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duskholland · 4 years ago

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Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

tom was having a really nice day until the metropolitan police decided to crash his date. or, when the law finally catches up to london’s most notorious mobster, tom learns that nothing is fair in love and war.

word count ↠ 15k. warnings ↠ angst with a happy ending, alcohol, a car chase, extensive depictions of prison, violence (very minor injury detail), tattooing, pregnancy, bad language, smut! there are extended nsfw warnings below the cut but this is 18+ so minors please do not interact. a/n ↠ this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be taken 100% seriously! similarly to every other fic I’ve written about mob!tom, I don’t condone any of the actions shown in this story and all depictions of the mob and prison are entirely fictional. please do not date members of the mafia even if they are tom holland !!!!! + this fic was conceptualised before the release of cherry, and there are no purposeful links to the content of that film! the image from esquire that I’ve used is what led me down this path lmfao...esquire I love/hate you. ++ the biggest thank you ever to the wonderful @uglypastels for helping me with the initial brainstorm on this one, and for just generally being so supportive as I’ve struggled with writers block :’) I wouldn’t have ever been able to think this up let alone have the motivation to write this without you, so thank you and ily z <3 +++ there is a pov change halfway through this fic! it is intentional and you should be able to see it pretty easily but I’m just flagging it so you don’t think I lost it halfway through ahahha. enjoy!

nsfw warnings ↠ car sex, soft!dom!tom ft minor sir kink, oral and fingering (fem-receiving), multiple orgasms with brief refs to overstimulation, minor pregnancy kink, unprotected sex ft cumshot.

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

There’s something wrong with you, and Tom can’t quite put his finger on it.

He wonders if it’s the wine. He’d spent hours debating the type of grape and ideal bitterness, scouring his memory in search of the perfect blend to share with you on your date. Eventually, he’d settled on the same deep red that he’d shared with you the first time he’d visited your flat, back when your love was just a small spark. Three years have passed since then, the nerves of early romance melted away and replaced by knowing and love, but the wine has recurred each time one of you has decided to treat the other, so what better blend to bring along to the picnic that Tom had so meticulously planned?

You haven’t touched your glass, and Tom—for all his confidence and charm—is deeply unsettled by this.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks for what feels like the tenth time, with brows furrowed so tightly his forehead aches. Tom reaches across the gingham blanket to join your fingers together, surprised to feel the clamminess of your skin as you gently squeeze his hand.

You hum. “I’m fine,” you say, voice devoid of any intense emotion. You sigh softly before bringing your eyes to meet Tom’s, and the man feels his heart constrict in his chest. You’re perfect, even with your hair messy from the light spring wind and the nerves that sit across your face. When you squeeze his hand again, and Tom glances down to see the engagement ring on your fourth finger, the ache in his heart sharpens.

He never knew love could be this fulfilling, nor so easy. Breathing is harder than it is to love you.

“Okay,” he replies. “Do you want to go home?”

You’ve been so quiet for the entire date, which is strange because usually, you match his energy effortlessly. Tom has been away for a few weeks doing business in Liverpool, and this date by the river is the first time you’ve been properly alone since he returned. He’d really expected you to enjoy the date—or, on a very basic level, at least look like you want to be here. With your quiet answers, avoidance, and nervous stares, he can’t confidently say that you do.

You shake your head. “No, no.” You fiddle with some of his rings before pulling your hand away from his. As you sit up a little straighter, you turn away from Tom to stare instead at the River Thames.

The river behind you is lit by the mid-afternoon sun and flooded with boats. It’s such a lovely day that Tom almost doesn’t notice the horrible brown tinge to the water. Lining the bank are small groups of people—families, friends, couples, tourists. They all stay clear of the two of you, undoubtedly wary of the security guards lingering near their boss. He rarely goes out so obviously like this, but you’ve always loved London, and he’d wanted to treat you. He’d wanted this to be a nice day.

“You know you can talk to me, don’t you?” he checks, voice catching slightly.

Your eyes snap up to his quickly. “Tom,” you say, voice wrapped endearingly around his name. Moving easily, you slip closer to him, carefully shifting around the food and the glasses until you’re close enough to reach out and touch his cheek. “I love you.”

Tom’s teeth graze his lower lip as he feels you pad your thumb across his jaw. “I know,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze. “I love you too.” He pauses for a few moments, savouring the closeness and the scent of your rosy spritz. He’d missed you so much that it almost hurts to have you so close again. “I know you have something on your mind, darling… Can you tell me what it is? I want to help you.”

“I…” A breathy exhalation follows. You bring your hand away from his cheek and rest it on the red silk material covering his shoulder. He’s in a loose designer shirt, the top two buttons unbuttoned and showing off the silver-linked chain he has hanging from his neck. “Tom, I just…”

“What?”

A small smile twitches at your lips. “Not here,” you seem to decide, voice a little stronger. “I have something I need to show you.”

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

Tom feels the weight rolls from his shoulders. It’s fine—everything is fine. You want to let him in, want to trust him with the cause of your anxieties. You still want him.

��Let’s go, then,” he decides, knowing he’s far too impatient to spend another hour laying by the river. Tom offers you a hand, and you take it. He tugs you away from the picnic setup with ease. He doesn’t need to bother with putting the things away—someone else will do it. Just one of the perks of his job.

“I missed you,” you say, smoothing your thumb over the back of his hand as you walk together towards the car. “It gets lonely without you in the house. Our bed is ridiculously huge without two people in it.”

Tom chuckles. “Good job I’m back now then, eh?”

The noise you release is stacked full of so much relief it makes Tom feel guilty for ever leaving to begin with. As he watches the bright, genuine smile flow across your face when you meet his eyes, he resolves to never leave for business again. Never. Not without you.

“A very good job,” you clarify. When you reach the car together, Tom holds the door open for you, ushering you in dramatically until you’re laughing and making fun of him for fussing. The only way he can stop you from your jovial whines is by leaning across the dashboard and pressing his lips to yours, so really he can’t complain. “This car is stupid, too,” you decide.

“Oh, that’s too fucking far,” Tom murmurs, glancing in the rear mirror as he peels away from the pavement. He’s glad the air between you has lightened. You seem happier now you’ve decided to spill your secrets. He rests his hand on the back of your headrest as he twists in his seat, eyes on the road as he reverses. “This car is a beauty.”

“This car is confusing,” you say, and Tom feels you staring at the flex of his bicep. “I tried driving it when you were gone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm. Couldn’t even get it up the drive.”

“Well, not to be rude, darling, but it’s hardly fair to blame my beautiful car for the fact that you’re an atrocious driver.”

If looks could kill, Tom knows he’d be six feet under.

“Fuck you, Tom,” you seethe, but your voice is charged with laughter. “I take it back. I didn’t miss you at all. Go back to Liverpool, see if I care.”

Tom cackles. “Maybe I will,” he teases, “just to see how long it takes you to start begging for me to come back again.”

You grumble something incoherent at that, then the words between you lull into a comfortable silence. After a few moments, you shift your palm to rest on his thigh, your hand gentle, warm. Your fingertips trace tiny love hearts over his slacks.

“Don’t,” you say eventually, voice quieter. “Stay this time.”

Tom risks a quick glance to you, growing breathless in the depths of your eyes. “Of course,” he says, voice thick. Tom returns his gaze to the road, his chest feeling tight. “I’m never leaving you again.”

“I mean, you can leave sometimes if you want—”

“No. Never.” Tom’s cheeks ache. “I’m never leaving your side.”

“Alright, Tom.” You sigh lightly, feigning exasperation. “I guess there are worse things than being stuck with you.”

“I’m charmed, darling. So relieved you like spending time with your fiancé.”

You shift in your seat at that, and Tom doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re flustered. You’re always shyer around him when he mentions the fact that your futures are intertwined, almost unbelieving that he’d slipped that ring onto your finger. It doesn’t matter how many times Tom tells you that he cherishes you—you never quite make peace with the fact that he wants to chase the moon with you. That doesn’t mean he’ll stop telling you, though. You hang the stars in his sky.

“I love spending time with you, Tom,” you mumble. “And I hope that what I’m about to tell you doesn’t change how you feel about me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Wait— what?” Tom scrunches the tip of his nose up as he squints in your direction. “Y/N, what—” He pauses, concentrating on keeping his voice level. “Angel, nothing you could ever do would change the way I feel about you. Nothing.”

You smile quietly. “It’s not a bad thing,” you add, almost sensing his unease. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Perfect.” Tom sits a little straighter in his seat. “Then there’s nothing to worry about—”

Sirens cut into his words. Tom startles, glancing in the mirror to see a police car with a whirring blue siren perched atop the grimy vehicle.

“Tom,” you say slowly, voice filling with dread. Your tone sends shivers down his spine. “Did you do something?”

Tom bites his lip.

He’s been trying his best to stay above the law recently, but… Liverpool had been messy. Very messy. He hadn’t intended on things going quite as terribly as they had, but one thing had led to another, and he’d had to fuck a few things up. The crime is nothing as intense as he’s been booked for in the past, but he’d had to write a few irregularities into his taxes and business agreements to smooth over the waters. It’s not as bad as murder, but it’s tax fraud nonetheless.

Tom had thought he’d been fine. Apparently not. He’s been a hot target for the Metropolitan Police for years, and they’ve consistently unearthed every tiny discrepancy he’s tried to get away with. He should’ve been more fucking careful.

“Shit,” Tom mutters. As he brings his eyes back to the road in front of him, he realises the police car behind you has been joined by another two, closing in from side streets and boxing him in amongst the traffic. He swallows thickly. “I messed up.”

You curse. “Idiot,” you mutter. You sit forwards in the seat and start to point to a gap in the traffic, right across the square. “Go there,” you say, voice pitching higher. “If you go fast, you’ll make it.”

He could book it. Tom’s run away before, in situations of peril where the alternative had been the law and escaping would give him the chance to alter some books and clear his name. It would be easy to slam his foot on the accelerator and dive down side streets, dodging the thick London traffic.

“Tom!” you say again, voice stressed with desperation. “Tom, go!”

The gap in the traffic is narrowly closing, the window of time Tom has to zoom through and get to safety shrinking before his very eyes. If he was alone, he’d do it without a second thought, but you’re here.

You’re here, and that means he can’t be selfish. Tom couldn’t ever risk you, not with such a treacherous manoeuvre like the one that you’re suggesting, nor with the repercussions you’d face if he books it. You’d either have to come on the run with him, or you’d end up captured and grilled by the Met, and neither of those options is the types of things he’d ever bring willingly upon you. You would never deserve that, and he refuses to make it a possibility.

Tom slows down the car.

“Tom,” you say, shock filling your voice. “What are you doing? They’ll get you.”

He nods. “I want you to listen to me, very carefully,” he says quickly.

“But—”

“—Darling, please. Please.” Tom stops the car abruptly. He calculates he has mere seconds before the officers ditch their vehicles and start storming across the traffic to haul him from his seat. “Don’t say anything to them. They want me, not you.” He turns off the engine and grabs your hands, holding them close as he stares into your eyes. “Call Harrison. Whatever shit they’re bringing me in for won’t hold up for long. They’ve— they’ve done this before. They never win. We have backup plans for this crap.”

“Tom,” you whisper, eyes welling with tears, “but they—”

“I know. I know, baby. I know.” He presses quick kisses to your knuckles, clinging so tightly to your fingers it’s like he’ll drift away without your touch. “I’m sorry. I am so bloody sorry. I love you so much.”

His throat hurts. The sight of the pain in your eyes makes him hate himself for ever bringing you into this faithless way of life. He doesn’t give a fuck that he’s destined for a cell—Tom cares that he’s hurt you.

“I love you too,” you say. You lean closer, undoing your seatbelt and popping his too as you reach up to cup Tom’s cheeks in your shaky hands. “It’ll be okay,” you stress. “I’ll get you out of there, baby.”

You lean in closer to kiss him, and Tom aches. The scent of your perfume is overwhelming, and he feels fragile beneath the hold you have on his face. The kindness in your eyes makes it hurt even more. It’d be easier if you’d let fury consume you and spend these last sacred moments denouncing him instead of loving him, but of course, you’re not like that.

The car door opens, and Tom is hauled from the car the moment his lips touch yours. Before he can process it, he’s being pushed up against his car, stiff arms keeping him pinned in place. He closes his eyes, firming up his face and shoving down his feelings as he forces himself to dry up, become stoic. He won’t show weakness now he’s outside.

Tom hears you exit the vehicle a few moments later, the crash of the door coupled with a few scuffles. He drowns out the words of the officers whilst they reel off a list of fabricated crimes, smugness evident in their voices. Good for fucking them.

When they eventually release him, he’s cuffed and weaponless, his spirit bent in two. The metal of his car had hurt his face, but nothing breaks Tom’s heart more than the sight of you being held back by two officers, tears streaming down your face. You bring your hands into the shaky outline of a heart, and it’s the last thing he sees before he’s pushed into the back of a van.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

It’s clear that everyone at the station has been waiting for him to fuck up. He’s met with sly smiles and teasing comments as he’s reacquainted with some of his most despised wardens and guards. He’s held in a temporary cell for almost a day and quizzed on the shreds of ‘evidence’ they’d procured from his house during a raid, and though Tom declines to answer every single question they throw at him, their smugness never fades.

He walks into the trial already knowing he’s going to be locked up, and not even the sight of you beside Harrison and Harry on the benches soothes him.

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

Now, Tom isn’t worried. He knows he won’t actually be held in a cell for that long. He’s already had correspondence with Harrison, who’s assured him that he’s working on it, and there’s really nothing much to worry about. Tom has been in this situation twice before, and on both occasions, he’d been released in less than a month. The connections he’s built from his years heading up the mob are reliant and unwavering, and he knows he won’t have to serve even a fifth of his sentence.

The only difference between the times before and now is you, and Tom can only fucking pray that you don’t despise him for dirtying your name with his crimes. You’d been normal before him—a waitress, aspiring painter, an innocent. Despite your insistence that you love him with all strings attached, his guilt weighs him down. He doesn’t give a fuck about the law and whatever twisted loopholes the jury had bought, but he does care about you and what you think of him. That’s the hardest part.

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

Prison isn’t that bad for Tom. He’s pretty fucking lucky, all things considered. He has friends here—blokes he’d met around town, most of whom are willing to welcome him in. A few of his old guys are locked behind bars with him, unwavering in their loyalty and more than happy to absorb him as members of their group. Those who don’t know Tom know of him. His reputation as a murderous, cold-hearted killer follows him inside, regardless of its falsity. Tom hasn’t taken a life in three years, but these men don’t need to know that.

“Holland! Get the fuck up. You’re in the gym.”

Tom glances up. He’s lying on top of his bed, one hand propped behind his head, the other holding open a book. He isn’t an avid reader like you, but you’d sent him a copy of your favourite book with scribbled annotations in the margins, and he’s been spending every hour since its arrival clinging to the pages.

He sighs as he puts the book down and stands from the lower bunk. He’s in with a young lad, Ollie, booked on a minor drugs charge. Why they’d paired someone on such a minimal sentence with a member of the mob, Tom will never understand, but the fear in the lad’s eyes every time he looks at him is enough to keep his wavering ego bobbing just above the waterline.

“Step away from the door.”

Tom does as instructed. A moment later, there’s a loud buzzer followed by the swinging of the heavy metal door.

In walks Luther, Tom’s archnemesis. If the inmates fear him, the guards despise him, and to be fair, Tom understands why. He’s a bit of a dick when he’s behind bars. Usually, when he’s free, he operates with a level of poise and charm that comes with his position as leader. He speaks to his men with a firm but kind hand, respects everyone he deems his equal and commands supreme authority without becoming a tyrant. However, when he has his freedom stripped away, and he has to bend to fit the system’s will, his attitude becomes… problematic.

“Holland,” Luther barks. A moment later, he appears in the doorway, coughing loudly, cheeks flushed a ruddy red. He snarls at Tom, his voice like jagged glass. “Come on.”

“You alright, mate?” Tom asks. “You sound fucking terrible.” He looks it, too, with a dripping nose and red-rimmed eyes. He looks ill.

Luther’s features sharpen. “Get over here now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom swaggers to the door and dodges a little as Luther cuffs him, the man digging the metal into his skin with extra ferocity. They start to march down the long, grey corridor towards the fitness suite, Luther prodding Tom forward with a hand digging into his back.

“How’s your wife?” Tom tries, tired of the echoing footsteps.

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

The guard tuts. “Does she like having a criminal for a husband?”

“Does yours like being married to such a wanker— hey!”

Luther pushes him down the corridor with haste. “Quiet, Holland,” he mutters. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Well, then it’s too bad you’re stuck with me,” Tom replies. “Did you know that if me being here annoys you so much, you could always let me go? That would sort out your problem.”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah? Let London’s most wanted convict escape?”

Tom raises a brow. “London’s most wanted?” he echoes. “Wow.” Pride seeps into his voice. “That’s an accomplishment.”

“Not a positive one. Self-absorbed bastard.”

It’s easy to laugh. Letting the comments bounce off his back is easier than admitting the jibe about you has irked him. Do you like having a criminal for a partner? Even Tom, for all the world has jaded him, knows no sane person would rest well with the knowledge that their significant other has lied, stolen, and killed. It doesn’t lie well with him, and he was born into this.

They reach the gym.

Tom sticks to the same workout regime he has at home. He does his cardio for twenty minutes on the wobbling treadmill, then sits around on the bench press and does curls with a few of the guys. He keeps quiet, his mind loud, only adding a few comments when necessary. His sullenness adds to his image, and he’s busy with thoughts of you. By the time he’s finished, he feels arguably worse than before. The endorphins from his workout are overshadowed by the guilt Tom feels, clawing at his heart, heavy and persistent in its certainty that he’s a lousy partner.

He can handle being a bad guy, but a bad man? A bad brother, bad friend, or bad lover? The opinions of the guards mean nothing to him, and neither does the law, but when it comes to the people he cares about, their opinions mean everything. Tom has let Luther get into his head, and whilst he knows that was the guard’s intention, the seed of doubt has been planted. As he pumps iron, he feels it grow, taking root, blooming taller.

“Holland. Time to go.”

He grunts as he stands. Sweaty and sore, Tom hobbles to the doorway, feeling considerably smaller than he had when he’d left his cell. The cuffs hurt his wrists as his hands are clasped back together, and the walk back feels even longer than before.

“You had a parcel delivered,” Luther says, breaking the silence. “It arrived last week.”

Tom’s eyebrows pull together. “Last week?”

“I thought I should hold it back until you’d settled in,” comes the patronising response. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many new experiences, Thomas. Not that being in here is anything out of the ordinary for you, though.”

He feels his jaw twitch. He flexes his hand, knuckles burning for movement. Not yet, not yet. He has to wait, has to play the long game.

“You’re a dick,” Tom decides. He doesn’t care that he gets thrown roughly into the cell. He trips over the floor and barely manages to scrape himself to his feet, but he throws out a smirking “fuck you,” before the door slams shut. He’d follow it up with more snide remarks, but he becomes distracted by the sight of the parcel sitting on his bed.

It’s neat, despite the obvious intrusion into its contents by the guards. He flops onto his lower bunk, glad his cellmate is absent as it allows him to drop the ruse. Lips sagging into a frown, Tom rips open the package.

He releases a fragile sound as the contents pour across his duvet. Polaroids fall across the sheets, glistening slightly, neat and pristine. A lump comes to the back of his throat as he shuffles through them, finding images of you, Harry, Sam, Tess… The list carries on. For every person he can think of, there’s an image captured perfectly in time. He even appears in a few of them, with his hand around Haz’s shoulder or his lips pressed to your temple.

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

Tom, I thought you’d want some reminders of home while you’re away. We’re all looking forward until the day you can come home to us. Love you forever, Y/N <3

As Tom traces the edge of his nail along the outline of your face, his eyes well with hot tears. You always know what he needs, even when he doesn’t. You know him, inside out, and you’re continuing to support him, despite it all. He is indebted to you, and he knows already that as soon as he’s let out, he’ll spend every second of his life trying to repay that.

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two weeks later, Tom finally gets to see you again.

The prison visiting room is fucking grim. Toned in sludgy shades of grey and brown, it’s about as ugly as it could be. There are window slits pressed high into the walls, but the primary source of light is from the musky bulbs set above each table. The chairs are uncomfortable, and the decor lacks inspiration. Tom often wonders if the room was designed to be as revolting as possible.

Despite this, as Tom shuffles into the room that smells suspiciously of plasticine, he couldn’t be happier. It doesn’t matter that his wrists ache from the cuffs, nor that the garish shade of orange clashes horrendously against his skin: you’re here, and that makes everything better.

You’re sitting at the table in the corner of the room, drumming your fingers pensively over the surface. His eyes catch on the glinting ring wrapped around your fourth finger, and the sense of longing that had settled in the hollowness of his chest is quickly burnt away. Sensing his movements, you glance up, and when your eyes meet with his, Tom feels his heart come home.

You raise a hand in greeting, smiling shyly, and he tries to look as non-threatening as possible. He knows the new buzzcut and the stupid get-up probably don’t help, but you don’t look at him like he’s any different.

As he draws nearer, Tom finds himself blinking a few times, questioning how long you’ve been separated. The version of you he has holed up in his memories pales in comparison to the woman that he sees before him now, but he can’t quite pinpoint why. You seem fuller somehow—vibrant, glowing, alive, your face doused in a heavenly glow and your skin bright with health. Your figure has changed slightly, and Tom can’t stop himself from running his eyes all over you, trying to memorise every tiny detail his memory had blurred away. You look so beautiful, every single part of your form enhanced and bright, and your chest—

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

“Y/N,” he exhales the moment he’s been pushed into his seat. His guard unclasps his cuffs, and Tom immediately reaches out across the table, almost moaning from relief when you wrap your fingers around his. Your skin is so warm.

“Tom,” you whisper. Emotion seeps into your voice, and he feels his chest crack as tears pool in your eyes. “Are you okay? I— I missed you.”

He hums, biting his lip. “I’m fine, baby. I’m okay. Are you?”

You nod quickly. “I’m okay too,” you say. “Things are strange without you, but we’re working around the clock to get you out of here.” You drop your voice slightly. “I think we’re near a breakthrough.”

Tom’s teeth brush his lower lip. “Good, good,” he says. “How’s Tess? And Harry, and the others? Are they looking out for you?”

“Yeah,” you say. You squeeze Tom’s hands tightly. “They’re all okay. Mainly just worried about you.”

He shrugs, trying to lessen the furrow in your brow. “‘M all good, darling,” he promises. “Don’t worry about me.”

Your eyes skate across his face. “I like your hair,” you say gently. For a moment, Tom thinks you’re going to try and reach out to touch the buzzed fuzz, but you seem to remember that anything beyond handholding is prohibited. You have to settle for a slightly suggestive smile. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks, lovie.”

Your smile is sad but it’s still hopeful. Whatever emotions you’re feeling, it’s clear that you’re trying to smooth them away and keep them to yourself. “There’s something I wanted to tell you,” you say, easing into the words with difficulty. Tom watches as you look away, doubt casting across your face.

“What is it?” Vaguely, Tom remembers how skittish you’d been the day he’d been taken away, the memory distorted from the noise of everything else that had happened. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You bite your lower lip. “Uh, just first… how are you holding up in here? Like, actually. Don’t bullshit me and play the tough guy.” Your eyes are wide and persistent. “How are you actually doing?”

Tom blinks a few times. “Fine,” he shoots immediately. He clenches your fingers tightly in his, clinging on for a moment until he exhales. “I wish I could be here for you properly, though. It worries me that I don’t know what’s happening on the outside…” He hates being left out in the dark, but it isn’t your fault. It’s his. “I wish I could be a better boyfriend to you.”

“Fiancé,” you correct, the word soft like it’d left your mouth without thought. “You’re already a good boyfriend, Tom. I knew what I was signing up for. I wanted this back then, and I still do now.”

“Still,” he grumbles. He tries to even out the heaviness of the conversation with a smile. “I think about you all the time, baby. And the others too, but… mostly you. I just hate that I’m missing out on our life together.” He has to stop for a moment as he recollects his thoughts. “I’m sorry that I did this to us, and I’m sorry I let you down.”

You crack a wry smile. “You can’t change the past, Tom. You can only affect the future.” You pause, your expression hardening. “I need to know that you’ll go slower when you get out. I know this is your life, but some things need to change. We— I need you to stay out of trouble. Do you understand?”

He nods his head immediately. “Of course, of course. I don’t ever want to get arrested again, darling.”

You drop your voice. “I’m not saying you need to quit everything, just… get better safeguards and be smarter. I love who you are, Tom, but this…” You break off to gesture around, pointing vaguely at his cuffs, the jumpsuit, and the guards. “This isn’t good for you or for me. And I love you, but I won’t stay if you don’t try.”

It’s hard to hear, but he knows it’s what he deserves to hear. He knows you deserve to stand your ground.

“I know,” Tom says gently. “I’ll get clean when I’m out, Y/N. I promise. I’ll be a good man by you.”

You squeeze his fingers tighter. “You already are,” you promise, “and I love you so much, even when you’re being an idiot.”

He laughs breathlessly. “Thank you, darling.” Tom tilts his head to the side. “What was it you wanted to say?”

Conflict briefly colours your face, manifesting itself in the arch of your eyebrow and the biting of your lower lip. You inhale sharply, only to exhale again a moment later.

“I’ll tell you when you’re out,” you say softly.

Tom scowls. There’s no anger there, just confusion. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

You shake your head. “I… Pretend I never said anything,” you say. You follow it up with a quick, “if I thought you needed to know, I’d tell you.”

He doesn’t want to push it, so Tom lets the topic slip away. You sit together silently for a few minutes. It’s hard to talk, difficult to express how much he misses you, how much he’s sorry. He knows that you understand—you always do, and you have similar tears wobbling across your eyes. Talking can come afterwards when he’s out and he’s free. All he needs now is the feeling of your hand back in his.

The visit is over far too soon.

Leaving you is difficult. Tom isn’t allowed to hug you or go any nearer than the linked hands on the table, but you tug at his fingers until he feels the imprint of your engagement ring rubbing against his skin. He even manages to kiss your knuckles a few times before he’s pulled up from the table and cuffed again.

“Be on your best behaviour,” you say, soft with your parting words. “The lawyer says the better you are, the easier it’ll be to get you out early.”

Tom has a bit of his spark back. Even as he’s pulled back, he manages a devious smirk. “When am I ever not on my best behaviour, darling?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

To be fair, it isn’t really his fault. He’s pushed to the very verge of insanity, prodded at and provoked beyond the point of return.

It happens when he’s in the barber, huddled in the back corner of the room as he gets a new tattoo. Tom is used to the pain of the burning needles as he already has a few pieces on his arms and his hands, so he’s able to take the fresh marks to his knuckles as the ink stains black against his skin. However, he’s a bit on edge from the sharp buzzing, which is perhaps why he responds so negatively to the taunting he starts to receive. It comes from Toni and the rest of his snivelling gang. They’re all members of the East London mob, ruled over by Tom’s nemesis Gordy. Most of the time, they stick to their side and Tom sticks to his, but they’ve caught him in a vulnerable position, and Toni never seems to know how to pick his timing.

It’s basic teasing, instilled with a brutal hard edge that would phase him if Tom cared enough about their opinions of him. It doesn’t hurt him when people attack his character or his honour—Tom knows the truth about his life, and he couldn’t give two shits about an outsider’s opinion of him. However, he finds it a lot harder to grin and bear it when the man changes angle.

“Word is, a couple of our guys saw your missus out with Haz the other day,” Toni taunts. “He said they were getting real close if you know what I mean.”

Tom’s jaw flexes. The action is minute, but it doesn’t go undetected. Toni smirks.

“Eh, you don’t like that, do you?” The man steps a little closer and Tom tries to ignore him by looking down at the needle pressing into his fingers. “Don’t like the idea of your best friend hanging around your wife. Can you even trust them?” He breaks off, laughing coolly. “They think you’re so stupid, did you know that? You’ll get out of here, and they’ll have cut you out of everything—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tom murmurs. He flexes his right hand, shaking out his knuckles. With every passing day, he’s felt tetchier. He can feel his anger burning, churning deep within his stomach, growing brighter, harder. He knows he shouldn’t lean into it, but… He wants to. He craves that rush of the fight, selfishly so.

“But she’s not your wife, is she? You aren’t actually married. Have you ever thought that maybe she’s just using you? Maybe they all are? Look at you, Tom.” Toni breaks off to throw a disdainful hand in Tom’s direction. “You are so weak in here… How are any of your guys going to respect you when their leader can’t even stay out the slammer?”

