you opened the door, and with the tiniest babysteps you entered your home. You closed the door behind you as your mother appeared in the hallway. You were pretty certain the hairs in your neck were raising with fear. She had her usual calm but scary composure when she was in Bad mode. It was collected and cool, but her eyes and demeanor were radiating a rage that left you quivering with terror. Your mother didn't even need to shout at you, the psychotic anger in her eyes was intimidation enough. Not that this was her only method of intimidation. You swallowed. "Hi mom." You greeted in a small voice. "You don't need to use that baby talk," your mother hissed disapproving, and you tried to keep yourself from bursting to tears. Per usual, she wouldn't even be civilized enough to greet you back before hurling her angry remarks at you. and it hurt you deeply. The lack of even basic human courtesy was so upsetting, how normal it was for her to just be angry and angry whilst you tried to be nice only to receive her hate; it was so exhausting. Your lips were trembling and your eyes were pricking with tears. "I'm sorry it happened mama. I'm really sorry." You bowed your head towards her, tears spilling over your cheeks. "Go ahead and cry, you brat! I work my ass off to let you attend that expensive school and you repay me by acting like a complete dimwit!" Your mother's controlled but harsh words were like a whip and every remark left a wound on your heart. "I cannot help that he loves me and kissed me mama! You weren't even a virgin at my age!" The words left your mouth, even though you knew you shouldn't say them. But your mother's anger at the situation when she had been the troublemaker of her school and had switched various schools when she was a teen for that very reason, was just plain unfair and hypocritical. You always did your best to be a good kid, unlike she had, so why on earth were you the one vilified for your mistakes?! 'Besides, if she doesn't wants me to talk down on her and respect her then she should better be someone worth respecting and an actual mother. It's not like I'd even know if you didn't treated me as your bestie when you are in Good mode.' But your mother was seeing red, and she was stepping close to you, looming over you like a threat. You shrunk back against the door as she raised her hand in a threatening manner. "How dare you speak to me like that?!" You swallowed and looked at her feet, close to hyperventilating. Your every instinct screaming for you to run, you slowly maneuvered past her before bolting for the basement. As you locked the basement door, you could hear your mother's voice through the door; "I don't need to see your face again. You'd better stay there if I were you." You swallowed, and cried as you went to the makeshift bed you had there for moments like these. You continued crying as you fell down the dark memories of how she controlled you like a doll and your every tiny mistake was treated like a sin. You sent text messages to Seijuro, just ranting about the memories filling your head. You sobbed into the pillow, and it seemed endless. You had been so stressed out, you weren't even hungry after an hour or two passed. You were getting sleepy from all the emotion, and you allowed it to overtake you. 'Please, don't let me wake up... Unless it's Seijuro...'

[shivunin]

Carrion comfort? That’s also the name of a song I love so I’m curious haha

And for @jtownnn too, who asked for the same one!

Is it this song, by chance? Because I love it, too!

The title actually comes from this quote:

“Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.” —Gerard Manley Hopkins, “Carrion Comfort”

This fic is my "Fenris gets captured and Hawke has to track him down before they make it back to Tevinter" fic. It's got all the good things---someone almost dying and the other finding them, horrible mind control, memory loss, and bonding road trips with your lover's sister. Here is a little piece:

Hawke went home. Later, she couldn’t recall how. She couldn’t seem to see straight and none of the sounds around her seemed to penetrate the cloud of horror and rage that hissed in her ears. They’d thought he was safe. He was supposed to be safe. 

She walked right past the elf in the foyer without seeing her, mind already fixed on the wardrobe where she kept her armor, and if Varania hadn’t reached out to touch her arm Maria would have kept on walking. 

“Wait,” Fenris’s sister said. “Leto—” 

All at once, the bubble of shock burst and Hawke was moving, moving, her hand on the woman’s throat, pressing her back to the wall of the foyer, thinking no, no, I cannot kill her yet, she might know—

“Mistress,” Orana said, horrified. 

What was she doing?

Hawke let go and stepped back, breathing hard. Varania was slightly paler than Fenris; the red handprint on her throat showed very clearly. The two of them stared at each other, Hawke’s hands burning with unspent rage, Varania’s eyes hard and unyielding. In the doorway to the room beyond, Orana stood still as a statue, both hands pressed to her throat. 

“Where is he?” Maria gritted out at last. “What have you done to him?”

“I have done nothing,” Varania said. “I have come to warn you, and you have attacked me. What reason have I to answer any of your questions?”

Despite her reputation, Hawke was not the sort of person to strike first. “Don’t start fights, but always finish them,” her father had told her when she was very young and just coming into her power. He’d added more to it—something about preemptive strikes in cases where she had solid information—but that hadn’t made as much of an impression. She was not the sort of person who was quick to lash out. No; ordinarily, Hawke’s anger was a slow thing, built log by log until it burned bright and hot.

But now—

“You know something,” she said, taking a single step forward. Varania eyed her with disdain, her chin lifted high. 

“Perhaps.”

She hadn’t let Fenris kill this woman. Maria was not going to kill her because she was mad. She wasn’t. She was better than that. 

Slowly, her palms began to cool from their fever-heat. 

“What do you want for it?”

“My brother,” Varania snapped, then pressed her lips together. “I want my brother. Leto. Not this Fenris.”

“No,” Maria said flatly, lifting her own chin. “Fenris is his own man.”

“I am not asking for—” Varania broke into a long line of Tevene, plainly not complimentary. When Hawke glanced at Orana for a translation, she saw only the same barely-masked fear. 

Flames. After all these years, she’d terrified poor Orana into being the woman she’d been when she first came here. 

