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sophiethewitch1 · 1 year ago

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What We Want - Chpt. 3 - Dreams And...

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE) - PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHECK, THIS CHAPTER IS DARKER IN TONE!

PREV - NEXT

Your hands are pruned. It’s quiet in the extravagant bathroom, other than the sound of the tap’s running water and your own shaky breathing. This was all a bit much. Your hands are more than clean now, but you absolutely do not want to go back out there.

You kind of just want to go back into one of the stalls and cry. A core girlhood experience, except you were an adult with a job and taxes. Or, you were. You think you’re some rich scion or something in this dream. Which like, cool, who wants to slave under capitalism anyways?

…You wonder if anyone would notice if you slipped out the window. You’d been gone for a while and nobody had come looking for you, since you’d totally gotten lost trying to find the bathroom. Sure, you were on the third floor, but at this point you were willing to risk it. Even if you couldn’t walk in a straight line right now, much less climb the trellises. For some reason, you could not handle your liquor today like you usually could. But once again, this was all just a very vivid dream, so it wasn’t like you could die.

To punctuate that thought, you hear someone scream.

It cuts off instantly, and then there’s quiet again. You pause, then turn off the tap, listening for any more sound. Drip, drip, drip… you press the tap down again and properly turn it off. Still no noise. Immediately, you realise you are standing directly in a horror film. You live in Gotham for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t an unlikely occurrence. You’d gotten mugged just a few days ago.

And you were alone in the bathrooms. So unbelievably drunk, and alone in the bathrooms. You were actually so dead, it was crazy. A dream, a dream…!

Your head bows, staring into the white porcelain of the sink as you focus hard on your hearing. You don’t think you could hear the party before, but you’re not sure. It’s definitely not there now. You swallow the dry pain in your throat, trying to summon a modicum of courage. Your vision spins.

You slap your wet hands to your face and then blink through your fingers. God. Okay, okay, okay. You can do this. You survived a mugging just last week with only minimal bruising. To convince yourself of your badassery, you dig your fingers into the blemishes, hoping to wake yourself up with the pain. It’s a bad habit but you have lots of those.

…Where’s the pain? Oh god, where’s the pain? Wait, don’t panic, it’s a dream! Of course, you wouldn’t have your bruises in a dream. That made total sense. And you definitely weren’t panicking.

You splash more water on your face. Time to face the music, you drunken moron. If you were going to be in a horror movie, you’d be the final girl of all final girls.

One hand on the sink, you take your heels off. They’re going to get in the way, and the sound of them clicking against the marble will give away your location. Massaging your sore ankles, you try and come up with a game plan. You don’t know what’s going on, and it really could all just be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry and all that. It’s a gala full of some of the richest people on earth, and you’re pretty sure you saw a swat team of security guards at the entrance.

So this was probably a hostage situation or a villain attack. You’d hear more noise if it was a supervillain fighting a superhero downstairs. Then you’ll bet on a hostage situation for now. Depending on who had taken you all hostage, that could be a totally fine situation where you all just end up leaving with lighter purses, or it could be the Scarecrow’s shown up and he’s about to mentally traumatise you. Like you needed any more of that.

Of course, this was all probably still a dream. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll actually believe it. You’ll just plan ahead in case this is real (which it definitely isn’t). Plus you’d proven you could feel pain in this dream anyway, with all the times you’d slapped yourself. You hoped the fucking Tim Drake didn’t think you were too weird. Because he definitely thought you were weird.

It’s cool. You’re cool. You could handle this. You were a Gotham native after all. Totally cool. You have to force yourself not to gag on your own fear. Totally, absolutely, terrifically cool.

A few deep, calming breaths later, and you’re cracking the door of the lavatory open just an inch. You peer through the crevice, taking another deep breath when you don’t see anyone in the hallway. You push the door open a bit wider, peek your head around it to look the other way. Still empty. Another deep breath, you feel your chest rise and fall, and then you take the first step out onto the wooden floors. You wince at the slight noise the bare sole of your foot makes and hurry over to the long Persian rug to snuffle any more sounds.

And then you’re standing in the middle of the hallway in your ballgown, head swivelling back and forth as you try and catch any minuscule sounds, shoulders bunched up to your ears.

The first thing you need to check is the exits. Since you are on the third floor, and the banquet was on the first, you can assume that they’re well-guarded, but probably far away from you. Still, this is the Wayne Enterprises Tower, and there wasn’t just the party happening tonight. It was mostly empty as you’d seen but there’d been a few people you’d wandered past. They’d all seemed like late-night office workers, and the female janitor you’d bumped into was the one who had told you where the toilet was.

Was the janitor okay? Was that her scream you’d heard? Concentrate, dumbass. On airplanes, they tell you to put your mask on first before you do it for anyone else. The idea was the same here. Save yourself before you can hope to save anyone else.

That was… that was if you even needed saving. This could all still just be your own paranoia. Someone hit their knee on a ridiculously fancy side table or something. Like that scream wasn’t of pure terror. Like it didn’t sound like someone on death’s door.

Concentrate! Okay, check the stairs first. Don’t take the elevator, because you’re not an idiot. Maybe. Hopefully. Slowly but surely you creep your way back towards the entrance to the third level, where both the elevator and the stairs were. There was a map, too. You hadn’t been able to figure it out earlier, but you had a bit more incentive this time.

You make sure to place your feet carefully, aiming for the carpets and rugs. Even if your drunken steps miss half the time, you’re still mostly quiet. Every time you have to walk across a crossing you spend a minute listening, and then peer around every corner too. You’re not sure if you should be running, or if you really should try one of the windows.

Deep breaths. Keep moving. That’s the best course of action. Don’t get caught, but don’t just hide either.

It’s when you’re almost at the third-floor foyer when you hear something. There’s a crash, the sound of something breaking. No voices, though. Still, you can’t convince your body to move for a full minute. There’s a part of you that wants to go hide in an abandoned cubicle and wait, but there’s another part of you that is very aware of the rates of fires in this city. You keep going, taking a longer route to avoid the source of the crashing.

Another noise. A scream. Laughter. Spine-chilling laughter.

Shit, motherfucker. Why the hell did you get smashed at a fucking Wayne gala? Everybody knew the rogues of this city were totally obsessively in love with Bruce Wayne. Especially your own personal worst nightmare. You don’t dare even think his name, lest you summon the bastard.

Was he in Arkham right now? He should be. Like you should be at home in the Narrows getting a good night’s rest. Like you should be wearing dorky Flash pyjamas, not a dress more expensive than your rent.

He should be. It’s not nearly enough.

You realise, suddenly, that you have to make a choice here. You can walk away, pretend you didn’t hear anything, that you can’t hear anything. A woman’s cries, you think. You could leave her, save yourself. Hideaway and let whatever fate she’s facing befall her. Could you do that? Could you even stomach the idea?

In the end, the universe makes the decision for you.

“And who do we have here? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around?”

You hear your doom in his slimy voice, even though you didn’t hear him sneak up on you. Shaking, you raise your hands into the air, and slowly turn around. You see your doom in the twisted clown mask’s grin. For a second you think it’s really him, but then you notice his dark brown hair and the tanned skin under the mask. God, god, god. It’s a Joker goon. Your literal worst nightmare, given flesh. Is he here? No, no, no- You swallow down the urge to scream, to run, and do your best to keep thinking like a person and not a prey animal.

You feel like one. You think he knows that. You hope he doesn’t.

“Hey Travis, I found another one!” the man calls out, raising his gun to point at you. He jerks it, moving forward, and you turn back around obediently. The gun presses against the back of your head, and you move forward, obediently.

“Shithead, don’t say my name out loud!” another voice replies. You get to see its owner when you come around the corner and find the foyer.

There are five other people here, all tied up. Four seem to be exhausted office worker bees, who just stayed too late on the wrong day, and the last is the janitor who helped you. The kind lady gives you terrified eyes, but she’s the only one not crying among the hostages.

“Man, you worry too much. Like there aren’t hundreds of Travis’s in the city.”

“Just shut up, my god! If we leak info and it gets traced back to us, he’s docking our pay.”

Who’s he? Who’s fucking he?! He can’t be here, right? He fucking can’t be. You can’t, you can’t. God, you're going to vomit right here and now.

“Whatever. Anyway, this is the last person on this floor.”

“Check the feed again, dickhead,” the second one commands, obviously the leader between the two.

The one who caught you groans, and then you hear the sound of fabric shuffling. Is he looking at his phone? You wish you could turn around and look. You don’t dare with the barrel against you.

Your teeth dig into the side of your mouth. So did they have the security feeds? That meant you were doomed from the start. The only other option would’ve been to actually jump out one of the windows. They would’ve probably found you anyway. Hunted you down to meet their quota.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is looking like a big deal. And everybody knew Joker never left out on his big deal jobs, he enjoyed them too much. He’s probably downstairs demanding the Batman come meet him and have tea or something. Shit.

All of a sudden these goons seem like the much better end of the deal.

“Checked, checked, double-checked, triple-checked… There’s nobody else here,” the man behind you grumbles, and the one in front of you sighs.

“Alright, alright. Bring her over, I’ll tie her up, and then we can blow this joint,” the man says, and you really, really hope he’s not being serious about blowing this place. You’d had enough of explosions, thank you very much. Especially ones organised by the Joker.

The gun digs harshly into your skull, “Well, go on.”

Swallow, swallow down your fear. Don’t let it stop you. You walk forward to the other man, arms in the air shaking. When you’re in reaching distance, the second goon roughly grabs you and shoves you to your knees. He pushes your hands in front of you, not bothering to tie them behind you. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

The rope cuts into your skin. It’s going to leave marks, and bruises. The man finishes tying the knot and then pulls you back to your feet. Then he shoves you towards the elevator and turns to start picking up the other hostages. You turn so your back is toward the wall, not willing to have your eyes off the monsters for even a second.

It’s when he’s pushing one of the office workers towards you, that the second man speaks again.

“Hey, the boss said we had to kill one of ‘em.”

What? What did he say?

“Oh yeah, oops.”

The gunshot goes off before you can process the words. Before you can process the gunshot, the janitor’s body is crumpling to the floor. Before you can process her fall, blood is starting to seep from the wound in her chest. Before you can process any of that, the man behind you laughs.

He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

The janitor lies on the floor, blood seeping into her hair and uniform. You squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping over the lids. You refuse to look at the wound. At the gaping hole in her chest. And despite yourself, you know why they shot her, not you. Not any of the workers either.

Because she wasn’t worth the cash.

Yesterday, that would’ve been you on the floor. You were a fake wearing a fancy dress, who didn’t belong here at all. Still, they didn’t know that. You didn’t think anybody knew that. Not anyone but you, who had woken up in a world a little to the left.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Trav. I wanna play with this one for a bit,” the shooter says, and all of a sudden you’re thrown back into your body, into your frail mortality. You’re cold, your spine gives a shiver, and your horrified eyes find the wretched clown mask.

Like you said, your doom. You wish you weren’t right all the time.

“No way. She’s one of the high-profilers, we need her,” his leader replies, and you’re desperate to stick by his side. You didn’t think a Joker goon would be your saviour, but here you were.

“I’ll give you five K of my split,” he offers, not willing to let go of it. Of you.

The other one pauses, glances at you assessingly. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, something that tells you you’re not making it out of here unscathed. It’s something you recognise, something you even recognise inside yourself.

It’s greed. And it’s going to kill you. You always knew it would, you just didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Make it seven,” he finally announces, the deal for your soul made without any fuss or fanfare.

“You’re such a hardass. Fine, fine, seven it is.”

“Alright, and only thirty minutes, tops. Not a hair on her head, you understand me?” he says over his shoulder, waggling a finger at his coworker.

The group leaves through the elevator. It dings, and you watch in mute, stunned horror as the other hostages refuse to meet your gaze. As they abandon you to save their own asses. You couldn’t really blame them, as much as you wanted to. You were ready to do the same earlier.

“I think not even a hair is pushing it, right?” the creep says, finger reaching out for said hair. You jerk back out of his reach, an instinctual flinch. He grins, and lets his hand fall back to his side. You take a shaky step backward.

You’re trembling with fear. With the need to get away from this terror, this situation.

He gestures with his gun, pointing back in the direction of the branching hallways.

“Well, go on. Run.”

And God help you, you do.

Spinning on your heel, you flee to the echoing sound of his laughter. Your feet fall rhythmically against the marble floors, the sound of your bare soles far too loud. You can’t even do anything about it. There’s no option for stealth here, only the sort of hunt you’d expect to find in the woods.

Not here in civilised mankind’s territory. But this was Gotham, and the monsters often looked human.

You dart into a large room filled with tiny square cubicles. A call centre or something, a maze of low walls that are too small to hide behind. You keep going, teeth-gritting when his laughter cuts off. He’s taking this seriously, hunting you down. You think he’s done this before. ‘Played’ with people.

You can’t worry about those other poor victims, lest you become his next one.

Another crash, this time to your left. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, but when you look there’s only a broken lamp on the floor. You have to swallow down the urge to cry. He is. He’s playing with you. He’s having fun with it.

You keep running, passing by halls and offices and don’t stop running till you can’t. Out of breath. You’re out of breath. You bend over, the stitch in your side too much for you to stand. Why are you out of breath? You can run more than this. You often run more than this when you’re late for your morning train.

What’s going on? What’s happening to you?

A bang, behind you. You spin around. Don’t see anything.

He’s nearby. Right under your nose. You need to keep running, you have to. Through your panting you hear his laughter again, and that’s enough fear to get you moving again. Maybe you were in Arkham, arms strapped to your side and screams wailing down the halls.

You didn’t believe it. No, not in this moment. Not right now, as you run for your life. If you lived through this, you’d probably go back to thinking it was all a dream or a delusion.

But with that monster nearby, there’s nothing this could be but real. With sweat dripping down your neck, smearing your makeup. With the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest, in your ears. With the blind, all-consuming panic you’re in.

He’s real. And he’s coming for you.

You lift your tied hands and press them to your lips, muffling the sound of your harsh breathing and soft sobs. Heart beating out of your ribcage, you push your body even as it screams for you to stop. You’re flagging. Vision’s swimming, and you can feel bile creeping up your throat. You can’t keep doing this. You need to keep doing this.

For a moment, you stop to catch your breath. And he catches you too.

You scream, tugging at the rough grip on him. He swings you around into a wall, and again, you cry out. Side throbbing with pain, singing with it. Still, you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not safe, not safe, not safe. You push back against him, and he pushes back against you. Your drunken state is no match, and you tumble down onto the carpet. When he laughs, you look up at him, and he down at you.

The goon’s plastic mask merges with the Joker’s mutilated face, until you can’t tell the difference.

You aren’t the type to fight back. It’s just not instinctual to you. But when you hear his belt buckle clack, your foot kicks out before you can even think. You hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking him backward, and then you scramble away from underneath him.

“You bitch!”

He grabs you by the nape of your neck, yanking you backwards. You choke, hands grasping desperately at the grip around your throat, but he offers no relent. You’ve pissed him off. That doesn’t mean you can stop, can give up. You can’t stop fighting. Can’t stop struggling. Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop-

The gun clicks. You freeze.

“Yeah, figured you’d be more obedient if I did that. Now, get up,” his voice is breathy, from the high of the chase or the hit you delivered, you’re not sure.

You hope it’s the latter. You hope this fucker drops and dies, right on the spot. You’re not that lucky, though.

Ah, your hands are hurting again. Not just the one, but both. Maybe you touched something. An allergic reaction of some sort. It shouldn’t be distracting you, it shouldn’t even be noticeable in the situation you’re in but god. The itchy heat is nearly as unbearable as the evil cretin in front of you.

“You think you’re gonna get away with that? I’m so fucking sick and tired of you whores who think you matter anything. You don’t, and I’m going to help you realise that,” he rants. His eyes are red through the tiny slits in the mask. Angry, dangerous, on the edge.

“Please, look I’m sorry,” you stutter out, stinging hands in the air. You want to run, but you think he’ll shoot if you do.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuck corpses.”

No, that doesn’t sound very lucky at all, actually. No, this seems like maybe it might turn out to be the new worst moment of your life. You don’t think it can get much worse than this, than the next moments that will pass. And it’s too much. It’s too, too much. Your palms are itchy and there’s a gun pointed between your eyes and the goon’s licking his lips and oh my god you’re going to die from an allergy before the bullet and-

And you just want it all to stop. You want it so desperately. You want the man in front of you to disappear, to never exist again, to go right down to hell where he belongs. You just want him gone.

Your hands stop hurting. The burning heat disappears. It’s quiet again. You can’t hear him laughing, the awful slick sound of him licking his lips. You can’t feel the cool iron on your forehead, the heat from his body so close. You can’t smell his sweaty stench. Your eyes open.

…There’s no gun. There’s no man.

You crumple to the ground with a relieved sob. Fisted hands lift to your eyes, as big blubbery tears stream down your face. Your shoulders shake with your cries. Your heart is screaming in your chest, trying to beat out of it. He’s gone, somehow. You’re alive, somehow. You’re not dead with a bullet in your brain, somehow. Somehow, somehow, somehow.

An impossibility. It’s an impossibility, and you’re so goddamn grateful for it.

As always, you don’t give yourself long to cry. Even as your tears still fall, even as you lick them off your mouth, tasting salt and lipstick and fear, you push to your feet shakily. You almost fall over with your hands still tied, shouldering the wall next to you for balance. You don’t have time to cry. No time to process what just happened. You need to get to safety.

You creep back into the main area, heart pounding in your ears, breath hiccuping. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get there. Ten minutes, thirty, maybe even an hour. When you try the staircase door, it doesn’t open. You yank on the handle, grab a chair and try and smash it in, but it stands strong. Fuck. You try the elevator as a last-ditch effort, but the buttons don’t respond.

You press your overheated forehead to the cool metal. Okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You turn around and storm back into the cubicle space, find one at the edge of the room with a clear view of all the doors, and tuck yourself under the desk. Pulling your knees to your chest, you resist the urge to rock yourself like a baby.

And you sit there, and you watch, and you wait. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass, you are not moving from this spot. It doesn’t matter how heavy your lids feel, how the adrenaline leaving your body has you sagging.

You’re not going to sleep. It’s not safe, and you’re not dying today. You’re simply not.\

You’re not allowed to.

A hand touches your shoulder, and you snap awake. Your fist slings out at the would-be attacker, but they dodge it smoothly. When you rear up for another, they move back, hands in the air in a show of surrender. Panting, you don’t lower the fist, your vision swimming.

It’s the Joker. But the Joker wouldn’t back up, right? And the Joker isn’t red, he’s green and purple.

It takes a while for the Joker’s pale, laughing face to disappear. But when you blink and he’s gone, you find someone else underneath. A red mask, a man you think you recognise from TV. A vigilante. God, you hated the vigilantes in Gotham.

Not more than the Joker. Not more than him.