The guy tattooing Tom’s hand finally pulls away, glancing up at him with knowing in his eyes. “You’re done,” he says. “Don’t do anything with that hand, though.”

“Thanks, man.”

Tom stands up, Toni mirroring him. The man looms in front of him, 6’2 and stocky. He’s larger than Tom in every respect, but he’ll never be the bigger man.

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

“Make me, twat.” Toni smirks. “Or are you too much of a pussy to follow through on that as well?”

Tom sees red. Acting on the edge of adrenaline, he pounces, rushing the man and jumping with so much unexpected force that the larger man goes tumbling to the floor. Tom hears the shouts of the guards, but they pale in comparison to his need to straddle the man’s chest and make him pay. With each meeting of his fist with Toni’s face, Tom feels better. He’s never been an excessively violent person, but old habits die hard, and it’s so, so, so fucking easy to pummel the guy who dared breath an uncomplimentary word in his family’s direction. Tom would put the whole city six feet under if they so much as breathed wrong around his loved ones, so really, Toni had it coming.

The prison guards don’t agree.

He ends up in solitary, and when he’s put back into the normal population, Tom is given restrictions. He isn’t allowed visitors for a fortnight, and his calls are reduced to once a week. All other privileges he’d had are taken away again, and he’s relegated to the very bottom of the pecking order.

It’s still worth it.

When he’s finally allowed visitors again, Tom is surprised to learn that his next meeting isn’t with you or his lawyer. Things only make sense when he shuffles into the meeting room and sees his right-hand man settled in the corner, and if Tom had found the room drab before, it appears even more depressing with the addition of the blond man sitting in it. Harrison sucks the life from the room, any hints of happiness at being reunited with his friend overshadowed by the pinched expression on his face.

The guards don’t let Tom take off his cuffs. He has to sidle into the chair, falling into the heavy silence as he places his hands on the table. Metal links click, and Harrison just stares. He stares, and stares, and stares, his blue eyes almost black.

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

Harrison’s jaw twitches. He brings his hands to rest on the top of the table, flexing them as he takes a moment to find the right words. “Tom,” he says, speaking very slowly. “You are a twat.”

He blinks. “Wow,” Tom mutters, chuckling slightly. “Okay. Good to see you too, mate.”

“Do you…” Harrison breaks off, groaning. His forehead develops angry ripples. “Do you understand how detrimental this has been to your case?”

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

“You’ve been pushed to the bottom of the pile,” Harrison says, voice controlled but simmering with unspoken anger. “We were about to get your appeal passed for early release.” He sits back, crossing his arms as he shakes his head. “There’s been a penalty applied due to your stint in solitary. Your case won’t be assessed until it’s lifted.”

Tom feels his stomach drop. “Shit,” he mutters. “That’s not ideal.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Harrison sits forward, leaning on his hands. “You are a bloody idiot. Stop acting like a child… Why… Why did you even attack him? You must have known this would happen. Are you stupid?”

He doesn’t like the patronisation in his tone. Tom’s already beat himself up enough about this in solitary. He doesn’t need Harrison questioning his judgements, doesn’t appreciate his friend breathing down his neck so obviously.

“He deserved it,” Tom says firmly. “I would do it again.”

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

“I think you’ll find that I can, Harrison.” There’s a stupid smirk on his lips now. Tom’s missed being a little shit to his friends. He knows it’s not the time, but he’s vibrating. The callous concoction of shame, anger and isolation make him volatile and abrasive. “I’m pretty sure I can do whatever the fuck I want, actually.”

The expression that mars Harrison’s face looks very out of place against his demeanour. The man is in a long black trench coat with a tight grey turtleneck layered beneath it. He has a few pendants hanging from his neck, the gold metal bringing out the warm tones in his curls, mussed in a way that screams of old charm and perfect romance. Harrison’s illusion of control falters only under the pressure of the anger that manifests itself so clearly on his face.

“Tom.” Harrison bangs his fist on the table. The ring wrapped around his pinky clangs against the wood. “You can’t keep this up. If you do, the case gets pushed further, and that is unacceptable.”

Tom scowls. “Well, Haz, last time I checked, I was the one who has to deal with the consequences of my actions. Not you.” He can’t stand the expression of condescension hanging over Harrison’s face. “If I want to throw a few punches, I bloody well will. You have no idea what it’s like in here. No idea at all.”

Harrison’s angered expression fades a little, but only for a moment. When Tom hardens the curve of his eyebrow, Harrison devolves into irritation again, almost snarling as he narrows his eyes. “Your actions affect everyone in your life,” he snaps. “Stop pretending you’re the only one paying for the things that you’ve done.”

“I’m the one with the cuffs, Harrison. I’d say I’m paying considerably more than anyone else.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah? Tell that to the men who had their property searched and their possessions seized. Tell that to your family, who continue to be pulled in for questioning. Tell that to Y/N, who—” he breaks off awfully quickly, cheeks flushing slightly. “Nevermind.”

Tom’s blood goes cold. “Y/N?” he repeats sharply. “What about Y/N?”

“Nothing.”

He sits up straighter. “What about Y/N, Harrison?”

“Nothing.”

Tom is angry now. “Tell me right now or god help me, I will find a way to kill you.”

Harrison rolls his eyes, then covers the movement with a sigh. ��I can’t. It isn’t my place.” He seems regretful as he jumps in to add, “she’s fine. She just needs you. We all do.”

The guilt returns. It falls over Tom like a wet blanket, extinguishing his frustration and leaving him cold. “Does she… Does she hate me?” He’s looking down at his cuffs.

“What— no. No, Tom.” Harrison looks guilty for the first time, but at least he isn’t confirming Tom’s deepest insecurities. “Nothing like that at all. Just… Listen to me, alright? You need to behave. I know it’s hard in here, I know that, and I understand it must be frustrating. You just… You can’t let that rule you, Tom. You have to look at the bigger picture. You need to come home, and the sooner the better.”

It’s easier said than done, but he knows Harrison is earnest with it.

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

Harrison nods. “Thanks, mate,” he mutters. “We all miss you, myself included.” He glances up at him, eyes finally back to the cool blue tones Tom grew up beside. “It isn’t the same without you around.”

Tom manages a tight smile. “I miss you too.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

IT’S BEEN THREE MONTHS since Tom was taken away, and you are miserable.

Every day has been the same. You wake up, nauseous and alone, always on Tom’s side of the bed despite forcing yourself to fall asleep on your own. The mornings are a blur of paperwork and phone calls that follow you into the afternoon. You work around the clock, Harrison, Harry and Sam at your side as you go over Tom’s case, again and again, only stopping when night falls, and one of you throws in the towel.

You had been so close to springing him until he’d gone and got himself demoted to solitary, and there’s not a morning that you don’t think about that. You’d submitted the appeal, stacked full of so much evidence that there was no way the judge would deny him freedom, only for Tom to get into a fistfight the day before the hearing. Just like that, the floor had vanished from beneath your feet.

You’d taken it badly, the others too. Losing Tom to the judge’s gavel had been hard enough, but for his escape to be taken away by his own actions hurt a thousand times worse. You know it’s worse for him, being alone in a cell, but that doesn’t stop the bitterness seeping into your mouth every time you think about the lost chance. Harry and Sam had been incensed, their anger fuelled by the void of a missing brother, and you know Harrison’s frustration comes from similar veins.

Even now that Tom’s served his time in solitary, the frustration lingers on, manifesting itself in the way none of you could decide who should go and visit him first. Under normal conditions, you would’ve been there in a heartbeat, but… Things have been complicated, even without recent events, more so than they’d been when you’d visited two months ago. When Harrison had bitten the bullet and volunteered himself, all of you had been more than happy to let him go.

He’d left this morning, and the house has been quiet ever since.

You’re sitting up in one of the spare rooms as you wait for Harrison to return, your back aching and your mind spinning. You twirl the rings on your fingers as you think, taking turns alternating between your engagement ring and the silver signet rings you’d taken from Tom’s dresser. Keeping him close makes everything easier. You’d take any reminder of him you could get, be that his rings, his shirts, his cologne, or…

The baby.

You shift a hand down to sit on the swell of your belly. Tears prick your eyes as you let them close, a frustrated sigh tumbling past your lips.

You’re four months pregnant, and that throws a spanner in the works.

Sure, you would’ve tried equally as hard to get Tom released under normal conditions, but the biological countdown that has now been sprinkled into the mix has only given everything an air of desperation. Even if it isn’t you vocalising what everyone else is thinking, the fervour to get Tom out before it’s too late is there. You can see it in the way Harrison never lets you go anywhere unaccompanied, and Harry and Sam have been working nonstop to get their brother’s freedom. Everyone around you is aware of how vital Tom’s release is, even when the man himself remains oblivious.

Exhaling gently, you shift around on the cosy armchair. The nursery smells of fading paint, and as you move around, you glance at the messy borders of the walls. The sex of your baby is still a mystery to you, but a few days ago, the twins had freshened up the room with a shade of light green whilst you and Harrison were in court. Neither of them is particularly artistically inclined, but they’d done a pretty decent job, all things considered.

Tom’s family have all been good to you—very kind. You haven’t felt alone, even with half your heart locked away in the outskirts of London. It just hasn’t been the idyllic pregnancy you’d dreamt about with your fiancé.

Guilt falls across you as you look down at the rising swell of your belly.

It’s been hard trying to decide whether or not to tell Tom what you’d tried to come clean about three months ago, down by the Thames. You’d wanted to tell him when you’d gone to visit him, but you couldn’t find the heart to come clean and admit that he’s missing out on the one thing he’s waited for his entire life. Telling him would hurt him immensely, and he’s already hurting being away from you. You don’t want to tell him until he can be part of it, and with that uncertainty present, you’ve kept your lips sealed.

Visiting him today in place of Harrison is all you really wanted to do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’re vulnerable and explosive, and you want to come clean to Tom when the situation is better. There would be nothing worse than storming into that dingy meeting room, flaunting your obvious pregnancy but being too distracted by your anger at your fiancé to explain everything else. You won’t hurt him like that by taunting him with the one thing he wants but can’t have. You refuse to.

All you can do is hope that he forgives you for holding the information back, pray that he understands your motivations, and, above all, hold onto the hope that he’s there when your child comes into the world.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

Blinking yourself from your reverie, you look up through the open door.

“In here, Sam.”

A moment later, Tom’s younger brother appears in the doorway. The man looks as exhausted as you feel, deep shadows hanging beneath his hazel eyes. When he sees you, his mouth pulls into a small smile and he lifts his hand in greeting, and you can tell that he’s trying. You try to match him by sitting up a little straighter and smiling back.

“Hey,” he says. “I was just… bored, I guess. Thought I’d come and check on you.” Doubt briefly flickers across his face. “Is that okay? Are you busy?”

“I’m bored too,” you admit. You stand from the armchair and groan as you stretch your arms, your stiff back aching. “Do you want to do something?”

Sam grins. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “Can we try the mural?”

Wincing, you manage a smile. “Okay… But if it looks terrible, I will paint over it.”

“As if. I’m the artistic one here, Y/N. Just be glad Harry’s still away.”

“Did someone mention me?” Harry’s voice rings through the air, startling you. With a hand clutching your heart, you look to your side in time to see Sam’s twin taking his place at your side. Where Sam is in a shirt and tie, Harry is clad in a pair of deep denim dungarees. He offers you a rusty smile. “We’re just filling in these lines, yeah?”

Sam’s the one to nod. He gestures at the wall and you notice the faint outlines, scratched in pencil. “Be precise,” he informs, “it took me bloody ages sketching it.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shooting you a silent smirk. “Yes, sir,” he mutters. “Anything you want, sir.”

“Fuck off.”

Harry pulls a face. “Well,” he says, looking at you pointedly, “I hope you’re keeping a record of how many times Sam is swearing around the baby, Y/N.”

Brows furrowing, you pick up a paintbrush. “Why would I be doing that?”

The ginger grins. “Just betters my case for being the better uncle,” he says.

“Oh, what? Don’t you mean the boring uncle?” Sam chides, bristling beside you.

Harry laughs. “I will be the favourite uncle. I don’t care what you say, Sammy. Both of us know it.”

Rolling your eyes at the argument you’ve heard a thousand times before, you give them both a nudge. “Shh,” you plead. “Paint, don’t fight.”

Sam shoots you a soft smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

With a smile lingering on your lips, you watch as Harry puts on one of his playlists, then relax as the three of you get to work. None of you say anything, but the air is full enough—tickled to life with Sam’s quiet whistling and the sound of paintbrushes thick against the wall. You concentrate on the intricate details of the mural, like the outlines of the clouds and the spirals of the grass, and marvel at how wonderful it is to be so content in silence. It’s indicative of how tight your bond has grown, you think.

No longer despising solitude, you’ve found a comfortable middle ground around the men. You and Tom’s inner circle have learned to work together well, stringing together complex case files as you’ve organised accounts. Nothing you’ve been doing recently is legal, but you would’ve left a long time ago if you genuinely cared about the law. You can stomach a few fixed accounts if it means Tom gets to walk free—you can stomach a whole lot more than that, actually, for Tom. You’d set the whole world on fire just to see him smile.

Like the splotchy mural covering the walls, your team has got the job done. Your case for the court is watertight, if a little messy, but you know it’ll be enough to spring Tom. It has to be. You need him, and your child needs him. Everyone in the house needs him.

“Guys? Where are you?” Harrison’s voice joins the mix just as you’re stretching up to flick a few rays of gold into the sun. Harry is at your feet, crouching on the balls of his feet as he tries to paint a few red flowers to the sprigs of grass.

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

A few moments later, Harrison joins you. You fail to meet his eyes as the focused man sweeps into the room, billowing coat swirling around his feet. His expression is terse as he jerks off his jacket and grabs a paintbrush, dipping the tip in a bit of sky blue paint before standing at the end. You don’t rush him. He’s vibrating with something, his face flushed and his eyes dark, so you give him space.

A few minutes pass, illustrated by Harry’s playlist and the colours of the rainbow. Just when you’re beginning to worry, Harrison speaks.

“Tom is an idiot,” he states, drawing a laugh from one of the twins.

You bite your lip. “Did you explain?” you ask.

Harrison nods. He glances at you, and you note the fleck of purple paint pressed into the pale arc of his cheek. “He said he wouldn’t do it again,” he tells you. “He was angry, though. I think he’s having a bad time.”

Harry hums. “It’s hard in there,” he mumbles. “Was he still himself?”

The blond nods. “Yeah,” he says. “As snarky as ever.”

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

“Good news, though,” Harrison adds. “I went to the courthouse on my way back.”

“Oh?” You look away from your cloud, your heart skipping a beat. “And?”

“And,” Harrison continues, a semblance of a smile twitching across his lips, “I submitted the appeal again. They said they’d probably process it next week. So, if things go according to plan this time, he might be out by next Friday.”

You almost drop your paintbrush. Eyes widening, you turn to face him properly. “Wait, really?”

Harrison’s expression softens. “Yeah.” He puts his paintbrush down, tugging yours from your fingers as if he can tell you’re close to dropping it. “He’s almost out, Y/N.”

Relief spills across you, uncontrollable and overwhelming. Closing your eyes before those easy tears can fall down your cheeks, you step closer and push your way into Harrison’s embrace. He’s ready and waiting for the action, eager to comfort his friend.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Harrison’s chest is warm, and though his hugs aren’t as good as Tom’s, you’ve come to rely on them. You’ve come to rely on all of them. “That’s amazing news.”

“Mhmm.” He squeezes you. “This nightmare is almost over.”

“Thanks, man,” Harry speaks up. You pull away from Harrison’s hold when you hear the quivering tones in his voice, quickly glancing to the man to find him glassy-eyed and flushed. Biting your lip, you extend a hand towards him.

A group hug unfolds, as it’s had the tendency to do since Tom was taken away. The first time had been stoic and cool, with frozen elbows and embarrassed shuffling, but slowly, each one of them has loosened. They’re tough men, burdened and hard, but love ties them to you, and at your request, you know they’d do anything for you. You also know that they all enjoy the physical comfort more than they’d ever let on.

It’s been hard without Tom, and you’d do anything to have him back, but if there’s anything his absence has taught you, it’s that his brothers have become your brothers as his best friend has become your own, and you’ve never really been alone.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s release day comes quickly, hidden behind the retrial and the quick-paced days in court. It’s busy at the trial, and spaces are limited, so Harry and Sam attend in place of you and Harrison. You get them to take in a few letters for Tom and pass on your condolences for your absence, but you don’t allow yourself to get too hung up on it. When Tom’s release is announced, the weight that rolls from your shoulders is immediate.

As you wait outside the prison, you try to find solace in the rays of the mid-afternoon sun. It’s quiet in the car park, allowing you to ruminate in peace, and though you’re comfortable resting against the bonnet of Tom’s car, your thoughts are far from restful.

Anxiety weighs heavily in your chest, mixing with your excitement and creating a volatile concoction. You find yourself pacing, biting back your nerves as you try to reason with yourself. Draped around your shoulders is a long coat that obscures your bump, chosen as you’ve decided you don’t want to overwhelm Tom with too many things at once. You hope it does the job. The coat twitches in the wind as you walk, noisy and obnoxious.

Things around you are still until there’s a sudden, loud buzzing noise from the prison compound. You jerk your head around to see two men leaving the main building, small in the distance but gradually growing larger. They’re still enclosed in the fenced courtyard, but they’re on their way to the exit, and every rational thought you have flies from your mind as you see him. Tom. Your Tom.

He’s in the clothes he’d been arrested in—red shirt, black slacks, shiny shoes. Looped around his hands is his Rolex and his rings. Tom seems almost identical to how he’d been on that cursed day, just his head is buzzed and he looks a little smaller. He’s carrying himself with confidence, though, and when he looks fervently around the car park and spots you, his entire face swells with happiness. The sight of that large, lovely smile hanging from his lips brings immediate warmth to your eyes.

Every breath is easier now you have him in your sights. Overwhelming love gluts your insides, warm and emotive, choking you up. It takes everything in you to stay still as you wait for Tom to finish talking with his guard, a tall man you recognise from all of his stories, Luther. Tom’s smirking in a way that’s obviously infuriating, and the guard doesn’t hesitate to give him a light punch as your boyfriend saunters out of prison, leaving the compound with a swagger to his stride and a smile the size of Saturn.

The sight of Tom jogging towards you breaks you from your reverie, and you push yourself away from the car to meet him somewhere in the middle. Nothing matters until you’re colliding with his front, finding warmth in his arms, feeling his entire body shake as his tears fall into your hair. Nothing matters unless it’s him.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper. Your grip on the back of Tom’s shirt is hard, a violent sprawling across your knuckles, but you won’t let go. You’re giddy with love. “Fuck, Tom, I missed you so, so much.”

You pull away from his chest and look into his eyes, your lower lip wobbling as you note the fresh tears on his face. You use your thumbs to brush beneath his cheeks, flicking away the tears as you clean up his handsomeness.

“I missed you so much more,” he promises. Tom brings a hand to rest on the back of your head, breath hitching as he meets your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He kisses you, and it’s so intense you end up pressed against the side of the car. Tom moans with relief as he strokes his fingers over the side of your face, delicately reacquainting his lips with yours as they meet again and again. You keep your hands gliding over his back, his arms, his shoulders, letting your tongues come together as tears flow down your cheeks. The kiss is everything and nothing, familiar and new. The kiss says I missed you. It says I thought about you every day. It says I would wait a thousand dawns if it meant I got to wake up beside you again, but thank fucking god you’re here right now because I missed you more than I ever thought was possible.

“Baby,” Tom murmurs. He pulls away but keeps your foreheads pressed together, the cool tip of his nose brushing yours. “You’re so perfect. I missed you so much that it hurt me.”

He tries to move closer, but you become aware of the pressure to your belly, so bring a gentle hand to push his shoulder away. Hurt immediately floods to his eyes, his expression twitching as Tom takes a few steps back.

“Tom,” you say, voice soft. “I need to tell you something.”

Tom’s jaw twitches. “What is it?” he whispers.

“A good thing,” you clarify. You reach up to wipe the residue of your tears away, then bring your hands down to the tie of your jacket. Biting your lip, you take a steadying breath. “I hope you aren’t angry that I didn’t tell you sooner,” you preface, “but I did it for you.”

Tom nods intensely. “Okay,” he says. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s fine. I’m… I’m here, okay? For anything. It’s me and you. Just… me and you forever.”

A smile flickers across your face. “Me and you, and…” You gently open the front of your coat, then reach out for Tom’s hands. Guiding them slowly, you bring the warmth of his palms to rest on the rise of your bump.

“Wait…” Tom shifts his hands around your belly before staring up at you, slack-jawed. He doesn’t try to hide the obvious tears in his eyes. “You’re…?”

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

“Oh god.” Tom sniffles. “What?” He immediately drops to his knees in front of you, his fancy dress trousers getting dirty in the dust. “How— how far along?”

“Almost five months,” you whisper. “I found out right before you got back from Liverpool. I was going to tell you when we went on that date, but…”

“But I fucked up.” Tom sounds wrecked, his aching eyes fixed on the curve of your belly. “I fucked everything up. I… I left you alone for this entire time, and you had to do this all without me.” He rests his forehead against your bump, very, very gently, and you see him close his eyes. “I am a terrible partner.”

Rolling your fingers over the scruff of his hair, you guide him up to look at you. It’s second nature as you roll a thumb over his cheekbone, trying to instil the action with love and reassurance.

“I’m not angry,” you tell him. “You didn’t know, and you didn’t get arrested on purpose. If anything, you should be angry at me for keeping this a secret.” Your teeth catch your lower lip. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I thought telling you would only make things worse. I’m sorry.”

Tom shakes his head. “No, no. Don’t apologise.” He rests a hand on your leg, the other still on the curve of your front. “I’m sorry.” He drops his voice and looks at the bump. “And I’m sorry to you too, little one.” He nudges his mouth forward and deposits a soft kiss to your stomach. “I love you too.”

Digging one of your hands into your coat pocket, you pull out a photo. “Here,” you urge, handing it to your boyfriend. Tom takes it after a moment, his eyes slow to move away from your front.

He releases a noise somewhere between an exclamation and a choke, nimble fingers gripping the image from your ultrasound. His cheeks flush a brilliant rose.

“When was this?” he whispers.

“At three months,” you reply. You continue to run your hand over the top of his head, trying to soothe him as he absorbs so much information at once. “I went with my mum and Haz.”

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

Tom hums. He looks between the photo and your bump, then nudges forward to kiss the rise again. His lips are so warm you can feel them through the material of your dress. “Have they been looking after you well enough?”

A light laugh slips past your lips. “Yeah,” you promise. “They helped so much, Tom. It was hard at first… Really hard. Especially when we thought you’d be in there for five years, but… Things worked out.” You have to pause to gather your thoughts. “We converted one of the rooms into a nursery. There’s still stuff left to do, and we can do that together, of course, but… They were all really helpful.”

“Good.” Tom looks up at you, still kneeling, and your hand slips down to cup his face. “I’m sorry,” he adds. “I wish I could’ve been here for all of this.”

Shrugging gently, you squeeze his face. “You can be here for the rest of it,” you promise. “And, I guess… If we have another one, you’ll be there for all of that, right?”

“Of course, darling.” You smile as Tom tilts his lips to knock against the side of your palm.

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Chuckling softly, you nod. “Yes,” you promise. “I love you, and I’m so happy this has happened for us, even if the timing was difficult.” Feeling yourself well up, you exhale slowly. “We’re going to be parents, Tom. Isn’t that crazy?”

“It’s brilliant.” Tom’s eyes sparkle. “I’m going to be a father.” He blinks. “What the fuck.”

Laughing, you move your hands to the crown of his head. “Yeah, it’ll take a while to get used to that.”

“I’ll get there,” he states. Tom returns his attention to the bump. “Hey, little one,” he coos, voice all silk and amber tones, “it’s going to be the biggest honour of my life being your dad.”

Tom spends a while at your feet, speaking softly to you and your bump, and you keep your hand resting on the back of his head. He’s weary when he finally climbs to his feet but regains some of that spark when you step forward to kiss him. You don’t mean to make it as heated as you do, but it hasn’t only been your heart that’s missed Tom. You’ve craved him, constantly, during every single lonely night, and now that he’s here, you’re willing to take everything you can get.

“I love you,” you say, hushed against his mouth.

Tom’s teeth brush over your lower lip, and you moan when he tugs. There’s a fervour to it, hot lust burning through sensitive emotions. He releases your lip and pulls back to stare at you, his eyes rippling darker.

“I love you too,” he murmurs. He brings his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. “I love everything about you.”

Your mouths come back together, and it’s messier than before, your lips wettening as your kisses become wilder. Tongues dance and teeth clash as your body temperature starts to rise. Now you’ve moved through the emotional reunion, you’re left with an underlying pulse—a heat throbbing persistently between your legs. The fire builds as you hear Tom’s grunts and feel the desperation in his hands when they grab at your sides and jerk you closer, his mouth devouring yours until your lips are puffy and tender. You’re greedy, chasing more, desiring everything you’ve missed out on in the months you’ve been apart from your lover.

“Darling,” Tom murmurs, breaking the kiss to whisper hotly against your lips, “I missed you, but if you keep this up, we’re not going to get home.”

Desire takes hold of you. “Who said I wanted to go home?” You push in closer, shifting slightly until you’re able to feel the hardness of his crotch pressing up against your thigh. The familiarity of it all makes you inhale sharply. You drop your tone, trying to seem coy as you speak, “I don’t think you understand how badly I needed you whilst you were away, Tom. I missed you.”

The tips of his teeth glint as he arches his brows. “Well…” Tom mumbles. “I owe you about four months of lost opportunities.” He swallows, briefly breaking from the lust-filled headspace to look guilty. You smooth it away by reaching down to squeeze at his hands. “If my radiantly stunning fiancé decides she wants me to start repenting for that now, then who am I to stop her?”

Rolling your eyes, you step away from the car. “You’re a suck-up,” you taunt. You plant a light kiss to his lips. “C’mon,” you urge. “The car.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “The backseat?” he teases. “Shit, angel. You must be desperate.”

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

Tom smirks deviously. “It’s okay,” he soothes. He darts forward to open the car door for you, resting his hand on your lower back as you step forward. “I’m just as desperate as you, baby.”

“I hate you,” you murmur. Tom follows you into the car, shutting the door behind you both. You wait for him to sit before straddling his lap, your legs stretching until you have a shin planted on either side of his thighs. The position is comfortable, with enough space between your bump and his chest for you to breath, and you whimper as Tom bends nearer to ghost his lips over yours.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

You want to tease him, but you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You’re alright with too much adoration to even think about pressing it down.

“I really don’t,” you agree.

Tom makes a soft noise of vindication, the tip of his nose brushing yours for just a moment until he’s bearing down and bringing your lips together. You sigh, reaching up and urging him closer. His lips are lovely, and you enjoy kissing them for a while, but then you find yourself distracted by the open expanse of his neck. With his hair buzzed, you’re keenly aware of his throat, pale and sensitive, and if there’s one thing you remember about your boyfriend, it’s his affinity for lovebites.

You bring your lips to the side of his neck, nuzzling your mouth against the long, pale stretch of his throat. Smirking against his skin, you start to suckle deep hickeys against the side of his neck, revelling in the throaty gasps Tom deposits into the air in response.

“Fuck, darling,” Tom whines. He has a hand on your back, urging you closer. When you graze the tips of your teeth against his skin, he whimpers. “Shit. More.”

“More?” you tease. “Forgotten all your manners, Tom?”

He growls. The hand on your back shifts to the back of your head, and he jerks you ever closer. He’s still mindful, especially of the bump laying between you, but he knows just as well as you that you aren’t a piece of porcelain; you like being tugged around. You’ve missed it.

“Give me what I want, and maybe I’ll return the favour.” He says it like you’re oblivious to the desperation in his words. You decide to oblige him.

“Okay,” you murmur. You look up to meet his gaze, his honey-brown eyes full of appreciation. For a moment, it knocks you off balance. It’s so strange readjusting to having Tom back—almost overwhelming to be able to touch someone who had existed only in your memories for so many weeks. You drop your head and give him what he wants.

Tom’s skin tastes clean, and it smells distantly of pinecones. He groans, fisting at your hair and holding you close as you kiss and suck along his skin, drawing deep hues to the surface of his neck. He shifts in his seat, basking in the pain and whining every time you soothe a fresh mark with the warmth of your tongue. You keep your hand resting on his hair, the cropped length of his buzz prickly and coarse beneath the pads of your fingertips.

