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bobfloydsbabe · 2 years ago

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LINGER | rhett abbott x oc | chapter 2

two: something in the air

SUMMARY: Rhett Abbott is stuck. He rides bulls, works on his family’s ranch, and probably drinks more than what’s good for him.

Lou Kinney is aimless. She never stays in one place for long, driving from state to state, and picking up odd jobs along the way.

So when she shows up in Wabang, Rhett’s life tumbles into free fall and Lou’s not sure she trusts herself to catch him. But maybe these two lost souls find exactly what they didn’t know they were looking for: each other.

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WARNINGS: angst, bull riding inaccuracies, horses/ranching inaccuracies, i don't understand american culture but i try.

WORD COUNT: 3k

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special thanks to @wkndwlff for helping me name some side characters, being a reference point to everything about the show, and for listening to me rant about this for hours on end. You're a darling!

He comes home to a dark and quiet house. There’s a candle burning in the windowsill that his Ma must’ve forgotten before going to bed. He blows it out for her, engulfing the house in blackness.

He drags his feet up the stairs, the scraping of his boots on the wooden floors sounding like a marching drum in the darkness. He shouldn’t. His Ma always told him to lift his feet, but they’re all asleep so it won’t bother them.

Not that he cares. He’s usually too drunk to see straight.

Not tonight, though.

He walks into the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. His Ma’s been complaining about his hair for a while, but he likes it longer. It makes him look older, and it curls at the nape. The girls seem to like that there’s something to tug on and he likes it when they do.

He brushes his teeth slowly, pacing as much as the small bathroom will allow.

He spits the toothpaste out, watching as it disappears down the drain with the water. His eyes return to the reflection in the mirror, and it’s a sad sight staring back at him.

He always meant to get out of Wabang. Maybe go to college, get a degree, make something of himself that didn’t involve the ranch or his family. Make a name for himself somewhere no one knows him or expects anything from him. But all he sees now is a guy who rides bulls to win his father’s love, who’s always played second fiddle to his brother, who’s a good-for-nothing cowboy.

He turns the faucet back on and splashes water in his face, trying to wash away the pathetic boy in the mirror.

He closes his eyes and imagines getting out, but he only allows himself the indulgence for a few seconds before he turns the water off and shakes his head. The only person he can’t bear to leave behind is Amy.

When he walks back to his room, he lifts his feet. It’s only midnight, after all. Once inside, he toes off his boots, gets undressed, and falls into bed. The bedframe creaks and complains as he adjusts on the shitty mattress that should probably have been replaced a decade ago.

Placing a hand behind his head, he stares at the ceiling. He listens to the sounds of the land that surrounds him. A horse whinnying in the stables, a sleepy cough from someone in the house, the hallway clock ticking away outside his door.

His thoughts turn to Lou. She’s an outsider, yet somehow, she fits right in as if she’s been here the whole time. She knows this life. She knows ranching; she knows about bull-riding; she knows how to make small-town people, like Patty and Old Man Arthur, smile and laugh. She puts people at ease in a way only someone who’s familiar with towns like this does.

Beyond that, and the fact that she has a dog, he knows nothing about her. He doesn’t even know the color of her eyes, but he thinks they’re dark. Probably brown.

He turns on his side, the good one where his shoulder doesn’t hurt, and closes his eyes. He thinks it’ll be a while, considering he’s not drunk, but sleep takes him almost immediately.

He wakes up well-rested but sore. His shoulder is still achy and stiff, but it’s a lot more manageable, and his lack of a hangover probably has something to do with it, too.

Only his Ma is up when he comes downstairs freshly showered and dressed for the day. He pretends not to notice the shocked look on her face and appreciates that she doesn’t comment on it.

She pours coffee into a mug and hands it to him. “Thanks,” he mutters and sits at the dining table.

She leans against the kitchen counter, looking at him with skeptical eyes. “When did you get in?”

“Around midnight.”

She smiles into her coffee cup, and Rhett swears he hasn’t seen that directed at him in months.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she replies, but the smile doesn’t fade. “You just don’t smell like a distillery for once.”

“I can swim in a whiskey barrel if that helps.”

His mother laughs, and the sound bounces off the walls, filling the room with lightness. Her face has been etched with seriousness for far too long, and watching her smile sends relief flooding through his system.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs tears his attention away. Perry stops at the bottom of the stairs, watching his brother and mother in the kitchen making jokes and laughing. Rhett knows it’s a foreign sight.

“Mornin’,” Perry says, eyes slightly narrowed.

Rhett hums in response just as Amy slips under Perry’s arm and bolts for a seat at the table. Ma kisses her cheek, placing a plate of toast in front of her she tears into immediately.

Rhett ruffles her hair, and she shakes him off with a playful look on her face. Those big eyes shine with innocence and if he could bottle it up, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Is Dad already out there?” Perry asks, as if their father hasn’t been up at the crack of dawn all his life.

Rhett shakes his head and rises from his seat, snatching a small corner of toast off Amy’s plate.

“Hey!” she protests. “Get your own.”

Royal sends him to the south pasture to check the fences. He rides along the fence, his breath comes out in a puff of hazy smoke, and enjoys the warmth of the morning sun on his face.

An unexpected sound pulls his attention. He turns his head towards it and spots Lou in the distance. She’s on horseback, Stetson on her head, and her dog running alongside her.

They make eye contact, and Rhett raises his hand in a small wave. He wants to approach, talk to her again, hear her laugh and finally determine the true color of her eyes.

She decides for him as she guides her horse, a beautiful red one with soulful eyes, towards him. Her dog falls behind, sizing him up, and Rhett has never felt more under the microscope than under the watchful eye of the black and white dog.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she says once he’s in earshot, smile wide and friendly on her face. It makes her look younger.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Once they’re right in front of each other, he can finally tell that her eyes are brown. Deep, like the desert on the darkest night of the year. Stunning.

They ride alongside each other for a while in comfortable silence, only a fence separating them. Hooves heavy on the wet ground from a bygone rainfall he missed during his long sleep, and the jiggle of the collar on Lou’s dog as it runs ahead of the horses.

“What’s his name?” Rhett asks, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Denver,” she replies, a small smile on her face again. “I call him Denny most of the time, though.”

The dog halts at the sound of his name, looking over his shoulder at Lou and Rhett. She whistles, a different tone to the one he heard the first time he saw her, and the dog keeps going.

“You riding this Friday?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Gotta do well if I want to move up.”

It’s been on the books for weeks and yet he’s surprised she knows about it. It’s a local event, but it counts towards his score to get the regional competition.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she replies, and she sounds so confident he almost believes it, too. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Better.”

Up ahead, Denver barks at what appears to be a stick on the ground, making Lou shake her head at him with a breathy chuckle. “Silly dog,” she mutters.

Silence stretches between them again, but it’s comfortable. He doesn’t feel the need to fill it this time. He feels Blazer’s muscles move with every step he takes, listens to hooves hitting the ground softly, Denver’s collar jiggle, and somehow the air in Wabang doesn’t feel so stifling.

Maybe he’s imagining it, though. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“You coming to the rodeo?”

He turns his head to Lou, his ears burning hot at the question he’s just asked. He expects to see a smile on her face, but her mouth is in a straight line, jaw clenched, and she’s fiddling with a loose stitch on the reins in her hands.

“I don’t know,” she finally says, barely perceptible shake of her head. “Haven’t been to one in years.”

Rhett hums. He watches as she keeps fiddling with the reins, similar to the way she picked at the label on her beer bottle last night until it was gone. Nothing but a pile of tattered paper on the counter.

“Amy’ll be there,” he tells her. “I’m sure she’d be happy to see you.”

It’s a long shot, and a cheap one at that, but he can’t help it. Something tells him it’s important she comes to the rodeo, to see him ride, and maybe even cheer for him.

“Hunter has been begging me to go,” Lou says with a ghost of a smile back on her face. Barely there but present, and his chest feels lighter. If he’s not mistaken, Hunter is the younger of the two Taylor boys.

“Now you have to go,” he says. In the distance, Denver comes to a halt and waits for them to catch up.

“You think so?”

He grins. “I know so.”

She chuckles as she checks her wristwatch. “I have to head back,” she tells him and whistles in yet another tone that makes Denver come running to her. “I have a new client arriving in 10 minutes.”

“Yeah, alright,” he mutters.

He watches her gently pull the reins away from the fence, and her mare obediently follows the command. Lou softly kicks her heels into the horse’s rounded belly, making it set into a trot.

“See you around,” she shouts over her shoulder, waving a hand in the air.

Rhett’s eyes follow her retreating figure until she’s out of sight, swallowed by the fog that’s finally lifting, making way for bright and clear day.

The day of the rodeo rolls around a few days later. Humidity hangs in the air, with dark autumn clouds looming, threatening the possibility of a good ride for him. He silently prays for the rain to hold off until later.

Royal talks about Rhett’s stats and how many points he needs to move up as they walk towards the area for riders. Amy skips ahead of them, Perry not far behind, and his Ma seems to have gone off somewhere on her own.

“You’ll need to last those eight seconds tonight,” Royal says.

Rhett grunts as way of a reply, but his mind is miles away. There’s something different about tonight that’s setting him on edge, but it’s not the nerves he usually experiences before a ride.

Royal leaves him to get ready on his own. Rhett pulls his chaps on, secures them, grabs his gloves and safety vest, and goes to the fence to watch his opponents ride. The bulls seem wild tonight, bucking more than he’s seen any of them do in a while.

A coordinator calls his name, letting him know it’s time to get to the chute.

He slips the vest over his shoulders and as he’s securing the velcro straps on his side, Lou appears in his periphery. He’s close enough to the edge of the area reserved for riders that she can come to him, only separated by a rope.

“You came,” he says.

“Yeah,” she agrees, looking over her shoulder towards the stands. “Hunter is very convincing.”

“You should find Amy,” he tells her. “She keeps begging my brother to take her to Oak Creek for a lesson.”

The sound of Lou’s quiet laugh bounces around his chest and settles in his stomach. He can’t help the corners of his mouth turning upward.

“She’s more than welcome,” Lou says. “I just wanted to wish you good luck.”

He cocks his head slightly, eyes trained on hers. “Yeah?” She nods. “Thank you.”

The coordinator calls him again, and when he makes eye contact with him over his shoulder, Rhett knows he can’t push it any further. He looks back at Lou, and opens his mouth to say something, but she beats him to it.

“You got this,” she says, reaching up to his hat, taking hold of the brim. His breath hitches, thinking she’s going to take it off him, but she just adjusts it. Heat rushes to his cheeks.

Her hands fall back at her side as she meets his eyes. Rhett barely hears the announcer on the loudspeaker saying he’s next because the only thing that exists is him and the woman with the soft smile in front of him.

“I gotta go,” he says eventually, not sure how long has actually passed.

Lou nods, wishes him one final good luck, and turns around, heading towards the stands to rejoin the Taylors.

He weaves in and out of people and trailers to get to his chute. He tapes the glove to his hand before climbing up the ramp, easing himself down onto the bull where he wraps the rope tightly around his hand, taking deep breaths as he does. The black bull writhes in the chute, ready to buck him off as soon as he gives the go ahead.

He gives the nod of approval and the door springs open. His bad shoulder aches as he’s thrown around, but he holds on with all he’s got. Eight seconds feels like a lifetime when you’re on a bull.

He hits the sand with a thud loud enough that he can hear it over the crowd cheering, the announcer’s voice ringing in the air, and the stomping of the bull he just got tossed from.

He flexes his fingers inside the gloves before pressing his palms flat against the ground. He pushes himself up, slowly getting to his feet until he’s standing at his full height, eyes flicking towards the raging bull as it’s wrangled into a pen behind the ring. It was a mean one tonight.

He rolls his shoulders as he looks at the scoreboard, finding his name at the top. He did good, but there are more riders after him, so it’s still not a done deal. He could use the money, though. The points, too.

As he climbs over the fence to get out of the ring, his eyes turn to the stands where he sees his family still cheering for him, and he lifts his hand in a wave. Say what you will about Rhett’s family, but at least they show up at his competitions and roots for him.

The rest of the riders are halfway decent, and by the end of the night, Rhett is in second place. That new kid he can’t remember the name of beat him by the skin of his teeth, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Rhett’s still young, but it stings that this kid, who looks fresh out of high school, did better than him.

He joins up with his family, who all congratulate him. Royal gives him tips on how he can do better next time, but it sounds more like he’s reprimanding him like he did when he was ten.

Rhett knows the first prize money would have been better for the ranch, and he tries not to resent them for spending the money he’s earned by putting himself in harm’s way. Some days it’s easier said than done.

“I saw Miss Kinney,” Amy tells him, her eyes bright and smile wide. “She said I could come see her work.”

“That’s great,” he says, ruffling her hair.

“You coming with us?” Cecilia asks, probably hoping he won’t go to the bar this time. He’s sure some part of her knows it’s a lost cause.

“Nah, I’m gonna stick around,” he says, and ignores the displeased look on his Ma’s face.

They say their goodbyes, and when they step out of the way, Lou is walking towards him. Her boots kick up dirt, her hands buried in the pockets of her jacket, and she’s taken her hair down so it frames her face.

“Hey,” he says when she gets close enough.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” she says, stopping in front of him. “Didn’t I say you could do it?”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I didn’t win.”

“But you placed,” she points out as another rider walks past them toward the parking lot.

“You coming for a drink, Abbott?” He asks, walking backward until Rhett yells his agreement.

He turns his attention back to Lou, who’s pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and his eyes trail the movement of her hand.

“What do you say?”

She frowns, tilting her head to the side, and Rhett wants to smooth out the crinkle between her brows. “To what?”

“Wanna get a drink?”

She tilts her head further, but there’s a teasing smile at the corner of her mouth. “Only if you’re buying,” she says, spinning on her heel and starts walking towards the rows of trucks in the distance.

He shakes his head, a grin so wide it almost hurts. “Yes, ma’am,” he says and catches up to her in a few long strides.

“I carpooled with the Taylors here, so you’re driving, too.”

A/N: The next chapter is going to be all from Lou's perspective, so we get to know her a bit more. Thank you so much for reading, and don't forget to reblog if you liked it!

TAGLIST: @wkndwlff, @joaquinwhorres, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @chicomonks, @thedroneranger, @dhwanishah09, @callsign-cacti, @chickensarentcheap, @lt-bradshaw, @cherrycola27, @hismissharley13, @bradshawsbitch, @yanna-banana, @phoenixhalliwell, @rhettabbotts, @laracrofted, @everbizzare, @t-nd-rfoot, @callsign-joyride, @angelbabyyy99

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott fic #lewis pullman #oc: lou kinney #outer range #otp: lou x rhett #fic: linger #chapter update #helenawrites #writtenbyme #mywriting #madebyme #still nervous as fuck to post this

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suchalonelysunflower · 3 years ago

Note

“Please, you can’t die now” for Ashton?

A/N: This will be a heavy topic. I have been trained as a first responder in my country and if you want to become one, please get informed on how to do it in your country. I will leave some resources of information here.

Not Ready (a.i)

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of characters death. Language. Hospitals. Resuscitation. Trauma

Remember that Reblogs, Feedback, Comments and likes are very important and help a lot 💕 Hope you like it and Happy Reading 🦋🌻✨

Disclaimer: this is one of the realest angst I’ve written. It’s based on a irl experience of mine and a story time I saw on YouTube from creators I admire. Read with caution.

My materialist // wanna be part of my taglist?

Suchalonelysunflower 1K+ Celebration

It was very quiet, too quiet. And you didn’t know if you liked it.

In all the nights you slept next to Ash he was never quiet, but you got used to his snores by now, almost to the point where you found it hard to sleep when he was not around. But tonight he was quiet, and it was a sudden kind of quiet, the one that could make goosebumps appear by the side of your neck.

First, you thought he was asleep, although sleep hasn't come easy for him lately. A few days ago he started to have a horrible cough caused by the smoke in the air of L.A, a common occurrence thanks to the fires and the heat, but the coughs were so bad it almost prevented him from getting any sleep at all. He was coughing not too long ago, maybe a few hours ago? maybe minutes? So the silence unsettled you to the point of near desperation.

Something was wrong, you could feel it.

“Ash?” You asked in a whisper, but he wasn’t answering “Ash? Are you alright?” Still, no answer.

You could hear the sirens going out at the back of your head “Something’s wrong” They said, “Has it ever been this cold?”

You turned immediately, finding Ashton laying on his back with his eyes closed in a peaceful frame, but that didn’t make you jump out of the bed. No, it was the fact that his chest was not moving that got you up on your feet in less than a second.

“Ash!” You yelled but you got no response.

His hands were cold and clammy, a greyish color tinting them as you could feel him slip away. And you were not going to let that happen.

It took you less than a second to call 911 and put it on speaker as you took off the sheets from his body and started compressions, thanking every god there was for that class you took to become a first responder.

You counted in your head each second that passed you by, measuring your compressions to the beat of that old song, 1, 2, 3… till you got to thirty, laying down to breathe into his mouth a couple of times before starting all over again.

All the weight of your body was pushed through the heels of your hands, pressing firmly and steady into Ashton’s chest.

“C’mon baby!” You cried, feeling how your tears fell from your eyes into his chest “Please, you can’t die now! C’mon!”

In the back of your head you could already hear the front door opening and the heavy footsteps of the paramedics climbing up the stairs, but not once did you stop until you heard the “M’am! Please step away, we’ll take it from here”

You felt a hand wrapping around your arm and pulling you away from Ashton’s body as another paramedic took your place and started doing compressions.

“Please, help him!” You yelled between sobs as the other paramedic led you out of the room and closed the door “Please!”

“Ma’am,” The paramedic said, “Is there someone that you could call? You shouldn’t be alone”

“M-my phone,” You stuttered through a cry “My phone is in the room”

The lady nodded and walked right back into the room, just in time for you to hear a “I can’t find the pulse!”

You felt the way your knees gave out as you fell to the ground, sliding your back down the wall as earth-shattering sobs ran through your body and made you shake uncontrollably

Ashton can’t die. He can’t. He’s barely in his twenties, he has so much to live for! His fans, his friends, his family… How are you going to tell Anne Marie about this?! What can you say? What can you do? It was only a cough! And now he was-

“Here,” The lady said, handing you the phone and placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’re doing everything we can. But I have to tell you that it doesn’t look too good and that you should probably call someone to be here with you. The police were already informed and they’re on their way”

“P-police?”

She nodded “It’s the law to call them when-” But she didn’t finish the phrase, she didn’t have to. You already knew why.

With shaky hands, you called the first number that came through your head, the only one you knew would pick up this late and that would be here the fastest. If what you thought was happening was really happening, then you knew he would want to be the first one to know.

“Hello?” Calum picked up immediately, and despite his sleepy voice, you already knew he was up from his bed “Y/N? It’s two a.m. What’s happening?”

But you couldn’t even say it. How could you say it? How do you tell someone that his best friend might be-

“Y/N?”

“It’s Ash. He’s- He-” You managed to say between the sobs, breaking down completely.

“I’m on my way” Was all Calum could say before ending the call as he sprinted to his car.

You sat there with your knees pressed to your chest, hearing the muffled voices of the people that were surrounding your bedroom.

A million things were running through your head as you cried silently. You felt a crushing pain through your shoulders but you paid no mind to it, after all that pain will disappear with time, but the pain of losing Ash? How could you ever come back from that?

You weren’t ready. You weren’t ready to say goodbye, you weren’t ready to let him go and live your life without him. It was too soon, too sudden. It didn’t feel like the end but what if it was?

“Y/N!” You heard someone call at the end of the hall.

Calum was standing there, panting heavily almost as if he ran there in the middle of the night. He was wearing his sleeping sweats and a big shirt, mirroring your own outfit as your world fell apart. You got up in a jump, running to him and engulfing him in a hug, hiding your face in his chest as you let yourself break down again. Seeing him there made it all real.

“Shh, it’s okay” He tried to calm you, but you could tell by the beating of his heart that he was just as scared as you were, he was just better at hiding it “Y/N, what happened? Is he okay? Where is Ash?”

But before you could answer, the door to your bedroom opened as a bunch of paramedics took Ashton in a stretcher to take him to the ambulance.

The image of your boyfriend’s body surrounded by doctors and pumps that helped him breathe would haunt you for as long as it needed, but it’ll always be accompanied by the words:

“He’s back! We have a pulse and we’re taking him to the hospital”

The white lights were blinding and burning your eyes. You haven’t been able to sleep in almost two days but you barely felt tired, all the adrenaline of that night still lingered on and as you held Ashton’s hand, you wondered if it’ll ever go away or if you’ll have to stay alert at all times.

Ashton glanced at you from time to time as the doctor explained what happened, tugging on your hand with reassurance for he knew that reliving that night must be very hard for you.

“... It wasn’t just a cough, Mr. Irwin. It’s possible that you already had a pre-existing condition that was affecting your lungs and the smoke in the air just made it trigger; it expanded to your lungs and heart, making it impossible for the air to run through smoothly. We were able to fix it thanks to the quick response of your partner, had she waited just a couple more minutes to start compressions we might’ve had a different ending today”

You closed your eyes and pressed your lips on a thin line as the tears came crashing down silently. Just thinking of what could’ve happened made your entire body go limp as the images of Ashton laying in your bed, cold-stone and without breathing filled your head.

“Thank you, doctor,” Ashton said with a hoarse voice, still recovering from everything. “Can I have the room, please?”

The doctor nodded and smiled kindly at the two of you before walking out and leaving you alone in the hospital room. And only then did you allow yourself to let out the cry that’s been burning at the back of your throat, letting your head fall on top of his hand.

“Baby,” Ashton cooed, softly running his hand through your scalp “It’s okay, Y/N. I’m okay, you hear them say it”

You lifted up your head, holding tightly to his hand as your red, puffy eyes took him in. He still had the same smile that made you fall for him in the first place, and you don’t ever want to imagine a life without it. Ever.

“I lost you…”

“And I came back,” He said, cupping your face delicately. “I came back because of you. You saved my life” You shook your head “Baby, you did. If it wasn’t for you I-”

“Don’t say it,” You begged, swallowing hard “Please don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it ever again”

Ashton’s eyes softened, he had no idea what you went through in those moments for he doesn’t remember anything other than going to sleep and then waking up in a hospital bed surrounded by you and his friends, all of you with tears running down your eyes and dressed in your pajamas.

“I’m sorry I left for a moment and you had to go through all of that” He softly offered and you chuckled despite yourself.

“You know you can’t use the “I’m sorry I died” excuse forever” Ashton laughed.

“Can I use it on Michael?”

“Maybe,” You smiled at him, wiping away some of your tears. “It was really scary, you know? I was really scared”

“I’m sorry”

“It’s okay, just - just don’t do that again, please?” You asked, letting out a breath as you held his hand tightly “I won’t be able to do all of this without you. I’m not ready and I won’t ever be”

“I wouldn’t dare” He smiled, bringing you closer for a small, sweet kiss “I’m not ready to let you go, either”

tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @hoodhoran @flaneurcth @conversecake @bubblegum18 @irwin-fletcher-ash @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @1980holland @wiiildflowerrr @hoplessromantic727 @fivesecondsofonedirection @another-lonely-heart @aabc5sauce @dudethisiswhyyoudonthavefriends @fakebetch9694 @5sos-imagine @SunflowerAngel2123 @perfectnouis @in-superbloom @lukeisstillapenguin @sadcupofcoffee @superstarmarvel @personalmuyverypersonal @cnco.angels @vtte @as-hs-blog @himbohood @sofiaaraee @irwindoll @ashtonsunflower @nicebasscalum @calumspupils @secretsicanthideanymore @the-ghost-of-ash @alltimesos @wontlastimokwiththat @ttinahood @lukespitinmymouth @perfectnouis @cncoangelss @darrensos @whywontashloveme

#sunflower’s 1k celebration #ashton irwin #5 seconds of summer #5sos #suchalonelysunflower #ashton irwin blurb #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin fanfiction #ashton irwin imagine #5sos ashton #ashton 5 seconds of summer #ashton 5sos #5sos writing #5sos imagine #5sos fic

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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

The Gap in the Door

1: Cold

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SFW, imma say it’s rated T for Teenz, also F for fluff

Word Count: 4643

“Watch out. The gap in the door... it's a separate reality. The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you?”

- P.T. by Kojima Productions

Notes: This thing is like, tooth-achingly sweet. For me, at least. Most of the other stories that I’ll post this week are gonna be nice and spooky/angsty, for that Halloween spirit, ya’ know? But, I figured let’s start with the treat before the trick 🎃

Not beta edited, so any and all mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

Cold /kōld/ noun

a common viral infection in which the mucous membrane of the nose and throat becomes inflamed, typically causing running at the nose, sneezing, a sore throat, and other similar symptoms.

You wake, sneezing.

Your throat protests the sudden spasm and you gulp heavily, a sharp pain echoing across the back of your mouth. Lifting a hand to your neck you sit up, your comforter falling from your shoulders. It’s dark and your apartment is quiet. Leaning back against your headboard you chance another swallow, flexing the muscles of your throat. You wince, as that same pain shoots down your neck. Fuck.

Groaning, you lift your legs from the sheets, pressing your feet to the floor. Great, just great, you think bitterly, padding out into your hallway. Since moving to Japan you had largely avoided any major allergies or colds. Looks like your time has run out.

Flicking on your bathroom light, you kneel by your sink, fingers tugging a large, plastic caddie toward you. You dig through the various bottles and containers, hunting for something that will ease the burning in your throat. The best you can come up with is an old box of Tylenol. Shit, you think, shaking out the last few pills, it looks like you’ll need to go to the store in the morning.

Clutching the precious pain relievers into your palm, you stalk into your kitchen, turning on the lights as you step onto the tiles. Snagging a glass, you pour yourself a serving of chilled water and slug the pills into your mouth, easing their passage with a quick swig. They sting as they travel down your throat and you wince again. There’s nothing you hate more than a sore throat. You always found yourself swallowing impulsively and frequently, as if the pain would miraculously dissipate with the next gulp.

Clinking the glass back on the counter, you open a few cabinets, hunting for your battered teapot and electric kettle. You’re just plugging in the kettle when you hear your front door creak open. You turn your head at the sound, fingers coiling beside you.

“Hello?” you call into the void, hoping it will answer back with Tomura’s raspy voice.

He steps into the living room, his eyes already narrowed, searching. “What are you doing up?” he asks, catching sight of your bedraggled form.

“Making tea,” you supply, switching the electric kettle on at last, muscles relaxing at his familiar presence.

“At 3 am?” he queries, shrugging his trench coat off his broad shoulders and heading toward your bathroom. You think about calling an answer after him, but another deep swallow has you rethinking that tactic. It would really suck to have a sore and hoarse throat come the morning.

You hear the shower running and shake your head. At least he’d asked you a few, cursory questions. That was nice. For him.

Lifting up on your toes, you snag your small collection of tea bags, selecting a light chamomile and replacing the tin. Your kettle is just starting to beep when Tomura returns. He’s shirtless, his new sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His hands are scratching at the back of his head, sending small droplets of water across your mats.

“So,” he continues, eyes lifting to yours, “what’s with the tea?”

“Sore throat,” you supply, plopping the tea bag into a mug and pouring the boiling water over the sachet, watching it rise to the lid. You lift the cup to your nose and sniff at the fragrant aroma.

“You sick or something?” he asks, pulling a stool out and perching against your counter.

“Looks like it,” you grouse, lifting the tea bag out of the hot water a few times, watching the color shift to a pleasing sun kissed, golden.

“Since when?” he’s watching you closely, his head cocked.

“I don’t know, since a few hours ago? Sometimes colds just happen. It’s not really something you can predict.” You look at him appraisingly and arch an eyebrow. “You look, um, a little confused about that. You one of those people who never gets sick or something?”

Tomura shrugs, eyes drifting from you as he props his chin on his palm. “Always had access to a doctor.”

