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insomniac-dot-ink · 3 years

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Headlights Girl

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the land, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they shrank away from my gaze deep into their cages into the nooks and crannies. Most things do.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness and sleep. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There have been stranger kids born in the age of spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for small articles and mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy with fire on his breath. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father calls it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He doesn’t look at me much. And I know what he means. I know what he means when he calls it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. They could barely afford to send me to That School. I didn’t want to be there either.

We weren’t the same, not really. None of us are the same age and most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons under flat mattresses. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or have a pig-nose or blackhole for a nose. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he runs away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I’m 16 when I heel-toe my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with a collection of loose clothes, change, a bath towel, sewing kit, a bible written in a language I don’t speak, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he’s at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at Target and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There’s a beer in front of his idle hands and he glances at the bag on my shoulder.

He sighs like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafs through a wad of cash he kept in a safe in the garage. He hands me almost three hundred bucks and we nod at each other. I’m out the door before the midnight bus arrives.

I watch the headlights of the bus approach through dense summer night and think it must be like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I get on the bus and kick my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, I cross my arms over my chest, and watch the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet move like tides. They toss me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I taste the painted deserts toward the west. I dip my toes into the largest cities with lights brighter than my own. I graze my palms on neon signs and hunch my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touches me. They don’t come close enough when I open my eyes and they see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that will smite them.

I find my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gather. I don’t talk much, I don’t like to, and people stare at me whether I’m speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it aches. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’ve never seen a movie in any theatres, but I can imagine what it’s like.

I like the ocean cities best with their pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding white paths, and crushed seashell parking lots. I like the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkles from the ocean water as it sun-dries. I camp out on beaches and bum cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I’m good at taking care of myself once I get in a rhythm.

Sometimes, or often, I dream of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dream of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I am weighted down through the cold to where no human has ever been before. I open my eyes there, I open them all the way, lightning-bright, and in my dreams, the salt doesn’t sting. It doesn’t hurt, instead, I light up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I do something good then. Maybe I do something good and bring the sun to places that have forgotten it.

I meet Mags on the beach. She’s got one eye and five teeth and carries around string and scissors everywhere. She smells like seawater and roasting kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes are neat despite her leather-cracked skin and her arms and neck are covered with tattoos of shipwrecks. She cackles and pulls me aside the first night we meet.

“What’s your name?” Her voice is old creaking wood. I am quiet. “I could give you one.” She offers with a grin that is more empty space than anything.

I shake my head. “Nana.”

“What do you like, kid?”

I shake my head again.

Mags likes me more than I deserve. I pocket her last pair of socks when she’s not looking. She never mentions it and drags me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She takes me to the soup restaurant for something that isn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackles, she spits when she talks, people glare at her as well.

I think she’s normal, not touched by the spirits, but she likes me more than most people and I don’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snort. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snap.

“Lippy-wild thing. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heats the needle before she uses it, red hot and untouchable. She dips it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she calls them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin with color and movement. She shows me on her right foot first, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It takes her six hours to make a little shipwreck right above her big toe. It’s a schooner going under and I’m the only witness to the way she makes the waves come to life and crash against its sides. I can’t look away and I forget to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washes another needle. She heats it red-hot. She dips it in ink and hands it to me.

I practice all over my thighs first, there’s enough meat there and it’s easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looks like nothing but squiggles, a wobbly stick figure on a skateboard, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practice designs in the sand. Mags takes me to the museum on Sundays. They’re free on Sundays.

Something stirs in my chest, even as the guards yell at me about how flash photography isn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I’m shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rots roars to life in my chest.

I stab in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake next, and then finally, something good, something that gives people a reason to stare. I make it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than the others.

I don’t want to leave the ocean city. Mags says she has to keep moving though. She gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackles. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winks as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I want to make her pinky-promise like I’m a kid again and begging one of the other kids to tell me if I’m actually beautiful when I close my eyes. I can’t do that; I wave as she totters up the steps of the bus and is taken away with the tides of her own feet. ------------ I get an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked to them first and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but coach surfing and camping out on beaches is a tiring pastime. Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie run a tattoo shop together. Davies walks like he’s never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie has a throw-pillow that says “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies is nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie has topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’s been asked to leave a number of stores before the children start staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me, it’s not that type of town. I rankle at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. I brush off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie calls me “Shadow” and I think it’s a joke. Davies says I must be possessed by the ghost of a dead star and now I’m nothing but a blackhole: take everything in and let nothing out.

Neither of them lets me touch a needle in those first six months. They have me practice on pig skin and stand by their shoulder as they work. I feel like a dental assistant except I’m the hanging light above shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stand at their shoulder as they draw thick lines and thin dots and make hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They ask me to stop blinking and stand still. I almost walk out and find a new cliff to crash against, almost. No one had ever expected me to show up to something before. No one cared if I went to school or when I got home. And no one kept any tabs on me after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, it didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow.” She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I am eloquent in the morning.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want the desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

I grumble. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before. I tell myself I’ll just try it out, no harm in having a bit of a savings anyway. No harm in seeing what the fuss was about.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with my eyes. I don’t let up though. I put on pants for this, after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder now.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, he had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me now as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “The line’s barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” He chuckled darkly. His grin is crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.

“Look at you go. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun before the new year. I tell myself I’ll only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I don’t have to actually stay. I’ll just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chases after girls with eyes that glow.

I don’t break my lease. I draw cartoon heroes in speedos on tipsy college girls who swear they’re sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I have to give two refunds for a duck that turns out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with nothing but doors ahead of her. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I’m best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It’s dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hide my smile when she goes to my bosses and points at it while jumping up and down. The best thing she’s ever seen. She should pay us double. Where did you get this girl? I try not to blink so they can’t see the wetness under my eyes.

Sometimes I still stand by the bus stop to check who’s coming off. I don’t expect to see Mags again so soon, but sometimes I want to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

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#wlw #urban fantasy #writing #found family #sapphic #short story #femslash #writers on tumblr #writeblr #magical realism #patreon #my work #long post #long post cw

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seijorhi · 4 years

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Acts of Devotion

👀 i um 👉 👈 i hope this is okay...

Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

TW blood, gore, violence, murder, dub con, nsfw

Akaashi loves you.

He’s known that for a long time now, probably from the very first moment he laid eyes on you, back when you were both just wide eyed first year uni students, wildly out of your depths.

A lot’s changed since then. For one, he now gets to call you his, and it’s his arms that you return to at the end of a long day, his house that you both live in. It’d be a lie to say that it doesn’t bother him that he wasn’t your first love, but he’s contented himself with the knowledge that he’ll be your last. Your only great love.

The only one that matters.

But it hasn’t been without its challenges. He’s learned a lot about love since those early days, about what it means to truly devote yourself to somebody, to give everything you have for them.

Love essentially boils down to two things, Akaashi’s come to realise - sacrifice, and forgiveness.

You always look so beautiful when you’re sleeping. Of course, Akaashi thinks you’re beautiful all the time; when you’re smiling and laughing, when your face is screwed up in petulant anger, when those pretty eyes of yours well with tears and they glimmer and shine - but there’s something about the peaceful expression, so soft and unguarded when you’re asleep that inexplicably draws him in.

There’s a part of him that wants nothing more than to stay, to reach out and brush away the hair that’s fallen across your face, pull you closer and let sleep drag him under, but he can’t.

Not tonight.

Instead he cranes his neck to press a kiss against your lips, a small smile tugging at his lips when you let out a quiet mewl in response. He loves you so, so much… that’s why he has to do this.

He’d forgive you anything. You know that, don’t you?

Sure, it hurt him when he found the messages. Scrolling back through your text history, it was like somebody had grabbed him by the throat and plunged a knife into his gut, twisting it for good measure.

Kaito i don’t know what to do

i love him but lately it feels like idk he’s being a little controlling i guess?

… but maybe i’m just being paranoid?

He knows it’s not entirely your fault. For all the amazing qualities you possess, you are remarkably naive and so very, very impressionable - which worked to his favour in the beginning, he’ll be the first to admit, but now…

Now it’s becoming a problem.

You haven’t realised yet that everything Akaashi’s doing - it’s all for your own good.

Your family wanted you under their thumb. They always asked too much of you, guilt tripped you whenever you tried to stand up for yourself or set boundaries. They’d never be happy for you, not truly. It hurts, he knows that, but some people don’t deserve to be in your life, especially when they treat you like that.

Your job was causing you stress, and your boss was an arrogant, nasty piece of work. His salary is more than enough to support you both, why put yourself through that if you don’t need to? Aren’t you happier now that you don’t have to trudge into that office every day and pretend that it isn’t making you miserable?

Your friends were bad influences. Jealous of your relationship for one, but they were also petty, self absorbed and vapid, always trying to drag you down to their level so you wouldn’t ever outshine them. You’re better off without them, why can’t you see that?

Akaashi’s the only one you’ll ever need.

And he really thought that he’d solved that little problem, but apparently not. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that out of all of them, Kaito’s the one who’s been the hardest to shake. An old friend of yours from high school, Akaashi had known within five minutes of meeting him that he was head over heels in love with you and had been for a long, long time.

He can’t blame him for that. You’re beautiful. Perfect. Entirely his. It’s painfully obvious that even before he came into the picture to sweep you off your feet, you’d never so much as looked twice at the guy. So Akaashi was more or less content to let his somewhat pitiful one sided crush on you slide. Considering that he had absolutely no intentions of letting him or any of your other friends remain part of your life for much longer, it was hardly worth wasting energy thinking about.

Until, that is, he read the messages that Kaito’s been sending you.

Leave him

I’m serious.

My sister had a friend who was with a guy like that. She had to get a restraining order because he wouldn’t let her go - it got scary… You can come stay with me. I don’t want you getting hurt :(

It’s that last one that bothers him. Not the attempts to lure you away from him under the guise of being a safe haven from your ‘dangerous’ boyfriend, painting himself as your knight in shining armour - mildly irritating if not a little amusing - but for putting the idea in your head that Akaashi would ever hurt you.

That he can’t forgive.

He won’t have you look at him with fear in your eyes.

Akaashi’s never tried to deny that side of himself, but he’s kept it from you, locked it away and buried it deep. The things he does… you’re too pure for that. He loves you, loves the way that your eyes still soften when you catch sight of him, the warm, trusting naivety that bleeds out of your every pore. If you knew what the hands that caressed you so gently had done, would you still beg for his touch?

You wouldn’t, he knows that just as he knows that even if you were to uncover the truth, he wouldn’t let you go. He can’t, you’re his.

Is it really so selfish of him to want to preserve that innocent naivety?

But it seems like now he’ll have to indulge once again, and Akaashi, really, truly can’t say that it bothers him. Killing other people has always thrilled him, made the blood in his veins race… Killing other people for you, oh, that’s going to be a whole other level of pleasure he can’t wait to explore.

The pads of his fingers trace the curve of your jaw for just a moment. “Back soon,” he whispers, gracing your cheek with a feather light kiss.

You’ve never asked why the door to the basement locks from both sides, he doesn’t even think you realise that the walls are soundproofed. Tonight he’s grateful. You won’t wake up, he’s almost positive of that, but Akaashi has no desire to be gone from your side for any longer than absolutely necessary.

He usually prefers to take his time.

His first kill was more of an accident than anything else, there was too much blood, he panicked and it was over in the blink of an eye. There wasn’t time to savour it, to really enjoy the sight of the light leaving their eyes, the weak, desperate struggles and whimpers, the tantalising fear that inevitably bleeds into the air, growing more potent by the second - even the strongest break eventually. He’s learned since then how to draw it out, how to have fun with his work.

But he doesn’t have that luxury tonight, and, as he keeps having to remind himself, this isn’t about his pleasure.

Guns are quick. Messy. Akaashi’s never really taken a liking to the crude, graceless weapon. He prefers his knives.

Waving a gun in somebody’s face gives them the idea that they’re going to die, and there are only so many times that you can shoot somebody before they just… bleed out. It’s not nearly as satisfying a death. A knife, on the other hand, brings with it more opportunities. It isn’t death that his victim becomes worried about, at least not initially, but pain. And as his hand glides over his collection, Akaashi decides that Kaito is due for a little pain.

I love him, you’d texted. I love him. I love him. I love him.

That’s what he’s trying to protect.

Long, pale fingers wrap around the handle of his chef’s knife, (eight inches, sharp - a familiar, comforting weight in his hand) and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

Kaito’s mouth is taped shut. Akaashi doesn’t want to hear a filthy word out of those lips. His hands are bound behind his back, his ankles tied to the old, wooden chair. He’s good with his knots, the more Kaito struggles, the tighter they pull. And judging from the ugly, purpling shade of his hands and the tears leaking from bloodshot eyes, he’s been struggling for a while.

Good.

Akaashi smiles as he strolls towards his captive audience, fingering the straight edge of the knife. Kaito doesn’t try to speak, but the muffled whines and sobs grow louder with every step closed between them. The fear and tension in the air is palpable.

His breath is little more than a frantic wheezing by the time Akaashi stops in front of him and drops into a crouch. Cool, gunmetal blue eyes meet Kaito’s deep brown ones, blown wide with terror.

“I’m not the monster you think I am,” he admits quietly.

Looking up at him from beneath long, dark lashes, a faint smile on his lips, Akaashi could almost pass for an angel if not for the gleaming kitchen knife in his hand. Kaito pales, his entire body going taut as his gaze slides from Akaashi’s face to the gleaming blade in his hand. He shakes his head in desperation, another muffled scream escaping his gag-

Akaashi strikes fast, like a viper. The blade plunges into the meat of Kaito’s thigh and without an ounce of mercy, Akaashi yanks it back towards his knee.

The scream that rips through the air sends a pleasurable shiver of warmth down his spine, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he feels the muscles beneath him convulse. The gash isn’t too long, maybe a few inches, but it’s deep and Akaashi’s smirk only grows as warm blood gushes from the wound, coating his hand in slick vermilion.

He tugs the knife free, rewarded with another choked howl from his captive as more blood sprays. Bound to the chair, there’s not a whole lot of room for Kaito to move, but it’s somewhat amusing to watch him try to thrash, escape the white hot agony radiating from his thigh through his entire body. It’s hard for the human body to comprehend that level of pain, and from experience, Akaashi’s well aware that it won’t take long for his body to go into shock and simply shut down from the blood loss, and once that happens, he won’t be of much use to anyone.

Kaito’s trembling, face pale, his skin clammy. Impossibly black pupils swallow his irises whole, erratically tracking his captor’s every movement as Akaashi pushes himself to his feet and takes a moment to study him. Tears and bubbles of snot leak in a disgusting mix down his jaw, dripping onto his lap as he sobs against his bindings. It’s pitiful, seeing a man reduced to a whimpering, terrified wreck, but as the hand still holding his knife grips at his chin and yanks his face closer, Akaashi can’t help but gleefully drink it all in.

Your would be knight in shining armour doesn’t look quite so strong and capable now, does he?

Akaashi doesn’t have much time left to make him suffer, but he can’t seem to resist trailing his fingers along Kaito’s injured leg, digging them deep into the ruined muscle - grinning wildly when he convulses and screams, arching up off the chair.

There’s still so much that he’d like to do. He toys with the idea of taking his tongue, of carving his knife deep into his skin just to watch him whimper and bleed… but no. This isn’t about indulgence. This is about you. He has to have more discipline than that.

Dangling on the edge of consciousness, Kaito meets his gaze one last time. Maybe he senses that his death is close, or maybe he’s just searching for a last minute reprieve, mercy from the cold blooded killer before him. Terrified, agonised, delirious from the blood loss, he tries to speak - a plea, he thinks, or maybe just incomprehensible babbling, but his eyes burn into Akaashi’s, desperate and hollow.

Akaashi’s never been one for theatrics. He won’t waste more time monologuing while your friend clings to the last vestiges of life. If Kaito hasn’t guessed by now the reasons he’s ended up here, at Akaashi’s mercy, he’s far less intelligent than he gave him credit for, but he supposes that he owes him something, at least.

“I love her,” he says with a small shrug, as if it explains everything.

And maybe it does.

It hardly matters though, as Akaashi decides to finally end it with a vicious slice across his throat. Blood sprays like a fountain, splattering across the room and drenching him, Kaito’s body slumps in his seat, the last flicker of life slowly snuffing out, and Akaashi revels in the pure, sweet euphoria that floods his system.

He’s never killed anybody while you were home with him before. Normally he’s methodical, quick to clean up whatever mess is left behind. Tonight though, Akaashi doesn’t have the patience for all that.

He should at least take a shower, rid himself of the blood that soaked him to the skin, but the call of your arms, the sweet, soft floral scent he longs to drown himself in beckoning is too hard to resist. He sheds his clothes, casting them aside haphazardly along with the bloody knife as he stalks down the hallway to the bedroom. His heart is still racing, excitement drumming through his veins as he crawls onto the bed and slides the covers off of you.

Dimly, he registers that this is a monumentally bad idea, but all he can think about is the vivid memory of the light leaving Kaito’s eyes and you. Tonight, he killed for you, and it was exhilarating.

He doesn’t think he could stop himself even if he wanted to, and why would he want to?

You’re perfect, beautiful - his. Nothing and nobody will ever be able to separate the two of you, he’ll kill anybody who tries.

You stir a little as Akaashi’s lips graze along your skin, his fingers sliding the silk of your nightgown up over your hips.

“‘Kaashi?” you sleepily murmur, trying to blink heavy eyelids open.

He wonders if you can feel the way his bloodstained hands are trembling as they ease your supple thighs apart. “Shh, baby,” he presses a kiss against your leg as he manoeuvres himself between them, “It’s okay, go back to sleep.”

Let me take care of you.

He needs this.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere akaashi x reader #yandere akaashi #yandere akaashi keiji #yandere akaashi keiji x reader #tw blood #tw violence #tw murder #slasher-ish vibes #tw dub con #just a little #not super proof read because it's 3:30 in the morning

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wkemeup · 4 years

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Honey and Chamomile

summary: Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: lots of fluff, but also nightmares, and lots of tea because im a fanatic a/n: this was written for @coffee-with-bucky‘s 2k writing challenge and it’s a thousand years late, but I hope you enjoy it! My prompt was 🌟 tea 🌟

It starts late in the evening as the thunder rolls in, low breaks amongst the clouds in the distance, a flicker of lightening touching the night sky and illuminating the shadows cast by the city. Painted raindrops slide against on the windowsill, racing one another to the edge of the pane. It’s soothing as you close your eyes and lose yourself in the soft tap-tap-tap to the walls of the tower and the hums of thunder miles beyond the city. It’s better than the silence, anyway.

The whistle of a kettle sings by the stove and it pulls you gently from your stance at the window. Mug in hand, you grab a bag of peppermint tea from the small box to the right of the kettle; paintings of sunsets and starry nights along the wooden frame. You close the lid and tug the string of the bag so it lays over the lip of the mug. Hot water finds its home at the center and the air around you fills of candy canes and memories of nights wrapped in blankets by the fireplace.

You hear footsteps behind you as you set the kettle back on the stovetop, careful of the bright red rings of the burner, and slowly wrap your hands around the mug. There’s a shuffle at the edge of the kitchen as the warmth of the mug touches your palms, soothes right up into your arms, the liquid too hot to drink but the steam of it is comforting against your cheeks. Crisp and cool amongst burning heat.

“Didn’t think you were home,” you say quietly, back turned to the figure who takes in a sharp breath in response.

The team was out on a mission, one Cap insisted you stay clear of after your near fatal gunshot wound in Bratislava last month. You fought it tooth and nail, but what Cap says goes, and well, you didn’t.

“Steve says I need more time,” Bucky replies, voice barely a whisper and you can practically picture the way he digs his hands into the pockets of his plaid pajama pants, scrunching at the fabric from the inside as a way to ground himself.

“Steve’s a little overprotective, don’t you think?” you chuckle lightly, turning from the window where the raindrops cast down along the glass in full, sweeping lines to find Bucky standing just beyond the plane of the kitchen. Just close enough to make his presence known, far enough to escape. Always one foot in, one foot at the exit. Self-preservation is a hell of a drug to kick.

“He’s right, though. Hard to trust a teammate who doesn’t trust his own mind,” Bucky mumbles slowly, scratching at the nape of his neck.

The shine of silver catches your eye under the dim overhead lighting and he notices it almost instantly, the way your gaze draws to solid metal, how you study the lines and bolts in his joints, and he drops his arm. He holds it then behind his back, tries to play it off casually, but you see how he hides it from view, like he’s been caught with something he shouldn’t have. A weapon.

You sigh, setting the mug down on the counter, the whisper of peppermint on your lips. He sells himself short, gets locked up in the mindset of what Hydra conditioned him to be, struggles to come back to himself and trust that he can control his own mind again. You know how often he wonders when he’ll lose it again, when he’ll break to someone else’s will and be forced to commit terrible acts again. It’s never a matter of ‘if’, but ‘when.’

He wonders when he’ll hurt Steve, or Sam, or Nat, or you. He wonders when the final straw will break and the floor will be ripped out from under him, when he’ll take a life he can’t give back. He wonders when enough will be enough and you’ll decide he’s not worth the trouble.

“I trust you,” you say, and you do mean it, but Bucky only shrugs, eyes downcast.

He shuffles he feet again. It’s uncomfortable for him to hear, you realize. It's foreign in his body and he barely recognizes the kindness in it when he feels it, the certainty of it, because it has been so long since he knew anything but cruelty and manipulation.

So, you pull a second mug from the cabinet; the one behind the Captain America logo painted on the side and Tony’s Disney themed mug that reads ‘Greatest Place on Earth 2003’ down the handle. You grab onto the edge of the mug tucked far into the back; light blue in color, soft undertones along the bottom. It’s painted like the waves of the ocean. It reminds you of him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything as you grab a second teabag from your wooden box and drop it in the mug, or as you fill the cup with the steaming water. You set it at the edge of the counter, eyeing him carefully as he remains still in his stance. One foot in, one foot at the exit.

“There’s sugar and milk if you want some,” you offer but Bucky shakes his head.

“No, no, this is just fine,” he says, voice a little uneven, almost as if he’s surprised by the gesture.

He steps forward, out of the shadows of the hallway and lets the soft lights of the lamp at the couch’s end touch his skin. They illuminate over messy hair, a few strands out of place, creases in his cheeks from pillow cases, the way he sways side to side in his stance. Nervous energy for a man with precision behind a barrel unlike anyone you’d ever seen.

He takes the mug, testing the heat of the surface, before he pulls it between his hands. You busy yourself with your own tea, taking a sip as you watch him bring it the mug to his lips. He pauses, smelling the hot water and you’re almost certain you see his cheek twitch. Ever so slightly, gone in an instant, but a remnant of a smile remains.

“I’ll be at the gym by nine tomorrow morning if you want to join me,” you say as you head towards the hallway. “I’ve seen your left hook and I could use some help on my stance.”

Bucky swallows back scalding hot tea like it’s nothing, his shoulders pushing up by his ears, startled by your request and it makes you laugh a bit. He chokes out a short nod, flustered perhaps judging by the pink in his cheeks.

You smile back at him, pausing at the doorframe to look at him one last time as he leans against the kitchen sink.

The smell of peppermint lingers in your wake.

***

You sit on the couch in the living room with your feet kicked up on the ottoman, book resting in your lap and a warm cup of tea nestled in your right hand. Its leans onto your chest as the steam of a sweet, woody scent of green tea filters through the air.

Fresh off of a month-long surveillance mission in Chechnya, your body is sore from long nights in cramped cars and your mind a little disengaged from hours staring out at a single window through the short end of binoculars.