“Oh god yeah,” he murmurs, voice mingling with the wet noises coming from your lips. “Your mouth is so fucking good, baby. I missed it.” Grunting, he brings a hand to your waist, squeezing the flesh of your hips hard. “I thought about you all the time in there.”

Tom releases his hold on your hair and begins to stroke his hands over your back. As you continue to mark his neck, he starts to tease you, gradually dropping the heat of his palms lower and lower. You can’t stop yourself from bucking down into his hold, moaning against his neck as he grabs handfuls of your ass.

“Tom,” you break off to whimper, panting softly. You feel dizzy on the taste of his skin. “You’re being mean.”

“Mean?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “How am I being mean?” Tom squeezes the curves of your figure, his slender fingers warm against your skin. You’re in a dress, the material thin, and he doesn’t hesitate to curve his hands beneath the hem and bring them to rest over your panties. “You’re the one who wanted to come in here and get your hands all over me… I’m doing what you asked.” He breaks off, chuckling darkly. “That’s not how things usually work, though, is it?”

The air between you shifts.

You pull away from Tom’s neck, your mouth inflamed and throbbing. You have to dig your teeth into your lower lip to muffle your whimper when Tom brings a hand to the front of your legs, gently brushing two of his long fingers over the front of your panties. He’s teasing with it, eyes alight with deviousness, jaw set in a determined line.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Maybe I want to be in charge this time.”

Tom laughs gently. “Oh, yeah?” He rubs your cunt a little faster, causing you to suck in a sharp breath as you feel the delicate pressure on your clit. The contact makes your passage clench, growing wet enough to dampen the front of your panties. “So you don’t like this, hmm? You don’t want me to follow through on everything I have planned for you?”

“What have you got planned?”

He tuts. “Oh, I’m not going to tell you, angel. That’d be too easy. Either you want me to be in charge, or you decide to call the shots.” Tom smirks as he feels you buck down against his hand. Maybe if the circumstances were different, you’d find the strength to push back, but you don’t. It’s been so long, and your cunt is weeping already just from the husky tones in his voice.

“You’re in charge,” you whisper. The vindicated smirk he flashes in response is enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Damn right, baby.” Tom moves his hands away, pressing them to your waist instead. “Can you lay down for me, please?”

You shuffle across the car seat as instructed, Tom shifting until he’s kneeling in the footwell of the backseats. It’s a good thing the car is obscenely huge, otherwise, the already-cramped fit would be unworkable.

Draping your legs over Tom’s shoulders, he pushes the hem of your dress up, bunching it just above your bump. The hungry fire in his eyes fades slightly.

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

“It’s fine,” you soothe. “Are you okay down there?”

Tom nods. The scruff of his buzzed head scratches against your inner thighs. “I’m bloody perfect,” he responds. “Can I touch you?”

“Please do.”

The tip of his nose nuzzles against your covered clit. “Perfect,” Tom purrs, his breath hot against your panties. “I think it’s time I remind you who owns this fucking pussy… As hot as it was when you were trying to tell me what to do, it’s not on.” He brings his mouth away from your core, and you whimper as his tongue laps gently across your thigh, the muscle deliciously slippery. “I’m the one calling the shots.”

You’re throbbing, every inch of you aching for his touch. The burn is visceral—pulsing, wet. “Yes, sir,” you return. Tom’s eyes snap to yours. “Do whatever you want.”

“Say please.”

Swallowing the dryness in your throat, you add, “please.”

“Good, baby. You sound so pretty begging for me.” Tom easily pulls your panties down your legs, returning to push your thighs further apart. He brings both of his thumbs to your sensitive lips, humming when you whimper. Using the pads of his fingers, he gently parts your centre, groaning softly at the sight. “Say it,” he murmurs, entranced by the paradise between your legs. “Tell how badly you want me.”

He’s incredibly infuriating, but you play right into his hand. “Please, Tom,” you whine. “Please touch me.”

He hums. “Of course, lovie,” he murmurs. He glances up at you. “All you had to do was ask.”

The first touch of his tongue against your slit makes your eyes roll back. A breathless whine slips past your lips as his mouth envelops your clit, the strong tip of his tongue nuzzling over your sensitive skin in a way you’ve only dreamed of. You’ve been able to get off in his absence, but nothing can simulate the sizzling heat of his mouth and his tongue, nor the scratching of his short hair against your fleshy inner thighs.

The way he unravels you is obscene, toned with the sounds of spit and lazy lips, the sensations of desperation. Tom devours you, using his elbows to push your thighs apart as he buries his face as close to your centre as possible. You can barely see him over the rise of your belly, but you can certainly feel him. When you start to grind down against his face, things only escalate, your eyes fluttering shut as your spine arches in response to his feverish movements.

“Oh god,” he murmurs, voice thick as it vibrates across you. “Missed this… Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart.”

Your high rolls over you suddenly and without warning, manifesting itself in a silent cry as your body goes rigid. You hear Tom hum in surprise, then feel his hands lock around your thighs, holding back your legs as they shake in the face of absolute pleasure.

“Sorry,” you pant, recovering gradually, “I didn’t know that was going to happen then.”

Tom runs his tongue over your slit, still sensitive and throbbing. “‘S okay, lovie,” he replies, voice warm. He nuzzles in closer and brings two slender fingers to push against your entrance. Your hole is hot and pulsing, pooled with your arousal. You hear it pucker as he gently presses against your cunt, teasing your entrance with his fingertips. “I’m not done making it up to you, though. Is that okay?”

Exhaling, you nod quickly. “Fuck yeah,” you say, struggling to think. “Oh.”

He slips two fingers into you, your eager walls parting and welcoming him in. Tom removes his mouth from your heat and replaces his tongue with the pad of a thumb, and when you release a loud noise of strangled enjoyment, he begins to crook his fingers into you. He strokes his digits against your walls with poise and elegance, nudging up against your g-spot and stroking, again and again, chasing the noises you release.

“So pretty,” he coos. “My pretty baby. Making all those beautiful noises.” Tom smiles almost proudly. His chin is wet with your arousal. “I love your cunt… Look at how well it's taking me.” To prove his point, he feeds a third finger alongside the others. “So greedy for me, eh? Greedy little pussy. So hot. So wet. God…”

Tom drops his head again, disappearing from your sight of vision. You moan, body jerking as you feel his tongue move around his fingers, catching the arousal that seeps from your pussy as he works you open. He releases an obscene moan before dragging his mouth to your clit, stimulating you with his hands and tongue in tandem.

“Holy fuck,” you whimper. You feel hot in the best way, your skin becoming sweaty as you writhe over the leather seat. “Feels so good, Tommy.” It feels like heaven—especially when he bends his fingers and the tips of them stroke up against your sensitive spot. “‘M gonna cum again.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

Tom chuckles. “I’m so good at this,” he murmurs. “Go on, angel. Don’t hold back on my account… You’re so pretty when you cum.”

The tide breaks, and your climax rolls across you, legs trembling as Tom holds you in place. You writhe as you bask in the heat, your knuckles losing blood as you clench your hands into hard fists. The press of your nails against the soft flesh of your palms hurts, but you don’t care. It feels far too good to think about anything beyond Tom.

You ride it out, and Tom eventually draws his face away from your clit. He kisses along your inner thighs as you gasp for air, only removing his fingers when you start to whimper. As good as the climaxes have felt, panting for breath on the backseat, it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough by far.

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

Tom chuckles as he appears from between your legs. He gives your thighs a little tap before he closes your legs, wriggling out of the footwell as you sit up. Easily, like you’ve done a thousand times before, you swing a leg over Tom’s lap, straddling him when he sits with his back against the car seat.

“Are you okay up there?” he checks, bringing his clean hand to rest on the curve of your stomach. When you nod, his brown eyes darken. “Perfect…” he hums. “Clean off my fingers, will you?”

You nod, opening your mouth expectantly and moaning as Tom slips three of his fingers between your lips. Fighting your smirk, you maintain eye contact with him, your pride swelling as you see his cheeks darken. He gently fucks his fingers into your mouth, making you moan at the movements and the taste of your heat as it spreads across your tongue. He’s messy with it, and you feel your lips and chin grow heavy from spittle.

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

Tom goes to move his fingers from your mouth, only for a detail to make you pause. Eyes straining, you reach up to catch his wrist, holding his hand in place just as his fingers pull away from your lips.

“What’s this?” you query, narrowing your eyes. You drag Tom’s left hand nearer your face, gasping softly as you take note of a new tattoo resting at the bottom of his ring finger.

“Oh.” Tom shifts around slightly, biting at his lower lip. “I got your initials tattooed… When we get married, the ring will cover them, but I wanted you with me—I want you with me—all the time, even without a bit of metal.” He hesitates. “Is that okay?”

You press a delicate kiss across the letters. “Yes,” you say. You feel shy as you meet the eyes of the man who loves you so immensely. “That’s really, really sweet, Tom.” You bite your lip as you look up at him. “Gone soft on me, baby?”

“‘M always soft on you,” he says gruffly, guiding a hand to your face. He brings you closer, encouraging you to lean higher on your knees. “Love of my life, angel. You know that… My wife.”

You shift on his lap, smiling bashfully. “I’m not your wife yet.”

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

Both of you come together, no words needing to be exchanged for you to know what to do. Tom loses his clothes as you sit up a little straighter, one of your hands curling around the headrest of a seat as Tom angles himself slightly. With the rise of your bump between you, you aren’t able to be flushed together like times before, but the man beneath you is quick to readjust so he’s laying further back, giving you plenty of room to move in a way that’s comfortable. He kisses over your knuckles as you run his hard cock through your slit, his interested eyes fixed firmly on the sight of his length as you finally begin to move down.

The moment the head of his cock pushes into you feels indescribable. The ache of the stretch falls away as relief pours over you, the closeness satisfying far more than just your arousal.

“Gentle, gentle,” Tom murmurs, hand resting on your belly. “Be careful.”

You chuckle, beginning to move but only slowly. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “it won’t hurt them.” Your eyes roll back slightly as you bring your hand down to rest on Tom’s shoulder, moaning quietly. “You can move too… Please, move.”

“Okay, darling.” Tom gently starts to move his hips. He groans as he slumps back against the seat, beautiful face coloured light pink. You’d missed the expressions he makes, how emotive the slants of his features can be. His nostrils flare and his jaw tenses as you ride him, your cunt so wet the movements are almost effortless. “That feels… so good.” His voice is hollow, gutless. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about you. You, and your hot cunt.” He moans again, unable to sit around the words. Tom ruts into you a little harder, guiding you to move faster with the hand on your hip. “Taking me so well, darling. So fucking well. I’m not going to last at all.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur. “I won’t either.”

Tom manages a lazy smirk. He opens his eyes as he brings a hand to your clit, teasing the sensitive bud with his thumb. You jerk a little at the stimulation but start to ease into it, basking in the pleasure from the bud and Tom’s cock. He’s buried deep within you, pressing your walls apart, the curved tip of his head brushing deeper than you’ve felt in months.

“So tight,” he murmurs. Tom leans back, clearly enjoying the sight of you riding him. “My darling. You look so beautiful like this… I swear your tits are bigger, too.” The hand on your belly gently caresses the bump, Tom’s tongue briefly wandering out to wet his lower lip. “Look at how beautiful you are… I can’t wait to knock you up again.”

Stifling a moan, it takes everything in you to focus on your movements. “You feel so good, Tom,” you whimper, unable to hold back the praise he loves to hear. “I missed this so much.”

“I know, baby. I missed this too… Come on, now.” His voice hardens slightly. “I’m about to cum, but I don’t want to unless you’re right here beside me. So… will you be a good girl and finish with me? Please?”

Heat flushes through your system as you bounce your head quickly. Your eyes close, breath hitching as you feel your climax rise. It starts in the pit of your stomach, a coil pulling tighter and tighter until it bends and snaps, bursting wide and spilling pleasure across your body in warm waves of enjoyment. You cry out as you fall apart, holding Tom’s shoulder tightly as his hand clamps around your waist. You feel him mirror you, hear his loud groan as his cock pulses inside you, your movements unceasing as you ride it out together.

It ends, but you stay joined. Tom sits up, the distance put between you by your belly requiring him to stretch closer and seize your lips in a smouldering kiss. His hand returns to your cheek, yours to his, and the look in his eyes is dizzying.

“I love you so much,” he speaks, words soft like a promise. “Everything I do from here on out is for you, and…” He glances back at your stomach. “And our child.” Words thickening, you see Tom’s eyes well with tears again. He chuckles, cheeks flushing red. “Sorry,” he adds. “I get a bit choked up thinking about it.”

You stroke your fingers over the back of his hair, spiky strands smooth against your hand. “Don’t apologise for expressing your emotions, baby,” you whisper. “It’s been a very long day.”

Tom nods. “Love you,” he murmurs again. He nuzzles his head into the palm of your hand, his eyes closing.

“I love you too,” you say, words truer than they’ve ever been before. You bend down to kiss his forehead. “Do you want to go home now?”

He hums. “Y/N,” he whispers. Tom blinks up at you, eyes soft. He catches the palm of your hand with a few kisses as he sits up a little straighter. “I’m already home.”

Teeth grazing your lower lip, you hold back your smile as you marvel at how clichéd he’s become. You bend down and kiss him very gently. “Sap,” you murmur. “Love you, though.”

Tom pulls a face. He rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice—only love. “Love you too,” he says. “Yes, though,” he adds, “I would love to go home.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

that’s probably a wrap on mob!tom ! i don’t have any more fic ideas for him :( that being said, this was a lot of fun to write, and i really, really hope you liked it :D ik the theme isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, so if you read it all, i love you very very much

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

#tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #mob!tom x reader #mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland smut #y/n #self insert #smut #mob!tomfic

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nifolution · 3 years ago

Text

Dirty Secret 2

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, insecurity, betrayal, cheating, smut, fluff, arguments, Steve being a jerk, stupid Steve, fighting, jealousy

A/N: This is a revised copy of my oc fic. It is still written in 1st & 3rd person. 18+ only due to smut. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 1 Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Chapter 2

Steve wouldn’t tell me where our 1st date would be. I wasn’t sure what to wear so I went with a casual yellow dress. He asked me to meet him in the parking garage.

When I arrived, he was standing by his car waiting. Shit, was I late? His stunning smile assured me I wasn’t.

Steve opened the car door for me. Then ran over and got in himself. “So, are you ready to go?”

“Yes… Where are we headed?”

Steve smiled and indicated to look in the back. On the rear seat was a folded blanket and a picnic basket. An actual fucking picnic basket. I had no more questions.

Steve drove for a while, I wasn’t sure the exact destination. He stopped the car seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Trees all around, no sign of people or civilization.

He opened my door and helped me get out. Grabbing the basket and blanket, he asked me to follow him. As if I’d say no.

After only a minute we came to a clearing. It had lots of plush grass, dandelions and wildflowers. The birds were chirping and I could hear water not far away. It was so romantic. I couldn’t stop smiling. How did he find this place?

Steve laid out the blanket. Giving me a great view of his behind. He offered me a seat before settling himself. I watched as he started pulling out the food he prepared.

Steve took out a few containers and bottled water. One container had celery, carrots, and hummus. Another had cheese and crackers. The last contained grapes, strawberries & three Oreos. “Dessert,” he explained. The last items he took out were two, slightly smooshed, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I laughed. “Sorry, I’m not much of a cook and the kitchen wasn’t stocked.”

“No, this is great. You did a good job.” And I meant it. Smashed sandwiches and all, this was wonderful.

He smiled at me again. Oh…that smile. We began eating and conversing. I tried not to let the jitters get the best of me. I wanted to pinch myself to make sure this was real.

Steve noticed me rubbing my bracelet. “Hey, I wanted to ask, why do you always wear this?” He held my wrist, caressing the pink and purple woven jewelry. “I’ve never seen you without it.”

“Um, yeah I don’t take it off.” I continued to let him touch it. “Back when I first got my abilities, I worked for a PI who specialized in missing persons. I was proud of that job. Sneakily stealing files and information, even from police. And when possible, rescuing lost people. Lacey made me this bracelet after I took her from her abductor. She was only nine. We got to her before she was hurt.” I couldn’t help tearing up at the memory. “My job ended when my boss was killed. I lost my apartment and my livelihood. I needed money so that’s how I fell into the whole thieving thing.” I looked off, embarrassed. I know Steve knew that part, but I still hated admitting it.

“We all make mistakes, Y/N. You used what you had to get by.”

I turned back to Steve, “I want you to know I’m grateful for the chance you’ve given me. I know I’m not a soldier or an assassin or a genius or a hulk. I’m just me, a freak of nature.“ A poor substitute for the people that left, in one way or another. I kept that part to myself. "But I will keep working, I want to be good enough to join. I want to be an Avenger.”

Steve held my hand, “You’re more than enough. I can see your potential, Y/N. That’s why I push you so hard, so you can see it too. I know you can do this.” He smiled at me reassuringly.

“Thank you, Cap… er, Steve.”

His smile fell, “Um, look… I feel like I need to apologize again for the other night. I lost control. I’m your captain and I crossed a line I shouldn’t have.”

“Then why did you?”

Steve met my eyes, “Because I wanted you.” He took a deep breath, “But I began to worry about hurting you or scaring you off. I’d rather have you as a friend, than not have you at all.”

“Is there a rule against us dating?” God, I hoped not.

“No, but some may frown upon it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s the last thing I feel around you.” I suddenly felt emboldened, “You can have me, Steve. You can lose control with me, I want you to.”

Steve broke the eye contact, deep in thought. After several minutes of staring at his shoes, he broke the silence. “Have you… have you told anyone about our date?”

I was slightly confused why he was asking, “Um, no. I was too nervous. I didn’t really have anyone to talk about it with anyway.”

“Do you think that maybe we can keep things between us for now? See where this goes before we let anyone else know.”

“I see,” I said apprehensively.

“You know how the team loves to be in each others business,” he continued. “We could avoid the gossip and meddling.”

“Ok, just us,” I agreed. I didn’t want anyone thinking less of Steve for being with me. I’d rather have him in secret, than not at all.

We toasted with Oreos and continued talking, enjoying dessert. I watched him chewing on a strawberry. He was growing his beard out. He looked so handsome, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out and touching it.

“Does it bother you?”

“I like it,” I assured him. “It suits you and makes you look sexy as hell.”

His ears tinged pink and he smiled, “If you like it, then I’m definitely keeping it.”

I continued stroking his beard, he caught my hand and placed soft kisses on it. Now I was blushing.

“Do you want me, Y/N?”

“Fuck yes!” I practically launched myself at him, smashing my lips to his.

He kissed me back, pulling me onto his lap. My dress hiking up with the action. He began playing with my hair. Getting a good grip, he pulled just enough to send shivers down my spine. Kissing and biting my lips, hands roaming every inch of me, my whole body felt electrified.

Steve gently tugged the top of my dress down exposing my chest. His hands massaging my breasts, pinching my nipples. It was naughty being out in the open like this. It only added to my arousal.

I screamed in surprise as he suddenly flipped us over. He was now hovering above me, smiling and stripping his shirt off before diving back in. He took his time fondling, kissing and sucking each breast. I moaned in pleasure, hands in his hair.

My breathing became erratic when Steve slipped his hand into my panties and started gently playing with my clit. Running his fingers through my folds, “So wet for me.” He kissed me hard, before pushing two fingers inside, pumping them in and out. He continued kissing down my body. Sucking and biting his way to where his hand still toyed with me.

I was on fire, heart pounding, aching for more. My toes started to curl, the tension in my belly unbearable, I was so close. “Please, Steve.” I whined embarrassingly loud when he suddenly pulled away.

He chuckled, sucking his fingers. “Don’t worry sweetheart,” he slid my panties down my legs and pocketed them. “I just want you to come when I’m inside you.

I went a bit light headed watching Steve opening his pants and pulling them off. He was big, more than I expected when feeling him the other night.

Steve repositioned himself between my legs. I went to reach for his beautiful cock, yearning to feel the velvety skin in my hand. The adonis above me had other ideas. In one swift movement, Steve collared both my wrists, pinning me to the ground. Fuckkkkk. And here I was thinking I couldn’t be more turned on by this man.

Steve would later tell me that even though it was day, at that moment he could see the subtle glow of my body. It’s how he knew I was ready for him.

He kissed me deeply and bit at my neck. Releasing one wrist, Steve grabbed his length, teasingly rubbing himself through my wetness. His husky voice whispered, “You can take me, can’t you pretty girl?”

I smiled and bucked Into him.

“So eager. But I need you to use your words Sweetheart.”

“I need you inside me. Please fuck me,” I desperately begged.

Steve smiled devilishly. Slowly pushing himself inside me, my slick walls welcoming him inch by inch. Once fully seated, we shared a gentle kiss. He releases my other wrist with the praise, “Good girl.”

The tenderness ended there. Steve began thrusting into me at a brutal pace. He felt amazing and the grunts and moans he made only heightened the euphoria I felt. My entire body embraced him, nails digging into his back. Holding on for the wild ride.

The kisses were now rough. All teeth and tongue. Steve growled into my mouth as he took what he wanted. Pain and pleasure beautifully mixed, any coherent thoughts I had left were pounded away.

The coil in my belly once again wound unbearably tight. I couldn’t hold it anymore. My legs shook as an intense orgasm washed over me. My head was thrown back and my light flared brightly.

As I came back to myself, I noticed Steve stopped moving and stared at me. I froze, embarrassed. Shit!

Steve locked eyes with me, panting “That was so fucking hot.” He pulled me in for another steamy kiss before pulling out of me. “Turn over,” he ordered.

I bit my lip and eagerly obliged. Yelping when Steve slapped my ass. Then mewling when his long arm wrapped around me and he rubbed my aching clit, running his fingers through my soaked folds.

His other hand gripped my hip tightly, sliding his manhood back in with ease. “Say you’re mine, Sweetheart."

"Yours,” I breathlessly replied. And I meant it. I would forever be his.

The rest of the date passed in a sex fueled haze. I think I may have passed out at one point. But as high as he made me, Steve was there holding me after, bringing me back to earth with soft kisses.

The sky became beautiful shades of orange and pink. The birds were still singing. Steve held me tight in his arms. It felt right, it felt perfect. Steve was perfect. The location was perfect… I would cherish those grass stains forever.

I never did get my underwear back.

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

It was thrilling at first, sneaking around. Having this secret relationship with a teammate. It was sexy and romantic. It wasn’t forbidden, but hiding it made it feel that way. Just the right amount of wrong to make us crawl back for more. It felt special, hot, kept us on our toes.

Steve was an attentive and passionate lover. The sex was incredible, electric, addictive. He would pull orgasm after orgasm from my body, leaving me dazed and feeling like jelly, walking funny the next day. He was intoxicating, had me completely under his spell. I tried my best to keep up and show him just as much attention, if not more.

Most of the time we fucked like animals, rough and demanding. Steve loved being in control and I was too happy to let him lead. It was like we had this insatiable hunger that couldn’t be satisfied until we were alone. The buildup of secret glances and touches throughout the day made it so much better. Having to hold back, made each night more explosive. We’d just go crazy on each other. When Steve was feeling particularly bold, he’d whisper dirty things in my ear when the others were around. Well, that usually led to quickies in nearby closets or his car. The risk of getting caught a huge turn on. What a rush.

Other times it was slow and intimate. Like we had all the time in the world to enjoy exploring one another. He would take me apart then put me back together with his embrace, his kisses, his sweet words. He would hold me after, leaving lingering kisses on my head, telling me he loved me. Sometimes Steve and I would just lie in bed, cuddling and talking about our days. That was my favorite. I loved him completely.

We cherished having this level of privacy, this secret place just for us. He was mine and I was his and there was no reason to involve anyone else. That bubble we had continued to grow to Steve’s room. It was our own paradise. My powers made it easy to sneak into his room without being seen. Or to orb out to a date. In the bubble, he belonged only to me. I didn’t have to share him with the world.

Nowadays everyone shares everything on social media. Every aspect of their relationship, and every breakup. I can understand why he wanted to wait to tell our friends. If we didn’t work out, things would be weird for all of us and may jeopardize the team dynamic. The secrecy kept the pressure off of us. No obligations except to each other. We didn’t have to prove anything to anyone.

Steve is making love to me, my face cradled in his large hands, staring intensely into my eyes, telling me he loves me again and again. This was all that mattered, this secret moment. This was my choice, my place and I never wanted to leave.

Chapter 3

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers smut #steve rogers angst

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anothermansjeans · 3 years ago

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the grape juice blues

a/n: am i proud of this? absolutely not. did i just want to write something loosely inspired by grapejuice by harry styles? yes. do i need to write one shitty fic to get my brain juices flowing? yes again. hope you enjoy <3 (also i was too lazy to add my tag list… i’m sorry)

summary: without spencer reid, there’s no getting through, leaving you with the grape juice blues

word count: 308 (she’s a shorty)

warnings: alcohol mention, it’s a bit angsty (not that bad), that’s it i think? let me know i i missed something!

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader (i’m 99.9% sure i didn’t use pronouns for reader!)

“Give me something old and red.”

When you got home from another harrowing case, you didn’t expect to go straight to the dimly lit bar right near your apartment, but you felt nostalgic. You wanted to go back to the place you spent time after cases with him. With Spencer Reid.

You thought when the break up happened it was the end of the world, but it wasn’t. You got over it, you did, but the realization of your life being so much happier with Spencer beside you as your partner didn’t make it easier.

With the bartender sliding you your wine glass, a wave of memories hit you. The times you would walk together on sunny afternoons, buying flowers, drinking red wine, living your best lives. If you were being honest, your current memories now would make anyone question how or why things ended, there was no one else so perfect for you, but then you remember the anguish on Spencer’s face when you would get hurt on a case, or the sudden threats unsubs would make regarding one of you, and it just wasn’t safe anymore.

A couple of glasses in you started thinking of the places the two of you have been, case related or not. You remember the time you two snuck out of a police precinct and found a hiding spot to get away from the chaos, or the time he swept you away to Europe for a week long vacation after one of the most gruesome cases you’ve ever experienced. The deeper into your wine glass, the deeper into your memory, and Spencer Reid was in every single one of them. You couldn’t seem to escape him, and you didn’t want to.

