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httpkaulitz · 5 months ago

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can you write a fluff one where Bill takes care of the reader when she's drunk? Like they are friends who like each other and they're at a party and suddenly he loses sight of her and when he finds her she's super drunk with Tom and Bill is upset because he gave her drinks cause she's not used to drinking. Then he takes her home a little upset/jealous that she was drinking with his brother. But he still takes care of her. Sorry if this is too specific, you don't have to write it unless you want to.

drunk courage

PAIRINGS: Bill x Female reader

CONTENT: Fluff

SYNOPSIS: Bill takes care of drunk you.

WARNINGS: mention off smoking weed and drink

Bill had been looking for you for at least 20 minutes. He walked all over the place trying to quickly talk to people so he wouldn't get stuck in some conversation again.

This was probably the initial reason why you moved away, giving him space to talk to everyone. Ever since his band started gaining more fame, people just love coming up and talking to him and the boys. It's a little strange because he's not used to it, but he tries to be kind to everyone.

Bill was almost giving up on trying to find you, thinking that maybe you were already gone, but he heard a loud, unmistakable laugh. He walked a little further and there you were leaning against one of the walls laughing uncontrollably while Tom who was standing in front of you breathed smoke in yoiur face.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” He asked, a little angrier than he intended. Bill would be sure why Tom had taken you to a dark corner if you were any other girl. The smell of weed infiltrated his senses the closer he got.

“Bill!” You screamed excitedly and tried to go towards him, but you stumbled back and ended up leaning against the wall again.

"You drank?" He asked as he looked at you and Tom with a suspicious look.

"No." You responded quickly before starting to laugh as if someone had told you a joke. “Maybe a little.”

Bill turned to Tom who was smiling, seeming to be amused by your drunken state. “Why did you let her drink?”

“Because she wanted to.” He replied simply. “Why are you acting like an annoying mother all of a sudden?”

Bill rolled his eyes in annoyance, there was no point in trying to talk to his brother when he was clearly stoned.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” He held your hand and started walking towards the exit, you followed him staggering as you tried to keep up with his pace.

"Why?" You asked in a slurred voice, squeezing his hand in yours.

Bill stopped for a moment seeing that you were having trouble following him. He looked at your pink face as a result of the alcohol you weren't used to drinking. You looked so beautiful he felt like screaming.

“Because you’re drunk and I’m not going to babysit you.” He explained calmly as if you were a five year old. He didn't want to sound rude, not to you, but he was feeling upset.

You followed him towards the car now drinking some water from a bottle he picked up as he passed the bar. Absently you squeezed the bottle very hard and water splashed all over your face and neck, running down your chest and wetting your clothes.

You laughed hysterically as you rubbed a hand over your eyes to help you see again.

Bill sighed in frustration before taking the bottle from your hand and closing it. He helped you into the car and helped you put on your seat belt. You didn't know why, but you wanted to laugh at the way he was treating you, even while he seemed so grumpy.

The ride home wasn't long and you spent the whole way staring at Bill. Was he upset with you? You didn't know, the only thing you know for sure is that he looks beautiful under the lights that illuminated his face.

Sometimes it was so hard to just be friends with him. You've known each other for years, since you were children and you've always been enchanted by Bill. He has this happy, infectious aura that exudes from him. You never felt sad or bored around him.

Of course, the other boys are your friends too, but with Bill it's different, you always knew you loved him in more than one way.

“Why am I at your house?” You asked confused, letting yourself be led by Bill.

“Because your mother will kill me if she finds out that my irresponsible brother gave you alcohol and weed.” Bill explained before pulling you into the room and closing the door.

“Hey, I didn’t smoke, I just-” You spoke louder than you intended and Bill automatically covered your mouth with his hand.

You looked at him doe-eyed and apologetically and he turned away from you.

Bill went to the closet and started looking for some of his clothes that he could lend you. “You shouldn’t drink that much when you’re not used to it.”

“I didn’t drink much.” You whispered, pouting.

Of course, any amount of alcohol for you was too much. You were still having trouble staying upright and the room was still spinning even while you were standing still.

Bill walked up to you with a oversized shirt and sweatpants of his in hand. “Go get changed, you got all your clothes wet.” He handed you the clothes and helped you into the bathroom.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and laughed at your reflection. Disheveled hair and smudged makeup, you looked like a crazy person.

You kicked off your shoes, leaving you barefoot, taking off your jeans and throwing them somewhere and starting to take off your t-shirt. But somehow you managed to get the t-shirt caught in your earrings and couldn't get it out.

“Bill help me!” You screamed a little desperate because you couldn't see anything.

Bill would have laughed if he hadn't been so shocked by the scene. You were in the middle of the bathroom in just your panties and bra trying to get your shirt off your head.

He stared at your body for a few seconds until he realized he was looking too much and looked away.

“Shit, are you okay?” He asked as he helped you take off your shirt. “That’s why you can’t drink.”

He continued mumbling as he helped you put on his clothes. For some reason he felt like he was being tested. First you were drinking with his brother and now this.

“Imagine if you were like that with another guy.” He shouldn't think of you that way, but it was hard. Bill always liked you, but he never said anything out of fear of ruining your friendship.

“I wasn’t with ‘another guy’ I was with Tom.” You said, looking at him without understanding why he looked so upset.

You know how annoying it is to have to take care of someone drunk, but you've done it for him so many times, so why was he so upset about doing it once.

He huffed as he picked up your clothes from the floor. “Well, you know him.”

Bill knew that his brother would never try something with someone he liked, especially you who he had known for years. But just the thought of that even happening made him jealous.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you followed him out of the bathroom. "You can't be serious. It’s Tom, your brother.” There was no way Bill could think you weren't safe with Tom. That was absolutely absurd.

"I know I know. I just don’t like it.” He sighed, running a hand over his face, knowing he wouldn't get out of this without being questioned. You might have been drunk, but you weren't stupid.

It couldn't be that, you thought. But you still decided to ask. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

Bill looked like a kid who got caught doing something he shouldn't have. His face turned red and he didn't know what to do.

Wasting no time and with a little effort, you moved forward and pressed your lips to his. As if he was shocked, he quickly walked away. Eyes wide and mouth open.

But before you could question whether you had crossed the line, Bill grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you towards him. He looked at you for a few seconds and kissed you.

Bill almost purred with joy when you kissed him back. The soft, warm lips against yours were still an unexpected surprise. But you couldn't resist and gave in to the kiss.

He slipped his tongue into your mouth and pulled you even closer. You felt a little lost with all the sensations. He was kissing you deeply and you could feel his hands sliding all over your body.

“Bill…” You whispered breathlessly as he walked away for a moment. You weren't sure what to say, you had a lot of thoughts going through your head and most of them weren't coherent. Mainly because you were still drunk.

"You can't imagine how much I wanted to do this." Bill whispered to you. Forehead resting on yours, your breaths mixing and your lips touching lightly.

You whimpered when you felt him squeeze one of your breasts through your shirt. Bill decided that this was his favorite sound and would do anything to hear it often.

"Fuck, love." He groaned against your mouth. Sliding you lips down to his jaw to suck on the sensitive skin there. He felt his eyes roll back at the sensation, he slid his hand through your hair, not knowing if yhe should pull you closer or push you away.

“We have to stop.” You could hear him talking, but you didn't care. All you wanted was to touch him, kiss him and bite him as much as you could. The sounds Bill made were everything you had dreamed of hearing for a long time.

“Baby, stop-oh,” his breath hitched when you found his sweet spot just below his ear. "You're drunk."

"I don't mind." You whispered against his skin. So soft and warm. You wanted to feel his entire body under your hands.

"But I care." He pushed you a little harder and managed to push you away from him. It was as much of an effort for him as it was for you. “We will have plenty of time to do this.”

You were staring at him with a pout, upset at being stopped from kissing him.

“Come on, let’s go to sleep.” Bill pulled you into bed with him and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I’ll still want to kiss you tomorrow, don’t be upset.”

#bill kaulitz #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #2000s #bill kaulitz x reader

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a-thousand-lives-lost-for-peace · 3 months ago

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hii i saw you reblog that post abt like queer subtext in re and i am curious to hear abt the queer subtext u see w jill :>

hiiii, thank you for the ask !!

There's several things that I'll be discussing within my own personal view regarding this, and I'm super excited to get into it.

To start off with, I want to talk about a little bit of the inspiration behind Jill's character and how that also plays a factor into the queer subtext that I personally see - if I remember correctly, Ellen Ripley from Alien was a big inspiration for her character - which is where her tank top comes from, and also the namesake of Coffee Shop Sigourney in RE3. This inspiration is further reinforced by the fact that several scenes mimick the Xenomorph, Ripley's nemesis, within RE3 as well , such as when Nemesis kills Tyrell. It is almost uncanny how similar it looks to the way the Xenomorph kills some, and already having that conflict between Nemesis and Jill mimicking Ripley and Xenomorph is a big thing.

The impact of Ripley mostly surrounds the fact that Ripley was originally written to be played by any gender, and she was very strongly lesbian coded within the first film, and I believe there had been an intended romance angle between Lambert and Ellen.

Now , in regards to Jill specifically, she is inherently portrayed as more masculine, which in itself is a big factor when it comes to queercoding. She is someone who defies gender stereotypes and is also someone who made some great feats that were more populated by males within the time period, especially when it came to the fact that she was one of the only women within Delta Force before she was recruited to S.T.A.R.S. Both Ellen and Jill are similar in this regard, both of them heavily defy stereotypes and the typical casting of women or feminine-coded characters, being strong in their own right. Jill's strong, isn't afraid to get her hands dirty and has a mouth like a sailor's, as well as being fully capable of handling any situation on her own without inherently needing help, which is awesome to see when a lot of women in horror media tend to be the "damsel in distress."

Another big flag for her queercoding in my mind is her apartment itself, which I'm sure all of us know about. The posters on her wall are all of scantily-clad women, which in itself is an indicator that she definitely is queer in some way, further reinforced by her own clothing choices and manner of acting.

Jill has also never responded to male advancements or shown interest in male characters - she shuts down Carlos' attempts at flirting early on, even if she did warm up to it later. I also see her friendship with Chris Redfield personally as strictly platonic, as I haven't personally seen any kind of romantic interest between either of them - I think they rather see each other as brother and sister. Though however, when it comes to someone like Claire , Jill very obviously shows interest, especially shown in Death Island - where she's almost constantly looking at Claire, Claire gives her the coffee she was preparing for herself, and they're often pretty close together.

I will admit however I also see her being on the aro-ace spectrum along with her leaning towards others who are feminine-presenting , as I think Jill wouldn't be as focused on romance inherently, but wouldn't be opposed to it in certain situations. It just isn't something she seeks out.

Back onto the post as a whole, @highball66 mentioned in his post about Chris having leather outfits that are queer-coded in itself, and Jill has something similar with her Retribution outfit in Resident Evil: Resistance. For me, that was another big factor into considering the queer-coding of Jill, as those sort of outfits are mostly within the queer community.

#might add onto this more later #resident evil #jill valentine #jill valentine analysis #resident evil analysis

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ecccentrick · 2 years ago

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To commemorate Ripley vs Lady Maria in @handsome-girl-competition, @vilesssserpent and I asked each other a very important question...

Why don't they kiss instead?

Enjoy the culmination of our crack ship.

Also congrats to Ripley!

The tolling of a clocktower reverberates through Ripley's body, echoing in her mind and vibrating her eyes in their sockets.

Breathing in so quickly she almost chokes, Ripley immediately knows she's in a dream. The feeling in the air is thick and heavy, passively oppressive.

Expectant.

Waiting.

Hesitantly, Ripley opens her eyes. She's lying supine on a patch of tall, dying flowers wet with blood. The sun is wrong, like the sky wants to devour it, the light weak on her sensitive eyes. Sitting up slowly, Ripley sees what woke her up.

It really is a clocktower.

Bare feet crunching fallen petals underfoot, Ripley takes in her surroundings.

Behind her, an open door. Before her, a closed one. Carefully, she heads for the former, glancing over the threshold. There's a mess of limbs and bulbous heads, rancid blood coating the floors and walls like there was a downpour inside. She walks into a puddle by accident, red splashing up her bare legs.

She suppresses a gag.

There's a chance that whatever killed these… things, people—alien in shape—is still inside. Or, they could be within the clocktower. Perhaps they killed each other, and there is no other culprit.

Only one way to find out.

The further away she steps from the open door, the less the stink assaults her nose. Bloody footprints are left behind, headed toward the clocktower.

The door is heavy, her biceps and shoulders straining. It opens slowly, ominously.

A small set of stairs greet Ripley. Atop of them, she can see the clock, frozen. The sickly light trickles through the gaps, casting eerie shadows down, framing the lone chair in the back, the slumped figure in it still.

The only sound now is the trickle of blood, a slow drip.

This person could be a decoy, a trap. Or she could need help, caught in this dream like a fly in a sticky web.

Fuck it.

As Ripley gets closer, the floorboards creaking with each step, she can make out more details. The woman has light blonde hair, almost blending into her bloodless skin. Red coats her cravat, her sleeves. Her head, adorned with a hat, is slumped at an awkward angle. She smells strongly of lifeblood, a puddle gathering around her, but not the rotting kind of before.

She looks dead.

Ripley slowly reaches towards her, only to have her wrist caught in a bruising grip. No longer slumped, the woman leans her face to Ripley's, whispering.

"A corpse… should be left well alone."

A chill runs through Ripley, adrenaline kicking in like a flash fire through her veins, cauterizing the impulse to flee in panic at the source. Still, her heart rabbits in her chest, lungs desperately gasping for breath.

The woman pauses, before she leans in even further, cold breath fanning against Ripley's lips. Blue eyes catch brown, narrowing in contemplation.

"You're no hunter," the woman finally says, voice lyrical and lilting, with an accent Ripley can't quite place.

"And you're not dead."

"We're all dead here, in more ways than one… except for you, that is. Why is that so?"

Ripley attempts to loosen the woman's grip on her wrist, but the hold is akin to steel.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

The woman leans back just enough to study Ripley, who is clad in only her shirt and underwear.

In other words, severely underdressed.

Her pale lips quirk for a fraction of a second before they set back into their former grave expression.

Standing without letting go of Ripley, towering over her, the woman gently, delicately releases her wrist. The hand instead slowly trails up Ripley's forearm, brushing against her elbow, tickling the underside of her bicep, before the woman's arm crooks around Ripley's shoulder. Supporting her at her upper back.

They're slowly drawn together, torso to torso. On the other side gloved fingers trail from her collarbone to the middle of Ripley's breasts, slightly to the left.

She shivers. Surely this woman must feel her heart hammering at her ribs?

The lady bends her neck, lips brushing an earlobe. "You are not meant to be here. You are not meant for this nightmare."

With a bitter voice, Ripley replies, "I already live in one. This one is actually pretty nice so far."

"Trading one nightmare for another is the way of things, is it not? But, my dear, you have nothing to seek here but misery."

Being held so gently, so sweetly is anything but a misery to Ripley in this moment, even as fingers gently press deeper against her. Breath brushes skin, gooseflesh rising.

Drawing away from her ear to speak almost against her lips, the woman says, "I will liberate you from this place."

Each word brushes feather light on her mouth, before she is kissed first at the corner, then wholly on her lips. Ripley gasps, and not from the hand that swiftly enters her chest cavity, ceasing any breath at all.

The last thing she remembers before awakening is being carefully lowered to the wooden floor, the weak light haloing pale hair, pale skin, pale lips. Fresh, vivid red coating a solemn face.

#handsome girl competition #lady maria #ellen ripley #bloodborne #alien 1979 #i wrote this in like an hour tops lol #pls forgive my cringe #owl aka vilesssserpent is a ripley stan and i a lady maria stan #does this make sense? no. is it gay? yes.#that is what matters

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piracytheorist · 2 years ago

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Macabre Theme and Variations (6/15)

Fandom: Spy x Family Word count: 6.8k for this chapter | 22.5k so far | 65k in total Rating: T Warnings: Non-permanent character deaths, graphic violence

Summary: Twilight wakes up. He works on his mission. He dies. He comes back and does it all over again. Each time a little different. (Inspired by the film Happy Death Day)

AO3 Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

Warnings for this chapter: mentions of suicide, very vague mentions of domestic abuse, and slightly graphic death

Chapter 6: Scherzando

scherzando = in a playful manner

Borf!

Loid wakes with a gasp. He jumps up, trips over the bed covers, stands back up, runs to the door past Bond and blasts Anya's door open. He watches, his chest tight.

It feels like an eternity until he spots Anya's torso rise and fall with her breathing.

A breath heavy as lead leaves his lungs and he stumbles further into her room. He collapses on his knees next to her bed as a trembling hand reaches to softly rest on her belly.

She's sleeping with her mouth open, spit drooling down its corner. She mumbles something quiet in her sleep and her hand absent-mindedly pats the huge penguin plush next to her.

