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sweetsbfreex · 3 years

Text

a styles snow day

Summary: In Boston, with your family. You and H have a snow day with your daughter. After a hectic morning that is

Warnings: none!

Pairing: Dad, Husband!Harry x reader

The shuffling of soft feet against the sheets had shaken you awake, causing you to open your eyes. You ignore it, but before sleep could take you away again. A sharp strike, from a very soft foot, landed between your shoulders

You open your eyes wide, emitting a raspy whine into the morning air. Reaching your hand back to stop the tiny foot from landing another strike. In result you hear cute giggles causing you to turn, her foot still in your clutch, to see your eighteen month old.

You closed eyes for a second, letting out a low sigh before you scooped her up. Both of you laying on your sides, facing each other, one of her legs laid against your hip.

You reached your hand out to fix the catastrophe that was her hair.

“Not nice Ava...Why is it always me hm...Why don’t you ever wake dad like this?” you ask.

She stared at you, smiling. Only elevator music playing in her morning mind right now. Her small body encased with one of Harry’s very old shirts at her knees. One that his mother had saved for when he had his first child.

“Go wake up dad” you whispered in her ear, your hand cupping the back of her tiny ear.

She looked up at you, her face now amused at your special request. Without any questions, she shuffled her bum to her dad. Who was on his side, his back away from the two of you. Draping her upper body over his torso, her teeny legs pointed out to stabilize herself. Taking an arn that wasn't holding herself up. She reached her chubby fingers to her father’s eye, pulling his eye lid up.

Giggling to herself when Harry’s eye began to move around, then upward at her face which was upside down to him. Then she laughed a bit more when both his eyes startled open in shock.

“Daddy!” she squealed.

Harry groaned, a light pout on his face before he pulled Ava’s finger from his eye. “Hi baby” he smiled, pulling his girl over so she became cocooned in his arms against his chest.

“Mum set you up to this right?” he asked, turning his head around to see a “sleeping” y/n.

“For someone who’s supposed to love me...you are such a menace”. He told his other girl. Watching as she laughed, blowing the cover she thought she had. “Caught ya’” he mumbled, turning back to his baby’s giggles.

You got up, reaching your body over your end of the bed to place a kiss on his shoulder. Making your way over to the three window walls beside your bed. When you rolled up the first blind. A small comical gasp got your attention, looking behind you to see her shocked gaze on the snow.

“Snow!” She gleamed, removing herself from Harry and sprinting to the window. Her nose and palms all up in the glass. Watching the thick layer of snow that buried your spacious backyard.

All three of you had landed in your home in Boston, coming back from visiting your parents, late last night. And with the moving around she had to do a long with the flight. she didn’t get a chance to see the snowfall in the middle of the night.

“I know” you told her, matching her energy. “You wanna play in it later?” You asked, bringing your hand down to pull her away from the glass.

She jumped up and down nodding her head in reply.

“Let’s eat first then we can later”

––––––

Now you were all in the kitchen/dining (since they shared the same space). After Harry took out Milo, the family’s Australian shepherd, from his cage to the front yard. Now he was chasing? Or Ava was chasing him?. The loud dog pants, the sound of feet/paws against the wood, Ava’s giggles, the music Harry decided to play, and your whines, were all mixed. Because Harry would. not. Let you go.

“Do you want to starve? I need to make breakfast” you lean your head back on his shoulder. Being currently enveloped by both his arms, closing you between his chest and the counter.

“You’re popping a couple of eggos in the toaster, chill out” he snickered.

You smiled at his teasing, kissing his cheek before turning your way back to the eggs you were mixing first. He stayed behind you placing kiss after kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then to the cut of your jaw.

You giggled, reeling him in a bit as you brandished your butt against him. Eyes averting to Harry's fingers which were clenching the counter a bit.

And ever so quickly you tilted your head, so your mouth was to his ear whispering...

“Go fill Milo’s bowl” you tell him, turning your head to kiss one of his shoulders. Before they deflated and Harry sported a dejected look on his face.

“I’ll remember this the next time the roles reverse hm?” he tells you, pinching your butt and then strolling away to the pantry.

And it was peaceful for a little until frill cries interrupted it; and Harry’s voice cooing Ava was what you heard.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, leaving the eggs and turning off the warming pan.

“Sad because Milo’s not playing anymore” he chuckles, rubbing his hand.

“You ready for your pancakes?” You ask her.

At that the instant crocodile tears ended, as expected, while she nodded her head yes. You and Harry shared a laugh before he brought to the table, sitting in her booster seat. While you popped some eggos in the toaster.

“Har! Are you eating pancakes too?” You yell out to him.

“No thank you, ‘m gonna eat the eggs” he replied to you, leaving Ava with her coloring sheet.

–––––

You were all roughly done. Milo finished his breakfast a while ago, now he laid next to Ava’s chair looking with hope at everyone eating.

And when her parents were no longer paying attention to her, instead to each other. Ava used her nimble fingers to break a piece of her bacon. Bringing it to her mouth before “accidentally” dropping it on the floor. Smiling down at her best friend who ate it with pleasure.

‘Poor mimi’ she thought

Taking a bit of her pancakes between her fingers, she tried it one more time. Instead a different method; as she hid the piece of her syrup-less pancake in her closed fist. Yawning slyly, bringing her arms above her hands after she looked down at the puppy eyes Milo gave her. And bringing them to lay against her side; dropping the pancake onto the mixed fur beneath her.

“Ey!” Harry voiced, catching her in the act.

You turned around confused, watching as she jumped in her seat, looking up at her father in a stunned manner.

“What were you doing Ava?” You asked.

She looked at both her parents, pushing her bottom lip out.

“Milo is hungry!” She defended

“Are we supposed to be feeding Milo anything that isn’t dog food?” He tests her.