You laugh and your throat tenses again, making you grimace. Tomura is unamused and rolls his eyes at your response.

“Ooh, that’s fancy. Not everyone can say that,” you tease, taking a hesitant sip of your tea, the scalding liquid easing some of the lingering pain. A silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. The two of you have long since adjusted to the other's presence.

“He worked with my...Sensei,” Tomura expands, his voice low, almost too hushed to hear. You blink, surprised he’s elaborating on his thoughts.

While he has opened up to you a little more in the last few weeks, he’s never told you much about his upbringing. You sensed that his childhood wasn’t, well, normal. How could it have been? His quirk was activated by touch. Even if he has a family, there was no way that that manifestation had gone, uh, well.

“So, a personal doctor, that’s...yeah, I guess you weren’t really given a chance to get sick,” you take another sip of your tea and remove the tea bag, slipping it into your trash.

Tomura is quiet again. His eyes are staring off into the distance, the red unfocused, as if he’s remembering something.

Sighing, you blow against your mug and walk past him, stepping onto the mats of your living room. He doesn’t follow, but he does shift his position, twisting so his back is braced against the counter, facing you again. You flop onto your couch and lean against the cushions, clearing your throat after you take another scorching drag of your tea.

“Did you...eh, do you have medicine?” Tomura asks. His face is stuck in an odd scowl. It’s like he isn’t sure of the words and he’s testing them out. You smile. “Yeah, I took some painkillers. I’ll have to get the stronger stuff tomorrow.”

His jaw tenses again and he huffs out a sigh. His eyes lift to study your face for a moment. “You should sleep,” he murmurs, a light blush creeping across his nose. You try to hold in your grin and distract yourself with another swig of chamomile.

“Once I finish this, I will,” you assure him, eyes bright with your unspoken appraisal. His stilted behavior is kinda adorable. Not that you would tell him that. God, no, that would be a mistake of enormous proportions. He’d likely ignore you for the rest of the night, if not longer.

He nods at your response and stands, crimson eyes still fastened onto yours. He opens his mouth, but shuts it quickly, another scowl etching across his lips. Without a word he pads into your hallway, heading toward your bedroom. You cough out a laugh and wash the remains of your mug back, savoring that warming sensation a final time.

You sit on your couch for a while, your mug cooling between your fingertips. Tomura never ceased to fascinate you. Every time you think you’ve got him figured out, he turns on a dime, his personality shifting, surprising you. Tonight is no exception. He seemed...softer somehow, like he’s unsure how to voice his uneasiness with the foreign predicament you’ve found yourself in.

You lift yourself slowly, stretching on your tiptoes as you stand. Placing your empty mug on your media cabinet, you walk toward your hallway, switching off the living room light as you pass.

Your bedroom is cool and dark.

You can just make out Tomura. He’s splayed across your sheets, his hands balled in that familiar manner, quirk contained by his clenched fists. His eyes open when you shut your door and he watches you step toward him. Your knees dip the mattress as you climb across the surface, stopping when you reach his side. You sink into the sheets, tucking your legs under the covers and pulling your comforter up to your chin.

Tomura tilts his head to rake his eyes over your exposed face. You smile weakly at him, another sharp stab of pain racing along your throat.

Your eyes are drifting closed when you feel his arms around you, tugging you toward him. While this isn’t unusual, Tomura has long since established himself as Japan’s number one fugitive and cuddler in your books, you move away from his embrace. He sucks his teeth loudly and you look up at his irritated expression.

“Stop. I don’t wanna get you sick,” you tell him, shaking your head at his ire. He pulls at you again, lifting you effortlessly against his bare chest.

“Tomura,” you warn, pushing against his hardened grip.

“Go to sleep,” he grunts, digging his nose against your hair, his arms still locked around your back, fingers curling back into his palms. You sigh and try your luck again, squirming against his hold.

“Ugh, really?” you question, letting out a sigh of agitation as your efforts are quelled once more.

“Really,” he mimics, only loosening his arms when he’s satisfied you won’t try to pull from him again. You shake your head and let your cheek fall against his skin, the reassuring warmth of him seeping into you. His arms lower to the sheets and he locks his chin over your head, his own eyes finally closing.

In a few minutes, both of you are asleep.

******

A strange smell lifts you from your disjointed dreams. Wincing, you sit up. For a moment, you think you might be feeling better, then a well timed sneeze has you second guessing that diagnosis. Nope, still sick. You run your tongue over your teeth and shift your comforter away.

You’re alone in your bed. Your fingers trace across the side of the sheets that Tomura slept on. They’re still warm, he must have only just gotten up. Standing, you swallow heavily again and sniff back the sinus pressure that rushes to your temples. As you dig in your closet for a jacket, you catch a whiff of that odd smell again.

Your nostrils flare as you try to deepen your inhales, but the passageways are clogged. It’s no use. You can’t get a read on it.

As you pass your living room, you give the space a quick glance. The late morning sun is peeking playfully through your screen door and your console is playing the main screen music on the tv. It sounds dull, like a bad recording. Yeah, you think, popping into your bathroom to snatch up the Tylenol bottle, you definitely have a head cold.

Ick. There’s that smell again.

You pause as you enter your living room, searching for the source. Tomura isn’t on your couch. While that isn’t odd, on the whole, it’s not exactly normal either. He’s usually in one of two places when he’s in your living room: perched at your counter, or lounging on your couch. You peek into your kitchen and feel your jaw drop.

Tomura is standing beside your stove. There’s a pot resting on one of the burners and he’s poking at the contents doubtfully, wooden spoon stirring intermittently. It takes you a minute to process this image. Blinking, you shake your head and look again. Nope, it’s him alright.

Tomura Shigaraki is standing in your kitchen and appears to be attempting to, uh, cook? As he stirs the spoon across the pan again that smell wafts up. Ah, cooking had felt a bit strong. Besides, you reason, Tomura burning something at least feels a little more...normal.

“What’s that?” you ask and he turns, his eyes flashing. He doesn’t offer any explanation, he just twists back to the stove, a dark scowl spreading across his face. You walk to him and lean over his side, peering into the pot.

It looks like he’s found some of your chicken stock. There’s a small assortment of vegetables mixed in, some carrots, badly chopped onions and what appears to be some frozen peas. You tilt your head, checking the level of the gas burner. Yeah, it’s set way too high.

You glance up at him, “I’m going to adjust the burner. It’s too hot, so it’s catching some of the carrots.” He grunts and steps away, a red blush seeping across his nose and cheeks.

With a practiced ease, you lower the heat to a simmer and lift the pot up for a moment, shifting the contents. “All in all, it looks pretty good,” you tell him, sniffling as the strong aroma hits your nose. “Mind if I put some more stuff in it?”

Tomura snorts at that and shrugs, his eyes not meeting yours. “Do what you want.”

You smile at him and lift a hand to his arm, fingers tracing along his bare skin. He sighs at your touch, his eyelids drifting closed, shuttering his tense embarrassment.

Stepping past him, you grab your glass from the night before and fill it with some chilled water, popping the final set of Tylenol into your mouth. He watches as you swallow the pills and cocks his head, his pearly hair falling to one side.

Setting the glass back against your counter, you give him another long look and walk to your fridge. You grab a few ingredients: cold chicken, celery and extra broth.

Tomura circles to you as you set your selections down, curious.

Moving to your dry goods cabinet, you snag some spices and seasoning: ginger, thyme, rosemary, turmeric, salt and pepper. You chop the chicken and grab a small skillet, firing up another burner and heating it until it loses its pink center. As the chicken is cooking you chop the celery and start to add the seasonings to Tomura’s original attempt. Once the chicken is cooked through, you toss it in and add a dash of extra broth, sliding a lid over the contents.

Tomura hovers close by as you work, his eyes shifting from you to your preparations, seemingly fascinated. You let out a shuddering cough and he steps closer. Involuntarily, you lean away from him and turn to scrub your hands clean at your sink. He waits, letting you dry your hands on a nearby cloth, before repeating his movements. He’s close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. You shiver at the sensation and look up at him.

He looks...concerned? You’ve not seen this expression before. His eyes trace your face, the red subdued, tamped down, the irises almost looks garnet.

“How long does it need?” he asks, jerking his head toward your stove. You tear your eyes from his and sniffle, another cough rising in your throat. “Should- hem- should be ready in thirty minutes, give or take. Don’t turn the heat up,” you warn, lifting your eyes back to his.

Tomura nods and tilts his chin toward your living room. “Go lay down,” he rasps, his voice low and even.

“I’m ok-” you begin, but he steps closer, peering down at you critically.

“Don’t argue with me (Y/N), go lay down.”

Smiling at his insistence, you lift your hands in supplication and he lets you pass him. Before you settle on your couch, you step back into your bedroom, snatching up a spare blanket from your closet. When you return to your living room, you’re surprised to see Tomura sitting on your couch. He gives you a passing glance and lets out a shallow breath, fixing his attention on your tv, using your console controller to select a game.

“I thought you wanted me to lay down,” you question, one brow arched. He looks back to you and his eyes narrow.

“I do, come on.”

You let out a coughing laugh, earning yourself a disgruntled glare. “Stop acting like an idiot,” Tomura grumbles, rolling his shoulders agitatedly.

Plopping beside him, you tuck your cold feet against the cushions. He grants you a quick peripheral glance and lifts his hands, clearing space for you on his lap. Your eyes widen and you swallow thickly, the pain in your throat momentarily forgotten. Well, that’s a, um, different solution.

Tomura heaves a heavy sigh at your hesitation and you can feel his frustration rising. Not wanting to provoke him further, you quickly lay down, stretching your feet out and gingerly resting your cheek against his thigh.

Tomura tenses for a moment, his sudden movement entirely involuntary. You twist your head at the tremor but he stills your motion, leaning over you, his white hair curtaining the two of you.

“Sleep,” he grumbles, his eyes resting on yours, the red glowing in the bright light. You nod silently and he pulls away, refocusing on his game. Your eyes drift closed and you shrug your blanket higher, savoring the warm, content sensation that is pouring into you.

You must have passed out pretty quickly.

The next thing you remember is someone lifting your foggy head and then everything is blissfully blank again. It’s not until you hear a gravelly voice calling your name that you stir, eyes bleary, wincing against the afternoon sun.

Tomura is sitting, cross legged, in front of you, a bowl of soup resting in his four fingered grip. He’s redressed, his usual black shirt and pants dark against your mats. You sit up, the heels of your palms pressing into your eyes, a sharp pain hammering against your head.

Tomura’s red gaze fills your vision as you blink back your exhaustion. He lifts the bowl, re-focusing your attention. “Eat,” he orders, shifting the vessel into your cold hands. You nod and lean back into the cushions of your couch. He stands and regards you, his eyes flicking across your pallid face.

“You said you needed medicine?”

You pause, lowering your spoon back to the chicken soup before answering. “Yeah, I only have painkillers...nope, actually, I just ran out of those too. I’ll go out after I eat-”

“No,” he replies, his voice sharp. You look up at him, your head already tilted in confusion.

“What do you mean no? I need something stronger than what I have...ick, had. Plus, this cough is only going to get worse if I ignore it. I can’t-”

“I’ll get it.”

You gape at him. “What?” you ask, bewildered, thinking your clogged ears have misheard him.

“I’ll get you the medicine,” he sighs, his eyes meeting yours.

“Tomura-” you begin, but he cuts you off, standing. “Eat (Y/N), I’ll be back.”

“You can’t, what if someone sees you. It’s like, 4 in the afternoon, you never go out in the-”

“Fuck, stop arguing with me. I know what I’m doing, I’m not fucking stupid. What do you think I do when you’re not around?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t want you to-”

He ignores your rebuttal. “You think I walk around with some giant sign with my name on it or something? No one is going to notice me.”

“But, you don’t-”

“Goddamn it,” he bites out, red eyes flashing dangerously. “Do you want the medicine or not?”

“I was going to say you don’t even know what I need, Mr. I’ve never been sick before because I had a personal doctor at my beck and call.” You don’t mean to snap at him, but he’s starting to piss you off and your head is pounding.

Tomura glares at you and he lifts his phone up for your inspection. You blink, eyes squinting at the bright screen. It looks like he’s done a little research while you were sleeping. There are several pictures of various cold medicines and each has a small line of text underneath, listing the uses and side effects.

“Pick something,” he growls. You can tell that he’s trying to contain his anger and you feel a little guilty for snapping at him. He is trying, you think sullenly.

“You didn’t need to do all that...I mean, ugh, sorry,” you amend and point to two of the medications. He twists the phone back to his face, tapping on the screen a few times before lifting it back to you.

“Just these?” He shows you your two selected medications and that the others have been removed from his digital notes. You nod, lowering your head and biting your lip.

You know that he must have his ways of getting around. But, you can’t help that nagging worry that itches along the back of your mind. No, he’ll be fine (Y/N), you think. Remember how hard it was for you to find him on the fucking internet? Without those creepy hands of his, he’s practically an enigma.

Tomura stands and looks down at you. “Eat,” he reiterates and you dutifully dip your spoon back into the broth. He gauges you silently, but turns when you lift the spoon to your lips, sliding the hot liquid into your parted mouth.

He lifts his trench coat from a kitchen stool and threads his arms into the sleeves, sparing you a final glance before pacing down your walkway, toward your front door. You hear it open and shut, the lock turning with a decided click. Sipping another spoonful of soup you decide that your additions to the broth at least took the edge off the burnt carrots.

******

Tomura returns an hour later, a plastic bag rustling in his grip. A light rain had started soon after he left, so his hair is damp, clinging to his shoulders. He shrugs off his soaked trench, leaving it in your hallway, knowing you dislike wet clothing dripping on your living room mats.

You must look worse, because he eyes you gravely before stalking into your kitchen.

You hear your fridge opening and closing and a glass tapping down on your counter. A few moments later, he’s back in front of you, pressing a glass of water into your hands.

“One is a syrup. The other is a pill,” he informs you, tossing the plastic bag beside you. You clear your throat roughly, “Thanks.” He sits next to you, his shoulders tense.

“You ok?” you ask, worry creeping into your subconscious. You’ve never seen him like this. It’s like he’s vibrating with some unseen energy. You know it’s likely a mixture of apprehension and concern. Still, they’re not emotions that you’d usually associate with him.

He seems unsure, and you can tell he’s trying his hardest to hide his discomfort from you. Naturally, in tried and true Tomura fashion, that means he’s going to be sullen. Annoyance and anger are usually his go-to moods when he’s uncertain.

“Are you going to take them or not?” he questions, his voice clipped, sharp. His eyes lift to meet yours, the red dark and turbulent.

Yeah, he’s definitely on edge.

Huffing out a soft exhale of exasperation, you flick your hand into the bag, pulling out the first box your fingers land on.

It’s the syrup. Twisting the lid off, you portion out the recommended dosage and slug the thick liquid back, shaking your head against the slimy texture and biting flavor. Tomura’s eyes widen at your reaction, the red losing some of that underlying aggression.

“Does it taste bad?”

Shrugging, you replace the bottle in its original box, slipping it back into the bag. “It’s disgusting, but it works. This stuff always makes me loopy, so, uh, sorry if I pass out on you.”

You lift the final box from the plastic. This medicine is mostly used for migraines. It should knock out that pounding in your head pretty quickly. Cracking the packaging open, you slip the pill bottle out and pop a single tablet into your mouth, taking a quick swig of water to wash it down. Sighing, you lean back again. Here’s to hoping that this stuff would clear this cold out of your system.

Tomura is still observing you. You turn to him, curling your feet under your legs. “You should eat. You’ve been dealing with me all day, so I know you haven’t,” you press, lifting a hand to his dripping hair, fingers trailing along the strands. He narrows his eyes at your order, but leans into your touch automatically.

“Fine, go lay down,” he commands, titling his face into your palm. You grin, amused by his duality, and trace your thumb along the scar on his lip. His gaze darkens, tempted, but he leans back and your hand falls to your lap.

“Go,” he insists, standing, waiting for you to do the same. You gather your blanket around your shoulders and do as he asks, shuffling past him and into your bedroom. The autumn sun is just beginning to slip beneath the horizon and its hazy glow bathes your room in a low light. You sigh, unhooking your blackout curtains and pulling them closed, dousing your room in a comforting darkness.

As you curl into your cool sheets you can hear Tomura moving around in your kitchen. With a low exhale, you burrow your face into your pillow, the medicine starting to course through your system, lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

******

You shift back into consciousness as Tomura turns you to him. He intertwines his long legs with yours, settling heavily against you. His arms are tucked to his chest, palms facing toward him, fingers curled. His head bumps against yours and you have the distant sense to tilt your face away. Tomura dislikes this and unwinds his arms, his fingers urging you back to him.

“Just because I took medicine doesn’t mean I’m not contagious,” you warn, keeping your chin down, trying to avoid him. He grumbles at that, a low rumbling echoing along his chest. His hand lifts and cups your chin letting his rough lips capture yours, pressing you open. You gasp and pull away, but he follows, his lips urgently seeking yours.

“Tomura-” you scold, but he silences you with another kiss. You can’t help your moan, trying to ignore the warmth that is coiling in your core and shake your head, slipping him from you.

“Stop that,” he grouses, voice rasping against your parted lips. He won’t let you shift away, his strong thighs pinning your legs down, instantly tensing and stilling your halfhearted attempts at escape.

“I already told you, I don’t want to get you sick,” you pant, trying to ignore his incessant touch. It’s not an easy task. Part of you doesn’t want him to stop, while the rational, logical side is warning that if he’s like this when you’re sick, just imagine how agitated he’ll be if he catches this cold.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, lips gliding against yours again. He’s soft, not seeking anything other than your caresses. He’s not pawing or groping at your curves. Instead, his hands are resting beside your jaw, fingers teasing along your smooth skin.

“You say that, but how would you know? You told me you’ve never really been sick…mmm...this shit isn’t fun, Tomura…”

He’s not giving up, his forehead pressing against yours. He cups your face and sucks against your lower lip. You sigh at the rough sensation, exasperated, and, at long last, give in, returning his kiss, your hands drifting to his hair. Tomura hums, finally satisfied, and lifts away, his eyes latching onto yours. You groan at the loss of his lips, but don’t lean toward him. Instead, you distract yourself by running your fingers across his face. Smoothing against his coarse skin, touch delicate and featherlight.

He closes his eyes, sighing contentedly and rests his forehead against yours, his arms curling back to his chest. “Sleep,” he grunts as you lift your hands away from him.

“Hey,” you call and he opens his eyes again, vermillion scanning your face, waiting. “Thanks, for today, I mean...”

He exhales and presses closer, his breath ghosting across your skin. “Go to sleep, (Y/N). We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”

Notes: He’s so cute y’all. (.づ◡﹏◡)づ.

If you wanna see more of their interactions I have two things for you:

1. Look Upon the Light - This is the main story I’ve written for the two of them. The moments in The Gap in the Door start after Chapter 7: Polaroid.

2. Send me some requests or themes, if you want! I’ve got another few chapters written for them, some are SFW and some are NSFW. I’ll add tags and triggers as needed and on a chapter by chapter basis. So, lemme know whatcha think! My ask box is open atm.

#the gap in the door #look upon the light #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #tenko shimura #reader insert #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #fan fiction #fanfic #bnha #boku no hero academia #start of spooky week #so much fluff in here

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winterfluffs · 4 years ago

Text

A Chance Meeting

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Summary: All he wanted was a night alone but fate had other plans

Warnings: Fluff. Major fluff.

Word count: 1.9k

Author's notes: I have finally finished something! This has been a very long time coming, so I am super nervous and excited, even a little afraid as no one else has read a thing I've written in 7 years. Maybe longer. Hopefully this isn't too bad! Also, apologies for any improper punctuation. And also for not knowing how to do an undercut as this is kind of long. I'm still new with posting/using the app on my phone.

Bucky Barnes slid on his coat, placed a hat on his head and as quietly as possible, slipped out the front door into the frigid December night air.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy: he had his best friend, close friends who saw him for who he was and not what he was or what he had done, a nice warm place to stay, food in his stomach. Hell, he was an Avenger for Pete's sake. He had come so far from his time in the war, the time where he was brainwashed to be an evil assassin – he knew he should be grateful, and he was – there was just still something missing. How can one man have so much and it be like nothing at all?

The thoughts ran through his mind as he walked through the dark streets; the snow that had started light only minutes ago was now coming down heavier and faster. He had no idea of what time it was, nor did he care. He just had to get out. Clear his head. Maybe force his body to get some sleep after some much-needed fresh air.

Even though he hadn’t been a Russian assassin since Steve Rogers had found him and helped him get back his memory, he still had awful nightmares. Terrors that lasted long through the night and well into the next day. Some so bad they shook him for days on end resulting in him not being able to sleep.

Which was why it was in the middle of the night on December 24th and he was in the middle of the town square staring at the giant Christmas tree in an effort to shake the bad thoughts that crept through his mind.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a quiet voice came from beside him. Bucky had no will or want to talk to anyone. Especially at whatever ridiculous hour it had been.

Bucky gave the person a slight nod wanting nothing more to be left alone.

That was a downfall of being an Avenger. People always knew who you were, wherever you went, always knew where you’d be, and had always wanted something of you. He loved attention back when he was a kid, even thrived off it, but now that he was older, colder he loved to be left alone.

“I’m so sorry, but – “

“Here it comes.” Bucky thought and turned to the person, ready to put on his act.

“– do you know where this is?” the woman pointed to a map she had out in front of her. “This street, that is.” She shook her head while looking at the map, heavy snowflakes resting in her hair.

“Oh.” He blinked and gave her a curious look. He waited a few more seconds for her to ask him if he was the Winter Soldier, if she could get a date with the Captain America, or have drinks with the Iron Man. When none of those questions came, he was stunned.

The woman was so focused on her map that she had temporarily forgotten about the man standing next to her. Bucky coughed to get her attention. “I am really sorry. I know it is late, it is super cold, and you’re a stranger who probably doesn’t want to be bothered. It’s just I was supposed to be at my parents’ house hours ago. My cab left me stranded on the side of the road when he couldn’t find my house, it started to snow, the streets have been completely empty, and you are the first person I found to ask for directions.”

God she was beautiful Bucky thought to himself while trying to concentrate on her words. His eyes wandered over the women. Long dark hair framed her face perfectly, her cheeks and nose rosy from the cold, her eyes warm and inviting. His stomach tied in knots as she looked at him helplessly.

“This is turning into a really awful Christmas.” She sighed heavily packing the map back into her bag. “I am so, so sorry to have bothered you, sir. Merry Christmas.” She smiled at him within a troubled glance then began to walk away.

“Do, uh, d-do you like hot chocolate?” Bucky stammered calling out to her back. He kicked himself for being so awkward, so troubled that he doubted himself in his ability to communicate with people.

“Sorry?” the woman turned around unsure if she heard him correctly.

“Hot chocolate. It is freezing out here and from the sound of it, you’ve been walking around out here for a pretty long time. Would you…want to go get a hot chocolate? Warm up a little?”

“It’s 12:45 in the morning.”

“I know a great little diner that’s open 24 hours. Best hot cocoa in the surrounding area.”

She smiled thankfully unsure as to why she couldn’t get enough of the quiet dark-haired man. “I would absolutely love a hot chocolate. Possibly some pancakes, too.”

“I don’t know about pancakes, but they have the best French toast I have ever had.” Bucky smiled as he made his way over to her, needing more time with her.

“Even better.”

-----

“Oh my God you weren’t kidding!” she moaned as she let the melted cinnamony, buttery, eggy goodness slide down her throat. Bucky laughed as she took another bit, moaning louder as she chewed. “These are to DIE for.”

Bucky smiled as he watched her eat, a calmness coming over him that he hadn’t felt in an exceedingly long time. Like he was supposed to be here. With her. Like tonight wasn’t just a chance meeting between two strangers. He thanked his lucky stars that she didn’t take him for a dangerous person, even though deep down he knew differently.

“Thank you.” She looked at him her eyes locking onto his. “For all of this. My parents and siblings only just moved here a few months ago and this is my first time to visit. Mom thought she gave good directions but….” She pointed around in reference to her being lost in a diner with a random stranger at some crazy time in the morning. “Anyway, I really appreciate it.”

“Glad to be of service.” He laughed, his eyes crinkling on the sides. Bucky couldn’t remember a time when he felt this relaxed, this calm, this happy. He and mystery woman spent over two hours in the diner talking; about anything, everything, and nothing at all. He was happy to be in her presence, to make her laugh, to make her forget her worries for a little. It was only then that Bucky realized she did the same for him, too.

Since he laid eyes on this woman, he felt lighter; forgetting his troubles, forgetting the reason why he was awake at 2:45 A.M. on Christmas morning instead of asleep in his bed. She made him laugh. Laugh like he hadn’t laughed since the 40's, before the war, before the training, before the brainwashing, before the fighting, before the blood.

And he felt free.

He didn’t have to be Steve Rogers’s best friend, he didn’t have to be the Winter Soldier, he didn’t have to be an Avenger, he didn’t have to put up a wall he did when people got too close.

He was just James Barnes. It was a feeling he never wanted to forget.

-----

“Do you want me to call a taxi for you?” Bucky looked around. The snow was coming even faster now, a good four or five inches already on the ground with no looks of stopping any time soon.

“No…I’ll have to think of something.” She shrugged. “Can’t be too far off, right?”

“I know this is going to sound really crazy but hear me out: I live right around the corner. You could stay a little, warm up and dry off in front of the fire, maybe have some more hot cocoa, hot tea if you’d prefer. And if you’d like, once you’re ready, I can drive you to your parents’ house. Or call you a cab.”

“I don’t even know your name.” she laughed blushing slightly. Or maybe it was the cold. What Bucky knew was that it made her even more adorable than she already was.

“I go by Bucky…. but my first name is James.”

“James…” she smiled taking his hand in hers. “[name].”

“Now that we officially know each other, what do ya say?” God he would do anything to spend more time with her, to know her inside and out. To spend the rest of his life making her happy, knowing he was the reason behind her bright smile.

“Fine. But only because I am still frozen solid and would love another cup of something hot.” She smiled that bright smile again. The smile that Bucky couldn’t get enough of. The bright smile that was now aimed at him. He was the reason for that smile. The thought made Bucky’s stomach turn and his chest tighten; the need of wanting and not knowing of what could be lingered in the air.

“Bucky, I want to thank you.” He froze at the mention of his name, the sound going straight to his heart.

“If you hadn’t stop to help….” She trailed off with a distant look in her eye. Bucky pulled her in for a hug feeling her sigh into his embrace. He moved the hair from her face, him finding himself lost yet again in her eyes.

Without thinking, Bucky gently placed his lips on hers smiling into the kiss when she instantly kissed him back.

“Don’t think either of us thought this is how our Christmas would start.” She laughed making Bucky laugh as well.

“No. But I know I am definitely not complaining.” His eyes crinkled when he laughed, something [name] found adorable and charming; she knew she was teetering on dangerous territory, yet she couldn’t get enough. Didn’t ever want to get enough.

He pulled her in closer, his lips hovering above hers. “This might be way too soon, but I think I’m falling really hard for you.”

“Funny you should say that – I was just thinking the same thing.”

Bucky’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

Having gone from being utterly miserable to meeting the woman of his dreams in one night was a story that no one would believe. He wouldn’t even believe it if someone had said it to him. Yet, as he and [name] stood together in the falling snow, [name] happily in his arms, kissing him like he had never been kissed before, Bucky couldn’t get enough. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to fight off the pure happiness he felt.

“Let’s get out of here before we freeze to death.” He gave her a crooked smile and held her tightly as they walked the short distance to his house.

---

“Still cold?”

[Name] nodded her head, scooting over into Bucky’s embrace when he motioned for her to come closer. She sighed at the warmth of his body really relaxing for the first time since her trip began. She knew she was crazy being in a stranger’s home, cuddled up in front of a fire with a man she barely knew. Her mom would surely go crazy if she ever found out. Yet, she didn’t care.