“Orana,” Hawke said softly, raising both hands in a placating gesture, “I need your help. Fenris has been taken from his manor. There was—quite a bit of blood. Can you please go tell Varric? He’ll know what to do.” 

Orana bobbed her head, avoiding Hawke’s eyes, and darted for the front door. When it closed behind her, Maria turned back to Varania. 

“Well?” she asked. “What will it be? He needs me and I must go. Will you tell me or should I guess?” 

[thehuntss]

SAVE YOUR TEARS 2/?

•

Hi guys !

I’m so sorry, I had a long week and no time to write this chapter. But here i am now, with lot of ideas to develop this fic.

Also (sorry if I say it again hahah) but English isn’t my mother tongue so excuse me in advance for the possible mistakes.

I hope you’ll enjoy it <3

xx

The sun is gonna rise again

At the end of the day, Emily didn’t feel better. Worse, she felt weaker as hours passed and when they finally opened their home door, the pain was almost unbearable. But she couldn’t just say it and pretended it was alright although Aaron knew something was up. He was looking at her with worried eyes, feeling something was different from usual. His fiancé didn’t rush to Sergio as usual, giving hugs and telling him how much she had miss him. Instead she just rushed to the bathroom, and he could definitely hear her groans through the closed door.

“Em.” Knocking softly at the door. “Are you alright in there ?”

She didn’t answer, too busy throwing up. Her whole body was failing on her, and she hated it. Losing control was the worst thing that could happens to her. For a second she just pressed her forehead again the toilets, feeling very dizzy, her head turning. No way she could pass out again and in here, that would be so humiliating even if her fiancé had already saw her in worse cases. But being hungover and sick wasn’t something Emily Prentiss was ashamed of.

“Yeah.” She groaned, trying to at least sit up, “give me a minute.”

He knew deep inside of him that she needed time for herself and some privacy but on the other side he couldn’t just leave her on her own, considering how she was feeling. And as minutes passed, he couldn’t wait anymore, opening the door thankfully not locked, failing to hide his smile when he saw she had fallen asleep.

“Oh Em.” He thought to himself, lifting her up and carrying her the bridal way to their bedroom. She didn’t even flinch a bit, letting him put her in bed. Once he got sure she was alright, Aaron quickly made his way to the shower, still worried because it was unusual for her to get sick like this. And then he doubted, nausea could be sign of…? No way, she would have told him. When he got back to their room, he was still very confused but decided to wait for her to wake up before making theories that would only perturb his already busy mind. He quickly fell asleep, exhausted from their case, hoping Emily would be fine.

But she didn’t.

She woke up hours later, feeling a sharp pain in her stomach. And it was nothing she had known already, it was painful as hell and she couldn’t stifle the cry of pain that escaped her mouth. “Fuck.” Her stomach was burning from the inside, she struggled to sit up, her vision was blurry and it wasn’t because of the darkness around her. “Fuck…it…hurts…”

She could barely finish her sentence that she saw the light on Aaron nightstand on. He’d been barely sleeping and all of his sense were turned on, his face livid when he saw the pain all over her face. “Em what’s going on?”

His voice was raspy from sleep, but she could tell that he was worried. She didn’t even remember how she ended up in their bed. He quickly stood up, facing her, slowly stroking her cheek as she grimaced because of the throbbing pain in her abdomen. Tears were rolling down, and she knew lying would definitely not be smart, she was clearly in pain and he could see it crystal clear.

Without more hesitation Aaron grabbed some sweatpants, getting ready in seconds and grabbed her things, stuffing his keys and phone in his pockets, this time he would not ask her, he was dragging her. “We’re going to the hospital, and no it’s not a suggestion.”

She opened her mouth to protest but the sharp pain answered for her as she cried out. “Let me help you baby.” He said, lifting her up, ignoring his back that would definitely not thanks him later.

They rushed to the hospital, Aaron using his federal advantages, not really caring about anything else than Emily. He got totally lost when the nurses took her away from him, unable to stay in here alone and wait when the love of his life was being examined. He had no ideas of what was happening, and the way she looked that scared only made him wants to protect her at all costs.

After what seemed an eternity Aaron, who was almost asleep in the waiting area saw a doctor coming to him. He jumped on his feet, a worried look he couldn’t hide in his face.

“Agent Hotchner?” The doctor asked, clearly seeing the way the other man was nervous. “It was an ectopic pregnancy, we stopped the bleeding, she will be fine now.”

He had never heard of it. The doctor saw his confused stare and started to explain, every words hitting Aaron right in his chest, his heart exploding when he heard that the baby didn’t make it. So she was really pregnant, and she didn’t even know it…

“Does she…”

He nodded. “We told her the second we saw it on the ultrasound. She told us she had been to the doctor but ectopic pregnancy can be hard to detect. She was approximately 6 weeks along.”

“Will she ever be able to carry a baby after that ?”

Aaron didn’t recognize his own voice, it was almost trembling. He was livid, trying to understand how their life had change that quickly, they could have been parents together, and now what he didn’t know he would have was leaving an empty spot into his heart.

The doctor softly smiled, giving him a small tap on the shoulder. “It can happen, but it won’t stop her getting pregnant and bring a child to the world. She will just need regular check ups, and everything will be fine. I’m sorry for your loss.”

He looked sincere, and Aaron only nodded, swallowing hard. He needed to see her, she was probably scared and confused. “Thank you. Can I see her?”

“Sure, she will probably be a bit groggy from the anesthesia but she’ll recover, you should be able to take her home in a few days.”