The man stays a safe distance away, gloved hands firmly in the air. He’s tall, really tall. Broad-shouldered, scary. But he’s a vigilante, right?

Is he here to save you? Someone should've by now. The bastard's late then.

He says your name, you think. You can’t hear him properly. Wait no, it’s a nickname, one you haven’t heard in years. You could barely remember your mother calling you that as she tucked you in, as she told you she loved you over the phone, as she disappeared from the world entirely.

You hadn’t let anyone call you that since.

How does he know that name? How does this bastard know your name?

“-hurt? Hey, hey. Listen to me, are you hurt anywhere?” his voice is deep and warbled through the red metal mask, his eyes peering down at you through his domino. You just stare at him, eyes wide, barely breathing.

You need to know how he knows. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to him, and after a moment, he takes it in his own firm grip. It’s awkward, as you’re still sitting half under the desk and he’s trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Still, his hand is warm through the leather, grounding, keeping you from drifting off into panic and fear. Into your worst nightmares come to life.

Because this was real. It didn’t matter that it was impossible, it was real. You simply couldn’t deny it any longer, this was all real.

You stare at this stranger’s gloved hand like it holds the answers to the universe. It might, in the end. It really just might. It wasn’t like the universe was making much sense at the moment.

“She seems fine. Uninjured, if a bit shocked. Doesn’t seem to have a concussion. Hardly responding anyway,” Red Hood speaks, but not to you. An earbud, you think. Superheroes used wiretaps and things like that all the time, right?

If you could even consider Red Hood a superhero. Everybody knew he had his own gang. Of course, even as your very life is being saved, it’s by a morally grey hero who runs around with crowbars and guns. Ah, you’re crying again.

You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t let yourself cry anymore. And you’d managed it, mostly. You think you’ll give yourself a pass for today, just a little one. You hold this stranger’s hand, and you cry.

You just cry. You cry, and you hold the hand of some stranger you hate, because you have to.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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vampirefest · 5 months ago

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Hello, dearest companions in the darkness! Have you missed us, because we've been longing and yearning for you these past long months!

Kinktober ♥︎ is right around the corner and for our second edition of the event, we've compiled some sexy vampire-themed prompts just for you. Check out the list of prompts, and the rules and guidelines below.

We can't wait to see you in October ♥︎

Prompts

WEEK 1: PASSION

♡ Day 1: Coffin

♡ Day 2: Mutual Masturbation

♡ Day 3: Clothed Sex

♡ Day 4: Telepathic / Phone

♡ Day 5: Threesome

♡ Day 6: Shower / Bath

WEEK 2: OBSESSION

♡ Day 7: Dirty Talk

♡ Day 8: Hate sex

♡ Day 9: Outdoors / Public

♡ Day 10: Stalking

♡ Day 11: Biting / Marking

♡ Day 12: Touch Starved

♡ Day 13: Edging

WEEK 3: DEVOTION

♡ Day 14: Body Worship

♡ Day 15: Master / Slave

♡ Day 16: Bondage / Restraints

♡ Day 17: Soft And Sweet

♡ Day 18: Aftercare

♡ Day 19: Toys

♡ Day 20: Praise Kink

WEEK 4: FASCINATION

♡ Day 21: Oral Fixation

♡ Day 22: Feeding Kink

♡ Day 23: Mirror Sex

♡ Day 24: Voyeurism

♡ Day 25: Fingers

♡ Day 26: Nipple Play

♡ Day 27: Interspecies / Monsterfucking

WEEK 5: EXPRESSION

♡ Day 28: Lingerie / Striptease

♡ Day 29: Mask / Incognito

♡ Day 30: Leather

♡ Day 31: Costume / Roleplay

Rules and guidelines

This event is 18+ only since it's focused on NSFW content. Not all fills need to be NSFW, but as the perverts that we are, we highly encourage you to get freaky with it.

All adaptations and versions of the characters are welcome; books, comics, the 1994 film, or the AMC TV show. You can specify which in your post if you think it's relevant.

There are 31 prompts, one for each day, but feel free to use multiple prompts per creation or mix and match as you like.

All fan creations are welcome; fanfiction, fanart, fanvids, edits, podfics, whatever you feel inspired to create.

We are firm believers of “don't like don't read”, so be sure to curate your experience if there are any prompts you don't vibe with.

This is a low-pressure event—whether you fill one day or all of them, the aim is to have fun and be creative.

Cross-posting with other events is welcome, just be sure to satisfy the requirements for this event.

You can share your work on any platform you like. If you make a post here on Tumblr or Twitter, tag us and we'll reblog it.

Reblogs are spread throughout the day, so don’t worry if yours isn’t up immediately. But if you think we missed it you can DM us.

In your post please include the following:

Tag with #vfkinktober2024 and/or tag this blog @ vampirefest

Which Day/Prompt you have filled

Any relevant ratings to indicate if the fill is NSFW *Tumblr automatically suppresses any posts with explicit tags so we advise our creators not to tag NSFW if the post itself is not explicit but only links to the explicit version on another site (AO3, Twitter etc.)

Any relevant sensitive tags or trigger warnings—we want to take care of our little community, so please tag appropriately.

You can also add the characters or ship names.

Example of how reblogs will be tagged:

#vfkinktober2024 #day #[prompt being filled] #[type of content; fanart, fanfic etc.] #[trigger warnings that we get from your post] tw #[ship name or pairing]

AO3 Collection

The Vampire Fest AO3 collection will open on October 1st. You can find it here.

We’ll also keep the collection open after October 30th for any late submissions.

How to add your works to the AO3 collection:

Go to [Edit Work] on AO3 and type VFkinktober2024 in the [Post to Collections / Challenges] box that is located below [Summary] and [Notes] and it should pop up in the suggestions.

You can also go to the collection main page and hit the [post to collection] button.

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atleastpleasetelephone · 21 days ago

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Gentle On My Mind - Chapter 10

Initially set in 1967 when Elvis is filming Clambake. Feeling miserable and trapped after the Colonel banishes Larry and the spiritual texts, Elvis invites Gloria to keep him company through the last five days of filming. Gloria is an aspiring movie editor and more importantly she's a lot of fun. Will she be what Elvis needs to get him out of the depressive funk he's in?

Catch up with the other parts here.

Many thanks to @sissylittlefeather being my beta reader on this one.

A/N: My regular warning that there are still some dark themes here, please do check the triggers.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Gloria, a budding film editor.

Word count: 3.2K

TWs: Reference to sexual assault (not Elvis-related), trauma, crying, smut, size kink.

Gloria spends a dizzying couple of days in Elvis’ suite and downstairs watching him perform. That Sunday night he tells her that he hates the fact he hasn’t been able to send her birthday gifts, but he has been buying them anyway and he presents her with an armful of dresses and shoes and jewellery. When she tells him she can’t possibly take that home and have Roger see any of it he promises to keep it in Graceland for her, stroking her cheek and telling her that it’ll be waiting for when she’s ready to live with him. She doesn’t know how to tell him she doesn’t think that will ever happen, so she stays quiet.

He asks if she wants to come to the midnight show, after one show in the afternoon and the usual dinner one. She shakes her head wearily.

“I’m so tired, baby. I really want to see you again, I just need to rest for a bit. I can’t get on your schedule…”

He nods a little sadly but he lets her go to bed. If she sleeps now she might stay awake after the show for the afterparty. He follows her into the bedroom and watches as she gets changed awkwardly, trying not to show him her body.

She flops onto the bed and looks up at him, stretching like a cat. “Have a good show baby.”

“Thanks Glory, I will, I hope.” He sits down on the side of the bed and she curls herself around him, making him smile.

“You know how usually you have people in here, afterwards…” she starts, slightly unsure.

He nods silently.

“You think… maybe tonight it could be just us?”

He feels himself about to say that he likes to have plenty of people around him for company and to help him wind down after the shows… and then he realises this might be the first time she’s ever asked him for anything.

“Sure, princess. Anything for you.”

***

Gloria manages about an hour’s sleep and then starts drinking espresso martinis that she orders from room service in an attempt to keep herself awake and simultaneously get herself a little drunk. She checks her finger and toenails for chips and then curls her hair, applying makeup carefully afterwards. Spraying a little perfume, she steps out of her nightclothes. She’s set the jacuzzi going and it’s warm and bubbly. Checking the time, she takes a deep breath and then gets in. He should be back from the concert in the next few minutes, if the other nights are anything to go by. She’s hoping and praying he hasn’t suddenly decided to bring one of the guys back with him.

***

Elvis and Jerry are on their way back to the suite together when Elvis remembers what Gloria said and thinks maybe her request included the guys too. His bitches, she always used to call them. He chuckles to himself.

“Hey, Jer, I think ya should probably make yourself scarce for a few hours.”

Jerry shrugs. “Sure. You got plans?”

Elvis smirks. “Glory does.”

Jerry finds himself blushing a little, thinking of Gloria getting herself all dolled up for Elvis after his show. He tries to pull himself together.

“Have a good time!” He slaps the other man on the back and then turns and walks back down the corridor as quickly as he can.

Elvis looks after him, feeling mildly confused. Shaking his head a little to clear it, he carries on towards the suite. They still hadn’t had sex this weekend, the combination of her shyness about her body and their inability to be awake at the same time didn’t help. But maybe tonight…

He pushes the door open and calls her name.

“In here, big boy,” she calls back.

Frowning a little, he wanders through the suite, listening to the sound of her voice as she keeps calling out to him. Finally working out that she’s in the huge bathroom, and then looking in to see her stretched out in the bubbly jacuzzi, a glass of wine in hand.

He blinks. “Oh my…” His eyes drink her in, her hair piled up on the top of her head in a mountain of curls, red lipstick and smokey eyes, and obviously nothing on. Thank God he’d told Jerry to get lost.

Gloria grins. “C’mon. Get in.”

Elvis doesn’t need telling twice, shedding his clothes quickly and getting in at the other side of the bath.

“Well I wasn’t expecting this,” he breathes, accepting the glass of wine she’s offering him.

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I’m sorry we’ve not… it’s not like me.”

None of it had been like the girl he first met, he reflects. But that was five years ago now, and he’s certainly changed too. He smiles.

“Well it’s a wonderful surprise,” he tells her, his hand reaching to stroke her thigh. “Don’t get much use out of this thing usually.”

“No?” She teases. “I’d have thought you’d have it full of glamorous women all the time.”

He stares at her for a moment, and then remembers that she did used to be like this. Unbothered by whoever else he might have in his bed when she wasn’t there.

“Only one at a time, usually. I’m not as young as I used to be…” he jokes.

She grins. “Okay, so you know what you're doing then. What's your usual next move?”

“If I've already got to the naked in a hot tub stage?” He asks. “Well, I guess I'd probably take this glass from you and kiss you properly.”

He moves across the tub, taking the wine glass from her hand and setting it on the side. His hand cups her cheek as he starts to kiss her, his body half-floating and half-pressed against hers. Her hands move to the back of his neck, fingers pushing into his hair as the kiss deepens and she thinks about how much she’s missed this. Being touched by someone who wants her. She slides a hand between them and wraps it around his dick, stroking it slowly up and down as they continue to kiss. She can feel herself getting excited but at the same time her stomach is doing flips thinking about what might come next. The last time her and Roger had sex it was quick and unpleasant. She’d just closed her eyes and gritted her teeth and waited for it to be over. The last time she’d actually had a good time with someone else had been Elvis, after the show in Frisco last year. Somehow she’d managed to be carefree then, once she’d got the fainting and the crying over and done with. But now in the hot tub she can feel herself getting tense as his hand slips between her legs and starts to play with her, and her mind is going at a million miles an hour thinking of what she’ll do next and what he might do next and what could go wrong. She’s never over-thought in her life. What the fuck is happening?

“C-can we stop?” She finds herself asking, pulling away from him and the kiss.

Elvis is a little shocked, and Elvis is also more than a little turned on. So he says something he shouldn’t.

“Oh baby, come on. It’s been such a long time.”

Gloria feels herself freeze as the words echo around her head. The same words Roger used, that night when he… well. She feels Elvis’ hands on her, the hands of another man she’s frustrating, another man who wants something she’s not willing to give. And suddenly she’s gone from fright to flight and she’s scrambling out of the hot tub, knocking over the wine glass and hearing it smash on the side as she runs from the room, desperately trying to get to the bedroom where her clothes are. She can hear footsteps behind her and his voice calling out her name and it just makes her run faster, desperate to escape. She barrels into the door and almost knocks herself out when she finds it closed. Standing there, swaying, she feels arms around her waist and hears a gentle voice in her ear.

“Glory… Glory, it’s me… shh… it’s okay.”

Her body relaxes when she hears his voice, his tone, his pet name for her. She flops against him and he wraps her in a towel and then picks her up in his arms, carrying her into the bedroom and onto the bed. He pulls on a robe himself and then sits down next to her, concern etched onto his face.

“Baby I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” he scratches his head. He’s not sure what he didn’t mean to do, exactly. “Are ya okay?”

She stares back at him. She is not okay. “No… I… I don’t know.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Sorry. This was meant to be a fun time in the hot tub and I freaked out.”

He reaches over and strokes her cheek gently. “Can I get ya anything? Anything that would make ya feel better?”

She sighs. “I knocked over the wine glass.” Looking forlornly across the room.

“I’ll get ya some more. Hold on.”

She watches him walk away and feels her stomach knot. She wants him so much but he’d reminded her of Roger in that one moment and it had really, really scared her. He comes back with the wine and doesn’t ask any more questions, just sits with his arm around her, kissing her temple and telling her how pretty she is. Eventually they talk a little about his show and what he plans to do tomorrow, and then she gathers her courage and puts her glass down on the bedside table.

“Can we go back to what we were doing?” She asks, her hand on his arm. “But… take it slow?”

He nods. “Of course.” His hand gently pushes her towel open and his thumb caresses one of her nipples. “Is this okay?”

She nods and presses her lips against his, her hand reaching to undo his robe. She starts to gently stroke him again, and he moans into her mouth, pulling back to look at her.

“I’ve missed the way you do this.”

She can feel herself welling up when he says that, and she has to take a couple of deep breaths to stop herself from crying.

“Can I touch you too?” He asks, softly, his hand slowly moving over her belly.

“Yes please.”

She lets out a shaky breath as he runs his finger up her pussy and then around her clit.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

He’s being so gentle and careful with her she finds herself starting to relax, just feeling the sensations in her body rather than wondering what will come next. His fingers slip around and inside her with ease as she gets wetter, and he starts to want more. He slides his leg between hers and takes hold of his dick, gently displacing her hand. Running the tip against her pussy, he hears her gasp, and then rearranges slightly so that he can rub against her without his hand being involved.

“Is this okay?”

His eyes search hers for any sign of fear but she just stares back at him with full-blown lust.

“Yeah… fuck… it’s better than okay…”

She moans as he kisses her neck, one hand holding her leg to give him access to rub his dick against her pussy again and again.

“Can I…?” He asks, a few minutes later when he’s not sure how much more of this delicious torture he can take.

She nods.

He presses his forehead against hers, stopping his movements for a moment. “Tell me if you want me to stop and I’ll stop.”

She nods again, then manages a whispered “I’ll tell you.”

He shifts again and starts to push inside her, pulling her leg up and over his hip as he very slowly fucks her with the tip. She whimpers. She’d forgotten just how big he was, and even this is stretching her uncomfortably. Her mind keeps slipping back to that night with Roger, when she told him no and he forced himself on her anyway.

“Elvis I… I can’t…”

He pulls back and takes a deep breath. Fuck.

“You can’t?” He tries to keep his voice calm and level, but it’s difficult. It’s difficult not being allowed to have what he wants so badly.

“I want to,” she whispers. “I just… since the baby…”

Elvis tries his level best to think, rather than just act, for a change. Lately with everything that had been going on in his life, he’d struggled to do anything other than react. Which tended to involve a lot of yelling, throwing things, getting angry quickly and then apologising. But he can’t do any of that to his Glory, no matter how frustrated he might be in this moment. She seems delicate right now, for reasons he can’t understand, so he tries to treat her like an expensive china vase.

“How about I make ya feel good, hm? And then if you want, we could try again? Ya might be a little more… relaxed.”

It’s something he’s done before with her and with other girls. They did sometimes get put off by the sheer size of him and clam up, although he’s not sure why that would happen to Glory now.

Gloria kisses him gently on the lips and then nods. “Okay. Let’s try that.”

He gently rolls her onto her back and then settles himself between her legs. He doesn’t want to rush this, to make her think he’s just trying to get to his own pleasure. Anyway, this is his own pleasure. He loves going down on girls, sometimes a lot more than he enjoys sex. There’s always an element of danger when it comes to sex with a random girl, and although he’s adept at pulling out at the right moment, he never feels like he can really let go and enjoy himself. He can enjoy himself here though, he thinks, as he buries his face in Gloria’s pussy and listens to her moans. He can get right into the moment, whatever that moment might be. Tease and denial, romance, tongue-fucking. He’s even been known to lick an ass or two, recently, if the fancy takes him. And right now it’s a great excuse to watch her letting go too, losing her inhibitions and grabbing his head as her pussy pulses around his tongue. He kisses and licks and sucks until his name is echoing around the room, her hips are bucking up into his face and he starts to worry about clumps of his hair being pulled out.

“Fuck. Elvis. Oh God.”

He grabs the towel that’s still on the bed and wipes his face with it before pressing kisses to her neck again, pulling her leg over the top of his and holding her body close. His dick is throbbing with need, but he just keeps kissing and holding her as she comes down from her orgasm.

“Let me do it,” she says quietly, after a while.

“Huh?” He feels like she’s saying yes but he wants her so badly at this point he’s starting to wonder if he’s making things up.

“Here.”

She moves her leg so it’s thrown high over his hip, then reaches between her legs for his dick, slowly easing it into her pussy. It’s definitely not as difficult as earlier, but she’s still tight and he’s still big. She rearranges again, one hand guiding his dick as the other grips his ass, encouraging a slow rhythm, each thrust pushing him inside just a little further. She groans when she feels him finally fill her completely, her hands going to his back and the back of his head.

He waits, with all the patience he can possibly muster, for her to tell him that it’s okay to move. She’s so tight around him he’s not sure how long he can last, even in this slightly weird position. He doesn’t know why, but he knows this is the only way she’d want to do it, lying facing one another, wrapped up in each other’s limbs.

She looks at him and nods, only a tiny little movement, but he knows what it means, and starts to slowly thrust in and out of her, watching her and feeling her.

“Oh Glory,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of her head, the other on her ass. His hot breath on her ear. “My girl.”

She whimpers softly at the words. She hasn’t heard him call her that for a long time.

“You feel so good, big boy.”

He moans. “Fuck. So do you.”

He rolls his hips into her again and again, slow, gentle movements, deliberate lovemaking. It feels so good, but even though he thought she was so tight he might just come immediately, he needs more.

