#realizing my answer to number 8 might be...a little concerning? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bellisperennis0 · 3 years

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New Hope

Word Count: 2,505

Warning(s): Heartbreak, few swear words, did I mention heartbreak, Spoiler to Season 3 Episode 8, possible happy ending

Notes: Loved this request when I got, just sorry it took me a lifetime to finally get to. Based off this fic - Beautiful Storm. As always, thank you for reading and hope you enjoy! ❤️ GIF credit to angels-reyes

rkil98 asked: I love your imagines! Your so talented! I just wanted to make request for a imagine that goes with a “a beautiful storm”. It’s the night Angel showed up on her doorstep and she told him she was pregnant and maybe the morning after? I think it would be so dope seeing the ways he made it up to her and proved he was all in. You don’t have to if you don’t want to but if you do I’ll love you forever! ❤️

Blowing out the last candle on the dinner table, you take one last look around the tiny home you shared with Angel for the past few years.

This was the last straw for you; you were done fighting for someone who wouldn’t even fight for you. You were tired of the lonely nights of crying yourself to sleep. Tired of coming last in his world.

Making one last sweep of the bedroom to make sure you had everything you needed; you freeze when you hear the front door open and close, praying it was just EZ and not Angel.

When you hear Angel call your name, you knew from his tone he wasn’t all that pleased. “Fuck” you breathe out and make your way back out to the living room.

“The fuck is all this!” he yells as he points to your bags sitting by the front door.

Crossing your arms across your chest, you lean against the door frame. “Do you know how many times you have promised me you would be home for dinner?” you ask him “I promise you querida, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Leaving the Clubhouse now. Be there in just a few minutes.” you tell him as you do your best to mimic his voice.

His eyes go from you towards the kitchen. His head dropping when he sees the candles and the plates of food, yet again, sitting on top of the table, long forgotten.

“Save the bullshit excuse, Angel. I’m honestly tired of you constantly breaking my heart.” you tell him as you sniffle.

His head shooting up when he realizes you were crying.

“Bab-“ he tries to say as he tries to take a step closer to you, but your hand going up stops him.

“We aren’t happy Angel. We haven’t been for months now. I think its best if we take a break from each other for a while.” you start. “We both have things we need to work on individually before we could work on this relationship.” you continued.

“So that’s it? You’re making this decision for the both of us? I have no say?” Angel says and you can tell he was trying to control his anger.

You furrow your brows. “Angel, you made that decision a long time ago when you repeatedly chose the club and the rebels over me, over us. I used to be your number one priority, now I don’t even know where I stand in your world.”

“We can work this out, querida.”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do with all these dinners and movie nights I plan? If you would actually show up instead of being over the border with Adelita, you would know that.” you shout, your emotions and frustration growing.

Angel sighs in frustration and he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m not going to just stand here and let you walk out that door.”

“You don’t have a choice, Angel. It’s now or when you’re gone.”

“No, [y/n]!!” his gruff voice yells. You step back in surprise at his sudden outburst. Sure you and Angel had your fair share of arguments, but he has never raised his voice in such a manner before.

Throwing his hands up, “I’m sorry.” he whispers as he tries to step forward, but stops when you take another step back.

“I can’t do this anymore, Angel. I just need some time to think about everything going on. Some time away.”

“Time away. From me?” he asks and you could hear the hurt in his voice.

“Not just you. From the MC. This relationship. Having to act like I’m happy all the time. I need to find myself again.” you tell him, fighting the tears.

He just stands there nodding.

“I love you, Angel, more than anything in this world, but I can’t stand on the sidelines of your life anymore. Once you figure everything out with the MC, with Adelita and the cartel, and then maybe you can figure out what it is you really want.” You tell him.

“But I want you, querida. A life with you.”

“Your actions say otherwise. I need to step away for us, from you, and I need you to allow me to do this, for the both of us.”

“I can’t. I can’t just let you walk out that door, [y/n].” he whispers.

Walking up to him, you place a hand on his chest and a soft kiss to his lips, “I love you.” you whisper before walking to get your bags by the door.

“This isn’t goodbye, Angel. I’ll see you soon.” you tell him and wait for him to nod his understanding before making your way out the door.

----

Now you find yourself sitting in the middle of your bedroom floor, wiping away the tears that stream down your cheeks as you stare down at the piece of paper and the countless sticks sitting in front of you.

A routine doctor’s appointment earlier in the day came with a surprise that flipped your world upside down.

“You’re pregnant.” you could hear the doctor’s voice as the moment replayed in your head.

Even with a sonogram in your hand, you were convinced that it was all a fluke - a sick joke from the universe - and stopped and grab some pregnancy tests on your way home. Now all eight tests sit in front of you with two pink lines or ‘pregnant’ on its screen, alongside your sonogram.

You didn’t know how you were going to tell Angel. It had been three months since you left and contact with him had been non-existent the last couple months.

This was something you and Angel had extensively talked about in the past, all before the MC and the L.O took top priority. The one person you wanted to tell the most hasn’t been answering your calls or messages, and it wouldn’t be fair to him to tell Pop or EZ first. So looks like you’ll have to keep this your little secret till you could finally tell Angel.

----

After a long day at work and constantly feeling sick, you were lying in bed with a long forgotten program playing in the background as you aimlessly scroll through videos on your phone. You could make out a faint knock through the low noise coming from the TV.

You furrow your brows as you prop yourself up on your elbows, closely listening to see if there was another knock or if you were just hearing things.

Then you could hear another knock - louder this time. A brief pause later, you could make out the faint voice of Angel. Quickly tossing off the blankets, you make your way down the hall to the door.

Flinging open the door, you find Angel standing there. You could tell he was drunk, but the tears streaming down his face had you instantly worried.

“What happened? What’s wrong Angel?” you ask as you step closer to try to console him, but he pushes past you and barges right into your home.

“She lied to me,” you could hear him say as you close the door behind you. Turning to find Angel pacing your living room floor.

“She fucking used me.” he says, his tone turning into anger.

You automatically knew who he was talking about, but you didn’t know the contents of what he was referring to.

“What are you talking about, Angel?” you ask in confusion. A part of you wanted to know what had happened so you could help him through it, but the other part of you was too scared of what he might tell you.

He finally stops pacing the room and looks up at you. He takes a deep breath before taking a seat, his head in his hands.

“The night you left, I was so upset that I needed someone, anyone, to talk to that hadn’t walked out on me already. I went to see her.” he tells you as he finally lifts his head to look at you.

“I didn’t go to see her to intentionally hurt you, but one thing led to another. Come to find out a few weeks later she tells me she’s pregnant....” he stops when you quickly make your way to the kitchen, emptying what little contents of your stomach into the kitchen sink.

“Shit querida. You all right?” Angel was quick to be by your side. Pulling your hair back and rubbing your back soothingly as you continued to vomit into the kitchen sink. You didn’t know if you were sick because of your pregnancy or if it was the gut punch Angel just gave you with dropping such news on you out of nowhere.

After a couple minutes, you were feeling slightly better.

“Here.” Angel hands you a bottle of water as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Thank you.” you whisper taking a swig of water and sloshing it in your mouth before spitting it in into the sink. “Sorry.” you tell him finally looking up at him.

“You okay?” he asks and you could hear and see the concern

You just nod your head, making your way back out to the living room; Angel following right behind you. The both of you sit in silence for what felt like eternity, fidgeting with your hands in your lap, unsure of what to say.

“The baby isn’t even mine.” you hear Angel barely whisper, your head shooting up when you realize he was crying again.

“Angel, I’m...” you tried but Angel shaking his head stops you from continuing.

He aggressively wiped the tears from his face as he sniffled. “Don’t apologize, querida. This is my karma for all the shit I have done and all the pain I have caused.”

“Angel, no one deserves to lose a child.”

“Here I was the fucking idiot that I am, hopeful that something in this fucked up life of mine was actually going right. Getting a life I thought I lost the day you walked out that door. As fucking scared as I was at the thought of fucking everything up, this was something I wanted.” he was now up pacing the room once again, tears streaming down his face as he went on. You sat there watching him, as you did your best to hold your tears at bay, allowing him to release all that pent up emotion.

“Only for it all to be ripped away from me in a blink of an eye. All just to fuck over the MC and get intel on Galindo. Used me as one of her fucking puppets.” he huffed as he finally took a seat, head in his hands as he tried to compose himself.

You just sat there taking everything Angel had just told you in. That explains why he hadn’t been answering your calls the last couple months. Your heart ached for how hurt and shattered Angel was, but a part of you couldn’t help but be selfishly relieved that he wasn’t having a child with Adelita.

“The entire time I couldn’t help but wish that she was you, and you were the one carrying our child. Guess that’s all just a far fetch dream now.”

“Angel...” you tried.

“No, querida. The night you decided to walk out, I was furious at you, I really was. Then I realized that it was my entire fault. I was the one that pushed you away. I made a promise to you that no matter what, you would always come first and I put the MC, the Rebels, even the fuckin cartel before you. All this shit is on me. Everything. Before I could get control of all that was going on, everything just exploded in my face. I didn’t want this for us, and for that I am really sorry, querida.”

Without saying a word you got up and went and walked over to your bag you knew was sitting on the dining table, pulling out that piece of paper you have been carrying around for the past few weeks. Angel sat there, brows furrowed, as he watched you move around the small space.

“I’ve been practicing how I was going to tell you and this wasn’t how it played out in my head, but you need to know.” you tell him as the tears begin to stream down your face.

You look down at the piece of paper in your hands before placing it on top of the coffee table in front of Angel.

He looks at it and then back up to you, finally looking back at the paper, picking it up.

You turned your back to Angel as you tried to control your emotions, unsure how he was going to react to this news.

“Are you being serious [y/n]?” you hear Angel whisper behind you. You just chuckle as you wipe the tears from your face.

“[y/n], is this real?” Angel asks again.

You nod your head, sniffling, and turn to look up at Angel as he slowly approaches you.

“A baby?” he asks

“Yeah.” you whisper giving him a small smile.

“A baby?” Angel repeats again with a smile and a look of pure admiration.

“Our baby, Angel.” you tell him with a small chuckle

Angel sniffles as he cups your face in his hands, “Our baby” he whispers and you just smile up at him, hand softly cupping his face, thumb wiping the tears from his cheek.

Angel places a kiss to your forehead, his hand on the back of your head pulling you into him. He places another kiss to the side of your head as you wrap your arms around his middle, resting your head on his chest.

“Our baby.” you softly chuckle as you hear Angel repeating the words again.

Angel pulls away slightly, with his thumb and index finger he lifts your chin so you were looking up at him, “Imma do it right this time, I promise you querida. I know I have a lot of making up to do and I will go to the end of the earth for you. This is my all. You and our baby is all I need.” he tells you.

“We still have a lot to work on, but I know we can get through this together. As long as I have you by my side from here on out, that’s all that matters to me. I love you, Angel.” you pull him down to you and softly place a kiss to his lips.

“I love you, mi dulce.” he gives you a smile.

From that day forward, Angel was there every step of the way. Sure there were bumps along the way, but you and Angel always managed to work through them, making your relationship that much stronger.

And the day your little princess was born, changed yours and Angel’s life for the better. Bringing new beginnings and new hopes.

--xx

Taglist: (Let me know if you would like to be added/taken off)

@sesamepancakes

@yourwonkywriter

@mijop

@mayans-sauce

@encounterthepast

@queenbeered

@chibsytelford

@alienstardust

#Angel Reyes #Angel Reyes x Reader #Angel Reyes Imagine #mayans mc imagine #Mayans MC x Reader #Mayans MC

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dreamingofaizawa · 4 years

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Guys My Age

Title and concept inspo: Guys My Age by Hey Violet

Soft Dom! Aizawa Shouta x Medium-sized Fem! Reader

Quirkless AU

***18+ Fic***

You must be at least 18 years old to participate in this reading. If you are under the age of 18 please step out of line and find another fic. Thank you and have a good day.

Warnings: Age gap, praise kink, DD/LG dynamic and terms, use of the words daddy and sir, light bondage, overstimulation, smut.

Word Count: 4.1k

Author’s Note: I KNOW, I know, I write a lot of Aizawa fics, and they’re all DD/LG stuff. I know, okay? It’s an obsession, I’m in love with this man. Anyway, another soft dom Aizawa, but reader isn’t very well-versed in intimacy. Also, reader is what some would call medium-sized. Not necessarily big, but definitely not small. This is for all my medium-sized girls, including myself. I was very self-indulgent with this one.

Part 2

Enjoy~

You’d always been told you were mature for your age. It wasn’t until recently you realized how true that statement might be. You’re currently 21. And very, very single. You’ve had a total of six different relationships, and all of them fell through for one very simple reason. The boys you dated were just that. Boys. They were extremely immature. Only ever wanting to ‘hang with the boys’ or stay at home. No effort was put into the relationship on their part after the first few weeks. You didn’t understand why these vastly different boys were all so adamant on staying inside.

You’d tried desperately to get them to go out on dates with you. You offered to pay, and drive, and literally anything else. But no, they were too busy playing video games or getting higher than the damn sky. Don’t even start thinking about sex. You hadn’t got any of that shit since your first ‘boyfriend’ at 17, who used you like a sex doll and broke it off once he found someone hotter and sexier and altogether better in his eyes. You were sick of it. So you did the last thing you’d ever want to do. You went on a blind date.

You’d stumbled on a website last week that allowed you to set up a blind date with a stranger. It seemed legit, and had background checks on all participants. It also allowed you to put in any preferences you had, and matched you with someone that had similar preferences and hobbies. The age range you put in? 30-35 years old. Because guys your age just didn’t cut it. You needed someone more mature, someone who could treat you like a woman, not some girl.

Today, almost a week after matching with someone, you were standing outside an italian restaurant. You didn’t know his face, just his name and age, and that he was a teacher. Aizawa Shouta, 31 years old. And he’d sent a single message when you matched.

Meet me at this location on Saturday. When you enter, I’ll be at the back corner table. Semi-formal. 8 pm, please don’t be late.

It was blunt and straightforward. You liked it. You just hoped he wasn’t quite this blunt in person. You’d put on a black knee-length cocktail dress with a halter top and a partially open back that fell to the small of your back. It accentuated your shoulders and the top half of your torso before fanning out at your waist, the silky material falling and swaying around you.

You slipped on simple white heels and silver jewelry, with a white clutch purse. You’d decided to pull your hair into a loose half-up half-down, a silver comb pinning your hair in place, minimal makeup and clear lip gloss. For the first time in a while you felt pretty. You knew you weren’t exactly small, but the way you were dressed gave you confidence.

You looked at your watch. 7:55 pm. You took a deep breath, straightened out your dress, and stepped into the restaurant. The host asked if you had a reservation, and you told him you were meeting someone who already arrived. He let you pass, and you walked back to the table Aizawa told you to meet at. He had his back to you as you approached, but you could see his broad shoulders and muscular frame easily.

He wore a white long-sleeve button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a black vest fitted to his form. His slacks were also fitted, showing off his muscular thighs. His long raven hair was pulled in a half-up half-down similar to yours. You hadn’t even seen his face yet and he looked delicious.

Your heels clacked on the wood flooring, and as you neared the booth he turned to look at you. You stopped next to the table and got a good look at the stranger. He was beautiful. His dark bloodshot eyes looked tired, the bags underneath giving him away and only adding to his appeal, and a scar curved under his right eye. A sharp jawline, with a tamed scruff, and thin lips in a neutral expression. You were about to introduce yourself, but he stood from the booth and held his hand out, palm up. “You must be (y/l/n) (y/n).” You smiled at the gesture, and placed your hand in his. “That’s me. And you are Aizawa Shouta. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He pulled your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles, before leading you to your seat.

As he sat down, you noticed a bottle of wine sitting in the center of the table in a bucket of ice, and two glasses of wine halfway full. One sat in front of you, and the other in front of Aizawa. He began the conversation with a rather specific question. “So, (y/l/n), why are you on a dating website looking for men that are so much older than you?” Normally you’d take offense to a question like that, but the way he said it was pure curiosity. So, you answered. “If I’m being honest, it’s actually pretty simple. Guys my age just don’t know how to treat me.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, a barely noticeable smirk tugging at his lips. “And how do you want to be treated?” You smiled a little at the implications behind the question, and answered. “I don’t want to be stuck in my room while my ‘boyfriend’ plays video games and smokes weed. I don’t want to be ‘one of the boys’, and I don’t want to have to plead and beg to go on a date or spend time with him. I want to be treated like a woman, not a girl. And I want to spend my time with a man, not waste it on a boy.”

At that, Aizawa smirked and sipped at his wine. You both took a quick look at the menu and ordered when the waiter came. As you ate, you talked about random subjects and hit it off quite well. The date went by quickly, and at the end of the night you’d exchanged numbers. “I look forward to another date with you, Ms. (y/l/n).” “The feeling is mutual, Mr. Aizawa.”

When you got back home, you undressed and cleaned your face and got into bed. As you lay there, your mind drifted back to the date, and how undeniably handsome Aizawa is. The way he spoke to you like you were his equal, and looking at you like an ancient treasure. He was everything you wanted, without even considering anything sexual. Little did you know he felt much the same way.

____

When the date ended he texted Hizashi to let him know he was free. Hizashi, of course, called him immediately, and began drilling him about the date. “How’d it go Sho? Was it a rando with a thing for older guys? Did she want a sugar daddy?” Shouta rolled his eyes. “No, Zashi, she wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy. She was...actually really mature for a 21 year old. She knows what she wants. I admire that a little. And I won’t lie, she’s quite beautiful. Not the generic, model, beauty-pageant, barbie doll pretty. It’s a natural glow she has. It’s...quite mesmerizing...”

Hizashi exploded on the other side, laughing at the new infatuation his friend had for a blind date. “I hope she’s your type, Sho. I mean physically. I know how much you like them with a little meat on their bones.” Aizawa groaned at his comment. He knew he was just teasing, but that his blonde friend was 100% right. He knew he had a type, and he’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t looked at your full figure quite frequently.

He’d taken in your dress, how it showed off your shoulders and back. As you climbed into your car and took off your heels, he trailed his eyes up your legs, getting a small glimpse at your thick thighs. When you sat up behind the wheel, he revelled in the small rolls showing through your dress, wanting nothing more than to squeeze them and kiss them and bite them...

He shook away the thoughts that were threatening to take over his mind. “Shut it Hizashi. Her body is none of my concern, and is most definitely none of yours. I enjoyed the date and that’s what matters.” The loud blonde gasped dramatically, “Oh my god she totally is! Damn you go get some Sho!” Aizawa just ended the call.

The next date was planned once again by Aizawa, and it was only a week after the first. It was a simple coffee date at a small cafe. You talked casually about the things you enjoyed doing. You convinced him to let you take care of the next date, which you decided would be a relaxed ramen date. You’d gotten comfortable around each other, and after about six more dates, he invited you over to his place for dinner. Of course, you accepted.

He’d sent you the address and apartment number, and you stood outside his door in dark jeans, black flats, and a beige sweater with a white tank top underneath. You knocked on the door, and when it opened he greeted you with a peck on the cheek. It had become a normal greeting, since you’d gotten so close, though the gesture always made you a little shy. He told you to get comfortable as he finished up dinner, and you sat at the kitchen table and admired him as he worked in the kitchen. He wore fitted blue denim jeans, and a black cotton t-shirt, his hair pulled up in a bun.

No matter how many times you looked at him, he was always just as shockingly handsome as the first time you saw him. His t-shirt left his toned arms exposed, and it was fitted to his torso, showing off his muscular frame. Your eyes traced the outline of his muscles from his shoulder, down his arm, drifting to his hips and up his back. You didn’t notice him glance back and smirk at you. “Like what you see kitty cat?” Heat rushed to your face at the realization that you’d been staring, and the fact that he’d noticed. And that name… “K-kitty?” you barely whispered, before quickly apologizing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

You didn’t think he heard the first part. You were wrong. “It’s alright. And yes, kitty. Don’t like the pet name?” Your face burned at the tone of his voice. “N-no, the name’s fine, you just...caught me off guard.” He chuckled. “I should do it more often. You’re cute when you’re flustered.” You didn’t think your face could get any hotter, but it did. You tilted your head down and away from him and bit your lip, letting your hair fall to hide your face. You’d never gotten this kind of attention before, and you had no idea how to handle it.

You were too busy trying to calm your breathing to hear him approach you. The proximity and demanding tone of his voice made you jump a little. “Look at me, kitten.” You swallowed and took a breath before turning your head to him, and he hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to sit up taller. He moved even closer, your shoulder brushing against his abdomen, and you nearly had to look straight up to look in his eyes.

Your eyes began to drift away from his, and he jerked your chin up higher, silently commanding you not to look away. You brought your eyes back to his and held his gaze, and after a few moments he smirked. The hand under your chin moved to stroke your cheek with his knuckles. “Good girl.”

He quickly dropped his hand and went back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. It took you a few seconds to let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You panted a little, trying to calm yourself from what just happened, and clasped your shaking hands together. But they weren’t shaking from fear. In fact, you couldn’t quite tell why you were so shaky and out of breath. And the praise from him sent a shiver down your spine.

He managed to distract you while you ate, and you had completely recovered from whatever that was earlier. After dinner you moved into the living room and relaxed on the couch while you talked some more. Soon he’d leaned his head back and closed his eyes, still talking and listening, but clearly relaxed. Once again you found yourself distracted by his body, following the muscles in his neck down to his toned chest and abdomen. And again, he noticed. “I can feel your eyes on me, kitten.” His voice was low, a rumble of smooth baritone. You found yourself turning away to hide your face again, and the command in his voice controlled you with ease.

“Don’t look away from me, kitten.” You turned back to him, and when your eyes met his, you looked away, and he let out a low growl and your eyes snapped back to him. He adjusted and sat up, your eyes still fixed on each other. He pat his leg, “Come here kitty.” You blinked at him, not quite prepared for such a demand. His eyes darkened a little and his voice dropped to a growl, “I won’t ask twice.”

At that you got up and went to sit on one of his legs, but he pulled his knees together and shook his head. So you climbed over and straddled his legs on your knees. He grabbed your hips and pulled you so you were fully sitting on his lap, your core dangerously close to his growing bulge.

Your eyes were still locked on his as he leaned close to you, his hands rubbing circles into your hips. He leaned past your face and whispered into your ear. “Can I touch you kitty?” You took a shaky breath and nodded. He laid a light spank on your ass and you jumped. “Use your words kitty cat.” “Y-yes, you can t-touch me.” He laid a kiss on your neck and whispered ‘good girl’ before moving his hands under your sweater and tank top. He ran his hands up and down your back, and he gripped the fatty flesh of your stomach and hips, kneading it in his palms gently as he worked his way up your body, leaving feather light kisses along your neck and jaw.

The intimacy had you quivering, and the way he nearly worshipped your body had your breaths coming out shaky and heavy. Shouta caught on quickly. “Is it safe for me to assume you haven’t done anything in a while?” he said in your ear. You started to nod, but quickly caught yourself, “Y-yes.” He stilled his movements and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Tell me what you did before this.” You took a breath and explained the situation as simply and quickly as possible.

His arms tensed, clearly upset that you’d been used like that. But he didn’t pry into that right now. “So you haven’t explored anything? Like any preferences you might have?” You shook your head quickly, “N-no...why?” He chuckled. “Well, kitty, you’re quite submissive. If you’d let me, I can help you explore this side of you.” You swallowed and nodded. “Y-yeah, I think I’d like that.” He hummed into your neck, “We can start tonight, but only if you’re comfortable and you want to.” You took a few moments to think about your answer. This man had been nothing but good to you. He treated you with more respect than all the boys you dated had combined. And you trusted him. “I...I’m comfortable starting tonight.”

“Alright kitty. Now, listen to me closely, because this is important, okay?” “Okay, I’m listening.” “Good. Since this is new to you, we need to establish a safeword. Is ‘roses’ alright?” You nod. “Okay. Now if anything ever gets too much for you, if you feel uncomfortable for any reason, if you need to stop for any reason, or if there’s a medical emergency, you need to use it. And that goes for me too. If I don’t like where things are going, I’ll use it. Once we use the safeword, everything will stop right there, no questions asked. Understand?”

“I understand.” “Okay. Can I trust you to use it if you feel the need to?” You nod, “Yes. I’ll use it if I need to.” He kisses your neck, “Good girl.” The praise makes you shudder, and you feel him smile into your neck. “Now, kitty, I want you to address me as either ‘Daddy’, ‘Sir’, or ‘Master’ when we’re like this, do you understand?” “Yes.” He spanks you a little harder. “Yes what?” You jump at the contact “Y-yes Sir.” Another kiss on your neck, “Good girl.” He leans back and taps your arms, “Up.” You lift your arms and he pulls off your sweater and tank top at the same time.

His hands come back down on your shoulders, and he runs his hands down your chest and stomach, taking the time to remove your bra and knead your breasts. He wraps his arms around you and stands up, and you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bedroom. He puts you down on the bed on your back and takes a rope out of the bedside table. You let him take your hands and tie your wrists to the bar at the headboard. It’s not uncomfortably tight, but a few experimental tugs tell you it’s solid and you won’t be getting out of it unless he unties you.

He trails kisses down your body, unbuttoning your jeans and removing them as he goes. Once your jeans are off, he loops his fingers in the band of your panties and pulls them off. After that, he leans back and just rakes his eyes up and down your body, eating up every inch of your skin. “You’re such a pretty kitty.” His words have you shuddering and blushing. You’d never been called pretty before, and you knew why. You were a little bigger than other girls. You weren’t necessarily insecure about it. You didn’t care all that much about how people saw you with just your looks alone. But you knew Shouta was admiring your body after knowing who you are as a person, and it made you a little giddy.

His mouth and hands were all over you, squeezing and groping, sucking bruises onto your skin. His touches were sending waves of heat through your body, and pooling between your legs. You desperately wanted him to touch you there, and you whined and rolled your hips up into the air. “Such a needy kitty. Be patient. I’m not done here yet.” He rolled a nipple in between his index and thumb, pulling the other into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue. You mewled at the sensation, and he switched his mouth over to the other side.