Aaron thanked him again and made his way to the designated room, pausing a moment when he opened the door, seeing his beloved one in the bed, her face was pale but the pain had fade away. At least she wasn’t suffering anymore and that’s all he wanted, seeing her cry had literally broke his heart in pieces. And at this very moment he was glad that Jack hadn’t been in the house, for nothing in the world he would want to scare his son again.

He decided to wait on the chair next to her, holding her hand to let her know no matter what, she would never be alone anymore. Aaron tried to stay up as long as he could but exhaustion hits him so hard he gave up and fell asleep. He woke up hearing small winces of pain, and as he opened his eyes he saw that Emily was awake, clearly trying to sit up.

“Sweetheart…” he couldn’t hide his relief when he saw she looked better than hours ago. She was very pale, but she was back to him.

“I’m sorry…”

Her voice was shaking, she wasn’t looking at him, ashamed. She had been pregnant two times in her life, first time she wasn’t ready and decided to abort because that was the best option. This time she knew they would be ready together, but she couldn’t make it because her body had failed her, again and she felt useless.

He frowned his eyebrows and kissed her hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for sweetheart, what happened is not your fault. It’s no one fault do you understand ?”

She didn’t move, still feeling guilty, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. He cupped her face so she could look at him, not in the world he would want her to feel bad about something she couldn’t control. “I didn’t know it. The baby.”

Her heart was cracking at every words, her chest full of sadness and her stomach empty. Her hand automatically rubbed it slowly, her brain realizing she had been carrying the perfect mix between her and Aaron. And now it was all gone.

“Emily, sweetheart.” His voice was shaking, and she saw tears rolling down how cheeks.

They both cried silently at the loss of their baby, none of them ready for it, their lives were already so bruised they couldn’t imagine adding something else to it.

Both of them needed each other that was inevitable, they always had this connection even when they both even didn’t know about it, closing eyes when everyone was pointing out this fact. They were both very stubborn that wasn’t a secret.

“Come here with me.” She whispered, tapping the bed, trying to make more place for him to lay. He did what he had been told so, slowly enveloping his arms against her bruised body.

“I didn’t know I was ready for a baby. Until today…” she whispered, her head resting on his torso.

“I was wondering if you were pregnant…with all the nauseas, when you passed out. And I’ve realized i wanted this with you. As long as you want it too, it’s your body sweetheart.” He slowly replies, kissing her front head. He knew her backstory and would never put pressure on her, that was her decision.

“I’m sorry.” She repeated again, fighting against tears coming back.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He replied patiently, rubbing her back, soothing her like he would do with Jack after a scary nightmare. “It’s not your fault. You could have never planned it to happens.”

“I know but…if I had known about the pregnancy, maybe I could have protect this child…”

“Nothing can prevent what happened, the doctor told me it was inevitable. Beside, I’m glad you’re okay, you’ll recover and maybe we can try again?”

She can’t help but chuckle, her fiancé being the sweetest humain on this planet. “I would like to.”

“Good.” He kissed her again, resting his head against hers. “Try to sleep a bit sweetheart, rest yourself, the better is waiting for us.”

It sounds like a promise, but he know the world will give them a better future, no matters how dark it gets, the sun will rise again. She smiled softly, letting her drift to sleep, feeling safe in his arms.

And that’s how the team found them hours later, they had been worried when none of Hotch or Emily showed up at work so they called Jessica.

“If a story could be written, it would be about them.” Derek said, looking at his friends throughout the window of the room, feeling sad for their loss but knowing they would grow even more strong.

“They don’t deserve it.” Garcia whispered, being very emotive as always, crying softly. She couldn’t bare the knowing of her friends being hurt.

“No one does. But they are strong, and we’ll be there to help them whenever they need to. We’ll let them time, that’s the best to do.” Rossi added, looking at his sleeping friends. “Come on kids, we’ll come back later, Hotch would not want us to stay here day, we have some work to be done.”

They all agreed, leaving the flowers and chocolate they brought near the door, silently making the promise they would always be there to support each other, because that’s how their BAU team worked ever since.

[blackcatruse]

𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔰

«prev. ❃ next» ❃ first chapter ❃ m.list ❃ ao3 pairing: r. haitani/fem!reader ↳ she/her, fem descriptors, nickname ❃ chapter synopsis: nothing makes sense anymore. how is everything connected word count: 4.5k chapter cw(s): swearing, possible ooc, death mentions a/n: another post, another fight with tumblr formatting to try and make things pretty

You forgot to text Shika that you’d made it home. In your defense, seeing the bodies of those two boys made every other thought in your head disappear. You’d been laying down and staring at the ceiling, watching as lightning flashed outside your window. You hadn’t even bothered to take off your shoes so the lower halves of your calves were dangling off your unmade bed. Thoughts circled around your mind like sharks, waiting to take a bite out of the thin veil of control you had.

Your brooding was interrupted by a fierce knocking on your door. You didn’t really want to get up, but the rapping continued. You hauled yourself up with a sigh and trudged to the door, not bothering to check the peephole because you knew only a certain number of people would come knocking. And if it was your kidnappers, you don’t think you had it in you to care. Instead you came face to face with a very soaked and very unhappy Shika.

“You look like a drowned rat,” you said without thinking.

“Really?” Shika was pissed.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I said I would text, but I didn’t.” You didn’t have it in you to try to defend yourself. You just wanted to lay down and forget you existed. Maybe it would be better if you never did.

Shika’s frown softened. “What did Miko need from you? Why did she take you to the morgue?” Her voice was barely a whisper, speaking like you were glass and if she was too loud you’d shatter.

