Tumgik
#angst and fluff
myriadblvck · 3 months
Text
ghost who sometimes sleep talks to johnny. Sometimes it’s nonsense and sometimes it’s leftovers of a conversation he meant to have with his brother.
“…m’s’rry,” Simon slurs, startling Johnny out of the staring contest he was having with his drawing.
“What? What’re ye sorry for?”
Simon snores a little, and Johnny realizes he’s sleep talking again. The silence stretches for a while, and then, “Never wanted t’leave you alone wit’ Dad.” Johnny’s heart breaks in half. Sometimes he hates himself for wishing Simon only talked about nonsense. “Couldn’ live like tha’ n’y more.”
Johnny reaches over and cards his fingers through Simon’s hair. “It’s okay. You had to make a hard choice, yeah? It’s okay.” Simon’s brows furrow and he pouts before his expression smooths out again. He snores a little bit again. Johnny smiles.
Simon murmurs quietly for a little while, low enough that Johnny doesn’t try to listen. He just plays with Simon’s hair until Simon sits up suddenly and goes, “It’s not my fault the chickens used the water slide!” and then gets out of bed and storms off into the bathroom.
Johnny watches him angrily use the toilet and wash his hands before standing at the mirror with his hands on his hips. “Simon, hen, come back to bed,” He calls gently. Simon flips off the shower before coming back to bed and flopping on top of the covers.
“Stupid fucking chickens. Gonna eat them.” Seconds later Simon is snoring and Johnny stares at him, feeling a little bit insane.
991 notes · View notes
autisticlancemcclain · 3 months
Text
this is how it continued
———
This is how it ends.
———
This is how it ends.
———
This is how it ends.
———
This is how it ends.
———
Lance tries for weeks to make it end.
The words crawl up like bile in the back of his throat. Keith, he tries to say, time and time again, we need to talk. And when he manages to push through the stinging burn and say them, breath turning to dust in his lungs, Keith crooks his finger under Lance’s chin and meets Lance’s eyes and replies, just as quietly, Of course, sweetheart. What’s wrong?
And every time Lance is faced with the softness in his dark eyes, the steady way he holds his gaze. And every time something inside him cracks, desperate and howling and selfish after being deprived so long, and his bravery dries up like a tiny stream in the summer heat. And instead of saying When did you start loving me, Keith, ‘cause you woke up one day and decided we’d been together for ages and everyone thinks you’re crazy his chin trembles and his eyes burn and he cries, again, and tells Keith of the months without him.
Every day I’m sorry I left you behind, Keith whispers into the heat of Lance’s skin, and every time in response Lance knows, I do not deserve this from you. And the desperate howling selfish part of him grows stronger and stronger.
Lance needs to make it end.
———
He cannot make it end publicly.
It’s too…messy for that. It has been too long now. He hasn’t counted the days but he knows what it looks like right before Keith screams himself awake, now, knows how to press his cold hands to the side of his neck and the curve of his ribs to startle his dream-self into thinking kinder thoughts. He knows how the chip on Keith’s right front tooth feels on his tongue, his knuckles, his shoulder. He knows that Keith showers with his eyes shut out of years of habit of showering in the dark and fearing the sting of the soap.
Rarely do they stop at a hotel. Usually they sleep in shifts, staying in space for days at a time instead of resting every night. It’s horrible and cramped and makes everyone cranky, but it brings them home faster. After everyone is fed up of air travel, which never takes long, they often stop somewhere small and uninhabited and out of the way – a moon, a burgeoning planet, a long-abandoned one. Whatever is closest. On those nights, the nine of them, plus the animals, will stretch and enjoy the fresh air, if there is any, maybe watch a setting sun. And then they will make a fire and cook rations or a real meal, if they can find ingredients and Hunk or Lance have the energy. And after everyone has eaten and conversations have long begun to slow, after teeth have been brushed and faces have been washed, after their friends have nodded off one by one, Keith will push their bedrolls together to make one, spread a blanket over the two of them, and hold Lance close; without question, without hesitation. And he will be out in moments, gently snoring along to whatever alien crickets are crooning into the night, and Lance will trace the shape of his face under the light of the dying embers and forget to be guilty. He will feel safe in Keith’s hold like he does not feel anywhere else and his feet will be warmed between Keith’s thighs. He will fall asleep with a smile on his face.
———
Five months into their journey, Coran says: “I have an announcement to make.”
“What’s up?” Pidge asks, swinging her feet from where she sits sideways in her chair, hair a mess, face buried in the not-quite-DS they found a few planets back. Lance smiles and rolls his eyes.
“In the next quintaint, we will be approaching Deruyn. The Deruy were close friends of the Alteans, eons ago, and the Chancellor has extended to me an invitation to reacquaint ourselves. If you’re all amenable, my dears, we have been invited to stay in the guest wing of her royal quarters for a week.”
Lance straightens up, rubber band ball he was toying with slipping from his grasp. He hears it bounce several times behind him before an abrupt stop, and then a very angry moo. He winces.
“Sorry, Kaltenecker.”
She huffs, clearly still miffed.
Everyone is talking over each other, eyes bright and excited through their video connections. Coran looks pleased, watching them all chatter. Lance catches his eye and smiles at him.
A whole week in a royal wing…and a real royal wing! Nothing like the paladin quarters they lived in on the Castle. They bedrooms will be huge, probably; fancy and ornate. Maybe a canopy bed and pillows comfier than Lance can even fathom.
And baths. Lance hopes there are big, deep baths he can almost swim in.
“You look dreamy.”
Keith’s amused voice startles him out of his daydreaming, although he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. Everyone else is still chattering on, bubbling with excitement — no one is looking at him.
“I am,” Lance admits. He puts a hand to his forehead and sighs, more dramatically than necessary, pleased when it brings the expected reaction of Keith’s fond little smile. “There might be baths, Keith. Real baths. And oils and soaps and soft towels. And pillows! And a queen-sized bed!”
Keith’s smile turns teasing. “What you need is an Alaskan king.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Keith’s laugh has gotten rumblier since his space whale growth spurt, that’s the only way Lance can explain it. It’s softer and darker and suggests smile lines around his eyes he didn’t have before. Every time Lance looks at them he imagines them getting deeper and wider.
“Been a while since we’ve been somewhere with a real bed, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Gotta make sure they don’t book us two separate rooms again,” Keith huffs, crease appearing between his eyebrows. “I still don’t know what that was about.”
Lance’s mouth goes dry.
I do, he should be saying. I know exactly why there were two separate rooms booked for us. In fact I can guarantee it will happen again.
But he is a coward. And the words die somewhere in his belly, before they can come anywhere near his throat.
———
It takes time to reach Deruyn. Some of this is because Shiro read the map backwards and set them back two days. (“I’m dyslexic!” he had defended, to their booing and whining. “There is not booing and whining to dyslexia! Do you boo and whine a lisp? No! Let me live!”)
By the time they finally manage to drag their poor, exhausted Lions to the sizeable planet, everyone’s excitement is so palpable Lance doesn’t need an emotional bond to feel it.
“Fresh air,” sighs Allura.
“Good food,” seconds Hunk.
“People to talk to that aren’t you fools,” agrees Pidge.
“A mattress,” Keith adds, and shoots Lance a wink.
Despite himself and rolling mess of feeling in his stomach, Lance flushes.
Coran accepts a call as soon as they’re within radio range, greeting a narrow-faced, pink-skinned woman who must be the Chancellor. Immediately they delve into a conversation that Lance doesn’t even pretend to follow. He recognizes Coran’s tone from the many times his mother would strike up a conversation with an aunt or uncle or any guest at all as they were leaving the house — this conversation could be hours long. His eyes glaze over, sliding away from his Lion’s display to take in the planet in front of him.
Deluyn is large, that much is obvious. It’s hard to scale something with such magnitude when it’s so close to your face, but if Lance had to guess, he would place it somewhere between Jupiter and the Balmera. It has no rings but the whole planet seems to glow, slightly, although Lance can see no clear source for it. The colours visible from orbit are entirely alien to him, so he’s not sure what is water, if anything is, but from the angry look of the planet’s poles, the dark green things are clouds.
What feels like a million hours later, but it probably only around fifteen minutes, there’s a click as the Chancellor and Coran end their call, and they are urged forward into landing. As they get closer to the landing strip, Lance notices dozens of children sprinting along the barrier, holding signs and flags and cheering. He grins, twisting his hands tighter around Red’s controls, hanging back just slightly from formation to give himself space to move. Then he yanks the controls to the side, feeling Red roar as she whips around in a tight circle, flames rolling down her back. The children jump up and down, fists raised, mouths open in shouts of joy. Several of their grownups watch with wide grins, too, necks craned to watch Lance spin around.
He pulls back into formation after a couple of tricks, sliding smoothly in between Black and Blue. His heart rate ticks up, and suddenly his undersuit feels tight, itchy. He squirms in his seat. When Shiro’s face pops up to relay landing instructions he flinches, and immediately hates himself for the hurt look that eclipses his friend’s face.
“…Lance?” Shiro asks softly, confusion lining his voice. He looks like a kicked puppy. Lance is a monster.
“I’m just jumpy, I’m just jumpy,” he assures, forcing a smile and holding it there until Shiro’s shoulders relax. “You know. So excited to see where we’ll be staying.”
“Yeah, me too! Coran even said they have this massive sauna they’re really famous for. I can’t wait. I miss what saunas do for my skin. And, plus, having our own rooms will be nice.” His excited grin turns sly. “Well, most of us will have our own room.”
Lance’s heart pounds for a totally different reason. “Okay thanks Shiro bye —”
He reaches to cut the connection but Shiro stops him, laughing.
“No, no, wait, I’ve got landing instructions. Their staff is limited so we gotta go one at a time, okay, stay in your Lion once you’re parked in case you need to adjust…”
Thankfully it’s nothing too complicated. Keith lands first, and Lance next to him, then Pidge, then Allura, then Hunk. Once they’re all parked and confirmed by ground control, they’re cleared it exit, none of them taking their time.
Well, everyone else disembarks pretty fast. Kaltenecker remains and stubborn pain in the ass as usual, and Lance is stuck trying desperately to drag an 800 something pound cow that has absolutely no desire to work with him. “Kallie,” he begs, tugging uselessly on her leash, “you dumb ass fucking animal. Please. I am begging you. I put up with your farts in the cabin for days on end, which has got to be shaving years off my life. The food I feed you could be better but in all fairness, I’m getting the same slop you are, so. Maybe cut me some slack.”
She doesn’t even moo at him.
Lance tries bribery.
“Say, you want good food? I bet they have good food on this planet. Nice, sweet, fresh grass. You love grass. You want grass? Please come on, Kallie. Everyone else has already left and I’m going to die of embarrassment if I’m the last paladin left, doing the walk of shame with his stubborn cow behind him. The jokes will write themselves. I’ll have to quit and join a travelling circus, and then who will put up with you? Remember that Allura wants to turn you into hamburgers.”
Clearly hamburgers were the wrong thing to mention, because if cows can glare, Kaltenecker does. She even has the audacity to huff her cow breath at him and drag them both further into Red. Red, who is a traitor, does absolutely nothing to help and is in fact laughing herself sick, loudly, in Lance’s mind.
“I shoulda left you in that damn mall,” Lance grumbles, not meaning it. He sighs and collapses against his cow’s side, closing his eyes. Just his luck. The rest of his friends are gallivanting about a fancy-dancy castle as guests of honour, and Lance is babysitting a methane machine. “I’m gonna have to sleep here tonight, aren’t I.”
“Well, I hope not.”
Lance yelps, jumping to his feet. Unfortunately, in his haste, his boot hooks around Kaltenecker’s hoof, and since she is still unmoving, he goes sprawling. Fortunately, Keith got stranded in a space whale for two years and took Prince Charming classes, or something, so he catches him.
“You’re such a nervous wreck,” Keith says fondly, leaning down to kiss him instead of letting Lance stand like a normal person. (Not. That Lance. Is necessarily complaining. But for prosperity’s sake, and everything, keeping a man in a dip for too long is just undignified, Keith, you should know that, you graduated top of your class from Fairytale University. So. Pull yourself together.)
“Am not,” Lance protests. He sighs as Keith adjusts his hold on him, patting around blindly until he finds the edge of Keith’s braid and undoing it. He slides his hands in that thick hair with a relish as soon as it’s free, making Keith chuckle (but, wisely, not say anything, because the one and only time he commented Lance avoided him for two days out of pure embarrassment).
“I sent the rest of the team on when you didn’t come out. Figured Kaltenecker was giving you trouble.” He meets Lance’s eyes and grins, dark eyes mischievous and sparkling, and Lance is seriously going to walk off a bridge because who authorized that, who, who approved the combination of big dark eyes and a crooked grin and a face that promises trouble. Huh? The fuck’s up with that. “Figured I could help.”
Lance manages to find a shred of dignity within himself and steps slightly away. “That’s great, Noble Kent, but last I checked you couldn’t drag an 800 pound heifer either, so.”
Keith nods. “‘Course not. Brought Kosmo. Here, boy.”
The wolf poofs to existence at Keith’s side, barking excitedly. He bounds up to Lance first, expecting his usual barrage of kisses and head scratches (which he gets), then gets all shy as he walks over to his crush. Kaltenecker looks over at him and no lie rolls her eyes, looking away again. Kosmo, however, is undeterred, barking happily before blipping them both out of existence.
“She is never gonna love you, dude,” Keith says, shaking his head.
Lance snorts, taking Keith’s offered hand and heading down Red’s ramp (finally). “Wouldn’t it be weirder if she did? I think we’d have to break them up. Like, ethically.”
“Could be a Donkey and Dragon situation.”
“Shut up. It ruins my perception of you every time I’m reminded you’ve seen Shrek.”
“You’re perception of me,” Keith repeats, musing. His right eyebrow twitches, and it’s too small to see at arm’s distance, but Lance knows a tiny scar ripples there, from when he was fourteen and got it pierced in defiance of Shiro. “What is your perception of me?”
Lance keeps himself steady. He puts one foot in front of the other and keeps his left hand held in Keith’s. There is nothing interrogating in Keith’s tone, he reminds himself, although maybe there should be. When he looks up Keith’s eyes are open and curious and something else he doesn’t know how to name.
“You’re honest,” he says quietly. He means to say more, has a list he could probably recite bullet by bullet, but he doesn’t.
“Honest,” Keith mutters to himself. “Huh.”
Lance swallows. He doesn’t know how he could possibly explain the weight to that. Keith is committed and brave and talented and beautiful. But more than that he is truthful. Does he see? Does he know?
An empty landing pad passes remarkably slowly when two people walk in silence. There are crafts of all kinds and tarmac upon tarmac. Eventually, though, they start walking somewhere a little more crowded; thin, reedy people resembling the Chancellor waving to them as they pass. Lance would stop to ask for directions, but the giant castle is kind of hard to miss, so they just walk in the direction of it hope their armour will do the talking for them.
Keith catches a richly dyed ribbon blowing by as they pass through a crowded market, trapping the fine thing between his fingers as it passes between them. It’s a strange and familiar colour, walking the line between indigo and deep violet. He glances around for a stall that might be selling them, and when he can’t find one, he turns to Lance and says, “Hold out your arm.”
Lance does. Carefully, Keith unlatches his vambrace, tucking it under his arm, then peels up his undersuit to lay bare his wrist. His tongue sticks out of his mouth slightly in concentration as he ties it among Lance’s dozens of string bracelets, right above his blue Moana watch still counting the hours back home.
“There,” he says proudly. “Looks good on you.”
Lance reaches up and kisses him until neither of them can breathe.
———
They know they will be teased when they finally meet with their friends at the castle.
“Let’s not,” Keith suggests, nodding at the guards who move to let them past.
“I’ll find out where our room is?” Lance says.
Keith nods. “Yeah, we’ll need that.”
“‘Kay, wait here. Don’t be obvious, or Allura will smell drama and come running.”
He’s jinxed them by saying anything at all — no sooner do the words leave his lips does Keith tense up, screwing up his face in an attempt to appear neutral but resembling instead someone who is trying very hard not to sneeze. Lance manages not to laugh, squeezing his hand once before darting off, choosing a random corridor and going with it.
Thankfully, he manages to find a person who holds a clipboard and walks with a purpose, so he assumes they know what they’re doing. Double thankfully, they do, and not only direct him to their rooms but press a labeled map into his hands. It even has a schedule on the back for mealtimes and room cleaning, which is something Lance totally forgot existed. He runs back to Keith quickly, careful to avoid the kitchen and the armoury — places he’s sure his friends will be.
Keith is earnestly inspecting a mounted sword on the wall when Lance returns. His nose is maybe an inch from the polished blade, probably less, honestly. Lance bites his lip to hold down a snicker and takes a picture, intending blackmail, but it ends up being the perfect shot — his hair is slightly wavy from the braid he wore earlier, and there’s a cute scrunch to his nose, not to mention his squinted eyes like he’s wishing for reading glasses. It becomes Lance’s background almost without him meaning to.
“C’mon, nerd,” he calls, smiling as Keith startles. “I got a map and someone is gonna meet us there with a key. I wanna check it out, get a move on.”
Keith does indeed hurry over. “I’m so glad they got it right this time. One room! No need to debate over it.”
Lance falters. He’d been so caught up in the excitement of the room and then Kaltenecker and then…Keith, he forgot. They’re not what Keith thinks they are, what Lance has been pretended to be.
“Right,” he manages, mouth suddenly dry. He desperately tries to shove the enthusiasm back in his voice, forcing his face into a smile when Keith looks back. “Right, yeah, that’s so much less of a pain.”
There is indeed someone with a key when they get to the room. The door is light, in both colour and material, and although his feelings are still heavy and conflicting, his excitement wins out. Keith takes the key, thanking the attendant, and a small voice in the back of Lance’s mind whispers this could be them some day, on Earth, with a key of their own. He does his best to ignore it.
“Ready?” Keith asks.
“Please oh please let the bed be bigger than Red’s cabin,” he responds.
Keith snorts. Slowly, out of what must be a desire to torture Lance, he slides the key into the lock and turns it. Lance doesn’t hesitate before shoving it open.
“It is bigger than the cabin!” he shouts, and wastes no time running up and onto it.
He practically sinks into the mattress, so soft it’s like it’s made of hopes and dreams. The blankets are the fluffiest things he’s ever felt in his life. And the space — he stretches out as far as he can, fingers to toes, and not a single limb comes even close to the edge of the bed.
The mattress dips beside him, and a hand slides along the back of his neck.
“This is you before you notice the big canopy.”
Lance lifts his head immediately. He fights back a very undignified squeal when he does, indeed, see a gossamer blue canopy hanging softly from the high ceilings.
“And the windows too, sweetheart. Floor to ceiling, like you like ‘em.”
Lance scrambles to his knees to check. They are. And the view is breathtaking.
“And the bathtub? Is it huge and clawfooted?”
Keith ducks his head, smiling, and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek.
“I’ll go check, you grandma. You take your armour off.”
He listens for Keith’s footsteps, waits for them to go from carpet to tile, waits for the “Yep! Claw foot!”, waits for the sound of rushing taps even though he didn’t ask, even though Keith didn’t offer. He turns on his back and stares as the canopy, inspecting the padded wooden roof structure from which the gauzy curtains hang, tracing its sturdy edges and even corners.
Keith makes him feel so warm.
He’s felt a lot of cold, in a lot of places, for a lot of his life. Part of it is the stupid anaemia that he gets to live with. Part of it is stuff he doesn’t like to think about. But Keith comes in with his warm hands and warm smile and stupid big warm heart, and Lance is thawed in every frozen inch of him. It’s good. It’s so good.
He wants it so desperately.
He comes when Keith calls, stripping his armour along the way. Keith is waiting for him in the bath when he gets there — and it is huge, close enough for them to both sit comfortably without brushing so much as a toe against each other, but of course Lance settles his spine against the curve of Keith’s chest the second he slips inside the steaming water. The room smells of sandalwood and lilac.
“You are so important to me,” Keith murmurs, seemingly at random, pressing his lips along Lance’s stretched neck, following the arch of it as he tips his head back to rest on Keith’s shoulder.
Lance’s breath sighs out of him, rising and mixing with the steam. He lifts a shaking hand to twine it to Keith’s, squeezing. Their joined hands are wet against his chest. Together they rise, up and down, up and down, up and down, with every shaky breath.
———
They giggle like teenagers, sneaking into the kitchen well after dark and well after most of the castle has finally gone to bed.
Neither has wanted to face the team’s teasing just yet, or even the team at all, really. Their room can’t be called a room so much as a small apartment — bookshelves lining the wall that Keith had been eyeing for hours, a massive wardrobe, a beautiful velvet sofa, even a small icebox. Neither of them have said it but it feels, implicitly, like their own little space, their own little commune, beyond the privacy of a hotel room. It feels like somewhere they could live. They’re billions of miles away from Earth and anywhere Lance could consider home, but it’s nice to pretend, and neither of them is ready to hop back into reality — or Hunk’s roasting — quite yet.
(It is not what Lance’s mind is pretending. In no world could they ever live in a castle like this. It is foolish to spend his time fantasizing about a future they will probably never have, a home they will never build. The guards stationed at every door should break Lance’s fantasy. But he has always been very, very good at pretending.)
“Just grab some of everything,” he whispers to Keith. “We have actual room cleaning, remember? We can have some dirty dishes, no one will mind.”
“There’s certainly space for it,” Keith agrees.
In minutes the two of them have piled almost more than they can carry. They’re much slower on the walk back, but no less giddy. As soon as the door is locked shut behind them, they’re sat on the bed, even though eating on a bed is disgusting and usually Lance would never permit it, and stuffing their faces.
“Oh my God, this thing tastes like strawberries. Here, try.” Keith holds up a juicy looking silver fruit, Lance leans over to bite it. It does taste like strawberry. He dusts off his hands and crawls over to chase the taste off Keith’s tongue.
“Strawberries get you going?” Keith mumbles, and Lance grins and says, “Something like that.”
They have more food than they can possibly eat and they eat until they can barely move. The rest they wrap up and stick in the icebox.
He can feel Keith falling asleep, head getting heavier, so he pats him gently on the hip and whispers, “Come on, get up, at least get ready first. Wash your face.”
Keith groans. He squishes his face further into Lance’s belly, making him squirm and laugh, and mutters something he can barely here. “Hnnngh. You first. I’ll catch up.”
“You’ll fall asleep,” Lance scolds, but he gets up first anyway. When he glances behind him he sees that Keith has at least managed to put one foot on the ground, so maybe he really will get up and put some pyjamas on.
Lance snorts. Yeah, right.
He takes his time and pokes around the bathroom, having been too preoccupied to do so beforehand. There’s a stack of fluffy towels and cloths on a shelf, and even a couple rough ones for exfoliating. In a cupboard lies dozens of soaps and oils and creams and a million other things, labelled in that same holographic translator stuff the Olkarions use so Lance can read them easily. He is impressed by the wide range of selection — he’s been slowly rebuilding his skincare collection, and will indeed be looting at least half of these bottles to complete it. There’s enough stuff here to do a whole soak. Nice.
Then he turns towards the sink. And he stares.
And he starts to cry.
Laid out exactly as he likes it is his stuff from his pack. His toothbrush, his primary face wash, his hair brush, his lotion, everything. In order of how he uses it, with the sink in the middle, and everything an appropriate distance from the sink so he doesn’t soak the whole counter trying to reach for whatever comes next in his routine. A setup his has perfected over many years and has had genuine conniptions over misplaced steps and wrong orders. Something inane and stupid and that only matters to him.
Of course Keith has noticed, of course Keith has memorized, of course he has replicated.
Lance is a horrible, horrible person.
This is has to be how it ends.
“Keith!” he shouts, and the man comes in running, half groggy and robbing the sleep from his eyes. He’s in a t-shirt and boxers.
“Lance?”
“My brush is — in the wrong place.”
Keith inspects him carefully. “You’re crying.”
“Because the brush is in the wrong place! I keep it in the same spot, I like it here, you know I like it here, why is it —”
He interrupts himself with a great, heaving hiccup, so large it shakes his whole body, and he’s furious with himself, with his shaking hands, with the careful look on Keith’s face.
This is how it ends.
This is how it ends.
This is how it ends.
“This is not where my brush goes,” he insists again, desperate to keep his voice steady, desperate to make it angry.
“Okay,” Keith says simply. He walks over and pulls the brush gently from Lance’s hands. “Where do you want it?”
Lance tries to breathe in. His chest shakes and shudders, poking holes in his voice. This isn’t working. Why isn’t it working?
“No, you’re supposed to — I’m being unreasonable.”
“You’re upset about something.”
“Something stupid.”
“Okay. I’ll fix it. I can fix it.”
“No, you can’t — I’m not —”
The rest of his strength leaves him.
This is how it ends.
This is how it ends.
Why can’t he make it end.
Slowly, Keith reaches out to grab his hands. Lance lets him, like the coward he is.
“Come to bed, sweetheart. You’ve had a long day. You need to sleep.”
“Okay,” he whispers, defeated, squeezing his eyes shut. He keeps them shut as Keith guides him to the giant bed, as he pulls back the covers, as he crawls in and waits for the sound of the light switch to be flicked off, of the tiny creak of Keith’s weight as he joins him.
For a long moment Keith is quiet. Long enough that Lance would assume he’d fallen asleep, except that he still sits upright, except that his hand has slid under Lance’s shirt, and his thumb traces a line across the small of his back, over and over again.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he whispers.
A new tear slips hot down Lance’s face.
This is how it ends.
He knows, or at least he must suspect. Maybe he realized his mistake some time ago, and has been waiting for Lance to fess up, to explain why he went along with Keith’s mistaken affection in the first place. Why he used Keith, confused as he was, for his own selfish needs.
“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely. He can’t bring himself to turn around, to sit up, to meet Keith’s eyes.
Keith’s hand doesn’t so much as twitch. “What for?”
“For leading you on.”
That certainly gives him pause.
“Leading me…on?”
“Yeah.” Lance sniffles, dragging himself upright and away from Keith’s affectionate hands, huddled against the massive headboard. “You came back…confused. I don’t know. You thought we were in love. I wanted it, so I let you. I’ve been manipulating you.”
“Lance…” Even only in the silvery blue moonlight streaming in from the windows, Keith’s face is unmistakable, obvious; strong brow creased in worry, head tilted in confusion, face pulled with something like desperation. “Lance, we are in love. Aren’t we? I love you. And you love me, I know you do.”