Natasha sits quietly at the kitchen table behind you, flipping through the files spread out amongst the surface in organized chaos. The soft hum of a playlist on the overhead speakers drown out the grunts of Steve and Sam sparring down the hall in the training room.

You smile as you hear the shuffle of footsteps at the edge of the room, feet dragging purposefully along the tile. You don’t have to look up to know who is it, but you do wonder when Bucky decided to start dragging his feet to alert you to his presence.

He used to be impossibly quiet in his steps, like he was hunting prey even with his defenses down as much as he would allow them. He's snuck up on you a few times before without meaning to, his voice in greeting startling you enough to drop a mug of scalding tea from your hands and onto your exposed thighs and the tile below. If you think hard enough about it, you’d realize it was that moment, as he scrambled to dry your skin of the hot water, frantic apologies under his breath, as he knelt into the broken shards of your mug, that his steps became louder when he approached.

He hasn’t been able to sneak up on you since.

“Hey,” he says quietly from the edge of the room.

You smile to yourself, eyes still on the lines of the novel though you haven’t looked up at him yet. “Hey.”

“Smells good.”

You nod, taking in a heavy whiff of the steeping tea. “Wanna try?”

Bucky sits down on the couch beside you, a full cushion as a barrier between, but you don’t mind. He’s slow to warm up, cautious with even the people he trusts most, and you have no interest in pushing him beyond his boundaries. He sits rigid on the couch, stiff, though you can tell he’s trying to relax. He's fighting with his muscles and arguing with his mind.

“Here,” you offer, extending the mug to him.

He stares at you, blue eyes flickering from the tea and back to your face suspiciously.

“I haven’t poisoned it, Bucky,” you tease, pulling it back to your lips and taking a sip in proof. You sigh as it passed down your chest, warming you from the inside. It doesn’t slip your notice that Bucky’s eyes linger on your lips long after you’ve extended the mug back to him.

“If it’s a germ thing, I can make you a fresh cup,” you offer, laughing a bit under your breath.

“No, uh, thank you,” Bucky musters out and slowly takes the mug from your hands.

You nod and quickly return to your book, though you keep an eye on him in the reflection of the television screen. He studies the mug for a moment, looking over the slightly uneven edges of the ceramic, the speckles of golden flakes mixed amongst the brush strokes.

“Did you make this?”

“Steeped it myself,” you chuckle. “Strenuous work.”

Bucky laughs at that, though it’s muffled a bit, restricted, but it’s still there, still light and airy and incredibly beautiful.

“The mug,” he clarifies as he holds it up. “Did you make the mug?”

“Hey, even an Avenger need a hobby, right?” you shrug, albeit a little embarrassed. The walls of the mug are uneven, the painting done under dim lighting after hours as the little ceramics shop would have been swarmed with fans if not for the kindness of the owner who let you stay late into the evening. “I know it’s not very good--”

“I like it.”

Bucky smiles softly as he nods at you, examining the mug further. He traces over the handle that’s slightly too small for his grip, the edges that sway up and down like waves, the dot of red paint at the bottom that accidentally made its way onto the surface.

He takes a sip and you watch as his whole body seems to sigh in response. Muscles easing, tension leaving him. It’s a respite.

When he hands the mug back to you, you expect him to leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he stays quietly with you, sitting contently as he picks up a newspaper from the end table and you resume your place in your book. Perfectly quiet. Comfortable.

***

“Will you just take the medicine... please?”

“I’m an Avenger, Bucky, I can fight off the common cold.”

“You can barely breathe on your own. I might call for an ambulance. It's starting to look dire. Life or death kind of situation.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, swatting his hands away as you quickly move to cover your mouth as another coughing fit takes over. It burns deep into your lungs, aches hard in your chest, makes it quite hard to catch your breath again, but you feel a soft touch on your back; gentle, soothing circles of a flat hand pressed to your spine, and you manage to find air again.

You wipe your lips as he pulls back. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” he says with a soft smile, waving you off.

“I could get you sick. You should’ve had me quarantined like everyone else.”

“Aren’t you dramatic today?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can't get sick with this serum running in my veins, you know that. Besides, no one’s quarantining you. They’re just--”

“--avoiding me like the plague?”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, maybe.”

You smile tiredly at him, heat a little fuzzy, vision a little tunneled, but you enjoy the way he smiles back at you. He has such a nice smile, pretty, to the point where it’s almost unfair. It curves up into his cheeks, creating lines around and under his eyes, bright and cheery and you almost forget he’s also a ghost story of an assassin with the sharpshooting range more precise than a drone.

Before you can realize what you’re doing, under the haze of a clouded mind, your hand reaches out and touches his cheek. He freezes under your touch, surprised more than anything else, and he watches with wide eyes as you dreamily trace the lines in his face, the curve of his jaw and the tip of his nose. Your head feels a little fuzzy and your eye lids flutter heavily, just as Bucky begins to smile again.

“Take the meds, doll,” Bucky asks again sweetly. He slowly pries your hand from his face and sets two red pills in your left hand, a glass of water in your right. He guides your hand with the medication up towards your mouth. “Please? I miss my training partner. Can’t spare with someone who’s half dead in the living room from a stuffy nose and I refuse to go back to Wilson.”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble playfully, quickly swallowing the medication and chasing it with the water.

The couch dips slightly as Bucky gets up, jogging over to the kitchen. The whistle of the kettle is muffled in your ears, like it’s distant and behind several walls and closed doors. You stretch your jaw, trying to pop away the barrier, but it’s of no use.

You watch silently as Bucky scrambles around the kitchen, a little flustered for his frame, and you can’t help the smile that pushes at your cheeks.

“Top right,” you tell him, pointing to the cabinet over his shoulder.

He sighs, shakes his head, and sure enough, the mugs are in the cabinet on his right. He pulls down two from the shelf. For you, the one with the tiny cartoon dinosaur on the front dressed in an Iron Man suit, and for himself, he grabs the one you made months prior, with the uneven edges and the red paint stain on the side.

Then, he starts in search of the wooden box and you give him a minute of pulling open every drawer he can find until you tell him, “behind the bread bin on the counter.”

"Oh, of course. Makes perfect sense,” Bucky teases and flips through the packets inside.

He purses his lips, narrowing his eyes, clearly in search of something specific. His whole face lights up as he grabs what he’s in search of and quickly rips open the packets and sets them inside the mugs. He pours the hot water and carefully blows on the surface of the mugs, the steam pushing out in front of him as he sighs.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he says as he makes his way back to you, setting the mug on the arm rest of the couch to give you enough leverage to grab the handle. You smile up at him appreciatively as he takes his seat next to you.

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take in a deep breath – or, as much as you able to give the swarm of congestion in your head.

Spiced and warm. Peppery sharp. Lemon and ginger.

“Bucky Barnes, did you use google for me?”

He chuckles nervously as his hand rakes through his hair, pushing it from his eyes only for it to fall back to place again. “It, uh, it said ginger tea is supposed to be good for you when you’re sick, so I thought, uh, it thought it would help.”

You struggle to contain your grin, hiding it behind the mug as you take a sip. You can already feel your sinuses beginning to clear.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thanks, Buck.”

He nods a little sheepishly, fluster burning warm in his cheeks, but he meets your eyes; the perfect wave of blues and greys, a gentle ocean amongst a sweeping current.

***

When you wake with a harsh gasp in your throat, a sharp yank of reality away from your dreams, the piercing sound of screams echoing down the hall, it’s not the first time.

You know the routine well by now, know that Steve will meet you in the hallway by Bucky's door where the screams only seem to get louder with every passing second and he’ll ask you gently to go back to your room, remind you that he’s got this and Bucky will be alright. He always is, Steve tells you, but it doesn’t lessen the heartbreak of hearing the cracks in Bucky’s voice, the sudden whimpers, the shattering silence that follows as he wakes.

The two of you will skirt around things in the morning as you always do. Bucky will stumble out of his room with dark circles under his eyes, a drag in his feet, shoulders slumped as he slides into a chair by the kitchen. He’ll sit silently as you pour him an herbal tea from your box, never something with caffeine because he’s got enough energy in his veins as they come out in tremors in his hand and bouncing in his knee. Sometimes you give him raspberry, sometimes apple caramel, sometimes peach, and he’ll nod without looking at you, pull the mug close to his face and hold the steam to his lips until it goes cold.

Those mornings frighten you because it takes him back to Bucky you knew in the beginning, before he’d learned to smile and laugh again, before he became a permanent fixture in your life, one you were unwilling to live without.

So as your feet carry you down the hall, skirting around the corner and chasing after the screams, you realize Steve won’t be there waiting. He’s out on a mission with Sam in Ukraine for the next few days. There’s no one else on this floor. It’s just you.

You, Bucky, and the monsters in his dreams.

You freeze at the edge of his door, hand gripped tight to the handle, but you can’t move.

You’re made of marble and stone because even though you and Bucky had come miles since he first came to the tower, you’ve never seen him like this; scared, begging to invisible forces, voice breaking, crying. You haven’t seen him at his lowest and you don’t know if he’ll resent you opening this door, if he’ll be angry with you for breaking that wall of trust, for intruding on something so vulnerable he doesn’t share with anyone but Steve.

But when a scream leaves his lips again, one so broken and distorted it jars itself straight through to your heart like the serrated edge of a blade, you shove your way inside, pushing consequences to the morning.

Bucky lays amongst a mess of sheets, damp with sweat as his hands curl into the fabric, teeth gritted, chest heavy with labored breaths. His eyes are closed shut, painfully so, and you try to ignore the drip of sweat down his exposed chest, how it falls along the lines of his muscles, because he’s thrashing in his sleep like something is holding him down, chocking him, and there’s tears in your eyes as you rush forward.

“Bucky,” you call far too gently. “Bucky, wake up.”

You don’t know what to do. Steve is the one who usually wakes him and you don’t have the kind of strength he does. You don’t know what laying a hand to Bucky’s shoulder will do, if the touch will ground him or shock him to a dream like state, pull him from his nightmares or throw him back to the clutches of the soldier.

But you have to try.

You can’t listen to him beg through bated breaths, “stop, stop please-- don’t! Please, someone help--”

“I’ve got you,” you say a little louder. “You’re okay, Buck. You’re not alone. You’re safe, alright? But you’ve gotta wake up now. Please, Bucky. Wake up.”

You set a hand on his forearm and he jolts up in an instant. You stumble back a few paces in shock, heart beating like thunder in your chest as you hit the sharp edge of his dress to your spine. Hands clutched tight to your chest, afraid you might have to fight him to bring him back, but Bucky remains still. He’s panting, chest heaving as hair falls down into his eyes.

You decide to test the waters.

“Bucky?”

He flinches violently, a sharp intake of breath, though he doesn’t turn to look at you. His hands dig deeper into the sheets in search of a respite he will not find and it nearly breaks your heart in two.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice rough and used. He can’t bear to look at you. “I thought it was under control. I—I told Steve it was okay for him to go. You shouldn’t-- You shouldn’t have to--”

“Do you want some tea?”

The words tumble out faster than you can process them. It feels like the wrong thing to say, especially with that look on his face, the guilt and shame seeping through beautifully soft and kind features, but you know his heart is racing a hundred miles a minute. Judging by the tension in his back, he’s stiff as a board, too.

You step forward as he slowly turns to look at you. There's confusion mixed in with the undeserving shame, but it’s a start at least, you think. A couple cautious more steps closer to the bed and you’re standing right next to him, hovering above him as he bends his legs and wipes his brow of sweat with the edge of the sheet.

“It usually helps me calm down at night,” you offer slowly, as gently as you can manage. “I, uh, I get nightmares, too, sometimes. Not quite as loud as yours but...”

Bucky nods in understanding. He’s heard you pacing in your room in the dead of night when sleep evades him as it often does. He’s seen when you trudge out from your room in the early hours of the morning with the kind of look in your eye that reminds him too much of himself.

“It’ll only take a second,” you say, nodding to yourself as you try to calculate the time it would take to boil the water and ready the mugs. “I’ll be right back.”

You move to take a step back but there’s a tug on your wrist. You pause, glancing down to find Bucky’s hand circling at your arm, holding you steady, though his stare remains glued to the sheets.

“Don’t go.”

It comes out in a whimper, a low break in his voice, and your heart plummets down to your stomach.

“I’ll come right back. I promise,” you ease him, stepping closer again, though you notice he doesn’t release your hand. It’s not painful, but it’s firm. He’s holding on for dear life.

“Please,” he whispers and this time, as he looks up with you, you’re met with tears in the blue of his eyes. It cracks your resolve in an instant.

“Okay. Will you come with me?”

Bucky swallows thickly, holding your gaze for a moment before he eventually nods. The sheets are thrown from his legs and you realize he sleeps only in his boxers. The realization seems to hit him just as quick.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, “just, um, just let me--”

You step back as he releases your hand and slowly stands at the edge of the bed. He grabs his pajama pants from the floor and quickly step into them with a heated blush on his cheeks. It makes you painfully aware of the mess of an old, ratted t-shirt and shorts you sleep in, though you push it aside quickly because Bucky’s eyes have fallen to the ground and you don’t want him to retreat within himself. Not again.

“Come on.”

You extend your hand for him, waiting patiently as he stares at it for a moment. It’s an intimate gesture, more contact than you’ve had with him, but you know despite his aversion to touch, he craves it unlike anything else. He’s vulnerable right now and you hope he’ll take the anchor as you throw it to him.

When his hand does mold to yours, it fits perfectly, exactly where he’s supposed to be and you can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever let you do this again. You squeeze his hand softly as he finds an even pace at your side and you lead him to the kitchen.

He lets go of your hand to give you enough space to prepare the water, but he’s never far from reach. When you glance back at him, you find a strange mixture of fear and something you can't quite place in his eyes. It isn’t until you catch him surveying the room, the adjoining hallways, the flinches at the slightest settling of the tower, that you realize he’s on guard. It’s like he’s protecting you.

“Take a seat, Buck,” you ask of him gently, nodding to the chair at the kitchen table. “Try and relax for me. Deep breaths, okay?”

He follows your gaze, hesitantly glancing over the area, always on alert, before he turns back to you. There’s a resistance in his movement as he takes his first steps away from you, but he holds your gaze, holds the softness of your smile as long as he can, while he slumps down into the chair. It’s too far away from you, but he manages.

The kettle boils quickly and you slip two bags of tea into the mugs. Hot water in next, you drizzle an ounce of thick amber on top, swirling it around with the heal of a spoon. The smell of earthy apples and sweet nectar.

Honey and chamomile.

When you make your way over to the table to join him, Bucky is slouched down in his seat, dark circles heavy under his eyes, though he forces out a strained smile as you slide in next to him. You drag a chair up as close to his as you can, your shoulders bumping somewhat as you set the mug in front of him.

“Drink,” you tell him. “It will help you fall back asleep.”

“I can’t go back to sleep after that. I never do after... you know,” he mumbles, shaking his head, though he does take in a heavy inhale of the sweet aroma of steam.

“You’re telling me my teas won’t cure all of life’s problems?” you scoff playfully. “Blasphemy.”

It steals a smile from his lips, curving up ever so slightly into his cheeks though you can see his body fighting against it. You set a hand on his forearm, one that comes in comfort by stark contrast of the way he used to flinch out of your touch. With a slight squeeze, you draw his attention back to you, the blue of his eyes overcast into deep navy, lids falling heavy with sleep despite the race of his heart.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say slowly. “You don’t have to say a thing. Just let me help you, alright? Drink the tea, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

He nods, a slight ghost of a laugh in his exhale. “Okay.”

You smile triumphantly as you pull your own mug to your hands, warmth spreading into your palms and you take a sip. It stings on your tongue a bit, too hot, but it feels nice as it travels down into your chest, warms you from the inside out.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, the only sounds between you coming from the muffled purr of the furnace and the contented sighs as the tea touches your lips. Bucky’s shoulders start to relax as he his mug nears empty, his body swaying in his seat and you can practically see the exhaustion nestled in his bones.

You swig back the last sip in your own mug and set it on the table, a task you’ll deal with in the morning as you slowly push Bucky’s mug out of his reach.

“Come on, Buck. Let’s get you back to bed.”

He comes easily as you offer your hand, guiding him away from the sanctuary of the kitchen and back to the room that holds his monsters. The grip on your hand tightens with every step and you rub your free hand down his forearm soothingly, trying to pull the tension away. You can feel the anxiety rushing through his veins, the panic reemerging back to the surface as you cross the threshold into his room.

You know he won’t ask. He won’t dare because he can so often get wrapped up in his own mind, the chamber of burden and isolation, of guilt and shame, and he often forgets how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him.

So, you don’t say a word as you lead him slowly to the bed, releasing his hand as he slides back under the covers. His body is rigid as ice and you can feel his eyes on you, trying to memorize your face for when the darkness takes over and he prepares for you to leave.

It surprises him when your hand slips over his forehead, brushes up into his hair, and you lean down to kiss his temple. The gasp that it pulls from him is muffled, impossibly sweet, and you linger there a moment longer before you pull away.

Bucky stays silent though you can see the question burning behind the blue of his eyes.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

There isn’t an ounce of hesitancy as you slowly make your way around to the other side of the bed and pull back the covers. The mattress is firmer on this side in its lack of use as your knee dips onto the surface. Bucky is watching you cautiously, stunned, but his muscles start to relax as you settle in next to him.

“This okay?” you ask, just to be sure.

He nods quickly. “Y-yes.”

“Try to get some sleep, alright? I’ll be right here.”

He doesn't say anything, but there’s relief slipping through the tension in his body, pushing out the stones with the gentle flow of a calming stream. You smile at him as you turn onto your side, one hand gently resting on his shoulder, grounding him to the earth, to you.

You close your eyes and hope that he will feel safe enough to follow.

***

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is muffled by the pillow and you turn to find stars still littering the night sky. You don’t know how much time has passed, how long he’s been lying there in the prolonged silence, churning thoughts racing through his mind, so you turn onto your stomach, prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

“You wanna go to the tea shop in Brooklyn with me tomorrow?”

You narrow your eyes, confused why he’s asking you near – you check the clock by his bedside – three in the morning. His stare is trained up at the ceiling for a moment before he turns to look at you, ocean blue littered with nerves, a new kind of vulnerability you haven’t seen in him before.

“Of course, Buck. Whatever you--”

“As a date, I mean.”

It catches you off guard, wakes you quickly. Tongue tied and throat dry.

Bucky swallows nervously and you can tell that he’s been working himself up to asking you in the hour or so that he’s been lying here awake as you curled up next to him. There are dozens of excuses brewing in the back of his mind, ways to play this off as a joke or anything but what he wants it to be in a way to preserve the friendship between you, but before he can start the waterfall of backtracking, a smile curves up along your lips.

“That sounds really nice.”

He smiles back at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” He nods to himself, settling back into the mattress with the widest grin you’d seen on him in ages. It wrinkles up into his eyes, brightens across his face bright and cheery, sits in startling contrast to the way you’d found him just hours before. You like seeing him this happy. You like being the cause of it even more.

“Will you go to sleep now?” you tease him, nudging at his shoulder enough to pull a laugh from his chest.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good. Don’t want you half asleep on our date.” It twists pleasantly in your stomach as you say it, butterflies and goosebumps and you bite back the smile pushing high up into your cheeks.

“Can’t have that,” he replies, chuckling to himself and it doesn’t slip your notice how his smile seems to widen as you say the word, too. Date.

You slide back down onto the mattress, trying to find your comfortable position again when Bucky extends his arm. There’s a short pause as he waits, staring up at the ceiling, and you realize what he’s offering. Without a second thought, like you’re coming home, you scoot your body closer to him, rest your head on his shoulder as his arm curls around your back, holding you securely against him.

The soft thumping of his heart beats gently under your ear, your hand resting against his ribs, tracing lines that leave shivers in their wake. He traces patterns onto your back, his eyes slowly fluttering shut until the movement stops and he falls into the warm embrace of sleep.

You sigh, content in his even breaths, the slow pace of his heart, the muffles snores. Hugging him close, holding him in your arms where he’s always belonged. You fall asleep wrapped in the scent of honey and chamomile.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #lyn2k

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sir-subpar · 3 years

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Fangs And Fur (Bf x Pico oneshot)

Werewolf Au. Because I want to. This was somewhat inspired by an animated short called "Dirty Paws"

*Warning: Swearing and Blood/Gore/Violence. (It's not that bad, but just in case)

Bf and Pico shared jokes and friendly banter as Pico walked Boyfriend home. It was dusk, just barely any sunlight illuminating the neighborhood. The two of them had just finished a dinner date, still laughing and flirting as they walked along the sidewalk on Bf's home street. Some of Boyfriend's neighbors were greeting the boys from their yards as the two passed by.

Carol, whose house was directly to the left of Boyfriend's, was finishing up watering her yard when she saw her neighbor and his date. "Hey Boyfriend!" Carol greeted them happily. "Hi Carol! How are you?" Boyfriend replied, he and Pico stopping in front of her new painted fence to talk. "I'm good, just relaxing after putting in this darn fence. It took forever, but it's worth it though to keep my little Cocoa Puff safe." Carol gestured to her mini poodle, the little fuzzball had brown curly fur, hence the name Cocoa Puff. "You should probably get a fence too, Bf. There's been a lot more animal attacks happening lately." Carol warned, Bf and Pico shifted with unease. "Yeesh, has it been getting that bad?" The bluette asked nervously. "It's been really bad, Sunday's cat got attacked the other night. Poor little guy was really chewed up by some big animal.." "Oh no! Not Bubsy!" Bf had a soft spot for animals in general, even though he didn't have any pets of his own, he always loved animals. Pico, too, felt bad for the little cat. "Did the cat survive? How bad was it?" Pico asked, never having met Sunday or her cat Bubsy, Bf told him about them before. Sometimes Sunday would ask Bf to babysit her cat when she was on tour, he was really good with Bubsy. Carol gave a look of sympathy, knowing the cat's condition. "He's alive, but it's a long road to recovery." She said dejectedly. "I've been hearing that people are setting traps around here, so keep an eye out for those too. Okay?" "Will do, thanks Carol." Bf replied, Pico only nodded in response. "Anyway, moving on to lighter news.. Are you going to introduce me to your friend here?" Carol lightly teased, tilting her head in Pico's direction. "Oh yeah! Right. Carol, this is Pico!" Bf wrapped his arm around the redheaded man's shoulders, making Pico's face turn pink. A look of recognition flashed onto Carol's features. "Ooooh, so THIS is the boyfriend you're always talking about. It's nice to finally meet you Pico." Carol teased, holding out her hand. Pico felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment before shaking Carol's hand. It was flattering to know that Boyfriend talked about him. "Y-yeah. You too."

Carol giggled a bit. "Alright, well I'll let you guys enjoy your evening. Have a good one!" Bf waved at her while he and Pico walked up to his porch. Bf held the door open for Pico, but he declined going inside. Bf of course took notice of this, as well as Pico's nervous demeanor.

"Are you okay, Pico?"

"Yeah.. I just- I should head home. I had a nice night. Let's go out again soon." Pico gave him a smile that was somewhat forced. "Oh… okay. Well, I'll call you tomorrow then."

"Yeah, sounds good." Pico gave Bf a kiss on the cheek, then he left. Bf closed his door, he was a little disappointed, if he was honest. He had hoped Pico would stay the night, but it was Pico's choice. It wouldn't have been right to stop him. Bf just decided to chill instead. Sweets and videogames were the perfect cure for disappointment.

