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cinebration · 3 years

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None Like You (Geralt x Reader) [Request]

hi! can you do a geralt one shot with fem reader where she's a princess and they start falling for each other? tysm! — Request by anon

Warnings: blood

Gif Source: frodo-sam

Your mother had raised you to believe you were someone of importance, but life on the farm had said otherwise. You toiled just like everyone else, bleeding and sweating. You were soiled, not spoiled. Yet your mother insisted you were a princess and told you outrageous bedtime stories to lull you to sleep in your youth.

You should have paid better attention.

When King Henselt’s only son died, leaving only a marriage and no heirs, you woke one morning to the pounding of a mailed fist on the door. Your mother answered and then hurried into your room, fluttering about like a mad woman.

“It’s time,” she cried, shoving you into your best dress and raking her fingers through your hair.

“For what?”

“To be someone.”

Then she bundled you out the door into the arms of a military escort carrying the Kaedwan sigil on their shields and tunics: a red-horned unicorn on a yellow field.

It took you the whole day to finally coax information out of your escort regarding the whole ordeal. When they told you what you were, you nearly fell out of your saddle in disbelief.

The king must be desperate, you thought as you tried to fall asleep beside the campfire.

Then the night turned bloody.

Something crunched underfoot to your right. You huddled deeper in the hollowed tree, clutching the steel in your hands. The edges had sliced open your palms, but you didn’t care. It afforded you some protection, even if the creature had snapped the blade it came from like a twig.

Tensing, you waited for the sound to draw nearer, coiling to spring. It was just like killing chickens, you told yourself. One neat slice to the throat.

You leapt out of the hollow, slashing up and across.

The witcher caught your wrist easily, flinging the steel out of your hand. Stifling a cry, you cradled the injured hand to your chest, backed away from him. His eerie yellow eyes tracked you as you pressed yourself against the tree trunk, searching for an escape.

“What happened?” His voice rasped like feet dragged over gravel.

“Death,” you whispered, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the massacre. “Some…thing.”

��It’s dead now.”

You fixed him with a wary glance. “Truly?”

He grunted.

You nearly sank to your knees in relief. Pressing a hand to your mouth, you felt the cuts in your hand spasm. Fresh blood wept from the slashes, trickling down your arms. The witcher swept his gaze over you, eyeing the wounds. You fumbled with the hem of your dress, trying to rip the dirty fabric into strips.

“Did you fight it?” The surprise in the witcher’s voice drew your ear.

You wheezed. “I slashed it, yes, but fight? No.”

Rummaging around in the leaves on the forest floor, the witcher retrieved the broken steel, examined it. He swore.

Unease coiled within you. “What is it?”

“Come here.”

You hesitated. The witcher rolled his eyes and strode over to you, grabbing you by the wrist. His touch was firm but not tight, much to your surprise. You followed after him, feeling a little dizzy as he led you over to the road. A horse stood idly there, kind eyes inquisitive. It didn’t shy away as you drew near despite the smell of blood.

“Good horse,” you murmured, appraising it.

The witcher fumbled through a saddlebag, searching for something. At last he pulled out a vial and took your hands, tearing off the strips to get to your wounds. He poured the grey contents of the vial out before you could protest.

You nearly screamed, the pain in your hands was so excruciating. Lighting shot up your arms as the vial’s contents fizzed on your palms and in your wounds.

“To prevent the venom from killing you,” the witcher explained.

“If the pain doesn’t kill me first,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

A smirk tugged on the witcher’s lips, followed quickly by a frown. “What were you doing traveling with those soldiers?”

You hesitated again. What had you heard about witchers? That they fought for coin and hunted monsters. You had no coin, but neither did you know where you were or how to get home.

“King Henselt sent them,” you confided slowly. “They believe I am his bastard daughter.”

“A princess.”

You elected to ignore the mild groan in the man’s voice. “Can you take me home? The farm, not Aed Carraigh.”

His yellow eyes fixed on you again, white eyebrows beetling together. “You don’t want to go to the castle?”

“Is it safe? As safe as home?”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Then take me home,” you insisted. “I’m no princess.”

The witcher smelled. You couldn’t ignore it, not with your face pressed into his back. He wasn’t made for traveling with someone sitting behind him. You could feel it in the tension of his shoulders and back, as though he couldn’t relax beneath the touch of your arms. You did your best to relax your own tense grasp.

You had run nigh over a mile before collapsing in the hollowed tree trunk. The horse covered the distance easily, passing by the smoldering, bloody encampment you had settled down in the night before. You watched it pass, glimpsing the heaps of bodies scattered about.

It took several hours to draw near home. Joy fluttered in your chest as you approached.

You crested the ridge overlooking home and went still, horror rolling through you. The farm house was ash and rubble, still smoking. The animals had been let from their pens, taken for livestock by whatever had rolled through the farm.

“Bandits,” the witcher noted.

Fighting nausea, you wandered down to the burnt house, searching in the ruins. The ash burned your hands and legs, but you sifted through it, yanking aside a crumbling beam.

Beneath lay your mother. What was left of her.

You retched off to the side, stumbling through the ash. You stood bent at the waist for an eternity before you felt the witcher watching you. Turning to face him, you wiped the sick from your chin. “I can’t stay here.”

He frowned.

Your mother had raised a practical woman, fantastic fantasies about your lineage aside. It was all you could think to do as you stood in the ashes of your dead life. One foot in front of the other.

“I have no money,” you confessed, “but if King Henselt sent for me, he can pay you to ensure my arrival.”

The witcher considered it. At last he growled and nodded.

It would take four days to reach Aed Carraigh. The horse—named Roach, you learned—could only manage that distance in a shorter time if not burdened with two riders.

You sat close to the campfire, warming yourself in the flames, shaking not from cold but from fear as the night closed in around you. The night held terrors untold, but until the night before, you had never seen them in the flesh. Knowing they lingered out in the dark set your teeth on edge.

“I’m sorry to burden you,” you told the witcher, the silence too much to bear. You watched the horse warily for signs of attack, knowing the animal was likely to hear or sense it before you.

“Why don’t you want to be a princess?”

Taken aback by the unexpected question, you shrugged. “Why would I want to be one?”

“Riches. A comfortable life.”

“I had a comfortable life with riches untold. They just weren’t gold.”

“Gold is necessary.”

“Gold means nothing if your life is miserable.”

The words hung heavy in the air. The witcher averted his gaze, surprising you. Frowning, you rubbed at your arms, trying to make the hair on your arms stand down. His averted face gave you the opportunity to study his features. They were rough and worn, his brow creased from excessive glowering. He was all hard edges, a larger man than even the largest farmer you had seen. He appeared both comfortable and uncomfortable in his own skin, or perhaps your presence was upsetting him.

“Am I keeping you from work?”

“Are you always so concerned for witchers?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Yet there you sit.”

You bit your tongue, surprised by the sting of his barb. Something flickered across his stern features as you ducked your head. “Then tell me where to go and I will get there myself.”

“The road is dangerous.”

“Being a woman is dangerous.”

He almost smiled in surprise. You could see it dancing on his lips.

“So tell me where to go,” you insisted. “Then I can leave your remarkable hair.”

His eyebrows twitched. The silence stretched between you both for a minute, the fire crackling in the quiet. At last, he said, “I will take you.”

You almost gave away your relief with a sharp exhale.

Though the witcher was a man of few words, you found you were able to read more from his face and the set of his shoulders than from anything he said. His silences were full of information, though you couldn’t be sure of what exactly. You merely knew that he radiated safety as much as he did danger.

“Do you know many princesses?” you asked him.

He grunted.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“I know one or two,” he said. “But none like you.”

You frowned, glancing down at your soiled dress. “Yes, I suppose I’m nothing like one. The people will be overjoyed with a farmer’s daughter.” You snorted.

“I think they could use one.”

Frowning, you glanced up at him. He didn’t quite smile, but the glower on his face had shifted into something softer.

“Well, when I am princess,” you said, “I will remember at least one person believes me suited for the job. That’s all that matters.”

A faint smile touched the witcher’s lips. You matched it with a slow smile of your own.

#Geralt x Reader #Geralt #Geralt imagine #Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of Rivia imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #The Witcher #requests

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sukirichi · 3 years

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earned it [05]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. domestic abuse, car accident, slight angst, sexism, suggestive scenes, unedited and my naoya simping is obvious with this one,

notes. TEAM NAOYA LET’S GOOOO *sighs* finally got this out from my drafts. anyways, here’s an earned it update while i recover from migraines because my schedule was so hectic last week and i’m so tired, might be sleeping a lot these days hence the hiatus :( also ik i keep saying this but future chapters will finally be more...UH SPICY AND MORE DRAMATIC, I guess? this is mostly an angst fic btw so please don’t expect too much fluff of heartwarming romance. there WILL be romance,,,it just takes some time hehe, anways ENJOY...or not :)

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Women were weak. Trained to be voiceless, compliant, and unable to fight – Naoya found them weak.

His own mother was the perfect epitome of that. For years, he’d watched her leave his father’s room with dried tears, wiping them away with the back of her sleeves. When she saw a little Naoya standing at the edge of the hallway, she’d immediately usher him back to his room, her tears replaced with a smile so convincing Naoya wouldn’t have believed she’d been crying if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. How could he be when day and night, he’s surrounded by tutors, expected to take over his clan and lead them all to a brighter future?

How could he be stupid when he can’t sleep at night, for the screams and cries of his mother, the sound of palm hitting cheek resonating just from the other room, accompanied with the insults directed her way by his own father?

How could he be so stupid when he looked up to his mother – who he believed was the only source of light in the rather desolate walls of their manor – only to see that her beauty faded with each passing day, the brightness of her eyes now filled agony, with pain, with fear? She no longer smiled; not even for him. She no longer came around his room to read him bedtime stories no matter how much Naoya pleaded because he’d gotten tired of reciting scriptures and poetry. She no longer kissed him on the forehead as a morning greeting, opting to stay in the sidelines with her head bowed, acting as if she was a servant and not his mother.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. As the future leader of the Zen’in Clan, it was his duty to hear and see everything, to be wary of everyone around him and to observe. He knew his father abused her. He knew his father hated her, looked down on her, stepped on her at each moment he could. And as if that wasn’t enough, Naoya found out they weren’t married in the first place.

She had been nothing but a mere concubine whose role was to birth an heir. Now that Naoya had come to life, her purpose to live ceased to exist. And people who had no role in the Zen’in estate had no reason to stay any further.

“Mother,” Naoya cried out, tugging at his mother’s sleeve. “Mother, please don’t go, don’t leave me!”

She was crying again; he wished she’d stop doing that, that she’d stop being so weak. He wanted his mother to be strong and fight back, but she’s not even attempting to wipe her tears away this time, displaying her vulnerability and meek self to him. Had his father been there, she’d be scolded again, claiming that Naoya shouldn’t be exposed to behaviors of surrender and weakness.

His mother cupped his face, trying her best to keep the younger version of himself from dangling onto her robes; the expensive, silk material the last evidence she’d ever been a part of them.

“Naoya, baby, it’s okay. You need to grow up strong and be the clan leader, okay?”

“But why do you have to leave? Why do you never fight back?”

“I’m sorry, dear...” was all she said, finally kissing him on the forehead like she’d failed to do so for the past months. Somehow, it didn’t make him feel any better. Instead, Naoya’s cries grows louder with each minute, loud enough that he caught the attention of his manservants who paled at the Young Master’s wails that was sure to displease his father locked inside his study. His mother sent a glance their way that expressed messages he couldn’t yet understand due to his innocence. Strong arms wrapped around his smaller frame until they dragged Naoya away from his mother, the sight of a luggage behind her turning him weak in the knees.

“Remember, Mother always loves you.”

“No!” he fought against their hold. His servants did all they could to not harm the Young Master’s skin, but Naoya was too strong, too desperate that they were unable to hold him back.

Naoya kept running and running, uncaring of the fact his loose robes hindered him from going at full speed. He didn’t stop, even as his servants had trailed after him, desperate pleas for the Young Master to come back falling into deaf ears. His mother had arrived on a nearby bus from the open roads that led outside the Zen’in Estate’s outer gates, her hand frozen on the doors with her head slightly tilted to the side.

That slight moment of hesitance – to look behind or leave everything behind – was what made Naoya stop in his tracks. He breathed hard, sweaty palms on his knees as he silently prayed to the divine beings to bring his mother back, for her to look at him one last time.

But she didn’t.

And Naoya was frozen in his tracks, everything colliding into one crash and burn that he failed to make sense of everything. He stood there and watched his mother hop into the bus, her decision to leave him behind final and irrevocable. What had rung louder then? The way his heart shattered into pieces, or the loud honking of an incoming car that not even his skilled team of guards could protect him from?

Naoya figured it must’ve been the muffled cries of his mother behind the windows that rung the loudest even if he hadn’t heard it.

Until now, he carried the mark his mother left behind; a gnarly scar running inches from his kneecaps that throbs until now. It reminds him every day what could happen to someone once they’re weak, once they’re vulnerable, the horrifying consequence of not being strong enough to face in this world like a huge slap in his face. In a way, he felt grateful for the scar; at least it was proof he’d done his best to run after his mother, and this injury just taught him it was best to face things head on instead of running away.

This scar would always tell him that running away was never the option, and that was why Naoya felt so strong, so disappointed when he met you. Naoya saw much potential in you – the wrath firing in your eyes and the will to fight back is what pulled him in on the first place – and yet you were already trembling on the ground, your sweat dripping on the floor.

“Stand up!” he demanded, tapping his cane on the ground as he wobbled to his feet. “Do you really think being weak will make you survive in this world?”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” he spat out, matching the intensity of your glare. Had you been any lesser of a woman, a servant, he’d have your eyes gouged out. But to him, you were a vessel of hope, an embodiment of strength he could help you hone that he let you off. Still, he felt extremely let down that he expected so much from you, and you’ve been pathetic so far.

Naoya shook his head as he left. “You’re going to die the moment you step out of here. And to think I actually had high hopes for you. As expected, you women are weak and pathetic. Each one of you is useless.”

He didn’t get very far when his injury throbbed again. Naoya fell to his knees and immediately bit down on his lip to conceal his groans, but it was too late. You’ve rushed to him in an instant, already pulling his slacks upwards to get a good look at his knee. Worry is painted all over your features still drenched in sweat and exhaustion, and he pried your hand away, a frown deep on his lips.

“Get away from me. I don’t need a woman’s help.”

“You’re so uptight, you know that?” you rebutted with a roll of your eyes. Naoya watched as you skipped to the nearest medical kit he always kept in his training grounds (which he rarely used) and popping out painkillers to hand to him. “Just shut up and let me take care of you. Unlike you, I don’t walk around calling people weak, and you having this injury never made you weak in my eyes, but you’re not impotent either,” scoffing at him, you pushed the bottle of water to a very annoyed looking Naoya. “At least let me take care of you every once in a while.”

His whole life, Naoya knew nothing but the familiar bitter cold. Being served tea, scaring his servants with his mere presence, the toxic view that everyone was below them drilled into his own head – that had been his life, and his feelings about it were neither hot nor cold.

To him, it was just the way he’s supposed to be.

But the warmth of your hands, the tenderness of your touch to his scars not because you found him weak but rather you cared for him…it tugged at his heartstrings. That had been at least five years ago and Naoya still remembered that moment very clearly.

He couldn’t understand whether he hated his inability to run away or not, because to be around you confused him to no end. One moment, he saw you as nothing but his one way ticket to fortune, but when he was alone with you, he was beginning to see you more as a woman rather than a pawn to his game. Soon, you became more than that, and nothing had terrified him even more that he let someone in his heart just like that.

Did he love you? No, most definitely not. A man like him didn’t know how to love. But with you – every time he saw you – Naoya is confident to admit that he could somehow understand what love meant.

It had been a hellish trip – one he’d never admit it out loud that he wished to never go on again. He was just happy to be home before he laughed, because home? He’d never thought he’d ever say that, yet there he was, beaming at the sight of you pushing your weight off the limousine.

You looked as stunning as usual, running up to him even with your heels before wrapping your arms around his neck. Usually, Naoya didn’t like public displays of affection since it could greatly deter his reputation, but everyone knew both of you weren’t each other’s weaknesses that he didn’t care whether his people could see their leader grinning as his wife welcomed with a kiss. Naoya balanced himself on his cane to encircle a hand to your waist, pulling you closer and burying his face in your hair.

“I missed you,” you mumbled with your head buried in his shoulder.

Naoya’s smile wasn’t any less affectionate. “I missed you more.” And he did – a whole lot. Even as you both made it inside the limousine, the tablet passed to him per the usual to update him on what happened on the few days of his absence, Naoya couldn’t keep his hands to himself. His cane balanced between his knee and the door, while his free hand intertwined with yours, mindlessly caressing the matching rings that symbolized more trust than love.

“How did it go?” he brought your knuckles up to his lips and kissed it, his attention still focused on today’s stock market. “Did you convince him to lend us the lab?”

“Yes, my love, everything is under control. I told you I had it.”

“Cunning little minx,” he smirked at the confidence and triumph dripping from your voice. Naoya shut his tablet off with a click, hauling you until you were resting on his lap. Giggles erupted beautifully from your lips as you pressed your forehead to his, both your smiles equally mischievous. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No. Satoru is still hopelessly in love with me, so it didn’t really take much to push him to the edge with a few tears and white lies,” you smiled at him, soon dropping from your face when Naoya’s eyes darkened with an unreadable – no, unfamiliar hint of worry behind them. “Naoya,” you caressed his leg, “I don’t care about him anymore, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I just want to survive and put everything behind,” you cupped his face and forced him to look you in the eye, making sure he heard every bit of sincerity in your voice. “You know I love you, right? I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Him coming back doesn’t change a thing.”

“I know that,” he said, although deep down, in the dark recesses of his heart, something agonizing stirred within.

You were a smart woman – too intelligent that he may have feared you had he been any lesser – who could easily read through him, but Naoya wanted to be a step ahead of you that he caught your lips to stop you from seeking beneath his soul already. He knew that if you looked a little too close, you’d see everything, and that would be the last thing he wanted.

Snaking his tongue past your lips, he greedily swallowed your moans. Naoya’s touch was possessive as he gripped your thigh, seconds away from ripping off the material of your dress. He only stopped once he saw his driver pale in awkwardness, and he chuckled to himself, squeezing your hips to stop you from grinding on his thigh.

“You’re always so good for me,” he praised, “I might just reward you once we get home.”

Home. Prior to meeting you, home had been nothing but a word in his extensive vocabulary. Home had been nothing but something that carried a meaning but no significance in his living, but now that he’d met you, home felt familiar. Home smelled like rose-scented shampoos, it resonated of bubbly laughter and curious hands finding its way to its belt. Home…you’d just given him something to lose.

As per the plan, you managed to sneak past Satoru’s defenses. Naoya had once said that your secret weapon was not your tempting nature as a woman, but rather your intelligence that sometimes put his to shame. He’d shamelessly announced his plan to use you again with the goal of taking matters into your own hands, looping Satoru into the picture until you have him wrapped around your finger again.

It turned out to be easier than expected. Truthfully, you wanted to refuse. It wasn’t because you were worried you’d beat yourself in your own game and fall for Satoru again, but because it felt so uncomfortable to hold him like that, to kiss him like that.

Each second you spent with him just served as a painful reminder of how he’d mindlessly pushed you to the side from a failed plan of ‘protecting’ you.

However, you couldn’t complain nor deny Naoya’s wishes. He wanted to use your abilities to the fullest of its extent and bring out your potential. Besides, you trusted him wholeheartedly that you’d never question his motives, even if it included seducing Satoru with crocodile tears and a faux broken heart to get him to bend and move at your will. After all, your will was also Naoya’s, and that was what made the both of you so dangerous together.

Standing here now in Satoru’s laboraty, sending him phoney desperate glances as you clutched your husband’s hand, the game had just begun.

He was giving you both a tour of what you could use from his laboratory, and Naoya had kept silent the whole time. The whole drug manufacturing was more your expertise than his. He simply observed everything with watchful eyes, his gaze darting between Satoru’s longing ones and yours. It was a play pretend of push and pull, everyone in the room except for Satoru unaware that soon, you’d bare your fangs to rip his neck apart, and then you’d stand aside and let Naoya finish the business.

You would’ve laughed had Naoya not tightened his grip on your hand. Both you and Satoru paused as Naoya desperately shushed you up, his eyes wide and floating from one corner to another.

Suddenly, a loud explosion came out of nowhere. The blast crushed half of the building to bare rubble and concrete and you saw nothing but black, inhaled so much smoke that your lungs quivered. The ringing in your ears didn’t stop as you wobbled to unsteady legs, waving the smoke away and coughing whatever filled your system. Satoru was right beside you, his long limbs quicker than yours before he hauled you up, checking to see if you had injuries but you were too scared, too desolate to care for his worry.