Lance shakes his head. His tears make his face crumple and he knows how ugly that makes him look, so he hides his face.
“No, I made you feel that way, I didn’t correct you back then and it’s habit now so…”
He trails off. Keith doesn’t respond. He wonders if he’ll stay the night, bed surely big enough for him to sleep without touching Lance at all, or if he’ll have to go get a new room.
A tiny, tiny part of Lance’s brain recognises the irony in that and wants him to laugh. But the steady breaking of his heart keeps it at bay.
“…Back at the tarmac,” Keith says what feels like hours later, startling Lance out of his skin. He looks up at the man with wide eyes, having half-convinced himself he was already gone, and Keith meets his gaze determinedly. “Back at the tarmac, you said I was honest. Did you mean that?”
Lance swallows.
“Yes.”
Keith holds his gaze, looking for something, then nods, having found it. “Believe me then, sweetheart.” He crawls forward, slowly, as if he is afraid Lance will startle away from him. That fear is what startles Lance out of his stupor, out of his guilt, out of the dread that has been building in his stomach for months. He hasn’t seen that kind of fear — the fear of getting too close — on Keith face since he came back. And never does he want to see it again. He throws himself into Keith’s arms, too hard, hard enough to hurt, but Keith catches him and holds him and squeezes just as painfully tightly. “I love you, star of my skies.”
“That’s cheesy as hell,” Lance croaks, and Keith laughs, wetly and beautifully. “I love you too.”
“Good.” Keith kisses the top of his head. “Good.” He exhales, long and shuddering; relieved. “God, I spent two years waiting for this exact moment.”
The statement strikes Lance as odd. “This exact moment.”
Keith tenses. Lance tenses, too, and immediately he relaxes again, breathing steadily until Lance matches him.
“On the space whale, time was…stretchy.”
“You mentioned.”
“Two years I lost.”
Lance tightens his hold. “I know.”
“Most of it was survival camping, really, but there were these visions, sometimes. For Krolia and me. Our pasts. You guys, in the present.” He takes a breath. “Our future.”
Somehow, Lance gets the feel he’s not talking about his and Krolia’s.
“Our future?”
Keith’s breath tickles his neck. Lance doesn’t dare move. Goosebumps pimple his skin and he lets them, shivering, warmed.
“Yes. So much, all the time. More than anything else we saw. Just — tiny snippets, here and there; your face when you sleep, your fingers on a bow, you dragging me on a surfboard and a million other places I woulda followed you to anyway.”
One of his hands slides down Lance’s ribs, fingertips light enough to make him shudder, and rests, cupped open at his hip. “I saw this,” he admits. “Not — the whole conversation, or why, but my hands on you, in this bed, in the moonlight. It kept me going.”
Lance closes his eyes and tries to imagine. Stuck in a strange place where days don’t seem to pass with a stranger who claims to be his mother, watching visions of himself in the future, over and over again.
“No wonder your head was all wonky.”
“Yeah.”
“You’d already been with me. For two years.”
“For twenty. Thirty. Seventy.”
“…That’s a long time, Keith.”
“God, I hope so.”
Lance smiles. “You gonna stick with me that long, hotshot?”
“Like glue, darlin’.”
Lance looks up and, sure enough, Keith’s eyes are closed, face slack. He’s clinging onto consciousness with every bit of strength in his body, things like keeping his accent in check losing priority. Lance settles again against him, guiding them gently so they lie comfortably against the pillows, and breathes out, slow and long.
“Tell me about our future.”
“House on th’beach,” Keith murmurs. His words are slow and pulled apart. “Stone’s throw from your mama’s.”
Lance traces sleepy circles on his skin.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Little boy with hair like yours followin’ every little thing you do.”
His breath hitches. He hadn’t thought about that — hadn’t let himself think about it. It’s dangerous, for more than one reason.
But tonight they’re safe. Under the silvery moonlight, with a bed three times bigger than they are, nothing can touch them.
“What about a little girl with your smile?”
“You got it.”
Lance’s smile is warm and giddy, tucked into Keith’s arm, etched there like it’s permanent. “Good. Goodnight, mi alma.”
“Night, baby.”
This is how it stays, forever and ever and always.
383 notes · View notes
amber-sekio · 1 month
Text
Oneshot -Diluc needs a hug
Fandom: Genshin Impact
Ships: Diluc x reader
TW: ooc? ; borderline panic attack? ; nightmares
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was too slow, just like last time. He couldn’t save you. Must he lose everyone he cherished? Must he always be too slow or weak to save the ones he loved? Did Celestia hate him so? 
He cradled you in his arms, your body was cold, much too cold. He couldn’t stop the tears or sobs that escaped, unrelenting. 
Diluc jolted awake, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His breaths are short and heavy. Next to him in bed -where you should be- is much too cold. He panicked thinking his nightmare might actually be his reality until he heard the click of the bedroom door opening. There you stood with a cup of tea in your hand. 
“Diluc, are you alright?”   
Tears brimmed his eyes, threating to fall as he looked at you. Closing the door you quickly walked over to him, placing your tea on the nightstand next the bed. When you sat yourself on the bed, Diluc’s arms were immediately around you holding you so close as if you’d disappear into thin air if he didn’t, and to him and his still panic stricken mind, that was a very possible outcome. 
“Do you want to talk about it, love?” You spoke lovingly, voice barely above a whisper.    
His response was a simple shake of his head, opting to instead pull you closer to him. 
“There’s still some tea left, I could go get you a cup if you’d like?” You whispered fondly.   
His response was a simple “Just hold me please.” His voice wavered slightly as he tried to will himself not to cry. 
You pulled him impossibly closer, his head in the crook of your neck, and as you whispered sweet nothings into his ear, the dam finally broke and his tears fell. His body shook with silent sobs as his tears stained your shirt --but you couldn’t care less about your shirt, your mind was only set on calming Diluc. 
“Please... Please d-don’t leave me.” His voice broke through the silence. 
“I’d never dream of leaving you, my love.” You cooed at him as you shifted yourself and Diluc into a more comfortable position. As his tears slowly came to a stop, so did his rapid breaths as they evened back out in the comfort of your embrace. He eventually fell asleep, not long after by you, falling asleep to a pleasant dream with Diluc in your arms --the tea by the bed long forgotten.  
208 notes · View notes
metalhoops · 1 year
Text
Steve and Eddie: Alternative ‘First’ meeting part 2.
Read Part 1 Here
Tumblr media
Eddie Munson never expected Steve to be his friend. He kept waiting for the former king to realise how different their two worlds were. When that day came, he hoped Steve could look back on his time spent with the strange Metalhead with affection.
Several months had passed since the two had their first encounter in the woods outside the trailer park, and he hadn’t scared Steve away yet. Eddie found the boy following at his side every other day when he wasn’t at work. He was loyal as a golden retriever and strangely, almost as happy. When he and Steve run into each other for the first time since Steve’s graduation, one thing was clear: Steve wasn’t happy. 
Now, most days, he appeared more happy than not. Yet, he was still distant. There were things he was keeping close to his chest, but Eddie didn’t feel like he was close enough to push. 
Eddie kept waiting for the moment he’d chase Steve away. He talked the guy’s ear off about Hellfire, now that the school year was back in full swing. They’d both agreed to keep Steve’s flock of wayward children in the dark about their friendship, lest they think Steve was using Eddie to keep an eye on them, ever the babysitter. Steve listened attentively. 
He invited Steve around to watch obscure B-grade, horror schlockfests. There was no way he enjoyed it, but Steve stayed. He jumped at all the right times and laughed at all the wrong ones, just like Eddie. Steve was too good to be true. One day, something had to give. 
When they drove together, Eddie played the music too loud and performed air guitar solos at stoplights. He’d even gone so far as to serenade Steve with KISS songs as the guy helped him put together a dinner that wasn’t from a microwave container. 
He’d expected Steve to roll his eyes and call him a nerd, which admittedly he did. However, right after, he’d equipped himself with a wooden spoon and performed an equally cheesy rendition of a Bob Seger song. 
Hell, once his parents were out of town and they’d stayed the night at Steve’s he’d shown Eddie his best impression of Tom Cruise in Risky Business, complete with high socks, a poorly buttoned button-down, and too-short, shorts. Eddie was so gone for Steve Harrington, and it was horrible because he knew something was going to go wrong.
He was sick of waiting for it to happen. The two had been friends for months, and Eddie was sick of holding his breath, with each passing day knowing that the hurt would be all the greater as his attachment to Steve grew. 
Steve’s parents were out of town, which always made for a more relaxed Steve. He’d invited Eddie to stay the night at his place for the first time. Eddie realised what had to happen next as Steve invited him to crash with him in his bed. 
This was the thing that would finally scare Steve away. This was the thing that would get Steve to finally give up his reformed jock status and call him a freak. He couldn’t share a bed with Steve without him knowing, it wasn’t fair. 
“I kinda like taking the side next to the door. You mind taking the window side?” Steve asked so casually it made Eddie’s heart ache. 
He found it hard to swallow as he bit the bullet and told Steve the thing he’d been dancing around for months. 
“I’m gay, Steve.” He wished he’d been more eloquent, but he hadn’t. He spoke to the shitty plaid wallpaper, his words running together. 
When he finally looked, he found Steve sitting on the bed, his wide eyes looking equal parts alarmed and confused. He wasn’t cursing at Eddie or chasing the guy out of his house, so far, it was going better than he’d expected. 
“Uh... thanks for telling me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you steal my side of the bed,” Steve finally replied. Eddie was goddamn floored. 
“You heard me, right?” Eddie repeated. There was no way in hell this wasn’t the thing that chased Steve away. 
“Roger Dodger. Loud and clear. You don’t like boobs,” Steve paraphrased as he wriggled under the covers. Eddie let out a sound between a snort and a sob because, holy shit, Steve didn’t care. He was also an absolute idiot, but that was expected.
“And you’re still cool with me sleeping with you?” Eddie asked. 
“I don’t like to sleep alone much, anymore,” Steve spoke with a vague shrug of his shoulders. There it was again, the uneasy sense he got that Steve wasn’t telling him something important. 
Eddie didn’t pry, because Steve hadn’t pushed when he’d just goddamn come out to him. Eddie slipped beneath the covers, closest to the window and lay beside Steve until the man fell asleep. Eddie couldn’t sleep, his head still reeling. 
After an hour, he felt Steve twitch at his side and mumble something incoherent. Eddie stayed still, thinking the moment would pass, quick and painless as a sun shower. Instead, Steve started to thrash. Eddie sat up in bed, flicked on the lights, and gazed down at the former king’s pinched brows. It was hard to believe this was the same boy who’d stalked the halls of Hawkins High, looking seemingly untouchable from Eddie’s ranks amongst the outcasts and common folk. 
“Stevie?” Eddie breathed, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him. 
The other man’s body stilled beneath his hand, and his face remained contorted. In his sleep, he crept closer to Eddie, curling his body around him. He had no idea what the hell to do. Steve hating to sleep alone made more sense. 
“It’s okay, Harrington. I got you. You’re okay,” Eddie mumbled, taking a risk and leaning down to card his hands through the man’s hair. 
Eddie sat there for another half-hour, muttering quiet nothings until he stilled and slept peacefully. 
When morning finally came and the two found themselves dancing around each other in the Harrington’s oversized kitchen, Eddie decided to broach the subject. Steve kept setting off alarm bells in his head, and he had no idea how to quiet them on his own. 
“Steve, I know I’m a shitty listener because I love to hear the sound of my own voice, but you know, if you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here, right?” 
Steve stepped back from the kitchen cabinet to get a better look at Eddie, his face the picture of conflict. He kept looking as though he were seconds from telling Eddie something before going dead quiet. Finally, he spoke.
“I don’t think I’m entirely straight.” 
That hadn’t been what he was fishing for, but holy shit. 
To make matters worse, Steve was sending him all the right goddamn cues. His eyes flickered to Eddie’s lips, then back to his face. He chewed on his bottom lip and ran his fingers through his carefully styled hair. Screw it. 
Eddie crossed the space between them and smash their lips together, pushing Steve’s back against the cabinet. It was a car crash kind of desperation. Limbs and lips everywhere. Steve ended up on the countertop, his legs wrapped around Eddie’s hips, hands in his hair. Eddie’s head was a chorus of holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. 
Eddie Munson never expected Steve to be his friend, but the one thing he’d never expected to ruin their friendship was a kiss. 
Tags
@rhyswritesreadsandcries @lightwoodbanethings @beeing-stuupid @chaoticvictorianspirit @korixae @ihaveahordingproblem @lyriclight @exyvey @ashwinmeird​ @breealtair @eviltwistedpixie @adelicioustragedy @theoncelee @bubblegum192 @aceflavouredyougurt @pluto-pepsi @occasionallyifailtoart @didntwant2come​ @catboyb​adankrivervalleynearyou
1K notes · View notes
d00msd4y · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
May I interest you in some sonadow fluff angst
200 notes · View notes
estro-gem · 5 months
Text
Jax x Ragatha: The snake and the water spring
The Amazing Digital Circus AU: Oasis.
Author's note: I found this show by chance and I took a great liking to it! So now I did a thing, instead of studying for upcoming exams, because I love making things difficult for myself, apparently.
I have no idea what the fandom is like, but I'm playing it safe just to be... well... safe. I just loved the concept of this show so much that I couldn't help but be inspired by it! It got me thinking and I let it all out in this... thing.
I want to write more one-shot fics about the other characters and how they fit into this au too, but I don't know when I'll be able to.
WARNING! None of these characters are mine and everything mentioned and described is purely made-up fiction; inspired by works that are not my own. Nothing should be considered canon or taken seriously - we are all here to have some harmless fun! No age restrictions. I think this might be appropriate for all ages...?
Please show some love and support for Gooseworx; the creator of The Amazing Digital Circus!
I definitely butchered Gooseworx's characters by adding unnecessary 'relationship dynamics' and deviating from their original personalities. I promise that the actual show and characters are so much better than they are in my false portrayal of them.
SUMMARY:
A fanmade take on the events following Pomni's arrival and after the crew had dinner together. This is focused on Jax's point of view, but still written in the third person.
Jax confronts Ragatha after the pilot episode's 'dinner' and does his best to comfort her in a way that works for them. That's it.
Please enjoy!
THE SNAKE AND THE WATER SPRING
Jax was a desert snake.
Nothing but a cold-blooded pest that lived to find his next meal.
When one is left to die under the scorching sun, you can’t stomp on the sun for creating a desert, but you could stomp on the desert snake if it added to the pain of surviving in said desert. The Digital Realm was nothing but a desert sun – a cage with no exit and an evil with no target.
It was no secret why so many had lost their minds here.
Jax took on the role of being the snake. It was never announced or planned, but it was deemed necessary by all who came to know the realm. The inhabitants of The Amazing Digital Circus craved any sense of control; something they could hold accountable for their torment – something they could punish. A menace, parasite.
Evil with a target: Jax.
It was fun to act out while everybody went about their lives. He could unapologetically be the worst being known to man and thrive on the rage and hatred of all he had affected. If they hated him, he was fulfilling his role perfectly… and that meant they could stay sane and do their parts as he did his. Less people would be lost to insanity… and the group would grow stronger.
Everyone had a role in their system – an oasis was established, with Ragatha as the heart of the oasis; their very own water spring.
But when a new invading creature bursts into the oasis with no knowledge of this system, their system would be doomed. Pomni happened to be that invader. Everyone could collectively, yet silently agree that she was acting by her own careless devices since she arrived a few hours ago. She greedily soaked up their water source and left it barren, dry, and suffering.
Granted, Pomni didn’t know how their oasis worked, but it didn’t change the fact that she disrupted everything by showing up. She would have to catch on quickly and prove herself useful, before anyone else loses their minds.
They lost one of their own already… and they almost lost their beloved Ragatha; Jax’s equal and opposite.
Their precious water source.
Snakes offered venom, while water springs offered hope of life. They all desperately needed Ragatha to survive. While most would assume her to be fine after being fixed by Caine, Jax knew better than that. He saw her reluctantly stand aside Pomni to support her – beautifully acting within her role as she always would, but it was clear that Pomni still didn’t understand how scarce the water was by then. Rags was spread thin enough by handling the extra stress and enduring the continuous pain of being corrupted by the abstraction, but that didn’t stop Pomni from practically having a mental breakdown at the dinner table.
Jax saw that coming from a mile away. Thank goodness he silently took the open seat next to Pomni, silent in his insistence that the ragdoll should keep her distance for the time being. He’d give anything to destroy the little jester for abusing his doll. Ragatha was acting perfectly normal at the time – her masked smile perfectly set on her face – until it was time for them all to retire to their respective bedrooms.
Jax wished that he would’ve just dragged her after him when he booked it from the abstraction earlier today. Pomni would have been the perfect distraction for them to escape and get Caine.
He stood at Ragatha’s door after dinner.
Jax made a point to ring the doorbell this time. Usually, he’d just pluck out a key and saunter in like he owns the place, but with what happened today, he’d make an exception. Everyone has their limit – and someone has already reached their limit today. They couldn’t risk losing another one. Especially not Raggs. They all really needed her.
When she didn’t open, he tried the bell again. Nothing.
Well, time for the key, then.
He shoved his hand down his front pocket and fished out the doll’s room key. The bunny didn’t waste time opening the door. He wanted to see what state the girl was in, despite dreading the possibility of finding an abstracted amalgamation on the other side.
Silence.
Not even a creak was heard from the hallway. The room was lit up as it usually was, so that was a good sign, at least. Jax couldn’t see an obvious black body of eyes – another win. But where was Ragatha? He did see her walk into her room, so she had to be here.
He walked around, keeping his cool, casual composure fixed, despite no one being around. It was effortless at this point. It became a way for him to focus on what he could control in this crazy digital prison; himself.
He couldn’t, however, control his ability to spot a blasted ragdoll, it would seem. He scanned the room again, until his eyes fell on her ¾ bed. Could she-?
The bunny rolled his eyes at himself as he lowered himself onto his knees – maybe he could convince himself that he was not phased by the situation. Bending down, he peered beneath the bed frame.
Jax sighed in exasperation. Or was it relief? Both?
Ragatha was in the state she was in before retiring to her room. No gliching, no extra eyes.
Just Raggs.
She didn’t look good, though. The doll was curled up beneath her bed and blindly staring ahead of her. It didn’t look like she was breathing – not that they needed to anyway, but it was uncanny to see Rags like this. She was their voice of reason. She was a water spring in this desert.
If she dried up, their desert would be doomed.
Jax silently stood up and walked back to the open door again. No need to make a fuss over this. He took hold of the door handle and shut it from the inside. Key in hand, he locked the door and nodded to himself. Ragatha needed a raincloud… and he’d have to fill that role now. It’s the least he could do after leaving her to fend for herself when they found the abstraction today.
Why didn’t she run with him? Why did think she could fix someone whose mind was broken beyond repair? Why didn’t she just leave the rookie as bait?
Because that just wasn’t her role, was it?
If it weren’t for her nature – her role – none of them would have made it this far. It dawned on Jax, once again, how close they were to losing their beloved doll. How close they were to being stuck with an invader who knew nothing about what it took to survive in this hell hole.
Enough.
Back to the bed, crouched down and silent Jax positioned himself to lay down and simply look over the red head from a relative distance. There was enough space for the doll to crawl out of hiding without having to touch him. The bunny still hadn’t said a word. It’d be stupid to talk, and he didn’t feel like making the effort. He just wanted things back to normal again – well… as normal as it could have been.
Now Kaufmo is gone, a new creature was invading their home, tearing it up from the roots and tipping the delicate scales of the balance they worked very hard on creating. All because of a lunatic ringmaster having the bright idea of creating a fake exit-door. Someone better get that jester on a tight leash to get her to fall in line, like the rest of them were forced to.
He knew he, for one, wouldn’t mind roughing her up a bit. It was his specialty – his role. The parasite. The menace. The instigator.
Evil with an actual target.
The sound of shifting and movement had Jax blink out of his own head. Ragatha was slowly and dumbly making her way out from under her bed. Her eyes were still fogged over and her face still eerily blank, but at least she came out of hiding out of her own will. In a matter of seconds, the doll was out from her hiding place and settled on the floor beside Jax. She was staring him in the eyes now, waiting for the bunny, silently pleading.
Jax hadn’t had his aloof-douchebag persona engaged since he locked Ragatha’s door. She didn’t need a menace now – she needed to be grounded; revitalized. She needed a dark raincloud to fill up the water spring they all needed.
He didn’t look forward to what needed to be done, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to do it.
He moved to stand up and held out a hand to help her up. He took note of the way her hand was shaking when she took his and gently guided her to the bed. The red head was the first to sit, then moved to lay down on her back and numbly stare at the ceiling. With a deep breath, Jax gathered himself mentally and cautiously crept onto the bed and positioned himself to briefly hover over her, before lowering his full weight onto Ragatha.
He had his head in the crook of her neck, on the left shoulder with his ears folding back to floppily droop to his upper back… with his left hand resting on the opposite shoulder. His body, although slim, enveloped hers and caused her to sink slightly into the mattress. His legs just loosely laid over and aside the ragdoll’s. It was more important to have his weight resting on her torso anyway.
For a long moment, they just motionlessly laid on the bed like this. To an outsider, it would look like they fell asleep atop each other or simply cuddled together very closely.
An outsider wouldn’t see that Jax was focused on the slow process of Ragatha’s body relaxing under his weight and her breathing slowing to a regular rhythm. An outsider wouldn’t have known that this was hardly the first time they’d done this – how long it took Jax to learn that this make-shift deep-pressure therapy was the most effective grounding technique for Ragatha to collect herself again.
They wouldn’t understand that Jax didn’t do this out of wanting to, but rather out of necessity.
Jax didn’t like to be touched. If anything, he was very capable of merely tolerating it. Everyone in the circus knew that he was touch-averse; some even used that as leverage to mess with him if the situation called for it. It was a necessity that he endured to keep his doll sane – to keep anyone of importance here in the circus, sane. Their whole lives revolved around mental strength. It was all just a matter of staying sane.
The laid there for what felt like a lifetime.
Slight shifting beside Jax alerted him that the doll was moving her arms – previously stiffly pinned to her sides. This was good, she felt comfortable enough to move around now!
Her left hand gently snaked up to the bunny’s head and slowly, softly petted his ears in a longitude motion. Her right hand wrapped loosely around his middle-to-lower back – motionless. This was bad, Jax did not like being touched like that!
While he was fine with the rhythmic touches of Ragatha’s left hand, he despised the idle position of the right hand resting on his back. He couldn’t prevent himself from tensing up in discomfort.
Bad touch, bad touch, bad-
This caused the ragdoll to tense up and rip her hands off him as if he burned her.
Oh no you don’t! We are not starting all over again.
He slowly pulls away and propped up unto his elbows, hearing Ragatha’s breathing pick up as she presumably spirals into her own thoughts on how he was going to leave her like this. Jax cast down a disapproving look. He broke his gaze to unceremoniously take her right hand – now clutched close to her chest – and intertwined their fingers, before resting his head on her left shoulder once again. He close eyes as he use his free hand to put her left hand on his head again, waiting for her to resume her petting.
Good touch; this was a good touch. Please understand.
Thankfully, Ragatha relaxed… and continued her previous slow, rhythmic motions. Slowly, Jax felt her relax once again and he indulged into her need for touch by stroking his thumb over hers occasionally.
Soon they fell into a rhythm; Ragatha would pet Jax’s ears 3 times, then it was his turn to stroke his thumb over hers. Then they would repeat the routine. This also helped Jax cope with the touching; the routine. The rhythm.
It felt like hours ticked by as the two just practiced their little unspoken routine. Jax grew used to it after a while, almost forgetting that his new mattress was now a sentient ragdoll and completely tuned into their rhythm of touches.
Pet… pet… pet… thumb. Pet… pet… pet… thumb.
Jax didn’t like touch, but he loved routine.
The doll and the bunny’s time together, once nothing but grounding techniques, grew to become an intimate exchange of touches and caresses – all wrapped in a routine, like a dance. Jax felt warm and fuzzy inside; for once he basked in the moment of enjoying his dolly. He lazily wondered if Ragatha felt the same. He shifted his head to look at her.
The doll looked down to meet his eyes when she felt him move. He could swear that she looked at peace, basking in the bliss of their closeness. For some reason, she looked like an angel. They all saw her as their angel. Had he successfully pinned a heavenly body beneath him?
Her gentle, longing gaze made a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupt from his core.
This wasn’t the first time this feeling invaded his being when they did this – as rare as these moments were. He wasn’t sure when he started experiencing such feelings during these rare encounters, but as months crawled by, he felt drawn to his dolly more and more. Based on how she looked at him, he could only assume that she felt it too.
Something so foreign, yet so familiar.
He didn’t fail to spot the warmth rushing to her cheeks when their eyes met. She looked so ethereal beneath him, especially when her breathing picked up under his firm gaze. Her lips were parted, and her eyes were lidded. This time, it wasn’t fear or overstimulation. It was anticipation. It was desire.
Jax internally flinched at the tingly sensation when he smoothly burrowed his face into Ragatha’s neck. She shivered at the breath he let out against her skin. He could tolerate the touching a little longer, as long as he could see her crumble again. He wanted to see her walls crumble again.
“Jax- ”
Oh… he had to hear her again. More clearly, next time. This was torture, but she made him into her own personal masochist. His skin crawled at the sensation of her skin shivering against him, but he needed more. He could take it. Just a little longer – he just had to stand these sensations a little longer. He looked at her again.
Ragatha was reverting to a helpless puddle. The doll’s arms were gripping at the covers beneath her, successfully eliminating the bother of excessive contact that he despised. Jax didn’t know if she did it with that intension or without thinking, but either way, he was thankful. He really wanted more.
Why couldn’t he just be normal?
He lifted onto his elbows again and – dare one say – lovingly looked at her face. She could only peek back at him, breathing slightly faster than usual. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shaky hand rise from the covers and hover next to his cheek, while her eyes pleaded for his mercy. He hesitated but bit the bullet to comply; leaning into her touch while desperately trying to ignore the odd tingles. Jax convinced himself to kiss her wrist and drowned himself in the pleasure of hearing her softly call his name.
He only heard it because he was listening so closely for it.
Yes.
