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take-everything-you-can · 2 years ago

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This is a little something I wanted to write for @lesservillain and her Strange and Spooky Prompt event!

Prompt: Glow - You and your muse see a strange glow by Lovers Lake and decide to investigate.

What happens when you and Eddie encounter a fairy ???

TW: Literally all Fluff but all my works are 18+ so minors gtfo please and thank you !!!

There is an a/N at the end but just so y'all know this is not edited all that much I'm honestly too lazy to do it right now so I apologize if anthing is spelled wrong or anything!

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem reader

WC: 3K

Broken Wings

The Summer heat had been dropping a few degrees closer to fall weather every few days that had passed. So when Eddie wanted to come out to the lake for a bit of a smoking sesh, you had not thought to bring a sweater. It grew colder, far faster than you thought it would have, and Eddie noticed the goosebumps that began to trail their way down your arms. He takes off his hoodie and hands it over to you and you catch how his hair falls a bit out of the bun he had pulled to the top of his head.

“Take this.”

“No Eddie. If I take your hoodie then you’ll be the cold one.” He lifts the joint he rolled in his hand, bringing it to his lips, and takes a deep hit. He let the smoke roll across his tongue and out before pulling it back in to hold as it made its way to his lungs a small smile to his lips as he said “Nope, I’ll be just fine baby. You know how this stuff makes me.”

You did know. You knew all too well what smoking did to him. He would have times when he would strip down to his boxers, a far too tempting state, as he would get overheated, and there would be times when he would bundle himself in a cocoon of blankets and still hear the chatter of his teeth.

“You feeling warm?” as you bring the back of your hand to rest against his forehead pushing the hair that had fallen from the bun behind his ear.

“A little bit.” but he was staring out of the open doors of his van. A sudden silence from him was rare, so you followed his gaze and saw the rippling water hitting the shore as the day was coming to an end.

A Sweeping declaration was made as the sun started to fall behind the horizon and Eddie's eyes sought out the tiny flickering light at the edge of Lovers Lake. So faint you had to question whether the weed was making his eyes play tricks on him until you too saw that small dim glow.

He had declared that he was going to catch that firefly.

It was kind of odd that you had spent many days out by the water with Eddie and had never before seen any fireflies. He started walking fast toward the glow, it faded in and out as it flew through the air. A beacon of light calling you both forward with each second that passed.

You tiptoed behind him making sure to keep the sound of your approach as quiet as possible, you didn't want to scare the poor thing off and Eddie had made it his mission to catch the bug.

Could you even scare an insect like a firefly? You weren't entirely sure but you did not want to contribute to the massive crush you knew Eddie would feel if he wasn't able to catch this thing.

A sudden lunge forward and Eddie cheered a small victory but it was very short-lived.

“Ouch! What the fuck?”

“What happened?”

“It bit me?” You let out a small laugh as you look up at your tough boyfriend.

“It bit you? Eds Fireflies can’t bite you, their mouths are too small.” He kept seeing the light flicker at his feet in the direction of where he had thrown the insect out of his hand.

“I’m telling you right now that thing just bit the fuck out of me.” He shoves his hand towards you and you see an extremely small crescent shape cut to the palm of his hand, a small bead of blood forming at its edges. It did bite him.

“It’s got to be something other than a firefly then cause I did a whole project on them in like middle school. They can not bite you.”

You crouch down at Eddie's feet and try to get a better look at the bug that bit him, hoping that it isn't something that will cause him to have a rash or worse. You see the small glow beneath the grass beside his shoe. Eddie does the same just trying to figure out what kind of insect he should be angry at specifically. You carefully move the grass aside letting the small light shine and you can’t believe your eyes.

“Eddie, was there anything in that weed?”

“No, It’s from the stash we had last week. Why?”

“Are You sure?” He huffs out in annoyance.

“Yes, I'm absolutely fucking positive.”

There is no way that the small thing on the ground is real. It has to be a hallucination… Right? It has to be.

“Eddie look at it!” He leans in closer, looking at the small glow beside his white Reebok. You stare at him until he lifts his eyes, wide and in awe.

“That's not real, is it?”

“Can’t be. Can it? “ You both lean in heads almost knocking together as you get closer to the small thing.

Sitting in a small ball, knees to her chest, was a Fairy. A Fucking Fairy!

“Are you okay ?” your voice sounds unsure, wondering if she can even understand you. Another huff from Eddie as you look up just in time to see the small roll of his eyes. “ What? She might know how to speak our language.“ You look back to the little woman sitting and see that her head is buried in her lap, something you also often do as you feel overwhelmed. You take one of your fingers and tap the ground softly beside her in hopes that it will get her to look up at you. She brings her head up slowly, she’s scared.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. We thought you were a firefly is all. We’re so sorry.” Pleading, you hope that she understands.

“You’ve got some sharp teeth girly.” You laugh at Eddie's attempt to not freak out and scare her further.

She is standing now, you see that the small glow she is emitting is coming from the wings perched upon her back. Yet only from one of them, a closer look and you see that one of her wings has been torn almost in two. A wave of sadness hits you for this small creature, one an hour ago you had no idea existed.

How long has she been struggling?

How long had she been in pain?

How far from home was she?

“Do you live here?” You almost shriek at the small shake of her head. She can understand you. You look to find Eddie just as elated as you. “ Is It far from here?” She nods as she folds her arms around herself in a hugging manner.

“How long have you been hurt?“ Eddie’s voice much deeper makes her jump a bit at the sound. He feels awful thinking he could have made her suffering any worse. A small shrug to her shoulders. She had no idea how long it had been since she had torn her wing. It was just something that had happened to her and she had grown accustomed to it.

She knew how it happened, She was Flying one night letting the moon rays lead her home and a bat flew past her thinking she was a bug, Kind of like Eddie did. Just Instead of doing the biting herself she was the one being bitten. She had just barely escaped its path before it was able to catch her for its second, crushing chomp to her precious wings. Since that day her glimmer didn’t work well, the one that she could find with the shine from her wings. A small instinctual path her wings would carry her through. Without it, she had been unable to reach the heights necessary, forced to live out her days alone and far from home.

A hand was laid out before her. A big hand with a small crescent etched into its flesh.

“Hope on little one, we are gonna take you home with us, see if we can fix up that wing for ya.”

Unsure he was telling the truth she looks to you to gauge your reaction.

“I promise we are going to do everything we can to get you back to your own home as soon as possible.” A small smile to your lips as she takes in what you’ve said. Slowly but surely she finds her way into the middle of Eddie's hand and sits.

Carefully Eddie places the small Fairy into the cup holder so she won’t go sliding around as the van takes turns or comes to a stop. Eddie makes sure he has turned the volume down completely before he turns the key bringing the engine to life. A small trip across town to the apartment you and Eddie share together and as the van comes to a stop you place your hand out for the Fairy to climb into.

Bright lights are blinding to the small being as she rushes to cover her eyes with her hands.

“Eddie I think that's too bright for her. Can you turn on the little lamp next to your desk?” You turn the large light off as the amber shift becomes bearable enough for the fairy to uncover her eyes. “ A night owl huh?” A small nod and you feel the wings she adorns tickle your hand. A giggle escapes you as you stare in fascination. “ Your Wings are fuzzy?” The fairy gives a small shrug not quite understanding the word fuzzy.

“Don’t they feel like Moth or Butterfly wings?” Eddie comes into the bedroom you've wandered into as you place her gently on the desk, across the room from your bed.

“They do feel like that!” Eddie sits down an old placemat that Wayne used to make him use back in elementary school to learn how to write in cursive. Something he never thought he’d use again until he had kids of his own. But he places it down on the desk and the fairy looks over the big letter next to their smaller counterparts.

“Do you know letters? Like is there any way you could tell us your name? Do you have a name?” The small woman rolls her eyes at Eddie’s question. Of course, she has a name. She walks toward the middle of the mat and comes to a stop by the L and points to it. She then turns in search of the U and points down at it as she stands next to it. She continues in the same row of letters just stopping at the N at the opposite end of the mat. And taking a few small steps up to the A she then points to the letter and walks off of the mat.

“Luna! Your name is Luna?” You and Eddie laugh at just how crazy the concept in front of you is. There is a fairy who has a broken wing sitting on top of a desk in your home and she is communicating with you, actually talking to you and you are still unsure if this is all a vivid dream you have yet to wake from.

“That's a pretty name Luna but it just now proves my point that your wings are more moth-like than Butterfly.”

“Eddie!”

“What it’s true.”

“What if it’s offensive?” You ask him in a whisper.

“She Bit Me! I’m speaking my truth.” You and Luna both roll your eyes at Eddie almost in unison at how mature he is being about getting bit. Luna starts walking across the mat again and she ends up coming off the side of the mat after spelling out ‘ I’m Sorry’.

“See she even apologized, suck it up buttercup.”

Eddie starts to look around the fairy and notices that the small dress of cloth she is wearing is a lilac shade that complements her dark raven locks that flow just over her shoulders almost reaching to where the tear in her wing is.

“Can you turn for me little one? I need to see what I'm working with.” She obliges and turns to let Eddie examine the tear a bit more. Opening the top drawer of his desk, he grabs a magnifying glass and one of the paintbrushes he uses for fine detail in his D&D figures. He sees that the tear just needs to be set since the small glow would appear as he pushes the small segment back into its rightful places, like when he would tear a paper into pieces only to find he actually needed them for another campaign or a part number for the shop, and have to tape them all back together.

Eddie knew exactly what he needed to do, something Wayne would do for him countless times throughout high school when he would come in with a busted eyebrow and it was almost stitch-worthy but not quite. He needed gauze, a band-aid, and a bit of Neasporin. Luna sat patiently waiting for his return in hopes he knew what he was doing. She so desperately wanted to get home. Every day away was one day closer to the autumnal equinox, a giant celebration held only four times a year for her people to receive gifts of the season to flourish into the next.

Eddie returned to his desk with a small pile of supplies.

“I’m going to go hop in the shower while you do your thing babe.” A chaste kiss to his lips and you turned to grab a towel before walking into the bathroom attached to your bedroom.

“Ok, Little one here we go. Are you ready?” With a small nod, Eddie went to work. He rolled out the gauze and cut the squares into small strips almost as if he were going to place decoupage to the wing. he slid them through the Neosporin to keep hold of the wing, wrapping the strips around the edges to make sure the segments would attach at the right places they needed to be in to set properly.

Relief flooded Luna almost instantly as Eddie placed the last small dry gauze with a small tie around Luna’s waist to hold it properly. He had made it wide enough that she could still flap her wings and tight enough that she didn't have to worry if it would come out of place. Tears sprang to her eyes as she saw her faint purple glow emit from the bottom of both of her wings not just one. Eternally grateful she flew around Eddie's head and he let out a relieved laugh. He had done it, He had fixed a fairy’s wing. An unimaginable task.

Luna spelled out a tearful ‘Thank you and then the word ‘Gift’. Eddie looked confused for a second but assured her that there was no gift Necessary. Luna insisted as she spelled out another word. ‘Wish’

“You can grant wishes?” She nodded to his question as he looked towards the bathroom door still hearing the water fall as it hit the shower floor. “ Really? “ Luna rolled her eyes at him and nodded her head once more. “I need a specific thing.” She put one hand on her hip and waved the other as if to say ‘Okay go on’. “ I need a Ring with an onyx stone, a size 8.” She smiled brightly, extremely happy to grant a wish as wholesome as this.

She gathered some of her light and formed the thoughts in her mind as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Wishes were granted from within and could only be given by Elder fairies. You get only one wish to grant and you must choose the recipient wisely. She held the solid band in her hand as she shed her light from the ball and unwrapped it as if it were the petals of a flower. A ring, one Eddie had dreamed of made its way to the palm of his hand and Luna closed his fingers around it to show its importance.

The bathroom door opens and you walk out in some pj pants and a tank-top to get comfortable in before bed and you see the faint glow of her purple light.

“You did it! You can fly !! You can go home !” the last sentence is bittersweet for you and Eddie sees it as he wraps you in his arms.

“You going to come visit us little one?” Luna nods her head as she comes to land on your shoulder hugging the gauge in your ear as if it were your whole being, but you understand what she’s trying to say.

You and Eddie walk to the door together as Luna flies behind you and as you step out into the cold you feel a slight shiver from the cold but it's far more worth it to be slightly cold than to not say goodbye to your newfound friend.

She bows to you both as a thank you one more time before she is off into the sky as you walk out a bit watching her glow fade into a stream almost like a comet, like a shooting star. A vast flow of colors beyond the stars is where she would find her path, one of greens, pinks, and blues. A Sense of belonging she held in learning she could finally follow wherever the rays of the moon wanted to guide her.

Turning to walk back inside you are stuck in your tracks as Eddie is down on one knee.

“ So I didn’t plan this, hell that's pretty obvious, but um.. Well fuck this is hard. I mean what is more magical than a ring from Fairy Light right?” you are stunned, tears are close to breaking over the edge but his next words send that final blow. “It’s only Forever.” You run to reach him as you crash your lips into his pulling away only to give him his answer.

“ Not long at all.” He’s never seen anything as beautiful then the smile on your face as you admire the ring he was granted by something no one would ever believe but you. That was all he needed though. Just you.

A/N : Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you guys think and please please please always remember to like and reblog your favorite writers please it keeps the fandom alive!

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rekkandevar · 2 months ago

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shapter tue

not fully happy with all the descriptions but my adhd pill wore off half an hour ago so this is what you get

The party has now wound down.

Stacks of empty paper trays and near-empty beer mugs now stand on table-corners, threatening idly to topple or fall as the Bug's proprietor gently admonishes them two-by-two into the trash or the sink. Air now circulates that has not yet been breathed, trickling lukewarm from humming vents, stirring the edges of chopstick wrappers in slow swirling tours. Conversation is now more sparse, more quiet: but nine faces yet remain in the room - a healthy crowd - a crowd tired enough to finally tune out. Thoughts now undrowned by noise warp under alcohol, wandering gratefully to home, to sleep; eyes now wander to the bar's one plain battery clock, ticking tilted on the far wall. Ten minutes past midnight.

It is too late to get home.

You are not powerless as a sorcerer, you're quite capable of making your own door. But the bus to the wizard boonies is done for the night, and you don't own a bike or a carpet. Short of walking for hours, you are stuck: and the stress begins to rise again.

You gently nudge Noi sitting beside you, turning her away from her conversation for a moment.

"Hey, do- do you know if there's any way I can get home at this time of night?" (Keep your voice low, avoid the embarrassment of wider attention. Perhaps hope also that she can't hear you trembling.)

Noi thinks for a moment, shakes her head. "Not out to the sticks. Bet we can score you a bed somewhere though."

A bed! You put your hands up, palms together, like supplication to a great Provider. "Thank you, seriously. I just don't wanna be on the streets."

It's not perfect, but sleep is on your mind and it seems unlikely to leave. You know that Noi's promise as a member of the En family likely means it is getting done, quickly and discreetly, and the knowledge to you is buoyant. It may not really be nice to think that way about your friend, but it's so rare that you ever ask for favors - and you hate the idea of being fussed over by someone less delicate - it should be fine just this once, right?

You are still mid-sigh as Noi stands up on her bench and calls out brazenly to the room: "YO! This dude can't get home tonight! Anyone got a spare bed he can sleep in?"

The noise of the crowd ducks to a whisper, and you crumple. What was relief becomes a raw and compulsive expulsion of air as you try desperately to vanish from sight, cursing yourself and Noi both. Through watering eyes you think you see Kaiman grimace a bit in the corner; through pounding ears, the annoyed silence of the poor saps who have to put their lives on hold to listen. Busted air conditioning, paper-tailed fans, oscillating like they don't even care. You sit for a moment under the damned spotlight, cheeks flushed with alcohol and shame, waiting for the wild dogs to set upon you.

None come.

"Could sleep at the Bug," says Nikaido from across the room, uncrumpling you slightly. She walks with purpose towards the closet in the stairs, leaning her broom against the bar as she passes it. "You can just lie down in one of the booths. I think I might have an extra sleeping bag somewhere in here."

(Already the chatter of the room is returning?)

"Yeah, Ms. Nikaido lets me sleep over all the time," a voice chimes in, which - yes - yeah, that's the sleazy-looking man again. Unpleasant, but not a surprise. (his name must have been "horseshoe" or like. "walking under a ladder" or something. "black cat." who give a shit.) "I don't know about you, but I'm staying here myself."

Technically that's a fine solution. Technically. The idea of sleeping in the same room as the sleazy-looking dude makes you kind of uncomfortable, though: you've only had a couple more interactions with him since the start of the night, and none of them were great - he's the sort to make a bad joke to a total stranger and expect them to laugh. Your vibes are incompatible.

It's a last resort - but you NEED to sleep. And nobody else seems to be speaking up. Swallow the pride, set up on the other side of the room. Don't make eye contact.

You've just about resigned yourself to it when a deeper voice cuts through the chatter: "You could stay upstairs with me."

It's Ai, of course. Your savior is sprawled out in a booth in the corner; Shin sits maskless across from him, lazing similarly, his ever-present hammer flat on the table in show-and-tell. You really don't mind the suggestion at all; you want to get to know Ai a little better already, and such the better if you can do so while also not being homeless for the night.

"Yeah, I think I'm down for that," you manage to choke out.

"You wanna stay with Kaiman?" Nikaido stops rummaging in the closet, surprised. Her voice has an odd tone to it, like there's hangups to the idea that you don't know about - but what could they possibly be? Some sort of danger? Some freaky-deaky magic werewolfism? It seems pretty obvious to you, having talked with him for even as long as you have already, that he's not likely to harm you.

Probably.

"He's not gonna eat my face or anything." (A bit singsong this time, a half-question - you really don't know him very well. Second thoughts.)

"Yeah, not in years," says Kaiman blithely. It doesn't help much. His eyes seem to meet Nikaido's, and information is transmitted - a head tilt, a shake, brows in motion - and then his eyes go wide, and he leans back in defeat.

Little bit unnerving! Maybe a lot!! And yet, Noi is just one call away - and you really don't want to spend eight hours with the sleazy dude. Your hazed-out brain spits forth a hazed-out little kick to your backside: "choose it or lose it", it says. You realize it has already decided for you.

Extracting yourself uncomfortably from the bench seat, you push past the half-cleared little tables to sit down by the scaled man, who hurries to unslump and make way. You attempt to make it clear you aren't moving. With the matter settled, the noise of the crowd finally returns to a normal level, and Shin and Aikawa return to their conversation.

It seems now like Shin is talking about his hammer again, and Kai seems receptive, the two chatting about alloys and handle construction. Presently it becomes clear that Shin is the one being lectured for once: The hammer pushed to the side with a rubbery squeak, the scaled man lays a large knife out on the table. The two consult it like a map as Kaiman points out interesting features in terms you do not understand - words like "choyle" and "tang" and "ricaso." It's all you can do to pay attention in your half-drunk state, and you begin to fall into a lull, his excited tone filling your head even as his words flow out like water.

Your bones are full of the particular sort of sleepiness that comes from alcohol - five parts calm, two parts stupid and one part numb. You consider, you are probably no longer tipsy but actually drunk; the final stage of a fun night, and the penultimate stage of a crazy one.

Your mind starts to wander in odd directions.

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PARENTHETICAL: "Impromptu Treatise On Leaning (Or, What You Would Get If The Thoughts Of A Drunk Man While Mostly Asleep Were Actually Coherent)"

You usually like to mark your nights out in terms of "tipsy", "drunk" and "fucked up," as perhaps many people do. It is easy, of course, to tell when you are fucked up: it is when you are no longer fully capable of standing up. The line between tipsy and drunk is harder to define, however, as it presents a more subtle difference to the outside observer. Therefore, in order to reliably map out the division between these two states, a similar yardstick is needed, particularly one that functions in reference to gross motor control. The one you've eventually settled on is this: "Have I started leaning on things more than usual?" If no, you're still tipsy. If yes, you're drunk.

Of course this in itself depends on what in the vicinity is easy or good to lean on. If there's something around that's especially leanable, you might even do it while sober; but if you've started leaning against, say, a telephone pole, you know without question that you're drunk. This variable plays a significant part in the efficacy of the test.

Some things are so good for leaning against that they don't count at all. Certain solidly-built desks, if at the right height, can be leaned on heavily near one's center of mass, allowing one to rock back and forth while keeping barely any weight at all on the ground. These therefore are ignored by the scale, as one is much more likely to lean against them while sober.

Men are also ignored by the scale, depending on the situation. Most men are not very leanable at all, due to being the incorrect height, offering unstable physical support or simply being unwilling to allow it; but at the same time they make for excellent leaning material in special cases. When you are already sitting, a man can sit beside you and the pair of you can lean on each other; or alternatively, if you fall asleep while leaning against a man, he can wake you up when it is necessary to do so. Most of all, because a man's body and soul can be warm, this contact can provide physical comfort in the winter and emotional comfort year-round. Thus, leaning against a man may say nothing about whether one is drunk or not, as one may be equally likely to do it while sober.

Of course, a man's body isn't just good for leaning against. He can also substitute in for other objects that require warmth and comfort: a blanket, or a teddy bear maybe, or a pillow.

This last point especially is important. The next time you are trying to figure out whether you are drunk yet or still just tipsy, remember this crucial information: A man is a pillow that can love you.

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A gentle shaking sensation wakes you from your bizarre dream, and you open your eyes to see Kaiman's large, concerned face gazing down at you. You realize without much surprise that you've been leaning against him - quite heavily by the looks of it, as he's more or less crushed against the wall.

By now the room has totally cleared. Shin is gone. Nikaido sweeps the last crumbs of the night into the dustpan. The sleazy dude lies on his side in another booth, bundled in a sleeping bag, phone glowing against his face. A light chill hangs in the darkened air. The wall clock says 1:47. You blink away the blurriness from your eyes.

"You ready to go up and sleep?" Kaiman's low voice is warm and comforting, if a little loud.

A gentle yawn escapes your mouth, and Aikawa nods.

"Yeah, let's go up and sleep." He nudges you gently, reminding you that you have to move first, and you obediently sit up and slide out of the booth.

"My place is on the roof," he says, voice mildly strained as he reaches uncomfortably behind himself for the second sleeve of his heavy jacket. "You OK to climb a ladder?"

"A ladder?" Did you hear him right?

"You not feelin' too drunk, too sleepy?"

"Yeah, I could climb a ladder. Your place is up a ladder?"

"You'll see." By this point you have reached the top of the stairs, and Kaiman pushes open the angled plate door separating the two of you from the wider world.

Now the cold runs straight through you; your hoodie, thick as it is, still is no match for the wee hours of a February morning. A shiver grabs you without asking. Your stupor is gone; it is bitten out of you. Your breath is steam, lit through by a sad cagelamp. The edge of your eye catches motion by the door, over and over, a shuffling jacket: Ai swinging his arms around and around. Stretching before bed. He seems to notice your gaze, and stops dead, as if discovered in a secret.

"Look at the stars tonight," he says.

A distraction. Doesn't matter. He's right anyway - the sky is clear, and though the moon drowns many of the stars out, some are still visible.

Shocked to see any stars at all in the Hole, you can't help but stare overhead - turn around behind you - black building here to black building there - and see the faintest band of light, of pinpricks immeasurable, passing across it all. The horizon is obscured on all sides, the ground unseen past the rust-stained ramparts of your lonely castle. For a moment, you and Kaiman float together in unknown space.

But the moment ends. Too much of the sky is blocked from view - to go free into space is a venture of only seconds, which now are spent. You cast your eyes back down, and rush to stifle a gasp.

On the very same rooftop on which you now stand is some insane manner of structure like if an oil rig were a treehouse. It doesn't look one bit of safe.

There is a ladder.

"My house", says Aikawa behind you; you can almost hear the tilt of his chin and the proud grin on his face. (This man is a fucking mystery.) And then, "It's not THAT bad" - perhaps you've let out some little sound of distaste or disbelief, enough to frustrate him a little - "just a little messy inside."

