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pretzel-box · 1 month

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-1- THE CRIMES, THE LIES, THE PRIZE WE CLAIM

Word count: 5,1k

Tags: Slightly graphic mention of human experiments, anxiety and panic

Summary: In between panic and lies, you try to cover up the mistakes that are hovering above your head like a guillotine, in the worst way possible. And while the lies over lies continue, the camera exposes the truth.

MASTERLIST HERE

You forced yourself to stand, your legs shaky, and your mind cloudy of the anxiety. The taste of bile still lingered in your mouth as you wiped the remnants of vomit from the corner of your lips, barely caring that your office attire was getting stained. The panic and adrenaline surged through you, making your thoughts race as you struggled to process what you had just done—and what you had just discovered.

Your eyes drifted back to the file on the table. Sebastian Solace... the name echoed in your mind, accompanied by images of the mutilated body you had seen in those photos. You shuddered, your hand instinctively moving to push the file away, but instead, it hovered over it for a moment, as if unwilling to completely sever your connection to the awful truth.

But there was no time for reflection. The soggy mess of coffee-soaked papers lay scattered around, seeping into your blazer as you picked them up, but that was the least of your worries. You had to clean up, to minimize the damage, to somehow cover up the fact that you had not only ruined precious data but had also stumbled upon secrets that could cost you your life.

A plan, you needed a plan—something to keep you safe from the consequences of your actions. The fear gnawed at you, suffocating you as you envisioned the worst-case scenario: being found out, being dragged into a room like the one you had just read about, strapped to a table, helpless as they experimented on you just as they had on Sebastian. The thought made your blood run cold, your hands trembling as you tried to gather the ruined files.

Sebastian’s face flashed in your mind again, his haunted eyes, his claims of innocence. You had read the files, seen the accusations against him. Nine victims. Nine lives taken, and yet... the question nagged at you: did he truly deserve what had been done to him? To be dehumanized, treated like a mere object, his body ripped apart and put back together in the name of science? The more you thought about it, the less certain you became. And with that uncertainty came a creeping sense of dread—because if they could do that to him, what could they do to you?

Suddenly, the shrill ring of a telephone cut through your thoughts, jolting you out of your trance. The sound made you flinch, your heart racing as you stared at the source. It was a sleek, modern black phone sitting on the desk, one of the few objects that had escaped the coffee spill accident.

You hesitated, your hand hovering over the receiver as you debated whether or not to answer it. This wasn’t your office; you had no right to pick up that phone. And yet, a part of you feared what might happen if you didn’t—what if it was someone who knew what you had done? What if it was someone who could help you? Your mind raced through the possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally made a decision. Your fingers closed around the receiver, your heart pounding as you lifted it to your ear, bracing yourself for whatever voice awaited you on the other end.

"Geez, took you long enough to take the damn phone into your hands," a familiar voice snapped on the other end, dripping with irritation. It was your co-worker, the one whose office you were currently standing in, and she did not sound pleased. Her tone was sharp, like a knife cutting through any pretense of civility.

"Listen up, and listen carefully," she continued, her words biting. "I wasn’t able to tell you before, but don't touch the Z-13 file on the desk. Your work is with the other ones. And for god's sake, don't snoop around in my office and don't put your nasty little fingers all over my stuff, got it?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the guilt and panic swirling together, threatening to choke you. You fought to keep your voice steady, to mask the shaking that you feared would give you away. "Yeah, yes—no worries," you managed to stammer out, hoping it sounded casual enough.

There was a brief, tense silence on the other end, as if she were scrutinizing your response even through the phone. Then, with a final, terse command, "Good. Hurry up," she abruptly hung up, leaving you standing there with the receiver still pressed to your ear.

The line went dead, but the harshness of her words lingered, echoing in your mind.

Your breath caught in your throat as you slowly lowered the receiver back onto its cradle, the ringing silence of the room suddenly louder than before.

The urgency of your situation was clear—every second you wasted increased the risk of someone walking in and discovering the mess you had made. Panic surged through you again, but you forced yourself to focus. You needed to clean up, to erase any trace of what had happened.

You scanned the room, your eyes settling on your bag, which you had left by the door when you first entered. It wasn’t designed to hold much, but it would have to do. Without wasting another moment, you hurried over and grabbed it, your hands fumbling with the zipper as you opened it wide.

The soggy files lay sprawled across the desk, the ink bleeding through the pages, the once-clear text now a blurry mess. You bit your lip, fighting back the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm you again as you gingerly began gathering the ruined papers. They were heavy with liquid, the pages sticking together as you pried them from the desk. One by one, you stuffed them into your bag, the dampness soaking through the fabric and onto your hands. You could feel the panic rising in your chest, your heart hammering as you worked as quickly as you could, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

The bag was nearly full when you finally managed to scoop up the last of the papers. You zipped it shut with a sense of finality, feeling the weight of the files press down on you like a physical burden. But there was no time to linger; you had to get rid of the evidence before anyone came in.

You glanced around the office, your eyes landing on the coffee-stained desk and the sticky puddle that had spread across its surface. Grabbing a handful of tissues from the box on the desk, you began wiping it down, your movements hurried and frantic. The coffee had already begun to seep into the wood, darkening the surface in uneven patches, but you scrubbed at it anyway, desperate to erase any sign of your mistake. The tissues quickly became soaked, leaving streaks behind, but you kept at it, your fingers trembling as you wiped away every last trace.

The desk was finally clean—at least as clean as you could manage in such a short time. You stepped back to inspect your work, your eyes darting over every inch of the office to ensure nothing was left behind. The bag, heavy with the ruined files, hung from your shoulder, a constant reminder of what you had to do next.

You couldn’t leave it here. It was too risky. Instead, you would have to hide it somewhere that's more safe—somewhere only you had access to at the moment. Your own office was the best option, at least for now. Swallowing hard, you took one last look around the room, then hurried out, closing the door quietly behind you.

The hallway was mercifully empty as you made your way back to your office. Your heart pounded in your ears, the sound almost drowning out the click of your heels against the floor. You tried to maintain a calm facade, but every step felt like a countdown to disaster.

Finally, you reached your office door. You fumbled with your keys, your hands shaking as you unlocked it and slipped inside. The familiar surroundings did little to calm your nerves, but at least here, you were safe for the moment. You quickly crossed the room to your desk, opening the bottom drawer and shoving the bag inside. It barely fit, the edges of the files pressing against the sides, but you managed to close the drawer with a solid push.

You stood there for a moment, your hands resting on the drawer as you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. The evidence was hidden, the office cleaned—at least, you hoped it was enough. But as you stared at the drawer, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of your troubles.

Two days had passed since the incident, and in those tense hours, you had lived with a constant undercurrent of anxiety, waiting for the moment when someone would discover your mistake. Yet, as the days ticked by, there was nothing—no sudden inquiries, no suspicious glances from your co-workers, no missing file alerts. It was as if the world hadn’t noticed at all.

At home, the soggy files now rested on your heater, and you had spent hours painstakingly fixing the majority of the papers. You had printed out pages from the massive database, using the limited access granted to you by the office computers. Each time a paper was replaced, the weight on your shoulders lightened just a fraction. It was a grueling process, but with each passing moment, you felt the situation inch closer to resolution.

Allowing yourself to relax, you started to believe that the worst was behind you. All that was left was to finish restoring the remaining documents at home and sneak them back into the basement archive. You imagined the quiet return, slipping the files back into their rightful place without a soul noticing. It was almost over.

But just as you let your guard down, she appeared. The black-haired co-worker stepped into your line of sight, her expression more severe than usual. The typical fake smile she wore like a mask was gone, replaced by a deep frown that sent a chill down your spine.

“You,” she said, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Do you have the files?”

For a split second, your heart froze. Her question was direct, and the weight of the files hidden in your home felt like a gun aimed at your head. But you knew you couldn’t falter now. You forced yourself to smile, hoping it didn’t look as shaky as you felt.

“A co-worker needed them, so I gave them away after finishing them,” you lied smoothly, praying she wouldn’t see through your act. “No worries.”

She stared at you, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to dissect your words, to find the hidden truth buried beneath your calm exterior. The silence stretched between you, thick with tension. You could practically feel the sweat beading at the back of your neck.

“But I finished the work you kindly gave me,” you added, trying to shift the focus. You gestured vaguely at the completed files, hoping to distract her from your obvious unease.

For a moment, it seemed like she might press further, but then she simply nodded. The skepticism in her eyes lingered, but she accepted your words, for now. Without another word, she turned and left, leaving you standing there, the sense of danger receding like a wave that had just crashed over you.

As she disappeared from view, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. It wasn’t over yet, but you had bought yourself some time—time to finish what you started and, hopefully, to make sure no one ever found out what really happened to those files.

A week had passed since the incident, and the tension that had knotted your stomach every time you stepped into the office was finally beginning to unravel. You’d managed to restore the ruined files to near perfection, and they now sat neatly in the basement shelves where they belonged. No one had noticed anything amiss—at least, not yet. Every day without a complaint was a small victory, and you clung to the hope that it would stay that way.

But now, sitting in the comfortable leather chair in Mr. Wiltshire’s office, that familiar knot began to tighten again. The golden nametag on his desk gleamed in the soft light, a constant reminder of the authority he held. You’d been summoned all the way up here for a private conversation, and though you told yourself it was likely routine, a nagging fear whispered that it could be about the accident. You had worked tirelessly to cover your tracks, but the possibility that something had slipped through gnawed at you.

The door opened, and Mr. Wiltshire entered with his usual confident stride. “There you are,” he greeted you warmly, taking a seat across from you. His smile was easy, his demeanor relaxed, as if this were nothing more than a casual chat between old friends. “Our rising star. Tell me, have you managed to make yourself comfortable in our ranks? Do you enjoy your work?”

You forced a smile, trying to match his tone. “I did. The work is just right, and I think I’ve managed to befriend some of the co-workers, even.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Despite your initial doubts, you’d found your place at Urbanshade—or at least you had, until recently.

Mr. Wiltshire nodded, seemingly pleased with your response. “That’s good to hear. You’re fitting in well, and that’s important.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard in front of him. It was clear he was listening, but also preparing for something more significant.

“You want a coffee?” he asked, his tone light. Before you could respond, he continued, “I called you here to talk about your future at Urbanshade, and since it won’t be a short conversation, let’s get some drinks.” He pressed a button on his desk and spoke into the intercom, “Please, bring us some coffee in my office.”

As he released the button, he turned his full attention back to you, his smile unwavering. “Urbanshade has great plans for you, starshine.”

His words hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but feel a mixture of relief and apprehension. On one hand, it was reassuring that this meeting seemed to be about your future at the company rather than a reprimand for your mistake. On the other hand, the mention of “great plans” made you uneasy. You had hoped to keep your head down, to let the memory of that disastrous day fade into obscurity along with the name Sebastian Solace. But now, it seemed that Urbanshade had other ideas for you.

Mr. Wiltshire’s smile grew as he continued, his words flowing like honey. “You’ve been doing exceptional work, truly. I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress, and it’s clear that you’re not just another employee. You’ve got potential—real potential. You’re detail-oriented, dedicated, and I can see you have a certain... curiosity that’s rare in this business.”

His praise felt like a double-edged sword. While the compliments were flattering, there was an undercurrent that made you uneasy. It was as if he was building up to something, laying the groundwork before dropping the real reason for this meeting.

Just as you were about to respond, the door opened, and an assistant entered carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of coffee. The sight of the assistant briefly drew your attention, but what really caught your eye was the mug she set down in front of you.

It was your favorite mug. The one you kept in your own office and the one you had during the accident. It was a small, personal item—something no one else should have known about. Yet here it was, filled to the brim with hot coffee, its familiarity now a source of dread rather than comfort.

You felt your stomach lurch as the assistant placed the mug in front of you with a polite smile, then turned and left the room without a word. Mr. Wiltshire watched your reaction closely, his smile never wavering, though now there was something sharper behind it.

“Ah, I see you recognize it,” he said, his tone almost too casual. “I thought you’d appreciate a little taste of home, so to speak. After all, it’s the little things that make our work environment more comfortable, isn’t it? In this case, a hot sip from our favourite mug.”

You managed a stiff nod, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for the mug. The warmth of the coffee seeped through the ceramic, but instead of soothing your nerves, it only heightened your anxiety. How did he know? The question echoed in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to ask it aloud.

Mr. Wiltshire leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “You know, we’re very thorough here at Urbanshade. We like to make sure everything is in order, that nothing slips through the cracks.” He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you squirm. “That includes monitoring our facilities, keeping an eye on things... and people.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and your mind raced. He knew. Somehow, he knew about the accident, the files, everything.

“We have security cameras in every office,” he continued, his tone as smooth as ever, but with a chilling edge. “For safety, of course. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to our valuable employees... or our valuable information.”

You felt a cold sweat break out on your forehead. The weight of the mug in your hand seemed to increase, but you forced yourself to set it down carefully on the desk, not trusting yourself to take a sip.

“I saw everything,” Mr. Wiltshire said softly, leaning forward now, his eyes narrowing. “The coffee spill, the frantic cleanup, the files you so carefully took and... altered. And then there’s your little side interest- Sebastian Solace.”

He let the name hang in the air like a noxious cloud, and you could almost feel the walls closing in around you. The room seemed smaller, the air thicker, as if the truth you’d been trying to bury was suffocating you.

“You see,” he continued, his voice taking on a mocking, almost condescending tone, “I can’t help but wonder... What exactly were you doing? Are you just a curious employee? Or is there something more to it? A spy, perhaps? Sent by a competitor to dig into our most sensitive information?”

Your mouth went dry, and you struggled to find your voice. “N-no, I... I’m not a spy,” you stammered, feeling the words tumble out clumsily. “It was just an accident... I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t,” he interrupted, his smile now entirely devoid of warmth. “But accidents have consequences, don’t they? Especially when they involve sensitive materials.”

He leaned back again, his gaze pinning you in place. “So, what do we do about this? How do we handle a situation like this without causing... unnecessary complications?”

The threat in his words was unmistakable, and you felt a surge of panic. You were trapped, caught in a web of your own making, and Mr. Wiltshire was the spider, waiting to see how you would try to wriggle free.

The room was silent except for the faint ticking of a clock somewhere behind you. The mug of coffee sat untouched between you, its presence a reminder that your every move had been watched, analyzed, and now used against you.

Mr. Wiltshire’s eyes bore into yours, and you knew there was no easy way out of this. Whatever came next, it would be on his terms, not yours. And the only thing you could do now was try to survive the fallout.

Mr. Wiltshire’s demeanor shifted, the warmth in his voice returning as if the tension from moments ago was nothing more than a figment of your imagination. His smile was back, but it felt rehearsed, like a mask he wore to keep you off balance.

"Z-13—Mr. Solace—has done some truly awful things, not just to our society, but directly to us here at Urbanshade," he began, his tone almost fatherly. "We’re an honest, vital company in these times, and while I’ll admit we have our flaws, the file you read... it was a corrupted report, filled with sickening lies meant to turn people against us. Saboteur, that’s what we call him now.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, his eyes narrowing as he watched your reaction. “If you think he deserves pity, then I urge you to remind yourself what he did to those nine humans and their families.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the air thicker as you felt the weight of his words. The crimes of Sebastian Solace had haunted you ever since you first read about them, but now, hearing this, the doubt you had felt about the experiments began to waver. Could it be that you had been misled? That Solace was truly the monster they painted him as?

Mr. Wiltshire leaned forward again, his voice softening, yet laced with an underlying menace. “Or what he did to us.”

He reached into a bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a thick file and flipping it open to a specific page. As he turned it toward you, your eyes fell on a recent report from the Hadal Blackside, detailing the aftermath of Solace’s sabotage.

“We conduct experiments, yes,” he said, his tone almost defensive, as if he was trying to convince you of their necessity. “But we do it with the utmost care, as ethically as possible. Yet, when mankind seeks to push the boundaries of evolution, sacrifices are sometimes unavoidable. Solace... he sabotaged us, forced the Blackside into a state of lockdown, and we can’t track him down because he has one of our newest devices—a scrambler.”

Your eyes were drawn to the pictures within the file. One showed a large, strange-looking machine, its design intricate and intimidating. The caption read, "Scrambler—Beta Design." Another page outlined the device’s functions, detailing how it could disrupt signals and create a zone where tracking was impossible.

“If he has the scrambler,” Mr. Wiltshire continued, his voice taking on a note of frustration, “we have no way to find him. He’s out there, somewhere, hiding in the shadows with that machine, and we can’t bring him to justice. He’s dangerous, and now, more than ever, we need to neutralize that threat.”

His words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on you. The reality of the situation was far more complex than you had ever imagined. The man whose suffering you had pitied, whose story had seemed so tragic, was being painted as a villain of the highest order—a threat not just to the company, but to society as a whole.

And yet, something still gnawed at you, a tiny voice of doubt that refused to be silenced. Could Mr. Wiltshire be twisting the truth? Was this all just a clever manipulation to keep you in line, to ensure you wouldn’t dig any deeper into the secrets of Urbanshade?

As these thoughts swirled in your mind, Mr. Wiltshire leaned back once more, his eyes never leaving yours. "So, you see, there’s more at stake here than just a few files. I trust you understand now why it’s so important that we maintain control over the situation. And why I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you moving forward."

His smile returned, but it no longer felt reassuring. Instead, it was a warning—a reminder that you were now entangled in something far beyond your control, and there was no easy way out.

The weight of Mr. Wiltshire's words pressed down on you like an anchor, pulling you deeper into a sea of confusion and dread. "I see..." you muttered, struggling to process everything he'd just unloaded onto you. The lines between truth and manipulation blurred, and you found yourself questioning everything you thought you knew. "So, I read a corrupt file?"

"That's correct," he confirmed, his tone almost patronizing. "That's why the file wasn’t in the archive with the others. And it's not like you were supposed to see it in the first place." He took another casual sip of his coffee, as if this was all just another routine conversation.

You felt a small surge of relief. Maybe, just maybe, this was all a misunderstanding, and you could continue on with your life, leaving this mess behind. But then, as Mr. Wiltshire leaned forward, his eyes locked onto yours with an unsettling intensity, your hopes quickly began to wither.

"But let’s talk about the real reason you're here," he said, his voice suddenly businesslike. "Keeping someone with your knowledge and... naivety here is dangerous, so I've spent some time thinking and have come to a decision. I'm going to promote you."

Your heart skipped a beat. Despite everything—the stress, the mistakes, the fear—your boss was actually considering promoting you. The idea filled you with a brief but intense wave of excitement, washing away the anxiety and doubt that had plagued you. Maybe, just maybe, this would be your chance to escape the drudgery of intern work and finally start climbing the corporate ladder.

But the next words out of his mouth turned your excitement to ice.

"You will now be our ‘lead researcher’ for the Hadal Blackside," he announced with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Your transport leaves in an hour."

The words hung in the air, a death sentence disguised as an opportunity. Your stomach dropped as he placed two objects on the desk in front of you: a syringe and a USB stick. "A special position for a special girl."

The trap had been laid out, and you had walked right into it. Your so-called promotion wasn’t an escape—it was a ticket to the one place you had desperately wanted to avoid.

"I will give you an actual promotion when you return from this mission," he continued smoothly, as if sensing your internal panic. "It’s very simple. And it will be worthwhile for you. Go down to the Hadal Blackside; we’ll provide you with the necessary equipment. Find a certain crystal." He paused, watching your reaction, gauging how much more you could take. "And find Sebastian Solace. Deactivate the scrambler and send us his location. The syringe will be the medication you give him, this will knock him out right away, and the USB stick will help you through the lockdown. That's all to it, really. No real harm.“

His voice dropped to a whisper, the intensity of his gaze making your skin crawl. "I promise you, your safety is guaranteed. This is a simple mission. You’ll receive the other details later on. But if you turn it down..." He trailed off, the threat clear without needing to be spoken. "I can't guarantee what will happen to you here."

You stared at the syringe and USB stick, the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a physical force. This wasn’t a promotion; it was a one-way ticket into a nightmare you’d wanted to avoid. But what choice did you have? Refuse, and you knew Mr. Wiltshire wouldn’t hesitate to make good on his unspoken threat.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "I understand," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt hollow, but they were all you had left. Your future at Urbanshade—and possibly your life—now depended on completing a mission that you were woefully unprepared for.

"Good," Mr. Wiltshire replied, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. "Then I’ll see you when you return, Lead Researcher."

You left the office with a heavy heart, the new mission lingering in your mind as you tried gaslighting yourself into believing that it was really just a minor setback, a necessary stepstone toward a luxurious future. The promotion was all you had ever wanted, and now it was only a few inches out of grasp—so close, yet so perilously out of reach.

As you walked down the sterile hallway, each step echoed with the weight of your decision. You told yourself that this was just another challenge to overcome, another box to check on your way to success. After all, wasn’t this what you had signed up for? To rise through the ranks, to prove yourself, to be more than just another faceless employee in the vast machine of Urbanshade?

But no matter how many times you repeated those reassurances in your mind, the knot in your stomach only tightened. You could still see Mr. Wiltshire’s cold smile, hear the veiled threat in his voice, feel the chill of the syringe and USB stick he’d placed in front of you.

As you neared the elevator, the walls seemed to close in on you. The sleek, reflective surfaces showed a distorted version of yourself—someone who was confident, capable, and in control. But beneath that polished exterior, doubt gnawed at you, eating away at the fragile sense of security you had worked so hard to build.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet hiss. The button for the office room level seemed to glow ominously as you pressed it, the descent mirroring the sinking feeling in your chest.

This was supposed to be your moment, your chance to prove yourself.

Now you could almost feel the walls of the Hadal Blackside closing in on you, the darkness creeping in from all sides, the weight of the ocean pressing down on your shoulders. The thought of returning there, of facing whatever horrors awaited, made your pulse quicken with dread.

But what choice did you have? Mr. Wiltshire had made it clear—either you complete this mission, or you’d find yourself in a fate far worse than the one you were being sent to prevent.

The elevator came to a stop with a jolt, and the doors slid open to reveal the familiar sight of the office room level. You stepped out, your footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor. The smell of coffee and old paper hit your senses, a harsh reminder of the reality you were about to face.

Your office was just down the hall, a small, nondescript room that had become your refuge during your time at Urbanshade. But as you approached, you couldn’t help but feel like it was the last place you wanted to be. The files you had worked so hard to restore, the secrets you had uncovered—they were all there, waiting for you.

You reached the door and hesitated, your hand hovering over the handle. Your last hour over the surface of the ocean has just started.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace fanfic #sebastian solace x you #asabovesobelow

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fieldofdaisiies · 18 days

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elain x lucien | warnings: none really, except for a fight between siblings and sad thoughts | masterlist | ao3

Lucien is woken by the sound of puking. It is now two days after having returned to the Mortal Lands and Elain has spent most – rather all – of her time inside her room. It has either been Lucien or Vassa who brought her food during these days, she always politely thanked them and then disappeared again. Lucien gathers that she either wants to return back home (to the Night Court) or that she just needs more time.