“No” she murmurs. Eyebrows wrinkled together and lips pouted causing her cheeks to fill out more than usual. Her small face was in perfect view to get a glance of her expression. Then in a haste she tucked her chin into her body, so all you both saw was the top of her bed head.

The couple wasn’t against giving Milo “human food”, he’d get some from time to time, not too much. But with a child it was a bit different. Ava didn’t know what a dog could and couldn’t eat, so the two of them had to be stricter when it came to her giving Milo food. They’d also been training Milo to not accept food Ava get him, but the two of them were like peas in a pod.

You and Harry looked at each other. You raised your eyebrows to him, wondering how the pair of you should go about this. He shrugs backs at you, a smile etched on his face as he eyes his child again.

She sat still in her chair, keeping the heartbroken visage on her face. Ava decided to add a dash of spice into her act by crossing her arms over her chest . Without context you would think you told her she would never be able to watch Disney movies ever again!

You decided to take the reigns.

“Babe do you want Milo to have to go to the doctor?” You asked her.

“No.” She responded short.

“Talk appropriately, Ava” Harry told her.

“No, mommy” she repeated herself, looking up this time, her arms uncrossed and instead sat in her lap.

“If you keep giving her human food he’ll get sick, then he’ll have to go to the doctor...then you could be arrested” you pout at her pinching her cheeks.

“Y/N!” Harry hissed, his foot breezing past your shin.

“What? It worked on me”

“Okay Okay, you won’t go to jail, mommy’s fibbing. I’m

Sorry”

“You’re fibbing?” She murmurs, using her palm to clear her bangs from her forehead. Looking at Harry for confirmation as you both nod.

“But you can’t feed Milo human food, it’s not good for him” you remind her.

“Okay. I won’t feed Milo anymore. Promise!” she answers in a hushed tone, reaching her hands up so you could pull her into your lap.

You did so kissing the top of her head

“Mumma?” Tilting her head back.

“Yea?”

“You eat the pancakes, I don’t want them,” she remarked, tossing her head side-to-side and patting her plump stomach. Sticking her tongue out in an icky manner, meaning she was full.

You and Harry shared a quick laugh at her chaotic antics.

“Ready to go out and play?” Which resulted in a large hoot led by Harry.

–––––––

Everyone showered by two, the sun brighter than when you woke up, and the snow falling down softer, in a flurry.

Before you all left the London home, you had ordered the three of you matching garments and gloves for the pictures you knew you and Harry would take.

Currently, you and Harry were clad in thick turquoise jackets. Only struggling with the task of getting Ava dressed up.

She was like a wiggling worm, wouldn’t stay still, even when you and Harry offered her some candy. Her infectious belly laughs only grew as she thought this was some kind of funny game. But it wasn't and you made that clear when you told her she wouldn't be playing in the snow until she dressed up. Did she sit down like a good girl.

“Oh! Look at my baby!” you thrilled, holding her cheeks between your palms. Pulling her in for an eskimo kiss. Those have been her favorite for the longest. Ever since she got herself hooked on Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. “You look so cute, beautiful” you tell her.

She smiles at the compliments, such a narcissist she was. Always asking you if she looked pretty in this or that at least once a day. Along with checking herself out in the mirror for an extended amount of time. Such a narcissist. Yet, you also loved the way she tilted her chin down, head lolled to the side bashfully.

Harry, like lightning, put her beanie over her braided pigtails while you put on her black snow boots. He picked her up once she finished dressing up,setting her on his blowing a raspberry on her chubby cheeks.

“Aren’t you guys the cutest” you hummed, pulling your phone out to take a picture. You chuckled when you watched the way her giggles disappeared at the sight of your phone. Instead a beaming smile, pressing her cheek to her father’s scruffy one. Snapping a few live photos of the two.

“I wanna see” her palm out towards you for the phone.

You shuffled yourself beside her, tilting the phone so they both could see the photos.

“Look so beautiful. Hm?” Harry marveled, placing a gentle kiss to her cheek.

She grinned at his acclaim, “Yes” she dragged out the s. Nodding her head in a gentle manner before placing a kiss on his cheek.

“You look so good too, H” you tell him. Your hand rubbing the cheek that wasn’t occupied by Ava.

He, without a doubt, did. He decided to stop shaving the last two weeks and gosh did he look good. The turquoise color brought out the green of his eyes. Instead of letting his hair down, he decided he’d clip it back with one of your clips.

He kissed you on the lips then on your cheek in result, Also exchanging a string of compliments your way, by whispering some not safe for kid ears into yours.. Your stomach did a bit of a flip at his husky voice, before you slapped his chest in a truce like manner.

“Milo! Let’s go outside!” Harry shouted out, clutching your hand as he led the three of you downstairs.

–––––

The four of you were outside in the white blanket. Milo was doing his zoomies, astounded with this new found discovery. Before his non-stop running. The first thing Milo did, when he came in contact with the snow, was freeze (ears up in curiosity), then he stuck his nose into the snow, ate some snow. Now he was running in circles.

Ava loved this, perched up on Harry’s shoulder as she giggled, her nimble finger following Milo’s body.

You had Harry’s phone pointed at the two of them, videoing the whole family.

And Harry was feeling gratified. His baby was on his shoulder happy as a lark. His other baby had a radiating smile on her beautiful face while recording these moments. as always. And his pup was having the time of his life

“Baby!” you lose it when Harry also looks away from Milo to face you in no time. “Ava...Can you catch a snowflake like this?”

Harry blows a huff. He hates when you do that (half the time on purpose). Watching you tilt your head back, eyes closed, and your tongue out as you catch snow in your mouth.

Ava catches on, her eyes go a bit crossed when she tries to see the snow landing on her tongue.

“Here, baby, hold her for a bit” he tells you, bringing her down into your open arms (so she’s now on your hip). He leans down a bit to gather a bit of snow in his hands to make a snowball. Then once he’s done, he has a mischievous smile when he targets it to your chest.

It startles you, “Harry!”