So, you continued to sit there until the bar closed, wallowing in what you would call the grape juice blues.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x gender neutral reader

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bitchylandtyphoon · 3 years ago

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Sugar on Honey🍯

A/N: Hellooo I hope you guys are doing great I just wanted to try writing a Jim Hopper fic since I barely see any like come on he's so fine and ugh. Ahem anyways pls enjoy the story if u have any recommendations feel free to comment! If u have a request feel free to send a message to me! I'm still new to Tumblr so I'm not really sure how to work any of this sorry about that! ------------------------------------❈---------------------------------------- Hopper didn’t understand how you were so calm with Eleven. He tried, he really did. He took care of Eleven as if he was her own but he couldn't be as gentle and soft as you were. “This is an apple ok? It's red, sweet and a fruit. This is a cucumber, it's green and a vegetable!” Hopper watched as you taught Eleven basic English. “Ok, now you try” You hold up a bunch of grapes. “These are...grapes, sweet, blue and...fruit?” Eleven guessed while squinting hard at the grapes. “Heyyyy not bad! You're doing great, you just mixed up purple with blue but no biggie. Do you wanna do another one?” You said encouragingly. Eleven nods and proceeds to pick another product to investigate. “Oooh~ Hopper watches as you two laugh and learn, he couldn't stop himself from smiling, he appreciated what you were doing especially since Eleven was on house arrest. You were the only one he could trust. He absentmindedly takes a sip of his dark coffee hissing as it was too hot to drink. “You ok?” Hopper looks up to see you looking at him with a worried expression on your face. He loved that face, it was pretty cute. He chuckled “Ye, just too hot to drink” “Be careful before you burn your tongue off for good” You start cleaning the food off of the ground. “Yeah yeah, I won't mom” Hopper jokes as he goes into the kitchen. “Very funny Hopper haha” You give a playful glare “What is so funny? Ha...ha?” Eleven asks, seeing you two joking around not understanding the sarcasm. “Oh it's just sarcasm honey, try finding it in the dictionary, you'll find the meaning there.” You give a gentle smile while pointing to the thick book. “Well, there you go word of the day.” Hopper comes back into the hall sitting in the big chair stirring his spoon in the white coffee-stained mug. You wondered how much coffee he really drinks in a day. “S-A-R-C-A-S-M? the use of i- irony to m-mock or con-convey contempt?” Eleven read trying to read the words correctly. She looked at you for guidance and approval. “Good job kid, you’re doing so well, I need to go now, be a good girl for me ok?” you kissed her crown and gave a hug feeling her arms slowly wrapping around your bottom. “Bye-bye now~” “Bye (Y/N)” Eleven gave a small shy smile as she watched you look for your coat. “Here you go, make sure to zip up” Hopper gives you your coat helping you put it on. “Mm thanks, Hopper” “You want a ride?” Hopper suggests side-eyeing you while he refills his coffee. “I think ill manage, il call if anything happens” “Nope nope it's freezing, not letting you go out alone especially when it's night,” He says sternly as he puts on his coat and boots grabbing his keys on the way to the door “I'll be fine-” “Come on, let's go” You sigh “Ok fine” You trudge to his truck knowing he wouldn't let you win the argument. Giving a small wave to Eleven through the window. You pull his hand stopping him from going too close to the truck. “What, what's wrong, did you forget something?” Hopper asked “No you did” Hopper gives you a confused look “Eleven” “What about her?” “You didn't tell her bye” You take your hand backcrossing it against your chest as you look at the chief disappointed. Hopper sighs and goes back to the house, you watch as he tells Eleven bye” “Happy?” He says with his arms out as he walks towards you. “Depends,” You say as you open the truck door. You wait until he starts the car and starts moving out of the parking area. “What did you tell her?” “What?” “What did you tell her?” “I told her to keep the doors locked, not go out, keep windows and curtains closed-” “Hopperrr” You interrupt him,

sighing with your head down “What have I told you, give be gentle with her. She’s smart and strong, she can handle herself if anything happens. All you have to do is give her a simple bye and a hug” You put a hand on his leg “I know you're trying Jim, I really do know that. I've seen some progress and I'm really happy for both of you. Don’t be so harsh on her ok? She’s just a kid” Hopper sighs calming under your touch. “I know, I know I just. I feel like if I don't be hard on her, she’ll run away, get in some serious trouble and go meet her boyfriend.” Hopper rolls his eyes thinking of Eleven and MIke together. “Well if I was on house arrest and a teenager I would've run away to see my boyfriend too,” You say taking your hand off of his leg. “No you wouldn’t, you wouldn't even go out to the park, you were too much of a wuss,” He says as he looks for something in his coat. You dramatically gasp “Ok first of all, you're right, I would've never run away. Second, I have strict parents and you know that. Third I am not a wuss I just like staying home,” you sigh “who am I kidding I hated going out and being around people, especially with those dumb kids running around” You shake your head thinking of how introverted you were as a kid. Hopper laughs, throwing his head back watching you jokingly pout at him. He takes a cigarette out of his right pocket. “Well you were always the kid in the back of the room, quiet and shy, never understood how you could keep your mouth shut for so long” You grab the cigarette out of his mouth throwing it away somewhere in the car making him give you a glare “You know how my parents are, “be quiet,” “be good,'' “do good in school”, “no boys”” You say, quoting your parents' famous words. “Well at least they raised a good person,” He said, giving a genuine compliment your way. “Hah, that was all my doing” Frowning remembering how horrible your parents were at raising a child. You saw Hopper turning the radio on. You knew what he was doing but you weren't going to stop him at all. He turned it to the classic rock channel starting to sing and rock his head. Ah, how you loved him. Hey hey baby when you walk that way, Watch your honey drip, can't keep away Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh, ah, ahOh yeah, oh yeah, oh, ah, ah. “Here comes Jim Hopper, everyone missing members of Led Zeppelin'' You say as if there's a crowd. I gotta roll, can't stand still Got a flamin' heart, can't get my fill You laugh at how amusing he sounds, he's not half bad for the chief of police. Eyes that shine, burnin' red Dreams of you all through my head You throw your head back clutching your stomach, you just couldn't stop laughing. “Come on singggg, I know you know this one” Hopper says encouraging you to sing. “Noooo, are you crazy?!” You yell at him “Come onnnn” He pushes you You roll your eyes as he starts singing again. Hey, baby, oh baby, pretty baby Move me like you're doin' now- “Who knew the kitten could sing huh?” Hopper looks at you while you start singing with a big smile.

Didn't take too long 'fore I found out What people mean by down and out

Spent my money, took my car Started tellin' her friends she gonna be a star~ ------------------------------------❈---------------------------------------- “Thanks for the ride, really appreciate it Jim. Goodnight. Make sure to get some rest ok?” You say as you close the door “Yeah yeah mom, I get it” You give him a glare through the window door. Giving him a wave you turn around to your place. “Hold on!” You hear Hopper's voice shout behind you. Stopping in your tracks you turn around to see Hopper speed walking towards trying not to slip from the thick snow on the ground. The night was so beautiful, the snow was thick and flowing down like paper, it wasn't too cold but just cold enough to make the tip of your nose red. The street lights were on looking like yellow stars in the dark blue sky. It was perfect. “You forgot your bag,” He said, giving it to you. “Oh? OH thank you” you said, giving him a thankful smile while reaching for the bag. “It's fine, it's not like I'm gonna steal it now” Hopper chuckles putting his hands in his coat pockets. “Well, why would anyone steal a gift they gave to someone else?” You said giggling as you put the bag on. He grins “It looks good on you by the way, really suits you” “Oh, thanks” You blush at the comment while brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I was just thinking, you don't have to if you want, but I just wanted to ask you if u wanted to go on a date? I was thinking of a restaurant but only if u wanted to go there, we can go somewhere else, really up to you," he sighed "I'm gonna shut up now, have a goodnight” Hopper turned on his heel and started leaving but felt a tug on his coat. “I would love to go on a date with you Jim,” You said, giving him a gentle smile. You stood up on your tiptoes giving him a peck on the cheek. It felt different because of the stubble but you liked it. The butterflies in both of your stomachs were going crazy, fluttering around as if they were being chased by a bird. You wanted to stay in his warm embrace but fell back down due to the height difference.

“6 pm Friday at Johnnie's?” “I would love that, casual dress code?” “Why would we need a dress code?” He joked “Hoppperr” You hit his chest distancing yourself heading to your house. You stood on the porch seeing him waiting for you to go in your house safely. You lean against your doorway. “Goodnight Jim” God he loved it when you called him by Jim, it was like sugar on honey. “Goodnight kitten” You smiled at the nickname.

Heading inside you close the door, leaning against it. “EEEEEEEEEEE he actually asked me out, oh my god” You laugh at how excited you were acting. You couldn't wait. --------------------------------------❈-------------------------------------- Hopper headed to his truck getting in and turning the radio on. “Good job Hop, good job” He chuckled as he drove off. He couldn't wait.

#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper #stranger things #x reader #(y/n)#(y/n) x reader

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maxbegone · 3 years ago

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wip sundays can be a thing, right?

this is part of a longer fic and subsequent prompt fill for @actuallysara that i’m still (painstakingly) working on. it’s coming along, but coming along slow. shout out to @doublel27 for helping me trudge along!

___

“Yeah, it was pretty bad.”

“And this was on a call?”

“Right up town.”

“What’s going on?” TK asks, entering the kitchen.

Marjan and Judd are at the island sitting across from one another, and Paul’s at the table reading, but in a way that tells him he’s actually keeping tabs on the conversation.

“Grocery store robbery,” Judd says. “Apparently the robber was on somethin’ pretty potent when the police went in. Started tweaking out, throwin’ stuff.”

“But then the people that were in the store started panicking,” Marjan chimes in, “and led to more people getting hurt than what should’ve happened.”

“But they got the guy?” He asks

She nods. “Yep. And get this: gun wasn’t even loaded.”

“Some woman broke her arm, right?” Paul asks. “Got trampled or something?”

“Pushed,” Judd corrects. “Right into a display case.”

“Are you guys talking about the robbery?” Mateo all but jogs into the kitchen, making a beeline to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water.

“Just catching TK up since he was on a call and just got back,” Marjan explains.

“How was I supposed to know anything about it while on a call when it wasn’t even in our service zone?” He asks, falling onto the stool next to her. He grabs a handful of grapes from the bowl in the middle of the counter and tosses one in his mouth.

“Fainting spell,” she deadpans.

“Diabetic woman whose blood sugar plummeted.”

“You guys know Carlos was on that call, right?” Mateo says.

TK frowns. “He was?”

“Yeah. And, I mean, he’s gonna be fine, but they took him to West Park.”

There’s half a beat before everyone in the room is snapping their attention toward Mateo and shouting, “What?”

“How do you know that?” Paul asks, setting his book down on the table.

“I follow Mitchell on Snap.”

“Dude, what is with you and starting stories in the middle? Haven’t we talked about this–?

TK only hears about half of the reprimand, too focused on the fact that Carlos is in a hospital bed, injured. His hearing feels a little foggy, if he’s honest.

He’s up from his chair and darting out of the room in an instant, ignoring everyone calling after him.

He’s grateful he’s less than an hour out from the end of his shift and when he asks her, Tommy gives him the okay to head out early. If she gives him a questioning glance, TK doesn’t have time to catch it.

Traffic is hell, but he makes it to West Park quicker than he anticipated and with a new set of half-moon indents on the back of the steering wheel.

And sure, maybe this is a little erratic of TK to do, but Carlos is his friend – one he cares about a lot – and if he’s hurt, he needs to be there for him.

It makes sense, right? Right.

The nurse manning the desk in the waiting room informs him of where Carlos is, but when she tells him they’re not allowing visitors, he lies.

“I was on the call with him.”

She blinks. “And you’re–”

“A paramedic,” he begins. “I was helping out with another injury when he got hurt.”

The nurse scans TK momentarily, and he can’t quite figure out if she can see right through the lie or if she’s judging him for his career in her position.

She purses her lips. “Fine,” she sighs, turning toward the computer. “But don’t be loud, and visiting ends in an hour.”

TK holds back surprised laughter. “Yes–yes, thank you so much.”

“Can I get your ID, please?”

He fumbles giving it to her in his relief, and fumbles again when she hands it back along with a visitor’s pass.

“Down the hall and to the right. He’s in room 22C.”

He rushes out a, “Thank you,” and heads down the hall at a near-jog, sticking the pass to his chest as he goes.

The door is open when he gets there, but TK’s momentarily frozen in place. Carlos has a butterfly bandage on his temple and a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his arm. He’s squinting off in the distance at something, not aware of the visitor.

TK raps his knuckles lightly on the doorframe, and Carlos turns toward him, drooping eyes growing as wide as they can.

“TK.”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Mateo said you got hurt on a call,” he explains sheepishly, stepping into the room. “I thought I’d come by and see if you were okay.”

The smile Carlos gives him is almost loopy, dazed, but nonetheless lovely. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“Says the guy who’s literally in a hospital bed right now.” They share a gentle, almost inaudible laugh as TK grips the rail at the foot of the bed. “What happened?”

“I hit my head,” Carlos explains on an exhale. “The suspect tried to me and I dodged but he wound up tripping me in the process and I hit a countertop.”

TK winces. “Bakery counter?”

“Deli counter.”

“Ugh, that’s worse.”

“I know,” he groans, settling deeper into the stack of pillows behind him. “I just…remember salami and then someone dragging me to my feet. Next thing I know, I’m here.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dad’s on shift and my mom’s probably on her way with him even though I told them both I’m fine.”

“But are you?”

“It’s just a minor concussion. They’re keeping me overnight for observations, but I’ll be alright.”

“You will,” TK agrees. “But there’s no stopping your mom.”

“You say that like I don’t already know that,” Carlso replies. “Thank you for coming.”

“With the amount of times I’ve gotten hurt and you’ve shown up?” He begins. “Carlos, this is the least I could do.”

He gives him that slightly-dazed smile again, and despite everything it just about warms TK’s heart.

“Could’ve brought you some food, though,” he mumbles to himself, walking over to a vacant chair. “The stuff they serve here is barely decent.”

“Have to agree with you on that,” Carlos nods, scrunching up his nose. “Remember when your mom brought you all that soup after we got you from Charles’ restaurant?”

“How could I forget?” TK laughs. “Despite the fact that I was probably almost as concussed as you are now, she kept shoving that down my throat. Just be happy I didn’t bring any essential oils.”

“Would we call them essential?”

TK beams. “Probably not.”

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the quiet chatter outside in the hall and the steady beeping of the machines surrounding Carlos to render. TK thinks briefly of the last time he was in the bed and. He was inches away from death and yet, by some insane miracle (that miracle being Carlos’ voice and his mom’s insistence), he’s still standing.

“How does it feel to be on the opposite side of this thing?” He asks, folding his hands in his lap.

“Worse,” Carlos mutters. “Either way isn’t fun.”

TK hums in agreement. “Nope.” And then, after a compelled moment, he says, “I’ve scared you a bit.”

“You have, thanks for acknowledging that.”

“I almost died there a couple of times, Carlos.”

#wip wednesday #but not.#911 ls #911 lone star #911 ls fic #911 lone star fic #my writing

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dorki-c · 4 years ago

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Stolen Cornflakes

Characters: Fem! Reader & Class 1-A

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X reader (but doesn’t have much effect on the story)

Tw: Tad bit of swearing but other than that, its a silly fic <3

A/n: As much as I adore Izubby, I just needed an excuse to write a small fluff bit of him and reader in a crack fic.

The bleary light of a diffused grey and blue sky didn’t dust through the cartoonish styled curtains casting a stale shadow across the rows of squeaky-clean figurines and the snoozing couple underneath the customized hero blanket.

Seconds languidly turned to minutes, before a weird bizzt sound erupted from an unknown source within the room and in result, two (e/c) eyes busted open like a morning flower greeting the world.

(Y/n) knew this alarm far too well.

The soft rumbling somebodies endless void of a stomach, also, knew this alarm far too well.

And to top it off, Izuku hated this alarm.

“Izu…” Arms of the person behind her made their claim when squeezing ever so tightly around the female’s waist. Wiggling against the human cage, low grumbles where a shoved in fluff pile of green strands plopped onto the warm area of a shoulder.

She isn’t letting Izuku hold her back from breakfast.

“Izuku.”

Grabbing the cusp of the cage, nimble fingers attempted to pull apart the scarred digits locked together, however (y/n) underestimated the power behind them.

“No.”

Pulling their bodies even closer, (y/n)’s shoulder blades attempted to push or deter the progress of Izuku winning this morning’s war.

“Yes.”

It wasn’t fair! All you wanted was a nice cup of coffee and your breakfast, but Izuku was making it impossible by being fucking adorable.

“No.”

He knew he weighed heavier than you, so it was realistically unachievable for (y/n) to squirm out of Izuku’s grasp, even if she twisted, pushed, and kicked at her lover’s legs— (y/n) knew she couldn’t win this battle with brute strength alone.

“Lemme—” Izuku knew (y/n) could sense the slow upturn of his lips, “Get—” However, he didn’t sense her arms breaking free of his cage, “My—” and gripping the headboard in such fury, “Food!” that once her head was lifted from the plush pillow, the female twisted her wrists and hips to the left side of the bed that it threw Izuku off guard—causing his makeshift arm prison to be shook off- and allowed (y/n) to sloppily exit the bed.

Nonetheless, when brute strength didn’t win, it was only the matter of making his girlfriend give into the temptation of his puppy dog eyes, pouty lips, and the irresistible whine of her name, that always lured the female back into his arms.

(That has a 95% efficiency of working, and it seems that today would be the remaining 5% of not working.)

“(Y/n), please…” As the male watched the female put on her exercising clothes, he knows its too late to stop her now, so all he’s able to do is groan “It’s like you’re cheating on me with your cornflakes…” where in response; there’s a pause, then an amused snort of “Honey, you cheat on me with the infirmary beds— So, don’t go there.” Before a small smooch of love was placed on his cheek and the only thing that he hears afterwards, is his room’s door shutting on itself.

It takes a few more seconds for him to fully awake to someone’s shout of “WHO THE FUCK ATE THE CORNFLAKE’S!” at the top of their lung’s, in which Izuku assumes that’s your voice, where he hears another feminine voice of “WAIT-- IS OUR CORNFLAKE’S GONE?!” Izuku could only think that could be Uraraka’s voice.

Even though the voices calmed down in volume, thanks to Iida of course, there was a high-pitched scream and another person that said something like…what was it, again?

Something like “they’ve gone feral!” before it went deathly silent.

(Has reality turned into the apocalypse?)

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

For the rest of the day, most people strayed away from (y/n) and Uraraka, mostly out of fear that since their breakfast was stolen from them- right, under their noses-, where there was a short snippet of Tokoyami informing the rest of the class that their ‘spirits’ are emitting a ‘dark aura’ which cannot be ‘tamed’, unless they were ‘cured’ with the ‘blessing’ of Kellogg Cornflakes.

Here’s basic translation of what he meant: (Y/n) and Uraraka are equipped for the hunt.

Whilst some people shrugged it off, the majority of the class see those blood thirsty eyes watching, inspecting, and psychologically analysing each and every one of their movements.

(Ah shit, class 1-A is in rigor mortis at this point.)

To say Izuku and maybe a few other people were scared, that would be an understatement in their enrolment to UA.

Usually (y/n) walks with Izuku down to the cafeteria.

Nope, not today.

Within the peripheral range of class 1-A’s eyes, as soon as the bell rings, the two girls seemed to already reach the door before disappearing into the parade that is a high school’s hallway.

It wasn’t until Iida, Izuku, and Shoto arrived at their usual table where Uraraka, Tsuyu, and (y/n) sat, that they, too, saw what Tokoyami meant by ‘dark aura’- the usually chill, easy-going friend they had was consumed by the pit fires of hell.

(WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO HER?!?!)

“We don’t know who it is, but when we find out,” Uraraka started out the conversation with Tsuyu as (Y/n) sat in between them texting- the loud, ear wrenching pressing of multiple places on her phone (using only her nails) was heard from the opposite side of the table.

“Uraraka and Tsu, we got ‘em.”

The smile they displayed was something out of a horror movie.

“Who did you get…?” Iida was the bravest one to ask.

(May God bless him in heaven. Amen.)

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

Misty, suffocating air greeted the majority of Class 1-A where the whole common room was shed in darkest, except the lounge area- but the couches were nowhere to be seen, instead there was a large kiddie sized pool filled with cats meowing alongside Aizawa sleeping in the middle and Shinsou sitting on a chair with Tsuyu, Uraraka, and (y/n), wearing police officer uniforms with pitch black sunglasses and armed with black baton in their hands, backing him up.

(When did they get those uniforms?)

“H-hey Kirishima?”

Izuku was lost, scared, and tired. All he wanted was to cuddle with his girlfriend, but (y/n) looks like she might bury him six feet under if she doesn’t figure who ate her Kellogg Cornflakes.

“Yeah man?”

For some reason Kirishima was wearing similar sunglasses to the makeshift police of 1-A and he was sitting in the kiddie pool with cats laying on top of his thighs where he honoured a pin saying, “the feline species are superior”.

“Umm…D-do you know what’s going on?”

Kirishima paused, then raised his hand to pet a cat.

(He looks oddly at peace…)

“Shinsou is helping the girls interrogate who stole their breakfast this morning, if you answer correctly then you get to sit in this pool!”

And so Izuku did as Kirishima suggested him to do.

“You are going to be put under my quirk in order pass the test.” Said Shinsou.

Okay… that sounds awfully suspicious. But Izuku still nodded and said yes, before feeling the familiar sensation of Shinsou’s quirk wash over him.

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

“Did you eat the Kelloggs Cornflakes?”

(He’s sure he hasn’t.)

“No.” His voice was bland of emotion before breaking out of his temporary brainwash, then given a pair of black sunglasses and the same pin that Kirishima wore.

“You are free to sit in the kiddie pool if you want to. Otherwise, thank you for not being a traitor.” The girls say in unison.

(WHAT FALSE EARTH DOES HE LIVE ON?)

Though once Izuku sat down in the kiddie pool next to Kirishima, all of his fears, worries, and doubts soon vanished under the cover of the feline species (which are superior).

Something along the lines of “BATTER UP BITCHES, WE HAVE A GRAPE TO CATCH” was heard a moment later.

Screams of help? No, we don’t know her.

All we know is that you should never touch somebodies Kellogg Cornflakes.

Amen.

Taglist:

@quietlegends, @izukubabe, @nyanyabisjjj, @glitterfreezed, @sweater-weather-seven

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unitchiefs-blackbirdphoenix · 4 years ago

Text

“The Tall Man” Rewrite

Summary: A few additional moments and scenes from “The Tall Man” episode.

A Jemily comfort fic again, this time with JJ.

Read on AO3

“Breakfast is served.” JJ set out two plates of wheat bread, scrambled eggs, and green grapes for Henry and Michael.

“Now what do we say, boys?” Emily said, appearing from the kitchen behind JJ.

“Thank you,” their sons said in unison.

“You’re welcome,” JJ answered.

Emily held two cups of coffee for JJ and herself, kissing the blonde’s cheek when she gave one cup to her. JJ smiled and thanked her wife.

“Any special requests while we’re here?” JJ asked the boys.

“May I have some ketchup with my eggs?” Henry piped up first.

Michael followed after, “Can I have lime juice?”

Emily and JJ looked at each other before bursting into laughter. “Lime juice?!” the blonde mother playfully exclaimed. “What? On your eggs?”

“I’ll go get some,” she said, ruffling her youngest son’s blonde hair and going to the kitchen.

A buzz was heard from the kitchen table and Emily took a look at her phone, receiving a text from Penelope. As she read the message, her eyes widened. JJ’s not gonna like this, she thought and clicked her tongue.

On cue, JJ came back with a glass of lime juice for Michael and saw Emily’s worried expression. She frowned at her, “What’s wrong? Is there a case?”

The older woman slowly nodded, “Yeah. Penelope just texted.” JJ took the phone from Emily and looked over the message. Her body stiffened and eyes widened as memories flashed back to her. “East Allegheny,” she blinked.

“Your hometown,” Emily stated.

JJ sighed. “I swore I would get out of there and never go back.”

“Look, Jen, if this is all too much, I’ll tell Penelope to look after you,” Emily offered. JJ told Emily before that she never wanted to go back to her hometown because it brought too many painful memories for her. Emily respected her wishes and kept her word.

The blonde shook her head, “No. I have to go. Right?”

“If you feel it’s right,” Emily gave a neutral answer, knowing she can’t control her wife’s decisions. “The case is in the woods, two girls missing. In Dead Man’s Conservatory.”

“Wait, wait. Where?” JJ backtracked Emily’s words, looking at the text again.

“Dead Man’s Conservatory. Is that important?”

Emily pinned a victim’s picture up on the clear board. “Ok, so let’s roll with this for a second. Bethany has a secret boyfriend. He doesn’t want to be exposed, neither does she. But then, Chelsea gets her hands on something neither one wants her to have.”

“Yeah,” JJ nodded. “I think I know what they were looking for."

“Right,” JJ absentmindedly responded, nodding.

“So, the jewelry has to be the key to all of it. What motivates them to this extreme?”

All of a sudden, Emily’s voice becomes a little distant to JJ. The blonde conjures up a memory she had been locking away in the past as she nodded along to what Emily was saying.

“JJ?” Emily’s voice became soft when she saw her wife distracted, her professional voice breaking.

The blonde looked up at her, breaking through her cursed memory.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The unit chief gave her a sympathetic look with her eyes softening.

JJ blankly stared at Emily for a few seconds, contemplating on telling her why she’s been off during the whole case. She lightly shook her head and bit her lip.

“Look, ever since we took this case, all of these…” she exhaled out a breath before continuing, “memories are coming back, and they are not good memories, you know.”

“About Roslyn?”

“Yeah. Like, that morning she took my father’s razor,” JJ started. “I found her. And I just stood there. Frozen. For probably 10 minutes. It’s like my brain couldn’t, um, comprehend what I was seeing.”

She started softly crying at the memory, sniffling. “You know, sometimes l think- I think that’s why I took this job. So I’d always know what to do. So, I’d never freeze again. So, can you- can you give me something to do, Emily? Because I am starting to freeze up again,” JJ’s voice cracked as she blinked her tears away.

Emily checked to see if the office door and window blinds were closed before stepping closer to her blonde wife. She knew it wasn’t the appropriate time or place, but she wrapped her arms around JJ's back and pulled her head close to her chest. JJ reciprocated by wrapping her arms around Emily’s waist and quietly sobbing into her body.

“Shh, shh…” the older agent cooed. “It’s ok, just let it all go. I’m right here.” She rubbed her back in a soothing manner.

“I miss her, Emily,” JJ cried.

“I know. I know," Emily kissed the top of her head. After a few moments, JJ calmed down and slowly pulled back, wiping away her tears.

“Are you ok?”

JJ nodded and cleared her throat, “I think so.”

“Ok,” the unit chief softly kissed her lips and JJ relaxed in the contact. The younger woman gave a small smile, “Thanks.”

JJ was staring through Chelsea’s hospital room window as rage started to build up in her body. She gripped onto the necklace she had taken off when Chelsea pointed it out to her, instantly coming to a realization when she did.

Emily pulled back and nodded. She ran her fingers through JJ’s soft blonde hair, tucking some behind her ear. She then picked up a file. “Luke and Tara are going back to Ally. They are going to use the EMDR technique on her. It’s supposed to be especially effective with schizophrenics...”

“JJ,” Emily called out, walking towards her.

“They had to induce a coma, and we misjudged,” JJ turned to her wife. “The boyfriend, we thought he was a teenager. A peer. Well,” she bitterly chuckled. “He’s older. Much older.”

“How do you know?”

She held up the necklace to Emily with angry, trembling fingers. “Chelsea saw this around my neck. The look in her eyes was recognition.”

“The jewelry the unsub gave Bethany,” Emily noted, piecing together what JJ had found.

“Same one. He gave this to Roslyn, who gave it to me. God only knows how many other girls there’s been since then.” She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth, “I have been wearing this around my neck, his trophy, this whole time.”

Emily cautiously reached out to the blonde. “JJ, we will arrest him.”

JJ had just handcuffed Ethan Howard, their unsub, Roslyn’s older boyfriend and killer and brought him out of the interrogation room. A betrayed Bethany slapped Ethan across the face before being taken into custody as well. JJ, Emily, and Rossi watched as the young girl and unsub left. Emily laid a comforting hand on the small of JJ’s back, and the younger wife eventually relaxed in her touch.

“I know,” JJ nodded. “But when we do, I’m gonna need you to keep me away from him, because if I get a chance, I swear to God, I will kill him.”

“You good, JJ?” Rossi asked.

She nodded, “Yeah.”

“Come on, honey. Let’s go,” Emily softly said and the three walked away. As they were walking to the doors, the unit chief intertwined her fingers with JJ's to comfort her.

JJ and Emily came back home. Emily paid the babysitter and checked on the boys in their rooms. She gave each of them a forehead kiss and smoothed their hair down before going back to her and JJ’s room. JJ let out a heavy sigh and dropped her bag on their bedroom floor before lying down on the bed. Emily laid beside her and pulled her body close to hers. The blonde rested her head on her shoulder, and the older woman ran her fingers through her hair.

JJ took out the gold necklace and ran her thumb over the heart locket. She didn't know what else to do with the necklace. It was her sister's. It held so much meaning to her. So, she put it back inside her pocket and squeezed Emily's hand for reassurance.

“Emily-”

“Shh. Just get some rest, ok? We had a tough case. You did,” Emily whispered.

"I just-" JJ sat up and ran a hand through her hair. "I almost didn't save Bethany in time. She- she would've become… his next trophy. I couldn't save Roslyn then. Bethany could've ended up like her."

Emily sat up, too, and reached out to touch her wife's hands. "JJ, this is not your fault, ok? Don't put yourself down like this."

JJ nodded and sighed, “I’m sorry.” She slumped her shoulders and glanced down at their joined hands, playing with Emily's gentle fingers. "I just really miss her. Ros always gave up her time for me, helped me whenever I got hurt, and… I looked up to her a lot. I even wanted to play soccer because of her," she smiled fondly at the memory of her sister. “She even told me I was a badass."

Emily chuckled along with her, “Well, she’s right. You are a badass.” She kissed her lips and pulled back to look at her. "Roslyn would've been proud of what you did with the case. You did her justice and she would’ve been grateful for that."

JJ slowly nodded and bit her lip. Emily’s right. She did bring justice for her sister, and Roslyn would’ve thought it was badass. The blonde agent quietly chuckled to herself as she remembered Roslyn's words from before, "...he'll know not to mess with Jennifer Jareau. 'Cause she's a total badass.”

"Now, get some sleep. You need it," Emily's voice quietly broke through and JJ felt herself being pulled back down. She laid her head on Emily's shoulder and snuggled back into her body.