You stepped back and let Shika in before shutting the door softly. Guilt gnawed in your stomach at the thought of admitting the truth, but you also knew if anyone would understand, it was Shika. You couldn’t meet her eyes. You weren’t sure if you could say anything without getting choked up. You were no stranger to failure, but usually it only affected you. Not this time.

The tears in your eyes blurred your vision as you looked up at Shika. The concern in her dark eyes made you want to crawl under a rock.

“Lotus,” she murmured.

“She,” you swallowed thickly, trying to get control of the lump in your throat. “She needed me to identify bodies.”

Shika gasped as she realized who you had to identify. “No way,” she said. “They should have been—”

The anger and frustration at ultimately being helpless boiled over. “I know!” your voice edged on a scream. “They should have been but I should have known better! I knew there was a chance, but I was so sure they’d—”

Shika cut you off with a tight embrace. She let you sob and gently carried your weight down when your legs gave out from under you. She knelt as you collapsed, letting the dam burst. “I know,” she said soothingly. “I’m sorry Miko made you do that. Any of us that were there could have. They should have called out Nezumi or Hato.” Someone who wouldn’t be affected like this. Words that were unspoken, but both you and Shika knew.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you choked out. “I hate feeling on edge all the time. I hate having to worry about anyone involved with me. Nothing good comes out of being associated with me.”

Shika squeezed you again and rested her chin on top of your head. She didn’t try to console you further, she just sat on her knees and let you cry in her arms. Once you had settled enough, your sobs becoming stray hiccups, Shika let you go and you looked at each other. “Good thing I was already soaked from the rain, huh?” she asked.

It earned a little laugh. “Sorry about that,” you said. “If you want to hop in the shower I can throw your clothes in the wash. I’ll bring you something from my closet you can throw on. You can’t be comfortable like that.”

“Good thing your body runs warm, Lotus,” Shika said. “You kept me from freezing to death, but a shower does sound nice. You should probably clean up too.” She looked you up and down and you didn’t have the energy to be offended. She stood up on uneasy legs from being tucked under her body for so long, and you offered a steadying hand. She winced before hobbling off to the bathroom. “I’ll toss my clothes in a pile on the floor and you can leave whatever you find in the meantime on the counter.”

You nodded before scurrying off to dig in your closet. In terms of clothing, you didn’t exactly have a lot. You rotated between the same ripped jeans and orange tank tops underneath your prized leather jacket. You never felt the need to have something else on hand. Searching a little harder, you found a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt you couldn’t remember where you’d gotten it from. It would look terrible on you, but you knew that somehow Shika would make it work.

A wet plop shook you out of your thoughts. Right, you had to go get her clothes and throw them in the wash. You grabbed anything else you thought she needed, including an extra towel, and knocked on the bathroom door before opening it. You left the clothes on the counter and picked up the drenched clothing Shika arrived in.

Your friend always found a way to subvert your bias. You figured Shika would take one of those showers that lasted forever, but you had barely pressed the start button on the washer when you heard the shower cut off. You could also probably do with a shower. You sat down on your living room floor with a grunt and leaned against your coffee table.

When the bathroom door creaked, you turned your head slightly to see Shika emerge with a decent amount of steam. Christ, how hot did she run her showers? Her skin was nearly an angry shade of red, but she didn’t look fazed. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and she’d cuffed the bottom of the sweats. The oversized shirt hid most of her frame. She looked the comfiest you’d ever seen.

“Why do you make everything look good?” you wondered aloud.

Shika looked at you and tilted her head. “Thank you, I think,” she said, moving into the living room. “I didn’t use all your hot water, so you should probably get cleaned up too. Then we can like, I don’t know, hang out? Do girly shit? I don’t know. I’m not good at this whole being normal thing.”

That got a real laugh out of you. “Neither am I,” you said. “We’ll figure it out once I’m out of the shower.”

“Sounds good.” Shika plopped down on the couch. “Can I turn on the TV?”

You looked at the unused box in the corner. You didn’t really watch anything, and it was collecting dust. You weren’t even sure if it still worked, and you told Shika such. Shika just blinked at you like you’d grown another head. “What do you do in your downtime then?”

You shrugged. You worked yourself ragged as a runner so you couldn’t be conscious enough to mull over your feelings. Maybe you’d hang out at a convenience store to grab a prepackaged meal and maybe browse some magazines. You didn’t see a point in watching TV, especially because you only got one channel and you could only handle so much depressing news in one day.

“Oh, right,” you said. “Don’t be disappointed, but I only get the news channel.”

“How can you expect me to not be disappointed by that?” Shika frowned. “Oh well, maybe one of the news anchors is cute or something. I’ll fill in all the riveting things you missed.”

“Knew I could depend on you,” you said with a slight grin. You stood up and headed to the bathroom. The steam was still fogging up the mirror and clung to your skin. You flipped the vent on before running the water. Once it was an acceptable temperature, you shed your clothes and stepped underneath the stream of water. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, letting the water wash away any dirt and grime. It was hopeless, but you wished that the water could also clean you of any of the emotions storming inside you.

The last twenty-four hours had not been kind. Between the job going wrong, Shika interrogating you about your fake boyfriend, and Miko showing you dead bodies, you weren’t actually sure how you were functioning. You let your thoughts wander and remembered what Miko told you. It didn’t sound like she was part of Wuxing’s initial migration, so they found her when they got here. Why would they pick her? You already wondered why Miko was working with Wuxing because she was so kind, but after today you knew that something devastating had left her stone faced and only wore a mask of compassion. You couldn’t really speculate on it much. Could it have had something to do with Kirin’s dead wife? You wanted to ask questions, but you don’t think you’d get nor want them. Maybe you could talk to Shika about it.

