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lord-explosion-baku · 3 years

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Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

#bnha mermay #mermaid au #siren!shinsou #mermaid!hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bnha reader insert #reader insert #trident tale

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cherienymphe · 4 years

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Dark Fairytale (Peter Parker x Reader)

➥ { page breaks done by @writeyourmindaway }

WARNINGS: NON-CON/DUB-DON, alpha!Peter, innocent!reader, loss of virginity (both m and f), controlling and possessive behavior

summary: when Peter Parker literally crashes into your life, falling in love with the handsome alpha was inevitable. Thinking he isn’t like the rest, you don’t take heed of the red flags until its too late

You had been in the process of taking your garbage out when Peter Parker crashed into your life. Literally. You had just closed the garbage bin and was in the process of walking down your cobblestone path back to your house when something hit you. Hard. Knocking the wind from you.

You crashed to the ground, chin hitting the stones, and it took you a moment to realize that the weight was still on you. You had groaned as the person rolled off of you, their harsh breathing reaching your ears. A dull ache began to take over, and you just knew that it was going to really hurt in the morning. With difficulty, you pushed yourself up, only to pause…for several reasons.

The first being that the scent that struck you was familiar in a way that you didn’t necessarily like. It was a rich and suffocating scent of an alpha, an underlying spicy aroma hitting your nose that made you twitch. At the moment, it struck you as bitter, frustration swirling in the air.

The other reason being his attire.

The blue and red of the suit that hugged his frame was recognizable anywhere. It was torn in a few places, showcasing bruised slivers of skin. Without thinking, he ripped his mask off, face twisted into pain as he exhaled. It was only when he opened his eyes did he realize that he’d landed straight on another person, and he’d just revealed his face to said person.

“Crap!”

He moved to sit up only to hiss in pain, and you reached for him.

“Hey, you just fell from the sky,” you slowly told him, pushing yourself to your knees as you scooted closer. “Don’t move.”

He looked as if he was going to move away from you, but you held him in place. Nervousness pricked at you at being in such close proximity to an unmated alpha with no one else around, but you pushed it away. He was hurt.

“I’m not going to tell anyone who you are. I don’t even know who you are underneath the mask,” you chuckled, trying to easy his worries. “…but you don’t look so good. I have a first aid kit in my house.”

You pointed to the tiny house at the end of the long walkway, and his gaze followed your hand. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, thinking, the pink skin reddening from an injury. Hesitantly, he nodded, and you helped him throw his arm over your shoulders. He groaned when he got to his feet, and you slowly but surely guided him towards the small building.

“Were you…fighting someone?” you eventually wondered.

“Yeah. A bit of a mission gone wrong,” he said through gritted teeth, brows furrowed.

You sat him down on your couch as soon as you made it inside. His chest heaved as he threw his head back, dark hair matted with dirt and sweat as his eyes fell closed. You ran your own eyes over him, frowning as something tickled inside of your stomach. Shaking your head to yourself, you moved to the kitchen to get the first aid kit.

He was still in the same position when you returned, lithe form stretched out, and you almost thought he’d fallen asleep. When you neared, he stirred, blinking his eyes open as he moved to straighten. You sat beside him, first aid kit in your lap. You could feel his eyes on you, and when you looked up, you found that you were correct.

He looked away as soon as you made eye contact, and you blinked, frowning a bit before returning to the task at hand. He wasn’t beat up too badly, so it took you no time to clean him up, placing a band-aid on a cut on his forehead.

You could feel his eyes on you again as you smoothed it along his skin. You bit your lip, body buzzing under the heat of his gaze. He didn’t look away this time as your eyes met his, and you slowly pulled away.

“There. I’m done,” you quietly told him.

He slowly stood, and you looked up at him as he did so. He flexed, taut muscles moving beneath the suit, and he sighed. He looked down at you, jaw clenched as he sent you a strained smile.

“Thanks,” he eventually said.

“No problem…Spider-man.”

His smile widened, and he stuck his hand out.

“Peter. Peter Parker,” he said, and his face suddenly pinched. “You won’t…you won’t tell anyone that, will you?”

You shook your head as you took his hand, shaking it as well.

“I have no one to tell,” you honestly told him.

You saw his eyes crinkle with curiosity, but he must have swallowed it down, turning to leave. It was late in the evening now, getting dark, and you watched him pull his mask back on before swinging on top of your house. When you stepped outside, he was nowhere to be found.

You thought it odd that you weren’t as starstruck as you thought you’d be if you ever got the chance to meet an Avenger, but you had simply gone inside and made dinner like it was any other night. You tried to push away how drawn you’d felt to him, but your efforts were futile. Peter Parker plagued your mind for weeks. So much so, that when you answered a knock on your door weeks later, you’d thought that maybe you’d imagined the web slinger standing on your step.

In reality, it was more like he was swaying on your step, fighting to stay upright. Like before, he looked bruised and like he’d just left a fight. You barely caught him as he fell forward, and it took all of your strength to help him inside. Like last time, you deposited him on your couch before making your way to the kitchen.

After you had cleaned him up as best as you could –he was in worse shape than the last time–you set the first aid kit down to look at him. His gaze was already on you, and you fought to hold it.

“Why… Why did you come here?” you quietly asked him.

His scent was much calmer now, no lingering bitterness, and the earthy aroma wrapped around you like a blanket. You wanted to bask in it. You shifted at your thoughts, and Peter ran his dark eyes over you at the movement.

“Mr. Stark…,” he quietly began, pausing to catch his breath. “I’m trying to prove to him that I can handle these solo assignments. If I keep showing up to the compound looking like I just came from war, he’ll think it’s too hard for me.”

You blinked at that, slowly nodding as you registered his explanation. You lived in upstate New York, so you figured that the compound must have been near.

“I figured that after the last time…I can trust you,” he continued.

“You can,” you quietly told him, standing to return the kit to the kitchen.

And to escape his intense gaze.

When you closed the cabinet, you turned around to find your living room empty of the masked superhero. You hadn’t even heard him leave. You sighed, and you couldn’t tell if it was from relief…or disappointment. You didn’t have very long to yourself to ponder over that, a heavy knock sounding on your door only days later.

You’d been in the tub when you heard it, and quickly tightening a robe around you, you ran towards the front door. You had known who it was before you even opened it, a small smile on your face as Peter stumbled inside.

Minutes later, you were sitting on the floor with your legs tucked underneath you as you tried your hand at stitches. You’d tried to tell Peter that you’d never done them before, but he didn’t care, clearly desperate. You wondered if he regretted that as you watched him wince for the umpteenth time.

“Ouch,” he gritted out, teeth clenched.

You shot him an apologetic look, a small smile dancing on your lips.

“I thought you had super strength,” you murmured.

“It still hurts,” he quietly replied, watching your fingers work over his hand.

He hissed, and you tutted.

“I’m almost done…”

He heaved a sigh, leg bouncing as he waited for you to finish.

“Why are you alone?”

You blinked at his sudden question, glancing up at him.

“Excuse me?” you asked, not understanding it.

He ran his eyes over you, trailing his gaze to dance along your collarbone, lingering in the open V of your robe. He suddenly glanced away as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, face flushed. Your skin had still been wet underneath the robe, the cool air making you shiver, but you felt your body heat up under his quick perusal.

“Why do you live alone? You’re an omega, right?”

You paused at that, heart skipping a beat before you continued with the task at hand. You knew that your suppressants weren’t strong, just enough to keep your heats at bay, but you didn’t socialize much. You’d never realized just how weak they were if Peter could sniff you out in no time.

“Shouldn’t you…? I mean…,” he trailed off, swallowing down what you both knew he wanted to say.

You licked your lips, and you felt the heat of his gaze on your face.

“I never knew my parents,” you confessed, voice deafening in the quiet cottage. “I was adopted as a baby by this…old bitty of a woman.”

You chuckled, snipping the thread.

“She was like a mother and a grandmother all rolled into one. This is where we lived…where I grew up,” you fondly told him.

You looked up at him to find him keenly listening, hunched over.

“She died years ago…some months after my 19th birthday. I knew it was coming, but it still hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered.

You shook your head.

“It’s okay. She lived a long life, much longer than I thought she would, so I was grateful to have gotten 19 years with her,” you replied. “She left me the house and everything else she owned. Neither one of us got out much, and I saw no reason to change that, especially since I work from home.”

You shrugged.

“This is where I’ve been ever since, in this quiet little neighborhood.”

Peter snorted, and you pulled your hand away, having been ignorant to the fact that you’d been smoothing your fingers over his skin. Embarrassment flooded you.

“Your closest neighbor is half a mile down the street. You’re tucked away in this corner by yourself,” he complained.

“Your point being?”

He rubbed the back of his head, and you knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.

“It can be…dangerous for someone like you. I mean… What if someone follows you home? Another alpha? One who’s not so nice as me?”

You wanted to be annoyed, but the genuine worry on his handsome features made you crack a smile.

“I’ve taken care of myself for this long, Peter. I think I’ll be fine,” you responded, standing up.

He stood with you, raking his eyes over you. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he opted for thanking you instead, turning to leave. You stood at the door when he turned to face you, dark eyes filled with whatever thoughts he wouldn’t voice. With a shake of his head, he hopped over your house, leaving you once again.

It became a semi regular thing for Peter Parker to show up at your door in the late evening, battered and needing medical attention. You were starting to grow worried at how often he was depositing himself on your doorstep. You’d told him one day that maybe Tony Stark had a right to be worried.

He’d insisted that he could handle it, convinced that he was getting better.

“For Christ’s sake, I’m an adult now. I wish he’d start treating me like it,” he’d ranted one afternoon while you cleaned a nasty cut on his back. “No more of this probationary period stuff. I shouldn’t have to prove that I can handle missions on my own.”

You threw a sympathetic look to the back of his head, his scent bitter with frustration and anger.

“…maybe he’s just worried, Peter,” you quietly told him, trying to placate the man.

He heaved a sigh at that, back muscles flexing with the action.

“Yeah…I guess…”

You smoothed the bandage over his back, and unable to help yourself, you trailed your fingers over his smooth skin. You felt him tremble, a shudder traveling down his spine. Realizing what you were doing, you snatched your hand away just as he turned around.

The house was quiet as he just stared at you, and you stared back. Your heart felt like it was going a mile a minute, and you bit your lip as he ran his dark eyes over you, reaching out to touch your face. His finger trailed over your jaw, and you pulled away when his thumb grazed your trembling lip, looking away as you stood.

“It’s late,” you simply said. “Mr. Stark will be wondering where you are, and we can’t have him thinking you’re in trouble.”

You could feel his gaze on you, but you avoided his eye. You leaned against the wall beside the door as he made to leave, and you finally glanced up at him as he stood in the doorway. His expression was unreadable, and like so many times before, he looked like he wanted to say something before thinking better of it.

“Goodnight,” he murmured.

“Night,” you whispered back.

You pressed your hand against the door as you closed it, taking a deep breath. Your body still hummed from his presence, and somehow, you just knew that he was still on the other side. Something deep within you was telling you to open the door, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You only relaxed when your stomach settled…and you knew he was gone.

You didn’t know why he was affecting you so much. It’s not like you hadn’t been around alphas before, because you had. Plenty of times, in fact! Granted, most of your experiences weren’t exactly pleasant, so you did your best to avoid interacting with them if you could help it. But…

There was just something about Peter Parker.

He didn’t seem like most alphas. He was soft spoken, always hanging onto your every word as he listened to whatever you had to say. He didn’t do that thing where he tried to intimidate you, subtly get you to subconsciously submit to him. In fact, you’d say that he went out of his way to shrink in on himself just to make you more comfortable.

Nana had also been an omega, but her mate had died long before you came along. From what you remembered, she seemed happy enough, but there was always a longing in her eyes that never went away. The bond remained until she finally died too. You thought about Peter…about what would happen should the two of you…

You turned to finally make your way back to your room, shaking your head. You felt silly for getting ahead of yourself like this, but you couldn’t help it. You were so drawn to him, unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. But he was a superhero. He would always be in danger. You knew that firsthand, had seen the evidence and the price of his protection yourself.

What if you ended up like nana?

You pushed him out of your thoughts as you settled into bed, determined to let sleep claim you. You told yourself that this wouldn’t go on forever. There would come a day when he’d no longer need your help, and you’d both move on. You tried to ignore how your heart clenched at that as sleep finally claimed you.

You didn’t think that day would come so soon.

The weeks that followed were spent in solitude. Your routine continued as it had before without the interruptions of Peter Parker. You woke up and did some of your online work. You’d watch tv, maybe read a book, and when you needed to, you’d make your way to the grocery store. Before you knew it, 2 months had gone by with no sign of the masked superhero.

You told yourself that you accepted that you’d probably never see him again. That meant that he was doing much better now and didn’t need your help. You should be happy for him. So why couldn’t you find it in yourself to feel happy? There was an ache in your chest that wouldn’t go away. It had even started to keep you up most nights.

It was the middle of the night when Peter returned to you. It was long past a reasonable hour for you to be asleep, moon high in the sky. Your a/c had broken the night before, so your window was cracked, allowing the cool night air to hit you. You had been drifting in and out of consciousness, never fully finding sleep, when you heard something hit your front door. Hard.

Fear and surprise gripped your heart as you sat up. Confusion clouded your mind, but your feet carried you out of your room, nonetheless. You didn’t hear anything else once you made it to the living room, but your stomach tightened. As you got closer to the door, a spicy and heady aroma hit your nose, and you paused for half a second before running to throw it open.

A loud gasp escaped you as Peter practically fell on top of you. He’d been leaning on the door, and as you wrapped your arms around him, you understood why. The back of his suit felt wet, and something told you that it wasn’t water.

“Peter,” you quietly called to him.

He didn’t answer, and even in the darkness you could see that he was struggling to keep his eyes open. His head leaned against yours as you struggled to turn on the light, kicking the door closed. His breathing was quiet but labored. Guiding him down the hall was a task, bumping against the coffee table and knocking over a glass vase in the process, the plant and water inside of it crashing to the floor as it shattered.

He groaned, and your eyes widened when your back hit the wall. He pressed his hands against it, seeming to use all of his strength to hold himself up. Your own hands were still pressed against his back, and he blinked a couple of times, shaking his head from side to side.

“Peter…?”

He took a deep breath.

“I got…distracted,” he breathed.

You blinked at him in confusion, and he continued.

“I…had him,” he quietly said with a frown. “I practically had him, and then… It just hit me that…that I never learned your name.”

You scoffed, disbelief coloring your tone as he cracked a smile.

“Peter, you could’ve died,” you told him.

He chuckled.

“I almost did,” he sighed, starting to slump again.

With a yelp, you caught him, hoisting him up, moving along the wall towards your room.

“My name’s Y/N,” you told him as soon as you got in your doorway.

He pressed you against the doorjamb, and the air left you as his hands found your arms. His nose brushed against yours, lips moving as he repeated it to himself, testing it in his mouth. His scent invaded you, and you swore that you could taste him on your tongue. You swallowed when one of his hands came up to grip your jaw.

“P-Peter, you’re hurt…”

Your words died in the air as his lips met yours, and you tentatively kissed him back. His lips were soft, and the metallic taste of blood touched your tongue from a cut on his lip. He deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, and you could feel yourself growing heated. He took a step back, pulling you with him, and surprise filled you as you realized what was about to happen…what you wanted to happen…

You were even more surprised to realize that…you wanted to submit to him. Your body was practically begging for his dominant touch.

He pulled you towards your bed, and your feet stumbled into his. One of his arms was secured around your waist, holding you to him as he moved his lips against yours. Your fingers twisted into his hair, and he dragged his lips down your chin. You bared your neck to him, and he pressed his face into it, scenting you. Your eyes were focused on the ceiling when you opened them.

“Peter…I’ve… I’ve never…”

You tried to get the words out in between his kisses, but he was making it difficult.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay…”

You helped him peel the suit off, and you were tempted to stop when he groaned in pain, but he kissed you again before you could voice your concerns. His touch was gentle, but firm, clothes falling off of you and floating to the ground like feathers. The cool night air that slipped in through the window did nothing to cool your heated frame.

You were completely bare before him when your back hit your mattress, and you waited for the nervousness and fear to seize you…but it never came. You felt safe beneath Peter, safer than you’d ever felt, and it was a feeling you never wanted to lose. You splayed your hands across his chest as he hovered over you, dark hair brushing his forehead.

His eyes were dark with hunger, determination flittering across his features. He brushed his lips over yours so softly it could hardly be called a kiss. It stole your breath away either way. His bare chest pressed against your own as he settled in between your legs, and you sharply inhaled as he brushed against you.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered against your lips.

And he did.

He pushed into you slowly, and your lips parted at the intrusion. You avoided his back as you held onto him, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. You breathed through your nose, and you felt Peter’s lips ghost over your closed lids.

You opened them when he started to move, realizing that you wanted to keep your eyes on him. His brows were pinched, and you wanted to smile at the concentration on his face, but you found yourself biting your tongue instead.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before the dull stinging pain bled into something more. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, and he had his fingers intertwined with your own, pinning them to the bed. Even with the cracked window allowing the cool air in, a thin layer of sweat still coated your frames.

You didn’t know if it was always like this, or if it was just Peter, but your body felt like it was filled with bees. He would kiss you sometimes, telling you that it was okay and that he’s got you, reassuring you. Occasionally, you felt his teeth grazing over the skin of your neck, and you found that there was no fear, bearing your throat to him every time. Should he mark you, you’d welcome it. But he didn’t.

He feverishly pressed his lips to yours as his thrusts sped up, breath mingling together as you gasped into his mouth. One of his hands curled around your waist, fingers digging into the skin while the other tightened its hold on your hand. You could feel your stomach tightening, toes curling as something began to build inside of you. Peter let out a low moan as your climax hit you, clenching around him hard. His hips stuttered before stilling against yours.

You both were out of breath, and you watched as his eyelashes fluttered, struggling to keep his eyes open. The day’s events had finally caught up to him, and it seemed to take everything to keep him from collapsing on top of you.

He rolled off of you, chest heaving.

“I’ve never…done that before…either,” he breathed.

By the time you looked over at him, in shock, he was already asleep. You reached up to brush a dark strand out of his eyes, fingers lingering as they trailed over his face. His arm curled around your waist and, basking in the scent of your alpha, you fell asleep.

You were alone when you woke up the next morning. Your hand had drifted to the other side of the bed, only to be met with cold sheets. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, looking around with a frown. It didn’t feel like he was gone, but he was nowhere to be seen.

However, when you exited your room, sheet wrapped around you like a blanket, you could both hear and smell something going on in the kitchen. When you entered, you were met with the sight of Peter’s back as he stood in front of the counter.

You frowned at the nasty cut along his shoulder blade and suddenly regretted not tending to him last night. He turned before you even reached him, pressing his lips against yours, surprising you.

“I thought you’d left,” you quietly told him when he pulled away.

“Never,” he said with a small smile. “I wanted to make sure you got some food in you as soon as you woke up.”

He pushed you towards the table, and you sat down just as he placed a plate of pancakes and fruit in front of you.

“Won’t…won’t Tony Stark be worried that you didn’t make it back? He’ll think something went wrong. That you got hurt,” you said, looking up at him.

He sighed, a frown on his face.

“Yeah. He’s been…right to worry. You too. I don’t think I’ll be doing any more solo missions for a while,” he murmured.

You glanced away at that, and Peter placed his hand on your head.

“I won’t be going anywhere though,” he whispered. “Ever.”

Your heart fluttered at that, and you couldn’t keep the smile off of your face. You watched as he stuck a fork in a piece of melon, holding it to your face.

“Eat,” he softly ordered, eyes on you.

You did.

It wasn’t said in so many words, but in that moment, it was clear that you were his.

You didn’t know how it went over with Tony Stark after he didn’t return to the compound that night, but Peter slept over almost every night after that. He’d knock on your door just as the sun was setting, and you’d let him in with a smile. He’d leave the next morning after making sure you ate, and you often wondered what he told the rest of the Avengers. You wondered if he told them about you.

Your heat, the first one you’d had in literal years, had come a week later. It had hit you so suddenly, and after so many years of going without one, it took you a moment to understand what was happening at first. Your skin was drenched in sweat, and you were naked and curled up in a ball on your bed, thighs slick and body shaking when Peter found you.

You had heard him knock on the door, but you hadn’t been able to muster up the energy to shout to him. Your eyelashes fluttered, and you thought to yourself that your heat was returning with a vengeance after being suppressed for so long. You couldn’t even find it in you to be annoyed when you heard him break into your house. Only relief filled you, knowing that you’d finally get exactly what you needed.

You knew that he smelled you the minute he walked through the door. He had been calling your name before he abruptly cut himself off. His footsteps were deafening in the quiet house, and you couldn’t even be bothered to lift your head and look at him when he stepped into your room. You felt his hand on your damp forehead, and you moved closer, weakly reaching for him.

“Oh, princess,” he sighed, peppering kisses over your face.

“Peter,” you whispered, hands gripping his shirt as he joined you on the bed.

“I’m here, now,” he murmured, swiftly peeling off his clothes.

You shuddered when your skin came in contact with his, pulling him closer as you rubbed your face along his neck. The sound that he made deep in his chest pulled a shudder from you, and you mewled against his skin. He turned you around, and your forehead fell against your pillow with ease.

He trailed his hands down your back, pushing you down until your chest pressed against the sheets as he pressed against you. It was almost funny how naturally you molded to the way he moved you.

“Peter,” you whimpered, reaching back.

He pushed into you, your slick walls hugging him as a low moan escaped your lips.

“You’re so needy,” he murmured, almost in awe as he thrust into you.

One of his hands was on your hip, the other pressing into your shoulder as you fluttered around him with every thrust. You had never dealt with your heats properly before, and your body hummed, feeling so right…so satisfied with Peter’s ministrations.

His chest pressed against your back as he leaned over you, lips ghosting over your shoulder and behind your ear. The bed trembled beneath you, and your eyelashes fluttered, eyes rolling to the back of your head with every drag of his cock. He was sating that fire inside of you, and you whimpered, hips collapsing.

His movements didn’t give pause, pinning you between him and the bed. Your toes curled, sweat clinging to your skin as your hands slid along the sheets. Peter laid his hands over yours, intertwining your fingers. His nose ran along the expanse of your neck, and you purred beneath him, heat racing.

“Peter,” you quietly begged.

His knees spread your legs, a choked moan escaping as he thrust into you to the hilt. You felt his lips part, sucking on the skin where your neck and shoulder met, teeth threatening to break the skin. You could feel him swelling inside of you, hand letting go of your own to grip your hair. Your scalp stung a bit at his tight grip, but you welcomed it, moaning.

He pulled your head back, baring your throat. Your legs trembled as your climax started to sneak up on you, but his thrusts and swelling cock weren’t enough. His teeth dragged along your skin, and you reached back to rest your hand on the back of his neck.

“Peter,” you gasped. “…please.”

“You want my teeth in you?” he hummed. “Want to show the world that you’re mine?”

“Yes,” you whined.

You jumped when Peter’s teeth sank into your skin, but your body relaxed when your climax washed over you like a wave, covering your entire body until you were completely limp beneath him. Peter groaned into your throat, completely locked into you now. Your heart calmed down in your chest, one final shudder hitting you when he let you go.

He laved his tongue over your skin, soothing it, and you hummed. Your head fell back down to the bed, and Peter pressed his lips to your fresh mark. You sighed when he slid his arms underneath you, enveloping you in his hold as he rolled you both onto your sides. He peppered kisses along the side of your face before kissing your mark again.

“You’re being so good for me,” he murmured against your skin.

You could only muster the energy to hum a reply, fatigue descending over you. He was still knotted inside of you, and you leaned back into him. He chuckled, and the vibrations traveled from his chest to your back. Sleep claimed you for the first time of many in the days to come.

You didn’t recall your heats lasting so long, but again, you hadn’t had one in years. So perhaps your memory was off, or maybe it was as you originally thought, and it just returned with a vengeance. When both Peter’s cock and teeth weren’t inside of you, you were sleeping in his arms. On the off chance that you weren’t sleeping, and that was usually because he woke you up, he was feeding you, settling you against his chest as he held food and water to your mouth.

He didn’t leave you for a second, and you wondered what he told the rest of the team.

“I told them that I’m visiting a friend for a few days,” he whispered when you asked him.

Your heat was finally ebbing away, and you were lucid enough to have a conversation with him outside of begging him to fuck you. You didn’t know how to respond to that, and you frowned. Peter must have detected the change in scent in the air because he sat up with you, turning you to face him.

“Hey,” he softly said, hands on your face.

“Are you…ashamed of me?” you asked him before he could continue, and his eyes widened.

“Never,” he said with conviction. “Why would you…?”

“Your team…your friends, the people you live with…they don’t know about me, and you never bring up me going there or-.”

He cut you off with a kiss, moving his lips over yours.

“You’re mine. My omega, and I’m so proud and lucky to call you that…”

He licked his lips, brows furrowing, and you felt like he wanted to say more.

“…but there are so many alphas on the team. One other alpha on the team would be one too many,” he started.

You reached up to run a finger over his lip as he talked, and he lightly bit it, causing you to smile.

“I know it’s silly because you are mine, but…here…it’s just you and me. You’re all mine. Your attention is all mine, and I like it that way,” he murmured, eyes glazing over.

You pressed your lips to his neck.

“I like it that way too.”

You watched as he reached over to your nightstand, grabbing your phone. Confusion filled you as you wondered what he was doing.

“Here…,” he said. “I’m leaving instructions on how to get to the compound. I want you to always be able to find me if you need me.”

You took your phone as he handed it to you, feeling him bury his face in your hair.

You had never thought that you’d need Peter so soon.

You hardly left your house, but occasionally you did have to leave for groceries. Ever since you and Peter got together, he loved doing it for you, but you had depleted a lot of your food during your heat and hadn’t realized until a month later when it was too late and you realized you had practically nothing to eat.

You had been carrying your groceries to your car when you heard footsteps behind you. It was early in the day, the parking lot empty as most people were at work or still asleep. You didn’t think much of it until they were practically on top of you. When you turned around with a frown, you stumbled back at their close proximity, back bumping into your car.

The man before you was unfamiliar, and you didn’t appreciate the way he ran his eyes over you, nostrils flaring. Your own did the same, and the familiar scent of a beta hit your nose. Goosebumps erupted over your flesh as his eyes met yours again.

“Y/N Y/L/N. That’s you, correct?”

Your frown deepened, a sinking feeling in your gut, and you swallowed. This stranger knew who you were, and you didn’t know how…nor why. Before you could confirm or refute that, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a photo. He held it up, and your eyes widened.

It was you…at home…opening the door for none other than Peter. It was nighttime in the photo, and his mask was off, but with his back to the camera, his face wasn’t visible. Your lips trembled, and you reached for it, but the man snatched it away.

“W-what do you want?”

Instead of answering you, he reached for you, yanking you away from your car. You brought your hand up to push against his nose, surprised when a crunch sound hit your ears, and he stumbled away. Groceries falling to the ground, you hurried to get inside of your car. You locked the doors just as his hand landed on the handle.

You were trembling as you struggled to start the car and almost ran him over as you pressed the gas. In your rearview, you could see him moving to go into what you presumed was his own car. Your hands shook as they clutched the wheel, mind whirling as you fought to make sense of what was going on. How had Peter been followed? How did they even find your name? Where were you going to go?

The stranger caught up to you in no time, and when his car pulled up beside yours, you noticed a second man in his passenger seat. Just when you were going to press the gas all the way down, their car swerved towards your own, and you tensed when your car slid off of the road and into the grass. Their car had stopped up ahead as yours crashed into the ditch.

A gasp escaped you at the impact, forehead hitting the wheel. You paused for a few seconds, blinking before crawling across to the passenger side. When you opened the door, you fell out and into the dense trees. You crawled into the brush, body hidden from view as you collapsed onto your stomach.

You could hear their car approaching, hear them get out, and you felt like you were going to be sick. You didn’t know what would happen if they found you, but you knew that it couldn’t be good if they were looking for Peter. It was clear that they wanted his identity, wanted to know who the masked superhero was. You could hear another car approaching from down the long stretch of road, and you figured that they could to.

It seemed that they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves because you heard them return to their car. You knew they’d be back though. They weren’t stupid. They knew that you had to be near, and you knew that you had to get up. The problem with that was your head was spinning, a searing pain behind your eyes.

