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ri-ahhh · 3 years

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good times

things come to a head, as it were. part 3 in this lil trilogy.

warnings: kinda long, almost all smut, probably one of the dirtier things I’ve written in a while

A/N: once again, I apologize this is so long and there’s no keep reading break. Even if tumblr did work on my laptop, my cat chewed up my charger and it’s dead so.. yeah. Sorry again.

***

The next afternoon finds you and Grayson in his car, munching on a lunch of Monty’s and sitting in otherwise companionable silence as Cudi’s album plays quietly from the speakers.

You had slept like a rock the night before. The heat from Grayson’s body in his almost too-comfy bed beneath the fluffy comforter, with his arm slung around your waist to keep you close to him all night, had lulled you off to sleep faster than you can ever remember having done before.

The orgasm might have helped, too. But it was him that had kept you safe and cozy and warm enough to wake up feeling like a new woman.

Enough so that you let him coax you awake in the middle of the sunrise this morning, his eyes puffy but cheeks full as he grinned down at you sleepily and pushed a rogue chunk of hair out of your face. That gruff morning voice convinced you to do the unthinkable — leave the bed and go on a morning jog with him.

“Fine,” you had grumbled, not sounding nearly as sexy as him with your raspy, unused voice. “But you owe me.”

Grayson chuckled, and you felt the dip in the mattress as he stood up and stretched. “Owe you what?”

You cracked an eye open and watched him, the thick muscles all over his body elongating as he lifted his arms over his head with a big yawn. He’s just wearing his underwear, and you’re suddenly very conscious of the fact that you’re similarly dressed in a pair of his boxers and his hoodie he had given you after... everything.

He says your name, and your eyes zip to his handsome face; away from where they had been admiring the perfect curve of his ass in those skin-tight briefs.

“Huh?”

He’s full-on smirking at you, and frustratingly you can feel the flush creep into your cheeks despite yourself. You groan and bury your face in the pillow. “Shut up.”

To your surprise, the bed shifts again as he climbs back onto it on his knees. You turn your head just in time for him to dip down and press his lips to your temple gently.

“I said you can tell me what I owe you after we’re done with our run.” He yanks the covers back, and your disapproving whine turns into a giggly yelp when he smacks your ass lightly. “Chop chop, little onion. Let’s go.”

The run wasn’t bad, even though you had to borrow a pair of shorts and some tennis shoes that were a half size too small for you from Kristina. He let you pick the playlist to play through the speaker on his phone, and you actually enjoyed the rush of crisp morning air around you. But after putting you through a watered-down version of his calisthenics workout after the run, you decided that what he owed you was a nice, juicy vegan burger to replenish yourselves.

“You know what I just realized?”

You’re halfway through sucking a big bite of ice cream off your spoon when he breaks the comfortable quiet between you. Your brows raise in question, and he casually throws another fry into his mouth before continuing, eyeing you through the side of his sunglasses.

“After all we’ve done lately... we’ve never even kissed.”

That throws you for a loop. Your gaze drifts unseeing out the windshield as you consider his observation. Now that you think about it, you can’t recall that happening, either.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you say, pulling the now-clean spoon out of your mouth. You scoop a bit of whipped cream onto it, and slip it in again as you look up at him with a smirk. “At least, not on the lips.”

He gives a little huff of laughter through his nose, accepting the bite of ice cream you offer him. There’s a brief moment of silence as he sits back in his seat a bit and swallows. “We should change that.”

You’re hunting through the cup of milkshake to find the perfect chunk of Oreo when he says it, and you jerk your head in surprise. “Oh.. yeah?”

Grayson nods and smiles. “Yeah.”

You swallow. Why are you suddenly so nervous? “Now?”

He shrugs. “Now. Later. Doesn’t matter. I just think we should.”

“Why?”

What a dumb question, you tell yourself, mentally giving yourself a face-palm. Grayson seems unfazed by it, though, and just keeps looking at you softly as he sucks a bit of salt off his thumb before crumpling up his napkin and stuffing it in the paper bag.

“Just doesn’t sit right with me that I’ve licked your pussy and not — well, your other lips.”

“Grayson!” He’s unbelievable, saying stuff like that so casually. You reach for his tea and take a big chug, feeling your face heat up while he laughs heartily.

“What? It’s true!” He snatches the drink back and takes his own sip, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Are you forgetting that the first time I saw you naked was when you masturbated for me? Don’t get shy on me now, babe.”

You pout at him, annoyed,because he’s right. You don’t even have an explanation for why you’re being like this; one of the reasons you and Gray always got on so well from the beginning is because you had basically no filter with each other, both comfortable with talking about everything from bathroom habits to hookups. But there’s a level of intimacy you now share with him that does, indeed, have you... well, shy. Anxious.

Excited.

Grayson must sense a shift in your energy, or maybe he just notices the way your eyes suddenly can’t stay off his lips, try as they might. He sits the drink in the cup holder, and you both subconsciously shift in your seats to face each other better. His hand reaches out and cups your cheek, his long fingers curling around your jaw and into your hair, his thumb brushing your lower lip gently.

His hazel eyes dart to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and there’s a mutual movement the both of you make toward one another, so that neither could claim or decide who moved first. But suddenly his lips are planted softly on yours — much softer than you would have anticipated for Grayson to be. They’re firm for a second as you both process the moment, but it’s definitely you who quickly lets out a little gasp and shifts just enough so his full bottom lip gets trapped between yours.

His breath is warm as it escapes through his nose, and there’s pure electricity when he pulls you closer with that hand on your face that slides to the back of your neck. Your own hand clutches at his arm as the other uses the console for leverage to push yourself towards him, too, all while you take turns sucking and nipping each other’s lips.

Your mouths are slippery when you finally part for breath, however much later that is. You both sit back in your respective seats, chests heaving a bit as you smile to yourselves and consider how amazing that first kiss was.

“Gray?”

He looks at you, brow raised but swollen lips lifted.

“I don’t want to stop.”

Grayson’s eyes darken, heat smoldering in his gaze as he lets out a deep breath, reaching for your hand. “Fuck. C’mere, please.”

You shake your head, even though your body is screaming to give in to his request and scramble into his lap. “Too busy outside,” you point out, nodding to the hustle and bustle of LA right outside the window.

Grayson sighs again and interlaces your fingers together. “Buckle up, then. Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, and before you know it he’s putting the car in drive and taking off down the road.

“Too bad we’re not in the Tesla,” you say slyly, unlocking your hand from his so you can rub your palm across his lap. You grin when you feel the start of his erection beneath the thin shorts he’s wearing.

“God...” Grayson takes your hand again and kisses the back of it before tangling you’re fingers again and holding them together over the gearshift. “Next time, baby, next time.”

Your heart thrills at the thought of a ‘next time,’ but for now you concentrate on making it home for this time.

By some kind of miracle, there’s hardly any traffic on the way back to the house. The air is electric between you the whole time, and Grayson barely has the car in park once the gate is shut and you’re in the driveway before he’s unbuckling and throwing himself at you.

You welcome his kiss with a moan, sliding your fingers through his thick hair as you welcome his invading tongue past your lips. It slides against yours with practiced ease that has you positively melting into your seat — which you’re made aware you’re still trapped in by the locking of the seatbelt when you try to lunge at him to get even closer.

Grayson grunts, and presses the little red button for you as he rips his mouth away, then leans across your body with his eyes locked on yours the whole time to open the passenger door.

No words are needed; the look you two share does enough talking. You both scramble out of the car, holding hands as soon as you meet again. Grayson leads you to the front door as you hurry behind him, and you follow him past the threshold closely. Luckily, there’s no one between you and his room to stop and ask questions or pass judgments, and the click of his bedroom door is the final barrier you need before you’re on each other like wild rabbits.

You reach hastily for each other’s tops right at the same time, and you both smile quickly. He lets you go first, raising his arms above his head so you can whip his t-shirt off with relative ease, even though you have to go on your tip-toes. You barely get the chance to admire all those smooth muscles before you’re blinded by the fabric of your own shirt.

“I’ve wanted this for so fucking long,” Grayson says lowly, admiring your tits in your sports bra for a second before he’s removing that, too. You smile shyly and help him rid you of the constricting garment, throwing it across the room once it’s cleared your head.

“Me too.” He’s pulling out your ponytail next, letting your hair cascade around your shoulders freely. You step back and kick your shoes off while he does the same, tugging off your shorts and underwear as well before jumping back into his arms once you’re both naked.

Grayson groans and hoists you up, and your legs lock around his waist as his lips find your neck. His dick, already completely hard, gets trapped between your hips and his belly, and you rock into it slowly. You sigh with modicum of relief it brings, and your eyes roll back when he bites down at the junction of your shoulder. You thread your fingers tightly into the hair at the back of his head to hold him there. “Fuck... Gray..”

He grunts in response, turning to walk you to the unmade bed you had both vacated just that morning. You cling to him as he lays you down, unwilling to let him go far even though he’s quite literally completely on top of you. He puts enough space between your torsos so he has room to gaze down at you beneath him. Hair fanned out on the pillow, dark red marks already rising to the surface of your skin, breasts full and heaving.

“So beautiful,” he says, sliding a hand up your side, stopping to squeeze your waist, which makes you squirm, before cupping one of your breasts in that calloused palm.

He’s the beautiful one, really. His eyes are soft and sweet, glowing a certain shade of green you’ve only seen a couple of times by now. His muscles bulge, his lips extra pink and puffy. His dick stands tall and thick between you.

He’s almost too much, too perfect. But you can’t let this go any further without making sure he knows what you really want of him, more than anything.

“Gray,” you say his name again, getting his full attention. You grin demurely up at him, and reluctantly take his hand away from where he’s squeezing your tit pleasurably. Eyes locked on his, you kiss his warm palm before murmuring. “I don’t want to stop.”

He looks a little confused, and his thumb strokes your cheekbone slowly. “I know, baby. Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. But I just — I don’t want to stop ever. I want to be able to have you all the time. Whenever.”

Grayson keeps staring down at you, and you blush furiously even as a smile breaks across his handsome features. “Are you saying you want to be together? Like for real?”

You sigh in relief, and hold his hand still so you can nuzzle your cheek against it. “Yeah. I - you know I suck at words.”

Grayson chuckles and lowers down to his elbows, his mouth so close to yours you can feel his sweet breath against your lips. “I do. It’s fucking adorable.”

Your smile turns wider for a second, but in the next you bite your lip and you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him exactly where he his. Your fingers dip down to blindly trace the lion tattoo on his sinewy back. “Do you - I mean, do you want the same?”

His expression softens, and he stares down at you for a moment before answering you with a gentle kiss.

“Absolutely,” he mumbles against your lips. “Didn’t I just tell you: I’ve wanted it for a long time now.”

“Let’s not waste any more, then,” you whisper heatedly, the drive to become completely consumed by him glaring up in your chest, your belly, your pussy once more.

Grayson seems to be on the same page, because the kiss he meets you with this time is hot and heavy and has you grinding into each other with thick moans and hands all over one another.

You wiggle your hand in the minute space between your bodies to grasp his dick, which is already slick from your juices. You watch his face as you give him slow, steady pumps, swirling the precum around his slit and twisting your fist at the head.

“Want this dick inside me,” you whisper, a fierce edge to your voice that has him biting his lip with a groan and his hips thrusting hard into your hand.

He shakes his head, whether in disbelief or an answer to your demand, you’re not sure. “Lemme eat your pussy again.”

Any other time, you would already be pushing on those broad shoulders, but not now. “The last couple weeks have been enough foreplay, I think. I want all of you, right now.”

He stares deeply into your eyes, as if he’s checking to make sure you’re sure, and you nod at him.

Grayson sighs and slips his hand down to join yours, wrapping around your slimmer one to guide him inside you together. You both inhale sharply, and let go of his cock as he sinks deeper, eyes locked once again while he slides home.

“God... damn,” he whispers harshly, tucking his hand behind your neck and dragging you up the short distance to meet his mouth.

You whine in return against his lips and hitch your knees higher up his waist, rubbing his back comfortingly as you both acclimate to him being inside you for the first time. He’s already stretching you out better than anyone has before, made even more intense by the fact that it’s Grayson in you, on you, around you.

“Fuck me, baby,” you beg sweetly, the pet name slipping past your lips with surprising ease.

You nip and suckle his earlobe, moaning loudly when he obeys and pulls out almost completely before pushing back in to the hilt slowly.

Grayson builds a rhythm like that, steady and perfect as he follows your cues to give you exactly what you want. When you whimper for him to fuck you harder, he sits up just enough to hook your knees over his elbows, then leans down over your body once again to thrust into you with an even better angle with better leverage.

“You want it like that?” he asks shakily, his voice gruff and full of sex as he pumps in and out of your pussy with dangerously smooth, even strokes that have you crying out his name in answer. Your hands claw at his thick, round shoulders, nails digging into the snake head and the bird feathers inked into his golden skin “Fuck, your pussy feels so fucking good. So fuckin wet, baby.”

You force your eyes open and stare at his flushed face, admiring the sweat clinging to his chest and brow and the way his chain dangles between you. One of your hands leaves his shoulder and hooks a finger into the silver, using it to tug him down for a deep, wet kiss that has your toes curling in the air.

The angle change has you gasping against his mouth, your lips dropping open against his as you tell him desperately, “Right there, right there...” and slide your hand between your bodies to rub the perfect slow circles on your clit.

He must feel you getting tighter around him, because he groans into your open mouth, sliding his tongue inside to meet yours sloppily. “Oh my god, baby, you gonna cum? Huh?”

You let your loud, breathy cries be his answer, until your moaning out his name as you clamp vice-like around his dick.

Grayson’s hand knocks yours out of the way when he feels it falter, and he takes over for you so you can ride out the bliss without distractions. He slows his thrusts inside you, until your breath has calmed down some and the flutters of your pussy fade away.

You open your eyes to find him enthralled by your blissful features, and smile up at him tiredly. Grayson lets your legs fall from his arms, and you wrap them instead around his waist, your hands finding the sweaty planes of his back. “Holy shit...”

“Yeah?” Grayson smirks down at you. His hands find your breasts and squeeze them, his thumbs rubbing your nipples, before letting one hand travel up to your jaw. He slips his thumb past your lips, letting you suck on it with pure seduction in your eyes as your hips twitch beneath his.

“Your turn,” you murmur, arching your back when he sits up to his knees and takes hold of your waist. You thrust your arms beneath your pillow, letting your tits bounce enticingly with every hard thrust he gives you in search of his own release. His eyes flit impatiently between where his glistening cock is disappearing over and over inside your swollen pussy, to your chest, to your pretty face begging him with both eyes and quiet whispers to let you have it.

It doesn’t take long for him to let out a guttural growl and pull out quickly, jerking off over your stomach as he shoots ropes up your torso. You hum contently and take over for him, thoroughly enjoying the warm liquid white streaking up your skin as you watch him fall apart.

Grayson collapses next to you weakly, chest heaving as he comes back down to earth. You grin and slide over to snuggle up to him, kissing his pec when he throws a heavy arm over your shoulders to hold you there as best he can in the moment.

You give him the time he needs, until he’s turning his head and coaxing your lips to his. You indulge him for a moment, then pull away with a low hum.

“We should shower,” you suggest with a happy sigh. You look down at your tummy and breasts, chuckling. “Your cum kind of got everywhere.”

Grayson laughs. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You smirk and grab his hand, using his own finger to collect a streak that’s managed to stay almost completely on your skin, scooping it up and sucking it into your mouth with your eyes on his. You give him a wink.

“Won’t be the last, either.”

#dolan twins #grayson dolan #blurb #g blurb #smut #grayson dolan smut

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vasiktomis · 3 years

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Pomegranate, Chapter 17: Quiet Earth, Part I.

John Seed x Female Deputy

Rating: Explicit.

Read it on Ao3 here!

Notes: Thanks all who have been keeping up with this! I'm so consistently floored by the amount of content creators we have in this fandom corner and the sheer level of workmanship that exists here. This is the first chapter of Pom that I'll be posting to tumblr, and I'm hoping to draw up a little sketch with each update. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them! Big thank you to @shallow-gravy and @consumedkings as always for dealing with my stupidity and being a pair of top-notch angels, and also just like, everybody who takes time out of their day to engage with this? Y'all really sticking with ultra slow burn and I swear after some wicked angst in the next couple of chapters I'll finally be able to throw some well-deserved smut at you. WARNINGS: Forced conversion, descriptions of dissociation and derealisation, explicit language, sexual content, depictions of violence, guns, blood and gore. Canon-typical debauchery.

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“Don’t touch him!”

Mary May lunged with enough force for John to feel the wake of air sweep through him, even with how quickly she was snatched up and yanked back to her place. The soles of her tennis shoes squeaked against the floor as she was dragged to the far side of the room, unable to be trusted with providing audience to Nick’s Atonement.

A shame, really. It was nicer as a shared experience.

The Baptist rolled his jaw, off-setting some of the tension arising from the shrieks that the blonde flung at the back of his head. He righted himself, taking the tattoo gun from one of his faithful with a gracious nod, and turned his attention down to the pilot currently pinned to the floor. Without a word, he sank to his knees, straddling the man, keeping silent as he could just to listen out for any change in his demeanour. Fear. Grief. Defeat. Acceptance. A sign to prove his readiness.

Nick didn't flinch, breathing hard through his nose and watching with hateful eyes. John hovered an indicating hand over the man’s bare chest, bruised from the fight he’d put up against his capture, mentally mapping out placement. Then, he came in with the needle, beginning with the stem of an ’E’, right in the centre of Nick's sternum.

The pilot snorted, masking discomfort with indifference, turning a wince into a scoff. “Figures you don’t use stencils. I ain’t got a hope in hell of this turning out good, do I.”

That casual old Nick attitude. He missed it.

If only he’d let him do this 5 years ago. He wouldn’t have had to miss it.

John feigned offense. “Oh I’m sorry, Nick. Did you want me to do the rest in cursive? Add a feather? Infinity symbol?”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Talk about tonal dissonance. It’s not meant to be pretty.” He grumbled. “Might’ve gotten a little more practice if you’d-”

A yell from the rear entryway pulled John’s hand away from his canvas. More squeaking. More interruption. Jerome Jeffries getting hauled into the church, held under each arm by the pair of Chosen that John had sent looking for him.

The Baptist cast a look over his shoulder at them, content with the sight of Jerome adequately beaten and bloodied. “Ahh. Pastor. Try to run and hide? It’s no wonder your flock ran astray with a shepherd so quick to leave them to the wolves.”

Jerome ignored him. No reply. No eye contact. A crime John noted to make worthy of capital punishment in the New Eden. The Pastor was set down beside Mary May, who immediately began seeing to his injuries. Murmuring bubbled between them.

“Did you reach them?” The bartender asked. Must’ve been a negative, because the next thing she did was curse.

“The Deputy was calling when they caught me.”

And if she had half the spine to come and broker an agreement for her friends, she’d be inbound.

“Could you at least gag them? I’m trying to concentrate.” John ordered no one in particular, earning another scoff from Nick. “The faster we work, the less we’ll have to get through once she arrives. The quicker we can be out of this heinous town.”

“Stay away from her, shitbag.” The pilot ground out, this time unable to save face when John retaliated, pressing the gun just a little too hard, digging down through an extra few layers of skin.

“Nick Rye, you’re a married man.” John tutted playfully, resuming his work. “That sin of yours again. Take, take, take. Didn’t think the Deputy to be your type. Wouldn’t say you’re hers, either.”

Nick looked downright disgusted at the prospect. Less concerned for the state of his wife - which meant she'd been a likely getaway. “Always been so fuckin’ jealous.”

“Come again?”

“Think folks are stupid? Think I don’t know you?”

“You don't know me, period.” John bit back, skin on the back of his neck flushing between boiling and freezing.

“Anyone else givin’ you this much trouble’d be long dead by now. That shit on the radio? Reckon you’d be talkin’ like that if your family could hear you across the river?” Nick continued, averting his gaze when John shot him a particularly poisonous look. He didn’t, however, find it necessary to respond to such a veiled accusation.

At least until -

“Everybody knows you wanna stick it to her, John-”

As if he’d been awaiting the chance, John’s free hand shot to Nick’s jaw, aching in protest when he squeezed, not stopping until he could feel the man’s molars beneath his flesh. “That’s about enough from you.” He crooned.

John had his desires, yes. He’d accepted that much. Had he not been sworn to celibacy, he might have jumped at the opportunity to respond to Cora’s advances last night. That said, she was still an outsider, and while her Atonement made the prospect less dicey, he couldn’t consciously consider laying with the woman in real life.

No matter how torturous it had become to gear his thoughts toward anything else.

He could be content with just her company, without making any further advances on her. Last night had simply been a moment of weakness, and he’d prevailed by stepping away.

“If you’ll excuse me.” John switched off the little machine once he’d completed his piece and promptly stood to beckon for replacement parts. Mary May might have gotten away with an allergic reaction last time he’d attempted this, but considering he’d be slicing it out of her within the hour, he couldn’t see any reason for her to be complaining. The bartender had been a thorn in his side from the start. While Nick and his wife had once lent John their...whatever a sinner’s closest equivalent was to friendship, Mary May had always been trouble. Wore her heart on her sleeve and trusted no one she hadn’t grown up around. Bolshie. Almost fucking killed him, once.

John busied himself with needle transfers and a pleasant expression. He could feel the woman’s eyes on him.

Did she think what Nick proclaimed? That complete and utter lie?

How fucking crass. No, he did not want to ’stick it’ to Cora. At least, as far as anyone else was concerned. He was fond of her, and - while yes, he had encountered temptation - if one disregarded the cum-stained, stolen panties in his pocket, and the conjured fantasies, and the purely incidental erection he’d maintained after the Deputy stuck her tongue down his throat last night - there was simply no evidence to suggest to anyone else that he was even remotely tempted to break the rules.

Sex was the furthest thing from his mind. It was mere coincidence that today had just so happened to fall on a morning in which he’d needed to trim.

…

If, however, she were to decide that she wanted to continue what she’d attempted last night, then surely he couldn’t be to blame if he only failed to stop her. It wasn’t technically fornication if he didn’t initiate it. Nor was it considered intercourse if -

“Brother John.”

John jumped, heart stopping, whipping his head around to the Chosen standing at the door of the church.

“What?" He asked thickly.

“The Deputy’s arrived.”

Right on cue, the crackling of gunshots drifted in alongside the Chosen’s announcement.

“Tell everyone to hold their fire.” John ordered. “We have them outnumbered tenfold. The Deputy can’t be stupid enough to create a hostage situation. Direct her here, and peacefully.”

The Chosen’s throat bobbed, swallowing back outrage, and John squinted hard at him, trying to dispel the flicker of green light in the mist outside as it settled against the man’s temple.

“John, I don’t think-”

He never got a chance to act on that incoming insubordination.

Instead, he jerked, cut off by a sickening crack as a section of his skull blew out of his head. Red mist and liquified brain matter followed, splattering against the doorframe, and the Chosen slumped lifeless onto the front step.

John wasn’t so much shaken by the killing as he was irritated by everyone else’s apparent refusal to let today go according to plan. Maybe also the pile of brains and hair now sitting on his once-pristine red carpet. He’d made this easy for the woman: kill everyone he could round up, leave her with no one to claim duty to, and get this all over and done with. Have her home by mid-afternoon. Embark on a new chapter and achieve salvation. It was that simple.

Woe to him for trusting in her common sense.

“Fuck’s sake. Wrath begets more wrath.” He muttered, smoothing a hand over his chin. He didn’t have the patience for this any longer. “Fine. Sister -”

A woman stood from the pews as soon as John made eye contact, equally as unshaken by the scene mere feet away.

“Send out word: the Deputy wants to sacrifice her friends for the sake of a fight.” John punctuated the end of his sentence with a click as he returned his focus to jamming the needles into his tattoo gun. “Give her what she wants. Take her by force.”

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The smokescreen was beginning to clear, but despite the weight it was taking off her lungs, Cora would’ve preferred it remain just a little longer. At least until they’d cleared out the town. Had they been quicker, it might have lasted longer. Covered their approach to Fall’s End. Given them more cover to sneak about unseen.

The streets, while still hazy, were visible now. It wasn’t a difficult task watching Peggie silhouettes run from building to building in search of her team. Resistance members and civilians were either in the process of being rounded up, or littered the road and pavement, dead. The Ryes, Mary May, and Pastor Jerome were yet to be seen amongst either group.

Same went for Boomer.

Aside from the barking of orders from Chosen and faithful, there was little sound. Knowing how much of a fuss her dog had put up the last time he’d been caught by the Project struck Cora’s nerves. He was his own alarm, and he would not go peacefully.

Not hearing him was an indication of the worst.

Some part of her brain argued against the idea. Vouching that John wouldn’t have hurt the creature. That was her dog. He had to be an exception to the massacre, no matter how vicious he behaved.

She had to find him, and creeping through the rear entry of the Spread Eagle was the first point of call.

Luckily enough, the back door had yet to be boarded up. Peggies who rushed past covered windows hardly stopped to peek inside the place for fear of being tainted by the presence of alcohol. Sneaking in was simple enough, too, at least once Jess had picked the lock.

“I’m going to pretend that door was open.” The Deputy murmured her equivalent to praise, passing into the building.

Grace headed straight in after her, taking a left to search for any sign of Mary May while she took a right toward the stairs.

“You pretend the Cook’s head was already gone when we found him?” Jess whispered.

“Freak accident. You all saw it.”

“First floor’s clear.” Grace announced from the serving hatch in the kitchen, clearly unhappy about it.

“Right.” Cora acknowledged, “I’ll check up top.”

The second story was as dead-quiet as the first. Furniture had been knocked over in the hallway and bedrooms had been raided. None of it indicated anything good, but she still had to know.

Cora pushed open the door to her room, and while she held no expectation of what she’d find, her heart sank anyway.

It was empty.

Boomer was gone.

Only his makeshift collar and a tattered bandana remained atop the rug he’d been snoozing on that morning.

Her dog.

John had either taken him or killed him, just like the rest. He’d do the same to the rest of her team. She should’ve taken the Baptist’s offer before the latter had even become a possibility.

“No sign?” Grace affirmed once the Deputy slipped back down to the first floor. “My guess is either they’re in hiding, or John’s giving them special treatment. If they were dead he’d be parading them.”

Sharky and Hurk exchanged a frown when Cora offered only a nod, notably more meek than usual.

“Was he in there, darlin’?” Adelaide asked, a little too gently not to invite a sting to her eyes.

Cora felt her jaw clench. It was a different breed of nausea, trying to keep her composure under the scrutiny of the rest of the team. She managed to shake her head, and Adelaide’s hand found her shoulder.

“Could still be with the others, yet.” The woman offered.

“So how do we find them?” Jess asked.

Find John Seed, of course.

“Finding them’s one thing. Getting to them might be the harder part.” Cora began. “The smokescreen’s only getting thinner and there’s Peggies everywhere. It's grasslands from here to the hills. No way we can herd everyone across a field on-foot, safely. We’ve got to make sure they stay freed, first.”

“And?” Jess huffed. “We’re gonna kill some Peggies, right?”

The blonde considered that.

“We split up. Search the buildings for anyone who hasn’t been caught yet. Round them up and plant explosives as we go. With enough chaos, maybe we can have a shot at turning the tide in the short term.”

Sharky was practically trembling. “Explosives, like, everywhere?”

“Everywhere. The more damage, the better.” Cora replied. “Adelaide, Xander, pair up. Sharky and Hurk, same with you.”

“And us on range?” Jess grinned, trading a look with Grace who maintained absolute stoicism. “I’m so into that.”

“No.”

…

“Say what?”

“No more ranged attacks. I need you and Grace to head back to the van -”

Jess was advancing on her before she’d even finished her sentence.

“You’re pulling me outta the fight? The fuck gives?” The huntress loomed over the Deputy, incredulous. Cora made an effort to stay put, but Jess’s insistence managed to outweigh her stubbornness, forcing the blonde to compromise by leaning as far back as she could without falling.

“We can’t keep running on short-term wins.” Cora insisted. “We have to put our foot down. No more small assaults. No more hoping John gets demoralised enough that he hands himself over.”

Sharky frowned. “What’re you saying?”

She met his gaze, puffing out her chest, retaking her space. “I’m saying the Henbane Bridge is unmanned right now. If we get word to the County Jail, there’s no roadblock to stop them from helping us win this. John Seed’s throwing everything he can at us. I say we try for the same. I say we end it for good. We’re gonna take back Holland Valley. Today.”

“...You really like that dog, huh.”

“That too.”

Jess looked unconvinced. “So the two of us are running errands while the rest of you are holding the fort? Fucking bullshit.”

“I told you. No more range.” Cora bit back, jabbing a thumb toward Hurk and Sharky. “You’d rather send Boshaws and Drubmans to convince Tracey to send us her best people? No offence.”

“None taken, bitch.” Adelaide grumbled.

Grace exhaled, throwing away momentary hesitation. “We’ll be fast.”

Cora traded a nod with the sniper before looking to Jess once more.

Still unconvinced.

“They have cars with guns on them, remember?”

The corner of Jess’s mouth ticked. Temptation.

Mission accomplished.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The tacky fucking carpet was the first thing she noticed, creeping along Main Street. Bliss petals had been sprinkled all over the road leading up to the church.

The carpet ended at the door. An invitation if she ever saw one. Boastful. Arrogant.

A pang of dread ached through Cora's bones, holding her in place while she drew her revolver. It could be an ambush. It probably was an ambush, but there was nothing she could feasibly do to avoid it. If the others were in there, then she couldn't wait around any longer.

She had to do this. At least hold out until Jess and Grace returned, with or without help.

She'd been running for long enough. All other options had been exhausted. At least John offered the least awful defeat.

Drawing close to the entrance, the Deputy pointedly avoided examining a dead crow that had been impaled upon the wall. She inhaled, holding the breath in her lungs, steadying her heart rate.

It was only freedom.

She opened the door, immediately training the gun out before her, following its guide into the room.

About a dozen Peggies dotted the space, leaning against walls, lining the pews - all angled at the pulpit, observing Nick on the floor. He stifled a cry while John sliced through the final remaining layers of skin binding the tattoo to his chest, peeling the word 'GREED' out of his flesh. Blood pooled on the floor around them, and the moment John had stepped away, the pilot was descended on with antiseptic and bandages.

The Deputy waited for nausea at the sight to take its course. It never did. She was all but numbed to the sight.

"Deputy, run!"

Mary May's voice cut through the silence, and the bartender lurched from her own spot on the ground. Guns raised all around the room, swinging around to aim for Cora.

”Hold!” John barked immediately, unconcerned when the Deputy shifted her aim to him. Instead, he busied himself with washing his sullied hands. “Hold your fire.”

His followers obeyed.

Cora, meanwhile, cocked the revolver in her grip. One foot edged into the room, and she glanced around for the Project’s captives before returning her gaze to John. All on the other side of the room. Pinned. Fuck.

“Hope County Sheriff’s Department.” She announced, staring the Baptist down, ignoring the grin that crept onto his face - like he found it fucking funny. “Weapons on the ground. Step away from the hostages.”

“Hostages?” John snorted. He gestured Pastor Jerome, Mary May, and Nick. “These are guests! This is their Atonement. This is your Atonement.”

“Drop the fucking weapons.”

John’s patience thinned. Quickly. “I’m not doing this with you.” He replied simply. “Not today.”

With his own look around the room, John inclined his head. An unspoken order to which everyone carrying a gun turned them on her allies.

“We both know you don’t have enough bullets for everyone. Nor do you have the time. So why don’t you put down my gun and surrender.”

“Don’t-” Mary May was cut off with the tap of steel against her temple. Warning.

John was right. She was outnumbered. There was no chance of getting any of them out with force alone.

She inhaled. Exhaled. Watched the fondness slip back onto John’s face like it had never left, and set the gun on the floor.

“That’s my girl.” John murmured. Then, he motioned. “Get her ready.”

