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hanniiesuckle17 · 4 years ago

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Stray Kids Reaction: S/o Has a Migraine and Can’t Sleep

A/n: I had a super bad headache last night so I just came up with this. Sry for the lack of og content! I’m working on a big request rn! (btw this is not edited so sorry for mistakes)

Warnings: maybe a couple curse words? nudity? idk its chill

Bangchan:

You had been prone to get migraines every now and then. As a result, you often didn’t sleep very well. Tonight was just one of those nights. It was a particularly bad one. You wanted to scream it hurt so much, but Chan was sleeping peacefully beside you. This was the third time this month. You didn’t want to wake him up again.

Slowly, you got out of bed. It seemed every movement only made the pain worse. You started to get dizzy. Bracing yourself against your closet, you sighed and rubbed your temples. “Chan...” You felt terrible about waking him up, but you needed help. “Channie...babe?” You said a little louder. He shot up in bed.

“I'm up. I'm up.” He looked around the dark room until he saw you by the closet. He rubbed his eyes and jumped out of bed. “Is it your head, baby?” He asked, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You nodded and Chan gave you a tired smile.

Carefully he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Your head dropped onto his shoulder as you tried to ignore the sharp pain coming from the top of your head. Chan carried you into the bathroom and closed the door with his foot. He carefully set you on the counter and the flicked on the lights. “Ahh!” You yelped, clutching your head.

“Sorry! Sorry! I forgot!” Chan said, flipping the light switch back off. Chan turned the shower all the way to hot and let the steam fill up the room. He kissed your cheek before leaving the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The mirror fogged with steam and the pressure in your head started to subside little by little.

Chan softly knocked on the door before entering again. By now steam was setting into the room like a mist. Sweat beaded on both your foreheads and the glass Chan held in his hand. Your boyfriend came to stand between your legs, his hand rubbing up and down your thigh.

“Drink some water, baby girl.” You took the glass, his hand staying nearby in case you dropped it. After you drank all the water, you leaned your head against Chan’s shoulder letting him rub your back.

“I’m so sorry that it hurts, Y/n.” He whispered, kissing the top of your head.

Minho:

Work had been seriously stressing you out lately. So much so that Minho went to sleep before you did. You were doing your best to work through the splitting headache you had but it was impossible. Deciding to give up, you trudged to bed. However, laying down only seemed to make it worse.

Minho was sleeping soundly beside you, completely oblivious to your pain. You did your best to fall asleep. But it felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to the side of your skull. “Minho,” You said shaking your boyfriend. “Minho, please wake up.” You said clutching your head in pain. He groaned and rolled over, sleepily glaring at you.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“My head is killing me. Fuck...It hurts so much I feel like I’m gonna be sick.” You said trying not to cry. Minho looked around, brows furrowing and then back at you.

“Well....what do you want me to do about it?” I sighed and slapped his shoulder, making him yelp. “Okay! Okay! Sheesh.” Minho stumbled out of your shared bed and shuffled sleepily down the hall. He came back a few minutes later with a bag of frozen peas and water.

“Peas?”

“Sorry, we were out of brussels sprouts.” He said helping you hold the freezing bag to your head. He watched you drink the water and lazily rubbed your thigh as he sat next to you. You knew he didn’t mean to be rude. He was just sleepy.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,”

“Don’t apologize.” He said, taking your hand in his. Minho felt the back of your neck, only to pull away at the temperature. He gently took the bag of peas from you and transferred it, pushing your hair out of the way. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.” Minho leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. Your boyfriend sat with you half asleep until the migraine finally went away.

Changbin:

You were very stressed. Stressed was an understatement. There wasn’t a word for how much pressure you were under. You had been pushing it all down and just telling yourself it would all be over soon. However, it had started to affect your sleep. You would get these splitting headaches anytime you lied down.

Changbin lounged across your couch scrolling through his phone, probably ordering the food you had talked about earlier. “I can pay for it this time, Bin.” You said running a hand through your hair. Your boyfriend shook his head, throwing his phone on the couch.

“Nonsense. I’m paying. Come here, baby. You look really stressed. Lie down for a minute.” You shook your head. You knew if you lied down, the pain which was already starting to throb against your skull would get worse. “Y/n, I’m gonna make you lie down if you don’t come over here.” Again you shook your head and turned, trying to find something to occupy your tired mind and body.

Changbin sighed and pushed himself off the sofa. He wrapped you in his arms and dragged you down onto the couch, your head laying on the cushions. He backed away when you cried out in pain. “Changbin, I told you I didn’t want to lie down!” You said clutching your head.

“Baby, I’m sorry! What’s wrong?” You shook your head, pain throbbing.

“It’s nothing. It’ll pass....eventually.”

“No, you’re hurting. Tell me what I can do.”

You tried to push past the swelling and throbbing. “Umm....uh...in my bedroom. The nightstand- in the drawer there is a little glass bottle. It’s brown and green.” Changbin nodded and got off the couch.

You could hear him rummaging through the drawer looking for one of the bottles of essential oils you had. The doorbell rang, making you cry out from the sound. “I’ve got it, baby! Hold on!” Changbin said rushing to the door. Quietly he thanked the delivery guy and placed the food on the table.

“Is this why you haven’t been sleeping?” He asked handing me the bottle of peppermint oil. Nodding, I opened it and rubbed some of the oil on my temples. The pain started to fade away very slowly. Changbin wrapped and arm around me, pulling me into his chest. “Baby, you’ve got to tell me when you’re hurting so I can help.”

Hyunjin:

Today was not your day. Nothing seemed to be going right. On top of all that you were beginning to worry about money problems. There wasn’t enough in your savings to start paying off your student loans and no matter how much your boyfriend tried you wouldn’t let him pay for the entire rent of your shared apartment.

Your shifts were getting cut back all week so you were struggling to come up with the money for rent, let alone something for Hyunjin’s birthday at the end of the week. Your boyfriend was still at rehearsal, giving you time to look at your finances without him offering to pay every eight seconds. Your brain was pulsing against your skull.

You gave up after the pain started making words float off the bank statement you were reading. You switched off all the lights and rubbed your temples. The pain was only getting worse. Not having the energy to walk to your bedroom you just laid down on the cool wood floor in your living room.

“Y/n? Hey, gorgeous! I’m home!” Hyunjin called out. The sound of his keys dropping in the dish made you clutch your head and whimper. You heard him walk over to the kitchen table and sigh when he saw the papers. “Babe, I told you not to worry about all this....Y/n?” He called out again.

“Y/N!” He yelped seeing you on the floor.

“Ahh...Jinnie...please be quiet. My head...” He nodded and carefully lowered himself onto the floor, laying on his stomach. “Hyunjin, what are you doing?” You said rubbing your eyes. Another sharp pain erupted from the top of your head, making you wince.

“I don’t really know how to help...so I’m just being here if you need me.”

If you didn’t feel so horrible you would kiss him. Gently he stroked your hair and sat against the couch. His arms wrapped around you pulling you into his lap, apologizing profusely when you whimpered in pain. “Thank you, baby.” You whispered into his chest.

“Please let me pay for the rent, gorgeous. I don’t want you hurting like this.” He kissed your forehead when you nodded the tiniest bit.

Jisung:

This had not been your week. Everything seemed to be going wrong and fighting with your mom was the last straw. Jisung was set to be at the studio until late so you just cried. And maybe screamed...a little. You just let it all out until your entire body hurt from crying. It wasn’t the healthiest option, but it was healthier than keeping it all in.

The sound of the lock turning from the front door sent you shooting up from the couch and wiping your tears. A splitting pain shot through your head, making you wince, but you smiled seeing your boyfriend come home early. “Jisung, I didn’t expect you to come home for like...another four hours.”

“I missed you baby.” He said kissing your forehead. You tried to hide how much it hurt and quickly pecked his lips. After having dinner together and getting ready for bed, the pain in your head just kept getting worst. Jisung quickly fell asleep, but you lay tossing and turning next to him.

You stared up at the ceiling hours later, listening to the snores coming from your boyfriend beside you. Every way you turned hurt and the pain was so much that you wanted to cry. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Jisung asked drowsily after you gave up and sat against the backboard, clutching your head.

“Ji, it hurts...”

He sat up, still half asleep, and wiped a few straggling tears. “What hurts, baby? What is it?” He tried to blink the heaviness away from his eyes. His tired eyes softened seeing you in pain.

“My head. It hurts so bad.” Without saying another word, Jisung got up from his side of the bed and walked around to yours. Gently he picked you up in his arms and carried you to the bathroom. Not bothering to turn on the lights your boyfriend carefully and sleepily set you on the counter, placing a kiss on your cheek.

He turned on the shower, steam filling the room. With slow tired movements, he helped you undress before doing so himself. Tenderly Jisung carried you under the hot water and let you stand there, hands braced against the cold tile. His arms wrapped around your waist and he buried his face in your neck.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He muttered against your skin.

The hot water was helping relieve the pressure in your brain, easing some of the pain. Jisung placed sleepy kisses on your shoulder, rubbing slow patterns on your stomach as the steaming water fell over you both. After a while, you turned around and buried your face in his neck.

He stayed under the water with you until the pain had subsided.

Felix:

Sweat dripped down your neck. It felt like a thousand shards of glass were pressing against your brain. Felix was sleeping deeply beside you, laying on his stomach. His skin was cool to the touch compared to how hot your forehead felt. You couldn’t sleep. Every time you tried to get comfortable your head seemed to hurt even more.

“Fuck...” You whispered clutching your head.

You rested your head on Felix’s shoulder, letting his cool skin press against your head. It only helped a little bit, but you just focused on listening to your boyfriend’s slow breathing. Your hand pressed against his bare back, letting the coolness try and calm you.

He stirred when he felt you wince. “Y/n, darling, what’s wrong?” He asked his deep voice slurring. He rolled over and you sat up in bed. He pulled you down onto his chest, his fingers gently stroking your hair. “Why aren’t you sleeping, baby?”

You winced feeling another jab of pain. “My head hurts too much.” His movement stopped and he moved his hand away, choosing to place it on your shoulder instead. “Felix, it hurts.”

He nodded and carefully got out of bed, resting you against the headboard, “I know, darling.” He whispered. “I’ll be right back.” You watched your boyfriend walk out into the hall. A few seconds later you heard the thermostat kick in, making the room cooler. He returned with a glass of water, a wet cloth, and a pill bottle.

“Here, take this.” He said handing you two pills and the glass of water. While you swallowed the medicine, he gently pressed the cloth to your head, pulling you into his lap. You rested your head against his shoulder, letting the cold cloth soothe the pain. “Drink the whole thing, darling. It will help.”

Nodding you tipped the glass a little further, hearing the chunks of ice clink against the side of the cup. Felix moved the cloth to the back of your neck. Another sharp pain in your forehead made you wince. You pressed the cold glass to your skin and sighed. “Thank you, Lix.” You muttered before drinking more of the water. He gave you a sleepy smile and pulled you close.

“No problem at all, Y/n.”

Seungmin:

Seungmin knew that you tended to get migraines when you were stressed. It had happened ever since you were in high school. You could practically feel a headache coming on. It wasn’t too late at night, but you would usually have been asleep at this time.

Knowing it was going to get worse any second, you went to the bathroom and checked for the medicine you needed. When you reached for the bottle you found it empty. Sharp pain in your temples made you brace yourself against the sink. “Oh, shit...”You whispered feeling sick to your stomach. Without your meds, the migraine would only get worse.

The pain got exponentially worse, sending you to lean over the toilet, wrenching the contents of your stomach. You reached for your phone, dialing your boyfriend’s number.

“Y/n, hi! I’m just leaving JYP. What’s up, cutie?” Seungmin answered happily.

“Um...I’m having a little bit of an issue.” Another throbbing sensation pulsed throughout your skull. “Min can you pick me up some meds. I’m out and I need them.”

“Yeah, of course. Hold tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Seungmin hung up the phone. You flushed the toilet and tried to clean yourself up. The pain was getting worse and worse. Dragging yourself to the kitchen, you grabbed the first bag you saw in the freezer, holding it to your head.

“Y/n?” Seungmin called out into the dark apartment.

“In the kitchen, babe.” The sound of Seungmin’s footsteps echoed through the space. You felt sure arms wrap around your stomach. Turning your head, you were met with his lips on yours.

“I’ve got meds and I picked up coffee on the way.” He whispered pecking your lips again. “Salted Caramel Cream Cold Brew with extra ice just for you.” You cupped his cheek, mustering up a smile.

“Thank you so much, Min.” He handed you the coffee and the meds knowing you would feel better after having both.

“Always, Y/n. Anytime you need me.”

Jeongin:

Of course, you had to get a migraine right now. The one-time Jeongin was staying over. Carefully you got up from the bed, not wanting to wake your boyfriend. While you were no stranger to migraines and headaches, you hadn’t had one in a significant amount of time.

Tiptoeing into your bathroom you opened the medicine cabinet. You didn’t bother turning on the light knowing it would just make the pain worse. Your tired hands searched through the cabinet only to find that you were out of the pills you needed.

A cry escaped your lips as the pain jumped higher. Quickly you covered your mouth, hoping that the sound didn’t wake Jeongin. Clutching your head, you grabbed a washcloth and dowsed it in cold water. Folding it, you placed it over your forehead and slid down the bathroom wall.

Slow tears escaped as the pain spiked at random times. You let your body fall onto the floor and you curled your knees into your chest, holding the cold cloth to your head. The cool tile pressed against your cheek, easing the pain only a little bit.

“Y/n?” You heard Jeongin call softly. “Y/n, where are you? Are you okay, honey?” You winced, feeling another spike in pain.

“I’m in here, Innie.” You said weakly. You heard footsteps pad across the carpet of your bedroom until you saw the shadow of his figure from under the door. He politely knocked on the door. “You can come in, babe.” He opened the door, looking around before he found you on the floor.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” He said crouching on the floor and pushing a few pieces of wet hair out of your face. He immediately retracted his hand when you winced. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“No, Innie. It’s not your fault.” He relaxed and sat against the wall reaching for your hand. “I just get really bad migraines sometimes. I didn’t want to wake you.” He rubbed his thumb across your skin.

“Y/n you can always wake me up if you need me.” Carefully, he pulled me into his lap and didn’t even shy away when the other side of the cold washcloth pressed against his neck. “What can I do to help?”

“I’m out of the medicine I need. Could you run to the pharmacy and get some?” He nodded and slowly got up before taking the empty bottle and leaving the apartment. About twenty minutes later he came back and gave you the pills. Jeongin sat with you in his lap as the both of you waited for your pain to go away.

Requests are open my lovelies!! Just send an ask! <3

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spelviin · 4 years ago

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basically i have a lot of Thoughts™ about the whole “other people getting to play as glenn at this point in the story” thing and i need to inflict them on other ppl sry

ok so like. basically i’m kinda of two minds about the whole thing. like, on the one hand, i totally get “glenn fatigue” setting in, we’re like six months or something into his arc and tbh we don’t have an awful lot of clear-cut development or growth to show for it (some, absolutely, but not a whole lot). so a part of me is totally feeling the “just get on with it!” impulse, and in that regard i am glad we finally got him to break.

on the other hand though, in the actual moment on my first listen-through of the ep, my honest impression was that i felt a little bit disappointed. not because it was jimmy getting to act out the moment, but because the reaction to the call from morgan itself felt just a teensy bit out of character to me?

because like, we’ve seen this scene before. we’ve seen glenn take a call from morgan for the first time, back at castle ravenloft, and it did not go then the way it did in this ep. glenn was shaken, yes, absolutely, but it was a very quiet, heavy, restrained devastation. and it might have evolved from there and turned into something bigger, but he never had a chance to process the sudden reopening of that deep emotional wound in the moment because the o-dad reveal happened literally immediately afterward.

that being said though, at least in my opinion, freddie did not let that moment or its implications on glenn slide, and was playing the emotional aftermath of that call for several episodes afterwards. and yeah, sure, that post might have been me reaching, but i do think that that shit indicates that freddie does have a plan for this character.

and it’s weird to say, but i don’t know how much of the rest of the podcast jimmy has listened to, whether or not he heard the ep with the phone call to morgan, and whether or not that factored in to the way he played that moment when glenn was in his hands. to me tbh i felt like it probably didn’t, but that’s just me.

now, to be fair, the absolute last thing i want to do here is sell jimmy short. he did a fantastic job playing as glenn in this episode, his acting in that moment was perfectly devastating (”don’t get in the car” fucking BROKE me fr) and in his defence in terms of characterization, the glenn in this episode is in a very different emotional state than the glenn who answered the phone at castle ravenloft. he has been though hell, he has had his soul thrown from his body, he’s been put on trial, he’s been held in solitary confinement and been periodically tortured for nearly a decade, he’s had his entire life usurped by a fucking cop of all people, he has had his son, the only family he has left, the person he loves in this world more than anything, look him in the eye and tell him that he hates him. like, it is very very reasonable to assume that glenn is in a much more fragile state, and that being confronted with morgan’s voice now absolutely would push him over the edge and make him finally break. like that is an extremely reasonable and valid read on the character. i just don’t know if it feels 100% right to me.

i don’t know how that scene would have gone if freddie had been playing it, but i do lowkey suspect it would have been a bit different. not better or worse, not even necessarily more or less satisfying, just different.