He realizes his other arm is wrapped tight around his chest, as he suddenly feels someone's gaze on him. He turns his eyes to the door and sees Yor looking at him.

“Loid?” she whispers. “What happened?”

He blinks a few times. He retrieves his hand and sits down, his back against Anya's bed. “Just a nightmare. I'm okay now.”

She hesitates for a few seconds, but then steps inside, getting down on one knee.

He's still breathing fast. The voice telling him to get it under control has grown lower.

“Would you like me to stay?” she asks.

He blinks rapidly, unable to turn his eyes to her. He finally closes them, nodding as he swallows hard.

He feels her quietly sit next to him. He leans a little forward himself, bringing his knees closer to his chest as he focuses on the breathing sounds. Anya's is slow and deep with a small hint of a snore, and Yor's is still heavy from sleep, but quiet and comforting.

They're safe. Anya is still here, and Yor isn't breaking down.

He is still in one piece, physically and emotionally... well, almost, for that last one.

He opens his eyes, looking back at Anya.

Pink. Pink hair. Not red. Eyes moving under her eyelids as she dreams.

He turns to Yor.

A cautious but soft smile on her lips. No devastation.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Her smile spreads, but his stomach feels heavier.

A different kind of despair sets in him as he assesses the situation – and himself.

She places a soft hand on his knee and he has to fight himself, more than Twilight would consider acceptable, to not lean towards her.

So this is what routine feels like. When he doesn't have to worry about protecting the peace, about new missions, about staying vigilant for new and unpredictable dangers.

In that routine he's noticing all the soft looks and caring gestures.

In the security of a day without unknown threats, he realizes how those looks and gestures are growing on him.

When he knows the worst thing to happen this morning is the school bus taking five times to start up, he finds himself wanting to stay here and hold Yor's hand in his.

In it he'd find the understanding his brain is refusing to ignore for the sake of his work.

The understanding of the reason behind what he did at the end of the previous day.

His first thought, the very instinct that led him to pick up a gun and shoot himself was not to reset the day. It was the outmost positive outcome, of course, but resetting was only in the back of his mind right then.

Maybe his subconscious had driven his actions after having figured everything out.

First, that if he didn't die, the day wouldn't reset, and all those children would stay gravely injured and dead. So he should do it.

Second, the uncalculated risk, that there was no guarantee that the day would reset if he died by any other means than the bomb or any other action by the killer himself. So he should take a moment to think before acting.

And third, the realization that he had completely shut down at the sight of an unmoving Anya covered in blood.

And for that, the reassurance that he can reset the day by himself in case something goes wrong isn't enough to placate the spy instinct screaming at him.

You're not her father! You cannot care for her like that! She doesn't even deserve the likes of you!

It was so easy, too. To pick up a gun and take his own life. He was painfully trained into avoiding any damage to himself unless he was compromised beyond salvation.

Here he is now, compromised in an entirely unexpected way. No wonder it was that easy.

He looks at Anya, and within his meltdown suddenly a thought clicks.

Is that the same with his killer? If he's received similar training, what despairing situation would lead him into such a suicidal revenge mission?

Could the loss of a child be it?

You're not her father...

After he comforts Yor's worries about him, he pretends to go to bed, but instead picks up his transmission device and communicates with his headquarters. He asks them for information on any former spy of his caliber who happened to grow attached to a child, particularly one that later died.

The cover identities of other spies are none of his business unless it's a joint mission, but now he can't help wondering how often WISE orders its spies to create identities that require them to build a family.

Did his killer also have to blend in as a family man?

And if yes... what would prevent Twilight from going down the same path, if something happened?

He frowns as he puts his equipment away. His goal is to ensure nothing happens in the first place.

He works out as he waits for the time Anya and Yor would wake up, and then starts preparing breakfast for them. At 06:45 exact he stands outside Anya's door, waiting. When he hears movement he immediately slips inside.

“Papa?” she says, rubbing the last of sleep from her eyes. “What's going on?”

He kneels down in front of her. “Anya, would you like to skip school today?”

Her eyes widen. “But—but the play is today!”

“You'll go to the play. And you'll do great.” A smile blooms on his face, and he can barely believe how wide and how genuine it is.

“But what would you say to an outing day?”

“An ooting!”

“I can tell the school you're not feeling well. They'll believe me, because I'm a doctor. I'll tell them that you'll probably be okay by this evening for the play.”

“I won't get any Tonitruses?”

He shakes his head, and her smile widens in an almost comical way.

I'll have to fabricate blood test results to explain her absence. I'll “suspect” she has a bug, so she'll need to stay off school and go get tested, which will show it's nothing contagious, so once she feels better she'll be clear for the play. Evidence that won't be necessary if they don't remember it tomorrow to ask me about it.

But if I actually manage to not die today, I'll need to cover up my bases.

Anya's smile drops suddenly, her face freezing.

His own smile fades in worry. “What is it?” he asks.

“Uh—Are you okay, Papa? Why are you taking me off school?”

“I've been pressuring you too much lately with homework. I think you deserve a day off.”

“And will you be okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“With—with the work, I mean! Do you not work today?”

“It's a day off for me too.”

She blinks at him, confusion starting to mix with relief.

“It's alright, you don't have to worry about anything.”

You really don't. Today is your day.

Just in time, he hears Yor's door open.

Now, then. Do I just tell Yor I'm letting Anya play hooky, or come up with an excuse? I don't like lying to her...

Anya runs out into the hall, shouting, “Mama! Papa will let me play hooky today!”

No! I mean, yes, but...

Teeth clenched and a blush on his face, he steps out too to face a confused Yor.

“Is that alright?” she asks. “Isn't today important?”

“I'll still go to the play! But this morning I'm resting and having fun!”

Yor keeps looking at him, understanding seeping into her features. “She won't get into trouble, right?”

He shakes his head. “I'll have everything sorted. She deserves a break and some fun.”

“Well then,” she says, leaning down to Anya, “one day won't hurt. I hope it's fun!”

As they eat breakfast he can't help trying to put meanings behind the way Yor smiles at the two of them.

Does she think that he felt so upset by his “nightmare”, that he was desperate for some fun time with his daughter, enough to decide a day off school was an acceptable sacrifice?

And how does that influence her impression of him?

And why does it matter to him? If today is reset anyway...

“Papa! Anya wants ice cream today!”

“Finish your breakfast, first, and I'll let you have anything you want.”

She giggles, starting to list all the candy she'll eat today.

Yor's eyes widen in surprise. She most definitely doesn't peg him as someone who'd allow his child to eat only candy for the entire day.

He calls Eden to inform them of Anya's absence as she and Yor get dressed. Yor leaves first, since Anya takes her sweet time filling her backpack with things and toys she definitely won't need on their outing and will forget about.

He hears the school bus at the stop outside their building, picking up the students from their neighborhood.

One, two, three, four, five. And start!

Anya joins him in the window to look at the bus, and he nearly screams at her to take cover.

The routine may be starting to grow on him in such a comforting way that his instructors would be seething, but there's still that spy instinct to maintain the cover and the lie as much as possible, even if no-one remembers that tomorrow.

He looks at her, and she's got her typical wide-eyed shocked look on her face.

He suppresses a sigh. Maybe today he'll get the chance to understand her a little better.

First stop, an ice cream shop. Anya gets two scoops of chocolate, with sprinkled peanuts, of course.

“Isn't that too little?” He had expected her to get a much bigger one.

She gives him a sly smile. “It's only Anya's first ice cream for today.”

Of course it is. He sighs with a smile back.

Next stop, the park. At first he's content with watching Anya and Bond play, but a little later he finds himself joining them. They throw the frisbee for Bond, then when that's done, Anya climbs on Bond's back and she rides him as Loid pretends to chase them, and then they switch roles, with Anya and Bond pretending to chase him.

With every giggle and laugh from her, the images of yesterday start fading, feeling like a faraway nightmare. One he may never forget, but can at least dismiss as not real.

They're lying down on a picnic blanket and Anya raises her feet, pretending to walk on the sky.

He looks at her and his chest feels full. The happiness this child is glowing with, the innocence with which she acted like she was hunted down by an evil boss, the simple way an ice cream with peanuts sprinkled on top can make her smile so wide... this is what he's been fighting for.

But for the first time, he starts thinking it’s because it’s Anya that he wants to keep making her smile like that.

Next stop, a toy shop. Anya runs around shouting, and for the first time since he adopted her, Loid couldn't care less about how everyone is looking at her. She is loud. But children are loud.

She walks to him and grabs his hand, dragging him to an exhibit of a model train.

“Can we build a train station at home?” she asks.

“Sure, we can. How long do you want the train tracks to be?”

He still holds her hand. By now she's gotten better at not wandering too far away, and he's prepared to protect her from anyone who might want to take her. He doesn't need to keep holding her hand; yet he does, grasping on the sense of comfort it's giving him.

His shoulders slouch forward as his mind wanders off to his killer. If he's experienced the loss of a child, could he have changed his plan last time in order to target Anya instead, after seeing how proud Loid must have looked during the play?

Anya grows a little serious. “Papa,” she starts. “Why are you doing this today?”

“Aren't you having fun?” he asks, genuinely.

“I am! It's so fun! But...”

He squeezes her hand a little. “You don't have to worry. I just thought you could relax a little on your big day.”

Her smile comes back at the thought of the play.

“Now, should we get this train?”

Next stop, another ice cream. That's definitely spoiling her. He can't find it in himself to care.

They sit on a bench facing the river. Anya's legs swing to and fro as she takes careful bites of her cone so that her ice cream won't spill on her hands. She's not very successful. Bond is sitting on the ground next to her, looking at her with big, pleading eyes. Anya turns to look at Loid, who shakes his head at her. While the strawberry ice cream would probably be safe, Anya had asked for chocolate sprinkles, immediately making her treat incompatible with the dog's stomach.

“Papa,” she says, lowering her cone. “Is this a dream?”

“What? No, why do you ask?”

“It's a really good day, and I don't want to forget it.”

Oh.

He could tell her anything right now. He could soothe her worries with lies, and it wouldn't matter.

And it's maybe because it doesn't matter that some truth comes out of him.

“Well, if it is a dream, it's still a good one, right? You may wake up and not remember it, but it was still fun while it lasted.”

She looks at him, perplexed.

“Good things always come to an end at some point. Things always change, and every small thing can lead you down a different path. But what matters is that you're feeling happy during the good times.”

“Papa... are you ever going to give Anya away?”

He stiffens. At this point, I wish I'll never have to.

He gives her a soft pat on the head. “I will leave at some point. It can't be helped. I just...” The force of his honesty nearly brings tears to his eyes. “I just hope that will be in a long, long time from now. When we're old, very old. You may have kids of your own then. You'll watch them grow and... You will know, then.”

That your one hope will be that you won't see them die earlier than you.

Not like yesterday, with me...

The unshed tears in her eyes finally break his defenses. She leans her head on his side and wraps her free arm around his back. He slowly and gently returns the gesture, closing his eyes before his own tears starts running.

She's hugging him; in a different way than she hugs Yor, probably used to how reserved he is when it comes to physical touch. When was the last time he actually allowed himself to feel the comfort of a hug, to really let it touch his soul?

For most people, what they hope isn't necessarily what they're likely to get. For a spy like him, the chances of those hopes becoming true are significantly smaller.

He wasn't supposed to hope for anything personal. And even though right now his most powerful wish is for Anya to be happy and safe no matter what, he knows that part of that wish includes him being a reason for her happiness and safety. Not just as a protector of peace, but as her father as well.

Can't hope be a motivating factor? If he hopes to stay as her father... can't that motivate him to change, so he can deserve her as his daughter? As his family?

Anya pulls away a little, sniffling, and offers him her half-eaten cone. “Don't cry, Papa. Do you want my ice cream?”

He contemplates shaking his head, but he decides to take her up on the offer, make her feel that she's helping.

Of course, she has helped him, more than she could ever realize, but that's not something that's easy to tell her. Maybe accepting the ice cream will make it clear in her mind that she is helpful to him. “Are you sure? You seemed to like it a lot.”

“Yup.”

He takes it, carefully biting at the cone. “Thank you.”

“I like you that way,” Anya says.

“What way?”

“Like you are today. I wish you were like that every day.”

“What do you mean? Because I let you skip school?” He opens his mouth to get a lick of the ice cream.

“No. You smile today.”

He freezes, mouth still open, tongue slightly out. He retracts it slowly as his shoulders hunch forward. “I haven't been the most pleasant company, have I?”

“It's okay, Papa. Anya is happy to be here.”

He can't help asking himself what exactly it is that makes her so happy. With how he's been treating her, it's a wonder she hasn't grown into hating his guts. But then, kids at that age have a hard time separating their feelings from their logic. She's too young to realize the bare minimum he provides as a father is not worth all the affection she's been giving him.

Let alone the fact that it's Loid Forger she cares for. She doesn't even know the real him.

Yet, he was the one who took her out of the orphanage. He knows he hasn't been a model father, but he doesn't doubt himself enough to think that he's been worse than that place. Maybe that's why she cares for him. Does she see him as her hero, and therefore cannot see his flaws for what they are?

“Remember the first day, when I adopted you?”

Her wide smile is enough of an answer. It should be obvious that she'd never forget that day.

“I told you to pretend you've always been my daughter. I told you to lie to others. Didn't you ever wonder why I asked you to do that?”

Anya looks lost. She doesn't seem to have an actual answer.

That was out of left field. She most likely repeated your lie because it helped her pretend that you had indeed always been her father, that she had always had you, instead of moving between different families and orphanages for as long as her young mind would remember. It was her way to fake it till she made it.

He sighs, telling himself to stop making assumptions already. Anya's unpredictable enough that probably none of those assumptions stand true. “I'm not angry or anything. I just wonder why you agreed to it immediately and never asked for a reason.”

She doesn't say anything, and he doesn't pressure her.

“Can we go home? I'm tired now,” she says.

He offers to carry her on the way back; she says no when she sees that his one hand will be occupied with Bond's leash while the other with the shopping bag from the toy shop, but he insists.

She falls asleep within minutes of resting her head on his shoulder. She drools on his suit jacket, and once again he can't bring himself to care.

He spots a fellow spy coming his way. The man tips his head just so, then turns at the pedestrian lines next to them.

“Awoo,” he says, dropping a crumpled up chocolate bar wrapper on the ground before he crosses the street.

Cipher W.

Loid pretends to tsk at him, as he maneuvers Bond's leash into his other hand and leans down to pick up the wrapper.

“Vandals,” he says to a woman next to him who was just about to pick it up herself. He reaches first and grabs it.

This was risky, but calculated. The next trash can is far enough away that no-one will notice Loid not throwing the wrapper in it.

What they didn't calculate was the possibility of him looking suspicious by insisting on picking it up when he's holding a sleeping child, a dog's leash and a big shopping bag instead of allowing the woman, both of whose hands were free, to do it after she'd offered. But that's on him; he can't blame HQ for their chosen way of communication.

If this day resets, it won’t matter, but still.

Back home he puts Anya in bed, and as he watches her sleep peacefully he realizes that today has given him a new need for stopping the time loop.

He now wishes Anya could actually remember this day.

He sighs, going to his bedroom to study the delivered report.

Three suspects.

Agent Pulsar, specialty: negotiations. Infiltrated an elementary school as a teacher. MIA following a deadly terrorist bombing at the school he worked at. Presumed dead. A rank.

Agent Dubhe, specialty: foreign languages. MIA following her last blood test that showed she was pregnant. No info on child or its father. Presumed dangerous. S rank.

Agent Pollux, specialty: disguises. Married a woman with a child to extract information from her brother. Was compromised and committed suicide. Confirmed dead. SS+ rank.

Twilight looks at the last part again, making sure he deciphered it correctly.

For it to be Pulsar, he'd have to have an affinity for the dramatic to go out the same way that killed the child – or children – he cared about and that WISE considers the possible cause of his death. An A rank is both too high and not high enough for such dramatics, and too low to defeat Twilight multiple times.

Dubhe is an unlikely suspect. If something happened to her child, she's ranked high enough to find out that WISE knew nothing about her or her child's whereabouts and is therefore not guilty. Even if her child died because of an enemy organization and she went down a revenge spree, she'd first target the guilty party before moving to WISE, and they would have heard something about it.

Pollux seems the most likely fit, despite the lack of mention of a deceased child. After all, the parts 'specialty: disguises' and 'SS+ rank' don't seem to fit well with the 'confirmed dead' part.

However, Twilight is perplexed by the thought that he doesn't recognize the code name. An SS+ rank that he hasn't heard of before? Those are scarce enough for most WISE spies – especially a fellow SS+ rank like him – to at least hear about at some point.

He looks at the clock; it's twenty past one in the afternoon, and it's only then he realizes he completely forgot his scheduled meeting with Franky.

He forgot?

He sighs, rubbing at his forehead. So much for an SS+ rank.

He sends a message to WISE for more info on Pollux and leaves his room.

Anya is standing next to her door, a bright look on her face.