You must have been aghast several seconds - the large man now strides past you, his body blotting out the sad light of the cagelamp. His enormous knife is displayed prominently in a dark sheath on his right shoulder, a silhouette only against the moonsoaked night; the scales of his neck glint behind a blank-eyed canister mask. He pure melts up the ladder, effortlessly quiet: a soft clanking, thump of rubber on steel, slow and smooth and fast, disappearing from sight.

His head pokes out over the balcony above for a mere moment, enough to call down: "Do you need any help?" (It is strange that the mask does not muffle him.)

"No thanks."

"Alright, then." He retreats, and you are alone.

With some trepidation, you follow him up.

read my fanfic boy

the beginnings of Kaiman x male reader. this is chapter 1 of a story which i might not ever finish. it occurs after the end of the manga.

You don't know half the people in the room.

Of course you know Shin and Noi, the wildly buff will-they-wont-they gym couple whom you had met a couple years ago through your ex; and through them you know Kasukabe, the world's least normal scientist; and through him you know the human Nikaido, the proprietor of the Bug, and to a lesser extent Kaiman, her only coworker (meeting once counts as knowing).

But that is five people, plus you, and this place is PACKED.

Tonight, the shabby little Hungry Bug Izakaya is set up for a private party - firstly, a sort of full reunion of "the whole group" (per Noi - you aren't certain how big the group is, but you're quite sure you aren't part of it), and secondly, somebody or other's 55th birthday.

And so, more than thirty people have gathered in a space built for half that and breathing room. A million conversations reverberate on hard walls, background noise to themselves and each other: speakers lean across sticky tables in their fight - their arms race - to be heard. The heat of stoves and bodies overpower the busted air conditioning, the paper-tailed oscillating fans placed in less populated corners. Your hello is echolalia: surely a hundred or more strangers have heard it, all so different, and yet none so different that you would remember them. Your mask lies face up on the table; that flat blankness, that brick of wood, is incapable of reflecting the desperation on your sweltering face. You are dying, slowly and without ceremony, unnoticed at a party thrown for someone you have never met.

You are startled once again in the crowd - a sleazy-looking guy with lines on his cheeks picks you as the recipient of a raucous joke about the size of Noi's boobs - and something flares up inside you. You half-agree, smiling weakly, before awkwardly climbing out of the bench (a stranger yells at you for slopping beer out of a knocked glass) and making your way to the side door.

The welcome burn hits you of cold on near-dried sweat, the free breath of open air. You take a moment's look around the alley - bare to the sky, it lets in the twin lights of the moon at one end and a single star at the other - treasures of a dark night, wasted behind the sickly monofrequency flicker of a sodium streetlamp. And a heavy steel slamming, and then near-silence: busted air conditioning units and the muffled roar of the crowd away, the crowd within. Distant nothing-sounds of a night solipsism carefully considered, ultimately rejected.

In this state you stand for a while.

(Take a while, reader, to stand in this state.)

(Like that, yeah. Don't forget to get a little metaphysical with it.)

(Thanks.)

The moment ends with a shock: the door swings loudly open, emanating heat and clamor in the brief seconds it takes for an incredibly tall man to fold himself uncomfortably through it. As you watch - under the light of a gibbous moon and a half-broken streetlamp - Kaiman (et al.) Coleman, co-owner and second cook of the Bug, groans and stretches his partly-scaled body, lifting to the sky that which he carries with him - a small food tray in one hand and a pair of cheap wooden chopsticks in the other - seems to wander his gaze around the dark alley, looking at the fire escape - the yellow lamp - the low-grade wall graffiti - you.

He starts violently, and swears.

"Hey, what the fuck are you lurking about?!" he almost shouts, clearly annoyed. His voice is shockingly loud, even for his size, and you freeze dead in response.

An empty beat.

His voice echoes out: a fast buzz in the alley, quieter in the deserted street beyond; he points, nay, aims his chopsticks at your body, yet holds them static mid-gesture. The party continues past the door; he is in the way.

He takes a moment to ensure none of his gyoza have been ejected, and examines you with a bit more care.

(You aren't even in the shadows. You're pretty shit at lurking, honestly.)

"…Have I met you before?" His voice this time is more polite and controlled. His head tilts, he leans forward.

His sudden calm lets out the tension a little bit - perhaps he has determined you not to be a threat. Though adrenaline still courses through your body, you manage to answer in a somewhat normal voice.

"Kasukabe brought me here once, yeah." (then, remembering his position:) "I really enjoyed it."

"That's good. This place is good," he mutters, without a hint of irony, and seemingly without remembering his prior outburst. "Why are you out here, anyway? Nikaido lets people smoke inside."

"Oh, I'm… I'm not smoking. It's crowded as shit in there, I needed some air."

Aikawa nods in response, eyes still fixed on you: no longer suspicion but… curiosity? probably? - and how long has it been curiosity? …But now he seems to remember his tray of gyoza, and sets to it viciously, scooping up three at once along his chopsticks and depositing them all along the considerable length of his lower jaw - you think you see the chopsticks bend as he clamps them on another row.

As he chews, he lets out a heartfelt sound of happiness that is nonetheless very easy to interpret sexually. You try not to, and decide to take advantage of his distracted state to take a better look at him.

You had heard it rumored that he was one of the last practice victims in the Hole. Most of the lower sorcerers had died in the Rains, uncasting their cruel disfigurements as they went - but clearly someone with lizard skills was still walking around in the sorcerers' world.

Is it cooler to have the lizard skills, or the resulting lizard scales? On this occasion, the answer is quite clear.

On the back of his head, a frozen explosion of sharp off-white spines jut; on the front, a short, thick, powerful snout rhymes his muscular form all together. The huge, needly smile plastered across his scaly mug as he munches is infectious. And the way his eyes move to you is real, in a startling way which you've never experienced before.

He doesn't much look like a caiman, you decide. Much cooler.

"Do I have sauce on me?"

The voice jolts you out of your reverie to discover that the man is staring quizzically down at you, having nearly finished his little tray of food. He quickly wipes both corners of his mouth to be sure.

You don't have a good answer, so to just be truthful: "I'm looking at your face." (wtf did u just say? are u stupid???) "…Sorry."

Kaiman lets out a humorless snort, his smile dipping. "Everyone does it at least once."

Then after a moment of thought: "Nah, that's uncharitable. It's a very lookable face."

You're not really sure how to respond to that. The party continues behind the door. Seconds pass. Kai swallows another bite.

Suddenly he seems to come up with an idea; he camera-smiles at you sharp and wide, tilts his head a couple times, shows off his scales. "Go on, tell me what you think."

You don't really want to make an even bigger deal out of it, but you can't seem to resist; he truly is fascinating to look at. His slit-pupiled eyes are framed by high-yet-heavy brow ridges and cheekbones that call to mind the curious forms of a therapod's skull.* His large knobbly scutes are arranged in interesting forms around his forehead and snout, a mosaic, an ocean's worth of stepping-stones. It's difficult to tell what color they are in that sad light - some yellow, probably mostly green, and a little bit shiny around the edges; barely beginning to trail off into normal skin under the collar of a ratty white t-shirt.

"You look really good." (He does.)

The lizardous man's smile widens and warms, as if he genuinely had not expected this answer.

"Aah, most people see my head and immediately drop some weirdo apology bullshit that doesn't make any sense," he laments, moving closer to stand right beside you. His towering figure is a little distracting this close, but you manage to stay focused on the conversation. "Or they have no idea what to say."

His gaze follows the wall across the way again, and a gust of cold air reminds you why so many others chose to remain safe and warm in the Bug. Still, it feels nice to be outside if you have Ai standing there with you.

(What the hell does that mean? Quick, say something less gay.)

"Ok, you're the cook, right?"

He stops chewing for a moment. "Mmm?"

"What do you recommend? I've been too overwhelmed to even look at the menu."

He swallows and looks straight down at you, eyebrows cocked, as if trying to tell if you're joking.

"You serious? It's the oba gyoza." He holds his last one up to the light, emphasizing the point. "The fuck were you calling this place good for if you ain't tried the oba gyoza?"

You realize as he faces you that you can almost taste the enticing scent of your future dinner on his breath, mixed with the only type of beer they serve at the Bug. Kai's right, it's the oba gyoza.

"Shit, that's a pretty definitive answer."

With a flick of the wrist the final gyoza is in the air, and then it is snapped into the jaws. Kaiman lets out a last sigh of satisfaction, opens the door again to the din of the party inside.

You are just about sick of being cold as hell in a dark alley, and you follow him back in.

#kaiman

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years ago

Text

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 12: Changes •

A/N: The missing gaps in time are on purpose since they will be in book 2 as flashbacks, which will include references to events you have not read yet. All fluff and shenanigans this chapter to make up for last, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: brief mention of nausea and gore towards the very end, but otherwise, tooth-rotting fluff!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬��𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧

𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬

𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧' 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

- David Bowie, Changes

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

- 𝗠𝗜𝗗 𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗦𝗧 -

"I still can't believe you went after Bowers," Richie scoffs.

As he steps off his porch and onto his lawn he looks over at his best friend and takes another gander at the bruises and welts littering her skin. Her lip was still busted and despite his and his mother's efforts to clean her bottom lip of blood, it must have started bleeding again sometime during the night as more had crusted over.

"Yeah, well," she shrugs. "It felt good,"

"Yeah," he snorts. "It looks like it,"

"You know what I mean," She elbowed him and he nodded with a little laugh.

"What d'ya want to do? I mean, we could keep standing around here like a bunch of idiots, but-" he shrugs, hands falling into his pockets, and Y/n smiles.

"I dunno," she shrugs. A wince falls over her face, a painful-looking one at that. "But I don't think I'm gonna be welcome back at the Capitol Theatre any time soon."

Richie nodded, a ghostly look falling over his face at all that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours alone. He still couldn't believe she had done that. He still couldn't believe a lot of things but her being in his corner after what she had found out seemed a little harder to believe right now. Especially after the junkyard... But - Jesus, that was already a week and a half ago, it felt like only hours.

He could hear her words from the park the other day in his ears and he suddenly felt the urge to pay her back. He smiled his charming crooked smile and hoped for the best.

"You still craving fries?"

"Always," she answered, a look of suspicion written in her features. "Why?"

Y/n didn't know why she kept asking these questions when she knew the answer. She didn't at all like the look growing in his eyes or the stupid feeling of guilt growing in her stomach.

"Cause I'm prepared to make a deal with ya toots,"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Sure am," he says, patting his hand over his left pocket. "I'd been saving up for a long weekend at the arcade but that's a bust. And I just got a raise on my allowance ━ that's again, toots. Allowance. It's the money you get when you do stuff for people, you might never have heard of it--"

"Is there a point here, Rich? Cause if so, you better get to it faster,"

"Point is, I'm packing and I'm also craving milkshakes. So how's about I treat you to the biggest pile of fries your staved ass has ever seen--"

Y/n shoots him a knowing look, ready to detest when he holds out a finger.

"If," he continues. "you take me there."

"Take you there?"

"Take me there," he nodded. "By piggyback."

Y/n gave thought to this, all while hiding behind an unimpressed look. As much as she hated to admit it, she was starving.

Richie shrugged. "Hey, you're the one always saying you don't want to feel like charity. Well, this ain't charity, this is work with a reward. Take it or leave it,"

Her unimpressed look grows stronger in an attempt to buy her time. But it's useless, her stomach answers for her with a long growl and a smile sneaks up on her.

She steps forward, crouching down a bit for him to jump on her back. "Alright, let's get this over with."

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

"You know, I was really worried about carrying you, but dude, you weigh like nothing. You're a fucking bean pole," Y/n says.

She comes to a slow before straightened her back letting him slide off her back and onto the ground. The two of them had arrived at the nearest diner in the town square where they now stood.

"Well, not to brag or anything, but," he fluffs his collar. "I took a massive shit before we left,"

"Ugh!" a shocked and uncomfortable laugh breaks loose from Y/n and she sticks out her tongue in disgust. "Regretting this already."

She threw open the doors and the two found themselves inside one of Derry's lesser diners.

It smelled like sausage and coffee beans, and it had a vibrant red and black theme. There were maybe nine or ten people there, little kids included and they could hear the jukebox blasting a David Bowie song. Y/n had a hard time enjoying it with the combination of a full bladder and an empty stomach so she turns to Richie and nudges him with her elbow.

"I'm gonna run to the restroom. Get us a booth?"

"Do your thing," Y/n nods and disappears around the corner. As his eyes follow her, they land on the corner in question she had disappeared around where there sat the jukebox.

He wanders over, eyeing the machine as Changes reaches a crescendo. A mischievous smile blooms as the lights from the window illuminated his face.

"Three plays for a dollar, huh?"

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

When Y/n returned from the restroom, she had expected to find Richie lounging in a booth somewhere, feet up and bugging the employees. She did not expect to turn the corner and nearly collide with the boy as he stood at the Jukebox and feeding all his money into it.

"Dude! I carried you here, you owe me fries!"

"And you shall get them my liege," answered Richie in a Shakespearean tone. "But first!" He dropped the act and looked away from the Jukebox for the first time, wearing an almost evil grin. "A social experiment,"

Y/n's brow furrowed as she watched Richie punch in the same Tom Jones song over and over and over. It was then she caught on to what he was doing. She held out a hand as her eyes watched the Jukebox.

"Hey, hey, hey, wait," she said, stopping Richie in his tracks.

He looked up at her with a pout. "Relax, toots. I saved just enough for their biggest basket of fries, you'll get them." Then Richie saw the look on her face. He could practically see the gears turning.

"No, not that. It's just..." she said, eyes never leaving the list of songs. "Before you put in more, you should throw in one It's Not Unusual,"

And that's when the afternoon went from good to great.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

By now, the duo had ordered and waited. They now sat tucked into a corner booth with a great view of the street corner and the passers-by of Derry. Changes had long since ended, and the remaining songs in the queue had trickled out. Richie memorized the song queue and was silently counting down until the big moment as he sat across from his battered-up best friend.

Her busted lip poked out in a bored pout, her chin propped up on her palm as she balanced her head on the table while looking out at the graying town landscape. It always escaped her how Derry could possibly look so gloomy on even the hottest, brightest days of summer. Until recently that is, the truth all too clear to her and her friends now.

The thought of the Losers scattered all over this hellhole only added to the gloom. They should all be here, together. Pointlessly debating which condiment goes best with fries, not fighting over... Over what they had fought over.

Y/n's eyes finally broke away from the manhole at the center of the little intersection outside and wandered over to Richie. He had stolen the salt and pepper shakers from a few empty (and not so empty) tables and was currently doing his best to construct a salt and pepper shaker tower. His tongue was sticking out from between his curled lips and his glasses were sliding to the end of his nose at the angle he looking. The tower was nearly three shakers high and Y/n could hear him muttering, 'where's Haystack when you need him?' under his breath.

The gloom Y/n had been thinking so intently on was suddenly ebbed away at the sight, and the corners of her lips hooked into a small smile.

At least she had her favorite Trashmouth.

"If you keep undressing me with your eyes, I'm gonna catch a cold," said Richie, never once looking up from his tower.

Y/n snorts. "You're unbearable,"

Richie shrugs defensively. "Hey, you're the one who said we're stuck with each other," he clicks his tongue and winks. "No going back on that kind of deal,"

"Oh, I meant what I said," Y/n releases her chin and folds both arms on the table. She hated getting all serious again, but she just needed to be sure. Her voice softens, trying to catch Richie's eye. "All of it, okay?"

Richie's hand around the salt shaker stops, and he pries his eyes off the tower and to his best friend. Despite her intentions and promises, everything that transpired the day before -- good and bad -- flooded over him and made him tense.

She suddenly offered him her pinky and a small smile.

"Stuck forever?"

Richie rolls his eyes. He didn't quite know who to blame, maybe just the losers in general, but he was going all soft and lame.

"Like my ass and a toilet seat, toots,"

He locked his pinky with hers and the deal was sealed forever.

Y/n leaned back on her side of the booth and took a large swig of the complimentary water as her eyes returned to the streets. The chatter of the diner had died down a little. There weren't as many people since they got there, but they were still filtering in and out. But when Y/n had a hard time shaking off the images she had of her best friend in the state he had been, she deems it safe enough to lean forward and lowered her voice.

"You know," she began picking at her napkin, making slow and tiny tears here and there. "I--" she sighs, not knowing how or where to begin. "I wouldn't blame you."

Richie, having abandoned his shaker tower, frowns.

"I wouldn't blame you if maybe, it was -- or is hard to be..." she shakes her head again and rubs her forehead trying to find the words. "I wouldn't blame you if it was hard to be around me and Eddie," She blurts.

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Richie says. "We're not gonna do that, okay? You have exceeded your sappy meter and you're gonna need to wait about 48 hours for it to charge up again. I think we've both had enough, right?"

Y/n swallowed her words. She swallowed any promise she was holding out to him that their feelings for Eddie wouldn't change anything. That she wouldn't ever want to stand in their way, however true it was. And instead, she made a new one.

"Let's just agree, whatever happens, happens. Let that be whatever it needs to be. Even if that means neither of us gets to see that adorable, asthmatic pipsqueak ever again. Deal?"

Y/n fought the bittersweet smile threatening to appear. She could see it now. Richie knew what he needed to know about himself now, and that was already a lot for him to handle. She could see in his eyes he wasn't ready for the possibility of whatever was his feelings for Eddie Kaspbrak.

Y/n's stomach turns to knots when the thought crosses her mind, but that only confirms to her it was time.

She looks around the diner, looking for prying eyes and she still finds none. She leans in, voice lowered as she fiddles with her napkin again. "I'm uh--," she clears her throat. "I've never told anyone this, but..."

She lets out a sharp breath. "Well, let's just say Eddie isn't the first Loser I've ever had feelings for,"

Richie shakes his head, making a "what am I supposed to do with that?" face at her sudden shyness. She only gives him a solid stare until it finally clicks.

Richie collapses against the seatback with a gaping, triumphant look.

"No. Fucking. Way," Richie slaps his hands on the table and leans forward, and an ugly excited laugh comes barreling out of his chest. "You big homo!"

"Would you fucking shut up?!" Y/n hisses, reaching over and shoving him back against his seat by his forehead. She looks around the diner and determines no one had heard that. Maybe except one guy in his forties, but that was most likely about him knowing they did something to the jukebox. He was sat with his young kids, looking tired and all too suspicious of their laughter at the jukebox. Finally, she laughs a little. "Beep, beep you moron."

"You telling me you and Little Orphan Annie...?"

"I'm saying," Y/n sighs, shrugging her shoulders. "I meant it when I said you're not alone, alright?"

The look in Richie's eyes hardly changes.

"No!" She answers. "No, nothing's happened but..." Y/n shook her head. "I had feelings for a really long time, up until about two years ago."

"Wowza," Richie sighs, leaning back into his seat and plopping one hand on the table. He sighs. "We sure know how to pick em,"

"Yeah, you could say that," Y/n laughs.

In fact, that's all she could say. A million things ran through her head, things she wanted to say to Richie but couldn't. Cause when she looked in Richie's eyes at that moment she -- they both -- knew everything unsaid could remain that way. With one look they knew. They knew that they could both count on each other, have each other's back. And that included Eddie too. They knew that no matter who held Eddie's heart, they could both agree that Eddie's happiness -- and each other's -- was most important.

The sound of brass instruments invaded the atmosphere, pulling the duo's eyes to the jukebox across the diner. Their faces lit up in matching grins, both of them nearly forgetting the psychological horror they had just unleashed upon the diner.

"What's new pussycat? Woah, wo~ah,"

And thus began the best meal they ever had.

- 𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘 𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗦𝗧 -

Y/n relished at the demanding burst of cool air that bombarded her sweaty skin as she stepped inside Keene's pharmacy. The grip on the money she had scraped together tucked tightly in her right palm grew tighter when the shopkeeper's bell announced her arrival. Her eyes fell to her injured leg, and by now her feet have already begun their journey forward towards the first aid supplies. The last of the bandages secured around her leg, and she winced at the faded and stained cloth that was in dire need of a change.

Her eyes pick up from the ground when she hears a choked gasp only to find the boy that had been occupying her thoughts standing before her.

"Y/n," His voice is meek and heavy with sadness, and you can hear the absence of breath in his lungs that she always seemed to create.

Despite the staggering stampede of emotions she felt, she found herself releasing a chuckle. "Hey, shrimp."

The name itself would have been strong enough to send hooks into the corner of his lips, tugging them into a half-smile had it not been for the sight before him; she was a wreck. Looked as if she had been put through an actual wringer and his heart stops for a moment, in fear. At that moment he is grateful he has his inhaler, Y/n had a talent for taking his breath away but he never would have dreamed of it happening this way. Already his mind is going at twice its speed, a mad swarm of thoughts that dizzy his head, and as quickly as he can he tries to pluck one - just one - thing to say to her. When he finally speaks, he is thankful that his voice has returned to him.

"How's your leg?"

He doesn't have to ask, the first thing he saw - the very feature that tipped him off about her - was the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around her left calf. He couldn't imagine why it would still be bleeding, much less this profusely given how long ago it had been. Perhaps it had opened back up. And Eddie felt it best not to address the new set of scrapes and bandages that were scattered across her arms and legs, though each one filled him with worry. But her eye... it was completely swollen, and several shades darker than a usual bruise.

She grew rather sick looking at the question and instantly he was filled with dread. Had It gotten to her again? Was it something new entirely? Either way, he felt a great deal of guilt he hadn't been there, and more than anything he wanted her safe. Maybe, if it wasn't too crazy, be the one to look out for her. To protect her.

"I just," she swallows thickly, eyes darting around to avoid his eye line.

Eddie tilts his head, encouraging her to continue. She looks as if she's about to unload a great deal off of her chest, but after a moment she shakes her head.

"Nothing," she lies. "Just need new bandages."

Eddie's horrified expression does not waver, but only intensifies, zeroing in on her. He just simply can't ignore the state she's in. And while every instinct inside him screams to jump in and help, he knows that's not his call nor his place. But he had to ask, he had to know.

"Are you okay?" He blurts suddenly. He mentally slapped himself. Of course she wasn't. "What happened...? You're leg? You're eye? Are you in trouble at home? Was it...?"

She grows tense, and Eddie scolds himself once more when he sees her walls rebuilding themselves. He hated his stupid word vomit sometimes.

"No, Eddie!" she says tiredly, sighing at her slight outburst. "I'm..." she sighs again, staring at the floor, looking almost... calculated.

Finally, she picks her head back up, her expression flat, but her tone a bit softer. "Just Bowers. The usual."

Eddie couldn't help but feel like she was lying. And that hurt him. But he understood. If she had pressed him about things at home he probably would have done the same. Eddie sighed deeply as well.

He missed the way things were.

He missed Y/n.

He missed the feeling he got around her, the storm of butterflies and mind-numbing fits of laughter they'd bring out in one another. He missed the way his skin would tingle like every blood cell was on fire when their skin accidentally brushed together. Eddie missed the way he'd lose himself in thoughts about her like he was now.

Eddie didn't realize it until that last thought crossed his mind, but this was the first time in weeks he felt something other than anxiety and fear. And maybe he was crazy, but when he looked in Y/n's eyes now he thought he saw it too -

"I'm sorry, Eddie," she says, breaking him from his daydream, sending him falling back down to earth. "But I really need to take care of this."

He glances down at her leg, the bandage still soaked with blood and he feels fear squeeze his chest again. She was leaving. And that meant he had to, as well. He would have to say goodbye and go back home to his mother. He could hear her haunted cries, whining at him and wailing. What took you so long, Eddie? Don't you know what you're doing to my heart?

Eddie goes rigid at the thought when he realizes; the last time he saw Y/n... Those horrible things his mother had said to her and he... Jesus, what she must think.

"Y-Y/n," he sputters desperately as she begins to limp around him. She had gotten no answer for once again he had gotten lost in his thoughts. But he couldn't have it end like this. He just couldn't. "Y/n, I'm sorry."

She stops in her tracks and looks back at him, thoughtfully. A sad smile graces her face.

"I know, shrimp,"

Her eyes hold a thousand words, a million things she wants to say to him as he wants to say to her. But they die out, and she turns away.