Cora’s stomach dropped as two sets of arms coiled around hers, each pulling and pushing, prickling at her skin with unfamiliar, sickening touch. Biology told her to resist. Escape the sensation. The downward pulling.

“No, stop it.” Escaped her while she squirmed. “Get off. Stop touching me-”

“Her friends can’t be far. Find them.” The Baptist ordered, turning away toward the pulpit.

Cora’s knees hit the floor. There was no holding the repetition of protests, but even as she consciously elevated the volume of her voice, it grew quieter in her ears. Calculated attempts to jerk away and make an escape became automatic twitches.

One of John’s followers - a female - crept into view, fingers tugging at the top button on her uniform collar. John readied a tattoo gun over the woman’s shoulder, and the Deputy’s mind screamed alarm bells. Get out. Escape. Fight back. Regain control.

“I won’t hurt you, sister.”

This time, she sank, curling forward, angling herself away from the woman. Another attempt, and she wrenched away again, snarling. Then, the Peggies around her must have gotten tired of all the fuss, because the tear of cotton clawed at her ears. Ringing through her brain.

Her back felt cold all of a sudden.

Green material slipped down her arms, and at the sight of her own uniform pooling in shreds in her own lap, Cora ceased her thrashing. The shredded shirt was yanked from her belt and tossed aside, and she watched with growing resignation while John turned back around.

His gaze found hers. Then flickered downward, first to the compression bra, then a margin to the right. “Here I thought you’d be unmarked.” He commented, inspecting what was visible of the old ink on her lower ribs while he approached.

Hands pressed against Cora’s shoulders, and she drifted back until her shoulder blades hit the floor.

John continued to loom until he stood directly over her. He sank to his knees, expression softening with his descent until he was on all fours on top of her. He looked almost adoring, and she hated how it comforted her, just slightly. She hated how the hands had disappeared from her limbs, and yet she still made no further attempt to escape. He had every ounce of power now.

She didn’t know she’d started trembling until his free hand swept over her collarbones, mapping out her chest, calming the gooseflesh beading on her from the chill, or the fright, or perhaps just that this whole thing felt so humiliatingly exposing.

A blush swelled over John’s throat, maybe indicating some straying line of thought. He snapped out of it and settled to sit on her hips. “This looks familiar, doesn’t it?” He teased, hovering the tattoo gun right over the centre of her sternum.

“Dont.” Was all she could manage. Weak. Pleading. “I don’t want you to.”

“You have no idea how good you’re going to feel after this.” John cooed.

One of his fingers drifted along her jaw. An attempt at comforting her, but to no avail. He looked equal parts gentle and feral with excitement.

The machine buzzed, lowering pitch when the needles finally pressed into her flesh.

This was it.

She’d lost. There was no going back, anymore. No more normal, no more ridding herself of this family. They’d taken everything, and now they were claiming ownership over her, too.

The others were being hunted. It was only a matter of time. John was working too quickly. They’d be gone before the Cougars even crossed the river.

Cora’s nerves muted. Sound closed to just the rumble of blood in her ears. She receded into herself. Found a backseat in her mind, away from the sensory overload and the humiliation and her own failure while her body quietly continued: ”Dont, don’t, stop.”

She’d lost, and John wouldn’t stop. Not while he was branding the evidence of his victory into her flesh.

Defeat tasted worse than anticipated.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bullets whizzed overhead while Sharky and Hurk took cover beneath the window, watching helplessly as the aisle of potato chips and bar nuts was torn to shreds by the onslaught. Dorito dust filled the shop like mustard gas.

“Cuz, I think they found us!” Hurk barked, snapping an arm over his head in defence when a stray round ricocheted off the front counter.

“What gives you that impression?” Sharky hit back, hurriedly setting down his shotgun and shrugging his backpack to the floor.

“How many are there?”

“How about you check?”

A moment of quiet occurred while the cousins glared at each other, leaving their standoff to a battle of no blinking. Then the Peggies outside must’ve finished re-loading, because the back wall of the shop was suddenly being shot into swiss cheese.

They were okay. Everything was cool. Addie and Xander had taken their share of explosives and gone the quiet route. Grace and Jess were gone. Shorty had disappeared into the church, and while he couldn't count the best, Sharky was pretty confident that John had caught her.

Could they have kept on looking for survivors and breaking out captives? Sure - but why do that when they could kill, like 40 birds with one stone and beeline for the gas station? It was conveniently across the road from the church, empty of any and all life barring the dormant tanks underground. An explosion that big was sure to fuck up like a good portion of Main Street. Not even the Chosen would be able to resist checking it out.

Disconnecting the safety switches had been easy. He’d been arrested for doing it like 5 times already. Cops, Peggies; it didn’t matter - Sharky knew what he was doing, and without the giant swinging dick of the law hanging over him, the man was on a mission. Cultists shooting at him was fine. He was used to that.

Threat of death or no, he wasn’t giving up the chance to see this place blow sky high.

“We’ll be outta here any second, Hurky.” Sharky assured. “Just gotta sprinkle a little C-4 around the place and we’ll be gone before it even goes off.”

Hurk was sweating. A lot. He was accustomed to being shot at, but normally, he had more than just Sharky to get him out of a tight spot. “Alright, bro. Gimme some. Many hands and what have you.”

“Fuck yeah. First step, toss some at the tanker outside. We wanna get the place as fiery as possible up here to wake up the big boys underground, and-”

Sharky stopped in his tracks, eyeing the backpack he’d just been in the process of unzipping.

“-uhh.”

“Uhh?”

“Hurky, can I be real with you?”

“Is now the best time for a deep and meaningful?” Hurk hissed, crawling toward him nonetheless.

The arsonist stuck his hand down the pack, rifling through fluff and mesh. “I, uh, I think I brought the wrong bag. And by think I mean know without a shadow of a doubt.”

Hurk watched as his cousin tugged the green, furry headpiece of a dragon out into the open.

“You brought-...”

“I brought my fursuit.”

“Not the C-4?”

“Not the C-4.”

“Okay, bro. That's fine. I'm not mad. Human error. Not even a little bit?”

Sharky checked again, just for good measure. “Nope...so, uhm...you got a match?”

Hurk ran a hank through his hair. “Not to poo poo your ideas, but that probably ain’t the best move.”

So just like that, they were fucked.

Jess and Grace still hadn’t come back. The others were nowhere to be seen. Shorty was holed up in that church, and he and Hurk were about to be rounded up by born-again virgins.

Shit, if that were the case -

“Well, if this is gonna be the last opportunity.” Sharky grunted, tugging the suit out and unzipping the back. “May as well enjoy our last minutes of freedom, huh?”

Hurk took the cue, creeping across the destroyed shop floor and reaching for a popped bag of pretzels. He sat back against the wall, leaning against the rocket launcher he’d propped up against the corner.

“Man.” The brunette sighed, staring at the floor. “If only we had some other kind of ranged, explosive device.”

“No shit.” Sharky agreed. “Some high velocity shit would fix this.”

They exchanged a sympathetic look once the arsonist had zipped himself up and crept over and sit beside his cousin, both leaning on either side of the RPG.

Hurk held out the bag.

“Pretzel?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Was that so bad?” John asked, placing the tattoo gun aside and framing the Deputy’s marked chest. ’WRATH', in true black, beading with blood. The skin surrounding the text was mottled and inflamed. Excess ink covered the area in patches, gathering in the dip of her cleavage, disappearing beneath her sports bra.

All that sin, already leaking out through the exit he’d made for her.

Gorgeous.

Cora didn’t respond. That was fine. Shock was normal. She’d thank him once this was all over. For now, she just trembled, lock jawed, dissociated gaze searching what John had thought was him until he sat up. No, instead she was watching the ceiling.

John flashed a smile, blocking out a tiny streak of dread at the sight of the woman so vacant. Sweeping a lock of stained hair over her shoulder, he smoothed his fingers past her neck, attempting to gently angle her focus back to him. “Hey. You can come back now. We’re all done.”

You're finally on the other side. React to it. React to me. Look at me-

The boom came first, hollow and deep, and John felt the floor beneath him rumble. Chandeliers and decorations wobbled from the disturbance. Several of his followers shot from their seats, immediately abandoning the Resistance leaders they’d guarded in favour of pacing back and forth, trying to get a look at whatever was happening outside.

“Is this it?”

“Is it the Collapse?”

“It’s time?”

“John, is it the Collapse?”

The panic escalated quickly, forcing the Baptist to break his attention away from the empty woman below him and rein in the flock.

“Calm down.” He exclaimed, “It’s not the Collapse. It’s probably just-”

Another boom. Almost deafeningly loud.

This time, the whole church shook. Windows shattered in their creaking panes and smashed to the floor while pews squealed heavily in protest.

Contrary to his assertion, John dove down, covering the Deputy with his body. Holy shit, was it the Collapse?

The tremor must have been enough to snap Cora out of her trance, because a muffled “Get your tits out of my face.” buzzed against John’s chest.

Tragically, however, the Baptist never got the opportunity to reply to her. Had it not been for the fucking tennis shoe colliding with the side of his skull, he imagined he’d have something very clever to say. Alas, pain shot through his head and he jerked to the side, fighting against the blow to stay put. A snarl from Mary May, his apparent attacker, sounded in retaliation. She dove into him, knee driving into his ribs, throwing him off of the Deputy.

His thoughts left him for the briefest moment, overtaken by ensuing gunshots and shouts and the shrieks of the bartender as she was clawed away from him. Her hand shot forward right as she was yanked up, intended as a punch. It didn’t land, and John couldn’t help but shoot her a smirk for her failure.

“Deputy, gun!”

Nevermind. It wasn’t a punch after all. Mary May had been pointing over his shoulder at the revolver that had been surrendered on the floor. His revolver. The same one Cora was now scrambling toward.

No.

John lurched, heart leaping into his throat.

Not now. Not after he’d won. Not when they were so close.

His hand found the leg of Cora’s pants, wrenching, pulling her away from the weapon, and she kicked against him. Her finger tips slid against the barrel of the revolver, tugging it into her palm.

God wouldn’t fucking undo his victory.

John snarled, catching the Deputy’s wrist when she tried to aim - at him no less. Without her own recovery time achieved, he was able to wrestle the weapon from her easily enough, flattening her struggling body beneath his just long enough to hook an arm around her waist. He twisted around, holding the woman’s back against his belly. Her squirming ceased with the press of the muzzle against her head, and the moment her allies had taken notice of the change, everything went still.

Finally.

A little civility.

Several of John’s followers lay on the floor, either dead or close to it. Only a half-dozen remained, though the pair of Chosen had survived and placed themselves closest to their leader.

Pastor Jerome had procured a handgun from within his own bible - something that pulled a breathless laugh out of John as he surveyed the others. Nick hadn’t been able to arm himself, but he’d still tackled one of the faithful to the ground. His knuckles were bloodied. A familiar sight. Mary May had wrestled a gun of her own away from the woman who’d seized her. She aimed it shakily at John.

Armed but outnumbered, outgunned, and now, they were in check.

They never learned, did they?

“The way you people behave, you’d think salvation was a bad thing.” John tittered. “Right. Now, let’s try this again. Atonement, or damnation.” To punctuate his meaning, he tapped the muzzle against Cora’s head. She grunted in protest, and he ignored her. Of course it was a bluff. No one else knew that but him, though. It was too risky a move for the Resistance to let him do away with the one person that banded their factions.

She was their leader. They couldn’t lose her.

John looked around the room once more, locking eyes with Jerome first - then Mary May. “Are we going to behave?”

The answer was immediate and clear: a gunshot cracking through the Baptist’s ears and the flash of a blast spilling from Mary May’s weapon. Cora’s elbow driving into his stomach and the reaction time of his Chosen snapping to attention, covering him, already hauling John out of the church and onto the street.

Fuck no, he wasn't leaving without his prize.

"GRAB HER!" John howled, struggling against the attempts to get him to safety. "Leave the rest!"

It was a reluctant effort, but the Deputy was yanked along as well, shoved into Johns arms on his repeated orders, with me, with me.

“Mary May, what the fuck!” The Deputy roared over her shoulder.

“Sorry Deputy! I missed!”

Missed?

“You sure about that? Jesus fucking Christ!”

More shots sounded, but only the noise pursued them from the building. It wasn’t until John had shoved Cora into the back of the waiting truck that he realised how warm his hand had gotten. Wet, too.

“Get to the ranch!” One of the Chosen snarled up front, casting a look back at the Baptist while the vehicle took off, watching as he peeled away from the blonde to inspect himself.

Blood.

He was bleeding. But where from? Barring the sting of his scabs and that kick to the head, nothing hurt. There were no wounds hiding under his sleeves or -

A hiss sounded from the Deputy beside him, curling in on herself.

Shit.

She hadn’t elbowed him.

“Cora-” John scrambled for her. "Cora, let me see."

“Told you not to call me that.” The Deputy grit out, kicking at him until she’d well and truly jammed herself into the corner of the seat and the car door. Her left hand gripped her right forearm, just below the elbow and to no avail. Crimson coated the skin on her side, encasing her arm completely and seeping through her fingertips.

She was bleeding. Not heavily, but steadily.

”Deputy.” John bit back, advancing. “You’re hurt. Let me help-”

Just like that, the kicking resumed. “Don’t touch me-DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME-”

“For once in your fucking life, just relax!”

Only incomprehensible snarling came in response.

John rolled his jaw, brimming with as much irritation as he was adrenaline. The Resistance had made their choice. Regretful, but final. He’d gotten what he came for, and he wasn’t intending on losing her just because she was too stubborn to accept help.

He glanced at the revolver still in his grip. Then back at Cora, rotating the grip toward her. A threat. “Are you going to let me help, or am I going to have to calm you down?”

“Don’t you dare.” Her words came hoarse. She gave scowling a red hot go, but without the rationale to deny him, the Deputy lacked conviction. She exhaled. “Fuck it. We've done this enough already. You get ten minutes. Then you’re under arrest.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her cheek twitched. A weak chuckle. The slightest flash of acknowledgement as she let him press his weight over her forearm. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t pulsing; nor was there a puncture wound. A gouged strip had been carved into her flesh where the bullet had grazed, but nothing vital seemed to have been struck.

“That - you can keep saying.”

"You're a flirt when you're in shock, Deputy." Had John not been too busy regulating about a dozen other emotions, he might have flushed at her words. For a moment, he just sat there, basking in the borderline friendliness on her face. Then, it occurred to him that they were among watchful company, and he cleared his throat, returning to his task.

Minutes passed. No more words were exchanged. Not until they’d passed the Rye and Son’s sign.

The Chosen in the front passenger’s seat looked over his shoulder, dismissing another over the radio before regarding the Baptist. “The Resistance isn’t making ground. The faithful are still rounding up stragglers, and we’ve taken casualties, but numbers are looking strong. Medic will meet you at the ranch, John. We can deliver our newest sister to the Gate while you recover.”

John inclined his head. “Much obliged. We need this one to stay with us until she’s completed her vows. She can’t be trusted unsupervised, but I won’t put the responsibility of containing her back on our people again.” He looked to Cora, then. Her face had run pale and she’d gone clammy, but she remained upright. Just...woozy. Pacified, for now.

He’d got what he came for. Fuck the rest.

“I have something to say.” The blonde announced, swaying against John’s arm. “I know why Mary May shot me.”

“This another one of your jokes?” John deadpanned.

“This one’s funny, I swear.”

“...go on, then.”

“It’s because I never tip.”

For a moment, Cora looked very satisfied with herself. Then, she retched, slumping forward into the Baptist’s lap when he instinctually jolted out of the potential line of fire. He hurried to steady her, keeping tight hold over her wound, and grimaced while the noise escaped her a second time.

Thank God nothing came out; his shoes would’ve been the first to know about it.

The Deputy didn’t sit back up.

That was fine. So long as she wasn’t dead. So long as she wasn’t fighting back.

“It’s all the sin escaping you.” John explained, off-handed, when a complaining grunt sounded below. “Evil being expelled from your body. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Pretty sure it’s my blood pressure, actually. Soon as I’m good again, you’re history.”

When one disregarded the fact that she’d had a gun trained on him earlier - and the blood drying uncomfortably on his clothes - and the persistent pounding of a headache from Mary May’s heel, this was almost pleasant. The quiet roads. The Deputy, all but atoned with her head on his thigh. Not fighting back. Conceding defeat. Peaceful.

He got what he came for.

He’d won.

He was saved.

Passing his thumb over Cora’s ribs, John’s attention was pulled back to the old ink peeking out from beneath the band of her top. Text, blurred and flattened enough to be years old, and too obscured to decipher.

“Thought I’d be your first.” The brunette murmured.

“Jealous?”

Yes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What’s it say?”

“‘The Mountains Are Calling’.”

A sickening wave of dread passed over the Baptist. The rock forming in his throat, icy and bitter and seizing him against any reply.

The mountains are calling.

Jacob. Joseph. The Trials. Atonement wasn’t the final step. Handing her over to his brothers was the final step.

He got what he came for, but the woman in his arms wasn’t the trophy intended for him.

He was saved. He’d redeemed himself. He’d completed his task and Joseph would permit him beyond the gates. That was all he was supposed to do. That was enough.

That had to be enough.

“‘And I Must Go’.” John completed quietly.

Cora tilted her head a little, not quite looking at him - almost like she was trying not to. “You know John Muir.”

“Not enough to warrant a photo on the bedside table.”

“Shut up.”

There was nothing convincing about the chuckle he offered. He was too busy observing her, studying the side of her face. Committing her to memory as if he hadn’t spent years acquainting himself with every spot and micro-expression.

“Maybe working for you will be bearable.” She murmured, and John’s heart only sank further. "If I don't manage to arrest you."

The mountains are calling.

She still had no idea that all the promises he’d made her had been fabricated. That she wouldn’t be staying. That he’d lied to her.

The mountains were calling. In a few days time, she’d know it. She’d despise him. She’d be taken off his hands and he’d assume his regular duties once again.

He’d saved both of them.

Cora’s thumb absently grazed back and forth on his knee. Ignorant. “Can I ask something?”

It took everything in him not to mirror the action against her skin.

“Of course.”

“Can I start next Monday?”

"What happened to you being such a workaholic?"

"To be honest with you, I'm really fucking tired."

She’d be incredible. Jacob would love her. Joseph would be proud. John had accomplished something near-impossible for his family, and even if the Deputy hated him - even if she forgot him entirely, he was content with the knowledge that he’d have brought her to salvation.

Even if they never saw each other again, he’d know that she’d passed through the gates. That she’d climb to the surface once the world had been scorched clean. She’d rebuild, and marry, and have children, and he’d do the same.

Hopeful anticipation and the agony of longing had never felt so similar before.

“Fine.” John smiled, giving in, sliding his fingers up her arm and coaxing a stray lock of hair out of her face. There were no promises he’d be able to do it again after this. “But on one condition.”

“What?”

“Spend those days with me.”

Cora stirred, angling to peer up at him out of the corner of her eye. She smiled crookedly.

“Deal.”

#far cry 5 #john seed #cora stammos #far cry 5 fanfic #far cry 5 oc #john seed x female deputy #all hail cora's big fucking muscles #no beta we die like men

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amjustagirl · 4 years

Text

The sky of the sky (of the tree called life)

Pairing: Suga x reader

AO3 Link Here:

Summary: She doesn’t take much notice of him at first, not when he’s one of thirty nine faces that greet her with varying degrees of interest when their teacher introduces her to the class.But then he hits her in the face with his friendship and she starts to get to know him - through the smallest things, in the littlest ways.

Author’s Notes: This is the first fic I wrote and initially posted as a lone (AO3 link (was still getting the hang of Tumblr lol). Lifted the title from ‘I carry your heart’ by E.E. Cummings. Anyways - this is my humble attempt at a fic, my love letter to one Sugawara Koushi.

Ume doesn’t take much notice of him at first, not when he’s one of thirty nine faces that greet her with varying degrees of interest when their teacher introduces her to the class. She doesn’t take much notice of anyone really, not when her mind is consumed with thoughts of college prep and exams and chores, so he remains a stranger, even after weeks of sitting next to him in class.

Still, he greets her every morning with a pleasant ‘Ohayo’, and doesn’t take offense when she merely responds with a small smile. He offers up his notes without comment when she asks to check her English notes against his, and even occasionally slips her a banana from the stash he always seems to be carting around. His grades are decent and his homework is always submitted on time so he’s popular with their teachers, even though he seems to spend most of his break time sketching what looks like volleyball plays or buried in heated discussions with Sawamura.

Overall, he seems like a nice boy - if a little obsessed with volleyball.

She looks at her lunch box in dismay. There should be food in it, rice and tamago and fish that she most definitely packed last night, but her lunch box sits on her desk, clean and empty. She groans, glancing at the clock. Five minutes after the lunch bell. She ponders on whether to wait until dinner or be jostled to death by a thousand teenagers, but then her stomach growls, loud enough for Yuna-san in the front row to turn and stare at her, so she supposes there isn’t much of a choice.

As she approaches the canteen, she can hear the usual bustle and sound of too many students trying to feed themselves in too small a space - but then she hears a shrill shout - ‘cream buns for sale’, and the immediate cacophony of excited shouts that follow makes her think that her chances of getting food in the next half hour plummet to precisely zero.

Her assessment is right, but that doesn’t stop her mouth from dropping in horror as the canteen practically descends into a warzone, her schoolmates collectively losing their minds. The girls’ tennis team looks like they’re leading a charge through the left, but they’re being resisted by the concert band. The volleyball boys’ team seems like they’re causing plenty of chaos down the centre. Sawamura-san, engaged in a vigorous shoving match with the basketball captain, and Azumane-san - the large, quiet boy she shares home economics class with, cowering while trying to swim through the crowd with a feral looking boy perched on his back.

She apologises silently to her stomach and turns to head back to class.

‘Imai-san!’ Sugawara waves at her from the back of the crowd. ‘I’ll help you get some buns! What do you want!’

‘Oh – two buns, any flavour?” she calls back, a little dazed. He answers with a cheerful thumbs up.

She watches bemusedly as he expertly weaves his way through the crowd to Azumane-san, gesturing wildly to the little boy on her back, before combining forces with a bald boy to shove Azumane-san bodily through the crowd to the front of the queue. The boys grab armfuls of buns each, elbowing the displeased soccer team in the face.

Sugawara spins around, and there’s a glint in his eye that she can recognise from far away (courtesy of being an older sister to two troublesome younger brothers), but her legs don’t move despite her mind hollering at her danger, danger, Imai Ume, even as he raises his arm to toss the buns to her.

One bun lands neatly in her hands. The other smacks her right between her eyes.

She yelps, hands clapping over her face, checking to ensure her glasses are still in one piece. A curry bun may be relatively light and fluffy, but it still hurts when used as a flying projectile.

She hears footsteps clatter towards her. ‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry - please don’t cry!” Sugawara says, his voice high pitched in worry, hovering next to her awkwardly. “Daichi will never let me get over it if I make a girl cry.’

She snorts despite the sting between her eyes. “It’s fine, Sugawara-san. Thank you for helping get some food’.

‘Are you sure? Maybe we should go to the nurse’s office just in case!’ he fusses, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other nervously, ‘I’m such an idiot, I can’t believe I missed that toss, I should just resign from the volleyball team already - ‘

‘Eh eh eh? Suga - what’s this talk about resigning from volleyball!’ The small, feral boy from earlier leaps onto Sugawara’s back.

‘How can you resign? This is the year we’re making it to Nationals!’ the bald boy rounds up the rear, yelling at Sugawara indignantly.

‘I missed a toss at my classmate, I’m no longer qualified to be a setter.’ Sugawara wails, unfazed by the weight of his two juniors on his back. ‘I should just die now’

‘YOU THINK YOU’RE ASAHI NOW EH, DRAMA QUEEN!’

She takes advantage of their chaos to slip back to class. They don’t get a chance to speak to each other again for the rest of the day, kept busy with classes on calculus and chemistry for the rest of the afternoon. But the next morning he crows a loud ‘Ohayo’ at her, and she smiles at him, wider than she did before.

-----------------------------------

Spring passes into summer surprisingly quickly, and Ume slowly, but surely, gets used to hearing the song of the cicadas in evenings instead of the rumble of cars in the streets, to the uphill bike commute she takes to ferry both herself and Yuji to school and kindergarten respectively.

Becoming accustomed to something doesn’t mean liking it though. She remembers her mother saying that things would be easier when they move to Karasuno from the city. That living with family in a close knit community like Karasuno means more hands on deck to keep their family afloat. For the most part, Ume supposes her mother’s right. Her grandparents are sweet and try their best to help out, if a little too old to chase Yuji around the house or fetch him up and down the mountain to preschool every day. Their neighbours always offer them too much food, and their grandchildren provide Yuji with enough entertainment most evenings for Ume to catch up with schoolwork and revision.

But sometimes, after she’s corralled an unruly Yuji to bed, and shooed a sullen Keiji to sleep, and she herself can’t fall asleep because the cicadas are too damn loud, Ume wonders if her mother uprooted them to Karasuno so she could run away from the fact that she’s stuck raising three children alone, disappearing off on such long business trips that Yuji doesn’t even ask her anymore if their mama’s coming home.

Thankfully, Yuji, with the short memory of a six year old, finds living in the countryside a joy. He joins the neighbour’s children in catching cicadas, and when she tells him that it’s cruel to catch animals for sport – even ones as annoying as cicadas, he laughs and promises that he always lets them go.

Keiji, though, remains quiet and withdrawn, hiding in the bedroom whenever he’s home from school. She tries chatting with him at the dinner table but her efforts are usually met with the surly silence of a thirteen year old. So she doesn’t push him too much, too fast - she already asks too much of him as it is, sharing most of the chores and supervising Yuji so they don’t become a burden to their grandparents.

So it’s a surprise when Keiji asks if they can head to the park for a picnic on a clear summer’s day, but she agrees immediately, swallowing her shock, making sure to pack onigiri and fruit and strapping Yuji to her bike. It’s strange when Keiji drags them all over the park looking for the perfect picnic spot. It’s even stranger when he decides that the playground, full of shrieking children, should be the appropriate spot for a picnic. But there’s a tree for shade and it’s convenient enough for her to watch Yuji while he runs loose in the playground, so she holds her tongue and spreads their picnic mat on the floor.

‘Can I get us some ice cream?’ Keiji asks.

She’s about to tell him to wait til he has proper food in his stomach before moving on to dessert, but catches sight of Keiji staring at the ice cream stand intently, hands in pockets, cheeks flushed pink. She follows his gaze. The ice cream stall looks fairly old, run by an oba-chan and a young girl with short hair and a cheerful smile. Oh.

‘Why don’t you go get an ice cream for yourself? Yuji and I can get some later’, Ume replies, busying herself with the picnic basket to hide her smile.

She settles on the mat, back against the tree, setting her textbook on her lap. The summer air is crisp and cool, and the sunlight shining through the leaves dances on her skin.

‘Hey Imai!’ Suga stops to greet her, hand raised in a friendly wave.

‘Hello!’ she waves back. ‘No volleyball practice today?’

‘No - we have a mandated break on Saturday afternoons’, he walks over to her. ‘Despite what my unruly kouhai think, overtraining causes injuries. Besides, we need time for summer homework’.

She nods, noticing the stack of books under his arm, and before her brain processes her sudden impulse fully, she asks ‘Do you want to join me? We can share the mat’.

He blinks at her, and she cringes internally, expecting him to politely decline. He may chatter at her absentmindedly about his team, and she may share her notes with him when she notices he’s distracted, but it’s not as if they’re friends outside of school. To her surprise though, he agrees easily, kicking off his shoes to join her on the mat. They sit together in silence, absorbed in their respective work. The sun is warm but the breeze is cool and crisp, so it’s comfortable and altogether pleasant.

‘Onee-chan’, Keiji calls, running back over. He raises an eyebrow when he notices Suga and drops into a slight bow before turning to his sister. ‘Can I have my onigiri? I want to pass it to my friend.’

She opens her mouth to nag him to make sure that he has lunch, but promptly shuts it. Instead, she tosses him two onigiris - hers, and his. ‘Make sure you eat, Keiji’, she calls, and he’s off, running with the wind.

‘Hey, Imai, I packed too much food. Share some of it with me?’ Suga offers mildly. She’s about to say no, thank you politely, but her stomach growls - traitor, and he just chuckles at her, snapping his lunchbox open and pressing half his sandwich into her hands. She thanks him, taking a bite and has to stop herself from moaning in delight because it’s full of egg mayo and chicken katsu and it’s so, so good.

‘It’s delicious, right?’ he says, grinning around a mouthful of his half of the sandwich. ‘You can’t study on an empty stomach, that’s against the law’.

She laughs at that and splits her stash of strawberries and watermelon with him.

Later, she shocks herself again when she tells him as he’s about to leave that she’ll probably be at the park again next Saturday - and he’s welcome to join her if he pleases. She wonders if he can see the uncertainty in her eyes, but he shoots her another smile and agrees.

-----------------------------------

She packs two extra onigiris next Saturday, and the Saturday after that. She also starts including peaches from her grandparents’ farm because she learns that he has a weakness for them.

Keiji ignores Suga for the most part, leaving for the ice cream stand as soon as they arrive in the park. Yuji, on the other hand, soon learns he can get Suga to do whatever he wants if he pouts long enough. Suga, for his part, does not help, often buying the little boy far too much mochi and ice cream.

‘Stop it Yuji.’ Ume says wearily. ‘Suga needs to study and you’re distracting him’.

‘But he’s the only one I know who can push me hard enough on the swings’, Yuji whines, scruffing his shoes into the ground.

‘It’s fine, I’ll take it as my break’, Suga says, smiling kindly down at the little boy. ‘Shall we see how high you can fly, Yuji-chan?’

She watches, shaking her head as Yuji cheers, dragging Suga off in the direction of the playground.

‘You seem good with kids’, she remarks when he returns - thankfully after a short while since Yuji, with the typical attention span of a six year old, is quickly distracted by the other kids playing a game of tag.

‘You think so?’ Sugawara responds, turning back to his books. ‘That’s good to know. I’m planning on going to college to train to be a teacher.’

The image of him dressed in a rumpled shirt and tie greeting his class with a cheerful ‘Ohayo’ every morning flashes in her mind. She imagines him smiling wide and indulgent at his student’s pranks, listening patiently to his students’ questions and problems, diligently pouring over his students’ assignments late into the night.

For some reason, her heart clenches. She doesn't know why.

-----------------------------------

‘Tohoku Medical school?’, he asks, eyeing the flyer sticking out of her bag.

‘Mm.’ she mumbles, distracted by the peach juice running down her hands. Then she realises what he’s just said and wrinkles her nose. ‘The entrance exam is hard though. Not a lot of people pass.’

‘Ugh, stop that, your grades are so good- negativity begone!’ He nudges her teasingly with his elbow. She rolls her eyes at him in response.

‘Why, though?’ he asks, before quickly adding. ‘If you don’t mind saying’.

She’s about to rattle off her prepared answer of heeding the noble calling of saving lives and making a difference one person at a time, but for some reason, she doesn’t.

Instead, she jerkily answers - ‘My dad was a doctor’.

She can feel him raise his eyebrows at her use of past tense (and not present tense) and suddenly the peach in her hand doesn’t seem as appetising as it was before.

‘Cancer’, she finds herself saying. ‘Last year’. She looks down at her feet, refusing to see what she expects will be pity in his gaze.

But he doesn’t say anything. He leans his shoulder against hers, and they stay that way for a while.

She doesn’t protest this time when he comes back from the ice cream stall with far too much ice cream, and the tightness in her chest dissipates as she watches him let Yuji flit between his chocolate and vanilla cones like a honeybee, even though she knows she’s going to have a hard time putting the little boy to bed tonight.

-----------------------------------

'I like Suga-san very much.' Yuji declares later as she tucks him into bed.

'So do I', Ume says. So do I’.

The call of the cicadas don’t seem as loud, and she falls asleep easily that night.