Miko also knew that there was another foreign gang that followed Wuxing here because Kirin did the impossible and won something the others thought he’d never win. Why else would the rival offer up something that valuable? The challenge was probably weighted heavily against Kirin, but you knew that the man was slippery in many ways. Japanese law enforcement couldn’t pin anything to Wuxing. Wuxing wasn’t even common knowledge, well, at least until recently. And then there were eyes on you. You weren’t sure what for, but it exposed your existence. You were well known, but only in the circles where you ran. Outside of those circles, there would be stray whispers about your affinity for business. Not to mention you had to fake your arrogance that everyone should know who you were. You probably weren’t even Kirin’s best kept secret.

You winced as shampoo suds dripped into your eye. Alright, that was enough shower time. You gently rinsed your eye and then your hair before the suds attacked you again. You cut off the water with a squeak of the handle and emerged in a wreath of steam that was nothing compared to Shika’s cloud. Wrapping the towel around your body, you made a quick move to your bedroom to change. It wasn’t a long trip, maybe a few steps, but you weren’t going to linger in the open like this.

You threw on your standard night clothes of cotton shorts and a loose fitting shirt. You wrapped your hair up and went to the living room to join Shika. Her eyes were glued to the TV screen. The image was fuzzy and the audio was even worse, but you could gather the gist of what the reporter was talking about. You stood and watched the screen and you caught the word “bodies”.

Involuntarily you gasped and Shika, not knowing you were there, let out a small shriek. “Fucking hell, Lotus!” she snapped, pressing a hand against her chest like it would still her heart. “Tell me you’re there next time, holy shit.”

“Sorry,” you said. “The news caught my eye. More bodies were found?”

Shika looked like she didn’t want to tell you, but you sat down and told her that it was okay. It wasn’t Hifumi or Kichiro, so you had no personal stakes in it. Shika turned down the volume and sighed. “They say it was a bunch of cops,” she said.

You blinked once. “Someone went after law enforcement?” you asked dumbly. “Do they have a death wish? What the hell were they thinking?”

“Don’t know, but these cops didn’t exactly have squeaky clean records. There’s not much of a connection between them because they came from different wards and grew up in different regions.”

“That’s so fucking weird.” A shiver ripped through your body. “Don’t tell me we also have a serial killer on the loose, too. My fragile heart can only take so much.”

Shika shook her head. “They’ve got no clue. The details we know are that the bodies are fresh, they were found near the Port of Tokyo, and some of them have tattoos?”

“That’s—” you paused with a frown. “My job was at the Port of Tokyo.” You sat down next to Shika and squinted at the fuzzy screen. You didn’t get a good look at the people who nearly kidnapped you at the port, but these incidents felt too uncanny to be a coincidence. Especially knowing that your pursuers had a propensity to kill anyone involved so there wasn’t a trail. If your hunch was correct, then the people who attacked you at the port were killed within a twenty-four hour window. That was a lot faster than some of the previous deaths.

An image of an intricate knot flashed on the screen and it looked vaguely familiar. You swear you’d seen it before. Was it on the others you’d encountered? You couldn’t remember, and you couldn’t wade through the sea of your memory to determine why.

Shika had noticed how intently you were staring. “Have you seen it before?”

“I feel like I have, but I can’t place it,” you admitted.

“Are you religious?”

The withering look you gave Shika had her holding up her hands. Given what she knew about you, your expression conveyed a form of you’re kidding, right?

“It’s just a question, Lotus. It’s a common symbol in Buddhism,” Shika said. “The endless knot.”

“Huh, I’m not familiar with it, but I think some dots can be connected,” you said. “The people have left me a message to ‘seek Nirvana’. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to assume they’re related.”

Shika nodded in agreement. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s consolidate the information you know because I can see you trying to wrangle your thoughts.”

“Oh, it’s that obvious?” you laughed. “Yeah, I think organizing my thoughts is gonna help us connect the dots or something. Let me grab some paper and a pen.”

You got up, retrieved your supplies, and sat down on the floor across from Shika. You spread out several sheets of paper and tossed another pen to Shika. She stared at you like you’d grown another head. “Think you can draw that symbol?” you asked.

“Not very well,” Shika said. “But yeah I can draw that.” 

She grabbed the piece of power closest to her and got to drawing. You wrote down other things on the remaining papers you had. You sorted them out based on what the Haitanis told you, what you had encountered, and any tidbits that felt relevant. The fake deals Rokuhara Tandai was offered and the fact that the men Ran and Rindou interrogated were found dead later. You didn’t know how much later, but maybe you could ask them. Maybe they’d seen this symbol too.

The next thing was the trap that involved Kichiro and Hifumi. They were blackmailed through a third party, but you remembered that the two boys lost contact with them after you had agreed to run the drugs. Your chest panged and you had to stop writing for a moment, attempting to suffocate the emotions bubbling up inside you.

Given that the communication halted after the job was arranged, you wouldn’t be surprised if the blackmailers were dead. You put a question mark nearby on the page because you didn’t explicitly know their fate. Kiricho and Hifumi were dead and there wasn’t a good estimate of when they were killed. You put the location of where their bodies were found and tapped your bottom lip with your pen.

You continued on, writing details about your first near kidnapping. They knocked you unconscious so you weren’t sure about the man’s appearance and his voice was relatively nondescript. He was one of the men Genbu was responsible for questioning. According to Miko, those men had died while under Genbu’s watch. That was news to you, but it didn’t surprise you. They were undoubtedly connected to the gang after you, and they had no qualms with dying to protect their organization’s identity. But that wasn’t the weirdest part. How did they die? Genbu would never let captives remain unguarded and from what you understood, the men would have been thoroughly checked for any contraband. Was there someone in Genbu’s unit that was a traitor to Wuxing?