And you halt, again, when the kid on your hip starts to wail. Her head thrown back and her eyes closed, sealed tight.

"Aww. Don't cry baby. Look at what you did Harry" you reprimand him in a jest. His eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting for this to end in her tears. "Daddy's mean right? Watch this" you shush her, watching her until she opens her eyes, only in small hiccups.

You crouch down carefully pulling some snow into your fist.

“Watch baby, gotta get revenge” you tell her smiling. Raising yourself up to then fling the snow into Harry’s chest. Ever the dramatic man. He clutched his heart over his jacket before falling back into the sea of snow groaning out. Opening one eye, when he hears the laugh of his precious girl.

“Here” you tell Ava, giving her own ball of snow. She eyes it for a little before she tries to shove the snow into her mouth like crazy. Very likely you shouldn’t have shown her how to catch the snowflakes beforehand. You roll your eyes at Harry when you hear his chuckles at the exchange.

When you tell her no and to throw it you watch her laugh as she flings it on top of her father. Who then groans again and lays with his tongue out and body spread out like the chalk outlines. You set her down to the ground and she zips to the “dead” body. She pokes his eye like earlier today because it always works, but when it doesn’t she relents to other forces.

“Mimi!” she calls the shepheard over, pointing down at Harry. Who is slowly breaking his facade (but she doesn’t notice). Milo bounded forward to his owner with zeal. Sniffing around Harry for a bit before licking his face, inducing Harry to shout. Jump scaring the three of you, especially poor Milo who dashed away and Ava who fell on her butt.

Ava didn’t appreciate it. Taking snow between her mittens and crushing it into H’s chest causing a laugh out of all you.

–––––

The sun was about to set and Harry and Ava were rolling up the last ball for the snowman’s head. You were smoothing the parts that were a bit rough. Milo was back in the house. Too tired from all the running he was doing, but you were able to get some family shots with him too.

“Be careful, babe” Ava tells Harry (unnecessarily loud), when his foot gets caught in an icy patch.

“Thank you babe” he tells her, leaning down to kiss her chin. “Wonder where she gets that from. Hm?” he teases you, winking at you and puckering his lips to blow you a kiss. As you smile shyly looking away from him.

They were on either side of you. Ava nestled into your side, her arms around one of yours. All while Harry begins to lift the final snowball onto the other two.

“There you go baby. Olaf!” he tells her one she’s finished.

She isn’t excited and looks at the figure confused for a minute. You look up at Harry, eye brows pinched, he looks at you the same way, his hands on his hip when he shrugs at you.

A little gasp makes you both turn your head to see her eyes light up and finger pointed upward, like in the movies.

“Forget his buttons, eyes, and nose” she tells you, trying to point at where each thing went.

“You’re so right, smart girl, let me go get them, find some sticks too.”

You shuffle through the backdoor. Gaining ompant when Milo decides to come out of the living room. Rubbing his head on the way there. Going into the fridge you get the shortest carrot in the bag before moving into the fireplace for some coal.

When you walk back out, Ava is sitting on Harry's shoulders again. Her arms wrapped around his forehead with an iron grip. You hand her the carrot.

“Thank you mommy” she cheered, the tip of her cheeks getting firmer with her grin.

You pinch her cheeks a little bit, in response. Turning around to place the coals in a shape of a smile, using the last five as his buttons and eyes. While doing this you notice the skinny branches as his arms.

“Okay Miss Styles time for you to do the honor. Go ahead and give him his nose”

Harry squats down until Ava's leveled with the snowman's head. She decides, among herself, to twirl the carrot around so the pointed part of the carrot gets buried in the snow. You truly don't have the heart to correct her when you see how proud of herself she is.

Once she finishes, Harry picks her up and off his shoulder so she's settled on his hip instead. He jostles her around, shouting an array of "Yay! Ava!" The three of you clapping your hands together to celebrate. All while Ava revels in the abundance of praise, yet she huddles her into the comforts of her dad's shoulder.

Her first snow day had gone way better than either of you would have imagined. You personally assumed that she would have hated it. Especially since it was a very cold substance. Or she would have cried the whole time, wanting to go back in instantly.

If anything, it was more perfect than anything. You loved your little family and there was quite possibly nothing that could replace the rush of emotions you felt when you were with them. Making these treasured moments. You think this all while Harry pulls you in for a kiss.

read a little continuation of this family here!

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if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

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thestarrynightslover · 3 years

Text

It’s a Good Day to Have a Bad Date

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Word count: 2,383

Warnings: Slight mentions of an OC with criminal priors, violent tendencies, and a juvenile record. A teeny-tiny bit of angst.

Summary: The reader meets Jay as she's trying to find out stuff about the guy she's about to go out with and ends up switching dates.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: Just to make one thing clear: I did some research on Illinois's laws (not sure I got it right tho) and, apparently, this fic is very inaccurate. But I really wanted to pursue the idea, so just humor me, please 🙏🏻. Anyways, I had a lot of fun while writing this and thought about making a part two... But I'm not sure. Tell me what you think! 💗

| masterlist |

You inhaled deeply one more time before you walked into the police district. There wasn’t even a real reason for you to be so nervous about it. You weren’t a victim and you weren’t a criminal. So, what’s the worst that could happen?

The worst that could happen was, of course, you getting a bunch of cops mad at you because you went to waste their time with some pathetic whining. It was decided, you were gonna turn back around right now, while you still had time, and just go home.

On second thought, though, it was a matter of public safety. Your safety. Which was just as valid because you were just as much of a U.S. citizen as anyone else. So you went in.

Shit. The place was almost empty, which meant everyone would notice if you left. And they’d ask questions, so you figured you’d, at least, get ahead of them, as you walked shyly towards the front desk. There, you were met by an older woman who looked bored, and still, terrifying.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked you, while cautiously checking you out. Oh my God, she thought you could be a victim! You were such an idiot.