-----------------------------------

‘You should be studying’, she reminds him, playfully rapping on his knuckles with her pen.

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, looking up from his sketches on volleyball plays. ‘A couple more minutes and I’ll get back to work’.

She shakes her head indulgently at him. ‘You spend far too much time on volleyball as it is’.

‘I suppose I do’, he hums, busy drawing indecipherable pictures in what she’s termed his volleyball notebook.

She’s suddenly reminded of Yamada and Takashi, the two basketball idiots in her class, goading Suga about ‘being a loser for losing his starting position to a first year’. Sawamura usually erupts in anger when he hears them as he’s wont to do whenever he encounters the basketball club, but Suga, for his part, only responds with a serene smile.

‘Is it worth it?’ she asks, before she can stop herself. ‘Sorry’ she says frantically, as her brain catches up with her mouth. ‘That was rude of me’.

He breathes a rueful laugh through his nose. ‘It’s fine, I’m not offended’. But he stops his scribbling, and his mouth slants downward in a way that Ume doesn’t quite like.

‘It’s worth it’, he then says, voice quiet but full of conviction. ‘It’s worth it to play with my team. I want us to keep getting stronger, I want us to keep playing together, and I want us to go to Nationals and win’. He gazes into the distance and smiles, bittersweet. ‘And everything else doesn’t matter’.

It’s her turn to lean into him with her shoulder.

‘I’ll bring Yuji to watch you at the finals’, she says. ‘And we’ll watch you at Nationals on our TV’.

He laughs and she smiles, wide and bold and bright.

----------------------------------

Sugawara spends their lunch breaks talking about his team’s latest exploits all the time. She laughs when he tells her about the hijinks that the team constantly gets up to, from setting fire to the Vice Principal’s very obvious toupee, to an all out prank war with the basketball team featuring copious amounts of dead fish and paint bombs. She particularly enjoys Suga’s impression of Nishinoya’s ‘rolling thunder’ war cry, and rather suspects the whole team is intent on driving Sawamura into an early grave.

Despite having a tendency to smile indulgently at his team’s penchant for chaos and hellfire, it’s clear that Suga cares deeply for each and every one of his teammates. He broods about Tsukkishima’s lack of ambition and desire to bond with the team, Yamaguichi’s lack of confidence, Kageyama’s and Hinata’s inability to communicate like regular human beings. Even when he jokes about Ennoshita’s latest attempt to evade Sawamura’s talks about ‘passing on the captainship’, she can sense the undercurrent of worry and concern.

Perhaps that’s why she volunteers to give tutoring Tanaka and Nishinoya a go, after he explains that they’ll end up missing the Tokyo Training Camp that Takeda-sensei went through so much trouble to arrange. She also tells herself that the reason she’s doing it is because Second year Math is covered in the university entrance exams - and absolutely not because Suga practically lights up with relief when she waves his thanks away.

----------------------------------

Tanaka and Nishinoya remind her of Yuji and even Keiji (well, before), rowdy and loud and full of boyish mischief. They fall out of their chairs when they notice Kiyoko-san walk by the classroom deep in conversation with some boy, and she has to rap them on their knuckles with a pen to get them to focus on solving question number two - please and thank you - before they settle back down.

Still, they’re surprisingly attentive and almost respectful even when she’s trying to impress upon them the dryer points of Math, so it’s easy to become fond of them. They get through vectors after she likens the trajectory of vectors to the movement of a volleyball. Statistics were a struggle, but fortunately, volleyball statistics save the day. Calculus seems to be the biggest hurdle, but she’s hopeful they’ll get it, once she finds a way to relate it to volleyball or better yet, convince them that differentiation and integration are very, very manly pursuits.

That said, it doesn’t help that the basketballers in her class seem to have a deep rooted grudge against the volleyball team - though from Suga’s stories, the animosity is probably mutual. Yamada in particular seems to take special pleasure in taunting the two boys.

‘Eh, Baldy! Y’all lose another game yet? I saw you guys crying the other day after school’.

‘They’d probably win more games if chibi-chan here grew a few inches’, Takashi, his fellow basketballer sniggers.

‘Ignore them’, she tells the two growling boys firmly. ‘You don’t need to get kicked out of your team for starting a fight with these guys’.

‘Awww… are you two kouhai hiding behind your female senpai? ’ Yamadai jeers, leering at them. ‘What losers, just like your Suga-senpai. Heard he got turfed out of his starting position by a first year’.

At that, Tanaka and Nishinoya practically levitate out of their seats as one, snarling ‘Huh?!!! You fucking -’

‘Bit rich of you to pick on them, eh Yamada?’ Ume interrupts. ‘I heard Ono-senpai say last week that if you fail your tests one more time, you’re going to get kicked out of the basketball team. Who’s the loser now?’

‘Bitch!’ Yamada growls, hands slapping his desk.

‘Maybe you’d have a better shot at passing your exams if you spent your time studying instead of disturbing others - who unlike you are actually working hard,’ she adds, smiling at him sweetly.

Thankfully, Takashi has some sense of self-preservation and drags Yamada kicking and screaming out of the door. Tanaka and Noya swivel their heads towards her, twin expressions of shock on their faces.

‘Holy shit, that was so manly?!’

‘Imai-senpai, you’re almost as cool as Kiyoko-senpai!’

‘Yeah - almost as good as the time she ignored us when we asked her to marry us.’

‘No - better, but not as good as the time she slapped me’

‘Thank you’, she responds dryly. ‘Can we get back to differentiation, please?

‘Yes, Imai-senpai!’ They snap into a salute.

----------------------------------

‘I hear from Tanaka and Noya that you’re very manly’. His eyes twinkle at her.

‘Psh’, she says airily. ‘They exaggerate’.

But she laughs when he slips her half his sandwich as thanks.

----------------------------------

Noya and Tanaka pass their exams (by some miracle, thank god), and they graduate from her tutoring sessions.

She passes her exams too, tops her cohort even.

Her classmates start to take more notice of her, requesting for copies of her notes and tutoring sessions on topics they don’t really grasp. It's not really that much of a problem to just have an extra set of notes for her classmates to copy (she learnt her lesson when Takashi spills juice all over her precious biology notes - an accident, of course), and extra tutoring sessions are a good way for her to revise what she previously learnt - so she doesn’t really mind.

Of course she knows they think they're picking her brains and hard work, but it's not as if she minds. They're reasonably polite when they approach her, and she can pretend she doesn’t hear them gossip about her behind her back (that her parents are rich enough to send her to not one, but two cram schools, that they must know the principal who leaked the exam topics to her somehow).

Still, she can’t help but feel a spike of irritation when Yamada manages to corner her alone in class one day after school.

‘Oi, Ikai. Can you give me a copy of your math notes? I hear they're pretty good.'

She blinks innocently at him. ‘My notes cover whatever sensei taught in class if you were listening’. Which he probably wasn't, considering he seems to spend most of his time tossing spitballs or bouncing a basketball obnoxiously against the wall.

‘Tch.’ He leans towards her. ‘Come on, don’t be a stingy bitch. Just lend them to me for a bit.’

She narrows her eyes at the audacity of this bugger. 'No.' she says simply.

'Eh?' Yamada glares down at her.

'Did a basketball hit you too hard in the head yesterday? I said no.' She turns her back on him, packing her school bag, keeping her sharpest pencil in her hand, just in case.

He takes a step closer towards her, both hands heavy on her desk. 'But you share your notes with everyone else!’

‘Well, yes - but that’s because they're tolerably polite when they ask, and unlike you, they actually get my name right.’

He slaps her table hard with his hands. ‘Stop being a bitch, just give me your notes already'.

She should just give him what he's asking for or placate him with the promise that she'll give him a copy tomorrow - but she suddenly feels so sick and tired of giving more and more of herself - to her mother, her brothers, her classmates, and now this rude asshole - and she's so done, goddamnit.

'No.' She snaps, lifting her chin defiantly at him. 'What are you going to do about it?'

He snarls, grabbing hold of her wrist. 'Stubborn bitch, just give me the notes already!'

'Let go, pig!', she shouts, trying to wrench her wrist away, mind whirring to calculate the force and speed needed to shove her pencil into his face. His grip tightens, and he digs his nails into the thin skin of her wrist.

He smirks down at her. She tries not to flinch.

'Hey, Imai. Got worried about you when you didn’t turn up at the library.' Suga calls out, loud and clear from the door. Ume exhales a breath she didn’t even know she was holding as he walks deliberately towards them.

‘Yamada-san. I always knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t know you stooped so low you’d bully a girl’.

Yamada takes a half step back, but does not release her hand. 'Piss off, Suga. It’s none of your business'.

‘Perhaps’, he responds, humming diffidently. ‘But I thought I should remind you that if you get just one more strike on your disciplinary record, you’re off the basketball team’. His mouth stretches into a semi feral smile. ‘For good.’

Yamada coils back, looking as if he’d like nothing better than to strike Suga in the face, but then, seemingly thinking the better of it, he drops Ume’s wrist and smirks again. ‘We were just having a friendly discussion, eh Imai?’

‘Remind your thick skull to keep it that way.’ Suga says, meeting Yamada’s glare with an even gaze of his own.

Yamada looks away. 'Tch. I can't be bothered with you dumbasses', he sneers, stalking out of the class.

‘Are you ok?’ Suga asks her immediately, glancing at her once over, stopping short when he spots the red welts ringed around her wrist. ‘Did he do that to you?’ he asks, voice dangerous.

‘I’m fine.’ She follows his gaze and yanks her sleeve down, hiding the marks from view. ‘It’s nothing.’

He opens his mouth, about to insist that it is very much not fine, but she cut him off quickly. ‘Really! It’s my fault he got annoyed with me. He wanted a copy of my notes and I was very rude and didn’t want to give them to him,’ she laughs awkwardly. ‘Besides, it’s a good thing you stepped in when you did, or I’d have gotten into more trouble - because I was about to stab him with my pencil’.

Suga’s mouth drops open. ‘With your what?’

She unfurls her palm to show him her pencil, pink and sharp but altogether unconvincing.

He bursts into cackles, wheezing. ‘Maybe Tanaka should’ve taken his time to get me. I would’ve liked to see you try to fight Yamada with that’.

She snorts. ‘I’m just glad Tanaka showed some self-restraint and didn’t jump Yamada himself.’

‘Well, I’m pretty sure that’s because Ennoshita was there to stop him.’ Suga says wryly. He drops his gaze back to her wrist. ‘But seriously, if I’d known he hurt you, I’d have jumped him too’.

She looks at him sharply. ‘Suga… If any one of you get suspended, you can’t play in the Inter High Preliminaries.’

‘Not if we don’t get caught for it’. He gives her a zen smile as she splutters in shock. ‘Anyway, don’t you usually leave school to pick Yuji-chan up by now?’

‘Oh no, Yuji’s probably waiting for me!’ She cries out in alarm, dashing across the classroom.

At the doorway, she comes to a pause and turns around. ‘Suga!’

‘Mm?’ He tilts his head at her.

She smiles shyly. ‘Thanks’.

He smiles back.

----------------------------------

She ends up preparing a copy of her notes for Yamada anyway. He’s stubborn and stupid, and she figures that Suga’s interference, while welcome in the moment, is only likely to spur him on to pester her again. But when she walked into class the next morning, Yamada is nowhere to be found.

‘Did you hear Yamada-kun got caught with the vice principal’s burnt wig in his locker?’ she hears Yuna whisper to Mizuki before the bell rings.

‘Oh no! Is he in a lot of trouble?’ Mizuki gasps.

‘I don’t know, but I heard from Takashi that he’s been suspended from the basketball team indefinitely!’

‘No! Don’t they have a game next week?’

Ume looks over her shoulder at Suga, sitting with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

‘I may have mentioned to Noya what happened with Yamada-san. Tanaka, of course, was very happy to help out’, he says simply when she corners him after school.

Yamada does return to class eventually, but he refuses to even look in her direction for the next month. She figures she’d much rather not press for answers she suspects she wouldn’t like. Instead, she spends the night cutting out twelve crow charms from black felt with the help of a very eager Yuji, hand stitching each member’s number in white thread and leaving them in Suga’s bag for him to find.

------------------------------------

She sneaks Yuji with her when the school buses students in for Karasuno’s match with Shiratorizawa.

They all watch with tears in their eyes when the final whistle blows and the boys win.

‘Congratulations, Suga’, she tells him the next day and adds. ‘I think Yuji’s found a new way to fly’.

He grins at her, his eyes burning proud and bright.

------------------------------------

Fall fades into winter. The days start looping, one after another.

Wake up. Get Yuji to kindergarten. School. Homework. Pick Yuji up. Make dinner. Pack leftovers for lunch. Do laundry. Revision. Tuck Yuji into bed. More Revision. Sleep.

Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat.

She curses when the cock crows every morning, and falls asleep before her head hits the pillow every night, so she wonders how he manages to survive with practices lasting daily into the night. Or maybe he doesn’t, she thinks to herself, watching the shadows beneath his eyes grow, grey and dark.

‘Is it worth it?’ she asks. (Do you ever regret it, she implies.)

‘Yes.’ he says. (At least I hope I don’t, he sighs.)

----------------------------------

She notices immediately when his seat is empty. Sawamura tells her it’s to be expected, Suga always catches a cold in winter.

‘I don’t mind helping to bring his homework to him’, she volunteers. ‘You’re going to be staying late in school for practice anyway’. She avoids Sawamura’s knowing look as she writes Suga’s address down, his homework tucked safely into her bag.

His mother beams, surprised and delighted when she appears at their door. She’s promptly shooed upstairs, and Yuji is lured into the kitchen with promises of mochi and ice cream. She knocks on the open door. He’s crouched on the bed, watching a replay of Karasuno’s finals match against Shiratorizawa.

‘Hey. I brought your homework.’ She frowns, noting the paleness of his face despite the redness of his cheeks. ‘Shouldn’t you be resting?’

‘I’m watching the match to fall asleep!’ he says defensively.

‘The match is at least two hours long! If you’re well enough to watch the match, you’re well enough to do your homework’.

‘Give me a break’. He groans, sneezing into the crook of his elbow. ‘I’m dying here’.

‘I’m pretty sure you can’t die from a common cold’ she says dryly.

‘Says the one who wants to be a doctor’, he playfully responds.

She rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t argue with me. Get some rest. You don’t have much time before you head off to Tokyo for Nationals, and the Center Shinken* is just after that’.

His smile drops, and he suddenly looks troubled. ‘Do you think I’m crazy?’

(For chasing too many dreams?)

She blinks, confused by his change in mood. She glances at the Miyagi University of Education pamphlet pinned to his wall - only one in three applicants get in. She furrows her brow, thinking about him spending every lunch break, every afternoon and night in their rundown school gym, even as everyone else is spending their days buried in schoolwork and revision.

But then she hears the echo of his words - It’s worth it. I want to play with my team, the cries from the huddle of boys, the memory of him holding a trophy under bright lights and her face softens.

‘Where’s all this self-doubt coming from?’ she says lightly. ‘You already achieved your dream of going to Nationals with your team. Now all you have to do is pass one exam.’

‘As if it’s so easy!’

‘Well, it’d be easier if you rest up so you can get back to work faster!’

‘Ugh, spoilsport’, he pouts at her.

‘Onee-chan’, Yuji pipes up, poking his head into the bedroom. 'Obaa-san said it's time for Suga-san to eat his medicine and take a nap.'

‘Hello, Yuji-chan!’ Suga waves at Yuji, who gives him a gap toothed grin in response.

‘You should tuck him in and tell him a bedtime story’. Yuji tells his sister seriously. She chokes and thinks she should have taken the chance to dump him under a bridge when he was a baby.

Suga laughs so hard he wheezes. 'I won't mind a bedtime story' he chokes out.

Both boys turn to look at her expectantly. 'Fine.' she says, relenting. 'I��ll tell you a bedtime story if you promise you'll try your best to go to sleep'.

They grin and settle down, Yuji on his sister’s lap, Suga laying against his nest of pillows.

She begins telling them a story she’s told Yuji many, many times these past months - about a kind-hearted Prince in a kingdom troubled by a yearly winter plague, who set out to find the cure for this illness, flowers that bloom on the highest of mountains in the deepest, darkest winter days. A Prince who tries to scale the mountain to find the cure, year after year, but is thwarted by blizzards and avalanches and snow monsters.

A small smile grows on his lips as she describes the Prince’s companions - the stalwart captain of his guards, the burly woodcutter with a heart of glass, and he stifles a laugh when she recounts how the Prince manages to trick his frosty hearted little brother to join them along the way. His breath evens out when she reaches the end of her tale, when the Prince and his companions scale the mountain and look down on a field of flowers, green and gold.

'And they lived happily ever after?' Suga murmurs, half asleep.

'And they lived happily ever after' Ume agrees.

She pulls his blanket up under his chin as he slips into sleep, hesitating as warmth furls and unfurls in her chest, before brushing her hand tenderly against his cheek.

----------------------------------

Third years are released from school for self-study.

She works alone at home. The winter days grow long and dark and hard.

(Her heart clenches. It starts to ache.)

----------------------------------

They graduate on a spring day, a shower of pink and white petals blessing their way. He catches up to her in the hallway after the graduation ceremony, hand at her sleeve.

‘Congrats on Tohoku’, he tells her, bright eyed. ‘I knew you could do it’.

‘Congrats on MUE’, she responds with a laugh. ‘See - you weren’t crazy after all’.

‘I suppose I’ll be seeing you around Sendai City? Your campus isn’t too far from mine.’

She opens her mouth to tell him not to be silly - Sendai City is nothing like Karasuno town, a million people within its bounds, and the probability of them meeting randomly on the streets is very, very small, but her throat suddenly becomes dry.

‘Suga’ she begins, balling her hands into fists.

‘Mm?’ he beams at her, brighter than the sun, and it’s all she can do to not to look away.

‘Thank you’, she says quietly. ‘For bringing some light into my life’.

‘I should be thanking you’, he replies earnestly. ‘You’ve been a good friend to me this past year. I don’t think I’d have passed my exams without you’.

“No, Suga,’ she says. ‘I mean - I like you’.

‘Oh.’ he breathes. ‘Oh’.

‘I like you’, she repeats, her voice growing stronger. ‘Because you were kind to me when there was no reason to. You bought bread for me, even if you ended up throwing it in my face. You stole and burnt a wig for me, just to put Yamada in his place. You spent your summer days buying Yuji too much ice cream, swinging him so high he thought he could touch the sky.’

‘I like you, Suga,’ she says finally. ‘Not just as a friend - but as a girl likes a boy.’

He stares at her, eyes wide. A few beats of silence pass.

‘I’m sorry’. He grimaces. ‘I don’t know what to say’.

‘It’s fine’, she finds herself saying. ‘It’s ok’.

(Her heart clenches. She wills it not to break.)

----------------------------------

Ume does not look back. Her bag is packed, and she leaves for Sendai City that week.

Her apartment is small, but she shares it with a few other girls. At night, she re-acquaints herself with the sound of cars rumbling on the street. The song of the cicadas haunts her in her sleep.

(Her heart clenches. She does not break.)

----------------------------------

Suga prides himself on being relatively observant and good with things like subtlety and tact and feelings - things that volleyball obsessed idiots like Daichi wouldn’t even notice if it hit him in the face.

He observes people and notices things, the way Kiyoko isn’t as indifferent to Tanaka as she seems, the way Yamaguchi’s serve suddenly improves when Yachi shouts ‘Gambatte’, the way Yui’s vocabulary immediately regresses whenever she’s talking to Daichi - though to be fair, he’s certain the only person in their level to not know about Yui’s crush on Daichi himself, so maybe that doesn’t count.

(‘I like you, Suga,’ he hears her say. ‘Not just as a friend - but as a girl likes a boy.’)

But then his brain short circuits and stutters to a stop, and it’s all he can do to watch dumbly as Ume turns on her heel and walks off, head high, back straight, he wonders if he’s not much better than the rest of them after all.

----------------------------------

‘Imai Ume said she likes me’. He finds himself telling Daichi, as they walk home from school, pork buns in hand, for the very last time.

Daichi grunts something unintelligible through a mouthful of pork bun.

‘Use your words, Daichi’. Suga can’t help but snark. Daichi grumbles and swallows.

‘Yes. I knew that already’. Daichi says simply. He starts on his second pork bun.

‘What?’ Suga retorts. ‘What do you mean you know? How did you know?’

This time, Daichi chews and swallows before he responds. ‘It was obvious to me.’ He turns to look at Suga squarely. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

----------------------------------

(‘I’m Sugawara Koushi! But everyone just calls me Suga’. // ‘Imai Ume. It’s nice to meet you.’)

To be honest, he didn't think much of her at first when she joined their class. She had a habit of keeping to herself, never lingering in class before or after lessons, eating lunch alone at her desk, nose buried in a book, but he was brought up with good manners - so he kept greeting her every morning until her small nods turn into quiet smiles.

Of course, he just had to embarrass himself by hitting her in the face with a curry bun (Noya and Tanaka will never let him live it down), but in hindsight that probably kickstarted their friendship. And he’s very grateful for it. She's always passing him copies of her notes for lessons he’s missed or summaries of exam topics she thinks might come in useful, all painstakingly handwritten and colour coded - and even gives him the go-ahead to share it with Daichi. She volunteers to tutor Noya and Tanaka, and he’s sure that it’s in no small part due to her effort that they pass and get to attend training camp.

Yet he’s never considered her more than a friend. Right?

Right?

If he analyses the case of how he feels about one Imai Ume carefully, sifting through the puzzle pieces one at a time, he realises that he's not quite right.

There are little things that come to mind. Like his heart skipping a beat when he hears her laugh for the first time. The flush of his cheeks when he finds out she actually brought Yuji to watch their games. The rush of pride and joy when she tells him ‘I think he’s found a new way to fly’.

And maybe there are bigger things. Like the burst of blind panic in his chest when he hears Tanaka shout for him. The burning urge to break Yamada’s jaw and wipe that smirk off his ugly face when he sees red marks marring her skin. The cold satisfaction in his chest when he (and half the volleyball team) strike that bastard exactly where it hurts.

He remembers the sunshine dancing on her skin, the warmth of her shoulder pressed against his. The touch of her hand ghosting against his cheek. The faint memory of a fairytale about a Prince who gave his all and finds everything he set out to seek.

('And they lived happily ever after?' he asks // 'And they lived happily ever after' she agrees.)

The puzzle pieces fit. It finally clicks.

‘Shit,’ he swears, dialing Daichi’s number.

‘It’s midnight’, Daichi mumbles, voice rough with sleep. ‘What could you possibly want from me?’

‘I like Ume’, Suga says - and just saying it feels right. ‘I like her, Daichi’.

He hears an almighty yawn - and then he can almost see Daichi smile.

‘So what are you going to do about it?’

----------------------------------

What is he going to do about it?

Get hold of one Imai Ume and tell her that his mouth moved faster than his brain (and heart), of course.

----------------------------------

But what can he do about it?

Not very much, as it turns out.

For starters, he realises they’ve never exchanged numbers. He never felt the need to, they were classmates, no, seatmates, so she was always there, like the sun and stars in the sky.

He tries to find where she lives by asking around but soon meets a dead end. Karasuno Town isn’t large by any measure, the main shopping street fanning out into a smattering of small rural neighbourhoods. But he knows for a fact that Ume stays with her maternal grandparents, and she’s never once mentioned their surname, so he’s left with little to go on.

‘At least I know she’s moving to Sendai City’, he mopes to Daichi over a steaming bowl of ramen.

Daichi, probably tired of the number of times he’s heard him repeat this, just slurps his noodles noisily.

----------------------------------

He and Daichi rent a flat from a little old lady who pats their chests and pinches their cheeks. It’s halfway between their schools, five minutes from the convenience store, and the rent is pretty cheap.

They soon settle into the rhythm of university life. They cycle to school in the mornings for lectures, struggle with tutorials, and fight over chores. Their social life isn’t too shabby either - they both make plenty of friends and even join volleyball teams.

Still, Suga can’t help feeling like something’s missing. ‘Someone, not something, you dolt’, his inner voice tells him, sounding suspiciously like Daichi.

He starts seeing the ghost of her everywhere.

He stares when he sees the slant of her shoulders in his classmate in the front seat. He crashes into Daichi when he thinks he hears the birdsong of her laughter float down the street. He picks up a habit of doing a double take at almost every girl he meets.

‘Stop it’, Daichi tells him crossly. ‘People are going to think you’re some kind of freak or pervert.’

He tries, he really does. But then months pass, and he starts to think that maybe Sendai City, with its million residents and a million more trees, might have hidden her out of his reach.

----------------------------------

Summer arrives, and he returns home to Karasuno. He and Daichi and Asahi find themselves back in the school gym often, and he finds himself being dragged into practice match after practice match with his unruly kouhai. It’s a good way to spend his holidays, but he can’t help thinking if there isn’t a route he hasn’t explored yet.

‘No, Sugawara-kun, I can’t give you the contact details of our alumni, even if they’re your old classmates’, Takada-sensei says indignantly. ‘And don’t even think about breaking into the staff room at night!’

Eh. At least that was worth a try.

----------------------------------

Tashiro senpai means well, he really does. But Daichi lets it slip that he’s been moping over some girl (‘For months!’, he roars), so on a Friday night, Suga finds himself thrust head first into a party at Tashiro’s apartment, surrounded by way too many people and not enough food. Daichi’s chatting with Yui (Go, Yui!), and he doesn’t know anyone else, so he doesn’t say no when Tashiro pushes cans of beer and cups of cheap spirits into his hands.

He’s a few months short of being able to legally drink, and it’s the first time he’s drinking outside his family home - but well, what Daichi doesn’t know won’t kill him. Soon though, the living room feels far too warm and the music is far too loud, so he figures he may as well seek fresh air and whatever refuge he can get on the cramped balcony beyond the kitchen.

He leans his forehead against the bannister. Gah. His head hurts. His stomach churns.

A raindrop splatters on to the back of his neck, then another, and soon he can hear the gentle patter of rain against the roof. He rights himself with a groan, and begins to head back inside. As he slides the glass door open, he turns and sees the silhouette of a girl emerge into the balcony, two apartments down, clearing her clothes from the laundry rack.

He stops. He can almost hear Daichi roaring at him at the back of his mind, but Suga can’t help but stare and think ‘there’s something awfully familiar about that girl’, but then - hasn’t he thought that about almost every girl he’s bumped into these past few months?

She takes a step forward and her face is lit by cheap fluorescent lights. He can see her clearly now, recognises the tilt of her chin, the curve of her cheeks and - by god, it’s her. His legs move and he lurches to the edge of the balcony, shouting her name like a loon.

Their eyes meet.

She yelps. And promptly drops her laundry basket, scrambling back inside.

He dashes back into Tashiro’s living room and trips into the corridor, ignoring Daichi’s shouts as he slams his fists into her front door. Her door remains stubbornly closed, and he keeps yelling, keeps beating her door. He can hear Daichi follow him, and he’s certain he’s going to get a bollocking tomorrow morning, but he doesn’t care, he’s finally found her in the midst of a million people and a million more trees and nothing else really matters.

The door swings open, and Imai Ume stands in the doorway looking livid. ‘My roommate is this close to calling the police,’ she hisses.

Daichi yanks him back with his shirt and snaps into a low bow. ‘Sorry for the trouble caused’, he says, and adds - that sly dog, ‘He may have drank a bit too much Umeshu’.

‘For God’s sake, Sawamura’, he faintly hears her squawk. ‘Can’t you take care of him a little better? He looks like absolute shit’.

Suga stares at her glassy-eyed. All he wants to do is to take her hand and tell her all the things he’s dreamt of saying these past few months (starting with I’m sorry I was an idiot- and ending with I missed you) - but his mind is suddenly foggy and his ears are ringing and his stomach keeps bloody churning and he suspects his body might have just given up on him completely.

‘I told you’, he manages to say. ‘I told you we’d see each other again’.

He pukes at her feet and promptly passes out.

----------------------------------

When he wakes up, the sun is high in the sky, and he knows because he’s pretty sure it’s trying to stab him between the eyes. He flops over to his side.

What happened last night?

He cracks an eye open. He’s pretty sure he isn’t wearing his own pyjamas. The sweatshirt he has on is a touch too snug, the pants a touch too short - so definitely not Daichi’s either. He can’t be in Tashiro-senpai’s room either, because one, he’s pretty certain floral bedsheets aren’t his thing, and two, if he squints, he can see a pile of medical textbooks in the corner that definitely does not belong to him.

He groans, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, groping bleary eyed for his phone.

- You have 7 messages! -

[Daichi, 12.48am]: You are a very lucky man [Daichi, 12.48am]: Imai didn’t call the police on you [Daichi, 12.49am]: I had to clean up your puke [Daichi, 12.49am]: Wanted to lug you home but you’re heavier than you look [Daichi, 12.49am]: So she said to leave you and walk Michimiya home [Daichi, 12.50am]: Figure you’ll thank me anyway [Daichi, 12.51am]: Stay safe. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

‘You have got to be kidding me’, he moans. Fuck. His head still hurts.

Ume pokes her head into the room. ‘Oh, you’re awake. Feeling better?’

He snaps his head up and immediately regrets it. ‘Ow’, he whines, dropping his head in his hands.

‘I guess not’, she says. ‘Here’, she pokes him in the side. ‘Spare toothbrush. Wash up, and I’ll get breakfast ready so you can eat some meds’. She tugs him to his feet and pushes him into the bathroom.

This isn’t how he imagined meeting Ume again would be like. Getting piss drunk, puking at her door, and passing out in her bed? He’d take getting arrested over this any day, he thinks, moping to himself. Not to mention Daichi's probably going to kill him when he gets back. He shudders, then winces as he splashes cold water into his face.

Ume waves him into the kitchen. ‘Sit’, she says, and so he does. She sets a bowl of rice and fish and miso soup in front of him. ‘Eat’ she says, sliding a bottle of aspirin and a cup of hot tea at him. His stomach still hurts, but he's not about to let her effort go to waste.

‘Ittakimasu’, he says, putting his hands together, inclining his head slightly. Ume nods and sits across him, sipping her tea.

‘Thank you’, he says contritely. 'I'm sorry for the trouble I caused last night'.

‘It’s no problem. I managed to convince my roommates you were just a drunk ex-classmate, not some rapist or serial killer so they let you in', she hums, amused.

He groans. ‘I’m so sorry’.

'It's fine', she says, waving him away. 'I think Sawamura was a lot more mad than my roommates, since he had to clear your mess and then wrangle you into clean clothes’.

‘Well I think Daichi got to walk Michimiya home last night, so I don’t think he’ll be too mad’, he says drolly. She laughs at that, turning to clear the dishes into the sink.

‘Hey, Imai’. He takes a gulp of his tea, his throat suddenly dry.

‘Mm?’

‘'I - I missed you - you know, as a friend', he stammers at his hands. 'And I’d like to see you again. Maybe we could catch up over dinner sometime this weekend?'

She stills for a few seconds. 'I don't think it’d be a good idea to do that', she finally says.

His heart clenches. He wonders if he’s too late - if the distance that Sendai city with its million people and a million more trees has put between them is too great, if she no longer remembers their shared smiles and golden summer days. But then he sees the stack of blankets tucked into the corner of the couch, sees the food she must have woken up early to make, and wonders how his past self could have been so blind.

‘Imai’, he says. She keeps her eyes resolutely on the dish sponge in her hands. He exhales, and tells himself that it’s his turn to be brave. He takes a step towards her.

‘Ume’, he repeats, taking her hands into his. ‘Look at me’.

‘Stop it Suga! My hands are soapy’, she cries.

‘Nevermind that’, he says stubbornly. ‘Listen - I’m an idiot - and a coward. I meant it when I said I missed you, but I didn’t mean it as a friend’.

‘Wha-’, she begins to say but he cuts her off.

