#one of the most common ways this happens is when steam comes up&i mention that i killed two laptops w tf2 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seasonsbloom · 2 years

Text

swimming into you . bob

PART ONE : he's so pretty (when he goes down on me)

pairing ; bob floyd x female!reader

synopsis ; things between you and Bob are strictly business: he’s your backseater, and that’s all there is. Until he offers to help you let off some steam and you find out just how pretty he looks between your thighs…

wc ; 6k

warnings ; 18+ only; explicit language, angst, panic attack, reader definitely has PTSD, mentions of past character death

note: this has no smut which might be a surprise after the first part, sorry. but this needed off my chest, so... idk. i hope you enjoy it anyway, please don't be disappointed

desertsagecelestial aka sol i STILL owe you my life

Your life is a downward spiral, a maelstrom that pulls you ever deeper towards rock bottom, a rollercoaster on an eternal decline, a plane mid-crash, a…

“I swear to god, Spec, you’re the most dramatic person I’ve ever met,” Phoenix says, squinting at you over the rims of her sunglasses. “And I know Hangman personally.”

You can’t answer because you’re staring at those Ray Bans, and it’s making you think of Bob’s glasses in that bathroom, lenses fogged up, metal pressing against your naked skin, makes you think of sliding them up his nose, and then you’re thinking of his fingers and his tongue and his voice against you, and…

“Bro, are you dissociating?” Phoenix has tilted her head sideways. “Do I need to get you a doctor? What the hell is going on?”

It’s a sunny day, but that’s not surprising in California. You’re in the common room, lounging on nondescript beige couches. Outside the glass front, somewhere in the sky, Rooster and Hangman try and fail to shoot down Maverick. The radio crackles with the static of their comms, spitting out their taunts in endless circles nobody listens to anyway.

The other pilots are on standby in the hangar, and Bob is… god knows where. You hate that you’re so attuned to his every move now you notice even when you don’t know where he is. Part of you wants to write it off as the blind loyalty that comes with flying a two-seater, but you know that’s not true.

For a moment, you just look at Phoenix. Then you say, “Do you think Bob is good in bed?”

She blinks at you. A moment passes, then another, then…

“Specter, what the fuck?!”

You shrug. “I’m just asking.”

“Jesus.” Phoenix rubs the balls of her hands across her eyes like her head is about to split apart. “Why would you ever ask that?”

Because he ate me out in the Hard Deck’s handicapped bathroom, and I think it broke my brain, permanently altered my body chemistry, changed my actual life…

“Just… I don’t know. I was wondering.”

“Well, stop wondering,” she suggests. Then she gives you a suspicious look. “Did something happen between you two?”

You turn your gaze to the window, to the contrails like smoke signals on the canvas of the skies, to the roaring of engines that’s become your lullaby, to the sight of Bob crossing the airfield. Something in your chest hurts. Everywhere you look, he’s already there.

“No,” you say. “Nothing happened.”

The first time you met Bob, you looked right past him. There were bigger fish to fry here and bigger things to look out for, and Hangman was grinning at you and saying something stupid, so you walked by him without even realizing he was there.

He’s got a habit of that - flying under the radar.

“Yo, Specter.” Phoenix draped herself around you, pulled you against her chest. You were both giddy to see each other again, to fly together once more. “This is Bob. He’s your new backseater.”

You don’t remember much. Remember only that he wore glasses and was smiling at you with something eager, something hopeful about his face. Remember looking away immediately, nodding once.

“Don’t try to get in my way up there,” you told him, and then you turned away to beat Hangman at darts.

Ignoring the way his face fell. Ignoring Phoenix nudging you. Ignoring the sinking, tumbling, crashing feeling in your chest.

It was the beginning of the end, and you knew even then.

Sometimes you think Rooster knows.

He’s always been kind to you, kind enough to keep you hoping at the same time it tells you not to dream too much. He’s kind to everyone, anyway.

“Why’d you wanna be a pilot?” he asks, waving down a bartender and putting both your drinks on his tab.

For a moment, you think about telling him the truth. All my life, I’ve been dreaming of flying away. All my life, I’ve been dreaming of escape.

It seems too much. You’ve never told anyone.

So you just shrug, take a swig of your beer, and say, “I like the thrill.”

Rooster laughs. “I know what you mean,” he agrees, winks, knocks his bottle against yours.

And just like that, the door is opened again. You dream the dream a little longer.

Part of the Rooster appeal, part of why you suspect your crush is so persistent, is that there’s no way it’ll ever happen. All of the thrill of the fall, with none of the fear of the impact.

“We need to talk about it.”

You’re fastening your helmet as you stride across the runway towards your plane. Maybe if you walk fast enough, you’ll be able to shake him.

“No,” you growl, but it’s diminished by the fact that you’ve been struggling with your clasp for a good minute. Your fingers are shaking too hard for you to get a steady grip.

Bob hastens his steps and catches up with you easily. His shoulder rubs against your own, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Specter,” he begins, but you cut him off.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Floyd.” It doesn’t matter how angry you sound. It doesn’t matter how the irritation boils and burns in you. Inevitably, inexplicably, your mouth always begins to form the Big Boy anyway, and then you’re back in that bathroom, back with him, and in your head, you pull him closer instead of pushing him away, and something about it makes you feel like crying. “It doesn’t matter.”

You stop by the plane. Bob’s lips purse, and he looks down at his feet, shoulders pulled almost all the way up to his ears.

“I just think��” he begins, then stops himself.

Payback and Fanboy walk past, getting to their own aircraft, and they’re laughing and chatting—jovial, easy, light-hearted. You envy them. You can’t remember the last time things didn’t feel heavy to you.

Only that’s a lie too. You do remember. It was with Bob Floyd’s face buried in your pussy and your mind somewhere off in the stratosphere.

“Shit,” you curse, frustration coursing through you, fingers still fumbling with the damned clasp, and fuck it all, you just want to fly, you don’t want to think, you don’t want to feel, you just…

Bob knocks your fingers out of the way and closes the clasp for you. Suddenly, he’s so close you can smell him again—your chest burns.

“Specter,” he says, voice soft, “we need to discuss it.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“You promised we wouldn’t talk about it,” you whisper. He seems to want to say something else, but you can’t. You just can’t do it. The fear is there, and it’s making your head spin. “Please, Bob.”

Something about those words is choked. Raw.

He looks at you for a moment, brows furrowed, eyes gentle, and then he nods. Steps away. Doesn’t say anything else.

You climb into the plane and wonder when, oh, when, did it all get so complicated.

Phoenix looks at you like she thinks you’re going to fall apart right where you sit. You hate it.

“You can talk to me, you know?” she says softly, leaning across the table in the mess hall, deep enough her chest almost ends up in the mashed potatoes. “You don’t always have to keep everything inside, Spec.”

It’s not true. That’s your first thought. You can’t talk to her, can’t talk to Bob, can’t talk to anyone. No one, you know this, is going to understand you now.

Your second thought is that you’re a horrible person. Phoenix is kind and genuinely wants to be your friend. She’s been extending hands across canyons for years now. But you just can’t take them. Too afraid you’ll drag her down into the drop with you.

“I hooked up with Bob,” you say, even though you should be telling her something else.

She obviously doesn’t know what to say to that. Opens her mouth just to close it again. Then finally settles on, “Why?”

Part of you wants to say you were the one who told me to let off steam. But this one, you can’t blame it on her. Can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug.

But you do know. That’s the problem.

You think of him on his knees in that bathroom. You think of him at your back in the air. How he breaks you apart. How he puts you back together.

“You know,” Phoenix says after an incredibly long time. “I always thought you had a crush on Rooster.”

It makes you laugh, even though it isn’t funny. Not even a little. Not even at all.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, so did I.”

“So, Bob,” Hangman says, grinning in a way you can’t describe as anything other than villainous. If he, too, had a mustache, he’d be twirling it right about now. “Who do you prefer flying with: Phoenix or Specter?”

This was a horrible idea. Evenings at the Hard Deck should be barred for you from now on.

“Oh, come on,” you groan, going for nonchalance even as something inside you goes taut.

Bob looks decidedly uncomfortable, twisting his beer bottle around in his hands, fiddling with the soggy label, not looking at anyone.

“Uhm.” He shrugs. “They’re both good.”

Hangman’s having none of it.

“Nah, nah, nah, none of that diplomacy shit, Floyd. Gotta pick one.”

Coyote, always the shit-stirrer, claps a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “Yeah, bro. Who’s your best girl?”

Before responding, Bob casts his eyes down towards the floor, clears his throat. His glasses are riding low on his nose again, and you sink your fingernails into your palms to stifle the instinct to reach over and push them up for him.

“I guess… well, Phoenix is more consistent. Specter always… she’s a…. she’s a li…”

“Say it.” The words just burst from you before you can remember deciding to say them. Bob looks up then, eyes wide and face open. Your voice is venomous, and you feel like a rattlesnake about to strike. “A liability. That’s what you wanted to say, isn’t it?”

For a moment, Bob and you just stare at each other.

“I didn’t say that,” he says, voice gone soft. He’s going translucent as you speak, blending back into the chaos of the crowd.

“You didn’t have to.”

Everybody’s staring at you, but you keep your chin held high.

“I’m going home,” you say, and then you leave.

“You’re going too steep.”

Bob doesn’t have much hope that you’ll listen to him. You never do, apparently, unless he’s got you pinned to public bathroom doors.

It’s like a fever dream to him now, that night. Impossible that he was ever so close to you when all there is between you these days is distance and feelings tangled like thickets of thorns. When you won’t talk to him and won’t look at him, when it doesn’t matter what he says or asks.

Unsurprisingly, your answer is almost instantaneous. “We’re fine.”

The first time Bob met you, he couldn’t stop looking at you.

You were beautiful, in your uniform, under the bar lights. Beautiful and bright and brilliant and as decidedly out of his reach as the moon. You didn’t even look at him twice, not even after Phoenix introduced you. Drifted into his life and out of it like the specter that gave you your callsign.

And Bob never believed in love at first sight, still doesn’t, but there was something there, something beneath the thin veneer of arrogance you wore, you still wear. Something just under the surface, he thinks nobody but him sees—something he wants to keep as his secret.

You’re brilliant. The best pilot he’s ever met (even if half his friend group would balk at the idea), determined, clever, cut-throat. Stubborn to a fault. Witty and funny and always ready to stand up for yourself. The complete opposite of him.

Most of the time it’s admiration and curiosity, and then sometimes, it’s something else. When you slip from untouchable Ice Queen to something softer, when you lose yourself in the sky, in a book, in his touch in a bathroom at the Hard Deck… when you feel like nobody’s looking, that’s when Bob thinks he might love you.

Bob is a pilot. He gets up into that sky, and sometimes he deludes himself into thinking one day, one day, he’ll fly high enough, stretch far enough, and then finally, he’ll reach that moon. It’ll never happen, of course. The moon stays firm, beautiful and bright and brilliant, and achingly, eternally lonely. Never his to have.

The plane keeps climbing, steady, steady, steady, and Bob can barely breathe.

“Specter,” he chokes out. “Come on, girl.”

And then suddenly, abruptly, tipping like a pendulum, the plane falls. It’s an almost artful arch at the beginning, a ballerina angling her body towards the ground in a jump, and it leaves his stomach hanging somewhere above his head.

Then something changes. You keep falling.

“Specter, time to pull up,” Bob says, twisting to try and find Mav. Where is he?

There’s no answer.

“Specter,” he repeats, thinking you’re ignoring him for another reckless stunt, for another moment of you trying to recapture glory.

Still, you don’t respond, and that’s when he realizes something is horribly, terribly, awfully wrong.

“Specter!” he calls a third time, and now there’s a note of panic creeping into his voice he’s sure the others can pick up on over the coms. “Specter, you with me?”

The ground keeps hurtling closer. You keep silent.

“Bob.” That’s Mav’s voice, over the comms, right in his ear. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Bob gasps, and he’s breathless, he’s chafing, he’s… “She’s not… Specter!”

“Is she in g-Loc?” Rooster asks.

Rooster, Bob thinks. He twists, searching the horizon for his friend, but he can barely see anything. His vision has gone blurry.

And you’re still, still, still spinning towards the ground.

“Specter,” Bob says again, and he’s never known fear like this before. Not the first time he flew on his own. Not when he and Natasha had to punch out. Not when Mav and Rooster went down. Not ever. “Specter!”

And then he’s just saying your name, your real name, your first name, the one he’s said a million times in his head and never out loud, straining against all the buckles as if he can reach you, stretching out his arm over a distance impossible to breach.

“Bob!” That’s Rooster again. “Bob, you gotta punch out, you gotta eject now!”

I can’t leave her. That’s all he thinks. I can’t leave her, I can’t leave her, I can’t…

And Bob isn’t religious, never has been, but he’s saying, “Please, wake her up, please, God, I’ll do anything, please wake her up, please….”

You come to with a gasp like tires screeching on the asphalt, like a choir of angels or something, and then you’re pulling up, you’re getting the plane back on track, you’re…

In his ear, you’re saying, “Sorry. I… sorry.”

Bob sobs.

He knows you won’t acknowledge it before you land. He knows you’ll play it off, smile about it, laugh like nothing happened.

But he saw the tremor of your hands. He heard the fear in your voice. You can’t hide because he’s seen too much of you. Because he knows you, even if you don’t want him to.

“Specter,” he says, racing after you across the runway towards the hangar.

Everybody’s there, standing in a crowd near the doors. Pale faces, drawn with a panic that should be familiar by now, that’s part of this job. A panic nobody ever gets used to.

“I’m fine,” you say. You’re smiling, but it’s strained, and it’s a lie. He knows it is.

And Bob is angry. Angrier than he’s ever been with you because it’s not fair, not fair that you’re shutting him out, always shutting him out when all he wants is to hold you, be there for you, love you…

“You almost died!” Bob calls, voice rising, and he’s pretty sure there are still tears on his face. At least his cheeks feel wet.

Everybody’s looking at him. He can feel their eyes on him.

Usually, it would be enough to make him want to draw his head all the way between his shoulder blades, but not right now. Not with that feeling still simmering in his belly. Not with the feeling of that plummet still in his bones and the echoing silence of the cockpit in his ears.

You stop. For a moment, you gape at him. Then you say, “You would have died, too.”

He’s shaking his head before you’ve finished, frantic, saying, “I could have punched out, you were in g-LOC, you would have died, Specter, this isn’t funny, this isn’t a game, this is real….”

“I can handle myself,” you say, but something about your voice is chafing.

“I think what we just saw,” Rooster says, face solemn, arms crossed in front of his chest, “proves that even you can’t always handle yourself, Specter.”

By your hips, your hands clench and unclench into fists. Your whole body seems to pulsate to a rhythm nobody but you can hear, shoulders heaving, head nodding up and down.

You’ve always stood apart from them, even as you stood right next to them. Never letting anybody in.

I can help you, Bob wants to say. You don’t need to carry it alone.

But you’re shaking your head, pulling the helmet against your chest. Stand on that runway, a step from him, a million miles from him.

“I’m fine,” you insist one last time. Voice like a wind chime. Face like a ghost.

And Bob thinks it might be time to let the moon go.

A week later, Hangman goes down.

Birdstrike, both engines on fire, ejectejecteject, static on the radio, fire streaking across the sky, then the parachute opening and the wind howling and him floating, light as a feather, towards the ground.

You’re out of the room before you can hear how it ends. Stumbling through the hallways of the base like a sleepwalker, like a toddler, like someone on the verge of a terrible thing.

It’s growing in you, something you can’t name, something that mounts and mounts and…

In a corner, next to a water fountain, you crumble like a ragdoll. Fold yourself into a neat square of limbs, knees pulled all the way up to your eyes, face pressed into the space between them.

The panic flares into your body like electricity, tingles down your spine and into your legs, tugs at your hands and feet. And your chest is full of it, of that anxiety and that memory, so full the feeling crowds against your ribcage, threatens to snap the bones. There’s no room for oxygen.

I’m going to choke, you think. I’m going to…

“Hey.”

You know it’s Bob without looking up. You couldn’t do it anyway, even if you tried. Your muscles won’t listen to you, not now when your body belongs to the anxiety.

“It’s okay,” Bob whispers. He’s crouched in front of you, you know this because you can see his shoes through the gaps between your knees. Angled like a V, straining towards you. “He’s fine. Hangman’s fine.”

It should bring relief, but it doesn’t. You shake your head, forehead still smashed against your knees, and your skin tugs against the patellas.

No, you think. I can’t do it. Not again, not again, not again. Please, god, make it end, just make it stop, I can’t, I can’t, I…

“I can’t,” you say, and you don’t know what you mean.

All you can think about is the crash. The gravity pulling at your chest. A canopy exploding above you. The pain of that dislocated shoulder. And then the emptiness, the aching, endless emptiness of the after. The guilt, the grief, the fear, the fear, the fear.

“Can I touch you?”

Bob’s voice is so soft, even with the underlying current of firmness. Just like it was in that bathroom. And it should be an oxymoron - for someone to be so tender, for someone to be so unyielding. But it’s not, not with Bob. Bob, who seems to contain true multitudes.

You nod because you can’t find your voice.

He draws you into his arms, right there on the floor. Hands on your back, tugging you against his chest, urging your head into the space below his chin. He’s so warm, and he smells nice, and he’s everywhere.

“Easy,” he whispers. “It’s alright. You’re okay.”

And then it’s just him. The steady beat of his heart instead of the screaming of warning systems. The smell of his aftershave instead of the smoke and the gasoline. His fingers pressing into your spine instead of the straps cutting into your shoulders.

Bob holds you together until you can do it yourself.

You draw back, slowly, almost reluctantly, and the moment his touch is gone, you miss it like something intrinsic to you. Miss it like a limb.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You don’t want to look at him. You can’t look at him.

Bob exhales.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “Can you… explain it?”

You suppose you should. Suppose you owe it to him after these weeks. After everything you’ve put him through.

“It… it scared me,” you whisper. It takes a lot to get that out, to admit that there’s anything, anywhere, that could scare you.

You don’t want Bob to know. You want Bob to think of you as someone above things like fear, someone strong and brave and whole. But it’s just all too much. You’re eroding, crumbling, tumbling off the tightrope you’ve been walking for so long.

If someone like Hangman, someone brilliant, someone fantastic, someone who burns brighter than life, can go down… then what about you? What about Bob?

“The rest, too.” At your questioning look, he elaborates, “Explain all of it to me.”

You could keep pretending you don’t understand him, but you’re too tired. Something about the panic has made you fuzzy, has blurred your edges, and you just want it to be over. You just want to be rid of everything clogging up your chest.

You want to feel again what you felt that night in the bathroom with Bob. You want somebody to carry the burden with you, so you won’t feel it dragging you beneath the surface of the ocean all the time.

“I killed her,” you say finally. The words are barely more than a whisper, but they burst from somewhere at the very core of you. Something you’ve kept hidden from view for years.

Bob pauses. Stares.

“... What?”

“I killed her,” you repeat, voice watery, hands shaking. “My last backseater. I killed her.”

He opens his mouth only to close it again—shifts his weight where he’s still sitting on the ground. Your knees are almost touching.

“Spec…” he begins, but you don’t let him finish.

“Everybody always said it, you know? That I was a wildcard, that I just… did whatever I wanted without thinking about others. Everybody but her. She’d always say, oh, you just don’t understand her, she’s brilliant, she knows what she’s doing, she….” You have to stop yourself, have to suck in a breath that sounds like you’re drowning, like your lungs are filling up with water. “And then one day we had a fight. She said that I… that I didn’t listen to her up in the air, that I always trusted myself more than I trusted her, and she… she called me a liability.”

Something in Bob’s eyes shifts, something like understanding flutters across his face, but the dam inside of you has broken. The river rushes without stopping.

“So I decided to prove her wrong. I wanted to go right, but she told me to go left, and I did. We got into a jet stream. I lost control of the plane. We had to eject. I made it, and she didn’t.”

You pause then. Blink against that horrible, unforgiving, brilliant sun outside the window. Your cheeks are wet.