You gnawed on your pen cap before scribbling “inside job???” and circled it multiple times. You also made note that the one who spoke to you, the apparent leader, knew you by name. A name you thought you’d abandoned and had died with you the day you were sold. They knew something about your family that you didn’t, and you still didn’t care to know. You’re not sure the information would actually help you. If you knew your father’s identity would it mean anything to you? Of course not. You wanted to stay out of gang politics.

They weren’t the only ones you’d encountered that knew things about you that they weren’t supposed to. The encounter in the alley felt like the catalyst for all of this shit going down. You weren’t sure at that point if someone was trying to take you out, but that incident confirmed it. You were too panicked to glean any useful information, and according to Rindou, the man killed himself with a suicide pill. The dead man knew your brother’s name. Was it possible that they were familiar with your brother’s gambling habits? Even so, how would they have known that you were related? Your bastard of a brother only revealed your existence when it was convenient for him. 

Could your brother have tried to sell you to this other gang as well? Is that why they wanted their hands on you so badly? No, that wouldn’t make sense. You’d been with Wuxing for several years and nobody’s been after you until now. There were plenty of times for this gang to nab you. So what happened that made them care about you? The only answers you had were your unknown family history and a trail of dead bodies. And some sort of connection to Buddhism.

You couldn’t recall your mother practicing any sort of religion except alcoholism, which felt like a contradiction to Buddhism. She was never home most nights, leaving you and your brother to fend for yourselves. Sometimes when your brother wasn’t a sack of shit, he’d actually treat you to something. You could never predict his moods or when he was going to be your brother or a complete stranger. You tried to pick up the signs, and you could identify a few staples, but for the most part he was unreadable. In the months before his death, he only had two emotions: anger and fury. This had earned him the moniker of Wrath, but he was the laughingstock of the underground. He couldn’t hide his anger and it would always give him away when he had a bad hand. He was a fucking loser until the end.

Other than what you could recollect of your disappointing youth, there was nothing else to give you any sort of direction. There was a section of time you had blocked out when you were under Byakko’s... “care”. Those were a hellish two years, almost three. Reliving that part of your life was something you refused to do. Any time the repressed memories came back to haunt you, you felt nothing but shame and disgust. Fuck Byakko and everything he worked for. You would set fire to the brothels yourself.

Shika snapped her fingers in front of your face, bringing you out of your spiraling thoughts. She held up her rendition of the endless knot and tilted her head. It wasn’t perfect, but it got the point across. Thank god there was something she was bad at, but it was still better than anything you’d attempt.

“Yeah, that looks good,” you told her. You gestured to all the scattered documents you had, filled with your lacking penmanship. “This is all the information I think was important. If something else comes to mind, I’ll write it down.”

Shika squinted at the scrawl. “Lotus, I mean this in the kindest way, but what the fuck am I supposed to be reading?”

“Listen, not all of us got to go to high school okay? Stop attacking me, you’re supposed to be on my side.” You crossed your arms and pouted. You knew very well that your chicken scratch was only legible to you, and you weren’t sure if you spelled anything correctly either.

“I don’t even know what this is supposed to say,” Shika snorted. “You’re gonna have to read it to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “God it’s gonna be the world’s worst bedtime story,” you whined. “Alright, two heads are better than one, and I need someone else’s perspective so I guess I can read it to you.”

Clearing your throat, you started at the beginning. You left nothing out, because maybe there were details you had missed that Shika would pick up on. By the end of it, you could tell that Shika was trying so hard to not make any sort of face. You waved it off, because you knew that everything was fucked up, and decided to ask, “Did anything stick out to you?”

“No,” Shika said, shaking her head. “The only thing I can think of is if you ask your boyfriend if he saw the symbol”—she tapped the endless knot with her pen—“and if he could know what it means.”

You nearly asked Shika what the hell she meant and then you remembered the lie you were going to have to perpetuate. You really hoped that this charade wouldn’t influence you to actually start falling for the younger Haitani. You already had close calls, but you attributed those moments of weakness to your muddled and tired brain. “It’s possible he may know,” you said slowly, like you were trying to find the right words to not tip off Shika that you and Rindou were anything but lovers. You thought about coming clean, but it was more convenient that Shika believed it to be a romance. You also weren’t sure what was going to happen if she found out you were lying, a delightful remnant from your past life.

“Go get your phone, dummy,” Shika prompted you.

You shook your head and got up. “Right, right,” you said. “Sorry, my thoughts are all over the place.”

Shika looked at you sympathetically. “Yeah, that makes sense. Hopefully we’ll figure something out that makes your brain shut up.”

You walked back to your room and retrieved the burner from under your mattress and returned. You opened your message thread with Rindou and a flutter of anxiety swept over you. Goddammit, you had no reason to be nervous. He was either gonna answer or not, and if he did answer, he’d either know or he won’t. There was literally no other interpretation that could be made of this interaction. Why did you feel like a stupid middle schooler with a crush again? Fucking hell. This was all Shika’s fault, you determined. But that didn’t hide the tiny bout of guilt for fully blaming her for something you decided to entertain.

You took a picture of the drawing, being careful to make sure Shika wasn’t in the shot. That’d bring up a whole slew of problems you didn’t want to address with the Haitani brothers. You sent off the picture with a quick follow-up text:

>|3-xx09-11xx at 0439 Does this look familiar to u?