“Baby, this feels so good but I really need to come…”

She nods and lets him pull her on top of him as he rolls onto his back, his hands moving to her ass to help her move faster on his dick, curses and moans falling from his lips as he gets closer. He puts his feet up on the bed so he has something to push against as he starts to fuck her from underneath, harder and faster until he finally feels himself start to come undone, grunting and moaning and holding her hips whilst he empties himself inside her.

“Shit. Fuck.”

She falls forwards, her head on his chest, panting as he wraps his arms around her. He’s lying there, completely blissed out, when he suddenly thinks of something.

“Fuck. Should I have pulled out?”

She shifts to look at him, shaking her head. “No. I’m on the pill.”

He frowns a little. “Thought he didn’t want to sleep with you? What d’you need to be on the pill for?”

Gloria sighs. “He doesn’t want to sleep with me. I don’t want to talk about Roger right now, Elvis. I want to lie here with you.”

Again, Elvis holds back. He thinks there’s something wrong here, she’s lying about something, but he can’t work out what it is. But this is their last night together, and judging by the other two nights, she’ll be asleep soon. He has to make the most of the time they have.

They talk a little more, him trying to persuade her to divorce Roger and move to Graceland with him, and her explaining again that it’s not all that simple.

“I have to find a job, my kids won’t just feed themselves.”

“What about your daddy? Surely he’d help you out?”

“My dad thinks he’s handed me off to Roger now. He’s not going to help me. This is all my problem.”

“Well if he won’t then I will.”

“No, Elvis. I can’t take your money. I’ll be fine, it just might take a while.”

“And then you’ll come and live with me?”

She rubs his chest, leaning her head against and not meeting his eyes whilst she lies to him.

“Yeah. Sure. Then we’ll come and live with you.”

***

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mlmxreader · 1 month ago

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Appreciate The Company | Kuai Liang x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ “Come a little closer” With Kuai Liang please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Kuai Liang both have a crush on one another, and it's only thanks to Johnny Cage that either of you find out about it.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ Help Mahmoud and Family Rebuild their life

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You watched from afar as Kuai Liang gave a lesson to his men; perched on a rock in a white fluffy coat that Johnny had said made you look like a stand-in for an East 17 music video, you stood out easily.

The little wave that Kuai Liang gave you between breaks never failed to make your heart skip and pound amongst your ribs, worried that they might break sooner or later; you couldn't tell him, though.

Kuai Liang was a Grandmaster, he was a man of authority and respect and you were... Johnny Cage's friend. Nothing exactly special, nothing exactly deserving of a man of Kuai Liang's calibre.

Your phone went off, and you checked it to see a message from Johnny; he kept trying to get you to tell him how you felt, and as your self-appointed wingman, Johnny wasn't going to go two minutes without posting you about it - you weren't sure what was worse between that and Kung Lao backing him up on it.

You decided to ignore it when you noticed the man of every single hour coming over to you; you tried not to grin, your face feeling warm as you cleared your throat and curtly nodded at him.

"Grandmaster."

"Please," he said gruffly. "Kuai Liang."

You shook your head. "Oh, no, I couldn't, I-"

"Why not?" He frowned, furrowing his brows together.

You shrugged as you rubbed the back of your neck, a little embarrassed. "I, I just mean, y'know, you're the erm, the grand Mister- I mean Grandmaster! I, I couldn't do you a dist, disrespect like that."

Casually, Kuai Liang gestured to the rock beside you. "May I?"

You nodded, moving over a little. "Yeah! Yeah, sure thing, I mean, I mean, this is your, your home after all and I'm just-"

"More than a guest," he told you softly with a smile. "This is your home, too."

"I couldn't, I-"

"Why are you always so nervous to speak to me?" He asked quietly, almost like he was saddened by the thought.

You cleared your throat as you tried to steady your words. "I just, I... well, you know, you're... you're very... very nice."

Kuai Liang smiled a little as he patted your knee gently. "Johnny Cage told me."

Your eyes went wide as your jaw dropped; gawking at him as all ability to form words completely left you. Stunned was not quite the word, a massive underexaggeration.

He laughed softly, scratching his bearded chin. "Don't worry, it was either he was going to tell me... or he was going to tell you. I didn't want you to have that embarrassment."

"But..." You took a moment to steady your breath. "But you... you feel the same?"

He nodded, holding his hand out. "Would you please come a little closer?"

You shakily took his hand and allowed him to tug you closer as he took your other hand and gazed at you. He didn't look, he fucking gazed.

"Grandmaster..."

"Kuai Liang," he protested with a gentle laugh. "Listen... I've never... I've never thought for once about romance, and... and I am rusty in that department. But for you? I would give it a try."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, feeling as if you were going to put the back of your hand to your forehead and fall backwards like all those silly cliche murder mystery films. "You... wait... you don't... you don't..."

"I feel the same as you do," he said with a soft laugh. "Would you... allow me to court you?"

You nodded slowly. "Erm. Okay. Yeah."

He gently took your hand again, and softly kissed the back of it just below your knuckles. "I have a free day today - Raiden is going to give my men some lessons on self defence... would you like to come on a walk with me?"

You nodded again. "Okay."

Slowly, Kuai Liang stood up, and gave you his hand to hold as he smiled; when you fell into step beside him, he grinned as he felt you swing your hand a little bit. He guided you through the woods, letting you stop to admire a particularly interesting looking few plants; he wasn't expecting you to ask him to catch a snowball and throw it back.

He laughed softly when it exploded against your hands.

"Is this your idea of flirting?" He asked, tugging you close. He realised he had brought you too close when he could not take his eyes from your mouth.

You laughed nervously. "Too much?"

He shook his head, the tip of his nose grazing against yours. "Take this at your own pace, my love. If this isn't our first date, then so be it. I don't mind."

"I am just so fucking nervous," you breathed out. "I don't wanna fuck up, and I don't think you deserve me because I'm just some... some randomer Johnny introduced you to and... and I just don't think I'm good enough, and-"

He grabbed your face and kissed you softly; your hands went to his wrists, and you kissed him back as you smiled. It was all the reassurance that you needed as you laughed softly.

"Sorry," you whispered.

He shook his head. "Was that alright?"

You nodded as you licked your lips. "It was... it was alright, yeah."

"Can I..." he paused to swallow thickly. "Can I do it again?"

You nodded, a little bit more warmed up to the idea. "Please do."

He kissed you with the same chaste softness, and when you smiled into it, so did he.

"Shall we keep walking?" He whispered. "I'll let you throw more snowballs to me - maybe I can even make them a little tougher so they won't explode against your hands?"

You laughed as you nodded eagerly. "I would like that... maybe... when we get back, can I, erm... can I share your bed? Not in that way! I just mean, you know... take a nap with you?"

Kuai Liang grinned as he linked his arm with yours and fell into step beside you. "I would appreciate the company."

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queenshelby · 6 months ago

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Our Little Secret (Part 61)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers, Smut

After the initial shock of the night, Mara had recovered quickly and, about ten days after the incident, you found yourself packing some bags to take Mara onto her first trip since you separated from Cillian.

You were going to visit him after all, in Liverpool, for an entire week while he was filming so that he could spend some time with Mara.

The idea was for you to stay in a separate unit with Mara, inside the apartment/hotel building rented out for the cast and crew and seeing that Cillian was an executive producer on the movie, he did not need approval for this.

"Nappies, check," you murmured under your breath as you walked through your house, making sure you had everything you needed for the trip. "Wipes, check," you muttered again, ticking off the items in your head.

"Toys, change of clothes... I think that's everything," you said to no one in particular before making your way back to Mara who was playing quietly on the floor while your best friend Emma roamed through your closet.

"How about this? Or that? Or maybe both?" Emma suggested, holding up a silky black blouse and a pair of distressed jeans.

You couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm. "Em, I am not going out to party while I am away. I am going there so that Mara can see her dad and spend some time with him," you said, shaking your head as you turned to face her.

Emma held up her hands in surrender, a sheepish look on her face. "Okay, okay. I got it. No partying. Just quality time with your baby daddy and Mara. Got it," she said, smiling brightly before pulling out some lingerie.

"How about this then?" Emma suggested, holding up a lacy bra and panty set. "I mean, it's still part of quality time with your baby daddy, right?" she winked at you playfully.

"Oh god, no! I am not going down that route again, Em! Cill and I are in a good place right now I think, and I am not planning on rocking the boat just because I want to get laid," you said , turning your nose up at the lingerie.

Emma raised her eyebrows at you, completely taken aback by your response. "Alright then, okay. No funny business while you're away," she said, trying not to laugh while you quickly disappeared into the bathroom to pack your toiletries and escape the conversation.

Just as you were in the bathroom however, Emma grabbed the lingerie and shuffed it into the suitcase, right beneath one of your favorite jumpers, just in case you changed your mind. "Okay, I think that's everything now. Thanks for helping me Emma," you called out, emerging from the bathroom and taking one more look through the room. Mara was still quietly playing on the floor, seemingly unbothered by the chaos around her.

"It's no problem, happy to help. Plus, it's not like I have anything else to do today. I am sick of my folks after moving back in with them. They have been a nightmare to deal with," Emma continued. Her words echoed off the walls of the bedroom, a testament to the pent-up frustration simmering beneath her surface.

"Are they still fighting?" you asked with some concern, seeing how her parents have had a troubled relationship with each other.

" I wish I could say no, but unfortunately, yes. The same old arguments about my dad not being present enough for them or about his drinking sometimes. It's like a broken record. I really wish something would change," Emma admitted, her voice tinged with sadness and frustration.

"I know this might not be of much help long term, but you could stay here if you like, especially while I am away, and even after I come back, if you don't mind some sleepless nights of course," you offered, hoping that this might alleviate some of the stress that Emma was dealing with.

Emma's eyes lit up at the offer, but then they clouded with guilt. "I can't impose on you like that, Y/N. You have Mara to take care of now and having me stay here would only make things more complicated. I don't want to intrude," she said, biting her bottom lip nervously.

"You wouldn't be intruding at all," you assured her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I insist. It would be great to have some company, and you wouldn't have to deal with your parents' arguments all the time. Plus, I know how much you love Mara and me of course," you winked and Emma hesitated, looking conflicted for a moment before ultimately giving in to the idea. "Alright, I'll take you up on the offer," she said, finally relenting. "But I'll contribute in any way I can.

I'll help with the groceries, or cook dinner, or even babysit Mara so you can go out and have some time for yourself," Emma offered, a sincere expression on her face and, with that, you found yourself a temporary roommate.

***

The following day, your new roommate even drove you and Mara to the airport

, This was the first time you were flying alone with Mara, even if it was only for a short trip. As the plane took off and you felt the familiar sensation of weightlessness, Mara gripped your hand tightly, a nervous grin on her face. You couldn't help but smile back, feeling a wave of protectiveness and love wash over you.

Cillian was waiting for you at the arrivals gate, a huge grin on his face when you emerged, bundled up against the cold Liverpool air. He had managed to take half the day off, rescheduling some of his scenes to another day, which was something that wasn't easy to do.

"Hey there, munchkin," he said, kneeling down to Mara's level and giving her a gentle hug. Mara giggled and wriggled, calling out 'dada', in her stroller, clearly thrilled to see her dad.

"Hey," you responded, feeling a little shy all of a sudden. You weren't sure why - you and Cillian had been on good terms now. But something about the way he was looking at you, with those intense blue eyes and that little crooked smile, made your heart skip a beat. Or maybe it was the haircut which, to you, looked fabulous on him.

"Hey you," he responded, his voice soft and gentle, before giving you a hug as well. "Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it," he smiled at you, his hand lingering on the small of your back as he guided you towards the carousel to pick up your luggage. The gesture was comforting and familiar, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you as you realized how much you had missed Cillian's presence in your life with all that chaos between you and him having been away filming.

As you navigated through the bustling airport, you couldn't help but notice how many people were staring at Cillian. It wasn't surprising, of course - he was incredibly attractive, with his Tommy haircut and chiseled jawline. Plus, he was rather famous obviously, which made you feel a little more self-conscious than usual.

"So, where to first? The hotel or the park with Mara?" Cillian asked as you made your way towards the baggage claim, Mara babbling happily in her stroller.

"Why don't we head to the hotel first and then go from there? That way Mara can take a little nap," you suggested, giving him a grateful smile.

Cillian nodded in agreement, "That sounds like a good idea, although I don't think the unit will be ready until 3 o'clock," he mentioned before grabbing two of the bags and leading the way out of the airport and towards the taxi stand.

"That's fine, she can have a snooze on your bed. We just need to watch her," you told him as you settled into the taxi, buckling Mara in beside you.

"I suppose that will work," he said before giving Mara a kiss on her forehead. In that moment, you felt a surge of profound emotion, a warm, fuzzy feeling of happiness and contentment mixed with a dash of anxiety and uncertainty. You didn't know how this reunion with Cillian would play out, but you hoped that you could put aside your differences and make the most of the time you had together, again, for Mara's sake.

After the taxi dropped you off at the hotel and apartment building, Cillian led the way to the reception desk, where he enquired about the unit for you and, much to his surprise, the receptionist had some bad news.

"Uhm, I am so sorry Mr Murphy, but I actually left a message for you an hour ago as it appears that we are overbooked due to the change in schedule on BBC's other studio show," she said apologetically.

"What do you mean you're overbooked? I booked this apartment last week and you confirmed the availability," Cillian replied, clearly annoyed at the news, but remaining polite.

"I understand, and I apologize, but it appears that we had an internal mix-up and double-booked the apartment," she explained.

Cillian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there. "What are our options?"

"Well, we do have a few other apartments available at our other hotels, on Banks Street and Maitland Road, but it's about half an hour from here," the receptionist said, looking uncomfortable at the prospect of disappointing Cillian.

Cillian looked at you, annoyed but also resigned, but you immediately shook your head.

"No, that would mean less time for Mara with you. It's totally impractical," you told him, seeing how his filming schedule was going to be so busy and neither him nor Mara should be thrown out of their schedules in order to travel this distance every day.

"Can't you put an extra bed into his apartment? I am happy to sleep in the living room with Mara," you suggested to the receptionist, but Cillian shook his head.

"Well, let's check it out and see if we can come up with an idea, okay? It will be fine," you told Cillian, trying to reassure him with a soft smile and, sure enough, you came up with a solution after Cillian took you to his floor.

His apartment was small, but the couch was reasonably sized, so your idea was an obvious one.

"Well, Mara can sleep in a cot in the living room with me and I will sleep on the couch. Easy," you told Cillian, trying to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal.

Cillian's jaw clenched for a moment and his eyes narrowed, "You're not sleeping on the couch, Y/N. I can."

You shook your head, "No, you're filming until late every night, you need your sleep. Despite, I don't mind. I have nowhere else to be during the day so I can catch up on any sleep I might be missing out on, and it will be a great week for Mara, seeing you every day," you smiled at him, but he shook his head again.

"No, how about we put a cot on the bedroom, and you sleep in the bed instead. I will take the couch. I insist," Cillian said, leaving no room for argument.

You sighed, knowing that it was futile to argue with him. Cillian could be incredibly stubborn when he wanted to be, and this was one of those times. "Okay, fine. We'll put a cot in the bedroom then," you confirmed, and he quickly made the call to reception.

Tags:

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#cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic #tommy shelby

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historia-vitae-magistras · 2 months ago

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Part Ten: Patches

Chapter Directory: Here

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. No major trigger warnings for this chapter. Also on ao3 here.

The leader, in so far as Alfred could make one out, didn’t respond. He just stared at Alfred, as if deciding what to do. He looked important, with the bearskin around his shoulders and a sword on his hip rather than a spear in hand. Sensing danger but not sure what kind, Alfred gave his usual smile, the one that could talk Lady Liberty herself out of her concrete knickers if he was so inclined, and opened his hands and held them the universal sign of ‘Don’t shoot me, dude, fuck.’ The men looked at each other, and Alfred saw the opening he needed when the man in the bearskin cloak tapped his upper rm.

The patch was only held to his sleeve by a few stitches kept purposefully messy lest anyone think he paid attention to such things. He tugged it free, and took a few steps forward. The men tightened their grip on their weapons and Alfred ignored them. There were two ways out of every encounter that might turn hostile. The hard way, with his strength or the easy way. He smiled again, twisting just to get past the spears that dropped into position, ready to shishkebab him right through.

There wasn’t a reason under the sun that precluded him walking the fuck out of here wholly intact and with new friends to boot. The man in the bearskin cloak said something Alfred didn’t catch to the men around him and the spears dipped away. He offered up the bright patch.

“Khajiit has wares, if you have coin.” Alfred laughed, hoping they’d get the reference. If they did, they just stared. He smoothly bypassed this setback, and pushed the patch at the bearskin cloak guy, who made no move to take it until Alfred had practically shoved it into his hands.

The man in the bearskin cloak looked at as if it might burn him for a moment but then turned it over and traced the blue edge, glancing up at Alfred. One fist against his heart, Alfred smiled. He was supposed to wear his flag on his arm, with the other insignias on his chest, but he had a stash of the original NASA meatball patches for a reason. It was maybe the finest symbol of himself he'd ever had, maybe even above the stars and stripes.

The gesture was returned, the bear skin cloak of the man. The man seemed to relax and said something Alfred didn’t catch but he thought he got the gist of something like "move out" or "let's go" and followed.

One of the helmeted men gestured with a spear and Alfred calmly obeyed, hands still partially raised, falling into line as they walked. They were well armed and he was not. And there was still plenty of reason to think this was all going to end very casually with a phone call and his brother clasping him to his chest with relief.

"Fuck you guys are thorough on the historical accuracy." Alfred muttered as one of the re-enactors came closer. The wool of the tunic looked strange, like it had actually been created on a loom like when he was little and the machines did not yet spew iron across the world.

"So are you guys filming a movie?" He asked. A burly, ruddy-faced man glanced at him under a thick beard and said something to the man opposite in what Alfred. He thought he heard Icelandic. But archaic or stilted. Damn. Sticklers for historical accuracy. Egill must love these guys. He must have missed some cool texts, having been up in the sky for so long on the ISS. Egill usually sent him an excited text when movies or TV was being filmed. He was pretty, and he knew it, as well as all those dramatic volcanic landscapes and hot springs.

Texts. He shoved his hand into his pocket and wondered why he hadn't thought too check before and then cursed. He wouldn’t have had his phone up above the atmosphere and in all likelihood it was locked in his office drawer somewhere in Colorado, waiting to be exchanged for an upgrade when he got back. He looked up for a moment, annoyed with himself and the universe and despite the game trail they were walking on, there was hardly a break in the trees.

As the thin game trail they walked on continued around a bend, he pressed a hand against the trunks, only half convinced they were real. He hardly had those anymore, much less Europe. Where the fuck had he landed? Some primeval Scandinavian forest? Northern Sweden? The far north of Canada? Maybe somewhere up out by the Great Lakes. He thought he got why they all lived in Minnesota for a moment. He liked that football team a lot actually.