Your legs were rubbing together, begging for friction, and he finally moved down to your dripping core. He took a finger and slipped it over your folds. He groaned as his finger collected your slick, “You’re so wet kitty. Are you this wet for me?” You nodded your head frantically, and he laid a light smack on your pussy. You let out a soft whimper, “Yes Sir, it’s for you,” you answered quickly. He hummed, “Good girl. I didn’t even need to remind you to use your words.” He kissed the inside of your thigh, and moved to lick a stripe up your folds. You gasped at the new feeling, never having anyone’s mouth down there before.

He slipped the pink muscle into you easily, groaning when he tasted you. The sound sent vibrations through your dripping cunt, making you squirm at the pleasure. He looped his arms around your legs, dipping his fingers into your core and using the slick to rub tight circles onto your clit. An unfamiliar sensation built in the pit of your stomach, your muscles tightening in your abdomen as it got stronger. You knit your eyebrows together, and in between heavy breaths you gasped out, “S-sir...it feels strange.” He raised his eyebrows at the statement, and increased his pace until that coil inside you snapped, which didn’t take very long.

Your back arched off the bed as you let out a loud, sharp moan, your legs shaking from the intensity of your first orgasm. Aizawa kept lapping at your pussy, letting you ride out your high, and once you were relaxed and panting on the bed, he lifted his head and wiped his chin. “Kitty, have you never cum before?” He asked, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You shake your head, “No S-sir...Is that what just happened?” He chuckled, but didn’t answer the question, “You’re going to have fun tonight kitty.” You didn’t have time to question what he meant, though, because he slipped a thick finger into your core, and you mewled as your walls clenched down on him.

The game he played went on for what felt like hours, and you lost count of how many times he’s made you cum. He’d fucked you and cum multiple times himself. You’d already squirted several times, and tears were streaming down your face from the overstimulation. It felt so good, but it was starting to melt your brain and the title of ‘Sir’ drifted to ‘Daddy’ as it went on. All the muscles in your body were burning from flexing so hard, and your wrists were feeling raw from how hard you’d been tugging at your restraints. It felt so, so good...but it was too much. He leaned down close to your face and kissed at the tears, “You’re doing so well babygirl. You got one more for me?”

You giggled lightly at the praise, your mind fuzzy, unable to form coherent thoughts as he thrust his hips into you. He stilled his movements and caressed your jaw. “How are you feeling, kitten?” Your eyes looked up into his, struggling to stay open. You giggled a little as you answered. “It’s… I f-feel…” You knit your eyebrows together in concentration, searching your brain. “R-roses?”

Everything stopped, and he instantly reached up and tugged off your restraints, and pulled your exhausted body close to his chest. Your breathing got heavier, and your chest got tight, and fresh tears fell down your cheeks. He held you tight, kissing your tears and petting your hair as your cries died down. He held you like that until your breathing was normal again. You slowly opened your eyes, weakly calling out to him, “Daddy?” He kissed your forehead, “I’m right here kitten. Tell me what you need.” You nuzzled your head into his neck and mumbled, “Water. Can I have water?” He wrapped you in a soft blanket and stood up, carrying you with him. “Anything for my kitten.”

He set you on the counter and made a glass of iced water, holding it up to your lips. As you sipped, he rubbed your back and kissed your forehead and neck, and he didn’t stop or move until you had drained the cup. He left it in the sink and picked you up again, taking you to the bathroom and filling the tub with warm water. He turned off the tap, took off your blanket, and carried you into the tub. He washed the both of you, massaging your scalp, and you let out a sound like a pur, which he smiled at.

When he was done, he stood you up and wrapped you in a fluffy towel, dried himself with one, and carried you back to bed. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Are you okay (y/n)?” You nodded into his chest, “Yeah, I’m okay. It was just intense.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, “Thank you for using the safeword. You did so well for me kitten, trusting me like that.” You nuzzled into his chest some more, relishing in the heat his body gave.

You loved the praise he gave you. It made you feel warm and fuzzy in your belly, and it felt so good. Soon you were drifting into a deep sleep, comfortable in Shouta’s arms. This was nice. You’d be happy to let him guide you, let him take care of you like this. One thought drifted through your head as you drifted.

‘Guys my age could never.’

#aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #aizawa #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta x fem reader #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x fem reader #aizawa shouta smut #shouta aizawa smut #aizawa shouta bnha #aizawa shouta mha #shouta aizawa bnha #shouta aizawa mha #dom aizawa

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separatist-apologist · 2 years

Text

Exile

We always walked a very thin line

Chapter 12: I Don't Care What You Think As Long As It's About Me

[ i just need to make a graphic ]

TW: violence

Jurian wasn’t what Feyre expected. He was young, handsome though weathered from battle and the stress of his rebellion. His eyes tracked her, his suspicion palpable. She appreciated his concern but Feyre had learned she was in no danger. She twirled a dagger through her fingers, splayed on a couch while she waited.

“How many others have you purchased?” Jurian asked Rhys when he seemed to no longer be able to stand the sight of her.

“Feyre is free,” Rhys replied simply without answering the question. Jurian’s dark eyes narrowed, his face a storm of anger. He needed allies, needed the Fae though she could tell he didn’t like a moment of it.

“I am,” she agreed, though free was relative. She knew if Jurian asked to take her back to the continent, Rhys would tell him no. He’d become more possessive since they’d slept together, since she’d agreed to stay with him. No part of her thought it was a mistake but staying still felt like one. Jurian was perhaps the only person who could get her out. She still wanted out…even if the majority of her time was spent thinking about Rhys’s mouth buried between her thighs.

Rhys cut a glance towards her, catching the shift in her scent. It embarrassed her and Feyre looked away, hoping he didn’t realize she was thinking about the High Lord’s cock. Jurian was still speaking, would spend the night so he could see Cassain’s famed army of Illyrian warriors. Feyre knew from Rhys that Hybern planned to crack down on the rebellion that stirred not just on the continent, but in Prythian as well. Summer Court maintained itself a refuge for humans…and Hybern fashioned himself High King. It was why the alliance with Autumn was so important, even if Rhys had agreed to risk it for her sister.

Getting Rhys out of the room took an act of the Goddess. Azriel had come in, barely offered Jurian a passing glance, and then the High Lord was gone with an apology and a wary look. Feyre almost exhaled with relief and Jurian seemed relieved to see him go.

“I thought he might spend the day hovering,” Jurian admitted, crossing his booted foot over his knee. “I’ve been trying to talk with you alone all day.”

“Really?”

Jurian nodded. “I could get you out of here without much effort. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“And go where?” Feyre asked, her heart racing. She’d have to leave Nesta and after Elain, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

“The majority of my army hides in the blacklands,” Jurian told her easily. “You could join them as a fighter or healer or any number of things. You don’t have to remain here in Prythian.”

“My sister, though,” Feyre explained unhelpfully. “She’s…up in the mountain somewhere.”

“Yes, with the Illyrian,” Jurian nodded thoughtfully. “We may not be able to rescue her this time but I’ll make it my priority to get her out if you come with me.”

“Why? Why help at all?” Feyre asked. Jurian’s eyes darkened and he sat forward, brown hair hanging in his face.

“Why help another human? Have you become so used to the Fae you can’t understand me, Feyre? If I’ve learned nothing, it’s that you can’t trust them. They want to ally with us but not for us. They have their own agendas, their own little power plays, their own boards and if we’re useful then they’ll help but the moment we’re not…” “Maybe they’re not all bad,” Feyre replied, hating that she was defending Rhysand to Jurian. His expression clouded, head shaking.

“You know, I’ve only ever heard rumors of humans with Fae mates. I thought it was made up, another facet used to control us but…you would truly defend the person who purchased you with coins just because he didn’t hurt you? All because he’s your mate?”

“He’s…what…he’s not my mate,” Feyre replied, unsure she even understood the concept. Jurian studied her for another long moment, unaware of how her heart pounded in her chest.

“He is. He’s guarding you…he thinks I mean to steal you.”

“Why risk it, then?” Feyre whispered, so worked up she thought she might throw up all over Jurian’s feet.

“Because, Feyre. I’ve seen too much now. I’ve seen what a Fae male does to a human female he claims to care about. There is no happy ending for you, not when you’re in that human body.”

“What does it mean…mate.”

“Ask him,” Jurian replied, standing up with a sigh. “And then come find me. There is a better life waiting for you, Feyre. You deserve more than this.”

Feyre waited for Jurian to leave before she wrapped her arms around her head and screamed into her lap. Everything was so unnecessary and complicated and part of her did want to just get up and leave with Jurian. Mates. She had some awareness of the word, or what it meant though clearly not the understanding Jurian had. He’d recognized it instantly, had seen what Feyre was blind to.

She wasn’t trapped in the townhouse. Jurian had just walked right out which meant she could too. Feyre stood, walked to the door, and jerked it open. No one was waiting on the other end to stop her, to shove her back indoors. Feyre took a step out, and then another, and then another until she was just walking.

She’d seen Velaris when Rhys had flown her overhead but never like this…never on her own. It was beautiful, lit up by strings of fae light hanging from poles. The sky was overcast, the sun hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. No one paid her any mind as she walked aimlessly, looking for an answer the city couldn’t give.

She should have known Rhys would find her easily. Standing on the bridge, leaning over the railing, she felt his presence before she saw him. He leaned so they were almost the same height, head turned to look at her. “Jurian said something upsetting, didn’t he?” “Did you know we were mates?” She asked him without preamble. Rhys’s eyes widened, his body stiffened. Yes, he knew. “How long?”

“Feyre,” he began, palms raised upwards in defense. “I…I guessed—”

“How long have you known?” His eyes closed for a moment, betraying the bad news she knew he was about to deliver. “I guessed the moment I first saw you.”

Feyre turned back to the sparkling water beneath. “You lied to me.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Rhys asked her, desperation creeping into his tone. “You just barely trusted me. What if I told you that you were my cauldron blessed mate—”

“I slept with you,” Feyre whispered softly. “You could have said something then.”

He shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face. “No. No, I couldn’t. I wanted to wait…I hoped that you might love me–”

“Do you love me?” Feyre demanded, heart leaping to her throat.

Rhys threw his hands up in the air, unaware that people were watching them now. “Of course I do.”

There was a dull roaring in Feyre’s ears. Rhys was still talking, his hand wrapped around her arm, dragging her closer to keep people from overhearing. She couldn’t hear anything over her heart pounding in her ears and her blood racing through her body. Had anyone ever loved her before? Let alone the magnificent man standing in front of her. She knew, rationally, she was taking the wrong message from all of this. Who cared if Rhysand loved her? He was Fae and she was human. Jurian was probably right about how this all ended.

But Feyre wanted to try. She’d never been loved a day in her life, not like this, not by someone who had no reason to love her. Surely the mating bond didn’t force him to. Surely there was some work around, some way for them to make this work if they wanted to.

And she did. Deep, deep down, Feyre knew she did. Tired and worn down as she was, Feyre wanted Rhysand. He was the first choice she’d ever been allowed to make that was selfish and purely just for her. She could consider only her own wants when she thought of him…she didn’t have to share, didn’t have to prioritize the safety of her sisters first.

She hadn’t realized he’d lead her back to the townhouse until he was pulling open the door with an anguished look on his face. “Don’t do anything rash,” Rhys began and she realized he was letting her go. She could tell him no…she could find Jurian and leave. “Please come inside with me.” She hesitated for only a moment though she got the sense his entire life flashed over his eyes as she did. Feyre took that step, and then another until she was exactly back where she started. Rhys seemed relieved though his body was still tight with tension.

“I should have told you,” Rhys continued when they were tucked inside the townhouse. “I was afraid, I thought…”

“What does it mean?” Feyre asked him, hoping he wasn’t reading her thoughts.

“It means we belong together,” Rhys told her simply, as though he couldn’t find the words to say anything else.

“How could a human and a Faerie belong together?” She questioned. Some of the worry seemed to leech from his body.

“I think you were meant for more, Feyre,” Rhys told her softly. “I think you were meant to be one of us.”

“That’s not possible,” she replied just a little too sharply. Rhys shook his head.

“It’s not. I know a way…we used to do it when we realized our mates were human. You’re strong, Feyre. You would come out safe. I would give you some of my magic to ensure it.”

“What about Nesta? What about…” Her words trailed off as realization began to dawn on her. “Nesta is Cassian’s mate.”

“Nesta is Cassian’s mate,” Rhys agreed. “Cassian will discuss this with her, too.”

Feyre sank onto the couch, her mind racing. “We could be together forever.”

“Yes,” Rhys nodded, keeping his place across the room. “You and Nesta could—”

“You and I,” Feyre interrupted impatiently. “My short human life would not separate us.”

“It wouldn’t even if you chose not to,” Rhys told her with a growl. “I will remain with you until death and meet you in the beyond.”

“You love me?” Feyre asked, needing to hear him say it again. Rhys looked as though he might cry.

“I love you,” he agreed. Feyre stood.

“I love you…and I would follow you anywhere.”

Lucien ought to have known things were going too well between him and Elain. He should have known the soft peace that hummed around them couldn’t last. The return to Autumn ought to have reminded him that there was still a gulf between them, that the outside world would creep in and destroy what they’d built. The entire Forest house was summoned after breakfast which could only mean one thing: Beron wanted to put on a show. Lucien fell into step with Eris, walking down the hall silently for a moment.

“You didn’t impregnate your human, did you?” Eris asked quickly, glancing over. Lucien blanched.

“Of course not.” He took his contraceptive tea religiously and made her take it too, though she wasn’t wholly aware of why he insisted she drink tea for breakfast each morning. There was no way Elain was pregnant—and if she was, Lucien would have removed her from Court before Beron ever got a whiff of her.

Eris shook his head, yanking open the throne room doors to lead the pair in. Cadmus and Conall were already waiting with most of Beron’s court, eyes focused on a group of human females kneeling at Beron’s feet. Lucien’s gaze swept over them, relieved that Elain was not among them. Whatever this group had done—and Lucien could guess—Elain had not been part of it.

“Bring in the humans,” Beron ordered, lounging back in his throne.

They waited in the warm, early light flooding through peaked windows for the rest of their human staff to file in, Elain included. Lucien sideled closer to his human, catching Eris’s eye as he did so. He didn’t care. Tanwen closed the doors, locking them in with Beron, who stood. Without warning, he slammed his heavy toed boot into one of the trembling human females, sending her flying across the glossy black floor. Lucien’s mother winced, but didn’t move. None of them did. The most Lucien was willing to risk was shielding Elain’s body with his own, keeping Beron from seeing her.

“You four tried to escape last night,” Beron stated, his voice echoing around the room. Eris rolled his eyes in response. Lucien wanted to ask who cared given the fact that war was looming anyway. The trembling human behind him kept his mouth shut. “Woke me from a dead sleep to rescue you from the dogs. What was so awful about my court you felt the need to flee in the middle of the night?”

None of them spoke and Lucien almost felt pity for them. The only way out of the Forest House was with a member of Beron’s court. Sentries, dogs, traps…all of it made for little more than a spectacle for anyone trying to flee. The fact that Beron had dragged these four back inside when it would have been easier to let the dogs rip them to pieces only told Lucien he wanted to make some bizarre, cruel point.

“Tell them what you told me,” Beron continued, reaching for a dark haired human and lifting her to her feet. Her hands immediately went to her stomach and Lucien winced in response. He could see the protrusion, understood why Eris had asked if he’d gotten Elain pregnant. Someone in court had knocked up one of the humans and hadn’t had the decency to get her out.

Lucien felt Elain’s little hands press against his back. “Help her,” she whispered, as if Lucien could do anything anymore. The best he could hope for was a quick death that wasn’t too bloody. Beron would not be kind to the father.

“Please,” the human whispered as Cadmus took a step forward, one hand outstretched. Children were rare among the Fae, less so when they coupled with humans. Lucien did not envy his brother at that moment, who’d clearly had no idea what was happening beneath his nose.

“Kill her,” Beron demanded of his son, his voice deadly calm. No one in that room moved but the human, who turned to look at Cadmus with terrified eyes. Had she not known that he would have gotten her out, or had he done this to her on purpose without caring?

Lucien decided on the former when Cadmus squared his shoulders and said, “I won’t.”

“You don’t deny it?” Beron demanded, gesturing at the human. Cadmus closed his eyes for a moment and it would have been so much easier to say he didn’t know, to swear he’d never seen the female. That’s what the last member of Beron’s court had done.

“I don’t deny it,” Cadmus, the brother who looked so much like Beron it was as though Beron merely replicated himself. The room went utterly silent and Lucien tried to recall if any of them had ever denied their father anything. “Don’t touch her.”

Beron chuckled, turning his back. They all knew what was coming.

“NO!” Cadmus snarled, lunging forward. Conall and Eris caught him before he did something he couldn’t walk back and Beron, with an easy swing of the sword once hanging from his hips, took the pregnant human’s head off her shoulders. It was nothing to execute the remaining three, leaving a mess on the floor just at Beron’s feet.

“Father!” Eris chided, as though he wasn’t the only thing standing between Beron and one of his sons.

“No. More. Accidents!” Beron told the silent room. “Or I will spill more than human blood on this floor. Clean this up. Get out of my sight.”

Lucien didn’t need to be told twice, not when Cadmus might be out for blood…not when Lucien was in love with a human his father might also end the life of. He needed to get her out of the Autumn Court before suspicion fell on him.

He grabbed her wrist and walked, pushing through the crowd. Elain didn’t fight him and one quick glance at her face told Lucien she was sobbing. Good. Let her cry if it kept her compliant. Lucien didn’t care at all, grateful when he slammed his bedroom door in her face. He was so focused on his plan he didn’t notice her fury until the palm of her hand struck his cheek.

“You let her die!” Elain shrieked, reaching to hit him a second time. Lucien caught her wrist, his whole body vibrating.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned.

“You did nothing,” Elain accused, trying to jerk her hand from his hold. Lucien gripped tighter, his fear roaring in his ears. “You let him kill her!”

“And if I’d tried to stop him you would be dead too,” Lucien all but whispered back, catching how her eyes widened slightly.

“He wouldn’t have. You don’t care about me!” She shot back. Lucien wrapped his arms around her body when she lunged for the door, dragging them both to the floor as they fought the other furiously. She caught him upside the jaw with her elbow but Lucien’s hold remained.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Lucien whispered dangerously, refusing to let her go.

“I won’t! You don’t care about me, you would let me–” “You are my mate!” Lucien replied, every word dripping with anger. “I would sooner die myself than let another male touch you!”

“Mate?” She whispered, the word a dirty word on her lips. “I don’t want to be your mate.”

“Well you are,” he replied tonelessly.

“I don’t want it,” she said, trying to wiggle from his grasp. Disappointment sluiced through his body, settling hard in his gut.

“I don’t care if you want it,” Lucien retorted though he very much did. He waited for whatever cruel, hurtful thing she’d say next, determined to match it but a broken sob escaped Elain’s lips. She buried her face in his arms still wrapped around her, weeping angry tears.

“What happens when it's me?” She asked through her hurt sobs. Lucien felt like an ass, holding her on the wood floor of his bedroom. He loosened his hold on her, repositioning her so her body was cradled to his chest.

“It would never be you,” he murmured softly.

“I want to leave this place,” she continued, her whole body shaking. “I hate it here.” “Okay,” he agreed with more than a little desperation. He’d already promised to free her and he meant it. He was going to take her to Helion in the morning and throw himself at his feet until he took in Elain, so it was easy enough to agree.

She was like a deflated balloon in his arms, letting him hoist her to her feet and then back into his bed. Whatever she thought, whatever she felt, she was keeping it to herself. She didn’t say a word when he pulled the blanket back over her freezing body, didn’t react when he pulled her into his chest, holding her tight to ensure she didn’t try and slip away. Lucien barely slept, arms aching. Elain slept far past dawn and Lucien didn’t wake her, didn’t care if his mother was put out or missed breakfast. She could take it up with him. He let Elain sleep deeply, undisturbed for maybe the first time in her life in the kind of bed she should always have been in. His mind raced. She knew he was her mate and despite her protests she didn’t want it, she hadn’t asked what a mate was, which meant she must have some awareness.

Going to Day was practical, as far as Lucien could tell. Helion’s family oversaw over a thousand libraries and held the knowledge of Prythian within their borders. Lucien very much doubted he was the first to realize his mate was a human. How had others done it? Did they stay with their human mate until they died or was there a way to bind their lives to the human in question, extending their lives with their fae counterpart?

Lucien very much hoped it was the latter. Brielle’s pregnancy had ignited something within him he hadn’t realized he even wanted. Young. Elain was human and humans bred easily, quickly. If he could bind them, fatherhood was a real possibility for him. It made his heart ache, imagining the female slumbering beside him swollen with his children.

It was that image that prompted Lucien to slide from the bed and send a quick missive off to Helion. Elain stirred, turning on her back beneath the thick duvet and Lucien padded back to her. She sat quickly with a breath.

“I’m late–” “You’re not,” he replied, gently pushing her back to the pillows. “You’re resting today.”

She looked up at him with big, watery brown eyes and Lucien sighed. She was still sad about the human. Lucien didn’t care about Brielle at all, didn’t feel sympathy for whatever male had carelessly impregnated a human. It was common knowledge human’s were laughably easing to get pregnant–Lucien took contraceptive tea religiously to prevent a similar incident.

“She was your friend?” He asked, curious about the life Elain led when she wasn’t with him. Elain only shrugged.

“She wanted to leave,” Elain whispered. Lucien’s stomach lurched. He knew where this was going. “We were supposed to go together.”

He had to swallow his growl of anger. Lucien hated the thought that Elain plotted to leave, that she might have slipped away without a word and he would have had to hunt her down. That she did not feel half as strongly for him as he did for her. All of it burned in his stomach and he suspected she knew by how she couldn’t meet his gaze.

Lucien nodded, biting back the angry words he longed to spew at her. “Who was the father?”

She fidgeted with the blankets, betraying one of his idiot brothers. She was keeping secrets for them which, in turn, offered her protection. Lucien did quick math. Tanwen was still moping over the Lady Umbrelle and angry their father had stolen the child they’d created. Conall was mooning over Ayla which left… “Cadmus?”

Elain nodded. “I thought he liked her.”

He probably did. If anything, assuming Cadmus even knew, he was likely burning with fury. A child was rare, precious, even when it grew in a human. He’d heard stories of what Faerie males had done to protect a human carrying their young and doubted Cadmus would be any less territorial. Perhaps Beron had meant to make an example of his son and the rest of his court.

Lucien only shrugged, wondering if it was better she thought them monsters and always had her guard up. His noncommittal response didn’t offer her the relief she was looking for and Lucien wondered if she imagined herself as Brielle and him as Cadmus. For all Lucien knew, his brother had done his best to prevent the female’s death. There was no arguing with a High Lord. Lucien would never be Cadmus–by the time Elain was pregnant, Lucien intended to have her so well-hidden no male would ever find her, High Lord or otherwise. He didn’t care if he had to burrow into the ground like a fox and hide her away, guarding his den like a feral creature. He wanted to tell her that her worry was for nothing but he suspected she was still not keen on a future with him and Lucien didn’t want to push her.

“I wrote to Helion,” he said instead. “He is the High Lord’s son in Day.”

Her face seemed to lighten a little. “What did he say?” “Nothing yet,” Lucien replied. “Give him some time to extend a formal invitation and then me time to explain to Beron why I must leave.”

She bit her bottom lip. “What if he says I can’t go with you?”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

Lucien smiled. “I have no intention of informing him I am bringing you. Why should I? Beron doesn’t concern himself with the humans and I have no intention of making him aware of your presence.”

If his father knew another son was dallying with a human, he might kill Elain to make a point. He could take her for himself as well, a fate Lucien would like to spare Elain. Keeping her a secret was better for them both. His words seemed to relax her further which Lucien found intoxicating. He wanted her to trust him. He reached for her face, stroking her cheek. “We will be out of Autumn soon enough.”

“For how long?” She breathed. He opened his mouth to tell her indefinitely but he suspected Elain did not want to return. Perhaps he could ask Helion to keep her in his court, to watch over her while Lucien returned to Autumn…no.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He sighed and Elain slid up the pillows, propping herself up. He heard her stomach growl, reminding him neither of them had eaten. He ordered her to remain in his bedroom, hoping the magic and rough authority was enough to convince her to stay put. The humans were somber everywhere and Cadmus was nowhere to be found. He had food put together on a tray and carried it back himself, uninterested in the drawn, pale faces invading his space and potentially setting Elain off again.

She wasn’t in his bed and for one moment Lucien panicked, moving about his bedroom like a predator. Her scent was concentrated here–he could track her. He set the tray to the table, intending to stalk after her when the slosh of water behind the bathroom door stopped him in his tracks. Lucien opened the door, peeking in. Elain sat in hot water, her knees drawn to her chest. She turned to look up at him when he stepped in.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, feeling stupid.

She nodded. “I’ll be done in a minute,” she said, legs sliding in front of her so she could arch her head backwards and rinse soap from her hair. Lucien just stared, his body tightening at the sight of her naked, wet body. Lucien was rooted to the spot, wishing he was in the water with her. When was the last time he’d touched her? He couldn’t remember. Ever since he’d realized she was his mate he’d been doing more sleeping that fucking. He hadn’t even noticed the shift.

“Lucien?” Elain asked, unaware of what was happening with his body.

“Hm?” He replied, staring at her pebbled nipples peeking from beneath sudsy water.

“What does it mean…to be your mate?”

Lucien’s cock ached. “It means I am yours and you are mine.”

She frowned, leaning forward again. Water poured from her hair, giving her the appearance of a goddess bathing and Lucien’s knees shook at the sight. “Like…a wife?”

He shook his head, fingers twitching. “It’s more than that.” He reached for a towel and Elain stood, water sluicing off her. He groaned softly, drawing her attention. She snatched the towel from him but there would be no hiding. Lucien extended a hand, drying her hair even as she stood there wiping water off her body.

“I don’t understand,” she admitted and Lucien walked to her, unwrapping the towel to touch just beneath her breast.

“This,” he murmured, praying that she felt the same tug he did. “You feel it.”

“Our bargain,” she replied with wide eyes. He shook his head.

“Our bond,” he replied softly, reaching to cup the soft skin of her breast. She sighed softly, arching into his hand. She felt it, felt the bond just as he did. Lucien was filled with relief at the knowledge. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest, her breathing hitch when he took a rosy nipple between his fingers and rolled. “It marks us as equals.”