“Um, it’s, um, it’s actually nothing, really. I shouldn’t even have come here in the first place.” You told her while smiling a little. What you didn’t know was that what you said had only raised more flags in the sergeant’s mind, even catching the attention of a tall man writing some things down on a paper at the corner of the counter. The young detective stayed back because he knew that Platt would know how to manage the situation, but continued listening to every word of the conversation.

The sergeant, then, took her glasses off, setting them on the counter. “Listen, miss, my name is Trudy Platt and the reason why I became a cop was that I wanted to help people, in every way that I possibly could. So, if you need my help with anything, just tell me what it is. And, I promise, I’ll do everything in my power to give it to you.” She assured you and, as much as you felt this huge sympathy for the woman, you also felt even worse about making her waste her time. So you tried to fix things.

“Oh, my God! I’m so, so, so sorry! I’m not a victim in any way, thank God. I said that I shouldn’t have come here because I’m not even sure if what I wanted to ask is legal…” You told her with a nervous laugh. Hearing that, the Sergeant’s eyes sparked with curiosity.

“Well, then I probably won’t be able to help you.” She told you, stressing the ‘probably’ and making the man at the end of the counter shamelessly turn his face in your direction in order to better hear your conversation. “But… Since you’re already here, and it’s been such a slow day for the District, maybe you should just ask me whatever you want to and I’ll be the judge of whether that’s legal or not. After all, unless you’re some sort of lawyer, I should know more about the law than the average civilian.” The Sergeant skilfully baited you.

“Um, no, I’m not a lawyer.” You confirmed with a small laugh while tugging some of your hair behind your ear. “Actually, since I’ve just recently moved here to Chicago ⎼ to Illinois, really ⎼, I’m probably a lot below your average civilian.” You stated with a giggle. At that, the guy that had lost his discretion about eavesdropping started chuckling a little himself, to which the older woman responded with a look you’d absolutely hate having directed to you.

“So, Chuckles, you have nothing better to do than to stay here listening to other people’s conversations?”

“First of all, it’s detective,” he started in a mocked smug tone, “and, second: no, uh, I actually don’t. I came to fill this paperwork down here exactly because we were about to kill each other upstairs, just to get out of the boredom.” He added, raising some paper files he had in-hand. “Besides, you know how much I, too, love to help people.” He said while shooting you a charming smile. Okay, that guy was pretty handsome. “Jay Halstead, nice to meet you.” The detective informed you, holding out his hand.

“Right, um, nice to meet you too, sir.” You replied, shaking his hand. “I didn’t even say my name, what a clums!” You joked while patting yourself on the forehead. “I’m (y/n) (y/l/n).”

“Okay, just, please, lose the ‘sir’ with that one, otherwise, he’ll never let it go.” Trudy chipped back in the conversation.

“So, what was it that you wanted to ask the sarge? I can assure you that we’ll let you know if it’s illegal. After all, two judges are better than one.” He suggested, all smiles.

“Since when?” The sergeant practically barked at the younger man, just to add: “You know what? You wanna be here at my front desk, Halstead? Then be here, but be quiet and let the lady talk.” She bluntly ordered him, who decided to do as he was told.

“Alright, um, it’s just that this guy who I don’t really know anything about asked me out and I said yes, even though I got a bad vibe from him?” They just stared at you with their jaws dropped, so you added: “Pathetic, I know. But I didn’t really wanna judge him without any proof, or anything like that, so I figured that, maybe, I could try and check if he has any criminal priors or something.” You finished with a tiny embarrassed smile.

“And why on Earth would you think that we could give you this type of information?” The sergeant asked you, her expression being one of pure shock.

“I, uh…” You didn’t really want to embarrass yourself even more but felt the urge to explain anyways. “It’s just that I’m a small-town girl, okay? And, over there, everybody knew my family, so, whenever I wanted to go out with someone, my dad would just ask his buddies at the Sheriff’s office to look the guy over. And he always told me that that was really important, so, when I moved to the state’s capital, I just wouldn’t go out with anyone unless a close friend vouched for him. Because I was terrified of what I’d see and hear on the news. But here… I don’t really know anyone yet.” You blurted it all out, to two strangers! To two cops who probably had something, or somethings, better to do than to listen to your whining. “Anyhow, I’m really sorry that I wasted your time, guys. Won’t happen again.” At that, they exchanged a look, and the sergeant said:

“You know what? You’re right, kid. The world is a dangerous place. And, unfortunately, it is even more dangerous for us women. So I’m gonna look the guy up. But I’m not gonna tell you exactly what it says if something comes up.” She told you, much for your surprise, and, then, turned to the detective, saying: “If you say a single word about this to anyone, and I mean anyone, Chuckles, I swear to God that I’ll cut your tongue out myself.”

“Geez, sarge. How can you swear such an ugly thing like that to God?” He asked her, in a mockery tone, while making a hilarious expression.

“Ha! Keep that up and your tongue won’t be the only thing I’m gonna cut.” She threatened him again and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter when he made a shocked expression and put his hands protectively over his crotch.

“For your information, I wanna help the girl just as much as you, so I wouldn’t say anything. You didn’t have to threaten me.” He tried to recover, as you handed her a small piece of paper with your possible date’s name.

“Oh, I know. But I wasn’t about to miss out on the opportunity.” She shot back at him while typing the name on the District’s computer. “Okay, here it is... Wow."

"What? What is it?" You asked her, as you watched the detective perk himself over the counter to look at the screen.

"Jesus. This guy's got himself quite a rap sheet." He commented, making you shiver, thinking of what could happen to you, if you went on with the date.

"What exactly do you mean by that, detective?" You asked the man who probably noticed your discomfort, because he spoke again, in a tranquilizing tone:

"No, relax. It's nothing too bad, like violent or anything. But there's some pretty nasty stuff here." He told you, not really making you relax.