…

Pico rushed home, the sun had already gone down, he didn't have much time. He felt bad. Not just for leaving an obviously dejected Boyfriend, but for being so secretive with him. But he didn't have time for that! He needed to get home and lock up. It was only a matter of time before the moon would show it's Damn face. He dashed down the street , finally getting to the cul de sac he lived on. He ran onto his porch, swinging open his door and slamming it behind him. Just in the nick of time. He collapsed on the floor. His transformation was already taking place. His breathing was heavy, he couldn't help but shout in agony as his body reconfigured itself into its new form. Before he was lost to the lycan curse, however, he had one last horrifying realization.

He forgot to close the window.

…

It had been a couple of hours, Bf had changed into some comfy clothes and was watching tv on his couch. He couldn't help but think of Pico. It was weird how nervous he suddenly was. Pico had been fine all day, but suddenly he ran off after talking to Carol. Was he really that flustered? It didn't seem like it was a big deal. Surely it was something else, but what? Bf sighed, it wasn't really his business, but he wanted to know what was up. He decided to text Pico.

Bf: Hey. I had a lot of fun at dinner :) I just wanna see if you're alright, you seemed off earlier. Everything ok?

Thirty minutes went by, and he got no response. 'Maybe he's already asleep?' Boyfriend thought, sure it wasn't super late, but it wasn't unusual for people to sleep at this hour. Boyfriend shut off the tv. Maybe he should just get some air. It was nice out. A nice warm summer night. A walk would do him some good. Sure he was basically in pajamas, with a mismatched t-shirt and sweatpants but who cares? He put his phone and keys in his pockets, and left the house for a walk. His neighborhood was fairly close to a nice wooded area. It wasn't really a forest, but there were wild animals around. Like coyotes and rabbits. He decided to hang out around the trees. He sat down on a stump that had once been a huge cottonwood tree, and he just listened to the noises around him. Crickets and other bugs were chirping and buzzing around. It was oddly serene.At least, it was. Until some rustling in the bushes caught his attention.

He was startled, frightened even, but then he felt relieved once he realized it was a rabbit. Just a little rabbit. But his levity was short lived when noticed the rabbit was limping. He used his phone's flashlight to get a better look. The poor rabbit was barely able to move, its flesh had been ripped apart, blood soaking its fur, and one of its legs was missing. It trembled and struggled. Boyfriend's heart sank when the realization set in that the poor thing wasn't going to make it. It was suffering, and he hated to see animals suffer. He decided to try and comfort it. The rabbit collapsed, he gently brushed his fingers on its soft little head. The rabbit's breathing was still panicked, but it was too weak to do anything. He considered killing it to end its misery, but before he could, he heard snarling coming from the bush. He quickly shined the light on it, just in time to see the snout of a larger animal swiftly bite the rabbit.

Bf jumped back in fear. The animal stalked out of the bushes that had hidden it, revealing a large orangish red wolf. The rabbit, the wolf's prey, was still in its jaws. The small rodent fell limb as the wolf's fangs sunk into its body. Bf could hear the bones crack. It didn't take long for the wolf to completely devour the rodent. Bf froze. Should he run? Would the wolf want him? He couldn't help but tremble at the large beast before him. Then it looked at him. Its eye bore into his soul. Focused. It watched him intently. Bf stayed still. Maybe if he didn't make any sudden movements, it would move on. It approached him slowly, circling him. It then got closer, inspecting him with its nose. It seemed particularly drawn to his pocket. Bf slowly reached into his pocket, the wolf allowed it, watching him. Bf pulled out a small bag of chocolate chip cookies. He had forgotten that he put those there. The wolf's ears perked up a bit, and it tilted it's head.

"Is this what you want?" The Wolf kept its eyes locked on the bag. "I'm not sure if you should have this, it has chocolate in it. Pretty sure dogs can't have that." The wolf growled, seeming to not take "no" as an answer. "Okay okay! Fine! They're yours!" Bf reached into the bag, then tossed a cookie at the wolf. The treat hit its nose before falling on the ground. The wolf appeared displeased with the assault on its nose, giving a huff before eating the cookie. "Well sorry, it's not my fault you're clumsy and didn't catch it." Bf said sarcastically. The wolf looked at him again, it wanted more treats. Bf tossed another cookie, this time aiming in front of the wolf so he didn't hit its nose again. The beast seemed content with that. So Bf kept doing it until he ran out.

The canine's demeanor had thankfully shifted, it seemed more docile after being fed. Boyfriend had calmed down significantly, no longer fearing for his life. "Well, it was nice to meet you… wolf. I'm gonna go home. I've had enough excitement today." Bf turned away from the orange/red animal, trusting that it wouldn't pounce on him while his back was turned. As he walked away, he could hear two pairs of footsteps behind him. He looked back to confirm that the wolf was following him. When he stopped, the wolf halted, when he moved, the wolf followed. "I uh, think you should stay here. Where you live. I'm going home." Bf tried again to leave, the wolf followed him anyway. "No. You stay. I go." Bf tries using hand gestures to get the animal to listen, but to no avail. Bf picked up a stick and threw it. It didn't seem to interest the wolf, but the stick accidentally hit some small animal Bf hadn't noticed before. That got the wolf's attention. As the large mammal attacked the unfortunate stick receiver, Bf took the opportunity to run home. He managed to make it to his house and close the door. Bf leaned against the wood, sliding down till he hit the carpet. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. After he had calmed down, astonishment took over. He just fed a wolf. And he didn't die! He was like Snow White! Holy crap!

Bf eventually stood up and moved to the couch. Deciding that maybe he should relax for a bit. He started channel surfing on his TV, settling on a random cartoon that was on. He could feel his tense muscles relaxing a bit. He let out a sigh of relief.

…

He had gotten through a few episodes when he heard something. Something outside.

*SCRATCH SCRATCH*

He muted the tv. No way. There's no way this was happening.

*SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH*

It followed him home.

He could hear the clawing getting faster. Impatient. Instead of following common sense, he decided to open the door. His motion triggered porch light shone on the wolf's red/orange fur. It's white eyes bore into his soul again. Bf stepped aside, allowing the beast into his house. The wolf strutted in, immediately smelling anything and everything it could. It didn't seem aggressive, just curious. Bf filled a bowl with water and set it on the floor. Might as well hydrate his new houseguest. Eventually his fears dissipated. He went back to the couch, watching the wolf as it wandered around his living room. He watched the tv again, laying down across the sofa comfortably.

And, before he could prepare for it, he was suddenly smothered by orange fur. The wolf had kept onto the sofa, laying on top of the blue haired man. He tried to push the wild dog off of him, but he couldn't budge it. This was his life now. He was a man-sized dog's couch cushion now. He didn't know wolves could get this big now that he thought about it. But it didn't matter. He was stuck. This was the predicament he was in. He gave up. The dog had won. Despite the animal's weight, he managed to fall asleep. It was warm and fluffy, so it wasn't so bad.

…

The rising sun peeked through the blinds, illuminating Bf's face, waking him up. He shifted a little, still feeling the warm mass on top of him. He yawned, his eyes still closed. He petted the wolf on top of him, his fingers gently brushing its soft skin- wait a second. His eyes shot open.

"Pico!?"

The man jolted awake after hearing his name. Pico looked at Bf with wide eyes. His face turned almost as red as Bf's signature hat. The two stared in silence for what felt like forever before Boyfriend broke it.

"You owe me an explanation."

"Can I borrow some clothes first?"

"Please do."

#fnf #friday night funkin #werewolf #bf x pico #pico x bf #fnf pico #werewolf pico #fnf bf #oneshot #fanfic

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witchersgoldenbard · 3 years

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Bards are Meant to Love (not to cook, honestly)

The Prompt: "You remembered my favourite food" and "I've missed you so much" with kisses accompanied by happy tears

read on ao3 (~1.8k words)

“Agh, bollocks!”

Listen, Jaskier is struggling. There are way too many pots and pans to manoeuvre, too many instructions on the sheet in front of him, and simply no instinct on his part when it comes to cooking. Seriously, the best thing he can do with a fork is bury it in the hand of some loud-mouthed dickhead who dares to talk shit about Witchers. And even so, that is a far safer use for a fork around him than in an actual kitchen.

And yet, here he is.

In a kitchen.

Cooking.

Because Geralt is coming back.

Finally, finally coming back! The mere thought of it makes his hands shake and his heart flutter, the air in his lungs briefly replaced by something way more dizzying.

Because Geralt is coming back.

Home. To him.

The least he can do, the very fucking least, is cook his favourite meal. Gods, he sure hopes it’s not gonna be as terrible as the last couple of times he practiced this. But the scribbled and scratched notes he added to the recipe, perfecting it, should do the deal this time. They are necessary, because apparently the professionals who composed it did not account for the sheer chaos that is Jaskier. If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself!

“Aw, fuck you!” he tells one of the pots as it gleefully, spitefully, spills its contents all over the stove. Who thought that this was a good idea again? Oh, right. This dumbass with a nationwide, nay, Continent-wide reputation of being chaotic. Great. Yeah. Right. What could possibly go wrong?

Turns out, everything can go wrong.

And Jaskier is struggling.

Somehow, miraculously, it doesn’t even taste shit. The main course is a rather simple meatloaf, a giant thing to suit Geralt’s Witcher metabolism, and seasoned exactly the way Geralt prefers. Not the bland shit you get in the taverns, Jaskier has class!

It’s the extras that make it special, that make it Geralt’s favourite. And they don’t suck yet, he has somehow managed to not overcook or oversalt them.

He barely doesn’t even dare to touch any of the pots and pans at this point, afraid to ruin something at the last minute.

Because it would not be salvageable. The sun is already setting, painting the sky a beautiful shade of pink and gold, and Jaskier takes a second to stare. Just a second, though, because, see, technically he is still busy struggling.

He wipes sweat from his forehead and groans in despair. Cooking sure is not worth all the sweat, all the stress, all the freaking out and headache, especially as the process of actually eating the meal is only a manner of mere minutes.

Now there’s a contrast for you! Jaskier has vowed to always leave a special tip for cooks that manage to produce decent food from now on. Well, when there is coin to spare. Oh, well. Maybe a compliment will have to suffice.

He sure would appreciate a compliment right now, that much is clear!

But then, sooner than anticipated, he’s… he’s done! The food seems to be pretty decent, it looks and smells better than shit – which, well, improvement on his part. And he is really proud of himself.

Now that this is out of the way, though, Jaskier has time to indulge his fluttering heart at the thought of presenting all of this to Geralt. He leaves the food on the stove to keep it warm until his dear heart arrives home, while he goes to change out of his sweaty clothes.

A few minutes later find him touching up the bouquet of flowers he put in a vase on the table. Geralt doesn’t care much about them, he knows, but he also knows that, secretly, he very well does. Not that the Witcher would ever admit to it. With a smile, Jaskier leans in and takes in a deep breath of fresh, sweet aroma.

The table is set, the food keeping warm, and Jaskier has trouble keeping calm. But why keep calm when his heart is positively beating out of his chest with the very beat that belongs only to Geralt? It’s a wonderful thing, to feel it again. To be as nervous as he was on the first day.

To see Geralt again after all this time. He cannot help but smile and let his heart beat wildly in anticipation, in excitement, in love.

He loses himself in that love for a moment – or, well, maybe a moment more – and jumps when he hears the front door falling shut. Mere seconds later, arms are wrapped around his waist from behind in a most gentle but firm way, and suddenly Jaskier finds himself all wrapped up in his Witcher.

“Hello, dear heart,” he whispers, leaning into the embrace as Geralt presses his forehead into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. And just like that, the stress of the day, the trouble, the entirely too exorbitant struggle of actually making food… everything is forgotten.

Because Geralt is home. In his arms – or rather, Jaskier is in his arms. Which is even better.

“Hmm,” the Witcher grunts, and Jaskier chuckles in delight, turning around in his love’s strong arms.

He runs his fingers through Geralt’s hair, the white locks in desperate need of a wash and proper care. Gods, Melitele’s tits, has he missed this man. What he feels for Geralt is so strong, so all-encompassing that he can’t even put it into words. None would suffice.

So, instead, he smiles at him and leans in, placing a sweet, tender kiss on the man’s lips, humming when he feels them curve up into a smile. When he pulls back, golden eyes in the softest hue are regarding him with pure, unfiltered affection.

Jaskier could come alive under those eyes, and he leans in once more. Geralt lets him, the tension of all those months apart finally seeping out of his shoulders under Jaskier’s gentle hands.

“Words overwhelming, my dear?” He knows how his Witcher gets sometimes, especially after long periods apart. The nod he gets in return, followed by a tired grunt, is answer enough. As he buries deeper into Jaskier, breathing him in, resting for a moment, Jaskier doesn’t have it in him to pull away and make him eat.

Food can wait a bit longer. First Geralt needs his cuddles. And who is Jaskier to deny him?

They stand like this for a while, holding each other, enjoying the moment, neither of them having the words to fill the silence. It’s perfect.

When Geralt moves his head to rest his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder, he takes a moment to sniff the air. Jaskier can feel his nerves return to him full blast, especially when Geralt tenses in his arms.

The Witcher pulls back and regards Jaskier with a damned unreadable expression. He meets golden eyes and wonders where he went wrong.

But Geralt’s eyes soften immediately and he’s obviously grasping for words. Jaskier smiles at him, relief filling him like the golden light of the setting sun fills the air around them.

“Hungry, my dear?” he asks, pulling back and out of Geralt’s embrace so he can get the food.

Geralt, bless his entire soul, still stands there and stares at Jaskier, the gears of his mind obviously still working, looking for words to say. It takes him until Jaskier comes back with two plates, filled to the brim with steaming, deliciously smelling varieties of food, to find his words again.

“You…” he begins, but his voice cracks and he tries again. “You remembered my favourite food.”

Now it is Jaskier’s turn to stare, because what? Of course he does! Is that what has his darling Witcher out of commission right now? Oh, this sweet, sweet man!

“Why, of course, dear heart! You would be surprised by all the things I remember. Come now, eat before it gets cold.” He sounds a lot like his mother, though his is gentler than hers could ever be.

Geralt grabs his fork and knife, but his movements are stilted and he doesn’t look away from Jaskier. Like he is trying to figure him out. Like he doesn’t already know the very depths of his heart. Jaskier lets him, doesn’t look away from this perfect, perfect man if he doesn’t have to.

“Why is this so odd to you?” he asks after a moment, wondering what moved him so.

Geralt shakes his head slightly, one shoulder lifted in a shrug, and Jaskier can see his throat working. He has never seen Geralt like this, physically lost for words. It is incredibly, impossibly endearing.

“I just—” Geralt swallows. His eyes are shining, glistening, and it’s not only from all that staring he has been doing. He shakes his head again, a minute motion, but Jaskier takes it all in. His Witcher closes his eyes, and when he opens them, there is nothing but love to be found. “I’ve missed you so much.”

The wet eyes, the hoarse voice, the unbridled affection in both, they nearly brought Jaskier to tears as well.

“I’ve missed you, too, my love. So much,” he promises, barely more than a whisper between them.

The mere thought of not kissing Geralt now, of not hugging him in favour of simply having dinner first, is appalling. It would be a waste to discard a moment such as this for nothing but food! His bardic soul, his romantic instincts forbid it!

So, still holding the shining golden eyes, Jaskier gets up and moves around the table. Geralt, bless him, gets the message and moves his chair back so Jaskier can sit in his lap.

Strong arms wind around his middle and pull him impossibly closer as Geralt nuzzles his cheek, pressing featherlight kisses to his face. Jaskier has never felt so loved as he does in this moment, and as he closes his eyes, he can feel tears coming as though they are trying to extinguish the fire in his soul, burning only for his Witcher.

But they can’t extinguish it, they only serve to make it stronger.

He turns his head towards Geralt to catch his lips in a kiss, holding him close, his hands burying themselves in the long, white hair.

Geralt kisses back, meets his passion, his affection, his love halfway. Holds him, catches him when he falls – and he does, over and over and over again does he fall for his Witcher.

“Hmm, what about the food, Jask,” Geralt tries to get in between the kisses, but it’s half-hearted at best and Jaskier chuckles, twirling Geralt’s hair around his finger.

“I’ll reheat it later,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s nose, his forehead, his cheek, before burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Let me have this first.”

“Have what?”

He leans back and gently strokes Geralt’s cheek, wiping away a single tear. “You, dear heart. This moment. All of it.”

“You’ve got it,” Geralt whispers. A familiar promise that never fails to make Jaskier shiver. The tears come again, but it’s okay, because Geralt’s match his own. “You’ve got it all, Jask.”

And he does. They both do.

That is all that matters.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher fanfic #nat writes #hit me up with a prompt if you want!

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wiypt-writes · 4 years

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Riding On

Ch 8- Buns (And Cookies) In The Oven

Summary: Frank and Fliss attend Mary’s end of year fundraising gala at school, the Nursery is finally finished and plans are made regarding Mary’s adoption.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, NO UNDER 18s!).

Pairing: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: LONG update here guys but a lot happens! First off, please bear with me if the legal terms are a little off- from my research they seem to be similar to the UK ones but if I get some things wrong…just go with it! Also the photo I used for the Nursery inspiration was found in another fic on Tumblr- I can’t for the life of me remember which one. I did, however, ages ago ask permission so if you recognise it that’s why.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 7

“You braved the outhouse yet?” Bill asked as he skimmed that last bit of the wall he had been working on, the trowel he was holding sliding in a large arc, spreading the plaster evenly.

“Had a brief glance but there’s all sorts of shit in there.” Frank said, dropping his tools onto the dust sheet as he stood back to admire their work. “Some larger pieces of wood and a few engine parts I had spotted that might come in handy but other than that think it’s all for the dump.”

“We can hit that this weekend if you want?” Bill added, hopping down from the step ladders.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind helping?” Frank looked at him and Bill shook his head. “No problem.” He said. “Still thinking about getting a boat?”

Frank gave a smile “I thought about getting one and doing it up. The garage is big enough to use as a workshop." "Well it’s good to have a hobby.” Bill nodded.

“Plus if I get one it will stop Lissy converting it into stables.” Frank said, looking around the room again. “She still wanting to expand?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, she’s talking about buying more of the land that surrounds the yard but…” Frank scratched at his chest “I told her to wait until Bean is here.”

“Good plan.” Bill smiled, before he turned to Frank “Speaking of Boston Bean, any ideas on names?”

Frank smiled “We had a few but we need to give it some proper thought. Mary wants us to call him Theodore.” “Theodore?” Bill arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Teddy for short. Something she saw on TV.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s not going on the list, trust me.”

The two of them cleared away their tools, tipped the pots of water down the sink in the main bathroom before Frank quickly cleaned up after himself, heading back into the nursery where Bill was taking a look at a patch on the wall. Deciding it was ok he turned and nodded and the two men made their way downstairs and into the main area at the back of the house.

Frank opened the door to their kitchen living area and the smell of baking hit the pair of them immediately, but it was the view that made Frank stop in the doorway. Mary was stood on a chair at the kitchen counter, mixing something in a bowl. To her left Verity was supervising, nodding when Mary showed her whatever it was she was mixing, and to Mary's right, Fliss was wiping the surface down, one hand resting on her belly. It was the sight of his girl stood there, in that gorgeous blue and white checked sundress, all barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, with her mother and Mary that had him feeling suddenly quite emotional. Mary giggled and looked at Fliss who smiled at her, reaching out and brushing her cheek with the back of her fingers. Nanna, Mom and Daughter, a matriarchal trio Frank never imagined he would ever get to see Mary part of. And it was beautiful. "You OK lad?" Bill looked at him and Frank blinked and turned to face him, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah, sorry. Was miles away" "I noticed." His future father in law smiled softly, squeezing his shoulder before he loudly asked if there was any chance of beer before he died of thirst. "You know where the fridge is." Fliss shot back. "I just spent all afternoon with Frank plastering the walls in that Nursery and that's the thanks I get?" Bill shook his head as Frank chuckled and walked to the fridge. He opened it, grabbed 2 beers and once he popped the tops off he passed one to Bill. "All finished?" Fliss turned to look at Frank as he gave her a soft peck on the lips. "Yeah." He smiled as she rubbed her hands up his arms to his shoulders "Once its dried out which should take a day or so we can paint." Flies smiled and was about to say something when they heard Mary and Verity yelling, their shouts punctuated by Bill's loud guffaws as he jumped back, a freshly baked cookie in his hand as he ran away from Verity who was swatting at him with the tea towel. "There's like a hundred of them!" Bill sniggered shoving the cookie into his mouth. "You can spare one." "We actually made extra." Mary looked at him, hands on her hips "Because Fliss and Nanny V said you and Frank would both walk in and rob some." Frank looked at Fliss, his eyebrow raising as she grinned before he glanced at Mary who smirked back. "Well in that case..." he mumbled before he grabbed Mary easily, hooking the arm that held his beer round her midriff, swinging her off the chair as he snatched a cookie with the other, taking a huge bite. Mary's giggles died down as he set her on the floor and made an appreciative noise. "These are good." "You sound surprised Francis..." Verity pointed the wooden spoon she was holding at him and he shook his head. "You know what I think of your cooking V..." he flashed her a wink and she rolled her eyes and turned back to whatever it was in the bowl. "OK Mary, this frosting is ready so you wanna do the cupcakes?" She nodded and the two of them moved, Verity handing Mary a little spatula so she could start to dish out the yellow frosting. "Shall I ring through to The Shack and order us a burger each?" Frank asked, and everyone made appreciative noises. Already knowing his, Mary and Fliss' order by heart, he ordered what Bill and Verity wanted before the two men strode out to Bill's car to pick up their food.

“You sure you’re alright, Frank?” Bill asked, and he turned to him, smiling.

“Yeah, honestly I’m fine.” Frank smiled. Bill looked at him before he turned his head back to the road.

“It’s overwhelming isn’t it.” The older man said gently and Frank looked at his hand, shaking his head as he gave a soft laugh.

“You can say that again.” He said “Doesn’t seem five minutes since our first date and here we are. Our own home, weeks away from our baby being born and me taking a weeks’ worth of annual leave to finish the decorating.” “You’ve done it once.” Bill said gently. “The baby thing I mean, not the decorating…although we did do that once too…”

Frank chuckled before he took a deep breath “Not like this.” Frank shook his head “Never done the first 6 months. Not really. I mean I helped Diane but…” “Well you got us to help out.” Bill spoke again, taking a right turn “I know Verity can’t wait. Another grandkid for her to spoil.” “I do appreciate everything you’ve both done for us Bill.” Frank looked at him. “I mean the money, helping out with the decorating, everything you do for Mary.”

“I know son.” Bill smiled, “And it’s our pleasure.” Frank smiled and looked back out of the window.

“What else is on your mind?” Bill probed gently and Frank looked at him, giving a little scoff.

“You’re just like Fliss.” He said with a chuckle and Bill grinned.

“Well you’ve been a little quiet all afternoon.” Bill said.

Frank studied him for a moment, and then realised that he actually had a perfect opportunity here to talk to someone who had been through something a little similar to what he was struggling with. And he trusted and loved Bill, like a father.

“We had an incident with Mary, last week at school.” He took a deep breath he explained to Bill what had happened and the decision he and Fliss had come to about the adoption. “We were planning on asking her at some point but…well, the time hasn’t bene right you know. We don’t want her to think it’s a reaction to what happened at school.” Bill looked at him before he slowed the car to a halt at a red light. “That makes sense.” He said gently “But I’m getting the impression you’re not so sure.” “It’s not that I’m unsure as such…” Frank sighed, “I just…Oh I don’t know Bill, the whole thing just seems so fucking shitty and complicated. How did you know it was the right thing to do? With Fliss and Steve I mean?”