For your husband laid under a pile of rubble, an arm and his head the only parts of his body saved from the explosion.

“Naoya!” You screamed and pushed Gojo away, taking your heels off before darting straight to where he was. Jumping from broken debris to one another, your feet scraped and burned with each contact, the ringing in your ears growing louder along with the pounding of your heartbeat.

“Naoya, baby, no!” you tried to pick up the heavy slab of concrete that had crushed his body, tears blurring your vision until Naoya’s blond hair swiveled with his dark clothes. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t you fucking dare-”

“Gojo,” he choked out blood. You fell to your knees as you cupped his face and grasped his hand all the while, your entire body shaking. His name kept falling from your lips as you asked him to stand up but he pushed your hand away, not sparing you another glance as he glared at the shock still man behind you. “Take her someplace far – somewhere he won’t find the both of you. It’s T-Toji.”

“No, Naoya, please! I’m not leaving without you!” It was too late. Satoru had easily carried you and threw you over his shoulder, running away from the scene because that was what he was best at. You pounded at his back as the smoke enlarged and covered the entirety of the building that had fizzled with chemicals inside, your husband starting to disappear from view. “Satoru, let me go! We can’t just leave him there!”

“Listen to your husband! He knows what he’s doing!”

As the smoke cleared for a split second, your world stilled. Naoya’s face was smothered with dirt and stains, pain evident on his twisted features, and yet – he was smiling. “Go,” he mouthed, hands outstretched far enough for your matching rings to glint under the sparkling lights. “Live.”

You slumped into Satoru’s arms. It was too late.

You couldn’t comprehend the events that happened afterwards. Satoru had pushed you inside his car before taking off to who knows where. All you knew was that you’d left your husband behind, and you stared emptily at the streets that flashed by, unable to feel or understand anything. It wasn’t until Satoru dragged you out by the wrist and a plane whirring before you snapped you back to life, your feet turning heavy as you plant yourself on the ground.

Satoru looked back at you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shook your head, “I’m not leaving him behind, Satoru, he’s all I have. I need to save him – even if it means I die.”

“You’re not going to die,” he starts off slowly. Satoru moves to place his hands down on your shoulders as if to brace you, even going as far as to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you couldn’t really listen, not when the plane hummed to life and remnants of the explosion still clung to your skin.

“Listen, Naoya is a smart man, okay? You know that yourself. He’ll survive, you just need to trust that he’ll make it. Now we have to go before Toji catches up to us and we end up all dying here!” he shook you back to life when your sobs overpowered his speech that fell on deaf ears, and you cried harder, much less like a little girl who quivered in his arms. Satoru sighed, perhaps just as broken from seeing you this way. “He told you to live. Naoya isn’t asking you to die for him, he’s asking you to live and if you don’t get on the plane, we can’t fulfill his wish,” he convinced, but you only bit your lip, still looking back at the car. You could steal it – one punch to his nose and you could easily get away, get back to Naoya, until he said, “You love him right? So respect his wishes.”

You love him. You love Naoya. He would’ve wanted me to live. He asked me to live.

That was the only consolation you could give yourself as you allowed Satoru to take you inside. His right hand man, Geto or something, quietly closed the cabin doors behind you. He was making sure his boss was situated, who in turn was fretting over you. All it took was one last warning glare sent Satoru’s way before he backed off, raising his hands in surrender and falling back to his seat.

Sooner than you’d like, the plane had took off, leaving your heart right behind with each passing second. The higher you flew up in the air, the number you became.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a base in Italy. We should be safe there for a while. Gather resources, plan our next move, contact friends...we’ll be fine,” Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose. It was hard to believe things would be fine when he too seemed restless; whatever happened between him and Toji must’ve really left a scar; not that you cared. You huffed away from Satoru and stared outside the windows instead, your heart dropping the farther Japan was becoming. “Hey. You should get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

“Whatever,” you snapped at him. You couldn’t stand his voice, not even if he’s saved you.

The only thing that mattered now was living up to Naoya’s wish, and as much as you hated it, Satoru was right. You had to hope he would survive.

The chances of him making it out were low, but knowing Naoya, low chances weren’t zero. As long as he had a little bit of something, he would keep pushing. You just had to place your trust in him.

Kissing your dusty ring, you wiped away your tears one last time, eyes shut tight as you chanted over and over, live, live, live for me! Live! Naoya couldn’t give up that easily. You both had a long way to go, still so many places to travel, thousand more enemies to conquer and defeat. He promised you the fun was just beginning and that you’d get your revenge soon, and Naoya never broke his promises. So you had to trust, had no other choice but to believe that soon he’d be right beside you. He may not be able to completely walk anymore, though none of that mattered. You just wanted to be with him again.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until Satoru’s hushed whispers woke you up. Sitting up straight, you saw him scowling to whoever he’s talking to on the phone. He looked grim, long, slender fingers caressing his forehead as he sighed. Whatever he heard, it couldn’t have been good, and curiosity got the best of you before you could help it.

“What is it?” Satoru stilled at the sound of your voice, having not expected you to be awake. He refused to meet your eyes as he shut his phone. It angered you further and you stalked his way, slapping a palm down the table before him. “I said, what is it?”

“It’s Naoya...” he said through clenched teeth, still refusing to look you in the eye. “He didn’t make it.”

notes. team naoya...let’s go...cry 😭 when I said I would write more gojo x reader scenes and that they’re still the pairing, I meant it, I just had to take a dark route anyways DO YOU GUYS UNDERSTAND WHY IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO UPDATE THIS, I DIDN’T WANT TO DO THIS TO NAOYA BAE 😭 but on the bright side, italy arc is gonna be SHEESH

taglist open (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @asshxcm @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo @evesmores @ambiguous-something @lilith412426 @kakashiharusohma @aizawap @yumeneji @dora-the-grownup @jotazinha @themrsgojo @d34r-s4t4n @marai-t @toji-bee @hai-cool @badsadbby @stesphy @peach-buns-unicorns @misslezah @riri-marley @gracefullyfallinglikeanime @iwaplant @mikiminaccch | bolder users cannot be tagged

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footballxposts · 3 years

Text

Reckless - Jack Grealish

Warnings: Swearing, cheating mentioned, like really sad idk

Recommended listening; Reckless by Madison Beer (Slowed).

——————————————————————————-

reckless

/ˈrɛkləs/

adjective

heedless of danger or the consequences of one's actions; rash or impetuous.

Jack watched from the doorway of your little girl’s room as you sat on a stool beside her cot unaware of his presence. Closing the book you had just finished reading her a bedtime story from, you placed it on the dresser beside you. You re-extended your arm to pick up a small ballerina music box, twisting the little handle until you heard it start to chime. A soft tune filled the silent room, tears trickling down your cheeks causing you to wipe them with your warm knitted jumper. You took a deep breathe and studied your tiny human who was now fast asleep. She was everything to you.

“What am I going to do mama?” You asked her, knowing you weren’t going to get any advice or a comprehensive response regardless as to whether she was awake or asleep. She twitched a little but remained quiet. You and Jack had been together for four years now. He was doing well at Aston Villa and the national team, you were working part-time from home whilst bringing up your mini you. You had a roof of your head, beds to sleep in, food on the table. Above all you were in love and you were happy. But Jack wasn’t. He had cheated on you. And he knew you knew. But you stayed, not just for her but because he was all you had ever wanted. He was your everything too. Humming softly to the melody, you began to sing to her. You wished you were her age again. So innocent. So naive. Not a care or worry in the world. Sleeping so gently. The words parting your lips telling her how reckless your husband had been. How he’d been with another woman. How he’d told you that you were the only one for him. How he’d told you he’d never hurt you. How he had promised after the first time you found out that she meant nothing to him. You were broken. Not a clue on what to do.

Did you up and leave him? Did you try fight him in a court for custody? What if he won? Would he still let you see her? Where would you live? Would you have enough money to survive? Would you be able to raise your daughter as a single mother? Did you stay? Did you try again? Would he stop seeing her? How could you trust him ever again? Why did he want someone else over you? Was he not happy? Was he just bored of you now? Was she more of woman than you were? What did she have that you didn’t? Did he know how close you were to just being done with everything? You begged for answers, every thought and scenario possible running through your mind.

“Each day goes by and each night I cry, somebody saw you with her last night, you gave me your word, don’t worry about her, you might love her now but you loved me first..” you cried, singing faintly into the void. “Said you’d never hurt me, but here we are. Oh you swore on every star. How could you be so reckless with my heart?”

Tears were now in full flow down your cheeks, droplets landing on your knees. From his position, he looked on, his heart shattering at your state. He was now crying himself, trying to be as quiet as he could. The lyrics of the song you were singing like daggers. How could he have done this to you both? You were the two most important women in his life besides his mother. He left the room quickly. Standing up now towering over your one and a half year old, you wished her goodnight and placed the music box back on the unit. Turning on her night light and turning off the lamp beside you, you turned around, convinced you had seen a shadow but dismissing the thought. Making your way back downstairs to one of the rooms the opposite side of your house, you sat in front of the large grand piano that was placed in one of the sitting rooms. Pressing a few of the keys softly, you closed your eyes and sighed. Continuing the song you were previously singing to your little girl, Jack stood outside the door, his back against the cold wall listening.

“You check in and out, of my heart like a hotel. And she must be perfect oh well, I hope you both go to..hhh..”you paused not singing the last word as you really didn’t wish that on him. “I still have the letter you wrote when you told me that I was the only girl you’d ever want in your life, I guess my friends were right..” Unable to continue as you were now sobbing with your head in your arms on the top of the piano, Jack entered the room.

“Y/N…” he said softly, pain and sorrow in his voice. He startled you.

“Jesus Jack, you scared the shit out of me! I didn’t realise you were home, I thought you were out with the lads..” you jumped. His arms were folded when you initially saw him, but they were down by his side now in his pockets. He was sniffling himself.

“Can we talk?” he whispered, the light of the hallway now illuminating his body. You hesitated to reply but eventually nodded as he closed over the door as he motioned for you to sit on the couch. He sat in front of you on the coffee table, his fingers covering his mouth, thumb under his chin. Silence lingered in the air like stale food, only the only thing that was stale here was your romance. “I don’t even know what to say.” he began, his own head in his hands now as his elbows rested on his knees. “The song you were singing upstairs and down here, when I tell you it broke me to pieces.” he bawled. You didn’t know how to react, knowing he’d heard all of it. You wanted to comfort him but how could you when you needed comfort from him more than anything? “I’m so sorry Y/N..so fucking sorry. Fuck sake I’m such a fucking dickhead I ruin everything. Best thing in my life you two and I’ve just thrown it away.”

You couldn’t form words. Instead you just cried and cried, shaking your head. Looking up at you from his position, he closed his eyes before reopening them and joining you on the couch wrapping his arms around you. You just broke in his grasp, his hands rubbing your head, constantly kissing the top of it. There was a long silence, until you finally got something out.

“Do you love her Jack?” you asked.

“Huh? Of course I do, she’s my little princess.” He stated, thinking you were talking about your daughter.

“Not our child Jack. Do you love the woman you’re sleeping with?” you murmured. He was taken aback but responded quickly.

“What? No, no I don’t.” he answered confidently. “I promise you I don’t.”

“Then why? Why did you go near her?” you said now coming up to meet him, his face sending you over the edge every time.

“I don’t.. I don’t know. It was a drunk mistake. The biggest mistake I’ve ever made. She got me hammered but I’m done with her I swear on our kid’s life. I never want to see her again and I never will. Look I know won’t believe me and you probably will never trust me again Y/N, but I promise to stand by you both for the rest of my life no matter what. I know I haven’t be a man in the past, but from this night fourth I will do everything in my power to try to be the best man I can be. I love you both to the ends of the earth and I will never ever put myself in a position like that again. I can’t lose you both..” he trailed off, his brummy accent so thick.

“We can’t lose you either Jack.” you whispered as he wiped your tears and pulled you back in to him.

——————————————————————————

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marauderundercover · 3 years

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 28: Summer Changes (School)

AO3

A week after the Disney movie marathon, Marinette was finally back on patrol. No thanks to her dad though. If it was up to him, she’d probably never patrol again. Luckily for her, (unluckily for him) her brothers were adamant on her coming back to the field. Which led to her current problem. Hanging upside down from a gargoyle near Wayne Enterprises.

“Ukht, what have you done?” Damian asks, and though she can’t see his face, she can tell by his voice that he’s exasperated. Join the club, she thinks, at least you’re not upside down.

“Why do you automatically think I did something?” She asks, trying desperately to turn around so that she can talk to him. It was really awkward talking to someone when you couldn’t see them but you knew they were near you.

“Because you are the one hanging upside down,” Damian says flatly. She huffs.

“It’s not like I want to be, Robin. It just kind of happened,” She says.

“And how exactly did it happen? I have never seen your yoyo betray you like that before. Not even in the videos when you were still very new.” Damian says, and she swears he’s smirking. He’s definitely laughing at her on the inside, and as much as she wants to be frustrated, she can’t. It wasn’t easy amusing her little brother (unless you were an animal) so she wasn’t about to ruin it.

“Hood made a bet relating to this exact gargoyle and I’d never been this way before and I just, I don’t know. Somehow I misjudged where my yoyo was going and next thing I know, I’m tied up and Hood is gone.” She says, sighing.

“Where did he go?” Damian asks.

“Over here so I could record the dumbass trying to untie herself.” Jason says with a snort, she manages to turn just enough so she can see him and stick her tongue out at him. He chuckles. “You’re the one who somehow tied herself up with a magic string, I’m just getting the proof so I can show Wonder Woman.” He says and Marinette’s jaw drops.

“You wouldn’t dare!” She screams, struggling against her yoyo, finally able to get the string to loosen slightly.

“Oh, I’d dare.” Jason says and Marinette just knows he has a huge smirk underneath his stupid helmet.

“But Wonder Woman is the coolest person ever and she can’t see me like this!” Marinette complains, trying not to grin when she feels the string start to move the way she needs it to. She ignores Jason’s next remark, instead focusing on the string and- yes! She free falls for a moment, laughing at her brothers’ panic before she swoops up and jerks Jason’s phone away from him.

“You little shit!” He calls after her, starting to chase her.

“You’ll get it back once I delete the videos!” She calls back, laughing as she continues swinging through Gotham, a warm feeling in her chest as she looks over the city that has quickly become her second home.

---

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” A voice screams, making Marinette jump out of bed with a yelp. She clutches her hand over her heart, glaring at her oldest brother.

“Are you trying to make sure I don’t make it past my fifteenth birthday?” She asks with a huff. Dick just grins.

“Happy birthday kiddo! I can’t believe you’re already fifteen!” He exclaims, picking her up in a giant hug. She wants to complain, ask him to let her down, but it’s nice, so instead she returns the hug the best she can. Until she glances out the window.

“Richard Grayson.” She says in a tone she usually reserves for enemies. She feels him stiffen, the hug turning into more of a restraint than a cuddle.

“Yes?” He says.

“Did you honestly wake me up, before the sun, because it’s my birthday?” She asks.

“Yes?” He says, his voice cracking slightly. She purses her lips and lets out a long sigh.

“Dad has a no killing rule.” She says, and suddenly she’s back on the ground.

“Oh would you look at the time, Mar’i needs another bedtime story loveyousomuchgottagobye.” Dick rushes out, practically sprinting out of her room. She just smiles and shakes her head. She’d learned intimidation tactics from Jason and Damian, who both claimed her size made her an easy target against bad guys. They were right, of course, so she was fine with a few extra lessons. Seems they were working. Deciding to call her Maman and Papa since she’s already awake, she frowns as it goes straight to voicemail. It would be nearly eleven in Paris, so the bakery shouldn’t be too busy. She quickly checks the Akuma Alert App to make sure she hadn’t missed anything while she slept. Nothing. So why weren’t they answering? She had assumed they would be waiting for her call since it was the first birthday she’d spent without them. Sighing, she lays back down on her bed, closing her eyes and trying to fall back asleep.

As she lays there, she frowns as a realization hits her. This was the anniversary of her birth mother’s death. Her mood instantly sours and her stomach churns. It was the first year that she could do something about it, the first year she could visit her grave. Quickly making a decision, Marinette throws on a pair of black leggings and an oversized black hoodie. Hopefully no one would spot her.

“Kaalki.” Marinette calls out quietly, not wanting to wake Tikki (who had somehow slept through Dick’s intrusion).

“Oooo, Guardian, are we sneaking out?” They ask, an amused smile on their face. Marinette frowns.

“Yes, but it’s for a good reason.” She says, and Kaalki snorts.

“Whatever the reason, I’m happy to be of assistance.” They reassure her. Marinette smiles and calls the transformation, opening a portal in the cemetery where her birth mother is buried. Her Maman had taken her once, right after telling her she was adopted. It was extremely hard to avoid being akumatized that day, and Marinette steels herself before dropping Kaalki’s transformation. Today would probably be even harder. Pulling the hood over her head to try and hide her identity, she glances around the cemetery, unsurprised to see the small place empty. Despite its small size, it was well taken care of, with beautiful trees adding shade and creating a melancholy feeling. Taking a deep breath, she walks over to the tombstone in the far corner, underneath the Willow tree. Bridgette Le. Died July 9th. Marinette barely notices the tears that start to form as she sits down, tucking her knees into her chest.

“Hi Mama. I-I’m sorry I haven’t really been by to see you much. Did you know I’ve been spending the summer with Dad? Sometimes, I wonder if you would’ve been okay with that. None of us really know why you left, why you didn’t tell him. I’m not blaming you, I just wonder if you would’ve been okay with me knowing him.” She talks, though she knows she’ll never hear a response. And she tries to pretend that fact doesn’t hurt her. “I have brothers. Four of them. They’re all great in their own ways, but they all also make me want to rip my hair out. Three of them are older, Damian’s younger than me. He kinda acts like a big brother at times though. And I have a big sister, Cass. She doesn’t say much, but she’s awesome. She’s in Hong Kong right now, so most of our conversations have been video calls. I have a niece, too.” Marinette stops, wiping furiously at her eyes. She didn't want to cry. At all. But knowing her birth mother would never be able to be part of her life, would never know any of these people like she did- it was hard.

“Guardian, please breathe.” Kaalki says, floating up to sit in front of Marinette’s face. Marinette blinks at the Kwami before listening to them. If they were worried, then Marinette was more lost in her head than she originally thought.

“And today’s my birthday. I was excited at first, and then I remembered the other thing that this day was. Remembered that it’s also the day you-” Marinette pauses, and grits her teeth. “I am so sorry, Mama. I am so sorry that I caused your death.” She chokes out, dropping her head onto her knees, trying to suppress the sobs threatening to break out of her chest.

“We need to go. Marinette, we need to go.” Kaalki urges, patting her cheek urgently. Marinette calls the transformation and falls through a portal, closing it quickly to keep the butterfly that was surely after her from following. She definitely didn’t need to test how far the victim had to be to be akumatized. The second she lands, she lets the transformation drop and the sobs break out.

“Shit Pixie.” Jason curses, and suddenly she’s wrapped in a warm hug, sobs tearing through her as she continues to apologize.

---

Jason Todd had been through a lot of weird shit. Waking up in a pool of green water after being fucking murdered by the Joker, was weird. Emotional baby sister falling through a portal into the room and sobbing? Also weird. But also heartbreaking. He grabs onto her and just holds her, desperately trying to give her some type of comfort.

“Shhhh, it’s okay Pix. I got you.” He mumbles, holding her close. Damian rushes in, sword drawn, face scrunched up when he sees them. Jason shakes his head, this wasn’t something that they could fix with a sword. He wasn’t exactly sure why his baby sister was crying so hard, but he had caught a couple of muffled apologies, so whatever it was, he didn’t think it was something that he (or Damian) could kill. Or, rather, maim, since she was against murdering people that were against her for some reason.

“Has anyone seen Mars, she’s not in her room-” Replacement starts, freezing as he walks into the room.

“Excellent situational awareness, Drake.” Damian mutters, glaring at him. Jason shoots both of them a glare, now was not the time to be fighting. Especially since the kid’s other parents were on their way to celebrate her birthday. If they showed up and she was sobbing, they’d take her home and never let them see her again. And Jason was NOT going to let that happen.

“Anyone know if M’s decided to not kill me yet?” Dick asks, walking into the room with a huge grin that falls the second he sees what’s happening. Jason resists the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently none of his brothers could read a fucking room. Instead of staying at the edge of the room like Damian and Tim, Dick walks over.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay. We’re here.” He says softly. The kid pulls away from him, though he can tell it’s a little reluctantly, before launching herself at Dick, her sobs starting to die down. Jason lets out a short huff, running his fingers through his hair as he tries to think of what could have set her off. There were no akuma alarms, but she fell out of a portal. Which means she was out of the manor when she got upset. He watches as Dick pats her hair gently and whispers to her. God, he’s such a dad. Then again, he’s been mother henning him and their other brothers for years, so it’s not really a surprise.