All that mattered was her and him.

Together.

And that’s the way she hoped it would be.

Forever.

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Barnes #WinterFluffs #Christmas prompt #A Chance Meeting #Please don't let this suck #Bucky Barnes drabble

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angellissy · 5 years ago

Text

the stars that lit up the sky

Based on this lovely request> Would you do another Cameron sibling one with rage and Sarah? I really loved the first one!

Thank you!! Means the world and I am so sorry it took so long.

Rafe Cameron x Sister Reader

AN> Sorry for my lack of writing but I will try to get more fics up. I am graduating tomorrow so hopefully, my first two weeks of summer will be spent writing outer banks fics for you guys. Shoutout to my bestie Ellie, who helped me come up with a concept and who also just exists. I love u @myjjbaby . Enjoy!

Tossing and turning, seemed to be the only thing you had been doing for the past hours. The white linen sheets always seemed to find a way to tangle themselves with your limbs, making sleeping impossible. The sun had gone down hours ago, bringing all the sound that usually echoed throughout the house, with it. The clock ticking on your wall served as a constant reminder of the hours of sleep you lost. Unintentionally causing your breath to quicken, the fear of never falling asleep had always been a factor of stress. You were unsure why, but it always lingered in your mind. Sometimes making it even harder for your mind to relax and escape into another world, which usually caused you to stay in this one.

As a child your mind would be restless, you could lay awake for hours. Your eyes would often be looking at your ceiling, at the bright yellow stars that your older brother had glued there. Using the stars, he had created yours and his zodiac sign. The two of you were not only bound together by blood, but also by the same stars. So when the sun went down, the stars lit up and gathered your attention for the next hours. It helped calm your mind and whenever your older brother opened the door to your room and peeked inside, you would be laying still, holding a teddy bear close to your chest.

And as a child, those illuminating stars would be enough to lull you to sleep. But when you had reached a certain age, your dad had them removed, arguing that stars were for children and that you no longer, in his opinion, were a child. So the stars disappeared, ending in up in some charity box that your dad gave to the less fortunate. From that day on, you had to find new strategies. One included not sleeping at all, and as you got older another one meant partying all night to avoid having to deal with trying to fall asleep.

Tonight it looked like you would be choosing the first option, so you sat up, pushing the countless blankets off your exhausted body. When your father removed the stars from the ceiling, your brother desperately tried to come up with a new idea that would lull you to sleep. His solution was to build something similar to a bed on your windowsill, making it possible for you to watch the stars once again, though this time they were real and sometimes covered by clouds. So that was where you went whenever your brain failed to relax. You brought one blanket with you as you climbed up on the windowsill. No stars were in view tonight, the only thing that lit up the sky was the white moon. But still, it was not as bright as it usually was. Sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if your mood was reflected in the weather, it always seemed to be that way at least.

You furrowed your brows when you saw two shadows reflected on the ground beneath you, the porch light was giving them away. With quick finger movements, you pushed the window open, making it possible for you to lean out. The beats of your heart quickened as the adrenaline rushed through your veins. What if it was a burglar? Or one of Rafe’s peculiar friends? Nevertheless, you would probably not dare do anything about it, but maybe if you did your dad would finally give you some credit. Or even better, maybe your older brother would start paying more attention to you than those bags of white dust in his pockets. You leaned further out, this time the sound of hushed voices reached your ears.

“How are we supposed to get inside?” The only thing you could make up was that it was the voice of a female. It did sound pretty familiar, and you understood why when the second person opened their mouth.

“Well Sarah if you weren’t such an idiot and dropped the keys, we would’ve been fine.” That was the sometimes infuriating voice of your older brother, there was no doubt about it. You would have known that voice anywhere. When you were younger it was his voice that guided you away from the sadness that engulfed you whenever your father yelled at you, blaming him for mistakes that weren’t even yours. It was also his voice that managed to say something that would draw out a big laugh from you.

“Can you‐” Sarah sighed, breathing in and out. “Can you keep it down?” You heard Rafe mutter something in response and decided that it was your turn to shine since you also were their only way inside.

“You need some help or something?” They jumped at the sound of your voice, seemingly startled. Rafe was holding one of his hands against his chest, trying to calm his heartbeat into a normal rhythm. Meanwhile, Sarah was looking relieved by the sight of your face, as she also knew that you were their savior. Hoping to freak them out a little more you hopped down from the window on the floor without a word, quickly making your way down to the front door. As quietly as you could, you unlocked it and opened it, letting in both of your older siblings. Both reeking of alcohol and other substances, but you were used to it. Particularly the way the smell of alcohol had intertwined with Rafe’s perfume, it seemed to never leave. Always a lingering smell, no matter how hard he tried to hide it on those days when being intoxicated was not socially acceptable.

“Thank you very much.” Sarah gave you a small hug and a kiss on the cheek before dashing up to her bedroom, most likely to talk to that boy she just met. As soon as she was gone it was just you and Rafe. The sibling that constantly seemed to avoid you, always coming up with excuses not to hang out. His hand flew up to his hair, scratching it ever so lightly. You coughed a little, unsure of what to do.

“Yeah well uh‐” His eyes darted between you and the staircase behind your body “I should probably head up, but thanks.” He was about to walk past you when you stepped in front of him, blocking his way and making him look at you through furrowed brows.

“Why do you not wanna hang out with me anymore?” He gulped and backed a few steps away from you. “Um, come with me.” He turned around and walked towards the kitchen, even though you were confused you followed him. Not wanting to miss out on the opportunity to hang out with your older brother. He gestured for you to sit down on a barstool, and you did, watching him as he started to get things out from the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” He gave you a small smile as he shrugged his shoulders. “ Well, I suppose you were too young to remember this.” He paused while he turned on the stove and placed a frying pan on it. “When you were younger and were upset with me or Sarah you would make us or the nanny make you a grilled cheese, it was the only way for us to be able to talk to you.”

Your lips parted slightly as you dug inside of your mind, trying to find this specific memory. “I don’t remember that.” You mumbled, feeling slightly ashamed that such a sweet memory could have disappeared. He nodded, stumbling a bit as he turned around to put the sandwiches in the pan. “So that’s what you are doing now then?” He gave you a small smile and nodded.

“Never been very good with expressing stuff.” You snorted and he furrowed his brows at you, but his smile did not falter. After a couple of minutes, he put the grilled cheese on a platter and served it to you. You took a bite, the taste instantly melted in your mouth, it was so good that you could have cried. You put it down and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand before asking him once again, why he had been avoiding you.

He rested his head in his hands, looking down at the countertop. “I am supposed to be your big brother, a role model of some sort. But I am not exactly suited for that role anymore.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips and you swallowed hard, surprised that he was actually telling the truth and not some half-hearted lie.

“But I don’t need you to be a role model Rafe, I just need you to be my brother.” You paused, searching his eyes for some reaction, but he still looked down, making it very difficult. “You are going through some shit but that’s exactly the time when you shouldn’t push me away, just let me be your little sister again. And let me help you.” He looked up, a small smile on his lips as he walked around the kitchen isle just to wrap his arms around you.

“I don’t need your help, but I’ll try to regain the best big brother title you gave me as kids.” You nodded against his chest, that promise would be enough for now. As long as you got your best friend back.

“Care to tell me why you were still up at this hour?” He said when he let go. A small sigh escaped your lips “Couldn’t sleep.” He nodded, then gestured for you to follow him once again. This time you ended up in his room, you had not stepped foot in here for ages and you felt like neither had he since he looked a bit confused. After a bit of thought, he opened the door to his clothes, walked inside and asked you to follow.

“Turn the off the lights.” You did as he asked and the second you did, the room became illuminated by a different kind of light. The on that had adorned your childhood bedroom for several years.

“You kept the stars.” You whispered, astonished over the fact that he had done that and that he never told you.

“Yeah, I didn’t want dad to know so I kept them here, I should have told you sooner.” You brushed him off with a little wave, your eyes were still glued to the ceiling. You moved closer to his side and let him pull you into his chest, both of you were starving for hugs. The two kids that barely received any from your parents, that was why it was so important that you two were on the same side. If you were, you could dismiss the cold gazes and angry remarks from your father, together. So side by side you watched the stars, and side by side the two of you helped each other survive.

#rafe cameron #rafe #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #sarah cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagines

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botanicials · 5 years ago

Text

backpedal

... in which harry accidentally moans the wrong name

... word count: 4.4k

... theme: angst

Being memorable was one of Harry’s most redeeming qualities, you had figured that out early on in your relationship.

Not only would he remind you about plans you’d made with friends or meetings you were scheduled in at work; he’d remember the small things, like when once whilst telling a story from years ago, you’d mentioned that you could only tolerate cherry-flavored cough drops. Two months after the small comment, you’d caught a cold and amongst the care “basket” (large reusable grocery bag) he packed up was a heavy bag of cherry Ricola.

He knew that when your nose scrunched up, you were having a hard time keeping your thoughts at bay, which perfume you wore according to the season, which sweaters you preferred whenever you were over at his because “Harry it’s cold out why would you possibly need the A/C on at night?”.

One thing he happened to not remember however, at such an unfortunate time, was your name.

It wasn’t like he’d just gotten back from promos, recording, writing even, or that the two of you having sex was anything new for fuck’s sake. He was back from the states, the album has been done for months, and it wasn’t even fifteen hours ago that you two were in this very position.

There was no other reason for his mind to be elsewhere. No other reason for him to focus on anything other than you.

It happens when he dips his hips at a certain angle, the back of your head digs further into the pillow and he buries his face into the exposed side of your neck, warm breath sweeping over your skin as a groan escapes his lips.

You could feel nothing but him: the weight of his body, the thin layer of sweat on his back under your fingertips. His movements seemed so impulsive, habitual and that made the entire situation so much worse.

He brought his hand down to grip your waist, lips parting open. “Fuck, Cami-…” His throat closed up, body seeming to instinctively stop himself from saying her name as his eyes flew open in a panic.

Your hands immediately fly to his shoulders as you push and turn your head to the right, eyes unable to reach his. “Off. Get off, get off–”

“I didn’t..” His words die out and he removes himself from you and rests on his side, arm now supporting most of his weight. “Baby-” he whispers, reaching to try and grab at your wrist but you’re too fast.

One second you were under him, holding, pulling on his forearm to have him closer; and the next, you were pushing him as far from you as possible, grabbing the throw blanket sat at the end of his bed and wrapping it around your body before practically sprinting to the ensuite bathroom.

“Love, love, love, love, love…” his words are rushed as he quickly follows after you, not bothering to cover his lower half. The haziness in the room had dissipated, and he now found himself in panic mode trying his best to get to you as soon as possible.

Yet again, he isn’t fast enough, because the door slams right in his face and he has to snap his fingers from the frame so they aren’t caught. “Baby, I… shit.” He whispers to himself, grabbing at his sweatpants that were left tossed over the armchair.

None of this feels real to him. It can’t be because he couldn’t have possibly just done that. There’s no fucking way.

It’s as if he’s watching all of this unfold from someone else’s point of view. It’s as if he’s dreaming; his head is spinning and nothing makes sense- this can’t be real.

His fingers tremble as he ties the drawstring taut around his hips, shaking his head to himself as he moves over to the door.

“I don’t…” Fuck. Fuck. “Wasn’t thinkin’ about ‘er. I wasn’t. And I… I know that sounds like absolute shit, but I swear it. Baby, I… I wasn’t thinkin’.”

His heart is beating out of his chest as he explains because he loves you. He does. Told you that for the first time just four days ago. You’re easily one of the best things that have ever happened to him in such a long time and this wasn’t anything but an accident. There was no deeper meaning.

“Don’t know what else t’say, darling… I’m sorry. I am- and I know that might not mean much right now but I.. I’ve never been more sorry.”

It’s when he hears you sniffle from behind the door that his heart drops even further and tears sting his eyes. His hands rest on his hips and he tilts his neck back to blink up at the ceiling.

Things were just starting to become real with you-- not that they never were, but the two of you weren’t just dating anymore. He was getting ready to introduce you to his family, he had just started thinking about the thought of you two being together. The house and the kids and a ring and it’s fucking ridiculous, he knows that, but now it isn’t. Now, it’s borderline impossible. All because of tonight.

A slip-up.

He’s aware of how selfish he’s planning on being; preparing on asking you to look past his mistake, to forget that this had ever happened, but at this point he needs you. It’s desperate and pathetic but it’s all he could bring himself to be at this moment.

A handful of minutes pass of a teary-eyed Harry pacing back and forth in front of his bathroom door and you sniffling from behind it before he decides to finally sit on the wooden floor beside it.

You both stay like that for a while, quiet sitting nearly back to back on opposite sides of drywall and it’s not like you two, not knowing what to say, what to do, or how to act around one another. Not in so long, so the feeling is too foreign. Unwelcome.

Harry clears his throat. “Just… take as long as yeh need, love. M’right here.” He finally says and the thought of you wanting him anywhere but there makes him rest his head in his hands. A part of him knows he should leave to another room, give you some space. Yet that same selfish part of him wants to do nothing but hold you as close as possible and explain himself. Explain what happened those moments ago, even if he didn’t know how. He just wanted a chance.

About fifteen minutes go by before he speaks again. It’s nearing two in the morning and you’ve been quiet for a while so there’s a possibility you’re asleep, but he decides to gamble.

“I love you.” He starts. “I meant it when I said it the first time and I mean it now. So.. so much, angel. Yeh have no idea like… really s’just– this whole thing is..” He runs a hand over his face before resting his elbows on his bent knees. There’s no way this was good for his back.

He’s frowning to himself as he prepares. “When I said- When I almost said Camile’s name I–”

His apology is cut short when the ensuite door practically slams open and his head snaps over to catch a blur of navy blue fly past. You’re still wrapped in the velvet soft blanket, nothing too out of the ordinary, only you’re not half asleep asking him to “Please stay a little longer?” with a soft pout at your lips.

No. Right now you’re fast and focused, throwing his white comforter around in search of your clothes. You aren’t begging him to get back in bed until the sun comes up, you’re trying to remove yourself from the room as quickly as possible.

Harry’s standing now, lingering as he rubs at the knot growing in his neck, eyes on you.

“Baby-”

“Please.” You breathe out, hand spread out in front of you. “I can’t right now, Harry.”

The sound of your voice makes him freeze, arms falling to his sides as you resume searching for your bralette, he’s assuming, considering you’ve already snatched up everything else.

In these last twenty to twenty-five minutes, you’re clearly exhausted; and if his mind is running miles a minute he can only imagine what scenarios you’re thinking up. He understands, really he does because if he was on the other end of things he’s not sure what he’d be presuming right now.

It’s just that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to sit back and watch someone that’s made him look forward each day leave without putting in any effort. He’d beat himself up over this entire situation even more if he didn’t at least try.

“I wasn’t thinkin’ straight–“, he decides to repeat. Everything he rehearsed in his head is long gone and he finds himself unable to elicit what he’d already said from the other side of the door. “Wasn’t thinkin’ at all because it’s just you. S’all you. Just sit and-” He panics when you finally grab the white lace that was twisted in his comforter and make a beeline back to the bathroom. “Woah, woah, woah.”

He’s able to catch you before you can make it this time, his hand wrapped loosely around your arm, eyes trying to find yours. “Love…”

“Let go.”

He murmurs your name and his shoulders sag. “Look a’ me. C’mon-”

“I said let go.”

The room goes quiet as he stares at the side of your face and you realize how heavily your actions affect your future; what effects these next few moments would have on what could be the remaining of your relationship. Every decision you make right now is going to alter whether you and Harry will end up together or not. And that’s all too much right now.

You reluctantly turn your head to look over at him; with your red-rimmed eyes and in a raw voice you whisper, “.. I really can’t right now.”

Harry’s lips are rolled into his mouth when he nods his head, eyes falling to the ground before removing his hand from your skin.

He has to take in a shaky breath when you close the door behind you, sniffling as he wipes at the wet under his eyes. He’s realized that you leaving tonight was the only option for right now, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t.

Harry Sunday 4:36 AM I love you so much, darling. I wish I could apologize a million times over. I understand if you need time but whenever you’re ready to talk to me, I’m here. I’ll wait for you.

Harry Monday 11:12 AM Just woke up. I’ve got a meeting at 1 until 3 or so, but if you need me please don’t hesitate to call. I love you.

Harry Yesterday 9:02 PM Know it’s late, didn’t forget about you. I was at another meeting. Still here, love you so much.

It’s past-noon now, however many days later, and Harry is sat on the lounge he had on his backyard patio, a thick blanket heavy on his shoulders. The outdoor fireplace was lit in front of him, warming mostly his legs and the mug of hot chocolate he sat on the small table beside it. Flurries in the air confirm the fact that he should not be outside, but he’s always found the sounds of the river a few meters down to be therapeutic, icy ripples that weren’t yet frozen over resonating as the sky turns into a hazy purple.

He’s able to think back on how much you enjoyed laying up with him out here. There was usually a book in both your and Harry’s hands, maybe a homemade drink if Harry was feeling particularly generous.

He brought you out here the first time you visited his house, it was around the same hour it is now; the sunset, the snow wind, the ripples. You’d both gotten into such a spellbound conversation that he’d forgotten to give you a full tour; the two of you stayed out there all night just… talking and Harry doesn’t think he’d ever appreciate such a simple moment more.

Speaking with you was always effortless up until now, where he’s only been in contact with you once a day for the last few. Through text.

He didn’t want to overwhelm you, he knew you wanted-- needed space, so he succumbed to daily texts, so you knew that he was still fighting. The last thing he needed was for you to think that he gave up.

Flowers or edible arrangements… they crossed his mind, but this wasn’t something that could be fixed with something materialistic; you deserved so much more than that.

Harry Today 6:58 PM Hey.. I hope you’re doing well. Our coffee place has a special on the cinnamon bagels you like. x

“That was cordial,” he says to himself, reading it over a couple of times before tossing his phone on the cushion beside his leg.

You hadn’t answered the last three messages, he doesn’t even know if you’ve read them-- and a part of him wonders if he isn’t trying hard enough. Are you expecting the flowers and chocolate covered fruits? Him on his knees begging at your front door?

Deep down he knows he knows you, and any other day he wouldn’t second guess you needing your space, but you seem much too far away than he’s used to and his confidence in his knowledge of you is beginning to slip away.

His phone dings and he jumps, heart buzzing as he looks at the notification.

Mitch Today 7:06 PM You still going to Los Angeles next Thursday?

“For fuck’s sake…”

Harry Today 7:06 PM Don’t know yet, I will by Wednesday. x

It’s a second after sending that he receives another message.

Today 7:07 PM I’m doing okay, thank you for the exposé.

Harry’s heart stutters as he rereads your name at the top of the notification. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

Okay? Much better than bad, so he takes that as a positive, just like how he took the fact that you’d left your toothbrush at his as a good sign as well.

Harry Today 7:09 PM Course. x

Harry Today 7:10 PM I could grab you some? I’m on the way out to the store.

Lie.

Today 7:12 PM it’s okay, don’t want you to go out of your way.

Harry Today 7:13 PM It isn’t, really. I don’t mind.

Harry Today 7:13 PM And I’d really like to see you.

It’s the longest you two have gone without seeing each other whilst being remotely in the same area. He’s convinced himself that the sniffles he’s had for the last few days are allergies and not from him being a bit lovesick.

He stares once a grey text bubble pops up on his screen, taunting him almost as he tries to anticipate your response.

No.

Too bad.

Fuck off.

Fuck you.

Those replies all seemed pretty rational to him, it’s what he expected; so when the text bubble disappears, his eyebrows pull together in a nervous furrow. His thumb reaches up to pull the screen up as if the messages would refresh, and flinches when you resume typing again.

He figures that a short message would be better than a long one, but a long one would be better than nothing; so he settles.

Today 7:16 PM is that a good idea??

Harry Today 7:16 PM It’s all up to you, love. I didn’t mean to force anything,

Today 7:17 PM you aren’t, I appreciate you giving me the space you did.

Today 7:17 PM if there’s a sale, do you think there will be any bagels left at this hour? haha

At that, Harry finds himself smiling.

Harry Today 7:18 PM Welllllll, for your sake I would hope so.

Today 7:19 PM if they don't, I'll take a cinnamon roll then.

Harry Today 7:19 PM Cinnamon roll or cinnamon bagel. Noted. See you in 15?

Today 7:19 PM yeah, the complex gates should be open

Harry Today 7:19 PM :)

“Don’t stress about it, you’re just gonna make yourself cry again.”

“Shut up, Anais..” you mumble, frowning at your laptop screen. Your friend only smiles, applying more of the mellow green face mask to her cheeks. “It’s just… not gonna be the same, I could feel it through the fucking screen, it’s weird now. And I know I’m being dramatic--”

“No, no, and no, I’m joking. You can’t be sorry for feeling hurt. He’s thinking about an ex, of course that hurts, it’s a problem.” Anais was the only person you could bring yourself to tell about the entire situation, far too embarrassed to bring it up to anyone else. That, and the two of you are the polar extremes of the same personality so you balanced one another out. “Whether it was an innocent mistake- which is what I’m leaning towards the most -or if there’s even the slightest possibility that he’s still got more feelings for the girl than he should.. babe, you have every right to feel upset either way.”

“See, and what’s fucked is that I figured as much in the beginning. They’ve only been broken up for like a year, but he went and wrote like.. almost an entire album? There’s got to be some kind of-” You circle your hands in front of you. “- deeper connection there. You know?”

Anais twists her lips. “Yeah, I know.”

“I can’t be upset with him for feeling how he feels, but I can be upset about him stringing me along.”

“Mm! That’s good, write that down.” She points at your phone through the screen. “Just not the stringing along part. Too harsh. Say… upset about him being with you when he doesn’t know what he wants.”

You get as far as typing doesn’t before you sigh, setting your phone down on the couch beside you. “This isn’t gonna work, I feel like I’m prepping for a presentation.”

The two of you conjured up a bullet list of highlights to mention ever since Harry said he was on his way, as of now, all you had was:

don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry

“I’ve decided that I deserve more because I do”

try to bring up feelings?? somehow?

talk about how you’re feeling and then how it affects the relationship?

“You don’t have to read it right in front of him, just reference it before you open the door so you have like, some idea of what to say. Do you know what you want to say?”

“No, and he could get here literally at any minute now, fuck.”

“Okay, okay. New plan.” Anais starts, and your face is buried in your hands. “Ditch the phone. Just.. when he’s in front of you, you’ll think more clearly. You said that once, right?”

“It’s different now.” Your words are muffled.

“You’ll figure it out. You figure everything out.”

With another sigh you drag your hands down your face and leave them covering your mouth and chin, Anais sees easily through the screen that your eyes are watered over. “I’m so fucking scared, Ana.”

And it’s true. Clearly.

In the small number of months you’ve been together, Harry had become someone you couldn’t quite imagine life without. He was so warm and inviting, homey. Once one of the easiest people to talk to and now somehow you couldn’t fathom him sitting on your couch in a few minutes, a place he’s been more times than you could count.

You didn’t want to lose him and right now that seems like the only resolution.

Your best friend watches you from her own apartment, her face turned down into a frown. You’re cuddled up with your biggest throw at the very left side of your couch, laptop sat on the console you situated in front of you. The lights were dim, curtains and blinds wide open displaying the snowfall. You should be sipping on Stella Rosa from the bottle with that cliche ABC movie Snowglobe playing, but here you are on the verge of tears over something so minuscule yet complicated.

“I don’t know.. it all just seems so inevitable-” You pause when three solid knocks sound at your front door. “He’s here.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I’ll…” You take in a deep breath and move the blanket from your lap. “I’ll call you back?”

Anais nods, a small frown on her features. “Text me if I’m not awake. Love you.”

You try to smile. “Love you.”

You didn’t realize how much the white noise of Anais’ call filled the room. Everything went quiet, and Harry’s presence from behind the door is evermore distinct.

Your sock-clad feet pad lightly upon the wood floor, your nerves seemingly pulling you in the opposite direction. Thoughts of you sat on his bathroom floor reappear in your memory; the embarrassment of not feeling like enough, the regret of deciding to go over to his in the first place.

If he never invited you over for homemade soup none of this would’ve happened, you’d be tucked under his arm trying not to fall asleep-- but it then makes you wonder if this was something that needed to happen. That you were only a temporary fix before he could go back to the one that still held onto his love strung heart.

With your fingers on the deadbolt lock, you twist and push down on the nickel door handle. A rush of frosty air slips from outside and into your foyer, the wind shifting the baby hairs off of your face.

Once the door is fully open, you find Harry’s stood in a thick white sweater and navy coat, a soft blush has grown upon his nose and cheeks. His hair is much curlier than usual, toppled over to one side thanks to the unpredictable weather. He’s holding a bag from Coldwell’s in his right hand and under his scent of vanilla and pine, was the sugary smell of cinnamon bagels. He’s squinting ever so slightly and his lips are a deep shade of pink. Despite it all, you find yourself admiring your boyfriend and for that small moment, everything that happened that night is forgotten.

“Was gonna knock again, wasn’t sure if you’d heard.”

“No, yeah, I did. Sorry, I was-” You clear your throat. “Sorry.”

Harry frowns and you realize then that he’s been outside for a bit too long now. “S’fine, no need ‘t apologize.”

“Um, come in.” You say, stepping behind the door and Harry moves to shuffle through. You shut and lock the door as he toes of his boots.

There are a few tiny snowflakes still sat in his hair and any other time you’d brush them away and bring him in for a kiss.

Now, you only glance up at them and quickly advert your eyes before finding your way down the hall.

The two of you end up on your couch, you on one end (where you’d been bundled up majority of the week) and Harry in the middle. There was an incredibly odd amount of space between the two, but him being here isn’t as incredibly off-putting as you imagined it would be beforehand.

His coat is hung up in your front closet, and the bag of bagels he’d promised you sit on your coffee table, the heat of them creating moisture on the wooden surface.

You shift to tuck your foot under you, moving a stray hair from your cheek. “I’m not really sure where to start,” you admit, focused on the fluff of your blanket.

Harry sniffs and clears his throat, gaining your attention. “I love you. And I know I’ve said it countless times now I just.. Me saying her name that night was.. nothing but an honest mistake-- wasn’t actively thinking about her I-I know that Mark asked me a question about her maybe the other day? Like, beforehand and.. tha’s the only like, reason I could think up of why I said it.”

You’re silent, allowing him to explain himself the best he could, so he continues.

“Know s’not something you could just.. forget about and move on from-- I’ve hurt you in one of the worst ways possible. Know that completely and I.. I can’t apologize enough, love.. I just want you to that I’m recognizing that I was in the wrong, you know? Not that you.. are putting any blame on yourself-- fuckin’...” He sighs, running a quick hand over his face and it’s clear that there are tears gathering in his eyes. “I dunno, I’m like, ramblin’ now-”

“No, I um.. I think it’s more humiliation than anything. Not that I shouldn’t feel the way I do, it’s just.. fucking embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry. I am so so sorry.”

“I know-”

“No, y’really don’t because I.. really don’t want to lose you over this, you’re.. undoubtedly the best thing that’s happened to me in so long.”

“That doesn’t mean that there might be lingering feelings for her, H.”

“But there aren’t,” he nearly cuts you off.

“I care about you,” you start. “I do. And this.. entire situation kind of just made me.. think about my worth. Um... I promised myself that I’d never let someone have that much of an effect on how I view myself because I’m always going to be me, you know?”

Harry nods, eyebrows drawn into a frown and you continue.

“So I.. I thought about it and reevaluated what I deserve and I know that it’s a bit more than that.”

“It is. S’so much more.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about the two of you.” You advert your eyes for a second. “When you love, Harry you give so much and... not that I can tell you how you feel, but I’ve... I don’t know.”