The next day, Emily was in her office, fixing a small black box for her wife. Earlier that noon, she had used the last 15 minutes of her lunch break to “run an errand” at the jewelry store, leaving a confused JJ behind because she usually ate with her. When Emily was done with her finishing touches, she went outside her office to see JJ at her desk, concentrating on her reports.

Emily let her wife fall asleep first. She thought about the necklace JJ had before they learned it was a painful and awful reminder of what happened with Roslyn before. She noticed JJ taking the necklace out at the police precinct and made a mental note to go to the jewelry store tomorrow.

“JJ, I need to see you for a moment,” Emily called out across the bullpen, using her stern unit chief voice.

“Ooh, looks like you’re in trouble, JJ,” Matt joked, looking up from his paperwork. JJ playfully rolled her eyes and shook her head before heading upstairs to see her wife.

The blonde profiler followed Emily into her office, closing the door behind her, “What’s up?”

The unit chief grabbed the box from her desk, “I got you something earlier while you were busy.”

JJ took the box from her and slowly opened it. She quietly gasped at the sight. It was a gold necklace, similar to the one Roslyn gave her, but there was a minor difference. The locket was not heart-shaped, but a different one.

“Blackbird,” JJ noticed and looked up at Emily.

The unit chief nodded and pointed at the locket, “Look what’s inside.” The blonde picked it up from the box and opened the locket, revealing two pictures: one of Henry and Michael on one side and the one of Roslyn and JJ on the other side. Emily had enlisted some of Penelope’s help with the photos to fit the locket size. Tears started to form in JJ’s eyes as she ran her thumbs along the pictures inside.

The older woman softly smiled, “I hope you like it.”

JJ nodded and smiled, “I do. I love it so much.” She kissed her and Emily grabbed the necklace from her hand. The blonde wife turned around, brushing her hair aside. Emily clasped the necklace closed when she put it around her neck.

JJ turned back around to face Emily and looked down to toy with her new necklace. She gave a tearful smile and kissed the brunette for a few seconds, resting her forehead against hers after, “Thank you, Emily.”

Emily smiled back, “For what?”

"For understanding. For being there when I needed you," the blonde answered, playing with the fabric on the shoulder of her wife’s work shirt.

"I will always be here for you, JJ. You know that," Emily kissed her forehead.

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you, too, JJ,” the older woman said and pulled her into a tight embrace.

JJ smiled and kissed her again, this time deepening it. She lightly pushed Emily against her desk and her hands blindly found her boss’s belt buckle, attempting to undo it.

“Babe, we have work to do. Those reports aren’t going to finish themselves,” Emily murmured and chuckled.

“Mm-mm, I want to properly thank you,” JJ said, kissing Emily’s jawline. “I’m determined to make you finish first.”

The brunette lightly laughed and pulled away, with JJ slightly frowning at the loss of contact. Emily kissed her cheek and offered to make a deal, “How about this? We get off work at around 5, so I’ll let you have your way with me then.”

JJ’s eyes lit up as she nodded. She kissed her one more time and hugged her again. JJ rested her head on Emily’s shoulder as her fingers played with the blackbird locket again.

The blackbird was very significant to JJ. Not only did it mean a code for danger to her, but it also meant courage and change. JJ thought about how she grew up the person she is today, but she couldn’t have done it without Roslyn in her younger years and Emily in her older years. Her sister helped her learn how to find herself when she was younger, and her wife built JJ to become the stronger version of herself later on. It’s no wonder why Emily chose a blackbird for the locket. It’s because that’s how the unit chief saw JJ: hopeful and brave.

#jemily #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #roslyn jareau #jemily fic #tw suicide

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ofmermaidstories · 3 years ago

Note

Spoilers for the latest chapter of Something!

I'm gonna go ahead and apologize now because this is long; please feel free to ignore my wordy ass, I just have a lot of feelings about a certain someone that showed up in the new chapter lol.

I am still trying to get my shit together enough to write a proper review, but I did want to come yell at you for making the grape boy somewhat likeable, like...

Firstly, how??? Secondly, why?????!?!

Lmao, in all seriousness tho, it's nice to see him have a personality that isn't just "Mmmm, tits" *drools* I like to think that everyone in the series grows up and (mostly) out of the worst of their habits, and while Mineta is still a bit of a lecher here he isn't nearly as offensive/creepy as he comes off in show. In fact he's actually sympathetic in a lot way. The bit about seeing his first dead body before "getting laid" hit different like... He tries to play it off like a joke, but dude has to have just as much PTSD as the rest of them, maybe even more given that he wasn't able to fight back in the same way as someone like Bkg or Deku would be able to with their super powerful offensive quirks. They were all just kids, but they had to face hell full on from jump, and let me stop before I get too in my feelings lol.

In a lot of ways, he reminds of you the boys from school — crude. Taking for granted the safety from being in a pack, unchallenged. Leering at posters, saying off-colour things because no one corrects them.

That's exactly the way I view him, just a crude little thing that refuses to be put in his place for long lol. Still, with his being a hero I would hope that he keeps a cap on it while he's on the job--in fact I'm sure he does; if he didn't I'm sure that Aizawa would've yanked his licence by now, the likes of Deku and Kiri wouldn't continue to associate with him, and that's saying nothing of the shit that would get posted to social mead and such. I feel like the only reason he says what he says to the Reader is b/c she's a little gremlin herself and he knows he's got a bit more leeway, yanno?

The little hangout session that they had at the end of the chapter was weirdly heartwarming?? I want a friend(???) that I can be a surly little shit with and draw on and that will call my bf that's not really my bf but should be my bf because he's (that is Mineta) got more emotional intelligence than me lmao. Never thought I'd see the day when the grape would make for such an excellent wingman--tho I gotta wonder what that text he sent to Deku said. Probably something along the lines of "come get yo girl, she must be bored/lonely af because she asked to hang out with me" followed by "are you ever gonna close the deal or not? or have you already hit it??? >:)" just to give the guy an extra push (or maybe he's got a better sense of self-preservation than what I give him credit for, idk lmfaooo...)

Okay, this is WAY too long, I just had to get it out of my system lol. I loved the new chapter lots and I cannot wait to see how things play out in the next one!!

LOL, oh Puck, i adore you sdlkfjsdlkfjsdlkfj

me being a shit-stirrer/asking myself questions i don’t have answers for under the cut

Cat asked me this question earlier today, actually — why Mineta. And honestly? Part of it is the challenge he represents — like, how do you write him into a fic and mature him up so that he’s at the very least, tolerable, but also keep the backbone of his character (which is being a little degenerate). Like, is it possible? One of the most popular tags on ao3 for mineta minoru is something along the lines of “mineta minoru is replaced with shinsou hitoshi” LOL so…….. why didn’t I just use Shinsou? Or Aoyama or Iida, as Cat suggested? And beyond the part of me that delights in giving myself perceived challenges, there were two stark reasons that stuck out to me, when i was first mulling over his inclusion.

1) the fact that he can draw. it’s literally as simple as that. ever since the BNHA exhibition opened up in Japan and it was revealed that there was a scene in there with a class blackboard and the kids having their little drawing competition — and that Mineta was objectively the most skilled — i was like, “i have to include that”. LOL. it’s like you say, Puck, our Reader is a little gremlin herself — i thought if I was going to write a Reader that could handle interacting with him (ie, be in a position to pay him out) it was going to be this one. I think being in the manga industry and starting out on this journey of creating and drawing a Shonen manga sort of put Reader in this unique position of… being in what seems like a boys’ club? So she’d be used to the male gaze within her field. I follow Horikoshi’s assistant (former assistant?) on twitter and let me tell you, that man is not shy about the things that he likes to draw LOL.

the 2) thing was the philosophy i’ve sort of accidentally given myself LOL and that’s the fact that — as a Bakugou stan, if i’m giving grace to a character who was a literal violent bully then………. i can use my magic powers and hand it around to the other characters, too, LOL. and like, i would argue that with Bakugou it’s different, like we’re currently seeing in the manga how he has grown and learnt and is actively changing, which is the key to any kind of redemption. do i think Mineta will ever undergo that in cannon? absolutely not lmao, i see him as being being Hori’s idea of comedic relief, he’s always going to be a horrible little degen. but i want it for him…… if only to justify why the boys of Class-A collectively ignore his bullshit, for the most part? Like, none of them actively call him out on it?? i think of the time he tried to climb the wall to spy on the girls in the onsen — and how it was literally only Iida scolding him and how it took a child to stop him. Or the one when he found the stupid hole into the girl’s changing room and while the boys all looked grossed out….. Jirou’s the one that point an end to that?????? I saw a TikTok (derogatory) suggesting how like, none of the girls of Class-A would trust Aizawa, as adults, because he didn’t do anything to put an end to Mineta’s bullshit, and it was a devastating suggesting. None of us want to believe that our favourites would be passively okay with this kind of behaviour, right?? Which means……. Mineta’s gotta change LMAO. And if Hori isn’t going to do it then imma borrow him and do it myself. Does it work? I have no idea LMAO i can’t judge anymore, my meter is broken. but i’m gonna work with what i’ve given myself and it either will, or it won’t LMAOOOO kldsfjlksdjflkdj fic is about having fun at the end of the day. :’)

But it’s like you point out, Puck — Mineta is also a child, when these kids get trotted out to their first War. And he’s also not as offensively built as the hard-hitters like Deku and Bakugou and Shouto are. Even if it’s not explored in the manga, that War is going to change them all somehow.

So, my gameplan for Mineta was to grab ahold of the tiny things about him — the talent for drawing, the like one [1] observation he has about the wreckage of the war/pro heroes during the war arc, his tears for Bakugou when B wakes up afterwards and how he tells Deku how cool he was and how much he admires him, in the current Bring Deku Home chapters — and try to envision a sleaze bag who learns that the bullshit he pulls won’t be tolerated, even if he’s still ultimately a skeeze LOL. i mean, he’s never going to drop that er…. appreciation for the female form. and i mean, hey, live your best life King, i’ve distinctly noticed a hand-fetish floating around on this site lately so i’m not gonna be like “NO men can’t like ANYTHING”. But the thing with him being a sleaze and open with his leering is like, he’s actively made the girls of his class uncomfortable with that in the past — how do you write it so that he’s not doing that in a position of power with the women he works with (and saves!), as an adult?? Maturity only goes so far. How much can I bank on the war and the subsequent bullshit they’re gonna face from it on…. transforming him??? It shouldn’t be up to the girls he’s learning with to police him, they’re just children. I have a vague gameplan for it — whether or not it works will be one thing; whether i can naturally shove it into the fic is another, LOL. Guess we’ll see. 🧐

SAYING ALL THAT,,,,, i’m actually really glad you liked (???) the ending scene with him because it’s my favourite LMAO lkdjflkdsjflkdjfkldsjf. 😭😭 Reader is by no means perfect, and she and Mineta both need to start treating each other with more respect, but her bullying of him was fun to write and I like imagining a Mineta who considers himself to be close with Deku (whether or not Deku thinks the same is up for debate) going along with it. i could see this version of Mineta being enough of a shit-stirrer to say something like, “gotta lock that shit down” to Deku LMAO kdfjlkdsjflkdsfjdklsfj and then getting left on a skyscraper somewhere…. RIP short King.

#the puckish rogue: adventures and magic 🪄✨🔮#something just like this - fic #mer-spoils-everything #ofmermaidstories-asks #mermaids talks about 🍇#puck you are always thoughtful and lovely with your comments and i want you to know how much i appreciate them — but mostly how much #i appreciate you for existing in this world 😭 and how by chance we exist at the same time and like the same things 😭💕🌷

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apalapucian · 1 month ago

Text

sneak peek of grape police pt. 2

That night, Lily is waiting at the steps. James sees her too late, tries to quietly turn around and just go wait at the convenience store—which, in the back of his mind, he's like, why. Till when is it going to be like this? Should he just move out? Should he drop out and stay with his mum for a bit? But she has already seen him, and is getting up and moving to him at once.

Before him, she says, "Please stop avoiding me." No hello's or anything.

"I'm not avoiding you."

"Don't be stupid. I know you." She really does. When did that happen?

"Sorry, it's just—I don't want it to feel like I'm imposing or for it to be awkward for you—"

"It's always going to be awkward if we don't..." But she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. She ends it with a deep sigh. "We have to work through the awkward. We have to keep talking through it."

"Sounds terrible."

"The alternative is terrible."

"Which is?"

"This. Not being your friend." Her gaze drops to something over his shoulder, and he almost looks back, thinking someone might be coming up. But then he notices she's not really looking at anything or anyone in particular, just averted her eyes to not be looking at him directly for whatever she's going to say next.

It turns out to be, "I miss you," and James's heart skips a beat.

I miss you, too, he thinks immediately, feels so intensely, but doesn't say.

"And I know that the record was from you," she adds.

He can't help it, the amused chuckle comes up, and he bites his lip to quell it. She sees and visibly eases up.

"It was, wasn't it?" she prods, when James doesn't say anything.

"Yeah."

"How did you even find it?"

"Same way I found your tickets."

"Damn, Potter. That's really—"

He can't help it: "Hot? Attractive?"

She reddens a bit—endearing, so fucking endearing—but she also laughs and shoves him. Rather strongly. "Shut up."

"Not attractive enough to date me apparently," he jokes, although not bitterly at all. Hopefully not, anyway. And it still stings, the background reality of them not dating, the memory of camp. But there's also this. Being friends, feeling comfortable enough to be honest, to talk. "And not valuable enough to bribe you to date me."

"You know what, I take it back. This is terrible. You're right."

But it's not, and he feels that now. And he knows that she knows that he does.

"Ice cream?" he offers. "Your treat, obviously."

She rolls her eyes, but she starts leading the way, and they walk to the convenience store together.

(read part 1 / subscribe to the fic here)

#jily #jily*#jily fic #jily au #james potter #lily evans #jple #james x lily #q

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heartofsnark · 4 years ago

Text

This Is Love (Chapter Twelve): Evil Comes In Disguise

Notes: This one is shorter than others but it felt like it took me so much longer, I blame Cyberpunk 2077 for stealing my one braincell for a while. Also, I have a tendency that the longer it takes me to write something, the more insecure I feel about it, so I ended up cutting this chapter a bit shorter than I originally intended. But I think it works and I hope you enjoy!~

Word Count: 8686

Chapter Warnings: Talk of physical assault, hospitals, POV switches, Joseph visions, me trying to write police investigations/interrogations to minimal success and struggling to write Jerome for the first time properly.

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

And the clock ticks and ticks and ticks and ticks. Every second feels like an eternity. Every moment of silence seeming to stretch on for hours. Her nerves fray with each one, worry blooming like a flower in her chest. The tension palpable as the three deputies and Sheriff wait to hear what will become of the town pastor. Dahlia’s mouth starts running before she can stop it; to distract herself or her distraught friends, she doesn’t know.

“How long have you all known Pastor Jerome?”

“Oh, Jerome’s been in Hope for…fifteen years or so,” Whitehorse tells her, thinking a minute over the exact timeline.

“He took over the Falls End church when I was thirteen,” Hudson adds, “so yeah, fifteen years.”

“Wow,” Dahlia can’t help but exclaim, astounded by just how long they’ve all known the pastor, he’s been with the county for more than half of Hudson and Pratt’s lives.

“St-,” Pratt swallows his words then starts again, stuttering, “still remember my mom making me give my first confession to him…I was terrified I was gonna go to hell, get kicked out of church, break my mom’s heart.”

“What did you do?”

“His mom caught him looking at porno mags,” Hudson rats him out, laughing. Whitehorse cracking a smile and Dahlia snickering.

“I was eleven, shut up,” he tries to defend himself through his own laughter, “yeah, Jerome thought it was funny too, told me everything was okay and then it was.”

Rook can just imagine it, Pratt as a kid, terrified that god’s going to smote him for looking at a tit. There’s a bittersweet quality to the four smiling and laughing at the memory; the anxiety and fear still looming but it’s a little easier to breathe. The weight crushing down on them is a little lighter than it was before.

“If he makes it out of this, we need to go back to church,” Hudson tells Pratt after a beat of silence.

“We do, don’t we?”

“Officers?” A man in a doctor’s coat calls out to them, the same one who stitched her head back together before.

“Is he okay?”

“We stabilized him; we got the bleeding under control and it looks like we won’t have to transfer him after all, he should be fine to recover here. We’re still monitoring him, but things are looking up.”

There’s a sigh of relief; maybe just from Whitehorse, maybe from all of them. She can’t even tell. Things are looking up, Jerome is likely to live and none of them will lose someone who clearly means so much to them.

“What exactly is it that happened, doctor?”

“Someone out in the valley called 911; the heard scratching at the door and when they looked he was collapsed on their front step. That’s all we know at this point, but as I told you, this was clearly an assault. The bruises, the bleeding, it all matches with brute force assault and with the severity we do believe it was multiple people who attacked him.”

“Who the fuck would wanna hurt Jerome?” Hudson asks, more to herself than anyone else.

“You’re all free to stay in his room, so you can question him when he wakes up, but I don’t know how reliable his memory will be with what he’s been through.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

The four go into the hospital room and Dahlia clenches her jaw when she sees him. Bruises mottle and color the friendly face she’s seen around the county; a myriad of red and purples across him. One eye swollen, stitches and bandages in places where the skin broke. They were trying to kill him; that’s all Dahlia can think. This was an attempted murder, his body is hidden under a hospital gown and blankets, but she can see from his arms that the damage extends over his body. A IV gives him a steady drip of fluids to keep him stable, a heart and oxygen monitor letting the staff know he’s staying that way.

“Jesus fuck…” Pratt whispers under his breath.

Hospital coffee and more stories of the pastor pass the time as the four settle in; the time Jerome comforted an emotional fourteen year old Hudson when she spilled communion grape juice on her white dress. Whitehorse talks about how often he’s visited the church to talk with Jerome.

Hours pass of the four talking, Dahlia downing five or more paper cups of coffee across the time. And then a cough sound rings out, a shift of fabric, the pastor slowly waking up. Whitehorse calls out for the nurses; the deputies shifting in their seats as he comes to.

The nurses flood in, checking on Jerome’s vitals, ensuring he can comfortably sit up in his bed. He’s an older man, not as old as Whitehorse, but probably as old as Jacob or Joseph. Mid to late forties. With short dark textured hair and a dark beard.

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse asks when the nurses are done checking on the Pastor.

“John Seed,” The pastor begins, and Dahlia clenches her jaw, “he and members of Eden’s Gate kidnapped me, he tried to force a confession from me and when I didn’t comply; they beat me and left me in the woods. I tried to get help the best way I knew how, but I passed out before I could speak to anyone.”

Dahlia doesn’t have time to think, to ruminate on what this means, what might be going on; Whitehorse telling her to grab the evidence collection kit he brought in. There’s not much to be collected, but their best bet of getting any conclusive evidence is swabbing Jerome’s fingernails. There’s nothing to get fingerprints off of, no weapon, no duct tape, no bindings. No bodily fluids exchanged, thankfully for Jerome’s sake. But, if he fought back, grabbed at his attackers, there’s a chance the blood under his fingernails could belong to them. That he managed to gouge their skin deep enough to leave a trace.

“Sorry, this might hurt a bit,” Dahlia gives a gentle warning when she sees the broken and bloodied state of his nails, gently swabbing blood from under them, making sure to collect from each finger before dropping it into a vile.

“I think I’ll make it,” he manages to say, a slightly dry laugh, his voice deep and resonant.

“I know you will, but still don’t wanna add to it.”

“Jerome, you said John Seed, did you recognize anyone else?”

“Lonny, Theodore, and Patrick were the only ones I know I saw…The way John talked he was doing it because of Joseph, that he ordered it… Eden’s Gate is getting worse every day.”

“Don’t worry, Jerome, we’re gonna do everything we can, Hudson, take the sample back to the station to see if we can match it to anything already in our database. Pratt, Rook, want you to start pulling the peggies in for questioning and getting DNA. Start with Lonny Stevenson, Theodore Rossi, and Patrick Michaelson. No arrests, not yet, just questioning. We’ll handle the Seeds later, alright?”

“Understood.”

There’s a heavy tension in the cruiser as Pratt and Dahlia climb into it. Jerome is alive, there’s a weight to what he’s told them and to their duty to get justice for him. Pratt’s knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, jaw clenched, and shoulders wrought with tension. Pastor Jerome has been an important figure in his life. She can’t imagine how hard this must be for him. She thinks of how much worse she might feel if it were Lloyd or Whitehorse in that hospital bed, someone she were close to. Dahlia squeezes Pratt’s shoulder as they drive, hoping her empathy shows through the touch. Even as strangers, her stomach is in knots, though it may be because of her…connection to the accused.

Despite their constant encroachment on boundaries, stepping on the line but never quite over it, Dahlia had maintained her hope that the Seeds and their flock were good at their core. That’s why she turned Cassie into their hands, but everyday there’s something new. And this is the worst yet. If they’ve truly done this, if they’re ordering full out assaults on people, that does a lot more than just cross the line.

One of their three main suspects, outside of the two youngest Seed brothers, works at the Green-Busch Fertilizer Plant, an Eden’s Gate owned business. And for possibly the first time since she began working in Hope County, Dahlia is the one leading the charge as they get out of the cruiser, Pratt not trusting his own voice.

“Patrick Michaelson,” she calls out and a man steps out, “we need to have a word with you down at the station.”

He’s generic by Eden’s Gate standards, too long hair and a scraggly beard. His arms are covered, so she can’t check for scratches or bruises along them.

“I in any trouble, deputies?”

“Just need to ask some questions; Theodore Rossi or Lonny Stevenson here? We need a word with them as well.”

“No, but I could ring ‘em for you?”

“We’ll chat first, then you can call them from the station, alright?”

“Whatever you say, officers.”

The last thing she wants is for them to have a chance to put together a story and alibi before they start questioning them. They allow Patrick into the back of the cruiser, he seems to be maintaining his cool. And the tension in the car only strengthens as they take him back to the station. Dahlia watches him in the mirror along the way, waiting for some sign of anything to peek through, for a sleeve to ride up and to see scratches from Jerome’s nails, something. But nothing of the sort happens.

Dahlia has never actually had to interrogate or question anyone, she realizes once they’re at the station and having Patrick take a seat. She doubts he’ll give them much information. If he’s innocent, he won’t have anything of interest to tell. If he’s guilty, he won’t want to tell them much of anything. Getting a DNA sample is what’s going to be the most important thing, if they get some conclusive evidence, something that links one of the Eden’s Gate members to Jerome’s assault the rest will come much easier.

“Coffee?” She offers, as she pours black coffee into three paper cups.

Patrick murmurs a small thanks before he drinks from the cup before they start asking him questions. Hours pass of trying to ask the same questions in slightly different ways or tones. Dahlia trying to stay friendlier in her tone while Pratt is terser, due to his personal connection. But getting more than a ‘I was at home, last night,’ is like trying to get blood from a turnip. He refuses to give a DNA sample as well.

“We about done here?” Patrick asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Fine,” Pratt grumbles, “I’ll walk you out and you can ring Lonny and Theodore for us.”

Dahlia taps her fingers against the table as the two men walk out, breathing a sigh of relief when Patrick leaves his coffee cup. It takes a few minutes and then Pratt comes back, he collapses into his chair and groans, she can feel the stress radiating off of him.

“Well, that was a waste of fucking time,” he grumbles.

“How you figure?”

“How you figure anything else?’ He looks at her incredulously, like she’s grown a second head and breathed fire.

“Left his cup,” Dahlia pokes at the little Styrofoam cup, “our property, we wanna swab it for DNA, our business and don’t need anyone’s consent for it.”

“I’ll run it down to evidence, you brew another pot for the next two.”

“On it.”

Pratt runs that down, the cup bagged and labeled with Patrick’s name, she’s sure. Lonny and Theodore aren’t far behind. And their questioning goes much the same. They don’t give particularly direct answers and refuse to give DNA samples. Theodore avoids talking as much as he can, mostly opting to glare at the deputies after his first insistence that he has no idea why he’s here and has no obligation or desire to talk. But, he does at some point break his sourpuss expression to take a drink of coffee. Lonny is cockier, more aggressive, making snide comments but he drinks coffee at some point too; so that’s all that matters.

By the end of it all, three cups are sent down to evidence to be swabbed for DNA to be tested against the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails. If it’s from any of them, they’ll know by hopefully the end of the day. Evidence based cases are rare around here, so the forensic team stated they can fast track it, hopefully

Pratt and Dahlia rest in the bullpen office, Hudson joining them. There’s a somber air to the entire office. Hudson’s leg bounces with nervous or angry energy, Dahlia isn’t sure which. Meanwhile, Pratt is wringing his hands until the skin rubs raw. Their worry is palpable as they wait for either more information or direction. The oppressive silence has started to weigh on Dahlia’s shoulders, she’s tapping her fingers against a table.

“You know,” Dahlia says after too long, “you guys can go see Jerome if you want, I’ll call if any info comes in.”

She knows they’re worried about him and want to be there to check on him. There’s no reason for them to sit here and suffer when she can just let them know when the analysis comes in.

“We’re not gonna leave you to man the station by yourself,” Pratt dismisses her out of hand, as if the idea that she can be left alone is ridiculous.

“I think I can manage for an evening, anything happens, I know how to reach you all.”

“I’m going,” Hudson declares, “I trust Rook and I’m driving myself crazy here.”

“Thank you, Hudson…” Dahlia says with soft smile, Hudson actually trusts her and isn’t acting like she’s a child.

“You coming?” Hudson asks Pratt, looking at him expectantly.

“I’m not leaving Rook here alone.”

“I’m an adult, you know that, right?”

“If Eden’s Gate was willing to attack Jerome, who knows what else they’ll do. And you’re already on their radar, were before this.”

“What, you think they’re gonna storm the station?”

“Who knows anymore.”

“I don’t have time to listen to you two bicker, I’m leaving,” Hudson tells them before walking out of the station.

Dahlia chews her lip once she’s left with Pratt. This is already a stressful day and not the time to let her wounded ego guide her behavior. But it is wounded. She’s not a child, young sure, but not a child and by no means incapable. Pratt has been coddling her and trying to limit what she does since the beginning of her job, she thought it was lessening, but… Does Pratt seriously not think she’s competent enough to be left alone for a few hours? Is she that unreliable? Incapable? Does he think that little of her?

She doesn’t lend a voice to these insecurities or anger; not the time or place.

“Don’t pout,” Pratt says after a few minutes.

“I’m not.”

“You are, I can physically see you pouting.”

“Even if I was, it’s not important.”

“Seriously, Rook? You wanna be a brat right now?”

“Seriously, Pratt? You wanna be a patronizing dick right now!?” Her voice is harsher than she intended.

“Deputies?” A voice calls out, one of the workers in their piddly little forensic department poking their head into the open office.

“Yeah?”

“We got a match for the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails.”

“Who’s our guy?”

“Patrick’s matched, we couldn’t find any traces of Lonny or Theodore’s.”

“I’ll call Whitehorse,” Pratt says before getting out his cellphone, “figure out what we’re doing next.”

Dahlia only nods, not trusting herself after her outburst. Her fingers still tap tapping against a desk as Pratt speaks to the sheriff. She can only hear Pratt’s side of the conversation as he explains what they were just told and agrees to whatever Whitehorse is telling him, before he hangs up.

“So, what’s our next move?” Dahlia asks, voice cracking more than she’d like.

“Arresting Patrick and questioning the Seeds. He wants a lighter touch with John and Joseph, his words, not mine.”

“Lighter touch meaning…?”

“They can be questioned together if they want, given a day and the chance to come in on their own terms. Whitehorse doesn’t want us ruffling their feathers unless we get something conclusive on them.’

“I’ll never get why he wants to walk on eggshells around them.”

“Because they’re nuts and got a good hundred or more people who’ll fight for them.”

Dahlia shrugs, she gets that, she guesses. But its still hard for her to wrap her head around that the men she’s met could order an assault on someone else. A part of her is still holding onto the hope that Patrick just acted on his own, that John and Joseph had no idea. But, Jerome says John was there. And John’s not exactly a face he could confuse with someone else…

“C’mon, let's go get Patrick.”

He’s at his house at this late hour, knocking in the door of his little farmhouse. Patrick answers the door, face souring the moment he sees the officer. His lips are sealed, not speaking a word to the deputies as they read him his rights and bring him into the station. He refuses to speak for a long while, even as they book him and try to ask him a few more questions.

“I wanna call my lawyer.” Is all he says after an entirely too long drag of silence.

“John, your lawyer?” Pratt asks.

“What of it?’

“We need to have a chat with him too,” Dahlia informs him, “so we’ll be happy to call him for you.”

“Fine.”