He caught a glimpse of coastline between the trees, a dazzling green expanse glittering in the sun punctuated only by the lacy white caps of waves below a gently sloping bluff. And beneath, in the natural harbor... A ship. He gawped as his eyes traced the head of a dragon ornately carved even from all the way down the bluff. It reared up from the prow, sinuous like something alive.

A ship with red sails.

#the ask box || probis pateo #my writing || cacoethes scribendi

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aspiringwarriorlibrarian · 1 year ago

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And our free movie of the day is: To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything. Julie Newmar.

You know, considering the heavy topics this movie covers (transphobia, homophobia, misogyny, racism, abuse, assault), it's surprising that the first thing I think of when I was done was "joyous". But it is joyous, not in a naive, nothing bad can happen way, but in a fiercely defiant, vibrant way. Yes, there are bad things in the world and bad people, and you know what we do? We pick ourselves up and we create beauty and love to crowd it all out.

The movie is a product of its time (1995) for sure (outdated terminology, the blurred lines between drag and trans people), but it's also compassionate down to its bones. It's driven by Vida, who is so deeply caring about everyone around her it sometimes crosses into meddling, but it's supported by Noxie, her cynical best friend with a heart of gold beneath, and Chi-Chi, who's still learning the ropes but eventually finds her feet. The townsfolk are rural, old, odd....and never condemned or made fun of for it, and even the group of local roughs get a chance to clean up their act (after some suitably karmic justice). The only people who are unsympathetic start to finish are Carol's abusive husband and the villainous sheriff, because they should be. The fact that the film doesn't hide from the homophobia and transphobia of the world makes their determination to survive and thrive anyway all the sweeter.

It's not a film for everyone, you should probably check out the trigger warnings, but in terms of queer cinema I'd say it's more than earned its spot.

#to wong foo thanks for everything julie newmar #part of it is that they're in drag all the time for the plot to happen but i do think vida is trans #in part because patrick swayze confirmed that the character only 'felt right' when he played her as a woman and not a gay man #in part because she considers vida her true name and shows dysphoria whenever someone refers to her as a man

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 5 months ago

Note

Hello. What’s up? It’s me. Anonymous. You’re good old pal (okay I’ll stop). The Josh drum lesson fic was so cute btw! Gosh I wish I had writing talent. Btw, I’m not sure if you want me to pick an emoji to identify as or if you will pick it, but feel free to assign me one if you want.

So………I had another request………but it’s Tyler this time…..kinda.

Could you do a angsty one shot from when Clancy is in Dema and is forced to make propaganda (Scaled and Icy era. Look, I like Tyler with pink hair okay). He meets the reader (how? It’s up to you. Makeup artist, manager of some sort, etc.). They bond, he tells her in secret about life outside the walls and stuff and sort of gets her on the Bandito’s side. After he escapes (as seen in Saturday), she expects him to somehow get in contact with her again and help her escape Dema, but he never does.

You could end it there or maybe flash forward to the events of Paladin Strait and do something with that, it’s up to you. Thanks for always taking my silly ideas to the next level and making me smile with your work.

Number 16 Cotton Candy - Clancy x Reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph/Clancy × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, anything related to Dema or the Trench story that's generally triggering

Word Count: 1813 (it’s a big one!)

Summary: Check the request!

PART 2

A/N: I’ll give you the 💛 emoji for the yellow banditos! And you’re definitely not alone anon, I freaking love pink hair Tyler (I have a whole pinterest board section dedicated to SAI and Ty’s pink hair) :)

I’d never expected to be working on ‘Good Day Dema’. My family had a long history with the bishops, working for them that is. I remember when the letter came, asking me to be the talent manager for the next season. This ranged from making sure makeup and hair was done to keeping talent company before the show. Except, they didn’t tell me the talent was Clancy, the Clancy. We’d spent a couple days together, me running him through the show, him not saying a single word but listening to all instructions. He’d learnt the choreography, every step and change for the show, but not spoken a single word to anyone but the bishops when asked. I was escorted to a light blue door in the hallway of the soundstage building.

“He’s in there. You’ll be dying his hair number 16 cotton candy and ensuring he’s ready to film,” one of the assistants said.

“Thanks,” I smiled sheepishly before walking inside and closing the door. Clancy sat in the corner of the room, his blank eyes staring me down. I nodded over to the chair. He rose to his feet, quietly wandered over and sat in front of me. I’d heard things about him, how he’d escaped into Trench, and was dragged back here. I’d also listened to the new album ‘Scaled and Icy’, a complete 360 from the themes of his letters–not that we were allowed to be reading them.

“It looks like they’re wanting number 16 Cotton Candy. We’ll have to bleach it,” I said, grabbing the bleach and color from the cabinet, “You good with that?” His eyes darted up to me.

“You’re asking me?” he asked, his brows furrowed. His voice sounded exactly how it did on the record, except tired. I tried to hide my surprise that he’d responded at all. I nodded.

“Of course I am. It’s your hair.” Deep down I knew I shouldn’t have been talking to him like this. I was being paid to ensure he looked exactly how the bishops wanted him to, not asking his opinion.

“Why don’t you just do your job and we can both get this over with?” he spoke with sarcasm dripping from each word. I nodded and got to work with the bleach. The room was quiet except for the radio which was playing SAI on repeat–it was up to Shy Away.

“I’m sorry about what you’ve had to go through,” I mumbled, completely unsure if I was overstepping a boundary.

“That’s the price of attempting to escape,” he shrugged and I nodded knowingly. “Have you ever dyed your hair?” he asked, watching me place the foils on his head.

“Once before. It was a hotter pink, back when we were still allowed to have coloured hair. Do you remember that?”

He nodded. “Yeah I do. My friends were the reason they banned it. They dyed it yellow.” Everyone in Dema knew yellow was a color of rebellion, the color of the banditos (if you even believed in them). Wearing it was almost an instant detainment, or worse.

“Ah, I remember that,” I smiled softly, remembering the story on the news. “So the bleach is going to take about 30 minutes and then we can do the color. I’ll stay here though, there’s not much for me to do.” The song on the radio switched to Never Take It. “It must be weird to hear your own voice on the radio,” I commented, glad that I was a manager rather than a talent.

“Yeah, it kinda is. Especially since it’s full of the bishops’ propaganda rather than my own thoughts.” I had a feeling the changes in theme were related to the bishops. “It’s hard to be creative when they’ve got you locked up and use you for entertainment.” The sigh that escaped his chapped lips revealed a level of exhaustion only he knew.

“Your letters are so different from this,” I spoke, knowing I’d crossed a line and couldn’t go back. He turned around to face me, a confused look on his face.

“You’ve read my letters? How? They’re not allowed in the city.”

“They passed by me when they were first here.” The letters were initially spread from house to house before the bishops found and burned them all.

“And… what did you think?” I couldn’t tell why he was asking this. What his intentions were. But I could tell he was trying to piece something together.

“You have a lot to say about our lives here,” I paused before adding, “and Trench. It didn’t end well for you to end up here though.”

“That’s because I believe everyone deserves to know the truth, whether or not I’m taken back here and used for propaganda is irrelevant. People need to know the truth.” He was ambitious, I’d give him that. I removed the foils and washed his hair before starting with the pink. I grabbed some gloves, mixed the color and started applying it evenly. “You know, you’re pretty for a Dema girl,” he remarked.

“Does that mean bandito girls are prettier?” I laughed. He shrugged, clearly showing his perspective. “I’m surprised you’ve still got a sense of humor after everything you’ve been through.” His face dropped slightly at that. It was clear that despite being held in a prisoners’ cell this whole time he still had the spark that made him Clancy. It had to be hard but he still had it.

“I mean it Y/N, you’re pretty… but you should try to leave this place. Out there in Trench everything is different. The colors, the freedom, the creativity. You’ll never want to come back.” His eyes were full of hope. It was clear he was the right person to lead the rebellion.

“I–I can’t… I’ve got a life here, Clancy,” I sighed. I wanted to, I did. But if he was caught and sent back here then there was no chance I’d even make it out of the walls. He nodded knowingly.

“I understand. Just know there is always a place for you at the camp.” I finished up his color, washed the dye off in the sink, and styled it for the show. We continued talking about Trench and the banditos, what life was like out there. I reminded him that the bishops wanted a performance for the annual assemblage, slightly disappointed that I hadn’t been invited to manage him. Once his hair was finished and makeup done I turned the chair around. A soft smile grew on his face.

“I like it. Thank you,” he got up and pulled me in an embrace. His hair smelt of the shampoo I’d used, vanilla.

“You’re welcome. I’ve got your jacket over here,” I reached to the side and picked it up, the brown fabric soft against my hands. He turned around as I helped him into it. What he did next surprised me. His hands reached up to cup my face. His forehead leant against mine, a few tears escaping his eyes before turning into sobs, his face scrunching up. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” I hushed, trying to calm him down.

“I’m scared Y/N,” he stuttered. His eyes darted left and right, searching for something. I tried my best to reassure him that it was okay.

“You don’t need to be,” I lied. He had every right to be scared. At any minute the bishops could kill and seize his vessel. It was then that I made the decision to kiss him. It was a quick kiss, an unsure one.

“Oh so now you decide to do that,” he chuckled before pulling me close and walking us back till we hit the wall. Our bodies pressed together, breathing heavily as our lips danced. I could feel the thud of his heartbeat, terrified of the consequences if we were caught. The song on the radio switched to Redecorate, my favorite on the record. I ran my fingers through his coloured hair before pulling away.

“You’re going to get called on soon,” I said, knowing that I’d likely never seen him again after today.

“Ok,” he nodded. “I need you to know that this,” he gestured between us, “wasn’t just for the sake of today. I like you Y/N, there’s something special about you.” There was a loud knock on the door and we stepped away from each other.

“Are you nearly done in there?” the assistant's voice chirped from outside.

“Yep, we need about 10 more minutes and he’ll be ready to perform!” I shouted back. I could hear her footsteps leave.

“I like you too, Clancy,” I hummed, once I knew we were alone again.

“If I ever get out, just know I’ll come back for you. I promise, I’ll get you out,” he vowed. I embraced him and pressed my lips to his one last time before escorting him out to the soundstage.

“Good luck out there,” I tried desperately to not cry, saying goodbye for the last time.

Two years later the bishops had released a search notice for Clancy. The submarine that the annual assemblage had been held on sank due to “an unknown number of errors on board.” It took everything in me not to believe he was dead. The bishops insisted he wasn’t and what would they gain from lying about their enemy’s death? I was sure he would reach out, tell me he was okay, but it was radio silence. I’d removed myself from Good Day Dema’s set and spent all my time in my room. It was the same thing every day, work. Working to please the bishops and brainwash the entire city that Vialism was the only way. Except for one night, exactly one year after the notice was issued, three years since I’d heard anything from Clancy. I was reading through a new manuscript for the show and making notes for the new episode. The air in the room went still, I wasn’t alone. A man with curly brown hair with the underside dyed red stood by the door. He was wearing a black vest and a bandana with ‘torchbearer’ written on it. It had scared the shit out of me.

“I know you,” I stood up, “you’re Clancy’s friend.”

“Indeed I am,” his expression remained blank, a calm and stoic leader—exactly how Clancy had described him. I couldn’t decide whether to hug him or kill him.

“He’s alive?”

Torchbearer nodded. A wave of relief flooded over me.

“We request your presence at the town hall tonight. Please do your best to come. I was directly asked to ensure you attend.”

I was going to see him. Clancy had survived. He was coming back. Coming back for me. I was getting out of here. I was going to get to hold him again.

Except it wasn’t him. He’d seized a boy and pretended to be there. Clancy wasn’t even in Trench.

Hope you liked it 💛! I’m definitely open to writing a part two but not sure where it would go… keep requesting tho bc ur requests brighten my day!

#masterlist #twenty one pilots #joshua dun #tyler joseph #fanfic #clancy #twenty one pilots imagines #Josh dun #twentyonepilots #tyler Joseph imagines #Josh dun imagines #trench #Clancy imagines #scaled and icy #dema

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starcrossedxwriter · 2 years ago

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Bleeding Through Part 1 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

Trigger Warnings: Angst, asshole Michael, some mentions for triggers for the OC but nothing graphic - just vague mentions (that will be important plot points in later fics!)

A/N: well… this is way longer than I intended or anticipated lol but here it is… Also if you love these two… don't be mad at me!! lol

“That looks delicious, Charlie. He’ll love it,” Michael’s mom commented as she watched Charlotte put the final touches on her husband’s favorite sweet treat, a chocolate cake.

Her eyes did not leave her cake as she checked the icing meticulously for spots that did not look exactly. She knew her attention to details slightly obsessive. After all, Michael could care less about the look of desserts as long as the taste was just right. And if there was one thing Charlotte could do, it was bake. But still, she desired only perfection for her husband’s first day home from shooting. Her entire spirit beamed at the compliment from her mother-in-law, one of the few people in the world whose opinion mattered to her.

“You think so??”

At Donna’s affirmative nod, the young woman let out a small squeal of excitement before laughing at her own antics.

She moaned, “Ugh… Sorry… I know I’m acting like a complete nut. I just can’t wait for him to be home. This time felt way harder for some reason.”

“I know. It felt longer than three months.”

Charlotte shrugged. “He wasn’t able to call home as much, maybe? Usually we FaceTime every night when he gets home from set but I could barely get him on the phone once a week. And I’ll get to see him at some point but I haven’t seen him since Oscars weekend,” she mused before shrugging. “But I totally get it. Lupita mentioned that the filming and training schedules were just relentless so he probably just didn’t have much time.”

Michael’s schedule for Marvel’s Black Panther had been crazier than most of his projects so Charlotte truly did understand. Most of the film was shot in Atlanta but the cast had flown to several other locations across the world while training to capture different scenes. And she knew that Michael’s character forced him to stay in hair and make-up longer, which meant earlier and later days on set than many of his counterparts.

With all of that in mind and as an actress herself, she gave Michael as much grace and understanding throughout the process. He missed a call, no worries. Forgot to call her back, all good. However, that meant they had seen precious little of each other since he left in February. Three months later, she desperately missed everything about him.

“That boy doesn’t know how to slow down either.”

The pair shared a laugh. “Definitely doesn’t.” She checked her watch and phone, her face falling into a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, forcing her mouth back into a grin and her concern back to the depths of her mind. “N-Nothing, nothing. Just… well he usually texts me when he lands and is on his way but he should’ve landed like an hour ago? Hell, he should be walking through the door any minute.”

“I’m sure he’s fine… you know he’s forgetful.”

Michael could be forgetful, it was true. But generally not with things like this. He knew how much Charlotte worried so he never forgot to text her when he landed somewhere. It was usually the first thing he did even when they spent the whole flight texting back and forth. Which was also unusual. She had not received one text from him his entire flight. She shook her head as if she could shake the thoughts out of it.

He’s fine… he’s fine, she thought to herself. She knew she was just trying to convince herself. To keep her concerns at bay as she worked to clean up their kitchen, she made a mental note to call him in ten minutes if she did not hear from him. However, that ten-minute mental alarm never needed to go off.

“Speak of the devil,” she whispered to herself as she heard a key turn in the door. She wiped off her hands off and raced to the foyer of their home just as Michael crossed over the threshold.

Damn he looks good, she thought to herself as she took in his Killmonger look. She loved him in any iteration. But she could not deny this one was… sexy as fuck. Her eyes almost did not know what to focus on and she was shocked at how, even with only three months on set, his body had changed so much from when he left. His muscles were massive before but now they threatened to break the limits of his hoodie, his beard had grown longer and a bit unruly, giving him a rugged look that made Charlotte go weak in the knees. And she could not deny that the dreads were growing on her. They were neatly braided back to keep them out of his face.

“Hey handsome,” she offered with a bright smile. She immediately wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her movements almost faltered as she felt his body tense up at her touch, however, he seemed to catch himself and force his body to relax. However, the hug and chaste kiss he placed on her lips were still brief.

“Hey babe,” he offered before quickly breaking free and moving to bestow equally-brief hugs to his parents.

Charlotte felt the balloon in her heart deflate slightly at his less-than-warm welcome. Perhaps she had simply built his return up in her mind but typically when he returned home, even from a weekend, he could not keep his hands off of her. And she would be lying if she claimed she did not enjoy it. And so, in this moment, it felt odd not to receive it, his immediate love and affections.

However, she knew she would not solve any of these conundrums standing in their foyer so she fixed her face back into a smile and followed her husband deeper into the house.

“How was the flight, babe?”

“Fine.”

“You hungry? I may or may not have a freshly made chocolate cake in the fridge for you. A lil welcome home surprise.” She hoped the promise of his favorite sweet treat would bring out some of the excitement to be home that she felt he was missing.

“Nah I’m good. Just gonna go shower.” His eyes barely left his phone as he moved through their house, his answers short and clipped as to not invite additional conversation.

And before Charlotte could even blink or think of a response, he disappeared before her eyes to their master suite upstairs. Charlotte glanced around, unsure of what to do with herself. This was certainly not how she expected his return home to go. She anxiously fiddled with her wedding band as her brain went down a million different rabbit holes at once. She questioned whether he was upset with her. But she had barely spoken to him in the last few weeks, hell the last few months if she were honest about it, so what could she have said or done? She glanced down at her clothes, which did have a light dusting of flour across them due to her mad furry of baking earlier in the day. Perhaps he expected her to look cuter or more put together for his return and he was disappointed?

Whatever the reason, she knew something was off. This man who looked and spoke like her husband was not fully him. She stood at the foot of their staircase for a few moments as she tried to strategize what she should do next. Should she go and talk to him and gauge what was wrong? Or should she give him space? She was not used to not knowing what to do where Michael was concerned. Usually, they moved in perfect step and in sync. This was far from that.

She did not noticed Michael’s mom studying her until she spoke up.

“I’m sure he’s just tired, Charlie.”

Her words knocked her out of her trance.

“Y-yea, yea. Just tired,” her words trailed off as she nodded to herself. She repeated the words underneath her breath a few times as if to convince herself her mother-in-law was correct.

Not everything is a reaction to you, Charlie, Charlotte reminded herself, a refrain her therapist had given her many years ago that she often had to repeat once she stepped her toe back into the dating pond. It was not that Charlotte was self-centered, she preferred when things were not about her. But she had to learn and unlearn a lot where relationships were concerned by the time her rugged path led her to Michael. One of those things being that not every negative emotion or reaction from her partner meant she had done something wrong or would lead to harm. It had been a tough one to unlearn but she was all the better and stronger for it.

While Michael tended to be in good spirits most of the time, she knew he was not immune to a bad day like every human being and those bad days were not an indictment against her. He just came off shooting a character that was so unlike him, a grueling training and filming schedule, and a long flight. He earned some alone time and some space to decompress if he wanted, she decided quickly.