"There's something here, though." That caught the detective's eye again. "His juvenile record is sealed, the only thing I can see without a warrant is an observation from his caseworker. She says something about him having violent tendencies." She told you with a sigh, taking her glasses off again. "Look, I know that I can't tell what to do and what to not do, (y/n), but, as a suggestion? Stay the hell away from this piece of work. You seem like a nice enough girl, I'd hate to see you come in here as a victim someday."

“Oh, God, no! I heard you loud and clear, sergeant! Don’t worry about it, I’m canceling that date ASAP!” You exclaimed, agreeing with her.

“That’s great!” The detective spoke this time, sounding a little too happy about the fact that you were about to cancel a date with a man who had criminal priors and violent tendencies. So both you and the other woman stared at him. “Err, I mean because you’re not gonna go out with him.” You just giggled a little at the way he was digging an even deeper hole for himself. “Because he’s a bad guy.” He added, once again getting a glare from Trudy. “You know what I mean.” He finished, defeated, not looking in your eyes.

“Well, uh,” you started, trying to keep yourself from laughing too hard, “anyways, I can only thank you both. You guys got me out of something that could be really unpleasant, to say the least.” You told them, a bit more serious this time.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Just glad we could help.” Detective Halstead said, smiling kindly at you.

“Yeah. This time, I actually agree with you, Halstead.” The sergeant half-joked.

“Aw, that’s very kind, but, really, thank you!” You restated your gratitude, then asking: “I should probably get going now, right? Stop wasting your time?”

“It’s not like we were doing much before you got here-” Trudy began saying, but was interrupted by the detective, who quickly told you:

“Yeah, you should go. You know, cause a police District…” You knew he was right, but those two seemed like really nice people, especially after having helped you dodge a bullet, so to speak, and you’d hoped that you were finally making some friends in the Windy-City. “Anyways, um, lemme walk you out.” He offered you while motioning to the door. At that, you and the sergeant shared a look that told you she also found it weird that the detective would wanna walk with you through such a minimal distance.

“Uh, um, o- okay.” As you and Halstead walked towards the exit, you couldn’t help but notice what nice features he had. Like, your mind just kept going back to what a good-looking man he was.

“So…” He trailed off.

“So…” You answered, not really sure about what to say.

“You know, um, it’s gotta be a hell of a bummer for you. Being here in Chicago without knowing many people. This city… It’s all about finding your community.” He told you in a sympathetic tone.

“Hum…” You breathed out as you thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, well, I guess that I can only hope I’ll have better luck at making acquaintances the next time I go out to explore it.”

“Right.” The detective agreed. “Uh, listen, I know that this may sound a little too forward, but, maybe, I could show you some of my favorite places, someday? I mean, only if you’re interested! Because I don’t want you to feel like-”

“Actually, I’d very much like that! If it isn’t going to be any trouble for you…” You cut him off excitedly.

“No! No trouble at all!” He quickly assured you. “Um, thi- this is my card.” He said, lifting up a small business card for you to see. “I’m gonna write my personal number on the back of it. Call, or text me when you have some time to go out. Or if you just want someone to talk…” The handsome man added with a smile. God, what a smile.

“Okay, um, thanks, dete-”

“No, please! Call me Jay.”

“Alright,” you acknowledged, a little nervous this time, “then, thank you, Jay. Just, be advised, I can be very talkative sometimes, which means you might regret giving me this.” You warned him with a sly smile while waving the card in front of his face.

“Huh.” Jay pretended to consider it for a moment. “Is it too weird if I say I have a feeling that I won’t regret it?” He then asked you with a cute shy smile.

“Well, it sure isn’t weirder than me saying that I really hope you don’t regret it.” You confessed to him with a wink.

“Hey, are you two gonna take that flirting elsewhere on your own, or do you need me to get you a room?” You heard Sergeant Platt call out, blushing immediately.

“I’m so sorry about that!” Jay told you, looking a little flushed himself. “You should probably go now.” He added with an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, I think you’re right..” You agreed, but, as you were turning around to leave, he grabbed your wrist lightly, saying:

“Just… Don’t forget to call.” Hearing that, you snickered a little.

“I have a feeling that I won’t.” You told him, almost repeating his previous words, which got some chuckles out of him.

Now you understood the nickname.

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belphies-cuhm-sluht · 3 years

Text

The Future (Belphie x GN! Reader)

It's not entirely angst, but it's there a little bit... and it's not super fluffy... but it's also there a little bit... It's a little bit of everything I guess (except NSFW, it's not that... well there is a little teeny tiny hint of it, like a salt grain of NSFW if you look close enough)

TW: slight mention of death but nobody dies ; mentions of what Belphie did in Lesson 16 but it doesn't go into detail (also spoiler warning if you haven't made it to lesson 16 yet)

Word Count : 3.2K (why the fuck did I go so hard on this one? I've never written that much in a wing it fic before)

He sat on the windowsill in the attic, overlooking the garden in the backyard where you sat with his brothers. He should have been down there, he should have been sitting on the other side of you, sandwiching you between Beel and himself, but you didn’t want anything to do with him, and who could blame you? What he had done was unforgivable, and had you forgiven him, he would have thought you were weak and pathetic for even wanting to be around him after what he had done. Yet, here he was, wishing that you had forgiven him. It was an internal conflict that he was having with himself and he hated it, and he hated you for making him feel like this.

What were you but a meek, fragile, useless human. There were billions up on earth, and if need be, he could just go up and snatch one to have his way with and then be done with them. It would be quite simple for him, and there wouldn’t have to be any emotional attachment, not the way that his brothers seemed to be getting with you. They were foolish for allowing a no good human into their lives like this, and it almost seemed like you had a firm hold on them. They were wrapped around your fingers. Not him though, he wouldn’t allow himself to get like that. He knows exactly what happens when beings like himself and his brothers… like his sister… get attached to humans. It never ends well, and it seems like his brothers were completely forgetting all about that, even though it was the reason they fell in the first place.