Harry blinks. “I don’t have any other reason as to why I could’ve said it. I don’t but what I do know is that I don’t feel the way I did before about her now,” he pauses. “I know with everything in me that I’m in love with one person, and she’s sat right in front of me.”

It dawns on you then (not that it hasn’t crossed your mind already) that this could indeed be nothing but a mishap with no hidden meaning. You aren’t an expert on how brains work, and this thought doesn’t submerge the ache and betrayal you felt, but ending such a potential relationship over a genuine mistake makes your stomach turn.

“Camile and I were together, yeah? I wrote some songs, we broke up, I wrote some more and yes, I was in love and then heartbroken but all of those feelings are so minuscule to how you make me feel. To how you’ve made me feel the last few months I’ve known you. You’ve got no idea how much I mean that. Baby, you have me. I don-”

You take his hand that was outstretched towards you- him being ever adamant on speaking with gestures - and rise to your knees, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He wraps his around your back right away, pulling you closer into his chest.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your skin. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. I love you.”

“I love you,” you finally say, eyes burning with tears. “I know I sound stupid; asking you for reassurance I-”

“No, hey, no. You deserve all of the reassurance in the world after that, darling. I can’t apologize enough.”

“It’s just gonna take me a little time, okay?”

“I know, love.. I’m sorry.”

Another one of Harry’s redeemable qualities was his integrity. You were aware of his morals and how authentic he was and despite the hurt and embarrassment you went through, you knew his heart.

There is no doubt that the two of you would be taking baby-steps for a spell; the important thing was that Harry was willing to wait as long you needed. And luckily for him, with the snow still brushing your window, there was an excuse for you to stay cuddled up with him for the remainder of the night.

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hood-ex · 4 years ago

Note

Your writing is so good and I loved that de-aged Tim fic :) If you’re still taking drabble prompts, could you please do either 114: “Oh my god, that’s a severed hand.” or 139: “The store was having their post-Easter sale so now I have a pantry full of cheap candy.” with Tim and Bruce?

LOL, Ren, you sent me this prompt like 2 years ago and I’m only just now finishing it. So fuckin sorry about that!! But hey, better late than never… right… alskjdla. I suck. Anyways, enjoy!

Tim gripped the edge of his mask and carefully peeled it off his skin. He blinked away the tightness lingering around his eyes from the dried glue and threw the mask down by his feet where his tunic, gloves, and pants were clumped together.

He always felt a little ridiculous whenever he had to change out of his costume in the car. Mostly because he kneed himself in the face an ungodly amount of times while taking his pants off. Bruce had it even worse with the Batman suit, hence why they tried to avoid mobile wardrobe changes as much as possible.

Tonight’s impromptu wardrobe change was all thanks to Damian. The kid had been spewing his demon germs all over the manor since yesterday, and he’d polished off the last of his cough syrup around dinner. Since Alfred was busy making sure Damian didn’t die of his nasty sickness, Tim was the one who had to go fetch Damian some medicine from Walgreens.

The problem was that they weren’t carrying any cash, and obviously, Batman couldn’t be seen using Bruce Wayne’s credit card. Since Tim had the easier costume to get out of, Bruce decided Tim would be the one to go in and buy the medicine.

Tim was in the middle of putting on a white shirt when he heard a sharp gurgle that overpowered the rmm-rmm-rmm of the batmobile’s engine. He placed his hand on his noisy stomach and rubbed gentle circles over the freshly bruised skin.

“Can we stop at a Batburger? Peter’s hungry.”

Bruce, who was bobbing his head along to “Paint It Black,” paused. His cowl was off, and Tim blatantly stared at Bruce’s disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes. The dark bags he was sporting didn’t help the fact that he looked like a raccoon heading to an AA meeting.

Bruce blinked once, twice, and then sighed deeply through his nose. “Who’s Peter?”

“My stomach,” Tim said. “You didn’t hear him talking just now?”

“Hnn.”

“You and Peter would probably get along since you both speak in monosyllables.”

The crease between Bruce’s brow made an appearance. “Why are you personifying your stomach?”

Tim kicked his feet up on the dash. He’d have to clean off his muddy shoe prints before Alfred noticed. “Because I’m not me when I’m hungry.”

Judging by the deep frown on Bruce’s face, it was likely he’d never seen a Snickers commercial before. What a waste of a joke. Tim would have to save that one for the next time he went on patrol with Dick.

“Grab a snack while you’re in there,” Bruce said. He pulled the batmobile over into an isolated area that was a block away from the Walgreens.

“Sweet. You want anything?” Tim asked.

“No.”

Tim hopped out of the car. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back in twenty.”

He shut the door and then sprinted down the uneven cracks of the sidewalk, praying he wouldn’t catch his foot in a pothole and go flying. The lack of light certainly didn’t help with that problem. Seriously, did all the street lamps on this block spontaneously bust or what?

By some miracle, he made it to the store unscathed. He walked through the automatic doors, squinting his eyes to protect them from the bright fluorescent lights.

The lady at the register was a middle-aged brunette who looked like she was about to fall asleep on her feet. She regarded Tim with a quick look and threw out a greeting in a tone that didn’t match her expression whatsoever. Tim gave his fellow graveyard shift worker a nod and then made a beeline for the medicine section.

It took him way longer than it should have to meticulously scan each shelf to find the cough syrup, and when he did find the cough syrup, he had a crisis over which flavor to get. They had strawberry, cherry, and grape. What the hell would Damian like the most? All he knew was that Damian was a vegetarian. He didn’t know shit about what kind of fruit the kid liked, and he’d never really seen Damian eat a lot of candy either.

The more Tim stared at the bottles, the more he was aware that Bruce was waiting for him in the car. His hand twitched anxiously between each option until he decided he’d just choose the old fashioned way.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. Catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers, let him go. My mother told me to pick the very best one and you are it!”

His finger landed on the grape flavor. Tim shrugged at the result and snatched it off the shelf. If Damian didn’t like it, he could just suck it up and pinch his nose while he swallowed it.

With that out of the way, Tim headed to the candy aisle. Even though a bag of chips would have probably been more filling, he wasn’t in the mood for something super salty. He figured he might as well indulge his sweet tooth a little since Alfred would probably have some kind of leftover nutritious sandwiches that he could eat at home.

The candy aisle was full of both regular candy and Halloween themed candy, even though Halloween was still two months away. Tim thought he wanted something chocolatey like a Kit Kat until he saw a bunch of Halloween gummies.

While he was deciding between the two, his stomach growled. Tim frowned and rubbed soothing circles over it.

“Hush, Peter. Your father works long, grueling hours, and he’s trying his best to decide what candy is best for you.”

Peter gurgled again as if in protest. Tim ignored it and debated playing the eeny, meeny, miny, moe game again to choose. Fuck it he thought and swiped the Halloween gummy mystery pack. He could get Kit Kats any day of the week, but Halloween gummies were seasonal. Might as well take advantage of it now. He probably wouldn’t make it out to a store during October since it was always crazier than usual that month.

Decision made, he went to the front and got checked out by the same lethargic looking worker he’d greeted earlier. With the goodies secured in the plastic bag that was clutched in his grip, Tim took off into the night back to where the batmobile was hiding.

Bruce must have seen him coming because the door opened up for him as soon as he was close enough. Tim climbed in, noting that Bruce was now tapping his hands against the wheel to the beat of some Hindi song.

“Did they have it?” Bruce asked. He waited for Tim to buckle himself in before driving off.

“Yup!” Tim said while digging through the bag. He pulled out his candy and waved it in Bruce’s peripheral. “Annnd I got these bad boys. You want one?”

Bruce glanced at the bag and scrunched his nose. “What are they?”

“Let’s see here,” Tim said. He ripped open the bag and worked on opening one of the individually wrapped pieces of candy. “It’s a…” he paused, staring at the white and red piece of candy that came out of the wrapper. “Oh my god.” He held it out in front of his face and smacked on the overhead light to get a better look at it. “It’s a severed hand!”

Tim placed the severed hand on top of Bruce’s shoulder. “Look, it’s comforting you.”

“Hn.”

“Don’t you feel comforted, B?”

“By gelatin and artificial dyes?” Bruce asked with a raised brow. “No.”

Tim grabbed the gummy off its perch and plopped it in his mouth. “Peter finds it comforting.” The taste of the gummy didn’t hit until Tim bit into it. “Oh, gross!” he said while forcing the bland gummy down his throat with a grimace.

“You know,” Bruce said, a rare grin on his face, “I don’t think he does.”

Even though Tim’s mouth tasted like rubbery ass now, he grinned back.

#Tim Drake #Bruce Wayne #Damian Wayne #my fic #prompt #renecdote

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kumiwrites · 5 years ago

Text

such is life

Kuroo Tetsurou is not normally someone who dwells on the past, but he finds that tonight, he can't quite shake the way it haunts him.

Or—

Nostalgia is a funny thing.

Pairing: University!Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader Genre: Angst Words: 1945 Warning(s): Mention of sex, heartbreak, nostalgia AO3 Link

A/N: Honestly this is just a super self-indulgent fic I wrote because I’ve been feeling super nostalgic about life, especially after finishing Kimetsu no Yaiba. I hope you enjoy!

The clock on his phone flickers to 2am, and Kuroo sighs softly.

Tonight is one of those sleepless nights where his mind refuses to power off and it always leaves him thinking about unnecessary things. He settles for scrolling through his photos, though Kuroo knows it’s a bad idea. He’s never been one to delete photos, so there are plenty of memories that are waiting for him in the depths of the album.

As if on cue, a familiar smile—one that he hasn’t seen in person since the last day of high school nearly a year ago—comes onto the screen, and he taps the face. The image enlarges, and he’s met with a photo that used to be his wallpaper.

His arm is wrapped around your neck lazily, and your back is pressed to his chest as you snap the photo of the two of you on a date. His chin rests on the top of your head, and the gentle smile you give to the camera is one that he’s found himself on the receiving end of for as long as he’s known you.

Kuroo finds himself smiling at the photo, and he swipes across the screen, losing himself in the memories that each picture brings to mind. He’s normally not a nostalgic person, but somehow, you’ve changed that about him.

He’s always been a calculating person. Volleyball blessed him with the ability to learn how to read people, and nearly every move he made for years of his life was thought out and meticulous. But something about you lowered his defenses. With you, he tried to keep it at bay—he couldn’t figure you out completely. You scolded him whenever he tried to analyze you and pin down exactly what you were thinking, but it didn’t stop him from trying when you refused to talk about things.

He’s about to lock his phone when he comes across a photo of you together on your first date. His eyes linger on your face—the two of you were second years, and after much pestering and a whole lot of persistence, he had gotten you to say yes to going to a dessert café near the school.

Almost as if you knew he was thinking of you, his phone rings, and the number is one he recognizes immediately. He wonders, briefly, if he should just pretend to be asleep and deal with it in the morning. But he’s already feeling so nostalgic, and he wants to hear your voice.

“Tetsu?”

“Yeah,” he replies softly, his breath hitching in his throat. Nobody calls him that anymore.

“It’s been a while,” you continue, and he finds himself melting for the sound of your voice the way he used to. “I was thinking about you and wanted to see if you were up.”

He hesitates for a moment, wondering if this is a good idea, but he can’t stop himself. “I was, too.”

��You let out a soft laugh, and Kuroo’s heart flutters in his chest. It’s a warm sound that he’s found solace in time and time again. “Nostalgia’s a funny thing, huh?”

“Definitely,” he replies.

“How was your first year?” you ask, and he can hear the sound of fabric brushing over the microphone as you shift positions.

“Tiring is probably the best way to describe it,” he tells you, pressing the phone to his ear as he uses the pillow to prop it up.

“I’d say the same,” you sigh. “It’s weird not seeing you in classes.”

High school feels like it was a different life—as if he were peering into someone else’s world for a brief moment. “It was pretty lucky that we were in the same class for all three years at Nekoma.”

You hum in agreement. “If you hadn’t befriended me in first year, I don’t know if we would’ve become as close. I was pretty hard to deal with in second year.”

Kuroo laughs. Just as he’s about to reply, he hears an unfamiliar voice from your end of the call.

“Still awake, [Name]?”

“Yeah, I’m just talking to Kuroo. I’ll go to bed soon.”

Kuroo’s heart sinks. He isn’t sure if it’s because you drop the affectionate nickname you’ve always called him by, or because he instinctively thinks that you’re with him.

“Sorry, Tetsu. That was my roommate, he just got home from the library.”

“No worries. I actually have to go—early morning practice.”

Why is he lying to you?

“Oh, well we should catch up sometime soon.” Your voice shakes a little—if he didn’t know you the way he does, it would’ve gone unnoticed.

He wants to scream and cry, all at once. “Yeah. We can grab coffee at our usual place or something.”

Our usual place. The little café where you went on countless dessert dates together, where he had held your hand for the first time as the two of you left the shop. Where he had kissed you once, because there was whipped cream smeared on your chin and he wanted to see how flustered you’d get if he licked it off and delivered it back to you. Where he had seen you cry once after a particularly difficult week, and you let him feed you forkfuls of cake as you wept into his shoulder. The little, quaint café where Kuroo first told you that he loves you.

“I haven’t been there in a long time,” you say with a soft sigh, the mention of the place bringing to mind the yummy desserts and perfectly brewed coffee. Kuroo can tell you’re just as reminiscent of those times as he is, but he can also tell that the tone of your voice is off—he wonders why.

Just as he’s about to pull the phone from his ear, he hears a soft hiccup. Ah—that’s why you sound off. You try to play it off as a cough, but he recognizes the sound—he’s always recognized it.

His heart softens, and he feels the tears come to his eyes, too. He can’t help but wonder if you still cry the same way he’s always known you to cry—if you were still an ugly crier. He’s always thought that your crying face was a precious one; one that made him want to destroy whatever was hurting you, but at the same time, some twisted part of him really did like that you’d only really let yourself be vulnerable like that in front of him. He then wonders if that’s still the case you for—if he’s still the only one to have seen that side of you.

With that in mind, Kuroo can’t quite stop himself from telling you how he feels right now, and he wholeheartedly believes that you’ll scold him for it.

“I’ve missed you.”

He can hear the hiccup catch in your throat, as if it knows that now is not the time. You’re quiet, but he knows your mind is flipping through all the different reasons why he’d say something like this to you, and what you should say back.

“I miss you too, Tetsu.”

He laughs softly, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. It doesn’t do anything to stop the tears, but he can pretend it helps.

“I wish I could get a Tetsu hug, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

He wishes he could hug you, too.

“Good night then, Tetsu.”

He lets out the breath he had been holding. “Good night,” he replies softly, and the phone beeps once, signalling the end of the call.

There’s a soft pitter patter that echoes in his chest, as if to remind him that he still feels empty, incomplete. It started the day you told him that you were accepting your offer to Kyoto University, mere days after he had told you he was accepted to UTokyo with a sports scholarship that would leave him paying next to nothing for his schooling.

Who was he to beg you to reconsider? To stay with him, and go to UTokyo? Not Kuroo Tetsurou—no, he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing such a cruel thing. The two of you made a promise, at the beginning of your third year, that you wouldn’t change your plans for each other. That no matter what, you would make only the best of choices for your futures.

But Kuroo didn’t realize, when he had intertwined his pinky with yours in that innocent promise, that you were the most important part of the future he envisioned. That he had never truly believed the two of you would go your separate ways after high school, leaving behind a love that still made his head spin.

The melancholic look on your face that day is still burned into his memory. The sadness in your eyes despite being able to study your dream program at your dream school, the gentle smile tugging at your lips as if to reassure him that this was okay—all of it weighed down on him heavily.

“Two hours is a long way to commute for a student,” is what you had said to him. He agreed, that it’d be impossible to manage a long-distance relationship alongside his volleyball practices and studies. Even if you were the one who did the commuting, he’d likely be too exhausted by the time you arrived after classes to even spend enough quality time with you to make the trek worth your while. And Kuroo was nothing if not practical, so with a hoarse voice, he had been the one to save you from saying the words, “We should break up.”

The two of you sat in your favourite café—in the booth where everything had started nearly two years ago—and held each other’s hands as the tears came quietly. The desserts were left untouched in front of you as you sat in quiet turmoil, your occasional hiccup being the only sound that disrupted that silence. Without so much as touching the order, he laid down a few bills and walked you home, never once letting go of your hand. Your parents had been away on business, meaning there would be nothing to help distract you from the heartache once you went inside. When you reached your doorstep, neither of you wanted to part ways just yet, so you invited him into the familiar home to spend the night.

It wasn’t the first time he’s woken up with you in his arms, but it was certainly the last. He remembers the way the sunlight made your hair shine like liquid gold, tresses resting peacefully on his bare chest as your limbs remained tangled in one another. A soft kiss to your forehead was enough to stir you, and he let you wake slowly as he recalled the sleepless night. Part of him wished he could record your soft mewls—sounds he’d never heard fall from your parted lips until that night—and keep them forever, but he knew that a video wouldn’t do you justice. Making love to you was special, and it deserved to exist as a treasured final memory of his time with you.

He finds himself scrolling through his photos again until he lands on the last photo taken of the two of you together. The image of you peacefully asleep with your head on his chest and his hand buried in your hair brings back more memories, and if he tries hard enough, he swears he can smell the lingering traces of you.

It’s enough to break his heart all over again, and Kuroo lets it.

#haikyuu!!#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu!! reader insert #haikyuu!! imagines #kumi writes #such is life #hq!!#haikyuu #kuroo

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scarletfish · 5 years ago

Text

See You Better

Summary: Buddy glances at Peter briefly. “He’s very dramatic, don’t you think? A fever and a cough and he’s got us all gathered around like it’s his deathbed.”

Pairings: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: one minor reference to past abusive relationship, and slight PTSD (looking at you, Miasma) AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23766886

A/N: Thanks @pigeon-pigeoff from tumblr for the sickfic prompt. It’s taken like, ten years, I’m the actual worst, but also I thought I had covid, got tested, and ended up having strep. So. It’s been a Week. This is like, 30% sickfic, 90% Nureyev Being Dramatic

“You got this Mistah Ransom!” Rita shoots the taller man two exaggerated thumbs up.

Her stage whisper is about as quiet as a Tunguskan siren.

It’s the middle of the goddamn night, and Peter Nureyev is standing outside his… coworker’s bedroom door. When he glances at the tray of food he’s balancing, there’s orange snack dust on his silk pajamas.

His nice silk pajamas. How in Jupiter’s moons did he end up here?

***

The short answer is that Juno is a child.

The slightly extended answer is that Juno is a child who refuses to take care of himself, and somehow that translated to the detective’s former secretary tapping quietly on Nureyev’s door at some ungodly morning hour.

He considered, for one glorious moment, slipping his eye mask back down and pretending to be asleep. Whatever it was could most likely wait until morning, and he needed a full face of makeup coupled with some strong tea to face--

File it away. Tying the sash of his robe as he walked, he crossed the small room and slid his cabin door open with one eyebrow raised.

“Rita, is there something I could assist you--” He began with a slightly concerned tone (Rita had yet to approach him one-on-one, and he assumed that she held similar suspicions to the rest of the crew) but she was already off at a fast-paced whisper (for Rita, a regular volume a bit hoarser than her normal speaking voice).

“Mistah Ransom! I couldn’t wake anyone else up ya see, ‘cause Miss Vespa’s with Miss Buddy, and Miss Buddy said I ain’t allowed to wake her up before five anymore unless something’s on fire--”

“A wise injunction,” Peter muttered.

“--and I thought a settin’ something a little on fire, just a tiny bit, ‘cause it’s the boss, and this’s an emergency, but then I said, boundaries are important Rita--”

Peter went to sweep a hand dramatically down his face, then remembered his eyeliner, then remembered it’s the middle of the night and he’s not actually wearing eyeliner, and ended up fluttering his hand exasperatedly around his head.

“Perhaps you could tell me exactly why you’re here so we can both get back to our beauty sleep?”

“Right! Well you know Mistah Steel’s been feelin’ sick,” she began, and Peter’s eyebrows drew together imperceptibly. As Rita began describing the food she’s been bringing him, returned uneaten, Peter nodded along and cast his mind over the past forty-eight hours.

Juno can’t be that ill, he would have noticed... Wouldn’t he?

Suddenly it’s difficult to tell how much Peter has written off when it comes to the new, softer version of the man he once knew. Juno had always been intelligent without even trying, confident, quick on his feet. Beautiful. Distracting. So when Peter woke up alone That Morning, he had to put Juno Steel in a box. A tiny, inconsequential box, where Juno was nothing special, and Peter could get out of bed in the morning.

It became increasingly difficult to keep Juno inside of the box when the real thing was living only two doors down, but Peter realized his desperate attempts to minimize the detective had made him ridiculously impartial.

When Peter could no longer pretend Juno was simply a bumbling fool, he chalked up the coffee spills, the small stumbles, and the misjudged distances to his missing eye.

The fatigue, the heavy clothing even in the sweltering climate of their last mission, the heat of Juno’s skin when he was playing drunk in front of their mark yesterday, and the way he leaned a bit heavier on the thief than he usually would-- it hadn’t occurred to Nureyev that none of these things could be attributed to loss of depth perception.

Peter frowned.

“--and you ain’t never sleepin’ much anyways, and the boss listens to you more than anyone else. Except me of course! And Captain Buddy. And when Vespa’s got her knife out she’s real intimidatin’--”

Listens to… Peter tucked the thought away quickly. For consideration in the very, very distant future. “I understand your concern, Rita. If Juno is refusing to take care of himself however, there’s not much we can--”

“Oh please, Mistah Ransom!” Rita cut in desperately, her eyes shining with… were those tears? “I’ve been real patient, but he told me he was feelin’ real strange just an hour ago and asked if I could get him some water and now he’s not answerin’ his door, and I could get it open myself, but what if it’s aliens, like in that one program, Aliens on a Spaceship--”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose.

The detective was likely sleeping off a bad cold and thinking little of the chaos he wreaked. He wasn’t worried... but Rita didn’t deserve this stress, and she probably wouldn’t be able to rest properly without an invesitagion...

“All right! I’m uncertain what you imagine I’ll be able to accomplish that you cannot, but if it will reassure you, I will… what exactly is it that you propose?”

Sleep was but a fleeting dream on the Carte Blanche, it seemed.

Rita broke into a face-splitting grin and latched one hand onto his wrist. The tears, he noticed, had miraculously gone.

***

Now, Nureyev is shifting awkwardly outside Juno’s door, balancing a tray of food in one hand and his pride in the other. He hears some shuffling from inside the small room and taps lightly on the aluminum panel.

Despite what he attempted to tell Rita, the thief is certain Juno will answer the door for him, no matter the hour.

“Juno, it’s me. Are you awake?”

...Which is why he’s surprised to hear silence in response to his greeting. He almost knocks again, but his pride won’t let him.

A child.

“Juno, I think we’d all like to get some rest, and Rita is incredibly concerned about your well-being. If you could at least--” he’s cut off by a loud thump that almost startles him enough to flinch.

Rita jumps about a foot in the air. “Boss?!”

That’s it. Peter simultaneously sets the tray down hard and pulls a thin blade from the pocket of his robe to prize the door open.

At first glance the room is empty, but Peter’s already inside, skimming his eyes across the muddle of dirty clothes and dishes. Where, where, where…

There. The bathroom door is open, and Juno is puddled on the floor, still. (Again.) Peter’s chest clenches and he’s momentarily back in Miasma’s chambers, faced with a series of impossible decisions. No, no, no .

He can’t breath, Rita is saying something and pushing past him but there’s a ringing in his ears, and he’s frozen, useless, selfish, how did he miss this--

Someone bumps into him and Peter swings around to see… Jet?

Peter’s idol has gently shouldered him out of the way and is making his way towards Juno. “I’ll get him to the medbay so Vespa can check him over.”

The medbay? Peter’s brain is scrambling to catch up, to categorize the way Rita is calmly kneeling by Juno’s prostrate form, chattering quietly, and Jet is stooping to scoop Juno’s body up like a child, when Juno… groans?

Peter’s frozen as scenes from the past play out over reality. Juno bleeding, Juno screaming.

“M’ okay, just cold,” he complains, pushing weakly at Jet’s arms.

“That is because you have a fever and did not allow Vespa to treat you when you should have.”

“Boss?”

“I’m fine, Rita, I just tripped,” he fights to keep his eye open and fails, muttering, “I’m so goddamn tired.”

The words building behind Peter’s teeth burst out. “Fever? What are you--” he tries again, “How did you?” Fails again.

Jet shoots a curious look at Peter’s wild hair, his mismatched slippers, the expression lingering on his face before Peter quickly clears it. The large man cocks his head.

“The ship has thin walls, and neither of you have been particularly quiet. I alerted Vespa that we would most likely need her medical skills, and then arrived to offer my assistance.”

Rita tugs on Peter’s robe. “Mistah Ransom? Thanks for your help tonight, you can get your rest now. Ol’ Rita’s got it under control!” With that, she plods after Jet’s receding figure, leaving Peter in the doorway, still holding his knife and feeling useless. He flicks it closed.

A fever.

For a second, he had thought… well.

The adrenaline hits afterwards, like it always does, and Peter picks up the discarded food tray with shaking hands. He has every intention of taking it to the kitchen and then slipping back to his room (Juno doesn’t need him), but his feet start carrying him in the opposite direction, towards the medbay, instead.

After all, Rita subsists off of salmon snacks, they might need some real food. And Jet is kind, but lacking bedside manner. Besides, Juno and Vespa don’t get along very well, and what if Juno says something in his fever-addled state that sets her off?

Best to check in, if only briefly. Thoroughness is important in his line of work.

Upon nearing the medbay however, he’s faced with a choice.

“In or out?” Buddy is leaning in the doorway, watching a growling Vespa try to place a hydration patch on Juno’s arm.

“Lie still!”

“I don’t remember asking for your help!” Juno’s barbed retorts are less sharp than usual, his eye clenched against the light, but Peter relaxes a bit. Vespa does not.

“If you don’t pipe down, you’re going to need more help than I can give you!”

Buddy glances at Peter briefly. “Not being able to admit weakness can become a weakness itself.” The captain sounds disapproving, but a slight smile touches her lips. “He’s very dramatic, don’t you think? A fever and a cough and he’s got us all gathered around like it’s his deathbed.”

“In,” Peter decides, “I’m going in.”

“Tell Vespa I’ll meet her back in bed when she’s finished. Good night, darling.” In a sweep of colorful satin, she’s gone.

He places the tray of food on a small end table. Jet is nowhere to be seen, but Rita is watching streams on her comm from a chair pushed against the foot of Juno’s bed. Peter drags a chair beside her and sits.

Despite her earlier dismissal, Rita doesn’t look surprised to see him. Without looking away from her screen, she holds her bag of salmon snacks towards Peter. He takes one. It isn’t terrible.

Vespa has finished wrestling with Juno and is thrusting her equipment back into the cabinets with a bit more force than necessary.

Over her shoulder, she intones, “Looks like he might live,” and jerks her thumb towards a box on the wall, “unfortunately. Call me if his fever gets over forty again. The box will beep. Might be loopy between doses, suppressant is heavy, it’ll only release every six hours.”

And then there were three.

Juno is restless, somewhere between waking and sleep for the next couple hours. When he starts speaking under his breath, Peter leans closer to listen, and Juno rolls to face him. He cracks his eye open and Peter’s heart jumps...

“You... shouldn’t be here.”

And drops. Of course Juno doesn’t want him here. He made his apology, but the Juno Steel who fell for a lonely thief with too many names has grown up. Changed.

“Rita?”

“Yeah, boss?”

Peter turns to go, until, “Rita… when I fell. When I… in my room, I thought I saw Ransom.”

And he couldn’t move if he tried. Rita reaches for Juno’s hand. “Yeah Boss, he’s right there!”

“No, he can’t be, I fucked up… I fucked things up so badly Rita.”

“Nope, he’s definitely right over there Boss.” Peter turns to see a distressed look cross Juno’s face.