“I just did.” Bill shrugged. “Our circumstances were slightly different thought. I met V when Fliss was 2. Steve's mother, my first wife, Andrea, she died when Steve was 3. Brain tumour. I never thought I'd love anyone again but then when I met Verity one evening 2 years later through friends she blew me away.” Bill smiled and Frank watched as his face went softer before he continued “We dated for 3 months before we met each other’s kids and the first time I saw Lissy she was fast asleep in the car seat in the back of Vs battered old fiesta and...” Bill sighed “I loved her from the minute I laid eyes on her. So did Steve.”

He set the car into drive again and they continued down the road as Bill spoke again.

“She started calling me dad on her 4th birthday. I’d been with V just over 2 years then and it was at her birthday party and we told her to make a wish. She blew her candles out and then later that night I was tucking her in and she said to me that she knew she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone what her wish was, but if she didn’t tell me then it wouldn’t come true.”

To Frank’s surprise the man’s eyes misted over and his voice became a little bit croaky.

“She’d made a wish that she was my daughter.” Bill shook his head “That she wanted to call me dad. So I told her I didn’t have a problem with that as long as she didn’t and…” he smiled “But I get that your situation is different. Fliss’ shitbag father walked out on Verity before Fliss was even born. You’ve got a whole other scenario you’re dealing with.” “Mary told me months ago she wishes I was her real dad.” Franks sighed “You know I explained to her that a label doesn’t matter and then the whole thing with the kid at school kicked it off again and she broke her heart to Lissy that evening. It got me thinking that I’d bene so wrapped up in my own worries about Diane and whether it would be right to allow Mary to refer to me as her dad that I hadn’t really given much consideration about how my refusal to do so was affecting her.” Bill pondered something for a moment. “You know I had the same concerns over Steve. I know that sounds hypocritical because I was over the moon when Lissy first called me dad but, well Steve was

3 when his mum died and had a few vague memories of her. I was worried that by letting him refer to V as his mum those memories would fade and it would in some ways disrespect her, you know? Almost like it would invalidate who she had been.”

“But you did it anyway?” Frank asked.

“With Steve it just happened.” Bill said, “He started naturally slipping into calling Verity Mum, and we just decided not to make a big deal out of it and let him do what he felt was right for him. Even now he alternates sometimes, calls her Verity instead of mum but I know it doesn’t change a thing. He loves her like she is his mother, and she loves him like he’s her son, which he is anyway of course as she adopted him too.” “And that felt right?”

Bill nodded “It did to us, but the most important thing was it did to Steve and Fiss too. So we floated the idea a year or so before we got married. Fliss...well she had no reservations at all. Burst into tears and hugged me saying she couldn't wait for me to be her proper dad and have the same surname but Steve was a little more subdued, I suppose, is the word. We assured him if he didn't want V to then she wouldn't be offended. He took his time to think about it. Came to his conclusion a week or so later and announced over dinner he wanted to do it. So that was that.” Bill pulled up outside the shack and cut the engine, turning to Frank. “I guess what I'm trying to say is Mary will let you know if she's not happy. From the sounds of it I don't think you'll have any problems, but the important thing is like Titch said, you give her the choice...” “I know.” Frank nodded, “Liss and I discussed this. I don't want to make her call us mom and dad either it she doesn’t want to. To be honest, I'm still not 100% sure how I feel about that but I suppose if we do adopt her then…” “You still worried about how it would make your sister feel?” “A little.” Frank smiled softly. “I'm sure she would be happy Frank.” Bill said gently “This is the same internal debate I had about Ange. But you have to remember, she left that little girl with you for a reason. If you ask me, the very fact we're having this conversation proves she was right. I think this is exactly why she chose you, because she knew that whatever decisions you make regarding Mary are done with love and care, and this is the best outcome she could have hoped for.”

Frank felt the lump in his throat again and Bill gently reached over and grabbed his shoulder.

“Thanks Bill.” Frank smiled at him.

“Any time, now let’s go get this food, I’m starving.”

It wasn’t long before they were all sat outside back at home, eating happily as Mary filled them all in on what she was going to be doing at the gala the next day. Frank watched her, smiling to himself at how excited she was. Such a contrast to the sullen, obstinate 7 year old that he’d had argument over argument with about going to school. But then again their entire circumstances had changed, dramatically, and for the better he may add.

His heart to heart with Bill had made him feel a little more at peace with everything. If truth be told, since Mary’s little breakdown last week he’d been worried about a lot of things. Worried he was making a mess of things with her, worried he was going to do the same with Bean. But he realised now he wasn’t doing it on his own anymore. He had Fliss and her family to help him, and even his Mother too if he so required. Whatever bump in the road the encountered in the future then they would face it as a family, and this eased that nagging, gnawing anxious feeling a hell of a lot.

At just before 8 Mary was dismissed to bed, despite protests, and a little after 10pm Bill and Verity also decided to head home. Frank thanked them both for their help, Verity for giving up her entire afternoon by shopping, picking up Mary and then baking enough treats to feed a small army, an Bill…well, for just about everything he’d done that day.

They stood on the porch area of their home, waving the two of them off and Fliss turned to Frank.

“I can almost hear your mind whirring from here, Sailor.”

Frank chuckled as Thor headed back up the path, having given up chasing the car down the drive. “Yeah, I had a moment before. But your dad set me straight.” “Moment? About Mary or-“ “To be honest about everything.” Frank looked at her as they headed back inside, closing the door “Mary, Bean, about not fucking everything up.” Fliss looked at him before she shook her head “Baby that’s not gonna happen.” “I know.” He smiled “I just had my worries, that’s all.” “You don’t think I worry at times too?” she asked him gently “I’m fucking petrified about him arriving and how I’m gonna cope with a baby but…” she stepped forward and took his hands “I know that as long as we stick together an work through whatever we face together, we’ll be fine.” “Yeah, we will.” He smiled, bending down to give her a soft kiss. “Wanna sit outside?”

She nodded and together, Thor padding behind, they made their way out to the back garden. Fliss dropped heavily onto the wicker garden sofa and Frank lifted her feet up setting them in his lap. He expertly ran his thumb up the arch of her right foot and she gave a little groan of satisfaction.

“Back still sore?” he asked glancing over at her and she shrugged a little.

“A little, nothing major though.” She sighed “I’d kill to get in the hot tub though, unwind a little. So not fair I can’t.” “There’s always the pool.” Frank suggested and she looked at him.

“How is going in the pool going to help me unwind?” she looked at him and he grinned, arching an eyebrow.

“You’re a bad, bad man.” She snorted as she swung her legs off his lap and moved to straddle him.

“And?” he smirked as his hands ran up the side of her thighs, creeping under the hem of her dress which had ridden up.

“Just pointing it out.” she grinned, leaning down to kiss him. His hands came to a rest on her hips, squeezing gently as his mouth moved from hers to find that spot just below her ear. With a sigh, Fliss tilted her head back as he continued to nibble gently at her skin, her fingers tangling in his hair. She gave a soft pull, tugging his head back so she could kiss him again, pushing down on his lap as he thrust his hips up to meet her, the pair of them giving a little groan at the contact. And that was it. Hormones raging, sending a fire through her entire body, Fliss stood up, slipped off her panties and then reached to Frank’s jeans, undoing the button.

“Ok, so no foreplay then?” he asked as he lifted his hips so she could slide his jeans and boxers down, his already hard cock springing free.

“Less talking, more fucking…” she reached down, wrapping her hand around him. Frank let out a hiss as she gave him a few tugs before she straddled him and lining him up sunk straight down, letting out a groan as he tilted his pelvis upwards, filling her as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, Lissy…” his voice was gravelly, his head falling back against the rear cushions of the garden furniture, hands on her hips as she rolled them forward, finding a rhythm that was soft, deep and perfect for the quiet, late summer evening.

Despite the fact they were outside and Fliss’ earlier demand, there was no rush to any of their love making. It was slow, gentle and sweet. Frank’s thrust’s upwards weren’t measured, he hardly put much effort into moving, keeping in synch with the rolls of her pelvis, rocking them together as Fliss leaned over, capturing his mouth again. The gentle breeze from the night air ruffled through her hair whipping it around her face and Frank moved his hands, brushing it away as he cradled her face, his nose brushing against hers. After a particularly deep push upwards Fliss let out a shaky moan into his mouth, tightening her fingers in his hair as she felt him striking her spot again and again. Her bump was causing her to lean forward slightly, which meant he was hitting her as deep as he possibly could and the feeling was intense, her toes curling slightly as she could feel the heat in her belly burning, the slick from between her legs rubbing off on his thighs slightly which was driving Frank wild.

“So wet baby girl…” he mumbled as she slid a hand between her legs, his fingers gently teasing her clit.

“Who needs a pool?” she manged to quip between her gasps, and Frank smirked a little, watching her face intently as her eyes locked onto his. His fingers never once quickened, his touches light and teasing, and their pace continued on to that very end, until with a breathy gasp and a shudder it became too much and she surrendered to the inevitable bliss that washed over her entire body as she came hard. Her hips stilled and Frank moved his hands back to her hips, pulling her down onto him as he bucked upwards, his thrusts now quickening as he chased his own end, spilling into her with a loud groan before his eyes flickered shut, his head falling backwards.

Fliss leaned forward, peppering soft kisses up his neck to his jawline and he let out a smile as she dropped her mouth on his, biting his bottom lip softly his hands rubbing at the base of her back.

“How was that for un-winding?” he asked, opening his eyes to see her smiling at him. She bit her lip and smiled, kissing him again.

****** “Where do you want all these?” Fliss asked Bonnie as her and Frank walked across the school yard, Frank’s arms laden with the various boxes of baked goods.

“How much did you bake?” Bonnie snorted as Frank set them down on the wooden tables that Bonnie indicated

“My mum does nothing by halves” Fliss smirked as she glanced around. Mary was stood showing Frank something on a chalk a-board, Rosie interjecting here and there.

“Hey Stack.” Fliss stepped over to her “All set?”

“Yeah we were just working out the pricing and what best to charge if we wanna make a certain percent profit.” Mary said.

“You suss it?” Frank asked, “Although that’s a stupid question…” “Yeah, it is.” Mary shot back, causing Frank to smirk a little as he glanced at Fliss “Bo-I mean miss Stevens we thought a dollar a cookie, or 3 for 2 and then 2 dollars a cupcake or brownie, and 3 for 5” “I think that’s fair.” Bonnie nodded.

“Ok, cool… “ Mary grinned standing the board up and giving Rosie a high five.

Bonnie and Fliss helped set up the cakes on the stall and Frank found himself getting roped into helping one of the male teachers set up the field where a few events and fun races were going to take place, the man thanking him profoundly when he headed over, spotting him struggling to set the soccer nets up.

“We had someone due to help but…well, most parents shy away from this stuff.” He sighed “They want their kids to enjoy and experience it but don’t wanna help us out.” Frank smiled “Well, to be honest I’m happy to be here. This is the first one Mary’s taken part in.”

The teacher smiled “Yes, she was a bit of an enigma when she started but she’s come out of her shell recently. Lovely girl too Mr Adler, always polite. You must be very proud.”

Frank beamed and turned back to where Mary was behind the stall, Fliss talking to her with Bonnie and Rosie both listening and nodding before he turned back to the man and smiled “It’s not all down to me but…yeah, yeah I am.”

Hour or so later more people had arrived and Frank and Fliss wandered around a bit. They chatted to Rosie’s mom and dad, a dark haired, bespectacled man called Phil and a smaller, red haired woman called Melissa, and the couple invited them over for dinner in a week or so which they both accepted. Whilst Mary and Rosie were close, Frank’s interaction with her parents had been minimal simply because Fliss had fallen into that role of being the one that set up the girls’ little togethers, and he was keen to get to know the couple simply because Mary seemed to be taken so much with their kid. They were inseparable at school, and Mary had already said that over the summer she wanted Rosie to come for a sleep over which, given her previous position on such things had knocked Frank for 6. Of course they had said it was ok, and Fliss had simply told her that Rosie was welcome at any time over the holidays, even saying she’d arrange for them to do something with one of the riding school ponies.

As Frank was mid conversation with Phil about a boat he was currently repairing, Fliss excused herself to go to the toilet. On the way back she decided to detour to the cake stall to see how Mary, Bonnie and Rosie were getting along, and as she passed 2 women stood a little way away, deep in conversation, she heard something that stopped her in her tracks.

“Child prodigy, apparently.” One of the women was saying.

“Well whichever way you dress it up I feel sorry for her.” The other sniffed, flicking her blonde hair behind her shoulder, the ridiculous sized ring on her left hand catching the sun as she did so “I mean, her Dad, sorry, Uncle is a total fuck boy and only went and got his new girlfriend pregnant a year or so after they got together…no wonder the kid’s apparently a screw up. Did you know a when she first started here she broke a boy’s nose?”

“Excuse me?” Fliss blurted out, her neck and cheeks flushed with anger. Both women spun to face her, the blonde one looking at her “Who the fuck are you calling a screw up?”

“Erm, private conversation…” The woman looked at her and Fliss snorted

“Yeah well maybe you should keep your shitty opinions to yourself, just in-case that Fuck Boy’s pregnant fiancée overhears you.” She shot back, and the woman’s face slipped a little as she suddenly realised who Fliss was. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Frank, meanwhile, had finished up talking to Rosie’s parents and was now looking around for Fliss. He spotted her pale green maxi dress in the crowd as she stood talking to two women, and then frowned as he realised she wasn’t talking as much as angrily ranting, her hands flying out to her side before she pointed at one of them directly. He had no idea what the fuck had sparked her off, but he jogged quickly over, catching the end of the rant.

“I don’t see any of your kids going to university 2 days a week or being asked to run a stall handling money because they can do sums in their head like that.” Fliss snarled, clicking her fingers “So keep your shitty, horrible comments about my family to yourself.”

“Hey, hey…” Frank gently grabbed her arm. “Honey…come on.” “You know nothing about us. Any of us.” Fliss shot at her as Frank looked at the women, realising instantly he recognised one. With a groan he moved himself in front of Fliss his back to them and looked at her.

“Stop.” He said firmly but calmly and she looked at him, her eyes blazing with an anger he had never seen before. “Come on.”

She shot a glare at the women before she turned and allowed him to steer her away. He dropped an arm round her shoulder and gave her a squeeze “What the hell set you off into momma bear mode?”

“Her!” Fliss seethed as she shot a final glare over her shoulder at the bitch "She was making shitty comments about you getting me pregnant and saying it was no wonder Mary was a screw up…I mean who the fuck does she think she? I swear to god if I wasn’t pregnant I’d kick her ass." "Don't let her get to you honey." Frank said softly, kissing her temple.

“Does it not bother you?” “Only because it’s got you so wound up. I’m not going to let the opinions of two Stepford Wives bother me. They clearly have no idea what they’re talking about.” "Bet she's called Karen." Fliss spat. "Carly, actually." Frank replied without thinking and Fliss stopped to look at him. "How the hell do you-" she groaned "tell me you haven't!" "It was a drunk night a very long time ago!" He began to protest and Fliss shook her head making a noise of disgust.

“Well suddenly that makes a little more sense.” She said, before she snorted "Is there anyone in this State you haven't shagged?" "I love it when you swear in British." He grinned before sighing as his attempts at humour fell flat. "Oh Lissy come on...it was years ago. I was a total fuck up till I met you." "Was she married back then?" "I don't know!" He shrugged "not exactly a great topic for pillow talk is it?" "You're disgusting." She rolled her eyes before she stepped away from him and headed over the stall that had been or original destination, leaving Frank wondering what the fuck just happened. With a sigh he followed her over and smiled at Verity who had just arrived with Bill, who was at that moment teasing Mary, trying to haggle with her over the price of the Brownies.

“Hey…” he tugged on Fliss’ elbow “Are you seriously pissed at me?” She looked at him, pushing her shades up off her eyes “I just don’t like being reminded of your Four F stage.” “My what?” he looked at her, blankly. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“The Friday Fergs Fuckboi Frank stage” And at that Frank snorted, shaking his head.

“Ok, well, I can categorically tell you that now I’m in a double F stage.” “What?” it was her turn to look puzzled.

“Yeah, the Fliss’ Frank stage” He flashed her a cheeky grin and she blinked before she snorted and shook her head.

“I hate you.” She mumbled as he pulled her in for a hug, giving her head a quick kiss, the chuckles vibrating from his body to hers.

*****

The rest of the week passed fairly uneventfully. Mary broke up for summer on the Friday and Frank finished the painting and the wallpapering in the attic. On the Saturday he got 3 out of 4 of the walls in the Nursey painted, leaving just the feature one for Sunday, which he was ridiculously excited about. However, his plans of an early start were derailed when he slept in a little later than he had anticipated. Fliss was still out for the count when he climbed out of bed, and he dressed as quietly as he could, dropping a kiss to her cheek before he headed down to the kitchen and was joined by Mary a few minutes later. For whatever reasons she was in a particularly raucous mood, probably because she had realised she didn’t have to go to school on Monday, bouncing around the kitchen telling Frank loudly what she was going to do that afternoon which involved riding Monty and swimming in the pool until it went dark. Then, apparently she was going to watch a load of movies and stay up all night…Frank didn’t bother to tell her there was no chance, as both he and Fliss still had to go to work. As with the previous Summer, Roberta was looking after her Monday to Wednesday, and Verity and Bill had her on Thursday and Friday, which meant she was basically going to be up the same time as normal every day so he could drop her off.

However, that was an argument for later. Right now he was simply trying to get her to calm down.

“Mary, for the last time, be quiet!” Frank groaned “Fliss is still asleep.”

“But it’s almost 10 am.” Mary whined.

“It’s Sunday and she’s cooking another person, she can sleep however long she wants” he replied “Now come on, we got painting to do.”

Mary looked at him and let out a groan. “I’m 9. Making me paint this house is child labour”

“You wanted to help with the nursery.”

Mary glared at him “He ain’t even gonna be here for another like 7 weeks or whatever.”

“Yeah, and the rate you’re going it’s gonna take us that long to sort it. Come on it’s the last wall.” He cajoled as she bit into her toast “We did your room first, then the attic. I even let you pick that horse wall paper for up there.” Mary shoved the last of her toast in her mouth and hopped down off the stool “Fine…” she said with an exaggerated eye roll. “I’ll go change into my painting stuff.” He watched her go, tossing the crust from his toast to Thor who caught it expertly, before he headed upstairs. Fliss wandered out of the bedroom and onto the landing, still in her sleep set, yawning.

“Hey…” she smiled at him and he beamed back as she shuffled to him for a hug.

“Did Mary wake you?” he asked and Fliss shook her head.

“No, I was just dozing.” .

“Ok, well we’re finish painting the nursery.” He smiled and she pulled back grinning. “Want me to get you breakfast first?” “I’m good.” She smiled “I’ll sort myself out and then come help”

Pressing a kiss to her head he stepped back and watched as she headed down the stairs before he walked into the Nursery, joined shortly by Mary. All bar one of the walls were painted a cream colour, and he checked the paint for patches, happy that it looked ok before he looked pulled the print out of the theme they’d looked at on Pinterest and handed it to Mary once he’d taken a look at it. Grabbing the stepladders he set about marking squares out on the wall where the crib was going to lie against with tape. Then with a pencil he supervised as Mary checked the photo and wrote a letter in each square to signal what colour they were going to be painted to make a block pattern of different greens, browns and blue.

Once the squares were marked out he handed Mary a paint brush and told her to keep between the lines. He knew he might have to go over a few patches on the areas she did, but even that was quicker than him doing it all himself and it was important to both of them she felt involved, even if it was under duress.

Half an hour or so later Fliss joined them and the 3 of them finished the wall in little over 2 hours, standing back to admire their handy work. Fliss beamed as Mary nodded in satisfaction.

“Can I go see Monty now?” she asked.

“Yeah, we’ll head over.” Fliss nodded.

“I’ll get the furniture up whilst you’re gone.” Frank smiled.

“Sure you can manage?” Fliss teased. “We’re supposed to be at my mum and dad’s in 4 hours.”

Frank shot her a look and she grinned cheekily before she headed out of the room to change into her stable gear.

With the radio on, Frank unwrapped the packaging to the crib and got to work, humming gently to himself as he powered through, following the instructions. It was fairly easy all things considered, and he had the crib fully assembled and in position in 45 minutes. Smiling to himself the chest of drawers were next, then the little wardrobe and the changing unit. Then he fixed the blind to the window and added the stencil he’d bought over the top. All in all it took him just under 2 hours until he jumped down from the little step ladder and looked around.

Now it looked like a nursery.

He took the cardboard boxes and wrap down to the garage and slung them on the pile of other garbage that needed slinging during the week and then back into the nursery, removing the dust sheets from the new carpet and then he set about unpacking the various bags and items of things they’d bought for bean. He placed the blankets in the crib, the lamp on the table, shuffled the rocking chair around and then stepped back to admire his work.

“Oh my God…” He jumped a little and turned to see Fliss blinking. He’d been that wrapped up in everything he hadn’t heard her come in.

“Frank, you did everything...”

“I’m sorry.” He blurted out, cursing himself. “I got carried away. I didn’t think. Did you want to do the accessories or…” “No, I mean yeah, but…” she shook her head, stepping into the room “It doesn’t matter. Sailor, it looks great!” She slid her arm round his waist as he dropped a kiss to her head, her eyes scanning the room. She stopped and frowned at the stencil above the window blind. Frank swallowed a little nervously, that was one thing she hadn’t seen before. He watched her profile as she read the cursive writing, which spelt out the words ‘All because two people fell in love’, and she turned to look up at him, tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Frankie…”

He smiled at her, his own eyes threatening to fill up again as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “It’s true.”

She turned back round to look once more at the room, her hand falling to her bump as they simply looked around the bedroom that would soon enough house their little baby boy.

“It’s perfect.” Fliss said, and Frank smiled, his arms wrapping around her from behind, his hands cupping her bump as he pressed a soft kiss to her neck.

After the usual Sunday roast Verity’s which was filled with the normal laughter, teasing and also some cooing from Verity over the photos of the nursery which Fliss had taken they headed home and after breaking the news to Mary that she was up early, which resulted in a mini- melt down until Frank threatened to send Monty to the dog-food factory if she didn’t stop right away.

“Whatever Frank, Fliss will never let you do that.” She glared at him, hands on her hips.

“Fliss won’t have a say in the matter.” He shot back, “Bed, now Mary. Don’t make me count to three.” “You know, I really don’t like you right now.” She glared at him.

“Well that suits me fine, because right now I’m not your biggest fan either.”

With a filthy look she turned on her heels, stomping from the room and muttering something under her breath, from which Frank made out the words Uncle and douchebag.

“I might be getting older but I can still HEAR YOU!” he yelled after her.

“GOOD!” came the shout back before the stairs thudded under her feet and her bedroom door slammed shut.

Frank exhaled, ran a hand through his hair and then checked all the doors were locked before he headed upstairs. “What was all that about?” Fliss asked as she emerged from the en-suite dressed for bed.

“Her being a pain in the ass about going to bed.” He grumbled, face planting onto the bed with a groan “Do we really want another one?”

“Too late for that now Sailor.” She chuckled. “She called me a douchebag.” He said, rolling over onto his back and Fliss let out a laugh.