BUT that does lead to the silver lining in all this. the thing we have going for us in terms of glenn’s characterization moving forward is that the players all know who they - and more importantly in this case, each other - will be playing in the next episode. which means that if there is anything freddie wants or doesnt want in terms of glenn’s characterization, he can discuss it all with will in between recordings. and yeah “spirit of improv” blah blah blah, the point is that if he does have a secret master plan of the nuances of glenn’s emotional state and how to deal with the current situation, he has a method of making that known to the guy who’s been handed the reins.

and honestly i think this might actually be a bit of a win-win, because (and this is just my own baseless impression of a complete stranger who i do not and will never actually know, so take it with a massive grain of salt) i kind of lowkey get the impression that freddie might not be entirely comfortable with performing really intense emotional scenes? and lord knows that is absolutely will’s wheelhouse, like, dude has made me cry so many times over the course of this podcast, he is a goddamn powerhouse when it comes to emotional performances. so like, there is an opportunity here, if it is in fact what the players actually want (which, again, this is complete speculation), for everyone involved to kind of have their cake and eat it too. we as the audience get the emotional payoff for glenn, freddie doesn’t have to fake-cry on the podcast if he doesn’t feel comfortable doing so, but he still gets the opportunity for input as to his vision for how this would all play out.

anyways, i’m likely wrong about all of this. i used to think i had an idea of where this arc was gonna go, but everything’s been so buckwild (in the best possible way for the most part) that i’ve accepted the only thing i’m usually right about is doodler shit and am now just settled in and enjoying the ride lmao.

#og #dndads #long post sry i have a lotta thoughts n feelings

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danyka-fendyr · 5 years ago

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Back Up Baby

“Hi could you write a like angsty fluff with spencer were they broken up and the reader is pregnant then spencer finds out end they get back together? Sry if it it too specific”

Not too specific at all! Thank you so much for sending in this ask and being so patient while I wrote this. I hope you like it and that it’s kind of what you were hoping for.

Wordcount: 1.4k

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy

You let out a shaky breath, the grooves in the frigid tiles of your bathroom floor digging into your skin, leaving neat little lines. You wished your life was that neat, but alas, it was not. At the moment, everything was falling apart.

When you had broken up with Spencer 2 months ago, it had made sense. He had no idea you were pregnant, and you had no intentions of telling him. His job meant that he had to travel a lot, and he was under a lot of pressure, but you knew that he loved it. He lived for his work, to help people, and you would never want to take that away from him. So when you had found out you were pregnant, it seemed like a no-brainer. You would break up with him and he would move on and be happy.

What you hadn’t anticipated was that you would not move on and be happy. You didn’t realize just how much you had relied on Spencer until you were 4 months pregnant, starting to show, and definitely starting to feel the hormones.

Which brought you to now, lying on your bathroom floor, sobbing. You had just finished packing up the last of Spencer’s things that he had left at your apartment, and you were definitely not ready to give them all back to him. In truth, some naïve part of you was still hoping that he would just forget or decide they weren’t worth coming back for and leave you here to cry yourself to sleep curled up with the box of his belongings.

The knock on your apartment door startled you out of your funk, and you shook your head, telling yourself it was just hormones.

You cleaned yourself up quickly before heading over to open your door. You expected it to be some poor delivery worker needing you to sign for another 3 AM $30 candle purchase. You heaved the strap of your camisole further up your shoulder, as though it would cover your bra strap better, before giving up. The delivery guy wouldn’t care about your messy hair, baby bump or sweats. He could see it all for all you cared.

You immediately regretted that philosophy when you opened the door to Dr. Spencer Reid.

You froze as he took you in, scanning you from head to toe. You watched his eyes widen as he made it past your tearstained face to your mid-riff. Right about where-

“You’re pregnant.”

He said it breathlessly, more air than words, like his clever mouth couldn’t support the conclusion his brain had so easily come to. In the back of your mind you catalogued that you hoped this baby had his mouth, if it was a boy. You had refused to find out the gender, not wanting to know without Spencer.

“Maybe you should come inside.”

Great. You had defaulted to hostess mode. Maybe that was a totally normal thing to do when confronting your ex who also happened to be your baby daddy. You didn’t really have a frame of reference for this particular situation.

He seemed too shocked to disagree with you, numbly coming inside. You knew his quiet wouldn’t last for long. Spencer was a fast thinker, and you could see him thinking faster than ever now, eyes bright like the well-polished gears turning in his mind. You waited for him to process, but then realized there was one question he would definitely have that you had to answer. He deserved to know the truth about that at least. For all of your mistakes you weren’t that bad of a person.

“It’s yours,” you said quietly, wrapping your arms around what was, admittedly, not much, but kind of a lot to you.

“How…how long have you known?” He choked out, running a hand through his hair.

He stared up at you with wet eyes, and for a moment you were deeply afraid he was angry. You weren’t really sure what he felt, but anger would certainly be a reasonable reaction.

“2 weeks before I broke up with you,” you admitted.

It sounded even worse when you said it out loud.

“You knew? You knew and you still…”

Now you could tell exactly what he was feeling. Hurt. That was definitely hurt. You felt it too, tears pricking at your own eyes, these ones having nothing to do with hormones.

“You were…you were so involved with your job, and I knew you loved it. If I was pregnant, I knew you would pull back, do less. I couldn’t do that to you, Spence, I couldn’t. And I was…a part of me was afraid that you couldn’t do that to yourself. That you wouldn’t want this.” It was a quiet admission, shameful in its assumptions but true all the same.

You found it in yourself to meet his eyes after a long moment, and it was just as bad as you thought it would be. He looked betrayed, and it was worse knowing that he had a right to be betrayed. He had every right to be betrayed, his brown eyes disbelieving that you could even do something that terrible. You could hardly believe you had done it, and you knew there was no way he could want you now. If he had been on the fence between you and his job before, you had sealed the deal by lying to him like this.

“I’ll just get your things,” you said, swallowing back your tears. It felt like swallowing knives. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I’m sorry for lying to you. I understand you don’t want anything to do with me now-”

“How could you think that?”

Pain dripped off every syllable, and you shut your eyes to it.

“I know what I did, Spencer. I wouldn’t want me around after that either.” You refused to look at him, picking up the box of his things.

He yanked it out of your arms, setting it back down on your couch.

“How could you think I wouldn’t want this? That I don’t want this? If you know what you did then why try to make decisions for me again? Because that was the problem the first time. The lies were bad enough, but making my choices for me? That’s the worst part.”

You couldn’t help it, and you blamed it on the pregnancy hormones. You started crying in earnest, and Spencer, good, kind, sweet Spencer caught you in his arms.

“I was just so scared,” you admitted. “And I know that’s not an excuse, and I’m so sorry Spence. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispered, his anger washing away with your tears. “We’re going to figure this out, okay?”

“We?” you asked.

“Yeah. You think I would make you do this alone?”

You pulled back to look at his face, the face you loved so much.

“It’s what I deserve.”

“What you deserve is support and love. You were absolutely wrong to make my decision for me, and not just because my decision would have been to stay. Not just because my decision still is to stay. I played a part in this too though. I should never have put you in a place where you thought my work was more important to me than you, or that I would leave you because of this. If you want me back, I’m here. As a boyfriend or just to support you. I’d like to be involved in whatever way you’d allow me.”

You laughed a little bit in relief. “Do you still have all those pregnancy books from when JJ was having Henry?”

“Memorized.” He tapped his head.

“I do want you back. I’ve wanted you back since the moment you walked out. I missed you every second, and it never got better. I’m so in love with you Spencer. I don’t want to do this with anybody else but you.”

“I love you,” he said, kissing your forehead before moving down your face to your lips.

He folded you into his arms, and you rested your head on his shoulder. For the first time in months, you could relax. You didn’t have to do this alone. For all the terrible things your pregnancy had brought you, you had a feeling your future was bright. For the first time in a long time, you felt good. Finally, everything was right with your world.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #matthew gray gubler #tw pregnancy #request #crazyforsstuff

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matthewtkachuk · 4 years ago

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#51 off of the dialogue prompts with kie or pope please

nice and angsty i love it, i apologize in advance for what i’ve done again didn’t proofread sry

51. Please tell me you’re sorry, I need to hear you say it

pairing: pope heyward x kook!reader

warnings: she angsty

word count: 500

Screaming and crying and hurtling accusations were not commonplace in your relationship with Pope. Up until now, you would actually categorize the relationship as damn near perfect. Maybe that should have been a warning sign, maybe it was a little too perfect. Maybe you should have seen the signs coming from a mile away.

You weren’t supposed to overhear them. You weren’t even supposed to be on this side of the island. You were supposed to be at the Island club, sipping mimosas with your girls from the Kook Academy, not standing in John B’s backyard listening on as your boyfriend defensively told his friends that he would never be serious about a kook princess, that he could never seriously fall in love with a stuck-up kook. He let his friends laugh and insult you and your side of the island, as your heart broke into tiny little pieces.

Tears welled in your eyes, and you bit back a sob, realizing your months with Pope hadn’t meant as much to him as they had to you. It was the little whimper that escaped you that had alerted JJ to your presence. He muttered a quiet ‘oh shit,’ and pointed you out to Pope whose face immediately fell when he spotted you. You back-pedalled a few steps, before turning and jogging back to your car. Pope easily caught up to you as you reached for the driver side door, “y/n, I-”

“Please tell me you’re sorry, I need to hear you say it,” you begged, hot tears rolling down your face in a mixture of humiliation and devastation. His silence said everything his mouth would not, so you nodded your head a few times, mouth twisted in a grimace. “Well, you don’t have to worry about slumming it with a kook who you could never possibly love, we’re done.”

“Wait, y/n, stop!” He tried to grab your arm but you shook him off angrily. “Let me - Let me explain!”

“I think you’ve said more than enough,” you told him shakily, frustratedly wiping at the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “You know, I loved you. Stupid me, huh?”

“Stop, that’s not fair, I-” he desperately tries to explain, he didn’t mean what he said, but he had to say something to his friends. You’re not having any of it.

“What’s not fair is me falling for you, and defending you to all my friends and family at the risk of many of my own personal relationships. And not only will you not defend me to your friends, you add on to it yourself! I showed you every part of me, but it’s clear all you ever saw was a stupid kook.” You angrily shoved him when he reached for you again. “You couldn’t even say you were sorry.” You shake your head and get in your car, leaving behind a broken hearted Pope, who realizes he’s made a huge mistake, without even a second glance back at him.

part two here 👀

#pope obx #pope x you #pope x reader #pope x y/n #pope imagine #pope heyward x you #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward x y/n #pope heyward imagine #pope heyward blurb #pope heyward fanfiction #diverdcwn 500 blurb night #diverdcwn writes #diverdcwn blurbs #sunflowerbecca

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smalltragedy · 4 years ago

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* herman tommeraas, cis man + he/him | you know donovan mercer, right? they’re twenty one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, four months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to ice boy by corbin like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 15th, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 21, est, they/them )

looks away as i finally post his intro after being kinda awol fr however long. i love him a lot n hes also bri’s character mercy’s younger brother so u hv to be nice to him. think abt mercy’s life. then think abt ducky. im sry in advance tht his intro’s a little longer ive hd ducky fr like. a year or two n i’ve been playing him a While <3 as always like this if u’d like 2 plot n i’ll try 2 msg u bck bt otherwise im gna just hop right into threads bc obv i need to. change my methods.

ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG ABUSE, EYE INJURY, GANG MENTIONS TW.

mini playlist.

father ;; the front bottoms / ice boy ;; corbin / lose yourself ;; eminem / my own worst enemy ;; lit / say it ain’t so ;; weezer / maps ;; yeah yeah yeahs / star stopping ;; lil peep / benz truck ;; lil peep / trauma ;; nf / northern downpour ;; panic! at the disco / your graduation ;; modern baseball.

statistics.

full name: donovan mercer.

nickname(s): ducky.

birthday: march 15th, 1999.

zodiac: pisces sun, aquarius moon, aquarius ascending.

mbti & temperament: intp & theorist / phlegmatic.

label: the despondent.

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york.

sexuality: bisexual (bt not out).

pinterest.

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

implied abuse tw // their father was not kind, or merciful - and ducky was a runt compared to mercy, small and sensitive and kinder than his brother. weak, and filled with softness, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice - but it didn’t. and it never did.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed. implied abuse end of tw

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

abuse mention // but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be. end of abuse mention

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. he never graduated high school.

abuse mention // anxiety mention // anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

heavy abuse tw // violence tw // it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly.

eye injury // corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

the mercer brothers have been floating around the north carolina scene for ~5ish years now, trailing after their father who is consistently chasing after their mother with no luck. they’re currently residing in palm motel. can we get a hell yeah?

personality & facts.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be on him harder. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs and leaves the rest for mercy. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

drug abuse // has a. complicated relationship with benzos n xanax n a various assortment of painkillers. ironic bc he hates drugs due to. his chosen career n wldnt do most of what they sell, bt yknow. this ws inevitable. hates beer bt forces himself 2 drink it bc toxic masculinity probably man idk.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

violence mention // purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted plots.

u look good tonight ... ;; wld love a connection in which he is feeling emotionally compromised n maybe kinda hs a thing w someone bt hes like. very unreliable n kinda ghosting bc he is very afraid n it wld b maybe bad fr them to b anything other than hook ups. cld apply to smth very intensive or smth very surface lvl i’ll take thousands.

palms sweaty ... moms spaghetti ... ;; ppl tht ducky just hs fkn brawled. cld b anybody fr any reason. ducky prob lost n he prob lost on purpose bt also ur muse cld maybe kick ducky’s ass? cld b a fake fight cld b a real fight. cld b a npc fight n then ur muse cn patch up ducky? possibilities endless. maybe they hv a nice spaghetti dinner n both of them r both bruised up frm their fight. sometimes fights end in spaghetti dinners. thanks eminnem or whatever.

own worse enemy... ;; ducky needs friends bt hes bad at making friends n sometimes he fks shit up by pushing ppl away n self sabotaging n being a major cunt n sometimes he just ghosts bt hes always very remorseful abt it? this cld b a very like. up n down friendship of any type its just. where do they stand. r they friends. r they enemies. r they lovers? probably not lovers. prob just platonic. but still its the thought tht counts.

and also ;; literally just like. anything. clients who buy off of him n like. casual friends n casual enemies n casual hookups. ppl hes ghosted. ppl hes embarrassed himself in front of. maybe ur muse tries to get ducky to socialize or maybe ducky is like. u are too much fr me. n ur muse runs off crying. endless possibilities all u hv to do is call this number now.

#abuse tw #violence tw #drug abuse tw #gangs mention #eye injury tw #irvingintro #( ducky mercer. ) about. / ice boy.#sighs sm #also sry fr hw embarrasingly late this is #did i even spell tht rigth? no #did i spell tht one right? bno.#fuck.

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lostinmirkwood · 4 years ago

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Gendrya Kinktober Day 12- Phone Sex

Find on AO3 here.

It started with a picture.

Arry (9:08am): I have to say, my tits look fantastic in this top today. I needed someone to admire them. 😈

Gendry had to agree, they did look fantastic. She’d taken a timed picture showing just her shoulders and chest with her folded arms resting on her desk just under her tits. As he was typing a response another message came through. Same angle, same position, but two buttons undone, a hint of her lacy red bra peeking out of her navy shirt.

Gendry (9:10am): Dammit Arya. I have a presentation in 20 minutes!

Arry (9:10am): 😘 Good luck!

Gendry shook his head and tried to refocus on his notes for the client presentation he was about to lead. It was for a sustainable and affordable housing complex near the city center that had been a passion project of his for the past six months and he knew he needed to wow the investors.

His phone buzzed again just before he entered the boardroom. The message made him smile and gave him a final boost of confidence for his presentation before he turned off his phone.

Arry (9:25am): I love you, you’ll knock them dead!

---

The presentation had gone off without a hitch. The investors were excited about his designs and the city had greenlit the plans to go ahead with only a few minor tweaks to the design. After a celebratory lunch with his team Gendry turned his phone on back in his office. It buzzed several times as it powered on and he was unsurprised by the slew of texts that waited for him.