Dahlia stretches out her back as her and Pratt leave the interrogation room, this day has been her longest yet, but they seem to be getting somewhere. She looks over to Pratt.

“Want me to call up John or you wanna do the honor?”

“I will, they like you too much.”

“Have zero idea what you mean by that, but alright.”

Pratt grabs the station phone and rings up John’s number. Dahlia chews her fingernails as she waits, biting away at them and chipping her nail polish in the process. When she runs out of nail that goes past her fingertips, she chews at the skin. Mind racing as Pratt talks to John, she feels like her thoughts and feelings are tearing into two directions. What she wants to be true and what evidence supports. The older deputy hangs up the phone and Dahlia looks up at Pratt expectantly.

“John says him and Joseph can be here in a few hours, chances are Jacob will be with them.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Anytime either of them have been questioned, Jacob’s there, just to look mean I guess.”

She nods, thinking of what she read so far in the Book of Joseph, of the abuse in the Seed family. It doesn’t shock her at all that Jacob has a protective streak, that he wouldn’t want his younger brother’s far out of sight. She does find herself wondering why Faith isn’t following alongside her siblings as well. Her fellow deputies didn’t seem to know much of her at all, Hudson not even knowing what she looks like. Hell, the youngest sister hasn’t even been mentioned yet in the Book of Joseph. Though given the hefty age difference, perhaps she wasn’t born yet during the memory Joseph chose to open it with?

Dahlia takes a seat while they wait for the Seed brothers, graciously accepting the cup of coffee that Pratt offers her. Her leg taps as she drinks at it, listening to the clock tick away as she waits for the Seeds. Her fellow deputy sits next to her and she can tell the day has been wearing on him. She doesn’t know why, what it is that pushes the impulse forward, but she thumps her head onto his shoulder. A soft form of contact, comfort, whether it’s an offering to him or a selfish desire of her own, she isn’t sure.

But Pratt responds by leaning his head towards her, over top of her own. His hair tickling at her skin and his scruff scratching at her skin. She can’t help but smile and press in a little closer, just appreciating his presence in this quiet moment after such a drawn-out day.

“Shit!”

Pratt’s sudden yell jolts Dahlia awake, her skull knocking against his. She blinks sleep from her eyes, when did she even drift off? How long was she sleeping against his shoulder? Her hands and the bottom of her jeans are wet; the cup of coffee and it’s contents now on the floor as well as her shoes.

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath, she must have dropped it when she fell asleep, “sorry.”

Dahlia goes and gathers up paper towels, cleaning up the mess. She didn’t even realize she was that tired.

“Don’t sweat it, shit has been crazy around here lately, I nearly dozed off myself.”

“You telling me this ain’t typical.”

“God, no, county’s usually more boring than watching paint dry. Lately, feels like county’s gone nuts.”

“Eh, I prefer the crazy, keeps things interesting at least.”

“Deputies,” the on shift desk worker pops their head into the room, “the Seed brothers are here.”

“We’ll be there in a second.”

Dahlia finishes cleaning up the mess and sighs, that weight back on her shoulders. It’s way past their usual shift hours and the day as a whole has been a lot. But they may finally be getting to the root of what happened. They’re getting some justice for Jerome, Patrick is a damn near guaranteed arrest. They just need to get to the bottom of John and Joseph’s involvement. She took this job to help people and that’s what she’s doing, Jerome has a right to feel safe in this county and as much as she hopes the Seeds are good, if they’re hurting others, it needs to be shut down and now.

Mess cleaned; Dahlia and Pratt go out to the waiting room to greet the Seeds. John and Joseph look relatively cleaned up. Though John always looks some version of prim and proper. She’s positive she’s never seen the youngest sibling in a shirt that wasn’t a collard button up and she’s certainly never seen his hair in any state other than slicked back. His shirt of choice today is purple, no vest or trench coat, just the buttons left undone to show the sin marked across his chest and the sleeves rolled up to show the tattoos across his forearms.

Joseph is wearing a shirt which is an accomplishment for him, a stiff white button up done up to his throat and a black blazer over it, nearly overkill in the heat of August. Perhaps he only wears clothing in extremes, either half naked or completely covered. His greasy dark hair is pulled back as usual and despite the late hour, his yellow aviators are on.

And then there’s Jacob, black tee and jeans with his typical camo shirt tied around his waist. Dog tags, key, and rabbit’s foot hanging from a chain around his neck as they always do.

They’re superficial observations, what the brothers wear, but she can’t help but take in the stark contrasts of the brothers. Joseph trying to look more put together and less crazy, John in that same state but every day, and Jacob genuinely not seeming to give any sort of a fuck.

“Deputies,” John is the one to greet them, grinning and Dahlia folds her hands behind her back, trying to still her body and straighten her back to present a confident front.

“John,” Pratt returns the acknowledgement with a nod, “I-“

“It seems you have one of our flock members contained on the bas-“ John cuts off Pratt.

“We actually would rather speak with you and Joseph before we discuss that case,” Dahlia cuts the youngest brother off in turn, not letting him dominate the conversation or set the tone for this.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I assume, you’re both comfortable with answering some questions for us?” She cocks her head to the side, trying to stay nonthreatening, not that her five feet of being could ever be threatening.

“Of course, that would be no problem at all,” Joseph is the one to speak next, giving her a smile, eyes soft despite the circumstances.

“Actually,” Pratt cuts in, a twitch in his jaw, “I’ll be asking those questions alone.”

“You’ll what?” Dahlia levels a glare at her partner, ready to throw him through a window, but unable to do so. He’s pushing it, he keeps pushing it.

“I think it’ll be best if I conduct the interrogation alone.”

“Oh, do you?”

“You girls need a minute, or can we get this shitshow on the road,” Jacob says, the deep rasp of his voice cutting through the spat. And she doesn’t miss the clench in Pratt’s jaw at the emasculating choice of words.

“Come on back; sorry for the trouble,” Dahlia says, a tight lipped smile as she leads the Seed brothers to the interrogation room. She’ll deal with Pratt and his overprotective bullshit later. It’s a quick walk down the hall and she politely opens the doors for them, she thinks she sees Jacob rolling his eyes.

“Go ahead and take a seat, we’ll be just a moment,” Dahlia tells them, giving a small nod when Joseph thanks her. She lets the door shut behind the Seeds and turns her gaze back on Pratt.

“Rook-”

“What the actual fuck, Pratt?” She keeps her voice low, but her tone is terse, how could he try to strong arm her out of the interrogation.

“Look, you’ve spent a lot of time with them, regardless of if you’ve wanted too or not. They’re fixated on you and you’re just too close to them to be interrogating them.”

“You’ve known them longer than me! You’ve known them for years! This is a rural county, it’d take me longer to meet all the cows here than it would the people!”

She wants to wring his neck, he’s entirely too protective of her and for no real reason. More now than ever she realizes she made the right call not telling anyone about the mute “angel” Eden’s Gate member who swung on her or the vandalism of her trailer. Pratt already barely wants to let her handle ticketing people and now he doesn’t want her interrogating suspects. It’s ridiculous. She’s a grown adult woman, she needs to be allowed to do her fucking job.

Dahlia is done listening to this nonsense, she decides, and makes a beeline back to the interrogation room. Pratt isn’t going to stop her from doing her damn job. She opens the door, her coworker trailing behind her, as she steps into the interrogation room.

The Seed brothers are sat at the table. Jacob’s legs open wide, sat relaxed in his chair, completely disinterested by most appearances but he still watches the deputies from the corner of his eye. She’s reminded of a predator lulling prey into a false sense of security before it strikes.

Joseph sits between his elder and younger sibling. His elbows on the table, hands politely folded, not a hint of anxiety in him either. Seemingly calm, but his gaze is intense on the young deputy as she enters, never straying away from her. He never looks over at Pratt, the other deputy’s warning that they’re fixated on her ring through her mind.

John is sitting back in his chair and his gaze is just as intense, but there’s more manic energy behind it. In him in general. Perhaps he’d look calmer, more serene like his brothers, if not for the constant bouncing of his leg, the movement starting to shake the rickety table.

“Sorry about that,” Dahlia starts before Pratt can find a way to force her out of the room, “would either of you like any coffee or anything before we chat?”

“No, thank you. We’ve done this song and dance before, deputy, you can’t sneak dna off of us,” John dismisses her off with a sneer.

“Okay then, no coffee, understood,” she rescinds her off as she sits down at the table across from them, Pratt sitting next to her.

“Look, let's cut the bullshit,” Pratt speaks up, “a person was attacked, beaten badly. We got evidence, won’t say what, that connects one of your church members to the attack. And its being alleged that he did so on Joseph’s order with John supervising the whole thing, and...you’re just hear for window dressing I guess.” He gives a dismissive look to Jacob at that last part, no doubt his attempt to give a little revenge jab for his comment earlier.

“Why I’m here ain’t any of your concern, princess.” Jacob says, voice low and the threat within it not subtle.

“Okay…” Dahlia cuts in with a clap of her hands when she sees the way Jacob and Pratt are glaring at each other, this is an interrogation not a pissing contest, the last thing they need is Pratt trying to fight Jacob and getting his ass kicked, “this is already going off the rails, good job everyone. Now, while his wording was...abrupt, uh that is the reality of the situation. There are some heavy accusations being levied at you two, so we were hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” John responds, rolling his eyes, “these are completely baseless accusations.”

“We do have evidence linking one of the men, a member of your church, to the assault. Our witness and survivor is credible. At this point we have no reason to believe they’d lie about what occurred.”

“They persecute us the same as they did the prophets before us, the faithful handed over to courts and councils, sheep sent out amongst wolves,” Joseph speaks sudden, voice intense as he stares into Dahlia’s eyes, a chill rolls up her spine, a tension pulling in her shoulders that she can’t quite shake.

“Seriously,” Pratt scoffs and for the first time Joseph’s eyes leave Dahlia, harsher and colder at the older officer, “you really think this is about your church, that someone would make this shit up just to get at you, think they beat the shit out of themselves too just to spite you?”

“Of course not,” John speaks next and she can’t help but notice the jolt in his body language, “I’ve yet to speak to our flock member you’ve find evidence of. But even if he’s done what he’s accused of, surely, you can’t expect us to be held responsible for the actions of every member of our church. We have hundreds of followers, you cannot reasonably expect us to be accountable for any of them who may stray from our ways.”

“The witness specified you were there, John. Not just accountable, but physically present for assault.”

“And there’s no evidence of that, you said so yourself, and as I’ve told you before, there are many in this county who aren’t above taking any chance to sully mine and my family’s name. Who’s to say, they didn’t see their assault as an opportunity to bring down our entire church.”

“May I ask where you were last night?”

“Had dinner with my family, as I always do, and stayed in for the night. Rather boring, I’m afraid.”

“Anyone who can confirm this story?” Pratt asks and Dahlia tries not to roll her eyes; his family would be the ones who can confirm it and ...they’re mostly here and biased.

“My brothers who are sitting right here, my sister if you feel the need to ruin her night as well.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Then are we done here?”

“This isn’t a formal arrest or detainment,” they don’t have anywhere near the evidence or that, “so, you’re free to leave if you so please. Though, there’s still the issue of Patrick who requested counsel with you.”

The brothers have made it clear they want to leave and that the deputies won’t be prying any more information from them. So, Dahlia escorts them out.

“You two can go on home,” John tells his brothers, “I’ll call someone to get me once I’ve sorted this out.”

“We couldn’t possibly leave you behind, we’ll wait,” Joseph squeezes John’s shoulder than looks to Dahlia, “assuming that would be okay.”

“Of course, don’t expect you to ditch your brother.”

“It is tempting sometimes,” Jacob mumbles under his breath, a smirk pulling at his lips when John glares at him. Rook has to press her hand to her mouth to avoid laughing at the brotherly teasing.

“Jacob…” Joseph gently chides.

“Regardless, you two are welcome to sit out in the waiting room, there's a vending machine if you need anything or if you’re not interested in that I’m sure Nancy can get you set up with coffee or food from our break room.”

“Thank you, deputy.”

“I’ll be out, shortly,” John says the final word pointedly as his brothers go to the waiting room, then turns to the deputies, “which room is my client in?”

“Room 103, I’ll be right in, go on and get settled,” Pratt tells him and John leaves down to the room where Patrick is being held. Dahlia holds her tongue until the youngest Seed brother is out of hearing range.

“Think we can get anything else out of them?”

“Fuck no, he’s going to tell Patrick to keep his mouth shut, insist that there’s another explanation. Like getting blood from a turnip, we’re just going to have to deal with what we have. DNA should be enough to convict Patrick, as for the rest, we’ll have to see if Whitehorse feels we got enough to do a full investigation. But, we don’t have much.”

“The evidence against Patrick might be enough to subpoena Joseph’s sermons, get warrants to search the church and houses?”

“Maybe,fuck,” Pratt rubs a hand down his face, he looks exhausted and she’s sure she’s not much better, “what time is it?”

“Nearly four in the morning.”

“Fucks sake, okay, their foul mood makes a bit more sense.”

“Yeah, I can take care of the talk with John and Patrick, like you said won’t be getting much from them, so you can head home or check on Jerome.”

“No, no, absolutely not. I’ll take care of this, you go home and get some sleep.”

“Pratt-”

“Rook, you were the one passing out on top of me. Go home and sleep.”

“I-”

“Please, for once in your life, just listen to me.”

“Okay, just this once,” she bows her head, feeling like a scolded child, “but we do need to have a serious conversation about you babying me, you know that right?”

“I don’t baby you.”

She blinks and widens her eyes, has he heard a single word he’s said to her all day. Refusing to let her stay at the station alone, not wanting her to call John, and not even wanting her to be involved in the interrogation. And that today alone, she can’t count the amount of times he’s told her not to be the one to issue tickets, to stay in the car during calls. She knows they’ve lost an officer in the line of duty. And she knows she’s a lot younger than Pratt or Hudson. But this is her job as much as it is theirs.

“Okay,” Pratt scratches at the back of his neck at the incredulous look, then gently puts his hands on Dahlia’s shoulders, “serious conversations can wait until we’ve both slept, alright?”

“Fine, I’ll go home and crash, get yourself some sleep when you finish up here, okay?”

“Okay, will do.”

He drops his hands from her shoulders and gives a small pat to her arm as she turns to leave. As much as she’d rather Pratt be the one going home to get some much needed sleep, she can’t say she won’t be thankful for a chance to crash.

“And Rook,” Pratt calls out before she can get through to the waiting room, she turns to look at him, “stay away from the Seeds, please.”

“Don’t push it.” She rolls her eyes, overprotective ass, she pushes through the doors to the waiting room.

Dahlia gives a friendly nod of acknowledgement to Joseph and Jacob as she moves past them, looking towards Nancy.

“I’m gonna go home and crash for the night, any news comes in, don’t hesitate to call me, alright?” She explains to dispatch, not fully trusting Pratt to let her know if it’s up to him, throwing on her leather jacket and already searching for her pack of cigarettes. She’ll catch a smoke break before she rides home, her nerves needing the nicotine fix.

“Alright, dear. Drive safe.”

Dahlia waves a quick bye to both Nancy and the Seed brothers before she leaves the building. The air is cold, temperatures drop quick at night out here, a start contrast to the hot muggy days. A dark sky hangs above her except where stars breach the abyss. Goosebumps prickle up along her neck where the air hits, she put a cigarette between her lips and lights it, breathing nicotine deep into her lungs. She tilts her head back, blowing smoke from her mouth, white billowing around her.

“Deputy,” Joseph’s voice calls out and chills run along her spine, “you know, smoking is really a terrible habit.”

“We all got our vices,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, making sure to blow the smoke away from Joseph.

“That is true, I know that better than most…”

She nods when he trails off a bit, his church seems to focus a lot on sins and vices, overcoming them she assumes. Sins marked across the skin of so many of its members. Silence falls across the two, for once Joseph breaking eye contact, a rare moment for him.

“Is there something you wanted…? Can’t imagine you’d rather wait out here in the cold.”

“Yes, actually, I think there’s a lot we need to discuss. Faith told me you have concerns about your friend, Cassandra.”

“Cassie, yeah,” she corrects, not sure why it bugs her so much to hear them using Cassie’s full name.

“Yes, John always was wishing to speak with you regarding the orchard and… I’d hate for this… incident to color your opinion of me and my family.”

“I understand and I’d love to talk all this out with you, but-”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she frowns, feeling bad about it, “its been a rough day and I just am ready to crash, I’m sure you must be exhausted too.”

“Of course, I understand, which is why I’d like to invite you to have dinner with me and my family.”

“Uh, what?”

Dahlia blinks and coughs on cigarette smoke, taken aback by the sudden invitation. He’s here for an investigation, she just interrogated him, and he’s concerned with inviting her to dinner to… preserve some sort of good image? While a formal investigation isn’t opened on him or John yet, needing warrants and authority to do anything more, but one is right around the corner.

“We try to have dinner as a family, my brothers, sister, and I, as often as possible. A luxury we couldn’t indulge in for so much of our lives, I think it’d be a wonderful opportunity for us all to speak and for you to know my family separate from church or police interrogations. So, would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Uh…”

This could be her only chance to talk to him about Cassie before a formal investigation is launched and it becomes a conflict.

But it could already be a conflict, since they are hopefully not far away from launching that investigating.

But, she could use it as a chance to probe around, see if she can unearth anymore evidence in the Jerome case.

But, anything procured without a warrant wouldn’t be admittable, so the most she could do is see it and then know what to go back for once they secure a warrant.

But, even just getting a chance to ask questions without the environment of an interrogation room, might get some truths out. As well a chance to ask about some of the other strange things going on in the county. From roadblocks to the issue of the weird “angel” that assaulted her.

But, they could be dangerous, if they do have anything to do with Jerome’s injuries…

But, she’s not weak and it’s not like she's looking to antagonize them. She can ask her questions and be polite.

But, Pratt would kill her. He literally warned her to stay away from the Seed family five fucking seconds ago.

“Sure, I’d love to,” she tells him, ultimately unable to say no to his earnest little smile.

“That’s wonderful, our dinners are at John’s ranch house, I’m not sure I have anything to write the number down on…”

“I can use the memo app on my phone, what is it?”

“Oh.” He seems taken aback for a moment when she gets out her phone, but recovers to prattle off the address, Dahlia typing it in.

“Did I get it right?” She asks, moving to stand closer to Joseph’s side, so he can see the phone screen.

“Uh, yes, that’s,” he reaches out to touch her phone and accidentally closes the memo app, pulling his hand away like it burned him, “oh.”

Dahlia can’t help but laugh, watching the older man fumble to deal with tech. He’s older, sure, but he’s not pushing his sixties or anything. He ducks his head and she can see a very subtle flush of red flare up his cheekbones. Its the most human he’s ever seemed to her, just an older man who hates phones, embarrassed that he has no idea how to use one.

“Don’t worry, it saved,” she explains, pulling it back up.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Alright, see you and your family tomorrow.”

She tucks her phone back in her pocket and waves bye again, getting on her motorcycle. Dahlia slides her helmet on and starts the journey back home, mind racing and heart heavy with the events of the day.

Joseph sits in the passenger side of the truck, Jacob driving and John sitting in the back, as they leave the police station. It's late, nearly early enough for him to be waking up. John made a grave mistake, trying to punish Pastor Jerome for leading people astray, away from Eden. A noble intention, but he did it out of wrath and anger, letting someone else’s sin fuel his own. His impulses placed them back in the sight line of the police. They can recover from this easily enough, as frustrating as it is. The bigger issue is once again working to reign John in and working to change the junior deputy’s view of them.

The Lamb plays a vital role in the collapse, she was chosen to be the one who brings about the end, how exactly she will do so remains to be seen. But, he’d rather she do it alongside them stepping into New Eden by their side after she helped cleanse the world, rather than doing so in spite of them with no understanding of the gift she was given.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jacob scolds their younger brother, always protective of the project and them being found out by law enforcement, he’s more than a little irate about John’s mistake.

“Jacob…” Joseph still chides him for cursing, a nasty habit his eldest brother struggles most to break. If Joseph’s being completely honest, he’s not certain Jacob is trying to break it all.

“Pastor Jerome is a fraud, he is leading people astray and spreading lies about The Project, he had to be taught a lesson.”

“Who cares? His people abandoned him for us, John. He can talk all he wants, no ones fuckin’ listening.”

“Oh, so suddenly you’re above corporal punishment, are you going soft on me, Jacob? Do you allow your soldiers to say whatever they please, reward them for their insolence?”

“Jerome’s not a soldier and unlike you, when I teach outsiders a lesson, I’m not dumb enough to let them walk away from it.”

“Brothers, stop,” Joseph speaks over them, not yelling, but his tone stern enough to end their incessant arguing, he makes eye contact with his youngest brother through the rearview mirror “Jacob is right, John.”

“But Joseph-”

“You endangered The Project, our mission, our family; for the sake of satisfying your own wrath. You put all of us at risk and for what? So, you could indulge in your sins?”

“He was spreading lies, telling people you were dangerous-”

“And that made you angry, it made you wrathful. And so you lashed out to make yourself feel better, instead of speaking to me, instead of seeking out the word and confronting the sin inside of yourself, you sought to quell your anger through violence.”

“I’m sorry, Joseph.”

“I know. Righteous anger and swift justice has its place. There will be times to cut off the hands that wrong us, but this was not one of them.”

“I understand… I already spoke with our flock members in the station, they’ll dispose of the evidence and secure Patrick’s freedom. Without it, the investigation will end and he won’t be punished for my mistakes.”

“I knew you’d take care of it in the end,” he tells him, watching the relief flood John with the smallest amount of praise after being scolded, “I invited the junior deputy to dinner.”

Jacob slams on the brakes on a thankfully deserted back road, causing Joseph to jerk against the seatbelt and John to slam his face against the seat in front of him. John yells out from the sudden impact and Joseph turns to look at his eldest brother in confusion.

“God damn it, Jacob!”

“John!” Joseph scolds when his baby brother takes the lords name in vain, he can see a bruise forming on John’s forehead already.

“He tried to kill me!”

“Am I the only one who understands that we’re criminals?!”

“In the eyes of man, perhaps, but in the eye of -”

“Eyes of man are the ones that matter, right now, Joseph! You’re inviting a fuckin’ cop into our lives, into John’s house. A cop who just interrogated us less than a fucking hour ago and you want to feed her for her trouble.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were scared, brother. Jacob Seed, scared of a little girl.”

“Well, its a damn good thing you know better, or that shiner would be the least of your problems, brother,” Jacob nearly spits the word brother, glaring daggers at John.

“Jacob,” Joseph gets his older brother’s attention, Jacob has always been the strongest willed, has always asserted his opinions even if he’d do anything for the family, “are you doubting me?”

“No, of course not, I just don’t understand why you’re doing this?”

“We have cops within our flock, Jacob.”

“Yes, converted cops who benefit us. This deputy can’t walk into a church without puking her guts up, she’s a problem waiting to happen.”

“She has been making a problem out of herself, trying to keep me from purchasing the orchard, enabling the greed of this county.”

“Look, I know it can be difficult to understand, you’ve not heard what I’ve heard. The Voice hasn’t spoken to you, as it has to me, my decisions are not without reason. Reasons that will be revealed in time, the junior deputy is important, bringing her into our flock is a priority. Understood?”

“Of course, understood, Father,” John concedes, using Joseph’s formal title. Joseph looks to his eldest brother, who’s scarred jaw is still clenched tight.

“Understood?” He repeats himself, he knows Jacob wouldn’t go against him, but his willful nature… something Joseph was envious of in childhood now leads to the occasional butting of heads.

“Understood.”

Jacob starts the car back up, driving Joseph and John back to their homes. John to his ranch house and Joseph up to his church, where he has a cot in the back of it. The sun is starting to come up when Jacob drops him off at the church compound, before driving back to Saint Francis.

Eyelids heavy with exhaustion, Joseph is quick to return to his quarters, a headache starting to creep up along his temples. He changes for bed, then kneels before his bed, bowing his head for prayer and folding his hands together. Hands pressed together tightly, his rosary pressing into his skin.

And he prays.

He prays for John to find his way, to battle his sin and win the fight.

He prays for Jacob to one day fully let go and accept the word.

He prays for Faith not to stray from the path.

He prays for his flock and family, he prays for their faith not to wane, he prays for them to be strong enough to weather the collapse, he prays for the persecution of his family to end, and he prays that he can save more souls; specifically the junior deputy. That he can find a way to reach her heart, help her see her gift, and learn the importance of her role before it’s too late.

Then a sharp pain shoots from his temple across the rest of his head, like lightning shooting through his skull. The darkness of his closed eyes fades away into a new world, a vision of New Eden, a paradise he’s been shown and promised so many times he knows the sight of it by heart. The bright blooming pink flowers and modest homemade homes of a commune, a return to nature, to innocence.

His family and flock there, older versions of themselves, dressed in more rustic handmade clothes. Less clear and less certain than last time. But he sees John, Jacob, and Faith with children clinging and playing around them. And he can’t explain the feeling, that they’re all his children but his siblings as well.

The five year old boy with a head of dark curls and blue eyes that looks so much like Joseph as a child, the boy who called him papa.

A girl around three with bright ginger hair, a face covered in freckles. She grins and blinks, sun in her eyes. She reminds him so much of Jacob, head held high with a crown of red.

Maybe a year younger, another girl has straight dark brown hair and big wide blue eyes. Eyes that remind him so entirely of the young baby brother he cooed at as a child.

The oldest of them, clings to an older Faith’s skirt. A young boy of ten maybe tweleve, so much older than the smaller children. Hair dark as pitch, olive skin, and green eyes setting him apart. He looks different from the others, perhaps his family tie not one forged by blood.

His family, those he has now and those he will gain, the family he will be gifted. But, there’s something missing…. Pieces of the puzzle not yet in place.

Weak clumsy fingers grab onto his bed as his vision subsides, the reality of the world he’s still in returning to him. His head pounds and throbs, agony radiating throughout it, as the collapse draws closer his visions are getting more and more frequent. He can only hope as he falls into bed that he’s keeping himself and his family on the right path to find paradise.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #joseph seed #john seed #jacob seed #this is love

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ginnyzero · 5 years ago

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Completely Harmless Ch. 5

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Five Helping Sir Aaron Silverglade

Last time:

“How do you think we should handle Aaron?” Lily asked as she settled back into the seat.

“Lie,” Pauline said blandly.

“Lie?” Lily raised a brow.

“Tell him we were sent by his mother to find out information.” Pauline shrugged.

“That’s actually plausible.” Lily pinched her nose. “For a good cause, I guess.”

Pauline poked about the internet. “He’s still at the ice cream shop.”

“Oh good,” Lily sighed. “What do you think of Anastasia’s ideas?”

“I don’t think that the Baroness will care if we start pulling weeds and things,” Pauline said.

Lily nodded.

“As long as we keep our meddling to minor fixes that we can handle and don’t step on her toes.” Pauline bit her lip. “Keep up the stables, pull weeds, do some cleaning.” She shrugged.

“Prepare the way for the experts.” Lily’s leg jiggled.

Pauline turned a bit in the seat as the tram slowed to a stop. “I think you got her scheming about how to get back into her mother’s good graces. She might just do the rest. Or at least, point us in the right direction.”

“I’m sure Iris knows gardeners.”

“Exactly. And gardeners will know mechanics,” Pauline said.

They walked across the road. “You know,” Lily said. “She may not see it. I’m not saying her eyesight is bad,” she said hurriedly. “She’s been there so long and the things keep piling up. After a while you become blind to the mess.”

They walked into the doors.

“That’s true,” Pauline said. “It becomes your mess and quite comfortable.”

“Right!” Lily agreed.

They skirted the tables.

“Sir Silverglade,” Pauline said politely as they sidled up to a rather nervous looking man seated at a high table with a laptop in front of him.

He jumped. “Um, hello, that’s, me.”

“Sir Silverglade, I’m Pauline and this is my friend, Lily. We work for your mother. She sent us to find out any information about how to get G.E.D. out of the north paddock.” Pauline smiled gently at him.

“Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh my,” Aaron wrung his hands. “I knew she’d do this,” he mumbled. He looked around for some ice cream. “I, I, I’m not any good at this.”

Lily soothed him. “We also have new information. Whatever the problem is, I’m sure we can help you.”

“Oh, oh, I’m not so certain at all. I’ve been locked out of my laptop you see. And oh dear, oh my, I just can’t seem to get back in.”

“Have you forgotten your password?” Lily asked.

He nodded.

“Do you have a phone?” Lily said and tried not to sigh. Older people.