“You're up. Did you sleep well?”

“Can we build the train tracks?” she asks back with a smile.

He sits down with her, joining her in setting up the tracks. Anya has them go around the coffee table, then move out into the hall and reach just at the entrance of her room, then come back.

That's a long railway. Did he underestimate how much it cost?

It takes a lot of warnings from Loid to Bond to not step on the tracks, but he finds an odd comfort in watching Anya put the pieces together and setting right the ones she fails to connect correctly.

He sits down on the floor, elbow resting on his knee and chin resting on his hand as he watches her play. She sets the train on, looking at it with wide eyes and an O-shaped mouth. After the train makes two full loops she places her feet on the sides of the rail, like they're a tunnel the train goes through, she experiments with how many taps from her fingers it can take before it derails – not too many, apparently – and ends up pretending to be a monster attacking it and the rails, even dragging Bond in her play.

It would be so easy to stay here and just watch her. Did Pulsar watch his students play like that? Did Dubhe buy such toys for her child – assuming she had a safe pregnancy and delivery?

And Pollux? Had he grown attached to the family he'd infiltrated, enough to put his mission on hold to simply watch his stepchild play?

Was this how he was compromised?

“Papa, I'm hungry!” Anya exclaims suddenly.

He smiles, not having moved from his spot. “What would you like to eat?”

Her first answer is, of course, more sweets, but she agrees on hamburger steak after Loid points out that Yor will need an actual meal after her hard day at work.

Once Yor comes back and they have lunch, he excuses himself to work.

His real work.

The Handler looks unusually thoughtful when he enters the safe house. She looks up from a file to him. “What brought this up, Agent Twilight?”

“An unexpected suspicion. What do you have on Pollux?”

She closes the file, her hand holding it noticeably hard. “He was confirmed dead seven years ago. I need to know your reasons behind digging up information about him.”

“Well, for starters, the fact that he was part of WISE when I joined, one of the highest ranked members to be exact, yet I've never heard about him.”

“His matters were none of your concern back then. And there was no reason to grant him posthumous fame.”

“Why him in particular?”

Her hand holding the file tightens. “Because it would be more of a cautionary tale than anything else. That's why I need to know why you want to know about him.”

“Why, Handler. Are you scared I might go down the same path?”

“Is there any guarantee you won't?”

There's a sudden darkness in her eyes, and it almost sends a shiver down his spine. She was strong enough to overcome the loss of a child, after all. Stronger than Pollux... and him.

“I think Pollux is alive and is trying to kill me,” he says.

“Impossible. He was confirmed dead beyond doubt.”

“Do you really believe that? Don't you doubt for a second that an SS+ rank spy with specialty in disguises couldn't trick you?”

“Why would he stand idle for seven years?”

“Because he was waiting for his perfect target, the one to give him the most dramatic show of revenge. Me.” He sighs. “If it even is him. That's why I need to know more. If it is him, I need to know how he works.”

The Handler closes her eyes for a moment, then drops the file on her desk and leans forward on her chair, resting her chin on her fists. “If Pollux is really alive and after you, then I hate to say it, but your best option is to run and hope he won't catch you.”

He pauses. “What?”

“There's another reason why we don't tell our agents about him... and it's because there's barely any records on him left. All we have is anecdotes from what we remember of him. And all suggest he was unstoppable.”

He takes the file, flipping through it as he hears the Handler speak.

“Pollux was commissioned with infiltrating an elite extremist group. He took the name Casey Feint and decided to approach the group through a high-ranked member's sister, Diana Dittmar. She was a young widow, with a son who was eight years old at the time, called Derek. Against our advice, he married her three months later, and about a year after that she took the boy and ran away from him, with the help of her brother's group. The last communication we had with Pollux was a few weeks later, where he reported that his identity had been compromised. Two days later he was found dead in his apartment, having committed suicide by hanging.”

Twilight looks back at her. “That's all this file contains. Why isn't there anything more about him or his past missions?” There were only sketches of him, too; most were quite detailed, but no sign of actual pictures of him.

“Because he destroyed it.”

“What? All of it? How?”

She gives him a look. “Wouldn't you be able to do the same for your records, if you wanted to erase any information we had on you?”

“And you're telling me you didn't think this was suspicious?”

“It was part of the protocol following the discovery of the best agent WISE had at the time.”

“And Diana... she ran away because she discovered him?”

Her eyes point to another file on the desk. He picks it up, reading through police investigation records. Particularly, interviews of Diana and the boy.

The Handler shares a summary of the interviews as he reads through. “A few months into the marriage, Pollux had turned gradually more controlling and paranoid, to the point of abuse. Diana thought she could handle it, and that he was understandably scared of Westalian spies, but after confiding to her brother he convinced her to leave him, helping her run away. Pollux chased her down and found her, revealing his true identity to her. We never got his side of the story, so we have no idea why he did that. After she rejected him, he reported the compromise of his identity, destroyed all records we had of him, then returned to his family apartment and hanged himself.”

“Or that's what he made you think.”

“Are you absolutely certain that it's him?”

He isn't. But if it's Pollux, then Twilight's knowledge of his identity might prove for an effective element of surprise, even if it's small.

“No,” he admits. “Any ideas why he would reveal himself to Diana?”

“Our best possible guess is that he hoped to win her back with honesty. He must have been desperate.”

He's suddenly struck by another uncomfortable similarity to his case; a brother-in-law working for an enemy of WISE. What could possess him to believe Yor would trust him over Yuri, if all the truths came out?

Well, at least he can use his case to probe for any weaknesses. The only problem is, how does he use to his advantage the weaknesses of a man on a suicide mission?

In the transcript, Diana's sentences are short, with big pauses between most. A stutter here, a murmur there, and all Twilight can feel is a sense of terror on her side. At this point Pollux had already been declared dead and she had been informed of that, but even then she seemed to still fear him and his memory. The kid didn't share anything at first. The only records of interviews with him start two years after Pollux's reported death.

“It's quite obvious that living with him was a mentally scarring time for them,” the Handler offers.

And all that because he got too attached to that family? So attached that his feelings blinded him to what was best for them?

“Did he realize that?” he wonders out loud. “Did he see that they saw him as a monster, and lose all will to live?”

“It's a possibility.”

“But he had enough wits about him to destroy all records about him. And if he's been lurking for seven years, waiting for the perfect target and opportunity...”

Choosing Twilight when the latter has assumed the role of a family man. Taking Desmond down with him in order to mess up WISE's plans, potentially leading the two countries back at war.

He suppresses a shiver. How far would things have to go for Twilight to embark on a suicide mission that may eventually cause a war, when it's the prevention of it that's been driving him all this time?

“You think he might have blamed WISE for how he ended up?” Enough to not only turn against them, but also against their very reason for existing.

“If he's still alive and has been planning this all along... he might have. Even the strongest can crack in this line of work.”

“Where are Diana and her son now?”

“They're reported to live in a small town on the northern coast of Ostania. She's still unmarried.”

No surprises there. Losing a spouse only to remarry someone who ended up abusing her would understandably ruin her perception of marriage.

And how would Yor feel, if she found out?

“They haven't reported anything suspicious? Someone getting too close to them for comfort?”

“I can ask for an investigation. But it will take a couple days.”

Time he doesn't have.

Which means he's on his own.

“It won't be necessary, but thank you,” he says, then looks at the file in his hand. “Pollux, huh? And where's Castor?”

The Handler snorts a laugh. “Part of the destroyed files would probably explain why he chose that code name. There's no records of any WISE agent named Castor, either by real or code name.”

That gives him an idea. He wonders how quick Franky can be.

He places the file back on the desk. “Thank you for the briefing today.” He puts his hat back on, tips it at her, and takes his leave.

This evening he allows Anya to wear her prince costume before they leave the house. She's absolutely glowing with pride and happiness on their way to Eden, and he's pleasantly surprised to find out that he doesn't mind the curious smiles from the people who notice them.

This time he's the one to take Anya backstage. He goes in himself, realizing he needs a cleanse of yesterday's images. Today the dressing rooms are only full of happy children. Bumbling, jumpy, excited, living children.

Before he turns to leave, he leans down to whisper to Anya.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What, Papa?”

“I know Damian knows his lines very well, but if he happens to forget one when you have a scene together, don't hesitate to help him.”

Anya had helped Damian every single time, apart from the dreaded third day, which was entirely Twilight's fault. He knows she'll do it even if he doesn't ask her to.

By now he knows he's doing it only because he wants to.

As he walks into the theater hall he gives a slight nod at the by now too familiar usher. Once again she brushes invisible dust off her vest.

Everything in position.

He's already forgotten about that worry by the time he sits down next to Yor.

Bell rings, lights go down, curtain opens, and he doesn't even bother checking the Desmonds' box seats now.

Instead, he catches himself smiling genuinely when Anya makes her heroic entrance, waving her wooden sword around.

He doesn't mind it anymore.

For the first time he's fully engrossed in the play. He still finds it a little silly, but he can't help being overtaken by the children's excitement over it. It may be the fifth time he watches it, but knowing exactly how it goes gives him the chance to simply enjoy it as much as the children do.

Damian notices his parents and freezes. Anya gives Loid a knowing look, then dramatically steps in front of the boy.

“Oh, Sec—Princess, tell me again about that curse!”

Loid breathes out a laugh. Maybe he'd hoped Anya wouldn't have almost called Damian by her chosen nickname for him if she'd been warned about it.

His smile is wide when the play ends and applause erupts.

One single “Whoo!” escapes him, and he almost blushes as he notices Yor giving him a surprised smile. She then turns forward and whoos at Anya as well.

Anya is once again glowing, and his heart feels unfamiliarly light. He accepts it.

The audience takes their leave and at the correct time, the usher “drops” the coffee cups so that the coffee will stain his clothes instead.

Suddenly, there's enough hope in him that he'll make it through today that he starts worrying how he'll get those coffee stains out of his clothes. Yor had said this suit looked good on him when she'd first seen him in it some time ago.

Yor offers to go get Anya as he excuses himself to the bathroom.

Instead of taking that exact way, however, he stays just by the foyer, the path to the designated fire exit clear.

After studying the building's blueprints, and with yesterday's knowledge from the side that the killer came from, there's just three possible ways from which he can appear.

He spots the familiar blue cravat just in time his ordered announcement comes from the intercom.

“Castor Coughlan is requested at the entrance gate. Repeat, Castor Coughlan is requested at the entrance gate.”

The man freezes in his tracks. He looks at Twilight, one single second of shock and hesitation on his face.

I got you, you bastard.

That second is enough for Twilight to turn and run.

Franky works miracles. There wouldn't be that many people registered with the first name Castor in Westalian birth certificates since the start of this century, and Franky would only need look for those that seemed to mysteriously disappear. And even though it was an informant against a formerly SS+ rank spy, Franky found him.

Twilight had suspected that someone with such an audacious personality would do something as brazen as to hide his real name in his code name. Castor, the strong but ultimately mortal warrior, turning into Pollux, his immortal twin brother.

It's this audacity that has followed him through all his years as a spy, it seems; even now.

His eyes dart backwards as Pollux follows after him, fury written all over his face.

Damn, for a man packed with explosives, he's fast.

Twilight pushes the fire exit open and runs out into the almost empty yard.

He gives a tiny whistle and turns around, listening carefully as the snipers prepare their rifles.

He focuses on the door, waiting for it to open and for Pollux to walk right into his trap.

Come at me, come at me...

Too many long moments pass, and the door isn't opening.

It's too late when he hears the whoosh of a silencer. He manages to move enough that the last two bullets miss him, but too slow to avoid the first two cracking his skull open.

He drops on all four, blood dripping from his head down on his sleeves and onto the ground.

More silenced shots are heard, and he can only listen as the snipers are taken down one by one.

Damn it, Twilight. You had to make such a show for it.

Following the announcement using his real name, Pollux must have suspected there was a trap set for him outside. So of course he chose to take cover and shoot him from afar instead.

Twilight coughs weakly. His vision is swimming, but his hearing is still sharp enough to hear the footsteps approaching the door from inside. They don't sound like the loafers Pollux was wearing. They sound like heels. Familiar ones. He manages to raise his head just enough to look at the door.

It bursts open, revealing a breathless Yor. She gasps at the sight of him, then her eyes go straight for the position of the first sniper, then the second...

She's gotten the wrong idea, he realizes as he sees her hand twitch into a claw-like shape and her eyes turn dark. She seems to prepare herself to jump.

He cuts her off with a breathy, “Yor.”

She looks back at him, eyes softening again. She runs to him, hands trembling as she reaches for him. “Loid! Who did this to you?!” She looks back up, immediately spotting the hiding places of two more snipers.

How...?

She tenses again and he says, “Wait. Don't. S—Stay.” His arms collapse but Yor reaches out and holds him in her lap before he drops to the ground.

“Loid?” she says in a tearful voice.

“Stay with me—please...”

“Loid...” Her lips start trembling with quiet sobs.

“I'll... be okay...”

Her sobs are not quiet anymore. He feels her tears drop on the collar of his shirt.

“I... I made the... suit you liked... dirty...”

She fades away from his vision.

BANG!

A/N: I know that Anya immediately repeated Loid's lies about their family because she was excited to play spy alongside him. But in my view, I think there’s one more reason, and it’s that part of her truly wanted to act like this was the case because it helped ease her traumas from the lab and from being moved between orphanages and foster families. When Twilight thinks about that, it makes Anya have a self realization too, as deep as her young mind allows, and it makes her tired and seeking comfort.

For clarification, the “BANG” sound at the end of every chapter is the sound of Bond banging his feet on Loid’s door. It indicates the day being reset, as it’s the very first sound Loid hears upon waking up.

#Spy x Family #sxf ff #sxf fanfic #piracytheorist writes #mtav

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gabidy-gook · 2 years ago

Text

A Little Physical Touch

I work at a grocery store. Nothing glamourous about it. Pays good, manager is a reasonable person. One of the perks is I get to replace meaningful relationships with helping random people that come through. I jest, I still have friends, but I do get great satisfaction out of helping people find things they need or reach things or whatnot. It also helps when those customers are looking for more interesting things, or they're a cute woman.

Now, I'm not a creep. I help them, thank them for coming in and don't hassle them any further. There is one woman who had been coming in regularly. A little shorter than me, nice sense of style. Always had this nice pair of red earrings on, easy to spot whenever she came in. She even started seeing me out since I was always so helpful. Then, after weeks of building up rapport and interacting, she stops coming in. I wondered for a while why she left, but it didn't matter really, people come and go.

Though, after months, and a pay raise, I saw her again. It had been a day like any other working the aisles like I do. I glanced down an aisle and saw a woman standing there, looking at the baby section. I almost didn't think about it before stepping down the aisle, then I smiled. I recognized the red earrings. I approach her, like any other customer and ask if she needs help. Her outfit was cute as ever: Long sleeve stripped shirt, knee length skirt and leggings. She was... thicker than before. Had she put on weight? Her clothing was tight. Hips looked wide and I could see how her skirt hugged her rear so nicely. Looking at her shirt again, I could see now that it seemed to be some kind of crop top. Interesting choice, but cute overall. She hears me ask her if she needs assistance and she smiles at me. Then, she turns towards me

Each steps sends slight waves up her thighs to her hips, but the real spectacle was her belly. It was huge. It was round. It was, she was pregnant. Her shirt probably wasn't a crop top, it just couldn't reach all the way over it, leaving a small expanse of skin uncovered underneath, her outturned belly button visible. My eyes moved further up and saw her previously modest breasts had swollen to be as big as her head, neatly contained in what looked like a properly fitting bra. My eyes flick up to her face, and she winks at me with a smile.

"Long time no see!" she voice chirps

"Y-yea! Wondered where you'd gone" I reply, blushing as she caught me completely flat footed. "Have you been doing well?" I stammer out

"As well as being pregnant will let me be, which I can't complain. Triplets."

"I-- triplets? Really?" I continue to be caught off guard

"Yea, I could see it on your face, you wanted to know." She gave a sly grin. "Right?"

"I did, yea." I reply, secretly loving her teasing, "There is something else I'd like to ask, though"

"Oh?" She stepped close to me, setting down a set of baby bottles, coming close enough for her belly to rub against me, "And what's that?"

"May I touch your belly?" I ask, feeling arousal well up deep within me.

"okay, but be gentle!" she replied, stepping back and lifting her shirt up enough to expose her chest, her black bra confidently holding her boobs on place atop her huge belly. I'm speechless. I reach forward and tentatively touch the taught skin of her gravid belly. I gasp and pull my hands away as her belly moves, a small foot pressing against the skin. "Don't worry, you're okay" she reassured me. I return my hands and start rubbing small circles with my palms. Then gently gripping with my fingers making larger circles, trying to cover more of the large expanse of her. I finally look at her face, she's beaming at me and blushing.

"No need to stop," She breathed, "Keep going."

I need no further encouragement as she leans a bit into me, My hands exploring all around her belly, slight movements from within following my hands occasionally. Suddenly, she turns and presses her back against me, her soft rear against my erection as my hands kept massaging.