The Starks 🐺 (7 messages)

Arry (3 messages)

Hot Pie (10:30am): Sry 4 the late text, had dough tht needed attn. Good luck mate!

Davos (9:45am): Marya and I send our love lad, you’ll do just fine. You know what you’re about.

He shot off quick replies to Hot Pie and Davos thanking them and summarizing the meeting before scrolling through the Stark group chat quickly. Rickon had sent a meme about being the youngest child that had his older siblings up in arms. He shook his head at their antics. They might never stop talking to each other but he was pleased that he was included in their group chat. With some trepidation he opened Arya’s messages.

Arry (10:47am): Let me know how it goes when you’re done!

Arry (11:51am): You know… we should celebrate when your proposal is approved. With me naked and bent over your desk. Could be fun 😉

Gendry gulped, the next message was another picture.

Arry (1:10pm): Thinking about you taking me in your office. 😘

She must have locked herself in her office and drawn her blinds. She was angled against her desk, shirt unbuttoned again. This time her hand was at the cup of her bra, nearly revealing one of her deliciously pink nipples to the camera. She’d also managed to hike her skirt up enough to reveal her creamy thighs and the lacy tops of her stockings. Gendry groaned, his cock filling in his slacks, pressing uncomfortable against his zipper as he sat in his desk chair.

Gendry (1:34pm): ARRY.

Gendry (1:34pm): Have mercy on me woman.

Gendry (1:35pm): Also thanks for your support love. The plans were fully approved by both the city and the investors pending a few small design changes.

Arry (1:36pm): That’s wonderful Gendry! I’m so proud of you!

Arry (1:36pm): So, about that celebration?

Gendry (1:36pm): You won’t be able to stay quiet for what I want to do with you tonight. We’ll have to save that for the holiday party.

Arry (1:37pm): Oh? Do share.

Gendry (1:39pm): Tonight? Tonight I want to strip you out of your work clothes, but you’ll keep your bra, stockings, and heels on. I want to get on my knees before you and eat my fill from your cunt with your legs around my ears.

Arry (1:39pm): I like the sound of that. But why am I keeping my bra on?

Gendry (1:40pm): Because I said so.

Arry (1:40pm): Yes sir.

Gendry (1:42pm): Once you’ve come for me on my mouth I’m going to slide a finger in and begin to work you. I want you to take all three but I’ll work you up to that. Feel them pressing on that spot inside you that only I have found. It’s mine Arya.

Gendry (1:42pm): I’ll use my free hand to fondle your tits through that red lacy bra. They’ll be sensitive and the lace will be driving you crazy. When you’re dripping down your thighs…

Arry (1:43pm): Can I come on your hand? Please Gendry, let me come with your fingers deep inside me.

Gendry (1:44pm): No love. You’re not coming again until I tell you to.

Arya gasps in her office. She’s glad she’s been left to herself today to work on quarterly reports. She shifts in her chair, trying to relieve some of the ache building between her thighs. She wonders if she can manage to get herself off quickly and quietly enough after this when her phone buzzes again.

Gendry (1:45pm): When you're dripping down your thighs I’ll throw you on the bed and bring those stocking-clad legs up to my shoulders. I want to take you deep, Arya. This is why you’re keeping your bra on.

Gendry (1:46pm): Because when I start to fuck you I want to fuck you hard and long until your tits come out of that red lace. I want you screaming around my cock and begging for release. Once I’ve fucked them free then, and only then, are you allowed to cum.

Gendry (1:47pm): Now love, this isn’t entirely about me. I want you to tell me about where you want me to come. Do you want me to pull out and come all over those lovely tits and that sinful bra? Do you want me to cover your pretty swollen clit? Do you want me to roll you over and come all over that lovely arse of yours?

Arry (1:48pm): Inside me Gendry. Please come inside me. I want to feel your release deep inside me and feel it dripping out of me. I love it when you make a mess of me.

Gendry (1:49pm): Good girl. I’ll come inside you and spread it over your thighs as it slides out of you. I want you to smell like me.

Another picture message comes through from Arya. It’s looking down at her lap as she sits in her desk chair. Her shirt is unbuttoned slightly, showing a lovely flush over her chest. Her skirt is hiked up to her waist and her hand is sliding towards the black lacy knickers he knows she’s wearing from kissing her good-bye as she was getting ready this morning.

Arry (1:49pm): Gods Gendry. Can I come now? Please? I want you so bad, I’m so wet.

Gendry (1:50pm): No Arry. You have to keep your hands to yourself the rest of today. I told you, you’ll only come when I say you can.

Gendry (1:51pm): Be a good girl and don’t touch yourself. That means no rubbing yourself on your chair using those lacy knickers for friction. No teasing your nipples as you rebutton your shirt. No putting your phone between your legs and calling from your desk for the vibrations. Nothing. I want you dripping when you get home.

Arya mutters a few choice swears under her breath as she does as he says and fixes her shirt and straightens her skirt. She knows she could get off in a minute with how worked up his words have her but how commanding Gendry was and the anticipation make her follow his instructions.

Arry (1:53pm): Yes dear. I’ll wait like you want me to. 😩

Gendry (1:54pm): Good. Now get back to work you naughty girl, I know you have reports to write. I’ll see you tonight 😉

Arry (1:54pm): Love you!

Gendry (1:54pm): Love you too Arry. Always will.

How Arya manages to get through the rest of her day she isn’t really sure. It passes in a lust filled haze as she rereads Gendry’s plan for the night every hour or so. She’s not sure why she’s torturing herself but she knows the pay-off for tonight promises to be more than worth it.

As she’s on the train home with her headphones in her phone buzzes again in her hand. Glancing down she realizes that Gendry is calling her. Her stomach tightens as she picks up. Not wanting to be that person on the crowded train she quietly says, “Hello Gendry, is everything alright? I’m three stops from ours, do I need to pick something up?”

Gendry sighs down the line, “No love, just wanted to hear your voice. And for you to hear this.”

Arya smiles for a moment before she registers what she’s hearing. On the other end of the call is the slick sound of flesh on flesh, confusedly she asks, “Gendry? What are you...? But, I’m almost home!”

“I know Arry. I told you I wanted you dripping, so I’m making sure you are.”

Hanging up is the last thing on Arya’s mind as she listens to Gendry moan and sigh as he works himself over, getting himself off while she’s on the phone with him, surrounded by her fellow commuters that (hopefully) have no idea what’s happening in her earbuds right now. She’s trying to keep her blush from spreading over her cheeks and her skirt prevents her from crossing her legs to try to relieve the growing pressure. She loses the battle with her blush when he starts gasping her name as he gets close to coming. She nearly misses her stop listening to him, only catching she’s at her platform when the woman sitting next to her nudges her to move so she can also get off.

Arya stumbles slightly as she gets off the train. Gendry had just growled her name and sighed in her ears and she almost stepped into the gap between the train and the platform. She stutters out, “Did you just?”

“Yeah,” comes his panted reply.

“Well I just got off the train. I’ll be home shortly. Asshole.”

Gendry chuckles, “You did that to me Arry. I said I wanted you ready and I bet you are,” she is, but she doesn’t want to give him any more satisfaction, knowing he’ll get plenty tonight. “I bet your knickers are soaked again for me. Don’t worry, you’ll more than get yours. I wanted to make sure you’d get it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Still bloody unfair with so many people around though.”

“That was half the fun. Love you, Arry. I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you too. I’ll see you in a few.” She hung up the phone and picked up her pace down the street. Gendry was waiting for her.

#gendrya kinktober #day 12- phone sex/sexting #tomorrow is part 2 #gendrya #gendrya fanfic #arya stark #gendry waters #inappropriate use of personal offices #that tag will come back #dom!gendry comes out #and if you think arya doesn't enjoy that you need to rewatch the it's strong enough scene again

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redschillzone · 4 years ago

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Hey!👋Could you do a continuation of the one where R catches hela cheating on her (no. 15&16)but this time R had a MAJOR glow up and the person hela cheated the R with, cheated on her and in the end they have a huge fight at the avengers tower with the avengers there. (sry if it's too much, I just love your work) ❤️❤️❤️

Sorry for the wait anon! I had some things going on but here you go! 💕

Prompt List

━━━━━━━━━

It had been two long, drainful years since you had found Hela cheating on you with another and honestly? You wished she would have done so sooner; The first week after that you were an absolute mess. You were barely eating, barely going outside your room and spent most of your days and nights crying over her, trying to figure out what you had done wrong to lose her but eventually you began to work out a system. You began to eat right again, would continue training the Valkyrie until you met up with Thor who took you to Earth to meet the other Avengers and it was then that you knew what you wanted to do. You had worked out the details with Thor and Odin, saying how you wished to stay on Earth to help the Avengers with their missions and Odin had allowed it, making the deal with you that if he requested you that you would return to Asgard to help with whatever it was he needed. You had agreed in a heartbeat.

Since then you had been staying at the Avengers compound, slowly but surely gaining their trust and eventually becoming part of their little, rather messy and complicated family. You had learned what each of them liked to do, how they handled missions, hell you even began to learn their sleeping schedules all while you worked on yourself and if you were being honest with yourself, you felt a thousand times better than you ever had while with Hela. The Avengers knew of what happened, of course; You had gotten drunk one night and spilled everything to them while sobbing your eyes out but that was a night you didn’t want to remember.

You inhaled a breath, holding it for a few moments before you released it, enjoying the cool breeze that blew past you as you sat out on the rather large lawn of the compound, humming lowly as you just relaxed; You had done all your exercises for the day and didn’t have any missions, so you decided to take the day to just relax outside. It was a perfect day after all and as you watched the clouds roll past you, you heard a noise you could never forget. You shifted your gaze back, letting out a breath as you noticed the bifrost opening and it was then that a frown had appeared on your face as you stood up, dusting the grass and dirt off you. Once the bifrost had closed, there stood Hela; She looked an absolute mess if you were being serious with yourself. Her once well kept hair standing up all over the place, her eyes sunken in and dark circles under her once bright blue eyes and she looked a bit thinner than usual. You couldn’t help the words that fell from your lips as you watched her.

“You’ve changed.” You told her as you placed your hands on your hips, watching as the Goddess of Death just stared at you with tears welling in her eyes. Something must have happened, you thought to yourself as you watched her take a few steps forward. She didn’t say anything but you kept the frown on your face as your eyes never left her form.

“I.. (Y/N).. I’m so sorry for what I did.” Hela spoke to you, attempting to reach out to you but you took a step or two back, a huff escaping your lips.

“Oh? Now you wish to say you’re sorry? What happened to the other, hm?” You questioned watching as Hela tensed and glanced away, allowing her hands to land on her elbows as she hugged herself; It was then that you were able to put two and two together but remained quiet, wishing to hear the story from her lips.

“I.. I was cheated on by them about a few months ago.. They had found another and left me without another word. No warning or anything…” She informed you which caused a snort to leave your form; So karma had come for her, good. As it should have but you couldn’t help yourself as you allowed the words to drop from your lips.

“Now you know how I felt, Hela. You broke my heart that day.” You spat, venom dripping from your words as you watched her tense once more, looking at you before she spoke up.

“(Y/N)... My dove, please.. I wish to have another second chance with you… I need you back in my life again...” She spoke, doing her best to plead with you but it caused a laugh to escape your throat as you spat at her once more.

“What gives you the right to just waltz back into my life after all the pain you’ve caused? Hm? I’ve moved on, Hela. I’m not going back with you and I have no intentions on taking you back.” You hissed to her, watching as her eyes widened at your words; If she thought she could win you back by just apologizing she was deeply wrong. By this time you knew you had gathered the attention of the other Avengers and as you shifted your gaze to the side doors, you spotted Natasha and Tony watching the ongoing fight quietly, their eyes narrowed on Hela. You knew they would intervene if things got worse but right now, you wanted Hela to suffer. You wanted her to suffer what you had gone through all those years ago. You allowed yourself to look at her once more as you stepped closer to her, your eyes narrowing as you spoke up.

“It’s your turn to suffer.. I’m not taking you back just because you apologized to me. You caused me so much pain and suffering that I barely left my bed in the morning but I learned to move on. I learned to live my life without you.” You hissed before you spoke once more, not giving her a second to speak.

“It’s time for you to do the same, Hela. Don’t come back here.. I’m not falling for your tricks again. Find yourself another dove because this one flew away to find better things.” You hissed, turning away from her and making your way over to Natasha and Tony, noticing that Steve and Bruce had also gathered to witness the ongoing fight. You didn’t dare look back as you heard the bifrost open once more and soon close; You knew she was gone, knew that she went back to Asgard alone. You had moved on, you were living better than you ever had and that’s all that mattered to you; You were enjoying life with the Avengers beside you and wished for nothing more. The moral of the story; You fell in love with the wrong person and now that you were free, you knew she wasn’t the one for you.

#Marvel #Marvel Cinematic Universe #Thor: Ragnarok #Hela #Hela Odinsdottir #Hela x Reader #Hela Odinsdottir x Reader #Hela Prompt #Prompts

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the-outsiders-blogg · 4 years ago

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whaddup everyone sry this took so long I seem to be having wRitEr’s bLocK but here it is anyways as always @imlostinsantacarla helped me with this ;)

Triangles pt 20 (former!dal x reader) (former!soda x reader)

Dar reminds you that you still have people rooting for you (series master list)

You sighed as you unlocked the door to your apartment and trudged inside. You threw your stuff down on the kitchen floor before plopping yourself down on your couch. It had been another long day at work.

Everything was starting to get to you; both Soda and Dallas found their way back into your life and they brought all the drama from six months ago back with them, despite your best efforts to move on.

The high pitched shrill of your landline forced you to pry yourself from your couch.

“Hello?” you asked in a tired voice.

“Hey y/n, it’s Dar. Soda wanted me to call and tell you that your car is ready,” the voice from the other side started.

“Thanks Darry,” you sighed.

“You alright y/n?” asked Darry cautiously.

“Hm?”

“How’ve you been?” he restated.

“Yeah, I’ve been good,” you stated flatly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You could feel Dar rolling his eyes on the other side of the line.

“Well, you know Pony’s been asking about you,” commented Darry.

You paused. “He has?”

“Of course,” Dar said. “He misses going to the movies with you. Well you know Soda can’t sit through a movie to save his life and I can’t get the time off.”

You chuckled softly.

“Oh and Two Bit, he has no one to prank people with,” continued Darry. “He keeps bugging Soda and Steve to skip work to hang out with him. And Johnny won’t admit it, but he’s worries about you”

The line went quiet for a second, as you thought about how much you missed everyone too.

“Soda misses you too, even if he won’t admit it. He keeps saying the sandwiches I bring him for lunch aren’t as good as yours,” laughed Darry.

You smiled to yourself. “You gotta cut them diagonally, Dar.”

You and Dar laughed together.

“Y/n, I know there’s been a lot of stuff between you and Dal and Soda and whatnot, but we’ll always have your back, alright? We all still care about you.”

You felt a lump growing in your throat. “O-okay,” you choked out. “Thanks Dar.”

“Of course,” Darry replied in a sincere tone. “You picking up your car tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Alright. I’ll see you around?” Dar asked hopefully.

You smiled a little. “See you around.”

kind of a filler chapter, thx for reading anyways!

taglist - @corishirogane3 @in-a-dangerous-mood @shiningwinston @greaser1315 @obx-direction-sos @moth-lad-overwinter

#the outsiders imagine #the outsiders fanfic #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders headcannons #the outsiders headcanons

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highqueenofelfhame · 5 years ago

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Rowaelin gets pregnant after trying so hard and many failed attempts, make it super fluffy and make me cry with how in love they are thank you ily xxx

It wasn’t particularly unusual for her Royal Majesty the Queen to be late to breakfast. It was, however, unusual that she skip the meal entirely and not show up at any point in the hour. Usually she was roughly fifteen minutes late, slipping through the door behind Rowan’s seat and dropped a kiss to the side of his neck before plopping down into the seat next to his. This morning, the doors didn’t open except when the other males of the court filed into the dining hall. When he focused his ears in the direction of their rooms, he didn’t pick up on the familiar rise and fall of her walking pattern but picked up on nothing.

No Aelin.

“Did you see Aelin on your way down?” Rowan asked Fenrys, setting his cup of tea back on the saucer near his plate.

“I knocked but nobody answered. Last night she told me she wanted to go over —“ but Rowan was already pushing to his feet, the door slamming shut behind him. Distantly he heard Fenrys trail off and mumble a sarcastic good morning as he took off at a sprint, encouraging the wind to push him further, faster.

A century and a half and every time he wasn’t one hundred percent certain where she was, anxiety flooded his veins as though she were lost to him again.