Aaron bit his lip. “I do. But I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”

Pauline struggled not to roll her eyes. “I’ll get us some ice cream.”

Lily moved the seat and shoved it to be closer to Aaron. “All right, start your computer,” she said.

Aaron started it up. “See,” he said and typed something.

“All right, see that link about resetting your password, click on it,” Lily said. “Okay, now, go to your email in your phone. You can do that.”

“Of course!” Aaron didn’t sound offended at all. He logged into his email. “But, it’s not my work email you see.”

“That’s fine,” Lily said. “Is the computer registered to your work email?”

“No. No,” Aaron said. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, look, you have an email about resetting your password.” Lily pointed at it. She coached him through changing it. Pauline returned with ice cream and Lily absentmindedly took a bite. Her face brightened. That was really good ice cream.

Aaron almost cried as he logged into the computer.

“All right,” Lily said. “There.”

Aaron clicked on his work programs. “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Anytime you get blocked out. You can reset the password through your phone,” Lily reassured him. “No big deal.”

Aaron frowned as he skimmed emails to catch up. “Oh dear.”

“Oh dear?”

“No good news, I’m afraid. G.E.D. brought in lawyers and are contesting our claims of breaking contract. In no means did our contract say that they could put up oil rigs on our land! Especially since there is no clauses in there for us getting a share of any profits on oil drilled and sold from our property.” Aaron sniffed. “As if we’d forget those!”

Pauline scraped the bottom of her bowl and widened her eyes making a face.

“No. I don’t think you would,” Lily said. “Well, we have some new information. I could email it to you and you can forward it to your lawyers.”

Aaron told her the email.

Lily forwarded all the pictures and the text with the oil rigs numbers on it. Pictures of the rigs in action, the pollution, the ducks in the pollution, the oil rig numbers, the broken fence, just everything the girls had discovered.

Aaron opened it and as he scrolled through the pictures, his face turned more and more red. He hit the forward button and then paused. “Oh, what do I say? This is indefensible!”

They helped him come up with a sufficiently official and polite sounding email that would be taken seriously as it was urgent and convey how angry the Silverglades were over the blatant destruction of their pristine property and endangerment of the horses and wildlife.

Aaron jabbed send a bit too forcefully. “Oh, thank you, ladies. I am so sorry it had to come to you coming all the way out here. I wish I was better at this.”

“You’re doing the best you can,” Lily said. “You aren’t dumb, Sir Silverglade.”

“There has to be someone who can do this better than I can,” Aaron moaned.

“With a bit of practice, you’ll get better. You have to stop being so hard on yourself. Your mother wouldn’t have you doing this if she didn’t trust you.”

Aaron slumped and ate his ice cream. “She has me doing it because there is no one else. And I’m worse with the grapes.”

“No one can be in two places at once,” Lily said.

“If Anastasia cared about the grapes or the family name as much as she cared about clothes,” Aaron fretted. “She always had the ideas.” He ate more. “Not me,” he mumbled into the ice cream.

He received a message. His eyes scanned back and forth. “They want to send their own inspectors tomorrow. They’re recommending I send the photos and the numbers to the police. Apparently, there’s been oil rig theft.” Aaron gasped. “How do you steal oil rigs?”

“Well, if they are stolen, it’s pretty dumb of him to leave the numbers on them,” Lily murmured. “Of course, he doesn’t come off as that smart. Ruthless, but not smart.”

“They want to meet the person who found them.” Aaron read. “Oh dear. Oh dear. I better go too then.”

Lily brought up the phone and punched in a few messages. “They’ll be available.”

“They?”

“It’s our club,” Lily gestured between her and Pauline. “They were helping Tyra out today with the horses and stumbled across all of this.”

“Oh. That makes excellent sense.”

Lily and Pauline shared a look.

Lily stood. “I think you have things well in hand now. See you tomorrow, Sir Silverglade.”

Aaron sighed. “I do hate leaving the city.”

Lily made a mental note to have ice cream ready. Pauline leaned over and whispered. “What about instead of a tapas bar, there’s an ice cream or sorbet bar?” She did a quick internet search. “Yeah, sorbet and sherbet. There is no such thing as grape ice cream.”

Lily whispered back. “That’s brilliant!” She swiftly turned back to Aaron. “Sir Silverglade, do you have a list of your favorite ice cream concoctions and, and do you know if they’d pair well with wine?”

Aaron blinked. “I, I could.”

Lily leaned in. “There’s that bar at the,” she frowned. “What did you call it?” She asked Pauline.

“It’s the Wine Cave. It’s not actually a cave,” Pauline said. “But the earliest wine makers used limestone caves to ferment the wine. So, the nomenclature stuck. The building is actually made out of limestone and then faced with imported marble.”

“Yes, the wine cave, thanks Pauline.” Lily said. “What if, I mean, it’s a long shot, but, what if you came up with a menu for an ice cream and wine tasting bar for your mother. That way you’d be able to contribute to the manor with your skills.”

Aaron looked thoughtful and bewildered all at once. “That is usually a good way to a hangover.”

“But, it can be done?” Pauline asked.

“Well, yes,” Aaron said. “But still, hangover.”

“It’s supposed to be a tasting bar. Small bowls of ice cream and small bits of wine. Pair with cakes and cookies,” Lily said.

“That’s more sugar. It’s not going to help,” Aaron murmured.

“Nuts?”

“Oh, nuts are good,” Aaron said. He was reaching for the laptop.

Lily smirked. “Well, I for one can’t wait to see your pairings and ideas.”

Aaron blinked.

“You’re the expert on ice cream,” Pauline said sweetly.

And with that, they left him furiously typing away.

Lily gloated. “You are genius.”

Boarding the tram, Pauline flushed and grinned.

It wasn’t far to Aideen’s Plaza.

“This is nice,” Lily said glancing around.

Iris had a cart outside of her shop.

Lily inspected the offerings.

Iris immediately sensed a sale. “May I help you?”

“Oh, please,” Lily said. “We’re looking for flowers to give to Baroness Silverglade. We’ve heard she likes roses.”

“I have plenty of roses.” Iris said. “In fact,” she snapped her fingers. “I have a beautiful lavender rose vine named Sterling Silver.”

“That would be perfect,” Lily said. “Is it a large one or something small like a miniature tea rose?”

“It’s a florist rose. It has long stems, good for cutting and has a strong citrusy scent,” Iris explained.

“So, if she planted them in the gardens, she could sell them too?” Pauline said slowly.

“Not to cut in on your business of course,” Lily said in a hurry. “Just, the manor needs some color.”

“The gardens are in a dreadful shape,” Pauline wrinkled her nose.

“But we don’t know anything about them,” Lily said. “That’s why we were going to get her some flowers as a gift. Since, we can’t, well, you know.” She shrugged.

“I know plenty of gardeners,” Iris said. “They’d love to get their hands dirty in someplace as high class as the Baroness’ garden. Though, some of them are pretty high handed.”

Pauline fiddled with her gloves. “Well, you know, the manor grounds are open for tourists to come and look around,” she said. “I mean, if they had any plans.”

Lily lowered her voice. “We’ve heard the Baroness likes plans.”

Iris put a finger next to her nose. “I understand.” She turned to her plants. “I think this is what you’re looking for,” she said and picked up a pot with a rose plant in it. “And, if any of my gardeners seem interested, I’ll send them your way.”

“Thank you,” Lily said. They paid Iris and headed back to the tram.

“And gardeners know mechanics,” Pauline said.

They returned to the mall and picked up the big box of iced coffees. The girl had nicely packed them into foil coated box with extra ice packs. They thanked her profusely and Lily gave her a big tip. They quickly rushed and got some special soap for the ducks.

Then, it was back to Fort Pinta. They changed their clothes in the tack room before picking up their horses and instead of riding, took a transport to the winery to save time.

They waved down the other girls and started handing out drinks.

“Oh this is heavenly,” Abigail groaned.

“Mana from the gods,” Jennifer said.

“Cold,” Regina moaned and pressed hers against her forehead.

Lily passed a drink to Linda with a raised brow.

“We’ve been putting up a temporary fence to keep the horses from wandering into the oil rigs,” Linda informed her.

Lily brandished the soap. “We’ve got soap for the ducks!”

Soon enough, while Linda and the others finished putting the very last bit of the fence in place, Lily and Pauline filled a tub with water and got to work gently washing the ducks with the special soap (Dawn.) Lily filled several big stable trough tubs and soon enough the poor things were splashing about in the clean water.

The other girls came and helped.

One splashed another and started a squealing water fight.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

#star stable #star stable online #sso #fanfic #star stable salt #completely harmless #silverglade reimagined #jorvik reimagined #many nods to ruth westside

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pomegranate-belle · 5 years ago

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OMG THANK YOU FOR THE FIC REC. Reading it definitely wants me to explore the idea more. Doctors can report suspicious of abuse without the patients informed consent but the police can’t press charges unless the person wants to. But still the whole debacle would definitely spread far on the grape vine. Foggy would have his defenders but I’m guessing a few(especially cops who feel like Foggy has messed with their arrests as a lawyer)wouldn’t have the best opinion off him and just use this as proof

Also imagine if Matt had to stay hospitalized for a few days and they wouldn’t let Foggy see him and he’s worried sick so instead every day after work he just waits in the waiting room reading over work files till there’s a nurse who can “supervise” the visit. When Matt’s discharged they think it’s over but some people start treating Foggy passive aggressively over the accusations and Matt tries to clear up the matter but people think he’s just defending his abuser and neither know what to do

—

That definitely sounds like a sticky situation to get out of! If it’s something you’re interested in exploring I’d say to go for it — I’d be really excited to see where the premise takes you and how/if you’d decide to eventually resolve things.

I can only imagine how torn up Matt would be about the whole thing — trying to keep his identity secret (and therefore keep Foggy safe) is directly causing Foggy to be hurt. Plus as someone who hates to be treated like glass, I think Matt would really get angry over the notion of himself as a victim. I imagine he’d have a hard enough time accepting the idea even in cases where it’s basically the truth (ex: Stick’s training as child abuse) but especially so when people’s assumptions are completely off base and Foggy’s the last person who would be hurting him.

#thanks for the ask!#and once again...#tw abuse mention #just to be safe #daredevil

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 5 years ago

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Their Hero Academia – Chapter 43: An Internship of Fire and Ice

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

Earlier chapters can be found here

While she hadn’t received as many offers as, say, Toshi or Katsumi, Izumi had had enough that she could have had her pick of Heroes to intern under. Her grandfather’s former sidekick Burnin’ had been the highest ranked of them and the ice-wielding Thriller-Chiller had not been far behind her. They or others she had received offers from would all have been fine mentors. But while all of them would have had something to offer in turns of wielding fire or ice, none of them would have been precisely what she needed.

Unlike many Emitter Quirks, which loosely obeyed the laws of physics in terms of at least requiring personal energy to function, Izumi’s Quirk functioned very differently. She did not “make ice”, but instead absorbed heat, which she could turn into fire, had to turn into fire eventually. Her training from her father and at U.A. had helped her strike the balance she needed in these abilities and her regulator rig helped as well, but she still needed further practice in making certain she did not exhaust herself or ruin her body in using her Quirk.

She needed someone who understood that. Someone whose Quirk came with drawbacks of its own, that had to be circumvented and navigated around.

That had brought her to the GrapeBolt Agency, the agency co-owned by her Uncle Denki and Minoru Mineta. Neither of them were ranked above One Hundred in the Hero Charts, with Uncle Denki being Number One Hundred Twenty and Grape Juice being ranked One Hundred Nineteen. Given the number of Heroes currently active, those were still highly respectable numbers, but not exactly star makers. Grape Juice was notable, however, for being the fifth most popular Hero with children under eight, after Uncle Izuku, Lemillion, Aunt Tsu, and his wife, Rodeo.

“So anyway,” Uncle Denki said, waving a hand expansively, “this is the break room. Got a fridge, microwave, everything. Even a toaster oven. But we usually get take out for lunch, if we’re not out on patrol.”

The Agency was a small one, all things considered, but still moderately successful. Outside of Uncle Denki and Mister Mineta, it only employed a pair of sidekicks and a couple of secretaries. Mister Mineta himself handled the books, as Uncle Denki was very bad with managing money.

“You’ve really got to stop ending the tour here, Denki,” Mister Mineta said. “Why even have a tour? Not like we have that many rooms.”

Uncle Denki just laughed and grinned. “Not every day my favorite “niece” comes out for her first Internship! Gotta do something special for it!”

Izumi bowed her head slightly. “I am thankful for the opportunity, Uncle Denki.”

He gave her another grin. “You’re gonna be a star, kid, trust me on that one. We just gotta set you up for success.”

There was a small TV suspended from the ceiling in the breakroom, and it was turned to a local station, where a news bulletin broke in.

“We interrupt this episode of “Mount Lady In the Morning” for a special news report. We’re receiving reports from Yaveen City where the Villain Terri-Bull is engaged in a standoff with local police, following a bank robbery. Fortunately, the Number Seven Hero Rodeo is on the scene to engage.”

Next to Uncle Denki, Mister Minta’s face lit up with a proud smile. “Go get him, honey,” he said quietly.

***

“Okay, I’ve got an idea about what I want you to try,” Uncle Denki said. His Agency was small enough that it did not have its own training room, but fortunately, many municipalities offered government run facilities smaller agencies could use. He’d taken her to one such place while Mister Mineta took the sidekicks out on patrol.

The room was wide and long, but otherwise empty. He’d requested that all targets and obstacles be turned off for the time being.

“So,” Uncle Denki went on, “my problem is that I can’t put out too much energy and I can’t take in too much energy without wrecking my brain. Chihiro’s got the same problem. I taught her what I could, and she’s a lot better than me at it, but her limit’s a lot lower too.”

Izumi nodded. Her friend rarely damaged herself in quite the same way Uncle Denki did and when she did, the results rarely lasted as long. But it was still a risky she took when she employed her Quirk. Chihiro was interning with her mother, who was working with her on ways to use her Quirk that did let her put her electrical energy to other uses.

“But you’re a little different,” Uncle Denki went on. “Basically, you’re moving energy from one spot to another. Heat out, heat in, heat out again.”

She nodded again. This was nothing she did not already know, but it was good to go over the facts. Uncle Denki was obviously having what Aunt Kyoka called a “good day,” because he was making a lot of sense.

“And you’ve got the regulator rig Yaomomo and Mei designed for you, that stores some of that heat so you don’t have to worry about holding onto it. But I think that’s part of what we need to look at.”

He waved hand in front of her. “Okay, so you’re gonna make some ice for me. Maybe a cube or something? Unless you’re into ice sculpting. By all means. You do you.”

Another nod and she pointed a hand towards the ground, drawing the heat into her body, leaving behind a perfect thirty centimeter by thirty centimeter cube of ice, solid all the way through. She could feel a warmth spreading through her, the heat she’d absorbed the make the ice. It didn’t hurt, not yet, but she could feel it underneath her skin, growing warmer the longer she held onto it. Without her regulator rig to pull it out, she would need to dispel it on her own before it forced its own way out.

“Okay,” Uncle Denki said. “So you’re holding onto a lot of energy right now. Just like me when I absorb a big jolt. But instead of letting it all out at once, or even letting a little out from a fixed point, I want you to concentrate. Focus on all that heat.”

She closed her eyes, mentally picturing the heat inside her, a warm, orange-red glow suffusing her entire form. It flickered and pulsed with her heartbeat, growing steadily stronger and brighter.

“Now,” he continued, “I want you to slowly… slowly… slowly… release all that heat, all through your body. Picture it just slowly flowing out of you.”

Her eyes still closed, Izumu focused further on the heat, picturing it passing through her body to the outside. In her mind, the colors representing the heat flowed, layer by layer, until they were outside her body. And she could feel it leaving her, but there was no flicker of flame, just a feeling of warmth, like standing in the bright sun.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the rush of heat was gone. Izumi’s eyes snapped open.

Uncle Denki gave her a thumbs up and a big grin, though he looked a bit flushed. His hair no longer stood up at odd angles and was damp and plastered to his head. “Not bad, kid,” said. He checked the thermometer he held in his hand. “Though you raised the temperature in here by a good five and a half degrees putting that all out.”

Izumi realized she was sweating significantly, which was not something she normally did. She also felt a tiredness deep down to her core, her breathing coming in long, slow gulps of air. It was only with a concentrated effort that she remained on her feet. “I am sorry,” she said, feeling her knees starting to give out.

Fortunately, Uncle Denki was on the ball, quickly moving to her side and letting her lean on him. “Hey, no apologizing. If I had a yen for every time my Quirk backfired, I’d have… a lot of yen. Maybe not as much as Kyoka’s last album sales, but still a lot.”

She shook her head, clarity slowly returning to her thoughts as the moment of weakness passed. “I may have been successful… but I doubt I could do that in the field. It took far too much out of me.”

“Hey,” Uncle Denki said. “You listen to me. You’re not going to get everything right the first time. You did something different today… And you keep trying it, you’re gonna get better. I just know it.”

It was a nice thought, at least, though Uncle Denki had always been incredibly optimistic. But in this case he was also right. She’d done something different with her Quirk, managed its needs without unleashing terrible flames. If she could learn to diffuse her heat like that when she needed to, then she could increase her utility many times over.

It was one more step towards being a Hero.

***

Foot patrol was an interesting experience. Bother of her parents did it, albeit on what she understood to be an irregular basis. Nearly all Heroes patrolled to some extent or another, some more than others. For some, that might be flying over the area around their Agency. Others, like Cellophane, might swing from building to building. Others would walk the streets and interact with the citizenry. Uncle Izku, she knew, made an effort to interact with people on the street whenever possible, despite the demands of his position as the Number One Hero.

Her father, she knew, like herself, had great difficulty interacting with people. The internet was full of “Shoto Interview Follies” (Though that was a significantly smaller number than the “Chargebolt Screw-ups”, which she considered to be a bit mean spirited.). His Agency had, at Mother’s insistence, a large and highly dedicated PR department. Though she personally saw little wrong with the answers he gave.

Uncle Denki, though, was firmly in the category of interacting with the people. And he was good at it, speaking easily with everyone he met. She envied that. She had her friends—Katsumi, Shinji, Toshi and the rest—but words did not always come easily to her, and her skills in reading people were practically nonexistent.

“Stop him! He’s got my purse!”

Izumi followed the sound of the voice and saw a young man, probably only two or three years older than her, racing down the street, a woman’s purse in his hands. He seemed to be… riding on a trash can lid? The lid was glowing faintly, letting him float a few inches off the ground, yet propelling him with at least as much speed as a skateboard (Chihiro had been obsessed with them for a few months, before a regrettable leg break.). Some kind of magnetism, perhaps? Or low-level telekinesis?

Regardless, he was a criminal and in need of stopping. And since he was using his Quirk in pursuit of his criminal endeavors, he was already taking a step towards becoming a Villain. That his Quirk was not directly harmful would likely lessen the charges, but it would not go well for him regardless.

“May I?” she asked.

Uncle Denki shrugged, though she could see faint sparks dancing around his skin, likely just in case she proved incapable. “Knock yourself out, kid.”

Izumi nodded and pointed, raising her hand up as she conjured ice. In an instant, a wall of ice sprung up directly in his path, too late for him to turn. He slammed into it, hard, bounced off, and well to the ground.

“…Or knock him out, that works too,” Uncle Denki said.

Izumi checked the regulator band around her right wrist, the lights still blinking a soft green. Nothing to worry about for now. But she could still feel that heat, and she concentrated, pushing it out, this time picturing it more like a cloud of steam from a kettle. She directed it, and it was enough to cause the ice she’d called to melt.

It hadn’t felt nearly as bad this time either.

“Getting better,” Uncle Denki said, giving her a thumbs up.

Maye she was at that.

***

Uncle Denki had insisted that Izumi come home with him, rather than bunking at the Agency. He had explained that if he did not, Aunt Kyoka would kill him, at which point, being left to raise their three children alone, she would have to bring him back to life, just so she could kill him again. Izumi was reasonably sure he was exaggerating, but Aunt Kyoka’s temper was quite legendary.

Regardless, she enjoyed their home, which was next to Katsumi and Toshi’s, and also Chihiro’s younger siblings: younger brother Reo and younger sister Hikari. Chihiro was a dear friend, but it was clear that Reo most took after their mother in the intelligence and common sense department, though Hikari had somehow nearly convinced Uncle Denki that eating dessert first was now the classy thing to do, before Aunt Kyoka intervened with an admonishment not to take advantage of his idiocy. Uncle Denki had only put up a token protest that he was not an idiot.

Lying in the guest bed, she noticed a text from Katsumi on her phone.

Katsumi: You up?

For a little while longer.

Katsumi: Today was rough, Izz.

Please, tell me about it.

Katsumi: I was out on a rescue with Aunt Ochaco. Saw a guy die. Right in front of me. Couldn’t do a damn thing. He was already dying by the time I got there.

I am sorry. I cannot imagine what that must have been like. Are you all right?

Katsumi: Yes.

Katsumi: No.

Katsumi: Yes.

Katsumi: I don’t know.

Do you wish to talk about it?

Katsumi: Iz, when have I ever wanted to talk about my feelings?

Katsumi: Don’t answer that.

Katsumi: I mean, I know there’s nothing I could have done. But I still feel like shit for it.

I am sure that you did all that you could. I would never expect anything less of you.

And I am sure you will try all the harder to save whoever you can.

You are strong, capable, and determined. But you must also sometimes be prepared for the worst.

Katsumi: Damn right I will.

Katsumi: Thanks, Izzy. Guess I just needed to talk. Talked to Dad and Papa and Aunt Ochaco said some of the same stuff.

Katsumi: You always were the only one who could talk sense into me. Even Toshi can’t do that.

I wish I could offer more comfort. But I am here if you need me.

Katsumi: Thanks, Izzy. Your Internship going okay?

I stopped a purse snatcher today.

Katsumi: Good job!

She may not have been the best with words, but it seemed like she was good with words when it counted.

Perhaps that was enough.

***

“Dammit, Denki!” Mister Mineta yelled, looking up from his desk in the smallish office the two Heroes shared. “I told you, you can’t business expense anything you impulse buy when you shock your brains out! It’s not deductible, even if you shock yourself in the line of duty!”

Uncle Denki looked up from his own paperwork. “Are you sure? Because that’s pretty much the only time I do it these days,”

“You forgot to carry the one,” Izumi said, looking over his shoulder. Paperwork was not exciting, but it was a necessary part of the Hero work, so her internship included some exposure to that as well.

“Did I?” Uncle Denki wailed, slapping a hand against the side of his head. “Dammit…”

“And I see several other mistakes on previous lines.”

He let out a frustrated groan. “…You want a job as my personal paperwork checker, Izumi?”

“You couldn’t pay her enough,” Mister Mineta said.

Her eyes fell on another piece of paperwork on Uncle Denki’s desk, one which carried with it the logo from her Uncle Izuku’s agency. Given the mountain of unsorted or poorly organized paperwork that covered nearly every square inch of the desk, it was a surprise she could find anything at all. Perhaps she only would this one because it was next to the only island of cleanliness of the desk, a picture of Aunt Denki, Aunt Kyoka, and their children. Plague Case File – Important, the paper read.

The name… struck a familiar cord with her, back through years and years of memories. Something her parents had said once, long ago, when they thought she couldn’t hear. It was buried, without context, but she recognized it instantly. But what was it? And why was it important now? It was just a word.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing to the document.

“What’s what?” Uncle Denki asked, his eyes tracking her fingers. “Oh. Oh! That! That’s… that’s… Nothing! Nothing! Definitely not an update about the search for a missing Villain who nearly killed you when you were a kid!”

“Really?” Mister Mineta shouted, standing up from his desk, which due to his height, was shorter than average. “She’s been here two days and you go and blow it!”

He came around and pointed a yellow-gloved finger at Uncle Denki. “What was the one thing, the one thing we were specifically asked not to do?”

A guilty look washed over Uncle Denki’s face. “Tell Izumi about Plague.”

Mister Mineta pounded a fist into the palm of his other hand. “And what did you do?”

“Told her about Plague.”

“Yaoyorozu is going to kill us.”

***

Uncle Denki and Mister Mineta had asked her to step outside while they had a discussion. Considering that the yelling had started as soon as she’d closed the door to their office behind her, she suspected it would be a very loud one. So she’d set herself in one of the plush chairs in the small waiting room outside the office, where their beleaguered looking secretary just shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it,” the dog-headed woman who’d been introduced to her as Ms. Wan said. “There’s hardly a day that goes by where those two don’t fight about something. It usually doesn’t last long.”

“Thank you,” Izumi replied, giving her a polite nod. Ms. Wan returned her attention to her computer.

The sounds coming from inside the office were muffled but still loud. Most of the yelling seemed to be Mister Mineta, with Uncle Denki offering apologies, though it sounded a bit like they had placed a phone call as well.

She pulled her own phone from her pocket and called up a search engine on the browser. Entering the word “Plague” brought her a significant number of results, none of which were helpful, since it was not an uncommon word.

There were a few links to news articles referring to the recent Quirk Virus outbreak in hyperbolic terms, but she quickly discounted those. Whatever the Virus was, there had been no outbreaks in a few weeks now. While she did not doubt that whoever was behind it was still out there, it did not seem to be the threat it once was.

Annoyed at herself for not having thought her search choice through, she instead searched on “Plague-Villain.”

That, at least, brought her a great number of results, many of them news articles. She scanned the dates, all of them were at least a decade or more old. She would have been around four or five years old then.

It was, she realized, about the same time as she had first fallen ill.

***

Izumi’s searching had turned up a number of different things. The first was the picture of a sickly man, glowing slightly green, the skin on his face stretched thin like a skull, with just wisps of white hair remaining. But there were also several important facts.

One, Plague was a Villain who had threatened nearly all of Japan over a decade ago with his Quirk to generate diseases, alongside another pair of Villains called Manticore and Bloodstorm. He’d personally been responsible for several different outbreaks, some of which had claimed multiple lives. Including one which compromised the immune system, caused muscular weakness, difficulty breathing, and problems with Quirks.

Two, he had claimed that he and many others had been imprisoned by the government for having “dangerous” Quirks, Quirks that were threats to everyday society and people.

Three, following a conflict with Deku, he had voluntarily surrendered himself to custody, even going so far as to offer cures for those still infected by his plagues.

Four, and this was probably unrelated, her grandfather had retired at the same time, confessing to his crimes against his family, and choosing voluntary retirement in exchange for leniency.

Five, though Plague’s claims were never substantiated, a number of people who had thought to be dead or missing reentered society within a few months of him turning himself in. It was also around this time that some of the more restrictive laws around Quirk use began to be relaxed.

All of it painted an… incomplete picture. There was too much here she didn’t know. But she could draw some conclusions already. Had she been one of Plague’s victims? It would have explained why Uncle Denki had said he’d nearly killed her. The symptoms of some of the diseases matched much of her own lingering issues with stamina and prolonged physical activity, as well as properly regulating the outputs of Quirk. The pills she took three time a day included an immune system booster, a complex vitamin, a nausea suppressant, and an oral steroid. These too, seemed like the perfect counters to the lingering effects of one of these diseases.

No, there was no doubt about it. She had been a victim.

A foggy memory returned to her, half distorted by fever and time. Her mother, watching over her in a hospital bed. Uncle Izuku, rushing in, a piece of paper in his hand. Mother, looking it over, stating that she could make it.

Izumi had little doubt that she would never have been as physically formidable as Katsumi. She had inherited a good deal of her constitution from her grandmother, Rei. But she had always blamed her illness and much of the subsequent frailty on the whims of a fate, the same random chances that let to cancer or other terrible diseases.

It seemed now, however, that there was a face to this.

There was someone to blame. Someone who was now loose on the world again.

And she did not know how to feel about that.

#my hero academia #their hero academia #my writing #fan fic #fan fiction #izumi todoroki

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

Text

FIC: Internal Disputes ch.6 (baon)

Summary: Something strange is afoot. Edge isn’t sure what, but he can guess he isn’t going to like it.

Notes: Here we go, last chapter. Who's up for a little easing of that ongoing angst, yeah? Add some more comfort to that hurt.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Stretch didn’t know when Red left them. Truth was, he didn’t even remember falling asleep; one moment he was laying in Red’s lap and the next thing he knew he was waking up to a firm knock at the front door.

Snugged up almost on top of him, Jeff stirred, blinking sleepily as he sat up and there was no telling how long they’d slept curled up together on the sofa like a coupla lonely oversized hamsters, but it must’ve been a while because the light outside was coming in through the opposite windows.

That firm knock came again on the front door, shit, and Stretch untangled himself from Jeff and started shambling over.