You heard them drive away, and when the other car had passed, you hurried to move. Your vision was spinning as you crawled across the road, pushing yourself to your feet to stumble into the trees on the other side. Everything blended together as you tripped over your feet, and you didn’t know how far you walked when you hit the ground.

You were in and out of consciousness for what felt like hours. When your eyes finally remained open, you were relieved to find yourself in the same place you’d stumbled to. The sun overhead told you that hours had indeed passed. You had gone shopping pretty early in the morning, and you’d guess that it was afternoon now. When you reached into your pocket for your phone, you confirmed that it was 1:47 p.m.

Pushing yourself into a sitting position was a struggle, and you groaned as you pulled yourself to your feet. When you called Peter, it went straight to voicemail, and you wondered if he was on a mission or in lecture. You left him a voicemail, stumbling over your words as you pressed your hand to your head, telling him that he was in danger.

Hours passed, and you were still stumbling around upstate New York, outrunning strange men hell bent on taking you. Your phone was clutched in your hand, Peter’s directions detailed and clear. You were getting dizzy again, and when you practically fell out of the thick trees, you had to blink a few times. You were convinced that you were imagining the monstrous building before you.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that a stranger wouldn’t be able to walk on the grounds without alerting the superheroes. Your vision was starting to blur again, but you recognized the woman who flew down to land in front of you, auburn hair flying around her shoulders. You could faintly make out more figures running to where you were.

You would have collapsed again had she not caught you, and you hung onto her.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” you breathed. “…but I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your words slurred together just before sleep claimed you again.

Your hearing was the first thing to return to you, and you didn’t know where you were, but you could hear hushed voices. They were near. Your brows pinched together when you realized that you were in a bed, and when you finally peeled your eyes open, you realized that you were correct in your guess.

The room was so…white. The walls, the floor, the equipment. Looking over, even the two other beds in the room were bathed in white sheets and pillows. It took a moment for you to realize that you were in some sort of infirmary or…recovery room. You moved to sit up, only to jump when someone was suddenly at your side to help you.

Your eyes widened at the alpha before you, his hands gripping your arms as he helped you straighten. It felt surreal to be staring Captain America in the face, but not as much as you’d think. Maybe it had something to do with the mating mark that was given to you by none other than Spider-Man himself. You weren’t exactly a stranger to superheroes.

“Thank you,” you whispered, pulling away from him.

“How are you feeling?”

You turned to the feminine voice, eyes falling onto red hair and green eyes.

“You have a bit of a concussion. So I’d take it easy if I were you,” she said. “Y/N Y/L/N, right?”

The familiar question reminded you of those men, and you nodded at her.

“Is…is Peter here?”

You saw confusion flit over her beautiful features as she crossed her arms over her chest, and when you looked up at the blond next to you, he sported a similar look.

“Peter?”

It suddenly occurred to you that they might have been taken aback because you knew his true identity. You nodded at him.

“They were looking for him, for Spider-Man. I don’t know how, but…they followed him to my house one night. They know that I know him, and I didn’t know where else to go,” you told him.

Captain America blinked, and you watched the way his eyes fell onto your neck, narrowing as his nostrils flared. He let out a soft chuckle, straightening up as he shook his head.

“A lot of things are starting to make a lot more sense,” he said, more to himself than you. “No, he’s not here, right now.”

“He’s on a mission,” Black Widow added.

She moved to help you out of bed, and you let her. Peter was right. There were quite a few alphas on the team, and despite the fact that you knew they would do nothing more than protect you, you didn’t feel comfortable without Peter next to you.

“…but you can wait for him while we get you something to eat. Is that alright?”

You nodded at her, and she helped you move from the room. The compound was huge, and you couldn’t help but to take the time to admire it while she led you to the lounge room. It was strangely scarce of anyone else, and you wondered if it was done on purpose, not wanting to overwhelm you.

“How long have you and Peter…?”

The question hung in the air as you sat on the couch.

“I’ve known Peter for some months now,” you answered, rubbing your temple with a frown.

“Here.”

You looked up, taking the painkillers and sandwich from Captain America as he handed them to you. He sat on the edge of the table in front of you, face serious.

“You said that someone was after Peter.”

You nodded.

“They found me when I was going to my car and tried to take me. I crashed my car,” you suddenly added, more to yourself as if just remembering.

He asked you to describe the men, and you did with as much detail as possible. When Black Widow asked how you found them, you didn’t know if you should be truthful or not. You wondered if it would get Peter into trouble. As if reading your mind, she reassured you.

“We don’t care how you found us. We’re just glad that you did…”

You licked your lips.

“Peter told me…in case I…needed to find him,” you quietly replied.

She nodded, quickly running her eyes over you.

“When Peter started to smell different, I didn’t dwell too much on it, you know, but now it all makes sense. So you’re who he’s always running off to see…”

You sent her a sheepish smile. You noticed that Captain America had excused himself, and you could hear him on the phone in what you assumed was the kitchen.

“How did you two meet? Sorry if I’m prying, it’s just… Peter’s a lot more secretive than we thought. I’m a little taken aback by you,” she wondered.

“Um…he kind of knocked me down in my driveway one day. Literally. He was hurt from a mission and I fixed him up,” you told her with a shrug.

“…and you kept fixing him up,” she surmised.

You frowned at her, and a small smirk graced her lips.

“Peter came clean that he wasn’t doing as well on his missions as he had led us to believe. I suspect that you had a hand in the deception,” she explained.

Feeling caught, embarrassment flooded you. She simply chuckled and patted your thigh before leaving you alone. You weren’t sure how long you sat on the couch, staring at the tv and nibbling on the sandwich given to you while you waited for Peter to return. In that time, none other than Tony Stark had arrived, the dark-haired man throwing you an unreadable look as Captain America led him past you.

You had a pretty good guess as to what they were going to discuss. Not long after, the woman who’d caught you when you passed out found you and introduced herself as Wanda. She sat with you, keeping you company, and you found that she was easy to talk to. Eventually, you heard some commotion, and you perked up when you heard Peter’s voice.

You could hear another low voice mixed in, and it wasn’t hard to guess that they were arguing. You could feel Wanda’s eyes on you as you scooted to the edge of the couch, neck craning, wondering if you should stay put or not. Their voices rose, and you frowned a bit when you recognized the other voice as that of Tony Stark’s.

“I don’t care,” you heard Peter snap, his harsh tone surprising you. “Where is she?”

The question appeared to be rhetorical because immediately after, you heard his footsteps as he sniffed you out. You stood as soon as he rounded the corner, and in the two steps you took, Peter had taken five, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m okay,” you quietly told him.

He tucked his face into your neck, brushing his nose over your skin and breathing you in. You did the same, wrapping your arms around him.

“Mr. Stark said that some guys tried to kidnap you…because they were looking for me…?”

You nodded, and he tightened his hold just before pulling back to look at you. He went to reach for your face before he paused, glancing over your shoulder. You did the same, your eyes meeting Tony Stark’s, and you were reminded that you weren’t alone.

He took a step back before pulling you along. You passed Tony Stark and Captain America, and the brunette took a step forward.

“Peter-.”

“We’ll talk later, Mr. Stark,” he said over his shoulder.

Peter’s room was on the other side of the compound, and he was quick in taking you there. As soon as he shut the door behind him, his lips were on yours. The kiss was harsh as he gripped your face, unlike him, and he pulled his lips away from yours, forehead resting against your own.

“You must have been terrified,” he murmured.

“I’m alright,” you told him, reassuring him.

You could feel that he was shaking, and there was a deep frown on his face as he ran his eyes over you, hands sliding down your arms.

“I can still…smell them on you,” he said through his teeth. “The captain too…and Nat…”

You had opened your mouth to speak, but he kissed you again, swallowing your words. His hands were everywhere, and you knew what he wanted when he tugged at your shirt. He rubbed his face over you as he peeled your clothes off.

His touch was firm when he finally got you on his bed, teeth nipping at you and fingers pressing into your skin as he pinned your body beneath his own. His suit soon joined your clothes on the floor, and you gasped into his mouth when he filled you with one thrust.

“I could’ve lost you today,” he whispered as he kissed you, pinning your wrists to the bed.

“You didn’t, Peter,” you whispered back, a moan climbing out of your throat. “I’m here.”

“Can’t lose you,” he brokenly mumbled as his hips curved into yours. “I can’t-.”

He cut himself off as he pressed his lips to your neck, kissing and nipping at your mark, causing your eyes to roll into the back of your head. You didn’t know how much later he planned to talk to Tony Stark because it was some time in the early morning when he finally let you go, trapping you in his arms as you fell asleep.

You never did return to your house. Peter and Wanda cleaned the place out of everything you needed, and you quickly became a constant presence in the compound. You officially met the rest of the team that first morning, an embarrassing ordeal. You and Peter hadn’t exactly been the most quiet, and Sam cracked a joke that Peter didn’t find funny. Bucky did though, and that seemed to make Peter angrier.

In fact, he was irritated a lot lately. It started out little, a look here or a frown there, but the more acquainted you became with the rest of the team, the more quiet he became. You were never completely comfortable around the other alphas when Peter was gone, but they were never anything but nice to you. Especially Bucky. You noticed that he didn’t say much unless he was talking to Steve or Sam, but he did his best to make you feel welcome, to keep you from missing Peter when he was gone.

At least…you thought so.

“He’s doing it on purpose,” Peter grumbled one night. “He knows it bugs me.”

You tutted, wrapping your arms around him from behind as you rested your chin on his shoulder.

“Peter…he’s being nice,” you told him.

“He’s being sneaky,” he argued, voice hard.

You sighed.

“I get lonely when you’re not here, and Wanda is almost always sent with you on your missions. What do you want me to do? Lock myself in your room until you come back?”

“It’s tempting,” he whispered.

“Peter,” you admonished.

He sighed and turned around, taking your hands and playing with your fingers.

“You want me…to be happy, right? Because when I’m happy you’re happy…right?”

“Of course,” you quietly said.

“Having you all to myself makes me happy,” he whispered.

You bit your lip, frowning a bit.

“No one else can look out for you like I can… Unless you disagree?”

You shook your head, almost frantically.

“Of course not.”

He finally lifted his eyes to meet yours, brows furrowed.

“Ever since the incident, I just can’t find it in myself to trust anyone else but me with your wellbeing,” he said, and your heart clenched.

You tried to understand his worry, and so you eventually nodded.

“I’m going to talk to Mr. Stark about cutting back on my missions. At least until we can find you a new place,” he told you, surprising you with this.

Your brows rose.

“Oh! I… Peter, I like being here at the compound with you,” you replied. “Besides, it makes sense. Now you don’t have to travel back and forth just to see me.”

“Yes, but…,” he sighed, bringing your hand to his lips as he looked at you from beneath his lashes. “Don’t you miss when we had a space just for ourselves? I miss having you all to myself.”

His dark eyes were pleading, but there was an iciness there that gave you pause.

“…yeah,” you eventually admitted, and Peter smiled at you.

Tony Stark did not take Peter’s proposal well. You figured that he wouldn’t, but Peter kept trying to reassure him that it was only temporary. Either way, considering that the billionaire couldn’t physically force Peter to do anything, he was indeed around a lot more.

He was now there when you woke up, and his arms were wrapped around you every night as sleep claimed you. You made it a habit of showering together, Peter holding you to him as he lathered soap over you, lips trailing over your face any chance he got. You couldn’t deny that you preened at all of the attention, wondering how long it would last considering that Peter was helping you look for a new place to move. You wouldn’t be able to do this all the time once you did.

At least, you had thought so.

You could hear Peter and Tony arguing as you walked down the hall, nearing his room with a cup of tea in hand. You winced at the older man’s harsh tone, but it was Peter’s venomous one that made you frown.

“Kid, this doesn’t make any bit of sense, and you know it.”

“I’m not just going to leave her unprotected again, Mr. Stark,” Peter spat. “I’m going with her, and that’s that. Nothing has to change.”

“The two of you might as well stay here then. Doesn’t that sound more logical? If it’s privacy you want, hell, I can have an entire separate wing built for the two of you-.”

“I don’t want her here!”

You jumped at his sudden outburst, and Tony sighed.

“Peter, I know you don’t want a repeat of last time, and that’s why the compound is the safest place for her to be. There are more than enough people to protect-.”

“No.”

Peter’s response was clipped, leaving no room for discussion, and you took the lull in conversation as a sign to walk around the corner. Tony’s back was to you, and Peter’s face was pinched with anger, body tight with tension begging to be released. When your eyes met his, all of that seemed to seep out of him as his shoulders relaxed. Tony turned to tersely greet you as you slipped past him.

Peter’s hand found the back of your neck as you went to move past him too, pulling you to him as he glared at Tony. You watched as his jaw clenched, another sigh leaving him as his eyes flickered between the two of you.

“We’ll finish discussing this later, Peter.”

The door closed and locked behind him after his departure, and you looked at Peter with a frown.

“You’re moving with me?”

“I’m not repeating the same mistake as last time,” he told you.

“I think Mr. Stark is right,” you said with a frown. “Just let him build another wing or whatever. No one would dare try anything here.”

“You’re not staying here,” he quietly said, walking away from you.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not going to let you stay here so the unmated alphas in this place can keep sniffing around you,” he sneered, glaring at you.

You reared back at that, eyes wide. You thought that he had gotten over this, this narrative that he seemed to be convinced of.

“Peter, that… You don’t really believe that…do you?” you scoffed.

Peter briefly closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh as he approached you. His hands found your face, lips brushing your forehead.

“Of course, you don’t see it. You give everyone the benefit of the doubt. You don’t see what I see…”

“Peter, these are your friends. They love you, and they wouldn’t-.”

“There’s a grain of truth in those ‘jokes’ that Sam is always making. You don’t’ see how Bucky looks at you when you’re not paying attention…”

You were floored by his words, having a hard time believing them. He scoffed.

“I even catch the captain slipping sometimes when he thinks no one is looking.”

You weren’t sure you believed that, but you didn’t want to insinuate that Peter was a liar. Regardless, he seemed to believe what he was saying, and so you wrapped your arms around him.

“If that’s true Peter, no one can take me away from you,” you quietly said. “I’m yours, and that’s never going to change.”

You kissed him, but somehow, you felt that your words had no affect on him. He kissed you back, humming against your lips.

“Tell me that again…please,” he demanded with a smile.

“I’m yours,” you repeated as he wrapped his arm around your waist, taking a step back.

He deepened the kiss, grip tightening on you, almost painfully so.

“Mm, now show me.”

Peter’s behavior remained much the same. His presence a constant throughout your day, but again, you weren’t complaining. He was scenting you every chance he got, and his lips were always on your mark, a content sigh leaving you whenever his chest rumbled. The nights were usually when Peter had his hands on you, body pinning yours to his bed as he claimed you.

However, he had started to wake you up with his face between your legs, sometimes pulling you away to his room during the middle of the day. He always seemed to be hungry for you, and you’d be stupid to find fault in that. Sure, it cut into the time you spent with Wanda, but Peter’s touch soothed you in a way that only your alpha could.

The bruises he left behind didn’t even hurt that much, and the pain left behind from his harsh grip on your hair never lasted long. He was more than happy to let you sleep the day away after exhausting you the night before, periodically bringing food to you. The day everything changed, was the day you were supposed to train with Wanda.

She’d convinced you that you needed to learn to protect yourself better. You both knew that Peter would never allow you to be in a position to do so, but somehow, you’d been able to talk him into it. You didn’t know if he figured it couldn’t hurt, or if he was humoring you. However, both Wanda and Peter had been sent on a last-minute mission. Tony’s franticness had made it apparent that it was important.

You’d been weakly throwing punches at the punching bags when Bucky offered to help. Having been under the impression that no one else was here, you were happy that someone was available to train you. He was a good teacher, and by the end of the session, you actually felt like you’d learned something.

It was later that day, when you’d just come out of the shower, when you heard the commotion. You had run out of Peter’s room to make sure that no one was hurt, and you only increased your pace when you heard Peter’s voice in the fray. The scene that met you in the entranceway made your eyes widen.

Just past the front door, Peter was being held down by one of Tony’s suits, the man himself standing over Peter with a frown on his face. Across from them, Bucky was pinned to the wall by the webbing that had been splayed across his neck. Peter’s eyes found yours when you neared, and he grunted.

“Mr. Stark, I’m fine okay?”

His tone didn’t match his words, and you wanted to argue that he wasn’t fine.

“You just tried to kill Robocop over here, Peter,” Tony argued, making your eyes widen.

He followed Peter’s gaze when he realized that he wasn’t paying attention to him, and with a sigh, let him go. Peter was glaring at Bucky as he stood, and you watched in confusion as he neared you. You heard Tony sigh again, watching as he rubbed his forehead before going to free the super soldier.

“What’s going on?”

He ignored your question, opting instead to grab your hand and pull you along. He was walking so fast that you almost tripped several times in trying to keep up with him. As soon as you made it back to his room, the door was slammed shut, and your eyes were wide as he pressed his hand to the door, your back against it.

“Why does he smell like you?”

His question was quiet, voice steady, but you could see the anger in his eyes.

“Bucky? He helped me in the training room,” you told him, realizing that’s what all of this was about.

He heaved a sigh, pushing away from the door to sit down, head falling into his hands.

“You know that Wanda was supposed to, but she got sent off with you.”

You slowly walked towards him, squatting before him.

“Peter,” you called to him.

“I don’t want you near him,” he whispered, conviction in his voice. “…any of them. The thought drives me crazy.”

You bit your lip, annoyance bubbling up inside of you.

“What am I supposed to do, Peter? Lock myself away? You’re being ridiculous.”

“…and you’re being naïve,” he spat, eyes hard as he looked at you. “Unless you like them sniffing around you?”

“No!”

His eyes darkened at your tone, and he went to say something else when his nostrils flared. He ran his eyes over you, gaze blazing as his jaw clenched.

“You still smell like him,” he sneered.

You heaved a sigh, standing up.

“I’ll take another shower,” you told him.

You could feel his eyes on you as you entered the bathroom, and you pressed your hands to the counter, staring into the mirror. Peter wasn’t like this when it had just been the two of you, and you found yourself missing that. Most of all though, you missed how different you thought he’d been. You knew that things would very likely go back to that once you got your own place again but…

Surely you couldn’t go the rest of your life locked away in your house, interacting with no one but Peter? You’d grown to like the rest of the team, considering them friends. Were you now meant to give up those friendships?

You went to get undressed, and in doing so, you knocked over your toothbrush. It clattered to the floor, and you bent to pick it up. When you stood, a gasp escaped you, the toothbrush pinging against the floor again as you dropped it.

Peter was standing behind you, and you pressed your hand to your chest, attempting to calm your heart. He neared, and his chest brushed against your back as he placed his hands on the counter, caging you in.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing his lips to your bare shoulder. “…you just drive me crazy.”

His forehead was pressed to your shoulder now, and you could feel him shaking. You reached back to lay your hand on the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair. He continued before you could speak.

“I keep thinking it’ll be enough. That if I come inside of you enough, they’ll back off…”

You frowned.

“…if I leave as many marks as I can, scent you enough, make sure you’re attached to my side…they’ll stay away…”

He nipped the skin of your back, and your frown deepened.

“Peter…”

“I mean, do I have to fuck you in every room of this compound until they get it?”

Your eyes widened.

“It’s never enough,” he said more to himself. “So what choice do I have to hide you away? Make things go back to the way they were…when it was just you and me…”

You moved to straighten, but he pressed his chest more firmly against your back, making you bend. You pushed back, but one of his hands came up to press in between your shoulders, shoving you down until your cheek was pressed against the counter.

“Peter,” you gasped, reaching back.

“If I have to tire you out so that you can never leave this room until we finally leave, then so be it.”

You tried to push yourself up, but his hold was firm. His hand slid up to press on the back of your neck, and you winced, shaking as you both felt and heard him release himself. You whimpered at the pain that traveled through your neck under his grasp, reaching back again when he yanked you up. Your eyes found his in the mirror, his gaze ravenous.

“Peter, I have to shower-.”

“What better way to get Bucky’s stench off of you than to replace it with my own? You think if I bathe you in my seed there’ll be any trace of him left?”

He didn’t give you time to answer that before he was forcing your cheek against the counter again. He pushed into you, and your toes brushed the ground, a yelp leaving you. His strokes were quick and forceful, skin slapping against yours. No matter which way you moved, you weren’t able to get away from him.

His hand found your hair while the other pinned a wrist to the counter top, chest pinning you down as he leaned over you. His nose brushed along your ear, lips eventually finding their way to your neck, and you shuddered. He showed attention to your mating mark, and you hated the way your body welcomed the feeling it brought over you.

“Peter,” you protested, lips trembling.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “When I’m done, you won’t even remember what he smells like.”

Your lashes fluttered with every snap of his hips. It was so hard to remember that he’d forced himself inside of you, the comforting scent and feel of your alpha making you want to submit.

“You won’t go near any of them.”

You whimpered, pulsing around him and squirming beneath him as the command washed over you.

“From now on, you won’t leave this room without me,” his harsh tone filled your ears.

You didn’t respond, too busy trying to swallow down the moan threatening to escape. Tears kissed your eyes at his assault, and he kissed your cheek, licking them away.

“You’re my omega. All mine...”

His lips found yours as he thrust into you.

“…and I’m going to keep reminding them.”

tags: @harryspet @mcudarklibrary @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @readermia @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @opheliadawnwalker3 @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @lokislastlove

#dark peter parker #dark peter x reader #dark!peter parker #dark!peter x reader #alpha!peter parker #alpha!peter x reader #A/B/O verse #a/b/o #dark fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker #marvel fanfiction #marvel

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chokemeanakin · 4 years

Note

Heyyy first wanna say that I love you!! 💜❤️🤎🧡💙🤍💚🖤

Next, I’ve been really sick lately, like haven’t been bail to take down food for a solid week, and in and out of hospital for the last two weeks, so could you please write up an Anakin small fic or head canon or just anything with a really sick reader, but she finds it hard to exsept help? Your fives have been keep me alive I swear haha

Okay LOVE YOU💖💖

YOOO IVE BEEN WANTING TO DO THIS FOR WEEEEEEKKKSSS you literally read my mind !!! 😆😆😆 (also I’m so sorry that you’re terribly sick, I’m sending you all my love and I hope you get better soon. I love you too boo thang ❤️) HERE WE GO:

(Also fun fact whump is my area of expertise so if this gets to be really long I apologize — it’s just hard for me to narrow stuff down, anyway, enjoy)

Anakin x Sick (fem) Reader Headcanons:

Gif from @swprequels

The minute you get sick, you immediately shut yourself into your room and hide from the world.

You hate people seeing you at your worst, most vulnerable state. So weak, and needy, and messy and in pain. You’ve always been the type to push people away, no matter how sick you get, because you just can’t let them see you like that.

But like.... imagine you’re new to the temple or something. You haven’t been there for very long, and you still don’t really know your way around. And you wake up at night with the worst stomach pains, like writhing around in bed and crying and begging higher powers for any kind of relief sort of pain.

And you somehow manage to wrench yourself onto shaking legs and dig through the bathroom cabinet, only to find that you have no medicine that can help you.

The next logical step is you go to the medbay, but you have no idea where that even is. And so you’re left to drag yourself down the halls to the only other person who you can think of to help you, the only other other person you want to see right now.

Anakin opens the door shirtless, rubbing sleep out of his bleary eyes. You wish you could feel worse for waking him up when he was obviously sleeping, but your stomach is twisting and turning and a layer of cold sweat is forming over you and you need his help. So you swallow your pride and stand there as he asks, “Y/n? What’s wrong, baby?”

He doesn’t hesitate as he gently ushers you into his room, holding you up as he leads you to the bed. You’re glad, because you don’t think your legs can hold you up for very much longer. And he’s kneeling in front of you, taking your face in his hands and wiping away your tears as you clutch at your stomach and tremble beneath him.

“I-I don’t feel good,” is all you can manage before wincing at a particularly painful stab, shuttering as the nausea worsens.

He’s so worried, eyes scanning over every inch of you. He’s less soft now, and more action as protecting you and figuring out what’s wrong is his first priority.

“What hurts?”

Everything hurts, but you settle with the most pressing offender. “My stomach.”

His eyes drop to your arms, which are wound around your middle like you could squeeze the pain away. You’re hunched over, shivering violetently, skin pale in the darkness. Very obviously sick, although now he has to decide whether it’s bad enough where it warrants a visit to the medbay. His heart twists painfully.

“When did it start?”

“A couple hours ago.”

“Did you eat something?”

He’s rubbing his thumb along your cheek, capturing each cold tear as they’re occasionally squeezed out of your eye.

“Not that I know of,” you whisper. “I had the same as everyone else.”

“Okay,” he says after a moment, then stands. He keeps one hand gently cradling your face as he reaches behind you and pulls the blankets back. “You wanna lie down?”

You want to say yes, but suddenly you’re hit with a particularly excruciating twist of the stomach, and you know it wouldn’t be a good idea. If you move even slightly, you’re pretty certain you’ll be spilling your dinner all over the floor. The thought has you moaning slightly, curled even further into yourself, shaking your head. “Can’t.”

“Alright. That’s okay. Do you think you’re gonna be sick?”

A terrible wave of embarrassment washes over you, but you force yourself to nod.

Anakin doesn’t even have to ask to know that you won’t be able to make it the bathroom. He wouldn’t want to subject that to you anyway, knelt on the cold tile floor before the toilet. No, he wants you to be as comfortable as possible.

So he takes his garbage can and makes sure it’s clean before setting it on the floor or in front of you, in case you need it quickly. You’re hanging your head, sweating and shivering and whimpering every so often as the pain builds and builds and washes over you in waves.

“It’s okay,” Anakin sits beside you, hand rubbing your back in grounding circles. “Focus on your breathing. It’ll pass soon.”

You stay there with him like that for a long while. At one point, you’re begging him for some pain meds, or anything that can take the pain away, but he has to refuse because you’re just going to throw them up anyway. He feels awful saying no, because you begin to cry again and lean forward.

He senses it right before it happens. With lightning reflexes, he snatches the bin off the ground and holds it under you just as you begin to get violently sick.

It’s not pretty, and that thought is knocking at the back of your mind as you clutch onto the rim of the bin, emptying your stomach over and over and over, barely able to catch a breath before you’re hit with another round.

Anakin sits right next to you through it all, dragging his fingers along the nape of your neck to gather your hair over one shoulder, rubbing soothing line and circles into your back, hushing you and telling you to let it out, that you’ll feel better once it’s over.

He’s right about that. Throwing up scares you, and you hate it with everything in you, but for the time being you feel a little better. Once your food stops forcing its way back up and you can finally breathe, there’s a moment where the awful stabbing pain in your stomach is quiet and you can open your eyes and lift your head.

“You think you’re done?”

You take a moment to assess your nausea, not wanting to be hit with a surprise attack and make a mess all over the floor. But for the time being, your stomach has settled and now you’re left as a trembling, weak, shell of a human, barely able to sit upright on your own.

You nod and wipe your mouth, disgusted with the contents now on the back of your hand. Your pajamas have been soaked in sweat, and you’re sure you look absolutely disgusting. You’re too weak to care a whole lot, but the shame still bubbles up in your chest.

Somehow he’s got a glass of water, and he’s handing it to you so you can swish and spit. “Small sips, angel.”

Anakin sets the bin down, running his hand over your hair once more before standing. The loss of his warm presence has you shivering violently, teeth clacking together. “You want a bath? Or do you just want to go to bed?”

You don’t think you’d be able to sleep with your clothes stocking to you like this, so you choose the bath. He kisses your forehead once, saying, “I’ll go run it now. Stay here in case you get sick again.”

You nod and he leaves, the sounds of the faucet turning and water splashing into the bath sounding from the bathroom. He comes back to help you up, hands fitting right onto your disgusting sweaty and vomitty body as he half carries you to the bathroom.

And then he helps you get undressed, lowers you carefully into the water, kneels by the side of the tub and holds your hand.

Your eyes are closed and your head is pounding, achey and queasy and tired. You know you have to wash up, but you can’t seem to lift your arms.

So he does it for you 🥺

Squeezing some shampoo into his palm, gently rubbing it into your hair, using his hand to shield your face as he carefully washes it out. Running his hands over your arms and the top of you chest with soap, lathering you up and then rinsing again. And then he’s squeezing water out of a cloth, running the damp material over your face to clean it of sweat and sick.