"Glad you're enjoying it as much as me." she moans.

"There's nothing I could enjoy more." I whisper into her ear.

#massage #pregnant #pregnantbelly #teasing #public

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scribbling-dragon · 2 years ago

Text

Adaptive Nature

Chapter 10

Summary:

“It’s getting dark,” he says, deciding to break the tension that’s steadily growing between the two before they start fighting or something stupid like that, “I'm sure we can accommodate two more people for the night, especially now that I have a house. Apparently.”

He watches as Tango looks over at Pixl, narrowing his eyes at the other’s turned back before mounting Bullseye in one fluid movement. “You haven't got a bed,” Tango responds, watching with narrowed eyes as he mounts Arrow, ear flicking back as he adjusts his seat in the saddle. “And,” Tango’s eyes slide towards Pixl, “I'm sure there’s some things we need to be doing at the guild, right?” His voice is just a little too pointed for it to be anything but a request, watching Pixl carefully.

“I think we can stay the night in Tumble Town,” Pixl responds, and it feels like they're not actually talking to him as Pixl’s voice turns equally pointed, mounting Mist much more successfully than earlier, before turning to look at Tango a moment later.

(AO3 Link)

(Masterpost)

(5,506 words)

as always reblogs are very appreciated! this chapter took me a while to do (mainly because i hurt my wrist but-) and it’s slowly building up! everything is an upwards climb from here on out ;)

His headache fades with each step they take upwards, disappearing to a small, niggling pain in the back of his head that he can almost ignore when they reach the horses. The fresh air on his face is like a first breath after resurfacing, and he stands there for a moment as Tango and Pixl brush past him.

They're quieter than they were on the journey down, an almost cold silence settling between the three of them as they trudged upwards on the merciless incline. None of them had really known how to react once they returned to the site of the fight, the spider corpses missing from where they had left them.

He had been reluctant to step in the dark stains anyway, carefully stepping over and around them, ducking beneath the spike that crossed the path a moment later and trying to shove thoughts of the spiders from his mind and focusing on moving forwards.

Arrow whickers as he steps towards her, ears tilting in his direction as she looks at him. He runs a hand along her neck, patting her absentmindedly as he begins to search through Arrow’s saddlebags, digging around for the pack of dried fruit he’s pretty sure he chucked in there a month or two ago.

His hand closes around it with a quiet rustle, and it rustles further as he pulls it out, causing Arrow to turn further towards him, nosing a little at his shoulder in an attempt to steal some. He ignores her, turning away when she attempts to stare into his soul as a persuasive method, focusing on the fruit instead, which is some kind of dried apple.

It looks a little withered and shrivelled, but that’s how all dried fruit looks so he pushes any feelings of distaste away, opening it instead and turning around. Pixl and Tango have been talking while he searches, hushed whispers not nearly hushed enough if they're trying to argue without him realising.

He chews on a piece of apple as he leans back against Arrow’s side, causing her to shift slightly, adjusting to his weight against her shoulder. He continues to watch Pixl and Tango as they go back and forth, their voices just quiet enough that he can’t actually make out any words despite the close space and his recently improved hearing.

His hands are still shaking as he reaches for a second piece of apple, rustling the bag a little more than necessary, piquing Bullseye’s interest in him as well, as the horse swings his head around to watch him rather than the arguing pair. He ignores him too.

Tango’s tail is lashing back and forth in a way that he can only describe as agitated and compare to Norman when he’s particularly annoyed. He looks a little like a cat, he realises, tilting his head to the side and watching as Tango’s ears pull back a little. The only real difference is that his ears are on the side of his head rather than the top. And he can also summon fire at the flick of a finger.

He imagines, for one horrific moment, what would happen if Norman could summon fire in the same way that Tango could.

It takes until the fourth piece of apple for his hands to stop shaking, fingers only trembling slightly every few seconds rather than the shuddering shivers that had wracked his hands before. He leans a little further into Arrow’s side and wonders when Pixl or Tango is going to realise he’s watching them. Or for one of them to start yelling and let him in on the argument as well.

Pixl hisses something at Tango, eyes darting over to him as he gestures. Tango looks over as well, meaning he gets to watch the moment both of them realise he’s watching them. He acknowledges them with a nod, hand ghosting along the brim of his hat, before placing another slice of apple in his mouth.

Tango pulls back, away from Pixl, face contorting into a snarl as his lips pull back. He schools it a moment later, though his tail continues to lash back and forth as he turns away, stomping towards Bullseye. His feet barely make a sound against the ground, and he gets the feeling that’s only annoyed him further.

The light has slowly turned more and more golden as Tango and Pixl bickered, and he’s sure if he looked outside the sun would be slowly creeping towards the horizon. Early evening at the best, the sun wouldn't set for another few hours at the very least, and it’s only a ten minute ride back to the town.

He folds the top of his bag over, leaving the apple pieces inside for another day. Pixl catches his eye as he turns around, giving him a helpless shrug, pausing in untying Mist to do so.

“I can see you.” Tango bites, and Pixl turns away from him, busying himself far too much with the incredibly simple knot, hands fumbling over it as he stares down. He can see the other smiling though, lips twisted into something more wry than amused as he finally manages to untie Mist.

He’s not sure what they're trying to communicate to each other in their weird, pointed way they're currently doing. Nor the squinty way they've taken up, narrowing their eyes more and more at each other until he’s sure neither of them can actually see the other. He could probably try and decipher it if he paid attention for longer, but he’s tired and he’d really like to have some warm food rather than a few shrivelled pieces of apple.

He kicks Arrow forward, the movement seeming to pull Pixl and Tango’s attention away from their pointy-squinty silent conversation they're having, leaving them both staring at him as he guides Arrow out of the entrance. He keeps his grip on the reins tight, sensing the tension in Arrow and the way she’s prepared to take off the moment they're out in the open.

He allows Tango to fall in behind him, Pixl bringing up the rear, before he lets Arrow walk out from the mineshaft’s entrance. A dry wind steals over him, kicking up dust in its wake, swirling it into his eyes. He squints against it, pushing Arrow forward before more dust can be kicked up around him, listening instead to the shouted complaints that follow him as he speeds ahead, ducking low as dust continues to swirl around him.

They don't race back to Tumble Town. The shouted complaints at the start is the only conversation that passes between them for the whole ride back, no friendly back and forth between any of them. If they had raced, though, he would have won, Arrow pulling ahead as they begin to descend into the fishbowl.

Arrow’s hooves clatter over the hardened terracotta, sending any loose pieces skittering down into the main area with a loud clatter, breaking into small pieces as they bounce off the cliff face.

He takes to the path down with a little more speed than the other two, with slightly more experience riding down it. He glances back and watches as the other two slow to a leisurely trot, falling further behind as he continues down, pulling to a stop with a cloud of dust and sand kicking up from beneath Arrow’s feet.

He pauses to wipe his eyes, ridding it of any tears that had formed from the whipping wind and the grit it had blown into his eyes. Lotus is standing on a half-built platform, watching him skid to a stop, her arms crossed over her chest as she watches him.

He dismounts anyway, trying not to let her stare unsettle him and telling himself it’s far too early for any form of a revolt to be forming. She still doesn't look incredibly pleased as she follows him to Arrow’s stable, leaning over the door as he untacks her and brushes her down.

She doesn't follow him to the tack shed, at least, waiting for him by Arrow’s stall door, leaning against it. He takes his time hanging Arrow’s saddle and bridle up before returning to help Pixl with Mist.

“We need to talk.” She says as he steps past her, on his way to where Pixl is stood with Mist’s reins in one hand, looking incredibly lost.

“Give me ten minutes.” He says, “I need to help Pix with Mist and then I’ll be there.” he pauses, waiting for her response.

She watches him, eyes flicking over his face as she seems to search for something. “Ten minutes,” she agrees, finally. “Come to the beginnings of your office,” she gestures at the platform she had been standing on before, “Without your friends, if you could.”

She doesn't wait for his answer, seemingly confident in him listening to her, turning and striding away, leaving him alone. He stands there for a moment later, before turning to go rescue Pixl from his anxious state, guiding Mist into one of the spare stables.

“Where do I put this?” He looks up, away from the buckle he’s unfastening to find Tango in the stable door, his arms laden with Bullseye’s saddle, the bridle thrown over the top. He’s staring at him with an oddly intense stare, eyes steadfastly ignoring the other side of the stable. Alright.

“Over in the tack shed,” he leans forward and points in the general direction of it, “There’s no names on the hooks yet, so just put the bridle and the saddle near each other.”

“Got it.” Tango nods, before turning away again, and he watches him go, before turning to Pixl.

“What did you do?” He asks, the question slipping out before he can help it. He stiffens, ears flicking back in a motion still not familiar to him, hurriedly unfastening the last buckle, pulling the bridle over Mist’s ears.

“We just had a…disagreement. Tango thinks there’s a key bit of information we need to talk about, and I disagree.” Pixl shrugs, “I'm sure we can sort it out in a minute.”

Maybe escaping via Lotus is the way to go right now, leave those two to sort out whatever argument they rather obviously want to have. Because Pixl is definitely stepping around the matter in a way that only makes him more suspicious about what their ‘disagreement’ might be, because it sounds like more than them disagreeing over the validity of a historical piece of evidence, or whatever it is that researchers do.

“I need to speak to Lotus,” he says, once all three of them are standing outside the stables, watching the horses eat. “It’s business for the town so you two can go back to my house.” He doesn't add ‘if you want’ because that would be suggesting they have a choice on coming with him or not.

Tango goes to say something, mouth opening, but Pixl simply nods and grabs his arm to pull him away, down the street and towards his house. He watches them go, the way Tango doesn't wrench himself out of Pixl’s grip in the way he had expected him to. Maybe their argument isn't that bad, then.

He waits until they're almost at his front door before walking in the same direction, deciding it would be weird if he’d walked with them after saying his piece. He watches as they disappear through his door, shutting it behind them.

He turns off just before it, stepping up onto the wooden platform. His boots thunk against it, creating a small echoing sound that causes both Lotus and Alyssa to turn towards him, looking up from their seats on the floor.

He sits down opposite Lotus, completing the weird triangle they have around several sheets of paper in the centre. He’s surprised none of them have blown away yet, only ruffling slightly in the breeze.

“What’s this?” He asks, sifting through a few of the papers, finding lengthy pages of written and printed text on them.

“It’s the paperwork for Tumble Town.” Alyssa sounds faintly amused, “It’s what you're gonna be sortin’ through and signin’ for the next however many hours.”

“You're joking.”

“I am not.” She is having way too much fun with this, exchanging a grin with Lotus. “There’s a few letters in here as well, all with official seals on them- speaking of which, we need to sort out some kind of official seal for here too. We’ll need a banner of some kind as well.”

“Okay.” He blinks, still processing the stack of papers, and apparently letters, that he has to go through. “Do I need to respond to the letters?”

“Probably.” Alyssa sifts through the bottom of the stack, pulling out several envelopes and handing them to him. He turns them over to admire the wax seals, picking a little at the edge of one. “We can send someone out with the responses, if you're gonna be continuin’ with your disappearin’ act.”

He looks up, immediately guilty, “I'm sorry.” He apologises, “I swear I don't mean to, but they keep asking me to go with them, and I just can’t help but say yes-”

“I'm not sayin’ that it’s a bad thing.” She laughs, “You're fixin’ relations with other empires in the area, it’s the furthest from a bad thing, in my opinion. I've already said this, but it bears repeatin’, I guess. We wanna have these people on our side, yeah? They've got the most information in the whole damn area, meanin’ they hold a lotta the power around here, yeah?”

“I suppose.”

“Meaning,” Lotus cuts in, “We want to have good relations with them. We want you to continue going on these trips if it means you're gonna be able to withdraw any information from their libraries when we need it.”

“I'm pretty sure you're meant to have allies that can fight with you.” He says, picking at the wax seal again, catching it just under his nail, chipping away at the wax. “Makes you less appealin’ to attack, or whatever.”

“Knowledge is power.” Alyssa says, “Even if it’s not the power you're thinkin’ of, people might consider twice if you've got an alliance with the guild. Trust me, people are a lot more respectful of the guild than you think. And I reckon you're underestimatin’ your friends too.” She puts particular emphasis on friends that he doesn't miss, looking away from a particularly colourful wax seal to glare at her.

“I'm not…involved with them or whatever you seem to be thinkin’, Alyssa.”

“I'm just sayin’!” She leans back a little, raising her hands, “Closer relations like that are also not all that bad.”

“I'm not involved with them.” He repeats, even as his brain very gently nudges at him and reminds him of the way Tango had checked him over after the spider, how he had leapt forward in defence of him almost immediately.

“Oh,” Alyssa’s grinning again, looking incredibly smug, “But you’d like to be, hm?” She looks like the cat that got the canary, grin wide and toothy as she watches him shift a little, wax gathering under his nail as he picks at a seal.

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” She leans over to nudge him in the shoulder, “I reckon it’s that little netherborn, he seems right up your alley.”

“Alyssa.” He says.

“Sheriff,” she mocks right back, “It’s not a bad thing, as I said, it’s sweet, almost. First sweetheart.”

“He’s not my first sweetheart.” He protests, feeling as though their meeting has very quickly devolved into something incredibly un-meeting-like.

“Oh he so is,” Lotus leans forward, “You're tellin’ me you weren't getting all the boys back home? Looking like that?”

He stiffens a little, heart beating uncomfortably hard in his chest as he looks between the two of them. “I was busy with other things back home.” He says, “It’s a whole other continent, but it’s not that different.”

“Mhm.” Alyssa nods her head, exchanging another grin with Lotus- and is everyone seriously having silent conversations around him today? Is that the current challenge? “We’ve got runnin’ water to the built houses,” she changes the topic, “Means you can take a shower, if you want to. We got Axen to work on installing those.” He doesn't question when they had the time or resources to do that, simply nodding and moving on.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves her off as she wrinkles her nose, “I got it, whatever. I’ll just go slave over this paperwork for the next part of my life.” Neither of them say anything against it as he gathers it into his arms, placing his chin on the top of it to steady the pile.

They call after him as he walks, boots thumping down as he descends from the raised platform, turning back towards his house. If he had a free hand he’d probably do something with it, but he settles easily for a quick “piss off!” thrown over his shoulder at the two.

He has to kick his door open with his boot when he gets there, shoving his way through and into the darkness inside. He should probably consider finding a few lanterns if it’s this dark at barely sundown.

He doesn't bother with that, shutting the door behind him with a well-aimed kick, listening as the voices from a room over fade into silence. He heads in that direction, ducking into a room he hasn't managed to explore yet.

“Gods above, how much paper is that?” He hears Tango’s voice, lowering the paperwork a little so he can actually see around him, finding Tango’s eyes fixed firmly on the stack of papers.

“Enough to run a town.” He says, spotting a desk shoved haphazardly in the corner and making his way over to that, dumping the paperwork down a few moments later. It makes a loud thumping sound as he does so, some of the pages fluttering as he stands over it and stares down.

He places the letters on the top of the pile, turning around to find Pixl and Tango leaning over his shoulder, both trying to catch a glimpse of the writing.

“Hey, hey,” he pushes them back, “That’s confidential town-running stuff.”

“I doubt it’s confidential.” Tango responds, pushing past to begin sifting through the papers. He leaves the letters alone, at least, setting them aside as he reads over the first few pages, humming as he turns each one over.

“There’s running water,” he says, to no one in particular, “And apparently I've got a shower somewhere around here. Feel free to use it if you want it.”

“You can go first.” Tango is still absorbed in flicking through the paperwork, and he leaves him to it with a shrug, beginning his exploration of the house. Pixl remains behind as well, promising him they won't open the letters. He doesn't mention that they legally can't, seeing as they technically have his name on the front, meaning he would be able to arrest them if they actually did.

There’s a short hallway, with a window at one end, letting the last bit of sunlight pour in. Norman is happily basking in the sunlight, flat on his back. He rolls over as he walks towards him, letting out a small chirrup as he spots him.

He strokes a hand along Norman’s head, listening as soft purrs build in the back of his throat. He hopes someone remembered to feed him while he was gone, but he’s rather certain someone did, otherwise Norman would be screeching at him rather than purring in a pool of sunlight.

He pulls himself away after a few minutes of stroking behind Norman’s ears, pressing a kiss to his head and only slightly wincing as his knees protest when he straightens up. There’s two doors, either side of Norman, and he carefully steps over the cat to enter the left one, poking his head in to find an empty room, bare of anything besides his travelling bag.

It’s leaned up against one wall, and he steps in further to dig through it for a fresh change of clothes, practically identical to his current ones, and searching for the limited amount of soaps he has. His conditioner has completely disappeared, probably lost at some point between here and home.

He shuts that door again, stepping to the right and peering in through this door. He has a little more success this time, finding a sink with a toilet opposite and a rickety looking shower wedged in the corner.

It’s better than nothing.