You flipped your phone shut and stared at the time glaring at you. It was almost five in the morning. You shouldn’t care what he would think about you texting him so late at night, or early in the morning, depending on who you asked. “Ah hell,” you muttered.

“Hmm?” Shika tilted her head as she looked at you.

“I sent him a text at four in the morning,” you groaned, putting your face in your hands. “What is he gonna think of me?”

“Oh, it’s almost five in the morning,” Shika said, glancing at her own phone and ignoring your devastation. “Stop being dramatic,” she told you. “He should be happy you texted him at any time. Also, since when do you care what people think of you?”

You opened your mouth to retort but quickly shut it. Shika was right. You don’t care about how Rindou perceived you. Right? If you disturbed him or anything, that isn’t your problem. This whole act and your exhaustion were not a great combination. You might just fool yourself into thinking you do like the bastard. You put your head down on the table.

“He’s gonna think I’m annoying,” you whined, your arms muffling your voice. It was a partial truth, and you figured Shika would interpret it as the anxiety associated with young love. At least that’s what you hoped.

Shika patted your shoulder. “I’m sure he won’t care. He’s probably not even—”

The buzz of your phone interrupted her. Without looking up, you could feel Shika’s burning gaze. You lifted your head slightly and flipped open your phone.

>| 3-xx06-83xx at 04532 Why the hell are you awake?

>| 3-xx06-83xx at 0454 It looks a little familiar. I’ll ask around.

You stared at the messages Rindou sent to you. What the hell was he doing up? You knew why you were up, but why was he? You typed aggressively and Shika looked over your shoulder.

>|3-xx09-11xx at 0457 I could ask you the same thing.

>|3-xx09-11xx at 0457 Thanks. Let me know what you find.

>| 3-xx06-83xx at 0459 We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. Anyway, why do you want to know about that?

>|3-xx09-11xx at 0501 It’s a long story. But I think it’s related to all the weird shit we’ve encountered.

The conversation was left off there. You were pleasantly surprised that he answered so quickly. You figured he’d get back to you by lunchtime or something. Shika nudged you with her elbow. “See? He didn’t seem upset. He even sounded concerned about you being awake.”

“Oh god, Shika stop!” You put your face in your hands. “It’s a text message, there's no way to tell tone.”

“Aww, it’s so cute that you get all flustered still,” Shika cooed. You could only imagine the shit-eating on her face. “Anyway, let’s call it a night, yeah?”

You heard her yawn and stretch out, joints popping. You hummed in agreement, feeling the pull of sleep on your subconscious. You mumbled as you stood up and headed to the linen closet to grab Shika a blanket. Shika was already stretched out like she owned the place. Her eyes were shut, but by her breathing, you could tell she wasn’t asleep yet. You tossed the blanket over Shika and retreated to your room. You barely had time to grab your own covers before you fell into a relatively dreamless sleep.

Please do not reupload, translate, or steal my work! If it isn't here or on my ao3, it's not me! Likes & reblogs appreciated! <3 Dividers courtesy of @/cafekitsune & @/firefly-graphics

[southlandghost]

A Difficult Choice

Marcy rapped quickly on the door of the Howard household. When she didn’t receive an immediate answer, she took to ringing the doorbell over and over again until someone answered. Cooper was annoyed at first, suspecting it to be a salesman, but he smiled when he saw his sister-in-law standing there. The smile faltered, though, when he saw the state she was in; she had come alone, which was odd (she almost always had Martin with her these days), and her face was puffy, eyes red and swollen with dark circles underneath. It was obvious she’d been crying. “Hey, Marcy May. Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he could tell she was lying, but didn’t say anything. “Is Harlow home? I need to talk to her.”

“In the kitchen with the girls. Come on in.”

She followed behind him into the house. The walls were decorated with western-themed decor and various posters from Harlow and Cooper’s movies. Toys were littered on the floor, some belonging to Janey, others belonging to Evie, and even a few owned by Roosevelt.

Cooper went into the kitchen first, catching his wife’s attention. “You got company, darling.”

Harlow was sitting at the table, holding Evie in one arm and trying to eat with her free hand. She looked up and smiled when she saw Marcy, then frowned, just as Cooper had, when she saw the state her sister was in. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

Marcy nodded her head, clasping a hand over her mouth as she began crying again. Janey, who was sitting across the table from her step-mother, looked at her dad with a worried expression on her face. He silently shook his head, a sign that they would talk later if needed.

Harlow had risen from her chair now and walked towards her husband. “See if she’ll take the rest of her bottle. Marcy, come with me.”

The two women made their way to the den, a cozy room with a roaring fireplace that brought a comforting atmosphere. They had barely sat down when Marcy confessed what had been bothering her. “I’m pregnant again, Harlow.”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.” Marcy’s bottom lip quivered and another wave of sobs crashed over her. Harlow didn’t hesitate to capture her sister in a hug, allowing Marcy to cry into her shirt. 

“How did this happen?” Harlow asked, smoothing Marcy’s hair before pushing her away, making her look her in the eye. “I mean, I know how it happened, but… You didn’t use birth control?”

“No,” Marcy sniffled. “Stupid decision, I know, but I didn���t think I could get pregnant again. That’s what they told me at the hospital, at least, because of the endometriosis. Hell, they said they couldn’t believe I had gotten pregnant with Martin in the first place.” She paused and took a deep breath before breaking out into more sobs. “What am I gonna do?”

“Does Norm know yet?” Harlow asked, reaching over to the side-table and grabbing a box of tissues.