He is almost sure it is the first option.

The walls in the manor are very thin, allowing just the smallest of sounds to slip right through the cracks. And while he has to admit that Elain‘s presence here irritates him more than expected, Lucien also knows he can’t stay in bed. The tug on his chest is almost dragging him out of the sheets, pulling him towards her. His heart is racing in his chest with… her emotions.

My mate. My mate. My mate. She needs me. His soul seems to sing and won’t stop. Groaning loudly, he flops onto his back, kicking down the sheets with his legs which leaves his body, his naked body, fully exposed to the chilly night air crawling in through the half-open window. He can’t sleep with closed windows, not even during winter.

Lucien brings up a hand, wipes it over his forehead and then groans loudly into his palm. He should just stay in bed and let her deal with her problems alone. They have not accepted the bond yet, he has no business going to her room to see what is going on. But this damn bond is also what tells him that he has to go. He can feel her desperation, her agony, her pain, her fear and then he can hear it. Sobbing.

It is no longer the sound of vomiting that reaches his ears, but rather silent sobs that are full of pain and agony. And Lucien knows he has to check on her.

His feet move fully on their own accord. He rises from the bed, shrugs on some pants and before he can question his decision, he is standing outside her door. He debates for a mere second if it is a good idea, knowing he will once again be met with her indifference, and yet he knocks. Then he waits. No answer.

His knuckles rasp against the door once again and still no answer. Lucien places his hand on the door handle. “My lady? Are you alright?”

Silence, but with every second that passes the breathy sobs and sniffing become louder and the handle slips from Lucien’s hold, being pulled down. Lucien eyes land on her and his heart breaks. Dressed in a white chemise, her feet bare and hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, Elain stands before him. The corners of her mouth are downturned, her eyes red and empty. “I am,” she sniffs, and wipes the back of her hand over her nose.

“You are a damn good liar.” Lucien braces one hand on the doorframe, nails digging into the wood, his biceps flexing. Elain irritates him, he can’t put it any other way, and he has no idea how to act around her. React to her presence here. “You want me to take you back?”

“I have only been here for a few days.”

“That wasn’t an answer to my question. You clearly don’t enjoy yourself here. Want me to take you back?.”

“I have never said so, you are drawing wrong conclusions. I haven't even had a chance to fully arrive here yet.” Elain furrows her brow, almost glowering at her mate. Then she takes a step forward. “Why did you even allow me to join you when you want to return me only after a few hours.”“Don’t talk of yourself like you are an object, Elain. It is not my decision to make if I return you or not. It was a mere question because I have noticed that you are not well.”

continue on ao3

general Elucien tag list @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop @aayo-whatt @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @thelovelymadone @berryzxx @jules-writes-stories @bookishbroadwaybish @the-darkestminds @goldenmagnolias @isnotwhatyourethinking

#elain x lucien #elucien #acotar #acosf #acosad #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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slaymybreathaway · 5 months

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YOU'VE REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME

◇Chapter Seven◇

Chapter List Masterlist

Word Count: 1.4k

1965 ◇ The Drive-In

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Straight after she was finished locking up the salon, Gracie raced home. It felt like her stomach acids were eating her up from the inside and at any minute, she was about to vomit.

She got like this whenever she lied, like the guilt of not telling the truth was too much to bear. Today, Gracie couldn't stand when Shelly started bragging about her perfect life that it just burst out of her. She never should've said it, she never should've used Darry like that.

As she speed-walked down the sideway, she could feel the acidic bile rising up her throat. Knowing that she wouldn't make it into her own house on time, she burst open the gate of the Curtis house and ran towards the door.

"Heya Gracie," Sodapop greeted her from where he was sitting on the living room couch but she didn't respond and continued to sprint up the stairs.

Gracie just made it into the bathroom on time. As soon as she kneeled down infront of the toilet, she began to puke today's lunch into the toilet bowl. She continued to throw up until she had nothing left in her stomach. That's when she heard a knock on the door.

"What's wrong, Gracie... you're not pregnant, are you?" Sodapop joked from the other side of the bathroom door.

Gracie wiped the corners of her mouth with some toilet roll before standing up and flushing the toilet. "Is Darry here?"

She asked turning on the tap and rinsing out her mouth.

"Nah, he left for work twen'ny minutes ago" Sodapop replied. "Why is he the father?" He laughed slightly, altough part of him was being totally serious.

Gracie opened the bathroom door and stood facing a smiling Sodapop."I'm not knocked up, Soda. 'M just not feeling too hot," she cut past him to go down the stairs. She was cutting it fine as it was and would have to hurry go get to her shift on time.

"Okay then," he shrugged before following her. "But if my brother finds out that I let you go to work while you're sick, he'll skin me. Maybe you should just stay here," he spoke, though he knew that the only way Gracie would miss work was if one of her limbs were falling off.

Gracie took a glass from the Curtis's kitchen press and filled it tap water, before chugging the whole thing. "I'll be alright. Anyway, I've got a day off tomorrow so I can worry about being sick then,"

Sodapop laughed and shook his head. "Alright, alright. Well at least let me drive you, since I assume your car is still a piece of shit,"

"Thanks, I appreciate it. Hey, why haven't you or Steve gotten around to fixing it for me?" She joked.

Sodapop shot her a glance. "We're mechanics, not miracle workers. C'mon," he replied, grabbing his keys from the table and heading out the front door.

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"To be honest, I'm just confused why she even came in. Her hair was freshly styled when she walked in the door," Sally shrugged as she threw some popcorn into her mouth.

The pair stood behind the concession stand at the drive-in. With no customers to be served, they chatted about the day's events, the sound of the film served as backround noise for their conversation.

"C'mon Sal, I highly doubt that she just came in to get her roots touched up. She just wanted to rub her perfect life in our face to make us feel bad about ourselves. It's been the same since our freshman year,"

Gracie went on a rant as she refilled the soda dispenser. "I just thought that we wouldn't have to deal with it after graduation but apparantly we still do,"

Sally chuckled. "You seem to have a lot of pent up anger there... is that the reason why you told her that Darry-"

"Don't remind me, please. I feel so horrible about that," Gracie looked around to make sure that none of the gang were hanging around anywhere before she continued speaking. "I couldn't even make it home today, had to run to the Curtis' before I threw up. Scared the shit outta Sodapop,"

Sally stood, still throwing popcorn into her mouth. "I'd say. You sound like you need an exorcist whenever you spew".

Sally and Darry were the only two people who knew about her tendancy to vomit whenever she lied. Gracie shook her head with a smile, before bursting into laughter as she remembered something.

"Sodapop asked me if I was throwin' up bc Darry got me pregnant," she laughed. She noticed something was wrong when she didn't hear Sally laugh along with her. "Sally, it was a joke"

"I know! I know... well I mean,

I wouldn't be suprised if you told me that you two had, you know, banged" she shrugged.

"Jesus Christ!" Gracie turned to face her, a look of shock on her face. "Is that what you think about in your free time?" But before she was able to deny the accusation, Ponyboy walked up the to the consession stand.

"Hey, I forgot you were working tonight!" he greeted with a smile. To his left stood a tall red-headed girl, who looked a couple of years older than him. She was dressed in a pretty light blue dress which identified her as a Soc.

Gracie shot Sally a 'please do not mention anything we just talked about' look before replying to him. "Hi Pony, who's your friend?" She nodded towards the red-head with a smile.

"I'm Cherry Valance," the girl stuck her hand out for Gracie to shake. She seemed nice enough, and was quite pretty too. Still, you had to be careful with Socs.

"Well it's nice to meet you, I'm Gracie," she smiled before adding "alright, what can I get y'all?"

Ponyboy counted on his fingers before ordering. "Umm, 5 popcorns please,"

Together Sally and Gracie filled up the popcorns, adding extra butter to them all just because they were for the gang. They handed the popcorn to Ponyboy and Cherry but when Ponyboy pulled out 5 dollars, Gracie was suprised.

"Ponyboy Curtis put that money away, you know damn well that I've never made you pay before," she crossed her arms playfully.

In reality, she hated seeing Ponyboy waste the cash he earns from his part-time job, loading boxes at the record store once a week, on things like popcorn and cigarettes. He should be saving that money to put towards college, lord knows he'll probably be the only one in the gang that's smart enough to get in.

Ponyboy knew how she felt about this, as Darry felt the exact same. He shook his head "Nah it's on Two-Bit, don't worry... and pocket the change because he's already too boozed-up to notice"

"Yanno what, I will. I stopped counting how many times he said he'd 'pay me back' for all the beer I buy him" she smiled before ringing up the cost of the popcorn in the register.

Just as Ponyboy and Cherry started to walk away, Gracie remembered something. "Hey Pone, can I talk to you for a sec?"

The boy nodded for Cherry to get a head start before walking closer to the concession desk, struggling to hold three bags of popcorn without one of them slipping out. "Yeah?" He asked.

Grace leaned down and whispered to in his ear. "Cherry seems like a nice girl and all but just watch out and make sure she doesn't get you into any trouble, ya hear? It's much harder to get out of sticky situations when you're from our side of the city"

"Yeah I know, thanks. I'll see you tonight?" He asked trying to shimmy some popcorn up into his mouth.

"Yeah, and before curfew I hope. Darry ain't gonna get mad at you if you don't give him a reason to," she warned. Ponyboy rolled his eyes, but he knew it was true.

"Alright, before curfew. See ya Gracie," he walked away from the stand, following Cherry down to the seating area.

Once he fully disappeared, Gracie turned back to face Sally, who's shit-eating grin had returned back to her face.

"So," she spoke. "You gonna tell Darry that y'all are engaged or are you gonna wait till the wedding day?"

"Shut up," Gracie rolled her eyes and turned to serve a customer.

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Taglist (comment to be added): @american-idiot-jpg @kaytheday

#the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders darry #the outsiders #darrel curtis #darry curtis #darry curtis x reader #se hinton #1960s

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mlmxreader · 4 months

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The Broken Soldier From a Broken Home | John Constantine x m!reader

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↳ ❝ Constantine "You're bleeding, for fuck's sake!" Medieval ❞

: ̗̀➛ Constantine finds himself in Medieval era Cymru, although he finds something there that he isn't quite willing to leave behind or to abandon so easily - at least, not without a proper fight, he isn't.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ graphic depictions of warfare, graphic depictions of death, death and injury, blood, swearing, smoking, mentions of alcohol, vomit

↳ word count: 1019

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You watched, unable to even move, your sword slowly slipping between your fingers, eyes wide and wild as your mouth fell open. Upon the battlefield, the bodies of slain men - your men - laid defeated and limp.

In horror, you could only continue to watch as one of your men was brought to his knees by an enemy soldier, and had a sword stuffed down his throat before being violently pulled forward; you wanted to scream, eyes going blurry and voice leaving you, as you watched his entrails being pulled either side as he was split into half.

You wanted to scream.

Blood spilling into the soil and pooling into a black puddle as it rose with the waters from yesterday’s rain; you did not even notice your sword hit the ground with a loud clatter.

You did not feel the wet ground at your knees and upon your hands; but you did feel the bile rising in your throat, only to be expelled through your lips with a harsh burn unlike any ale you had ever tasted before. It was like fire being coughed up from your lungs, and as you knelt there, powerless and defeated, you could only stay frozen.

“Get up!” A thick accent snapped at you, followed by a harsh tug to your shoulder. “Come on, milwr! Up!”

Shaky and blurry, your gaze settled upon the brown eyes of John Constantine, who you knew as someone who did the same thing that Myrddin did; but that did not matter, as you flung yourself into his arms, holding on tightly as you finally screamed.

The sound loud enough to cut through the rustle of horse hooves and clanking metal.

Constantine did not dare to shove you away, he couldn’t. But he did know that you were not in a safe position for breaking, so he carefully guided you away from the battlefield - being sure to pick up your sword even though it burned his hands something fierce.

Myrddin had warned him that it was tied to your bloodline, and that he would be left with thick and blistering burns if he picked it up - but what else was he supposed to do?

After he had sat you against a tree, Constantine made quick work for discarding your armour, even if his hands did shake and he did worry that the lack of modern medicine would result in something far worse than he expected; but when he was about to open your shirt, he pulled away, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he stared at the palm of his hand.

“Go,” you coughed weakly, shaking your head. “Glywysing has fallen… we lost, cariad…”

Constantine shook his head, wiping your blood on his shirt before working your shirt aside so that he could properly see. “You’re bleeding, for fuck’s sake! What use are you to Arthur if you’re fucking bleeding?”

You could only cough in response, weak and defeated as you looked in the direction of the battlefield again. “Arthur should take my head… and let it be known that failure… failure to prevent them from invading…”

“No!” He snapped, thankful to see that the wound was not particularly deep. Yet his heart still raced and his hands still shook. “You think I’m gonna bloody let you die here?! After everything?!”

Gently, you laid your hand on his and shook your head. “You said you’re from the future, when we first met…”

“Yeah, and?”

“Tell me,” you croaked out, giving up the will to even talk. “Do we succeed?”

Constantine paused for a moment before sighing heavily and shaking his head. “No. They outlaw and ban your language. Flood your villages for water they don’t even want. They take over your lands… you’re not even considered a people on your own - only part of them, and your country isn’t recognised by anyone anymore…”

“So why must I survive?” You asked quietly. “It will all be for nothing anyway…”

He sat down beside you with a crash, pulling out his packet of cigarettes and lighting one up; he gave one to you and lit it for you as well. “Because I fucking care, milwr. I care about you, even though you are a pain in my ass at times, and I don’t wanna see you die.”

You scoffed, reaching for your sword and grasping the hilt. “You saw what they did… a sword through his fucking throat… they will never stop… they will do that to all of us, and the dragon will fall…”

Constantine shook his head, offering you his hand as he glanced at you for a moment. “Live for me, please.”

You glared at him for a moment, the pleading in his brown eyes seemingly much brighter than the blood and bits of brain and stomach in his dirty blond hair, and gave him your hand. “Fine, you have a deal… but it’s for you - no one else.”

He nodded slowly, pretending that he didn’t notice how you had completely given up; when he first met you, you were one of Arthur’s bravest soldiers.

Fighting to prevent the oncoming invasion, fierce and full of love for your countrymen - and now… now you did not even want to live for them, and he felt guilty for telling you that the future was bleak and broken. But he knew he did the right thing, as it wouldn’t have been right of him to lie to you that way.

But seeing you give up on hope when you had once been so optimistic and full of… full of bravery. He hated it, although he could not blame you for it; a lifetime of war, constant your entire life, who could tell you that it was wrong to become hopeless, bleak, and broken?

Who could tell you that it was wrong to become tired and wish for little else than to die instead of see that future?

“Y’know,” he said just loud enough for you to hear. “I ain’t never bloody met anyone like you before, and I… I think I might stay. Study under Myrddin for a while. I think I might stay.”

if you made it to the end of this fic and you enjoyed it, then please, if you have any cash to spare, maybe donate to Hayam and her family so they can escape the ongoing genocide in Palestine - even the smallest amount can have such a major impact and can help a lot. Please, consider donating.

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hoe4brahms · 4 months

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Brahms curls clung to his face as he knelt on the ground, heavy pellets of rain pouring down on us as lightning flashed in the sky. The white dress I was wearing clung to my skin, and I could feel a chill beginning to seep into my bones. Brahms never turned his beautiful green eyes away from me as I knelt before him. A look of betrayal on his face as we stared at each other. I could see the thoughts racing in his mind, his mouth moving but making no sound as his hand wraps around my own. My fingers were warm from the blood coating them. I want to vomit as it continues to spill from his abdomen.

I never meant for it to go this far. Never meant to hurt him. I initially stabbed him just to slow him down. Something about him was more animalistic and predatory than any other time he chased me. I stabbed him a second time, but he just kept coming at me. All playfulness gone from earlier. So I stabbed him again and again. Finally, he dropped. He said that if i won the game, he would let me go home. Somehow, I knew this wouldn't kill Brahms, and I was glad for that because a messed-up part of me loved him so much that it hurt to do this to him. I just wanted to escape, but not at the expense of taking his life.

Brahms was an enigma to me. His determination was so strong that it left little to no room for weakness. It was because of this that he always got back up. He was good at everything he'd set out to do, always defying human nature. Despite the situation, he still looks at me with love in his eyes. His free hand moves to my face, and I close my eyes automatically and take a deep breath as his thumb traces the bow of my lips. I can feel him drinking me in, as though he was committing this moment to memory. I'm shaking now, my teeth chattering as the wind bites at my skin. The dress does little to protect me from the elements. But Brahms said I looked like an angel when I wore white, and I loved making him happy. Brahms seems unaffected and removes his cardigan, covering me with it instead.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, swallowing back a sob. He just shakes his head and removes my hand from the screwdriver sticking out of his abdomen. He just sighs and gets to work wiping my hands free of his blood. "I love you" he says quietly. I nod and lean into him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and breathing in his musky smell. Dirt and iron. "But...why?" he asks hesitantly. Covering his wound with his hand, "What did I do?". His eyes are brimmed with tears, and he looks confused. My attack had taken him by surprise after all.

Was being tired and scared reason enough? Somehow, it didn't feel like it now. I was angry, too. The games he played terrified me. It felt like he took them too far psychologically. Physically speaking, he never actually hurt me, not intentionally anyway. But psychologically speaking, he did some damage. Brahms was horrifying, and I could never tell if his game of cat and mouse in the woods would result in my death, however unintentional that may be. I didn't doubt his love for me, though, not for a single second. More often than not, he'd make love to me passionately on the ground in the woods after he caught me, the leaves catching in our hair and clothes dirtying from the damp ground. The memory hurt so bad that it felt like my heart might explode. His love was earth-shattering, and I knew I'd never have someone love me the same way he did ever again. Brahms has ruined me for anyone else.

"I don't know how else I could have won," I admit. He gives me a small smile, as though he understands, "I'm sorry, my pretty girl." he says, "For everything." I nod in response and move my hands to his face. One stroking the lengths of his scars, and the other his rough stubble. He closes the distance between us, kissing me passionately as a mixture of rain and tears run down our faces. Brahms pulls away moments later and reaches for the porcelain mask on the ground. He places it back on his face, shutting himself off emotionally from me. "Go home," he demands "before I change my mind." He gives me a gentle shove and drops his hands to his knees in submission. I kiss his mask gingerly on the lips, say one last apology, and get to my feet. I can hear the breath catch in his throat as I take the first step away from him, but all he does is fist his fingers and look at the ground "I love you" I tell him, taking another step, and another. He lifts his head to watch me go, and as I meet his gaze again, I'm tempted to turn around. I want to stay with him.

I wanted him to get off his knees and make me stay with him, to yell and beg. I was sick in the head. Sick for hurting him because I wanted to go home and sick because I wanted him to fight for us. Brahms always kept his word, so I knew for the first time ever that he'd really let me go.

But if I didn't go now, I know I'd never be given the opportunity to leave again. There was so much more to life than what the walls of the manor could offer. But as I walk away from the quiet man who spent so much time doting on me, I realise how much I love him, enough to make my heart stutter. Bittersweet memories crash through my mind like a tidal wave as his anguished cries echo through the night, not even the thunder and lightning could cover the heartbreaking sound.

Brahms never cried before, and it hurt my heart and made it hard to breathe listening to him. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. He's still on his knees when I look back from the beaten up jeep. His head in his hands as his shoulders shake. His once white shirt is now a deep shade of crimson, and I have to force my eyes away as I leave the man I love behind.

#brahms the boy #brahms heelshire #the boy 2016

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hinatastinygiant · 8 months

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31 | מוות

Pairing: Uzui x Fem!Reader

The Emptiness You Left

When you get inside the temple, you shut the door right behind yourself and push the criminal towards Doma. Over the past week, he has begun to eat your sacrifices in front of you, probably thinking you'll get off to the satisfaction of seeing the light leave their eyes or that you'll get scared and never come back. However, it just makes you feel reassured that he is eating your food. That way he'll be less hungry and less likely to hurt you.

Once he finishes eating, he looks at you, wiping his mouth though the grin on his lips remains. "Welcome back, my dear. I do love the smell of fresh meat you carry alongside you."

He then stakes up and walks towards you. You stand perfectly still, somewhat hoping that if you don't move, he'll walk away. "You smell delicious."

"Don't get any ideas," you grin. "You wouldn't want to lose this partnership, would you?"

"Of course not," he shakes his head as he stops in front of you. "But it's you... Your smell is so familiar, it's intoxicating."

After swallowing down your fears and a little bit of vomit, you bravely step forward. "If that is true then why don't you just take one bite?"

Doma's laughter fills the air and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. "Are you testing me, girl? Even you just said it'd be a bad idea."

You raise your eyebrow as you reply. "I'm glad to know I'm useful to you, my lord."

Doma can't help but lick his lips as he reaches out and places his finger under your chin. "Your loyalty is admirable. And it is something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

With that, he sits back down on his large sofa-like throne and asks you to sit beside him. Once you do, he continues. "I feel I must remind you that our relationship is strictly business and I don't want you to think otherwise. However, the more time you spend in my home, the more I get used to having a familiar human around me and I find myself drawn to you."

Your body freezes as his gaze lowers from your eyes to your chest and then gradually lower.

"I know your kind has needs," he continues. "And demons do as well. My sweet, Y/N, I fear the more time I spend around you, the harder it is for me to control myself around you." With that, his eyes snap right back up to meet yours and you seem to lose yourself in the hypnotizing rainbow colors.

"Lord Doma, are you saying what I think you're saying?" you gulp.

"Oh yes," he hums, bringing his face close to yours. His voice is lower now, almost a growl. "I'd very much like to take a bite of you, as you said. And I don't think it would be wise to keep fighting my urges, Y/N."

Suddenly, the half-eaten human on the ground twitches, and Doma's attention switches on a dime. Before you can blink, he's on the ground biting the neck of the man and finishing him off. When he stands up and wipes his chin, his eyes seem to darken. "I'm sorry, what was I saying?"

"You were telling me how much you love keeping me around," you smile nervously.

"That's right," he nods as he sits beside you again. "And that's exactly why I'm giving you your first order as my guest here."

"An order?" you repeat, lifting an eyebrow curiously.

"I am having an important guest over in two days and I need you to be a source of entertainment. Think you can do that? This man is an important ally who will bring my group a large supply of food so that means he must be treated very well. Do whatever he asks and don't leave his side, understood?"

"Of course," you reply. "I'd be happy to help."

"Wonderful," Doma sighs as he lifts up his arm and wraps it around your shoulders. "Now leave before I change my mind and devour your delicious body."

