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thisnoodlewritesao3 · 4 years ago

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In The Storm, There Came A Breeze | Sawamura Daichi/Reader

Characters: Ushijima Wakatoshi, Sawamura Daichi, Reader/Original Female Character

Pairings: Sawamura Daichi/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader

Warnings: Minor Angst

Word Count: 4023

Summary: Daichi blew into her life like a gentle breeze, battling the after effects of the storm Ushijima had left behind.

A/N: This is the second part of a companion piece, the first part will be linked here.

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Daichi blew into her life like a gentle breeze, battling the after effects of the storm Ushijima had left behind.

She meets Daichi as she is wandering around Karasuno without any destination in mind; trying to cloud her thoughts. She doesn’t even realise she’s walked in front of a gym until someone is yelling for her to move; she turns her head just in time to catch sight of a ball flying towards her face. Closing her eyes, she prepares for an impact that never comes; instead the ball had been stopped, the forearm in front of her face told her that much.

The world erupts into stammering apologies from the boy who had hit the ball, a whirlwind of laughter from a pair inside of the gym, and her saviour asking her over and over again if she’s okay. They were introducing themselves around her while she was still processing the events of two seconds ago.

“Great, Asahi, you broke the girl and you didn’t even hit her,” Sugawara slapped Asahi on the back - the boy in question had crumbled down onto the ground, letting out a stream of apologies.

She looks back up at Daichi exclaiming that she is, afterall, okay. He doesn’t accept it, not quite, “are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again

“I’m sure.” She nods, though it doesn’t come out half as confidently as she wants it to.

“You know,” he scratched the back of his neck, “you should take me to dinner as a thank you for saving your life.” The soft chuckle he lets out tells her he's joking - he has to be joking, why wouldn’t he be?

That didn’t matter, she felt bad about it either way, so she pulled out her phone, “can I have your number?” Her confidence was all fake, but he didn’t need to know that.

Daichi freezes for a second, unsure of what to do, until she juts her phone out again and he takes it, inputting his number. “I was only kidding…” he mumbled, glancing over at Suga who was giving him a wild grin.

“Thank you,” she slips her phone back into her pocket, offering him a small smile before turning away. He calls out after her, asking for her name and she gives it to him.

True to herself, she messages him later that evening.

Hi, when are you next free so I can take you for something to eat?

She put her phone on her desk, turning her attention back to her studies only for her phone to start vibrating. He called me? She picks up quickly, as to not be perceived as rude, “you really don’t need to take me to dinner!” Daichi exclaims, pulling a laugh out of her, “I’ll be alright, I promise.”

“I want to.” She says confidently.

“I’d feel bad, though, wasting your money on me.” He mumbles and she rolls her eyes.

“Please, it’s my pleasure, now when are you next free?”

They meet up that weekend and she takes him to the cafe. She orders for them both, because the options are just too good looking and I don’t want to waste your money. After finding out what he prefers, she orders Taiyaki and tea for herself, and pancakes, ice cream, and coffee for Daichi.

“Wow, this place is so cool, have you been here before?” Daichi asks, eyes bright while looking around. She nods lightly, her heart cinching at the memory. In between bites, they make pleasant conversation, neither of them taking much of a break from talking - though he does talk far more than she does. He tells her how he came about joining Karasuno, how he liked being the volleyball captain but those goddamn first years make it so hard. She learns that they’re planning on going to nationals this year, and he truly believes they can do it with this new team.

He asks her why she decided to come to Karasuno. She tells him that she had issues with some people while at Shiratorizawa - to her, Karasuno was the next best option when it came to what she needed - which was a way to escape.

She doesn’t tell him it’s because of who she is trying to leave behind.

“Maybe you could help me study then,” his words are hopeful, dancing with glee and amusement that makes her hesitate.

“Maybe.” She hums.

She was surprised when he asked to take her out next weekend - she couldn’t even argue that she hadn’t had a nice time, she had loved it. Her hesitation wavered when he told her to give him an answer whenever she was ready. It hadn’t been five minutes since he stepped on the train that she texted him she’d love to go out next weekend.

Days start to zip by whenever she is by his side, and nobody is surprised when he asks her to be her boyfriend - nobody is surprised when she says yes.

----

Apparently, Daichi lives his life freely - unlike Ushijima, who revels in his routine.

Of course there was his basic routine, but anything outside of school and volleyball was free-reign; she found herself going on multiple dates a week - most of them just sitting outside of Sakanoshita store with some food and drinks. He insisted on calling her by her first name because that’s just what people in relationships do, and I love the way you say my name. She doesn’t need to hide her blush.

Daichi wasn’t afraid to shower her with compliments. He loved to see the way she’d squirm and blush, how flustered she’d get. Even him just asking for her to read to him was enough to make her heart beat loudly in her chest because he could just never get enough of your voice.

She lets herself think that he might actually be the one. Not just some fairy tale.

----

Daichi adores buying her flowers when he finds out how important they are - unlike Ushijima, who had rejected the idea right up until she left him.

One day, they were walking around without rhyme or reason, just basking in each other's company. They came across a flower shop and a mixture of bile and adoration fills her throat; she doesn’t quite know how to react, especially not when he follows her gaze and asks, “do you want me to buy you flowers?” She watches the way he scrunches up his nose at the smell and pulls back.

“No, it’s okay, if you don’t like them then you don’t have to.” She mutters, trying to pull him away, but he doesn’t budge - instead, he twists her around and squeezes her hand.

“But do you like them? That’s what I want to know.” Something in her eyes twinkles at the prospect of it; as tears start to build up, he doesn’t question it, just brings her head to his chest.

“I do…” she whimpers, choking back soft cries. “But not purple hyacinths, or lavender, or forget-me-nots.” She states, and he nods like it’s the easiest thing in the world to remember.

He steps away from her, slipping into the shop and assuring her he’d be back quickly. The wind pinches at her skin, goose bumps prickling along her arms and she can’t help but feel some shame - as if asking for something as simple as flowers would be too much.

In five minutes, Daichi returns with a bouquet of flowers - camellias for perfection, foxgloves for protection, and roses for love - apologising that he took so long, “I just wanted to make sure they were perfect.” She feels her heart swell at the sight, burying her nose deep in them and snuggling closer into his side. “Do you like them?” He asked, almost unsure of himself.

“I love them.” She sighs happily.

And she really does.

----

Daichi loves to have her with him at practise - unlike Ushijima, who despised even the idea of it.

“You should come and watch me practise after school!” He cheers one morning while they wait for their classes to begin; she’s rubbing her thumb over his hand, because he almost refuses to not have her holding him in some way. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water - she’d still barely managed to be okay with the fact he played volleyball, watching him practise might be too much for her.

“Wouldn’t I be too distracting?” Her voice is like a breeze, too soft. He can feel his heart shatter at the way her eyes start to shine - not with happiness, no, as if she were going to cry.

He cups her cheeks, brushes her hair behind her ears and looks at her firmly, “of course,” he felt her tense up, “but I’d love to have you by my side no matter what - besides, it’d be nice to hear you cheering my name.” He grins from ear to ear, pressing light kisses over her face. She doesn’t know whether to feel loved or not, but she settles on the former and allows herself to smile.

“I’ll come watch.” She says, rolling her eyes as he yells triumphantly, “But I don’t know about cheering you on, probably that Tsukishima, though.” She giggles as he lightly swats her arm.

----

Daichi is quick to pick up on her fear - and for that, she is grateful

It should have been a normal practise, but the first years just wouldn’t stop arguing, for some reason. She was watching from the side, chatting lightly with Yachi when Daichi’s booming voice echoed throughout the gym - it set her body on fire as she froze, tears welling in her eyes; she knew it wasn’t directed at her, because she hadn’t done anything, but that didn’t stop her breath from picking up until she was light headed.

Yachi reached her hand out to you, worry laced in her words - she tossed a look over to Daichi who enveloped her in a hug, stroking her hair gently and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Never in her life had she been so thankful that he was holding her - if it wasn’t for him, her knees would have had her crumbling.

He led her out of the gym, not once letting go of her - not until they were away from the stares of his teammates.

When his sweet voice asked her what was wrong, she broke and told him of her time with Toshi - although she still referred to him as Toshi - she told him about his little comments, about the lack of affection, about everything that hurt and bothered her beyond relief. The missed dates and lack of communication. How much he drove her crazy. She told him how she used to hate volleyball because of him, how the very thought of it had once made her sick - until she met Daichi, that is.

Of course, she made sure to tell him how much he had changed her life; how much more confident she’s grown since meeting him, and how much she loved it, and how much she loved him.

He leans down, stealing a kiss from her, stroking her cheek with his thumb and she hums happily, melting into his touch. He pulls away from her, only barely, “do you even know how much you mean to me?”

She pushed his face away, blushing furiously - they’re completely unaware of the audience they’ve gathered as she complains about his sappy words, waving her hand harshly in front of him. Of course, he responds by lifting her high up and spinning her around, pulling her closer when she squeals with joy. For once, she’s taller than him, cupping his cheeks, pressing her forehead against his; strong arms around her waist, making sure she’s steady as she giggles, their breath intertwining.

----

There was no questioning that she was invited to his actual games and not just practises, she didn’t need to ask twice.

When his eyes sought her out in the stands, he found her standing there proudly, something on her cheeks and wearing his jersey. Even from here, he can see how anxious she is, but when they meet eyes, that seems to drip off of her, replaced by such pure love that has his heart swelling.

“Did you get her that?” Daichi asked Kiyoko, obviously meaning the jersey.

“She asked me to, even offered to pay,” Kiyoko giggled softly, brushing her hair out of her face - his eyes still hadn’t left her, pride swirling around him knowing she was there to cheer him on and nobody else.

“Of course she did.” He chuckled - it was too obvious that he didn’t want to take his eyes off of her for a second, but when he did, he knew she was still watching him. Only him.

As they play against Ohgiminami, he can hear her voice loud and clear in the crowd. Every single receive; every single serve; every single spike; there is no limit to her cheering - knowing how quiet she’d been barely a few months ago made him want to cheer with her, because for once she was using her voice, and it was for him. Because she loved him.

After Karasuno won, she ran directly into his arms, not caring about the sweat dripping off his body - relishing in every single part of him because why wouldn’t she? He finally gets a good look at what’s on her cheeks, ‘#’ on the left and ‘1’ on the right. He could have cried right there - she’d painted his number on her cheek. But he didn’t choose to pull her just a little closer and grab at the loose parts of his shirt on her. “You look cute, you should wear my clothes more often.” She rolled her eyes, swatting at his chest.

“I’m only wearing this because you're playing today,” she sighed heavily, crossing her arms under her chest, “don’t expect this treatment all the time or I’ll start wearing Asahi’s stuff.” He chuckled at the idea of that, shaking his head lightly.

“Whatever you say, firecracker.”

----

She was there the next day, sporting the same outfit.

At some points, he’s worried that she’s going to tumble over the barrier because she’s leaning forward so far - thank God Saeko is there to pull her back - still she carries on.

“You’re such a dummy,” she mumbles sadly, squeezing his hand in the infirmary. Of course he’d collided with Tanaka, something always had to go wrong in one of these matches. “You came together like magnets.” She tried to make him smile, and it worked, but the pain he felt was too much.

“I lost a tooth.” He showed it to her proudly - she grimaced, holding out her hand. Even if the gesture made him cringe, he gave it to her and watched her examine it.

“Can I keep it?” She asked.

“What is wrong with you?” Amusement flowed from him and she rolled her eyes.

“That way, whenever Tanaka makes fun of me, I can show him what he did.”

“You’re a sadist.”

She shrugged, “you love it.”

“I don’t know, I think you’re pretty creepy.”

“Whatever, magnet-boy.”

----

The night before their match against Shiratorizawa, Daichi called her, worried about how she was going to be. “I told you, Daichi, I’ll be fine.” She mumbled groggily - it was late, after all - but he couldn’t get the worry out of his mind.

“I know, I just… I worry about you.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair and flopping onto his bed.

“Really?” Sarcasm dripped from her tongue. “I couldn’t tell.” He heard her roll over, probably snuggling closer to her pillow. “I promise I’ll be okay, now can I go to sleep?”

“If he says anything to you…”

“I doubt he will.” She assured him, “but if he does, then it won’t matter, because the only opinion of me that matters…” she paused, letting him work out how she was going to end that sentence before she smirked, “is Kiyoko’s.”

“Hey!” Daichi cried out, there was still an amusement in his voice.

“Oh, I guess you, too.” She snickered.

“Yeah, I mean, having you cheer me on is nice, but hearing Suga’s voice.” He mocked a chef’s kisses, drawing giggles out of her.

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I dare.”

He listened as she tapped on her screen, before she airily laughed down the phone; of course she’d messaged in the group chat, he saw her message clear on his screen.

Daichi just said he wants to hear Suga screaming his name.

When he gasped, she laughed louder. “I hate you.”

“Oh my God, we have something in common.”

He rolled his eyes.

They said their goodnights, promising to see each other the next morning - even if they both knew it was inevitable, it was still nice to hear it.

----

Across the court was Ushijima Wakatoshi; Daichi watched the captains eyes flicker up towards the Karasuno stands as she cheered so loudly. He hadn’t even started playing, but she was already so excited to see how he’d do. With no shame, she blew a thousand kisses in his direction.

He waved gleefully before turning back to Ushijima, his eyes piercing into his skull. Daichi smirked, as if to say that's right, she’s mine. He puffed out his chest and continued warming up.

Only Suga seemed to notice him strutting around, but he didn’t bring it up, just snickered to himself - he’d been one of the few she had told about her past relationship with Shiratorizawa’s ace - of course, he’d immediately wanted to fight him, but she’d said it wasn’t worth it. That Daichi was the only one she really cared about when it came to opinions, and even then he’d always tell her the same thing.

He could remember her ranting to him a few nights ago about how happy he makes her because if I don’t get it out right now, I might just explode with happiness! And he’d listen, because she was so important to Daichi, and that meant she was important to him.

Daichi sucked in a breath, preparing himself for the game of a lifetime. He knew she was watching him, his number on her cheeks, his jersey on her body. That alone was enough to calm his nerves.

----

“They won…” she mumbled to the side a second after the game finished, the silence that filled the gym was deafening. “They won.” Her voice a little louder until she started to jump up and down, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You won!” She screamed out, leaning over the barrier, almost falling over until Saeko pulled her and Yachi into a tight hug.

Her heart pounded so deep within her chest that it ached, everything they’d worked hard for had finally come to fruition and she got to be here to see it.

The moment the teams were excused from the court, she ran as fast as she could, almost tripping down the stairs and bumping into several people, barely offering them an apology before she bolted off in the direction.

Just before she could reach Daichi, she ran directly into someone else. She looked up quickly, ready to apologise before she froze; the piercing red eyes of Tendou Satori were enough to make her panic. “Oh, Tendou?�� Her voice was soft. She nervously tapped her foot, wanting this interaction to be done with soon.

“It’s been a while,” Tendou chuckled, slowly dragging his eyes over her outfit, he sneered, “didn’t know you would be supporting the other team? What happened to your Shiratorizawa pride?” She stared up at him, confusion laced in her features before being washed away by a mild aggression.

“I got to Karasuno.” She said coolly; somehow her words cut deep into the blocker, making him think that there wasn’t a thing he could say that would throw her off her game. “And besides, I’m here to support my boyfriend.” Almost as if he had heard her, Daichi appeared. She grinned so wildly, anxious to run up to her captain and shower him with love.

“I thought you hated volleyball.” He sneered. She sighed, dropping her smile for a second to stare back at him.

“I used to, but things change when you find the right person,” her eyes met Daichi’s and she smiled softly, reaching up to pat his arm, “you played good.” She waved him goodbye before full-on sprinting towards Daichi.

His open arms were a welcome embrace as she leapt through the air, landing perfectly in them. He stank of sweat, soaked in the stuff, too - she didn't care. Because he was here. She was in his arms. He won. “Oh my God, I’m so proud of you.” She plastered his face with kisses, squealing as he twirled her around, pulling her closer to his chest. “You did it, baby, you won.” She nuzzled her nose against his, eliciting a flush on his cheeks that she just knew wasn’t from how hard he’d just worked. The sounds of Tsukishima mock-gagging at their affection only made her laugh.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have a gorgeous girlfriend, Tsukishima,” Daichi teased, eyes never wavering from her form.

“Well, she’s annoying, so I don’t want one.” Tsukishima turned his head away.

“And I was cheering you on, too, Tsukishima.” She put her hand against her chest, feigning pain as she flopped her head onto Daichi’s shoulder, obviously fake sobs made them all laugh.

Heavy footsteps didn’t draw away her attention from the man holding her in his arms; not until Daichi forced his eyes away to see who it was. She followed his gaze, locked eyes with Ushijima, any emotion on her face dropped immediately. He cleared his throat, staring at her, unblinking. It should have made her easy - there was a time when it would have made her uneasy - but that wasn’t today. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Anything you need to say to her,” Daichi carefully put her down on the ground, wrapping his arm around her in a way that screamed possessive to her, but she relished in it, “you can say to all of us, Toshi.” She inwardly snickered at the idea of him mocking Ushijima. His stare told her exactly what her boyfriend was thinking, if you even think of trying anything, I will beat your ass just like I did on the court. Tenderly, she rubbed his lower back, making sure to snuggle in extra close.

Ushijima’s stare still hadn't faltered from her face, zoning out the rest of the team, “I told you you were a distraction.”

The entire team seemed to set on fire behind her - no one said anything - waiting for her reaction was like pure torture.

They didn’t expect her to pull Daichi closer - as if there was any room between either of them anyway - and hum happily, “I’m not a distraction to the one that matters.

Daichi looks down at her like she’s just given him the world - in reality, she was his world. If he wasn’t mostly sane, he would have proposed to her right then and there. But then she’s leading him and the rest of the team away and he lets himself calm down.

Of course, the moment she gets outside, she's taking in such deep breaths that he knows how badly she was panicking. He watches her fall purposely onto the floor, laying flat on her back and covering her face, almost screaming into her hands.

He’s at her side in an instant, but then he sees the smile on her lips and he steps back.

“What got you so happy?” Suga leans down and offers her his hand, she takes it, being pulled to her feet with such ease.

“Because you won! I can’t get over it, like, Tanaka was like blam and Kageyama went whoosh-” they listened to her ramble, making random noises for each and every person, moving like an excited puppy.

Daichi had never loved her more in that moment. He knew, deep in his heart, that he had found the perfect girl for him.

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

A/N: Ah okay, sorry this took so long to get onto Tumblr, I was having issues. But that’s fine, we’re fine.

#daichi x reader #ushijima x reader #sawamura daichi #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #hq #hq x reader #writing #my writing #hq writing #haikyuu writing #angst #fluff

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harcourtholmesii · 4 years ago

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An Officer’s Loyalty (Part 3)

Pairing: Medic X Reader

Words: 1408

Warnings:

- Swearing

- Some Gore and Body Horror

- Surgical/Medical Situations

- Some Slight Nudity (Half Nudity)

Enjoy!

The cool of the underground seeped through your uniform, even past the extra layer that was Medic’s coat. Probably the most high-tech part of the building, the basement level was a labyrinth of concrete, a dull grey with only a singular, painted red line that ran continuously across the walls on either side. It was quiet for the most part, save for the occasional groan of pipes and the flicker of the lights.

You had passed by many doors, but hadn’t been allowed to take in your surroundings properly. You had all but lost track of where to go when you passed the sad excuse for a kitchen. Your ‘escorts’, Heavy and Medic, had kept a quick pace as they led you into the depths of your new home. The belly of the beast, if you will.

Before you had left the billiard room and your interrogation behind, Medic had insisted that he take you to have your surgery completed first.

‘Vouldn’t vant to forget und zhen haff jou’re heart explode on zhe battlefield!’