‘I like you, Imai Ume’, he breathes, bringing her hands close to his face. ‘I really like you - as a boy likes a girl. I want to keep holding your hands. I want to see you again - see you everyday, if you’ll let me'.

Her eyes widen, then she blinks slowly - once, twice, thrice.

‘Do you mean it?’ she asks, her eyes meeting his, and he’s struck by the thought that the stars in her eyes are so bright they can light up the night sky.

‘Why would I lie?’ he answers. ‘I’ve been looking over my shoulder every day for the past six months, hoping desperately to see you again.’

‘Oh', she breathes. ‘Oh’.

She gives him a look so full of affection and warmth - like sunlight breaking through the rain - that he knows he was right to be brave, knows that the past six months of searching and dreaming and longing hadn’t been a waste.

‘So… I take it you want to see me again?’ he asks cheekily.

‘Maybe’, she says, but her voice is teasing and she leans on to her toes to press her lips gently against his cheek.

‘I - I take that as a yes?’ he stutters and hates himself for flushing a bright pink, but refuses to release her hands.

‘Let me wash my hands first. Then - yes’, and she laughs, wide and bold and bright.

----------------------------------

Coda

----------------------------------

He opens the door and smiles at what has become a very familiar sight these past few weeks - Ume fast asleep at the kitchen table next to a half empty pot of tea, head pillowed against her textbooks. Usually, he’d just scoop her up and put her to bed, but they’ve not had much time together this week, what with him running all over the prefecture with his fledgling team for practice matches, and she with work and exams, so he decides to be a little selfish.

‘Ume’, he calls, shaking her shoulder gently. ‘Dearest. Wake Up.’

‘Mmph. Five more minutes. Go away.’ She mumbles, pushing his hand away.

‘Ume. Ummmeee,’ He drags out her name, finding extra syllables where there were previously none until she stirs, grumbling incoherently and he has to stifle a laugh when she swipes her hand across her mouth.

‘Oh! It’s you. Welcome home’, she folds herself upright, rubbing her eyes slowly. ‘Where’s Yuji? How was the match?’

‘Of course it’s me – who else would it be?’ he chuckles. ‘I dropped Yuji off at Kei-kun’s place for a sleepover with the team, they promised not to stay up all night eating junk and watching crappy movies but I don’t believe them. The match was great - we won! Yuji-chan did really well, he earned quite a few points and saved a few balls. You would’ve been proud of him. I know I was.’

‘That’s good, I’m sure he’ll tell me all about it tomorrow when he’s back.’ She nods towards the fridge. ‘I made mapo tofu for dinner – not too spicy though, your stomach will thank me after that long bus ride back.’

He hums a thanks, sliding the plate into the microwave, narrating a play by play of their match today, stopping only when he hears a loud yawn.

‘Go to bed, Ume’, he frowns at the lines of exhaustion on her face. ‘I shouldn’t be keeping you up, you have a morning shift tomorrow.’

‘Mm – I will, later. Was waiting for you. Mm’ not that tired,’ she protests, but then yawns again so widely he’s pretty sure he hears her jaw crack.

‘Bedtime, sleepyhead’, he says teasingly, lifting her into his chest.

It’s a testament to how tired she is when she doesn’t try to swat at him as she usually does, choosing instead to wrap her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck. His breath hitches, and he wants nothing more than to hold her close and hide in bed preferably forever, but reminds himself that they’re adults now (with awful things like jobs and responsibilities and worse, bills to pay), so he settles her onto their bed, tucking the pillow beneath her head, the sheets under her chin.

‘Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll catch up properly on the weekend’, he whispers, pressing a kiss into her dark hair.

‘Mmph, love you’, she mumbles, half asleep.

‘Love you too’, he shuts the door with a click, a soft smile on his face.

He’s mentioned off-hand to her before that they’re lucky to be this happy.

‘It’s not all luck’, he remembers her replying. ‘Happiness isn’t easy to come by. It’s a choice. It takes effort and hard work to earn that choice, and you need to take the time to build it up, brick by brick, piece by piece.’

He used to wonder what she meant by that - but six years in, and he thinks he finally understands what she means.

She’s meticulous in the way she makes him happy - the way she catalogues his quirks and deals patiently with his follies. How she knows to always leave food in the fridge for him after work so he won’t get cranky. How she tries her best to stay up and listen to him complain about his frustrations with pushy parents or irresponsible kids, how she tries to watch every one of his (and Yuji’s) games should time permit. He can see it even in the way she smiles indulgently when she sends him off with Daichi and Tanaka for izakaya and drinks.

For his part - he wonders if he does enough. He wakes up early most mornings to hitch a ride with her to work so they get a chance to chat about their day. He buys flowers from the florist down the street for her every week, and slips sandwiches and post-it notes in her work bag when he knows she’s had a long shift. He holds her close when she collapses on the couch, boneless and exhausted from a hard day.

He thinks about the life they share - weeknights spent sitting together, him sketching lesson plans and volleyball plays and she reading up for exams and work cases, weekends spent in grocery stores and parks and volleyball games. Six years together - they’re happy, and they show it in the quietest of ways.

They’re driving back to Karasuno this weekend - ostensibly to celebrate Keiji’s birthday and meet a couple of friends. But he’s conspired with Keiji and Yuji so he can sneak her away to the park for a picnic under the tree where they share memories of long, quiet talks and golden summer days. He’s hidden her ring in a picnic box full of homemade onigiri and sandwiches, strawberries and peaches.

He plans to go down on one knee and ask if she’d like to continue working on being happy with him forever.

He hopes she’ll say yes.

(She does.)

#haikyuu #haikyuu fic rec #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu angst #haikyu x reader #sugawara #sugawara fic #sugawara headcanon #sugamama #haikyuu fluff #karasuno #haikyuu fic #sugawara x reader #suga

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fyodorsslut · 4 years

Text

Before you go - Dabi

REQUEST : If you write for dabi, it would be highly appreciated if you could I write some angst to fluff for him and his fem s/o who starts fighting with him out of fear he’ll lose his life if he can’t stop being reckless. He starts coming home later than usual, sometimes not even at all and she feels like he’s slowly slipping away from her. She knows he’s part of the league but Dabi has made it clear he doesn’t want her getting involved out of fear she’ll become a target. I also love you so heheheh here’s my requests bc ur a real one 😎❤️

A/n :TYY!! ILY!! I hope you like it! sorry t’s late, tumblr kept on deleting it. Also they lyrics in bold are from my own song so please don’t steal them <3

Genre : Angst

Pairings : Dabi x fem!reader

Keys : y/h/c : your hair color -- y/h/l : your hair length

Play : before you go - Lewis Capaldi

word count : 1k

A loud, desperate gasp escaped her throat, eyes gagging tears as the girl sits upright. Running hands through her y/h/c hair, she silently sobs.

Then it hits her.

“D-DABI?!” she turns to the side frantically, gripping the gray sheets and pulling them off the shirtless male’s body.

“Ugh,” he groans, rolling to lay on his back. “It’s cold~ can you please give me-” yawning, he rubs his eyelids- “back the cover?”

Before he gets to least as grab it from her fingers, he notices the terrified look on his girlfriend’s face.

“Babe-? Are you o-” But she cuts him off once more, wrapping two strong arms around his neck.

Sobbing into the purple nape of his neck, y/n continuously shook her head no. Dabi was clueless of what to do to make her feel better, seeing that he was also ignorant as of what the reason she was sobbing hysterically was.

“P-please don’t leave” she sighed, loud enough for only him to hear. Before he was able to let relief wash over him because she stopped crying, she went into another, much worse, round of sobs.

____________

“Baby please don’t leave, stay by my side here”

___________

“Fuck-!!” y/n threw the phone across the room harshly, the black device colliding into the white wall of the room she shares with her absent boyfriend, probably gaining a couple new cracks on its screen. “Where is he?”

Y/n ran her hands through her y/h/l hair once more, in desperate frustration. It’s been three days since she has last heard from her villain boyfriend, and she could only imagine all the horrible things that could have happened to him, considering the risky nature of his job.

“I can’t live like this anymore,” she whispered to herself and to the walls if they could hear. She crawls into the bed as would a baby, remembering all the times she would crawl on top of him before he joined the league, probably ending up either sleeping on his chest or doing things Jesus wouldn’t take much pride in.

She, scared for his life, doesn’t know if she’ll ever see him again. All she is able to do is hope so.

__________

“Everyday now I’ve been missing you, needing you, wanting you”

_________

“Where are you going?”

“Y-y/n,” he turns around from the open door, startled but also careful as to keep from showing how he was obviously just jump scared by his girlfriend.

“Dabi,” She insists. “Where are you going at a time like this?”

“I have business to attend,” He declares, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Business?” she echoed; voice small. She was barely in his sight range but still the pained confusion was crystal clear on whatever he could make out of her features.

“What you heard,” Nonchalantly, he confirms.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier-? I could have-”

“Because you’d make a big fuss about it,” Cutting her off, it’s his turn to take a single long stride towards her, closing the distance between them and towering above her (sorry if you’re taller than him-!) “Just like you’re doing now.”

Y/n was much drawn aback. Make a big fuss? Since when is caring about her boyfriend considered a big fuss?

“Dabi- let me at least come with you- please?”

“Y/n,” He grumbles under his breath, low but the non-existing distance between them made it easy for her to hear it along with the annoyance in his voice, to see the drop in his features as he ran long fingers across a rough face of piercings and burnt skin. “We’ve been over this a long time ago-! I can’t have pu be in a place where a target is-”

“I don’t fucking care, Dabi-! I just want to damn protect you and you know that damn well! I just want to be there for you when you need me! Because.. Because..” her voice dies down, tongue unable to form words. She was cold, not from the breeze in the air at this time of the year but from the unforgiving fear in her heart. She was sad, not because she’s once again fighting with her lover over the same topic that shouldn’t be even up for discussion, but because she knows that if this goes on, if he dies like he might do, she won’t be there for him and guilt won’t leave her until the end of her days.

“Why?! Y/n, why do you have to be so damn stubborn! Always make it so hard on both of us?! Why do you have to insist on changing things that were set from day one?! We are fine just how we are! Why is it so fucking hard for you to understand that I can take damn well care of my-”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” She finally admits, tears streaming down her face as all the times he died in front of her in her sleep rush across her vision. He was lying, they weren’t fine. Nothing was when his life is at risk everyday of his life. She wasn’t okay with it. He wasn’t either.

Her sudden confession sent him aback, unable to form either words or thoughts as her shout sings in his head on loop. The only thing he was able to keep steady was the crack-ful facade he always keeps on in front of everyone but her, or so he thought. It’s only now he noticed how much he wanted to stay.

He knows he can’t, never the less.

“Then stop loving me,” he sighed, sounding final. He would’ve said ‘I love you’ back but he knows this isn’t the time. His feelings.. This wasn’t the place to put them out, no matter how much he wanted to.

“W-what-?” She whimpers, shakily looking up at him; face red, a miss, sad and scared and shocked and all other feelings there is to this. Tear tracks spattered across it even though she didn’t cry for long. Eyes not only shaken but so wide in shock they could be replaced by tennis balls.

Dabi doesn’t answer, he only closes the door on his way out.

#Dabi x reader #Dabi angst #Dabi imagines #Touya x reader #dabi x y/n #bnha imagines #imagine that shit #submission

128 notes · View notes

chuckbass-love · 3 years

Note

Fic where Chris accidentally gets a girl pregnant( could be a random girl he’s sleeping with or maybe a friend, up to you) he’s super freaked out and tells his mom and family for advice on what to do. But they reprimand him first

Hi lovely anon...

So i received two requests about pregnancy with Chris. One of which is this one and the second is Chris as a teen getting a girl pregnant so i’ll do both as separate fics. This one as adult Chris and the other as it was requested.

I’m sorry to the anon who requested this since i’ve taken a long time to write it. But i hope the wait has been worth it after you read.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than my Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Warning: Smut! Sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), pregnancy reveal, swearing and fluff.18+

Word Count: 5,061

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @jckcriley go check them out❤️

Unexpected

“W-what?” you can’t help but almost choke on your beer as the unexpected words leave your friend of 6 years mouth.

“You heard me” he smirks, sipping on his own beer and leaning back on the couch. His eyes remain locked on yours.

“Chris, maybe you’ve had a bit too much to drink” you giggle, reaching over to take his drink but he pulls it out of the way so you can’t “I’m practically sober, Y/N. You mean to tell me you’ve never thought of me that way?” he raises a brow at you, the one look that always has you secretly wanting to jump his bones.

Sure he’s your friend and has been for 6 years but that doesn’t mean you’ve never had sexual thoughts and fantasies about him. Thoughts and fantasies that have been intruding your rational side for as long as you can remember. But you got used to the friend zone and you have no one else to blame but yourself for remaining there.

Whenever Chris has been single, you’ve been tempted to swoop in and admit your feelings but quickly aborted that mission, refusing to put yourself in a position to be rejected.

And now, he’s sat in front of you at your house admitting that he’s always had a crush on you. You’re shocked and it shows.

Your silence to his question and your failure to keep eye contact gives you away. Why does he have to make you so nervous?

“You have, haven’t you?” he closes the gap between the two of you, taking your beer from you and placing both his and yours on the coffee table before turning your head so that his lustful eyes meet your shy ones.

He doesn’t miss the way your breathing hitches at the feel of his lips grazing across yours without kissing you and he certainly doesn’t miss the way you shiver at the feel of his thick digits dancing down your right arm slowly.

“Chris” you whine, in hopes that he’d just give in and kiss you already. After all, it’s been a long time coming. But instead he lowers his head to your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the exposed skin before moving to your ear. His breath fans your earlobe and his beard tickles your skin “what is it baby?” his whispering has you gasping, more so at the intimate nickname than anything else.

“We shouldn’t do this, it’ll ruin our-”

“What? Our friendship? Well i’m down for that if you are” he licks your earlobe, biting it a little too.

Again, your breath hitches and your heart skips more than just a beat as his lips are now inches from your own and the beer fills yours nose.

Before you even have a chance to stop it, his soft lips meet yours. Moving in sync, almost as if they were made to kiss. His beard yet again tickles your skin, no doubt it’s gonna leave a burn all over after he’s finished with you.

It takes a couple of seconds for you to realise what’s going on but when you do, you let go and it’s incredible. Your arms wrap around his neck loosely and he pulls you onto his lap so that you’re straddling him.

A quick break for a breath of fresh air is taken before going back to it, the two of you going at it more like life long lovers than old friends. You can’t help but wonder if you’re the only friend of his he’s had these kinds of feelings towards. Or if you’re the only one full stop.

“Wait” you push him away slowly, looking right into his eyes “am i the only one?” your question has his brows furrowing in confusion.

“What?” his chuckle leads you to smile “am i the only friend you find attractive? The only friend you’ve thought about in this way?”

“Yes”

And you believe him.

“I never thought i could pursue anything because of the way we are together. The nicknames, the way you act like one of the guys. I just didn’t think it was ever a possibility”

He’s saying all of the right things and right here, right now. You don’t wanna second guess him, so you pull him back to you, kissing him like your life depends on it.

And he just reciprocates the same energy but with a twist. His hands find their way to your ass cheeks underneath your tennis skirt. He gives your soft globes a little squeeze, earning an excited squeal from you which only turns him on more.

“God this skirt. It drives me crazy every time you wear it” he groans as his kisses turn to open mouthed ones along your jawline and down your neck to your sweet spot.

You gotta admit, you could say the same thing to him about his body. Whenever his shirts are open a little to reveal his chest and his tattoos or whenever his biceps bulge out of the shirt sleeves. You feel your legs turn to jelly and it’s hard to play it cool.

“I need you” you blurt out, causing him to take action. He spins you around quicker than you can even keep up with. Your legs are spread apart and now the only thing stopping him from ruining your tight cunt is the thin piece of cotton covering it. Not for long though.

“Oh yeah, how do you need me baby?” his hands graze your inner thighs and more arousal soaks your panties “I need you to touch me” you beg and your head falls back, resting on his shoulder. You look up at him before closing your eyes as you feel the pads of his fingers press down on your bundle of nerves.

“What, like this?” his mouth begins to suck on your neck, no doubt leaving marks for everyone to see tomorrow.

All you can muster is a lazily mumbled “mhmm yes” and that’s all he needs to reach his hands inside. The way his fingers run through your folds before circling your dripping hole is like a feeling you’ve never experienced. Probably because the one and only time you’ve ever been intimate with someone was the quick rubbing of your clit and missionary. Hardly adventurous.

Chris however, has experience. And there’s obviously a reason Minka and Jenny went back for more, right?

Or at least you assume so. Plus many drunken conversations with Jenny gave away some details that at the time had you jealous as fuck. But now, you’re aching with the anticipation of what’s to come tonight.

For example. One party that Chris hosted. You and Jenny were bonding over tequila.

Tara left the group just as she got into it and you can’t say you blamed her at the time. Tara and Chris are best friends and it would be weird for her to take an interest in his sex life shenanigans.

But since you and Chris have only ever been friends, not best friends, you stuck around. If you hadn’t then god knows who Jenny would have told.

She was practically drooling over the sight of him across the room, starting the conversation with a simple “how sexy is he?” almost like she expected you to agree, which you didn’t. Despite agreeing in your head of course.

“Oh you should have seen him last night Y/N, that mouth of his. Jesus. He was like an animal. I’ve never cum so many times from oral”

The memory in itself has you moaning and bucking your hips up into his hand, yearning for more.

His hand pulls from your panties and his fingers hook into the sides of them. He lifts your legs with one hand as his other slides them down and off, discarding them halfway across the room. Not that you care where they land.

The way his arms wrap around both of your thighs, parting your legs whilst they reach down to rub firm circles on your aching and needy pussy, is almost like he’s wanted this as long as you have. Which of course is most likely true since he’s already admitted to crushing on you secretly.

“Please, Chris, i need it” your impatient self can’t control the hunger, but he has other plans.

“All in good time, let me take care of you Y/N”

His thick digits circle your hole once again before two of them slip inside without even a single warning. You’re not used to the feeling but after a couple of pumps in and out, he starts curling them against that familiar spongy spot which makes you forget the stretch you experienced just seconds ago.

Now everything that Jenny said makes sense.

“Fuck, yes. Don’t stop” your hand grips his wrist as you start to grind your hips in circles, wanting to feel the palm of his hand against you throbbing clit. And with your impending first orgasm of many to come, you can’t help but arch your back.

“Gonna cum already, huh? Come on baby, cum for me” he eggs, a third finger adding to the equation. Just what you needed to fall off the cliff in his arms. Your legs shake and your breathing quickens “just like that baby, cum all over these fingers” and you do.

Your arousal drips down his fingers, making the mess he urged you to.

Once he rides you through your high, he pulls out, lifting them to his mouth and the second they come into contact with each other, he’s slurping and sucking them clean.

The sight itself is probably enough to make you cum all over again but before you can, he’s manoeuvring you so that he’s carrying you into your bedroom and laying you down.

More clothes are tossed onto the floor until the two of you are in nothing but your birthday suits and you gotta say, his size is more than impressive.

“Such a beautiful body, might have to keep you like this all the time” he smirks, hovering above you, his huge biceps either side of your head. He lowers his head down so he can capture your lips in a quick but passionate kiss and you can tell this isn’t just a quick hook up to him. Or at least, that’s the way it seems.

You hope.

His lips linger for a couple of seconds before they lower to the valley between your breasts and he inhales your scent instantly, breathing you in like the smoke from a cigarette.

“Smell so good baby. Always smell so good” his fingers tweak at your nipples as the kisses continue, moving lower and lower until he’s face to face with your cunt.

It’s only natural for you to expect some kind of teasing from him but he takes you by surprise by devouring you like a 3 course meal with no feather like touches or dirty talk to get you to beg for his filthy mouth.

“And you taste good too, always knew you would”

The words have you covering your face and the feel of his head shaking on you has you closing your legs on it. The scratching of his beard on your thighs is both awful and incredible all at once. You just simply can’t get enough, running your fingers through his messed up locks and grinding your pussy on his tongue as he sticks it out for you to use as much as you like.

“Gonna make this sweet pussy cum once more before i fuck it, that okay, baby?”

No words are needed, he knows you want it. So he dives back in, spreading your pussy folds and blowing air on your clit before his lips wrap around it for him to suck.

"Cum on my tongue baby, i know you can, give it to me, let me get another taste” he coos and you find your body shaking.

Seconds later, after his words of encouragement and his tongue fucking you. You release for the second time tonight, all over his skilful tongue. You prop yourself up onto your elbows to watch as he makes sure no drop is wasted before he kisses his way back up to you.

As soon as his tongue slips into your mouth, battling with yours, you can taste your sweet arousal and it drives you crazy.

You wrap your legs around his waist and he buries his face in the crook of your neck as he lines himself up “you sure you wanna do this?” he asks, pulling away to look at you, unsure on whether you truly want this but why wouldn’t you want this?

“Chris, i’m sure” you convince, cupping his face with both hands and all of a sudden your pussy is stretching to accommodate his size as he slides home with no pauses to get you used to it. You knew the moment that you saw his cock that it would hurt a little. But the pain soon subsides and is replaced with pleasure.

His thrusting pace picks up immediately and your legs tighten around him as your urge to have him deeper consumes you

“Shit” he grunts, hissing at the feel of your warm walls fluttering around him perfectly, he can’t say this is anything like his many fantasies because the honest truth is it isn’t. It’s better, way better.

Having you underneath him, panting and moaning like he’s always dreamed makes him think heaven is right here with you. A place on earth.

“Taking this cock so well baby, feel good huh?” his voice raspy and gentle at the same time even though the way he’s ploughing into you is far from it.

“Yes. God yes. Chris i’m gonna cum” you mewl frantically, feeling your walls clamp down on him hard as if he’ll leave if you don’t. And if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you don’t want to ever be without him now, you want this for life. You’ve come so far, you’re knee deep in feelings for this man and you hope he’s on the same page.

“Fuck. Cum with me baby, i’m right there with you” his grunting and growling turn to moans that could resemble that of a porn star. So hot and like music to your ears.

The room is filled with the sound of his skin slapping against yours and the sounds of pleasure from the two of you merging into one with little sweat droplets adorning both your foreheads.

“Oh fuck, squeeze me again baby”

“Just” thrust “like” thrust “that”

“Chris, don’t stop” you plead as your toes begin to curl, his head drops so his lips can meet yours the second he spots signs of the coil snapping within you.

And when it does, he’s sucking all of the air from your lungs and muffling your moans.

The way your walls spasm around him spurs his own release on, he twitches a couple times before finally releasing inside of you and painting your walls.

Shockwaves rush through you and you still can’t believe you just had sex with your friend.

Maybe it’ll hit you in the morning and you fear the unknown reaction from the man himself. What if he regrets it? What if you do? Whatever happens, you can’t change the results, all you can do is bask in the glory of this moment finally coming to life after a million times where you’ve over thought how this would go down.

He eventually pulls out, falling down to the spot on the bed beside of you, panting too.

“Well that’s certainly not what i expected to happen tonight” you giggle.

Chris has to say, he feels relieved. All those sneaky glances your way and all those nights out where he was dying to kiss you have finally stopped. Because now he doesn’t have to hide it away, you know and you feel the same.

Having you in his arms now as he pulls you to rest your head on his chest after mind blowing and romantic sex. All of your desires have come true.

“Me neither. What does this mean for us now though?” the question you were saving for tomorrow but you’re thanking the lord that he’s asked first.

“I was going to ask the same thing. But i don’t know, i guess if you want to then we could maybe go on a date, see where things go?” he lifts your head up with his finger under your chin and the second your eyes meet, he kisses you hard.

“I’d love to take you out”

“So, that’s a yes?”

He can’t help but laugh nervously “it’s the easiest yes i’ve ever had to give, i can’t wait. But maybe now we should sleep?" before he even finishes talking you’re yawning and closing your eyes.

And with a quick peck on your forehead, you both get under the covers and drift off.

---------------------

*4 weeks later*

A month after your hookup with Chris and you’ve already had your first date.

He invited you to his place where he had a 3 course meal waiting, that he cooked himself.

Quite impressive and it was actually edible which made you suspect that he had Lisa’s help.

Though he would never admit that to you because he wanted to impress and of course he did.

You’ve not seen him all week, only spoke to him over text or FaceTime since he’s been super busy with work. Meetings galore for upcoming projects. You respect that with his career though, this dating business is going to be a lot like your friendship has been. There’s nothing you can do about it but to tell the truth, you’re kinda glad he’s not been around.

It all started last week when you were puking constantly, your boobs were unbelievably sore and the nausea has been out of this world.

The puking has been mostly in the mornings but this morning was the worst. All of these things had you racking your brain, there had to be a reason behind it and when you calculated the days for your period, you realised you were a week late.

So you drove down to the store, picking up some water and snacks as well as a pregnancy test.

The second you returned home, you rushed to the bathroom to take it and let’s just say waiting for the results to show were the longest few minutes of your life. Your legs were shaking as were your hands. When the timer stopped, you took a deep breath before glancing down to meet your fate.

It reads ‘pregnant’ on the clear blue stick.

How the fuck is Chris gonna take this?

The thought alone makes you want to puke so you quickly drop to your knees, spewing your lunch into the toilet.

This is your life well and truly ruined,

-------------------

Chris knocks on your door, waiting patiently for you to answer and let him in. As soon as he sees your exhausted face, his smile fades.

“What’s wrong?” worry fills his voice and it hurts even more.

Yeah sure, he’s 39 and you’re 30. But does he really want a kid this soon with you. You know he wants to be a dad and he has done for a long time. But even so, it’s way too soon. It’ll be like taking 5 giant leaps when you’ve only just admitted to liking one another a couple weeks back.

“Come sit down” your voice monotone and serious, scaring him further.

“Baby?” he asks but you ignore, taking more deep breaths.

“Look, i don’t really know how to go about this and i’m terrified” you gulp, looking away from him and fidgeting in your seat “so for the last week or so i’ve been experiencing some things. Sickness, nausea and my boobs have been hurting and feeling very sore. You know all that already. But this morning was the worst. I puked so much that i almost fainted when i went to stand”

You can practically see his hands shaking too, still refusing to look him in the eye which is driving him insane.

“Y/N please, what is it?” his patience wearing thin.

Here goes nothing.

“I’m pregnant”

Now you look at him, his eyes wide, his mouth open slightly.

“What?”

Not a question that needs an answer as you’re pretty sure he’s just shocked.

“I-I don’t know w-what to say”

“I don’t expect you to say anything, Chris. I won’t blame you if you want to walk away now”

Hearing you say that riles him, he forces you to look at him “listen here, i’m not gonna walk away. No chance. Two of us made this baby and two of us are gonna take care of it”

Even with the confidence he’s showing, you know him well enough to see the act. He’s terrified too. But it’s probably best to not bring it up now.

Tears fall down your face as he pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you. He can sense that you were worried about being deserted.

But that’s never going to happen.

“We’ll get through this together okay?”

“Okay”

--------------------------

Days pass and Chris is getting even more scared. The news still hasn’t full sunk in yet. You’re carrying his child and yet he feels like he’s too immature to do this and in this head space, there’s only so many people that he can turn to.

He thought it would be best to share the news with his family alone first since he’s never been in this position before. He’s watched his sister go through it and obviously his mother went through it 4 times with him and his siblings.

This is something he’s wanted for a long time. He doesn’t want to mess it up. So it’s time to get help.

“Ma, it’s me” he calls out, closing the front door and searching the lounge before he hears her call back “kitchen”

As soon as he enters, he finds his sister Carly helping his mom with lunch.

“How’re you” Carly asks, hugging him but his heavy breathing alerts her.

“Chris?”

“I need advice, i’m freaking out” and now his flustered state is abundantly clear.

“Why what’s happened?”

The pair stop in their tracks, focusing all of their attention onto him and gesturing for him to speak.

“So you know me and Y/N decided to give dating a go” they nod “about time too” Lisa jokes.

“Well, turns out. She’s pregnant” he grits his teeth, watching as they freak out too. With Lisa’s mouth hanging open and Carly’s eyes widening.

“Say something please”

“Chris, how could you let this happen so soon?”

Not the response he was hoping for.

“I-i”

“Did you even use protection?” Lisa’s eyebrows raise before she bows her head once he shakes his.

“Christopher, you’ve only just started dating this girl and she’s already pregnant. I don’t believe this”

“Chris this isn’t easy you know, pregnancy, parenting. It’s hard and are you sure you two are ready to take such a big step so soon?” Carly adds, calming her voice more than what their mom did.

He doesn’t even have an answer for them.

Because he’s most likely not ready, neither are you but is anyone ever ready to be a parent? Probably not.

“It’s sleepless nights, long days of tantrums and melt downs. Loud screaming, refusing to eat and a horrendous amount of dirty and smelly nappies. Can you handle all of that? Can she?”

“Look I’m terrified enough as it is and I know it’s not gonna be easy. That’s why I came here in hopes that you would ease my mind about this” he sighs, sitting down at the breakfast bar and scratching the back of his head with Carly taking a seat on the stool beside him.

“How does Y/N feel about it?”

“Scared too, assumed i was just going to leave but i reassured her it would be okay and that i’d never leave”

A proud mother moment for Lisa, she knows in this moment that she’s done a good job with raising him and all of her kids.

Her life is a constant never ending string of proud mother moments with them. They never cease to amaze her.

“As long as you have us, you’ll be okay but please let this be a lesson to you. Not using protection is so dangerous. Especially when it’s just casual at first, you need to be careful”

They are right. It was reckless too. Drunken nights in with friends that he fancies aren’t the best time for sex.

Even he can admit that.

“Condoms always” Lisa’s index finger in his face has him laughing and nodding frantically “yes ma’am” they all laugh at his remark and eventually he feels the tense atmosphere leave.

He feels like the news has been accepted.

“God your father might actually pass out when he hears this”

“Can we tell him and everyone else over dinner, tonight maybe. I want Y/N to be here when they find out. I only told you guys because i didn’t know who else to turn to”

“You’re gonna make an amazing father Chris. You just need to believe that and you’ll be set. Am i saying parenting is easy? Certainly not but what i am saying is that i have more than enough faith in you to do this right. You got this, just please do me a huge favour and wrap it up from now on or you’ll end up like me before you know it”

He hugs his sister tight, squeezing her and letting out the biggest deep breath ever “love you. What would i do without you?”

“I honestly don’t know”

Chris says goodbye to them before heading over to your place and Lisa texts the family group chat, asking if everyone is free to join for dinner.

Once you become aware of the plan, you freak out and hours later you’re still deciding what to even dress yourself in.

“But what am i even going to wear?”

“What if they don’t take it well?"

Chris has to eventually hold you in place to keep you still “you’re starting to resemble that one scene in the grinch baby. Just remain calm. You’ve been around my family loads of times and besides mom and Carly already know. They support us”

He’s right. He’s always right. This is why you two alway got on so effortlessly as friends. He balances your crazy and anxious self out with his calm, cool and collected self.

Plus you both have a shared love for beer, football and cussing non stop.

“Shit, you’re right” you breathe in and out a couple times before settling on some high waisted jeans and a pink jumper. You match it with some Dr Martens before leaving to go and have that dreaded dinner.

You’ve been around his family before, you keep telling yourself this in hopes that it will calm your nerves. The car journey is short and sweet and now you find yourself walking into his parent’s house.

All eyes in view fixate on you two. Everyone knows you both have become a thing but wait until they know you’re knocked up because neither Chris nor you had the brain cells to suggest using a condom.

“Right everyone, dinner is ready” Lisa shouts and there’s a rush to the dining room with you trailing behind. Chris pulls out a chair for you to sit in before taking his own in a spot next to you.

Grace is said and small talk is made as the entire family dig in. You can see Chris getting ready to speak up and your stomach does loads of little backflips due to all the nerves.

“Everyone, me and Y/N have something we’d like to tell you”

Complete silence in the room and now you want the ground to swallow you up.

“So as you all know, we’re a couple now”

“About fucking time” Scott roars, earning laughs all around.