“Wait, let me get it!” Jeff tried to scramble past him and for a second, Stretch didn’t get it. Until he did, and he could only shake his head in weary exasperation. This was what he got for letting Jeff go work at the Embassy with Red and Edge, he should’ve gotten him a job at the Bun Bakery where superhero tendencies didn’t go much further than rescuing cinnamon bunnies.

“don’t you start with the overprotective bullshit, andy,” Stretch caught the tail of his shirt and yanked him back, ignoring his yelp. “the door has a peephole and i’ll look, but my guess is ninja assassins don’t generally knock.”

Jeff nodded sheepishly, but he still crowded in close as Stretch checked out the front porch. It was a Monster that Stretch didn’t know, the curling tentacles that made up their ‘hair’ pulled back into a neat ponytail, but they were dressed in the same generic suit that all of Asgore’s personal bodyguards wore, so it wasn’t much of Jeopardy question to guess who sent ‘em. Last Gyftmas, he’d sent them all Ray-ban sunglasses, and gotten a politely worded ‘thank you’ letter back. He still wondered sometimes if they’d gotten the joke.

It couldn’t be bad or Asgore would have come himself. Even if Stretch had been a dick to him earlier, he would have—Stretch opened the door a little, poking his skull out, “yeah?”

“Good afternoon,” they began formally, in a calm, fluting voice, “apologies for disturbing you, I’m sure you’re busy--”

“can we cut to the part of the speech where you tell me what you want?” Stretch interrupted tiredly, “because if you’re selling vacuums, i’m not interested. i’ve been having a hell of a day, and i’m not up for giving a golf clap for the effort.”

The Monster only nodded, and that bland expression shifted to faint sympathy. “Yes, of course. I came to tell you that the Ambassadors’ plane will be landing in about an hour and if you’d like to accompany me to the airport, you can meet them there.”

“seriously?” They must’ve taken off the moment he and Tori got off the phone to get back home so fast and Stretch wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Tori said they were all okay, but wouldn’t the authorities want them to hang around for a while after an incident? That was the vibe he always got about police bullshit, unless…unless they needed to get back to Ebott because this was where they kept the Monster hospital. Or maybe it wasn’t safe to stay, that could be it, right? He didn’t know, could keep guessing all day but the Monster in front of him was waiting for his answer with a bland smile that didn’t reveal shit.

Anxiety was churning inside him, not much he could do about that, but maybe it was time to channel a little Edgy-calm. He’d been living with Edge for a while, and this wasn’t exactly the way he’d imagined trying out a little roleplaying, but fuck it, worth a try.

If it was Edge here, he wouldn’t go borrowing trouble; he’d head over to the airport and wait patiently to see what the fuck was going on.

Patience might be asking a bit much of his acting skills, heading over to the airport wasn’t. He’d never been to the airport himself, there wasn’t much point. All those movies that showed happy couples meeting at the gate with flowers and kisses were a load of bullshit as far as Stretch knew. All that shit was on the other side of the security checkpoints these days and Edge always told him he preferred to come home and get his kisses there rather than down at the basement levels, surrounded by grouchy travelers in the dirty baggage claim.

He thought Edge might be proud of the way he nodded and said evenly, “yeah, i’ll come.”

The Monster nodded placidly. “I can take you now, if you like. It’s already been cleared through Security.”

Which meant Red was doing the voodoo that he do so well and thought it was safe enough. Good to know. Stretch glanced down at himself and grimaced. His clothes were made up of about 75% wrinkles and 25% moldering grape juice, not exactly the best reunion outfit.

“let me change real quick?” Stretch asked. They nodded and made no move to come in, so he closed the door. Only to nearly walk right over Jeff, who’d been practically plastered to his back the whole time.

“I’m coming with you,” Jeff said stoutly. Even with everything running down the tubes around him, Stretch couldn’t help smiling a little. Jeff wasn’t a big guy and he looked about as fierce as one of those little weenie dogs, but Stretch would bet his favorite lighter that nothing was gonna pry him away, certainly not one of Asgore’s goons. Kid was loyal and that was a fact.

“i wouldn’t even try to leave you behind, handy andy,” Stretch told him sincerely. He waited until Jeff nodded and then shortcutted upstairs directly into the closet, not even bothering to try the stairs. The sleep helped but his soul still felt raw and bruised, aching faintly in his ribcage. That meant everything else ached too, and as comforting as sleeping next to Jeff was, the sofa wasn’t really great for extended cuddling.

Eh, but he might’ve been weird about it if Stretch suggested going upstairs to the bed. Humans were awkward about that shit, and Jeff might’ve agreed just to make Stretch happy. Better to stick with what he knew wouldn’t wig out his best bud.

As he pulled on a fresh sweatshirt, he wondered glumly if he’d be taking another trip to visit Alphys’s lab for a deeper peek at his soul. That his visits to the therapist would be going back to twice a week for a while wasn’t even a question, but he didn’t much want to think about it right now. Now, all he really wanted was to see Edge. Tori’s reassurances were nice and all, but he wasn’t going to believe it until he had that asshole in his arms.

When he came downstairs, Jeff was attempting to clean up the stains the grapes left on the carpet when Stretch dropped the bowl. He wasn’t making much progress, the faded purple splotches looked like a Rorschach test. Butterfly, Stretch decided, but Edge would probably only see a dirty mess.

“I put the grapes in the fridge, they seem okay, but I don’t think this is going to come out,” Jeff said apologetically.

Edge was gonna have a fit but that’s what happened when you ditched on your anniversary and almost got blown up for fuck knows why. Only the darkest humor lurking in Stretch thought that little joke was funny, but hey, he was a tough crowd for himself today.

“don’t worry about it,” Stretch told him, helping him to his feet. “edge probably has a secret formula to shout it out.” And if thinking about Edge grumbling while he scrubbed the stain made a flare of affection rise in his soul, welp, that was probably only a sign of what an idiot in love he was.

The car was sleek and black, one of those fancy ones with a glass partition in between the back and front seats. There was a mini-fridge and lots of buttons, and normally Stretch would have made it a mission to push every single one of them because one of them had to be an eject button, had to be.

Today he buckled up and let his head drop back against the rich Corinthian leather seats. He was still tired and the only food he’d had today was less than a handful of grapes. Edge would have a fit if he knew, he would be in the kitchen in a flash to stir something up, bitching at him the whole time that it wasn’t good to go without meals and could he go for five minutes not thinking about Edge, it wasn’t fucking helping and--

“andy?” Stretch said, low.

Jeff, who’d been exploring the buttons that Stretch ignored, jerked guiltily. “Yeah?”

That anxiety was rising, clenching in his chest and making it hard to breathe, “can you talk to me?”

“Um. Sure,” he bit his lip, considering, “About what?”

“anything,” Stretch swallowed down the pleading that tried to leak out, “make my mind shut up for a little while.”

A warm human hand settled over his own, squeezing gently. “I can do that. Okay, check this out, back when I worked at Classic Books, we had this guy who would come in every once in a while. He was a little odd, but a nice guy, and he’d usually hang for a while to chat. Anyway, this time he comes in and--”

Stretch closed his sockets and listened as Jeff rambled on about the grueling adventures of retail customer service, telling him about the guy who’d dreamed about a book and thought somehow Jeff should be able to find it.

Before he could find out how the quest for ‘the blue book with gold writing about Jesus riding dinosaurs’ ended, he felt the change of speed from the car leaving the expressway. The airport was right off the ramp, but they didn’t go through the main loop where Delta and American Airlines hunkered and instead, they were directed to a hanger off to the side.

He wasn’t really surprised. Money talked, sure, that was part of it, but for reasons of sheer practicality the Ambassadors always took a private jet. Not like many of them were going to fit in coach and even first class would be asking a bit much of Papyrus and Edge’s knees, along with Toriel’s girth.

The car pulled up in front of a single building off to the side that looked brand-spanking new. When Generic Driver and Bodyguard led them to the door where two of his huge brethren stood with unsmiling solemnness, it proved to be comfortably warm inside, with furniture that included a table set up with coffee machine and a plate of sandwiches in plastic wrap. One of the squashy chairs held Asgore, who was still dressed in his weekend casual. He was holding a coffee cup that looked comically small in his large hands. Red was sprawled out on a sofa and he gave the two of them a mocking little salute as they came in.

“c’mon in, join the party. get something to eat, honey bun,” Red called, “came right from the embassy cafeteria, it’s good stuff.”

“from the embassy cafeteria?” Stretch grimaced. He’d eaten there a couple of times and if he’d been allowed to review it on his twitter, it would have gotten a 5 on the barf scale. “you sure it isn’t poisoned?”

“The food quality has greatly increased since Edge hired Hussain to take over leadership,” Asgore said quietly. He didn’t look up from his coffee cup, probably afraid Stretch was gonna spit in his face, but his anger of this morning seemed distant as a fading dream.

“hussain? from the beanery?” Stretch poked one sandwich with a long finger even as Jeff inspected the supposedly-tasty largess hungrily. “edge didn’t tell me he did that.”

He’d noticed Hussain’s absence at the Beanery, but only in the periphery, vaguely assuming it was his day off or maybe he had class. No one else mentioned it to him, either, probably thought he already knew. Why hadn’t Edge told him—

Red only snorted, interrupting his unraveling thoughts, “he prolly forgot, he don’t have time to tell you all the shit he does. quit fussing and eat a sandwich, brat.”

Not the worst advice he’d had today. He grabbed a random one and took a seat on the empty sofa. It turned out to be some kind of curried salad. Pretty good, but his magic seemed reluctant to incorporate it, letting each chewed bite sit for too long until he was close to choking. He managed to gag down about half, ignoring Red’s beady look. Next to him, Jeff scarfed down his own and when Stretch handed over his leftovers, he took it without question. At least someone should get a decent meal.

Asgore didn’t look like he was going to take on that role. He only sat with his too-small coffee cup, staring into the depths of it without taking so much as a sip.

The room was so painfully quiet, Stretch wished there was a radio or a television or a fucking mariachi band. Anything so he didn’t have to sit here in this smothering silence. A quick check of his phone showed there wasn’t a single message or missed call, definitely not his normal. He suspected that a little gremlin somewhere was holding back his messages, but all Stretch could work up about that was reluctant gratitude. Let the frantic texts and well wishes come later when he could better deal with it.

He hesitated over the twitter app and decided not to open it yet, tucking his phone back away.

No one spoke, all of them surrounded in a choking hush only broken by a sofa creaking whenever someone moved or the occasional shuffle of a shoe. Waiting was not one of Stretch’s strengths, coupled with his lack of patience and his feeble endurance and half those noises were from him squirming around.

The furniture was probably perfectly comfortable in reality, but to Stretch it was about as cozy as sitting on freshly hardened cement. He shifted, crossing and uncrossing his legs, picking at his shoelaces and wishing he’d thought to grab the pack of smokes Andy gave him earlier. Smoking was the best timewaster he’d ever had to miss, and his magic was pleading for a nicotine fix.

That Asgore was sitting right there made it impossible not to look at him, not unless Stretch wanted to close his sockets like a toddler, tempting as that was. Every involuntary glance revealed tired unhappiness tempered with worry, and it wasn’t a king

(murderer)

sitting in this little waiting room, nothing of the cheery, dignified ruler. This was someone whose ex-wife and kid were nearly killed, someone worrying about friends and family, and Stretch was unfortunately very familiar with that.

The muted, aching hurt in his own soul wanted to reach out, to offer what comfort it could, and finally, Stretch gave in and did. Because he knew would make Edge happy.

“i talked to tori,” Stretch said, slowly. He didn’t have his lighter, nothing to fidget with and instead kept his eyes on his hands, picking at his knuckles. “she said everyone is okay.”

Out of the corner of his socket, he saw Asgore nodding slowly. “I haven’t spoken to her directly, but all the information we have thus far is clear that there were some injuries, but nothing critical.”

Critical was a horrible word and as soon as he could, Stretch was starting a twitter campaign to have it ripped out of the dictionary.

“do we...i mean…” His fingertip slipped and dug in too hard against his knuckle, sending a sprinkle of dust into his lap. Next to him, Jeff made a soft, stifled sound of dismay and reached over to take his hand, stilling him. Giving in to those overprotective instincts he was starting to take on, but Stretch let him, ignoring the tiny throb in his finger. “do you know what really happened yet?”

“not yet,” Red interrupted, all laconic ease as if the coiled tension in him wasn’t practically dripping from him like a leaky faucet. “got ‘em all on radio silence until they get back. right now, looks like just your basic monster hater attack that got lucky, but it ain’t nothing that’s been even a blip on our radar. i don’t like that shit, but the useful info is low to the ground yet.”

“yeah, sure,” Stretch muttered unhappily, “i get it, i don’t have clearance.”

A sharp kick against his shin made him yelp and Stretch jerked up to stare at Red in disbelief, who only glared back. “as soon as i know what happened, you’ll know,” Red said bluntly, “you deserve that. and if my bro doesn’t tell you, i’ll do it myself.”

“i…okay,” Stretch stuttered out. Asgore made no protest of that, only took a sip from his probably ice-cold coffee.

Red relaxed back against the sofa cushions. “for right now, we’re keeping communication on the down low until i can talk to everyone face to face. they’re out of range of monster cell towers and i ain’t taking any chance of anyone listening in.”

That made sense, it did, but some part of him still didn’t believe that Red of all people didn’t have an inkling of what happened. Or maybe it was too frightening to think it, Red knew everything, he was The Spy, and he only needed an eye patch over his cracked socket to cosplay as Nick Fury. That and a hovering base of operations, maybe Sans could get on that—

The muted roar of an engine interrupted that rambling thought and as one they turned towards it.

“They’re here,” Asgore shifted his weight, starting to stand, but Stretch was already on his feet, shortcutting outside to watch the plane taxiing towards them.

It seemed to take forever and if he’d ever taken a gander at the inside of that plane, Stretch would’ve shortcutted inside, fuck security protocol. He didn’t know how Red was resisting the urge. But he stood next to Stretch, impassive as ever as they waited while a crew of Humans wheeled a ramp up to the door and it finally opened.

The first one off the plane was Blue, and Stretch’s soul skipped a beat as his brother never hesitated, running down the ramp directly towards him as he cried, “Papy!”

Catching him as he flung himself at Stretch was automatic, the same as he’d done a hundred times before in Underswap and all the wrenching emotions Stretch had been bottling up since Red showed up in his living room that morning finally slipped its cork. Drowning in a crushing wave of guilt and relief, he hugged Blue desperately tight, burying his face into his shoulder and breathing him in.

“hey, bro,” Stretch whispered hoarsely. His arms ached from the force of his grip, holding Blue as he’d never been able to after the resets, never able to show him the depths of his grief. Blue didn’t so much as squirm in protest, clinging just as tightly. His suit was rumpled, his tie missing, and he smelled like smoke mingled with the burnt sickly-sweet remnants that came from straining magic to its limits. “don’t do that to me again, okay?”

“I never meant to do it the first time,” Blue choked out. He drew back, Stretch reluctantly letting him lean away, and his smile was tremulous. There were dark shadows beneath his sockets where none had ever been, like a week’s worth of lost sleep, but not quite. Bruises, Stretch realized with shivering horror, Blue had the skeletal equivalent of two black eyes, but the soft blue-yellow lights within were shining stars, “Come on, Edge should be next. I know you want to see him.”

Heavy guilt filled him, followed by a ghostly memory of his brother weeping that he missed him, was it possible that was only a couple days ago? But Blue only squirmed down from his arms and pulled him over to the ramp, his warm smile nothing but sincere.

A back appeared first, not Edge’s but a Monster that Stretch vaguely recognized as part of the entourage. He was guiding a gurney down the ramp and Stretch could only watch mutely as it was carefully brought down from the plane. There was an IV bag hanging from a short pole, glowing softly, and the occupant became clear as the battered curve of a skull came into view.

He barely noticed Asgore and his guards skirting around them to go up the ramp into the plane. All that freed emotion from seeing his brother coagulated in his chest in a dense, frozen ball.

Distantly, Stretch could only think that Edge looked so impossibly small. Edge was only a little shorter than him, but he always seemed like this larger than life presence, one that Stretch could tuck himself into and trust to keep him safe, not only from the world but from the demons in his own mind.

To see him like this, so very still and buried in blankets with wide straps over the gurney to keep him secure. His hands were on top of the covers, bare and battered, there was even a spot that looked a bit charred, but Tori was right about one thing, there were no new cracks. Only plenty of darkly mottled bruises and scrapes surrounding his closed sockets, awful and undeniable. A wild, impossible impulse rose up in Stretch, to grab hold of Edge and shortcut off with him, to take him far away from everything, to keep him safe. Stupid, useless urge, but for one brief moment it was overwhelming.

Fuck, if that was how Edge felt all the time, no wonder he could be an overprotective prick.

Blue took his hand and Stretch startled so badly he nearly jerked away. But his brother only held on, squeezing gently. “I know, he looks a little worse for the wear, but I promise you, it’s nothing serious. The ambulance should be here soon to take you both to the hospital and--”

“hospital?” Stretch repeated thinly. “but you said…”

“Yes, hospital,” Blue said firmly. “He’ll be fine, but he was injured. I did what I could and Toriel is a skilled healer in her own right. He still needs to be checked over and they should at least keep him overnight.”

Okay. Okay, yeah, that sounded right and Stretch nodded dumbly. Maybe the change in atmosphere was registering because Edge stirred, shifting against the straps. His sockets opened, his eye lights wide and diffused, filling his sockets with swirling crimson. For a moment all Edge did was blink, looking all around him before focusing on Stretch.

Stretch smiled and managed a weak, “hey, babe.”

As he watched, that bleary confusion abruptly turned into a happily beaming smile, which only ranked at about the third most disturbing thing that had happened that day.

“Hiiiii!!” Edge exclaimed with loud glee.

Uh. Maybe Blue was wrong about how serious his injuries were.

“Ah, yes, he was hurting quite a bit and being stubborn about it,” Blue said dryly. “We may have slightly overdone the pain relief. Enjoy it while you can, I’m going to check that the ambulance is on its way.”

“wait, what??”

But Blue was already trotting off, stopping to grab Jeff who was standing awkwardly back and dragging him along, his chatter fading away.

Edge was still grinning with unsettling cheer. On his usually stern face it was like the beginnings of a nightmare and Stretch almost expected maniacal clowns to start crawling out of manholes and portacabins around them. Fuck it, that might make it less weird, at least then all this would make sense.

“I know you!” Edge went on happily, one hand reaching out towards him. Then his brow furrowed in battered confusion, his hand falling to hang limply off the gurney’s side. “Do I know you? You’re pretty.”

Smooth fucker, wasn't he. Very carefully, Stretch took his hand, gentle with those scuffed, bruised fingers. “you know me okay. i’m your husband, yeah?”

He brightened like a light bulb, practically glowing from within with soul-deep delight. A well drugged light bulb and he latched on to Stretch eagerly, his grip bordering on feverish. “My husband? That means I get to keep you!”

If anyone was stupid enough to ask, Stretch wouldn’t even be able to begin describing how he felt about everything right about now. All his emotions were in wild conflict, battering against each other for dominance. But fuck if he could hold back from that. He grinned, helplessly, rubbing his thumb over Edge’s somewhat tarnished wedding band. "sure does."

“Sans!” Edge shouted suddenly, loud enough to make Stretch wince, but when he automatically tried to take a step back, Edge’s grip held like Velcro, weirdly loose and still implacable.

Red stepped up next to the gurney, hands tucked into his pockets. “right here, bro.”

Even with being strapped down, Edge still managed to lift his head enough to look down at his brother and say gleefully, “You see my husband?”

“seen him a time or two, yeah,” Red said. For the first time that day the clouded grimness that surrounded him seemed to lift a fraction and his permanent grin widened.

“I get to keep him!”

“sure do,” Red agreed, “no catch and release on husbands.”

Edge flumped back on the gurney hard enough to make Stretch wince even as he sang out enthusiastically, “He’s reeeeeeally pretty. Isn’t he pretty?”

“uh huh, he ain’t bad.” Red gave him a leering look and Stretch felt a hot flush crawl across his cheekbones, glaring back. Not that he’d ever doubted Edge thought that, but it was always nice to hear. Kinda.

Edge scowled at Red comically, holy fuck, that much expression on Edge’s face? He was going to give himself a new crack if this kept up.

“You’re just jealous,” he grumped, holding on tight to Stretch’s hand as if he thought Red might try to scoop him up and head for the hills to start up a new horrifying chapter in the mocking fairytale that was this day.

“must be,” Red agreed, an odd note to his voice, but Edge ignored that, cheering again quickly.

“Mine!” Edge said happily and before Stretch could puzzle through any of that exchange, he was busy squawking as he was abruptly yanked onto the gurney.

“woah, hang on, handsome!” Stretch tried to squirm away, but whoever’d had the foresight to buckle Edge down should’ve included his arms in the deal. Despite the good drugs and the visible bruises, he was pretty damn strong and clinging to Stretch like living duct tape.

“Mine, mine, mine,” Edge chanted like some kind of musical, maniacal supervillain and where the fuck had everyone else gone? They didn’t need a damn parade to get an ambulance. Red was only watching with great interest, picking idly at his gold tooth.

“a little help here?” Stretch yelped as Edge started nuzzling happily at his collarbone. Okay, it was a little tempting, but for crying out loud, Frisk and Toriel could be getting off the plane anytime now and who knew what high zoom lenses were out there getting a frontpage picture for the gossip rags. No assistance was coming from the outside avenues, so Stretch went for the ‘hail, mary’ pass and tried coaxing Edge, instead, “come on, babe, you gotta let go now.”

“No!” Edge sulked, and fuck if that petulant sullenness wasn’t incredibly damn adorable coming out in his deep, raspy voice, “You said I get to keep you.”

“you do, promise, i’m all yours. but—" Just then Edge found the bottom of his sweatshirt, warm, clumsy hands suddenly petting his ribcage and Stretch’s squeal took on a panicked note. “damn it, red!”

“me? i ain’t doing nothing.” His glee nearly matched Edge’s, that asshole.

“that’s part of the problem, you shit! he’s gonna hurt himself!”

“hurt himself?” Red scoffed. “you could take off one of his arms and use it as a tennis racket and he wouldn’t notice right now.”

“that isn’t helping!”

“never said it was, honey bun.”

Most of his face was buried into Edge’s chest but the little he could see through blankets and bone made Stretch snap out in disbelief, “are you recording this??”

“fuck, yeah, i am. this shit needs to be in high definition.”

“he’ll kill you!” Stretch tried to sound threatening, but it wasn’t exactly easy with Edge’s unusually graceless but eagerly insistent fingers trailing over his hipbones. The combination was unfortunately arousing and if he popped a boner while Red was recording, someone was gonna pay. Probably him, in horrifying shame. “i’ll kill you!”

Red did not sound properly threatened, considering that he only chuckled out, “gotta get loose first.”

It turned out to be a grateful moot point. Before he could figure out how to get loose from the wild groper his husband became under the influence, those hands slowed, going lax. By the time Stretch was able wriggle free little, Edge was out like a light, already snoring faintly.

But the moment he tried to climb off the gurney, that grip tightened again and Edge mumbling out a complaining grunt. Stretch gave up and sank down, hey, a wee little base humiliation wasn’t gonna dust him. Just so long as they kept away from dying shame, he’d manage.

But he did whip around to glare at Red’s grinning face, demanding, “delete it.”

Not like his threats would penetrate Red’s elephant hide, only rolled off like so much baby oil. “nah, don’t think so, this is for my private collection.” His glee turned pensive. “you know, i don’t have much from the old days but i do have a thing or two. maybe a few old pictures and shit.” He paused, adding with a certain slyness, “might have some pics of the boss here as a baby bones hidden away someplace.”

Yeah, Stretch knew when he was beat. “i will pay any price.”

“that’s what i like to hear.”

Just then, he heard the ambulance pulling up, fuck, finally! The back doors opened and Blue climbed out, the attendants at his heels, “All right, let’s get Edge loaded--Papy!” Blue scolded, “He’s injured, you shouldn’t be letting him exert himself!”

Stretch only grinned wryly. “sorry, bro. he, uh, didn’t give me much choice.”

Blue harrumphed, but he didn’t demand that Stretch get down, which probably cost his full allotment of sympathy points. Worth it. “You two are going ahead and we’ll be behind you in the second ambulance.”

“second?” That made him sit up despite Edge’s murmured complaint, “who else was hurt?”

Blue’s smile turned fixed even as the paramedics bustled around them. “I’m not supposed to say too much, yet, but.” His voice softened, hardly above a whisper, “I don’t know how Edge knew. We were hardly off the plane and they’d sent a car to pick us up. There must have been something he saw or felt, because he turned back to us and…and then…” He swallowed hard, the luminescent shine of tears limning his sockets. “He shielded Toriel and Frisk, and Papyrus shielded me and Sans. He did the best he could, but he…Papyrus was hurt, Papy.”

“fuck,” Stretch whispered, horrified, “papyrus, is he—"

“He’s fine,” Blue said firmly. “He was resting comfortably the whole flight. Sans is with him right now and we’ll get him to the hospital, too.”

It sounded like he was hurt worse than Edge, shit, shit, “he should’ve come out first!”

“Sans told us to take Edge,” Blue followed along as the gurney started moving, the attendants pushing it along. “Papyrus is asleep and perfectly stable. He was already with his brother and Sans said you’d need to see us.”

Fuck, but he owed Sans a very big favor.

It was only as they were loaded in that Stretch realized Red was gone. He wasn’t in the front seat and didn’t climb in before the doors closed. Then there wasn’t time to worry about that as the ambulance pulled away and Stretch only settled down next to Edge, holding on with as much gentleness as he could muster.

The ambulance attendants were both Monsters and quietly competent, neither suggesting that maybe Stretch could ride along on one of the cushioned seats. Good thing, because Stretch wasn’t going anyplace without extensive use of a crowbar.

He didn’t budge until they got to the hospital and only then did he reluctantly detangle himself from Edge. The docs took some time to look Edge over, peeling back the blankets and Stretch could only wince at the sight of a neat splint on one of Edge’s leg, at bruises scattered over his battered bones. But they only confirmed what Stretch already knew. Toriel and Blue had healed Edge as much as they could, probably too much for their own good considering Blue’s bruises and exhaustion.

Rest and time was what he needed now and that didn’t need a prescription.

Edge never really woke up again, drowsily groping for Stretch whenever he roused, but for once Stretch kept back, letting the doctors do their thing. They finished quick enough, writing on their clipboards and offering reassuring smiles as they left.

Exhausted as he was, Stretch resisted the urge to crawl right back in next to Edge. He felt like a sticky, filthy mess and a quick shower sounded like a lemon slice of heaven right now. At least the room had a very nicely appointed shower, though he didn’t linger, washing up quickly and snagging a set of the hospital issue jammies from the bathroom cubby.

He kicked his clothes under the sink, those could be a problem for Tomorrow Stretch. But he only opened the door a crack before freezing as he caught sight of someone else at the bedside.

Red was standing next to his brother, watching him sleep. His back was to the bathroom door so Stretch couldn’t see face, only the weary slump of his shoulders. As he watched, Red reached over and picked up one of Edge’s hands with tenderness Stretch never suspected Red possessed, inspected his slim, scarred fingers. Likely he didn’t see them often, even Stretch didn’t and they lived together.

He wasn’t supposed to be seeing this, couldn’t look away as Red only held Edge’s limp hand in both his own, pressed a kiss against those lax fingers before setting it back down with deliberate care.

“always come back to me, kid, you hear me?” Red murmured, a low, desperate rasp, He was gone in the next moment, vanishing into an eerily silent shortcut and that was Stretch’s cue.

Edge was sound asleep and there was a large, comfy chair pulled up next to the hospital bed that Stretch promptly ignored, gingerly curling up next to him, as close as he could get without disturbing him. For the first time since Edge sat him down to tell him about this trip, his soul settled, that achy, raw feeling easing.

Exhausted as he was, Stretch only lay there, looking into that battered, beloved face, tasting the sweet salt of his own melancholy tears as he whispered a plea of his own, “don’t ever leave me. please.”

He didn’t expect Edge to stir with a sleepy sigh, his sockets opening to show a sliver of crimson as he slurred out, “Won’t, love. M’ yours.”

“mine and yours, like his and his towels,” Stretch whispered back, stifling a teary giggle and when Edge sleepily held out an arm, he took the invitation. Snuggling in with his skull resting on Edge’s ribcage, an arm strung loosely around him as Stretch listened intently to the soft, steady thrum of his husband’s soul.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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