It had been the first time you had heard him speak in his usual, manic glee since he had first found you and Spy in the mine shaft. It had been unnerving, but you didn’t feel like it was safe to, so quickly, go back on your agreement.

When he had started guiding you out of the room, Heavy had been quick to follow. You had never seen the two apart for long; perhaps because they had a history before their careers at Mann Co. or when they would have had to learn English for the job. Considering how often Medic’s tongue dipped back into his maiden language, you suspected he hadn’t spoken much English before his work at Mann Co.

Heavy hadn’t said much at all since you arrived, but he seemed less agitated by your presence. You still noticed how his eyes would occasionally glance at you if you trailed behind, but he didn’t do much more than slow his pace ever so slightly.

Finally, after too long trying to follow Medic’s quick footsteps, you came to two large doors, with a painted red cross upon them. Medic pushed them open easily and gestured for you to enter. You hesitated, on account that you had been expecting the medical bay.

Not a bloody slaughterhouse.

The medical bay still had some utensils here and there; a bonesaw or three, pliers, syringes, and a surgery table with a different kind of medigun attached to the roof, hanging down like some James Bond torture device. The drawers were in a disarray, buckets of blood, bones and feathers dotted the linoleum floor, and an open bird cage filled with pigeons and the occasional bird shit made you feel sick to your stomach. The remnants of the medical bay, surely, were not where you would be having this surgery?!

Heavy nudged you inside, and Medic moved about the surgery table, going to wash his hands in a bloodied steel sink. Heavy offered you an almost apologetic smile, as he took to sitting by the door and crossing his arms.

‘Bitte, haff a seat.’ The German rolled his head to one side, to gesture to the operating table. You let out a scoff.

‘You’re kidding.’

Medic turned to look at you, almost confused by your unwillingness to sit or lay down upon the surgery table. You looked back over the steel table, eyes landing on leather straps at about where ones ankles, wrists and neck might be. You cocked a brow, gesturing to the straps.

‘And, what surgery might need those? Or did you run out of anaesthesia?’

‘Oh, zhose!’ He almost laughed, the smile returning full force to his face. ‘Das is nozhing! Scout vas just moving around too much during his surgery, so I had zhem installed. Ve don’t haff to use zhem if you don’t vant to.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question about the anaesthesia.’

‘Ve don’t use it.’

What?

‘I said it before, and I’ll fucking say it again; ‘you’re kidding me?!” You stepped back, closer to the door, your legs shaking. Heavy had stood, but he didn’t seem threatening. He just seemed encouraging. You shook your head. ‘Like Hell I am going to let you cut me open like that! I’d rather be killed!’

‘Doktor does not use anaesthesia because it is not common.’

‘Excuse me?’ You turned on Heavy, giving him the most furious glare in your arsenal. Too bad that due to your lack of stature, it was nothing intimidating. You would have liked to see the big man show a hint of something other than indifference or great ferocity.

‘Vas Herr Heavy means, is das I do not often haff access to anaesthesia.’ You turned your furious glare back on the German, and much like Heavy, he didn’t even blink. ‘Razher zhan using it for all surgeries, I haff zhe medigun dull zhe pain instead, und save zhe anaesthesia for vorse injuries.’

‘How are your employers this…’ You dare not finish your sentence. The administrator had cameras everywhere, and you did not doubt that she, or rather Miss Pauling, would find a way to sneak a camera or bug into your opponent’s base.

‘And… you expect me to let you cut me open in this…’ You gestured about. ‘… In this mess?’

‘Vell, I haff never been too picky, und after zhe first surgery, I haff had few complaints. No one has gotten sick because of it.’ He assured. ‘If it vill make jou feel better zhough, I can keep zhe gloves on.’

You held back a retch. Your chest had tightened and you felt your lungs compress, as if trying to expel all oxygen. You felt some form of small relief when there was the snap of red rubber gloves, and Medic gestured once more to the table. You looked between Heavy, the way out and the crazed doctor, contemplating your options.

‘Do I need a surgical gown?’ The Medic laughed, a great guffaw of something almost sinister. You didn’t join him.

‘Nein! Of course not!’

You stepped hesitantly towards the surgical table and took a seat on the cold steel. You were shaking, goose bumps shuddering their way up and down your skin. You removed Medic’s coat and then, having thought about it, removed your own. The medical bay was even colder than the halls, and you brought your arms around you in a sorry attempt to trap as much heat as you could.

As Medic approached, you laid down, gripping onto the edges of the table. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use the straps. Looking up at him, you could swear you had been thrown through time and space and ended up in a Twilight Zone episode. Some creepy, fucked up, science fiction-horror show, where you were the helpless victim. You hated it.

He reached up, first switching on the red, translucent beam of the medigun that hung above your head. The scarlet, smoke-like tail sunk low and into your chest; you could feel a warmth behind your ribs and a numbness run all across your body. Your fear still gripped as tightly to you as you did the steel table when Medic pulled out the saw.

He didn’t wait for you to shakily undo the buttons of your shirt, or remove the bandages underneath. He placed the bonesaw down and replaced it instead with surgical scissors, cutting the cloth open with a few quick snips. Despite the warmth of the beam, the cool of the room was enough to tense your body for the first blow.

The medigun’s powerful, relaxing beam did little to make the initial incision any kinder. You watched in terror and pain, eyes already filling with tears, as the saw split your skin straight down, from collar to naval. You tried not to scream, but you couldn’t hold back your cries when you witnessed the doctor holding your own heart in his hand.

Your head was spinning and your vision becoming dotted with black smudges. You felt a warm hand on your shoulder and a wet glove against your cheek before your brain overheated from the pain and stress.

You would have considered it embarrassing that you had fainted and your old team would never have let you live it down. You didn’t feel shame though when your world went dark, however.

Instead, it was anger boiling in your blood.

~~X~~

I just wanted to thank a couple of readers of this little series for their words and just wanted to say how thankful I am that they have been enjoying it!

One reader helped to motivate my interest in continuing the story when I was suffering major writer’s block, after they messaged me asking if there was more to come. I had no idea that anyone really read my Tumblr stories anymore, so I wasn’t expecting to continue, so I really appreciate the little boost.

And then the other was one reader who, after they reblogged the post, gave me a good laugh and reminded me how much I love this series, the Medic and this fandom simply by adding some amazing tags to the end! This was a little while ago, but I only just realised, and I loved it!

Thank you though, to anyone who takes the time to read my works. I truly appreciate it, and I am glad you have been enjoying yourselves reading them!

#fanfiction #fanfic #TF2 #Team Fortress 2 #Medic #Heavy #Medic X Reader #Canon X Reader #HarcourtHolmesII

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bts-bay-bee · 5 years ago

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bad day

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: established relationship, anal fingering, gagging (with panties), oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal fingering, butt plug, tied-up (by a belt), vibrators, unprotected sex (use a condom irl), some light dirty talk and offensive names (cock-slut), spanking, squirting, multiple orgasms, cream pie, soft dom!Namjoon, cum eating, fingering after sex, it somehow turned soft idk how, unedited work

Summary: you had a bad day at work, and Namjoon tries to make it better

***

Talk about a day from hell. It all started when you woke up, an hour late, your phone ringing incessantly next to your ear. According to your phone it was 8am – the time that you usually started work – while the caller ID flashed your friend’s name from work. She had phoned to tell you that there was a meeting with everyone in the company, and it started in half an hour.

Pushing your long-term boyfriend, Namjoon (who was still peacefully sleeping), off of you, you ran into your bathroom and took the shortest, most chaotic shower in history. Five minutes later, you were rushing to get clothes on. Your boyfriend, who had woken up when he realised that he was alone in bed, peered up at you, still snuggled close against the blanket. You wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with him the entire day, but you couldn’t.

Once you had gotten your white blouse and black skirt on, you slipped your black heels, then leaned down to kiss Namjoon, with a hurried “goodbye, love you”.

Somehow, thankfully, you were only five minutes late for the company meeting. Yet you were late, nonetheless. Your boss, who was usually an impatient twit by nature, was even more so today, and took twenty minutes of the meeting to berate you about your tardiness.

Fine, you thought, I probably deserved that for being late. But it was almost as if the universe had decided that today was the day that everything was going to go wrong.

After the meeting, you walked into your office and found it flooded. Your usually neat office was somehow the only room that had suffered any damage in the entire building. Lovely, you sourly thought as you plucked a piece of paper that had your newest business proposal printed on it from the water.

By midday, you found yourself sharing an office with the same friend who had called you that morning. Sadly, she was your boss’s PA, and her office was right next to his. Only separated by a half-frosted glass partition. You also found yourself starving, having not eaten anything the entire day; and you made peace with the fact that you also wouldn’t be eating anything until you went home – your boss had clearly said that because you were late, you had to work the extra time in, essentially taking away your lunch break. In between everything that had already happened, someone bumped into you earlier, spilling coffee all over your white blouse. Not that it was a big deal, but it simply added to your list of annoying things that had happened today.

At around 3pm, you received a call from Namjoon – the one good thing about your day. Quickly answering the call, you ducked down so that your boss couldn’t see. “Hi, babe.”

“Hey, baby girl.” His deep voice cooed, making you melt. It had only been a few hours, but you missed him. “Is everything okay? I haven’t heard from you the entire day.”

You know it was stupid, but the way he said it, like he cared so deeply, made you tear up. “Joonie…” You sighed, closing your eyes. “This is the worst day I’ve ever had.”

You began listing everything that had transpired, Namjoon listening quietly. As the conversation neared its end, you saw your boss’s door open, making you quickly end the call, and continued with your boring spreadsheet of figures.

At 5pm, you basically ran out the office, desperate to get through the traffic as soon as you could. As you pulled into your driveway, it was long after sunset, and you were exhausted; wanting nothing more than to eat while watching TV with Namjoon, cuddled on the couch.

You walked into the living room, dropping your car keys onto the coffee table, immediately being met with Namjoon’s embrace. You buried your head in his chest as he kissed the top of your head, rubbing your back gently.

“Missed you.” Namjoon hummed, before you broke your hug. You just flashed him a small smile, before pecking him, happy to finally be home. “I set out some clothes for you on the bed.”

As you walked into the room, you smiled gratefully as you found one of his shirts – your favourite one – on the bed. Quickly peeling off your work clothes, you pulled the shirt over you, now wearing nothing but your panties and his shirt, that fell to your mid-thigh.

As you quickly shuffled to the living room, you found Namjoon accepting something at the door. He turned around with a packet from your favourite fast food place, and he grinned at your brightly.

Half an hour later, you found yourself stuffed with food, happily cuddling into Namjoon, with your back against his chest.

“I’m sorry I made you late for work.” He said, kissing your collarbone. You sighed and leaned your head against him, subconsciously giving him more exposed skin to devour.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m the one who kept you up.” He frowned.

You found yourself smirking, unknowingly, your mind flashing back to last night. Namjoon had suggested something new in the bedroom, which was anal play; it was nothing crazy, as it was your first time doing anything like it, but it felt amazing. Your orgasms had been mind-blowing. They had left you shaking, a light gleam of sweat coating your body; you were sure that you’d passed out somewhere in-between the heavenly pleasure.

“What are you suddenly smirking about?” Namjoon asked, his eyebrow raised as you realized you had crossed your legs, an attempt to stop yourself from getting aroused.

“Um…” You said, embarrassed. “Last night…”

Now Namjoon was the one smirking. “You enjoyed it, sweetheart?” Nodding shyly, you turned to face him, straddling him to be more comfortable. He ran his large hands over your exposed thighs, leaving goose bumps in their wake. “Would you want to try it again?” As you nodded again, Namjoon chuckled. “Can I try something new today?”

“You already know my answer.” You replied, breathlessly, your arousal beginning to drip out of you, as your mind flashed back to last night and the premise of something new tonight. You subconsciously began to grind on Namjoon, making him groan.

“Play nice, Y/N.” He warned, making you cease your actions as he grabbed your hips. “Go to the room.”

Getting up and almost running to your shared bedroom, Namjoon couldn’t help but chuckle at your eagerness. Getting up from the couch himself, he opened a package that had arrived that morning after you hastily left for work. Grabbing what he was searching for, he slipped it into his pocket before following your footsteps.

You had already stripped of Namjoon’s shirt, leaving you in your tiny black thong. When Namjoon entered the room, you knew his eyes were trained on your clothed pussy, eyes only leaving it to get something from your shared walk-in closet. Heart beating profusely, you knew you were in for a long night; Namjoon only took your toys from the closet when he wanted to make you cry with pleasure. You had quite fond memories of the toys in the closet.

Namjoon walked back to you, his belt in his hand, before leaning down to kiss you roughly. His soft, plump lips pressed against yours before shoving his tongue into your mouth, making you whimper at the roughness, as your arousal continued to drip out of you, soaking the tiny piece of fabric covering your core.

His tongue massaged your own, swallowing your moans as his hands roamed all over your body, eventually one hand settling on your ass, kneading it, while the other dipped into your soaked panties, allowing Namjoon to feel your arousal.

“All for me?” He teased quietly, gathering your slickness on his fingers before pushing them into your mouth, making you taste yourself. “How sweet do you taste, baby girl?” You just whined in response, causing him to tut at you. “Guess I’ll just have to find out myself then, hmm?”

He moved you to the bed, dropping his belt next to you, then shedding his shirt, leaving him only in sweatpants. Sliding down your sodden panties, he immediately deposited them into your mouth, causing you to essentially be gagged. Your sweet juices coated your tongue, making Namjoon hum happily.

Kissing down the length of your neck, he stopped at the base of your neck, biting down harshly at your collarbone, then sucking on it, leaving dark red marks that will surely turn into deep purple bruises soon. He continued to assault your neck, only stopping to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, his fingers tweaking at the other. He sucked your sensitive bud, before switching his position, so that he could take the other one in his warm mouth.

As his tongue skimmed over your nipple, he was bucking into your core, not giving you enough friction to get any relief. His sweatpants acted as a barrier between his throbbing cock and your dripping folds. As your hands tried to pull his pants off, he harshly bit your breast, making you cry out.

“Behave, Y/N.” He snapped, then went back to leaving marks on your chest. Once he was satisfied at the angry, red spots left on your skin, he kissed down your stomach, finally getting to your core, which was pulsing uncomfortably from the lack of attention.

“Hmm, always dripping for me, huh?” He murmured, spreading your folds so that you were completely exposed to him. The panties that were still in your mouth prevented you from replying, until he looked up at you, chuckled, then reached up and removed them from your mouth. “You’re allowed to make as much noise as you want today, sweetheart.”

Not even a second later, he attached his mouth onto your swollen clit, making you cry out, as his soft, warm mouth encased it. Flicking his tongue over your clit, he began to slowly finger your core, causing you to moan and tangle your fingers in his lush hair. He entered you with two fingers, almost immediately curling them against your tight, sodden walls, while he continued to alternate between licking stripes across your clit, and suckling on it, harshly.

“Nam…joon.” You sighed, feeling euphoria encase your entire being. He abruptly stopped his actions, making you cry out in protest. He just chuckled, before pressed his forefinger into your asshole, causing you to squeak at the sudden intrusion. His finger slid in easily, still slick from your wet pussy.

He went back to licking stripes across your clit, before quickly sticking his stiffened tongue into your pussy, tongue-fucking you mercilessly. As his tongue shot in and out of you, he began to rub tight circles onto your clit with his freehand, releasing an endless supply of whines and cries from your throat.

His single finger curling around your tight asshole, his tongue fucking your pussy without pausing and the incessant rubbing of your clit made the coil in your stomach snap, causing you to cum hard on Namjoon’s tongue. His actions didn’t cease, even with your thighs shaking on either side of his head. You fingers knotting in his hair, whimpering, and moaning as your pleasure linked with the dullest pain, as your pussy quivered from sensitivity.

“J-Joon…” You whispered, trying to pull him off of you. When he didn’t stop, you whimpered out, “Please… H-hurts…”

“You taste so good.” He replied, finally giving into your pleading as he allowed you to pull him up to your mouth. “Your pussy tastes so sweet. It’s intoxicating.”

He came up, laying down on the bed next to you, his mouth pressed against yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He nibbled on your lip, before massaging his tongue with yours. A moan involuntarily left your mouth when you tasted your cum on his tongue, which had seemingly soaked into every crevice of the magical appendage.

You pulled away, with the intentions of taking Namjoon’s cock into your mouth. As you began to pull his sweatpants down, you felt something oddly shaped in his pocket. He smirked up at you, as he palmed himself through his boxers.

“Take it out my pocket, baby. It’s for you.” He instructed, sliding his boxers down with his sweatpants, leaving him in all his gorgeous glory. Curiosity nibbling at your very being, you pulled out a small, bright pink… Something. You didn’t really know what it was, so you stared up at Namjoon, questioningly. He groaned, “Fuck, you look so innocent right now, sweetheart. Do you know what that is?” Shaking your head, no; he smirked. “It’s a butt plug. I got a small one, for now, baby girl. I don’t want to overwhelm you, yet.”

“How am I supposed to use it?” You asked, completely confused, as your hand encased the small silicone toy. Namjoon sat up, taking it from you. This action drew your eyes to his cock, which rested against his tummy. The angry red tip gleamed with pre-cum, making your mouth water, craving the salty, delicious taste of him in your mouth.

Your tongue ran over your bottom lip, something that Namjoon caught you doing, before smirking. Only when he stopped talking, did you realise that he was talking. You looked up at him, innocently, before pouting, making him chuckle.

“I was explaining how we were going to use it, but it seems like your attention is elsewhere, sweetheart.” He murmured, running his thumb over your bottom lip to make you release it from your teeth, you didn’t even realise you were biting it.

“Please…” You whispered, leaning into his touch, wanting nothing more than to take his cock into your mouth. He nodded, giving you the go ahead, before leaning back and allowing you to do whatever you wanted.

Your velvety soft mouth encased the head of his dick, lightly suckling on it, swiping your tongue over the slit so you could taste the pre-cum. As you did this, Namjoon sucked in a deep breathe, his hands weaving into your long hair. Moaning at his delicious taste, you took more of him into your mouth, softly massaging his balls.

“Hmm… Fuck, Y/N.” He groaned, “Your mouth is so fucking good, baby.”

You continued to suck on his cock, swirling your tongue around the head. After a few moments of doing this, you decided to take him even deeper into your throat, sinking your head down until your nose was nestled against his pubic bone. He let out a string of curses, bucking into your mouth.

Gagging around his girthy, long length, your throat muscles massaged his cock, enveloping Namjoon in its warmth. You moaned as he leaked more pre-cum into your throat, your saliva leaking out the corners of your mouth. Namjoon bucked into you again, releasing a whimper out of you, before he pulled out of your mouth.

You whined at the loss of his exquisite taste, but he just took a deep breath, not acknowledging your neediness to have him bucking into your mouth. “But, baby...” You whined, your desire for his cock making him chuckle. “Want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Let me cum in your pussy, sweetheart.” He said, still chuckling at how needy you were. It was endearing as much as it was enticing. He moved off the bed, now standing on the floor behind you. He grabbed his belt, positioning your arms so that it was behind you, and proceeded to loop the belt around a single arm, then both, making sure that you were bound tightly.

“Is that too tight, sweetheart?” He asked, sweetly, kissing up your spine. You shivered, relishing the way he ghosted his plump lips over your skin. After shaking your head at his question, he positioned you the way he wanted. The front of your body was pressed flush against the bed with your arms tied behind you. Seeing you splayed out for him, Namjoon groaned.

Grabbing the lube from the nightstand, which was left there from last night’s activities, he squirted some into his hand, then slowly lubricated the pink silicone toy. After getting the butt plug sufficiently coated, he deposited the excess lube onto your asshole, making you gasp. Spreading the slippery substance all over your anus, he leaned forward kissing your neck, before nibbling on the shell of your ear.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay, baby?” He murmured into your ear. You nodded, your pussy clenching around nothing as he continued to work lube into your asshole. After he deemed it enough, you felt Namjoon press the blunt head of the butt plug against your puckered hole, making you release some of your juices onto the sheets.