“Well, we’ve got some news and whilst it’s completely unexpected but we’re very excited to tell you that we’re having a baby” you stand up with him as you take in the reactions.

Some are shocked, some are cheering and smiling and others are just eating. AKA the kids.

Congratulations are tossed your way and Shanna is instantly giving you baby name suggestions whilst Scott is hugging Chris and offering to baby sit already.

“I’m so happy for you and if you ever need a sitter, uncle Scotty is where it’s at” you’ll 100% bare that in mind.

As you take your seats again to tuck into more delicious food courtesy of Lisa, Chris leans in “see, nothing to worry about. You’re family already” and with a kiss to your forehead, he continues with his roasting of Scott.

You couldn’t wish for a better family to be apart of or a better family for your child.

---------------------------

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126 notes · View notes

nosebleedclub · 3 years

Text

The Dark Suburb

((Posting again because the original post on June 11th, 2017 6:09pm is no longer available due to me deleting and re-making this blog.))

This is a compilation post of Nosebleed Club prompts from 2015-16 revolving around the concept of “the dark suburb.”

Family Melodrama

something is wearing your mother

oh god his intestines strung up on the christmas tree

your dog’s body all over the house

banging on cellar doors

a creaking sound in your dead sister’s bedroom

warriors with spears and shields painted on the dining room ceiling of a violent family’s mansion

a woman in an expensive coat and an expensive car headed to her nephew’s funeral

coming home to a completely alien mother

getting a doberman on christmas morning that won’t let you leave the house

the reason your parents fled the city to live in the suburbs

summers in palermo where your father was looking for something

mother’s breakdown in the supermarket

the supernatural car you and your twin got for your 16th birthday

parents strangely and deeply interested in the boyfriend you brought home

a mom urging her son to quit basketball; she senses something is not right

all the holes - dozens of them - your mother dug in your backyard

grandparents hiding the reason your parents are away during your winter holiday break

your best friend doesn’t want to go to your house anymore

grandpa’s ghost followed us into the new house

dad hates her bc she killed her twin in the womb and then her mother

Do I Love You?

your boyfriend’s basketball shorts, his boy-aroma, his ghost between your legs when you watch the video of his last game

girls kissing in a gas station convenience store and a third recording them on snapchat

the boy you like drawing flowers on your ap biology practice test when you switch tests with him to grade

walking across a supermarket parking lot by yourself thinking of a boy you love

red mouth

girlfriend scrubbing the blood off her arms in the bathtub

in a tiny white house in florida, sitting on a beer-can-covered counter, legs spread apart, a boy between them

in a drug-induced haze i left home for his semi truck

he never fucked me without his ski mask on

a girl and a girl and claw marks on the door“don’t ever take me back”

The Occult

the incantation that annihilated a whole suburb

a body that drags other bodies into an oven

the witches gathering in the red lake

inhuman sacrifice

dogs gathered at the edge of town refusing to cross the boundary to the outside

a 10 year old girl with memories of a serial killing spree that occurred when her parents were children

white shirts hanging on branches all over the woods

the town of three-eyed children

arrows raining down on a soccer field

feeding time

mysterious scratch marks on your back

a fairy ring in the field where your sister disappeared

Crimes

just throw it in the back

snap!

we found the body but not the head

clearing in the forest where police found a blessed severed head

jar of baby teeth as evidence

children dressed as angels at the crime scene

seeing a face you thought you buried ten years ago at the supermarket

half a fraternity frozen under a lake

fbi agents rolling into a tiny town in appalachia

a severed arm among the hydrangeas

young men howling on the bridge one year after the murder

police cars prowling through your neighborhood, one after another - watching this from your bedroom window

Teen Dream

getting whipped by a towel in the locker room

best friend making the varsity tennis team

taking a shot of vodka in the bathroom after second period

boy gets a boner during gym class

“i’ll be like helicase i’ll unzip them genes (jeans)”

drunkenly reciting the quadratic equation

fear-mongering homecoming queen

track star died in a car accident

dead bodies photography club

“sorry i fucked up here’s some ice cream” “i’m lactose intolerant you douche”

article about demonic possession in the school newspaper

last pool party before summer ends & her hand on your thigh in your dad’s sports car

the first day back from summer vacation & someone in your friend group brings the whole #squad starbucks

a bonfire, lana del rey & drake blasting, the moon

weekend road trips to the ocean

walking around on the track alone, contemplating some philosophical concept you read about on tumblr the night before

coming out to someone completely random - a junior varsity basketball player

the last homecoming dance

lying on the track at your high school after sunset

getting picked up really early in the morning to go on a spontaneous weekend road trip

the sunday after the homecoming dance where you’re kinda tired kinda still energetic from the night before

inside a fast food restaurant drinking milkshakes eating fries until it closes

chill basement party where there’s white balloons gold confetti / glitter two girls who love each other kissing

sitting in the backseat your parents occupying the front of the car you look out the window you see the rural countryside crawl by

pool pizza party at night simple pleasures like that

on the bleachers during a powderpuff football game

sweating so much you might as well have been swimming it would be embarrassing but all the other boys are sweaty too

lost in the suburbs at like 5am and the world is still pale blue

lost in the city at 5pm the sun sinks its head behind skyscrapers

fights on the lawn of an all boys private school

applying makeup the morning after a breakup

huge friend group made up of oracles + boys’ swim team + legendary heroes + valedictorian

aesthetic blogging on a sunday afternoon just chillin in your bedroom

feeling like you could be something big if you work hard enough at it

getting psychoanalyzed by your teachers and parents and extended family

school bathroom pale blue tiles

a dream with damien hirst-esque elements

sleepover at your friend’s villa and you’re the only one awake

looking out at a black sea from your dead cousin’s bedroom window, seeing a light in the distance

funeral mass

chill that runs down your friends’ spines when you enter the classroom the morning after they tried to kill you

the sickness that spreads through the high school

sometimes i was a body in a dump sometimes i was a saint

he said he’d snapchat my burning body to all his friends

my body was evidence she was trying to get rid of

poison disguised as an eighteen year old

a world war between us

$$$

first: “super rich kids” by frank ocean

fast cars flecked with blood

girls who know you won’t be prosecuted if you’re young and rich and pretty enough

snapchat of a boy with red eyes and a glass of dom perignon with the text IS MY LIFE FUCKING REAL

snapchat of a girl’s dad’s black amex with the words MONEY CAN’T BUY HAPPINESS BUT IT GETS CLOSE

taking your middle-class friends out to nice restaurants but knowing they’re with you mainly for the money

“dude i know you’re only a year older than me but sometimes i think of you as my sugar daddy”

traveling to punta del este to find yourself but losing yourself instead

identifying heavily with the versace logo

an imperial bedroom and all one feels is the weight of all that empty space

“even my funeral has to be luxurious”

Hometown Visions

three dead owls on the side of the road

trees bare, houses barren

lanterns lit up on the dirt road at night

moths in a forgotten shed

a dusty old attic filled with dead rats and flies

seeing half your face in a splintered mirror. washing machine making dangerous sounds

midwest: watching a tornado funnel form from a window that won’t shut all the way

grass in the yard growing tall

girls carrying stray cats home

a cellar door swinging open and a man you never wanted to see ever again stepping through it, into the light

snake skins and insect carapaces organized on a torn mattress

a lovely place god abandoned

bat-filled house at the end of the street

a girl crawling out of a burning car

birds in jars

Hide & Seek

not being able to find anyone in a dark forest because they actually left you and it was just a cruel prank

person seeking you is something much worse than what you thought they were

being trapped in your hiding space & no one can find you no matter how loud you call for help

hiding in your friend’s house and finding evidence of a vile crime their parents committed

finding half of your friend

#prompts #nosebleedclub #from the nosebleedclub archive #dark suburb

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jjmaebank · 4 years

Text

Fight for Me - Rafe Cameron

A/N: okay so this is based off the scene from one tree hill between Brooke and Lucas, I acc cried writing this because that scene makes me bawl my eyes out, Sophia Bush’s acting >>>

I would also like to thank Cort @pogue-writings because she really helped me understand Rafe’s character and I wouldn’t have been able to write this w out her, so this one’s for you Cort!!

Also I expect tumblr to fuck with the italics in the flashback so I’m sorry in advance

Warnings: this one’s sad :(( also mentions of drugs and substance abuse

Words: 1.8k

“What I wanted? I wanted you to fight for me! I wanted you to say that there was no one else that you could ever be with and that you'd rather be alone than without me!” +

Another night had gone by. Another night of Rafe throwing a party, getting high and flirting with other girls. Another night of Rafe Cameron ignoring your existence.

You and Rafe had been dating for a good few months now and at first it was everything you had ever wanted. He would spend every waking moment with you, taking you out on romantic dates and telling you how much he loved you. He would make you feel so fucking special, he made you feel worth something. Rafe had come into your life during a very dark period, but he had been the one to help you out of it. He had been there for you through everything, held your hand and supported you when you had needed it most. He had been your lifeline.

But now? Now, it was like he didn't exist. He would neglect you when you needed him most, dismiss you when you tried to speak or simply full on ghost you. He wasn’t the same Rafe you fell in love with, or at least he’d hidden this side of him for a very long time.

You had gotten into a massive argument one night and you had hardly spoken since.

“Why are you like this Rafe!” You cried to your boyfriend.

“What the fuck do you mean, (Y/N),” Rafe spat, continuing to pour the white powder out onto the glass coffee table.

“You know what I mean.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew what you meant,” Rafe snarled, still not diverting his attention from his next fix.

“You’re so...so bipolar!” You yelled as the tears continued to stream down your face, but he didn't seem to care.

“Tell yourself what you want (Y/N), but I don't have time for this,” he muttered.

His lack of empathy made the pain in your chest grow stronger.

“Why, Rafe? Why is it that you’re so loving, so affectionate some days, and then completely hostile others? Is there something I’m doing wrong?” You asked, a pleading tone in your voice.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rafe replied, now rolling his note into a long cylinder.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” You cried, your body starting to shake as you withheld sobs.

Rafe sighed in irritation, putting down the note briefly to finally look up at you.

“Can’t you see I’m busy here (Y/N)?” He said dismissively, immediately returning to his addiction.

Your heart sunk even more; you didn’t think it was possible to feel this neglected and alone standing next to the boy who claimed to love you, next to the boy you loved. But it was.

You sighed in defeat before bringing yourself to speak again.

“I think we should take a break,” you whispered loud enough for him to hear over the sound of himself inhaling the white powder.

He rubbed his nose, sniffing a little before looking up at you again.

“A break?” He asked, seeming unfazed.

“I..I don't want us to be over Rafe...” you said, wiping the remaining tears from your eyes, “but I think you need to do a lot reevaluation over the choices you’re making right now and how it affects the people around you.”

You expected him to protest, for his eyes to widen as he heard your words. You expected him to rush over to you and plead against it, for him to fight for you. But he didn't.

“Whatever,” Rafe shrugged, “beats me.”

You held in a sob as you heard those words come out of his mouth. He didn't care. You couldn't bring yourself to experience the embarrassment of crying in front of him again so you rushed out of his house as fast as you could, not giving it a second thought.

It had been two weeks since your ‘break up’; but you and Rafe had similar friend groups and hung out at the same places so you practically saw him every single day, and it hurt.

Somedays he would call and ask you how you were, making you think the old Rafe was back. Somedays he was silent and ignored you when he saw you, but you swore you could see guilt in his eyes. You hoped he felt guilty, that he was beating himself up over how he’d acted towards you, the same way you cried yourself to sleep almost every night over the fact that he let you go with such ease. Were you really that disposable to him?

Tonight he was throwing another party at his house while Ward and Rose were away in the Bahamas. You perched on the end of the couch that Rafe was sat on with Topper and two blondes. They were doing lines of coke of course, when was Rafe not inhaling that shit.

“(Y/N), you want some?” Rafe laughed, wiping his nose after doing a line.

You gave him a look; he knew you didn’t do that.

You kept scolding yourself for even being there. It wasn't healthy seeing him, it just made you miss him more. But part of you urged you to stay in case he spoke to you, in case he apologised for how he acted, fought for you.

“Suit yourself,” Rafe shrugged before sprinkling another line for the blonde sat next to him.

She was all over him, stroking his hair and shooting him flirty looks. You wanted to vomit, but the worst part was he didn't seem to care, nor that you were sat inches away.

After what felt like an eternity of sipping from a half empty cup, watching everyone have fun while you had a miserable time, Kelce stood up on the glass coffee table.

“How about a game of spin the bottle!” He shouted, receiving multiple yells and shrieks of excitement.

You felt a pit form in your stomach; you knew this couldn't end well, but you were somehow glued to your seat, the hope that maybe you and Rafe could patch things up blocking the warnings your subconscious was throwing at you.

Around a dozen people had gathered around the coffee table where the white powder had now been replaced with an empty beer bottle. You crossed your legs and pulled the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands in anxiety; you didn't want to be here.

A few rounds went by and you were already sick of watching strangers play tennis with each other’s tonsils. You promised you would leave after that round but just as you were getting up the bottle landed on Rafe. You froze.

Your heart rate practically went through the roof, you could feel your heart thumping in your chest so intensely you were scared others might be able to hear it. Your hands were already clammy from the stuffiness in your hoodie and this only made it worse.

Rafe shot you a quick glance, as if to check whether you were okay and for a split second you relaxed. He wasn’t going to do anything, he wouldn't.

But the next thing you saw was Rafe leaning in to the blonde sat next to him. Your heart sunk.

“Just a joke right?” He laughed whilst licking his lips.

His lips connected with hers as her hands went straight to his hair. His hair that you used to play with in bed on lazy or rainy mornings. Her hands stroked his cheeks, the cheeks you used to squish and prod at when he was feeling goofy or cracking jokes. But what stung most was w watching her kiss his lips. His lips that he used to kiss you with, that he used to whisper sweet nothings to you with, that he used to tell you he loved you with.

You felt sick, physically and emotionally sick. You let out a muffled sob as you covered your mouth with your sleeve and stood up quickly, running out of the room. It felt like déjà vu, but a worse version of what you’d already experienced, much worse.

“(Y/N)!” You heard someone call out behind you. You knew exactly who it was, but you just ignored him and kept running.

You were halfway through the garden by the time Rafe managed to catch up to you, having yelled your name multiple times. He grabbed your arm and pulled you backwards, spinning you around to meet his gaze.

“(Y/N),” he gasped, “god since when could you run so fast?”

“Do you think this is some joke?” You replied, your voice shaking as you held back tears.

“What? No.” Rafe said, taking a more serious tone than before.

“I can’t believe you!” You cried, letting a tear slip down your cheek.

“(Y/N) it was just a game!” Rafe exhaled, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

“Great, just great!” You threw your arms up in the air, “so we’re just a game too?”

“It’s a party! Shit like that happens all the time,” Rafe said, still not seeming to understand why you were upset.

“Not when you have a girlfriend!” You shouted, you were full on crying at this point. “And not when she’s sat right next to you!”

“You put us on a break remember?” Rafe exclaimed, failing to comprehend.

“A break...you’re not supposed to cheat on a break Rafe, you’re supposed to work to make things right again!” You choked, your throat closing up causing your voice to sound strained.

“What did you want from me (Y/N)?” Rafe cried out, pain now laced in his voice as he saw you break down in front of him.

“What I wanted? I wanted you to fight for me!” You cried, clenching your teeth to stop you from letting out sobs.

“I wanted you to say that there was no one else that you could ever be with and that you'd rather be alone than without me!” You continued through sobs, your body shaking, your voice cracking.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Rafe responded, his voice hushed and strained.

“You just are,” you sighed, the last of your tears falling as you wiped them away.

With that you walked away, not giving him another minute of your time. You knew it was futile, and your heart had suffered enough. You were done.

Rafe stood there in shock as he watched you disappear right in front of him. Part of him was screaming at him to run after you and kiss you, tell you how much he loves you. But the other part of him knew he couldn’t. Rafe was in pain. He hadn’t realised what he’d been doing had affected you so much. He knew he’d acted off and distant, but it was only because he felt overwhelmed sometimes. He never learnt how to be loved, let alone how to love, so he couldn’t handle it sometimes, it would freak him out. But seeing you like this, hearing the pain in your voice, the pain that he’d caused? It broke him. He was no better than his father, and he hated himself for it.

Rafe let his own tears fall as he came to terms with the reality of your situation. He’d lost you because he couldn’t love you the way you wanted him to. There was nothing that hurt him more than knowing he could never be good enough for you, he didn't know how to be. All he’d ever wanted to be his whole life was good enough, always living in the shadow of his sister, never living up to his father’s expectations. And now he knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t good enough for his father, and he sure as hell wasn’t good enough for you, and now he knew he never could be.

A/N: idk how proud of this I am but there u have it!

add yourself to my taglist

taglist: @obx-sos @thelocalpogue @raekenliar @flowersinvegas @milaonthemoon @calumbroutledge @drew-starkey @jayjaymaebank @teenwaywardasgardian @baby-bearie @beautyandthebleh @outrbank @maybe-maybanks @heywards

#outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #drew starkey #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #obx #obx netflix #outer banks netflix #drew starkey x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 7)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 6

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Your life was on the edge again as you were close to being sold to men in their dimension. With a kind and selfless heart; you've tried saving Cirilla. Though, despite of the failure of a rescue, a certain witcher wouldn't let you stay in danger as he came to your aid and massacred whoever comes in his way. Thus, he'd recognized the person holding you and it made him curse deep beneath his breath as he remembered what he wanted from him after years of avoiding them for their regal favors.

Warnings: Gore. (I’ve added a gif that kinda..ugh. You get my point. Hehehe.) Death. Swords. Curse words. Modern references. Hehehe. Blood. Anger. More descriptions than dialogues. (I mean, who fights while talking? XD Also, it’s Geralt. You know how he is. XD) Assholes selling women/children.

Words: 6.3k+

A/N: Chapter 7 is out now! I've used Gifs of Geralt while the story goes on. Heehee! Just wanted to. IT’S GETTIN’ LIT IN HERE. AYEEEE!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

It took a narrow, derelict looking alleyway for Cirilla and her friend to be found. This was why you never trusted kids playing alone because they needed supervision at all times. There were black, grey and brown stone build houses designed for the outmoded era surrounding the alley.

You taciturnly stood in the middle of the dirt ground, scanning the whole place and finding a kid who wore a light blue kirtle. The sound of sand and gravel was apparent as you've taken conniving steps till you were about to enter another aisle that looked deserted. But, you were stopped as a silhouette of two men who wore dark brown furry sheep coats emerge from the gully.

The man holding Cirilla had a horrible beard looking like the man in the movie 300 with a sly smirk that could get you to know that he was part of the villains in a show while the other was a blonde chevalier that can pass as the prince's bodyguard.

They had sharp looking daggers across the children's necks and it made your heart cease because of the panic rising through your head. Yet, you try to calm down to make better decisions.

Not that it was a habit. You were bad a making decisions; look at how your life ended. Forgetting why you were drowning on a lake and suddenly emerging from another dimension like you had your next life in just a snap of Thanos' gauntlet.

"Nice, very nice." you mindlessly mumbled, avoiding their scowls and grins; giving the kids a once over as you've seen the fear straight out of their eyes.

There were no guns, anything to use for defense nor do you know any kung-fu that can make Jackie Chan watch you with popcorn on his hands.

You were currently a useless human especially that you were teleported with no supernatural powers or magic. What a nice way to be brought to a world you didn't know and had people who are experts in brutal fighting.

"Why, why, why," The man looking like King Leonidas mischievously announced as he tightened his hold around Cirilla and held the dagger close to her neck. The princess shrieked and growled before him, struggling against his hold as you winced at your mind who couldn't help but utter the most awkward sentences in panic.

"Delilah?" your nose scrunched so hard you were sure you looked constipated. It was a pun, and so it wasn't the best as you couldn't help but cringe for your stupidity.

"Ain't she a beaut," The blonde knight cackled as he strolled towards a wooden cage that can be used for lions or any feisty animal as Ethelia was dragged and locked in like a fauna being pulled around; never forgetting to give Cirilla's friend a pinch to her delicate cheeks as she flinched away from the asshole.

"Don't hurt Ethelia!" Cirilla struggled against her captor's arms, but he tightened his hold around her a lot more, "---Get her out of the cage!"

You've squinted your eyes at the large cage where Ethelia has been violently captured and saw not only one but a dozen of children taken to their account. Some were grubby and clean, though that one thing that made them all the same was that they were women.

They were freaking women and you definitely saw red because they all seemed innocent with all their wailing and bloodshot eyes.

The princess has managed to bite Tybalt on the arm; making the latter grab onto her roots brutally, igniting a frightened scream out of Cirilla, "You are next to this wench that shall be offered to the king!"

Thus, her screams made your palms sweat. You needed to do something and not just stand there like an idiot.

Tybalt's attention was suddenly turned to you; cocking his head to the side as smugly as he could, giving you a menacing grin that gave you the nervous shivers.

"---Or not?"

"Leave the child alone!" you suddenly had the courage to muster out loud; but it was no use as it didn't sound frightening for the party. Tybalt aimed the sharp edge of his dagger along Cirilla's neck as he moved them both forward, his appearance more discernable from the sudden cloudy day as he stepped outside his shadows. "---If it isn't another whore that I could sell to the duke,"

You could see how tall he was and utterly buff just like Geralt. His face was a complete epitome of a bandit as you noticed those sharp fangs and thinking he just had that type of teeth, "---Your beauty...Only passes for a knight's whore,"

Well, that sounded mean.

Tybalt continued, keeping Cirilla steady in the width of his arms as the child went on to struggle against his hold, her movements accidentally giving her a short slice of a wound that you quickly saw. Crimson liquid dripping down her neck like a breeze; not much, yet it was enough to give a wince, "---not for a king," the latter continued as he gave a low baleful laugh.

He'd studied you from head to toe, his gaze utterly making you feel uncomfortable. It was obvious that it consists of obscene thoughts running inside his brain. You couldn't help but feel your sweat turn cold from the panic you were feeling, "You are one short fella'! But, also kind of adorable like a dirty mouse not even worth for a penny,"

"Don't--Don't touch her," you stammered, biting on the insides of your lips as you tried thinking quicker. His wicked plans and diabolic ideas inside his head were enough to make your knees tremble; like you were being hunted by an Alghoul for the second time. You always had the luck in being involved with such ill-fate circumstances and it was making you crazy. Tybalt loudly scoffed, brown eyes glowing with malevolence and his smile turning sinister, "What are ye' going to do, little one? Cry like a bairn?"

The princess breathed in deep breaths, her heart beat running as fast as a cheetah. She'd gave you a look and you could quite see that she was deep in thought. Was Jaskier lying about her abilities? Was she a mutated one as well? Were the men holding her the Elvens?

"Cirilla," you subtly shook your head to distract her from doing anything that could give you both more peril than it should have.

"I can bring your little friend and this woman," Tybalt gestured to you and it made you step back; nevertheless, more of his bandits marched into view and roughly grabbed onto your arms, leaving you no chance to escape as you've tried to battle from their hold. "---Ethelia has been sold to the king by her father who had killed one of his knights. You know how King Viduka loves his knights,"

You wrestled against their hold. Two men strenghtened their grasp on you; rooting you to the ground as they were pretty much stronger, lanky and muscly with their fur coats. They were laughing on either side of you because of how you were struggling, "What is your name?" Tybalt drawled his words like a snake teasing his prey.

You loudly huffed and tried to wrench your arm away from both as you breathed hard; languidly feeling as if you were having a panic attack. It was there; again and it wasn't the right time, "You don't want me dropping down memes, I swear. I'm close to screaming John Cena," pause. "---You're gonna hate me, King Leonidas." A small guiltless smile was given to Cirilla's captor and it was enough to infuriate him because of how you didn't make sense.

Out of the blue, Tybalt unceremoniously pushed the princess off the ground; giving both his men that stood on either side of you a look as they roughly pushed you to him; passing you like a tennis ball as he caught you in his arms. You shrieked and have your heart flying off your chest as the chess piece suddenly moved and you were now their target.

Cirilla coughed her shock out of her chest; face scrubbing the ground which soiled her pretty face as she crawled and trembled away from you; sitting on her backside as she had her eyes focused on the the whole scene; thoroughly staggered at the sudden shift of victims.

Tybalt had his fingers grabbing onto your roots like a bitch; making you yelp as loud as you can to get anyone's attention from the other side of the city. But, no. There was no saviour. "Nobody owns ye', little scrubber! Come, to the palace!" he mercilessly yanked you with a handful of your hair, painfully dragging you to where the cages for humans stayed behind them; covered with a thick brown cloth for decency purposes if they even have dignity in their bloods.

"There's a place for little whores like ye'!" The other man who held you on the arm announced in a snobbish manner; ending his statement with a mirthful laugh that petrified you because of how presumptuous they were to find their actions fine for their world.

Your nerves were spiking up like a sparking electric circuit. The more closer you forcefully strided towards the cage, the more your emotions was flying up the sky. Adding the pain that Tybalt has been pouring on your roots was triggering your sensitive self to shed some tears from the fear of being sold by some dirty, old man who treats women like some kind of doll to relieve their sexual pleasures.

The lioness of Cintra dreaded the moment to see you walking towards a cage full of women going to be sold to different people. She couldn't do anything but think of ways that could get time ticking before Geralt could feel that there was something wrong. Accepting the fear of not saving you will never die down; if she would've not tried to help as she was saved by you.

Cirilla stood on her soles, feet shaking like a leaf as she had both hands in front; halting the forceful kidnap happening, "No! Stop! A man owns her with the name, Geralt! Geralt owns her! Geralt of Rivia! The Butcher of Blaviken!"

All men had their brows in a twist, tugging you back and making you face her. You were wincing and tears were falling from the hopeless feeling; it was much better to be living in their family rather than another man's home whom could have the power in owning you like a damn animal.

Tybalt jibed at the princess, poking fun at the lies she was saying. The name rang a bell; it was a name that they've been searching for so long but have been considered as a myth that isn't real. They've had their latest witcher be killed by a lethal beast. This known Witcher that they have been searching was no where to be found for years after years; or he just didn't want to be found was more of a logical reason at the same time.

"The Witcher?" he belittled with a grin, "---He's long gone, child. Hiding like a birdie! Cease your fantasy in having a witcher in the Kingdom of Kaedwen! We will all be killed by beasts! Just like them!"

Your captor tightened his hand on your head, giving it a sting that made you shriek. You didn't want to grow bald because of this. It was humiliating; you thought at the back of your mind as you sobbed from the fright. Tybalt inserted his dagger back in his pocket and swiftly opened the cloth to reveal ten children scared to death or even more, "This dirty maiden can be more useful than this lioness of a kid! It bites and roars too much!"

Thus, you never know how satisfying it was to hear a strum of a lute from afar. The echo resonated from the far end as you whipped around in zealous. Your heart beat coming to life as the hope flew back to where it should've been.

"That...is definitely not a good idea,"

Jaskier. There was Jaskier. Only Jaskier, but no Geralt. Still, it gave you a ton of hope to be saved.

"A bard," Tybalt rolled his eyes from all the pathetic interruption. Just getting you was thoroughly time consuming and he didn't know if he was already regretting it. He should be, when he's got his foot six feet on the ground already by touching Cirilla and you.

The bard stood where you could clearly see him. You eyed him with that agitated look. Nevertheless, he'd given you a cheeky wink as he continued to strum; his foot signalling Cirilla to take her flight and leave the hell hole before the men even had second thoughts of grabbing her again.

Hence, she hurriedly did; with a need to find the witcher.

You knew what Jaskier was doing. You've seen this in the movies for a lot of times. Some ended well while some didn't.

He was distracting Tybalt and his men. Hence, the bard was doing a damn great job at it because of how he was great at not showing his anxiety and trembles from being stabbed or beheaded like he was already...used to the thrill and danger.

"Get out of my way!" Tybalt frustratingly barked; giving him a nasty glare, "You are making the massive mistake ever---," Jaskier articulated, sounding like he was telling a story as he sounded informative and factual.

"---You are plotting your own demise, Berk."

The nickname was a wrong move for Jaskier. He'd wince after seeing Tybalt's nose flare like a dragon in heat. Now, it was the perfect time you've seen his fingers stop from strumming his lute and actually seeing the little tremble from his fingers.

He was doing good; so good, but he had to just insult the guy and let the mistakes flow.

You've sniffed and felt the tears have subsided. Eyes thoroughly bloodshot as well because of how you've felt the man holding you captive exhale a breath of vexation. Tybalt was mad.

Which gave you a reason to mouth at the bard that he had only one job, one job and he ruined it.

"What did you just call me?" Tybalt seethed like there was fire coming out of his mouth. Forehead creased to the extent that he was tempted for his horns to come out. "Ughm," Jaskier spluttered, eyes rolling elsewhere as he heard footsteps coming closer from behind.

"I'm--I'm--I'm just actually uttering out the most foolish things ever! Just wasting time until a witcher has your head in a platter or more so; cut in half!" Jaskier spun around and saw those two men who has held you was now treading near and his eyes wanted to come out of his eye sockets when he'd seen them scowling.

A tiny shriek came out of the bard as he swallowed his nervousness and swiftly spun and kept his lute behind him.

You've felt Tybalt shifting behind you; fishing for his dagger as you'd remember it from a while ago. "There are no more witchers in this kingdom," he harshly spat with spite, "---If so, Sorceress Ingrith and I would've found him and asked for help,"

The bard halted from backing away from the two men who wanted to corner him, peeking back at Tybalt as his back felt the stone walls and they were looming before him. "What?"

"---So, just let me take her, bard!"

Jaskier was swift enough to dodge out of being cornered, quickly jogging to where you were at arms reach from him as he had his hands on his hips; still having the time to be sassy after being threatened. "No, no! You cannot take her! I second the notion and refuse for you to take her!"

Those two bandits who had eyes on him unsheathed their swords from behind. He'd heard the metal slash out of its home as he felt the tip of the sword from one man on the edge of his neck; like a warning to shut his flowery mouth from even saying anything less.

"Impossible! You are close to being beheaded!" Tybalt scoffed, cackling as he saw the bard tap his foot in anxiety when he'd seen another pair of Tybalt's men emerge from behind you. Jaskier was thinking and also having an internal monologue of feeling the adrenaline rush. There were more; maybe a maximum of nine people who came with the kidnapping monster.

"Oh gods, where is Geralt when we need him," Jaskier mumbled to himself and calmly breathed out of his nose; languidly closing his eyes to keep him from panicking out loud.

Yet, the bard couldn't control it and began to yell for help.

"Fuck!---GERALT! This is no time for your bone aching moments because of how senile you are! You are certainly getting old when you want me bleeding after this just to rescue your darn midget!"

Jaskier was heaving deep breaths as he was having his panic attacks right now. He stared at you with hysteria and thinking if Geralt didn't come too early, he would already be beheaded. You swallowed the fear stuck in your throat for the third time around; patiently waiting for your demise that you had been wishing on the first day but was now dreading the idea of it when you had lived in for days in their dimension.

You thought it would take hours for the witcher to find you; or even days after being captured. But, seeing him make an appearance as he finally turned a corner was the best feeling you've ever felt.

Now, you know how it feels to be captured then saved by a man who lives in your fantasy. It felt utterly fulfilling and joyous. Specially, when he'd cautiously trudged along with that brooding facade he had.

You were elated to see him; huffing out a breath you were holding for far too long. Too happy as you were saved for the second time; having a chance to live for the second time.

"Geralt! Oh gods, great timing!" Jaskier yelped when a man roughly kept him still. The witcher came with nothing but his bag of sword strapped behind him and his brooding charm, his anger obvious on his face and a humorless expression.

"Fuck," thus, he deeply snarled beneath his chest; knowing what was bound to happen.

A look you have never seen before; ever. Hence, it was a facial expression you didn't want to encounter because it was as if you felt like he wouldn't bat an eyelid to everyone who would come his way and end up creating a massacre.