Once you leave, you let out a breath and lean against the wall, trying to calm your racing heart. After a moment, however, your legs finally catch up with the rest of you and you start sprinting back to your room.

***

"I'm serious, Y/N," Inosuke breathes from out his nose as he paces back and forth in your room. "This guy isn't just some ally like Doma made it sound. This man is Monzan. He is the king of all the demons! I know Doma will not hesitate to kill the first human he sees if anything goes wrong. He won't want to look bad in front of Monzan."

"I'll be careful, Inosuke, I promise. You don't need to worry," you shake your head. "Now turn around, I need to change."

Inosuke groans as you pull out the green and gold outfit that Uzui had given you. "Oi, don't wear that! You look like a streetwalker, Y/N."

"Shut up," you say as you slap his shoulder and force his back to you.

"Do you really want to catch the eye of a demon king?" he scoffs.

"It's not like that," you reply with a hum. "This is supposed to make me irresistible."

"To be devoured, maybe," he grumbles as you roll your eyes and pull the top over your head.

"Keep acting like an idiot and that might be what I start going for," you tease as you pull up the skirt and fix your hair.

"You know, if that bastard even looks at you, I'll fucking rip him to shreds," Inosuke spits as he continues his pacing. "Actually, I'll just do that either way."

"You do that," you shake your head. I'll be back."

As you walk through the halls, Uzui's words ring through your mind.

Put your own life first. Then the lives of respectable humans. And lastly, him.

You suck in a deep breath before entering the temple. Inside, Doma is already waiting. Beside him is another demon with black hair and red eyes. His pale skin acts in contrast with his dark clothes. His expression is cold, making it hard to read his intentions.

"Ah, my dear, Y/N," Doma smiles as he notices your entrance. "You do clean up well, don't you?" He then turns to the other demon and adds, "She is a gift from heaven, Muzan."

Muzan? Didn't Inosuke call him something different? That idiot always was really bad with names.

"Oh?" Muzan replies quietly, pulling you out from your thoughts. "Doma, I didn't realize you had a new pet."

Doma chuckles softly as you approach the two of them. You reach your hand out to Muzan and allow his cold fingers to caress your skin before kissing the back of your hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he hums.

Just then, a few other demons come in to serve Muzan and Doma what seems to be a feast of human parts, drinks, and odd gifts. However, Muzan keeps his focus on you the whole time. You do your best to look away and not watch as other humans are devoured right before your eyes.

"So," Muzan asks between bites of flesh, "what is it you do for your Lord Doma?"

"I, uh," you gulp as Doma shoves a whole hand into his mouth one finger at a time. "I bring him sacrifices in exchange for my protection."

"Protection, huh?" Muzan tilts his head, his gaze no longer at your eyes. "And what are you protecting yourself from?" His voice is deep and menacing while his gaze remains predatory. Will Doma protect you from Muzan, or is this all part of some scheme to get his boss to devour you?

But suddenly, Doma's voice breaks out before you get a chance to ponder the answer to your question. "Tonight Y/N is here as entertainment."

Without his eyes leaving your body, he then says, "I'd love to see your entertainment skills, Y/N."

"Of course, my lord," you smile, standing up and bowing your head.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you carefully watch Doma eye Muzan before nodding at you. His eyes become dark as the two of them wait for you to do something instead of standing there like a statue. Doma, growing frustrated, lets a growl escape his throat before reaching for the collar of your shirt and tugging you into his lap.

"If you do good," he tells you in a low voice for only your ears, "Muzan might consider turning you into a demon."

He then pushes you off and smiles hopefully. You return the gesture nervously as you stumble back to your original spot before the two of them. Now what?

The Emptiness You Left

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bluemoonshadow561 · 1 year

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On the Way, Part 1

"My stomach hurts," August whined, curling in on himself and pressing his forehead against the window of his brother’s Mercury Milan.

"I think I know what you might have," Roman said, speaking for the first time since throwing a tantrum over having to sit in the back, exaggerating how little leg room he had — that he needs to stretch because he’s an athlete, he gets cramped, he’s taller than August, waaahhhhh.

"What?" August asked.

"Being a little bitch disease." The way Roman delivered his idiotic go-to insult with such genuine satisfaction and contempt made my lips twitch into a smirk. I turned away so he wouldn’t see.

"Fuck you," August spat, flashing his middle finger as he shifted again in the passenger seat. I glanced over at him, catching a glimpse of his face before he let it droop down, curling in on himself. His usual sun kissed skin was pale tinged with green. I had the air on full blast, but beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead. I was preparing myself for when he’d inevitably puke, trying to make plans for how to handle the situation.

"You’ve got the bag I gave you?"

"Yeah. I’m not gonna throw up on Shelly."

"When are we stop-"

BANG! A bomb went off. That was my first thought. Then I thought we were in a wreck but we were still moving, erratically, swerving. A car laid on their horn. My instincts kicked in, and I hit the breaks, moving the wheel until we stopped on the shoulder.

"What the fuck?" Roman screamed.

"A tire blew out," I breathed, my heart pounding in my throat, my mind racing with the horror of almost killing myself and my brothers.

"Jesus," August whispered.

"Everyone okay?" I asked, but Roman was already getting out of the car. I opened my door and followed him out.

"Holy shit…" Roman remarked.

"God damn it," I sighed, trying to breathe through the anger boiling within me.

August opened the door and fell out onto the ground on his knees, groaning and clutching his stomach.

"What are we gonna do now?" Roman asked. "Can you fix it?"

"No," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "I have to call Triple A."

When I got off the phone, August was lying on the ground in fetal position, breathing rapidly and whimpering softly. I crouched next to him and laid my hand on his shoulder.

"You good?"

"I-"

He suddenly retched and lunged forward, vomiting onto the ground. I grimaced as I watched him heave and gag for the next ten or so minutes before finally wiping his mouth on his sleeve and standing up unsteadily to kick dirt and gravel over the puddle.

He stumbled, hunched over, back to the car and leaned heavily on the door, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other gripping the roof for support. He was swaying and his legs were trembling.

"Are you alright?" I asked. "Roman, get him a water."

"I don’t feel good."

I placed the back of my hand against his forehead, like Mom had done for me, like I had done for August and Roman on days when we came home from school and it was just the three of us until the dark hours of the morning. I cooked chicken noodle soup, coaxed thermometers under their tongues, grabbed extra blankets, wiped their noses, and read them stories until they fell asleep.

August’s skin was burning hot. I opened the door and sat him back down in the seat.

"Here." Roman handed him a bottle of water from the cooler. August struggled to twist the cap off with shaking and sweaty fingers. After Roman did it for him, he took one sip. He really did not look well.

"How long until the Triple A people get here ?" Roman asked.

"I don’t know."

"Should we call Mom?"

"She’s just gonna scream," August said through gritted teeth. "And she’ll scream when we’re late."

"Yeah…"

"Ow!" August cried out suddenly.

"What?" I asked.

"My stomach…" He doubled over, gasping. "…hurts...so fucking much."

"Where does it hurt?" I asked, crouching down to meet him at eye level. I wasn’t a doctor. There was nothing I could determine from knowing where the pain was. I knew vaguely that appendicitis caused a pain on your right side. That was about the extent of my knowledge.

"I don’t know," he said. "All over?"

——End of Part 1——

#emeto #vomiting #sickfic #emetophilia #puke

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voltstone · 5 months

Text

scav·eng·er | TWDG Retelling | 1

"But we don't eat monsters." "Yeah, but if we could, we probably would..."

At least, that's what Clementine tells him. Because AJ doesn't need to know how warm the fresh ones are on the tongue, nor how decayed flesh claws on the way down.

[The times she scavenged, the times her secret was caught, and the one bite that started it all.]

— — —

Basically I took my creative liberties and ran with them. Head-first. Into…whatever this is. (Based off of the most out of pocket dialogue prompt, which this post is about.) I will blast through all the seasons, so. A full retelling! :D With cannibalism! And gore! And Clementine is not a-okay!! >:D

However, I did decide that I will have to break it apart for pacing, and stuff. But I will post the story in-full as well if people want to read it that way when I'm 100% done. This is the first part of…I dunno yet. But each part will effectively go through each season, or however I think to do it.

Now this is mature, and I did tag it dead dove. Because. Cannibalism, technically. And like. Violence. And stuff. But genuinely though, it is written to be unhinged. Lol.

Anyway. Hope you enjoy!

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

THE BITE

she did not ask for this. it hurts.

[2,721] [Apr.25.2024] — — —

"The first thing that changes, sweetie, is the smell of them."

"It will only take a couple hours. They'll all … start smelling sweet, more like a citrus."

Clementine whimpers. She holds her hand tightly around her arm, up towards her shoulder where he wrangled the dress. Her throat's raw. She's swirling over the conversations Lee had with her, after her hair was grabbed, and he had to explain why the St. John brother horrified her the way he did. The other one. With shadows around his eyes, and a smile that always twitched around her.

Amongst that, Lee admitted why he killed him the way he did—pitchfork at hand.

He horrified him too.

She decides though, as she scrambles away from this man, that it isn't the same.

The man is good with his words, for one, and there's a…sincerity to him. A genuine one, but there's something to his face that Clementine never could've seen through the radio.

He's tall. Gangly.

And in his face, there's something not quite right. It's not the blood—her blood—he wipes from his mouth by a gentle hand. It lies beneath that.

Insanity.

"It hurts, I know. That's what my daughter said too. And that's what I felt when Tess bit me."

This is insanity.

It doesn't matter how well he preens it, this is insanity, and he just… He just—

He. Bit. Clementine.

Didn't look happy about it, and he still doesn't. But he just. He bit her, and hard, like he meant it anyway. He continues look at her like he means it, right with all the ramblings about his family, and how nice they are, and how she'd fit right in. At least, after he gets a proper brush for her. Her hair's quite a bit different from his daughter's.

. "I don't really understand what it is either, or what does it. "I just know…, biting you, you can be a part of my family this way."

"You've already met my wife… You can join my daughter in the backseat. You just have to keep quiet, and she won't do anything to you."

She doesn't really listen to what he says. There's too much of the day's horror racing through her body.

It's the bafflement, however, that strikes her mute.

Because this man bit her, and it isn't something Clementine can just wrest from herself. It spins and twirls until she feels an unease build, and she's about to vomit, her heart's thrashing beneath her palm…

She can't. She's barely eaten enough to force the urge.

It's dark in the bathroom. He's tall. Looming over her.

And.

And Clementine's been bit. He stares at her as though it means the same as every other bite, yet it doesn't, because he's not dead.

She knows how long his teeth are.

They sank far too deep for any genuine, sincere man in his right mind.

"She won't do anything."

Clementine hides in the bathtub for the longest while. Ducks right into it, the moment he shuts the door, and she hears him string the handle, then tie it to the closet across from her.

Every now and then, she dozes. Not because she wants to. She's desperate to stay awake. Yet Clementine is small, and she's tired, and there's no fighting this. It's an exhaustion she never could have fathomed. There's strange nightmares she can't quite place, and they rattle her back where her eyes fly open, the ceramic's cold, she doesn't want to sleep. There is nothing to see in them, those nightmares. Just a desolation, and a twisted ache down her throat. She smells gore in them. Can almost feel the blood and bone bathe down her skin, then crack in her hands.

The meat… There's meat.

In her mouth.

And she chews. And Clementine swallows.

She doesn't understand.

There is one nightmare she sees. It knocks her head into the ceramic tub by the time she wakes again.

A farm. Dairy. Except there's only slaughter. There's butcher across tile. The barn's locker rots.

Clementine never ate there. Never the meat. Not a bite.

Lee saved her back then. He did.

Lee saved her. He'll save her.

Again, and again.

He begins to be what she stirs to.

Her sweat's cold. The world blurs when the tears come.

Before Clementine is lost to nightmare for another time.

Then...

She snaps upright. Finds herself clambering from the bathtub and to the door. Her head is a smog, but she… Clementine can hear them both. Her voice rattles from her. She doesn't quite hear what she says— All she knows is Lee. At least, she thinks. Hopes so.

A citrus bleeds from the door, and to her nose.

It's likely the man's. He is bit, and his eyes are not quite as…human as he tells himself.

He's just…not dead, exactly.

Not truly alive either. His gaunt complexion tells her so, and the weary treble in his voice. Or he's always just been like that. Sickly looking, if not just plain unnerving.

Clementine can't really tell. It's hard to piece together a person like him, amidst the self-hatred. A loathing, if anything.

Because she fell for it. Fell for his words, the promise for her family. Even though…, Clementine knew, in the back of her mind, it's too good to be true. A random voice on the radio, how could he have known her and her parents? And Savannah? And Lee, and Macon, and everything between?

Simply put…

That random voice knows, because she told him herself.

Told him everything.

The fight for the world's clarity stands no better with her at the door. She sags against the wall. Her arm pangs. The bathroom is…cold, beneath her feet.

Frigid, even, the more the stupid girl's remorse blisters her.

This is what desperation has brought. It opened its mouth for her. His long teeth. And she stared. Looked at this gifted horse in the mouth; discovered a reason to run.

"Yeah. I'm not some cannibal, Lee."

Lee… So he has come to save her.

She knew he would. Clementine just knew he would.

It's enough to spark urgency. She stands.

"Some killer out in the woods. Some v-villain…"

That man is a liar, though. Lee is here, but the man is a liar.

Unless…, what he's done really wasn't murder, nor a kidnapping.

"I'm just a … dad."

Perhaps. Maybe that is right.

Still however. Clementine decides then and there to creep from the bathroom.

She makes sure to keep her sleeve down, and her dress over her shoulder. Because she isn't bitten. Not really.

The same way that man didn't murder.

"Have you ever hurt somebody you care about?" "My wife."

Clementine tries the handle first. It twists, yet the string holds it firm.

She almost weeps. Or she does, and her head is too numb to know.

The bathroom is all the more darker, and her exhaustion grows all the more heavy.

"I hurt her a long time ago. "In a lot of ways…"

Lee sounds… He sounds weaker than he did last night.

Exhaustion slinks from his mouth. It worms the same in her ears—the same as her own. There's a wavering, and then a husk. Like there's not enough life to draw from. And it says something—says a lot, actually—how much stronger the man with his treble is in his words. He's steady. He carries an unruly intention.

And Lee…, he sounds tired. And bleak. Mostly bleak. Doesn't talk much.

Clementine doesn't want to believe the strained breaths cleaving the room is him.

"I hurt her so bad."

The man's wife has her head in his bowling bag.

She rolls in it. Smudges the tearstreaks left behind.

"I hurt her so bad."

Clementine flares the last of her strength. She swallows down the last of the dairy farm as it twitches for another nightmare.

She clasps the handle. Twists it, and tests the string. She doesn't want to get caught. Noise is her bane, and she knows the man has an ear for her.

"Do I look like a monster to you?"

She has to bide her time. It's daunting.

However, Clementine listens for the moment where he's engrossed, and the man is sunk back into his writhing sanity. He likes to ramble. Did it a lot that day, and he even did it routinely on the radio. On and on and on about his wife, and his kids.

Family.

It's always family with him. Family, and being a father, a husband, and having his nice daughter.

"She's already a part of my family now… "There's no reason for you to have come, Lee."

"I smell it on you. You're not going to last."

There he goes again.

Clementine pulls the door just enough for the string to strain, and for her to untangle its knot. It snaps back for the open closet.

The man talks to his wife again. He stares into his bowling bag, and she knows the wife's head to roll again.

She meets Lee by his eyes. He's… He's missing an arm, and he looks ghastly. Drained too. Yet, he has enough strength to nod for the side-dresser, and when her eyes follow, there glints a cleaver.

"Hey, honey. I think this is all going to work out."

It's tight in her hand.

The dairy farm ravages to the blood she ignores down its blade. Clementine hears the groaning instead. The wife. Can almost make out the nonsense the man pulls a few words from.

"I'm glad too. "I wish you wouldn't have had to get this bad, but it's all over hon. Isn't it?"

"I hate seeing you like this. I just miss your smile, honey."

Her strides to him are careful. Clementine keeps herself far from his eye, his peripheral. Lee tenses, though in his face, there's a quiet resolution. His eyes dart between the man, then her.

Clementine raises the cleaver. Moonlight darts along the wall when she does. Her hands tremble; the moonlight does too. She can't help it.

"I miss you so much, Tess. You're gonna like Clementine a lot, though. She's not Lizzy, but she's sweet. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."

Clementine sinks the cleaver deep. Thinks of it as a bite for a bite.

The man lunges away from her, and he reaches for the blade plunged into his shoulder.

Lee hurls his weight across the table, and knocks into the man. The fight is blurring. Clementine strafes, feels her heart soar when Lee buckles him into the wall.

Before he curls. The fight is too much for him. The man is strong in his intentions.

His hands are around Lee's neck. The gun is heavy in her hands. She trembles again. Aims. The world is whirling, except for Lee, and for the man, and the bullet she punctures through his crown.

She—

Clementine just shot him.

Just shot the man.

He's dead.

Bafflement finds her again. Locks her there, in place. Trembling. Air doesn't come easy. Her heart does well to scald her, and it's restless.

It names itself shock, however. She's not inclined to argue.

There's a look in Lee's eyes. Gratitude, but the shock as well. It rattles them both.

She cries. He consoles. But air doesn't come easy, nor do the words to her mind.

When he dawns her back her Dad's hat, however… The world doesn't cage her anymore.

It's not as cold.

It's still a desolate shade of moonlight.

A walker stands at the door. The citrus is pungent in the room. There were traces before.

With the dead looming in the doorway, however, it swamps her now.

And the gore Lee lathers down her clothes makes it worse. A thousand times worse. Because the citrus is like… It's like the oranges she plucked from at a fieldtrip's orchard. It's sweet. She can't tell if she's about to vomit or not. She sweats. It's cold again. Lee mistakes both for terror. Or, it's that she's the one mistaken, and this isn't anything beyond a break in sanity.

Her parents are dead.

They have been.

She sees them, when Lee guides her into the dead's orchard.

"The first thing that changes, sweetie, is the smell of them."

"The second thing…"

The second thing… There's a second thing. It rattles somewhere. She can only see the red jacket he held for her. The same she refused before.

The same that… The same that Lee—

Lee's falling.

His voice trails after him. He stumbles too, the more she whimpers and pulls at his shoulder. He isn't limp. He is not awake.

But he does move. Her arm throbs, Clementine trips over herself, and Lee is staggering after her. With a haze in his eyes. He shoulders into anything and everything.

The dead don't mind. Not really.

They don't mind him. Nor her.

Clementine's left to pull him into a store. She finds a string. Reaches for it.

The gate it guides slams to the floor once gravity has its say.

They are alone, her and Lee. Secure. There is no leaving… Which frightens him. More than the St. John brother ever did.

Clementine knows he's bit before he says it.

It's the sweet citrus.

The same that washes off the walkers, it leaks from Lee in steady waves.

It just breaks her heart, knowing that… That he really is a-about to— To die.

There's no time to tell him about her bite. She wouldn't have had the heart to regardless, nor the mind.

So she clings to his words. Nods to Lee, when he tells her to keep moving.

Lee doesn't have to tell her what to do next. Clementine knows.

So when he runs out of energy, and time, and mind…

She just knows.

"I'll miss you."

The gun is the heaviest when she raises it to his head.

. . .

SOMETHING WAS VERY WRONG

. . .

There is no fever. She doesn't understand, because it is not a fever, it's this brisk chill across her body, beneath the morning sun.

Maybe it's from lingering beside Lee's body for longer than she should have. Or, it's from stalking in the shadows where the walkers couldn't quite reach.

Yet, no. Those were the quiet lies she told herself, before reality wormed its way the moment she found them. Or, when they found her—none of them can decide. The more they hug her, the more Omid squeezes her shoulder and Christa holds her from her from the weary ground, the more Clementine realizes this for what it is:

The bite.

And it's rough against cotton. Cold too, like the deep inhale before something really, really bad happens, and now her body teems of it, and her head swims to every sharp clap of gunfire. Her eyes too, because the world warbles whenever Clementine passes wherever the sun is strongest.

This is the same cold which agonized her body in the Marsh House. In the bath, then in the room—with Lee's rattled breaths, and the walker splayed beside them both. It's the cold she fought against. Fell asleep to. Would awake to.

It feels like her body has been disturbed. As though…she herself, to her core, hasn't grasped what hit her.

Except that it has a name, and its name is dread.

It takes months for the hunger to set in.

[Next] AO3 | FF | Wattpad

— — —

As much as I enjoy writing stories for the sake of catharsis, I do enjoy being unhinged and writing this kind of thing too. Cuz it can be fun. Once you get past the concerning things. Again, I am breaking it up for pacing's sake, so shorter chapters. My little writer gut tells me shorter chapters good, actually. For this. So the TBC will have a link to the next post once I'm done.

Hope you enjoyed so far! :)

#twdgscav fic #volt's library #twdg #twdg fanfiction #twdg 1 #twdg clementine #twdg christa #twdg lee #twdg omid #the stranger #fanfiction #cannibalism #gore #violence #horror #body horror #psychological horror #“survival” horror #kind of not really but whatever

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terrifictoonman · 10 months

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[WP] “At Power Pre-K, we have all sorts of activities to nurture the budding superhero, villain, monster, titan, or…um, what exactly IS your child?” [u/codeScramble - Reddit]

~Lost in My World~

The Atlas Educational Center, since 1982, has been a pillar in the "enhanced" community. From superheroes to supervillains, from Kijus to Titans, even the horrors of the unknown found their way through Atlas' hollowed halls. Regardless of gender, race, religion, state of being, or dimensional status, Atlas is here for you!

As the bell sounds, hoards of children rush out of their classrooms and make their way to the exits. Fighting against the waves of children are a couple. A man with glossy black hair and wearing a cheap grey suit that's one size too big, and a faceless feminine-looking robot in a teal nurse uniform with a massive stain on its chest.

"I still can't believe you bought a suit," groaned the robot.

"I thought you wanted me to look more professional?" asked the man.

"You look like you hang around sports bars looking to "loan" people money," said the robot. "The fact that I'm currently wearing vomit and still look better than you is just pathetic."

"Welp, it's a good thing you didn't love me for my looks," said the man. "Next door on the right." The two stop before a blue door labeled "After School Care." The two look through the door's window, seeing kids playing with each other and an eight-foot, yellow-scaled half-dragon man reading a book to a group of kids.

"Scans aren't picking up anything out of the ordinary," said the robot.

"Why doesn't that make me feel any better," said the man. The half-dragon noticed the two and motioned them to come inside. "Any last words?"

"Yeah," said the robot as they opened the door, "Don't [CENSORED] up." The man wipes his hair before following the robot inside as the half-dragon sends the children around him away.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Thune. I'm with the front office," said Mr. Thune as he shook the robot's hand. "Are you Barbie's parents?"