He slowly eased the toy in, allowing the sounds coming from your mouth to guide how fast or slow he should be going. Once he had fit the whole thing in you, he turned your head and kissed you chastely.

“You look so fucking sexy with it in you, baby girl.” He groaned. You couldn’t form words – the plug filled you so well, you almost couldn’t have coherent thoughts. Namjoon got off the bed, making you whine, wanting nothing more than him; just him. Due to your position, you couldn’t turn back and see where he had gone, instead, you were forced to simply wait for him.

A few moments later, you felt the bed between your legs dip, signalling his return.

“Where did you go?” You whimpered, your neediness evident. Namjoon ignored you, lifting up your hips to place something directly onto your clit. You moaned when you felt it was your ribbed vibrator, which was still turned off. He really wanted to pleasure you today.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” He murmured into your ear. “This is a vibrating butt plug.”

Pressing the button on both the butt plug and the vibrator, Namjoon sat back for a few seconds, watching you moan, the heavenly sounds pumping more blood to his dick, making it impossibly hard. The ribbed vibrator curled around your clit, making the whole piece of flesh sensitive, while the butt plug pulsed rhythmically in your asshole, just edging you closer and closer to the edge.

“Joonie!” You cried, feeling like you were close, so close, but it didn’t feel like you could reach an orgasm without Namjoon’s touch. You felt his gaze on you, the mattress still dipped between your legs. “P-Please… I n-need you in me-e!”

He ran the head of his cock across your folds, before slowly pushing himself in you, stretching your walls to their breaking point around his girthy length. You let out a loud moan, your hands straining to be let out of their confinements.

“Fuck! I can feel the toys too.” He said, panting as he dragged his cock of you, before slamming back in. “You feel so tight, sweetheart. Your pussy is clenching around me so tight. Gonna fuck you until you’re crying.”

With that promise, Namjoon began to fuck you into the mattress, mercilessly. He entered you repeatedly, his hips snapping against your plump ass, making the obscene sound of skin-on-skin. His balls slapped your pussy lips incessantly, making the tiniest contact with your vibrator, only adding to Namjoon’s pleasure.

“Ah – Namjoon!” You cried, feeling him press against the small of your back, making you push onto the vibrator even harder. The butt plug was still sending shocks of pleasure right down to your core, making you release more and more arousal. Slapping your ass, making it redden under his palms, Namjoon started to fuck you so hard that you moved slightly up the bed with each thrust.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum!” You whimpered, feeling your throat raw from all the moans and whimpers you’ve been letting out. “F-Fuck, you’re so-o big…”

Your pussy clenched around Namjoon’s cock, making him moan into your ear. “You’re gonna cum on my dick, baby? While your ass is stuffed and your clit is swollen, huh? You’re gonna cream on my cock while I spank the fuck out of you? You’re such a cock-slut, Y/N. Always so needy for my dick, huh?”

To emphasize his point, he began to slap your ass cheeks, making your entire ass turn red; all while snapping his hips into yours. Paired with Namjoon’s filthy words and the fact that your pussy was being destroyed by his cock, your asshole filled with the pulsating butt plug, as well as the vibrator against your clit, you cried out his name, before cumming all over the sheets and Namjoon’s cock.

You felt a rush of wetness slip out of you; your cries caught in your throat at the sheer power of your orgasm. You vaguely heard Namjoon groan, not faltering in his thrusts, before he continued his assault on your poor pussy.

“You just squirted all over me, baby girl. You like this that much? Being tied up and forced to take everything that I give you? You dirty, little cock-slut.”

Your intense orgasm rendered you speechless, unable to form words or thoughts – but you knew one thing: Namjoon completely owned you. He made you feel things no one else could, and that no one else ever can. Once you came back around, head fully functional, you found Namjoon still fucking you.

“Yes, yes, yes, you take my cock so well, sweetheart.” He groaned, roughly pulling your hair so that your neck snapped against his shoulder. You whimpered, the position making his tip nudge against your cervix. The squelching of your pussy around his cock made him groan, the dirty sound bringing him closer and closer to his own release. “I’m so fucking close, Y/N!”

“You gonna cum in my pussy, baby?” You panted, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening again. “Make a mess in between my thighs? You’re fucking me so good, baby, shit! Come in me, please, please, please! Love your cock so much. Fuck, I’m gonna cum again, baby.”

Namjoon moaned, feeling you tighten around him, as you released for the third time tonight.

“Namjoon!” You whined, your orgasm not as powerful as the previous, but enough to have you clenching tightly around his cock to make him cum right after you. He pushed himself deep into your pussy, before you felt his hips stutter against your ass.

“Oh, fuck, yes! Y/N! I’m coming, baby girl.” He moaned, releasing string after string of hot, thick sperm, painting your pussy white.

Undoing the belt around your arms, he flung it to one side, before collapsing next to you, his cock still deep within you. With your new freedom, you pulled the vibrator out from underneath you, the pulsing now hurting your red, swollen clit. The butt plug was still turned on, making you twitch; the overstimulation being too much. Namjoon, still panting, reached over, and pulled it out of you, allowing your body to relax, finally not being assaulted with copious amounts of pleasure.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asked, pushing your sweaty hair out of your face. You nodded, laying your head against his rapidly rising and falling chest. “You did so well, baby.”

You basked in the light that was his compliments, feeling your cheeks heat up at his words. You leaned up, kissing him softly, while he pulled his limp dick out of you. Wincing at the loss of him, he chuckled, before caressing your still reddened ass. He watched as his cum began to leak out of your entrance, the site almost enough to make him hard again. Without realising it, he ran two fingers around your messy entrance, making you twitch.

He gathered his cum from around your entrance before pushing it back into you, making you whine; the overstimulation being too much. Namjoon brought his fingers to your mouth, making you suck off his cum that coated his digits. His salty sperm coated your tongue, making you moan and swirl your tongue over his long fingers.

Seeing how much you enjoyed it, Namjoon chuckled. Pulling his fingers away from your lips, he replaced them with his own, kissing you gently. He pulled you into his chest, allowing you to cuddle after your intense fucking-session.

Massaging your ass, now feeling guilty for spanking you so hard, he kissed your forehead, seeing you already half asleep. “Did that take care of your bad day?”

You lifted your head off of his chest, confused. “What bad day?”

***

A/N: hey guys! I hope you enjoyed that :) Please let me know what you think <3

372 notes · View notes

pidayforpi · 4 years ago

Text

“Little Joy”

(Some, uh, Fethsteel (and a bit Magicstone)...for your enjoyment...)

(Can be read as friendship or more. Whatever suits you, buddy.)

(Actually, this applies to all my other works involving any appropriate relationship, e.g. Alistarling, Baffy...)

(Also...Perhaps extremely out-of-character...I have never worked with these characters...(except Fethry, who...may also be OOC))

———————————————————————

“T-thank you s-so much for t-tagging along...”

Fethry said to the hulking rooster walking next to him. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, looking away from his companion.

“I-it m-must be so embarrassing f-for you to be d-doing such c-childish activity...”

Steelbeak smiled at the shorter duck, patting him on his shoulder.

“It’s okay. I enjoyed it.”

——————————————————————

On a spring morning, Fethry Duck and Steelbeak went to the beaches of Duckburg for clam digging.

As early as two weeks ago, Fethry had asked Steelbeak out for harvesting clams together. It was an annual event for Fethry, but a fresh new one for Steelbeak. After all, why would a F.O.W.L. agent have the time (and passion) to do such harmless stuff?

Two weeks ago, Fethry was anxiously on his phone, constantly looking back to see if anyone was eavesdropping. Countless thoughts invaded his mind while the phone beeped: Will he be busy? Does he work on Saturdays? Will he be...planning to attack his family on that day?

When his new friend picked up the call, Fethry told him his proposal, asking him whether he would be free for a clam digging day (with heavy, heavy stuttering, of course). Fethry’s ears were too red to clearly hear if the recipient agreed to hang out. He didn’t even know if his friend could hear what the event was about, given his serious stutters. It wasn’t until the rooster showed up at the shores of Duckburg that Fethry knew his friends really did listen to and accept his invitation.

For the first time in a decade, Fethry had someone to accompany him on his silly little annual activity.

And so, two adults spent a Saturday morning on the muddy ground, along with many families around them. The beach was filled with the laughter of children, while the duo silently collected one clam after another.

But for Fethry, his heart was bumping loudly. Every time he heard children laughing, or saw children running across the beach barefoot, Fethry felt a bit more regretful, blaming himself for inviting Steelbeak to this idiotic event. He was a secret agent of F.O.W.L.! Feared, cruel, malevolent! How much pride did Steelbeak swallow for his friend? How much of his image did he risk being tainted by accepting his friend’s request?

Not to mention the tired expression clearly visible in Steelbeak’s eyes. He must be a night person. It wasn’t a surprise. He was the one to act in the shadows, after all. But Fethry further chastised himself for being inconsiderate.

Although Steelbeak was wearing a smile with his shovel in hand, Fethry couldn’t help but feel deeply guilty.

——————————————————————

An hour later, the duo left the beaches with a small net of clams. The shells clanked against each other, producing clicking sounds in addition to the two pairs of footsteps.

Although both of them weren’t the talkative type, Fethry felt rather nervous for the lack of conversations in the morning. He rubbed the locks of hair sticking out of his stocking cap with his right thumb and index finger, while holding the bag of clams close to his body with his other hand. He took a peek at his partner: Steelbeak wasn’t frowning or sulking, but Fethry still felt uncomfortable in his heart. Was he embarrassed? Was he mad? Fethry looked down at the pebbled plaza floor, biting his lower lips.

Then he suddenly stopped.

Steelbeak quickly noticed his friend staying behind, and turned around to see what’s wrong. Fethry held his head down, eyes darting everywhere but Steelbeak’s line of vision.

Before Steelbeak could ask, Fethry had mumbled his concerns.

“I...I am so sorry, Steely...” Fethry muttered, just loud enough for Steelbeak to hear.

“W-what’s wrong?” Steelbeak was surprised by his friend’s sudden apology. He had no much social experience than Fethry had. Was it something he had done wrong?

“I was so s-selfish...I j-just wanted someone to accompany m-me for once, b-but I only thought for m-myself...You d-don’t like c-clam digging at all, d-do you? You h-hadn’t t-tried i-it because you d-don’t like it...” Fethry started to whimper, holding the clams even closer to himself.

“I humiliated you...Embarrassed you...J-just because I w-wanted s-someone to accompany me...You don’t even have your disguise on!”

It was true. Steelbeak right now was only wearing a t-shirt with a nylon jacket for torso, a pair of sports trousers and sports shoes for legs and feet. His face was entirely exposed, including his abnormal metal beak.

This was the first time the secret agent hanged out with his friend without wearing incognito. And it was Fethry who encouraged him to do so. Despite knowing his position, Fethry believed one should feel no shame for being in the public. But for Steelbeak to go undisguised holding a colourful shovel, searching for clams with a bunch of kids around? Fethry suddenly felt how hard it had to be for Steelbeak to comply.

Although he was supposed to be a “secret” agent, meaning no one should know he was a member of a criminal mastermind organisation, nobody knew for sure whether anyone would recognise Steelbeak. At the very least, his beak would arouse a certain level of suspicion.

“I am so sorry...I am so sorry...” Fethry did his best to hold back tears, despite feeling extremely regretful for hurting his new friend. Who accepted his invitation. An invitation not even his dear cousin Donald would accept.

Steelbeak got down to Fethry’s level with a warm smile. “I enjoyed it. Really.”

Fethry blinked a few times, before slowly raising his head to look at the smiling rooster.

“I hadn’t tried anything like that, but it was fun. Let’s do it again sometimes, okay?”

“You...don’t think it was...silly...?” Fethry looked at the should-be menacing rooster, doubting the agent collecting intel in an enemy base would be down to collecting clams on a beach.

“It was silly, but I like it. Feth, you know...Ever since I got...this job, I hadn’t taken up any hobby. I hadn’t had any fun. Until I met you, and you introduced me to so many activities.”

It was Steelbeak’s turn to look away, while Fethry tilted his head curiously.

“I...uh...had a lot of fun...Thanks, Feth...”

Though a bit awkward, Fethry still felt his heart soothed by Steelbeak’s words of gratitude. Steelbeak must be the type who seldom show much emotions to others. He probably hadn’t thanked anyone before meeting Fethry, whether he felt grateful or not.

“Besides...” Steelbeak attempted to pull off his suave, yet intimidating persona. “You promised me a clam chowder meal, didn’t you? Hm?” But to put up this obviously fake facade in front of his genuine friend, even the rooster laughed at himself.

Fethry regained his smile, nodding his head cheerfully. “O-of course, Steely!”

Then his heart again bumped faster when he thought of another concern.

“I am g-glad you are having f-fun too, b-but...w-what if p-people find out about y-you? W-would I be...affecting your...c-career...?” His eyes looked up at the tall rooster, fingers fidgeting together shyly.

Steelbeak let out a chuckle, whispering to his friend. “Don’t worry, Feth. I am a ‘secret’ agent, remember? No one knows who I am! And...”

Steelbeak paused for a while, trying to phase his words without offending his friend. Fethry seemed to guess what Steelbeak was implying, and showed that he was listening with a smile.

“You...uh, aren’t a prominent member of the McDuck family, are you? I mean...not many people know you are the nephew of Scrooge, right? Unlike that ‘Donald’ guy, or the kids...”

“I...I mean it in a good way! So there won’t be any trouble for you too! My colleagues may not be so happy with me befriending a McDuck relative...” Steelbeak rubbed his shoulder nervously, thinking how their relationship may hurt not only himself, but also Fethry.

“It’s alright.” Fethry reassured Steelbeak. “You are right. Nobody knows me. Nobody knows you. So we will be safe!”

——————————————————————

Of course, except his own family...

A startled honk suddenly emerged nearby in the plaza. The goose (or gander, to be exact) realised his mistake, and unwisely covered his beak, only for the action to produce another slapping sound, gaining more attention.

On the other hand, Fethry made another mistake looking at the source of the sound. When he realised he knew the person in question, he made yet another bad decision to call out his name, only to cover his beak too when he remembered he should not be with the person he was with in the first place.

And now, the two cousins looked at each other awkwardly, both wide-eyed and covering their mouths.

After a five-second awkward silence, Gladstone tried to break the ice with a wave and a sheepish smile.

“Heeeeey, Fethry...Good to see you...Hanging out with a friend...?” Gladstone tried to appear casual, but his rigid expression showed how uncomfortable he was.

Fethry replied with an even more nervous grin, and many rapid nods.

Gladstone continued, hoping to end the encounter as soon as possible. “Oh, great! And you are...?” Signalling Steelbeak. Of course Gladstone knew who he was. The goose was just giving the rooster criminal a chance to lie about his own identity, so as to let the matter slide. He believed the agent would be smart enough to know the cue. He’s the top agent in his association! Sure he knew how to deal with his cover being blown...

Oh, but Gladstone really should had looked at how red the face of the rooster was before trying...

Steelbeak lifted Fethry off the ground with his left hand, pinning him against his own body like a head-lock, while childishly pointing a finger gun at Fethry’s head with his right hand. Fethry yelped in surprise, but took extra care not to drop the bag of clams.

“D—d-d-don’t c-c-come c-c-closer, or...this innocent man g-g-gets it!” Steelbeak attempted to threaten Gladstone into leaving them alone, only to make the situation more and more awkward. The confused Gladstone looked as Steelbeak’s face got redder and redder, while Fethry’s cheeks also started to blush with embarrassment.

“S-S-Steely...P-p-please p-put me d-d-down...T-this is v-v-very embarrassing...” Fethry muttered softly. He knew his friend was doing an act to “help” them out of the problem, but he was too embarrassed to comply.

Steelbeak immediately let go of Fethry, afraid that he might hurt the fragile duck. Hopefully not many people were in the plaza. Only the goose in green witnessed the “kidnap attempt” with a puzzled smile.

Gladstone sighed, seeing how his cue had totally been missed. “Okay, Steelbeak. I won’t tell F.O.W.L. about this. Okay, Fethry. I won’t tell Uncle Scrooge about this. Just pretend nothing happened, m’kay?”

Both the rooster and the duck nodded without making eye contact, their faces still red.

Gladstone took a deep breath. “But what are you two doing together? Don’t tell me you are teaching lil’ Fethry bad things, hm?” He stared with only one eye opened, pointing a finger at Steelbeak, who shook his head and held his hands up in denial.

Fethry quickly explained. “N-n-no! I-I p-proposed the a-activity! Steely...uh, S-Steelbeak was just accompanying me...”

Fethry showed his cousin the clams they had collected. “L-look! We went clam digging!”

“I w-will be u-using these to make c-clam chowder...Y-you can j-join us too! Just p-please...D-don’t tell U-Uncle S-S-Scrooge about this...? He will...He will...”

Fethry was visibly trembling. Gladstone didn’t blame him. Scrooge could be very scary when furious. He put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder, showing a kind smile. “I promise, Fethry. I promise.”

“You take care of him, okay?” Gladstone turned to Steelbeak. Despite Gladstone being much shorter than he was, Steelbeak gulped at the fierceness in his eyes.

“Gladstone, I’m an adult now!” Fethry protested against his elder cousin for being treated like a child.

“Well, you don’t act like one.”

Steelbeak cut in during the cousins’ bickering. “Don’t worry, Mister...”

Gladstone politely tipped his hat. “Gander. Glad-“

“Yo, Gladdy! I brought popsicles!”

Just when the goose was introducing himself, someone called his (nick)name from behind. Just from the voice, Fethry and Steelbeak knew who she was, but not why she was calling Gladstone.

This time, Gladstone hid his reddened face behind his hat.

At least, both parties were equal now.

Magica looked at her friend with his cousin and her partner-in-crime (sort of) in confusion, but quickly shrugged it off.

“Hey, boys. What’s up?” Magica greeted the two with a grin, while the two replied by signalling Gladstone with eye movements.

Gladstone’s face was entirely inside his hat, the brim of which he grabbed tightly with both hands.

“Hello...?” Magica stared at her partner curiously, waving her free hand in front of his face.

“What happened?” She questioned the other two birds present, who answered with two shrugs.

Magica let out a sigh, before biting at her popsicle. “Well, eating or not, you are paying for yours.”

Gladstone slowly reached for his, holding it in his shaking hand. He put his hat back on, before slowly approaching Fethry with his head down.

“We’ll never speak of this day ever again...”

——————————————————————

“Wow! Fethry, that’s delicious!” Magica exclaimed at a dining table.

Fethry blushed slightly at the compliment. “T-t-thank you, Miss De Spell...”

“Just Magica will do.”

Inside a golden yacht, two white ducks, a rooster and a goose were at the dining table. Everyone had a bowl and a spoon, while a big pot of clam chowder was in the centre of the table.

“Told you Feth cooks nicely!” Steelbeak added with a smile, making Fethry chuckled shyly.

“A-all thanks to Gladstone lending us his yacht...” Fethry beamed at his cousin, who was drinking his soup silently.

“You...you’re welcome.” Gladstone uttered, before feeling someone nudging his arm lightly.

“See? Nothing wrong with hanging out! Your cousin is friends with a F.O.W.L. agent! You are just friends with a witch.” Magica shoved Gladstone with her elbow playfully. “Let’s hang out sometimes!”

“S-sure!” “Fine by me.” “Of...of course. Just...”

Gladstone looked at his cousin meekly.

“Please don’t tell Uncle Scrooge about this...? He will pluck my feathers out...”

Fethry replied with a wide, cheerful smile.

“I promise, Gladdy! I promise!”

(16-12-2020 ~ 18-12-2020)

(Inspired by this screenshot of Steelbeak being adorable...sort of.)

