#the whole clown family is: Head Empty No Thoughts <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper · 3 years

Text

Everything you never thought to ask and never wanted to know about my Josépan playlist/history with and opinions of the ship.

Intro:

The journey of this playlist has been a long one, starting on Amazon Music and my old, janky and now defunct Ipad.

STRAP IN, CHILDREN AS I TAKE YOU BACK TO A MAGICAL TIME WHEN NEITHER LEGENDS OF THE THREE CABALLEROS; NOR THEIR CAMEO IN DUCKTALES HAD BEEN ANNOUNCED YET, MY BLOG ON TUMBLR DIDN’T EXIST (THOUGH I WAS LURKING) AND PANCHITO WAS STILL THE LEAST POPULAR CABALLERO, otherwise known as around late 2017.

A word on the origins of the playlist:

The playlist was not initially Ducktales focused because the two didn’t exist in Ducktales yet. I was rather unenthusiastic back in the day about this ship (oh how the times change) but I had stumbled across a song that didn’t fit them and Donald but fit just them very well and wanted to make an animatic of it. So, I cobbled together some songs I thought fit the vibe and made a playlist.

The history behind the story that inspired it:

I’ll spare you from starting at the very beginning. But, when “The Town Where Everyone was Nice” premiered I was already thoroughly and utterly obsessed with the cabs; I remember how beyond ecstatic I was for the episode. My hype for the Ducktales versions of José and Panchito continued far beyond what seems to have been normal for the average cabs fan. I found myself drawn to the ideas put forth by those versions of them. I don’t really remember what the tipping point was for me to break down and make my own college AU but eventually I did. It was affectionately dubbed “The TV Show That Will Never Happen AU.” José and Panchito were enemies to lovers or at least to friends. And it was around that time I began to go CRAZY with the headcanons as I got more active in the fandom. While my ideas for the Ducktales versions of them grew and grew, so too did the time between them appearing in “The Town Where Everyone was Nice” and their alleged next appearance in the show. When fans noticed the distinct lack of José and Panchito in the season two finale of Ducktales, Francisco Angones, @//suspenderofdisbelief on Tumblr answered these two separate asks that I might have engraved on tombstone one day:

I was GONE for the ship after that. I developed another AU for them based around their time in Baia trying to get people to fund their attempts to become famous musicians. Also, slowly falling in love... It was affectionately titled “The Fan-Comic that Will Never Happen” but not yet connected to my college AU. I don’t have much of a timeline for it after this point, but with that AU I really hit my stride for interpretations of the two characters and their dynamic. The version of them I hold dear in my heart and headcanons came to be. Then “Louie’s Eleven” came out and absolutely destroyed a lot of my headcanons (just kidding, just kidding). Since the new canon material didn’t really jive with a lot of the wholesomeness I had built up I was left with a lot of something else: angst. I LOVE angst, but the two’s bitterness and arguing...It was hard to accept at the time. Me and @cartoon-lizard on Tumblr, my IRL best friend, wound up writing a Josépan fic fueled on a bit of that angst and by her grace, a lot of my headcanons. I titled it “My Reverie is Being Haunted by That Ass.” In it Panchito makes an ass (rimshot noises) of himself by running off with a producer he met by chance during a visit in Duckburg to try to become famous. And doing so without so much as a second thought to the person he’s been living with/sort of dating for over a year. It took me a while but eventually I figured it out. These weren’t three separate AUs, these were three separate pieces of the same AU. And so my masterpiece never meant to be made came to be: “The Trilogy: College/Baia/Reverie.”

“The Trilogy” Itself:

The story will never be written for a variety of reasons, personal and practical. But if it ever were to be written it would be three separate fics, aka: College, Baia and Reverie.

College encapsulates their college years (duh).

To set the stage:

Panchito: A friendly, arrogant and easily excitable musician with big dreams, good grades and a whole lot of anxiety and insecurity. He has complicated feelings towards his identity as both trans and pan and how that might affect his dreams of becoming famous, but is overall bright eyed and innocent enough.

José: A lazy (depressed), charming, pessimistic, tbh kind of a douche and deep in the closet gay man. He tends to push forward a very “Manly man” persona to make up for his own deep seated internalized homophobia brought on by a shitty upbringing. He just got away from said shitty upbringing and doesn’t really have any hopes for his future...Maybe to travel a bit?

José and Panchito start as enemies, both fearing losing their one real friend, Donald, to the other. Despite this the three start a band and the two’s rivalry becomes far more friendly. They get particularly close during the trip down to Acapulco for spring break where the general feeling of being disconnected from life and reality leads to several rather romantic moments between the two...They almost become a thing several times but never quite do. However, they are very good friends by the end of college. The three stay in contact for a while after college but eventually lose touch…

Baia timeskips forward 13 years later (I know it's only 10 canonically, I always say 13 for reasons) to a conversation between Panchito and José on the Sunchaser at the end of “The Town Where Everyone Was Nice.”

Panchito: Life hasn’t been kind to Panchito...His need to be famous, to be something in order to be someone has led him to push a lot of people out of his life so he can better focus on “Work.” Or drive them out by constantly asking for their support, financial or otherwise. He has no friends and even his relationships with his loving and supportive family are strained. Currently, he’s working freelance as a performer at childrens’ birthday parties (in his eyes: a clown) and goes home to a sad, empty apartment every night to stare at a notebook full of half written songs and muster enough energy to eat cereal for dinner for the third time in a row. Needless to say, his optimism is wearing thin.

José: A lot of hard work on his part, some good therapy and mmm; drugs have put him in a pretty good place. He’s more or less got his life together now, is way less of a douche and is more of a realist than a pessimist. He’s also pretty much completely comfortable in his identity as a gay man. He’s been trying to explore romantic relationships, but unfortunately (likely due to the loveless marriage between his parents making him strive so hard to believe that love is real that he puts the unrealistic goal of true love above all else) feels incomplete without one and double unfortunately has a tendency to be drawn to toxicity and abusive situations. So other than a string of (short lived) bad relationships, he’s actually doing great!

Panchito has already asked Donald to drop everything and stay with him down in Baia to try to get funding for the band. Donald said no. José has a steady job, a decent apartment and a supportive friend group back home. He's also long since lost interest and hope in their college dreams of being famous...José says yes. The two have a bunch of wild and wacky shenanigans trying to get funding and both dance around their growing feelings for each other until it explodes and overwhelms them. They rush into a romantic relationship head first with no real ground for it to be built on and unrealistic expectations of what the other can give them. Despite all this, things seem quite happy...for a while…

If you've made it this far, <3, CONT. in pt 2.

#the word of grim #please god don't actually try to read the whole thing #Josépan #panjosé #José x Panchito #panchito x josé #shades of red and green #pt. 1 #this is really meant for my peeps on the cabs discord but if you see this and are inclined to read it #please do I will cry #but like...skim it...

34 notes · View notes

sunflowergirl522 · 3 years

Text

That’s Peter Part 3

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You’ve been able to hop realities your whole life, running away to your favorite one with your favorite people when the blip happens. You come back to visit Jimmy to find out everyone came back and then get some bad news. When you go to find your boyfriend Peter you find out that he’s been snatched into a different reality.

Warnings: Language, grief

Word Count: 1331

Masterlist Previous Part

When you opened your eyes again and Wanda let everyone go back to what they were doing, Peter was gone. You had walked around the neighborhood as children and their families shuffled home trying to see if you could spot him in the crowd. You don’t even see him when you spot Wanda escorting her boys home or when you follow them hoping to be led to where Peter’s been staying. When you come up empty handed you decide to find somewhere to spend the night. Luckily there was an empty house up the block from Wanda’s.

In the morning you take another lap around the block before spying into the windows of Wanda’s house to see if Peter went home. All you see though are things seemingly glitching out which was weird but you brush it off as a problem for after you find Peter. That’s when an idea hits you that maybe he’ll be on the tv again at the SWORD headquarters. You teleport there just to find yourself still in the hex and in a circus? Wanda must have extended the barrier when she used her magic last night. You’ve gotta find Darcy.

You run through the circus trying to avoid any of the clowns to prevent anyone talking to you. You hear someone yelling at people you assume are running away and run immediately to the source. You make it in time to see Darcy and Vision run into a funnel cake truck.

“Darcy!” Vision seems to shut the door before either of them would be able to hear you. “Damn it, gotta be fast.” You crack your fingers and roll your neck before teleporting into the van just as they drive away. You cheer a bit once you’re inside causing the two of them to jump. But you can’t help it, teleporting into a moving vehicle is tough, you have to time it all perfectly and it’s just too much work. So getting inside before they moved was something worth cheering over in your book.

“Jesus Christ Y/n! What are you doing here? I thought you were trying to get Peter.”

“Who is this?”

“Oh, hi I’m Y/n.” You hold out your hand for him to shake.

“I’m-”

“Vision, I know, I’m a big fan of you and your wife.” You beam at him before turning to Darcy. “I was looking for Peter but he disappeared last night. I haven’t been able to find him since, thought I’d have luck locating him with some help from the show. But now I see what Wanda’s magic act was for last night.”

“Well, you’re just in time to help me answer all of Visions questions. Take it away man.”

“Are my children safe?”

“That I don’t know.”

“Oh, I just came from your house, they seemed fine.”

“Good, what about that imposter Pietro?”

“Y/n you wanna take this one?”

“Pietro is my boyfriend Peter. Long story short he technically is Pietro just from a different reality. He has the same powers and he had a twin but well, it was reversed there. She was the twin that died.”

“Okay. Who was I before Westview and what are the Avengers?” You let Darcy explain that to him and sit in silence picking at your nails, a nervous habit you’ve picked up. If Peter were here he’d grab you hands to stop you and place kisses to each finger tip while telling you to be nicer to yourself. But what if you couldn’t find Peter now? Where could he have gone? “So, Wanda killed me?” Vision's voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“It’s not that simple, you asked her to do it.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“To save the universe, well half of it.”

“Did it work?”

“It did until the bad guy rewound time and killed you himself. There’s a few extra steps but to sum it up-”

“I came back and died again.”

“And she had to watch.” It’s quiet for a bit while Vision takes in the new information and you start to feel overwhelmed with the topic of death that seems to wrap around you. Your mind gets brought back to your dad and how he’s gone and suddenly it feels like the atmosphere in the truck is trying to suffocate you.

“I gotta go.” You force out before teleporting back to Wanda’s street. Immediately you’re greeted with Wanda holding Monica up in the sky with her magic. Monica’s trying to tell Wanda that Pietro wasn’t them and you sigh. Of course everywhere you go there’s talk of him but you can’t find him. What else were you expecting this is just like when the two of you first met. You gasp as Monica has a superhero landing. Why didn’t she tell you that she had powers too?

“I lost the person closest to me too. The worst thing I can think of has already happened to me and I can’t change it. I can’t undo it. I can’t control this pain anymore. And I don’t think I want to, because it’s my truth.” Monica's words hit you like a truck and you start to tear up. You need to find Peter soon otherwise you might just lose your mind. All you want is to confide in him and have him tell you that it’s all gonna be okay. When one of Wanda’s neighbors takes her away you run up to Monica.

“Monica! What’re you doing here? Is Jimmy okay?”

“I had to tell Wanda about what Hayward has planned for Vision. Jimmy’s fine, he's with my guys. Did you get brought in with Darcy?”

“No I came in on my own, I was just with Darcy though. She’s fine, she’s with Vision right now coming here.”

“We’ve gotta get Wanda to listen to reason.”

“Yeah, okay let’s go.” The two of you follow behind the two women to the neighbors house.

“Let’s split up and find a way in.” You nod at Monica and go one way around the house while she goes the other way. You don’t have any luck though and as you’re rounding a corner you spot Peter next to Monica.

“Snoopers gonna snoop.” Monica jumps and turns to look at him and before he can do anything with the hand he raised you show up in front of him and grab his wrist. His eyes go wide at you popping out of a portal in front of him and he seems to freeze in shock.

“Peter, what the hell are you wearing? It’s awful. And what is that, a puka shell necklace?” You reach out to touch it but he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Don’t touch that sweetheart.”

“Alright.” You shrug and rip your hand from his strong grip and bring it to your side. This is definitely not your Peter. “Just wondering though,” behind your back you create a small portal and stick your hand through it appearing beside Peter’s head, “what happens if I do this?” You rip the necklace off of his neck and bring your hand back to your body ready to defend yourself if need be.

“God what’s been going on?” Peter looks around him confused until he notices you in front of him for what seems to be the first time even though the two of you were just interacting. “Y/n? What are you doing here baby? It’s dangerous.”

“Yeah well, I’m saving your ass apparently. Must’ve been under some sort of mind control.”You dangle the necklace in front of him before tossing it to the side.

“How’d you know?” Monica steps up to be next to you rather than behind you.

“Peter would never wear a fucking puka shell necklace or hold my wrist that tight anywhere other than in bed.” You shrug at her and turn back to Peter. “Seriously though, what are you wearing? You look like a stoner frat guy babe.”

That’s Peter taglist: @ellaenchanted91

Peter Taglist: @amourtentiaa @simpforquicksilver @quickparkers @loveyou3000-mcu @elaineygrace

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #peter maximoff imagine #wandavision #peter maximof x reader

104 notes · View notes

mrs-dynamight · 3 years

Text

Be Nice To Me 3

Part 2.

*************************************************

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!Reader, Denki Kaminari x fem!Reader

Warnings: Eventual mature content, angst, hurt/comfort, love triangle, the reader is lowkey toxic, everything will be adressed in every episode (:

Chapter warning: Swearing but just a little bit of it. Kissing because this is still on fluff mode

Chapter: 3/? Yup still don't know

Synopsis: You're in love with your best friend Bakugou, and you're cofessing to him but things get a lot more complicated when Denki starts to treat you different *wink wink*

Word count: 2.2k

Author's note: Okay friends, this is a little longer but it's cute, and it has some interesting things that will be relevant to the story, so read carefully, aaaand I must warn this is a slowburn. Hope you like it

Chapter 3 My Oh My - Aqua

We both left the empty classroom and went directly to class 3A. Tenya saw us coming late and started rambling about how punctuality is key for heroes and how we as seniors should give example and just Tenya stuff.

The rest of the class went pretty fast, I was thinking about what Denki said, he sounded so serious when he said the gig stuff, maybe I was overthinking, he has always been nice with me, just nice, we are friends right?

All those years getting to know each other, being partners in crime, spending too many nights wide awake talking about our future, the amount of pressure being a “hero” meant, how at the end of the day we were still children risking our lives, he understood that better than most of our friends; some of his words were burned in my mind forever: “I love helping people, but sometimes I wonder who’s helping us?” “I’m afraid I’ll turn into a puppet of the hero commission, like Hawks did” “I’m afraid of losing myself in the process”; as far as I know I was the only one that knew this side of Kaminari, everyone else always thought of him as the dyslexic class clown, but there were so much more of him that only jokes and a funny face after using his quirk, such a complex mind, sometimes I wonder if he plays dumb on propose…

Thinking about Denki almost made me forgot how nervous I was for my date with Katsuki, but the ring of the bell that indicates the end of the class made me jump from my desk in excitement.

-Oi dumbass, see you in a while, be punctual- Bakugo said picking up his stuff and heading to the door without looking back at me.

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

We talked about nothing in the way to the ramen restaurant, I wasn’t as nervous as I were on Monday and everything seemed to be going so smoothly, just as I thought, this was Bakugo Katsuki my best friend, the guy I was in love with, he had seen me covered in sweat and bruises from the hero training, had seen me cry over my failed math tests, he knew me, if he didn’t like me back I could deal with it, but this date definitely won’t ruin our friendship.

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

-Don’t make me laugh when I’m eating, you idiot- Bakugo said between coughs from almost choking with his noodles

-I didn’t mean it, but it’s true my greatest fear are those wacky waving inflatable things they put in the cars sales, they scare the shit out of me- I said laughing and with a bit of embarrassment for telling this stupid thing to my crush, but he found it hilarious

-I’ve seen you take down villains with a single hand and without sweating a single drop, but your greatest fear is ridiculous Y/N-

That kinda sounded like a compliment, and knowing Katsuki it probably was, I couldn’t help but blush but if someone asked me it was the spiciness of the ramen.

-I’m also a little bit afraid of heights, not as I used to, but it makes me a little bit nervous thinking about falling to my inevitable death- I said slurping the last of the broth in my plate

-Heights? No way, that means we can’t go rock climbing because of a certain pussy- Said the ash blonde, finishing his ramen as well

-Why? Is Bakugo Katsuki planning on taking me on a road trip anytime soon? – Oh shit that sounded way more flirty than I had planned.

I turned bright red right after I said that and to my surprise the boy in front of me was just as red as I was, that’s it I just made Katsuki Bakugo blush, I can die a hero now. We were not looking at each other, not saying a single word, just awkwardly sitting in front of each other.

-I… I was joking ´Tsuki- I began but he interrupted me with

-Maybe I want to take you to a stupid road trip, what you’re going to do about it? You can chicken now and saving me seeing you cry in front of a rock, but that wouldn’t be very Y/N of you- Aaaaand just like that Bakugo’s back

-Let’s go, Draw, I still wanna kick your ass in Mario Kart before curfew and knowing you, you will want to play those claw things and get some weird weeb thing, like a figure of that loud anime guy you like, the one who plays Volleyball; and of course you will be wasting all your money in the process- This man knows me damn too well

I was about getting my money to pay but he stopped me

-I got this-

-But ‘Tsuki I invited you, I have to pay for it- I said but the waitress had already taken Katsukis money

-If you beat me at Mario Kart, I’ll let you pay me back, but if I win… Well we will see about that later- Bakugo said without looking at me

Was that flirting? Is Katsuki Bakugo flirting with me? Did he noticed this was a date and that’s why he wanted to pay? Nah, he’s probably doing it to bother me, but if anything made me bush a little.

-Oi, you coming or what? – I was so caught up in the emotion that I didn’t noticed he was already heading to the front door

We walked a couple of blocks to the arcade, it was still early in the afternoon, we had a couple of hours before our curfew and I was going to make the best of them.

--------

After the tenth time losing against him, I gave up.

-This is bullshit, I don’t know how but you’re cheating, there is no way I actually hit all those frigging banana peels, this game sucks, you suck- I said making an overdramatic mouth pout and crossing my arms on my chest.

I could hear Bakugos laughing on my side and when I turned to look at him, he had the most gorgeous look on his eyes, but when he noticed that I was looking at him he changed his expression.

-I told you so, you can’t beat me, but I’m a compassionate God, so I’ll let you choose the next game for you to lose in- His big smile was equally irritating as it was beautiful

Three games in and Bakugo was about to blow the whole arcade up, apparently, he can’t dance to save his life, so Dance Dance Revolution was the perfect game for me to choose. I was literally tearing up from laughter, he was so angry and upset.

-If you had spending more time with Mina and me you could have learned a couple of steps, but you had to go sleeping at eight like an old man-

-Have you seen this face? This is what a good sleep schedule does to your skin, but I guess you’ll never know about that-

-Oh god, is that a pimple? – I joked to make him even angrier, I leaned towards his face to mock him more -Oh he has a brother, and a whole family of angry little buds, this even looks like you-

He turned his head and his nose was almost an inch away from mine, his eyes locked with mines, we were so close that I could feel his breath, a little bit more and our lips would be touching, my mind was going blank, I suddenly forgot how to breathe, I thought that it was actually happening, I should close my eyes and go for it, I leant a bit closer, we were almost there…

-Y/N, we both know there is not a single pimple in this face- Said Bakugo moving his head back and creating some distance between us.

I felt my heart drop to the ground. He didn’t wanna kiss me, I probably made him uncomfortable being that close, I’m so stupid, I fucked up.

-There is the claw machine of the Volleyball dudes, and there is the owl one you like- Bakugo was trying to be a good friend to me, and as much as I appreciated it I was way too sad to even think about volleyball

After more than a half of my money spent, I was walking to the UA dorms with my Bokuto plushie and an ache in my heart. I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment, was I imagining everything? Was he not flirting with me? It felt so real, I wanted to cry, but that would only make things worse, I wasn’t looking at Bakugo for the first time since we’ve met. I couldn’t hold a conversation after that, I used the excuse of being too concentrated in winning the plushie, but now that we are walking side by side it feels weird not saying anything. Bakugo doesn’t seem to care, or even notice, he’s also very quiet, this feels way too awkward, I just want this night to be over and cry my heart out in my room. There is only a couple more blocks and this nightmare will end.

-Hey Y/N, wait- This is the first time I hear Bakugos voice since we started heading the dorms

I try to put my best “Everything is okay” face but I fail miserably when I see his face. I started to tear up and just hugged my plushie with my eyes fixed in the ground, I can’t see him in the face

-I’m sorry Katsuki, I wasn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation, I wasn’t thinking and…-

I was grabbed so suddenly I dropped Bokuto

Before I realized his lips were pressed against my own. I was way too shocked to respond to his kiss, to my very first kiss. He pulled back, and a sigh left his lips.

-‘Tch, don’t apologise, I didn’t wanna kiss you in front of a bunch of losers- He said looking to his side, clearly avoiding my confused gaze

I didn’t hesitate, I grabbed his face and kissed him, trying to let him know how much I waited for that kiss. He quickly responded to it, for someone as strong and tough as him he was being gentle and caring, if this ain’t heaven, I dare God to come down and tell me this isn’t what glory feels like.

We kept the kiss, it became more and more passionate, he got closer to deepen the kiss, I could feel his arms around my waist, and I could taste the melon soda he had at the arcade in his lips. I opened my mouth just a little and I felt his tongue slowly brushing against mine. This was the pinnacle of happiness.

We broke the kiss with blushed cheeks and racing heartbeats. This was too much; my head was spinning and I almost cried tears of joy.