“I’m sorry guys.” Marinette says suddenly, her voice small as she stays hidden in Dick’s arms.

“No need to apologize, Pixie Pop.” Jason reassures her. She finally pulls away from Dick and Jason’s heart, honest to god breaks at the broken look on her face.

“She died in childbirth, you know.” She whispers, and suddenly it makes sense. Why she was sitting there sobbing on her birthday, why she’d fallen out of a portal.

“That is not your fault.” Damian says firmly, walking over and standing face to face with Marinette, something Jason knew annoyed the girl. Damian was two years younger, but a little taller than her. She didn’t seem to mind now, though.

“But it was. If I hadn’t been born-” She starts and Jason frowns at the thought.

“The world would be a much shittier place.” He says with finality, not leaving room for her to argue. “Pix, you’re amazing, and the world would really suck without you. Never be sorry you were born.” Jason says firmly, stumbling slightly when she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Thank you Jay.” She mumbles, and he can tell she’s crying again, but this time it’s not sobs, so he thinks it’s fine.

“Come on, let’s all watch a movie.” Repla- Tim suggests and Jason raises an eyebrow at the idea, briefly wondering what kind of movie he’d pick. They all pile on the giant sectional that Bruce had bought specifically for impromptu movie nights as Tim sticks the DVD in. Jason just snorts as the title card for “The Addams Family” comes on, settling back in the couch, ready to watch one of the greatest movies ever.

---

“Thank you again for flying us out here for her birthday.” Sabine says, smiling at him. Bruce returns the smile and nods.

“Of course, thank you for letting her spend the summer here. I know she’s appreciated the break from her classmates.” He says, his smile quickly fading at the confused look on both Sabine and Tom’s faces.

“What do you mean?” Tom asks.

“Marinette hasn’t told you?” Bruce asks, suddenly regretting bringing it up. Why hadn’t she said anything? They were her parents too. Sure, she’d made it clear they couldn’t know about Ladybug, but her class wasn’t a hero problem. They were a civilian problem.

“We knew that she wasn’t hanging out with them as often, and that she didn’t talk about her class as much as she used to. We just assumed that she was busy.” Sabine says, her face a mixture of sadness and anger.

“My apologies, I assumed she’d talked to you.” Bruce says, feeling as if he had crossed a line. Would they be mad at him, for her telling him something she hadn’t told them?

“She’s always looking out for others first,” Tom finally sighs, a tired smile on his face. “She probably thought she was saving us from being akumatized.” Bruce’ jaw clenches. Had Marinette really suffered in silence to avoid being forced to fight her parents?

“We can continue this conversation later, right now we should focus on her birthday.” Sabine says, placing a hand on Tom’s arm. He nods and Bruce makes a note to talk to the two about the possibility of her switching schools.

“She’s probably in her room.” Bruce says, leading the two towards the stairs.

“Actually, Master Bruce, the children are all in the informal sitting room. I believe they snuck down to have a movie night after Master Dick woke Miss Marinette to wish her a happy birthday.” Alfred says, Bruce watches his face and knows that’s not all, but doesn’t press. It had to be something that he couldn’t talk about in front of the Dupain Cheng’s.

“Of course they did. Thank you, Alfred. Alfred, this is Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain, Marinette’s parents. Tom, Sabine, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He’s the man who raised me.” Bruce says, smiling at him. The three exchange pleasantries and soon Bruce is leading the two to the sitting room. He pushes the door open gently, careful not to let it slam. He spots a sword on the floor near Damian and quickly grabs it, moving it away. If he was woken up suddenly, he would still panic and attempt to fight his way out.

“She looks so peaceful.” Sabine whispers, and Bruce smiles, a genuine smile, he didn’t have to fake a smile when most of his children were together and safe and happy. Or, quiet, at least. It was rare.

“I’ve found them like this several times.” Bruce admits, pulling out his phone to show the two all of the pictures he’d taken of the kids piled together sleeping. Sabine and Tom smile widely at the pictures and Bruce quickly sends them their favorites.

“B, I swear to god, I can sense you in here. Let us sleep.” Jason mumbles grumpily.

“Sorry Jason, Marinette’s parents are here so it’s time to get up.” Bruce says, amused at the way his son’s hair was attempting to defy gravity. Jason looked around sleepily, waved lazily at Sabine and Tom, and then collapsed back on the couch. Bruce sighs. “Would the two of you like to have a cup of coffee while we give them a few more minutes to sleep?” He offers.

“That would be lovely.” Sabine says, and Bruce leads the two to the kitchen, hoping Tim (who had sat straight up after Jason flopped down) would take the hint and wake up the others.

---

Marinette sighs happily as everyone sits down at the table for dinner. The day had been amazing, despite the rough start. And her Dad had even flown her Maman and Papa out to spend the day with her. They couldn’t stay for long, they had the bakery to run after all, but it was still nice to see them. Marinette glances at the end of the table where a place was set, but no one sat.

“What’s with the extra plate?” Jason asks, turning to Alfred who was sitting in the chair next to it instead of his regular seat.

“It is for Miss Le.” He says, and she can almost feel everyone freeze. Her throat tightens, but she still smiles at him with watery eyes.

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says quietly. He nods.

“You are quite welcome, Miss.” He says. She clears her throat and looks back at her Maman, noticing that her smile was also a little sad. It had been all day, but Marinette was certain it wasn’t anything to worry about. Bridgette had been close with her Maman, surely she was just mourning her today, openly for the first time in a long time.

---

Marinette groans at whoever is trying to wake her up.

“Five more minutes.” She mutters, burrowing deeper under the covers. It was summer break, why wouldn’t anyone let her sleep?

“Come on sweetheart, your Papa and I want to talk to you and Bruce.” Her Maman says, and she immediately sits up. Was she in trouble? Had her Maman figured out the whole Batman thing? Had she figured out the Ladybug thing?

“Uh, okay.” She says, sliding out of bed and stepping into slippers. She wasn’t sure how serious the conversation was, but since her Maman didn’t stop her from walking out of the room in her pajamas, she relaxed slightly. It couldn’t be that serious, right? She follows her Maman into her Dad’s study, glancing wearily at the clock in the corner. Her Maman was often too observant. Hopefully she didn’t notice anything odd about the clock. They all sit in silence for an entire minute until Marinette can’t handle it anymore.

“Am I in trouble?” She asks hesitantly, looking between her parents’ faces.

“Of course not, we just- We noticed how different you are.” Her Maman says and Marientte frowns, furrowing her eyebrows. Different? She was different?

“How?” She asks.

“You’re happier than I’ve seen you in months honey. Your smile reaches your eyes, you talk freely, you seem peaceful.” Her Maman says softly, and Marinette blinks in surprise. Had she really been so easy to read in Paris? Had her parents really been able to tell? She’d wanted to hide it from them, not let them see how everything was piling on her, crushing her. She didn’t want to worry them.

“What do you- how-” She stumbles over her words, trying to figure out where she messed up.

“We didn’t know why until we talked to Bruce.” Her Papa says and she turns to glare at her Dad, feeling a little betrayed. He holds up his hands in surrender.

“Marinette, you didn’t tell me not to tell them about your class.” He reminds her, and she huffs.

“Guess we can cross mind reader off the list of things you can do.” She mumbles, making her Papa snort.

“It wasn’t just that though. We’d seen how restrained you had become, how you never went out with friends and you stopped talking about them.” Her Maman says softly. Marinette grits her teeth, hugging herself to try and hold herself together.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” She says, her voice barely audible. That wasn’t the main reason though. She didn’t want to fight her parents, and if they knew everything going on with Lila, they’d definitely be akumatized. She couldn’t fight them. Not if she could help it.

“What would you say about transferring schools?” Her Maman asks suddenly, and Marinette jerks her head up, looking at her with wide eyes. Transfer schools? It would be great, amazing, fantastic, but- but her classmates would still come to the bakery. Still give her the same odd looks they’d been giving her since they found out that she’s a Wayne.

“What school?” She asks, because yes, that makes a difference. Chloe had transferred schools not long ago, and Marinette did not want to trade Lila for Chloe. She’d rather not deal with either of them, if she was being honest.

“Gotham Academy.” Her Maman says, and Marinette feels lucky that she wasn’t drinking anything, because she would have definitely done a spit take. Gotham Academy? As in, live in Gotham year round? What-

“Are you giving me up?” She asks, suddenly hurt. Her Maman’s eyes widen and her Papa pulls her into a giant hug.

“Of course not honey.” He says, rubbing her back gently and squeezing her lightly.

“We asked Bruce if he thought Gotham Academy would be a good school for you. He offered to let you fly home some weekends, and any of the breaks you want. Or to fly us out here if you have time off school. You don’t have to say yes, and you don’t have to make a decision right now.” Her Maman reassures her as her Papa lets her go. Marinette turns to look at her Dad, his face unreadable.

“Would you really be okay with that?” She asks, and he nods.

“We all just want you to be happy, Marinette. Wherever that may be. And we’re all willing to work together to do that.” He says and she smiles, letting out a soft sigh.

“I- I’d need to think about it a little more,” She says, running through the idea in her head. It seemed perfect, besides the whole ‘bouncing back to Paris for attacks’ thing. But she’d been doing it all summer, it had been fine so far. And maybe, maybe, Hawkmoth would even be defeated by the end of summer. No matter what, things were changing and Marinette was trying her best to keep up.

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sarcasmandships · 3 years

Text

honey and glass ~ spencer reid

i am in love with spencer reid but he only has eyes for jennifer jareau

spencer reid x reader angst + hurt/comfort (sorta, it’s all in first person but with no names/no specific descrptions)

song fic inspired by ‘honey and glass’ by peyton cardoza

word count: 4.8k

disclaimer: i do not ship jeid or think they had any chemistry but it’s a good opportunity for angst x

you know those kinds of girls who look like they're made of honey and glass like sticky sweet ash

it’s a summers night in california and i’m on the beach at sunset.

the sand is rough under my toes and a warm, gentle breeze blows a strand of my hair across my face; he lifts his hand to brush it away. tucking it behind my ear he stares down at me and the sun hits his face at a perfect angle, illuminating his hazel eyes like pools of honey. he leans in and i-

“ow!” i yelp, as morgan launches the volleyball at my head, “what was that for?”

“come and play,” he laughs, waving me over to where he stands with emily and hotch.

i shake my head, “no, i don’t feel like it,” i mumble, massaging my left temple where the ball bounced off my skull.

morgan rolls his eyes and jogs past where i’m sitting to collect the ball, “what’s up with you then?” he teases.

i shrug, “nothing. I’m just tired,” i say feigning an unconvincing yawn, “ask one of them to play.”

i motion with my head towards spencer and jj, they’re down by the edge of the waves and she throws her head back and laughs at something he says. her sheets of blonde hair ripple through the wind and he looks at her in pure awe and amazement as she giggles at something he said.

“nah, don’t wanna interrupt the kid when he’s trying to make a move,” morgan shrugs, “come play with us, we need an extra person.”

an extra person.

right.

because what else am i but another body to fill the space?

“i don’t want to,” i say, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from jj and spencer as i stand up, “hotch said the jet is leaving first thing tomorrow, i’m gonna head back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

morgan says something, but i don’t register it as i allow myself one last glance at spencer and jj. she is trying to convince him to paddle in the waves with her, he shakes his head but when she takes his hand in hers i can tell he’s melting inside as he follows her into the water.

and i just know that he’d follow her so far out to sea that his head was underwater as long as she kept their hands intertwined.

i turn away from morgan so he doesn’t see the tears burning in my eyes.

and you can't get the taste off your tongue burnt sugar and a little bit of rum

we’re in a dimly lit bar somewhere.

hotch left hours ago, he wanted to take advantage of one of the rare nights he would be there to read jack a bedtime story.

rossi is at a table in the corner, sitting with a woman who has not-so-subtly draped her leg over him.

derek is out of my line of sight and i’m thankful for that.

emily, garcia, and jj are dancing.

i sit at the table with spencer, he’s drunk.

more tipsy than drunk i think, but he so rarely drinks anything that the sight of him swaying along to the music was an anomaly. i can’t ignore the fact that his eyes are firmly fixed on jj as she dances, and i grip my wine glass so tightly i half expect it to shatter in my hand.

he leans across to me and my heart skips a beat as i inhale the alcohol on his breath, “i’m in love with her, y’know,” he slurs.

“i know, spencer,” i smile sadly and down the rest of my wine.

he doesn’t even notice when i grab my coat from behind him and shuffle towards the door.

and she dances in the rain with her clothes on drenched to the bone never knows when she's all gone, she's the life of the party

spencer and i are watching the big bang theory.

neither of us particularly like it, but there aren’t many channels on our hotel room tv and spencer enjoys the physics references at least. i watch his face light up as a character mentions something about quantum theory that i cant understand, and spencer launches into a rant about the universe and the stars.

i don’t have the knowledge to keep up with him or the heart to tell him to stop so i sit and listen, admiring the way his eyes sparkle and his hands gesticulate when no one interrupts him with a deprecating comment.

we sit there like that for the rest of the night, in our respective twin beds with him telling me the secrets of the universe and me wondering how on earth i will ever get over him.

and deep down I know that nobody flinches when she takes off her clothes

“anything you like?” emily asks me through the dressing room curtain.

“i’m not sure…” i mumble in response, biting down on my lip as i stare at myself in the mirror, “i-i don’t think this is my colour.”

the dress looked so beautiful on the hanger, but now that it’s on my body the fabric bunches up in all the wrong places and i can’t recall a time that i’ve looked worse.

the lights are just washing you out, i tell myself.

you’re having a bad hair day, it would look better with your hair down, i tell myself.

you just need some lipstick, i tell myself.

but when jj announces she has found the perfect dress and i stick my head out of the curtain to see her, i am slapped in the face with the realisation that it isn’t the lighting or my lack of makeup it’s just me.

because jj looks beautiful as always, her dress hugs her waist and the skirt fans out around her as emily demands she gives us a spin. she isn’t wearing makeup, her hair is in a ponytail too, the lights don’t wash her out because she is radiant and flawless, and the lights aren’t the problem.

i am.

i cry in my car as i drive home from the mall, and when i get home i tear everything out of my fridge and fling it into the trashcan. i vow to go to the store and stock up on salad and chicken.

i go to the store but i don’t buy salad.

and I wonder what it's like to be one of those girls to sit in the sun and look at the world and never think, "wow, am i enough?" ‘cause life is easy when you know that you're the main character

i’m in hotch’s office as he grills me about a stupid mistake i made in the field. i can hardly focus on his words as i shrink back in the chair, counting all the reasons that i don’t deserve to be in this job.

i’m not as smart or fast or strong as the others. i don’t have an eidetic memory or hacker skills and i can’t even maintain myself as a solid average agent because i keep fucking up.

“i’m not going to write you up,” he says, and my heart soars a little in my chest, “but i need you to understand that if you do something like that again i won’t have any choice, you were lucky no one got hurt today.”

i nod silently and blink back the tears that threaten to spill over.

“go home, get some rest,” he says and i don’t hang around for a second longer, darting out of his office i crash headfirst into a tall frame.

“wow, slow down,” he chuckles, resting a hand on my shoulder to steady me.

“spencer,” i gasp, looking up at his sympathetic smile, “what are you still doing here? we landed hours ago….”

he shrugs, “i waited for you.”

my heart skips a beat.

“you didn’t have to do that.”

he shakes his head, “you’re my best friend, i wanted to. plus i thought you might need someone after being in there with hotch.”

i swallow and offer him a slightly forced smile.

best friend.

“thanks, spence, that means a lot.”

he looks at me quizzically.

“what’s wrong?”

“nothing, just only jj calls me spence…anyways” he holds out his arm for me, “shall we go?”

i have to restrain myself from seizing his arm, and settle for tentatively wrapping my own around it, “thanks spencer…you’re such a good friend.”

he smiles down at me and its almost enough to melt away the icy feeling in my heart as i call him a friend. the coldness in my chest in my chest is a feeling i’ve grown accustomed to but when i’m with him everything is warm and bright again.

he feels like yellow.

and i feel like maybe i am enough.

and I'm sitting here thinking this is not fair

i feel like blue.

i’m alone in my apartment flicking through tv channels, trying to find something that isn’t a medical or crime drama. because after my day at work i can’t look at any more blood or dead bodies, even if its as fake as the pep in my voice when jj calls to ask if i’m okay.

“hotch grilled you pretty bad, huh? you sure you’re okay?”

“yeah, spence – spencer – waited for me and we went to get milkshakes after.”

“aww that’s so nice, you know i think he has a soft spot for you,” she teases.

something acidic bubbles in my throat, but i can’t tell her that i know she’s wrong because he spent half the night telling me how much he loves her. i have to gather the strength to respond without the venom in my heart poisoning my voice.

“oh, i don’t think so,” i laugh, “anyways, i should go – my movie is about to start.”

jj tells me to have a good night before she hangs up, and i switch off the tv. at this time there’s noting but romcoms and i don’t want to sit through hours of pining when its on replay every day at the office.

i watch my own reflection in the blank tv screen as sobs wrack my body.

but her smile makes it hard to be mad it's not her fault that I'm so fucking sad

jj holds me in her arms as i cry into her chest, “it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay,” she coos, rubbing soft circles on my back.

i sniffle against her and i just know that my eyes are puffy and red but i can’t switch off the floods of tears that fall from them.

“do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” she asks.

i shake my head against her because how could i tell her?

how could I tell her that the man i love is in love with her?

and that i want to resent her for it but i can’t because she’s such a good fucking friend that she’s sitting here with me, unknowingly wiping the tears that i can’t stop shedding because i can’t be her.

she gives me one of those heart warming smiles that could bring peace to a dying man, and in that moment i am reminded again of why he loves her. there are worse people to love, i suppose. if spencer is going to cut out his heart and give it to someone it might as well be someone like her.

but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

and i hate myself for the part of me that hates her. she’s done nothing wrong. it’s not her fault that that spencer loves her, and its not her fault that she doesn’t realise.

so I'll sit here and look at these girls in the sun dancing in the rain and just having their fun

i hate alaska.

my teeth chatter as we trudge through the snow filled field, and i pull the cuffs of my coat over my glove cladded hands. i hate the cold. i hate alaska. i hate the serial killer who dragged us all out here. i hate the impending snowstorm that was keeping the jet grounded for another night.

“should we even be out here?” i groan, “i mean if it’s not safe for the plane, then surely its not safe for us.”

“we aren’t 50,000 feet up in the sky though,” morgan says and i roll my eyes at him.

“it’s cold enough to make me feel like we are,” i huff.

spencer nods sympathetically at me, “i don’t like the cold either, not much snow in vegas.”

“i think we should have two behavioural analysis units,” i begin, “one to catch serial killers in cold climates, and the other in hot ones.”

he laughs, “i’d like that, but i think it’d just be us and garcia on the hot team.”

“we’d get by.”

he’s grinning at me, his messy brown curls are squashed down under his bobble hat but a few of them still manage to peak out. he’s wearing a multicoloured striped scarf and mismatched gloves.

a snowflake lands on his eyelash and i reach out to brush it off.

“thanks.”

“anytime.”

morgan launches a snowball at us, and it hits me in the back of the head, “hey! what is it with you and throwing things?” i snap.

morgan roars with laughter.

“not funny derek!”

he resumes his snowball fight with emily and jj and i draw my arms across my chest. i watch as they prance about in the snow, falling to avoid the snowballs launched by the others and laughing when they get hit. the sun is just starting to set, and it’s rays catch jj’s hair at the perfect angle, bouncing off the golden blonde strands as she dances around morgan. her and emily have joined forces to pelt him with snowballs.

i look up at spencer to see him starting at her in awe. his nose and cheeks are flushed from the cold, and the sun reflects against his own face, illuminating his eyes. they’re beautiful. like honey and glass.

“guys! come join us!” jj calls.

i shake my head, “there’s not enough money in the world.”

she pouts at me, “spence, please,” she says sweetly and before i know it he’s by her side and scooping up snow.

i watch from the side-lines.

spencer roars with laughter when emily hits morgan square in the face with a snowball, he wraps an arm around jj as she nearly collapses from laughter, something twinges in my stomach.

but he looks so happy, and that melts my glacier heart slightly.

maybe alaska wasn’t so bad after all.

and maybe one day, i can forget the past and be one of those girls of honey and glass

“nice to meet you, agent,” agent fitz says, holding out his hand, “we’ve heard good things about you up in the new york office.”

“really?” i say, shaking his hand and i can’t fight the smile that creeps across my face.

“really. give me a call if you ever fancy a change of scenery.”