DING DONG
In a flash, Jax braced himself up into a crouch and slammed his foot down with a mighty THUMP upon hearing Ragatha startle into a fit when the doorbell chimed. His hair on his back stood on end and his claws ripped through his gloves, leaving gouges in the covers beside the doll’s head.
His precious doll was disturbed again!
He heard her soft cry of fear and his blood boiled with a thirst for vengeance. Only he can make her cry out. He’ll skin the soul that dared to-
“Ragatha…? Can we talk?”
That DAMN jester!
“Jax?” a quiet voice trembled in his ear from beneath him. Jax stopped glaring at the door to softly glance down and see what his little doll wanted.
“Don’t…” Raggs sounded like she was begging while being held at gunpoint, whispering despite their rooms being enchanted to not hear anything from the outside when the door is shut.
Jax wouldn’t dare let that thing inside. Raggs was upset enough as it is.
“Look, I know it probably wouldn’t make a difference…” Pomni’s voice came from the other side door again, “…but I’m so sorry for running off… Again… I saw that exit and I had to see if it was real. No one else believed me and I started to think that I was losing my mind. You understand that, right?”
Jax placed both his hands down on the mattress, blocking the doll’s view of the door as if it could block the sound of the voice from reaching the Raggs’s ears, still hovering over her. He knew that his dolly didn’t want to hear anything the harlequin had to say now – he had half the mind to get up and bash the newbie’s head in.
“I hope we can talk about this some time. You are probably tired after such a long, crazy day.” Pomni’s voice died down near the end, “It feels like you’re the only good person here.”
She really is, but she’s too good for you. Selfish leech.
Jax looks down to the girl, still stiff as a board beneath him. Her eye was shiny with the swell of tears. He melted at the sight – anger simmering down. She was just a sweet little rag dolly, she didn’t deserve any of this, but oh, he was so happy to see Ragatha finally emote something again. She was OK again. Their water source was filled once again, now threatening to spill over. He’d happily welcome the flood.
He needed her.
The sound of fading footsteps causes Jax to rip his eyes to the direction of the door. His hearing was better than the dolls, probably thanks to being a rabbit.
Good riddance.
Ragatha seemed to relax at the sight of Jax deflating his stance, reading that Pomni probably left her door. She hesitantly reached up to cup Jax’s cheek. Jax followed her hand’s motion and scoffed, cringing at the invasion. He’s had enough touching for a week. It sucked to leave his doll so soon after being distressed again, but he couldn’t bring himself stand any more of this. He quickly got up and smoothed out his clothes, but not without missing the flash of hurt in the doll’s eyes. He felt bad, but he had to be strong with the new girl around, so straining himself now would only make matters worse and mess up the whole system.
Still, seemingly bored, Jax stood in his spot while rocking on his heels and looking off to the side, only sparing her a glance. Raggs sat up by then. She looked a little worse for wear, but it’s an improvement from hiding under her bed. She rested her elbows on her knees with her chin in her hands. The hurt in her eyes was long gone, but she looked tired. Poor thing, Jax shared the sentiment.
He felt her eye bore into the side of his face and the bunny couldn’t stop himself before he rolled his eyes and looked to her again. He could’ve choked on air when he saw her face, but the years of steeling his demeanor left no trace of his inner turmoil.
Raggs sported that longing look in her eyes again.
They were so close this time – closer than they’ve ever been before. Each time they spent together on nights like this, although few and far between, they grew closer… and hungrier. Neither understood what it was, but they never had the chance to just collapse into it, tonight being the closest to that.
But there was always something, right?
Jax allowed gaze to soften. His doll offered a small smile that almost ripped his heart out if his chest. It was drenched with melancholy of something she knew they could never have.
Because their roles in their little ecosystem didn’t allow for it to ever be theirs. It would never work.
This was survival.
The rabbit steeled his demeanor once again, but this time, his doll’s face didn’t fall.
Good, as it should be.
Jax walked to the door and fished out the key from his front pocket. He didn’t bother looking back. If he did, he wouldn’t have the will to leave anymore. When he opened the door, though, he couldn’t help but mumble out teasingly.
“See yah later, Doll~!”
He wished that he could shout his affections for her out into the void instead.
“I’m not your doll.” Ragatha responded, voice still wobbly and tired, but perky regardless. She knew just how to indulge him.
Yes, she is… she always will be.
Fanart: Evil with a target
Oasis: TADC AU list
Masterlist
255 notes · View notes
light-yaers · 10 months
Text
Take Care: Chapter One
Tumblr media
Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List
Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes. 
Word Count: 13k+
Chapter One
“Thank you so much for accepting me,” you said, stepping into Shannon Hart’s office, Head of Applications at Richmond university. “I’ve been so looking forward to finally getting into publishing and writing.”
Shannon gestured for you to sit opposite her. You dropped yourself down into the swivel chair facing her desk, as she cleared her throat and adjusted her sleeves. You stared at her thoughtfully, taking in the slight twitch of her brow and the vein popping out on her forehead.
“Are you okay, Shannon?” You frowned.
She intertwined her fingers and placed them on the desktop before her. “We’ve asked you here today to let you know, with great regret, that your placement at Pluto Press has been… mixed up.”
“Mixed up?”
“Royally.” Shannon stared you down.
“Royally how?” You leaned forward, all decorum going out the window immediately.
“Our paperwork was sorted wrong. It’s an internal admin error, one that’s– frankly– deeply embarrassing–”
“Just tell me what the deal is, okay, Shannon?” you said, trying not to yell at her to just say it.
Shannon cleared her throat again. “You weren’t the name that we sent to the Pluto Press administration. Which means… well, it means–”
You smacked your hand upon her desk, making her flinch. “I mean this in the nicest way, but for the love of God, spit it out.”
“Your placement at Pluto Press was filled by someone else.”
You squinted at her. “Someone else?”
“Yes.”
“But, I can still get a spot, right?” you asked.
“Regrettably not.”
“Not?”
Shannon nodded. “Not.”
You toyed between the urge to scream at the ceiling, or round-house kick the woman sat in front of you. Both seemed appealing, both seemed necessary, but instead you did nothing. You sat like a rock before her, ignoring the upbeat dump-dump of your heart beneath your ribcage. You weren’t an angry person, no, but this was the closest you’d been to booking into a rage room.
“So… you’re saying, I won’t be an intern at Pluto Press starting next week?” you said, trying to comprehend it fully yourself.
“Correct.” Shannon stayed frozen.
“So…” You leant forward, fully, leaning down on your arms and looking Shannon directly in the face. She gulped anxiously, with nerves, and for good reason. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Shannon?”
“Ah, well.” Shannon squeaked out. Sweat dotted her brow and as quickly leaned back in her chair. “This is what I wanted to discuss. Your options.”
“My options,” you repeated.
“Of which there are a few. One, you could defer the year and be ensured a space on this masters next year, with your original placement at Pluto Press–”
“Fuck no,” you said immediately. “Listen, Shannon. I’ve put off this masters for four fucking years. I’m not waiting another year. I mean, I’ve already moved to Richmond. I’ve taken out my student loans. So, abso-fucking-lutely not.”
Shannon’s eyebrow twitched intensely. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” she whispered. “So, your second option.”
“How many options are there?”
“...Two.”
“So, this is my final option?”
“If you don’t wish to drop out completely, yes.” Shannon was a stone-cold fox, you could tell. As much as her eyebrow twitched and her brow glistened, she was certainly blunt and to the point. It was something you could admire, despite the want to storm out of her office.
“So, my final option is?”
Shannon leaned forward again, strongly. “There is one other placement available for this course. They’re new, and we were originally going to try them out with a student who wished to be a sports journalist, but…”
“But?”
“He changed his mind about the course and went into the fried chicken industry, instead.” You squinted at her quizzically. Shannon’s face stayed as still as a gargoyle. “It’s a social placement. You do Instagram uploads, copywriting, player profiles and articles, things like that.”
“Player profiles? For what?”
“Football.”
“Football?”
“AFC Richmond, to be exact.”
The day had gone from bad to worse within a matter of seconds. Not only had you been wrongfully pushed out of your publishing placement, but now your only option was to work for a fucking football team. Football had been something that went over your head from the start. If it wasn’t the fact that boys from the school football team, when you were twelve, laughed at you incessantly, then it was the visuals of grown men clutching their knees and whining on a pitch that made you hate it completely. Football was not your thing. Football wouldn’t allow you to publish your first novel.
You widened your eyes. “A fucking football team?”
Shannon winced, and it was like a layer shed off her in an instant. “Can I be utterly transparent with you?”
“Please.”
“I know it’s shit,” she said bluntly. You let out a huff in agreement. “But, you still have the opportunity to network. Big name footballers have connections, as does Rebecca Welton, the club owner. You’ll still have all the access to publishing opportunities that you’d get through Pluto Press, just… in a slightly unorthodox way. Your coursework will be slightly changed, and the term structures will be different to match up with the league, but.” Shannon shrugged. “This is still something worth doing. You can write on the side, too. And who doesn’t want to be around some attractive footballers?”
“Me,” you said plainly.
“Scratch that last part, then,” Shannon replied. For the first time since entering her office, she attempted to smile at you. It was almost frightening to look at.
So, it was fuck all. You had no choice. You’d moved into your flat two days before, a tube ride away from Pluto Press, and coincidentally a walk away from the Dogtrack. There was no way you were backing out now, not when you’d been deferring your application for years. This was a time where you had inspiration, motivation, and wanted to succeed. You had to strike while the iron was hot, even if that meant dealing with footballers, of all fucking people.
As much as you’d batted away Shannon’s comment about them, you had already heard of a few players that Richmond. Jamie Tartt was well-known, and you’d be lying if you hadn’t thought he was fit when you’d seen him on his girlfriends’ socials a while back. They were a different breed, though, so entirely excluded from the world that you existed in; far away from the stoicism of footballers and their swinging dicks that fell into one too many vaginas. You didn’t want to be another working woman in the background, especially in an industry that you knew fuck all about. But– this was the best option. It still got you the same opportunities, still gave you the time to write and work on your own novel.
You inhaled sharply and sighed deeply. Shannon stayed put, eyeing you up as she pursed her lips.
“Fine,” you said. “I’ll do it.”
You had less than a week to prepare. Not in terms of your masters or education, but mentally. You were thrusting yourself into the proverbial belly of the beast, a football club full of men who, most likely, smelled really fucking bad. You made a list in your head– Febreeze was right at the top. It wasn’t just about the uncertainty and horror of it all, it was also something that transcended that. What if they didn’t like you? What if this entire experiment went drastically wrong? You knew fuck all about football, and would be surrounded by those whose literal entire lives revolved around the sport.
You felt like an imposter more than anything. More than the rage of the fuck up. More than the fear of things going wrong with your degree. You were an imposter, entering into a world that wasn’t your own, being handed opportunities that others would die for.
That’s all that went through your head as you stood outside AFC Richmond, just off Nelson Road. It looked like a typical football ground from the outside– a green and vibrant field directly to the right, where someone on an industrial mower was cutting the grass. The car park was full of expensive vehicles; Lambos, Jags, Martins. As you focused your breathing, a hulking pitch black Jeep came careening around the corner. You flinched as the driver parked it in one of the top spots, next to a bright green monstrosity, so low to the ground that your knees felt weak just looking at it.
The driver side door of the Jeep burst open, and a man, dressed exactly like his fucking car, jumped out. His jeans were black, his t-shirt black, his leather jacket– black. Atop his head sat a close cut mop of black hair, and his beard was trimmed to absolute perfection, almost to the point of robotism. It was, you guessed it, black.
You stared at him with a mixture of confusion and utter amazement. Was this the Grim Reaper, come to take you away for your sins and tell you your life was all but over? He looked back at you with an indifferent sort of stare, one that penetrated deep into your chest and made you want to violently throw up, or run away immediately.
As he approached the double doored entrance, his back to you, he stopped suddenly. He turned around slowly and laid his dark eyes upon you. “You a fan?” he asked.
“What?” you stuttered out, taken aback by the deepness of his voice. There was a scratch to it, one that resembled a growl. Was this man actually real? He came across as some kind of mythical creature that represented a bad omen, or someone gruff enough to mend the goalposts with his bare hands.
“Meet and greets only happen after games,” he continued. Your face soured with amusement.
“I’m not here for a bloody meet and greet,” you let out. “Do I look like a football fan?” you added quickly, suddenly afraid that you looked like the kind of person to wait outside football stadiums, just to see players.
He shrugged. “I don’t fucking know.”
You took a step forward. “I’m here to see Rebecca Welton, actually. I just…” You glanced around the car park, trying to find the right words to say that you’d been afraid to go inside. “I just didn’t know whether to wait outside or not.”
He followed your eye movements, looking around at the cars alongside you. “Well, she doesn’t seem to have an office in the car park, does she,” he stated. You let out a small huff, embarrassed.
“No, I guess not.” You looked into his eyes, tracing the outline of his stoic face. He was sort of… soft around the edges. If that was even possible. “Do you know where her office is?”
“Do I look like a fucking tour guide?” he said bluntly, and you flinched backwards. Your expression dropped, replaced with something other than the tinge of softness you had before. This guy was an arsehole. An utter arsehole, wearing leather and too tight jeans. When it rained, you bet droplets trickled off him in grey washes, picking up the black dye off his stupid fucking clothes.
“Well,” you said, regarding him. “No, not a tour guide. Maybe the caretaker?”
He raised his brows. “The fucking caretaker?”
“Yeah.” You squinted at him. “I can picture you mowing some grass, fixing some posts, DIY and all that.”
He shuffled on his spot. “Who the fuck are you?”
You crossed your arms. “Someone who’s trying to find Rebecca Welton’s office. And you are?”
“Not the fucking caretaker,” he said, before he turned on his heels and headed to the door.
“Hey, wait!” you yelled. “Hold on!” You rushed towards the door, flashing him a vaguely apologetic stare, but you didn’t dare say one outloud. He didn’t deserve one.
He peered down at you, letting out a literal growl. You backed up slightly, looking at him in absolute awe. “Did you just growl at me?”
“I growl at everyone,” he said.
“Has anyone ever told you that’s a bit weird?”
“All the time. I don’t fucking care,” he said bluntly.
You shrugged. “Fair enough.”
A moment of awkwardly comfortable silence followed. He continued to peer down at you, flicking his eyes across your own, perhaps in an attempt to intimidate you. It didn’t work, not after you’d got under his skin by mistaking him for the caretaker. You raised your brows at him silently, pleading with him to just fucking tell you where to go. You understood that they probably didn’t have many mid-twenties girls around the club, but the least he could do was help, just this once.
He rolled his eyes quickly. “All the way down the corridor, up the stairs. Her office is right there.”
He pulled open the door, reluctantly standing to the side for you to go first. You smiled. “Thank you!” you exclaimed. You rushed inside, fast-walking down the corridor until you found the set of steps up to Rebecca’s office.
He stayed back, peering at you as you went on your way. Before he turned to head down the stairs, he found himself subtly smiling at the scene that played out priorly. You had guts, that’s what he gauged. You had guts and you weren’t afraid to use them.
Rebecca Welton was the most intimidating, yet beautiful, woman you’d ever laid eyes upon. As you sat opposite her in her office, cup of tea in her grasp and hand moving through the air as she talked, you couldn’t take your eyes off the alarming look on her face. She was glowing, talking smartly and confidently, while you all but cowered before her like another male suitor.
“Did you catch any of that?” she asked abruptly, bringing you back into the room. You’d heard nothing, not when you’d been looking at the almost perfect way her face moved when she spoke.
You widened your eyes. “Yes. All of it. In perfect detail.”
“Great.” She stood up quickly, downing the remaining contents of her teacup. “I’ll introduce you to the team. Come on,” she said, rounding her desk.
You scrambled up from your seat and followed her immediately. Her shoes clicked upon the floor dramatically, as you made your way down the stairs and back through the corridor you came from. She took you down another set of stairs to the lower portion of the stadium. You passed multiple offices, and a gym, before she whisked you past a few back rooms.
“Locker room here.” She pointed to her left as you passed. You stuck your head around the corner quickly, taking in a wave of red and blue. “Manager’s office,” she added from a bit further up. “Beyond that is the kit room, and physio on the right.” Rebecca stopped in the corridor suddenly, making you gasp. She let out a breath, before turning on her heels and heading back down the way you both came.
You followed her without question, clutching onto your tote bag for dear life as she whisked you through the grounds. Her legs were too long to keep up with fully, so you were forced to partially jog behind her every few seconds.
“Um, Rebecca?” you asked.
“Hmm.”
“Do I get an office space?”
She stopped again, next to the gym. “Of course,” she said, peering down at you. “It’s there.” She pointed to the right, further away from the gym. A small room is all you saw, devoid of windows, with nothing more than a desk sat in the partial darkness. “I’m sure you can make it… homely.”
“Yes,” you said, smiling up at her from fear. Now wasn’t the time to be criticising your workplace amenities. Maybe when you’d paid your dues, or done a good job, could you ask for something more.
Besides, Rebecca seemed incredibly eager to be done with this tour. She hadn’t exactly been enthralled at your arrival, nor did she seem keen to talk to you for longer than she had to. You’d heard things about her before– a cheating husband, enough money to buy a skyscraper in Dubai, probably. You did your best to keep up with her, avoiding personal questions and trying to retain everything she told you.
The two of you turned the corner, headed for a long corridor, with daylight streaming in at the end. This was obviously the tunnel where players entered onto the pitch. You’d never stepped foot in a stadium of any kind, let alone been on the under-layers like the players themselves. As the both of you made your way to the doors, you imagined what it would be like for them– anticipation, nerves. You’d be shitting yourself, probably.
“I’ll take you to the team, now,” Rebecca explained. “Do you like football?”
“No,” you said immediately. From the look on her face, she wasn’t mad. Maybe this was as good a time as any to explain that you knew fuck all about all this, and actually didn’t want it.
Rebecca peered back at you. “Not at all?”
You sighed. “I know nothing about football, if I’m being honest. I’m a writer, not a sportswoman. I don’t care for sweaty men, or their reasons for fighting one another on a field. I’ll do my job, that I can assure you Ms. Welton, but I won’t deny that I couldn’t give a shit about this game.”
Rebecca slowed her speed, letting you catch up with her. Her quizzical expression quickly turned into a triumphant smile. “Fantastic,” she said. She was being genuine, and you had no idea why. “Well, come on!” she exclaimed, as the two of you burst through the double doors and onto the pitch.
The players bundled up and down the pitch with speed, kicking about a ball as they were split into two teams. You watched them for a few moments, following their movements as they scrambled up and down, kicking the ball between them, until someone finally went for a shot– he got it, but no one seemed happy about it. That was number nine, Jamie Tartt.
“I was wide open!” number twenty-four exclaimed.
“Well, so was I. So, I went for it. Sue me,” Tartt replied, in his staunch Mancunian accent. He stuck out his tongue like a schoolboy as he walked away, leaving number twenty-four with a sour expression on his face. He was comforted by a few others, telling him to brush it off.
You and Rebecca approached the coaches. “Coach Lasso,” Rebecca began, prompting the men to turn around. “This here is our new placement from Richmond university. The one I told you about last week.”
A man with the largest moustache you’d ever seen regarded you. “Oh, yes! I remember now. Welcome!” he said happily, shaking your hand abruptly. You shuffled your falling tote bag back onto your arm, smiling at him awkwardly as he kept shaking your hand.
“Great to be here,” you muttered.
“Call me Ted. You and I are both newbies, you know. Same as Coach here,” Ted said, gesturing to a man beside him. He wore mirrored glasses and crossed his arms intimidatingly. He said nothing, only sent you a nod in hello. “So, what brought you to us, huh? Got a love for football? Got a burning Tobey Maguire for the beautiful game?”
Tobey Maguire?
You looked to the other coach for help. “Burning desire,” he said bluntly.
“I’m trying out my own version of Cockney rhyming slang. Tobey Maguire, desire. Sylvester Stallone, the phone. So far it’s all actors, but we’re getting somewhere.” Ted peered down at you with a cartoonish smile. He was like no one you’d ever met before, someone so overly happy that you could hardly believe it.
“You’re doing… great,” you let out, from lack of what else to say. “But, well– I don’t know a lot about football, but–”
“You and me both, sister,” Ted interrupted.
You laughed awkwardly. “But, I’m happy to be here, and excited for the next year.” A lie, but one that needed to be said. You weren’t here to fuck up this club, or get overly buddy-buddy with its players. You were going to do your job, get your degree and use it afterwards. That was the goal, but during that, you had no Tobey Maguire to upset the team or the management.
Ted and his second in command, Coach Beard, turned around to the pitch. You stood next to Rebecca, who stood next to them, looking out at the players like they were being judged for the next season of So, you think you can dance?
Ted blew on his whistle shrilly. “Gather around, boys!” he yelled. The men obeyed, halting play as they all gathered before their new coaches, with some of them looking more than exhausted.
You couldn’t imagine the physical damage all of them went through, or how fit they had to actually be. You could hardly reach a level six in your bleep test at school, let alone be able to sprint up and down a pitch for two forty-five minute halves.
“Where’s Roy?” Ted asked, prompting one player to appear through the hubbub. When you met his eye, you almost choked on air. It was the guy, the not caretaker. The one that growled at you not an hour ago. “Ah, there he is. Listen up fellas! This little lady here is the placement from Richmond college–”
“Uni!” one of the players yelled.
Ted shot him a wide-eyed look. “God, you call college something different, too? Anyway, yes. Richmond uni. She’ll be doing a few things around here for us. Not PR, but keeping up with player profiles on the website, small updates, and all that jazz about the season coming up, maybe an article or two.”
As Ted spoke, you forced yourself to look anywhere but at number six– Roy Kent. He was staring you down like you’d done something ungodly, like you’d burned down his house or kicked his dog. His stance was one that you’d never seen either, like he was constantly on high alert and ready to strike a punch if needed.
“This here is Roy Kent, the captain of the team.” Ted gestured to Roy. He growled at you. You frowned at him. “You’ll be working with Roy for the next week on player profiles–”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Roy stepped forward. I’ve told you all before, I don’t get involved in PR or website shit,” Roy spoke up. “Get one of the other lads to do it.”
“It’s just for the time being, Roy. Just until she gets acquainted with the grounds.” Ted tried. “As much as I’m happy not to have you in front of a camera– believe me, that’s up to you– as a captain, and as your coach, I’m asking you to do this for the newest member of the Richmond family. Okay?”
You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All you wanted was to start and not stop for a year, so time could go faster. All you wanted was twenty pairs of eyes to stop looking you up and down like something shiny and brand-new.
Roy’s fists balled tightly, until his knuckles went white. “Fine.”
You let out a long breath. “Great,” you muttered. Roy’s eyes found your face, and you looked at him with no effort to be nice. You and he both knew that this was going to be long and annoying. It was better to get it out in the first place than to keep it all in for a year.
After meeting the team, you headed to your shoebox of an office. You had the day to set it up and make your own, before things kicked off. Ted and Beard were still running coaching for the rest of the day, so you were effectively on the lower floor by yourself. You set up your office, popped down your laptop and made a new folder in your documents. You went through your upcoming assignments, and started planning for what you could do. Rebecca gave you the various passwords for the social accounts, which you started filing through to get a sense of what they posted.
It was all the type of shit that your mum would like on Facebook. Brilliant.
If this was what you had to do to get to where you wanted, then so be it. It would all be worth it when you had connections and a network around you. That was the goal.
You opened your ongoing novel on your computer and scanned the pages. This was the endgame; to get the baby published. It was fiction, not once mentioning any sport, but it was all you wanted. Years of delay had led you here, so you had to embrace it while you had the chance to. Downtime was something that you’d have an abundance of, which was another perk, you supposed.
By four in the afternoon, the players tickled back inside. They passed your office with subtle curiosity, peering around the corner as you sat at your desk, filing through emails and starting on a subtle plan for your first assignment, due in at the end of the week. As soon as you’d got the courage up to grab Roy for a quick chat, you could get started.
When the players began filing out of the locker room to head home, you packed up your own belongings. You passed a few of them in the corridor, smiling sweetly and saying subtle hellos as you made your way through, until you almost slammed into one of them.
“Oof!” you exclaimed before him; it was number twenty-four, the one you’d seen before on the pitch.
Gently, he held you steady by your shoulders to stop you falling. “My apologies,” he said kindly.
“Don’t worry. I’m still getting used to this place.”
“It can be a lot to begin with, but I’m sure you’ll get used to it very soon,” he reassured you. You smiled up at him, before he stuck out his hand. “I’m Sam Obisanya. It’s nice to meet you properly.”
You took his hand. “You too. I’m excited to get to know you all.”
“Well, if you want, come and join us later this week. It’s Isaac’s birthday, so we’re all going out to celebrate.”
“Oh,” you said bashfully. “I don’t know, I don’t want to intrude.”
“It’s fine, bruv,” another player turned the corner from the locker room. Isaac McAdoo. “Come along. The more the merrier, you get me.”
Player Colin Hughes appeared in the doorway after him. “Definitely. Come and join in on the fun.”
“Especially before the season starts next weekend,” Isaac added. “Gotta get our freak on while we still can.”
McAdoo and Hughes left together, and you got the sense that they were two players who had a long history of friendship. You turned back to Sam and shot him a smile. “Count me in, then,” you said.
“Brilliant. I’ll put it in our group chat,” Sam said sweetly, before he made his leave.
You turned to the locker room, pleasantly surprised at how that had all gone. If all of the guys were like that, then you’d have no issue with them whatsoever. But, then came Roy. You entered the locker room hesitantly, scooting out of the way as other players said their goodbyes for the day. To the right was the manager’s office, where Ted and Beard still sat at their desks. Directly opposite the door, however, was exactly who you wanted.
You approached Roy, as he pulled on a pair of shoes, and cleared your throat. He looked up at you slowly, resting a hand on his thigh as he lazily skittered his eyes across you.
“So, you’re definitely not the caretaker,” you said, in an attempt to diffuse the tension.
“The last lawn I mowed was my grandad’s when I was nine,” he replied bluntly.
“Noted. I can put that in your player profile, if you wanted.” Sarcasm fell from your mouth, but you got the sense that Roy didn’t appreciate it. He growled, going back to doing up his laces. “I just wanted to talk to you about that, actually. About what Ted said.”
“If you think I’m going to gab with you about the team for the next week then you’re a lot dumber than I gave you credit for in the car park,” he said plainly.