-I thought you didn’t wanna kiss me- I said with a broke voice

-I didn’t- His reply felt like a bucket of cold water

-What? You’re kidding, you kissed me- Knowing Bakugo he just said that to mess with me

-Y/N I didn’t want to kiss you, but not because of whatever stupid thing your mind its thinking right now-

-Then why? You can’t just kiss me and then tell me you didn’t mean it, you don’t like me? –

-I like you, a lot, and that is why this is getting way harder that it’s supposed to be, I’ve been dying to kiss you for a long long time Y/N, you had no idea how much I have fantasized with having you between my arms and telling you just how much I like your dumb pretty face, I like you, and don’t you ever doubt it-

-Then, why? –

-I’m going to become the no. 1 hero, and that means I have to try even harder than the rest of the losers in this and the other hero curses, that’s why I will be having internships abroad this semester, with the bests heroes not only in Japan but in the world. I have to be the best in everything, having a girlfriend will only be distracting and possibly a complete disaster because I will be a terrible boyfriend being that busy with hero training, and asking you to wait for me is selfish, even for me. I didn’t wanna kiss you and then leave for half a year, maybe even more, but then you looked at me with those stupid kitty eyes and I just…-

-You’re going away? And you didn’t told me? – Now I definitely started to cry

-Oi! You’re the first one to know I haven’t even told my mom yet –

-I’ll wait –

-What? No I.. –

-I said I’ll wait for you, Bakugo Katsuki I’ve been in love with you since we first meet, I’ve been waiting two years for this, this is just half a year, then we will have all the time in the world-

Now it was Bakugos time to shed a tear

-You don’t have to; I don’t want you to be waiting for me while I…-

My kiss didn’t let him finish what he was about to say, he was tearing, I was tearing, but it was beautiful.

-Six months and then you’ll be mine Katsuki, get it? –

-I don’t think this is a good idea, you dumbass-

-Maybe it isn’t, but what are you going to do? Stop me? - I replied and then we kissed one last time

************************************************

Part 4.

I really liked how this turned out, I'm going to the the masterlist post soon so you can find all the chapters together. As always I'm starting to write and in my second language (just give me my certificate already) so any error let me know, and if you want to be tagged message me. LY

36 notes · View notes

jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Three | sans. (Part 1 of 3)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

meet me by the train station.

the place's bustlin' and tori's here with me, just in case you're worried 'bout meeting a stranger all alone.

That's surprisingly thoughtful.

And I'm guessing Tori means Toriel?

The goat lady who looked after Frisk?

yup.

she's gotta go deal with some legal stuff 'bout us living on the surface, so she can't stay for long.

but she'll still be here by the time you get there.

Hmm…

Now that just makes me more suspicious of you.

Tell me why it's important that only you specifically want to talk to me about this?

Doesn't Toriel know about what happened down there, too?

yeah, but…

i need to talk to you about somethin' else.

stuff that'll probably be a lil' difficult for me to explain, but that you should still know, being frisk's parent and all.

Now I'm curious.

I'm stuck in some traffic, but I should be there soon.

Would it still be okay with Toriel if I get there in the next ten to fifteen minutes?

textin' while drivin'?

My aunt chose to drive me here.

'Cuz she also said she doesn't trust the whole situation much.

heh.

alright.

tori says it's fine. she doesn't need to leave in the next hour so…

see ya soon, (l/n).

See you soon, mister Serif.

"How's he gonna know who you are if only you have a picture of him?" you aunt asks, eyes locked on the road. Her bright red nails, just as flashy as the rest of her outfit, glisten under the sun, fantasy jewellery and wrist watch doing the same. Her tanned skin almost glows with health in comparison to yours, yet to be healed from the past two months of tension and wait. There's also her signature and almost hair salon professional level of cleanliness when it came to grooming her hair, making her overall, outer appearance far more different and striking when compared to you.

"(Mom/Dad)'s all over the news now!" Frisk says, answering her question before you can even word your thoughts out in mind, too busy noticing how much you've let yourself go in so short of a time.

You plug your phone to the car charger and meet with the side view of your aunt's face. "Like Frisk said. The guy I'm meeting says my face's been thrown out on the news a lot lately, so he already knows what I look like." You pull down the mirror and take a quick look at yourself, eye bags and stress acne now partially covered with a cheap, (s/t) foundation and expression made to look less tired thanks to a full eight hours of sleep. Still, you're far from looking anywhere near to the days before Frisk's disappearance or all the pictures displayed on the news, these from a similar time. All the stress and constant sorrow was still present on most of your features, from something as subtle as the loss of brightness in your eyes to something as noticeable as the drag in your walk and the small slump in your posture.

"Do I look okay, auntie?" you ask, taking advantage of a stop sign.

Brenda spares a quick but meaningful glance at you and a small smile manages to show on her face. She stays quiet even as her eyes go back to facing the road. At a second stop, this one caused by a red light, she looks at you again, saying, "Why are you so concerned about that, dear? I get wanting to look well and dignified for meeting new people, but this is the third time you've asked me today." She giggles when Frisk does, both apparently sharing the same thought. "You look fine, by the way. Though a bit of rest could do you good." The light changes and she carries on driving, slowing down and turning on the signal when she sees the train station to her left. "How many hours do you work, by the way? If you're still working overtime, you should stop that now. Not only for my dear grandchild's sake, but for you to get your long overdue beauty sleep."

"...Sixty hours a week?" you mutter, already anticipating a dramatic reaction from her. Even Frisk seems to notice your answer's not favourable enough to her, so they brace themselves by grabbing on to their seatbelt and pretending they're not paying attention to the conversation anymore.

Staying true to herself, Brenda almost slams the brakes just as she's halfway into parallel parking and snaps her gaze over to you, eyes wide and mouth agape. "What?!"

"Sixty a week," you repeat, louder now. "I had to get my mind off Frisk going missing somehow, so I... took that chance to save up some more by working overtime."

"That's fifteen hours too much, dear." She frowns. "That's either twelve hours a day for five days a week, or working non-stop every day for at least eight to nine hours! No wonder you look so stressed. What about your friends? Your family? Your coworkers?" She seems to notice why you've lowered your voice and does that herself, reminded over Frisk's presence at the back seats. "Oh, honey…" She sighs. "Did you really just work, eat, and sleep those two months they were gone?"

"...Maybe," you reply, looking away from her. "I just didn't know what else to do, and having free time for myself made me feel more guilty about it. The only time I sat down was to watch some TV for when I couldn't sleep at night."

Your aunt finishes parking and lets out another sigh. A gentler look crosses her eyes and she gives in, letting her body relax. "Do you have enough to get by? Please, be honest with me so I can help you out. Alright?"

You smile back at her and nod. "I have enough now. I'm pretty sure I can get by with a regular schedule again."

"With weekends off?"

"With weekends off."

Her smile grows and she unlocks the car, allowing you to step out. "Be careful out there, alright? Just make sure to call me and I'll head back here straight away if anything strange comes up."

"Thank you, auntie. So I'll pick up Frisk at five?"

"Oh, there's no rush. You can always stay the night, anyway!"

After a nod, you get down from the car, open the back door, and climb onto the empty seat left next to Frisk.

"See you later, dear."

You kiss their cheek and look at the phone resting in their hands. There were plenty of questions you wanted to ask them, such as who was Alphys and how she'd gained enough knowledge to develop something with that level of technology, and why it still worked up here despite being programmed to function at the Underground. You remind yourself of the people waiting for you at the train station and wrestle those curiosities down, setting all questions aside for later. "Be good, okay?"

They nod, sign a "Love you!" with their hand, and hold you back to give you a yellow sticky note, folded in two. "Give this to him. And don't forget he can be unexpected sometimes!"

You sign an "I love you, too" back to them, take the note, and step out of the car, waving at them and your aunt before closing the door and pocketing the note away. It stays unread, and while you'd like to know what's written on it as well as the reasons for Frisk warning you about meeting with that monster in particular, they'd specified it was for more sillier reasons, like that of meeting up with a stand up comedian, or more frankly put: a clown or a court jester.

Now alone, you take out your phone and check the messages, a new one from 'Mister Serif' showing up.

hey, uh…

tori hadda go.

an emergency happened, so now she's gotta rush off to the department to see what's up with some documents she turned in.

i know this seems sus as hell, so just wait for me at a more open area, alright?

stick to anybody you're comfortable with and we'll meet there.

I'm honestly touched at how much you're worried about this.

Though all that just makes me think I'm being catfished even more now.

Are you for real, mister Serif?

Can someone be as observant and thoughtful as you appear to be?

see for yourself.

>> Attachment - 1 image

You can't avoid being taken aback when the monster sends you a picture of himself. It's a definite recent one, given he's sitting by a bench close to the train tracks. He holds up a shaka sign with one hand and a coffee cup on the other. A grin decorates his face and the bright lighting shows the picture was taken just now, sun rays piercing through the windows.

I'm somewhat convinced.

need more proof?

Who are you, my Cinder match?

if u wanna.

Oh God.

You're killing me.

inna good way?

Perhaps.

You stop yourself when you realize you're on the verge of flirting with someone you haven't even met in person yet, let alone introduce yourself properly to. The picture he'd sent doesn't help either, as you can only begin to question yourself and your morals over having found him attractive for a split second. While it could have just as easily been the surprise of him sending a picture out of nowhere, it could've also been how laid-back he seemed in that picture, striking a shaka sign that made him look just like a surfer dude and a coffee cup to contrast with that vibe, adding a spark of the typical college student you saw at campus, his hoodie and sneakers only adding to that feeling.

It's then that you realize something's off.

If he was holding a cup with one hand and a sign in the other…

Then who took the picture?

Though you're pretty sure you're overthinking the situation now, you're still better safe than sorry and take advantage of your recent fooling around with him to pass that worry off as a joke.

Wait a minute, mister Serif.

yeah?

If you're holding a cup with one hand and striking a pose with the other, then who took the picture?

Or did you use your magic for that?

a random dude who looked trustworthy enough took it for me.

he's one of those guys who're totally ok with us living here at the surface, so he just snapped the picture for me and even asked if it was for a date i was gonna meet and all.

no magic needed.

And I'm the President of the United States.

But, seriously now…

Are you for real?

yeah.

>> Attachment - 1 image

The picture displays him with a bearded, brown skinned man clad in a suit and holding a suitcase, looking ready for work. Still, his smile shows little to no seriousness and instead displays youth and content over having his picture taken with a potential friend. His height surpasses the monster's by half a foot, though when you compare it to the rest of the people in the background, it's clear Serif is simply shorter compared to the average human. You try not to let your eyes linger too much on the monster when you're done looking at the man, not wanting to fall into the trap of your mind having found him attractive earlier ago. Still, you can't help yourself and take a more thorough look at him again, seeing him now with his eye sockets closed, almost mimicking a pair of eyelids squinting in joy. His arm's hung over the man's shoulders, and vice-versa.

i made a new pal.

"meet up already!" - his words, not mine.

Trying to be smooth, huh?

maybe.

is it working?

Somewhat.

But...

Strange Cinder date vibes aside,

I'm almost there.

aight.

can't wait to meet ya, bud.

You slip the phone back in your pocket and go up the stairs of the train station, stopping when you make it to the line of benches close to the tracks. True to his word, the skeleton sits on one of them and the man who'd taken a picture with him is now waving at him, seemingly saying his goodbyes and headed off to work. You approach the station one careful step after the other, pace slowing down more and more as you feel a sudden awkwardness slip on your shoulders.

Your texts sent off vibes you didn't want present now that you were about to meet him in person. You were still worried about what happened with Frisk a few days ago, and how their happiness pretty much froze when being asked if the monsters had treated them well during their time at the Underground. The one you were about to meet could very well be one of those who'd hurt them, so you brace yourself and try not to be swayed by the softer atmosphere present during your texting with him. You acknowledge the man who'd taken his picture with a wave and a smile back at him. Then, you continue walking and finally approach the bench.

"It's nice to meet you, mister Serif." You acknowledge him with a wave, unsure of how friendly you can be with him.

"Likewise, pal." He holds a hand out to you, bringing forth the warning Frisk had given to you about him.

Out of all the things Frisk had warned you about, it was to be careful around the skeleton, but primarily due to how he seemed to be the type to joke around and prank people often. One thing in particular you were warned about was in shaking hands with him, so right as he offers his hand out to you and just as you're about to reach out, you miss his hand, take a step closer, and pull him along for a hug instead. You then unfold the sticky note and press it against his back with enough pressure for him to feel it and let go when you're done.

"Frisk warned me about you, and even though they haven't told me anything I should be worrying about yet, I do know I should be careful for other reasons. And they told me to give that note to you, by the way."

You sit down and watch as the monster attempts to get the sticky note unstuck, his short height proving to be a disadvantage, as it also comes with shorter arms. He goes as far as to use his magic to get it out, leaving you to bite back a smile and wonder if you've been too rude with him just now. Still, you wait and keep your eyes on the train tracks while he reads the note you've left for him.

"Not gonna say anything about it?" you ask, surprised to hear nothing from him even as he slips the note in his pocket.

"Patience, pal," he replies, words followed with a chuckle and continued with a wink. "Just take it as some friendly payback on my part -- Now we're even." He sits back down and meets with your eyes, his expression changing from humoured to stern at the drop of a hat. "So, what you're sayin' here is the kid hasn't said much about me yet?"

"No," you reply, hesitating. You fight between keeping a smile and a frown. "They've been awfully quiet after I asked them if there were any people down there who treated them badly." You catch yourself becoming emotional, so you breathe and blink a few times to fight that back. "It... It feels like they shut themselves away from me, and now I'm not too sure about how to approach the situation anymore." You stop to catch your breath again, feeling yourself grow anxious already. "They can talk non-stop when it's about all the good things Toriel, Alphys, Papyrus, and… And even what you did for them, but whenever I ask if there was anything that made them feel unsafe, they… They bottle up and run off to do whatever chore there's left to do around the house."

A gust of wind helps freshen up your burning face, product of a train stopping nearby. You wait for him to speak up, body tensed all the while.

"Y'know, I…" The monster sighs, faces down, and rubs the back of his neck, looking lost in thought. "I think I can answer that for ya, but it's gonna be a bit of a long story." He glances at his phone for a moment, seemingly to check the time, and later adds, "Wanna head out somewhere to eat? We can talk about it there over food and drinks. Better than talkin' on an empty stomach, don't you think?"

Despite how somber the mood's become, that trademark grin of his you've already grown used to seems to stand out a lot more now, bringing forth a genuine, welcoming expression in addition to the offer he'd made to you. "Sure," you reply, smile returning. "And... Sorry for dumping all that on you all of a sudden."

You both stand up and make your way out of the station, walking side by side as you continue with the conversation.

"It's cool, pal," he says. "I'd be a lot more worried if you didn't worry about it."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

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

This turned out to be a whopping 7k+ word long chapter, so it's been divide into 3 parts (between 2k to 3k words each, which is the usual length of each update).

So... Long story short: there'll be a double update next week in order to post Parts 2 and 3!

Expect the same thing for whenever a chapter exceeds that limit. :-)

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

102 notes · View notes

sinnabonka · 3 years

Note

So I watched the 15×19 montage 2 times and noticed something that I haven't seen anyone talk about yet. Accept my contribution to the clowning.

They have used the first ever shots of each character, alone in the frame wherever possible or with Sam and Dean present but not the focus of the shots where not possible. One exception was the flamethrower scene of the wayward sisters. Each supporting character only appeared once, Sam and Dean of course appeared many times, Jack was shown 3-4 times and then there's Cas.

Out of the six times he was shown, one was a alone shot (though not of his entrance), one was of the celebration scene after they get Jack back in S14, and for the remaining 4 times he was firmly next to Dean. Whether it was just a shot of the two of them(2 out of 4) or a family shot with all the four boys.(again 2 out of 4).

It may seem like I'm reading too much into it but tell me: if the goal was to just create a nostalgic montage and give a nod of recognition to every character, lots of scenes of Sam and Dean because that's where it started and a few scenes of TFW 2.0 because that's where it ended then what was the reason behind including Cas and Dean playing cowboys???

Hey! Your point is soooo valid.

I mean, they definitely put Cas more times then anyone else, I was also surprised by their choice of shots. It kinda felt like they went for “happy moments”, but not all of them were happy (with other characters), so idk? If it were like “favourite moments you all should be nostalgic about”, they totally got it all wrong (except the cowboys).

Below is lots of ranting about the episode itself. It’s very chaotic, I just need to pour the thoughts out of my head.

I just rewatched it. For science, right? The bitterness of the ending is literally killing me. I just stare in the wall for straight ten minutes, that’s how sad this ending is for me.

And the montage is the last bullet to my head.

At the end the whole focus is on the family. John and Mary, Jack, Cas, the brothers, a lot of happy familian moments in the bunker. Then the carved names on the table. And then we see just two of them driving away in the sunset.

I’m not the sharpest tool in the fandom, but this doesn’t look happy for me? A lot is missing?

The whole episode is about the empty spaces left behind, about something missing, the word “empty” is repeated multiple times, plus we get shots like this:

I mean, c’mon, there’s emptiness waiting to be filled.

If we trust my interpretation, the whole montage was about the happiness that the brothers once had and lost.

It could be an okay ending for Kripke era, kinda, “no matter what, it’s two of us, and the whole world can go fuck itsef”, but now? I don’t think it’s enough for Dabb. I don’t think that’s his style.

Also, one more episode left, so quoting Jensen: think what’s left?

So maybe this time cowboys are not just cowboys.

Also, this just hit me:

One more left? I see you, Dabb.

#spn spec #sinnabonka talks #destiel #castiel #spn #supernatural

92 notes · View notes

bubbletimestories · 3 years

Text

Bosom bonus chapter (Destiel fic I guess)

Hello !

This fic is a bonus chapter of Bosom that you can find here if you want ^^

I lost the chapter long ago and had to write it again so it's not very polished but it's cute <3 I hope you're gonna like it.

Themes : pregnancy, hypnosis, mention of blood, Destiel, love, family, desire, fatherhood, Dean and Castiel becoming a real non-platonic family

Little summary of Bosom : Sam and Dean went into a village where men fell pregnant of little girls growing fast, parasites that provoke a huge love and protective instinct in the father and everybody around. The brothers have left the town but Dean is possibly pregnant.

*********************************

(On the road again)

The two brothers set off again on the roads, as they always did, without a specific destination except for adventure. This sentence was very cliché, but I keep it. This little break had been most enjoyable, but now it was time to go back in search of new monsters to kill, new threats to contain. Except that a new case doesn't appear every day.

Sat in the passenger seat, Sam was bored like a dead rat. He watched the landscape go by, a perpetual succession of trees, while thinking that by dint of being stuck with the same person and the same old rock tapes, he was going to go mad eventually. It was probably the nicest option available to him, anyway. It was always better than "dead in excruciating pain", "tortured by Lucifer" or "employed in a fast food restaurant whose mascot is a clown". All in these gloomy thoughts, however, the hunter noticed an incongruous detail: since the time they had been running on the roads, Dean had not yet been speeding. He who was so inclined to make the Impala's engine roar had been very reasonable since leaving the small town. It was both surprising and ... appreciable. But the young man didn't really have time to think about it, because one of the many cellphones started ringing, a sign that they were about to resume service. A few sentences later, they were on their way to a new investigation, such as Scooby-Doo and his faithful companion in the green t-shirt.

- Pee break!

Dean braked hard without warning, his brother almost crashing into the dashboard and choking off a slew of curses as he straightened up. The driver had already gone into the thickets, holding back from laughing, for he had, of course, been looting on purpose. He wouldn't really be him if he didn't play pranks on his dear Sammy. So it was very proud of himself that he settled down behind a bush to… relieve more than his conscience. Knowing full well that his brother would look away in embarrassment, the young man began to hiss pointedly while slowly lifting the edge of his t-shirt. Knowing that he was out of sight, the Winchester finally took the time to examine the slight bulge in his abdomen, smiling as he saw a small glow appear on the surface.

- You are the weirdest food poisoning I've ever seen.

It had been two days since he realized something was wrong and it was already very late compared to other fathers. But come to think of it, Dean's body had gone through so many states (human, vampire, demon) that it took so much more for his body to panic. And then he'd come back from the dead so many times that he wasn't sure he was quite human anymore. Regardless, the hunter wasn't overly worried about not being alone, but he made sure Sam didn't know. It was his little secret.

After putting his belt back on, the young man got back into the car and turned to his brother with a big smile before throwing himself on him, putting his hands on his cheeks.

- A little hug Sammy? - DEAN! You're disgusting, you haven't even washed your hands! - We share everything, brother.

The younger man's insults responded to the older laughter, and a few hours later they arrived in front of an old, dark wooden building as night fell on the horizon. A hunter was waiting for them, anonymous since he will likely die in the fight, and quickly informed them that he had wanted to face the bloodthirsty ghost lurking in the house alone, but had not succeeded. The ghost's body was hidden in one of the walls so they were going to have to play with mace to be able to burn that bastard. As usual, Sam let the other two chat while he got the materials ready, did the final research needed, before jumping into the mouth of the wolf. Ammunition loaded with salt, lighter, iron bar, it was necessary to prepare for all eventualities. Finally, they made their way inside the dark building, their heavy boots cracking the blackish floor.

- We'll take care of the first floor. Sammy, go and inspect the second, we'll go faster.

With a nod, the hunters agreed and parted, soon rattling their hammers against the walls, tearing the silence of the night. They only had a short time before the entity that haunted these places manifested itself, which is why they busied themselves as best they could, sweat soon running down their backs. As Dean wiggled his arms made hard by the effort, he noticed a gaunt form appearing a few feet away from him, that of a black-toothed man staring at him, stroking the handle of a long razor. That's it, the hunt could begin in earnest. Without waiting, the Winchester raised his weapon and fired without taking the time to aim, showing absolutely no fear at the grimacing specter. The first bullet missed its mark, but the second hit the apparition in the head and he disappeared with a furious cry, alas for a short time. It was necessary to move faster, to search every corner in search of the corpse. Sam must have been alerted by the gunshots, his brother raised his voice to tell him that everything was fine, but the movement needed to be speeded up.

One by one, the partitions were gutted, revealing themselves empty as time went on. Fatigue began to win over the hunters who hit with less regularity. Through his plaid shirt, the eldest Winchester brushed his stomach for a brief moment, time to catch his breath. He did not notice until too late the drop in temperature which formed a thick mist as it left his lips and when he turned, it was to meet the perverse gaze of the phantom who was advancing quietly, his long blade outstretched towards the young man.

- And shit ...

Far from being paralyzed with fear, Dean raised his weapon and tried to shoot the murderous specter again, but the latter was faster, the razor cutting through the air to bite into the shirt and especially the young man's hand who stepped back, hitting the bulkhead. A mad laugh rose in the throat of the dead man whose dark eyes sparkled with bloodthirsty madness. Disarmed, his adversary now appeared to him as a prey, a superb victim to be cut up. The latter knew he was cornered and could not think of anything other than his imminent death. What was going to become of his baby? The young man suddenly felt his insides twist and he fell to his knees uncomprehendingly, his mind brutally clouded with pain as the ghost's blade left a deep mark in the wall where the Winchester was.