So when he burst through the door of their rooms and found her sound asleep with her face burrowed into the blankets, his heart stuttered against his chest so hard he thought the bones might shatter. It took him a moment to ground himself, to breathe in her scent and let it soothe his lungs. Let the sight of her curled up in their bed burn into his memory to ease the image of her naked, chained in iron, and sobbing from the backs of his eyelids. It took him a moment, took him willing the tears away until he finally approached her and dropped to his knees at her bedside.

“Fireheart,” he said softly, his hand running down the side of her face and through her hair.

“I’m not feeling well.” Her voice was raspy and thick with sleep, the sound music to his ears. Aelin turned her face and left a lingering kiss on the palm of his hand that made his lips turn up into a smile.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

“I can’t move a rutting inch without being so nauseous I might die from it.” One of her turquoise eyes squinted open, a hand raising to shield her eyes from the sunlight coming in through the window. “It hit a few hours ago but I’ve had these off and on spells the last few days? But not this bad.”

Rowan frowned, green eyes scanning over her body as though he could see straight through the blankets and down to her body. Every atom of his being sang to protect her from the unseen threat, to pull what ailed her from her blood and never let it harm her again. “Maybe we should call for a healer.”

Aelin didn’t get the chance to respond because, as soon as the sentence had left his lips, she was doubled over the side of the bed and throwing up all over the King of Terrasen.

~*~

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, dabbing a washcloth along her brow. Aelin snorted and shoved his hand away, but Rowan simply laced their fingers and kissed her forehead.

“Of course I am. You’re lucky to have me.” It had been three days, and healers had been in and out of their quarters ever since. Over the course of the last few days Aelin had stayed in bed under the too-watchful eye of her mate.

Rowan was beginning to notice the way the hard and lean muscles that lined her body began to soften. Changes that were imperceptible to the human eye but to Rowan, she may as well have dyed her hair again. He didn’t miss anything when it came to his wife. The flat planes of her stomach had began to come to a curve ever so slightly and it seemed to be the only comfort that her soul wasn’t preparing to vacate her bones.

He couldn’t allow himself to entertain the alternative.

After the eighth day, the sickness eased to some degree. The Queen was prowling the castle again with her King always close behind or at her immediate side. By the tenth she was claiming to feel much better, but Rowan could still smell the sickness on her. It smelled sweet and twisted its way around her scent — even the parts that were twined with his own.

He watched her carefully though she complained. He helped her with all of the most basic parts of her work, even going as far as to help her sit. That seemed to annoy her the most, his hand on her elbow and the other on her back.

“You act like I’m an invalid.”

“I act like you were unable to get out of bed a week ago. I act worried.” She had rolled her eyes and tilted her chin up, offering pillowy lips for a soft and tender kiss.

On day nine, she had fainted while walking down the hall. Aelin had been mid-sentence, telling him he was a fussy buzzard and she was fine. It was the first time she had seemed agitated about any of it. Rowan had been the one to catch her.

“Is she okay?” He pressed, raking his fingers through silver hair as the healer left the room.

“She would like to speak with —“ the old woman didn’t get to finish before Rowan was inside and sitting on the edge of the bed. The color had bloomed back into her cheeks and her lips were no longer pale. He kissed her then, sighing when he felt her smile.

“Ro,” she whispered, her thumbs running over his cheekbones while he pressed soft kisses over her brow. “Rowan.”

Aelin’s hands caught his, lacing their fists into elegant knots that she brought to rest on her stomach. Her stomach that was more full and pronounced than it had ever been, swollen and protruding only just. It didn’t take much for him to realize it, for him to know what she was getting at. The thought that had been tugging at the edges of his mind for months now when she had first missed her cycle. The dream he hadn’t allowed himself to conjure because of the hundred and twenty-something years they had been trying to conceive a child to absolutely no avail. A dream they had started to accept as a living nightmare, that they may never have a child.

“You — we?” Words were lost, completely obliterated as she nodded and let out a quiet sob. Rowan’s face was instantly buried in her neck, breathing in deeper to melt the scent into every fiber of his being. His cheeks were rosy and wet with tears as he kissed her mouth over and over before trailing his mouth down to her navel, lips dragging against her skin.

“For this child I have prayed,” he whispered against her skin, his eyes looking up at the last living God and her in turn looking back down at him. The only deity he would ever kneel for or worship, aside from the sweet babe she now carried in her womb.

@starseternalnighttriumphant @musicmaam @city-of-fae @myfeyrelady @kandasboi @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @nalgenewhore @rhysands-highlady @tangledraysofsunshine @awesome--username

I just woke up sry if I didn’t tag

#rowaelin #tog #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #drabbles

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the-reverse-mermaid · 5 years ago

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Feel Again: a whump fic

Hey buddies! I’m working on my WIPs currently and i am so grateful for ur patience but i’ve also had this thing sitting in my docs for several months and I wanted to share it at last, but just a clip because..well...in whole, it’s kinda darker than my usual stuff so the whole thing may or may not be posted in the future. This is a gift for the wondrous @parkrstark who had a birthday recently and who is a beautiful person and talented writer <3 Enjoy, my love~

FIC INFO: around 5k words, IronDad and SpiderSon, hurt/comfort, warnings for nightmares, panic/anxiety attacks, past dehumanization; also it’s implied that Tony is Peter’s guardian bc May died...sry, i was too coward to write her ^^;

...

It’s been seven days, ten hours and fifteen minutes.

Peter watches, blank-faced and empty-eyed, as bowl and spoon are placed in his hands. It makes Tony feel like he’s dealing with a robot, but even his robots are more lively than this. Taking Peter’s spoon, the man presses the Cheerios under the milk so that every piece of cereal will be soggy, just the way Peter likes. In times past Tony had made fun of him for the preference, and Peter had ardently defended it as the only right way to eat cereal.

Now the memory of Old Peter echoes in the back of his mind like a glimpse of an alternate reality.

“Think you can finish all of that, buddy?” Tony asks, leaning down so he’s in Peter’s line of sight. Dulled brown eyes trail up to him, then back to the bowl and he nods, picking up the spoon. Tony breathes a sigh of relief as the kid starts to eat, chewing slowly.

He checks his phone and feels a nervous thrill at the notification there: I’m about to come down. Still want to do this? He glances at Peter before typing and sending a quick, Yes, ty.

“Hey, bud, remember that time you, me and Pep spent Saturday morning watching dumb cartoons and eating breakfast food til noon?” he begins, picking at his own cereal to seem casual about it. “I thought we could do that today, since she’s got no meetings til this afternoon. Whaddaya say?”

Peter pauses. He lifts one shoulder indifferently, but Tony can see anxiety hidden in the movement. Apathy and fear; whatever happened in the last four months stripped Peter-- lively, expressive Peter-- of all but these two emotions. They might as well have stolen Tony’s entire fortune; that loss would’ve hurt less.

Before Tony can think how to reassure him or possibly backtrack, there are footsteps in the hall and Pepper is rounding the corner with a bright smile on her face.

“Hey, guys!” she greets, pausing in the entrance of the kitchen to look them over. She’s comfortably dressed in pajama bottoms and her ‘I lost an electron’ shirt that she and Peter both own, her hair down and feet socked. It’s 10 times less intimidating than her usual business suits and high heels but still Peter squirms closer to Tony’s side and eyes her warily, choosing to look at her feet rather than her face. Pepper wilts a bit at the reception.

“Morning, hon,” Tony calls. He pushes a pleading ‘we can do this, just act normal’ into his gaze, and Pepper, bless her, seems to get the message. “We’ve got cereal over here, help yourself.”

Pepper grabs a bowl off the counter and crosses the room, her movements deliberate and nonthreatening. There’s no change from Peter, whose own bowl is sitting in his lap like something hardly worth his interest.

“Hmm,” she hums. “Cheerios are good, but mind if I add to the spread? I think we’ve got some frozen quiches around here somewhere, that sounds good to me.”

Tony smiles. “Go for it.” As soon as she walks away he nudges Peter and says quietly, “You’re okay, Pete. Nothing to be stressed about, yeah? Pep is just like me: she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

For what it’s worth, the kid does relax minutely. In the interim of Pepper opening packages and using the microwave, Tony picks up the remote and turns on the TV, browsing around for something safe and feel-good before settling on Nickelodeon, which is showing some animated movie. Peter’s eyes flick up to the screen.

“Alright, I got mini-quiches and even some blueberry muffins, ” Pepper announces upon her return, both hands holding trays of said items. “Totally gourmet... And by gourmet, I mean Costco brand.”

“The best,” Tony agrees, snatching one of each as soon as she sets them down. “Which would you rather have, bud?” He turns to Peter, who is done with his cereal and is now looking at the new food. At Tony’s invitation he hesitates but points at a muffin and Tony tries not to get too excited about it as he hands one over and watches the kid begin nibbling the top. So far things seem to be going well.

Now he’s just gotta go through with the next step.

Around ten minutes in, the movie cuts to a commercial break. Tony shifts in preparation to stand up and Peter immediately follows suit, not even questioning, but carefully Tony takes the boy’s hands and holds them at arm’s length. Peter looks at him questioningly, a rare moment of eye contact.

“I’m just gonna take a bathroom break, okay, bud?” he explains. “You stay here with Pep.” He tucks Peter’s hands to his lap and stands.

Peter keens and sits up straighter, wide eyes kindling anew with anxiety. Tony feels like the worst human being on the planet, but he knows he needs to do this. He needs to help Peter do this.

“It’s just a few minutes apart,” he promises. “I’ll go straight there and back.”

“And I’ll be here with you the whole time,” Pepper chimes in. She scoots closer from the other side of the couch and puts a soothing hand on Peter’s back, easing him back into the cushions as Tony leaves the room. The man tries not to look back as he hears her quieting and comforting the boy’s whimpers. Pepper is a better people person than Tony will ever be and he knows she’ll take good care of him, but Tony’s fingers still itch with the urge to turn right back around.

As soon as he gets to the bathroom, Tony pulls up a feed of the living room on his phone via FRIDAY’s cams to watch the room he just left. On the couch, Peter is decidedly not coping as well with Pepper as he does Tony, but he isn’t having a meltdown; in fact, he’s allowing her to sit close and keep an arm wrapped around his shoulders, though his forehead remains creased in apprehension. The poor kid looks like he’s fighting with himself to be patient; his gaze is torn between watching the TV and checking the doorway for Tony’s return.

Biting his lip, Tony puts his screen away and sighs. He paces the small space, checking his watch impatiently until at last five minutes have passed.

On his way back he hears it.

The yelling.

“Peter? Peter, honey, you’re okay! Please calm down, you’re home, you’re safe-” Pepper.

His walk turns into a sprint as he rounds the corner, heart in his throat, and takes in the worrying scene before him.

Peter is curled up in a fetal position on the couch, Pepper kneeling in front of him with helplessness on her face as she tries to get his attention. Peter’s hands are pressed over his ears, his eyes clenched shut, his whole body shuddering as he rocks and cries inconsolably.

“What happened?” Tony demands.

Pepper hurries backwards so Tony can take her spot. “I don’t know what- what agitated him,” she says in a rush. There are tears in her eyes. “He just suddenly started panicking and hyperventilating and- and he won’t let me touch him, he screams if I try-”

“Don’t scream!” Peter says suddenly. Both adults’ attention snaps to him. His eyes have opened but they’re unseeing as he croaks, “Don’t scream, they- they’ll hear! Be good, be good, be good, I- I’m good- please, I’m--”

“Peter, hey,” Tony tries, carefully putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

At the touch, Peter flinches, his head smacking against the couch. His whispering gets more frantic. “I’ll be better! I will! I-”

“Peter, please, stop!” The man takes Peter’s face between his hands. “You’re safe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Can you hear me, buddy? It’s your- it’s Tony.”

Peter goes still.

“Tony,” he repeats. His face crumples slowly, lip trembling. “I miss Tony...”

The man of iron feels his heart splinter. I miss you, too, Pete. Come back to me.

“You’ve got him,” he says. “Tony’s here now. He’s got you. He’s gonna keep you safe.”

In the stillness that follows, all is quiet save the sound of Peter’s rapid breathing, but even that is slowing and evening out. His blinks several times as the storm clouds in his eyes dissipate, light returning gradually as the seconds pass. Tony’s thumb strokes away a tear still rolling down the boy’s cheek, and at last Peter focuses and looks at rather than through him.

They stare at one another for a long moment. The teen swallows and opens his mouth with a shaky inhale, a fresh sheen of tears filling his eyes.

“S-sorry… my bad,” he rasps.

Tony’s brain short-circuits for a moment, and all he can think is how unbelievable it is that the most of Peter he’s seen in so long could come as the result of such an episode. He doesn’t know whether it makes him want to laugh or cry.

He pulls himself onto the couch and gathers his kid into his arms, one hand bracing Peter’s back, the other nestling in his still-overgrown curls. Peter responds by clinging around his middle and pressing his ear to Tony’s chest, no doubt timing his breaths by the heartbeats there.

It’s only after Pepper leaves to find them a blanket that Tony sees the TV screen and the image it’s paused on. It’s an infomercial… an infomercial for obedience training. The closed captioning advertises “Don Sullivan’s Secrets To Training The Perfect Dog: order the DVD set now and get a complimentary Command Collar”.

Tony had never had strong feelings about infomercials in general but at that moment he wants nothing more than to buy every single TV station and destroy them all. Screw Don Sullivan.

He’s surprised when Peter suddenly huffs a humorless sound. “I’m pretty broken, aren’t I,” he states quietly, voice wrecked.

Tony pushes his fingers through the scruff on the back of Peter’s neck, wishing so hard that he could turn back time. “No,” he refutes. “No, you’re not.”

Peter is quiet for a long time, so long that Tony wonders if he’s given in to the pull of post-panic-attack exhaustion and fallen asleep. But in a tired voice weighted by more sadness than any man, woman or child should ever know comes a tiny reply:

“Yes, I am.”

...

Peter has scars. A lot of them.

It’s been fifteen days since and he’s barely improved, still clinging and hesitant to speak or make eye contact with anyone other than Tony. He lets himself talk in small bursts but it’s nothing like he used to be; he can also manage up to fifteen minutes alone without having a panic attack if Tony has to shower or use the restroom. He does the same so long as Tony waits for him outside the door (within range of hearing his heartbeat).

After the disastrous separation experiment, Tony isn’t eager to push much more than that.

(Peter has scars.)

Some are thicker than others, especially on his wrists and his back; the white lines criss crossing over his form tell tale of screams long since silenced. Just seeing the marks makes Tony’s knees weak with a concoction of feelings he can’t describe-- prominently there’s horror, because he remembers how every injury was discovered and treated on that first night back and it was like Tony himself was taking a beating… and then there’s regret-guilt-anger-helplessness, because the cuts are healed now-- Peter’s healing capabilities took over soon after he got the proper nutrition and medical attention-- but poison memories are sealed inside.

If he hugs the kid a little longer than necessary after watching him get his boot cast removed and seeing the scar tissue that mars him there too, Peter doesn’t seem to mind. The kid leans into his touch more now than he ever did before.

“Alright, little shadow,” Tony says brightly as he pulls away, using the nickname that had never been more appropriate in their relationship; having a kid clinging closer than a literal shadow at all times did that to you. He glances one more time at the newly-healed foot and gets an idea. “What do you say we celebrate this cast coming off? Wanna take a walk around the compound, get some fresh air?”

Peter looks up at him through his ragged, unstyled hair, doe eyes wide but empty. Tony smooths his bangs back and the kid blinks once as if to focus. Tony can see him trying to be there, trying to care. Trying and trying and trying.

“...’kay,” he whispers, fragile. He lets Tony take his hands and help him stand.

Once he’s got them bundled up in jackets to withstand cold winds that roll off the water, Tony hiding a wrist gauntlet on the hand in his pocket (because yes, he’s that paranoid), the two of them (as one figure) step outside for the first time in-- in a while. Definitely a while.

A cool breeze follows them on their walk and Tony allows a deep breath of actual fresh air to clean out his lungs and settle in his veins. It’s not very often he gets to enjoy the benefits of living outside the city.

They end up walking along a trail that follows the Hudson and Tony decides that this actually was a good idea: the nature-y sights and sounds seem to help bring Peter to life. There’s a glimmer of contentedness in his face as he looks out over the trees and water and sky. He loosens his grip on Tony’s arm and settles for a gentle handhold. Tony looks at him sideways, feeling a swell of hope rise in his chest, right behind where his arc reactor used to be.

“It’s nice to get out, huh,” he says softly. The edges of Peter’s eyes crinkle in what might be the world’s tiniest beginning of a smile.

Other than occasionally checking that Peter’s leg isn’t hurting, Tony shuts his mouth and lets the white noise around them do its thing. He’s been talking too much lately anyway, trying to overcompensate.