“She was my best friend, Bob.” Your voice breaks, and you fold in on yourself, deflate. “She was the only one who ever believed in me. I knew her since we were eighteen, we did everything together, I only started flying two-seaters so I could fly with her, and you have to understand, I would have… if I could have changed it, if I could have died instead of her, I would have, I wouldn’t even have thought about it, I… And I know I’m not a… not a good person, I know I’m selfish and mean, and I hurt people all the time, and I know I hurt you, but I just… ” You trail off. Your voice is barely more than a whisper. “She was my best friend.”

It’s not nearly enough to explain what she meant to you. It’s all you have.

Bob doesn’t answer for a long time. When you finally find the courage to look up at him, you brace yourself for the inevitable: shock, disgust, disdain.

You find none of it.

Bob looks at you with a tenderness on his face that punches all the air out of your lungs.

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” he asks, voice soft.

It’s almost helpless, the way you can do nothing but shrug your shoulders.

“It’s not…” You can’t look at him anymore, afraid you’ll do something stupid, afraid you’ll kiss him or tell him something you won’t be able to take back. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

Bob’s brows furrow.

“Of course I care,” he says, as matter-of-factly as if he’s chatting about the San Diego weather. “I care about you, Specter. I always have.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It tugs at you with ice-cold fingers, even as warmth spreads through your stomach. And it scares you, hearing him say that. He shouldn’t care about you. Not if he knows what’s good for him.

“I’m sorry,” you say after a long, long moment. “I’m sorry for… at the Hard Deck, I think I needed somebody, and you were there, and it… I used you. I’m sorry for it. I made a mistake.”

When you look at him next, something on Bob’s face has changed. Some window that was previously thrown wide open is shut. He looks down towards his shoes, glasses sliding slowly, slowly towards the tip of his nose.

“Up in the air,” he says finally. “I get it now, I think. Why you don’t listen to me. But I… Don’t you trust me?”

Hearing him say it hurts somewhere at the very core of you. In the grand scheme of things, in the great failure of your life, Bob is probably the person you trust most.

“I do,” you whisper, shaking your head. Folding your fingers in your lap and biting your lip so hard the sting distracts you from whatever is going on in your chest. “I just… I trust myself more. I have to trust myself more.”

Bob is quiet for a long, long moment. Then he nods.

“I understand,” he says, but it sounds like he wants to say something else entirely. “Can we just… let’s be friends, Spec. Please.”

And he sounds tired. The kind of fatigue that goes bone-deep, that travels over days and nights and weeks, the kind of fatigue you carry with you wherever you go. You know how that feels.

It’s a horrible thought just how much you’ve hurt Bob, and so you’ve never allowed yourself to think it. Have brushed it off and brushed it away, under beds and under carpets and into handicapped bathrooms with broken locks. Have pretended you couldn’t tell in the cockpit, pretended you didn’t see it in the mess hall when his face fell after another scathing remark, another dismissal.

All the way, you told yourself you were doing it for him - it’s not good to get close to you. You’ve never learned how to build things, grow things. All you know is how to ruin them.

So you say, “I don’t want to be your friend, Bob. I want to be alone.”

Behind the sheen of his glasses, Bob’s eyes are wet.

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” he says, finally.

And then he gets up, walks away, and leaves you behind on the floor, a town buried beneath a landslide, a meteor crater, a canyon of sand and rock, and the lone survivor clawing his way over the edge.

“Nat says you have a crush on me.”

Rooster gives no greeting, simply slides into the unoccupied seat by your side with those words. He’s broad enough that he dwarfs the rickety chair, the Hawaiian shirt so out of place in the beiges and grays of this military base.

A week ago, maybe you would have been embarrassed. Now, you can barely muster a shrug.

“What’s it matter?”

Rooster raises an eyebrow. The television room is deserted save for the two of you - some movie is playing with the volume all the way down, but you haven’t even been paying enough attention to tell if it’s a romantic comedy or a slasher.

“It matters,” he says.

You shake your head, staring down at the packet of gum in your hand. The whole room smells like mint.

“I wasn’t ever going to act on it,” you say, “that’s why it doesn’t matter. It’s just… there. It doesn’t change anything for you.”

Rooster is quiet for a moment. And then he says, “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Hm?”

“The way you think it does,” he elaborates as if that clears it up. “You think you can just walk through life and not affect others. You think if you’re just mean and closed-off, if you never let somebody in, you won’t matter to them. That you won’t hurt them. That then they can’t hurt you. That’s not how it works, Spec.”

You exhale. It feels a little like he’s just pried open your chest, pulled all your most private, darkest thoughts into the world.

“I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s like this.” Bradley leans forward, sun-tanned hands reaching for you across the gray, gray expanse of the table. He doesn’t touch you, but he leaves his hands palms-up, an offering between you. “There are people here that love you, Spec. Even if maybe sometimes you don’t deserve that love. And you have the power to hurt them, just like they have the power to hurt you. You’re already in it. You’re just pretending you’re not.”

You grind your teeth. It’s too much. You can’t do it.

Eject, eject, eject, your mind is screaming at you, but it’s like you can’t find the cord.

“Bradley…” you begin, without knowing where you want the sentence to end.

“And you don’t have a crush on me.”

He says it like it’s a fact. He says it like he knows you better than you know yourself.

You’re beginning to suspect he might have a point.

“I think I know when I have a crush,” you say quietly.

“No, you don’t. Otherwise, you’d know you’re head-over-heels for Bob. Otherwise, you’d know he’s loved you since the first time he’s seen you.”

You think of Bob - Bob on his knees at the Hard Deck, Bob’s voice pulling you from the deepest, densest darkness of your life, Bob silhouetted by the unforgiving sun as you splintered into shards of glass right in front of him, as the contents of your life spilled across his feet and drenched him in your night.

It feels like being pressed into the seat at take-off - anticipation, fear, relief… You’re on the verge of something.

“Specter.” Rooster leans low across the table, his face in your field of vision. Kind eyes, kind mouth, kind face. The sort of kindness you don’t deserve. The sort of kindness that rips holes into your life and your resolve and your heart. “You don’t really want me. You just want to want someone and not be afraid they’ll hurt you. You just want to want someone without it being real. Because then it won’t hurt.”

I already know this, you want to tell him, but you can’t. Something about hearing it from him, something about realizing you’re not half as complex as you always thought you were, is strangely reassuring at the same time it makes your stomach churn.

“And you’re scared to want Bob. Because that would be real. Because that could hurt.”

Bob Floyd, who is so much kinder than you ever deserved. Bob Floyd, who has your back. Bob Floyd, who loves you, even when you don’t know how to love yourself.

“It already does, though,” you whisper, your voice impossibly small, your eyes burning. “It already does hurt, Rooster.”

And Rooster smiles. The sight of it plants a hope inside you you didn’t think you were capable of anymore - a sapling fighting its way through concrete.

“That, Specter,” he says, “is how you know it’s real.”

Bob is crying when he opens his door.

He stands there in plaid pajama pants and a white shirt, without his glasses, hair no longer slicked back but curly and soft, and you remember sinking your fingers into it, remember wanting to ask what conditioner he uses, remember…

“Do you love me?” you blurt.

Bob blinks and opens his mouth. His cheeks are wet.

“I…”

You don’t let him finish.

“Because I don’t know if I love you. But I know that I like you. And I know that I’m scared, Bob, I’m so fucking scared. Every day of my life, I’m scared. I’m scared that you’ll die because I trust you, and I’m scared that you’ll die because I don’t trust you, and I’m scared that maybe I could love you, and I’m scared that you’ll hurt me or that I’m always going to keep hurting you and I don’t… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do with all this fear, Bob.”

And then it’s Bob, the WSO. Bob the pragmatic. Bob the fucking best boy you’ve ever met.

He nods, says, “I know.” And then he takes a deep breath. Goes on, “You don’t need to know any of that stuff. You don’t even have to not be scared. Spec, fuck, I’m scared. I’m scared of how much I like you, and I’m scared of how much you’re hurting all the time, how tightly you keep that all locked up. I’m not asking you not to be any of those things. I’m just… I’m just asking you to talk to me. Let’s figure it out together.”

When he says it like that, it seems almost easy. Simple. Logical.

“For the record,” you say, voice a ruin, and you’re pretty sure you might be crying too, “I don’t think it was a mistake. What we did at the Hard Deck, I mean. I think it… I think it may have been the best decision of my life. I don’t make a lot of those.”

And Bob smiles. Steps to the side and opens his door to you.

“You wanna come in?”

You do.

In his bedroom, with his arms around you, it’s almost enough to pretend you’re whole again. It’s enough to know you’ll get there someday. To a point where you’ll know how to grow things instead of ripping them out of the earth. To a point where maybe, finally, you’ll deserve that love Bob hands out so freely.

In his bedroom, with his arms around you, it’s a little like drowning. It’s a little like flying.

#bob x reader #bob floyd #top gun maverick #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #bob top gun #bob fic #top gun fic #top gun imagine #mine #writing #f: hsp

1K notes · View notes

simplyotometrash · 3 years

Note

Hey so I stumbled across your blog and hooolly shit is your stuff g o o d-

I do have a request though! It’s a headcannon I don’t see often and it kinda sucks- But if I may ask for your head cannons on the brothers (+Diavolo and Barbatos) reacting to top surgery scars? As a trans guy these kinds of headcannons are always the most comforting to me and I’d love to see what you come up with!

Thanks in advance! -🐉💜

As someone who actively wants top surgery, I have no idea how I never wrote this sooner! I feel like I poorly explain things in this because I always end up projecting how I'd explain shit onto the MC when I'm writing oops-

I did exclude Barbatos because I ran out of steam and honestly struggle to write him as is.

I've been in a bit of a shitty headspace lately, so I'm trying to write what I can.

Brothers + Diavolo x Trans Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Explanation of gender dysphoria, mentions of surgery

MC With Top Surgery Scars

Lucifer:

This is going to be a pretty common reaction, but he was curious as to why you had scars in the first place.

His first thought was that you had been hurt in some way, so he asked you outright about them.

"I'm transgender. I was born female but that's never been who I am. I never felt like a woman. I knew I was a man. I had surgery to help me have a body that feels more mine."

You weren't sure if Lucifer understood you at first but he simply nodded.

"You're still you. I've never once thought of you as anything but a man before. I'm glad to have learned something new as well."

You rubbed your neck sheepishly as he sat down with you.

He wanted to learn more and asked you how comfortable you would be educating him about this further.

Lucifer only cares about being respectful to you and to anyone else. He's a centuries-old demon/fallen angel and very much like a dad at times, but he catches on quickly.

Mammon:

Mammon doesn't even notice your scars at first, to be perfectly honest.

He was busy admiring how attractive you were oops.

Then he notices something that's just a bit different than his own chest and he gets curious.

"MC, what's with the scars on yer chest?"

You laugh at how long it took for him to even notice the scars. It was cute how he overlooked them because he was caught up staring at you in awe.

"I'm transgender, female to male, and I had a surgery that gave me a flat chest. It makes me feel more comfortable in my body. That's really all there is to it."

You could practically see the light bulb go on in his head when he understood what you were talking about.

"Well, I'm glad ya have a body that ya feel more comfortable in! I think that's important!"

His words made you smile and you gave him a tight hug. You loved how he just accepted it without a second thought. It meant the world to be accepted by the one you loved most.

Leviathan:

He wasn't staring at your chest when you were changing shirts, he swears! He just...uh...was looking in your general direction!

Poor Levi panicked because he looked over while you were changing in his room and didn't catch himself staring before you did.

It did make you feel a bit shy but it was because he was staring in adoration. He wasn't sure how he had gotten lucky.

But he did take note of the scars on your chest.

"Did something happen? I, uh, saw the scars. Humans usually have surgery when something's wrong, don't you?"

You sat down next to him and shrugged a bit.

"Nothing happened, so to speak. In a way, you aren't totally wrong. Something was wrong. The body I was born with didn't correlate to my gender. I had surgery so that I could take steps towards having a body I am more myself in."

Levi nodded as you explained. He went on to ask more questions, wanting to know more so he could understand you even better.

He really just wants to understand. He supports you no matter what. You're you, his Henry, and that's all that really matters to him.

Satan:

He's so well-read on things from all three realms, I don't doubt he's read about human gender and sexuality before.

So he wasn't really as confused when he saw your top surgery scars as the others were. He was more thinking about what he had read previously.

"I want to make sure, MC, but he and him are your preferred pronouns, correct? I saw your scars."

You were happy to hear him double-checking with you. It really meant a lot. It was a far cry different than how you got treated by other humans.

"Yeah, I'm a man. I had top surgery a couple of years ago, it's really helped my dysphoria a ton."

The two of you went on to have a very in-depth conversation on gender and sexuality. You taught him more about different sexualities and gender identities, going in-depth about the gender binary and those identities outside of it.

You saw him taking notes in a little journal, too. He wanted to make sure he had all of that information down for later reference.

Asmodeus:

Being demons and former angels, I don't think any of these guys have thought about human sexuality or gender identity. Sexualities just...never were a thing to them.

They didn't really have too many terms for these things because they never needed them. Asmo knew he liked people regardless of their gender.

I personally view Asmodeus as gender-fluid but preferring he/him pronouns.

Asmo's always viewed you as a man and seeing your scars didn't even make him think twice.

"MC, darling, could I ask you about your scars? I've learned a few things about human sexuality and gender, and was wondering if your scars were related to that."

You flopped onto his bed next to him and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm transgender. I had surgery to have a body that fits me and who I am. Some people have surgery, whether it be top, bottom, or both, as a big goal and others don't. Top surgery was a goal for me and it's really helped me feel more confident and comfortable in my body."

He went on to ask more about gender specifically, as I stated above I think he's gender-fluid. He didn't have a word for it until you told him and explained it to him.

Beelzebub:

You had accompanied him to the gym to work out and he noticed in the locker room that you had scars on your chest.

Now, Beel knows there is a time and place for everything. He's not stupid like some people seem to think he is. He pays attention.

He made a mental note to talk to you about it when you guys got home.

And so he did.

"I saw those scars on your chest when we were in the gym locker room. What're they from?"

He seemed so genuinely concerned and you couldn't help but smile. He was always thinking of you and your health above all else.

"I had something called top surgery a couple of years ago. I'm transgender and I wanted a body that was more me."

He nodded in understanding as you continued to explain things to him.

This was very clearly important to you meaning it was now important to Beel, too. If it mattered to you, it mattered to him. He would learn from you so he could properly support you.

Belphegor:

He happened to see your chest one day when you were getting changed into your pajamas with him laying on your bed.

He really didn't mean to look. Usually, he doesn't even open his eyes just to respect your privacy.

You got into your bed with him and got settled in for cuddle time, your head on his chest when he figured he would go ahead and ask.

"I saw you have scars on your chest. What did you do?"

It was hard not to laugh at the phrasing.

What did you do? You wanted to jokingly answer that you cut your breasts off yourself but figured it would be better to approach the topic seriously from the start.

"Remember how I said I am transgender? That while I was born in a female body, I'm actually a man? Well, I had a lot of body issues because my body didn't match my gender."

"It's not the same for every trans person, some of us don't have dysphoria and some do. I did. Top surgery helped me out a lot, but it isn't the goal for every trans individual."

He hummed in response and kissed the top of your head gently.

"I see. You'll have to tell me more about this stuff in the morning. I'm pretty curious now."

Diavolo:

He had invited you over to swim in his pool! He rarely ever had anyone to swim with and it was going to be so much fun!

That was how he noticed the scars on your chest.

He actually didn't see them until after you guys were done swimming and you were just laying by the pool for a bit.

He put his drink down, a smoothie courtesy of Barbatos, so he could talk to you about it.

Dia was just genuinely curious. He didn't know a lot about human things and his upbringing was incredibly sheltered.

"Say, MC, what are those scars on your chest for? I hope it's not invasive or offensive for me to ask you that."

You set down your own smoothie and sat up before you gave him an answer.

"I'm transgender, female to male. I didn't feel very...myself when I had developed breasts. I had surgery to remove them."

He ah'd in understanding and sat in thought for a moment or two. You could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. Once he got curious there was little to do to stop him.

So you began explaining human gender identities to him. You went as in-depth as you could so that you left no stone unturned.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #waylonwrites

254 notes · View notes

subwaysurf45 · 3 years

Text

Code Star

Summary: a code word you and Bucky share is used; but it’s not in a good way.

Warning: panic attack, ripping out hair, addiction(little bit)

Words: 2030

Masterlist!

"Agent. Agent. Copy agent?" Friday spoke through the speakers in your room, it was louder than normal and also in the middle of the night which was the reason you woke up with a gasp.

"C-copy," you spat out, you typically sleep with your mouth open, so it gets dry when you first wake.

"Mr. Barns is calling you, he says it's 'code star'." Your stomach dropped, from all the adrenaline from waking up with a scare and the code, you sprinted down the hall way.

It was late and you were in the kitchen, you were trying to separate from your sleeping pills because during your last mission you couldn't sleep because you forgot them, you were addicted to them. So you needed to take a step back, learn to fall asleep on your own.

After asking around there was a tea Wanda recommended, it was lavender tea and she said it's the best with honey. You were currently steeping your bag and had honey beside you.

You took the soggy bag out and turned to the compost bin, after dropping it in and turned around you almost slipped because Bucky was right there.

Standing frozen. Dead face. Staring at you.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You yelled, not caring if it woke someone up, "what's wrong with you?" You realized you clutched at your heart through your sweater.

He was on the other side of the island, but he seemed to be leaning over a bit, he looked down at your steaming mug and then back at you.

"I- I was going to say hi and then I liked the smell of your tea and then when you turned I looked up at you, I-I didn't mean to freak you out, that must have been really scary, sorry." He looked down into the cup again. "What is it?" He finally asked.

You let your guard down a bit, "lavender," you never looked away from him, "and honey." That was the most he'd ever said to you since he showed up two months ago, he stayed in his room the first month.

"Nice," he nodded, his metal arm coming up and rubbing the back of his neck.

"There's extra water, I can make you one." You knew he was going to ask for your cup, but you really need to hit the sack.

His face lit up in the dark, "perfect!" He half smiled.

You poured the other cup and steeped the another bag, then added honey as well. You both stayed where you were on either side of the island.

"Why are you up?" He asked while blowing on the tea, his voice was below normal level.

"Just can't sleep," you sigh and look over to the common room, no one was there but you really didn't want to meet his eyes.

"I get that," he spoke awkwardly and looked over as well, thinking you were studying something.

"I'm-...I'm trying to get if sleeping pills my shit therapist prescribed for me," you looked back at him, his eye brows raised and his head tilted forty-five degrees.

"Sleeping pills?"

"Insomnia."

"Oh..." he spoke to himself and looked down again, his thumb rubbing the smooth ceramic handle of the blue mug that wasn't his. "I get nightmares." He stated blankly, but he didn't look up at his statement.

"Is it..." you tried to find the right words to not trigger him, "before the war, like America...or later on…in life...?" You danced around the question, Steve had told you mentioning certain things can get Bucky really freaked out.

"My mind," he laughed sarcastically, "it likes to mix the two," he pulled one side of his mouth tight.

"Double-whammy," you whispered, then froze at the sound of a giggle, Bucky chuckled. "What?"

"No-I-I just...I get that reference," he seemed proud, his face seemed to fall quickly though, circling back, "my arm is weird, it's like my human arm but the star," he points to the red, "is like sewn in, I don't know what it means but..." he trialed off.

"Well, if you need help, just call a code star, I'll come to your room and bring you some tea, how about that?" You smile.

"What? Like a friend?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Okay," he smiled and nodded, "alright," his fingers drummed on the counter, "I'm gonna take this back to my room, but I'll remember that." He nodded and left, but caught himself at the corner to the rooms, "hey, agent," he spoke normal, you looked, "if you're gonna be my friend, don't ask 'what's wrong with me?', because trust me...I’ll talk you to your grave." He smirked.

“Noted, Sargent.” You’ve never seen him joke with you before, it felt comforting.

'Code star' had never been used for its newer purpose before, as the friendship and relationship grew 'code star' became 'code lavender', it happened after Bucky called 'code star' once while he was having a panic attack, you took so long to make the tea he was passed out by the time you showed up.

'Code lavender': make a tea, meet in the kitchen.