"Barbie?" asked the robot.

"I'm her dad, Elliot," said Elliot, shaking Mr. Thune's hand, "just call me "Elli." This Barbie's...birth mother, Ruth, model designation R_0tH." Mr. Thune looked at his hand as hair grease dripped from it. "I am so sorry."

"No worries," said Mr. Thune. With the flick of his wrist, his hand suddenly burst into flames, evaporating the grease from his hand. "Follow me." Mr. Thune guides the two to a door at the room's far corner. Meanwhile, Ruth stares daggers at Elli.

"You named it?!" whispered Ruth.

"She named herself," whispered Bob. "Besides, it's kinda fitting if you think about it."

"I can see how you'd think that," said Ruth. "Also, what did we talk about using my real model?"

"Hey! It took a lot of work getting Bee into this place," said Elli, "I'm not risking getting her kicked out just because you're- "

"*Ahem*," Inturupted Mr. Thune as he held open the door, "right this way." The two regain what little composure they had before walking into Mr. Thune's office. Mr. Thune then pulls a stone with a rune carved into it. He whispers into the stone, flames flowing from his mouth into rune, causing it to glow orange. Mr. Thune tosses the stone back into the Daycare room, and it transforms into a golem made of rock and amber. A lizard child points at the golem.

"It's Mr. Pebbles!" yelled the child, followed by the frantic cheers of the other children. Mr. Pebbles whines as he looks back at Mr. Thune, who's slowly closing the door behind him.

"Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes tops," said Mr. Thune as he closed the door just before seeing the children pounce on Mr. Pebbles. With a heavy sigh, Mr. Thune walks over to his desk and sits across from Bob and Abbi. "Anyway, let me start off by saying that your daughter is not in any trouble."

"Oh, thank god!" muttered Elli, relieved.

"However, we do have some- " Mr. Thune pauses as he looks around his room. "questions. First off, is there any genetic or magical history that we should know about, anything you may have forgotten to put on her forms?"

"Nothing I know of," said Elli. "She doesn't like basil." Ruth stealthily kicks Elli's shin under the desk.

"All of its information is up to date," said Ruth. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," said Mr. Thune. "It's just that...here at AEC, we run all of our students through a genetic database to help better identify their needs or any assistance they may need now or in the future. Now, I mean no disrespect, but neither of you is Barbie's genetic parent, correct?

"No," answered Ruth.

"But we're her parents where it counts!" Elli interjected.

"I promise you, that is not in question," said Mr. Thune. The half-dragon's ears perk up suddenly as he stares intensely at Bob. "We've just noticed some abnormalities that I thought you could help us identify."

"Uh...like what, exactly," asked Elli, nervously.

"Well, for starters," said Mr. Thune, "your daughter seems to have a habit of disappearing."

"Like, skipping class?" asked Elli.

"Oddly no," answered Mr. Thune, "AEC has the most advanced surveillance system of all our neighboring universes through the use of science, magic, and temporal machinations. However, it seems your daughter can avoid detection completely for short periods." Ruth sits up in her chair.

"You're implying it has the ability to hide its entire existence from time itself," said Ruth. "That's impossible."

"Not for Barbie, it seems," said Mr. Thune. "We've asked her how she does it, and her response is like any child her age, "I don't know. At first, we thought she may have been some old god or eldritch being or maybe just a re-incarnated pillar of reality. Those theories eventually proved false."

"Is that...good?" asked Elli. Mr. Thune sat silently for a moment as his gaze shifted to Ruth. "Is that a "no?"

"I'll be frank with you," said Mr. Thune. "As an elder dragon, I have seen the death and birth of universes more times than even fifth-dimensional beings can imagine, and in all that time, I have never felt, let alone seen, a being as unique as Barbie." Mr. Thune pulls a pamphlet from a desk drawer and slides it in front of Elli and Ruth.

"There is a universe known as the Index, dedicated to capturing all the knowledge of the multiverse and every previous iteration of it. It may know what Barbie truly is and her capabilities."

"But?" asked Ruth.

"But," continued Mr. Thune, "due to the universe's unique properties, it is unlikely you could accompany her to Index." Ruth and Elli tense up at the thought. "Now, this is by no means mandatory. Barbie has been a model student, has excellent behavior and stellar grades, and is well-liked by almost everyone. However, some would feel more comfortable having a better idea of what exactly your daughter is."

"Why? She's perfect," said Elli, "that's all that matters."

"Elli..." said Ruth.

"No!" interrupted Elli, "I don't care if some fancy school board or a few parents feel uncomfortable around my kid. From what I've heard, she's done nothing but what was asked of her and then some!"

"Sir, please," said Mr. Thune, "nothing's set in stone. I just wanted to make sure that you're aware..." Elli nearly jumps out of his seat and stares down Mr. Thune.

"Save it! I don't need you or some universe to tell me my little girl's special!" said Elli, "I get a reminder every morning when she wakes me up to take her to school!" Ruth grabs Elli's shoulder, and the two look at each other before Abbi eases him away from Mr. Thune.

Elli breaks free of Ruth's grasp and walks towards the door. As he gets closer, the sounds of children whispering and running away can be heard on the other side. All Ruth can do is watch as Elli storms out of the office.

"I'm sorry," said Mr. Thune. "I had no intention of upsetting..."

"It's fine," said Ruth, "emotions run high when it comes to her. Sometimes, he just cares too much."

"In my line of work, there's no such thing," said Mr. Thune. Ruth takes the pamphlet and looks over it for a second. "It's yours if you want it?"

"...no thank you," said Ruth as she returned the pamphlet to the desk. "I should probably chase after him before he angrily shows people baby pictures. Thank you for your time."

"Not a problem. I'll have them send your daughter to the front office," said Mr. Thune. Ruth nods as she leaves the office, closing the door behind her. With a deep, raspy breath, Mr. Thune blasts a cloud of ash from his nostrils that quickly fills the room. The sound of muffled coughing could be heard all around the room as several random objects began to shake.

"You know, it's rude to eavesdrop on adult conversations," said Mr. Thune as he stood up from his chair. "Come on, your parents are waiting for you."

Suddenly, several books, pens, paper, as well as other objects became solid black as they melted into liquids. The black liquids then flowed collectively into one of the chairs facing Mr. Thune, combining into a three-foot-tall humanoid figure. Three balls of light hovered from the ceiling light above the black figure.

Two of the lights placed themselves on the black figure's head, acting as their eyes, while the last one set itself where the heart would be. The black figure then transformed into a pale, nearly white-skinned little girl with chin-length messy black hair and equally messy pigtails. The girl wore a grey dress with a teal jacket, mismatched socks, and matching mismatched sneakers.

The Barbie sheepishly looked up at Mr. Thune as she made her backpack appear.

"I'm sorry my daddy got mad," said Barbie.

"It's ok, he was just scared," said Mr. Thune.

"I know," said Barbie. Mr. Thune walks over to Barbie but barely passes his desk before Barbie hugs his legs. "I don't want my parents to be scared of me."

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey," said Mr. Thune as he kneeled to meet Barbie. "If I've learned anything today, it's that neater of your parents are scared of you. They...they just want what's best for you, and sometimes it's hard to know what that is."

"Because they don't know what I am?" asked Barbie.

"They know who you are," said Mr. Thune. "You're Barbie, the girl who can do anything! And that's enough." Barbie wipes her face and smiles. "There's that superstar smile. Come on, let's get you to the office so I don't get yelled at again."

#writing prompt #sci fi and fantasy #barbie #writeblr #writting #creative writing #fantasy #scifi

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blissfulparker · 3 years

Text

Wipeout⇔ Surfer!Dad!tom

Parings: surfer!dad!tom x surfer!reader

Summary; You and Tom spend your whole relationship in the water. Surfing under the summer sun and competing in summers biggest surf competition. To a surpise, you and Tom take on the biggest challenge nature could throw at you. A baby.

Wc: 9k

Warnings: mentions of insecurities durning pregnancy, fluff

A/n: I know this isn’t a birthday themed fic for Toms b-day but I hope you all enjoy! My little spin on a summer fic with dad!tom 🥰

June.

The summer breeze rose goosebumps to your skin. Your hands coming up to rub your arms as the water was only a bit colder today.

it was summer, the best part of the year when you lived with a beach in your backyard. Spending your whole life surfing you now prepared for the summer tournament that happened only weeks away from now. Surfers, fans, media come in from nearly all over the world just to compete.

To feel a wave under their boards and the adrenaline that rushes through your blood when you finally get on top. The same competition that lead you to Tom, Tom who was now your boyfriend of two years. At first, you laughed at the boy.

Pale, shy—yet so cocky and from London of all places. The most water they got is from the sky. You wanted to laugh with your friends for how confident he was acting, little rain boy wanted to have a chance in the big ocean and he did. To your shock, he scored better than you and scored to be in the top 10. Your laughs stopped after competition and maybe it was the slight momentary enemy thing or it was that deep blue bikini that made him find you after the games and get you out for a drink.

That drink was truly a shared basket of fish and chips as you talked more and more about each other. Pale, rainy London boy ended up being the best thing that ever happened to you.

“You wiped out twice!” He sits atop his board and your hands rub over your face.

“Maybe because I’m distracted!” You splash water in his direction. His toned abs always tanner during g this year and it was hard for the both of you to control yourself. “I’m just tired, stressed.” You shrugged it off truthfully.

“You fell asleep at 8:00 last night, grandma.” He teased and you rolled your eyes.

“Competition stress.” You point to him and he shrugs. If he’s honest, within the two years he’s known you, two years he’s loved and wondered where you had been all his life, he knew your stress. When you were stressed you oftentimes took long showers or wrote in your journal for hours on end but this time your stress was sleeping early/in late and a few times he’s caught you throwing up. All under the name of stress.

He didn’t push anything though, reminding you that he is there and you could tell him anything. But nonetheless, he left you be and just kissed your cheek and told you everything was okay.

“Race you to shore and whoever gets back inside first gets the leftover chicken from last night!” He starts to swim and you quickly flatten yourself on your board.

“What are we like five?” You call out but still push yourself to go faster. Pushing yourself to race him to shore.

Even though Toms board was definitely double his size, he still beat you into the house, already washed off and reheating the leftovers for lunch. After a morning swim you always had lunch before you went off to work where you would teach little kids how to surf. No matter what, you were always around the water.

“So I was checking the competition list this week, checking to see if there’s anyone new…” he trails off on a story. The two of you share the chicken and fries before you suddenly get a disgusted taste in your mouth. The chicken suddenly becomes sour in your mouth but you force yourself to swallow, Tom notices the change and he stops everything to make sure you’re okay.

“Darling, what is it?” He has a worried look but you shake your head.

“Nothing—it’s nothing. I-I just think this part of my chicken was a bit undercooked and it grossed me out. It’s nothing.” You smiled at him and he waited a second before continuing his story.

But that wasn’t the end of it, the next bite even more sour and this time you drop your fork and open the trash can to spit it out. The spitting then followed by spitting up all of your breakfast and lunch. Tom quickly coming to move any stray hair and rubbing your back as he tried to not throw up himself.

When you were done, he quickly closed the trash can lid and got you into the bathroom where he assembled the toothbrush for you.

“Peaches, I know that you told me not to worry but this is the third time this week.” He folded his arms as he leans against the wall.

“I’m fine.” You say through a mouth filled with toothpaste. Spitting into the sink and rinsing your mouth while also splashing some water over your face. When you look back up, just a bit, your eyes flicker to the untouched box of tampons.

One week late wasn’t so bad, one week late was just some built up stress and every women had been a week or two late before. But before tom can take notice in your distraction, you turn around to him who hands you a towel.

“But you’re not fine.” He argues a bit gently, not wanting to offend you.

“Tom, in school I would throw up during exam seasons all the time. It’s just stress okay? Better than losing hair or breaking out I guess.” You try and joke with him but he doesn’t exactly laugh. Just stares at you worried and you push back a few of his curls.

“Hey, look at me,” you tell him and his eyes meet yours. “I’m fine, seriously! Just a bit of stress and nothing the ocean water and you can’t fix.” You kiss his cheek and he finally smiles.

“Can you go see a doctor? For yourself and if not for yourself then for me, I want you to do good at competition and you know they won’t let you compete if you are sick in anyway.” He rubs up and down your sides and you sigh. Hating the doctors but you agree.

“Okay, okay. I’ll make an appointment but they will just tell me I just have butterflies.” You tell him and that’s when he grows a smirk.

“Aw, babe, I didn’t know after all these years I still gave you butterflies!” He teased and you rolled your eyes playfully nudging your body against him. Both leaving the bathroom, your eyes flicker over to the untouched box to tampons that just taunt you one last time before tom shuts the bathroom door. It was possible, you just didn’t want it to be possible just yet.

“I should’ve canceled, I should be there!” Tom speaks through the phone. You sat in an empty, cold doctors office waiting for blood results to get back.

Despite Toms over worrying, everything was fine. They couldn’t find anything physically wrong with you and agreed when you mentioned how it was just anxiety and nerves. Yet they still had to run a blood test to make sure it wasn’t anything they missed and couldn’t see with the naked eye.

Meanwhile tom had to be the most dramatic person out there. You always told him if he was not a surfer he would be an actor. It was impressive how every single night before bed he had a new condition to diagnose you with. Some so severe and outrageous you had to remind him that this wasn’t 1600s England and that you didn’t have the plague. That things were just from stress and if it was a stomach bug then let it run through.

Yet he would rant to you nearly every single night about how he’s always loved you and hated that this was the way to go. Always with that you would smack him with a pillow and tell him to go to sleep and with that he would kiss your cheek and hold you tight as he fell asleep.

“Tom, it’s fine. Seriously! They said they couldn’t find anything wrong, you’d be wasting your time to come here. The most you’d get out of this visit is maybe a sticker. Does Tommy want his girlfriend to bring him back a sticker?” You used a baby voice and you could practically hear him going red.

With a scoff he replies, “Ugh, no. What am I like five?” He pauses for a moment. “But what kind do they have? Were you able to check?” He asked in more of a quiet voice and you laugh.

“No clue. But the nurse told me the best thing I could do is just drink some tea and rest. Maybe they have some spiderman stickers or Sofia the first stickers.” You fiddle with the loose thread on your pants. Ending with a joke to calm both yours and Tom's nerves.

With a smirk, Tom Says, “you’ve been drinking some British tea for awhile—“ he jokes and you quickly cut him off.

“Tom!” You say and as if it was a sign, the nurse comes back in with a clipboard and a gentle smile. “Hey, I’ll call you back, the nurse has my results.”

“Wait! Before you go, ask them to check for tapeworms—“ before he could finish you hung up.

“He’s just dramatic.” You laughed a bit and the nurse laughed along before taking a seat across from you. She clicks her pen which makes you nervous for some reason.

“So your blood came back fine, everything is okay. I just have a few little things such as are you on any birth control?” She asked and you shook your head.

“Oh no, um...haven’t been for a while. But my boyfriend and I use protection and we’re safe. We only used planB once and that was a year ago.” You tell her but she looks up at you. Nodding as she purses her lips.

“Condoms only go so far sweetheart. We just have to ask patients who we find to be with a child incase of any birth control so we can remove it immediately, the birth control, I mean, remove that immediately.” With child. You were with a child. Pregnant. Your heart nearly falls out of your chest and the nurse says a few more things but they don’t register.

“Y-You mean there’s a baby inside of me?” You don’t know what color you look right now but you would assume pale, or green with the feeling of vomiting and this time not from slightly uncooked raw leftover chicken.

“Yup, about one month along it looks! We still will want to run more tests and…” she talks more and more but you don’t listen. Your brain foggy, you don’t know if you’re going to pass out or throw up or shit everywhere from how nervous you were. Hell, even all three seemed like an option as she talked. “So I’ll leave you to tell the important news?” She asked. This was apart of her regular day to day, she probably had hundreds of girls like you come in. Clueless and thinking of a stomach bug and then finding out they are pregnant.

“Y-Yeah.” You try to form a smile.

“Perfect, just meet me up at the desk whenever you’re ready. There’s a bathroom down the hall if you are feeling queasy and of course, help yourself to as many waters in the mini fridge in our waiting room. Congratulations!” She says before she turns out and all you hear is the door click shut. The white noise of the light and the taps of your fingernails against the cool metal bed.

You know it was professional and sweet of her to allow you space to call your significant other but you only stare at Tom's contact. Staring at the word ‘Tommy’ with almost all the heart emojis and his contact pictures of him with the biggest smile.

You have no guts to tell him right in the moment, but rather get off of the paper coated bed and grab your things to leave. Setting up a new appointment with your doctor to see more into the baby. Pregnant, with child, before competition. You and Tom were going to have a faimily.

July.

Tom still hadn’t known the news. It had only been a week but the guilt still ate you alive.

You didn’t want to worry or stress him. You yourself still tried to wrap your brain around it. A baby, every breath you took, every bite of food you ate, every drink you swallowed and every step you took there was a baby you shared it with.

You think about how every time tom had wrapped his arms around your waist this week he gently touched over the baby. Kissing your lying lips, you hated yourself for it.

As for competition, your mind nearly forgot. Still getting in the waters everyday with Tom but this time a bit more cautious. Everytime Tom worried for you, you quickly would cover his worry up with either a joke or kisses.

As for the throwing up, morning sickness was something that came in and out. You started hating the smell of bacon tom cooked in the morning but just waved it off. He noticed your decline in caffeine and beers and wines but you just told him the best athletes only had what’s best for their body before performing.

Tom believed all of it. Every single white lie you told—even though you hated yourself for telling them— believed them.

“How ya feeling?” Toms lips met your forehead as you cuddled up on the couch today. Extra tired and almost positive the baby was screaming at you for rest. You cuddled a bowl of popcorn and a water bottle.

“Mmh, just fine.” You give him a smile as his lips come down to meet yours.

Stealing some popcorn from the bowl, he heads over to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

“I’m thinking we do shrimp tonight?” He looked over and you made a face.

“Ew, no.” You shake your head and he gives a furrowed brow look.

“What? You love shrimp!” He responds and you feel yourself growing hot. Hiding deeper in the Blanket and not wanting to show your face.

“Well, I’m just not in the mood for it tonight.” That was another thing, lots and lots of emotions. Luckily Tom had plenty of emotions to match.

“Okay...tuna?” He offers and you shook your head. “Steak?” Once again and no. “Chicken?” No. “Okay, love, you’ve gotta help me out. I know you’re not feeling well but I’m helpless in here.” He says and your eyes start to water. He notices and immediately comes over.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he comes in front of the couch and crouches down to you. “What’s wrong?” He stroked your cheek and you shook your head.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” You sniffle. “Seriously, I’ll help you. I’m thinking pasta.” You smiled and he did too.

“Yeah that’s not too bad.”

And so you two made and ate dinner completely normally. No tears from you, no sickness from you. Tom only talked about the waves out today and how much you would’ve loved it. Now you two spent time washing up.

“You think that one girl with red hair will be there like last year? She was so annoying.” You laughed as you got excited again for competition. Tom grew tense as you mentioned it. You noticed that. How he didn’t talk much about competition anymore. It went from the only thing you two talked about to now nothing. You knew how excited he was, the both of you were but suddenly it was like that excitement was put in a box to rest.

“Yeah...she was.” He kinda laughed but then just washed harder at the dish.

“Everything okay? You’ve kinda stopped talking about competition.” You put down your plate and that's when he took a deep breath.

“It’s nothing, I promise.” He tells you, pressing his lips into a lying smile that you knew.

“Baby, you can tell me anything you know. I’m always here for—“ and with that, he cut you off and told you the words you hated to hear.

“I-I took you out of the competition,” Tom sighed, dropping the dish rag on the counter in defeat. He watches as your face goes from annoyed to shock. Anger builds behind the eyes he find peace in. “It was wrong me me to do so—“

“damn right it was wrong of you to do so!” You slam your hand on the counter. “W-why would you?”

“You were sick! You were so sick for so long and what was I going to let you do? just make yourself worse—“

“it was the stress! I told you it was the—“

The built up ignored tension between you both finally caused him to snap.

“Is your period being late stress too?” His words caused the room to be silent. You take a sharp breath as you stare at him with anger but not at him anymore, at the fear of your new life.

“I’m just late, it’s normal for a woman like me to be rhis stressed and late...” you trailed off and this time he had the red face.

“Bullshit. What happened at that doctors appointment.” He demanded. You didn’t say a word at first which only angered him more. “Damnit (y/n)—“

“I’m pregnant.” You finally cry out and he knew his thoughts could be true, he knew they had to be but the moment those words left your mouth his whole body froze. He went pale with fear and shock, his hand no longer gripping the counter out of anger but out of support in case he passes out. The tears that left your eyes were uncontrollable as you let out a sob, the first sob that snapped tom back into reality.

He didn’t think twice, his arms supportively wrap around you as he tells you sweet nothings to try and calm you and himself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He mumbled into your hair. You swallowed hard as you pulled back, your face wet with tears and you sniffled. His thumbs come up to wipe away each tear and each trace of mascara.

“Because I wanted to be normal still! I wanted to compete, I wanted to surf! I can’t surf anymore tom, i'm going to be a mom and I won’t have time for surfing.” You sob more and he only pulls you back into his grasp.

“I’m so selfish and stupid to even think to compete but I just want to n-not—“ you can’t even spit it out anymore.

“Who said you can’t surf when you’re a mom?” He moved back to hold your face. You didn’t look at him, he wasn’t going to force you to either. This was your decisions right now, he just wanted to listen.

“When you’re a woman and a mother, everything is for your child. You will have time to surf because you’re a dad but no one wants a mom to do anything but take care of their kid and I’ll love this baby so much, I will, but don’t want to lose myself. I’m young, you’re young and you’re about to be the next big thing.” You punch his shoulder playfully trying to lighten things up. “I—i-W-we’ll—“ you start again and he shakes his head.

“Don’t even say it. Sweetheart, you’re having a baby, our baby. I will make sure you still surf, when it’s safe, Of course. I-I don’t even have the words right now, my heart is racing, feel it.” He placed your hand over his chest to feel his pounding heart. “You will be (y/n) Holland, the infamous surfer that beat Tom Holland twice last year and you will be the mother to our kid. Their badass mom.” He cracks a smile as his hand goes to your stomach.

A shared moment where he only touches the stomach as he learns about it. You look at him softly and he looks at you as if you were the entire world. As if he was a little kid at sea world for the first time, he looks at you with beauty and hope and a hint of thankfulness

“For a minute,” you speak again. “I thought you were completely calm about this.” You chuckle and he shakes his head.

“No, I actually think I’m going to throw up.” He held his breath for a moment before he moved to the trash can and emptied his worried stomach.

This time it was you rubbing his back and wiping his mouth. Maybe you wanted to roll your eyes at the Irony but you just knew he loved you.