They’ve been walking for almost an hour and stopped to admire a small waterfall when Peter suddenly bristles and presses himself close to Tony’s side. In paranoia, the man pulls his gauntlet hand out of his pocket and is all but ready to activate it, when all that comes around the path toward them is a wobbling toddler in a puffy coat.

They stare at him. He stares back, a gap-tooth grin on his face. “‘Ah-dy!” he says in greeting.

No, nope, I’ve definitely got my hands full being just ONE kid’s Daddy, Tony thinks worriedly, when behind the toddler appears a man who moves to scoop the boy up in his arms. The man holds the boy, who’s probably about 18-24 months old, by his feet and the kid shrieks in delight, wiggling around upside-down.

“Leaving me behind, guys?” a woman’s voice calls before a third person appears, putting her arm on her husband’s shoulder and glancing curiously at Tony and Peter. Peter hides himself behind Tony, eyes on the dirt, and Tony manages to cast them a weak smile to be polite whilst squeezing his kid’s arm reassuringly.

The man sets their kid down and he immediately spins around, looking at the waterfall. “Wa-er!” As he tottles away, Tony catches sight of the symbol on the back of his coat and does a double-take.

“Nice jacket,” he says without thinking.

He glances down at Peter. The kid has noticed too-- his eyes are locked on the symbol, expression unreadable.

The man turns around from where he and his wife are watching their toddler. He follows their gaze and laughs. It’s a tiny Spider-Man themed coat.

“Thanks! Spidey’s our family’s favorite. He saved Shannon’s life when she was pregnant with this dude,” he says, indicating his family members respectively. “The guy may not be around lately, or moved, or- whatever, there’s lot’s of theories- but... he isn’t forgotten, not for us.”

“-ah-DEE!” the little guy calls from where he and the woman have wandered, and this time he seems to be referring to his actual daddy so the man gives them an awkward little wave before walking off to catch up.

The strangers gone, Peter sags into Tony’s side. His face is still unreadable. Tony can’t think of anything to do other than wordlessly steer them down the path toward home, wondering at the heavy thought bubbles building over his kid’s head.

…

Sixteen-and-a-half days.

A strangled-sounding scream cuts through the dark and into Tony’s heart like a knife.

Tony’s startled but he isn’t surprised; startled because of the rude awakening from being asleep at the kid’s side, and the ever-terrifying possibility that something might be wrong, but not surprised in the conventional way because he’s aware that this has happened every night since the kid came off the heavy meds.

Peter is whimpering strings of ‘please’ and ‘no’, and Tony turns on the bedside lamp to see him huddled in a ball, eyes closed and budding with tears, one fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle the noise. He winces when Tony puts a hand on the side of his head.

“Peter,” Tony whispers, so tired. “Peter, bud, you’re okay. It’s just a bad dream. Open those eyes for me?”

Peter whines, but his eyes do crack open to anguished slits. He’s shaking beneath Tony’s palm, and biting down so hard on his hand that the man sees a trail of blood running down his knuckles. Tony’s other hand gently pries the fist out away from his mouth. Peter lets him.

“Hey bud,” the man greets softly, catching the kid’s gaze. Peter stills as his surrogate father rubs a thumb along his temple soothingly.

Tony smiles sadly. “What did I tell those nightmares last night, huh? My kid is off-limits; only good dreams allowed. Iron Man decrees it.”

Peter stares at him, breathing erratic as his awareness returns. He inhales sharply, an attempt to calm down, but his breath catches on a sob on the exhale. He covers his face with both hands and dissolves into fresh cries, leaning into Tony as the man takes the back of his head and pulls him close.

“Shhh,” Tony murmurs, fingers carding through the curls at Peter’s nape. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry, I’m here.”

It takes some time for Peter to cry himself out. Tony doesn’t stop whispering reassurances the whole time. He can tell by the pace of the breaths beneath him that Peter’s still awake.

“You can tell me anything, Pete,” he offers gently, as he has every night. “I’m here for you.”

Peter has yet to tell Tony about what happened to him, or about the nightmares that haunt him so badly. As he comforts, Tony traces his thumb across the hollow under Peter’s eye, wiping away wetness there and remembering how the straps of a muzzle had traced the same spot in a perverse fashion not so long ago, before Iron Man had removed and destroyed the thing in disgust.

Some scars can’t be bandaged as easily as others, but for the first time in all such nights, Peter does respond.

“Mr. Stark,” he says so softly that Tony holds his breath so as to not miss anything, “Mr. Stark, I- I don’t- I just don’t understand.”

It’s in these moments, somehow, that Peter is most himself. The storms drag Peter out of his hiding place. “What don’t you understand,” the man prompts. He pulls back to see the teen’s face. His young brow is furrowed in- confusion? concentration?

Peter chews his lip for a moment before going on. “It’s like, when I was there… all I could- all I dreamed about was home. But now I’m here and I, I can’t- I’m st-still there, you know?” He meets Tony’s eyes. “What if I can’t ever really come home?” he concludes hopelessly.

Tony does unfortunately, painfully know what he’s asking about, because he has a similar trauma and it’s called Afghanistan.

“You just need time, buddy,” he says. “I know what you mean, trust me, I do. It just gets better with time.”

“Is it worth it?” Peter presses suddenly. “Am I-” His eyes trail sideways to the sheets and he swallows. “Am I even worth it?”

Tony’s jaw hardens. “That’s not even a question.”

“I-I did bad things… And, and I’m not the same.”

“You didn’t have a choice, kid. And being different? That’s not as bad as you think.”

“I’m ruining your life.”

“Peter, you are not-”

“I’m inhuman and I’m a waste of space.”

It’s the way he says it, like it’s a known fact, something he’s been drilled with and long since accepted, that really gets under Tony’s skin. He’s been pretty good at holding himself together so far, all things considered, but can’t help that he feels his own eyes stinging with tears at the sound of his kid reiterating the garbage he’s been brainwashed with.

He sits up so suddenly that Peter startles.

“I’m not really tired anymore,” he says briskly, throwing the covers off himself and trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes.

Peter pushes himself up too, eyes wide and concerned. “Mr. Stark?”

“I’m feeling like a trip to the lab, maybe a snack on the way. How ‘bout you, kid? Wanna join your old man for some late night wandering?”

Peter presses his lips together in confusion, but he nods. Tony pushes the covers back more so that the kid can get his feet on the ground before stepping out himself, the both of them slipping into their usual bracing of one another.

Apparently speaking, and now getting up, is too much deviation from the routine for Peter because in his eyes he’s slipping back into himself, expression closing off. Tony hopes he doesn’t feel embarrassed; Before-Peter would’ve been, but Now-Peter is hard to read.

FRIDAY turns on lights as they pad down the hall, already long since attuned to Tony’s nocturnal habits. A quick stop at the kitchen supplies them with a bowl of Chex mix, and then the lab doors are whooshing open and Tony’s realizing he doesn’t actually feel like tinkering. He just needed a reprieve to collect his thoughts but now he’s got Peter out of bed for no reason and it’s not healthy, he’s gonna ruin his kid, he’s a terrible guardian-

He shakes his head. One thing at a time.

“Come sit with me,” he says unnecessarily, leading a compliant Peter to the couch and settling him down with the bowl of Chex in his lap. Neither of them move to eat any of it. Tony takes a seat beside him and drums his fingers on the knee of his worn sweatpants for a long moment, looking around for something to do now that he’s brought them here.

His eyes fall on a forgotten Target bag sitting stuffed in one corner and the metaphorical light bulb goes on.

As quickly as he sat, Tony’s back on his feet. Peter’s gaze follows him as he crosses to a nearby screen, booting it on and then retrieving the items he needs from the shopping bag. He shields his activities from Peter and whispers instructions to FRIDAY before finally whirling around to look at his kid with a crazy grin. It probably seems like he’s gone crazy at this point.

“Buddy, I have one question for ya,” he states, hands raising and pausing for dramatic effect. “Have you ever played… Just Dance?”

Peter stares at him the way one might stare at a fascinating tornado. He slowly shakes his head.

Tony laughs nervously. “Uhh... me neither. But listen, after you moved in, I kind of-” ...panicked... “-sent Happy to the store to find things you might like to have around the house? Like video games? I don’t know what kids like. Happy doesn’t either. He must’ve checked the internet or something because he came home with this, and kid, can you imagine Harold Hogan in the store buying a dancing game? Now that’s an image I treasure. On behalf of his efforts, I think we should give it a go, right here, right now.”

By the time the rambling stops, Dum-E, U and Butterfingers have made their way to this corner of the lab like curious cats trying to interpret their boss’ strange behavior. Noticing their presence, Tony throws his arm out to point at Dum-E. The other two bots startle comically.

“You,” Tony declares. “You can hold a wii remote, right? You and me. Let’s dance. Pete, you’re on the tambourine. I don’t actually have a tambourine. Just keep time by knocking, like this.”

The man leans forward and raps his knuckles twice against the side of the chex mix bowl. It’s not like it’s loud, or even necessary, but it’s something to get the kid involved. Peter looks a little lost, but not in the dissociative way- more like he’s trying to figure out if he’s actually awake or if this is a weird dream he’s having. Still, Tony’s on a roll and he feels dangerously confident. Not quite confident enough to ask Peter to dance, but enough to make a fool of himself in the hopes of bringing comic relief to one of their awful nights.

Within a few minutes, FRIDAY has configured the game on Tony’s screen and the main menu music is playing through the speakers. One newly-unwrapped wii-remote is clutched in Dum-E’s claw, safety strap secured, and Tony’s using the other to flip through the menu and create player profiles.

“Okay, so…” he mutters, finally arriving at the song selection screen. “What do we have here... Gotta make sure we choose an easy one. Not for me, of course; I’m worried about dum-dum over there.”

His eye catches on a song title, and he pauses to let the sample play. At first it was just because the song is marked “Beginner Level”, but he recognizes the clip as a tune he’d once caught Peter humming as he worked on some homework. Being the privacy-respecting parental figure he is, Tony had proceeded to tease him relentlessly because One Direction? Wow, Pete, gotta say I didn’t peg you as a pre-teen girl from 2012.

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter perk just slightly, the little dork-- and it’s enough that Tony’s pressing the ‘play’ button without further mental argument.

The screen changes to four dancers, two of which are labeled for his and Dum-E’s remotes. As the opening measures of guitar riff begin, Tony mimics the pose of the avatar on screen and peeks over his shoulder.

“I need my tambourine player,” he reminds, and though Peter’s face is twisted in an expression of intrigue, he quickly readies his knuckle against the side of the Chex bowl and starts tapping it in time with the music.

And Tony dances.

“You’re insecure… Don’t know what for. You’re turnin’ heads as you walk through the do-o-or.”

“How the crap?” Tony mutters, watching Dum-E hit every move perfectly whilst his own avatar misses several points. “How-“

“Don’t need make-up… to cover up. Bein’ the way that you are in en-uh-uh-ough.”

The graphics go crazy for the beginning of the chorus and Tony cringes, though that changes when behind him he hears a small laugh that makes his heart stutter. He doesn’t look just yet, just tries harder to wave his remote hand in time with the song with exaggerated movements.

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else. The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed-“

This is definitely written for preteen girls, he sighs internally. Still... it’s undeniably catchy. To add to the show, he starts mumble-singing out the words aloud as they scroll on-screen:

“The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow, you don’t know you’re beautiful-”

That’s when the ‘tambourine’ beats stop. When Tony looks behind him he sees the kid shaking with silent laughter, an open-mouthed smile on his face.

He meets Tony’s eyes and for once there’s no weight of the world there. He’s just-- Peter.

It’s a sight too beautiful to describe.

“Oooh, keep trying!” the game prompts when Tony forgets to keep up. Their eyes flicker to the screen and Tony huffs.

“I’m not cut out for this follow-along stuff,” he says airily, giving up on it completely. “Tony Stark follows no one’s rules but his own.”

And with that, he slings his remote strap around U’s claw and breaks into his own freestyle moves, the ones he usually reserves for dancing in private, when he’s sleep-deprived and a little loopy. Be that as it may, Tony Stark knows he is a good dancer; he never imagined it would come in handy for a moment such as this, but heck, there’s not much he wouldn’t do if it got Peter doubling over in peels of giggles like he is right now.

When the song hits the chorus a second time, Tony grabs a screwdriver off the shelf, turning it upside-down as an impromptu microphone, and he sings the next words directly to his beaming kid:

“Peter, you light up my world like no-bo-dy else. The way that you- have- hair? Na-na-nanana-- The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow--”

Peter goes still, a lingering smile on his face as he listens to Tony’s altered lyrics.

“-If only you saw what I can see, you'd understand why I LOVE you so PERFECTLY-- Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe you don't know, oh oh- You don't know you're beautiful! Oh, oh-oh, Pe-ter you’re so beau-ti-ful!”

Tony breathes out, surprisingly choked up. He repeats the message as emphatically as he can, for however many times the song repeats it, his movements getting more silly and more sloppy until the music finally ends, bots trilling excitedly in the background about Dum-E’s somehow-perfect score.

He lowers himself to the ground in front of Peter, panting from exertion. The hum of menu music plays behind them but the game is forgotten.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony breathes. “You are worth… everything. The whole world. You were, you are, and you always will be.”

Peter’s eyes shine like stars. He melts into Tony’s hold when the man leans forward.

…

Peter has scars, but Peter is not his scars.

#tag as starker and i hunt u down and replace your shampoo with hair remover #im joking but PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS A SHIP #the song is supposed to be cute and silly and dad-jokey #Irondad and Spiderson #tony stark and peter parker #irondad fanfiction #my writing

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msftbts · 6 years ago

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Hiya! Can I please request an BTS OT7 x American female reader imagine where they are all in a relationship and they ask the y/n to move into the dorm with them (that fancy one BTS just moved into haha), she says yes of course + BTS being super romantic and soft + lots of hugs, cuddles, and kisses!

Aaaahh, this was such a cute idea, thank you for it! Sorry that it took me so long to write it, but I hope I did your vision any justice. I loved writing this!!

Themes: Fluffy fluff fluff to the point where its kinda headass, sry

Thousand kisses

“Have I done something wrong?”

You felt nervous under the gazes of these seven men. Sure, those gazes were familiar, you had seen them many many times before, but there was a sense of uncertainty in them.

“Oh, love”, you felt Hoseok rub you in comfort from the seat at the couch right next to you. “Always so clueless”.

You’ve had another average day of hanging out at BigHit’s building with your seven boyfriends. When Jin called you over, you didn’t know there was a back up thought. When they all kept looking at the clock on the wall during their dance practise, you felt like they were all waiting for something. Maybe they were all just exceptionally tired. It wasn’t anything new, but as soon as the clock hit 6pm they practically jumped to stop the music and to gather their bags and to go hang out at the lounge, next to the cafeteria. You grabbed Taehyung’s arm when they were all rushing out of the room. He didn’t give you that usual reassuring smile, the one that told you that he was happy about you showing affection. After all, it wasn’t easy to start a relationship with anyone, let alone seven men. It took you awhile to get used to giving love and affection towards every single one, and in front of the others.

How did you end up in a polyamorous relationship then? You had been working at BigHit’s cafeteria as a barista as an intern for a while. It wasn’t anything as dreamy as one would expect, you didn’t only get to serve idol’s their daily doses of caffeine and a snack of their choosing, because you mostly served other staff workers working in the huge building. When you did get to get a peek at the idols they were usually barging in in a hurry, eager to get something to go. Regardless of that, it was always still pleasant to meet them. They made sure to make you feel special, and at first you thought it was just something they did to everyone, but when your coworker started being curious about the notes building up behind the counter she asked about them. You shrugged it off as nothing, but she didn’t let you off the hook just like that. “They wouldn’t write “Your smile brightens up my day” or “That apron looks adorable on you” for fun. Y/N, they’re straight up flirting with you”, she said folding her arms across her chest. You started thinking about it more after that, and started making mental notes about the way they behaved around you, those occasional winks and lip bites started to have an effect on you. It didn’t take long until one of them was brave enough to ask you for your number, not in any average style, but by asking you to give your number in case they needed that coffee on a run, so they can text you and you’d make it before they come pick it up. It’s safe to say that he never texted about the coffee, rather asked you for a date.

After a few dates with Jungkook, he introduced you to the other boys, who were just as eager to meet you. A night at a private restaurant, fueled by lots of wine ended up in every single one of them confessing their feelings to you. It took you by utter shock, and you were sure that Jungkook was going to be mad at his hyungs for liking the girl he had been seeing for awhile, but to shock you even more, he knew about it already and was completely fine about it. At first you couldn’t do anything but laugh about the situation, how could it be that once you finally started seeing a boy you felt actually attracted to, six just as enticing men would basically offer themselves to you. “I should just date all of you instead”, you threw as a joke, when they expected you to make some sort of decision on who you’d pick. When none of them laughed, you picked your head up from your wine glass to scan their expressions. They were looking at each other with their eyebrows quirked up, almost hilarious how their faces were painted with identical expressions. “That’s…actually not a bad idea”, Namjoon started as the others nodded. “Wait, are you serious?” You asked, dumbfound. “I mean, I’d be down for that”, Jimin said.