The water is cold when he turns it on, flinching away from it as it hits his skin. His clothes stick to his skin as he undresses, and he tries not to grimace at the feeling of peeling them away from his skin and fails miserably.

He suddenly feels a lot grimier than he had before, and suddenly the cold chill of the shower is a lot more pleasant than before. He scrubs at his hair, watching as dirt swirls down the drain, darkening the water. He’s careful around his horns, the skin more tender there, much more sensitive. He cringes away from his own hands a few times, hissing under his breath as pain sparks through his skull.

He’s quick to wash, the chill quickly settling in his bones and making him begin to shiver, his hands turning a faint red with the cold as they begin to shake. He shuts the water off after several minutes, listening to the faint ke-chunk sound that echoes from wherever the water source is.

He dries with a towel that someone’s helpfully left on the towel rack, drying his hair first, being careful around his ears, which are only slightly sensitive now, and even more careful around his horns, which still throb with pain every time he presses too hard against one of them.

The clean clothes feel much more pleasant against his skin, no longer caked in the mud and dirt from…however long it had been since he last managed to shower and change them. Probably one of the last inns before he truly arrived at the edge of the last continent. There hadn't been much opportunity on the way over, and when he finally landed on the continent his main priority was finding somewhere semi-familiar.

The shower wasn't hot, meaning the mirror wasn't given the opportunity to steam up, allowing him a perfect view of his face. His ears twitch a little as he leans forward, running a hand over one furred edge and marvelling at how soft it is. It’s weird, that’s for certain, but he finds himself becoming more and more accustomed to the changes that seem to be happening.

He’s surprised the traits are only coming through now, his horns still just barely breaching his hairline as he ghosts a careful hand over one curved edge. They come to a soft point, curving upwards in the same way cow’s usually did. It’s rather similar to the cattle he used to herd, too untrustworthy to herd the creepers, that was usually left to-

He violently shoves that thought away, shaking his head and closing his eyes, listening to the house around him. It creaks slightly, in the way any wooden house does, slightly raised voices echoing from next door, loud enough that he can hear them if he steps closer to that wall…

He steps closer to the wall, not quite pressing his ear up against the wood but also not incredibly far off as he listens to the conversation happening in the next room over.

“So you're just not going to say anything?” Tango asks, something angry in his voice, “How would you feel if you just weren't told something because someone else thought it would be better for you.”

“Tango,” Pixl’s voice is calm in comparison, “We both know he’s not ready for something like this- he didn't even know about the Rapture, Tango!” He pulls back as Pixl’s voice rises, the realisation that they're talking about him settling over him heavily. He takes another step back, until their voices are just garbled nonsense again.

His mind continues to whir, trying to think of what it means, what they mean by not telling him and how that’s related to the Rapture in any way. He knows about the Rapture now, Pixl had told him, had given him a brief but expansive overview of the continent.

So what aren't they telling him?

The question circles in his head as he dumps his clothes in the room across the corridor, telling himself he’ll explore the upstairs later, returning instead to the living room. The argument has died down, and it appears that Pixl and Tango have come to some kind of agreement, now sat shoulder to shoulder and studying a book Pixl’s pulled from his bag.

They look up in-sync as he enters, Pixl snapping the book shut as they meet eyes, giving him a grin. “Wondering when you were going to be back.”

“Now.” He says, despite it being obvious, “I wanted to get started on the paperwork now, better sooner rather than later.”

“You're not going to cook something?” Tango asks, sounding genuinely disappointed as he slumps back on the floor. “First there’s no furniture and now there’s no food?”

“We’ve been doing communal cooking,” he says, “There probably won't be any food until after dark, at the earliest.”

“Why?” Tango complains.

“It’s too hot to eat otherwise,” he says, “It’s not very nice to eat when the heat of the day is still beating down on you. Nor is it very nice to cook then.”

“I hate it when things make sense.” He complains.

“If you're so hungry you can help me with the paperwork,” he offers, “Might take your mind off of it.”

“Nice try.” Tango snorts, and, yeah, he hadn't really expected that to work. He walks over to the desk in the corner, considering the chair that looks as though it’s about to fall to pieces, before taking the risk and sitting in it.

It creaks dangerously under him, but doesn't immediately collapse, so he counts it as a win. However, the stack of paperwork in front of him almost makes him wish it had collapsed, so he’d have an excuse to not do it.

He sighs, beginning to sift through it, finding a pen helpfully left on his desk. He glares at it for a moment, already knowing that Alyssa left it there. He can almost hear her laughing at him right now, watching him suffer through signing all these papers.

They're boring. Each and every one of the pages is full of things that could probably be said in at least half the words they're written in. He’s sure they're written in such convoluted ways for a reason, but he can't be bothered to think of it right now, signing the last piece and dumping it to the side, in the ‘done’ pile that is slowly inching its way towards being larger than his ‘not done’ pile.

He resists the urge to slam his head into the desk.

“-but we could definitely make it to the City tomorrow,” Tango argues, his focus drifting as he begins listening to whatever conversation they're having, “We’d just need to make a pit-stop at the guild before heading on, and it’s past the guild anyway.”

“We know what’s in the Cities already, though, there’s no benefit in visiting again.”

“Yes there is,” Tango says, voice lowering slightly, “We can see if the sculk reacts any differently, you know?” Pixl sighs in response, apparently knowing whatever it is that Tango means.

“Fine, whatever. We can make a trip whenever the Sheriff’s next free. How about that?”

“And if he’s busy for the next however long?” Tango responds. He signs the next sheet without even reading it, chucking it onto his ‘done’ pile. “We don't know how far along this is, hell! We don't even know what it’s doing.”

“Going without him is an even worse idea. We don't know how any of it would react if we just walked in there, I'm sure you haven't forgotten Cohnal’s story?”

“Of course I haven't,” Tango scoffed, “I spent most of my life studying that stupid book.”

“Then you know why we don't want to go in there without the Sheriff, we’ll need that extra layer of protection.”

“Aw,” he twists in his seat to face them, ignoring the chair’s dangerous creak, “You think I'm gonna be able to protect you guys?”

“Probably.” Tango shrugs, glaring at Pixl as they exchange a look. “Who knows, the Cities can be unpredictable.”

“I assume you mean the Ancient Cities?”

“Where else?” Tango grins at him, “It’s my speciality as an explorer, so you’ll be as safe as you can with me.”

“Even with a warden wandering around?” He doesn't particularly like the idea of running into that creature, the picture in the book was enough to dissuade him from ever entering the underground cities.

“We’ll be fine,” Tango’s eyes glimmer a little, though he doesn't know why, “I swear.”

“Sure.” He turns back to the paperwork, cracking his neck and his wrists before setting the pen back to paper again. He skims the documents now, rather than bothering to read them in any kind of depth. As long as he isn't signing away his soul or his life, he doesn't particularly care.

He picks the last sheet up to set it on his ‘done’ pile, pausing and checking there isn't two sheets stuck together, glancing at the bare section of desk as he places it on top. The sun has just finished setting, darkness spreading over the mesa, and he can tell Tango is beginning to get more restless, listening to him shift back and forth behind him.

“I reckon food will be cooking now,” he says, hearing Tango stand rather than turning around to watch it. He twists with a grin, watching as Tango sways back and forth, tail flicking as he glances towards the door, then back at him again. “You that eager?” He asks, barely managing to not laugh.

“I'm starving.” Tango complains.

“Just hope it’s not Lotus cooking then,” he laughs, “She’s great at organisation, less so at cooking. She just chucks anything in and hopes for the best, it makes for some…interesting meals.”

Tango is first out the door, but he waits for him and Pixl to catch up, eyes glowing in the darkness swamping them, the only other visible light being the fire behind him. He can already see a few people gathered around the fire, tugging his hat further down over his head and hoping they don't question his new appearance too much. He’s too tired to deal with that right now, and he wants nothing more than to eat and sleep. That's it.

Tango seats himself on a free log, kicking his legs back and forth and watching as someone (he really needs to start learning people’s names) cooks something over a smaller fire, steam rising from the boiling pot.

He sits beside Tango, pressing a little closer to him than is probably necessary, soaking up the warmth that radiates off of him. It’s warmer than the fire sat a few feet in front of him, and he will happily let Tango lean into him if he can soak up a bit more of that warmth.

He lets himself drift away slightly, warmed by the fire and Tango’s comforting presence beside him, allowing thoughts of paperwork and letters to float away on a breeze. He can think about that once he’s not feeling so warm and content.

He dismisses thoughts of the overheard conversation from earlier, too, promising himself he’s not going to think about it too hard. His head almost begins to hurt with everything he’s not thinking about.

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kalgalen · 9 months ago

Text

Charlie strolls casually through the night market, stopping here and there to survey the goods presented and to mourn his empty pockets. His stomach growls before he even catches the smell of fried fish drifting from one of the stalls further ahead; he briefly considers morphing back into a smaller creature to swipe some food from the vendor, but he doesn't need that kind of attention on him - and besides, he's almost to his destination.

The bar is a small place stuck between a twenty-four hour convenience store and the back end of a hotel; he's never been there, but Lucy has assured him it was a safe place.

It is also mostly empty. There's a large figure behind the bar, chatting quietly with a stern-looking woman; they both glance at Charlie as he enters, their gaze sharp and none-too-friendly. He raises his hands up to his chest in the universal “I come in peace” gesture, and after a quick appraisal, the looming bartender shrugs and returns to their previous conversation. The woman leans towards them but her eyes remain trained on Charlie. No funny business, the hard line of her shoulders seems to say.

There's movement in the corner of Charlie's vision, and he looks towards the corner of the little taproom. Lucy is waving him over excitedly, and he slinks towards her, giving the woman and her massive companion a wide berth.

“En-gee-el, was wondering if you'd show up,” Lucy chirps as he slides in the booth next to her. “You were always the skittish one.”

“Skittish?” Charlie scoffs. “Call that having a self-preservation instinct.”

They stare at each other. Lucy breaks first, a wide grin appearing on her face as she gives him a one-armed hug.

“I've missed you. I haven't seen one of us in - too long, frankly.”

“Missed you too, Lu.” Charlie returns her awkward embrace. “How did you even find me?”

“Ah,” Lucy gives him a conspiratorial look. “A little bird told me.”

And, Charlie guesses, that's not entirely impossible. After all, it was a pigeon that had brought him Lucy's letter.

“Drinks?”

Charlie looks up toward the bartender who's somehow managed to materialize in front of their table without him noticing. Honey-colored eyes hold his own inquisitive one, unimpressed.

“Bring me the fruitiest, most sugary cocktail you offer, please,” Lucy says.

“Just water for me,” Charlie murmurs. Lucy playfully shoves his shoulder with her own.

“C'mon, Charles. You used to tell how much you missed beer. If it's money you're worried about, don't be. I'm loaded.”

Charlie lifts an eyebrow. “Loaded?”

“Well,” his friend amends. “I am - doing ok.”

Charlie considers her a moment, then looks up again at their towering mountain of a waiter. “Alright. Whatever you have on tap that's cheap, then.”

The barkeeper hums, and then they're gone, feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor.

“That place is weird,” Charlie comments in a low voice once the bartender is out of earshot. “Why did you pick it specifically? Are they… you know.”

“Are they what?” Lucy asks with a barely concealed grin that betrays her. Charlie sighs. He'd forgotten how annoying she could be.

“You know.” He leans in towards her. “Like us.”

For a second, she looks like she's about to make him beg for it, then she looks away. “No, I don't think they are. But don't you feel safe here? Don't you feel like you belong?”

“I belong everywhere,” Charlie answers automatically. “And nowhere at all.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Okay, drama queen. Whatever you say.”

The golden-eyed bartender comes back and wordlessly puts their glasses down in front of them. Instead of leaving immediately like Charlie was expecting them to, they lean in, looking between the two of them as if to make sure they're paying attention (it would be hard not to. They're bigger than Lucy and Charlie combined.)

“You should be careful with where you speak of those subjects. Never assume no one can hear you.”

Charlie feels his ears twitch, and he fights the urge to hiss. The bartender must feel it anyways, because they shrug and straighten back up. “Just some friendly advice.”

Lucy beams at them. “Thanks! We'll keep it in mind.”

“Yeah,” Charlie says, unnerved. “Thanks, friend.”

They sniff dismissively, then turn around and leave. Charlie mouths what the fuck? at Lucy; meanwhile, his friend looks like her birthday came early.

“Told you,” she tells him, not bothering to speak low. “Just like home.”

And while he doesn't like it, he must recognize she's right.

The sun sets behind the towers, blinding light turning to a dull pink, to a dusky purple, to a muted blue. A tram screeches to a stop, cars drive by; folks are commuting home, or going out for the night. The pulse of the city has slowed, but it never truly stops.

In the newborn shadows of a deserted dingy alley, a cat yawns awake. It blinks slowly, its pupils contracting and dilating; it stretches, front paws extended, then shifts its weight forward, back legs straight as sticks. It sits, looks around calmly. The people passing quickly on the sidewalk in front of it pay it no mind.

The cat picks itself up and steps behind the dumpster blocking half the width of the small alley. Its head rolls over its shoulders in a strange, human-like way, and it puts its front paws up on the green, scratched-up metal of the container.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then the cat yowls, a scream that it quickly muffles, not quite managing to quiet it entirely. Its claws shoot out, catching on the rusted surface, then perforating it as they seem to grow way farther than a cat's claws could. The fur on its legs falls into dust, and its tail, lashing out at the air, rapidly shortens into a nub. Its ears round up, sliding to the sides of its face; its eyes, wide and wet, become smaller - or rather, the face around it grows until they take human proportions.

Labored breaths rattle in the small street as the transformation pauses. The creature - not a person yet, but not quite recognizable as a cat anymore either - blinks tears away from their eyes. They wipe their sweaty forehead with the back of their hand. Their jaw sets into a tense line, and they release a shaky breath through their flattened nose.

They audibly sob when the shifting starts again; their bared teeth widen and blunt, their claws retract into the tip of their fingers. A few more moments, and the man collapses against the dumpster, groaning pitifully. He takes a minute to gather himself, using his dirty sleeve to clean his face up.

Finally - he gets up on wobbly legs, shaking himself like a wet dog. He adjusts the ratty coat on his shoulders, and steps confidently towards the end of the alleyway. He breathes deeply the thick air of the city, and inserts himself in the flow of people.

The night is young, and he's still alive.

#PART TWO #ok playing with my own babies is so fun #fic tag #as always like. Pls commënt...

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killyourrdarlingss · 2 years ago

Text

There's a ghost in my house .

Chapter 1 / 2 || Harringrove || 2.6k+ || T || No prompt fill (a mix of a few) || ao3 link

For @harringroveweek ♥️

Takes place after season three, Billy is alive, Steve thinks there's a ghost in his house, and Robin is rightfully concerned.

(was worried I wouldn't get this finished in time, so splitting it in half. More to come soon)

"I think there's a ghost, or something, in my house." Something Steve says openly in the middle of Family Video's parking lot.

"Harrington..." And Billy bites against the inside of his mouth, the scar on his stomach almost aches when Steve says it.

Steve is smoking, or more like he’s forgetting to. Standing against the BMW Billy is right beside him, his eyes looking towards the ground. He knows what it sounds like, it's the second time he'd told Billy this in a month

Steve's prepared to explain even further when he asks, but with the bags under Steve's eyes, Billy doesn't probe the subject much further than he needs to.

"What kind?"

"It's just something out there, I can't sleep thinking about it. Something at the back of my mind…"

After everything, Billy just nods, understands, leans a bit closer to Steve against his car,

"I'll come over." Billy taps his fingers against his leg, then plucks the wasting cigarette from Steve’s hand to take a drag.

"After work, around six," Steve states it, Billy already knows when he finishes work, he states it to make sure he doesn't forget, more for himself.

Billy exhales the smoke their shoulders bumping against each other, Steve can feel the initial panic of being so close, but the lot is empty, deserted, they're fine, he tells himself. He leans a bit closer.

"See you then."

"Yeah, see you soon." Billy walks back to his car, not the Camaro that Steve's used to. He knows it's in for repairs, but something about Billy sitting in the cheap pickup makes Steve remember Starcourt all too well.

Steve rubs the stress from his eyes, takes a breath of fresh air, and walks back into Family Video before his break ends.

Steve always had trouble sleeping, it was getting better, but some nights he'd still jump at the slightest sound. Even just laying down and hearing the trees made him restless. It made him feel he should be awake, alert, and on guard.

So, laying awake until the starting of dawn would show, and only then he would shut his eyes for a moment before his alarm would beep.

Steve thinks maybe he's averaging an hour per night, his body is starting to feel it. Even more so his body is starting to protest, head aching with the copious amounts of caffeine loaded with packs of sugar that he's been consuming to placate it.

He takes the styrofoam cup and situates himself against the register as Robin walks over, taking a sip of the drink Robin has distastefully dubbed the Sludge.