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #fethry duck #steelbeak #gladstone gander #magica de spell #fethsteel #magicstone #story #storyteller #short story #a huh huh huh why does everything i touch turns to angst

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anthonyed · 4 years ago

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Tony's staring into space after 78+hours work bender and he's partly in but mostly out (somewhere cotton wool and smudged sky and a load of indecipherable 'er's).

He's got something in his hand - cool and metallic - and he knows he's sitting cause he lacks the energy to carry his body weight right now. He's slowly tuning back into reality when he realises just where his gaze is fixed at (spaced out or not).

Bucky Barnes sits in a corner, crouched in front of his toolbox, next to his unfinished motorbike, clearly working on its construction still.

Something flickers to life in Tony's body at the sight of another human in his space. I'm not alone, he thinks numbly.

A lot of things come rushing forth - all things heavy and unnecessary to be analysed in the kind of state he is in so he shoves them away hurriedly. This is not his pity party and he refuses to throw one despite what most of him demands.

He's old enough to dictate his life and pick his choices and he - he -

He needs a hug.

It's such a juvenile and pathetic desire that makes his breath hitch, takes him back to 17 when he bid Maria goodbye and saw her dead body in morgue next to Howard and fuck.

Fuck, what the fuck is happening to him.

He's so out of it that he startles violently when Bucky's hand lands on his shoulder.

"Woah," Bucky says, taking a step back. Eyes guarded and fixed slightly to the right of Tony's face.

Tony follows his stare and realises he's got a wrench in hand, held in an offensive stance. "Shit," he swears. Wrench slipping off to land with a clatter on the floor. "Shit," he swears again, looking down at it.

His brain is woozy, his palms sweaty and he's got goose bumps trailing down his neck. He's running on knee-jerk alert and coffee with helluva lot of touch starvation.

"Tony?" Bucky's voice comes in like a bad static underwater and Tony looks up.

His eyes fall short, somewhere around Bucky's massive shoulders and bare arms - he's got a tank-top on and all his guns out on display - with motor oil smudges and Tony sighs longingly.

He needs a hug.

He used to get them from Pepper but Pepper is neither here nor near and Tony really really wants a hug.

What makes it harder is that he knows all he gotta do is ask and Bucky would gladly give him that. But Bucky also got a crush the size of Pacific ocean on Tony and Tony doesn't want to exploit that. Even though Bucky doesn't know that Tony knows.

It's not right.

But they're also friends and - well. Friends can hug right?

Tony gulps. Okay, he decides. He looks up a little more until he meets Bucky's concerned eyes and he realises for real why he cannot do this at all. Why he cannot ask Bucky for that hug.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asks. He's worried as shit and it's so apparent that Tony laughs at him.

It's the maniacal part of him, he swears. The same part that makes him sway on his feet until he grabs onto the corner of his work desk as his knees give out on him. He lands painfully on his arse, even if it's on the bench. Small mercies, Tony thinks faintly.

Bucky comes down with him. All too willingly, on his knees and Tony really cannot do this right now. But nothing's been fair in his life in forty fucking years so when Bucky asks, "Hey, you need something?" he chuckles and blurts out "A hug, I need a hug so badly right now, I'd kill a fish with my bare hands."

Odd choices of words but the damage is done because Bucky is looking at him like he cannot believe his eyes now.

Tony has half the mind to snort and roll his eyes. He's got his mouth open to say "Don't look at me like that, snowflake," when he's wrapped in a very warm but damn, such a nice, honest-to-god good hug.

It snaps his mouth shut and his body melts on its own accord just as his arms move to wrap around Bucky's bulky torso.

He inhales deep and mumbles a small, "Tighter," into Bucky's neck.

His request is granted almost instantly. A little hesitation, but Tony is not going to linger on that. He hugs just as tightly.

Time passes.

He doesn't know how long they've stayed like that but it definitely feels short when Bucky starts to pull away. This is why, Tony thinks. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of - Why he decided to not ask Bucky for hug earlier.

Because -

"Wait," Tony panics, grabbing onto Bucky tightly.

Bucky freezes in his hold. Going all tense and he never signed up for this. He doesn't deserve this load but God, is Tony ever so selfish.

"Just a while more," Tony whispers. Please, he begs silently. "Don't pull away yet," and he scrunches his eyes shut tight, fists onto the back of Bucky's tanktop and he holds on.

Slowly, eventually, Bucky relaxes. He even returns the hug; holding on just as tight and he's so warm and perfect and Tony had dreamt of being this way with him so often for so long in the deep crevices of the darkest nights that he's afraid if he lets go, he'll lose it all.

This is why, Tony reminds himself. This was why he didn't ask for that hug earlier. Because once he'd got Bucky in his arms, he won't be able to let go. Ever.

#buckytony #winteriron #bucky x tony #pining bucky and pining tony #mine #starkbucks #unbetaed don't shoot me #long post

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oatmilkcoffee8 · 5 years ago

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Geraskier Fic

Jaskier had been fighting mid-air for long enough before Geralt intervened. Geralt recognised a nightmare when he saw it and the stench of fear surrounded Jaskier like mosquitos above a stagnant pond. Geralt knew he had to calm Jaskier down if he wanted to sleep, his senses were giving him alarm bells with the racket Jaskier was making. There was only really one sensible thing to do, even if Geralt was a little embarrassed by the notion.

Geralt slipped from his own bed and into Jaskier’s. Closer up, he could see the sweat beading on Jaskier’s forehead, glinting in the moonlight. He lifted Jaskier with ease, placing the man’s back on his chest. Skin to skin contact calmed humans and this gave the most contact with the least questions, just in case Jaskier woke up before his usual noon.

Jaskier settled almost instantly, fear dissipating and body going supple over Geralt’s. Finally, Geralt could get back to sleep without the young man’s interruptions.

The next morning, Geralt shimmied out of bed without alerting Jaskier, there was no reason to bother him this early. It would only make him grumpy and in a bad mood for the next couple hours. Instead Geralt clothed himself and went down to breakfast, the cockerel crying in the background and a sleepiness floating through the tavern below the inn.

Eventually Jaskier came down to join him, lute in hand and jacket slightly askew from his hurried dressing. From this angle, Geralt could almost understand how so many found him endearing. It wasn’t often that you saw a star this close up. That illusion fell the moment Jaskier opened his mouth and returned only once he slept or was quite far away. Don’t get him wrong though, Geralt admired Jaskier in his own subtle way but once you spend such a long period of time with someone it becomes easy to get frustrated with them.

Jaskier sat down and smiled at Geralt, he looked better rested than he usually did. This was most likely on account of the fact that he hadn’t had to suffer through his usual nightmares after Geralt stepped in. Neither of the mentioned it however, Jaskier most likely hadn’t even noticed and Geralt didn’t want to bring it up if he didn’t have to.

Geralt began getting into bed with Jaskier most nights, and eventually every night. He reasoned with himself that it was simply because when Jaskier slept better he was easier to deal with. But he knew too well his actual reasoning even if he couldn’t admit to himself. Sleeping beneath Jaskier became second nature, the comforting presence of another body benefitted both parties, even if one of them was in the dark about the matter. Geralt had decided early on that what Jaskier didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him and he got the same benefits even in the dark.

But secrecy isn’t made to last. And the tongue bound to keeping this one made its slip by no fault of its own. Geralt had only himself to pin this on in fact. Well, his instincts were technically to blame but Geralt never had been one of technicalities.

The slip occurred on a winter’s night in an unfamiliar inn with naught but woodlands for miles around. This already had Geralt on edge. His senses heightened and he was hyper aware of everything around him. Jaskier had noticed, they’d spent enough time together for Geralt’s alertness to concern him.

“What is it?” Jaskier had questioned him after a snapped twig had Geralt acting like he was awaiting assassins. “New town,” Geralt had answered. That was all the conversation he had in him.

Once a room was secured in the inn and the men had settled for the night in separate beds, Jaskier’s nightmare began. In line with usual routine, Geralt hauled the other man onto his chest and awaited his settlement. Geralt was crossing out of consciousness when a door slammed down the hall. In seconds Geralt was in the middle of heading for his sword and dressing himself when he heard rustling and a grunt.

“Fuck.”

Now Geralt hadn’t necessarily meant to keep his and Jaskier’s sleeping arrangement secret but when there’s no pushback there is no reason for conversation. But now secrecy had been forced into the limelight and he found himself at a loss for words. Jaskier, however, seemed to be running his mouth.

“What’s going on? Why am I on the floor? Why do you have…”

“Shut up, bard.”

“You’re the one giving me more questions!” Jaskier hissed into the darkness of the room.

Geralt never had been one for explaining himself. But now he had little choice.

Reluctantly, Geralt explain the first night to Jaskier, how he seemed much happier and well rested, how it had simply become routine to keep him from seeming so damn frightened every night. He even let slip that it saddened him to see the bard so fearful.

And Jaskier took it in, with a lack of interruption, quite uncharacteristically.

“You could have let me know, Witcher. You’re allowed to care and still be the big, bad wolf.” “I know that.” “Do you?” Jaskier asked. His eyes were sincere and curious, not challenging. Geralt sighed.

Geralt turned to get up, the conversation had finished, and walk towards his own bed. He realised the bard probably wanted to go back to sleep. Alone, this time.

But Geralt felt a tugging on his hand that turned him around to face the bard. The bard’s eyes were clouded by sleep but not enough to hide his question. Geralt nodded, after so long without nightmares Jaskier wasn’t exactly going to give that up just because he had to be in bed with Geralt to get rid of them. The bard had dreamed of them sleeping with each other for a long while, even if there were different intentions on the Witcher’s end, his touch meant a lot.

Geralt laid down first, he expected Jaskier to either settle next to him or back to chest. The bard had a different idea.

Jaskier clambered onto Geralt. He positioned them chest to chest an buried his head into the side of his neck. Despite his muscular form, Geralt was incredibly comfortable. Soft and welcoming like the countess’s goose feather mattress. He made a little ‘oof’ as Jaskier put his full weight on him.

“Good night, Geralt.” “Good night, bard.”

The new nightly routine became quite simple. Arrive at quarters, bathe, argue briefly in the tub (force of habit rather than actual arguments, almost childish bickering), get into bed and sleep. Jaskier started waking earlier too, often with Geralt due to sleeping arrangements.

***

“You are going to get yourself killed if you continue like this, Geralt.”

“I’m fine, bard.” “No! You act like you’re fine, but you aren’t. if you keep pushing yourself like a fool you won’t reach the next town!” “You are incredibly dramatic, even for a bard, Jaskier,” Geralt growled as Jaskier rubbed a salve onto a smattering of new wounds. Surprise wound itself around his brain when he realised the bard had stopped rubbing. Geralt raised his eyes slightly to the bard knelt before him in the tub, “What?” “You only use my name when we argue,” Jaskier pouted. Geralt huffed. Jaskier was in one of those moods again. “And?”

The bard turned sour and his emotions got the best of him, he began yelling. “I’m sick of being treated like you have no ties to me,” Jaskier screeched, he now had Geralt’s full attention, “I basically grew up on the back of your damn horse and you have the audacity to treat me like a stranger! We sleep in the same goddamn bed every night because you don’t want me to have nightmares but you’re more comfortable being seen as with that whore of a sorceress- “ “Don’t talk about her like that.” “You’ve just proved my damn point! Where are you when I’m being called a whore?! I’ve worked harder to help you than she ever has and you repay me with cold stares and distain.”

Geralt wanted to be mad but he knew he couldn’t be. Jaskier was right, well that and the way the bard’s eyes flamed in the lamp light in a way that suppled his body like clay by a river bed. With Jaskier’s lean form and defiant stare the way it was, Geralt couldn’t be angered beyond trivial matters. His eye’s trailed to the bard’s lips. “I’m going to bed,” Jaskier stated, water trickled down into the tub.

Now or never.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the torso. Jaskier’s eyes turned from defiant to alarmed in a matter of seconds until recognition of the current movement bloomed in his eyes and his eyelids fluttered closed. The kiss was quick, the steam off the water’s surface increasing the temperature between them tenfold. The men met at the forehead.

“I’m still angry with you,” Jaskier grumbled. “Put it into something else then, Jaskier,” the Witcher challenged.

#jaskier #geralt #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #fanfiction #post netflix series #the witcher #the witcher netflix #this is m first fic pls be nice

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lovebitesimagines · 5 years ago

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Aligned- Chapter Two.

Chapter two of Aligned! Hope you guys enjoy x

Masterlist.

[1] [2] [3]

Tags: @biba3434

(There are two others who are also on the tag list, but for some reason Tumblr won’t let me tag them. I've sent the chapter over in their inboxes).

Wanna be on the tag list for this series, or any other? Lemme know!

Warnings: swearing.

Just as you seem to be settling into your life in Small Heath, someone comes along and changes everything.

Starting work at The Garrison, was extremely daunting. You almost couldn’t believe your luck, at the opportunity which had easily been given to you. You had convinced yourself that Tommy had offered you the job on a drunken whim, until Ada had woken you up the next morning, placing a selection of clothing upon your bed, forcing you to wake up. The hangover was dully throbbing in the back of your mind, but you shook it off as you clambered out of bed, picking up the clothes that Ada had thrown at you.

After taking a bath, you had chosen to wear a dusky blue dress, an outfit that was casual yet made you look smart for your first day at work. You had untangled your (Y/C/H) hair, and let it fall back against your shoulders. You inspected your reflection in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles out from the dress. You stifled a laugh, still not able to believe what was happening to you. You had told yourself that when you woke up, you would be back in 2019 Cardiff, that everything with the Shelby family was just something you had created in your sleep deprived dream. Yet when you had woken up this morning to the sound of Adas’ voice, and the clothes falling upon you, you had realised that everything was in fact quite real.

You pushed open the door to The Garrison, the bell ringing to signal your arrival. The pub looked a lot more different during the day, when the sunlight cast its cruel spotlight upon the interior. It was a lot smaller than you had realised last night, the lack of customers making the room appear to have shrunk. The stale smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke still lingered in the air. Arthur walked out from the back room, grunting slightly as he realised it was you that stood in the doorway.“Accounts are in the back room” he stated, turning his back to you as he focused upon the bottles upon the shelf. You didn’t take his attitude too personally. You knew he was suspicious of you and believed you to be a spy hell bent on destroying his family. You didn’t blame him for thinking that, if you were in his shoes you would have thought the same. You made your way into the back room, Arthur continuing to ignore your presence.

The room was a little larger than you had anticipated it would be. A small writing desk was pushed in the corner, the weight of the documents making the legs appear as if they would succumb at any moment. A small leather desk chair was pushed underneath it. A bookshelf was on the wall opposite, whiskey bottles replacing where books should have been kept. Boxes where piled upon an arm chair, which stood in the corner closest to the door. You didn’t dare risk taking a peek inside them.

You settled down upon the leather desk chair, sighing as you looked upon the countless pile of paper stacked in front of you. You had no idea where to start, afraid that if you removed one document that they would all come tumbling down on top of you.

“Our Arthurs’ left it in a bit of a mess, hasn’t he” Tommy chuckled from behind you. You jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, completely oblivious to him entering the room. Your heart began to race at the sight of him, as you spun around to face him. He was wearing his usual uniform of a black suit, which hugged every inch of his muscular body. His cap was placed upon his head, a few strands of his jet-black hair sneaking out from underneath the rim. You wondered if he remembered anything about last night, or if any regrets had tainted his memories. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, your skin flushing slightly as you realised you had been staring at him.

“You could say that. I don’t know where to start” you chuckled slightly, turning your attention back to the documents in front of you. Tommy crossed the room towards you, each footstep making your heart beat increase. He leant over you to look at the stacks of documents, your breath catching in your throat as you attempted to ignore the closeness of his body beside yours.

“You could try there?” he smirked, pointing towards a set of documents, throwing you a sideways glance. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously, you just hoped that he was oblivious to the affect he was currently having upon you. “Make this room your own. Organise it any which way you see fit”.

“Okay boss” you nodded in response, internally cursing yourself at your reaction. Tommy chuckled in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers brushed against yours as they reached for a document, lingering upon your hand, making your skin tingle and burn at the contact.

“You can call me Tommy sweetheart” he mumbled, his thumb absent minded stroking your hand. You looked up into his eyes, instantly transfixed by the ice blue orbs that looked back into your (Y/C/E) ones. Tommys lips parted slightly, as he slowly leaned closer to you. Your foreheads touched, both of you pausing before making another move.

A loud cough sounded from behind you and Tommy, a signal that you were not alone. He pulled away more quickly than you wanted him too, your heart sinking slightly. You turned to face Arthur, who was currently stood in the doorway, a frown etched into his face.

“We’re not paying her to sit around and flirt with you” Arthur grunted, folding his arms. Tommy chuckled, walking past Arthur to leave the pub. Your heart sunk a little more, as he left without even so much as a goodbye. Deep down you expected it, but even Tommy couldn’t deny the connection that had sprung between you both. You looked down at the papers in front of you, chewing on your bottom lip.

“I’d be careful. My brother treats women like they’re nothing more than a toy that he can discard when he’s done playing with them” Arthur stated, leaning back against the door frame as he watched you begin to work.

“As much as I appreciate your warning, I have no intention of being your brothers play thing” you responded, beginning to organise the paper. “Anyway, why are you so concerned about a spies feelings getting hurt?”.

“I’m not. Will just be bad for business that’s all” Arthur retorted, his tone of voice a little harsher than he had intended. He briefly paused, admittedly feeling guilty at his treatment of you. “Do you need help? Organising this mess? I was the one that made it after all”.

“You could make yourself useful” you chuckled slightly, accepting the peace offering Arthur had thrown your way.

That’s how the next few days went by. You and Arthur worked together, to bring some form of organisation to The Garrison. As you stood back to admire your handy work, you had to admit that you both worked well as a team. You smiled proudly to yourself, looking at the rows of files that were neatly lined up upon the bookshelves, the boxes that were once piled up on the armchair long gone, their contents placed in their correct homes.

You were interrupted by loud banging coming from the front door. With a sigh, you made your way to the entrance, unlocking the doors. Tommy pushed his way in, his hair and clothes soaked through with the rain that was currently pouring down outside. Stress clouded his typically beautiful features, and you just knew.

“I’ll get the whiskey” you stated, making your way over to the bar. Tommy silently sat down on a worn-out arm chair, leaning his head back, his eyes focused upon you. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey you had seen Tommy drink frequently, assuming that it was his favourite, before making your way back towards him. You started to lower yourself on the chair opposite Tommy.

“No” his voice was firm, breaking his silence. He opened his arms out for you, an indication that he wanted you to sit on his lap. You didn’t argue, moving slowly towards him before lowering yourself on his lap. His arms enveloped you, pulling you close to him.

“What happened?” you asked softly, cautiously approaching the subject. You noticed how his jaw tensed, his arms loosening upon your waist, taking the whiskey bottle from you before unscrewing the cap.

“I like women that don’t ask questions” he answered, his tone of voice warning you not to approach the topic any further. He took a long gulp of the whiskey, before offering you the bottle. “I want to know about you”.

“What is it you wanted to know?” you asked, taking a sip of the whiskey. You placed the bottle down on the table beside you, your fingers absent minded stroking the skin upon Tommys’ neck. You noticed how goose bumps rose upon his skin where your fingers danced, making your heart swell.

“You say you’re not from around here”

“I’m not”

“Where are you from then?”

“Cardiff” you responded, blinking slightly. You knew the day would come where you had to explain to Tommy about where you were from, and your situation.

“You don’t have a Welsh accent” he noted, his fingers twirling around a strand of your hair. “I want to know everything about you (Y/N)”. You sighed slightly, nerves starting to bubble in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m from around here. Originally. But I moved away” you began, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“How come I never seen you before?” Tommy asked, a frown starting to crease in between his eyebrows. “I’m sure I would have noticed a woman as beautiful as you before”. You blushed slightly, your eyes cast down at your lap.