You waved at him in dismissal quickly. “No, no, that’s what I meant. I really don’t need you to do that,” you said transparently. Roy looked up at you with interest, waiting for you to continue. You let out a sigh. “I’m not going to pretend that all this is a dream come true for me, the same way that you won’t pretend it’s something you give a fuck about helping me with. I can go around the players on my own, don’t worry.”
Roy finished tying his laces, before he stood. He towered over you, but the intimidation he’d displayed priorly was starting to wear off. You got a sense that he was just like this, all of the time. You’d read a few articles about him earlier, about his start at Sunderland and his triumphant years at Chelsea, before he moved to AFC Richmond. Roy Kent seemed like a player entrenched with respect. He was one of the greats, that’s what every article had said. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you were intrigued to see it all for yourself.
“Fair enough,” he finally agreed.
You let out an innate sigh of relief. “Great. Thank you,” you said, before you turned and headed for the door. Before you left, however, you stopped abruptly. The locker room was empty now, bar the coaches in the other office. It was just the two of you, and you had a nagging feeling within your gut. “You can tell, can’t you?” you asked.
You turned back to Roy. “Tell what?” he replied.
“That I don’t want to be here.”
“You were stood outside the building this morning like you were walking to your fucking death,” he said. “Of course, I could fucking tell.”
“Just double checking,” you muttered, subtly embarrassed.
“Why are you here then? If you don’t want to be,” he asked, grabbing his bag from the bench. He stood to full height again and took a few steps toward you. It was only then that you realised he was assuming for you to both walk out the building together.
You stepped out of the locker room, falling into step next to Roy in the corridor. “The university fucked up. This was the only placement they had left,” you admitted.
“That’s fucking shit.” Roy’s candour was something you were growing to appreciate, almost. “So, you don’t like football?”
“I don’t know a single thing about it, besides it being people kicking a ball on a field.”
Roy let out a long, low whistle. “Fucking hell. No wonder you didn’t want to come inside.”
As the two of you emerged into the car park, you felt lighter than you had all day. Roy headed to his Jeep, and you stayed a few paces back. “It’s not… ideal.”
“That’s an overly nice way to put it,” he said, looking back at you. “And it’s a fucking lie. Why are you doing this to yourself?”
You shrugged. “I want to publish my book. This is a way to make it happen.”
“Fair enough,” Roy said, jumping into his Jeep. He rolled the window down and switched on the engine. “Just don’t fucking include me in it, alright?”
You scoffed. “You think I want to write about you? Don’t flatter yourself, Captain.”
Roy winced. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered, before he put his car in gear and sped out of the car park. He left you without a second glance, turning onto the street and careening down the road as fast as he could, just to get away from you.
You found yourself walking home with a strange sense of peace. Yes, the situation wasn’t in your favour. Yes, you’d already fucked up and called the team captain the caretaker before you’d even stepped foot in the club, but things didn’t feel bad. The boys were nice, the coaches were welcoming, and even Rebecca Welton didn’t give a shit that you knew nothing. Things were slotting into place faster than you expected, but you were happy about it. As you made your way through Richmond, back to your flat, you realised that you didn’t feel awful. You felt almost happy, content, ready to take on the remainder of your first week and bosh out your first piece of coursework.
You spent the evening on Google, looking up the history of the Dogtrack, of AFC Richmond, of their star players. You learned that Jamie Tartt was on loan from Manchester City for a season, which made things all the more interesting when it came to his sportsmanship with the rest of the current team. You watched old game highlights, not understanding a single thing they were doing on screen. You gave up after a few hours of them kicking a ball around, too tired from the prior stress of last week to stay awake any longer.
The next morning, you got to work. You made an announcement to the locker room, while the guys pulled on their shin pads and football boots. “Over the next few days, I kindly ask that you all fill in a small worksheet for me. A bit about your backgrounds, your current positions, your birthdays, even. It’s for the updated player profiles on the website, and I’m on a deadline, so please do this as soon as you can!” you explained.
Sam was the first to hand his in, doing it almost immediately after you made your announcement. He dropped it into the small basket on your desk before he headed out to training, shooting you and a small smile as he left you at your desk. Soon after, McAdoo, Hughes, Bumbercatch and Zoreaux followed suit. You had enough information to start.
By the end of the day, you had almost half of the profiles written. You’d expected the workload to be more, or something intensely focused on football plays, but this was piss. You’d definitely be done by the Sunday deadline, just a few days away.
As the days flew by, you got better at approaching players on their own. You made yourself known and didn’t pester (unless they needed it), just reminded them of the task at hand. Isaac's birthday celebrations loomed ever closer, which meant the guys were in a boisterous and excitable mood for the final half of the week. They would play games in the locker room after training, laugh in the gym during work out hours, and pass by your office, waving at you with chuckles on their lips.
By Thursday, you’d cornered Jamie after training.
“Come on, man. It’s not hard to do. I just need it done by tomorrow, so I can write them all up for Sunday, is all,” you pleaded with him.
He took off his football shirt swiftly, making you roll your eyes. “I don’t have the time this evening. Got a prior arrangement, you get me.”
“I really don’t care about your prior arrangement, Jamie. I need this done. It’ll take you two fucking minutes, literally.”
“Sorry, love,” he said, and the patronising tone in his voice was one that you couldn’t stand. You were older than him by a few years, yet he was acting so inherently high and mighty. “I can’t change what evening I get waxed or the lady gets upset.”
“Waxed?” You grimaced.
Suddenly, a shrill high-pitched voice rounded the corner into the locker room. “Alright, boys!” it yelled, and when you turned around, you almost collapsed to the floor. Keeley fucking Jones stood in the middle of the locker room, beaming at all the boys with a genuine smile, and wearing an outfit that you’d never think would work on paper, but it absolutely worked in practice; on her.
You froze where you were, as she peered around the room and met Jamie’s face. “Ready to go, babe?” she asked, before she caught your eye. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders in greeting. “Who’s this?”
Jamie shrugged on a new shirt, packing some of his belongings. “New social person, or somethin’.”
“Social placement,” you corrected him, looking only at Keeley. “Sorry to stare, it’s just… you’re Keeley Jones, aren’t you?”
“The one and only!” she exclaimed. “You’re a newbie, are you? Welcome to Richmond.” She leant towards you warmly, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder in greeting. “Now, I’ve gotta get this one here to his waxing appointment.”
“Oh, sure,” you muttered, peering back at Jamie and trying not to imagine exactly what needed waxing. It was almost traumatising. “Before you go, take this, though,” you added, before you handed her one of your worksheets to her. “I really need him to fill this out by tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry,” Keeley said, folding it neatly and putting it in her bag. “I’ll make sure he gets it done.” She winked at you, making you blush.
The final lads trickled out of the locker rooms, while you reminded each of them to get the worksheet done. A few picked up a new copy, others nodded at you in agreement, but Roy Kent– he didn’t so much as growl as he passed you for the door.
You followed him immediately, rushing down the hallway to meet him.
“Are you giving me the silent treatment or something?” you asked. He growled in response. You scoffed. “You definitely are.”
“Excuse me if I’m not used to nagging uni students getting on my back,” he replied.
“It’s been years since I stopped being a uni student, Roy. I’m in bed by ten thirty every night, I’ll have you know.”
“A boring, nagging uni student, then.”
“Ouch,” you muttered, feeling a slight sting, but you weren’t going to let him phase you. “Have you done the worksheet yet?” you asked. He let out another growl, to which you peered up at him with a blunt expression. “Please, just get it done by tomorrow.”
“Only if you piss off and leave me alone.”
You stopped in the hallway abruptly. “Done and done,” you said from behind him. He kept walking towards the car park, looking back when he realised you weren’t doing it just for show.
You walked back down the hallway, the way you came, as you went for a different exit. Roy stopped walking without your knowledge, furrowing his brows at you as you turned a corner and disappeared. He readjusted his grip on his gym bag, sighing out of his nose.
“Fucks sake,” he whispered harshly, before he entered the car park, door slamming behind him with an echo.
You woke in the morning feeling anxious. It wasn’t just because today would be the first time you socialised with the lads outside the club, but today was the last, easy day that you had to get the remaining worksheets. Your deadline was in two days, and you wouldn’t see the players after today for the entire weekend. It was crunch time, and as much as you wanted Roy and Jamie to be easy and mouldable, you expected the absolute opposite.
Your anxiety dimmed when you arrived in the morning to a full tray of completed worksheets in your office. All but one had been filled out and left for you– and by no surprise, Roy Kent was the last.
“Fucks sake,” you muttered under your breath. You hoisted yourself from your chair and made your way out the office, headed for the locker room. There was a certain confidence in your walk, reserved only for when you were at the end of your tether.
Roy was a grown man. Was he really incapable of filling out a simple worksheet? It drove you insane that he was one of those people who intentionally didn’t do something, even when he’d been explicitly asked to multiple times. Like a child who did the opposite of what their parents said, or when your mum tells you to do something that you were planning on doing yourself, but now don’t want to because she asked you herself.
As you approached the locker room, you let out a whining “Roy!” loud enough that everyone could hear you. You turned into the room, flickering your eyes across the players.
Roy wasn’t there. “Where the fuck is he?” you asked Isaac.
Isaac shrugged. “Think he’s already out on the pitch.”
You made your way out to the pitch, filling the hallways with the same whine that you’d released previously. If this was what it resorted to, then so be it. If you had to make Roy hate you even more just to do this damn worksheet, then you’d fucking do it.
Ted turned to you as you stormed onto the pitch. “Howdy!” he exclaimed. “Jeesh, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning? I did that once, too, when I first moved here and slept on the opposite side of the bed. It was crazy, like the universe was all mixed up and upside down. I almost threw up.”
“Where the hell is Roy?” you asked, ignoring him as you looked out to the pitch. The boys were milled around, waiting for the others to come out so they could start warming up properly.
“Well, he’s right–” Ted began, pointing out to the field. He shimmied his finger around, like a cat obsessed with a laser pointer, before he dropped his hand in defeat. “He was right there before.”
“He’s avoiding me,” you let out with a scoff. “This is fucking unbelievable. He’s a literal child.”
“Hey now,” Ted said. “When I see him, I’ll send him to your office, okay?”
You nodded, pissed off beyond comprehension. “Okay.”
The day went by too quickly, but you managed to get all the other profiles written. Not once did Roy come to your office, and when the guys came back in at the end of training, he was nowhere to be seen. You approached Colin, who said that he’d been right behind him, last he’d seen. That was the same as Sam, as Isaac, as the rest.
Roy Kent’s back up career should have been a magician’s glamorous fucking assistant with how much he’d been able to disappear without a fucking trace.
“That’s it. I’m going to kill him,” you said, leaned against the locker room frame as the guys got themselves ready for the evening.
Sam turned to you reassuringly. “He might come tonight, who knows?”
“I can give you his number, if you want?” Isaac suggested. “Can track him down and make him pay, and that.”
You smiled. “Please do. I don’t care if I have to call him twelve times, I’ll fucking do it.”
“Why do you need it done so badly anyway?” Jamie chimed in, shaking out his football shirt.
You copied Roy’s number into your phone from Isaac’s, sighing as you looked back to the room. The boys stared at you expectantly. “You guys know how this placement is for my masters degree, right? Which means I have certain assignments and coursework to get done. This is my first one, and I need all the players to participate, or it’ll be a big, fat fail.”
“Oh shit,” Isaac said. “So, you get graded for this?” You nodded sullenly. Isaac puffed out his chest abruptly. “Listen here, boys! Any of you see Roy, you get him to fill out this fucking sheet, kapeesh?”
You smiled, feeling bashful. “Thanks, Isaac.”
“No problem, girl. Now, turn that frown upside down. We’re getting drunk tonight!”
The locker room erupted into cheers. Jamie sprayed far too much Lynx in the air, and Colin almost cracked his head open as he jumped up and down on a bench, but even you couldn’t deny the atmosphere was electric. They were all good in their own ways, just some were a lot harder to let their walls down.
As the guys filed out of the room, you peered over at Roy’s cubby. Gently, you walked over and placed an unfilled sheet on his shelf. You stuck a small post-it to the paper– do this for me and i’ll never come to you for anything else.
You left the locker room in silence, trying not to worry too much about having incomplete work for your deadline. You had Roy’s number now, anyway, so even if it was something small over text you were certain you could get something. A crumb, maybe. You didn’t panic, not yet. Panicking would be for the Saturday scaries, and the remainder of your Sunday. Panicking wasn’t for now, as you followed the boys out to the car park and piled into the front seat of Sam’s car. A convoy of you left for Isaac’s house, before you all hit up the club later in the evening.
By the time the sun had set, your legs were jelloid from dancing, and your abs were coming in from laughing. You’d gabbed with Keeley for hours at the house, and were still gabbing now on the way to the club.
“What is it with Roy? I just don’t get it,” you asked.
“What, you mean his rugged good looks, or the fact he’s emotionally constipated to the max?” Keeley replied, and you let out a scoff.
“Definitely emotional constipation. He’s not that hot,” you let out. Keeley’s mouth dropped open.
“Oh, please. I know you don’t like him, but you have to admit that he’s gorgeous.”
“I won’t admit that, because all he’s been to me is ugly.” You stuck out your chin stubbornly.
Keeley smiled deviously. “Call him.”
“Absolutely not,” you said, shaking your head. “Hard pass.”
“Just call him. As soon as you get him on the phone, he can’t avoid you. And if he does, he’s a real arsehole. This is for your degree, for fucks sake.”
“I don’t think he knows that,” you said timidly.
“Then tell him! Yell it at him! Get him to do it.” She urged you, and you had no choice.
As the guys strolled forward towards the club, you and Keeley found yourself leant against a wall in a quiet corner. You found Roy’s number in your phone and dialled before you could chicken out. You tried not to vomit when it rang, and with each dial sound you were close to calling it a day.
After five or so rings, he actually picked up. “Who the fuck is it?” he asked, his voice gravelly over the line.
“Roy!” you and Keeley let out in sync, both equally surprised that he’d actually answered.
“Yeah. Who the hell is this?”
“Roy.” You took over, letting out a shaking breath. “It’s–”
He sighed, cutting you off. “I know who it is, now. I swear to God, if you’re asking me about that fucking sheet again, I’ll blow my top.”
All of your fear dissipated. It turned into immediate rage. “Oh, you fucking arse, Roy Kent,” you let out harshly. “I asked you to do this one thing, something that’s important, and you chose to avoid me all day instead.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you!” he yelled back. “I was busy, and I didn’t need you breathing down my fucking neck even more!”
“Oh, fuck you!” you screamed. “Just fucking get it done– please!”
“Why do you even fucking need it?” he asked, booming his voice over the line. You sucked in a deep breath, trying to control yourself.
“I need it for my d–”
“Know what, I don’t actually care,” he cut you off. “I don’t fucking get involved in club PR shit.”
“This isn’t just for the club, Roy–” you pleaded angrily, but he wouldn’t listen.
“The other guys do, but I don’t. I don’t want the fucking marketing collaborations, the articles, the profiles, whatever the fuck else your job actually is. I’m too old to fucking deal with this shit.”
“Are you fucking serious?” you exploded. “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re a professional footballer, Roy. This is part of the fucking job!”
“Good-fucking-bye,” he said.
“Hey, wa–!” you yelled, but the line went dead before you could get another word in. You called back, but the line went to voicemail immediately. You assumed he’d blocked your number. “I’m going to– I’m going to fucking–”
“Use your words, babe,” Keeley said, trying to calm you down. Soon, though, your anger turned to tears. Your eyes started watering, and you sniffed back snot. Keeley quickly wrapped her arms around you. “Hey now, hey, come on,” she crooned sweetly. “It’ll be okay.”
“My first assignment and I’ve already fucked up. It’ll be docked at 40% for being incomplete,” you explained. Keeley pulled back, looking at you softly.
“I’m sorry, babe. Can you tell them he was being an arse?”
“I don’t know. They might not believe me.”
“It’s Roy Kent. Everyone knows he’s a prick.” Keeley gently brushed a few strands of hair behind your ears. “Come on. Let’s have some fun and try to forget about this tonight, okay?”
“Okay.” You sniffed, breathing out to try and expel the anxiety from your stomach. “I need a drink,” you said.
Keeley twisted her arm in yours. The two of you walked down the street together, with Keeley cracking jokes to cheer you up. “I think you need more than one drink, to be honest,” she whittled on, and you allowed yourself to relax. Just for the evening, just for then.
When you got home, you sent Roy a drunk text. It was short and to the point, and when you woke up, you didn’t have a reply. You weren’t expecting one, not after that phone call. You read over the text, over and over, imagining what Roy must feel like.
This was for my degree, my first assignment is due on Sunday. It’ll be incomplete without you.
You didn’t even know if he’d read it, but you were past the point of trying. You’d done all you could, and still he’d denied you. This was on him, not you.
Roy spent his Friday evening in anguish. Sat at his dining table with a beer, he got out a crumpled version of your worksheet from his gym bag. He looked over the questions he’d already answered– his birthday, his prior positions through the years, but the one question that made him want to rage was still unanswered: What do you want from your career in the future?
The future for Roy was different to that of McAdoo, and Tartt, and Obisanya. Roy Kent’s future was up and coming, and he knew it wouldn’t involve running around a pitch anymore. Seeing that question hadn’t just made him upset, it had ruined his entire week. So, he’d avoided you like the plague, he’d spent every night doing the same thing; trying to fucking answer it and getting nowhere.
So, he’d decided to say fuck it, and not do it at all. After he’d hung up on you that night, his anger at you quickly turned to guilt. On Monday, he’d apologise and hand it in, just without that question answered. But for now, he wanted to sit in silence, read the latest Dan Brown novel he had, and drink beer until he fell asleep on the sofa.
Roy turned off his phone for the rest of the weekend.
You slept with yours the entire weekend, but still got no reply from Roy. You wanted to scream at him, tell him that he was an entitled arse, but you knew it’d be useless. Roy Kent obviously didn’t give a shit about you, so why would he care about your insults? You spent your Sunday compiling the profiles that you had already, putting them together to make something coherent. On the front page, you had to specify that one player had not completed the task, which would be your downfall. When you submitted your assignment, you slammed your laptop shut and immediately went to bed. You didn’t want to stay up thinking about it, or think about the email that you’d have in your inbox tomorrow, saying how it would be docked at 40% for being incomplete.
You slept like shit, but still you rose on Monday morning. The walk to Nelson Road was particularly bleak, with black clouds bustling over Richmond and rain on the forecast for the next few days. The atmosphere at the stadium was tense, too, what with the first game of the season being that weekend. The boys were all conserving their energy, all working hard. When you arrived at your office, you flicked on the light– a crumpled worksheet lay on your desk.
The name at the top– Roy Kent.
He’d done the majority, but crossed out the final question. You wondered if he’d done that as an apology, or as an attempt to piss you off further. You’d texted him about your deadline, told him that it was on Sunday. Had he not even opened your message? You picked up his sheet and read it through, trying to keep at bay the anger that you felt in your chest. Maybe he hadn’t meant it to be, but this was cruel. He’d given you enough to make a decent profile, but a day late. It came across like he was laughing in your face.
Quickly, before you lost your nerve, you picked up the worksheet and booked it to the locker room. You stormed down the corridor, turning into the room strongly. You didn’t look at anyone else, just eyes forward, and latched upon the number six at the top of Roy’s blue cubby opposite the door. The boys stopped talking, going utterly silent at your arrival.
Roy turned to you, shooting you a quizzical look. He peered down at the worksheet in your hands, then back up at your blunt and glassy-eyed expression.
“What?” he asked plainly.
You responded by thrusting the worksheet into his chest. He grabbed hold of it, not expecting an altercation this early in the morning. You stepped back, exhaling from your nose, looking at him with such disappointment, before you left them to it.
Roy looked at the worksheet in his hands, utterly confused as to why you gave it back after trying so hard to get it in the first place. He glanced around the room, taking in the pursed lip expressions of his teammates.
“What the fuck just happened?” he asked them, booming.
“Her deadline was yesterday, bruv,” Isaac said. Tension descended over the room.
“Deadline for what?” Roy asked.
“Her degree, Roy. This was her first assignment,” Sam added.
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that?” Roy said, furrowing his brows.
“She tried to tell you, man,” Colin joined in. “On the phone with Keeley.”
“And in a text.” Jamie pointed to Colin, before looking at Roy. “Keeley told me that she sent you a message that evening, explaining why she needed it.”
“Got docked at 40%, innit,” Isaac added, pulling up his socks.
Roy’s eyes found a spot on the wall and zoned out in realisation. He’d turned his phone off all weekend. “Fuuuuuuuck,” he breathed out.
As much as Roy wanted to be left alone, he wasn’t cruel. If he’d known it was for your degree, he would have grown the fuck up and handed it in sooner. Now, as you sat at your desk and read over the reply from your professor, probably over and over again, he felt awful. It’d only been a week, and he knew you didn’t even want to be doing this specific placement. He felt like an arsehole, a real, fucking arsehole.
At training, he could hardly focus. The thought of you, sat at your desk, pissed off, upset, writing another Instagram caption or article that you couldn’t give a shit about, made him angry at himself. Roy had never gone to uni, or done a masters. From the age of nine, he’d been destined to be a professional footballer. He’d got lucky, alongside working hard for the entirety of his career. He knew you also worked hard, just from the fact you put yourself in a shit position to get what you wanted. That took guts, even Roy could admit that.
When he missed another assist during training, his third miss for the day, he stomped his feet on the pitch and let out a loud, “Fuck this!”
Roy pulled off his bib, throwing it at Nate, the kit man, before he stormed off the pitch. His boots clattered against the concrete floor as he skidded his way through the stadium, all the way to your office. He didn’t knock, but instead bombarded his way inside.
You let out a small gasp at his arrival, but stayed sat down, glued to your spot.
“Why didn’t you fucking tell me it was for your degree?” he boomed. “I would have fucking handed it over sooner if you had.”
“Why would that make any difference?” you said, keeping your voice steady.
“Because it’s not just for the club, it’s for something you’re working towards.”
“So, you’re saying, if it was only for the club and not myself too, you wouldn’t have done it at all?”
“Fuck no. I don’t do PR shit,” he said bluntly.
“Even if it was my job to do it? Even though it was something you had a responsibility to contribute towards?” you said, raising your brows at him. “That’s no fucking better, Roy.”
“I just–” he stuttered. “I didn’t mean to fuck this up for you, that’s what I mean.”
“It is what it is.” You shuffled some papers on your desk, rearranging your notebooks just to keep yourself busy.
“Isaac told me you’d get a bad mark,” Roy said.
“Isaac is right,” you confirmed.
“Well, now I feel like an arsehole.” Roy breathed in deeply, and exhaled sharply.
“You were an arsehole, Roy,” you said immediately, strongly. “But, it’s done now. This was the only assignment I had that included the whole team, anyway. So, from now on, I’ll be sure to stay far far away from you.”
Roy short-circuited for a moment. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, he balled his fists, he shuffled on the spot. He looked like a robot that had lemonade poured on his circuit. His jaw clenched, and you watched in awe at the sheer skill he used to tense his body in such a way.
“Roy?” you asked, concerned.
“Fucks sake!” he exploded, before he left your office immediately. You got up from your desk and zoomed to the door, watching him walk away from the field and to the locker room instead, muttering to himself all the same.
You didn’t see him for the remainder of the day. You bumped into Ted on your way out the stadium, to which he shot you a perked brow look. You let out a long sigh, followed by a slightly awkward chuckle.
“Well, what a day,” you said.
“You could say that again,” he agreed. “The first match is on the horizon, and our captain walked out mid practice session.”
You winced. “Sorry about that,” you apologised.
“Oh, please, it’s not your fault,” Ted reassured you. “Gotta say, it’s not the first time a player has abandoned us halfway through the day, but at least it was today instead of on Saturday.”
“Wait” You stopped in the corridor, right before the doors to the car park. “He didn’t come back afterwards?”
Ted squinted at you. “You didn’t know? He flew off into the wind like one of the Wicked Witch of the East’s monkey henchmen. One second he was yelling obscenities on the pitch, and the next he’d driven off in his Jeep.”
You let out a stuttered breath, trying to compute Ted’s words. Roy had vanished after storming into your office, and no one knew where the fuck he’d disappeared to. It didn’t make sense, and you didn’t think this ordeal would mean that much to him in the aftermath. You weren’t trying to beat him up after what he’d done, as much as it had hurt you and pissed you off about your mark. This was odd, though, and incredibly out of character for Richmond’s captain.
“Weird,” you let out.
“Really weird,” Ted repeated. “But, who are we to question a football star?”
You squinted at him. “Isn’t that your job?”
Ted shrugged. “Hell if I know.”
You walked home, stunned into silence, trying to figure out what was actually going through Roy’s skull. You were half-tempted to text him, but you still didn’t know if he’d blocked you or not. You almost wanted to reassure him that it was fine, even though he was the one that fucked up your assignment. It was odd how that worked, wasn’t it? How those who had been done wrong felt the need to check in after the wrongdoer realised their actions. You had no reason to tell Roy it was fine, but you still wanted to. If his outburst had told you anything, it was that he felt bad about it all. That was good, you supposed. That meant he wasn’t as emotionally constipated as you’d thought.
Roy ignored you for the next three days. It was blindingly obvious to everyone at the club, even including Rebecca, who you met with for lunch on Thursday in her office.
“I think he feels bad,” you explained.
“I suspect he does. That’s no reason to be behaving like a child.” She ate a mouthful of salad.
“I suppose not… but other than that, it’s all going very well!”
Her face soured. “Oh?”
“I’ve given the Instagram captions a revamp, and I’m in the process of updating the website, too. I had this idea to do articles about the employees and why they wanted to get involved with AFC Richmond, and their passions outside of work, too–”
“That all sounds very interesting,” Rebecca cut you off. “But, unfortunately, I have a meeting to attend.”
“Oh,” you said, as she stood up. You followed suit, picking up your salad and juggling the rest of your lunch in your arms. “Well, this was really nice!” you said, as she started herding you out of her office. “Maybe we should do this again–?”
“Maybe,” Rebecca said. “Bye bye, now!”