“How can a slave be your equal?” She whispered. He suspected, beneath her servitude lurked a female that matched him in every way. Perhaps he could draw some of that out of her in Day.

“You are,” he replied simply, taking her hands and walking her out of the bathroom. Elain perched on the edge of the bed, her breathing hard when he fell to his knees in front of her. He kissed her ankle, trailing upwards slowly, eyes locked on hers.

“Wouldn’t you prefer a…a female like you?” She whispered, chest heaving. Lucien spread her out, fingers opening her pussy wide.

“No,” he replied. “Only you.” He licked slowly, pleasure bursting through his chest. He felt relief that she knew his secret, that she felt that bond and was seemingly going to accept this was their shared fate.

He suspected the feeling would be fleeting.

#feysand #elucien #feyre x rhysand #elain x lucien #elucien fic #remember how this was supposed to be dark?#i fooled you for a hot minute #but uh #people be dying #also jurian is in the mix #causing problems #and next chapter brings us: Helion! Arina! Graysen! pain!!

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soft-boi-eli · 3 years

Note

Ok ok! Good uhm.

Ok since body dysmorphia has been kicking my butt lately i wanted to request something with Schlatt where basically the reader Starts getting really insecure because of their body. Pushing and pulling on their stomach etc. They also start binding unsafely with like really tight bras because they can't afford a binder and they end up fucking up their ribs really bad. They end up in the hospital and a very worried Schlatt visit's them and lectures them about how they shouldn't have done that and about how worried he was. So when they get back home there is a gift on the bed, turns out Schlatt bought them a binder.

The reader would be Non-binary and afab.

Also a little message for pretty much anyone who is insecure about their body/has body dysmorphia because of their chest, don't bind unsafely. That can really fuck up your chest and make you actually being happy with your body even harder.

Hell yes. I love this idea thank you icarus! Writing has been rude to me lately and I needed inspiration. This has hit it exactly.

Pronouns:nonbinary (dont think any were actually used in this so yeah.)

Tw: AFAB reader, swearing, insecurity, mention of surgry, mention of blood, mention of hating self, pain. Again angst to fluff. It is reflecting on how I have felt about my body before because I needed to make it seem kinda real.

PSA: please dont bind safely. It's dangerous and can lead to serious health consequences. I know hating your body sucks but I dont want anyone to get hurt because they dont listen to their lungs, they dont take off their binder, or if their bras are way too fucking tight. It can and will hurt you. So please bind safely!!

Happy birth-what the fuck?!

Lately your brain was giving you more dysphoria then ever. Telling you your body was too big, your boobs were too noticable, and you hips are too feminine.

What brought this on? Someone simply said your dead name. It made your dysphoria hit you like a truck.

After that day everything went down hill. Your stopped streaming, telling your followers that you were going on a mental break, you didn't really talk to friends, your brain could put words together. And you most importantly barely texted your loving supporting boyfriend schaltt, not wanting to break down in front of him.

You never had the time or thoughts of getting a chest binder. It was your biggest mistake honestly.

Deciding against chest binders and wearing alot of tight bras to flatten you. But it didnt work. So you got tighter bras. And they did work. But you didnt read up on how to bind safely.

This lead to the predicament now. In front of your mirror you were pinching and pulling at your skin. There was too much. All you wanted to do was cut it off with scissors. But decided against it due to the fact of all the blood that you would loose.

Your chest, smaller then it was yas, was still visible after your 3rd bra. You decided to add a 4th and tighter one hoping it would completely hide your boobs.

Your body made you want to puke. It made you feel disgusting. But you never told schaltt that. Afraid that he would say that you looked as gross as you thought you did.

Only 5 minutes after the 4th bra you felt excoriating pain in your ribs. And worse of all a harsh pop. That immediately brought red flags. It hurt to breath. Your head fuzzy and light headed.

Your only reaction, to call for an ambulance. Dialing the three numbers as you whimpered in pain you held onto your lungs. "911 what's your emergency?" "I cant breathe. It hurts so bad. Please help." "Are you by yourself?" "Yes. I need help please." "Ambulance, firemen, and police are on their way. Ambulance is 2 minutes out."

You didnt know if you had 2 minutes. "They can break the door down if I dont answer." That's all you said after collapsing.

Next thing you knew your door was busted off its hinges and you saw two paramedics. They were quick to transfer you to the ambulance, cutting through the four bras that held your chest.

It help get air to your lungs but it barely helped.

"We have a collapsed lung. ETA 2 minutes." The paramedic back there with you spoke to the walkie talkie.

Collapsed lung? Was that the harsh pop? God, was the bras that bad of an idea? All that was going through your mind was how you possibly could get worse. The instant you got into the trauma bay was way worse. With no time to numb you and your O2 stats dropping they had to cut between your ribs and shove a tube right next to your left lung. Draining air and excess blood blocking your lung from inflating. And before you knew it you were off to emergency surgery for getting a shard of bone out of your chest cavity.

The last thing you remember was counting down and falling asleep.

When you woke up your boyfriend was next to your bed, hands engulfing one of yours.

It looked like he had been crying before falling asleep on one of your legs. Taking your free hand through his hair you smiled lightly. "I'm sorry for all of this ram boy." He grunted lightly and moved his head back into your hand. His messy hair was thick and nearly matted. It made you wonder how long he's been sitting there. You loved him and felt so selfish for doing this to him.

"I cant believe I did all this and for what? To cause you and everyone pain? All because i couldnt afford a chest binder and deciding that I might as well try another way. I should have been safer huh?" You didnt expect an answer back. Just his quite snores.

"Yeah. Not really fuckin selfish more like kinda dumb. Your body doesnt show who the fuck you are (y/n). Your heart does. And your heart isnt say boy or girl. Its saying you are you. A person who uses pronouns they them. A person that love everyone and cares for their friends. A person who love me and jambo so deeply."

He took a breath.

"You normally are quite smart. Saving up for one would of been a better idea instead of doing such a stupid thing. Asking for my help. Because if I knew I would of helped. I would of found one just right for you. I would help you remember to take it off after 8 hours. Even would of found a way to make you feel more like you."

You could hear his heart break.

"But now you're here, four broken ribs, a healing lung, and stuck in the hospital for another week at least."

You felt so guilty. He was right. You should of told him. He would never have seen you like you saw yourself. He never cared about how you looked. He only cared for your heart.

Tears falling down your face you continued to massage his scalp. "I could of lost you. You are my rock. When I cant keep up my normal antics and feel like I'm at an all time low. You are there to pick me up." You had to stop the sob from coming up. "I'm just so happy youre alive." He looked up.

His red eyes were making your heart ache. "I wont do it again I promise. But I cant just ignore the feeling of dread whe. I look down and realize I present so much like a girl. I dont wa t to be one." Schaltt nodded and kissed the hand he was holding. "Then let me help you. I wont let this happen again. Just please. Come to me. Talk to me. I'm here like you are for me."

You gave a small nod.

This man knew his way to your heart. He was so sincere about this. "I will. But promise me you wont look down on me if I end up feeling like that." You just needed to make sure you knew he would never but you needed his words. "Mever sugarbabe. Never in my life have I looked down on you and never will."

God the week was long, him and the doctor explaining safe binding that you cant fully bind for at least 6-8 weeks. Schlatt telling you his reaction to finding your apartment swarmed with police and firemen and you no where to be seen.

He was practicing on saying happy birthday to you. But was cut off. "Happy birth-what the fuck?!" He was so concerned and even more so when you were in hospital.

When you did go home he helped you through the door, and watched you as you saw the small package on your couch.

Opening it you saw a chest binder. Specifically the one you were looking at. Looking over to schaltt with tears in your eyes you walked up and hugged him lightly minding the pain in your left side. This was the best gift.

The only gift you had been wanting for the past week or two. "Now you can be safe. But no binding till your doctor says so or I swear to god I will personally smite you down." You had to try so hard no to laugh or the pain would of been hell. Kissing his cheek you smiled.

"Of course schaltt. I will make sure to not wear it till I'm healed dont want to get blood on it ya know. Also it would hurt like a fucking bitch."

He chuckled and ruffled your hair. "Alright now go sit down. I'll get you some soup ya dork."

This was going to be a great time. That was until the pain fully came back. And then this is going to be a mediocre time.

Please pardon spelling errors. I havent proof read. And I am on mobile for almost all stories. But thank you so much for requesting this became something that I could write and it helped me alot. Now I might take a while for other things too and i apologize that's cause i am starting school soon. Also family issues. So yeah might take a bit. Dont know how long though. I'll try to keep them coming but if not you know I'm studying or helping my mom and grandma.

Eli out.

#jschlatt x reader #mcyt fluff #schlatt x reader #mcyt #mcyt schlatt #dsmp schlatt #schlatt fluff #schlatt #please bind safely #non binary #tw: body harm #tw: body dysphoria #tw: body dysmorphia

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spencerhotchner · 4 years

Text

Alternative {spencer reid}

Chapter 1

summary: Since quarentine was announced, Y/N decided to rewatch all seasons of Criminal Minds. On a lonely night she wished she could be in that universe instead of this. What happens when she wakes up in 2008 in Quantico?

warnings: angst, a very confused reader, regular cm stuff and my grammar (if you find anything else pls lmk

word count: 2k

a/n: i have this idea while watching a movie about parallel universes and all, so i just wanted to try this out. it will be a 10 parts series! im not really sure about this, i think i kinda hate it but im posting it anyways lmao. i hope you gonna enjoy!

series masterlist

part 1 | part 2

You woke up feeling dizzy and with a major headache. At first you thought it was because you drank a whole lot of wine last night but then you saw yourself in a room you never saw before. You stoop up quickly trying to understand where you were and how did you end up there. You were sure that you have never been in this place before, and it was scaring you that you showed up in there.

There was a mirror nailed to the wall in from of you almost forcing you to look at your own body, that made you notice that you were still wearing the same clothes from last night, but you weren’t home. Not being home was odd given by the fact you stayed there with your family and two friends you invited over, since there’s a whole freaking pandemic going on and you for sure did not want to get sick or get other people sick.

“Did I get kidnapped?” you think out loud. “No, I just watch too much Criminal Minds.” you tell yourself, trying to calm down.

You reach for the face mask placed on the nightstand, getting ready to leave this random place and go home. You tried not to freak out when you realized your phone was gone and the only cellphone in there was probably as old as your grandmother. You dialed your moms number about five times and all of them went on voicemail, making you curse mentally.

This can’t be happening. Not to me.

As soon as you leave the apartment you were in you realized you weren’t in your hometown, definitely not. It was crowded, like, really crowded and no one was wearing any face masks. Where did the freaking pandemic go? You wondered while you felt like a misfit for being the only one wearing it.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where I am?” you ask an old lady walking by.

“You’re on Main Street, sweetheart.” she says.

“No, um, I mean the city.” you watched as the old lady looked at you with a funny face, as if she was calling you crazy on her mind.

“We’re in Quantico, dear.”

“Quantico?” you repeat, mostly for yourself then for her. The lady started at you like you were an alien. “Thank you so much, ma’am.”

The air started to go low on you, how did you get to Virginia, anyway? That was across the country from where you lived, Bellevue in Washington state. You started lost walking, trying to understand what the hell was going on. It felt like you were on a parallel universe, like you were in a dream but couldn't wake up and it sure felt very real. You stoped a jornal shop taking a lot at the last newspaper in there, trying to figure if something happened that you were missing. However, nothing reported there shocked you, what did, though, was the date.

July 1st, 2008

You were about to ask someone about it when you bumped into a blonde woman, falling on the ground. As soon as you looked up, you almost chocked yourself. If the day was already weird, this was even weirder. A.J Cook was standing right in front of you with a concerned look. You couldn't really say anything, just staring at her like she wasn't real. It was weird seeing her in front of you after only seeing her through screens.

“I’m so sorry!” she said as she offered a hand for you to get up. “Are you ok?”

“I- um, yes! I’m fine.” you san, getting the dirt out of your outfit. “I’m a big fan of yours! Wish I had my phone here to take a picture but- sorry.“ you stoped talking, realizing she probably doesn’t care.

“Big fan of me? Wow, howcome somebody’s a fan of me?” she sounds surprised.

“Well, you’re on Criminal Minds.” you say as it was obvious.

She looked at you as if you were out of your mind. Not that you weren't thinking otherwise at the moment, anyways.

“I’m on what now?” she asked.

Maybe you got confused and she was the wrong person, but she looked so much like her to not be her. If they were not the same person, then definitely twins. This was so weird, once again, you found yourself asking ‘what the hell’ mentally.

“You’re JJ, Jennifer Jareau, FBI Agent and all.” you say, trying one more time. “Behaviour Analysis Unit...”

“Yea, that‘s me.” she let a nervous laugh comes out of her mouth. “How do you know me?”

‘This is weird’ you thought. How does she not understand where you know her from? Literally Criminal Minds, like you said at first. ‘Maybe this is all a dream.’

“I saw you on tv” you try.

“Oh, I see! You like law enforcement?” she asks you.

“Oh yes, I’m in law-school to be a judge someday.” you answered. “The show, all of it just makes me wanna put all them bad guys in jail.” you say, laughing a bit.

“The show...? What?” you hear her whisper, but decide to ignore it. “What’s the mask about?” JJ asks, making you look at her surprised.

“Um, covid-19?” you say like it’s obvious, because it is.

“Oh, sure...” she smiles as she says it, almost like she's only agreeing because she won't discuss it. “Great talking to you, really, but I gotta go, FBI duty calls.” she jokes.

You smile at her watching carefully as she picks up her phone from her pocket and pick up a call. That phone looked awfully old, like 2000’s old. Why would a famous actress have that kinda of phone? Then, you looked around trying to understand more about what was going on. It was all too out of place.

First, nobody wearing masks, not even a single person but you. Second, you were in a city in which is miles away from your own. Third, a famous actress acted like she’s nobody. And fourth, the date on the calendar said 2008.

If it wasn’t just impossible I would say I time travelled into Criminal Minds universe.

After standing there for literal 10 minutes trying to figure it out what you were going to do, you decide to go to the police department. After all, you may have been abducted, right? Because you didn’t have any knowledge of the place, you took quite some time to get there. As soon as you got there you sigh in relief, that has been quite a walk and damn, you were tired of this situation.

“Excuse me, ma’am, can you help me?” you ask to the lady standing behind the counter.

“Sure, dear. What do you need?” she looks up at you, taking her glasses of her face.

“I think I might have been abducted?” you start. “I woke up in this random apartment.”

“Maybe you had a one-night stand.” she said putting back her glasses.

“No! I am sure I didn’t because first of all, there’s a pandemic going on, second of all I was in Bellevue in Washington state when I went to sleep.” you yell, involuntarily, desperate to make her believe in you.

“Miss, I’m gonna need you to calm down or you will be escorted out of the building. You’re probably on drugs, there's nothing we can do for you.”

“Fuck you.” you say as you watch her face get all red.

Frustrated. That could define what you were feeling, scared and worried could do the work, as well. What were you going to do now? Go to the FBI to see if they could freaking understand why you simply appeared in Quantico? Didn't sound like a bad idea in your mind as you decided to just try it out. After all, you were already pretty screwed up, it would worth a shot.

You reached for your back pocket, hoping that the money you shoved in there more than a week ago would still be in there. Bingo! You pull out a 20 dollar bill out of it and the next thing you know you’re getting into a cab asking him to take you to the FBI. Now that’s something you never thought would happen. The travel was quite quick, in 20 minutos you were standing in front of that big isolated building. It looked like it was taken straight out of your favorite show, that was insane.

The wind blew hard on you when you got out of the vehicle, making you shiver a little, that reminded you that you did not have any clothes nor money to buy more. God, you did not even have where to go. You didn't even get the chance to get into the building as a big man steps in front of you, blocking your way.

“Miss, you're not allowed in this building.” he said without much expression.

“But, sir-” you started, as you saw he was about to interrupt you, you go on. “Ive been abducted and I don't know where or how the hell did I get in here, I’m completely hopeless... Please.” you beg him.

He started at you for a couple of seconds, that felt like centuries for you, just to sigh at you.

“Ok, follow me.” he said. “Do not make me regret this.”

“I-I won’t, sir.” you were quick to answer.

The agent asked another man to cover up for him as he led me into the building. Once again you found yourself admired of how much it did look like a Criminal Minds episode in there, if you weren't totally desperate you'd be amused. Soon, you two were out of the elevator on floor 8, leading with the words Behavior Analysis Unit quite big.

“Can you take her to Agent Jareau, please?” the man said to someone who passed by, who simply agreed.

Now, that's a funny coincidence, there's actually an Agent Jareau in the BAU.

You followed the woman with questioning trying to stay calm when you saw Matthew Gray Gubler sitting on a desk reading some book in Reid style, almost like he was Spencer himself. If you had any doubts you were going crazy, that was the final proof. You stoped walking, taking a stare at him and then at the Agent that stared a you like you were an alien.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks you. “Miss, are you ok?”

You were unable to answer for a few seconds when you finally opened you mouth, still trying to figure it out how to say what was on your mind without sounding completely insane.

“Is that Dr. Spencer Reid?”

And that was all you’re able to say because as soon as you let his name out of your mouth he looked up at you, trying to somehow recognize you. You were sure, that time, that you never looked - and sounded - as insane as right now.

“Yes, that's me.” he answers.

His voice was the last thing you could hear before everything go black. Maybe you were finally going to wake up. Maybe.

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casifer-is-king · 3 years

Text

Private Investigator

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x fem!reader

Rated: T

Warnings: some language, infidelity.

A/N: This is my first piece of writing in like five years.... I'm gonna warn everyone right now that this is probably not great hahaha. But it was impossible for me to get this idea out of my head and once I started writing it just kind of kept going.... And since it's all written out now, I might as well post it. So if you read this, thank you so very much 🥺💜 This is cross posted on AO3 under my username BlondiMarie.

You always gave your husband the benefit of the doubt. Even when all of your friends warned you about their suspicions. So, when it came down to you telling them you weren't going to confront him about anything without proof, they took it to heart and got planning.

That is how you found yourself in a crowded coffee shop during the lunch rush. Your two best friends, Ashley and Erin, sit across from you as you all wait for the Private Investigator that they had found who knows where. Supposedly, though, he was very qualified. And prompt, you noted, as the man you assumed was here to meet you walked up to your table three minutes before the appointed time.

"You must be my 12:30 meeting?" he asks."I'm Frankie Morales."

"It's nice to meet you," Ashley speaks up, then goes around introducing you all.

Frankie shakes hands with each of you before taking the empty seat next to you. In the crowded room, his chair is set close to your side and you can feel the heat of his body next to yours. He's definitely a cute guy you notice, in a rough, outdoorsy kind of way. His hair curls out from under a worn baseball cap and his facial hair is scruffy, but kept short with a patch along his jaw that doesn't seem to grow.

“So how can I help you ladies?” he asks.

“Well it's really for our friend here,” Erin states, gesturing to you. “It's her husband. We are pretty certain he's cheating on her.”

Frankie glances over at you. “Pretty certain, huh?” he asks as the waitress brings a cup of coffee over and places it in front of him. You find yourself suddenly distracted as he tears open two sugar packets with long, deft fingers, then picks up the spoon to stir it in.

Realizing that he's probably waiting for an answer, you feel yourself blush faintly. “They are pretty certain. I just want to be sure either way. I don't have any specific proof that he's cheating,” you say, finally tearing your eyes away from his hands. He's thoughtlessly twisting the spoon between his index finger and thumb. It's somehow entrancing, the way his fingers move.

“But he's definitely pretty shady,” Ashley steps in. “Suddenly he's working long hours at work, coming home late from the bars and claiming he's with his friends. Plus when is the last time he even took you out?”

The question is pointed at you, but you ignore it by looking into your tea cup instead. It had been months since the two of you had gone on a real date. It's something you both enjoyed a lot in the early years of your relationship - going out to a new restaurant every weekend and ordering three course meals just for the fun of it.

"Yeah, I see this shit all the time," he assures, saving you from having to answer. "If he's doing anything he shouldn't be, I'll find out."

Your friends and him discuss his rates and when payment is due before they rush off, both having to get back to work.

"Did you have to get going too?" Frankie asks you when it's just the two of you left at the table.

"Not yet," you reply.

"That's good." He ducks his head a little so you can't see his eyes anymore, "I was wondering if I could ask a few more questions. Like about your husband's schedule and where he likes to spend his time."

“Of course. He works at an architecture company downtown. It used to be a Monday through Friday, 8 to 5 type of job. But the past few months he's been working late, sometimes he's even going in on Saturdays. Says it's some big project and he's expecting a promotion by the end of it.”

Frankie takes note of your husband's workplace on one of the tiny napkins. When he sees that you're watching him, he ducks his eyes from view again. “Forgot my notebook,” he says sheepishly.

You crack a smile at his embarrassment, but don't say anything, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. You continue on like nothing happened. “He goes out with his friends a lot, but he's always been that way. I stopped going with him a while ago. He said it brings their team spirit down when he always has to explain the game to me.”

“Not big into sports?” Frankie asks, and you can detect a bit of teasing in his tone.

“Not even a little bit,” you laugh openly.

Frankie makes a little bullet point on his napkin and writes, ‘X sports,’ on it. “Any specific places your husband goes to watch the games?”

“Usually Sally's, over on 7th street,” you provide.

“Yeah, I know it. They do the karaoke after the game,” Frankie states nonchalantly.

“Yes! That's why we agreed on that bar. I'm a sucker for bad karaoke,” you laugh.

“You should see my friend Pope after he gets a few drinks in him,” Frankie chuckled. “Man can't even sing when he's sober, let alone drunk off his ass.”

“Those are just the best performances, though,” you say with a smile.

“It's definitely something,” Frankie nods with a snort.

Your phone chimes an alarm, alerting you off your next meeting you need to get to. "I'm sorry, I actually do have to go now," you apologize, actually feeling sorry that you had to leave this conversation. Frankie is easy to talk to, and an attentive listener.

"Oh, right. Well maybe I could get your number? Ya know, just in case I have any other questions as I go?" Frankie asks quietly, dipping his head again and fiddling with his long-empty coffee cup.

"Of course!" You agree readily, taking his offered phone and adding your details into his contacts. "And thank you again for doing this. It may end up being nothing, but my friends are very overzealous."

"It's not a problem. Just doing my job. I'll let you know what I come up with either way," Frankie replies with a small smile.

As you walk out together, he holds the door open for you and your turn to him once you both come out onto the sidewalk. "Does it often end up ending well? For people you've looked into in the past..." you ask.

Frankie squints a little and his eyes show flecks of warm caramel in the sunshine. "Not often," he replies finally.

You nod, your heart dropping faintly. His honesty is appreciated though, so you grace him with a small smile. "Thank you again."

You don't hear from Frankie for the next few days, but you do think of him. Especially any time your husband does something that makes your gut do that little tug of dread.

It's five days later that you get a text.

Game night tonight. Did your husband happen to say if he was going out? Frankie asks.

You reply maybe a bit too quickly, of course he is. He's leaving here soon to meet up with the guys.

You feel a little less self conscious when it's barely a second later and Frankie is already typing back. Well let's hope that's where he'll actually be.

He'd never miss a game XD, you reply. Sports are like religion to those guys. So you get to just go to the bar and watch them watch the game? Sounds fun hah.

No one ever said it was a glamorous job, Frankie sends back. But it's always a perk when I can drink and watch some football while I'm at it.

You send back some laughing emojis, and set your phone down to heat up some dinner.

Your husband sweeps through the kitchen, grabbing his keys and jacket. “I'm meeting the guys now,” he says.

“Ok, have a good time,” you reply, turning to face him. He nods, pulling on a hat. “I love you.”

“You too,” he replies briskly, dropping a faint kiss on your forehead and walking out the door.

You sigh, plating your food and wandering back to the living room to watch something on TV while you ate.

Your phone flashes a notification and you look down to see Frankie had sent another text.

How have you been doing? He asks.

As well as can be expected, you text back.

Try not to stress too much. I'll let you know if I find anything out, he replies.

It makes you smile, even if you know there's no way you'll stop stressing at this point.

The weeks went by and texts from Frankie became more frequent. He'd ask a few questions about your husband, then branch off into asking about your day. Those conversations then opened up to you both telling stories about your jobs, which would lead to talking about other aspects of your life. You talked a lot about your pasts - he tells you about how he grew up, some funny and interesting stories from his time in Delta Force, and about his best friend's MMA fights.

You tell him about your family, tell him stories about all the ridiculous people you come across at your job, and do a lot of venting about your crumbling marriage and husband.

You feel bad every time you bring it up, but it's always so much easier to talk to Frankie than it is even Ashley and Erin. At least with him, each of your concerns weren't met with a look of pity and “I told you so,” retort.

The marriage has been spiraling for several months now, and maybe hiring a private investigator was the push you needed to really bring the issues to light. You noticed more often when your husband chose to spend nights out “with the guys” and when he'd go into the other room to check his phone. And when you finally point out the lack of time he spends with you anymore, he gets automatically defensive.

You felt alone in your relationship and it was starting to make you feel bitter. He was definitely hiding something, and you trusted that Frankie would find out for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie had been working this job for a few weeks now. He'd worked a ton of infidelity investigations since he'd lost his pilot license and finally got clean. But this one was different. He wasn't sure what drew him to her, but he couldn't help but want to know her.

Was it professional to text your client every day asking her if Sally from the overnight shift left a pile of work behind for her to deal with for the fourth day in a row? Probably not. But that didn't stop him from trying to glean any little piece of information about her that he could.

He kept it friendly, though, trying not to cross farther from that line between client and something more. But she was a sweet woman, and she had seemed so quiet at that first meeting in the coffee shop. And sad. Like she didn't want to get caught up in the things her friends were saying, but somewhere deep down knew what they were saying was true.

And, dammit, Frankie always had a soft spot for sweet, sad women.

Which is why he is spending his seventh night in a row sitting in his car across the street from her husband's workplace. During their earlier conversation she had mentioned that her husband claimed he was working late tonight. But in the weeks that Frankie had been on this case, the man never worked late once.

Right on time, his target exited the building. He was not alone this time, though, having his arm around a brunette that Frankie recognized as one of his co-workers that he had gone to lunch with a couple times.

Frankie snapped a few pictures of them together, the target’s arm pulling the brunette closer than appropriate, in Frankie's opinion. They both got into his car and Frankie began to follow behind.