'Code star': panic attack, drop everything a come.

You sprinted down the hallway to the very last room, you could hear laboured breathing as you got closer. Typically you'd knock softly and come in quietly, not this time.

You whipped open the door to see Bucky staring slightly down on the edge of his bed, he was rocking back and forth as his fingers ripped and pulled on his long hair. His pupils blew wide and his lips curled causing his teeth to flash, he didn't even look up at you.

A loud bang from your knees hitting the hardwood didn't phase him either, you tired to duck down to meet his line of eye sight but you couldn't get down enough.

"Bucky, look at me!" You pulled his hands out of his hair, as you made him drop them to his side you found a pile of hair outside his thighs, "oh god," you whispered, your hand unlacing with his to pick up the locks, the free hand of his went straight back to tugging. "Don't do that, don't do that." You hushed and took it out again, a tuff came with it. "Bucky, look at me," you said calmer now, you needed to be the example. "Bucky, nod if you can hear me."

He didn't nod, his eyes stayed locked on your chest. They didn't move there, he was already looking there, it was like he was looking through you.

You kept his hands clumped in your right hand and your left hand began to trace around his face, starting at his cheeks that were dry, little circles led to cross the bridge the nose a couple times. You also started humming, a song you heard Bucky and Steve sing once while drunk and having fun.

His eye brows seemed to raise for a second at the tune, but he quickly fell back into his short shallow breathes. You kept going, your finger gently tracing his cleft chin, it was always something you pinched when joking around with him.

"Wake up, Bucky," you whispered after finishing the song, you started the tune again. His breathing seemed to slow a little and his almost black eyes moved around a bit, "there you go," you cupped his cheek, now just shifting your thumb back and forth. You didn't know if he'd start to pull his hair out again so you kept both the metal and flesh hand covered with your left.

His breathing went to normal, his rib cage expanding wide as he took voluntary breathes. His eyes were shut tight but you felt him lean into your hand that was still holding his cheek.

"Are you with me?" You asked softly, he leaned into your hand again, his hand slowly made it up to his face and he placed his hand over yours, gently guiding it down to his lips; his kisses to your palm were long and filled with their own language.

"I'm here," his voice cut out and became a breath, but you heard him. His eyes looked up before his head moved, he locked eyes with you and something changed.

It was like he was seeing you for the first time, eyes a little wide and confused; but knowing at the same time. They became misty the more he looked, he was never one to cry so he dropped his head to cover the tears.

"It's okay," you hushed, he dropped your hand and leaned forward, basically throwing his entire body weight onto you. You fell back to the floor and he cried in your chest, you saw some of his hair fall with him. "Let it out," your arms wrapped around him and began to rub all along his back, huge, gentle, soothing rubs.

"I-I killed you all," his voice sounded like a dog panting from his short breathes that came when he talked, "I- couldn't s-stop," his 's' slithered like snakes as he tries get sufficient air and talk.

"We're all here, just a dream." It was the same mantra, "we're all here, you're safe, it was a nightmare, you're out of it now. There you go, big breathes, you're doing great, you're a pro at this, keep breathing." You let the broken record play, he seemed to get smaller at every praise.

He sat up and leaned against the bed, Bucky pulled his sleeve around his fist to hold it tight. When he wiped his face it was aggressive, like he was mad at himself. He just stared at you like he always did, you were alway involved in his dreams so he needed to look at you to stay grounded.

"Sorry," his 's' still slurred, "I-...I'm sorry," he wanted to say something else, you could hear it in his tone. His head dropped, Bucky almost fell over at the sight of his hair, "did I do that?" He asked, his nose turned up.

All you did was nod, any verbal answer would've sounded almost grossed out or accusatory. He sighed and looked between the hair and you, he wanted to say something, he'd already stopped himself once.

"Tell me," you whispered.

"I want to cut my hair," Bucky responded softly, "I-I also want to sleep on the floor from now own." He seemed ashamed of the second ask.

"You like the cold?" You tried to figure him out.

"That and it's...comforting...I think," Bucky scratched his head, his metal hand slowing at the thin spot from tugging, "it just grounds me, I'm not used to fluffy things- nicer things."

"How about a mattress pad, you're back will scream at you in the morning." You tried to lighten the mood, he smiled a bit and then nodded. "How about you come sleep in my room tonight, just so I can keep an eye on you and if you want to sleep on my firm mattress you can hop on, how's that?" You stood and held your hand out, Bucky nodded and clapped his metal hand to yours.

You led him down the hallway and to your room, it was really quiet and almost off putting. You slept barefoot so the sound of soft footsteps from your feet was the only thing you heard, Bucky wore socks.

He went straight to your bed and felt the mattress, both hands pressing down on it to see the give it has. You felt a little happy when he was nodding in a positive way; his bottom lip also pouted out.

Bucky slipped in and you joined as well, he stayed still for a while, on his back and staring at the ceiling.

"Y'know, you can cuddle," you whispered, without another second to blink Bucky's face rested on your chest, his arm circled your body completely in a tight hug. Your hands found their way to his back and to his hair, softly lulling him to sleep, "I'll cut your hair in the morning."

"Love you," he murmured.

#bucky barns fluff #bucky oneshot #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #bucky x female reader #bucky barns

721 notes · View notes

uncpanda · 3 years

Text

The Ties that Bind: Gideon Finds Out

AN: This takes place after the chapter unplanned in season 6! Huge SHOUT OUT to the following people who helped brainstorm and edit this chapter @hotforhotchner11 @originalsoulduck and @ladyofsnark Y’all were lifesavers when it came to figuring this thing out.

Warnings: mentions of emotional trauma

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Master List

“Are you sure I can’t help? Contrary to what you think, I do know my way around a kitchen.”

“The last time I let you help, I ended up with stitches.”

You gape, “That wasn’t my fault!”

“You handed me the knife blade first.” He waves you away, “You’re worse than Stephen. And I didn’t think that was possible.”

You steal a carrot and laugh, as Jason rolls his eyes. “So cooking skills aren’t genetic?”

“Apparently not. I’ve been trying to teach him, and we’re making progress.”

You pour a glass of wine, “That’s good.”

“Yeah. He no longer burns the water.”

Silence lapse between the two of you. Dinners at Gideon’s cabin are a fairly common thing. Right up there with the coffee shop the two of you visit. They usually happen when the team is on a case, and lately they haven’t happened regularly because you’ve been spending most of your time with Aaron and Jack and Spencer.

You still haven’t found a way to tell Gideon you and Aaron are a thing now. It shouldn’t be weird but it is. It almost feels like you’re telling your dad. It’s been nearly six months - you should really just get it over with.

“I can almost see the steam coming out of your ears. What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing much.”

He levels a look at you, “Nothing wouldn’t happen to be a unit chief in a suit, who rarely smiles, would it?”

Your mouth drops open, “How did you know?”

He moves the pan off the heat, “I called this years ago, when you told me you’d become friends with him. Plus when we had coffee about two months ago you had a hickey on the back of your neck. Who knew Hotch liked to leave marks?”

You shiver, “Please. Please. Please. Change the subject.”

“We can’t talk about your love life? You question me about mine all the time.”

You laugh, “No. I don’t. You tell me about your flings, and ask for my advice, which I don’t get because it’s not like I have much experience.”

He rolls his eyes, “Joel was a dick. How are you and Hotch doing?”

He’s not going to let up on this. He reminds you of a bulldog who won’t let go of a bone. “We’re good. We spend every spare moment together. And Jack is adorable and so sweet.”

Gideon starts dishing up the plates and then leads you to the table. You grab the wine and settle down across from him. “How’s he been about work?” You can see the hesitation in his eyes.

“He stayed behind on a case so he wouldn’t have to cancel our first date.”

“Hotch?”

You smile, “Yeah.”

Gideon rests his forearms on the table, “I’m glad he’s learning quicker than I did.”

You suppose you’re doing this, “He calls me every night when he’s on a case, and he’ll text throughout the day. When he’s home, he makes sure he isn’t working. And he knows if he stays too late that I’ll go down there and drag him home. It’s good. We’re good.”

There’s several seconds of cutlery hitting plates and chewing before Gideon asks, “Then why do you sound like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

The food in your mouth suddenly loses its taste, “What do you mean?”

“You’re smiling, you’re telling me that everything is good. You’re telling me that Hotch, who I’m going to assume has entered therapy because you wouldn’t let him get away with unresolved trauma, is putting you and your relationship first, but you look scared out of your freaking mind.”

You bristle, “I don’t look scared.”

He scoops another bite of food onto his fork, “You hide it well. You hide it very well. You’ve had to over the years. You were the mature one. You were the only one you had to rely on. Your parents were next to useless, not that I can claim the moral high ground there, and Spencer was too young, your boyfriend Bryan was a delusional idiot, and Joel . . .there was a part of you that knew you couldn’t rely on him.

“And now there’s Aaron. You’ve found a partner. Someone to carry part of the load, to support you when you’re not feeling great, and you’re terrified.”

You stare at Jason. You’re not quite sure how he does it. How he breaks down walls your therapist can only chip away at.

“I’m scared he’ll leave . . . like everyone else.”

THAT gets his attention, “What?”

“I never knew my bio dad and according to Diana it was no loss. I don’t even know if he knew about me. Then there was William. Well, you know what happened there. And Mom? She checked out too. She won’t even see me, since I had her hospitalized. Spencer left for the FBI. And it’s not fair of me to think that way, but it feels like he left. And sometimes it feels like he only let me back in because he was drowning.

“And Joel . . .” you let out a breath, “You know what happened there.”

His eyes narrow, “Not all of it. What else is there?”

“How do you . . .?”

“You have tells when you’re holding something back and no, I’m not going to tell you.”

“After I ended up in the emergency room with my foot last year, I saw him again. Saw his mistress, too. Had a panic attack. Aaron and the others swarmed in to protect me. And after a few days I was fine. I was on my way to my car when SHE showed up.

“And I’m in a cast. I can’t get away. I didn’t have the balance to punch her. I highly considered clawing her eyes out. Not because I missed Joel, but because she just added on to trauma I already had. I mean Aaron’s a lawyer he probably could have gotten me off with community service.”

The joke falls flat, and Gideon nudges you, “What did she want?”

“She wanted to apologize. She said it wasn’t fair that she and Joel had carried around behind my back for over a year. They had tried to stop it but they couldn’t. They loved each other and could I please withdraw my complaint because it was going to affect his career at the hospital and they have TWO kids now.

“I never filed a complaint. I certainly didn’t know that Joel was cheating on me for half our relationship, while asking me to consider giving him a baby. I should have been the bigger person . . .”

“Screw that. They made their bed, now let them lie in it. It’s a great lesson of cause and effect.”

You let out a bark of laughter, “I went to the hospital to see who had filed the complaint. It had been Aaron. Not on my behalf just as himself. Apparently his word carried a lot of weight when they realized he was not only a lawyer but with the FBI. I’ve never asked him about it.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what he’ll say. He did it to defend me, and that’s true. But I also think he did it because he hates Joel. He hates that Joel hurt me.”

Jason smiles, “Because he loves you. Loved you even back then and you two were just too stupid to see it.”

“Thanks.”

“Just speaking the truth. But back to the issue at hand. What is scaring you about this?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, “I’m scared Aaron will leave too, and I don’t think I’d survive it. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. And that terrifies me. And each day we get deeper and deeper. I’m moving in with them next week. And Jack has started calling me mommy, and I know I didn’t give birth to him, and I KNOW how much Haley loved him and that I won’t measure up, but I’m already thinking of him like my own. And Spencer fits in so well, and Jess does too, and if I lose that . . . I don’t think I’ll be able to pick myself up again. I’ll shatter, Jason.” The tears come. You can’t help it.

You bury your face in your hands and let them come. You hear his chair scrape against the floor and then his arm wraps around you.

Quietly, his mouth right near your ear, he whispers, “Aaron isn’t going anywhere. He doesn’t leave people behind. Especially when he loves someone. And he loves you. It’s okay for you to be happy. It’s okay to trust yourself and him. It’s okay to love him and the family the two of you are making. You are allowed to have this. You are allowed to be happy.”

You look up at him, “If this goes bad. . .”

“It won’t. And you know that or you wouldn’t be moving in with him. You would have kept Spencer at a distance like you did with Joel. You wouldn’t have allowed yourself to get this far. And if. . . by some chance he hurts you, you’ll be okay.”

“I’m all out of tape and glue, Jason.”

“I’ve got some you can borrow and I’m good at putting things back together. And I’ll help you, after I kill Hotch. I can be your safety net.”

Gideon reaches out and pushes a tear off your cheek and smiles. “You’re okay.”

And you believe him.

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner reader insert #hotch x y/n #jack hotchner #jason gideon #criminal minds #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm reader insert #cm imagine #cm fanfiction #the ties that bind

450 notes · View notes

helnjk · 4 years

Text

Sweater - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader

Requested: yes

hi could you write something for george weasley using prompts 29, 11, 36? if your requests are still open❤️⚡️

“i’m running out of jumpers, just so you know”

“i like having something that smells like you”

“how long have you been standing there?”

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: the 5 times George Weasley sees you in his sweater and the 1 time you get your own.

Warnings: mentions of food

A/N: we’re just gonna //ignore// that this doesn’t follow the canon timeline exactly (especially where they spent christmas certain years) okay? cool. also! this was very festive so i guess this can be counted as a christmas fic 🥰

Prompts are in bold

One

The Gryffindor common room was freezing. Despite being situated as close to the fire as physically possible (without getting burned), you shivered and shook in your thin sweater. You were trying to work on a last minute potions essay, the last one before the Christmas hols began, but your current freezing state was stopping you from writing another word.

You scanned the empty room, most students already having retired to bed that night. A flash of blue and yellow in the far corner of the room caught your eye. Quickly, you scrambled up off the floor and rushed to investigate.

On the back of one of the squishy red couches hung a blue sweater with a yellow letter G right in the middle. You knew immediately who owned it: George Weasley, another Gryffinder first year like you. With another glance around the room, you quickly snatched it up and slid it over your head.

Immediately, the thick wool provided enough warmth for you to get back to your work.

A while later, you finished the last sentence of your paper with a flourish, just as you heard someone shuffle down the spiral staircase and into the common room. Your head snapped up as the person in question came to view and your heart stopped.

“Y/L/N?” George whispered, barely making your face out since the fire was directly behind you.

“Hi George,” You squeaked, “What’re you doing up so late?”

His eyes darted around the room in search of something, and you felt your stomach drop. “Erm, yeah. I got cold so I was just looking for my–”

When his gaze circled back to you he finally noticed what you were wearing, “Is that my sweater?”

You nodded, squirming under his gaze. If it wasn’t past midnight in the dead of winter, and if he wasn’t hazy with sleep, he would’ve probably teased you senselessly about it. But seeing the sweater swallowing you, the shoulders slipping off and the sleeves way past your fingers, all he could do was grin.

“It’s alright,” He said, “Just wanted to know where it was. At least now I know that it’s in good hands.”

With a cheeky wink, he turned on his heel and trudged back up the boys’ staircase. You were left staring at where he previously stood, your mouth slightly agape.

Did that really just happen?

Two

Gleeful shouts carried over from the snow covered fields and into the warm house. From your spot by the window, you could just barely make out the tiny figures zooming past each other, contrasting against the pale landscape.

You clutched at a steaming mug of tea, basking in the warmth it gave your chilly hands. Despite your best efforts, you were still shivering in the house that most likely had several heating charms in place at all times.

After being friends with the Weasley twins for nearly three and a half years, you were finally going to spend the Christmas hols at the Burrow with their family. To say you were excited would be an understatement. With everything going on in school, you were ecstatic to be able to spend some time with some of your best friends.

The warmth and the heavenly smells radiating from the kitchen made you gravitate towards the door. Maybe helping out with the cooking could ease up some of the chill you had in your bones.

“Would you like some help, Molly?” You asked hopefully, seeing her putter about in the kitchen. You knew that she had a whole hoard of mouths to fill, so you were happy to offer her some assistance.

She tutted in response, “Nonsense, dear! I’m quite fine managing on my own. Thank you for the offer.”

With a swish of her wand, several things in the kitchen began moving at once and you were left to your own devices. You spared a quick glance out the window, only to see the silhouettes still racing in the sky.

An idea struck you and you made your way up the stairs as quickly as possible without drawing too much attention to yourself. Thankfully, the twins’ room was just on the second floor of the house and their door was left slightly ajar.

You were quick to spot George’s battered old trunk laying at the foot of his bed. Your cold fingers nimbly popped the latch open and clutched onto exactly what you were looking for. His old blue Christmas sweater was soft to touch and a little worn, but you thought that it added to its charm.

One of the main reasons why you rummaged through George’s things for his sweater, instead of Fred’s, was that his distinct woodsmoke and apple scent clung onto it and made you feel safe and warm wrapped in it. You pressed the soft fabric to your face and inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the familiar scent of your best friend.

You were not sniffing the jumper because it reminded you of your crush on a certain redheaded twin, no. Not at all.

Swiftly, you lifted the jumper above your head and slipped into it. You loved the feel of the warm wool enveloping your frame. It would have been almost perfect if you hadn’t heard someone clear their throat from the doorway.

Your heart jumped to your throat as you turned on your heel and spotted George leaning against the doorway.

“Well, well, well,” He teased, making his way to you, “What do we have here? A sweater thief?”

“How long have you been standing there?” You mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Long enough to see that you’re apparently obsessed with me.” He grinned cheekily.

You rolled your eyes and tried to hide the fact that a blush was creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks, “Shove off, Weasley.”

He swung an arm loosely around your shoulders, “Well I don’t think you can use that kind of language on me now, Y/N. Especially when that’s my jumper you’re going around wearing and sniffing.”

You groaned, shoving your head on his chest to hide your embarrassment, “I just like having something th–”

“You’re going to have to speak up, love, I can’t quite understand you.” He said, and you felt like his teasing grin would be permanently etched onto his face.

“I like having something that smells like you, okay?” You mumbled, this time a little louder and less muffled.

When George didn’t immediately respond, your heart began to pick up its pace in your chest. Slowly, you backed away from his face and your gaze landed on the flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

A slow smile etched itself onto your face, “Have I just made the George Weasley blush?”

“Oh shut it sweater sniffer.”

You laughed, the slightly awkward tension dissipating at the sound and the two of you made your way back downstairs.

Three

“Psst.” A voice whispered next to you.

Your brows furrowed and you looked up from the book in front of you to see your boyfriend grinning cheekily at you, “Yes, George?”

The Great Hall was practically silent, the only sounds resonating throughout the space were the scratching of quills and the rolling of parchment. Your voice was barely above a whisper as you weren't about to get scolded for chatting during study hall.

“Nothing,” He said bashfully, “I just think you look very beautiful today.”

Surprised at his sudden show of affection, you grinned up at him, “Thanks Georgie.”

Your hand slid across the dark stained table to squeeze his and you hadn’t let go as you continued on with your coursework. You were able to get quite a bit done before you felt George squeezing your hand to get your attention. When your eyes met his, you sent him a look to say what is it this time?

Slowly, he shuffled close enough to you to whisper directly into your ear, “I think you’d look much better wearing something of mine though.”

With a roll of your eyes, you focused back on the rolls of parchment before you. Ever since you two had officially gotten together, George had a thing for you wearing any type of clothing of his. His most favorite, he had confessed, was when you wore his Christmas jumpers. The nostalgia attached to the piece of clothing and seeing it envelop you made his heart soar whenever you’d slip it over your head.

The next Friday, despite the freezing weather, all students were required to head out to the Black Lake to watch the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. You took it as an opportunity to adorn the blue and yellow sweater, making sure to layer appropriately for the below zero temperatures.

You could hear the twins’ shenanigans before you even reached the stands. The pair of red hair stood out among the crowds and let you know which direction to make your way to. Thankfully, you also spotted Lee Jordan saving a few seats around him while the twins went and collected bets.

When you reached him, he sent you a grin and patted a space next to him. The two of you chatted aimlessly for a bit, waiting not so patiently for either the twins to come back or for the second task to begin.