"Y/n!"

He couldn't let her go, he just couldn't. Then why was this so difficult? He always had a mouthful to say, but around Y/n L/n, Eddie was always speechless.

"I wanna..." he gulps, a pleading, sincere look in his eyes. "I wanna see you again." He admits.

Y/n smiles sadly. Like she doesn't want to let him go either. But still, she gives him a pleading look after gesturing to her leg.

"Eddie, I gotta take care of this,"

His head sunk to the floor and he nodded, embarrassed. Of course, what the hell was he thinking? She didn't need him coming in and messing things -

Her sudden sigh broke his thoughts. "Meet me outside in five? I could use some help,"

A nervous smile broke out, stretching and hurting his cheeks and Eddie nodded when he met her eye. He was out the door without another word, back in the alley where he had first bandaged her up all those months ago.

His mind raced with possibility and more unanswered questions. What would he do, what would he say? What had happened to her, and could he have been there to stop it? His face still burned with embarrassment when he thought of the things he let his mother say to her, how livid he was with himself.

It was all he could do not to bounce off the walls from the jitters. The crates from the last alley visit, or at least some like it, remained and so Eddie eagerly took a seat. His knee bounced up and down at unnatural speeds as his mind raced, his eyes wandering the alley as the wind swept in a familiar summer breeze against his cheeks.

"I really need to focus right now," he orders, his hands making delicate work of the bandage over the new kid's stomach.

"You need to focus?" Richie snorts over his shoulder, causing Eddie's cheeks to burn.

"Yeah, can you go get me something?"

"Jesus! What do you need?"

"Go get my bifocals. I hid 'em in my second fanny pack."

Y/n leaned forward, balanced on her knees with a crooked smile that would with Eddie for days. "You have a second fanny pack?"

The burning in his cheeks grew, and Stan joined in. "Yeah, why do you have two?"

Eddie didn't dare meet anyone's eye, let alone Richie or Y/n's.

"I need to focus right now and it's a long story. I don't want to get into it."

Besides! He was telling the truth! He needed to focus. Who knows what kind of shit has gotten into this kid's system by now?

Eddie had nearly finished with the new kid's bandages when he heard the jingle of the store bell.

"Yep. Thanks." Came the hardened voice of Y/n backing out and towards the alley with a pressed and forced smile before turning for the alley and away from whoever she had been talking to. Eddie was the only one to have caught the small whispered words under her breath from the silence of the alley. "-for nothing, I guess..."

Eddie shot up from his seat, subconsciously straightening out his shirt.

"Everything okay? What was that all about?" He asked as Y/n finally joined him. Eddie sputtered, mentally kicking himself for prying. "I mean, you don't have to tell me or anything, it's just you seemed frustrated. You know what never mind, you probably want to get your leg fixed up, right?"

Eddie stopped again, shifting on his feet when he realized Y/n must be waiting to talk. "Sorry," he mumbled. And to his great surprise, she smiled.

"Don't be. I've missed your word vomit," she joked.

Eddie could feel the corners of his lips twitching up in a smile, and something happened to him he hadn't felt in a long time; flutters invaded his chest, making the air he breathed feel lighter and his stomach was doing flips. And he would have fallen harder had he known Y/n's stomach was doing flips right along with him, and a burning sensation lighting up her neck and ears.

"Well, here-" Eddie said, snapping out of his daze, no longer able to stand by and ignore the gash in her leg. He supposed it really was like old times. He stepped aside, gesturing for the crates and taking the bag of supplies Y/n had handed over.

"For real though," Eddie began, eyeing her nervously as he unzipped his fanny bag and begun fishing inside for hand wipes. "What happened, Y/n?"

Her smile fell, and her eyes dropped to her lap where her fingers fiddled together. To Eddie, it felt like a long time before she finally answered.

"A lot's happened since Niebolt, I'll leave it at that,"

Eddie nodded, and stepped forward, lowering himself to his knees before her injured leg, and began unwrapping the first of the supplies from her grocery bag. "It feels like years ago,"

"Yeah, it does," Y/n croaks.

There's another small silence and Eddie feels a tug in his chest when her eyes linger over him. He only spares a moment to meet her eyes back before taking a deep breath and holding it. With a wince, he unraveled the cloth and quickly discarded it. He tried not to linger on the injury; the edges of her claw-like scars remained, but it looked as if they had been messily pried back open.

Like deja vu, Eddie found himself battling to keep his lunch in his stomach, but the overall worry in his system for one of his best friends triumphed over it this time around. He dismissed the urge to gag and instead darted his eyes to Y/n in between his work.

"So..." he asked, realizing he didn't really know where to start. "how have you been? Other than, you know," he laughed nervously.

To his relief, Y/n smiled.

"It's hard not being around the losers. I only ever see Richie anymore. Even Bev and I haven't really spoken since the fight, which has been really hard. We've been in each other's lives for so long,"

As Eddie finishes cleaning the wound, his heart sinks a little at her words. True, he missed Beverly very much. But he also knew all too well what Y/n spoke of, and judging by the look in her eye as she softens at him, she knows it too. She gives him a gentle nudge with her foot.

"He misses you too," she says, growing another small smile. "Won't shut up about you, in fact. Which is saying something... Guess I'm one to talk, though," she adds, watching him nervously out of the corner of her eye, and Eddie's heart skipped another beat.

"What about you, shrimp? Dare I ask?" She says with a smile.

Eddie, Y/n noticed, had been unusually quiet. By now, on any other occasion, he would have talked laps around her by now but something was keeping him. Maybe he just feels a bit out of step, she thinks, as she did. It had been far too long since things had been normal for either of them. But something told her he was now particularly quiet perhaps because he wasn't all that eager to share how things had been for him since the losers split. She couldn't imagine things had been well at home with his mother given everything that had transpired.

So she didn't pry. She changes the subject, hoping to get his mind off of whatever might be bothering him. Her mind returns to his previous questions, and she bites the bullet.

"Quitting my job." She says finally, stunning Eddie enough to pull his attention away for a split second. "You wondered what I was doing there. And aside from restocking, I was um... I was quitting my job."

"You got a job at Keene's Pharmacy? When?" Eddie asked, reaching for a strip of gauze.

Y/n seemed to think about it for a minute, counting the days in her head before shrugging. Leaning forward, she holds the gauze in places Eddie begins applying the bandages. "I guess a little over two weeks after Niebolt. I did little things around the store, this and that really,"

"How come I never saw you?" Eddie asked, and Y/n shrugged.

"He had me running errands most of the time," and she smiled a little. "But sometimes I'd stick around a little longer. I'd offer to sweep or restock the shelves or something. It's stupid, I know, but... I don't know, I guess I was hoping to see some admittedly cute... shrimpy little dude come walking in to refill his inhaler. Is that stupid?"

Eddie paused, unable to hide the smile or the raging blush taking over his face. Y/n smiled to herself when she saw it, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't feeling a little bit of it too. Finally, Eddie spoke. Or at least, he tried to. His voice came out hoarse and he cleared his throat, quickly shaking his head as he secured the bandages in place and began disinfecting his hands.

"No. No, that's not stupid at all. I mean, I don't know if I'd say shrimpy, necessarily, maybe a little skinny but-"

Y/n laughed, smiling hard at the boy she hadn't stopped thinking about for weeks. Like Eddie, she hadn't realized just how much she had missed him until now. But, she hoped, maybe she could change that.

Eddie trailed off, his ears burning at her laugh but a smile on his face all the same. At this moment, everything was perfect. Or seemingly so, at least. And then...

"Thanks, Doctor K,"

He smiled, a sinking feeling in his chest knowing what was coming next as she hoisted herself back on her feet. "Yeah, of course."

A silence falls over the two, a silence they know won't last.

"I guess I should get going," Y/n says finally, gesturing down the alleyway. "I'm meeting up with Richie later, he's swinging by my place." And for a moment, she looks hopeful and Eddie already knows what she's going to ask. "You're welcome to come. We both really miss you,"

Yet again, Eddie Kaspbrak finds himself with a million thoughts racing in his head, but no words on his tongue. What could he say that wouldn't hurt her? What could he say that wouldn't essentially admit he was still a coward who couldn't stand up to his own mother? What could he say?

But evidently, he doesn't have to. Y/n can see it in his eyes, and any trace of hope deflates with her. She nods sadly, eyes now on the ground and her freshly bandaged leg. "I get it, Eddie. It's fine. You don't have to say anything."

"Y/n..." He didn't know what felt worse; knowing he let her down, or the sound of her using his real name.

"Really, it's okay,"

But it wasn't okay. And Eddie knew that. Today he had been given a second chance with Y/n, and already he had fucked it up. Or so he thought...

A smile returned to her face just before she left; it wasn't nearly as bright as it had been moments ago, but it was as real as any other he had seen all summer. And then she spoke. She spoke the three words over her shoulder as she disappeared out of view that returned a familiar spark to his chest.

"I'll call you."

There was hope yet.

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nights-legacy · 4 years ago

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Safe, No Matter What.- Toga Himiko

Anonymous Request

Y/N is quirkless. After something happens, you finally reveal that your Junior High experience to Toga and that it was somewhat like hers except worse because you were quirkless so you got picked on for that as well, leading to you experiencing severe trauma. She comforts you and reminds you that you’re safe with her and she’ll do anything to keep you safe.

The day had been particularly hard on my shoulders. Hell, the week had, the past months had. I groaned while nearly slamming my head down on the counter of the bar. The sound of slight wisps came close. I peeked up to look at Kurogiri. I sighed and waved him off before setting my chin on my crossed arms.

“Okay.” He moved off. I looked around the room. There wasn’t many people here but enough here to fill the room with soft chatter. The door swung open to reveal a skipping Toga. I rolled my eyes and readjusted to place one arm under my head and the other tracing lines in the wood.

“You good for nothing hot-head.” I heard Shiggy yell as he and Dabi came in after Toga. I flinched slightly but mostly ignored it. They argued all the time so this was nothing new. It wasn’t until a glass was thrown and shattered against the counter next to me.

“Shit.” I yelped as I was hit with a few shards. I flinched when felt them cut and the blood start to run. I grasped onto the worse one on my arm, trying to hold myself together at the spark of memory. The two stormed off. Shiggy to his room while Dabi back out the door.

“Well that was eventful.” I heard Toga say in a chipper voice. “What?” I heard Kurogiri pull her aside. Everything felt like it was fighting its way to the surface as the pain increased in my arm. The anxiety, the pain, the emotional distress. The tears tried to push through. “Y/N!”

“What?” I snapped, pushing everything down. She came over cartwheeling before standing straight in front of me. She clasped her hands behind her back before swaying in place.

“What wrong?” The simple question sent a pang through my chest. I took a big breath before looking away.

“Nothing everything’s okay.” I said.

“No it’s not. Kurogiri said you were acting down and have been for the past couple of days. So I know somethings wrong. What is it?” She stared at me. I glared at Kurogiri before scoffing and getting up to leave the room. I speed walk to my room before slamming my door. I leant against it for a moment.

“Shit!” I yelled wiping the tears away. The blood on my arm caught my attention again. I groaned looking around for something to patch it up with. A knock on my door made me stop. I closed my eyes to gather myself before opening the door. Toga stood there holding up bandages, antiseptic, tools, and rags.

“I saw the blood on bar and the ground. I figured you need a little cleaning up.” She said in a soft voice. I nodded after a minute, relenting. She came in and sat on the floor next to the bed. I closed the door and sat in front of her. “Letting me see.” She made grabby hands.

“Fine.” I chuckled at her nature. I held out my arm and went bug eyed at the gash that was nearly the length of my forearm. I hadn’t looked at the actual wound itself. “Projectile glass.”

“Looks like it.” She said. She got the tweezers and started to take the glass out of my arm. My mind wandered to the past while she did that, bring my knees up to my chest.

I sniveled and gasped as I tried to get the glass out of my leg. I flinched every time I got close to the pieces. I threw my head back against the wall. I could still hear the other kids laughing, their words ringing in my ears.

“Quirkless.”

“Good for nothing but being the teacher’s pet.”

“Too bad their good student and person nature is overshadowed by the unfortunate reality of being quirkless. They would get so far in life if they just had a quirk.”

“Go away, we don’t want to be associated with a quirkless nobody.” I dug my fingernails into my palms, trying to shake their words from my head.

“How about we help you leave? Huh?” Rough hands shoved my shoulders hard. I stumbled back and hit the glass window. It gave way under the force of the hit. Luckily, we were only on the first floor. I cried as I tried to get up from the ground. I could hear the teachers yelling at my classmates and for me to stay put. I didn’t listen and got up and ran off with them yelling after me.

“Y/N?” I looked at Toga startled. She had a worried look on her face, something I don’t see very often. She reached up and went to cup my face but I flinched back. She paused but didn’t bring her hand down. ”What’s going on, baby?”

“It’s noth…” The glare she gave me made me stop and sigh. “Just a lot of flashbacks. Painful ones.”

“Flashbacks about what?” She asked. She moved all of the supplies since she seemed to finish while I was spaced out and moved up next to me.

“Middle school.” I said. I resituated and leant back against the bed. “Didn’t have a too good time back then.”

“What happened?” She asked, eyes focused on me.

“Well I was made fun of,…a lot, for being quirkless. Obviously, but…my classmates took it very far. It didn’t matter how much of a good student I was, a good person I was. They were terrible to me. I was nothing but kind to them and they threw it back at me just because I am quirkless.” I said while I felt her snuggle up to my side, placing her head on my shoulder. I glanced over at her and saw her lick a little of my blood off her fingers. “Really?”

“Feel honored.” She shoot back with an amused smile.

“Whatever. But they are the reason I turned out the way I have. One day at school, they were being harder they usual. Yelling at me that it would be best if I just disappeared, never came to school, those types of things. Well, one of my ‘classmates’ decided he would take a stab at helping me.” I took a big breath, setting my head back on the bed. A tear slipped out. “He pushed me so hard the window I hit broke behind me and I fell out.”

“What!?”

“We were on the first floor but it still hurt. It still caused scars. All kinds.” I said. Tears were running freely now. “My parents never did anything about the bullying. So that day that happened I ran away. I didn’t go home, I didn’t go to the police, I just ran. Stowed away on a train and came here. Shigaraki and Kurogiri took me in for some reason, never knew why. I’m not much help with no quirk.”

“You’re plenty help. You are amazing at fighting. Like really good. You’re really, really smart. Do you realize how many of the strategies we use are one’s you came up with? Hell, the plan on the USJ back before I was a part of the League was a good portion you. Shiggy even said so. You do some much for the league!”

“I guess…”

“No guessing.” She hopped up and perched herself in front of me. “You are amazing. Those idiots don’t know what they were talking about.” She reached up and actually cupped my cheek this time. She pulled me forward to peck my nose. I gasped and froze. “Come on.” She pulled me up.

“Wha…” She shushed me before hopping on my bed. She got herself into a comfy spot before reaching for me. She grabbed my hand and yanked me onto the bed. She pulled me to kneel between her legs. A blush came over me.

“Oh, stop it.” She giggled and pulled me down on top of her. She set my head on her chest and set one hand on my head and wrapped the other arm around my shoulders. She started to trail her fingers through my hair and give me light head scratches. I relaxed on top of her when it finally hit me she was just giving my comfort.

“Mmm.” I cuddled into her, wrapping my arms around her as much as I could. She settled back into my pillows and hummed. Once relaxed, the first sob escaped my throat. I felt her hold grow tighter.

“You’ve also just been having a hard time lately haven’t you?” I nodded, burying my face in her neck. “Go ahead, cry it out.” And I did. It wasn’t a full, blown out ugly cry but I cried. I basically cried myself to sleep.

When I woke up some time later, I was cuddled into a sleeping Toga’s side. I sighed in contentment and nuzzled into her neck before sitting up to see it was the middle of the night. I sighed before gently pulling her head into my lap. I carefully undid her buns, pulling out the pins and hairbands. I ran my fingers through her hair.

“Hmm-mmm.” She groaned and flipped over in my lap, wrapping her arms around my middle. I chuckled and ran my fingers through her hair. She nuzzled my stomach. She then pushed up on her hands and looked up at me.

“What?” She just smiled before leaning up and pressing her lips against mine. I gasped but fell into the kiss. I tentatively set my fingers on her cheek as her lips moved against mine. As she pulled back, she nipped my lip. My eyes fluttered as they opened. I looked at her in awe.

“You are enough, Y/N.” She reached up and cupped my cheek, running her thumb across the cheek bone. “You inspire me every day. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Don’t be afraid to come to me if you need too. I’ll cuddle you, patch you up, or whatever else you need.”

“Thank you.” I whispered. She smiled and kissed me again. I hummed in delight. She couldn’t help but giggle and pull away. She wrapped her arms around my neck hugging me.

“I understand what you’re going through. I really do. In middle school is where everything went downhill for me too.” She pulled back. “Being put down for my quirk and how I acted with it for as long as I can remember, it hurts. When it came to middle school, I stopped letting them get to me.”

“And I am glad. I wouldn’t have you any other way, you crazy little vampire.” She laughed but calmed down when I yawned. She wiped the area under my eyes with her thumb.

“Come on, let’s go back to sleep.” I nodded in agreement. We laid down and she wrapped her arms around me. We got comfortable with the blankets pulled up to our chins. “Oh and if Shiggy or Dabi throws another glass in your direction, I will cut them. I promise I will keep you safe no matter what.”

“Works for me.” I laughed. She smiled wickedly before pecking my lips. It wasn’t hard to fall back asleep in her arms.

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indianamoonshine · 4 years ago

Photo

c h a p t e r | i

summary: every summer you work on your father's strawberry farm with your three sisters. it's a way to take a break from the big city but summers in the midwest are hot and they linger. this year, your father's old and mysterious friend shows up to stay on your land for a reason yet to be determined. din djarin seems dangerous, but kind enough, and the two of you quickly become...well, let's fact it...smitten.

rating: m (18+) for future and explicit sexual content.

author's note: reader is well over eighteen for obvious reasons. i won't ever go into physical detail about the reader's appearance because we include everyone. this fic is pretty much a mix between pride & prejudice and call me by your name except without the und*rage crap we do not condone. so, without further ado, here's an aesthetically pleasing fanfic.

the moment din djarin laid eyes on you he knew he was a dead man.

at first, his view of you had been obstructed because you'd opened every door and window in the house. june in the midwest sometimes required such nuisances, so all of the curtains billowing in the breeze prevented him from looking upon you.

you were also on the couch, but he hadn't known that until you lifted a hand - soft as a dove's - from the back of the sofa. you played with the light between your fingers, shielding its dazzling rays from your eyes, just before setting it down again. your hands were so small (smaller than his anyway) and gentle. he imagined how foreign your skin would feel in warm contrast to his; how your fingers would feel intertwined with his calloused ones, which had done enough work throughout the years to be mistaken for a beggar’s. within the first moment, he saw you as flawless.

your father had not stopped for breath since din arrived, lamenting about the farm or discussing the layout of the home with an eagerness din had yet to match. he would've initially been interested in the history of the farm or how many sprawling acres rolled endlessly before them, but his eyes couldn't leave your hand.

you must've been asleep - napping in the embrace of the sun - because as soon as your father drew breath upon entering the living room, your voice tickled din's ears for the first time. sweet as music.

"dad? is that you?"

din couldn't help but blink at the sound of your voice. it seemed unnatural, like one hears in dreams or spiritual awakenings. he manages to compose himself at your father's side, straightening his posture to err on the side of caution.

your father exclaims with a joyful "ah!" and then introduces you by name.

"my daughter. one of them, anyway. she and the three eldest help during the summer," he had said, and then turned to the bay windows to go on about the view.

but you meet din's eyes, rested and glimmering with curiosity, while your father droned on in the background. you reach out a hand - the one he'd thought of holding - to shake.

he does. and it's every bit as beautiful as he knew it'd be.

"how do you do?" you give him a polite and pretty smile. if he hadn't known any better, you bat your eyelashes for good measure.

your father's tour continues but din can't stop thinking about the way your skirt rose to your thighs as you stretched awake.

|||

you were lying if you said you didn't think about him for the rest of the day.

you weren't the only one. your sisters - all three of them - had also met the mysterious din djarin.

"who is he?" charlotte asked while you congregated at the nearby pond. it was a lovely place, nestled within the thick of the woods and bursting with greenery. flowers of every kind blossomed around you and scents the air with a sweetness.

rhea lays in the shade of a peach tree. "one of dad's old friends," she says. she waves herself with a floral paper fan she'd gotten from chinatown while visiting you in new york.

"but why is he here?"

madeline, who paints with her watercolors, pipes in. "i heard he got into some trouble with the law and now he's in hiding."

you roll your eyes with a scoff, lounging in the grass and watching the clouds in the bright, blue sky. "madeline, that's absurd."

rhea (who is the oldest and most pragmatic) surprises you when she shrugs her shoulders. "i don't know. he looks likes a bad boy..."

you recall the way his jaw clenched as you introduced yourself - his neck was tempting. his skin glowed with a radiant hue in the sunlight and his eyes shone with an aura of broodiness. he was very austenian.

"boy is hardly the word," you correct.

charlotte, being the flirt, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. she swims in the pond, hair wet and fanning against the water. she sinks lowly for dramatic effect. "how right you are."

"trouble or not, he was a perfect gentleman." rhea sighs and skims the water with her forefinger. "either way, he's easy on the eyes so i don't mind having him around."

easy on the eyes was putting it mildly. you wouldn't say that to the girls though; they had a habit of teasing when you showed interest in anyone attainable let alone a man decades older than you.

"don't do anything stupid, charlotte." madeline dips her paintbrush into her mason jar full of pond water.

charlotte huffs and flips her hair from her shoulder. it makes a splash, rippling the water as a result. "why not? we're all of legal age."

"he's dad's friend and a guest," you remind her, tearing your gaze away from the clouds.

the middle child lets out a pathetic whimper. "you guys are no fun," she groans.

|||

it was a busy season on the farm.

strawberries were ready to be picked by mid june and there was a three week window to do it. harvesting wasn't easy and it took a lot of man work. hands went numb, skin grew calloused. the sun that beat down on the fields was only manageable by the sprinklers that went off every blessed-ed fifteen minutes. during a drought, it was even worse.

the employees picked from seven in the morning until five in the evening. your father was adamant that breaks be plenty and pay be as prosperous as he could afford, but a strawberry farm wasn't a fortune five hundred company. he did what he could to provide the families with some semblance worthy enough to continue, and so every year he threw a dinner party.

it was always a lovely occasion, brimming with delectable treats and savory entrees. candles were aflame, lanterns lit up the pathway that lead to the entrance of the home and then the land leading into the woods. as a child, the dinner party was as exciting as a birthday. it was a night to look forward to all year long, sharing time with family and friends and gorging yourself on food you wouldn't eat any other friday of the week.

your sisters loved it too, mostly because they enjoyed the promise of gossip that poured from the mouths of guests like the wine served. and now that din djarin - a stranger, in all respects of the word - was attending an annual dinner that's managed to keep as tradition for years, gossip would surely be abundant as the wine itself.

guests arrived by the hour until the clock struck seven. the evening was crisp but warm enough to be comfortable without a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the rock doves sung loudly to declare that sunset had begun, a few rogue and early lightning bugs blinking rhythmically. children of the employees ran throughout the fields bare footed and chanting taunts to their friends as their parents chattered among themselves.

home. here is home.

while the party had already begun (officially, at least), dinner hadn't yet been served. admittingly, you were a bit behind schedule, but you worked quickly to finish setting the tables. the theme was simple; linen napkins and wildflowers in random antique vases you found in your basement. the lilacs you'd picked from their bushes were already beginning to limp but you hoped no one would notice.

you hum when you work. whether it be intentional or not you find your lips buzzing with a tune plucked subconsciously from your brain as your hands busy themselves. you straighten the tablecloths, fill the vases with water, and set the silverware in their particular order. needless to say, you had a tendency to get lost in your own little world. so when a hand gently tapped you on the shoulder, you spun around with a shriek.

din djarin - man of the hour - is smirking handsomely at you, hands fiddling with a depressed looking lilac. you place a palm against your heart and count its beats. too many.