Just as they parked at some restaurant across town, Frankie's phone rings and Benny's name lights up the screen.

“Hey,” Frankie greets.

“Dude, where are you?” Benny asks, his voice pitched a bit higher than usual.

“I'm working,” Frankie replied, keeping a close watch as his target is sat conveniently at a window table.

“Come on, Fish, it's Friday night! Will and I are already at the bar drinking.”

Frankie checks the clock and scoffs a bit when he sees it's only 1830. “Sorry, Benny, but I have to work late tonight.”

“You make your own hours. Isn't that why you chose that damned job? So you can decide when you do and don't work. So just decide you can't work tonight and get your ass over here!” Benny all but whines. “What's the deal with this case, Fish? I thought it was a simple cheating husband. You're not usually so obsessive over these ones.”

And leave it to Benny to call him out on his abnormal behavior. “I'm gonna close this case tonight, I have a feeling. Sorry, brother, but I'll see you tomorrow afternoon for practice,” Frankie placates his best friend.

“Sure, ok man. See ya then,” Benny finally gives in.

It's another boring hour of staring at his target before they are finally on the move again. Back to what Frankie assumes is the brunette's house, where they both go inside and Frankie adjusts himself in his seat to find a comfy position for the foreseeable future.

It's another two hours later when the door finally opens and Frankie scrambles to get his camera up, keeping his head down. He hopes for a little luck and is rewarded when both parties enter the doorway and embrace with a final, passionate kiss.

Frankie's camera keeps clicking away, even as his anger continues to rise. He has to hold himself back from throwing himself out of the car and punching his target in the face. He wants to know why her husband would bother with another woman when he has her at home waiting. Wants to know why her husband would throw away everything he has with the sweet woman who was so trusting at the start of all this. But that would definitely be crossing a line, and Frankie has never felt the need to go that far before. So he reins himself and waits until the target has driven away and the brunette has closed the door behind her, before he drives home himself to develop the pictures and complete his paperwork.

Developing pictures at home can be time consuming, but Frankie usually finds comfort in the task. It's a hobby he took up to distract himself from his cravings, and the darkroom usually brings him comfort after particularly stressful days. Tonight, though, watching these images fade onto the photo paper, he is angry. He knows this news is going to crush her, regardless of her suspicions. And while this is usually the case with clients, Frankie isn't sure that he could handle it if you broke down in front of him as some women have in the past.

He's learned so much about her in the past few weeks, from her favorite color to her favorite song when she was 10, and all of these things have endeared her to him in a way no other person has before. And he's opened up to her in return; in a way he hasn't any other woman in his past. But she makes it easy.

It's late when Frankie has finished compiling the file, so he decides not to text her yet and strips down for bed and drifts off, hoping for at least a few hours of restful, dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You got a text from Frankie late the next morning, hey, dulzura. What are your plans today?

Finally my day off lol, you text back.

Think you could pencil me into your busy schedule? Say in an hour?

Frankie had yet to schedule another meeting, opting to ask any questions he had between texts about their days. With a sinking feeling, you quickly type out, definitely. How about the same café as before?

Sounds good. I'll see you then.

You got ready with a sense of dread. You knew that this meant Frankie had found something. There was that small chance that he came up with nothing in these past few weeks, but the more realistic side of you knew how this would end.

The drive to the coffee shop was short, and the parking lot was thankfully much less crowded than last time. Walking in, you spotted Frankie right away at the same table by the windows. You placed your order before heading over to the table. He was stirring a cup of coffee again, but quickly turned his whole focus toward you as you sag across from him.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Frankie asked. “Your friends couldn't make it?”

“I'm good. It's nice to see you again,” you answered. “I actually didn't tell them. I kinda wanted to find out the truth privately. I'll tell them as soon as I've processed whatever you have to tell me. I'm assuming that's why you wanted to meet? You found what we were looking for?”

Frankie's hand moves to the back of his neck as he gives a slow nod. He pulls a yellow envelope from the chair next to him and places it on the table between you. “Yeah. I have some pictures here.”

You begin to reach out, but stop short before touching the folder. You know if you look now, in the middle of this café, you'll just break down when you see the proof of your husband's affair.

“Please just tell me,” you implore, eyes looking up, but not quite reaching his.

Frankie is quiet for a moment, studying you with his chocolate eyes. Finally he lets out a short sigh and responds, “Andrew's having an affair with a coworker. Looks like it's been around five months.”

The news hits you directly in the chest. It makes it hard to breathe. Knowing it was likely that he was cheating and having picture proof of it are two different things. You feel like it shouldn't hurt this much, but can't help the way your body collapses into itself.

“I know it's not the news you wanted,” Frankie starts, but you cut him off.

“No, but it's what I needed to know. So thank you. I appreciate all the work you put into it. I'm really sorry, but Ashley just went out of town and she won't be back for two weeks. I can get Erin's half of your fee, then get the rest as soon as Ash is back.” You quickly switch to the business end of the meeting, hoping to delay having to come to terms with this new information.

Frankie looks a little whiplashed at the sudden change in topic, but catches up quickly. “It's really not a big deal. I'm not too worried about two weeks. How about we just meet up again once you all have everything together. No stress.”

His hands are fiddling with his coffee cup again, and you focus on them as one index finger absently caresses the handle of the cup, the thumb of his other hand moving up and down the opposite side of it. You're caught off guard again by the movement of his fingers. It's sensual, how his large hands and long fingers massage the warm ceramic.

You're distracted from your observation of those hands when the barista sets your to-go tea in front of you. Finally looking up again, you see Frankie's brows have pinched together, forming a little worry line between them.

“I'll get it to you as soon as possible,” you finally fall back into conversation.

“That's fine. Really, don't stress about it,” Frankie reiterates.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask softly after a brief pause.

“Of course, hermosa.”

“Why did you become a private investigator?”

The question catches Frankie off guard for a second time; you can tell by the subtle widening of his eyes followed by a brief knitting of his brows. Then he quickly hides his eyes behind the bill of his baseball cap, feigning stirring his coffee a couple times. Not used to being able to see his face when the two of you have conversations, you realized he's actually quite expressive. He must know it too, because you note his hidden eyes as something you'd seen him do the first time you met him.

“You don't have to tell me,” you extended a way out for him, noting his sudden discomfort.

“No, it's fine. Um, remember when I told you before how I moved on from being a pilot to this?” At your nod, Frankie continued on slowly, like he was forming each word in his head twice before speaking it. “Well, it was less that I moved on and more that I lost my license. Uh, addiction issues. I know how that sounds! But I swear I'm clean now and -”

You can sense Frankie spiraling, so you impulsively reach out and place one of your hands on his large one. “You don't have to plead your case with me, Frankie. I'm not judging you.”

Frankie freezes momentarily, then relaxes. You feel one of his long fingers twitch on the tabletop under yours and quickly remove your hand. There's a little sigh from him before he continues, “well, anyway, this was kinda just something that fell in my lap. My friend, Ironhead, works with enlisted still and heard it's pretty easy to get into if you have the background and patience for sittin’ around and waiting. Well, I had the experience with my past in Delta Force, figured the patients would come along as I go. Never did like surveillance gigs.”

The last sentence seems like an afterthought, but you catch the mild disdain in his voice and it makes you smile to see the man in front of you sounding so petulant. “Ok, but Ironhead is an interesting name,” you comment.

Frankie huffed a laugh. “His call-sign actually. Most of us had one on my squad.”

“Oh really? And what was yours?”

“Catfish,” Frankie responds immediately.

“Catfish?” You repeat. “Where did that one come from?” you laugh a little bit.

“And that's a story for a different day,” Frankie responds with a laugh of his own.

After another small pause, your eyes drift back down to the inconspicuous envelope sitting on the table in front of you. With another small smile and a nod, you reach for the envelope. “I better get going. Lots of errands to get through on my day off.” It's a lie, but you figure a swift exit is necessary in this moment.

Frankie nods, then shifts his hat to run a hand through his already messy curls. Hat back in place, he stands and gestures that he'll walk you out.

Back outside, in the bright afternoon sun, Frankie looks down at you as he walks you all the way to your car. His eyes are caramel again, but they hold a bit of something akin to sadness in them. He drops his head, those eyes disappearing behind the bill of his cap, and slides his hands into his pockets, shoulders curving inward. “I really am sorry,” he begins. “I had hoped it would be different this time. You deserve better than some cabrón who can't see that he already has something great right in front of him.”

Frankie sounds so sincere that it stops you short. You look up at him as he peeks from under his hat. His mouth is twisted into a frown under his mustache. And that's all it takes for your eyes to begin to fill with tears.

In an instant, Frankie's arms are around you. He doesn't hesitate to pull you into a loose hug. One you could easily step away from if you had the care to do so. Instead, you step forward and accept the comfort. In a second, his arms close around you tighter and you're wrapped in his warmth, face pressed into his brown jacket. Trying not to fall apart right here in the parking lot, you catalog how his arms feel around you, and how warm his chest is.

His jacket smells like an auto garage, faintly like oil, but his shirt underneath smells woodsy - probably whatever cologne he sprayed on this morning - and, underneath that, clean like fresh linen. It's a comforting scent, and you breathe it in for a second longer than probably necessary before you finally lean back. He drops his arms immediately and takes half a step back.

“I am so sorry,” you apologize instantly.

“No, don't be. You have no reason to be. Just, um, get home safe ok?” That worry line is present between his eyes again. “Text me when you get home.”

“I'll be ok,” you assure him. You climb into your car and allow him to close the door gently for you. He steps back and gives a tiny wave before he turns and walks over to his own truck.

The drive home is a bit of a blur. You call Erin and Ashley on the way to tell them the news. Erin is instantly in her car and on her way over. “We are gonna change the locks and have ourselves a movie night,” she proclaims.

Ashley frets over not being there, but you assure her you're okay and she should enjoy her vacation. You only called because she'd freak if you told Erin before her.

Erin gets to your house 30 minutes later with a box of cheap wine and a bag full of snacks. You talk her out of changing the locks, but it doesn't matter either way because when you text Andrew to tell him you're having a girls night he tells you he's going to be out late anyway and not to wait up.

Your heart drops the way it always does when you suspect a lie. This time, though, it's not just speculation. You have the proof right in front of you, in an unopened manila envelope partially covered in chip bags.

“So is that them?” Erin speaks, noticing your gaze on the offending envelope.

“I guess so. Pictures and proof of my husband's affair with some front desk girl at his office.” Your tone is mild, but you feel a pressure building behind your eyes once more and that crushing weight settling over your sternum.

“Have you looked yet?” Erin asked.

“Nope.”

“Are you gonna?”

“We can open them together,” you suggest.

But before she can answer, your phone beeps to alert you that you got a new text message.

Hey, bonita, is everything ok? You never texted me… You safe?

His words bring a small smile to your face. Frankie always has a way of making you feel like he truly cares. Checking in often, but never overstepping into being overbearing. It's a warm welcome compared to the icy breeze of you and your husband's cohabitation of the same home, but never really living together.

You type out, yes. Sorry. Erin insisted on a girls night, and hit send.

That's good. Did she bring the salsa verde doritos?

Your smile grows at the mention of your favorite chips. Of course he'd remember something as silly as that. Frankie had a knack for remembering little details. Things you sometimes even forgot to had ever mentioned he would bring up weeks later in a random conversation. It's probably just a Frankie Morales thing, but it still always made you feel just a little special that he remembered such details.

“What has you suddenly shining like the sun?” Erin questions with a raised eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you know you're blushing, but you try to play it cool. “Just Frankie checking in. Making sure you're taking care of me.”

“Um, of course I'm taking care of you! Who else is gonna do it?” Erin jokes, pushing your shoulder teasingly. “Unless Mr. Morales was trying to volunteer for the job?”

“He's just being kind,” you roll your eyes at Erin's implication. “He's been very supportive through this whole thing.”

“Supportive, huh? And what kind of support might he be offering?” In a swift motion your phone is suddenly in your best friends hands and she's danced off to the other side of the room. Ignoring your protests and attempts to claim back your property, she starts swiping through weeks of conversation between you and Frankie. “Holy shit! Have you two even stopped talking since you met?”

“Come on, Erin,” you beg, “he’s just been asking for more information for his investigation and making sure I'm okay.”

“Two days ago you told him about the goldfish you got in college that died within the week. Was that pertinent information to his investigation?”

Seizing an opportunity, you snatched your phone back, clutching it to your chest. “Shouldn't you be trying to cheer me up?”

“Looks like your new bestie Frankie should be here instead,” she snarks with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh shut it and pour me some wine,” you reply with an exaggerated eye roll.

While your friend is busy you quickly type out a response to Frankie. She's pretty much the worst. Brought bbq instead even though she knows I hate them.

Frankie's reply is quick, or maybe that's why she brought them. So she wouldn't have to share with you, avara.

I don't know what you just called me, but I know I'm offended.

Frankie's reply is a long string of laughing emojis.

With the photos forgotten, you let Erin put on some 80’s movie and tried your best to enjoy the night. The envelope would still be there tomorrow, so for tonight you just relax.

It will probably be the last time you'll be able to in a while anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie hasn't heard from her in a few days. She doesn't text as often and it doesn't feel like his place to bother her.

Today, though, he woke up late after being out late on a surveillance job to a text from her. I'm kicking him out. I can't stand to live here with him anymore. I just want him gone and out of my life.

Squinting down at the bright screen if his phone, Frankie replies, is there anything I can do for you, bonita?

Recommend me a great divorce lawyer? Is her response. He knows it's sarcasm, but he shoots her a list of a few lawyers he knows of and trusts anyway.

Frankie was glad she wasn't going to stick around with the bastard. He'd seen that enough times to know it never works out anyway, and always makes things worse in the end.

You're amazing Frankie. Thank you for everything. I also have your payment in full btw. Do you have time this weekend to meet and grab it?

You really don't need to thank me, dulzura. I just want to help. This Sunday is good for me. At the café?

Her reply takes a little longer this time, so Frankie finally drags himself out of bed. A quick look at the time tells him he barely has time for a shower before he has to meet Ironhead and Benny for their planned fishing trip. Once Frankie is back, she had finally replied with a simple, yes.

She had rarely been short in her texts before, and it made Frankie's stomach sink a little. Shooting off a quick, let me know if there's anything you need, he pockets the phone and heads out.

A few more days pass with minimal texts. Frankie makes a point to text at least once a day. Maybe it's intrusive, but she never complains about it. And, if he's honest with himself, he misses her too much to stop now.

He realizes that she has become a fixture in his life. Going from texting multiple times throughout the day to barely a good morning text over his morning coffee makes him twitchy and he feels like he's always wondering what she's doing.

Sunday finally comes and Frankie is at the café ten minutes early, ready to finally see her in person. Ready to hold a conversation with her, even if only for a moment. But the ten minutes pass, then another ten and his leg starts to bounce under the table. She's never been late before, and Frankie checks his phone for a 20th time to make sure she hasn't texted to tell him she's had a change of plans. He decides to shoot her a text himself to make sure she didn't forget about their meeting.

Twenty more minutes with no response to his text and Frankie is back in his truck. He's already talked himself out of driving to her house and just knocking on the door several times. But as his truck rumbles to life and he exits the parking lot, he ends up turning left instead of right. Going to her house would be viewed as crossing some line in Frankie's eyes. He's never gone to a clients home without invitation before. Generally it's best to go about as if you don't even have that information, just to keep people from getting creeped out.

Frankie justifies his actions now by telling himself he just needs to see that she's okay. That her not showing up is abnormal and thus deserving of investigation.

When he pulls up to the curb across from her house, he notes the two cars in the driveway. His heart drops as he sees that one of them is her husband’s, parked neatly behind hers. Frankie knows she had told him she was kicking Andrew out, but his heart drops as he realizes maybe she had reconciled with him and he moved back. Frankie wonders if that's why she had been so distant lately.

He's about to just pull away when he notices the front door open and there she is. She has her arms full of boxes which she unceremoniously drops onto the sidewalk outside. She looks frazzled, but unharmed, Frankie takes a mental note. But she's yelling back into the house, her face red with anger.

Andrew shows himself in that moment, coming outside to scream something in her face. In the next moment, he's grabbing her roughly by the arm and trying to force her back into the house.

Frankie is out of his truck before he really has time to think. He's across the street and reaching them with quick, efficient steps in only a moment, which causes a pause in the fighting for a second. Frankie takes advantage of their confusion to gently pull her away from Andrew's loosened grip and moving her so that he is between the fighting couple.

Andrew, for his part, still has a look of surprise that has rendered him frozen in his spot. Whether that's from the way Frankie had barged into the situation or the pure anger that is radiating off Frankie's body, it's hard to say. But it gives Frankie the window he needs to pull back his fist and firmly plant it into Andrew's nose. Frankie hears the snap and feels the familiar give of a nose breaking under his knuckles.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he growls. “And I suggest not coming back around. Don't come near her, don't call her, don't even think about her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Andrew has run off, finally taking the remainder of his belongings with him, you're left alone with an angry Frankie, his fists still clenched and his shoulders tense.

Honestly, he's sexy as hell and you definitely notice. Anybody would be blind not to, you think to yourself.

You usher him inside, through to your kitchen, and pour two glasses of whiskey, sliding one over to him.

“I'm sorry I barged in,” Frankie apologizes after he takes a large gulp of his drink. “I didn't hear from you today and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Shit, your money! I am so sorry.”

“It's fine, hermosa. I'm not worried about the money. I was worried about you.”

His declaration freezes both of you for a moment, before you lift your own cup to your lips and take a sizable sip.

“He was supposed to come by while I was out today, but he showed up early. I guess he's been trying to get ahold of me,” you finally break the silence.

“You guess?” Frankie repeats back.

“Well, I blocked his number cuz I got tired of his constant calls and texts. He thinks I'm being irrational and we should work this out. But I've also heard that he's been staying with his side piece ever since I kicked him out, so….”

Frankie shoots back the rest of his alcohol. “I can get you paperwork for a restraining order,” he offers.

You smile at that because of course Frankie would offer you more help. “I think you already did enough for me,” you reply.

Frankie's hand goes to the back of his neck and his head dips low, “I shouldn't have hit him. That's just gonna cause you more trouble.”

“Don't worry about that,” you chastise gently. “He got what was coming to him and he knows it. It's just that, you have done a lot for me in general these past few weeks. A lot more than I think I can pay you back for.” Speaking of which, you turn to your purse on the counter, digging through it to pull out the check written out to Frankie.

“Maybe you can pay me back with dinner,” Frankie aims for nonchalants.

It draws a breathy laugh from your throat. “It would take a lot of dinners to cover your fee.”

“Well, we could start with one and see where it goes from there.”

✨✨Part 2✨✨

#triple frontier #triple frontier imagine #pi!frankie #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 19

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

While at first the days and nights that Mulder is away on a case feel lonely, she soon comes to appreciate the time to herself. She reads more, watches the rom-coms that he despises, has one-sided conversations with Priscilla, and gives her vibrator, long since relegated to the back of her bedside drawer, a second lease on life. When Mulder is home he’s more animated and energetic, their sex exciting and passionate. The things she loves best about him magnified, but also some of the worst. There have been a few nights he’s missed dinner without so much as a phone call, and her worry quickly gave way to irritation when he waltzed in the door raving about secret storage facilities hidden in mountains. They create new routines, new boundaries and expectations, and as time wears on, they adjust. He’ll call if he’s going to miss dinner, and she won’t guilt trip him when unexpected cases ruin their plans.

The day before Thanksgiving, he gets a tip from one of his sources about a UFO crash site in Utah and books himself and Monica tickets for that night. Scully questions whether he’s going to miss Thanksgiving dinner at her mother’s and he grimaces, saying he hopes to be back but as usual, can’t make any promises.

The last she hears from him is around 8:00 am on Thanksgiving day when he asks her to send his regrets to her mom. She tries to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she promises to pack up some leftovers for him to have when he gets home. When he hasn’t called by Friday afternoon, she’s a little bit worried. By Friday night, she’s panicking.

Not knowing what else to do, she goes to the Gunmen’s, using her own special knock that spells out “doc” in Morse code.

“Hey, Sis, are you okay?” Missy greets her with a worried frown, now an honorary fourth member of the trio.

“I haven’t heard from Mulder in over twenty four hours,” she answers, breezing past Missy and into the tech room. “I need you to find him for me.”

The Gunmen work their magic while Missy pours her drink after drink. They track his flight into Salt Lake City and then ping his cell phone just outside Provo around 8:00 pm Thursday night. After that, nothing.

“What do you know about the case he was investigating?” Byers asks, perched behind a computer with Missy’s arms draped over his shoulders, her chin resting on his head.

Scully rubs her hands over her face in frustration. “Nothing, other than an alleged UFO crash site. He didn’t give me any other information.”

“What about his partner, Agent Reyes?” Langly asks, “do you have any way to get ahold of her?”

“I’ve tried her cell a hundred times, it’s off,” Scully replies, feeling tears coming up again.

“Does she have a family, someone else you could contact to see if she’s been in touch?” Byers adds.

“She has a partner, Dahlia,” Scully explains, “but I don’t know her last name to look up her number. I’m sure it’s in Monica’s file as her emergency contact, but the whole Hoover Building is shut down for the holiday. I know that her first name is Dahlia, she works at a flower shop in Alexandria, and they live in Palisades. That’s it.”

“Well we can work with that, why don’t you go home and get some rest?” Frohike offers, resting his hand on her shoulder.

She shakes her head, quiet tears slipping down her cheeks. “I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers, her voice small and afraid.

“I’ll come with you, Sis,” Missy says, replacing Frohike behind Scully and wrapping her arms around her sister’s shoulders.

After Missy has gathered her things and kissed Byers goodbye, she drives Scully’s car back to her apartment and plies her with more alcohol. They hold hands as they sleep, Scully’s dreams plagued by visions of Mulder detained, hurt, or worst of all, dead. If she’d had any idea that having the X files reopened would put his life at risk, she never would have entertained the idea.

Please come home, she begs God, the universe, Mulder himself if he’s somewhere listening. Please be okay.

The phone shrieks and she sits up abruptly, her head spinning. Early dawn light is just beginning to seep into the room and she feels like she hasn’t slept at all.

“Mulder?!” she blurts out, a thousand prayers on the tip of her tongue.

“No, it’s Langly, sorry. We got a number for Agent Reyes’ partner.”

Missy is now awake, and scrambles to the hallway to get a pen and paper so Scully can write down Dahlia Vidales’ phone number.

“Thank you Langly, bye,” she says and hangs up without waiting for a response. She dials Dahlia’s number with shaky hands, repeating please please please in her head over and over.

“¿Hola?” says a creaky voice, and Scully glances at the clock to see that it’s only 6:00 am.

“Dahlia?” she asks desperately, her head feeling thick and muddy.

“¿Si, Quién es?”

“This is Dana Scully, have you heard from Monica recently?” Her throat feels thick and dry, her ears ringing in protest of what they might hear.

“Oh, Hi Dana. Yes, I spoke to her last night around ten pm.”

She lets out a shaky breath, feeling a wave of relief.

“Was Mulder with her?” she questions, her jaw quivering.

“Si, she said their cell phones were confiscated and they had stopped at a diner to get something to eat. She called me from a payphone. Is everything okay, Dana?”

She’s shaking, her body suddenly freezing even under her down comforter. The tension she’s been holding for the last two days erupts in a wave of tremors and she starts sobbing.

“Did she say when they’ll be home?” she forces out around her tears.

“They were hoping to get a flight this morning, so sometime today, should be.”

“Thank you, Dahlia. Sorry to wake you,” she says, and hangs up.

Missy holds her as she shakes uncontrollably, her head aching as her racking sobs jostle her dehydrated brain. Missy runs her a hot bath and after some ibuprofen, two big glasses of water, a set of warm clothes and a hot meal, she feels physically much better.

Mentally, she has shifted from worry, fear, and despair to white hot rage. When he walks in that door, she is going to kill him.

———

“Later, Reyes, sorry to hijack your Thanksgiving,” he says with a regretful smile as Monica slides into a cab. He grabs the next one, chucking his duffel bag into the trunk and slumping into the back seat with an exhausted sigh.

It’s been a long few days. They’d located the crash site and even got a little peek at it from behind a utility shed, but soon after they were loaded up in a paddy wagon and interrogated for six hours in a place that was definitely not a police station. When they were finally released, it was without their cell phones, though the suits were kind enough to let them keep their FBI badges.

He needs a shower and a shave, and a good night's sleep. He hopes Scully has gone grocery shopping, and if he's really lucky, there will still be Thanksgiving leftovers. He’d tried calling her from the terminal but she hadn’t answered. At least he has a full day off tomorrow before getting back to the daily grind on Monday.

The cab drops him off outside Scully’s apartment building and he tosses some money over the seat before retrieving his bag. Once inside, he’s fitting his key into the lock when the door swings open and he finds Melissa on the other side.

“Oh, hey Missy,” he says with a touch of surprise.

“I was just leaving,” she replies with an icy stare, and he wonders if something is up with her and Byers.

“Okay, see ya,” he says as she brushes past him and down the hall.

The apartment is dim, a fire crackling in the fireplace the only source of light.

“Scully?” he calls out as Priscilla trots up to him, rubbing her flank against his leg. He picks her up and scratches under her chin, letting her rub her cheek against his two-day stubble.

“I’m here,” Scully says flatly, and he realizes she’s lying on the couch.

He picks up his bag and walks it to the bedroom, dropping it on the floor and discarding his suit jacket on the bed. Returning to the living room, he leans down to kiss her on the cheek and then stands between the fire and the couch, facing her.

“Did you have plans for dinner?” he asks, “I’m starving.”

She scoffs, but he can’t make out her face in the dim light.

“Make your own fucking dinner,” she spits at him, and he physically recoils. Scully very rarely swears, so when she does, it means something.

“Whoa,” he says with a concerned tone, “What’s going on with you?”