From George’s spot within the crowds, he glanced back at where he knew Lee to be saving a seat for him. The sight of you all bundled up in his sweater made something in his heart stop. The chilly breeze nipping at your face had caused your nose to turn slightly pink, and the way your hands fumbled at the end of the long sleeves moved something in him. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of wanting to keep you in his life for as long as you let him.

You catch his eye from your position and send him a small wave. He grins and returns the gesture before Fred nudges him in the side to take the payment a third year is holding out.

Four

The whole house seemed to absorb the darkness that the Weasley clan brought with them. It was nearing sun up, and the lot of you along with Harry, Remus, and Sirius were all gathered in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, awaiting any sort of sign that Arthur was going to be okay.

After being shaken awake at the dead of night by George who was a mess of stumbled over words and tight grips, you didn’t think of anything else but to slip on the sweater he had lent you and follow him to Dumbledore’s office. Professor McGonagall simply raised her eyebrows at your presence in the midst of the rest of the Weasley children, saying nothing as she saw how George had clung on so tightly to you.

The illegal portkey Dumbledore created landed you right in the middle of the dreary old house you had spent much of your summer in. Remus and Sirius had tried their hardest to distract everyone from the brutality of the situation, but your boyfriend and his siblings wanted nothing but to sit around anxiously for any signal from the outside world.

So far, you had nodded in and out of sleep, your head lightly tapping against George’s shoulder as you fought to just be there with him. His grip on your hand had not ceased, but you weren’t complaining. His leg bounced up and down anxiously and you could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“It’ll be okay Georgie,” Became your mantra of the night, whispering it every so often and rubbing the back of his hand gently with your thumb.

He wouldn’t say anything in reply, his red rimmed eyes were unfocused, but you knew he heard you with the way he squeezed your hand.

When the message from Molly comes, spirits are slightly raised, but there’s still so much uncertainty. You decided to step out for a moment to use the restroom, splashing some cold water on your face in an attempt to wake yourself up some more. As you took in your sleep deprived and disheveled state in the mirror, you remembered that you’ve been wearing George’s sweater.

Quickly, you haphazardly pulled the garment over your head, smoothing down the crumpled sleeping shirt you’ve been wearing under it. In a flash, you’re making your way to where the Weasley clan has settled in for what seems like the whole day and take a seat next to George once again.

Silently, you held out his sweater to him. It took a few seconds for him to realize that you were offering for him to wear it.

“Thought you’d need the extra comfort right now,” You whispered, urging him to put it on.

A spark of recognition blazed in his eyes and he gently took the soft sweater from your hands. The moment it slipped over his head, he was immediately engulfed in your scent. All of a sudden, he was transported to three years prior when you had told him you enjoyed having something that smelled like him.

When his eyes met yours, you could make out a ghost of a smile on his lips. It had been the first expression he had pulled that night, or well it was early morning now, that wasn’t a grimace or a look of concern.

You smiled tentatively back at him, and he took your hand in his once again.

Five

The pale winter morning light leaked in through the windows and you blinked blearily. The soft inhale and exhale of George beside you and the warmth under the covers almost convinces you that you could afford to shut your eyes for a few more minutes. Almost. You groan as you remember what day it is and that you should be up soon.

It was Christmas morning. The first Christmas after the war had ended, and everyone was eager to bring some festive cheer back into their lives after having gone through such dark times.

As silently as you could, you left the warm confines of the duvet and began to pad your way into the kitchen. Christmas morning called for a full english and a pot of fresh tea. On the way out of the room you shared with George, you snagged one of his older blue sweaters and pulled it over your head.

Thankfully, that morning Fred hadn’t made it out of bed yet. Breakfast at the flat above the shop could go two ways; either you made it out of bed first and got the food cooking on the stove before one of the twins stumbled in sleepily, or Fred would be sat on the couch nursing his nth cup of tea that morning, having woken up due to some nightmares that he couldn’t quite shake off yet.

With a flick of your wand, ingredients made their way into their perspective pans, and plates and utensils floated down from the cupboards and onto the kitchen table. Soon, the enticing aroma of your favorite meal of the day was wafting through the corridors and into the other rooms.

As you were plating the steaming food, a voice called out from behind you, “I’m running out of jumpers you know.”

You looked up from your position fixing the plates of food on the table, to see George leaning against the door frame. Clad in only his pajama bottoms, you silently wondered if he was just never cold or if he did this to tease you on purpose.

“What’s yours is mine, love.” You shrugged, walking over to him and pressing a small kiss at the very edge of his mouth.

“Guess it’s good that you make me wonderful food everyday,” He says, eyeing the food laid out in front of him.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Oi, keep talking like that and I’m making meals just for myself!”

Later in the day, you sipped peacefully on Molly’s famous hot chocolate, seated on the squishy couch as the rest of the Weasley clan began to open their gifts. Fred was sat under the tree, rummaging through the different wrapped packages and throwing them to whomever they were addressed to. Little by little, each Weasley sibling began to pull out their signature colored Weasley jumper.

It filled your heart with so much warmth that you could all come together, especially after the last year you’ve had. Being separated from the people you loved and cared for the most had really taken a toll on all of you, so being under one roof together with nothing dark looming at the back of your minds, was such a blessing.

“Hey,” George whispered from where he stood behind the couch, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You turned slightly to look back at him, “What’s up, Georgie?”

“Come with me,” He nudged his head in the direction of the door.

“But I’m all warm and cozy,” You whined, motioning to the cup of hot chocolate in your hands, “Do I have to?”

“Oh just come on,” He rolled his eyes, going to place his hands under your armpits in an attempt to lift you off the sofa.

“Oi!” You complained, “I’m coming, I’m coming! Don’t get your wand in a knot.”

A few of the Weasleys sent amused glances your way, but this kind of interaction wasn’t unusual in the household so they mostly left you to your own devices. You hadn’t noticed that Molly was eyeing you with a slightly cheeky glint in her eye. She knew exactly what her son had in mind.

You gently placed your mug on the coffee table before turning around and linking your arm with George’s. He brought you just by the window of the kitchen and gave you a big grin.

“Alright then, Weasley. What’s all this about then?” You asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“I just wanted a little privacy so I could give you your gift.” An eyebrow raised slightly, you waited for him to continue, “I just thought you would finally like one of your own this year.”

To say you were confused was an understatement. You eyed your boyfriend nervously as he pulled a wrapped package seemingly from thin air. You wasted no time pulling the ribbon and carefully tearing at the brown paper.

Inside was a sweater that matched the exact blue of George’s, and right smack in the middle was the initial of your name in the same shade of yellow.

Your eyes darted from the gift and back up at the wonderful soul in front of you, and you couldn’t help but feel the prick of tears welling up.

He noticed this too, “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just thought that you loved my jumpers so much that I would make you your own–”

At the realization that he had made the sweater himself, and hadn’t commissioned Molly to do it, made the dams of your eyes break. Your tears were freely falling by now and all you could think of doing was throwing your arms around George and pulling him into a slightly salty but ever so sweet kiss.

“I love it,” You whispered once you broke apart, “This is the best Christmas gift ever.”

#George Weasley #George Weasley imagines #George Weasley imagine #George Weasley fics #George Weasley fic #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley x y/n #George Weasley reader insert #George Weasley fluff #tw food

1K notes · View notes

thetargaryenbride · 3 years

Text

A Way of Mourning

Requested by: @iamhowieson Hey! I was wondering if you could make a Levi x reader request where Levi accidentally hurts the reader and he feels terrible about it but the reader comforts him and tells him they’re ok.

Thank you for requesting! <3 And I’m sorry for the delay.

Words: 2K+

Pairing: Levi x Reader [gn]

Hope you like it ❤️ Feedback is deeply appreciated! ^^

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

“Where…” you whispered, almost choking, as your dry throat tissues scratched against each other.

“Here, have some water,” someone helped you sit up and held a glass to your lips, letting you gulp greedily. The chilly liquid soothed your parched throat and you sighed in relief. Finally opening your eyes, you were met with the face of your best friend and the rest of your squadmates.

“Captain, you gave us quite the scare there. It’s been two days and you weren’t waking up. Glad to finally have you back!” grinned one of them and you smiled, only now feeling the dull ache in your abdomen. You remembered now, how you had saved one of your subordinates which resulted in a titan sinking its teeth into you.

Your eyes widened as your thoughts shifted to a certain trio.

“What happened to Levi and the others?” you asked, almost frantically, because you didn’t remember anything from the mission and the worry quickly settled inside you, like a parasite, and started eating.

Since Levi, Isabel and Farlan joined the Scouts, you were one of the few people who were assigned to take care of the three. They needed to learn more about the world above, about how the military worked, about how the Survey Corps operated, and tons of other stuff, not to mention training, riding, and strategy. The others who were assigned to help, did it with disdain until at one point they just gave up, not wanting to have any contact with the “mongrels from the Underground” but you had stayed. You genuinely liked them. Your mother had done some charity in the Underground and you had accompanied her on a few occasions. What you felt towards the people from that place was only pity, because they deserved so much better than the curse they got since birth – to live in a place with no sun and light, where only filth and shadows flooded each corner, lurking over every inch of your skin.

So you had tried your best to take care of the three. Isabel had quickly taken a liking to you, followed by Farlan. Levi had been harder to win over. He was very quiet, reserved, and distrustful. But your constant kind gestures managed to crack even his shell if only a bit. He didn’t have problems with letting you be near him anymore. He even started talking to you and a day before the expedition he had even allowed you to rub his right shoulder. It had been aching and you had told him that he had to be healthy and strong for the expedition if he wanted to protect himself and his friends. He couldn’t malfunction. He had actually chuckled, although it was so quiet you almost mistook it for him letting out a breath, and let you do your magic at soothing his muscles. You had grown so attached to them that you couldn’t imagine your life without them. The thought that this was their very first expedition had hit you like a sack of bricks just before you had taken off and you had been worried out of your mind throughout the whole expedition, wondering whether they would make it out alive.

“Look, Y/N…I know you grew close during this past month but…Isabel and Farlan are dead,” announced your friend grimly and your heart dropped to your stomach. And suddenly your throat was dry again and no amount of gulping water or saliva was going to help. You let out a shaky breath as your trembling fingers clutched the edge of the bed, helping you sit up straighter and swing your legs over it.

“Wait, where are you-“

“I need to see Levi,” you muttered and your friends shared worried glances. They let you pass. They knew you were one of the most stubborn people alive and no amount of persuasion would put a stop to what you have in mind.

You stumbled all the way to the male barracks and opened the door, fully expecting to see Levi slumped on his bunkbed. But he was not there. In fact, the barracks were quiet and there wasn’t a single soul inhabiting them. The only sound that penetrated that silence was that of running water. Your eyes snapped to your left where the male common showers were located and you took hesitant steps towards it. This had to be the man you were looking for. After all, one of your squadmates had told you that Levi hadn’t left the barracks since the expedition.

You didn’t know how long you just stood in front of the door, wondering if you should wait for him or leave and come back later, endlessly contemplating on what exactly you were going to tell him. But after thirty minutes had passed and nobody was coming out, your thoughts shifted to, once again, worry. Because nobody ever took showers that long. The hot water had to be preserved. After all, there were around a hundred soldiers in the regiment who needed it and it was a bit harder to warm it up since they lived in a castle and not in the city like the Military Police or the Garrison.

“Levi?” you called out as you knocked but no answer came. “It’s me, Y/N. I’m coming in, ok?” you slowly opened the door and your face and body were instantly hit with hot thick steam and moisture. It was almost suffocating. “What the-“ you rubbed your face and eyes as you fully stepped inside and tried to focus. You finally located a figure at the end of the room and you walked towards it. The fog parted a bit and revealed the familiar backside of Levi. You were about to huff and scold him when you noticed just how red his back was. Your eyes widened as you outstretched your arm and put it under the sprinkling water, hissing and retreating it almost immediately.

“That water is scalding hot!” you exclaimed. “Levi, hey, let’s get out of here, hm?” you asked, voice laced with desperation and worry as you went to put a hand on his shoulder and shake him out of whatever trance he had fallen in. “You’re harming yourself. Please, let’s leave,” but before you could touch his skin, his hand shot out and grabbed yours, clutching it so tightly that he almost snapped it. He stood up abruptly and shoved you away, causing you to let out a squeal as you slipped and fell on your bum, the pain from your wound jostling your body, making you groan and clutch your stomach as if it was going to help soothe it.

“Get out,” he growled, his back still turned on you.

“But-“

“I said leave!” he yelled as his head sharply turned to look down at you. His eyes grew wide and the angry sneer and furrowed eyebrows he had donned eased a little. You stood up slowly and raised a hand, nodding.

“Ok…it’s alright, I’m going…just…don’t stay here long,” you whispered before you turned on your tail and exited the room.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

“Gods, would you go to bed already? Your wound is still healing and instead of resting you’re burying yourself in paperwork!” exclaimed your friend angrily as she crossed her arms.

“You know that there is always extra paperwork after expeditions. And I’ve been out for two days. I have a lot of work to catch up to. I’m fine,” you smiled at her reassuringly and she rolled her eyes before they snapped to the door after a knock echoed throughout your office.

“Name and business?!” you called out but nobody answered. The door just opened and your eyebrows shot to your hairline as you saw Levi holding a tray with two cups of steaming tea. Your friend gave you a look and nodded.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” she said as she quickly exited and closed the door.

Levi just stood there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot until you told him to sit. He placed the tray on your desk and grabbed a chair, dragging it to sit in front of you while you were sipping on the liquid. There was silence for some time as you looked at him but he didn’t have the courage to look at you, focusing on his lap as his bangs covered his face.

Levi felt horrible. He felt disgusted with himself. He had been shaking like a leaf the moment you had left the bathroom. He hadn’t known what to do. He hadn’t even known which world he was on.

He remembered sitting there, almost choking on the thick steam, feeling the hot water drops drum against his skin. He had been so deep into his thoughts and the still fresh memories from two days ago, eyes scanning his hands in haze, seeing not clean skin but skin marred with dark wine blood – the blood of his family. The family he couldn’t protect because of his own foolishness and weakness. The moment he had felt that someone’s presence breathing down his neck and feeling the closeness of their hand, hovering over his shoulder, the close proximity creating warmth and electricity that had made the hair on his neck bristle, his hand had shot out automatically. He hadn’t wanted anyone to breathe the same air as him, much less touching him. He hadn’t hesitated when he pushed them away. But the moment he had turned and his eyes fell on you, regret had struck his heart and he had been frozen in place, not being able to do anything but watch with wide eyes as you shot him an apologetic smile before leaving.

He told himself that it wasn’t on purpose. He told himself it was just a reaction – a reflex – to something, someone, foreign, invading his personal space in a moment of deep vulnerability. But still…he felt like a trash.

“I’m sorry,” he finally let out and you smiled at him, shaking your head.

“It’s fine,”

“No…I yelled at you…I pushed you…I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered and you sighed.

“Everyone mourns differently, Levi. You needed space; so I gave it to you. I probably startled you by touching you. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt with my actions,” you explained gently, hoping to ease the guilt that was so obviously drowning him. His hands balled into fists as he bit the inside of his cheek.

“You’re the only one I have left,” he muttered as his eyes finally locked with yours and your hand touched his ever so slowly.

“And I’m not going anywhere. Please… let’s just forget everything and keep going together,” you smiled at him as your hand stroke his and he let out a sigh of relief before nodding. The emotions swirling in his eyes were so many and so vivid that it almost made you cry. It engulfed your very being and had such an impact on you that it overwhelmed you, making you succumb to emotion rather than rationality. You stood up and approached the man, crouching down in front of him. The smile you sent him and the emotions swirling in your eyes, had him give you a soft smile. You rose on your toes and closed the distance, letting your arms embrace his form. You sank into him, head nestling in the crook of his neck as his own arms tugged you closer and squeezed your form.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured in your hair again and you tightened your hold, nuzzling into him. He didn’t know whether he truly deserved this forgiveness. You were simply an exceedingly kind and forgiving person. But he knew one thing. From now on he was going to do anything for you. He was aware he had a difficult personality but he was going to try his best and stick by your side. Because you truly were one of the few people who gave him a chance and tried so hard to forge friendship with him despite all and you actually managed to wiggle into his heart and settle there.

I promise to protect you...

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #reader #reader insert #reader imagine

285 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Little Bones 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: So, I’ve made some positive changes in my life. I am working away at original work, I’m drinking more water, I’m taking my dog on big walks and being more active, and I’m doing my best. So, I was struck with an old yearning to return to Birch. I’ll be updating here and there as I feel and won’t be pushing myself like I did before because I realise how unhealthy and stressful it was on me.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: It gets so sticky down here

A city girl in a small town. What could be sadder than that?

In the city, life went fast. In a place like Birch, the days dragged by as if to remind you of how helpless you were beneath the unyielding and inevitable tick of the clock. The hand wound around and around as you waited for what would never happen. The dreams of your childhood eroded beneath the rolling years leaving trail of crumbs you could not follow back to the beginning.

A woman just beyond her prime trapped in an antiquated career. The empty aisles between the shelves full of books bespoke of a bygone era. The forgotten library at the far end of the main street rarely saw a new face and those familiar were fewer by the day. The staff had thinned to three of you; Melissa was older than you with a daughter nearly your age and Colin was close to retirement if not well past.

You got on well enough, as well as you could given Colin’s faulty hearing aid, and Melissa’s wandering mind. They meant well but they shared the lethargy of the old small town.

You weren’t nostalgic for the smog or the flashing lights of the city, but there was no life to this place. Only the impending reach of death rattling closer in the roar of the motorcycles and the rumble of the old railroad that ran through the middle of town.

The air nipped at your cheeks as you approached the library. A morning of yawning had you craving a latte from the bakery and the quiet girl behind the counter cheerfully steamed the foam before handing it over. Everyone in this town was familiar, everyone knew everyone else, and yet, you still felt like an outsider.

You felt the heat of the cup through your glove and you looked up as you sensed two figures by one of the thick columns of the library façade. Melissa stood chatting with her daughter, hugging her sweater around her as she’d left her coat inside. You peeked up at the grey sky as snow threatened at any moment with the mid-November bite.

As you thought to pass them and leave their conversation uninterrupted, your name drew you back.

“I was just telling my daughter,” Mel began as she waved you over with a chatter of her teeth. “About that podcast you mentioned. She loves those old Hollywood stars.”

“Oh,” you blew the steam away from the lid of your drink as you neared, “It’s alright. The stories are worth the narrator’s schtick.”

“Yeah? I’ve been closing at the bar and I like to listen to something once it clears out.” Mel’s daughter said. “You wouldn’t mind giving me the name?”

You told her the title of the podcast and helped her find it on Spotify to follow for later. Mel shivered and stood closer to her daughter who was bundled up against the onslaught of Birch’s blustering winter. You knew about her too.

She was friendly but you saw in her a cynicism more common to city folk. You got along but you were weary of her associations. The local club of crass bikers were neither subtle nor savoury. In the city, it was easy enough to ignore the patch and all that came along with it. The seedy figures were distilled by the broader population but not in Birch. There, the club was the town.

“Mom, you can’t stay out here.” She poked her mother’s arm. “It’s too cold.”

“Little better in the library.” You grumbled and sipped your latte. “The radiator’s broken again.”

“You mean Colin broke it trying to fix what wasn’t broken,” Melissa shook her head, “and I’m fine, dear. I’ve spent more than fifty winters in Birch and been through worse than this.”

“Yes, but you were younger then--” Her voice dwindled as she turned her head to listen to the distant roar of exhaust.

You followed her gaze and noted the way her forehead creased at the noise. She swallowed and turned to watch as a dark rider turned onto the main road from the highway. It was the man who kept her entwined with the club, the one who marked her latent authority over all others. The only one who outranked her.

She swore and looked over her shoulder at her mother. Her mother touched her arm. It was a telling and surprising moment. Her expression read of all the disgust you felt for the bikers.

At least a dozen bikes followed the first and Bucky raised his glove hand to signal the others to slow as he pulled up to the curb just before the library steps. You backed away as his breath clouded around him and he waved Mel’s daughter closer. He craned to kiss her as she bent, her fingers picking at her jeans as she did, then he nodded his greeting to Mel.

“What are you doing?” He asked tersely.