It technically resembles the look of destruction.

Geralt stood on the middle of the area, a few meters away from you; thoroughly calm and collected but with a stony-face you didn't want to poke on. Shoulders and chest puffed to an extent that screams strength and resilience. He'd given Jaskier a once over to check if he was okay and based on how talkative he still was; the bard was totally fine.

Then, he'd taken a look at you. Those golden eyes were blazing with indignation. His forehead slowly creasing together so tightly as he realized Tybalt's fingers grabbing onto your roots; a shiny dagger catching his eye that was hidden behind your clothing. Your attention right on the witcher as you didn't realize that it was painstakingly lifting Geralt's tunic in which you wore as the asshole grinned back at him with devilry.

"What took you so long?!" Jaskier still managed to hollered out loud. But, took no answer from the witcher as he squinted his eyes at you who was held captive.

You felt the cold, brisk wind hit your thighs; lately realizing that Tybalt was playing with your clothes like the debauched man that he is as he was slowly lifting the damn tunic and making people see your black underwear which made the man eyed it weirdly. Your heart was hammering out of your chest as you stared back at the witcher who was sending a grimace at the man behind you.

Your eyes was pleading for him to come and get you. Geralt knew and could see it in your eyes and it was making his blood boil for everyone.

"The infamous witcher," Tybalt announced in shock. The tip of his dagger probing at the side of your hip like a warning to never move. Geralt hoarsely gave a groan deep within his chest, languorously unsheathing his sword from behind him and never shifting his eyes away from you.

“---He’d finally shown himself to us! Perhaps, you really aren’t just an epic created by the blue-eyed dunce!”

The men who held Jaskier was foolishly eyeing the witcher with their faces twisted like they couldn't believe what they were seeing. They've seen his face in the parchment paper that they had. Though, Geralt was considered as a myth that was never true. To Jaskier's luck, it was the right time to snatch the blade from one who has held it loosely; spinning on his heel and aiming the nib on his neck with an awkward stance. A triumphant grin given from the bard as his friend continued to gawk at the witcher like he'd seen the heavens.

"We've been finding yer' kind!" Tybalt grinned from ear to ear, feeling the tine of his whetted dagger pointed on top of your hip bone and you felt your blood rise from the adrenaline starting to take over. Your feet shuffled and it took one move for him to yank at your roots that was already throbbing from the soreness, "---Or a particular one! Long white hair, brooding and a stubborn arsehole who keeps on rejecting the king's favors like some notable man!"

You can feel Tybalt sniffing out loud, thus a loud shriek came out of you when he'd vulgarly dropped his head to inhale your scent in between the pillar of your neck which made your face twist in utter disgust because of how peculiar he was acting; like a vampire in the movies who couldn't get enough of your scent. "Oh, hell no! You're no Edward Cullen! I'm also no Bella! You don't glimmer against the sunlight and you're not as pale as I think you are!" you were terror-struck from his actions and tried to fight away from his face that was strapped on the edges of your neck and suddenly felt canines teasing that part of your neck where he wanted to bite, "---OH MY GOD, A VAMPIRE! PLEASE DON'T BITE MY NECK! NOBODY HAS DONE IT YET!"

All hell broke loose as Tybalt plunged his mouth on your neck like a deprived creature; but not giving a bite. Thus, his men rashly took charge from the moment Geralt lifted a foot as he fully drew his blade out from behind; including the man who'd tried threatening Jaskier; leaving the other weaponless man to the bard as they both looked at each other in wonder.

The witcher knew Tybalt was a vampire. A higher one. He sensed it and he knew him.

A knight from the palace was the first to pounce on the witcher with persistence, lunging after Geralt as he dodged his attack and stabbed him from the back with no penitence. His focal point on you and his senses were heightened a lot more than it ever does with a will to keep you from harm.

Without even batting an eyelid, the witcher was aware of the men ambushing him one by one. Second man who had an unlucky fate tried to strike a blow to his upper leg but the witcher was more skilled than the latter and shielded the attack by his sword; the loud metallic retorts when the blades collide with one another, it was ringing in your ears as you felt Tybalt licking a stripe from your nape to your jaw, making you shiver from disgust.

You shrieked out loud as you felt so gross from his ministrations; but never taking your eyes off Geralt who managed to skillfully dodge all blows from the fighters like a virtuoso as he stabbed them to anywhere they were vulnerable and fatal; giving them no chance to live. There was blood, lots of bloodshed happening as Tybalt cackled from behind you; watching his men be killed with one stab of the witcher's sword; amputating them with no pangs of conscience.

He was that dedicated that he'd assassinated five of his men without a blink of his eye.

You've felt the dagger poke at your sides, and you were too distracted on watching the witcher edge closer to where you were as he fought men. You didn't feel Tybalt stabbing you on the hip; not fully sheathing it inside you but it was enough to ignite a loud cry that made Geralt stop and snap his head away from the previous attacker as he fought him off, his Aurum eyes narrowing as he gruffly growled to himself and saw Crimson dripping from your hip to your thigh; tears dripping down the sides of your eyes when you've felt the excruciating pain sting like a damn train hitting you on the face.

Tybalt took a loud whiff as the pungy, metallic smell wafted through the air; from you and from his men that Geralt have slaughtered; his eyes burning you as it has been on you since the start of the fight. "She smells different," your captor mirthfully foretold to the witcher who was quick to cast a sign towards a charging man with a mere use of his palm and it was enough to make you breath hitch as it seemed to look like he just used a spell. It was magic. The man propelled backwards as his head hit the stone wall; knocking him out.

So, magic really does happen in their world. You silently thought to yourself.

The dagger was slowly being dragged out and it even hurt more than it ever should. You sobbed and felt your knees weakening from the pain because of how low your pain tolerance was. Tybalt dragged the dagger to his mouth, his sharp, long tongue giving himself a little taste of your blood, "---Even tastes different," he grinned, inhaling deep as your focus was on the witcher who penetratingly stabbed a man's mouth; slashing him open in between his head without regret with blood splashing his face and on the ground he stood. His focus on exterminating who comes in his way. Your face was twisting in a cringe by the pain on your hip and by also seeing the gore happening around the area made by the witcher.

"---Witcher got himself a bizarre woman!" Your captor announced out loud with a laugh when Geralt was finally close enough. Assassinating every bit of his men into lifeless dolls.

No exhaustion was written on his face except for the sweat. There were splutters of human blood soiling his dashing features. He'd relaxed his stance and had his hands on either side of him, palms on show but the other holding his sword, yielding it away from your captor, yet still showing sign that he wouldn't be doing any more violence.

Jaskier had managed to kick the unarmored man with his foot and hit the butt of the sword on the latter's head, knocking him unconscious as he scanned the whole area with a terrified look on his face.

It was a complete massacre.

The witcher had his eyes solely on you; your eyelashes batting languidly when you've taken a good look at your brawny savior and felt yourself turn jello from the blood pouring out of you. You didn't know if it was already hallucination but there was anger, dismay and fear pouring out of those blazing, golden peepers like he'd already seen the whole event, hoping it wouldn't end the way it was before.

"I take what's mine," Geralt rasped and firmly pressed with that low baritone of his. If one was aware of his change of emotions, you could hear how earnest he sounded as he took cautious steps closer; facial expressions still apathetic and non-readable for the people who sees him. The witcher kept his mouth closed as he breathed and looked away, before keeping a weather eye on you again. His half-tied hair disheveled, dirty and looking greasy from the sweat.

"---Release her," It was a demand from the witcher himself. An ultimatum sent as you've noticed Geralt's fingers tightly wrap around the handle of his silver sword; like he was trying hard not to stab Tybalt who stood behind you because he had you shackled.

Tybalt noticed Geralt who was stealthy prowling to reach you up close and so, he'd positioned his dagger across your neck as you heaved breaths; yanking your head back to show Geralt that he wouldn't think twice in slitting you dead. The witcher was quick to cease his steps when he was a meter away from you; tightly keeping his lips in a straight line as he exhaled a frustrated breath.

"The king will be delighted to see you," Tybalt deliberately observed the witcher from head to foot, shaking his head in disbelief that it only took one woman to kidnap for him to reveal himself from hiding. Your breathing was staggered as you blinked repeatedly back at the witcher as his nose was scrunched to his discontent for everything, "I don't have time for your royal shit," he seethed back at the man; giving him a tight scowl.

Tybalt frowned back at Geralt, feeling the tip of his dagger heavily pressing against the pulse on your neck; making you whimper, "---But, you wasted your time on killing my men for this useless wench, Witcher."

"She's...She's a different case," The witcher trailed off as you felt his stare on your face, definitely pining than it ever intended to before he'd given the stink eye to the vampire holding you captive, "---I don't want anything to do with the castle,"

"The prince is slowly losing himself, reaching his demise," Tybalt stressed; worried about the royal family whom he was devoted to for already a decade. Geralt scoffed back with a rude remark, "I don't have anything to do with any of their horseshit, Tybalt. I wasn't the witch who have cursed prince Althalos,"

He said his name out loud, catching you off guard as you peered back at the witcher with an intrigued haze of your bloodshot eyes because he knew him.

"You witchers are fucking useless!" Tybalt groaned and loudly sneered before violently fishing out his dagger. Geralt knew what he was about to do and your life held no value for Tybalt as he had no second thoughts on ending you with a stab to the chest.

Yet, from the moment Tybalt held the dagger over your chest; the witcher was fast enough to cast a sign towards the both of you; dragging you from the force as you were pushed off in the air. Though, Geralt was immediate enough to catch you around your wrist, pulling you to him before you could even fall flat on the ground.

The witcher secured his musclebound arms around you, his sky scraping height thoroughly used as your support as you were holding him for dear life. You didn't know how comforting his warmth was when he carefully sat you down against the stone walls as your vision was starting to spin a horizon.

"Ge...Geralt," you whispered as you heave for long breaths, tightly closing your eyes as you tried to take a good look at the witcher who was crouched in front of you; examining your face for more injuries and too dizzy to realized that he'd tuck a disheveled strand of your hair away from your face to observe your status.

You were probably losing blood, having a panic attack and feeling weak from the stab wound.

Your eyes were just straightaway staring at the witcher; seeing his face contort into pure rancor and you tried to smile despite of the pain. It took a kidnapping for him to finally notice you or even care in giving you his attention and you wanted to laugh by how you needed to shed blood for the witcher to care like this.

It looked entirely pleasing and also satisfying to see him care.

"I'm okay! J-Just bleeding--??" it was a yelp as you tried to move your hips and felt your muscles spasm as it gave you another strike of excruciating pain; making you moan and whimper; looking away from Geralt to inspect the cages for the poor children still in the background.

Jaskier finally got off on his feet, running towards where you were and you've seen him crouch beside the witcher with a look of panic and worry. Never uttering a word as his mind was in a mess at all the blood that was flowing. You languidly blinked; trying to fight off from fainting because you didn't want to fall unconscious. The heat from Geralt's palm cupping your face forcefully made you take a look at him and his expressions were unreadable as per usual, "The...The children,"

Geralt couldn't help but sigh; his face frowning from your words. Despite of being wounded and on the verge of fainting, you were still selfless enough to ask to release the children from their cage. Jaskier blinked at the image in front of him. The witcher was cupping your cheek as he worriedly stared into your eyes and the bard needed to blink to stop himself from watching; lifting himself off his feet to answer your requests. "I-I'll free them!"

The Ivory haired man checked your wounds; seeing Carmine liquid dripping from the wound like a slightly open faucet with every breath you take; staining his dark Tunic till blood was dripping down your unclothed thighs. He'd stood on his feet as he was sure to leave you in a position that would lessen for the blood to spill, his angered; golden eyes scanning the area as to where Tybalt was. But, to his dismay...He was gone.

"Worry no more, children or...women! The witcher has saved the day! Come on now!" the bard hooted as he freed the children; noticing some were teenagers and actually close to being young adults. Some of the women gasped at his words because of the fact that they were saved by a monster slayer who was only capable of taking lives and continued to gawk at the witcher who stood in the middle of the area; seeming to be in a deep contemplation within himself.

Geralt closed his eyes to try and get a scent from the vampire. Though, none. It was never found as the metallic scent of your blood has heightened it all; including those he have exterminated. A low grumble vibrated out of his chest as he sheathed his sword and kept it strapped on his back again despite of all the blood it had.

He thought Tybalt wouldn't have lasted long in the castle; even having the luck on earning a spot in the military forces despite of doing all the dirty work for the royalties. His hatred for the vampire growing back in a bigger fire; adding more wrath because he'd butchered the witcher that worked for the king last time because of certain purposes.

It wasn't a little later that you were being carried in somebody's arms. Based on the long hair hitting your face and the strong scent of blood, you knew it was Geralt. Your arms were feebly encircling his neck as you closed your eyes, fighting off from being knocked out. "I...don't...want to sleep," you saplessly whispered to the witcher who was talking to Jaskier and asking if remembers the healer that was close from the city.

You didn't want to sleep because you were worried that when you wake up, he would be back in being distant again; that everything that has happened was all a dream, being carried and saved by Geralt for the second time as he even had the look that he cared and not actually feel as if you were a baggage to their family.

Your forehead leaned on the witcher's neck as you could feel yourself smile as he'd hummed to inform you that he was listening; putting his attention solely on you alone, "I...I...didn't do anything...mean, right?" you continued to question and whispered against his neck, the beat of your heart skipping a beat despite of how shallow it was sounding right now.

Geralt exhaled a deep breath, giving you the side eye as he tried to peer down at you but it was impossible as you hid on the corner of his neck. A weak smile lifting your lips as you continued and felt your head so light; the words coming out of your mouth completely like a whistle of the wind as you accepted the daydream of talking your thoughts out in the open, "I..I...don't want you hating me..and I don't want you avoiding me...at all costs," the vulnerability of your words can be heard. You were too weak to even feel Geralt swallow that uncomfortable but equitable feeling down his throat as he strode past people who were looking at you in bafflement.

It took one last sigh before Geralt felt your head fall in between his neck in unconsciousness and for the first time, ever again. The witcher was scared.

Thus, you were sure you were thoroughly fond of his presence. As if, you were surprisingly taking more than a liking to a witcher without your consent and unbeknownst to your conscience, it has always been from the start as destiny made it out to be.

SO, I WAS SCREAMING WHEN GERALT SAID ‘I TAKE WHAT’S MINE’ (GERALT, YOU CAN TAKE ME HOWEVER YOU WANT---OOPS) OTHER THAN THE WORD FUCK THAT HE ALWAYS SAYS. *sCREAMS* WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS FOR THIS CHAPTER, TATER TOTSSSS!!?!?!?

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

Right there

Summary: Love stories aren’t always grand, sweeping epics. Sometimes they come soft and slow, made up of a million different things, and you may not even recognize what you have until it’s right there in front of you. This is one of those stories.

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Brief mission related trauma. Oreo thievery and dirty bubblegum. Mostly just buckets of fluff.

A/N: Hello Tumblr friends! I’ve been in a writing drought lately and it feels like forever since I posted anything, so here’s a short, fluffy fic while I try to Stella my groove back. My plan was to make this snappy and snarky, but it went full scale mush by the end. Guys, I just really love Bucky Barnes. ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

The murmur is low in your ear. Smoothing the folds of emerald green satin, you follow Bucky’s glance down and see the tips of your freshly painted toes, clad in sparkly sandals and peeping from beneath the evening gown. Nothing out of the ordinary, until you notice one thing.

“Gross. What the hell is that?” you whisper.

Stuck like glue to the front of your right shoe, curling over the edge and dangerously close to your bare skin, is a piece of neon blue bubblegum.

Keeping one eye trained on the crush of inebriated party goers, searching out the mission target for the evening, you try a few options.

Scrape the edge of the shoe on the marble floor. Pointless.

Give a couple stealthy stomps. Useless.

Try to wipe it on Bucky’s trouser leg. Bucky sighs heavily and sure, that’s entertaining.

But no matter what you try, this appears to be the superglue of all gum. Bucky stares straight ahead, eyes roaming the crowd, but you see him periodically glance over, gauging your progress.

There’s no real harm, you can fix it later, but every time you shift your weight, the tacky feel of it sticks to the floor and makes a small snick sound. Like a parasite, the dirty, chewed up wad creeps further up the shoe, so close to defiling your pristine toes, and the whole thing is driving you bananas.

“Pay attention to the mission,” Bucky whispers sternly, but as of immediately, there’s a new mission in town. So, when your revolutionary idea arrives in a wave of brilliance, you take immediate action.

Nestled snug against Bucky’s lower back, hidden beneath his tuxedo jacket, sits his favorite knife. Without a thought, you reach up and tug it from the sheath, turning to face the back wall, balancing on one leg and gripping his forearm for support.

And then, frozen in shock, Bucky proceeds to watch you use his favorite knife - the one he sleeps with under his pillow, the one he keeps beside his morning Cheerios, the one he painstakingly sharpens after each and every mission - to dig at the dirty blue bubblegum fused to the bottom of your shoe.

“Disgusting,” you mutter. With a twist and flourish, it pops free and you fling it away, sending it flying into one of those tacky potted ferns by the bathroom. Smothering a laugh, you shoot Bucky a challenging look - and then slide the sticky knife back in the sheath.

You slide it back in the sheath without cleaning it.

Bucky grinds his teeth so hard his jaw locks up.

There is no earthly reason you should still be alive after this sacrilegious approach to basic knife protocol, but when he subtly leans over to voice his intense displeasure, he has the sudden desire to laugh.

“Everything okay, Barnes?” you ask under your breath, resuming your scan of the crowd. An insanely devilish grin tugs at your lips, and he huffs at the playful nudge of your elbow.

“Just fuckin’ peachy,” he mumbles drily, and then he marvels at the thought that follows.

Because right there, Bucky Barnes decides that maybe that proper knife etiquette isn’t all that important.

As long as he can see you smile.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Bucky stands stoic at the open kitchen cabinet, pointing at the top shelf, his furious glare driving daggers into Sam’s heart.

“Dude, I swear I didn’t touch them.”

“You’re a lying liar who lies, Wilson.”

“Dude, I fucking swear. Get over yourself, damn.”

Sam stands with his arms crossed, an equally exasperated sneer on his face. Sitting on the couch, buried under a mountain of blankets, you watch with interest. Back and forth they trade barbs, a verbal tennis match full of snarky comments, childish quips, and the occasional mention of each other’s mom. Finally, Sam throws his hands up and whirls away.

“You’re fucking impossible, asshole.”

Bucky bangs the cabinet door shut and stomps over to you, plopping into an armchair to sulk. Smiling in commiseration, you stay silent, furtively trying to swallow. You’re so close to success, but then it happens.

No matter how hard you try, the crinkle of an Oreo package is too obvious.

At the sound, Bucky’s head snaps up.

“What was that?” he asks, suspicious. Eyes wide, you shrug in silent innocence. Bucky scrutinizes your pile of blankets, realization dawning. “Was that - did you steal my Oreos?”

Another silent, vehement shake of the head. You’re close, so close, just one more swallow -

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Prove it. Whistle for me.”

Damn.

When you purse your lips and blow, nothing comes out. Well, nothing except flecks of black Oreo crumbs. Swallowing the rest of the cookie, you fish out the bottle of milk hiding under the blanket and wash it all down, smacking your lips.

“Oh, sorry. Were these your Oreos?” you ask sweetly.

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and tries to be mad, he genuinely tries really hard, but it doesn’t work. Launching himself from the chair, he bounces onto the couch next to you, sending your milk sloshing and you squawking in faux anger.

“You dirty little thief,” he deadpans, snatching away the package. Shoving three cookies in his mouth, he steals your bottle of milk and chugs it down. When he finishes, a white milk mustache is painted above his lip. It turns this dark man, someone with decades of gunpowder on his fingers and bloodstains on his soul, back into a young boy. Carefree and innocent, brimming with happy laughter. Swallowing hard, you reach over and carefully wipe it away with a firm brush of your thumb.

And right there, Bucky Barnes discovers the simple beauty of cookies and milk and the feel of your cool fingers on his skin.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

No. You didn’t. And that’s the problem.

Every blow of your fists unleashes something inside.

Smack, smack, smack.

Harder and faster, the punching bag absorbs all the pent of anger and lingering fury of a failed mission.

Smack, smack, smack.

It was so close. It was right there. You should have seen it. Should have remembered the bad guys never play nice, and the price of hesitation is a life. Memories trigger memories, sparking through your brain like a circuit board of bad decisions, lighting up one after another. Bucky stands on the other side of the bag, silently watching you pummel those demons trying to burrow into your skin.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly, and you frantically shake your head.

Smack, smack, smack.

Tears spill over. They blur your vision, turning the punching bag and the tall soldier holding it, into shapeless blobs. Blinking them away, wiping your runny nose on tape covered hands, the salt of tears and sweat drips into the busted-up gashes across your knuckles. It stings, a vicious reminder of what was lost. The scent of blood fills your nostrils and there are those memories again, a tsunami of pain barreling through.

Smack, smack, smack.

“Go away, Bucky. Leave me alone,” you snarl, aching arms still swinging at the punching bag. He ignores the request, a stalwart statue. It infuriates you in an unexplainable way and you spit the words in his face. “God dammit, fuck you, I don’t want - I don’t need - I don’t - I mean it. I fucking mean it. Please, just” smack “fucking” smack “go.”

Smack.

Like a booming clap of thunder, your last punch is so hard, it explodes the fragile wall holding the tears at bay.

Knees buckle. Shoulders slump. Fists slam the floor. You go down hard, and the result is devastation.

Ugly, wrenching sobs claw up your throat, stuck behind your clenched teeth until you open your mouth and howl. It hurts to cry this way, to let everything loose and accept the consequences of your failure. You will never save them all, and that clarity is a special brand of destruction.

Bucky says nothing. No words can solve this pain. No one knows that better than him.

Instead, he lays down on the sweat drenched mats beside you. Without a word, he wraps you into a hug, tucking you against his chest. Even if you don’t deserve this comfort, you cling to it. Clutching his shirt, the only lifeline you have left, you cry until that bottomless well of pain and misery finally runs dry. It takes hours, but Bucky is patient, never ceasing the comforting strokes up and down your spine.

And when it’s done, when your exhaustion leaves you unable to open puffy eyes, he simply lifts you up and carries you to your room. Places you gently on your bed and pulls the blankets over you.

“Bucky. Don’t go. Please don’t leave,” you beg hoarsely, and the misery in your voice breaks him. The bed dips as he climbs in beside you, wrapping you in his arms once again and you feel his lips brush your forehead.

The night bleeds into a dreary grey dawn, and right there, Bucky Barnes sinks into the comfort of a dreamless sleep, with you cradled tight in the heat of his arms.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Eyes closed against the shining sun, you offer a sleepy hum. There’s a rustle of movement, and something soft tickles your cheek. It runs across your nose, touches your eyelids, sweeps light as a feather over your lips.

Eyes struggle open, and there you find Bucky watching, a little purple flower held in his long fingers. The look on his face is unreadable. He does that sometimes, looks at you like he wants to say something more, but he always hesitates, the words stuck in confused silence.

The petals wave faintly in the breeze and you smile.

“Pretty,” you say.

“Just a weed,” he shrugs.

“Still pretty,” you say. “Hand it over.”

Bucky places it in your outstretched palm. Gives a wry shake of the head.

“You’re the only one I know, who thinks weeds are beautiful.”

The small blossom sits thoughtfully in your hand and you hold it up, squinting to the sun.

“Just because something has a bad name, doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful.”

There’s a peculiar hope in Bucky’s face as he considers the statement. He likes those words. He likes them a lot. Wants to believe they might even include him too. But nervous silver fingers pick at the threadbare edge of the picnic blanket, and you see a shadow of self-doubt flit over his handsome face.

“Sometimes a weed is still a weed. Even pretty words can’t change that fact.”

The reference is clear. You know exactly what he means, because the list of negative metaphors Bucky uses to describe himself has grown extensive and colorful over the years. Rising to your knees, you shuffle closer until you’re facing him.

“Hey,” you say gently. Careful hands cup his face, the scratchy feel of his beard on your palms softer than you expected. “You better not be calling yourself a weed, Barnes. I’d hate to kick your ass out here in public.”

The shimmer of unshed tears in those blue eyes makes you ache for him. But when Bucky sees the determination in your face, he blinks them away. And like the little weed in your hand, a tiny smile begins to bloom.

He clears his throat.

“Kick my ass, huh? I’d really love to see how that goes.”

“It’ll go my way,” you say confidently. Picking up his heavy hand, you turn it palm up and peel his fingers back. Laying the purple flower in his hand, the vivid color glows against the bright silver. “See? Beautiful. Just like you.”

He stares at the flower. Looks up.

It happens right there, in the sun-soaked summer fields of Central Park; Bucky Barnes feels his heart stop at the taste of your kiss.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Lost in thought, Bucky startles at the question.

Following the line of your arm, he sees you pointing into the infinite ocean of blue-black. Stars are speckled through the heavens, patterns of constellations and figures that you always manage see, but he can never seem to find.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere, the two of you walk along, miles from civilization. The first hint of winter settles all around, hard frost covering the tips of the grass, coating the pebbles edging the abandoned road, turning your breath to thick white clouds. It should make him anxious. Bucky hates the frost, despises the frozen blue that weaves maliciously through his worst nightmares.

But on this cold, moonlit night, with you warm by his side, he finds he doesn’t mind so much.

“What am I looking for?” he asks.

“Shooting star,” you say breathlessly. Tilting your head back, you go still, a beacon of patience awaiting a cosmic miracle. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Bucky peers up at the sky, but as the minutes click by, he knows he’ll never find what he needs up there.

He turns to look at you instead. Watches you watch the sky, his chest burning with contentment at the sight of your profile in this moonlit night.

“Sure,” he says. “So beautiful.”

Gloved fingers find yours, and you turn your gaze from the infinity of space, to this man beside you, solid and real and here on Earth. There is nothing in the world but the two of you, nothing else matters as you move impossibly close.

“Such a sap,” you murmur, your mouth a mere breath from his. The tip of his nose is icy against your cheek, and you can feel him smiling as he returns the kiss with a shiver.

The world is funny. Because this - this is your love story.

Built on blue bubblegum and stolen Oreos, blood-stained bandages and purple flowers, shooting stars and an endless night sky, this love bursts with highs and lows and a million variations in-between. Wrapped up in the delicious comfort of your kiss, Bucky wonders what in the world he ever did to earn this.

This perfectly imperfect life. Here. With you.

There’s no real answer, of course. Love is like that sometimes.

So instead, he dusts off those three words from another life, ones he’s stored away for decades, and he hands them over, because they’re the one thing he can always see, no matter how dark his world becomes.

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than anything.”

The words are drenched in happiness, syllables shaped with a quiet joy that glows brighter and fiercer than every constellation hanging above. And in the space of a single second -

Your heart skips.

Your breath catches.

You swear you could fly.

Because this is it, this is the moment. This is the big one.

And that right there is when you return those three words, the ones Bucky Barnes has been missing his whole life and the ones you’ve held close, since the night you found that blue bubblegum tacked onto your shoe.

The words are perfect. You kiss him again.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bitsmasterlist

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nonsensicalobsessions · 4 years

Text

A Ruff Day

Author’s Note:

@catsladen wrote: Congrats my dear on your followers! That is amazing and so well deserved! Here’s a conversation prompt I found that I think you can do magic with: Person A: Why are you doing that? Person B: Doing what? Person A:Treating me like a person I picture either Tom or Loki, but I leave that up to you 😊 No smut necessary. Some fluff/angst mixture would be nice (Fangst? Anuff?) Thank you lovely!

After I wrote about having my lovely followers, Life came around and bit me, in the ass, hard. I was left with a large set of dentition marks and a massive infection known as��“depression” in its wake. I say this because I know I’ve pretty much fallen off the face of Tumblr, and I am still clawing my way back. I do not have it nearly as bad as some, but I have it bad enough, and I will leave it at that.

When the events that I write about next happened in real life, I could not stop thinking about them, having worked in a veterinary hospital for three memorable years, and I ran the events through my head, over and over. I could see the events as they could have played out...might have played out...most probably played out in some aspects...and then this plot took root, and would not let go.

So, I apologize, @catsladen, for this is not the most original piece that I have ever come up with...in fact, it is derivative, and some may see it as a cheap rip off on a very real event. Still, it will not let me go, and as such, here it is. I present to you, A Ruff Day.

Working on federal holiday weekends in an emergency vet hospital always either dragged, or were so busy I could neither eat nor pee. Today seemed to be the former, and I was grateful for it. The techs were scattered around doing their busy work, while I closed myself in my office, tossing an oversized tennis ball in the air and catching it as I balanced on the back legs of a chair. I’ve done all my charting, there are no patients for me to check on. The last one through the door was a bulldog that came too close to a honeybee, and his already bulbous face swelled grotesquely. A shot of antihistamine, a script of Benadryl, then he and owner went off, right as rain. The airway was never compromised, all’s well that ends well...except for the bee, of course.

Kellie Ashe, one of the techs, came racing into the office without knocking, breathless. “You will no ever guess what is going on at intake!”

I jumped up, grabbing my stethoscope and mask (Thank you COVID) as I glared at her, “What is it and where is your mask?” The laws were quite clear, and stringent on this, and she had no mask on...and what was that twit doing? Brushing her hair and putting on eye makeup, what...? “Kellie! Focus! What is happening? Is it a hit and run, a delivery presenting badly...dog or cat...” I swear this girl has the brain of a flea...

“Tom Hiddleston is here with his dog!”

I look at her blankly. Nothing registered with me except one word—dog. “Kellie, what is wrong with the animal?” I asked, rushing to turn on the lights in the OR, making sure the X-ray machines were on and warmed up, the ultrasound is also on, and proceeding to the exam rooms, turning the lights on in one.

“It’s my turn to be the assisting tech so I ran back here to make sure you knew, it’s my turn not Claire’s, so I get to be the one in the room with you and Tom...”

I stop and freeze her with a glare. “Kellie, I don’t know what in the hell you’re blabbering about, but so far you have given me no information that has been useful to me. Therefore, there is no reason for you to be anywhere around me, the patient, or the owner. You can wait in the back.”

“What? But no...! I’m the one that ran back to tell you, I’m the one that should get to be in the....”

“If you were concerned with the animal you’d be there right now, but no, you were more interested in putting on mascara for chrissakes...get in the treatment room, I don’t even want to see you right now!”

I came to the front area to see a tall man, obviously the owner, who was obviously in a great deal of distress. “I don’t know how many he had..maybe one? It could have been two? And I don’t know if he chewed them, or swallowed them whole...” His voice was muffled by the mask we kept on hand to give to owners as they came in without masks, as they usually did, upset and stressed. Bright flowers covered the lower half of his face, but as I looked at his bright blue eyes, I finally understood what got Kellie in such a tizzy, and why there was an element of suppressed excitement that our usual emergency walk ins did not produce.

Next to him was a calmer woman, who was filling out some of the paperwork, and occasionally passing it to him to sign or for more information. “Tom, I really think it was only the one, and this is a bit over the top. One raisin isn’t worth all this...”

“A raisin, did you say?” My attention was now completely trained on the sad eyed chocolate spaniel at the feet of Claire Peyton, one of the calmest and best techs we had. She had already gotten a temperature and a weight from the little fellow, and was gently guiding the dog and owner into an exam room, while Liz, the receptionist, was explaining to the woman with the clipboard she could not follow us in because of the current COVID restrictions we were under. Only the owner was allowed in the exam room, because of the laws about remaining so many feet apart...and the worst part was, we couldn’t even allow her to wait in the interior waiting room, but she was welcome to stay on the screened porch we were using at the moment. She wasn’t thrilled, but she was accepting.

I quietly introduced myself. “Hi, I’m Dr. Diana Harris, and I’ll be helping...” “Bobby,” the man said quietly. “This is my...Bobby.”