You stood outside her closed door. It almost touched your nose from where she’d slammed it, your arms full of your belongings. You let out a sigh, and headed back down the stairs to your office sullenly. You found that what you missed the most out of everything– not the sunlight, or the decor– was having a woman work friend. You felt almost isolated being one of the only women who worked in the building. It was lonely sometimes.
You shuffled your belongings back into your bag on the walk down. You passed the gym as you approached your office and took a peek through the window. On the treadmill, facing the corridor by your office, was Roy. He read a book as he did an incline walk, reading the words thoughtfully, before he turned the page.
Suddenly, he looked up and caught your eye. You flinched, but stayed frozen in your spot. Roy’s face flattened into an unreadable expression. You gulped away the shock, and instead raised your hand and waved at him awkwardly.
Without warning, Roy fell off the treadmill. You gasped immediately, letting out a “Roy?!” as you dropped your bag to the floor and made your way to the gym.
You careened through the door and peered at the floor. Roy was there, crumpled, book thrown under a weight bench on the other side of the gym. “Are you alright?” you asked quickly, offering him your hand.
The other boys stopped what they were doing to witness the scene. Not one of them helped Roy up themselves, but instead waited for you to rush to his aid. It was beyond odd. Roy couldn’t even meet your eye, let alone take your hand.
You frowned at him, hurt. “Roy,” you tried again. “You know you can look at me, right?”
“I’m fine,” he croaked, and forced himself to look up and meet your gaze. “Just tripped.” Knees clicking, he got himself up off the floor. That’s when he caught your eye properly, frowning sullenly. You’d never seen him don such an expression, let alone this close.
You stepped back a little, confused as hell. You looked around the room at the others, their silence descending upon the entire stadium floor, not just the gym. They were all acting strange, making you feel like you were on the outside of an inside joke that they all knew well.
You scoffed, annoyed, as you reversed towards the door. “Okay,” you let out. “You’re all acting so fucking strange this week.” You reached the door frame, and went to leave, but stopped. You looked back at them all, before your gaze landed on Roy strongly. “I don’t like it.”
You left, walked back to your office, and shut the door with a bang.
Roy turned to the guys in the gym, still catching his breath from before. The guys looked at him like he was wounded, almost, and not just from the abrupt fall. Roy breathed out deeply, taking in their pitying faces.
“Stop fucking looking at me, alright!” he burst.
“Sorry, Roy,” Isaac said first, followed by some mutters from the others.
“I’m not some fucking baby bird that’s fallen out a fucking tree, alright?”
“Then why are you acting like one?” Jamie said suddenly. He sauntered forwards, and the rest of the team held their breath. “What, am I wrong? You haven’t said two words to her in days, not since you went AWOL on us earlier this week.” There were nods of agreement, some shrugs of confusion. “Where did you even go, like? You just took off.”
The yeah’s of agreement are what made Roy lose it. Everyone wanted to know where he’d gone, why he’d left, but he hadn’t been able to get it out since he’d done it on Monday.
“I went to her fucking uni!” he bellowed over their mutterings. “I went to her uni and spoke with her fucking lecturer, and said how much of a fucking arse I was.” The room went utterly silent. Roy looked to the floor. “That’s why I haven’t said a fucking word, because I don’t know if I made it better, or if I fucked it up even more.”
Roy balled his fists. He’d been feeling ashamed since Monday, more than he’d expected to feel. Guilt was his least favourite thing to feel, even though he often faked being unbothered.
Colin took an abrupt step forward, snapping the tension. “That’s fucking badass.”
Roy sent a confused arch of his brow at the Welshman. “Really?”
“Hell yeah, that’s badass. That’s a proper grand gesture, boyo. One that shows how bad you truly feel about it all,” Colin reassured him. The lads nodded in approval, sealing the deal that Roy had done the right thing. “She doesn’t know?”
Roy shook his head. “She hasn’t said anything. I don’t know if anything’s come of it.”
“Tell her tomorrow,” Sam spoke up. “Tell her tomorrow and I assure you, she will be okay about it all. I do not get the sense that she holds a grudge, you know? She is a kind person.” More hums of agreement filtered around the room. “Also, you cannot do it today. Not after that display on the treadmill,” Sam added, wincing.
“True,” Roy agreed reluctantly.
Isaac approached his captain then, placing a huge but reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She’ll forgive you, bruv. I’m sure of it.”
Roy nodded. “Thanks, Isaac.”
You locked yourself in your office for the remainder of the day. It was too odd out there, both on Roy’s and the guys’ part. You had no idea what had them acting so off-puttingly, but you wanted no fucking part of it. You dived into work, completing a plan for a new article on the website, before writing your novel for the rest of the day. Shannon Hart had been right– you had so much spare time to write that you already felt like an author already. You were on the clock while tapping away, getting paid for writing your book already, it seemed.
Near the end of the day, an email was pinged into your inbox from your lecturer. You had the jitters every time you received an email from him now, after reading what he had to say about your incomplete first assignment. You’d come to accept the 40% outcome over the past few days, but it still stung. You didn’t want to be considered a failure in your course, especially when you’d only just started.
You opened it up nervously, skimming the contents quickly until you realised it was nothing bad– in fact, it was something very good. “Shut the fuck up…” you let out, trailing off as you read it properly.
An impromptu visitor graced the halls of the Richmond university faculty building on Monday in the form of Mr. Roy Kent, number six and Captain at AFC Richmond. He had a lot to say about you, and about your recent assignment, most notably that he’d ‘massively fucked up’ and was a ‘gigantic arsehole’.
He explained everything about why you submitted your work incomplete, and assured us you were not to blame. I’ve taken this into consideration, and have remarked your work today on my own time. When before you were capped at 40/100, I have remarked your work at 87/100; a grade A1.
Congratulations. You must be doing something right for those footballers.
“Shut the fuck up!” you screeched, jumping up from your desk at lightspeed.
You could hardly believe it. This was what Roy had done on Monday, after he’d left training for the day? He’d gone and knocked on the door of your fucking lecturer, not leaving until they understood that he’d messed up the assignment for you. This was immense, and not at all what you’d been expecting. That explained Roy’s aversion to you over the past few days, and the abrupt fall in the gym today.
You let out a shocked cackle. It reverberated around the walls of your square office, bouncing back into your ears and only making you laugh more. This was hilarious– a footballer such as Roy Kent taking it upon himself to do something so rash was incredibly comical. But, it also warmed your heart. He’d felt so bad that he’d taken matters into his own hands.
This was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you, if you thought about it too hard. This was a grand gesture, a proper apology, if you’d ever seen one. It made you smile like the fucking sun in the sky.
Roy left the stadium after everyone else, taking extra care after his fall in the gym. He’d scraped his knee up pretty bad, and even gone to the resident first aider for a knee brace to make sure he was fine before the first match of the season that Saturday. He made his way out, entering into the car park. He was expecting his lone Jeep to be there, but was surprised to find you leaning against the hood. Your arms were crossed, bag on your shoulder, as you looked out at the setting sun over the green grass of the Dogtrack. He slowed to a stroll, tightening his grip on the straps of his gym bag. You turned your gaze and met his eye, shooting him a knowing look.
“Working overtime?” you asked. It was a redundant question. You had a look in your eye that Roy could sense from a mile off– you knew.
“Just making up for lost time at the start of the week,” he replied, coming to stand opposite you.
You stood up straight, and peered up at him. “Ah, yes. I heard you disappeared on Monday.”
“Did you now?” he said. “Who said that?”
You shrugged, stalling to get the point. You were enjoying the silent amusement between you. Both of you knew what was up, but you had to admit you liked the subtle tension. “Just Ted.”
“Oh,” Roy said, his tone the slightest bit sunken.
“And my lecturer, actually,” you said finally. “He emailed me an hour ago to tell me that you popped in for a visit the other day.”
“Really?” Roy faked confusion.
“Mhm.” You tried not to laugh. “He remarked my assignment. I got an A.”
Just like that, all the stress and tension in Roy’s chest dissipated. It flew into the sky and was caught by the breeze instantly. You smiled at him knowingly, regarding him thoughtfully. He shuffled on his spot awkwardly, looking out towards the setting sun on the horizon, over the pitch.
“That’s great,” he let out genuinely.
You stepped forward. “You didn’t have to do that, Roy.”
He snapped his stare on you. “Yes, I fucking did. I was an arsehole.”
You shrugged, scuffing the ground with your shoe. “You were an arsehole, yeah. But arsehole’s don’t go to my fucking uni and ask my lecturer to remark an assignment.” You scoffed.
“It was the least I could do,” he said, and there was a softness in his tone that you didn’t think he’d been capable of. Roy Kent left you with more question marks the more you spoke to him, but you liked a mystery.
“Well, thank you,” you said, peering up at him sweetly. There was a section of yourself that was different, softer, sweeter, reserved only for those rare moments where people fully exposed themselves to you. Their true intention, their true selves. This was one of those moments. “Really. Thank you, Roy.”
He nodded at you, not knowing what to add. The sun cast an orange glow over the car park, reflecting off his Jeep vibrantly. It looked like the car itself was bright orange, so different from the black paint that stuck out like a sore thumb, usually. His car was so big and bulking, the same as the man that stood before you. But you knew that wasn’t all he was, not after what he’d done for you.
“Heading home?” he asked, changing the subject.
You nodded. “I’m exhausted.”
He scoffed. “You and me both.”
“How are you feeling about Saturday? The Arsenal game?”
Roy shook his head. “Let’s not even go there today,” he said, and you immediately backed off. You knew it was a lot of the team, having both a new management team, in the form of Ted and Beard, on top of someone new skulking around the building– you.
“It’ll be the first football game I’ve ever gone to, you know?” you added.  
Roy perked his brow at you. “You really know fuck all about football, don’t you?”
You scoffed abruptly. “Fuck all indeed.”
The smallest smile graced Roy’s face, and you found yourself savouring it. You didn’t want to jinx it, but after almost two weeks of headbutting, you wanted to believe it was over. Perhaps, you and Roy would coexist happily now. Without the meanness, or the miscommunication, or all of the inbetween. In terms of the team, you’d done well with the crew and the boys, bar Roy and Rebecca, but things were looking up.
You felt content again, like you could actually do this after all.
“Need a ride?” Roy asked suddenly.
“Oh,” you let out, looking back at his Jeep. The orange was fading from its reflection. “Sure, I could use a lift.”
“Hop in,” Roy said, as he made his way around to the driver’s side.
He shoved his bag into the backseat, as you opened the passenger side door and jumped in. You slammed it behind you, getting comfortable, as Roy jumped into the driver’s seat next to you. There was a comfortable silence that settled over the car, as the two of you buckled yourselves in. Roy turned on the engine, and the radio turned on harshly, blasting you with an 80s song far too loudly.
You both flinched back, wincing, and Roy clicked a button quickly, turning off the sound. “Fucking hell,” he said. “I think Heart are trying to deafen us.”
You let out a chuckle. “I’ll listen to 80s music over the charts any day.”
Roy perked his brows at you, putting the car in reverse. “Good on you.” He reversed out of the car park and turned onto the main road.
You didn’t talk much, just small talk here and there. It felt oddly intimate being driven home by Roy Kent, but you tried not to let it rattle you. Acquaintanceships always started off patchy, with neither wanting to step over a line, until something resembling friendship ended up shining through. You told yourself that, maybe, a few months down the line, it would be normal for you to catch a lift home with Roy in the week.
You directed him to your street, pointing at your door with a smile. Roy pulled up to the curb, cutting off his engine as you unbuckled your seatbelt. You weren’t expecting him to fully kill the engine, but you didn’t pay it any mind. You jumped out of the car onto the road and rushed onto the pavement, peering up into his, now open, window.
“Thanks for the ride,” you said with a smile.
“It’s fine. I live just around the corner, actually.”
“Don’t tell me you live in one of those big fuck off houses down the street,” you said, pointing down the end of your road. To the left beyond was an array of giant houses, all with blossom trees outside and large gates guarding them. They were gorgeous, huge and expensive.
Roy squinted at you. “I’m a professional footballer. Of course, I fucking do.”
You huffed in amusement. You were about to say I can’t wait to see it in person one day, but stopped yourself short. Was that a weird thing to say, even to a colleague? You bit on your tongue instead and stepped back towards the steps that lead to your door. There was something unsaid in the air, mostly from Roy. You got the sense he wanted to say something more, as his fingers tapped anxiously on the steering wheel.
Instead, you sighed. “See you tomorrow,” you settled on.
Roy inhaled deeply, and raised his hand in goodbye. “See you.”
His window ascended and he started the engine again. He sped off down the road, before he took an abrupt left at the end and disappeared from view. You let yourself into your building and stepped into the hallway. You sighed once more, contentedly, before you closed the door on another interesting day at AFC Richmond.
CHAPTER TWO
528 notes · View notes
mrsriddlenott · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
~ Caught V ~
masterlist
I’m so sorry to anyone waiting on this, I’ve been adjusting to college recently but I’m still planning on keeping this going as long as I can🥰🫶🏻
I am sorry to any readers with good fathers, I have daddy issues and have no idea how to write a good dad soooo y/ns dad sucks, so trigger warning🙂🙂
This parts kinda sad and I’m sorry, it gets better
Warnings:Angst,Fighting,Abuse, Manipuation,Nightmares,Blackmail, Angst,&some fluff.
When Mattheo entered his shared dorm room after seeing you off, he was greeted with a table covered in moving photographs from the night before. Some were of his roommates with people he didn't care to know, but mostly of you, him and all of your friends. Mattheo was happy to get to see your smiling face as he searched through the pictures, laughing and joking as he showed off funny ones to the other boys.
As he rustled through the images Mattheo couldn't contain his smile as he uncovered a picture capturing and repeating your first public kiss on the coffee table, one he hadn't even noticed was taken in the moment but was very glad it was. He didn't waste a second in taking it across to his side of the dorm, transfiguring one of his extra quills into a picture frame and placing the polaroid gently inside to go on his nightstand.
"Damn, look at y/n's dress in this picture," Draco chuckled in an attempt at a hushed voice as they continued to look over the photos. Enzo scoffed and almost began speaking before noticing Blaise and Theo’s stillness as their gazes settled on Mattheo slowly turning to eye the back of Draco's head, “it's one thing to have seen her last night but damn, I think I'll have to keep this for late-"
Mattheo rushed forward to shove at Draco's shoulder, letting his fist make contact with the blondes jaw as soon as he turned toward him, knocking him off balance before he even noticed Mattheo had heard him.
“I fucking warned you Malfoy.” Mattheo said with a heavy sigh, snatching the picture from Draco’s hand and stuffing it in his pocket as he spoke calmly, “I have no desire to stay friends with you if you can’t respect my girlfriend, or even my relationship for that matter. If you want to act like this then you can run back to Daddy and beg him to solve your problems, because I won’t be here to do it for you any longer.
“It’s not like that, it was pretty much a compliment Mattheo,” Draco spoke from the floor as Mattheo stood above him, tilting his head to the side as he blinked down at the idiot below him.
“Do you really think that? Are you genuinely that stupid Malfoy?” He chuckled after a second, raising his eyebrows and smiling before reaching his hand down to him. Draco hesitated, looking between Mattheo’s eyes and hand before reaching up with his, as soon as he had his hand in his, Mattheo gripped it with all his strength and yanked him forward as he leaned down beside his ear.
“I’m not playing this game Draco, you don’t speak about her ever again or I promise I will show you how Riddles handle their problems.” He whispered in a growl before shoving him back against the hardwood floor. Draco laid dumbfounded on the ground for only a second before tugging himself up and storming from the dorm with a thud as the door magically slammed shut behind his retreating back.
Mattheo scoffed at his departure before flopping down on his large green bed with a chuckle, “If I’d known all it took to get him out of here was reminding him of good ol’ Tom I’d have done it years ago.” He sighed, staring at the ceiling visible above the four posters as images of his Fathers red eyes and pale skin seeped into his mind. He tried to shake the thoughts away as his chest tightened and his fingers shook, turning on his side to look at the image of your smiling face looking into his as he tried, and failed, to breath deeply.
Theo knew Mattheo had a hard time understanding why his Father was the type of man he was, he knew it hurt his best friend every time he was mentioned whether by name or title. He watched his back as it rose and fell in deep breaths. “Come on guys, lets go to the Black Lake for a smoke,” Theo let the others flow forward past him as he stayed behind, grabbing a jacket and watching his friend intently.
“Just go Theo, I’m not in the mood for a smoke,” He sighed, the sound of his voice shaking had Theo wishing he knew anything useful to say, something you might say.
“Alright mate but….just try and come join us soon if you can,” Theo sighed, locking the door behind him as he left to join their friends.
Mattheo didn’t notice himself drifting off staring at your beautiful smile. He could hear your gorgeous laugh ringing in his ears as you ran across the beach behind that lovely little cottage he always imagined buying for you and for a second he didn’t know where he was. The waves became clearer and the stars brighter as he unknowingly slipped further into his perfect dreamscape. “Matty are you coming?” You shouted in a sing song voice over your shoulder, he swore his smile couldn’t get any wider as you stripped from your sundress, slipping into the cold dark water beneath the beautifully shimmering night sky.
The warmth in his chest grew even as he submerged himself below the cold water behind you. His arms snaked around you as soon as his fingertips felt your waist, breathing in your aroma as he nuzzled his face in your neck.
“You have no idea how much I love you, you’re my perfect girl” He sighed, settling you into himself, tugging you into him like his life depended on it. “I will always protect you.”
“Then why did you let this happen?” Mattheo’s face scrunched up as he heard you meek voice crack, “Let what happen y/n?” He asked, looking down to search your face.
But before he could hear your voice again that shrill, heart stopping cackle filled his ears followed by a shriek as you were yanked from his arms and into the water. The sky was suddenly full of trails of smoke as be turned to see the cottage ablaze. “No…no no,” He swiveled around, arms flailing wildly as he felt for you in the shallow water.
He could hear himself screaming from a distance, he could feel himself covered in slick sweat as he pulled you above the water, eyes blank as you stared up at him, a clear look of terror plastered on your face permanently. He was shaking with rage and despair as he screamed your name only to be met with those pale red eyes and the bright green light he feared more than anything.
Well, almost anything.
He woke clutching his chest as he heaved himself out of bed, desperate for a gasp of fresh air as he rushed to the window. His heart pounded against his chest, the thought of you somewhere out there with his father had him ready to throw up. The heavy flapping of wings through the now open window snatched his attention as he took in your large barn owl perching himself on his nightstand.
He felt an instant rush of relief, Claudius would surely be clawing his eyes out if anything had happened to you. The large eyed owl made that very clear, very early on in your relationship.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” He sighed, breathing heavily as he pat his head, tugging at the letter delicately tied on his foot. Mattheo wasted no time in tearing the y/l/n Family Crest wax seal and rushing to read it.
My love,
My Father is throwing a ball to celebrate Christmas with his partners from the Ministry and their family(Riveting I know…). I’d rather not go but I’ve been told I have to and must take a plus one, I don’t want to take anyone else so I’ve told Father I’m bringing you as a friend(Sorry Love). The other boys aren’t invited so I hope they don’t give you any trouble. Write back to me if you can make it, I simply will refuse to come downstairs if you can’t.
Bring the fanciest dress robes you have and arrive early, I want my father impressed. You know how he can be.
I love you
Yours, Y/N<3
P.S. The gown I’ve picked is a dark green and I want your tie to match. (and don’t just use your school tie please)
Mattheo was overridden with joy as he read your letter over and over before suddenly becoming overcome with anxiety once more. This form however, was much more acceptable in his eyes.
Before he thought to write a response he was rushing to the Black Lake and yanking at Enzo’s shoulder, “Come with me please, I need your help……like now Enzo” He arched his eyebrows as he stared down at his friend. He didn’t give him a chance to complain as he grabbed the joint from his fingers and passed it off to Theo, Enzo’s fingertips chasing after it like a child to candy. “There’s no time Enzo this is important.”
Enzo hurried to his feet and quickly followed his friend along the trails leading up to the castle. The air was cold and biting at their skin as they began to speak, “If you did something stupid just tell y/n and hope she forgi-“
“What?! I didn’t!” Mattheo avoided meeting his friends eyes as he mumbled, “I need your help with an outfit.”
“Excuse me?” Enzo asked with a chuckle, “You, Mr. I’m So Handsome Riddle, need my fashion advice?” Enzo came to a halt as he laughed lightly, shaking his head.
“Ya done mate?” Mattheo asked with a tight lipped smile, shooting his eyebrows up, refraining from laughing himself.
“y/n’s invited me to a ball and I don’t have fancy clothes like you.” He sighed, continuing his walk to the castle.
“I want to make a good impression, we need to tell her parents we’re together eventually if we ever want a chance at their approval and it would be better if they met me at least once before hand.” He sighed heavily as he shoved his shivering red hands into his pockets.
“I’ve never met a girl’s parents before, what if they hate me? What am I supposed to do just not marry her if they don’t like me? Because I don’t see myself being able to live with that…..What am I supposed to even say? Hello Mr and Mrs. y/l/n I’m the delinquent that your daughters been seeing?”
“Just be yourself, they’ll like you” Enzo shrugs, walking right past Mattheo as he stops abruptly. “No no no no thats a horrible idea Lorenzo, you, y/n, and Theo are the only ones who can stand me for long periods of time.”
“I don’t know mate I just saw that in a muggle movie I’ve never met a girls parents” Enzo quickly took in the clear borderline panicked look on his friends face as he turned back to him with a sigh. “Come on, let’s start with the basics while I find you a suit.”
It wasn’t easy but after two weeks of nonstop plotting, Mattheo and Enzo had come up with(what they seemed to think was), the perfect plan.
Step One: Woo her mother and impress her father.
Step Two: Ask her to dance and tell her the plan.
Step Three: Pull her chair out at dinner.
Step Four: Talk to her father about the ministry.
Step Five: Ask her on a “first date” in front of her parents.
Step Six: Marry the girl of your dreams.
But sadly, Mattheo’s mind was only so big. As he recited the six steps to success, tugging at his brand new emerald tie and attempting to gulp down his anxiety, he rang the bell beside the large arched doorway. He was invited in and escorted across a large open marble floor by an elderly man in a black suit and red tie, Mattheo was quick to thank him as he took his place in a small group gathered at the base of a spiral staircase.
He was absolutely entranced by you the second you stepped onto the stairs. His mind was suddenly empty of any and every thought that wasn’t you. He couldn’t turn his eyes away from you even if he wanted to, which he definitely did not. Your eyes met his and your face lit up with a smile, from behind you he could hear the shutting of doors and steadily grew more anxious, suddenly realizing he should have wrote his plan down.
Your eyes darted between him and the last step of the stair case, at first he didn’t understand. Your eyes shot behind you to two approaching figures before shooting back to him and the stairs. He vaguely remembered something like this unraveling with a couple in a show you liked and found himself waiting for you at the base of the stairs as though it was instinct, just in time for your parents to see him.
The smile on Mr and Mrs. y/l/n’s faces grew as his beautiful girlfriend smiled up at them proudly before slowly starting to descend the stairs. The folds of your deep green dress bounced as you took each step gracefully, your black heels clicking on the marble at the pace of his heart. You met him in a matter of seconds and took his arm in your hand, he gave a small nod as you led him off towards the archway into your dining room. He glanced around the long table as your hand slipped away from him, at first he figured you were taking your seat but when he turned around to find you, a girl he could never describe as anything but brave, meekly following after your father, Mattheo knew something was up.
He knew he shouldn’t, he knew it was snoopy but he couldn’t stop himself from following after you. Your dress flowed behind you dramatically as you rushed to keep up with your fathers long strides, apparently not well enough. He suddenly stopped, rushing to yank at your wrist as he said something between gritted teeth. A sudden surge of anger took over Mattheo, he had to force himself to stay still, hidden behind a wall as he focused on the whispers just past it.
“What were you thinking? Huh? Bringing his son here like there wouldn’t be consequences?” His heart sank as he listened further, thinking his father was going to ruin the best thing in his life. “What if he’s sent him here to see what I’m up to, you stupid child, we’re this close to having it all.”
“He’s important to me, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me Dad I swear” Mattheo could hear the tears threatening to slip past your eyelashes as he willed himself to stay put. “Than why haven’t you been using that? If he’s so important to you get me information, if I know the secrets The Dark Lord’s son hides for him than there’s no way he can hide from me.”
“Wh- No… I won-“ The loud thud of your body hitting the floor with a whimper finally broke him. Mattheo rushed to you without a second thought to the man watching him, he knelt beside you, cradling your head in his hand as your worried eyes settled on him in fear.
“Oh good you’ve joined us.” Your father’s smile grew wicked as he eyes the scene in front of him. The son of his only rival at his feet, vulnerable. Mattheo could tell from the look in his eyes he knew you two were more that friends, this was planned, he could see that clearly, though he doubted you could.
“I’ll make this simple, you clearly care for my disgrace of a daughter here, if you wish to continue this little,” His lip rose in a snarl as his hand nonchalantly waved in front of you both. “Affiliation, than you’ll do as I say….if not….you’ll never see my daughter again.”
Mattheo gritted his teeth as he refrained from throwing punches at the man over twice his age and size. He was shaking with anger as he rose his eyes to meet his, “What exactly do you want?”
“It’s simple, you help me destroy your father and take over his ranks and I won’t tell him all about your not so secret girlfriend here at our next meeting. How does that sound?” His eyes were empty as his smile rose.
“Y-you wouldn’t….he’d kill her….you know he’d kill her.” He was shaking uncontrollably, holding you as you cried in his lap, mumbling I’m sorry like a broken record. The man was quick to crouch down to his level, eyeing the girl in his arms with disgust as Mattheo pulled her away from him.
“Wouldn’t be the first of my children he’s killed, and certainly wouldn’t be my favorite.” With that he was straightening his posture, smoothing his expensive looking suit jacket and sauntering towards the dining room, “I expect to see you both in the ball room on time.”
Your hands shake as your they travel up Mattheo’s shoulders, pulling yourself up to hug him as he immediately brings his arms around you. Your tears soaked the side of his collar as he caressed your hair and back.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was a Death Eater Lovely?” He sighed, tugging you into him impossibly closer, wanting to protect you inside his arms until there was peace on earth. “All the times you told me how he treats you and your mom, you could have told me.” His voice cracked as tears threatened to break through.
Your sobs only grew as you tried to speak, you couldn’t bring yourself to. You tried so many times to tell him, to sit him down and say your father wanted to kill his. But when was the right time? Your first date? The first time he stayed over? Your first holidays together? No. It was never right, it wasn’t even now.