“I meant it when I said I’m from 2019” you approached the subject cautiously, not daring to look at Tommy. “I moved away from Small Heath when I was twenty and could afford to go to University”. Silence filled the room, settling uncomfortably between you and Tommy. You kept your eyes trained upon your lap, afraid to look up at him.

“How is that even possible?” he mumbled.

“I-I don’t know” you whispered, afraid your voice will break and give way.

Another pause.

“I don’t care if you’re from the past or the future or whichever part of the fucking timeline. I care about you now. About our future, in our own fucked up world” Tommy pressed his lips against your hair. You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that were forming in your eyes.

Your future? Could Tommy really mean that?

“So…why did you leave Small Heath? Did it change much in the future?” Tommy chuckled, pulling you a little closer to him.

“No, it is still the same” you smiled softly, glancing up at him. “I left because…my mum and dad weren’t good parents. They cared more about where they got their next hit from, instead of their daughter”. Tommy frowned, the creases deep on his forehead.

“I’m sorry to hear that (Y/N)” he begun, his eyes looking into yours, before he leaned down to get the whiskey from the table. He took another swig of the drink, again passing you the bottle. You gratefully took it from him, sipping at the alcohol. “We have more in common than we think”. You laughed softly at his observation.

“Shit happens, I don’t need an apology” you stated, taking another sip. Tommy smiled at you, his fingers continuing to entangle themselves in your hair.

“I like how you make me forget about things” he mused, his eyes fluttering down to focus upon your lips. “Make me feel like I’m wanted for something other than my family name and my dick”.

You closed the gap between you both, pressing your lips against Tommys’, gently at first before deepening the kiss. You moved in sync with each other, savouring the others taste. Tommy was surprisingly sweet, the whiskey prominent on his breath. He gently bit your lower lip, causing a soft moan to escape from your mouth. This only ignited the animalistic urge in him, his hands roaming over your body, his fingers gently caressing your hips. You got lost in the kiss, enjoying the way Tommy made you feel. Without realising, you dropped the whiskey bottle on the floor, the sound of the glass shattering making you both breathlessly pull apart.

Little did Tommy know, that he made you forget too.

He was your remedy.

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

The nightly visits became somewhat of a routine between you and Tommy. You always offered to close up The Garrison, something which Arthur fully appreciated as it gave him an opportunity to rest. You always knew it was Tommy at the door, he had created a secret knock. You would spend the evening, with your lips entangled with each other’s, always stopping before it became something more. Despite the fact that you lived under the same roof, you would only spend time together during these nights. You and Tommy had opened up to each other, in ways that you had never opened up to another person before.

It was a stifling hot summers day in Small Heath. You had officially been living there for a month and was surprisingly beginning to enjoy yourself. Working at The Garrison had allowed you to settle into a routine, and you finally felt as if you had somewhere to call home.

Although you knew that The Garrison was horrendously under-staffed, with you being the only main employee there. Arthur was barely much use to work behind the bar, leaving you to serve the customers drinks. Arthur had drunkenly claimed that you were a natural at this role. You had both struck up a surprising friendship, after organising The Garrison together. Despite the fact that you appreciated the compliment, you had convinced Arthur to put an ad in the local newspaper for a bar worker.

You were currently pouring the Shelby brothers a drink. John, Arthur and Tommy were sat at bar stools across from you, toasting the success of their latest business venture. You couldn’t help but smile and laugh along with the brothers, having grown fond of all of them.

“You should have seen our Tommy (Y/N)!” John laughed, taking a swig of his whiskey. “He fucked those fuckers up! Enough to make any woman go weak at the knees!”

“Yeah. Any woman” Arthur chuckled, throwing you a sideways glance with a smirk. You swore he knew more than he was letting on, noticing how Tommy secretly nudged his brother.

“I’ll take your word for it John” you smiled warmly, drying glasses as you spoke. The pub was relatively quiet, only a few regulars sat amongst the tables, having sought solace from the cruel summers sun. The majority of Small Heath seemed to be outside, basking in the rare English heat. The bells chimed as the door opened, you and the brothers turning to see who had walked in.

A beautiful blonde woman made her way into the pub, dressed in an impeccable baby blue dress. The sunlight shone through her blonde hair, making it appear to glow like an angels halo. The whole pub fell silent as she walked towards the bar, her heals tapping against the wooden floor. She had an aura of confidence about her, one that you could only dream of having. You glanced at Tommy as she walked forward, your heart sinking as you watched how his eyes had lit up at the sight of her, scanning across her body. You had seen men you had been with in the past, have this look.

It was the beginning of the end.

“I’m here about the advertisement in the newspaper” she spoke softly, her Irish accent ringing throughout the room. You raised an eyebrow slightly at her words.

“I don’t think this is the place for you. It’s too dangerous. The men here will eat you alive” you responded, putting down the glass that you had been holding.

“I have references” she stated, holding out a piece of paper towards you.

“Of course you do” you retorted, ignoring the paper that she held out in front of you. Arthur frowned in your direction, before taking the document from the woman.

“Ignore our (Y/N) here. Been a long day. Understaffed see” he mumbled, his eyes scanning over the document in front of him. “It says here that you worked in a lot of Dublin pubs…Grace”.

“Yes sir. I have a lot of experience” Grace answered, smiling at Arthur. He nodded, seemingly pleased by her response. He passed the document over to you.

“You can start tomorrow morning. Our (Y/N) will let you in” he smiled at her, before turning his attention to you. “Can you file this?”

You sighed gently, taking the document from him. You threw your towel down on the bar in front of you, making your way to the back room. You closed the door behind you, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you read Graces’ references. There was something about her that you didn’t trust, and you couldn’t quite place your finger upon it. Arthur walked in behind you, a frown furrowed on his face.

“Did you sense it too?” he asked, lighting a cigarette, passing you the packet.

“Sense what? Tommys’ dick hardening at the sight of her?” you muttered bitterly, placing Graces’ references down on the desk, before lighting your own cigarette.

“I don’t know if it’s because she’s fucking Irish, and I’ve never trusted those fuckers” he took a drag of his cigarette, before continuing. “But there is something about blondie out there that I don’t like”.

“I know. I’ve sensed it too” you stated.

“Check her references tomorrow” Arthur ordered, opening the door for you both, pausing as he looked into the bar. You glanced curiously at him, before looking to see what he was staring at.

And there they were, stood at the bar laughing like a pair of love struck youths. Tommys’ arm was wrapped around Graces’ wafer-thin waist, his fingers stroking his hips, like they did with yours. Arthur glanced down at you, smiling sympathetically, his mouth opening as if he was about to talk.

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare” you warned him.

Tommy didn’t visit you that evening.

#Tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #Tommy Shelby fanfic #peaky blinders #Peaky Blinders x reader #Peaky Blinders imagine #peaky fookin blinders #fanfic #fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfic #new fanfic #writing #writers #writers on tumblr #original writing #holy shit #I love this series

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breathinginthevapor · 5 years ago

Text

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

Summary: When faced by the loneliness of staying on campus for spring break, you decide to pay a visit to your best friend Jacob. Only, it seems you’ve forgotten he’s with his parents, but luckily, Jacob’s roommate and fellow drama major, Tom, is there, and offers you some company.

A/N: This is written for the lovely @bringmethehorizonandpizza ‘s writing challenge in celebration of her 21th birthday, so happy birthday, Anne! I chose the blurb “Can I sleep here tonight” and I personally think the result ended up pretty cute. Feedback would be very much appreciated!

Word count: 5200+

T/W: Swearing

Masterlist

It’s raining outside, pouring, even. The sky is dark, and the blackness creeps onto you, making you shudder. You’ve always hated being out in the dark, especially while alone, and not even the beautiful full moon can make you feel better. It feels like every shadow is lurking on you, and the yellow light from the street lights only makes it worse. You curse yourself far away for watching that serial killer documentary, knowing that your brain would process the horrific details and let them surface in a moment like this.

The rain soaks through your clothing and hair, making everything cling tightly to your skin. If it wasn’t for your vehement hatred against umbrellas in general and your lack of raincoat because you were stupid enough to forget it last time you went home, you wouldn’t have been so surely catching a cold.

But well, stubbornness and stupidity brought this on you, and a cold luckily won’t kill you. It won’t even be as bad as staying in your own dorm room, listening to every footstep outside your door and getting more and more scared while the extreme stress of all your unfinished assignments and loneliness lays just underneath the fright.

Still, you are about to turn on your heel and run home when you finally reach the dorm, relief shooting through your body.

As soon as you step inside the hallway, the smell of junk food, sweat and boy hits you, but more importantly, a warmth that makes you realise how your teeth are clattering and goose bumps covering your skin.

A rap song you faintly recognise but wouldn’t know any words of plays behind one of the doors, and you can hear the sound of a shower a little down the hall. It’s still audible when a brunette walks out of the door, only clad in a white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. He has a deliciously toned stomach, you acknowledge, a sight for sore eyes, for sure.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” the guy asks, just as you’ve realised who it is. You immediately feel your cheeks turn hot while you try not to look at his exposed torso. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem anywhere near as flustered as you.

You wonder if it’s an actor thing, not being as easily ashamed as “normal” people, because Jacob’s exactly the same way.

“Hey Tom,” you mutter, glancing at a shabby concert poster on the wall instead of him. You can’t make yourself look at him, not now, at least.

“I was just- I wanted-,” you start, but you don’t know what to say, really. The reason for your visit seems both embarrassing and stupid now.

And then, to make matters much, much worse, you start crying. At least the tears are a little warmer water than the rain that’s already slid down your face, but opposed to the rain, your cries make the whole situation far weirder.

“I’m just really lonely, and I watched that creepy new documentary on Netflix, and then I thought Jacob would be able to cheer me up, but I’ve just realised that he isn’t even here, and I really don’t wanna go back to my dorm, but I guess it’s my only choice,” you sobbingly ramble, the hurried and uncontrolled way the words leave your mouth reminding you of the feeling of puking.

Fortunately, you’re 95% sure you didn’t actually puke. That would have been the cherry on top of your bad day, truly.

You’re absolutely certain that Tom will respond with something awkward and then close the door to his dorm room in your face, but instead, he walks to you and engulfs you in a warm hug.

In spite of the uncomfortable feeling of your soaked shirt against his bare chest and the clear awkwardness of hugging a hot shirtless guy whose lower body is only hidden by a towel, it’s a nice hug. Especially because he doesn’t let go of you after the usual few seconds that such embraces last.

You cry into his chest as he soothingly caresses your back, and miraculously, your eyes stop dropping tears, and your breathing slows down. You can feel your body heat rise, the warmth of his body affecting yours.

“Thank you,” you mumble, the unfamiliar feeling of your lips moving against his naked skin causing goose bumps to rise on your skin once more. It reminds you all too much of your dark fantasies, the ones you’d never admit to anyone, the ones where your lips move against his skin just like now, but under much different circumstances.

He releases you and eyes you with a soft, worried expression on his face. Your focus shifts for a swift second to a pearl of water that runs from his wet hair down the side of his face, leaving a shimmering trail. His skin looks flushed, perhaps he rinsed it while showering, and his forehead and chin are a little spotty, but it doesn’t make him any less handsome.

“I know I’m not Jacob,” he says, biting his lip and pulling your focus back from his facial features, “but do you wanna stay in my room for a while? I don’t want you to go home like this, especially not in this weather.”

You can’t believe how sweet he is, first letting you cry your eyes out against his chest and then offering you his company. It’s not at all helping you get rid of the crush you have on him, and perhaps it would be healthier for your budding feelings to go home, but you only have to think about laying alone in your dorm room for a second before you make up your mind.

“Are you sure? It’s my own fault for forgetting that he’s with his parents, and I don’t want to intrude.”

He grins widely at you, grabbing your hand and pulling you after him. “Of course! I’m sick of watching Friends on my own anyway.”

You laugh, feeling happier than you have in what feels like a terribly long time. At least ever since most of your friends, including both Jacob and your roommate, went home over spring break and left you on campus with long-ass assignments, nobody to talk to and one hell of a mess in your room.

You’re also pretty sure your roommate had some sort of existential crisis before going home as she kept mumbling about breaking up with her boyfriend and how he would hate her for it and then if she had remembered to pack her favourite yellow dress, although she’s told you about a hundred times that she hates wearing dresses. Besides, you’ve never seen her wear anything that wasn’t black.

Her mental state resulted in a terrible mess in your room, at you just can’t bear to look at the scattered school books, crumpled pieces of clothing or half-eaten packs of jelly beans anymore.

“Well, make yourself at home. I’ll- uhm, I’ll put on some clothes,” he tells you once he’s closed the door behind you, clearly remembering how little he’s wearing.

“I’ll just turn around and cover my eyes,” you stutteringly assure him, following your own instructions and adding a small joke to try to ease the tension, “I promise I won’t look.”

He chuckles, sounding a bit more relaxed. You hear him shuffle around and then exclaim a muffled sound, similar to the ones you let out when you get stuck in a shirt or sweater.

“Are you stuck?” you giggle.

“I was, but I’m good now,” he answers, sounding out of breath. “You can look, by the way, I’m fully dressed.”

You remove your palms from your face and turn around, sitting down on Jacob’s bed. Tom’s wearing a grey sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, and he looks so soft it takes everything in you not to jump into his arms or squeeze his cheeks. You have to remind yourself that you don’t even know him that well, that just because you’ve heard so much about Tom from Jacob, it doesn’t mean that you’re, by any means, close with the boy. You wish you were.

He crooks his head and looks at you with furrowed eyes, glancing up and down your body.

“D’you want a towel to dry off? And maybe some dry clothes? I don’t want to overstep, but I’d also hate myself if I was the reason for you getting sick.”

The apple of his cheeks grows to resemble, yes, (red) apples, as he scratches his neck and shoots you an uncomfortable glance.

A lump forms in your throat, amazed at his hospitality and kindness. You nod, “You’re not overstepping at all. Actually, you’re being scarily sweet. Sure an alien isn’t possessing you?”

He laughs, “Yeah. Pretty sure. Just naturally this charming,” he winks at you.

“That’s what someone possessed by aliens would say, though,” you point out, trying to ignore how flustered you got at his gesture. He shakes his head at you with a big grin.

“Careful now, if you’d like to avoid the flu,” he jokes, picking a green towel from the cabinet and throwing it at you. “Tee or sweatshirt?”

You shrug, already drying of your hair with the towel, “Don’t care.”

You’re barely able to catch the blue hoodie that flies through the air, inches from hitting you in the head.

“Shorts or sweats?” he then inquiries, holding both a pair of football shorts and a pair of sweats that looks identical to the ones he’s wearing.

“Shorts,” you decide, this time ready to receive the black fabric.

“Do you want me to wait in the hallway while you get changed?” he offers, closing the cabinet and smiling softly at you.

You shake your head, returning his smile, “No no, just turn around.”

“You sure?” he checks, and you nod, assuring him that you are. He turns around, drying his brown locks in the white towel he’s already used in the shower as you quickly slip off your wet garments and put on Tom’s instead.

When you pull the shirt over your head, the smell of Tom hits your nostrils, a delicious mixture of citrus, musk and washing powder.

“All decent,” you tell him once you’re fully clothed, and he turns to you again, walking to his own bed and sitting down.

You’re facing each other, the narrowness of the room causing your knees to be just inches apart, so close that your bare legs can feel the warmth radiating from his.

“Do you wanna talk about what upset you, or should I just ramble about something completely else?” he offers, a sweet smile on his lips.

You bite your lip, feeling out of place even though you’ve been in the room to visit Jacob countless times.

It’s a nice and cosy place, much tidier than most boy dorm rooms. There are movie posters on the wall, both old, classic ones and newer comedies. It smells good, too, like masculine deodorant with only a tiny and actually not all-too-bad hint of sweat, perhaps caused by the few pieces of sports clothing discarded on the floor.

Tom quickly rises from his seat on the bed to put it in the laundry basket when he notices you eyeing the stuff. He continues with quick, clumsy movements to clean up after himself, almost tripping over his own feet.

“Sorry it’s so messy,” he sheepishly apologizes.

You shake your dismissingly, “Don’t think you’ve been to Mark Smith’s room if you think this is messy.”

His gaze is still shy, stuttering as he replies, “Do-do you- erhm- do you spend a lot of time in Mark’s room?”

“No,” you deny, noticing how his shoulder relaxes at your words, “Not really my type, to be honest. Just did a group project with him a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh,” he mutters, sitting down again.

“To answer your question from before, I’ve just felt really lonely during the break. Don’t really wanna talk about it, though.”

“Fair. Wanna watch a movie instead?” he proposes, and you nod. He stands back up, fetching the laptop from his backpack before dumping back on the bed for the third time, kicking his feet up and getting under the duvet.

He shuffles close to the wall, patting the space next to him on the bed. “Do you wanna sit here? Unfortunately, my laptop isn’t as big as a telly, so you’ll see much better over here.”

You feel your palms grow sweaty as you nod, leaving Jacob’s bed in favour of joining Tom. You sit down on the duvet, legs touching through the cover and your shoulder bumping into his while the back of your hands almost brush, laying side by side.

“What do you wanna watch?” he inquires.

“Dunno,” you shrug, “Maybe that new Thor movie?”

His features brighten, an excited grin on his face. “Yeah? I’ve been wanting to watch it for ages but haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Then let’s do it,” you smile, your gaze switching from the screen to his face while he finds the movie.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him. Being so near to him makes you able to stare at him without getting interrupted, and you realise he’s even more handsome than you thought.

Or, maybe he’s not, because he surely looks almost angelic, perfect, even, from afar, but of course he isn’t any of those things. He’s human, and he’s got moles and acne and zits and scars like everybody else, but you can’t help but think that these small imperfections just make him look more attractive. Unfair.

Then, the opening music of the movie plays, and you turn your eyes to the screen again.

You’re completely captivated by the story unfolding for your eyes until the very end, only realising how tired you’ve become when you yawn while the ending credits roll.

“Well, I guess it’s getting kinda late,” Tom trails off, looking unsure. His words immediately send you back into a different mood, replacing the content, relaxed one.

“Uhm, yeah, I guess,” you mumble, looking down. You’re barely able to hold back the tears, every fibre of your body feeling uncomfortable at the thought of returning to your own room.

“I- You… I completely understand if you say no, and you have every right to, but I was just wondering,” you pause, suddenly losing to courage to ask.

“Yes?” he encourages you with a smile.

“Can I- Can I sleep here tonight?” you whisper, your heart sinking when his eyes extract into a surprised expression and a surprised sound, almost like a small gasp, leaves his throat.

He runs a hand through his hair, but it gets stuck for a few second when he hits a knot in the tousled locks. He seems to fight it, his focus turning from you to his hair for a moment before he bites his lip, looks down and nods.

“Yeah, of course,” he assures you. “Of course, you can,” he repeats with a low voice, sounding like it’s something he tells himself rather than you.

“Are you sure?”

This time, he seems more convinced, eyes meeting yours, “Wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t.”

You shoot him a smile you hope looks grateful, and it’s quickly returned with a grin of his own.

“Anyway, it’s not the first time you’ve slept here, is it?” he points out, changing both the subject and atmosphere to a more easy-going one.

You giggle, hit by memories of drunkenly dropping down on Jacob’s bed and not having the energy or self-restraint to get up again before you woke up the next morning with a massive headache and killer breath next to the Hawaiian/Filipino boy.

“I guess it isn’t,” you agree.

“Before Jacob met Alyssa, I thought,” he pauses, swallowing, looking at you expectantly like you’re supposed to know what he’s hinting at. But you don’t, and he seems to realise that as he elaborates, “That you two were… a thing.”

You can’t help but laugh, “Me and Jacob?”

Tom nods, confirming.

“Oh god, he’s like a brother to me, that would be disgusting!”

“Dunno, you just seemed really close,” he explains.

You shrug, “Well, we are really close, but we aren’t exactly each other’s types. There’s never been anything more than friendly between us, ever.”