And when he’s done, he stands and promises to be right back as he takes the bin full of vomit to the communal bathrooms, dumping it out in the toilet and then washing it in the showers. It’s early hours of the morning so no one is there, but he’d do it even if people were looking at him like he was crazy. 🥺

And when he comes back, he helps you out of the bath and bundles you up in a big fluffy towel. Runs it over your skin and dries you up, and helps you stand as you request to brush your teeth.

And then he brings you back into the room and helps you dress in some of his clothes, a pair of his sleep pants that he has to tie the string extra tight so they’ll stay up, and roll the cuffs up to your ankle about 10 times until you can walk without tripping. And he’s also got some sleep shirts that he’s never worn, and you swim in that also so he rolls up the sleeves until you can see your hands.

And now all you want to do is fall back into his pillows and go to sleep, but he asks you to hold on a while longer so that he can get you some meds. And he has you take some pills, encourages you to drink some more water, (“slow, baby”), and then he helps you lie back and get comfortable.

And if you wake up later in the night to get sick again, he’s waking up right along with you, holding you and hushing you and being the sweetest person you could ever ask for.

In instances like this, you can’t help but need and accept his help. And he doesn’t mind giving it, in fact he wants you to come to him. Anything that brings you pain, he’ll destroy.

And he’ll make sure you eat as much as you can, and that you’re drinking water. Constantly asking you how you feel, if there’s anything he can do. Runs a cold cloth over your face to soothe the fever, and massages your aching muscles until you’re all better.

The voice he uses when you’re sick 🥺. He knows that any noise can hurt your head, so he lowers his voice and it’s so smooth and deep and rumbly. So soft and gentle 😭 the sweetest voice bc his baby is in pain and he just wants to take it all away 🥺🥺

In other cases where you’re sick, like you have a cold, you’re more stubborn. You shut yourself away as soon as you get the first symptoms, denying any hint that you might be getting sick, until suddenly he realizes he hasn’t seen you in days and stops by to find you buried under covers, surrounded by tissues, all lights off in your apartment, sleeping fitfully.

And so he’ll sigh a little, clean up your apartment and then sit and watch over you. When you wake up, you’ll groan and burrow deeper into the covers and demand he leave. But he’ll just tell you to be quiet and drink this water.

Demands you tell him the moment you feel sick next time, even though he knows you never will. And then when he gets you some medicine and food, your cheeks are red with embarrassment and fever as you bashfully accept them.

But ofc you’ll get over it soon because Anakin’s here now and you might as well be miserable in his arms. So you push the covers off your overheating body and reach across the bed for him, practically falling into his lap from where he’s sitting on a chair by your bedside.

And he just simply catches you and strokes your hair and hushes you as you bury your wet eyes and flushed cheeks into his chest, sniffling pathetically.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he’ll promise, and hold you in his warm arms and rock you until you fall asleep.

Getting sick on Republic Cruisers is the worst. When that happens, you’re either on your way to or back from war. And so usually people are busy and running around, or exhausted and beat up. The ship is cold and everyone has their own problems to worry about, but you feel like ass and you just want to be alone with Anakin.

He feels awful when he sees you, and will order everyone out of the pilot’s room. And then he’ll clear the passenger seat off, urge you to sit down, wrap you up in as many blankets as he can find, and when he can only find a couple, he’ll sacrifice his Jedi robe. And you’ll nuzzle deep down into the cacoon of blankets and inhale the scent of Anakin’s robe, fall in and out of consciousness as you’re lulled to sleep by the soft sounds of the ship.

Anakin wishes there was more he could do for you in these instances, but the food isn’t good and there’s not usually any medicine. So he’ll keep a hand on your knee, or let you hold his hand in your lap as you sleep, and he’ll send a little surge of peace and soothing energy through the force and into you.

Will 100% find an excuse to carry you off the ship when you land, and then spend the rest of the day lying with you and tending to you and trying to make you feel better 🥺

He’s so caring and so protective and sweet. His gentle side really comes out, because his #1 thing is that he needs the people he loves to be safe, so if an illness is hurting you he will do anything he can to take the pain away.

Yes, he can’t take care of himself sometimes. But the minute you’re feeling a little under the weather, suddenly he has a PHD in medical science and he’s nursing you back to health like an expert 🥺

Also he’ll never deny you kisses when you’re sick, even if you warn him he might catch it, he just hushes you and kisses you softly on the lips. Then on the chin, then the nose, then the forehead.

Will always brush off your inability to accept help. If you say “no” or “leave me alone” or “I’m fine go away” he’ll just roll his eyes and plant himself there. Bc no matter how stubborn you can be, he’s even more.

And when you keep apologizing, obviously feeling awful for having him take care of you, he’ll just hush your worries and hold a tissue to your nose and go “blow.”

And then he’ll stay with you and watch over you until you’re all better. And even when you get back into the swing of things, he’ll watch over you like a hawk while you’re recovering 🥺🥺

You might get shy and ashamed and embarrassed when he tries to help you, but he doesn’t mind. You’ll just have to come to accept the fact that he’s always going to be there for you, to help you and hold you and make you all better ❤️

Sweet boy is so good to you 🥺🥺🥰

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#ani fluff #soft ani #anakin skywalker #Anakin x fem reader #Anakin whump #Anakin x sick reader #Star Wars fics #Anakin Skywalker x fem reader #Anakin Skywalker whump #Anakin Skywalker x sick reader #Anakin whump headcanons #Anakin headcanons #Anakin Skywalker headcanons #Star wars sick fic #Anakin sickfic #Anakin Skywalker sickfic #sickfic #whump

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duuhrayliegh · 4 years

Text

watch your six - part two

pairing: eventual bucky x reader

warnings: some violence, trigger warning of sedation (it isn’t in there for a long time and the description of it isn’t super good BUT it’s still there), mentions of kidnapping, i think that’s it.

word count: just a bit over 3k

a/n: okay! here’s part two, i’m experimenting with the longer parts, so let me know what y’all think of it. bucky does make an appearance soon, i swear y’all :) just be patience with me babes. also, i know this isn’t like the typical fan fic because it isn’t in the second person but we’re powering through together. i hope y’all enjoy babes <3

p.s.: if y’all want to be added to a tag list for this series, shoot me a message and we’ll get it worked out

series m.list

ray’s m.list

*****************

I shot up from my bed, eyes wild and frantic searching for anything to ground me to my current surroundings. It was just a dream, just a dream. It was just a dream. Except it didn’t feel like a dream. Everything was too detailed, too crisp for it to have really been just a dream. I swung my legs off my bed and grabbed a hold of the fluffy white comforter. Groaning, I pushed my feet to touch the cold hardwood of my apartment. I made my way towards my kitchen and my coffee maker. I popped a breakfast blend K-cup into the slot and dumped a mug full of water into the side of the machine. Pressing the button, I turned while listening to the coffee machine force the water through the coffee grounds and filter and into my cup.

Looking out into my living room, I eyed my couch. It was intact with no bullet holes riddling the cushions. It was still the pristine white that I’ve spent many nights curled on watching movies. The dark stained wood coffee table in front of it brought memories of long study sessions with books and loose papers strewn across it. A faint smile graced my lips as I was reminiscing. The black coffee maker spit the last of the dark substance into my mug, so I reached into my cabinets and pulled out the essentials. I’ve never been one for pure black coffee, tastes like tar in my opinion. The aftertaste isn’t something that I want to deal with for as long as it’ll last.

I dumped two spoonfuls of sugar into the cup and then poured a dash of liquid creamer in along with it. Stirring the now light brown liquid, I raised the mug to my mouth and took a much needed sip. Sighing as I swallowed, I walked around to the couch in the living. Plopping down, I kicked my feet to rest on top of the coffee table. Leaning back against the cushions, I tried to process what my dream was about.

It was just too real to be a dream, right? It was awfully specific to be a dream. Squinting my eyes, I nodded my head and set my mug on the table. Reaching for my laptop and opening the first browser I could, I searched ‘dream analysis.’ Maybe they’ll have something that can give me an answer as to why it was so clear. Scrolling down the first website, my eyes scanning the bolded letters. Nine Common Dreams and What They Could Mean, oh perfect. Flying, being naked in public, teeth falling out, cheating, none of these are like my dream. I shook my head and swiped out of the website and back to the search engine.

It was late in the morning and the sun was rising to its peak when I finally gave up. It’s obvious what happened though, I’ve gone mental. Absolutely insane, just plain certifiable. No, no, that’s not what it is. My coffee now gone cold, I placed my closed laptop on the coffee table next to the discarded coffee mug. I stood and my head started throbbing. Deciding I would have a better outlook on things without a pounding head, I took a shower. The water was a pleasant, scalding temperature. Leaving the bathroom with my hair in a towel and another wrapped around my body, I changed into a simple pair of ripped mom jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Hanging my towels on the rack in the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and then turned out the light as I left.

Today was my one day off of work this week and I was going to savor it. Slipping on a pair of ratty sneakers and grabbing my purse from the hook next to the door, I left my cozy apartment. I locked the door and shoved my keys all the way to the bottom of my purse. I left my building with the intention of trying to shake off the nightmare that I had. To do so, I went into the coffee shop at the end of the block. I pushed the doors open and was greeted with a warm and inviting atmosphere. Dark floors gave way to twinkling lights illuminating the charcoal gray walls. Behind the counter, I make eye contact with the barista and receive a tight-lipped smile from him. “Hi, welcome to Beniot’s Beans. What can I get started for you today?”

I glanced at the chalkboard menu and ran my eyes over it quickly. I already knew what I wanted, but I needed to prepare myself to say it out loud. “Hello, can I get a medium caramel iced coffee to go, please?” I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet as he scribbled my order onto the clear plastic cup. He told me my total as I looted in my wallet for my bills. After placing the money in the register, he explained that they would call my order when it was ready. I nodded and walked off to find somewhere to sit that was out of the way. After situating myself on one of the comfortable armchairs, I pulled my phone out in an effort to discourage human interaction. After retrieving my order from the counter, I sat back down in the armchair, trying to decide what to do next. The hour was just rolling over to being almost lunchtime, which made me realize that I hadn’t eaten anything yet. Shrugging my purse back onto my shoulder and shoving my phone into it, I left the store throwing a small wave to the barista behind the counter.

Sighing contentedly, I made the trek back to my apartment while steadily drinking the iced coffee. Some people say coffee shouldn’t be cold, and then there’s people who have sense. Giggling to myself, I took in my surroundings. Brick buildings lined the small two-way road. The donut shop on the opposite side of the street had two cop cruisers sitting in front of it. The contrasting black and white paint with black lettering outlined in yellow was intimidating. There was no reason for it to be, but there was just an aura of discomfort encapsulating the cars. By this time, I had stopped, slurping on my almost empty iced coffee. Breaking out of my trance with a ring of a bell, four officers exited the donut shop. Two of the officers held off-white cardboard boxes, they were all laughing at something. I tilted my head and scrunched my brows, guess the stereotype about cops is true, they love their donuts. Sensing a stare, one of the officers looked around for the source. Eventually, our gazes locked and he winked. Uh, ew. Making a face, I shook my head and went about my way back to my apartment.

Despite that experience, it was nice to be able to have no specific agenda, just relaxing and going with the flow. My inner monologue stopped when I got to my kitchen and started deciding what to prepare for lunch. Finally landing on a box of macaroni and cheese to satisfy my hunger, I set to work. The pot of water now on the stove, I tossed my empty plastic cup from the coffee shop into the garbage bin. I went around to my living room and grabbed my coffee mug from earlier and placed it in the sink, after rinsing it out. I’ll wash that and the stuff I use for lunch after I finish eating. I dumped the box of uncooked noodles into the now boiling water. Soon, the macaroni was ready to be eaten, so I poured the cheesy noodles into a bowl. Hoisting myself onto the granite countertop, I began to inhale the food. Wow, okay I was hungrier than I thought. It didn’t take long to finish off the noodles. As I was washing the dirty dishes, the intercom system of the apartment went off. Weird, I wasn’t expecting anyone. “Who is it?” I inquired into the speaker box. “Hi, I’m looking for the inhabitant of this flat.”

My brows furrowing, I asked again, “Who is this?”

“Ma’am, please don’t waste my time or yours. Is this the woman who lives in this apartment, yes or no?” They sounded exhausted. “I need to speak with the woman who lives here.” I was shocked, this didn’t seem right. Alright, I’m a woman living alone in an apartment building. Some stranger comes to my building, asking to speak to me, so what do I do?

“Uh, yeah they’re not here. You’ll have to come back later.” The lie was easy. Safety first and all, right? There was no reply after waiting a few minutes, so I went back to doing my dishes. After drying and putting them away, I kicked my shoes off and settled into my couch with a fluffy blue throw. Flicking the TV on, I picked the home improvement channel. I stretched out on the couch while wondering how realtor Bessie May was going to find this couple the perfect home. Snuggling further into the pillows, I was able to drift off into a dreamless slumber.

*********************************

It was loud banging that eventually roused me. Untangling myself from the fluff that wrapped around my legs, I toppled onto the floor. “I’m coming, hold your horses!” I shouted at the door. Who the hell? I swear if it’s my crazy neighbor again. “Marge! If this is you, we are going to have a problem!” I huffed my way to the door and yanked it open to reveal a group of men in what looked like dark tactical gear. Confusion overtook my facial features. I took a step back and tightened my grip on my door knob.

“Um… hi? Can I help you?” I questioned the group at large.

“Ma’am, we’re looking for the permanent resident of this apartment.” The man to my left said. He was short and stocky, he was also the only man wearing a dark gray suit. “Are you the permanent resident of this unit?” He continued while trying to see over my shoulders and into the living room.

“No, they’re not here right now.” I repeated the lie from earlier. I had an inkling this had to do with that, what else could it be?

“Well, do you know when she’ll be back?” He pressed, still stealing glances into my abode.

“No, she didn’t say. You’ll have to come back later. Goodbye.” I stated while closing the door. I was almost home free until a combat boot clad foot was stuck into the door frame.

“You see ma’am, this really isn’t the time to be lying to me.” The suited man explained. I took a deep breath and continued trying to close the door.

“Well, I’ve already told you all I know. The person who owns this place isn’t here right now.” The door was stopped yet again by the same foot.

“Ma’am, you need to invite us inside. We have things to discuss.” Suits ordered.

My brows raised, “Or what?” I scoffed, “Look you need to leave before I call the police. Good day to you gentlemen.” Another attempt to close the door was once again defeated, but this time the door swung in. Allowing entrance into my apartment. My eyes widened and I rushed away from the door, putting as much distance between the group of men and myself.

“What the hell are you doing! I’m calling the police.” I reached for my phone that was laying on the coffee table. It was snatched away from me by a man in tactical gear. His hair was cropped and dark, he slipped my phone into one of the many pockets of his vest. I raised my eyebrows at the man, and began demanding my phone from him.

“Listen ma’am, we’re going to need you to come with us.” Suits insisted. My gaze darted to him, if looks could kill man. “We’re allowing you the privilege of getting a bag of your necessities.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my ever rising nerves. I brought the heels of my palms to my eyes, trying to clear the fogginess of sleep to process what Suits was saying. “We don’t have all day. Get your stuff now.” I shook my head and started refusing.

“Yeah, that won’t be happening. I’m asking you one last time to leave my apartment before I start screaming.” I crossed my arms over my chest in a protective stance. They’ve got five seconds before I raise hell. Suits made a face that looked like he was disappointed.

“Grab her.” The man who took my phone advanced at me. His whole hand covered my upper arm, lifting it and beginning to drag me to the door. I started kicking out, clawing, trying to make contact with anything that I could hurt. Damage, don’t stop fighting. Don’t give in. Whipping my upper body around, I managed to scratch the man's cheek. He cried out in pain and his grip loosened for just a moment. Long enough for me to wrench my arm away from him and run towards the front door. My path was interrupted by a wall of a man. Towering over me, he wrapped both of his arms around my torso. Effectively stopping all of my movement while he turned me in his grasp to face Suits once again.

“Help! Someone help me! Help me!” This was a quiet enough building, shouts like that would surely gain someone’s attention, right? “Help! Someone help me, please!” I was screaming my throat sore. Not stopping until there was a large hand placed over my mouth. Even then, there were muffled cries that could be heard throughout my otherwise silent apartment unit. Stifled sobs were leaving my lungs in heaves. Suits approached me and shook his head,

“It really didn’t have to be like this but, of course.” He turned to one of his goons and nodded his head towards me. I began screaming again as the final goon stepped forward. His hair was slicked back and I could smell the hair gel that he must have just dipped his head into. Hair Gel reached into his pocket and brought out a small white case.

He unzipped the case and gestured to the mass of a man behind me. My head was moved to expose my neck, I struggled against Mass while Hair Gel approached. Screaming and thrashing trying to disrupt what I thought was about to happen. Hair Gel assembled a syringe, outfitting it with a blue capped needle. Hair Gel extracted a clear liquid into the syringe, he got closer to my jolting body, glaring at Mass.

“Hold her still, you buffoon.” He grunted at Mass. The grip around me began cutting off my circulation to the lower half of my body. Not deterring me in any way, I still made it as hard as I could for Hair Gel. There was a pinch on the side of my neck, and then a warm feeling passed through my body. Mass’s hand was still covering my mouth and his arms around my torso, if it weren’t for that I probably would’ve fallen straight to the ground. Oh hell man, what am I going to do now?

My body went limp in Mass’s hold, and my mind was starting to become fuzzy. Looking around at the three men in front of me, I worried what was going to happen. I’ve seen Taken. I know what happens to girls who travel alone. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen to people like me. Suits sighed yet again, looking disinterested in the whole affair. Suits looked to the man who I scratched and shook his head at him.

“You seriously let her get her hands on you?” Suits mocked, “That’s pathetic, Gomez.”

“Pathetic? She was clawing me, man!” The man, Gomez, defended.

“It doesn’t matter, you idiot. You still aren’t supposed to let it happen.” Suits berated Gomez and then waved him off, “Go get the stuff. And don’t mess it up this time, ya got that?” Gomez rolled his eyes at Suits, but nodded anyway. He left the room towards my bedroom. My eyelids started drooping, I willed them to stay open a bit longer.

“How long’s it gonna take that stuff to kick in?” Suits asked Hair Gel.

“Oh, it starts working immediately.” Hair Gel finished replacing everything in his white case, turning to me, he continued, “The body reacts to the compound right away, inducing temporary paralysis. It’s really quite remarkable to watch it in action.”

Suits glanced at Hair Gel, “You mean to tell me it doesn’t make them unconscious? What the hell did I bring you along for?”

“Of course it makes the victim unconscious, what do you think I’m stupid or something? It just takes a couple of minutes for the enzyme to break down for the brain.” Hair Gel tilted his head while looking at me. He gave me a once over and if I had any kind of control over my body, there would’ve been an unmistakable shiver that passed through my body. Gomez emerged with a duffle in tow and dumped the closed bag on the couch.

“Don’t forget the laptop, Gomez.” Suits reminded him while his attention was on the kitchen of my apartment. “Alright, let’s go.” With the effort it takes to lift a feather, Mass carried me bridal style out of my unit. My eyelids were becoming even more heavy and I screamed and shouted in my head, but my mouth just wouldn’t move. The four men made their way out, passing my crazy neighbor Marge.

“Can I help you boys with something?” Marge’s door was open, and she leaned up against the frame, watching this scene go down.

“Nothing to be worried about ma’am. This is official government business.” Suits reported, simply shrugging off Marge.

“Government business?” Marge shrieked, and a glimmer of hope flashed in my head. Marge won’t fall for your bullshit Suits. She’s going to save me. “I always knew there was something off about that one.” What the hell, Marge?

“Like I said ma’am, nothing to worry about. Now if you would, just go back inside. We’re done here.” Suits advised. Marge, who was none the wiser, bounced her shoulders and turned back into her own unit. She could be heard through the door explaining to her guests that her next door neighbor was always strange and never really sat right with her.

“Doesn’t surprise me they’re taking her away. I always knew something was off about that girl. I told you so.” Marge howled with laughter after her statement. My last hope dashed by my crazy neighbor’s complete ignorance and lack of acknowledgement for her surroundings. Mass began his descent of the stairs with a steady pace. The constant rocking back and forth of his body weight served to lull my eyelids the rest of the way closed.

#bucky x reader #eventual bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #sebastian stan #bucky fanfic #female reader insert #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes

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fijiangecko · 3 years

Text

Maintaining a New Life

Chapter 6 - Search and Rescue

previous | next

Read it on AO3 here

A/N: school is over (thank god)

~~~~~~

You stood in that doorway for God knows how long. Shivers traveled down your spine when Kuroo slammed that damned door, and slowly the static built over your frozen muscles. How could you let this happen? He’s right, you could’ve just told them and maybe things would’ve been different. If you really did trust them like you claimed, why didn’t you just admit to everyone and ask for guidance?

Your instincts kicked in. For a long while, you pushed them back and remained the new person you so desperately wanted to keep around. You knew, somewhere deep down, that if you went back to your old self, that would be the only thing they would talk about. That being said, you weren’t going to back down from a challenge or downplay your strengths, but that killer instinct that those bastards drilled into your head needed to take the back burner for a couple of years.

Too bad you pushed your luck and now it was all boiling over.

Your attention was brought back to that pot, and finally when those reactions kick back in your legs carry you across the apartment. Only grab what’s necessary, burn the rest and get the fuck out. Easy enough, considering you always knew something like this might happen. Just like back in the office, you didn’t own much. It was easy to only have a large duffle bag worth of stuff, clothes and sentimental items mostly.

You made a decision when you first left the Port Mafia to keep other things, clues one might say, as to your involvement with them in a separate location. Weapons too; you never knew when you were gonna need some extra firepower.

Anything else in the apartment that you knew could be used for evidence or could lead anyone back to the office you burned with your belongings. Better to be safe than sorry.

It doesn’t matter if he tells them, you think as you hoist the materials into the metal garbage bin in the parking lot. You’d be gone within the hour because either the Mafia is on their way, or Tooru and Hajmie will stop by in the morning. All you wanted was to protect them.

You patched the back windshield up with a bit of duct tape and a trash bag in the meantime. At least it would keep the cops from pulling you over while you headed over to the shop. Glass shards still litter the back seat, but you could care less as you set the duffle in the passenger's seat and start the engine.

With one last glance, you look to your apartment, the nearby trash can as flames lick the edges of the metal. All of your work suits were in there. All the funky ties Bokuto had given to you as jokes every year at the Christmas parties; all of the pens Akaashi and Kenma had lent you; all of the files Oikawa and Iwaizumi had forgotten at your place over the years; all the little sticky notes Kuroo left on your keyboard-

A tear hits your cheek. It’s a shock to your system and it brings you back to the present. You quickly wipe it off and swing the car out of its spot and head off.

A plan bubbles in the back of your mind. A way to keep everyone out of danger and clear your involvement. You think of the countless possibilities and endings this could have as your drive down the streets. The trees get denser and the sunlight shines through them like ribbons as you speed down the highway, only thinking of how to survive.

The first thing you’d like to do is to fix the damn windshield. Off the top of your head, you can think of a few people that might be able to help you out, just some local shops that still owed you back when you did people “favors” and that sort of thing. Again, not your brightest moments but they were your moments nonetheless.

Memories flood your system of those times. Back when you practically had the whole mafia under you. Every goon, henchmen and officer looked down when you walked down a corridor. Only those on an equal footing or on your personal squad would even bother trying to talk with you.

Not that you were authoritative or anything. Far from it, actually. Out of all of the four executives, you were the most forgiving, the most human. But it was the fact that you were an executive; the shared second in command position for all of the Port Mafia. With a brain and a gift like yours, it was an obvious choice but called for you to make a lot of tough decisions.

“Y/N,” Ushijima greeted you with a bow, and once he stood to his full height he stared directly into your eyes. The vertical distance was pretty large at the time, considering this was almost seven years ago. You remember looking up at him and feeling nothing despite his size and stature. Slightly behind him on the left stood a man, almost equally as tall with bright red hair.

“Hello boys,” a coy smile tugged at the edge of your lips. You used to be so full of yourself, and you roll your eyes at the thought. You were not only the youngest mafia member to become an executive, but also the first female to achieve the position despite who the boss was. Is? Hell if you knew whether that old bat is still kicking it.

Tendou had the tendency to lean over Ushijima’s shoulder and look down on you, almost like you were an animal in a zoo, but you got along with him just fine otherwise. Whenever you guys were in the same room you’d joke around, try and get on Ushi’s nerves but nothing ever seemed to work. On occasion he’d try and get you both to meet up for dinner but you’d always end up busy with meetings.

You saw him as a friend. Someone to kill the time with. Not much else, but you always saw the small shimmer in his eyes when he’d try and make those dinner plans. You felt in your gut that a question might pop up one of those nights if you sat down in a fancy restaurant with him.

“I don’t think Washijo is gonna appreciate you doing all of those construction deals in the southwest.” The redhead sang to you in a tune that was unrecognizable.

“Why wouldn’t he? It’s only making us more money and I did it ‘legally’ this time.” Unfazed by his teasing, you continued into the meeting room and took your place on the left side, by the head of the long conference table.

Ushijima followed opposite of you, taking up the chair directly across from you on the right. The spaces next to either of you that follow down the long edge of the hardwood were left empty, and your respective teams filled in the chairs after that point.

Everyone was dressed up, black and white attire. You always opted for a pantsuit rather than a dress or skirt purely because the port brought in the seaside winds and you’d rather not flash anyone. Oikawa, Iwaizumi and two others sit in their suits further down the table, hands folded and placed atop the table. They made small chit chat with the other squads, Oikawa smiled and bantered while Iwa usually just sat and listened.

They were members of your personal squad almost the entire time you held the title of “executive”.Them and the two others that sat next to them, Matsukawa and Hanamaki. You kept your personal group small since you’d be around them constantly. Those four were always funny together, always made things lighthearted despite the horrid situations you found yourselves in.

“She’s right Tendou,” Ushijima’s voice could’ve rattled the whole building if he spoke louder. “Out of us four she’s pulled in the most territory and revenue over the last quarter.”

“That’s because she's not doing the best in one category Washijo will strip her title, no questions asked.” Oikawa whispered to Iwa, very cautious of who might hear him. From what you can remember, a fair amount of the members weren’t as progressive as you had hoped when you first joined, but it didn’t stop you from climbing the ranks.

Your thumb beats against the steering wheel at the memories. Were you really happy then? Were you really doing what you wanted?

It’s taken you years to find the answer, but you’ve concluded that both are no. You hated working for them. You hated the senseless murder, especially if it was for a bullshit excuse like “it’s all for a better Yokohama”. To hell with it all, you’d tell yourself after spending nights hiding in homes that were starting to fall apart. For half a year you lived as though the modern world didn’t exist, all by yourself. You would only go into town to buy groceries or if it was absolutely necessary.

It was a sad life, but it was better than living in a high-rise apartment where goons would pretend to be buddy-buddy with you just to up their rank. It was better than pretending to care what that old fool had to say about your operating style and the fact you didn’t do anything “by the book”.

Your thumb stops drumming a while ago and your fists tighten around the wheel, knuckles turning red and white as you press your skin firmly into the rubber. The morning rays dissipated a while ago as well, the sun fully shining her light down on the city. The further you drive, the more recognizable the area becomes. Dreary, dark streets turn into buildings and stores with an even darker past. Your stomach churns with every old memory seeping back into your brain, only the faces of the agency members keep you going as you pull into an all too familiar lot.

Iwaizumi’s hands run through his dark hair, gripping the strands and pulling them as he looks at the disaster around him. Chairs broken into pieces, glass shards all across the floors, papers littering every nook and cranny of your apartment. Nothing was salvageable. Anything you had bought was destroyed either by your own hands or someone else's.

Oikawa dug through the cabinets and drawers to find anything that could be an affirmative that this was the Port Mafia’s doing, or at least give them an idea of who it could’ve been. The dumpster fire outside was obviously your doing, either of the boys recognized that in an instant considering it was all of your clothes and it was practically only embers by the time they had gotten there.

Hajime’s heart is pounding heavily in his chest. He was the one who protected the ones he cared about. That was his gift and his duty to you all, and he failed miserably at it since you’re gone and now everything is on fire (literally and figuratively).

“They left the stamp!” Tooru stumbles over bits and pieces of debris as he rushes to show Hajime the small insignia that was left on a scrap of paper. The Port Mafia always left them at raids so either rival gangs or the police knew exactly who beat them to it.

Iwaizumi snaps out of his little trance, the iron grip on his hair loosens enough for his hands to run down the back of his head to the base of his neck. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, but it narrowed down some of their options.

He grasps the small paper and double checks it to make sure every design detail was exactly the same, that this wasn’t a dupe or some imposters work. Tooru watches with careful eyes as Iwa mimics his exact same actions from just moments ago.

Kuroo walks up to the complex, hands in his pockets and head hung low. After being told off by Takeda, he was instructed to go help look for you. Since you’re all still on a case together, and “regardless of personal affairs”, you were all assigned to this case for a reason, or that’s what he said at least.

In his mind, Kuroo is in the right. He has every right to be angry with you. For three years you withheld that one of the greatest crime organizations was a past employer. I must be the biggest fucking joke.

He knows deep down that this is all just pain coming out as anger. He just lost one of his best friends, one of the few people in his life that he genuinely cares about enough to hang out with on his days off - and one of the only people he’s been interested in years.

Everytime he thinks about your laugh, or your little smile when you finish a stack of paperwork, his heart hurts a little more. The tightness in his chest is something he only experienced when his parents divorced when he was eleven, but it wasn’t even bad compared to now.

How could he not be angry?

Once his feet hit the asphalt of the parking lot, he finally glances up and realizes the chaos around him. The pile of garbage in the bin was merely smoldering at this point. He looks to the apartment and notices the two figures standing in the living room, which he can see through the window. Both seem to be inspecting something in the palm of Iwaizumi’s hand, unaware that Kuroo is standing in the parking lot.

“Guys…?” Kuroo’s voice is soft as he passes through the threshold into your apartment. “What the fuck is going on?” Iwaizumi and Oikawa turn to face him immediately, not expecting anyone else to be here and they certainly were not expecting it to be Kuroo.

“Y/N’s gone.” Tooru speaks clearly as he glares daggers at the man who dared to speak against you only thirty minutes ago. Iwa crumples the stamped paper in his hand and clenches his jaw.

“Yeah… I can see that.” Kuroo’s eyes shift between all corners of the room, processing every bit of information his eyes came across.

Hajime nudges Tooru with his hand (rather harshly but the anger wasn’t directed at him) and he walks out of the apartment, shoulder checking Kuroo as they pass by. There was nothing more for them there, and now Tooru and himself are going to have to think of a way to find you.

Kuroo remains in his spot as a weight starts to bear down on his body. The couch he crashed on when he was too drunk, the table you guys mulled over paperwork together - the apartment he had made so many memories in was completely destroyed.

He couldn’t help but start to think that this might just be his fault. He left you last night in the exact spot he’s standing in right now. Yes, he was upset. What you two had built was entirely based off of trust, and Kuroo hasn’t trusted someone that much in a very long time (Kenma can attest to that).

You deemed that information as potentially harmful to him, and he told you that you had no right. What kind of idiot am I? As he looks around the space, he realizes now just how dangerous this all really is.

Iwaizumi stomps his way back onto the main roads and keeps a hand clutched around the stamped paper. “Who the hell does he think he is?” The question wasn’t directed at anyone, but Tooru knows this is how he expresses his anger without going to the gym.

“Takeda probably sent him since everyone at the agency still doesn't know what’s going on.” Tooru pulls on his jacket and follows Iwa down the sidewalk.

“Better off just leaving us the hell alone. Ukai and Takeda aren’t stupid and they both know something has always been up with Y/N. As soon as we came into the picture I’m pretty sure they picked up on us being involved with her too. Kuroo shouldn’t be sticking his nose in this,” Iwa huffs, but Oikawa makes the motion to start talking before he is swiftly cut off. “And I don’t give a shit what Y/N told him. The only reason she did so was because she had too after last night. There was no way for her to cover up that encounter with Tendou and you know it.”

“Do you think she would’ve kept it from them forever though?”

“I don’t know. She’s never really told us why she left in the first place, but Y/N was with the Port Mafia for years. Most of her teenage and early adult life was spent with them before she just up and left.” Iwaizumi shoves the paper into his pocket as he talks, also placing his jacket over his shoulders. He guides the pair back to the subway station.

“Guys!” The two stop walking for a moment, each processing whose voice was calling out but once it registers that it’s only Kuroo, they continue down the steps into the station. “Wait up!”

Their pace picks up as they pull out their passes to scan and get through the bars as quickly as possible. Too bad Kuroo’s legs are long and he catches up to them in the nick of time. Just as Tooru swipes his card, Kuroo is hot on his heels as he fumbles around to find his own train pass. “Wait- please.”

Tooru can tell that he’s desperate, but when Iwa glances over his shoulder to check on the situation Tooru can see the anger starting to bubble up again. His own stomach churns at the thought that Kuroo can just switch on a dime if need be. That even though you explained everything to him, it still took seeing all of the damage for him to realize what kind of scenario this really is.

“Please Oikawa,” Kuroo grabs his shoulder once he makes it past the turnstiles. “Let me help you guys find Y/N.”

“And why the hell would we want your help?” Ignoring that he called for Oikawa, Hajime fully turns around and marches over to Kuroo. Although he is shorter than both of them, Hajime has this air about him that says I will kill you here and now depending on how you answer.

Kuroo’s chest pounds against itself. He snapped out of his own thoughts pretty quickly back at the apartment and realized that you could actually be hurt. This wasn’t just something nonchalant, there was a reason you kept this from him.

After coming to, he figured the only thing he can do in this situation is to find you. Iwaizumi and Oikawa were involved in this somehow. There was a reason they weren’t at your apartment last night having that same discussion. “I know you two are the only ones who are gonna be able to find her-” he pauses to take a few deep breaths “-and I owe her an apology.”

“No shit you owe her an apology after all of the fucking chaos you caused back at the office. You’re lucky I didn’t deck you in your fucking chair.” Iwaizumi steps closer to Kuroo, almost chest to chest, and stares right into his irises.

Oikawa grabs at Iwa’s bicep and tugs him back. “Let’s just go Hajime.” Iwa snarls and stomps away.

“Please…” Kuroo can’t mess this up, he knows that. This is the only shot he has at finding you is by getting in with these two. “I know I screwed up.”

Oikawa slows his pace, listening to the pleas of someone he once considered more than an acquaintance. His mind is telling him to follow Hajime and find you as quickly as possibly, but he also knows in his heart that Kuroo meant well. You trusted him enough to explain everything to him.

“I don’t know if Y/N’s dead.” Kuroo’s voice cracks as he thinks out loud of what might be. “I- I know I messed up really bad but I need to know if she’s okay.”

“Look,” Oikawa stops fully and turns his head to speak, “most likely she’s not dead since there weren’t any signs of struggle at the apartment. Her car was gone and her personal belongings were either missing or charred in the trash can in the parking lot. The mafia just destroyed her house, but my bet is that she’s still alive.”

Iwaizumi had stopped walking as well, listening to Kuroo’s plight. Although he was full of anger, he heard the crack in his voice. He hears his pleas and Hajime is torn on what is the right decision.

The three are silent as civilians walk past them, hurrying from one train to the next. Hajime takes a deep breath and rubs his eyebrows with the index and thumb of his right hand. “You have a lot of shit to make up for and explain after this morning, especially if you’re gonna help find her.”

Oikawa and Kuroo look at him in shock. “So I can come-”

“We’re still working on a case together and Y/N is a part of this.” Iwa cuts him off with both his words and a glare. “Nothing more. Once we know she’s alive we’re done. We’ll do what we have too, but you don’t get to go any further than that. Y/N wanted to protect you and everyone at the agency, so the least you can do is stay out of all of this. For her sake.”

Wordlessly, Kuroo nods and the pair in front of him start to walk further down the pathways, hopping onto a train and heading into the city. Hajime’s expression is stern, Tooru has an air of uncertainty about him and Kuroo clenches his fists around nothing, wondering where you could be and what’s going to happen now.

“Where are we going?” Kuroo asks once they all press themselves amongst the crowd of people.

“Back to the agency. We left some of our gear there and then we’ll have to stop by Iwaizumi’s house to get some more.” Oikawa looks around the train cautiously.

Kuroo opens to speak again, but then closes his mouth. That just means I’ll have to explain what’s going on to everyone else.

“Everyone there has had their suspicions about Y/N and the both of us, so it really doesn’t matter if you tell them we’re ex-members as well.” Hajime outright confirms the next thing on Kuroo’s mind. He had the intention of asking, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up in conversation. “I’m getting in and getting out as quickly as I possibly can. I don’t owe these people any explanations as to why I’m choosing to find Y/N, or why this matters to me.”

Respectable is the only word that comes to mind when Kuroo thinks of Iwaizumi. He’s a gentleman, chivalrous and makes good on his word. Although he has a mild temper at times, Kuroo has never known him to say something he does not mean.

“Y/N may have been our boss, but she cared for us more than anyone in that damned organization ever would’ve if we stayed. We owe her a lot, and finding her and helping her can only pay a small portion of that back.” Oikawa pipes up, sprinkling more bits and pieces of information for Kuroo to pick up on. “She’s like a sister to me and it would kill me to know that she might be out there, struggling when I could’ve helped. The same goes for Iwa-chan.”

The rest of the train ride is silent between the three. Kuroo tries his best to wrap his head around everything that has happened in less than twelve hours. Not only was it revealed to him that you were an ex-mafia member, but two of his other co-workers were as well, and you used to be an executive. You ran a portion of the city for years, Iwaizumi and Oikawa working under you until you left for unknown reasons and joined the Armed Detective Agency sometime later.

You were one of the most powerful people in Yokohama, but why did you leave it all? What drove you out? Oikawa didn’t really give a reason as to why they left, but it was related to you in some way.

Walking in the agency doors with a new perspective gave Kuroo an icky feeling. Everyone in the office turns to see who it is, and their eyes go wide when the three figures walk through the door. Oikawa and Iwaizumi beeline it over to their desks and start to rummage through the drawers and shoving things in their pockets. Kuroo stands awkwardly by the door before walking slowly over to his belongings and picking up what he thinks he’ll need.

Bokuto and Akaashi watch him carefully, waiting for an opportunity to ask what was happening. It was Ukai, who walked into the main office right after the front door slammed shut, that broke the deafening silence.

“My office. Now.” The three halt their movements for a moment, knowing the order was directed towards them but each unwilling to actually make their way over. Surprisingly Oikawa moves first, eyes watching the ground as he moves to follow the blonde. Iwaizumi and Kuroo follow shortly after, the other detectives shifting slightly in their seats to try and get a better position to listen in.

Ukai’s private office space only had two guest chairs, so Kuroo was forced to lean against the back wall as they held conversation.

“I’m assuming that under all the circumstances brought up today, Y/N wasn’t at her house and now you’re all back to try and find her.” Ukai’s eyes shift around the room, glaring at each of them individually but lingering on Kuroo’s a split second longer than the others.

“That would be correct.” Tooru confirms. He never feared vocal confrontation since he usually charmed his way out of things, but this was a situation he knew that required a certain level of honesty.

“So she’s not dead, just missing, and your plan is to find her and then what?” The butt of his cigarette package is beaten at the base of his palm before he opens the backing and pulls one out. He lets the question linger in the air for a moment before placing the filter to his lips. A small black lighter that’s usually kept in the desk drawer is rummaged out before flickering to life. Ukai takes a long drag in, and slowly exhales the thick smoke into the cramped room.

A noxious smell enters the senses of every other man in the room, each scowling when they realize that the air conditioner isn’t running and the windows are shut. Ukai’s set on getting his answers, one way or another.

With a light cough, the charmer opens his mouth once more. “Y/N must have a plan if she decided to burn everything and run. Once we find her, Iwaizumi and myself plan on helping her in whatever she decides. Kuroo will be returning to the agency. Depending on what happens with Y/N we may or may not be coming back.”

The end of the cigarette burns bright when Ukai inhales. He’s attentive to every word and weighs the possibilities in his mind, although he knows that two of them have every intention to find you regardless if Ukai wants them too.

“Is her apartment gone?”

“No, just trashed from the Port Mafia.” Oikawa speaks again, knowing that Kuroo is in no position to speak and Iwaizumi would rather be out looking for you.

“You said she burned everything, is that correct?”

“Yes. She burnt her personal belongings and took her car. There was nothing left in her house at the time of arrival but the furniture was smashed to pieces.” Tooru’s mouth dries as he speaks, taking a breath to swallow his spit and think of his next words. “We think that she left her apartment right after she explained everything to Kuroo and the mafia found her address a few hours later.”

Using his better judgement, he thought it would be better to be upfront about everything than only tell Ukai bits. After working with him for so long, Oikawa knows that Ukai isn’t a fool.

A beat of silence passes over them. Ukai takes into consideration all of his options, or what he can control. Kuroo looks down at his hands and remains passive; Iwaizumi doing the same but shaking his leg, hoping that the time would pass quicker so they can get out there and start searching.

“Do you think you can actually find her?” The cigarette is only a butt now, the ashes have been tapped into a tray sitting on the edge of Ukai’s desk, who stares into the stern irises of Iwaizumi. He matches the intensity and responds without hesitation.

“Yes. It might take a couple of nights, but I doubt she left the city.”

Ukai runs his tongue across his upper teeth, lips shut as he looks at this rag-tag team sitting before him. Three men who want to find you desperately, two with the same intent and the third still a mystery to him considering the events from just an hour ago. “I want reports on everything once you get back.” Kuroo’s head snaps up only to find the Ukai is looking between them as he smothers the cig in it’s ashtray. “Go find her.”

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hoodie-2 · 3 years

Text

Hours had passed since the "math duel" and the sun had began its descent, setting the town ablaze with a warm orange glow. Krel had spent a portion of the evening exploring, or rather wandering, throughout more of the town, observing it's people. Many of the humans were out in pairs at this hour, some of the pairs had included smaller versions of themselves in whatever activities they were partaking in. He had spied a young pair of, well, human girls at the park, almost identical except in the tones of their skin and the color of their hair, and a pair of adults he assumed were their parents seated on a bench not far away, sitting at polar ends from each other on the bench conversing on their communication devices, otherwise leaving the two children on their own.

The girls themselves didn't appear perturbed or at all bothered by their parents behavior, more entertained by the images on the platform they made with the unusual writing untensils in their tiny hands. Well, all Earthly untensils were unusual in Krel's perspective; pencils, pens, markers, but ones that the two girls used were different even from those. These were maybe the length of an unused pencil but far thicker than a marker and... powdery? His head tipped as he watched one blow away part of her line, the colorful powder pushed into the air in one big gust, as she redrew the line. Her fairer toned sibling patted a hand on her clothes, a blue colored handprint left behind on the green fabric. Both girls took notice of the mark and giggled, the first girl Krel was watching pressed a hand to her own clothes and left a pink handprint similar to the other's blue. The action brought a smile to his face, it has been a while since that happened.

He eyed the girls' parents again. Would it be rude if he just started talking to the children? Their parents didn't seem to be very attentive at the moment. Doesn't that sound familiar? But he was curious about their weird, colorful writing tools. Hm, maybe if he just kept a decent distance as he spoke to them. He didn't want to come off as strange.

"Excuse me," he approached the girls, kneeling to their height at what he believed was a respectable distance. Both girls looked at him, shifting as if they were preparing to run at the first opportunity, Krel wasn't exactly surprised by the reaction seeing as a lot of the commercials on the picture box involved something called 'stranger danger' and he was, afterall, a stranger to them. But he pointed at their drawings, from a closer examination the colorful etchings turned out to be crude imitations of other Earth creatures, a lot of them with long ears and roundish tails and a few like clouds with legs. "What is that you are writing with?"

The wariness in their eyes wavered as they looked down at the drawings around them and then at the untensils in their hands.

"You mean chalk?" The yellow-haired one asked, pointing her free hand to the blue powdery stick she held.

"Chalk," Krel echoed thoughtfully. "And you, ah, draw with it?"

"Yea, dummy," her sister answered. "Haven't you used chalk before?" They gave him identical looks of confusion only someone their age could.

"No, actually, I haven't." Krel answered back quietly. "We don't have anything like 'chalk' where I am from." He looked down at their drawings again, noticing colors other than pink and blue, there was a yellow circle he figured was the sun judging by the green landscape below it and many other colorful dots he supposed were plants. His head tilted so the image wasn't completely upside down in his perspective. "You have some very pretty drawings."

"Do you want to try?" The yellow-haired girl asked, holding out her chalk stick to him.

He eyed the shrunken piece of blue in her open palm. "A- are you sure?"

"Sure!" The girl chirped, a smile spreading over her features, a matching one on her sister's as well. "We do this all the time, its fun."

Krel took the chalk from her, rolling it and turning it in his hand, blue powder stuck to his palm wherever it touched. He looked up to see the girl reach behind her sister and pull out another stick of chalk, purple this time. They went back to scribbling on the bricks around them. He watched as their creativity grew and spread, narrowly crossing over each other's work and somehow still blending together.

Looking down at the emptiness around him where their chalk hadn't yet touched. What would he draw, he wondered. Things considered artistic escaped him, even on his planet; he couldn't understand poetry, the closest he gets to crafting is inventing gadgets, even basic drawing on a telepad wasn't something he had much skill in. What could he draw? Well, shapes are pretty simple.

He started with a triangle, Earth's history was full of them according to Kubritz and her research teams. Ancient tombs and monuments to societies that have long since passed, the triangle was acknowledged as the strongest structure, those words rang true clearly. A square, the basic form of most present day structures; there wasn't anything too spectacular about it, a little more space than a triangle, sure but meh. Then a circle, a shape Krel was most familiar with, there wasn't a screen or viewing monitor in Akiridion-5 that did not have circles, and even then there were links that connected them to more circles. On Earth, circles meant unity to some and a means of 'alien' communication to others - Kubritz.

"Can't you draw?" The brown-haired girl asked as she crawled over to look at his work.

"I am not very talented." Krel admitted. "But drawing with chalk is fun."

"Try drawing your family." Her sister suggested as she joined them. "That helps me sometimes."

Krel hummed at that logic. It was sound enough, even if he was currently at odds with his family and it was an extremely delicate situation. But they are human children, it was probably best to go along with it.

He started with Aja, forcing himself to recall her human form; it wasn't perfect, especially since he was limited to one color but he knew. Next his mother, whose disguise he's only seen a handful of times so this may be a little more difficult. That was nothing to drawing his father. How does one draw face fur?

The girls giggled at the etching.

"That one looks like a monkey." The yellow-haired one pointed to his etching. His gaze roamed over the attempted drawing and felt laughter bubbling in his chest.

"It seems you are right." Oh, how was Krel going to look at his father's face without laughing now?

He looked around them, seeing that the sky was gradually getting darker, getting closer to the time that younglings would be taken back to their homes. The girls' parents were still occupied with their own priorities, poor girls.

"I suppose I should go," he sighed, giving back the chalk he was given, "you will be going home soon." Krel did not expect such saddened expressions at his words.

"Do you have to?" The brown-haired girl asked, watching him stand up.

"I'm afraid so." He dusted the blue powder on to his jeans. "But I'm sure we will see each other again."

"Really?" The yellow-haired girl asked excitedly.

"Of course," Krel chuckled. "I wander around when I have free time." He watched as they shared a look, tipping his head as they stood as well, the yellow-haired one picking up the blue chalk and holding it out to him again.

"My name's Abby," she said, bouncing a little on her heels as she shook the chalk at him.

"And I'm Gabby." Her sister added proudly. "You can have the blue one, then we can draw again next time. Right?"

A smile pulled at his lips again. It would be a shame to see their faces fall again in sadness. He took the chalk from Abby. "That sounds fun. My name is Krel, it was nice to meet you both."

They waved at him as he walked away, pocketing the chalk he was gifted. Maybe he can find out where they get it next time so he can obtain more himself. He admired the blue powder that tainted his palm, opening and closing his hand, it was somehow amusing how the color clung to his flesh. It was almost as if his real body was peering through, if only.

After a bit of wandering, the sky growing darker, and some of the street lights were blinking to life Krel found himself at a back alley behind some stores that surrounded the park, if his memory of the town map was correct. It was empty of any lifeform that was human as he stepped in, looking around at his surroundings carefully; four-legged creatures that he was told were cats saw his approach and ran off into hiding; even smaller creatures scurried away behind them, leaving Krel alone with the garbage bins of two different sizes, the walls of the buildings were clean aside from the occasional stain near the bins or moss that grew more toward the ground.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to do so but he pulled the piece of chalk from his pocket and wrote the equation from the math duel, following it with his correct work and answer. Satisfaction washed over him as he wrote his answer, the right answer, his original answer. He was still a bit stuck on his why's during the duel, he knew he did a good thing for Seamus so what did it matter anymore. Why did Seamus stare at him when it was over?