“I’m gonna unpack his stuff. I was going to take him out to dinner but I think we’ll just order in so he can get some rest… cool with you two?”

His mom shook her head. “We actually are going over to Jamila’s house for dinner. Figured you two would want the house to yourselves for a bit.”

Charlotte’s heart warmed at their thoughtfulness. Before she and Bakari got married, she had always questioned whether living with her in-laws would be awkward or uncomfortable. However, they were both so attuned to giving she and Bakari their space as a married couple and never overstepped. Now, Charlotte would fight tooth and nail to keep them around.

“Love you SO much… Thanks!” She squeezed Donna’s hand before treading the same path up their stairs to their master. She made a mental note to stay positive and to focus on getting him whatever he needed so that once he got some rest, they would get back on track later that evening.

However, that proved to be wishful thinking. Charlotte felt like she was a ghost in her own home, barely corporeal and visible to his eye. And when he did speak, part of her wished he hadn’t. There was a sharp edge to his words now, even his clipped responses carried annoyance like he wished he did not have to talk to her.

By the time she was ready to retreat to bed, Charlotte was almost excited for the forced silence of sleep. She was slightly disheartened though as her thoughts drifted to the lace lingerie hanging in her closet that she bought particularly for this moment that would go unused. It was black with gold detailing to match his former character’s Golden Jaguar suit, a detail she had gotten from a spy or two on set. She had strongly considered still putting it on and entice him. However, he did not seem to want any physical affection and she had felt enough rejection from him for the day.

Maybe tomorrow night, she reasoned as they both slid into bed.

When he turned off the light on his side, she offered him an ‘I love you,” and a kiss on the cheek. However, neither were reciprocated nor did he ease back into their usual sleeping position with half of his body draped on top of her. No, instead he slept on the edge of their shared bed with his back to her.

As his light snores filled her ears, Charlotte barely slept as she prayed her husband’s off day was merely a one-time issue and he would be back to his usual jovial self tomorrow. Somehow, despite the warm body next to her, their bed felt cold as ever. And she was no stranger to coldness in a relationship, that dreadful feeling of loneliness when someone was there with you. In fact, in her experience, coldness and indifference were a step up from her ex’s usual behavior. But she was not accustom to such coldness from Bakari. Warmth was she knew with him, all he had ever been. Even on the rare occasions when he was angry, he never acted as if she was a burden or as if he did not wish to be around her. And that was all she felt today: that coldness and the sharp edge of rejection. How else was she supposed to feel when, after three months apart, the love of her life acted as if he did not want to see her? But as she laid there, she still held on tight to her optimism. She vowed not to read too much into it or let it get to her too much.

She sighed before turning over to face the wall away from him and close her eyes.

Tomorrow, he’ll be back to normal, she thought to herself. He has to be.

***

Charlotte shifted in bed, her hand reaching out to find the warmth that was her husband only to be me with the uncomfortable cold of an empty bed.

“This nigga,” she whispered, rolling her eyes. She knew exactly where her husband was, where he had been almost every night and day since he returned home from Atlanta four weeks prior.

She swung her legs out of bed and grabbed her robe, tying it tightly around her waist as she made her way through the darkness to her husband’s ‘man cave,’ which housed all his gadgets and toys. She scratched her head, her reddish-brown curls wild and untamed around her as she had accidentally pushed her scarf off in her restless sleep. She was not surprised to find him playing Call of Duty, the loud gunshots and bangs from the game mixing with the sound from an episode from some anime she did not recognize on the other screen.

“Babe… Babe. Bakari!” She called his name several times, the annoyance in her tone increasing each time she had to repeat herself.

“What?”

Charlotte was slightly taken back by his tone and that his eyes did not leave his stupid video game to even acknowledge her presence. However, it did not deter her as she crossed the room to stand behind him. Her hands went to his rub his shoulders, only stilling when she felt him flinch beneath her touch and shrug her hands off of him. She supposed she should be used to the bite of rejection from him these days, but it still stung. Her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection as if to fight the instinct to touch him again.

“I-I just wanted to see if you were coming to bed soon. It’s like 3 am.”She knew her words sounded needy but she did not care. She missed her husband.

He immediately shook his head, wholly uninterested in retreating to the warmth of his shared bed with his wife. “Nah, not for a while.”

Charlotte’s whole body seemed to sag in disappointment, her shoulders hunching over as sadness spread throughout her. She knew she had been foolish for being so hopeful… hopeful that he would return to bed and hopeful that he would return to the man who left here in February.

It seemed as though, since he wrapped filming Black Panther, he had little time or interest in being with her or his family. He holed up in his cave in the basement for 90% of the day, only exiting when he had no choice. And even then, it was clear to everyone that he was suffering through their company. His behavior was odd for everyone in their household and their family. Michael was typically the conversationalist but everyone was struggling to pull two words out of him lately and those two words felt like an Olympic feat. She could count on two hands the amount of true conversations they had had since he returned home. And it was not just his isolation from her and his family, which she could, at least, make excuses for. She had also never seen him so short and quick to anger. Usually, he was the calm one, the one who could jump in and diffuse a situation. But now, rage seemed to live just beneath the surface and it only took one out-of-place word for it to spring forward.

It only took her a few days to recognize what was truly happening. It was the character bleeding through, the toxicity that was Erik Stevens tainting the waters of Michael B. Jordan. And the more she recalled the small tidbits of information she knew about the character he played, the more his behavior now and while he was shooting made sense. However, that did not make it any less anxiety-inducing and frustrating for her. Especially when it was not 24/7. There were certainly moments were she thought her husband was finally back fully. He was actually initiated conversation with her and laughed and joked around. However, those were always shorted lived as Erik seemed to rear his ugly head every time eventually, causing him to ignore her or retreat to his corner of the house. And she hated it, hated this Jekyll and Hyde rollercoaster she felt forced into enduring day in and day out. This ‘Erik-Michael’ hybrid was not the man she married and pledged her life to. But he seemed to have no desire to go back to who he was.

“Damn… You could’ve just stayed in Atlanta if you were gonna stay holed up in here all day and night,” she mumbled to herself, her own frustration getting the better of her.

“The fuck you just say?” He threw down his controller and stood up, the loud clanging to the ground causing Charlotte to jump slightly. However, his outburst did not deter her.

“I said, ‘you could’ve just stayed in Atlanta if you were gonna act like you don’t have a wife and family here.’ I mean what the fuck is wrong with you, Bakari? Like I know it can be hard to shake a character, trust me, I’ve been there. But this is getting fucking ridiculous.”

He rolled his eyes and took another gulp from his glass of scotch. “Always comin’ in here with some bullshit.”

“See - that right there. Since when do you speak to me like that?? I don’t know what’s going on with you babe but this ain’t ok.”

He shook his head. “I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”

She scoffed, “I’m not an idiot, Michael. This,” she gestured to him, “This isn’t you! You don’t let me touch you,” she started listing all of the grievances that had built up over the last month. “You only let me close to you when you want to have sex. You’re fucking mean a-and aggressive to everyone. You barely speak to me and when you do, you act like you can’t fucking stand it. I’m worried about you! Because this isn’t healthy. And I’m worried about our marriage when you’re treating me like you don’t fucking care about me at all. I need you to tell me what is going on???”

By the time she stopped talking, she was shouting, her chest heaving lightly with her frustration.

“MAYBE I DON’T CARE!” He yelled at her, his anger at her perceived attack boiling over to uncontrollable levels. Part of him knew she was right. However, hearing his behavior repeated back to him only increased his shame at the fact that he could not shake whatever this was. And that only increased his rage at himself, which he felt like could only be directed at one person: his wife. The words flowed from his mouth like vomit. He did not even know what he was saying until it was too late. “Maybe I don’t give a fuck about you or anyone else! This is the real fucking me. I got every right to be fucking angry if I want to be and I don’t give a fuck what you or anyone else thinks about it!”

The retort bubbling to the surface immediately died in her throat as his words hit her. She did not try to hide the tears that immediately sprang to her eyes as she stared at him. The back of her hand hastily wiped the falling tears away. She had never expected words so callous to come out of his mouth of all people. She could not fully even formulate thoughts, let alone a sentence, as his refrain just repeated in her brain over and over.

Michael immediately regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, especially since they were farthest from the truth. For the first time in a long time, he felt the spirit of Killmonger subside, even just for a moment. And he could finally see the damage he had left behind in his wake.

“Babe-“ he immediately raced up to her and touched her arm, immediately stopping when she flinched at his touch and stepped back away from him.

“Don’t…” her voice cracked as a small sob escaped her lips. “D-don’t touch me.”

She turned on her heels and raced out of the room, her eyes blurred in the darkness as she made her way, not to the bed she shared with Michael, but to a guest room on the other side of the house. She locked the door immediately and crumpled down to the floor, her body hunched over from the strength of her sobs.

The sound of her quiet crying as she left the room stayed with Michael, playing a torturous loop in his mind long after he was alone. He had never been so angry or disappointed in himself. He threw the glass in his hand across the room and knocked everything on the coffee table across from his couch to the floor. The shattering sounds did nothing to appease him.

He did not know what the fuck was wrong with him. Killmonger was dead but it seemed as if he was determined to not let Michael go. Every time he tried to lay the character to rest, Killmonger resisted, feeding on his insecurities, his pain, his anger, and every other negative emotion Michael usually had a handle on. Everything that he usually was able to diminish, Killmonger forced to the surface and amplified to new extremes. Nights like tonight there was only Killmonger and his ‘I have no one and nothing but my revenge’ attitude that Michael just could not shake.

But Michael had someone… several someones who loved and cared about him. He did not know why he had routinely pushed them all away over the last few weeks. And now he had done significant harm to the one person he loved more than any other person on Earth.

And he had no idea how to fix it… or if it was even fixable at all.

***

Charlotte hummed quietly along with her music as she packed her suitcase, her song only interrupted by her quietly talking to herself as she went over her checklist.

“Where you goin’”

Charlotte glanced up from her suitcase to find her husband standing in the doorway staring at her. The cold front in the Jordan household had been reduced to Arctic levels since their blowout argument two days prior. Michael had considered apologizing but his shame only pushed him farther into isolation. He could barely look at Charlotte and every time he tried to say something, a voice in his head overpowered his good sense and stopped him. And Charlotte, in turn, refused to speak to him.

So the couple existed in near silence ever since. Unless his parents prompted conversation or the pair had to discuss something important, they simply acted as if the other was not there. Charlotte had even moved out of their bedroom, sleeping in a guest room down the hall to avoid him.

“I’m going to New York.” She continued packing and gathering her things so she could close her bag. She did not even look at him to see the confused expression on his face.

“I thought we were supposed to be going in a few weeks before the Tonys.”

Charlotte nodded. Charlotte had work to attend to in the city and since they both loved NYC so much, they had planned to just go together in about two weeks and stay there until the Tony Awards. Michael had some time off before he had to start training again for Creed II so it would have been the perfect mini vacation for the pair. NYC was at the top of their shortlist of cities they did not visit without the other. And she was knowingly breaking that pact. However, it was, currently, the only city in the country she actually had something to do in and could stay busy while running away from her current problems.

“Yea but I just think I should go now. Gonna help workshop this new musical and get some other shit done. Car’ll be here in like 30 minutes.”

His eyes grew wide at how soon she was leaving. “You weren’t gon’ say shit?”

Still emotionally bruised from their argument two days prior, she could not stop her initial thought from escaping her lips. “Why would I? You don’t care, remember?”

Her eyes clenched shut as she heard the words settle in the space, immediately wishing she could stuff them back down her throat. When she opened her eyes she could see his whole body was tense, his face crestfallen. It was not her intention to make him feel bad. She knew her husband and knew he did not mean those words. But there was a petty part of her who wanted him to hear how deep his words cut.

However, it seemed to have the opposite effect. She could feel his energy shift, his defenses immediately rising as he felt attacked by her words.

“So what? You’re leavin’ me cause of some shit you know I didn’t fuckin’ mean?”

Charlotte rubbed her forehead. She was not interested in fighting with him.

“Nobody’s leaving you. I just… think we both need space. That seems to be what you wanted anyway? Time alone and away from me? Now you’ll have it. And maybe you can use the time to figure your shit out.”

“Figure what out?”

“What it is about this fucking character that you can’t shake? And why you can’t let him go? Because you can tell me you’re fine until you’re blue in the face but it isn’t true. And we both know it.”

Michael knew she was not wrong but slowly his Killmonger facade was slipping. Michael was the one holding the reigns now and Michael needed his wife… here with him.

“I don’t need space. You’re my fucking wife, Charlotte. I need you here.”

Charlotte let out a humorless laugh. “See I know I’m your wife, Bakari. But it isn’t clear to me right now that you know that or that you even know you have family and friends who love you. Cause you aren’t acting like it.” She paused before walking over to stand in front of him. Her hand went to his cheek and wiped away a tear that she did not even think he knew was falling.

“Look, I understand what you are going through… truly I do. I know what it is like to be you and in your skin and in your life but.. you have this other personality gnawing at your soul. It is hard a-and it takes work sometimes to let it go. B-but just because the actress in me understands this and empathizes with it doesn’t mean the wife in me can accept it. I don’t like who you are right now a-and I can’t accept how you’re treating me. I-I have no intention of leaving you, I promise. But I just can’t be here with you like this.”

Hearing that his wife did not want to be around him hurt worse than any physical wound ever could. He immediately wondered if his mood swings and behavior was triggering to her, something he had been far too in his own head to even consider.

“I’m so sorry for the other night. I didn’t mean it and you know I'd nev-”

“I know. Truly, I do,” she assured him. “You aren’t him, you're the farthest person from him I've ever met. A-and I know you didn’t mean what you said. B-but for the last few weeks, babe, I’ve been walking around on eggshells with you. Every day, afraid I’m about to set off a ticking time bomb. And even if all that bomb does is hurl words at me, it,” she choked back sob that caused her voice to crack. “It f-fucking hurts, babe. It hurts to feel lonely with you here. It hurts to not be able to love you or receive that love back. It hurts to feel constantly rejected. And… most of all, it hurts to see you in pain like this. I’m just exhausted, Michael.” Her words sounded as weary as she felt, fresh out of energy and options. If anything, she hoped this time apart would replenish her and him.

A buzzing from her watch pulled her attention from him. Her car was here.

She pulled her suitcase off of the bench at the end of their bed and grabbed her purse. She knew they both needed this but she did not expect it to hurt either of them as much as it did. The broken look on his face made her want to unpack her bag and stay exactly where she was. But she knew she couldn’t.

She dragged her feet toward their door, stopping to envelope him in a hug, the first hug in weeks that he actually returned with earnest. She kissed him on the cheek before pulling away, knowing if she lingered in his touch too long, she would not be able to leave.

“When will you be back?” He asked as she walked toward the door. Part of him was afraid to hear her answer.

She glanced back at him and shrugged. “Don't look so solemn, Bakari. Our marriage isn’t over. I’m with you to the end of the line. But that’s entirely up to you… let me know when my husband is back and Killmonger is dead and buried, and I’ll be on the first red eye back to you. And whatever you need to get him back, you tell me and I'll support you. I love you.”

She offered him one last smile before she met her driver in the hallway and handed him her stuff, leaving Michael alone in their bedroom.

“I love you too.”

Taglist: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @msniaimani @hi888888sworld

A/N: So… what do you think??? Charlotte has left for NYC, though she promises to come back. How can our favs come back from this? Do you think she should've let at all or stayed to work it out? What do you think Michael needs to do to get his shit together? Let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading!

#michael b jordan x reader #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan #mbjedit #mbj fanfic #erik kilmonger x reader #Erik killmonger x reader #black writers #creed 3 #adonis creed #black panther #creed iii #michael b jordan fanfic #Michael b Jordan x oc

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stormywinter42 · 10 months ago

Text

whatever, forever

Welcome to my intro post :3

Oh also if you like someone’s art wether is music writing or some visual media FUCKING REBLOG IT likes don’t do shit

Days in a row I’ve done skincare: 0

Im a pretty silly (not funny at all) person (not a person) who is severely addicted to this little known band called My Chemical Romance a good portion of my blog is just dedicated to them.

By the way if I ever tag you in a post and you want me to take it down lemme know and I’ll do it immediately

Basic info

Name: Winter (make sure it’s capitalized)

Deadname: [[REDACTED]]

Pronouns: she/it gendervoid transfem

Sexuality: what are you a cop?? (I like who I like and that’s that)

Age: 16 (don’t flirt with me if you’re under 15 by the way I don’t need allegations)

Relationship: poly (currently single but trying to figure shit out with someone)

Time zone: PST

Sandcore🏝️

Alts:

@winters-spam-blog (reblogging)

Tags:

#what/ever/major/loser - posts reguarding updates/previews for my indie pop Midwest emo solo project

#i make music guys - any other music stuff

#Sandcore - anything relating to the beach and/or sand

#insane shit - me being horny or saying otherwise questionable things (which are probably also horny)

#reblog on main - self explanatory (usually important)

#accidental reblog on main - self explanatory for when I’m too lazy to delete and post to my other blog

Interests

Music genres: Emo, pop-punk, Midwest emo, Electronic, Post-Punk, Ska-Punk, Indie Pop, Prog-Rock, Experimental

Bands/artists: Pink Floyd, MCR, boygenius, Daft Punk, Gorillaz, Depeche Mode, Modern Baseball, Green Day, Robo Pumpkin, Ethel Cain, Dazey and the Scouts, Orange Moon @orangemoonofficial

Hobbies: Guitar, Dungeons & Dragons, Marching Band (percussion), Gerard Way, Learning new skills, Baking

Films/Shows: The Owl House, The Breakfast Club, The Matrix, Gravity Falls, Amphibia, DuckTales, Nightmare Before Christmas, Coraline

Games: Celeste, Undertale, Deltarune, Terraria, Hollow Knight, Rhythm Doctor

Bad Things

DNI: Homophobes, Transphobes, Racists, People who are gonna harass me for being underweight, Pedos/MAPs, anyone who is otherwise bigoted

Triggers: [[REDACTED]]

Oh also fair warning sometimes (very rarely) I post insane horny shit because sometimes I can’t just keep it to myself

If I say something you don’t like you can block me without verbally harassing me I’ll ignore you anyways if you do

My Airbuds and Discogs to see my music :3

You should follow my insta I play guitar there :3

Will expand on/update in the future

✨Mwah!!✨ Thanks for reading! Love ya!

#intro post

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soulgazingwithbucky · 2 years ago

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protect, ch. 2 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You've spent your life protecting your younger brother, until an invitation from Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes turns everything on its head.

Warnings: mentions of parent death, reader feeling traumatized, some violence

Word count: 5.8k

A/N: wanted to share my inspo for this fic! i was inspired by mcu phase 4, and wondered what it would look like for bucky to pass the mantle. obviously this fic took a different turn and doesnt rly focus on that, but nonetheless wanted to share :) hope you enjoy. divider credits to @lesbiacebian!!