"You okay?" She looks to the cup, grimaces on instinct, and looks back up to him. There's concern on her features despite glaring at the coffee. Steve looks terrible, it’s not a secret by any means, but seeing how concerned Robin looked stirred something in his chest. Maybe it was worse than he thought, but if it was truly worse, how much more could it even be?

"What could have given it away?" It's played off as sarcasm, he's sure Robin has known for days by now. There are bags under his eyes, the fact he’d arrived at her house ten minutes late this morning, and the very apparent droop of his hair.

Steve swirls the liquid to even further his point and Robin laughs under her breath, she’s worried, the laugh feels like it's meant to soften how much it’s bothering her.

Robin ducks behind the counter with him.

"Alright well, calm down on that stuff, the last thing I need is for you to crash." She sighs, maybe a layer of seriousness under the joke, but Steve is missing it as he takes another sip of his ‘coffee’.

Robin shakes her head,

"I mean, Steve, maybe you should just go home, try and get some sleep?" She stands beside him, looking around the empty store; she’d be fine alone.

Steve inaudibly refuses by downing the rest of his cup in one sip, and then motions to the parking lot,

"Robin, come on, with all these customers here?" Steve tries his best not to laugh, faux stressed hand in his hair, ruining it further, shaking his head. Robin is cracking a smile, she's trying to stay engrossed as well,

"And on our busiest night, Monday."

Robin laughs, a hand over her mouth, Steve breaks character, laughing. Then leans against the counter again with a long exhale.

It was almost easy to forget how awful he felt at the moment and he knew Robin could still tell.

"Okay, as concerned as you are, Steve, I think I'll be fine, as boring as it's going to get by myself."

Steve still bites his lip, looking to Robin and then the parking lot for any sign of life. Robin tilts her head in question and then looks outside mirroring him.

Steve only blinks, almost lost in a trance, Robin pokes him in the arm.

"Steve?"

"What?"

"Are you going to head out?"

Steve shakes his head, knowing that working would at least keep him away from his house a bit longer. He thought of it, big house, nobody inside, fridge stocked fully and every table clean, practically unlived in. His parents are still out of town for another week, Steve wonders if they only came back out of obligation. If he wasn’t around, would they even come back at all?

He pushes the thoughts down to the ‘things to not think about’ box in the pit of his stomach.

But,

Since he'd been inviting Billy over it got easier to be inside the old house, he hadn’t counted the exact amount of times in total, but it was already twice this month. He tries not to feel too embarrassed thinking about how normal the meetups had gotten between them.

It was something about the way Steve just knew whenever he asked that Billy would be there, waiting at his door after his shift, no questions asked. Steve was making a habit of doing it now. Sometimes even Billy would offer, catching when Steve would say something just a bit distressing, ask what he meant, and not taking ‘i’m fine, don’t worry’ as an excuse.

Robin pokes him again, Steve blinks himself back to reality.

He insists he's listening but before he can respond Robin’s voice rings out again,

"Steve are you–"

"I invited Billy over tonight,” he omits the again from the confession, instead, looking towards the stack of tapes by the rewinder.

Robin looks uncertain, mouth open, she’s thinking, Steve knows how that must have sounded, considering he hadn’t told her anything of what was happening before now.

"Well, because…" he motions to his face, drops his hand when Robin just gives him another strange look, he sighs,

"Whatever's happening with me, whatever's happening in my house–"

"I'm lost, Harrington." She cuts him off, and leans an elbow on the counter as emphasis, "like, the exact minute you mentioned, Billy Hargrove,"

Steve shuts his eyes, preparing for whatever impact to come, he shouldn’t feel upset over how she had said his name, like something wrong. He can’t blame her, he really can’t and that’s what makes him feel worse.

There’s a weird static in the air, they both don’t know what to say, and it’s weird for them, weird because Robin is his best friend

"We uh,” Steve starts, digging himself out of the hole he was in, “We’ve been getting along." and he offers Robin a weak smile.

Robin just nods at that, he'll leave out the part mentioning it's easier to sleep at night with him around too.

There’s an urgent tap against the counter top and Robin leans in just a bit more,

“Wait, weren’t you just outside with–”

“That’s when I asked him.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

It's quiet for a sting, and maybe Steve had tilted the world for her on its axis but she didn’t look particularly worried, just an audible ‘Oooh.’ from her.

“Maybe you do still have it,” and she winks, like the supportive best friend she is.

Steve feels his face flush, “It’s not like that.”

and he’s lying, a big fat lie.

There’s no fooling Robin, she can tell, because she looks a little too proud of herself leaning against the register with her arms crossed, a smirk on her lips. Steve feels like he’s dying but for a completely different reason this time.

"All this to say…!" Steve grabs one of the VHS tapes and unclicks it from the plastic box, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Everything is fine."

“Then I guess, everything is fine, then.” She mocks Steve but there’s still the underlying worry as she gives him another once over.

Pushing herself from the counter she grabs another stack of tapes to put beside Steve, her smirk is gone,

"Well, if you're feeling up for staying," She gives a soft smile, then pats Steve on the shoulder,

“All of these do need to be done.”

He nods,

“Sure, thanks, Robin.”

Another pat on his shoulder as confirmation and she ducks under the counter to go grab something from the back.

The tape machine whirs, Steve hates the sound it makes, sounding closer to something being strangled and screaming out. He swallows the lump in his throat and checks his watch.

Time is moving slow today, he thinks. Though his watch just ticks away properly. It's four, but it feels like it should already be closer to five, and the seconds are taking longer like minutes. On days like these Steve stands bored and wonders if maybe something from the Upsidedown slipped through.

Something that only wants to mess with his watch, in particular.

The machine clicks, digging himself out from the train of thought he was about to go down.

He repeats the step over and over monotonously until they're finally a half-hour until their shift ends.

Robin is beside him at the register throwing a movie down onto it to catch Steve's attention,

"I watched this last night." She says, excitedly, with a smile on her face,

"So, obviously you need to see it as well, because listen, Steve…"

His name is said in more urgency now, but he hears his last tape click from behind and goes to grab it,

"Okay, okay, I'm listening." He places the rewound cassette into a box to the side, thinking he might have had enough time to put them back but then once again–

"Steve, I really don't think you're listening."

He puts his hands up, in a surrender,

"You're right, and I'm sorry, I was just having so much fun." Steve motions to the rewinder, Robin rolls her eyes, laced with sarcasm.

"Okay, so, listen," she taps the case, plastic making a dull thud, "it's just really good, but I can't say much without like, giving everything away."

There's a motorcycle on the cover, headlight shining bright, a man's face on one side and a woman’s face on the other, the title white stark in the middle.

"Rumble Fish? Think I had to read that in class." Steve looks over the cover, and shrugs, Robin pushes it at him, suddenly serious,

"Tell me one time you've picked up a book, really."

He goes to open his mouth, Robin interjects,

"and not a magazine,"

Then again,

"Or a comic book."

Steve crosses his arms, "Alright, fine, you got me, I'll watch your weird movie."

She lets out a triumphant,

"Yes!"

And then crouches down to resume restocking copious bags of RedVines. Steve huffs, dragging his box of rewound tapes to be put on their proper shelves.

They only had twenty minutes but he manages to get half the movies back in place, and Robin manages to take a pack of candy, for them both, before shoving the industrial-sized box back into storage.

They're only a couple of minutes until they switch shifts when Robin clears her throat, both standing idly by the door, waiting for the other worker to show up to swap for the night.

Steve has Robin's movie recommendation in one hand, his keys in the other,

"Steve,"

and her voice is softer and she looks sincere when she says it,

"Take care of yourself, alright?" And she smiles at him, then as quick as she was genuine taps the movie in his hand,

"And get some rest first, the movie can wait."

Steve nods, watching the manager's car pull into the lot,

"Thanks, Robin, I will."

The manager walks in, relieves them of their duties and they head for the door.

Whenever he can, Steve gives Robin a ride home,

"Okay, I promised myself I wouldn't ask, but I need to,"

And then he wishes he went home early.

"But look, Steve, you need to explain to me what's happening with Billy–"

"I told you, we're getting along, he comes over sometimes."

"You said you invited him."

Steve groans and slows to a stop at a red light,

"Robin, how many weird movies for you to drop this?"

She smirks, "won't be that easy, Harrington."

She taps her fingers against the dash,

"Look, you know… well, you know my secrets, we're friends Steve, I'm just worried. I keep saying it but sometimes I think you're just choosing not to listen."

The light turns green, Steve thinks for a moment and then bites his lip when he thinks about it. Robin was worried, he could tell, not tired enough to ignore when people care about him. So, with a huff, he just nods and tells her.

"I haven't been sleeping well, since even before Starcourt." He scratches the back of his neck,

"Billy said the same thing at a party one night, it caught me off guard, but the thing was… I understood him. Everyone else just said they were sorry and dropped it, but they didn't get it."

Steve turns down a road and then he's stopped in front of Robin’s house, car idling as he looks over to her,

"I was drinking, and wasn't in the best place, just mentally exhausted, so I told him I wasn't either. Half expected him to laugh it off, but he looked at me like he knew as well, like, he also knew that it was more than not being able to sleep."

Robin doesn't take her eyes off of him, the low hum of the BMW around them, filling the story's gaps with white noise.

"We ended up in his car, just talking about everything, life, all that shit." Steve sighs, thinking back to the memory, he's leaving things out, purposely. Robin’s his best friend, but some things she didn't need to think about.

Like how he'd made out with him minutes later because pouring their hearts out mixed with cheap vodka was bound to make it happen, the taste of nicotine and his hands in Billy's soft hair.

When Steve pulled away, panicked and breathless, mumbling some apology,

"Fuck… I didn't mean–"

But was met with an even fiercer kiss from Billy that left him dizzy.

He swallows down the memories, Robin looking at him with a placated smile,

"I hope that made sense…?" Steve breaths out, a hand pushing back his hair, chest feeling just a bit lighter.

"It did, and, I'm happy you…" she pauses, judging Steve's expression, "I'm glad someone else understands, whatever you needed to be understood that night." There's a small laugh as she pushes open the car door.

Steve returns the laugh, trying to push down how ridiculous he felt for saying it all out loud.

"Yeah, more or less."

There's a quick silence that Steve appreciates, Robin with a nod of her head taps her fingers against the roof of the car,

"Thanks for the ride, and don't worry Steve, your secret's safe with me."

She goes to leave and then stops, shuffling in her purse and tossing a pack of red vines through the window to the seat.

"A peace offering, say hi for me."

Steve chuckles picking up the candy, and nods, they wave their goodbyes and Steve makes sure she gets into her house safely before driving away.

#harringroveweek #harringrove #stranger things #gothies fic tag #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #gothiewrites

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thetaoofbetty · 2 years ago

Text

it's below the cut, anon💜

i’m always trying to respect everyone’s opinion on ships because i’m someone that really doesn’t dislike j*bitha but i always read their thoughts on the ship and i wonder if they are seeing what the show is giving them at all or everything is wishful thinking because when has the show showed j*bitha being in love with each other or even attracted to each other?

—well, to be fair, that's what fandom is for. if people want to assume they're in love with each other based on whatever happened in the vale, that's fine. i wouldn't want my ship's love confession to be in the freaky pocket universe but to each their own. tho, even in the vale and afterwards, nothing has really indicated to me that they're desperately in love. actually, tbh, the show can't even convince me that they're deeply in like so...

also, you know: projection, betty hate boners, performative shipping, and the idea that the ship will be what they want it to be if they just insist it to everyone else hard enough.

every single interaction with them feels platonic and they actually need to say out loud that they’re a couple because it doesn’t translate into them. there’s simply not romantic chemistry. i'm speaking on the lack of intimacy. they don’t share lingering gazes, intimate touches of comfort and overall this natural body language that shows you they’re a couple without saying it out loud, the og couples had lots of non-verbal language that made them feel intimate.

—i think it's honestly a little hilarious they had almost all of these new ships announce themselves as dating because it wasn't obvious otherwise. it's just...precious.

it lacks any of the charm or warmth of the og couples figuring out what they were. and you're right, they don't share anything that builds any sort of tension or intimacy, even when they should have a moment, they really just don't?

is this a lack of chemistry between the actors issue, a writing/directing problem or both? every kiss feels like the actors are being held on gunpoint, they kiss like 2 feet apart from each other not even a little contact like you are happy to just exist with this person but rather everything feels automatic both from the acting and the writing.

—that probably depends on if you believe rumors or not, ha. and tbh, i truly don't know why their interactions lean towards the awkward but it really feels like that friendly chemistry is totally gone and the romantic tell don't show vibes adds nothing to it.

and sure, it's subjective, whatever works for you but what works for me is probably everyone else on the show with jughead more than what they're selling at this point. truly tho, their social distance kissing really does look kind of off compared to the other ships? no idea what that's about.

i don’t doubt they mutually care for each other (because of pops) but why are some convinced they’re in love with each other? when? are the characters in question even aware of that? are the writers?

—i really don't know. people are gonna people. and i have my doubts about the writers awareness overall, tbh.

like with ba, the writers have had a lot of opportunities to show the audience something more about them but don’t do it. j*bitha spends episodes without meaningfully interacting or neither of them seem to be aware of what’s going on with the other until narrative forces them to speak about it. i just found the word for it: j*abitha feels automatic, robotic. a relationship going through the motions.

—yeah, the writers have pivoted from every opportunity they've given to b/a to really further that relationship. but also yeah, it does seem a little like they're going through the motions. there's a definite lack of communication between them at this point. is it purposeful? who knows? but it's keeping them stagnant.

i would actually enjoy them more if they stayed platonic and they didn’t try so hard to push everyone to like t*bitha - she’s starting to feel like a mary sue character. i dont see them as endgame but its starting to feel like we have to stand them for like the rest of the season or even season 7.

—i still think they've done tabitha a disservice with these storylines. they can't have her share all of her information because of the plot so outside of a sentence or two—4 episodes ago—we have nothing on how she feels about jughead dying, etc. and when they're not showing her as archie jr (or a literal saint), her most negative characteristics have been her destroying the typewriter in the vale or yelling at a newly deaf jughead. sure, she looked shaken at that letter so maybe we'll get more from her at some point but the effort to keep her secrets vague when it's her boyfriend's life on the line? i definitely think that could have been handled better tbh.

#besos!#anonymous #anti j*bitha

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lothlaer · 4 years ago

Note

Proposal: Jaskier's got a fist clenched painfully hard one time when he's really really hurt and Yen has to force his palm open so she can tangle their fingers together and try to keep him from hurting his own hand. And they're both kind of like "oh" at some point idk 😳

Anon this apparently awakened something in me, so thank you for expanding on my post and giving me the inspo to write (checks notes) 1.7k. Hope you enjoy whatever this is!!!

Pre-yennskier, description of blood and injury, 100% hurt/comfort. Read on AO3

“Stop fucking moving,” Geralt hisses, pushing down hard on the hips beneath his hands to still the man’s squirming.

A choked off, muffled whine dies in Jaskier’s throat, his lips pursed tight enough to turn them pale and thin. He’s panting through his nose, clearly in agony, and too out of it to understand that moving will only make this worse.

Yennefer spares the witcher a glance, noting the anxiety and fear that’s obvious on his face, in the tension across his brow, the frantic not-focus of his eyes that flick between the bard’s half-delirious expression and the gaping wound at his side.

She’s done all she can to heal him, sealed up the torn and leaking insides that they all know would have killed him if they hadn’t been here – that still might kill him if they can’t stem the blood loss and prevent infection. She thinks of it like this; clinical, sensible, because she has to.

Jaskier’s heartbeat is quicker than it should be, his breathing equally fast, panicked and pained and shallow. She keeps her ear trained to its frantic rhythm, notices how Geralt’s heart thumps faster than normal too, almost human, almost matching hers. She’d laugh at the symmetry of it all, if it were funny. She’s sure Jaskier would write a poem, if he knew, but she won’t ever tell him.

He stills a little under the pressure of Geralt’s hands, though still struggles. He probably can’t help it by this point, too confused and the pain too intense to allow much rational thought. Geralt can’t work if he keeps kicking, shifting his hips to try to escape the discomfort.

“Yen,” Geralt growls, and she’d tell him off if she thought it would help.

She tells him off anyway, growling his name back as she presses her weight onto the bard’s chest, keeping him pinned. She watches his face, stares at the lines of tears down his temples, wrung out from his scrunched eyes.

The tight seam of Jaskier’s lips splits open, a deep groan and hitching sob forcing its way out as Geralt flushes the wound. He shifts again, and it’s only then that Yennefer notices his hands. The one nearest her grips at her skirt, tugging it towards himself, the other clenched tight enough at his side that the whites of his knuckles stand out even against his bloodless skin.

She reaches for it before she can think about it, dragging his hand over his chest, looking at the way he’s digging his nails into the meat of his palm.

Yennefer doesn’t say anything as she fits her thumb under his, prying it open like the hinge on a rusted box. There’s no treasure within as she does the same with his fingers, forcing them loose enough that his reflex to clench releases, each digit unfolding only to reveal deep indents in his skin like faint purple mouths.