"mister djarin," you sigh out. "you scared me."

he lets out a breathy chuckle, hands running through his wavy locks. "i see that. i'm sorry, but i was just wondering if you'd like some help."

his voice...oh, stars and garters. it was so rough but tender - like a steak. you cock an eyebrow at how strange the comparison is but convince yourself it didn't matter. still, you're blushing from the jump so you duck your head from his gaze.

"there's not much left to do," you admit, turning back to the table. you spread your hands against the tablecloth to ward off any wrinkles. "you can double check if i missed any forks, i suppose. i have a tendency to do that."

din hums in his throat and nods a little. "sure," he says, moving to the first setting. his eyes scan along the silverware carefully. "where are your sisters? they don't help, huh?"

"they're better at entertaining," you say truthfully. "i volunteer to take care of the dinner part...as long as i don't have to socialize as much i'm content."

it was true. it's not that you had an aversion to people in general, but you tried to avoid conversation whenever possible - it wasn't your strong suit. you could get away with it when need be but you found it took too much energy to pretend to enjoy conversation about the weather or politics.

"i understand," din nods. he straightens a spoon with the nudge of his finger. "i find myself to be the same way."

there's an awkward silence between the two of you. you didn't know how to respond. while you weren't good at social situations in general, you found it natural to feign interest in subjects bland enough to circumvent discomfort...but you felt the need to impress him.

"so you'll be staying with us this summer then?" you decide, falling short. how stupid.

din nods swiftly. "yeah. in one of the cabins."

the cabins were located at various points of the land your father owned. in order to get there, one usually took an ATV or walked if the going gets tough. you preferred to stroll along the river, but your sisters liked riding the four wheelers or their bikes.

"which one?" you ask, tone mindless.

din's finished with double checking your work. he pulls out a chair - an old, wooden antique - and sits down upon it with caution. you stifle a laugh and, if he notices, he doesn't say anything. he'd soon learn that everything here was old but sturdier than they looked. you wish you could say it was for aesthetic purposes but it was more convenient than anything.

"the one closest to the pond," din replies lowly.

you notice how his eyes survey your form and how intimate it was. he was studying you but for whatever reason you couldn't be sure. you try to shake away the idea that he could be (dare you say?) pining over you. how silly. like you told charlotte: din djarin was off limis.

that was the end of it.

you find yourself blushing again so you hide your face. "that's my favorite one," you tell him honestly. "i like the view."

din smiles in agreement. "so do i."

if you weren't so heated with frustration, you would've called him out on the implication (as out of character for you it may be). then again, you found yourself weakened by the mere presence of this man. it wasn't unlike you, per say; you were naturally timid but there was an eagerness to his charm that you weren't familiar with. guys your age were so sure of themselves but it was almost always under false pretenses. this man however...well, he was a man and that was intimidating.

fine. it was hot.

you clear your throat in an effort to regain a semblance of poise. this summer had already proven to be laborious in a way you hadn't expected.

#DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG THIS TOOK TO TYPE OUT #din djarin x reader #din x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mw1 #strawberryfic

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storiesbybea · 4 years ago

Text

Toil and Trouble (wlw Wandavision smut)

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Agatha Harkness

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: Smut (oral sex, fingering, kissing) & possible Wandavision spoilers (if you haven’t gotten past s1 ep6)

Summary: After Agatha’s secret witch lair collapses on them, Wanda tries to use mind control to convince her they are friends who need to work together to escape. But when Wanda accidentally triggers the wrong hormone in her brain, Agatha thinks they are a little more than friends.

A/N: I know it sounds sketchy with mind control elements, but everything in this is completely consensual! This is my first fanfiction - but not my first erotica ;)

Agatha finally had Wanda Maximoff exactly where she wanted her - tied up in her secret witch’s lair. She had been preparing for this moment for weeks: collecting the fake screams of Wanda’s children to lure her down here, casting the sound-proofing spell Wanda had activated by crossing the threshold, and preparing the runes that prevented Wanda from accessing her magic. All meticulously planned with no way of going wrong.

“Just admit it, Wanda. I got you this time.”

Wanda spit a stray piece of hair out of her mouth and stared daggers into Agatha.

“Never.”

“I was hoping you would say that.” Agatha cackled as dark magic collected around her hands. She waved her hands, pulled Wanda’s hands behind her back and magically restrained her. Wanda let out a cry. “Scream as much as you want,” Agatha said, “no one is going to hear you.”

“Just give me back my children,” Wanda said through gritted teeth. Agatha cackled again, louder this time.

“Your kids aren’t here, Wanda. I collected those screams a week ago.”

“Then where are they?”

“How should I know? I thought mothers were supposed to keep track of their children. You’re not a very good mom, are you?”

Wanda thrashed against her restraints and shouted obscenities at Agatha, who merely smiled.

“Someone’s a little sensitive towards other people’s perceptions of their parenting style,” Agatha quipped, “Let me help with that.” She flicked her wrist and threw Wanda against the wall. Wanda cried out in pain, then was violently dropped to the ground.

“Bet you regret mind-controlling a town with a witch like me in it, don’t you?”

Wanda regained her composure and looked directly at her captor. “My only regret is not changing your hair while you were under my control. Those highlights are atrocious.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes and levitated Wanda off the ground.

“You’re about to have one more regret,” she said. Then, she pulled Wanda toward her so forcefully that she crashed through a load-bearing pillar. In an instant, the entire cave collapsed around them.

Wanda coughed and rubbed the dirt from her eyes. Her magical restraints were gone. Perhaps the runes had been damaged by the falling rubble as well? She decided to give it a test, focusing her energy on her right hand. A tiny circle of magic emitted from her palm. She smiled, but this was still a mere fraction of what she was normally capable of. Then, she noticed Agatha lying next to her, unconscious. There was no way out of the wreckage alone, not with her magic still mostly suppressed. But if Agatha woke up, she would undoubtedly try to destroy her again. If only Agatha didn’t know they were enemies...

Suddenly, Wanda got an idea. She gently laid her hands on Agatha’s head and focused as hard as she could. Though the connection was weak, she could feel Agatha’s brain waves shifting. Wanda found all of Agatha’s memories and went to work erasing the ones indicating they were anything less than chums. She also decided to give her an extra shot of dopamine, for good measure. Then, she gently shook Agatha’s shoulders and whispered for her to wake up.

Agatha opened her foggy eyes and turned to Wanda.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Your lair collapsed on us.”

“What? How?” Agatha asked. Wanda bit her lip.

“Uh, there was a big earthquake.”

Agatha scoffed and put her hand on Wanda’s forearm. “This is New Jersey, dummy. There are no huge earthquakes here!”

“That’s what I thought, too. But then one happened and now we’re stuck here.”

Agatha sat up and looked deeply into Wanda’s eyes. “Well, there’s no one I’d rather be stuck here with,” she said tenderly. Then, she leaned in and kissed Wanda on the lips. Wanda froze, but accepted the kiss. She had stimulated her dopamine receptor, right? Agatha pulled back and smiled. “I’ll never get over how good your lips taste.”

Wanda had to consciously keep her jaw from dropping to the floor. That definitely was not her dopamine receptor. Agatha traced her fingers down Wanda’s arm and she shivered from the contact. She had to tell Agatha what happened.

But Wanda stopped herself. There was no way Agatha would react kindly to a botched mind control attempt from her nemesis. And right now, Agatha was the only one with enough power to get them out of here.

Wanda took Agatha’s hand and kissed it. “I feel exactly the same,” she said, “But we should probably try to get out of here.”

“In case there’s an aftershock!”

“Exactly, in case there’s an aftershock. Why don’t you try using your magic to move the rubble?”

Agatha booped Wanda on the nose, “You are definitely the smart one in this relationship.” Wanda had to restrain herself from laughing.

Agatha took a moment to focus herself, then threw her arms out dramatically. Nothing happened. She tried again. Nothing still. One more attempt, even more forceful than the others. Nothing. Agatha frowned.

“I guess my magic doesn;t work anymore.”

Wanda nervously laughed and shook Agatha by the shoulders.

“No, they have to work. Because otherwise we’ll never get out of here!”

“Can’t we just scream and wait for the first responders to dig us out?” Agatha said.

“That’s a great idea. Unfortunately, you hexed your lair and now it’s sound-proof.” Wanda slid her face into her hands.

“Why did I sound-proof the lair?” Agatha asked. Wanda popped her head up.

“Uh, you mean you don’t remember?” Wanda asked. Agatha shook her head. “We were, uh, going to celebrate our anniversary? So you, uh, sound-proofed the lair because we were gonna, uh...”

“Oh! We were gonna--” Agatha rubbed her hands together suggestively and winked. Wanda nodded her head.

“Exactly, we were gonna do that and you were worried about the neighbors.”

“You are quite a screamer,” Agatha said as she patted Wanda’s thigh.

“Uh, yeah.”

It was at this moment that Wanda realized Agatha was shivering.

“Are you ok?”

“It’s so cold,” Agatha replied through chattering teeth. Wanda realized she was shivering as well.

“How is it so cold? It’s July.”

Agatha gasped. “The collapse must have triggered the frost hex.”

“F-Frost hex?” Wanda shouted.

“Yeah, I put it in after some of the neighborhood kids tried to break in here. If only my magic was functional, I could reverse it.” Agatha looked to her expectantly, but Wanda didn’t notice. The cold was getting to her. She could feel it in her bones; her teeth were chattering so loud that it made her head pound. She had experienced some brutal winters in Sokovia, but nothing like this.

“We should hold each other,” said Agatha, “For warmth.”

Wanda put her arms around Agatha and held her close. She smelled like witch hazel, which Wanda found funny and a bit on-the-nose. But it smelled really good. Agatha’s hair was long and warm. Wanda buried her face in it. The immediate warmth felt incredible on her shaking lips.

Despite the frigid cold, both Wanda and Agatha felt a considerable amount of heat between their bodies. They pulled each other as close as they could, each desiring to consume the other’s warmth. Wanda nuzzled further into Agatha’s soft hair, and Agatha took her freezing hands and slid them down the back of Wanda’s shirt. Her back was burning hot, and Agatha dug her fingers into Wanda’s warm skin. Somehow they both managed to fall asleep, huddled together through the frosty night.

Agatha was the first to wake. Wanda was nuzzled against her neck. She was still shivering. Agatha slowly removed her hand from Wanda’s shirt and flicked her wrist to remove the frost hex. The room got warmer immediately. Agatha looked down at Wanda, whose head had shifted and fallen to Agatha’s chest. A small ray of light was shining through the rubble, and it spread across Wanda’s face. She had to admit that Wanda looked angelic, even though she was her nemesis and had tried to mind control her into some disturbing romance. Agatha took her free hand and gently stroked Wanda’s head. There just was something fantastical about Wanda Maximoff. If anyone else had tried to mind control her into romance, she would have annihilated them on the spot. But when Wanda did it, there was something endearing about it all. She really thought she could best her? It was adorable. Wanda was adorable.

While Agatha was looking at her, Wanda woke up. Still a little groggy, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“Why were you staring at me?” she asked.

“You had a bug on you and I thought it was funny,” Agatha lied. Wanda chuckled.

“And you just let it stay on my face? What if it was poisonous?”

“The only thing poisonous here is your failed attempts at mind control.”

Wanda perked up. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t lie,” Agatha said, rolling her eyes, “I know you tried to take advantage of me with some weird love hex, but my runes limited your magic too much for you to be successful.”

“How did you know?” Wanda asked.

“You really think I can’t feel intrusions into my own mind?”

“But you were passed out!”

“Yeah, so I was literally trapped in my own mind. That’s like the worst time to try and mind-control someone. Anyone with a basic knowledge of magical theory should know that.”

Wanda gulped. “So what are you gonna do to me?”

Agatha cackled. “Do to you? What do you think this is, a prison?”

“Uh, this all started when you lured me down here and magically restrained me against my will. That’s the definition of a prison.”

“So you think you deserve some kind of punishment?” Agatha asked. Wanda nodded. Agatha sighed and conjured her magical glowing hands. She whipped out her hands and the rocks around her began to shake. Then, with another wave of her wrist, the room was restored to its original formation.

“Why did you do that?” Wanda asked.

“Well, I was planning on betraying you and locking you in here for all eternity, but I decided against that. You’re free to go.”

“Why are you letting me go?” Wanda asked, even more surprised.

“Why did you try to put a romance hex on me?”

“I didn’t do that! I was trying to make you think we were friends, not lovers!”

Agatha blushed furiously and Wanda almost wished she hadn’t said anything. She grabbed Agatha’s hand.

“Why did you kiss me yesterday?” Wanda asked. Agatha blushed even more.

“I was playing the part.”

“Yeah, well you could have played the part without kissing me,” Wanda said shyly. Agatha looked intently at the ground.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” she admitted. Wanda tilted her chin towards her.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“What?”

“What are you waiting for? Do it again.”

Agatha wasted no time in pressing her lips to Wanda’s. They were soft and full; it was like kissing her rabbit’s fluff. She pulled Wanda close to her and felt her breasts press against her chest. Wanda took her tongue into Agatha’s mouth and they wrestled each other for control of the kiss. After a few minutes of passionate tongue fighting, Agatha finally won, just barely.

“I want to taste you,” she whispered into Wanda’s mouth. Slowly, she pushed Wanda backwards and leaned her against her large cauldron. Agatha began tenderly kissing and sucking along Wanda’s neck, then down her chest, in between her breasts, and down the center of her stomach. Wanda eagerly unbuttoned her pants and Agatha slid them to the ground.

Agatha placed her palm on Wanda’s mound and moved it up and down. Wanda leaned her head back in pleasure and spread her legs further apart, begging Agatha to go further. Agatha separated Wanda’s lips with her fingers. She had the tiniest clit she had ever seen. Then, she took two fingers and tried to slide them into Wanda, but she wasn’t wet enough yet.

“I have just the thing,” Agatha said as she popped up and ran to her potions table. She threw some ingredients into a small wooden bowl; there was a loud pop and a cloud of purple smoke. She rushed back to Wanda and dipped her fingers in the potion.

“What is that?” Wanda asked.

“It’s a lubrication spell. I’ve never had to use it before. But there’s a first time for everything,” she said with a wink. Then, she spread Wanda’s legs and entered her with her slippery fingers. Wanda immediately threw her head back.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed. Agatha smirked and slowly slid her fingers in and out of her while Wanda squirmed and squealed. As Agatha picked up the tempo, she brought her mouth to Wanda’s clit and engulfed it with her tongue. Wanda nearly screamed.

“You’re really good at this,” Wanda said between gasps. Agatha looked up at her.

“Well, when you’ve been alive for over 300 years, you learn a thing or two,” Agatha said before she forcefully flicked Wanda’s clit with her tongue.

Wanda felt the pleasure building up inside of her. She tried to hold it back, but it was too powerful. She was helpless against the force of her own climax. When it finally overcame her, she exploded. As the waves of ecstasy passed over her, she felt restored.

When she had regained herself, Wanda picked her pants up from the floor and slid them back on. She looked down at Agatha, who was still on her knees.

“Your turn.”

Then, she pulled Agatha up, kissed her passionately, grabbed her hands, and held them behind her back. Agatha pulled away from their kiss.

“What are you doing?” she asked, suspicion and intrigue coating her voice. Wanda gave her a devilish grin and tried casting a restraint spell. To her surprise, it actually worked.

“I see you’ve cancelled the runes. That was a mistake,” Wanda said. She used her magic to pull Agatha up into the air. “Oh, and I hope you like the cold,” she said before she reactivated the frost hex.

“I thought we were ok now!” shouted Agatha. Wanda cackled.

“I will never be ok with someone who collected my childrens’ screams.”

And with that, Wanda turned to the exit and left Agatha to her fate.

#wanda maximoff #marvel smut #agatha harkness #wandavision fanfic #wlw fanfic #wanda maximoff x agatha harkness #wlw smut #original

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uas-fics · 4 years ago

Text

-Title: Flower Crowns

Rating: G

Summary: Half lost on his walk, Leon finds a frustrated Piers attempting to weave flowers together.

Ships: Leon x Piers

Content Warnings: N/A

----

What a wonderful day for a walk. The sun shone over the yellow-green of the land. Not a single cloud floated across the blue sky. Flowers swayed in a gentle breeze. Rookidie chattered in the trees as bug pokemon skittered along the ground.

Simply a wonderful day outside of...Well, Leon didn't know exactly where he was, but he was at least sixty percent sure he was outside of Hulsbury. Or maybe Tuffield? He was on one side of the Northern Wild Areas.

Probably.

He stretched his arms up. His jacket sleeves rolled down to his elbows. The worn blue jacket had been his grandfather's and was still a little too big for him, even now that he was an adult, but it was comfortable and warm enough for spring days. He kept it with him when he wanted to go incognito since it wasn’t as distinguishable as his sponsor cape.

He could use more days off like this, more calming walks in nature with nothing but the plants, wild pokemon, and--

"Oh, c'mon!"

Leon jumped, nearly knocking his hat from his head.

Who was that?

He titled his head, listening. Someone swore up a storm not too far away. Half in an attempt to help, and half to seek confirmation of his location, Leon followed the colorful language over a small hill to its source.

Amongst a field of wildflowers and tall grass, someone kicked at the dirt. Grass, flowers, and dirt sprayed into the air.

"And you’re no help, you piece of--!" They spun around, throwing something.

Leon ducked just in time to avoid coming face to screen with a cellphone. The phone landed with a dull thud in the grass behind his feet.

Regret welled up in Leon's stomach. Maybe he should have just called the Pokemon League and asked them for help getting home. This person seemed too upset, and Leon interrupting their rage would just make them angrier, won't it?

"Champion Leon?"

Leon jumped at the sound of his name. Taking his gaze off the phone on the ground, he looked towards the phone's owner.

The gym leader of Spikemuth winced.

"Sorry 'bout that, mate." Piers raised his hands, palms facing forward as if he expected Leon to throw something back at him.

Leon shook his head, both to shake off his shock as well as to placate Piers. He picked up the phone.

"It's nothing to worry about," He reassured, wiping the screen on his jacket sleeve. On the screen, some sort of brightly colored webpage stared back at Leon. In a curling font, the header read 'Just A Unovan Country Gal' with 'recipes, DIYs, and patterns for good old girls' written underneath.

Deciding not to ask about the site, he pressed the power button as he passed the phone back, darkening the screen. Piers put the phone in his pocket. He hadn’t noticed Leon staring at the screen or didn’t acknowledge he knew Leon saw it, at least.

"You're lost, aren’t you?" Piers didn't hesitate to ask.

"What? Of course not. I know where I am," Leon lied, unsure why he did. Everyone in the Pokemon League knew he was terrible with directions. Every gym leader had to come to find and escort him to their gym at some point or another, including Piers.

"If you need help gettin' home, I can take you,'' Piers offered. "I'm done with...I'm done for today."

"Done with what?" Leon couldn't help but venture. The Unovain website flashed in his mind’s eye.

He couldn't figure why Piers of all people would be in a wildflower field in the middle of the day so far from Spikemuth. Was he picking flowers for a special someone? Searching for a certain pokemon? Training his team? Did it have to do with the website he had open on his phone?

Piers wrinkled his nose. "None of your business."

It was Leon's turn to hold up his hands. "Sorry." He took a few steps past Piers. "Didn't mean to pry. I'll leave you to it if you can point me toward Hulsbury."

Piers eyed him up and down, slowly, calculatingly. A shiver ran up Leon's back. Why did his stomach twist into knots? It wasn't like Piers planned on stabbing him.

With a heavy sigh, Piers pinched Leon's jacket between his fingers, stopping him from wandering off.

"Flower crown," he muttered, refusing to look at him.

"What?"

"Flower. Crown. I was trying to make a flower crown." Piers took his hand away to run it through his thick bangs, pushing them back away from his face. A tinge of pink blush dusted his face.

Leon bit the inside of his cheek to keep a laugh in. Flower crowns? Piers was the least likely person to be making flower crowns. Leon tried to imagine the dark-type gym leader with a ring of wild daisies and dandelions around his head but only succeeded in a snort of amusement at the idea.

Piers glowered and raised his hand. All of his nails had a sheen of shiny black paint, except for the middle one lifted at Leon, which was a matte white.

"If I left you out here, you would die of exposure before you found your way back."

Leon covered his mouth before another snort could make its way out.

"Sorry, sorry, but..." He took a breath, "why do you need a flower crown? It doesn't much match your..." he gestured to Piers’ punk, monochromatic outfit, “aesthetic.”

"It isn't for me," Piers snapped. "It's for Marnie, my sister. She wants one, not me."

Leon wasn't sure he'd ever actually met Piers' sister. He rarely went to Spikemuth, and when he did, he just stopped by the gym to deliver papers to Piers and get out. Had he ever even seen Piers’ sister before? She was about Hop's age, he knew that, but he couldn't remember if she was a little older or a little younger.

"Oh, of course. That makes sense," Leon said. "That's nice of you to make her one."

Piers searched his face for any sign of insincerity. Leon flashed him his champion smile. Whether that helped or not, he didn’t know.

Piers snorted. More to himself than Leon, he muttered, "It'd be nicer if I knew how to make one. Stupid website wasn’t any help..."

At this, Leon finally took a gander around. Most of the flowers had been plucked in the immediate area. They either sat in a pile or as parts of what Leon could only assume were attempts at flower crowns.

He knelt and picked a crown up, holding it carefully. Yellow daisies made up the crown. Each daisy had a slit cut in the stem with the next daisy slipped through until the end where the last stem was tied to the first. It was crude and the spacing of the flowers uneven, but not the worst flower crown Leon had ever seen.

Before Leon could look closer, Piers snatched the crown out of his hands. Pale yellow petals fell to the ground.

He glared, the tips of his ears burning red. “Making flower crowns isn’t a life skill they teach you in school, you know.”

Leon tilted his head to the side then asked, "Do you want help?"

"Help?" Piers tossed the crown into the tall grass. "You know how to make them?"

Leon nodded. "I grew up in Postwick." He fell back to his bottom. "Everyone knew how to make a proper crown." His lips twitched up into a smile. "I remember chasing down a wooloo to stop it from eating the crown I'd just given it."

He took a few daisies from the pile next to him. It took mere seconds for his fingers to remember the motion of wrapping stem over stem.

"Silly thing was someone's prized wooloo, and the farmer spoiled it rotten," Leon continued, occasionally looking down at his hands, "so when it saw me coming towards it with a handful of flowers, it thought it was getting a treat."

He laughed at the memory. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight at the time. His mother still brought it up when she wanted to embarrass him in front of guests.

“I remember looking out the window and seeing my little boy, nearly in tears, shouting at a fat old wooloo.” She’d laugh. “Oh, he chased that thing for an hour trying to catch it!”

As Leon continued rambling, Piers watched his hands weave together daisies, dandelions, and corncockle. He sat back with his hands resting across his knees. He puffed his cheeks a little as he watched, breathing only through his nose. Whether he noticed he was doing it or not, Leon wasn't sure and didn't ask.

"And that's how I broke my arm for the first time," Leon finished, holding up the crown. He placed it on Piers' head where it sat unevenly on top of his ponytails. Leon beamed at Piers, proud of his work as if they were children playing in the fields of Postwick and not young adults.

Piers brushed his fingertips against the soft petals. He took a dandelion and a wild clover flower from one of the piles. With his face set in determination, he started to copy what he'd seen Leon doing. He wove together six flowers before tossing his hands in the air.

"What am I doing wrong?" He demanded.

Leon scooted until he sat next to Piers then took the crown to examine it. He nodded to himself. Without asking, Leon took Piers' hands in his own.

"You're doing it backward. See here?" Leon made Piers' thumb press against the first wrap in the crown. Instead of locking around the flower, the stem went behind it. A simple mistake for a first-time crown weaver to make.

Piers pulled his hands back.

"I think I got it." He took a meadows cranesbill and corncockle and began the wrap and lock method Leon showed him. He held up his attempt for inspection.

"That's it. Just keep doing that until it's long enough."