“i’ll keep that in mind, agent fitz,” i give him a nod and a smile as he walks away.

new york was cold in the winter, but it didn’t seem like the worst place in the world.

but I think that it's hard for people to see that I love all these girls, and honestly it doesn't matter what you look like or how much you weigh

i wondered once how i’d ever get over my love for spencer reid, and now as he sits and sobs on my couch i realise that i don’t want to. it hurts me to love him, and something stabs my heart every time i catch him staring at her, but he deserves someone to love him like he loves her.

“i guess i’m just starting to realise that she’ll never love me back, and i don’t know why or what’s wrong with me,” he says and looks up at me, his eyes filled with tears and his face blotchy and red.

“there’s nothing wrong with you,” i say, wrapping an arm around him and wiping his tears, “sometimes the people you love just don’t love you back, but that’s not a reflection of you or your self-worth,” i reiterate to him the mantra i say in my mirror every morning.

he whimpers and my heart breaks for him.

“it doesn’t feel that way, it feels like i’m dying inside every time she talks about him or tells me about their dates, and i try to be a good friend but-”

his voice cracks and another sob escapes his chest and i tighten my grip around him; heartbreak doesn’t seem to get easier with age, because here we are, two fbi agents in our late twenties crying over our crushes like we are in junior high.

because before i know it the tears are flowing down my face faster than his and when he breaks away from our embrace to ask me why i’m crying, i can’t tell him it’s because i am feeling everything he is.

“i just don’t like seeing you like this,” is all i can muster up.

it's just that these girls know they're okay there's a beauty in knowing your place in the world in loving yourself and knowing your worth

“hey!” spencer greets me as he steps into the elevator with me.

“hi,” i mumble back, taking another sip of coffee from my travel cup.

we’ve been called in on a case, but i’ve barely had any sleep and i’m struggling to keep my eyes open.

“you look tired, are you okay?”

you look tired.

so the bags under my eyes were obvious then.

“yeah,” i say, swallowing the lump in my throat, “just a late night, y’know.”

“oh…oh! is that your way of saying your date went well?” he says with a coy grin.

“what?”

oh! something clicks in my brain and i understand what he means.

“no! not like that no…actually it didn’t go well at all, he turned out to be a total misogynistic creep,” i say with a bitter laugh.

“oh, i’m sorry….”

i shrug and take another swig of coffee, “it’s okay, you didn’t know. to be honest i’ll probably end up calling him again anyways.”

spencer stares at me, confused, “why would you do that?”

“well, i don’t exactly have guys falling over themselves for me, do i?”

spencer frowns and i can see his brain working overtime behind his eyes, “so you’re just going to settle for less than you deserve?”

“i don’t have many other options do i?”

he reaches out an arm to place a comforting hand on my shoulder, “don’t worry, you’ll find the right guy for you soon. it’s only a matter of time, you’re worth more than a misogynistic creep,” he squeezes my shoulder and before i know it we’ve already reached our floor and he’s gone.

you’ll meet the right guy for you soon.

what if i already have?

you don't have to be perfect or never get sad that's not what it means to be honey and glass

it’s late and i sit at my desk, sorting through piles of paperwork.

my eyes blur as i enter the gruesome details of our latest case, from fatigue or tears i can’t tell. i think emily and hotch are still hanging around the office somewhere, but the others had gone to dinner as soon as we landed, promising that they would do their paperwork tomorrow.

i knew i would have no appetite sitting across a table from spencer and jj so i had sat silently in the back of the suv as hotch drove us back to the office.

a singular tear rolls down my cheek and splatters on my page, smudging the not-quite-dry-yet ink. i let out a shaky breath and wipe my eyes, i don’t know why i’m crying really.

no one had necessarily done anything wrong. only when we were in the field and the unsub had detonated the bomb, spencer chose to push jj out of the way instead of me. i was lucky that one of the s.w.a.t agents had grabbed my arm in time and pulled me back to safety.

it had been hours and my ears were still ringing from the explosion.

maybe spencer thought he was closer to jj, that he had a better chance of saving her, we are trained to make difficult choices based on survival odds, i told myself.

only spencer hadn’t been closer to jj, and she was surrounded by three s.w.a.t agents whilst i only had one next to me. but no one had really done anything wrong, no one died, no one even broke a bone. and it pains me to admit to myself but had i been in spencer’s position and had to chose between saving him or morgan, i know that would pull spencer out of the way every single time.

i jump as emily creeps up behind me, “hey, you okay?”

i don’t even try and disguise my puffy, red eyes or tear tracks as i look up at her, “no. but i think that’s okay.”

and everyone has their highs and their lows the nights you spend crying, believe me, I know

it’s roslyn’s birthday.

i don’t think anyone else in the team knows because they keep exchanging looks whenever jj snaps at one of them and i can see the annoyance in their eyes.

when jj barks at spencer and snaps her pencil within the space of five minutes i drag her into a storage closet and wrap my arms around her.

“shhh,” i say soothingly, “it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

jj shakes her head, “i don’t think so, i thought this day would get easier with time but it’s just getting worse,” she sniffles.

i stroke her hair, “i know, i know its horrible and you deserve to cry as much as you want to. but you are so strong, and i know you can get through this-”

“i’m not,” jj shakes her head, “i’m not strong or brave or anything that you all think i am, i’m not like you I-”

“like me?” i question.

“you always hold yourself together, whenever there’s a case with a kid i’m falling to pieces but you keep it together. i mean i’m the one crying in a storage closet….”

i stare at her in disbelief, because jj is the strongest woman i know and i don’t understand how she can’t see that.

“i don’t have a sister who killed herself jj,” i say slowly, “you have survived 100% of the bad things that have happened to you because you’re a fighter, that makes you strong.”

she shakes her head and clings to me, “but i’ve lost pieces of myself, i’m not the same person i could’ve been if life had been kinder to me and that makes me sad. my sister is dead and that makes me sad, everyone thinks i’m this strong and perfect person and that makes me feel guilty because i can’t be that person.”

in a turn of events, she is crying into my chest, her hair is greasy, and her mascara runs and i realise that my best friend was never truly on the pedestal i placed her on. and i realise i am part of the problem, treating jj like she is the be all and all of perfection and unattainablity when i should just be treating her like a friend.

spencer loves her and that kills me but it’s not what’s important right now. i’ve spent too long inside my own head, struggling to view her as my best friend or the other woman but now i see that she is someone that needs my help.

i know what it’s like to cry myself to sleep so i don’t want jj to go through something like that alone. so i vow there and then, to push my own feelings aside and be whatever she needs me to be.

i don't want to be these girls for beauty or fame but for the confidence they have in their own damn name

“smile!” garcia says as she appears with a camera.

emily, jj, and morgan turn to face her and pose but i duck out of the frame. garcia pouts and morgan grabs onto my forearm to pull me back into shot. i wish that i had the self-confidence to let him, to fall in next to him and make a silly pose at the camera and not worry if my hair was sitting nicely or if i was breathing in enough.

“come on! i need pictures for my scrapbook and you’ve been dodging me all night!” she whines.

i stare down at my feet, “garcia i’m not photoshoot ready like these guys,” i say, trying to make my voice light and floaty but it just sounds like im choking back tears.

“come on, just one picture,” jj says kindly, waving for me to come and stand next to her.

i shake my head again and wring my hands. the last thing i need is another photograph of jj and i to compare myself to every time i’m feeling extra low and self-destructive.

i try and remember the vow i made, to be there for my friend despite my own feelings. but she isn’t sad anymore, she’s happy and smiling and drinking wine, me squeezing in between her and emily for a stupid photograph isn’t going to make or break her.

it’s just a stupid photograph.

“no thanks,” i choke, “i’m going to get another drink,” i scurry away to the kitchen before anyone can object.

i shut the door quickly behind me and press my back up against it, taking a deep breath. i can’t quite believe i was successful in escaping garcia again.

“are you avoid garcia and her camera too?”

“spencer!” i laugh shrilly, “i didn’t even see you there.”

“yeah, i’ve been hiding in here for a half hour,” he smiles sadly, “i hate having my picture taken, especially next to morgan. he makes me look even lankier if possible.”

i frown, spencer had no reason to feel insecure.

“why don’t we get garcia to take a picture of just us two?” i suggest nervously, “you won’t have any reason to feel insecure next to me….”

he looks at me quizzically, “what do you mean?”

i wring my hands again, “just that you’ll automatically look even better if i’m next to you…cos’ i’m…well y’know,” i say awkwardly motioning to my face and body.

he cocks his head to the side, “are you trying to tell me you think you’re ugly, so i’ll look better by comparison?”

i shrug.

“well, i think you look beautiful.”

so I'll sit here and look at these girls in the sun dancing in the rain and just having their fun

we’re on the plane journey home.

spencer and jj sit next to each other, their arms pressed together as they share the arm rest. spencer is reading a book; his eyes scan down the pages at lightening speed and i know he’ll be finished soon.

i am on the opposite side of the plane, i sit by myself, i like the space.

i keep my eye on them throughout the flight; just as i predicted, it doesn’t take long for spencer to finish his book and he places it down on the table in front of him. jj picks it up and teases him for the long-winded title, i don’t catch what she says, something about astrophysics.

he starts to ramble, and she interrupts him with another teasing remark, he flushes when she gently nudges his chest. i turn my head to stare out of the window, biting my lip.

they aren’t even doing anything, jj is just being friendly. and i still can’t handle it. i lie my head back against the headrest as i gaze out of the window, admiring the new york skyline as it fades into the distance.

a nervous chuckle from spencer snaps me out of my trance, and i look back over to see him and jj giggling secretively as she whispers something into his ear.

“where are you going?” emily grumbles, she’s half asleep with her legs splayed out across two chairs when i accidently bump her foot.

“bathroom,” i say quietly with a forced smile as i shuffle past jj and spencer, my heart seizing in my chest as she teases him about how long his hair is getting, brushing her hand through the curls.

i’m already silently sobbing in the bathroom so i miss the pitiful look that emily and morgan exchange.

and I know it doesn't make sense to forget the past but I promise, one day, you'll be honey and glass

“agent fitz?” i say, clutching my phone tight in my hand.

“ahh, i’ve been wondering when i’d be hearing from you.”

i laugh quietly, “yes, well i’ve been thinking about what you said, and i think i could do with that change of scenery now.”

i wrote this in a couple hours and didnt proof read so apologies for an errors :))

part 2

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #jennifer jareau #jj #emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #David Rossi #Penelope garcia #the bau #angst #hurt and comfort #spencer reid imagine hurt

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yeah-all-of-it · 3 years

Text

I’ve had this headcanon for awhile now about Ian and Mickey starting a family and since I’m becoming more comfortable with writing, I thought I’d turn it into a fic. Enjoy!

A Life Changing Gift

“Debs, are you sure you understand what you’re offering right now?,” Ian questions, feeling a bit skeptical.

It is Debbie after all. Sometimes she’s perfectly pleasant and reasonable, other times she can be a raging bitch. But, she is his sister and he can’t imagine her offering something this monumental only to renege after they’ve gotten their hopes up. And she’s definitely mellowed out since they didn’t end up selling the house and she didn’t have to find a new place to live.

Ian and Debbie are sitting at the kitchen table in the Gallagher house. She had called him over to look at a cut Franny had gotten playing in the backyard. Wasn’t sure if it needed stitches and thought Ian could use his past medical training to check it out. In reality, it was barely a scratch. Ian should have known at that point Debbie was up to something, especially when she invited him to stay for coffee.

“Ian, I’ve been thinking a long time about this. Came up with the idea months ago but wanted to be completely sure before I said anything,” Debbie explains.

“Yeah, but, Debbie. This is fuckin’ huge. Think about how hard it’ll be on you-“

“I’ve already thought about all that shit, Ian. I’ve been through it before, you know. It’s really not that bad,” Debbie assures him.

Debbie seems sincere. Like she’s really considered every angle, every downside, upside, and in-between. He’s trying to keep his excitement reined in because he still has to convince Mickey that this is a good idea, which could be easier said than done.

“Listen,” Debbie says. “You don’t have to say anything now. Go home, talk it over with Mickey. You can even bring him over here and we can all talk about it if you want. No pressure.”

They both stand from the table and Ian goes to give her a hug.

“Wait, what the fuck are you doing?” Debbie jokes. “Thought you hated me and that we don’t do hugs anymore.” She laughs, and Ian knows she’s remembering how tense things were a year ago when she thought she’d be homeless and alone and she lashed out at all her siblings.

“Would you just fuckin’ come here?” Ian smiles warmly and holds his arms out.

She steps into his embrace and he just holds his little sister. Sometimes he still likes to imagine her as that sweet little girl that was always helping people. Always loving people, sometimes so much she would get hurt. It would kill him to see the tears in her eyes.

Sometimes, he sees glimpses of that caring little girl in the jaded woman she’s become. Like when she pretended to be the bride at his wedding; staying in the kitchen, missing the whole ceremony, just so he and Mickey could get married without any problems from the homophobes at the venue. And now, when she’s offering this selfless and life changing gift to them.

Ian whispers into her hair, hair that’s the same vibrant shade of red as his own, “I don’t even know what to say, Debs. Just… thank you.”

Debbie gives him one more big squeeze before pulling away. “You’re welcome. Now, go home and convince your husband to let me have his baby.”

———

“No fuckin’ way, NO fuckin’ way!” Mickey exclaims. “No way am I bangin’ your little sister.”

Mickey hops up on the counter, takes a long chug of the Old Style in his hand.

“Mick,” Ian sighs, leaning up against the opposite counter. “That’s not how it works. You would basically jerk off in a cup and she’d use a turkey baster, in the privacy of her own room,” he emphasizes,” to… place the sperm where they need to go.”

“Don’t you need like, a doctor or some shit to do that?” Mickey asks incredulously.

“Well, you can use a doctor but it’s expensive. This way is free,” Ian clarifies.

Mickey is clearly churning the idea around in his brain. Finally speaks.

“I thought we were just gonna like, find a fuckin’ kid that didn’t have parents or somethin’.”

“We can do that too, one day. Ya know, if we like the first one enough to do it again,” Ian says lightheartedly, slight grin, trying to calm Mickey.

Ian steps toward Mickey, placing his hips between Mickey’s knees, resting his hands on his thighs, rubbing softly.

Ian continues. “Think about it though, Mick. This baby would be us, you and me. It’s the closest we can get since we don’t exactly have the right stuff to do it on our own. He or she would have your DNA and, through Debbie, a little of mine too.”

Mickey beams at this, wraps his arms around his husband’s shoulders. “It would be kinda fun to have a little version of us runnin’ around,” Mickey admits. “You know a kid that’s part Milkovich and part Gallagher is bound to be a little shit though, right?” Mickey jokes, smiling at the thought.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Ian quips, leaning in and planting a sweet kiss on his smiling husband’s lips.

Ian pulls back from the kiss and asks seriously, “So. Do you wanna do this?”

“Yeah. Yeah I do. What about you?” Mickey questions.

“Fuck yeah, I do. Let’s call Debs right now.”

———

“I’ve done a lot of research about this. You guys know it might not work on the first try right? Don’t want you to be frustrated or disappointed if it doesn’t work this month. Doesn’t mean it won’t ever work, but it can take a little time,” Debbie explains.

They are sitting in the Gallagher living room the day they are making their first attempt at insemination.

“Yeah, we know, Debs. Don’t worry,” Ian replies. “We’re not in a hurry.”

“Okay, good. Keeping your expectations reasonable is good,” she says. “I’ve also been tracking my basal body temperature and took an ovulation test, so today is my most fertile da-“

Mickey interrupts, “Thanks, Dr. Gallagher, but we don’t need all the gory details. Now where do I jerk off? Hey Ian, you gonna gimme a hand, man?” Mickey clicks his tongue and bounces his eyebrows playfully.

“Ugh, no gory details, right? Let’s just keep all the personal shit to ourselves okay?” Debbie requests.

“Yeah, this is already awkward enough. Don’t need to make it weirder,” Ian agrees and eyes Mickey scoldingly.

Ian and Mickey are forced to go into the bathroom because Lip and Tami live there now and their old bedroom is now Fred and the baby’s room. They’re not home but it would be uncomfortable seeing Fred’s little toddler bed, his stuffed animal collection staring at them while Mickey gets off. So, bathroom it is.

“Listen, Mickey,” Ian explains. “I’ll help, but we are keeping this clinical. Short and sweet. We can fuck at home later for fun; this needs to be done with a purpose, a goal. Debbie’s waiting.”

“Ugh, Jesus, man, why you gotta bring up Debbie? Doesn’t exactly make this process easier to think of her waiting in her room to squir-“

“Okaaayy, focus Mick,” Ian interrupts before that sentence goes any further.

Ian yanks down Mickey’s pants and gets to work. He knows exactly how Mickey likes it to make him come quickly. It works and Mickey finishes into the bulb of the turkey baster in record time.

Ian wipes off the edges and walks it to Debbie’s room, knocking on the door. She opens it just enough to stick her arm out and Ian places the bulb in her hand. Ian hears her say, “Uh, you guys can go home. I’ll text you later,” and shuts the door.

On their way back to the Westside, Ian’s phone dings. He picks it up and reads the text from Debbie out loud. “Transfer is complete.”

“What now?” Mickey asks.

“We wait,” Ian answers.

———

“It should have worked by now, right?” Mickey asks, an edge of concern in his voice. “I mean, it’s been almost 4 months. What if like, my fuckin’ swimmers don’t work or somethin’?”

Ian tries to calm Mickey down, rubbing his arm that’s slung across Ian’s belly. It’s midnight and they really should be asleep but Mickey’s spiraling over the whole surrogacy thing.

“Mick, this is normal. We knew it could take awhile. There’s no need to freak out yet,” Ian assures. “What’s all this about, anyway? All the worry.”

“Just… I know it took a long time for me to even wanna have kids. Then you had to convince me to do this shit, to be okay with Debbie carrying my baby. Fuck, that still sounds creepy as hell. But anyway, I know I wasn’t on board with everything at first, but now? Ian, I’m so fuckin’ excited to have a baby with you. To be a dad with you. It’s just hard to wait, that’s all. And then I think… what if it doesn’t happen? What if this whole plan just fuckin’ fails? Then what?”

“Then, we come up with another plan,” Ian assures. “I wanna raise kids with you too, Mickey, so fuckin’ much. I wanna give them the childhood we never got to have. I wanna take them to the beach with you, I want us to play blocks on the living room floor, and read bedtime stories together. All that shit. It’ll happen, Mickey. One way or another, we’ll make it happen.”

Ian snuggles Mickey closer, kisses him on the top of the head, and they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

They are woken up by Ian’s obnoxious ringtone at 6:00 am, well before they have to be up for work.

“Who the fuck is calling this goddamn early? Better be fuckin’ important,” Mickey grumbles while rubbing his eyes.

It’s Debbie.

“Hey, Debs!” Ian says with fake cheerfulness, still half asleep. “What’s up?”

“There’s two lines!” she screams on the other end of the phone.

“Okay?” Ian replies.

“There’s TWO lines!” she repeats, emphasizing the word two.

“I don’t know what the fuck that means, Debs. Two lines where?” Ian questions.

“On the pregnancy test, dipshit! It’s positive! I’m pregnant!” she yells.

Ian bolts upright in bed. Mickey grumbles “what the fuck” under his breath, eyes still half closed.

“Holy fuck! It’s positive?” Ian exclaims. “It worked?

Mickey’s up now too. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Debs! Thank you! I love you! I’ll call you back later!” Ian says, unable to hold in his excitement.

He hangs up the phone. Turns and looks at Mickey. “It worked. She’s pregnant,” Ian practically whispers, unable to believe it. Ian sees tears well up in Mickey’s eyes and, for only the second time Ian has ever witnessed, they spill out onto his cheeks.

———

“Damn, you look like a beached whale, Debbie,” Mickey observes.

Debbie gives him a dirty look but chooses to keep her mouth shut.

She’s a week past her due date so they are at the clinic today to make sure everything is good. Debbie is up on the table and Ian and Mickey are sitting in the two available chairs when the doctor comes in.

“Hi, Debbie! Hi, Dads!” she says cheerfully. “So we are going to measure your belly and do a quick ultrasound just to make sure your amniotic fluid looks good.” Mickey grimaces at the term “amniotic fluid”. “I’ll have her back in a jiffy, guys!” the doctor says as she whisks Debbie out of the room.

They spent the last 6 months getting everything they needed for their new baby. Tami even threw them a shower where they got clothes, bottles, a swing, a carseat, and about a billion diapers. They decorated the nursery in light gray bedding with tiny white stars. Gender neutral because they want to be surprised. They have everything ready, all they need is the baby who is taking its sweet time.

Around 20 minutes has passed when the doctor pokes her head in the door.

“Sooo, I have some news. Debbie’s water broke while we were doing her ultrasound and her contractions started coming really fast. From what I’ve been told, her first delivery was pretty quick so we’re transporting her to the hospital just down the road, just to be safe. You are welcome to head over there now. I will be delivering so I’ll see you guys there!” and her head pops out as quickly as it appeared.