Masterlist: {one} | {two} | {three}

And so you find yourself grumpy and groggy in the passenger seat, scolding Tomas.

“The next time they want you to train at this hour, tell them to eat shit,” you groan, arms crossed over your chest.

Tomas glances at you. For a second, you look like a smaller version of Bucky, moping about a situation you put yourself in. He names his observation, and you slowly drop your arms and release your scowl.

Sam and Bucky have grown to be close confidants in the past few months, checking in on you nearly as much as they spend time with your brother. Sam’s counseling sessions are on your only day off; when he picks up Tomas for their appointments, Bucky stays behind, helping you with errands or otherwise keeping you company. He seems more than happy to accompany you on grocery trips, help you with minor projects around the apartment, or just enjoy a film with you. You didn’t realize that during these weekly visits, you unconsciously picked up on some of his mannerisms.

Tomas stops short of a chain link fence. He presses some buttons on his phone, triggering a mechanism that slides the gate open. You squint at the spacious area; it’s nearly bare, save for the low lights illuminating the tarmac and the tall, metal building that looms to your right. Tomas delicately presses the gas pedal, and the car lurches forward at an agonizing pace. When the car just barely passes the gate, Tomas shuts off the car and switches off the headlights. You stare at your brother, who looks solemnly ahead–he has never done anything carefully in his life.

In all honesty, you thought Tomas would be meeting a date. After all, he told you about a last-minute “mysterious training” that happened to be in the middle of the night? You weren’t stupid. Under normal circumstances, you would wave him off and tell him to bring back the car in tip top shape. But in case that it was some corrupt alien monster trying to lure him out, you insisted on accompanying him. You figured you would make sure he was safe before taking off. He fought against this, only fueling your theory that he was indeed rendezvousing with some pretty thing. You had let him think he won, until you threw yourself into the passenger seat right when he was about to leave.

Rookie mistake, thinking you would ever let him win an argument.

But now, with Tomas’s knuckles paling with his grip on the wheel, his gaze steely and his body trembling in expectation, you wonder what you’ve walked into. Tomas holds his breath and the car now falls into complete silence as you both watch a small aircraft exit the hangar. Two figures follow, towing what looks like weapons and manila folders.

“Tomas, what’s–”

“Stealth exercise. Bye, sis,” he says quickly. Before you know it, his speedy ass is out of the car, making his way over to Sam and Bucky.

And he expects you to believe that? You quickly leave your seat, following after Tomas.

“What is going on?” you hiss, much to Tomas’s horror. He turns around, silently waving you off with an aggressive gesture of his hand.

“Oh, I know you did not just–”

Obviously, at this point, you have earned the attention of the heroes, who have stopped at the top of the airplane stairs. Startled recognition paints Sam and Bucky’s faces, and the latter points an accusing finger in Tomas’s direction.

“You got some fuckin’ nerve, kid,” Bucky growls. The light from the hangar illuminates his burning stare and tense snarl.

“I thought we made it perfectly clear–,” Sam begins.

“I know, but I can help you guys. I’m ready,” Tomas insists as he attempts to close the distance between himself and the two men.

“Aht!” Sam says, holding his hand out to stop your brother from ascending any further.

“Ready for what?!” you say from the bottom step.

Over the comms system, their pilot confirms they are ready for takeoff.

“You need to leave, now,” Sam instructs gravely.

“Both of you,” Bucky emphasizes.

“Great, have a good night,” you say. You’re donning well-loved pajamas, and the thin fleece does nothing to protect you from the evening chill. You grab Tomas’s sleeve, turning around and tugging him along. He shakes you off, keeping his eyes locked on his mentors.

“No way,” he tells them. “I’m coming. You guys have been talking about this forever, and it’s about time I get some field experience–”

“That’s not for you to decide!” Bucky says, exasperation dripping in his voice.

“I concur,” you add. Bucky gestures towards you, as if to say, See?! Can you listen to your sister?!

Through their earpieces, their pilot asks them what the hold up is. As Dr. Banner remotely tracks their mark’s location, he urges, “It’s now or never, guys.”

Sam glances at the airplane, then at the both of you. He looks at the stairs you’re all standing on, knowing that the aircraft can’t take off unless the area is clear and, most importantly, he and Bucky are on this damn plane.

After a few years of working as partners, Bucky can practically read the man’s mind.

“Sam, no–”

“I know, I know.” Sam turns to both of you, anger painting his features. “Get in, now.”

Tomas tries to mask his smile, knowing full well he is in trouble with the three most important people in his life. But he got away with it, didn’t he? He pieced together that Sam and Bucky were leaving for an assignment from the hushed conversations between training sessions. When he saw a text on Bucky’s phone naming a crime organization that had Tomas on their short list, he had to find a way in. So he could tell those bastards thanks, but no fucking thanks before breaking all of their noses.

“Fix your face,” you tell him discontentedly.

“As soon as we land, our pilot’s taking you back,” Sam grunts. “We’ll find our own way back. Banner, did you copy that?”

“I’m already here! You might as well make use of me,” Tomas argues.

“For what?!” you say, still in the dark about all of this.

Bucky addresses you, though his darkened eyes are still fixed on your brother.

“Organization called The Snakeroot Clan,” he says. He tears his eyes away from Tomas to face you. “They’re based in Japan, but we got word that some of their members are here on business.”

“The goal was to apprehend Harry Kenkoy and Feruze. But now it’s to make sure you two get home safely,” Sam picks up.

Tomas exhales loudly, earning a glare from both you and Bucky.

“They are dangerous,” Bucky says through gritted teeth. He feels the frustration bubbling and he suddenly rises from his seat to the back of the cabin, facing away from everyone in an effort to calm down. How stupid could this kid be to put himself in danger? And to put his human sister in danger right alongside him?

“Crazy dangerous,” Sam confirms. “They’re not just criminals–some of them are also mystics. They’ll fuck you up, kid, in more ways than one.”

“And that’s exactly why you took me to Kamar-Taj,” is Tomas’s rebuttal.

“That is not why we took you to Kamar-Taj!” Bucky yells, slamming his fist along the adjacent wall. In a split second, he’s in front of Tomas, leaning over him. Your heart stutters, and you’re ready to pull the hero back, but Tomas doesn’t back down, leaning forward until their noses are practically touching.

“You’re on a suicide mission, kid; you made a stupid plan like it’s your duty to put yourself in the line of fire when there are other people perfectly capable of doing it without–”

“Can’t help it,” Tomas spits. “Growing up, I drooled over my fucking history books, learning all about a man that no one believed in with a dumb plan to help save the world.”

Bucky is stunned, and Tomas breaks their staredown, hard eyes absorbing the night clouds you’re flying through.

“I heard he had someone by his side who stuck by him and believed in him,” Tomas spits. “But sis, you were right. Never meet your heroes.”

Sam and Bucky glance at you before sharing a look. You can only open your mouth, only to shut it. It was what you had told him when Steve Rogers was invited to read a book based off of him at Tomas’s former elementary school. Tomas had begged you to pick him up early from school so you could try to get even a glimpse of his hero. You agreed, but by the time you arrived, he was long gone, whisked away by something more important.

Sam stops thumbing his shield, standing up to use the lavatory. He claps his hand on Tomas’s shoulder.

“If it helps any, he was a hardass on Steve, too,” Sam whispers with a small smile before disappearing into the bathroom.

“I heard that,” Bucky grumbles. “And that punk deserved it, too.”

While the plane roars around you, you and Tomas are having a silent exchange. He can see the anger, understanding, upset, confusion, and sympathy in your eyes.

I had to, sis, his eyes are telling you.

I know, is the message your expression is sending back. But you’re gonna wish the evil sorcerers got to you first when I’m through with you.

He smiles, shifting his gaze to the airplane window once again.

“Look, I’m sorry, kid,” Bucky speaks up from across the aisle.

Tomas huffs. “I tried to come without her. I knew you would react like this if she came.”

“What does that mean?” you say. Much to Bucky’s relief, Sam’s exit from the bathroom is perfectly timed.

“He can take us to the entrance, Sam,” Bucky decides. “And then he gets his ass back to the plane. Immediately.”

His partner cocks his head at the idea, but has no rebuttal. Through their earpieces, Dr. Banner announces that the pilot has started their descent.

While Sam is handing Tomas a gun, Bucky takes his earpiece and places it in your hand.

“‘Cause I know you’re gonna be freaking out in here,” he explains. You manage a smile.

“Tomas comes back in one piece, you hear me?”

He nods solemnly, knowing your humorous tone is only a mask.

“You all come back in one piece.”

“And you stay put,” he responds. You nod, placing the communication device in your ear. He places a reassuring hand on the side of your head, smiling when you unconsciously lean into his touch. This time, it’s Sam and Tomas’s turn to exchange a look.

“We gotta go, Bucky,” Sam says, before turning his attention to the young man beside him. He points at his chest, emphasizing, “Entrance and back.”

“Entrance and back,” Tomas repeats with a grin. He meets your concerned eyes with a nod before disappearing into the night with Sam and Bucky.

For the first few minutes, your legs feel like jelly. Your nerves glue you to your seat, and you can only manage to buckle and unbuckle your seatbelt numerous times. You stare out of the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of your brother or the heroes, but can only see darkness.

The next few minutes after that, you’re pacing the cabin’s length, suddenly restless. You wipe your clammy hands on your pants, looking around for something to make yourself useful. Sitting around doing nothing was never your thing; Bucky’s simple request to stay put in the cabin was not a simple request for you. You decide your goal is to find a weapon, in case a mystic or two find the plane and need their asses handed to them.

While you search the aircraft, you hear Sam’s voice over comms, informing Dr. Banner that they’re about to meet the target.

“You sure you don’t want to do this instead, Banner?” Bucky muses.

“Covert is in your wheelhouse, not the big guy’s,” Bruce responds. “Be careful.”

You give up trying to get into the weapons locker, and instead decide on the aircraft’s fire extinguisher as your weapon of choice. You nearly invite yourself into the cockpit to confer with the pilot in case you were attacked, but you decide that the best plan would be to leave them alone so they could do their job.

You sit back in your seat, gripping the extinguisher. The red metal chills your lap through the fabric of your pajama pants. You fight every urge to run out into the darkness, to follow after your brother, knowing your role tonight was to practice patience and trust.

After a few agonizing minutes of silence, you sigh in relief at your brother’s hushed voice through the communication device in your ear: “They’re in the building, heading back now.”

“Roger. Watch your six, kid,” Bruce responds.

“Name’s Tomas,” your brother responds, and you can practically hear the goofy grin spreading across his face.

You peer out of the window, waiting to see your brother’s lanky figure appear through the darkness. One minute turns to five, which turns to ten, and you feel your stomach tying itself in knots.

“Bruce, come in,” you speak up.

“Go for Bruce.”

The plane door swings open, and you jump, nearly knocking the extinguisher to the floor. You quickly get to your feet, extinguisher aimed, but quickly drop it to hug your brother.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, pulling back and smoothing his windswept hair.

He gives you a lopsided smile.

“They told me to update our pilot, let her know everything’s on track. Means we’ll be leaving at the expected time,” Tomas says. You nod, but pull him into your arms one last time before he disappears into the cockpit.

Bruce’s voice comes over the communications system, and you slap your forehead. You had completely forgotten that you reached out to him.

“Bruce, I’m so sorry, everything’s good–”

He cuts you off, his voice low with a slight tremble. “You need to leave.”

The urgency in his tone is everything you need to know. “Wait, let me get Tomas.”

“No, you need to leave.” He is speaking quickly. “Operations logistics, including communication with the pilot, is strictly done remotely. By the mission lead. Me. Agents on the ground are there to focus on their job.”

You freeze, right outside of the cockpit. “What are you saying, Bruce?”

“Sam and Bucky would never tell your brother–”

You hear a strangled scream on the other side that causes the hair on your arms to rise. But the scream cuts off, the unnatural silence sending another round of chills through your body. The door swings open, and you swear your brother’s eyes flash purple as he fixes his gaze on you.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “I wanted to do that a lot more subtly.” He has a blade in his hand, and he’s wiping the crimson residue on the wrist of his jacket. He’s slowly moving towards you; with every step forward, you take one step back. Your eyes flash to the extinguisher on the ground, the door on your left, the bloody knife in Tomas’s hand.

“You…never had a knife.” Your hands are reaching around behind you, trying to keep your balance as you continue to create distance between yourself and your sibling.

Tomas looks at the knife, then at you. He taps his temple with the blade, as if to say silly me. The gesture leaves a ruby dot on the side of his head.

“Duh. Sorry,” he says. He sheaths the knife; in the same instant, he pulls out the gun from Sam, pointing it at your head. “Is this better?”

“RUN!” Bruce yells through your earpiece, and you push past your brother, reaching for the aircraft door. You make quick acquaintances with the floor when Tomas grips your ankle, twisting you and dragging you back towards him. Your vision becomes a jumble of white stars and ceiling panels. Still, your legs kick as hard as they can, trying to release you from your brother’s painful grip.

Tomas appears to be talking to himself as he pulls you to the back of the plane. “I like this body. Real strong, real fast.”

This man looks and sounds like your brother, but the glint in his eyes and the inflection in his tone tells you that, right now, this is not the person you’ve been raising the past few years.

“Tomas! TOMAS!” you scream, clawing at his hands, hoping to trigger your brother back to reality. Were it not for the adrenaline, you might feel the tears flowing down your cheeks, the rhythmic throbbing in your head, the pain in your ankle as the bones threatened to snap under the superhuman grip.

You try to pull your head away from the barrel of the gun, but you’re pinned–there’s nowhere for you to go. Tomas presses the barrel right between your eyebrows.

“They say we need you,” Tomas huffs. He grits his teeth before moving the gun away from you, as if it puts him in physical pain to not put a bullet in your head.

You hear the door swing open once again, followed by heavy footsteps. Tomas’s eyes follow the intrusion. You act quickly, reaching out until your fingers find the extinguisher. You swing as hard as you can, hearing the metallic clank as the object collides with your brother’s head. As he reels from the impact, you propel yourself backwards on your heels until you feel arms hooking underneath you and lifting you to your feet. Bucky spins you until you’re facing him, giving you a quick assessment before stepping in front of you.

Sam moves forward, launching his shield at Tomas. The younger man ducks behind a seat, and the weapon ricochets off of the back wall. Bucky captures the shield in his right hand and leaves Tomas no time to prepare as he throws it in his direction again.

“Snap out of it, kid!” he urges as Tomas dives out of the way. The shield returns to Bucky, and he moves as though he’s about to throw it again. Tomas readies himself, but doesn’t notice Sam sneaking to his side, his fist connecting with your brother’s jaw. Tomas crumples to the ground, and you instinctively move forward, stopped only by Bucky’s left arm across your decolletage.

Bucky lifts the shield and Sam raises his fists.

“Sis?” Tomas’s voice cracks as he calls for you. He lifts his head, and your stomach turns again.

“Tomas,” you gasp in recognition. There’s the familiarity in his eyes, the voice that you’ve known for the past nineteen years. You push past Bucky, going to comfort your bruised and fearful sibling.

Tomas sits himself up against the wall, groaning as he feels the injuries on his body. He winces and grasps his side. You check over him with worried eyes as Sam tells Bruce to call for backup. Bucky is unloading an extensive first aid kit next to you.

“Tell Doc Strange,” Tomas groans as Bucky flashes a light into his eyes, “I need a re-up on that protection spell.”

“Idiot,” you and Bucky tell him. Your eyes meet at the shared utterance, and for a moment, the world melts away in the ocean blue. You find your mouth turning upward in an amused smile, one you were sure you couldn’t manage just a moment ago.

“They know I’m still here, right?” Tomas asks Sam, who rolls his eyes and shrugs.

And so you watch Captain America settle down across from you, taking a grateful sip of the fresh coffee. Bucky had just left with Tomas a couple minutes prior, telling Sam that he would never be able to keep up at the track with a super soldier and an enhanced being. Sam had waved him off with a yeah, yeah, but you know their jests were a kind attempt to make you feel better about the true purpose of the day.

The days since your brother invited himself to the Avengers’ mission have been…rough, to say the least. After the adrenaline finished coursing through your bodies, you and Tomas were left with the brutal reality that he nearly murdered you.

On his way back to the plane, he was accosted by several members of the Snakeroot Clan. Just as Sam warned, they fucked his shit up. Bad. Bucky relayed the information from Dr. Strange: the spell was basic, but sufficient. A mystic was able to take over Tomas’s mind, but the enchantment was limited in proximity. The further Tomas traveled to return to the plane, the weaker it became; several knocks on the head were sufficient to loosen the spell’s grip on your brother.

All the while, Sam and Bucky found themselves ambushed. Comms were down within the facility’s walls, and they could only hear the occasional crackle of Bruce’s voice. Bucky had seen red, knowing that if they managed to trap him and Sam, you and Tomas were faring worse. The thought was nearly unbearable, and Bucky had most of the clan slumped to the ground before kicking the sealed door open. Sam had stared at his shield, wondering if his presence was even necessary, before following Bucky back to the plane.

You and Tomas were in limbo. He apologized profusely, and you forgave profusely. He was a jumble of I’m sorry, I should’ve paid more attention at Kamar-Taj, I never should’ve put us in that situation. You were the choked responses of it’s okay, I’m just glad you’re okay, let’s check on that knot on your head. You were afraid to be around each other, but also afraid to be without each other. You wanted to hug your brother, ruffle his hair, lovingly call him a piece of shit, but you couldn’t get the image of him almost killing you out of your head.

Bucky had disappeared for a couple days, too; his rage rendered him unable to remember anything between getting to the facility and bandaging Tomas up, and it terrified him.

“It’s normal,” Sam tells you. You shift uncomfortably in the dining seat. “I hope you know that.”

You’re not sure what’s normal about being afraid every time you open a door or turn a corner, terrified that your own brother is waiting, gun in hand.

Sam sees this, continuing in a tone that is the perfect mix of gentle and firm: “It’s not gonna go away by itself.”

Your jaw clenches.

“What do you do to take care of yourself?”

Take care of yourself? You don’t know, eat, sleep, maybe put on a TV show every once in a while? Though now that you think about it, you’ve been working through your lunch breaks, avoiding moments of rest that were just filled with terrifying flashbacks. And sleep wasn’t exactly sleep–more like tossing and turning until sleep happened to overtake you for a few minutes, then you would wake up and start the restless cycle all over again. Oh, and the TV show was mostly background noise while you researched mind control–

Sam calls out your name. You blink yourself back to reality, realizing you haven’t said a word since you’ve sat down at your kitchen table.

“When my dad wasn’t running the restaurant, he was in church.”

You look up at him, recalling stories about the Wilson family that Bucky learned on his visits to Delacroix. You see Bucky’s bright eyes and big smile as he told you about Cass and AJ, about Louisianian cuisine, about Sam and Sarah’s bickering.