“Rita, he’s gotta get out of here! Make him leave, you both have gotta get out…” he trails off, his eyebrows pulling together. He’s flipping through time so quickly, Peter isn’t sure where each scene ends and the next begins.

“Outta where? I think the meds have got you all turned in circles, Mistah Steel.”

He sounds more uncertain now, growing fainter. “I can take it, I can keep going if I know he’s safe, if you’re safe--”

“But we are safe, Boss.”

“I don’t… I can’t remember. But Rita,” his voice grows urgent again, “please, you can’t let him see me like this! I wanted,” he’s quiet for a long time. So long, Peter thinks he might have fallen asleep.

But as he softly approaches the bedside, Juno finds his words.

“I wanted him to see me better.”

Peter reaches Rita’s side feeling a strange tightness in his throat. She looks almost motherly as she pats Juno’s hand.

“I think he does, Boss.” With that, she raises her eyebrows at Nureyev (aside from her hacking skills, he never thought of Rita as particularly intimidating until that moment), grabs her snacks and comms unit, and tells Peter she’s going to get some water.

She doesn’t return for the rest of the night.

Peter is left with a softly snoring Juno and no idea what to do with his hands. He takes a seat and rests his fingers as close as he dares to the detective’s curls.

“I do. I do see you better, Juno,” he whispers.

***

Juno wakes up an hour before the next dose, shivering and trying to pull Peter’s arm over him. It almost gives Peter a heart attack.

He pulls a blanket from a nearby bed as soon as he can extract his arm. Grabs a second one for good measure. His arm is burning from where it came into contact with Juno, and for a moment he remembers another night, arm flung haphazardly around the detective, skin burning.

He resigns himself to a sleepless night.

Two hours later, he’s woken by Juno kicking and flailing under the now-sweaty pile of blankets.

As he smoothes a damp washcloth over Juno’s forehead, Juno mutters, ��No wait, Diamond, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve come home,” And oh the temptation to ask. Juno is feverish and lost in a past he’s locked away. As badly as he wants to unlock that past and spread it out before him in neatly ordered files that might give him an inkling of what makes up Juno, of who he’s supposed to be around this new Juno…

But he knows Juno would never forgive him if he took advantage now. So he is silent, stroking the cloth on Juno’s forehead. Biting his tongue.

When Vespa enters the medbay early the next morning, she wakes Peter with a snort. Somehow even her smugness is aggressive. After extracting his arm (again, damn it) from Juno’s vice-like grip, he wraps his robe a bit tighter and stalks out of the room, head held high even as he feels his cheeks burning.

***

“Over my dead body!”

“That can be arranged!”

Peter hesitates outside the medbay door, not sure he wants to walk straight into the crossfire. He’s managed to avoid Vespa and Juno’s battleground all day, but Buddy wouldn’t let that stand.

“I’m not taking your goddamn poison, Vespa!”

“Aw, I’m sorry, did I hurt your fragile little feelings? Would you like Ransom back?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your boyfriend was in here playing nursemaid all night,” Vespa growled, suspicion creeping into her voice. “Ya know, I’m starting to recall that neither of you ever did elaborate on where you know each other from.”

So Juno didn’t remember last night. He spluttered for a moment, but recovered enough to weakly retort, “Right, which you would know because… aw, Vespa, were you in here all night? I didn’t know you cared.”

“I couldn’t care less , I only know because--” Peter decided this was an opportune moment to interrupt. High excitement, bad for healing.

“Vespa! Tea, there you are, I brought a tray, is there anything else I could get for you?”

Juno was propped up, pale but coherent, and Vespa was standing over him, fists clenched. She whirled on Peter. “I don’t recall asking you for--”

“Excellent! I’ll leave it over here for your return. Buddy sent me with dinner for our patient, but would love to see you in the dining room. I trust that would be agreeable to you?”

For a moment Peter worried she might stay and argue, but with an exasperated “ fine ”, she turned heel and stalked off.

Faced with direct eye contact from a lucid Juno, Peter suddenly wished he hadn’t set the food down so fast. He needed something to do with his hands.

Juno broke the silence first, letting his head fall back on the pillows behind it. “Tell Buddy I can get my own dinner, you don’t have to trouble yourselves.”

Peter studied the detective. “It’s no trouble, Juno. You had us all worried,” he said quietly.

Juno scoffed. “I needed some whiskey and a good night’s rest, that’s all.”

“Rita was very concerned--”

This time Juno let out a derisive laugh. “Rita’s also very concerned about Greta Glamour and whether she’ll survive the robot ghost apocalypse next season. No offense, but she’s not the pinnacle of practicality.”

Peter knew Juno was being difficult on purpose. He knew he was embarrassed and picking a fight. He rose to the bait anyway, voice rising with each word. “You passed out on your bathroom floor because you couldn’t keep yourself upright! Jet had to carry you to that bed! Your fever was so high it was burning through your body and shutting it down--”

Juno cut him off.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset with me!” His voice became harsher. “No one wants to see you when you’re sick! No one likes you like that! It’s disgusting, it’s something you take care of privately, and why are you looking at me like that?”

Peter tried to keep his face neutral, but he felt his anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. It was obvious Juno was repeating someone else’s words. He felt a tug in his gut. Before he could come up with a response, however, Juno was talking again.

“God, Nureyev, I’m sorry, I completely went off at you. When,” he clears his throat and the words come out in a rush, “when I got sick in Hyperion, I just drank. Until I couldn’t feel it anymore. You’re right though, this was my bad.”

Peter moved to sit gingerly on the side of the bed. “No, Juno. It wasn’t your bad, or anyone’s bad. We all get sick.” He rested his hand on what he hoped was the general area of Juno’s knee. “We want to help because we care about you even when you aren’t at your best,” he caught Juno’s eye. “You don’t have to isolate yourself.”

Peter can’t help but feel a bit smug when he sees a deep blush rising up Juno’s throat. “Well I-- that’s-- thanks, I guess,” he grumbles. “But I’m going to get you sick too if you stay in here too long.”

“I think we passed that threshold last night, Juno dear.” He can’t keep the flirtation out of his voice any longer. It slips over him like a comfortable gown, hiding all his insecurities and doubts.

“What,” the detective deadpans.

“Speaking of,” Peter grows slightly more serious, “I wouldn’t hold a lady to the words she says while she’s in the throes of a fever, but you were apologizing. To someone, last night, quite distraught.”

Juno doesn’t break eye contact. His mouth opens a few times, as if he’s trying to shovel the right words out but they’re too heavy. At least for right now. The way he’s looking at Peter feels like a confession in itself as he says slowly, “Must’ve been delirious.”

“Well, the past is the past, and I say we drink to the future. Well, I’ll drink my tea, and you can drink the lovely medicine Vespa so kindly located for you.”

“Don’t push it, Ransom.”

“Or,” Peter stands to retrieve a bottle from the tray he brought in.

“Is that from Buddy’s private stash? You sly dog.” Juno lifts the alcohol appreciatively. The container is about a quarter full.

“Vespa’s, actually. I thought you deserved a bit of celebration since you missed the post-heist dinner last night.”

“Dangerous game, Nureyev. A toast?”

Peter lifts his teacup and says mildly, “To your health.”

Juno finishes half the bottle in a gulp and immediately begins spluttering. He rounds on Peter.

“Did you put medicine in a whiskey bottle?!”

“All the dishes were in the wash.”

“This isn’t a dish. This is trash.” The detective scowls deeply.

Peter only shrugs. “Rita saves them for something.”

“Rita--” Juno stops. Lets out a strange chuckle. Peter doesn’t inquire further, but the corner of his lips quirk upwards when he sees Juno sneak another sip and complain, “Vespa doesn’t even drink, damn it.”

I do see you better.

#peter nureyev #juno steel #jupeter #the penumbra podcast #hc juno calls nureyev ransom when they're alone to piss him off #rita ships it

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dc-x-readers · 6 years ago

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Daughter to Father (Dick Grayson x Reader)

Suggestion: Hey, what about a Teen Titans idea where the reader is unknowingly Slades daughter and is then torn between her friends and father?

OMG I had so much fun with this one! Thank you for the suggestion

You and Dick lay in bed together, your hands intertwined together. Lazily he ran his free hand through your hair and you traced a pattern on his chest. The tower was quiet tonight, and you two were just enjoying being together, existing in the same space.

“I had fun today.” Dick spoke softly into the darkness. You hummed in response, smiling at the thought of today. It had been a day with Bruce and Jason, officially meeting the parents.

There was a pause of comfortable silence before Dick ruined it, “You never talk about your family.”

You stopped tracing patterns abruptly, and looked at him, “there’s not much to tell.”

“Come on Y/N. You met my dysfunctional family.” He laughed.

“My family isn’t fun. It’s a shit show.” You said.

“Okay,” Dick spoke evenly, but you could hear the twinge of sadness in his voice, “You don’t have to tell me if your not comfortable.”

You knew that Dick would never push you on this, but he had opened up so much. He told you about the trauma of seeing his parents fall to their death. His story was just as bad as yours, and you figured you should share.

“Okay,” you sighed, “My parents met in the army, and they fell in love. When they came back to the US and had me, my mom she wasn’t all there any more. PTSD after the war, she would be fine one minute and the next she would think she was back in combat and see everyone as the enemy. But my dad, he loved her so much and he helped her, never left her.

“But because she was dangerous when she had her fits he taught me how to fight. I think I’ve been fighting for longer than I’ve been walking. And then one day my dad disappeared, the police looked for him, but they couldn’t find him anywhere. It hit my mom really hard, she ended up killing herself six month later. It was always Dad who kept her grounded, and she just couldn’t take it without him. So I was put into foster care, bounced around until I found you guys. And now I’m here.”

When you finished your story tears welled behind your eyes. It was weird thinking back to your family, you tried your best not to think of your own tragedies. Dick held you tighter, hugging you close to him.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. It’s not fair.” Dick whispered kissing the top of your head lightly.

“Don’t worry,” You smiled softly, “Everything that happened brought me to you.”

That night you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed, which isn't unusual. Dick likes a morning workout.

You stumbled your way to the kitchen, following the scent of coffee and the sound of your team. When you stepped into the threshold you Cyborg and Beast boy started laughing, while Raven looked mildly amused.

“See I told you,” Cyborg laughed, “She just appears when the coffee is made.”

“Well I hope you already poured my cup if you knew I was coming.” You replied shortly.

Cyborg laughed harder, and Raven used her powers to put a warm mug of coffee into your hands. You smiled thankfully and began to sip the coffee appreciantly, listening to Beast Boy tell an animated story about what happened at the pizza parlor the day before. Raven was rolling her eyes, muttering about being in love with an idiot.

Beast Boy was at the climax of the story when Dick in his full Robin attire came in followed quickly by Starfire. They both looked serious.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Dick started.

“Don’t be.” Raven interjected deadpanned. Beast Boy stuck his tongue out at her.

“But we got a time sensitive mission. We just received intel on where Deathstroke is.” Dick said, acting as if the exchange before didn’t happen.

The room grew deathly quiet. Deathstroke was one of the team’s worst enemies, and you all wanted to stop him. It was crazy to you how close you would get to him, only to be moments behind. You yourself had never seem the masked villain, but a few of the others had.

“We are going to start off in stealth, which means it’s Raven, Tigress, and me.” Dick said, using your code name instead of your real name. “Beast Boy, Starfire, and Cyborg form a perimeter. We are not letting him go this time.”

In less than ten minutes all of you were at the abandoned warehouse. You were about to go in but Robin caught your arm, and turned you to him. You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, but he slammed his lips onto yours. You melted into the kiss.

“Stay safe.” Robin whispered when he pulled away. And with that he ran off to start the mission. You stayed in your spot for just a moment, your fingers on your lips, the feeling of his kiss lingering.

Then you were running into the building. You were to look through the cat walks, search for Deathstroke. You moved in silence, the training your father gave you helping to search effectively. You gripped your twin batons that you fought with, tightly, taking comfort in their weight.

You were in a back corner of the warehouse, there was a door that hadn’t been on the blueprints that you poured over. You crept up to it, your heart thundering in your chest. Pressing your ear to the cold metal door, you took a deep breath and listened. On the other side someone was talking and pacing.

“The job’s done… Check the news if you don’t believe me, he’s dead.”

You stepped back shocked, and dropped both of your batons. The pacing and talking stopped, but you didn’t care.

You knew that voice.

Oh God that voice.

The metal door before you swung open and Deathstroke stood in full uniform, sword at the ready. You should have been scared, but you weren’t.

“Dad?” You asked, your voice choked off. “Daddy is that you?”

Deathstroke didn’t move for a moment, he looked all too tense. You weren’t sure if he believed you, but you hoped he would hear it in your voice, just like you had.

Suddenly he was running at you, and for a split second you thought that this is it, you were going to die. But no hurt came, instead Deathstroke wrapped his arms around you in the tightest hug you had ever experienced.

“Oh my baby girl.” your father whispered into your ear, his voice catching in his throat, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Dad, what happened to you. Where have you been?” You asked, and then a sense of anger came over you. You pushed away from your dad, and you could see pain in the way he held himself, but to his credit he didn’t move to stop you. “I thought you were dead.”

He took off his mask, showing a tired and worn face, a black eyepatch covering one eye. A long scar was around it. He looked so different, yet still undeniably like your father.

“The Bat, he took me away. Threw me in a secret jail, no trial no real justice. When I finally escaped I went home. I found out your mother died. You were in the foster system and they wouldn’t let me see you. I tried to find you Sweetheart, but your file was sealed. I’m so sorry that you had to deal with so much alone.” He was crying and tears welled in your eyes as well.

It wasn’t fair, none of it was.

How could Batman do something like that? You had looked up to Bruce, you had dinner with him less than twenty-four hours ago.

Then a terrifying thought crossed your mind, did Dick know about this secret jail? Anger bubbled in your gut.

You were so absorbed in the moment you had forgotten about the rest of the team, until Dick ran at Deathstroke. He must have gotten worried when you didn’t check, and had come to find you. You screamed when Dick lunged, and Deathstroke ran to you, not caring for his own life.

“Dick stop!” You screamed, but Dick didn’t listen. He swung for your father again, but your dad stood pushing you behind him, trying to protect you.

“Y/N run!” Your father commanded, blocking another punch.

“No!” You screamed. You just got your dad back, you weren’t leaving him.

“Y/N,” Dick yelled, his attacks coming faster, and more vicious, “What did he do to you?”

Your dad threw a sideways look at you over his shoulder, but didn’t comment on Dick’s words.

“Dick, please!” Your voice sounded whiney in your own ears, “Please leave him alone.”

It didn’t matter though, because your dad had a smoke bomb. He set it off, and slipped an arm behind your knees, scooping you into his arms. Behind you Dick was sputtering and coughing.

Your dad ran for about fifteen minutes, expertly evading all the Titans. You stayed silent, tears running down your cheeks. Why didn’t Dick just listen to you? If he had none of this would have happened.

Slade stopped on the roof of a warehouse a little while away, feeling safe that the Titans wouldn’t follow, he let you down. When you were finally on your feet again, your dad looked so broken, “Y/N are you okay? You’re crying.”

He looked you up and down, searching for injuries. You had none, only a splintering heart, “Why wouldn’t he listen to me Dad?”

Your dad looked very underprepared for the question. The last time you had spoken to him you were twelve, and boys were barely on your mind, and now you are in a healthy committed relationship. It was a strange jump for him.

“The boy back there?” Your dad asked awkwardly, making you cry harder.

“He’s my-my boyfriend. Why wouldn’t he just listen to me?” You asked, running into your dad’s arms. He hugged you back fiercely.

“Sweetie, I’m not a good person. I’ve hurt people, he thought he was protecting you.” Your Dad said, running a comforting hand through your hair.

How could your father be this understanding? You knew of his crimes, but he was being honest, and he was protecting your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who just tried to kill your father.

“I know Dad.” You whispered.

“If you want to go back to him. To them, I’ll understand.” He was hugging you so tightly. You could tell he was hoping you said you’d stay, but he would let you leave if that’s what you wanted.

“No,” You cried, “Clearly Batman isn’t as just as he claims. At least you are honest.”

The hug got impossibly tighter and you could feel wet tears on your shoulder. Your dad was crying.

I would be difficult, but you were a family again.

#dick grayson #reader insert #reader x dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #Teen Titans #teen titans reader insert #teen titans x reader #slade wilson #deathstroke #DC comics #DC comcis #dc comic imagine #dc comics reader insert #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine

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thedistantstorm · 5 years ago

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Keep On Rising (Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 10

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

This time: Zavala calls in a favor, Amanda meets Eva.

There are obstacles, road blocks… challenges, to any objective.

He is not a man who allows himself to stray from the task at hand, except when necessary. This isn’t technically necessary - not to him - but he knows that the consequences of not following through will outweigh the repercussions of missing three minutes of faction banter.

Really, no matter how long the three heads argue, the outcome will still be the same. Lakshimi has the funding for her project and will proceed with her objective, paying Hideo to produce the weapons she requires, leaving Arach Jalal licking his wounds because if he wants new ships, he’ll only have the meager support of the Vanguard’s budget - and only if he plays nicely.

For a man who consistently says whatever thought crosses his mind without any situational awareness, it’s a rather unpleasant deal. To Zavala, he’d rather they skip that part, and forego the carrying on leading up to it.

He’d made a promise this morning. Foolishly. He presumed nothing large would come up, Ikora was on duty tonight, she could handle anything short of a large-scale attack on the City, and this meeting was supposed to adjourn at least three hours earlier. He knew better than to assume.

What were you going to do? Shiori asks silently between them while Jalal throws his tantrum in the direction of Lakshimi-2. She knows you come when you’re able.

Maintaining his look of inscrutable stoicism, he answers in kind. She was looking forward to this. I never speak so specifically on purpose, and now…

It was going to happen eventually, She replies through their link. And honestly, you’re going to have to get used to it, if this is ever going to work. There’s a pause. And I think that’s the part you’re more worried about, if you ask me.

Shiori. Though it’s not particularly audible, the Ghost understands his tone immediately. It’s the tired one he uses with Cayde-6, most of the time.

So, if you’re not going to make it, you’re going to have to think of an alternative. Someone else who might not be in this meeting and would be free. Someone who’s good with kids, easy to get along with, won’t pepper Amanda with questions…

Shiori.

What?

Zavala’s only physical reaction is a small part of his lips, a practiced glance at the ceiling. Around him, the room carries on, oblivious to their conversation. See if Eva is free. Please.

The nurses try to get her to eat. They bring her both dinner choices from the hospital’s cafeteria, make offers of ice cream and sweet treats. She doesn’t want any of it. Zavala promised he’d bring them both dinner. He never makes promises, but he always follows through. Maybe something happened.

She asks the nurses, but they simply sigh and tell her that he’d likely gotten busy. He was very important, didn’t she know?

Of course she did. Anytime she asked him for something it was always in that way that suggested maybe he could, that he didn’t have to. She knew eventually it would all run out, everything did. She’d have to go back to the orphanage and it would be back to one day every few months. If she was lucky, she might see him for an hour or two.

But she could enjoy it while it lasted, she thought. He was the one who asked her this time, not the other way around. She knew he would come through. He always did.

So, when the door to her room slides open very tentatively, she freezes. That isn't Zavala, she knows it instantly. Her eyes darken, narrowing in distrust on the newcomer and the bag in her arms.

"Hello, dear," The woman says in a heavily accented voice. She lingers in the doorway, holding up the bag. A look of momentary confusion twists her lips into something concerned, but it's there and gone. "Zavala sent me. He was worried you might be getting hungry. He's been stuck in a meeting all evening and isn't sure when it will end." She looks at Amanda's face, not her stump. And she seems pretty nice, Amanda supposes, but she still doesn't trust her.

The woman steps into the room, her brown hair glinting with a hint of gray under the fluorescent lighting. "May I?"

She nods. "Will he come after?" And then, nose scrunching, she asks, "And, uh, who are you, anyway?"

A laugh comes in reply. The woman sets aside the tray of untouched hospital good, pulling out rice and beans in a clear container and a few opaque containers that look like meats. The girl stares in rapt surprise.

"My name is Eva. Eva Levante." She sets to arranging the contents of the containers onto a plate - a real one, not the plastic ones the hospital uses. "I know he promised you something from one of his favorite restaurants, but between you and me, I think he likes my cooking better."

Amanda swallows hard. "Smells real good," She concedes in a whisper. "Do," She looks to Eva, "Do ya think he'll come after his meetin'?"

That makes Eva pause. "Oh, don't you worry, my dear. He'll come see you as soon as he's done. He seemed very upset that he hadn't been able to make it on time." She hands the child a fork. "I brought him some dinner as well," She smiles, winking, "He works too hard. Someone has to keep an eye on him."

When Zavala arrives hours later, Eva is reading. It's nearly eleven, and it's apparent that he is bone tired, but he slips in quietly and offers her a grateful nod.

"She just drifted off about half an hour ago. Tried to hold out as long as she could, but the pain started to get to her. She didn't want them to knock her out before you got here."

"She's stubborn," He answers gently. "Thank you. Truly, I-"

"Yer here," Amanda calls, woozy, blinking her eyes to fight off the effects of the narcotics. Her hands reach toward him and he smiles, taking the few steps to her bedside, leaning down, and letting her hug him. Returning it, even, with a very gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry I'm late," He whispers, but she's shaking her head into his chest.

"'S ok," She drawls. "Jus' wanted ta see you."

He hears Eva rise sharply behind him and it strikes him immediately. This is - he detangles himself from Amanda, who blinks in hazy confusion - how this must be a difficult thing for her to walk into blindly.

"M's Eva?"

The well-dressed woman pauses, halfway to letting herself out. Zavala looks at her back, sees her fists clenched and his heart feels like it's breaking. Of course. He should have thought this through. He knew what she'd been through, this was asking so much of her.

"Thanks fer sittin' with me," Amanda slurs sleepily. "An' dinner, too. Wus' nice."

Eva nods, tilting her head so that only the side of her face is visible, shadowed in the yellow lights. "I'll come visit again, my dear," She says. "Get some rest."

"Eva."

"Don't worry about me, Zavala. It's alright." She turns all the way back, giving him a watery smile. Her voice is thick with emotion, and it guilts him terribly. "You call me any time she needs."

"Thank you," He answers, hoarsely.

"She lost people, too," Amanda murmurs a little later, her breaths so slow and even it's as though she's already asleep. He hums in agreement, knowing she'll be out like a light soon enough. She probably won’t even remember it. "She's still nice though."

"She is," Zavala agrees. “Would you mind if she came back?”

“Nah,” She hums, breathing heavier. Zavala pulls up the blankets she’s mussed in her attempt to sit up and greet him, tucking her in before taking up his usual spot beside her bed for the night. “Like yer friend.”

Eva is waiting for him in the Plaza the following afternoon.

“You didn’t have to send me flowers,” She chides, hands on her hips. “It was was not a big deal.”

“You helped me, yet it upset you,” He answers. They fall into step rather easily, their destination determined by time of day. “That was not my intent.”

“There is not a mean bone in your body, Zavala. It was just surprising.” She gives him a knowing smile. “I would not have taken you to be so… indulgent.”

The Commander coughs politely, almost bashful. “Neither would I,” He admits.

“She’s a special girl.” Eva presses, and Zavala nods in agreement, almost too subtle to notice.

Eva chances another glance his way, a wistful smile on her face. “Something tells me this isn’t just a random act of kindness. You look conflicted. Tell Eva what you are thinking.”

“It’s all right,” Zavala answers. “I don’t-”

“Amanda told me you’ve been sitting with her every evening since she was injured. And those bags under your eyes confirm it. You are not sleeping, Commander. You’re going to drive your Ghost crazy not taking care of yourself.” She wags a finger at him. Eva might be the only person in the City who has the gall.

“I’m fine.”

His Ghost flickers into the cradle made by their shoulders as they walk side by side. Eva might be shorter than Zavala, but Shiori finds a happy medium between the two of them. “I told him he needs to get used to this. It’s an adjustment phase.”

The Tower vendor stops moving. “Really,” She sounds rather elated, the opposite of what Zavala is expecting. He’d been preparing for bittersweet. He turns and evaluates her to make sure the conversation isn’t upsetting her, as the situation had last night. “You wish to take the child in? She did not seem to think-”

“I’m considering it,” Zavala admits, quietly. “I have not made any definitive plans as of yet.”

Eva hums, continuing on, passing him by. She catches his elbow, squeezing the unarmored part above it. “I think that would be wonderful,” She gushes.

Zavala blows out a controlled breath, sighing, “I have no idea where to begin.”

“No one ever does, Zavala.” Eva smiles at him proudly. Her endorsement is nearly tangible. “You learn from them as much as they learn from you.”

#destiny fanfic #amanda holliday #commander zavala #Shipwright September #eva levante #zavala is tower dad

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lovetnaomi · 5 years ago

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Secrets of the Dusk Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Uraraka set the cups on the table, there wasn’t much they could do except return to the house where they were staying. She glanced between Katsuki and Professor Bakugo, the lingering feeling that she didn’t quite belong to this conversation moving closer and closer to her conscious mind. “I’ll go wake Todoroki, he’s probably up by this hour.” She whispered, standing, but hoping that they really didn’t hear her or would acknowledge her. She wasn’t sure quite yet what they were going to do about Professor Bakugo. But at this point in time, he was a current danger to Katsuki.

“You’ve got to come back! Your mother and I have missed you so much! I can’t-I just can’t believe you’re alive.”

Tears that would drown a fish in its own tank rushed out of professor Bakugo’s eyes as he sat across from Katsuki, likely going through a scene that he thought over in his head over a thousand times only to know that it was just but a daydream. Knowing that because of some psycho he would never have even the last chance to bury his son. But now in his eyes, his son was sitting right across from him, moving as if nothing had ever happened in the first place.

Her voice turned to a hushed whisper, “I’ll go get Todoroki.” Before moving into the other room. He was asleep, but he would be able to help figure out the problem.

Seraphina stood near Todoroki’s door, one of the books from the library in her hands, “It’s a grimoire. From an ancient and powerful witch, but it doesn’t seem to be taken from a witch…it almost seems like a gift.” Seraphina glanced towards her, “Oh, sorry, I’m mumbling to myself in the hallway, you’re probably curious now ain’t ya? Most of the books in the library are either prison worlds or have a decent amount of damage on them. This one does not and only contains healing and barrier spells. It’s the kind of book I would give as a gift to a newbie witch. Probably for the birthday right after they get their powers.”

“Interesting, I’m actually going to see Todoroki to discuss a problem with him,” Uraraka paused, a hand on the door, “Do you know how to help?”

Seraphina shook her head, “It’s probably best not to help him. At this point…he might turn rabid being allowed to roam free after such a long confinement.”

Uraraka bit her lip, “Rabid?”

“You know, like a blood-binger? It’s a common trope in all the vampire lure for a reason. It’s that dangerous that even humans with little to no psychic ability instinctively try to get away from someone who’s gone rabid or is on a blood-binge.”

Uraraka nodded, glancing towards Todoroki’s door. Katsuki might not have seemed as level-headed to someone who had just met him, but there was no way that Katsuki would allow himself to lose control of himself to such an extent that he wasn’t able to control himself. “I think he would be alright. I trust him.”

Seraphina coughed, “It’s not about trust.”

Uraraka shut the door behind her moving to Todoroki’s bedside, sitting on the bed, “Hey, Todoroki? How are you feeling?” Seraphina said the rest of getting rid of the curse would basically be like a human sweating out a fever, Uraraka reached over for the cloth.

Todoroki shot out of bed one hand grabbing her arm, eyes wide, and the other glowing.

Uraraka glanced towards the floor, doing her best not to let her eyes slide towards the glowing hand raised at her, “Sorry…I was just trying to change the cloth.”