“No comment.” “Hey.” He pouted, a hurt expression on his face. Fliss stuck her tongue out at him before he sat up with a heave and stripped off ready for bed.

They lay awake for a couple of hours, chatting, and talk turned to baby names after Bill had teased them over dinner that they still hadn’t decided on one. They had discounted a few, but had yet to settle on any that really grabbed their attention.

"What about Max?" Frank asked. He raised his head from where he was led, nose pressed against the curve of Fliss' belly as his hand gently tracked the movements his son was making. Boston Bean was being fairly active considering it was past 11. Fliss, who was sat propped up by a mound of pillows against the headboard looked down at him, her hand pausing where it has been raking through his now very fluffy hair and she wrinkled her nose. "Mmm not keen" she mumbled. "Although I like the X. The way it melts into Adler." Frank blinked before he snorted and Fliss laughed "God you talk some shit" he chuckled and she swatted at his head as he moved back to where he had been before, nose brushing her skin. "Benjamin..." he offered again, "Benjamin Billy. Then we can keep calling him BB" "That's actually kinda cute." Fliss said. "And its after my dad, although he's William." "William." Frank rolled the name around a little "I like that." "Could be a middle name." Fliss said "I don't really like Will, which is what it will no doubt end up shortened to and Bill...no, that's dad. And an old man's name" "I'll tell him you said that." Frank smiled and she shrugged. "I tell him he is an old git all the time" she retorted. Frank's hand stopped as Bean gave a particularly harsh kick and Fliss jumped a little. "Jesus..." she groaned. "Looks like we got a future footballer on our hands. You gonna be the next Tom Brady huh buddy?" Frank chuckled talking to her bump before he stilled "hey, what about-" "No." Fliss said, shutting that suggestion down immediately "We are not calling him Tom or Brady. Besides, that abomination you refer to is not football..." "Excuse me." Frank scoffed "It’s better than that damned shit you Brits play! Soccer." He muttered the word, shaking his head. "No, THAT’S football!" Fliss said indignantly. "Soccer" "Football!" Fliss repeated "it's a ball you kick with your foot! We invented it, we named it!" "Okay, okay!" Frank chuckled "Calm down before you go into labour!" She swatted playfully at his head as she grinned. "You know I would have loved you to have met my granddad and had this debate with him. He'd be spinning in his grave if he could hear us. You know he was actually a professional at one point?" "No kidding?" Frank askes and Fliss gave a hum. "Way before I met him, obviously" Fliss sighed "he played right back for Preston North End but had to retire early when he broke his leg. Never recovered from the injury. Dad said he had a pretty mean right peg on him. I mean leg..." she corrected her slang. "He was their designated Penalty taker. In the 10 years he played he took 60 penalties and missed a total of 2" "That's pretty cool." Frank admitted. "OK, so maybe if he grows up playing soccer that wouldn't be so bad..." "Alex Gallagher." Fliss chuckled "not quite as famous around here as Tom Brady...but still the GOAT. Well, in my eyes anyway." And then she took a deep breath. Frank paused, his hand staying still as he looked up at her smiling softly. "Alexander." They both said at the same time, Fliss' mouth curling into a little smile, her hand falling on top of his. "Alexander William Adler." She beamed down at him and Frank nodded, his own smile growing wider. "Yeah. Yeah I like that." He leaned up to give her a gentle peck, smiling against her lips "I really like it. Alex for short..." She smiled at him as he gently cupped her face. "Alex Adler it is." She nodded, her eyes misting up slightly before he kissed her again. ***** The next morning they packed Mary off to Roberta’s. She wasn’t in quite as bad a mood with Frank as she had been the previous evening. She was talkative enough to ask who had been on the phone when she had walked into the kitchen and why it meant Fliss had ended up re-jigging her morning around. The told her they had some stuff to sort for Bean, but in truth they were heading to see Greg who had called following Frank’s text message to say he could fit them in to talk about Mary’s adoption before his first appointment that morning.

"Hi guys!" Greg strode out of his office greeting the pair of them with a smile "Damned girl you getting bigger by the day?" He teased, gesturing to her bump. "Bloody well feels that way." She grumbled. Frank placed a hand on the bottom of her back and guided her into the room where they both took a seat at one side of Greg’s desk.

“So…” he smiled “Tell me then, what’s sparked this off?” Frank briefly explained about the school and how he’d been thinking about it for some time as Greg smiled, pausing only to thank his PA who walked in with two coffees and an apple juice. Once Frank had finished Greg leaned back, a finger trailing over his mouth before he smiled.

"So the process you’ll go through, if you decide to go through with it is called Kinship adoption." Greg repeated "In general, the procedure of adopting a family member’s child is considerably simpler than other types of adoption because some parts of the domestic adoption process will not apply ergo it is normally easier and faster. And given the fact that you already have legal guardian status this negates any requirement for home studies, nor will there be any need for a supervision period post an initial care placement period as she is already in your care." "So what do we need to do?" Fliss asked. "First off we need to obtain permission from Polland." Greg said "He needs to surrender his legal parental rights by law." Fliss frowned and Greg looked at her before he began to expand on his explanation. "A child can’t have more than two legal parents at a time." Greg looked at her "So as you both would be Mary's legal parents via adoption, it means that Polland's legal rights to her will be completely severed." "I thought they were already terminated?" Fliss looked at Frank who shook his head. "We discussed petitioning for it but it would have prolonged the whole hearing process." Frank looked at her. "I just wanted Mary to settle and legally be allowed to stay, and, well to be honest, it didn’t feel right to sever him completely whilst she was so young, even though he is a total dick. Mary could have changed her mind down the line about all sorts of things so…” he trailed off.

“So all that means that technically he still has the right to apply for visitation if he so wishes." Greg looked at Fliss “But an adoption would stop that." "What if he objects?" Frank asked, the thought suddenly springing into his mind. "Then we would file to the court to have his objection overruled, and request they sever his rights regardless of what he says." Greg said "And given the history with this case, I think there's a pretty good chance we would win." Frank nodded "Ok, so rights removed one way or another. Then what?" "Then we petition the court, file the paperwork, all the boring stuff like the welfare checks will happen, which, will predominantly focus on you Fliss as Frank went through all of this already. They may want to meet your family but I wouldn't worry about it at all. It’s a safe, stable and loving environment that Mary has. That's clear to anyone." Frank gently took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together as he gave her a smile. "And then, once that's over you’ll attend a finalisation hearing where you’ll be granted legal parental status." Greg says. "It sounds complicated but it’s fairly straight forward because, as I keep saying, she's been with you for a while now and she's a relative." "So how long would it take?" Fliss asked. Greg wrinkled his nose "if Polland doesn't object I'd be surprised if it took longer than 3 months. Given that Bean is due to arrive in just under two, you might wanna hang off until things have settled down a little. Maybe kick it off at the end of September, give you both time to get to grips with the fact you have a new baby. Leave it with me, I’ll speak to one of the guys at the Welfare department, see exactly what parts of the process they will need to do and then we’ll take it from there.” “Sounds like a plan.” Frank smiled, as Fliss squeezed his hand.

*****

"I prefer Theodore" Mary shrugged when they told her over dinner about the name they had settled on. "But William is cool, after Bill." "Well when you grow up and have your own kid, and by grown up I mean 35 on account that you won't allowed to date until you're at least 30..." Frank pointed his fork at her "...you can call your own kid that." "I might have a girl" Mary shrugged, the towel she was wrapped in slipping from her shoulders slightly. "Theodora then" Fliss said, shoving another fork full of chicken into her mouth. Mary pondered this for a second before she shrugged and Frank simply arched an eyebrow as he looked at Fliss who leaned back in the whicker chair and grinned. "So why can't I tell anyone the name?" Mary asked after she swallowed more of her dinner. "Because we want something to stay a surprise Stack" Frank explained "everyone already knows he's a boy. We just wanna keep a little something to ourselves for the 5 weeks or we have before he arrives." "But we wanted you to know." Fliss smiled. Mary grinned "Ok. Secret's safe." She placed her fork down on her empty plate "I'm finished, can I go back in the pool?" "Give it 5 minutes for your food to settle yeah?' Frank looked at Fliss who nodded at him and he cleared his throat slightly. "And while you're waiting, there's something else we wanted to talk to you about." "Ok..." Mary looked at him. "You know how you asked us where we were going this morning?" He looked at her, his hand dropping to Fliss’ knee under the table and she tangled her fingers with his, giving them an encouraging squeeze. "Yeah" “And I said it was to do with Bean?”

“Yeah…” "Well, it was actually to see Greg. And it was about you." Her eyes widened and she swallowed her food with a gulp. “They're not taking me away again are they?" "No, no nothing like that." Fliss soothed her quickly, "In fact...kinda the opposite." "I don't understand" she frowned. "We went to see Greg to ask him about how, if you want us to, we can start the process to adopt you." Frank looked at her. Mary blinked and she looked at Frank who held her gaze before she turned to Fliss. "Adopt me" she whispered. Frank nodded. "But only if that's what you want. It won't mean anything will change, not on a day to day basis anyway, it just means that me and Fliss will both have full-“ He was cut off as Mary jumped up out of her seat and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms round him, pressing her face into the crook of his shoulder and neck as she began to sob. Fliss watched them both, a lump forming in her throat as Frank glanced at her, his eyes glassy. "I'm hoping they're happy tears." He said, clearing his throat. Fliss smiled gently as he simply sat rocking Mary slightly till she calmed down enough to sit back, her hands reaching up, fingers threading into his beard. "So..." she sniffed "you would be my mom and dad?" "Baby we already are." Fliss leaned forward as much as she could to gently rub her back. "I told you that a few weeks ago." "But legally?" "Yeah." Frank nodded. "It will take a little while but Greg says that it will be quicker than usual considering its something called a Kinship Adoption." "What does that mean?" Mary asked quietly. "Basically because you're a relative to me and you've been living with me for so long, some of the process may not be needed." Frank explained. He hesitated for a moment, debating how honest to be before he decides to explain fully to her. She had to understand, she deserved to. "What it does mean, however, is that to allow both Fliss and I to become your parents, they have to completely cut your father off. Which means he has no rights to see you at all going forward. He might refuse our application because of that." "He could refuse?" Mary frowned. "Yeah, but I don't think he will." Frank shook his head "And even if he does we can fight it." Mary nodded, her head bowed a little "He never wanted me anyway..." "Well we do." Fliss said firmly. “And he’s a jackass for not wanting anything to do with you Mary.” "If he does refuse will I have to go live with him?" she looked up her eyes wide. "No." Fliss shook her head "it just means things stay the same as they are now." "That's not so bad." Mary shrugged and Frank gave a huff of a laugh. "Glad to hear it." Frank raised an eyebrow as Mary began fiddling with the collar of his t-shirt "Now, we're going to need to wait until after Alex is born as things are gonna be busy for us all when he arrives but we wanted to give you chance to think about it and make sure it’s what you want. And whatever you decide it doesn't change a thing, ok? You'll stay here and we will still love you no matter what." Mary swallowed and looked at Frank earnestly "I do want. I know already. I don't need to think about it." Frank smiled and brushed her hair back off her face which was getting rather long now and she beamed back at him. "Will I still need to call you Frank?" Frank took a deep breath "that’s up to you. Why don't you see how you feel OK?" She nodded and reached up to kiss his cheek before she hopped down and turned towards Fliss. She chambered onto her knee as best she could and wrapped her arms around her neck, hugging her tight. "I'm so happy." She sniffed and Fliss let out a little noise that was half laugh, half sob and she held her back tightly. Frank wiped his eyes, sniffing a little as he fought to keep it together. He had expected an emotional response from Mary, but it still hadn't prepared him in the slightest for how he was going to feel. For so long he had resisted being referred to as her father and now here he was about to embrace it, and make it 'legal'. Whilst he still had that tiny little bit of guilt regarding Diane, he was pleased to find he didn't feel a shred of doubt, nor after all the soul searching and conversations with Bill last week, and then his mother this afternoon who had, rather emotionally, told him she thought it was a ‘wonderful’ idea, even stating that if Polland did object, she was ready to go onto battle alongside him. Greg was convinced they would have a great chance of winning if it came to it, and even if they didn't, like Fliss said, nothing would change. But for now, he pushed all that to the back of his mind, focusing on the here and now as Mary sat on Fliss lap, her hand skating over her bump as they both giggled, Mary pulling her arm away and squealing. "He just kicked real big!" She looked at Frank, drawing out the word real as he smiled. "Clearly he likes the idea too." He quipped as he stood up "and you know what I like the sound of?" He whipped off his t-shirt and in a flash plucked Mary off Fliss' lap and ran full pelt to the pool with her in his arms as she shrieked and swatted at his back playfully, Thor running behind them, his loud barks booming around the garden. With a huge jump Frank propelled them straight off the side and under the surface of the cool water. They both emerged a second or so later, Mary spluttering as she splashed him causing him to reach out and grab her leg, pulling her back under. "I’m going to be living with 3 children Bean." Fliss patted her bump, just as Thor gave one final frustrated wine before he launched himself into the pool too. Mary let out a huge laugh and pointed to him and Frank grinned as she chambered onto his back. "Hey Frank look..." she giggled loudly "doggy paddle" Frank found that far more funny than he should.

**** Chapter 9

#riding on #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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ragdoll-darlin · 3 years

Text

The adventures of the ferocious Matenrou.

Summary : Matenrou go to an amusement park and have fun. Mostly.

Words : 2,906

Warnings : vomit mention, doppo typical ramblings + worries, getting a bit overheated , platonic or romantic - whichever you want.

A collab with @wolfm2540 , we switched every paragraph.

“Hey hey, Doppo, look at that giant roller coaster!! Let’s get on that one first!!”

“It looks tall… what if we fell off… knowing me I’d probably break the ride somehow and we’d all fall and get hurt and it would be my fault like always……. I’m so useless….”

“Doppo-kun, you’re doing it again.”

Matenrou had just pulled into the Adventure Land parking lot. Jakurai parked the car while Doppo continued his self-deprecating ramblings. Hifumi was oblivious, staring at the rides and practically jumping up and down in his seat, which is probably why Jakurai wouldn’t let him ride shotgun.

Hifumi was practically bouncing as he waited for the doctor to unlock the car. He tumbled out, standing back up completely unbothered and running over to open Doppo’s door and drag him out, much to the other’s dismay. Jakurai slowly got out with a chuckle, searching his jean pockets for a hair tie; it was hot, and he didn’t want to get sweaty from his hair on his neck. “You two,” he called to his bickering teammates, who turned their heads so fast you could hear Doppo’s neck crack. “Get the sunscreen, We’re going to be out here for a while.”

They grabbed their backpacks and walked towards the entrance. Hifumi’s face lit up as he saw the sign. “Adventure Land, let’s go Doppo-chin!” His voice was as vibrant as the cartoonish letters. Doppo was still hunched over, his hands stuffed nervously in his hoodie pockets. Jakurai was somewhat concerned with the other’s choice of clothing, given that sweater weather was long over. He sighed and smiled as they entered the park. These two never ceased to amuse him.

Hifumi ran right after to the line for a roller coaster that had long since spilled out of its desired area and into the walkways, completely forgetting Jakurai telling them all to get sunscreen. Doppo looked to Jakurai with a mix of worry and pleading - whether it be “Can i go home?’ or ‘can i go on something else’, the doctor was unable to tell. Either way, it was clear the salaryman didn’t want to go on the towering road coaster. After looking over to Hifumi, though, clearly their chances of getting out of the ride were 0, as the host was bouncing around with a large grin on his face, not even bothering to check if the others were with him.

“Ummm, sensei…” Doppo looked concerned. “Do you really want to get on this thing?” Jakurai looked down at him and gave a sad smile, then patted his head. “I’ve never been on a rollercoaster before, though I'm more nervous than excited. But look at Hifumi. That silly grin of his makes it worth it, don’t you think?” Doppo looked at his friend, loud and boisterous as ever, and the concern on his face melted away when he saw how happy Hifumi was. “Yeah, you’re right, sensei.” The line moved forward.

Doppo felt himself shaking, though he tried to swallow his fear. It would be fun, or at least it was supposed to be.. But what if the ride broke? Then him and everyone would die and it would be entirely his fault. Doppo made a small noise in his throat and leaned onto hifumi, resting his chin on the host’s shoulder. Jakurai wasn’t having the best time either, he could feel his stomach lurching even though they hadn’t even been on the ride yet, and probably wouldn’t for another 10 minutes.

The line lurched forth, nothing in the trio’s demeanor changing very much. Finally, it was their turn to get on. Doppo looked ready to faint. Jakurai was trying his best to conceal his nervousness, but was obviously terrified. Hifumi was as oblivious as ever. “Hmmm, these seats only take two people. Sensei, do you mind if I ride with Doppo? That way he calms down a bit, hehe! Want him to have fun, too.” Jakurai’s eyes widened for a moment. “Um, that sounds fine, Hifumi-kun. I will ride alone.” They buckled into the seats. It was time.

Doppo shuddered as the announcer came on the loudspeakers, explaining the rules. Jakurai was frantically trying to tie his hair up into some form of bun so he doesn’t wack a poor soul behind him, and hifumi just watched the other rides, planning out where they would go next. Suddenly the ride lurched forward, and started its slow trek towards the top of the hill. Doppo grabbed onto hifumi’s arm, already biting back a screech.

“When is it gonna drop… when is it gonna drop? Hifumi! Is it gonna drop yet?” Hifumi just laughed. He looked way too excited. Doppo repeated his question (something of a mantra, at this point) as the ride kept climbing. There was one last click as the ride suddenly dropped.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

“...”

Doppo was dying. Literally dying. But it was somehow enjoyable? His stomach felt like it was dropping onto his feet, the wind was forcing his eyes shut, and his neck was whipping around violently. But it made him feel alive. Maybe that’s why Hifumi enjoys these rides so much...

Hifumi couldn’t keep himself from laughing. The thrill was a high he could never get tired of, flinging his hands in the air with an excited scream as the cart rushed down another hill, then a loop, bringing them upside down then right side up right after. Jakurai felt sick to his stomach, but he supposed that was intended to be part of the fun. Feeling adrenaline pulsing through his veins as everything moved far too fast, even he couldn't help from giving a laugh or startled noise.

Hifumi kept laughing. It was kind of scary, actually, given that nobody else on the ride was laughing like that. Oh well, he’s always been eccentric. The ride continued, more ups and downs and flips, until it finally reached the end. Jakurai had a headache. It wasn’t as bad as he expected but somehow still very unpleasant. Though he did feel a bit of the thrill that Hifumi must have been looking forward to. “Ha...haha. That was sort of fun.” Doppo’s hair was a mess of red and curls, thanks to the wind. There was a slight smile painting his face. Hifumi was somehow still laughing as they got off the ride and back onto the ground.

“Hey, doc! You can pick the next ride!” the older man almost sighed with relief, knowing if Hifumi had his pick they would certainly end up on something his stomach couldn’t handle. He hummed, eyes scanning all of the rides. “What about that one?” he points to a building with bright and cheerful letters spelling out “BUMPER CARS’ . Hifumi jumped up to get a clearer view, then nodded eagerly. “It looks fun!!!! C’mon, Doppo-chin!” Hifumi grabbed his roommate by the sleeve and started to drag him, with Jakurai in tow. On arrival, they noticed the line was incredibly long here as well, mostly consisting of children, save for some teenagers and adults holding the hands of young ones. ‘Ah.. have I picked a child’s ride?” Hifumi giggled, “yea, yeah, it's meant for children, but what does it matter!! It'll be tons of fun.” “The cars are too small.. We’re gonna get stuck.” Doppo pointed out grimly. “Nonsense!!!” Even with how loud the amusement park was, Hifumi’s loud voice turned some heads, but he didn’t mind at all.

Doppo was intimidated by all the children staring. Jakurai’s long hair and Hifumi’s personality didn’t help keep them out of the center of attention. He grabbed onto Hifumi’s shirt as they shuffled into the building. The ride operator simply stared at them. Jakurai tilted his head and asked “Is there a problem?” The poor teenager looked scared. These three eccentric individuals trying to enter his kiddy ride were scary. He shook his head vigorously and led them to the cars. “Hahaha, I’ll take this pink one! Which are you choosing Doppo-chin?” “Uhhhh…” “Choose the green one!” “Okay…” Jakurai was, perhaps, a bit embarrassed, but he was the one who chose the ride after all. He sighed and hopped into the most inconspicuous car, the grey one.

The small cars were beyond uncomfortable for somebody of his size, even hugging his knees to his chest didn’t keep the contraption from digging into him rather painfully, and people had taken to staring at him. The other two didn’t seem to mind, talking about something while they waited for the ride to begin. It did, and soon there were people blending together, laughing and screeching as they maneuvered the battle grounds. Jakurai recognized the laughter of Hifumi as his golden hair popped up above the other heads, heading straight for Jakurai, who sat unmoving, unable to reach the steering wheel due to his legs blocking the way. Hifumi hollered triumphantly as he hit the car, then yelped as Doppo rammed into him, looking determined. This continued until the ride ended, and the two younger remembers quickly left their cars and ran over to help their leader get out, which was a bit of a struggle.

Jakurai felt the children’s eyes burning into his back as they walked away. No wonder Doppo seemed so freaked out in line… Now that his stomach had settled down, the doc realized he was hungry. His teammates probably were, too. “Doppo-kun, Hifumi-kun, shall we get something to eat?” “Yeah, I’m soooo hungry, sensei! Where do you wanna eat, Doppo?” Doppo jumped back. “You- you’re asking me!? But what if I pick somewhere with lazy workers and they don’t make the food right… then we’ll get food poisoning… and we’ll be too sick to ride anything else… and it’ll be my fault…..” He kept rambling, as usual. Jakurai sighed, grabbed Doppo’s shoulders, and shook him violently back into normality. “Ah, thanks sensei.” Jakurai chuckled. “So, anywhere in particular you want to eat?” “No… not really. Let’s just let Hifumi choose.” Doppo didn’t realize the implications of his words until they had already left his mouth. Hifumi was surely going to choose someplace ridiculous…

“Yay, yay!! Thought ya’d never say so, Doppo-chin!” Hifumi scouted the booths, trying to find something with a menu they’d all like. He had intended to make their lunches, but Jakurai had said it might be more fun to try the food there. Finally, he settled on a barbecue, set under a blue canopy, with a somewhat large amount of people chatting while they enjoyed their food. The group walked over to the tent, peering at the menu. Jakurai quickly decided on a steak, but Hifumi couldn’t figure out if he wanted the chicken or salmon, and Doppo couldn’t figure it out at all, not to mention that the heat was causing his appetite to shrink, so he just decided t mooch of some of what hifumi got.

Hifumi practically skipped towards an open seat, Doppo and Jakurai following behind. It was getting hot. Perhaps steak wasn’t the most refreshing option. The Doc let his thoughts wander as he watched his teammates bicker over trivial things. Times like these were nice, relaxing and getting to have fun together. He hoped they could have this opportunity again soon. Doppo and Hifumi stopped their catfight when the waiter came by with the food. “Hahaha, this salmon is gonna be so delicious! Here Doppo-chin, have a bite!” ‘Wait-” Doppo was cut off as Hifumi shoved the fish in his mouth. “Is it good? Do you like it!!?” “BLEH! Hifumiiii, don’t do that without asking!!” Jakurai let out a loud laugh, and the other two stopped to look at him. After a pause, they laughed, too. Matenrou was having a good time, indeed.