Krel's hand moved to write another equation, it was more complex but watching the letters and numbers come into being it made sense to him, it always made sense to him, similar to cataloging past events and his planning for the future. It was comforting as he continued the equation, spreading it further along the wall, blue clear against the red brick but still convoluted. Had he been less taken in with his work he probably would have felt more guilty about how much of the chalk he was using up. He didn't notice the approaching person behind him until they addressed him.

"Kubritz?"

Krel whipped around, instinctively taking up a defensive battle stance startling the newcomer. That was... Seamus? And was holding an item in each hand, they didnt seem to be weapons though so he could relax somewhat. Not completely though, he has noticed around the education prison that some human males in their age group tended to be, well, boorish and found amusement in harassing other males they perceived as weak, and Krel's human form unfortunately suited that perception. Primitive. He'll be sure to correct that.

"Uh... hey," Seamus waved one of the things he held, the action stiff. His eyes flicked beyond Krel, looking over the equations behind him. "What're you working on?" His gaze followed the equation to the start, lingering on the work shown. "Looks complicated."

"You have no idea." Krel wasn't trusting this interaction, not that there was any reason to.

"Hey- Look, you can relax, uh, whatever move that is," Seamus gestured to Krel's posture with whatever it was he held. "What is that anyway? Judo? Jujitsu?"

Krel eased his stance but kept a leery eye still on the human. "Nothing you have ever seen, I assure you." He answered in little more than a monotone.

"Ookay...?" The human coughed, taking a few meeger steps toward him with a hand extended outward. "You want a burrito? I dunno if you've eaten yet or anything but it's an idea right?" He gave a pitiful laugh as he stopped only a few feet away, the thing in his hand slumping over his fingers like it was trying to slip out of his grip.

As a being of energy, Krel had no need to consume organic materials, but he has been curious. On another hand Earth has a history in poisoning consumables for enemies, again not that it should affect him, maybe.

A sigh escaped Seamus, seeming to notice Krel's reluctance. "I just want to apologize for my behavior." He said, "You didn't deserve it. You earned the grade fair and square."

"I suppose I should say that I'm relieved you've gained some sense." Krel retorted, not completely convinced.

"Okay... I earned that." Krel saw Seamus' grip tighten around the 'burrito', his restraint was admirable. "But you didn't have to let me win, so why did you?"

Krel finally took the burrito, examining it for a moment before tearing the aluminum wrapping like he's seen other humans do and bite into it. The texture was strange, soft, soggy; the taste was savory, it was weird feeling the crunch of vegetables but overall it wasn't bad but he didn't have much in expectations, so, another point for Earth.

"Wanna sit?" Seamus gestured to the the sidewalk. Krel didn't object, taking another bite of his burrito and joining him on the cold cement just a yard or so from a flickering lamppost.

"I had nothing to gain," he answered finally, getting a startled look, "from winning the math duel. Nothing to lose either, unlike you."

The human's head ducked almost sheepishly. He must have recalled how loud his father was in bellowing their agreement. If it could have been called that.

"Again, I'm sorry," he declared. "My dad just has high expectations. Very high."

"Understandable."

"Is it really?"

Krel frowned at him. "Just because my parents are not present does not mean I don't have my own problems with them."

Seamus' face turned even more guilt ridden. "R-right, sorry," he stammered, a red hue spreading over his features. He was quiet for a moment, taking large distracting bites of his own burrito. The silence allowed Krel a moment to gather his thoughts about the present situation, and possibly plan for what could happen next. Maybe he could somehow make Seamus an ally, like Aja had with the majority of their peers, to keep his disguise here. It certainly would make things easier than researching every tidbit about this mudball to blend in while Morando outsources the search for Gaylen's core. The question was how to do so.

"You," Seamus spoke up again, breaking the silence between them, "you came from a warring country, right, like Aja Tarron and her family?"

The words brought a bitter curl to his lips. Her family, may as well be, ironic, consider she used to run away from her family at every opportunity.

"Yes," Krel answered softly. "Maybe even the same country, if luck would have it." Some luck that would be.

"What happened? I-if you don't mind me asking."

The expression on Seamus' face was different from before; softer, solemn, perhaps even sympathetic. It's been a clear background to his class that Krel escaped from a war torn country with no family besides Morando who was discharged due to injury during the fight. Could this be the opportunity he needed to make Seamus his ally? To make a 'friend'? In one quote Krel had heard, he now understood. When opportunity knocks, it would be wise to open the door.

"I-it all happened so fast," Krel began, quickly coming up with details to twist the story from the traumatic reality. "It happened on the coronation day for the royal heirs; my parents both had high political and military positions so my sister and I were allowed good seats to see the crowning," he kept his voice low, allowing some of the emotion he kept at bay to fill his words, "everyone was excited, we all had high hopes. The princess hadn't made her appearance yet when the attack happened." Krel swallowed thickly as the real memory came to mind. The running, his parents ordering him and Zadra to find Aja, falling behind, and being left behind. "It was chaos; people were running everywhere, trying to find each other and to find shelter, soldiers and their weapons, the cannon fire..." his eyes were leaking again, it was too much already with so little spoken. What was wrong with him? "I- I was too slow, my... my parents- my sister, gah, what is wrong with me?" He took the fabric of his shirt, quickly trying to wipe away the streaming liquid, his chest felt heavy, his core ached. Krel hadn't felt like this since he first found Aja and their parents on Earth. His head hurt.

A hand touched his shoulder making him freeze up. "It's okay." Seamus' voice was calm, relaxing even. "You've been through a lot, huh?"

Krel sniffed, trying to regain some composure before answering. "You have no idea."

#tales of arcadia #3below #krel tarron #aja tarron #general morando #morandos prodigy au #king failkov #queen coranda #seamus johnson #trollhunters #space camp #this is getting so long so imma make a part 3

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danielleslegacy · 4 years

Text

Mints || Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: yes / no

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Summary: Y/n and the team are taking a case where woman have been dying having eaten poisoned mints.

Word Count: 2,514

Warnings: Needles, Vomit, hospitals, death, extreme angst.

Pairing: Reader insert x Spencer Reid

All writing is my own, so please don’t steal this. Also, I would appreciate any feedback/comments/requests! xx

*GIF IS NOT MINE SO CREDIT GOES TO THE OWNER*

This case was a particularly hard one, the unsub had killed 3 women in 3 days, but we couldn’t figure out the cause. Spencer had figured out some kind of geographical profile, but without more information about the victims, there was nothing we could do. The women were all connected by coming in to the police station to report a petty crime a day before their death. The team theorized that the petty crimes were committed by the unsub, but other than that we couldn’t figure it out. The women were different ethnicities, age ranges and socioeconomic status’.

“You okay?” A voice calls, breaking me out of my thoughts as the team begins to discuss the profile for the latest serial killer. I turn my head and my eyes lock onto Spencer’s concerned face, we had been dating for a little over five months. I nod my head and turn back to the group, not really paying attention to the information that is being discussed. My feet begin to feel tingly beneath me, but I brush it off and just start to move my feet a little, trying to get the feeling back in them. But when that doesn’t work, I notice my head has started to spin too. My vision gets slightly blurry and I slowly bob down so that I’m closer to the ground, just in case I pass out.

“Y/n?” Director Hotchner calls out, “Do you need a moment?”

A hand rests on my shoulder as I shake my head, leaning my forehead down to the floor. “No it’s fine, keep going.”

The meeting continues, my forehead pressed to the floor and the hand that, I’m assuming belongs to Spencer, rubs small circles across my back in a reassuring way. Once the spinning slows down and I can feel my feet again I lift my head back up and try to pay attention to the conversation that is being had.

“So, what? It’s a poison that is killing these women?” Morgan’s voice says next, my brows furrow in an attempt to concentrate on his words.

“Poison?” I ask, everyone's eyes cast down to where I am sitting on the ground. “Where is the poison coming from?” My eyes snap up to meet Spencer’s searching for the answer.

“The M.E thinks that it was in some kind of mint, which is an odd choice,” Emily says, flipping through the reports in front of her. “You don’t look so good Y/n, you sure you’re okay?”

My face pales in realization, the mint I swallowed earlier begs to make a reappearance. The panic must be evident on my face, “You need to take me to the hospital right now.” Everyone gives me an odd look, and Spencer’s movements cease. “I had one of the mints from the front desk. The other women must have too. They were all the day before they died. I need to get to the hospital.”

The team springs into action, Hotch on the phone requesting an ambulance to pick me up. Spencer’s arm looping around my waist to try to pull me up off the ground, Derek jumping to the other side. I attempt to stand up on my feet but I can’t feel them again and my head goes more fuzzy than it had before, so I have to heavily lean on the men to even raise myself up.

“Ambulance will be here in two minutes, let’s get her outside,” Hotch announces, and everyone begins to take me outside, discussing my dizziness and the way I had been acting.

But I can hardly hear them trying to keep consciousness, I begin talking, “I took a mint from the front desk at approximately nine-thirty last night before I went back to the hotel, so if the other woman died within 24 hours, we have a few hours. It was a little red and white candy and it did taste a little funny.”

“Funny how?” Spencer asks, he knew that I was trying to give a statement while I was still conscious.

“Soapy,” I slightly slur, “ I was going to spit it out but I couldn’t find a garbage bin.”

“Who was at the desk?”

“A white man, around 35, He greeted me and offered me the mint,” I let out a gasp, “Spence he’s the unsub you have to g-.” But I can’t finish my sentence as the entirety of my stomach begins to empty, a trash can is thrust underneath me. Once I am finished the paramedic’s are in front of us with a stretcher, I’m pulled out of the boys arms and layed down.

“Spence,” I call out, tears spring to my eyes as panic reaches up my throat for the first time since we discovered I had been poisoned. My hand reaching up towards the sky hoping he would hear me, when his hand grips mine, and his hard rakes my hair out of my face I feel myself relax. “I’m really scared.”

He nods his head, concern laced in his features, “I know baby, but it’s going to be okay.”

Needles are stuck into my arm and people begin to rush around me, trying to get my vitals. “You have to catch him Spence.”

“Garcia is already looking through the surveillance cameras to try to find out who we’re looking for. You don’t even need to worry, just hold on Y/n,” He presses his lips to my forehead just as my stretcher is lifted into the ambulance. Our hands disconnect and the paramedics talk around me.

“Sir, are you coming with us?” One of them asks, to whom I assume is Spencer.

“Hotch?”

“We’ve got it here, keep her safe,” Hotch replies to him encouraging him to get into the ambulance with me, and I assume he does, but I couldn’t tell you. The panic in my chest and all of the voices and the spinning of my head and the numbness of my body make it hard to tell what is happening to me. People keep saying things like ‘focus on my voice’ or ‘breathe for me’ and all i can do is lie limp on the stretcher, paralysed. My eyes flick around rapidly but I can’t find Spencer at all and a part of me fears he didn’t come. I close my eyes and try to feel each part of my body, and I notice a heaviness in my left hand and I know that he's with me. With that knowledge I let darkness overcome me and I slip away, the last thing I hear is monitors blipping all around me, indicating my heart rate has slowed dramatically.

The smiling face of Spencer fades in from the darkness, and he lets out a laugh of pure joy. A smile comes to my face as I extend my hand out to meet his cheek.

“Hi Spence,” I say softly, “Where are we?” My eyes glance around the pitch blackness.

He says nothing in response and just gestures up towards where a screen is now suddenly playing the view of an operating room. People run around working quickly, trying to keep the person on the table alive. Words I don't fully understand are thrown around and tools that send shivers down my spine are thrusted into the person's body, trying to get the heart to restart. Someone in the room runs past the front of the table knocking the drape off of the person's face. It's me.

Panic claws its way at my chest and machines begin beeping crazily from the screen. Tears meet my eyes.

“What is happening Spence?” I ask turning back to where he had previously been standing only to be met with nothing. My breathing starts to deepen and my head starts spinning. My knees collapse from beneath me and I slam my fists into the ground, wanting nothing more than to be back into the real world, holding Spencer’s hand. Catching the guy that poisoned me.

It’s almost as if the ground swallows me up and spits me back out as I open my eyes again and find myself in a hospital room. The first sensation that comes to me is that my mouth is dry, like very dry. The next thing I notice is that I am freezing everywhere except my left hand. I cast my eyes down and I am met with my boyfriend's fluffy brown locks, his head rested on the edge of my hospital bed, his hand linked with mine.

I attempt to squeeze his hand to get his attention and before I can even think about what to say to him his head has snapped up, eyes locking with mine. A wide grin spread across his face and he leans up to press a soft kiss to my forehead.

“I missed you so much,” is all he says, before he presses the button to alert the nurse that you were awake. “Water?”

I nod my head gently, taking a sip of the cup that he had raised up for me. “Did you catch him yet?”

Spencer’s face changes then, his face conveys that this news is going to be hard to handle. “Louis Thompson, aged thirty seven, widow and a chemist. He laced the mints with some drug Aconite, a drug that paralyses the nerves, and muscles. He was found in the precinct bathroom after ingesting an unknown amount of the mints, dead on the scene.” I nod my head trying to make sense of the situation.

“How long has it been?”

“Your heart stopped on the way to the hospital, twice however paramedics were able to resuscitate you,” He says, eyes locked with yours, the only emotion that can be found is fear, however, i can tell that he's trying to only use facts when explaining this all to me to avoid letting his own tears fall, “Once in the emergency room your liver began to fail, however, the doctors on your case were quick to figure out the drug used, and they were able to appropriately assess the situation. Your heart stopped once again in the trauma room and they were once again able to restart it. They injected you with atropine and you stabilized quickly after that. That took a total of three hours and twenty-one minutes. That was almost seven hours ago.”

“Thank you,” I say, my hand gripping him even tighter.

“I was so scared Y/n, I couldn’t help you,” He says, eyes shining with tears. A nurse comes in, forcing Spencer and me to break apart while she assesses me and makes sure everything is okay.

“I’m going to call the team and let them know you’re awake, they are downstairs,” He says, a faint smile on his face as he exits the room, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

The nurse leaves soon after determining that I’m doing perfectly fine, telling me to take it easy and to press the button if I have any discomfort, and not even seconds later the rest of my team is parading in through the door, smiles on their faces, albeit a few tear stains.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” I say letting out a laugh, my own subtle way of letting them know that I’m fine. My eyes rake across the group's faces, locking eyes with each of them, their faces practically unmoving as they study me. “Guys come on, I’m alright.”

Suddenly, as if they had been broken out of a trance they gather around the sides of my bed.

“Glad to see you’re okay Agent L/n,” Hotch says, with a nod and a small smile.

“I was so worried,” JJ says, placing a reassuring hand onto my shoulder.

I give her a watery smile, tears rising to my eyes and pat her hand, turning my face around the group, “I was too, but I’m fine now. I promise,” I begin to search for Spencer, wanting the comfort he gives me, “Where did Spence go?”

Panic builds in my throat, making talking impossible. The machine still hooked up to my chest starts to beep rapidly, making the whole room aware of the fear that is taking a hold of me.

“Hey no, it's okay, I'll go find him, he probably just went to go get a coffee,” Morgan says reassuringly, tapping my leg and walking out of the hospital room.

Once he has completely left the room. “I need you to tell me the truth, how did Spencer handle it? Should I be worried?”

“He wasn’t calm,” JJ begins, “But he let us do our job. He stayed out of the way and tried to keep his mind busy the best he could, in the only way he could, he worked the case from the waiting room. Y/n, he was angry and scared, but he was still Spencer, I don’t think you need to worry. He didn’t go off the rails, he was here, waiting for you.”

I nod my head, fresh tears falling slowly down my cheeks, in the corner of my eyes I notice the boys on their way back, I quickly wipe my tears away, not wanting Spencer to see me upset.

“There are the boys,” I say, stretching my hand out towards Spencer, and as our hands link I bring my eyes up to meet his and notice that they’re bloodshot and rimmed in red. He had been crying. My heart drops in my chest and I force a smile up at him. I can tell her notices my red eyes too by the way his soften and his other hand reaches up to brush down my cheek softly.

“We really should be leaving, we will see you both soon,” Hotch announces, encouraging the other to follow his lead, each saying a swift goodbye and good luck on their way out the door.

Once they’re all gone I let out a sigh and close my eyes, relaxing my body into the hospital bed.

“I missed you,” Spencer says softly, taking a seat in the chair next to mine.

“Please kiss me Spence, “ I practically beg him, allowing my eyes to water. He leans over quickly pressing his lips to mine softly. His own tears mixing with mine along our cheeks. The kiss doesn’t progress any further, just remaining innocent, letting us be together.

He pulls away, wiping his thumbs underneath my eyes, ridding my face of tears, before doing the same to his own.

“I promise you Spence, I’m okay,” I smile, “When can I go home?”

“They want to observe you for a few more hours and then I can take you home,” He says, a faint smile on his lips, “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

I feel my head nod as the painkillers that I’m assuming they gave me begin to kick in and the world begins to slip away.

“I love you,” Are the last words I hear just as sleep overcomes me.

#criminal #criminal minds #criminal minds reid #dr spencer reid #maddy rambles #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #what the fuck is happening with tumblr #spence #spencer reid fanfiction #fanfiction

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peterparkerincorrectquotes · 4 years

Note

every time peter stays over at the compound they make him take the trash out cause the avengers are pussies and peter has been in new york long enough to be unfazed by weird noises in the dark

• A gazillion years ago, I made a post somewhat similar to this, based off my dumb ass seeing my own reflection in a glass door and panicking. I thought a stranger had broken into my backyard—

• Yes, absolutely, when it’s dark and they need to go outside for ANY reason, they play “nose-goes” or rock-paper-scissors or anything to give them an excuse to push the responsibility onto someone else. A whole lot of, “I’m too young to die!” or “I’m too BEAUTIFUL to die!”

Pepper: ...Tony, the recycling bin is full again.

Tony, sweating: There’s a can just outside.

Pepper: Tony, I went to four different meetings today and now you’re going to make me take your garbage out for you??? Are you a literal child????

Tony: If I say yes will you take it out?

Pepper: I am your WIFE, not your maid—

Tony: You’re scared too, aren’t you?

Pepper, quickly: So scared.

• Peter comes in and both Pepper and Tony are sitting on the couch with the full recycling bin on the floor next to them. Silently. They look like they’re ignoring the recycling while simultaneously being so tense that its presence is impossible to miss.

Peter: ...Why are you guys just sitting there?

Tony: Full bin. Need to take outside. Outside dark.

Peter: Mr. Stark, are you... scared of the dark?

Tony, horrified: WHY? DO YOU THINK I SHOULD BE?

• Peter refuses to take it out for them because Tony has a whole WALL of highly advanced suits that could blow anything hiding in the dark to PIECES. He’s tempted to take the recycling out for Pepper, because women in cities alone?? AT NIGHT??? HE WOULD BE SCARED TOO, GODDAMN. While he sympathizes with Tony, he’s just so... underwhelmed? Disappointed? Baffled? He’s the embodiment of :/

“I get it, Mr. Stark. I really get it. I sympathize with you, but—with all due respect—you’re being a BABY.”

• Like, I’m sorry, HE FOUGHT THANOS??? HE WAS CRUSHED BY A LITERAL MOON, THEN GOT UP WITH A “dude... not cool, bro.” But then the trash needs to be taken out and he’s like, “but the raccoons... scary demons hiding in the trash can...”

• So, Peter sits next to them on the couch, as a sign of defiance against Tony’s babyness. Arms crossed, not speaking, and refusing to acknowledge the full recycling bin between his feet IN ANY WAY.

• Rhodey passes them at one point and comments on buying a new recycling bin that’s shaped like an elephant. So it can be the literal elephant in the room. But he leaves right after because he is NOT getting dragged into whatever they’re doing.

• Pepper leaves eventually, but Tony and Peter just sit there, silently, all night. It’s a game of recycling chicken.

• And they both lose because they fall asleep, then Steve comes in and politely takes it out for them.

Peter: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT I WAS PROVING A POINT?

Steve: I— huh??

Tony: Oh, come ON. STEVE beat me??? HE CARRIES A GLORIFIED DINNER PLATE INTO BATTLE AND SOMEHOW HE’S THE ONE WHO GETS TO BE BRAVER THAN ME?

Steve: I’m so confused.

Tony: You’re just the worst.

Steve: :(

Anyway, Steve is the loser because no one thanked him for taking out the recycling :( Where’s his allowance, guys? He did his chores!! RIP Steve; your recycling-emptying abilities will be dearly missed.

#marvel #mcu #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #spiderson #iron man #spider man #irondad and spiderson #pepper potts #rhodey #memes #ask 🐡#🐡 hc ask #anon

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gothamsforgottenchildren · 3 years

Text

The Forgotten Children Chapter 3

Zack

“Okay I get why you need to be here, but why did I have to come tonight?” Leigh Ann asks. She is tugging at the collar of her turtleneck like it is too tight or is uncomfortable. It’s a dark red sleeveless, turtleneck top, with built-in armor and has gold accents. It’s paired with a gladiator skirt, boots, and forearm guards. It’s a good thing we don’t have to worry about her getting cold.

I roll my eyes at the radiant girl. She’s been messing with her outfit since she put it on. That’s what she gets for wearing her new suit for the first time in the field.

“You’re here as backup so no one tries anything. Also, stop messing with that, you’re gonna stretch it out,” I say.

She groans, throwing her arm dramatically on the ground, “Do you honestly think anyone will show?”

I shrug, “It’s Gotham.”

She snorts, but nods. This causes her long brown hair to fall into her face. To anyone else, it would cause her features to be lost in a shadow, but for me, I can easily see the grin on her lips, and the fire in her dark brown eyes. Leigh Ann has always been easy to read if you can see her eyes. The light within them is currently dancing like flames in a bonfire, playful.

“Whatcha lookin at?” she asks me, pulling her hair up into a slick high ponytail.

“Just you,” I say. I know she won’t take it the wrong way. We’ve known each other too long for that to happen.

She shakes her head at me, “I love you but you’re a psychoanalyzing dork.”

She isn’t wrong, so I can’t really say anything. We sit in silence for a while, I’m just enjoying the warmth of her company. When I hear something from in the distance. It was footsteps, lots of them. “We’ve got company,” I warn her, standing up and moving into position.

I watch as she climbs off the roof of one of our warehouses by the sea pier in the Amusement Mile. She may not be as fluid as Kat, but she knows what she’s doing. By the time Penguin’s thugs show up, she’s waiting for them and I’m hidden in the shadows.

The Penguin not long ago was injured badly by the Red Hood, and ever since then, his gang has been wreaking havoc on everyone. They have no boss giving them orders, so they’ve turned into essentially a gang of anarchists. The main problem with that is they seem to think that we’re low enough on the totem pole to be a victim of their riots.

When they see Leigh Ann or as they know her, The Devil’s Flame, I see mixed reactions throughout the group. Some of them are scared, some notice that she’s by herself and gets excited, and some are angry. Ignatius Ogilvy steps to the front, he’s Penguin’s right hand within the gang.

He’s a white man with blonde hair. He’s dressed well for a guy who’s supposedly going to get his hands dirty. Honestly, I believe that he’s the boss who sits there and does nothing while his underlings do all the work. It’s going to get him killed one of these days.

I cock my head to focus my hearing on his heartbeat. It’s elevated. I can smell the fear rolling off of him. He’s nervous around Leigh Ann. Good, he should be.

She stands her ground. Her body is open and in a relaxed stance, but one she could quickly fight in. To be fair though, she doesn’t really have to move much to hurt people.

“This warehouse is under the protection of the Second Borns, you need to leave,” Leigh Ann says. She is looking Ignatius dead in the eye, waiting for his move.

I hear his heart rate spike as he debates what he is going to do. He lifts both hands in the air in the classic “I surrender” pose, but then he tilts his head, dropping his hands and shrugs. “It’s dangerous for a beautiful lady like yourself to be all alone in Gotham at night,” he says.

“I can handle myself just fine,” she says.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, before pointing a finger at her, yelling, “Get her!” Then I watch as all of his men storm at Leigh Ann or should I call her the Devil’s Flame because that’s who she truly is in moments like this. She is no longer the girl I know with kind eyes that have a dancing flame, she is now a roaring forest fire that only wants to burn everything in its path. Her entire body becomes alight. Her onyx-colored eyes are engulfed in flames along with the rest of her body. She is the human embodiment of destruction and she does it all with a smile on her face. I have to look away because looking at her is like staring at the sun, which is too much for my sensitive eyes. I hear the screams though. I’m sent here to protect her, as backup, but I’m rarely needed.

I make myself busy by watching the skyline. The entire area around me is illuminated by her power. It makes it harder for me to hide, but it also makes it harder for others. I notice movement in a window a ways away from us, in a building that should be abandoned. There’s a sniper in that room taking aim at Leigh Ann. Or at least trying to. It’s hard to aim at something so bright, I bet they didn’t think it was going to be here in charge of watching the docs. It’s normally just me. We’re currently trying to claim them for ourselves.

I take off anyway though. With one leap from the ground, I unfurl my wings, pushing them down to gain height from the ground. Now even though I am flying I still try to stick to the shadows the best I can. If they try to shoot at Leigh Ann, they will most likely miss or the bullet will melt because of the heat. If they shoot at me, I can be shot out of the air, which sucks.

Flying is one of my favorite things, even if I don’t like how sore it leaves me after. I love the feeling of the wind flowing through my hair. I purposefully keep my brown hair longer than I should because it makes the sensation so much better.

I get to the spot where I can quickly fly across and take the person out. I fly across to the window, left to where they are. I move so quietly that they don’t notice me. I open the window and slip in. The room is empty and dark. I can see a door on the right wall, joining the two rooms. Once I finish picking the lock, I open the door to see an older man’s back facing me. He is a white man in his late forties. He isn’t anyone important, no one I need to think twice about before crossing, or killing. I walk across the room, silent. When I finally get to the other side, where I stand right behind him. I clear my throat. I wish I can see his face, but his back is to me. Before he can even turn around, I’m grabbing his head in my hands and snapping his neck.

I let his body drop to the ground, grabbing his gun and unloading it. Then I step over his body and climb out the window he had shot out of.

I take off again, this time flying towards Leigh Ann. I can tell that she’s finished most of them off, or at least scared them off. Leigh Ann typically tries to maim instead of kill. I swoop down to one of the men trying to escape, grab his head, and twist it while flying up. Once I’m twenty feet in the air I drop his body on a woman trying to run away as well. I look up in Leigh Ann’s direction, her bright flames are starting to dim, as she’s powering down.

I land next to her, just as the last few disappear into the shadows that are Gotham City. She is grinning when she turns to me. She’s upset about something though, judging by the dampened light in her eyes. It looks like a fire out in the rain; fighting to stay alight against the force of the cold attacking it.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her. It isn’t right for someone as radiant as her to be so dim.

Her grin slips for a second, “It’s nothing important, I’ll talk to you about it when we’re somewhere secure. We need to leave because this fire show is likely to attract unwanted attention,” she whispers. She knows I can always hear her.

With that, we start our walk home. I feel the ache in my shoulders and back start. I should take a long hot bath when I get home. I must be walking weirdly because Leigh Ann wraps her arm under the coat concealing my wings, applying warm heat, soothing my sore muscles. I wrap my arm over her shoulder, and she leans her head against my side as we walk.

“Does that help at all?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, trying not to shudder. Apparently, I don’t succeed, because she chuckles when I do. “We need to stop and let you change though, or at least throw on a coat. You’re too noticeable in that outfit,” I tell her.

“Okay Dad,” she says, pulling apart from me, and reaching into the garbage bin where we stored her clothes earlier and sliding on a pair of black pants, a red turtleneck, and a dark brown mini trench-coat.

We walk along in silence for a while, just trying to blend in. We have to make sure no one is following us back to our home. I decide that it was safe to start the descent home, when I hear a sound, my knees buckle and I fall, clutching my head. I vaguely catch Leigh Ann’s scared expression out of the corner of my eye before I blackout.

I wake up to warm hands and silence. I’m now in an alley with sound-canceling headphones on. My head is laying in Leigh Ann’s lap, her hands combing through my hair. I reach up towards the dial that controls how soundproof the headphones are, and turn them down slightly. I can still hear the noise, but it’s manageable now.

I look around, taking in my surroundings. There are brick walls on either side of me, Gotham’s starless night sky is overhead. It’s as dull and lifeless as always. There is too much pollution in Gotham to see stars. The weirdest part is the fire escapes. They are the kind installed in residential areas.

“In an alley. We’re just a couple blocks over from where we were,” Leigh Ann said.

I look at her in a panic. Why would she bring us to a random ally in Gotham if one of us is down?

“Don’t give me that look, we’re totally safe,” Leigh Ann said, rolling her eyes at my paranoia, “This area of Gotham is relatively safe. Plus, you’re super heavy.”

I pull myself out of her lap and lean against the brick wall, shuddering from the sudden lack of warmth. I lean my head back, looking up, trying to piece together what happened. I remember the sound. Knowing that the headphones are probably blocking out the noise, I turn the dial down. Then I hear it. It is a high-pitch ringing. It’s super familiar.

My eyes widen, “We have to go! The sound it’s someone’s emergency beacon.”

I watch Leigh Ann’s head whip towards me, causing her ponytail to hit her in the face. She ignores it. She whips her phone out of her pocket. I watch as she presses the first number on her emergency contact list. Riddle.

I know because my phone’s set up the same way. All our phones are programmed to have him listed as our first contact on our emergency contact list.

“Riddle? We have a problem,” Leigh Ann says into the phone, getting up to pace the ally.

I can’t hear his side of the conversation because of my headphones. I’d be willing to bet his response was a shortcut, “What?”.

“Someone’s emergency beacon has been activated,” says Leigh Ann. She stops pacing, tilting her head to the side, and furrowing her eyebrows in the way she does when she’s really trying to pay attention to what someone is saying. This is until her eyes widen, the flames in them sparking for a second. She pulls the phone from her face saying, “Of course you knew this already.” She then turns to me looking exasperated. “Who told you?” she asks, before exclaiming, “Robert!”

I roll my eyes at her. It’s not a hard puzzle to figure out. Robert very rarely leaves the house, and when he does, Riddle’s normally with him.

“Ask Riddle what he wants us to do,” I tell her.

I watch as she asks Riddle my question. She makes that face again, before pulling her phone away and quickly shoving it in her coat pocket. “He wants you to find whoever's triggered the alarm. Once you do make sure it’s safe to enter before you engage. He explicitly told me to tell you not to throw yourself in danger if it can be avoided.”