Todoroki shook his hand attempting to get the fire to dim out as she slid her frost-covered underneath her other hand, “It’s alright. I thought the Witch of the Forest would tell you it’d be dangerous to go in here.”

“She said it’d basically be like a fever, but she probably didn’t realize that I would scare you. You know having the atmosphere of mostly a human after all.”

Todoroki nodded slowly, before glancing towards her, “It’s not often you come into my room, what’s wrong?”

Uraraka looked at her hands, attempting not to fiddle with them, “Katsuki’s father is here. He wants to take him home.”

Todoroki took a breath, inhaling deeply, before glancing towards the perilous stack of books that would soon need a mountain climber for a librarian stacked next to the bed lamp. “We should let him go, then shouldn’t we?”

“It’s important to be with his family. But-he’s going to get hurt….I’m sure he already knows…I’m sure he was hurting already. But I can’t-“

Todoroki’s door swung open, “Don’t you two make decisions for me.”

Uraraka glanced towards Katsuki leaning on the door, “I know what happens to vampires with intense emotions, I know what happens to those that try to stay with their families or explain. He’s been pressing me for answers for how and why.”

Uraraka nodded, “Then what are we going to do?”

“You two are going to do nothing. I will take care of it.” He shook his head before returning to the kitchen where he could clearly hear Seraphina attempting to entertain Professor Bakugo.

“He’s trying to ease your worries in his own way.”

“Do you think he’s happy? To see his father?”

Todoroki leaned his head back against the headboard, “I don’t know, I’m not much of one to speak on families. And he’s never told me himself about his family. I tried to offer him a condolence to find his family and explain the situation once.”

She glanced towards him, the look on Todoroki’s face as he stared towards the ceiling telling her that the result would be less than amicable.

“He told me not to bother, it would only make matters worse.”

“His father seemed just concerned.”

“He was worried about what his mother would think. He said that his mother was a lot like him, but she’s louder with her opinions. Likely would’ve complained that he lost the fight.”

“He died, how can- how would a parent be so cruel?” Uraraka curled her fingers through some fabric. It was just too cruel to imagine. That not even in death was he able to escape his mother’s judgment or concern about her harsh words.

“Sometimes people are just people. Even if their blood, sometimes, they’re just strangers. Strangers that happen to share your DNA.” His voice was soft, gentle, as though he was speaking words, truths, his truths, that he had to break to himself thousands of times before.

“Alright, I’ll go see if they need anything.”

Todoroki nodded, “If anything goes wrong call me.”

Uraraka nodded, moving towards the kitchen, Seraphina stood in the hall, her fingers paging rapidly through the book in her hands and satchel filled with grimoires, “I’m leaving tell the Demon of the Forest I said thanks for the books, I’ll return them when I’m ready. I’m going to fight to expand the territory the people at the edge have been driving me nuts for days.” Seraphina smiled, not having moved a single inch from the spot she was in before she entered the house.

“Will do.”

“Also,” Seraphina sighed, turning Uraraka’s arm over, “Be more careful. He may seem like he has his powers under control and he’s not quite timid. But he carries an anger that only some would understand.”

“I’ll take your advice, but I won’t stay away.”

Seraphina laughed, handing over a wet washcloth, “Run that under some cold water and gradually get warmer so you don’t burn yourself. Also, that officer you met yesterday? He wasn’t an officer at all, don’t keep looking for Officer Jenkins found his body in a sewer a couple days ago, just keeping looking for his presence and stay away from it.”

“I’ll make sure to keep that advice too…but how am I supposed to catch them then?”

Seraphina scoffed like she was looking at a child, “You want to deal with supernaturals based on human law? You’re talking to the wrong person on how supernatural law works.” Her eyes lingered towards Todoroki’s door, “It’s not as stringent, but we try to keep a decent balance around here, but it’s not going to be the same. I hope you have a good long talk with those in charge and about our rules before you try to catch them.”

Uraraka nodded, wrapping the cloth around her arm before beginning to move to the kitchen. A shadow leaning over her, Uraraka glanced towards them.

Katsuki sighed, likely looking over the frostbite beginning to cover her arm, “I’ll tell him to be more careful.”

“Do not mention it. I kept it hidden for a reason. Don’t tell him.”

Katsuki leaned on the wall, observing a house that he had observed likely a thousand times in his nearly two-year imprisonment of the building, “My dad wants me to go home.”

Uraraka swallowed attempting not to let her concerns bubble to her chest, not to let the concerns that were beginning to overflow affect his decision, “Are you going then?” She couldn’t meet his eyes, she wasn’t ready, she didn’t want the answer. Anyone would want to go home after two years. Especially, after two years of taking care of two strangers.

“Yeah…” He paused, before glancing back to the other room, “Did you want to go with me?”

“I can’t leave Todoroki here by himself. Not after everything he’s offered us and everything he’s done for us….not after that incident…not until I fix it.”

“We’re just going to visit. I need someone to drive us back if we stay too long, can’t exactly try to drive while trying not to sizzle.”

Uraraka laughed, he wasn’t making eye contact but staring into the other room. With any other tone she would’ve thought that he was just watching his father fiddle with the mug in front of his hands, “Are you speaking from experience?”

A barely noticeable blush sprung to his cheeks, “Hey, it’s not like anyone else wouldn’t have attempted it already.”

“So, can you go outside if you’re wrapped in those curtains?”

“It’s not much of a journey. Can’t see anything so there’s no point.”

Uraraka nodded, “I’ll come along.”

“I’ll tell Todoroki we’re leaving; we should be back tonight.”

Uraraka moved, lowering herself to sit across from Professor Bakugo, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was your son.”

Professor Bakugo let out a small laugh, his hand clinging tighter to the mug, “You know? That question you asked when I first handed out the project makes a lot more sense now. How did you come to live here?”

Uraraka glanced at the table, maybe one day her mouth would run dry of answering this question and begin to refuse to work, “I was being chased. They helped me.”

Professor Bakugo nodded, “So, are you like the other two?”

“Supernatural? Who knows?” She shrugged as Professor Bakugo seemed to give a knowing nod.

“Sometimes the world is just like that.”

Bakugo threw a bag over his shoulder, “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“You’re going to see your mother. It’s been a while.”

Katsuki shrugged, before turning to lead them out to the car, “Did he need anything before we left?”

“Make sure we locked the door.”

The lock was already underneath her hand as they slid into the car. For most of the drive they were silent, Professor Bakugo would sometimes offer a word or two, or ask them how long they could stay for or ask what was in the bag Bakugo had brought with him but he was frequently answered with a grunt or a half-answer signaling that Katsuki wasn’t ready to reveal any of this information to him. It didn’t take long for them to get to the Bakugo’s house, Katsuki shuffled the bag over his shoulder, almost protectively sliding it behind him, before glancing up towards the house. If a passing stranger were to jog by, they would assume that he was staring at the building in disgust or contempt. But Uraraka knew what it was, it was longing. He wanted to go home. His father slid out of the car looking between the two of them as Uraraka hit the buttons on the car keys.

The front door swung open, “Where have you been all night!” Mrs. Bakugo snapped from the front steps. If one were to assume that males usually take after their mother, they would likely be right in this circumstance, she appeared exactly how Uraraka had expected Katsuki’s mother to look like. Anger blazed in her eyes as she darted down the stairs, “And where in the world have you been! You get your butt in here before you wake the whole street!” She snapped, dragging Katsuki into a neck-lock and up the stairs into their home, her mouth full of words berating him for disappearing and worrying him. As much as Uraraka was sure that he was strong enough to make her let go, he was letting her drag him along.

Uraraka took a shaky step towards the house, “It’s alright, come in.” Uraraka nodded towards Professor Bakugo, unsure if she was being invited in as a guest or the perpetrator of the whole situation. A glass of whatever liquid was in the house was slammed down in front of her as Katsuki sat across from her, his parents on each side, “Where have you been? And you better tell us the full story and the truth! I can’t believe you had us worried sick! Do you know how often the police come here to update us on your so-called tragic case? I can’t believe you would go out of your way to stage your death. This better not be for a girl you never seemed like that,” Mrs. Bakugo glanced towards her, “And she seems like the type that would drag you back here after learning your story.” Mrs. Bakugo grunted, pulling knots from her hair and an elbow on the table, “And while you’re at it tell me where Izuku went, Mrs. Midoriya has been worried sick.”

Uraraka swallowed, Mrs. Bakugo would never receive the answers that she wanted.

Katsuki’s hands clenched, tightening around the fabric of his pants, his voice a soft mumble, “I couldn’t protect him.”

“Huh? Speak up!”

“I said he’s fine! I’m sure he just wandered off and got himself lost!” Katsuki snapped, before glaring back down at the table.

Mrs. Bakugo scoffed, “You two knew this city like the back of your hands, I’m sure two years is more than enough to constitute lost.” She sighed, slamming some food onto the table.

“Don’t waste the food.” Katsuki sighed, pushing the plate back towards her.

“You’ve been missing for two years and you’re going to tell me you’re well-fed? Fine. Starve on my account, it’s not like I wanted a meal with my son anyway.”

Mrs. Bakugo slammed a plate in front of her, “It’s not poisoned, so hurry up and eat.”

Uraraka nodded, as Mrs. Bakugo placed a hand against her head, “So, you’re telling me not only did you come home after not sending even a letter for two years straight, but also don’t know where little-Izuku is?”

Katsuki’s eyes darkened. He knew where Izuku was, but no one at the table was going to like the answer. The red sparkle in his eyes glimmered, almost seeming to sparkle as the next words he spoke came across huskily, “Don’t worry about where Izuku is. It won’t do you any good.”

Mrs. Bakugo suddenly went quiet, returning to her dishes, setting one out for Professor Bakugo as he slid into his seat from the other room. Uraraka glanced towards Katsuki as he shook his head, as if a way to say don’t mention it.

Mrs. Bakugo made some grumbling noises, as Bakugo picked up an empty plate that Uraraka was unsure where he had gotten it from, “I’m done, I’m going to wash the dishes.” He mumbled, before excusing himself from the room, dragging the bag he had brought with him behind him.

Mrs. Bakugo sighed, “Listen, I’m sure from your perspective it sounds like I’m a bad mother…I was just…worried. I thought I lost my son. I am relieved he’s alive, but he disappeared one night and never came back. The next morning the police were on my doorstep telling me that he and the neighbor’s child were dead. I couldn’t even bury my own son; they had no bodies.” She paused, recollecting the plates. “I have a lot of emotions right now, and this is the only way I’m able to really express them. But I promise I care for my son. If he’s alive I’m sure the neighbor’s son is,” But he wasn’t. “I just want to know what happened….and why he didn’t come to me for help.”

Uraraka nodded, resisting the urge to put her hand on top of Mrs. Bakugo to comfort her, “I’m sure he has his reasons. Everyone does. But I think they each need time to deal with what they need before they come to terms with it. He’ll come around when he’s ready.”

A small smile tilted on her face, “I don’t know who you are, but I’m sure my son trusts you very much to bring you back here when it was going to be such a rough night. Please keep letting him rely on you.”

Uraraka nodded, “Of course.” She glanced towards the kitchen, barely visible through the crack in the door, Katsuki holding his arms as he stared out the window, a form of anger and regret lingering in his eyes, “I’ll go get him to rejoin us.”

Mrs. Bakugo nodded, letting her go to the kitchen.

Uraraka approached quietly, placing a hand gently on his arm, “hey-“

She felt a small jump under her arm that she wouldn’t have noticed if she wasn’t touching him, “Guess witches are good at disguising their presence too, but who knows what prey they would want with that skill.”

Uraraka let out a small laugh, “Go back to your mom. She doesn’t mean her harsh words.”

A sigh escaped him, “She does. Growing up Izuku was significantly weaker than most children, but he clung to me like a bunch of burs in the woods.” Katsuki sighed, washing the dish that he likely had grabbed from the kitchen cabinets to appease his mother after whatever he had did to her to make her quiet about Izuku. “He was with me….the night…” Katsuki paused, staring at the water running throughout the sink, “that night.” He turned the knob.

“Your parents didn’t seem to think he was with you, maybe he could still be alive? Or like you?’

“Did you not hear the part about significantly weak? He’s dead.” The sink knob bent slightly underneath his pressure as he released it, “Todoroki gave me some instructions for us to get out of this mess.”

“This mess? That’s your family in there.”

“My very human family. Do you not know what happens to vampires that stick around with their human family? They kill them.” Katsuki reached for the hefty bag at his ankles, throwing the strap back over his shoulder, “Let’s get this over with.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to erase their memories, the sooner the better.”

“You died! You could at least talk to her for a while!”

“She wouldn’t understand! She never does!”

“You’re similar to her in that regard where you can’t say what you mean! Go tell them you missed them and care for them!”

“What am I supposed to tell her? By the way mom I have no idea where Izuku is, pretty sure he’s dead, it’s my fault and by the way I lost the fight against a serial killer? Oh, one more thing, I’m dead.” Katsuki’s eyes blazed and were in pain at the same time. But they blazed with the words that he had thought to himself a thousand times, but never wanted to physically hear. Uraraka’s eyes slid to the open kitchen door.

Mrs. Bakugo stood the plates unsteady in her hands and confusion painted clearly on her face, “Katsuki, what do you mean? You’re standing here right now.” Tears were pricking her face as though she had somehow known the answer the whole time. The reason the cops had shown up at her door two years ago, the reason there was no body, the reason he hadn’t come to visit. “I forbid you from leaving with that girl, you’re not going anywhere until you explain everything in detail.”

Katsuki ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “I was going to start with dad because I thought he’d be easier,” he muttered shuffling through his bag. Uraraka took a breath knowing better than to look down, knowing better than to look in the bag. But she needed to. There was no stopping her from watching what he was about to pull out of the large duffle bag he had brought with him. The red bag unsteadily sloshed in his hand as Katsuki took a large swig, a darkening red running down the side of his mouth before he turned to his mother, not bothering to wipe off the red lines that smeared across his face.

Mrs. Bakugo swallowed, crossing her arms, her voice shook, “Whatever you’re planning on doing you will do no such thing. You will stand there and explain yourself.”

A soft hollow laugh came from Bakugo as he reached for his mother, locking eyes with her, “You had a little too much to drink, had a nightmare and woke up to having a very similar dream to your husband not that you would admit it. If you ever meet someone that looks like me in the streets or in public you will not call his attention to it, but instead insist you and your husband go the other way knowing full well that if your son was to actually come back to life it would only be a trick and a lie. It would hurt just as much. Now, go to bed knowing that this nightmare was a blessing and a warning.”

Mrs. Bakugo nodded, turning before walking towards her own bedroom. Katsuki’s eyes glowed, in the way a glowstick glowed after it was broken. And behind his eyes he was hiding how positively bright that glow was about to be.

“I guess I’ll go see my dad now.”

“Make sure to say goodbye this time.”

“I was never supposed to get the chance to say good-bye. That’s the way this world works. When you’re dead you don’t get that chance to say good-bye. When you’re dead, you’re just dead.”

Uraraka grabbed his arm, struggling not to press her hand into his arm muscles, but also not pull him back to look her in the face, “And here you are standing here, with a second chance to do just that. Say good-bye. It’ll be alright.”

The tension in his arm loosened although his voice didn’t betray it, “I’ll consider it.” Before he moved to the other room. Uraraka took a breath, trying not to listen, doing her best not to hear Katsuki’s voice crack as he said the good-bye to his father that he never thought that he would get. Not to listen to his father pleading with him, knowing full-well what was coming next. And not to listen to the soft padding of Professor Bakugo returning to what he would be to her, just professor Bakugo. Her elective professor who she had met by chance.

Katsuki came in, swiftly picking up the bag and keys before clomping down the stairs, swiftly out the door as though the house itself was what was burning him. Uraraka followed steadily behind after cleaning the glasses and any signs that guests had been within the house, locking the door carefully behind them. Katsuki stood there, the light reflecting on him as he stared towards the streetlamp, likely a string of curses of its existence teasing him so, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair full of frustration. Guilt ran through Uraraka for thinking it, but with the light showing his skintight shirt rippling up his back muscles, he looked good. Guilt ushered its way back for her. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.” She whispered nearing him.

“I know that!” He snapped, trying to hide all of his give away quirks that he was mad. He didn’t dare to turn to face her, he had left the blood caked to his face to scare his mother so that from the depths of her subconscious she wouldn’t even try to search for him. “It’s just, it’s just” His hand ran back into his hair as his voice trailed off.

Uraraka took a breath, leaning against the car and pulling him against her, “It’s going to hurt, that’s normal. But until you’re ready rely on us.”

Uraraka wished she had an umbrella, Katsuki’s head stuffed into her chest, and rain poured down Katsuki’s face dripping onto the sidewalk.

***

It had been late into the night when Katsuki and Uraraka returned home, they quickly made their way to their rooms, not without Uraraka moving to Todoroki’s to check to see if he was awake, check his fever muttering about how she was unsure if that was the right temperature and plans to ask Fuyumi in the morning. Todoroki slid out of bed not long after. He carried himself against the wall wandering what they had attacked him with that he was so weak for so long. It shouldn’t have been much longer now, especially that the fever was beginning to break. It had gotten the Witch of the Forrest in enough of a frenzy for her to come along to see him. Surely, she was just after whatever form of magic they had been using to add to her collection. And the debt they owed her through a favor.

Todoroki attempted to ignore the fact that they had come home smelling like each other. They had gone to Katsuki’s house, he needed to acknowledge that fact that Uraraka was going to smell like the Bakugo’s either way. And that it was going to be a rough experience for the both of them. As much as he wished he could’ve gone with them, something told him that Bakugo’s pride would’ve never allowed him to do as such. Todoroki moved to where the noise in the house was coming from, the kitchen. Katsuki was likely still outside his room in an attempt to distract himself.

“Katsuki? Are you alright?” He moved to the kitchen, the satchel he had taken with him completely empty, the sound of Katsuki dry heaving from the kitchen, causing him to open the door faster. Todoroki felt his shoulders relax seeing Katsuki with his hands pressed to the kitchen sink, but tense again when he looked at his surroundings. Katsuki spit out blood into the kitchen sink. Bags of blood laid around the kitchen floor, each completely empty. Todoroki swallowed attempting to resist the logic that was boiling in his head. “I didn’t realize you had gone through all of it, it’s been a while I’ll get you more.”

Katsuki fell to one knee, attempting not to damage the counter, “Don’t look at me.” He snapped, red caking his face.

Todoroki swallowed. Those blood bags were typically a year’s ration for him. And he had drunk it all within the fifteen minutes that they had been home. There was something wrong. Todoroki glanced towards the bags at Katsuki’s feet, they weren’t what he typically used to collect blood either, “Where did you get this blood?”

“You gave it to me, in the hall.” Katsuki’s fingers dug into the floor, the starting signs of an addiction vibrating through him. The typical vampire’s blood-levels were lower than a human’s, which meant faster intoxications. Todoroki had read about the coaxing smell of a human’s blood. How it was positively addicting to most vampires. He would have to. Todoroki breathed the remaining scent from the floor in. Human. Todoroki swallowed, hearing Uraraka pad to the kitchen door, he pushed his hand against it as she began to try to open it.

“Hello?”

“It’s just me, I got a little sick. Don’t come in here.” Todoroki croaked, miming for Katsuki to be quiet, but his human-heart strummed against his chest. Upon hearing Uraraka’s voice, Katsuki’s eyes glowed significantly brighter than he had ever seen. Whoever had thrown human blood into his bag and whoever had disguised themselves as him was going to pay for throwing his house into chaos. Katsuki crashed against him, as Todoroki threw him back towards the other side of the kitchen. Several things clattered from the cabinets.

“Are you okay? It’s okay, it’s normal, I’ll come in and help you clean up.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry, just go get a drink of water from the bathroom.”

“Are you sure?”

Todoroki glared towards the book sitting on the table, “Positively.” It wouldn’t be the worst world to put him in, and it was now vacant. He snatched the book up off the table, struggling to grab Katsuki before slamming his face into the book and slamming the book closed as fast as he could against Katsuki’s struggling.

“I’m coming in.” Uraraka glanced around the kitchen her eyes wide, her mouth agape as she searched for the right words to ask, “Where’s Katsuki?”

Todoroki glanced down towards the book in his hands, knowing he only had himself to blame. He shouldn’t have brought a human back into his house in the first place. He knew what the right thing to do was. He had a promise to keep to her. But the more important one was the promise he had to her safety. He would need to tell her to leave. Uraraka was ankle-deep in blood bags and yet she was looking for Katsuki, concern on her face, instead of properly placed fear. Todoroki shuffled up from the floor, the book not leaving his clutches, nor his side until he figured out how to help him, “Uraraka, I’m afraid there are a couple of things that we need to talk about.”

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sxypigeon · 6 years ago

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Part 4: Pharmercy Beginnings

A/N: The last chapter of my pre-recall Pharmercy story.

After the fall of Overwatch, Dr. Ziegler spends her time traveling the world helping people, occasionally with the help of Helix and Fareeha Amari. Nosy coworkers try their best to bring the two together, but as the doctor is called away, Talon plots . . .

Part 1 warnings: none, just sarcasm and fluff

Part 2 warnings: attempted assault, violence

Part 3 warnings: none, more fluff

Part 4 warnings: assassinations, NSFW, cough-sex-cough

Fareeha took a sip of her tea as she adjusted the volume of her headphones. A twenty year old version of Angela flashed a shy smile as the auditorium’s applause died down during her first TED talk.

[Before I begin, I have a bit of a confession to make. I’ve been asked at least five times over the last two years to give a TED talk, but up until now I’ve been able come up with reasonable excuses to decline: I’m too busy working or researching, I don’t know what country I’ll be in four days from now, I hate public speaking - please don’t make me do it.]

The soldier smiled. While the doctor did hate speaking in front of crowds, she was proficient at it even then.

[I’m here today because I finally ran out excuses . . . and because my mentor threaten to confiscate the coffee maker from my office if I didn’t.

[My name is Angela Ziegler, I’m a surgeon and researcher at Universitätsspital Zürich. In my spare time, I act as a field medic on humanitarian missions with the UN’s peacekeeping organisation Overwatch and I’m here tonight to talk about myself and my research into nanotechnology.]

The doctor took a moment to sip from a bottle of water before continuing.

[Before I get into that, I feel like I should address the comments I get most often whenever I tell someone I’m a doctor - ‘Really? You don’t look old enough to be a doctor. What’s your skincare routine?’]

And she still gets those comments, Fareeha thought with a grin.

[There’s a reason for that - I earned my doctorate in Biomedical Engineering before I was able to legally celebrate my accomplishment with a pint or glass of wine. To put that in better context for those living outside of Switzerland, our drinking age for less potent alcohols is sixteen.]

Younger Angela paused her slow walk across the stage with a soft smirk as the room broke out in quiet muttering.

[By seventeen, I finished medical school and had started my residency, that was the same year I submitted my first proposal to the European Medicines Agency to begin clinical trials for treating heart disease using nanotechnology.]

The doctor clicked a button on the small remote in her hand and a picture of her with her team in Switzerland appeared on the large screen above her.

[That was taken on the first day of human testing, almost three years ago. That was a very roundabout way of saying I’m currently a few months shy of my twenty-first birthday. So yes, I am quite young.]

Fareeha paused the video and put her laptop on the coffee table in front of the large sofa she’d been laying across. Quietly, she trekked across the expansive living area and informal dining room before opening the door to Angela’s room just enough to poke her head through. The doctor was still asleep on her stomach with her hair brushed off her face by the soldier. Angela had collapsed into bed after nonchalantly stripping down to her underwear in front of her. She was so tired, I doubt she realized what she was doing. . . or she was messing with me again. Both are equally likely. She closed the door and retreated back to the living room.

They made it to Angela’s apartment nearly an hour ago after fighting through a sea of reporters and dignitaries at the airport. Fareeha wanted to punch every last one of them in the face . . . many, many times. Couldn’t they see the doctor was exhausted? Didn’t they see the way she grimaced at their camera flashes and shouted questions?

The captain rolled her shoulders and continued walking through the penthouse apartment restlessly. Over twenty-four hours of non-stop tension was difficult to relax after, especially when what she really wanted to do was pull the doctor into her arms and hold her while she slept. She’s already asleep . . . she doesn’t need me.

The lingering anger about the whole ordeal her best friend endured didn’t help her state of mind either. I need to hit something, she thought as she headed towards the small exercise room.

“None of this makes any sense!” Nayef shouted as he pulled at his thick hair.

His father frowned at the younger man’s lack of self control, But perhaps Talon is partly to blame for that. “Calm yourself, boy. The situation is being dealt with.”

“But I would never attack anyone like they’re saying I did! And somehow there’s fucking video of it!” He let his hands fall from his hair to his face, one hand over his mouth as he watched the airport assault video on his phone.

“Put that away. I told you, the situation is being handled.”

“How?! How could this be spun any way but how it looks?!”

“That’s enough,” the older man growled quietly. His son immediately quieted his protests. “Turn your phone off and go play one of your games. The situation is being handled.”

The young man frowned at being dismissed like a child, but obeyed and left the room.

Ogundimu had better clean up this mess, he thought as readied himself for the Talon operative’s pending call.

[Your highness, good evening,] the smooth, slightly accented voice on the other end of the video call greeted.

“Ogundimu, you said this plan was fool-proof. Instead, my brother lives, my son is being hounded as a rapist on the web, and I have three dozen different countries threatening tariffs on the Kingdom over this debacle. What are you going to do about it?” the acting-king asked quietly, barely keeping his anger under control.

[How is your son?]

“Fine, don’t change the subject.”

[I have a team working on damage control. We also need to ensure the safety of you and your son-]

“I’ll take care of that,” he said shortly. “After the mess you and your people created, I think I’ll rely on my own people.”

[If you believe that’s for the best then I won’t push the matter. For now it’s important to remember this is only a setback. Our goals can still be-]

“Save your pandering for the gullible, Ogundimu. I am already suspected by my brother. If he doesn’t arrest me, I’ll surely be exiled. I took a risk trusting you and now I’m paying the price. Don’t contact me again unless you have a way to fix this.”

With that, the acting king disconnected the call.

Ogundimu glared at the screen for a moment before coming to a decision. “Sombra, Lacroix. I have a mission for you both.”

Sombra grinned and looked to the sniper who was lazily filing her nails in front of a 24 hour news channel on one of the many monitors in the large room. “I was beginning to wonder why we brought her with,” the hacker mused.

“To keep an eye on you, ma chérie,” Widowmaker said flatly as she rose slowly and approached.

It was the smell of her bed sheets that pulled Angela from her slumber twelve hours later - not because of how they smelled, but because of what they were missing. Why don’t these smell of bleach? she wondered drowsily. Oh, I’m not at the hospital or the refugee camp.

She rolled onto her side and groped for her phone and turned it on. So many messages . . . I can’t deal with this now.

Sitting up proved to be a monumental task - dizziness assailed her strong enough to force her back down onto the bed. Low blood sugar. I still have chocolate in the night stand, right? A clumsy hand opened the drawer and found a small vibrator and a bottle of lubricant, lip balm, moisturizer, a spare phone charger, and finally a few pieces of individually wrapped dark chocolates at the very back. Verdammt, that’s good for being in there for over a year, she thought as the candy melted in her mouth.

Blood sugar better regulated, she finally sat up and took stock of her injuries. Ribs seem fine. She removed the brace from her right hand and wiggled her fingers. Good as new, though a little stiff. She felt the bridge of her nose and gave a wide yawn. No permanent damage. And I just assume the concussion has resolved itself. I need some real food . . . and coffee. A lot of coffee . . . especially if I’m going to make a dent in these messages today.

As she steam from the shower filled the bathroom, Angela tried not to dwell on how wonderful it had felt having Fareeha lather up her hair. You have no excuse to ask for her help this time. Just hurry up and wash . . . and maybe later you can return the favor later, she thought as she stripped and stepped under the water.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in a Universitätsspital Zürich hoodie and yoga pants, she wandered out of her room in search of sustenance.