Jakurai stood, smiling. “Well, shall we all return home? We’ve gone through all of the rides.” Hifumi shook his head, “I wanna try out some games!! Can we?”Jakurai gave a fond sigh; it’s not like they had anything else to do tonight. Hifumi took that as a yes, grabbing both of their sleeves and dragging them over to a game where you had to get rings on the neck of glass soda bottles. There were large stuffed animals hanging above the bottles, fluffy with cute faces. Hifumi got a large bucket of the rings to split, and Doppo winced at the obnoxious price.

“Here we go, Doppo-chin! Huzzah!” The ring clattered around the bottle necks before hitting the ground, leaving a pouting Hifumi and unamused Doppo with one less ring. “Um, my turn, I guess…” Doppo tossed the ring halfheartedly, not doing much better than Hifumi. They needed 5 to win. There were only 8 left. “Awwww, Doppo-chin, we both missed! That’s, like, so unfair!” Doppo tsked at him. “Stop being so loud…” HIfumi was ignoring him already, mind focused on the next toss. “Alley-oop!!” He emphasized the last syllable as the ring left his hand, soaring through the air before dramatically landing on a bottle neck. “Haha! Hahahaha!! Did you see, Doppo-chin? I landed the ring, did’ya see, did’ya see?!”

Doppo was being shaken back and forth by a grinning Hifumi, his hands gripping his sweater sleeves. “Yes, I saw, I saw! Now please stop…” Jakurai picked up a ring, holding it between his slender fingers and examining it. This couldn’t be harder than killing people, he thought while giving it a toss. It failed, falling quietly. Jakurai looked at it with a blank expression for a few moments, then stepped back to let the younger two take control. Somehow, between the two of them, they managed to get the needed amount, and Hifumi picked out a large polar bear, hoisting it over his shoulder with a laugh. "Let's each do our own, then meet back up here!" Neither Doppo nor Jakurai wanted to upset him, though they both just wanted to return home, but then Jakurai saw an octopus that reminded him of Hifumi, so he went to get it, and Doppo wandered off the other way, just looking for one that seemed easy.

Doppo sighed, not wanting to be left alone. He shook his head and kept walking before he found what seemed like an easy win. The sign read “Guessing Game!”; the attendant had to guess your age within 2 years, weight within 10 lbs, and birth month within 3 months. If they were wrong you won a prize. The only difficult part would be talking to the attendant… while Doppo braced himself to approach the game, Jakurai was trying his hardest to win the little octopus plush. It was invertible, two wildly different expressions on each side. Just like Hifumi with and without his jacket. This one seemed a bit easier than the bottles, a simple game of basketball. Jakurai was tall. Basketball should be easy enough.

It took 10 tries. 5,000 yen, all to get the stupid yellow octopus. Jakurai almost felt ashamed of himself as he walked to find the others. It didn’t take long, Doppo was at a guessing game, failing rather horribly. Hifumi was on what must have been his 5th, judging from the various prizes littering the ground next to him. He was trying to get a goldfish currently, playing a game similar to the one they had all done together. Jakurai was silently hoping he didn’t get a goldfish, since they seemed rather annoying to take care of and usually died quickly. Luckily, he failed, the last ring falling to the ground. Hifumi’s pout was visible even with his back turned, shoulders drooping.

Jakurai decided to intervene before Hifumi wasted all his money (and their time). “Come, Hifumi-kun, let’s find Doppo.” Hifumi gave an enthusiastic nod as he scrambled to pick up the various prizes. Jakurai raised an eyebrow and helped him carry a few. The two walked off, a purple-haired doctor with a polar bear on his back and a blonde host with various little creatures in his arms, to find Doppo. It didn’t take long to find the salaryman, his anxious aura almost visible in the air around him. He had lost the guessing game. Apparently he was too easy to read… he hung his head and sighed, turning to go find Hifumi and Doc. He walked a bit before looking up; there were his two friends approaching him, quite the site with all their spoils of war.

“Ahhh.. seems you’ve had a lot more luck than me” Doppo mused, looking them all up and down. “Yep! and this stuff is heavy.. let's go home!!” there was a unanimous agreement, all of them tired and done with what they wanted. They got comfortable, tossing the prizes in the trunk, and settled in for the ride. It felt longer than the way there, though perhaps it was due to the fact that they had eaten, so more bathroom breaks were inevitable. The moon was out and glowing when they arrived home at their shared apartment. Hifumi ran and flopped onto his bed, yelling at the others to follow. “I’ve got to wake up early and leave.. I donˋt want to wake you two in the process” Jakurai hesitated, standing awkwardly in the room while the other two changed into nightclothes. “C’mon, doc! It’s no trouble, we’ll fall right back to sleep after anyways. “yeah..” So Jakurai sighed and joined them, and they all fell asleep in minutes, tired from the day’s adventure, but also excited to do it again one day.

#hypnosis mic #writing #fanfic #hypmic fluff #matenrou

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h0ly-fire · 4 years

Text

Hey hey,chapter 11! This one is a bit longer so I hope you enjoy! This story is coming close to an end so yeah! As always, enjoy💖

Tw: kidnapping, death threats

Pairings: Axel x reader Otto x reader Oscar x reader

Runaway

Chapter 11:

Family Reunion and a Suprise

It was time; time for you all to leave 1963. You all stood in the center of the living room. You were holding Stinky over your shoulder because there was no way you were leaving your favorite cat by himself. Your other hand held onto Oscar's. Axel gave a nod to all of you. Signaling that he was about to press the brief case ,you closed your eyes.

There it was, that strange feeling. A feeling you'd never get used too. It felt as though your atoms were being pulled apart and you were being dragged in every direction. It felt like being sucked up through a vaccum. It was a feeling you absolutely hated. Landing on your knees, holding Stinky tightly to your chest, you opened your eyes. Looking around you noticed that the boys were all there and okay. Otto came over helping you up off your feet, asking if you're okay. Shaking your head yes you headed on towards Axel and Oscar, Otto following, asking them if they're okay as well. Axel looked around noticing that they were in a big grass field. "Where are we?" Oscar asked. Looking around you noticed a tree at the top of the hill. Now,normally, that wouldn't be anything special. But this Tree wasn't just any Tree. This tree was the one your father and you had used to make the Tree House. You had given the tree house to your little brother after your father passed. It had broken your heart, but it was worth it to see the tears of joy on your brothers face when he was told the tree house was his.

With a small smile and a shakey voice you just said "Home." And ran up the hill to your house. The boys followed, a little confused, but going along with you anyway. They had reached the top of the hill when they noticed a small one story cabin. It was peaceful looking. Almost something you'd see on the cover of a child's storybook. The flowers and plants in the garden had wilted. The stone path broken,but otherwise it was a pretty home.

Axel noticed you had ran to the front door,setting Stinky down, and then knocked. They had caught up to you standing behind to see if anyone would answer. Waiting a few minutes you knocked again. "Hello?" "Is anyone home?

" It's me! Y/n!" "Your sister!" " Jordan! I came back like I promised!" Your voice was jumpy from the crying you were doing. You couldn't help it. It was just unbelievable that you finally made it home! Knocking one more time the door opened.

Pushing it open the rest of the way you noticed all the lights were off. The chairs and Couch in the living room were flipped over , and the painting you had made of your father was punctured. "Hello? Jordan?" Your voice was a whisper now. Ducking down slightly incase anything tried to hit you. The boys thought this suspicious so the all held a gun in their hands. "Y/n?!" A startled voiced sounded from the back bedroom. It was your brother! Running you slammed the bedroom door open. Your face dropped. There your brother was. Tied up and gagged being helled hostage. Your mother was dead on the floor.

"Well, I was wondering when you and your boyfriends were going to show up. You all kept me waiting for a long time." The Handler had a smug look on her face. Her eye flitting over to the triplets who held their guns up towards her. "Put your guns down or I kill the boy." There way nothing in her voice but malice. "Now, y/n , I'll make a deal with you." She had a fake smile plastered on her face. She knew she was getting to you. "No! I'd never make a deal with a monster like you! " " Let my brother go!He's not apart of any of this!" You were angry , your voice strained from yelling. "Tch tch tch." "You're quite wrong dear y/n. " " Your brother does have something to do with this" she said in a matter of fact tone. You tilted your head "How so?" . She hummed in response thinking of what she'd say next. "Because he's the only way I'd get you to listen and come back to me." "If you comply your brother lives but." Holding a knife up to his throat she continues. "If you don't I'll kill him and then your boyfriends and then I'll have you all too myself." Her smile was sadistic and terrifying. Why did you ever agree too join the commission? "I don't understand why you need me! You have Lila! She has all the power you could possibly imagine!" You had stepped closer to her trying to grab you brother ,but she pulled him back shaking her head. "You're right I do have Lila,but she doesn't have your ability." "You see my dear with your unique gift I can get rid of the Hargreeves once and for all. " " Then no one would be in my way!" She laughed to herself. You looked at her with disgust. " I don't understand why you want them dead! What do you have to gain from killing innocent people!" You were crying again. Oscar came up to you putting his hand on your shoulder. They were waiting for a good moment to shoot the Handler,but they knew you needed answers. They all needed answers, and they didn't want to risk accidentally shooting your brother.

Looking over at Oscar you told him it's okay and then looked back at the Handler. " I have a lot to gain from killing them off." She said it in a way as if you should have known. "You see if I kill them off, then I'll be the most powerful woman of all time." She paced around the room, your brother still in her grip, and spoke some more. "With you and Lila by my side nothing could stand in my way" she walked towards you coming up toward you face. " You see sweet y/n your gift could be my ticket to power. " she stuck her free hand out towards you to shake. "So please for the sake of your brother. Come with me." She flutterd her lashes, pouting her lips slightly, she had you right were she wanted you. Cowering in submission. You were shaking , you stopped crying,but your breathing was ragged. Looking up you saw your brother struggling. Then you looked behind, the boys still there holding up their guns. How are they so calm in a situation like this?

Starring back at your brother you noticed his left arm behind his back was reaching towards something. Upon further inspection you noticed he was reaching for the knife you knew he always kept in his back pocket. It was a knife you had given him as an early birthday present.

The Handler was still there with her arm stretched out. Waving her hand impatiently " Well, are you going to come with me or not?! Your brothers life depends on it!" Her patience was wearing thin. You looked at her and then back towards your brother. He gave a small smile to you , signaling he grabbed hold of the knife. You nodded your head then started back at the Handler. With a wide smile you proudly said "no". Yelling out "now!" Your brother stabbed the woman in her abdomen. Her face filled with shock and rage . Your brother ran to you squeezing you in a tight hug. Axel shot at the Handler,but she had jumped out the window . Looking at his brothers they all went after her.

" Oh my lord Jordan are you okay!" You were smothering him in kisses and checking to make sure he wasn't harmed . "Yeah y/n I'm okay just don't ever leave me like that !" "Also, eww don't give me kisses that's gross!" He said while whipping his cheeks and forhead off. " Grabbing hold of his hand you led him out side. "Jordan, I know we just got back together,but I need you to stay in the tree house while I help my friends out,okay?" You stopped, looking down at him, your hands on both of his shoulders. He gave a look of disbelief "What? No! You just got back and now your gonna leave me again!" Shaking your head you explained again "No, I'm coming back I promise,but I need to help them ! That Woman is very powerful and I'm afraid she might have something more sinister planned . So I need you to stay here so you don't get hurt." You were trying to convey how sorry you were ,but you didn't have time. Jordan shook his head ,telling you that if you didn't come back he'd hunt you down himself , then climbed up the tree.

Waving good bye you ran towards the Wood. It didnt take long for you to find them. There was a blood trail and the sound of guns going off was loud. Running ahead you came to a clearing.

There she was, corned by the three of them. You ran closer,noticing now that there was a force field around all of them. Coming even closer you had noticed that Lila was there, protecting her mother. She was using one of her abilities on the brothers. Their faces were contorted into pain. Their mouths open in a silent scream.

"Let them go! " " Its me you want not them!" Lila turned her head towards you. " well hello y/n fancy seeing you here." She had a pleasant smile on her face,as if she was enjoying all of this. Floating back down to the ground she let boys go. They all fell on their faces gasping for air.

Lila walked towards you pushing you to the ground . "Now " she said while putting your hands behind your back. "Your coming with us" She then turned towards the triplets " and you three you're all fired for disobeying orders. You're lucky I didn't kill you." Axel crawled towards his brothers, grabbing on to their hands , helping them get up. Oscar and Otto grabbed their guns that fell to the ground ,holding them up towards the Handler.

Lila watched unamused "If you shoot her I'll kill your little friend here and then all three of you,understand?" Her smile was now a frown. The Handler chuckled at this and sent a smile towards Lila. She was proud of her daughter, she trained her well. Lila looked back at you then hauled you to your feet. You didn't want to come to this ,but your freedom and the safety of everyone you love and care for was worth the pain. Looking at Axel ,Otto, and Oscar, you gave them a look of sorrow. You mouthed run then closed your eyes. Their eyes widened, understanding what you were about to do, and ran covering their ears. They didn't want to run from a fight especially one that you were in. They wanted to do anything they could to help you,but they also knew how destructive your power was. They couldn't risk dying at your hands. Watching them run away you waited till you were closer to the Handler. You dug your feet into the ground giving Lila a hard time . "Ugh! " "Will you stop dragging your feet and come on! Its annoying!" With a puff she threw you to the ground in front of her . Then she helped her mother up. The Handler leaning on Lilas shoulder, the knife still in her abdomen bleeding out.

"Well, wasn't that a show?" She looked at you then back at Lila telling her it was time to leave. You took a deep breath, ready to end this all. It was now or never.

Tags: @narwhalblog @yes-someonestolemysweetroll @ilostmystylusalongtimeago @brckenmercenary @koelu-chan @gorgeourrific-nerd @fillechatoyante @sweetaluux

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hawks-is-kinda-chicken-little · 4 years

Text

Voicemail: Part 3

Hawks x reader

A/n: I swear I am alive, I'm just getting my shit together for college. Anyways have my half-assed attempt at a story plot. I stopped here because I'm going through sad hours and that was really going to affect the rest of the story if I continued, I mean it still might be i’m not sure. No clue how gently I feel like being to everyone's feelings for the last chapter (don’t worry I make myself suffer too).

Part 1

Part 2

-Part 3-

Part 4

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“Not alive at least. They never come back alive.”

Hawks may not have been in the facility anymore, but he could still hear the words through the speaker. After all feathers weren’t the only thing he inherited from the avian species. In-fact, a lot of predatory bird-like qualities were passed down to him, none of which were proving to be any aid.

Endeavor exited the facility talking to some of the other heroes who were caring for the two children. He looked towards the clouds watching the desperate hero who was barely able to flap his wings in a steady momentum to keep him airborne. Twitching here and there causing his flow to stutter. Feathers puffed up clearly agitated, but some others sharpened to a dangerous level. It was truly a pitiful sight. From the looks of it, Hawks was nowhere near ready to calm down. Hands were shaking while switching from clenching to unclenching, desperately wanting to hold on to something. Nail marks were indented in the palms of his gloves. Anxiety and agony evidently overriding every morsel of reason that survived up to this point. His eyes never stopped searching, gaze switching from place to place as light-speed. Endeavor could practically taste the burning red rage sourly seething through Hawks every movement. But, nothing Endeavor could say would bring Hawks from his agitated state. He had to let it fly its course. Only then would Endeavor be able to pull him back to one of the agencies where they could recuperate.

Lucky for the heroes, they had detained all the henchmen left to guard the facility. They might be able to strangle some information out of them. But, it was kinda strange that the main man would leave them there knowing that the heroes were en-route. However, as Rumi noted, leaving those men there perfectly diverted their attention from the escaping vehicle. A smart move on the abductors part.

The League was pretty pissed about the whole shebang. Torturing the earlier captured men in a more gruesome manner out of pure rage. In doing so, one of them squeaked about some sort of airport. Oh, now those two were in even deeper shit. Dabi was nice enough to inform Hawks about this new information though. Calling him over for a nice group beating.

“That’s all I know swea- ack”

Smack!

Blood splattered the ground, painting over old splotches littering the place.

Crack!

One of many bones to be shattered but the blunt head of the bat.

“I’ll ask this one for time- What fucking airport?”

Silence.

Crack!

“Hawks, the guys’ gonna be dead before you get an answer, or at least a feasible one,” Dabi grunted.

“Fucking hell,” Hawks cursed, slinging the blood dripping bat to the side of the room with an echoing thud as the wood teetered from end to end until it settled. Hands shooting to clench his golden locks in an iron grip. He squatted to the floor, head hanging low, trying to fight the urges of a predator whose prey sits before them utterly helpless.

A scarred hand grabbed Hawks’ shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Hawks shifted his head slightly, just enough so that he could eye Dabi's own eyes from the side. So many emotions swirled within those baby blue pools of fire. Remorse, agitation, worry, and so much more, all together forming a dangerous poison. A poison which would make poor souls scream in agony for death. Something Keigo would be glad to provide.

Now the two might now get along most of the time, but when facing a common goal, they are not a pair to be trifled with.

The men in the chairs started struggles in the ropes that tied them to the splintering chair. Pulling hopelessly with all their might, but to no avail. Dabi and Hawks shifted their eyes to the bastards in front of them.

The hand, not on Hawks’ shoulder, was raised to the man's face level, resting inches away. Smoke began flaring from Dabi’s scared palm, small blue flames flickered around the heel as it heated up. The heat alone was enough to singe the man’s facial hair. Terror welled in the man’s expression as the hand was brought closer, making him whimper.

“Let's try this again.”

Horrid fumes of burnt flesh swirled throughout the air. The man was a tough one to crack, Dabi knew he would come around, he just needed a little encouragement. They got the information they wanted him. Hawks had pity on the bastard, taking a feather, slitting his throat with one quick slash. The other man could do nothing but watch as his comrade bleed out.

“Don’t worry pal, my boss has plans for you.”

No matter how much he tried to scream all that would come out was muffled sludge blocked by the gag. Dabi, patted his ashy hand on the man’s head before walking towards the door with Hawks following on his heels. The man’s thrashing only increased as he door slammed closed, leaving him with the freshly fried corpse of the other one.

“What’s the plan from here?” Dabi asked.

“If they wanted to sneak on the plane unnoticed, they would have to do it at night, when no one else could potentially spot them.”

“It's a private jet though.”

“Yes, but the guys said it was being held with other private jets.”

“Whatever, your dumbass logic gives me a headache sometimes.”

Twice popped out around the corner where they were talking.

“Please don’t screw each other in the lobby.”

“Twice, what the hell. I would rather set myself on fire.”

Hawks gave Dabi an offended glare. Dabi in return rolled his eyes, walking away from Hawks.

“Just hurry up. Go get your boy scout in line and save her already”

“Who said I was doing this as a hero?”

Dabi halted, back facing Hawks. A smirk tugged at the corners of his charred lips as his eyes darkened.

“You don’t have the balls to fly that far from the nest bud. Your stupid heroes commission the only things you truly value in society.”

Hawks glared, but held his tongue. Dabi glared back with just as much hatred taking a couple of steps back towards the winged hero.

“That damned heroes commission seems to be the only thing you seem to stay faithful to.”

“What the Hell does that mean?” Hawks squawked.

“It means you are more likely to leave her for the vultures before ignoring your duties to those shitholes. Oh, wait a second, that's exactly what you did.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really now? So let me get this straight, you didn’t push her away, become a complete asshole to her because of them. Hawks at the end of the day all that matters in that brainwashed head of yours is that shitty organisation.”

“Shut up.”

“Fine, let's pretend that it wasn’t the commission pulling the strings. In that case, you are a really shitty person. I mean, you ARE the reason they're in this mess to begin with.” Hawks’ blood ran cold, Dabi gave an exasperated chuckle “What makes you think she even wants YOUR help?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh how you harm me with your words.” Dabi mocked

“Who’s fucking side are you on? Where the hell is this coming from?”

“Let’s be clear about one thing, birdbrain, just because I want her safe doesn’t mean i’m on your side. You fucked up. And that guilt is only because you feel responsible for her kidnapping, it isn’t because you’re disgusted with all the shit you put her through. So listen when I say-”

“No, you listen here, asshole. Do you honestly think I can't see the damage I did? I am not making an excuse for my behavior, looking back I can see how fucked up I was towards her. I was blessed with an angel, I had never in my life been genuinely cared about. I had never been so committed to someone, so attached to another person. Someone who felt the exact way as I did. It was terrifying.” Hawks paused face falling downwards, scrunching up to fight away the tears building up. “I didn’t have the balls to face her as time went on, so I did what I did best, I put up a front and moved forward. Avoiding our relationship, avoiding her, just because I was scared of commitment. I never bothered to think about the effects it might have had on her. I’m a real douche for doing it and I know it.”

“Shame what it took for you to figure that out.”

There was nothing sympathetic in Dabi’s tone, no, it was as sour as biting into a ripe bitter melon. Hawks said nothing, he was right after all.

“Go home Keigo. You're not welcome here right now.”

Dabi watched as Hawks turned and walked to the door. Waiting till he was about to close the door on his way out to let out one final stab.

“Oh and Keigo,” Hawks paused “when she’s safe, hope she realizes you’re not worth it.”

SLAM!

Dabi was pretty sure Hawks broke some of the hinges when he shut it behind him.

“Bastard,” He muttered, clearly not into Hawks’ delinquent behavior. Dabi stomped off to the bar to talk to the others about what to do next.

What the actual fuck, Hawks thought as he took off into the dusk set skies. Yes, he knows he screwed this up, Dabi didn’t need to rub it in anymore.

Taking out his phone, Hawks shot a text to Rumi informing her of the newly found information. It was always kind of surprising that no other hero ever questioned where all his exclusive information came from, but oh well. Hawks went straight for the place, not giving anyone time to regroup and set out a plan. It didn’t do much good last time and he wasn’t willing to risk it again. He had an hour or so before the moon set in place, if he was lucky he would make it there before anyone else did.

Wings soared through the clouds as he scanned the area below, searching for the facility. His sights locked onto a large gated perimeter, surrounding multiple runways connected to a couple of buildings housing the aircrafts. It was one of the many private airports in Tokyo, a place where the rich kept their collection of aircrafts. Hawks descended to a large window in the center of the middle building in the facility. The place seemed to be more of a showcase then anything, some of the jets looked like there were fresh out of manufacturing.

The place looked empty, no sign of any life in the facility. If it wasn’t for his abnormal vision he would be able to see anything in the pitch black room. No gates or doors were open, no runway lights shined behind him, no unusual vehicles were in sight. So either he beat everyone here, or he’s got the wrong place.

He was about to take back off into the sky when he spotted a jet that matched the description the man gave him. A sleek black metal covering, twelve square windows spaced evenly on each side of the jet’s middle, matte silver nose, blood red paint rimming the edges of the wings. It was big enough to carry a small army. The jet seemed a little out of place next to all the smaller, more compact aircraft.

It was clear the jet had yet to be tampered with. They must be waiting till the moon was at its highest to hide their escape. If that was the case they would be there for another hour or so meaning Hawks could have a look around the place. Maybe sabotage the plane enough that it might not function properly.

Using a feather Hawks carves out a circle into the glass, just big enough that he could fight through and not get stuck. The tricky part was putting the glass back into place so that the bastards weren’t suspicious of the giant whole in the window. But, he managed to do it with only a couple of close calls.

Though he was alone, Hawks still had to be careful nonetheless. Fingers felt around the side of his goggles in search of the night vision button. However, a glowing group of infrared blobs that only grew bigger by the second appeared in his sights. With great haste Hawks hide in the cramped empty space behind one of the two stairwells one either side of the balcony of the window. The tight squeeze forced his wings to fold into uncomfortable positions against the base of his back.