“Can’t I see my mother?” The daughter challenged and the biker scoffed.

“Of course,” he killed his engine and the others mimicked him in fine order. “I wouldn’t keep ya from her but you didn’t tell me you were going downtown.”

“You were gone.”

You listened to the conversation as you stayed close to the column, thinking of sneaking up the steps into the library before you heard too much. Your curiosity had you searching the crowd of leather jackets as their wearers tried to conceal their impatience with their boss’ impromptu halt.

Among them, a large man sat casually in his seat, his feet planted on the cold pavement as he rolled slightly back and forth. Strands of his thick blond hair were drawn back beneath his helmet into a thick braid as the rest hung around his shoulders. His patch was different from the rest, an old Norse symbol you didn’t know the meaning of. There were several others who wore the same cut, including a dark-haired woman who chatted with another golden-haired rider.

You tasted your latte again, it cooled quickly as the cold air battered the cardboard. As you sipped and sidled around the column, your eyes were caught by another pair. The very man you’d just been watching was now focused on you. You stopped, hoping like some frightened animal that your stillness would ward off his attention.

“Barnes,” the broad blonde man spoke as he finally looked away. “You’ve not even introduced me to your woman. I assume that’s why we’ve stopped.”

Bucky shifted on his bike and sighed. You hadn’t expected the man to have an accent. His voice was deep but the subtle lilt defined his tone as unforgettable. The dark-haired biker of Birch rolled his eyes before he pointed to his girl and gave her name, then to Melissa as he explained their relation.

You sidestepped around the column to the stairs of the library and turned away. You were stopped again by the same voice.

“And that one? The quiet one?”

You spun back slowly and looked at each biker, many unconcerned with conversation, as a few stared back at you or at the viking-like rider. Bucky shook his head and furrowed his brow at Melissa’s daughter. She hesitated before she gave your name coolly referred to you as just another librarian. She was trying to deflect the focus and you were thankful for it. You wondered at her own blatant spite for that breed of man.

“No one important,” Bucky grabbed his keys. “Come on, honey. I’ll give you a ride back.”

“I can walk.”

“Get on.” He said gruffly and turned the keys.

The motorcycles thrummed back to life in a cacophony. You flinched and turned back to the library doors. Your lunch was almost over as it was and the cold was starting to make your head hurt. You heard the bikes tear off as you reached the door and you turned back to watch as Melissa ran up after you.

You held the door for her and paused as you watched riders tear away. The blonde remained and watched you with a smirk. He winked as he slowly rolled after the others and pushed off. You followed Melissa inside and pulled the door shut tightly behind you.

“I’ll finish the returns,” you slipped past her, “you should try to warm up.”

“Thanks, dear,” she rubbed her hands together as she neared the curve desk you all shared, “God, that man makes my skin crawl.”

“But your daughter--”

“She handles him as well as she can,” Melissa sat and logged onto her boxy PC, “she’s stronger than me, that’s for sure.”

You sat and chewed on the thought. You just assumed her daughter leaped at the opportunity to date the most powerful man in town. What else could a girl from Birch hope for?

“She doesn’t…”

“He keeps her safe, I guess,” Melissa muttered, “I don’t say nothing against it. I won’t, for her sake as much as mine.”

You lowered your lashes and turned to the stack of unscanned books. You took the first and opened the cover.

“I didn’t mean to-- I don’t really know anything about the… bikers.”

“Hope you never do, dear,” she said listlessly. “Those men, if you can call them that, are the lowest form of humanity.”

💀

You always took the same route home. It wasn’t very far. You lived in the studio apartment above Tammy’s, the clothes shop where all the local seniors got their outdated outfits. The store itself smelled like a retirement home but you were not often disturbed by the activity below. Like everything in Birch, it wasn’t very exciting.

Your walk took you past the diner and along the stretch across the street from the town’s sentinel, The Asp. The bar was the only place in town which always seemed to be bursting with life. You had an old Chevrolet parked behind the building but you never drove to work, only on your odd trip to the city to get away from the suffocation malaise of main street.

That day as you fumbled to get your earbud back in, you heard a whistle. You got a few comments now and again about your habit of blocking out the townsfolk and the town itself with your music. In the city, you didn’t just say hi to every person you walked by and you had little inclination to change that habit.

You kept going and the whistle came louder. You heard boots hammer across the street and you stopped as the earbud once more fell out of your ear.

“Eh, kitten,” you turned to the long-haired biker. A golden hammer hung from a chain and peaked out from the open collar of his jacket. He tucked his hands in his pockets as you faced him with blatant irritation. “We didn’t get to meet properly, did we?”

You stared at him and let out a foggy breath. You leaned on your left heel and shook your head with a scoff.

“No.” You said and turned back along your path.

“No?” He repeated and his footsteps followed closely. “I’m only being friendly, kitten. I’m not from around here and I’m just tryn’ ta make a few friends.”

“I’m not interested,” you march onward and stop short.

You realised if you went any further, you’d lead him straight to your door. You didn’t need him knowing where you lived. You veered off and crossed the street, he stayed close just like your shadow. You’d stop by the liquor store and wait him out there.

“Where are you going, kitten?”

“Can’t you take a hint?” You nearly tangled your own legs as you pivoted sharply. “I’m sorry for your luck that you’ve ended up in Birch but I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you.” You grasped the handle of the liquor store door. “Oh, and my name isn’t kitten.”

“I know your name. I remember it.” He grinned and you swung open the door. He caught it behind you and you let out a frustrated sigh as he trailed you inside. “It’s almost as gorgeous as you.”

“Do those work on the women where you’re from?”

You stared at the shelf of fruit wines and tried to ignore him. You were starting to build a real thirst for the bottles.

“I don’t meet a lot of women like you, kitten.”

“Would you stop it--” You blinked and stomped further down the aisle.

“Thor. My name’s Thor.” He offered gallantly. “But you can call me whatever you wish.”

“I could think of a few things.” You bent down to read the label of a wine from the Maritimes.

“Mmm, my thoughts run wild, kitten.” He purred and you looked up at him in confusion.

You swiped the bottle from the shelf and stood straight. His eyes clung to your ass and as you turned, they swiftly found your chest. Neither were well-hidden by your jacket, even as thick as it was. Your weight often deterred the whistles and the leers, but not this time.

“How many ways can I tell you to go away?” You hissed and move to step around him. He turned and watched you pass. He shivered as you brushed against him unwillingly in the narrow aisle.

“So, you got a man?” He questioned as again he tailed you to the counter. You grabbed a small bottle of Vodka from the rack beside it and dug out your wallet.

“Does it matter?”

He bent and leaned on the counter beside you and you ignored his attempt to look you in the face. You paid and took your change as the clerk bagged your purchase.

“To me, everything about you matters, kitten.”

You shot him a sharp look and took your paper bag. You hugged it close and glared at him as he straightened. “Stop calling me that.”

“Here,” he gripped the top of the bag, “I’ll help.”

“I’ll smash this bottle over your head,” you threatened. “Now I’ve told you to leave me alone.”

He chuckled and dipped his head. His hair slid down the leather and he scratched his thick beard.

“Don’t worry, kitten, I like to play.”

He looked at you again, his blue eyes twinkling. You were startled as suddenly he ‘woofed’’ at you. You backed away and he kept close as is to chase you, ready to salivate like the dog he mimicked.

“Get away!” You shouted and raced for the door.

His barks turned to laughter and the bell announced your stagger out onto the street. You didn’t look back as you charged across the street and narrowly missed being mowed down by Linda Karling. You reached the other side as you heard the liquor store door clatter a second time. You sensed his shadow as you turned down a side street.

You walked until you were certain he wasn’t following. The cold blew up your jacket as you mapped out your way back. You could sneak around the back of the clothes shop and sneak up the metal escape. You peered back and forth, the old house just at the town limits nearly faded into the dimming sky and main street shrouded by brick walls.

“Hey,” a small voice surprised you as a woman neared, walking the same route as you. “Whatcha doing all the way up here?”

You stared at her dumbly. It was the woman who worked at the bakery. She hung out with the club too.

“Nothing, I…” You grabbed your earbuds and put them back in your ears. “I was listening to my music and got carried away.”

“Oh?” she chittered like a mouse. “No one comes this way. Only me to see my ma.”

You nodded at her and gave an awkward smile. “Mmhmm. Well, thanks. I probably would’ve wandered right out of town.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said forlornly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“For your latte. And you always get the banana loaf when it’s on special and tomorrow’s Tuesday.”

You sniffed and rubbed your neck. You hated that. You hated that everyone knew you, that everyone knew what you did, and that they assumed they knew everything else. But she was sweet and you couldn’t hate her for never being freed from the prison of Birch.

“Oh yeah,” you squeezed the paper bag so it crinkled and pulled out your phone with your free hand, “tomorrow.”

765 notes · View notes

vagrantblvrd · 4 years

Text

In the vein of those Din and Luke meet on Tatooine before they live the Star Wars?

I propose that Din is the ~sweetheart from back home story Luke tells people if they ask about that kind of thing, you know?

Nineteen year-old Luke who gets tossed into the deep end whe he joins the Rebellion, right?

Farm boy from Tatooine in a starfighter squadron filled with people like Wedge and Janson.

And all the hurry up and wait that happens, and a card game that springs up between missions. Some late night somewhere - Hoth, maybe - and it was just a little too much to toss and turn all night in the bunks, maybe tale a stroll through base. Stop by the hangar because someone’s always there - weather lie this you can bet someone’s fixing something or adapting it to make it work in these conditons, and anyway, anyway.

Hell of a lot better than being stuck with your own thoughts you know backwards and front.

So anyway, one of those kind of card games, you know? The ones where people don’t ask why you look so damn tired or comment on how jumpy you are because they’ve all been there. (It’s a war, everyone loses sleep, everyone has nightmares. Everyone’s lost someone, or worry about losing someone and anyway. They get it.)

Janson’s just finished some story about a girl he knew from somewhere, before he joined the Rebellion and the trouble they both go up to and the fond memories he has due to all that.

Swings over to Wedge who sighs and gives Janson this look because he just won’t stop about it, and Luke only half hears the story because he catches a glimpse of Han stomping by, scowl on his face the way he gets sometimes.

(Another fight with Leia, probably, that Luke’s at that stage of things where the thought doesn’t sting so much anymore, thinks he actually likes this better anyway, because he’s seen the way Han looks at her and anyway.)

Luke goes over to where Han’s stomping around the Falcon, muttering and swearing and Chewie’s who knows where, maybe that still in one of the storage levels helping people who are totally not involved with it refine the end product or some such, Luke wouldn’t know.

Takes a while for Han to notice he’s there and when he does Luke almost rolls his eyes at the whole...Drama bit he does. Trying to get Luke on his side, paint himself as the innocent in the scenario - which, if he was? He wouldn’t be trying nearly this hard to convince Luke, so.

Luke lets him vent for a bit and when Han runs out of steam, starts to look a little lost like he has no idea how the hell whatever argument he and Leia had got so out of hand he stormed off the way he did -

“You up for a game of sabacc?”

Because Han tells anyone who’ll listen just how good at it he is, no one better for parsecs around, and anyway.

Better that that be left alone with his thoughts, right?

So Luke brings Han into the game, and Wedge and Janson give Luke this look because the whole Drama between him, Han, and Leia is the best entertainment they’ve had in a long, long time, and anyway.

“You got one?” Wedge asks, looking at Luke over his cards, like an absolute bastard, because of course that catches Han’s interest.

“Got what?”

Luke is like, oh, no, but Wedge is smirking at him and Janson’s no better and then there’s Han who is worse than all of them put together.

“Sweetheart from back home,” Wedge says,and he and Han share this look - it has to be a Corellian thing - and Luke.

“...I wouldn’t say he’s my sweetheart,” Luke says, and the way his face feels he has to be blushing. “But, uh. There was someone.”

And, okay.

He’s not so clueless he doesn’t know the reputation Mandalorians have with most people, has heard Han talking about this one in particular that pops up in his life every so often.

Mostly though, it’s kind of.

He just doesn’t want other people having this piece of his life, you know? Things are weird enough after Yavin and the Death Star and the Rebellion and Luke’s role in all that and he didn’t ask for any of that, could do without it, but he’s just the guy they ask to smile and post of pictures and...yeah.

SO.

He tells them this story about that time he was in Mos Eisley, right? He had this part-time job working in a hangar for someone named Peli when the farm wasn’t doing well.

Han looks at Luke as he mentions that, this slow realization on his face because look, okay, look.

Han’s met some nice girls - and maybe boys, who knows - like that, ones he had a good time with before moving on and Luke is steadfastly not looking at anyone at the table. (Cargo crate with an old tarp thrown over it to make it just that much more classy and all.)

Focused real intent on his cards and Han is both impressed and a little horrified because one, he never would have expected something like that from Luke - look at the kid, for crying out loud! - and two? That’s Luke. Like a kid brother and Han knows the kind of guys (and girls) who meet sweet kids like him in places like that - look at Han!

Anyway, Han keeps his mouth shut and lets Luke tell his story. Glances at Wedge and the others who all look the same mix of impressed and horrified because Luke, and almost gives himself away by laughing because yeah, the dumb kid gets to people like that, doesn’t he.

Luke, though He knows his friends, looks up and give them looks. “It wasn’t like that,” he says, because most of the time it really wasn’t like that.

He met a lot of interesting people back then, that’s all.

So anyway, back to Luke’s story about this guy he met working for Peli.

Drifter, you know? Not the chatty sort, but not rude about it. Just. Not much to say to anyone, which was fine Luke made up for it himself just fine.

Anyway.

This guy comes in with his ship all chewed up - literally, Luke finds out later when he pries a tooth jammed into one of the landing struts when the guy mentioned it didn’t fully retract - and this tired sigh.

Peli set Luke on the guy’s ship, told him that since he didn’t want droids near the damn thing he’d trust her to know what her people could do and that Luke would be just fine fixing his ship, so, you know.

That was a thing to watch.

And then Luke gets to work, has to call home to let them know he won’t be back that night because he’s got a big job in the works and the guy needs it done ASAP and there’s a couch in Peli’s office she lets him sleep on when stuff like this happens.

He’s still working when the guy gets back from...doing whatever it is he was doing, Luke knows better to ask, and Luke is like.

He knows ships, you know? Knows machines, a hell of a lot better than people sometimes, and they don’t make fun of him, don’t stick him with dumb nicknames.

So he’s working on the guy’s ship, maybe talking to it to, fond little pats when he’s done with a repair or comes across some old repair job someone did that’s coming apart. And it’s not like anyone told him not to take care of that while he’s there and all, you know?

Peli said get his ship fixed, and maybe she meant the newer stuff, but Luke is there and it’ll just take a second and really, the ship’s old, been through a lot. Fixing this one little thing with all the rest won’t hurt anyone and it’ll keep her flying a little longer, and just. No harm to it.

And then the guy is just kind of there?

Watching Luke being a weird guy, talking to his ship like it’s a person, finding small things wrong with it that haven’t set up an alarm anywhere yet, but Luke just knows. Like a splinter under your skin you don’t realize is there just yet but something’s not right, that kind of deal.

Gives Luke this look, right, but Luke shrugs and spins some nonsense about older ships like his and these common issues they share as part of the manufacturing process and might as well take care of it now before it becomes a problem, right? No extra charge, something on the house since the repairs that were asked for are so extensive.

Anyway.

Luke ends up chattering a bit when he realizes the guy doesn’t mind? Doesn’t always answer Luke but he doesn’t tell him to shut up or pull a blaster to intimidate him the way some of them do, and anyway.

Luke finishes the repairs around dawn, dead on his feet and wishes him luck before he goes off to catch some sleep on Peli’s couch before he heads home to the farm.

Doesn’t think much about the whole thing, but then a few months later the same ship ends up in Peli’s hangar. In better shape this time, just needs a once-over, make sure everything’s running fine and fuel.

And the guy, okay.

Gives Luke this little nod on his way off to do whatever, doesn’t stop to ask Peli if she’s sure Luke’s good at his job, and he gets this. Nothing warm and squishy, he barely knows the guy, but it’s a pleased feeling knowing that at the very least he trusts Luke’s work.

Luke’s done by the time the guy gets back, but it’s one of those days where he’s not keen on getting back to the farm - Uncle Owen asked him to stay behind a year to help out, just a little longer and he’s.

Upset at being left behind by the others, by being stuck on Tatooine for another year. Needs time to cool down before he says something he knows he’ll regret, and Peli’s good enough not to pry.

They end up playing sabacc, Peli cackling as she cheats her way to victory - Luke pauses his story to give the others this 0:D smile when he tells them she’s the one who taught him how to cheat at sabacc and not get caught at it, but anyway, they want to hear the rest of his story, right?

Peli gets a call from a supplier, something about a parts dleivery being delayed - Imperial interference or some such - and she leaves to go take care of it, annoyed because she was about to clean Luke out and leave him destitute when it comes to nuts and bolts, and then it’s Luke and the guy.

Who’s giving him this look right - well, Luke assumes, because helmet but he’s not telling Han and the others that bit, and anyway.

It’s still kind of early as these things go and Luke’s feeling a little more reckless than usual, and invites the guy for a hand or two if he doesn’t have anything else to do.

He’s not really expecting the guy to say yes, but he does and it’s not so bad, really? Guy must be in a good mood because he answers more of Luke’s questions or offers tidbits about himself without being asked. Doesn’t even glare at the pit droids when they creep a little closer.

Little guys love Luke, you know, but this guy obviously doesn’t like droids so they usual stay clear, but this this time their curiosity gets the better of them.

So they play a couple of hands of sabacc,and the guy knows, okay, clearly, obviously knows Luke is cheating the whole time. Hell, Luke’s not even trying all that hard to hide it, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

Gives Luke a look a few times, but they keep playing and they each win a hand.

Luke’s in a better mood by the time they decide that’s enough for the day, offers to buy the guy dinner, even.

(But becuase Din, and helmet, that’s a little awkward, y’know?)

Gets a no, because the guy has rations or whatever in his ship and Luke figures hey, okay, no problem and figures he’s good to go home now. Apologize to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru and such because he does get it, just.

Yeah.

He doesn’t see the guy around for a few more months, and when he does -

“You need to see a doctor.”

Because the blood. So much blood?

Also a vibroknife, and it’s just.

Messy.

But the guy is like no, no doctor and Luke is like you are going to die if you don’t see one but still the no doctor thing, and Luke drags him to this place he knows. Sketchy part of Mos Eisley - sketchy-er part- and knocks on a door.

This lady he knows, used to be a doctor way before. Used to be with the Galactic Navy, served on a Venator-class star destroyer before things changed, she says.

Anyway, she has a soft spot for Luke after he helped haggle a shopkeeper down on some supplies she was trying to buy this one time.

(Patched him up once or twice too, accident at the hangar or taking the wrong shortcut, that kind of thing. Didn’t want to worry his family, and anyway, Mos Eisley, right? Things happen.)

She’s surprised to see him this late at night - or not, because, again, Mos Eisley - and freezes when she sees who he has with him.

It occurs to Luke, when he sees the look on her face that hey, maybe there’s a reason someone like her is living in a bad part of Mos Eisley, and maybe people like this guy who’s been bleeding on Luke for the last however long might be one of them, but.

She was a doctor and that meant somthing once upon a time, and also the look on Luke’s face, the way he swears nothing will happen to her even though they both kind of know there’s no way he could keep that promise if his...friend is determined, but anyway.

Doesn’t matter all that much since the guy passed out before Luke got to her place, and he stays under the whole time they’re working on him.

Luke helps her patch the guy up, another pair of steady hands and they manage to save his life, which is great!

Luke apologizes for not thinking when he went to her place, but the blood and worry and she was the only one he could think of, and anyway.

She tells him not to worry about it, someone would have found her sooner or later anyway, and hey, really, don’t worry about it.

Still, better safe than sorry and Luke gets the guy back to the hangar before he wakes up. Gets him into the bunk on his ship and then, because he’s covered in the guy’s blood and it’s late as hell, decides to call home to let them know he’s got another long night - last minute job that came in and he’ll be back to help with the farm in teh morning.

And then!