“Ange?”

Warmth blossomed deep in her chest as she spotted warm eyes peering over the back of the couch. “Fareeha, what are you doing up? It’s not even dawn yet!” Angela laughed as the soldier practically vaulted over the sofa before carefully enveloping the blonde in a tender embrace. “My injures have healed,” Angela muttered into her clavicle. “I’m not made of glass.”

“Oh, well in that case-” Fareeha squeezed the doctor tight enough to force a bit of the air from her lungs.

“O-okay, I’m rethinking that last statement,” she groaned with a chuckle. Angela pulled back enough to see the captain’s smiling face.

“You look better, Ange. How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” she admitted, “and a bit tired still. Have you slept?”

Fareeha rolled her eyes, but nodded. “Probably not enough though. I’m still on Indian time, I guess.”

“Well, I’ve ordered enough food from the kitchen to put one person into a food coma and I can always order more.”

“I’m fine. I’m just happy you’re feeling better,” she said softly as she brushed a loose strand of damp hair behind Angela’s ear.

The warmth shifted to the pit of her stomach as calloused fingers brushed her neck. If only I hadn’t just burned through more than three thousand calories healing broken bones . . . Eat first, eat her out after. “I have you to thank for some of that. Knowing you were around definitely allowed me to rest easier.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Angela muttered softly as she cupped the side of Fareeha’s jaw and guided her lips to hers. It was a chaste kiss, but a lingering one - one that left Angela wondering just how badly she needed to eat and if she could put it off for an hour or three.

“You need to eat,” Fareeha whispered against her lips.

“I know,” she said simply before she pulled her back in for another kiss. The embers in her gut were quickly stoked into a growing fire as she pulled herself flush against the soldier. I shouldn’t be doing this. I need to-

Angela’s stomach suddenly gave what was probably the loudest rumble she’d ever remembered hearing.

Fareeha pulled back enough to chuckle, “I think we need to save this for later.”

“Verdammt.” As if on cue, the doorbell chimed announcing the arrival of the food. “I suppose you’re right.”

[Web is set. Happy hunting, Madame Araignée.]

Lacroix rolled her eyes before watching the younger al Saud’s limousine navigate the city courtesy of Sombra’s tracker. Coming home after a late night clubbing. You should have listened to your father and stayed home, Nayef.

Fareeha was pretty sure she was in love. Technically she had been for years, but watching Angela put away an enormous amount of sausage, bread, and yogurt cemented the feeling.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” the doctor asked as she paused long enough to sip her coffee.

“I don’t want to deprive you of what you are very clearly enjoying.”

Angela’s cheeks darkened a shade. “It’s been . . . nine months? Yes, that sounds right. Nine months since I’ve been home and had Swiss food. I didn’t realize I missed it so much. . . . That and I was quite literally starving when I woke up. Here, have some röschti-”

“Only if I can pour maple syrup on it,” she chuckled as she took the plate of potato pancakes.

“I would be concerned if you didn’t.”

Omar kept a silent watch on the troubled young man in the back of the limousine. Prince Nayef was uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Usually after a night out like tonight he would regale the driver and his security team with tales his exploits, but not tonight it seemed.

The Omar came to a stop at the intersection and peered back at his passenger. “Would you like to stop for an early morning snack, sir?” he asked.

The prince jerked out of his thoughts and shook his head. “No, just take me home.”

“Yes, sir.” He glanced in the rearview mirror once more before moving forward. He hasn’t been himself since that business with the doctor. How all of that was fabricated is beyond me, but I know Nayef. He may bed many women, but he isn’t the type to attack a woman.

The streets were quiet in the predawn darkness. So much so that Omar almost thought he imaged the sound of breaking glass and the splatter of liquid. Omnic eyes jumped to the rear view mirror; he saw Nayef slumped to the side, a quarter of his skull and brain tissue plastered the left window.

[Breaking news: Prince Nayef al Saud, subject of international outrage for his alleged attack on humanitarian Dr. Angela Ziegler, was assassinated this morning in Riyadh while returning home from the city center.]

Angela jerked her head up to the television screen and felt her jaw drop. She and Fareeha had settled on the sofa in the living room after breakfast to allow the doctor to work on the numerous messages and updates on King Azid populating her phone. “What?”

[Sources say the prince was traveling back to the royal palace in a limousine when a single bullet struck him in the head, killing him instantly.]

“Shit,” Fareeha muttered.

Angela stared at the screen in shock. Mixed feelings fought for dominance in her still exhausted mind: horror that he was murdered, sadness for his family, and - though she’d never admit it to anyone - relief the man was gone from the world. “But why?”

Fareeha tore her eyes from the screen and looked to the stricken doctor. She wrapped an arm around Angela and pulled her close. “I don’t know, Ange.”

Silence fell between them as the news report rambled on. “What if this was Talon?” Angela asked quietly after a while.

“What do you mean?”

“What if-” she started before pausing to gather her thoughts. “What if this is Talon covering their tracks? What if Nayef was just a pawn? It already looks like Dr. O’Deorain had a hand in the assassination attempt on the king - what if she or someone else in Talon got to Nayef? His pupils were massively constricted each time he attacked me - what if Talon . . . brainwashed him or drugged him or I don’t know, did something to force him to attack me?”

“You think he was innocent in all of this?” Fareeha asked a bit incredulously.

“I’m saying none of this makes sense. There was definitely corruption at the police station and with the secret police, but why Nayef targeted me still doesn’t make sense. Why were he and his friends in India in the first place? You said it yourself, that without me, the king’s surgery couldn’t have been done without removing the rogue nanobots. I’m not saying I’m the only person in the world that would have recognized the symptoms, but there certainly aren’t many that would and even fewer that could figure out how to remove them.”

The captain let the argument bounce around her mind for a moment. “But you fought him and his friends off. Talon thought three large men could easily overpower you - render you physically and mentally unable to help the king. Holy shit,” she muttered quietly. “If-”

“If they had finished their job, the king would be dead by now,” Angela finished softly. “And now that their mission has failed, they’re covering their tracks. I just wonder if they’ll target the acting king. Perhaps killing his son was a message.”

“Keep quiet or you’ll be next?”

“Something like that.”

The acting king stared stoically at his laptop. Every fifteen minutes, aids would update him on the investigation, but he merely nodded and sent them away. He already knew who was responsible - what he didn’t know is what to do about it.

“Sir, there is no new information at this time,” the latest aid muttered regretfully.

He shooed him away with a flick of his wrist. Do I call Ogundimu? Will he admit to it? Should I tell the Mabahith? If I admit to having ties to Talon, I’ll be signing my own death warrant.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Fareeha asked as Angela set up her webcam.

“Every major news site is asking for a statement and my lawyers seem to think it would be a good idea as well.” She smiled as video of herself popped up on the screen. “Are you sure you don’t want to be in it?”

“Completely,” the soldier said from across the room.

Angela rolled her eyes before beginning to record. “Guten Morgen, as promised, an update since leaving Saudi Arabia. I’m finally home and recovering, though I admit the news I woke to this morning is incredibly worrisome. I’d like to extend my condolences to the Saudi royal family - regardless of what happened in the last forty-eight hours, murder is never an acceptable course of action. I’m as anxious as the rest of the world to know the outcome of the investigation.”

Angela paused and sipped her coffee, “Since arriving home I’ve slept twelve hours and allowed my injuries to heal. I’ve eaten enough for at least three people since waking, so hopefully I’ll be able to return to work soon. For now, I plan to spend the next few days relaxing and trying to process everything that’s happened.”

“There are many people I need to thank for their help and understanding through this whole ordeal: the staff at the Royal Hospital in Riyadh, my colleague from Universitätsspital Zürich who performed the necessary surgery I couldn’t because of my injuries, and Helix Security for protection and piece of mind once I left police custody.”

Another sip of coffee, this time turning the mug to display the text “Self Medicating” to the camera. “That’s all for now. Stay safe and when in doubt, ask your doctor.”

Slow inhale, slower exhale - There you are, Widowmaker thought as she lined up her shot. “Magnifique,” she whispered as the body fell to the ground. “Widowmaker here. Mission accomplished. Are there further instructions?”

[Hold position for now. There is a possibility of a fourth target. Position yourself within range of the royal palace,] Ogundimu responded.

[Uh, boss - we just took out the acting king’s son and his friends,] Sombra pointed out tensely. [Define within range of the royal palace.]

[Just don’t leave town,] he replied shortly.

“Very well,” Lacroix replied before Sombra could further annoy the man. I suppose one more wouldn’t hurt.

Fareeha sat down next to the pensive doctor, “Are you okay?”

Angela set her mug on the coffee table and leaned against the soldier, “I don’t know.” She closed her eyes and enjoyed the other woman’s warmth as Fareeha wrapped an arm around her shoulders. So much had happened in the last two days, little of which she was prepared to deal with.

I have a beautiful woman in my apartment I’ve been fantasizing about for longer than I care to admit - I should do something with that. She pulled away from the embrace enough to stare up into Fareeha’s curious eyes. We should really talk about what this is . . . Angela raised her hand and let her fingertips ghost over the other woman’s skin before cupping her check. . . . but I didn’t get where I am today without taking risks, she thought as she licked her lips and met Fareeha halfway for the kiss.

It was tender, too tender to be honest. As Angela threaded her fingers through the younger woman’s hair, she considered falling back against the length of the couch and pulling Fareeha on top of her, but impatience won out. I need to get us on the same page.

She broke the kiss and smiled at the confused look Fareeha gave her before straddling the soldier’s lap. “If it’s not too much to ask,” Angela purred as she removed her hoodie, “I would appreciate something a bit more blunt.”

Fareeha stared up at her, pupils dilating as she licked her lips. “Like this?” she asked hesitantly as she placed her hands on Angela’s hips.

A soft chuckle escaped the doctor. “I was thinking something more like-,” she paused and moved Fareeha’s hands to her ass, “this.”

“Oh,” she muttered before grinning devilishly. “So like this?” Fareeha asked before gripping Angela’s cheeks and bringing the doctor’s hips flush with the soldier’s abdomen, making sure to prolong the grind of Angela’s core. “Am I doing this right?” Fareeha asked in a husky voice.

Angela’s groan started deep in her chest as her eyes rolled back briefly. “Ja, just like that.” She widened her knees and settled low enough in Fareeha’s lap to continue their kiss. Whatever hesitation the soldier had before was completely gone as she quickly sought out the doctor’s tongue with her own. Angela was so lost in the sensation, she hadn’t noticed one of Fareeha’s hands following the curve of her bum lower until the soldier found a different set of lips.

A jolt of pleasure forced Angela’s hips forward as her breathing quickened. “Fuck,” she whimpered as Fareeha slowly rubbed her opening through her yoga pants.

“Still to your liking, Doctor?”

“That’s Frau Doktor to you,” she choked out as her hips began a slight rhythm.

“Hm, I’ll take that as a ‘ja,’ Frau Doktor,” Fareeha chuckled as she pressed a bit further between her lips.

Breath fled Angela’s lungs as she leaned forward against Fareeha’s chest. Her mind clouded with lust as the soldier continued her steady assault on the doctor’s core, a strong hand helping exaggerate every thrust of Angela’s hips.

“Let me know when you want more, Ange-”

“Yes! I mean- Verdammt!” Angela groaned into her ear. “Please, more.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fareeha’s warm hands disappeared for a moment before slipping down the back of the doctor’s tight fitting pants. It feels like her fingers are scorching my skin, Angela thought with a whimper of desire. When was the last time someone touched me like this?

Soft lips attached to the side of Angela’s neck as Fareeha found the slick warmth between her thighs. Teeth nibbled gently as fingers circled and toyed with her entrance, but never dipped inside. I need- I need more, but I- I don’t want this to end.

“Liebling, please have mercy,” Angela begged breathlessly.

The soldier chuckled lightly into her neck. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, habibti.”

Warmth blossomed in her chest and a ripple of pleasure travelled up her spine at Fareeha’s teasing. “Reeha, I’m not going to last much longer. . . I need you inside of me,” she groaned.

“Hm, I suppose I could be merciful,” the younger woman muttered as her first two fingers slipped inside the doctor to the first knuckle.

It wasn’t much, far less than Angela thought she’d get, but that small amount of penetration was enough start her walls fluttering. Her jaw dropped open as her chest heaved, leaning back to grind more firmly against Fareeha’s abdomen. A third finger slipped in and deeper as a spasm of more intense pleasure caused her to lose her rhythm briefly, before Fareeha took over and guided the doctor’s hips. Eyes rolled back as breaths became high-pitched gasps. Her hands clenching the soldier’s shoulders were the only thing grounding Angela as pleasure overwhelmed her. Wave after wave quickly reduced her to a shaking, quivering mess.

“Are you okay?” Fareeha asked softly once the older woman’s hips finally stilled.

With a fair bit of effort, Angela opened her eyes and met Fareeha’s. The soldier’s pupils were blown and her face flushed - both of which the doctor took note of before the slightly smug smile on the younger woman’s face. “I’m lovely,” she purred as she purposely clenched around the fingers still inside of her, “but I think we should continue this in my bedroom.”

Fareeha’s eyes widened slightly as her smile grew. “Lead the way,” she said as she slipped her fingers from the doctor.

Angela stood on shaky legs, but took Fareeha’s hand and pulled her along a bit impatiently. “I wonder if I can make you scream,” she mused as she opened the door.

In a surprisingly short amount of time later, with Angela nestled between the soldier’s thighs, Fareeha would learn the answer was definitely yes.

It’s better this way, the former acting king thought as he was led away by the Mabahith. My silence will save the rest of my family. Better to lose only one son than all of them.

[We’re in the clear. Our friend is pleading ignorance about everything,] Sombra’s voice said over the communicator. [He seems to have gotten the message.]

[Good, return to base,] Ogundimu responded.

[Race you to the transport, Spider?]

“I know you’re already there, Sombra” Lacroix said drily as she collapsed her rifle. Below, the limousine carrying what would have been her fourth target drove out of her line of sight.

“Are you sure about that?”

The sniper whipped around to find the hacker sitting cross-legged on top of an air-intake vent. “It’s not like you to suggest a fair competition.”

Sombra clutched her chest theatrically. “That hurts, amiga.”

“Oh, my apologies,” she said with an eye roll. With her kit packed, Widowmaker glanced back at the younger woman. “See you at the transport,” she said with a small grin before grappling to the next building.

[You cheating pendejo!]

Fareeha sighed contently as she spooned against the sleeping doctor. She’d lost track of how many fantasies she’d fulfilled this morning, but the one she was enjoying at the moment - post-coital cuddling with Angela - was the one the filled her chest with the most warmth and finally dispelled the lingering longing she’d felt ever since she first realized she loved the doctor all those years ago. Fifteen years later - it’s like no time has passed at all, she mused as she traced random patterns on Angela’s hip and stomach.

“That tickles,” the doctor muttered, voice thick with sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Fareeha whispered before kissing behind her ear.

“Hmm,” she hummed happily. “What’s keeping you up?”

“It’s nothing,” Fareeha said without thinking. Angela’s skeptical hum made the soldier reconsider the question. “I guess . . . part of me is still waiting to wake up and this all to have been a dream.”

Angela rolled over to face Fareeha and propped herself up on an elbow. She smiled softly before ducking down to capture Fareeha’s lips in a slow, but deep kiss.

Just as she was beginning to think the doctor was looking for more, the soldier felt a sharp pinch above her hip. Her startled yelp caused Angela to fall back onto the bed in a fit of giggles. “Seriously?!”

“Well, you know you’re not dreaming now, right?” she chuckled.

“You’re ridiculous,” Fareeha muttered grumpily as she snuggled against Angela’s side.

“Liebling, I’m sorry,” the doctor said soothingly. “Can I make a confession?”

“Sure.”

“Do you remember your graduation from basic training?”

“When my mother purposely scheduled herself a mission so she wouldn’t be able to attend? Yeah, I remember.”

“I remember going with Jesse and Reinhardt and Reyes,” Angela said patiently. “When you and the other graduates were presented I remember thinking to myself, Verdammt! She’s not supposed to look that good in a uniform!”

“Really?” Fareeha asked sceptically.

“Ja, you had filled out during training. You weren’t a beanpole anymore - you radiated self confidence and with good reason. I think you were top of your class in nearly every category. I was caught more than a few times by Jesse leering that day - and once he figured out why, he promptly told Reinhardt and Reyes.”

“So when they all kept accidentally pushing you into me all day after the ceremony, it wasn’t necessarily because they knew I liked you-”

“That was probably part of it, but they were quite amused by my epiphany about your physical appearance.”

Fareeha grinned for a moment before another question begged to be answered. “If we both found the other attractive back then - wait, you did know I-”

“Liebling, I daresay the entire watchpoint knew.”

“Right . . . Why are we only doing something about it now?”

Angela didn’t say anything for a while, but carded her fingers through the younger woman’s hair. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“I did,” Angela admitted. “I guess I was afraid I couldn’t be the person you needed me to be - I was actually fairly certain I couldn’t. . . I hoped you’d find someone who could be there for you whenever you needed, someone who wasn’t hundreds of kilometers away and too busy to even consider trying to have a relationship.”

“And now?” Fareeha asked quietly.

“I suppose we’re going to have to try this long distance relationship thing people keep telling me is entirely doable.”

Fareeha chuckled softly. “It helps to have realistic expectations going into it.”

“Like what?”

“Like how often we’ll be able to see each other and how often we should call.”

“So seeing each other more than three time a year outside of work?”

“Yeah.”

“That sounds like something we should figure out after a nap,” Angela muttered through a yawn.

“Fine, as long as we figure it out eventually,” Fareeha said softly before rolling the doctor towards her onto her side. “Get some sleep, Ange,” she whispered as the doctor burrowed under Fareeha’s chin.

Later that evening, Angela sat on her patio overlooking the city, staring at the unlit cigarette between her fingers. Slowly and deliberately, she slipped it back in the half-empty pack and placed it by the unused ashtray.

A gentle smile spread across Fareeha’s face ten minutes later when she stepped outside to check on the doctor. Eyes closed and breathing deeply, Angela was meditating, her cigarettes long forgotten. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Finally,” she teased as she unfolded her legs and grabbed pack and lighter.

“Quitting alreading?” Fareeha asked as the doctor led the way back inside.

Angela shrugged as she tossed the cigarettes in kitchen garbage. “I wanted to be able to taste your meal.”

“I’m honored.”

Nightmares, flashes of intense anxiety, and nicotine withdrawal peppered Angela’s week of recovery, but with Fareeha nearby to provide support, the doctor’s mental state quickly improved. Endless affection, home-cooked meals, and meditation seemed to be just what Angela needed . . . that and sex.

“I’ve always wanted to take you like this,” Angela admitted with a grin as she slipped the slippery toy between Fareeha’s folds. “The strong and stoic soldier on her hands and knees . . .” she slid the dildo along the younger woman’s clit and entrance, “getting thoroughly fucked by a much smaller woman.” Fareeha’s low moan had Angela grinning widely until the vibrator inside herself sprang to life.

“Don’t get too cocky, Frau Doktor,” the captain chuckled. “You gave me this remote, but you didn’t say how I should use it.”

Angela let out the shaky breath she’d been holding as she adjusted to the weak stimulation. “I have complete confidence in your intuition - it’s gotten us this far.”

“So if I were to suddenly crank it to max-”

The doctor’s hips jerked forward violently as she tensed up before Fareeha dropped the intensity back to the lowest setting in a fit of sniggering giggles.

Angela pulled herself off the soldier and slapped her ass just hard enough to sting. “Liebling, I have no problem teasing you until you beg,” she said in a menacing voice.

Fareeha hoped the doctor hadn’t noticed the way her hips jerked impatiently at the slap. “Is that a threat or a challenge?”

The blonde’s soft laughter should have been warning enough, “Oh, Fareeha. For you, it is a promise.” The harnessed toy was back between the soldier’s folds, sliding in long strokes. “Tell me, liebling, is there a certain type of pain that arouses you or will anything do?”

Shit, Fareeha thought. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered.

“Oh? So this,” she used her free hand to scratch up along the back of Fareeha’s thigh, “does nothing for you?”

“Nope,” the soldier groaned in a strangled voice.

“Hm, how about this?”

Blunt nails trailed firmly from between her shoulder blades to the small of her back. “If it does something for you, than feel free to continue,” Fareeha panted.

“I am enjoying watching you squirm-” Angela tried to say before the vibrations inside her intensified. “Retaliation?” she moaned.

“I just don’t want you to get bored.” Fareeha tried to take calming breaths while Angela was distracted, but with the toy’s constant simulation of her clit and entrance, she didn’t accomplish much. “Too much, Ange?”

“I was about to ask you the same,” she chuckled breathlessly. “Do you want me inside you, yet?”

Fareeha bit her lip, “Does it count as begging?”

“I suppose not, since I brought it up.” The toy stopped at the younger woman’s entrance.

“Yeah.” The head of the toy slowly pushed inside just enough to stretch slightly before withdrawing. At first Fareeha thought the doctor was going slowly to avoid hurting her, but after the fifth stroke with only the bell-shaped head of the toy entering her, she began to have her doubts. “Ange?”

“Yes, liebling?”

“You can go deeper, you know?”

“I could.”

Fareeha sighed and fought the urge to bring her hand between her legs and rub her clit for more stimulation. “Do you need encouragement?”

“What do you have in-” Her breath caught in her chest as the doctor jerk forward with an increase to the vibrations inside her. “Impatient, aren’t we?” she moaned.

The toy now half sheathed inside Fareeha, the soldier smiled and pushed herself back against Angela to bring it deeper. “I’m not ready to beg yet.”

“Then I need to try harder.” The blonde bent over Fareeha and slipped her fingers on either side of her clit. “I have another question for you, liebling.”

“Yeah?” The doctor’s long and frustratingly slow thrusts were testing her patience.

“I told you I’ve thought about taking you like this. Have you thought about this, too? Or have you imagined yourself in control?” Her fingers began moving in gentle circles over the sensitive bud.

If Fareeha’s face hadn’t already been flushed from arousal, it would have been now. A decade and a half of fantasies - of course I’ve thought of nearly this exact situation . . . but I’ve also thought of another, more erotic one. “I’ve thought about both,” she admitted, “but I’m particularly fond of one . . . where I take you from behind.”

Angela’s soft chuckle filled the air and sped up her thrusts just a bit. “I’m not surprised.”

“The thought of thrusting into your perfect ass . . . while I’m three fingers deep in you has gotten me a off more than a few times,” Fareeha panted.

Angela froze in surprise and bent further over the soldier, muttering obscenities in multiple languages as she tried to temper her excitement.

“Need some help?” Fareeha asked with a smug smile.

Deep, shaking breaths seemed to be doing little to help the doctor. “You’re looking for something a bit harder and faster, right?” she whimpered.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Good.” The nails on the hand gripping Fareeha’s hip bit into skin as Angela’s hips drew back before quickly meeting her hips. “Harder?”

“If you can handle it,” the soldier said with a grin.

A low growl was the doctor response as she slammed their hips together, the fingers on Fareeha’s clit working a bit firmer and faster.

“Fuck, that’s perfect,” Fareeha groaned as she met each of Angela’s thrusts. “Just like that.” She heard the doctor give a soft moan. “You’re perfect - don’t stop.” The thrusting sped up a tic with Angela’s breathing. “I’m so close-” Her walls fluttered around the toy. “Oh, fuck,” she groaned. Just as Fareeha was about to fall into a more intense orgasm, Angela pulled back. “What-” A sharp slap to her ass sent her body spiraling into pleasure. She was vaguely aware of the doctor continuing to thrust roughly into her, extending the orgasm before remembering the remote to Angela’s vibrator. She quickly maxed it out.

“Gott!” the doctor choked as she buried the cock as deep as it could go. Short, quick thrusts rapidly drove her over the edge at last - the constant simulation of the vibrator prolonged the feeling, leaving Angela gasping for breath.

“Liebling, please,” she whimpered tiredly. “Enough.”

“Oh, right,” Fareeha muttered as she fumbled with the remote. With the vibrations halted, Angela collapsed forward onto the soldier’s back. “Are you okay?”

“Ja, tired,” she mumbled.

Carefully, Fareeha lowered herself onto her stomach while balancing the doctor on top of her. “If you pull out of me, I can help you out of the harness.”

“Who says I’m done with you yet?” she muttered with a small fit of giggles.

“You do,” Fareeha sighed with a smile. “You get very giggly when drunk or exhausted. I’m pretty sure you’re too far gone for round two.”

“Fine.” Clumsily, Angela pulled away before flopping onto her back on the bed beside Fareeha.

About poke at the doctor’s lack of grace, Fareeha’s words died in her throat as she watched the pink silicone cock bounce side-to-side.

The soldier’s snort of laughter forced Angela to open her tired eyes. “What?”

Using a single finger, Fareeha pulled the tip of the dildo towards her before letting it go, causing it to bounce violently.

“Seriously, liebling?”

“What? It’s hilarious! Physical comedy is the best type of comedy!”

“Not your silly puns?”

“They are pretty good, but come on. Are you telling me you don’t find that even remotely amusing?”

Angela gave her hips a shake and watched the toy wiggle. “Okay, it’s a little funny.”

“I knew it,” Fareeha muttered with a grin as she loosened the straps around the doctor’s thighs. “Did it live up to your expectations?” she asked tapping the cock.

“I didn’t make you beg,” Angela pouted lightly. “I suppose that means we’ll have to try it again . . . or perhaps I should let you have a turn with it. You seem to have put some thought into your fantasy.”

Fareeha felt her face warm considerably as she pulled the harness down the doctor’s legs. “Only if you’re up for it.” She crawled back up Angela’s body and settled on top of her. “What do you want?” she muttered against her lips before kissing her gently.

“You.” Warm arms wrapped around Fareeha as the kiss deepened. Hips and legs shifted until they both had a thigh to grind against. Breaths came hot and heavy as Angela’s nails scratched down the soldier’s back to her bum. Moans filled the air as their movements took on a near frantic pace. Fareeha hit her high first, breaking the kiss and groaning into the doctor’s shoulder.

“Do you need help?” Fareeha asked after a moment, slipping her hand between them.

Angela nodded impatiently, hips still grinding on Fareeha’s thigh. Light, rapid circles over the bundle of nerves between the doctor’s lips stilled her hips as her back arched off the bed.

Fareeha propped herself up higher to give Angela more freedom of movement . . . and to watch the doctor tease one of her own nipples. Lower lip between her teeth, Angela was close and with her breasts arched up the way they were, Fareeha felt it would be a crime not to give the ignored one the attention it deserved.

“Aaaah!” Angela groaned as Fareeha’s teeth nibbled lightly on her nipple. It was enough to start tremors of pleasure radiating from her pelvis. Several vocal moments later, Angela finally collapsed back onto the bed.

“Better?” Fareeha chuckled as she pulled the doctor into arms.

“Too far gone for round two,” she muttered with a sleepy laugh.

“You proved me wrong, habibti.” Fareeha admitted warmly. “Let’s get some rest.” She pulled the sheets over them and let sleep begin to relax her mind and body.

“Verdammt!”

“What’s wrong?” Fareeha muttered in confusion as Angela wriggled out of her arms.

“The vibrator.” she huffed in annoyance as she shuffled towards the bathroom.

“Wha- Oh.” A fit of giggles over took the soldier.

Angela turned back and glared, “You should probably get up, too. I don’t want you getting a UTI with two days of our time off remaining.”

Fareeha sighed, “Ja, Frau Doktor,” as she headed toward the guest bathroom.

Dinner with Dr. Muller was enjoyable and largely uneventful until dessert.

“Angie.”

“Hm?” she hummed as she took another bite of tiramisu.

“That’s my leg, not the captain’s.”

“Verdammt!” she whispered as her face went scarlet before burying it in her hands. “Lars, I’m so sorry.”