It stopped right outside the giant corridors leading out to the building runway. While his the blurriness of the image made it hard to fully make out he counted seven or nine of the now van sized blobs. The one in the middle was to first to make any sort of move, a panel sliding to the side as figures exited the vehicle. Others to the right and left followed suit. All filing out into the open, crowding to the center one. Though all the bodies it was he could barely make out a body hauled out onto the ground next to boxes gathered for the other vans. His attention was so zeroed in on the limp body that he didn’t notice the dozen or so figures heading for the corridor.

CREEEEAAAAK!!

The heavy metal scraped against the asphalt as it was forcefully pried open by the figures. They didn’t fully peel the doors back though, only enough so that a couple of men could head in. About six men entered the dark area, flashlights swinging around in search of anything intruder. Hawks scrunched farther into the wall, missing the beams of the one of them by millimetres allowing him to go unnoticed by the men. The continued their inspection, not very thoroughly Hawks noted, until they each gave a thumbs up signally to the others nothing was out of place.

“All clear,” One of them yelled out behind.

All six men then approach the designated aircraft. Hawks wanted to bang his head on the wall from his own stupidity, since he chose the staircase opposite of the plane.

He let out a quiet hiss of frustration; “dammit.”

Biting the inside of his cheek he started trying to devise a plan. Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak some feathers inside to take them out. So he did just that, sending one feather for each man and one extra just in case.

The men had clearly let their guard drop as they focused on their tasks. He had no problem maneuvering the feathers around them as they worked. Two men were in the cockpit, two in the carriage, one taking storage in the backroom, and the last of the six was making his way to the single bathroom of the aircraft.

The man made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his pants before pulling out a phone and doing some unspeakable things that made Hawks want to vomit in his tiny corner. The poor guy had no clue that he was going to be the first to go, Hawks literally caught the bastard with his pants down. A mental note was made to just leave the dagger in his chest, after everything he just witnessed with that feather there was no way he wanted it back in his plumage.

One down, five to go and next up was the storage guy. A feather hovered right above the back of the guy as he checked off boxes on his clipboard. Moving forward, but still sticking to the wall in order to give the feather a better angle to slash his neck. However, the bright colors contrasted with the white wall, catching the attention of the man.

“What the fuc-”

Swish

It sliced through the air, not giving the man any time to process the situation. Hands instinctively flew to his throat in a pathetic attempt to stop the life escaping him. Bright red blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers, leaking down his front as he wobbled on his feet. The harsh thud of a body crashing to the floor never sounded through the air as the feather slipped down the back of his shirt to guide him quietly to the ground. Once he was laid out noiselessly on the now red stained ground the feather took off to regroup.

They all stayed as flat as paper against the slick interior of the plane, making sure never to be in the line of sight. Three feathers arrived at their next destination, the passenger section. The two men were just goofing off. Neglecting their assigned duties in favor of gossiping like highschool girls. Hawks could help the twitching of his upper lip, sharp canines baring each time the muscles spasmed. Sexist comments were slurred back and forth between them as they talked about his dove. Feral instincts screamed at him torture them till they were pleading for death. But, he needed to keep his composure or else risk getting caught and that was not something he could really afford right now.

The feathers slithered down the aisle when the assholes turned their backs to one another. One feather took off to lock the cockpit hatch from the outside, making the two on the inside unable to interrupt Hawks. Both the men were facing the side wall of the aircraft making it easy to string two feathers into position to swoop up and dispose of them just like like the now rotting corpse in the storage compartment.

Swish

Hawks really wished he could have prolonged their suffering, but he had more important matters to worry about, unlike those sexist bastards. Oh well, he would just have to be sure to spit on their corpses later.

The last two in the cockpit worked to get the carrier up and running. Hawks could hear them from the two feathers locking inside with them as they ran their diagnostics. Just as the feathers were about to capture their lives the roaring of an engine coming to life sounded throughout the facility. Blinding bright headlights buzzed on pointing to the corridors as if asking to be let out.

CREEEEAAAAK

Hawks peered over the corner of the wall hiding him, he saw more men pulling the door fully apart to make way for the giant aircraft. With all the new lighting Hawks had to turn off the night vision mode on his goggles so he could see. Through the orange tint of his lenses he could spot [y/n]’s limp body laying on her side facing him through the legs of the surrounding guards. Her whole body looked as though they just threw her to the asphalt from the van door. A grimy brown sack covered her head that hung to the floor slightly supported by the shoulder on the ground unnaturally scrunched up by her neck. He could see the raw skin surrounding the bonds tightly wired around her bare wrists. What really unnerved him was the slow unsteady half-rise of her chest every so often. He doesn’t know if it was due to the bag covering her airway or the utterly traumatized state of her body, but it wasn’t hard to tell her lungs were starting to give way. There was no way in Hell she would make it through the plane ride. She needed medical attention and she needed it fast.

The shifting of wheels brought Hawks out of his panic as the aircraft propellers spun around in place, making the plane go forward ever so slightly. It stopped one it was centered with the doors in the front of the facility. If he slashed his feathers upon them it would surely arm the onlookers. Eyes once again shifted to the body of his dove.

Helpless. He couldn’t make a move without stirring up their attention. And if they threatened her, there wasn’t even a sliver of a chance he would make it in time.

TING

The sound echoed out from his pocket. The phone vibrated letting out another sound to alert him of a notification.

Hawks’ heart dropped to the ground as everything around him moved in slow motion. Heads took their time spinning in his direction when in reality they snapped his way in milliseconds.

He didn’t have time to look at his phone as bullets flew his way. Faster than ever, he took to the air, dodging the oncoming hellfire. Since all was turning to shit, the two cockpit feathers slashed the hell out of the men inside with zero mercy whatsoever. Using some spare feathers he sent them lashing at the tires preventing their second escape. He’d rather be plucked for everything he was worth before letting them get away again, especially not when they were so close.

His earpiece rang to life as he wound through the air.

“What the fuck is happening” a harsh feminine voice that sounded like Rumi screamed from the other side.

“Shit hit the fan, send help.”

That was all he could say before getting nailed in the right shoulder. Wings stuttered in shock, but adrenaline pushed them to keep flapping.

“Hawks!” She called.

He could barely hear her through the blazing bullets piercing through the air.

“Heading….. Minutes…… Endeavor…… Way.”

Static cut out sentences leaving him with only a couple of words from the other line. He didn’t have time to decode the meaning though.

In the midst of frantic maneuvering a blast of fire hit the window behind him sending him flying forward as a bullet lodged itself in his right thigh.

“Friendly fire!” He screamed behind him.

Now shit was really hitting the fan, Hawks thought to himself as he looped through the new hole created by none other than Endeavor. He made his way to the top of the building, the roof partially deflecting some of the ammunition flying at light speed. A new wave of confidence gassed his system with the brigade of heroes quickly approaching from behind.

“I know I annoy you, but do ya really need to fry me right now?”

Endeavor only grunted as he landed next to the winged hero, Rumi was soon to join them. The bullets had ceased to pierce the air for a moment, Hawks could hear the head guy yelling at his underlines like an abusive dog owner. Naturally they tried to retreat to their vehicles, but found the tires were lacerated enough that they were rendered useless. The yell turned into hushed whispers.

All heroes crowded up onto the roof, hastily devising a plan that would hopefully let them safely extract the beaten girl. Time was ticking fast as two beautiful lives were draining from the mother's body every wasted second. They needed to make a move and they needed to do it now.

“Fuck plans”

“Hawks don’t be rash”

Endeavor could get fucked by fire for all Hawks cared. He was going in sending flocks of lethal feathers to shred them while he used the remaining feathers to take to the sky.

It only escalated from there on. Quirks were activated from both ends, but the heroes had to be careful, they may have the upper hand power wise, but the enemies had a hostage. Hawks could see his dove start to stir among all the commotion, but his attention was quickly redirected as a first sent him flying into a wall.

In the midst of the battle one of the lackey’s managed to discreetly snag [y/n] and a couple of the packages into a small aircraft. All which were messily tossed into the back of the cargo compartment before jumping in the control seat. All engines were a go and it was off to the runway from there, splattering some of his comrades into the pavement on the way. Hawks wasn’t having it though, redirecting all of the feathers slashing around to chase the jet as it wobbled in the sky.

“Your feathers are going to do jackshit, GO!” Rumi encouraged, no longer holding back.

That was all he needed to hear, as he darted to the air, targeting with pinpoint accuracy. The door of the storage holder on the side of the jet cracked open. Opening more and more as the pilot tried to steady the plane in the sky. The jet lagged in the sky as it swerved to the side making package after package plummet out. Hawks was tailing the jet, but the pilot kept taking sharp turns to try and lose him.

Hawks spotted [y/n’s body starting to slip to the edge of the open door. One final turn from the unsteady jet was all it took to send her descending into the air. Hawks immediately dove after her, wings tucking flat to increase his speed, arms stretching out towards her, hands ready to snatch her at the first given chance.

The ground was approaching uncomfortable fast. [Y/n] was just out of his reach, fingertips brushing against her own.

His wings gave one last flutter against his back, pushing him just far enough to reach her forearm. Hawks latch his hand onto her arm hauling her into his arms before spreading his scarlet wings in an attempt to catch in the air. A hiss passed his lips as the opposing velocity strained the muscles at the base of his wings.

Just before the hit the ground Hawks caught his bearings, letting them at least land somewhat safely. He stumbled on the turf, the hand that wasn’t holding [y/n] shot out to the ground where he keeled making sure to not fall over onto her. They landed a mile or so from the gates of the airport.

BOOM!

Hawks watched as sparks erupted from an explosion a little ways from them. Looks like the poor bastard couldn’t fly after all.

His breath was heaving, the adrenaline of the situation still pumping through his body. Lifting his hand from the ground he untied the rope holding the sack over her head, pulling it off, freeing her beaten face. Scarce breaths passed through her cracked lips.

Hawks was quick to let the rest know he had her. Endeavor let out a sigh of relief through the otherside of the line. Rumi yelled with happiness. When asking about her condition, he was hesitant to say anything, only saying that he was rushing her to urgent care immediately.

Weakly she stirred in his arms, whimpering as her bound wrist rubbed the harsh unforgiving rope peeling her already raw skin. Hawks plucked a feather, slashing her wrist and ankle constraints, finally setting her aching limbs free. Tears welled in his eyes, partly because she was now in his arms once again and partly because she was suffering in his arms.

“Shhhhh, baby bird, I’m gonna get you some help okay?”

He couldn’t tell if she heard him, but he wasn’t going to bother waiting for a reply. Wings spread behind him once more, screaming at him from pure agonizing torture they had already suffered. Limbs burned, fire setting every vein ablaze with even the slightest of moments.

All it took once one more heart wrenching soft cry passing her lips to get the adrenaline rushing again. No wound or pain could hold him down as he flapped his wings aggressively through the thin air. He kept staggering up to the clouds and low to the ground. It was definitely not his smoothest flight, but it was doing the job. She was held securely in a tight embrace against his chest. One of his hands gently caressed her cheek with the thumb in an attempt to pass her his wordless love.

Some of the feathers started to give from those once giant eyes. Every feather lost was another piece of [y/n] drifting to the light of eternal rest. She was a rose that was slowly shedding its abused petals, wilting from the mortal world.

Hawks could see the hospital in his sights, in his moment of overwhelming relief he almost hit the ground, but luckily he was able to bring them both up just in time.

White doors slammed over as a body crashed onto the hospital lobby tile. The receptionist rushed over to the counter spotting the hero, wings clings around his front to cushion their landing. Looking at the lady in scrubs he lifted one of his wings revealing the beaten woman he cradled to his chest. The lady screamed for help as doctors and nurses flooded the room. A stretcher was brought in as [y/n] was carted into one of the back rooms, nurses flocking the stretcher trying to assess her state.

A separate stretcher was brought in for him. A light smile graced his face as he watched them take care of her while they hauled him onto the cart. One of the nurses was trying to ask him questions, but he paid them no mind, only watching his dove.

The smile quickly faded as he saw more doctors dash to her room, panicked expressions present on each of their faces. He tried to stay awake, he tried to hear what was going on, but the last thing he heard was a doctor yelling one word that echoed in his ears even as he lost touch with reality.

“CLEAR!”

Then everything went black.

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

Also I want to thank you all for reading this, it makes me so happy. I literally cried at all the love you all gave the first chapter. I wish I was kidding I actually cried.

TAGS:

@assassinslittlesister @anxiousgoddest @moonpawss @regularkacchan @austriasmariazelle @murkyrosewrite @hawksexual @imuziawi

#bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #hawks x reader #bnha keigo takami #boku no hero academia #mha #hawks #keigo takami

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cloud9in · 4 years

Note

if you feel like writing again could we have some soft zoey x mc or at least some sort of resolution after the events of the human sacrifice because your rewrite absolutely broke me (in the best way possible) - satrinadia💞

An excuse to write more Zoey? YES! Here it is @satrinadia I hope you like it :)

Human Sacrifice (Alternate Ending)

Summary: Bea comforts Zoey in the aftermath of the Bacchanalia

Warnings: Lots of fluff? Some angst

Pairing: Mc (Bea) x Zoey

Tags: @samanthadalton (#1 FAN!!)

I wrapped my arms around Zoey’s torso as we silently walked across campus. Her body had given up after a while, but I held her up, even as her head sank down onto my shoulders. She felt heavy and looked exhausted. The Zoey I knew wasn’t the same girl in my arms tonight. Her tall, proud frame rested completely on my support. I let her sob the remaining tears she had onto my exposed skin, which was rough from the chilly night. But that wasn’t important, I didn’t care. The only thing I gave a shit about was her. It was always her. After Poppy’s credit cards hit the T, I rushed out of that hellhole and found Zoey standing in the path, her eyes a teary mess, and her hair...god her hair. I wanted to go back and rub salt on Poppy’s wounds, but my bestfriend needed me, and I wasn’t going to put anyone before her.

Zoey had lifted her head slowly when we arrived back at the dorm. I could see her visibly relax once she knew there was no one around to laugh at her appearance. Not that I would even let anyone come close to doing that. I wanted to say something, anything to break the deafening silence that lingered in the room. I look to the ground, concentrated in thought before Zoey clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“Uh..I’m going to go clean up…”

I peered over to see her eyes lock with mine for only a second. She eventually lowered her gaze and was unable to suppress the tremors that rocked her shoulders. I reached out as cautiously as I could, my face etched with concern. Can she stand by herself? I don’t want her to collapse.

Zoey shakes her head and turns her whole body away from me

“I-I don’t want you to look at me like that. I don’t want you to pity me-”

“That’s not what I’m doing Zoey”. My throat burns with fear. Was I even helping? I don’t want her to feel like she can’t talk to me. I shake the negative thoughts from my mind and stand up straighter, “Please look at me.”

She doesn’t move an inch, not until I pace closer and carefully wrap my arms around her heavy posture. I breathed in her scent, and even with the layer of tomatoes, I could smell small hints of her favorite pineapple perfume. How can she always be this perfect? I’d have to remind her more often.

“We don’t have to talk about what happened...I just want to take care of you Zoey. Whatever you need, it’s yours.” My voice revealed more softness than I expected. I was a small town girl with a backbone, and a knack of getting into fights. But with Zoey? She brought out a side of me I never knew existed. A side of me that only catered to her. With that being said, I’d still beat Poppy’s ass for doing what she did, I think it’s only fair.

I laughed quietly into the curve of Zoey’s neck and she stiffened before stepping out of my hold. “...What?”

I could sense the insecurity in her voice. It was so soft. Maybe if I wasn’t standing so close to her, I’d save myself from hearing that haunting sound, and my heart would still be in one piece. I can’t imagine how she must be feeling right now...but I’m determined to be the one who eases her mind, at least tonight.

I smiled quietly, an idea forming in my head. “I was just wondering how you still smell so good right now.” I smirked as Zoey tried to stifle a laugh, her grim features now disappearing as her eyes loose with shock. “Is that seriously what you’re thinking about right now..?” I wanted to tease her more (and I definitely planned on it) but not while she’s still dripping red goo all over the floor. I looked towards the hall where the bathroom stood and nudged her forward. “I mean yes..but you also still reek of tomato soooo, let's get you cleaned up huh?”

Ignoring her protests I pull Zoey’s arm towards the bathroom, turning on the light.

“...So what will it be? Bubble bath or…” I spread out my arms dramatically pointing to the glass door, “el shower.” She stares at me for a moment before cracking up with laughter, “...you do know that’s not how you say shower in spanish Bea.” I felt my face heat up with embarrassment but it was definitely worth it to see that gorgeous smile again. Maybe I’d be able to see it again tonight. I decided to turn on the shower, (which is called la ducha btw, Zoey decided to give me a Spanish lesson while I prepped everything ), and gathered nice smelling products, while setting a hot temperature to wash off the icy breeze of the night. I gazed over at Zoey after I finished, “well it looks like my job here is done, I do expect to be paid for my labor.” She rolls her eyes but gives me a cheeky grin.

I decided that while she was cleaning up, I would cook a nice comfort meal and set up the couch with a bunch of blankets and pillows. Maybe we could have a movie night, or scroll through social media and clown the Zeta Girls.

But Zoey’s voice cuts off my train of thoughts

“Wait are you not gonna join me?”

I think right about here is where my brain short circuits, and judging by the giggling coming from inside the bathroom, Zoey noticed it as well. I tried to ignore her gaze but when I looked at her once again, her eyes were much softer. She dropped her arms to her side, letting them lightly sway as she lowers her eyes, “I kind of don’t want to be alone right now...and if you don’t mind...I also might need help scrubbing tomato off my back..” Zoey mimics a brush scrubbing her back and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. I walked back into the bathroom and closed the door, my heart beating rapidly for some reason (keep it together Bea, it’s just Zoey. Not like you have a big fat crush on her...). When I turned around, Zoey was already undressed and in the shower. The water gathering on the floor was a mixture of tomato remains, and soap suds. I couldn’t help but study every inch of her body, the light casting a radiant glow on her dark skin. The subtle red stains on her skin reminded me of chestnut, and her eyes shined like they were made of chocolate. I swallowed and averted my gaze after she noticed me staring. Zoey looks at me with a small smile, “well are you coming in or not?”

I inched my way towards the glass door and before I could make a move of my own, Zoey tugs at the straps of my lingerie and pulls me under the shower. I stare at her for a moment, taking in the droplets of water that glide slowly down her cheeks. I wanted to reach out and wipe them away. I wanted to run my fingers through her thick curls. But it seemed like getting lost in thought about Zoey was a bad decision. The moment is drastically cut off when a stream of water shoots out from all directions of the shower. I yelped as every inch of me was soaked immediately.

“....Okayyyyy I never had jets in my shower... it feels like I’m in a damn car wash!” Zoey howls with laughter as she holds on to me, her body racking with mini screams as she uses me as a shield. I struggled to move but eventually I managed to lower the strength of the jets, shooting her a playful glare. “Was this your plan all along?”

She feigns innocence, grabbing a bottle of honey-milk conditioner and welding it into her curls. She gives me a once-over and raises her eyebrows, “are you going to be showering in your clothes..?” I peered down at my damp stockings and smirked, “well why not? My purpose here is to help you, might as well look good while doing it.” Zoey eyes me suspiciously before shrugging and returning to her hair. I stood there watching as her fingers massaged her scalp, eventually trailing down the flat of her stomach and colliding with the soap that painted her body. I then turned around and slowly began peeling the wet fabric off of my skin, catching the eye of Zoey as she gapes down at me. A smug grin sits happily on my face as I grab one of the bottles of soap and squeeze its contents onto my palm.

“Turn around”

Zoey arches another eyebrow at me, reaching out to touch me but I step back with a smirk. “Unless you want tomato skin on your back, I recommend you turn around..”, she eventually obliges with a huff.

The skin of her back was so smooth, it felt like silk sheets. I scrubbed away the remaining bits of tomato and let my palms rest on the base of her hips. I could feel her body vibrate as I trailed kisses across her shoulder blades and up her neck, eliciting small gasps. Zoey turned around in my grasp and placed her hands on either side of my face, drawing me in until our noses touched. From here, I could see a thousand specks of gold that sparkled in those beautiful eyes of hers. Any longer and I think I’d get lost in them. Her lips were plump and full, and the way they curl up when she smiles, drives me crazy. I hovered my lips over her own, my voice barely a whisper as I traced her jaw with a featherlike touch. The way her eyes shut tightly in anticipation is enough to make me smile like a fool. I stood there and admired every subtle reaction, and every droplet of water that mixed with the soap on her body. Seriously...how can anyone be this perfect?

A gentle smile appears on my face as my eyes sparkle with mischief. “You know... you look so beautiful right now”, Zoey opens her eyes and stares at me widely. She snorts in disbelief, “I...what?”.

My smile grows wider as I continue, “I mean it! Like seriously Vogue who? Picasso who? You...are a work of art right now. I’m almost mad I’m touching you! Did you know that red compliments your complexion? Have you considered getting red highlights? They really suit-” A smack to my side cuts me off deftly as Zoey’s laugh booms throughout the bathroom. I began laughing as well, dodging another one of her swift punches. “If you were trying to make me feel better, that was a horrible execution Bea...way to ruin the mood.”

I pretended to be hurt, hand hovering over my heart, all while looking at her with a shit eating grin, “anddd...that’s why you were laughing?”. Zoey rolls her eyes, a contagious smile surfacing on her face as she giggles.

“You’re ridiculous you know that?”

“I’m also cute but you knew that.”

After a long shower, Zoey and I settled on the couch with popcorn (because I burnt the food) and soda pops. We decided to stick with a good ole cheesy rom com that we could make fun of. She snuggled close to me and I couldn't help but wrap my arm around her tightly. Zoey rambled on about the actors of the characters and who was dating who in real life, but I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off of her. I admired how brightly her face lit up when she laughed at a corny joke, and the way she would tangle her fingers with mine unknowingly. When she turned her head to look at me I captured her lips in a sweet, passionate kiss that left a tang of pineapple soda in my mouth.

I ran my fingers through her fresh black curls as she fell asleep on my lap. My other hand traced soft patterns on her palm. As I gazed down at her sleeping figure, my mind raced with thoughts of her lips, her eyes, her everything. It wasn’t until a moment later that my brows shot up with realization (and a hint of fear) that she meant more to me.

I whispered to myself quietly as I looked down at her again, shutting my eyes

“I...I think I’m in love with you”.

#zoey wade #playchoices #queen b #zoey x mc #choices stories you play #this one is much shorter than the original #fluff is not my forte

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runpogorun · 4 years

Text

Show Me Your Scars

Here is my DDE 2021 New Year’s Day fic @daredevilexchange (a few days late, shhh) for @matt-murdok. Sorry it was late, but I hope it was worth the wait!

This is set in that horrible time after season 2, when Matt and Foggy aren't on good terms. Matt is working with the Defenders. @metaderivative and @iheartallthethings were amazing with their help on this fic.

Read it here, or over on AO3.

Enjoy!

_____

Foggy doesn't bother to announce his arrival with a knock. If Matt is conscious, he'll have heard Foggy long before he slid his key into the door. If Matt hasn't heard him… well, Foggy isn't letting himself think about unconsciousness, or worse.

It's dark in Matt’s entryway, of course, vague blotches of colour mottling the cavern that Matt uses as a lounge. Foggy drops his keys and a sigh on the side table, and flicks on the hall light. He can see a tuft of dark hair at the end of the couch, and his back is thankful he won't be scraping Matt off the floor.