Ian and Mickey just look at each other, stunned. Finally Mickey regains his senses and breaks the silence. “Well, let’s fuckin’ go!”

They finally make it to the OB floor after a couple wrong turns inside the hospital. A nurse points them to Debbie’s room and they walk in when she’s in the middle of a pretty intense contraction. Once it subsides, she greets them and informs the epidural is on its way.

Once it’s been administered and Debbie is blissfully pain free, she asks, “Do you guys want to be in the delivery room?”

They both look at each other. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” Ian replies.

“Fuck, no,” Mickey says. “I don’t wanna see that shit.”

“Mick, you don’t have to watch. We can stand up by her head. Hold her hand. Be supportive since she’s bringing our baby into this world.” Ian turns to Debbie. “Are you sure you don’t mind? We understand if you want to keep things private.”

“Ian. I gave birth to Franny on our kitchen table in front of… like, everyone. Kev saw my vagina. V saw my vagina. Fuckin’ Sean saw my vagina. Trust me, I don’t care if you two are in the room.”

Ian looks at Mickey. “Fuck… fine. We can be in there,” Mickey relents.

A nurse comes in to check Debbie and informs her she’s 100% effaced and 10cm dilated. It’s go time. Things move at a quick pace after that. More nurses come in, turning on extra lights, bringing in supplies, wheeling in the heated bassinet.

Ian and Mickey stand side by side to Debbie’s left, Ian holding her hand, while she pushes. It’s fast. She only pushes for ten minutes before they hear cries and the doctor’s holding the baby in her hands, declaring, “it’s a girl!”

The next thing they know, a nurse is throwing a clean blanket over Mickey’s chest, and another nurse walks over and places the baby, his daughter, in his arms, blood, vernix, and all. Ian expects him to be grossed out but Mickey just stares in awe at this beautiful baby. This baby that looks like him in the face, but has a head of red hair.

Ian steps up to Mickey and wraps an arm around his shoulders, placing his other under Mickey’s arms that are holding their daughter. There is not a dry eye in the room. Ian and Mickey are crying, Debbie is crying, even the doctor and nurses are crying.

The next hour or so is spent getting the baby, and Debbie, cleaned up and dressed. They take the baby and run the normal tests and give her a vitamin k shot.

Once Debbie is in a room, the nurse brings the baby in to her dads. Ian sits in the rocking chair snuggling her while she sleeps and Mickey is right next to them.

Debbie just gazes at this new little family from her spot in bed. “So,” she finally says. “What are you naming her?”

Ian and Mickey just smile at each other before Ian responds, “Debbie, meet Margaret Laura Gallagher-Milkovich. Maggie for short.”

Debbie’s eyes tear up. “You guys gave her my middle name?”

Mickey surprisingly fields this question. “We wanted her to be named after the person that’s responsible for her bein’ here. For helping’ create her for us. I know I give you a lotta shit, but I love ya, and I appreciate the fuck outta you, Debbie.”

“Aww, Mickey, I love yo-“ she begins before being interrupted.

“Don’t get fuckin’ used to it. I’m emotional today,” he snaps with feigned grumpiness. Then smiles at her.

They let Debbie snuggle her for a bit before being released by the pediatrician to take her home. Thankfully they had already installed the infant seat in their car so they were prepared.

They walk through the door of their apartment 30 minutes later. Ian sets the carrier down and picks the baby up out of it, snuggling her tiny body to his chest before passing her off to Mickey.

“I’m not sure what you were so worried about, you’re a natural, Mickey,” Ian says as he gazes at his handsome husband tenderly cradling their beautiful baby girl.

They walk over to the sofa and sit down, thinking about the whirlwind of a day. Not knowing when they got up this morning to take Debbie to the clinic that by evening, they’d be holding their daughter in their arms.

Ian wraps Mickey’s shoulders with his arm, places his hand on their swaddled baby and says, “Welcome home, Maggie Gallagher-Milkovich. Your dads love you so much.”

#gallavich fic #ian and mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #debbie gallagher #post season 11

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amoc94 · 3 years

Text

"His Pet"

Summary : Min Yoongi. A business magnate, and a mafia leader. He was everything you would never imagine to be a part of your life. Yet fate is not something to be eluded.

He would do anything to make you his.

Pairings : Yoongi × female OC (from reader's POV).

Genre : Yandere, Mafia AU.

Warning for this chapter : Nothing.

This story is not for easily triggered readers or below eighteen.

Full Masterlist and elaborate warning please read here.

List of chapters here.

CHAPTER 45.

It was eleven at night, definitely your bedtime during normal days, of when you usually already curled up comfortably in your bed while surfing through the internet before sleep fetched you away.

Tonight was certainly wasn't the ordinary one, when you stood inside the hospital emergency room, still clad in your working suit, you didn't even have the chance to go home first.

You were on your way home when you got a call from the nightshift manager.

Mr. Johnson got a heart attack, one that rendered him unconcious.

Since they couldn't speak in Balinese nor Indonesian, you had to accompany them to make sure they could get the right treatment in timely manner.

Not that your Indonesian was good anyway, it has been only almost four months since you arrived, but you understood some of the basic conversation.

Standing inside the emergency room, you watched as two nurses and a doctor on duty tried to put his heartbeat to normal.

"Unstable, charge again."

The nurse put the paddle back for the second time on the white patches adhered to his chest, and started counting before recharged the defibrillator.

"One, two, three...charge!"

Mr. Johnson's chest jerked once, and they looked at the erratic rhythmic of the lines on the monitor.

"Not enough, again."

Looking at their wary faces, even your heart also beating fast knowing that anytime a life might slipped through their fingers. Being a doctor or nurse certainly wasn't an easy job. Mrs. Johnson's sobs were now louder and she started to wail, you had to keep rubbing her back to calm her down.

It was on the fifth attempt they finally got the desired heart rate on the monitor, you could see relief washed over their face.

Mrs. Johnson was now standing next to the bed, kept wiping her tears with tissue. You patted her back in a consoling manner, trying to calm her down, although you didn't know the prognosis yet. Most likely they would have to keep him on bedrest for several days.

You waited until Mr. Johnson was settled in his room and his wife was calm enough to be left by herself, before you decided to go home, after promised her that you would visit to check on them the next day.

Walking down the long hallway towards the exit, you could smell the faint scent of jasmine flower around the air, a typical occurence in Bali.

Wherever you went, somehow the scent of jasmine, frangipani, plumeria or lemongrass were like following around, especially because Balinese people have traditions of putting down a piece of offerings in front of their doors or entrances, both in private houses or public places.

Canang sari as they called it, is an intricately square-shaped palm leaves pinned together with bamboo sticks. The decorated palm couture filled with different kind of flowers, sometimes some snacks or tobacco, are prayed and kept in every nook and corner of Bali. The different colours of flowers in this palm tray symbolizes a Hindu God.

Few months ago, you probably would never thought of living in Bali island. You could picture yourself to live in fast lane cities like Seoul, Shanghai or Tokyo, but never, ever, you imagined yourself to land and reside in Bali.

Turned out your brother had a Korean friend who married with a Balinese woman, and they helped him to apply for the working visa as well as gave him a job in their korean restaurant in Denpasar.

You arrived there around three weeks after his arrival, courtesy of the assistance from Seokjin. He booked you a flight from Seoul to Shanghai, and reserved a hotel for two nights, before you boarded the train to Shenzhen, spent one night there, and continued with bus trip to Hong Kong. In Hong Kong, you rented an apartment for a month, then abandoned it on the third day and changed your passport to a different one, with the help of one of Seokjin's contact in that country. With the fake passport, you boarded the flight to Jakarta.

Your last leg was from Jakarta, of where you took two hours direct flight to Denpasar, Bali.

Seokjin said that the complicated transits were arranged to eliminate your trail so it wouldn't be easy to trace.

Only one thing you didn't tell him, your brother was in Bali instead of Kuala Lumpur like you told him. You abandoned the ticket to Kuala Lumpur that he bought for you, and booked the flight to Jakarta instead.

You couldn't trust him, not when he was one of the closest person to Yoongi, at anytime he could reveal your whereabouts to him. Granted, he was the one who helped you to get away, but you had long learned, a man like Seokjin would always have his own agenda.

A month later, you found a job in a five star hotel in Uluwatu area, where you worked as assistant to guest relation manager.

Initially, it wasn't easy for you to adjust with life in Bali, the food and the yearlong tropical hot weather being the absolute challenge.

After your exploration of the island, you were exposed to various parts of Bali that has different characteristics of nature.

From iconic teraced rice paddies and rainforest around Ubud, to the white sandy beaches around Kuta and Seminyak that stretched to Sanur and Canggu, to beautiful coral reefs and blue sea with the crashing waves around the coastal line in Jimbaran or Bedugul.

There was a reason why they called it The Island of Gods.

Rice was grown with water that once flowed through a temple. Each home was adorned with small temples and usually, a large temple within the property that was used for daily prayer. The presence of Balinese Hinduism in everyday life and in Balinese architecture was why the island earned the nickname of Island of the Gods.

It wasn't hard for you to fall in love with the island after a month of living there.

And you were lucky enough to find an occupation that you liked.

Before you met Yoongi and being confined in the mansion, you were a hermit, always retreated from the social life and from people you didn't really know.

After gained your freedom back, you started to appreciate people around you and the surrounding where you were living, more than anything.

Working at a resort at the high end side of price range, you got the opportunities to meet with many people from different nations, and you were never been more grateful for your ability to speak in English.

People learned from the past after all.

When your car finally arrived at the parking lot of the resort, you glanced through the vast green courtyard illuminated with rows of warm white lights, it exuded the romantic and luxury ambience even before you enter the main building.

Walking through the pergola covered with glass canopy heading to the entrance, you thought about how different your life right now.

The laid back lifestyle that was adopted by Balinese people in general, made you slowed down and appreciated life in so many aspects. Every tuesday was your day off, and you would spend it with your brother and his family in Denpasar. Something that you could only experience once in a month when you were still working and living in Seoul.

You started to learn pottery recently, and you planned to learn about yoga and balinese dance next month. The things that probably would never cross your mind before.

However, only one thing that didn't really change.

From the first time you arrived at Bali, even after four months later, you still couldn't stop to think about Yoongi.

Thoughts about him always occupied your mind, and you found that from time to time, you would check the korean language website to know more about him.

When you departed from Seoul, Yoongi was still in coma, and you were too anxious, you kept checking the web several times a day just in case there would be news about him recovered from the coma.

It was ten days later when you knew he was finally awake, under a news headline of him and the boys being questioned by the authority for five hours in regard of the shooting in Peninsula hotel, of where two people were dead because of stab wound.

Other times you saw his picture in a business website, stated that BTS stock prices were bounced back after Yoongi resumed to his office.

You stared at his photo, clad in his signature all black suit, you wondered if that was his recent picture or not, but judging by the more prominent jaw and cheekbones, it probably was.

At least he was okay, otherwise you wouldn't be able to get rid of the guilt that haunted you since he got shot.

In a way, you were grateful you weren't in South Korea anymore. The changing of surrounding helped you greatly in the process of overcoming your fear and your feeling for him.

Once you stepped inside the hallway, the fragrant scent of frangipani welcoming you, along with the view of the elegant lobby with Italian marble flooring and lounge area under the tall ceiling decorated in long grid of traditional wooden blocks. The long window wall on the left side of the room facing to the vast green garden overlooked to the swimming pool and the beach over the horizon.

It was already almost eleven at night, the lobby was pretty quiet, only an Indian woman wearing a sari sat with her partner at the sofa lounge.

There was a man in casual jeans and white shirt holding a small suitcase, who apparently just arrived and checking in.

You proceeded to the front desk, there were two other receptionists on duty that night. One of them was a pretty Javanese girl wearing modern kebaya uniform, who smiled once she saw you.

"Hi, Mitha."

"Good evening Ms. Jang. Anything I can help you with?"

"You know about the Johnson couple right? I need to release their remaining booking, and there are some of their belongings I need to send to the hospital tomorrow."

"I heard that just now. Such a pity, in the middle of vacation, no less. I will process the release booking right away, but the fund might be reflected in their account in six working days."

"No problem. I'll let them know. Can you please make a note to the housekeeping tomorrow? Just skip their room until I give the clearance later."

"Very well Miss. Here is the form you need to sign, sky suite two eight three, correct? I will need their signature too by tomorrow."

The girl gave you the pen and paper, and you started to fill up the form.

The momentary quietness that followed while you wrote, you caught the heavy accented English from the guy who checked in, a few meters from you, and your ears perked up.

The voice sounded familiar.

You glanced to the left, taking in the guy's side profile, almost the same time with him was looking at your direction.

There was realization visible from his countenance, and he smiled at you.

"Yuri."

You almost couldn't believe your eyes if not because the voice that matched with his face.

"Jung...Jungkook?"

Chapter 46

#yandere yoongi #yandere bts #bts fanfic #yandere suga #agust d #min yoongi #bts mafia au #bts yandere au #bts mafia imagine

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capsironunderoos · 3 years

Text

The Art Teacher and The Winter Soldier - Part One: Morgan Stark’s Secret Plan

Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Some stories about Bucky Barnes and an art teacher...

Word Count: 2,061

Warnings: None! Although there are spoilers for Falcon and The Winter Soldier if you haven’t finished that!

Author’s Note: Hey hey! I’m finally writing and posting again! I recently graduated from college with a degree in art education, and I just thought it would be cute to see Bucky Barnes date an art teacher, so here we are! This isn’t going to be a normal series, just kind of little snapshots of Bucky’s life with an art teacher. Also, this series follows the events of Endgame and The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, except Tony lived, other than that it’s pretty much the same. I hope you enjoy!

Here’s a link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

“Captain America, The Winter Soldier, Scarlet Witch, and Iron Man walk into an elementary school… sounds like the start of a bad joke.”

Bucky heard Sam mumble beside him and felt a smirk make its way onto his lips.

“I thought the minivan was enough for a bad joke,” Bucky added, and Sam had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter, a startling cough erupting from his chest.

Tony had asked a few of the remaining Avengers to go with him to the opening night of Morgan’s elementary school art show since Pepper had been scheduled for a meeting.

Morgan’s work had been voted on by the other students in her grade and selected as the best in kindergarten, which didn’t surprise Tony. The Stark’s were always the best at everything they attempted.

Tony had wanted to invite everyone he knew, but he was under strict instructions from his daughter that only a few could come.

The girl in question sat contently between her Uncle Sam and her Uncle Bucky, small right hand gripping onto Bucky’s left, as her left hand held a small bouquet of flowers.

Her smile grew when she felt the minivan take the familiar right turn into her school’s parking lot, and she strained to make herself taller to see the brick building slowly getting bigger as Tony pulled the car into a spot.

Tony turned the car off as the Avengers piled out and onto the concrete, Bucky turning back to offer his hand to Morgan. She quickly grabbed onto it and jumped out, giggling as she almost dropped the flowers.

“Here,” he gestured to the flowers, opening his hand. “Let me carry those Moe.” She nodded and handed the flowers to him with no hesitation, leaving his side to run to Tony, who turned just in time to catch her and lift her above his head before propping her onto his hip. Her giggles echoed across the parking lot, and Bucky noticed a few people shooting smiles their way.

“You comin’ Buck?” Sam called, already climbing up the stairs into the school, and Bucky smiled in response, jogging slightly to catch up with the group.

“You guys are gonna love it here!” Morgan called from the front of the group, still holding onto her dad as they walked into the building.

Wanda glanced over at Bucky and Sam, stifling a laugh.

“Yeah, you two will fit right in.” Bucky smiled and rolled his eyes, and Sam lightly shoved her with his elbow, causing her to let out a small giggle.

“Alright kiddo, lead the way,” Tony prompted as he placed her back onto the ground. Normally, this would cue a few moments of whining and begging to be picked back up, but she was focused on other things tonight.

Yes, Morgan Stark had a plan.

She walked proudly down the decorated hallways, making sure to point out the artworks her friends had made as she marched the small group of Avengers to her artwork.

Bucky was quiet as they walked, stopping every now and then to look at a few pieces done by older kids.

He was easily reminded of Steve, and their time growing up in Brooklyn.

He thought about the journals he’d buy for Steve on his birthday, or a new art material he’d see in a shop while out for a walk that he couldn’t help but buy. Steve would have loved this, would have been right at home talking art with the very animated five year old leading the group.

Bucky smiled to himself as he began to move with the group again, not missing the various drawings of superheroes plastering the walls. He knew he wouldn’t find himself here, immortalized on paper by a child who saw him as a hero, and his smile drops, but only for a second as he sees Morgan stop before throwing her hands up and screaming.

Tony jumps to find out what’s wrong, but before he can squat down to her level she is running full speed towards a woman in a skirt with polka-dots all over it, and when she turns to see who is screaming Bucky can see that her shirt reads “Your greatest work of art is you!” He smiles at the sentiment and watches as Morgan launches herself into the arms of the woman, who is now crouching in order to better receive the hug.

The force of a very enthusiastic five year old knocks the woman onto the floor and she laughs with Morgan as they part.

“Hello to you too Morgan!” She says through more laughter and Morgan waves, now seemingly shy as she steps back beside her father.

Tony moves into action now, extending his hand to help the woman off of the floor. She graciously accepts, and Bucky notes the shy smile that washes over her features.

“You must be the art teacher we hear so much about,” Tony says as she lightly brushes off the back of her dress.

“Yes, that would be me! And don’t worry, I know who all of you are,” she adds, her smile widening as her eyes meet each Avenger’s. Bucky feels himself starting to blush when her gaze lingers on his for just a bit longer than his counterparts.

“Even if I lived under a rock it’d be hard not to know who you were. Morgan talks about you all the time, and she tells quite the story.” Tony laughs and lightly ruffles her hair, to which Morgan responds to by swatting at his hand.

“You’re telling me. I ask her to tell me bedtime stories.” This cues a round of laughter from the group before Tony turns to each member.

“Well, just to be formal about it, I’m Tony, and this is Sam, Wanda, and James,” Tony says, and the woman shakes all of their hands, making sure to tell each one how wonderful it is to meet them.

When she slips her hand into Bucky’s, he wonders if she feels the small jolt of electricity that he does, but he ignores it as she smiles at him.

“Please, call me Bucky,” he tells her, and that same shy smile rests against her lips as she nods. He’s sad to let her out of his grasp, but even he knows that it would probably be weird to sit and hold her hand.

When she turns back to Morgan after telling the group her name, Bucky catches Sam staring at him out of the corner of his eye, and Wanda too. The duo are standing in similar stances, arms crossed over their chests with their eyebrows raised at his actions. When Morgan has pulled her teacher out of ear-shot, Sam turns to Wanda and takes her hand before dramatically mimicking Bucky.

“Please, call me Bucky,” he chirps in a lovesick voice, and Wanda gasps as she places her hand over her heart. “Oh, Bucky!” She adds, and Bucky can feel himself blushing as he pushes past both of them to catch up with Tony and Morgan.

He tries not to smile as he hears their laughter trailing behind him.

When they catch back up with Morgan, she is proudly standing beside her artwork as Tony is bent down to take a picture of her beside it.

Bucky smiles, shifting the bouquet of flowers he still holds from one hand to the other as he watches the scene.

His heart stops though, when he sees the drawing.

It’s… Him.

Morgan drew him.

He remembers the picture the drawing is supposed to resemble, remembers standing very still as Morgan tried to figure out how to use her new kids camera. She had yelled “Don’t move!” each time he tried to shift his weight so that his knees weren’t locked for too long.

“She was prompted to draw someone she looks up to,” he hears quietly beside him, and the voice of the art teacher pulls him from his thoughts. Bucky turns to her in disbelief, and he sees that she is smiling up at him.

“I think she picked a pretty good subject for that prompt,” she adds, and Bucky can feel his breathing becoming shallow as he holds back tears.

He slowly walks over to the drawing to get a better look, and he sinks to his knees, a tear escaping and rolling down his cheek.

“Uncle Bucky! Why are you crying?” Morgan asks beside him, and all he can do is wrap her in his arms, dropping the flowers on the floor as he squeezes her to him. She giggles but wraps her arms around him too, before wiggling in his grasp to reach for the flowers on the floor.

“Here, give these to my teacher, they’re her favorite!” She whispers in his ear and he nods. This kid could have asked for a trip to the moon and Bucky would have built the rocket himself.

He quickly wipes the tear off of his cheek, turning to take a picture with Morgan beside the artwork at Tony’s request before standing and listening to Morgan’s teacher as she begins to speak.

“I know you probably already know this, but Morgan is very advanced for her age. Most of the other students in her class completed this project in a day, but Morgan worked on this for a few class periods. She even drew from observation, using a picture she brought in. I don’t normally teach that until fourth grade.”