Even with all of this, watching you with all of them made his heart ache. Laughing, smiling, everyone was having a good time, everyone but him. He tried to ignore the ache in his heart as he watched Beel wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest and nuzzling his face in your neck. Your laughter, light and twinkling seemed to travel through the air, riding the slight breeze that blew through the trees, purposely up into his ears, almost as if it were mocking him. He was alone, and while it wasn’t a new feeling for him, it was starting to become bothersome. Nobody wanted to see him, especially you, but now it seemed like everyone was avoiding him like the plague. The door to the attic had been unlocked for a while, but now he didn’t want to leave. He had no reason to anymore.

“Hey, Belphie…” He had been so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice that Beel had left you in the garden with the others. His eyes focused on you, the way your eyes would squint up when Mammon said something so stupid that all you could do was laugh at him. The way you kept switching which leg to cross over the other, as if you couldn’t sit still for more than five seconds. You seemed anxious, and you would look over your shoulder and around the garden subtly before turning back to whichever one of his brothers were talking. It was like you could feel his eyes on you, and it gave him a strangely warm feeling inside, knowing that you knew he was looking… all you had to do was look up and you’d see him. “Belphie.” Beel said his name again, clearing his throat to get his attention.

“Hm? Yeah, what?” As much as he hated to take his eyes off of you, he knew that Beel wouldn’t leave him alone until he at least acknowledged that he was in the room. “Do you need something?” He turned to face his brother, his arms folded across his chest. Seeing him there, knowing that only a couple minutes ago his brother's arms had been wrapped around you, holding you close, and you had enjoyed it… He had no right to be upset over it, if anything, he should be happy for his twin that he had finally found something other than food and working out to fill the void inside of him that had been created when he fell.

“I know you like them…” He was about to protest, but Beel held up his hand, giving his brother a small smile as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I can hear you at night… calling their name… you move a lot too. Everyone hears you.” Beel scratched his head as he watched him, waiting for his response, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. It was obvious that Beel liked you too, and in a sense it felt wrong. If it were Lucifer, he wouldn’t feel bad about liking you at all, but he cared about Beel, and he didn’t want his twin to hate him.

“I’m sorry, man… I don’t deserve them. They seem happy with you, and you look happy… I’m not trying to take them away from you.” He sighed heavily, shaking his head as he got up from the ledge of the window. “It doesn’t even matter, it’s not like they’d ever like me back anyway.” And that much he was sure of. How could you ever like him back after what he did? He could hope for it, dream of it, but the reality is that it would never happen.

“What are you talking about?” Beel looked genuinely confused, watching as his brother climbed into the bed, pulling the sheets over himself. “I mean, of course I’m happy with them here, but we’re not together.” He let out a quick chuckle as he said it, but Belphie wasn’t entirely convinced yet. Sure, you and Beel may not be together, but how is he supposed to know that you don’t have any feelings at all for Beel? He’s already made himself look like a complete fool with you once, and he wasn’t planning on doing it again anytime soon. “I care about them, and yeah, I was kind of pissed off when you tried to kill them… twice…” He sat up just enough to glare at Beel. That was still a sore subject and something that he wished could be moved on from. Of course, that was wishful thinking and he knew that no one would ever fully move on from it, especially you. “But… They’re okay now… Maybe you should just talk to them.” He got up from the bed, walking over to the door before turning to look back at Belphie. “It wouldn’t hurt to try anyway. I’ll see you later.”

His head fell against his pillow, a loud groan escaping him as his hands moved up to his face. “Fuck…” Beel was right. It wouldn’t hurt to try, and even if you did reject him, he would get over it after a while. It’s not like you were the only human who would ever come down to the Devildom for Lord Diavolo’s stupid exchange program. The only problem is that… there probably wouldn’t ever be another human like you. You were special, and it took a lot for him to even think that about anyone, especially a human. But you… you went out of your way to save him in a sense. You freed him from the attic, and instead of thanking you as he should have, he had tried to kill you instead. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t even know where he’d start if he was to try to talk to you. The only thing he could think to do was to sleep on it, a little escape from the reality of his fuck ups never hurt.

Dreams were all that he had, they were the safest place to go. When everything seemed wrong, he knew that he had his own subconscious mind to fall back on. At least in his dreams he could change the way things had happened. In his dreams he would tell you what you deserved to hear after you let him out of the attic, and he’d pull you into his arms and hold you when all other words escaped him. He could create any scenarios he wanted, and they always felt so real. Your lips pressed against his own as your bodies seemed to mesh into one under the warmth of his blankets in the attic. His fingers would trace the shape of your body as your legs intertwined, his name murmured softly from your lips when the tips of his fingers would brush over more sensitive parts of your skin.

“Belphie…” Your voice was so sweet, it sounded so close. His dream had just begun and you were already calling for him. It was a new fantasy, but one that he wasn’t against. All he had to do was find you, and it seemed strange that, although he was in control of his own dreams most of the time, he didn’t seem to be in control of this one. You were nowhere to be found, yet he could still hear your voice. “Belphie, wake up…” It was an odd request, one that he had never heard you make in any of the dreams he’s had of you. Your voice seemed to echo down the long hallway that he was currently walking down in his subconscious. It seemed never ending, and there was only one door at the end, and the closer he seemed to get to it, the further away it seemed to move. Maybe the only way to reach the door at the end was to wake up like you had told him to.

“Hm… Y/N…” He tiredly mumbled, rolling over to his side as he clung onto the cow pillow beside him. His eyes were still closed and it seemed like his body was fighting against itself. He wanted to wake up, but his entire body was basically telling him to stay asleep. There was going to be nothing for him when he opened his eyes, just like every single day before this one, and likely every day after. The gentle touch of fingers brushing along his arm had him jumping up though, his fight or flight instinct kicking in, except there was no flight option. It was just fight or fight, and either way, someone was getting fought. “What the fu-” His eyes shot open, and for a split second, he thought he was still dreaming. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t meant to come across as rude, and he definitely didn’t want you to assume that just because he was asking that he didn’t want you there. In all honesty, he was confused, very confused.