Holland. He used the last name Holland on you for the first time you’d ever heard it. He said it so confidently as if you two were already married. Holland. You can get use to that.

Day of competition

there was this sort of shock in everyone’s face as they watched you walk in shorts and a tee. Joining the crowds of people instead of getting ready for the waves of water.

This year was no wetsuit with your board, slathering sunscreen on your face as you got ready but rather taking a seat in that sand just like everyone else. Carrying a baby no one knew about except you and Tom and a few friends and family.

Your body was warm with nerves, hundreds of cameras here usually captured the sea, interviewing the surfers afterwards. Although it was not like Hollywood, there was no TMZ or dailymail, but there was enough interest and news casters to tilt their heads for why they infamous (y/n) (y/l/n)—soon to be (y/n) Holland—took a seat with the friends and family. Cheering on from the sand.

“Hey.” Z snaps you out of your constant looking around, how your eyes never focused on one thing.

“Ease up a bit, babes, no one even knows.” She knew, you knew you had to explain to her when you were sitting out. Just as Tom explained to his brothers and the two of you both would explain to his mother after competition. For he knew the women would get so excited she would explode

“Right.” Was all you said as you started clapping with the rest of the crowd when the games begun. It would be a moment for them to get to tom, they always let the younger ones go first, you and Tom were in that fine middle where you had to wait just for the middle of the games.

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” Z asked with a hint of excitement to her voice. She kept it quite enough to where it was just you.

“I’m okay with either.” You didn’t ever care much for gender, although a girl would be nice to balance out the male testosterone you’re always around. “A girl would be nice though.” You smile at Z.

She gives a smile back, leans back on the towel as she soaks up the sun. “And Tom?” She asked and you shrugged.

He had talked about almost everything but a boy or girl, when you asked if he cared he told you,

“as long as they have two arms, two legs, a torso, a head, comes out of me with no trouble, then it’s a perfect surfing buddy.” You quote him exactly, smiling at his words from a few nights ago.

When he found out, his hands never left your stomach, even though you reminded him the baby was only the size of a grape. That well...it was just a bunch of cells forming up in the moment that couldn’t exactly kick for it had legs the size of your pinky nail. He still waited, he waited and waited, you didn’t even know what he was waiting for at one point for he would pause between his words at the baby or when he asked you a question he looked down at your stomach as if they would reply for you or before you.

“I know hes nervous as hell, but he’s so excited, I know it. The other day Harrison told me he cried when he told him. Tom, crying.” Z laughed a bit and you did too.

“If you think I’m the emotional one...turn on coco or inside out and see what happens to that man.” You chuckled as you turned your head back to the waters to watch tom with a smile on his face blow a kiss in your direction before getting on his board. Paddling out to the sea you watch him get ready to take the first wave, the crowd goes wild and your hand rests over your stomach.

This time, next year, you would sit on these sands with a smaller version of the two of you.

August.

Being early in your pregnancy but far enough to show was not as glamorous as people made it be.

Your shorts no longer fit, shirts started to get loose at the top and tight at the bottom and for the love of heaven you slept so much. Tom liked the idea of endless naps, somedays you wondered if he was the pregnant one instead of you. As he slouched around, ate just as many snacks as you and started to even complain about some of the same things you did.

Maybe it was the impact your moods had on him or the fact he stopped drinking caffeine since you no longer could have it and he didn’t know what his life was before morning coffee was with you. He was almost the same as you were durning the pregnancy.

“What are you doing?” Putting on a bikini for the first time since you told Tom. For the first time in about a month. You didn’t like the fit much anymore, the bloation you constantly had and the extra weight you now carried in your thighs, arms and breasts made you insecure. The top that used to fit perfect now had you grunting to tie. But you had to wear what you had to wear to get you in the water.

“I’m coming with you to the beach.” You say innocently and he shakes his head.

“You’re not picking up a board, you know that. Besides, the waters have been rough lately, there’s that storm coming in and one hard wave can hit you and I don’t want that to happen.” He exaggerates and you look at him with a dead stare.

“Tom, I haven’t touched the water in over a month, I’m pretty sure my skin cells are changing because of it.” You exaggerate as well and he comes up to you.

“Well, I’m not letting you in the water. It’s too dangerous.” He was serious, at first you thought he was just being dramatic, he was still going to let you swim but he was 100% serious.

“Tom, you’re kidding.” You scoff a bit and he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry darling, I know a lot is happening—“ he starts and you move back.

“The doctor said I am healthy enough to be physically active and I—“ before you could finish he cut you off.

“The doctor said you could do some squats, leg workouts, lift a 5lb weight, that was the type of exercise he said. The waters are too dangerous, please don’t argue with me.” He pleads but your emotions get the best of you. Anger starting to build and your body heating up.

Tom had learnt one thing so far; don’t upset the pregnant women and that’s exactly what he did.

“You’re telling me to not argue with you when you are the one holding me hostage in my own home? God, Tom, I have a life still too! A month ago you said you understood what it was going to take and now you’re treating me the way I specifically asked not to! I’m getting in the water, I haven’t been in the water for months it feels like and that’s all I know—“ your rant continues but Tom isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s looking at your side view in the mirror.

Your bump is showing, the bump he swore he could kinda feel but not see was now showing. Almost like it grew overnight.

“Fuck, Tom! Look at me while I’m—“ you start to yell again but he steps closer.

“Look.” He stares at the mirror and comes closer to your bump.

“Oh my…” you see exactly what he’s seeing. The small curve outwards that is your swollen stomach. Your bump.

“May I?” He asked and your mood went from angry to overfilled with happiness. Your eyes starting to tear ss you nodded.

“Tom, it’s your child too, you can touch.” You told him and he did. Your hand even went to your stomach as you rubbed over the bump that was barely forming.

“It’s like it happened overnight.” He laughed a bit and you did too.

“I swear it wasn’t there last night when I got out of the shower. I swear.” You let a few tears fall and he peppers soft kisses.

“I’m sorry.” He gently stroked at the stomach and you sniffled.

“I’m sorry too. I know you just want what’s best for us but I’m just…” you sniffle some more not being able to finish.

“I know baby, I know.” He gets up and wraps his arms around your back. Pulling you in for a hug for you to cry on his chest. So emotional over everything but he was right there. Right there with you.

“We can call the doctor about you surfing, we can call him right now if you want. But I just can’t lose you.” He gives a smile and you nod as your lips meet with his.

“C-can you order the chicken from the place I like?” You finally regain your composure and he nods.

“Of course, anything else?” He looks down at the stomach and you shake your head.

“No, not for now.” You smile down at the small bump forming. “Wait!” You stop him as he’s leaving to grab the phone. He turns to face a guilty looking you, “and mozzarella sticks.” You rub your stomach and he nods. With a faint smile he goes,

“always.” As that was your constant craving. Leaving you in the room for a moment and coming back to see you dressed back ins sweats and a tee shirt, Tom smiled and gladly cuddled up next to you, rubbing and talking to the bump about the future. Maybe you couldn’t surf, but you had Tom right by your side.

December.

Christmas cookies and sweetly salted popcorn occupied your side as you spent a snowy Christmas in London. No beach, no blazing sun even during the day, Tom took you home where you were now five months pregnant.

Heavily showing and to even think you wanted to go surfing months ago was laughable. You hated getting up to shower somedays for it was too much work.

“Darling, Angel, my pretty girl,” Tom sat next to you nervous with his next words. “I know you’re pregnant but there are only so many Christmas cookies.” He told you and you smacked his shoulder.

“Thomas, she’s pregnant! She’s allowed as many cookies as she wants besides there are more in the oven but pregnant women gets first pick as she is carrying my grandchild.” His mom immediately came to your defense. Taking so much good care of you while you were here, Tom doesn’t even think he got this much affection as a sick child.

“I wasn’t saying it’s a bad thing for her to eat cookies, I just want one!” Tom defended himself and you handed him a cookie and you felt your baby kick.

“See? They don't even want you stealing our cookies. I’m eating for two, I’m eating for your baby. You eat a lot by the way! Remember that summer you went through the whole fridge in a week? Yeah, now I’m eating for a tiny version of that! And myself! It’s hard out here for me and what did you do huh? Take two minutes!” You snatched the cookie back from him and rubbed your stomach. His brothers stifled a laugh and Tom grew red in embarrassment.

“I last longer than two minutes.” He says is a mumble.

Rolling your eyes, You rested your head on Toms shoulder and moved his hand over to the kicking stomach. “She says thank you.” You smile as you take a bite from the cookie.

“A she?” His mom perks up and the rest of the family does.

It was a mistake, you and Tom had a battle of the sexes. It seemed as if you didn’t want to know the gender right before your winter holiday. Or really the gender at all. The gender was available for you guys now but you both didn’t see it as a big deal. The baby’s room would be filled with ocean themed toys and a gentle blue wall Anyways. And besides, whatever they decide to be they would make the perfect surfing buddy. Although it was still fun to think of, You thought a girl and Tom swore a boy.

“No, mum, we still don’t know I promise. (Y/n) is just messing around.” He swore and the family relaxed again.

“He’s right, I am just joking. Tom is probably right with his assumption, thinking it may be a boy. With all this moving and eating, just like Tom.” You poke his cheek and Tom again flusters in embarrassment.

“Hey, I have a fast metabolism.” He told you and you kissed his temple.

“I know baby, I’m just teasing you. My man knows how to stay fit and sexy.” You playfully rub his stomach and suddenly the stifled laughs from the boys turn into disgusted noises.

There was everything to indicate a boy, well, mostly just a gut feeling. Tom's mother described her pregnancy with Tom to you and it was nearly the same. A baby boy, you could see that. You would need another fridge and a lot more paper towels assuming the babe will be like Tom and eat yet spill everything. You liked the idea of a boy. Plus, Tom had been playing a stupid game where he asked the baby questions making it kick for an answer. When Tom asked if it was a boy or girl, it kicked the moment he said boy.

The ding of the kitchen timer went off, more cookies fresh out of the oven and Tom was quick to jump up.

“Let me help m’lady up.” He grabs your hands and you grunt as you stand up. You walk with Tom at your side and once you are alone eating more cookies in the kitchen your hand rubs over your stomach as you feel the baby kick in excitement.

“Off the topic of gender, I think they miss the ocean. They kick so much just when I sit in the bath like they are having fun in the water.” You mention water and you feel a kick. They couldn’t understand, but they could hear and a smile rose to yours and Tom's face.

“Then they’re just like their mama.” He leans in and kisses your cheek.

“Who knows, maybe once we get back I’ll get in the—“ before you can finish your sentence about surfing, a sharp kick to your bladder causes you to hunch over with a pained face. Tom worried as he held you panicked but you got back up with a deep breath.

“Nevermind, little one didn’t like that idea.” You hold onto his arms tightly.

“Everything okay? Just a bladder kick?” He panicked and you just nodded.

“Yup.” Your face scrunches up again. “Just the bladder.” You suddenly have the urge to pee. “Now shoo, I’ve got to pee.” You tell him and he looks at you in confusion.

“You just peed like—“ you give him a look making him think about how he’s finishing his sentence. “Right, my darling.” He moved out of your way to let you go. Snatching one more cookie from the tray, he smiled as he thought how next year at this exact time, you would be holding a little baby.

April.

One week. You were one week late and as any normal pregnant woman would be resting in bed and rubbing over her swollen belly and anticipating the child’s arrival. Although that was not what you were doing.

Against Tom's wishes, you went back to work to see the kids start up their surfing lessons. Although there would be no swimming for you, no waves for you just yet, seeing the kids happy to be there was something that sparked joy to your heart always. Helped ease your nerves and turn them into excitement.

“Mrs. (Y/l/n)-Holland, look what I learnt how to do!” One of the kids calls out. You had a smile for not only did they call you by both yours and Tom's name, but that they had always been excited to show you new things.

“That was amazing Ryder!” You clapped at the boy who did a handstand. He had a big smile with teeth missing. Your hand went over your stomach again, an aching pain that was noting but a false labor.

The doctor said it was fine. Women always experienced this right before birth and just take a deep breath but don’t waste your time rushing to the hospital just for them to send you home.

It was normal to be late and that you had a stressful year so it was okay. The doctor mentioned that you still felt contractions which meant you were close. But when it was Tom, every slight indicator of pain you felt meant a freak out where he rushed around the house to get the baby bag and try and get you in the car when in reality, you just had to pee.

“T-That’s really cool.” You wince and the boys face goes from excitement to worry. Within the luck, Tom comes jogging from the parking lot with lunch for the two of you. Hoping to get in the water with the kids and keep an eye on you.

“Hey Angel.” He kissed your cheek but noticed your pain. “Everything okay?” He panicked and you nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, Ryder here was just showing me how he can do a handstand now—“ you can’t even finish as the pain was strong.

“(Y/n)?” Tom needed to be calm, your face scrunched up as you held your swollen stomach. “Darling, Angel, pretty girl, look at me.” He used all the pet names you liked and you looked up at him with worry in your eyes. “I think it’s time for us to meet the little one.” He nods with a trying smile and you feel an even sharper pain.

“Mmh, I can’t do this.” You breath heavily as you hold onto the stomach. “Yes you can, if you can surf a wave that is 12 feet with no wipeout then you can birth our baby.” He promised and also got the little boy who was so excited to show you his new moves a moment ago to run and get another adult.

“Tom, I-I can’t.” You felt yourself tearing up and he shakes his head. Your heart pounding and mind swarming with worried.

“You can, you will. You are the strongest women I—“ before he can start his motivational speech you cry out in pain.

“Get me in the goddamn car!” You cry and he nods and gets you up before anything worse. He rushes to the hospital as quick as he can, holding your hand and trying to not crash as you hold your stomach and scream.

When he gets to the hospital, he’s still in a wetsuit. They take immediate action into getting you into a room where you are laying with your legs up waiting for a doctor. Holding Tom's hand as you cry.

“Uh sir?” The doctor walks in and looks at the man in the wetsuit. “We’re going to have to ask you to put on scrubs...helps prevent any ourside clothing germs getting on the baby...are you wearing anything under that?” She asked and he immediately started unzipping.

“Jesus tom, not here, she wants you to get changed in the bathroom.” You shake your head as you run your hands over your face. In pain but want to laugh at your worried boyfriend for how he was acting in the moment.

“Right! Right!” He quickly changes from the wetsuit into the scrubs. The doctors look at him funny but let it go as you’re clearly in pain and needing the baby to be out.

“You got this love, you’re doing so good—“ he starts again but you don’t even want to hear it.

“was this really worth two minutes! I’m getting my fucking tubes tied!” You scream at him and he flushes a deep shade of red as one of the nurses giggles.

After one more big push you heard the sound of a cry filled the room. For just a second, all the pain you felt went away as you see the body of your baby, baby boy. You both were right, a beautiful little boy.

“A boy.” Tom breathes out in awe.

“Dad you wanna come cut the cord?” He looked at you for approval and you nodded. He cut the cord with shaky hands, couldn’t focus for the life of him as he just stared at the boy. You only got to hold him for a second before he’s taken off to a bath. Tom following them before they bring him back in a bundle of blankets.

“Oh my…” you hold the beautiful boy. His little lips open just a bit to make a sound while his eyes flutter to adjust to the light. “Look at him tom.” You feel yourself cry and Tom does too.

“Wow, look at you.” He touched the boy's cheek who immediately tried to take the finger into his mouth. “You did that.” He tells you as the two of you admire it.

“We did that.” You tell him and he smiles a bit. “Although yeah, it was mostly me.” The boy stares hard at Tom, Tom who was still in just swim trunks and scrubs.

“Hey, I ate a lot with you during this pregnancy. Even had my own morning sickness.” He teased and you only laughed.

The room going silent for a moment. Hearing the little cooes of your boy as you held him. Toms finger tracing over his cheek when you finally spoke, “Caspian.”

Tom had mentioned how he liked the name for a boy, more than once. It had connections to the water and to Europe so the child would have a bit of both. You had to admit to yourself that you liked it but just wanted to stick with a more casual name. But looking at how he looked at you the moment you said that name, you knew it was the one.

“Caspian?” He repeated and you nodded.

“Caspian Holland.” You told.

He smiled as he kissed your forehead. “Holland? Just that?” He asked as well and you nodded.

“Yeah, yeah just like that.” You smiled. A perfect moment in the perfect situation was interrupted by a small nurse who held a tee shirt.

“Uh sir?” The nurse looked at the two of you and both of your attentions were caught. “So unfortunately we have to ask you to wear a shirt, we got one from the lost and found for you hoping that it would fit.” The shirt read “I’m not as fun as mom” and Tom's face dropped. A proud smirk rises to your face as you look at Tom who’s flared his nostrils just a bit to show his embarrassment.

“Yeah Tom, put on the shirt.” You encouraged and he looked at you. His eyes telling you that you’re going to regret that but you can’t wait 15 years into the future to tell your son.

Sighing as he took the shirt from the poor nurse and sat back down on the chair in a huff.

“You’re never letting me live this one down are you?” Shaking your head you look back down at the boy,

“no, I don’t think we will.” You brought your dry cracked lips down to the boys forehead, you had no water within the past hour and screaming with crying seemed to make you as dead as possible. “Caspian. Caspian Holland.” He whispers again. “Thank you.” He looked at you and you furrowed your brows.

“For everything.” After months of no surfing, months of pain and aches, instead of saying anything back you looked at him and said

“sushi.” Was all you said and he furrowed his brows.

“W-what?” He questioned.

“I need sushi, please.” You sigh and he smiled. Months of being unable to eat any fish that was all you wanted in the moment.

“One California roll coming up.” He kissed your cheek and then the boy's cheek. Calling in the nurse, sending for a California roll and tuna.

Caspian was sleeping soundly in Tom's arms while you ate and rested. Everything was worth it, from the moment he stepped on a plane one summer to Hawaii he knew it was worth it for he found a family in the end.

June.

Once again the sand was squishing under your toes. Feeling each and every grain as you held your baby boy tightly bundled in blankets against your chest as you walked out to the beach. He was freshly bathed, you and Tom took turns. You were so eager the moment you were cleared to get back in the water after birth that the day the doctor cleared you for physical activity, you did it.

But tonight wasn’t you getting in the water, it was you greeting Tom and telling him to come back inside.

“Dinner is done.” You call out to him as he jogs back to the two of you. The baby boy cooing as he sees the ocean and his fathers dripping wet figure coming towards them.

“Hey, look who’s out.” He immediately leans in and kisses all over the pretty baby boy's face. “My sweet boy is so fresh and clean.”

You and Tom had argued about who he had looked more like,You or Tom. he had Tom's nose for sure and his big brown eyes that you knew were going to be trouble. If you had a hard time saying no to Tom when he batted his lashes and gave a glossy look, it was going to be impossible to say no to your beautiful boy.

“He just took a bath. But it wasn’t the ocean.” You smiled and Tom pressed a kiss to your face too.

“Mmh, did you?” He looks at the boy who was yawning in his mother’s arms. “Want to swim a bit?” He asked and you shook your head.

After birth, Tom did a lot of the work. He loved it too. He claimed you needed rest, in which you did, but you would often find him just sitting in the nursery staring at the baby boy. Telling him stories to sleep and kissing his face. He would let you surf, bathe, sleep, all while he took care of your beloved boy.

“No, I’m so tired I think if I use my legs any longer they will snap.” You give a pout and Tom immediately kisses it away.

Tom started to gather his stuff, the beach towel and the bag he normally carried and the moment he started to pack up your baby boy let out a wail.

Within the two months of his birth, you were able to identify each cry. When he was hungry it was more of a gurgle, when he was sleepy it was more strained and forced, when he craved touch it was a whimper sounding cry and then there was this. He was simply upset something did not go his way. May you or Tom stepped away for a moment, the bottle gone too early, but now it was his father packing up his stuff that makes him scream a cry that makes heads turn.

“What’s the matter bubs?” Tom pouts as he sets the stuff down and comes over to him.

Once the stuff is set down the cries settle just a bit, settle enough until tom takes him out of your arms and presses him up against his body.

Still wet from the surf, you both think the baby liked it. While Tom occupied little Caspian, you picked up the towels and his bag for him and once again the boy let out a wail cry which made you and Tom furrow your brows.

“I-I don’t know what it is. I-I changed him and I bathed him and he was perfectly fine and—“ you start to panic and as you panic you drop the stuff which calms his cries. Tom immediately took notice and grew a smile that made his heart flutter in his chest.

“(Y/n),” he stops you and you look up at him with a worried look as if you’ve done something wrong. “He wants to stay. He wants to stay on the beach.” Tom says in a calm voice and the boy was now only cooing in Tom's arms. He bounced gently but mostly cooed as his daddy smiled at him.

“H-He knows we’re leaving the beach.” You sigh and come over to the boys. Petting your sons head as he relaxes in his fathers arms.

“Like I’ve always said, just like his mama.” Tom smiled up at you and you caught his lips for a kiss. “Well…” you rub your hands on your thigh, wiping off the sand you got stuck all over your hands. “Since Caspian always gets his way, I better bring dinner out here.” You smile as you poke at the sweet boys face and Tom moves and has a serious face.

“(Y/n), no, you can’t just whip out your boob in front of—OW! I’m kidding!” You smacked his arm for the stupid comment he made that at first had you worried.

“I hate you. I’m bringing out the dinner.” You start to walk off and he smiles.

“You love us!” He shouts back.

“Just Caspian! You? Not much you. remember...you’re not as fun as mom!” You call out to him, sending him a wink and he wants to say something back but he holds his tounge.

Looking down at the baby boy he says, “when I teach you how to surf I need you to beat mums ass a few times while you’re out there. Just for her little comments.” Tom spoke to the boy and he cooes. “Atta boy.” With that he plots down on the sand towel.

Setting caspian down on the towel for just a moment so he can strip from his wetsuit and be closer to him. You come back out balancing the plates of food for you and Tom as you seat next to them and eat. Leaning your head on Toms shoulder and kissing at it.

You never knew that one competition, one amateur British boy and one shared basket of fish and chips could lead you to the best moments of your life. Could lead you to the best family you’ve ever had.

Please leave feedback! It helps me grow as a writer and lets me know what more you want to see!

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#dad!tom #surfer!tom #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #imagine tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland au #tom holland x you #tom holland angst #Tom Holland fic #Tom Holland fan fic #tom holland fan fiction

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bakubub · 3 years

Text

In which racer!kuroo is your roommate, and seems to only like it when you treat his wounds... (word count: 1.9k)

Ngl quite proud of this one!!

Warnings: 18+, a whole lot of swearing, a whole lot of blood, innuendos and implied nsfw, reader almost vomits (NOT from pregnancy chill, I know we're all scarred but its going to be just fine) and if you're squeamish perhaps skip the scene where reader stitches his wound?