A moment of silence passed as the group of Avengers stood in awe of the little girl before them.

“Here, let me take your picture together before you go,” she offers, and Tony gladly hands his phone over to her. The group bends down around the artwork, making sure to keep it, and the artist, in the center.

“Thank you all for coming,” she adds, as she hands the phone back to Tony, who in turn thanks her before leading the group back out of the building.

Bucky stands still, watching for a moment as Morgan turns around to wink at Bucky, gesturing to the flowers in his hand.

Her plan was in motion.

“Bucky? Is everything okay?” He hears behind him and he turns to see the art teacher, standing with her hands clasped in front of her, a small look of concern sewn into her eyebrows as they arch together.

“Yes. Sorry, um, I think these are for you. Your favorites, so I’ve heard.” Bucky states as he hands the bouquet over to her. Her face lights up at the gift, and Bucky smiles as their fingers ghost over each other as the bouquet is exchanged.

“Oh, thank you. And tell Morgan I said thank you as well.”

Bucky nods and starts to walk away, but finds himself stopping and turning back to the art teacher, who is already looking at him.

“Hey,” they start at the same time and Bucky laughs as he nervously slips his hands into his pockets.

“Would you wanna, grab some coffee some time, or something?” He rushes out, and the smile that erupts on her face makes Bucky’s heart speed up.

“Yes!” She squeaks out, and her excitement catches both of them off guard. “I mean, yes,” she adds, composing herself, which makes Bucky laugh again.

“Here,” she starts, pulling a pen hanging off her lanyard into her hands and balancing the flowers under her arm.

She gestures for Bucky’s hand and he holds it out to her. She glances up to him and he blushes again, quickly pulling off the glove. She smiles and grabs his hand, clicking the pen as she carefully holds his palm open to write her number down.

She pats it gently when she’s done.

“Just… text me, okay?” She whispers, smiling up at him before releasing his hand to turn to a parent who’s just walked up, flowers still held in her right hand.

---

The ride back to the compound is relatively quiet, until Morgan catches her Uncle Bucky looking at a string of numbers written on his hand.

She taps his shoulder and he looks at her as she gestures for him to lean down so she can whisper in his ear, “My plan worked! You’re welcome,” before leaning back against her seat, arms crossed and a look of satisfaction playing on her lips.

#TATATWS #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Winter Soldier #winter soldier x reader #white wolf #marvel x reader #marvel #em writes #woo new writing #woo art teacher #woo bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier

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mothandpidgeon · 3 years

Text

THE SINS OF THE FATHER - a Molly York story PART 2

(gif by @pajamasecrets)

PROLOGUE - PART 1

MASTERLIST

Characters: Dave York, Molly York (Carol and Alice, too)

Words: 3500

Rating: T

Warnings: character death (canon), loss of a parent, angst, training your daughter to be an assassin?

Summary: After contacting a mysterious acquaintance of her later father's, Molly York learns more about the man. And about his death.

a/n: I'm a little obsessed with this fic right now. I love writing soft!Dave and his daughter. I know this isn't the mean daddy Dave smut we usually love, but I'd love to hear from you if you're enjoying this!

Thanks @purplepascal042 for helping me with this part! Love you, B!

/ / / / /

Dave is exhausted from jet lag, sprawled on the bed, still in his shirt and slacks. The last job took a lot out of him. He needs a shower but his body won’t budge.

“Daddy are you sleeping?” Molly asks from the doorway in a stage whisper.

“What’s going on?”

“Will you help me with my homework?” she asks. She’s clutching a worksheet and a pencil.

“Sure. Come here,” he says and she climbs onto the bed beside him. “What’ve we got?”

“I have to interview a grown up about their job. For Career Day,” she explains.

Dave looks over the page, his tired eyes barely focusing. “Did you ask Mommy to do this?”

“I want you to do it,” Molly insists.

He lets Molly read him each prompt and he answers as simply as possible. She dutifully writes down each answer in scrawling pencil.

“How do you spell ‘investigation?’” she asks.

“Sound it out,” he encourages. He’s so burnt, he’s not sure he can manage to spell it either.

“‘What is your favorite part about your job?’” she reads.

Dave sighs longer than he means to. “Coming home to my family.”

“No, Daddy! It has to be about work!”

The address Capra had given Molly was a boarded up movie theater off the highway about 30 miles outside of DC. Molly told Carol that she was shopping for dorm decor when she’d left the house full of nerves. She’d gotten so good at lying, sometimes she believed her own.

The parking lot was empty, the cracks in its pavement filled in with grass, punctuated by street lights every few yards. Molly had expected to meet at a coffee shop or a restaurant, not some out of the way place. She was sitting on the trunk of her car, her leg bouncing, when a black BMW pulled up. The woman driving it looked to be in her late 40s, her hair pulled back neatly. When she stepped out of her car, she pulled her sunglasses down her nose and eyed Molly up and down.

“How old are you now? 20?”

“18,” Molly told her.

“You’re the older one?”

“Yeah,” Molly said.

Capra approached her and she hopped down from the bumper.

“Didn’t your dad ever teach you not to talk to strangers?” she asked.

Molly hesitated. She had her pepper spray in her back pocket and she was much younger, probably quicker than this woman. But Dad wouldn’t give her Capra’s number if he didn’t trust her. Still, Molly decided to lean against her car and keep her distance.

“You know a lot about me for a stranger,” Molly replied.

Capra grinned. She nodded her head back and said, “Walk with me.”

Molly paced the pavement with her, glancing at the woman beside her. She was slim with sharp features, whispers of frown lines in her face. Capra offered Molly a cigarette which she declined.

“Is Capra your first name?”

“It’s what my friends call me,” she replied.

There was a darkness in her tone that made Molly edgy.

“Did you work with my dad at the agency?” Molly asked.

That would explain some things. But Capra laughed.

“No.” Capra observed Molly and then her lip twitched up into a wistful smile. “Jeez I bet everybody tells you you look just like him.”

Molly’s stomach churned.

“Were you and my dad-”

“No,” Capra said. “God no. Your dad was...a complicated guy but not when it came to his family.”

Molly nodded, not sure if she felt relieved or if that just gave her more questions.

“So how did you know each other?” She asked.

“It’s a long story,” Capra said, scratching her forehead. “We did some freelance work together.”

Capra made some small talk, asking Molly where she was headed for college, what she’d be studying. Molly had so many questions of her own she could only manage short answers. Finally, she had to ask the question that had been nagging at her the loudest.

“Do you know what happened to my dad? How he died?” She’d stopped walking.

“I know the same as you,” Capra said.

“Which is?” Molly asked. She wasn’t going to accept such a vague answer.

Capra gave a wry smile. She flicked her cigarette butt to the ground and twisted it into the pavement under her shoe. Molly’s heart sped up. She’d caught Capra in a lie.

“You’re a clever one,” she said.

“It wasn’t an accident, was it?” Molly asked. She searched Capra’s face for an answer. “Please.”

“I wasn’t there,” she replied.

“But you know. Please. I need to know.”

Molly felt like she was holding her breath. Capra looked away, then back at Molly.

“You don’t want to know,” Capra said.

“I do,” Molly said. She balled her hands into fists so she didn’t shake Capra by her shoulders.

“He wouldn’t want you to know.”

“How do you know that?” Molly spat. “What the hell do you know about him? I’ve never even heard of you. You don’t know.”

“Trust me, there’s plenty about your father you didn’t know,” Capra snapped back.

Molly was so frustrated she wanted to cry. Instead she let out a growl and turned back towards her car.

“Fuck this!” She stomped away.

She’d crossed half of the parking lot when she heard Capra call after her. Molly squared her shoulders, tried to compose herself, and turned around to glare at the woman. Capra was clutching the bridge of her nose, her eyes shut. Finally she dropped her hand with an exasperated sigh and pulled out another cigarette. Capra lit it as she closed the distance between them, blowing smoke out of her mouth and shaking her head. She held the cigarette out to Molly.

“You’re going to want one of these. And you’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dave parks the car in the driveway. Molly is sitting in the passenger seat, still grinning from her first experience at the shooting range.

“Now remember,” Dave says before he opens the door, “this is our secret. So if Mom asks where we were, just tell her our cover story.”

She nods eagerly but then her lips twist into a thoughtful frown.

“It’s lying,” she says.

Dave feels guilty for a moment. Deceit is practically second nature for him but what kind of father teaches his daughter to be dishonest?

“But it’s a white lie,” she justifies to herself. “Right?”

Dave kisses the crown of her head.

“It’s alright, baby. Everybody has secrets.”

Molly felt dizzy. The story Capra told her made her feel like she’d gone from a tilt-a-whirl into a funhouse. Everything was distorted and she was upside down. Already, she was replaying her memories of Dad with this new context tinging them like a dark filter.

Dad kissing her on the forehead before bed. Hoisting her onto his shoulders on the 4th of July. Singing along to “Baba O’Riley” and drumming on the steering wheel. Dad killing people. Earning blood money. Dying by someone else’s hand.

“It’s a lot,” Capra said. They were sitting in Molly’s parked car, the windows rolled down, the sound of the highway traffic washing through like white noise. “But he did it for you.”

Molly’s eyes flicked to her. She hadn't asked for anybody to die.

“He was trying to take care of his family,” Capra clarified.

She let Molly sit in silence for a while as she sorted out what she’d just heard. Molly felt like she was grieving him all over again. Except this time she mourned the father she knew.

“My mom-"

“She never knew,” Capra said.

Molly nodded weakly.

“It was a secret because he loved you.”

Molly felt a tear slip from her eye. She didn’t want to feel hurt. She didn’t like feeling deceived. She wiped her face and set her jaw.

“What happened to Mac?” she asked.

She remembered meeting the man who had killed her father. Everything that had happened just before he died was so clear in her memory. She could still see Mac’s face, his friendly smile.

He’d seemed like such a nice guy. She remembered asking him a load of questions as he rode with them to school and he’d laughed and told Carol what a bright girl she was.

It sickened her to know he’d been right there. So close. And she was so small and clueless. Had Dad known what was coming?

“He lives up in New England,” Capra said. “Retired.”

Molly turned to Capra, anger burning in her chest.

“He’s still alive?” she asked.

“Afraid so,” Capra said.

Molly looked back out the windshield, took a deep breath. Retired. Dad would never get to retire. Go golfing or build model cars or whatever old men did.

“And you do...what my dad did?” she asked.

Capra didn’t confirm or deny it.

“You can’t discuss this. With anyone,” she informed her.

Molly nodded again. She wouldn’t dream of telling Carol this. She would protect her from the truth just like dad had.

“I’m sorry about this,” Capra said before they parted ways. “You’ve got my number. Give me a call if you ever need anything.”

As Molly drove home, thoughts solidified in her mind.

Dad was a killer. But he’d been a killer before, in the Marines. He’d still loved her. He went to her karate matches and read her bedtime stories. She might have lived her whole life without ever finding out what Dave York really was.

If he hadn’t died.

He could have taught her how to drive. Taken photos before senior prom. Visited colleges with her.

He would have danced with her at her wedding. Helped her fix up her first home. Held her future children in his arms.

If he hadn’t been murdered.

And what about mom? She wouldn’t have worried about calling plumbers and taking her car to the mechanic. Run herself ragged getting Alice to dance class and Molly to archery competitions. She wouldn't have had to sleep alone every night.

If it hadn’t been for Robert McCall.

Molly could absolve her father’s sins. But Mac she would never forgive.

“Young lady, open this door right now,” Dave barks.

“You told me to go to my room! I’m in my room!” Molly snaps through her bedroom door.

She’s given Carol lip all morning and he’s had enough of the attitude. Every day, his sweet little girl is fading more and more into a stubborn teenager.

“You do not slam doors in this house.”

“Leave me alone!” Molly yells. “I hate you!”

Dave knows that she’s angry and she’s got a bad temper. That these outbursts are the first signs of puberty rearing its ugly head. But, still, her words punch him right in the gut.

“If that’s how you’re going to speak to your father, then you’re grounded,” he manages.

“Good!”

Molly had been reserved ever since Dave’s death but, after meeting Capra, she felt her melancholy harden into bitterness. She went through college. She didn’t make a lot of friends or date many people. She studied, she practiced her marksmanship, she trained.

As soon as Molly turned 18, she was back at the gun range. It had been a long time since Dad had taken her for target practice but she was pleasantly surprised by her grouping. She’d had a good teacher.

She liked everything about shooting. Not just because it had been a secret she shared with her father. She liked the ritual– loading the magazine, carefully picking up the gun. She liked the focus– taking a deep breath and looking down the barrel. She liked the power.

Mac’s grin stayed fixed in her mind. She thought about it when she pulled herself from bed at five in the morning to do push ups. She pictured it when she worked herself into a sweat at the gym’s punching bag. She imagined it when she put holes through the head of the target at the shooting range.

She didn’t think she’d have the chance to do that in real life. But she dreamed about it almost every night.

Molly had always stayed close to home but she visited less and less. Alice started college in New York so Carol had an empty nest. Molly could hardly bring herself to visit her mother anymore.

Molly had always been good at keeping secrets but this one was the most difficult. Every time she saw Carol, Molly imagined how devastated she would be if she knew the truth. It had become too painful pretending and so Molly simply avoided most situations where she would have to.

Capra stayed in touch, calling every so often to check in. It was clear to Molly that she felt responsible for this angst but there was no one else to talk to about it.

Some people were driven by ambition or lust or creativity. During college, it felt like Molly ran on anger. It helped her concentrate, to work hard. She graduated at the top of her class and had no trouble landing a job that paid well.

Adulthood was different.

Dave had been wise enough to set up trusts for the girls so Molly hadn’t racked up student debt. But now she had rent and bills and car insurance. She couldn’t stuff herself with fries from the dining hall and call that a meal. She had to work long hours for a demanding boss. She had to take care of herself. She had to go through the monotony of life.

When it came down to it, she just didn’t have the energy to be mad anymore.

Molly still held a flame inside. Mainly, she kicked herself for not getting to the gym more often. She hated that she was moving on. She had dulled as she got older, as she followed the news every day and saw that the world was a shitty place where justice was scarce.

Molly was in her childhood bedroom, going through layers of old school papers, polaroids from her friends’ bat mitzvahs, and certificates from karate tournaments like an archeological dig.

Carol was finally selling the family home. Downsizing. The girls were there to help clean things out, decide what should go to the Salvation Army and what would be going home with them.

It pained Molly to think about the house with another family living inside it. Even now in her late twenties, she still walked in the door and expected Dad to come around the corner from the kitchen, to say, “Hey, kiddo!” the way he used to. Once the house was sold, she would never experience that sensation again.

It was strange, Molly thought, how you could live somewhere for all of your life and then, one day, you’re locked out forever.

Carol was moving to a two bedroom condo closer to the city so she couldn’t take all of this junk with her. Molly packed a bankers box with some trophies and a few of her favorite books and brought it down to the kitchen.

Alice was leaned against the island, lazily sorting through cookbooks. Although the day called for packing boxes and hauling trash bags, she was dressed to the nines. Molly wondered if her sister owned casual clothes anymore. Alice had gotten a job at a fashion magazine and, although it seemed like she was low in the pecking order, she acted as though she was Anna Wintour herself.

“That’s all you’re taking?” Carol asked, eyeing the box.

Molly shrugged. She already had already taken the things that were most precious to her long ago.

“You know, Mom, if you don’t want to move, I can help you with the mortgage,” Molly said.

Molly had been saving up to buy a place of her own but she would happily give that up for her mother. Nowhere would ever feel like home the way this house did.

“It’s time,” Carol said. “I don’t need this much house to myself.”

Mom didn’t look her age but the bags under her eyes had grown more defined. She’d stopped coloring the streak of grey hair that had come in at her temple.

“It’s a good idea,” Alice jumped in. “Mom needs to get out there again. She hasn’t met any guys in the suburbs.”

The idea of Mom dating always made Molly bristle. She didn’t want Carol to be lonely but couldn’t picture her with a man who wasn’t Dad. The same way she couldn’t see her living in a different house.

“I’m going to work on the study,” Molly said and retreated to the home office.

This had been Dad’s room and, even though it had accumulated a mess of things over the years— old workout tapes, discarded hobbies, books about tidying— it still felt like his sanctuary. Molly picked through a shelf and found Dad’s high school yearbook. She hoped Mom wouldn’t mind if she took that home with her. She liked pictures of her father in his youth, skinny and bright eyed with scruffy hair.

Molly sat on the floor in front of the built-ins and fished out a few baskets and shoe boxes from the cabinets. The first one contained family photos. Vacation in the Bahamas, Alice’s 4th birthday party, Molly dressed as a ninja for Halloween. She went through each one with great ceremony. Molly already had a bunch of photos of her and Dad so she tucked these back in their box and put them in the ‘keep’ pile.

The next box was filled with cards. Sympathy cards. Molly sighed as she went into them. One from Carol’s coworkers with a rose on the front. Sending you comfort. A small card that looked like it had come with a floral arrangement from cousin John. He’ll be missed.

There was a card with a painting of a serene beach scene. With deepest sympathy. Molly opened it and read the short message.

So sorry for your loss. It feels like we’ve lost one of the family. Send my love to the girls. - Mac

The cold rage that had burnt out reignited in Molly’s stomach, her entire body so tight she almost shook. She could feel tears sting in her eyes.

That motherfucker. That fucking asshole had the audacity to send a sympathy card. To send his love. That piece of fucking shit. Molly almost crumpled the card in her hands, as if she could wring his neck through it, but just then Alice wandered in. Molly dropped the card into her lap.

“What are these?” her sister asked, crouching down and grabbing a photo. “Aw! You looked so cute!”

Molly swallowed hard and tried to slow her heart rate as Alice sifted through the pictures.

“Christ, why does Mom still have these?” Alice complained, picking up one of the sympathy cards.

“They’re for Dad,” Molly said.

“It’s not like he got to read them,” Alice replied.

She tossed it back onto the floor.

“Why are you always such a bitch about Dad?” Molly asked, the animosity she’d discovered in Mac’s card spilling out of her.

“Sorry I don’t worship him.” Alice rolled her eyes. “It’s not like he was ever around. And when he was, he spent all of his time with you.”

Alice crossed her arms and looked away self-consciously. Molly felt a jab in her heart. She knew Dad loved Alice. He’d done awful things so that she could take dance lessons and go off to a good school where she could study whatever she liked. Things that eventually got him killed. But Molly couldn’t tell her sister any of that so she just stared at Alice with her mouth half open.

“Girls, when you’re finished up there, lunch is ready!” Mom called from the kitchen.

“Call me a bitch…” Alice grumbled as she left the room.

Molly pushed the cards into the ‘Trash’ pile.

“Ow! Daddy! Molly hit me!” Alice whines.

“You hit me first!” Molly growls.

Dave glances at them in the rear view mirror.

“Is that true?” he asks.

“No!” Alice says.

He knows she’s lying. Molly’s sitting there with her arms crossed as Alice clutches her elbow dramatically, lips set in a pout.

He knows what he’s supposed to say. Some bullshit about being the bigger person, two wrongs don’t make a right. And if Carol was in the car maybe he would. But the world doesn’t work like that.

“If you hit somebody,” he warns, “don’t be surprised if they hit you back.”

Molly took Mac’s card with her. It was sitting on her passenger seat when she pulled away, Carol standing on the lawn, waving. Send my love to the girls. Every time she thought about it, she got so pissed off she wanted to puke.

She couldn’t even wait to get home before she was dialing Capra, one hand gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles ached.

“What’s up, kid?” Capra asked.

“I need to find Mac.”

/ / / / / part three soon!

@pascalslittlebrat @purplepascal042 @starlightmornings @mouthymandalorian @danniburgh @originallaura @tuskens-mando @221bshrlocked @wyn-dixie @goddessinwolfskin @cheekygeek05 @fangirl-316 @fairytale07 @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-skov @skulliebythesea @oceanablue @rebel-soldat @stevie75 @evyiione @buckwildbarnes @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @silverwolf319 @killermonkeys45 @velia27 @anxiousandboujee @amneris21 @green-socks @pedro4ever @pedrocentric @kesskirata

#dave york #dave york pit #dave york fic #pedro pascal characters #molly york #nothing but respect for my queen carol york

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pterodactylterrace · 3 years

Text

Guys Like You Chapter 13

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 13

Chapter Summary: I’ll trade your truth bomb with one of my own

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Smut. Tons of dialogue. I had trouble getting this one the way I liked it. It’s been rewritten a few times now.

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5} {Chapter 6} {Chapter 7} {Chapter 8} {Chapter 9} {Chapter 10} {Chapter 11} {Chapter 12}

Henry's blood ran cold, his stomach dropping to his feet, his chest tightening like a vise. What was she saying? Had he made her feel inadequate? Like she wasn't good enough for him? Had he not paid enough attention to her? Why did she feel like this?