“Okay Bobby, come here and let me look at you, you scoundrel...stealing raisins, are we? When did this happen, Dad?”

“Tom,” he said, distracted. “About ten minutes ago...maybe twenty. I saw that he was snuffling around the plate, and all the biscuits were gone...so were the little cheese squares...and there had been five raisins before, I am sure of it, and when I picked everything up, I only saw four...”

“Very precise,” I noted mildly as I listened to Bobby’s heart and lungs, which were both within normal limits, and made a hand motion for Claire to make a note of it.

“What’s that, that hand signal, what did that mean?” Oh, wow. Tom is very, very upset.

“It’s a signal I’ve developed with my techs to let them know that the patient’s heart and lungs are fine without having to take the time to say it, Tom,” I reply, keeping my life low and mild. The owner’s agitation is passing along to the little spaniel, who is looking around and panting.

“He keeps doing that, he’s panting and looking upset, is he in pain?”

“Claire, liquid charcoal according to weight please,” I murmur, and she promptly replied, “On it,” and she excused herself to open the door...only to find Kellie standing there, clearly eavesdropping. The look I gave Kellie had her scampering...but oh, it will not be far enough. Luckily, Tom did not notice.

“Okay, Tom, here’s how it stands.” I leaned against the exam table, Bobby quivering in Tom’s arms. “You did exactly the right thing bringing Bobby here, and so quickly. Raisins are extremely toxic to dogs, and the fact you got him here so fast really speaks to how much you care about this little guy...so give yourself some credit...”

“I told her...I told her I didn’t want them around where he could get to them...the Bobster is a bit of a food thief,” he muttered.

“Ok, so you’re telling me he’s a dog,” I drily replied. “Anyway, we’re going to take care of this issue right now. I’m going to take Bobby to the back and...”

“Oh no, can’t I go with him?”

Somehow, I saw this being his response. “Tom, we are going to give him some liquid charcoal. It looks like black sludge and it tastes like garbage. He isn’t going to want to take it so we are going to administer it in a way that he will have no choice but to swallow it, but there will most likely be some spluttering. This stuff is a bear and a half to get out of clothes so you do not want to be within spitting radius...and then this little charmkins, after he gives us a horrible stink eye, is going to proceed to vomit, probably in the messiest manner possible, just for spite and revenge, and I don’t blame him one bit. Again, you do not want to be in range! Then depending on what he gives me back, we can go from there. So no, I think it best you stay here...you can wait with your girlfriend, if you want, and I will be right back when I have something to tell you. I promise we aren’t going to hurt him, but we have to get this out, right away.”

“Right, right...don’t waste time talking to me...I’ll just...sit here, if that’s okay.”

“As you wish, Tom.”

I took the leash from his hand gently. His hands were so cold, I felt pity for him. “I’ll take good care of him, I promise,” I said, and left him standing there, bereft.

Bobby walked with me well enough, and I took him to the treatment area to find Claire had already drawn up the appropriate amount. She quickly got the dog in the appropriate position, and I propped his mouth open carefully and quickly administer the liquid yuck and then closed my hand over his muzzle, blowing softly to stimulate the swallowing reflex. His eyes bulged at the foul concoction, and I tenderly explained,”Ah, such are the wages of sin, my dear thief...and it tastes like ass. Down the hatch...” He swallowed, and I gave Claire the unspoken head nod to release him and step back, which she did...as did I...and Bobby, outraged at this poor treatment, proceeded to sputter and spit like a world champion. Black froth went everywhere, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his outraged expression. “Yes Bobby, that’s right. But I’m sorry, it’s going to get much worse before it gets better...”

After a few minutes, he aggrieved expression turned into the anxious canine smile that presaged a good vomiting session, which was exactly what we wanted. I let him pace about in a small area, until finally he let nature take its course and released the contents of his stomach. Ah, joy, what every veterinarian struggled and sweat blood for, the contents of a dog’s stomach...or a cat, we’re not picky...and hey, I’ll take that over shit, any day...

“Good boy, there’s a good boy,” I soothed him as he retched. He was as miserable as you’d expect, and I kept smoothing my hand over his heaving flanks. I didn’t care about my shoes, they were already black, and just for this reason. Soon I saw a lone offender, and I called for a pair of tweezers to pluck it from the mess and place it on a paper towel. Claire was also consoling the sad little fellow, who was, I hope, reconsidering his evil ways, as I then took a tongue depressor and poked through everything he so woefully bestowed upon us. Yep, cheese...chewed up crackers...mmm, that sausage looked like it was probably expensive...but no other raisins. Just the one. Plus, it hadn’t been chewed, either, excellent! Best of all, it was caught up in all this other stuff. Perfect. Couldn’t ask for better, really.

“Kellie!” I called out. When she didn’t appear right away, my heart sank and my anxiety rose. She wasn’t...she didn’t...

“Hold the leash,” I barked and walked swiftly back to the exam room, and sure enough, I heard her syrupy tones inside...I saw red.

I opened the door carefully, to find her talking to Tom who was standing in almost a corner while she was yapping away. I must have had a look on my face like an avenging goddess, because she immediately began stammering, “I just thought...I could stay and keep Tom company...while you were working with Bobby...”

“Stop thinking, Kellie, it only gets you into more trouble, and it probably strains the gerbils,” I replied softly. “I have a job for you. In the back treatment area. Where I told you to be. Go there. Now.”

She turned towards Tom and said, “So, um...”

“NOW.”

She jumped and scuttled away like a crab facing a boiling pot. Oh, sister...

Tom was blushing and looking at his feet. “It happens all the time. Please don’t be too angry with her...how is Bobby?”

“Bobby is doing excellently and is a trooper. I will be back with you in just a moment. Just...give me a second.”

I flew to the back to find Kellie cowering in a corner. I took a deep breath, and spoke very, very quietly. “You are on such thin ice with me that if you so much as open your mouth, the displaced oxygen pressure will crack the ice and you. Will. Drown. Now. You are going to clean up all of this lovely mess to a surgical grade sterility. I will want to perform open heart surgery on this floor when you are finished. Are we quite clear? Nod if you understand me, Kellie, because you are on such. Thin. Ice.”

Kellie looked around here with dismay. It really was a disgusting mess, and she knew I was going to get down on my hands and knees and inspect the wretched baseboards before all was said and done. I was that pissed.

Claire asked quietly as we walked away, “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t think he absorbed anything. Tom acted too fast, the raisin wasn’t in any way chewed or showing signs of digestion, and it was mixed up with everything else. But pull blood for a CBC-SMAC so we can have a baseline for his kidney values just in case. Better safe than sorry. And then clean up this sad little urchin. I hope you understand now, young man, that crime does not pay...” He looked positively desolate, with his muzzle coated in the foul substance he had to drink and then give back. Activated charcoal really is the worst.

“I’ll make him presentable again. Back in a few.”

I took a deep breath and went to apologize to Tom. Oh, this was going to be fun...

I found him pacing the tiny room, looking at the posters instructing about heartworm prevention and feline leukemia vaccines. “Tom, I really must apologize...”

“No, you don’t. She’s young. It happens all the time,” he tried to brush it off.

“Not when I’m in this hospital, it doesn’t. I’d already given her explicit instructions because she was star-struck, and I will not have it. When someone comes in our door, I don’t care who is on the end of the leash, or holding the carrier. It is irrelevant. What matters is the animal. I give the same treatment and quality of care to the cat from the post office as...well...”

“The dog of some poncy actor,” he concluded wryly.

“Hey, I kinda like some of that poncy actor’s work, so less of that,” I griped, as I blushed and rubbed my forehead, mainly to hide my embarrassment. “Bobby came through wonderfully, and you were right, it was only one raisin...and some crackers, cheese, and what looked like some tasty cold cuts as well. What is great is the raisin wasn’t bitten into or showing any signs of digestion, and as it was caught up in his other ill gotten gains, I think it is safe to say he really got lucky...that, and the fact you acted so quickly. Normally, we’d be talking about having to administer fluids, and have him stay at least overnight to make sure his kidneys were not showing any adverse effects...yes, it is that serious. Especially for a little fellow of Bobby’s size. But he should be fine. I want you to make sure he has access to lots of water. I am having a full blood panel pulled to get a baseline of his kidney values now but that is really just a precaution for when you bring him back to his regular veterinarian...”

“You can’t see him again? He hasn’t needed a vet since we’ve arrived, and I never anticipated having to stay as long as we have...but what if he gets sick, or needs his vaccines updated, can’t we come back here...?”

“Tom, this is an emergency vet hospital, I’m only here on the off hours. My clinic is...well, not here,” I floundered.

“May I have your card, then? I’d really like for you to keep overseeing him...continuity of care, you know,” he trailed off.

“Uh, sure...” I fished one out of my lab coat pocket and gave him one. He looked at it and said, “What should I be looking for, what if he starts getting ill again?”

“Tom, I really don’t think...”

“I can bring him back here, I suppose, I just want to know what symptoms...you said kidney damage...”

“Tom, kidney damage isn’t something you can readily observe...”

“But what if he starts getting that look again, and starts pacing, maybe he’s in pain and can’t tell me...”

“Tom.” He stopped rambling and I held my hand out for my card. Like a child, he held it to his chest. “No, please, I’ll stop...”

“Just give me the damn card, will ya?” I all but yanked it out of his hand, and wrote something on the back. “That is my private cell number. Do not call it, ever! I hate phone calls! Text me. I promise I will lose the cell number you send it from. If you have any questions you can send me video or photos or whatever. Text me...whenever. But keep in mind he picks up on your cues and if you are nervous, he gets nervous. If you are excited, he gets excited.”

He looked at it incredulously, and before he could protest, I waved it off. “Just don’t...I did the same thing for Mr. Puddles.”

“Mr. Puddles,” he repeated dumbly.

“The post office cat...urinary tract infection...anyway.”

Those bright blue eyes stopped staring at the floor impaled me, and said abruptly, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Treating me like a person.”

I looked at him steadily and replied, “Because to me, that’s what you are...you’re Bobby’s person. And...well, I know you probably weren’t supposed to stay here this long. You most likely want to go home, be with your family, what is familiar, and god knows what you are living in, some hotel or something suitably sterile...Right now, we all want to hold onto our loved ones a little bit tighter, a little bit closer. I can tell that for you, that’s Bobby. You love him a lot, and take great care of him, even to taking him to an emergency vet on a holiday weekend when the weather is gorgeous and your girlfriend says maybe you could just stay home.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Huh?” Such was my elegant reply.

“No, she’s wonderful, and we’re very close, but it’s not...we’re not...”

I hold my hands up in the air. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain anything to me...”

“No I just, erm...”

We spent time admiring the floor when Claire came back, with Bobby cleaned and even faintly smelling of grooming spray, as well as being freshly brushed.

“Bobby!” Tom cried out, and even though I could not see his smile, I could hear it in the real joy in his voice. Bobby wriggled his behind and danced as he all but leapt into his master’s...excuse me, person’s arms.

“Well, that should settle everything,” I smiled.

“Just a moment.”

I looked up at Tom, confused. He sounded almost stern.

��I think Bobby and I could use some photographs to commemorate the great care that he received here...for our scrapbook.”

“Scrapbook? Really, Tom?”

“Instagram,” he immediately amended.

The buzz that went through the building, I swear was palpable. Of course, I even allowed Kellie to get in the photo, because I am not that bad...and if her scrubs were stained with dog vomit, well, you couldn’t really see. Much. And of course we all had to keep our masks on, so I personally thought it was the dumbest idea I’d heard in a long time, but I wasn’t going to go against the idea. I might have found three of my tires slashed and my favorite coffee mug broken, if I had...and I really like that mug, plus tires are not cheap.

Everyone took their photos, hugged Bobby, gave Tom an elbow bump, and he, Bobby and Not-Girlfriend went on their way...then I went back to my office, made sure everything was documented, and went back to my oversized tennis ball.

I thought everything was over. I could not help was smiling, despite myself. Not too shabby of a way to spend a holiday weekend, making a movie star dog’s throw up...this is why I went through all those years of school, I laughed at myself as I sat down with my frozen pizza and lemonade. I even made a bag of popcorn.

Then, at about ten o’clock, my phone buzzed. I picked it up, expecting it to be my mother, who sometimes forgot about this thing called “time zones” since she moved to Arizona...

Instead, there was a photo of a happy, smiling man, without a mask, and his happy, smiling dog. A text read, “To my favorite doc: Thanks again for helping me. Telling dad all about how the wages of sin taste like ass.”

I winced. I had no idea he’d overheard that.

So I sent a photo back of me. Without my mask, or makeup, or getting a hairdo, because in front of me was the best makeup job ever—my Corgi, Cheeks.

The attached text said, “Stop licking it then...and she says you are very welcome. I don’t know what you did, bro...but check your balls.”

The phone buzzed yet again, this time without a photo, “Thanks a LOT. Now I’m really in trouble...! TH”

“Sorry. Cheeks is still sore over that one. It happened about two months ago and he is still telling the world what a horrible human I am. DH”

“Bobby wants to know...perhaps Cheeks would like to get acquainted and play sometime soon? The dog park close to your clinic looks promising.”

“Cheeks thinks that would be amazing. He is still very much a puppy and has a lot of energy to burn. He’d love a friend to tear around with instead of trying to wrap his leash around my ankles.”

“Maybe...we could have some coffee while they wear each other out?”

“That sounds like a fantastic plan.”

“Could we say...9:00 Wednesday morning?”

“Yes, I’d like that. I’ll be the half asleep one with the hyperactive pooch, I won’t have hours until one o’clock that afternoon.”

“I’ll be the tall one...wearing a mask that is not covered with flowers.”

I laughed out loud.

“I think we will find each other well enough.”

There was a brief pause, and then, “Yes, I think we have. Goodnight, Cheeks, and Diana.”

“Goodnight, Bobby and Tom...it’s been a ruff day.”

“...I can’t believe you said that.”

“XD woof.”

Tagging all my littermates: @catsladen, @villainousshakespeare, @winterisakiller, @vodka-and-some-sass, @yespolkadotkitty, @just-the-hiddles, @hopelessromanticspoonie, @theheartofpenelope, @sabine-leo, @wegingerangelica, @ciaodarknessmyheart, @wrathkitty, @rhemasky, @sourpatchkidsandacokecan, @redfoxwritesstuff, @the-insomniac-cat2, @alexakeyloveloki, @myoxisbroken, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @ladyfluff, @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi

#Tagging:#a ruff day #Nonsensical Writes #look Christine I did a thing #200 follower prompt #tom hiddleston x ofc

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notalwayslate · 4 years

Text

Building Dreams

For @eirian-houpe

It is I your Secret Santa. It appears that tumblr was not a fan of my anon messages,but I”m so happy to be able to reveal myself! No more anon! :)

Prompt: There’s nothing I can do

Summary: When the town’s mayor sets her sights on destroying Belle French’s plans of reopening the library, the ever fearsome Mr. Gold makes a deal with an unlikely source to ensure the library becomes a reality for his secret crush.

Building Dreams.

“There’s nothing I can do.”

Hearing those five words often filled Robert Gold with annoyance as they were usually spouted off by some pitiful tenant who had gotten themselves into an insurmountable problem and couldn’t pay their rent on time. But in this case, his stomach dropped as he overheard these words of desperation coming out of the mouth of a distraught Belle French as she sat in a booth behind him at Granny’s diner.

“There’s nothing I can do, Ruby. The mayor is insistent that the library be ready in three weeks so she can have her grand reopening ceremony, but with the limited resources she allotted me, I have to do all the repairs myself. I can’t fix every book shelf, repaint the library, and organize an entire library catalog in three weeks.”

It was merely two months ago when Ms. French had presented her pitch to reopen Storybrooke’s long abandoned library to the city council, of which he was a member. Unbeknownst to Regina, the town’s mayor, he had secretly assisted Ms. French in preparing for her presentation and had already secured the needed votes from the other council members prior to that day.

Miffed that her sole objections to the library reopening were dismissed so quickly by the committee, it was obvious to Gold that Regina stewed over the fact that he appeared to have more pull and power over the town, then her.

He had carelessly assumed that after a few days of sulking Regina would get over it, but after hearing this, it appeared that the Mayor was determined to have Ms. French’s library project fail out of spite.

“Can’t you just ask for more time?” Ruby questioned.

“I already did. The mayor said if I couldn’t execute this simple of a task, than she would have to find someone else who could. So if I can’t get it done, I’m fired.”

His blood boiled in anger. So Regina was already threatening to take this job away from her? He fought the urge to march over to the Mayor’s office, and place his hands around her throat. How dare she threaten someone as pure and loving as Ms. French. He would not let this stand, could not let this stand. That library would be ready to open in three weeks come hell or high water.

As the bell above the pawnshop door rang out, Gold barely had time to glance up before a fuming Leroy came charging towards the counter.

“If you are even thinking about raising our rent Gold, so help me….”

Gold lifted his hand, immediately silencing the short grumpy man’s tirade.

“I am not raising your rent….yet.”

Befuddled, Leroy’s posture relaxed slightly. “Well why else would you want to see me then?”

With a devilish smile, Golden explained in detail, how he would waive Leroy and his brothers’ rent for the next three months in exchange for their assistance in helping Ms. French fix up the library in time for the Mayor’s grand reopening.

“So what you’re saying is we help this broad out and we don’t have to pay rent for three months?”

Sighing at the coarse depiction of Ms. French as a broad, Gold nodded. “Yes, but with one caveat. You must not tell Ms. French of our deal.”

“So what do I say if she asks?”

“That you and your brothers simply want to volunteer to assist her at no cost.”

Leroy gave him a quizzical look.

“I don’t get it. What do you get out of all this?”

Sneering he showed his teeth. “That is none of your business.”

Although still clearly suspicious by the entire matter, Leroy readily agreed to the deal, promising Gold that he and his six brothers would start renovations the very next day.

Although rough around the edges, Gold knew that the Miner brothers were hard workers, and had little doubt that they would indeed have the library remodeled in time. If not, he would make as many deals as necessary to ensure that Ms. French’s dreams of running this library came to fruition.

Two weeks later, Gold sauntered into Granny’s taking his usual seat at the counter. He went to take his first sip of coffee, when a purse smashed down on the counter next to him.

“What the hell are you up to Gold?”

Not being deterred by the outburst, he took a long sip of coffee, gently placing the cup back down, before turning his attention towards the agitated face of the town’s mayor.

“Ah, Madam Mayor, to what do I owe the displeasure of your company this morning?”

“I know about your little deal with those seven imbeciles.”

Gritting his teeth, he tried to maintain a steady composure, although inwardly he was seething. He would deal with that blabbermouth little rat Leroy later; right now he had to remind Regina that he was not one she wanted to tangle with.

“Why whatever do you mean?”

Rolling her eyes she leaned in. “Cut the crap Gold. Now what I want to know is why you’re getting involved in this? Why are you helping her?”

Narrowing his eyes his cold stare bore into hers. “When the committee approved this plan months ago we did so with the intent of it being a success. Ms. French is a viable asset to this town, and is more than capable of handling this project, when given an equal playing field against your obvious sabotage. So I suggest you leave Ms. French and this library alone or I will really give you something to fret about."

An arrogant smirk hit Regina’s red painted lips. “You like her.”

Scoffing Gold turned back towards the counter, as Regina’s hot breath tickled at his ears.

“I had my suspicions at that meeting. Oh, what a grand idea Ms. French, I would love to hear more of your thoughts Ms. French.” She mimicked in a mocking tone. “ How pathetic. She’s half your age, Gold. Do you really think giving her this library is going to get her to sleep with you?”

Not wanting to give her the pleasure of getting a reaction from him, he sat there silently sipping on his coffee as Regina continued to hurl insult after insult into his ear. He didn’t worry about the other patrons hearing her tirade as Regina kept her voice low, clearly trying to protect her public image of a caring respectful servant of the people. After a few more agonizing jabs about his age, he heard her let out a sarcastic chuckle.

“You know what you can have your little library Gold. It will be satisfying enough to watch when all of your perverted little delusions about you and that librarian come crashing down around you.” With that last insult, she picked her purse up off the counter, moving towards the door. “See you at the opening next week Mr. Gold,” she spouted exiting the diner.

Try as he might, Gold could not shake Regina’s taunting words, as he sat at his workshop later that day tinkering with the broken gears of an antique watch. Although he tried to convince himself that he only stepped in to help Ms. French because he wanted this project to succeed his heart knew the truth… he was in love with Belle French.

His feelings for her blossomed years ago when she had started working full time at her father’s flower shop, after graduating from high school. He had always had problems with her father Maurice, a drunk, who often wasted the shop’s money on booze and gambling rather than paying his rent on time.

He was impressed when Maurice’s daughter suggested that he collect the rent every week, instead of monthly, with the reasoning that she could pay him before her father dipped his hands into the register. And so it was with this new arrangement that he visited the flower shop every week with the intent to collect rent, but as he did so he found himself falling into longer conversations with Ms. French. After a few months, he found himself actually looking forward to their interactions, and soon their visits were the highlights of his week.

He was impressed with not only her beauty but her intellect and soon found himself falling for her. Although he wanted her desperately, he kept his feelings hidden, knowing that she was far too good to be with a broken down old man like himself. Every week he went, and every week he fell more in love with her.

During one of their many conversations she had confided in him that her dream was to one day become a librarian. Once he learned of her aspirations, he quietly started to look into the old abandoned town’s library and soon discovered that it was a viable option to reopen.

With the information in hand, he had encouraged her to follow her dreams. He was all too delighted when she agreed, and was impressed at how quickly she threw herself into researching all aspects of the project. Of course he gave her his valuable assistance by using his pull to bypass the usual red tape of government, and provided her with the needed permits and budgets that she required for her proposal.

And now here she was just days away from becoming a librarian with a newly renovated library. His heart burst with love and pride at the thought.

The ringing bell pulled him from his thoughts alerting him that someone had entered his shop. He groaned, praying that it wasn’t Regina coming back for another round of insults. Pushing the curtain back, he stopped dead in his tracks, as Ms. French stood before him.

She looked shorter than usual, a feat contributed to the fact that she was wearing tennis shoes instead of her high heels. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he could see splotches of paint on her tightly fitted blue jeans that showed off her shapely curve. Even after an obvious day of hard work and remodeling, she had never looked more beautiful.

“Hello Mr. Gold.” She beamed at him, and for a moment he forgot how to speak.

“Hello Ms. French.”

She frowned. “Belle. Please call me Belle.”

She had corrected him for years, and yet he could never find the nerve to address her so informally.

“What can I do for you Ms…Belle,” he corrected himself bringing a small smile to her lips.

“Well as you can probably tell,” she glanced down at herself, “I’ve been spending most of my time finishing up the library.”

“And how is that going by the way?” he feigned ignorance even though Leroy texted him daily on its progress. He was already well aware that the library was nearly complete, and would be ready for the ceremony next week.

“Great. I could never have pulled it all together without the help of the Miner brothers. I can never repay them for their kindness. I just can’t believe any of this is real, and I’m really going to be a librarian.”

Seeing the look of excitement in her eyes, Gold’s heart skipped a beat. She deserved this library and every bit of happiness that went along with it.

“You earned it, Belle.”

Her radiant smile took his breath away.

“We earned it, Mr. Gold. Don’t think I have forgotten that I could never have done this without you. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

For a moment her smile faltered, and he could have sworn he saw a look of apprehension in her eyes. “Speaking of which, I’m having a sort of a sneak peak of the library this Sunday, something much smaller and intimate then the Mayor’s grand reopening ceremony, and I was really hoping that you would attend?”

He was stunned for a moment that she would invite him to her own personal soiree. He knew his fearsome reputation around town, and just assumed that she wouldn’t want his presence darkening her moment.

“Are you sure you want me there?”

She looked like he had punched her in the gut, and he immediately cursed himself for causing her distress.

“Of course I want you there.” She spoke sullenly.

“Then I would be honored to attend.”

He let out a sigh of relief as a smile returned to her face. Clasping her hands together in excitement, she gave him further details and gleefully stated she would see him at 7 on Sunday, before bouncing out of his shop.

Sunday came all too soon, as Gold stood in his closet for the last hour fussing over which shirt and tie he would wear, before deciding upon his dark blue shirt with red tie. Why was he so nervous? He could be social, and casually mingle with Belle’s friends, without making a total fool out of himself, right?

His mind raced at who else he thought would be there. Of course she would invite Ruby, and Leroy and his brothers. He couldn’t help but wonder if her father would be there. If he had the nerve to show up drunk to Belle’s function, Gold wasn’t sure what he would do to the man. He wanted everything to be perfect for her that night, and for a moment he considered if he should just stay home and not ruin the atmosphere, before remembering that he had given her his word that he would be there.

With a nervous swell in his stomach, he made the short drive to the town square. He pulled into his regular parking spot in front of the pawnshop, looking across the street at the clock tower above the library. It was 6:45.

It was still early and he debated if he should wait in his Cadillac until it was closer to seven. Seeing no other cars or people nearby he fretted that she might need some last minute help to set up. Taking a deep breath he exited the car, making his way to the entrance of the library.

Just as his hand reached for the handle, the door swung open towards him, as Leroy marched out followed closely in line by his six brothers. Glancing his way, Leroy froze in place causing a line of collisions.

“He’s here,” Leroy called out over his shoulder, as the message made its way down the brothers, ending with the smallest, Clark who shouted the statement into the library.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gold shook his head in disbelief. “Was that announcement really necessary? I can assure you people know when I enter a room.”

“Right,” Leroy paused before taking a step forward. “Well we have to go Mr. Gold. Have a wonderful night.”

Gold planted his hand firmly on Leroy’s chest, halting him mid step.

“Wait. You and I have some unfinished business to discuss. I had a very informative conversation with our Mayor a few days ago.”

“Oh?” Leroy questioned, as Gold felt his entire body trembling under his fingertips.

“Oh yes. Imagine my surprise when she told me how a pitiful little piss ant told her that I was the one…” His threat ceased as Belle’s smiling face emerged from the doorway. Quickly wiping the sneer from his face, he took his hand off of Leroy’s chest.

“Mr. Gold, I’m so glad you came,” she beamed, as he straightened his stance.

“Are you still sure you want to do this sister?” Leroy asked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off of Gold.

“You guys have a wonderful night,” Belle pronounced, as Gold stepped to the side allowing the seven brothers to walk past him unscathed.

With the seven irritations out of sight, Gold was finally able to relish how breathtakingly beautiful Belle looked standing before him. She wore a laced blue dress with a red belt and red heels. He inwardly praised his own choice of shirt and tie, as their complimentary outfits made them look like a perfectly matched pair.

“Won’t you please come in,” Belle held the door open allowing him to enter the foyer. Once in, he moved to the side, awaiting her to guide him into the library. He was surprised that the Miner brothers had left, as he had surely thought Belle would have invited them to this small gathering, but he didn’t want to be rude and question her choices.

Looking around Gold was in awe at how perfectly put together the library turned out. He listened intently as she pointed out all of the changes and repairs that were made about the room.

As they moved further into the library, his stomach growled as the enticing smell of food hit his nostrils. As they rounded the corner, he froze in place at the sight.

Before him was a small table, delicately set with just two place settings. Perplexed he looked at Belle, as she took a deep breath.

“Would you please have dinner with me, Mr. Gold?”

All manner of speech left him, as he stood gaping at her. He didn’t understand. Other people were coming weren’t they? There was no possible way that a woman like Belle French would possibly want to have a romantic dinner with him.

As he continued to stare at her in disbelief, she bit her lip, and he saw a look of worry in her eyes. Next thing he knew, she started to ramble.

“It’s just…I’ve really missed our weekly talks, and you know… I just wanted to thank you and see you. I’ve missed you… and when I found out you had the Miner brothers help me…I”

Her last statement snapped him back into a cold reality. She knew about his deal. So that is what all of this was about. She felt like she owed him something. This was the exact reason he didn’t want her to know, so she didn’t feel some type of obligation towards him. Regina was right, he was a perverted old man.

“So Leroy told you?”

Her eyes went wide, a clear indication that she had not realized what she had just confessed. “Well…yes but...”

Gold shook his head in anger. Clearly Leroy did not understand the consequences of breaking deals with him, but he would soon learn.

“Please don’t be angry with him.” He could see that she was trying to placate his anger, but he was having none of it.

“When did he tell you?”

Sighing Belle’s arms fell to her side. “The first day they were here.”

The first day? The very first day? Closing his eyes, Gold started to imagine all of the ways that he would make Leroy suffer for this. Obviously he would triple his rent, but thoughts of cutting out his tongue flashed in his mind, before Belle’s voice regained his attention.

“I know you didn’t want me to know and you are upset, but I still very much would like to have dinner with you Mr. Gold.”

“You don’t owe me a dinner or anything else, Ms. French.” He turned to leave as she shouted.

“I have been in love with you for years.”

Her words halted him.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you that. You are the only person in my life who I felt really got me. You believed in me, encouraged me to follow my dreams. I know you think I’m too young, and that I’m doing this out of some misguided loyalty, but I can promise you one thing Mr. Gold. I loved you long before this whole library proposal existed and will love you long after all of this Mr. Gold.”

Tears pooled in his eyes at her confession. Turning, he stumbled for a moment in surprise to find that she had moved before him. Slowly he lifted his hand as his knuckles tenderly graced her cheek.

“Robert.”

Her brows drew together in confusion.

“Call me Robert,” he said.

“I love you Robert,” she said looking deeply into his eyes.

“And I love you Belle.”

Slowly she moved towards him, and he moaned at the taste of her lips. Far too soon, she pulled away from the kiss, smiling at him.

“So does that mean you will stay for dinner?”

A crooked grin graced his lips. “So there’s no one else coming tonight?”

Laughing she shook her head no. “Just you and I. I hope you are not too disappointed though,” she teased.

“Well at least I’m still getting a sneak peek at the library,” he winked, placing her arm in his, as he guided them over to the set table.

“Oh, Mr. Gold, I’m quite sure you will be getting a sneak peek at a great many things tonight,” she purred.

#rumbelle christmas in july #eirian-houpe #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #rjic

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crusherthedoctor · 4 years

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It goes without saying: the first level always matters. If it doesn’t leave a good impression, it would hardly motivate you to give the rest of the journey a chance, would it? Being in fanfic form aside, Beyond the Stars is no exception, and because of this, Gleaming Meadows was actually one of the longest zones to work out. Viridonia is meant to stand out from previous Sonic settings after all, and kicking things off with a poor man’s Green Hill wouldn’t cut it.

Since the first level in a Sonic game usually tends to be either a hilly area (Green Hill, Emerald Hill, Seaside Hill) or an urban area (City Escape, Westopolis, Windmill Isle to an extent), I decided a good way to set this zone apart would be to... combine the two! This was inspired very much by Neo Green Hill from Sonic Advance, since although that zone wasn’t a city, it did add some minor urban elements the further it went on, most notably the bridge at the end where you fight Eggman. So as tribute to a forever underrated installment, Gleaming Meadows does that too, but in a different way.

Creating Zone 1: Gleaming Meadows

1-1: Blossom Fields

What’s a good way to make your first level stand out from all the Green Hills? Give it more than green, obviously. While it’s important that the entire adventure is full of interesting locations, I really wanted the first level to sound as gorgeous as possible in order to leave a strong first impression for this new journey, so what better inspiration than tulip fields, particularly those of the Netherlands?

The added use of yellows, oranges, reds and pinks already help set it apart, but there’s also the fact that although there are some lakes and rivers here and there, it’s not particularly coastal.

This aesthetic not only serves to get things off to a good start, but it also sums up the running theme with Beyond the Stars in general. Namely, that although plenty of the basic level tropes will be familiar to us all, many of them will be handled in rather different ways, thus proving that as long as you can think outside the box, there’s plenty of life in them yet. Some examples are more extreme than others, but other times, even a simple change of colour, weather, or time of day can make all the difference.