“What’s going on with me?” she repeats, moving to sit up. “What’s going on with me? Hmm, let’s see,” she continues, her voice shifting to angry sarcasm. “Perhaps, Mulder, what’s going on with me is that my boyfriend skipped town just in time to miss Thanksgiving dinner with my family and I had to answer questions all night about where he was. Or maybe,” she says as she leans over and snaps on the lamp on the end table, illuminating her face. Her eyes are red and puffy, pronounced bags resting underneath them. “Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t heard from you in over fifty hours, not a single phone call, or email, nothing. Maybe what’s going on with me, Mulder, is that I have barely slept in two days.” She stands, moving towards him, her voice rising in volume and her bottom lip quivering. “Maybe what’s going on with me is that I thought you were fucking dead, and I had to track down Dahlia to learn that not only were you alive and well, but you were also perfectly capable of calling me, but simply chose not to. MAYBE that is what is going on with me, Mulder!”

He stands there shell-shocked as she pushes past him, slamming the bedroom door shut as wails of agony erupt from the other side. Priscilla jumps up on to the coffee table and quirks her head at him with a meow.

“I have no idea,” he says to the cat.

He cautiously opens the bedroom door and finds Scully sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, a wad of tissues in her hand and tears streaking her face. She looks up at him with a wounded expression that he’s never seen before, and would never like to again

“I’m sorry, Scully, I didn’t mean to make you worry,” he says softly, approaching her.

She gives him an incredulous look.

“How the hell would I not worry if I hear nothing from you for two days, Mulder? What was I supposed to think? And why didn’t you call me?”

“They took my phone, Scully,” he offers, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“What about the phone in your hotel room, Mulder? Or a pay phone, or a goddamn stranger’s phone. Your cell phone is not the only device available for you to contact me with.”

He’s starting to feel like he’s being lectured by his mother for staying out past curfew.

“Okay, Jesus, I get it. I’ll try to call next time,” he says with an irritated tone.

“You’ll try?” Scully asks him, the anger taking center stage again.

He shrugs. “Shit happens, Scully. You don’t know what it’s like out in the field. Sometimes you don’t have access to a phone, or you’re running down a lead and just can’t waste the time to make a call.”

The shift in her demeanor tells him that was the wrong thing to say.

“Waste the time?” she asks in a tight whisper. “Calling me so I know you’re okay is a waste of your time?”

“God, no, Scully, that’s not what I meant. You’re twisting my words around. Look, I’m exhausted, I’ve barely gotten any sleep, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“YOU’VE barely gotten any sleep?!” she screams, then stands and walks towards him. Even with the ten inches he has on her, she looks larger than life, imposing, and scary. “I have been lying awake crying for two days worried about you!” she shouts up at him. “Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

He’s dumbstruck. He can’t remember the last time she referred to it as her apartment instead of theirs.

“Scully, you can’t be serious, all my stuff is he-”

“I said get OUT!” She cuts him off. She picks up his bag and walks it to the front door, tossing it into the hallway.

He walks slowly towards the door, waiting for her to say she doesn’t mean it, that they should get some sleep and talk about this in the morning. She stands beside the open door, her chest heaving and her jaw set, eyes focused on some far-away point but most certainly not on him. He steps into the hallway, opening his mouth to speak, and she slams the door in his face.

He hears the thunk of the deadbolt, and the sound strikes him as similar to the final nail in a coffin.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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caker-baker · 3 years

Note

I love your super speed vs. telepathy snippets so much! Well, actually, I love all of your writing but I was really hoping you might continue it please? I would be very grateful!

The faces of the hero’s friends, cohorts, whatever one should call them, were clear in the villain’s mind, the hero had each memorized quite well.

They once again pulled at the mental track, letting go once they knew their hero was far away from whatever this place was.

Heroes didn’t always get the luxury of nicer headquarters, the villain had to admit that. If they couldn’t steal money, they must get it from their day jobs, or wherever they disappeared to when they weren’t fighting.

The clearly used pin pad showed wear on the numbers the hero had in their head, the passcode could’ve been figured out even if the villain didn’t go through their mind.

8, 5, 18, 15, 5, 19.

It corresponded with the alphabet, spelling ‘heroes’. A stupid name, a stupid passcode, even the hero thought that.

No matter.

The villain was able to walk right in, hands shoved in pockets, a grin on their face.

It was quiet in the talking sense, not extraordinary by any means. Four people in total lounged about.

Only one hero took immediate note at first. If the hero’s, now the villain’s memory served, this hero had no particular powers, but she was a skilled fighter.

And loud.

It’s the crazy villain. The others haven’t noticed. Where are their weak points? Attack first or wait?

So unorganized, this hero’s thoughts.

“Personally,” the villain began, slowly taking their hands out of their pockets. “I would attack first. It makes it easier on me.”

“Guys.” The unorganized hero said, voice stern. Her words were of no use, though, as the three others had already stood.

A thousand thoughts hit at once.

That’s not Hero.

Why hasn’t Hero come back yet?

They knew the passcode.

What did they do to Hero?

It didn’t work.

Did Hero betray us, or did Villain use them?

Not this one. Anyone but this one.

Its three against one this time.

The villain winced slightly, while the heroes had taken their fighting stances.

“Is it too many at once, Villain?” One of them taunted. Their words were brave, albeit foolish, yet their mind betrayed them.

“No point in putting on a brave face.” The villain said. “Not when I know how you really feel.”

The first attack came directly from the villain’s front - the fighter.

They knew they weren’t as good as her in physical fighting, but her strategizing skills needed polishing, especially considering the villain could hear where she planned to attack.

What was meant to be a surely vicious punch to the jaw ended up as an arm twisted behind her back.

The villain heard the next move before this fighting hero did.

Even if she didn’t realize it, she was thinking about how to get out of this on a subconscious level, her body just recognized it before her mind.

With no remorse, the villain pulled her closer, fingers on her temple, vaguely wondering why they hadn’t used this trick more often.

“Sleep.” They commanded, watching her fall to the ground.

Three other heroes had stood in silence. According to their thoughts, what she just did was incredibly reckless, incredibly unplanned. The same question did find its way to all of their minds - Will she ever wake up?

“She will.” The villain answered the unspoken worry. “Just in time to see your ruin.”

Two of the others seemed much more cautious, brute strength and the force of wind is what they had to work with. The third lingered back, not the fighting type, it seemed. They looked to be the whitecoat the villain had seen, strangely unfamiliar in an unprofessional setting.

“Where’s Hero?” The wind hero asked, slowly circling the villain along with the strong one.

“Ah, here and there. I don’t presume to know their whereabouts.” Well...

“What did you do to them?” The strong one demanded, much more hotheaded than their counterparts.

“My, oh my.” There was a strange look on the villain’s face, one the heroes didn’t care for. “I’m not using them for any ‘sick experiments’, as you are thinking, it’s not quite my style. You, however-”

An arm was wrapped around the villain’s neck, who took the opportunity to elbow the strong one in the gut. It didn’t really work, it wasn’t really meant to work, the villain just needed some sort of physical contact they initiated.

“Sleep.” The commanded, and though this one’s grip faltered they didn’t entirely let go of the villain.

Fine enough.

The wind one rushed forward, the strong arm still holding the villain, who used the anchor behind them to kick the oncoming hero.

“Sleep.” The villain commanded more harshly, feeling the grip around them weaken and fall.

At this point, the villain had to remind themselves of their strengths, the effort it took for the strong arm nearly draining them.

Still, there was only the wind one left before they could get to the whitecoat.

“You’ve seen what I can do.” The villain said, eyeing the hero who was doubled over from their kick.

“But you haven’t seen me.”

The silence of a building turned into the whistling of the winds, gusts of air flowing about in harsh and rapid movements.

“I wonder,” the villain spoke over the roaring. “if the others know of the little sordid affair you and the strong arm are having, how far you would fall from the fighter’s good graces.”

The winds died suddenly.

“You’re lying.” An aghast hero muttered, their confidence waning . “We aren’t..I wouldn’t-”

“Ah, lying to a telepath,” the villain chuckled, slowly closing the distance between them. “You know, Hero tried the same thing. Remind me where they are again?”

The wind hero staggered slightly, but was caught by a cold hand clutching the back of their neck.

“It’s much easier to do this when one is mentally beaten down.” The villain grinned. “Sleep.”

Onto the ground they went.

“Then there was one.” The villain said ominously.

The building now seemed to lack a whitecoat the villain was keen on finding, although that wasn’t really the case. The case was a scared tag along ‘hero’ used for medical expertise was hiding somewhere.

“I can hear your thoughts. Please don’t concern yourself with such fears, I just want to talk.”

The villain thought they would be kind, and wait for the whitecoat to reveal themselves before dragging them out by the collar.

It didn’t happen.

Without making a sound, the villain made their way to a small door, one meant to hold who knows what, but also one being used to hide in.

“Boo.” The villain said, opening the door.

While the whitecoat shrieked, the villain tutted.

“I told you.” They said, taking hold of a trembling collar. “I just wanted to talk.”

The second the whitecoat was heaved upward, they tried to make a dash for it, only for something hard to hit them, mentally.

“You are much easier to keep still.” The villain admitted. “You, like everyone else, are noisy. There’s more of you to take hold of. Every room I walk into is filled with people thinking bigger than life. It’s exhausting, it’s rude.”

“I-” they stammered, frozen limbs incapable of shaking. “I-I’m sorry. Is there-is there some-something I can do for you?”

The villain cocked their head. “Everyone seems to be afraid of me. There is only one who managed to keep calm throughout their fear.” They looked the whitecoat up and down once, unsatisfied with whatever they saw.

“You are smart.” The villain commented.

“Tha-thank you.”

“But so easily you yield to the voices of those heroes.” The disdain in the villain’s voice would have made the whitecoat flinch, if not for their being kept in place.

“Do you know what they felt?” The villain continued, fixing a glare on their target. “I know. I was in the hero’s head, and all they wanted was peace. Peace you denied them. It was well enough of you to send them to me, they would have died otherwise.”

“The-” the whitecoat made to defend themselves. “There was-wasn’t a ch-choice.”

“Oh, spare me your ramblings.” The villain scoffed. “No choice, it’s your job, the hero was fine with it, every pathetic excuse on your tongue is useless. Tell me, would you prefer I put you to sleep before the place blows?”

“P-pl-please, no.”

“You would rather stay in place?” The villain smiled. “How brave.”

“Villain?”

Damn, they hadn’t been paying attention to the mental track.

“Hero.” The villain greeted, not turning around to face them.

“This is why you wanted me away for a while.” The hero muttered, pieces of evidence coming together. “It would give you time to do...”

The villain still hadn’t turned to face them, but could hear the hero’s thoughts while investigating their sleeping teammates. Mainly, they were relieved none of them were dead.

Yet.

“H-hero.” The whitecoat managed to bite out.

With a withering glare from the villain, the whitecoat shut their mouth again.

“You have me in an awkward position, pet. Didn’t you promise to stay away?”

“I forgot a status report, they needed to know I was alive.”

“This one knows.” The villain said, turning their head slightly. “You should go now, pet.”

“I think I should stay.”

“I enjoy being on amicable terms with you. For the sake of staying so, I suggest you leave.” As an afterthought, the villain added, “Please.”

The whitecoat’s cogs were turning rapidly, the villain knew so, the villain hated it.

“I suggest you quell those thoughts, and quickly.” The villain snarled.

“Why are you doing this?” The hero asked, taking a slow step toward, eyes flicking between the whitecoat and the villain’s back.

“I wouldn’t try it, pet.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s a lie.”

The hero took a sharp breath. “Ok. Ok. We’re at a standstill-”

“Your speed, my mind, evenly matched throughout the passage of time. Either that, or you get lucky.” The villain sighed. “How frustrating it is.”

“So what if we just leave each other alone?”

The villain turned, quick and sharp.

“You are serious?” The villain squinted. “You are serious.” Their laugh was a horrible noise, short, taunting. “No, pet. I never fully planned on letting you be.”

“That’s fine.” It was only kind of a lie. “Just leave the rest of them alone.”

A sort of glee shone on the villain’s face. “But now they know me. I can’t quite let them live.”

The hero was slightly desperate at this point.

“Once you told me I was the only one who knew of your telepathy, it was because you took away everyone else’s memories. Do that now.” The hero’s beg was silent, the thought only meant for their head, but the villain still heard it.

The villain’s original plan was derailed, but this one was just as sweet. “Therein lies yet another problem, pet. They know you, and you know me. After each encounter, you’ll go running back to them.”

“I won’t. I won’t tell.”

“Liar.” The villain whispered, smiling.

“Then take me from their memories, too.”

There it was.

“Hero!” The whitecoat protested, their voice turning firm. “Hero, no.”

“You,” the villain rounded on them. “Stay quiet.” They turned back to the hero. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”

With pursed lips, the hero answered. “I have a feeling there wasn’t much of a choice to begin with.”

“Very well.”

The whitecoat felt the invisible hold on them release, but that freedom didn’t last long. The villain was on them, and with a single word, their consciousness faded.

#this sucks #this sucks so hard #I’m so sorry #thank you for the request though #I’m glad you liked the earlier works #hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #super speed v. telepathy #super speed #telepathy

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kieraelieson · 3 years

Text

Centaur AU 8

When Thomas woke up, rather slowly, feeling itchy and groggy and much in need of a shower, it was to soft voices and little clops of moving hooves.

“And where is the rest of the food?”

“That’s all there is out here. Mostly we tend to eat the pre-made stuff.”

“I’ll have to put it on the list too then.”

Thomas opened his eyes, registering that Patton and Emile were talking.

Patton sighed. “It’s just… strange. I worry that with all of the new nice things that once Thomas leaves it’ll be so miserable and I don’t know how I’ll be able to handle it.”

“Thomas won’t be leaving. Or if he does, we’ll be taking you with us.” Emile promised.

Thomas nodded slightly, staying silent.

Patton moved, peeking over the shorter wall that separated his stall from the one Thomas was using as a bed, met Thomas’s eyes, and jumped back with a sound rather like a loud squeak.

“Oh, dear! I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were awake.”

Thomas sat up. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright,” Emile said. “Little mishaps happen, you both are fine.”

Thomas stood up and stretched, gratefully noting that Emile was making breakfast for everyone. Between yesterday and now already this morning, he could tell he was going to greatly appreciate Emile. He was going to have to find some way to pay Emile back somehow.

He opened the stall, seeing Roman and Remy blinking and drowsy, and Virgil very much awake.

“Let me see what we have going for today,” he said, mostly to himself, as he walked over to the schedule on the wall. “Oh, Emile, thanks for making breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.” Emile said. “Though, as you may have heard, we are woefully short on ingredients.”

Thomas nodded.

“What about coffee?” Remy asked. “Please tell me they have coffee here.”

“Not yet.”

Remy let out a long groan and flopped onto the floor dramatically.

Thomas couldn’t help a little smile. He looked at the schedule, trying to parse out the rather terrible handwriting. He should get a new one and fill it out himself. His handwriting might not be that much better, but he could read it himself more easily, and he wouldn’t have to try and translate names with a tired brain.

Patton had a party at five, though it didn’t say when it ended. And Logan had one of those charity things, which he would certainly not be doing. Thomas considered a long moment, and then started looking for a phone number. He was probably the one that had to call and cancel things like that.

He finally found a whole list of phone numbers on the back of the calendar, and managed to get the right one, and tell them that Logan wouldn’t be able to participate in anything for at least six months, or however long the vet said after follow-up visits.

They weren’t very happy about it. But in this, Thomas wouldn’t take no for an answer, and if they were going to talk to the Authiers’ lawyer, well, hopefully the lawyer knew what to do. Because Logan wasn’t going back to a single one of those contests, legal or otherwise, until he was both healed and wanted to.

He turned back around to see worried faces, and wished that the phone wasn’t corded so that he could have taken it outside and not worried them all.

“It’s alright, I just canceled all of Logan’s events for the next few months. He’ll be fine to rest up and get well now.”

“Well that’s good,” Roman said.

Virgil and Patton nodded solemnly.

Thomas yawned and considered. What should he do next? It took a moment to come to his fuzzy brain, but he realized that he should come up with something for them all to do all morning, rather than just standing around. He felt slightly bad about having the paddock be his go-to, but it was worlds better than being cooped up in a stall, and he didn’t really know enough to give them somewhere else to… perhaps that’s what they could do. Explore the estate as a group and find all the places where they could go, and figure out what there was to do.

He had to have Patton back, clean and ready, by five then, and he needed to do something to set up Logan first, but that seemed like a very good plan. Also, considering clean and ready, they would all need a good brushing down at some point. Perhaps he ought to aim at getting back by three then, and asking Remy and Emile for help setting up a kind of grooming circle.

But he had a plan! And one that, barring unforeseen troubles, seemed like a good one. It wasn’t too ambitious, and it might even go well.

But first breakfast. Which… he didn’t really have. And he felt absolutely terrible to say it, but he didn’t want to try the centaurs’ food. He’d always kind of guessed they didn’t mind that weird grassy smell, cause they ate grass anyway. That was a thing he needed to ask about.

“Well, if they have a bunk room, they might have something like a cafeteria here, I’m going to see if I can find it and get some breakfast. If there’s coffee, I’ll bring you back a cup, Remy. Also, I might need your phone, and I’ll expect someone to call me if Logan wakes up.”

Remy, still splayed out on the floor in a rather uncomfortable-looking position, nodded and floundered, trying to reach his bag without getting up. He was unsuccessful, much to the amusement of everyone watching. He made sure to pout at each and every one of them once he got his bag and his phone.

“You know someday it won’t be little funny smiles!” he threatened, turning away from them all.

“Thank you, Remy,” Thomas said seriously. “I’ll be sure to get you coffee.”

Remy grumbled out something that might have been a thank you, or perhaps something else.

And then Thomas went for a walk, running his hands through his hair and swiping at his clothes to hopefully make himself look less like he’d been sleeping in a pile of hay. He vaguely knew that the bunkhouse was somewhere roughly straight from one wall of the stable, though he wasn’t certain how far it would be. And he just hoped someone would still be in the bunkhouse that he could ask.

Perhaps he should have asked one of the centaurs to come with him. It would be faster, and another set of hands in case he had to bring back several things. But he didn’t want to stop them from eating or having a bit of time to themselves. They certainly could use all the good things he could possibly get them.

He walked a good way before seeing the building, and jogging towards it. He was lucky enough to reach it right as someone else was walking out.

“Oh! Uh, excuse me, can I…” He had to pause a moment to breathe, but managed to continue. “I’m looking for a… cafeteria?”

“Yeah, it’s over this way, but breakfast ends at nine, you should hurry.” They pointed to a different nearby building, with its doors standing open.

Thomas nodded quickly. “Thank you!”

He ran into the cafeteria, grateful to see that the line was only a few people long. There was prepared eggs, sausage, bacon, something that looked like oatmeal perhaps, and toast. Thomas piled up his plate and then looked until he found the coffee. He served himself a cup of coffee and found some to-go cups, filling one up with coffee as close to the way he knew Remy liked it.

He felt rather overwhelmed by hurrying, especially as he glanced at a clock on the wall and saw that, if nine truly was the cut off, he only had ten minutes to eat. But despite his hurry, he had a fleeting question float through his mind. Would any of the other centaurs want coffee?

He should find a way to get decent food to them. Or bring them here. They may indeed like grass and hay and food made from it, but they also liked normal food, and should have it as a regular option.

He just didn’t know how. Yet.

He was working on it. And that would have to be enough for the moment.

Thomas tried to relax a little and eat, but he couldn’t help worrying that something bad would happen while he was gone.

Soon he was getting up and going back towards the stables, hoping that everything was fine, that they’d had a nice breakfast and Logan was still peacefully sleeping, but worrying that it wouldn’t be the case.

When he opened the door though, they all seemed perfectly fine. Logan was even still asleep. He really needed to trust them a bit more.

“Hi, guys,” he said, feeling more than a little awkward, all out of breath from having hurried back when nothing was wrong.

“Did you get my coffee?” Remy asked eagerly.

Thomas nodded. “ Yeah, I did, here. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s still a bit warm.”

Remy made a weird face, somewhere between grateful and still a bit displeased at the luke-warm coffee.

Thomas agreed with him, honestly. It wasn’t even close to ideal. And surely there was something better they could do. “I wanted to talk with you all.”

Virgil seemed concerned, but the rest of them watched him curiously.

“About what?” Patton asked.

“Well… this isn’t working out the best…”

On seeing the look on Virgil’s face, Thomas quickly backtracked. “Not like I’m giving up! Not at all. More like, I’m gonna need some help to know how to actually move forward. I’ve been doing my best, but it’s not exactly worked out well.”

“Ok…” Roman said slowly. “I think we can agree that things haven’t exactly gone the best, but… it’s not like we can help with much.”

Thomas nodded. “I know it feels that way, it does to me too, but there has to be something we can do. For starters, there’s the cafeteria. It exists, and I know that now, but do you guys want to go there? If you do, I’m sure I can come up with a way to make them let us in. It’s big enough. Or perhaps we could have them set out tables outside for you all. But I need to know that it’s what you want too. If you don’t care, or would rather stay here, we can work that out too.”

There was some shuffling back and forth, and several pairs of eyes staring at the ground.

“Well, I for one want hot coffee. Count me in.” Remy said firmly. “And I bet Emmy wants to come get some real food too.”

Emile nodded. “Yes, I’d prefer more of a variety of food than what is here.”

Thomas looked at Roman in particular next, hoping he would have more firm opinions.

Roman sighed, a rather pinched look on his face. “I like the idea of better food, but I’m not sure if I want to deal with all the other workers to get it.”

Patton nodded immediately. “We’d have to be quiet, and they would say rude things, and it would be pretty miserable even with the good food.”

Virgil nodded silently, clearly agreeing with Patton.

“Alright then,” Thomas said. “Well, what if I were to call the Authiers and see about officially changing what you’re all fed? If I insisted, I’m sure there’s a possibility of getting food sent here. We’d perhaps have to deal with the courier, but that would be less trouble.”

“If it’s at all possible, which is not certain,” Logan said.

Thomas went immediately to his stall to check on him. “Are you feeling ok? Would you want more painkillers? You haven’t eaten yet, right?”

Logan gave him an odd look. Of all of them, Thomas had the hardest time decoding what Logan’s looks were supposed to mean.

“Yes. Painkillers would be nice, and I haven’t eaten yet.”

Thomas nodded quickly, shooting Emile a glance. Emile was ahead of him already, getting a plate of food for Logan. Thomas went and made the same kind of slurry with the medicine that Logan had asked for the other time, putting some drink mix into the water so it wouldn’t taste as bad.

Once he got back, Virgil was already in Logan’s stall, trying to help him sit up without jostling his legs. Emile handed the plate in and then backed up so Thomas could get in with the medicine.

“Here you go, and I’ll go get some clean bandages to wrap your legs up in.”

Logan nodded stiffly and then downed the medicine with a slight grimace.

Thomas grabbed a few rolls of bandages and went in, extremely concerned to see Logan looking spacey already.

He knelt down next to Logan’s shoulder, laying his hand on his gently and rubbing very small circles. “Hey, there, Logan, are you with me?”

Logan looked at him silently, his face concerningly blank.

“I’m a bit concerned, ok? Can you stay here with me? I’d like to know I’m not hurting you, so I’ll need you to talk with me, ok?”

Logan let out a sigh. “I won’t be hurt by the changing of bandages.”

“Well, I certainly hope not, but just in case, can you try and stay present with me? And with Virgil?”

Logan looked up at Virgil, who was much more obviously concerned than even Thomas was. He slowly nodded.

“Alright. Here’s what I’m going to do, I’m going to run my hand down your leg to the end of the bandage and start unwinding it. Can you stay focused on Virgil for me? Tell me things about him, what colors can you see in his eyes?”

Logan frowned slightly, which was a good thing to Thomas. “What do you need to know the color of his eyes for?”

“To help you pay attention,” Virgil said softly. “You help me pay attention to safe things around me sometimes, this is like that.”

“Yes, exactly.” Thomas said, slowly and lightly running his hand down Logan’s leg. “Alright, I’m going to unwind this now. What colors can you see?”

Logan was looking far more attentive and present, staring up into Virgil’s face. “Mostly black. A very dark brown. Something that might appear green, except for the darkness of his eyes in general, which makes it look like a dark gray.”

Thomas very gently started unwinding the bandage. “That’s very good. What about his hair?”

“Most would classify the color as black. But when seen in the light there aren’t the cool undertones usually present in a pure black. I would classify it as a very dark brown.”

“That’s a very thoughtful way of saying it,” Thomas said. “My hand is going to move over to your other front leg, and then run down to unwind then bandage the same way.”

Logan nodded.

As Thomas moved to unwind the next bandage, he thought of another thing. “Why don’t you tell me about what you were doing in the paddock the other day? It seemed very clever. Something to keep you away from the holes without being able to see them clearly.”

Logan gave him another one of those odd looks when Thomas said the idea was clever. Thomas still wasn’t certain what it meant, but he decided to remember that, and use the word clever more often with Logan.

“It’s more of a common sense idea, but if you’re curious…” Logan trailed off, and Thomas looked up to see him looking the slightest bit bashful.

“I’m going to move to your back leg now. And yes, I am curious. It sounds like a useful thing to learn.”

Logan cleared his throat. “If you’d like to learn then, I suppose I’ll tell you.”

Virgil sent Thomas a look, a look that said he’d stumbled across a key, and that Virgil wasn’t certain how he was going to use it. Though to be honest, Thomas wasn’t sure either.

“I’m going to touch you now, and stroke down your leg to unwind the bandages,” Thomas said, careful to keep his tone light and unobtrusive, hoping Logan would continue.

“I am far-sighted, so I could see the holes at a distance, but not close to my own feet. If I could place the hole along the fence, and if I was careful to take measured steps, I could place it between the two fence posts, and I could know how many steps from the first post until I would need to step over or around it. Virgil was helping by confirming the distance. I haven’t yet mastered taking steps of perfectly regular length, so my calculations were often incorrect by a step or two.”

“Wow. -I’m moving to your other back leg now- That really is very smart, Logan. I’m impressed.”

Logan smiled slightly.

Thomas counted that as a very big win. “Alright, I’m going to go and get the ointment and then wrap your legs up. You can go ahead and eat your breakfast. And then the vet said we need to have you walking some, but slowly. I’ll be right back and then explain my plan.”

Logan nodded.

Thomas was quick, and soon got back with the ointment.

“So what is your plan?” Virgil asked.