After reading and talking about it together, you came across the term “Polyamory”, which basically meant a romantic relationship between three or more partners. Never would you have thought to date two people at the same time, yet alone seven. The thought was a bit complex and scary at first, but you quickly came up with an agreement on how all of you will feel the most comfortable doing it. Basically you would get to date all of them, they weren’t sure at first if they wanted to show romantic affection towards each other, but quickly adjusted to the idea of it and they got much more comfortable around each other. It wasn’t too often that they would kiss each other or go any further than that with their affection, but there was cuddling and closure. It helped, that their friendship was so strong bounded before, so the shift from being seven best friends to being boyfriends wasn’t so huge. You also made an agreement on having date nights with each of the boys at certain days of the month. They never failed to be the highlights of your month, but getting to be together with the whole group was even better. It was just kind of rare, since all of you were often busy. You had a full time job at the cafeteria, and they had their idol duties to keep up with. It wasn’t the same when you weren’t around, so they tried their best to invite you when they knew you had your time off. Just like they did today.

“We have been thinking about this relationship”, Taehyung started and looked at the others for reassurance seated all around you. “Are you ending this? Are you guys not ready for a polyamorous relationship?” You panicked. Taehyung chuckled and rubbed your knee. “No kitten, we actually want to take things on a new level”, Yoongi said from across you. “Are we adding a ninth person to the relationship? Is that what you want?” You hesitated. Now all of them were laughing or burying their faces into their hands. “Love, we want you to move in with us”, Hoseok said from beside you. Your face immediately brightened up. “Really? Is that it?” You asked, face practically beaming. “Yes, we have a spare bedroom at our dorms, it’s all ready for you”, Jungkook said. “I don’t want that”, you said while a pout fell over your lips. They all became worried in an instant. “I don’t want to sleep alone, I want to sleep with you guys”, you continued. Relief passed over them. “Oh bird, we can make that happen. You can choose who you want to sleep with every night”, Jin said from his place at the couch. A smile painted your face once again. “Okay”, you said. “Okay?” Yoongi asked. “Let’s do it!”

It didn’t take a lot of time to gather all of your stuff from your shared apartment with your roommate. You didn’t need much, since everything was basically already there, so you could leave all of your furniture at your old house. All of your personal gatherings fitted into two suitcases, that you now held by your sides at the lobby of the huge house that the boys called a dorm. “Is she here?” You heard someone whisper from behind the corner as Jungkook and Namjoon stepped inside after you, they had helped you at your apartment. “Uh, I’m home!” You yelled, as if to test out what habits you will soon adapt. You heard footsteps approaching your place at the lobby. Soon Jimin walked in, holding a banner with “Welcome home” written on it, Taehyung with a basket in his hands and all the rest followed after. “Welcome home!” Hoseok shrieked with excitement, expecting all the others to join in, but was followed with nothing but quietness. “Woah, thanks guys, but you didn’t have to”, you responded after taking in the view for awhile. They were so cute, the basket was filled with goodies from bottles of wine to shower gels and personalized set of towels and a bathrobe. “We bought you this”, Taehyung said as he stepped forward to hand you the basket. You pouted as you accepted it, feeling overwhelmed that they’d go the extra mile for you. “And uh, I baked a cake”, Jin suddenly said. You swallowed as you felt a lump of emotions form in your throat. Tears swelled at the corners of your eyes as your pouting lip intensified. “I-I don’t deserve you guys”, you said placing the basket down and running in to give all of them a big hug. Jungkook and Namjoon joined from behind you. “Yes you do, and you better get used to it. You’re now going to live with us and this is how it’s going to be”, Jin said. “You’re our baby”, Hoseok chimed in. You stepped away from the hug to wipe the tears from your eyes. “It’s just, I’ve never felt so at home as I do right now. I really do feel like I belong here”, you said. “Yes you do, and you’re not getting away”, Jimin said as he hugged you and pressed his lips on your forehead. The rest of the night you spent together in their living room, eating the cake Jin had prepared and cuddling on the long couch, talking about the past and your first dates with everyone.

The sun peeked through the blinds, and it took you a moment to memorize where you were. It wasn’t the familiar small bedroom that you were used to anymore. It was Taehyung’s king-sized bed in his bedroom, and his warm arms wrapped around your body. “Good morning sunshine”, he said as he snuggled his head against your neck and pressed a soft kiss against it. “Morning”, you said and turned to face him. “When did I even fall asleep?” You asked while running your hand through his ruffled bed head. “Oh baby, you don’t remember?” He chuckled with his morning voice. You shook your head. “Jin told you to put that glass of wine down, you had drank much more than anybody else. You insisted and gulped it down all at once, before Yoongi could reach the glass off your hands. Then it took you like ten minutes before you were almost passing out on my lap and I asked if you should go to sleep, you muttered something about wanting to sleep with me so I carried you to my bed. Hope you don’t mind”, he explained the whole story. “No wonder my head is pounding”, you scoffed. “Let’s go get you some Tylenol for that”, he said before diving his lips on yours. You grabbed his hand once he got up and he pulled you up after him. You waddled after him into the kitchen, still being unable to navigate through the huge house. “Oh precious, you’re alive”, Hoseok ran to you. “What, did you think that Tae would murder me in my sleep or something?” You teased him as he rubbed your head playfully while his other arm wrapped around you. “Not Taehyung, but that alcohol yes”, he responded and you sighed: “Don’t remind me”. Jimin giggled from his spot at the table, where he was eating cereal. “You surely were cute last night, you kept talking about how hard it is sometimes for you for loving so many beautiful men”, he said. “We tried to ask you who you loved the most, but it almost brought you to tears, because apparently it was too hard to choose”, Jin popped in. “Embarrassing”, You muttered as Taehyung handed over a glass of water. You drank it down with the pill he handed to you. “Where’s my morning kisses”, a voice echoed all the way from the lobby where Namjoon just came in from getting the mail. You didn’t react to it, before Jimin playfully tugged your side as he put the empty bowl into the dishwasher. “He’s talking about you”, he said. Your eyebrows quirked up as you realized it, and you quickly ran into the lobby. As Namjoon saw you bolting in, he opened his arms and gave you the warmest hug before kissing your lips time after time. Yoongi had woken up and was now making his way into the kitchen and he happened to pass by you two. “Well, good morning to you too”, he muttered as he scratched his arm sleepily. You turned to him and walked over to him, to pull him in for a kiss too. “Sorry baby, I didn’t notice you there”, you said. “Don’t worry, kitten” he said before returning you a deeper kiss. Once all of you got into the kitchen, Jin had cooked all of you a table full of breakfast. “Sit down bird, we’ll have breakfast together”, he said as he pulled one of the chairs from under the table for you to sit on it. As you sat down he kissed the top of your head. “Ugh”, you slumped down onto the chair, feeling exhausted. “What is it, Y/N?” Jungkook asked. “How many kisses do I have to give and receive on a daily basis?” You asked with a dramatic sigh. “A thousand kisses, and it’s only the morning”, Hoseok laughed from beside you

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altduckyfm · 5 years ago

Text

『HERMAN TOMMERAAS ❙ CIS MALE』 ⟿ looks like DONOVAN “DUCKY” MERCER is here for HIS SOPHOMORE year as a BUSINESS student. HE is 21 years old & known to be TENDERHEARTED, NIMBLE, COMPLIANT & TACITURN. They’re living in GORHAM, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ JAMES. 21. EST. SHE/THEY.

HBDKJFNGDHLFNDJSLK god. this took so long n fr that i am. so sry. bt here is mercy’s wittle baby brother, ducky !!! remember to LIKE this if you’d like to plot !!! i’ve probably forgotten some things in this intro bt alas. i am just human. i am so tired. goodnight IJEBKSGHSOUFNE

TW CHILD ABUSE / DOMESTIC ABUSE / ABUSE, VIOLENCE, INJURY, TRAUMA, MENTAL ILLNESS, DRUGS / DRUG ABUSE / ADDICTION , GANGS.

aesthetic.

bruises; from beneath your eyes to the edge of your jaw, aligned against your stomach and the sides of your waist and the groves of your knuckles. bleeding noses and bleeding gums, spat out teeth, tattoos scarred from improper treatment, a facial scar; jagged and old, now, from above your eye to beneath your lip. worn hoodies and scuffed sneakers, sunglasses inside. the night sky, and it’s many stars, and how brightly they shone during the 2019 blackout, and wanting to be up there, with them. knowing constellations by heart. wishing to be the face on the moon. beer bottles and secret exchanges. dark alleys. fear, through the very core of your heart. fear, hidden behind a stoic stare.

basic info.

full name: donovan mercer

nickname(s): ducky but i’m 95% sure he hates the nickname it’s just. Stuck with him.

b.o.d. - march 15th, pisces :) (he’s actually 20 right now not 21)

label(s): the allegiant, the despondent, the grifter, the malleable, the vacant, etc.

height: 5′11″

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york

sexuality: bisexual bt make it closeted.

stats

inspired by: lip gallagher (shameless), freddie mcclair (skins), frankenstein’s monster (frankenstein), fez (euphoria) ... that’s it i don’t know any other characters KJNSGLDNVLSDJNFDS

biography.

you can correctly assume that they grew up in a heavily abusive environment, and can imagine the sort of things the two have gone through. ducky was, maybe, the least favorite of their father’s -

- for numerous reasons, and one being that ducky’d always been a sensitive kid. kinder than his brother, and far kinder than his father - kindness is weakness, and ducky was filled with it. too much so, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice. should’ve - but didn’t. and never did, either.

but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be.

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. his grades fluctuated frequently, and it’s a surprise that he hadn’t dropped out of high school altogether.

anyways ... at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip, the entire left side of his face a bloody mess afterwards. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly. corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

graduated high school and had been on-and-off attending community college since then. he’d miss days at a time, flunk an entire semester’s worth of classes - gpa dropped further and further. wanted to try, but life got in the way. always got in the way.

hadn’t intended on transferring to radcliffe, but their father’d been missing for a few months then, leaving ducky to handle the drugs side of their business in hell’s kitchen - and mercy’d disappeared, too, leaving their branch in lovell completely open. in a split decision - an opportunity, and opening - something he couldn’t miss, or he’d maybe never get the opportunity again, ducky bullshitted a scholarship essay (plagiarism, tsk) and transferred to pick up where mercy’d left.

this wasn’t very well thought out, because that meant there were no mercers in new york - and lars amaretto? not a very understanding man. more of a brute than their father was, by far. to keep a story short - ducky is missing a tooth (molar, luckily, this time) and is ... more rough’d up than he’d like to be, for sure. but mercy’s back, now, and he’s still at lovell, at radcliffe.

and that’s enough.

personality.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be harder - and his hits will be, too. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures, occasionally, or physics - or anything that isn’t business, because he hates his major, but he knows it’s the only chance he’s got to stay at radcliffe. and that’s to follow his brother, to follow his father. a business degree treats you well, teaches you skills you’ll need to know for this type of work.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs, only to leave it in the gorham community fridge with no name, something for somebody who may need it. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing, the result of years of abuse. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy. his room is messy, but still oddly barren. nothing on the walls except for a poster or two, sheets a standard navy blue and a row of empty liquor bottles on his windowsill.

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it. it’s his first semester at radcliffe.

uuuhhh. god. okay so ducky’s got an addiction to xanax. it’s numbing and it’s better than feeling, and he’d rather this than that and it’s. a Thing. we won’t go further into it. besides that - he does smoke weed, does try out some of their products to make sure it’s not ... fucked, for their clients, but otherwise fucking hates drugs. social drinker, but still doesn’t like it a lot. hates beer but drinks it often.

overall just ... he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted connections.

clients... first n foremost. he needs people to deal to. i don’t think he handles the Hard Shit like mercy does, but like coke and mdma? works for him.

f...riend..s?... like it’s so hard for ducky to be sincere with people but if you don’t mind like ... an emotionally distant man who doesn’t even hit 6′ then maybe? he’s your guy? maybe you can break him down a little? chip away at his cold shoulder?

a close...r friend... maybe not like. the best of friends. but at least one normal friend whose world does not revolve around fucking drugs and violence would be nice for ducky. someone he can be a little soft with, as a treat.

hook-ups... not many, because ducky doesn’t really enjoy sex too much but y’know. that’s just how it is. he do be having needs, tho. KDSJGSHDKLFSE god.

fisticuffs!... someone he got into a fistfight with. multiple people he’s gotten into fights with. he’s probably lost them (on purpose) but - mayhaps, some of them, he did not?

gorham roommate... god... i don’t know what these two cld get up to but! maybe give him a sexuality panic but who knows.

unrequited feelings... there’s probably a few of these. whether people are drawn to his fucking ~mysterious~ demeanor (he just has fucking anxiety, man) or mayhaps. mayhaps he has the feelings.

flirtations... he’s never been in a relationship so i can’t really include exes, but he can flirt with people i’d like to think ... when he’s drunk. :-)

ghostees... everybody he’s ever fucking ghosted because he’s stupid and is afraid of both friendship and relationships and romance and platonic? feelings of warmth? so sometimes he panics and ghosts people forever. :) spite!

new yorkians... who are familiar with his family or the business they have there

enemies... god. i’m sure he has a lot of these even without attempting to make them. just like, by association, you know? sometimes ducky hates people because mercy does. sometimes he hates people because mercy likes them. JKSDGDSJGFSNLKF

i won’t lie i’m very tired and am having a Troubled Time coming up with connections please. bare with me.

annoyances... i don’t know if ducky can get annoyed very easily but? thorns in his side? something lighthearted? alternately, something Not lighthearted and then ducky :/ goes rogue JKDNGDSNLFK

idk something soft... literally anything soft. please :) give me something soft and cute :) and peaceful and not stressful :)

something ANGSTY and AWFUL... literally. i don’t know. duality of man.

ok i have been awake fr too long i’m going to bed goodnight.

#radintro #child abuse tw #abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #violence tw #injury tw #trauma tw #drug abuse tw #drugs tw #addiction tw #gangs tw #ok. i think this is all.

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jawnjendes · 5 years ago

Text

dive into the dark | shawn mendes

chapter 11/?, university au, shawn x goth oc

AN: sry for the delay summertime depression has come with a vengeance lulz have some angsty comfort

***let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist

masterlist | playlist

“There once was a boy named Shawnie, destined to be a star.”

Why was that the last straw? Why was a photo of Stella, Shawn, and Camila dressed as Hogwarts students at a Halloween party the thing to send Annalise spiraling? What about that measly little Instagram post possessed Annalise to text her former shrink at four in the morning?

It’s not like she wanted to go to any of the stupid parties on campus. In the past, she and Patrick would hang out in a cemetery and be with the dead. Yes, she gave in to those goth stereotypes sometimes too. Annalise justified it by claiming she was celebrating Dia de los Muertos. This year, however, she just stayed in the dorm by herself, her own Hogwarts outfit sitting in her closet, making no noise and pretending it doesn’t exist. She was alone long enough for everything to come down on her, and the photo of her friends and not-boyfriend all but broke her to pieces.

So on November first, Annalise found herself in Callie’s office. It wasn’t hard getting herself to go there; Therapy had been a constant in her life for a year, and she missed it. She knew she had things to get off her chest, but it stalled when she was actually sat in front of Callie, who was quite happy to see her.

“It’s been a few months, hasn’t it?” she said, smiling warmly. “Where were we the last time you were here?”

Annalise shrugged. “I had exams going on, and I was picking out classes and a dorm for the next semester.”

“Right. And you’re in between classes now if I remember from your text. So all that went well, I assume?”

“Yeah. Still in school. Still working.”

Callie nodded. She hadn’t written anything on her clipboard yet. “I don’t mean to pry, but I also heard you were in the hospital for a bit?”

“Did Shawn tell you that?” Annalise’s polite tone changed. “He’s always telling everyone my business.”

Surprisingly, Callie wasn’t bothered by the sudden mood change. “I believe you told me over text. We had to pause our sessions because you were in recovery.”

“Oh. Oh yeah. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all snappy.” She went red.

“It’s alright. So, would you like to talk about what happened in the hospital?”

That was all the first session was: hospital talk. Annalise knew this story like the back of her hand, but it was less annoying telling it again because Callie already knew the stuff about the pre-existing health problems. It’s on reason why Annalise started therapy in the first place.