I stand up, nodding, “Am I taking you with me, or leaving you behind?”

“Behind for now. Once you get intel on the situation, your orders are to engage only if necessary and then call in using our phones to get more orders,” she says quickly. She is clearly upset but trying to stay focused. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to stop and console her, but I know that I don’t. I have to go.

Leigh Ann is caught up in her thoughts. She’s looking towards the mouth of the ally. I take off my jacket, wad it up, and chuck it at her. I listen to her shriek in surprise, before jumping up to take off into the air.

Before I even got to the building I could smell the blood. I know it’s Kat’s. His blood smells different than everyone else's because of his mutation.

“Shit Kat,” I whisper when I land on the neighboring building, “What did you do?”

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nyroom · 4 years

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The Ghosts of Childhood - Chapter 1

After a fight with his brother, Stan heads out and is consequentially de-aged back into a child. Now Ford is going to have to confront the emotional baggage he's been avoiding, all while trying to manage three children and a business. What could go wrong?

This fic is based on the One And A Half Stans AU from disappearedsock and thesnadger over on Tumblr. I stumbled across it and the idea was too cute to leave alone.

This is my first Gravity Falls fic so, if characters are ooc, that's why.

[AO3 Link] [Part 2]

The days since the Author had come out of the portal were almost suffocatingly tense. Don’t get him wrong - Dipper was positively thrilled to be meeting the object of his obsession fascination - but after the initial high wore off, the tension was starting to bother even him.

It was clear that Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford still had some animosity towards each other, soured even more over the 30-year absence. They didn’t appear to be in any rush to start making amends either. It was as if they were pretending the other didn’t exist, that if they ignored the problem strongly enough, it would eventually go away. Luckily, they mostly avoided each other, so the tension was at least bearable. It was a different story when they were both in the same room together, which was usually around dinner time.

A selfish part of Dipper resented Grunkle Stan, just a little. The Author LITERALLY lived in their basement, yet Dipper couldn’t even talk to him! He still had so many questions to ask him, but Grunkle Stan was firm in Dipper steering clear of him. “My brother’s a dangerous know-it-all, and the stuff he’s messing with is even worse.” He had said, brown eyes dark. “Do yourself a favour and stay away from him.”

Mabel didn’t seem to be handling the tension very well, though she was doing her best to be her usual peppy self. It just didn’t compute to her that siblings could hate each other so much. Why couldn’t they hug and just say sorry? Why wasn’t that good enough? Dipper had caught her shooting him sad looks when she thought he wasn’t looking, as if she were afraid they’d end up that way too. Dipper did his best to assure her otherwise.

Tonight had been a particularly bad one. Dipper and Mabel had huddled in their shared room, listening to the faint sounds of shouting coming from somewhere downstairs. It looked like the elder twins had finally stopped tip-toeing around each other. Dipper couldn’t make out exactly what was being said, but the venom in each of their voices was practically palpable.

Thankfully, as if a trade-off for its intensity, the fight had been over as quickly as it started, ending with a slammed door and the sound of tires screeching in the dirt. Most likely Grunkle Stan; Great Uncle Ford didn’t seem much for driving. Dipper had just winced and put the incident out of his mind. There wasn’t much he could do for them, and Mabel hadn’t exactly taken the fight well. He had more important things to worry about right now.

Now five hours later, the sun was starting to set and there was still no sign of Stan. That couldn’t be good.

“Maybe he just got caught up in a really good game of bingo?” Mabel suggested, ever the optimist. “You know, old people things.”

Dipper frowned, considering the thought. “There’s no way Grunkle Stan would have lasted this long without getting thrown out for cheating.”

Try as Dipper may, he couldn’t exactly think of anything that could occupy their Grunkle for this long. The townspeople weren’t exactly his greatest fans, and Stan had always seemed more content to sit in his armchair and watch television than go out anywhere. So what could it be? What could possibly be taking him so long? Had the fight really been that bad?

… Well, their last big fight had landed Great Uncle Ford on the other side of an interdimensional portal so, yeah, maybe. But Grunkle Stan wouldn’t just leave them, would he?

“Maybe we should go out and find him,” Mabel piped up, interrupting Dipper’s train of thought. “He might just have fallen asleep somewhere! It’s getting close to his bedtime.”

Dipper knew that she was just trying to lighten the mood, but it did nothing to soothe the sinking feeling he was starting to get.

No big deal. You just have to find Stan and bring him back. Piece of cake.

Minds made up, they grabbed their bags and headed down to the door, swiping the keys to the golf cart from the tray in the Gift Shop. While they could easily walk to town, they decided that it would be quicker to take the cart. Gravity Falls covered a pretty expansive area, and Stan could be anywhere.

They briefly hesitated by the vending machine, exchanging an uneasy glance. Did they tell Great Uncle Ford where they were going? Did they invite him along? … No, he likely wouldn’t come anyways. Besides, maybe he needed some time alone too, and it’d likely not be a good idea to drag him along on a trip to find the person he was fighting in the first place.

It was decided that they head into town first. Though it was no longer a secret that Grunkle Stan believed in and had experience with the supernatural, it seemed unlikely for him to journey into the woods. At best, he was disinterested in that whole business. Besides, he was driving, and the woods weren’t very car-friendly.

“We should have made posters before we left.” Mabel thought aloud as they parked the cart, tapping her chin. “How can you hunt for someone if you don’t even have a picture of them?”

Dipper rolled his eyes fondly, knowing she just wanted to stretch her creativity - and maybe put a dent in her glitter stockpile. “This town is pretty small, Mabel, and Grunkle Stan isn’t exactly a shut-in. I’m pretty sure everyone has at least heard of him.”

Mabel blew a raspberry, clearly disliking his answer, but not having a good enough rebuttal.

Though Dipper had felt pretty positive they would find Stan somewhere in town, his confidence began to wane with each area searched. Every street and building they checked turned up no trace of him and the townspeople seemed too disinterested to provide anything useful. It was starting to make that sinking feeling intensify, twisting in Dipper’s gut. If Grunkle Stan wasn’t in town, where was he?

A familiar red car caught Dipper’s attention as they rounded a corner, parked in the parking lot of the grocery store. Hope blossomed in his chest as he grabbed his sister’s arm, pointing over to it. “Mabel, look! It’s Grunkle Stan’s car!”

The two rushed over to it, but their faces fell when they discovered it empty. The only thing inside was a bag of groceries, sitting innocently in the passenger seat. Dipper frowned, mindlessly putting a hand on the door handle and pulling, though he knew very well Stan would never leave his precious car unloc--

It was unlocked.

That didn’t make sense. Grunkle Stan’s pastime was stealing and scamming, so he always made sure to keep careful track of his possessions; his car especially. Anytime they went out anywhere, he’d always triple check to make sure the doors were locked and the windows were rolled up. “A beauty like this, anyone’d steal her if they got the chance!” He had explained once. Dipper hadn’t had the heart to tell him he really didn’t think anyone would care enough to steal an old, beat-up car like this.

Mabel reached into the bag of groceries, taking out a carton of milk. “It’s warm.” She murmured, eyes taking on a fearful and distant quality. If the milk was warm, that meant Grunkle Stan hadn’t been here in some time, but where could he have gone without his car?

Dipper looked up towards the forest, looming a few feet away from the edge of the parking lot. Maybe he had…? No, why would Grunkle Stan head into the woods, especially when he had groceries? Something wasn’t adding up here, and that sinking feeling returned with a vengeance.

They decided to do one last sweep of the town, just in case. It couldn’t hurt, could it? They made sure to check in with the store as well, just in case he had gone back for something. As expected, the cashier merely shook her head and said he had only been there the one time, and that was hours ago to boot.

Eventually, the two decided to take a break on a bench, wearing identical frowns as they tried to think of their next move. If he wasn’t in town, then that meant he had most likely gone into the forest. The question still remained: why? Had something lured him in?

...Maybe Great Uncle Ford had something that could help. Surely he didn’t hate Stan that much that he would refuse to help if he had gone missing, right? They should go and talk to him.

“Hey Dipper, do you hear that?” Mabel piped up, straightening from her slouched posture, squinting into the distance.

Dipper blinked out of his thoughts and focused. Sure enough, he could faintly hear something coming from somewhere nearby. It almost sounded like… Crying? He straightened too now, probing his surroundings for the source. The few townspeople he saw milling about all seemed fine.

Then he spied a bundle of brown, white and red, tucked in an alleyway behind some garbage bins. As Dipper looked closer, he realized that it wasn’t just any bundle: it was a boy, roughly around their age. He had his knees drawn up to his chest and his face hidden, shoulders silently trembling. Dipper winced in sympathy. He must be lost.

Mabel followed his gaze, silently gasping at the sight. Without bothering to wait for Dipper’s input, she hopped over the back of the bench and carefully approached the boy. Dipper scrambled a little less gracefully, but nonetheless fell into step beside her.

As they got closer to the boy, Dipper noticed the twigs in his hair and the dirt on his clothes. They looked a little torn too, ripped at the edges. Had he run into one of the supernatural creatures in the woods? Dipper thought the townspeople usually avoided venturing too far from civilization, but that was usually the adults.

He had been trying to think of a good opener so they didn’t needlessly scare him more, but it seemed like the boy was more perceptive than Dipper thought. As soon as they got closer, his head shot up, bloodshot eyes darting around wildly. When he saw them, he hastily scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand, trying to hide the tears.

“Are you lost?” Mabel asked, stooping down to be level with the boy. Her expression was soft and open, trying to make herself as non-threatening as possible. Really, she didn’t need to try. Though Mabel was certainly no pushover, she looked about as threatening as a puppy. The puppy knitted into her sweater didn’t help that, either.

“I’m fine!” The boy said almost immediately, his accent immediately sticking out as something not local. He must be touring with his family and had gotten lost; now his possible forest excursion made a lot more sense. The boy sniffed again, hunching his shoulders as if he wanted to appear bigger, but made no move to get off the pavement. “I’m just… Taking a detour.”

“Detour?” Mabel asked conversationally, her head tilting. “Where are you going? Maybe we can help!”

The boy squinted at Mabel reproachfully, sizing her up. “...The beach.” He eventually said, huffing out a sigh. At least the tears had dried up, though he still looked uneasy in their presence. “I was s’posed to meet my brother there after I got us some candy, but…” He trailed off, squinting. “...I think I fell asleep.”

Mabel and Dipper exchanged a look. There were no beaches anywhere near Gravity Falls, unless you counted the vaguely sandy shores of the lake. Maybe it was something in the forest? Though it definitely felt like he and Mabel had been over every inch of those woods, they had never come out the other side. But what were the chances of a child - possibly two children - braving the woods and finding something Dipper and Mabel hadn’t yet?

The boy continued on unperturbed by the exchange, seeming to gain enough confidence to show vulnerability in front of the twins. “An’ I don’t really know where I am! One minute I’m walkin’ the boardwalk, then pow! I’m on the ground eatin’ grass! It took me forever to get back here, but I’ve never been in this part of town before!” He took a deep, shuddering breath, fingers tightening in the fabric of his pants. “I’ve been gone for a real long time, he’s probably worried sick now. An’ if Pa finds out…”

Okay. Something supernatural was at foot here, no question about it. Had it wiped the boy’s memories, maybe? That would explain the sudden shift in location, but not where he had been originally. There were no beaches or boardwalks anywhere in Gravity Falls, and the accent was a sticking point. It sounded like he came from a whole other state. So had he been teleported?

And then, of course, there was still the mystery of their missing Grunkle. As alluring as this particular mystery was, Dipper kept thinking back to the abandoned car and the warm groceries. If something had happened to Stan, especially so soon after those agents had been by… He didn’t want to think about that.

The boy suddenly jumped to his feet, startling Dipper out of his thoughts as the boy’s eyes darted wildly around the alley. “Oh no, my brother’s alone! What if Crampelter gets him? I need to be there!”

Crampelter sounded… Familiar, but Dipper couldn’t place where. Still, speculations could wait. For now, they needed to keep him calm. If he really had been teleported from another state, the explanation that something supernatural had done this to him would likely freak him out more.

“Whoa there, calm down. We’ll help you find him.” Dipper said without thinking, raising his hands placatingly. Of course, he didn’t know how they were going to do that, but he felt like the boy would just rush off no matter what they said. At least this way, they could keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t get more lost.

“Yeah!” Mabel chimed in, luckily following his lead without argument. That didn’t surprise him; she was always trying to keep spirits up, no matter whose they were. “We’re missing someone too, so maybe we can all help each other!”

The boy hesitated, clearly not completely trusting them just yet, but there was a flicker of something hopeful in his eyes. Eventually, he nodded, sticking out his hand. “Okay, you guys got a deal. But we need to find my brother first, okay? Trust me, if anyone can find your guys’ missing guy, it’s him. He’s got like…” He paused, counting on his fingers. “A billion smarts in his head!”

Dipper wanted to argue with that. Stan could be in serious danger, maybe hurt somewhere. Why else would he take so long getting back? Yet Mabel cut him off, taking the boy’s hand and shaking it. “Deal!”

Seeming to ignore Dipper’s hissed ‘Mabel’, Mabel threw her arm around her brother and pulled him into a side-hug. “I’m Mabel, and this is my twin brother Dipper! What’s your name?”

That seemed to get the boy’s attention, his eyes widening as he looked a little in awe at the two. “You’re twins? Me an’ my brother are twins too!” Whatever misgivings the boy had left seemed to vanish and he fully grinned this time. Dipper could see that one of his teeth was missing. “My name’s Stan!”

“That’s the same name as our Grunkle!” Mabel chimed, eyes widening. She quickly dug into her bag, taking out a photo from their Summerween that she hadn’t found a place for in her scrapbook just yet. She pointed to him in the picture. “You see someone like that before?”

Stan squinted at the picture, thinking carefully. “Hmmm. I dunno what a “grunkle” is, but I’ve never seen him before.” He paused, tilting his head. “He kinda looks like my Pa, but… Really really old.”

Dipper was starting to get a sense of deja vu. The chances that this boy had the same name as Stan and had a twin brother had already seemed a little too convenient in Dipper’s mind, but now Grunkle Stan looked like this boy’s dad? Something was weird here. Was he some kind of distant relative? A cousin, maybe?

Mabel, meanwhile, looked a little dejected as she put the photo back into her bag, but was still smiling through it. “That’s okay. At least you know what he looks like now! Maybe we’ll run into him while we search for your bro, or maybe they’re even together!”

As the trio journeyed out of the alleyway into the dying sunlight, Stan began to look around at their surroundings. That same uneasy expression flickered across his face before he schooled it into one of determination, hitting his fist into his open palm as he spoke. “Alright. We need to get to the beach first and make sure he isn’t still there. If he’s not, then we’ll go to my Pa’s pawnshop next.”

Pawnshop? Grunkle Stan’s life story came to mind once again, specifically his childhood. Hadn’t he said his family lived above their own pawn shop? These similarities were starting to get creepy, and Dipper found his mind beginning to wander.

Was it really possible that Grunkle Stan was…?

“Hey, uh… What did you say your last name was?” He asked hesitantly, stopping to turn and face Stan again. It probably came across as a silly question, but Dipper needed to know for sure. Stan blinked at him, looking confused now.

“Um, Pines? But my last name isn’t gonna help us find Ford!” Stan made to move past the twins, only faltering when he must have realized he didn’t exactly know where to go. He turned back to them, impatient. “C’mon, we’re wasting time!”

Darn. Looks like Dipper’s hunch had been right.

The twins exchanged an alarmed glance, Mabel sputtering in her surprise. “W-Wait, Grunkle Stan? Is that you?”

Stan blinked once again, caught off guard by the sudden question. “What? I’m not that old! I’m ten and that guy looked like… 100.” He reached up to squish his own cheeks, digging his fingers into the flesh. “I don’t even have wrinkles.”

So not only had their Grunkle been turned back into a 10-year-old, but he hadn’t retained any memories of his older self. Dipper awkwardly tugged at the collar of his shirt at the revelation, going quiet. How were they supposed to explain this to him? He wouldn’t understand. Not to mention, Stan was starting to get that cagey look in his eye as the moment dragged. They didn’t need Stan running off on them.

But that left them with an uncomfortable problem. Sure, Dipper felt pretty confident in his own skills with the weird and paranormal creatures and items in the forest - the answer to turning Grunkle Stan back to his proper age likely lurked there - but what were they supposed to do with Stan in the meantime? Dipper doubted he’d be up for a forest trek.

...Nevermind that, what were they going to tell Great Uncle Ford? After that fight, how would he react to his brother like this? They couldn’t exactly hide Stan from him.

Well, Great Uncle Ford or not, they needed the journal to begin trying to straighten out this mess. That was back in their room, which meant they needed to convince Stan to come back with them. How were they going to manage that?

“Yeah, you’re definitely not our Stan,” Dipper cut in quickly as Stan opened his mouth, likely to protest some more. “That’s okay, we can worry about that later. You said your brother was your twin, right? So that means you look like each other?”

Stan squinted suspiciously at Dipper, but nodded all the same. “Yeah, but he has big glasses.” He held his hands up, cupping his fingers around his eyes. “And he don’t got as many band-aids as me. Oh, and he wears this nerdy jacket.”

Dipper nodded along with the description, conspiratorially rubbing his chin in thought. “Yeah, I think I’ve actually seen someone like that today. He wasn’t at the beach, though.”

Mabel seemed to be clueing in to Dipper’s ploy now and she gasped, putting her hands to her face. “Hey, yeah! I remember that now. He was back at... the Mystery Shack, wasn’t he?”

The suspicion melted off Stan’s face all too easily. Grunkle Stan would be disappointed in himself. “Really? Did he look okay?”

“Uhhh… Yeah!” Mabel answered, having to think. “He looked kind of worried though, I think he was looking for you.”

Apparently, that was all the convincing Stan needed. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

---

Though it had been a few days since he had returned to his home dimension, Ford still found himself struggling to adjust to this new modern era. In the 30 years since Ford had gone through the portal, the world had moved on without him, oblivious that he was even missing in the first place. Of course, part of that had been Stan’s fault, but Stan hadn’t brought about 30 years of technological development on his own.

Nonetheless, if Stan had just listened to him for once in his godforsaken life, Ford wouldn’t have missed those developments in the first place. Now he was practically a prisoner in his own home, forced to hide out in the basement while his brother masqueraded as him. It was an affront to Ford’s pride and life’s work, having his identity stolen and turned around like that. Really, what had Stan been thinking?

The rational part of Ford reminded him that his precious “life’s work” had nearly brought about the end of the universe. If he hadn’t trusted Bill in the first place, been as smart as he liked to believe he was, then there wouldn’t have been a portal to go through. Fiddleford would certainly be the better for it - God, was he still alive? Ford needed to check on him.

Yet the stubborn part of Ford wanted to hold tight to his anger. It was easier to just blame Stan for everything. Stan was the one who broke his project, crushed his dreams, and pushed him through an interdimensional portal. Perhaps it was irrational, but Ford felt comfortable with this anger. These weren’t petty incidents: they were life-altering. He was completely justified in feeling the way he felt right now.

That had partially been what their fight earlier in the day had been about. After he had sealed the Rift and dismantled the portal, Ford had decided to do a basic search on his name to see if he could track down his brother’s movements. It was then that he discovered the rather extensive criminal record now attached to his name. Ford hadn’t realized there were even official names for half of these crimes.

So angry, he had promptly gone upstairs to find his brother and give him a piece of his mind. Hadn’t he realized what a mess this would be to sort out when he was able to exist under his own name again? Had he thought through anything in the time Ford had been gone?

“Why do you always have to ruin my life?!”

Ford remembered the momentary look of hurt in his brother’s eyes as he hurled that accusation at him and, briefly, felt bad. Stan had shored up that vulnerability pretty fast, spouting the same excuse he had stuck by ever since Ford got back: “I was doing it for you!” His sympathy dried up almost immediately.

For Ford. As if making Ford a criminal would do him ANY good. Stan hadn’t bothered to stick around to hear Ford’s rebuttal, saying something about how he didn’t need to take this kind of shit before storming off outside. A snide voice in Ford’s head pointed out that Stan was just running away from the consequences of his own actions, just as he had done for the entirety of his life. Nothing was ever his fault.

That had been hours ago now. When he checked his watch, he could see that it was well past the time Stan normally cooked dinner for them. Usually, he would call Ford up to join them (most likely out of obligation, or maybe for the kids’ sakes), but he hadn’t heard anything yet.

Ford couldn’t say he was surprised. After that fight, it wasn’t a stretch to assume Stan decided he didn’t want to see his brother so soon. Ford couldn’t say he wanted to see Stan so soon either, so he didn’t really begrudge being left out. If he was quiet enough, he might be able to sneak some food for himself without alerting the family.

As he did his best to close the vending machine as silently as he could and entered the house portion of the Mystery Shack (Moses, what a terrible name), he noticed just how quiet everything was. Ford even stood still and listened, trying to pick up any sounds that could be coming from upstairs. There was nothing.

Odd, but hardly Ford’s concern. All three of the house residents were plenty capable of handling themselves from what he could tell, and it wasn’t exactly his job to babysit them. Well, babysit Stan, at least.

So he shrugged the oddity off and continued to the kitchen, rooting around for something to eat. Since he had the house to himself, perhaps he would actually cook himself something for once. Sure, when he was last in this dimension, he typically subsisted off ready-made food, but having something warm and fresh was a luxury he hadn’t been able to afford in the multiverse.

Soon enough, he had two eggs simmering happily in the pan. The mundaneness was a nice break from the 30 years of hell he had been through, and Ford relished in it. For once, everything was fine.

His thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of a door opening. Ford assumed it to be the front door at first, but soon realized it had come from the wrong end of the house. The only other door that lead outside was the Gift Shop door, but that was supposed to be closed for the public. Perhaps one of the family had decided to use that door out of convenience?

It could also be someone - or something - breaking in. The vending machine was in the Gift Shop. Bill was still at large. The Rift was in his lab. That wasn’t good.

Shutting the stove off, Ford quickly but quietly sprinted towards the Gift Shop. The chances of Bill retaliating were slim, but slim wasn’t nothing. Ford couldn’t afford to be lenient, not when the universe was at stake.

Once he got to the door that separated the shop from the house, he could pick up on three voices. Two he recognized as Dipper and Mabel, but the third was unfamiliar. While the presence of the youngest twins was a mild relief, the unfamiliar voice did nothing to tamp down his panic. What if Bill had possessed someone and had tricked the children? It wouldn’t be beneath him.

Ford considered opening the door a crack to see if he could catch sight of the stranger’s eyes, but thought better of it. If anyone saw him, it’d be over. Bill was all too familiar with him and had two easy bargaining chips should Ford try and block their path. Instead, he pressed his ear to the door and tried to listen to their conversation.

“... And you’re totally sure he was still here when you guys left?” The unfamiliar voice said. Now what he was thinking of it, Ford couldn’t shake the feeling that he had heard that voice somewhere before. At least it wasn’t Bill’s voice, though that didn’t eliminate the possibility of the demon’s involvement.

“Sure was!” That was Mabel, that much was obvious. “He was showing off this picture he had to everyone.”

“A picture?” The unfamiliar voice echoed. “Huh. I wonder why.”

“While we’re here, we need to pick something up.” And there was Dipper. “Can you wait here? We won’t be long.”

What? They were leaving a stranger alone near the vending machine? Even if they weren’t a stranger to them, that was still dangerous! Ford was going to need to sit them down and have a word with them about how important it was to keep the vending machine away from prying eyes.

No time for that now as he heard footsteps start approaching the door Ford had pressed himself against. Thinking quickly, he ducked into hiding right as the twins came into the house. He held his breath as they passed him by, heading upstairs to their shared room. It didn’t seem like they had seen him.

With them gone, he could now check on this stranger without any collateral.

Not bothering to be subtle, Ford pushed the Gift Shop’s door open. Playing cat and mouse with Bill was a pointless endeavor; it was best to face him head-on. However, what he saw inside made his blood run cold.

There in the Gift Shop stood a child that looked strikingly similar to Stan when he was a child, right down to the face, hair, and clothes. He was holding a Stan bobblehead in his hands, turning it over and over, watching the head jiggle with a fascinated stare. His eyes, Ford noted dimly, were brown.

The child looked up at Ford’s entrance, tilting his head curiously at him. He only looked at him a moment before he cupped his free hand around his mouth, shouting: “Dipper! Mabel! I found your missing Grunkle!”

With a face to put to the voice, the realization of why he sounded so familiar hit him like a truck. This wasn’t just someone who looked like Stanley, this was Stanley.

The shock must have shown on his face as Stan was looking at him again, this time with a little concern and a bit of apprehension. “You okay there mister? You look kinda sick.”

Ford took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts to the back of his head. Obviously something supernatural had gotten to him, though he couldn’t remember encountering anything that could do this. That wasn’t a good sign, he was going to need to refresh himself with his journals to double-check.

“Yes, I’m… I’m fine.” He finally said, pushing a hand through his hair. Stan’s gaze was immediately drawn to the motion, and Ford realized his mistake as soon as he saw those eyes widen.

“Whoa, you got six fingers! My brother’s got six fingers too!” He exclaimed, reaching out to grab Ford’s free hand. Ford had to resist the instinct to yank his hand back and shove it out of sight. Stan continued, “People are always sayin’ he’s a freak, but wait till I show him this! He can’t be a freak if there’s other people like him! He’s gonna be so happy!”

Ford felt himself wince. Back then, there were no shortage of people who were uncomfortable with his extra fingers. Abnormalities weren’t (aren’t?) something the public took kindly too and chose to distance themselves from Ford accordingly. Others had mocked him for it, helpfully reminding him that there was nowhere freaks like him would belong.

Stan had been the only one to tell him that his extra fingers made him special, not a freak, and that they were just jealous. If Stan was there, which was common back then, he had always stood up for Ford and told the bullies straight to their face how wrong they were. Seeing Stan so awed now and immediately thinking of how Ford would feel made his heart clench uncomfortably.

Stan’s loyalty had always been unwavering, his conscience reminded him. No matter how stupid and reckless it was, Stan was always there. It was why Ford was standing here in the first place.

Luckily, Ford didn’t need to think of a comeback as he heard the door open behind him. He turned to see the twins had returned, Dipper holding one of his journals. They were staring at him with shock.

“See? I found your Grunkle!” Stan piped up, letting go of Ford’s hand to gesture dramatically at him. “Now we can go back to finding Ford! Oh, wait-” He turned back to face Ford, looking serious now. “Have you seen him? He looks like me, but with glasses.”

Ah. He was looking for Ford. That caused another uncomfortable heart clench.

“Um… Gr-- I mean, Stan…” Mabel started, helplessly trailing off. It was then that Ford knew what he needed to do.

He crouched down so he was eye level with Stan, gently placing his hands on his shoulders. “I’m right here, Stanley.”

Stan stiffened under his hands, looking up at Ford with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. Even in their youth, Stan hadn’t been the type to easily buy into what people told him. While Ford admittedly found himself falling for the lies his classmates would tell, desperate for admiration and acceptance, Stan was always the first to call a bluff. He had written it off as mere gut instinct - Ford was the one with the smarts to see through the lies later in life, after all.

Oh, how wrong Stan had been.

“Last I checked, my brother wasn’t a dinosaur.” Stan shot back, though his tone lacked conviction. His brows were furrowed as he stubbornly looked down at his shoe, refusing to meet Ford’s gaze. It was an expression of Stan’s that Ford could still read even after all these years: fear.

“If I wasn’t your brother, I wouldn’t know about that time you and I thought we killed the Sibling Brothers and stole their clothes,” Ford said gently, watching Stan’s eyes snap up to meet his own. “I wouldn’t know that the real reason you lost that tooth there is because you fell out of a tree, not because you were fighting bullies. I wouldn’t know that you’re afraid of heights, or that you once called Mr. Kord ‘Pa’ in 3rd grade, or that you lost a fight to a crab in 4th.”

He punctuated his explanation with a squeeze of his brother’s shoulders, hoping to be reassuring. “I promise you, Stanley. It’s really me.”

Stan was now staring at him with open shock, eyes blown wide. When he finally spoke, his voice was small and hesitant. “S-Sixer? But… What?”

For the first time in 40 years, Ford gave his brother a bittersweet smile.

“I’ll explain in the house.”

#nyroom writes #gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #stan pines #ford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #one and a half stans #first gravity falls fic whoot #who knows if i'll finish it #the ghosts of childhood

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awhitehead17 · 4 years

Text

Everything’s Out Of Control

Chapter 2 / Previous Chapter

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

Tim is pleased to find that nothing happens as he steps out of the glowing oval thing. There’s a slight tingling sensation humming through his body but other than that everything appears to be fine.

When he appears the other side, he’s grateful to see Kon already standing there. His best friend had been surveying the new surroundings until he heard Tim appear behind him. Kon turns and sends him a smile. “Well this is a good start.”

For a second Tim wonders if inviting Kon along with him onto this mission was a wise idea. How was he supposed to concentrate on the task at hand if Kon’s sending him that smile which warms him to the core and makes him forget anything else going on? Then again how could he not invite him? Kon’s one of the few he truly trusts.

After a few seconds Tim returns the smile but with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t get too cocky, we’ve only just got here. Who knows what we’ll encounter in this world.”

As Kon waves off his concern, Tim finally takes in their surroundings for the first time.

They’re in a dimly lit alleyway between a couple tall apartment buildings. One end leads out into an open busy street while the other leads to what looks like a dead end but could possibly turn to the right. It’s currently night-time, the darkness of the sky hinting it’s probably in the middle of the night, and the temperature around them is mild.

Tim turns to Kon. “We need to work out a plan of action. The sooner we find this person the sooner we can leave again.” Kon hums and reaches into his pocket, bringing out the small vial Zatanna had given him. Tim remembers then, what he was supposed to do when they arrived. Digging through his belt he brings out his own vial and studies it.