“Well, first helping Logan,” Thomas said, kneeling again by his legs. “I’m going to go in the same order as last time, starting with this leg. And once I’m done, we’re going to very carefully help Logan up. If he’s doing well, then I’m hoping a few of you will help him walk around the outside of the stable a few times. -Alright, I’m moving to the next leg- And while you all walk around, I’m going to try and set up the iPad with a bunch of books, and see if I can make it so that Logan can get more when he wants to. That way he will have something calm and enjoyable to do while we’re gone. -I’m moving to your back legs now- And then I was thinking that some or all of the rest of you might want to come with me, and explore some of the estate, see what all there is, and where else we might like to spend time. Ok, last leg now, Logan.”

“That seems like a good plan,” Roman commented.

Thomas looked up to see Patton looking around at them all, confused. “What’s up, Pat?”

“Just… what’s an iPad? Is it like a bookshelf?”

Thomas was a bit concerned to see a few curious looks. Apparently several of them had never heard of an iPad.

“Well, I bought one… yesterday? Was it yesterday I went to the store? I think. Anyway, it’s a small rectangle, and it runs on electricity. It does a lot of things, and it’s pretty complicated, but the reason I bought it is that it can hold many many books inside it without taking up much space.”

Patton nodded slowly, still looking confused.

“Later today I’ll let you try it some too, ok?” Thomas said with a smile.

Patton nodded more confidently this time.

“And the rest of you too, I’m sure you’d all like a little bit to try it out. It’s mostly for Logan, especially while he’s healing, but everyone can try.”

Thomas stood up, looking around the stall. “Ok, Logan. Do you think you can stand up with just me and Virgil helping? Or would someone else be better? Or would you like to try by yourself?”

Logan frowned slightly in consideration. “I’d prefer just Virgil.”

Thomas nodded immediately and left the stall. “Just be gentle on yourself.”

Logan set his empty plate aside, held up a hand for Virgil to grab onto, and then heaved himself up. His face twisted in pain, and once he was standing he leaned heavily on the wall.

Thomas gave him a moment before asking, “How is it?”

“Painful. But bearable.”

Thomas nodded solemnly. “Ok. I’d like you to try walking around the stable. Take long, slow steps, don’t push it too much. If the pain changes at all, stop there and come back in to lay down.”

Logan nodded, very slowly moving to leave the stall.

Thomas left it to them all to take care of him, and tried to figure out where he’d left the iPad, and where would be a good place to plug it in.

From outside, he heard quite a few ‘be careful’s, followed by Logan saying ‘I may be injured, but I don’t want to be babied, I can walk on my own’.

Thomas smiled to himself. With Logan doing this well, if he could just keep going, he’d surely be better soon.

———

If you enjoyed, please reblog, and consider supporting me on Kofi!

#centaur au #my own work #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #remy sleep #emile picani #character Thomas

85 notes · View notes

side-shawty · 3 years

Text

Burn XIV (Stark!Reader)

XIV: Family Business

Fandom: Marvel (MCU)

Type: series

Prompt/Summary: Family is not just blood.

Pairing(s): Peter Parker x Stark!reader, Tony Stark x daughter!reader

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

•

The next morning you somehow found yourself a tangle of arms and legs with Peter.

After the initial wariness of your surroundings faded you were still finding it hard to believe this was all real you relaxed into him again. You pushed your face into his chest and breathed in his calming scent as his strong arms unconsciously tightened around you.

Your eyes slipped closed again and you were almost asleep again when the light sliding of the door opening could be heard.

You hoped they’d go away once they saw you were both asleep but there was no such peace with the Avengers.

“Aww look at how cute they are. You owe me five bucks Sam,” Natasha spoke.

“No you owe me, I said they’d be attached at the hip within 12 hours and you said 20,” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Okay, but I said 8 so, both of you pay up,” Bucky interrupted and it took everything in you not to look at them and roll your eyes.

You could hear the exchange of money and Bucky’s over-enthused “Thank you,” in reply.

Peter groaned beside you and held you closer, “You guys are way too loud,” he told them, eyes still closed.

“And you’re way too stingy, can’t we see her too?” Nat said and you giggled a little at that, effectively blowing your cover.

“She’s up!” Sam said and you and Peter both sat up, rubbing at your eyes and stretching.

“She wants to go back to sleep,” you told them and they laughed lightly.

“No time for that. Time for hugs,” Nat said, coming to your side of the bed.

Meanwhile, Peter got out of the bed and told you he’d be back with breakfast before kissing your cheek. The simple action made you giddy.

“Bleh,” Bucky fake gagged as Peter left and he and sam sat in his now vacant spot.

You hugged each of them tight, you hadn’t realized how much you missed everyone.

“So lover boy was here all night, huh?” Sam asked wiggling his eyebrows as if he didn’t know the answer.

“Yes he was, we talked and we slept and I will take no more questions,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“That better be it,” Bucky said but there was no threat in his voice that warranted concern.

“Gosh, you’re really showing your age today aren’t you Buck?” Nat teased before turning to you. “Earlier he asked me what an AirPod was,” she laughed and you laughed with her.

“And here I thought you were getting the hang of this new fangled century,” you told him.

“Listen I’m trying okay, everything is so fancy for no reason,” he sulked and you laughed again.

“Seriously though kid, how are you?” Sam questioned and they all looked at you expectantly.

“In one piece,” you said honestly. “Some scrapes and bruises and a cut on the back of my neck that’ll probably scar but I’m alive,” you smiled.

“Was it a shock device?” Bucky asked darkly.

You hesitated before answering, “Yeah.”

Bucky’s metal arm flexed as he balled his hand into a fist, “I’ll fucking kill those HYDRA assholes one day.”

You placed a hand on top of his fist, “Hey,” he looked up at you, “I’m alright. Thanks to all of you I’m here and breathing. I love you guys.”

Before you knew it they pulled you into a hug and you held back tears giving you their own declarations of love. When Peter came back in with food they all decided to let you eat in peace with your boyfriend. Peter told you the doctors would be here around one and in the meantime, you’d probably get several visitors.

All too soon, he had to leave for the city, there was only so much school he could avoid without the possibility of not graduating on time. He left with a promise returning that evening and a soft kiss on your lips.

Before anyone new came in you asked FRIDAY to call your mom downstairs. She helped you shower and change into sweats and one of Peter’s shirts with a wink. She told you that she would have stayed longer but Morgan would be waking up for the day soon.

Your dad stopped by for a little after she left and after Sam and Bucky blew something up he also had to leave.

The next ones to walk through the door were Steve and Rhodey.

“Well if it isn’t two of my favorite soldiers,” you smiled as they walked in.

“As long as I’m the number one favorite I accept,” Rhodey said before gathering you into his arms for a tight hug.

When he let go Steve was next, “Keep dreaming Rhodes.”

“Well I would tell you who my favorite was if I thought it wouldn’t hurt your feelings,” you told them as they had taken the same positions as everyone else and sat on either side of you.

“C’mon now Y/N you wouldn’t want to give the old man a heart attack.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Anyways, how are you Y/N?” Steve asked.

“Good, healing, y’know? Seems like it’ll be a long process but I feel better than I did when I first woke up last night.”

“I’m glad to hear it, we’re only going up from here.”

“Definitely, by the way, I haven’t seen Thor, Clint, or Bruce today.”

“Thor is off-world, apparently whatever HYDRA used to brainwash Harley is similar to the mind stone so he’s trying to get it out ahead of it,” Steve told you.

“Clint had to run home, Laura is going to give birth soon and Bruce should be by later with your other doctors,” Rhodey finished.

“Ah got it. I cant wait for little Y/N to be born,” you said.

“Yeah because Barton is definitely gonna want to name is kid after the girl who put retractable grates in the vents to mess with him,” Rhodey rolled his eyes.

“Well he shouldn’t have tried to prank me on my own turf.”

“Everywhere is your turf,” Steve said.

You grinned, “Exactly.”

Steve hesitated before speaking again and his face became solemn, “Listen I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more for you that night.”

“So am I, we’re family, I should have protected you,” Rhodey added. They both let their heads hang low.

You took one of each of their hands into you, “You guys, look at me,” they obeyed, “I’m so incredibly happy right now you have no idea. A lot went wrong but I’m okay, even if I do have to spend a couple extra days in here.”

They both smiled at you and things felt okay again. They stayed for a little while longer leaving you with words of encouragement before you were once again left alone.

However, you weren’t suffocating the way you had been at HYDRA. You asked FRIDAY to project the water by the compound onto the right wall, it felt like you could finally release all the tension in your body.

Before you knew it your eyes slipped closed and you fell asleep.

——

You were awakened again by the sound of the door opening, this time Bruce and your dad walked in with —

“Well this is quite the surprise,” you said smiling.

“How could I not visit my favorite fire-wielding hero,” he spoke and made his way over to bring you into a tight hug.

Bruce hugged you next with a smile and then went over to one of the machines you had unhooked when you first woke up. Your dad gave you a kiss on the forehead and then stood beside the other scientist.

“To what do I owe the pleasure Doctor Strange?” You asked.

“You know me,” He took a seat next to you on the bed, “I love popping in and out but after I heard what happen I made sure your dad kept me in the loop. I know magic stuff keeps me busy but I am still your Godfather,” he told you.

“Mystical Godfather,” Tony threw in, “A totally made up title.”

Strange rolled his eyes and silently mocked your dad, “Still a title.”

“Debatable.”

You laughed lightly at their childishness.

“In all seriousness though, your dad ordered a full workup. He said your flames turned purple and wanted to make sure it didn’t damage your body in a non-tradition sense,” he told you and you nodded.

“So I only get a visit if my life at risk?” You asked overdramatically, throwing a hand to your forehead, “You wound me.”

“Haha, very funny. Now sit up straight while I work my … magic,” he said.

“Booo, your jokes have gotten worse since Christine got pregnant,” However, you sat up straight as he stood.

Strange was quick to begin in a flash of warm light symbols surrounded you, several of them had even went in and out of your body.

After a few minutes, he was finished and the light and symbols faded away. His face was littered with mixed emotions.

“What is it?” You asked, concerned.

“Are you alright?” Strange asked and the question grabbed the attention of Bruce and Tony.

You were confused, “I mean aside from some injuries that might scar I feel fine.”

“Tired? Weak? Foggy mind?” Strange asked.

“Barely, it was bad when I first woke up though. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Part of what a ‘full workup’ is is looking into your soul or aura and it seems like whatever happened when you released those purple flames caused a hole,” Strange explained.

The room was silent. All three men looked at you anxiously as you sat in shock, you weren’t sure what to say.

“So a piece of he is just poof! Gone?” Tony asked, bewildered at the idea.

“It’s a small piece but essentially, yes. There’s a chance it may come back over time but things like this are usually done only in dire situations of stress or emotional turmoil.”

“Well my situation checks all the boxes,” you said quietly to yourself.

It was then that tour father decided to move from his spot beside Bruce and wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“I think so, this is just a lot to process.”

He nodded and the room fell into silence once again.

“Well on the bright side,” Bruce spoke up, “It seems the damage Hydra did to your powers was temporary. If your readings are correct, you should be at 100% in no time,” he finished with a comforting smile.

“Thanks, Bruce. That actually does make me feel a little better,” you smiled with him.

After that Bruce ran a couple more tests and then the three men were gone again. However, your father did leave you your phone which you were beyond grateful for. You were playing a random game on it when Dr. Evans came to give you a quick check-up and update before leaving.

You had a few more hours of peace before your next visitor decided to show their face, it had to be well after sunset by now.

There were two knocks on your door and you replied for them to come in. You locked your phone and placed it on your bed as he entered and for some reason seeing him made you lose your breath.

“Harley,” you whispered.

•

NEXT CHAPTER

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jadoue1999 · 3 years

Text

The X-Men and the member they lost - Chapter 3

Summary: What do you get when you mix Hayward and the Xmen? A pissed off Erik that's seriously trying to not murder the man!

Previous parts: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,

Chapter 3: The Maximoff Anomaly

They had settled in fast. The older man that had intercepted them was called Hayward. He seemed very distraught at their arrival and made them go into an unused building. The director hadn’t listened to their protesting, he preferred having them out of the way. For what ever reason, Erik wasn’t sure. They soon realized that time worked differently in this universe. While they had already seen the episode and moved on, it had just ended as they arrived. Charles had told him with amusement that Hank would go crazy over the possibilities. Thankfully, the bunker contained televisions that monitored the town and the broadcast. Hayward had deemed necessary to make sure only people close to him knew of their arrival. They were all sitting around a table when he demanded their story. Charles spoke up. “We’re not from your Earth,” he started.

The director had looked at Kurt with a raised eyebrow, “I had that much figured.”

The professor continued, “two weeks back, one of our members went missing and the broadcast was all we could find. Our universe seems to be ahead of you with the episodes, but we are behind in years.”

“How so?” Questioned the woman sitting next to Erik.

“To us, it’s the eighties.” Charles waited a few moments, letting the people around some time to understand. “We come from a world where people are born with mutations, Kurt here can teleport.” The teenager looked at the professor, silently asking for permission to show his powers. Charles nodded and the blue mutant teleported from one side of the room to another. Hayward seemed shocked as the rest of the people gasped. Charles continued, “this is Raven, she can shapeshift.” Erik smirked as Mystique changed into a perfect copy of the director, making him jump out of his chair in surprise. She turned back into her human form and watched with amusement as Hayward slowly sat back down, eyeing her with caution. Probably seeing how unsettled the agents were, Charles decided to end this quickly. “I can personally read mind and Erik can control metal.”

Erik rolled his eyes as the military people looked at them with wide eyes. He wasn’t going to demonstrate his powers; he had done enough of that with Shaw. The team seemed to get the message that there would be no more demonstrations and moved on.

“So,” said the lady next to the director, “why are you here? Other than the broadcast.”

“Oh well, like I’ve mentioned before, we had a member of our team go missing.” The professor wheeled himself close to a screen and rewound the episode to when Peter appeared. “You see this young man? This is Peter, we had no clue where he went. We watched the broadcast in hopes for answers and we finally found him. Though in a tighter spot than we’d expected, but he does have a knack for trouble.”

Erik smirked at the joke; the speedster had always found himself in the strangest place at the wrong time. He was basically a magnet for trouble.

The director broke the silence. “So, this is not Pietro Maximoff?”

Erik shook his head, deciding to speak up at last, “no, he is not your Pietro, this is Peter Maximoff; my son.”

Hayward seemed surprised that someone other than Charles had spoken. “Is he like you all, enhanced?”

“Yes, he is a mutant,” answered Raven, clearly uncomfortable about the man’s tone. “He has superspeed.”

The director closed his eyes and sighed before turning to his colleague. “Bring the files concerning the Maximoff anomaly, they need to know.” The woman nodded and left the compound. He turned to the other members that hadn’t done much but gape at them and ordered them out. Apparently, he didn’t want people to witness what was about to happen. That left the man alone with the X-men. “Look, I get what you people can do, you barge in and act on an impulse; fix what you think is a threat and leave the rest of us to deal with the mess you leave behind. You might think you’re right, but this is my base.” Erik tensed up at the man’s words, this speech being all too familiar. “I don’t want you meddling in my stuff, Wanda Maximoff is a threat that needs to be dealt with no matter the price. You can go get your friend after.”

It was now official; he hated this man.

Though, before he could show him just how much he despised him, his colleague came back. She didn’t react to the lack of personnel, perhaps she had been expecting it. She was holding a significant number of files and what seemed to be a tv remote. Hayward thanked her and opened a file labeled ‘confidential’. It showed a picture of Wanda. Only she seemed younger, and her hair were a dark brown; there was also a man with bleached blonde hair at her side. They were in a crowd of people, their faces twisted in rage as they seemed to yell to something the picture didn’t show.

“This is Wanda Maximoff, back when she joined a Nazi base and accepted to be experimented on. This is how she got her powers.”

“Director, with all due respect, I believe your thoughts betray you,” interrupted Charles, to the man’s frustration. “I think it’s important to complete your statement and precise that she didn’t know what she was getting herself into.”

Erik secretly praised his friend and his telepathy; Hayward was obviously trying to antagonize the woman. It was obvious they now had to take his version of events with a grain of salt.

“Yes...” grunted the director, obviously upset about being caught in a lie. He pointed to the other man in the picture, “this is Pietro Maximoff, Wanda’s twin, the real one. He too had superspeed.”

He switched on a screen that was flatter than any television Erik had ever seen. It showed Wanda and Pietro in what appeared to be a lab. There was a sort of casket all plugged in with tubes. The pair seemed to be arguing with two older men. There was no audio, so their discussion didn’t make much sense. Suddenly, a blue blur raced through the lab, removing all the tubes in mere seconds. The blonde man stopped next to the casket looking thing and threw the last tube on the floor. It was strange, seeing another version of his son. Their powers were very similar yet very different. While Peter’s trail was silver, Pietro’s was blue, he also left some blue energy lingering in the air. It lasted a few seconds as he stopped before it disappeared. From the few dates in the documents and video, this Quicksilver seemed to have developed his powers only for a few months. It was probably why he seemed to be a little slower than his son. Hayward spoke again.

“The twins were working against the Avengers, those in charge of defending our planet. There was an army of robots threatening to destroy the world, they had sided with the robot in charge.” He glanced quickly at Charles. “They eventually changed sides, but Pietro didn’t survive.”

The footage changed to show a man and a child trying to take cover as a trail of bullets grew nearer. Suddenly, they were out of harm’s way and the speedster was in their place. His shirt was riddled with holes that quickly soaked with blood and he fell to the ground, dead. Fear seized Erik as he watched the man fall to the ground; momentarily seeing Peter in his place. Would a similar thing have happened had Mystique not disguised herself as one of the horsemen?

Hayward continued, showing footage of Wanda fighting in a group against other people, explaining how this event had led to the Sokovia accords, which was nothing more than a differently named mutant registration act. Except this one was actually approved. She had refused to sign and went into hiding, only to resurface when a titan had attacked the Earth. He apparently needed something called infinity stones, one of which was in Vision’s head. From the next chain of event Hayward told them, the titan had apparently succeeded in retrieving the stone. The real mystery was how the Vision was back to life; the director insisted that it was Wanda who resurrected him. She had been blipped, like half of the universe, and had came back grief stricken and ready to do anything to have a perfect family life. She had taken an entire town hostage and made them into her puppets. There was no telling what she might do to achieve her goal. Apparently kidnapping an alternate universe version of her brother wasn’t out of her reach. As Hayward continued telling them about Wanda’s life and what she had done, Erik had only one pressing thought: just how powerful was Wanda?

“How many people are in this town?” Wondered Charles.

“A little more than three thousand. They’re not all casted as roles, most are simply background characters.”

The wheelchair bound man nodded in comprehension. “Have you identified them all? Warned their families?”

He shook his head. “I believe it’s in everyone’s interest if we keep this low, we don’t want to alarm anyone. Especially when the world just came back.”

“You idiot,” raged Raven, “if they can’t reach their loved ones, they will ask questions. They will panic. Your logic is awfully flawed.”

“This is not your dimension, you don’t get to tell me what to do,” argued Hayward, clearly annoyed with them. “I will try to urge the identification process, but you people stay here. I don’t want more superpowered people and their associates getting in my way.”

With that, the man just left the place, followed by his colleague. Whether it was intentional or not, they left their documentation behind. Erik took one of the many files from the pile and opened it. This one described Vision’s origin and whereabouts until he had been destroyed in-

“Charles,” he said, not taking his eyes off the numbers. “This here says that the android died in 2018, five years ago.”

“We traveled 40 years in the future?” Said Kurt, understandably a little overwhelmed by the situation.

Raven put a comforting hand on the teleporter’s shoulder before looking at her friend. Her eyes showed how the situation affected her just as much as it did them. He didn’t blame her; Erik wasn’t sure if he truly grasped the gravity of the implications yet. For now, he preferred to focus on Wanda and her past; the more he knew about her, the better of a chance they’d have to retrieve his son safely and unharmed. The later wasn’t looking too hopeful. From his own experience with mind control and the co-worker’s reaction to being awoken, Peter would likely have a long and painful recovery once he would be back to himself. He just hoped that the differences between their timelines meant that he hadn’t been controlled since he had gone missing. Perhaps, by some luck, he would have arrived a little before he appeared on screen. He didn’t let himself think of what the speedster could have endured before being put under the woman’s spell. Especially if he had been her puppet for the entire two weeks he had disappeared.

“Erik,” interrupted Charles, “I can hear your concerns and I can assure you; your son is a fighter. His mutation is a natural telepath repellent, he’ll be just fine.”

The man smiled at his friend’s words, momentarily comforted. But then, a terrible thought creeped into his head. “Then tell me, old friend, if he is so immune; what horrible torture would he have to go under, so that his mental shield would be lowered enough for him to be vulnerable?”

The silence that followed his statement seemed to confirm that no one had even considered how Peter could be controlled in the first place. They had been too panicked at seeing the young man on the screen and then focused on getting to him to even think of the logic of his newly casted role.

“B-but he’ll be alright,” stammered Kurt, his tail anxiously twitching behind him, swinging, and curling unto itself. “He’s Peter, he always comes out alright.”

Charles smiles weakly at his student, “of course he will, Kurt,” he reassured him, “but we will have to give him time to heal and let him do the first steps when he’ll be ready.”

Erik shared a worried look with Raven, the professor seemed hopeful that the speedster would turn out fine, but he didn’t seem to realize how ahead he was thinking. They were on a military base that had studied for nine days this seemingly all powerful being that didn’t let you in without her consent and a rewrite of your life. And they hadn’t gotten far. From what they had learned, Peter would not be free of Wanda’s control unless she herself brought down the dome. But how could a grief-stricken mutant with powers never seen before just give up what she perceived as the perfect life she deserved?

...

They had stayed up late, learning about Wanda’s past and being horrified at what she had to go through. Erik wasn’t sure how he felt about the woman. She had gone through awful events, a struggle similar to his own. He did feel pity towards her, but he couldn’t look past the fact that she had his son playing her twisted game. The group had eventually settled down for the night, sleeping as good as they could without beds or blankets. They were suddenly awoken by some agitation on the base. Charles stared off into the distance before turning to his team, “Hayward has kicked off people from the base that were being disrespectful to him, now he’s coming our way.”

Indeed, barely fifteen seconds after he had spoken, the director opened the door. He seemed annoyed. “I’m just here to tell you that a new episode should air in the next twenty minutes.”

The blue teen looked at the man, “what happened outside just now?”

His question apparently wasn’t a welcome one since Hayward clenched his jaw in frustration. He answered nonetheless, “I got rid of nuisances. Nothing that concerns you or your team.”

That shut the boy up, but Raven stepped in front of him protectively. “You don’t get to talk to him like that, or to any of us.”

The director narrowed his eyes at her. “You should be thankful,” he snarked, “I could have you all arrested and locked up for the rest of your days, along with your little friend. Yet I haven’t even told anyone about your presence. I’ve been more than benevolent. So, I suggest you watch your mouth.”

Rage built up in Erik, he had heard these words so many times from government figures that disguised their hatred by saying what they could have done but didn’t. The metal bender was well aware that men like him wouldn’t hesitate to sell them out for a raise. What he didn’t appreciate was the way he threatened to imprison Peter as soon as they would get him free from Wanda’s control. Erik felt the metal in the man’s outfit and forced him closer, bringing him at his level. A sliver of fear was seen for a split second in Hayward’s eyes and a feeling of satisfaction crept into his chest. That man was a coward. “You listen to me,” he growled, “we can take out this base in seconds if we feel like it. I’ve seen your kind before, you crush others to rise in rank, but deep down you’re scared. You’re terrified because you’re aware that you are nothing. And if you drop your facade even for a second, they will see you for what you truly are. So, you take out the competition before it even has a chance to realize its potential. But guess what? You’ve met your match because I see you for what you truly are.” He paused as he stared into the man’s eyes. It was a competition of stares that lasted for a few seconds. Erik’s unwavering gaze pierced through the man’s pitiful attempt at intimidation without much effort. Finally, he let his grip go and kept his ground as Hayward took a few steps back. “Here’s a deal, little man, stay out of our way and we’ll stay out of yours.”

The director glared at him and then switched to the other people in the room, probably wondering if the threats he had said had a chance of becoming reality. Whatever he concluded, Erik didn’t know, but the man left the room fuming. The room was silent for a few seconds before Charles wheeled himself closer. He was about to speak but the metal bender beat him to it. “Don’t try to reason with me, old friend, that man had it coming. I only spoke the truth.”

The bald man shook his head. “Yes, you are right, and I don’t blame you for this, but perhaps threatening the director of the base we’re staying in wasn’t the greatest idea?”

Before he could argue, Raven intervened, “I think you did good. It’s been a while since I had seen one of your Magneto speeches; that Stryker knock off deserved it.”

He snorted at her comparison; Hayward was very similar to their own impersonation of the anti-mutant feeling back home. Kurt seemed a little unsettled by Erik’s speech. But he didn’t have time to make sure the teen was alright. Suddenly, the television in their little bunker flickered on; a new episode was starting. They all scrambled to sit down as the screen showed one of the twins running around with a camera in his hands. The upbeat intro song was echoing through the room.

‘Wanda!

WandaVision!

Don’t try to fight the chaos

Don’t question what you’ve done

The game can try to play us

Don’t let it stop the fun’

He opened the bathroom door, showing Wanda brushing her teeth; she also had rollers in her hair. She closed the door with her magic and Tommy ran downstairs to Vision who was reading the newspaper.

‘Some days, it’s all confusion

Easy come and easy go’

Erik watched the screen anxiously as the family members were shown, what would she make her son do?

‘But if it’s all illusion

Sit back, enjoy the show!’

The twin went in the kitchen, their neighbor was looking in the fridge. After a distasteful close up of the woman’s behind, Tommy was now headed for outside.

‘Let’s keep it going

Through each distorted day

Let’s keep it going

Though there may be no way of knowing

Who’s coming by to play’

A blur came out from the house and Erik’s stomach twisted as his son appeared on screen. He was wearing a grey and black shirt and jeans shorts. He briefly stopped in front of the camera and pulled his tongue out like some sort of rock star. He ran out of the shot and came back holding the long-haired twin under one arm. The screen froze to simulate a family picture being taken. The logo ‘WandaVision’ in red and yellow hues.

“Pietro Maximoff as himself?” remarked Raven unimpressed. “Really?”