His partner, whose name doesn't matter, had witnessed the whole scene without really deciding what to do. But the moment Dean narrowly dodged, the anonymous felt a fierce conviction set his brain ablaze, permeating his bones with unheard-of strength that screamed "save him." Save him ”. He knew then exactly what to do, the solution was now crystal clear and he walked up to the specter without a hint of fear. There was no room for fear in his head, only the deep, overwhelming desire to protect the kneeling man and what he was wearing. He rushed at the ghost, an iron bar wielded in his clenched fist like a modern version of Braveheart.

Blood splashed on Dean's shoes as the pain in his guts disappeared, which finally brought him back to reality. He had time to make out the specter before it vanished and a body collapsed heavily on the rotten floor. From the slit throat a scarlet stream escaped, but the hunter's face expressed a proud serenity, as if he had accomplished his mission and died fulfilled. Called upon by screams, Sam ran down the stairs to find the gruesome spectacle. Fortunately, his brother was unharmed, though deeply shocked. He helped him up, being careful not to slip into the pool of blood, two bodies were expected to be burned that night, but they had no time to feel sorry for themselves.

- I couldn't find anything up there and neither can you, it must be in the cellar. - A corpse stashed in the basement, it's so obvious that I wonder why we didn't think about it earlier.

It was with these common sense words that the Winchesters descended into the foundations of the old building to find the corpse and end the grueling night. Turning their backs, they resumed their masses to shatter the plaster of the walls, raising clouds of dust making them cough, stinging their eyes. In the opaque atmosphere soon looms the murderous specter, his livid face completely distorted with hatred and thirst for blood. Rather than stealthily approach to slaughter the hunters, the ghost let out a hoarse cry that caught the attention of its attackers.

"Keep looking, I'll take care of him," Sam cried, brandishing his hammer with one hand, the other firmly grasping a gun loaded with salt.

The iron end of the sledgehammer sliced through the air, but did not touch the apparition, which encouraged the younger hunter to increase his efforts. Although he didn’t yet know where his desire to protect his brother really came from, Sam already had enough of the motivation between brotherly love and the survival instinct. In his back, the beatings had resumed, made more frequent by the situation of ambient stress. The specter's attention kept returning to Dean for some obscure reason, and the other hunter took the opportunity to empty his magazine, causing the attacker to disappear until he was without ammunition.

- Dean! - I'm almost there !

The mass slammed down into yet another wall which revealed a piece of yellowish skull, they were finally nearing their mark. Without bothering to dig out the bones any more, Dean sprinkled them with oil and salt before setting them on fire. The ghost let out a final angry howl before being consumed, calm falling abruptly as the cry of rage still echoed in the ears of the Winchesters. They had won. Yet good humor did not light up their dust-blackened features, for they had yet another body to remove. So it wasn't until early morning that they were able to lean against the Impala to catch their breath, their faces drawn with fatigue.

- Let's go back to sleep, I'm exhausted. - Who are you saying that to…

As always, they had to wash their faces, find a motel to be able to collapse on one of the shabby beds smelling musty but since the time they walked the roads, the boys would probably have had more trouble sleeping. in sheets scented with lavender. Exhausted, Dean sat down to remove his shoes without thinking about the condition of his clothes, a precaution that wouldn't have been wasted judging by his brother's surprised look. Without him explaining it yet, it seemed to the tallest of the Winchesters that a faint glow emanated from the torn shirt. Driven by curiosity, he walked over and parted the fabric to reveal the terrible secret of his elder brother who put his hands on his abdomen, reflexively.

- I can explain everything, Sammy, you see ... - How long have you known?

Instead of his usual disapproving look, Sam's face lit up in surprise as he brushed the slight bump where a unique treasure lurked. Embarrassed, the father-to-be whispered half-heartedly that he must have been pregnant for five days. Five days ... and he hadn't realized it! To say that his brother received such a gift ... it was more luck than they had had in the past ten years and yet they had experienced miracles. The long-haired giant looked up at Dean jokingly.

- Hopefully not all of your children are bloodthirsty monsters.

Somewhat reassured by the reaction of his younger brother, the young man softened and they went to bed in a good mood after this perilous mission. Once rested, they decided to go for something to eat, on the one hand because eating is a vital need, on the other hand to celebrate Dean's pregnancy. Sitting on a tired bench, the latter consulted the menu with the utmost seriousness until a waitress came to take the order.

- The daily special for me, please. Dean, a big burger? - Yes, I'm ravenously hungry ... Although no, the salad. Or the burger? I crave a burger badly, I could devour eight of them, with big fries, but I still have to take care of my body and my health and the salad seems like a much healthier choice, especially now. But I really want meat and cheese, something fatty. I do not know what to choose !

With disconcerting rapidity, the hunter sank into a deep anguish to burst into tears under the stunned gaze of the waitress who did not know at all what to do or what to say. Even Sam, who was always quick to invent an excuse to get them out of any situation, was dumbfounded by such a spectacle. He eventually recovered and mumbled that his brother would have a burger with green salad, giving the waitress the opportunity to run away without asking for her rest. Dean calmed down as quickly as he had panicked and the rest of the meal went off normally, if we omit the curious looks around.

In the days that followed, the two boys decided it was best for the future dad to rest in the bunker until the end of his pregnancy, the life he usually led was not at all suitable. Even if that meant that Sam was going on a mission alone, it didn't bother the giant who kept giving news regularly. Eight or ten days after their departure from the village, the eldest brother received a visit from his dearest friend, the angel Castiel, who was obviously not up to date with the latest news. Knowing the angel's anxious nature, Dean preferred to remain silent and chat as if nothing had happened, not without admiring the shy but sincere face of the brunette. Castiel spoke with his usual seriousness about Heaven, about what was going on in the supernatural world and then, shyly dodging the hunter's gaze, he pulled a box out of a large plastic bag.

- I brought some pie, I thought you'd like it.

Indeed, the sight of the delicious pastry covered with shiny cherries was enough to make your mouth water, the young man had not eaten pie for weeks and he had to contain himself with great difficulty not to swallow it up. Still, he wasn't the only one who enjoyed the dessert and after a few bites, the little being in his belly began to express its enthusiasm by stirring. Nothing to do with the delicate brushing of human fetuses, it bounces with the force of a rubber ball, snatching an exclamation from his father. He couldn't deny it, either for appetite or discretion, Dean laughed helplessly, all the more so when he saw his friend's incomprehension.

- The baby is a big pie lover, too, and she thanks you, I think.

Illustrating his words, he lifted his shirt to reveal his rounded and shiny stomach, still all smiles as if after a good joke. Castiel, on the other hand, wasn't laughing at all. Instead, he jumped up, staring at the bump as if it were the Devil himself. He had never heard of such a phenomenon, and his default mechanism was fear. Coming into something he didn't know was new enough that the angel panicked.

- Dean, what happened to you? What's in your stomach? - It's called a baby, Gabriel must have mentioned it to you in passing.

The joke had no effect on the divine being who continued to stare at the stomach with fear and anger, too powerful to be subjected to the influence exerted by these creatures around. Obviously, Dean was not in his normal state, he harbored a dangerous parasite and it would inevitably end in chaos and death. Feverish, Castiel explained his point of view, encountering the jovial relaxation of the hunter who suspected that the news would be difficult to swallow. He let the angel pour holy water on his abdomen, squeeze a silver blade there, recite a few words in strange languages. Then, he took advantage that his friend was kneeling in front of him to take his face in his hands.

- You think too much, you didn't even congratulate me. - Now is not the time to laugh, Dean, this thing is growing, probably at full speed, we don't have time to ...

Castiel's warning was cut short, muffled under a teasing kiss that stirred the celestial entity to his depths, annihilating his thoughts in a breath, a squeeze. The shock paralyzed him and the hunter took the opportunity to prolong the embrace of their lips as long as possible before pulling back as if nothing had happened, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. The poor angel was completely confused, unable to continue to be worried or angry. So he vowed to watch Dean to monitor the progress of this pregnancy and find out whether or not he was right to take a dim view of it. As he left the bunker that day, he couldn't help but bring his hand to his lips, still feeling the heat on his mouth, the heady sensation of the kiss. He was to learn later that the new condition of Winchester made him very… affectionate. The hugs, the teasing looks sure made the angel blush from ear to ear, but it was nothing compared to the fit of madness when the belly started to draw more strongly. Grateful to his mate for bringing him fries, Dean threw himself on his neck without warning, a move to which the prudish and delicate Castiel did not know how to respond other than by awkwardly pulling away. The hunter concluded that he was undesirable, too bloated for the angel to look at him, and sulked in his room for long hours.

That put aside, Dean enjoyed the quietness of the bunker to go about his business and marveled more and more every day at the evolution of his body and of what was inside. He who had taken so long to realize the treasure he was carrying could only think of that, walking barefoot through the silent halls talking to his child. Besides, he was far from being a carrier father like the others, he was much stronger, much richer than ordinary humans and the entity at the center of his life could only be special too. Imperceptibly, the two beings changed, sublimated with each heartbeat, to achieve a degree of perfection that the first goddess would never have hoped for for her kind.

One day like any other, Castiel arrived for a visit and the hunter almost ran up to jump into the arms of his friend who was still very surprised (and moved) by this sign of affection so spontaneous. Hris blue pupils rested on the body with shapes hardly concealed by a loose shirt buttoned up to the collar, the radiant face, the sparkling eyes, the smiling and sublime mouth... There emanated from all his being a warm joy which finished disturbing the angel with a too human heart. Although what he felt did not depend on the fetal pheromones, he harbored a deep desire to stay with the Winchester, for all eternity.

- If you only knew how happy I am to see you ...

Dean approached his friend and put a hand on his cheek before capturing his lips in a kiss that softened to hot, catching the breath of the young man who felt himself respond to the hug, his own hand sliding behind the masculine back so as not to let him slip away. When he felt the tip of a tongue tickle his mouth, Castiel was electrified, but just as he was about to indulge himself a little more, the tasty lips parted from his. A stifled protest escaped him and he remained petrified, still vibrating from this intimate and far too short exchange. The infamous tempter smirked innocently, looking down at the bump under his shirt.

- She is happy too, we missed you. Very much.

With slow movements, he took the angel's hand and rested it on the outstretched flannel, appreciating to feel him caress his belly, greet the little being it contained. Even if it was not the first time that Castiel had the opportunity to visit his friend and see his fulfillment, it was always a great moment to have this intimacy, without fearing the interested gaze of a Sammy who did not had no illusions about the duo. His hand resting on the brunette's, Dean watched him staring at his swollen abdomen with that shyness all his own. He put words to his own emotion.

- To think that it's been two weeks already… it's happening at full speed. You will see, she has become very restless.

The brunette quickly looked up at the young father, worried about losing himself in their intense green and blushed. He waited only a few seconds, his palm resting against the warm fabric, before feeling a jerk against his fingers, followed by another as if the baby wanted to rest her hand against his. He whispered to himself:

- I would like to see her grow up...

The tender tone of his voice made Dean want to kiss him again, but instead he took his hand and laughed.

- You better be there to help me! On the other hand, I am a little tired, it bothers you if we continue to chat in my room, I will lie down a bit.

Maybe Dean had an ulterior motive, at least the cherub had none and he nodded as he followed the hunter down the halls, their hands still entwined even when the future father stretched out on his mattress with a sigh of relief: without being painful, the belly began to weigh heavily. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Castiel watched his friend slowly undo the buttons of his collar, descending along his finely chiseled chest ... Finally, the young man parted the flannel to proudly expose his more than rounded belly radiating lightly in the quiet of the room. It might sound strange, but the angel found his companion magnificent in gentleness and fragility, a million miles from his usual manly and confident demeanor. He immediately liked both sides, but for the first time he was not ashamed of such a thought. In the half-light an intimate atmosphere created that put the angel at ease, as if inside a soothing cocoon. Dean's pregnancy had allowed the two men to find themselves far from the violence and danger that constituted their daily life, without threat to eliminate, without a deadly shadow to hover over their heads. In the calm of the bunker, they had then been able to meet again, to simply be together and that was enough for the happiness of the divine being. Obviously, he knew things wouldn't last (they never lasted) and that they would soon return to their dark and tense daily lives. But he had decided to worry about it later.

The father-to-be eyed his friend fondly, detailing the locks falling on his forehead, the line of his jaw and his cheekbones that would soon turn pink. Embarrassing Castiel had always been one of the hunter's favorite pastimes, but he had never yet admitted how much he loved to see the blush rising to the young man's cheeks, that candor that then stood out on his face as if he had not been a millennial and heavenly being, but a shy teenager. Dean lifted the angelic hand and brought it to his lips before resting it on his blossoming lap with an encouraging smile.

- Talk to her. She recognizes your voice ...

Dean knew full well that his friend would refuse at first, there was only to see his blue eyes rounded with a mixture of joy and worry, his hand trembling slightly at the contact of the plump belly that fascinated him. But the hunter also knew that he could get anything from the angel and that he would not refuse him for such a tiny request. Shy and embarrassed as he was, the young man wanted to bond with this child, it showed on his face. Castiel finally nodded and took off his overcoat to be more comfortable, then resting his hand between the hunter's and the bulging surface. Through the thin skin, a delicate form curled up against the offered palm as if to say hello, a bewitching glow emanating from the fetus.

- Uh ... hello, little girl?

If the two friends could have heard the baby, they would have heard a crystal clear sound expressing simple and pure joy. Fortunately, the little being had other ways of making herself understood and she began to radiate a bright orange, imprinting her shape on one place of the belly and then appearing at the other end of the rounded abdomen, bouncing all over the place. with an enthusiasm that took her father's breath away. Fearing that she would hurt the hunter, Castiel put his two hands on either side of his stomach to calm the overly restless little angel.

- Be good and don't hurt your father.

Immediately the shaking ceased, to the delight of Dean who took a deep breath and laughed, amused by the baby's overreaction, but also by how quickly the latter had obeyed the angel. The certainty that he had the two dearest beings near him (sorry Sam) moved the young man who slipped green eyes filled with sweetness towards Castiel. He rested his rough palm against the beloved cheek, enjoying the touch as he glided lightly up the warm neck to stroke the jawline with the tip of his thumb.

- You see ! A child always recognizes the voice of their parents. - Oh Dean…

The time that flowed like a long trickle of honey came to a standstill as they looked at each other, losing themselves in pale eyes imagining an idyllic, slightly cliched, but incredibly alluring future. The small heat ball continued to form a bump against the hand of the angel, this tiny creature that gathered humans and legendary beings around them. By her mere presence, she had transfigured Dean, given him back a peace and happiness he never thought he would ever achieve and just for that, the angel loved this child. To think that he had wanted to destroy it, to make it disappear from the body of the hunter when he discovered it… Then he had fallen under the spell of this innocent, indistinct form, which made the Winchester smile. He had fallen under the spell of this quiet, simple life, where the man he loved embraced him without embarrassment or reason, where he no longer felt ashamed to feel for his companion more than a brotherly friendship.

- I… I'm sorry I misjudged you. Stay warm for a while longer to be able to grow taller. I'm looking forward to meet you.

Without really realizing it, the young man had leaned down to rest his cheek against the taut skin, the tips of his fingers moving back and forth in imprecise shapes on the thin, sensitive flesh that shivered slightly. Touched by so much tenderness, Dean closed his eyes and began to stroke the mass of dark hair, concentrating on his sensations, on the angel's gestures against his deliciously numb body. This was what he had dreamed of without ever perceiving it clearly, what he no longer believed he deserved after all this time hunting, torturing and killing. Castiel observed the treasure buried in his friend, studied its almost translucent chest, the magical light which moved on its surface in a fragile and bewitching ballet. The young man straightened up and put his lips on the bulge, kissing this unborn child to whom he already owed so much. He began to deposit cuddly kisses along the dark line crossing the belly and the creature began to radiate with joy, changing from amber to a soft pink, from a delicate red to a sparkling gold, extending its light and its warmth even in the bones of its wearer who was at the height of joy, his limbs subtly illuminated from within. The whole thing was so beautiful that Castiel felt a bubble burst inside him, a flood of feelings that fear could no longer hold back. Suddenly straightening up, he spoke without thinking, but did not regret his words, for they came from the heart and had long waited to be released.

- I want that with you, I want to have a child who would be ours. I want… I want… I want to be with you, Dean.

The man opened his eyes again and was silent for several seconds, staring silently at the angel who, if he realized what he had just confessed, couldn't manage to look away or feel embarrassed. Finally, the hunter's face relaxed into a beaming smile and he pulled the cherub close to him with a burst of laughter.

- Cas... Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas... it took a long time!

Even as he spoke quietly, his hoarse voice reflected his emotion and he thought of Sammy, his comments and knowing looks, from the time he had been expecting this. But deep down, he didn't care about his brother, being a pregnant man, or having denied the obvious for so long: he was happy. He hugged the angel tighter against his heart and the angel let it go, putting a possessive arm across the muscular chest without being able to believe his luck. Of course, there were all those kisses, those special moments for several days, but Castiel only saw it as a game, a way for the father-to-be to have fun. But in his arms, he couldn't doubt anymore, not when he felt the tender kiss Dean placed on his forehead, whispering:

- Me too, I want you and forever. I can't think of a better father for this child. We're going to be a family and we'll have another, and another. I love you, Cas.

It was a promise of the future and there needed no sign for the two lovers to decide to sign this pact with a kiss, their lips joining with a timid tenderness to quickly become pressing and feverish. Strangely, it was Castiel who proved to be the greediest, propping himself up on one elbow to extend the carnal embrace, leaning over the hunter until they had to catch their breath. Eyes sparkling with love and mischief, they hugged and when the angel's shirt fell to the floor, his fiery mouth descending down Dean's throat, it was time for the other Winchester to return to the bunker with as much noise as possible.

The day of deliverance finally arrived, life couldn't be reduced to hanging out in the bunker, eating whipped cream with Castiel or laughing stupidly because he couldn't see his feet, Dean was impatient for his child to come out of this big belly to be able to really meet her. He realized how lucky he was, not only to carry life, but to be able to do so without a problem. Unlike previous dads, his features weren't emaciated, he didn't feel particularly tired or weak. However, when the first contractions arrived, he found himself like all the others, on his back breathing hard. The pain was bearable but for how long? Sam had just been warned but it would take him several hours to get back, his brother didn't have that much time ahead of him. Already, the surface of his swollen stomach was moving frantically, lighting up in shades of warm tones to express the urgency of the expulsion. With his hand tightly wrapped around a large knife, the Winchester was ready to do his Caesarean himself but couldn't help the fear surface. Could he survive to meet his daughter?

- Dean, I heard you praying and I made it as fast as I could ...

Castiel suddenly appeared at his side, prayed for his hand and rounded his eyes, feeling his tremble. The great hunter who had faced Death in person, the Devil and the whole of Heaven was afraid. Gently, he wiped his forehead already soaked in sweat, that simple gesture sufficient to appease Dean who gave him a teasing look. Before screaming when the thing that was hiding inside him began to tear his insides to see the light of day. The time for uncertainty was over, the child had to be brought out quickly, without instruments or care, on the carpet of an old bunker. His blue eyes suddenly serious, the angel caught the distraught and pained gaze of his lover, speaking in a surprisingly calm voice.

- I won't let you die, Dean. Neither you nor our child.

They concluded this promise with a silent nod before the young man's world was darkened with blood and pain like he had never felt before.

***

The clock struck the hour but no one bothered to count the strokes, it didn't matter at all. Lying in a pool of blood, Dean stroked his daughter's little head, feeling her warmth against his bare chest. He felt great, which was not the case with Castiel who was catching his breath, still nauseous after all the efforts to keep the man he loved alive and then heal his wounds. Now they could enjoy a well-deserved rest, their fingers intertwined and hearts in unison, a real family.

#destiel #bosom #spn fic #pregnancy #love #hypnosis

5 notes · View notes

quinn-tessence · 3 years

Text

Nocturne for a Clown

Part 3

Summary: you're tormented by the realization Arthur is the killer clown on the news, yet no bone in your body feels any different for him. Not even Casanova's advances could sway your from wanting to hold Arthur in your arms and alleviate his sorrow. He's had a bad day, and retreats on your couch, broken and confused.

Length: 5k words

Warnings: mentions of murder, lack of remorse, guilt and grief, seeking comfort where he'd never had it from. Smut with dear Arthur that could cause a rush of tremors, be warned. 🤭❤

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

You sat and watched. Then watched and watched some more. There were no words, no voice, no sound coming through your gaping mouth as the skin on your lips almost started to crack. It made sense. The blood, the bruise, the liberating sex, the wretched guilt. Oh God, what has he done?, you repeated in his voice over and over, that impossible puzzle putting itself together before you as you hid your gouging eyes underneath heavy, sweaty palms in a much too similar reflex to his own.

What has he done? He'd been beaten down surely, given his frail nature you could see how he'd be fluent in being at the receiving end, but as grievous as the thought was, it made it no less valid. This was bad, he’d land straight into Arkham if you picked up that phone to call the authorities, the way a considerate citizen would, as if Gotham deserved any at all. But you weren't one of them, were you? Never had you really fit in, yet you tried for the sake of appearances, it had become so burdening of late, only the thought of Arthur could provide the comfort you'd been seeking.

The news reports kept blaring, yet all your compassion overflowed for the clown, had you been able to see things objectively you'd still think he was hero. Three fewer assholes in Gotham, only a million more to go, you heard an inner voice say, even if you knew that was enough reason to throw you into the depths of Arkham Asylum. You'd sadly known that place from family, and you never wanted to set foot in that Tartarus again, but perhaps the apple didn't fall far from the tree. You couldn't stomach the thought of Arthur sitting opposite the glass wall from you, so dozed up on sedatives he'd hardly even recognize you. No, no, no. You wouldn't let that happen, and yet he'd need his own time and space to process.

You resisted the urge to bang on his door and ask for a full account, it felt as if you were a passenger on a derailing, speeding train. Regardless of how breathtaking the turquoise water under the rails, your gut wrenched at the thought of plunging into it head first. You were a decent swimmer, but you knew you’d be incapable of fighting those waters from swallowing you whole. You'd just given yourself to him, entirely and shamelessly, and regret was nowhere in sight. Had you been the forth prey of his killing spree, he would have killed you already. Yet he did the exact opposite, in distress and quivering like a leaf, but it was your door he opened after his rupture. He trusted you to keep this secret for him. And you welcomed the trust.