The vial is full of an orange liquid, giving Tim the impression that it’s orange juice. He’s knows it’s not, but it helps with the thoughts that he's drinking something he doesn’t know much about. Zatanna said this will allow them to see things that are normally covered from normal human eyes. it’s an odd thought but it’s not like he’s in a position to comment on it, after all Zatanna wouldn’t make them take it if it wasn’t important right?

Kon holds his out to Tim, looking unsure of it himself. “Cheers?”

Tim clinks his vial with Kon’s, “cheers,” and the two of them down the liquid. As soon as it goes down his throat his grimacing at the bitter aftertaste it leaves in his mouth. Opposite him Kon is wearing the same expression.

“Right, now that’s done,” Tim starts putting the empty vial away, “we need to work out exactly where we are and get tracking of this Magnus Bane guy.”

“She said something about Brooklyn,” Kon says looking around, “if we’re already in Brooklyn, then how do we even start looking for this guy. Even she said that there’s a chance he could have moved by now.”

Tim sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We start with the backstreets and keep to the shadows, even this world must have something like shady people, gangs or whatever. We try and find some of those people and ask around and then hope for the best?”

“Sounds good.” Kon agrees easily, looking unbothered by the vagueness of it.

They don’t even make it to the end of the alley way before something happens.

The two of them were walking towards the dead end part of the alley when sudden shouting erupts from nearby. As soon as they hear it, Tim and Kon share a knowing look. Even though they weren’t in their own world, doesn’t mean they weren’t going to help out where they can.

Tim grabs his bo staff and extends it to full length, going to the wall he begins to crouch walk along it and feels Kon right behind him. As they get closer to the end of the alleyway, Tim’s original assumption was right, it does bend around to the right. Now being closer Tim could tell it leads off into more back alleys behind the buildings.

The shouting becomes clearer, louder and more frequent as they get closer. More sounds get mixed into it, such as slamming of trash cans, screaming and a sound Tim doesn’t recognise. It was like a low growling clicking noise. He’s got no ideas on what it could be.

Once they get to the edge, just before the corner leading to the right, Tim stops and holds three fingers up to Kon. Years of teamwork allows the two of them to work effectively without any verbal communication. Just as Tim starts to count down to three with his fingers, a louder more prominent scream happens and suddenly a body was flying across their vision.

They watch wide eyed as the person smacks into the wall to their left and falls limply to the ground. Before either of them could react the growling clicking noise was back, grabbing their attention. Gesturing to Kon, together they jump out to face the threat.

Tim didn’t know what to expect as they position themselves ready to fight, but an enormous black monster creature type thing was certainly not something Tim had been expecting. Both Tim and Kon stare at the thing, unable to comprehend what they were seeing.

It appeared to have a long slimy black body, multiple legs with claws sprouting from its sides, a cluster of eyes in the centre of its head with a long black tongue hanging from its mouth that was lined with jagged teeth and to top it off it had a wicked sharp tail.

“What. The. Fuck.” Kon breathes out almost horror. “I have never seen anything like that before dude. And that’s saying a lot.”

Tim agrees. This is certainly new. He quickly glances over his shoulder to the body that slammed into the wall earlier, only to find that they’re gone. Tim blinks and pauses, having unexpected that scenario, well at least that’s one less thing to worry about.

“Tim what do we do?” Kon asks him standing by his side with his fists raised.

“I actually have no idea. I don’t know what this thing is or how we can stop it.” Tim hates to admit it, but that’s the truth. “I don’t want either of us to touch it because we have no idea what it could do to us.”

The two of them continue to stare at the creature, unsure on what to do. It’s not until Kon shifts, causing some gravel underneath his shoe, that the creature’s attention turns to them. It’s head whips in their direction then without any warning it’s charging towards them.

Both Tim and Kon let out a shocked cry before diving opposite sides to get out of the way of the thing. Tim lands into a roll and springs back up to his feet just in time to see the creature smack straight into the wall. It would be funny if it wasn’t terrifying.

The creature stumbles away from the wall, taking a moment to get it’s bearings again before it’s turning and charging towards Kon. Kon curses and takes to the air, hovering out of its reach. He curses again when the thing attempts to swipe at him with its tail.

“Tim!?”

Tim stares hopelessly at the scene in front of him, feeling completely out of his element. He has no idea what this thing is or if it can be killed. Not having the knowledge of something is the worst thing to Tim, he likes to know everything he’s facing, he likes having all the facts, he feels comforted by the idea of having many plans and contingency plans, but this… he’s in the deep end with no clue on how to swim.

Kon yells and Tim’s brought back to what’s happening. The creature makes that sound again and swings his tail at Kon who barely dodges it. He has very little time to settle before he’s dodging another strike. Tim watches, horrified, as the creature’s strikes get quicker and as Kon’s barely dodging them each time.

He needs to help Kon! But how? There’s not a lot he can do, he has no idea on how to stop this creature without potentially touching or getting hit by it.

Unfortunately Tim takes too long to think of something because Kon is suddenly screaming at the tail finally hits him, successfully catching his side and smacking him into the wall to the left. Kon hits the bricks with a sickening crack and starts falling towards the ground, as he falls the creature is on him in seconds.

Despite Kon’s struggles, the creature easily pins him to the ground with its claws and starts digging it’s claws into Kon’s body. The action makes Kon scream out in pain as he wiggles futilely underneath the thing. In his own distress, Tim also cries out and without thinking about it he sprints forwards. Tim jumps up at the wall and uses it as some kind of springboard to boost himself towards the creature, the momentum he creates allows him to kick the thing off Kon and slam it into the opposite wall.

As it rights itself, Tim scrambles to his feet and runs down the other end of the alleyway, he needs to get it away from Kon. Once there’s some distance Tim bangs on the garbage bin nearby, creating noise to attract it’s attention so it’s on him and not his best friend.

The creature takes the bait and starts charging towards him, once again Tim dodges its attack by rolling to the side. Getting up to his feet, Tim knows he needs to come up with a plan as soon as possible. Playing cat and mouse will only work for so long and it’s not like Tim has endless amount of energy.

Perhaps he can keep letting itself ram into the wall? Will it hurt itself by doing that?

The thing turns to him again and Tim starts backing up, making his distance between the end wall and himself as small as possible. By the time it’s charging at him again there’s only a couple feet in between Tim and wall. It’ll have to do. Just as he did before Tim times it just right and at the last possible second dives to the right to avoid being hit. He rolls into a crouch and watches as the creature runs straight into the wall head first.

This time is different than the last however, because as it smacks into the bricks its own tail curls around the body and penetrates itself in the neck.

Tim stares as it freezes, then spasms and falls to the ground unmoving. Frozen in place Tim has no idea on what to do. Was it dead? Did it accidently kill itself? Tim swallows thickly and cautiously stands up, eyeing the motionless creature. Being brave, Tim wonders over to it and keeps his distance as he reaches out with his staff to poke it. As soon as his weapon touches the thing he jumps back a few steps just in case something happens. When nothing does transpire he lets out a long breath. Okay, for now it is dead.

Tim’s brought out of his moment of relief when a pained cry reaches his ears. Kon! How could he forget Kon! Instantly feeling awful, Tim dashes towards his fallen friend. He skids to his knees at Kon’s side and takes in the damage.

It wasn’t good. The sight of Kon’s wounds through his torn shirt makes him want to vomit. He could see where the creature had pierced Kon’s skin leaving punctured like holes in his best friend’s torso. Blood was oozing out of the wounds but that wasn’t the only thing Tim could see.

From the holes there appeared to be a black substance surrounding the wound. Whatever it was it seemed to be spreading through Kon’s body, little black veins starting to stretch across his stomach heading down to his hips and then up towards his neck.

Kon groans and shifts. “Hurts…”

Tim reaches out and places a comforting, yet restraining, hand on his shoulder. “Just hang in there Kon.”

He doesn’t promise that it’ll be okay, he doesn’t say he’s going to be fine, Tim doesn’t mention about getting help. Because how could he? Tim’s absolutely lost in what to do.

Instead, Tim takes Kon’s hand with his free one and squeezes it as he attempts to think of a solution.

He doesn’t get long to think about it because noise from the other end of the alley grabs his attention. Panic rushes through him and he snaps his gaze behind him where he had last seen the creature. What if it had come back to life… Tim sighs in relief when he finds it still there, lying on the ground dead.

With the thing still there, that means the noise is coming from elsewhere.

“Look, see what I told you,” a voice speaks out gaining Tim’s attention. He looks down the opposite end of the alley to find a group of people walking towards him and Kon. “I said there was something going on down here.”

There’s three of them, two women and a man. Tim’s panic only increases because how the hell is he supposed to explain this situation? How is he supposed to explain the dead monster?

The group were getting closer by the second and Tim does nothing more but watch them approach.

“Well, let’s say this night isn’t turning out to be so boring after all.” Another voice from the groups speaks up with a long drawl.

They finally come into view and Tim eyes them wearily while he subtly shifts his body so it’s mostly covering Kon. The group stop a couple feet away and look down at him, staring almost hungrily at him and Kon.

“They smell wonderful,” one of the women comments with a sultry smile.

“Good enough to eat,” the second one says, exaggerating the way she licks her lips.

The man steps forward, making a point to sniff the air and stares directly at Tim. “Never smelt anything like this before.”

The first voice speaks up again, this time Tim identifies it as one of the women. “Now what are a couple of kids doing out alone at this time of night? Playing dress up? Role playing?”

Tim finds himself unable to do anything other than stare at the group before him. He couldn’t work out what they meant by smelling good, or being good enough to eat (he certainly knows he doesn’t like the sound of that or even the way they’re looking at him), but in that time he had completely forgotten he was in uniform still. His Red Robin costume covering his body with a domino mask covering half of his face.

Maybe he should have come in civvies and hid his belt underneath the clothes? How is he supposed to explain all the weapons and armour he has on him?

“Time to eat guys!”

Tim’s taken out of his thoughts at the loud exclamation. Before he could react hands were suddenly on him and dragging him away from Kon, who was still lying limply on the ground, whimpering in pain.

“NO!” He screams. Tim begins to thrashes in the hold on him and lets his instincts kick in. They obviously hadn’t been expecting him to be able to fight back as strongly as he could because he had knocked two of them away by the time they catch up with what is happening.

In one harsh movement Tim is thrown to the side. He feels his body collide with the wall and as his head smacks against the bricks. Instant pain flares up at the back of his skull which causes him to cry out as he falls to the ground.

Hands were on him again and Tim barely registers the fact that they’re hauling him upright and forcing him against the wall. Hands pin back his shoulders as a thigh is wedged between his own and another hand grabs a fist full of his hair and forces his head back, exposing his neck.

Tim groans and tries to shake off the dizziness that’s settled over him. Concussion, he thinks idly, hopefully not too bad of one.

The people surrounding him are talking again and Tim could barely focus on the words. His mind’s all over the place. First the creature thing, then Kon getting injured and is dying, now he’s got a concussion and something else is going to happen but he can’t work out what.

“Look at this delicious neck hmmm…” One of the women purr out. Tim couldn’t help but flinch as she drags a nail across his exposed skin. “I can’t wait to get stuck in.”

Tim has enough sense to know that isn’t normal. He squints at her only to be more panicked than before. Where she was smiling two long fangs could be seen sprouting out from her teeth.

“That world has creatures such as angels, demons, warlocks, vampires, werewolves, seelie’s and shadowhunters”

It finally clicks in Tim’s mind. Vampires. Zatanna had said this world has things that don’t exist in theirs. This woman’s teeth and how the group were on about the way they smell and were good enough to eat now makes sense. Well not really but it’s a conclusion at least. Vampires. These people are actual vampires.

Upon realising this, Tim squirms in the restraining hold he’s trapped in. They hold him firm and laugh at his pitiful attempts.

“Oh, the sweetheart’s just caught on.” The woman smirks, stroking his neck with her finger. “Well it’s now time to get on with the fun.”

Tim feels her lean in, he feels the way her breath fans over his skin and how her teeth brush against his skin. He lets out a helpless sound just as she’s about to bite down when suddenly an arrow embeds itself right next to his head.

The woman instantly pulls her head away from him and Tim marginally relaxes. The restraining hold is still there but now all the vampires’ attention is elsewhere. He blinks and looks in the same direction the others were, trying to make out what they were seeing.

One of the women snarls. “Shadowhunter.”

Down the end of the alleyway were two more people. One of which is stood with a bow in his hands with an arrow ready to be fired. The other is stood next to him simply with his arms crossed.

“Let the mundane go. Now. If you go any further it’ll be a breech to the accords.” The man’s tone is strong and authoritative. Of course Tim has no idea what he’s on about but his words seem to have an effect on the vampires because they loosen the grip on him.

Tim’s mind drift and he misses the next exchange of words between the two groups of people. His head’s killing him, the back of his skull throbbing painfully and his thoughts were scattered. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

What about Kon? Where’s Kon? Is he still alive?

He's broken out of his thoughts when the hands restraining him let him go. With no one keeping him up and how weak his body has suddenly gotten Tim collapses to the ground, letting out a grunt when he hits the hard floor.

Kon. He needs to get to his best friend. Tim clumsily gets to his knees and starts crawling towards the limp body still lying on the ground. By the looks of it the vampires hadn’t gone for him, only for Tim.

He’s almost there when a different set of hands grab him, gently stopping his progress of getting to Kon. Tim weakly tries to shove them off him but he’s out matched as the hands simply hook underneath his shoulders and move him back.

“Hey, hey, easy. You’re going to be okay.” A voice speak out to him softly.

Through Tim’s feeble mind, he can tell it’s supposed to be soft and comforting, nothing like the others had been. Nonetheless, this guy is stopping him from getting to Kon. He tries to push away from him again but for a second time he's forced to stay against the wall.

Somehow Tim is able to focus on the man in front of him. He’s crouched down to Tim’s level, keeping a hand on his shoulder while the other holds a bow. He has dark brown hair, hazel eyes, has some sort of tattoo on his neck and looks to be around in his twenties.

“Conner, Kon, he needs… help.. please… help him.” Tim has no idea if the man in front of him can help or not but it’s not like Tim is able to. This man knew what to do with the vampires so there’s a small chance he would know what’s going on with Kon.

The man looks at him studying, before moving his gaze downwards. The hand on Tim’s shoulder disappears and reappears on his chin. It gently guides his head up to expose his neck, the man makes a humming sound and lets go of his head. Tim takes a deep breath to try and control the dizziness that’s still lingering.

The man then turns to look over his own shoulder and Tim follows his gaze. There’s another guy also crouching down by Kon. Tim frowns as he sees blue light come from his hands and as it travels over Kon’s body.

“Magnus? Anything?” The hazel-eyed man asks.

Tim’s frown deepens upon hearing him speak. There was something familiar in the words he said.

“He’s gravely injured and I’m surprised he’s still alive at this point. These demon wounds should have killed him right away.”

“How’s that possible? Can you heal him? Does he have any runes or marks?”

“I do not know, Alexander. I’ll do what I can now, remove the toxin that’s entered his body but I can make him a potion in my loft that’ll help further.”

Tim watches with confusion as more blue light comes from the other man’s hand. He jerks as he sees it sink into Kon, his best friend’s body almost spasming as it does.

Hazel Eyes turn back to him, having felt his body jerk at what’s happening. “It’s okay, he’s healing your friend. Can you tell me what happened, what you saw?”

Tim takes in a deep breath, trying to get all of his thoughts together. He opens his mouth to respond but something inside of him clicks, he’s suddenly putting more jigsaw pieces together.

Magnus. “His name is Magnus Bane.”

“Magnus?” Tim whispers unsurely. “Magnus Bane?” He stares at the man in front of him with some newfound hope. Surely after everything he’s just been through, could this really be a breakthrough? Some pure coincidence?

Hazel Eyes raises an eyebrow, seeming somewhat surprised. “Yes? He’s currently healing your friend.”

Inside his chest, Tim feels his heart soar. Thank god! Some luck at last! He takes another breath and starts scrambling to get to his utility belt. He stares at the man in front of him, “we were sent – we needed to find Magnus – we need his help.” Tim brokenly explains still trying to get into his belt.

“Why do you need Magnus? Where were you sent from?” The man questions him, frowning with concern.

Tim ignores him in favour of getting into his belt. His fingers fumble with the pockets clasp but eventually he’s able to get it open. After a small struggle he brings out the letter and holds it up.

“We were sent by Zatanna. This explains it all.” Tim pauses as the whole world tilts and he groans. His dizziness is getting worse and he could feel unconsciousness finally sneaking up on him. He hopes these guys are safe to pass out on. “Please give it to him. We need him… his help.”

The last thing Tim sees is the glowing blue light streaming out of the other man’s, Magnus, hands. Tim’s final coherent thoughts were hopes that Kon will survive whatever this is.

#Everything's Out Of Control #timkon #malec #DC comics #shadow hunters #crossover #Tim Drake #Kon-El #alec lightwood #magnus bane #fanfiction #demons #vampires

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evesbeve · 4 years

Note

Request: try as he might, klaus just can’t figure out how to conjure Ben, and the others are getting antsy, but Ben *can* possess klaus, and it’s the only way Ben has to interact with his siblings. How they feel about it is up to you, but I’d love to see the siblings reactions to Ben-as-Klaus

I’ve had this ask sitting in my inbox ever since quarantine began so... months ago. This is kind of sloppy because I really wanted to get it out before S2, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

___

Title: take my face, and desecrate

Summary: The first time it happened, it was an accident. After all, possessing your brother is a simple mistake that can happen to anyone. Right? (In which Ben possesses Klaus, and they have to tell the others.)

(Read on AO3)

___

The first time it happened, it was an accident.

Klaus had just gotten out of rehab—almost ten days clean, the longest he'd been in a long time—and was on his way to meet with his dealer. Needless to say, Ben wasn't exactly happy about it.

But what could he say? 'Hey Klaus, maybe you should lay off drugs for a while, you know, since you overdosed and all?' No. It didn't matter what Ben said, so he didn't. The best he could hope for was for Klaus to go through the process safely. After all, Ben wasn't too keen on other ghosts following them, even if he'd learned to tolerate them.

Things were different this time.

For starters, there were barely any ghosts around, and even those that were there kept mostly quiet, hiding in alleys, not daring to take a step closer to Klaus. Most importantly, though, that… thing Klaus' dealer had just handed him, a crumbled plastic bag with Klaus' fix and a needle that was, hopefully, disinfected, it made Ben shiver.

"Are you sure you're not up for waffles or something?" Ben asked as Klaus led them in a dark alleyway.

"Out of money," Klaus said, his voice almost shaky. "And it's not like you can eat."

Usually Ben would have gotten upset at any remark related to him being a ghost, but there were other matters at hand. "It's never stopped you before."

Klaus suddenly came to a halt. He didn't spare Ben a single look as he leaned against the wall to take the cocaine and a metal spoon out of his pocket. He bit onto the spoon's handle so that he could empty the contents of the bag on it. "Doesn't matter," he said through grunted teeth. Ben's eyes were pinned on the bag—Klaus emptied a third of it, then shoved it back in his pocket with force. The lighter came out next, and Klaus held it underneath the spoon. "As I said, we're out of cash."

"Treating ourselves to a five-star alleyway then?" Ben asked. Bringing up the issue of where Klaus would be spending the night seemed like a good way to ignore the anxiety rising in his chest. "You think they'll have room service this time?"

A snort escaped Klaus, causing a portion of the drug to spill on the floor. Ben secretly wished all of it would.

His question was ignored, of course. Klaus was much too focused on his task now. Ben could tell by the way his muscles tensed up and his hands shook. An addict, thirty seconds away from his fix. A child, terrified of the ghosts that lurked in the dark.

Klaus took the needle out of his pocket, and Ben's shiver returned.

"Sure you wanna do this?" he said without missing a beat.

Klaus, now filling the needle with the drug, chuckled. "It's little too late for second thoughts."

"No, Klaus," Ben said. "I really mean it. You can't—"

Klaus groaned, taking the spoon out of his mouth and holding it with his free hand. "Right, you're just worried about me, as always."

Ben bit his lip, his eyes falling on the needle in Klaus' hand. Klaus didn't really do drugs that required needles—pills were much more convenient, you could just pop one in whenever—but when he did, he always had the decency of being careful, and that wasn't it; the needle was crooked, slightly rusty, and had definitely been used before.

"Listen, I know you want—need this," Ben said, doing his best to ignore how shaky his own voice was. He needed to be calm. Patient. For Klaus, and for his own sanity. "But hold on just a little longer, okay? We'll find something else."

Klaus huffed.

Patience, Ben reminded himself. He couldn't let this go south. "Klaus, I mean it, that needle—"

"That needle is what's gonna make the ghosts shut the hell up!"

But Ben had had it. And so he finally let himself be angry. "Oh please! There aren't even that many."

"Oh, so that's what this is about then?" Klaus gritted through his teeth, a smile that couldn't mean any good decorating his face. "Benny the Friendly Ghost wants to wait for his dead friends to appear before Klaus gets rid of them? I get that you're sick of me or whatever, but they're dead, Ben."

"That's not fair," Ben said. He knew it was just words, just Klaus being Klaus, trying to get to him as always, but it didn't make them any less hurtful. "You don't mean it. You're just mad that I'm right."

"No," Klaus said. "I'm mad because I need this and you're in the way." He threw the spoon on the ground, cocaine all over. It didn't matter; what Klaus wanted was already in the needle itself. He raised his sleeve and tested the needle's pressure a bit. "Only you're not really, are you? In the way?"

They're just words.

"Because you're dead. It's your word against the real world."

He doesn't mean any of it.

"Anyway, it benefits both of us. You won't need to yell me awake from another ghost ambush. You can take a nice stroll instead, or whatever it is that you do when you're not playing guardsman."

But words be damned, did they make Ben furious.

Without missing a beat or even thinking about it, he took a step forward to grab the needle, slap it out of Klaus' hands, to do something to stop this and then—

Ben wasn't really sure what happened.

The first thing he noticed was that he was, indeed, holding the needle. He could feel it in his hand, his fingers wrapping around its plastic texture coated with sweat from having heated it up too much until suddenly he could feel much more than that.

He could feel the midnight breeze against his skin. Could feel the weight of his clothes. The ground against his feet. The splitting headache, his eyes trying to blink it away, his nose wrinkling at the smell of garbage from the bin next to him.

Ben could not see Klaus.

"What the f—what the FUCK?!"

Ben was certain—almost certain—that the words had come out of his mouth, but that definitely hadn't been his voice. "Klaus?" he said again just to test things out, but nothing changed. He coughed, in hopes to clear his throat a bit. He kept telling himself that was all it was, a bad cough, completely ignoring the fact that ghosts didn't get sick.

'What the hell just happened?'

It was due to the echo in his head that Ben noticed; it wasn't Klaus that had went away, but rather Ben himself. He finally let go of the needle that still clutched in his hand, more than happy to finally see it fall. Only it wasn't really his hand. And this wasn't really Ben. At least not his body.

He turned his palm around, inspecting it. The word Hello was written on it, with black ink, never to fade away. On his other hand, Goodbye. Ben scanned his body from head to toe as well as he could without a mirror and felt himself—only that he wasn't really himself, was he?—tense up in his coat. Klaus' coat.

'Ben—'

"I don't know!" he yelled. Did he even need to yell, if he was apparently inside his brother's body? Could Klaus read his thoughts? If so, did he already know how confused he was, how scared he was, how—

'I do,' Klaus said, or thought, or whatever this was. 'Ben, how are you doing this?'

"I don't…" Ben mumbled, surprising himself when the words weren't in his voice once more. "I just wanted to take the drugs away."

'More like you wanted to punch me.'

"Same thing," Ben said. "I think. I'm—I can't think." He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, wondering if that was his doing, or Klaus'.

Ben took a deep breath, leaning against the wall for balance. None of this made sense. It didn't make any sense at all. He couldn't possibly be possessing Klaus.

Unless.

"My name is Klaus Hargreeves, and I am an idiot," Ben said, to prove to himself that this was real, and maybe, just maybe, to piss Klaus off.

'Hey, rude!'

Ben smirked. "And Ben is my favorite brother, and always, always right."

'Stop lying.'

"And I will listen to everything he says from now on."

'Ben!'

"Sorry, sorry," Ben said. He tilted his head back, looking up to the night sky. "I just… Holy shit."

'That's an understatement.'

"It's kinda cool though."

'Wow, you're really taking this way better than I thought you would.'

Ben frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

'I'm high, aren't I?'

The frown didn't last for long. He found himself giggling again, and somehow, he could tell Klaus was laughing too.

Maybe things weren't so bad.

For an accident, it happened quite often after that. It took them a while to figure out how it worked, but in the end, this whole possession thing was indeed not that bad after all. Most of the time. Sometimes.

Ben really wanted to hate it, but it was hard, considering it was his only connection to the real world. He got to actually taste the waffles they got every Friday night, and interact with other people—he did not regret forcing Klaus to join a book club one bit—and even got to make a few acquaintances. He couldn't use his real name, but it was nice.

In exchange for sharing Klaus' body, Ben dealt with the drugs.

When Klaus' cravings became too much, he let Ben take over. Of course they never really went away—Ben couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit bad for all the times he yelled at Klaus to get his shit together—but he knew that being there helped Klaus.

Until Five came back. Until they learned about the apocalypse. Until Dave.

When Klaus dug up his secret stash in his room, and Ben found himself wanting to punch him in the face, he did. Ben didn't go through him, didn't go in him, he punched him, with his own body and limbs, like he had never died.

It was yet another power they'd need to work on.

It wasn't as if they had the time to understand it, though. It happened two more times after that; when their home was falling to pieces, and when Ben released the Horror for the first time since his death. After that, every day was a haze, as they frantically tried to stop the apocalypse.

So when they finally did, and their siblings requested to see Ben, neither of them knew what to do.

"We need to tell them," Ben had said while pacing in Klaus' room.

"Then let's show them."

A few hours later, they found themselves in the living room, surrounded by their family as they eagerly waited to talk to Ben again. Ben could feel the anxiety rising in his chest, and not even burying his hands in his pockets seemed to help. The others were expecting to see him—not Klaus. It wasn't as if they had much of a choice though.

Ben shared a reassuring nod with Klaus, and let the rest happen.

"There," Ben said, stretching his new form. It was oddly comfortable, more comfortable than having his own body manifested, although he supposed that was because Klaus hadn't learned how to do it properly yet.

There was a moment of silence, in which Ben found himself staring at his siblings—or rather, being stared at by his siblings. And yet, regardless of how intense their stares were, it was more than clear they had no idea who they were face to face with.

"Well…?" Luther said. "Where is he?"

Ben had to fight the urge to laugh, Klaus' urge to laugh, but a huff slipped out of his lips anyway. Ben glared at his brother; mentally, at least.

"Klaus," Diego said, as he fiddled with his blade. "Where's Ben?"

Ben swallowed, then took a deep breath. This was it. He'd been waiting for this moment for years, trying to come up with the right words to say, the right way to move, to simply exist, and now that it was finally here, he—

'Christ, Ben, do you need help opening your mouth or someth—'

"Hi," Ben said in Klaus' voice, shutting him up. Not that he could actually block Klaus out, but he hoped he got the message across. Ben cleared his throat, looking down and shoving his hands in his—oh, right. Klaus' leggings didn't have any pockets. He clumsily crossed his arms instead, leaning against the wall. "Hi," he repeated, the words coming out much more clear this time.

"No."

It was Allison who spoke first.

Even though she'd been the first one to apparently figure out what was happening, she was staring at him with the most dumbfounded expression Ben had ever laid his eyes upon. It wasn't as if he could blame her though. He'd hardly believed it himself, the first time it'd happened.

"What do you mean, 'no?'"

"Christ, Luther," Five mumbled, his tone stuck between annoyance and disbelief. "Can't you see? Or do you have that much of a pea brain—"

"I don't understand either," Vanya interrupted, and Five immediately shut up, as if he was ashamed of his comment. "You guys can see Ben?"

"Not… quite," Allison continued, taking a step closer to him. She scanned him from head to toe, again and again, a question hanging from the tip of her tongue. "You're… No."

"Yes," Ben said, because what else could he say?

'I mean, it's just a suggestion, but you could start by telling everyone what's going on. Although I'll admit, having them figure it out themselves is much more—'

Maybe Klaus did have a point.

Ben cleared his throat again. "I know that's not what you were expecting but…" he tried to look past Allison's gaze, but she was standing a bit too close for comfort, and looking past her only made him lock gazes with another sibling. "It's all we have. For now."

Allison shook her head, finally taking a step back. "I need to sit down."

It was at that moment that Klaus decided to burst into another flare of giggles, and this time Ben hadn't been prepared to block it. The sound that escaped him ended up being something between laughter and straight-up choking, which startled not only Ben, but everyone else in the room as well.

Ben pinched himself on the back of his hand and pounded his right foot on the ground in order to steady himself, finally taking over control again. "Are you going to let me do this or not?" he said firmly and out-loud, because Klaus was obviously not in the mood to listen.

"Let you do what?" Luther asked, helping Allison to sit down on the couch. "Klaus, this makes no—"

"It's not Klaus though, is it?" Diego interrupted. It looked as if he was about to jump at Luther with another insult, but he pointed his blade to Ben's direction instead. "Not just him, anyway."

Vanya was the next to get it. Her eyes widened, shock mixed with curiosity, the way they always were when she was intrigued ever since they were kids, and oh, how much Ben had missed that. "I thought Klaus was going to conjure you."

Ben shrugged, finally letting his mouth curl into a smile. Klaus did nothing to fight it. "That was the plan."

"This makes no sense," Luther said again. Ben could feel the next spiral of laughter building up inside him, and he almost let it out to mess with Luther. "Klaus, where's Ben—?"

"Klaus is Ben, you moron!" Five said. He was the first to actually voice their realisation, and he clearly wouldn't have been able to hold it in for much longer. His attention was turned back to Ben, strongly resembling Allison just a few moments ago. "The question is how?"

"Nice to see you too," Ben said. He hadn't expected Five to break into tears per se, but he was the slightest bit disappointed that his first reaction had been to play detective instead of asking him how he was or something.

'Don't take it too personally,' Klaus popped in. 'Remember the funeral? You know that's just how he is.'

'All too well,' Ben thought. And then, 'Now shut up, please,' because keeping up with five other people was hard enough already. Having an internal monologue in—