Erik didn’t react to her voice; he was all too focused on his son. While he didn’t seem that different than usual, he couldn’t help but notice his hair. His usual silver mess of hair were now a bleached blonde. He stared at the screen in disbelief.

This woman had taken away one of Peter’s most unique traits, a part of his personality, to fit her narrative.

He continued looking at the screen with a mix of rage and anxiety. If she had changed him so easily to fulfill her illusion; there was no telling what else she could do if she found out he wasn’t truly her brother.

***

Notes: Next chapter: the halloween special! (and something else)

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream IX

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Allen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 6, 258

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Chapter IX: He Loves Me; Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter.)

He Loves Me

You love me especially different every time

You keep me on my feet happily excited

By your cologne, your hands, your smile, your intelligence

You woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me

You school me, give me some things to think about

Ignite me, you invite me, you co-write me, you love me, you like me

You incite me to chorus, ooh

She tells him she loves him on a Friday night.

A week later, and it's the first night in a long while that she doesn’t get to stay at home because Barry has asked if he can have her time tonight. He doesn’t give her any details, only tells her to come over to his place around 8 and to be prepared to stay over. He seems particularly animated, when he asks, and it makes Iris wonder why, if he’s got something planned or if it’s just that he’s happy he gets to spend the time with her, even if they’ve been around each other more than usual this week.

So, the entire day, she’s dizzy with excitement.

Her taping of Good Morning, Central City is mid-morning. The segment tapes live at 9:30, which gives her some time to down a cup of coffee or two to settle her nerves, and then carefully apply her makeup. She dresses in one of her favorite dresses, a long sleeved wrap dress in black with soft, pretty flowers printed on it and a pair of shoes that boost her confidence, tall black pumps with a gold heel and gold double chains around the ankle. The neck of the dress dips and the delicate material flirts with her lower thighs; she feels pretty in it, in a lighter, brighter way than she’s found herself feeling before. Her makeup is subtle, except for the dark maroon lip, and she’s had her hair blown out and it hangs in soft fingered out curls just past her shoulders. A small black bag is all she takes to keep her keys and cards and then she’s out the door.

WCCTV, the station that houses the studio, is a short drive away, tucked into a neighborhood that Iris doesn’t frequent. She isn’t sure what she was expecting of the station, but it’s a squat little building in an unimaginative cream and brick scheme that would look like any other commercial building if not for WCCTV printed in large blue letters on the building and the satellite dishes spaced intentionally around it.

A news producer meets her at the door, a thin young woman with thick red hair piled into a high ponytail who introduces herself as Katherine.

“We’re all excited to have you here,” the woman says, smiling as she leads Iris through a number of desk cubicles towards a back room. She recognizes a couple of the anchors from the station, who all look either intensely focused on their work or bored out of their minds.

“Thanks,” Iris says politely. “It is a little overwhelming here, though.”

Iris doesn’t love speaking in front of people, which is why she's firmly on the invisible side of her work, but she isn’t as nervous and she figures she could be. There’s that feeling in her belly she connects with nerves, but it’s slight; instead, she’s ready. This can change the trajectory of her blog, invite more viewers and more paying ads. It could invite more stories, people who see her and trust that she wants to do right by them and their lives. She’s practically giddy with the idea.

Katherine’s response is an easy grin. “I know it seems that way, but you’ll be fine. You look fabulous so that’s one concern out of the way. Plus, Alexa and James are phenomenal at getting people to open up at the same time that they project a sort of calmness. It's fascinating to watch and I can tell you’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Katherine. I really appreciate that.”

Iris is led back to a small room where the two anchors for Good Morning, Central City are standing with four other local internet stars. Alexa May is tall and blonde and exactly like what one thinks about when they think of a news anchor: pretty and personable on a killer black skirt suit, though Iris is a little surprised at the naturally kind gleam in her eyes. James Broderick is even taller, his dark hair styled to look windswept, his ice blue eyes looking constantly around the room, as if he’s always wondering where a new story might be.

Iris steps in to greet the other four guests. They include a short Somalian woman in a beautiful bright purple hijab who cooks and shares recipes on YouTube; a stocky white guy known for his skits on TikTok; a dark-skinned Black Instagram beauty guru; and a non-binary Mexican person who discusses true crimes on Snapchat ala Buzzfeed Unsolved. It’s an eclectic collection of people and Iris feels honored to be a part of this group. She’s watched all of their videos in some fashion, though she’s more partial to Aya, the home chef, and Nadine, the beauty grammer. Still, they each have large followings and to be included gives Iris such a sense of pride, that she’s a little drunk with the force of it.

“You guys ready?” Alexa’s strong voice pulls all of their attention immediately, and Iris passes one more look through the crew of them before locking eyes with Alexa and James.

She nods her assent.

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

At 8, Iris pulls into Barry’s two-car driveway right next to his Jeep backed up into the drive as usual. The garage is open, though, and she takes that as an invitation to walk into the house, finding the kitchen door unlocked. She steps in and presses the button that closes the garage, locks the kitchen door behind her.

Her giddy mood has stuck with her.

The segment had been a quick fire round of questions and answers, with the hosts wanting to know how they all got started, what motivates them to do what they do, and the ups and downs of being in spaces of both influence and criticism. It’d been fascinating to hear the stories of the others, and afterward, they’d all exchanged contact information with the idea of collaborating on future projects.

After, she’d gone to lunch with her dad and Wally, who’d all but hinted at a watch party planned for the following night. She'd merely shaken her head at her family’s love of partying.

Now, she’s at Barry’s and she recognizes that tonight is going to be different. Because she knows that she’s going to say it. After the last part of her interview, where she’d all but explained to Alexa and James that she’d fallen in love with someone, she understands that there is no way that she can announce it on television and not tell the man himself.

It’s fairly dark in the house; there is a small light on above the stove. She continues through the quiet living room, a single table lamp lighting her path down his hallway. She pauses to pull her jacket off, tossing it over the arm of the sofa as she treks towards his room. That’s where she finds Barry, sitting in the large overstuffed chair in the corner near the window.

She takes a moment to look at him, in a pair of soft looking pajama pants and a simple white t-shirt, tattooed arm hooked behind his head as he sits wide-legged in the chair. His dark hair is only the slightest bit messy. Iris likes the look of the breadth of his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps, the print of his sex visible through the thin cotton of his pants. He’s not overtly sexy in the way that other men she’s dated have been, but there’s something about Barry, his eyes and his mouth and his length, that really gets to Iris.

She drags her eyes away from him and that’s when she suddenly notices the two gift-wrapped boxes sitting in the middle of his bed, the large bottle of wine and two glasses on his bedside table, a couple of pre-rolled joints sitting beside them too.

Iris steps further into the room, her heels heavy on his hardwood floors; the movement is enough to catch his attention and his head pops up, those sea-foam eyes glittering behind the wire frames of his glasses as he smiles up at her.

(And, Iris will realize later, her entire body floods with her affection for him, the feeling familiar in that the thought comes so much easier now, comes to her so smoothly that she doesn’t know how it’d once felt so difficult to get the words across.)

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets as he stands, unfolding his long frame from the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” she smiles at him as he comes to a stop in front of her. She naturally reaches out to wrap her arms around him, tightening them around his waist. His touch is automatic too, his big hands landing on her neck, thumbs trailing softly across the skin on her cheeks. She falls against him, his firmness and his warmth and the soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leans down and kisses her, a peck and then another, and then a longer one, his tongue easing out to coax her open. He pulls back first, though slowly, and Iris chases after him. He obliges with another kiss, this one longer, wetter, Iris squeezing him to her.

“Hi,” she speaks, voice a little faint.

“Hey, beautiful” he repeats. He thumbs at her bottom lip, the tip of his finger tracing gently over the line of her mouth.

“What’s all this?” she asks, when she pulls away from him this time. She gazes around the room again, at how the only lights on are the bedside lamps and at the weed and wine waiting on one of those tables and the gifts sitting neatly on the bed.

“It’s a celebration,” he says with a wide smile. “Well, it’s your Friday night routine, just here. I got the wine and the weed, and Thai ordered out here for a bit later.” His smile dims a little, becomes unsure. “And I thought we could talk about your segment today; maybe actually watch it. I recorded it.”

“Really?” Iris’s eyes widen in slight surprise. “I know my dad and Wally did because we’re gonna have a watch party at dad’s place tomorrow. And probably Linda, but...”

“Of course I recorded it, baby.” Barry gives her an indulgent look. “I tried to watch some of it at work, but we got called out on a case before you came on. Then I thought it’d be better to wait to watch it with you.”

Iris doesn’t have a response other than to bite at her lip, eyes trained on him, the reality of his kindness rendering her momentarily speechless. Barry doesn’t acknowledge her silence; instead, he plants another firm kiss to her mouth and steps away from her, nodding at his bed.

“Is this all okay, though? Maybe you can open your gifts and then we can pour the wine and turn on your interview?”

Her smile is big. “Yeah, Barry, of course.”

She looks over at the sleekly wrapped presents before going to sit on the edge of his bed. She makes quick work of unclasping the buckle around her ankle, leaving her shoes strewn on the floor, and then she hops up into the middle of the bed, pulling the two boxes in front of her, her dress riding up to the top of her thighs.

One of the boxes is bigger than the other, though it’s lighter than the heavier one. They’re wrapped in shiny gold paper with dark blue bows sitting in the corner of each. She picks up the bigger present first, tearing through the paper. She recognizes the garment box and thumbs open the top. Nestled in white tissue paper is a pile of red silk, the material so soft and delicate it looks like waves on the cardboard.

“Bear?” she questions, picking up the folded clothing. It’s a nightgown and matching robe. The gown is almost like a dress she’d wear out, with thin straps and a split up the right side, except the fabric of it is so light, one can tell it’s only made to be seen by a lover. The feel of it in her hands is so nice and Iris knows that this isn’t like the inexpensive dresses she buys for herself.

“I thought that you could have one to keep over here sometimes,” he says when she catches his gaze. He looks a little bashful, cheeks slightly tinged pink. “I know that Friday night is largely your thing, but maybe every so often you can spend it with me.”

“And wear this?” Iris asks, her grin widening slowly.

Barry nods.

“I think that this is really a gift for you,” she says and he barks out a laugh.

“It is my favorite color.” He grins. “And I admit that when I saw it, the first thing I wondered was how it would look as I took it off of you.”

Iris rolls her eyes in jest. “Pervert.” She fingers the material again. “So you picked it out yourself? In a store?”

“You have no idea how embarrassing it is buying women’s lingerie. The sales lady kept making these innuendos and I thought I was gonna pass out, I was blushing so hard.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Iris laughs as she reaches over and pinches his cheek. “You did good though. It’s so soft.”

Barry beams at her. “Can I get a kiss as a thanks?”

Iris shakes her head. “Not until I open this other one. I could hate it and then that would overshadow how much I like this nightgown.”

He snorts. “Even if you do hate it, I’ll still get to see you in the nightgown and, honestly, that’ll make my night.”

“Like I said: pervert.”

He just chuckles as she picks up the heavier box and claws at the paper on it. It looks like some sort of leather book, and once Iris pulls all of the paper off, it takes everything in her not to just start bawling right then and there. It’s the journal she’d seen at the fall festival, except in a pretty royal purple instead of the coral she’d picked up there; this one’s definitely a better choice. It has the rose gold edging that the other had and her name is stitched in that same color at the bottom right corner of the journal. She flips through it, fingering the heavy cream paper. Handwriting catches her attention and she turns to where Barry has written a message on the first page in small, scrawling script.

Iris,

I think I knew that I was falling for you during fall fest, when I saw you staring down at the notebook with such a look of reverence on your face. I could see in that moment how much you loved your craft. It made me curious about you, about someone who’s goal in life is to be the voice for those who can’t or simply won’t. And when I started to read your work, I saw your heart in everything you wrote, in every line that scrolled across my computer screen. I wanted to know that heart.

Now that I do, now that I’ve seen it firsthand: in the way that you touch me, in the way that you smile at me, in the way that you make me feel like every day is new story to experience, I want to be able to experience it for as long as you’ll let me. Because you are a lightning bolt, Iris, brilliant and electric. You are beautiful and tenacious and the single most fascinating person I’ve ever met.

So keep putting your heart into your stories, and I’ve no doubt that everyone who reads it will love it as much as I do.

Barry

“Barry,” she says, breathes really. She looks up at him, his expression nervous, his eyes tracking her. She feels the moisture pricking at the corners of hers and she blinks, letting the tears fall.

“Iris.” His voice is a little raw as she gazes up at him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I can…” he cuts himself off as he reaches for the journal. Iris swats at his hand and brings the notebook closer to her. “Iris?”

Another tear, and then another and then more, roll down over her cheeks and Barry stares at her, hand outstretched, mouth agape.

“Iris,” he tries again. Wordlessly, she places the journal back down in the box and then she crawls over to him, planting herself in his lap. She wraps herself around him, legs locking around his waist, arms crossing behind his neck. He closes his mouth, but his features are still twisted in turmoil. “Baby, please tell me why you’re crying.”

He asks this as he reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Everything in Iris seems like it’s settling now, even as the tears fall. Even clearer than before, she can read the story of them, like the book is in front of her, words bold and in technicolor. She can see the dream she’s living in, the vision of them laughing with each other and making love to each other, for days on end, one that plays out like a movie in front of her.

She tightens around him, trying to get as close as she can without crawling inside of him—she really wishes she could right now—and she sniffs, looking down at Barry through her wet lashes. She takes a deep breath. And then she tells him.

“I’m crying because I love you.”

Much like the last time they’d had this conversation, Barry’s body stiffens beneath her. He asks carefully, “And loving me makes you cry?”

She nods and Barry looks stricken. It’s what she needs to bring a modicum of levity to the moment and she huffs out a small laugh. “These aren’t sad tears, Barry.”

Iris can physically see him exhale, letting out a shaky breath. His shoulders lose their tension and he gives her a tentative smile. She returns it.

“For someone who always seems to know what I’m thinking, you completely missed the mark here.”

Barry shakes his head as Iris notes the flush climbing up his neck. “The tears threw me off.” He wipes at her face. “Please never do that again.”

She laughs. “I’ll do my best.”

Barry runs a hand down her back, over the fabric of the dress she’s wearing, and he grips her chin with his other thumb and forefinger, bringing her down so he can stare into her eyes.

“So you love me?” he wonders. His voice dips, lower like midnight walks on a beach in the fall or like early morning talks before coffee and reality ease in. He pulls the glasses from his face, folds them on the table beside them, and gives her all of his attention. She likes being surrounded by him like this, by the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him. She stays wrapped around him like a koala and Barry holds on to her too, gripping her chin and pressing her to him with a wide palm to the small of her back.

“I do,” Iris nods. “Very much.”

Iris can see the joy brimming in his gaze. “Can you tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“What you love about me.”

Barry shifts so that he’s sitting more comfortably on the bed and she’s perched even closer in his lap, the crotch of her panties almost pressing against his belly. He pushed the boxes and wrapping better towards the edge of the bed.

“For example,” he says, and he lets go of her chin to touch his palm to her chest. His hand is warm through the fabric of her dress. “You know that I love this heart, how gracious and compassionate it is.” He reaches down and picks up on her hands, rubbing a thumb along her knuckles, along the rings that adorn her fingers. He brings it up to his mouth and presses a few tiny kisses along the pads of her fingertips. “I love these fingers, because it’s through your writing, your typing, that you show yourself, even when you can’t always physically or verbally.” He goes back to her face, his thumb caressing the middle of her bottom lip. “I love this mouth: the way that it smiles and laughs, the way that it purses when you’re annoyed, the way that it feels on my own.”

Iris can’t help it when she licks her lips, tongue swiping at Barry’s thumb. He makes a soft grunting sound.

“Tell me, Iris.”

She thinks back to the second night they’d been together, when he’d been hard inside of her and he’d asked her to tell him how he felt fucking into her. She decides that this is even harder, not because she doesn’t know, but because when she speaks it, it’s officially there, written out in the sky, heaven coming to collect on its bet.

“I love your tattoos,” she starts, tentatively. She unhooks one of her arms from around his neck and touches at the skin on his arm, tracing the outline of a white daisy. “I love that you did it as a way to remember your mother; I love that you were brave enough to put the iris on your heart, even when I wasn’t sure how to receive that.” She reaches up to trail her fingers along his brows. “I love your eyes. I love the look of them, the fact that I can’t actually name what color they are; I love the way you look at me, how you can tell my feelings by just watching me, how it seems like I’m the only one you see whenever we’re out together.” She lets a nail trace the outline of his mouth, dropping her hand to rest on the back of his neck. “I love your mouth too; the way you always say things that make me feel beautiful or smart or loved.” She licks her lips again. “Or make me blush, like when you’re saying those dirty things when you’re…”

Barry gives her a deep smirk, those eyes flashing in a way that makes Iris’s body clench. Her thighs close around him.

“Like me saying those dirty things when I’m…?”

She rocks her hips. “You know.”

“I do,” he nods, “but I want to hear you say it.” He grinds up into her. “When I’m what, baby?”

“When,” she licks her lips again, slower this time, buoyed by the way his eyes darken, “you fuck me.”

“Mmmm,” Barry groans and then his grin changes to something a little indecent, darker and dirtier. “You know what else I love?”

Iris shakes her head, though she thinks she does.

“I love the way you respond to me, when I’m saying those dirty things to you when I’m fucking you.”

Iris rocks her hips again and she knows that it’s an involuntary moment. Because, like always, she responds to him easily, fluidly, like they’ve become extensions of the other.

Barry fingers at the hem of her dress sitting around her thighs. “Take this off,” he demands. “I want to show you how you look.”

Even with her brows furrowed in confusion, she does what he says, pulling the dress up and over her head. She reveals to him her bra and panty set, a dark green that even she thinks makes her skin glow. He fingers the lace at the top of the cups of her bra, at the same piping along her hips.

“As pretty as this is,” he murmurs, “I want it gone too.”

She unhooks the bra first, staring back at him. She tosses the bra on the bed beside them, her breasts sitting heavy on her chest, nipples already pointing out at him, seeking him, his fingers or his tongue or the nip of his teeth.

He helps her off of him so that she can take her panties off. Then, instead of letting her climb back on top of him, however, he positions himself so that he’s facing the side of the bed. He pulls her to him and sits her so she is sitting between his open knees, her back to his chest.

This brings a different part of the room into focus. Iris has always paid more attention to the wall length window on the other side of the room, the one that Barry will open when they’re together sometimes, taunting her with the eyes she’s sure she’s seen peeking through their blinds and his. The bed sits on a platform facing front, a television mounted on the wall above a stand that holds his game consoles and a few other knick knacks. But on the other side, there’s a bookshelf, above which hangs a mirror. Of course Iris has known it was there, has looked into it as she’s done her makeup or straightened one of Barry’s stolen shirts on her. But it looks almost dangerous now, only in that she can only imagine what Barry has planned for it. In the mirror, she can see all of her. It’s not an extremely large mirror, but it spans the length of the bookshelf and it’s just high enough that, on the bed, Iris can see both of their bodies.

“Barry?” she questions as she looks over her shoulder at him.

“I know you like it when other people watch,” he says, and she almost rolls her eyes at the smug, laughing look on his face. “But I want you to watch you right now. To see yourself the way I do; to see why I felt so compelled to come to you that first night.”

Iris’s lips quirk up slightly. “I didn’t look like this the first night you saw me.”

“I’ve got a great imagination,” Barry winks.

Ignoring his statement,

(but not the way her heart fills with love for him, the kind that sits heavy in her chest, bold and open; the kind that stays strong in her belly, flipping and fluttering and always present; the kind that dips low in her sex, warm and wet and wanting)

Iris turns back to the mirror and catalogs what she sees: her naked body cocooned in his fully clothed one; her brown eyes bright with anticipation, his darkened with barely disguised lust. There are still traces of her lipstick on her full mouth, and some of it is on Barry too, a look that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. The fabric of his clothes are so soft on her bare skin, and the warmth of the heat through the room only serves to heighten her desire. Barry moves her hands, throws them over either side of his thighs, and uses his to open her legs; the move puts her even more on display, the gold necklace she’s been wearing all day nestled in between her breasts, her belly taut, the pinkish brown lips of her pussy already slick.

Barry circles a hand gently around her throat at the same time that he palms the inside of one of her thighs, holding her open, rubbing gently at her skin.

“I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you,” Barry says to her, whispers it, his voice soft in her ear. “I admit I was drunk that first night, but I saw you and it was like, like the entire world came into focus. I think my body knew I would love you before the rest of me could even deny it. And, by some miracle, I got you to take me home with you.”

He touches her lightly on her neck and then moves down, the tips of his fingers feeling on her breasts until he circles a nipple. She gasps, the sound more like a low moan, and Barry smiles at it.

“You were so responsive,” he explains. “I’ve never seen anything like the way you respond to me; it’s so electrifying, baby.”

He circles one nipple with the rough pad of his fingers, pinches at it until it fully hardens, the action almost painful in that she needs more. He moves to the other nipple, does the same thing, and Iris grinds her hips, hoping to move the hand still gliding on her thigh closer to where she always wants him.

“It can be the slightest touch,” he continues, running his nails down the space between her breasts. She proves his point, whimpering a little as he glides down to her belly, and then up again, adding a finger as he goes down once more, and then up. It should not feel like this, such an innocuous move. But he’s right; she’s so responsive to him. This ghost of a touch, just the barest hint of his fingers on her, and she’s heated, her thighs quaking, her sex fluttering.

“Barry,” she sighs, catching her gaze through the mirror. He licks those pink lips, eyes honed in on her, and in that moment, she sees that it is mutual. However true it is that she so easily reacts to him, he is not unaffected. He is, just as much as she is, the truth of it right there in his wrecked countenance: the burning gray of his eyes, the pink flush of his cheeks, the colorful bunch of the tattoos on his arm as he holds her tight.

“I’m in love with this pussy, too,” he mumbles into her neck, his pale hands moving to grip her thighs. The sight of it is a touch obscene, his lightly tanned skin on the umber of hers, his long fingers pressing into her flesh. He doesn’t touch her sex, not right away. Instead, he squeezes her thighs before repeating his pattern of running his fingers up and down, up and down again.

“Look at it,” Barry groans, and she watches his gaze go down to her before she looks at herself. She knows her own body, but Iris has never looked at herself like this, has never spread her legs in front of a mirror when her lips were wet like this, flushed red like this, puckered open as if begging for the stretch of his cock.

“Look at how pretty you are, baby.” His voice sounds like music to her. “Look at how slick you get for me; how open you get for me.”

“Bear,” Iris moans.

He chuckles. “I know. I wanna fuck you right now too.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not finished playing.”

Iris gripes at that, throwing her head back on his shoulder and canting her hips toward his hand.

“No, be a good girl for me, Iris.” Those nimble fingers inch toward the middle of her. “Be a good girl and keep looking while I finish playing.”

He waits until she looks back at the mirror and then he starts. That first touch to her sends electricity coursing through her. He swipes a finger straight up the middle of her slit and she jerks, followed quickly by a limb-loosening moan when Barry sucks the digit in his mouth.

“I love the taste of it,” Barry says.

He reaches back down again, uses his index and ring fingers to hold her open and then dips his middle finger into her. He fucks that finger into her slowly, rubbing against her walls as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of her, gathering the slick of her on that finger.

“I love the feel of it.”

He shifts to use all three of those fingers, dipping them in her wet and rubbing them over her. This is where he finds his rhythm. Iris catches, and this time holds, the sight of them in the glass. Her hair is a curly mess, the strands hanging loose and tangled around her head. Her lips are swollen from how often she keeps tugging the bottom one between her teeth, her chest heaving as she prays for release. In all of that, Iris swears she’s glowing, eyes darkened and alight, her entire body lit with pleasure, bringing out the honeyed undertones in her skin. She looks raw. She looks fucked. She looks like a woman who sings out whenever she can, you woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me.

And Barry holds on to her, fingers moving a little erratically, going between fucking his fingers into her and massaging her swollen clit with his wet fingers. All of it is, a lot, the way his fingers look slicker and slicker until she’s dripping down onto his wrists, the way that their different skin colors seem to matter right now only in how erotic the contrast looks right now.

“Come, baby,” Barry says. “And watch yourself.”

She does, watches herself as she comes, watches Barry watch her as she does. And it’s as beautiful as he says. Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute.

“I love you,” Barry tells her, after, as she blinks through the haze of her orgasm.

With low, shaky limbs, she turns around, crawling on top of him and pulling him out of his sweatpants only enough that she can slide down the length of his dick. He stretches her, even as wet as she is, her cream coating him. Then he wraps his arms around her, pulling her down to him, all the way until there is only the ocean blue shade of his eyes filling her gaze, so different from the molten whiskey of hers, though nothing in Iris doubts that the same expression shines in both of them: that of a craving for this to last until the last breath shudders from their bodies, that of the love that she hopes makes that dream come true.

“I love you too, Barry.”

And this time, they only watch each other, reading each other, their climax hurtling toward them with the sort of rugged elegance that has always accompanied her idea of love. It’s bliss, la, la, la; da, da, da; do, do, do.

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

“So Iris, tell me,” Alexa May starts. Iris inclines her head as she awaits Alexa’s question, the other woman’s gaze kind and curious. “Are any of the stories on your blog particularly personal to you?” James Broderick nods his head at the question.

“Well, they’re all personal to me,” Iris tells her with a side grin. “But I assume you’re asking if one of the stories I’ve written is particular to my life?”

“Exactly,” Alexa gives her her own smirk.

Iris shakes her head, pauses for a minute as she decides how much she wants to say on a widespread television

“None of them are,” she says, carefully. “But I’m working on one.”

Both Alexa and James’s blue eyes light with interest.

“Oh really?” James questions.

Alexa leans toward her, crossing her slim legs and settling her elbows on her thighs. “Is it a love story?”

“It is,” Iris laughs softly. “It’s a story still being written, so I don’t want to give too much away. But I can tell you that it’s about two people who’ve found something neither had been particularly expecting. It’s about two people who’ve struggled to find acceptance in different ways, to fight through the pain they’ve experienced. It’s about two people who feel into each other’s lives in one of the easiest ways possible, like puzzle pieces clicking or locks being secured or some other metaphor for two people who just… fall into place.” There’s a round of sweet chuckles from Alexa and some of the other guests. “Most importantly, though, it’s about two people who’ve stumbled right into something out of a storybook, something that can only be described as love.”