Peli’s out of town, off-planet, business or whatever, and Luke’s the only one at the hangar and wakes up to the guy standing over him.

No blaster in his hand but Luke gets the feeling he doesn’t need one, and anyway.

“I said no doctors.”

Which, okay.

Luke recognizes he’s in a dangerous situation, but also?

It’s early as hell, and he didn’t get a lot of sleep the night before what with saving the guy’s life and Luke’s pretty sure he didn’t get all of his blood out from under his nails.

“They’re not anymore,” he says, and puts his arm over his eyes to block out the light. Figures if the guy’s going not going to kill him for saving his life he might as well get more sleep.

He hear this little huff, annoyance? Something, but he’s tired and falls asleep before he can figure it out.

(And the part Luke doesn’t tell Han and the others who are all just. Staring at Luke because what the actual hell, Skywalker, they thought you were some dumb kid living on a moisture farm, not...whatever the hell this story is turning out to be, is that he tells the guy - they didn’t take his helmet off, that no one saw his face.)

Anyway, Luke doesn’t get murdered on Peli’s office couch, but he does get more sleep. When he wakes up the guy and his ship are gone, but one of the pit droids gives Luke a little stack of credits. Enough to cover the medical supplies Luke’s not-doctor friend used on him, and figures it’s as close to a thanks as he’s likely to get.

In present day hangar on Hoth everyone is still staring at Luke who is like what, none of you guys had experiences like that growing up where some guy bled all over you and then kind of threatened to kill you for helping him? Weird.

Han makes a mental note to have a talk with Leia - when she’s talking to Han again - about their idiot friend who is either the luckiest bastard in the galaxy or...hell if Han knows, but someone needs to keep an eye on the kid, okay?

But back to pre-Star Wars Luke and his ~sweetheart story.

He doesn’t see the guy again for a while, but this time he does the guy comes over to where Luke’s working on his speeder at the back of Peli’s hangar. It’s been acting up and he has this deal with her where she lets him use the hangar tools and equipment if he pays for any supplies he uses in the process.

Business has been slow, Imperial activity in the area for some reason and scaring their usual customers away for the time being, and anyway.

Nothing else to work on, so tinkering with the speeder when a shadow falls over him and he looks up to see the guy watching him.

Awkward about it too, and Luke watches him totally not fidgeting before he rolls his eyes and flaps a hand to the toolbox just out of reach.

“Hand me the hydrospanner, would you?”

He’s half expecting the guy to walk off in a huff, but is pleasantly surprised when he sets the hydrospanner in Luke’s waiting hand.

Luke thanks him and goes back to work, and realizes after a bit that the guy is still standing there??? Seems less awkard now, though, and Luke slides out from under the speeper - has it up on a lift or the whatnot - and looks at the guy.

Tells him it’s nice to see him, especially when he’s not bleeding - “Wait, you aren’t bleeding, right?” HArd to tell with the armor and such - which makes the guy sigh.

Luke grins, and the guy sits on one of the crates nearby as Luke goes back to fixing the speeder. Occasionally Luke will ask for a tool and the guy will hand it to him.

Luke chats with him while he’s working, gets some answers back and it’s just.

A nice time, you know?

And then when he’s done and the speeder is back up and running, well. Luke needs to take it for a test drive, little spin, and if the guy’s not doing anything it might be nice to have some company???

Wedge and the others are like OH? GOING FOR A DRIVE WITH YOUR SWEETHEART? TELL US MORE.

But, like. Nothing happens, okay? They go for that drive, Luke shows off a little because he was a dumb - dumber - kid back then and anyway, anyway.

It’s not until they’re back in Mos Eisley and Luke drops the guy off at his ship, parked in a hangar down the way, that anything happens, you know?

The suns are going down and it’s pretty out, hardly anyone on the street with them and, almost enough to make them forget about being in Mos Eisley.

Luke’s leaning against the speeder, right, and the guy’s watching Luke watch him, and he cocks his head a certain way and Luke follows him into the hangar and nothing happens, okay, really.

Just some talking, the guy getting ready to leave in the morning and some stuff he ordered got dropped off. Luke helps him load his ship, and when they’re done it’s starting to get dark out, and Luke really should head home -

But the guy stops him, and on his arm and some of that awkwardness is back, and Luke is just.

Doesn’t know what to expect, because usually this is where a kiss might happen, but - the armor the others don’t know about because shhhh, no talk of Mandalorians when Han’s around -

Luke is just standing there, not sure what to do, and then the guy leans down, presses his forehead against Luke’s and says, “Din,”

Luke is like !!! because this is clearly something important, something big, and he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, mess things up. Is about to ask, but the guy beats him to it.

“My name,” he says, like this is something he hasn’t told many people. “Din.”

No last name, but Luke figures even this much is a big, big deal, especially since they don’t even really know one another, and anyway, it doesn’t matter, so.

They stay like that a little longer - Luke doesn’t know what they’re doing, this thing with Din, but it’s nice and he likes it - and then one of the hangar mechanics comes stumbling in, drunk as hell and Luke and Din break apart, all awkward and flustered.

Luke says he has to get home, Din says he should get some sleep since he’s leaving early the next morning, and anyway, anyway, that’s Luke’s sweetheart from home story.

Because, you know, because.

Uncle Owen got a couple of droids the day after that and Luke’s life stopped being his for a long, long time.

Han and Wedge and the others look at Luke because what even was that story? Everyone else had the schoolyard crushes and the like. Luke gets the mysterious drifter who almost died, but then Luke saved him by taking him to a former doctor who was on the run and hiding out in Mos Eisley and almost got murderized for it -

“Guys, he wasn’t going to kill me,” Luke says, which while true is nowhere near the point, Skywalker, just shut up for a second, okay?

- and then he gets the scenic drive and romantic kiss goodbye to someone he never sees again???

(They all agree not to mention the part where Luke’s family was murdered and the whatnot because yikes, but still. What was that story?)

Luke is just, “Tatooine,” which is as good an explanation as anything else he could have given them really.

AND THEN.

Fast forward a few years to this distress call through the Force fro a tiny green gremlin kid that Luke answers.

Has to go through a platoon of Dark Troopers to do it, and when he does -

He doesn’t expect Din to remember him, not really, because what’s one dumb kid on some terrible desert planet to someone like him who probably stopped on a hundred other planets with other dumb kids like Luke around, so.

Still, knowing it’s Din and seeing what he’s willing to do for Grogu - what he has done, when Grogu shares his memories of his adventures with Din and what Din tells him himself - makes it easier to invite him to come with Luke and Grogu.

(Always the plan to do so because he doesn’t want to repeat the mistakes of the old Jedi order, but it being Din is so much better.)

Go back to Yavin or wherever he’s starting his school and Din is all awkward around Luke?

At first he thinks Din does remember him, and overall awkwardness of their past and present and anyway, he’s obviously not going to say anything and doesn’t want to? So just move on and such.

Only thing is, with Din living there with Luke and Grogu, Luke gets the chance to get to know him better? And Din is obiously trying, for Grogu’s sake, probably, Luke doesn’t know.

It’s still Din, though, awkward and a little stilted and just.

Adorable, really. Sweet about it.

Nothing really happens other than the awkwardness going away after a while, Din looking a little more comfortable around Luke and such.

And then the speeder they use to get to the small town a few miles away for food and supplies and the whatnot breaks down and Luke sets about fixing it, back of the little workshop area he as set up and it takes him a while to realize Din came out to see what he was doing, and then just never left?

Sitting there on some cargo crates, Grogu dozing in his arms because it’s early yet, but when Luke glances over at them Din shrugs, Smile in his voice as he tells Luke that Grogu woke up when Din was getting ready and refused to be left behind, and now here they are.

Luke snorts, and looks around for the hyrdospanner -

- and Din puts in his hand.

And where it should be a nice, normal little gesture, Din has to go and make it all meaningful, you know?

Hands Luke the hydrospanner, but their hands brush, touch lingering and Din is looking at him.

It’s been years, but Luke still remembers how to read Din’s body language, the tilt of his head, way he holds himself. Subtle things, an anyway.

Din watches Luke work, and Grogu wakes up somewhere in there taking over Din’s job of handing Luke tools and the whatnot, but that’s fine with Din because now he gets to watch the two of them, right?

Luke explaining what he’s doing, what’s wrong with the speeder and what he’s doing to fix it and such. Grogu follows maybe half of what he says, not all that interested, but he’s thrilled at the chance to help and that’s the important part.

And then when he’s done and the speeder is back up and running, well. Luke needs to take it for a test drive, little spin, and if Din’s not doing anything it might be nice to have some company???

(Not that Luke has called him by his name or anything since they met again on Gideon’s ship, didn’t think Din remembered him or that he was welcome to use it, and anyway, Yes)

There’s only the one sun this time, and it’s jungle rather than desert, but Luke still knows a nice little road they can take. Scenic, lovely, and Din gives him another one of those looks because he remembers this, okay.

Luke grins, because this is...it’s nice, really, and then Grogu pops up, super delighted because Luke is still kind of terrifying behind the wheel of a vehicle. Incredible driver/pilot and all? But still terrifying, because of those things.

They get back to the school, Luke pulling up in front of the school. Leans against the speeder watching Din and Grogu get out, Grogu thrilled out of his little mind because they went so fast and it was amazing and they watch as Grogu goes inside still chattering to himself becuase so cool.

Din looks at Luke, who’s still leaning against the speeder, soft little smile on his face because it’s been a good day.

And then Din cocks his head in a certain way and Luke follows him inside, because what else is he supposed to do?

They can hear Grogu somewhere in the little apartment Din shares with him, happy as anything and entertaining himself and anyway.

“Hey, hi,” Luke says, like an idiot, but that’s fine, it’s great.

Din’s kind of an idiot too, it works for them.

There’s some talking, and Grogu wanders in, clearly hungry and no choice but to make dinner and so on. Luke and Din moving around one another comfortably, don’t really think too much of it, and Grogu helps where he can, also snags little bits of food here and there and is all 0:D? when they shoot him looks, because clearly he’s done nothing wrong his whole life.

Grogu starts nodding off after dinner, and Luke cleans up while Din puts him to sleep, and then it’s finally Din’s turn to do the leaning.

Leans on the counter watching Luke who gives Din a look, like what are you doing, there are dishes to put away -

And then Din stops the whole leaning thing, at least for now, because he’s doing the thing where he presses his forehead against Luke’s, and it’s -

Luke knows what this is now, what it means to Mandalorians, to Din.

And if he still didn’t, there’s no misunderstanding the emotion in the way Din says Luke’s name, like hey, hello, and i’ve missed you so much, and there you are, i found you.

Which should be strange, right, because they barely even knew each other back then, but Luke says the same things to Din when he says his name, when Din hears Luke say his name for the first time, and anyway.

Luke’s not some dumb kid anymore (still dumb, according to Leia and Han and everyone else in Luke’s life, just not a kid), and Din’s not the same man he used to be.

And anyway, this is better isn’t it? All that time to find out who they were, live a lifetime of experiences with everything the galaxy threw at them only to meet once another again afterward? Learn who they’ve become since Tatooine, settled in their skins and anyway.

Not bad for a second date.

Han and Wedge absolutely lose their shit when they meet Din and realize why Luke’s story about his sweetheart from home was a little weird in places? Spots where Luke had to talk around the armor and fact Din’s Mandalorian and just.

Also the bit where Luke was all casual about the almost being murderized for saving Din’s life

“Guys, he wasn’t going to kill me, how many times do I have to tell you that?”

And Din is like. “...what? You thought I was going to kill you?”

“No!”

“Well we did!”

And anyway.

Yeah.

Leia, who has also heard Luke’s sweetheart from home story - it took them a long time to find Han after Cloud City, and there were nights where none of them could sleep and nightmares were plentiful and anyway, she’s heard the story - takes one look at Din and Luke and how happy her idiot of a brother is, and is just.

Finally, someone who makes her brother look like that.

(Happy. Din makes Luke happy.)

#star wars nonsense #dinluke #this really got away from me huh?#wow #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #long post #for reals though #/o\#sweethearts

429 notes · View notes

theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Telegrams & Teacups

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader (Enola Holmes)

Warnings: None.

Summary: Your morning was normal until you received a telegram from your friend Sherlock Holmes with a simple request: help him find Enola.

A/n: This tiny idea had me so obsessed that it’s all I’ve been writing for the last few hours! I have no regrets <3

You had just poured yourself a cup of tea and set it down on the small table by the armchair when there was a knock at the door.

How peculiar. You thought to yourself.

Crossing the room, you turned the handle and propped open the panel of wood to see who your guest was and was met with a man from the post office holding in his hands a beige envelope.

“Telegram for (Y/n).” He explained. You confirmed your identity and were handed the papered item bidding the gentlemen a good day.

With a swift closing of the door, you leaned against it and opened the letter, recognising initials of S.H on the bottom right corner. Sherlock had told you that he was leaving to attend to a personal matter in the country yesterday morning so if he sent a priority telegram to you, then there must have been a development in the case.

Unfolding the paper, you read the message and learnt that he requested your assistance in locating his sister Enola Holmes who he suspected to be in London and that he would be back in the city later that afternoon. At the bottom of the letter there were the words ‘URGENT’ and a short series of words describing the girl scrawled rather messily, no doubt belonging to his brother Mycroft who was constantly teetering on the edge of patience.

You glanced over at the teacup still sending swirls of steam into the air and sighed - your drink would have to wait. Grabbing your coat from its stand, you hastily put it on and dashed out the door.

When you stepped out onto the street, you remembered Sherlock once mentioned having a sister that he had not contacted in years. It was a simple remark that he let slip when he had his guard down around you - it didn’t happen often and he had caught himself before opening up to emotion. A trait that you had come to accept.

Focusing back on finding the youngest Holmes sister, Sherlock had told you of the station that she would have gotten off at. A station name was all you needed because as it turned out, you were rather gifted at getting into people’s minds and predicting the footsteps that they had taken and ones that they were likely to take next.

From the way Sherlock had explained the situation in the letter to Mycroft’s hasty emotion-driven description, you could tell that Enola was on the run to escape her brothers and a young girl out of place, who wanted to stay hidden, would have to blend into the crowd.

Your feet brought you to the first dress shop on the street from the station. Peering through the window, you noticed that the shop owner was counting a large wad of cash that seemed to be suspiciously ‘earned’ by an otherwise empty and ragged looking store. Your eye also caught the clothing rack of beautiful dresses and the empty hangers by the window.

‘Unrefined’ was one of Mycroft’s choice words and it seemed that Enola was clever enough to use his descriptions to her advantage.

Stepping back from the shop, you looked around the busy and bustling streets. Dressed like a lady, the young girl would be in need of accommodation, therefore she would have asked the shopkeeper for suitable lodgings to avoid wandering the streets aimlessly.

As if on cue, the dressmaker walked out of her shop and made her way across the street. Letting your instincts lead, you followed at a safe distance with a casual stride so as to not arouse suspicion. In a matter of minutes after turning a few streets and across empty passages, you had tracked the shopkeeper to what looked like a lodging of some kind on the edge of a suburb.

It was not terrible but would definitely keep one out of sight. Walking in, you introduced yourself as an acquaintance of Sherlock Holmes and inquired about Enola. The bookkeep nodded and immediately led you up a narrow set of stairs before approaching a room and knocking on the door.

“Young Miss. You have a visitor.” They announced. You heard a small shuffle of feet from inside and the door creaked open to reveal and young girl with big brown eyes. She seemed to have recognised you, stepping to the side to let you in. She closed the door and turned around.

“I know who you are.” She said boldly with a fresh air of confidence that was not to be expected from someone so young. “You work for my brother, Sherlock.”

Looking around at the little space, newspapers scattered over the bed, you smiled at Enola’s phrasing.

“Actually I work with him - on the occasion.” You corrected wheeling back around to the girl who folded her arms.

“Why are you here?”

“A telegram from your brother.”

Enola frowned and shook her head. “Well, I won’t return home so they can ship me off to some home for girls to be oppressed into this world.” She looked at you and realised that you dressed in the typical London style like everyone else that she had come across and added a small, “No offence.”

“Believe me, I am not a person of societal rules. I wear no hat and no gloves, and my neighbour - your brother - usually has me wound up in one of his most outrageous cases.” You explained with a small laugh. “Mycroft only tolerates my so-called ‘embarrassing presence’ because Sherlock insists.”

Your words seemed to have reached the young girl from the way her posture fell more relaxed.

“So, you won’t take me to my brothers?” She asked and you couldn’t help but chuckle while shaking your head.

“No. Mycroft called you wild and unladylike in my telegram but as I stand here before you, I don’t see any of it. You’re remarkable and we’ve only met.”

Enola sighed with some relief that she was not going to be dragged away and smoothed out her dress before looking up at you. “Thank you.” She said politely.

You had completed the task of finding Enola Holmes as requested and bid your farewell to the young girl but not before reminding her to reach out to you if she needed assistance. While she appeared to be very bright and capable, the city had its dangers concealed as innocence.

Leaving the lodging, you trekked back home, picking up a loaf of bread from the wheat merchant for dinner. It had been a long day and you were ready to sit back and enjoy a fresh cup of tea given that the one you had made earlier would have likely gone cold.

At the door, you balanced the paper bag against your hip and turned the key to unlock your place of residence. This time when you walked in, you discovered that you weren’t alone - Mycroft was pacing by the fireplace while Sherlock had taken a seat in your armchair with a newspaper in his face.

“Has nobody told you that it’s incredibly rude to show up in a person’s home unannounced?” You wondered letting the door fall to a close behind you. Sherlock smirked behind the paper at your comment as he turned the page. Mycroft stepped in your direction and your eyes darted up to see the scowl beneath his moustache.

“What I find to be rude is that you took it upon yourself to be entertained with such trivial actions instead of carrying out the simple task of finding our sister.” He snapped, gesturing to the bread in your hands. His sharp tone of cold authority once intimidated you, but each encounter had you grow bold, refusing to be tread on by the man.

“A task so simple that she managed to elude your brilliant mind?” You questioned with a small purse of your lips and tilting your head ever so slightly to accentuate your sarcasm. “If that isn’t an embarrassment to the name of Holmes, I don’t know what is?”

It was like you had struck the man physically as his walking cane was suddenly pointed at you with warning.

“Watch your tone, (Y/n). I can make your life exceedingly difficult.”

You held your ground against the man and smiled back. “Just being in my presence is difficult enough.”

His jaw clenched; the eldest Holmes brother pulled his cane back to his side refusing to entangle in a pointless argument. Head high, he scoffed and grumbled about how disappointing you were and why Sherlock kept you around as he exited the apartment.

Thankful that he was gone, you walked over to the small table by the window and set the bread down before picking up scattered pieces of paper.

“I take it that you found her.” Sherlock inquired from where he sat.

“Of course. She’s quite well hidden.”

“You didn’t tell Mycroft.”

Turning around, you crossed the room to the fireplace to place a few stray envelopes on the mantelpiece. “I don’t believe I owe him an answer after he broke into my home like some common thief.”

Sherlock set the newspaper down and watched you, “And yet, you’ve let me stay.” He said curiously.

You dusted your hands and glanced over your shoulder, shooting him a playful, almost-teasing smile.

Taking that for your answer, the famed detective stood up and placed the newspaper back from where he first retrieved it. You had finished up and noticed that he was on the border of leaving too.

“I take it that you won’t tell me of her location either?” He surmised, tugging a little on his coat to straighten it out.

With a small laugh, you walked past him and patted his chest. “You might be more agreeable than your brother, but I have no desire to make your job easy, Sherlock.” You told him kindly. “I’ll keep Enola in my sights and hidden until you catch up.”

That’s when you saw it, sitting on the armchair table was your teacup from that morning except, instead of being filled with a cold liquid, it was hot and steaming. Frowning, you turned to Sherlock who was by the door, smiling at your bewildered expression.

“You’ve had a long day. I’ll give you some time to catch up.” He winked and stepped out, disappearing behind your front door.

Masterlist here

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #enola holmes imagine #enola homes x reader #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft x reader

2K notes · View notes

bts-trash-blog · 4 years

Text

Best Of Us

Chapter 3: Kim Namjoon

Summary: Being an Omega is hard, it could be so lonely. The hardships that you would sometimes feel seemed to much, always expected of things you could never fully reach. Always seen as a piece of meat to some, seen as weak and stupid. So you worked your ass off to finally work your dream job. And the world all changed when you met one of the bosses. And couldn't help but end up falling.