“Now, whenever my mom or dad call me, a majority of the conversation is about what I’m eating,” she explained. “Or what I should be eating. And Shawn constantly reminds me not to skip meals. I know I’m sick, but it gets so annoying sometimes. I know my body, and I know what I’m feeling.”

“Okay, hang on,” Callie said, holding up a hand to stop her. “You refer to yourself as sick?”

Annalise had to think about it. It came out of her mouth, but she never really processed that she was saying it. “Yeah. That’s how my parents always put it since it all started, I guess I picked it up from them.”

“Well, I - and I’m sure plenty of other people - don’t see you as sick. You were in the hospital, you had surgery, and now you’re fine. Ann, if you keep referring to yourself as a sick person, it will have an impact on your mental wellbeing. You are not sick, you have a chronic sickness.”

For some reason, that hit in the very center of Annalise’s chest. If she was cracked from the Instagram photos, then this practically burst the dam. She nodded, processing Callie’s words, but one part stuck out to her.

“I am fine now. It wasn’t a life threatening case, anyway.”

“Well, you did bleed internally after the first surgery,” Callie corrected. “And you had an infection on the incisions after. That’s not nothing. That’s very dangerous, and life threatening.”

“But it wasn’t that bad. They caught it in time, and I don’t even remember what it felt like. Besides, it’s not like I have cancer or anything.” Annalise paused and looked down. “Everything went fine, despite the infections and near death. I’m back to doing what I did before, but I feel… I didn’t die, but it feels like a part of me did.”

Callie now wrote on her clipboard, her pen scribbling being the only sound in the room. Then, she trailed her green eyes over to Annalise. “And it’s okay to feel that way. Putting your life in the hands of anyone, including medical professionals, makes you very vulnerable as it is. Adding surgery to that only adds to the vulnerability, not to mention it is invasive and can be quite traumatizing.”

“Helpless and dependent too,” Annalise added, picking at her nails. “Practically useless.”

“Let’s not say useless, okay? You needed help. You were recovering for surgery, it was for your own wellbeing.”

She shrugged, not exactly agreeing with that statement despite the truth in it. “I just don’t like depending on people.The nurses always pushed me to move on my own without disturbing the incisions, but I could never bring myself to do it. I knew I had to so I could properly heal, but I felt so lazy and weak. I felt like a sack of potatoes, having to be physically moved everywhere.”

There were times Callie would react to things her clients said. This was one of those times. She chuckled and raised her eyebrows. “A sack of potatoes?”

Annalise smiled timidly. “Yeah…”

That settled the homework Annalise was left with. She had to cut the harmful words out of her vocabulary. She was not useless. She was not lazy. She was most certainly not a sack of potatoes.

She felt okay during the session, but as soon as she was back in her car, Annalise felt the weight slam on her chest. As she drove back to campus, she started to remember things that she didn’t even know were in her head. She noticed the difference in a nurse who worked in the day versus the night. One was much perkier than the other. She never saw the same nurse twice during the entire stay. She couldn’t even count the amount of people who lifted up her gown to examine the incisions, much less the people who actually asked if they could expose her like that.

Heart pounding, Annalise moved a shaking hand towards the radio, turning up the volume and letting the sounds of 5SOS soothe her anxious state.

Today wasn’t supposed to be spent alone in the apartment, serenading a cat. Shawn loved Henry to bits and pieces, but this wasn’t the lady he was supposed to be spending time with. He appreciated that she didn’t run when he sang. Or shit all over his romantic gesture. She did shit right next to her litter box, though, and that was annoying to deal with.

“I can’t see one thing wrong between the both of us…” he trailed off, strumming his guitar. Then he sighed; That line didn’t age well.

Henry tilted her round head at the sound of the guitar. It was entertaining to watch, but not enough to make Shawn laugh or even smile. She jumped down from the top of the couch cushion and down to the carpet, stretching her limbs before scurrying over to the condo. Shawn watched her and then let his head fall back to the arm of the couch. He strummed an entirely different song.

“Beggin’ to hear your voice… tell me you love me too…”

He nearly fell off the couch when his phone went off, going from zero to one hundred in less than a second. He was still on the waiting game with both work and the live lounge, and the possibility of either of these places calling him back was enough to make him chuck his guitar across the room. He didn’t, though, he just hastily set it down as he answered the phone call without even looking at the ID.

He really should have. Let’s just say, Shawn was George O’Malley, and the voice on the other line was a fucking bus.

“Shawn?”

“Ann?”

A small pause. Then, she spoke very fast, before Shawn could even process what the fuck was happening. “I know we’re supposed to be fighting or not talking to each other, I know I’m supposed to be mad at you - and I still am - but, uh… I… I’m - can we call a truce? Just for an hour or two?”

He almost said yes in a heartbeat, but he caught himself. “What do you mean by truce? What’ll happen during those hours?”

Ann’s hesitation meant that she knew he was talking about the previous check ins. “It’s not like that. I promise. It’s just… something’s kind of happening, and I don’t think I can deal with it by myself.”

“You need to be more specific. What’s going on?”

“I’m in pain. Physical pain.”

Now it was Shawn’s turn to stay quiet. “Oh…”

Needless to say, Ann came over. For once, she was in sweatpants instead of her pajama bottoms. She also had on a black hoodie with the words “Positive Mental Attitude” on the sleeves. Her long, dark hair was down but very unkempt, and her olive skin was looking paler than normal.

The first thing Shawn did was feel her forehead for a fever. Ann made a small noise at the gesture, her brows furrowing.

“Sorry,” he said, taking his hands away. “I was just checking.”

She sighed as she let herself into the living room. “You remind me of my mother more and more every day. Not even a hello, just straight with the touching and worrying.”

Shawn resisted rolling his eyes. Didn’t she understand he did that because he cares? “How come you didn’t just go straight to the doctor?”

“It’s not excruciating,” she replied. “It’s bothersome, and it’s definitely there. But it’s not keeping me from doing anything.”

“Is it the same pain as before? In your abdomen?”

Ann shook her head, growing a little timid. “It’s around my ovaries. Pelvic pain.”

“You period?”

“Already passed. I’ve been feeling this for two days.”

Shawn tried very hard not to flip out. He resisted the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. She’s been in pain for a whole forty eight hours and she hasn’t done anything about it? This is exactly how it happened last time.

“So again,” he said, attempting to sound calm, “why don’t you just go to the doctor? Why are you here of all places?”

Ann had been looking at her hands the entire time. But when she locked her tired eyes with Shawn’s, he knew just how serious and important her next statement was.

“I can’t face the doctor alone.”

“You want me to go with you.” It wasn’t a question. Shawn was just able to pull the words out of her.

“Please?” she asked. “I know things are off right now but you’re the only one I can count on. You’re the only one who’s seen this side of me.”

Shawn would be lying if he said that didn’t tug on his heartstrings. Ann needs him, and she is admitting to that. But one thing stuck out in his mind; She had been asking a lot of him. She asked him for the separation, to be patient with her, and now this.

But it seems like Ann knows how to pull things out of him too. “You said you would make it up to me. This would help.”

Then again, when did she ever ask Shawn for help?

Ann insisted on driving, but Shawn dragged her into his Jeep. She navigated the way to her gyno, bouncing her legs on the way. That was when Shawn noticed that the serious faced, composed-by-nature girl was long gone. When did she lose that part of herself? That fundamental part of who she is seemed to fade away over the last few months, and Shawn was only now catching onto that? No wonder she was so angry at him all the time. It was a cry for help.

“What do you think it is?” he asked her. “The pain?”

“I don’t know. That’s what’s got me kinda worried,” she replied. “I’ve never felt this before. Google said they might be cysts that have to be surgically removed, so I stopped looking.”

Kinda worried? She was scared, scared to the point where she needed someone with her. Meaning, Shawn had to remain calm and collected, despite being worried himself.

“It’s probably nothing major,” he said, still managing to follow the voice from the Maps app on Ann’s phone. “They’ll prescribe you something, and you’ll be fine.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Shawn took a quick glance at her. She wasn’t exactly wrong. Nothing more was said until Shawn had pulled into the parking lot of the clinic. He shut off the engine and took off his seatbelt, properly turning to face Ann.

“Hey, look at me.”

Slowly, her head turned towards him, like she was hesitating. Shawn wanted to hold her hand or cup her cheek, but it was hard to tell what was allowed her.

“No matter what happens,” he told her, “you will be okay. You will come out of this.”

He stood by her as she spoke to the receptionist. He sat with her in the waiting room as she filled out three different forms on a clipboard. Shawn wondered how she wasn’t confused by any of the questions; He always needed his mom or dad with him at any appointment to help him.

The wait wasn’t long once Ann turned in the paperwork. A nurse called her back, and Ann gestured for Shawn to follow.

“How are you, Ms. Flores?” the nurse asked as she led them down a blank, white corridor.

“Swell,” she replied in a way that did not sound swell.

“Right in here.” She turned the corner and gestured to a small room. “We’re just going to take a little bit of blood. The physician will be right with you.”

Ann silently went and sat in the big chair next to the counter with all the blood taking tools. She sat back like it was second nature. Shawn merely stood against the back wall, unsure of what to do with himself. This room was clearly made for two people, and he wasn’t supposed to be one of them.

Finally, a woman in a white lab coat entered the room, putting on a pair of latex gloves. She smiled warmly. “Let’s get this show on the road! Now which one of you is Annalise Marie Flores?”

“I don’t have a middle name,” Ann told her, very much not on the same level as the perky medic.

She pointed at her. “That was a test to verify your name, and you passed! Now I just need you to verify your date of birth!”

“Twelve. Twenty seven. Ninety seven.” Still not amused, but Shawn was. The two different energies was almost comical.

The physician approached the counter as she got her tubes and needle ready as she continued speaking. “A fellow Capricorn. That’s the best sign. Except I was born on Christmas Eve so my birthday was always overlooked.”

Ann only nodded, visibly disinterested.

“So, which arm are you gonna let me poke?” the physician asked.

“Whichever has the best vein,” she simply replied.

It was like a script Ann had memorized. How many times had she done this in the past?

Shawn looked at the floor as soon as Ann was stuck with the needle. It was a good minute of listening to the physician hum to herself before she finally acknowledged Shawn.

“Here for moral support?”

“Pretty much,” he replied, keeping his eyes on his boots. “She asked me to come, I couldn’t say no.”

“Friendship goals, right there.”

He smiled, despite the pang of annoyance that struck his chest. Was the rift between them that obvious?

“Alright, let’s get a look at your battle wound.” She wrapped up Ann’s arm in cotton and gauze. “So, your results will be ready in a few minutes, and I’ll be back to go over them and see where to go from there!”

“Okay,” was all Ann had to say.

“Thank you,” Shawn told the lady before she left.

Ann let her head fall back against the chair as soon as they were alone. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “I liked that lady, she was cool.”

Shawn chuckled. “Yeah, you guys acted like such best friends.”

“Well, at least she knows Capricorns are superior.”

“You act like you’ve never met a Leo.”

For the first time today, Ann cracked a smile. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I know your act of having your shit together is exactly that.”

Maybe astrology wasn’t all bullshit. Shawn wanted to say something to prove her wrong, but then he would be proving her point at the same time.

“Yeah, well…” he trailed off, making Ann grin even wider.

It was good to see that, so he let it slide.

Another few minutes went by and a different woman in a lab coat entered the room. It was a lady in her 30s, blonde hair, kind but professional face. Her presence made Ann visibly perk up.

“Hello, Ms. Flores,” the doctor said with a smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

"Dr. Pacini," Ann greeted. "I didn't think you would be here, I kind of came at the last minute."

"Well, I heard you were here, and I had a look at your blood test results." She stopped herself and placed her hands on her hips, acknowledging Shawn. "Is this the boyfriend you told me about?"

Ann nodded silently.

"Hi," Shawn greeted, holding his hand out. He couldn't ignore the tiny jump his heart did hearing that Ann talked about him.

"Nice to meet you," Dr. Pacini said, shaking his hand. Then she turned back to Ann. "So it's okay that he's in here while we discuss your results?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

The blood test showed that Ann's hormones were completely unbalanced, and apparently that wasn’t anything new. She was very high in testosterone, and that was when Shawn learned that women could actually produce that hormone. What was news to Ann was that she was also anemic and low in potassium. Then they discussed her irregular menstrual cycle (another thing Shawn didn’t know about), and more personal information was taken in. Ann really wanted Shawn here to witness this? She could barely talk about her day without thinking she was oversharing.

"Were there any changes with your birth control?" Dr. Pacini asked.

"I missed some doses when I was in the hospital," Ann replied, suddenly timid. “And a few doses after I was discharged.”

“How many exactly?”

She looked down and mumbled. “Three months…”

"And that is plenty of time for new cysts to form on your ovaries. So if it's alright with you, I'd like to do a pelvic exam and a vaginal ultrasound."

Shawn knew Ann so well that the split second pause meant that this is what she had been afraid of. He finally stepped towards the chair she was sitting in, silently letting her know he was there.

"It's entirely up to you," Dr. Pacini said, "but I strongly suggest it. It would give us the chance to rule out anything serious."

Ann nodded. "Um… do I have to make another appointment and come back another time?"

"No, we can get it all done today."

"Oh-kay, then."

Dr. Pacini led them out of the room and down the hallway. Ann looked at Shawn as they went, anything but masking composure. He placed his hand on the small of her back as they walked into a different observation room.

“So on a scale of one to ten, how intense is the pain?” Dr. Pacini asked.

“About a six,” Ann replied. “I can function, but I can’t ignore it.”

“Got it. So just strip from the waist down, lie down on the chair, and we’ll get started.”

Ann wanted Shawn to sit closer as she was examined, so he did. The only reason why this was weird was because Ann did not like being this vulnerable in front of anyone, even Shawn. That, and she was still apparently fuming from their last fight, yet something about all of this made her reach out to him in need. He played with her hair as he tried yet again to understand the way her mind works.

Dr. Pacini noticed the tiny gesture. “How long have you two been together?”

Not surprisingly, Ann didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t be the one to say they were together at a time like this, pelvic exam aside.

“One year today,” Shawn answered anyway.

“Well, congratulations.” Dr. Pacini smiled.

Ann looked at him, now distracted from what was going on downstairs. “One year?”

“Yeah. November seventh. Took you on a date to the coffee shop.”

“Didn’t think we’d spend our anniversary like this.”

He knew she meant that in more ways than one. Shawn didn’t think he would be here either, hanging onto the tiny thread Ann had provided. And to think he really thought about the idea of considering ending things permanently… He was a sucker for her.

“Okay, my dear,” Dr. Pacini said, sitting up straight. “Onto the ultrasound.”

“Anything weird down there?” Ann asked with a nervous chuckle.

“I did detect some bumps on your ovaries, so I need to get a better look at what exactly those are.” She held up a long, thin… thing. “Just like the pelvic exam, it’ll be uncomfortable but not painful.”

Shawn chose not to look directly at it for more than a second. He kept his eyes on Ann’s anxious face as the ultrasound began. He had so many questions: Was this her first vaginal ultrasound? How many times has she come to see Dr. Pacini in the past? How long was she on birth control? What reproductive disorder did she have that required her to take birth control? Why did they ever use condoms if she was already on birth control?

It took a bit longer to get the results for the ultrasound, making Ann stay hauntingly quiet as she got dressed again. Shawn really didn’t know what to say that wasn’t any of the questions circling his head. When Dr. Pacini came back with the results, she deemed that there were in fact, new cysts forming. However, it wasn’t severe or particularly harmful, so Ann was prescribed a new birth control along with progesterone.

“That’s it?” Ann asked in disbelief. “That’s all I need?”

“That’s it,” Dr. Pacini confirmed. “If the pain persists, or gets worse, then by all means come right back. But it’s quite unlikely given where your pain level is at now. Just give it a few days and remember to breathe.”

Ann took a deep breath. It wavered as she exhaled, making Shawn rub her back.

“See? You’re gonna be fine,” he told her reassuringly.

“As long as you take your pills,” Dr. Pacini said firmly. “These are what will keep your pain from coming back. The birth control will manage the PCOS and the progesterone will help shrink the cysts. You’re usually on top of this, Annalise, can I ask what happened in the last few months?”

She shrugged, clearing her throat. Shawn knew what that meant, and he debated answering for her.

“Being in the hospital didn’t do anything for my mental health, I think,” Ann spoke softly.

Dr. Pacini looked between her and Shawn. He nodded in confirmation, trying not to externally show how much his heart was aching. Of course, the doctor asked to elaborate, so Shawn explained the surgery, the almost-death, and the second surgery. It helped her understand, and it made Ann cry in the observation room.

“I see,” Dr. Pacini said as she nodded. “Post surgical depression is very common. Clinical depression on its own can cause you to not care for yourself the way I know you can. I can’t prescribe you anything because it’s not my area of expertise, but Annalise. Look at me.”