“I’m so sorry Matty, I didn’t want you to hate me. I should have told you when we were just friends then you could have decided what you wanted with the truth.” He tensed before pulling your face from his neck, his eyes bore into yours like he’d never gotten the chance to truly look at you before. He lightly touched his lips to yours, softly cupping your face before resting his forehead on yours.
“There is absolutely nothing in this world that would have kept me from you.” He sighed, pulling you into him again. He wiped your tears from your cheeks and pulled you to your feet. “I want you to tell me absolutely everything when your ready okay?”
You were nodding your head as his eyes searched your face. “Now, I believe you owe me a dance Gorgeous.” You giggled between your tears as he took you back into his arms with a comforting shushing. “Or we can sneak out of here, find a hidden cottage and live happily ever after as hermits.” He sighed, wishing for nothing more than for you to say yes.
“Soon Matty, for now lets get this over with and try and have fun before everything comes crashing down.”
The music was slow, agonizingly for Mattheo, his right hand was on your waist and his left was in yours. Your eyes hadn’t left each other’s since you made your way to the dance floor. You could feel eyes on you, you knew this was what your father wanted, everyone seeing the Riddle and y/l/n heirs together. But all you could think of was him. You knew that no matter what happened, he was going to protect you, and you him. You effortlessly turned together in a circle as he watched you intently.
Mattheo decided right then and there, as your eyes glistened up at him like he’d personally hung the moon, that no matter what it takes, he’s giving you the future you deserve. Away from this loveless manor, away from his and your own father. You’d be happy and want for nothing. You rested your head in his shoulder contently shutting your eyes as his hand rubbed at your hair.
Mattheo’s eyes locked with your fathers over your head, they held an air of authority and a threatening dominance. However, he held his ground, his eyes dug into his, silently telling him in no uncertain terms that if he ever laid a hand on you again. His father wouldn’t the Riddle he needs to worry about.
Mr. y/l/n was in way over his head, and hadn’t yet realized it.
~~~~
Caught VI
Again i am so sorry for how long this took, i vaslty overestimated the free time id have as a college student, i hope you guys still like this. Next chapter will be much happier and may have smut☺️
@timmytime17 @talia-scar123 @spencer-reids-wife @ttsbaby01 @animorose @whydoireadanymore @thievin-stealing @spiderman-stilinski @evycloudberry @shady-the-simp @ashisabitgay @porterport @callsignwidow @cicicicicisstuff @mattheoriddleswifee @junebugin-july @moonlightreader649 @devotedlyshadowytheorist @rubyliquor @perverteddddreams @mildly-delulu @fairydimples07 @shadowmoonlight0604
247 notes · View notes
waffles-art-writing · 11 months
Text
Water Logged - Task Force 141!Platonic x F!Reader - JOKER
Tumblr media
Summary: PART 2 of One Hell Of A First Mission. You end up crammed in the back seat between your team mates. You become aware that both you and your Scottish Teammate find the funny side to most things, you find out having to swim with a balaclava is like breathing through a wet sponge.
Proofread: NOPE
Pairing: Task Force 141!Platonic x F!Reader
WordCount: 4.2k ish
Age Rating: 16+
Codename: JOKER
KEY: Y/N - Your Name, L/N - Last Name.
Warning/Info: COD Violence, Swearing, description of injuries, Weapons, fighting, fluff and angst if you squint. A lot of time skips sorry. Sorry if its not identical to the game… ENJOY! Oh and Graves… he’s just a warning within himself.
Please go read the previous parts here MASTERLIST
If you want more please comment! Reblogs are appreciated!
Also sorry if it’s not any good, I’m going through a huge writers block…
Taglist: @studywithrosie01 (idk if you still wanna be tagged so I’ll tag you till you tell me otherwise if that’s okay?) IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED PLEASE COMMENT!
——————————
You sit crammed in the back seat of the vehicle. Ignoring how uncomfortable you are squished up against Soap and Ghost. Your arms crossed, legs crossed, practically twisted like a pretzel. Graves is in the front seat while Alejandro is driving, happy as Larry they are compared to you and your squished team mates, that could be compared to a can of sardines. You bite your tongue when the vehicle hits a pothole, Soap groans lightly and Ghost just tightens his grip on the seat. “Fuck this” you spit out, pushing yourself to stand, slipping over the back of the seat into the free space in the back.
“What the fuck” Soap states, looking over you, who looks a lot more comfortable than before. “I hate being crammed between two men who smell like shit” you chuckle, leaning onto your arms that are folded over your knees. “I don’t stink..” Soap growls, huffing as he turns back around to face the front. Ghost glances at you, you just shrug as you smile under the joker smile on your balaclava.
An hour passes of you sitting in the back, almost falling asleep in the darkness of the night and the few street lights that you pass by. You snap awake when you feel a hand shaking your shoulder, your mind groggy from the light slumber your brain was dancing with just moments ago. You groan lightly as you sit up, stretching out. You go to lean against the door that would open for you to be able to access the back from the outside, however your back doesn’t touch anything, you tumble out of the back. Going head over heels out of the vehicle, your gun clanging to the ground as you squeeze your eyes tight, bracing for the impact of the ground. Nothing comes, your body doesn’t hit the ground, warmth is raiding off two spots on your upper back.
You crack open your eyes to come face to face with Alejandro, his smile wide with a light chuckle. “You alright there Joker?” He asks, you just nod as he helps you up. “Yeah… thanks Alejandro.” You chuckle lightly, rubbing the imaginary kink out of your neck as you stand there looking down at your boots. “Any time.” He states as he pats your shoulder, you smile lightly, your mask shifting.
A deep voice sounds out from your left, you look over to see Ghost holding your rifle. “Oh… thanks Lieutenant'' You state, taking the gun from the taller man with a cold gaze. He just hums as he turns away, walking towards the large building you’re all supposed to be on top of. You strap the rifle to your back as you approach the building, following the rest of the team in, to your annoyance Graves is behind you.
He attempts some small talk but you shoot it down quickly with a “Shut up yank.” This caused the rest of the team to look over their shoulders down at you, Soap almost tripping up the stairs, Ghost almost getting whiplash with how quickly he looked at you. Along with nearly causing Alejandro to have a coughing fit when He coughs into his hand to hide his smile, you just keep your eyes forward passing the others on the way to the roof.
You perch yourself on one of the air condition units, looking at the fancy mansion in the distance, Ghost is a few paces in front of you, just off to the right. Alejandro, Graves and Soap all stand at the edge using binoculars to look at the mansion. Your mind focused on the heavy foot patrol around the compound, wondering how on earth you guys are gonna get in without a problem.
“Las casa de Sin Nombre?” Soap asks, which makes you look at him with a raised brow. ‘When did he learn that?’ You question, even Ghost glances at the Scotsman then to you. Alejandro sighs lightly before speaking “No. One of his Lugartenientes” you stand from your spot, walking up to stand next to Ghost. “The Cartel’s Lieutenant” you mumble to yourself, even though Soap states it louder. Alejandro states ‘Nice, brother. You’re learning’ in Spanish. Ghost looks over at you to see if you're gonna translate quietly again, you glance up at him briefly. “He praised him,” you shrug, looking back at the others.
“My sources tell me all the VIPs in Las Almas will be there tonight.” Alejandro continues “Some are invited, others are, umm….” Graves speaks up this time, his accent strong “Volun-told…?” “Yes,” Alejandro confirms.
“What’s the meet about?” Graves asks, looking over at Alejandro, who in turns says ‘Us’ in Spanish which you just whisper a quiet ‘us’ while motioning to everyone for Ghost. “Las Almas is burning, and they want to know who lit the fire.” Alejandro states, Ghost looks over at the Mexican “Sin Nombre will be there, yeah?” His accent is not helping his pronunciation of the Spanish words. “No guarantees but this is our best shot” Alejandro states while he turns to Ghost, walking a few paces closer.
Graves and Soap have done the same, Philip Graves taking the talking again with “Then we take it.” Which causes your skin to crawl,“I got enough Shadows here to take over the whole damn country.” “I’d prefer if you didn’t.” Alejandro protests, you take a step forward to defend Alejandro when Graves speaks up again.
Your actions fall short when Soap and Ghost give you a slight shake of their heads, you just let out a quiet huff as you back down. “Just saying … one house shouldn’t be a problem” Graves states, “We need Sin Nombre alive.” Ghost growls, Graves just lets out a small half chuckle of a huff, looking from Ghost over to the compound.
“Well…” he pauses. “Then we need to meet him.” He turns to look back at the group before looking at Soap who questions how. Your stomach sinks at the next statement that comes from the Shadow Company leader “Give ‘em what they want… Intel.” You glance at Soap then to Ghost “They wanna know who’s here. Let’s tell ‘em.” Both you and Alejandro ask “In person-?” You shift in your spot, uneasy with where this is going.
“Correcto… Get one of us inside, find the boss… roll him up” he states, looking around the group then to Alejandro properly.
There’s a brief pause before both you and Soap step forward with a “I’ll do it.” You both look at eachother, both not willing to back down. “Joker no, you gotta stay out here. You’re too…” Graves starts, his excuse fading quickly when you look at him. “Because I’m weaker? A girl? So fucking what Philip, you don’t get to say what I do.” You growl, he steps up to you, nose to nose at this point. “You ain’t going in there, we need you out here with Ghost.” He sneers. “You don’t give me orders mate, Ghost or Soap can but you can’t. SO, get off your high horse and realise I am as skilled as the rest of this team.” Graves backs down when he looks you in the eye, knowing how stubborn you are from previous encounters with you. “Lass, you stay out here with Ghost. Be my eyes for me on the outside.” Soap states, trying to level with you on you not going. You stare at the blue eyed Scotsman, brows furrowed under your mask. “You’re with me Joker, I need you with me while Graves goes and gets the Shadows” Ghost states, an order. You look to Alejandro to gauge his opinion, he just looks at you and Soap. “You go in there, and they’ll kill you.” He shakes his head lightly at you. “We need your eyes out here.” You just huff and back down, stepping out of the circle as the rest of them continue their conversation.
You follow Ghost to the spot he will be situated to be eyes for Soap and Alejandro, you’re there to watch his back as well as signal spot anything that Ghost doesn’t spot. You think its stupid in reality, this man is a bloody Lieutenant, he didn’t get to this point because of luck. He got his title because of skill, he knows how to keep himself concealed when sniping, he knows he’s vulnerable when he’s laying on his stomach and looking through the scope. You’re mere six feet away from him, knowing he likes his space just by the aura that radiates off him.
You haven’t talked much with your Lieutenant, you translated some words for him when he cocks his head to the side, or just doesn’t reply to a question. You have been his shadow for most of this mission, except for when you got separated and had to be by yourself for brief moments of time. You and Soap grew close quickly though, but you never talk much unless you’re spoken to, so right now you're a little anxious for Soap who is now being escorted into the large building.
You don’t talk over the comms, Ghost taking that role pretty well in all honesty. But once Soap is allowed to walk around the building, by means of Alejandro helping after getting inside and getting a disguise. You pipe up to tell him there’s a large trellis for him to be able to climb to help get to the balcony . “What now?” Soap asks, his voice crackling to life in your ear. “Y’know those plant thingys for them to grow up a wall…” you can see him shrug lightly through your scope. “For fucks sakes… a plant ladder Soap… that black thing with leaves” you hear a long “Oh” before you see him climb it with slightly difficulty before jumping the rest of the way to latch onto Balcony rails.
“Thanks Lass.” He states, you just hum in response. Moments pass as you quietly watch the building with baited breath. Your heart sinks when shots ring out, chaos ensues quickly onto Soap and Alejandro. You don’t have eyes on them, they are still inside the building. They just broke into the room with Sin Nombre in it, which turns out to be the woman that Soap got the displeasure of meeting down stairs in the makeshift interrogation room.
You go to push yourself from the ground, to run and help your team but a hand quickly catches your wrist when you go to get off the ground. “Don’t do anything stupid, kid.” That’s all that Ghost says before letting you go and nodding to you, that’s all you need before you’re bolting towards the compound. You’re just over a few hundred metres away from the fire fight, you can easily get there in a quick minute.
You sprint through the small forest that sits at the bottom internet he hill, jumping over and dodging low hanging branches. You see that the guards are scrambling to get to Alejandro and Soap, you take advantage of the distracted guards. Sliding up behind them one by one, taking them down like it was nothing, slicing their necks, kicking their legs out from under them. A quick bullet to each of their heads before moving to the next part.
“They’re on the roof, Joker, get yer ass there now!” You hear Ghost growl in your ear, your heart skips a beat when you realise how high the roof is from your position in the ground. You shake off the icy feel of dread, quickly scaling the same trellis that Soap used. You know it will take too long to find stairs to the roof, the next best thing is using the window sills to grab the gutter of the lower roof.
You shimmy across the small outcrop of stone, grabbing the edge of the roof as soon as it came into reach. The tiles creak under your weight, threatening to slip out from under you as you push yourself up to stand. A bullet flies overhead as you peek out to see where your team is. “Fuckin hell” you curse, throwing yourself over the small wall and into the flat surface of the roof you find yourself pinned to your hiding spot.
You hear a yell from a woman, you realise it’s the woman from earlier. The one you need, the one you need to detain as quickly as possible. “Put your hands where I can see them!” You yell, your rifle aimed at the woman’s back, right where her heart would be. Both Soap and Alejandro come sprinting around the corner, coming to a screeching halt when they see you aiming at the woman. Your breathing is heavy as you keep your eyes on the target, not batting an eye when you realise Shadow Company have arrived and are just hovering off the roof in a chopper.
You’re not even registering that anyone is talking to you, or to anyone for that matter. You’re solely focused on not letting this woman who you don’t even know the name of, out of your sight before she’s cuffed and taken to the base. Moments pass before Alejandro is cuffing her and dragging her away, you lower your gun as you let out a S breath you didn’t even realise you were holding. “Lass?” You whip around to see Soap, a small smirk on his lips as he looks at you.
You probably look like shit, you haven’t slept in days, haven’t been able to actually make yourself look presentable. “Hey…” you state quietly, barely audible over the sounds of the chopper, Soap approaches you when you adjust the balaclava slightly. “Thanks… to be honest we thought she was gonna be gone” he states, his hand clasping your shoulder with affection and gratitude.
You nod as you place a hand over his, he sees that you were worried, his grip tightens. “C’mere” his voice soft as he pulls you into his side, resting his chin on the crown of your head. “Let’s go kick some cartel arse, aye?” You just nod with a small chuckle as you pull away from the side hug, your eyes crinkle under your mask as you look up at the Scotsman.
——— Time Skip ——-
You’re beyond exhausted, you successfully got the missiles disarmed from the oil rigs and the large container ship. You despised being on the ship, the slippery deck and rocking of the ship on the stormy sea wasn’t helping you. The motion made you feel sick. The rain pelting down didn't help with the thunderous sound of the waves and cracking of lighting overhead, especially when the smaller containers started sliding across the ship.
You were almost crushed by one before you were dragged out of the way by Soap. Now you're in the back of one of the vehicles of the convoy, Alejandro in the front passenger seat, one of his men driving. You’re crammed in the back with Soap and Ghost again, your head lulling back with your eyes locked on the ceiling, your wet clothes now damp still sticking to your skin. Soap is man spreading, Ghost doing the same as you're crammed between the two. The sound of the rain hitting the windows and roof almost sends you to sleep, but you sit up when you feel the vehicle slow to a stop outside of the compound. Alejandro’s compound.
You lean forward, intrigued by the sudden stop. Alejandro gets out and approaches Graves, they both seem tense. The rain continues to pound against the metal of the vehicles. You can barely hear Alejandro and Graves talking, Ghost and Soap step out of the vehicle now standing in the rain. You go to follow the Ghost but he stops you, his body in the way. “Hold your tongue okay?” You just nod as he moves away, you stand next to him, slightly behind and furthest away from the others.
You can barely make out the conversation, your heart starting to pound in your ears as the rain slides down the back of your shirt, you left your jacket in the back seat. Your mask is drenched and sticking to your face uncomfortably. “Are you threatening us?” Ghost growls out, stepping forward. You look over to Graves, your eyes narrowing. You scan from the American over to Alejandro then to Soap, you want to say something, but you follow Ghost’s order.
You can’t hear a word that is being said, you're too preoccupied with watching all the Shadows slowly moving into defensive positions around you. There’s one behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck are standing on end. Suddenly Alejandro lunges at Graves, chaos erupts. You snatch the knife from your thigh holster, taking a large step backwards and lunging low, whipping around and slicing through the heavy military issued pants, digging deep into the Shadows knee.
Slicing through the tendons causing him to stumble, missing his shot. His body slumps to the ground when you hear a sickening wet thunk, one of Ghost’s knives embedded deep in the shadow. You see Johnny on the other side of the car, the brake lights bright in your eyes as you go to help him.
A hand grabs the back of your vest, dragging you backwards. “Get out of here now!” Ghost yells over the rain, shoving you towards the dark forest. “But-!” “JUST GO! GET OUT OF HERE KID! BOTH OF YOU! GET OUT OF HERE JOHNNY!” Ghost growls, his eyes filled with a swirling storm of anger, concern and desperation.
You nod as you grab hold of Soap’s vest, dragging him towards the concrete barrier. He manages to get to his feet, sending himself over the low wall. Soap slides down the slope, firing back at whoever is shooting at him. You didn't quite make it over the barrier in the same spot as Soap, you had to dash a few metres away from him. You flung yourself over the low wall, sending you into a tumbling mess down the slope, narrowly missing the trees and rocks.
Coughing as you push yourself to your feet, your legs feeling like jelly as you stumble through the thick bushes.
“Fuckin’ hell” you curse, you look up to see the light pollution form the nearby town. Branches and twigs snap back in your face as you push your way through the bushes, eventually stumbling into someone's backyard. Your arms are scraped and sliced to shit by the trees, your leg feels like someone kicked you with steel caps. You limp your way to the back door of the house, no lights are on. “Please no one be home” you mumble as you try the door, no luck. You crouch down, hissing when your leg protests against the movement. Ripping a small blade from your ankle holster, you smirk, thankful you didn't lose it in the tumble down the hill.
The house was practically empty, very few helpful items were scattered around. You managed to find bandages, which came in handy to do a half ass job of wrapping your knee. “Joker… this is Ghost. How copy?” Your earpiece crackles to life, you tried your comms before, just after entering the house to no avail.
“Alive… surprisingly” you mumble. “Good to hear from ya lass” Soap’s voice comes through, you smile gently. Happy to know your team is alive and well… maybe the well bit can be disregarded for you. “Good. Are you hurt? Ain’t bleedin’ out like Johnny are ya?” Ghost asks, you shake your head as an answer, even though he can’t see you. “I wouldn’t say bleeding out… but I don’t have as much blood in me as I had at the start of this god forsaken mission.” You state, falling quiet when you make your way down a dark alleyway between two houses.
You hear a small chuckle from Soap and a quiet sigh from Ghost. “I ain’t gonna drop dead if that’s what yer worried about L.T” you quickly add. Pushing your way through a door into a small corner store. “Good, cause I don’t wanna come back and hunt for yer body” Soap jokes, his accent thick over the comms. “We aren’t gonna do any hunting for anyone’s bodies, so keep your eyes peeled and ears open.” “Yes sir” both you and Soap reply.
What feels like an hour is more like ten minutes, you drop down from a balcony, your leg giving way immediately when you land. On your hands and knees you suck in a sharp breath as you lean back onto your heels, you have all agreed to meet at the church in the middle of the town. You’ve made a lot of distance from the very outskirts of town to nearly the middle quickly, light footwork on the tin and tiled rooftops made it easy.
Yet when you decided you needed to go by ground, you had to drop from a significant height.
You whip your head to the side when you hear a low voice talking, shuffling backwards on your ass. Crawling down a few stairs and sticking close to the wall you end up half submerged in a flowing river, a river that’s going through a tunnel. You are pretty sure it used to be a walking tunnel or driving one by the sight of nearly submerged cars.
You can hear Soap talking through the comms, replying to one of Ghost’s shitty jokes. Yet it sounds like Soap’s voice is echoing, like you can hear him talking before it comes through the comms. The next thing you hear is boots hitting the ground and a quiet groan, you peek over the edge of the wall, your hand gripping a pistol you snatched from a Shadow you killed. The dead man's rifle strapped to your back.
You stand quickly with the pistol raised, your eyes locking onto sky blue ones. “Soap?!” You question, lowering the gun as you hobble up the few stairs, drenched from the waist down. “Lass?” The Scotsman asks, his eyes widen as he realises it's you. “I’m assuming you found each other?” Ghost asks through the comms. “Yeah, found her swimming with the fishes” Soap jokes, placing a hand on your shoulder and bringing you into a small side hug.
“What…?” Ghost questions.
“I was hiding in the water cause I didn’t know it was Soap… it was gross” you chuckle, stepping away from Soap with a limp. “What’s wrong with you?” You shrug to the man's question, looking down at your knee.
“I think It got dislocated… but somehow popped it back into place?” You cringe when you lean into it more. “All I know is that it hurts like hell, and I just want to get out of here…” you growl out, moving to walk back down the stairs. “I second that.” Soap states as he follows you.
You’re soaked through, you feel like you swallowed more water than humanly possible. You ended up underwater, sneakily taking out some shadows yet one was able to get the upper hand on you. You ended up back to the ground under the water, desperately holding onto what little air you had left in your lungs before Soap shot the man point blank in the head. Your throat hurts, lungs burning like someone lit a fire in them. The urge to rip the fabric off your head to be able to breathe is strong, yet you flex your fists when Soap looks over his shoulder at you, you’re both holed up in the back of a small store now, trying to figure out where all the Shadows are located.
Ghost is saying something over the comms, you’re honestly not listening to his growling tone. “Joker? You good Lass?” You look at Soap like he’s crazy, in this situation he might as well be. “I feel like I'm breathing through a wet sponge, so I’m just peachy” the sass in your voice causes the Scotsman to chuckle. Suddenly Ghost’s rushed voice breaks through the silence and multiple gun shots ring through the air and the comms. You don’t hear everything as it feels like there’s water lodge in your ears, next thing you know is your sprinting through the open, firing at anything that moves and screams out nonsense.
Ghost is quick to climb the gate, landing with a thump next to you. Soap and Ghost talk as you watch as multiple shadows flood into the area, you hear something about needing a getaway vehicle. “I saw a pickup just across the way when we were running, looked like it still had life” you comment, which sets the plan into stone. Get to the pick up, get the fuck outta here without being shot dead.
You duck and weave through vehicles and tables, shooting and throwing whatever projectiles you had at the Shadows who were not being as effective as General Shepherd expected them to be.
You reach the pick up first, ripping the door open and cramming yourself into the middle, Soap close behind and Ghost throwing himself into the driver’s seat. You can’t do much other than duck down, allowing Soap to shoot and Ghost to drive. You slam into the dash when Ghost slams on the gas in reverse and hits one of the Shadows “I HOPE YOU CAN DRIVE MANUAL!” You yell over the chaos. “FUCK OFF” Ghost sneers as he jams the stick shift into first.
You chuckle quietly as you stay low, preparing for a shitty ride to wherever you are heading.
443 notes · View notes
slut4thebroken · 11 months
Text
Closure
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Pairing | Jason Todd x reader
Summary | Under The Red Hood rewrite
Warnings | angst, fluff, murder lol
Words | 4k
Notes | My coping mechanism after watching under the red hood
Ao3 link | <3
Masterlist
Tumblr media
Blinding rage. That was all you felt as you stared at Bruce who was silent, waiting for your response. But even through all of the rage you still felt like you misheard him, that this couldn’t be true. 
“What?” You whispered, expression cold but on the verge of shattering any second now. 
“I’m sorry. But you have to understand, this isn’t the same Jason you knew,” 
“How long?” You asked, completely ignoring his response. 
“What?” Everything he was doing was making your blood boil. 
“How long have you known?” You gritted, vision going blurry with tears as your eyes started burning. He sighed and looked away from you for a moment. 
“Three weeks.” Despite your throat starting to close up and the nausea building in your stomach, you forced yourself to respond. 
“You knew he was alive for three weeks and you didn’t tell me?” You swore you almost saw him flinch at your tone. 
“I couldn’t have you going off and doing something to get yourself killed. Like I said, he’s not the same.” His calmness just added more fuel to the fire that was your burning rage. 
“What, you needed time to “take care of him” without me possibly intervening?” You spat. 
“No! I was trying to help him.”
“Bullshit! You really expect me to believe that you give two fucks about him when you put “a good soldier” on his memorial? He thought of you as a father.” The more your voice raised, the more it started to break. “If you really were trying to help him, you would have included me.” 
“I couldn’t have you getting hurt.”
“Stop acting like you were protecting me! Stop acting like anything he could do would be worse than how I felt after he died. You watched me grieve, Bruce. You-” Cutting yourself off with a choked sob, you looked away from him as hot tears burned a trail down your face. “You watched me sit by his grave and cry for hours.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm down. 
“You may have lost a soldier, but I lost the love of my life.” 
“I understand what you’re feeling-“
“No!” You screamed, then quickly lowered your voice again. “You don’t. You knew-” You swallowed down a sob and shoved his chest, not moving him at all. “You knew he was alive for weeks and you didn’t tell me.” Another shove. When he once again barely even swayed, you just continued hitting his chest, feeling your rage turn back into the heartache you’ve become accustomed to. “You knew- how could you not tell me?” There were hardly any words that didn’t break while you were speaking. You started hyperventilating the more you cried and the more you thought. 
Would he be as happy to see you as you would be to see him? Would he even want to see you? What if he doesn’t feel the same anymore? Bile rose in your throat at the thought. You genuinely aren’t sure if you can handle that on top of everything. 
Distantly, you heard Bruce calling your name, felt his hands on your shoulders. When you finally came out of your thoughts, you pushed away from him and ran to the front door. He called out, asking where you were going and saying it wasn’t safe to drive in your current state but you ignored him. He already knew where you were going. You wasted no time getting on your motorcycle and driving toward the city. 
You tried to clear your head long enough to figure out where he might be. But if this isn’t the Jason you remember, then all of that information is useless. You went through all of your conversations with Bruce and Alfred, even Dick. But you couldn’t remember any slip ups. It didn’t help that Bruce had been extra secretive this past month. Lastly, you tried to think of just anything a little weird that has happened recently. At first nothing came to mind, but you skidded to a stop once you remembered. 