There is a pause. And then Alexa sighs. “God, that’s beautiful.”

Iris presses a hand to her heart, trying to keep in the surge of emotion that floods through her in that moment.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “So are we.”

“And there you have it, viewers,” James says, pulling the attention away. “Keep a lookout for that love story on What a Life You’ve Lived. Thank you all so much for watching. We’ll be right back.”

You're different and special

You're different and special in every way imaginable

You love me from my hair follicles to my toenails

You got me feeling like the breeze, easy and free and lovely and new

Oh when you touch me I just can't control it

When you touch me, I just can't hold it

The emotion inside of me, I can feel it

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry x iris #barry allen

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blitzturtles · 3 years

Text

Title: It Starts Like This, Ch. 1/?

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind

Pairing(s): BruAbba, Platonic Bucci Gang

Summary: Then shit hits the fan.

Or, more accurately, Bucciarati hits the floor.

Giorno bolts forward, but there’s an entire, solid oak desk blocking his path. Gold Experience doesn’t even reach Bucciarati in time. His head hits the ground with a sickening crack, and he’s disturbingly limp.

Notes: Turns out being dead has a bit of a long term effect. Who would have thought?

This fic got away from me, so I'm breaking it down by character interaction (sort of). This is Giorno's part of this very Bucci-centric fic.

Disclaimer: I don't have a diagnosis of epilepsy, but I do have auras/various symptoms and am being tested. Also, I used 'grand mal' here, but it's an outdated term I only picked for the timing of the fic. They're now known as tonic-clonic seizures.

Unrelated: My dog typed the number ‘4’ on the google doc I was writing this on. Obviously it’s cursed. Sorry Bucci.

Giorno is midsentence when he notices Bucciarati’s attention beginning to wander. He watches a moment, letting his own words trail off into silence, as Bruno seems to fixate on something in his own head.

It's not entirely out of character, really. Bucciarati’s often juggling too many thoughts at once, and there are times that his mind will latch on to one in particular and get carried away. He doesn't mean it to be insulting, and Giorno doesn't take it that way.

Only a handful of seconds more pass before Bucciarati’s attention is turned back toward him. He blinks his eyes, clearing his mind, before speaking,

"Apologies, what was it you were saying?"

Giorno gives a slight smile and picks up as though nothing had happened at all.

The next time it happens, something feels off. Giorno doesn't know what. Bucciarati’s eyes drift off, almost upward. Then, rather abruptly, Sticky Fingers is there, reaching out to their user. Their movements freeze abruptly. The stillness is disturbing. Unnatural. Something tells Giorno that Bucciarati isn't lost in his thoughts.

He opens his mouth to try and say something, to right the wrongness of the air around them, but the door to his office creaks open.

Abbacchio looks between the two, from Bucciarati to Giorno. His eyes linger on Sticky Fingers a moment. The stand doesn’t so much as glance at their new companion. They don't move at all.

All Giorno can think is /wrong, wrong, wrong/. He feels sick. Without his realizing, Gold Experience has manifested behind him, fingers reaching forward.

All at once he can see the moment when Bucciarati begins to /exist/ again. His eyes still don't focus on Giorno. In fact, he looks right past him, but so does Abbacchio.

It's then that Giorno sees something settle in Abbacchio's eyes. Recognition of the problem. Or what he thinks is the problem. He nods to Gold Experience, and Giorno looks behind himself to see his stand.

Realization kicks in. Abbacchio thinks Bucciarati’s stillness-- the presence of his stand-- were justified things. Normal reactions to their boss’ stand being present.

Both are thinking: there’s a threat, and Giorno can’t help thinking that they aren’t wrong.

The conversation steers out of his control too quickly for him to keep up with. They’re both concerned about him and why his stand is out and not with what is truly wrong.

The next time it happens, Narancia is there. Bucciarati’s own words trail off. His fingers twitch in the air, a meaningless gesture that screams wrong, bad, wrong in Giorno’s mind.

He remembers, once, hearing Bucciarati explain that things can be unzipped and rezipped in a way that isn’t quite right. That sometimes, Bucciarati is in a rush or under too much pressure to be as precise as he would like.

He also remembers hearing of stands being incompatible with their users, but Bucciarati and Sticky Fingers work seamlessly. They move as one. Why now?

It makes him sick to think about, and he can see that same queasiness on Narancia’s features.

There’s something wrong, and Giorno doesn’t know if he can fix this with Gold Experience. He doesn’t know if he won’t just make it worse. Maybe Bucciarati needs time. Maybe his body will sort this out on its own.

Or maybe it won’t, some dark part of him whispers.

“You see it too?” Narancia asks in a whisper.

Giorno nods. Before he can speak, Narancia continues, “It’s happening more often.”

Those words feel like a knife slipped between his ribs. Before he can ask Narancia more, Bucciarati is rubbing at his eyes and making a confused sound in the back of his throat. All of Giorno’s attention is on him then, but he doesn’t know what to do.

Bucciarati more or less dismisses himself from the room after a few, confusing minutes of conversation.

“I must be tired,” Bucciarati had said.

Narancia and Giorno can only look at the door he leaves through in a helpless sort of uncertainty.

Giorno wants to berate himself the next time it happens, because the next time it happens is in the middle of a fight with two enemy stands, and Bucciarati is standing there, eyes drawn to the sky, and vulnerable. Sticky Fingers is no better. Giorno suspects that, if they had eyes, they would be looking in the same direction.

He doesn’t have time to panic or let the sensation of wrongness flood through him. The enemy stand sees the opening for what it is and rushes right for Sticky Fingers with an aim of demolishing stand and user alike.

Bucciarati turns his head with unfocused eyes, blinks at the thing rushing nearly right at him-- only inches off really, Sticky Fingers is too close. The enemy stand hesitates a moment, suddenly anticipating an attack, but Bucciarati only makes an odd sound in the back of his throat. His eyes draw unnaturally toward his right, where absolutely nothing of concern is waiting for him.

Giorno can only be grateful for the enemy’s hesitation. He takes advantage of it with a ruthlessness that is driven by fear more than anything.

Bucciarati doesn’t even turn his head when the enemy screams out with his last breath.

Everyone else chooses that moment to catch up to them, and the fussing is natural for the situation: the one where the two of them had been ambushed, and not the one where Bucciarati had stopped responding to his surroundings entirely.

Giorno tries to explain it to Abbacchio, but the man waves a hand, reminds him that Bucciarati has a lot on his plate at any given time. Lapses and distractions were bound to happen. Besides, they couldn’t ever be sure where Bucciarati’s attention was. With Sticky Fingers, he could reach beyond what they were used to.

Giorno finds no comfort in the reassurances, but he nods anyways.

Then shit hits the fan.

Or, more accurately, Bucciarati hits the floor.

Not one of their little group knows how to respond, all looking on in horror when Bucciarati begins to shake.

It’s Abbacchio that regains his composure first. He’s also the only one that has a clue on what to do, it seems, considering he’s rolling Bucciarati on his side before anyone else has managed to put their jaw back into its proper place.

“They’re seizures,” Abbacchio says once Giorno regains enough of his composure to crouch in front of them. Abbacchio keeps one hand on Bucciarati’s bicep, keeping him on his side without holding him down. He motions for Giorno to take over so he can shrug out of his coat.

“I know,” Giorno doesn’t think that could be any more obvious right now. He frets, for a moment, over how much pressure to put on Bucciarati, but Abbacchio doesn’t correct him.

“No, they’re seizures, Giorno. All of them. I should have realized,” Abbacchio balls his coat up and tucks it under Bucciarati’s head.

Oh.

And, just like that, it all clicks into place. Giorno feels sick, but Abbacchio takes over holding Bucciarati on his side.

There’s a gargling sound that makes Mista reach forward, but Abbacchio stops him.

“He’s choking!”

Giorno glances back at Mista and realizes, not for the first time, that he isn’t the only one terrified by all of this.

“That’s why I have him like this, just- wait. Fuck, how long has it been?” Abbacchio has to push down his own irritation at himself for not thinking about that before, but he’s barely managing to keep his own composure.

“Thirty seconds, I think,” Trish speaks up.

“Okay, that’s good. That’s fine,” Abbacchio answers with what is meant to be a reassuring nod, but no one looks all that reassured.

There’s something horribly unsettling about the most put together of them being on the floor, with blood and spit mixing together on the ground. Giorno doesn’t actually know how much of the blood is from Bruno’s mouth versus his head, but it all looks like too much. He wants to fix it. He can fix it, but he doesn’t know if that’s a good idea while Bucciarati’s actively seizing. Hell, he doesn’t know if it’s a good idea afterwards either. It’ll hurt, and what if that just makes it worse?

An eternity seems to pass, with Giorno going back and forth with himself, and everyone else being equally tense until Bucciarati slows into what almost looks more like an occasional kick of his feet. Even that stops after another ten seconds.

All together the whole thing takes two minutes and thirteen seconds according to Trish. Abbacchio reassures them that it’s fine. That’s not too long in the grand scheme of things. When he was still a cop, he was trained to call for medical services after five minutes.

Still, Bucciarati is quiet and motionless outside of what Giorno thinks might be his attempts to swallow what’s in his mouth. Abbacchio uses part of his coat to wipe the spittle away while he speaks softly to the man.

“Oh, he…” Trish trails off, quickly removing the outer layer of her skirt. She drapes it over Bruno’s middle.

Abbacchio glances over at the same time as Giorno does, “It’s okay. That’s normal.”

Giorno takes a second to register the same thing that Abbacchio had and instantly knows that Bucciarati would be grateful for Trish’s consideration. Fugo and Narancia process a moment later and both frown. It’s not that they’re judging Bruno for something he can’t help. It’s that he couldn’t help himself in the first place. It’s another thing that makes it all so much more real. If Mista processes it at all, he doesn’t say anything.

Fugo moves to reach out, to touch Bucciarati, but Abbacchio catches his hand. Gentle. “Give him another minute. If we work him up too much…” He doesn’t want to continue that thought. Doesn’t want to accidentally infer that they might be responsible for the next seizure or this one. Or any of those previous. But the reality is that Bucciarati’s brain is dealing with enough. Overstimulating him is too much of a risk.

“Should we…?” Mista asks, already backing up a bit.

“No, we just don’t want to crowd him,” Abbacchio rubs along Bucciarati’s arm in the meantime. He continues his quiet reassurances until Narancia startles.

“His eyes!”

Abbacchio glances up at Bucciarati’s face, half expecting to see another seizure beginning to take hold, but he’s relieved to find Bucciarati looking around sluggishly instead. “Welcome back,” he says gently, “You’re okay now- woah, you need to stay put. Good, yeah, like that. You’re alright. We have you. No one is attacking us.”

“W-where?”

“Giorno’s office,” Abbacchio answers easily. He wipes at Bucciarati’s mouth again. There’s definitely blood coming from either his cheek or his tongue. “You owe me a new coat.”

Bucciarati hums and closes his eyes.

“You really had no clue, did you?” Abbacchio keeps rubbing along Bucciarati’s arm. Something comforting but not all together overwhelming. “That’s fine. We can take care of this.” He catches Bucciarati’s hand when it darts out. He checks Bucciarati’s eyes again and sees there’s a muted alarm to them. “You’re alright. You’re just coming back to us from a seizure, but you’re doing good-- great.” He looks to the rest of their little crew when Bucciarati’s eyes slide shut again, “He’s probably going to cycle through this a couple of times, and he’s going to be very tired. He needs to rest. Those other seizures-- they tire you out, but this…” He lets them infer the level of exhaustion they should be anticipating. Abbacchio certainly wouldn’t expect anything from Bucciarati after what was possibly his first grand mal.

It takes time, but they get Bucciarati into bed. Abbacchio is gentle with removing Bucciarati’s clips and taking apart his braid. He doesn’t think the added tension will help. He waits until the kids scatter to start undressing him.

Sticky Fingers appears midway through, and they look like they’ve been through the ringer.

“He’s going to be okay,” Abbacchio tells them. He calls to Moody Blues, thinks maybe her presence will be reassuring. He isn’t surprised when stand leans upon stand. He hopes the comforting gesture translates to Bucciarati without adding unnecessary strain.

He has Bucciarati tucked in by the time the kids get back. He leaves Bucciarati in a new pair of briefs rather than attempting to fully redress him. His knowledge on seizures isn’t the best, but he knows to expect soreness. Getting Bucciarati dressed again simply doesn’t seemed to be worth it in Abbacchio’s mind. The kids aren’t going to go looking under the blankets anyways.

He doesn’t notice Sticky Fingers getting a hold of Bucciarati’s head until there’s already a zipper in place. It doesn’t seem to bother him, so Abbacchio shrugs and let’s the stand take care of their user. Everyone had heard the sound of Bucciarati’s head hitting the floor; no doubt there’s a nasty cut under there. Stick Fingers’ zipper will keep the bleeding to a minimum until they all feel a little more comfortable poking at Bucciarati again.

“Is there anything else we can do?” Giorno asks, when they all stand there practically wringing their hands from anxiety. Each undoubtedly preferring that it was themselves in Bucciarati’s position.

“Not right now,” Abbacchio says, in that same gentle tone from earlier. His own nerves are shot, but he knows they’re scared. They want to help. He gets that, and being snappish and potentially starting an argument isn’t going to do anything for Bucciarati’s overworked system.

Giorno hesitates, but he nods. He wants to heal the problem away, but there’s more to this than he understands. He thinks it might be a mistake to try and intervene now, so he gently tugs Mista toward the door. Mista tugs on Narancia, and Narancia tries to pull Fugo along.

“Narancia,” Giorno calls when the other opens his mouth. “Let’s go.” He puts as much authority into his tone as he can manage. Truthfully, he feels too helpless to feel like their leader.

Narancia grumbles something under his breath but allows himself to be tugged along. Giorno closes the door behind them.

#bruabba #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #bruno buccellati #giorno giovanna #jjba #jojo's bizzare adventure #jjba part 5 #everyone lives au #bucci gang #blitzwrites #blitz #fic: islt

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (2)

Autumn Serenade

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Ao3 | FF.net

Many hours later, the door clicked closed, and Marinette sat up straight in attention. “Adrien?”

“No girl, just me,” said Alya. “Did you sleep at the table all night?”

Sunlight poured in the window.

“I guess I did.” Marinette rubbed at her eye, smearing her mascara. “What time is it?”

“Morning time. Almost 8. I’m surprised Sunshine isn’t still here. I have expected to catch you both cuddling on the couch together. Did you just…fall asleep at the table?”

Marinette didn’t answer, her eyes welling up with tears.

“Marinette?”

“He bailed on me. Ghosted me. Not even a text.”

“He what!?” She shrieked. “Why that dumb little—“ Alya whipped out her phone, and called someone, putting them on speaker.

“He didn’t answer me, Alya, don’t even try.”

Instead, Nino’s voice spoke over the line. “What did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget anything! It was that Best Man of yours!”

“Adrien? What did stuffed-with-fluff forget?”

“He forgot Marinette!”

“Marinette? He ghosted her!?”

“Yes! He never showed! And he’s not answering any calls, so you better get a good excuse from him! He better be dead or in the hospital, or I’ll put him there!”

“Alya…” Marinette said weakly. “I’m sure he has a good excuse…”

“I’ll call him,” Nino promised. “I’ll figure this all out. He’s a good boy, I know he wouldn’t just…not call.”

“I want to believe that too,” Alya said with pain in her voice.

Then, Marinette’s phone rang, and she hurriedly answered it, not looking at the number. “Hello?”

“Hello Miss Dupain-Cheng,” said Nathalie.

“Oh, good morning.”

“I’m calling to inform you that next week, you’ll be working from the office all week. Mr. Agreste is…feeling unwell.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you for letting me know. By chance, is Adrien there?”

“No.” And without anything else, Nathalie hung up.

“Rude,” Marinette muttered to herself. “Something smells fishy.”

Nino called back a minute later. “I can’t get a hold of Adrien either. He’s not answering his phone.”

Alya frowned, arms crossed. “Fishy indeed.”

“Well, he can’t avoid me forever. I am Gabriel’s intern, so I’ll corner him sometime.” Then a horrible realization came over Marinette. “Oh god, he didn’t actually ask me out!”

“What? Did you daydream this whole thing?!”

“No! He asked me if I wanted to have dinner, and he said he had something important he wanted to tell me! But he never clarified that it was a date! I kissed his cheek! What if he panicked!? Alya, this is my fault!”

Nino laughed from the other end of the line. “Dude, this is so not your fault. It sounded like a date to me. He still owes you an explanation. Regardless of what type. Don’t blame yourself.”

“Nino’s got it right, Marinette. You didn’t do anything wrong. When he stops being such a butthead, he’ll come groveling. I promise.”

“Yeah, well, we can only hope.”

Through the trees

Comes Autumn with her serenade

Melodies

The sweetest music ever played

Autumn kisses we knew

Are beautiful souvenirs

A whole week of silence was torture. Marinette continued to go to work, and put on her big girl pants and acted like everything was fine. Gabriel only communicated to her through emails, and she was unanimously thrust into the leadership role in his absence.

It was frustrating, annoying, and stressful, since she was not prepared to become CEO overnight. By the end of the week, she had run herself ragged. Fueled by coffee and fear of failure, she wrapped up her last project for the evening, and went back to the apartment.

There, blessedly, Alya and Nino greeted her with hugs and leftovers.

“Rough day?”

“Rough week! Mr. Agreste has been basically AWOL, and I’m the one filling in! He doesn’t answer my phone calls or texts, and answers my emails an hour after the fact. I’m exhausted!”

“And Nathalie didn’t say anything to you?”

“Nope, she’s sealed up tight. Apparently, Gabriel is sick. But I can’t get any news about Adrien. Honestly, I’m about one mental breakdown away from breaking down the gates and demanding answers.”

Alya chuckled. “No need to be so drastic, Marinette. Maybe both of them got the flu, and Nathalie is forbidding them from doing anything but resting. You know how strict she is.”

Marinette kicked off her shoes and leaned her head back on the couch. “I know, I know, and you’re probably right. It might be best if I come up with a plan in case this ever happens again. Specifically Gabriel getting sick, not Adrien being a coward.”

“It’s weird though,” Said Nino. “Adrien’s always been overly considerate. Even after all this time, he still asks too many questions about social faux pas. For him to just ghost you, for a whole week even; it’s concerning.”

Marinette had tried not to think like that. Adrien being awkward and scared was so much easier to stomach than something tragic befalling him.

And yet, if it had, wouldn’t she know by now?

She took out her phone, and called Nathalie, much to the curious gazes of Nino and Alya.

“Hello Marinette.” The woman greeted, as stoic as ever. “I was under the impression that you were done for the night.”

“I am. I just...haven’t heard from Adrien all week.”

“With Gabriel ill, Adrien has been busy, much like you. It wouldn’t surprise me that social calls would fall to the wayside.”

“I was just...worried. Is he there?”

“Yes. He’s fine.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“He’s asleep. He’s had a hard week. You’ll see him Monday, as Mr. Agreste wants you working at the manor.”

“Oh, okay then. I guess...thank you, Nathalie.”

“You're welcome.” The call ended.

“So he’s not dead in a ditch.” Marinette announced. “Nathalie said he’s asleep. And I’ll see him Monday.”

Nino frowned, though he didn’t say anything.

It was just...odd.

As I pause to recall

The leaves seem to fall like tears

Silver stars

Were clinging to an Autumn sky

Monday morning, Marinette went over to the mansion. She rang the bell, and the gates opened. She crossed the quiet drive, the gates shutting behind her, and approached the door.

There was usually someone there to open it to greet her, whether it was Nathalie or the Gorilla. Not this time.

Marinette took hold of the handle and opened it herself, for the first time ever. She didn’t think they would mind, if the gate opened.

“Hello?” She called. “Nathalie?”

The lights in the foyer were off. And despite the large windows beside her, dark shadows hung in the corners like cobwebs.

The house felt empty. Cold, and dark. The manor had always been cold, of course. It was picture perfect, sterile and modern minimal. But today it felt worse. Noticeably worse.

If this is what it felt like at night when she went home, it was no wonder Adrien hated it here.

The doors to Gabriel’s office were closed, and she approached, knocking gently.

“Come in.” Said Nathalie’s voice.

She was at her desk, but Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. “Good morning,” she greeted.

“G-good morning.” Marinette nodded. “I’m just letting you know I’m here. You usually greet me at the door so...”

“You’ve been here long enough, I didn’t think such formalities were necessary.”

“They aren’t! It’s fine, totally fine. Just...unexpected is all. Is Gabriel still ill?”

“A bit. He may come down, but he may not. I will field all questions.”

“Okay,” she nodded. She prepared to leave, but asked. “Is Adrien home?”

“He’s working in his room. He’s very busy.”

Marinette just nodded, and went to her own office down the hall.

It was a smaller room, used to belong to Emilie. Gabriel was very specific about how things were kept. The desk was Marinette’s, but everything else was Emilie’s. The bureau in the corner, the little settee, the curtains, it was all her design. Emilie had good taste, thankfully, and so the room was fine the way it was.

Even with the light off, this room didn’t have that oppressive weight in it.

She could relax, however slightly, and get to work.

It was hard to concentrate on work when all she wanted to do was storm upstairs and demand answers from Adrien. At this point, she definitely felt like she deserved them. Date or not, she deserved a little closure as to what had happened, and why he had never followed up.

In all likeliness, it would probably just be, “my phone died, and then I forgot to text you back.”

But Nino’s comment about Adrien’s extreme consciousness really nagged at her.

Before she knew it, it was time for her lunch break, and she took her sack lunch with her to Gabriel’s office.

He still hadn’t come down, but Nathalie was there.

“Nathalie? I’m taking my lunch now. Do you think I could visit Adrien?”

The woman stopped her work and screwed up her lips, an expression Marinette had never seen on her before. She seemed to be thinking much too hard.

“I will go see if he is able to handle company.”

“Tell him I don’t want to bother him, and we don’t have to talk. I just want company.”

Nathalie nodded, and stepped out of the room. Marinette followed across the foyer, before Nathalie harshly told her, “wait here.”

She ascended the stairs to Adrien’s room.

Love was ours

Until October wandered by

Let the years come and go

I'll still feel the glow

That time cannot fade

When I hear

That lovely Autumn serenade

Marinette never had to wait. Since working in the same house, they had developed a pretty open door policy. He was allowed in her office anytime, and likewise, she was allowed in his room, though she usually knocked first. Young men and all.

But this was the first time anything like this happened. Was Nathalie just paranoid about her getting sick too? Or her getting Adrien sick?

Was Adrien still ignoring her, and let Nathalie in on it?

What had she done to warrant this reaction?

Finally, Nathalie came out of the room.

“Adrien can see you for a little bit. But he’s busy, so try not to distract him.” Her tone was stern, in a way that made Marinette instinctively curl into herself. A sternness like she was in trouble.

Seriously, what did she do?!

She climbed the stairs, and approached the door, knocking slightly. “Adrien?”

“Please come in,” his voice called back.

When she entered, she noticed the lights were out. He sat in his computer chair, facing her completely, sitting rigidly, and smiling.

It was the fakest smile she’d ever seen.

She sighed. “Relax. I’m not mad.”

He blinked. “You…aren’t?”

“I mean, I’m a little confused. Why didn’t you show?”

He frowned. “I’m sorry, I think I’m the one that’s confused. What are you talking about?”

She scoffed. “Last week? We were going to have dinner? You never showed or called?”

“Oh. I…forgot.”

“It was your idea!”

“I…was sick. And I fell asleep. Yes. What day?”

“Friday night.”

His eyes widened. “Oh yes. That is exactly what happened.”

She sighed as she sank into his couch, and opened her lunch. “I understand. I really do, but next time, could you return my calls? I spent a whole week in silence from you.”

“Nathalie confiscated my phone.”

This made her chuckle. “Okay, that’s an ironclad excuse.”

He smiled, again, so fake.

“So what did you want to tell me?”

“Tell you? I was under the impression that you wanted to talk to me.”

“Well yeah, but on Friday. You asked me to dinner and said you wanted to tell me something.”

He spun around in his chair to look at his computer. He scrolled through a document, and then turned back to her. “I don’t remember, I’m afraid. This past week has been…a bit fuzzy, to tell you the truth.”

“What were you sick with?”

His eye twitched. “Uh, cancer.”

“WHAT?!”

“Too severe? Strep throat then. Pneumonia. Bronchitis.”

“You could just say you don’t know instead of giving me a heart attack, you know.”

“Apologies.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Talking how so?”

“Like, really proper.”

“Is it not how I usually talk?”

“Not when we’re alone…”

He screwed up his lips. “Hmm. My bad. Too many period dramas while I was sick, I suppose.”

She laughed. “Oh my gosh, like when we binged Sherlock together, and we couldn’t stop talking with British accents?!”

He grinned. “Precisely. Just like that.”

“Man, had I known you were sick, I would have brought you some soup and given you company.”

“Nathalie wouldn’t have let you.”

“I know. It just kills me to think that you were alone all week.”

“It kills you?” He looked horrified.

“Yeah…I know you get lonely…sorry, I’m prying again.”

He shook his head. “Just…the phrasing caught me off guard.”

Marinette noticed from the moment she walked in, he had only once glanced at his computer. She was being a distraction, just like Nathalie had asked her not to.

“Well, I heard you were busy, so I’ll finish my lunch in my office. But, we’re good right?”

“What?”

“Like, you aren’t mad at me for anything? I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No, you did nothing wrong. We’re great friends.”

“Good!”

Something was wrong.

Love was ours

Until October wandered by

Let the years come and go

I'll still feel the glow

That time cannot fade

When I hear

That lovely Autumn serenade

She walked to him and kissed his temple, like he always appreciated, and she spared a glance at the computer screen.

She only got a glimpse of the first line.

‘Your name is Adrien Agreste.’

I can’t guarantee prompt updates for a little bit. I have some logistics to figure out, but I have a few chapters ready, so I figured I’d start posting! All the chapter titles are songs from my spooky halloween playlist that inspired this fic (and their lyrics will be in the chapters)! You can find that playlist here. The playlist will be updated as the fic goes on.

I hope to post the last chapter on Halloween!

#ml #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #the ghost of Smokey Joe #ladybug #chat noir #ghost story

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