She slips her fingers between his, taking the pressure into her own grip, resting their joined hands over his heart.

He blinks up at her, eyes wet with tears, then lifts his head to look down at himself.

“Don’t look,” Yennefer snaps, pointedly leaning forward to block the vivid red of Geralt’s hands from view.

She knocks her knuckles against his breastbone, drawing his attention back, and he focuses in on the press of their skin together.

She thinks that if he had enough blood left in his body to do so, Jaskier would be blushing. She feels heat rise in her own cheeks in sympathy. His lips part on an inappropriately dreamy sigh, and she realises she’s stroking her thumb back and forth over his clammy skin, then swiftly stops.

Yennefer checks his expression and discovers his eyes on her again, a long moment dragging on as she finds herself unable to look away, their faces closer than she realised and his short breaths puffing against her skin. She’s horribly aware of their entwined hands, the unpleasant sensation of drying blood and mud between them, the frantic heart mere centimetres away, trapped beneath only by fragile human flesh and bone.

Between another aborted cry of pain and a feeble attempt at another kick, Jaskier lets his head fall back to the ground, gaze swimming and dizzy as he stares up at the canopy of the trees above them, his grip tightening to the point of pain as the joints in Yennefer’s hand compress.

She loses track of time for a while, her knees and back aching from being folded over for so long, the quiet and sometimes unpleasant noises coming from Geralt working opposite her the only way to gauge how long they’ve been here, alongside the warbling beat that still echoes against her eardrums. It’s not like his usual music.

She looks back to his face after some time, catches his eyelids fluttering.

“None of that,” she scolds, loud enough to jerk him back into wakefulness.

She turns her head to look at the wound, relieved to find it closed with stitches, no longer sluggishly leaking blood down Jaskier’s side. He’s still covered in it, soaked into his shirt and the trousers covering his propped-up legs, even on the blanket they’ve thrown over him.

Geralt looks up and the relief is clear on his face; they’re not out of the woods yet, but it’s a step in the right direction. His eyes flick to Jaskier’s hand in hers, looking pointedly at where he’s still gripping her dress too, then walking away with a mutter about getting bandages.

Yennefer finds herself alarmingly embarrassed, and withdraws her hand.

Jaskier doesn’t complain, his fingers falling loose and curled where she leaves them.

Geralt returns quickly, begins packing the injury. Jaskier jerks again, then they begin the agonising process of winding bandages around his waist, having to manoeuvre him upright enough to pass them under his back.

By the end he’s even sweatier and paler than he was before. His noises of pain throughout have been quieter than Yennefer was expecting, the usual volume and raucousness of his voice muffled and contained. It’s simultaneously impressive and irritating – men, she thinks.

He groans long and low nonetheless as they shift him sideways onto a bedroll and prop another bag under his knees.

“It’s done, it’s over,” Yennefer finds herself saying quietly while Geralt resituates the blanket.

She wipes a tear away from Jaskier’s cheek with the backs of her fingers, and tries not to overthink the action in the seconds afterwards as his sobs subside.

He’s trembling, either from pain or shock or the cold, and Geralt wastes no time getting him water with some herbs mixed in. He drinks greedily, water spilling out around his mouth until the witcher urges him to slow.

Geralt lays him back down, calls his name softly until his wobbly attention wanders back to them.

“All better?” Jaskier murmurs after a moment, eyelids already half-mast.

Geralt lays a wet cloth over the bard’s forehead and holds his palm on it, steady and reassuring, long enough to lean over and catch Jaskier’s gaze.

“Good enough,” he says, beginning to wipe away the sweat and dirt from Jaskier’s face in gentle strokes.

“Bastard,” Jaskier mutters, eyes falling closed. He only settles for a moment before jerking awake, his eyes wide and alarmed. “Yen?”

He looks around blearily, waving an uncoordinated hand out – seeking her presence, Yennefer realises. She reaches for him, grasping his hand in hers. His gaze snaps to her, and softens.

“Okay?” he asks.

His skin is cool, his heart still racing.

“You’ll be pissing us off with your usual obnoxious poetics within a day, I imagine.”

He frowns at her and shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

“No,” he swallows dryly, “you okay?”

Yennefer opens her mouth, ready for a witty retort to manifest, but all that emerges is the escape of a surprised breath. She thinks of the way they’d been standing side by side when the attack had happened, the way the bard had fallen against her and brought her to her knees in the grass and mud, last autumn’s shed of rotting leaves compacting beneath her hands. The drip of red blending against the dirt. Her stomach twists, then releases.

“Rest, Jaskier.”

He still stares at her.

“I’m fine, you fool.” She squeezes his hand again, thinks of the indents on his palm. “Rest.”

He does, finally, slipping easily into something deeper than sleep. She knows she and Geralt will have their senses fixed on the pump of his blood for days yet, and that it’ll be a while before his body replenishes what he’s lost.

For now, the steadiness of his pulse and his breathing will have to be enough, even if they remain unnatural and fast.

Yennefer realises she’s been staring for a while when she notices Geralt bringing a bowl over, his hands and arms already washed clean of the mess from the past hour.

“Wonderful timing,” he says dryly, shaking the red-tinged water off his fingers with a couple of quick flicks.

“For what, witcher?” Yennefer says shortly, her nerves strung thin and dangerous.

Geralt snorts. Yennefer glares.

“For a realisation.” He smirks at her, smug.

“Fuck off,” she spits, not turning away quick enough to miss the way the man’s smile widens further.

She draws her hands away from Jaskier, his grip limp now, and washes her hands too, surprised to see the ripples on the surface from where she’s shaking. Geralt comes up behind her, his hand falling to her shoulder, and they both look down at the bard. The porcelain tinge of his skin is unnerving, his eyes bruised, and dirt and leaves still cling to his hair. But he’s alive, alive, and the knots in their chests release.

She thinks about leaving now her job’s done, the unpleasant warmth blooming somewhere in her gut making her want to run away, to flee from whatever the bard’s pain and gaze and hands have triggered in her, the feeling snapping sharp like a wire under her skin.

Geralt squeezes her shoulder.

“Stay with him.”

Yennefer feels the words rumble through her, less than an order but more than a suggestion. Her heart leans into it, giving way so carelessly to harmonise with the rhythm of his.

She stays.

#yennskier #jaskier x yennefer #yennefer x jaskier #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfic #hurt!jaskier #geralt is here too lol but i think he's just their Bro #loth txt #my fic #anonymous #ask #i'm gay i like hands ok

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skzvibes · 4 years ago

Text

It's not like you're in love

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: intense make out, mentions of nudity, mentions of sex (not explicit smut tho)

word count: 4,6K

a/n: sorry if you find mistakes or typos, English is not my first language so this won't be perfect <3

You met him because you started working on JYP as a staff.

You were almost always working with Stray Kids, so you got close to them and, after a few weeks, you were already friends.

But with Chan was different than with the rest of the members

You have always looked at each other in a different way

And even if you said that you were just best friends, even the members knew that you were just avoiding your feelings

"Are you still here? I need you in my studio." That was the text Chan had just sent you. Yes, you were still in the JYP building where you worked, and even if you were about to leave to go home, you immediately headed to his studio. You adored those moments when you two were alone because he wanted your opinion about his new song or maybe just some company while he was working. You had a special friendship with him even if you had not known each other for that long, and you did not expect that at all when you started working in JYP as a staff member.

When you got there, you knocked at the door, and you heard him saying that it was open. You smiled right when you entered the room. It was kind of cold and dark. The only light was from the computer screen, which let you see his silhouette. You got closer to him and sat in the chair next to his, knowing that he was probably finishing something and he would look at you in a few seconds. And that is what happened. He typed something, and then he took off his headphones to look at you. He smiled and hugged you quickly before handing you the headphones.

"Thank you for coming. Did I stop you from going home?" He asked, looking worried.

"Yes, but you know I don't mind," you smiled and put on the headphones. Chan smiled and played the track he wanted you to listen to. You had the same conversation every day he asked you to go to his studio, but he still felt guilty.

Chan observed you while you listened to the song. The first time he asked for your opinion, you were so serious while listening to the song that he thought you didn't like it, but now he knows that it's just because you want to listen to it carefully so you can say something more than "I like it", and, to him, it's the cutest thing ever.

When it finished, you took off the headphones and stayed quiet for a few seconds before talking.

"I think it's good, but... Don't be mad, but it sounds kinda similar to the last one." You said, and looked up to him, hoping that he wasn't angry at you. You knew he wanted your sincere opinion, but sometimes it scared you that he could get angry or hurt. But he sighed and nodded, resting his back on the chair backrest.

"That's what I thought," he said, staring at his computer. You felt bad for not being able to help him out.

"Maybe you could ask Jisung or Changbin for help. They're way better than me at producing songs, and I'm sure they can give you a better opinion." He looked at you as you continued. "Honestly, I don't know why you ask for my opinion." You laughed, making him laugh too.

"I don't know, it helps to have different points of view, you know?" He said, and you thought that was all but he continued. "And I like spending time with you, so it's kind of an excuse." He added smiling and observed how your cheeks turned pink.

"Me too." You said softly, and after that, you both stayed quiet, the only sound in the room was the buzzing of his laptop, and your eyes locked.

And then he leaned in, slowly. As he got closer, you could smell his cologne, and your heart started to beat faster, not knowing what his next move would be. And when all you could see was him, you stopped feeling your body, you couldn't hear the buzzing of the laptop, and the room didn't feel cold anymore, but warm.

And he kissed you.

His plump lips brushed yours softly and carefully, making you close your eyes. He tasted like mint. At first, your noses touched but then he tilted his head so he would be able to kiss you more confortably. But as he did that, he noticed what he was doing and stopped the kiss. You opened your eyes and took a deep breath. Your eyes connected.

"I'm sorry, are you sure you-" He started, and you answered by kissing him more. You placed your hands on his shoulders and made him rest his back on the chair again, at the same time that you stood up to sit on his lap. You started running your fingers through his hair, and he held the back of your neck to keep you close with one hand while he placed the other one on your thigh.

Your heart was about to explode, and you felt dizzy as you tried to process what was happening. But you just couldn't. All you could feel and think about was him. At one certain moment, his lips were around your bottom lip, and he bit it, taking you by surprise and making you let out a little moan. Then, you two needed to breathe, so you pulled away.

"We can stop if you-" He started again, and you rolled your eyes, placing your hand against his mouth.

"Can you please stop acting as if I don't want this as much as you do?" You whispered, and you felt his smile grow against your hand. Then you placed it in his shoulder again and leaned closer to him. "Because I do." His pupils dilated, and he connected your lips. His hands started rubbing your back and went further down to the end of your t-shirt.

"Take it off." You mumbled softly against his lips, knowing that it would lead to much more that night.

Two weeks later...

"Chan, we should get dressed." You whispered against his chest. It's not that you wanted to do it, but you were in his studio and it wasn't exactly private.

"Five minutes more, I promise." He said, and he kept drawing figures with his fingers in your naked back. You nodded and closed your eyes. You've never felt so relaxed and at peace in your whole life.

It had been two weeks since you and Chan started... whatever it was. And it was great, but you hadn't even talked about it, and you didn't know how to bring it up. Because you appreciated him so much and you didn't know how to tell him that you had fallen in love with him without ruining your friendship. Maybe, if you had noticed that you were in love with him earlier, you wouldn't have started this "friends with benefits" thing. But now you just couldn't help it. You liked him so much that you didn't want to lose what you had.

After a few minutes, you got up from his lap, making him groan.

"It's been like two minutes, not five." He whined. You let out a little laugh and hurried in getting dressed because it was cold without him hugging you.

"Chan, someone could show up here at any moment, and I don't want any of the boys to find out about us like that." He sighed but, knowing that you were right, he stood up too and started putting his clothes on. "Are you going to the dorms now?" You asked him.

"No, I think I'm gonna stay for a while. I got a bit distracted by you the last hour." He joked.

"And you dare to say that it's my fault. I will not come the next day you text me." You teased him. He smirked and got closer to hug you.

"We'll see." You locked eyes for a few seconds. You wanted to say it. I love you.

But you didn't.

"Goodnight, don't leave too late. You need to sleep too, superhero." You kissed his cheek and turned around to leave, but he held your wrist.

"What kind of goodnight kiss is that?" You laughed and pecked his lips. When you pulled away, he smiled at you. "That's better."

"You're unbelievable." You walked towards the door. "Goodnight, Chan."

"Night Y/n" he answered, and you closed the door.

When you got home, you took your clothes off and put on your pajamas. After that, you went to the bathroom to remove your makeup, and you saw yourself in the mirror. You were smiling widely, and you hadn't even noticed it. Of course, it was because of Chan. The last two weeks had probably been the best weeks of your life. And you wanted more of that. You wanted to know if he felt the same way you did when you were together. That's why you decided to talk with Chan the next day.

"Come on, you can do it." You encouraged yourself. You had been in front of the practice room's door for about ten minutes. You could hear them practicing inside. It's not that hard, just open it.

And you did it, making everyone in the room look at you. Chan smiled instantly, and the others were surprised but happy to see you too.

"Hey Y/n, what are you doing here?" Jisung asked you, and he got closer to you to hug you. Jisung was one of your best friends, even though you haven't been able to spend a lot of time together lately.

"Hi, everyone. I wanted to talk with you, Chan. If you can." You said, looking at him. He nodded and indicated the rest to practice the choreography while he talked to you. You walked to a corner where they wouldn't hear you, and he looked at you, waiting for you to talk.

This wasn't a good idea.

"Well, umm..." You looked down and started playing with your fingers as you got more nervous every second. "You know we've been... spending time together..." He chuckled at your way to call it but he let you continue. You took a deep breath and looked at him in the eyes. "What are we, Chan?" You asked, and his smile faded away as soon as you did it.

No, this definitely wasn't a good idea.

"Why are you asking me that?" He asked, frowning. He looked so confused, and you didn't know how to explain it. You started looking around, avoiding looking at him, wishing you never started that conversation.

"I... I just thought... I don't know, we're not friends but- " You tried to speak, but he interrupted you.

"We aren't?" he asked, and you panicked since he misunderstood you.

"That's not what I meant. I mean... We are friends, but we aren't just friends?" You tried to explain, but you didn't even know what you were saying.

"I swear I don't understand what-" He started, and you decided to go straight to the point.

"God, I like you, ok?" You let out, and his eyes widened. "I like you. And not just as a friend." You finished, and he sighed. He looked at the boys making sure they weren't listening, and then he looked at you again.

"Y/n, I don't know if you misunderstood but... I do like spending time with you but that's it..." You felt how your eyes watered, but you held back your tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you... God." He stopped talking and massaged his temples. "What I mean is... We aren't dating" And you hoped that was all he had to say so you could leave, but it wasn't. "And we won't. We can't have another type of relationship." He added, and you felt as if someone had just stabbed you in your heart. You waited a few seconds to answer because you were afraid that your voice would crack.

"No, I understand. It's fine." You finally said, but when he tried to reach out to you and hold your arm, you took a step back. He looked worried. "Umm... I have to leave now." You said, walking backward. You just wanted to get out of there.

"Y/n..." He tried to stop you from leaving but at that point, the boys were looking at you, confused.

"No, really, you never said you..." You stopped there, you couldn't talk with the boys listening, but you knew he had understood you. "It's okay. We're still friends." He nodded slowly, but he wasn't sure that you meant it.

"Then... We're fine?" he asked you again before you left.

"Yes, sure." You reassured him, and then you walked out of the room as fast as you could, leaving the boys, especially Chan, so confused. He tried to continue practicing, but he just couldn't stop thinking about your watery eyes. He couldn't take your sad expression out of his head. He tried to explain it to you without hurting you. But you said everything was fine, right? Maybe you just needed some time to think. Everything will be the same tomorrow. He said to himself.

Too bad he was wrong.

The next day he didn't see you for the whole day, and since he didn't want you to feel pressured, he didn't text you when he used to do it. But the same happened two days later. The third one he tried to text you, but you left him on read. The fourth one, you replied to his message saying that you had some stuff to do and you couldn't meet him. He started to feel worried. And he missed you a lot. Not only having sex with you but everything. Chan missed spending the evenings with you in his studio, listening to his new songs or recommending music to each other, or talking about weird and deep stuff he couldn't talk about with anyone else.

After one week, he thought that was enough. If you said everything was fine, why were you ignoring him? So he got out of his studio, where he usually spent the whole day, and started walking around. Of course, he had a million things to do, but he couldn't help it anymore. He needed to see you and ask you what was happening.

After about ten minutes of walking around, he spotted you talking with another staff member. As he got closer, he could see the bags under your eyes, as if you hadn't been sleeping well. What had happened to you?