She wiped her face with her sleeve and sniffed, her puffy, reddened eyes meeting the doctor’s.

“You will come out of this.”

The silence was loud as Shawn and Ann left the clinic. Ann read the papers Dr. Pacini had given her over and over, brows scrunched in concentration. She only stopped to get back in the car and put on her seatbelt, clearly eager to get the hell out of here.

“You made it out okay,” Shawn gently told her.

“I still have to wait and see if the pain will go away,” she grumbled as she shoved the pages into her purse. “Just like last time.”

Shawn looked at her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Last time was different. I know you’re worried, but it doesn’t mean everything is going to repeat itself. Did you book an appointment with Callie?”

Ann was rubbing her hands together. “Yeah. I saw her last week and I’m going again tomorrow. That reminds me, I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.” Heart: racing.

Shifting in her seat, Ann sighed deeply. “Okay. I don’t expect you to remember, and it’s okay if you don’t, but do you know what antibiotics they gave me for the infection on my incisions?”

That wasn’t at all what Shawn was expecting. Then again, he had no idea what was happening with this girl lately. When did he ever?

He thought for a moment before answering. “I don’t know the name of it. I remember that it was so strong it made you nauseous. The nurses told you not to puke because then you’d be puking up the medicine. Then, they took you off your Prozac and birth control so you weren’t taking in so much at once. The priority was to control the infection.”

The memory was still heartbreaking. Ann, with her sunken eyes screwed shut, frequently wiggling her fingers and toes in an attempt to keep everything down. She didn’t want to be touched or even talked to. When that side effect wore off, it was time for another dose. It was probably torture for her. Shawn remembered telling her he was going to the cafeteria when in reality he just went to cry to his mom or dad over the phone in the bathroom.

Ann tilted her head in thought. “You remember all that?”

“You don’t?” Shawn asked. “You were like that for a good few days.”

The hand rubbing continued. “I guess it’s blocked out of my head because it was so traumatic. Anyway, I just wanted to know…” She inhaled shortly. “Because uh, Callie wanted to pinpoint um, when I stopped taking the Prozac…” She inhaled again, like she was out of breath.

Shawn noticed the sporadic movements and grew concerned. “You okay?”

Ann rapidly nodded her head, despite her short breathing. “Yeah, just… hospital talk. I, I don’t really like it but I have to talk about it. She, uh, she warned me. I’d get really - fuck - uh, the dam burst, basically.”

“It’s apart of the process.” Shawn nodded, remembering his own flood of tears when he did the work of therapy. “Hey, look at me.”

She shook her head, shoulders tense. Her voice came out low and shaky. “I can’t feel my hands.”

“Can I see?”

Her hand was trembling wildly as she shyly held it out to Shawn. He ran his thumb over her fingers, noticing her stubby chewed up nails and the tiniest speck of black polish on the index. Then, he squeezed the pressure point between her thumb and index.

Ann gasped and looked up at him.

“Felt that?” Shawn asked, and she nodded. “See, you’re okay. You’re a strong lady.”

“I’m a strong lady…”

He affectionately rubbed her hand in both of his, offering a smile. He figured it was best to distract from the scary feelings. “Remember what was happening a year ago? I took you out to that coffee shop.”

“I was nervous,” she mumbled.

“Me too. When I picked you up at your dorm, the first thing I noticed was your red eyeshadow and I thought… red is my new favorite color. I also noticed you didn’t wear the black lipstick, and I really hoped it meant that you were going to kiss me.”

Ann was already blushing from the anxiety attack, but she breathed out a tiny laugh. “I really wasn’t. The nude lip was because we were going to eat…”

“Well, I like to think that you wanted to kiss me. And you did in the end, even after you said you don’t kiss on the first date.” Shawn was tickling the palm of her hand now, running his fingers over every line.

“It was a ‘fuck it’ moment…” Ann was watching his fingers move, like it was helping her focus.

“It’s probably one of my favorite moments with you. Because then I got to know the most amazing, strongest, badass lady I’ve ever seen, and I got to call her mine.”

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taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @1-800-khalid-mendussy @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @poppyshawn @shawnsunflower @someoneunimportantxx @ruinhoney @shawnvvmendes @calyumthomas @yourdeflightfullyleft @havethetimeeofyourlifee @shawmndes @wronglanemendes @chillingbythesea @softmendesss @mutuallynotmutual

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn x goth gf #ngl i cried way too much at this shit #mainly bc im dealing with my own physical health #n tryin not to let my mental health deteriorate bc of it #this SUCKS man #im so tired n sad i want it to be over #just diagnose me or imma hackout my stomach #anyways thx for reading :))))

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sigritandtheelves · 6 years ago

Note

Sooooooo how about some more of simple?

Here ya go. Sat on this one a while, sry.

Simple

Chapter 9

Other Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

PG-13 | 2.3k wds | pre-XF AU | MSR, Melissa/Samantha

A/N: Another wee bit of uncustomary angst, but we’re rounding toward a resolution. They just gotta sit with they feelings a bit, ya know?

_+_

March, 1990 - Baltimore

It was late and the TV was muted and there were takeout containers on the coffee table. The two of them were entwined on the couch: work clothes abandoned for soft cottons, hair pulled back, soft cheek touching cheek amidst the sofa cushions. Samantha held Melissa’s hand in her own, splayed the fingers, pressed their palms and aligned their digits, measuring—her own a few millimeters longer.

“You think I’m too young?” She asked, voice husky and quiet.

Melissa shook her head, brought Sam’s knuckles to her lips. “No, it’s not that.”

“You’re worried about your family. About the legality of it. About the rest of the world.”

“Not all of that. I worry about you.”

Sam looked up, searching for the knot of worry in her partner’s face. “Why me?”

With a sigh, Melissa pressed their foreheads together. “You had a difficult childhood. A lot of that will probably come back up. Some of it may even be shaping this desire right now.”

Samantha frowned, not particularly fond of this psychoanalysis. “My childhood wasn’t so bad.”

“Sam.”

“So you think I want to fix my broken past with a baby? It’s not that, Melissa.” Fierce brown eyes met blue. “That might be your worry, but it isn’t true. If I were desperate to create some nuclear-family bandaid, don’t you think I would have married some sensitive guy with a trust fund right out of Brown and been miserable by 25?” Melissa frowned, then chuckled and shook her head. She’d seemed hesitant to have this talk, brushing it off for weeks, and Sam couldn’t figure out why. At Christmas she’d seemed excited about the idea, and they had even started looking into clinics. Sam leaned closer, placed a kiss over Melissa’s heart. “I want this because I love you. And I think we’d be really good at it.”

Melissa’s arms came up around Sam’s shoulders and she breathed another deep sigh. “We would be good at it,” she said. “You’re so damned cute with kids.”

“I love them.”

“I know you do. And I love you.”

“So what’s wrong?”

A brief pause. “I… I’m not sure. Something feels off.”

“With us?”

Sam could feel Melissa thinking, trying to psychically work things out in that way she had, to intuit her way to the truth. “I don’t think so,” she said finally. “I don’t know.”

Pushing up on one elbow, Sam lifted her head so they were eye to eye, watched Melissa’s face for some sign of doubt (in her, in them), but found none. “We don’t have to rush,” she said. “I trust your intuition.”

Melissa touched her cheek, kissed her once on the lips. “But you want this. I know.”

Sam nodded and leaned in for another kiss. A moment later, there was a knock at the door and the two women regarded each other in puzzlement. Sam glanced at the clock: almost eleven. She pushed herself up from the couch and went to the peephole. “It’s Fox,” she said, and pulled open the door.

He looked terrible. His eyes were red and his face was unshaven. He appeared not to have showered for a few days. “Oh my god,” she said. “What happened?”

“C’n I come in?”

Brow furrowed, she stepped aside, then locked the door behind him. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” he said, then amended: “Only a little.”

Melissa appeared then, and her hands came up to cover her mouth in surprise. “What happened?”

Fox walked past them both, into the living room, and both women followed. They watched him collapse onto the couch. “She won’t talk to me,” he said, curling up on his side, head in the cushions. “She said we shouldn’t… talk right now.” His voice was muffled by the fabric and stuffing, but Sam heard it break.

Carefully, she sat down beside him. “You mean Dana,” she said, and he nodded. “Did something happen?”

This time his head shook side-to-side amidst the pillows, face still buried.

“I’ll make some tea,” Melissa said, heading toward the kitchen, but before she could leave, Fox pushed aside a pillow and looked at her.

“Melissa,” he said, desperation in his voice. “Did she say something? Did I do something?”

Melissa bit her lip and shook her head. “She didn’t say anything to me,” she said. “But Dana is… reserved about these kinds of things. Anxious.”

The look in his eyes was pleading, and Sam felt for her brother: so ready to love, so easily hurt. “She doesn’t want me,” he said. It was pitiful.

Again, Melissa shook her head. “She does. I promise. Let me make the tea, and then we can talk.”

—

It began after her recruitment visit, or maybe during. He could feel her pulling away, trying to forcibly cool the spark between them. First, she didn’t call, then wouldn’t answer her phone. He got hold of her a few times, told her he missed her, said he wanted to visit for her birthday. But she’d said, “What about your work?” And though he’d wanted to protest that he didn’t care, she’d been right, because Diana called him the next day with another case. He sent Dana flowers, and she’d called to say thank you: polite, detached, a million miles away, rather than three-thousand.

“What is it?” He’d said, but she’d always said “Nothing,” until he’d finally broken down on the phone, got angry, got sad, and demanded she tell him.

“Dana, please,” he’d said. “Is it because I missed your calls? Was it my shitty apartment? Is there someone else?”

She’d frozen, silent on the line for almost a whole minute, before she’d answered. “I think,” she said, her voice tight and restrained, “I think it’s probably not good for either of us to be together. Not if I’m going to the Academy while you’re working important cases for higher ups.”

“Why the hell not?” He’d practically shouted. He’d thought he heard a swallowed sob, but he was too angry to think about what it meant.

Now, at his sister’s house, Sam hovered, her hand on his shoulder, while he recounted the whole story.

“When was this?” Melissa asked.

“Two days ago,” Fox said into his palms.

Melissa swallowed a sip of her own tea and considered what he’d said. “She’s worried because you’ll both be at the FBI, because she’ll be in training and you’re an agent.”

He hadn’t considered this, and it made him raise his head to look at her. “It’s not like I’ll be her superior. I don’t do any teaching, and I’ve been working out of the Hoover building the last few months. Miles from Quantico.”

“Is there any reason it could make things hard on you? Either of you?”

“No,” he said, adamant. “The FBI doesn’t even have a policy about relationships.”

“Did you tell her that?”

Fox frowned. No, he hadn’t told her that. He hadn’t realized he needed to. “I didn’t think it mattered. I didn’t think it would matter.”

He’d spent the last month in agony, and now he felt like there were hot coals in his chest. What did she think could happen? What did she think he would do?

Beside him, Samantha sighed. “Probably because of that other guy. Daniel.”

Fox looked at her, struck. “Who?”

He caught a look between the two women, caught Melissa’s surprise, a kind of wide-eyed uh-oh. “She didn’t tell you?” Sam murmured.

“Tell me what?” Now he was starting to panic. “Who’s Daniel?”

Melissa breathed deeply and sat down on the armchair across from him. “It’s not really my story to tell,” she said, but perhaps reconsidered after she saw what look must have been on his face. “She’d been dating a doctor, one of her instructors, before she met you. He confronted her and made some threats—to her career and her reputation—just before she came out for her interview.”

“Wha—“ but he was speechless. Threats. Just before she flew out… oh. And he’d missed her calls in that time, hadn’t talked to her until after she’d been dragged through the halls of the Hoover building by countless stern-looking men. Dana who, he was sure, owned precisely one suit and had been expecting a life in scrubs and sneakers until just a week before. Shit. It was starting to make sense to him—her fear, her need to push him away. “Oh god,” he said. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

At this, Melissa smiled: knowing and sad. “Dana has always been one to carry her own burdens. And then some. She told me about it, but I think that was about the limit of her opening up.”

Fox thought of her in his apartment, distant, but leaning into his touch; quiet, but desperate to be close. “What do I do?” He asked, perhaps more to himself than to either of the women.

“Talk to her again,” Sam said, but Melissa was shaking her head.

“No,” the other woman said. “Don’t push. She’ll only push back” She chewed her lip, then took another sip of her tea. “Can you be patient? Will you wait for her to come around?”

Fox laughed into his palms, fingers splayed across his forehead. “I can’t promise to be patient,” he said, lifting his head. “But I’d wait forever.”

Sam hooked her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder, nothing but sympathy in her eyes. “Oh Fox,” she said. “It’ll be okay. Just let her know you’ll wait until she’s ready.”

He slept off the worst of his misery in their guest room, a space that held the fond, if painful, memory of their first lovemaking. If pressed, he’d say he didn’t cry into those pillows that night. He was a grown man with a good handle on his emotions, not some lovesick Romeo. That’s what he’d say, anyway.

—

Stanford

Dana punished herself with long hours at the gym. She kept thinking the words fitness test and remembering austere hallways lined with square-jawed giants. She pinched at the flesh of her upper arm, timed her miles, practiced her push ups, even though she hated them. She stopped putting sugar in her coffee. She woke at five. She did her rounds without complaint and took extra shifts when she could. By the time she climbed into bed at night, she didn’t have the energy to think about anything else. That was her plan, at least.

Her birthday flowers sat in yellowing water on her table: purple daisies with drooping petals, a half-dozen wilted roses, brittle baby’s breath. She refused to throw them out, thinking there was some cold metaphor in their slow decay.

Every time her phone rang, a jolt of fear shot up her spine. Maybe the FBI, rescinding their invitation. Maybe Daniel, calling to threaten her again. Maybe Fox, angry with her and demanding answers.

When it rang on Saturday evening, she was eating a limp spinach salad on her couch, listening to The Cure’s “Pictures of You” on repeat and pretending she was fine. She turned down the stereo and answered with no small amount of trepidation.

“Hi Dana.” Melissa’s voice said, soft.

“Hi,” she said, somewhat surprised. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, mostly. What about you?” By the way she asked, Dana knew she knew something. Her eyes narrowed and she scooped dead flower petals off her small table. They sat in her palm like twisted tissue paper.

“Fine,” she said.

“Mm hmm.” There was a brief pause. “Fox stopped by last night.”

Dana tried to stop the strangled sound that clambered out of her mouth, but she didn’t catch it in time, so she cleared her throat to cover it. “Oh.” She swallowed. “Is… is he okay?”

“Well, Dana, not really.”

“Oh.”

Rather than walk to the trashcan, she dropped the petals back onto the table and sat down. “Did he seem angry?”

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “No, Dana. He seemed heartbroken. Why didn’t you talk to him about what happened?”

Against her will, Dana felt her eyes burn and her lower lip wobble. It was a moment before she could answer. “I couldn’t,” she said. “He wouldn’t… what would he think? How could I explain about Daniel?”

“With words, Dana. Words about your feelings and why you were scared and how you missed him and wanted him to be there for you.”

“You make it sound easy. What if I scare him away?”

“So instead you push him away? Besides, you wouldn’t. He loves you.”

“No he doesn’t.”

There was laughter on the other end of the line, dumbfounded, eye-rolling laughter. “How can you… he… Oh, Day.”

From farther away, shouted toward the phone, Samantha’s sing-song voice: “He’s in love with youuuu! He wants to marry you and make little Fox-and-Dana babies! Caaallll him.”

At her words, Dana broke into a laugh, but one that was also a half-sob. She covered her face with the hand not holding the phone.

“Sorry,” Melissa said. “Sam’s been at the zinfandel and she’s loopy.”

“Have nooot!” Sam’s voice called, sounding farther away this time.

“Just call him, okay? Tell him you want to talk. You get a break at the end of the month, right?”

“Yeah.” The laugh-sob had faded, but her voice still sounded wet. She cleared her throat again.

“Good. Maybe you can visit?” Melissa’s voice softened. “We love you both. Don’t fuck it up because you’re scared, okay? Call me if you need to talk.”

“Okay,” Dana said, swiping at her eyes. “Sorry I’m so stupid about these things.”

“You’re not stupid. You just need to talk to him. You know, about feelings. With words.”

A little chuckle. “Right.”

“Love you, Day.”

“Love you, too.”

And they hung up.

Dana tossed out the rest of her salad, pulled the ice cream from the back of the freezer, and rewound her cassette. Feet up on the couch, double chocolate fudge on her spoon, she stock-piled her courage against the sound of Robert Smith. She’d call him tomorrow.

— end chapter 9 —

Go to Chapter 10

#a thing i wrote #simple #chapter 9 #msr #au #melissa/samantha #xf fanfic

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