“Uhm… Beel said that you wanted to talk to me…” Of course. Now that Beel knew about his feelings, he wouldn’t let his brother dwell on them, and he surely wouldn’t let the feelings eat away at his brother. A little bit of a warning or maybe even a heads up would have been great though, at least so he could have been prepared to talk to you. He only hoped that Beel didn’t say too much to you, but judging by the fact that you weren’t freaking out or yelling at him made it clear that Beel hadn’t said or done anything except extend the offer of an actual conversation.

“Yeah… I do.” Seeing you this close with his own eyes, in reality, it was completely different from his dreams. You were far more perfect up close, so close… He could reach out and touch you if he thought you would allow it. “Are you uh… comfortable? I mean, being up here… alone… with me?” He thought that it was important to ask, because as much as he’d hate for you to say that you weren’t, for you to leave at the guidance of his own question… he also didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable around him.

He watched as your eyes darted around the room momentarily, and then they landed back on him as you shrugged, taking a deep breath before nodding and giving him a small smile. “I guess I am…” Your voice sounded unsure, and the way your knee was bouncing was like a silent way of your body telling him just how nervous you actually were. “So, what did you want to talk about?” What did he want to talk about? He hadn’t even had time to think about it, let alone think that you’d actually want to talk to him. He didn’t know where to begin, he didn’t know how to start, and with you looking at him the way that you were, your eyes wide and your hands placed in your lap, your lips pursed as you waited for him to start speaking. What was he supposed to say to you?

“It uh… looks like you’re happy…” He began, immediately feeling stupid for starting off like that. What do you care if he notices that you look happy. Of course you would, since he was staying out of your way, out of everyone's way. You shrugged, giving him a small smile and a quick nod, rolling your fingers as you waited for him to continue. At least you weren’t leaving already, that was a start. “I’ve been thinking for a while now… I never actually apologized for what I did. I’m… I’m sorry.” It felt weird saying it. He had never apologized to anyone for anything, and he never felt obligated to do it either. He never cared what anyone thought or if people hated him, he didn’t need anyone but Beel in his life, or at least, that’s what he thought. But now… now he cares what you think, and how you feel, and he even feels like maybe… maybe he needs you too.

Your smile grew slightly, and it seemed like your eyes actually lit up just from hearing him say it. Was that really all that you needed? If he had known that, maybe he wouldn’t have felt the need to isolate himself for so long. “Thanks… It’s really nice to hear that…” You sighed softly, your leg stopped bouncing as you finally let yourself relax around him. “Is that all that you needed to say?” The way you asked it, the way that you looked at him, maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but it sounded like maybe you wanted to hear something more, although he wasn’t sure what it was right now. “I mean… If you don’t, that’s fine… I was just thinking… You know… Now we can…”

“We can be together.” What? He just said that, he just fucking said that. What an idiot. He got too excited, too ahead of himself. That wasn’t what you were thinking at all, and he could tell by the way that you looked at him. You looked more confused now than you did when he had attacked you in the first place. Of course it was too sudden, even he knew that much. He would have been just as confused if it were the other way around, and he was about to apologize again until you started laughing. It felt weird to actually care that someone was laughing at him, and it stung worse that it was you. “No, that’s fine… You can laugh. It was stupid…” He mumbled, dropping his gaze to trace over the patterns of fabric in his blanket. He hated the way you made him feel, but at the same time, he loved it, because for once he felt something other than anger and hatred and tiredness.

You stopped laughing, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself as you reached out for his hand. The action came as a shock, and part of him wanted to pull away, but he knew that would only look bad on his end, especially after the strangely timed confession he just gave to you. “No, no… It’s not stupid… Just unexpected.” You hummed softly in thought, letting your thumb brush almost mindlessly over his knuckles. It was calming, soothing even, and it felt much like the dreams that he’d had before. “It’s not all the time that someone tries to kill someone, and then say they want to be together. Where I’m from, it’s usually the other way around…” It made sense, and even in the Devildom he’s heard stories of stuff like that happening up there. It always confused him though, he never understood why someone would practically confess their love to another person just to kill them. In his mind, he did it the right way around. He tried to kill you, didn’t succeed both times, had time to regret what he did, and then realized that he actually liked you. It was the safer route to take, at least in his eyes. At least if you were to reject him, you’d have a reason why you did… But you haven’t actually rejected him yet… have you?

“It’s alright… if you don’t want to… It’s a really bad time to ask.” He also didn’t want to put you on the spot or make you feel like you had to say yes just because you were scared of what he’d do if you said no. That’s not what he wanted at all, and if he could go back in time just five minutes from now, he’d choose his words wisely… and just not say that at all. He still feels foolish for even uttering the words, but he knows that without the help of Barbatos, he wouldn’t be able to do that, and he knows that Barbatos wouldn’t even do it if he were here.

Your fingers drummed against your thighs, and he knew that you were deep in thought. Your gaze kind of turned cloudy and far off, and he wished that he could hear your thoughts, or maybe read them like a book. The smile that you had been wearing before faded as the silence in the room dragged on. He was holding his breath, waiting for you to say something, and truthfully, he wouldn’t even care what it was at this point, he just wanted you to speak because the awkward silence was way worse. “I’m not saying that I wouldn’t want to… sometime in the future… but…” There was always a but, there just had to be a but. “Maybe we can start as friends first? You can come down from the attic more, actually spend time with all of us. I think it would be fun for you too. I know that Beel misses you.” You sighed softly, pushing yourself off the edge of the bed before turning to look back down at him. “I’ll give you some time to think on that. It’s my turn to cook with Beel though… I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’ll see you at dinner. Bye.” His eyes were glued to you as you left the attic, closing the door softly behind you, listening as your footsteps grew further and further away until he couldn’t hear them at all anymore. His head fell back against his pillow, exhaling sharply through his nose as he stared up at the ceiling.