Two weeks ago you got a call from an unknown number, which you thought nothing of at the time. You answered with a simple “hello?” and there was nothing on the other end. You only said “hello?” once more before the other person hung up. Could it be him? 
With shaky hands you took your phone out of your pocket and blinked away enough tears to actually see the screen. You stared at the number in your call history for only a moment before pressing it. The phone rang three times before the it was answered. 
“Hello?” You asked, clearing your throat once you heard how raspy your voice was. After just silence, you continued. “If this is who I think it is, please meet me. You know where.” You waited for a reply for only a few seconds, then hung up. 
Placing your phone in your pocket, you turned around and sped off. After only a few minutes, you arrived and hesitated. This is the bike you use on patrol… which means there’s an extra tracker on it… After not much debating, you grabbed it and climbed the fire escape. Once you were on the roof, you sat on the edge as your thoughts consumed you. 
This had been your’s and Jason’s spot since the moment you met because this was actually where you had met. You would sit up here for hours every day and just talk and laugh, sometimes cry and hug. Whatever it was, it was always with Jason. 
This was where he told you he was adopted and that his only condition was that the two of you are a package deal. This was where he told you he was Robin and showed you the suit, excitedly asking your opinion on how it looked. 
This was where you fell in love with him. 
As you cuddled on the rooftop, staring at the minimal stars above, you felt the vibrations of his chest against your cheek as he recited a poem. Truthfully, his soothing voice was lulling you to sleep, but you did your best to stay awake, wanting to keep listening. His fingers brushed through your hair, only aiding in your sleepiness. When he finished, you waited for more, but frowned when he stayed quiet. 
“Another?” You asked softly, leaning your head up to look at him. He gave you a small smile and gently pushed your hair, that had fallen forward, behind your ear. 
“I don’t get why you like it so much.” He was teasing you, but you gave him an honest answer anyway. 
“I like hearing your voice, feeling your chest vibrate. I like that you enjoy poetry so much that you actually memorize it, whether it be purposefully or accidentally.” Under the moon and the dim city lights, you could just barely see his cheeks go pink as he gave you a shy smile.  
“And I like knowing that you only recite poems to me. Feels like it’s our thing, you know?” Makes me feel special- like I’m the only girl in the world, is what you wanted to say. 
“How do you know I’m not reciting poetry to anyone else?” He mused. 
“Because you don’t have any other friends.” You chuckled, but it died off when you watched his smile start to fade. 
“I’m not sure I have any friends.” He said quietly, placing his palm on your cheek. You furrowed your brows in confusion for a moment, the second you understood, your eyes widened and your lips parted. 
You prayed that you didn’t misunderstand the meaning behind his words, then whispered, “I’m not sure I do either.” Suddenly very aware of your proximity, you felt your cheeks grow warm as your gaze fell to his lips. You couldn’t tell which one of you was moving forward, inching closer, only stopping once his lips brushed yours, making your eyes flutter shut. The anticipation only lasted another second before he moved his hand to the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss. It was a little awkward, you struggled to concentrate because of the butterflies in your stomach and the way your head felt light, but you never wanted to stop. When he pulled back, you were both panting, foreheads pressed together and eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. 
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He whispered. You pulled back just enough so you could see him and he was mirroring your love sick grin. 
“Me too.” You whispered back, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. You brushed your thumb over his lower lip, thinking about how you know what they feel like now and how they’re so much better than you imagined. 
“Another?” You said through a breath, forcing your gaze away from his lips to his eyes. 
“Poem or kiss?” The corners of his lips turned up as he glanced at your lips briefly. 
“Both.” 
You tried coming here after he died, hoping it would make you feel closer to him and give you a little bit of happiness in your otherwise dull world. Instead, you sobbed harder than you ever have in your entire life and haven’t been up here since. 
Absentmindedly trailing your fingers over your initials carved onto the brick ledge, you let out a shaky breath. You’ve dreamed about this time and time again, but never in those fantasies had you been so scared. 
A soft noise from behind you made you whip your head around. You clambered to your feet as you took in the man only a few feet from you. He was wearing a red helmet and what looked like causal tactical gear along with an assortment of weapons. This man was slightly bigger than you remembered, but it had to be him. You don’t know what you’ll do if it’s not. 
“Jason?” You croaked, willing yourself not to break down crying right now. You took a step toward him and when he took one away from you, you froze, heart aching even more. 
“Jason, I- please let me see you… Let me help you.” You begged, feeling your eyes start to burn again. 
“Funny. Bruce said almost the same thing.” Despite his words, there was no humor in his voice. 
“I’m not him.” You reminded. “I can help you, Jay. Please let me help you.” Your voice broke as you begged him. 
“You can’t!” He yelled, your heart breaking at the way his voice cracked. You took another step forward and when he didn’t move back, you kept going until you were standing in front of him. 
“Please let me see you.” You whispered. He didn’t move for a few seconds, probably deciding what to do. But eventually, he slowly lifted gloved hands and removed the helmet, letting it drop to the floor. You let out a choked sob as you finally saw him- saw that he was really here. His eyes, surrounded by a domino mask, were red rimmed and blood shot, lips pink and swollen as if he was biting them. 
“I’m sorry.” You whimpered through a sob. “I’m so sorry, Jason.” You brought your hands up to his face and he flinched back, but let you gently place them on his cheeks. 
“I missed you so much.” You whispered, swallowing down another sob. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. You wanted to ask how he’s alive, why he never came to see you, if he’s okay, if he missed you too. But you never got the chance. 
“You can’t see me anymore.” He said quietly, making your stomach drop. 
“What?” You breathed. 
“What I’m doing- it’s too dangerous for you to be associated with me.” 
“I don’t care what this risk is. No pain is worse than not being with you.” 
“I know.” He muttered. 
He stood well within the tree line, being extra cautious to not get caught. But he had to see you. Had to make sure you were okay, that you had moved on and were happy with your life. 
But that’s not what he found at all. Instead, he found your obviously malnourished and sleep deprived body sitting in front of his grave. At first you were just talking, he was just far enough that he couldn’t hear your words. But then you started sobbing. 
You sat in front of his headstone and just cried. The visual made him sick to his stomach. He ached to walk up to you, hug you until you stop crying like he would do on the rooftop all those years ago. But he remained hidden, only leaving after Alfred had brought you back inside. He was glad you at least had Alfred, since Bruce wasn’t equipped to help people deal with their grief properly. 
Only a week later, he called you. The second he heard your voice, he was just frozen. After he heard your voice again, he quickly hung up and then just fell to his knees and cried. He hadn’t felt that weak since the day he died. 
“I know. But I can’t lose you.” He added, tears welling in his eyes. 
“Jason, please. Whatever’s going on, I can help. You don’t have to do it alone.” He started shaking his head and bit his lip as he stepped out of your touch. 
“No. I’m not… I'm different, I’m not the same man as before- the one you fell in love with.” 
“I don’t believe that. If it were true you wouldn’t have come here.” 
“I came here to tell you to stay away from me.” He replied coldly, but you were used to his outbursts that were concealing fear and hurt. 
“And the call?” You stared into his blood shot eyes, trying to find some indication that you were right. All he did was stare back, so you moved forward again and wrapped your arms around him. He stiffened and kept his arms by his sides. 
Burying your face in his chest, you took a deep breath. He smelled different than you remembered. More like leather and gunpowder, but he still had that hint of Jason. And then the sob you had been trying to hold in, crawled its way up your throat. As you cried against his chest, you felt his arms tentatively wrap around you. 
“I’m sorry.” He said quietly. You barely heard him over the sounds of your cries. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” The nickname just made you sob harder and you started babbling incoherent pleas against his chest. 
“Please don’t leave, Jay. I can’t lose you again.” You managed to get out, hoping he could understand you through your cries. You tightened your grip around him, but he kept his hands placed lightly on your back, not pulling you into him like he used to. Before you pulled away, you slipped the tracker into his pocket. Honestly, it’d be a miracle if he didn’t find it. 
“Please.” You whispered. 
“I’m sorry.” Were the last words you got before he was grappling away from the building. 
Part of you felt bad for tracking him, but there’s no way in hell you’re letting him get away again. You just hoped he hadn’t noticed it yet. 
As you walked down the hall, the voices got louder until you recognized the one talking as Bruce. 
“But if I do that… if I allow myself to go down into that place… I’ll never come back.” 
“Why? I'm not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent, I’m talking about him. Just him. And doing it because… because he took me away from you.” Your heart broke at the way Jason’s voice trembled. 
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“That is so sweet.” Joker… You’d recognize that voice anywhere. You could faintly hear a gun being cocked. 
“Well you won’t have a choice.” Jason gritted. 
“I won’t.” 
“This is what it’s all been about. This. You, me, him. Now is the time you decide.” You heard, what sounded like, wood break as he paused. “If you won’t kill this psychotic piece of filth, I will. If you wanna stop me, you’re gonna have to kill me.” So that’s why the Joker is here. 
“You know I won’t.” 
“I’m gonna blow his deranged brains out! And if you want to stop it, you’re gonna have to shoot me. Right in my face!”
“This is turning out even better than I’d hoped.” Joker exclaimed, probably with a sick smile on his face. You could faintly hear something clatter to the floor and then footsteps. 
“It’s him or me. You have to decide. Decide now! Do it!” Jason only grew angrier the more Bruce ignored him. “Him or me, decide!” The second you heard a gun go off and Jason yell in pain, you ran inside. Jason looked surprised to see you, Bruce kept his face neutral so you weren’t sure if he knew you’d be coming or not, and the Joker looked absolutely fucking delighted. He burst out laughing and you picked up the gun that had fallen near your feet. 
“Daddy and his little boy wonder and now the girlfriend? This just keeps getting better!” 
You scanned Jason’s body, other than his hand he seemed okay. Then your gaze slowly moved to Joker laying at Jason’s feet. You kept the gun at your side but tightened your grip on it as your chest heaved in anger. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Batman starting to walk toward you so you pointed the gun at him, making him freeze. 
“Don’t fucking move.” You spat, watching your hand tremble. Bruce said your name, and the fact that he was so calm right now made you even angrier. 
“You don’t want to do this. You can’t come back from it.” 
“Don’t fucking tell me what I want!” You screamed. “He deserves to die. He- he took everything from me!” Your voice broke and you willed yourself to not start crying right now. 
“Aw look, she’s about to cry.” Joker cooed mockingly. 
“Shut up!” You yelled, pointing it back to the man on the floor and gritting your teeth. You were ready to put a bullet in his head, but you wanted him to suffer first. So you aimed it at his leg and pulled the trigger. And he laughed. He just laughed. Batman moving toward you again made you point it back at him. 
“Unless you want one too, I’d stay there.” You growled, specifically aiming for the part of his face not covered by the mask. You don’t want to kill Bruce. But if he gets in your way… you have enough rage that you might try. He stopped moving, but then turned to Jason. 
“You can stop this. You’re the only one who can get through to her.” 
“And why would I do that? She deserves some closure after what he put her through.” He all but shrugged, gesturing to the Joker. 
“This isn’t closure and you know that.” 
“Right,” You scoffed, “because closure is putting him in Arkham just so he can escape again.” You understood Bruce’s morals and why he does things the way he does, but after maybe the fifth time of Joker escaping, you at least would have figured something else out to keep him away permanently. “The fact that you’re not willing to kill the sick fuck who murdered your own son just so you can keep up this little game you two have, makes you just as bad as him. Maybe even worse.” 
“Batsy and I just have a special connection.” You didn’t even bother replying, you just fired the gun at his other leg, then pointed it back to Bruce. 
“He’s dying tonight.” You said, voice eerily calm. “Who pulls the trigger is up to him,” You motioned to Jason, but kept your eyes on Bruce, “but he’s not leaving here without a bullet in his head.” 
“Don’t do this. It won’t change what happened and you know that.” Bruce said, making you scoff. 
“I don’t care. You’re telling me if the man who killed your parents was right in front of you, you wouldn’t kill him?” He didn’t reply. He just stared at you and clenched his jaw slightly. 
“Jay, you or me?” You said, turning your head toward him but keeping your eyes on Bruce. 
“Bats, you’re just going to let them kill me?” He asked, probably with a smirk. 
“Go ahead, sweetheart. I had my fun before you got here.” You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smirking. 
“Hold off the bat, will you?” You asked, knowing Bruce would make some last minute move to stop you. 
“I remember it like it was yesterday.” The Joker smirked, looking up at you. “Poor little Robin, bleeding out, crying… waiting for you to come save him. Why is it that you never came?” You shot him in the stomach and Jason moved between you and Bruce when he started walking forward to stop you. 
“Did you not love him enough? Was he not worth saving?” He jeered, then started laughing. You slowly stalked toward him until you were standing above him. 
“You’re lucky I don’t have more time. I’d like to see you try to laugh after I cut out your tongue.” You spat. Lifting your leg, you put your foot on top of the hole in his thigh and pushed down, making him cry out. By now, everything else had drowned out. All you could focus on was him. The man who murdered the love of your life. Any doubts you might’ve had were immediately erased with that thought. 
“Any last words?” You spoke bitterly, leaning closer to his face. He opened his mouth to speak and you pulled the trigger, making him instantly fall to the floor, a pool of blood growing around his head. 
“No!” You heard distantly, but you ignored it and savored the moment. You never thought in a million years thought you’d have the opportunity to do what you’ve dreamed of. And now that you have, it’s like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. 
A hand on your arm pulled you back and you watched as Bruce towered over you, taking the gun and tossing it across the room. 
“What? Disappointed you’ll have to find a new person for your sick game?” 
“He would have paid for what he did-“
“He did pay. With his life.” You said sternly, pushing him away and standing up. You walked toward Jason, who had a new bruise on his face, and heard Bruce’s steps behind you. When Jason held up a detonator, he froze. He pushed the button and immediately grabbed your waist and pulled you to the window. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he jumped out and fired a grappling hook up to the closest building. As you landed, the bomb went off. 
“Do you think he made it out?” You asked. 
“Without a doubt.” He scoffed a laugh and you turned to him with a small smile. “We should probably leave though.”
“Before he has a chance to get to us.” You added with a nod. 
A week later, you were laying on the couch in Jason’s safe house with your feet on his lap. Both of you were reading a book, the tv quietly playing “breaking news” about Joker's death, until you spoke up. 
“Do you think I shouldn’t have killed him?” You asked, biting your lip and looking at him over your book. He paused and moved his own book to his lap as he looked at you. 
“I think if it’s haunting you, then you shouldn’t have. I would’ve done it instead. But if you’re glad he’s dead because of you, then no I don’t.” You mulled his words over in your head. Despite the fact that you got what you wanted, you felt… unfulfilled. 
“Should we have done it differently? Taken him somewhere so we could do more than just shoot him?” Before Jason’s death, you never under any circumstances would’ve admitted to regretting killing someone and wishing you had tortured them first instead. But grief can change a person... 
“Sometimes I think about that too. But I’m just glad he’s dead. Plus, he suffered plenty, what with you shooting him three times before killing him and all.” He chuckled almost proudly. 
“Aw man…” You whined, suddenly getting sad, making him confused. 
“What?” 
“I should’ve shot him in the dick.” You sighed and he burst out laughing. You smiled but didn’t laugh with him, too focused on finally seeing him happy since before he died. His laughter trailed off and he looked at you with pink cheeks. 
“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked with a nervous smile. 
“I just- I like seeing you happy.” 
“You are so cheesy, you know that?” He chuckled, the love sick grin on his face mirroring yours. 
“I may be cheesy, but at least I’m not lit-nerd cheesy. I mean for god's sake, you literally recite poetry to me.” You smirked, making him scoff. 
“Fine. I guess I won’t anymore, since you hate it so much.” You could tell he wasn’t being serious, but your smirk dropped anyway. 
“Don’t you dare.” You warned, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. 
I’m so sorry idk how to end this lmao
407 notes · View notes
uhohwhathaveidone · 1 year
Note
Hi I love your work! I absolutely adore the Slytherin boys so could you do angsty-fluff for Ominis, Sebastian and reader?
Pretty please can you write about them being worried when reader doesn't react to crucio? Like an "I've survived worse" type of thing? Like it 100% hurt, because the door opens but they're used to just toughing it out?
Idk just a random idea I've had.
I am so sorry I got carried away.
What Happened to You (S.S)/(O.G)
I've been told to warn you that this contains big violence as well as trauma and abuse and violence and no I will not tell you how I made the trauma. Please enjoy, I'm going to get pudding now.
Tumblr media
     You stood beside Sebastian and Ominis, looking around the room for a way out. When you walked into the room, Sebastian had assured you that the skeleton on the ground was just to scare people off, until he was left stuttering as the door behind you closed, locking you in. “You were saying, Sebastian?” Ominis scoffed, beginning to pace. You shook your head as you walked over to the door opposite of you, its design almost haunting. You sighed as you ran a hand over its surface, tracing the faces engraved in the black stone, searching for a latch or something similar that would unlock the door. Sebastian walked up behind you, following your hand as he tried to think of a way out. “If both doors are locked, then the skeleton you mentioned.” Ominis said, walking over to the two of you. “That’s a real person?”
     You huffed, turning to Ominis and putting your hand on his shoulder, giving it an assuring squeeze. “We’ll be fine, I promise.” He smiled slightly as he nodded, his head hung as he listened to Sebastian mutter to himself. You walked around the room, looking at every crack in the wall for something to open the door with, but to no avail. You sighed in frustration, sliding down the side of a wall and burying your face into your hands. Sebastian watched you in silence, frowning as he watched you pick at your fingers. He walked over and offered his hand to you, which you took as he pulled you up and gave you a small smile. “We’ll get out of this, we always do.” You nodded, turning your head to Ominis as he scoffed. “We’ve never gotten stuck in a room with two locked doors, not to mention that there is a skeleton right next to us!”
      You frowned, looking over at the skeleton that lay next to the door, bare of any flesh. It had been there for a while, whoever it was that was last down here died alone. You squinted slightly, leaning forward as you continued to exam the bones, finding a slip of parchment near where you assumed the hand was. Sebastian and Ominis stood behind you as you bent down and picked it up, careful not to damage the aged paper. You unfolded the note and studied what was written, the hurried scribbles barely legible. “What does it say?” Sebastian asked, peering over your shoulder to get a look. You frowned as you went over the note once again. “She died alone, even when she knew how to escape, she was alone.” Ominis furrowed his brows, “Even when she could escape? Why didn’t she then?” Your gaze darkened as you turned to the two boys, a graze expression taking over your features.
      “She needed another person, so she could cast the spell that would open the door.” Sebastian frowned, looking over at the door. “What kind of spell did she need that she couldn’t do it alone?” You folded the note and placed it in your pocket, walking over to the door. “The Cruciuatus Curse.” Ominis’ eyes widened as he stood, frozen. Sebastian’s gaze darkened as well, looking at the door as he began to understand the dark design on its surface. “It’s the only way to get out. I’m not sure how she figured it out, but it says to use Crucio on someone, and the door will unlock.” You said, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked between the two boys. Sebastian avoided your gaze as he looked down at his feet, a sad, worried look had etched itself on Ominis’ face as he looked in your direction. “So, one of us has to cast it on another.” Sebastian whispered. You nodded.
      “I’m sorry, but I refuse to take part in this.” Ominis stated, walking away from you. You sighed as you nodded your head. “We won’t force you, Ominis. But that means that you and I must decide.” You said, looking at Sebastian. He continued to avoid your gaze as he nodded slowly. “It’s going to be painful, Sebastian. For both parties.” He nodded again as he paced, muttering to himself. You watched in worry as he continued to pace around the room, unable to understand what he was saying. Ominis stood farther away, near the door you had come in from, frowning as he mumbled to himself about how absurd the situation was. You took a breath as you walked to Sebastian, putting a hand on his shoulder and stopping him. “Cast it on me.” Sebastian’s eyes widened as he looked at you, shaking his head. Ominis spoke from where he stood, concerned. “Absolutely not! Are you insane?” “I won’t do that, not to you. Why would you ask that of me?” You furrowed your brows as you looked over at the door. “We need to get out, and I won’t be learning the curse just to cast it on you. If we don’t do this, we’ll be here until we die, and I’d rather not die in a room under the castle, even with the two of you by my side.” You stared into Sebastian’s eyes, determined to get your point across. You watched as Sebastian’s eyes glossed over as he tapped his wand on his leg. “Are you sure? You know that this spell literally tortures you, right?” You nodded as you gave him a reassuring smile. “Let’s get out of here.”
      Ominis covered his ears as you moved to stand in front of the door, readying yourself. Sebastian gave you another worried glance as he readied his wand, practically begging you to reconsider. You held your ground, however, as you nodded to him, letting him know you were ready. You braced yourself as Sebastian raised his wand, brows furrowed as he sent the spell your way. You groaned as you stood your ground, holding your side as your blood boiled. You quietly gasped for air as you felt your lungs squeezed what little oxygen was left in them. You gritted your teeth as you looked over to the door, watching as it began to move, the red light that surrounded you now spreading over the door’s surface. Sebastian watched you with wide eyes as you stood your ground, unsure about what he should do. Ominis furrowed his brows as he slowly removed his hands from his ears, walking over slowly in surprise as you sighed.
      “Ah, there we are,” You breathed, shaking your head as the last bits of the spell ran their course. You stretch your back as you turn to the door, looking at the two boys. “Are you…okay?” Ominis asked, frowning as he looked in your direction. You shrugged, “Yeah. It hurt, of course, but other than that I’m fine.” Sebastian looked at you in what felt like horror, grabbing your shoulder, and turning you towards him. “Fine? That spell is supposed to leave even the strongest wizards on the ground, and you claim to be fine?” You shrugged, frowning as you looked into Sebastian’s eyes. “Yes, I’m fine. We should get going, though.” You said, turning back to the door. “We don’t know if it’ll lock us in here again, and I personally don’t want to do that again.”
      The three of you walked into the next room and continued your adventure, Ominis and Sebastian constantly keeping an eye on you as you went. When you exited and made your way back to where the rest of the students were, you turned to Sebastian and Ominis. “I’ll catch up with you two later, yeah?” Sebastian grabbed your arm before you could turn to leave, a serious look on his face. “We need to talk, y/n.” You sighed and quirked a brow. “About what?” “About what happened in that room, obviously.” Ominis responded, his worried eyes meeting your own. “Later, then. I have some things I need to do.” With that, you quickly escaped Sebastian’s grasp and walked away. Ominis turned to Sebastian as he shook his head. “I have a feeling we won’t hear something we like, if we hear anything at all.” Sebastian nodded, looking down the hall you had vanished down.
      The boys eventually cornered you a few days later, claiming that you needed to talk about what had happened. “I heard that it’s best to discuss moments like this to better get an understanding of it. That’s what my uncle said, at least.” Sebastian stated, gesturing for you to sit next to him in the grass. You sighed as you complied, watching as Ominis sat down next to you. “We used the spell, we got out. That’s all there is, you were there.” You explained, crossing your legs as you leaned your back against the tree behind you. Sebastian shook his head, narrowing his gaze at you. “That’s not what I meant. Look, I applaud you for handling the spell so well, but people aren’t supposed to be left standing afterwards.” Ominis nodded beside you, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree with you, brushing his shoulder against your own. “You handled it well, too well. We just wanted to know if you wanted to talk about it, maybe shed some light?” He said, closing his eyes as he felt a breeze blow by. “It could give us some insight on what we can do, boundaries if you will. Ominis uses them, that’s why I didn’t ask him to participate in the spell casting.” You hung your head as you listened to their voices, reassuring you that you could trust them like they trusted you, telling you that you could refuse if you wanted to.
      “I had some trouble in the past, it helped me tolerate pain, I suppose.” You said, closing your eyes. “Do you want to leave it at that?” Sebastian asked, his calm tone easing you as you felt your heartbeat. You shook your head, sighing. “There’s more, if you want to know.” “In your own time, no rush.”
      “My family was well known; they knew all our business because my father was in the Ministry. He didn’t like that my mother was helping me learn magic at a young age and would often scold me if he caught me. She would tell him that I was gifted with strong magic that needed to be exercised at a young age, but he wouldn’t have it.” You began. “Sometimes, he would threaten me, push me around and point his wand at me, telling me if he caught me again, I would be in big trouble. I was only 5. If my mother was out when he got home, he’d dismiss the nanny and wait for her to leave before he would sit me down and have a talk with me.” You paused, staring at some blades of grass that swayed in the breeze, calming you. “I didn’t like those talks. Sometimes he’d take his wand out, and he’d point it at my arm or legs, catching my skin of fire for a short moment before extinguishing it. He told me to stop listening to my mother, saying if I didn’t, he’d find a new way to get his point across.” You watched as they both frowned, not speaking as they waited for you to continue. “One day, he got back from work and found my mother and I practicing again; he wasn’t supposed to be home yet. I guess he had enough of me at that point; he didn’t even take out his wand, he just went to the kitchen and started yelling, coming back with a knife. My mother tried to push him away, but he threw her across the room and kept coming for me, said he was going to gut me like an animal.” You placed a hand to your chest, frowning. “He got me too; I have a nasty scar on my chest from it. He almost killed me, but my mother stopped him. Used the killing curse on him, and he dropped right in front of me.” Another pause. “They sent her to Azkaban and sent me to live with my father’s sister. The paper got ahold of the story pretty fast too, and everyone in the town my aunt lived in knew about it. They would console her, telling her they were sorry she had to take care of me, blaming my mother for everything.” You scoffed. “Why wouldn’t they? My father was an important man, did no wrong; he didn’t do anything to get himself killed. The kids threw stones at me, and their parents would talk about me, calling me a sin and claiming that I would go to Azkaban one day to be with my mother.” You felt Ominis place his head on your shoulder, quietly reassuring you as you continued. “There was a man in the town that used to be friends with my father; he would smile at me whenever I went outside. He was nice, until he asked me to help him get something from the shed, claiming he was too big to go under something to grab the tool he dropped. I went, too. He locked it behind us and grabbed me, threatening me with a knife, claiming that I had something of his, that my dad would have given me it before he died. I still don’t know what he was talking about. He almost killed me, if it wasn’t for the fact that one of the muggles in the town saw him lock me in there. He was taken away, and the adults blamed me for it. Said he was a good man, and that I must have used whatever magic my mother taught me to coerce him into what he did.” You shook your head. “My aunt didn’t want me going outside without her after that. I guess I became numb to it all. I thought that spell would hurt a lot more than it did, honestly. But perhaps it’s a good thing?”