“I think you’re everybody’s type, Y/N,” he blurts out, looking horrified afterwards.

You can feel the heat rush towards your face, wondering what exactly he meant by that compliment.

Because it is a compliment, right? It must be.

“I didn’t mean- I don’t- I-,” he starts, a panicked look on his face, before he calms himself down with a deep breath that you try to match to get your own heart under control. “Erhm, yeah, just can’t really comprehend how anyone wouldn’t think you were absolutely amazing.”

You can’t believe how courageous he is, telling someone he barely knows something so personal. And yeah, you already knew he was brave, having seen him perform in plays and knowing that he dreams to become an actor, a profession that takes insane amounts of courage, baring yourself to strangers every day, but this seems different. This isn’t a job or a dream or an artform. This is the real life, and it’s scary. At least you think so.

Though perhaps you aren’t as unfamiliar to each other as you have convinced yourself you are.

You think back on all those mornings hungover with Jacob, and you can’t come up with one where Tom didn’t go with you to get breakfast, terribly chirpy and energetic while telling you about some prank his brothers had pulled on him once or a weird audition he went to.

You recall some of those small comments he made when he studied in the room while you were hanging out with Jacob, seemingly keeping up with the conversation enough to add his thoughts every once in a while.

And you remember those parties where you and Jacob managed to convince Tom to tag along, watching him dance surprisingly great (it took a while before you found out he had danced a lot growing up, even starring in Billy Elliot), loose fatally in beer pong and shy away from all the girls who made a move on him, shooting you desperate glances before you saved him from their drunk persistence with an apologetic smile to the girl and a tight grip on his bicep.

“Thank you,” you mumble while you feel your skin heat up, something it does an awfully lot today. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”

He offers you a small smile, “Just telling the truth.”

No need to say, you blush even harder.

But before you can reply with a compliment of your own or at least explain to him how much his words mean to you, he abruptly changes the subject, “We should probably get ready for bed. I don’t have a spare toothbrush, and I’d offer to lend you mine if it wasn’t, you know, terribly unhygienic and gross.”

You chuckle, “Thanks for the thought, but I’ll manage with my finger if I could just get a bit of toothpaste.”

“Of course.”

You brush your teeth side by side in the claustrophobic miniature bathroom, once in a while catching each other’s eyes in the mirror before shyly looking away. It’s like a game, and you can’t stop playing, not when his words from before are repeated in your head over and over again.

“Have you asked Jacob if it’s okay with him that you sleep in his bed? I’m sure it is, and I’ll just take the floor if it isn’t, but I’d just rather that he knows.”

You nod after spitting out the toothpaste, “Just sent him a text.”

Not even five seconds later, your phone buzzes with a text from your mutual friend.

Jacob: Of course!

You turn your phone to Tom to show him that Jacob has agreed to your arrangement, but then you see Tom’s eyes enlarge and a blush creep across his cheeks and look at the phone yourself.

Jacob: Just don’t get frisky in my bed, lovebirds.

You can’t believe him. That really wasn’t needed, especially with the tension already so weird. You try to laugh, but the awkward cough-like sound doesn’t even convince yourself, and you abruptly go quiet, making it seem, if possible, even more fake.

Luckily, Tom acts like nothing happened, asking you if you’re ready for bed.

“Feel like I’ll collapse soon so it’s probably for the best,” you agree.

He smiles at your comment and returns to the dorm room, plopping down on the bed. You don’t know what to say, and the silence is thick and unpleasant as you lay there in your respective beds, staring at the ceiling.

Then, Tom clears his throat and turns of the bedside lamp, leaving the room in darkness.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says.

“Goodnight, Tom,” you whisper back, feeling your heart pumping in your chest while you inwardly curse yourself being such a coward. Usually, you’re good at taking the first step when you’re interested in or intrigued by someone, but this feels different. Like a no from Tom would be much worse than a no from all those other sweet, pretty guys you’ve had a crush on.

But you take a deep breath and try to calm your nerves before speaking up with a low voice, “Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

“No problem,” he assures you, voice soft.

“I’m really glad you were here today,” you start, convincing yourself not to chicken out. “I feel like I’ve kinda gotten to know you a bit because of Jacob, and I know we don’t really talk that much just the two of us, but,” you take another deep breath, knowing that your next words will possibly make it terribly awkward for you to visit Jacob, “I wish we did. I just never know what to say because you’re this sweet, funny, hot drama major, and then I just chicken out.”

Although it’s dark, your eyes have gotten used to it, and you’re thereby able to make out his features when he turns around to face you, laying on his side. There’s a small smile on his face, his brown eyes glistens and his hair is a mess, but an incredibly cute one.

“What’s my major got to do with anything?” he just asks, and you almost tear up. He clearly doesn’t like you, he wouldn’t have asked about something like that if he did, and you try to tell yourself that at least you know now, and that you can move on instead of spending most of your day thinking about Tom. It doesn’t really help all too much, though.

You chuckle half-heartedly, “Dunno, you’re just all so confident and brave, and that’s kinda intimidating, I guess.”

He doesn’t answer, and instead you lay in silence looking at each other, until Tom turns back to laying on his back, and you’re sure that you’ve ruined everything there was to ruin between the two of you. You mentally prepare yourself to the prospect of having to go home to your lonely dorm room, catching a cold in the rain and your only company for the rest of the break another stupid Netflix series while you cry your eyes out.

“You think I’m hot?” he then inquires, and at least he’s not ordering you to leave yet.

“Um, yeah? Half of the school does, to be honest,” you bitterly acknowledge, recalling all those times where you caught girls (and every now and then a boy, although the boys in general seem less interested) looking dreamily at him or slipping him their number or even those parties where you saved him from other students flirting with him. You get mad at yourself for thinking that you were better than those people, thinking you had just a slightly bigger chance than them, just because you know him and talk to him regularly, when in reality, you’re just as hopelessly crushing as the rest of them. Perhaps even worse because he’s an actual part of your life and not just a cute guy on campus.

He laughs quietly, “Then I think you should get your eyes tested ‘cause you’re clearly blind. People don’t find me attractive.”

“It’s true. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed how people throw themselves at you. I have to rescue you from at least two at every party,” you remind him.

“They’re just drunk. I could be a 70-year-old with a Gandalf beard, and they would be too pissed to notice,” he protests, making you roll your eyes. Fortunately, he can’t see as his gaze is still fixated on the ceiling.

“No, they aren’t. And even if they were, what about that redhead in the cafeteria last week, or the boy with the glasses at the diner?“ you argue, his only response a muffled sound, seemingly agreeing with you. He doesn’t really have a choice, though, because everyone who was there with you at the diner when the guy asked Tom out jokes about it. Tom’s perplexed reaction made it almost too easy for you to make fun of him, really.

Then, there’s another minute of silence before Tom faces you once more and slowly, almost carefully as if he’s tasting every word, asks, “Y/N, do you like me?”

Now, you tell yourself, you’ll get thrown out, and you’ll never get to hear another of Tom’s stupid jokes or clever comebacks to Jacob’s joking insults and you’ll probably also need to find another place to crash when your roommate is fucking another girl as she does at least once a week, and it’s just terrible.

But you still answer his question truthfully.

“Yeah,” you whisper, closing your eyes to avoid seeing his face when he rejects you.

“As more than a friend?” he checks.

“Yeah,” you repeat, scrunching your eyes even closer together.

Then he starts laughing, the act surprising you so much that your eyes fly open to look at him, although it’s still too dark to see his features properly. At first, you’re confused, but then you just feel even more humiliated. Are your feelings really so strange he has to make fun of them?

However, he proves you wrong when he turns on the light and stands up energetically, looking almost giddy. You can’t look away, and you’re just awaiting the deathblow, but it doesn’t come.

“I don’t even know what to with myself,” he chuckles, the grin on his face so bright you’re sure it could light up the room, if the light wasn’t already turned on, of course. “I’ve been pining after you for so long, and I didn’t believe Jacob when he said that you wouldn’t reject me if I made a move, but this is, like, the dream!”

Your tiredness causes you to become confused, not understanding what he says immediately. And then, your lack of confidence and the long time you’ve spent thinking that Tom didn’t feel anything for you but friendship, forces you to tell yourself that it can’t be real, that he must joking.

“I’m sorry, am I coming on too strong? I’m just really excited,” he explains, this time calmer.

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” you whisper, shaking the covers off and slowly sitting up on the bed.

“Are you making fun of me?” you then ask, because although it seems unlikely as Tom is one of the kindest and most considerate people you’ve ever met, the other alternative is even more unlikely.

“No! No, no, I would never,” he desperately assures you, sitting down beside you, his upper body turned against you as he bites his lip and looks you in the eye. “Why would you even think that?”

You shrug, and he takes your hand in his, and although his palm is sweaty, you can’t help but feeling that you’ve never experienced anything as amazing as the feeling of his palm in yours and his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

You look down at your joined hands, the realisation slowly hitting you. He likes you. Tom likes you.

“I dunno. It just never seemed like you liked me back,” you mumble, a thousand thoughts and feelings shooting through your head, driving you to the point of dizziness.

He looks bewildered at you, like you’ve said something unbelievable.

“Are you telling me you haven’t noticed how I stare at you for literally hours and that I always tag along when you and Jacob hang out? Not to mention how I not even an hour ago blurted out that I thought you were everybody’s type.”

It makes sense when he puts it like that, but you still don’t think it’s that simple.

“Yeah, but then I told you how amazing I thought you were, and you just asked me why I mentioned your major!” you shoot back. “And you didn’t notice either how Jacob and I hang out here waaaay more than in my room, and that I always beg you to come party with us and that I’m acting like a creepy stalker all the time, watching over you like a hawk and becoming overly jealous and miserable every time someone flirts with you!”

You almost spit the words out, wanting to point out that you’re not the only one who’s been oblivious, but it looks like it has the opposite effect. Tom looks taken back by your outburst, watching you with wide eyes, and you absolutely hate yourself for being too much, like you always are, and it’s just so typical you.

But before you can do or say anything to save the situation, there’s a warm pair of lips pressing against your own. When you don’t react, too shocked to move any part of your body, the lips disappear almost as fast as they came and makes you wonder if it even happened at all.

Luckily, Tom’s guilty expression and next words assure that the kiss was real, “I’m so sorry, I should have asked you first, I’m really sorry-”

“No!” you cut him off, only making him look more terrified, so you decide it’s probably best to tone it down a little and speak with a calmer voice, “No, don’t be sorry. I just thought I had scared you away and ruined everything with that stalker-thing, so I was a little surprised, that’s all.”

His face slowly softens, a relieved noise leaving his mouth.

“It was nice. The kiss. Dreamt about doing that for a long time, to be honest,” you sheepishly add, making him smile.

“Me too,” he admits, and then he kisses you again. He releases your hand and grabs your face again while you bury your fingers in the small curls in his neck. His mouth is warm against yours, and you can’t believe it’s really happening.

You break apart first, panting a little as you rest your forehead against his, grinning.

“I really really really like you,” he admits happily, making you laugh just because you’re so tremendously ecstatic. The world feels light and so full of possibilities, completely opposite to how sad and lonely you felt a couple hours ago.

“I really really really like you, too,” you answer, and you can’t help but kiss him again, this time slipping your tongue through his lips, letting it taste the tip of his.

And well, when Jacob a couple days later comes home to you and Tom making out in Tom’s bed and sighs knowingly, you must admit that staying on campus for spring break wasn’t the worst decision you’ve made.

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redeadepression · 5 years ago

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Untitled John Fic | John Marston x F!Reader | Angst

I couldn’t think of a title so... Get it? Like the Goose game. Lol.

Sooo I misread this ask as specifically asking for fem reader which is how I have written the fic. I apologise if you were wanting GN or M!Reader. But I do state in my rules if you don’t ask for a specific gender I will probably write F!Reader as it’s what I am most confident in as a female.

I would also LOVE to write an Arthur fic along the same vein but need to wait for inspiration to hit. Feel free to send me sad Arthur headcanons you wouldn’t mind me using as a prompt to get the juices flowing.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts | Tags: ANGST, Hurt/Comfort

Relationships: John Marston x F!Reader, (past) John Marston x Abigail Roberts | NO CHEATING

Word Count: 4608

Summery: John is struggling with juggling a new relationship and his commitment to Abigail as ex-husband/co-parent to Jack. Reader comforts him when he’s down.

Disclaimer: I fucking LOVE Abigail!!! Don’t @ me about her characterization in this fic! John/Abi is my OTP. I am fully aware they are BOTH at fault for their shitty relationship early game and I try so hard to never write her as purely “the bad guy”. I make sure to always try and give her solid reasoning behind her shitty actions. However, this fic is from John and his new gf’s POV so obviously Abigail is going to be the antagonist.

~~~

It had been a hard few months. Tensions were high in the Gang and as a relatively new member you were finding it hard to hide that fact that you felt uncomfortable and out of place.

Most of your awkward feelings came from the seemingly unanimous contempt that had been placed upon you by a large number of gang members. A strong dislike so thinly veiled that it hung in the air like a bad smell. It felt absolutely suffocating, intolerable at times.

But you couldn’t walk away now. Not after what you had done to cause this cloud of abhorrence that seemed to follow your every move. You’d made a commitment and you planned to stick it out until the heat died down.

If it did die down… You worried more than you cared to admit that you had made a name for yourself. That your time here would always be miserable.

You sat by yourself on a log near the fire. Having risen earlier than usual to try and avoid the bustle of the morning. Gang members arguing over who got the first cup of coffee and whining at the taste of left-over stew for breakfast.

Most people were still asleep. The sun had only just begun to peak its head over the mountains across the distant valley. You were enjoying your moment of silence, a second to yourself to catch your breath after a horrible night of restless sleep.

As if the universe itself was against you, an almighty shriek ripped through the camp, a sudden wind, unrelated to the noise jostled tent flaps and wiped your hair around your face. If you didn’t know better, you would have sworn the breeze was a shockwave from the force of Abigail’s wrath.

You exhaled slowly, turning to look in the direction of the disturbance but still trying to be discreet lest anyone was watching.

Abigail was berating John. Absolutely tearing shreds off him as he stared at her blankly like a startled deer. He had been on his way to the fire, empty coffee cup in hand when she had caught up with him. Her mannerisms telling anyone that was watching that she was finally at the end of her tether.

You pursed your lips, turning back to the fire quickly and trying to pretend you hadn’t heard. Couldn’t still hear, the screaming and cursing.

You couldn’t blame her. It was your fault she was so high strung lately.

You listened as John tried to defend himself meekly. His arguments palling in comparison to her accusations. She had every right to be as upset with him as she was. But you felt perhaps this discussion could have happened in private instead of airing your dirty laundry for the Gang to witness.

It had been a good 6 months now since they had broken up. Amicably at first with the intensions of working things out after a trial separation. John had needed space from her constant nagging and Abigail felt she needed time away from here ‘second child.’

They kept their separation to themselves. But due to the nature of their volatile relationship it wasn’t such a secret. Abigail and Jack moved out of John’s tent and Jack had spent days crying on his bedroll. Heartbroken over his parents splitting up.

This caused frequent quarrels. Abigail arguing that John didn’t care and wasn’t doing anything to try and console the boy that everything would be fine. John arguing right back that there was nothing he could do. Why give him hope for something that may never happen?

The fact that Abigail refused to leave him in peace after their separation just pushed him further away. Even if her arguments were valid and with good intension. John felt caged. Breaking up didn’t make her stop. He couldn’t catch a break. He felt trapped with the only option being to run again.

You bit at your bottom lip, taking a sip of your coffee to seem nonchalant as more and more gang members began to rise from their tents to see what all the commotion is about. A few were looking directly at you. Their eyes squinted and full of loathing. But most were looking at Abigail and John. Watching as she paced in front of him, ranting and raving about his lack of care.

It seemed she’d had a rough night. With Jack falling ill she’s not slept a wink. Between comforting him and cleaning him up after he’s been sick, she was awake the entire night. Resentment at John’s blissfully unaware state growing by the minute as he slept right through a few tents over.

He was arguing that he didn’t know. She should have told him he was sick. Asked for help and he would have been there. Abigail was screaming back that asking him for help has never done her any good in the past so why should she start now?

John was flailing, you could see it plainly as you chanced another glance around. She was too damn angry to hear anything he had to say. You felt for her. You really did. That was, until she noticed you.

She turned on you with the fury of 3 angry bulls. She screamed your name, pointing. All eyes were on you as she shouted.

“And you! You don’t help a damn thing you homewrecker!”

Your jaw droped, unable to speak as you blinked in disbelief. She’d not spoken a word to you in months. Of course now was the time she chose to hash it all out.

“Hey!” John interjected, grabbing Abigail by the arm and spinning her back in his direction. “You leave her out of this!” He warned, eyes stern as she reeled around, hand clapping hard against the side of his face and making him falter. He let go of her, staring with wounded eyes as she took a step back. Realising what she’d just done and clearing her throat.

She opened her mouth to apologise. Her own disbelief greater than that of anybody watching. It had been a reflex. Muscle memory from her days as a prostitute. She hadn’t meant to hurt him.

John turned away, standing there for a second longer before walking away in the direction of the horses.

You watched in stunned silence as she let him go. Even the birds seemingly invested in the situation as an awry stillness descended on the whole area. The only sound the crunching of John’s boots as he stomped towards Old Boy.

He mounted up and left. Forgoing a saddle or any other tack. Hands holding tight on to Old Boy’s mane as he dug his heels into the horse’s ribs and directed him away from camp.

It took a few minutes and Abigail retreating to her lean-to to check on Jack before anyone dared to make a move. Gang members slowly exiting their respective tents and going about their business quietly. None of them bold enough to mention what had just happened for fear of Abigail over-hearing.

You stood slowly, knowing people were going to be looking in your direction regardless. They knew where you were going. What your plan was. There was no point in sitting around any longer in an attempt to try and hide it.

You moved towards your horse. Taking your time to saddle up and make sure he/she was ready for the ride before mounting up and spurring them into a trot along the path out of camp.

~~~~

You didn’t have to ride long. Knowing in your heart where John would be you had ridden towards that area, following along the fresh hoof-prints in the loose red dirt.

You turned off the beaten path, your horse whinnying in annoyance at having to walk through the brush. You petted them on the neck, promising a treat for following your direction. You know they couldn’t understand you but smiled non-the-less as they seemed to calm at the idea.

You could have left them hitched to a tree near the main road. But you ran the risk of another gang member noticing them and walking through the forest to find you.

You spotted John and Old Boy up ahead. The large Hungarian Half-bred munching happily on some greenery about 10 metres from the edge of a large cliff overlooking the valley below. John was sitting near the edge. Face in his hands as he contemplated his life thus far, oblivious to your approach.

You hitched Y/HN next to Old Boy and called out softly to alert John to your presence. He jumped slightly. Looking over his shoulder briefly before wiping at his face and letting his hands fall to his lap.

You sat down beside him, placing a familiar hand on his upper back and rubbing small, comforting circles as he glared at the ground in front of him. A large, angry mark flaring up on his cheek where Abigail had hit him.

It had been about 4 months since you’d officially started dating. Four months of absolute hell if you were being honest. But when you were alone like this, in your special spot away from camp, it was absolute bliss.

This specific situation wasn’t ideal. But you had been yearning for some alone time away from prying eyes.

Eyes that seemed to never stop watching. It was taking its toll on you. Making you regret things you shouldn’t be regretting. Questioning things, you didn’t want to be questioning.

Like was he worth it?

John seemed to follow your train of thought. Side-eying you silently as he rubbed at his cheek.

“You can go.” He said weakly. “If you want.” A long exhale following his words as he licked his lips and fell silent once more.

“I just got here.” You laughed, hand falling from its place on his back. You placed it on his thigh, squeezing reassuringly and watching as his jaw tensed. Seemingly gritting his teeth.