"This is going to take a while," Piers said, adding a daisy to the chain.

Leon shrugged sympathetically. "It might," he settled into a more comfortable, half-reclined position, "but it'll be fine. I'm here to help."

Piers paused and looked over at Leon, eyeing him once again. This time, however, Leon didn't feel a chill run up his back. Instead, heat crept up his cheeks at Piers' half smile towards.

Leon's pride wanted him to hold Piers' gaze as he would with any other gym leader, but he broke away to look at a patch of foxgloves in the distance.

"Thanks." Piers turned back to his project.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Piers held out a flower. Its stem was too short.

"D’you know what this is?" He asked, dropping the flower in Leon's lap.

Leon picked it up and spun it in between his fingers. Of course, he knew what it was, but he shrugged and pretended to think it over.

"Primrose, I think." He said. "My grandma kept some fancier varieties in the house when I was growing up."

The memory of cleaning up broken pots formed a smile on his face. Sonia and he landed themselves on his grandmother’s naughty list for killing her primroses, even if it was an accident.

Piers hummed. "I thought that's what it was. And this?"

Leon moved next to Piers. "That's a ragged robin. This is a cornflower. That's chicory." He continued pointing out the names of the flowers he knew, silently thanking his mother and grandparents for explaining all the wildflowers to him when he was a kid.

Of course, he didn't know them as well as Milo. He couldn't tell what medical uses dandelions had or how to make coffee from chicory, but Piers seemed impressed nonetheless with his botanical knowledge.

Leon picked up a flower from a failed crown attempt. He held it up, about to explain what it was, but Piers spoke first.

“That’s a wild violet.”

Leon slowly nodded. He was a little disappointed he didn’t get to explain it but shoved the feeling away. Of course, Piers would know such a common flower.

Piers smiled down at his work. “Marnie made me fill a whole basket with them once. She learnt you can cook with them.”

“Did you--cook with it, I mean?”

“Unfortunately.” Piers snorted. “I’ve had pot brownies that taste less like grass.” He paused, then added nonchalantly, “Before I was part of the league, of course.”

, Leon snorted a laugh to himself. That was a lie, he knew, but instead of remarking on it, he said, “Did you use the flowers or leaves?”

“Marnie baked them, not me. I just turned on the oven. I think she just put the whole plant in there, roots and all.” He laughed. “I’m going to have to tease her about that when I get home. Thanks for reminding me about that.”

Finally, Piers held up his crown. It was far from perfect, some of the flowers lost their petals and long stems stuck out at odd angles, but Piers held it out as if it were a royal crown. His expression wasn’t unlike how Leon’s mum said he looked when he finished making a crown for the spoiled wooloo.

"Wow, it looks great," Leon complimented.

Piers snorted with a smile. "For a first attempt, I guess." He looked at his flower crown, then at Leon, then back, before reaching up. He took hold of the bill of Leon's baseball cap. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed it off then replaced it with the crown.

He smiled at him. “You look like a prince, champ.” He teased before bending down and picking up the hat.

“I could say the same.”

The two shared a laugh and grins. Their fingers touched as Piers pushed the hat into Leon's hands. Leon wasn’t sure the touch was unintentional.

"It's getting late."

Leon looked up at the saturated orange-red sky.

"If you get me to Hulsbury, I can get a taxi home."

Piers chuckled and shook his head. "You really are lost, aren’t you? We're not too far outside the Spikemuth Tunnel, mate."

Leon dropped his hat. He held his head in his hands. The heat of embarrassment crept up his face. He had wandered farther off the beaten path than he thought. How did he even get so far away from where he started like this?

With a sympathetic smile, Piers put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"How about I take you back to my place, as a thank you for teaching me this." He gestured to the crown on his head. "I'll cook you up a little somethin' then you can hitch a ride on a flying taxi back home."

Leon's heart skipped a beat. He swallowed the embarrassment down and smiled.

"That sounds great."

----

AN: I stopped writing this halfway through to go outside, find some flowers, and learn how to do this because the way I described Piers doing it is how I've always done it. XP It is a completely valid way to make flower chains don't get me wrong, but it doesn't look nearly as fancy.

Anyway, maybe a little too sugary sweet, but I wanted to write some short fluff and doggone it I did!

Check out @uas-art for more of my drawings.

#pokemon #fanfiction #one-shot #piers #leon #champion leon #gym leader piers #swsh #piersxleon #leonxpiers #fluff #Still don't know the ship name...le sigh

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kyoongaroo · 5 years ago

Text

All Over Again — 01

summary: one of Baekhyun’s goals was to be CEO of his father’s company. But unless he was married, or at least, in a serious relationship, he wasn’t qualified to take on the role. The board meeting was coming soon, and he was desperately looking for a girlfriend to introduce to his family. That’s when he found you.

genre: romance, fluff, smut in later chapter.

a/n: slow update sorry :,(

“You want me to do what now?”

Your roommate clung tighter onto your arms. “Please,” she begged, staring up at you with round, pleading eyes. “I really need your help.”

“Uh,” you hesitated. Fake-dating? You had no clue how that was done. But Jane was your best friend, what does it say about you if you don’t help a friend in need? You sighed. “Okay, but you need to talk me through it again.”

“So I’m on this app that put me in touch with this guy who’s looking for a temporary girlfriend. Babe, you won’t believe the amount he’s willing to pay me.” Her eyes lit up. You raised your brows, mentally guessing the numbers in your head. She held up her pointer and middle fingers. “Two thousand dollar for a meeting.”

Coming from a wealthy household yourself, money had never fazed you, even after you moved out and stopped living off your parents’. Now, you were running a bakery business that was going pretty well. Your friend however, needed this extra cash to get by. She had just recently lost a job and was currently hunting for a new one. The stress might’ve caused her to fall sick, which was why she couldn’t take on whatever this is she signed up for. Things would’ve been easier if she didn’t reject your offer to pay for this month’s rent in full, the two of you were sharing an apartment.

“What are the terms like?” You asked.

“Nothing complicated, you just have to escort him to events and pretend you’re his girlfriend.”

That seemed feasible, you thought. “As long as there’s no sex involved.” You said firmly. She may be your best friend and you cared for her like a family, but there’s no way in hell you’re going to prostitute yourself for her.

“Wait til’ you see this guy,” she grinned, her eyes twinkling. “I bet all my money you’ll wanna have some with him.”

“Money?” You huffed, rolling your eyes. “You have like what? two dollars?”

She grabbed a pillow and slammed it across your face, making you laugh as you tried to duck away. She grunted. “You’re mean.”

You grinned apologetically as you hugged her closer to you. “So, what time do i have to meet this guy?”

“Seven, I’ll let him know that you’ll be replacing me.” She said, reaching for her cellphone from the bedside drawer.

“What’s his name?” You asked.

“Bernard?”

“He’s a foreigner?”

She shook her head. “He’s a local, last name’s Byun,”

At six fifty five, you found yourself at a place not so unfamiliar to you. Your sister happened to stay in the apartment building where Bernard stayed. Your stomach roiled with uneasiness as you waited for the door to be answered. There were so many things to worry about. Meeting your potential fake-boyfriend, possibly being ted-bundied by him, bumping into your sister.

Your fingers clutched tightly onto the strap of your baguette bag. Jane didn’t mention anything about dress code, and when you went back to her room to ask, she had already fallen asleep. At last, you settled with a white tube top beneath a Balmain tweed jacket and a fitting pair of jeans. It’s nothing formal, nor casual.

You glanced around cautiously when you heard soft chatters coming from afar. If your sister found out what you were up to and told your parents about it, they’d probably disown you. You wouldn’t be surprised if they did, considering how your relationship with them was already strained.

The beep from the digital lock caused you to flinch. You shifted your gaze to look ahead, breathing deeply as your lips stretched into a smile. The door opened. You were so short, the first thing you saw at your eye level was the Versace logo printed on the stranger’s shirt. Craning your neck, you met the strangers eyes.

Except.

Your eyes doubled in size at the realization. You stared at the tall man as he stared back at you, both trying to figure out if your mind were playing tricks. Until he opened his mouth and said, “You?!”

You swallowed. “C-Chanyeol?”

You had no time to move away. The guy was so quick, in a second you were in his arms, your legs floating off the ground as he hugged you so tightly that your organs nearly crushed. “It’s been so long! Where the hell have you been?”

“Are-are you Bernard?” you stammered.

Chanyeol finally let go of you, and your legs touched to the ground. God, did he grow taller?

“He's waiting for you inside,” he said, his lips twitching.

You narrowed your gaze, noticing the mischief in his eyes and the way he held back a smile. In the past, that look meant no good to you. You had a feeling you’re in for trouble.

“Oh, Bernard will be so damn pleased to see you,” he muttered to himself as he stepped aside to let you in.

You were filled with nervousness when you walked through the door. Your heels clicked over the gleaming travertine tiles as you followed behind him. Your gaze drifted over everything. Unlike your sister’s, the owner had completely remodelled his flat. Now it was looking more like a loft with the open space and the brick wall. The space was so enormous, you felt dwarfed being in here. Finally halting at what seemed like a sitting area, your eyes zeroed in on a man’s back as he stood facing a huge window.

“Look who’s here, Bae—“

The man raised a hand to shut Chanyeol up. He was on his phone, his deep voice resounding in this spacious room. Your gaze dipped down his body and back up again, thinking this man had a very nice build. He was dressed in a black turtleneck tucked in a pair of dark jeans. Despite standing at a distance from you, you knew he was at least a head taller than you. You tried to make up how he looked like through the reflection on the glass, only to give up and be completely enthralled by the breathtaking view of the skyline.

“Is she here?”

Your eyes moved over to Bernard as the man himself turned on his feet. Pocketing his phone, his eyes landed on you and yours on his.

Your heart was suddenly in your throat and you froze. In that second you wished you had the magic to make yourself disappear. Because Bernard wasn’t Bernard. Bernard was Baekhyun, and Baekhyun was your ex-boyfriend.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

The three of you were seated on the leather couch after a short, awkward catch up. For the next few minutes, you listened as Baekhyun explained his situation to you. Long story short, his father was stepping down as the CEO of Byun Holdings, and he was making Baekhyun and his stepbrother compete for the position. Since Mr Byun was a family man, he thought it was important for his children to be committed in his personal life too. Because, despite owning one of the biggest companies in the country, his father believed there was more to life than work. Which means, unless Baekhyun was in a serious relationship/married, he wasn’t qualified to take on the role. The board meeting would be held next month, that’s why Baekhyun was desperately looking for a girlfriend to introduce to his family. As for Bernard, it was an alias since he didn’t want his identity to be revealed.

“He’s gonna be here anytime soon,” Baekhyun said, startling you with the sudden news.

“Wait what? Who’s gonna be here?” you glanced between the two, confused.

“My brother,” Baekhyun said.

“Jaehyun?” You looked at him to confirm.

When he nodded, you paled. Jaehyun was his stepbrother, and you remembered that the two despised each other. Which only means, he would be more skeptical of you than a normal person would be.

The doorbell rang, effectively stopping your train of thoughts. The three of you turned your head towards the door.

“That must be him,” Chanyeol said.

You glanced anxiously between the two. “What do I do?”

“You need to be more affectionate with each other in order to sell this.” Chanyeol advised, his eyes moving from you to Baekhyun, then back at you again. “Get up,” he ordered as he rose to his feet. You confusedly obeyed him, letting him grab your wrist as he guided you to Baekhyun’s side. “Sit here,” he said, surprising you when he pushed you down by your shoulders.

You let out a gasp when your ass landed on Baekhyun’s lap. His hands caught your waist to keep you still. Your eyes widened at Baekhyun before you glared at the other male. “What is this for?”

“Stop being so awkward around each other or no one’s gonna believe you’re a couple,” He said just as the bell rang for the second time. “I’ll get that. Stay where you are.” He gave you a warning look before walking away from the couch.

You turned your attention to Baekhyun who was already staring at you. “This is so not awkward,” You mumbled to yourself.

Baekhyun smiled softly. “Relax, everything will be fine.”

“Is it necessary to cuddle in front of your brother?” You asked, incredulous.

“It’s just for a show,” he said.

You tsked in annoyance “Why did I even agree to this?”

As he grinned, you heard a male’s voice calling out to him. Turning your head, you saw a man approaching you both. There’s an air of superiority in the way he walked. You swept your gaze over his physique and gulped. You’d never seen a creature like him, so big and buff. He looked like he could crush you like a bug in between his two palms.

“You need to relax, sweetheart,” Baekhyun whispered into your ears, his hand caressing your back.

Inhaling deeply, you slid off his lap and rose to your feet. “Hello,” you greeted, waving your hand at his brother.

Awkward...

The man sized you up before glancing at Baekhyun. “Who’s this?”

You felt a hand sliding around your back and rested on your hips before the words “My girlfriend,” were uttered.

“Since when?” Jaehyun asked, studying you with skeptious eyes.

“Since when do you care?” Baekhyun said.

“Of course I care, you’re my beloved brother,” he said it with a little to no sincerity at all. You were startled when the big guy leaned forward, pinning you with his stare. “How did you meet my brother?”

“W-we’re high school friends,” you answered, a tremble in your voice.

”Right,” He scoffed. “You’ve known him for so long and I’ve only met you today?”

The question caught you off-guard. You paled, your lips parting and unparting like a confused fish as you tried to come up with a believable answer.

“We’ve only started seeing each other recently,” Baekhyun chimed in to help.

“Recently when?” He looked at Baekhyun.

“What’s with the inquisitions?” Baekhyun asked, his tone biting.

“Chill brother,” Jaehyun said, raising both hands up in fake surrender. “I’m so happy for you,”

Oh, he is so not happy for him...

“You didn’t come all the way here to feed me that bullshit, so why don’t you tell me why you’re really here Jaehyun?”

“Ah,” Jaehyun said, plopping himself down on the couch and spreading his arms over the headrest. He glanced up at Baekhyun. “You rejected the proposal from Sodam Group. Why?”

“I’m not putting millions on a company that nearly goes bankrupt.” Baekhyun said.

Jaehyun’s jaw clenched. “I’m helping out a friend,”

“That’s not how you do business,”

“You’re fucking heartless,” he spat.

You watched from the side as the two engaged in a heated staring contest. The silence was so stiff, you didn’t dare to even move.

“Is there anything else you need?” Baekhyun said, his voice tight with annoyance.

“We’ll discuss this again at the office,” He stood up and threw you a disdainful look. “Do you have a job?”

He said it with such distaste, given different circumstances, you would’ve definitely flipped him off.

Your lips stretched up in a tight smile. “Yes. I run a bakery business,”

“What’s the name of your shop?

“A piece of cake,”

“Our sister works there too, you know?”

Baekhyun has a sister?!

“Y-yeah I know,” You tried to keep your expression as neutral as possible despite the shock. You had no idea his sister worked there, you didn’t even know he had a sister.

Jaehyun moved his gaze to Baekhyun, a grin stretching across his lips. “Funny because Baekhyun had never mentioned that his girlfriend owns the shop.”

“I didn’t see you talking about your personal life either,” Baekhyun said.

He sneered. “I find it very convenient of you to show up with a girl just a month before the board meeting.”

You stiffened. Oh God. Did he find out already? “I wasn’t ready,” you blurted out, earning the attention from the three males around you. You smiled, albeit nervously. “Baekhyun wanted to share the news long ago, but I told him I wasn’t ready.”

“Oh really?” he said, stepping forward to drop his head to look at you. “Why do you look so nervous, sweetie?”

“Jaehyun,” Baekhyun warned, stepping in between you and his brother. ”get the hell out of here.”

You glanced at Chanyeol who had his eyes shut tightly, probably in frustration. As soon as the door closed and Jaehyun was out of sight, Baekhyun let go of his arms around your waist. “That fucker,” he spat under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

You can feel the fury emanating off his body. It was unnerving, being in a room with two very very angry men.

Chanyeol, who had been silent up until that point finally groaned in frustration. “What do we do now? Because I can tell you that asshole is definitely not buying it.”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. It’s my parents we need to convince.” Baekhyun said.

“When are you meeting them?”

“This Sunday,”

“Alright, you have a few days to prepare,” Chanyeol said. “First of all, you two need to practice getting comfortable around each other, and–“ he turned to glare at you. “This isn’t gonna work if you keep acting like a fucking robot around him.”

“Chanyeol, watch it,” Baekhyun warned.

The taller man sighed, taking a moment to cool down before he spoke up again. “I’m sorry. It’s just...our jobs will be at risk if Jaehyun ever gets appointed.”

“What would happen?”

“Knowing Jaehyun, he’d probably demote us,” Chanyeol said.

You paled at the thought of their careers lying in the palm of your hands.

Definitely not a pressure.

“Don’t stress about it, sweetheart,” Baekhyun assured, smiling at you as he patted your back. You watched as he pushed his sleeve up to glance at his wrist watch, then he looked at you. “Do you drive here?”

You shook your head. “I can get a cab home.”

“I’ll send you home,”

The ride with Baekhyun was filled with nothing but silence. You stared out of the window the whole time, distracting yourself with the view of the city. A few men had taken you out for a drive before, but none of them made you nervous like Baekhyun did. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was your ex and you couldn’t get over the suprise of meeting him. Or the undeniable fact that he looked so sexy while driving and you were so uncontrollably turned on by it.

“My sister talks about you all the time,”

Too absorbed in your own thoughts, you were startled by the sound of Baekhyun’s voice. You took a breath before glancing at him. ”I didn’t know you have a sister,”

“She’s a cousin actually. My dad took her in when my uncle died.”

“What’s her name?”

“Dami,”

“Short hair, hazel eyes, a little shy?” you guessed.

He nodded. “That sounds like her,”

You couldn’t believe you had been working so close with his sister and you had no single clue. “She is one of my best bakers.” you said with a smile.

Baekhyun glanced at you again, his smile soft and proud. “She likes you a lot, you know? Talked about you all the time, but never once mentioned your name. She just refers to you as her beautiful boss.”

You snorted softly, not knowing how to respond to that. You were turning your head away when Baekhyun started talking again.

“She’s right,”

You looked back at him, knit forming in between your brows. “Right about what?”

“Her boss is very beautiful, indeed,” he said, softly staring at you.

Heat rises on your cheek and you quiet down. You didn’t know what to say. You were never good at accepting compliments.

Baekhyun chuckled at the look on your face. “Your reaction to compliments is still so adorable.”

Thankfully, the lights turned green and he was forced to look ahead. Another silence stretched, but it didn’t last long because he started speaking again. “How’s your business going?”

“It’s going pretty okay,” you said. “I’m looking to open a new branch in Myeongdong.”

“Your parents must be so proud of you,” he praised.

It was the opposite actually, but you weren’t ready to share about it. Instead, you changed the subject and said, “You did the right thing not investing in Sodam Group.”

“Why do you say so?”

“That company has been stealing my cake designs for years.”

“Can’t you sue them for copyright infringement?”

You shook your head. “It’s pointless. They’re an established company.”

Baekhyun gave a mild nod of understanding. For the next few seconds, he seemed to be in deep thoughts.

“Have you ever thought of expanding your business?” He finally asked.

All the damn time. “I’m working on it.” You said.

“Then I have a deal for you,”

“What deal?”

“An investment offer,”

You gaped in shock. Byun Holdings was one of the biggest holding companies in the country. They were well-known for their investment in global food companies. Having them as your first investor would increase your brand value by tenfold.

“Okay…what do I have to do?”

“Just do a good job of being my fake girlfriend. If you manage to win parent’s heart, it’ll increase my chance of winning this thing.”

“How long is this arrangement going to last?”

“Indefinitely,” he said, and you began to hesitate. He studied you. “I’ll compensate you for your time, don’t worry.”

“It’s not about the money,”

His brows arched. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

“No,”

“So?”

“Given our history,” you bit your lower lip, doubting. “Do you think it’s a good idea to spend so much time around each other?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “We’re both adults, and I’m sure we are capable of putting the personal aside.”

Honestly, it bothered you to see him acting as if nothing happened between you two. Did he forget that you were his ex-girlfriend? or was it not significant enough for him to care? All along, you’ve always wondered if he hurt as much as you did after the break up. You couldn’t ask, though. He would get the wrong idea, or worst, assume that you were still hung up on him.

“Think of it as a mutually beneficial relationship.” He added.

You were still doubtful, but you knew it would be stupid to deny this once in a lifetime opportunity. You had always dreamed of expanding A piece of Cake.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’m in,”

“We have a deal then,” he said.

As soon as that, his car drove into the basement of your apartment. “That way,” you pointed to the left side towards your block.

“Are you staying alone?” He asked when the car halted at the entrance.

“No, I’m sharing a unit with my friend.” then you added, “The girl who’s supposed to be your fake girlfriend? She’s my housemate.”

He smiled. “I’m glad it turned out to be you,”

The words made your heart skip, but you didn’t know how to respond to that. “Good night, Baekhyun.” You were turning away to leave when grabbed your wrist, stopping you. You glanced back at him.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” He asked.

“I’m done at around eight,” you said. “Do you need me?”

He hummed. “We should practice being a couple before meeting my parents,”

“Huh? What do you mean practice?”

He moved his hand from the steering wheel to your direction. Your breath hitched the moment he touched your skin. His fingers brushed over your hair, curling around the side of your face. “We should get used to being intimate with each other,” he said, his thumb carressing the high of your. “You can’t freeze up like this everytime I touch you, or no one's gonna believe that you’re my girlfriend.”

“T-touch me?”

He hummed and the corner of his lips tilted up, “I might even kiss you...”

“No way,” your response was immediate. “No way I’m gonna let you kiss me,”

Baekhyun grinned harder, “Why? You afraid I’m gonna find out that you’re a bad kisser?”

“You know I’m not!” You blushed even deeper now.

“I know, sweetheart,” He murmured, staring intently at your lips. Your breathing stopped when he swiped his thumb over your lower lip. Then he lifted his gaze and stared into your eyes. “I used to kiss you a lot,”

You swallowed hard, not knowing what to say.

Baekhyun sensed your nervousness and moved his hand off your face, but, his eyes were still clinging onto you. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

a/n: hiiiiii :D i hope it’s not too terrible!!! I’d love to hear your feedback if you enjoyed what you read :,) thank youuu...

#baekhyun #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fics #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun x you #exo fanfiction #baekhyun romance #smut #baekhyun angst #fluff #baekhyun fanfics #exo smut #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun series #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun drabble

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hughiecampbelle · 4 years ago

Text

You Remind Me Of My Own Unhappiness (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,587

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @death-of-a-mermaid @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @babylooneytoonz @peakyxtommy @locke-writes @lucillethings @miahelen @valkyrie-2312

A/N: A lil writing before I start requested prompt fics, which are still open btw!!!! Ngl, I've had this is my head for a while, and it turned out better than I expected!!!!! I've been reading for my horror fiction class, so I guess this is kind of based off/inspired by all of it (lots of Poe, Jackson, King, etc.) so be warned my loveliest of loves!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: You knew too much for his comfort 💕

Gif Credit: @peakycillianblinders :)

FIC MASTERLIST PARTS 1 -> 3 / WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The earth is soft in your palms, loose as your dig away, your fingers aching amidst the clumps and rocks. The maggots fall one by one off the bone, disturbed in their everlasting feast. Fresh in his mind, an open wound he leaves exposed, to bleed, to breath, to eat him alive. Shallow, as expected. Careless in execution. Impatient, your husband always in such a hurry. Even with this. Handful by handful, muddied, the morning dew undisturbed even as nightfall came. Smelling faintly of a sweet memory, that of the first time you kissed. The raindrops coming between you. Pulling away with a laugh, in awe, at how his beauty compared to that of a rainy day. Your shoes sinking deep, your hands clutching his arms as he pulls you from the muck, letting the slightest hint of a smile slip. The noise of that day, the plops from the pond, the quiet, yet powerful, taps of the leaves, the shudder of branches and bones alike cold from the breeze, the soft of his voice, low, teasing of all the things he'd do when you were alone. Lost, but not forgotten.