You noticed him when he was a few meters away from you. You knew you would have to face him at some point, but you weren't ready yet. He said that you couldn't have another type of relationship, so what was the point? You couldn't act as if nothing was happening and keep meeting him in his studio. Because if you were already hurt, who knows how would you feel after a month. Or three. Or a year. You couldn't deal with that, and you needed to tell him, but you didn't know how yet. That's why you had been avoiding him. But you should have known he wouldn't let you do it for so long.

"Y/n, can we talk real quick?" Chan said, and Lena, the staff member you were talking with, left thinking that Chan needed something related to work. Shit, don't leave me alone. You thought, but of course, your friend couldn't have an idea of what was happening. When she left, you nodded slightly, and you two walked into one of those "focus rooms" that everyone could use. They were soundproof, so Chan knew you could talk freely in there. He let you in first and, when he was inside too, he closed the door. Then, he turned around to look at you.

"Do you need anything?" you asked, trying to act as if nothing happened. Chan sighed, knowing what you were doing.

"Yes, I need you to buy me an americano, and I think Jisung wanted cheesecake." He said sarcastically, crossing his arms. You tilted your head and sighed.

"Fine, what do you want?" You asked. You tried to act rough, but if he had held your hand, he would have noticed you were trembling.

“What do I- Did I miss something?” He asked, slightly annoyed. He couldn’t understand your behavior. “You’ve been ignoring me for a whole week, I thought you said we were fine,” Chan observed you, trying to figure out what was happening.

“It’s not that I’m ignoring you…” You started, and he raised an eyebrow. “I needed to think, I thought you would understand that I can’t just act as if nothing happened.” You replied. Chan shook his head.

“Then you shouldn’t have said we were fine. You should have talked to me.” He complained and raised his voice without noticing it, but you did. That annoyed you. Why was he mad?

“Sure, after you told me we can’t have another type of relationship. What a great moment to talk with you, Chan.” You said, loudly. You didn’t know at what point that conversation turned into an argument, but you wanted to end it. “Chan, you only want sex. I don’t want to have that type of relationship with you anymore, and, as you said, we can’t have another one. So I don’t think there’s anything to talk about anyway.” You said and shrugged. Chan looked at you as if you were saying nonsense.

Well, for him, it was. He only wanted sex? Absolutely no. Could he be only your friend after everything that happened between you two? Also no. Could he date you? No, it was forbidden. Did he want to? He didn’t know.

“I’m trying to be professional. I work here. I’m a staff member and you’re an artist. That’s it.” You finished the conversation and tried to open the door, but he stopped you by holding your arm.

“That’s it? What about everything that has happened between us?” Chan asked. He couldn’t believe you wanted to go back to the time you weren’t even friends.

“I don’t know, Chan. Find another girl. You’ll forget me soon. It’s not like you’re in love, right?” You smiled slightly, and he looked down without saying anything. Why couldn’t you understand he couldn’t love you? He would risk every single thing he has been fighting for during all his life. He just didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet.

And you interpreted it as a no.

“That’s what I thought.” You said, lastly. You moved your arm, and he let it go. He observed how you got out of the room and walked away without looking back.

Of course, he didn’t know it was because you didn’t want him to see you cry.

One week later

"C'mon Y/n..." Jisung complained. He wanted you to hang out with the boys at the dorms, but you didn't want to. Because of obvious reasons. "I know Chan and you aren't on good terms. I don't know what happened between you two..." If you knew... You thought. "... but we're still friends. I don't want to lose you because of this. And maybe you can talk with him too, I know he doesn't want to lose you either. You two are like soulmates." He said, and you sighed. You knew he wouldn't leave you alone until you agreed. But you weren't ready yet. And, talking with him? He said what he wanted, and you didn't want to do it, so that was it. You didn't need to talk.

Jisung noticed that you didn't want to talk with Chan by your facial expressions.

"And if you don't want to, it's not a problem. Lately, he's been in his room the whole day if he's not in the studio. I don't think he goes out." You were still doubtful. But you missed the boys a lot.

"Fine, I'll go." You said, and he clapped, showing you his heart-shaped smile, and hugged you.

"Cool, see you tonight." You nodded, and he walked away since he had practice with the boys.

After all, he was right. You couldn't just stop talking and hanging out with them because of what happened between you and Chan. That's why, that night, you were at the dorms when they told you. Hyunjin opened the door and smiled at you.

"Hi, Y/n! I'm so happy you decided to come." He hugged you quickly and let you in.

"Well, Jisung said there would be pizza." He laughed and, after closing the door, he led you to the living room.

"Y/n! Changbin-hyung wanted to start eating without you." Jeongin said, pointing at him. You laughed when Changbin raised his arms, trying to look innocent. You were so happy to see them that you almost forgot that Chan was just a few meters away, in his room.

Even if he had his headphones, he heard your laugh. Of course, the boys warned him that you were coming over, and even asked him to have dinner with them, but he excused himself, saying that he had a lot of work to do. He wasn't hungry anyway. He never was since you two stopped every type of contact. He did have work to do, but he couldn't do it anyway. He hadn't composed anything in that week either, and it was driving him crazy. One of the main reasons why he wasn't dating you was that he didn't want to get distracted from his work, but his world seemed to be upsidedown since you distracted him, even more, when you weren't with him.

In the living room, you all were having an interesting conversation about if birds had ears or not (Felix's thoughts sometimes amused you) when Seungmin talked.

"Should we bring Chan-hyung some food? He must be starving." He said. Minho nodded.

"I haven't seen him eat today," Minho added, and your eyes widened.

"For the whole day?" You asked, worried.

"It's not that weird. When he has a good idea, he stays in his room or the studio for days. We always bring him food, but he's been rejecting it lately. I don't know how he isn't hungry." Minho explained, and you looked at Jisung.

"You didn't tell me that." You said. It didn't seem that serious when he told you.

"I didn't? Sorry, I thought I did, But yes, he's been acting weird lately." He stated. Then, all of them started to talk about another topic, but you remained thinking. You weren't sure if he was like that because, as they said, he was working on something good... Or because of you. You didn't want to think like that, but you couldn't help feeling guilty, even if you didn't know if it was your fault.

That's why, a few minutes later, you took a plate and put in it one slice of pizza. Then you stood up, and everyone looked at you.

"Where are you going?" Jisung asked, even if he knew what you were about to do. Of course, he would have brought food to his hyung, but he hoped that you would do it. He wanted you two to talk.

"I'm gonna bring Chan some food... It's worrying me that he hasn't eaten today." You said and walked away toward his bedroom.

When you got there, you opened the door and saw him with his headphones on, the room completely dark except for the computer. Of course, it reminded you of the evenings you spent in his studio.

Since he hadn't noticed you, you walked toward him and tapped him on his shoulder. He turned around expecting to see one of the boys, but he almost choked when he saw you there. He immediately took off his headphones, but he couldn't say anything. He just observed you, there, in his room.

"Umm... The boys told me you haven't been eating well so... I brought you dinner." You said, placing the plate on his desk. You waited for a few seconds, but he didn't say anything, and it was getting awkward, so you decided to go back to the living room.

It's not that he hadn't anything to say. He had so much to say that he couldn't even verbalize it. He was shocked to see you there, after one week of not having any contact. He couldn't help to stare at you and ask himself what he had done. You were probably one of the best things that ever happened to him and he didn't want to lose you.

And when he realized that, you were already about to open the door of his room to leave.

"Y/n" He called you, making you stop and turn around to look at him. Again, he didn't know what to say. He just didn't want you to leave again.

He stood up and took a few steps until he was right in front of you. He cupped your face with his hands and placed his lips on yours. It was so sudden, but as soon as you felt him kissing you, you kissed him back. At that moment, you felt like your senses were waking up. You didn't smell his habitual cologne, but you did notice the vanilla from his shampoo. And he tasted like mint again. His thumb started caressing your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. And after a few seconds, you felt your cheeks wet. He was crying. You stopped the kiss and opened your eyes to look at him. He opened his eyes too when you placed your hands on his cheeks to wipe away the tears.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry." You ignored what he was saying since you were more worried about why he was crying.

"Are you okay, Chan?" You asked him. And he sighed before letting it all out.

"No." He confessed. "I can't sleep. I'm never hungry. I can't write lyrics. I can't compose anything good. Everything I do is think about you even more than before, and it's driving me crazy. I don't know what to do, Y/n." And he locked eyes with you, almost begging you for a solution.

"Chan... Do you love me?" You asked, risking it all. But afraid of being hurt again.

"I told you, I can't..." He started looking around, avoiding your eyes. You interrupted him.

"That's not what I asked." You said, and he stayed quiet. You decided to risk it all one more time. The last time. "I love you, Chan." You confessed, and he broke down in tears and pulled you into a hug, buried his face in your neck. "I love you too." He muttered against your neck. Then you held his face and wiped his tears again. You knew that the tears were just the proof of how much stress he had been going through.

"Then everything is fine. We can go slow and see what happens. I dont need you to take care of me or give me attention all the time, Chan. I know that music is your passion and that you need time for that. I'm okay with it. I understand it."

He just nodded and placed the softest kiss on your lips. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

Then, you told him to lie down on his bed. You knew how tired he was because of not sleeping. You took off his shoes and yours as well and lay down next to him. He hugged you and kissed your forehead. "God, I missed you so much." He muttered against your hair.

"I missed you too," you replied, and you two fell asleep, feeling safe and happy, knowing that the other would be there in the morning.

#bangchan #bangchan imagines #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan angst #bang chan fluff #bang chan idol au #stray kids scenarios #bang chan scenarios

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pettyvxbes · 4 years ago

Text

COLSON BAKER x READER - OCEAN EYES IV

BRIAN, JIMI, JANIS, KURT, AND. . .COLSON?

"Can we get two 16oz house drips, one black with two sugars and the other with two sugars and a splash of cream?" He ordered, remembering exactly how you took your coffee, even after all the time you'd been separated. It made you smile, knowing that you still occupied some space in his mind.

"So this is your coffee shop?" You asked, leaning against the side of the counter as you waited for your drinks.

"Yeah, I opened it last year. It turned out pretty cool." He smiled as he looked around the room. You could tell he was proud of it.

"It's badass" You agreed with him.

"If you're hungry, we serve brunch." Colson handed you a menu to peruse. "This is actually why I was at the farmers market. All of our fruits and vegetables are local." You looked over the list of food, noticing all of the fresh ingredients.

"That's so cool. Everything sounds delicious." You said, flipping the menu over to continue exploring. On the opposite side, you found a cocktail menu. Some of the drink names made you chuckle. There was 'the gunner,' 'sex, dope, and cheap thrills,' 'screw me' with its counterpart, 'screw you,' and the 'you know I'm no good.' Without even seeing the ingredients, you immediately thought that the last one sounded like a drink you'd choose.

Colson exchanged the menu in your hands with a coffee cup filled with hot coffee. You looked at him and gave him a weak thank you smile which he inadvertently returned, and just like that, you were taken back to the first morning you had ever spent together.

You woke up randomly as the sun was shining through the tiny window of your dorm room. You were still wearing the same clothes from the night before. It confused you because you hadn't even remembered falling asleep. The last thing you could recollect was laying with Colson in your XL twin bed, which he noted multiple times was fantastic because his tall, lanky ass fit perfectly.

"Good morning," Colson whispered. It took you a moment to fully wake up, but you noticed how your bodies were intertwined when you did. Your head was on his chest, and his arm was holding you close to him. It was cozy.

"Good morning." You repeated, squeezing him and nuzzling your face into his neck. "How long have you been awake?" You asked sleepily, afraid that you were the only one who had dozed off.

You and Colson had agreed to stay up as long as you could talking to each other. After all, it was the first time you had seen each other since Atlanta, and even though you had basically talked every day for the last 3 months, you still had a lot to talk about.

"Not long, maybe like fifteen.. . twenty minutes" He shrugged. "I didn't want to wake you. I just wanted to lay here and hold you a little longer, watch you sleep, smell your hair." He squeezed you, placing a small kiss on the top of your head. "I wanted to memorize all of it because this weekend will be over before we know it, and then It'll be back to facetime calls and falling asleep on the phone."

"Blahhh, don't remind me." You pouted, sitting up to face him. You enjoyed every single second you got to spend with that blue-eyed boy in your bed, and you never wanted it to end. He had quickly become your best friend, your person.

"Sorry. Y'know, you're fucking cute when you're sleepy" Colson smiled at you, no makeup and hair a mess. To him, you were perfection. "Oh, I ordered coffee." He said excitedly as he sat up, reaching for the cups on the table next to your bed. "Remind me to thank your roommate later. She was not very happy when she was woken up by the Doordash driver." He chuckled.

"She'll get over it" You took the warm cup from him, sipping slowly. Careful not to burn your mouth. You immediately spit the coffee back into the cup, scrunching your nose up at the taste. The coffee was sweeter than a glazed chocolate donut filled with thousands of tiny sprinkles. You thoroughly enjoyed coffee, and you liked to be able to taste the flavor in every sip.

"Shit, did I get it wrong?" He asked worriedly. It was one of the topics you had discussed last night, and he had already forgotten.

"Yeah, but we've never had coffee together, so I'll give you a free pass." You joked. "Two sugars and a splash of cream," you reminded him with a small smile.

"I swear I will never forget again." He promised, passing you his coffee to share.

"Let's sit back here" Colson's voice pulled you from your memory. As you followed him to the back of the coffee shop, you noticed photos of different famous musicians on each table.

"What's with the pictures?" You asked, gesturing towards a table with Kurt Cobains' face on it.

"They're all a part of the 27 club." He could tell by the expression on your face that you had no idea what that meant. "a bunch of artists and entertainers that died at the age of 27." Colson explained.

"Oh." you gasped, finally understanding the name of his coffee shop.

Colson led you to a table in the back corner. It was secluded enough to offer a little privacy from the rest of the customers. You took a seat, instantly noticing the photo that was on your table. It was him. Your narrowed eyes and knitted brows caught his attention, and he followed your gaze to determine the look of confusion on your face.

"You're 31." You stated the obvious.

"Yes, but most days I feel like my life ended when I was 27." He let out a small chuckle.

You took a sip of your coffee, waiting for Colson to elaborate further. Quickly getting distracted by the liquid in your cup. When the coffee first hit your tongue, you could taste a combination of floral and fruity notes, but as you swallowed, you noticed a nutty caramel tone. It was unique and unlike any other coffee, you had ever tried.

"Mmm," You hummed quietly, approving of the noteworthy java in your hand. "You remembered how I like my coffee." You said without thinking.

You regretted it almost instantly. You didn't want to discuss your past relationship or talk to Colson like old friends. You just wanted the explanation you deserved so you could be on your way. It wasn't necessary to spend any more time with him than need be. You didn't want to conjure up old feelings any more than you already had by being in this stupid city.

"I said I would never forget, didn't I?" He looked at you like you made the whole world spin, and for a moment, it was like time stood still.

"God. I'm so stupid." His words came out as a whisper as he looked away from you. Shame and guilt wallpapered his face. "I made the biggest mistake of my life by losing you, and it's something I'm never going to forgive myself for."

"Why'd you leave Colson?" You were blunt, and your words were shaky.

"Because y/n, you deserved better." He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "I was laying there with you in my arms that morning thinking to myself, 'how can I possibly love this amazing woman the way she deserves to be loved when I don't even like who I am."

The sadness in his voice was evident, and you could clearly see the pain in his glossy blue eyes. He hurt himself just as much as he had hurt you.

"I was the biggest fuck up on the planet. You sacrificed your happiness to be with me, to support my dreams, and be my biggest fan. . .I was selfish, and I took you for granted. I broke your heart, and somehow you still managed to see the best in me. It wasn't fair to you. -- Y/n, I had to go because I knew that staying would have been even more painful for you. I was a sinking ship that was burning, and I couldn't bear to be the reason you went down in flames too." A silent tear slid down his cheek.

You sat there speechless as you listened to the explanation you had waited years to hear. You hadn't even realized it, but at some point, you had started tearing up too. Colson reached over, wiping the tears from your face.

"I hate myself for fucking things up with you." He said, staring at you.

You didn't know what it was about him, but when you looked into those blue eyes, you saw a reflection of your soul staring back at you. He was your person, always had been, and always would be. You and Colson had a once-in-a-lifetime connection. The kind of connection that made you feel alive by just being near him, even the silence between you, was comfortable because you felt complete in each other's presence.

"You are worth so much more than second thoughts and maybes'. I am so sorry y/n" You could feel the emotion in Colson's words. His apology was like rain on a dehydrated garden. Grossly overdue, but miraculously just in time.

You sat in silence for a few moments before speaking. "Earlier, when you said you lost your life at 27, what did you mean?" You questioned.

"Y'know, everyone thought I was overreacting after our breakup. . ." He started. You had no idea where he was going with his response, but you let him continue." what they didn't get was how much of my life you really were. . .You were more than just another relationship down the drain. You were my past, my present, and my future. Y/n, you were my life."

At that moment, you understood why his photo sat on a table in that coffee shop. He was a part of the 27 club, not because he physically perished at 27, but because that was when he lost the only thing that ever made him feel alive, you.

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