Within a few days you noticed you'd returned to your bad habit of unconscious nails biting. As if the deafening tumult between your temples wasn't enough, you also had to self flagellate as you desperately waited in silence.

You were busy enough at work, and the newest addition to your team had become daring enough to invade your private space little by little. Tall. Lean. Broad shouldered. Curly caramel hair and eyes of obsidian, winking at you shamelessly each time he passed by you. Patrick was a force in his field, yet he rolled his eyes and tongued his cheek whenever you'd call on him for a task, as if wanting to taunt you. Quite quirky and unprofessional, but restrictive enough to question yourself if you were merely projecting. Not once had he failed to deliver, on the contrary, yet that sly attitude never left him. Hm. The distraction was welcome, but it was nothing more. You'd catch yourself staring through him, picturing sparkling emeralds and cocoa, having to snap yourself back to reality before he'd think it was him you were aching for just like all your infatuated colleagues.

He must have checked with your giggly girlfriends before casually slipping in an invitation to your favorite bar after hours, casual drinks with a few colleagues, of course. Perhaps you should have politely declined, but you needed the respite from the heart wrenching torment, even if just for a few hours.

As empty as the venue was, he insisted on strolling in your visual field, intriguingly charming, maybe a bit too charismatic. It was time to maintain a level of dignity with your colleagues and remove yourself before getting into a state where you'd find yourself in Arthur's apartment, this time fully conscious. Yet Patrick gallantly offered to drive you over, posing a certain concern for your safety alone in the streets with a murdering clown on the loose. HA! You giggled at the joke being on him, silently talking to yourself. No thank you, you rascal, protection from that clown is the last thing I need. He insisted on paying for the taxi at least, and you’d had two drinks and wanted to be home already.

The thunderstorm washed the streets rapidly as you entered your building. You loved ravenous thunderstorms, especially as they traversed the sky over your cozy apartment bathed in lily scent. You took comfort in the hot shower and the chilly air in the room, lightning bolts clearing up the sky for a flash of a second as you wrapped yourself in the bathrobe, ready for Murray's dry humor.

Oh God! Your heart leapt to your throat as a soaked silhouette bathed your floors in cocoa flavor. At last.

‘Arthur! You scared me!’ he lay motionless, your words passing through him as if he wasn't even there. ‘Is everything ok?’

His damp fingers absently traced a faint line over the glass of your coffee table, his body slouched and stiff, the edges of his hair dripping on the couch.

‘I had a bad day.’

The words had come from a deep dark pit inside his chest, a wretched misery draped across his face as you kneeled next to him, cupping his cheeks. You'd ached to see his sparkling jades, yet you'd met them covered in a thick coat of tears, on the edge of dropping.

‘Arthur, what happened, sweetheart? Talk to me, please' He was so tired and withered, not even the wicked cackle would surface in this state.

‘I had a bad day…’

‘You said that, sweetheart, tell me what happened. Are you hurt?’

‘Kitten. I've done something… I…’ for seconds he tried to articulate, but the cackle fought its way up his throat.

‘Arthur shhhh. I know it was you. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I won't force you… I won’t judge you for it, I promise. Just sit with me for a second’ his head already leaning on your chest, your palm caressing his piercing bones, even through sets of clothes. He sat sedated, limbs heavy, flesh trembling, voice cackling in wrenching anguish for what felt like minutes on end.

‘You do?’ he asked between ruptures as if to steer his initial subject into whatever you'd conveniently brought up.

‘I do. I knew it the moment I heard the news after you stormed out. I saw the blood and the bruise on your face. You won't find any judgement here, I promise. I know you needed time to process, but you’re here now. Shhh' you almost cradled him in your arms, the most powerful instinct to protect him even from himself overbearing. He was all bone and sinew, like a hungry lone wolf, but there now was a sinister vibe to him.

‘Good. I'm glad you know. I lost my job that day, and then they attacked me in the subway, beating me to a pulp. Hm. Now you'll know that killing them hasn't bothered me at all. How's that for casual conversation?’

An unnerving tremor slid down your spine at the tone of his voice. You'd known him for a while, yet this resentful sneer was far from something you'd expect from timorous Arthur. Dreadful it's what it was, spine-tingling, intriguing, you were utterly mad to clasp this deranged man to your bosom when another prince charming just waited for one damn look from you. Who cared, you thought, Gotham’s gonna claim all of us sooner or later.

‘All I want is for you to be safe, Arthur. I won't tell anyone, but you need to be careful, sweetheart, you can't be saying things like those to anyone, please'

‘I have no one to tell, Y/N. And you’re not just anyone. You know. I’m still here, although you could have thrown me in police custody for the past few days.’ The cackles had given him a short respite, even if still lingering on the edge of bursting. He wheezed heavily before speaking. ‘My whole life I didn't even know if I really existed. And today, I feel… hollow…’

You'd asked and asked again as you touched his face and held it close to yours, his forehead as cold as the thunderstorm outside this comforting protective bubble.

‘My mother had a heart attack. She's in the hospital. Hah. My mother…’ a late instinct turned your skin to prickles hearing him speak from a different octave, a thick air of mustering resentment filling the room. ‘I had a few days to myself and I decided to deliver a letter to Thomas Wayne from her, seeing how he never bothered to write back. I'd told you she worked for him 30 years ago, and I read it although I shouldn’t have. I'd never known my father, but the letter said it was him. I confronted my mother and she told me everything about the two of them. But… instead of some warmth or a bit of decency, he told me my mother was insane and that I had been adopted. That and a punch to the face is what I got. Hm. Who am I, then? You tell me'

Your own eyes on the brink of overflowing, your soul coiled. You couldn't do much, but he needed comfort. Where would you even start, though? His tone of voice, the grief weighing him down, the droplets off his wet hair disintegrating whatever pieces were left of him, a question mark in stead of whomever he thought he'd been his whole life. Yet he didn't expect comfort. Such a foreign concept to him, as if reserved only to an elite he was not part of and would not dare intrude upon. You could easily hear how he'd just laugh it out into his pillow at night, his cries stifled, lacking a corner of privacy and personal intimacy where he could really build up that forced smile he'd put on every next day. You’d go utterly mad if you were in his shoes, no comfort and no expectation of it. So used to being overlooked, deep down he knew he was alone, and that filled him with fear and hopelessness. So you shushed and nuzzled him to your chest, hoping the warmth of your body would be soothing enough for the chaos that he was.

‘I don't know who I am, kitten. So I went down to Arkham and stole my mother's file just to find that he'd been right. The… horrors… she subjected me to as a child had gotten me locked up in Arkham years ago, but now I think I was just trying to hide from her, from this rotten city, from this world. I felt safe in that white room, ironically. When they released me, the heavy medication was supposed to make me feel better, instead it suffocated even my most basic impulses.’

Laughter ripped at his throat and pulled his face into a grimace, your palms clasping him so tightly you were afraid you might smother him. How much pain and grief could a man take, his poor soul must have been bound to an eternal rock, forever pecked by hungry vultures.

‘How can you even welcome me into your home if I don't even know that much? I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I should go, no need to burden you with any of this' he meant every word, as he kissed your hands with teary lips and dragged himself half upright.

‘Don't go' you close to begged. ‘Please stay.’

The grooves in his forehead you loved, just as the distinctive scar on his upper lip and the deep dark eye bags crowning his jades, his state of mind added another couple decades to his age. As you took him in through your pores, you remembered the shy clown peering through the shelves, and how the makeup would do the exact opposite of its intended purpose. Somehow he'd been unaware of how the makeup brightened his eyes to a clarity and sharpness you could cut yourself into. It was endearing how he'd stared at you when you'd first seen him wearing the costume, thinking he could hide under that mask when really it only brought him to life, his facial expressivity more riveting than ever. Yet he was here with you, more Carnival than Arthur even without the paint, as broken as a mirror in infinite shards.

‘Will you still have me here after this?’

‘I would. Please. I'm glad you came here after all this instead of going back home.’

The thought he'd ever been intimate with a woman before you had dissipated in an endless pool of murky turquoise, the genuine surprise in his eyes cutting you to your bone. There was no question, you knew.

‘Thank you, kitten. I'll stay, if you want me here'. There was no hiding anymore, you'd made it sparkling clear by being an accessory after the fact.

‘I do, Arthur, so much. I wanted you here… since you held that elevator for me, yet somehow we always missed our moment. No need to thank me…’

Had it not been for the roaring thunder, he'd probably hear your galloping heart, yet his composure betrayed just that acknowledgement. Every fiber in your body ached to touch his soul and mend it. The erotic tension you couldn't deny, but that wasn't anywhere near the reason why you'd willfully allowed yourself to become his accomplice. He sat back down, timidly reaching for your hand with his own smooth fingers, to place it on his cheek, now as warm as to ignite all the fires inside you with only one touch. Regardless of the endless torment of his life, it was so effortless to feel safe in his presence, even if he'd just killed three men in cold blood and joggled his life as he balanced on a thin string.

‘But I want to. Will you... let me thank you?’ his eyes had meekly turned to yours with a restless heeding for that glimpse of complicity you'd joined in a few times before.

‘If you insist, sweetheart, I guess you already did. You're welcome.’ And through that smile you could feel your body radiating as intensely as a candle flame in the dark. You’d tripped and fell into feelings for him, and nothing could brush them off.

‘No... I really want to thank you, kitten...’ Painfully slowly, he drew himself closer to you, a cocktail of demureness and ardor shaping his beautifully chiseled face into one that you'd missed your whole life, without even knowing. ‘I want to... put my mouth on you...’

Oh… He'd shown you a short, blissful glimpse of this other Arthur, the less tense, less uptight, more daring when he'd taken what you both wanted. There was always a limit to his courage, and yet he’d usually fall back into the timid, maiden like demeanor that he was. This felt different though, as there was a glimpse of unbridling in the way he inhaled, in the twitch of his contoured eyebrow, his whispering husky voice demanding consent. He needed this. Perhaps it would help deafen the torment for a quiet minute, and you were willing to let him try. Oh, who were you fooling, your heart had leapt at the thought of this since you saw him motionless on your couch, albeit in your mind the roles had been reversed. You'd bitten your lip instinctively, a most nonverbal cue of compliance to his plea, and within a short second he was tasting it, sucking it, biting it gently, as his nimble fingers strolled so tenderly through your hair to uncover your face, your eyes already deeply sunk behind fluttering eyelids.

‘I want to feel you shiver in my mouth' he whispered with a faltering voice, taking in all of your scent through avid nostrils. ‘You always smell so good, so clean… I want to taste you…'

So tender he was, you'd forgotten what it felt like to be wished for, body and soul alike, yet his palms willingly showed you a striking contrast to the tenacious Arthur who'd barged in days ago, as if your skin was porcelain and he wouldn't want to break you. He uncovered your naked skin underneath the fluffy bathrobe and smoothly tasted the growing prickles with curious fingertips, lowering himself towards your thighs at a painstakingly slow pace that would soon have you beg.

Pulling you to the edge of the couch where he’d slid himself, he finally broke the jarring tension of his eye contact just to move his head lower, descending decisively. The instant his curious lips parted, a shiver jolted through your flesh and your heart leapt into a marathon, you let yourself fall into his mouth without any control. How beautiful he was, you reminded him over and over as your fingers slicked his damp hair back, curling it around his ears, uncovering his furrowed forehead and perfect chiseled jawline. The sight of him between your thighs was no stranger, but you’d only seen it from afar until now, deep within the corner of each of your fantasies. Such a kind soul he was, but that mouth a wretched devil… oh my…

For a second he looked as if he'd forgotten all his sorrows as he strolled his tongue over your petals, tasting your skin one inch at a time, gently exploring to test your every reaction to his laps, his eyes fascinated with each of your whimpers. The throbbing love button he'd unveiled, a curiosity he had to touch with his tongue to feel the pulsation, your purrs a source of the validation in an endless sea of self doubt. Taking his time, curiously exploring this newfound medication for his sorrowful blues, he quickly grew hungry and greedy as an addict for a stronger fix, yet somewhat cautious to not overdose. His dilated basil eyes etched onto your contorted face, delighting in each tiny reaction he drew from you with his mouth, yet the catalyst to set you fully ablaze were his own moans as he enjoyed himself enjoying you. Oh God, what is he doing to me, I never want him to stop…

You’d thought you'd be the one comforting him, but it seemed as if he was doing it for both of you. His eyes moved around maniacally, taking in the shape of your naked breasts, of your nipples hardened at the thunderous air in the room, your moans guiding him into a delicate rhythm that could make you climb walls, even with the clumsiness that came with tasting a new person. He couldn't be a novice, although his curiosity was striking and enticing. Regardless of all that sorrow he'd brought with him, he curled a satisfied smirk under his scar and an impertinent twitch of his eyebrow sent you into a frenzy. His jades dilated at seeing your lips bitten, your eyebrows furrowed, close to crying in ecstasy, unable to move at the pleasure he gave and gave some more.

The mercury in your thermometer jumped at knot speed towards one big show of fireworks whose fuse got consumed by his kindling flame at a slow pace. Thoughts of his recent killing spree rushed through your mind, yet you were as high as a kite. You didn't care. So you let them ooze out to leave a hazy emptiness behind to be filled with all this spectacle of indulgence.

The pleas were whimpering whispers as you arched and etched your fingers in his smooth cocoa hair to anchor him, the other palm clenching a poor throw pillow to deformation. You hips guided by the rhythm of his palms on your waist, your moans deepening as he'd made you move onto his face, using it as a fine tuned instrument to orchestrate the crescendo of both your pleasure. Now that all your 8000 sensory nerve endings could light Gotham for Christmas if visible, his tongue flickered around your pearl, feeling the climax building up towards that overwhelming rapture. Moans turned to shrieks, toes and fingers clenched in reflex, his eyes and mouth on you as he winked from under long dark eyelashes. You combusted so powerfully into his mouth, within a few blissful seconds you'd left him glistening in traces of yourself.

Only as you quivered your last drop of pleasure in his mouth did you realize why he'd needed this so badly, he craved the validation of being a man even if his identity in shatters. It was one thing to have no identity, but another to not even be a man. Pleasuring you was one damn win that would hold his feet on the ground if he did it right, and that he could control. He had been scrutinizing you as you gasped for air, your eyebrows furrowed almost painfully, your flushed delicate muscles still throbbing under his tongue.

‘Oh, Arthur, that was… amazing…’

Still lingering his lips onto your inner thighs, he kissed tenderly as your flesh still twitched. You wanted him even more now than you did before. But tonight should be about him, even if he'd taken the lead so gracefully, so skillfully, so deliciously.

‘Yeah…’ the shyest smile draped across his tinted face, 'I felt that, kitten. I've… never really done this before…’ You'd known, deep down, and yet hearing him say the words was the most tender of piano nocturnes to your ears, so you latched at his mouth to taste him through your flavor, one that if you could bottle up, it would drive mankind rabid into destructive adoration.

Come here, Arthur, you whispered as you pulled him next to you, the puzzlement over his arching eyebrows an absolute delight you'd dreamt of relentlessly. He didn't fight it, yet the stiffness in his bones betrayed an urge he'd palmed away many nights without resolution, anxiety creeping over him at the realization it was now staring him in the face.

‘Wh… what are you doing?’, you shushed him as a response.

‘Kitten, please, don't feel like you need to give me anything back…’

‘Who said anything about giving back? I'm taking this for myself, Arthur. Let go, baby, let me take care of you'

‘Kitten… ohh' his eyes went straight to the back of his head, heavy eyelids covering his jades, his lips parted as your fingers traced the bulge straining his pants to suffocation. ‘Ok…’ he exhaled anxiously, a timidly bouncing knee betraying the rush of emotion flowing through him as you dragged his clothes over his head, his pants crowning the floor within a few seconds, leaving him naked to your hungry gazes.

The flickering light of the candles reflected over his protruding ribs as if a part of his body had caved in under the weight of his shoulders, his palms on your face strolling and tasting the reality of your flesh, he must have thought you were a side effect of his medication. Yet the prickling shivers traversing his body as you trailed your fingers over it were not. You reached for his lips as you lay him across the couch, your breasts invading his chest, the warmth of your body soothing his anxious trembling. That defeated look on his face, so vulnerable he'd made himself to you, he had nothing to give yet you still wanted him. He was mystified with even the remote possibility, let alone you giving him that adoration he'd chased endlessly, but never caught.

‘You are so beautiful, Arthur, let me show you, please…’ He was your paradise lost in the depravity of Gotham, a villain in itself, weighing down on each of its residents and having chosen Arthur to crush mercilessly under its own lack of a well defined identity, ready to teach us all lessons in humility that could lead to desperation.

He nodded shyly, his jades coated with an acute layer of yearning over something he'd never been given before. His body was a withered Stradivarius, abandoned in the corner of a cold, damp world, subjected to years of weathering and painful lack of any care, no wonder he was so feeble in between your fingers. But his strings were steel, and steel doesn't weather. It would naturally respond to external factors just like anything else but no amount of forcing, pushing, suppressing would bring out the brilliant austere sound it was designed to bring. Had he been less frail, you'd relate him to a cello, one that needs to be held tight to one's chest before playing it, where its resonating chamber rests upon the artist's heart as she moves the bow on the saddest of instruments. Yet he was so fragile, the wails of his chords almost bringing you to tears as you ghosted over them, testing what amount of pressure would bring the vibration, how to explore the potential of the sound and bring it closer to perfection. You were there to give him all that, to polish all the dust away, his wrinkles, his chiseled edges, to practice on his strings and validate his worth until he felt himself a Stradivarius for the first time in his life. He'd been blessed with a beautiful instrument that could bring such intense sensory bliss if only he'd find the right hands, and you longed to play him through the night, to tear your fingers into his chords and to sing his melancholy away.

What a trembling mess he'd become as soon as your lips strolled down his neck, the smell of rain and cigarettes off his skin intoxicating you into indelible addiction. The farthest you went, the more you saw how little he expected that you'd turn your full attention to him, as if never daring to expect anything other than what you'd allow him to take. You kissed your way down from his chest, palms exploring and fondling every bony texture, every inch of soft skin until reaching an extremity that felt to your fingertips as both together. Trembling, he slicked back his hair and sunk deeper into the couch, scrutinizing your face in detail and feeding you those micro expressions of Arthur and Carnival together, the twitch in his eyebrow a give away that you'd be playing for an audience of two tonight.

So immersed in the overflow of sensation he was as you took him into your mouth, his only verbal response a muffled ‘F-fuck, kitten', but his whole body screamed a different story of twitches at the touch of your tongue and lips. How demure the sounds he made as he shivered over and over, his eyes shut tightly, his mouth half open, heavy breaths raising his chest, quivering lips alternating silent approvals or four letter curses, as if careful to not be caught. So painfully expressive, all you wanted was to see him melt under your touches like silver over a burning flame without a hurry in the world, your tongue tracing a tale more evocative than any words could ever express.

With each stroke of your lips, he let go to all but that intense pleasure, as if your mouth held the power to oust the very fabric of reality, offering him an escape into a wonderland he'd been denied entrance all his life. He wants to be wanted, needs to he needed, lusts to be lusted for, his quivering lips more than enough validation for that thought. As you felt his muscles unwind, his fingers tremoring, his breath traversing his trembling body, you'd made him float in an isolation tank of indulgence. When you stopped, his voice would growl and whimper in reflex, the purring sounds begging for more. Some would call it schadenfreude, you called it your tiny overdose in hearing him say 'please' as you teased and inflamed him. His taste in your mouth, his smooth texture, his delicate skin, you wanted nothing more than to lock that door and trap him in this perpetual state of bliss. For eternity wouldn't be enough to put together all his broken pieces, but it would be a start.

The meekness in his jade eyes was wrenching, yet as he looked into yours, you quickly understood why. You couldn't hear his silent whispers, yet you knew he was begging for more as the throb in your mouth intensified and his whimpering green eyes slid to the back of his head, his palms clenching the couch so forcefully he could tear into it. It mattered no less as you felt him completely let go throb after throb, his body convulsing in spasms, the taste of him ambrosia hidden from all other mortals.

His head sunk deep in the couch pillow, his arms and body heavy and immobile, breath ragged, he giggled for the first time that day, a laugh so genuine it felt foreign to both of you, a rattled stranger you both wanted to welcome in and nurture back to his feet. As he lay sprawled on your couch, naked and ecstatic, you wished he was happy, for once. You needed a minute to freshen up, and as you returned to shut the windows and lay a blanket over him, he'd almost dozed off from exhaustion.

You sunk next to him as slick as a cat, laying him onto your chest and fondling your fingers in his damp cocoa hair, his limbs latching at you rendering you almost breathless with the radiating warmth of his body.

‘Kitten, I… I don't know how to thank you…’, he whispered in the nook of your neck, asleep had his flesh not sweetly twitched him back to a half awake state. ‘I've been off my medication for a few days, but I might have found an endless supply of pure morphine…’. His body had finally rested its convulsion, his limbs falling heavier, his breath slower, within a few seconds of his thought his eyes already moved spastically under heavy eyelids.

He was right, he'd found pure morphine, and so had you. It would consume you both, but him in your arms was that feeling humanity had sought since its birth. A once in a lifetime adventure they'd write sonnets about in the past, one that was yours to experience and live through with Arthur. That morphine had just kicked in for both, and you were floating on a cloud high above the thunder slowly roaring away in the night.

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

Thank you for reading this far! ❤

A special thanks to a few of the lovely people in this community that inspires me to keep putting my odes to Arthur on paper:

@wuika @iartsometimes @impulsiveclown @arthurflecc @littlebird92 @life-or-something-like-lt @jokers-puddin-pop @arthurfleckownsmysoul @jokersdoll @bananabreaddough @paperorigami @ransomguest49 @daydreamhustler @arthurjokersgirl @forever-fleck @sweet-nothings04 jokerlicious @ajokeformur-ray @shaw-2000 @jaraysha1121 @jofic059 @shit-i-love-clowns

#joaquin phoenix joker #joker arthur fleck #arthur fleck #joaquin phoenix #joker #joker fanfic #joker x reader #joker x you

40 notes · View notes

purplehairedwonder · 3 years

Text

Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 12

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 4629 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy, Nami, Chopper, Usopp, Brook, Zoro, Nami, Franky, Smoker, Tashigi, Doflamingo Notes: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song “Hearts Without Chains.”