Also bit of a disclaimer: I am in NO WAY a med student and literally all of my knowledge is from movies and other fics... so if you acc know what to do in this situation this may be a torturous for you :D

All due credits go to @aikk00 for this AMAZING fanart!!!!

I watch as my roommate enters the penthouse, once again scratched up and bleeding, covered in so much blood there is no possible way that it was all his- if it was he would not be standing.

I launch myself off the couch- where I was sitting for the past hour nervously waiting for his return- and slip my arm under his, supporting him as we inched towards the bathroom.

"I can do this by myself you know," he grumbles, his grimace revealing just how much pain he was actually in.

"Mhm, I'm sure you can. Just like you boiled that poor egg by yourself last week, hmm?" I say sarcastically, trying to keep my mind calm and clear, because oh my god it looks really bad this time...

"Oi, its not my fault it fuckin' exploded," he mutters, voice laden with pain.

"You put it in the microwave because 'the shitty water wasn't doing its job.' Of course it would explode," I say, gently seating him on the closed toilet seat and taking out my supplies that I unfortunately have become rather accustomed to using. He's made it a habit to get himself injured.

"Where's the injury?" I ask, setting down my half-empty bottle of antiseptic and box of bandages. He peels off his shirt, cringing at the pain it brought him as the fabric was stuck to the gash that went from his left pectoral down to the middle of his chest.

"Pissed off a bidder after winning a race, fucker took out a knife once he realised he couldn't beat me up," he huffs out, arrogance still lacing his tone even with sweat dripping down his brow as he leans the back of his head onto the tile wall behind him. His Adam's apple bobs down his bloodstained neck as he speaks, and I quickly look away, focusing on the injury at hand.

Not his blood soaked, but nevertheless well defined pectoral muscles, nor the abs that my hands occasionally brush up against and know how hard they really are, and definitely not the trail of black hairs that lead down, down, down...

"What's wrong, the view too hot to focus on the work at hand?" He asks suggestively, raising his pierced brow, even in this state.

I'm quick to reply, having gotten used to his flirtatious remarks from the second I moved into his penthouse, "nope can't even see the view from that massive head of yours. Not to mention your permanent bed head."

He huffs out a laugh, then proceeds to flinch from the pain it must have caused.

"Stop moving, idiot. You're going to exacerbate the cut!" I say, quickly grabbing a damp towel and beginning to clean up his abdomen, whilst simultaneously pressing another rag to his wound to stop the bleeding.

“At least you admit that there is a hot view,” he says in his low voice, gazing at me from his position.

I simply roll my eyes.

No falling in love. That was the deal we had made on the day he offered me a place to stay in exchange for my services as a maid and apparently, a nurse. I cook, clean and basically keep the house running while this moron goes out and acts like the idiot he is. In my defense, dorms are expensive as hell, and his penthouse is nearby. Plus, I don't have to pay rent. It's a win-win situation.

But the feelings stirring up inside my heart might just ruin the dynamic we have going on and simultaneously take out a whole lot of cash out of my pocket.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Once his skin isn't completely saturated in blood, and the wound has (thankfully) stopped bleeding, I add some antiseptic onto a make-up pad and begin to dab at his wound, earning winces and slight grunts from the massive man.

"The cut looks deep, Kuroo. You need to go to the hospital," I say, worry lacing my tone as my eyebrows crease and earn yet another huffing laugh.

"Do you want me to rot in prison for the rest of my life?"

I roll my eyes at his response, deliberately dabbing just a little harder which earns me a yelp and an attempted glare in my direction.

"First off, illegal street racing won't send you to prison for your entire life, just for like, half a year. Second, this wound needs stitches, and believe it or not, I'm not a fucking licensed medic. In fact, the only experience I have is with you!" I say, immediately regretting my choice of words as I wait for his remark.

"That's what she said," He says, chuckling at his own innuendo.

I sigh in frustration, pouring more antiseptic to make sure there was no chance of infection from whatever grimy ass knife stabbed him, and beginning to gently scrub the wound with a soft towel, so as to make sure there was no debris left in there.

"You're gonna have ta do it," he mutters, his hazel eyes boring into mine.

"I- I can't Kuroo, you can't possibly think-"

"Fine. I'll do it. Go get me a needle and thread," he states, struggling but nevertheless, sitting upright on the red stained toilet.

I stare at Kuroo in disbelief as he utters these words. Was he dumber than I thought? Does he have some sort of head injury too?

I examine his face and all I come up with is unnerving determination. I exhale out of my nose sharply, "fine, dammit. I'll sew your fucking wound shut."

I am extremely handy with a sewing needle and thread, used to really be into embroidery back when I had the time so...it should be fine.

He just shrugs, leaning his head back against the tiles and closing his eyes.

"Fucking asshole. Can't believe I'm saving your damn life," I mutter, leaving the bathroom to dig through my wardrobe for my sewing box and taking out a gold silk thread that I was saving for a special project.

Well, I guess that will never happen.

"Hey, I found some silk thread. It's literally known for its strength and durability in high temperatures, so it should work like a charm!" I say, walking back into the blood stained bathroom and trying to psych myself up.

He grunts in response. I sigh as I begin with mopping up the excess blood and sanitising the needle and thread before chucking on gloves.

I wipe the antiseptic over the wound once more, and examine it carefully.

Well, if his condition worsens, I can always knock him out and call an ambulance...

I decide, screw it, and thread the needle, pretending it was just another embroidery project.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant as I puncture his skin with the thin needle.

Kuroo gasps in pain, and I place a hand on his knee, telling him to suck it up and deal with it, half talking to him but also to myself.

To my surprise, he listens, stretching his head back once more and gritting his teeth.

"Don't do that, here put this in-between your teeth," I say, grabbing yet another towel and shoving it into his mouth.

He obeys as I continue to stitch. I feel my gag reflex kicking in as I think about how stitching skin feels as though I am stitching leather, it feels hard and tough while pushing the thin needle through.

Must hurt like a bitch.

Once I've completed my neat stitches down the wound, without vomiting, I tie it off as I would with any embroidery, and clean the area free of any remaining blood. After rubbing some antibacterial ointment over the gold stitches, I stick on a particularly large bandage over the wound and start tidying up.

"Thank you," Kuroo mutters, still seated on the toilet seat and practically panting for breath.

"Ah, the criminal knows his damn manners!! Now get up and get in the damn shower. You ruined my pristine bathroom!" I complain, putting the last of the materials away before walking to the door.

"Wait, I- I can't get up." I turn around and look at him incredulously as he utters his next few words, "will you... shower me?"

My eyes just about pop out of their sockets at his request. "Are you insane?! I'm not your mother, nor your wife! Call your pudding haired friend and tell him to come shower you!"

He shakes his head, a rare pleading look taking the place of his usual arrogant smirk, "Kenma's too lazy to shower himself, Y/n, please!"

I contemplated it for a moment. Sure, I've seen him naked before, accidentally of course, and so what if I have to scrub him clean. God knows he can't do it himself with that damn injury.

Fuck this shit.

"Fine, get up right now." I bark at him, leaving to change out of my blood soaked pjs into a pair of shorts and a tank.

"...I just said I can't."

---

"Ow, y/n, you're scrubbing too hard!" He complains, his exfoliating glove around my hand as I rub his toned back clean of any dead skin-cells and blood remains.

"But look how much stuff is coming off!" I say gleefully, enjoying this a little too much.

Kuroo, seated on the built-in bench in the open shower with his red boxers on, looks back to see the satisfaction dripping from my features.

"Are you secretly a sadist?" he whispers. In response, I begin to rinse off his raw back with hot water, causing him to screech like a cat.

"It burns, it burns-”

“Shut the fuck up, moron! It's 4 in the morning, you’re going to annoy our neighbours. I tried very hard to get in their good graces, and Mrs. Suzuki still doesn’t like me! She definitely thinks I’m some kind of hooker…” Kuroo laughs at this, and I can’t help but watch as his whole face brightens up from his usual emotionless expression. I find myself smiling in response.

I grab his expensive shampoo and pour some into my hands, beginning to massage it into his scalp. With wet hair, his raven strands are for once flat on his head and reach down to his defined jawline. Kuroo groans under my touch, leaning into my fingers. I snatch my hands back and pour hot water over his head.

"ARGH! Y/N!" He screams, hastily getting up and wetting me in the process.

"Ah- what are you-" I don't get to finish my question as he grabs my arm and yanks me next to him under the hot water, soaking my clothes and my hair.

"You asshole!" I screech as I reach up to pull his hair in defiance, but he only grabs my arm and hooks it around his neck, leaning down to look directly into my eyes.

Our noses brushing against one another, he mutters, "You look pretty with your hair wet and your shirt see through."

It takes me a moment to get past the compliment and to hear the perverted comment that he just uttered.

He sees my look of confusion and laughs, bends over, clutches his stomach and laughs, before bellowing in pain because of his injury.

Smiling smugly down at him as he grimaces, I force him to sit back down and continue massaging the shampoo into his hair, warning him that if he so much as moaned I would leave him in here, dripping wet and in pain.

"That's what he said," is his reply.

I smack his head in response.

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu drabbles #racer!kuroo #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #haikyu fics #haikyuu!!#kuroo x y/n #kuroo x gender neutral reader #kuroo x gn!reader #kuroo x you

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masterofmunson · 3 years

Text

look after you (2)

TFATWS Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sam asks you to join him and Bucky on a mission in Madripoor. When you get injured, Bucky feels the need to remind you more than once that he’s supposed to look after you now that Steve’s gone.

Warnings: tfatws spoilers, language, violence, blood, vomiting, explosions, needles, pining galore

Word Count: 4.7k+

Author’s Note: Here she is! I was originally going to post this tomorrow, but to celebrate the season finale of tfatws as well as me getting fully vaccinated, I decided to post it a day earlier! As always, comments, reblogs, and asks are highly encouraged and greatly appreciated. Enjoy and tell me what you think!

You take a day to rest and recoup before diving head first into the mission again. You slept decently and you hadn’t really thought about how exhausted you really were until you went to bed after your heart to heart with Bucky. It was a conversation that the two of you needed to have, and you wished it didn’t have to happen after you had gotten shot. You’re just glad that you’re on the same page now.

Getting out of bed, you’re careful to move around with your shoulder in mind as you wash your face and brush your teeth. You make your way to the kitchen and everyone, including Zemo, sits around the granite countertop.

“Good morning, Y/n. How’s your shoulder?” Zemo asked with a smug smirk and a cup of tea in his hands.

You glare at him and take three long strides to get to him. You slap him across the face and the smack echoes against the walls. “If you touch Bucky and I like you did last night again, I’ll kill you. Understand?” you snapped, spitting at him.

He grins and caresses the side where you hit him, messaging his fingers into the tender and red skin. “Completely.”

You walk away from him to the far side of the counter where Bucky and Sam are just staring at you with wide eyes. They hide their growing smiles behind their coffee mugs. You reach for the coffee pot and Sharon grabs a mug from the cabinet for you. You fill it with coffee and pour some creamer inside.

Bucky leans over your shoulder and mumbles in your ear, “Are you feeling okay?”

You smile softly at him and take a sip of your coffee. You nod slowly and lean against the kitchen counter. You don’t need to exchange words for Bucky to know that you’re doing okay. He knows with the small curve of your mouth.

“What’s the move now that all of Madripoor is trying to kill us? How are we going to find this Nagel guy?” you asked, looking between Sam and Sharon.

Sharon sighs, running a hand through her hair. “You should really steer clear of all of this for your own safety,” she sighed. “Especially you, now that you’re injured,” nodding over to your shoulder.

“We know it’s a risk, but we’re not going to leave until we find Nagel,” Sam interjected.

Sam and Sharon negotiate with each other as you walk towards the window. Now that the sun is up, you can see the entire skyline of High Town. It’s beautiful, all things considered since the entirety of Low Town is trying to kill you.

“You help us out, I’ll get your name cleared. Deal?”

Sharon sighs and shakes Sam’s hand. “I have a showing tonight, I’ll see what I can find. Just lay low and blend in. Stay out of trouble.”

She leaves the kitchen and disappears down the hall. You move back into the kitchen and poke around the pantry to see what kind of breakfast food she had for you to eat. To your own surprise and excitement, you see a box of Cheerios on the top shelf. You grab it and open a number of cabinets and drawers for a bowl and spoon.

“Want some, Buck? Sam?” you asked.

The two men shake their heads and Sam pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I need to make a call, I’ll be right back.”

You hum and grab the milk from the fridge. You sit at the kitchen table away from Zemo. Bucky sits in the empty chair next to you and you playfully shove a hand in his face as he watches you eat.

“Stop brooding, Buck. It’s not a good look for you, gives you wrinkles,” you teased with a grin.

“I think I’m okay with a few wrinkles, honey. I look pretty damn good for a 106 year old, don’t you think?” Bucky teased in return.

You hum with approval and a mouthful of cereal. “Mhmm. You look great, Buck.”

You finish your breakfast and put everything away. Bucky reaches for your arm and squeezes your hand. “Can I look at your shoulder? I want to make sure everything’s okay.”

You nod and Bucky grabs the abandoned first aid kit before following you into the nearest bathroom. You climb on to the bathroom counter and Bucky ruffles through the kit for the right supplies. He gathers more thread, bandages, and anticeptant and places them beside you.

“Do you need me to help you take off your sweatshirt?”

Your laughter fills the bathroom walls and you raise your brows at the ex assassin. A flirtatious smile finds its way onto your face. “Are you asking me for a strip tease, Barnes?”

His face flushes an embarrassing shade of pink and it makes you giggle even more. It makes your heart melt at his awkwardness. He stutters over his words. “N-No! I can step out if you don’t need help. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

He turns to leave and you gently grasp his arm, stopping him from leaving you. Your gentle smile and touch makes him relax. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Buck. You don’t have to leave. You might have to ask me out on a date after this, though. I don’t do this for just anyone.”

He just stares at you with a blank expression.

You laugh again, biting the inside of your cheek. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed that he didn’t understand your teasing. “I’m joking.”

“Oh.”

You slowly pull your hoodie over your head and wince at the burning sensation. You move your bra strap to the side and Bucky carefully inspects the bandages. Blood seeps through them and he’s careful to pull the soiled bandages off your skin and into the trash. He leans forwards to get a better look at the stitching to make sure they’re still intact.

Bucky takes a clean antibacterial wipe and swipes it around the wound, picking up the dry blood and cleaning the area. You wince at the sudden stinging sensation around the sensitive area of your wound. Bucky apologizes under his breath. It sends a chill down your spine.

His fingers are soft and gentle against your skin. His touch is feather light. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s trying his best, all things considered.

He bandages both sides of the wound with incredible care. He’s silent as he works. His eyes are focused and his hands move with incredible ease.

When he’s finished bandaging you up, he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder and it makes you freeze. Your throat tightens and your heart begins to race. Bucky pulls away and your eyes meet. He scratches at the back of your neck.

“Sorry. I used to do that when my sisters got hurt when they were younger. It made them feel better,” he explained with rosy cheeks. He turns to flee the bathroom and you pull him back again.

“You don’t need to apologize. It’s sweet. Thank you,” you said, fixing your hoodie.

He smiles awkwardly at you before finally leaving the bathroom. You follow behind him and ignore the weird feeling inside your chest.

….

You didn’t know what to expect when you went downstairs to the gallery. When you arrived last night, you didn’t have the time to look at the artwork in the building. You were in too much pain to notice what kind of art Sharon dealt with. What you didn’t expect was the number of people that showed up and how it seemed like a dance club rather than an art gallery.

You’re dressed in a nice pair of black pants and matching blouse. Music thunders in your ears and the bass of the music vibrates through your chest. You push through the crowd to get to the bar. You order three tequila shots and pass two of them to Bucky and Sam. You clink the glasses together before downing the liquor. It burns your throat and sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod along to the music and make your way towards the gallery portion of the building. You walk past a number of Monet paintings, and you’re stunned that Sharon was able to get her hands on such priceless pieces. You’ve never been one to analyze paintings and artwork.

You walk around the entire gallery before returning to the bar. Sam and Bucky scowl as they watch Zemo try and dance to the music. You hide your growing smile behind your beer and reach for Sam’s hand, dragging him to the dance floor. He groans loudly but doesn’t pull away.

“C’mon Grumpy Gills, Sharon said to have fun. You don’t look like you’re having fun,” you noted with a teasing smile and a glint in your eyes as you take a sip of your drink. You move your hips along to the beat of the music and Sam rolls his eyes, taking a drink from his beer.

“Shouldn’t you be asking the same thing to Barnes? Why drag me out here instead of him?” Sam asked over the loud music. He slowly starts to nod his head to the music.

You laughed loudly and grinned at him. “I have to split my time evenly between my two children!” you joked. “I can’t make it look like I have a favorite.”

Sam laughs and shakes his head at you. A growing smirk fills his features and he spins you around on the dance floor. “You’re not fooling anyone, sweetheart, least of all me. The two of you are like two lost puppies when you’re around each other. Put the old man out of his misery and tell him how you feel!”

Embarrassment washes over you and you try to hide your face with your arm. Was it really that obvious that you had feelings for Bucky? God, did Zemo notice too? For your sake and sanity, you hope not, and you know you’re not lucky enough to get away with it. He’s a perceptive asshole. The last thing you need is Zemo of all people to mention your behavior that seems more than friendly to Bucky.

It’s the last thing Bucky needs. He’s still healing and dumping your heart out to him is not a good idea. He’s figuring out how to deal with all his trauma and to adjust to life as a Bucky Barnes he’s proud to be. You don’t need to add to it. It’s not the right time and things are too complicated.

You shake your head. You can’t. You won’t. “It’s complicated, Sam. I can’t just dump it on him. He has too much to deal with and I don’t want to add to it.”

Sam shakes his head at you. You’re not surprised that he disagrees with you. He wants to knock some sense into you, but he won’t push it. “That’s not your decision to make though. You’re taking that choice away from him, and he’s had a lifetime of choices taken away from him.”

You take a step away from Sam at his insinuation. Your brows pinch together and you glare at him. “Stop psychoanalyzing me, Sam. You’re not my therapist.”

He scratches the back of his head and you look away from him. He sighs. “Listen, I just want the two of you to be happy, but I won’t push it. I won’t say anything.”

You scoff at him and roll your eyes at him. This is what you get when you try to make Sam relax and have fun. He can’t just turn it off. You push past him and make a beeline towards the elevator. You had lost interest in the party and just wanted to be left alone. Sam ruined your mood and pissed you off.

When the elevator arrives to the top floor, you raid Sharon’s liquor cabinet and open the door to the balcony. You take a seat on the floor and your legs hang from the railing as you drink in silence. You stare out into the skyline and listen to the sounds of the city mix together. It makes you miss New York City.

Car horns blare in the distance as do the sound of the rap of bullets on the other side of town. The light in the city distorts the night sky and the neon lights mix together in perfect harmony.

You’d never admit it out loud or tell Sam, but you know that he’s right. You should give Bucky the choice, but it was so much easier to just ignore your feelings for Bucky rather than just telling him outright. If you told him and he rejected you, it would make things more complicated than they already were, and it was the last thing you wanted.

You don’t think you could handle losing Bucky, especially after Steve. Just like Bucky thought you were his last connection to Steve, you felt the same way towards him, but you’d never tell him. You don’t want him to live up to Steve’s expectations. It doesn’t matter what Steve thought and he was gone. The two of you just needed to move past it.

The balcony door slides open behind you and you don’t bother turning to see who it is that’s joining you. You know that Bucky was the one behind you. He doesn’t say anything as he sits down next to you. You wordlessly pass the bottle of tequila over to him and he takes a drink without a second thought. He passes it back to you.

“What did Sam say to you?” Bucky asked, staring at your side profile. He runs his metal hand through his hair.

You busy yourself by taking another swig of tequila. You tear your gaze from the skyline and look over at Bucky. You sigh, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Something I’m not ready to hear,” you answered vaguely. It’s a partial truth and you know that Bucky didn’t expect such a vague answer from you. You don’t want to talk about it, and he respects you enough to not push you to tell him when it’s obviously a sensitive subject for you. You’re not ready. “I guess it’s what I get for trying to get Sam to try and relax and have fun.”

Silence falls between the two of you and you take the time in between to drink. Bucky grabs the bottle from you and sets it beside him. You huff at him and watch him stand up. You look up at him and he holds his hand out for you.

“I’ll have fun with you. Don’t let him ruin the night for you,” he said as he helps you to your feet.

You smile and shake your head at him. You know he’s trying his best and it makes you adore him even more. “There’s no music, Buck.”

He shrugs and pulls you towards him. Your uninjured arm wraps around his neck and his own hands settle on your waist. You let him lead as you sway to the sounds of the city below you. He hums quietly and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I haven’t danced since 1943,” he hummed matter of factly against the shell of your ear.

“It doesn’t seem like it,” you whispered. “You’re a good dancer.”

He gently twirls you around the balcony and a soft gasp leaves your lips as you cling to him as you’re dipped to the floor. He grins flirtatiously and pulls you back to your feet. For a split second, you see the man he was before the war, the man that Steve spoke so fondly of before he found him in Vienna all those years ago. This is the man that was notorious with the ladies and always took women dancing and stole their hearts. It makes you dizzy just thinking about it.

You hold your breath as his eyes find yours. “It’s all about finding the right partner,” he said, holding you close. “I have one hell of a dance partner, don’t you think, doll?”

Your heart beats erratically against your chest. You feel dizzy and it’s not from the tequila or the dancing. God, does he make you feel weak in the knees. You feel like you can’t breathe with him so close to you. He’s warm and intoxicating and it makes you feel like you’re about to do something stupid.

Your eyes find his cerulean blues and you feel like you’re drowning in him. They’re soft and gentle with a hint of something more hidden behind them. The haunted look in his eyes is gone as he stares at you like you’re the only woman in the world. Is this how women felt back in the 40s when they danced with him?

You stop moving, but you don’t pull apart. You don’t think you have the will power to. You like the way his hands hold your waist and how his touch lingers, making you want more. You’re a puddle in his arms. You only whisper his name as it hangs in the air.

“Yeah, honey?”

He leans forward and rests his forehead against yours. His eyes never leave yours and your fingers grip the back of his black blazer like your life depends on it. His smile is soft and gentle. He doesn’t push or ask questions. He’s the perfect gentleman, but he wants you to make the first move. That much is obvious and you know when to take the hint.

You’re going to do it. You’re going to ask Bucky to kiss you.

He must feel the same, he has to. He wouldn’t say that to just anyone. It makes your heart race at what he’s insinuating. He wants you just as much as you want him. You tug him closer and open your mouth to respond.

You’re immediately cut off and interrupted by a hard knock against the glass door. It makes your heart leap inside your throat and you pull away from Bucky’s arms. Embarrassment washes over you when you realize that it’s Zemo of all people is the one that caught the two of you dancing together on the balcony. He won’t let you live it down now.