“No... I know.” He said softly, struggling to find the words. “I mean… You can leave. If you want to.” He paused, finally turning to look at you and realising his point had not been made. “The Gang.” He clarified. Making your brows shoot upwards in surprise.

He turned back to his hands in his lap and closed his eyes for a moment. You suspected he was waiting for your confirmation on the subject but it didn’t come.

You had been enjoying your time in the Gang up until recently. Having worked hard every day for a week to pull a con on two men you’d met in the saloon nearby. It turned out those men were actually trying to con you as well. When the truth was realised you had all had a good laugh. Dutch and Arthur inviting you to join them for a drink and upon realising you currently didn’t have a stable home, the Gang.

Everything was fantastic for a few months. You felt at home almost instantly. You made new friends, new family. You were welcomed with open arms and you had never felt so secure in your lifetime.

When you’d met John, the chemistry had been instantaneous on your part. Finding him attractive, friendly and useful to boot. You had caught him staring more than once and were relatively sure he returned your feelings. But something was off about the way he acted towards you. He had been skittish. Dancing around your attraction to him and outright avoiding any chance you’d had to be alone. It wasn’t until you’d cornered him after a night of drinking that he finally admitted he did feel something for you as well.

He was very guilty about his admission. Explaining that he was supposed to be trying to work on things with Abigail. He was struggling hard with the feeling that he knew deep down their relationship was a dead-end. Every time they were supposed to try and talk it out it ended in a fight. Abigail becoming increasingly impatient that he wasn’t ready to recommit himself to her.

He had word-vomited his darkest thoughts to you that night. Slurring about how he wanted to run away again and saw no way out. His attraction to you was the straw that broke the camels back. The last nail in the coffin of his resolve to fix things with his wife. He hadn’t meant for it to happen. But that didn’t mean he could ignore it.

He wanted to tell Abigail it was over for good. He wasn’t interested in fixing things and he felt they parented better separately anyway. She was always going on about Jack. What about Jack? How will this affect Jack? He was scared to tell her it wouldn’t. To seem callous towards his son and his feelings. He felt he was a better Father without her hanging over his shoulder.

Somewhere in the middle of his rant he had begun to cry. Head heavy with the drink, he hadn’t been able to stop his usual stoic core from breaking. Mortified by the turn of events he’d tried to pretend as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just spent half an hour rambling his sorrows to a relative stranger.

He shut himself down. Locking away his feelings and refusing to acknowledge them even after you’d both bitten the bullet and started to date a few weeks later.

He’d had to tell Abigail first. Before he could in good conscience being seeing you in earnest. He had been too afraid before your drunken talk. Terrified of ending things and risking everything he had for the sake of your rejection. But after the conformation he had been looking for, he’d found a renewed sense of courage. Letting Abigail know he was done with their romantic relationship but that didn’t mean he was walking away from Jack.

To say she hadn’t taken it well was an understatement. You had learnt swear words that day that you hadn’t previously known the existence of. She had been absolutely furious at your betrayal. Having gotten along fine before that. She’d never expected that you would pounce on her husband.

You’d both argued that had they been an item you would never had made your feelings known. But as John was for all intents and purposes, single, you felt it was alright to proposition him.

You understood where she was coming from. She had been blindsided by your interest in him. Having had it set in her mind that they would work things out and become that happy family she had always dreamed she’d have.

For the most part, the gang agreed with your argument. Tiptoeing around Abigail and letting you know that you didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t until rumour started to spread about the night you confessed your feelings that things started to take a turn. It spread like wildfire and although you were both pretty confident of its origin, you couldn’t prove it anymore than you could prove you hadn’t slept together that night.

The general consensus of ‘You’ve done no wrong’ quickly changed to ‘How could you do that?’ after rumour spread that you had slept together before John had officially ended things with Abigail.

Looking back, you feared you had worsened the situation by buying into it. Telling people that even if it were true, they were still separated; had led people to believe it was true. You regretted it, more for John’s sake than your own. You thought of these people as your family. But these people were his family and had been for over half his life. The damage done by the entire situation was breaking him. You could see it in the way he looked at you. Hear it in the way he spoke.

You hated to admit it. But this morning part of you was worried you would find Old Boy hitched on the edge of the cliff and John’s mangled body at the bottom.

You looked at him now, your own teeth clenched as you tried to find the words to let him know you weren’t going anywhere. That he hadn’t risked all for nothing. You would stay and you would listen. You would wear the criticism and backhanded comments with an air of pride as long as you were making him happy.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” You whispered, shuffling closer so your sides were touching.

John jumped at the initial contact, head snapping back to look at where you’d bumped against him before he seemed to relax, turning his gaze back to the ground.

“I understand if you want to, deep down.” He mumbled, not really moving his lips as he spoke. “You wouldn’t be the only one.”

You winced at that, hand on his thigh squeezing once more as you leaned in to kiss the mark on his cheek. He jolted away out of reflex before settling himself down and letting his forehead rest on your own cheek.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re feelin’?” You asked quietly, hand coming up to run through his long hair and massage his scalp. He moaned against you softly, shuddering at the feeling.

“Not feelin’ anything.” He said against your shoulder, eyes staring blankly at the stitching on your collar.

Your lips tightened, eyes flicking towards him as you removed your hand from his head and waited. It took a few seconds before he realised you were done. Sitting back to look at you sadly as you raised your brows in question.

“What?” He asked, looking away. You could tell he wanted you to drop it. To just pretend it hadn’t happened and move on like you’d done that first night.

“What was all that about?” You asked, gesturing back in the direction of camp, his eyes rolling at your question.

“Just drop it will ya?” He asked, annoyance in his tone as he stared out over the valley. The sun now having fully risen above the mountain was tingling their skin with warmth as it worked to rise enough to shade them under the trees above.

You stayed silent, feeling the mood shift. His demeanour hadn’t changed but something was different. You didn’t want to push him too hard, lest he fling himself over the cliff in front of your eyes.

“It’s just…” He started, crossing his arms and huffing indignantly. “It’s… dumb.” He said weakly, trailing off from his train of thought.

You watched on sadly. Brows furrowed as he sniffed audibly. Shoulders shuddering momentarily before he managed to compose himself enough to stop them.

His eyes were squinting in the morning sun. Face scrunched into a scowl as he blinked back his emotions.

He obviously wanted to talk. Not sure how to go about it or if he would be judged for what he was going to say. Perhaps he stopped himself because he felt you would be offended by his statement.

“I’m sure it’s not.” You probed. Deciding that if he truly wanted you to drop it, he wouldn’t have spoken.

“I’m just…” He paused, questioning if he really had the emotional stability he would need to talk about his feelings without breaking down. He swallowed, taking a calming breath before continuing. “I’m really trying.” He said simply, voice cracking on the last word as his face crumpled and he brought his hands up to cover it.

You made a sound of acknowledgement, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and squeezing his opposite arm tightly.

He let you, too busy in his own mind to push you away. He admonished himself harshly for thinking he could vent a little bit without opening the gates entirely. It had been such a long time since he’d cried, properly cried and not just let a few tears slip when he was heavy on the drink. He’d been holding in years of unpleasant feelings and lately he’d been struggling. Feeling particularly vulnerable at inopportune times and taking playful jabs way too seriously.

He choked on his words of apology. Mumbling nonsense into his palms as he finally began to let it all out.

“I… I been tryin’ so…” He paused, stumbling over his wording. “So… hard.” He stuttered, shaking uncontrollably under the weight of his own words.

You shushed him lightly, hand squeezing soothingly as you gently pulled him towards you. He let himself fall, head resting on your chest as he huffed quietly, his breathing uneven.

Once he was resting his weight against you, you moved your hand to his back. Running the pads of your fingers lightly up and down his spine and encouraging him to breath in the same slow pattern. He obliged, slowly but surely calming as his breathing began to return to normal. His leaking eyes burning as he struggled to stop the flow of tears he regretted letting go of.

“I don’t… I don…” He stammered, cutting himself off. He already felt so damn weak. Nerves grating on the feeling of helplessness.

You shook your head, other hand coming up to run through his hair once more and then down against his unmarred cheek. You pressed lightly, encouraging him to look at you. He reluctantly did so, red rimmed eyes sheepishly averting as he caught your look of sympathy.

You could tell he was on the verge of shutting down. Composing himself and bottling it all back up until the next time, whenever that may be. All of the thoughts and feelings would come back twice as hard. Knocking against him when he least expects it and finally pushing him off the precipice he had so delicately been balancing on since long before you met him.

Since Jack was born.

“It’s okay.” You cooed, holding him tighter in an effort to make him feel safe. “You can tell me anythin’, you know that.” You whispered gently, the feeling of him slowly coming undone almost physical as his dam-wall broke apart in your arms.

He stuttered uncontrollably, breath hitching almost constantly as he tried his hardest to tell you how he was feeling. Words broken and slurred as he let you in on his darkest thoughts. His deepest fears.

“I been tryin’ so… so hard with Jack.” He cried against your breast. Pressing himself closer to you as if he could hide from your judgement. “She… she told me… I…” He stammered, cutting himself off as deep, wracking sobs overtook his ability to speak.

You shushed him lightly. Making sure to let him know it wasn’t his words you were trying to stop. You wanted to hear it all. Wanted him to let it out and get it in the open so you could calm his tears and all his insecurities.

He was mortified, you could tell by the way he kept trying to hide his face. Wiping at it irately as if being annoyed with his tears would stop them.

You supposed you would be embarrassed too if the situations were reversed. Your relationship was relatively new, even if it had already felt like a lifetime. He was scared of your judgement. Afraid you were going to leave once you’d seen what a wimp he really was.

You reassured him once more that you weren’t leaving. Making it clear you were staying put without his prompting. Hoping it felt more genuine that way.

He seemed to calm down a little after you spoke. Sobs turning to uneven breaths as you resumed running your hand up and down his back at a slow pace.

He followed your movements, long soothing breaths making him weary after his emotional collapse.

“She told me… I weren’t tryin’ hard enough with Jack.” He said finally, nearly getting through the entire sentence without a hitch. His arms wrapped around your waist loosened, falling slack as he took a deep breath and pushed himself to sit up.

You took in his dishevelled appearance, feeling a pang to your heart at the sight of him. Your hand came up automatically to brush his hair behind his ear as he turned to look at you with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen.

“She said I ruined his life breakin’ up his parents. Said he’d never be happy again.” He elaborated, barely above a whisper. You smiled sympathetically, hands cupping his cheeks as you leaned into brush your lips against his. He let you, not closing his eyes as you kissed him. Wanting to see as well as feel you.

“You know that ain’t true.” You said against his lips, thumbs swiping under his eyes to wipe away some of the wetness. He paused, nodding hesitantly as if he didn’t really believe it but felt he had to agree for your sake.

“She hurt my feelings.” He admitted quietly. Voice so small you weren’t sure you had actually heard it. He looked away, pulling his face from your grip and you knew then that he had said what you thought. “I been tryin’ so hard.” He repeated for the third time. Driving home how much she had hurt him with her words and making your heart ache. You felt for him. You knew too well the pain of truly trying your hardest only to be shot down and slapped with a punishment for not putting in any effort.

“I know. I’ve seen you.” You stated as a conformation, smiling fondly to yourself at the memory him playing swords with Jack earlier in the week.

“I don’t know how to fix it.” He said simply, hands ringing together unconsciously as he worried his lip between his teeth. You frowned, taking his hands in yours and turning to face him fully.

“You don’t need to.” You stated firmly. “Jack is happy. Ain’t you heard the phrase don’t fix what’s not broke?”

John’s lips twitched at your wording. It was one of the things he loved about you. Your subtle wording that changed a common phrase ever so slightly to your own version.

“I meant… with Abigail.” He shifted uncomfortably at the admission. Your hands letting go of his as you looked at him in surprise. He grabbed at your hands frantically. Scrambling to correct himself and clarify. “Not… romantically.” He pressed. “Just… in general.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief. Closing your eyes for a second before focusing on his statement.

“You don’t have to hon.” You said softly. “You’ve been tryin’. I’ve seen you. It’s up to her to make things civil.”

John furrowed his brows. That didn’t seem quite right. He was sure it was his responsibility. She had made that clear from the start.

“I ended it. I hurt her.” He said blatantly, his tone questioning. “I have to make things right.”

You sighed, squeezing his hands tightly as you replied.

“There will be no right as long as you’re with me.”

John looked at you for a long moment. Eyes flicking between yours as he waited for more.

You watched as the realisation hit him. His red rimmed eyes beginning to water as he tensed his jaw once more. He stared at you, hurt plain as day across his face as he assessed your meaning.

“Can you live with that?” He asked, voice thick with emotion.

You took a moment to reflect. Really think about what you were going to say before you responded. To make sure you really meant it.

“Yes.” You smiled. “You’re worth it.” You said, taking his face in your hands once more and pressing your forehead against his.

You felt his cheeks rise. Teeth bumping against your lips as he attempted to kiss you through his smile.

“So are you.” He whispered.