Marcy shook her head and took the box from her sister. She took out a tissue and blew her nose. “No. I… I don’t know if I want him to. God, I feel shitty for saying this, but I don’t even know if I want to keep it. How can I go to my husband and tell him I don’t know if I want to have another child with him?”

“Marcy, listen to me.” The older woman sighed, handing her sister another tissue. “It’s your choice, but you need to tell him. He’ll support your decision either way; I know he will. But is that the only reason why you’re considering an abortion?”

“No,” Marcy shook her head again. “It’s not. I don’t know if I can handle pregnancy again and take care of Martin. You weren’t there to see how sick I was, Harlow. I was on bedrest for my last trimester because every time I would get up, my blood pressure would drop so quickly that they were afraid I’d go into shock. I couldn’t keep anything down so they had me hooked to an IV so I wouldn’t get dehydrated. I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t work to support us.”

She took a shaky breath before continuing. “Norm would have to go to work every day and I was alone. I had a home health aide, but she was there for a job, nothing more. My mother moved away, you and I weren’t speaking, and I was alone. I was alone and sick and I don’t want to go through that again. I can’t go through that again. I want this baby, Harlow, I really do, but I have to be able to take care of my son.”

Harlow’s heart shattered as she listened to Marcy recount what she had dealt with. She couldn’t help but feel guilty, too; after all, she had a better support system during her pregnancy with Evie. “Oh, Marcy.”

She hugged the younger woman, squeezing her as tight as she could. “You’re not gonna be alone. Not this time, I promise. I promise. If you are sick, we can help with Martin. We can put a recording room in the house so you can work. We’ll be there to help, no matter what. If you want this baby, have it. If you don’t, don’t. I’ll support any choice you make, but you are not going to go through this by yourself.” 

They were quiet for a moment as Marcy took deep breaths to try and calm herself down. Once her sobs had quieted down into sniffles, she spoke up. “I want this baby.”

“Ok.” Harlow nodded. “We’re gonna have another baby then, aren’t we? Maybe you’ll have more than one. Could be twins.”

“Shut up.” Marcy couldn’t help but laugh and swat her big sister’s arm. “Don’t curse me. If I have twins, I’m making you take one.”

“Nope, nuh-uh. You and Norm couldn’t keep your hands to yourself and now you have to deal with whatever comes your way.” She grinned. “But, seriously, I’m here for you. Cooper’s here for you. Norm’s here for you. We’re all gonna be here for you.” “Thank you, Harls.”

“No problem, kid.”

[loveroped]

unfinished mayor and mother spore royalty au one-shot!

----

Baffled. Baffled, that's what they were. Shocked, surprised, afraid. Their footsteps echoed throughout the large halls as they walked through. Their chest ached and their throat burned. Their mind seemed to bounce around their head, hurting, pulsing. They couldn't think, They couldn't breathe.

Oh, they hate it, they hate everything, they hate him. (No, they don't. They could never hate him.)

This hall has never seemed as long as it does now. They stormed through, destination in mind. No amount of time would be soon enough for them.

Angry, furious, appalled.  They needed to speak, yell, and scream. Yet it would not be enough. It hurts them, all throughout their body. They'd break down these walls if they had to.

No time was soon enough, yet when they got closer they felt like they needed more. They weren't ready, oh, they were never ready. But it all ached. The world, it yelled at them in anger, fear, they didn't have anywhere to turn back to because of his stupid, stupid, stupid-

They were almost sure that the slam of the door echoed throughout the whole castle. They're breathing was quick and unsteady, suffocating.

There he sat at the table. Waiting, expecting. (Disappointed.) 

Their eyes burned, vision seemed a blur. The world screamed at them.

They did too. "Scar, what is wrong with you?"

A question, one they weren’t sure they wanted the answer to. It hurt, their throat ached at every word spoken. 

"It had to happen." 

“They had to die?!” They shouted, their hands making gestures of disbelief. They hoped they heard it wrong, they desperately hoped-

“There was no other choice,” he sounded numb when he spoke, Scar didn’t even look them in the eye. They couldn’t read him, they didn’t know if they wanted to.

“We could’ve made one!” They yelled, breathing harsh. “We could’ve- We could’ve figured it out if you just gave us enough time! Now those poor soldiers are out there, fighting without the ability to come back home! Are you so heartless?”

There was a tick of silence, they almost sobbed. Maybe they already were.

They felt sick, nauseous. Horrible.

“There was no time, Grian. We didn’t have a choice, I just want to keep the kingdom safe.” His voice was unsteady, as if he might cry. Grian didn’t feel guilty.

“Keeping them safe? By sending them of to a suicide mission with smiles on their faces? You can’t keep them safe if you’re killing them-”

“What do you know about safety?! Last I remembered you were taking everyone under control, for what? The fun of it?!” Scar yelled back, cutting them off. He stood up, arms waving in the air as he spoke. His eyes looked straight into theirs, tears. 

Grian almost fell through their legs, right then, right there. The world under their feet sobbed and screamed. At them or at Scar, they didn’t know.

“You don’t know anything about me.”“Maybe that’s the problem!”

Silence, for just a second. Breathing, it traveled through the ground.

“Maybe, just maybe, that’s the problem!” He repeated himself, his face seemed almost red. “I don’t know anything about you! I don't know what you want, I don’t know what you are, hell, I barely know what your actual name is!” He yelled out, out of breath it seemed.

“And that’s my fault?!” They yelled, the floor almost seemed to shake under their feet. Their body felt heavy.

“I don’t see anyone else to blame!”

“You pathetic little-” They were in disbelief. Their look seemed enough to send fear through millions of soldiers. Scar didn’t seem fazed.