The nickname Doflamingo uses for Law in this chapter is a nod to the story “Worth” by Doctor_Cyance.

Warning: This chapter contains the description of a panic attack.

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

After leaving the control room, Law followed the echoing cacophony of the fully collected Straw Hat crew through the halls of the lab. Smoker trailed behind him, tension on the acrid air surrounding him. The moment Law had realized what he’d let the vice admiral hear about his past, he’d debated whether to let Smoker return to the Marines with that information. But the feeling of Vergo’s heartbeat stopping in his hand was still fresh in his mind, and he didn’t particularly feel like ending yet another life today after everything that had happened.

If the other man tried to talk to him about it, though… Well, Law couldn’t make any promises then.

As he walked, Law considered his situation. With Vergo dead, the main source of the rumor of Law’s disloyalty was gone. Law had the dead man’s Den Den Mushi in his pocket, and even if he had recorded Law’s words, Law would simply destroy the recording. For a brief moment, Law considered ending his partnership with the Straw Hats since he’d taken care of his main target, but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it crossed his mind. Law could pretend he’d never seen Vergo on Punk Hazard, but Doflamingo would hear of Vergo’s death eventually, and, considering the cause of death, there would be no mistaking who had killed him.

Not to mention, Law had obviously failed in the mission he’d been sent to complete—and he couldn’t imagine finishing it now. Not when he couldn’t shake the startled recognition that had struck him as he and Straw Hat had shaken hands that the pull in his chest had gone still, as though Law were where he was meant to be.

No, even with Vergo dead, Law was still just as stuck as he had been the moment Vergo had arrived on the island. He had no choice—either for himself or his nakama—but to continue on the path he was on.

Laughs and shouts bounced off the lab’s metal walls, and, as Law and his stewing shadow approached the source, Law recalled the blueprints he’d been provided; this must be the Biscuit Room, he thought as he stepped into the large, colorful space. He’d wondered at the name as he’d pored over the schematics on his way over, but now he understood. Smoker stepped up next to him and made a disapproving sound at the sight of what was clearly a space for children—children who had become science experiments for a mad clown.

Law narrowed his eyes, assessing the scene in front of him. It seemed the Straw Hats had taken care of their enemies with alacrity. Both Caesar and Monet were wrapped in what Law hoped were Seastone chains (he had warned them) and slumped against the wall. The cat burglar stood not far from them, hands on her hips and a small smile curving her lips as she watched the antics of her crewmates. Smoker’s second stood on the other side of the captives, clearly having taken it upon herself to guard them. G-5 soldiers milled about close to the swordswoman, refusing to fully engage with the pirates.

“Oh, Torao! You’re here!”

Law looked up to see Straw Hat across the room. He was perched atop the back of a couch next to Zoro, who appeared to be dozing. Long Nose sat across from them, his slingshot in hand. It looked like they’d been in the middle of a lively conversation before Law had caught the other captain’s attention. Nico Robin sat next to Long Nose, one leg crossed primly over the other and her hands clasped in her lap. She was smiling, as though enjoying whatever her nakama were discussing. The cyborg sat on the floor next to her. The skeleton, for his part, was wandering around the room, playing a jaunty tune on a violin. (At this point, Law didn’t have it in him to question where that had come from.)

That left the tanuki, Black Leg, and the samurai. Considering none of the children were present, Law had a feeling he knew what the little doctor was up to, anyway. Law idly wondered if he was having any luck treating the children before shoving the thought aside; he didn’t like thinking about his own history with looking to other doctors for help.

“Straw Hat-ya,” Law replied, stepping further into the room.

“What happened to that Verto guy?”

Law tightened his grip on Kikoku briefly. “Dead.”

Straw Hat simply nodded, but outraged noises erupted from the other side of the room. Law turned to look at the prisoners.

“What?” Caesar gasped loudly. “But he’s—”

“So, he was right,” Monet said, the quiet betrayal in her voice more painful than Law had expected it to be. “You were a traitor after all. I didn’t believe him when he told us.”

Though he hated the Family as a whole for what they had taken from him—and continued to take as they held his crew’s lives over his head—Law had spent years with people like Monet once he’d been brought to Dressrosa. And he didn’t hate them all as individuals. Monet was a lot like Law himself, having been rescued by the Family after an unspeakable trauma along with her sister. But, unlike Law, she hadn’t been freed from the corrosive influence of the Donquixote Pirates. She’d been fully indoctrinated and would never believe the truth of who Doflamingo truly was that Law had witnessed on Minion Island. Doffy had her undying loyalty.

Law’s jaw tightened. “He didn’t give me much choice.”

“I can’t believe you teamed up with these… idiots,” Caesar said, lips curling in disgust as he looked at the Straw Hats.

“Idiots?” the cyborg called. “That’s super rude.”

“These idiots kicked your butt,” Long Nose reminded him, aiming an empty sling shot in his direction. “So, what does that say about you?”

Caesar made some incomprehensible frustrated noises in response, but Monet simply looked at Law, her usually placid expression tinged with hurt. “Why, Corazon? After everything the Young Master’s given you?”

Law snorted, an ugly sound that caused Monet to recoil. He knew exactly where he stood with Doflamingo—the Warlord’s tool and plaything and the means to an end—and none of it was for Law’s sake.

It was never for anyone’s sake but his own.

Doflamingo liked to act like he was generous with his Family, but all he really knew how to do was take. He gave but took twofold in return—his gifts came with strings, literally and figuratively. The cost was unflinching allegiance to a madman, pieces of one’s soul irreparably damaged by every act of loyalty, every drop of blood spilled in the name of a man who believed himself a god. And the Family was happy to pay the price; Law once had felt the same before he’d been saved.

Doflamingo was also unflinching in taking from those who refused to pay fealty. He’d taken Cora-san all those years ago for saving Law. He’d taken Law’s and his friends’ freedom on a no-name island in the North Blue. He took the very existences of his enemies in Dressrosa, using Sugar’s abilities to erase them from memory and enslave them as toys.

It was fitting, Law had thought when he’d first learned of the scope of the operation in the kingdom; Doflamingo was a puppet master, literally pulling strings. He saw others as his toys to play with as he wished. Law was nothing more than another one of those toys, though a supposedly privileged one, sitting on the Heart Throne. But it was nothing more than a gilded cage. Law’s eventual purpose was still to die for Doflamingo’s immortality. After everything else he’d taken from Law, he also intended to take Law’s life. And he expected Law to give it willingly; anything else would break the illusion of Doflamingo’s complete control.

“He’s given me nothing,” Law replied coldly. Nothing that he hadn’t taken back countless times over as he whittled Law down into the shape he wanted as his Corazon, anyway.

Monet opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off by a loud wail as the Straw Hats’ little doctor came out of a side room.

“Chopper, what’s wrong?” the cat burglar asked, hurrying to his side.

“I’ve tried everything I can think of,” he said, “but the drugs in their system are just too strong, and I don’t fully understand their interactions.”

“Of course, they’re strong,” Caesar sniffed. “I made them, and I’m a genius.”

“Shut up, clown,” Nami hissed before turning back to her crewmate. “So, what does that mean?”

“If I can’t get the drugs out of their system, they won’t get better,” the tanuki sniffed. “I can treat the symptoms, but I can’t cure them.”

“Let Torao take a look!”

Law jerked in surprise as rubbery limbs wound tightly around his shoulders and the too-loud voice rang in his ears. (His concussion complained with a painful pang in response, and Law winced.) He hadn’t even noticed Straw Hat moving from the couch. Law prodded at him with Kikoku’s hilt in a futile attempt to dislodge him, but Straw Hat just grinned at him.

The Straw Hats’ doctor eyed Law uncertainly. “I don’t know, Luffy…”

“He’s a good doctor,” Luffy said with a decisive nod. “He saved me.”

After several failed attempts to detach the other captain—the freaking limpet—Law sighed and satisfied himself with the biggest eyeroll he could manage.

“Do you think that’s a good idea, Luffy?” the cat burglar asked. Her suspicions remained, and Law could respect that. Someone on this crew needed to exercise some common sense.

“Torao can look at them,” Straw Hat said, unswayed.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Law demanded. Being talked about like he wasn’t present was one of his (admittedly many) pet peeves.

“Shishishi,” Straw Hat chuckled. “You’ll look at them, won’t you?”

In hindsight, as Law followed the tanuki to the room he’d been seeing the children in, he’d like to say he agreed because disagreeing with Straw Hat over it would be too much trouble, and, with his head injury, he didn’t have it in him to argue. But the truth was that there was something in the wide, trusting grin Straw Hat effortlessly threw in his direction and the responding warmth in his chest that made the agreement roll off his tongue before he could stop it.

He listened with half an ear as the tanuki explained what he’d already tried with the children and what he’d found. Though Law wasn’t privy to the exact goings-on in the lab, he had a sense of how ugly some of the projects Doflamingo had his fingers in were, so nothing he heard surprised him.

“L-look, Corazon,” the little doctor said once he finished his recitation, voice trembling slightly as he turned to face Law, hooves on his hips. “These kids have been through a lot. They’re scared and in pain and want to go home. D-don’t make it worse, okay? O-or I’ll kick your ass myself!”

Law had never seen anything less intimidating—and his best friend was a polar bear mink, which said something—but he still respected the sentiment. That protective instinct toward a patient was the attitude a true healer should have, one Law had seen in his parents as they fought for the people of Flevance while it was ravaged by plague. And, despite all the blood he’d spilled over the years, it was a feeling he could feel stirring deep, deep within himself, too.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Law replied. “You probably shouldn’t be here while I work, though.”

“What? Why?”

“My methods are… unorthodox,” Law settled on. Though the Ope Ope no Mi’s effects were bloodless and painless, that didn’t make them any less disturbing to most people who saw them.

The tanuki hemmed and hawed for several moments, and Law felt his impatience growing until he just opened a Room and approached the kids. The little doctor yelped and followed him.

“You’re that man from outside,” one of the kids said as Law approached, frowning at him.

“I am,” Law agreed.

“What are you going to do to us?” another child asked, arms crossed defensively.

Law felt his eye twitch at the assumption he was there to hurt them, but Law had attacked the people who were trying to help them escape. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say—he knew a thing or two about being a traumatized child, but that didn’t make him an expert on dealing with others.

“Corazon here is a doctor,” the tanuki said, coming up next to Law.

That piqued the interest of some of the children.

“A doctor?”

“Like you?

“What kind of name is Corazon, anyway?”

“Law.” Everyone turned to look at him in surprise. “That’s my name,” he clarified, startling even himself. “Corazon is a title, but…” But he didn’t work for the Donquixote Family anymore now that he’d sided with the Straw Hats, did he?

He glanced down to see the Straw Hat doctor looking at him curiously. “What?” he demanded, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, like he was being looked through rather than at. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Bepo when looking at the small creature, and Bepo had always known Law better than anyone—often better than Law himself.

“Nothing,” the little doctor squeaked before looking back at the kids. “Doctor Law here is going to look at you. I’ll be just outside if you need me!”

With that, he glanced back at Law once more then left the room, closing the door behind him. Law, curious at the tanuki’s sudden agreement to leave Law and the kids alone, turned back to the children. He took a breath and unsheathed Kikoku to perform a Scan.

-----

Once Law was finished his work, he left the delighted children chattering to each other about what it was like having their body parts removed and opened the door. The Straw Hat’s doctor was sitting just outside, and he perked up at Law’s appearance.

“Well?”

“I was able to remove all traces of the drugs from their system,” Law said. “But most of them will be dealing with the effects of long-term exposure. With rehab, they should all be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Law said, slightly annoyed at having his professional opinion questioned. Though he didn’t truly blame the tanuki; whatever Caesar had been experimenting on with these children, he’d given them some incredibly potent drug combinations that Law had never seen. Anyone without the power of Law’s fruit would have had a hard, if not impossible, time treating these children.

As Law had initially Scanned the children and seen the degenerative effects of the drugs they’d been exposed to, he’d been reminded of the charts he’d seen in his parents’ clinic of patients with Amber Lead Disease and the devastating effects on the body; he’d had to forcibly shake himself from the memory to continue working.

He started as the tanuki hurled himself at Law and wrapped his little arms around Law’s legs. The Straw Hats were far too affectionate for Law’s comfort.

“Thank you!” he said, looking up at Law with teary eyes. “I didn’t know what I was going to do for them!”

“It’s nothing,” Law said, lightly shaking his leg in an attempt to remove the other doctor. He was finding himself saying that a lot around the Straw Hats, he realized. He wasn’t sure he wanted to examine that any more closely.

The tanuki finally released Law’s leg and wiped his eyes with a hoof. “Luffy was right.” He gave Law a weak smile. “So, thank you for this. And for saving Luffy when I couldn’t. Law.”

Law opened his mouth to wave off the thanks again, but he shut it when he heard his name. Looking at the little creature, he felt his chest clench as he was reminded of Bepo when he’d called earlier. “I knew it, Captain. I knew you were still in there.”

He thought of the small feeling of satisfaction he got from healing Black Leg’s fracture, from knowing his hands could still heal after everything else they’d done.

Maybe Bepo was right, and the boy he’d sworn to follow no matter what thirteen years earlier was still in Law somewhere. Law had long thought that boy dead in the North Blue, but Bepo had always been the wisest of the Hearts.

“They’re your patients, Tony-ya,” Law said, recalling the doctor’s name from his—frankly ludicrous—wanted poster. “I was just helping out.”

Chopper’s face lit up at Law’s use of his name, but he tried to hide his pleasure. “That doesn’t make me happy, you bastard.”

Law’s lips twitched as he left Chopper to deal with the children now that they were no longer poisoned and headed back to the Biscuit Room.

When he entered, Straw Hat perked up immediately, as though he had a radar for Law’s presence. “Oi, Torao!”

“How are the children?” Nico Robin asked, eyes following her captain’s gaze.

“I removed the drugs from their systems,” Law said. “They should be fine with some long-term treatment.”

“What?” Caesar squeaked. “You shouldn’t be able to—”

Before Law could open a Room to shut the clown up, the cat burglar smacked him on the head. “Shut up, you slimy bastard. You’re lucky Torao here was able to help the kids. If he hadn’t been able to…” She trailed off, but the implication remained.

“Still not my name,” Law muttered.

“Still doesn’t matter,” the cat burglar replied in a singsong.

Law sighed and rubbed a hand over his face then looked back up at the other Straw Hats. “Now what?” He had no idea how long he’d been working on the children, but if his waning stamina was any indication, it had been a while. It must be getting late.

“The Marines called for backup,” Nico Robin said, “but the closest ship won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“Captain Tashigi will be taking charge of the children,” the cat burglar added, a softness in her expression. “She’ll take good care of them.”

“And our next stop is Dressroba!” Straw Hat said.

“Dressrosa,” Law corrected automatically, stomach tightening at the thought.

“From the maps, Dressrosa seems to be fairly close,” Long Nose said, pointing to some maps spread out on a table between the sofas.

“It is,” Law agreed. “Maybe half a day.”

Half a day to figure out how to extricate Law and his nakama from Doflamingo’s strings.

It wasn’t enough time.

The cat burglar nodded thoughtfully as she came up next to the table and looked at the maps. She was their navigator, if Law remembered correctly. “It’s too late to set sail tonight,” she said. “We thought we’d leave in the morning.”

Law nodded curtly. “Fine.”

“So, you want to tell us what we’re walking into when we get there?” Zoro asked, arms crossed and eye narrowed.

Law opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the muted sound of ringing. Law reached into his coat pocket and found his Den Den Mushi waiting to be answered.

There was only one person that could be.

“Shit,” Law cursed.

He had no interest in letting the Straw Hats or Marines overhear this call, so he quickly formed a Room and Shambled into the first space that came to mind: the control room. He landed on the couch in place of a pillow he’d switched with.

He set Kikoku to his side and stared at the snail for a moment before answering.

“Doffy.”

“Corazon,” Doflamingo replied. Law tried to listen for anything off in his voice, any sense he knew Law had really betrayed him after all. “How is the mission going?”

Law hesitated only a moment as he calculated the best response to give. “It’s done.”

“And there were no… complications?”

Law knew he was imagining it, but he couldn’t help but feel like Vergo’s corpse was staring at him from across the room.

“No. The intruders were taken care of.”

“That’s good to hear. I’ve been trying to call Monet but haven’t received a response.”

“She was injured during the fight,” Law said, the lie falling from his lips without a second thought. “I treated her wounds, and she’s currently sleeping.”

Doffy hummed in response. “I see. And Caesar?”

“The clown is locked away in his lab,” Law replied, allowing his disdain for the scientist creep into his voice. Doffy wouldn’t be surprised by it. “I don’t know how Monet puts up with him.”

Doffy chuckled. “She does it for me.”

“Of course.”

“And when do you plan to return home?”

“I’ll set sail in the morning.”

“Excellent. I knew you were the right man for this mission. Until tomorrow, little bird.”

Law grimaced at the nickname as he hung up the call. The Birdcage haunted Law’s nightmares to this day, and he felt like nothing so much as a caged bird in Doflamingo’s service—and the man knew it. The nickname had become more regular since he’d started bringing Law into his bed, an act that had truly felt like clipping his wings.

And now the little broken bird was going to try to fly again.

It would never work.

Law could feel his heartrate picking up as his thoughts started to whirl.

Like he’d told Violet that morning—had that only been this morning? It felt like a lifetime ago—he was Doflamingo’s creature, possessed by the man inside and out.

He lifted a hand to his chest, only to find his entire arm shaking.

Doflamingo was a Warlord and a former Celestial Dragon.

Heat rose in his face.

Who was Law?

Bile rose in his throat.

Doflamingo was a dragon to Law’s bird.

He was going to throw up.

What was Law doing?

Law pushed himself to his feet and took a few unsteady steps forward and managed to round the couch, but his vision spun in front of him.

What was he thinking?

His feet tangled under him with his next step, and he crashed to the floor behind the couch.

He was going to get his nakama killed with this futile venture.

His breaths came in jagged pants, his tight chest struggling to inhale and exhale, and all he could hear was rushing in his ears.

Everything Law had done for the last nine years had been to keep his nakama safe, and now he was going to fail them completely.

Law’s entire body shook, and he curled in on himself.

And now he was going to get Luffy’s crew killed, too.

He screwed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears as he struggled to breathe. The walls were closing in on him. He could feel the wood of the treasure chest beneath him and the treasure they’d shifted to fit Law into the chest at his back. The lid of the chest wouldn’t move since Cora-san had placed another chest atop it to disguise Law’s hiding place.

Law tried to summon a Room to escape, but his powers refused to cooperate, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Cora-san was going to die because he’d helped Law…

A cold sweat clung to his body.

The deafening cracks of gunshots, one after another, rang through Law’s ears and tears streamed down his face.

Law couldn’t make a sound because of Cora-san’s powers. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out except for ragged breaths.

He flinched hard as he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

Wait, a hand? Law was alone in the treasure chest.

The hand withdrew, and Law slowly opened his eyes. For a moment, all he could see was a blur in front of him—then red came into focus.

Doflamingo had worn red that night.

Law jolted backward until his back ran into something solid. He hissed through clenched teeth.

“—orao? Can you hear me?”

Law blinked slowly as a voice started to form words amidst the rushing in his ears. He felt the hand return to his shoulder, but he didn’t fight it off this time. Who—?

“Hey, Torao. It’s me. Can you hear me?”

It was Luffy.

Luffy hadn’t been on Minion Island.

Right.

Law wasn’t on Minion Island. He was on Punk Hazard.

Law wasn’t a sickly thirteen-year-old boy anymore. He was twenty-six and one of the most feared pirates in the New World.

Luffy squeezed Law’s shoulder when it was clear Law wasn’t going to freak out again.

Gradually, Law felt his heartrate slow, and his chest loosened, allowing him to take deeper breaths.

“Straw Hat-ya,” Law finally managed, voice rasping from his struggle to breathe. He pushed himself up off the floor, but his limbs felt like jelly, so he simply leaned against the back of the couch and pulled his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his knees.

Shame started to creep up the back of his neck as he realized he’d let Luffy see him having a panic attack—he hadn’t had one in years—only hours after making an alliance. He’d shown his allied captain how weak he truly was on the eve of taking on one of the most powerful men in the New World.

But Luffy simply smiled when Law acknowledged him and sat down next to Law, mirroring his position with his knees up to his chest. He rested his head on his knees and turned to look at Law.

Law resigned himself to questions about what had happened and was already considering how to reply, but Luffy surprised him.

“I used to get them after Ace died,” he said quietly. “Out in the forest alone when I trained with Rayleigh. I’d remember what happened and then I couldn’t breathe. I’d feel Ace dying in my arms and the fire in my chest all over again.” A soft smile returned. “But it got better when I saw my nakama again. They got easier to deal with when I wasn’t alone anymore.”

Looking at the other captain, Law realized that despite the grin that seemed permanently etched into Luffy’s face, he’d been through a lot in his short years. They had that in common. But where Law had retreated into himself to cope, Luffy turned outward. After coming to Dressrosa, Law had been too afraid to show any sign of weakness around the Donquixote Family, so he bottled everything up until it exploded. And the explosions tended to be violent.

“Doflamingo called,” Law said after a few silent moments by way of explanation.

“That Mingo’s a bad guy, huh?”

Law’s lips twitched tiredly at how simple Luffy made the situation. He rested his chin on the top of his knees. “Yes, he is.”

His eyes were getting heavy. Between the extended use of his fruit today and now the panic attack, Law supposed it was amazing he was even still awake. It was nothing new, though; working himself into unconsciousness was his preferred method of sleeping, despite the frequent protestations of his crew.

Law swallowed at the thought of his nakama back in Dressrosa.

“We’ll get him,” Luffy said confidently. “We’ll get Mingo, and we’ll save your nakama, Torao.”

Law grunted a response, and that seemed to be enough for Luffy.

They sat like that for a time, Luffy quieter than Law would have expected he could be. Despite the way Law’s thoughts had been a whirlwind before, they were quiet now. Gradually, Law’s eyes drifted closed, and he thought he might have felt an arm wrap around his shoulders before he went under completely.