It doesn't exist here. The silence is heavy, deadly, respectful. Something he is not. Early, before the sun has her chance to even set and paint the sky. The in between, the dark not as inky as you remember, the stars fading in, resting for their show ahead. A creature of habit, your husban. Every night, at the same time, no matter what. Day by day, you grow less and less, and this becomes an ever harder task than before. Time staking, your movements slow, weary, all knowing of the journey ahead. There is an ache of gratefulness, a nod to the thoughtfulness you assumed he was lacking in, though it could have come out of selfishness none of the less. Not far from home. A quiet walk, that of seclusion. A quick pace, a tight jaw, he could have made the journey in no time. Your body was not as forgiving

No wooden box. Not eternal flame. A sheet, dirty now, and spotted in red, tangled around you. Wet and cold. The same sheets you used to wash, scrubbing clean, that thick soap smell no longer. One more thing you'd miss, the newness of this dying as each minute ticked by. That excitement, that joy, that want for anything more fades as all things do, decomposing with the rest of you. It's become a duty, an obligation, to him, to your marriage, as all things had been, or would become.

There is no where else to go. Nothing more to do. A broken routine was a broken man. Fight it, resist, and you might find him in the tub again, his spine kissing the porcelain, neck bent, waiting to sink until he finds the bottom. You might find him in the bed you shared, eyes open, never crossing that split down the middle, always faced away from your side. You might find him out, at the bar, a job, surrounded, your presence striking him, bloodying his lip. He stares, his balance off, truly shaken to his core. You are a guest he does not share, a secret he locks in his closet, a beating heartbeat under his floorboards.

So, you give up fighting, as you had the last time, and accept this battle lost. Wave your white flag, shaking yourself free of the sheets, standing uneasily on your own rotting skeketon. Step by step, your toes tearing, soles wasting, the entirety of you threatening to cave, making your way home. Tendons frayed, splitting apart. Your flesh bloated, runny, what's left is chewed away. You can feel it all. Your teeth chatter by the openings that were your cheeks, the cold passing right through you, whistling through your open ribcage. Dreadfully exposed. All of it is heavy. With nothing to hold, to cling to, you're stitched together by a single thread. You pull forward with all your strength, choking back a scream. It wasn't pain, not anymore, your nervous system long gone, but the memory of it bursts through your open chest the way it had in that moment, before everything seeped away in a puddle beneath you, and the warmth of your body grew into icy cold.

Your hair is all but gone, just like your middle. Innards spilling into your clothes, filling out, everything once protected inside catching their first taste of freedom. You give up making yourself anymore presentable. You could pass for sickly, at your best, even tired in the beginning. The bags under your eyes gone now, eaten away, the green tint to your demeanor disappeared, leaving nothing but a rotting smell. There was no hiding this, hiding the time that's passed. The flies buzz, bugs crawl freely. It's much their home as yours. You click, a tune you suspect is music to his ears, but it only leaves an ache in your hollow chest. There isn't much left of you, there isn't much more time.

How long does he want to do this?

How much longer can you?

The light streams through the windows, a welcomed warmth. You missed it. You missed that comfort, that knowledge of a place being yours. All you had left to your name was a hole in the ground, weak and muddy. Even then, few knew it was yours at all. The back door, the one only homeowners used. You could see it, your skeletal hand resting weakly on the heavy door. A night like every other. Pressing your ear to the door, listening, as if the pull from his want, his need to see you, hadn't tugged you the whole way here. This act, so small, so innocent, had lead to consequences he could never take back.

Listening, waiting, your own breath no longer a distraction, your own heartbeat no longer drumming through your veins, interrupting every word. It was the only way. Banished, shunned, turned away. Though you wrote his name, you did not share blood, a defining trait he could not look past. The business, family business, turned you away. Complicit, docile, that's what he expected, what you tried to be. Yes, Love. No, Love. For your own protection, Love, as if it hadn't been the barrel of his gun pointed at your chest.

Not everything, but enough, your first mistake was making it known. Invading his world one word at a time, overstepping boundaries with a bit of advice. That was all it took. You realized too late, none of it you could ever take back. Pleading, wide eyed, you promised not to say anything more, to keep your distance between the job, but the damage was done. He changed before your eyes. Tight, rigid, masking himself, crawling back into his shell. He trusted you, he did, but not after that. A man like him could trust no one, not even the person he married. If you knew, who else did? Even the smallest detail could be dangerous. It could coolapse his entire empire. He didn't want to, insisting there was another way, but they agreed as long as you lived, knowing what you did, none of them were safe. A family by name, hardly by choice.

So, by their insistence, he pulled the trigger.

He dragged the body.

He dug a shallow grave.

He made an elaborate story, one of belief, of half-truths, and throw away lines about your solemn departure seeking a new life, abandoning your husband for something else, each of them chipping pieces and plots to the story, anything to help them sleep a little easier.

And here you sat, the hard wood of your dining room chairs puncturing your back. There are two plates, and two sets of silverware. A candle is lit between you. Not always, but tonight it seems he's been missing you more. A napkin sits on your lap, waiting, covering the mangled mass that used to be your lower half. He sits across from you, the space between you large enough to seat the entire family. Only two, though. Everyone else has left, gone, suspecting what it is Mr. Shelby is up to, wondering why they are let go more frequently, always at the exact same time. He musters up a smile, that of pain, with horror in his eyes, finally realizing just how cruel this has all been for you. You smile back, pieces of you ripping open, your lips uncurling, splitting in two, revealing a mouth empty of teeth.

Thomas speaks lightly of the day passed. The endless dread of paperwork, the faint gnaw that someone has been following him lately, a special nod to the advice he took from you that had been successful. No thank you, though. No admittance of grief or wrongdoing, no apology, not even a word of what you were really doing here. He couldn't let go, move on, he couldn't shake the guilt that woke you each night and put you to bed hours later. You were dead, killed by his own hand, had been for quite some time. Yet, every night after the murder you joined him. For dinner, for drinks, to sleep beside him in the bed you shared since your wedding day. Step by step, decaying in your time of rest, the same thought in your mind over and over, never letting it escape your lips, you knew better from the last time: when would he let you rest in peace?

#what a bastard im so in love with him #writing #thomas shelby #thomas shelby drabble #thomas shelby oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #thomas shelby x reader #thomas x reader #x reader #drabble #oneshot #thomas shelby fic #peaky blinders fic #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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yououui · 4 years ago

Note

you know what I can’t stop thinking? about the scars that Kurogane probably have on his back for protecting fai in Tokyo just hushushauh and thinking about fai’s reaction to it. maybe they are being intimate one day and fai notices them and goes completely still cause he can’t stop thinking about how Kuro was hurt protecting him and aaaa if you would like to make write a fic about it, I wouldn’t mind <3

Air blows through the open balcony doors, cool and sweet, bringing with it happy chatter and scents of pies, fruits, and fresh bread. A happy country now safe from harm meanders below, while inside the palace of Clow, wounds are tended to and hearts healed.

Fai hadn’t meant to follow Kurogane back to his room. They’d simply begun walking together after dinner, as natural as though they were attached at the hip, and both walked through Kurogane’s bedroom door without a thought. It wasn’t until Fai saw Kurogane’s bed that he remembered where he was and what he was doing and tried to politely slip out of the room.

“You can stay,” Kurogane had told him.

So he did.

Now, he sits on the edge of Kurogane’s bed, one leg crossed over the other, elbow resting on his knee and chin perched in his palm, watching the sun set outside the balcony doors. He sighs, content though the small breath makes his sore body ache. It was finally all over. He didn’t even know what to do with himself and this new life he’d been given. He lets himself not think about the future too much; he deserves the relaxation of shutting his brain off, he thinks.

Kurogane groans from where he is standing nearby. Fai peers over at him; the ninja is standing shirtless (Fai tries not to stare) with his right hand stretched over his left shoulder. There’s an empty space where his left arm should be, the prosthetic having gotten destroyed in their final battle, and the medics of Clow had provided some treatments for the pain in his tight muscles. Seemingly though, Kurogane is having issues applying said treatment.

He looks at Fai and lifts a brow. “Mind helping me out? I can’t reach the spot that’s really bugging me.”

Fai blinks, mildly surprised by the request, but nods and uncurls himself to stand and pad quietly across the room. Kurogane holds out his hand, allowing Fai to scoop off the unused ointment, then turns around. Fai’s body goes still.

Kurogane says something while pointing over his shoulder to where Fai should apply the ointment, but his words go unheard by Fai, his voice muffled like Fai is sinking under heavy water. Fai can’t breathe, either, his lungs full of that icy water, his throat choking on it until he’s drowning.

Under the warm, red-tinged light of the setting sun, Kurogane’s bared back shows off its multitude of scars. Fai had seen a few of them before throughout their travels, small ones scattered over his skin from previous battles, but now there are new ones. Large, horrible, painful scars that spread from hip to shoulder, that tell ghost stories of an awful memory. A grisly reminder of Fai’s own magic turned against him, of his own power shredding Kurogane’s back open as the man acted as a shield for Fai.

“Oi, mage. You okay?” Kurogane asks, his voice slowly breaking through the water.

Fai’s chest heaves with a new breath and he lifts his eyes; Kurogane is looking at him over his shoulder curiously. “I-I’m fine,” Fai breathes as he returns to his senses and carefully spreads the ointment over Kurogane’s left shoulder.

Don’t focus on the scars, he tells himself, just focus on helping Kurogane’s pain. Pain caused from his missing left arm, another scar, another sacrifice made in the name of Fai’s life.

Fai’s hand stops its careful movements, his fingers lingering over Kurogane’s skin. “Mage?” Kurogane asks again, quieter this time.

“I...” Fai’s fingers skirt lower, ghosting over the scars on Kurogane’s back like he’s afraid of hurting him. “I’m sorry.”

Fai watches that broad back expand with a deep breath, and then Kurogane turns around to look at him properly. “For what?” He asks quietly.

Fai keeps his eyes low. “Everything. I’m sorry for everything. Everything I did, and...” He gestures to Kurogane’s body, his eyes getting stuck on his left shoulder, the missing piece of him. “All the times you let yourself get hurt. For me.”

Kurogane doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he turns back around and points over his shoulder. “Right here,” He instructs.

Fai’s brows furrow in confusion but, like he doesn’t know what else to do or say, he does as Kurogane says and begins rubbing the ointment in. They stand in silence for a few long moments as Fai works, his eyes drifting over the scars marring Kurogane’s back as his fingers press gently yet firmly into Kurogane’s muscle.

“I’m not accepting your apology ‘cause you don’t have anything to apologize for, you idiot,” Kurogane says suddenly. “None of this was your fault.”

“But my magic—” Fai tries to say.

“That wasn’t you,” Kurogane tells him.

Fai frowns. “Your arm—”

“Wasn’t you, either.”

Fai’s lips twist as something builds in his throat. “...That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Kurogane asks. “Little lower.”

Fai lowers his fingers and presses into that spot. Kurogane sighs a bit under the touch. “The point,” Fai continues. “Is that you got hurt for me.”

“That was my choice,” Kurogane says. “So why should you apologize for what I did?”

“It was because of me!” Fai says, his voice rising in frustration. “Because I was there, because you felt like you needed to—because you—”

“Because I what, mage?” Kurogane asks, but Fai’s voice dies in his throat, leaving him unable to answer. Instead, he focuses his attention back on massaging Kurogane’s shoulder, leaving Kurogane to answer for him. “I don’t do things I regret. Everything I did, I did because I wanted to. I didn’t want you to die, so I did what I had to. Nothin’ there for you to apologize for, got it?”

Fai sighs and rests his hand flat over Kurogane’s back, over the scars haunting him. Of course he knew that. Of course he knew, from that moment in Tokyo when Kurogane all but begged for Fai’s life, that Kurogane cared enough about him to sacrifice himself to keep Fai alive.

That he loved Fai.

“But can’t you just... let me anyway?” Fai pleads quietly.

“You can do whatever you want,” Kurogane responds. “Doesn’t mean I’ll accept your apology.”

Fai chuckles quietly at that and shakes his head. “Typical Kuro-sama.”

Kurogane turns around, hiding his back from Fai, and knocks his knuckles softly against the side of Fai’s head. “Thought your head wasn’t so thick these days. Guess I was wrong.”

Fai lifts his head to say a teasing retort, but his words get stuck in his throat when he sees the quiet smile on Kurogane’s lips, his eyes soft as they look at Fai. With his one hand he cups Fai’s cheek, smooths his thumb against the delicate skin under Fai’s left eye.

“I forgot to tell you before, but it’s good to see you with both eyes again,” Kurogane says quietly.

Fai smiles shakily. “I’ll make sure we get to Piffle as soon as we can so we can replace your arm,” He says. “And it’ll fit better this time. I promise.”

Kurogane nods at him, still smiling, and the two take a moment to simply exist there, in that moment and that space of just the two of them. Kurogane’s hand is warm against Fai’s cheek and Fai tries not to miss the touch too much when Kurogane eventually pulls away so he can turn to the nearby table to put away the jar of ointment.

“Um, do you need more?” Fai asks quickly. “I can keep going if it still hurts.”

Kurogane rolls his shoulder and shrugs. “Still a little sore I guess.”

“Maybe it’d be better if you lied down on the bed...?” Fai trails off as his words catch up to him, his face heating up as he realizes the... implication.

Kurogane, though, snorts in laughter and shakes his head. “Didn’t think you’d be so quick to get into my pants, mage.”

“I wasn’t trying!” Fai cries, but, never one to back down to such a challenge, slyly adds, “Unless, of course, you’re offering...”

Fai gets a face full of Kurogane’s shirt flung at him and laughter blooms between them in the quiet room. The scars will never fade for good, Fai realizes, but at least the pain will. And if he can help Kurogane through it, then maybe that will be enough.

#kurofai

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bitchin-beskar · 5 years ago

Note

I have to do it, 29. "Sharing a bed" for the fanfic trope prompts. With whichever of Pedro's characters you would like and whichever other tropes you'd like

Unavoidable Consequences

Rating: M (sexual situations, cursing)

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This is a Javi x Reader fic, with what is probably my favorite trope of all time. I don’t care how cheesy/cliche it is, the sharing a bed trope always leads to god-tier fics, and I’m so excited to finally get to write Javi!!! (Sorry this took so long @din-damn-djarin, but it’s finally here!!!!!) I may end up doing a part two, eventually, if people are interested in that! Let me know!

Tagging: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin, @mxndoscyarika, and @perropascal

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my future works, or if you’d like to be put on a permanent tag list!

There is now a Part 2!!! Read it here!!!

Well shit.

You stared at the lone bed in the middle of the hotel room, feeling a pit form in your stomach. You knew before going on the mission that you’d have to share a bed with your partner–after all, the two of you were going undercover as a married couple–for the duration of the assignment, but actually seeing the bed the two of you were supposed to be sharing really put things into perspective.

Javi made a soft, questioning noise behind you, and you moved out of his way, your eyes never leaving the bed. You’d tried your best to mentally prepare for this mission, but preparing and then actually doing were two completely separate things.

You’d been partnered with Javier Peña ever since Murphy had gone home to the states and the bosses had brought Javi back from the states to help deal with the Cali Cartel. The two of you had butted heads at first, but you quickly realized that the reason Javi had an issue with you wasn’t because he didn’t think you were capable, but because he’d seen what sicarios did to women, and he didn’t want that to happen to you.

It had taken the two of you time to trust each other as partners, but just when you were sure the two of you were finally getting a good routine down, your bosses had to throw this assignment at you.

It wasn’t overly complex, but it was dangerous. You and Javi were posing as a couple, tourists coming to visit beautiful Colombia, all while trying to get close enough to the cartel to identify some of the newer players in the cartel. The more people the two of you identified, the easier it would be to take them down later.

Tonight had been the first night the two of you had actually had to act like a couple. It had been awkward to say the least. You were attracted to Javi, sure, but you had a thing against sleeping with co-workers. You hadn’t noticed if Javi felt similar feelings for you before, but tonight, it had become painfully clear how bad the two of you were at acting.

You’d jumped every time he touched you, and he could barely look you in the eye. Somehow, the two of you had managed to fool people that you were a couple, but you knew it wouldn’t last if the two of you couldn’t get your acts together.

“Let me shower, compañera, and then I’ll take the floor.”

Despite your inner pep-talk, you still jumped at Javi’s voice. Once you absorbed his words however, you turned and frowned. “Javier, if you think I’m going to let you sleep on the floor when there is a perfectly good bed right there then you don’t know me very well.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you raised your hand, cutting him off. “No, Peña, you’re not sleeping on the floor. We’re both adults, plus it’ll be a bitch for your back to sleep on the carpet all week.”

Javi looked like he was going to protest, but decided not to, instead grabbing a change of clothes from his suitcase and striding into the bathroom. It was only once the door shut that you slumped on the bed, burying your face in your hands. What the hell had you just signed up for?

Having showered earlier in the day, you just changed into your sleep clothes. They were actually some of your more modest pajamas, some leggings and an old, baggy, t-shirt, but it was still a lot more casual than anything Javi had ever seen you in before.

When Javi stepped out of the bathroom, you tried really hard not to ogle. You’d never seen your partner in anything other than a suit, so to see him in a pair of boxers and a ratty t-shirt was striking, to say the least.

You were pretty sure you managed to hide your embarrassment at seeing him, but you still rushed into the bathroom to brush your teeth, suddenly anxious about being in the same room as him for any length of time.

You stalled as much as you could, but there wasn’t much for you to do, so you finally exited your safe space, stepping back into the darkened bedroom. Javi had turned a lamp on and was reading the case file, but other than that, it was dark. Setting your stuff down, you awkwardly shuffled into the bed, on the left side, closest to the wall. It didn’t escape your notice that your partner had placed himself very deliberately between where you’d be sleeping and the door–the only entrance into the room.

Laying down with your back to Javi, you pulled the covers up, almost cringing at the awkward silence that settled like a thick fog over the room. You listened as Javi flipped through a few more pages before sighing deeply, flipping the folder shut and dropping it on the nightstand. The room went dark, and you could feel Javi shuffling behind you trying to get comfortable.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but one thing was bugging you. “Javi?” You whispered. “You still awake?”

There was a pause.

“Yeah, I’m awake.”

“Do you have your gun with you?”

There was another, longer pause.

“Yeah. Does that bother you?”

“No. It makes me feel better, actually.”

There’s a quiet snort.

“Get some sleep, compañera.”

***

Something woke you up.

It was pitch black in the room, so you knew it was still night, but you couldn’t figure out what had woken you up. You were usually a pretty heavy sleeper, so for something to have woken you up, it had to be more than just a little noise outside.

You lay there, silently, still groggy, trying to figure out what was wrong. Just as you were about to give up and try to go back to sleep, you were startled as what you thought was just the blanket around youe waist tightened, and you were pulled across the bed until your back hit a hard chest behind you.

Your eyes flew back open, and you held your breath. Suddenly, you were wide awake. You quickly figured out that it wasn’t the blanket around your waist, but instead Javi’s arm, slung across your body, his warm palm resting on your stomach–thankfully, over your shirt.

He was pressed against your back, clearly still asleep based on his breathing. His face was buried in your neck, his lips pressed against your bare skin. You could feel his breath against your skin, and goosebumps erupted down your arms.

Still holding as still as possible, your mind raced, trying to figure out what exactly you should do. You didn’t want Javi to think you were taking advantage of him or anything while he was sleeping, but you also didn’t want to wake him up by squirming around.

You had to admit, it was kind of nice being held by Javi. Peaceful, comforting even. You thought the two of you might have even entered into a relationship, if you hadn’t been partners and co-workers. But you’d been determined to keep your interactions professional. Your current position certainly wasn’t helping matters.

Resigned, you closed your eyes. If you couldn’t get out of Javi’s grip, then you’d have to just try and sleep. You needed to be well rested for tomorrow.

***

“Psst.”

“Psssst. Compañera, wake up.”

“Wake. Up.”

Your eyes flew open, frantically searching the pitch black for what woke you.

“It’s okay, it’s just me.”

You finally saw the silhouette of Javi leaning above you. You couldn’t make out all of the details of his face, but you could tell it was him. You were on your back, and Javi was next to you, propped up on one arm, his body looming over yours.

Opening your mouth, you went to ask him what was wrong, but suddenly, Javi’s warm hand was over your mouth, stopping you from speaking.

“Shhh. Just listen to me.”

Javi waited for you to nod before he removed his hand. You unconsciously licked your lips, your mouth suddenly very dry.

“I got a message from our contact inside the cartel. They said there are some sicarios staying in the rooms near ours.”

Your eyes widened. That really, really wasn’t good.

“According to our contact, there’s been some chatter between the men. They were, um...” Javi paused, and your brows furrowed. He sounded almost nervous, which certainly wasn’t a good sign. “They were making comments about how strange it was they hadn’t... heard anything from our room.”

You shook your head. “I don’t get it. What were they expecting to hear, Javi?” It was dark, so it was kind of hard to see, but your eyes had adjusted enough that you could almost see a blush spread across his cheeks.

“They were expecting to hear us having sex, compañera.”

Your mouth dropped open. Shit. You certainly weren’t expecting this. You’d never expected that you’d have to pretend to be a relationship at night as well as during the day, and you had no idea what to do.

“I told them that we’re done. We’re leaving tomorrow. I can’t ask you to–”

It was your turn place your hand over Javi’s mouth. “Javier. Listen to me. This assignment is too important. We can’t just leave. Is there any way we can, I don’t know, fake it?” Already Javi is shaking his head, dislodging your hand.

“No, no way. These guys are too good, they’d know if we were faking it. Our only options are to leave, or–”

He cuts off, but you know what he was going to say. Your only options were to leave, blowing the operation completely, or to have sex, just to maintain your cover.

Well, there was really only one thing you could do.

You use the hand that had covered Javi’s mouth less than a minute ago to tangle in his hair, pulling Javi’s lips to yours.

He doesn’t react right away, and you feel a bit of pride at being able to catch him off guard. But when he does react, he takes control immediately.

He presses his lips harshly against yours, his fingers wrapping around your wrists, yanking your arms up and pinning them above your head. Holding your arms with one hand, his other hand cradles your face, tilting your head so that he can deepen the kiss.

You let out a quiet whimper, trying to keep up with Javi’s near-frantic pace. He manages to tear away for a brief moment, whispering “Are you sure?” against your lips. You’re barely able to nod before he kisses you again.

His hand trails down the front of your shirt, creeping under the fabric and brushing over your bare skin. You arch your back, encouraging his wandering touches.

He keeps distracting you with kisses, but when his warm palm cups your breast, you pull away from his lips, a soft gasp escaping your lips. You bite your lip, trying to stifle the noise, but Javi pinches your nipple, leaning down to mutter in your ear.

“Don’t. I want to hear you.”

Another gasp escapes you, slightly louder than before as Javi toys with you.

He continues to murmur in your ear, his voice dripping with arousal, his tone dark as he explains what he wants to do to you.

“God you have no idea what you do to me, do you? Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long, compañera. I’m not letting you leave this bed till your legs are shaking and the only word you can say is my fucking name.”

You’re already gasping for breath and he’s barely touched you. “Fuck, fuck, Javi, please–”

You can’t even finish your plea before his lips are on your neck, sucking at your pulse point. You’re writhing in his grasp, but his hand around your wrists is unmoving, and his lips are relentless.

“‘M gonna mark you up, make sure everyone knows you’re mine, baby.”

Your hips are twitching, searching for something, any kind of friction to bring you relief. You cry out when Javi drops his own hips, pining you down to the bed, but also providing pressure where you need it most.

“Javi, Javi please, I can’t–!” You gasp, hooking one leg over the back of Javi’s thigh, keeping him pressed against you. “I need more, Javi I need–”

His hand leaves your breast and instead works it’s way down the front of your leggings, fingers immediately giving you the friction you so desperately desire. As you moan his name, loudly, you find yourself grateful that your bosses didn’t see fit to give the two of you different first names for your undercover work.

“More, pleasepleaseplease–”

You’re almost sobbing, but Javi’s fingers are relentless, bringing you closer to your climax. He presses his lips against yours right as you peak, swallowing your cries as you reach your release.