“And my mom was there for every one of his sermons, in the third pew.” He looks down at his mug with a chuckle. “Never the first, because Titi Nisa had a hearing problem and Mrs. Roberts was too short to sit anywhere else.”

You smile, imagining a woman with Sam’s friendly grin helping other church-goers into the rows in front of her.

“And never in the second pew, no, that was for newcomers. Families that had just moved in, visitors from out of town…They deserved the second row, not the pastor’s wife.

“But when my dad was killed, she started sitting in the back row.

“And when my mom got shot, that’s when I started going.”

He lets out a mirthless huff, a sharp and emotionless exhale through his nose.

“I was so mad. My dad stood in front of the congregation every week, talking about seeing the good in people, about our duty to do things to make the world better. I mean, shit, I dunno, I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t there.

“But I hated myself. When I went to bed, I had dreams that they were still alive, that I was getting ready for church with them. I feel like I replayed every waking moment. What if I tackled the dude before he pulled the knife out on my dad? What if instead of going to that birthday party in the second grade, I stayed and hung out with my mom? And when I wasn’t torturing myself, I was putting on a tough face so Sarah would be able to look at her big brother and know that everything was okay.”

Your eyes prickled with tears and your nose stung, hearing an all-too-familiar story. You had seen Sam in many different lights at this point: the hero of great skill, the coach of short patience, the joker of quick retorts. Bucky filled in the gaps of your Sam Wilson knowledge bank, painting a picture of a magnificent uncle, a more-than-capable partner, a trusted and beloved friend. But never had you expected to see him in this light.

“I was in college,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “when Mom died. Um, heart attack. We had no way of knowing. I was at a lecture, Tomas was in class. I got in my car and I drove. I, um, drove for hours. My university was out-of-state.

“When I got there, um, she was–she was gone. Tomas got to say goodbye, but I didn’t. He told her we loved her. That we would be okay.”

You quickly wipe the tears before they trace down your cheek.

“Sam, I don’t feel okay.”

He nods. His eyebrows twitch as if they want to furrow in sympathy, but he stops himself.

“The one and only time I was on campus after that was to withdraw. I got a job at the restaurant around the corner, I picked up extra shifts, I started working at this store in the mall–to make sure we were okay–”

“Yeah,” Sam cuts in. He sees how your chest heaves, how your breathing is turning erratic. “Yeah, I know.

“So let me ask you this. If you close your eyes and picture yourself calm, and happy, what do you see?”

You take a deep breath, trying to clear your mind as your eyes close and Sam disappears behind a curtain of darkness. You reach into your memory, pulling out moments of joy.

“Um, watching Tomas win competitions. Watching our favorite shows, especially the ones we liked as kids–”

“I’m gonna stop you there,” Sam says, and your eyes open. “What about…something without Tomas?”

“Without?”

“Yeah. Um, listen, we know how you love him, but a lot of your life revolves around your brother. And that’s great, you know, but I think…sometimes, you’re as dependent on him as he is on you.”

Your first instinct is to immediately shoot down the notion. But you realize how quickly you want to deny the sentiment, and you wonder why that is. You press your lips together.

You close your eyes again.

“A couple months ago, I drew a bath, lit some candles, watched this cheesy movie. Um, I saw some friends from high school a year ago–we saw a comedy show, then grabbed dinner.”

You smile as your words summon the memories to your mind. But a different picture paints itself over the recollections. You’re sitting at the edge of the couch, looking over at your favorite part of the film, smiling proudly as Bucky laughs, right on cue. You’re shoving leftovers into your fridge as Bucky returns your dining table to its original spot, making easy work of the furniture pieces. You see his cropped dark hair, his soft blues, his bright smile.

Your eyes are wide when they open, and you pray Sam doesn’t notice as your face floods with heat. His face, even the subtle smile, betray nothing.

The oven clock informs you that your time with the captain is up.

“You’re good, Wilson,” you say. “You’re good.”

He gives a dismissive shrug as you both rise.

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks, right?”

“They pay you the big bucks?”

“Nah.”

You and Sam stop in front of the front door.

“Thanks, Sam,” you say earnestly. “You didn’t have to do all that, and–no, stop, you really didn’t. You were a counselor for war vets, for heroes. Not for people like me. You’re a good friend.”

“What makes you think you’re not a hero?” he says. “Your brother thinks the world of you, you know.”

You give him a lopsided smile.

“And that bionic staring machine looks up to you, too.

“Not me, though. I think you kinda suck.”

He shoves his shoulder into you jokingly as you laugh at the sharp turn of his words. You open the door, ready to quip about kicking him out. On the other side, your brother waits with his keys in hand, Bucky standing expectantly beside him.

“Mile time is down to two minutes and thirty-four seconds, sis,” Tomas announces with a grin, shooting you a thumbs up. You find yourself looking closely at his eyes, making sure there’s no hint of a purple hue.

“Got a great view of the back of my head the whole time,” Bucky adds.

Tomas deflates, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, and your knees haven’t stopped cracking since,” he grumbles, earning a laugh from Sam.

At the training facility, the four of you look over Tomas’s lab tests.

“Everything looks good,” Bucky confirms, meeting your eyes and nodding.

“But it’s just as we suspected,” Sam said. “Your cells regenerate at regular levels, meaning you don’t heal like an enhanced. Can’t jump out of planes with no regard like this idiot here.”

Bucky is about to retort, before realizing Redwing’s footage somewhere in the ether. He settles for a displeased grunt.

“You’re up, Cap,” he tells his partner.

You and Bucky prop yourself up against the boxing ring’s ropes, getting a clear view of Sam and Tomas at the rock climbing wall. Sam is having him scale the wall incrementally, gauging at what height Tomas would need equipment for a safe landing. Bucky knows he wouldn’t be the most qualified for this session, because…

“I kinda just…throw myself at things,” he says, scratching his neck. “There’s really no better way to put it.”

You laugh with a shake of your head. “You’re a super soldier, not a boomerang, Barnes.”

He shrugs. “Don’t underestimate me.” He has his phone in his hand, flipping it around absentmindedly. You watch his nimble fingers for a few seconds.

“Hey,” you say, a lightbulb going off. “You should train me.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “In what, exactly?”

You shrug, nervously wiggling your foot, feeling a phantom hand wrapping around your ankle. Despite the passage of time, your bruises remain, serving as a torturous reminder.

“Self-defense, I guess. Maybe some cool moves to impress the ladies, or whatever it is you do.”

He smiles, stepping backwards off of the ring’s ledge. It’s not a bad idea, and he wonders why he didn’t think to offer it first.

“So you’re saying I impress you,” is his takeaway. His eyes scan the pegboard in front of him, running his fingers over the selection of weapons. He selects two training knives before making his way back to the ring, swinging himself over the ropes.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, now, Barnes,” you tease as you take his hand. He helps you climb over the ropes, his hand finding the small of your back as you lower yourself into the ring.

Bucky takes you through some basic techniques. He shows you several grips, pairing them with the best flicks, slashes, and thrusts. You’re surprised at how much you have to focus on your footwork. Bucky moves your hips, even guides your knees and crouches down by your feet. When you yelp as his hand gently prods your ankle forward, Bucky reels.

“No, it’s not you,” you say, propping your right foot on your toes to alleviate the pain. “Just…still sore.”

While he’s still bent low to the ground, Bucky silently offers you his hand. Questioningly, you gingerly place your hand in his, and he guides you down beside him. One hand forms a loose circle right above your ankle, the other grips your shoe. He draws slow circles with your foot, earning a hiss from you.

“HYDRA sent me to the Philippines for a few months,” he tells you. “First, for an assassination, but I was ordered to stay. Train with one of their contacts, who was an expert in a local form of knife fighting. Some of the most impressive knife skills in the world. Breathe, doll, breathe.”

You force an exhale as Bucky rotates your foot in the other direction. “Knives are really more the…Soldier’s thing. I stopped using them a long time ago.”

“I had no idea,” you said. “Maybe we shouldn’t–”

“We definitely should. Use HYDRA’s training for something good, right? Someone good. That feel okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Thanks.” You look up at him, trying to relax the pained scrunch of your brows. He smiles, tells you anytime. With his eyes meeting yours, his skilled fingers coaxing the pain out of your body, you feel your heart nearly beating out of your chest. Bucky moves forward, reaching further up to press circles into your calf.

“You’re tense,” he comments, but you swear he’s speaking to your lips and not to you.

“Not for the reasons you think, Bucky,” you say, finding your own eyes tracing down his face. His oceanic eyes, the curve of his nose, the slight part of his lips…

Bucky’s hand moves further up, finding the top of your thigh. He’s closer than ever, his free hand finding yours, pulling the knife out of your grasp and guiding your fingers between his.

The gym lights flicker on and off, startling you. Bucky hangs his head for a brief second; when he peers upward, he smiles, pushing himself backwards.

“The facility will be closing in five minutes,” an announcement comes over the speaker system. “If you have any items in the lockers, please get them now.”

As Bucky is helping you up and out of the ring, Sam tells Tomas to gather his things. When the teen is out of earshot, he presses a name on his phone.

“Sarah? Hey, you’re gonna love this…”

Masterlist: {one} | {two} | {three}

Taglist: @vicmc624 @zizzlekwum @monique2281 @d3m0n8ch1ld @just-a-stan Feel free to leave a reply/ask if you want to be added!

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skzhocomments · 7 months ago

Text

In the Dark - Choi Minho SHINee Fanfic - Chapter 5 - Babysitter duty

General masterlist

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

---

Chapter 5 - Babysitter duty

chapter word count: ~4k words

~Minho’s POV~

“The main song’s production is completed, video is filmed, we are basically prepared for the release. How is the rest of the album going?” Mr. Kim, the man responsible for all the team in charge of production, video, graphic design and so on asked bluntly.

We were all seated around the table in the meeting room, and the air felt tense.

“The cover is still in-progress…” the designer spoke, but cowered noticing Mr. Kim’s burning gaze.

“The album release is less than two months away. Are you aware of that?” He asked harshly, and the designer just nodded.

“Whatever. Make sure to finish at least 20 sketches by Monday.”

“But it’s Saturday-”

“Did I stutter?” Mr. Kim raised his voice, and the designer just shut up. “Okay, now that the design is out of the way – how is production going? Mr. Choi?”

“Yes. We still have some of it to do. We’ve recorded almost all vocals by now, we just need a few backing vocals, and then putting them together. It’s essentially a puzzle at this point.”

“It needs to get done in maximum 3 weeks from now.”

“We are trying. You gave us 10 songs, though. That’s a lot.”

“You are a good producer, you can manage.” Mr. Kim shrugged. I was annoyed, but there was no arguing with him, unfortunately. After all, he summoned this meeting at 3 PM on a Saturday.

I just nodded as well and left the meeting, going to my studio and opening up the audio files, checking one more time exactly what we had already, or if there was anything else we needed to record before getting started on the overall production. Having everything ready in just 3 weeks meant coming to the studio every day and working almost non-stop. I could already feel the stress burning up my throat, anxiety rising from my stomach like acid and burning my insides.

After about two hours of work, an unknown number called my phone, delivering some horrible news that pulled me out of my trance.

My mother collapsed while taking care of Nari and was now in the hospital.

The words didn’t seem the register well in my head; the only thing I knew was that I jumped from my desk and somehow got in my car and drove as quickly as possible.

Nari was a crying mess when I got there, and mom was sleeping.

“Baby, what happened?” I hugged Nari tightly and let her explain how grandma suddenly started feeling dizzy, and then fell while making lunch for her. Nari panicked, but remembered how I taught her to use the phone and dial the emergency number.

Indeed, my mom was looking pale, and I knew she’s been feeling sick the past few weeks, but she offered to watch over Nari as graciously as ever while I went to work, and even assured me she was feeling well enough to take care of her.

Apparently not.

What the fuck was I even supposed to do now? Obviously, getting a babysitter, because I couldn’t take Nari to work, and I had to go back to the office no matter what.

Fuck, I also booked Flame tonight. I cursed in my head and quickly opened my phone and cancelled the appointment. The app didn’t let me add any reasons for cancelling, which annoyed me to no end, because I didn’t want her to think I didn’t want to see her anymore.

After speaking with the doctor and finding out that mom should get better after having proper rest for a while, and should just take it easy, I grabbed Nari and started walking with her towards the exit.

“Daddy.” Nari shook my hand, still crying. I went on one knee and hugged her. “Is grandma going to be okay?”

“Of course, she just needs to sleep for a little bit, that’s all.” I caressed her hair and spoke gently.

“What if… she will die?” She cried harder, making me frown. “That’s what happened to Nam-gil’s grandma!”

“Who is that?”

“The boy who sits behind me! I told you about him!!! His grandma went to sleep and never woke up!”

“Baby, that’s not going to happen.” I hugged her and tried to reassure her again. “Grandma’s fine. She’s just a bit worn out, but she’ll be fine, okay?”

“… okay. Are we going home, daddy?”

“Oh, baby… daddy has to get back to work for now… since grandma is sick, we will have to get a babysitter-”

“NO!” Nari shouted, making everyone around us turn their attention to us. “I WANT YOU!!! NOT A BABYSITTER!”

“I know, but please hear me out. We’re going to stay together the whole day tomorrow-”

“NO!” She shouted again, and pulled away from me forcefully, starting to run away.

~Jieun’s POV~

Raining again, huh…?

It feels like the sky’s been crying for weeks with no end in sight. The air was humid and cold, and each time I would go outside I felt like I had to tighten the coat around my body tighter and tighter.

Even if it was raining so much, the world didn’t seem to halt for even a minute. People were running busily from place to place, crowding themselves to shelter away from the rain at the bus stop, or jumping from cab to cab to get somewhere.

Even if it was Saturday, it was no different. I was no different. Everyone had their own errands, and my errand for the day was to buy some apple pastries – grandma’s favourites – and go to visit her in the hospital.

I felt bad for not visiting her as often as I would’ve liked. The doctor scolded me, too. He articulated so many times how important it was for cancer patients to not deal with the battle alone, but more than once per week felt too painful for me as well. It’s not like I didn’t want to come more often.

I just… couldn’t.

“Hey grandma! Looking good!” I winked as I entered the private hospital room. Charisma’s money ensured a level of comfort that I would’ve otherwise been unable to provide for my grandma no matter how much I tried.

“Jieun, dear!” She smiled happily seeing me. She looked well, her face not as pallid.

“I brought you your favourites.” I said, waving the bag of pastries around.

“Apple strudel? My granddaughter is spoiling me so much!” She smiled and patted the bed with her right hand, instructing me to come sit down.

I helped her sit up and brought her tray of food, placing the pastries on a plate and bringing her a glass of pomegranate juice – her favourite – and then I sat down on the chair next to the bed as well.

“How are you feeling, grandma?” I smiled, watching her eat the strudels happily. She had an appetite, which was a good sign.

“I’m doing so well lately; they brought out a new doc who’s really sweet. You should meet him!” She winked, making me whine.

“Grandma!”

“My dear, this old lady is not important, so you shouldn’t worry about me and should try to find yourself a partner.”

“Grandma… please, eat and leave me alone!” I covered my cheeks.

“I just feel bad, you’ve been working so hard for me… you should take advantage of your youth and go on dates and meet someone!”

“Don’t worry, as long as you’re healthy, that’s all that matters to me.” I frowned.

“Jieun, dear… how much have you been working to afford this big room? You should move me to a smaller one. I don’t need all this space for myself!” She looked at me with sad eyes, and that look almost made me want to throw up. Why couldn’t she just accept this and let me handle everything?

“Grandma, you really don’t have to worry. I want you to be taken care of as much as possible, until you can return home to live with me!” I started, then got startled by a hand on my cheek wiping my tears away.

Huh?

I haven’t even realised I started crying.

“My baby…” She spoke. “I love you so much, Jieun, but you have to start living for yourself as well…”

“I will, you just have to get better!”

My grandma smiled briefly, but something about the look in her eyes made me want to cry harder. Instead of continuing to look at her and cry like a fool, I decided to tell her I have plans with some friends and left the salon in a hurry.

Just as I exited the room, a notification on my phone caught my eye.

---

1 unread notification – In the Dark

Charisma has cancelled tonight’s meeting.

---

Great. This day couldn’t get any better.

I chuckled bitterly. I was looking forward to meeting Charisma and feeling a little bit better about myself, but I guess I couldn’t even do that.

As I was approaching the end of the corridor, a loud “NO” echoed throughout the hospital and soon enough someone bumped into me.

Looking at the child that fell on the ground in front of my legs, the familiar girl with brown hair and small figure started crying loudly.

“Nari?”

She was rubbing her eyes furiously, but after hearing her name, she raised her head and looked at me.

“Miss Park!” She cried and practically jumped on my legs, and I hugged her and tried to comfort her.

“What’s wrong, hm?” I asked her, but before she got the chance to reply, her dad found the corridor.

“Nari, God, I told you not to run away from me- miss Park?” He asked perplexed, seeing me embraced with his daughter.

Nari was still crying.

“Mr. Choi.” I smiled briefly.

“I’m sorry for this. Nari, come on, we really have to go.”

“NO! I DON’T WANT TO!” She cried in my arms and hugged me tighter.

“Baby, please. I have to go to work, I told you so many times-”

“NO! I’m not staying with a babysitter!”

I let Nari hide herself behind my legs while pitying Mr. Choi for this situation. I knew Nari could be a bit difficult sometimes, and he was probably going through a lot – being in a hospital and trying to sort things out while having to be at work.

“Don’t you like babysitters, Nari?” I asked while caressing the girl’s hair and turning around to face her properly.

“No! I hate them!” She shook her head, refusing to look at her dad.

“Hmm, but what if we spend some time together, hm? We could go get some hot chocolate in the mall, maybe even an ice cream! And we could visit the art shop to get you some oil paints, and then paint something together. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Nari detached herself from me and I wiped off her tears, while she nodded in approval.

“Miss Park, you don’t have to-” Mr. Choi started, but I cut him off, while Nari was still agreeing with me.

“We should make sure to go fast, then! I heard the ice-cream shop closes at 8!”

“Oh no! Let’s hurry!” Nari grabbed my hand and started dragging me.

“Could you go to that vending machine and get us two chocolate bars first, though?” I asked her and handed her some cash, and she went happily.

“Miss Park, I really don’t know what to say… My mother was looking after her when she passed out, and…” Mr. Choi spoke.

“Don’t worry. You must be busy, so you should go finish up work and I’ll take care of her, okay?”

“You have no idea how grateful I am for everything you’ve been doing for us. I will text you my address and door code, so you can go there with Nari when you’re done shopping, and let me know how much money you’re spending today. Actually wait, I’m going to-” He reached for his wallet, but I placed my hand on his and stopped him.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out later.”

“Thank you so much.” He said again, before Nari returned with three chocolate bars.