Next chapter

#As an apology for taking so long with this one #Have the longest chapter yet #Trafalgar Law #Monkey D. Luffy #One Piece #One Piece fanfiction #One Piece fanfic #Caitlin's fic

8 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 6: You Know You Got Me In The Palm Of Your Hand]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Mean It by Lauv.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex and violence, slavery in American history.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @writerxinthedark @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @loveandbeloved29

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

What The Fuck, Washington Animals Are Weird

I woke up in a bedroom drenched in a rainbow of darkness, shades of grey vacillating from charcoal to the wings of a mourning dove; indolent dawn rain pattered against the window. There were no glaring veins of sunlight spilling in through gaps in the curtains, no promise of dry invigorating heat, no whistle of vicious parched wind. Toto, we’re not in Phoenix anymore.

“Ugh,” I complained to the empty room, unraveling from a tangle of blankets patterned with cacti and pure white clouds and rust-orange suns.

I clicked off my iPhone alarm—I’d beaten it by two minutes; my circadian rhythm was finally conceding that this whole Pacific Time thing was permanent—and read my nine new texts from Joe.

3:12 a.m.: Hey it’s an emergency what’s the plural of octopus

3:13 a.m.: Rami is insisting that it is octopuses

3:14 a.m.: But it’s octopi, right? Right?? I just announced in front of everyone that it’s octopi

3:15 a.m.: Scarlett is verbally abusing me

3:18 a.m.: Oh you are probably asleep

3:21 a.m.: Update, according to the internet Rami is right and now I have to assume a new identity and move to Antarctica

3:25 a.m.: We can discuss logistics of the Antarctica relocation tomorrow

3:26 a.m.: Hope you like penguins

3:30 a.m.: Okay goodnight!! Don’t let the mythical creatures bite!!

“That man,” I murmured to myself, smiling.

I typed out: It’s definitely octopuses, you clown. Then I deleted ‘clown’ and replaced it with its Italian equivalent: pagliaccio. Text sent.

Joe responded almost instantly. I had to ask Lucy what pagliaccio meant and now she’s verbally abusing me too. Send help. See you at lunch. xx

Wait, two Xs? What did Xs mean?? Kisses???

Did Joseph Francis Mazzello, sexy undead Italian man, just send me multiple text kisses?

“You’re gonna give me an aneurism, Chicago boy,” I muttered at my phone as I slid it into the pocket of my flannel pajama pants. And then I glanced out the bedroom window into a tussle of rain and thick, caliginous fog.

Just a few feet beyond the misted glass, its leathery talons hooked around a branch of Charlie’s decades-old red alder tree, was an owl. But not just any owl. A hulking, spotlessly white owl.

“Oh, hey, you,” I whispered, leaning closer, pressing my palms against the cold window. My hands left transparent imprints in the condensation. “Hey, buddy. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping? I sure wish I was. Did something wake you up? Did your idiot vampire boyfriend disturb you with a series of ridiculous texts?”

The owl just contemplated me with unnervingly vast, slick, engrossed eyes. And there was something else, too: those eyes were blood red.

“So you’re an albino owl, huh big guy? Good for you. You know, usually albino animals don’t last all that long in the wild. Because they’re really easy for predators and prey to spot. Or they get skin cancer. So congratulations on living to become the voluptuous, tremendously creepy creature that you are today. Job well done.”

The owl stared back at me unflinchingly, blinked, then resumed staring. Rainwater gathered in swelling beads like blood drops on its ivory-colored beak and talons.

“Well,” I noted, turning away and grabbing my shower towel off the back of the desk chair. “You don’t get that in Arizona.”

Thirty minutes later, I was bounding down the stairs two at a time to meet Charlie in the kitchen. He was browsing through his daily newspaper at the table, drinking coffee and nibbling messily on burnt triangles of toast. Crumbs littered his moustache.

“You didn’t tell me that living here came with the added benefit of freaky albino animal friends.”

Charlie crinkled his forehead at me. “Huh?”

“How was bowling with the dads last night?”

“Oh, awesome!” he exclaimed, folding up his newspaper and slapping it down on the table. “We bowled against the team from Mora and it came right down to the wire, but we caught them. Dr. Lee got a strike on his very last turn. He always seems to do that...he’ll be bowling hit or miss all night and then when it really matters he manages to pull a strike out of nowhere. He’s a beast.”

“He’s a pretty remarkable guy,” I agreed, rummaging through the cabinets for Pop-Tarts.

“He mentioned that you and his son were really hitting it off,” Charlie said, grinning. “Not the ragey blond one. The spindly annoying one. What’s his name again? Josh? Jimmy?”

“Joe.” I conjured up my best poker face of lofty indifference. It crumbled like a sandcastle beneath reckless, rushing footsteps.

“Ohhhh, I saw that!” Charlie said, pointing, delighted. “Check out that smile. My gorgeous, brilliant progeny has a crush. I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be single for long up here. Alright, I’m ready. Bring on the grandchildren.”

“Shut up,” I pleaded good-naturedly.

“Relax, I have great news. According to Gwil, that Joe kid is pretty wild about you too.”

“Oh, is that what you old guys do between bowling turns? Betray your children’s deepest confidences? Matchmake them over nachos and chili cheese dogs?” Still, my curiosity was piqued. “What else did Dr. Lee say about Joe?”

“I think the exact word he used was...” Charlie reminisced, sipping his coffee, curls of steam pouring over the rim of the mug. “Smitten.”

Supernatural Pictionary

I turned the notebook to Joe so he could see; everyone else momentarily covered their eyes or looked away. Then Lucy started the timer on her iPhone. Thirty seconds.

“Go!” Lucy announced.

“I think it’s a boat,” Rami said, hesitantly, haltingly, squinting at Joe with great concentration.

“Do you?” Joe teased.

“Yeah. But I’m also getting something about a fish.”

“Maybe I’m trying to make you think it’s a fish because it’s actually a boat,” Joe replied flippantly.

Rami muttered: “Or you want me to think it’s a boat because it’s actually a fish.”

“Interesting.”

“Now you’re mentally singing Never Gonna Give You Up just to fuck with me.”

Joe gasped, pressing a palm to his chest. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do!”

Scarlett snickered, dunking her chicken tender in honey mustard, slurping Coke through a straw clenched between crimson-painted lips. “That sounds exactly like something you would do.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Lucy warned.

“Fish or boat, boat or fish...” Rami chanted, peering fixedly at Joe.

“Make a decision,” I taunted, hugging the notebook to my chest.

“I’m going with boat,” Rami decided.

“Final answer?” Lucy asked, then stopped the timer when Rami nodded.

“Loser!” Joe cackled victoriously, leaping out of his chair, waving his L-shaped fingers in the air. Calawah University students at nearby tables glanced over with wide, startled eyes, their beloved chicken tenders briefly forgotten. “How’s it feel to not win every round of a game, huh?! Loser!”

I flipped my notebook so Rami could see the extremely unskilled pencil sketch I’d drawn there: a smiling fish. “My condolences.”

“Damn.” Rami pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and slid it across the table to Joe. Joe snatched it up, tucked it into the waistline of his jeans like a stripper collecting money in her G-string, and slung his arm around my shoulders.

“We are the champions. Bask in our glory.”

Scarlett turned on her iPhone flashlight and waved it in slow arcs over her head. “Youuuuu are the champions, my friendssssss...”

From my usual lunch table, Jessica gazed at my esteemed place among the Lees with palpable envy, resting her chin in her hands. I had worked out a schedule that seemed fairly obvious given my extensive experience as a child of divorce: lunch with Jessica et al. one day, lunch with the Lees the next. I took a bite of the Chipotle veggie bowl that Joe had insisted on ordering for me and tossed Jessica a sympathetic wave. Get Ben’s Snapchat for me! she mouthed back. I harbored serious doubts that Benjamin August Hardy, former professional assassin, born in 1893, had a Snapchat.

Joe’s words from last week rolled around in my head; I could see him all over again, nodding to the enormous painting hung in Gwil’s upstairs office, telling me about those startling, ethereal figures who had initiated Ben into life as a vampire. They call themselves the Draghi. They collect dues from covens, offer protection, keep order, protect our secrets. But they also demand loyalty. They force people they want into service. They might try to make it seem like you have a choice, but you don’t. They destroy anyone who tries to resist them. And they feed on humans.

“This is so awesome,” Lucy sighed, elated. “We could never play Pictionary before, drawing something is way too much of a mental process, Rami always figured it out right away...”

But now they had a built-in blindfold, someone who could draw without Rami getting a peek into their thoughts, a fighting chance at hiding the truth from him...for thirty seconds, at least.

“Okay Benny Boy, you’re up.” Joe darted over to Ben’s side of the table and massaged his tense, muscular shoulders as Ben grimaced. “You got this. I believe in you. Baby Swan is gonna pitch you a home run.”

“I’ll pass,” Ben said.

“You can’t!” Lucy cried. “Ben, please? Rami got Scarlett’s, and then he didn’t get Joe’s...and I know he’s going to see though me immediately. You’re our only chance to tie things up and maybe beat him!”

“Traitor,” Rami told Lucy affectionately.

“Uhh...” Ben hesitated, glimpsing longingly at the doors that led outside to the grove of bigleaf maple trees. He was fidgeting restlessly with his vape pen.

“Come on, Benny!” Joe begged. “I’ll owe you. I’ll do anything.”

Ben perked up a little bit. “You’ll do my Calc 2 homework for a month?”

Joe groaned theatrically, but nodded. He was wearing a grey U Chicago hoodie today. “Fine. Okay. But you’re gonna have to learn that shit eventually, I can’t take the MCAT for you.”

“Deal.” Ben bumped his knuckles against Joe’s.

“Batter up,” Joe heralded in his best mock-umpire voice, grinning at me expectantly, drumming the table with his palms. “Go Baby Swan, go! What will she choose? Will she continue with the nautical theme? Will she change it up, maybe switch to beloved Chicago landmarks? Baseball or food? Will she invent a variety of pizza even more despicable than pineapple?”

“Hm.” I flipped to a fresh notebook page, scratched my temple with the eraser end of the pencil, then quickly sketched a picture for Ben. “Okay, I’m ready.” I showed the drawing to Ben while everyone else covered their eyes.

Ben shook his head, scowling. “You’ll have to try again. I have no idea what that is.”

“Really?!” I checked the picture again. Okay, it definitely didn’t belong in the Louvre or anything, but it was lifelike enough to be decipherable. “You don’t recognize it? At all?”

“No,” Ben replied flatly.

From behind his shielded eyes, Rami scanned through the images in Ben’s mind. He dropped his hands onto the table. “SpongeBob?!”

“Who...?” Ben ventured.

Everyone else looked too. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely SpongeBob,” Joe said, then chuckled. “Aww, Baby Swan, you even remembered his little necktie!”

“It’s so cute!” Lucy trilled.

Ben just stared at the picture, blinking, completely lost, increasingly morose. And now there was a new guest at the table; or maybe not a new one, maybe just a quiet one, something that perched on the ledge of every conversation and field of vision just waiting to tap its claws against the wall and make its presence known: that interminable reminder of Ben’s unconventional past life, of how incomparable his vampiric upbringing was to those of the rest of the Lee kids.

“Benny Boy, you’ve never seen SpongeBob?” Joe inquired gently. “No problem. We’ll have a marathon tonight. I have the entire series on DVD. Also several Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy action figures.”

Scarlett snorted. “This is why you’ve been single since Hoover was president.”

“I wasn’t single the whole time,” Joe corrected.

“Oh, really?” Not that I’m interested, my voice suggested. I was a total liar. I was super interested. Thank the great deity that Rami and Ben couldn’t read me like a restaurant menu. Today’s specials are Being In Love With Someone Wildly Inappropriate for $15.99, and also Lamenting My Own Lack Of Sexual Experience for $11.99. Oh, and clam chowder.

“He had a couple of...what would you call them?” Scarlett combed her elegant fingers through her voluminous blonde hair. “What’s the modern vernacular? Fuck buddies? Booty calls? Netflix and chill partners?”

My stomach lurched; I nonchalantly buried my fork in a mountain of guacamole and left it there. I kept my lips turned up into a smile like a mask. Of course he’s loved other people. Duh. He’s hot and immortal. Get over it. But that didn’t calm my pounding heartbeat at all, didn’t soothe that sudden and irrational melancholy.

“Whoa whoa whoa, okay, you’re making it sound way worse than it was,” Joe protested, glancing at me nervously.

Scarlett continued: “It wasn’t serious, whatever it was. None of them would have cared about your action figure collection or obsession with a city you haven’t lived in for fifty years. It wasn’t your personality they wanted. Thank god.”

Oh this is bad, I thought helplessly. How am I ever going to be able to compete with the memory of countless gorgeous vampire girlfriends?

“Uh, ScarJo, you’re single too.” And Joe’s nickname for her was strangely apt; Scarlett could pass for Scarlett Johansson’s younger, blonder, much hotter sister. And Scarlett Johansson, in case you’re somehow unaware, is already pretty fucking hot.

Scarlett flashed a grin. “Entirely by choice.”

“And much to Mercy’s eternal and profound concern,” Lucy told me. “She stages an intervention at least twice a month. Did I overhear one last week, Scarlett?”

“Oh jesus, yeah. I was like, ‘Mom, what the hell do I need a husband for? I have my own money. I can fix household appliances. I have a vibrator. I’m good to go.’”

Joe rocked back in his chair, howling. “You did not tell Mom that!”

“I did. She was so distraught. She just kind of pinched her eyes shut and shuddered and then went out back to feed the alpacas.”

“Scarlett, babe,” Rami managed between gales of laughter. “A vibrator isn’t going to keep you company for all of eternity. It’s not a suitable substitute for a life partner.”

“You’re right. It’s even better. It’ll never abandon or disappoint me. Assuming I keep the batteries fresh, of course.”

“Oh my god,” Lucy giggled into her hands.

“She’s not wrong,” I said, shrugging, sipping my Diet Coke.

And Joe peered over at me, surprised, intrigued, slowly raising his thin dark eyebrows. I winked back. Yeah, okay, I’ve never slept with someone. But that doesn’t mean I’ve never had an orgasm.

“Ah, loud thoughts! Loud thoughts! Joe, please!” Rami moaned, pressing his balled fists to his forehead.

Ben smirked. “There’s a color I’ve never seen from you before, Joe.”

“This family is the worst!” Joe exploded.

“I like that girl,” Scarlett decided, signaling to me with glossy maroon fingernails. “She can stay.”

Joe sighed, flustered, then shook it off as he turned to me. “You coming over tonight?”

“I can’t spend every night at your house petting alpacas, mob guy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, smiling, draping his arm around the back of my chair. “Why not?”

“Well, my tonight-specific reason is that I’m visiting a friend.”

“Cool. Your friends are my friends. Can I visit too?”

“You’re aware that you’re a legit stalker, right?” But actually, Archer was dying to meet Joe: the loud Lee, the approachable Lee, the Lee who I definitely liked more than a Tinder swipe could ever convey. This could work. “Offer to buy dinner and you can come.”

“I’m a walking Visa, baby.”

Ben stood, hauled on his backpack, gathered up his trash to throw away. “I need a smoke break before Chem. See you guys later.”

“Don’t forget!” Joe called after him. “SpongeBob marathon starts at 8! I’ll bring the Milk Duds!”

And when Ben disappeared through the doors, a solemn hush descended over the table.

“Poor guy,” Lucy said softly. The other Lees nodded.

And again, I recalled what Joe had told me in Gwil’s office, what he had said when I asked how Ben came to join the Lee family. He was assigned to us, to be the liaison to our coven. And Gwil saw something in him. Potential, suffering, unrealized decency, I don’t know. But Gwil worked on him for years, trying to convince Ben to leave the Draghi when his contract was up and come live with us. To give a peaceful life a try. And to be honest, Ben never seemed interested. But something must have resonated with him, because we opened the front door on October 15th, 2016 and he was sitting on the steps of our porch with a single suitcase, puffing on that fucking vape pen and watching the storm clouds roll in off the Pacific Ocean.

But why would they just let him leave? I had asked, tracing my fingertips over the uncanny and magnificent faces in that painting. Why would they let him live?

Because they know how valuable he is. And because they think they can get him back.

“I think he’s a good person,” I said, breaking the silence. “You know. Underneath the whole being raised to be a killing machine thing.”

“Yeah,” Rami replied, frowning thoughtfully. “Just try not to spend too much time alone with him.”

Car Jacks And Sneak Attacks

“Joe, this is Archer James Foxchild, my first-ever best friend.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Joe said, shaking Archer’s oil-stained hand. “I understand you are really good at making mud pies and poking dead animals with sticks.”

Archer chuckled. “It’s true. We found a shark tooth down at La Push one time and I convinced Baby Swan here that it was from a sea monster. She had nightmares for months. Charlie called my dad over it and I got my Game Boy taken away.”

“No!” Joe gasped in horror. “Were you a Pokémon guy?”

“For sure.”

“Ruby or Sapphire?”

“Emerald.”

Joe grinned. “This dude knows what’s up.”

“And to think, my grandpa tried to tell me that you guys were freaks,” Archer replied.

“Well,” Joe conceded. “Not all of us.”

“Maybe you two should start dating,” I said. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit in my Honda and eat my Taco Bell cheese quesadillas and Cinnamon Twists and try not to interrupt all the sex.”

“Yes, you brought Taco Bell,” Archer sighed euphorically. “Give me five minutes, I just gotta finish rotating these tires real quick.” He jogged to the other end of the garage, knelt beside a Ford Mustang that was propped up on a jack, and starting twisting off lug nuts with a tire iron.

“You have a nice place here,” Joe observed, strolling around the small garage with his hands in the front pocket of his U Chicago hoodie, eyeing the fractures in the concrete floor and the spidering cracks in the windows. “You have any investors?”

“Are you kidding?!” Archer replied from the Mustang. “No, man, it’s just me. I rent for now, but at some point I’ll buy my own shop. Once I’ve saved up enough. A great big one with shiny new equipment and no mice squeaking behind the walls.”

“What’s your cash flow like?”

“I’m netting around three grand a month after taxes.”

“Not bad!” Joe noted admiringly.

“Yeah. It’s a hustle, but I love it.”

“Hey, I don’t know if you’d be interested—and absolutely no pressure if you’re not, really—but I do a lot of work with start-ups and I’d love to help you get into your own shop. By this Christmas, preferably. If we can work out a deal.”

“Really?!” Archer peeked incredulously over the hood of the Mustang.

“Absolutely.”

Archer beamed at me. “This guy is willing to drop serious cash to look good in front of you. You should probably marry him. No prenup though.”

I held my pinky out towards Joe, grinning. “No more sad prenups.”

He laughed and hooked my pinky with his. “Bankrupt me, bitch.”

I heard the metallic clang of a lug nut hitting the concrete floor and rolling under the Mustang. “Come back here, you bastard,” Archer muttered, then dropped to his stomach and crawled beneath the car.

“Hey, kid, be careful,” I fretted, crossing my arms across my chest and taking a step closer.

“Relax, Baby Swan, I am a professional, changing a tire for me is like feeding a fish for you, so just chill and keep fantasizing about those Cinnamon Twists—”

There was a squeal of metal as the car jack collapsed and the Mustang came crashing down. In a fraction of a second—faster than I could see him moving, faster than I could loose a scream—Joe had soared across the garage, yanked Archer out from beneath the falling Mustang, and dragged him to the center of the room.

“Oh fuck,” Archer wheezed, his dark eyes huge and fascinated and horrified. “Grandpa was right.”

I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)

We rolled up to the Lee house in my 1999 Honda Accord just as I polished off the last of my Cinnamon Twists and Archer chewed, tentatively and dazedly, on a Cheesy Gordita Crunch. The sun was beginning to set in a clouded sky that perpetually threatened rain.

He asked Joe for the fifth time from the back seat: “But wait, seriously, no one is going to eat me, right? Because I’m too young to die. I haven’t taken enough vacations yet. I can’t die without seeing Hawaii. I want to swim with the sea turtles.”

“No, none of us have ever eaten people. Well, almost none of us. Maybe stay away from Ben.”

“I would like a little more exposition,” Archer replied, blanching.

“Hey, if you stay until 8, you guys can join us for the SpongeBob marathon!”

Gwil and Mercy were waiting on the front porch, thanks to Joe’s ‘hey I accidentally exposed myself as a paranormal being and now we have a new friend, plz don’t be mad okay love you see you soon!1!!’ text.

“Welcome, sweetheart!” Mercy fussed, enfolding Archer into her arms as soon as he stepped out of the Honda. “Would you like some hummingbird cake? I just baked it this morning. And maybe some sweet tea too. And some peanut butter cookies. And banana pudding.”

“Sure,” he responded, bewildered. This lady does not seem like a bloodsucking demon, that voice said. And he was absolutely right.

“I’ll fix you up a tray,” Mercy promised, and hurried into the house.

“We’re so very happy to have you, Mr. Foxchild.” Gwil shook Archer’s hand firmly. “We don’t get many visitors around here. I’m sure you understand why.”

“My grandpa always insisted that there was something off about you guys. Especially you, Dr. Lee. Said you shouldn’t still be around.”

“Yes, I imagine that would have been disconcerting for him. He must have remembered us from the 1940s...that’s the last time we settled down in Forks. It’s not often that someone recognizes us after so long, but it happens. It was just Mercy and me and Rami and Joe back then. And look how far we’ve come.” Gwil beamed warmly, then turned to Joe. “But really, son, you’re going to have to stop telling humans about us.”

“Hold up, I was not responsible for her!” Joe exclaimed, waving at me. “Take it up with Ben!”

The garage door rumbled open and Scarlett sauntered out, wiping her filthy hands with a rag. She halted abruptly, stood there in her high-waisted vintage jeans and black crop top and bare feet with maroon-colored toenails, tilted her head and pondered Archer with an innocent sort of curiosity that I hadn’t seen from her before.

“Wait,” Archer said, gaping. “Is that...is that an Aston Martin Vantage in there?!”

“You bet,” Scarlett replied. “You want to learn how to work on it?”

“Uh, hell to the yeah!” He trotted over and they vanished into the garage together.

“Huh,” Joe muttered, watching them. “She was nice to him. Very weird.” He whirled back to me. “Anyway, come on. I promised you an education in classic rock music. And I shall deliver.”

Joe’s bedroom was a chaotic jumble of economics textbooks and Chicago Cubs paraphernalia and U Chicago apparel and action figures and comic books and classic rock posters. There was a massive Italian flag tacked to the wall above his bed. But what caught my attention immediately was a life-sized cardboard cutout of Ben lurking in the corner by a bookshelf full of cassette tapes.