End

~~~

PLEASE let me know if you liked it/What you liked! I am dying for comments on my fics and it’s to the point where I’m not above begging for feedback.

#John Marston x fem reader #john marston x F!Reader #fem reader #F!Reader #john marston #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #fanfic #fan fiction #reader #reader fic #angst #hurt/comfort #john marston/fem reader #john marston/F!Reader

74 notes · View notes

looptheloup · 6 years ago

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(Belated) Whumptober!

Day 19: Exhaustion

Link to AO3

Fandom: Marvel

Characters: Loki (Marvel), Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor Odinson, Jarvis

Warnings: Violence, Torture, Prisoner of war, Non-sexual bondage, Magical exhaustion, Near death, Vomiting, Broken bones

Other tags: Eventual fluff, Thor is a good bro

Summary: After running for months, Loki is exhausted and falls into Tony Stark's hands. He thought he'd experienced the worst the fates could throw at him but he was wrong.

[A/N: Still working on these :) Many thanks to my beta, who is amazing. I hope you enjoy it! ps. I kind of see this as relating to the song ‘Brother’ by Kodaline, link here :)]

Exhaustion

Loki touched the cold concrete beneath him and choked on a bitter laugh. Sitting in a filthy alley that stank of rancid fat and urine, the cold digging needles into him; was this how it was going to end? He curled up tighter, wincing at the aching pain in his stomach where he’d taken a beating from a motel manager when he couldn’t pay them. His magic lay dormant, spent on teleporting across the world and back again, trying to escape Stark’s technology and the cell the man wanted to put him in.

But Loki was tired. He didn’t have the strength in him to run any longer, to flit about with his tricks and his quick anticipation of his opponent’s plans. It had been a year and he was buckling under the strain as his clever ideas became slippery, difficult to conjure up when he needed them, and then his magic began to slip. Now it was his body, which was nothing but a disappointment after Odin had made him mortal, colluding with the man of iron in a joined attempt to find him. Loki had shielded himself from Asgard’s prying eyes for as long as he could, but it was crumbling around him now.

Stark would find him first, though. His technology seemed to reach everywhere on this pathetic planet, a constant shadow looming over Loki, clinging to him like lichen.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Loki closed his eyes. Perhaps if he were braver, he would have killed himself before Stark arrived, but he hadn’t been able to gather himself to do it.

“Sorry I’m late. The traffic was awful.”

Loki opened his eyes to see the red gleam of Stark’s metal contraption; the machine that worked with human magic to enable his flight. The mortal smiled down at him, his face arranged into an expression that ought to have been warm, but his eyes were cold as Jotunheim.

“If this is a bad time for you,” Loki managed, “don’t let me keep you, man of iron.” He stayed sitting on the concrete because he feared if he stood, he would only collapse. He’d overused his magic far beyond its ability to regenerate and without it he felt like empty rind, hollowed out and nauseous with it.

“And let you lead me on another wild goose chase? I don’t think so, reindeer games.”

Loki had nothing to say, no quick words to help him wind Stark around his finger and slip out of this Norns-damned mess he’d gotten himself into. So he just sat silently, shivering, waiting for Stark to kill him or take him away. He suspected the latter, and feared what they’d do to him.

“Cat got your tongue?” Stark said. “Fine with me, fucking pain in my ass.”

He tensed as Stark lifted his hand and then panicked when a sharp blue flash led to very small but very sharp metal spikes embedding themselves in his chest and forcing him rigid, unable to move, his jaw clenched shut as his muscles spasmed. Some kind of magic shock and, gods, it hurt.

“Nice. Let’s get this wrapped up, eh, Loki-poki, before anyone else arrives.” Stark came towards him and Loki couldn’t move, couldn’t much breathe. He didn’t know who Stark was expecting would arrive, nor why he wanted to take Loki before they did. Perhaps he wanted Loki to himself before he handed him over, Norns forbid it. Restraints snapped onto his wrists, and around his ankles and he growled low in his throat, hating Stark with a cold fire in his belly. If he only had his magic-

“Alrighty,” Stark said triumphantly and the paralysis dropped away all at once, along with the weird metal spikes, leaving Loki gasping at the damp air and trying to lift himself up, but lacking the strength to do so. He’d never felt so weak. “Let’s get this show on the road. You look like a wet mutt and I’d rather be in bed, in all honesty.”

Stark wrapped an unfeeling metal arm around him and before Loki could properly catch his breath, Stark had jetted up into the cold air above the city, leaving Loki shuddering in Stark’s icy grip. When Odin had turned him mortal, he’d taken his Jotun form from him; a body he’d hated, but he’d missed the damn thing when he was hiding out somewhere cold on this filthy planet, and he missed it now, as Stark took him higher and Loki could no longer feel his feet or his fingers as the wind stole what little warmth he’d had.

Stark flew for some time and Loki’s eyes fell closed as he shuddered, limp with exhaustion. He welcomed the cold, wished almost that it would freeze his stubborn heart, or that Stark would drop him and Loki’s worries would be done with. Mortal bodies were so fragile, he’d discovered.

But Stark brought him, if not fully hale then mostly conscious and in one piece, to what Loki presumed was his home, because it didn’t look like a prison. Stark dropped down to land on a platform, releasing Loki roughly, whose whole weight fell onto his elbow and he screamed as he felt it crack beneath him. The pain was awful and he curled up defensively on his side as he tried to drag air in through the stabbing agony that radiated all the way up to his shoulder.

“Jesus fuck,” Stark muttered and Loki tensed to be kicked, or roughly dragged, only for the metal arms of Stark’s armour to wrap carefully around his chest and lift him to his feet. The movement still jarred his elbow and he hissed, shaking. “Didn’t mean to break you. Sorry.” Stark manhandled him with unexpected gentleness inside the building, the door closing behind them on its own. Without the wind, the silence felt heavy and Loki’s harsh breathing painfully audible.

He was set down in a soft fabric chair, of all things, before Stark stepped away, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t move, princess,” he ordered. “Jarv, keep an eye on him. He’s a slippery prick, and not the fun kind.”

“Yes, sir,” a voice said from the ceiling. Loki was too tired to even startle and he stayed where Stark had left him, neither willing or able to stir himself. Stark left the room and Loki felt himself drifting, as the waves of pain from his arm and the empty ache of his absent magic washed over him, rough as an ocean storm.

Stark returned an indeterminable time later with a man at his side, a man Loki blearily and unhappily recognised as the mortal form of the great green monster; Bruce Banner.

“Is that really-?” Banner stuttered, staring. Loki exhaled, his jaw aching from how he was pressing his teeth together.

“Yup, the trickster asshole himself,” Stark said cheerily, though he sounded grim under his light tone. “Might have broken his arm a little bit.”

Banner turned to give Stark an incredulous look. “You didn’t,” he said.

“He did,” Loki muttered, exhausted and wishing they’d either throw him in a cell or knock him into unconsciousness. He didn’t much care which at this point.

“Oh,” Banner said. “Ah well I better look, then. Tony, if you could-?”

“Medical room?” Stark said. “Yeah, see you there, green bean.”

Banner headed out with an irritable huff, muttering under his breath in a displeased manner that Loki doubted boded well for him. Medical room? Loki didn’t like the sound of it and his head skittered away from imagining what Stark might require medical equipment for.

“Wow you look like shit warmed up,” Stark said. He was still in his red armour, but he’d removed his helmet and Loki eyed his face, trying and failing to read the mortal’s intentions. Stark clinically picked him up and Loki ducked his head as he tried to suppress a noise of pain from his elbow as he was moved.

Stark took him silently out of the room and into what Loki had learnt was an elevator, which carried them smoothly down several floors. Loki wished futilely that they wouldn’t be going underground. He loathed the cold and dark, even as the blue skin that lurked deep inside him thrived on the barren ice.

“He’s properly mortal, then,” Stark said and Loki stirred as he was set down, realising that he’d drifted again. His elbow sparked with pain.

“Yes, seems that way.” Banner was moving about with an intent expression, looking at screens and tapping them faster than Loki’s weary brain could follow. “You fractured his elbow, Tony.” Banner brought up a picture of the bones in Loki’s arm, or so he assumed.

“Oops,” Stark said carelessly. “My bad.”

Banner made a disgruntled noise. “Radial neck fracture,” he muttered. “But doesn’t look like it needs surgery.”

Together, the mortals attached Loki to the chair and, as much as he loathed it, there wasn’t anything he could do. Norns, he loathed feeling so weak.

“I shall disembowel you,” he snarled at Stark, when the mortal was holding him still so that Banner could stick a needle full of something into him.

Stark shot him an unimpressed look. “If you’ve nothing nice to say,” he said darkly. Loki tried to drag his thoughts together into a response, only for whatever had been in the needle to hit his systems, making his thoughts go fuzzy at the edges and leaving him limp. He vaguely felt Stark let go of him.

They were talking but Loki couldn’t make the sounds make sense. He felt his arm being moved and looked down at it in confusion, widening his eyes as gloved fingers cleaned a bloody gash on his elbow that he hadn’t even noticed.

Time passed and his head rolled back as his arm was moved and shapes moved around him. He knew he was fastened down but it didn’t worry him. He let consciousness slide away from him with a sense of overwhelming relief.

He woke groggy and dry-mouthed to a throbbing ache in his right arm, which lay across his chest, wrapped in white. A splint of some kind, he thought blearily, trying to make his mind work. He reached for his magic on reflex but found little, and what there was squirmed away from him. To take anymore of it now might be irreparable, he feared, and life without his magic wouldn’t be any life at all.

He was alone in a bare room, a cell he realised with a sigh. His left hand was locked to a metal loop on the floor, while his fractured right arm was rendered immobile with his injury.

“Good afternoon, Mr Laufeyson,” a voice said from the ceiling, making Loki startle. He twisted around to scour the room but could see no-one. One of those microphones he’d experienced, then, or something similar. He’d jumped violently when he first heard a voice come from the ceiling of a food store, but since the humans hadn’t seemed bothered by it, he’d realised it was considered normal.

“Who am I speaking to?” he asked hesitantly, unsure if the voice would even be able to hear him, or if it was only one-way.

“My name is Jarvis. I’m a type of computer that Mr Stark developed to help him with his work. I have alerted him that you are awake.”

Loki just nodded silently. A door slid open and Loki lifted his head slightly to eye Stark coldly.

Stark grinned. “Someone’s happy to see me,” he said lightly, coming forwards. Loki noticed a second too late that Stark was holding something in his hand and when Stark crouched down beside him, Loki couldn’t push him away, flinching with a growl when Stark lifted hands to his neck and fastened cold metal around his throat. A blue glow emanated from it and Loki sent Stark a look, trying to keep his terror from his face. He could feel something, the collar feeling icy against his skin, like it was sapping warmth from him.

“What is this?” he managed, attempting disdain and failing. Stark patted his cheek in such a way that Loki gritted his teeth and imagined crushing Stark’s throat under his heel.

“Just a precaution, reindeer games. Be a dear and have a go at some magic for me, will you?”

Loki blinked at him, the metal collar seeming to choke him for a moment as realisation rolled over him.

“It blocks my magic?” he murmured, horrified.

Stark gave him a cool look. “Don’t fret,” he said easily. “It might not work. Give it a spin for me, eh?”

Loki had already been reaching for his magic. It had been severely, painfully depleted, but it had been there, tingling and slowly increasing. Now there was nothing, just a barren nothingness when he reached for it. He stared at Stark in horror. This would kill him. To take his magic—Stark would strip him first of sanity and then his life, slowly. Stark’s face split into a satisfied smile.

“I suppose that expression means it works? Perfect.” He stood up while Loki stared at the ground. He felt sick. Did Stark know what he was doing? “Jarv, release Loki, please. I don’t think he’s going to be any more trouble for now.”

“This will kill me,” Loki breathed, glancing up at Stark. The man’s satisfaction faltered for a moment as he narrowed his eyes. Then he smiled slightly, almost puzzled.

“Don’t be a drama queen,” he said easily.

The metal cuff on Loki’s left wrist fell away but Loki only lifted his arm to shift it into his lap as he stared at Stark and didn’t do anything else. He kept reaching for his magic, straining to find it, hoping that he might feel some responding tingle, but there was just a vacant emptiness; an awful, endless nothingness.

“Come on, Lokes,” Stark said from the doorway of the cell. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Loki was, he realised, and also painfully thirsty. Mortals were almost constantly hungry, he’d found out, and it was something he hated, the way that his body was constantly clamouring for sustenance.

He got slowly, unsteadily, to his feet and when Stark led the way down a corridor, he followed. His hand came up to touch the cool metal around his throat and resolve hardened in his stomach. He had to remove this thing, and to do it he needed information, time, and as much strength as he could muster.

So when Stark placed some odd, cold food and a glass of water in front of him, Loki drank until his throat didn’t feel so raw, and then ate the offered food, finding it to be chilled fish and rice and pleasant enough. Nausea twisted inside him, though, and he felt slightly dizzy. He knew it would only get worse. Stark talked at him, half taunting and half inane chatter.

“…Since I’ve got you all nicely secure here, your brother’ll be dropping in tomorrow to say hi.” Loki paused with the chopsticks half-way to his mouth to meet Stark’s sharp eyes. Stark smiled slightly. “You’re rather good with those, for an alien, you know,” Stark said, tapping his own chopsticks together and Loki made a noise of agreement without thinking. The chopsticks were at least convenient in that they only required one hand, since his right was out of commission. “But then you spent several weeks in China, didn’t you?” Stark said, his voice going hard and Loki set his chopsticks down as he lost his appetite entirely. Stark had been on his tail for the best part of a year: they were captor and prisoner and the collar around Loki’s neck was only one of many reminders of how powerless Loki was.

But he would be strong again, he hoped, if he could just get this thing off. And even Thor, with his frankly abysmal understanding of magic, wouldn’t let Stark kill him like this; slowly going mad, wasting away, would he? Even after all that had passed between them, Loki hoped that Thor retained at least enough regard for him that if he wanted Loki dead, he would kill Loki outright. He hoped at least. Perhaps Thor was done with him, but if that were so then he wouldn’t come when Stark told him of Loki’s capture. Unless he wished only to taunt Loki for his fall, or to lecture him.

Loki’s thoughts spiralled sickening as he doubted himself and doubted again. Once, he’d been so good at anticipating other’s moves that it had become almost dull. Now he was alone and weakened in enemy territory and Thor, who he had once believed would never leave his side, was now an unknown.

“You look thoughtful,” Stark commented. He took some of the fish left on Loki’s plate and stuck it in his own mouth. That at least told Loki that there had been nothing in the food, something that he hadn’t even considered before digging in. His fingers came up to brush the collar. It was messing with his head. “Regretting your life choices?” Stark mused aloud. “Or just planning to murder me?”

Loki lifted his eyebrows silently and Stark looked innocently back at him. Did he know what the device he’d fastened onto Loki was doing? Did he just not care?

“This collar will kill me,” Loki tried again, searching Stark’s eyes, trying to gage whether the mortal had designed the device to block his magic so utterly that it would slowly kill him, or if he was just playing with things he didn’t understand.

Stark was impossible to read. His forehead tightened into a frown but he stubbornly pressed his lips together. “Yeah, you said that already. Doesn’t make me more likely to believe you.” Loki blinked. So Stark didn’t know. That was good, that gave him space to try to- “Oh no, I can see you thinking,” Stark interrupted as he stood, gathering the plates. “Don’t fucking start. You’re not called the liesmith for shits and giggles. That collar’s not coming off, Loki-poki and if you start harping on about it, you’ll only piss me off.”

Loki clenched his jaw. His balance was off so that when he turned his head too fast, a wave of sickness made him pause, dizzy. But Stark didn’t see, his back turned as he put the plates in the sink.

“Blocking my magic-” he tried.

“Loki.” Stark’s voice was hard but Loki pressed on, desperately.

“-is like cutting off blood-”

“Loki.”

“-to my brain. I will go-”

Stark slammed the plates down in the sink. “Enough!” he snapped and Loki broke off, falling silent. He had tried, it was the mortal’s idiotic fault for not listening. “You can’t help yourself, can you?” Stark turned to face him and Loki leaned back slightly, wary of the mortal’s power over him. Once he could have killed the man with a flick of his fingers, but now was not that time. “You’ve learnt nothing. You don’t give a fuck about the lives you took, you’re just a selfish dick.”

Loki clenched his jaw against the things he wanted to say and told himself to bide his time until Thor arrived, if Stark wasn’t lying about the visit. That was Loki’s best chance. And, if it fell through, then Loki would have to seek his own means to remove the thing himself.

Maybe Stark was right that Loki ought to accept the punishment as his due. But he was a survivor and he’d been damned if he went down like this, sick and weak and not even at the hands of mortals, which would have been tiresome enough, but by the work of a rudimental machine. If Loki was to die for his crimes, then he would die with honour, not like this.

“Get up,” Stark ordered flatly and Loki reluctantly did as he was told, struggling against the alarming dizziness when he came to his feet. “Move, go on,” Stark said and Loki started slowly down the corridor, back towards the cell. Loki didn’t relish the prospect, but what choice did he have? He had no doubt that Stark would best him in any physical confrontation, what with Loki’s broken arm and his sickness. “What would my dad say?” Stark sounded bitter and he pushed Loki in the middle of his back, almost sending him to the floor as his vision swung sickening before him. “You can go and think about what you’ve done. Maybe if you’re left for a couple of decades you might develop a smidgen of compassion for the hundreds you slaughtered, you fucking murderer.”

Loki was struggling to focus but he heard the underlying sharpness to Stark’s words and wondered, blearily, whether Stark wasn’t just berating Loki, but himself too, or perhaps his father, since he spoke so bitterly of him. At his best, Loki might have tried to dig his fingernails into that chink, to pull Stark’s vulnerabilities out into the harsh outside air, but he hadn’t the strength of mind to form words, let alone manipulate them.

A door slid open and Loki was nudged inside the same cell. Stark roughly took hold of his wrist and tugged him violently down so as to secure his left arm to the metal loop on the floor, where the shackle still lay, like an opened oyster. The wrench on his arm unbalanced Loki entirely and he fell hard on his hip as he collapsed to the floor, with the impact jarring his broken arm badly enough that he could nothing for several seconds but try not to cry out, dragging harsh breaths in through clenched teeth.

“Caught off guard?” Stark muttered. If he’d been surprised by Loki’s collapse, Loki hadn’t been looking at the man’s face to know. Stark closed the shackle around Loki’s wrist and Loki did nothing to stop him, because he couldn’t, and there was no point besides. So he just sat, breathing through the pain in his arm and the dizzy sickness in his head, as Stark looked down on him for a second and then left silently. The door closed behind him with a soft hiss that felt violent nonetheless.

Loki sagged back against the wall and closed his eyes, exhausted. The hypervigilance of being a fugitive had been a slow grinding down of his energy and his inner fortitude so that more and more frequently he’d found his mind invaded with thoughts of just handing himself in. And then he’d depleted his magic, fleeing from Stark’s mechanical eyes, which had somehow managed to track his magic, no matter what form Loki had twisted it into, or what shielding he’d placed on it. There had been a delay, but never long enough. He’d thought he’d hit the worst of it, in a mortal body and without his magic. But there was now this, this new torment, new pressure, and Loki was just so so tired. He would not roll over and accept his fate, he didn’t think he was capable of it, but Norns damn it, it was tempting.

The sickness worsened far faster than Loki had anticipated. The collar felt frigid against his mortal skin and even when he tried lifting it away from his neck, he felt the ache of its power in his fingers, down his wrist, sapping his power from him as surely as a burning candle wick.

There was a drain in the corner of the small cell and Loki moved sluggishly some time after Stark had left him, needing to relieve himself, only for his stomach to flip and with a sudden violence he threw up on the floor, retching until his throat was raw and he coughed, trying to rid himself of the vile taste.

He tilted backwards only for the cell walls to swing nauseatingly and he ended up falling hard against the wall as he closed his eyes and tried to regain his balance. It was futile, though, and even when keeping completely still, the cell still rocked before his eyes and Loki groaned, feeling sick and scared, as much as he loathed it. This was happening too fast and he wanted Thor. Norns, he wanted to see the idiot’s stupid puppy-like face and his golden hair. He didn’t want to die sucked dry of magic in a grey box beside his own vomit.

After a time, sitting up became too difficult and he lowered himself with great difficulty to the cold floor. His broken arm throbbed agonisingly and his stomach rolled, threatening to send him into retching again until his mouth was sharp with acid.

Lying flat was marginally better and Loki let his eyes close. He could feel his heart-beat slowing. He reached repeatedly for his magic, unable to stop himself, like a tongue worrying a sore tooth, but it was never there and it hurt every time.

“Loki!”

Loki couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure he could open his eyes, he had so little energy. His thoughts were as sluggish as tar. There was a hand on his shoulder and it shook him. He knew it was hurting his broken arm but barring a low hiss, he didn’t have the strength to do anything to stop it. He didn’t even care.

“Loki! For fuck’s sake-” There were fingers on his neck, then and Loki would have flinched, but he felt like he’d been set in amber, or ice: immovable.

“Brother,” the low voice, so familiar, stirred something in Loki’s gut and he blinked dizzily but he couldn’t see through a haze of grey and he closed his eyes again after a moment. “Brother, you must hold on. The man of iron is removing the collar.”

Loki struggled to couple the words with the meaning of them in his brain. It was like two boats in calmed waters trying to communicate with one another across a vast expanse of lazily rocking sea.

Something cold fell away from his neck and he released a harsh breath that he hadn’t been aware he was holding. He felt lighter, somehow, but he still couldn’t move.

“If he dies, I would advise that you leave my presence immediately,” Loki heard that warm voice rumble, the tone dark but the voice itself comforting. “I’m not certain I will be able to keep from killing you.”

“Roger that,” the other voice said grimly. Loki thought he might be sick again, but there was nothing to bring up and he hadn’t the strength to vomit. There was a painful pressure in his bladder.

“Brother,” he breathed. The warm voice was important, he knew, and he wanted them close, couldn’t bear the thought of them leaving him here, in the cold, unable to move for lack of strength.

Warm, solid hands stroked over his shoulder and over his back. “I am here, Loki. Can you take something of my energy? Come back to me, Loki, please brother.”

Loki wondered whether he could do as the voice, his brother, suggested and he reached shakily for his magic. Overwhelming relief flushed through him when it tingled gently and a tear slid down his cheek. Norns, he’d missed that. He reached for the frayed threads of his power, barely there after being so depleted and then battened down ruthlessly by the evil collar, and gently teased them out, reaching for Thor’s energy as he did so.

Thor’s power was something huge, a wonderous, electric thing that he kept barely contained, sparking inside of him like a thunderstorm inside a maelstrom. Loki tentatively touched the ends of his pathetic magic to the edges of Thor’s power.

It felt like an electric shock and he jerked upwards with a sharp inhalation of shock and pain. Thor’s energy was relentless and harsh like static and Loki broke off the connection quickly, before he overwhelmed himself, or drained Thor.

But it was enough and he sat up, trembling, only to be embraced by warm, strong arms, his nose pressed to Thor’s solid shoulder, breathing in his burnt scent and shaking with utter relief. Not even the pain in his arm could flatten his brief, sharp elation.

“Thor,” he choked, clutching at Thor’s back with his good left hand, which was no longer chained to the floor.

The memory of the chain made him tense and Thor pulled away as Loki turned to eye Stark warily. The man looked pale and strained and he looked back at Loki with a pained expression. Loki regarded him coldly.

“Come, brother,” Thor said, his voice loud in the small cell that seemed tiny with Thor’s bulk inside it. “Can you walk? You must eat and recover.”

Loki made no move to try to stand but moved his gaze from Stark’s tight face to Thor, drinking in the sight of him desperately.

“You’re here,” he murmured. “You don’t- you- Thor?” he broke, unable to express the depths of his doubt, his despair, his wary hope that Thor being here meant that maybe-

“Of course I am here,” Thor rumbled, looking at him with such love that it crushed the air out of Loki’s chest. He’d not imagined anyone alive, save Frigga perhaps, would look at him like that again.

“I’ve missed you,” Loki gasped. I’m so sorry, he wanted to say, I love you so much.

Thor smiled, his whole face lighting up like his lightning did when it split the night sky. “And I you, brother,” he said easily, like it had never been in doubt. “We will talk more when you are well.” Thor glanced at Stark with something dark flicking in his eyes and Loki felt a surge of vindictive validation in that look. He glared at Stark with malice. I tried to tell you, he hissed silently. Stark looked back at him like he knew exactly what Loki was thinking.

Thor looped a large but careful arm around Loki’s back and Loki let him help to his feet. He felt unbearably weak, but he was alive, and Thor didn’t hate him, still called him ‘brother’, after everything.

“We are not brothers,” Loki said as he let Thor half-carry him out of the cell. There was more sadness than bitterness in his voice and he knew Thor heard it.

“You will always be my brother, Loki,” he said solemnly and Loki swallowed thickly, telling himself that he was overwrought and that was why he felt damnably close to tears.

Stark silently led the way to a room with a bed and Thor set Loki down on it with a certain tenderness. He reminded Loki painfully of Frigga, for a moment, with his care.

“Rest, brother,” he said. “All will be well.”

Loki looked up at him, and then over at Stark, hovering in the corner with his arms crossed defensively over the glowing metal in his chest. Thor had a determined set to his jaw and Loki smiled, exhausted, but more at ease than he’d been in far too long.

“I believe you,” he said. The warmth of Thor’s smile was enough that he managed to smile back, just a little, and though he grumbled at Thor’s fussing as the Aesir laid the bedcovers over him, the care left him oddly pleased. He fell asleep with a half-smile on his lips, content in the knowledge that his brother would watch over him.

Links to:

Day 1 - Stabbed, Detroit Become Human

Day 2 - Bloody hands, Marvel Cinematic Universe

Day 3 - Insomnia, Harry Potter

Day 4 - “No, stop!”, Altered Carbon

Day 5 - Poisoned, Supernatural

Day 6 - Betrayed, Detroit Become Human

Day 7 - Kidnapped, Supernatural

Day 8 - Fever, Yuuri!! on ice

Day 9 - Stranded, Detroit Become Human

Day 10 - Bruises, Marvel Cinematic Universe

Day 11 - Hypothermia, Supernatural

Day 12 - Electrocuted, Rise of the Guardians

Day 13 - “Stay.”, Marvel

Day 14 - Torture, Original Work

Day 15 - Manhandling, Teen Wolf

Day 16 - Bedridden, Harry Potter

Day 17 - Drugged, Teen Wolf

Day 18 - Hostage, Original Work

#Whumptober #loki #tony stark #torture #magic #prisoner #fic #fanfic #marvel #bruce banner #thor is a good bro #loki needs a hug #violence #broken bones #ao3 #angst #whump #2018 #queue owe me this much

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