“This is for you,” she handed one to me, “this is for me, and this…” she hesitantly handed it to Mr. Choi, who went on one of his knees and hugged her tightly.

“Daddy is so sorry. I promise you we’ll spend the whole day together tomorrow, and you can have fun with Miss Park today, yes?”

“Okay, daddy.”

“I love you, princess.” He kissed the top of her head gently.

“I love you too, daddy.”

I took Nari to the mall just as promised, and after grabbing a small ice cream, we headed towards one of the playgrounds inside so she could play for a bit before heading home.

“Did you like the ice-cream?” I asked her and smiled. We were holding hands and walking leisurely through the mall, while I was trying to remember where the playground was located exactly.

“Yes, it was so- JIHO!” She shouted all of a sudden, startling me, and jerked her hand away from mine, starting to run towards another little girl.

“Nari, please don’t run away like that!” I scolded her for a bit, and she pouted.

“I’m sorry, Miss Park.”

“Now, who is your friend?” I smiled gently, when a couple approached us. A woman seemingly my age started speaking.

“Oh, if this is not Nari! And you must be… her babysitter?” She tilted her head and looked at the man on her left unsure.

“No! She is not my babysitter! She is my teacher!” Nari articulated every word and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

So cute.

“Yes, I’m Jieun, nice to meet you. Are you... uhm…”

“Oh, we are Nari’s Godparents.” The man chuckled. “I’m Jinki, and this is my wife, Ye-Jun. It’s nice to meet you, Jieun.”

We shook hands.

“We were just heading to the playground, would you like to come so the girls can play together?”

“We were actually going there ourselves!” Ye-Jun spoke.

“Oh, is that so?” I chuckled. “The more the merrier, let’s go together.”

We headed towards the play area and let the girls have fun while we sat on a bench outside the playground and observed them.

“So, Jieun… I was so shocked to see you with Nari, she usually hates being away from her grandma or Minho.” Ye-Jun said, and hearing Mr. Choi’s name spoken casually like that brought a chill down my spine, for some reason.

“From what he told me, her grandma collapsed and was brought to the hospital, and he has work…”

“Oh right, there’s an album release in like two months, I think.” Jinki added to my explanation, and Ye-Jun nodded.

“An album release…?” I tilted my head.

“Yeah, he is a producer. Makes songs, basically. If you ever listen to the radio, or watch shows or whatever, chances are you’ve heard something he made. He’s really good.” Jinki chuckled.

“Is that so?” I smiled. I knew nothing about Mr. Choi, after all. I didn’t even know exactly what producer meant on his business card, but he was apparently well-known and popular in the industry.

“I’m so sorry to hear about his mom, though. Is she okay?” Ye-Jun asked, worried.

“I think she will be, after she gets some rest…”

“That’s a relief.” Ye-Jun replied.

“I’m gonna go grab something to drink, would you girls like something?” Jinki stood up and headed towards a nearby coffee shop.

“I’m really glad to see Nari with someone else, honestly. It’s been so tough on Minho to take care of Nari all on his own, and he never accepts our help. He doesn’t want to inconvenience us.” Ye-Jun frowned.

“Sorry… on his own?”

“Yes, ever since Ellie died…” She frowned. “Ellie was his wife, and my best friend.”

“I’m sorry about your loss.” I touched her shoulder with sympathy.

“It’s been many years, but her loss is still felt by all of us. I always felt bad for Nari, growing up without a mother… Ellie died giving birth to her.”

“Oh…”

“Minho’s been blaming himself so much. She never wanted children, but when she got pregnant, he was so happy… she couldn’t bring herself to terminate. I was also pregnant with Jiho at that time, so…” A few tears made their way on Ye-Jun’s cheeks, and I felt bad for getting to this conversation and making her talk about it, since it still brought so much pain.

“Life is so unfair to us sometimes, isn’t it?” I looked at the playground absent-mindedly. Nari saw us and smiled brightly, waving at me. I waved back.

“Mhm. After Ellie’s death… he covered himself in work, and Nari… she never had someone to call mom. She grew up around babysitters, and…”

“That’s why she hates them.”

“Exactly. It’s really shocking to see her here with… someone new. I’m really sorry, Jieun, I’m probably overwhelming you with so much information.”

“No, not at all.” I put my hand on hers and squeezed. “Thank you for telling me, it’s easier now to understand Nari. I also grew up without a mom.”

“The world really is cruel.” She started crying harder.

“Woah, what happened?” Jinki ran towards us alarmed and I took the drinks from his hands so he could comfort his wife.

“I was just telling Jieun about Ellie and how sad it is for Nari to grow up without her.” She explained briefly, and Jinki hugged her tightly.

“Darling, what if Jiho sees you crying, hm?”

“But it’s so sad!” She continued crying, and Jinki threw me a compassionate look and mouthed a quick “I’m sorry.”

I waved my hand around and smiled compassionately.

“I’m really sorry.” Ye-Jun sniffled. “I’m pregnant and my hormones are all over the place. Minho doesn’t know yet, so please don’t tell him.”

“Sure, of course. That’s amazing, Jiho is going to have a younger sibling.”

“Yeah, we didn’t exactly expect it 8 years after Jiho, but…” Jinki smiled and held his wife’s hand tighter.

“That’s certainly- sorry.” I started, but got interrupted by my phone ringing. “Hello, Mr. Choi.”

“Hi, Miss Park, just checking in. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything’s fine over here. We are currently at the mall.”

“Oh, is Nari playing with other kids?”

“Yes, we actually ran into her Godparents, and she’s been playing with Jiho for 2 hours now.”

“Must be fun as heck.” He chuckled. “Are Ye-Jun and Jinki with you as well?”

“Yeah, they’re here. They said hi.”

“Poor you, Ye-Jun is a lot to take in for a first meeting. You’re a heroine.” He chuckled again. “Anyways, please send me your bank details so I can wire you some money for dinner and whatever else you’ve spent on Nari today.”

“Oh, but-”

“No buts. Listen, I gotta get back to work and I’ll try to hurry tonight, okay? I’m waiting for your details, send me a text. Bye~”

“Okay.” I chuckled. “Good luck at work.”

After I ended the call, I looked at Jinki and Ye-Jun, who were throwing me a curious look.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing, just…” Ye-Jun started, then looked at her husband, unsure.

“Why are you so formal with him?” Jinki asked amused. “Mr. Choi. It’s so… weird to hear someone call Minho that.”

“Oh, I mean… he’s Nari’s father, and we aren’t exactly friends or anything…” I scratched my nape.

“Still, you told us to call you Jieun, and were on a first-name basis with us.” Ye-Jun pointed out.

“That’s different.” I quickly retorted. “I met you two in other circumstances.”

“You’re cute.” Ye-Jun laughed and pinched my cheek.

“I think it’s time to get our kids, hm?” Jinki chuckled, and made a hand signal towards Jiho, who happily ran towards us holding Nari’s hand.

Jiho then let go of Nari and ran quickly towards Ye-Jun and shouted “Mama!”, jumping in her arms. For a split second, Nari didn’t know what to do. She watched the scene with downhearted eyes, and she reminded me of myself so much, of how many times I would watch my friends jump in their parents’ arms and shouting “Dad!” or “Mom!” and how sad that would make me feel.

And then, my grandmother would stand up from her bench and place on knee on the ground, opening her arms fully and shouting my name, which would make me so happy at that moment. So, so happy, I would run in full speed in her arms and crash against her body, and she would bury me in her chest and get up with me.

What I did next felt like automatism. I haven’t thought it through, and I don’t know what got into me, but when I saw Nari like that, watching how loved Jiho was by her mother from the sidelines, something broke in me. It felt like I was looking at myself, the lonely, parentless child from all those years ago.

I haven’t thought it through.

I just got on one knee and opened my arms, and I shouted “Nari!” and smiled, urging her to come in my arms, and she looked confused for a split second, before her whole face lit up, her lips turning upwards into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, and she ran towards me in full speed and jumped into my arms, and I hugged her as tight as my grandma hugged me.

I got up with her still in my arms, and damn, was she heavy. Still, I kept her up and turned my head to her once she stopped hugging my neck.

“Should we go home and eat some dinner?” I asked her, and she nodded rapidly. “Okay then, let’s say bye bye to Jiho and your Godparents.”

She nodded again and I put her back on the floor, watching fondly as she hugged her best friend tightly.

I tried not to ponder on Jinki and Ye-Jun’s curious looks after my questionable action just now, and simply smiled and said my goodbyes as well.

“So, did you have fun with Jiho?” I asked Nari, who nodded enthusiastically.

“She’s my best friend!”

“I’m glad to hear. What do you want to eat at home? Do you want to order something?”

“Uhm…” Nari hesitated. “Usually,… grandma makes something for me…”

“Oh. Okay. What should we cook, then?” I smiled and caressed her cheek, and she smiled brightly and jumped in front of me.

“Potato stew!”

“Okay! Let’s do that, then!” I chuckled, and we went shopping together.

After shopping, we headed to the address Mr. Choi sent me. They lived in a pretty rich neighbourhood, and their apartment was large and looked really beautiful, decorated with modern furniture. I couldn’t take my sweet time exploring any of it, though, as Nari was too hungry and excited to help me cook.

We cooked and ate together, and I listened to her talk about anything and everything as kids tend to do. When we were done, I told her to brush her teeth and helped her into bed. She was already quite tired after crying in the hospital and then playing for hours with her friend, so she was almost asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.

“Miss Park, is daddy not coming home…?” She asked quietly as I tucked her in and caressed her head once more.

“He is on his way, I’m sure. But I don’t think daddy wants you to wait for him. He did promise you he’ll spend tomorrow with you, didn’t he?”

“Yes…”

“So, be a good girl and sleep, hm?”

“Miss Park… is grandma… going to be okay…?”

“Of course she is.” I smiled assuringly. “After all, she has to come back and take care of you.”

“When is she getting out of the hospital?”

“Oh, baby… I don’t know. But we can ask daddy tomorrow if you can go visit her, okay?”

“Okay…”

I kissed Nari’s forehead and watched her fall asleep quickly, then turned off the light and exited her room as quietly as I could.

Finally alone after a long day, I made my way towards the living room and sat awkwardly on the sofa in the middle of it. I didn’t exactly know what to do next. Obviously, I had to wait for Mr. Choi to come home, as I couldn’t possibly leave Nari all by herself, but… now what?

I was in an unfamiliar space, I already cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, and I didn’t know what to do here. I didn’t even know where the remote control for the TV was and there were no bookshelves in the living room so I could at least grab a book or something, and it’s not like I could snoop around.

I dimmed the lights in the room to make it more comfortable on my eyes and I took out my phone – its battery almost dead – and mindlessly browsed the internet for a while.

It was for the best that Charisma cancelled tonight, after all. I noted, after noticing how late it got. Mr. Choi didn’t tell me when he was coming home, and it was already way past 10PM, my usual meeting time with Charisma.

Why did he cancel? I kept pondering on it. Maybe he was busy. Maybe something unexpected came up.

Maybe he just changed his mind and didn’t want to see me anymore.

That was entirely possible.

---

Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

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themultifandomgal · 2 years ago

Text

Cillian Murphy- Insecurities

Trigger warnings- talks about anorexia, divorce and online bullying

I meet Cillian when I joined season 4 of Peaky Blinders, I was to be Tommy Shelbys new love interest. However during this time it came out that Cillian was divorced and I was the one to blame, although they had divorced a year before I had even met Cillian. The hate I received was unbelievable, I was called a home wrecker, I was told to harm myself, told I was nothing but a gold digger so many nasty things, and since I'm 15 years younger it was worse. For Cillian this was such a hard time because he is such a privet person, but like always the hate died down. It's been a few years now and Cillian and I promoting our newest film together Oppenheimer. However the news about me being in this film had mix reviews, most positive, but there's still a handful of people who believe that I'm the cause of his divorce. I was recently added into a group chat on Twitter where they criticised my body, my acting, my relationship. This made me question a lot of this and I definitely became insecure.

Before Cillian and I met I was anorexic and when we did meet it was when I was better, although he knows all about that and has helped me through some dark moments I still have days where I feel like I could go back to my old days. Things have gotten so bad I have deleted all of my social medias. I'm curled up in mine and Cillian bed crying after looking at myself in the mirror for the last 20 minutes when the door opens

"Babe have you seen... what's wrong? Are you hurt? Feel ill?"

"I'm fine"

"You obviously aren't because your crying so come on tell me"

"Honestly Cil I'm just being stupid"

"Never stupid. Tell my what's going on in that head of yours" Cillian moves a stray hair from my face then moves to caress my check. I sigh leaning into his touch

"It's just other girls are much prettier than me. You could literally have anyone in the world but you chose me, I don't understand why. I'm 15 years younger, I'm in my 20s so my do you want me?"

"Babe come here" I sit up and scoot over to Cillian who wraps me up in his arms "I love you and only you. Your beautiful inside and out, don't listen to what other people say, because I know you do, stop looking at the news. As for your age, it's just a number we're both adults and can do whatever we want, within reason, you've got to stop letting other peoples words cloud your own judgment. This is why I stay offline"

"Yeah Will I deleted all my social the other week"

"I know you though YN, and I know that you will still search for yourself to see what people are saying about you"

"I just hate feeling like this, hate feeling so insecure"

"I know baby I hate seeing you hate yourself when all I see is perfection. What can I do to help?" I shrug my shoulders not really knowing what anyone could do "what about speaking to your therapist. Maybe they could give you some advice" Cillian suggests

"Yeah maybe"

"YN I love you so much and I will tell you everyday how beautiful you are and how much I love you" Cillian leans down and kisses my lips "I'll make sure to tell you how important you are to not only me but everyone around you. This hate will go away, or at least you won't see it"

"I love you too" I smile at him glad I have him in my life "what was it you were looking for?"

"Huh?"

"You came in about to ask me where something was"

"Oh. I was just wondering if you knew where my hoodie was but I think I've found it" I giggle pulling the sleeves down and snuggling into Cillian more. Things will be ok soon.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian murphy x reader

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mlmxreader · 2 months ago

Text

A Big Mistake | Tom Hanniger x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ :0 I finally got around to watching My Bloody Valentine (the 2009 one) and I noticed that you write for Tom! Would you be willing to write something with 20. “Uhm, just a by the way, but everyone knows about us now” with him please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Tom live a happy, quiet, life in the comforting shadow of secrecy, and away from the bigotry of Harmony and its people, until one silly mistake completely crumbles it to pieces.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, mentions of hallucinations, mentions of gaslighting & planting false memories, heavily implied saneism

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ Support Muhammad's Surgery & Children Amir and Malak

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

It had been years since the incident, and although you knew that Tom was innocent, it was difficult for him to get past it; his mental health had suffered tremendously, and he blamed himself for believing the false memories that Axel had planted in his head.

But he was doing better, now, and he lived quite comfortably with you; the fact that you had animals helped, as he found a sort of solace and peace when he was helping you with feeding, cleaning, health checks, and everything else. He found them to help massively when he was hallucinating, as he could turn to them and see if they were reacting or not, and it helped him keep his calm.

Granted, he still had his bad days, but he was comfortable enough to at least tell you as such. Usually bad days meant spending the entire time in bed watching old films, but you enjoyed it as much as he did.

He did appreciate it, though. The fact that he could actually be honest about what was going on inside his head and not needing to worry about how you would look at him; all of his old friends would have run a mile and called him some truly horrendous things. But not you. You just asked how you could support him, and made sure to make the adjustments.

But nobody outside of the two of you and his psychiatrist actually knew about the relationship; you both wanted to keep it a secret, as neither you nor him wanted to know what the people of Harmony would say about it. The whispers, the comments about his mental health, the awful thing that had happened so long ago.

It was easy to blame the man who had been gaslit and had false memories planted in his head, than it was to accept that their old sheriff was a corrupt, violent, and evil person. It was easy to blame the mentally ill man and point a finger at him, than to admit that mental health did not factor into violent acts.

But that was nothing to worry about right now.

You watched as Tom sat on the floor, careful in his execution as he mixed in bits of calcium dust with vegetables for the invertebrates as one of the snakes sat across his shoulders; a smile on your face as you dared to take your phone out, snapping a quick picture.

At the sound of the shutter, he looked over at you, and dared to smile. "You're takin' pictures of me again? Seriously?"

You shrugged, sitting opposite him. "Can you blame me when you look like that?"

A bit of blush coated his features as he ran a hand through his short brown hair. "Wait there."

You did as he said; he put the snake back into its tank, and put the various foods into the invertebrate tanks before coming back. He gently took your hand in his own, leading you to the bed so that he could sit down and pull you onto his lap; carefully, he grabbed your phone and pulled up the camera. Pointing it at the mirror opposite as he pressed a kiss to your neck and quickly pressed the shutter button.

You grinned, not thinking anything would happen as you tossed the phone onto the bed beside you and turned around to face him; slowly and softly kissing him for a moment, you both smiled into it as he laid one hand on your jaw and the other at the back of your neck. You grabbed his shirt, balling it in your hands in a desperate attempt to keep him close.

Tom dared to let his hand run down to your back, pulling you down with him as he leaned back; you instinctively put your hand out, swiping the phone and not realising.

You laughed softly, pulling away from him and reaching for the phone at last so you could set it on the bedside table; Tom watched as your smile faded, and your eyes widened slightly.

"Baby?" He whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Bollocks," you breathed out, resting a hand on your forehead. "Uhm, just a by the way, but everyone knows about us now... or at least they will soon enough."

He furrowed his brows as he tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

You showed him the phone. "I must have fucking hit share when you pulled me down... fuck!"

"Don't worry," he told you gently. "It'll be fine."

You shook your head, tossing the phone away in frustration. "Tom. Be fucking serious. You know what people in Harmony are like, you know what they think of you, and-"

Tom could tell you were worrying about him more than yourself, and gently tugged at your shirt collar to distract you. "Listen to me, would you? It'll be fine. I mean, fuck, instead of going to Harmony for our food, we can just go to the town on the other side."

You frowned. "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"I know," he reassured gently. "I know, it's fine. It's an accident."

"I'll delete it, I'll-"

"Don't." He murmured. "C'mon, we've been a secret for, what? Three years now? I'm sure it won't be as bad as you think."

"I'll call Patricia, she'll-"

"Do nothing," he insisted. "Just... focus on me, alright?"

It made him want to laugh, the amount of times you had said that to him and now he was repeating it back like it was nothing; he grinned to himself as he cleared his throat.

"You're right," you relented at last. "I mean, what's the worst that could happen? Axel's gone, and, and if push comes to shove, I can always take a few bruises for you anyway if anyone gets a bit chopsy... right?"

"You wouldn't-"

"If I had to, I would," you insisted. "You're more than worth it... most of the time."

Tom tilted his head to the side as he lifted a brow. "Most?"

"Well, I can't say I'm keen on you when you fucking steal off of my plate," you pointed out with a soft laugh. "Can I?"

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