Paring: Rap Line X Fem!Chubby OmegaReader

Warning: A/O/B!VERS, mentions of sexual harassment, heats, ruts, knotting, breeding, angst, possessive behavior, more warnings will be added as needed.

Chapter Edited

PREV._.NEXT

“Mom! Stop squishing my cheeks.” You complain, the night sky was peaking through the kitchen curretens, your wet hair falling around your cheeks as your mother cooed to your face. Her eyes close as she made a kissy face at you, making you let out a gasp pushing her away as you two let out giggles. You were lucky to be able to go home on time, your mom picking you up just as Jin left, a small wave towards you had your mother tensing as she looked at you. You Let her know who he was and her chest released a breath as she then teased you about how handsome he was, though her body tensed again when she took a deep breath in. Explaining further what happened she nodded, though still tense with the Alpha scent swirling around the two of you.

But now you’re showered, one of your fathers collage thin long sleeve t shirts, covers your torso, basketball shorts on your legs she was relaxed. She was in almost matching attire, though she was sporting one of his plain black shirts, one he wore all the time, so soft you could almost feel it without even touching. Her hair in a bun make up still on, though her lips stain was smudged on her chin, a red stain mushing with her foundation only a little. Her mascara rubbed under her eye, she always hold such a soft caring character. Though a beta, her mothering sometimes reassembled ones of Omegas, or so you heard.

“But my pup is just so cute.” You felt your cheeks flush at the nickname she teases you with the nickname, the one Yoongi had used when speaking to you. It was odd, unprofessional though it didn’t come from some type of dominant drive plan, no it came from a soft place one of kindness, foundess maybe. It had your heart pounding. The worst part about it, you knew they could hear it, and that your mother right now could somewhat hear the difference.

“Mom, I’m not a pup anymore.” She rolls her eyes, turning back to the steamer to check if the dumplings were done, smiling at the way the steam lifted in the air. The smell of pork and veggies has you stomach crawling, the sound of it gurgling had her laughter fill the small kitchen of your home.

“You may not be a pup, but you still love your mama's cooking like one.” She giggles as you let out a whine from the teasing, your body moving quickly to the table. As you sat she moves and dished some rice, placing it down as she also placed a couple dumplings sitting in her spot as she placed the steamer in front of you. You hand opening the lid, chopstick grabbing the first, shoveling the hot, chewy ball of dough and meat into your mouth. Making you huff out as you do from the heat. “You are gonna burn your mouth, Y/n.” She scolds, a smile on her face as you frown at her, cheeks stuffed as you swallow.

“Can’t help you’re cooking is just so good. It’s unfair women.” You grumble, taking a mouth full of rice as she smiles at you.

“Just eat.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” As you eat, the soft silence that surrounds you makes you feel safe and at home. Her occasionally placing a veggie on your rice or guiding them into your mouth, pointing, sliding the glass of water towards you made you feel taken care off. It comforted your tired mind, your omega feeling safe. A purr leaving your chest when she stood up and ran her hand through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. Eyes closing as she smiles, happy she can bring you comfort after a most likely stressful day. Knowing she’d have to do it tomorrow, and the day after that, yet it brought her comfort as well. Knowing she can do what you father once did, even in her own way.

“Tried?” She asks, making you nod, she watches as your chewing slows as her fingers massage your scalp, her smile growing as she stops making you start whining at her. “Oh hush, now did these Alphas treat you okay, you just said you split coffee on yourself, nothing else.

“Very.” One worded response had her huffing, rolling her eyes as she bumps your shoulder with her hip as she picks up the now empty steamer, placing it back on the counter.

“I would like a better response, especially since you showed up in my car with one of their tops on.” You blush, eyes opening as you take a gulp of your water hand gripping the glass tightly as you nod slowly.

“Yeah Mr.Jung offered it to me since my shirt was soaking and I just never got the chance to change back into it after it dried, though the coffee stain did make it hard to want to change back.”

“And not his scent?”

“He’s mated, to Mr. Min and their omega.” Your words had her freeze rinsing the dishes, nodding slowly as you let out a soft hum.

“A trio? Huh I think I did read somewhere that they were one, just didn’t look into it.”

“I had no idea, and I felt stupid.” Your mumbled words head her throwing her head back with a laugh making you pout at her.

“Your stupid? You know who you are, right?” Nodding she looked at you, turning to face you hand resting on her hip making you cross your arms over your belly, sweater paw hands. “You are one of the smartest people I know, that I bet that Bambam and Lisa know. So never doubt yourself, “

“It was just a comment.” You mumbled, looking down at your sock covered feet, she tuts as you look up at her.

“Just a comment? Yeah from you, it was not just a comment. You undermine yourself every day, now go brush your teeth and go to bed. Work never waits for you.”

As you exit the elevator, the sound of your heels clicking against the tile, coffee already in hand. Placing the coffee holder on the desk next to an already wide awake Jin, he smiles at you, you walking towards Yoongi's door. As you did you saw a body leave, though Hoseok's shirt that was hanging in the curve of your arm, seeming to catch the man's eye as he let out a growl. Going up to you, making you shrink back. Though the sweet smell of pears mixing with peaches had your head spinning, and your scent or maybe your movements had the man freezing. He shakes it off, hand reaching front he top as he growls at you.

“Why do you have my mates' shirt?” You stan frozen, lips parted as you let out a whimper, Yoongi's door opening as he let out a whistle catching the man's attention.

“Both of you are in here now.” Following his orders with a nod, the two of you walk in though you make sure the Omega, their third, their mate was first inside, waiting for him to move. As Yoongi sees the pitch black Americano in your hand he gives you a smile and takes it, making the Omega male growl. “Namjoon, knock it off.”

“She had Hoseok's shirt.” Namjoon whines, with a stomp making Yoongi roll his eyes, hand slipping to the back of his neck making Namjoon poute drop into a droopy smile. You awkwardly play with the jacket sleeve having decided to wear a hoodie, your fathers hoodie, instead of a blazer though you were in a black button down and black slacks. Still professional, yet you felt more comfortable. Though right now, you felt the opposite of that. You tried to control your scent, though your distress must’ve captured their attention.

“Y/n don’t worry about my little one over here, he’s just possessive after his..uh heat.” You nod slowly, not really in a position to say that you understand. Cause you didn’t. You understood the heat part, but being possessive of someone , no clue. You had no one. So all you could understand was the pain of being alone, the depression that came after a heat. That's all you know.

“That fine..I guess I understand.” You mumble, your hand only tightened around your wrist, Namjoons eyes lingering as you play with your jackets.

“Sure you do, I don’t smell alpha on you. See she co-”

“Namjoon, you have no right to get like this. You agreed to her being our intren. So knock it off.”

“Hyu-”

“I’m just gonna go get to wo-”

“You’re working with me today, sit.” You take a breath in, eyes widening as you look to the chair he gestured at. Slowly moving, eyes staying to the ground, knowing the two mates where glaring at one another, you hear the Omega huff

“Then I’m staying.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” You sat down, just as you watched Namjoon throw himself on an identical couch that was in Hoseok office. In fact the office was pretty much identical though the walls were an off blue grey tone. Your body moved the jacket off, placing it on your lap, wishing your father's scent was still lingering on the fabric. Though very few pieces of fabrics at the home smelt like him, his bedsheets, his mattress, even his pillow. That's pretty much all of it. You left all these objects to your mother. Blinking slowly at the ipad, your ipad sat in front of you on a case, a keyboard connecting as you look to Yoongi.

“So you are gonna go through these complaints on our newest product and find the most common complaints, problems there are.” Nodding you fall into your work mode, hand moving to the keyboard, opening email after email, making a list of every complaint.

Hours passed,your body now almost completely hunched over, eyes dazed as you pull back and let out a yawn. Hand moving to kneaded at the jacket in your lap. Your eyes reading over yet another dramatic complaint over the price of the product, making you huff. Jin had brought you your coffee once he realized you weren’t coming back, it was snow empty resting behind your ipad, Yoongi's cup was next to it. Namjoon had huffed, and puffed for the first hour, scrolling through his phone but now he was on his own laptop, bobbing his head.

You had finally gotten a good look at him. His hair was an ash blonde, though the roots were dark. His eyes were the lightest brown out of the three, rounded cheeks and board shoulders. He wasn’t what useal male omegas looked like, though he did have features like an omega. His hips were widers, and his thighs thick, but you could tell, even under the large black sweater, he was muscular. Just like his mates. He had even dimples, fucking dimples. When Yoongi had called for him, a smile had blinded you when he skipped to the desk, and sat on top of Yoongi's lap. As if to gloat. But the extra, dramatic smile dropped when he saw how happy you looked at the two. A small, welcoming smile falling on his lips as he kissed his mate and got back up moving back to the couch.

That was over an hour ago, you were now feeling sitting for four hours straight catching up to you, the back pain that had only started to happen after the accident, was spiking up your back. The muscles around your spine tense, spassuming making you reach back, eyes closing as you massage at the area. A soft grunt passing your lips making Namjoons eyes snap up, Yoongi's eyes trailing over to you as you tried to adjust yourself in your seat. Failing.

“Everything okay Y/n?” Namjoon asked, headphones sliding down his head, around his neck. You look at him, giving him a slightly painful smile as you nod, then shrug.

“Eh, back is killing me.”

“Period?” He wonders, making you look at him with a head tilt, wondering how a stranger could be so bold. “What I know is female, no matter what sub gender, get them. It is what helps you guys..be..get pregnant. I..sorry if it was too personal.”

“No, just..it wasn’t..just not used to stanger caring.” You mumble eyes drifting back to your emails, silence falling back between the three of you. When you straighten your back, sharp pain makes you stand as you let out a whine. “Fucking hell..sorry.” You whisper, hand falling to your lower back as Yoongi looks at you with wide eyes. Namjoon is already at your side as you look at him, comfort. All you felt was comfort as his hand met your lower back.

“Are you sure it's not your period? I've read that female' omegas hips move up to that age twenty-five. It could be that.” he mumbled making you blush as you shake your head, taking a deep breath. Feeling comfort at his warm hand against your back.

“Yeah it’s not that..I..I got in a really bad car accident my freshman year of college, been messed up ever since.” Your words caused worry to etch on his face as he looked at you then down to the chair you were in.

“No lumbar support probably doesn’t help any damage that was caused, Yoongi what the heck she's worked for you for two days and you already are causing problems for her.” he mumbles, making your eyes wide as Yoongi let out a growl.

“It’s not like I knew about this, if I did I would’ve gotten things to help her. Can you stop touching her.” His words had Namjoon growling, bringing you closer to his side, making you stumble, his hand working the muscle cramp, made you lean into him. “Now, Namjoon.”

“No. Omegas help, and I rather do this then you or Hoseok, or even Jin. “ His words were filled with growls, hand pressing against your back moving you towards the couch.

“Namjoon.”

“Yoongi.” You look to see your boss now pouting, as the Omega had you sit down on the couch, hand moving against you back as Yoongi sighed. Picking up the jacket from the ground making you stand and growl, rushing to grab it as you let out a whine once you realized what you did.

“Sorry..it’s..it was my dads.” You mumble clutching it to your chest. Yoongi's glare fell at your broken words as you took a breath and looked at him. “I think...I think i’m gonna finish going through the emails out there with Jin.” You mumbled, grabbing you things, quickly scurrying out of the room. You had felt so comfortable, way too comfortable in fact. You had growled at Yoongi, had let Namjoon, a stranger touch your back. His scent now lingering around and on you as you exit. The two watching eyes wide, following after you. Worry etched in their eyes, but also confusion filling them.

Both wondering why they wanted you back, wanting you to be wrapped in their arms, dripping in their scents, your scent of freshly baked cookies mixed with chocolate had their mouths watering. It was driving them insane. Wondering why seeing the tears in your eyes hurt them.

Yet when their eyes met, it all made sense.

Tag list:

@kth-kpoplover @alex4243 @malyxsoulpersonal @purelyecstacy @ryuyalana @nlost21 @xanny91 @barbyisafangirl @munchyn @lashaysaurusrex @scentedsope @purpleheartsfortae @btsforlif @barbikatherine @mauranglc @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @keepyourdreamsalive @ellethemoon @thickemadame @chimchimooo73

1K notes · View notes

skellebonez · 3 years

Note

Could you write 22 “Oh, you’re just grumpy” with Monkie King and a deage MK?

OOOOH coming back to this? Yeah, I am totally up for giving this another go! MK is having a not so great time, nothing warning worthy but I do HC him not being the healthiest kid. Mild spoilers for season 2 episodes 1 and 2.

Oh, you're just grumpy.

"Noooooooo!" MK shouted, stomping his foot on the ground in anger. "I'm not grumpy, I'm mad! You can't let them leave me behind! Take me back! I'm the Monkie Kid! I have to do this myself! I-"

"You are currently physically 4 years old with all the control over your powers of that age," Sun Wukong rebutted with a soft sigh, frowning and wincing at the high pitched angered scream in reaction he received at that. That was... not the best way to go about this... He needed a different tactic.

He knelt down to be at eye level with his now even younger protégé, holding out his hand. When MK stared at it he chanced putting it on his shoulder and continued when MK didn’t shrug it off or start yelling again. “Bud, MK, it’s ok. I know you’re frustrated. You have every right to be! But we just want to make sure you’re safe until we can get you back to normal.”

This was not the kind of trouble the Monkey King expected to happen immediately before... well, put a cork on that for now. But this wasn't the kind of trouble be expected to happen regardless of time frame. How in the world anyone managed to not only curse an object in this way but find a way to slip it on his student was anyone's guess. But the fact of the matter was that MK, the Monkie Kid himself, was now physically 4 years old. Mentally, he was still the same age he was before the curse, personality and memories still completely intact... for the most part, it became clear to them very quickly that being physically a kid again came with more than just a smaller body. It came with the mood swings and heightened emotions of “kid brain” as Mei called it, when MK immediately burst into tears at just the mention of being left behind so Mei and the others could go after the demon. And then he couldn’t figure out why he was crying, whether from frustration or worry or both or why he even started, which lead to more crying out of sheer confusion, which made everyone feel very bad.

They’d managed to calm him down long enough for the Monkey King get him on his cloud and bring him to Flower Fruit Mountain in case the demon attempted to go after him like this, but that was short lived once they actually made landfall.

"But I can do this!" MK continued, pouting and tears of frustration starting to peak at the corners of his eyes once again, albeit calmer frustration. "I-I beat the Spider Queen! I can handle one demon who had to slap a bracelet on me to make me a kid to beat me, even if I'm tiny! I can kick his butt!"

"I know you can, Bud," Wukong said evenly, offering him an understanding smile. "And normally I'd let you go in guns blazing and know you could handle everything no problem now! You've more than proven you can handle stuff even I couldn't. If you were just shrunk I wouldn’t dare think you couldn’t handle this." He reached out a hand, ruffling his hair far more gently that he normally would. But still rough, rough enough to let him know he wasn't going to just treat him like glass now. "But this is a bit different. Remember what I said when Macaque was having you use your full power?” MK scowled for a second before nodding. “Using your powers like this? Could hurt you. And I don’t want to see you get hurt like that. Heck, even I would have trouble controlling my powers and probably get hurt if I was turned into a little kid monkey man, and if this happened to me I would trust you if you told me to stay safe."

"... you would?" MK asked softly, and Wukong nodded. Maybe it was a... bit of a stretch of the truth. Sun Wukong would probably need some convincing too (Great Sage title leading to Great Misjudgement sometimes, the previously mentioned Spider Queen fight a key example), but that's just one more thing he and MK had in common.

"Course I would,” Wukong said, and given said convincing that was the truth. “I trust you, MK, and-AGH!" He may be the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, but nothing prepared him for the barreling rocket that was a 4 year old launching themselves at him to hug him with all the strength of... well, himself!

"I trust you too!" MK yelled right in his ear and oh if he thought his student had a loud yell before. But that only lasted for a second before he pulled back from the hug, body limp and head rested on his shoulder as the energy seemed to sap a bit from him as Wukong stood back up and he held him on his hip instead of setting him down when he saw the bright red rings around his eyes and how tired he seemed already... Tang had mentioned that he knew MK wasn’t exactly the healthiest as a child... "But... I feel bad not doing anything..."

"Then we can do something, that's an easy fix!" Wukong laughed, and his chest warmed as he was reminded of the few children he had helped take care of or play with while on the long journey centuries ago. He was a softie, really. "No training though, I am not going to body slam you when you come up to my knees."

This apparently was the magic joke to make, making MK devolve into a fit of giggles. A testament to how this cursed object affected him, he never would have giggled at that without it. Probably... MK had an odd sense of humor sometimes. But then again, so did he!

"Actually... I think I have just the thing for us to try."

All things considered, Wukong probably should have expected something like this. He did tell MK that he probably didn’t have much control over his powers. And that using his powers was a bad idea. And Tang did warn him he wasn’t a healthy child. The three together were a bad combo when his powers activated with MK’s unconscious reactions to certain things...

“How you feeling, Bud?” Wukong whispered softly, rubbing his back as he laid face down on his couch. He’d barely used his powers at all, just activated his true sight to find ingredients when they were cooking without even thinking about it, but that was enough to make the kid’s head feel like it was splitting open (in symptoms that sounded like a migraine, which... yeah, he felt really bad for him, and the jolt of worry and fear that shot through him surprised him less than he felt it should). “Still bad?”

There were a few of Wukong’s monkeys hanging out on the couch, one in particular was curled up next to MK’s head. Perhaps they were keeping him company while he wasn’t feeling well and nodded off in the process.

“I think I’m ok now,” MK answered, sitting back up and leaning into the Monkey King’s side (he seemed to seek out contact a lot more like this, letting Wukong carry him to the house, leaning on his shoulder when he showed him how to prepare the snacks they were making, now this... it made him wonder just how much physical affection he got as a kid). He looked leagues better than he had just 40 minutes ago, thankfully not nearly as exhausted as he had looked before he laid down. “Headache went away... I dunno, a while ago. But I didn’t wanna get up.”

“Completely understandable,” Wukong nodded in approval, glad that he’d gotten some form of rest. He needed it after everything he had been through. “You feel like getting up now, though? I made us some lunch... dinner... not desert food! Just like I promised.”

“Yeah!” MK exclaimed, immediately jumping off the couch and making his way to the kitchen like a rocket. “How about our snacks, how much longer do they have? Do you think we did ok? Do you think the others are gonna like em!?”

“They still have well over an hour of sitting in the fridge,” Wukong laughed, following him and watching him scramble to sit on one of the chairs at the table. “But I think we did a pretty good job of making annin tofu for the first time. They already look pretty darn delicious.” The almond jelly dish wasn’t as hard as he believed it would be, and using agar even he would be able to enjoy it... once he added some peaches on top, of course! “But that’s for later, for now what do you think of your meal?” MK looked up from his bowl, a spoonful of rice and vegetables already in his mouth. Wukong couldn’t help but laugh. “I think I’ll take that as a job well done.”

The two ate their respective lunches, rice and steamed vegetables for MK and rice and fruits for Wukong, talking about what dishes they could try making together in the future. Being a monkey Wukong had a very limited pallet for what he could (and would, given other circumstances) actually eat, so brainstorming workaround for that was a great way to pass the time before moving back to the couch. They played some, shockingly not Sun Wukong related, games that he had stashed away (and he was very offended by MK’s disbelief that he had media not related to himself in his house, totally offended). The game was one of those ones with a motion controller that you had to move around to play, and MK was having a blast with it.

The monkeys also seemed to be enjoying the show quite a lot.

Before the two knew it the sun had begun to set, MK’s grip on his controller starting to weaken as he sat down on the couch and attempted to keep his eyes open. Even with his rest earlier he was exhausted.

“Did anyone... tell you anything yet?” He asked softly, once again leaning into Wukong’s side with a yawn.

“Not yet,” Wukong admitted, looking at MK’s phone for the fourth time in he hour. “Not since they told me they found out where the demon went. But that probably means they’re focused on catching him! They’re gonna get the guy, I have a good feeling about it.”