Slumping down on the bed, your entire body tingling, you blink up at Javi, his dark eyes roving hungrily over your face as he watches you come down from the high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, compañera.”

You feel your cheeks heat at the praise, and his heavy gaze. You watch as he brings his fingers to his lips, sucking your release from his skin. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen, and you know right then and there that you’re completely and utterly fucked.

“Javi, that was–” you trail off, words escaping you when you try to describe the feelings you just experienced. You’re surprised, however, when he chuckles.

“Baby,” he chuckles, ducking his head and kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

#fics #writing #masterlist #smut #javier peña #javi x reader #no use of y/n #request #ask #sharing a bed trope #really #it's just an excuse for smut #I don't make the rules

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weeniewrites · 5 years ago

Text

Lost Connections

Zombie Kenma x g/n reader part 2

part 1

1.8k words

tw: animal death (kenma eats a rat), descriptions of a panic attack, gore, general unsanitary things

____________________________________

There’s so many things to ask him. How’d you get here? How’d you get hurt? Where’s Kuroo? But

1. How would you even make that a yes or no question? and

2. Isn’t that rude?

For now you’ll swallow the temptation, the ever present temptation, and pretend that those thoughts don’t exist. Continuing your antisocial rat shut in of a life with the addition of a much rattier appearing friend. Speaking of,

“Kenma, do you wanna clean up? There’s a river near here and it might feel better?”

His head lifts his from his staring contest with the floor, looking blankly at you.

“Right, too much at once. It’s hard to limit what you say when you’re not used to talking you know?” A head tilt

“Yeah I suppose I’m preaching to the choir. You can’t really talk anymore can you Kenma?” Unresponsive

....

Geez. Sometimes he really does feel like a corpse, he is one but, there’s those moments he’s more expressive. It feels like he’s actually understanding you. Right now you might as well be talking to the wall.

“You still there Kenma? Didn’t decide to actually kick the bucket this time?”

A nod

“Okay that settles it. We’re going out.” There’s no point in keeping him here, tied up like some animal if he gets nothing out of it, not because you haven’t cleaned up this space in a while and his general stench isn’t helping, but because he’s just, not moving as much and the silence without him shifting around is unsettling. How you’ve gotten so used to having another occupant in your space so quickly is beyond you.

But how to go about this. There haven’t been any mishaps besides that initial misunderstanding with the shushing, and his discomfort with wearing a gag (assuming that's what that was?), how could you travel with him and stay safe despite his slower pace... hmm...

“Actually, wait here. I’ll be out for a bit, gotta check something.”

You grab your pack of essentials, paranoidly checking that the handle of your bat hasn’t started cracking or something since the last time you used it and wave him goodbye, leaving him alone for the first time.

GOD you reek! It made sense why you couldn’t clean off last time. Somehow you haven’t turned into a human zit despite the crusted blood from the last zombies you downed. You certainly don’t smell like you’re ready to entertain company, not that Kenma cares.

You’d fallen out of the habit of patrolling, realizing how fruitless it was when as a single person you could just hide, not needing constant supply runs like your previous group. But if you were going to take Kenma out you needed to make sure no undead would get in the way. Could another zombie make him more aggressive, like those ones in the hoards? Maybe they instinctively group up for strength. How does a virus give a corpse instincts anyway? You shake your head to get those unanswerable questions out of your head for the second time today.

The towns dead silent, absolutely nothing creeping out on your usual path. The new found knowledge that they can indeed smell has planted a new worry that you’ll somehow draw them out just by existing. Your footsteps are quiet from ages of practice and the chatter of birds easily drowns you out. Your only company is the usual animals and the corpses you’ve already dispatched, decaying at an increased rate now that they’re finally gone for good. You... really need new pants. Kenma needs new clothes too with how torn up and gore covered his own are. You shiver. It’s hard to avoid thinking of how painful whatever happened to him must’ve been, whether in life or death.

So new clothes. The houses along the street are fairly intact, only general wear from the elements affecting them. None of them look boarded up but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t be inside. You can handle a couple undead, a living person would be a whole ‘nother ordeal. But it’s not exactly hard to pants a zombie. A squishy squishy ooze of a previous person covered in a buzzing layer of insects. You’ve got this. Risking an encounter alive or dead by breaking into a house isn’t worth it. So just, pants. the zombie.

Considering you crushed the head, its bottoms are fairly clean. Please don't be commando, pleaaaase don’t be commando please- you squeeze your eyes shut, grab the ends of the pants legs and pull, removing it in one surprisingly smooth go. YES, it's wearing underwear! Nothing to see besides, oh god it shit itself, god thats, ew ew ew ew ew WHY DID YOU THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA! Into the plastic bag it goes. Hightailing it to the river is sounding more appealing by the second

Stepping carefully around the edge to find a shallow slow moving area is easy enough, though the rocks crunching underfoot make you cringe. Kneeling at the side, you rinse your hands off before you even dare touch your bag to grab the soap. Geez it's a relief to start to feel clean. Have you been neglecting that? First the space you sleep, now your body, avoiding going out out of fear of the few undead you ever see. File that away for later, focus on the now. Around the nail beds, under the nails, stripping off a shirt, get the pits, dunk your hair in, carefully scrubbing where the crusted blood’s basically sealed to your skin. Pants, underwear, socks, walk in fully and try to focus. Can’t get lost in your thoughts with an overwhelming full body chill forcing you to stay in the here and now, fully aware of your body and where you are. A slower moving part of a river, in a nice forested area, in the middle of the day. Surrounded by birds' songs and squirrels running around you. Bugs skip along the water's surface and twigs and leaves rush past you in the faster paced sections.

After a few minutes spent standing there, steadily getting colder, you move on to washing everything you wore there as well as what you took from the zombie. The pants look like they’ll fit Kenma? The waist is a drawstring one at least. It's calm repetitive work. There’s satisfaction in allowing yourself to be outside, clean and present.

________________________________

Your clothes are still wet as you make your way back but they’ll probably dry before you get home... probably. It’s been too long since you’ve seen Kenma and you’re getting antsy, both from nerves and curiosity if he’ll even be willing to change into new pants. At least you’d have a spare now.

Creaking the door open, you’re about to announce your presence but pause at the sound of rapid shuffling and creaking metal. It’s so dark compared to outside that even with squinting it's hard to fully make out what's going on inside but his limbs are scrabbling, flailing in their attempts to pull him across the floor. The rope around his neck and chest is more taught than you ever hoped to see it. The pipe he’s tied to creaks under a surprising amount of strain. Throwing caution to the wind you rush in, able to more clearly make out the growling and huffing he makes in his efforts to, scratch that, success in catching a rat that was scurrying past him. His hand latches into the poor thing, nails biting into the flesh. Before you can even react it’s between his teeth, tearing in as it squeals, flails, attempts to scratch back as its last twitches of life leave. He’s ravenous, the one pupil blown out as gore coats his face from his small feast. And then, once every ounce of gamey meat is gone, he stills, not reacting to the blood dripping off his face and fingers or to you.

Slow breathing. Slow steady breathing. You need to stay calm. Need to either run out of here or close the door before the smell of blood attracts something else. Slow breathing, steady breathing so he won’t hear. Stay. Absolutely. Calm. One step back. Two steps back. Three-

Kenma’s returned to staring at the floor, fingers tracing patterns in the places he’d scratched before.

Four? Your heart is pounding but this behavior, it's predictable, a little different, much different with the scent of blood in the air but its, he attacked a rat. He didn’t attack you but he could but he didn’t but he hasn't, not even while you’re asleep he hasn’t. He hasn’t tried to hurt you once just BREATH.

You don’t notice him staring at you as you slide to the floor and shudder and cry.

______________________________________

The sun has started setting by the time your panic attack reaches its end, the floor wet under your ass from your clothing. Shivering from the aftershocks of adrenaline as well as the cold you stumble up to slide the door closed. The air is crisp and almost fresh inside now. Too tired to berate yourself, you cross the room to your blanket pile across from Kenma, grab two, and pull it without the motivation to pick it up, instead letting it drag behind you.

“Kenma” you croak “I’m about to do something really stupid, so don’t, don’t break my trust okay. You don’t want to hurt me?” He nods, no hesitation. “Then hold still.”

The blankets are dropped a few feet away from him and you kneel at his side for the first time since tending to his wrist. Palms open, approaching slowly, your arms enter his reach to undo the first knot. The rope slides away from him easily and you shimmy if off just enough to dump it on the floor beside him.

“I don’t know if you get cold I don’t, I don’t care just, here.” You present a blanket to him and want to cry all over again when he doesn’t react. Why would he. What part of him even remembers what it's for. Idiot. He twitches as you start to wrap it around him but otherwise obeys your request. Still. He’s staying still.

His head tilts as you wrap yourself in a blanket too, plopping ungracefully to the floor next to his good side. Energy finally running out with no dinner to speak of, you lean on his shoulder and enter a restless sleep.

______________________

It’s always hard to get motivated to get up. Nothing to look forward to. No change, just the dull monotony of survival, fear, and paranoia. Why get up. Why wake up at all? There’s a crick in your neck and you grumble at the pain as you shimmy a little closer to whatever your head is resting on, readjusting to be more comfortable. In your barely conscious state you can’t catch the way Kenma’s eyes move from the door to you, before continuing his stare down with the one entrance inside.

You fall back asleep easily, morning can wait until later.

_______________

Taglist: @beanst0ck (hi!!!)

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kenma x reader #kenma #kenma kozume #tw zombies

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cheshiremadd · 6 years ago

Text

until she falls in love with me

AO3 Inspiration

Interlude: The Ladyblog

Here it is, folks! Last month’s non-akuma video submissions: The Convention Compilation!You guys sent in so much footage; so I’ll be posting a second compilation later in the week. Thanks for your support! - Alya Cesaire, Ladyblogger Extraordinaire

A group of people are down the street from the camera. They are all wearing black and all have blonde hair. The view turns 180 degrees to show Chat Noir. A cheshire grin and a wink, and he turns it back to the group. The camera bobs as he walks towards them. As he gets closer, it becomes clear that every person in the group is in a Chat Noir costume. They range from I-found-this-in-my-closet to well tailored, used-every-reference-image-the-Ladyblog-had-to-offer imitation. One cosplayer turns his head and catches sight of Chat. He waves and calls out, “Hey man, looks like your going to the con, too! Wanna join us?”

Everyone else turns and most wave or call out greetings. “Sure! Mind if I record?”

They all look at each other, shaking heads. The first one responds as he holds out a clawed hand. “I think we’re all okay with that. I’m Bertrand.”

“I’m Chat Noir!” The group laughs.

“Yeah, so are we!” One of the girls says, still laughing. She’s wearing a simple jeans and t-shirt, both black, and a cat ear headband in blond hair that looks more real than wig. “Woah, wicked costume! Are those the ears off Amazon? It’s great to know they actually work.”

The group starts walking again, and Chat follows with his camera. They chatter about which panels to see (Marvel vs Miraculous: What Comics Can Tell Us About Real Life Superheroes and Protagonist? Villain? Goofy Side-Kick? How to Recognize Your Role in Life and What You Can Do About It seem to be two favorites), make bets on what cosplays they’ll see the most of (“I’m telling ya, Bertie, there’s gonna be more Ladybugs!” “Chat’s costume is easier!”), and eventually moves to celebrity sightings.

“Guys, did you see?! Adrien Agreste is coming! He confirmed on Twitter this morning. Says he’s got his costume ready to go and everything!” He hops up and down in his excitement. “Do you think he’ll dress up as Chat Noir? I loved his work on the Ladybug and Chat Noir movie. His portrayal of Chat Noir was spot on! Do you think he’ll take a picture with me?”

“Don’t you mean ‘his portrayal was purrfect’?” Chat interrupted.

The teen smacks his palm to his forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!”

Amid giggles, Black Jeans and a T-shirt speaks up again. “Okay, but is he a guest? Or a pleb like us? I’m sure that he isn’t going so he can be mobbed by fans, Matthieu.”

“It’s general knowledge that if you go to a convention in costume, people will want to take pictures.”

“It’s general courtesy to ask before you take pictures, and back off if he says ‘no’.”

“Of course!” Matthieu raises his hands in defense. “Of course I’d back off.”

A curious sound, almost like a heavy-duty fishing reel being released and drawn back in, comes over the video. Chat’s slightly awed muttering can barely be heard, “This is one of the best parts of my day..”, and then Ladybug is dropping gracefully on the other side of the multiple Chat Noirs.

“Hi everyone.” She gives a brief warm smile and then turns her attention to the person behind the camera. Her blue eyes are vivid and piercing. “Are you coming or what?” She waits for a moment, expecting an answer. The group trade confused looks. “Look, I know you hate overscheduled days, but I have a lot to do today, and if I don’t follow mine, I will end up disappointing someone.”

The silence continues. Black Jeans and a T-Shirt shifts from foot to foot. Tuxedo Chat wipes her hands on her pants. Professional Cosplayer Chat looks like he’s about to melt from Ladybug’s mere presence. The camera shifts and picks up a muffled snerk that the cosplayers don’t register.

“Uh, ma’am?” Bertrand starts, then cuts off as she looks at him. “...we’re, uh….None of us are actually Chat Noir.” He pauses a moment. “We’re.. cosplayers?”

She stares at him with an amused eyebrow and a barely-there smile. “I know my partner when I see him.” She glances back at Chat, and mischief dances in her eyes. “Alright, fine, but I’m enacting a penalty game.”

Ladybug shifts her weight into a more relaxed position. Brings her fingers to her chin as if stroking an invisible beard. “Hm...I’ll just have to find your Number 1 Fan and see if I can sway her my way.”

There’s a loud gasp. Chat and his camera begin moving to the front of the group.

“Nope! No! Not happening! Sorry, guys, it was fun, but there is NO WAY in HELL that I am letting that happen.”

“I’m sure it’d be so easy, too. She’s a fashion designer, isn’t she? All I’d have to do is show her how fantastic she’d look in red.”

Chat practically chokes. Ladybug looks smug.

“Bug. You have the Ladyblogger. You have Adrien Agreste, and Chloé Bourgeois. Jagged Stone. You can keep your 90% of Paris. But Marinette Dupain-Cheng is mine. You may not have her.”

“Hey! Jagged loves us equally. And it’s probably more like…” She seesaws her hand in approximation. “..78% of Paris.”

“Um…” The camera turns back to the cosplayers, who are wearing a variety of facial expressions. Mouth-gapingly dumbfounded. Disbelief. Confusion. Stars in the eyes excitement.

The feed cuts as they all ask for autographs.

"Mommy, look! It's Chat Noir!"

A small girl runs up and hugs him. She has a navy dress, red hair bow, and an orange bag.

“Élodie! You need to ask before you touch.” Élodie’s mom sounds both like she’s said this a hundred times today and like she thinks the scene is adorable. She steps around part of the crowd and into the camera view. Élodie immediately lets go

“Can..can I ha-have a hug?”

Chat Noir looks delighted. His eyes shine and his grin is threatening to overtake his face. He drops to his knees to better accommodate the four year old. “Absolutely!”

She’s squeezing him for all she’s worth, and he’s holding her as if she’s the most precious child in the world. Her mom quietly produces a phone and snaps a picture. She glances at the screen with a small smile. Chat only pulls back when Élodie does.

“You are the cutest Kiki!” Chat tilts his head. He’s still on his knees, at her eye level. “But where is your Jiji?”

Élodie lights up even more and paws for her bag. The black cat plush is proudly presented. Chat takes it, gingerly, and says, “Did you know that cats can talk to one another?”

The little girl nods enthusiastically, hanging on his every word. He lifts Jiji to his cat ears and closes his eyes. Tilts his head. ‘Listens’ for a moment. She squirms, doing a kind of butt wiggle like she can’t possibly contain her excitement.

Finally, Chat nods. “Mm-hm. I’ll be sure to pass the message on.”

She jumps once, twice, three times. Her little hands are clenched fists not quite hiding her mouth. “What’d he say? What’d he say?!”

“He says that he loves you. And also please stop hogging the blankets at night.” His smile turns teasing. “Are you a blanket hog?”

They talk for a few more minutes. She asks him every question under the sun (“Ca-can you really see when the sun goes down? Do you eat cookies? Could you tie up a dinosaur and a tiger?”). She touches his ears and tries to stop his tail from moving. Her last question has him tapping his chest and beckoning Ladybug closer with his other hand. Élodie looks to her mom, who nods and smiles, and lays her head where he indicated. Ladybug slips a hand into his hair and, with what is clearly practiced ease, begins scratching. His eyes droop and close. They stay paused for a moment, until Élodie shrieks with laughter, pulls away to tell her mom giddily, “He purrs, Mommy! Like Jiji!”, then goes back to hear again.

When the little girl and her mom finally go on their way, the cameraperson has scooted close enough to the heroes to catch one final exchange.

Ladybug, who hasn’t taken her eyes off her partner and his tiny fan the whole time, says “Chat, if you ever decide to have kids, you’re going to make the most incredible father.”

The previous scene ended with a red faced Chat Noir. And this scene starts with one.

The view zooms out to bring a full view of the dark haired Chat. Her costume is perfect, down to the honeycomb pattern on the fabric. Hair unbound and rockstar teased, blue cat eye contacts, clawed hands nervously twirling her belt-tail. She’s in a convention hall, surrounded by crowds of people. Some are in costumes like her, some in regular clothes.

“Are you livestreaming this?” Marinette says.

“Nope! But you can bet I’m putting it in this month’s submission compilation post. Your work deserves to be shown off!”

“Alyaaa, you’re making me blush!”

Alya laughs, then gasps as a giant space marine moves and reveals the real Chat Noir. “Chat! Chat Noir! Care to share a few words with the Ladyblog?"

He waves and works his way to them. He’s smiling brightly until Marinette turns to greet him, and he stops dead. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open. His face is now very, very red. He waves his hands like he’s trying to get something out and is having trouble, but then reigns them in, covering his mouth with one and putting the other to the opposite elbow.

“That’s, um,” His voice comes out high and squeaky. He clears his throat and tries again. “Wow. That’s wow. How, uh, how did you get the fabric to do that?”

She seems too stunned to answer for a moment. “L-lots of experiments. And practice. I had to do so much research on how fabrics are made.”

“Wow,” Chat says again. His eyes are roaming all over her form, taking in every detail.

“Hey, M, turn around. I want to get a good shot of you two!” The two jump a bit, but do as she asks and line up facing the camera. Standing next to him only exemplifies how exact her creation is.

Alya leads her impromptu interview with: “How long did it take you to make your outfit?”

“Mmm...six months or so, about when the presale tickets went live.”

“So long?” the superhero asks. He’s mystified.

Marinette just shrugs. “I knew that I’d have to work around school and commissions and other stuff, and I wanted to give the project the consideration it deserved.”

“What was the hardest part to recreate?” Alya asks.

Marinette laughs. “Definitely the fabric! I went through so many different types, trying to figure out the best way to get the pattern on right, because it’s just not something you’ll find in a store. I ended up contacting someone that I’d met at a design competition, and they were able to point me in the direction of a company that will print your pattern for you.”

Chat’s eyes widen once more and he pulls out his baton and starts tapping on it. Nino walks up, in a store-bought Chat Noir costume, also holding his phone out.

“Babe! No Adrien?”

Nino glances at Alya, then back down. “He says he’s here, but there’s so many people, it’s impossible to find anybody. Oh, hey, you found Nettie and Chat Noir. HOLY SHIT MARINETTE. That costume is wicked!”

He circles her, putting his phone up, then holds his fist out. She bumps it with a grin.

Chat harumphs and replaces his weapon. “Looks like LB’s already detransformed. I wanted to show off Marinette’s amazing skills!”

Alya laughs. “Ladybug’s right, though. M does look fantastic in red.”

Chat stares at her, decidedly grumpy. The girl in question snorts out surprised laughter. A tall Mad Hatter in the background notices the camera and sticks up crooked bunny ears over Chat’s head. Alya cackles in delight.

“As I told my lady,” he wraps a possessive arm around Marinette’s shoulder, “my Number 1 Fan. Not hers.”

He looks directly at the camera. “Oh, and to anyone still arguing over the position: Look at this” he gestures to her costume “and don’t even bother trying to convince me otherwise.”

Dorothée Beranger Yeah, that’s fair... She wore that costume to school the next day and it’s *chef’s kiss*. Also she’s, like, Chat Noir’s biggest defender. Word of advice: do not insinuate that he’s a sidekick anywhere this girl might hear.

Antonin Lamarre I've seen her Chat rants on the Ladyblog! She really knows her stuff!

LuminousPollywog Seeing Chat with that little girl cleared my face, watered my crops, and gave my grades the boost they needed.

miraculousluckycharm13 THAT SOFT LOOK! #LADYNOIR IS REAL --Paradiddle --are we just going to ignore the marichat? chatinette? in the room?

#miraculous ladybug #chat noir #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #day _ until she loves me #Days

572 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 5 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 58

Warnings: profanity, graphic descriptions of blood, violence

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @ocfairygodmother

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Koen grumbles, as he sits at the table in front of the balcony door, tightly lacing his combat boots. They’re old and scuffed but still do the trick; well worn and trustworthy, having seen him through his last two tours while in active service.

“Well no one asked you what you think, so…” Tyler’s voice trails off as he shrugs into a black utility vest. Slipping it over a tight fitting white tank that will protect his skin from the vest’s harsh material, tightly securing the straps on both shoulders and across either side of his rib cage.

It’s nowhere near as comfortable as the one he’d owned prior; army green, years on the job leaving it riddle with indents left by bullets, knife slices in the fabric, and torn and fraying edges. There’d been something almost comforting about the ‘wounds’ it sported; testaments to all of the injuries -some in places that would have no doubt been fatal- he’d avoided and all the times he’d managed to walk away. He misses the familiarity of it; the weight of the kevlar between the layers, the smell that had clung to it, the various stains that had discolored the cloth. This one is still stiff against his body and still smells new despite the numerous times he’d worn it while working out in the gym. The extra weight adding an edge, a challenge, to even the most strenuous of workout, yet the rivers of sweat he’d shed had done little to leave his scent behind. This vest hasn’t earned its keep yet; hasn’t been put to the test and earned his trust and respect.

In less than an hour it will. It will be ‘do or die’ time. Either keeping him safe or failing miserably.

“You know I’m only on your ass ‘cause I care about ya,” Koen says. “‘Cause I give a rat’s ass about whether you live or die.”

“And I appreciate that, mate. I do. But I’ve been doing this for years. It’s what I do. Who I am. I think I know what I’m doing.”

“You think so, do you? When have you ever been in a situation like this?”

“I’m always in situations like this. What do you think mercenaries do? We run into fucked up places and go against fucked up people and we face fucked up odds. And most of the time, we live to tell about it.” He snags an olive green shirt from the army rucksack; two sizes bigger than normal, but adequately hiding the bulk provided by the vest.

“You know what I mean. A situation like THIS. Where there’s a bounty on your damn head the size of Texas. Where it’s your own family that’s being threatened. This Mahajan isn’t playing any games. He’s got the best of the best working for him, and when shit goes down and he figures out you’re behind all of this, the shit’s really going to hit the fan.”

“You act like I don’t already know all of that. Who’s the one that’s new to all this? And who’s the one that’s been doing it for years?”

“You know, for someone that HAS been doing it for as long as you have, you sure are fucking stupid. Sure are making rookie decisions.”

“I work better alone,” Tyler says. “But you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know ‘job me’. You’ve never been around him. Guess you’re going to find out pretty quick exactly who I really am, aren’t you.”

“It ain’t who you are,” Koen argues. “It’s part of who you are. So fuck off with that shit. And I get you’ve been doing this a long time. I get it. I respect it. But I still think it’s a mistake that you’re going into this alone when you’re the one Mahajan wants dead. If you ask me…”

“I’m NOT asking you,” Tyler irritably interjects. “No one is asking you. Now get off my ass. This is how I do things. Alone. I don’t need your approval or your permission.”

“I just think…”

“I love you, mate, and I get you’re worried about me, but fuck off. I don’t need a babysitter. No matter what my wife thinks.”