"Faye." Henry finally forced out, crossing the small room to sit on the edge of her bed, trying to collect himself before starting this conversation in earnest.

"It's ok, Henry. You're not going to hurt my feelings. I know I'm not a catch by any means. I mean... who wants used goods?"

"Faye." Henry repeated, more firmly this time. He took a slow breath before turning to face her more. "You need to stop. Just... stop."

"Henry, I know it's difficult, but it's something you need to hear."

"No. It's not. Faye... I don't care what other people have to say, because you know what? Whenever I picture myself happy anymore, it's with you. You're what I want. I want all of it. You're so much more than you think you are. You're a talented artist, an amazing mother and one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. Inside and out."

"Do you really expect me to believe that? You're an A-list movie star."

"And you're beautiful enough to catch my eye without even trying. I don't care what the rest of the world has to say. I want you. You make me happy. My home is wherever you and the baby are. I... fuck it, I love you Faye, and I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you like I should have."

"Henry, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm the problem."

"No, you're not. You make me happy. I want you. I love you." Henry insisted, gently taking her shoulders in his hands and looking deep into her eyes as he spoke. "Now please. Stop saying such terrible things about the woman I love."

"I... I just feel like I don't deserve you." Faye admitted, lowering her gaze and wiping at the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She had to stay strong. She couldn't let him see her cry.

"You make me the luckiest man in the world every time you look my way. I'm crazy about you, and I mean everything I said." Henry assured, pulling her to his chest and wrapping her tight in his arms. "Move in with me?"

"What?" Faye breathed, her voice catching on a barely suppressed sob.

"I hate being so far away. It's not home without you two."

"That's not going to work out, Henry. There's no yard for Kal here, and not enough space in Kensington for everyone either."

"Then we'll find a new place. Whatever place you like. As long as I'm with you two, it's home to me."

"Options are a little limited. I can't move too far from here. This is where my job is."

"We will find you something wherever we go. You hate it there anyway."

"But my visa..."

"You worry too much."

"You don't worry enough!"

"Keep your job until we find somewhere you like. Then we will find you something there before you quit. I have thought things through, darling."

"What if I can't find anything?"

"Absolute worst case scenario, I can make up some bullshit job you do for me until something else comes up. Please, Faye? I'm going crazy being so far from you two."

"I'll think about it." Faye finally relented.

"That I can work with. Now while we're thinking, can we rethink what you're wearing to the premiere? It's the first time I'm showing my girlfriend to the public, and while you're beautiful in anything you wear, I'd really like to spoil you for the occasion."

"Like you spoil Briar?"

"I do not spoil her."

"Ice cream even though she didn't finish her dinner? Four bedtime stories? The fact that you are currently covered in pony stickers and glitter?"

"I see nothing wrong with any of it. I haven't seen her for a long time."

"Spoiling her."

"Fine then, I'm gonna spoil both my girls." Henry huffed, squeezing her a little tighter.

"Already have the baby spoiled." Faye insisted, fighting back a yawn, the emotional drain of their conversation finally taking its toll.

"Then it's her mum's turn. I'll call my stylist and see what he can do for you."

"Oh, Mr. Fancy with his stylist."

"Would you really trust me to dress myself for these things?"

"I'm imagining the blue tank top and your booty shorts for some reason."

"Which one? I have several blue vests."

"It's a tank top."

"England."

"I don't care what you say, it's not a vest."

"It is here."

"You know, I'd ask if you wanted to join me for a shower to get all that glitter off of you, but you'd probably have some bizarre English way of saying that too, and I just don't have the energy for that right now."

"No, I'm fine with however you say it, as long as I'm joining."

"You'd say anything for the chance to bone me again."

"That is true. Now let's go shower."

"Such a horn dog!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just sitting here holding a gorgeous woman and talking about getting her wet and naked and slippery. Forgive me for reading too far into that."

"I said you could shower with me, not that I was gonna get you off."

"You act like I'm above fucking my fist while standing in the back of the shower staring you." Henry scoffed, tossing Faye onto his shoulder and carrying her down the hall to the shower, ignoring her indignant squeals of protest.

"Henry!" Faye finally snapped when he had closed the bathroom door behind himself, finally earning an amused hum from the man carrying her around. "Put me down!"

"Fine." He sighed, gently setting her down, sending a mischievous glance her way before his fingers hooked into the waistband of her shorts, quickly jerking them and her panties down as he dropped to his knees, diving in to lick a stripe between her folds.

"What the... oh fuck." Faye sighed, her eyes fluttering closed, one hand resting on his head as she kicked one foot free of her clothing, Henry wasting no time in throwing it over his shoulder, to grant himself better access. His tongue was relentless, alternating between plunging inside of her, to flicking across her clit, to lapping up every drop of arousal he could, his hands gripping her ass, pulling her closer as he worked her over, spurred on by the whispered sound of his name falling from her lips.

"F-fuck... Henry!" Faye groaned, her hips and thighs tensing as she felt herself being drawn closer and closer to the edge, Henry latching onto her needy bundle of nerves, sucking hard while working it with his tongue, sending her crashing into her orgasm. If it hadn't been for his hands holding her ass so tightly, Faye was pretty sure she would have fallen from the force of her climax, months of pent up frustration being released in one toe curling orgasm.

"Damn it, Henry. A little warning next time."

"It's not exactly surprise oral if I warn you." Henry teased, reluctantly letting her go and standing back up to turn on the shower.

"Nice ass." Faye teased, swatting at him as soon as he bent over, her target chuckling and shaking his head at her antics.

"And you keep saying I'm the dork."

"You're my dork."

"Mmhmm. I'm starting to think you may be the dork in this relationship." Henry teased, pulling his shirt off while the water warmed and setting it on the countertop, Faye's intense gaze locking on him not going unnoticed. "Uhh, my eyes are up here, Miss Warren."

"I know. Just enjoying the rest of the view. You know what would make it better? If you took your pants off."

"And you keep saying I'm the one with a problem."

"Your current problem is too much pants." Faye taunted, pulling her old t-shirt off and sliding past him to get in the shower.

"Really? I could have sworn my problem was lack of pussy." Henry shot back, hurried hands working on his belt. Faye was innocently washing her hair when he finally fought his way free of the rest of his clothing, his greedy paws wasting no time in palming her breasts.

"Warning!" Faye gasped, grabbing onto his wrists to keep her balance.

"How's this for a warning? I'm gonna fuck you up against that wall." Henry explained, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her in for a passionate kiss before she could protest. His hands slid slowly down her body, caressing her skin with the pads of his fingers, her arms winding around his neck, trying to pull him closer.

"Hold on." Henry instructed, his hands venturing to her ass, grabbing generous handfuls and lifting her up, Faye clinging to him, the peril of their actions not lost on her. They were both one slip away from a world of hurt.

Henry was careful with her, gently pressing her back against the shower wall, kissing and nipping at the junction of her shoulder, slowly adjusting their limbs to his satisfaction before reaching around her hip and thigh, gripping himself tightly to seek out her entrance.

"Go slow." Faye requested, biting her lip at the burning stretch she was slowly becoming used to.

"I will." Henry assured, making sure he was stable and Faye was secure in his grasp before he began slowly rolling his hips into her, leaning back just enough to watch her face changing from somewhat pained, to content to desperate all within a few deep thrusts. He continued his languid pace, a shudder going down his spine as she grew more and more frantic at his slow, deep thrusts, her nails digging into his shoulders as she squirmed in his grasp, trying to gain anymore friction she could.

"Fuck slow, I want it now." Faye groaned, one hand sliding from his shoulders down between their bodies to work her sensitized clit.

"Then come for me, beautiful." Henry groaned, trying to catch a glimpse of Faye's hand working herself, his pace increasing until she was squeezing around him moaning softly and bucking her hips through her high.

"Fuck..." Faye groaned, her nails digging into his shoulder harder when his pace only increased at her release, her legs twitching and jerking with over sensitization.

"Almost... almost." Henry panted, seeming to read her mind as he desperately sought his own release. Faye held on to him tighter, feeling another coil forming in her belly, promising another release.

"Can you...?" Henry panted, his movements becoming sloppier as he neared his finish, though desperate to hold on until finished again.

"No... too much..." Faye groaned, her hips rolling into his in spite of her words, desperate for just one more. "Fuck..." She hissed, biting down on his chest as she came again, Henry quickly following behind her.

"Are you ok?" Henry asked once he caught his breath, carefully detangling himself from her and gently setting her back on her feet.

"Yeah... I'm great." Faye sighed, shooting him a relaxed grin. "You know, if this is how it's going to be after every time we argue, I may start having to pick fights with you more often."

"Or you could just ask me 'wanna fuck?' And I'll gladly do this all over again." Henry suggested.

"That would save me the trouble of having to find something to be mad at you about."

"Help keep my hair from going any more gray, too." Henry chuckled, pecking a quick kiss to her lips when she tried to lean around him for her loofah.

"Mmm, silver fox."

"Keep it up." Henry pouted, grabbing the soap from her and dumping some into his hand, working it into a lather to wash away the sweat. It wasn't until he reached his legs that a thought occurred to him, his brows furrowing as he let it bounce around his brain for a second.

"Oh shit!"

"What?" Faye half yelped, turning wide eyes up to him.

"I... fuck... I didn't think to use a condom." Henry groaned, letting his head drop against the tile.

"Oh... well... once should be fine, right?"

"It doesn't matter if it is, we agreed I'd wear one, and I didn't."

"Can you not beat yourself up over this?"

"You were very specific about always using protection."

"Well the fact that you're upset about it says a lot." Faye offered, running her fingers along his jaw. "We'll just need to be more careful."

"Should we use Plan B?" Henry suggested, finally forcing his gaze up to meet hers. "I don't want to put you into an uncomfortable position."

"Henry. Deep breath. It's fine. Everything is fine. My period ended two days ago. We're ok. Stop worrying yourself over it."

"Can I still feel like shit about it?"

"By all means."

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill rpf #guys like you

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twilightofficial · 3 years

Text

Hand-Carved Heart

Pt. 2 of this post

They found it by accident one day a few months after their search began; they had stopped a couple miles into their hike through a new part of the woods to rest and admire the small waterfall they had come upon. Bella sat on a large boulder to catch her breath and to rub some of the tightness out of her legs, Jacob of course was looking for a way to get up to the top of the waterfall. She cautioned him to not try and use some sketchy looking vine as a climbing rope and he tossed back a joke about her being the klutz in this relationship. Bella’s responding laughter had come so easily.

She could still remember how heavy she used to feel all the time having to put forth so much effort into thinking about every reaction, giving just enough of a smile so people wouldn’t worry. Then Jacob came along with his warmth and his crooked grin that made her feel lighter than air, only the feel of his hand in hers or the deep vibrato of his voice kept her feet safely planted on the ground. Being with him just felt as simple and easy as breathing.

After the soreness in her calves was mostly gone she joined him at the edge of the waterfall, it really wasn’t very large, only about 15-20 feet and with Jacob’s tall stature he wouldn’t have any trouble making his way to the top. Still that didn’t stop Bella from worrying, but because of her disregard for her own personal safety a few months prior she kept her worries to herself and instead began skimming her hand along the wall of green that crept up the cliff-face. The light scrape of rock and leaves against her hand was a decent enough distraction until her hand fell through a gap.

Weird. She thought to herself, curiosity bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She pushed aside a mass of greenery to peer through it, and there tucked neatly behind the wall of trees and bushes was a beautiful moss covered clearing. It was small, only about 6 feet in diameter, and the densely packed trees lining the perimeter provided a canopy of leaves above that sprinkled the light across the ground through the small gaps between the branches. A thick layer of moss covered every inch of the ground including what appeared to be the fallen trunk of a large tree. It was everything they had been looking for. She called Jake over so they could venture in together.

They made their way through the foliage into the center of the glade, both with large smiles spread across their faces. The vivid green that coated every bit of the clearing had made it feel so bright and alive, even with the shade provided by the canopy above. They couldn’t believe they had found a place so perfect to call their own.

Jacob pulled out the map and marked the location of the waterfall with a small heart as Bella cleared a portion of moss off the bark of the fallen tree so she could sit down. As she brushed away the moss an odd mark on the log caught her eye, a heart with two initials and a date was carved deeply into the wood. She smiled and called out that it looked like someone else had already beaten them to this little love-nest. Intrigued, he came to look at what she was talking about. When he saw what was carved into the wood his face paled and tears welled up in the corner of his dark brown eyes. BB+SW 1975 was marked into the bark, clearly having been carved over repeatedly to set it so deeply that even after so many years it remained.

Bella rubbed at his back confused at his reaction, but knowing that once he calmed down he would tell her. For now she would just comfort him in anyway he needed like he had always done for her. It was her turn to be his rock to lean on and she was determined to be as strong and sure as he had always been even though it killed her to see him so clearly in pain. She drew idle circles into his back and the slow drag of her hand made it easier for Jacob to slow his breathing and steady himself. After several minutes he finally stopped tracing the outline and turned to look back at Bella. This was where my dad asked my mom to be his girlfriend… Bella was stunned, not expecting that to be the reason. She remained quiet though, letting Jacob tell the story at his own pace.

When I was little, I always asked my mom to tell me about their first date as a bedtime story. They were in high school, she was a year younger than him, but they had been friends since they were kids. My dad had finally gotten the courage to ask her out, though she had no clue it was a date because he had acted so nonchalant about it. I asked him about that later and he said he was just trying to act cool because he was so nervous. Jacob chuckled softly and shook his head.

When she showed up and he told her they were going on a hike through the woods she was certain that she would just have to try her best and get over her crush on him. Then dad led her to a beautiful waterfall, and next to it under a large tree he had laid out a picnic blanket held down with a basket filled with new art supplies for her. When she turned to look back at him he was holding a slightly crushed bouquet of hand picked wildflowers that he had apparently been carrying in his bag the whole time. He smiled wistfully, remembering the way his mother’s face lit up when she told this story.

She said it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, and when he asked her to be his girlfriend she answered by finding a sharp rock and carving their initials and the year into the tree they had been laying under. Every time they came back here they would go over it so it would never fade… I guess the tree finally fell over and new plants grew in its place, hiding it away… I can’t believe we found this place Bells, I-I never even thought to look for it, thought it would be too sad…

Jacob leaned into Bella’s side and she wrapped her arms around him. That was the most she had ever heard him talk about his mom, she never wanted to pry by asking for more whenever Sarah was mentioned in conversation by either Charlie or Billy. Though she did have a faint memory of her from her visits as a child, a beautiful woman with deep set lines around her mouth from the toothy and slightly slanted grin she always seemed to wear. Jacob had that same smile.

He finally lifted his head from her chest and Bella wiped the remnants of tears from his cheeks. He offered her a faint smile as a thank you and she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. They sat in silence for a couple more minutes before Jacob spoke again, saying that finding this spot felt like fate, like his mom was looking down on him and giving them her blessing. Bella blinked away a tear at that and nodded, promising that they could come back here whenever he wanted.

The next time they came to the little clearing hidden away from the world, Jacob brought some of his carving knives to make something to bring back for his dad and Bella brought one of her favorite books to read. They sat in the calm of the forest, her back against the trunk of the tree with Jacob sitting next to her whittling away at a chunk of wood, the rush of water and the rustling of leaves as the wind blew keeping them company.

They stayed for several hours, occasionally taking a break from their respective activities to kiss lazily, sometimes Bella would read aloud as Jacob carved. When the sun began to set they packed up their belongings, as they were about to leave Jacob paused and turned back to the tree, he pulled out one of his carving knives and added their initials right next to his parents. Bella pulled him into a tight hug, she couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to love this boy and have him love her back.

When Bella first moved to Forks she couldn't stand how green everything was, she was so accustomed to the brown desert of Arizona that the emerald colored town was like an assault on her eyes. It was somehow too bright yet unbelievably dreary, like the constant clouds had sucked the life out of the place and the foliage was overcompensating. She used to miss the way the heat waves danced across the gravel lawns, and how the sun's consistent presence felt like an old friend greeting her every morning letting her know she wasn't alone. But here with Jacob, her new sun, in this small section of the woods; green might just be her new favorite color.

Thanks to @musingsofvenus and @teamjacobthot for helping me out with this💖💖💖 And shoutout to @paulxlahotee for the Billy Black album because I could not for the life of me find a picture of young Gil that worked for this on google 💖

#sarah black #billy black #bella swan #jacob black #jacob x bella #billy x sarah #brenda schad as sarah black #of course gil birmingham as billy black #eddie spears as jacob black #couldnt find a picture of anya taylor joy that fit so thats a picture of diana silvers as bella in this one

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phoebe-delia · 3 years

Note

Song number 79, please and thank you!

I'm really looking forward to reading all your stories because Taylor Swift is the best, as are song prompts!

Hey nonnie!! Thanks so much. Your song is "New Romantics" by Taylor Swift, of course. For this fic I have chosen to continue my little series called Androgynous, which features Draco, who generally uses he/him pronouns but has a nonbinary drag persona, named Tarasque, who uses they/them pronouns. Draco has a found family consisting of Pansy, Blaise, and a few drag queens (Claire, Cori and Silver), and they're all very close. Of course, he also has Harry, who is supportive and wonderful.

This will be a prequel, so Harry and Draco aren't together yet. This story--this series--is a love letter to the people who love us, support us and help us become who we are: our family. No matter where your family comes from or what it looks like, it isn't defined by blood, but by the ties you knot between you.

This series is, as always, dedicated to my own found family @moonstruckwytch @starlitsilvereyes and @apr1cots. Love you guys. <3

CW: homophobia

Generations ago, in ancient Galatia, there was born a dragon. Bred from Onachus and Leviathan, the creature lurked in treacherous waters, waiting for the right moment to leap out and strike, claiming men to feed its insatiable stomach. With sword-sharp teeth, poisonous breath, and a constellation of spikes across its back, this fearsome beast was the fright of man and the envy of demons.

They call it Tarasque.

Draco wiped the tears that spilled down his cheeks, his suitcase levitating behind him. The angry snarls from his father still rang in his ears, cruel and sharp.

"I'll not have a disgraceful poof for a son." Lucius hadn't looked at Draco when he spoke, the distinguished, aristocratic features facing the ancient walls of the Manor. "You have five minutes to collect your possessions and then you will leave this house."

So there Draco was, trudging through Knockturn Alley and avoiding the curious stares of those passing by him. It was getting dark, the western sun setting in the distance. He shivered against the biting, frigid air. He felt a rush of gratitude toward Pansy for letting him stay in her flat while he got back on his feet. He knew his mother, who'd come to her senses and left his father for a townhouse in France, would gladly take him in, but he knew if he left London he'd never gather the strength to return.

As he walked, he saw a neon sign out of the corner of his eye. "Deliquesce" shone in bright letters like a beacon in the darkening alleyway, beckoning Draco inside.

He sighed. He deserved a firewhiskey to calm his nerves.

He ended the levitation charm on his trunk and then shrunk it to fit into his pocket. He then walked along the cobblestone street and entered the bar.

A man wearing a tight red t-shirt and leather trousers looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"ID?"

Draco sputtered, searching his pockets until he found his identification card and handed it to the man for his scrutiny. The man pursed his lips as he looked over the card and then handed it to Draco with a grunt and a nod. Draco took that as permission and walked the rest of the way in.

The bar was dimly lit. A few tables surrounded a small dance floor and a stage. It was relatively quiet since the night was still young, but a few people were sitting and talking in hushed conversations. One person danced by himself to the upbeat song, uncaring of the world around him as he undulated his hips to the music.

Draco stood, stunned, until he felt someone bump his shoulder.

"Hey! Watch it--wait, you okay, hon?" Someone with long purple hair and a kind, open face looked at Draco in concern.

"I'm fine," Draco's voice was rough from crying, and he was sure his tear-stained cheeks and red eyes undermined his attempt at nonchalance.

The person's worried frown deepened. "Aren't you that Draco Malfoy kid?"

Draco flushed and turned away. "Not anymore," he croaked.

The person shook their head. "You're not who they wanted you to be, are you?"

Draco let out a shuddering breath. "No," he said, his voice tight. "I'm not who he wants me to be. I'm not his son."

Suddenly, he felt a warm hand gently take his own. "Come with me, kid, I think I can help."

They lead Draco into a back room. A row of mirrors and chairs lined the wall, as people chattered and sipped cocktails and ran around with wigs, half-done makeup, clothes, and heels. Draco blinked, stunned.

"What is this place?"

His guide smiled. "This is the dressing room. Not many people get a backstage pass like this but--well--you seem like you need some help."

Draco nodded dumbly and let himself be led to the person's station as a thought struck him.

"What's your name? Er, what do I call you?" He flushed at his own lack of manners.

The person smiled as they sat in their chair, patting the one next to them for Draco to sit. "My drag name is Nex Doughty, but my friends call me Cori."