I mentioned in Chapter 1 proper that the cliffs in Blossom Fields have unique markings that convey a vague, lore-hinting narrative. I couldn’t find a better image to explain how this would look, so I’ll have to resort to this shot from Paper Mario:

See the cliff behind them, with its starry patterns on the soil? That’s basically the gist, but with a more complex pattern.

Also mentioned was the addition of a tunnel near the end of the stage, which is one example of the Neo Green Hill-esque hillside with minor urban elements that I intended.

Don’t assume the inside is drab however. On the contrary, it comes with abstract graffiti in a style reminiscent of the Colinton Tunnel in Edinburgh:

Very Jet Set Radio, eh? In addition to simply being more interesting this way, I figured it fit Sonic perfectly.

But you might question what a tunnel inspired by Edinburgh is doing in a level inspired by the Netherlands. Well, this is another running gag with Viridonia. While not always the case, a lot of times there’ll be combined aspects of real world inspiration, as opposed to Unleashed and its clear cut Not-Greece, Not-New York, etc. This is not just me throwing things at the wall to see what sticks, there is in fact a purpose to it, as it’s one of the more subtle ways of showing how peculiar Viridonia can be compared to other places in Sonic history - partly due to the Ethereal Zone - with only the Little Planet truly competing with the island in that field.

And y’know, it gives it that extra bit of identity and variety, eh?

Now, with music choices to explain what sort of musical atmosphere I’d have in mind for each level, I’m gonna have to use basic links from now on, since I rediscovered the hard way that Tumblr only allows up to five or so direct posts. It’s also worth noting that if this were a real game, it would do what SA1 (and, uh, ‘06) did before it, with each level having at least two different bits of music for the appropriate sections to add even more flair. I’ll still be listing two examples each for extra comparison’s sake, so with that said...

First Section (the fields): Opening Demo (Sonic Mega Collection) Ending B (Sonic Advance 3)

Second Section (the tunnel): Topical Tropical (Sonic: Before the Sequel) Shooting Ristar

1-2: Swanky Suburbs

Continuing the Netherland theme going on, the local town has a touch of Giethoorn to it, with its calming rivers and little pathways. Though unlike Giethoorn, there would be some cars and short roads sprinkled about.

Again, really wanted to convey that feeling of low-key beauty and coziness, and provide more justification for why Sonic and Co would come here for a vacation. But that’s not all: when it comes to the houses and other buildings, the red and white colour scheme is more based on those of Portugal:

And of course, you have the local parks as well. You can even interact with the slides and swings if you want, because you’re never too old to make the kids wait their turn.

First Section (calm): Neo Green Hill Classic The Amazon (DuckTales Remastered)

Second Section (when Badniks start wrecking things up): Wave Ocean ~The Inlet~ (Sonic ‘06) Andy’s Neighborhood (Toy Story 2)

1-3: Yellow Hills

As we go on, we leave the Netherland influence behind, and with the countryside in sight, the clue is in the name. Lots of yellow to be had indeed.

And inbetween all these fields, we have some villages, of which the rural vibe suits the place just fine.

Then as we go into farmyard territory, the yellow actually starts taking a back seat in favor of red, because I guess even I’m not immune to the subverting expectations fever. Hopefully I’ve done it in a way that isn’t asinine though.

The barnyards would be the stereotypical red and white, since it works well enough with the autumn colours, and can still pop out despite there being so much red surrounding them.

And yes, there are many farm animals hanging around here.

Yes, that includes horses.

No, they’re not Trudy’s family.

First Section (yellow): Tornado Alley (Crash Bandicoot: The Wrath of Cortex) Mount Lineland (Super Paper Mario)

Second Section (red): Green Hill ‘12 (Tee Lopes) Menu (Mario Tennis)

1-4: Rusty Mill

A wooden mill doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, so it would look pretty much exactly as you’d expect, albeit a tad more old and worn.

The same goes for inside, really. Since the interior of mills are tricky to find interesting images of when elaborating on your quirky Sonic the Hedgehog zone, I’ll be using another game for comparison instead, specifically Donkey Kong Country 3:

Except multiply the cobwebs by five.

It’s decayed, and a bit grim, but not enough to the point where it would feel like it’s near the endgame. Yet another thing I go in hard on in this story: escalation. In order for later zones and climactic moments to be more striking and impactful, you gotta start off by taking it easy. There’s still action to be had, and there’s still mysterious and/or ominous touches here and there, but it’s for the purpose of organically building things up, so that when things do escalate, you actually feel it when shit starts going down. Pacing, boys and girls! Learn it!

Then again, as with Angel Island in S3&K, this place gets set on fire halfway through, so maybe I need to remember my own lessons. But on the other hand, also like S3&K, it still pales in comparison to what happens later, so...

Lastly for today, when you’re fighting the fearsome Paindozer, the section of the mill that you confront it in suspiciously takes a form more akin to a old fashioned warehouse. Like... IKEA, I guess. But on fire.

So congratulations, you got through IKEA Zone. Looks like Eggman should have stuck with B&Q Zone instead.

First Section (calm): Pogo Painter (Crash Bash) The Walk of Life (Rayman 2)

Second Section (on fire): Vs. Rotatatron & Refreshinator (Sonic Colours) Set Point - Match Point (Mario Tennis)

#Creating Viridonia #Sonic the Hedgehog #Fanfiction

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chistery · 4 years

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my @ladystuck2020 entry for @allocrest!

i dont have an ao3 so we’ll all just have to suffer through tumblr formatting. for the life of me I can’t get the text colors to stick

Love Languages

Jade wakes naturally to the sound of birdsong. She brushes away the hair that fell out of her ponytail overnight, and checks her phone plugged in on the nightstand. 🐙: 💜 Good morning. Jade smiles at her phone, clumsily tapping with one thumb: good morning!!! She doesn’t wait for a response before getting up, resolving to wash her face before she forgets. The cold water wakes her up a bit more and she smiles at herself in the mirror. “Good morning!” she says to her reflection. Jade goes back into her room to grab her phone to type: date night tonight!!!!!!!!! Yes, I remember. The answer comes immediately and Jade grins at her phone again. She sits around her apartment for hours, unable to do anything but think of her upcoming date night(!!). Jade finally gets up to walk Becquerel. She reorganizes the books on her bookcase, makes lunch at eleven thirty, brushes Bec and regrets it immediately, there’s fur everywhere. She vacuums up the fur, sits on the couch and stares at the ceiling, its only twelve thirty? Jade waters her plants, sits for ten minutes feeling how smooth the petals are between her fingers. The automatic sun-reading watering can she’d built is still incredibly unreliable, and sprinkles some water on her head as she sits there. Jade goes back to the couch, maybe to do some reading, but ends up leaning against Bec and falling asleep slowly. She sets an alarm on her phone for four before snuggling up with her dog.

Her alarm wakes her. She spends ten minutes going through all her clothes, trying to decide what is weather and occasion appropriate. She settles on a nice floral, knee-length skirt and a plain blue t-shirt. At four thirty, Jade hops into the bath for a quick shower, making sure the conditioner actually reaches the ends of her hair this time. She can’t put it in a towel; it’s too long, so she just lets it hang and air dry. Jade slaps some detangler on her hands and runs her fingers through her hair. That counts as getting ready, right? She’s not really an eyeshadow and lipstick kind of girl. Leave that to Rose. Jade wastes thirty seconds staring in the mirror, hands still in her hair, thinking about Rose’s different flavored chapsticks. Bec barks from her bedroom door, because of course her dog’s got a better sense of time than she does. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” No jacket, it’s warm enough, and Jade puts on some practical tennis shoes. Bec doesn’t need a leash, but the city just passed something and she doesn’t want to get fined so on the harness and leash go. “Come on, best friend,” she kneels down in front of Bec so she can take his face in her hands and squish it. He shakes her off. “Good boy! Let’s go.”

“Sorry I’m late!” Rose looks up from her book, sitting on a bench in the park they’d agreed on. She smiles gently in a way that still makes Jade’s stomach flop around. As they walk up, Rose puts her hand out and Bec pushes his head into it. “You’re not that late.” Jade checks her watch. Twenty past five. She frowns at Rose, who just keeps smiling at her. “Well, you had to walk. It’s not the end of the world.” Rose says, standing and brushing nonexistent wrinkles from her nice white skirt. “Shall we?”

The restaurant knows them by now. The hostess standing outside just smiles and gestures to their usual outside table. Bec settles between Jade and Rose’s chairs with a huff, keeping an eye on the people around them with his ears perked. Neither of them look at the menu, they go here enough, and Jade places both her hands on the table. Just in case Rose wants to hold one. Rose just reopens her book. After a long moment, she reaches across the table with her free hand and hooks their pinkies together. Jade’s grin hurts her face a tiny bit. Rose wasn’t used to physical displays of affection. Her mom is distant and Rose had developed what Jade in her head called “Strider-adjacent” coping mechanisms. It was if as long as Rose didn’t show emotion, she’d be okay. The first time Jade had tried to take her hand she’d flinched, never mind their first kiss. She doesn’t think Rose would appreciate it, but she is super proud of her girlfriend and all the progress she’s made. “So what’s your book about?” It’s a story about magic and wizards and honestly it makes Jade’s eyes want to glaze over, but she holds onto a few details she can remember easily and asks silly questions. Rose stays composed but her eyes light up in such a way that Jade could listen to stupid wizards for hours. They stop to order, and Jade can see Rose wants to launch back into the story but stops herself. As she puts her book back in her purse, “What about your… contraptions? Inventions?” Rose asks with a little laugh. “Your death machines?” “It poured water on your book once.” Jade reminds her. “And ruined the binding.” Rose counters. “Hmf.” Jade crosses her arms on the table and puts her chin on them. “It still doesn’t work,” she admits, “Something with the clock’s wiring is busted.” “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Rose says gently. “I’m sure I will. I just need to hurry up and do it.” They are both briefly distracted as something catches Bec’s attention and he sits up with a woof. “What is it?” Jade asks, leaning her head down closer to his so she can see what he sees. “If you pull me out of this chair, I won’t give you steak.” Bec looks at her for a long moment before laying back down. “That dog is just smart enough for his own good.” Rose comments. “Anyway, you were telling me…?” “Oh! Yeah!” Jade launches into a full explanation of her latest projects, the ones she’s doing for school plus her personal projects. She can see Rose is keeping up for the most part, until she starts into the AI powered robot her school is building and Jade watches Rose get lost in the finer technicalities. Their food comes, which saves Jade from trying to explain anything more complicated, and Rose reluctantly unhooks their fingers on top of the table. Jade ordered the steak more for Bec than herself. Between bites she gives him little pieces; he’s good enough not to get slobber on her fingers. Rose swirls pasta around with her fork, looking at Jade. “What?” “Nothing.” But she’s smiling. Clearly something. Dinner passes. They talk about schoolwork, their friends, about nothing specific. Jade finds herself smiling in a completely self-indulgent, sappy way. She’s so fucking lucky. They turn down desert and pay the bill. Bec stretches lazily and walks a few circles around Jade, wrapping her in the leash. “Thanks.” she tells Bec, deadpan, as Rose laughs at her. They walk to the ice cream place in a comfortable silence. Halfway there, Rose lets Jade hold her hand and Jade swings it back and forth triumphantly. She’s my girlfriend, by the way! Jade wants to yell, but that would be a little silly, and might make Rose drop her hand, so she keeps it inside and laughs at nothing in particular. “What are you laughing at?” Rose asks. “You.” Because that is true, just not for the reason Rose thinks it is. Rose doesn’t ask, though. The line at the ice cream place is incredibly long, so they have plenty of time to argue over ice cream flavors. Rose argues for an absolutely terrible combination of blueberry and mint, and Jade can’t figure out if she’s doing it just to be gross or if she actually likes the idea. Jade wants to know if they’ll just give her a cup of maraschino cherries covered in fudge. They end up deciding on a mint hot fudge sundae, and sit outside with the giant cup it comes in. People keep walking up to pet Bec, delighted when their hands sink into his thick fur. Bec sits obediently while little kids pat his face. Rose won’t hold her hand with this many people around, which is sad because Jade would love to do something embarrassingly couple-y and kiss away the ice cream on the side of Rose’s face. She thinks Rose can see it in her face, because Rose blushes a little bit, a rare sight. They finish their sundae as the sun starts to go down. They walk back to Rose’s place together, because Jade has the big dog for protection. On the steps of her building, Rose looks one way, then the other, quickly, and then grabs Jade’s shoulders and leans in. It’s a fairly chaste kiss; Rose definitely goes slow, but Jade can feel a grin splitting her face anyway. She’ll have lipstick on her teeth for sure. Rose pulls back, her face slightly flushed. Then she laughs at Jade. “You have lipstick—“ “I know.” Jade leans in for another quick kiss, “Good night.” “Good night, Jade.” Rose says with a smile, and then she opens the door to her building, and she’s gone. Jade quickly wipes her teeth with her fingers and they come away purple. She and Bec’s walk back to Jade’s apartment is uneventful. She texts Rose: made it back in one piece!!! Good. Comes the reply, Have a good night, Jade. you too!! Rose isn’t ready for ‘I love you’s. But Jade will be ready when she is.

#ladystuck2020 #homestuck #jaderose #mari writes #i try to put the colors in on mobile and it shits the bed so we're just bolded #first time writing proper fanfiction be kind

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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Catch Me If You Can (27/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I’m the slightest bit overwhelmed by how kind a lot of you are and how many people have become invested in this story. It’s the coolest thing seeing the happiness it brings some of you, even if I am stressing you out right now. Whenever I get a message about how a story has made someone’s bad day better, I get a little smile on my face. You are all awesome ☺️

Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for being my beta! Don’t fret. She yelled at me a lot about this part of the story too, so it’s not just you guys and it does get better.

AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @stunningswan @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @superchocovian @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings

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Emma has never once complained about having off from work before.

Not once.

She has four days off right now. It’s four days of no baseball and no responsibility, and she has been looking forward to it for months ever since she first saw the time off on the calendar and marked it in a huge red circle. There’s nothing quite like having the ability to sleep in, not brush your hair, and lounge around in pajamas all day as you watch professional athletes hit tennis balls back and forth at each other at one hundred miles per hour as they play the US Open.

But there’s a bit of a sting to it all when two tickets to the semi-finals tomorrow are saved in her phone, and she hasn’t spoken to the person who bought them for her in three days.

(They’re in the nosebleed section so no one would notice them, and Emma remembers laughing out loud when Killian showed her the seats because she has no idea how they would even see the ball.)

Okay, there’s more than a bit of a sting.

It fucking hurts.

There’s always been a reason why she didn’t make plans so far ahead of time, not ones that require monetary and emotional commitments from her, but she’s been breaking all of her rules over the past five and half months. All of them. She’s made plans to go to Portland, to go to a wedding, to go to this idiotic set of matches that she would actually really love to go to.

All of them with Killian.

Emma should have known better. She honestly should have. Every time she ever made plans with Neal or Walsh or any other man that she was dating, they always fell through. They never held up. Either the relationship would endend, or the guy would fade away at the last minute. It didn’t matter. Every time she got her hopes up, they fell back to the ground and were crushed under the weight of her own disappointment.

Neal was the definition of flaky. He was always making these big plans with big dreams and promising her so damn much before ripping the rug out from under her so quickly that she barely even had time to brace herself before she fell flat on her ass. And the really shitty thing is that she didn’t even realize how awful it was that he was doing that to her because that’s what people had been doing her entire life – foster parents, social workers, childhood friends, her birth parents. That little seed of hope would be planted, roots would start to grow, and then it’d all be torn out of the ground. She was in a relationship like that for years and then fell into the same exact trap two years later.

Why would Killian be any different?

(Of course he is different.)

A laugh escapes her lips at that, one she didn’t give permission to, and all it does is make Emma curl into her bed a little bit more, wrapping her arms around her pillow and yanking the blankets further up her body so that the outside world can’t get to her. It’s just Emma, her laptop, and a bag of salt and vinegar chips that are most likely going to break her tongue out.

As it should be.

This is not how her day was supposed to go.

Not at all.

Killian was supposed to come over after his morning training, and he was going to spend time with her and probably Ruby, debating television shows and movies and eating whatever takeout he decided to bring on his way here. But Killian isn’t here. She doesn’t even know where he is. Probably not training considering he’s out for the rest of the regular season.

It’s what he told her, but it’s also what she’s read in about fifteen different articles online.

And what she had to post on her Twitter account as part of her job. Life is funny that way. You think you can avoid your boyfriend and all information about him, but she can’t. It’s part of her freaking job.

She couldn’t have kept herself from reading the articles online if she’d tried.

(She didn’t.)

There’s a knock on her door, a sound that Emma has been ignoring for most of the past few days, but she didn’t turn the lock when she went to get her chips two hours ago, so Ruby easily opens the door and walks into her bedroom. She’s got her hair pulled back into a ponytail and is wearing leggings and a sports bra like she just went to the Pilates class that Emma skipped out on.

She shouldn’t have done that.

Fueling her emotions into that would probably have been a much healthier way to cope. No, it definitely would have been. Exercise is better than stuffing her mouth with junk food even if junk food feels so much better at first.

Shit. She’s pathetic. But honestly, she doesn’t even care.

“Hey,” Ruby says quietly as she shuts the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

Emma doesn’t respond, just curls herself further into her pillow like the pathetic person she is as a tennis ball is thwacked across the court and bounces up into the bottom level of the stands. But Ruby, never one to be deterred by anything, walks across the room and settles down on the bed behind Emma, wrapping her arms around her stomach and pulling her closer while Ruby’s chin rests on her shoulder.

It’s the most considerate touch she’s felt in days, and it’s the only time that someone hasn’t shown her pity or tried to tell her that everything was going to be okay. After she left the hospital, leaving Killian behind with her mind reeling and falling down a hole with no escape, Emma immediately went to her apartment and changed into running clothes before running until her legs wouldn’t work anymore. It was fifteen miles, something she’s done before, something that’s not even her personal best, and she thought that she could keep going.

She had to keep going.

But the adrenaline died out on her, all of her anger and rage and, frankly, sadness dissipated into barely being able to breathe, and she’d swiped her metro card and walked through the gates to get on the train that would take her to David’s house because she needed him like she hadn’t needed him in years. David is always the reasonable one, is always the one who makes her see things that she can’t see, but he wasn’t there. It was only Leo and Mary Margaret, and as much as Emma loves Mary Margaret, she couldn’t understand why Emma was so hurt by Killian lying to her.

It’s not what the lie was, though that is a pretty big deal. It’s the fact that the lie happened.

Over and over again.

She gave him her heart in all of the shattered and glued back together pieces, and as careful as he is with it, he still managed to add a crack or two.

How could she have ever expected otherwise?

Why did she?

Why does she still want him to be the one to help her keep holding it together?

David had eventually come home and seen her talking to Mary Margaret, and somehow, he just knew that she needed him to hold her for a little while. He did, cupping the back of her head with his hand and not placating her by telling her that everything was okay or that she shouldn’t be angry or anything else that she wasn’t quite ready to hear yet.

There were a lot of things she wasn’t ready to hear that day.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me sometime today?” Ruby asks, and Emma breathes out on a sigh, her stomach swirling in a messy cloud of anxiousness over the fact that Ruby has finally decided that Emma has to talk. She’s been waiting for it. She’s also been expecting a much more abrasive conversation. “I know that your legs probably still feel like shit from that crazed run you went on, but I feel like a walk would be good. Fresh air, exercise, maybe I will even stop and buy two dozen donuts. You know, really splurge and keep them to ourselves and not let Graham have any.”

Emma chuckles, and this time she’s kind of glad for it. It’s not a big belly laugh, but it’s something.

Baby steps are better than nothing.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a walk?

“Nope. It’s good to get our legs moving, work some of this laziness out of you. Plus, I fully plan on making us walk the full perimeter of Central Park, so we’ll have earned those donuts. If we haven’t died first because that’s a huge ass park.”

“You do realize that Bryant park is closer?”

“And that’s exactly why we’re not going there.” Ruby squeezes her again, pretty much hugging her, and it may actually make Emma’s heart swell. “C��mon, Ems. Indulge me for an afternoon, okay? It’s not like you to lay in bed like this. I don’t like it.”

It’s not. She’s already thought that. This isn’t her. She’s not the type of girl who lays around in bed because she’s upset that she and her boyfriend got into a fight, if that’s even what this can be called. There wasn’t exactly any fighting, even if her mind has managed to create the illusion that there was. Honestly, she barely let him get any words in besides his explanation of what happened. And she’s not the type of girl who cries and eats ice cream and wonders how life will ever go on.

There’s nothing wrong with doing that, but it’s not her.

And she hasn’t cried. That’s beside the point, though.

“It’s really comfortable in here, okay?”

“You’re moping.”

“Then let me mope.”

Ruby sighs and hugs her a little closer.

“Emma, I know that I might not seem like the most emotionally mature person at times, but I’ve been in a steady relationship for a long time. I know that things like this happen, and I know that after lying in bed for nearly three days now, you need to get your ass up. You’re not going to find any solutions at the bottom of that chip bag.”

“I hate Graham for helping you be so emotionally stable. You used to hate love.”

“It’s all the good fucking. I’m telling you. Knocked some sense right into me.”

Emma barks out a laugh and completely rolls over on her stomach, letting Ruby’s arms release her as she snorts into the pillow. “You are the worst,” she mumbles, her voice muffled by the material.

“I am the best.” There’s a slap against her ass that has Emma jumping and rolling over again so that she nearly knocks over her laptop. “Now, go brush your teeth, put on some deodorant, and change clothes so we can take over the city with our powerwalk like the rich old ladies we’ve always aspired to be.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

It’s an actual blazing inferno outside, the heat curling up from the concrete to practically burn through Emma’s sneakers, and it makes her really not want to be out on this walk. But she knows that the faster she walks, the faster she can go back home and retreat back to her room. All she really wants is to go back to her room.

And get under the shades of the trees in the park. September needs to end and allow October to roll in so that she won’t sweat every time she steps outside. This is ridiculous.

It’s probably all of the salt and vinegar leaving her pores. What a thought to have.

If only eating strawberries or kale or something was a good emotional comfort food.

It’s a little over a mile to the park, and as awful as the entrance is all full of tourists and street vendors and people trying to sell her a guide to the city like she doesn’t know it’s on a grid system, Emma is thankful just to have the slight breeze and be away from the masses of people. She won’t admit it, not out loud, but Ruby was right to get her to get up and get moving. When she’s lounging around, her mind wanders to things that it shouldn’t wander to, and at least now she’s able to put all of her focus on putting one foot in front of the other and watching all of the people around her.

Why pay for Broadway tickets when you can watch people in Central Park?

The air-conditioning. Yep. The air-conditioning.

They walk for an hour, just a casual stroll that Emma keeps thinking should be a run, but the heat of the day becomes too much for her, her heartbeat going wild, and as soon as she sees an unoccupied bench in the shade, she makes a run for it, leaving Ruby to catch up from behind. It’s a bit ridiculous, but this is a golden opportunity to allow herself to sit down and breathe without anyone bothering her since most people in the area are concentrated around the boathouse and not the little beaten path to the side of it.

“I hate summer,” Ruby groans when she reaches the bench. “It’s the worst. I don’t care that it’s when all of the good sports happen. It’s too damn hot.”

Emma bends down to rest her elbows on her knees and cradle her head in her palms. “It was your idea to come out here.”

“Yeah, well, you were depressing me.”

She doesn’t say anything back, taking a moment to breathe and stare down at the laces on her shoes. One of them is about to come untied, but she can’t bother to fix it. There’s no point if she plans on never moving from this spot. The sweat that’s trickling down her back is going to keep her glued here anyways.

How the hell did she run fifteen miles the other day? What kind of rage-fueled adrenaline was that?

“Killian lied to me about his shoulder.”

The words come out without her permission. She doesn’t even remember thinking them. Her mind was blank and then all of the sudden they were there, escaping from her tongue and her lips and becoming part of the air that’s surrounding she and Ruby.

Emma is still staring at the ground. Her hand has also unconsciously found the chain around her neck, the one with Killian’s mom ring that he gave her as a good luck charm. She hasn’t been able to take it off. She wanted to, wanted to take away that reminder of him, but she couldn’t do it.

Killian wanted her to have one of his most prized possessions, and as mad as she is at him right now, she can’t take it off. It means too much to her to have been given something like this.

“He lied to me,” she continues, taking a deep breath, though she’s not sure if it’s from the exercise or the emotions running a race in her mind and wearing down her nerves. “And I get it. He was scared. He – ”

“He didn’t want you to think less of him for being broken.”

“How do you know that?”

“Mary Margaret told me. You know she can’t keep a secret.”

Emma chuckles, but it’s a weak one, before lifting her head back up so that all of her blood can return to its rightful place. She was starting to get worried it wouldn’t. All she can really focus on is how cool the metal of the ring is against her stomach.

“Unlike you have apparently become, I am not the best with my emotions,” Emma continues. All of the words she’s been holding up are bubbling up to the surface and ready to spill over and run rampant. “I’m pretty shitty with them, but Killian made me feel comfortable, you know? When we’re together, I do pretty okay sharing all of the broken parts of me. He knows a lot of stuff that not even you know, and I thought we were in the kind of relationship where we trusted each other enough to share the brokenness. And trust me, we have a lot of it. We’ve had…we’ve had pretty shitty lives at some points, and I am so mad at him for repeatedly not telling me that he was hurt and for not being smart enough to stop playing and get some help. It’s not that big of an injury, but it could have been. He loves that stupid game, and he’s going to lose it if he keeps doing things like this.”

Ruby reaches down and grabs Emma’s hand and wraps her fingers around her palm and squeezes so that Emma has to look up at the sky to stop the tears from finally falling. This is dumb. This is all so dumb, and every bit of it could have been avoided.

“I think though,” Emma continues, still blinking away the tears, “past the lying and this gut-wrenching fear that he’s going to lie to me about other things too, I’m mostly hurt that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to me. I love him so much, Rubes. He probably has no idea how much I love him because I barely know how to express it, and, but I don’t know how to fully trust him if this is going to be a pattern.”

Ruby’s sighs, and Emma swears that she feels it in her own bones. Her heartrate has calmed down, something next to normal, and she no longer feels like she’s going to throw up. She was kind of feeling like that for a little while, and the guy sitting in the grass fifteen feet away from them reading a book in peace probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

“You’ve got to talk to him.”

“I don’t – ”

“You don’t want to right now,” Ruby finishes for her, and Emma twists her head to the side to look over at the lake instead of at Ruby. “I know. I got that. You have every right to be pissed off at him. You have every right to kick and scream and feel anger so deep in your belly that it aches when you breathe. It doesn’t matter what he lied to you about. If it hurt you, it hurt you. Case closed.”

“I know but – ”

“Nope, nope, you’re going to let me finish. I am on a roll, and you’re going to crush my momentum.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ruby squeezes her hand again before letting go. “Killian should not have lied to you. That’s just…I know we all tell little white lies, but this is obviously different. He shouldn’t have lied to you or to anyone. He should have trusted the people who he loves with the things he’s struggling with, but I don’t think this was about him not trusting you. He didn’t tell his family about any of it either.”

“They knew about the accident.”

“To be fair, Liam was there, and I think there’s no way Elsa couldn’t find out.”

“Semantics.”

“Very important ones,” Ruby points out. “I don’t – I’m not trying to tell you how to feel. I’m just saying that Killian didn’t do this out of malicious intent. He’s not Walsh, and he’s certainly not Neal. He is not spending his time trying to bring you down because he can’t handle being with a successful woman. I honestly think he’s scared of losing you and of losing the game, and that can make people do things that they wouldn’t usually do. You may not realize it, but I think you have become just as important to Killian as baseball is – if not more so. I know all about that ring you keep messing with and how big of a deal it is. Honey, he wouldn’t have given that to you if he didn’t love you. I’m not saying that fixes everything because it doesn’t. You have to talk to him and let yourself trust him if you think he’s worth trusting.”

Ruby echoes the words Killian said to her in Elsa’s office, the words that she repeated to Mary Margaret when she was trying to explain what was going on. They’re right. They’re all right, and she hates it. She doesn’t even know why. She should be thrilled that everyone seems to think that Killian didn’t set out to hurt her.

She thinks that too.

But Ruby is right in the fact that he did hurt her and right in the fact that she should be allowed to feel how she feels. How could she not with everything that’s happened to her in her life?

But she’s not thrilled.

And it’s dumb. Really, really dumb. Because she should want to get up from this bench and run to Killian’s apartment. It’s not far, maybe another mile walk, but she has absolutely emotionally exhausted herself to the point that talking about this more would be too much for her.

Talking everything out is still new to her, and when the stakes are this high, that pestering feeling that it’s all going to go wrong is continually building. Because what if Killian realizes that she’s more broken than he thinks too she is, and it’s all too much to deal with? Their relationship seems so simple on the surface and yet underneath it all…

Oh fuck.

Emma loves Killian so damn much, more than anything as he would say, but being together has never been simple. It’s always been a series of guesses and choices and an underlying hope that things would work out. She allowed herself to have that hope from the beginning, when she barely knew anything about him and when he’d fucked up with her already, and she should allow herself to have that same faith now that she genuinely knows so much of what makes up the ever-evolving person who is Killian Jones.

Tomorrow. She’ll talk to him tomorrow. Her stomach is still in too many knots for her to even think about seeing his face today and seeing the smile that always makes everything inside of her feel like it is floating on cloud nine.

Tomorrow. It has to be tomorrow because then she’s got to leave for Boston and Detroit, and she’s not waiting a week.

And she almost desperately needs to know how he’s doing. He’s got to be hurting, and she knows that she added to that.

“Can we go get those donuts now, Rubes?”

“Absolutely.”

The walk home seems swifter than the walk there, and it’s likely because Emma isn’t weighed down by the heaviness of a lot of things that are on her heart. Or maybe it’s because she does have donuts to look forward to. Today is going to be her last day of self-indulgence where she allows herself to mope and eat like all of the junk food in the world is going to disappear tomorrow. Because tomorrow she’s going to start eating actually balanced meals with things like vitamins and nutrients – most of the time – and she’ll hopefully stop feeling so sorry for herself.

That’s a bit of a gamble.

Ruby still makes a point of distracting her for the afternoon, obviously sensing that Emma is two seconds away from running away to her room and never emerging again, and while she contemplates that a few times throughout the day, especially when Graham comes home and kisses Ruby hello, she doesn’t.

In fact, she’s the last one awake and the only one to stay out in the living room. The only light that’s on comes from the TV, a tennis match still going on late in the night, and maybe it’s the lack of sleep she’s gotten or maybe it’s that feeling that happens when you’re alone at night and your mind starts playing tricks on you, but something gives her the courage to pull out her phone and text the person she’s been thinking about all day.

Emma: How’s your arm?

The bubble pops up immediately.

Killian: It hurts, mostly in the mornings, but not too bad. Lots of Ibuprofen and ice.

Emma: That’s good.

Emma: Not that it hurts. That it’s not too bad.

Killian: Yeah, I’m glad it’s not as bad as it has been.

Her heart may actually break a bit more at the thought of him being hurt all of this time. She’s been so mad at him, so frustrated with him for not sharing it with her, and she’s barely had any time to think about all of the pain that he’s been going through. Shitty move on her part.

It’s one thing to get injured and still be able to go about your daily life. It’s another when your livelihood depends on your body.

Killian: You should still use the tickets tomorrow. Take Ruby or David. I can get you an upgrade to sit closer since I’m not going with you now.

I don’t want to use them with anyone but you, she types, a little pathetically.

She doesn’t actually send that message. She can’t muster up the courage no matter how much truth is in the statement. Wine or whiskey or, hell, tequila are really tempting at this point to make herself feel a little less – upset, conflicted, hopeful even. But drowning sorrows in alcohol is no way to solve a problem, even if she’s done it before. It’ll only make her feel worse.

Emma: Can we talk tomorrow?

That text is riskier, means more, and is far scarier, and yet it’s the one she sends.

Killian: I’d like that.

Emma: Me too.

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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