He slowly opens the sliding door and looks between the two of you. He smirks and clasps his hands together. “Terribly sorry to interrupt what you’re doing, but Sharon found the doctor. It’s time to go,” he said.

You don’t say anything. You’re too embarrassed and you just wanted Zemo to leave you alone. You don’t have a snarky retort that you’re sure that he’s anticipating. Instead, you nod without uttering a single word and push past him to reenter the building, ignoring the flush you feel.

Zemo and Bucky follow close behind you and the journey to the ground floor is silent as you stand in the elevator. The silence between you and Bucky is suffocating, but you keep your eyes forward and ignore the stares Zemo sent between the two of you.

When the elevator doors open, you race outside and join Sharon and Sam at the front of the building. You ignore the weird look Sam sends you and climb into the front seat without a word as the others trail behind you.

You’re silent the whole way to the docks. You listen to Sharon quietly and keep your gaze out the window. She parks in front of the loading zone and you step out of the car, waiting for Sharon to walk you in the right direction.

Bucky grabs your hand and pulls you behind the rest of the group. It makes your heart race and jump inside your throat. He squeezes it gently.

“You should stay behind. I don’t want you to get hurt again,” Bucky murmured.

Your brows pinch together and you drop his hand. He has another thing coming if he thinks you’re just going to stand around and do nothing. It’s not in your nature. It never has been.

You won’t let whatever’s lingering between the two of you get in the way of doing your job. You don’t care that he wants to keep you safe and look after you. You’ll be fine.

“Is this your way of telling me that I’ll just slow you down?” you snapped, walking past him with a huff, rejoining the group.

Bucky runs after you and shakes his head. “No. You’re injured. I don’t want you to get hurt again. I just want you to be safe.”

“I’ll be fine. Let it go.”

You walk away from him and enter the metal container after Sam. Sharon’s voice echoes through your ear and your hands trail against the back of the container and gently push against it. It opens under the pressure on your hand and you turn your head to look at Sam.

You pull your gun out of its holster and hold it out in front of you. You let Sam lead the way and you follow close behind. You're soft on your feet as you walk further into the building. You can hear music ahead and it grows louder as you walk through the lab and see the back of Dr. Nagel.

Sam pulls the needle of the record player off, stopping the music and the doctor spins on his heels. You aim your gun at him as he looks between the two of you. His eyes widen as he looks behind you. You know that without looking that Bucky stands just behind you like a lingering shadow. You don’t know if he’s doing it to intimidate the doctor or to protect you.

Bucky moves from behind you and stalks over to Nagel. He presses his gun against the doctor’s temple, shooting a warning shot just beside him in an effort to get him to talk. Dread washes over you when you realize that the man standing in front of you is responsible for the serum that Karli and some of her followers had taken and that there were 20 or so of them running around the world causing chaos.

“Is there more serum in this lab?” Bucky asked, pressing the gun further against his temple.

“No,” Nagel answered. “Karli took them all. She wanted me to give the serum to some woman named Donya Madani and I refused.”

You roll your eyes and glance around the lab. Sharon shouts in your ear, telling the four of you that it was time to go now that bounty hunters were here looking to kill you. You look at a number of vials that were a variety of different colors and keep a close eye on Zemo as he wanders around the lab.

You should’ve seen it coming. You should’ve kept a closer eye on Zemo as he walked around when he shot the doctor in the chest, killing him instantly. Sam knocks the gun out of his hand and pins him against the wall. You aim your gun at Zemo’s head when Sam lets him go.

“Give me one good reason not to kill him right now, Sam,” you snapped. “He killed our one and only lead!”

Bucky rests a hand on your shoulder and you brush him off, glaring at him. “We need him, Y/n.”

“The hell we do! He killed our lead!”

“We need to leave, now!” Sharon shouted, running into the lab, completely ignoring the dead doctor on the floor.

Suddenly, you’re flown from your feet as the lab bursts into flames. Your body slams against the container and it knocks the wind out of you. Your shoulder burns with pain and there’s ringing in your ears. Pain erupts against your spine and you’re in a daze. You can barely breathe. You groan and gasp loudly. You roll on your side and can barely pull yourself up. You can’t see straight and you feel like you’re about to puke.

The sounds of Bucky and Sam yelling your name feels so far away. You can barely make out Bucky’s blurry figure above you as he hauls you to your feet. You sway on your feet and Bucky’s hands grasp at your face, gently shaking you out of your daze.

You stumble out of the container and the sound of bullets fill your ears. You still can’t see straight and can barely hear Sam and Bucky yell at one another over the bullets and ringing in your ears. You duck under some shrapnel and squeeze your eyes shut.

Bucky drags you from the shrapnel you’re hiding under and you run down a number of corridors until you hide into an empty container. Your breathing is short and shallow and your head spins. Bucky holds your face in his hands and you see his mouth move, but you can’t hear anything he’s saying to you.

You pull your body away from his and stumble to the back of the shipping container. You keel over and everything you’ve eaten and drank over the last day and a half leaves your system. Your body burns with pain and you drag yourself back towards Sam and Bucky.

You stumble into Sam’s chest and he holds you up by the waist. He helps you out of the container as Zemo approaches in a sleek convertible. You blink rapidly to focus your gaze and weakly attempt to step away from the car and out of Sam’s hold.

“No. I’m not spending another second with Zemo,” you said.

“We need him,” Bucky attempted to reason with you.

You glare at him and Sam wordlessly climbs into the back with you beside him. You’re silent the whole way to the plane as you try and gain your bearings again. You know without looking that the stitches in your shoulder were torn open due to the explosion. You feel the blood soak through your shirt as the pain slowly increases.

Sam helps you up the steps to the plane and guides you to the back of the aircraft. You sit down and Bucky hurries over to your side with a first aid kit in his hands. You huff childishly and attempt to push him away.

“I’m pissed at you,” you stated matter of factly under your breath. You look out the window to keep from looking at him.

“I know,” Bucky replied, gently tearing your shirt from your body, leaving you in just your bra as he moves to inspect your wound.

Sam hands you a bottle of water and you drink it slowly. “I’m pissed at you, too.”

Sam laughs, nodding at you. “I know.”

“I should be relaxing in the mountains of Montana, but noooo, you insisted that you needed my help. Here I am with a bullet wound because you assholes can’t do anything without me. I expect full compensation when this shit is over.”

Bucky and Sam both laugh quietly at you. Bucky’s fingers are soft and nimble as he cleans the area around your wound. Sam leaves the two of you alone and sits at the front of the plane to keep an eye on Zemo.

You wince as the needle pierces your skin. Bucky apologizes under his breath as he stitches your wound closed again. You watch him carefully as he fixes you up. His eyes are razor focused and his brows are pinched together as he takes care of you.

“We really need to stop ending up like this,” you hummed teasingly at him. “You’ve seen me in just a bra far too much in the last couple of days and I haven’t even seen you without a shirt.”

Bucky grunts in response. “Maybe if you stopped hurting yourself, I wouldn’t have to see you without a shirt on,” he said. “Someone has to look after you and take care of you. You and I both know you much rather it be me instead of Bird Brain.”

You laugh softly and grin at him. “Hmm…. maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am, honey.”

You shove him gently and the smile he gives you makes your heart stop. You shake your head and bite the inside of your cheek. He leans back on his thighs and reaches for your abandoned duffle bag and carefully zips it open. He grabs a clean shirt from your bag and helps you into it.

You thank him quietly and he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. You lean into his touch and he takes the seat beside you.

You fall asleep to the feeling of Bucky’s hand in yours, his fingers brushing against the back of your palm.

#tumblr PLEASE put this in the tags.... pls pls pls #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines

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besotted-eros · 3 years

Text

taste of ale and towers

Eren Jaeger x F!Reader (PoC)

Summary: Your favourite patron finally makes a move, and it takes you into the sky.

Content: Unabashed fluff, some jealousy, mentions of alcohol, jealous!Eren. Scouts getting to be stupid.

You liked your job.

Drunkards, vomit, and brawls aside. You enjoyed the warm atmosphere of the tavern, with its brick walls and its crackling fire. You enjoyed sorting through the clinking glasses and bottles, hearing the bar tales from old regulars and new faces. You were meticulous about cleaning, ensuring that this was one of the only taverns in the town that didn't reek of bile and piss. Instead the scent of soft hay, spiced mead and warm bread filled the room, fighting for dominance with the crowing laughs of the patrons. It was pleasant.

Yeah, you liked your job. Especially on nights like these.

"There is NOOOOO way you're taking credit for that one, that's all me." Connie's hand pushed into Sasha's face, his brows furrowed as the tall girl slapped his hand away and shoved a finger into his cheek.

"Yoush need ta shut up, Conster. Ain't a little tyke like you ever gonna get a titan THAT big. It was HUGE!" She burst from her seat, rocking the table and throwing her hands up to the ceiling. "IT WAS THIS BIG!" the table roared with laughter as Mikasa struggled to pull her back down. You smiled along with them as you filled a tankard. You'd have to cut her off soon.

"Stop knocking over drinks Sasha, you're going to give y/n more work."

The voice cut through the thrum of conversation. You could have picked the sound of him out of a storm, or a symphony. And it made your heart race every time.

You could feel him walking towards you through the crowd, and kept your eyes down. There was a deep scratch on the counter, and you dragged the rag over it repeatedly, until a hand entered your vision. His fingers were long, the skin taunt against bone and tendon. They were the hands of a soldier. But when he rested his it over yours, they were gentle.

"Hey, do you mind if I take this for a second?" Eren asked, his mouth twisted into a rueful grin as he nodded his head back towards his friends. "Don't want things to dry up and get sticky."

He was your most faithful patron. You knew that if he wasn't off saving humanity, he would be in your tavern after dinner at the barracks. But he never drank much, nursing a single beer, maybe two over a few hours.

"Oh, I can clean it myself!" You chirped, and his lower lip twitched slightly, head tilting.

"You're busy, it's okay. Let me." He pulled it away firmly, shooting you a small smile as he turned back. You were happy to see it. It seemed as though he smiled less and less these days. But there always seemed to be at least one for you. You regretted that you weren't able to sit with him tonight, have his gaze upon you as you leaned into his heat. He had been away for a few weeks, and you missed him. Even though he wasn't yours to miss.

"God, you might as well work here 'ren" Jean drawled, and the pale haired man's eyes flicked to yours. Eren scowled at him, wiping the table clean. "Would have pretty co-workers at least." You flushed at the compliment, turning on your heel to busy yourself with needlessly sorting bottles in the shelves. You could tell the group was appraising you now.

"Watch it." Eren snapped, flicking the rag quickly to snap against the scout's cheek. Jean grinned, smelling Eren's weakness. He snatched at the rag, tugging it from the green eyed man's grasp.

"I'll return this for you." Jean grinned, sliding out from the booth and padding through the crowded chairs and bodies. Before Eren could even formulate a way to get him to stop, he was at the bar, pushing his hair back and fixating you a handsome grin.

His friends stared with awe, even Sasha hushed by the sight of quiet rage in Eren's face.

"He's just blatantly making moves on your girl huh?" Connie commented, eliciting a glare from Eren.

"Don't have a 'girl', idiot. No clue what you're on about." Eren dropped into his seat, but his eyes were glued on how Jean was leaning over the bar, long arm outstretched to gesture to a jewel coloured bottle on the shelf. He was crowding you, leaning in so close. He could probably smell the scent of vanilla and rose, and see how prettily a lock of hair curled by your jaw.

"Oh puhlease, Errrren." Sasha took a sloppy swing of her ale, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "You look at her with those big ol' cow eyes, and you're here, what? Every night?" She looked around the table for validation, only met with an angry green stare as eyes of grey, blue and black averted strategically. "You don't even drink!" She rested the glass against her face, eyes closed and expression pulled into a caricature of mourning. "Oh, how will your love ever withstand this distance of 9 feet? How will you ever cross it?"

"Can you shut up and eat some peanuts or something?" Eren snapped, his face red. Armin's mouth was twitching as he fought back a smile, and Mikasa had pressed her wineglass to her lips for an uncharacteristically long amount of time, eyes twinkling over the rim.

"We're out of peanuts." Sasha was truly mournful now, pulling the bowl towards her with both hands.

"Yeah, maybe we can ask Jean's new girlfriend for a refill." Connie murmured into his hands. Sasha roared with laughter, and even Armin couldn't hold back a chuckle, looking sheepish when his best friend glared at him.

"Sorry, 'ren. But Sasha has a point y'know. You have to make a move eventually." His fingers were knit around the tall glass of mead in front of him. But his eyes were still sharp, and his smile kind.

"I'm not going to "make a move"." He replied, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You guys are making a big deal of nothing."

"Oh come on, just admit it." Connie exclaimed, rubbing his fingers over his dark buzz. "It's obvious she's crazy about you too. She doesn't sit with anyone else, literally just you. And it's not for the conversation, because you suck at that." Eren glowered as the table nodded solemnly. But he couldn't deny it made his heart beat faster.

"She looks at you the same way you look at her. Have you noticed that?" Armin asked, resting his chin on his hand.

Eren watched as you tucked a raven lock behind your ear, nodding as Jean spoke softly to you, his finger tracing the rim of a glass you had filled for him.

He hadn't noticed the way you look at him. He was too busy noticing how soft your eyes were, how you would always keep a place for children to sit behind the bar in case the room got too rowdy. How you'd stand your ground against men twice your size, sneering up at them in a way that was honestly intimidating. How gentle your hands were when they'd rest on his arm, laughing at some stupid joke or comforting him when he'd appear with bags under his eyes and ghosts on his breath.

"Do it." Came Mikasa's soft encouragement, nudging him from his seat. "Before Jean does."

Right as her voice met his ears, you laughed. It wasn't overly vibrant, or loud. But it was a laugh, Jean was making you laugh.

"He might kill him." Armin mused as they watched Eren elbow his way to the pair. Connie grinned, downing the rest of his drink.

"I always loved a bar fight."

"It's not that hard, when you get used to it." Jean was saying, the caramel of his eyes melting into yours as he attempted to hold your gaze. This wasn't the first time you had spoken to the tall scout, but it was the first time he had flirted so blatantly. "I could even show you sometime, could get on my back, or I could stra-" suddenly Jean's was on the ground, staring up in bewilderment as Eren made himself comfortable in the now empty stool. You blinked with confusion, lips rounded into a little o. It seemed that Eren had violently hipchecked the man off, and stolen his seat.

"You talk too much, Jean boy." He muttered. Jean scrambled up, chest expanded as he leaned in close to Eren's face.

"Say that again, Jaeger." He growled, threateningly.

"No." Eren's eyes refused to break from yours. But you could see that telltale bristling, and practically smell the pent up rage wafting from the men.

"If you boys fight in my bar, I'm going to have to throw both of you out." You warned, earning a sheepish look from both of them.

"Sorry, y/n." They said in chorus before glares snapped to each other again. You watched as Eren held Jean's gaze, and something unsaid passed between them. But finally Jean's face turned to a smile.

"Took you long enough." He scoffed, bumping the dark haired youth's shoulder as he walked back to his seat.

You looked at Eren, confusion making your lower lip press forward in a way that made his heart jump.

"Sorry about that." He mumbled, touching the back of his head. "We just... Fight a lot." You arched an eyebrow, a smiling playing on your lips.

"I can tell. But you're close."

He nodded, staring down at the drink Jean had abandoned.

"Can I get you anything? Tempt you into actually getting drunk tonight?" You removed the old glass and slid a new one into his hands. "You look like you need it."

He smiled, mouth twisting wryly. "I uh, can't get drunk."

"Oh? Why's that?"

He flexed his jaw, eyes refusing to meet yours. "Since I'm... Well a titan shifter. I regenerate too fast. As my body metabolizes it, I'm already healing. That's why Armin doesn't get drunk either." He motioned his shoulder towards the table, and as you looked over all their heads snapped away.

"That's fascinating." You said it sincerely, and met his gaze when his eyes raised. He had seemed timid to tell you. It's not that you didn't know, everyone knew. But not everyone accepted it.

"So, do you just really like the taste of our mead then?"

He chuckled, shrugging. "Yeah." His eyes flicked to yours, regarding you from under his dark lashes. "And the company."

You flushed, dragging your teeth over your lower lip. "Yeah, heard it's good here."

Eren grinned, running a hand through his hair. The fire caught the glossy chestnut of it, and you tried not to imagine what it would feel like under your fingertips.

"I like it, seeing you here." You absent-minded wiped a glass as you spoke, needing to channel the growing energy. "Makes me feel a bit..." You trailed off, biting your lower lip in earnest now. "Safe? Normal? Like things are going to be okay if I see you come through the door. The world hasn't exploded yet."

The youth had fallen silent. You wondered if you had overstepped, and raise your eyes to offer an apology. But his expression silenced you.

He looked at you with shining eyes, lips parted slightly with shock.

"I-" you began and were cut off by his hands slapping down on the counter as he leaned forward, gaze cutting through you. He was red, his cheeks like burning embers in the warm light, pretty mouth scrunched slightly to the side.

"Y/n, go out with me." He said, voice pitched and loud. You felt the tavern hush slightly, the loud drone muting as eyes turned to you. He blinked in surprise as you did, both of you caught off guard by the sudden intensity. He sat back on the stool, smile sheepish. "I uh, sorry. Will you go out with me?"

You let him stew for a moment. It was only fair, he made you wait so long for him to say those words. His smile faltered, eyes searching your face. But your lips curled into a smile.

"I'm off tomorrow."

The rap at your door was firm. You had wondered when it would happen, as you had seen Eren arrive at your door a little over ten minutes ago, staring nervously at the entry way. You had leaned out your window to watch him, the normally perceptive man oblivious to your wandering eyes. He had paced, wrung his hands, adjusted the backpack that weight on his shoulders.

"I'll be down in a second." You called, making him start and stare up at you open mouthed.

"Y/n,how, how long-?" He called up, but you shut the window quickly, holding back your laughter as you ran down the stairs, pausing to take a breath before throwing open the door.

"Hi," you said breathlessly, fixating him with a smile. He looked at you with mouth agape, eyes wracking over your form. He had only ever seen you in your typical work attire, a dingy apron tossed over an old puffed skirt, a modest button up to finish it off. So when you brushed your dark hair back off your shoulders, allowing his eyes to alight upon the soft skin of clavicle and chest. The blouse you had picked laid prettily off your shoulders, gripping onto the flesh of your upper arms. The soft cream complimented your brown skin in a way that would make Eren associate the shade with you forever.

"You... You look really beautiful, Y/n." He said finally, giving you a rougishly handsome half smile.

"You clean up well too." You replied, and he shrugged humbly The white button up was ironed with a soldier's precision, and the jacket he wore over it hugged the muscles in his arms temptingly.

"We match." He commented, gesturing to the dark green of your skirt and how it complimented the fabric of his jacket. You had chosen it because it reminded you of his eyes when the fire had gone down, right before you'd have to ask him to leave. He'd be heavy lidded, hair mussed and smelling like smoke. But would insist on helping you put up the chairs every time.

"So, where are we off to?" You asked, he turned quickly, face excited as he took a step. But then he paused, turning back around sheepishly. He offered you an arm, straightening his back. You held back a laugh at his excitement and containment of it. It was endearing, you thought as you took his arm and he began to guide you towards the outer wall.

"I uh... Made us a picnic." He said, helping you over a puddle. "Well not just me. Sasha, she made the sandwiches. But I helped." It made you flush to think that the whole regiment was probably aware of what you were doing currently. It didn't help that Eren took you over wall Rose, the basket pulley system making you cling to him under the gaze of the soldiers manning it. You stood together at the top for a moment, staring over at your district. He pointed out the barracks, and you pointed out your home. He moved closer to you to follow your pointing, needlessly close. But you liked it.

"We don't usually let civilians over like this." He whispered as he helped you into the basket on the other side. "But I told them you're special." He gave you an easy half smile.

"Trying to squeeze free booze from me, Jaeger?" You teased as he climbed in beside you. His arm was around your waist instantly, bracing as the descent begun.

"Yeah." He responded, and grinned back at him. He made the fear lessen.

You admired him as best as you could, stealing glances as he walked beside you through the forest. The dappled shade touched his high cheekbones, made his green eyes flash like emerald caught under a jeweler's light.

"Here!" He exclaimed finally, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you towards a clearing. In the middle of it was a tall, tall tower, a wooden outpost made for guards to keep an eye out for titans.

"Wait one second, okay?" Eren asked, holding your arms and placing you against the leg of the structure. He draped his jacket over you before climbing up the ladder, at a speed you thought was almost showoffish.

You leaned against the wood, listening as the tower creaked above you. It sounded like the trees that surrounded, a part of the landscape. You hugged Eren's jacket tighter to you, dipping your head to your shoulder to inhale the scent of him from the collar. It was clean, vibrant almost. A sharp smell that made you think of knives and the edge of his jaw. The fabric was coarse against your nose, obviously military grade, utilitarian in its design. But you thought of the way it would hug his slim shoulders, his muscular arms, how it would -

"Having fun?" Eren's voice called and your head snapped up to see him grinning from the entry hole. "I'm ready for you up here."

You pulled yourself up, hoping the exertion would hide the embarrassment. He helped you onto the platform, large hands firm on your body to hoist you up.

"Ta-da." He said, gesturing to the blanket laid out in front of you. On top of it he had arranged sandwiches, two glasses that had been filled with deep red wine, and a loaf you recognized as sweet bread, soldiers "desert" rations for special occasions. He had even bought candles, perched delicately in a spartan holder. "It's not much but..." He guided you over, shrugging slightly. "I hope you like it."

"I love it, Eren." You sunk down onto the blanket, grinning up at him. "Didn't know you were such a romantic."

He shrugged again, but his cocky grin told you he was pleased with himself. It became somber as he sat across from you, reclining back on his hands.

"Just don't get the chance to do this, y'know." He said softly, voice gentle enough to be carried away by the breeze. The walls were low here, and even while sitting you could see over top. The forest seemed to go on forever, a sea of shimmering greens. You felt an intimate fondness for them and with a start realised why, as you looked back towards the man sitting across from you. He held the colour of life in his eyes, verdant and vibrant.

"I'm honoured that you're using it on me, then." You replied, earning yourself a warm smile. Your heart leapt at the sight of it, and you decided that even if this was the only time you'd get him to yourself, you'd make the most of it.

"There's no one else I'd rather." His voice was genuine, and seemed to even catch himself off guard. He blushed, prettily. "Uh, dig in." He grabbed his sandwich, quickly stuffing it into his mouth.

You pretended not to watch him eat, how his tongue would dart out to wet his lips or how you could see his Adams apple bob with every swallow. And he pretended not to watch you drink, how your lips pursed on the rim, how you'd hold the cool glass against your cheek as you listened to him speak. Hours passed like that, the food long reduced to crumbs and fuel to press the conversation forward.