“If you say so...” MK mumbled out, the controller slipping from his grasp as he closed his eyes.

“UH.. Bud? MK?” Wukong gently nudged his student, smiling softly when he realized that he’d just fallen asleep. “OK, that game clearly did it’s job a little too well.” He made to stand up, stopping short when something tugged on his clothing. MK had an iron grip on him, holding tight to his side and not looking like he was going to be letting go any time soon.

Well... Wukong didn’t have the heart to make him let go or chance waking him up to move him... so instead he took a hair and poofed up a blanket to lay over top of MK as he made himself comfortable on the side of the couch. It didn’t take long, and it took even less time for the monkeys around the house to curl up around and on top of the duo.

It was nice... Wukong didn’t want to admit it, but he was going to miss this. Not just when MK was changed back to his normal age, but when he had to... “go on vacation”.

He felt bad, lying to his student. His kid, now that he realized he couldn’t keep from admitting that to himself. But he trusted MK, genuinely trusted him in this regard, to keep everyone in the city safe while he was gone and he didn’t want the extra stress of knowing just what Wukong was really doing to weigh him down. He knew how much MK worried, seen how much anxiety he had after Macaque and the fight with the Spider Queen, how hard it would be to keep him from following him into places that were too dangerous for him to traverse without training they hadn’t completed yet.

He... really regretted not training him more in the beginning. Regretted it more than most things he had lately. Maybe if he had he could have explained things to him better. Known that if he did sneakily follow him he would at least be in much less danger.

He couldn’t let himself be too close after this. He’d have to go back to normal, aloof, jokey, “ah you’re fine cool beans good luck bud I believe in you!” Monkey King. For MK’s sake.

As he looked down at the sleeping child curled into his side he had to make himself believe it was for MK’s sake.

Why did that feel like it was a lie?

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #gen fic #deage fic #mk #qi xiaotian #monkey kid #sun wukong #dad wukong #kinda #SPACER TAG FOR HIDING SPOILERS ALL LOVE TO THE SPACER TAG #oops I made it SAD #are you even surprised?#someone is in denial about the possible consequences of their actions #WUKONG MAKE BETTER CHOICES THIS IS NOT THE WAY TO DO THIS #prompt fill

254 notes · View notes

blueeyedgeorgie · 4 years

Text

The One That Got Away-Dream Was Taken

Pronouns: She/her

Word Count: 2.4k+

_____________

'You're gonna be there, right?'

Y/n bit her lip, reading the text message for what felt like the millionth time. She had texted him 40 minutes ago, yet no reply. This had become so much more common recently and she had no idea why. Maybe it wasn't such a big deal, but it felt important to Y/n. Clay would never leave her on delivered for more than ten minutes. Even when he was streaming, he'd text her before he had begun, telling her when he'd be finished.

Tonight was an important night, they had been planning for this for months. A few members of The Dream SMP server had come out to Florida to meet up. They had planned to meet up for dinner and maybe a bottle of wine at Y/n's house afterward.

Y/n admired herself in the mirror, she wore a black dress that complimented her body well. She felt gorgeous for the first time in weeks. Usually, she didn't rely on items to make her feel good about herself. Clay was always there to compliment her or assure she was pretty. But recently, he just seemed to disappear.

It felt so hard to connect with him recently, Clay had become so quiet. Every time she texted him, she was left on delivered for hours if she wasn't left on read. It was rare for him to even send a brief text back to her nowadays. Weeks had passed since the last time Y/n was able to see Patches or hang out with Clay.

At this point, it felt like Y/n was at war with herself. Half of her was so demotivated, maybe it was time to finally leave Clay alone. The other half was demanding they had to keep trying, their friendship was just going through a rough patch right now.

'You know why you're trying to hold onto this friendship, you have feelings for him.' Y/n swallowed hard while the thought of Clay appeared in her mind again. It was true, she had grown a small crush on her blonde friend. But it wasn't her fault, It was because of the way he use to be so protective of her. The way his face lit up when he laughed. The way he just knew something was wrong. 'But that doesn't matter. It's obvious he'll never feel the same way about you.'

Before she had gotten another chance to argue with herself, Y/n's phone had buzzed. Clay? ...Wilbur.

'Hey, I'm gonna uber to the restaurant in the next few minutes. On your way?"

Letting out a sigh, she typed away. 'Getting in the car in five minutes.' She took one more glance at herself in the mirror. "He's going to be there, I know it."

"Y/n!"

"George!" Y/n smiled, picking up her pace as soon as she spotted her friend. Their arms wrapped around each other, holding one another tight. "It's so good to see you."

George let out a short laugh, "It's good to see you too, Y/n." He pulled away from the hug. He had dressed in a suit, they had planned to meet at an expensive restaurant for the night. It was recommended by Clay, it was one of his favorites.

"Anyways, we should go find our table, I think Wilbur's already here."

The pair walked side by side, friendly banter being spoken between them as they entered the restaurant. Nostalgia immediately hit Y/n as they passed through the doors, it wasn't her first time here. Multiple times in the past, Clay had brought Y/n out to eat here. The first time they ate here was the first time she had seen him in a suit.

"Y/n?"

"Oh, yes?" The h/c girl had quickly snapped back into reality, looking to her right. "I'm sorry, lost my train of thought for a moment."

"It's fine, I think I see Wilbur." George motioned to look across the room, there at a round table was another friend from the UK. Wilbur sat down, looking at something in his lap.

Biting down on her lip, Y/n had to fight back the urge to yell aloud; "Wilbur!" And run to him. When the lanky man had noticed his friends, he smiled and stood from his chair.

"Wilbur!" she whispered quietly, trying not to disturb the other tables. Quickly she shuffled over to give as big a hug as she could.

"Y/n!" He whispered back, returning the exact energy she gave.

One by one, more and more friends had arrived. Everyone seemed so happy to see each other. Eventually, it seemed as though each person was lost in a conversation... besides Y/n. She had been staring down at her phone, she was still left on delivered by Clay. 'What a dick.'

"hey, Y/n." Her head shot up, looking across the table. Niki sat there with a smile, "Just curious, is Clay showing up tonight?"

Y/n's smile faded for a second, only to reappear. "I... I doubt it. I haven't received a text message back from him, and he hasn't answered any of my calls for these past few days." She ignored George and Nick, who gave each other a certain look as she spoke. But at this point, it didn't matter. Clay wasn't going to ruin Y/n's night with her friends.

"Here, let me try and call him... would that be alright, Y/n?" George was already standing as he spoke, his phone in one of his hands.

She flashed a faked smile at him, "Yeah, I don't care, Gogy."

With that, George had excused himself from the table, already beginning to pull up Clay's contact before he even reached outside. Y/n help her breathe for a moment, watching her British friend disappear around the corner, out of sight. Usually, 'out of sight, out of mind' made sense, but not in this case. Y/n could feel her stomach doing backflips as she glanced from her phone, checking the time, only to look back to see if George had returned yet. It practically felt like time had slowed down, trying to drag these few minutes out as long as possible.

When George had returned, Y/n could already tell he didn't have good news. Just by the look on his face, she knew Clay had flaked out on all of his friends.

"Clay's gonna be a little bit late, he's bringing a surprise with him."

"A surprise?"

What surprise could Clay possibly be planning? Whatever it was, Y/n hoped it would be something to help keep their friendship from breaking apart. "Did he mention how long it'd take for him to show up?"

"He said, 15-20 minutes."

"So let's just order drinks now, he can get whatever he likes when he shows up.

If time wasn't slow enough while George was on the phone, it felt like she was stuck in time. Y/n had begun to pick at her nails nervously, this was going to be the first time they saw one another in weeks.

"Hey," Y/n felt Wilbur place a hand on her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts again. "Look."

She glanced up at the entrance. There he was, wearing the suit she had seen him wear for the first time. A giant grin was on Clay's face as he walked, he looked to his left. And there she was... a blond-haired girl wearing the exact same dress Y/n had picked out for tonight. Y/n could feel her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"Hey guys," Clay spoke as soon as he came into earshot of his friends. Looking over the table, his eyes looked with Y/n's for a short second. "I want you to meet Elise."

One by one, Elise had introduced herself to each of Clay's friends. But when she reached Y/n, it felt like a stab in the stomach. "Omg, hi! You must be Y/n!" She was pulled into a quick, bone-breaking hug, "I love your dress! Oh, we're matching! How cute!" She just seemed to perfect, she was so much better than Y/n.

While an extra chair had been pulled up the table, everyone was lost in conversation. Except for Y/n, she had stayed quiet. Every now and then, she'd look over to Clay, who sat across the table. Their eyes would lock every couple of times, a strange feeling laid in the pit of her stomach when it would happen.

It seemed as though Wilbur had caught onto Y/n's anxiety. He was quick to offer his hand, allowing his friend to hold it under the table. Wilbur had always been a good friend to her, if Y/n wouldn't tell Clay about something, she'd turn to her brunette friend. So of course, he knew about her feelings towards Clay.

After placing everyone's orders, Y/n just couldn't take it anymore. Standing, she moved across the table. "Clay, could I get a moment to speak to you outside?"

"Uh, sure... Y/n." He was hesitant to stand. Before leaving the table, he had whispered something into Elise's ear.

The short walk outside was quiet. There was obvious tension between them. When the front doors opened, Clay had begun to speak. "I-"

"No. Not right here. Around the corner." Y/n didn't stop walking, making a direct beeline for the alleyway on the left of the building. She could hear Clay let out a sigh behind her, only making her fight the urge to yell a brief; 'fuck you,' at him.

When they were finally around the corner, she had turned on her heels to face the 6'3 man. "What the fuck, Clay?"

"What?"

" 'What?' You don't get to ghost me for weeks then reply with, 'what?' Do you know what a dick move that is? Where have you been?" She practically hissed at him, crossing her arms as she spoke. If it was possible, steam would leave her body from how upset she was.

"I've been busy, Y/n."

"Busy? So that means you cut me out of your life? After being friends for months?"

"You aren't the most important thing in my life, Y/n. You should know that." It was Clay's turn to give Y/n a nasty look. But at this point, she didn't care.

"I know, I shouldn't be the most important person in your life, Clay. But that doesn't mean shut me out of your life." She snapped at him, pushing herself up against his chest, "You know what would've been nice? Not being left on delivered or read. It would've been nice if I could receive a text every now and then catching me up about your life."

"As I said, I was busy."

"Busy! That's your only excuse, pathetic. I can tell you're busy, you have a girlfriend and I never got to meet her."

"Well,-"

"Am I the only one who didn't know about her?"

Clay froze. he knew this was the end of the line for him.

"Clay." His silence spoke loud enough. "I'm happy for you, I really am. But... it fucking hurts, you know." Y/n let out a short giggle, she could feel her eyes watering. "I loved you, you know. I loved you so damn much. If you told me to do something, I'd do it with hesitation. But it's crystal clear the feelings aren't mutual."

"Y/n..."

"No, it's fine. I'm gonna leave. Don't worry, I've ruined the night, I'm sorry. Enjoy your time with your friends, Clay. Don't let me rain on your parade any longer." Y/n had stepped back, trying to move past her friend.

"Y/n, listen to me."

"Move, Clay. God damn it."

For a few seconds, Clay continued to try and catch her attention, refusing to let her past. "Y/n, shut the fuck up. Listen to me." Out of frustration, Clay had grabbed onto the girl's shoulders, pushing her against the wall. Y/n looked down at the ground, batting back tears. "Y/n..." he sighed, moving one of his hands under her chin gently. Carefully, he made her look up at him. He always hated seeing her cry.

"I'm an idiot. A big one. Y/n... I love you too. I just didn't think you felt the same, so I decided to push you out. I looked for love somewhere else and I found Elise. But Y/n, I really do love you."

"No, you don't..." Y/n whispered softly, she shook her head as a dumb smile appeared on her face. "If you loved me, you would've made a move. You wouldn't have closed me out of your life for weeks. You wouldn't have found someone new to love. Please don't bullshit me, Clay. You know I'm not stupid."

"Y/n..." clay could feel his heart begin to crack, it hurt to see her like this.

"Please just let me go," her voice was soft as she spoke. He really did hurt her heart. "I want to say goodbye to my friends."

"I..." Letting out a sigh, he stepped back, "alright."

Clay watched as Y/n disappeared around the corner, wiping tears from her face. Why was he such a fool to let her go?

Y/n smiled as soon as her table came into sight. It would all be quick and easy. As soon as Elise noticed her, she stood from her seat. "Oh my god, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just a bit chilly outside," Y/n replied, pulling Elise in for a hug. "It was so nice to meet you. You're such a lovely girl to talk to."

"Right back at you," Elise smiled at Y/n, taking her seat again.

One by one, Y/n gave each of her friends a hug goodbye. When Wilbur held her, she was quick to whisper something brief to him: "Walk me to my car?" Wilbur nodded, taking her purse for her as they walked out. On their way out, Clay had passed by them. He kept to himself, looking the other way when Y/n came into sight. When he was out of earshot, Wilbur spoke up.

"Are you okay?"

"Honestly, no. I just wanna go home and cry." Y/n let out a huff of breath. She was speed walking to keep up with her tall friend.

"Do you want me to tag along?"

"Please." As the night continued on, it seemed like both Clay's and Y/n's moods had changed drastically. While Y/n was at home watching movies and laughing with one of her best friends, Clay was stuck in the place that reminded him of Y/n, thinking about how she'd be the one who got away. Did it hurt him? Yes, but he deserved it. He was the one who ruined it all. Nothing would be the same after tonight.

441 notes · View notes

ignitedbynatsu · 3 years

Text

Threads and Lightning Pt.1

A/N: no request this time! Decided I wanted to write something of my own again. Once again this was written before the finals so don’t come at me 🙆‍♀️. Hope you guys enjoy!!

Genre: Little bit of Angst

Warning: mention of fighting & blood.

Previous ~ next

“You’re new around here, aren’t you?” You took a seat across the sulking blonde in the far corner of the guild. It was as clear as day that he was trying to hide from all the attention the girls in the building were giving him. It made you wonder why he joined Blue Pegasus in the first place.

“What about it?” he only spared you a glance before fixating his eyes back on what you presumed were his friends since you also didn’t recognize them.

“And a fierce one as well, no wonder the girls are falling at your feet left and right” you giggled as a playful glint shimmered in your eyes. He clearly had no clue who you were.

“Look, lady, I don’t-“ “(Y/N)” You quickly cut him off, amused by the way his eyebrows knit together “What?”

“My name is (Y/N)” you repeat yourself. A hint of realization flashed across his face, but only for a mere second because if you had blinked, you were sure you’d have missed it. Your name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint where he had heard it before.

“I don’t recall asking” he huffed. He was determined to scare you away, but his rude and cold attitude only amused you even more.

“Well, Laxus, it is common curtsy for people to exchange names when they engage in a conversation” You emphasized the fact that you knew who he was, only confusing him more in the progress. Who were you? And why did you know who he was? Sure, he was a well-known mage, but most people cowered away in fear once they realized who he was, so why weren’t you? We’re you a mage as well? A member of a dark guild that was after him? When that thought crossed his mind, his whole body tensed. His sudden heightened defensive posture didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Well, lady, I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m not interested” He turned his attention back to his friends, but kept his focus on you out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t trust you for even a second.

“I was just looking for a conversation, no need to get so hostile all of a sudden” You leaned back and held your hands up as a way to show him you had no bad intentions.

“Not interested” he mumbled as he didn’t even make an effort to look at you this time.

You observed him for a couple more seconds and let out a long sigh eventually. You placed your hands on the table, grabbing his attention in the progress, and stood up from your seat “Well, nice meeting you, Laxus, see you around”

You turned your back towards the dragon slayer and made your way behind the bar, “hey lady! That’s for guild members only-”

“Oh! (Y/N)-sama! I didn’t know you would be back today!” Hibiki was the first to notice you. Not even a second later, Ren and Eve appeared also by your side. “You should’ve told us! We would’ve thrown a big party for you”

You chuckled at his statement. How none of them are alcoholics yet remains a mystery in your eyes, “I know you would. You throw a party at every opportunity you get”

“You being gone for nearly a year is celebrating worthy” He defended himself, which made you ponder. Had it really been that long?

“Is that the angelic voice of (Y/N)-chan I hear?” Ichiya appeared out of nowhere with a glass of champagne which he handed towards you, which you gladly took “it sure is”

You and the four males continued to converse while Laxus made his way over to his friends, his eyes never leaving your form. “Who’s that?”

Freed eyes followed Laxus’ and rested on your body eventually. A small smile appeared on his lips, was Laxus interested in a woman? “That’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N), she's apparently the most powerful mage in this guild”

Laxus ears perked up at the sound of that. Were you finally someone that was worth sparing with? “Really?”

Evergreen shook her head at the smirk that appeared on her friend’s face, “Leave the poor girl alone, she just returned after being gone for almost a year”

“These are Laxus, Freed, Bickslow and Evergreen. They were originally Fairy Tail members but their guild disbanded” Hibiki explained as he went over everything you had missed in the past year.

“Laxus has been complaining that nobody’s strong enough to spar with” Eve piped up, making all eyes turn to the blonde.

“In that case, let’s have a go at it, dragon slayer” You challenged him, making Ren choke on his champagne “(Y/N), is that a good idea? You’ve just returned after a long journey; you should probably get some rest”

“Yeah, I agree, I don’t want an opponent who’s not gonna give it her all” Laxus spoke up. You chuckled in amusement, someone really needed to kick him off his high horse.

“Oh, Laxus, honey, you’re already under my spell” You smirked as you let the small threads that started from the tops of your finger appear. You had wrapped them around all of his limbs and his torso.

“What the-“ He tried to move, but nothing happened, making you chuckle. “You’re right, an opponent who isn’t gonna give it his all, isn’t worth my time.”

In a flash, you retreated the threads, making him able to move again “that’s (Y/N)-sama’s manipulation magic for you alright!”

“Rematch, I won’t fall for the same trick twice” Laxus challenged, the anger in him was slowly rising. How dare you play such an underhand trick on him.

You sigh as you cock your head to the side, “Fine, let’s go outside”

Your heels were clicking against the stones as you were the only one who made an effort to move this battle to a more open space, “You coming?”

Soon enough almost the whole guild was present outside as you and Laxus were standing opposite of each other “No holding back”

“I wouldn’t dream of it” The cocky smirk appeared back on Laxus’ face as he cracked his knuckles and let electricity spark around his body.

You eyed him suspiciously as you waited for him to make his first move. You knew he was frustrated, so you decided it would be best to let him blow off some steam.

In a blink of an eye, much like lightning, was he standing in front of you, ready to pounce on you with his electricity engulfed fist. You only managed to roll away just in time. He really was going all out on it. It didn’t stop there, Laxus summoned lightning bolt after lightning bolt, followed by him charging at you with his fists, all to keep you busy and prevent you from summoning your own magic. This went on for a couple of minutes, you got hit a couple of times, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

You were both panting heavily as scratches and bruises covered both of you. “It’s my turn now”

The treads around your fingers were much thicker now as you made them reappear. You didn’t waste a second as you pulled your hand diagonally across your body, only to put it back down, successfully using your treads as a whip. Laxus jumped back but didn’t manage to dodge it completely as his leg got grazed in the process, leaving a nasty cut where the whip had hit him.

He hissed in pain as he shot another lightning bolt at you, which you successfully dodged. You took in the damage you had done and cringed at the sight. This went against your morals. Laxus took notice of your hesitation and took that as an opportunity to charge at you with everything he had. You quickly snapped out of your haze, sending your invisible threads back out to manipulate his body, managing to stop his movements right before his fist hit you.

Your eyes were wide as you looked from the crackling fist to Laxus blue-greyish eyes. You would’ve been done for if that had hit you. Laxus was also taken aback by his actions. How could he have let his frustration take over so much? “(Y/N)-“

“I think we’re done here” You whispered, your confidence had vanished like snow in the sun, making the blonde wince at how vulnerable you sounded. You stepped back, letting your treads loosen around Laxus’s body and turned around, walking away from the guild and your near death experience.

111 notes · View notes