Sitting down slowly, Draco nodded. "And um, I don't mean to be rude, but are you a man or a woman?"

The person chuckled a little. "Neither. I'm nonbinary. I use they/them pronouns."

"What does that mean?"

Cori shook their head with a small, amused smile. "I'll send you a few websites. For now, just use my pronouns right and we'll be fine."

Draco nodded dumbly. "O-okay."

"Don't be nervous, kid, you'll be fine. We're a family," they gestured to the other people in the room.

Draco's eyes widened. "This--this is your family?"

Cori laughed. "We're not related, but yes, they're all my family."

"But--aren't they your friends then?"

"Don't you have friends you'd consider to be your family? That you might even like better than your blood relatives?"

Draco let the thought linger for a moment. He considered Pansy and Blaise the siblings he never had, and it wasn't as if his Father had really raised him.

After a moment, he nodded. "Yeah, I do."

Cori smiled. "Then there you are." They leaned back in their chair and looked past Draco. "Silver! Claire! C'mere, I wanna introduce you to someone."

Two people came up to them, both with friendly smiles and expectant looks at Cori.

"Draco, this is Silver and Claire. Guys, this is Draco."

"Hi Draco, I'm Silver." said someone with red lipstick and short black hair cut in a bob that reminded him of Pansy.

The other person, who had short blonde hair and blue eyes smiled at him. "Good to meet you, I'm Claire."

Draco nodded. "Likewise. And are you no--nonbinary too?"

Silver smiled. "Cori's been a good teacher, I see. And I use any pronouns. Claire uses she/her."

"So--are you...what is this place?"

Cori smiled. "This is a drag bar. We're drag queens."

Draco's eyes widened in understanding. He'd only heard his father grumble about drag queens when he'd had to go to Knockturn on business ventures, and he'd been taught that they were "freaks."

With a pang, he remembered that, to his father, he was a freak too.

"Draco? Everything alright?"

He shook himself and looked back at Cori, whose face was set in concern again.

"I'm fine. Just..." he trailed off, taking in the sight of the three queens in front of him with more clarity. "Gods, you three are gorgeous," he breathed.

They all chucked. "Thank you, dear," Cori gave him a knowing look before tilting their head in thought. "You know," they said with pursed lips. "You'd look just darling in drag."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Silver nodded. "Totally. You have the bone structure for it."

"I can definitely see it," Claire added with a smile.

Excitement bubbled up in Draco's chest. "Er, do you think you could help me?"

Cori looked at the other two queens, who grinned and nodded in agreement. Then they turned to Draco and gave him a soft smile. "Sure thing kid. Stick around after the show and we'll try it out."

Draco watched as the queens performed one by one over the course of the night, his leg bouncing in anticipation. He was mesmerized as they captured the crowd's attention, dancing and lipsynching to the songs with practiced ease.

When the show ended, Draco and Cori sat at their mirror while Cori applied powders and liquids he'd looked at with curiosity on his mother's vanity. While Cori didn't let him look in the mirror until they were finished, he loved the sensation of the brush against his skin and felt himself transform into something new, yet familiar. As if something had been living dormant in his skin, just waiting to be revealed.

Finally, Cori looked at him with a satisfied smile. "There. Are you ready?"

Draco nodded, no trusting himself to speak.

Cori nodded and turned him around in the chair toward the mirror. Draco gasped.

He hardly recognized himself. His gray eyes were enhanced by thick eyelashes and his face looked thinner, more feminine. A dark wig framed his face and brushed his shoulders. The red lipstick was bright and striking with his features. It felt like meeting a different part of himself he'd never known could exist.

Draco started to understand what Cori meant, earlier. The connection to masculinity had faded with the makeup and wig, and yet he didn't quite feel female, either.

Draco felt fierce, strong. They felt invincible.

Draco recalled Narcissa reading him bedtime stories of dashing knights and magical creatures, but his favorite had been of a powerful dragon that had defended against attackers with sharp teeth and poisonous breath. Saint Martha calmed the beast into submission, and then villagers had stoned the dragon to death.

He'd lie in bed after she'd gone, wondering if perhaps the dragon had reasons to attack. Maybe the villagers meant to kill it. Maybe it wanted to be left alone. Or maybe that's all it knew.

When Lucius had kicked Draco out, he'd felt helpless and terrified of his own shadow, much like he had during the war. Now, the fear still lingered in the back of his mind, but Draco knew there was more to the world than he'd once known.

And maybe Draco could learn to be fierce, too.

Suddenly, Cori put calming hands on Draco's shoulders. "So, what do you think?"

"I love it," Draco said breathily. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Cori said with a smile. "I can teach you how to do this yourself if you want."

Draco nodded quickly. "I'd like that, please, thank you."

"Well, you'll have to think of a name for your drag persona. Of course, you can use your real name if you want, some people do that."

"I've got a name."

"Oh? What is it?"

Draco looked in the mirror, gray eyes sharp with a newly ignited fire.

"Tarasque," Draco said, not glancing away. "Call me Tarasque."

Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).

Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!

#draco malfoy #harry potter #nonbinary draco malfoy #prequel #drag #draco in drag #lgbtq #lgbtqia #dedicated to my friends #song prompt #songfic #new romantics #taylor swift #harry potter x taylor swift #phoebedelia

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dapandapod · 3 years

Text

A fathers tears

Here is my second piece for the Bog Fluff Battle! (Go give all entries a read! It’s lovely and oh so fluffy!) This story Here on Ao3.

This story is about Geralt crying as little Ciri grows up. It is a alternate universe where Geralt is still a witcher and Jaskier a half elf, implied homophobia and evil headmasters are mentioned. I just wanted Geralt to be a soft and emotional father.

Prompt: I just want you to be happy.

Oh, and everyone is gay, as a treat, because fuck you evil laywer Calanthe. Please enjoy <3

It has been a long process.

So much paperwork, so many sleepless nights, so many phonecalls with the agency.

But finally, finally, they're about to sign the paper.

Geralt's heart feels like it’s three times too big, beating with fear and excitement.

He walks up the stairs, opens the door to the adoption agency. Finally, finally he and his partner are allowed to adopt.

Finally, finally, Geralt will be allowed to hold baby Cirilla in his arms.

They had to fight every bit of the way, him and Jaskier, against the lawyer Calanthe.

She's is still against same sex marrige, still against their adoption, still against interracial couples. She hates elves with a passion, and Jaskier being a half elf didn’t help in the least.

But they won. They finally, finally won.

Jaskier holds his hand while they sign, the pen shaking in his grip. Jaskier holds him close when they sit in the waiting room, his support and love the only thing keeping Geralt in place.

When the social worker comes in, Geralt can’t move.

Ciri is so tiny, just a little bundle of blankets in the carrier, fast asleep.

Jaskier is the one who finally stands, who finally takes their daughter's carrier. They loathe to wake her up, so silently, ever so silently, they carry her out.

Carry her home.

Only when they are safe within their home, only when they are standing by the crib they placed by the wall, Geralt feels brave enough.

Jaskier has been cradling her, rocking her and petting her soft, light hair.

Now Geralt reaches for her, holds a hand under her small head and pulls her to his chest.

She makes a small noise, a small snuffling sound, but calms. Her small baby hand comes up to her lips, sucking on her fingers as she burrows closer in Geralt's shirt.

Jaskier walks behind Geralt, wraps his arms around his waist, and rests his head on his shoulder.

“She is our daughter now.” He whispers, and finally something breaks in Geralt.

He draws in a shuddering breath, hot tears rolling down his cheeks like they haven’t for years. Jaskier kisses his neck, all three of them rocking gently back and forth to soothe each other.

They go about their new daily routine.

Bottle feeding, naps, changing diapers, kissing away tears. Jaskier is taking a bath before bedtime, after his very first dose of baby puke, and Geralt lies alone in bed with Ciri.

His daughter.

Geralt is laying on his side, just watching her. She is fighting sleep, scrunching up her tiny nose, opening and closing her tiny fists.

“Daughter,” Geralt says out loud, not for the first time. “You are my daughter and I’m… I’m your… dad….”

The tears are creeping up on him again, and he follows Ciris example, scrunching his nose and blinking hard.

“You are my world now, little one. I will love you as well as I can. Keep you safe in the world. I hope to bring you joy, daughter mine.”

Geralt speaks softly, quietly, testing out the words. He speaks them like a secret, like a confession in the darkness. Not even in front of Jaskier will he be able to speak these truths.

“I just want you to be happy, little one.” He says, stroking her soft cheek.

Her hands catch his fingers, squeezing them, and then putting them in her mouth. He smiles, letting her chew on him. She doesn’t have teeth yet, but when she does, he bets she will be fierce.

When Jaskier walks in the room, he finds their daughter fast asleep, Geralt's big hand in a tight grip.

The first time Ciri calls Geralt ‘dad’, her eyes sparkling and small white teeth in a grin, it’s a near thing again. They decided Jaskier will be ‘papa’ and Geralt ‘dad’, for simplicity.

“Daaa!” she yells, throwing herself in Geralt's arms with the shrieking kind of giggle only a toddler can pull off, trusting Geralt to catch her.

He always does, and he always will.

“Little one.” He smiles, scooping her up and twirls them around in a tight circle. He peppers her snotty little face in kisses, the baby smell soft and warm and full of comfort.

“I love it when you are happy.” He whispers in her hair, but she doesn’t have time for that. She wriggles and twists and turns, so he puts her down, and she makes her wobbly way over to Jaskier.

“Papaaa!” She yells, and this time it is Jaskiers turn to catch. He is sitting on the the couch with his arms wide and waiting.

Next to him sits Roach, a stray cat Jaskier decided they simply had to adopt, despite cats reluctance to witchers.

Roach watches Ciri, blinking slowly at her with her tail twitching, and then Ciri is all caught up in Jaskiers arms and hoisted high. This is Ciris favorite game, and Geralt can feel the sting in his eyes when he watches the three favorite beings in his entire world.

A scabby cat, a small magical baby and a half elf, the man of his dreams.

“Daa sad?” Ciri asks, twisting in Jaskiers arms to watch Geralt.

Jaskier presses a kiss to the side of her face.

“I think dad is happy, darling.” Jaskier tells her.

Their little one is growing up so fast.

Her magic acted up early, and earned her a place at Aretusa, a school with teachers specialized in handling magic and it’s dealings.

Geralt was sceptical at first, but when Ciri came home, bubbling with energy and happiness and telling them all about her new best friend Dara, favorite teachers Triss and Yenna, and they are married, dads!! Married!

And all doubts melt away. The world around them has come a long way.

When Jaskier tucks her in that night, she asks Jaskier why he and Geralt aren’t married yet.

And Geralt cries silently in the hallways when Jaskier kisses her and whisper conspiratorially.

“Maybe you should help me ask him, hm?”

Ciri wants to work as a witcher, and Geralt's heart breaks.

He tells her no, please, little one, choose something else, anything else. They have a big fight, Geralt's words failing him when Ciri’s own tears fall.

“I am already accepted in Kaer Morhen, dad.” She yells. “I just wanted you to be proud of me.”

“I am, cub. I always am.” He says quietly, and they stare at each other.

Jaskier says she takes after him, and Geralt can see it now. She is so stubborn and fierce. He’d like to think that she took the best of them both, and he thinks she did.

“I just want you to be happy.” He whispers, wiping the tears from his stubbled and scarred cheeks. “I don’t want you to end up like me.”

“Aren’t you happy, dad?” She asks, voice wavering and fists clenched at her sides.

“I am now.” he says. “With you, Jaskier, and even that wretched cat in my life. But Kaer Morhen-”

“-It’s not the same as 90 years ago. No mutagens. No experiments or forced orphans. I looked into it. Vesemir runs it now, and they have changed the ways to be a witcher.”

He pulls his little one close. Hugs her small frame, kisses the top of his head. He never told her about those days, but she is a big girl now. Intelligent and independent and strong. She must have googled the horrors of Kaer Morhen, seen his drawn face whenever the old principal Stregobor was shown on Tv.

“I trust you, cub.” He whispers in her hair, and she sniffles into his shirt. “I just don’t want you to be as broken as me. I want you safe, and happy.”

“You taught me love like no one else, daa.” She says, and they cry together in the tiny, worn kitchen, sun shining in through dirty windows.

Jaskier holds his hand when they walk up the stairs. Holds him close when they sit in the first row in the temple.

Ciri stands by the altar, her eyes bright and nervous, her usually wild hair pulled up in a neat braid, fitting for the Skellige isles. Her dress is creamy white, flowing, and she is no longer the little girl that used to play dress up in their living room.

A grown woman stands there, a single flower in rich blue in her hand.

Everybody stands when the door opens behind them. Warriors on all sides raise their spears in salute, creating an arch for their queen to walk through.

Cerys appears in the doorway, every bit as regal as last he saw her, dress a rich blue and furs thrown over her shoulders, a single flower in creamy white in her hand.

Maybe he should be watching the queen.

Maybe he should pay his respect, but Geralt has eyes for nothing but his girl.

Behind him, he can hear Triss muffle a sob, and Geralt feels his own resolve break.

Ciri is watching her queen. Her hands are shaking, her breath coming fast, feet squared as if for battle. But her eyes are filled with such devotion and happiness, and Geralt's tears are spilling over.

Jaskier lifts their joined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss over his scarred knuckles. A wedding band adorns Geralt's finger, a matching one on Jaskier.

Soon their little girl will wear one of her own.

Geralt leans over to Jaskier and whisper in his ear.

“I love you. With all of my heart.” he says, as Ciri says those exact words to Cerys in front of the altar. “I am so glad she is happy.”

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glitterygayvodka · 4 years

Text

Yellow

Note: Omg hiii everyone!! I know that it’s literally been a billion years since I’ve written anything and I’m so sorry for that. Over quarantine I got inspired though so this piece is going to be the first installment of my color series! For every color red through purple I’ll have a story involving Harry and Y/n’s relationship. Thank y’all for being so kind and patient with me. I love you all and I hope you enjoy! My requests are open as well as my inbox in general if you have any questions/comments/concerns. Thank you!! Kissy - 🧡✨Kylei

Warnings: None!! This is all fluff but there’s a wholeeee lot of softness so gear your heart up :))

Yellow is the color of warmth and harmony. Yellow feels like the soft caress of sunshine on your skin, the taste of fresh mango on your tongue, the pleasant aroma of steaming chamomile fluttering against your nose, and the cheerful song of canaries in the early hours of spring.

For Y/n, yellow is a feeling that is almost incapable of being put into words. She feels yellow most often on nights like these, while tangled up with Harry as the sun begins to retire. Yellow is the gentle whisper of his fingers against her back, almost as if he’s writing poetry against her skin. She feels tranquility wash over her as she gazes up at him through relaxed lids, basking in the peaceful sound of his voice as he narrates the newest book they’ve been reading together.

Y/n grins happily as Harry uses different accents for each character, slowly sliding her arms around him and further entangling their legs under the cool and crisp sheets. Yellow feels like plopping onto your bed after a long time away from home, and not to be cliche, but Harry had started to feel like home for Y/n. She found refuge in his ability to be his authentic self with ease, and with him there’s never any pressure for her to be something that she isn’t. Their relationship is a safe haven; one where they can express themselves freely and openly. Their differences and similarities alike connect them in ways neither of them ever imagined.

Y/n finds herself studying him as he reads, admiring him in the same way an art historian admires a Monet. His lashes flutter gently against his tan skin as he blinks, his eyes the color of fresh sage in the hazy lighting of their shared bedroom. Her eyes follow the curve of his nose, down to the beautiful outline of his plush lips. Y/n has always been entranced by Harry’s lips. Their soft pink color conjures the image of delicate cherry blossoms to mind, and the way they wrap around syllables as he speaks mesmerizes her. She can’t help but to stare as he continues to read in his slow, deep, drawl. Eventually, Harry feels her gaze on him as he breaks his focus to look down at her with a puzzled yet knowing smile, his lips sandwiched between two endearing dimples.

“S’there something on my face Princess?” he inquires with humor in his voice, placing a bookmark between the pages and slowly closing the book. Y/n blinks as she emerges from her trance, her gaze moving reluctantly from his lips to his equally enticing eyes. She holds his gaze, bringing a hand up to brush a stray curl away from his face. “Nooo,” she laughs with a shake of her head, “I’m just admiring you.” Harry can’t help the flutter in his stomach at her words. Her laugh a melody that he was sure he could listen to for the rest of his life. He pulls her up his body with a giggle of his own after gently placing their book on the nightstand, her thighs falling on either side of him with her bum resting comfortably in his lap.

They sit in a peaceful silence for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. Eye contact has always been something that both of them cherish. It never felt uncomfortable or forced between them, even in the very beginning. The feeling that runs through them while looking into each other’s eyes is hard to label. It’s almost as if their souls are communicating anything that’s ever been left unsaid. The intensity of their connection never fails to send a shiver up Y/n’s spine, or to cause a rosy blush to warm up Harry’s cheeks. She wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers gently intertwining with his soft curls. Harry lets out a peaceful sigh as Y/n runs her fingers through his hair, taking the time to scratch his scalp occasionally. He lets his eyelids droop in pure bliss, relishing in the aura of the beautiful woman in his lap, who chooses to be with him over anyone else. He can’t say that he’s surprised however, because it often feels like the two of them were made for each other. Two pieces of the same puzzle that make a perfect fit. Harry wasn’t someone who usually believed in fate or destiny, but after meeting Y/n, it didn’t seem so unlikely that certain events were just meant to be, or as Y/n would say, written in the stars.

“What’s on your mind lovely?” she inquires softly, her fingers leisurely making their way up and down his arms and shoulders, stopping every once in a while to trace his tattoos, paying extra attention to one of her favorites; the butterfly. A murmur of contentment slips past his lips, his hands caressing the familiar silhouette of her waist, giving her hips a tender squeeze as he languidly opens his eyes once more. Harry stares at her for a moment before speaking, his eyes committing the blueprint of her face to memory. “M’just thinking about how much love you brought into my life,” He sighs with a gentle shrug of his shoulders.

Y/n can almost feel the sincerity of his words within her bones, his loving tone sending shivers throughout her body despite the warmth of the room. She’s quiet for a while, allowing her thoughts to marinate. Her fingers glide over the delicate string of pearls he had yet to take off, before her gaze slowly returns to his. “Hear my soul speak. At the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.” She quotes with a coy smile, her fingers continuing their path along his body.

Harry’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, a perplexed look overtaking his features as he studies her goofy expression. He begins to replay her words in his mind, when suddenly, the realization hits him and he lets out a loud chuckle with a shake of his head. “Did you just quote Shakespeare to me?” He inquires, his tone a mixture of playful annoyance and genuine humor. Y/n lets out a chorus of her own laughter before nodding, a beautiful smile adorning her lips. “Did you expect anything less of me?” She questions, her eyes glinting playfully in the soft lighting. Harry shakes his head yet again, moving his hands from the comfortable position on her waist to intertwine their fingers. “Well, I was actually expecting a kiss,” he grins cheekily, “but the surprise visit from Shakespeare was very enlightening.” He finishes, his thumb caressing the back of her hand lovingly.

Y/n’s body shakes with laughter at his words, and Harry can’t help the huge smile that plasters itself on his face. He could live in this moment, with this beautiful soul, for the rest of his life. He had never felt more genuinely warm, seen, and loved in his entire existence than he did while with Y/n. The love constantly radiates off of the both of them in waves, reaching anyone and everyone who is open to experiencing their magic. As Y/n’s laughter finally begins to subside and he helps her wipe away any happy tears that happened to betray her, Harry’s heart feels beyond full. “Okay I have no idea what came over me!” She breathes, slightly out of breath in the way that only a good laugh can induce. “I guess you’re a comedian and I’m a nerd, so where does that leave us?” Y/n giggles, bringing her gaze back to him with laughter glossed eyes.

“Hmmm,” Harry ponders, slowly intertwining their hands yet again. “I guess that means you’ll always have someone t’quote literature to, and I’ll always have someone t’laugh really hard at my bad jokes.” Yet another smile makes its way to his lips, and Y/n giggles again with a squeeze of his hand. “Well then!” She sings, releasing one of her hands from his to cup his cheek, bringing her face closer to his. “Aren’t we just the perfect pair?” Her question has a playful tone and he can feel the warmth of her breath against him, her eyes moving between his gaze and his lips.

“We sure are...” he murmurs, his hands following her lead, one moving forward cradle her face with the other gently resting against her throat. Harry can feel her pulse quicken with his actions, and it makes him smile to know that she still has this reaction to his touch. Their eyes flutter closed as they move even closer, their lips finally brushing against each other as delicately as if it were the first time. Harry deepens the kiss, the faint taste of mint and honey lingering on her tongue from their nightly bedtime tea, and Y/n relishes in the intoxicating feeling of his soft lips against hers. A long time ago, Y/n realized that soulmates are yellow.

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