      You sat there in silence, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “I remember what the neighbor told me the day that man got arrested.” You sighed. “Your fate is sealed. You’re doomed to continue this life until you are completely destroyed. You only lived to die another day.” You shuddered, letting out a laugh as you tried to ease the tension. “It makes sense, with what we’ve been doing. Still, it was rather unnerving.” Sebastian watched you with wide eyes, confused. Ominis had taken his head off your shoulder to give you a worried look, which you shrugged off. “That’s awful! How are you okay with that, and why did you take the curse after all that?” Sebastian asked, shifting his body to face you. You sniffled slightly as you watched the sun set, your tears still present. “I don’t know. I didn’t want either of you to endure that pain, I suppose. Who better than me, I knew I could handle it.” Ominis took your hand into his, sighing. “Even so, no one should go through that again, especially a spell like that.”
      “No more dangerous activities for the time being.” Sebastian stated as he stood up. “I’m banning it until further notice. For now, we shall do less dangerous things, like trips to Hogsmeade and study sessions in the library.” You chuckled as you shook your head, pulling Ominis up with you as you stood. “If all the more fun activities are banned, what should we do now?” You asked. Sebastian brought his hand to his chin as he looked over the grounds. “Perhaps we take a walk, shake away the bad and soak in what’s left of the sun.” Ominis nodded and smiled, squeezing your hand as you grabbed Sebastian’s, who began to drag the two of you down to a path to begin your walk.
673 notes · View notes
natalievoncatte · 11 months
Text
It was just a night, much like any other, when everything changed. Kara was tired- between the apartment fire and her work that day at CatCo and mopping up another alien crime ring, she’s barely slept in four days and had been skipping meals. It was a rare thing indeed when Lena was pestering Kara to eat lunch.
As soon as she reached the house, she glanced up and tilted her glasses down. Lena was in the kitchen, hard at work. A quick scan of the countertop revealed the mess she’d made putting together her homemade gyoza. As with everything in her life, when Lena decided to learn to cook, that she might pamper her girlfriend and her superhuman appetite, Lena went into it fully, taking culinary classes and equipping the remodeled kitchen of their suburban homestead with every conceivable gadget. Lena’s first change to the house was a bump-out that turned the already expansive “chef’s kitchen” into a near-commercial level culinary laboratory, and she threw herself into making dumplings with the same gusto with which she had set about solving the energy crisis, as if the freshly made potstickers awaiting the oil heating in the gas-powered commercial wok were as vital to humanity’s future as the fusion plant she was building in the desert.
Kara stopped in the entryway to the kitchen and drank Lena in, enjoying the fleeting moment before she was noticed. Hands covered in flour the elbow, Lena hunched over her cookbook, expression furrowed in deep concentration. She’s dressed down in a baggy flannel and patterned leggings that hugged the inviting curve of her hips that cried out for Kara’s hands, and wore her hair in a simple, loose ponytail. Everything about her was soft and cozy and home, and Kara would trade a king’s feast for one taste of those soft lips.
The whole scene played out in her mind. She’s sidle up behind Lena, who’d crack a joke about Kara being dressed as the CEO, and pretend she hadn’t noticed Kara’s return. Kara would let down her hair and bury her fingers in it, then her nose to devour Lena’s scent. As soon as Kara’s lips found the curve of Lena’s jaw, dinner would be indefinitely postponed and Kara would sate her hunger in other and better ways.
Then, she heard it. Beneath Lena’s heartbeat, strong and steady and safe, was another. A tiny, racing thing, like a baby bird. Kara stood there dumbfounded for too long a beat before she understood and let out a soft cry.
Lena looked up.
“Darling? What’s wrong?”
Kara fought to keep her voice from choking but failed. “I love you.”
“Did something happen?” Lena said, turning from the counter. “Kara, what is it?”
“I love you. I’m not angry and we’re okay. I just need Alex. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
Lena nodded. “Okay.”
Kara was out the door and in her suit and flying just fast enough not to endanger Lena. They’d been trying for months for this; dozens of visits to the Fortress, tests, experiments. She knew that, eventually, it would work.
It was hitting her now. Kara landed a little too hard on Alex’s back porch and knocked on the glass.
Alex was there in an instant. “Kara? What’s wrong? Is everything…”
“Lena’s pregnant.”
Alex’s face went briefly blank. “Oh.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
Kara stepped into the house, sat down. As she took a seat, sweeping her cape to the side, Alex poured them both glasses of seltzer water and joined her. They sat quietly for a long time.
They were both quiet for a few minutes before Alex said, “How did you find out?”
“I heard it. I don’t know if she knows.”
“Kara,” said Alex, “did you run?”
Kara looked up sharply, eyes stinging with tears. “What have I done?”
“I don’t understand.”
“We made a baby, Alex. A little person, a living being we’re bringing into the world. What have I done?”
“Kara?” Said Alex, resting her hand on Kara’s. “Slow down, okay? Breathe. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Lena and I talked about this,” said Kara. “This life we have, being together, all the risks. We agreed to it. This little baby didn’t. She’s going to see her mom getting her head punched in on TV. What if I get sent to the Phantom Zone again? What if I die?”
“You won’t-“
“I already have,” Kara snapped, surging to her feet. “How many times, Alex? How many? What if there’s no magic grass to bring me back next time? What if I leave them alone?”
Alex stared at her, face an unreadable mask, heart racing.
Kara turned, frantic, and paced Alex’s kitchen, her eyes drawn inexorably to Esme’s drawings on the fridge, to the pictures of Alex and Kelly on the living room wall.
“So don’t,” said Alex.
“How?”
“Maybe it’s time for Supergirl to hang it up.”
Kara froze, and this time it was her own heart she heard hammering in her chest, batting against its cage of ribs as if it might break free. Her eyes found the mirror above the living room sofa and she saw herself now in the colors and crest of her house.
Her house.
“What do you mean?”
Alex stood up. “You have died three times,” she said. Clinically dead. I was there. Maybe it is time for it to stop.”
“I can’t do that to them again,” Kara agreed.
“No, but I’m not saying this for them, Kara. I’m saying it for you. You paid. Whatever debt you think you owe, you’ve paid it.”
Kara covered her mouth in her hand, biting back a sob as the tears came.
“Why should I have this, huh? Tell me why I should have it? Just because they all died and I didn’t?”
Alex stood there, stuck silent. Kara knew the hug was coming before it arrived, and melted into it. Alex gripped her firm and strong.
“I have so much to lose now,” Kara sobbed.
“No, Kara. You have so much to live for now.”
Kara’s eyes flicked open. She stared last Alex, ignoring the sting of free flowing tears. The thought of all that had come before. The sight of Krypton, crumbling in a green flash as if devoured by some great primordial dragon. Reign and Red Daughter, the darkness that has gripped her between death and Sol’s loving warmth, gifted by the soul of this Earth herself.
They were not grave markers but way stones, not portents of doom but a map. A map that led only one place.
“I have to go. Lena.”
“It’s okay,” said Alex. “Go home to your girl, Kara. Call me when you’re up for it, and maybe you can talk to Kelly, too.”
“I’d like that.”
A few minutes later, Kara came to a gentle landing on the upstairs balcony and entered through their bedroom. She could smell dinner, and a quick glance told her that Lena had finished cooking and was waiting for her downstairs with a glass of juice- not wine. Lena turned it in her fingers, her face a mask of worry. Beside her sat the potstickers in a big bowl, kept warm by a damp towel. Another look revealed a pregnancy test hidden in Lena’s shirt pocket.
Kara reached up to slip on her glasses and dissolve the suit, the stopped.
Instead, she took it off, slipping out of the suit before changing into a threadbare sweater and some joggers. Later, she would fold it, put it in a box, put it away.
Right now she slipped into the kitchen, padding silently behind Lena on bare feet, savoring the quick flutter of Lena’s heart when Kara embraced her from behind. Kara made sure to press a kiss to her cheek before deftly sliding the test from Lena’s pocket.
“You used your super senses, didn’t you?” said Lena. “That’s not fair.”
“You know what’s not fair?” said Kara. “Being the most beautiful woman in the world, and in my house no less. The audacity.”
Lena gave her a crooked smile. “Technically, this is my house.”
Kara placed a hand on Lena’s belly and spread her fingers in an wide, protective grip.
“Our house,” she whispered.
The potstickers, unfortunately, went cold.
Seeing their partner make them a meal.
467 notes · View notes
stevesbipanic · 1 year
Text
Based partially off headcanons I've talked about with @steveshairychest and @amoris-no-smut
For the first few years of Steve's life he didn't really care about Christmas. Christmas was some boring adult thing that happened when it snowed. Steve liked the snow, but Christmas was boring, it was wearing a tie and shoes that hurt his little feet and being dragged around a room meeting people he didn't know before being sent up to his room to be quiet.
His first year of kindergarten he was very confused when it grew closer to Christmas. Kids started talking about someone named Santa Claus and presents? Maybe Santa Claus was one of those people his parents made him meet, Steve wasn't good with names. Steve had gotten a present from one of the adults at the party once, it was a small toy truck, maybe that person had been Santa Claus.
Steve knew about Christmas trees, his parents had a big one in their living room for the party, he hadn't ever seen his parents bring reindeer to their party, and why did Santa Claus wear red, that wasn't a suit, they wore suits at the party. He liked snowmen though, he and his new friend Tommy made one in the playground the day before break.
When his mother was dressing him for the party he asked her.
"Mommy, who's Santa Claus, is he coming to the party, did he give me my truck last year?"
"Steven I've told you you're too old to call me mommy, you call me mother remember."
"Yes, ma'am. But is he coming?"
"No, Santa Claus doesn't come to our party."
"Oh."
And that was that.
By the time he started grade school Steve was no longer naive. He knew that Christmas wasn't an adult party for everyone else. Everyone else decorated their tree in silly ornaments as a family. Everyone else got presents and a roast dinner and Santa Claus. Steve didn't get any of that. Maybe Steve wasn't good enough to get that.
Steve didn't care about Christmas once he started high school. Christmas didn't make you popular or captain of the basketball team or get you a girlfriend so who cared. His parents didn't host the party anymore, he's sure they had one somewhere else, they didn't come home enough to have one anymore.
The first Christmas Steve ever had was in 1985. Robin insisted he spent the holiday with them since she knew Steve's parents were away. She didn't know Steve had never had a Christmas. For the first time Steve decorated a tree, he sewer popcorn into strings, he baked and iced cookies, he had a family dinner and felt warm. For the first time Steve got a Christmas present. A soft yellow sweater from Robin who promised not to steal this one. Steve finally understood why everyone loved Christmas.
There was something else that had been nagging at Steve for years that he knew every other kid got. A birthday. He'd been to Tommy's birthday parties as a kid, he celebrated Robin's in November with her. He got the kids a birthday present every year. But he didn't know his.
Eddie had started hanging around Family Video after he graduated. He didn't have any solid plans yet and also wanted to hang out with Robin before she went with Nancy to college. Plus Steve was always there.
"Hey, Stevie my birthday is coming up soon, wanna come over and get drunk with everyone?"
"Course, Eds, wouldn't miss it."
"When's your birthday by the way, hope I didn't miss it already."
"Oh um, you might've."
"I might've?"
"I-I don't know my birthday. My parents never told me, I know I was born in 1966 that's about it."
"You don't know your birthday?" Robin had come back from the backroom and was shocked to learn this information.
"Your parents never had like a party or anything?"
"They didn't even celebrate Christmas properly, Eds, my birthday was hardly a priority."
"Wait, so last year?"
"My first Christmas and it was perfect, Robbie, thank you."
Robin went over to the counter and dialled Nancy's number.
"Nancy Drew we need you!"
Nancy was able to sort through old records and find Steve's birth certificate. The four of them were sat in Steve's living room, envelope in his hands.
"Well, open it sweetheart, when's the big day?"
Steve's hands shook slightly as he pulled out the paper.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
Steve handed Eddie the paper.
"Oh, Stevie."
"Told you they didn't celebrate Christmas properly."
Steven Richard Harrington
Born: 25th December 1966
"Well, there's only one way to fix this, Stevie. We're going to throw you the best Christmas/20th birthday ever!"
And celebrate they did. Together Steve and the party decorated a tree in his living room and hung balloons, baked Christmas cookies and a birthday cake with far too many layers and wonky icing, and under the tree was two gifts from everyone.
"Just because it's Christmas doesn't mean you don't get birthday presents, love."
When Steve cut to the bottom of his cake he pulled Eddie into a kiss and stood under the mistletoe. It was a perfect Christmas and a perfect birthday.
Now Steve really cared about Christmas all thanks to his real family.
1K notes · View notes
lichenes · 11 days
Note
oooo Vincent reassuring reader when the reader meets Sandra for the first time. PS. Love your work
-🪼
Thank you 🪼 for the ask :D Glad you like my rubbish <33
Sandra my beloved. But I shall rise to the occasion and fulfill your ask.
CW: jealousy, brief neck kissing and brief kissing, angst and fluff?kinda? corny ending like, actually embarrassing, some plot holes (sorry!), SFW
wc: 451
_____✿°•∘ɷ��•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ _____
Tumblr media
You weren't the jealous type, you knew you weren't. It never occured to you that you could love someone so passionately and be so possesive of them. When you were jealous though you felt like a hungry fox trying to steal away a chicken from the coop. That's what you were feeling now.
"Chéri?" He mused not quite paying attention to you. "I need to go to meet up with a client." He smiled when you put up an eyebrow questioningly. "What? I'm a full time lawyer, all hours of the day are office time." You chuckled lightly pecking him on the cheek and bidding him goodbye.
He came back around 11, quicker than you were expecting, a woman under his arm entering your house. You went out into the corridor looking confused at hearing a her voice. "Hello?" Vincent looked at you, his face contorting into something you couldn't quite name. "Oh sorry, didn't you get my message?"
You were sitting around the table in your kitchen. Sandra and Vincent chatting away while you were sitting with your arms crossed clearly uncomfortable with her presence. There's nothing to be jealous of, you thought. You were chalking up your envy to how beautiful Sandra was. How her ocean blue eyes complimented her dark blonde hair. How she moved so effortlessly through the room, how she gestured as if to impress but not overwhelm.
She existed purely to be adored and Vincent seemed to be adoring her too much. "And how about you?" Sandra asked with a smile on her face. "Hm?" You hummed, flustered as your own jealousy just overshadowed any connection you could've formed with her.
When Sandra left around midnight she hugged you. She hugged you real tight, a hug cementing the fact that she would be showing up more often in your life. You hugged her back not wanting to seem off.
When she got out of your space Vincent came up to you and hugged you from behind.
"Sorry for taking so long chéri. I know you don't like unexpected guests." You relaxed into his touch, putting your head on his shoulder and letting him kiss you on the neck. "Honey..." you started. "Sandra and you... you're not..." you trailed off.
He spun you around and looked at you concerned. "No. Absolutely not." He got closer to your face as if to amplify his point. "I wouldn't do this to you. Ever. Don't think that of me mon cœur." He kissed you as delicately as he could, bringing you closer to yourself.
"I love you." You said after you broke the kiss. Tears already welling up in your eyes. "Et je t'aime aussi." He said wiping them.
_____✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ _____
masterlist
79 notes · View notes
yayakoishii · 5 months
Text
Lucky | Sanji x Chubby!Reader
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Chubby! Reader
Could be considered a part 2 to Want but can be read (and is written as a) stand-alone!
Word Count: 1.8k
Genre: Angst, Fluff??
Warnings: Insecurity about stretch marks, mentions of/implications of (but not explicit) sex so Read At Your Own Discretion, low self esteem, etc.
A/n: I'm not the type of person to write about things that are personal to me, tbh, but this idea played around in my head. I know you can have stretch marks from a variety of reasons but I wrote my own, and I would just like to remind everyone that they're normal. You're absolutely gorgeous as you are, my lovelies. I hope you enjoy this little fic ♡
also available on ao3!
Tumblr media
Sanji felt like the luckiest man in the entire universe.
When Sanji and you had finally got together, he couldn't believe it. It felt unreal to have you reciprocate his feelings, to have you look at him shyly but with warm eyes that made him feel seen and heard– and he was ready to swear over his life to you, holding back only so as to not freak you out. Unlike his usual grand confessions, you were more important to him, a person he could not even take the risk of driving away. If you found him clingy, or obsessive, and he lost you… somehow, even the thought of that made him feel like someone was stabbing at his heart with a fork, over and over.
And he was ready to take this relationship at your pace. Whatever you were ready to offer him, he would gladly take it. Even if you wanted to wait to have sex until you were married, he would gladly do it simply because he was already head over heels in love with you. It scared him a little, when he was by himself in the confines of dark nights, just how much he was ready to sacrifice for a shred of your pure heart. To have you around him as long as the world would let him… The fact that you never hesitated to showcase your love, though you were shy in public, made his heart soar. He never had to wait for anything – except maybe sex.
The problem though, seemed to be something else.
It's not like you didn't want it. Clearly, going by the number of times the two of you had engaged in heavy make out sessions that seemed to lead towards it eventually, you were as affected by him as he was by you. But everytime that happened, your eyes would suddenly lose their drunken haze and shift back into a sort of nervousness and sadness that made Sanji feel helpless. You would stop after that, drawing back into your shell, wrapping your arms around your body and blocking him out.
He took it easy. Sanji didn't want to push you into talking until you were ready, and he certainly didn't want you to feel that a relationship without sex wasn't on the table. So he waited, giving you time to talk about it yourself; it was no good. If anything, you got quieter over time, hesitating even more around him.
It drove him crazy, and he would have questioned if you truly did like him if it wasn't for the fact that you maintained all other aspects of physical intimacy. There was no hesitation when it came to giving him hugs or kisses or affirmations of how in love you were with him, whenever he felt vulnerable and insecure. And that was what made him wonder; were you struggling with your own insecurities of some sort?
It didn't make sense to him that someone as perfect as you should find anything to fault in yourself, but after all, his lens of love was not to be compared with the harsh critics that were your own eyes and mind. He knew you were hesitant of your own body, its curves and how it was different from the slender figures of the other ladies on board and on land.
In Sanji's eyes, you were perfect as you were– soft and warm in all the right places, with a kind and caring personality. There was nothing about you that he didn't love and nothing that he found ugly, yet he didn't quite know how to make you believe him.
It wasn't even that you hated your body. He had seen you have confidence at times, but he had also seen it waver when it came to rude comments or just general low moods. You had your moments of low self-esteem but even in those moments, Sanji found himself a slave of your beauty. No, a devotee would be a better word. He wanted to worship you and your body as you deserved and yet, all his plans were thwarted every time you stopped in the middle of an escalating make out session to give him a small smile and come up with some random excuse to leave.
You were all that he wanted, and he was determined to let you know just what you looked like through his eyes. Sanji's chance came sooner than he had thought, the very night of when he made the resolution.
You lingered around in the kitchen after dinner, humming a song shyly after Sanji had insisted. When he was done with the dishes, you had helped him put them back despite his protests.
"Join me, my love?" He had asked as the two of you stepped out of the kitchen. He had to lock it and he waited for your answer as he did so. You were silent for a while before you spoke up.
"Oh, Sanji, um," you hesitated, clearly overthinking and worried that if you declined then it would be in bad taste but clearly also hesitant of what he was hoping for. "I, I actually…"
"Nothing that you don't want will happen, sweetheart," Sanji said quietly, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. "I just want to spend some time with you."
"Oh!" You suddenly looked relieved and Sanji's heart clenched. Were you really afraid that he would force you to do something you weren't comfortable with? "Sure Sanji, I would love that too."
He held your hand in his as you walked to his room. Only once you were inside and he had closed the door behind him, did he speak.
"Sweetheart," he called out when you had settled comfortably on his bed. You looked up at him curiously. "Is it okay if I ask you something?"
You were quiet for a second, not unlike how you got when the sexual tension between you would get high. You clearly knew what he was getting to. Sanji waited until you nodded to move in closer to sit across from you.
"I just want to put this on the table before I ask," Sanji searched your eyes for something. "This relationship will always go at your pace. I do not mind waiting as long as you need me to, or even forever, if that is what you want. But what I want is for you to be comfortable and open with me. To tell me if something is bothering you. To be vulnerable with me, because you trust me. Is that alright, my love?"
"Of course, Sanji," you inched closer to him, a hand reaching out to take his. He let you, and brushed his knuckles against the inside of your wrist, watching you squirm at how it tickled.
"Do you not want to have sex with me, sweetheart?" He asked clearly. You flinched at that, and he could see the torment you were facing bubble up to the surface. "It's alright, love. Just tell me what you really think. I understand if I'm not appealing in th–"
"No!" You interrupted, looking at him with a pout. "It's not that. God, Sanji, you drive me insane all the time. I would have to be blind to not appreciate your figure."
"Then is it something else?" He asked seriously, hand now coming up to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, giving him a sad smile.
"Of course I want to… do it with you," you flushed, embarrassed at having to say that aloud. "I want it but… I don't want you to see me."
"You don't want me… to see you?" Sanji repeated, unsure of what you meant. Your hand came up to hold his where it rested on your cheek.
"I… have stretch marks," you looked embarrassed. "Maybe it's stupid to you– it probably is, but I know it's not what is considered appealing. I know I'm… not as slender as you might prefer, and I'm just… scared that you would look at me and feel disgusted. Feel like you made a mistake and break us off. I know!" You stressed it when Sanji looked like he was about to say something, "I know that you're kinder than that. But I don't want to lose you. I don't want to see you looking at me with disgust. I don't care about my stretch marks but when I think of you seeing them… I feel like I would rather die."
"Shh," Sanji shook his head, upset at your words. "What are you saying, my love? As if something like that is enough to shake my love for you. I can't even begin to tell you where my love for you begins or where it ends, because it's fathomless and so much that it scares even me. Any marks on your body are a part of you. I'm sure even they are as beautiful as the rest of you."
"Really?" Your voice was meek, wanting reassurance but also not wanting to be burdensome.
"Let me show it to you," he whispered, gently lowering you onto your back. The action made your shirt ride up a little, revealing the white and red marks. You squirmed and raised your head to see what Sanji planned to do.
A gasp left your lips when he placed a soft peck on one, marking the path to the next without lifting his lips. The action tickled you and a warmth pooled into your gut, along with the understanding that Sanji would never be disgusted by you or your marks. He would love every inch of you.
"They are like lightning," he whispered into your skin, warm breath fanning the cool surface, causing you to shiver. "Like pathways mapping the surface of the temple of the goddess I worship. Like waves crashing into the ocean, for me to appreciate, along with every part of you. I could never hate them, or you, sweetheart. Every part of you is meant to be worshipped, to be sung prai–"
"Alright," you choked, feeling overwhelmed. He kissed you in between as he spoke, careful never to move downwards or to make the act sexual. Every part of it felt like he was whispering and etching reminders of his love into your skin, like carefully tucked in notes in the folds of your flesh. "Sanji. Sanji, come up here."
He hovered above you for a few seconds, blue eyes misty with want before he gently lowered himself next to you on his bed. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat as you cupped his cheeks and took in every inch of his face, took in the blonde hair falling into his eye– and couldn't help but think.
"Heavens, I love you more and more each day, Sanji."
Think that contrary to what he believed, the lucky one was actually you.
290 notes · View notes
starrbright · 5 months
Text
Haven
I had a really shit day yesterday, so.....this is just me venting.
Tumblr media
It eats you. It makes your nerves creep, it twitches and itches. And you want to forget about it. You so badly want to forget about it that maybe you'd do anything to have it.
That includes begging your man.
You were already home, just burying yourself in some chores that needed to be done in your home, or distract yourself with other things, be that as it may as the hours passed by of him still not coming home yet—that gnawing feeling still stirs you. No matter how distracted in the moment you were, when it ends, it comes back again.
So what do you do when he finally comes home?
The second you heard the door opened, you laid down whatever that was you were doing, your feet so light as it stepped on the floor but one could not miss the heaviness you were keeping in just to keep it light.
He could never miss the suddenness in your gentleness despite it all. Easily seeing through you. He embraces you back, letting out a low chuckle as he does so, holding you tighter as you bury yourself in his arms. A shuddering breath you make as you tried to let go of what burdens you. He takes it willingly, wholly.
Finding yourselves in your bedroom then as he gets out of his work clothes, there you are on the edge of the bed."Do you wanna talk about it?" He asks simply.
You love him, you do. You trust him, with your whole life, yes. You rarely keep anything to each other, very much so....But this....is different.It's just a bad day, you tell yourself. Just one little thing that you wish to forget.
So, "No." Is what you answered. "I don't, I don't wanna talk about it, I don't wanna think about it." You begin, mind and mouth threatening to ramble. You don't stop it. Creeping thoughts finally being free from you. "I'm fine, I swear....I just—a heavy sigh that leaves you immediately—"I can't get it out my head, I feel so fucking terrible, I didn't do anything wrong or maybe I did—I know I did even though I did it for the right thing. I still feel bad and a completely stupid person"—your chest heaving at that point, your voice close to breaking. His gaze never left you, as he kneels in front of you, holding your hands. You break. "I just wanna forget, please...I don't wanna think about it anymore, I can't. Please, just help me, make me forget about it, please."
He knows when to not pry even if it was for the sake of comforting you, knows when to only listen and utter his gentle assurances, knows how much patience he should have.
So for now, that's what he does. He makes you forget.
Kisses that began all too gentle and slow. He knew how to work with your mind. Knew what to do to leave you breathless, that all what you'll be thinking of is how you'll be taking your breath back without panting like a puppy. He knew just the right amount of force of him grasping your throat that'll make you gasp. He knows that keeping up his agonizingly slow kisses will have you feel your cunt leaking in your panties, knows that what you'll be thinking of is to seek for some pressure down there, knows that a second later he'll be feeling your thighs twitch and you're gonna whimper and whine for more.
And he gives it, but not before he teases you, not before he makes you beg, not before he makes you call out his name over and over again and again while barely giving you what you need, not before he's made sure that all of you're thinking about now is him, just him and all of him. Because all the long hours of night, to dusk till dawn—what you will only know is him.
—may or may not delete this some time soon.
154 notes · View notes