He chuckled and patted her back fatherly. “I suppose it’s my fault for talking up so much space under such a small table. Have you two been playing footsie through the entire meal?”

Fareeha was barely holding in her laughter as she looked to the younger doctor.

“Maybe,” Angela admitted as she dropped her hands.

“Mein Gott - does that mean you’re finally dating?”

Angela looked shyly at Fareeha before nodding.

“Good for you! It’s about time, too.”

“Lars!”

“What?” he chuckled. “How many times have you told me you’re too busy for a relationship over the years? This means Captain Amari can take over the job of worrying about you.”

“Are you really capable of not worrying about me, Lars?”

“No, but I feel better knowing someone else is, too.”

Fareeha smiled softly, “I have been for years. I almost feel like there should be a support group for us. Like for when Angela does something ridiculous like head to Turkey during their civil war.”

“I didn’t sleep well the entire time she was there,” Lars laughed with a shake of his head.

“I can take care of myself,” Angela pouted.

“That’s not the point,” Fareeha said patiently. “When you purposely put yourself in harm’s way, the people who care about you will worry.”

“It’s a good thing, Angie,” Lars reassured her.

The day of their many flights brought with it a fresh bout of anxiety for the doctor. It seemed no amount of sex or mediation that morning could loosen the knot in her stomach.

“How are you doing, habibti?” Fareeha asked softly as they settled into their seats for their first flight.

“I’ve been better,” Angela admitted before beginning to take slow, deep breaths.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” she whispered as she took the doctor’s clammy hand.

Angela managed a small smile. “I know.”

“There’s the slacker!”

Fareeha looked around the helipad and spotted Tariq and Saleh standing with Angela’s team. “Funny, I seem to recall you two getting time off the same time I did.”

“Yeah, but two days less than you,” Tariq sarcastically moped as he embraced her. “Please tell me you and the doc are sorted out,” he whispered.

The captain blushed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we’re sorted.” Beside them, Angela was being thoroughly examined by her nurse.

“Fatima, I’m fine,” the doctor said as she tried to bat the older woman’s hands from either side of her face.

“Oh, I’ve never heard that from you before. Your nose seems properly set. How is your hand?”

“It’s fine,” she laughed in exasperation.

The nurse frowned at her for a moment before pulling Angela into another hug. Quiet words were said and the doctor relaxed into the embrace.

“Captain, it’s good to see you,” Dr. Sobek greeted with a firm handshake after Saleh’s hug. “Am I going to have to keep an eye on you and Angela or can the two of you keep your hands to yourselves while on duty?”

“Neil!” the blonde shouted.

“Oh my, her face gets quite red, doesn’t it,” he laughed as he dragged Angela into a hug. “I suppose I’d better be careful or you’ll put me in my place.”

“I won’t hesitate,” she said with a wide smile before moving to greet Ahmed. “It’s good to be back.”

A temperate breeze blew through the open balcony door as Dr. O’Deorain settled into her favorite chair with her tablet and two fingers of whiskey. If she wanted her team’s latest research to be published next month, she needed to finish proof-reading their submission tonight.

At least Reyes and his comrades are finally gone. I should have that room thoroughly swept for bugs . . . as well as my lab just to be safe.

A short buzz drew her eyes from her work to her phone. If this is Sombra again, I may have to consider changing my number. Screen illuminated, Moira froze for a moment as she noticed the identity of the sender. Angela Ziegler, it has been awhile.

[Qui cum canibus concumbunt cum pulicibus surgent]

“He who lies down with dogs, will rise up with fleas. Just as pretentious and self-righteous I see.” She stood and took her phone to the balcony and contemplated how to respond. On the lake below, yachts drifted lazily as the lights of the city reflected off the water’s surface.

Working with Talon had always been a risk, one that usually worked well in her favor - the fews times it hadn’t involved Angela in one way or another.

Moira stared at her screen for a moment longer before switching off the phone. We said all there was to say years ago. No need to revisit the past. With one last look at the lake, Moira returned to her chair, sipped her whiskey, and went back to reviewing.

A/N: That’s it. No more - this thing was 25 pages by the time I cut myself off. I did think about putting in a scene with Moira getting passive aggressive texts from Angela, but this is enough. I typed that and got angry at myself for not doing that scene and put in that last bit after all - I think I have a problem.

So a few notes about why I did what I did:

I prefer my Mercy assertive for a couple of reasons. First, she’s a surgeon. While that doesn’t mean all surgeons are self-assured pricks, they do need to be confident enough in their abilities to know they probably won’t kill their patients. Second, she travels the world (war zones), meeting and helping new people - it would be a difficult thing accomplish if she couldn’t stand up to pressure and resistance for governments and combative locals. Third, she carries a weapon and uses it responsibly.

Pharah, in my mind, was a hot-head youth who mellows with age as the world sees her as her own person and not as her mother’s daughter. (I think that’s how just about everyone writes her.)

Ana teaches Angela Krav Maga - I like the fighting style, that’s the only reason I picked it.

Angela fights a couple of drugged/brainwashed jerks because I wanted to write battle Mercy sans blaster and I needed practice writing hand-to-hand combat.

I’m an awkward person so my main characters are also a little awkward. I also don’t write a lot of smut so . . . yeah, I’m not really sure how I feel about the execution of those scenes.

I’ll probably write more pharmercy in the future, but I’ve gotta get back to my korrasami story first. Thanks for reading!

#pharmercy #fanfiction #angela ziegler #fareeha amari #Overwatch #moira o'deorain

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presidentbttrflyfreak · 7 years ago

Text

healing through letting go // thomas brodie sangster

aaaaa the 2nd requested oneshot is here!! i just finished reading tmr series a few weeks ago so my emotions n pain are incredibly raw. thank you for the anon who requested this! this one is based on prompt #1 and #6 of this list (they will be in bold). don’t forget to give me some love, reblog & like to break other’s hearts too!

Warnings: tears and hEARTbreak

Word count: 2.3k

When you arrived at his apartment, Thomas was leaning by the handrail, taking a drag. You looked at him, recognizing his matted blonde hair, arched spine and tensed arms. He should’ve been asleep by this time in the morning, yet it wasn’t much of a surprise also. You knew that he always has something on his mind, and you added to that.

However, you also had several things running around your head, knocking on your heart. As usual, tonight was another sleepless night. You laid on your bed, same thoughts as last night’s passing by your head. It’s been a couple months like this. Rest was rare, work was more than a handful and like sleep, Thomas was also barely around. You both agreed on making this last, and you both believed you could make it work. But looking at where you two are now, things haven’t gone the way you both planned it to be.

Pulling your coat around yourself tighter, you took quick steps towards him. 7 Eleven was open and you thanked God for that, allowing you to get some snacks for him and you too. Your steps must have been soundless, considering Thomas still had his eyes close, unmoving. It was about 3 am, and the breeze was colder than you expected. A cold wind blew and it disheveled Thomas’ hair even more. You caught a glimpse of his ears, seemingly cold because of its reddish tinge. He finally retreated and turned his body to the side and took another drag.

Your eyes met with his then. Your heart wrenched at the sight of them. Deeply brown and moist as if he was tearing up. His eyes always seemed like that. There were times he’d be incredibly happy and yet there was this lingering look of sadness and exhaustion in his eyes. You smiled at him as you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. Thomas’ eyes had widened a bit but he gave you his signature grin like he was thinking ‘couldn’t sleep too?’.

“I bought some chips and sodas cause I totally knew you’d be awake by this hour.” You said, leaning on the handrail too. Thomas ran his hands through his hair then twisted his body so he would be facing you too. “Yeah, totally.” His voice was rough and raspy, proving that he probably woke up in the middle of the night from slumber.’

His hand holding the cigarette was propped on the handrail, right beside you. The smoke was lifting and so was its reeking scent. Thomas knew you didn’t like the smell of smoke. You were okay with him smoking, but he was careful never to do it in front of you. Which is why you’re shocked he hasn’t thrown the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it yet.

It was a dark and cold night. The only light brightening the place was the dim street posts. Somehow, you knew that you were one of the reasons for his waking. Thomas looked at you like he was trying to memorize you and how you looked in his head. He reached for your hand and held it tight. He rubbed it, caressing it with care. You tried to hold his gaze too, but the reek was choking you. You hadn’t inhaled smoke in a long time and you utterly despised having to smell it again from Thomas. Thomas was still looking at you in silence, an unreadable look resting on his face.

You only squeezed back to let go of his hand. Choking and coughing slightly, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Thomas, it reeks, please.”

He immediately withdrew, like he just remembered right now. “O, dear god, I’m sorry. I-I just, I’m sorry, love.” He trampled on the cigarette in panic and guilt. When he finished, he hastily wiped his palms on his sweatpants.

You held your arms open. “C'mere.”

You could see that he really regretted having done that. Thomas really understood how you intensely detested the smell and he incredibly loves you so much and made sure never to cross his boundaries. He came close and you pulled him in tight. Burying his head on the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry. I extremely hate myself now that I have broken rule number 3, never smoke in front of the beautiful lady,” He mumbled. “I got caught in a daze and forgot.”

Your heart crumpled. Had you two been this distant towards each other? Thomas just arrived in your hometown a few weeks ago. He was flying one sky to another continuously while you chose to settle here, and love him from afar. Well, you two thought you could.

You released him and touched the side of his face. “It’s alright,” you replied. You wanted to badly dismiss the incident knowing that he’ll forever look back at it and blame himself. “You up for a ‘stroll and gobble’?” You asked, holding up the plastic bag full of food and drinks.

His eyes crinkled as he chuckled. “Of course. Because 3:30 in the morning is a wonderful time to be alive.” He entered his apartment and swiftly grabbed his coat from the hook rack and shut the door behind him. Thomas took your hand in his and led you down the stairs. His hand was warm despite the weather, it warmed yours lovingly.

Your steps were synchronized as you two trudged towards the nearby park. The trees were brushing against each other loudly as the breeze blew strongly. Thomas wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer.

“Why are you up this late? You need the sleep and rest, you know.” You said, looking up to his eyes. Thomas’ nose was turning a bit red you couldn’t help but notice it. You hadn’t seen his face in so long. He was constantly sleeping through the afternoon since he arrived. Jet lag truly took its toll on him. You would be over at his place and just watch him sleep and clean the place a bit for him. Often, you would join him and just cuddle. You tried to spend more time with him every day to make up for the moths you didn’t. His career had both its pros and cons, both in terms of income and health. And in terms of relationships.

He led you towards a bench. Both of you sat down and you brought out the content of the plastic bag, offering him a sandwich. “I should be the one asking you that. Why are you still awake? Don’t you have work tomorrow?” He asked before taking a bite from the sandwich.

You took a sip of the tea. “Well, seems like I’ll be working tomorrow without a wink of sleep.” You took a can of iced coffee from the bag and offered it to him. “Your favorite.”

Thomas only looked at the can at first. He then heaved a sigh and took the can from my hand and set it down on the ground, beside his feet. You sent him a confused look.

He wiped the mayonnaise off his lips with a tissue and licked his lips. “The doc prohibits me from drinking coffee now,” he muttered. “I experienced a few attacks of irregular heartbeats and increased heartbeats back in Korea. It’s been a few months now and my insomnia’s going away a bit since I refrained from drinking coffee.”

You couldn’t help but feel upset. You already worried enough about him being away and the jet lag that came with it. But now this? You pursed your lips. “Why didn’t you tell me? One ring and you have my ears. You know that.” Concern filled the tone of your voice.

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, of course, I know that. I just didn’t want to burden you more. All I did since I left for Death Cure was think about coming back and spending time with you and the family. I decided to focus on what coming back would bring rather than my current situation back in Korea. I’m sorry, love.” He looked up to you from the strands of his bangs.

The thoughts that have been running through your head for the past few months came back. Right at that moment, you decided to pull the string that would unravel the truth. “And what have we been able to do since you came back, Thomas?”

You heard Thomas’ breath hitch. Apparently, you were both awake thinking about each other yet you both slept on the truth that was right beneath your noses. “What happened to those plans, Thomas?” I prodded.

He leaned back and took a deep breath. “Not now, please. I don’t feel like talking about it.” You glanced at him and saw his eyes were closed. His chest was rising and falling quickly.

You gripped on your tea tighter. “We can’t avoid the subject forever, Thomas.” You stated and heaved a heavy breath. A few seconds pass before you continued. “We both believed we could make it work, Tom. And we really tried. You called, I answered. I called, you answered. But as more months passed, the situation changed. You rarely called yet I always answered when you did. I called, voicemail answered.”

Thomas stayed silent. You took this as an incentive to continue. “I know how much you love your job, your career and the people you work with. I see the way your eyes light up in the pictures you send me where you’re with your co-actors on premieres.”

“I have the same light in my eyes whenever I’m with you.” He finally decided to reply.

You understood because it was true. Thomas was genuinely happy with you. But the few months you spent together before he had to leave was not enough to fuel the longer months you two would spend apart. “I saw that, Tommy. I loved how I made you happy. And you really made me happy, more than any other I’ve been with. But as you roam the world, I’m left here to watch you fulfill your dreams as I slowly work for mine. We’re missing so much on each other’s lives, Tommy.”

Thomas was sniffling silently. You knew you hit the spot. He was the most vulnerable now. “You can’t possibly be implying that, right? It’s too early. Make yourself clearer.” He was looking at you know and he held both of your hands in his. His eyes were tearing up now and a tear slid down his cheek.

Yours came like waterfalls. “You saying it’s too early means you expected this, Thomas. You knew this happening was a 'when’, not an 'if’.” You were sobbing now, doing your best to hold it in as long as you can. “What I mean is, I’m going to stop watering a dead flower, expecting it to grow again.” You croaked, voice breaking and shoulders shaking. Thomas’ grip on your hands tightened after hearing those words.

“Dear, no. Help me, o Lord I can’t do this–” His heart was breaking and yours was too. But both of your hearts were already cracking since the day you both separated. This was just the final straw.

“It’s over, this is over.” You finally said

Thomas suddenly pulled you in a tight embrace, hearing his unsteady and shaky breaths ride beside your ear. His fingers curled around your hair and you couldn’t help but bury your head in his chest. ”This can’t possibly be happening,“ Tommy whispered through his sobs.

You clutched onto him, inhaling his scent. Cigarettes and perfume, but your Thomas all the same. "You’re home is a suitcase, Tom. And I’m afraid I was once home for you but not anymore.” Thomas’ cries louder and he hugs you even tighter. You held onto your lover and relished it for the last time. Time passed quickly and you expected the sun to rise soon.

Thomas released you and cupped your face. He looked deep into your eyes for a few seconds. His gaze broke and pulled you in again. ��O dear god, I can’t afford to lose my girl, my love.” He once again buried his face in your neck. Tears were drenching your shirt and you were drenching his too.

You lifted your face up and brought it to his neck. You planted a soft kiss on his neck and just rested your head there. You were both breaking before already and now broken. The distance was holding you both back. Time was punishing and cruel but you both couldn’t do anything about it. A few seconds passed and you finally retreated from Tommy’s hold. You leaned back on the bench and Tom followed too. You took his hand on yours and squeezed it. You closed your eyes and searched for peace at the moment right there. Thomas then rested his head on your shoulder. Your breaths were now steadying and were staring at the horizon.

“I understand that we both have a lot for development. We can focus on ourselves for a while. But I promise you, love, that when I find my rest and have bettered myself as your man, and if God wills it, I will find your eyes again and see home.” Thomas said.

You both missed a lot on each other’s lives. The lack of communication tore both of you apart. Constant worrying over each other tore both of you apart. You both became mentally and physically unhealthy. Thomas loves his career but ending things between us didn’t mean that he didn’t love me too. We’re allowing time pass by as we grow in our own ways.

You rubbed circles around his palms and breathed in deeply. “Thank you, Thomas. For understanding and everything. Thank you for letting me go.”

And so you two watched the sunrise. You smiled sadly at the fact the first time you see the sunrise together on the same side of the world is the last time you probably will too.

reblog and like! hmu if u want someone to rant to about thomas! or if you want to express your opinion on the oneshot ;))

#thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster x reader #thomas sangster x reader #newt #newt x reader #the maze runner #the scorch trials #death cure #tmr newt #tmr series #imagine #oneshot #fanfic #excerpt #excerpt from a book i'll never write #excerpt from a story i'll never write

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dyde21 · 6 years ago

Text

Realizations

Another short Tyler and Ashe story I wrote after a prompt! Mostly uneditted so forgive the mistakes. xD

XxXxXxXxX

Tyler was pretty sure there wasn't really a single big moment that made him realize he was falling deeply in love with his partner. It was a gradual process, like it often is. Despite what he would claim, he definitely had a slight interest in the extreme cute and bubbly girl that had joined his class that fateful day, but he had written it off as nothing more than a fleeting attraction that all highschoolers felt a countless number of times during the school year.

Of course fate had more in store for them, so Tyler had plenty of chances to learn more about the girl that soon became his partner. It wasn't love, but when he saw Ashe poisoned on the roof, desperately pleading for him to run even at her own expense, Tyler knew that he would do anything to keep her safe. He did everything to keep her safe.

Now he found himself in a life he could only dream about a few months ago. He had these crazy powers, lived in a massive mansion would plenty of other people like him, and almost every day he was learning to fight and training to survive a crazy war that had stakes that just made his head spin thinking about. He was pretty sure if Ashe wasn't at his side he would have either quit or gone crazy by now.

But humans have a way of adapting. Sure enough, here Tyler was getting ready for another long day of training. Sitting up in his bed, he let out a yawn and stretched out his back. It was still way too early in his opinion, but he had promised Ashe they could train a little earlier today so they could go see the new movie tonight.

Sitting up in his dark room, he let out a yawn as he scratched his back. Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he let his body slide into auto pilot as he grabbed some fresh clothes and headed to the bathroom to freshen up. He emerged from it not long later, dressed for another morning of training as he stumbled through the halls, still only about half awake. Making his way down to the kitchen, he grabbed a croissant sitting on the counter as he nibbled on it, closing his eyes and attempting not to fall back asleep again.

Glancing up at the clock again though, he noticed the time. He was surprised Ashe wasn't here already, but he figured she was just getting ready. The thought of her made his heart beat a little faster, and his mind was just a tad more awake now. That caused him to pause a moment. Sure they were friends, but why was he so excited to see her? Normally he'd be a lot more grumpy about having to get up so early, and yet here he was, already ready before her. Taking another pensive bite of his snack, he tried to wrestle with that idea.

He heard the creak of the floor as someone approached, and he sat up a little more. A few moments later Ashe emerged with an adorable yawn as she stretched her back. She paused, noticing him and offered him a smile that sent a jolt of adrenaline through his veins.

“Hey Ashe.” He offered, coughing once to clear the raspiness from his throat.

She offered him a little smirk at the sound, grabbing an apple and biting into it. “Morning sunshine.” She sing-songed, knowing how much of a torture getting up early was for him.

The sound of her voice made him smile again, and the morning seemed just a little brighter. He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, getting a glass of orange juice, humming lightly and she bounced around as if almost dancing to whatever tune was in her head.

The sight made his heart feel a little lighter, his mood brighten, and the chains of sleep fall away. She finished getting her little snack together and turned, leaning against the counter to just smile at him playfully and Tyler just let out a happy sigh. .

Ashe started to explain their plan for their morning workout, and while Tyler listened, a different thought was starting to creep into his mind.

This moment was nice. Like, really nice. It was resonating with him on some deeper level, and it wasn't hard to figure out that the reason of Ashe. It wasn't getting ready to work out, it wasn't eating a light breakfast, and it sure as hell wasn't waking up earlier. But it was the bright, bubbly, ball of sunshine that made everything else appetizing. But it was also new, if not scary. Even with his best friends Bia and Tommy, he never felt like this. They were comforting, and important to him. She was starting to feel... necessary. Like a part of his day that was required and he would feel incomplete without.

Apparently Ashe had asked him a question, because he was just staring at him with a quirked eyebrow, biting her lip as if to hold back a laugh.

“I take it you're still half asleep? I asked if you're ready.” She repeated, standing up.

Tyler nodded. “Uh... yeah.” Was his intelligent response as he did his best not to let his eyes linger on the thin strip of skin that was exposed as her shirt was lifted up when she reached up to stretch her back.

Ashe just walked over to him, slapping his back gently as she started pushing him out the door. “Come on. Working out will wake you up, let's get to it.”

An hour or so later, and they were both sprawled out on one of the couches, freshly showered and just letting the tension leave their bodies.

“You increased your max weight again.” Ashe offered, rolling over on her couch to stare at him, a proud look shining in her eyes.

Tyler just smirked in response. “Thanks to your help. Someone won't let me quit when I'm tired.”

Ashe just laughed and stuck her tongue out. “Never.” She offered before giggling.

Tyler just watched her, and he felt gears starting to click into place in his head. How he cared about every detail of her. Her little quirks, her common actions that he come to grow fond of, her every word. He found himself looking forward to and craving them more and more.

Ashe was just staring at him with a strange look, so he rolled over to look away from her because he couldn't come up with a good excuse.

“I promised to help Ami shop today before he go out tonight, so I'll see you later. Make sure you let me know if you beat that level you've been stuck on.” Ashe offered as she walked by, patting his shoulder, flashing him once last smile before she left the room.

Pausing, Tyler just stared after her, a little slack jaw. She had actually been listening to him yesterday? Ashe was always polite enough to listen when he spoke, but he figured she was just being nice and letting him ramble on about the new game he was playing versus actually caring about what he was saying. He wouldn't have even blamed her for just listening. But no, she actually made an effort to engage with what he was interested in. Burying his face in the cushion, he suddenly found it harder to deny the creeping thought that was popping up in his head.

A few hours later after his mind and heart had calmed down, he found himself pacing back and forth as he changed his jacket for a third time. Ami was with Ashe, and he didn't know what jacket he'd look best in. He had considered asking Ali, but that was just a conversation he didn't really want to have.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, he tried to remember if there were any Ashe had remarked on liking. They were just seeing a movie, but he was feeling more pressure than usual to try and look nice for some reason.

“Tyler?” He heard Ashe's voice echo from downstairs, they must have gotten back recently. Pausing to try and calm his nerves, he made sure he had everything before he headed downstairs.

Ashe was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him with a warm smile.

He saw her eyes trace over him, and her smile grew a little wider and internally Tyler cheered. He must have gotten lucky with the jacket.

Though, Ashe was still far cuter in his opinion. It wasn't like she was dressed any different than normal, but her pair jeans leading up to a leather jacket over a hoodie just looked cute to him. He made his way down the stairs, grateful he didn't stumble and embarrass himself.

Ashe's eyes followed him carefully, and her grin only seemed to get bigger the closer he got. “Let's go! I wanna get popcorn and some good seats.” She offered as she grabbed his hand and started leading him outside as Ami leaned against the wall, spinning her keys around her finger as she watched them with a knowing smile.

As Tyler looked on ahead and saw Ashe dragging him along by the hand, the last traces of doubt vanished from his mind. He loved this girl. He wanted to be with her always now. Her presence was the spark he looked for in life. Speeding up a step so they were next to each other, he asked her about shopping while he stored away every word and smile, knowing they were more precious than he had ever realized.

XxXxXxXxX

Pacing back and forth, Ashe stared at the clock with an increasing frustration.

“I'm mildly concerned that if you don't relax a bit you're going to actually set the clock on fire with your mind.” Ami's voice chimed in, leaning over the counter with an amused expression.

“I can't do that.” Ashe snapped, pausing mid step. “At least I don't think I can...” There was a beat where they both suddenly pondered whether or not Ashe could learn to do that. Powers were weird sometimes.

Ami just rolled her eyes. “That aside, you need to relax. They're just running a little late.”

“It's been hours.” Ashe countered, slamming her hands on the counter. “Maybe we should go look for them.”

Ami just sighed. “It's been two hours. On a Saturday. Traffic is a thing kiddo. If there was an emergency Ali would have said something. It wasn't even a special mission anyway.”

Ashe just sighed, leaning against the counter. “I know! I know. It's just like... one of the first ones he's gone on without me. I'm worried.” She confessed, looking away.

Ami raised an eyebrow. “I could tell. You think he's too weak to handle himself?”

“No!” Ashe snapped, angry at the accusation. “Of course not. He's improved leagues, plus Ali is with him. I'm just... worried. Things happen.”

Ami nodded. “Love does strange things to a woman's heart.”

“Ami!” Ashe shrieked, face flushing red. “It's not that! We're just partners... just partners. I'm worried about him.”

Ami gave her a deadpanned expression, clearly not believing her for a moment. “Then I'm sure all those dreamy eyed looks you give him are purely platonic as well.” She offered, ducking as Ashe threw an apple at her. “Don't waste fruit.” She scolded, picking it up and washing it off.

“Don't be annoying then.” Ashe countered petulantly.

Ami just laughed, looking at her younger sister fondly. “What is Tyler to you?”

Ashe paused, fiddling with the new apple in her hand. “He's... important to me. I don't know how to describe it. He's always in my thoughts. When he's interested or passionate about something... it makes me interested in it. I just want to be with him, I want to enjoy the things he enjoys, and I want to share the things I enjoy with him.” She shifted to staring up at the ceiling. “I never cared much for games before I started talking to him, but now I'm looking forward to the same games he is because I know when they come out we're going to stay up late and play them together, chat about difficult parts and make fun memories going through them.”

Ami was just quiet, letting her sister process.

“I saw him watching the cooking channel a few days ago. He turned it off when I walked in the room, but he was paying close attention to a basic cooking show. I think... he's trying to learn to cook.”

Her eyes shifted to her sister, with an almost help me look in them. “He's been asking me questions about cooking a lot more recently, and I know he's been trying snacks late at night. He knows I love cooking and I think he's trying to learn so he can talk with me about it. Ami... when I first met him he had no idea what half the vegetables in his fridge were, and we talked yesterday about what the secret to a good glaze is.”

Before they could continue the sound of the front door opening clattered out and Ashe practically sprinted towards it.

Tyler was kicking off his shoes and setting down his backpack, before he turned to flash her a smile.

“I'm ba-”

He was cut off as Ashe slammed into him, hugging him tightly.

She felt his chest rumble as he laughed, hugging her tightly.

“Are you okay?” She mumbled softly.

“No injuries at all. Ali took care of everything, I basically just held the bags.”

Ashe laughed, but let out a sigh of relief.

“Missed you too.” She heard Ali say from somewhere behind her, but there was a teasing tilt to her voice.

Ashe stepped back, ignoring the burning in her cheeks as she hugged her sister. “I know you'll be safe, you gorilla.”

Ali just laughed and messed up her hair with her knuckles. “Rude.”

Ashe noticed Tyler walking up the stairs and gave him a look. “I'm going to change then look for something to eat. We only had fast food on the way home.”

“I'll make you something!” Ashe said a little too eager perhaps.

He flashed her a grateful grin before he turned and headed back towards his room, stretching out his back as he walked.

Ashe turned to Ali, narrowing her eyes. “Is he actually okay?”

Ali nodded, yawning herself. “He held his own without issue. No one of note showed up, and I had Luna on him the whole time too so he wouldn't have gotten hurt.”

Ashe nodded, finally relaxing. “Good.” He paused before smiling up at her sister. “I am glad you're safe too though.”

Ali just patted her shoulder as she walked by towards the kitchen. “ I need a beer.”

Heading to the kitchen, Ashe fished through the fridge to grab some ingredients. As she stared preparing the vegetables, she paused, smiling.

She had always loved cooking since she saw her sister doing it when she was young, but knowing she was cooking something for Tyler, that she'd see his face light up like a kid when he saw the food before he told her all about the mission, that he was safe around her and they could just relax around each other made Ashe realize it.

He was far more important to her than she had even thought. He was a crucial and cherished part of her life now. With a silent sigh, she realized her sister was right. She was in love with her partner.

#Tyler #Ashe #My OC's

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