“How is there any possible logical explanation for that?” I asked, pointing.

“Oh, that! That was a joke. When Ben first showed up, he pretty much lived in his room and never came out. Gwil was worried. Mercy was heartbroken. So I made a cardboard cutout of him and would bring it to family activities and do this really deep and seductive Ben voice when I pretended to have conversations with him. It gave the whole situation some levity...and I think Ben secretly liked that we missed him enough to make an artificial version to fill the void.”

“So this bitchy, brooding, blood-craving Ben I met is actually a drastic improvement?”

“Oh, Baby Swan,” Joe confided, almost sadly. “You have no idea what he was like four years ago.”

“I’m glad he has you. All of you. That he has a chance to get better.”

“I think you might be good for him too. Seeing a human as a real person instead of a walking, talking Hi-C juice box. And you care about him, don’t you? Despite everything.”

“Of course. It’s not his fault they taught him to be a monster.”

Joe just looked at me for a while, and then he cradled my face with one hand and grazed a thumb across my cheek “You’re never going to stop saying things that knock me into next week, are you?”

“Joe...” I hesitated, laying my hand over his. His skin was smooth and yielding yet strong, cool yet not unnaturally so. Refreshing. Safe. Fan-fucking-tastic. Oh noooooo. “Are we a thing?”

“Why? Do you want to be a thing?”

“Oh, uh, no, I was just wondering if we were.”

He stepped away, teasing me with a crooked smirk. “...So you don’t want to be a thing?”

“What would that entail?”

“Well...we’d be an official thing, you and me.” He shot finger guns at me, and then towards himself. “Which means you can’t be a thing with anyone else. And neither can I.”

“Ahhh, I see. So this thing is an exclusive thing.”

“Will you shut up and just admit that you’d totally be thrilled to be a thing with me?”

“Fine. Whatever. We’re a thing.”

“Nice.” He high-fived me.

“This is the most romantic moment of my life.”

“But wait, there’s more.” He went to the bookshelf, browsed through his cassette tape collection, found the one he wanted and popped it into a boombox that was probably older than I was. The frantic opening piano notes of I’d Do Anything For Love poured out.

“Meat Loaf,” I said in disbelief. “Really. This is the product of your superior taste in music. This is the culmination of over a century of musical experience. Meat Loaf.”

“The man is a genius!”

“This is all an elaborate joke about my vegetarianism, isn’t it?”

“No,” Joe mused. “But now that you mention it, I have yet another reason to force you to appreciate this song.” He took my hand in his, spun me around like a ballerina in a slow and careful circle, sang along—with extreme and dramatic enthusiasm—to the music.

“And I would do anything for love

I'd run right into hell and back

I would do anything for love

I'd never lie to you and that's a fact...”

“I don’t dance,” I cautioned him, laying a palm against his chest to catch my balance. That brisk, comforting scent of pine and snow and peppermint was everywhere. It feels like I can’t stand to be away from him. Like I’ll never get close enough. “I am terribly uncoordinated. I will step all over your feet. And I’m really not sure if I can trust you. You didn’t even know the plural form of octopus until like eighteen hours ago. You’re kind of a disaster. A, you know, uh, unexpectedly charming, unconventionally super cute, kind of bizarrely enchanting disaster.”

“Yeah,” Joe whispered, smiling, tilting up my chin, leaning in to kiss me. “I like you too.”

Cato

He came out of the oak trees like a ghost, pushing aside massive chandeliers of Spanish moss that blotted out the dusk sun, his expensive shoes sloshing in the marshy water that flooded the rice field. He was wearing a full suit, but no top hat; his hair was black and chin-length and wild around his face. And at first I thought he was a hallucination, a dream conjured by heat sickness or those first dreaded signs of malaria. He was unnervingly, uncommonly beautiful; beautiful like a hurricane, beautiful like lightning or an eclipse. But he was real. I straightened up as I watched him approach, my back aching in protest, a basket full of seedlings slung over my shoulder.

“Mr. Cato.”

His voice, clear and beckoning and twisted by an accent I’d never heard before, rang in my skull like church bells. He called me mister. This white man called me mister.

“Yes sir?” And I almost added: You want to be careful there, sir. The water moccasins like to hide among the tree roots, especially when the sun starts going down. But I had an inexplicable feeling that this man wasn’t afraid of things like snakes. Maybe the snakes should be afraid of him.

“Mr. Cato,” he said again, this time to himself, very quietly, tasting it.

I kept trying to look away, to disentangle my gaze from him like a hook out of a sturgeon’s mouth, because staring piercingly and astonished at a white man like that in the rice swamps of South Carolina in 1851 could get me beaten or the lash, could get my teeth pried right out of my jaw. But it didn’t seem to bother him. He grinned, hugely, all-knowingly, under prehistoric golden eyes like an alligator’s. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. And he was proud.

“Do you want to be free?” he asked, almost hissed, still grinning from the tree line.

What kind of question was that? Did a sandpiper want to fly? Did a coyote want dirt under its paws and flesh disappearing down its throat? But that wasn’t something you ever confessed aloud, not if you wanted your feet on the ground instead of swinging ten inches above it. But this man wasn’t a master, wasn’t an overseer. He wasn’t from the South. He didn’t carry a whip or a club to remind you of the rules of the world. He stood there tall and radiant in the shadows of the fading daylight like he was the one who wrote the rules to begin with; which meant that maybe he could change them. “Yes sir.”

“I can only take you,” the man warned. “No others. No family. No friends.”

“No trouble, sir,” I told him. “They sold my family. They hanged my friends.”

The man’s grin stretched wider under glinting eyes. His canine teeth were sharp, I realized: like a coyote’s, like a snake’s fangs. He held out his hand. “We are going to get along very well, you and I.”

I let the basket fall from my shoulder. I slogged through the mud and rows of wispy verdant rice plants to meet him in the shade of the oak trees. And there, for the first time in forever, a man with skin the color of bones looked me dead in the eye and shook my scarred hand.

“Welcome, Cato,” he whispered; and I was home.

He took my face in his cool palms, gingerly, reverently, like a lover. He touched his teeth to my throat. And every nerve ending in my body flooded with wildfire as he dragged me, screaming, into the depths of the forest.

60 notes · View notes

akvtsuki-ari · 4 years

Text

A Study In Body Language: v. love is a virtue

Warnings: smut! unprotected sex, mild angst, but other than that mostly fluffy.

Length: 6.5k

Authors Note: holy shit yall. we did it. 25000 words, 5 chapters and a whole lot of emotional turmoil, we fuckin did it. i will be writing an epilogue for this story but for now, here it is - a study in body language. hope yall have enjoyed this wild ride

Plot Summary: Spencer realizes how deep he’s fallen, and reads something that changes his plans of confession. Love is beautiful, apparently.

Link to the song mentioned: 1000 Times by Sara Bareilles

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

He overhears you in the bullpen. You’re not sad when you talk about it, and maybe he was a little too hopeful to hear you clearly but you sounded relieved. He hopes you’re relieved but he doesn’t know how to deal with that feeling. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself but he could drown in the relief when you say you broke up with Jay. A weight off of his shoulders, off of his consciousness. For a moment he wasn’t so damn restless. You were single but he doesn’t know what that changed. Everything felt different, shit everything was different. The world that he’d come to know was shattered underneath the weight of this feeling.

“Why’d you two break up?,” JJ asks. She’s curious, but Spencers hanging on your voice for the answer. His whole body relaxes. You pause, maybe you’re shrugging.

“I don’t know - I think we both realized that this wasn’t gonna be long-term but we’ll always be cool. He’s a really good guy, but we have different wants, I think,” you say casually. You don’t sound sad.

“You don’t seem upset,” Prentiss comments. Spencers happy he’s not delusional.

“I’m not. The whole thing was really mutual and I loved him but not as anything more than friends really and he feels the same so I’m okay,” You say casually. He doesn’t hear much else, so he walks away before you can turn the corner and see him.

Rain beats on the windows when Spencer walks away. It’s been raining for days now, the darkness seemed to be encompassing but it was nice. Spencer liked rain, watching it when he needed to think and it seems like he was having to do that more often these days. Rain wasn’t somber to Spencer, as much as it was a sobering reminder. Rain made him think of you, but most things did so he isn’t sure if it’s any deeper than that. Everything made Spencer think of you.

Spencer couldn’t stop himself from thinking of you. It was a crushing realization that you were in love with someone and that you would do anything to make them happy. It was always apart of him, he couldn’t catch a break without being reminded of how much he adored you. Things continued as normal but he was working hard to make sure of that. He didn’t want to lose you, or hurt you so he tried so hard to make sure things were okay, even if it killed him slowly. He wanted to call you his, because in his heart of hearts, he wanted you to think of him as yours. Spencer was overwhelmed every time he saw you because it was you. You were you and he’d give you everything if you asked for it. He would rob the stars in the sky for you, he would steal the sun for you to keep, he would do anything to make you happy. That realization was crushing and Spencer was unsure if you had any clue.

The work day passes normally. Everyone was ready to go home, though some of the team wanted to hang at O’Keefes for a drink but you and Spencer passed. They all gave each other knowing looks, that Spencer became aware of when he realized he liked you. You still seemed clueless, and that was a scary enough thought. Spencer just flushed as he sees everyone walk out to the elevator, leaving you and him alone for the night.

“Any special plans, Spence?,” you ask Spencer, fiddling with the strap of your bag as you two waited for the next elevator to come. Spencer shakes his head, looking at your stance and smiling. The bag was too big for you, clearly too heavy on your shoulders but he knew you’d never get rid of it. It was a thing about you he’d picked up from before.

“Not really, no. Might go home and watch some TV, though I don’t know what,” Spencer replies thoughtfully. You nod in understanding, letting out a huff of frustration as you let go of your bag problem. Spencer just chuckles as he stands in front of you, fixing up the buckle before the strap. You look up at him with a grateful grin, and he feels his heart pound. Love, love, love on his mind when he looks at you. He feels a bit sick, but he figures it’s a symptom that seems to swallo him.

You wrap your arms around Spencer and lay your face in his chest.He wonders if you can hear how hard his heart is pounding but it doesn’t seem like you notice. You nuzzle into him, and it seems to be so subconscious for you. He wants to ask himself if this was friends did but he knew better - this was too complicated for such simple questions. He hugs you back, taking a breath and you pull away and look up at him. His eyes are a pretty green, spots of brown speckling them but they look hazel in the light. You’d see them sometimes when he woke up and they’d fall under the sunlight. You always liked them and maybe you look too long, so you pull away. Spencer wishes you didn’t but the moments gone before he can protest.

The elevator dings. The doors both open as the two of you travel down together. Spencer wants to offer you some company but he can’t tell himself too when he knows his own intentions.

____

Spencer was alone. It was the wordless night that seemed to eat at him, even though the clock had only barely scraped by to 11. Lately, Spencer doesn’t have trouble sleeping but it seems like that would change soon. Thoughts of you were cocoon his thoughts. He felt so stuck, because he wants to tell you how he feels - but the risk is too great. Too much of a burden to bear because he has no clue about how you feel. He assumes you don’t return those feelings but if you did - he wasn’t sure if anything would change. That reality is far more crushing than not knowing at all.

One thing Spencer did when he was thinking of you was read your letters to him. Those letters were more important for his sanity than he wanted to admit. You told him of everything, gave him daily reminders of why he needed to see the world again. Your return was more than waited on, but prayed for. A selfless act in self-preservation on your behalf, and a brave one on Spencers.

The first letter dates a few weeks after Spencer was in rehab. You’re so different in writing, maybe more honest because you aren’t thinking so much. Spencer doesn’t know how to explain it but he likes the way you write.

Dear Genius,

Congrats on a whole 3 weeks!! I’m so proud of you, and I’m happy to hear you like group therapy. I loved your clown painting, by the way and I want it framed for my apartment ASAP - seriously I had no clue you were so good at art. I also want pictures of when you guys have group therapy with those service dogs because that is so cute!!! Excited for the next letter just for that.

Updates on my life are pretty boring but you asked so I’ll deliver. My dad is doing okay right now. We’ve talked a lot and he’s sorta mulled over my chilhood and apologized about well… all of it. It was a bit much, to be honest but thats okay. I’ll get through it, especially when I have these letters to look forward too. I met someone sorta too, he’s from DC but he moved into my neighborhood. He’s nice, but who knows, you know?

Also, you told me to keep sending you new music to listen too, but honestly I just wanna send you radio hits. You should listen to The-Weeknd, maybe Starboy? I mostly just wanna see how you feel about stuff people listen to on the car radio haha. I don’t know, but either way, hope you like the song.

Anyways, I love you and I’m looking forward to our next correspondence. Good luck always, and keep yourself strong.

Best Wishes,

Y/N

Spencer smiles big. The kind of smile that reaches the lines in his eyes and makes his whole body relax. He replies with what you ask for, he remembers. He had a picture of him with an Australian Shepherd from therapy that you framed and put on your desk. He remembers how much you liked it, though he wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t sent you the clown painting yet because it seemed to slip his mind but he reminds himself to give it to you. He looks through more letters, reading the different one-sided exchanges. He reads your weekly updates about the community mural that you painted with all the kids while you were back home. He reads about the different volunteers, and how your childhood friend who you lost touch with had moved back and had a baby. Her name was Ellie, and you loved her. He comes across the letter where your dad passed away, only a month into your trip.

Dear Spencer,

Hey kid. I’m happy to hear about your progress!! I know it’s been tough because you’ve hit that middle slump but I know you. I know you’ll get through, it just takes time and you’re doing great keeping your head above water. I love you and I’m so proud of you, you’re gonna go far.

I know I sound different here, it’s because my dad passed away last night. He passed quietly, stubborn bastard. I cried, more than I was expecting. He’s the last person of blood who would claim me as family and he just sorta disappeared. It’s just weird, how little i seem to feel. I was sad but it was weird, more emptying than anything but in a fucked up way I was relieved. I don’t know. I suppose it’s complicated

It made me think of you, in a weird way, I guess. You told me to send you music and I guess this is my indirect way of telling you stuff, but you should listen to 1000 times by Sarah Barielles. I don’t really know what to make of it but thanks for being a good friend and I’m grateful for what we have as friends always. You’re a good person, Spencer.

Anyways, let me know if anything changes and good luck next week. I miss you, but I know we’ll see eachother again soon and things will be good. Keep sending me pictures of Dianes cat also because she’s so cute and I love her. Thanks for everything.

Love always,

Y/N

Spencer looks at the song you sent. He normally listens to every single one but that week he had already used up all of his computer time to read the articles from your local newspaper and he never got a chance too after that. He figures now was a good time, always having a piece of you when he got that music. Even if the song wasn’t his style, it made him think of you and for him that was most than enough. It was a blessing in a lot of ways to have a part of you that only he knew of. It was music anyone could listen to but the meaning was his alone. Spencer opens up his laptop and types in the song title. He presses play, awaiting whatever pop ballad you had waiting for him

Then the lyrics start to play and Spencer feels sick,”

“Again again I let it go, let it go/ Cover my mouth don't let a single word slip/ Out wouldn't wanna tell you, no tell you, no/ Nothing could be worse than the risk of/ Losing what I don't have now,”

Shit.

Spencers heart drops to the bottom of his stomach. He feels like he’s going to die, and he doesn’t know how else to explain this feeling of detriment. You told Spencer you loved him a full month before he even realized how far deep he was and he just… didn’t acknowledge it. Spencer wanted to throw up, every visceral feeling of panic banging on the inside of his chest and threatens to crush his heart under the weight. Spencer could feel it in his throat, as he scrambles to find his phone your contact, dialing your number as he feels the drum of his heartbeat. His fingers shake as he hears you pick up on the other side.

“Hello?,”

Your voice makes Spencer ache. Spencer breathes out, unable to speak for a few seconds. You look confused on the other side of the phone.

“Spencer?,”

Your voice is all Spencer hears yet your words feel distant. His voice is abysmal and small when he speaks - the words trapped in the maze of thoughts, unable to be expressed correctly. Spencer coughs before he talks, trying to clear his airways even though nothing was really wrong.

“Are you home and are you busy?,” Spencer asks, tears threatening to run down his face before his voice can give out

“I’m home but I’m not busy, why? Is everything okay? ,” Panic is subtle in your voice, Spencer swallows thickly.

“Yeah, yeah - I’m okay. Can I come over?,” Spencer asks, voice quiet.

“Of course, Spencer. See you soon, and drive safe - the weather is still bad so you gotta be careful,” you say warmly.

“Yeah, of course. See you soon,” Spencer replies. The line clicks and Spencer stares into his phone. He picks his care keys up and puts on a jacket, knowing he’d still get caught up in the rain.

____

The rain is heavier than it was before. It was late, the clock reads 11:45 and Spencer can’t see much as water spills from the grey clouds that hung over his head. It was peaceful, almost. When you ignore the feeling of imminent panic and anxiety that washes over him, the rain is soothing to his ears as heavy as it. Spencer hands around the steering wheel are gripped tight enough to make the pads of his fingers white. His skin is hot, chest covered in a light sheen of sweat as he thinks of what's going to happen when he gets there - or moreso, if anything has happened. Spencer's thoughts are deafened by his own uncertainty - he owes it to you to tell you but if it’s too late for him he may never come back from that. He needed to tell you because you deserved to know but the thought of nothing happening hurts him. He’d rather you didn’t know but that’s not fair.

Spencer's thoughts of your ex-boyfriend pop up and he feels guilty. He’s tearing himself to pieces finding every reason in the world not to tell you, but he had to make the right choice because you were braver than he could ever be. He wants to show you he’s changed and that he won’t run from this. He refused to run from you.

His hands shake when he knocks. His hair is wet and the water seems to soak through parts of his old jacket. He looked like a mess he was sure but it didn’t matter. Spencer was so anxious, he doesn’t remember the last time he ever felt this anxious.

When you open the door with a smile - that’s when Spencer knows you were the love of his life. He just looked at you, looks at you with sunken eyes that flit over your face with a feeling you can’t explain. Spencer needed you, maybe more than you needed him.

“Hey, Spencer,” You say warmly. Spencer walks inside and you close the door behind him. He looks at you for a second, taking his jacket off as he just looks to you in silence. He wants to spit the words out, he wants to say them so the two of you can get caught up together. Spencer wants to be yours, and for you to be his and then some. Spencer loves you.

“What’s up?,” you ask quietly, seating yourself next to Spence whose found himself a spot on the couch. You grab his hands and play with his fingers for a few seconds, the touch is just so damn intimate. You loved Spencer, so much more than you could explain. You had that little anxious bubble in your chest about what could happen - that ‘maybe’ that brought you so many restless nights. You wondered if today was the day but before you go to dismiss the thought, you feel Spencers hands under your chin. He lifts your face up, eyes examining your face carefully. His scruff was nice, he looked different than before.

Before you can ask, Spencer kisses you. It’s out of character, and in many ways out of place for him. He’s not the type to kiss anyone out of the blue but he doesn’t know else to break the tension with any language other than physical. It's the way his lips melt to yours, the way you kiss him back immediately, the way his lips have a way of holding yours. The way his hands hold your face up. It was everything that made you remember that Spencer was fucking kiss you. Kissing you like he was the reason he was breathing. Curled around your very existence, with his lips giving you their every secret. This kiss was an exchange in secrets, but more than an assurance. Spencer kisses you, and you kiss him back and the whole universe is still.

When Spencer pulls away, you’re more than speechless. You look at Spencer, looking in his eyes for regret and you find none. Solace, maybe but no regret. You just look down, too scared to look at him again but he stops you, lifting your face up again.

“Don’t hide from me please,” Spencer croaks “I need to look at you,”

“Why?,”

“To make sure you’re real,” Spencers confession makes your body heat up.

“What’s gotten into you?,” you laugh nervously. You think Spencer will follow in suit, going back to being silly with you like normal but he doesn’t falter. He holds both of your hands and looks down, your eyes still fixated on him. Spencer sighs.

“I read your letter, from when your dad died. I never had a chance to listen to that song, but I did. I normally did but that one somehow managed to miss me and..,” he trails off, like his thoughts are moving too fast for him to say what he wants to. You swallow thickly. So he knows, you figure.

“It’s okay if you don’t, you know, return those feelings,” your voice chokes out. Spencer laughs.

“You’d be a fool to think something like that,” Spencer says earnestly. You choke a little violently.

“Oh?,”

Spencer turns to look at you again. His eyes are full of something, and this time you know the feeling. You give it to him often, that look of adoration That “You’re so stupid, please marry me,” look you give to the person you want to love most in this life.

“My whole life, I couldn’t afford to believe in anything related to destiny. I didn’t believe in miracles, or destiny, or a lot of other things for a long time. Sometimes I still don’t, like when cases go so bad that the whole team is left with that hollow feeling,” Spencer starts “I try my best to remember joy and happiness, and sometimes I do believe in miracles but it’s not everyday. Sometimes the pain was just too heavy,”

“When I started taking dilaudid again, I was just trying to cope with the pain. My life can feel like a series of unfortunate events sometimes,” Spencer says softly. The grip he has on your hands tightens just a little bit.

“I’ve been wanting to give you this confession for weeks, but like always you’ve proved to be more brave than I could ever be. Of course you figured it out first, who could be surprised but,” Spencer pauses for a second.

“You’re the love of my life. Maybe it’s too much to say right now, maybe enough time hasn’t passed for me to decide that but if I said anything less I’d be lying to you, and I don’t want to lie to you ever again,” Spencers voice is barely above a whisper.

“Y/N, you’re the only woman I could ever love this much. Those two months, those words that you gave me are what kept me sane. It was thoughts of your voice and your touch that kept me alive. It was your kindness that gave me strength, your love that gave me courage. It was you that reminded me of what it feels like to have hope, and perhaps even believe in miracles and destiny,” Spencers crying and so are you, but you still managed to hold eachother.

“I’m wholly in love with you. I really don’t know how to say anything else. Please be mine because for now, loving you is all I really want to do,” Spencer says the last part with a small voice. The butterflies in your stomach make it hard for you to speak and you’re crying so much you have a headache. You want to kiss him, and say something back but for now you’re just crying a little bit. You’d clear all the grey clouds in the world to give Spencer some sunshine.