'—my body,' Klaus finished his thought. 'Technically you're the invader.'

'At least I'm not the annoying one.'

'I think they're talking to us.'

'What do you mean?'

'To you, actually.'

'What? Klaus, I don't—"

"… this been going on for?"

Ben blinked. Diego had been in the middle of talking to him about, about what, really? And when had Ben sat down? No, not Ben, Klaus had. He must have gained back control and settled on the chair next to the fireplace as they were arguing, and now everyone was staring at them, at Ben, and he had no idea what was going on.

"Sorry?" Ben said, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"I said, how long has this been going on for?" Diego repeated the question.

Ben considered replying honestly, but something, someone, in the back in his head told him to lay off the details for a while. "Long," Ben said, playing with his hands on his lap. "I've, uh… I've talked to you before."

"You've talked to us?" Allison asked, her eyebrow quirking up.

"No," Ben quickly corrected. "Just Diego. Once or twice." He tried to shove the rest of the words in the back of his throat, but… "More like, thrice, fourice, fice—Klaus, come on, these aren't even real words!"

Diego let out a huff, finally taking a seat of his own on the other chair. "Jesus, that's…"

"Crazy, I—we know," Ben said, and then forced himself to cough the rest of the sentence away, before it turned to a direction he didn't want to follow. Klaus had always been a pain in the ass to control when he wasn't feeling up to cooperating, but now he was sober, and his powers were much stronger than Ben's stubbornness.

'It's because I'm bored.'

'It's because you're an asshole.'

"What about the Icarus Theater?" Luther asked. "You were… You were you, back then. So why aren't you…?"

"In my own body?" Ben offered, and chuckled. Willingly chuckled. "The thing is, we don't really… know how this works. Manifesting, I mean. Not that this is any better, but—"

"Interesting," Five said, his chin resting on his hand. "Dad always talked about how Klaus had only scratched the surface of his powers, but this…"

Ben couldn't help but agree. It'd been years since that night in the alleyway, and he still couldn't wrap his head around what was happening. Having to explain it wasn't exactly helpful either.

"Mom made cookies," Vanya said, breaking the silence. "I could go and bring some, assuming, uh… can you taste them?"

Ben smiled. "I can. Cookies sound great."

'Booo, I'm not in the mood for cookies.'

'Too bad. We're having them.'

'You have too much of a sweet tooth, my stomach's gonna hurt for days.'

'Not my problem right now. Vanya offered us some cookies, and therefore we're having—'

"Sorry sis, it's gonna have to be a hard pass on this one," Klaus said, and it took everything in Ben not to punch himself in the face. "Maybe after some actual dinner, we could—Ben for Christ's sake, cut it out!"

'You're being so unfair. This isn't about you, it's about me and the others!" Ben finished his thoughts out loud.

"Uh, guys?" Luther said. "What is happening?"

Ben stood up, tensing his body up as much as he could, to stay in control. "Klaus is just being a wonderful brother—shut up! You're being a dick!"

"Kl—Ben?" Allison said. "Are you feeling okay?"

"We're fine," both of them said. It was an odd feeling. Ben felt his body shaking, even though it wasn't. Not really. "I just need to—we're sitting down again—no we're not—yes we are—stop being ridiculous, you're making a fool out—sorry, whose body were we using agai—it's not my fault you can't bring yourself to manifest a single—that's not fair—you're not fair—I swear to God, Ben, I'm going to—"

It all happened in a blink of an eye.

For starters, Ben was definitely not in Klaus' body anymore. He could see Klaus staring down at him with wide-open eyes, while Ben's body collapsed on the floor, as if he had been literally thrown there, and it hurt—

It hurt.

His fingers curled around the fabric of the carpet, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed his head with one arm, his eyes never leaving Klaus'. Once he got on his feet, he was going to kill him. He was going to kill him, because somehow he managed to make the pain permanent, and his head hurt, and—

"Ben?"

He jumped, his eyes locking with Diego's. Then Allison's. Then, slowly, everyone else's.

"You guys can see me?"

As always, it'd been an accident.

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frangipanidownunder · 5 years

Note

Would you consider a prompt? I have been home from a unexpected and long hospital stay for just a couple of days. The news is all good, but I am tired and it's freezing and gray and rainy here. I am amazed at the level of loving support from my husband and I feel so loved. So I am thinking of Scully, home from the hospital after Tithonus or Redux II or FTF and wondering how that "coming home" goes for her - and Mulder of course. Fic is Medicine Anon

And prompt 39 from the cliché list for @edierone ‘Having a bad day and the other noticing’. Thank you to @chekcough for your excellent betaing.

Living Better: fic

There’s a newness about everything. A sheen of hope. The sun is bright, the sky open, the world seems wider. The furniture in her apartment gleams, her plants are healthier, lush. Her mother must have been in, cleaning and tidying as though hygiene and order could turn around the march of the cancer invading her daughter’s body.

Scully is grateful. She is. Whatever quiet miracle took place over the last few days, she’s been given a second chance and this homecoming, however unremarkable (I’ll be fine, mom), is a new start.

Before. After.

Still, everything feels Herculean. Where there should be wings of freedom, she’s weighted down by invisible cargo. There’s a roiling mass of ingratitude inside her. A fist of anger or shame or bitterness. During her fight against the disease, her mind had accepted her fate and now it’s like her spirit is pissed that she’s having to live again. There’s a nagging voice in her head. You should be doing more, Dana. You should be out there living. Life rushed by once before, don’t let it disappear into the rearview mirror again.

She should be free. Free to feel. She knows she should feel more. People have revealed themselves, their true selves, to her these past months. And Mulder. There’s Mulder. A hero who went in to battle. Who won. And now? Happily ever after is a load too heavy to bear.

With late afternoon shadows playing over the floor of her living room, she’s sitting on her couch, knees tucked under her seat, robe pulled around her frame, still bony and paper-skinned, prone to the cold. Aromatic steam wafts from her cup. Peppermint tea helps with the lingering nausea. There’s a romantic comedy playing in the background and she’s trying to read the novel that Tara presented to her with a ‘I’m sure you’ll love it because I did and we’re related…’ smile. It’s not really her thing, but she has time, once a luxury, to read, to rest, to do nothing.

After a while, the words blur together and the movie’s credit rolls. Her stomach is empty and she knows she should eat. Her mother insisted on leaving cooked meals in the freezer but she has little appetite and her sense of smell has all but disappeared anyway. Where is the joy of food when it’s been reduced to just a necessary fuel?

As the plastic tub of pasta revolves on the plate in time with the drone of the microwave, she remembers the slop from her night in prison, and gags. Not just at the memory of the soggy grey mess of that stew, but at her resolve to be strong for Mulder, to protect him. She fears that resolve has disappeared, along with the cancer. Back then, when he walked into the senate hearing and smiled at her, she’d felt something more than relief. She could admit that now. At her bedside one night recently, he’d collapsed in tears, clinging to her hand like a child. She’d kept her eyes closed for fear of humiliating him further. He was hanging on to life by the same spidery thread she was.

And now they have to move on with life as though nothing has happened.

She throws the dinner in the garbage bin.

Sleep evades her again that night, nightmares swirling around her mind, shadowy figures clawing at her as she tries to run, her feet mired in a squelching, sucking bog. The flash of a bullet. Mulder’s temple exploding. His hot blood splattering over her face.

She shoots up, the beating of her own pulse too loud in the predawn stillness.

Something outside of her control demands to hear his gravelled voice. Calling his number is an impulse. He answers, fear edging his voice. She remembers telling him she’s okay, but the rest of the conversation is lost to the void of her memory. A symptom she hopes is only temporary. Now, Scully pads from her bedroom, drawing her forefinger and thumb along the edges of her cheekbones. Hollow. She rests her hand over her stomach, concave. The points of her hips jutting out. Gaps and sharp edges everywhere.

There’s a hazy film of dawn across the kitchen. As she waits for the tea kettle to boil, she’s lost in the mist frosting the window, the ragged edges of it blooming out before receding to nothingness. Just a dot on the glass. She presses the pad of her finger to it and breathes, leaving a trace of herself on the pane. A sharp rap at the door makes her startle, her elbow knocking over the vase her mother gave her when she bought this place. She meant to put it back in the cupboard. She meant to keep it safe.

Mulder’s inside before she can move to find the dustpan, weapon in his hand, yelling her name. If she had the energy, she’d laugh. Instead, she sinks to her knees, feels the gritty shards of porcelain digging into her skin. Her sigh is ragged, the exhalation physically painful.

“Are you okay?” he says, kneeling next to her. She can sense his hand hovering over her shoulders and she wills him to lower it, to feel the warmth of his touch. Instead, he starts to pick up the broken vase.

She heaves herself up and takes a bag from the tidy under the sink to dispose of the pieces. As Mulder places the larger pieces carefully inside, he looks down at her but by now she’s unable to meet his gaze. His scrutiny will crack her open just like the vase and if she falls apart, she’ll never be put back together.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, without alarm, but he takes the bag and leaves it in the sink before bracing her shoulders, turning her into him and leading her to the couch. “Sit.”

It’s strangely comforting to be ordered about by him. She obeys, exhausted. It’s then that she sees the pearls of blood dotting her legs, collecting in the longer threads of her robe. A sharp diamond of porcelain is sticking out from the skin of her knee.

“Where do you keep your Bandaids?” Mulder’s voice floats over her as she watches the blood ribbon down her shin. She’s no longer shocked by its crimson brightness, having seen it leach from her body so often. But for Mulder, she realises, it’s a cruel reminder of past months.

“In the bathroom,” she says, nodding in the direction. She tries to say ‘thank you’ as he walks away, but the words dry in her throat.

Mulder returns with a first aid kit, unwraps the scissors from their plastic shield and removes the offending shard. She watches his lips form a silent ‘sorry’ as he dabs antiseptic lotion on her, but the sting is refreshing. She can feel it. He holds a cotton pad against her knee and she looks at his strong fingers across her skin. She sees her unshaven legs, her blue veins, her crumpled socks.

“I’m such a mess.”

No response. He dabs at her knee, lifting the pad to see if the bleeding has stopped. He disappears to the kitchen and returns with a glass of water.

“Sorry about the vase,” he says, sinking into the seat next to her.

“It was a gift from my mother. She’ll probably buy two more. She’s…just so grateful, you know?”

He nods. “I am, too,” he says softly. “Very much so.”

Tears burn the corners of her eyes and she presses a finger under her nose to stop the flow but it’s impossible. He lets her weep until she’s wrung dry. Exhaustion leaves her body trembling. He finds a blanket, God knows from where, and covers her.

“You need to give yourself time, Scully. You’ve been through…”

“Don’t say ‘an ordeal’,” she says wearily. She’s heard it from her mother, brother, Father McCue, doctors, nurses. She survived. Life shouldn’t be a trial.

“I was going to say ‘a lot’. It’s not just the cancer, Scully. Your work with me…the abduction, your sister. It all adds up. This disease…how close it came to…” He stops, taking a shallow breath and rubbing at his stubbled chin. “In a funny way it made me reassess everything. That sounds selfish…it’s not what I mean. I…guess that you…not being here would change... everything. You mean more to me that you know, than even I knew.” He looks at her, eyes wet, and laughs in surprise at his own admission.

“Mulder…”

“It’s true! It took your death sentence to stop me suffocating up my own ass.”

A giggle wells up in her throat, along with more tears. Her chest hurts. And she’s not sure if it’s pain or a coming back to life of sorts. His face lights up.

“What I’m trying to say is that this is a second chance. For you, for us, for the work…if you still want it.” His voice lowers and he presses a hand over her arm. “Scully, your health is the most important thing to me. And you need to take some time, as much time as you need.”

The silence of the night is heavy in her head. There were times in the hospital where the midnight hours would stretch elastically until she felt she were forever walking towards an elusive dawn. Time really was a construct. The hours on the clock held no meaning, yet they marked her life in increments – for treatments, for food, for visits.

“I do want to come back,” she says, finally. “I thought I would already be back. Recovery has been…more difficult than I expected.”

He chuckles. “Why does that not surprise me?” He taps her elbow with two fingers. “You are the strongest person I know but you’re also the worst at cutting yourself some slack.” His forehead crinkles, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have nothing to prove that you haven’t already, Scully. Especially not to me.”

“Mom keeps coming by and she’s so cheery and happy and it’s hard, you know? That sounds so selfish, but I keep thinking that I have a duty, some kind of moral obligation to live a better life now that I’ve…survived. It’s like the pressure of life has doubled, tripled, and I can’t even make myself dinner.” Her nails dig into her palms. How can she make him understand? She’s alive. She should be grateful, not bitching about her mom. She shrugs off the blanket, runs her hands down her frame. “I can’t even decide what clothes to wear so I just wear this. I brush my hair, put my earrings in, look at my make-up and all I think is ‘why?’. What’s the point? I’ve already beaten this disease. Isn’t that enough?” He pulls her into a hug and presses his lips to the top of her head. “Shouldn’t it be enough?”

His breath ruffles her hair. His chest moves up and down as he breathes and she listens to the solid, steady beat of his heart.

Releasing her, he takes both hands into his, holding them gently, bringing them to his mouth to press a soft kiss against her knuckles. There’s such reverence in his action. A kind of benediction for them both. “I think...I think you’ve put yourself under this pressure, Dana. Nobody, least of all your mother, expects you to leap back into work or life straightaway. I...I don’t want that. We all want you strong and healthy. And your mother, she knows you. Knows you’ll cut her off, give her a hand wave and an ‘I’m fine’.” He smiles. Gets her smiling too. “How many of those have you given out over the last few months, hey, Miss Scully?” He bounces their clasped hands between them. “I’ve heard more ‘I’m fines’ than I’ve seen aliens.”

She laughs at that. Mulder and his ridiculous puns are like the sun finally rising after an eternity in the dark.

He pulls the blanket over her lap and his, squashes a cushion behind his head, points the remote control at the television. “There’s a movie on that I know you’re going to love.”

Leaning against him as he chuckles at the scene playing on the screen, she looks around. There’s a newness about everything. A sheen of hope and the itch of wings forming on her back.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #msr #cancer arc #living better

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heave-hyung · 5 years

Text

No More Energy Drinks

Inspired by a recent personal experience (I’ve been having a lot of those lately, huh?) There are two different endings; I put the angsty-ish one under the cut because it involves a call to Poison Control and stuff!! It’s after the fifth deep sigh that Taehyung starts to get annoyed. Annoyed and concerned--which one more, he doesn’t exactly know. What he does know is that his boyfriend has been shifting uncomfortably for at least an hour now, curled over his laptop and typing something furiously with headphones in. Taehyung knows he’s probably working on a song and has been sitting quietly on his phone beside the older man. After the first time Yoongi sighed heavily, Taehyung assumed it was a sigh of exasperation. The second as well. But he keeps taking these deep, progressively shakier breaths, and Taehyung knows something is wrong. “Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung tries, looking at the rapper beside him. He looks noticeably paler than his usual, already light complexion. After a long moment of no response, Taehyung taps Yoongi on the shoulder, and after another moment of no response he pulls one of his earbuds out, which finally snaps him out of whatever trance he was in. “What?” He snaps, sounding almost angry. Taehyung knows this tone. Yoongi clearly isn’t feeling well, because he only gets snappy when something’s wrong, especially if it’s a physical issue. “Would you just tell me what’s wrong?” Taehyung asks, looking at his boyfriend with concern. He’s shaking a bit, though Taehyung assumes he might just be cold and pulls the blanket on their bed over his legs a bit. “Nothing, Tae, I’m--” “If you say you’re fine one more time I’ll drop-kick you off a bridge.” Yoongi snorts and averts his gaze, staying quiet. “Kitten, please,” Taehyung’s tone is back to its characteristic softness, if not even more light and sympathetic than usual. “I’m worried.” “I…” Yoongi reaches for the energy drink that’s on the bedside table beside him, taking a long sip of it. “Just a little nauseous. I’m fine, okay?” Taehyung’s brow furrows in concern, but he nods hesitantly after a moment. It’s not an uncommon thing for the rapper to feel off without anything being really wrong; he’s prone to anxiety and has an overall temperamental stomach, so Taehyung doesn’t think twice about it. He just runs a hand down the smaller man’s back in an attempt of a soothing gesture. Yoongi stares down his laptop for a minute, unmoving, before he gives an audible wince and decides to close it, putting it on the floor beside the bed. He’ll put it on his desk in the morning, but for the moment, the world is spinning, so he’d rather stay seated. Taehyung watches the rapper intently. Yoongi shifts his gaze to meet Taehyung’s and they sit still for a moment before the older man all but collapses into his boyfriend with a groan. Taehyung moves his hand up to play with Yoongi’s hair and pulls him close. “Don’t feel good, Tae,” his voice is quiet, muffled by the shoulder his face is buried into. “Sorry, kitten, I’m sorry,” Taehyung kisses the crown of his head. “Is there anything I can do to help you? Anything at all?” Yoongi shakes his head, whining sadly. His walls aren’t as hard to break as they used to be, especially not around Tae, and he gets undeniably clingy when he feels unwell--still, even though it’s no longer an out of character occurrence, Taehyung can’t help but get concerned when he goes from zero to a hundred this fast. “Should we try to sleep?” Taehyung asks. For anyone else, it’d be a dumb question, considering the fact that Yoongi had just polished off a second energy drink. But Taehyung had forgotten about the energy drink in his concern, and either way, caffeine doesn’t affect the rapper as much as he’d like it to. Yoongi feels his stomach churn. Laying down never helps nausea. But at the same time, he figures it might be the best way to get rid of this horrible sick feeling, a curdling queasiness that’s settled at the pit of his stomach. He burps quietly, mumbles an apology, and then after a long moment, decides to nod. Taehyung nods as well and leans over the smaller man to turn off his lamp before turning off the one next to his side of the bed as well, pulling his boyfriend into his arms. Yoongi lays on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, hoping that the sound will calm his own that seems to be pounding out of his chest. It’s just when Yoongi is beginning to fall asleep that he jolts with a start as his stomach suddenly jumps in his throat. He barely manages to sit up before he’s burping up a wave of the energy drink he’d had earlier, and another, all over his lap--rather, the blanket covering it. Taehyung, who’d just managed to fall asleep himself, wakes up to the sound of gurgling heaves and belches that are characteristically ‘Yoongi.’ He takes a moment before jumping into action and clicking on the lamp on his side of the bed once more to find his boyfriend covered in clear liquid, shaking violently. He mutters a slew of curses before jumping to his feet to grab the garbage can from beside the desk, holding it under Yoongi’s chin just in time for him to bring up more of the liquid. “That’s it, you’re okay,” Taehyung sits beside him, careful to avoid the pool of vomit on the blankets, rubbing his back. “You’re okay, it’s okay.” Yoongi gasps for breath and Taehyung can almost hear his heart pounding quickly, alarmingly so. How did his boyfriend get so sick so fast? He’s brought out of his thoughts by Yoongi retching again, and again, face buried in the trash can. Taehyung can hear the splashing of liquid on liquid, and he can feel the bucket getting heavier. He can hear Yoongi’s retches getting more violent as one of his hands grips onto the garbage bag and the other grips onto the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt. “Yoongi, baby, breathe, you have to breathe,” Taehyung encourages, getting scared at his boyfriend’s ragged breathing. “Breathe, you’re okay, it’s okay…” It’s after a long moment of panting and spitting that Yoongi pulls his head out of the trash, over half-full, and looks up at Taehyung with tears in his eyes. “I-I’m sorry,” he chokes out, sincerely apologetic, a stark contrast to his normally ‘fuck it’ attitude. His apology is hard to understand--not because it’s muffled, but because he’s shaking so much his teeth are chattering. “Shh, no worries, it’s not your fault,” Taehyung reassures, looking over the mess. It’s then that he realizes that the liquid on the blankets is just that--liquid. There’s no sign of vomit, no smell of vomit, just the subtle sweetness of energy drinks, and it hits him--Yoongi, small and gentle as he is, must’ve drank upwards of three-hundred grams of caffeine on an empty stomach. “Kitten, did you eat anything today?” Yoongi stops to think before dropping his head. “N-No…” Taehyung fights the urge to call him a dumbass and sighs deeply instead. “Stupid,” he mumbles, but still rubs his back comfortingly regardless. “Let me--I’m gonna go change the bag, okay? Will you be okay?” Yoongi nods, gingerly taking the soiled blanket off his legs to pull his knees to his chest. Taehyung looks over him, nothing but sympathy in his eyes. “You’re gonna be okay, baby,” he promises before getting up to do as he said, moving fast. While he’s up and about, he also takes it upon himself to grab a bottle of an electrolyte replacer and a new blanket, rushing out once more to get rid of the soiled one after placing the other things he’d brought on his side of the bed. When he returns, Yoongi is as curled in on himself as he could possibly be, trembling and panting. Taehyung can tell he’s still horribly nauseous, and he feels bad, but he has to get something in him, especially considering that he hasn’t eaten today. “Can you pick your head up for me? Just a moment?” Yoongi does as he’s asked, paling even more at the site of the drink Taehyung has in his hand, if that’s even possible. “I know, I know, but I have to get something in you,” Taehyung says, recalling the time he’d gotten an awful bout of the stomach flu a long while back and Namjoon was the one taking care of him, giving a full explanation of electrolyte imbalance. Now it’s a habit to go straight to electrolyte drinks. “Please, baby? For me?” Yoongi gulps, but takes the drink with a shaky hand nonetheless, struggling to open it. Taehyung does it for him, unscrewing the cap and making sure that the older man has a good enough grasp to not spill any of it. Slowly but surely, Yoongi manages to drink a third of the liquid before giving it back to his boyfriend who replaces the cap and goes right back to holding Yoongi close and playing with his hair. The rapper swallows thickly over and over, clearly struggling to keep the drink down. Taehyung hopes he can keep it down long enough to get some benefit, and he wonders if he should’ve grabbed a water bottle, too--but now he doesn’t want to leave the other since he seems like he’ll be bent over the trashcan again sooner than later. They sit in silence for a moment, save for the gurgling of Yoongi’s upset stomach and the sound of his rhythmic gulping. And then Yoongi’s shaking harder again and clasping a hand over his mouth. Taehyung grabs the garbage, and Yoongi hugs it to his chest as a copious, nearly projectile wave of blue spills into the bag. He groans and spits before heaving again, somehow finding more of his bubbling regrets to bring up. Taehyung keeps his bangs back, chewing on his lower lip. Eventually, once more, Yoongi’s reduced to soft gags and quiet burps, and Taehyung finds it safe to take the bucket from him. He shuffles around in one of the drawers of the nightstand, pulling out a tissue box and grabbing one to wipe the spit off Yoongi’s chin, the puke from his nose, and another to dry his tears, throwing both into the bin of sick. He doesn’t bother changing the bag just yet; as Yoongi falls into him, even weaker than before, Taehyung knows it’s going to be a long night. He checks the time on his phone; it’s already three in the morning. His boyfriend is still against his chest, and he uses his free hand that’s not tangled in his dyed locks to do some googling about caffeine and the hell it can cause. A little more googling reveals that the brand he’d been drinking was one that would get frequent complaints. Taehyung feels a little more reassured by that, in a way; he knew that Yoongi would be fine, but it was good to see that there are others who have gone through it and gotten over it in...about six hours. “My poor hyung,” Taehyung coos, turning his phone off in favor of hugging his boyfriend tighter. He doesn’t mention the six hours, hoping that it won’t last that long, though considering his empty stomach, he has a sinking feeling that he’ll be out of luck. Yoongi hugs him back weakly, moaning into the crook of his neck. Taehyung mumbles soft ‘I know, I know’s, wishing desperately that he could’ve stopped him before he’d decided to drink so much damn caffeine. The rapper never did well with energy drinks anyway, so Taehyung doesn’t entirely know why it didn’t come to him sooner that it was a bad idea. But regardless, the past is in the past and there’s nothing to do but wait. So wait they will do. Even if it takes six days for Yoongi to get better, Taehyung won’t leave his side. He sighs deeply, looking at his shaking boyfriend. “No more energy drinks, okay?” Taehyung mumbles into his soft hair. Yoongi hums quietly in agreement. “N-No more energy drinks.” Angsty-ish ending under cut...

“My poor hyung,” Taehyung coos, turning his phone off in favor of hugging his boyfriend tighter. He doesn’t mention the six hours, hoping that it won’t last that long, though considering his empty stomach, he has a sinking feeling that he’ll be out of luck.

Yoongi hugs him back weakly, moaning into the crook of his neck. Taehyung mumbles soft ‘I know, I know’s, wishing desperately that he could’ve stopped him before he’d decided to drink so much damn caffeine. The rapper never did well with energy drinks anyway, so Taehyung doesn’t entirely know why it didn’t come to him sooner that it was a bad idea. But regardless, the past is in the past and there’s nothing to do but wait.

Yoongi’s breathing is starting to even out as much as it can despite his violent trembling, and Taehyung almost breathes a sigh of relief thinking he may have finally fallen asleep for real this time. But then he hears hushed sniffles and Yoongi’s breath hitches again.

“Hyung, are you crying?” Taehyung asks quietly, stroking his soft hair.

Yoongi responds with a choked sob, mumbling something that vaguely resembles an apology.

“Aw, kitten,” Taehyung hums. “Don’t cry, shh, don’t cry,” Taehyung hugs his shaking frame tight, secretly hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’ll still Yoongi’s shaking, just a bit. But the addition of the sobbing just worsens his trembling horribly, and Taehyung’s slowly but surely getting more and more concerned.

And then, like clockwork, just as Yoongi’s trembling peaks, he lurches out of Taehyung’s arms for the trash can. Taehyung picks it up and holds it under his chin once more as he somehow finds a way to bring up another productive wave of fizzing blue. His retching is getting audible, back to back heaves that hurt his ribs and have his whole body curling in on itself. Taehyung tries handing him the electrolyte drink once he calms down again, but Yoongi gags on a sip and brings up twice as much as he managed to swallow.

“Babe,” Taehyung coos as Yoongi pants over the trash, over half-full now. “Do you think we should call poison control or something? Maybe you...you can overdose on caffeine, you know, and maybe…”

Any other day, Yoongi would probably insist that all he needed was some sleep, not a call to poison control. But Yoongi is shaking from his core and he was, honestly, getting kind of scared. So he only shrugs weakly before burying his face back in the trash can.

Taehyung shakily nods, letting his answer set in. He wasn’t expecting Yoongi to say yes. He takes a deep breath before fumbling around for his phone, dialing the number as quickly as he can with his own shaky hands.

It’s a lady that picks up the call. Taehyung clears his throat, stuttering a bit, before he speaks. Yoongi still gags and burps hollowly while Taehyung cards his fingers through the older man’s hair as he speaks. His words are muffled to the mush that’s become of Yoongi’s brain, but he can make out bits and pieces of their end of the conversation.

“My boyfriend, he...lots of caffeine...two energy drinks on an empty stomach…uhh, the brand is…I’m afraid he may have overdosed, he won’t stop vomiting…”

Yoongi just groans, leaning heavily onto his taller boyfriend, hugging the garbage bin to his chest as tightly as he can manage. Taehyung takes the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker before placing it on the bedside table, hoping to spare her the sound of Yoongi’s retching, getting loud and painful sounding now that he’s out of anything at all to bring up. He gags on spit and foam, his body refusing to give him a break. Taehyung fights the urge to cry, trying to keep his cool and steady his voice, at least for the rest of this phone call.

Yoongi manages to calm down just as the lady gives her advice on the situation after confirming that he isn’t at the point of fatal overdose, and though he had a feeling that it wasn’t that big of a situation, he still breathes a sigh of relief. Still, he grimaces shortly after at her words.

“The first thing you should do is try to get your boyfriend to eat something…” Yoongi swallows thickly, handing Taehyung the trash. The younger boy puts it on the floor, humming along to the lady’s advice before the call ends. The color has returned to Taehyung’s face--he’d paled a bit with worry, though Yoongi didn’t notice it at first. His tan complexion, warm with relief, is a stark contrast to Yoongi’s sickly pallor.

Taehyung sighs deeply, looking at Yoongi with sympathy shining in his bright brown eyes. “I know you don’t want to, but you heard her,” he speaks softly. “I have to get some food in you, kitten.” Yoongi whimpers, giving the younger man a broken, sad look. Taehyung wishes he didn’t have to make this happen and that Yoongi’s body would just give him a break--he’s obviously learned his lesson. But, alas, that’s not really his choice. So he places a kiss on Yoongi’s flushed cheek before getting up to go get a sleeve of crackers and a bottle of water.

He puts the water on the table, opening the crackers, handing just one to his ailing boyfriend. Yoongi looks up at him, his eyes full of fear. Taehyung feels his heart shatter.

“I know you don’t feel good, I know,” Taehyung coos. “But this will make you feel better...I promise you, it will make you feel at least a little better, okay? Please, baby?”

Yoongi takes a deep breath to steel himself before nibbling on the cracker, trying his absolute best not to gag on it. He eats slowly, very slowly. Taehyung uncaps the water and hands it to Yoongi, thinking that maybe it’ll be easier to take it like a pill than it will be to chew and swallow. It’s rinse and repeat from there; Yoongi manages to get five crackers down, which, in his opinion, is pretty fucking decent considering the state he’s in. It takes a while, multiple pauses to press a fist to his lips and make sure he’s not about to spew up all of his progress before he takes a swig of water and carries on.

Taehyung keeps a comforting hand on his back all the way through, smiling proudly whenever Yoongi looks up at him for approval. He lets him off the hook once he finishes his fifth cracker. He’s not shaking as much as he was earlier, so that’s a start.

“Are you still feeling sick? Or can I clean out the trash and we can try to sleep?” Taehyung suppresses a yawn. Now that things have calmed down, the high off concern has worn off and Taehyung is picking up on just how tired he really is. He assumes his boyfriend has to be pretty exhausted, too.

Yoongi shakes his head after a long moment of hesitation. “No, I think I’m good,” his voice is rough and raspy, hoarse from the heaving.

Taehyung nods, getting up to change the bag in the trash and bring it back just in case for the second time that night. In the process, he grabs another water bottle as well, before heading back; hopefully it’s the last time he makes this trip tonight. When he returns, Yoongi is curled in on himself again, but not trembling or looking nearly as sick as before; now he just looks tired. He kind of looks downright sad.

Taehyung clicks off the lamp, climbing back into bed after putting the trash on Yoongi’s side of the bed this time. He takes the smaller man into his arms, holding him tightly. Yoongi cuddles up close to him, playing with the fabric of his boyfriend’s shirt.

“No more energy drinks, okay? Please,” Taehyung asks, placing a kiss on the top of the smaller man’s head.

“No more energy drinks,” Yoongi agrees, knowing damn well that he’ll never see energy drinks and their lack of positive effect in the same light again even if he wanted to touch one any time soon.

It’s Yoongi’s first deep sigh in a while, but this one is of relief. Comfort. He can finally sleep. And like that, all of Taehyung’s concern melts away; as his boyfriend’s breathing evens out, he exhales a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Yoongi’s gonna be okay.

#emeto #bts emeto #sick!yoongi #caring!taehyung #caretaker!taehyung #vomiting #bts vomiting #poison control tw #taegi

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