He spoke mostly about his friends. Stories that showcased Armin's smarts or Mikasa's fortitude. You liked how he looked when he slipped into fond memories. Eyes glossy, smile crooked. He spoke with his hands, painting scenes with every movement of his fingers. Sasha grasping Mikasa by the shoulders, Jean being bowled over by an over excited Connie. The wind would wind it's fingers through his hair. It was long, not long enough to pull into a ponytail but long enough that it stroked the nap of his neck. The sun reflected the golden threads in it, and you wondered if there was any part of the forest that wasn't a part of him.

And he listened to you as though you were a preacher saving his soul. Eyes wide, leaned forward and nodding intently. You felt seen in a way you hadn't before. Sure people had looked at you, long and hard and even leering. But no one saw you like Eren did.

"The view is beautiful." You commented after some time, standing to walk over to the ledge. The sky had painted itself an orange peel, with a glowing lemon for a setting sun. You peered over the low wall, swallowing your vertigo. Eren followed you, and after a small pause placed an arm slowly around your waist. You felt his warmth glow through you, and were comforted.

"Yeah," he said, gazing at you as though you had hung the moon. "It is."

You let your head drop, leaning it against his shoulder. Intimacy was a stranger to the soldier, something that had no place in his life. In fact, Eren was almost scared. After titans and gore, after horrors that would rise bile for even the most hardened veterans, it was your soft figure that made him speechless. He didn't know how to hold you, didn't know what to do with the elation that filled his heart at the sensation of you soft and compliant in his arms.

Should he kiss you now? He thought as your face turned towards his. Your eyes were sparkling, smile so sweet it was almost saccharine. He could see peace in your face. A soft rest, head nestled somewhere warm with only the sound of heartbeats. But before he could close the space between you, a loud squak startled you away. Eren's grip on your waist tightened and he stepped you back from the ledge cautiously. In front of you a bird burst through the canopy, rushing towards the sky as another followed hot upon its tail. You watched as they cartwheeled through the sky, shrieks loud and grating.

You placed a hand over your heart, letting out an airy laugh. "Thank you, I would jumped right over."

"Glad you didn't. " He murmured, reflecting your smile. "It would suck to have to jump after you." The look on your face was unreadable, and Eren worried that he said something wrong. He was afraid of that, to love you wrong. What else would be expected of someone like him? He didn't know how to treat a woman, let alone someone like you. What was he thinking of, trying to kiss you. You, with your radiant smile that cut through the subdued warmth of the tavern and straight into his chest.

"Should probably pack this up," Eren began, turning back to the blanket. A soft tap on his shoulder made him turn back to you, eyebrow cock with question. Only to be met by your lips, crashing into his. The force made him step back, catching you by the waist. For a moment he feared you would actually topple over the side.

You kissed him exactly how he had dreamt. Like a stormcloud, soft but full, wetting the desert of him. Your hands cradled his cheeks, tender in how you held them. Eren couldn't remember the last time he had been touched so softly.

When you broke away, he was blushing.

"I... Wow." He managed to get out, chest rising and falling with the force of his breath. "I didn't expect that."

"I'm sorry," you murmured demurely, making to step back. "It's just that..." You chewed on your lower lip, and he thought about how you were most likely tasting him. "You meant it. That you would jump after me. I liked that."

The smile spread like a wildfire across Eren's face. "I did." He said breathlessly, pulling you back towards him. This time he kissed you, fingers sliding their way from your jaw into your hair.

When your lips broke again, you wondered how you were still standing. Your heart felt as though it could break through the canopy itself, and your knees fragile enough to give under the next strong gust. Eren was in a similar state, all red face and gentle hands, feeling their way through the length of your hair. He ran his fingers through it, from root to tip, repeating the motion has the wind fought him for the chance to stroke your locks.

"Been wanting to do this." He whispered, hand going still on the back of your neck. "From the moment I first met you."

You rolled your eyes, trying to quell the fluttering that grew in your stomach. "Use more lines on me, Jaeger."

His dark brow furrowed, and he used his grip on your hair to pull you closer. It embarrassed you how heat ran through your body as he did it. "'ts not a line, y/n. I mean it." He dipped his head to rest his forehead against yours, green eyes boring into you. His hands slid down you, moving like a landslide. You felt the topography of your body would be forever changed by him, born anew by the fact he was touching you. They came to settle on your hips, and he hummed into another kiss.

"You were fighting someone." Eren said finally, and you let out a quick laugh. "No, really. When I first saw you, you were fighting someone." You felt like you were falling when you saw the expression on his face. He recounted seeing you like he recounted his friends, eyes soft and full of adoration for the memories that made him whole. "I had gone for a walk, just needing to clear my head. And all of a sudden in front of me this door swung open, and a man stepped out. Nonchalant, holding it open as he checked his watch. And all I could hear was this... Yelling." He laughed, squeezing you slightly as you leaned into him. A part of you wanted to press your face into his neck, to find how the curves of your body fit. But you needed to see his face as he spoke about you. Commit it to memory. "And then this fucking hulk of a man stumbled out, and he was *blabbering* like a kid. Just apologising, over and over again. And then you," he paused for a moment to press another kiss to your lips. "You come out holding a broom like I've held a blade, just ready to kill. And you had it up against his chin, right here." Eren dipped his head and nudged yours back, exposing the expanse of your throat. His lips found the thin skin of where your neck curved into your chin, and he kissed it. "Your hair was a mess, and the light made it look like you had a halo. No wonder the man ran." He held you by the small of your back now, dipping you slightly. Your eyes had fluttered closed as he clung to him. "And you caught my eye as you turned, God I must have looked like an idiot. But you caught my eye and you smiled. Apologised, and then thanked the man holding the door so sweetly. And I thought..." He pulled away now, blushing.

"You thought what?" You pressed, pressing into him.

"What mouth you'd kiss with. If you'd kiss hard and passionate, or soft and sweet." He gave you a boyishly handsome smile. "It's both. "

You pressed your lips to his again. And again. The sun set against your entwined bodies, and Eren had a feeling the night watch wouldn't be impressed with his request to come back over. But it didn't matter, he thought as you pulled away to smile up at him, brighter than the moon. Because this was worth it.

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

the shapes in the silence (13)

warning: illness, mild emetophobia, arguing, panic attack, dissociation, altered mental state, guilt

They had very little time to process, after Puff-- Anxiety-- their rescuer collapsed limply to the ground.

Roman and Patton each burst into their own hysterics, but Logan was utterly silent. He was frozen, mind racing and connecting a thousand little dots, like realizing a constellation had been right in front of you, you’d just somehow missed the brightest star.

The form of Anxiety was sprawled out undeniably in front of them, struck down by the attack that had been levied against Puff, because he was Puff. He’d wondered why Anxiety wasn’t prone to their shrinking dilemma, but he’d been dealing with it the longest. Anxiety’s withdrawal and Puff’s strange behavior were causation and correlation.

Anxiety lay before them, but whatever he had done to change his form, to protect them against attack, it had changed him. Small purple scales curled over his cheekbones, two curved, deer-like ears lay limp on the sides of his head, and even a tail where there had been none before.

If there had ever been any way to refute his connection to Puff, his appearance now countered it single-handedly.

In the end, it was the doubts that snapped them all out of it.

Sinuous, shifting forms that changed with every blink, they crawled up from their blind spots, appearing in the corners of their vision.

Roman snapped his sword hand back up reflexively, frowning, but Logan could easily read the confusion scrawled across his posture. He’d complained at length about the creatures, their persistent aggression and the way that they always heralded Anxiety’s appearance in this realm, like the world’s creepiest minions.

But Anxiety lay prone at their feet, in no state to control anything, and furthermore, the glittering eyes of the doubts seemed almost… locked on him, glinting with malice.

More questions, and the only one who could answer them was unconscious and quickly gaining a sickly tint to his skin. The doubts were creatures of despair, and if they reached Patton or Anxiety-- the more emotion-driven pair out of the four of them-- the results could be disastrous. They needed out, now.

Logan firmed his shoulders, moving to cut through the panicked back-and-forth his companions were doing.

“Roman,” he called, taking reference from every instructor that Thomas had ever respected to insert authority into his tone, “pick Anxiety up.”

The creative side jerked, his eyes drawn down to Anxiety for a second before flickering away. “And give up my stalwart defense? We’ll be overcome before we reach anything resembling an exit!”

“You need to pick up Anxiety,” Logan repeated, and took a deep breath, shedding all the dirt and gore that he had accumulated while trekking through the Imagination. “I’m bringing the exit to us.”

Applying his function to a space that wasn’t real tended to... destabilize it. It was a last resort, the sort of thing that they’d figured out early on should be avoided. Roman demonstrably put his heart and soul into his work, after all, and fracturing it hurt Creativity as much as the realm itself. Even something as small as Logan breaking his own immersion made Roman twitch, let alone what he was about to pull.

Roman’s eyes went wide with understanding, and then grim determination. He sheathed his sword back into nothing and knelt down at the fallen Side’s side, only hesitating for the barest moment before sliding his arms under his shoulders and knees and lifting him into the air.

The motion seemed to jar Anxiety, and he let out a pained whine that wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from Puff. Lifted up like this, they could see the singed gouge that tore through the back of his hoodie, the smoking, rotting injury lined up on his spine in the exact same place it had hit Puff.

“It looks bad,” Patton whispered, his eyes wet and his hands half-pressed over his mouth. The doubts were closer now, circling like wolves. They couldn’t be allowed to worsen Anxiety’s condition.

“We will handle it,” Logan said, not allowing even the slightest tremor in his voice as he held his hands out. He met Roman’s eyes, one last warning, before closing his own and focusing all his attention on dismantling the environment around him.

It was all illusory, from the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air to the cold stone around them. None of it was real, not the magic or the monsters, not when one thought about them logically. The Imagination was a limitless space, shaped and crafted by Creativity, and so any distance between them and the placement of an ‘exit’ was simply imaginary.

There was no logical reason to traverse an imaginary path, and so with one yank, Logan pulled and then folded the space between them and the exit, like crumpling a piece of paper to make two ends meet.

The landscape crinkled around them, bricks shattering and environments crashing together with discordant scraping. Roman would be feeling the effects of the hole in his work for a while, but there was a doorway ahead of them and the doubts were scattered and caught in the folds and tears Logic had created.

“Move,” Logan said through gritted teeth, and Roman staggered through the exit, Patton hot on his tail. He stepped through as well, the door slamming shut on its own behind him. His presence wouldn’t be tolerated in the realm for a good long while after this.

He beckoned Roman over, shoving away the guilt he felt at the other Side’s pained grimace. If his power had just held long enough for the Imagination’s effects to be wiped from Anxiety as well--

The wound pulsed once, as though to announce its stubborn survival. It was glowing a painful violet, the injury resembling nothing more than a slowly expanding Lichtenburg figure.

Logan’s knuckles went white as he looked down at it. He hadn’t even managed to make the injury into something real, something more manageable to treat.

He reached out, grasping again for that sense of unreality, of rejection, and Roman pulled away, backing up.

“No more,” he said firmly, his voice a sharp contrast to the shaking of his arms. Logan felt that familiar guilt threaten to flood for a moment, before-- “Specs, you’re about to pass out. You used too much.”

He blinked, glancing down at his hand. It was shaking, too. He’d overtaxed himself, been too involved in the previous daydream to shut it down without any backlash.

Logic shouldn’t have been too involved in anything. He clenched his fist, abruptly furious with himself.

“Whatever that witch’s calamitous curse caused, it’s spreading slowly for now,” Roman announced, still seeming almost skittish with Anxiety in his arms. “We have yet time to uncover the truth.”

Patton pressed the back of his hand against Anxiety’s forehead, hissing sympathetically. “He’s burning up. I don’t know about curing curses, but-- we can at least help with this.”

They all had memories of Thomas’s parents coaxing him through fevers and flus, but Patton was the best at actually following that example. He directed Roman to the couch, flitted back and forth between the kitchen and the living room with all the classic illness aids.

“This is a spell-based sickness. There’s no reason to believe that this illness will function similarly to Thomas’s past experiences,” Logan started, and then was promptly cut off by Anxiety jerking halfway up off the couch, twisting, and vomiting into the small trash can Patton had just brought out. “... I stand corrected.”

His voice seemed to drag Anxiety’s attention from his retching, his head bobbing up to look around.

He stared out at them with bleary eyes for a heartbeat, all of them quiet and frozen and waiting, and then he slumped back down into both the couch cushions and unconsciousness. A mutual breath of relief went around the room.

“So, are we… going to talk about it?” Patton asked, as though half-dreading the answer.

“Talk about what?” Roman snapped sarcastically, crossing his arms. “The fact that apparently our dear draconic companion has been none other than Anxiety, the scourge on our home, the blight on our fields, the bane of Thomas’s existence, this entire time?”

“We don’t own any fields,” Logan interjected.

“Well, if we did, the guy would probably blight them! He’s a-- a blighter!” Roman replied, increasingly higher in pitch. “This is probably some kind of trick, a foul villainous plot for some greater purpose we don’t understand yet. Anxiety can’t possibly be— have been—!”

“Talking shit?” A familiar drawl rang out, a dark figure appearing on the stairs between one blink and the next and making them all jump. “I thought I heard someone say-- Anxiety?”

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone looked between the two identical figures in the room.

“Well,” the Anxiety that was clearly actually Deceit said, glancing over the three of them, “I don’t suppose I could convince you that he’s the fake one? … No? What a shame.”

He lifted his shoulders from Virgil’s perpetual slouch easily, shedding his disguise in favor of his usual attire. Several more puzzle pieces clicked into place.

“You were the one who appeared when we introduced Puff to Thomas,” Logan said, cutting off the startled exclamations from the others. “And just now-- you returned from appearing to Thomas, didn’t you? As Anxiety, not yourself.”

Deceit rolled his eyes, adjusting his cufflinks absently. “Yes, well, someone had to do his job while he was… preoccupied. Or were you all so remiss as to not notice the decline that comes with a complete absence of Anxiety?”

They all bristled in unison. “All we’ve been doing as of late is trying to figure out why Thomas has been struggling recently,” Logan replied stiffly. “We cannot jump to conclusions based on the seemingly random reticence of one Side.”

“Oh, but now you know it’s not random at all, don’t you?” Deceit purred, stepping down the stairs one by one. “After all, Occam’s Razor has never proved to be true before.”

“You’re the one who’s slithering around impersonating other Sides!” Roman cut in with a sharp accusation. “How do we know you’re not the reason dear Thomas has been acting off?”

Deceit’s lip curled, displaying a curved fang. “I haven’t been the only reason Thomas hasn’t fallen apart entirely! But if you’d really like to cast blame, I’m happy to inform all three of you that this is your fault.”

“Our fault?” Roman and Patton’s voices overlapped, one outraged and the other alarmed. Logan frowned, smoothing down his tie absently.

“Are you speaking under false pretenses again? Only moments ago, you were claiming that Anxiety’s… disappearance was the source of Thomas’s recent struggle.”

Deceit’s gloves crinkled with the force of his grip on the banister. “You three are the ones who drove Anxiety to believe that he was superfluous, to the point that he decided somehow trapping himself in the form of a— a pet was better than spending another moment as himself in your presence,” he spat, each word furious and bitter.

There was a tense pause, and Deceit visibly reeled in his anger with a deep breath. “I refuse to spend any longer debating sins with you. If you’ll hand over Anxiety—,”

“No!” Logan startled himself with the sharp response, but Roman and Patton alike had echoed it. They exchanged looks, all of them struggling for a moment to put it to words.

Finally, Patton turned to where Deceit was staring at them with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know why Anxiety chose to— chose this, but I do know that he got hurt trying to protect us. And if it really is our fault-- ...Well, it wouldn’t be right either way, making you or him deal with this alone.”

“And that’s assuming you even have the tools to deal with it,” Logan added, earning himself an irritated glare from the Dark Side. “That was not a slight against you. To elaborate on my meaning, Roman’s experience with the realm and the perpetrator behind the injury could be invaluable in treating it. It would be remiss for us to not offer aid.”

There was a beat, and Roman looked up belatedly from Anxiety, his face pale and eyes distant. “Right,” he said, and then stronger, “Right. We’ll help Anxiety overcome this curse, and then speak with him ourselves on the matter of blame.”

Deceit looked between the three of them assessingly, gaze occasionally flickering down to where Anxiety lay. “I could handle this perfectly well,” he snapped, “but fine. However. If you worsen his condition and force me to continue this ridiculous charade… you will all certainly enjoy the consequences.”

He let the threat sit in the air ominously. Logan thought his forced disdain was a rather strange way to express protectiveness over Anxiety’s well-being, but to be frank, Deceit’s motives could be difficult for him to parse on a good day.

“Deceit,” Patton called before the other Side could sink out. “You’re welcome to come check on Anxiety whenever you’d like. I… I just wanted you to know.”

Deceit cast a glance back at Anxiety, unreadable, and sank out without another word.

—-

Half an hour after Deceit’s revelations, Anxiety woke up.

They hadn’t noticed at first. Patton had been in the kitchen, making enough soup to feed a small army, and Logan and Roman had been preoccupied with bickering, trying to piece together a timeline.

“—can’t be certain that any of the appearances prior to Puff’s introduction to Thomas were Deceit. Anxiety did not withdraw entirely until after that event,” Logan was saying, sharpening his tone to keep Roman from interrupting for the sixth time.

“But the things he said, it has to have been Deceit,” Roman retorted again. “Perhaps this has been going on for months, all part of a plot to replace Anxiety!”

“And do what? Thomas actively ignores Anxiety as often as possible,” Logan stated, the fact making something in his stomach twist oddly. “It would be pointless for Deceit to replace someone with little to no influence.”

“Who knows how the minds of Dark Sides work?” Roman scoffed, and then glanced over Logan’s shoulder and stood. Logan turned to watch him adjust the blankets that had shuffled part ways off of Anxiety.

Roman paused, and then leaned in slightly. “The curse mark—,” he started, and then was cut off by two and a half blankets being tossed directly at his face.

Anxiety scrambled off of the couch with surprising speed for someone who clearly could barely feel any of their limbs. His eyes were wide with unmistakable terror, pupils slit, and Logan lifted his hands non-aggressively.

“Anxiety, calm down,” he started, and Anxiety shot off towards the stairs with frantic and unsteady steps. From this angle, Logan could see the way the wound left from the curse was pulsing and expanding, and felt his own jolt of fear.

Patton rushed out of the kitchen just in time to see Anxiety overshoot and slam into the wall beside the stairs, bouncing off without a sound and struggling to regain his momentum like an animal mindlessly fleeing for its life.

“Patton, grab him before he hurts himself even further!” Logan called, and Patton hurriedly half-tackled the Side, pinning his arms and lifting him up.

Anxiety keened, voice warping into that double tone, and then kicked out against the wall, nearly toppling the both of them. By now, Roman had freed himself, and he jumped to Patton’s side to lend a steadying arm.

Logan hurried forward, careful to stay out of range of Anxiety’s still-kicking legs.

“Anxiety. Anxiety, can you hear me? You need to breathe deeply now, please follow this pattern,” he tried to count steadily, even as Anxiety stared right through him and made awful, gut-wrenching whimpers. His eyeshadow was streaked down the sides of his face like inky tear tracks. “3, 4, 5– Please, Anxiety, we’re not trying to hurt you.”

“It feels like it’s growing,” Patton whispered, Anxiety’s back still pressed to him. Roman pushed the neckline of the other Side’s hoodie aside, and swore at the dark, angular tendrils that were creeping up to his shoulder blades.

“We need him to calm down,” Logan said, but there wasn’t a single soothing method that would work if the person was too far gone to even sense him. “I don’t—,”

“Okay. Okay, I’m— I’m going to calm him down,” Patton said firmly, and then stepped back from the other two and maneuvered Anxiety so he was facing Patton. Logan recognized what Patton was attempting only a moment before Anxiety was pulled into a firm, encircling hug.

Patton’s ability to share positive emotions through physical contact— once jokingly dubbed a ‘drug hug’ by Roman— hadn’t been used frequently since they were all significantly younger. Nowadays, with Logic clearly not needing emotions and Creativity too prideful to ask for one, Patton mostly only used the ability accidentally— slipping up when he was hugging someone while too excited or happy.

Since switching over to this half of the Mindscape, Anxiety had never been exposed to this particular ability. The other Side twitched in Patton’s grasp for a moment, tail thrashing, holding out far longer than Logan expected before slowly melting into the embrace. When Patton finally pulled away, Anxiety was blinking dazedly but seemed considerably more aware of his surroundings.

“His back,” Logan started, and then stopped short.

The wound’s unnatural spread had stopped, the previous panicked pulsing of it reduced to a slow, muted metronome.

“His— Is it based on his heart rate?” Logan asked, bewildered and hating it. “It can’t be consciousness, he’s conscious now and the growth has stopped entirely, but it hadn’t receded at all earlier—,”

“Fear,” Roman said, his mouth set grimly. “A curse for Anxiety that feeds on fear. That’s exactly the kind of cruel irony that the Dragonwitch loves.”

Patton tightened his grip on Anxiety’s hand, his face wrinkled with worry. After a moment, Anxiety squeezed his hand back, still seeming a little distant from the actual conversation.

Logan knew from experience that getting one of those hugs at full power could feel like the emotional equivalent of being dropped into cold water unexpectedly-- it was a shock to the system, one that took a while to adjust to. He wouldn’t be surprised if Anxiety’s nonverbal state lingered for a while longer.

“Then… how do we fix it?” Patton asked. “Do we need him to… stop being afraid for real? Can we do that?”

Logan was quiet, thinking about how fearful Anxiety had looked for the brief moments he was fully aware around them. Roman looked away, and then shook his head.

“I need to return to the Imagination to check on something,” he announced, gaze distant. “I should… probably begin restructuring it, as well.”

Logan hid a wince. “I apologize for being so rough on the realm,” he said, remembering the way Roman had shaken with strain.

Roman waved it off. “You did what you had to, to get us all out. More useful than… well, consider yourself magnanimously forgiven.”

With a smile that seemed a pale facsimile of his normal one, he departed.

Logan turned to Patton, who looked a little wobbly at the knees. “We will be able to help him eventually, we just need more time to investigate,” he said as gently as he could, leading them both back to the couch. “Until then, we can take shifts to look after him.”

Patton curled his free hand around Logan’s, searching his gaze as though seeking some kind of solution. “We’ll figure this out together, right?”

“Right.”

#sanders sides #tsits #tiny dragon virgil #this one goes out to everyone who thought this fic was abandoned: i lived bitch <3 #the shapes in the silence #my writing #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #ts janus #ts virgil #writing #i turned virgil into the dragon equivalent of a catboy #because its my fic and i choose the self indulgent nonsense

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