“It’s always been you, dickhead,” you say through giggles. Spencer loves the sound of your laugh, if he could he would bottle up and keep it for himself to wear around his neck. Spencer wants to wear your name around your neck so the whole world knew he was yours and you were his.

You can’t hold yourself back from moving into Spencer's lap, bare thighs over his legs as you lean into his neck. You adored Spencer and you knew that for so long, but you always figured he didn’t feel the same. That song was your confession, and when he didn’t listen you always figured he didn’t feel it. Miscommunication is a hell of a drug, you figure. You were here now, wrapped in Spencer and more than ready to give him all of you. You adored Spencer, the way his mind worked full of cogs and his heart was full of affection. It was everything Spencer did when he was getting better, giving you purpose. Spencer made you feel at ease, always. Even when bad things seemed to swallow you up, Spencer gave you ease.

You look up at Spencer, there are small tears in your eyes when you do. You straddle his lap, and kiss him again. Holding your waist, Spencer smiles. He’s so grateful to be touching you like this. Spencer wants all of you to himself and he’d be damned if he was selfish for it.

“Spencer,” your voice is small, but happy. Spencer hums, wrapped up in the way the two of you kiss for him to be upset. You look up at him, into him in the way only you can and speak again.

“Make love to me,” your question is quiet. Spencer immediately became a little unsteady but he understood your request. That term “make love,” used to gross you out but you got it now. Sex and love are different - but sometimes you used sex to make love. To feel someone so close to you like that, you wanted to make love with Spencer. You wanted to have marks all over your skin so that the sight of him could be there forever, and for him to fuck you like you were the only thing he needed. Spencer wanted to make you feel wanted, and you wanted him to want you all the same. So, Spencer smiles, places a hand on boths sides of your face and kisses you slowly. Spencer loves you, adores you and wants to make you feel beautiful.

“You wanna go to your room?,” Spencer asks. You nod, and Spencer lifts you up before carrying you. You’re wrapped around him, yelping at his surprising strength.

Spencer lays you down, eyes glassy as he looks at your figure. He’s admiring you - he wants to make you feel pretty. You’re the prettiest woman in the world to him, and all he wants to do is make you feel it. He leans into you, his body pressed to yours as your legs are tangled. Spencer always cradles your face when he kisses you, as if he’s trying to hold you as close to him as possible. Spencer treats you like glass, his touch an ink stain leaving your body with permanent color as he kisses you. His tongue pushes past your lips softly, before pulling back. His fingers are so nimble, tugging with the sides of your shirt, staving himself off as he feels your bare thighs.

His mouth moves to your neck, peppering kisses along the sides of the column of your throat. He grips your thighs, feeling your wrap your legs around his waist pulling him closer. Spencer tugs at the ends of your shirt, detaching from you so you can get it off. He chokes at the sight of you without your top on and you can’t help but hide your face. Spencer's face leans in, taking your nipple in his while he uses his free hand to gently brush against the other one.

“You’re beautiful, you look so good like this,” Spencer comments. A soft whine escapes your lips at the combination of words and Spencers touch. He was sweet with every movement but damn he had way too many clothes on.

“Spence, take it off,” you whine. Spencer gives you a small laugh, taking off his shirt before hovering over you again. His body was surprisingly toned from being out in the field and you definitely weren’t upset about seeing it. Your hands find their way around his waist, touching his skin in appreciation. He gives you a shy smile, before his head ducks down again, moving to kiss down past your breasts to your stomach and above your naval. His kisses are gentle, mouth careful in leaving them in as many places as possible. He stops when he ghosts his mouth over your panties, placing a kiss on your vulva - a wet spot formed on the light color. Spencer moves to kiss your thighs, getting close to your center and taking his time with it. Small hickies take place all along your skin, Spencer wanted to mark the word “mine,” into your skin with his mouth. He wanted you to think of him always, but especially when you were doing this.

Your breaths are staggered and heavy, as Spencer rubs you down with his hands - palms massaging your legs as he touched you. For the first time in your life, when someone touched you could feel how much they meant it. Maybe it’s because Spencer manages to make things you’ve felt before feel different - he makes everything feel better.

Spencer slides your panties down your legs carefully. His eyes are low when he sees your clit, sensitive and aching for his attention. He places a kiss on it first before he sticks his tongue out flat for you. Your fingers grip his hair immediately, legs wrapped around his shoulders where you could see him shift his weight to unzip his jeans and get himself off which only worked you up farther. Spencer eats you out like he’s been starved of you his whole life, head rhythmic as he brings you to your orgasm and slows down. He’s making an attempt to savor you but enjoys the sound of irritation you make every time he stops, something he’d explore farther at a later date. You’d gotten head before but it always came off as a favor and not like your partner wanted to do it for you. Spencer made sure you knew he wanted just as much as you did.

You orgasm in Spencer mouth twice in borderline succession as Spencer refuses to pull away, smiling as he holds your hips down and makes your whole body shiver. You have to catch your breath when he finally spares you and gives you a toothy-boyish grin of satisfaction that you only ever saw when he beats you in a card game. You look down at him adoringly, wanting to cry at how lucky you felt. You pull him to kiss you and he looks at you for a second - a questioning one since he just had his tongue inside you. You roll your eyes in a “duh, that’s the point way,” and Spencer swallows thickly.

“Do you want me to return the favor? Because I’m more than happy too,” you say reaching for his dick, which twitched at your touch. Spencer shakes his head.

“Not right now, wanna focus on you tonight,” Spencer replies. You look at him with the most affectionate puppy dog eyes and Spencer bursts out into full giggles. God, he loved you.

“Can I?,” Spencers question is tentative, and all you do in response is open your legs up wider for him and give him a nod. You mouth a “please,” to him and Spencer just smiles, kissing you softly.

Spencer stretches you out so fucking good. He’s careful, whispering pretty nothings about how beautiful you are and how lucky he was. The words were only fuel to the fire as you tighten around Spencer and some choked sound leaves his throat. Out of curiosity, you do it again and Spencer moans aloud. You give him a raised eyebrow and his voice is suddenly low.

“Do that again and I’ll cum,” Spencer warns. You giggled for a second before looking up at Spencer's face.

“You can cum in me if you’d like to,” you say, voice innocent “I’m on the pill,” Spencer wants to cum right then and there but he pauses to take a deep breath.

“Think I’ll have to take you up on that,” Spencer groans. You use one hand to rub your clit as Spencer pulls his hips back and starts to fuck you. The motion is slow at first, not wanting to hurt you but your voice in his ear only urges you to go deeper.

“I’m so lucky to have you like this love, you’re so pretty for me,” Spencer's praises are so sweet to you. Sugar to aching ears when he speaks lovely words for you. You whine.

“Spencer please cum in me - god, please,” you egg Spencer on as you get yourself off one last time. Spencer presses his forehead to yours, pausing for a second to kiss you sweetly before pounding into you again.

“Shit,” Spencer's voice feels like it gets stolen from him as he finishes inside, feeling your orgasm aftermath convulse around him pushes him off the edge as you look at him warmly, a soft blush flooding your expression.

“I love you so much,” you giggle to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and allowing him to rest his body weight on you. Spencer wants to stay with you like this forever, wanting to wrap you up in his arms and hold you for eternity. He was hoping you’d let him.

“I wanna stay like this, but let’s go get cleaned up first,” you say thoughtfully “I can wash your hair for you and we can shower together,” you say softly. Tears well up in Spencers eyes - remember the last time you did just that for him. He nods softly, burying his face in your neck, kissing new bruises that were soon to become dark purples.

____

You come out of the shower first as you hear a knock on your door. It’s been a few minutes and the knocking has been incessant, you figure it’s a neighbor or maybe someone who needed help. You wrap your robe around yourself and towel around your hair before you open up the door.

To your fucking dismay, it’s JJ, Emily, and Penelope - all stood outside with a bottle of wine as a greeting. Your eyes pop open immediately as you try to brush away the panic and give them all a fake smile.

“Hey guys! What are you all doing here so late?,” you ask, internal panic threatening your life. They all give you a knowing look.

“Well, we wanted to talk to you about something and we figure -,” Garcia starts but is interrupted by the sound of Spencer's voice, calling out to you as he walks out of the shower and in view of the open door. He can’t see them, but they can see him and he’s covered in hickies. You shut your eyes in disbelief as they all go dead silent.

“Oh - oh my god is that Spencer?,” JJ asks shocked. You’re going to throw yourself in front of a bus.

“Shit,” Spencer bolts into the other room leaving you to deal with the mess. You were so gonna get him for that later. You give them all an apologetic look.

“We, uh - yeah,” you say a little distant. They all just giving you a knowing look, even Garcia even though that’s mixed with a bit of disgust.

“We’ll see you on Monday, Y/N,” Emily says, being an angel and cutting the conversation short. You just nod as she drags a blabbering Garcia and deadsilent JJ away, reminding yourself to send her a thank you note later on. You walk into the room with Spencer and he gives you a guilty look, eyes apologetic as you roll your eyes, walking up to him to kiss him.

“You’re so goddamn lucky I like you, dickhead,”

“You like me?,” Spencer asks, wrapping his arms around your waist before falling over to lay down with you.

“Oh shut up, you know I do,” your tone is mean but your face gives you away. Spencer kisses you long and slow before looking at you again. The room is barred with loving silence, it feels every part of the air. It’s domestic, soft and adoring. A person whose love made you feel child-like joy but whose being brought your soul such comfort. You and Spencer lay in your bedroom like that for a while.

“We should change right?” you ask laughing. Spencer nods.

“I have clothes for you in my dresser,” you remind. Spencer nods as he stands up, slipping on some boxers and a shirt. You change into some old college pj’s and shorts and get laid up next to Spencer.

There’s this silence that fills the room. It’s difficult to describe, the feeling of it is so new and hard to pinpoint exactly. You can feel it just barely on your skin, the way Spencer's arms hold your waist as the two of you lay next to each other, closing the gaps of space that fall between you - just itching for that familiar feeling of closeness. Spencer Reid was the closest thing to heaven you ever got - scruffy face and curious eyes. It’s hard to find truth in another person, yet stil Spencer shows up for you and kisses away all your nightmares. Loving him was so certain, but the fact that he loved you too felt unreal, still. Maybe it always would. It was a lot for you to take in but the feeling of him at your side, face on your chest sleepily messing with your hands. The way he looks up at you with such a pretty expression, mouthing the words I love you. It was the silence in the room and the cadence it managed - the soft and lulling adoration buzzing the nerves on your skin and kissing you awake. This was more than love, but faith. A regained faith in the notion that good things really can happen to good people. Spencer's love to you was a promise from the universe that good things are always around you even if you don’t see it at first.

Spencer is so relaxed against you now, you read his body language and can feel his exhaustion. You were so attuned to him, fingers aching to run through his hair and tell him how proud you were. Spencer made your heart light - his beaming smile turning you flush. Beautiful - him, this, the universe. Loving Spencer made the world feel so beautiful, even though both of you encountered such darkness in it. You were going to marry him someday, you were so sure of it. Someday you and Spencer would grow old and live with some livestock in a cottage somewhere far from here like he wanted. Or maybe a house in the suburbs with two babies you call your own - and a cat, and a dog too. Anything would work for you, but Spencer is probably a bit more picky.

For you and Dr. Spencer Reid, love has always been a case study in body language. People lie, or hide the truth when they talk - so the two of you have never fallen in love with the words you may exchange. Instead you’ve fallen in love with the gentle touches, the longing glances and lingering hugs - or the feeling of their skin on yours when the night is too cold to be alone. It was the dilating pupils, and the feelings that universe seemed to fall away when the two of you shared looks to each other. You fell for Spencers subconscious before you ever fell for his mind or his body - the little things he did like raising his shoulders when he was happy, or fiddling with your hands when he was deep in thought, you fell in love with the things Spencer would never see for himself and he did the same for you. Spencer fell for the way you moved without thinking. For the person you were when all the curtains were closed.

Love is anything but conscious. Love is deep-rooted in the sheer notion of that being alive is worth something, which is to say love is the basis of life. Not romantic love - but all love. Love is the basis of life. Spencer Reid loved you, sharing a piece of his life. In returns you gave him yours. An eye for an eye can give us sight we could never have before, if the exchange is born of adoration.

There are still so many unresolved knots to tie, but for now it didn’t matter. Just like those first two months, Spencer is laying at your side and he smells like you. For now, he was here with you - as the two of you fell so deeply for each other as the seconds passed. There are so many questions to answer, but that’s okay for now.

You two had all the time in the world to figure the rest out, and for him - thats more than enough.

This silence was more than enough.

____

taglist: @cynbx @zephyr-studiesjp @skrrrrrrrrrrt @reid-187 @louistwinslover @pastanest @nomajdetective @iamburdened @secretlyablueunicorn

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #Criminal Minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #a case study in body language #i cant believe it's over #i hope yall like it.

255 notes · View notes

onelastbreath-writes · 3 years

Text

I’ll Meet You There (Part 3)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Talks about loss of spouse, loss of child, medical conditions/inaccuracies, grief/mourning, manipulation/brainwashing (subtext/implied, but we’ll get into it later *winkwink*)

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry, and now I’m just making stuff up as I go along

Summary(lite): You are Marcus’s wife, and you’re definitely not dead. No one is having a great time right now, but like hell if there's a force on this earth that’ll keep you apart forever. This is not a goodbye, its just a see you later. And the interim is going to be everyone else’s problem, you’ll make sure of it.

A/N: Hello dears, welcome back to my twisted mind story,,, guess who showed up like 2 weeks late with a smoothie! So things about this new chapter: I am a criminal with italics and someone needs to stop me, hello switching scenes and perspectives because I just want to fast forward to the good stuff but y’all don’t live in my head and don’t know all the stuff that happens to get us there so here we are taking the slow lane, and I keep brainstorming new and horrible things for my characters because I am A Lot, All The Time, and will not be stopped. Also hey, Marcus the Simp is here for you, so much. I hope this is acceptable to be a reader fic still, because I am giving you some serious personality traits... ehh, it is what it is. Tell me if you spot any of my various references, there’s a lot of ‘em. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented, y’all are gorgeous and I’m so grateful for the love <3 Drop me a message/ask if you want a secret about one of the characters (specify which one), I need an outlet for my endless b.t.s. plotting >;) Please enjoy p3!

AO3|Masterlist

[Previous Part]

---

There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his fans, didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him.

And it wasn’t like she was gone gone.

Dead.

She wasn’t dead.

No way in Hell.

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was prepared for this. “In the event of my death...," like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen.

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong.

“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”

Low air evac... she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever.

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams.

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, the brain that never sleeps, how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) Doctor Batman, which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “scary”, and “our kids would be too powerful, Marcus. Promise me!”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!”

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “Eventually,” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again.

---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise.

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too.

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us.”

---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all.

Suspicious.

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release.

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the highly trained professionals didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up.

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

Typical.

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself.

“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all...

Hey babe...

Always doubt a body, but always doubt no body, more.”

---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping.

---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had recovered enough. You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember nothing. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only of them instead of actually knowing them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent.

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be.

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: what were they waiting for?

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: paid the people who actually saved your life) gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of thing for you. Gross.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while.

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem.

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig (“Please, just Greg is fine”), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless they were on something, or you were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke.

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!”

Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait.

---

Taglist (omg!! thanks love): @killtherandomness

Drop me a line if you want to be added <3

#we can be heroes #we can be heroes fanfiction #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #Marcus Moreno x you #reader x marcus moreno #reader insert #Pedro Pascal #hurt/comfort #eventual happy ending #say hello to doctor batman lol. theres a whole thing i created just for that nickname to happen. ask me about it if you want XD #also you're a sassy BAMF. oops

10 notes · View notes

trance-griff · 3 years

Text

Kyoka Jiro x Kaminari Denki Part One

Pairing: Denki x Jiro

Summary: Jiro now in her 3rd year, close to graduating learns about her feelings towards Denki however reacts passive-aggressively and struggles to open up.

Genre: Fluff, AU (They don’t have quirks and are normal students in Yuuei.)

Warnings: None, just fluff.

Word count (pt.1): 1202.

Notes: - This will be divided into parts otherwise it’s going to be too long to read. Hehe. Hagakure will appear v i s i b l e.

Forgive me if my writing isn’t perfect, it’s purely for fun.

Part Two

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Graduation was just around the corner, everyone hyped and making plans, the classroom filled with chittering noises of students formed into separate groups making plans of what they should do just before graduation and making all sorts of memories.

However, the student on the 12th seat minded her own business, the surrounding tables empty as she stared at her blank note, a grey mechanical pencil twirling over her thumb and index, the other hand supporting her jaw over the desk, as she stared at the lined pages, mind far elsewhere.

Her consciousness was preoccupied with thoughts that weren’t like her, it was self-realization and she spent most of her time thinking rather than talking about it, making up fragmented thoughts to rid of the heaviness in her chest and to avoid a certain someone who was just as loud as the explosive temperamental class bully.

Images of him flashed in her head. Their simple interactions flashing to her mind too. His happy-go-lucky attitude brimming everywhere he went. He was the class clown, the dumbest person she’s ever encountered, especially when his mind would go putty after a simple math equation, she always enjoyed poking at him and reminding him how stupid he would get causing the male to fluster and snap at her. Her mind wandered elsewhere, if there was such a thing as a parallel dimension would their roles and relationship be any different? Or would it be the same? One thing she knew for sure, if they were people with superpowers, his would be something akin to shocking his brain and others to putty. She chuckled to herself, clearly picturing that strike of charged energy harming his poor brain and maybe killing a few brain cells in the process. Part of her wished in one dimension they would be together as a happy couple, displaying their undying -cringe-worthy- love publicly but here she was, the harsh reality of her not sincerely approaching the man she slowly and subconsciously fell for.

Denki Kaminari. His social circle included his best buddies; Eijiro Kirishima, Hanta Sero, Mina Ashido, and Katsuki Bakugo She didn’t know when it happened, maybe these feeling occurred to her at the end of the first year of high school, especially after her singing competition; he was the reason why she had signed up for it in the first place despite being hesitant and insecure.

‘You can do it! Make the class proud!’

‘A-Alright I get it! Get off my back now!’

It started as a small burning fire easy to extinguish with a bit of wind and she hoped that was the case but now it was their last year and the fire remained strong, she could hear it crackle and lick at her chest when she was in proximity with Kaminari causing her to act passive-aggressive towards him and remain stubborn, keeping her emotions all bottled up and daydreaming her feelings away, hoping it would satisfy the fire in her; it helped, somewhat.

She wanted to believe that, at least.

Kyoka Jiro; the victim to fall for the biggest dork stared at the group who were busy making plans; occupying the teacher’s desk with Denki seated on the table and Mineta excitedly explaining how a beach trip would be thrilling, easily catching Denki’s interest. “Beach trips. Cute girls. B-Bikinis! What more could you ask for?!” Mineta’s fiery passion was heard throughout the class, earning a few stares and glares, definitely a shout from the class president, Tenya Iida. Denki stepped in to cover Mineta’s mouth. “Shush you idiot! Don’t you have any pride?!” But the only given response was angry muffled noises. “He’s right, it’s not manly at all to just stare at girls at the beach. We need to prove that through a challenge, a challenge!” Kirishima was always pumped up for everything and Sero only piped in with a ‘yep!’

“Shut up Shitty hair! Manly my ass!”

Jiro shook her head; how did this happen again? Did her standards drop? Was she desperate? The whole group was full of dumbasses. She groaned and rubbed her forehead. “Perverts…”

“How about karaoke?!” Mina Ashido who completely ignored everyone else jumped in. “Whoever sings best, wins!” The scenario was all too familiar, especially to Jiro who only hid her face behind her notebook. “Huh? We all know Jiro sings best…” Sero butted in, rubbing the back of his head as Kirishima agreed. After all, she was the main star during the competition. Who knew Jiro had such an angelic voice despite her punk rock demeanor? “So, then we have Jiro join us! Right, Jiro?!” The groups’ attention diverted to Jiro when Denki called out to her, causing her to jump in her seat. “H-Huh?! Why would I do that? More like- Don’t just involve me in your plans so suddenly!” And there it was, her passive-aggressive attitude towards Denki which was returned in confusion, the redness that overtook her face was hard to mask. He wanted to speak up, help motivate her and assure she had no reason to feel insecure after all her blushing face wasn’t foreign to him but, he decided to hold back.

Something has been off about her and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

“Maybe the Arcade would be better?” Sero casually changed the subject, shrugging off Mina’s prior suggestion as she reacted by drooping her shoulders, nonetheless, she was down for whatever, it caught most of the group’s attention, even Bakugo who wasn’t paying attention now peeked in.

“Hold on.” A voice, this time the vice president’s; Momo Yaoyorozu stepped into the group’s plan. “The karaoke is a must; I suggest we do all three activities.” In reality, Momo just wanted to do what the commoners did, she’s never been to an ordinary karaoke before so perhaps she could go to one before graduating and missing the chance.

“My family owns a private beach; we can go there?” Now, who were they to refuse such a proposal?

“Who’s she to decide our plan?” Denki interjected with a whisper too afraid to directly confront the vice president, but for Mineta? It was perfect. “This is a good opportunity, don’t you see?!” Mineta’s lowly plans filled the other’s ears, causing him to approve with a satisfactory nod, whenever Denki and Mineta teamed up it never meant well, devious thoughts and plans went through their heads and the class would always witness them fail. Jiro just wanted to smack the two, her eye twitching as she glanced at Denki who seemed to have caught her stare across the room, him being intimidated by her vicious look and attempting to shut Mineta up while she glanced away with a roll of her eye.

‘Man, she’s vicious when it comes to her friends.’ Were Kaminari’s exact thoughts, but he didn’t particularly mind, maybe a part of him liked that about her, his lips formed into a lopsided smile, softening up to her expressions.

“So, it’s settled?” As they planned, somehow it became more of a class trip than just a group of seven, everyone was part of the plan, each pitching in with their ideas and different agendas, even Jiro who just wanted to mind her own business was involved because Momo was in, and she didn’t want any pervert to approach her best friend.

“It’s settled! What about you Jiro?” Uraraka questioned in excitement but Jiro only waved her hand dismissively, radiating nonchalance when really, she was burning up on the inside, anxiousness hitting her deep. “I guess it’ll be fun…”

#bnha #mha #fanfic #denki #kyoka x denki #fluff #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #jiro #jirou kyouka #kaminari denki

9 notes · View notes