“She’s worried about your stubborn ass too. You wanna go home to her and your kids? ‘Cause you’re going about it the wrong way.”

“You want to still have all your teeth? ‘Cause you’re going to lose a few if you bring up my family again.”

“You call home this morning?”

Tyler frowns. “What did I just say?”

Koen holds his hands up in surrender. “Just asking if you called home.”

“I called last night. Said the things I needed to say. That I should have said a long time ago. Flight left at seven their time; won’t be hearing from them until after they land.”

“And everything’s good? With Esme and the littles?”

“As good as it can be, I guess.” He slips his arms into the sleeves of a baggy hoodie; black and bearing no company or brand logos. Something cheap and simple that won’t show blood and he won’t mind throwing out if he can’t get it clean. He’s not much of a talker before a mission; finding mindless conversations and the sound of other peoples’ voices both needless AND annoying. He prefers to be quiet in that last hour; getting himself into ‘the zone’. Throwing himself into the deep end of his own mind space and psyching himself up; mentally replaying his plans over and over again, each step helping fire up his adrenaline.

“You should at least call and leave a message,” Koen says. “Or a text or something. You know, just in case.”

Tyler ignores him; attaching his holster -gun already secured inside- onto the waistband of his cargo pants. On his right hip, hoodie easily covering it and not leaving a noticeable outline or bulge. SAT phone in one side pocket, personal cell in the other; knife and its holder resting at the small of his back. He’d sharpened it the night before; deadly enough to slice through paper and guaranteeing if the wound is in the right spot, death will be near instantaneous. He would have preferred a slower and more calculated and cold method of killing, but with very limited minutes and space, he needs to be fast and efficient and worry about torture and watching them suffer when he has more time on his hands. That will come; a chance to truly make them pay. And he’s looking forward to it.

“Are you listening to me at all?” Koen inquires. “I said you should…”

“I heard what you said. And I already told you that I called home last night. I talked to Esme, I told her I love her and said all the things I should have said to her a long time ago. I don’t need to call and leave a message, I don’t need to text her. We talked. We said what we needed to say to each other and that’s it. Leave it alone. She’s my wife, not yours. Stop with this fucked up obsession with her.”

“Obsession with her?” Koen scowls. “What the hell you going on about? What…?”

“Look, it was cute at first. I was flattered you thought my wife was hot. I laughed about all the little comments you’d make about what she looks like and what her ass is like and how you don’t understand why she’s with me and how if she wanted a real man, she’d get with you. I was fine with it. The way you flirt with her, the way you look at her.”

“I’m joking around. Poking fun. Yeah, she’s a beautiful woman. And I do think you’re lucky as fuck that you landed someone like her. But no way in hell would she leave a guy like you for me. And as far as looking at her a certain way, what…?”

“Just stop with her. I could take it at first. At first it seemed harmless. But that’s my wife. The mother of my kids. And I don’t fucking like it. How close you’re always trying to get to her. So I’d appreciate it if you’d back off.”

“I think you’re losing it,” Koen laughs. “I think you’re going mental. No one is trying to steal your wife, mate. Especially not me. I’d never do that to you, you should know that. I’d never do you like that.”

“I’d just rather you not do the things you do. Not talk about her the way you do. It bugs the shit out of me. I’ve already had one person try and fuck things up between us. I won’t let anyone else try it.”

“I think you need your head read. Professional help of some kind. Because I have no idea where all that came from or what you’re so fucking insecure about. She ain’t ever gonna be with the likes of me when she’s got someone like you with your pretty blue eyes and your muscles out to next week. It’s obvious as fuck that she ain’t ever gonna leave you. That she loves your dumb, stupid ass for some reason. Must be just as mental as you.”

“You’re going to drive me mental is what you’re going to do,” Tyler retorts, then moves to the door when a pounding -likely from the toe of a shoe or a boot- threatens to shake it off its hinges. Snapping open the deadbolt and removing the chain lock after a quick check through the peephole determines there’s no threat waiting out in the hall.

“How you feeling?” Yaz inquires, as he and Ovi step into the room. “You good? Got your head in the game?”

“My head’s exactly where it needs to be. Not like Koen’s, which is shoved up so far up my ass…”

“He’s in a mood,” Koen interjects. “Being a little bitch.”

“He doesn’t like to talk before he goes out,” Yaz explains. “Too much talk and chatter and noise fucks with his head space; keeps him out of the zone. We realized a long time ago not to say shit to him until it’s absolutely necessary. You’ll learn. We did.”

Ovi nods in agreement.

“Bring me what I need?” Tyler asks.

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” This…” Yaz reaches into the pocket of his black jeans, pulling a flat, silver disk no larger than a dime. “...is how we hear you. Just gotta tap your finger against it to activate it. It’s all charged and ready to go.” He slips a hand through the open zipper on Tyler’s hoodie, attaching the disk -via a small yet powerful magnet on the back[ to the neck of Tyler’s t-shirt. “...and this…” from his second pocket, he removes a listening device; small and kidney bean shaped, moulded out of clear silicone. “...is how you hear me. Just slip this right in your ear. Got it?”

Tyler nods, then plucks the device from Yaz’ palm and slips it into his left ear. A creature of habit; using the same routines and following the same rituals he’d discovered he was most comfortable with during his early days in the game. Each merc has their ‘thing’; lucky underwear or socks, certain meals they’ll consume before heading out, the same song they’ll listen to on repeat to fire themselves up. His ‘thing’ has always revolved around his gear. Putting pieces on in a certain order, cleaning all his weapons TWICE, not engaging in conversation in the last hour leading up. It’s all mind over matter, but it never fails to feel as if it’s giving him an edge. Even a sense of comfort and security.

“Ovi will drop you off at the shipping and receiving door,” Yaz says. “Our inside guy will be waiting. Knock twice so he knows it’s you. He’ll have a key to the freight elevator; take that to the twelfth floor, leave the key on the window ledge. I know you already know all of this, but it calms my nerves to go through it again.”

Tyler smirks. “You’re an odd duck, Yaz.”

“This coming from a guy who puts three shots of espresso in his coffee right before a gig.”

“Could be doing a lot worse. Remember that guy who used to short two lines of coke right before he went out?”

“Lorenzo. Fuck, I forgot about him. Whatever happened to him?”

“Got into a bar fight in Chicago and got fucked up. Last I heard he was running with some rogue crew that works out of New Mexico.”

“That guy was a whackadoo. Makes you look sane and that’s saying something. Now remember, you only have three minutes. That’s it. Wait by the freight elevator until I tell you that I’ve killed the security cameras. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“When you’re done, haul ass. Ovi will be waiting two blocks west. In front of a dry cleaners. You won’t be able to miss him.”

“You better fucking be there,” Tyler warns Ovi. “‘Cause if you leave me hanging, I’ll gut you like a fish next.”

Ovi’s eyes widen, and both Tyler and Yaz burst into laughter at his surprised -and terrified- expression.

“I’m kidding, kid. I’d never do that. I’d beat you ass, But I wouldn’t do THAT.”

“Good to go?” Yaz asks. “Got everything you need?”

Tyler scowls.

“Right...right...I know. I ask the same stupid shit before every job. Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I still think letting him go alone is fucked up,” Koen remarks, still sitting by the balcony door.

Yaz sighs. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Twenty minutes until go time and you’re bringing me this? Now is NOT the time for this. One and two. Gotta take ‘em out. That’s what he’s going to do. Enough of this shit?”

“What if something goes wrong?” Koen asks.

“Something’s going to go wrong in a second when I toss your ass off the balcony,” Tyler snarls. “What is your major malfunction? Do you know how many of these I’ve done? How many jobs I’ve been on? I can fucking take care of myself, mate. You’re only gonna get in the way if you tag along. Let me take care of my shit, you take care of yours.”

“I said I’d keep an eye on ya. This isn’t keeping an eye on ya. Letting you go off on your own.”

“We gotta go,” Yaz says, and yanks a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “Time’s a wastin. We’re going to miss these guys if you don’t leave now.”

“I’m fine,” Tyler assures his friend. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. I’ve been in way more dangerous situations than this and I always came out of them alive. I ain’t breaking that streak now.”

“You fuck up and something happens to you, I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you again. Hear me?”

“I hear ya,” Tyler says, and then gives a small, almost uncomfortable chuckle when Koen embraces him in front of the others. His tone and face both softening when he tousles what little hair his friend has left on his head. “I’ll be careful, mate. I got this. You and Rata be careful out there. These guys? Mahajan and his people? They don’t fuck around. Watch each other’s backs.”

“Who’s gonna watch yours?” Koen inquires, and Tyler gives him a quick, one armed hug before heading for the door.

“I watch my own.”

***

“Change of plans,” Tyler says, when Ovi pulls the rented SUV into the alley behind the Grand Hyatt.

The younger man’s eyes widen. “Change of plans? No change of plans! Why a change of plans?”

“Did you not fucking notice the police station half a block away from the dry cleaners? There’s no way your old man doesn’t have law enforcement in on this. Remember Asif? Dhaka? Look what he was able to do. And your old man has a lot more power than Asif ever had.”

“We can’t just go and change things,” Ovi protests. “We can’t…”

“I’m the boss. I can do whatever the hell I want. You park and wait for me there, they’ll see me coming. And you can’t tell me that spineless fuck doesn’t have my picture plastered all over the goddamn place. Go two blocks EAST. Not west. Then text me and let me know where you are.”

“This is a bad idea,” Ovi laments. “We should just stick to the plan. We should…”

Scowling, Tyler angrily snatches him by the front of the shirt. “Fucking listen to me! I call the shots and I am telling you to go east. Not west. Just do as I fucking say and then wait for me. Understand?”

Ovi swallows noisily and nods frantically.

“I go anywhere near that police station, I’m fucked. I’ve got a knife and a Glock on me. I don’t stand a goddamn chance if they all start shooting. So do what I say and I at least live long enough to call my kids tonight and read them a bedtime story. Now fucking listen to me and don’t get me killed!”

He doesn’t give Ovi a chance to respond, instead throwing open the passenger door and climbing out; hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, head down as he heads for the loading docks and the shipping and receiving doors. It’s better to be safe than sorry; not taking the chance that there’s any outside cameras that can capture a decent picture of him entering the building. His strides are long and purposeful, yet calm and confident; stones, dirt, and other debris crunching and shifting under the soles of his combat boots.

It’s just as easy as Yaz said it would be; knocks being promptly answered, no eye contact made or words exchanged as a single gold plated key is pressed into the palm of his hand as he passes by. And he’s not sure if it’s plain lucky or the ‘inside man’ had arranged to keep other employees out of the area, but it’s oddly quiet and he doesn’t encounter another living soul during his short walk through the bowels of the hotel and to the service elevator.

He’s been on the job long enough that nerves are no longer an issue. Learning long ago that the more relaxed you are and the more you’re able to ‘silence’ your brain, the smoother and easier things will go. Focusing on something other than the task at hand keeps you from dwelling on your game plan, which in turn prevents you from second guessing yourself and switching things up at the last second. That only leads to disaster. He’s seen many a good merc seriously injured and even killed because they thought too much; letting the game fuck to much with their heads and getting an advantage on them instead of the other way around. So instead of thinking of the task mere minutes away, he lets his mind go blank; eyes riveted on the illuminated numbers above the elevator door as it makes it slow, rumbling ascent. Hands still shoved in his pockets as he slowly rocks back and forth on his heels. It’s a habit that ‘new Tyler’ has fallen into an ‘old Tyler’ can’t seem to break; that slight motion of his body that’s comforted many a crying or colicky baby and has gotten them to sleep when all other methods seemed futile. And it works for his nerves as well; taking off the edge yet never stripping away the one emotion he does allow himself to feel. Rage.

“You in?” Yaz’ voice pipes in through the ear piece, and Tyler reaches into his hoodie to tap a finger against the disk attached to the front of his shirt.

“I’m in. On the ninth floor now.”

“Twelfth is clear. You’ll see a cleaning person; that’s one of ours. Got one on each floor preventing other people from leaving their rooms. Let me know when you get off the service elevator and I’ll kill the security cameras. Remember, you’ve only got three minutes.”

“What if they don’t get on the elevator?”

“Do what you have to do. Rooms 903 and 905. Take them out whatever way you have to. Got it?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

The elevator comes to a shuddering, rumbling stop; doors shuddering as they slowly slide open. He leaves the lone key on the window sill as instructed, then mumbles a low, drawn out “Fuck” and quickly turns on his heel to face outside when he hears voices -female- approaching from around the corner. He can see their reflections in the glass; young, nearly twenties, their glossy dark hair pulled back into ponytails and their tall, willowy bodies clad in the burgundy and gold uniforms sported by all hotel staff. And they never pause in their loud, animated conversation or even glance in his direction as they wait for the elevator. Seconds seem like minutes; his annoyance growing with each passing moment, an audible sigh of relief leaving his lips when the elevator finally arrives and the women step aboard, doors slowly sliding closed.

“Do your thing,” he says. “I’m good to go.”

“I’m on it,” Yaz responds. “Cameras going down in five...four...three...two...one. You’ve got three minutes. Go.”

Tyler swiftly turns on his heel; feet going from gleaming tile to plush carpet. And he exchanges a quick nod with Yaz’ ‘man’; one hand still shoved in the pocket of his sweater as the other reaches out to hit the button to call the elevator.

“One and two are leaving their rooms now,” Yaz says. “Elevator is two floors above you. No one on it. You’re in the clear.”

“They armed?”

“Can’t tell. Let’s just go ahead and assume they are. Stay on your toes.”

“You doubting my knowledge of this shit, Yaz? You telling me how to do things?”

“I’m nervous. Fuck off, Rake.” It’s always last name only when Yaz gets riled up; his nerves and stress are always on high alert, even when he’s not the one actually out there doing the dirty work. “Two minutes and thirty seconds,” he says, when the elevator finally arrives and Tyler steps on. “Think you can handle this, old man?”

Smirking, Tyler directs a middle finger at the camera he knows is mounted just above the control panels. And he settles himself as that rear of the lift, casually leaning back against the mirrored wall, both hands out of his pockets and arms now crossed over his chest.

“I’d say good luck but I know you won’t need it,” Yaz says. “We’re going silent for the rest of the trip. Talk in a few. Have fun.”

He gives a nod and a tight lipped smile. The adrenaline is at its peak now. Even after all these years it’s a rush; the possibility of the situation turning dangerous, the quick and efficient pace he’ll have to work at. But it’s not the adrenaline that has his heart thundering in his chest or the rush of blood thundering in his ears or his jaw clenching. It’s rage. The knowledge that he’s about to come face to face with pure and utter evil. People that would have done horrible and vile things to his family. His CHILDREN. It’s the desire...the want...the NEED...to take another life.

He recognizes them when they step onto the elevator; faces familiar from the pictures he’s been studying since Anil gave him ‘the list’. And neither pause in their conversation -a mixture of both Hindi and English- but both give him polite smiles and nods, one even offering a friendly “good morning” that he’s hesitant to return but bites the bullet and does anyway. And he briefly looks over his shoulder; quickly studying himself to make sure the rage isn’t as visibly obvious as it feels. Both men have their backs to him; shoulders pressed together, their words and their laughter hanging heavily in the air. And while his eyes study them from head to toe and attempt to ascertain any possible threat or if they are armed, his right hand reaches under his hoodie, thumb sliding through the loop that sits on the top of the knife; fingers curling around the hilt.

“Excuse me for a second, would ya mate?” He asks, then using his own shoulder to push his way between them, successfully creating a gap; fingers reaching for one of the floor numbers before he slams his palm against the stop button.

The elevator gives a sudden, violent lurch and Tyler uses it to his advantage. Throwing his entire body weight into the man on the right, the collision sending both of them into the side wall.. And Tyler slams his elbow into the sternum with enough force to break it; the audible crack and the man’s startled and pained yelp echoing in the small, cramped area. A noise that only becomes shrill and terrified when he effortlessly jams the tip of the knife into the already injured man’s navel, and with a ruthless and vicious upwards yank -one fluid, easy motion- he sends the sharp, glistening blade up to the hollow of the man’s throat. His first victim drops into a heap on the floor; still gurgling and flailing helplessly as he clings to the last shred of life as his own blood and some of his internal organs begin to pool around him.

The fist that’s thrown his way is easy to avoid; his instincts and reflexes are quick and uncompromising. And he’s able to hook an arm around the other man’s bicep and throw him to his stomach; forehead and chest slamming off the blood soaked floor. And he’s attempting to scramble to his feet when Tyler places a knee in the middle of his back; every pound and inch of his much broader, taller, strong frame shoved into every shred of pressure he applies.

“Look at me,” Tyler orders, and when the man below him refuses, snatches a fistful of hair and yanks his head back. “I said fucking look at me!”

The eyes that look up at him are terrified, yet still bear a remaining glitter of deviance.

“You recognize me now don’t you,” Tyler snarls. “Well this is what you get for fucking with my family.”

He slams the knife home just under the left ear. And he can hear the tear of skin, muscle and tissue and the crack of cartilage as the tip pierces straight through. Pausing briefly; allowing the full reality set into the other man’s brain before he quickly draws the knife across his throat. Jamming it in far enough to hit bone when he reaches the other ear; hand still tightly gripping silky, thick hair, gaze never wavering and his rage never subsiding as he watches all life and hope drain from the other man’s face and eyes.

There’s a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he stands; hands steady as he swipes the blade of the knife across one of his thighs, cleaning the blood off of it before slipping it back under his hoodie and into its holder. He’s barely broken a sweat, and he’s eerily calm as he steps through the growing puddle of blood and over the lifeless carcasses; releasing the stop button and then pressing the one for the next available floor.

Tyler checks his watch. There's still a minute and a half remaining.

It feels good to be back.

****

“A minute and a half,” Yaz says in way of greeting, when Tyler strolls into the conference room twenty minutes later; already shrugging out of his blood and sweat soaked hoodie. “Not too bad for an old fuck! Didn’t misplace a hip, did you old timer?”

“Hope I don’t misplace my foot when I put it up your ass,” he playfully retorts, unable to contain the grin that spreads across his face.

It’s one of immense satisfaction. Pride, even. Feeling relief that he hasn’t lost his edge or any of his abilities and he’s only become stronger and faster. Smarter. His skills and his instincts seem sharper than before. And it feels good; the physical act of killing. It’s the first time he’s ever encountered that; enjoying taking a life and watching someone in the thralls of death. But it’s personal this time around. Mahajan never should have threatened him or his wife and his children. Because now he’s going to enjoy every second of sending that message loud and clear: you’ve fucked with the wrong man’s family.

“I will never...EVER...again doubt you, oh wise one,” Yaz chuckles, and then dramatically bows to him. “Made a fuck of a mess of the elevator though. Couldn’t have been more graceful about things?”

“Messier it is, the bigger and louder the message it sends. And thanks, by the way. You almost dumped my ass right by a police station.”

“Yeah, Ovi called me. Told me about the change in plans. Sorry about that, Ooops.”

“Oops? I could have gotten my ass shot on the first day and that’s all you can say? Ooops? How the fuck did you miss that, anyway? You’re usually on the ball when it comes to this recon shit. What the fuck, mate?”

“You know, sometimes I DO screw up.”

“Well don’t screw up when it’s my ass on the line, yeah?” Tyler removes both the earpiece and the transmitter and drops them onto the conference table. “Those little things are a hell of a lot better than those wired pieces of shit we used to have. I’m not fucking choking myself trying to use an ear piece attached to a fucking radio. How’s things? Anyone else check in?”

“Koen and Rata are chasing their guys down. They've given them the slip twice already.”

Tyler smirks, then slips the t-shirt over his head and drops it and the hoodie into a nearby chair. “Rookies.”

“Anil and Nathan are doing some surveillance on the other side of town. Gonna be pissed and jealous as shit when I tell them you’re already done and back. Other than that, there’s not much to tell you.”

He tears the velcro strips open on the one side of the vest; left shoulder and rib cage finally free. Grunting and grimacing at the pain in his right arm when he slips the vest over his head. Then peels off the sweaty tank and uses it to wipe sweat and blood from his face, brow, and neck. Unable to contain the smirk that plays on his lips when he catches sight of the young female tech across the room intently watching him.

“Hey!” Yaz snaps at her. “Focus! That ain’t your prize you’re looking at. He’s married!”

Tyler chuckles, then reaches for a bottle of water from the case sitting in the middle of the table. “Kinda harsh, mate. She’s harmless. She can look.”

“What is it with you and all the thirsty women? They don’t even care about that ring on your finger.”

“I care about it and that’s all that matters. They can be as thirsty as they want. I’m not entertaining it, so…”

“Still disrespectful as fuck. To you, your wife. I mean, you’re married. You’ve got kids, for fuck sake. Means they should back the fuck off. And speaking of married, you hear from Esme?”

“She left me a message before they left. Said she’d call as soon as they got in. It’s a long flight; they won’t be here until at least six.” He both groans and grimaces when he drops into one of the chairs, and then reaches down to untie his boots and toe them off. “I did make a fucking mess, didn’t I,” he observes, as he picks up one boot, then the other, surveying the splatters of blood on the fabric and the already drying mess on each sole.

“Felt good though, didn’t it. To get shit done. To kill the fuckers that we’re going to kill your family. Bet it felt damn good.”

“Even better than I thought it would,” he admits.

“You going to the airport?” Yaz asks.

“Didn’t know it was an option. Thought I was supposed to to stay away. Until I was given the all clear.”

“That’s for when they’re at the house. What harm could come from you showing up at the airport? No one even knows you’re in Mumbai yet. We’d hear chatter if Mahajan was suspicious. If you wanna go…”

“I don’t wanna fuck things up. If someone IS following me…”

“You’d know that by now. Fuck, you’d probably be DEAD right now. And we’ve got eyes and ears on you. I can send a couple of people to tail you, just in case. You’ve got nothing else going on for the rest of that day. You’ve earned your keep. And then some.”

“I could go out and help Rata and Koen chase their guys down. Or do my own surveillance. Take Ovi with me. Teach him something that won’t lead to me getting shot in the head.”

“It’s the first day,” Yaz says. “Relax. You’ve done enough. Take the down time while you can.”

“I could use a shower and a change of clothes. Something to eat. Maybe some sleep.”

“Go to the airport,” Yaz insists. “I’ll have people follow you. I know it’s killing you; being away from your family. It’ll do you a world of good to see them. Even if it is just for a few minutes.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “It would. Wouldn’t mind hugging and kissing my wife and seeing my kids.”

“Your job’s done for the day. Shit is only going to get harder and more intense from here on out. Who knows when you’ll get to see them next. Go clean yourself up. Get some food in you. Some sleep. And then go and see your family. You’re one of the lucky ones, man. You’ve GOT a family that you can see. Don’t take that for granted.”

“That’s something I DEFINITELY have to stop doing.”

“I know they’re probably dying to see you too. Can’t tell me those kids don’t miss their daddy. They’re pretty nuts about ya.”

He grins. “Yeah, I’m pretty nuts about them too. You sure you guys will be okay without me?”

“We’ll manage. If I need you THAT bad, I know how to get a hold of you. Seriously, go and see your family, Tyler. I know you want to. I know you NEED to.”

He nods in agreement, then sighs heavily as he stands up; hand on the small of his back, wince on his face.

“Maybe you did throw out your hip,” Yaz chides.

“It’s my back, you fucking drongo. You know it’s been shit since I had to go and save Gaspar’s sorry ass.”

“You took a bullet an inch from your fucking spine,” Yaz reminds him. “You’re lucky to even be walking. Want me to get you a cane? A wheelchair? Want me to carry you? Need me to help fill out the papers for your old age security?”

“I’m hurting, but I can still beat your ass into the middle of the next week.”

“Judging by the show you put on the elevator, I know that’s fact. That was amazing by the way. Good job. Damn good job.”

“Only gets better from here, yeah? Each one will get a little nastier and bloodier.”

“You sound like you’re actually going to enjoy that,” Yaz observes.

He’s smirking as he picks up his dirty clothes and boots, then heads for the door. “I am.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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