"What are you doing here, Foggy?" Matt's coherent, even. Wonders will never cease.

"You know, it's great being wanted." Foggy nearly turns on his heel to leave, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes slow, deliberate steps, as he moves away from the warm light of the hall and towards the purplish billboard-lit gloom of the lounge. "It makes my day. Or, whatever you call this sort of time."

Matt grunts but doesn't turn his head to track Foggy as he ambles over to perch on the edge of the coffee table. Matt's half-sitting, stretched out full length. His eyes are closed, and he looks pinched, in pain, even as the lights dance across his face. Foggy can’t identify any visible injuries. "There's no reason for you to be here," Matt says.

"That's where you're wrong." Foggy waits, but Matt gives him nothing more, so he sighs. Matt seems to make him sigh more and more these days. He decides to stick to fact. "Jones told me you might need a welfare check."

Matt shakes his head slightly without opening his eyes, so Foggy stops trying. He stands, walks to the kitchen and fills a glass with water, snagging a bottle of pills from the shelf on his way back. He puts the glass on the coffee table, where Matt can reach it easily, and shakes the bottle before throwing it on Matt's stomach. "Ibuprofen." Matt opens his eyes, picks up the bottle and runs his fingers over the braille label, like he doesn't believe Foggy and needs to confirm for himself.

Foggy thrusts his hands in his pockets and watches as Matt twists the cap off the bottle with some difficulty, and shakes out two capsules. He swallows the pills, then reaches out, groping for the glass, but his aim’s off. He must be feeling pretty bad. Foggy takes Matt’s flailing hand and guides it to the glass.

“Thanks,” Matt says, grudging. Foggy knows how much Matt hates feeling helpless, so he shrugs. Matt drains the glass, and manages to get it back on the coffee table without smashing it. “I’m fine, really.”

“Yeah, sure,” Foggy says. Matt really does look miserable. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his breaths come short. Foggy casts about and spots a blanket hanging over the back of one of the armchairs. He picks it up, shakes it out, spreads it over Matt. God, he hates this asshole. “Ribs?”

Matt nods, curtly, then says, “You don’t need to stay.”

“Oh, I know.” Foggy paces over to the window and looks through one of the grimy panes, down into the darkened alley, still with the heavy humidity of summer, then back over his shoulder. “Want to tell me what happened tonight?”

“C’mon, Foggy. What do you want here?” Matt squirms slightly, pulling the blanket around himself.

“Whatever. I’ll get out of your hair.” Foggy turns and leans against the brickwork, holds up a finger. “Just tell me one thing.”

Matt raises a questioning brow, as his hands squeeze the blanket.

“What’s CPLR 3211?” Foggy asks.

Matt frowns in confusion. “What?”

“You heard me. CPLR 3211. What is it? What’s it for?”

“Motion to dismiss?” Matt replies. “Or is this something cryptic?”

Foggy relaxes and wanders closer to Matt. “Nah, you got it right. I’m just testing your lucidity.” Testing that Matt’s safe to be on his own.

“With my knowledge of New York’s consolidated laws?”

“It’s not something you’d forget easily.”

Matt concedes the point by tilting his head. “So now you want me to dismiss you?”

“Don’t imagine you’re the one calling the shots, here.” Foggy stands where he is, studying Matt’s face while he tries to decide between coffee, alcohol, and the door. “You know it would be an enormous pain in my ass if you died, right?” Foggy asks. “So I need you to promise that if I leave you won’t die.”

“I will never die,” Matt quotes, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Foggy snorts, suddenly on the edge of laughter. "Yeah. Okay, Gary." He sobers, looking again at Matt’s taut face. “Don’t lie to me. Are you going to be okay if I leave you alone?”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

Foggy nods absently. “Gary was a better actor than you.” He doesn’t really believe Matt’s ‘fine,’ but Matt also doesn’t look like he’s lining up to shuffle off this mortal coil. “You want any help getting in bed?”

Matt closes his eyes again, shakes his head. “I’m here for the night.”

“Need the bathroom?”

“Foggy. I’m not an invalid.”

“Okay.” Foggy nods. “Okay. See you, man.”

Matt says nothing as Foggy walks away. It’s for the best, really.

_____

He spots them, a week or so later, walking towards him on the opposite side of the street. Matt’s grinning like an idiot, and Jess is trying to hide her own smile, looking at him with fondness. Foggy’s glad they’re working together, he really is. Matt needs someone looking out for him, and Foggy appreciates the sporadic texts she sends him. Matt’s even holding her elbow, the way he used to hold Foggy’s.

Foggy readjusts the strap of his briefcase where it’s suddenly cutting into his shoulder. Because he can’t tear his eyes away he sees Matt’s smile falter, his head tilt, and because Jess is looking right at Matt she catches it, too. She tenses, scans the street as Matt shakes his head slightly and mutters something. Jess relaxes, turns her head to look across the street just as they draw level and locks eyes with Foggy, raising her brows. Foggy half-smiles then looks away and carries on with his journey. He can’t let this derail him. He has clients to meet, a reputation as a capable lawyer to uphold. He even manages to whistle.

And if Karen can’t meet him for drinks that night, and he spends the night crying into his whisky glass alone in his apartment, no one needs to know.

The next day he gets a text.

Sort your shit out

I’m not the one with the shit, he replies.

Then he adds, Thanks for texting last week.

Jess replies surprisingly quickly. He was pissed at me

He’s an asshole

Agreed

Keep him alive, please, Jones

Jess doesn’t reply to that one.

_____

Foggy sees Matt in other places. At the courthouse, in a cafe. He can’t help but scan him for injuries, knowing that his heart’s pitter-pattering in his chest betrays his concern, and finding no new injuries, subsequent relief. Or pulling at the sight of a poorly-masked limp, a black eye not-so-hidden by dark glasses.

When Foggy sees Matt unexpectedly, he tries to feel revulsion, but he can’t. Instead, being close to Matt Murdock summons pain, and frustration, and despair. The feeling swirl and threaten to drown him, and he waits for them to coalesce into a single entity, something he can name and vanquish. He expects it to be disgust, loathing, or even hatred, but that hasn't happened yet. And Foggy can’t work out why. So he learns that after he sees Matt he’ll lose his appetite, that his breath will catch, that his body will worry.

There’s something else that he feels, in the centre of his chest, but he stubbornly refuses to name it. All the time and betrayal hasn’t weathered away its rough edges, and it has a habit of spiking him at the most inconvenient times. It would bring him to his knees, if he let it.

Matt always plays their encounters perfectly straight, never betraying what he might be reading from Foggy’s traitorous body, never straying from polite yet distant when they need to interact.

Foggy knows there’s chatter at the courthouse - What happened to Nelson and Murdock? They were practically married, and now I never see them together.

Foggy lived through the past months, but he doesn’t know, either. He doesn’t know how they ended up here, and if they can ever get to a new place.

_____

The next time Jess contacts him, she calls. At the panic in her voice he bolts out of his warm bed. Foggy has never heard her panic before.

When he arrives at Matt’s apartment his hands are shaking and he struggles to slide his key into the lock, but before he can manage it the door swings open, revealing a broad chest, clad in a hoodie flecked with bullet holes. Luke nods and steps aside wordlessly as Foggy pushes past him, searching for Matt.

All the lights are on, which isn’t saying a lot. The poor lighting casts deep shadows, appropriate for a man with too many dark secrets. Foggy has eyes only for Matt, stretched out on the couch again, bare to the waist and with an arcing red line of sutures across his chest. His breathing is so shallow that for a moment Foggy fears the worst. Matt’s deathly pale, his lashes dark against his cheek, and gives no sign whatsoever that he’s clocked Foggy’s arrival. The bright splash of red on the floor paints a picture in crimson that takes Foggy back to another night, another pool of blood. Foggy feels his legs weaken underneath him.

Foggy turns to look at Claire, where she’s kneeling beside the coffee table, cleaning up her supplies. Surgical instruments clatter into a plastic box, alongside the once-sterile wrappings of her surgical kit and little suture packets. It’s less tidy than usual, as though Claire was rushing. Claire’s hands are shaking, and her movements are jerky. She looks like she’s gone beyond her standard frustration, like she’s been grappling with fear.

Claire glances at him, then back at her work. “If Danny hadn’t got here quickly….” Claire cuts herself off and swallows hard, composes herself. “There’s only so much I can do like this.” She gestures angrily and shakily at her supplies, at Matt’s prone form, and throws bloody swabs into the box. “This isn’t an operating theatre.”

Foggy lets out a long, shuddering breath. “Thank you, Claire,” he says. He knows it’s inadequate, that it doesn’t even begin to cover what happened here tonight or any of the other nights before. .

Claire pauses, her tidying finished, and there’s a stillness to her. It’s like the night has drawn in, circling the three of them in a hideous diorama. Foggy feels himself frozen and watches as Claire looks at Matt, still as death. She shakes her head minutely, then slowly rises to her feet.

Jess is suddenly there, holding a cup of coffee in Claire’s direction, and the moment passes. Claire takes the cup with resigned relief, and Foggy shivers in surprise. He hadn’t noticed Jess at all. He looks over and sees Danny slumped at the dining table, chopsticks in hand and an empty take-out container beside him.

“Drink that, and I’ll take you home,” Jess tells Claire, then looks at Luke. “You’re in charge of Fisty.” Luke nods, and wanders over to Danny, poking him in the side with a finger.

“Ow!” Danny yelps, and stands up stiffly.

“Quit being so dramatic,” Jess grouses.

“It takes a lot of energy to channel my Qi like that-” Danny begins, but Luke picks him up and hefts him over a shoulder. Danny protests briefly, pounding ineffectually against Luke’s back, then gives up, sagging in defeat. Luke nods at Foggy, and makes for the roof access stairs, disappearing up them more quickly and quietly than a man his size should be able to.

Claire knocks her coffee back, and discards the cup on the table, looks hard at Foggy. “You need to stay with him.”

Foggy nods. “How long will he be like this?”

She shrugs. “He’s lost a lot of blood. Danny’s fist is kinda miraculous, but I think it has limits.”

“Just tell me what I need to know. Please.”

Claire and Jess exchange a look, and Jess clears her throat. “Luke and Danny were working together, Matt and I were doing a different area. Matt got cut bad. It was deep,” Jess supplies. “We were close so I called the others then got him here, and Claire met us, but…” Her already-pale skin turns whiter still, and she swallows hard.

“Luke and Danny showed up when we needed them to,” Claire says. She looks again at Matt, and he watches her watching Matt. “He’s going to need to rest for a few days,” Claire says.

Foggy laughs mirthlessly. “Have you met Matt?” he asks.

“He might not have any choice this time. Keep him warm, make him drink and eat. Call me only if you need to. You know the drill.”

Foggy nods, following Claire and Jess with his eyes as they disappear around the corner. The front door opens and closes, and Foggy is alone with Matt. He rubs his arms, feeling the sudden chill of fall, and looks down at the person he once called his best friend. Matt’s still unconscious, and he looks cold.

In Matt’s room Foggy digs out socks, sweats, and a hoodie, and the soft blanket Matt keeps at the end of his bed. He spreads the blanket over Matt, and piles the clothing on the coffee table. Foggy allows himself another look at Matt’s face, and he feels the spiky thing flip over in his chest. He tucks in the edges of the blanket, to keep Matt warm, and goes to make himself a coffee.

Foggy’s left a few magazines and a couple of novels at Matt’s apartment, and they’re still in a small, neat pile on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. He retrieves his old, dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, and sits down in the armchair closest to the window. From here the billboard lights Matt’s face, and Foggy can look up every few pages to check that Matt’s still breathing.

Foggy sets the book aside and stretches, and walks over to stand above Matt. Matt’s skin in waxy, but his breathing is smoother, a little deeper. Foggy should be angry at Matt, but he’s just sad, worried and lonely. He wants his best friend back.

Foggy sinks slowly to his knees and reaches up a hand to stroke back Matt’s hair. His skin is clammy, which Foggy remembers tends to happen when someone nearly bleeds out. His stomach twists again with fear for Matt, and for a fleeting moment Foggy imagines a world without Matt in it. It’s a dark place. But Matt is here and breathing. Foggy finds himself leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to Matt’s forehead.

Because this is Foggy’s life, Matt chooses this moment to stir and groan, and Foggy jumps back.

“Jess?” Matt asks, eyes pinching tightly.

“Sorry, man, it’s just me.”

“Fog?” Matt croaks, uncertain. “I can’t, I’m not.” He swallows and his eyes open, roving aimlessly and frantically as he brings one hand to the wound on his side. Foggy’s seen Matt’s eyes wander like this before, when he’s disoriented, so he grabs for Matt’s clammy hand and gives it a squeeze. Matt holds on tight, a drowning man clutching a lifering, and the lost look fades from his face. He clears his throat. “When did you get here?”

“A while ago. Jess called me.”

Matt closes his eyes again. “Claire was here.”

“She was.”

“She stitched me up.”

“Ye-es. And I think that, maybe, Danny did the magic healing glowing fist thing? Claire seemed kinda upset.”

“Because Danny took over?”

“More like…” Foggy swallows, fighting down an edge of panic. “She nearly lost you.”

“Oh. Mmm.” Matt pauses, like he’s taking stock of his body. “That tracks.” His tone lacks inflection.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Oh fuck you, Murdock.” That earns him a half-smile. “You thirsty?” Foggy asks, reaching for casual, but falling wide of the mark.

Matt swallows, with effort, and licks his lips. “Um. Yes.”

Foggy lets go, and doesn’t miss that Matt flexes his hand, like he hadn’t realised they were still holding each other, before slipping it under the blanket.

In the kitchen, he fills the electric kettle and puts it on to boil for tea, then retrieves a bottle of water from the fridge. There’s not much food on hand, looks like Danny got to the leftovers, but at least there’s bread for a sandwich.

“It’s late, Foggy. Go home to bed.”

Foggy aggressively ignores this, setting out two mugs with tea bags, and retrieving milk and sugar. He starts slapping together two PB&Js, and finds half a block of dark chocolate in the usual spot. The jug clicks off, and he fills the mugs. The familiarity of the task is soothing, distracting. Matt doesn’t seem to be as aware of Foggy’s movements as he usually is, and he hasn’t tried to sit up.

As the tea bags steep, Foggy prepares himself for the conversation he knows is coming. He has to be the instigator.

Tea bags out, Foggy adds milk and honey. Matt doesn’t like his tea sweet, but he gets less choice on a night when he nearly died. Foggy he tucks the water bottle under his arm, picks up the plate of sandwiches and chocolate, and carries Matt’s mug over to the lounge. “You need one of those lap trays they make for old people.”

Matt groans as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. Foggy stuffs a piece of chocolate at Matt’s mouth and he makes a face, but takes it without protest. The blanket has slipped down, and goosebumps stipple Matt’s chest, his nipples standing out, hard. Foggy hands Matt the hoodie and Matt takes it with surprise, running his hands over it to orient himself before slowly and painfully pulling it on and lifting the hood up over his head.

“Drink your tea,” Foggy says, and goes back to collect his own. He snags the whisky bottle and pours a hefty tot into his cup before returning to sit in one of Matt’s armchairs.

“Do I get some of that?” Matt asks.

“Maybe when you’ve got your blood volume up again.”

Matt’s surprisingly tractable, eating his sandwiches without complaint. Of course, it’s not particularly reassuring because Foggy knows it means that Matt’s got to be feeling terrible.

They sit in relative silence, Matt seemingly focused on drinking his tea without spilling it, until Foggy realises it’s past 5am. He pulls himself out of the airchair and goes to switch on Matt’s espresso machine.

When Foggy moves away, Matt reaches for the rest of his clothing. Foggy lurks in the kitchen while Matt dresses slowly, awkwardly, dropping his pants and kicking them under the coffee table. Foggy’s seen this enough times to know better than to offer help. Matt pulls on one sock then sits back, panting. Foggy despairs for Matt and his abysmal sense of self-worth. He wishes he could love Matt into healing, but he knows it doesn’t work like that. When Matt stands to pull up his sweatpants he sways slightly and clutches the back of the couch for balance. Foggy looks away, attends to the coffee, makes his own Irish.

Foggy puts Matt’s coffee on the coffee table in front of him, although Matt’s lying down and doesn’t reach for the cup. Foggy sits down again in the armchair, balancing his mug as he leans back, and fixes Matt with a stare he hopes Matt can feel.

“So.”

“So. You heading out?”

“I’m here to look after you,” Foggy says.

Matt scowls a little. “Don’t you have work?”

“It’s Saturday.” Foggy spreads his hands wide, like a magician presenting his trick. “I can stay all weekend.”

Matt makes a noise of frustration. “Just go, Foggy.”

“No can do. I’m staying.”

“You’ve left before.”

Foggy feels a stab of anger. “Because you told me to. You made it very clear that you didn’t want me around again.”

Matt’s jaw tenses, and Foggy takes a deep breath, willing himself to regain some calmness. When he speaks again, he’s proud that his voice doesn’t shake.

“We’ve already been through this, and I have no interest in doing it again.” He takes another breath. “You matter to me, Matt. Once upon a time I met this cool guy and we became friends and spent tons of time together. I even started a business with him.”

“And then you found out he wasn’t who you thought he was,” Matt says, with a wide, dismissive gesture.

“Yeah, and it sucked.” Foggy looks down at the hands in his lap and realises he’s wringing them.

“So why are you still here? I thought we were done.”

Foggy looks up at that. “I’m not done.”

“Foggy. I feel like shit. I don’t want to do this now.” Matt does look like shit, but that’s not the point here.

“Yea, well, you never want to talk about it on the rare day you’re uninjured, so...”

“So drop it.” Matt’s face is blank, emotion masked, facing the wall in front of him, not Foggy.

“Stop pushing me away, Matt”

A flicker of anger crosses Matt’s face. “You’re only here out of a misplaced sense of loyalty.”

“Misplaced? Matt. Why can’t you accept that I want to be here?”

“Because you don’t. Because I’m...”

“What?”

Matt closes his eyes and tips his head back, inhales like he’s praying for strength. Then he straightens, facing Foggy head on. “I’m not worth it.”

“This again. You must think I’m a poor judge of character.”

“Maybe when it comes to me,” Matt says, nodding.

“You’re such a selfish asshole.”

Matt nods again, agreeing, which is frankly irritating. “Also, I’m not. Not. I…”

“Not what, Matt? Reliable? A good decorator? Because I already knew that.”

“I’m not.” Matt stops again, takes a deep breath. “It’s not you, it’s me. You know that. I’m just…” Matt still can’t finish the thought.

“Are you trying to say that you’re not likable? Because I think you know that’s not true. You’re… magnetic.”

“Until people find out who I really am.”

Fogy shuffles forward in his seat and rests his elbows on his knees, leaning towards Matt. “Matt, I need you to listen to what I’m about to say. Okay? You have inherent worth as a human, and you matter to me, very much. And that isn’t contingent on us getting along all the time, or you avoiding injury, although I’d really prefer it if you didn’t get hurt. So stop trying to push me away, because I like things a lot better when we aren’t fighting. Or we can squabble, but it’s not the end of the world.”

Matt’s averted his face, away from Foggy and the billboard. He bites his lower lip and shakes his head slightly, and doesn’t reply.

“I love you, man,” Foggy says. “And it hurts seeing you be self-destructive. But that doesn’t stop me loving you.”

Matt squeezes his eyes shut, and Foggy sees a glistening tear slide down the curve of his cheek. Matt’s jaw works, and Foggy waits him out, giving him time to speak.

“There’s a difference between what you tell me I should know, and what I believe,” Matt finally says.

Foggy hates everyone who has left Matt over the years. But he can’t hate Matt.

“You’re so smart, Matt, but you don’t understand feelings at all.”

Suddenly the space between them yawns, impossibly far, and Foggy has to bridge it. In a rush, he stands and moves to sit beside Matt on the couch, and he reaches across Matt’s lap to pick up his left hand from where it’s balled in a fist on his thigh, forcing Matt to turn his shoulders towards Foggy.

Foggy looks at Matt’s hand. The knuckles are bruised, of course, but it’s the same hand that he’s seen reading, skimming over surfaces in a real or feigned search for information, the same hand that’s so often held firmly but lightly to Foggy’s elbow.

Gently, Foggy unfurls Matt’s fingers, spreading them wide and lifting Matt’s hand to press against the centre of Foggy’s chest, with his own hand spread above it.

The rest of Matt unfurls along with his hand, softening and reaching towards Foggy.

Foggy watches as the lines of tension in Matt’s face ease, and he seems to tune in to the beat of Foggy’s heart. The spiky thing in the middle of Foggy’s chest warms and pulses and softens, and Foggy finally lets himself name it - it is love. Foggy’s love for Matt. And Matt Murdock might be clever with words and stupid with emotions, but no one feels the world the way Matt does.

Foggy leans forward and kisses Matt’s forehead again, gentle and warm, then presses his forehead to Matt’s.

“I’m tired, Foggy.”

Foggy murmurs in agreement. “I know. So am I. And I miss you.”

Matt reaches with his other hand to cup Foggy’s shoulder, a finger playing over the scar under the sleeve of Foggy’s sweater.

Foggy kisses Matt’s forehead again, then pulls back slightly. “You haven’t touched that scar before, have you?” Foggy asks. Matt pulls his hand away, like he’s just realised what he’s doing, and shakes his head, frowning. “It’s okay.” Foggy has to release Matt’s other hand, but he shrugs his left arm out of its sleeve and pulls the bottom edge of his sweater up so that his entire arm and half his torso are bare. “Feel away.”

Cautiously, Matt reaches out with his right hand and touches one fingertip with unerring accuracy, exactly where the bullet left its mark. Foggy watches as fleeting emotions chase each other across Matt’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you in the hospital,” Matt says. He presses his palm flat over the scar for a moment, lifting his hand away only to press a kiss of his own to Foggy’s skin, to his scar. Foggy shivers.

Matt’s hand moves again, sensitive fingertips trailing from Foggy’s arm across to his chest and grazing a nipple. He pauses, all five fingertips there with the lightest of touches over Foggy’s heart, before his hand spreads out. Foggy feels the contact like it’s a brand.

Foggy lifts his right hand. He has to unzip Matt’s hoody, but then he’s pressing his own hand over Matt’s heart, and confusion, joy and hope are chasing each other across Matt’s face.

Matt leans forward and kisses Foggy on the lips. It’s sweet and gentle, but when Matt presses in more firmly Foggy moves back.

Matt doesn’t look like he’s about to jump out the window, but he does look uncertain. “You don’t want...?” Matt asks.

“Oh, I do. You have no idea. But you’re hurt and tired and you have a very soft bed in the next room, and maybe we’ve done enough talking for now.”

“Want to spoon?” Matt asks, and the hope on his face nearly breaks Foggy’s heart.

“Yes I do, my spoony little friend. And we can talk later.”

Matt smiles, and it’s like seeing the sun burst over rain-drenched lands that had almost forgotten a sun existed. “Later.” And Foggy takes Matt’s hand in his, helps him carefully to his feet, and leads him to bed.

#daredevilexchange #matt murdock #Foggy nelson #pogowrites

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

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Riding On Ch8: A Bun (And Cookies) In The Oven

Summary: Frank and Fliss attend Mary’s end of year fundraising gala at school, the Nursery is finally finished and plans are made regarding Mary’s adoption.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, NO UNDER 18s!).

Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher

Series Masterlist // WIYPT Masterlist

And it may take some time to patch me up inside, but I can't take it so I run away and hide. And I may find in time that you were always right, you're always right.