Friends… There was nothing wrong with being friends. He still had his dreams where the two of you were more, and maybe one day, sometime in the future as you had said, his dreams would become a reality and he could finally be with you. He didn’t know how long it would take, but he didn’t really care. There was hope, and he would hold onto it until you were finally ready. But first… he’d start with dinner.

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wondernimbus · 4 years

Text

stressful times — fred weasley

pairing: fred weasley x female!reader

request #1: Can I request soft Fred Weasley comforting his girlfriend when she’s not feeling well/on her period and falling behind in classes/ homework? Pretty please 🥺

request #2: Can you write a Fred x reader where the reader is on her period while at Hogwarts during a time when a lot of tests are happening and she needs to be studying but isn’t and Fred notices cause usually she’s like Hermione and always does homework/studies and he figures out why she isn’t and helps her feel better?

a/n: THIS IS WAY OVERDUE IM SORRY but i decided to combine these 2 reqs bc they were pretty similar !!

[Y/N] is stressed.

School has never been a piece of cake for anyone—not even for Hermione Granger, who is one of the brightest people at Hogwarts, and certainly not for her, one of the Gryffindor Quidditch team's Chasers, and on top of that, a prefect currently studying for her N.E.W.Ts.

Wood expects her to practice out by the Quidditch pitch every free period in preparation for the upcoming match against Hufflepuff. This goes for every member of the team—even the ones who, like [Y/N], are studying for the so-called "big exams". And despite [Y/N] wanting to do well in her tests, she also doesn't want to lose her position in the Quidditch team—so she goes to the practice sessions, anyway, even if it's at the cost of her sleep.

That—coupled with her prefect duties and schoolwork—is wearing her out. So far she has managed to miraculously plow through, but when that time of the month comes and she can barely even bring herself to get out of bed, [Y/N] begins to wonder whether giving up would be a better option.

She could do it. Drop everything and lay in bed all day for the next week or so with a bag of chocolates at her side and pillows cushioning her entire body.

She could—technically, anything in the world is possible—but she shouldn’t, because she has obligations. Prefect tasks; patrolling the corridors and making sure no first-years go astray in the Forbidden Forest (it already happened once—she's not going to let it happen again), N.E.W.T. revisions, homework, Quidditch practice, homework, and then even more homework—

The very moment she wakes up and feels the pain in her lower abdomen, she knows she is done for. She only barely drags herself out of bed and trudges to her classes the entire day feeling like pure and utter dung. Her entire body is sore and her entire mood cranky, but that hardly matters because she has homework to do. And classes to go to. And Quidditch practice and patrolling and studying and Merlin-knows-what-else.

The sourness of her mood doesn't go amiss by any of her friends, and certainly not by her boyfriend, Fred Weasley, who automatically just knows when something is out of the ordinary with her. And while her friends decide to leave her alone after noting her less than pleasant mood, Fred does quite the opposite.

Which is, of course, no different from what he does everyday: stick by her side like glue. And while they'd been best friends for a while, it's only been a few months since Fred finally sucked up the courage to ask her out. So naturally Fred has very little experience with, ah, women’s dilemmas.

To put it simply, he doesn't know how to deal with a girl on her bloody (no pun intended) period. For the love of Merlin, he can't even tell.

So he's a little surprised and his feelings are a teeny bit hurt when he nudges her in the middle of Charms class and whispers, "Was that an earthquake? Or did you just rock my world?" only for her to shake her head without even as much as looking at him.

And so Fred's thought process goes like this: he's done something terribly wrong. He doesn't know what, but he must have, and now he has to make up for it—whatever it is.

First, though, he has to figure out what.

—

It's midnight. [Y/N] doesn't know how on earth she managed to get through the entire day without passing out, but she did and now here she is in the nearly empty common room, sitting on the carpet in front of the fireplace with several sheets of parchment and open textbooks splayed out before her.

Jotting down History of Magic notes, her face is scrunched up in the utmost concentration. Fred watches her from where he's sitting on the couch, pouting a little.

"Don't you think you should be resting by now?" tries Fred, the concern in his voice audible as his gaze darts from her to her homework.

She doesn't respond. Fred sighs and gets up off the couch to sit down next to her on the ground. But even then, she doesn't look up from her homework, so Fred takes matters into his own hands and reaches out with his hand to gently cup her cheek, trying to tilt her head towards him.

"Not now, Fred.." she mutters, leaning away from him a little to keep writing. His hand hovers in mid-air, fingers now just barely brushing her face as she's moved away. "I have to.. finish this.."

Her tongue is poking out in concentration as she almost feverishly moves her quill over paper. Fred tries not to feel too dejected and lets her be, waiting until she's broken out of her trance enough to grab her attention again. In the meantime, he props his elbows on his knees, the pout on his lips very much evident as he watches her work. He still doesn't know why she's been acting so distant, and no matter how much he tries to mull things over in his brain, he still doesn't know why exactly she's angry at him. Or if she even is angry.

Was his pick-up line really that bad? Could it maybe be because he'd kept trying to play with her hair in potions class the other day? Or is it because of what he did last week, when he’d talked McGonagall’s ear off about how wonderful a girlfriend he had? Maybe Fred should've been a bit more considerate—[Y/N] has always been a teacher's pet, after all, and he knows that the teachers themselves were surprised when they found out that she was dating him, one-half of the devious Weasley twins who had six O.W.L.s combined..

[Y/N]'s hand stills, and for a moment Fred thinks she's finally finished her homework, but her shoulders have bowed a little and her eyes have closed. The effect this image has on Fred is instantaneous: the pout on his lips is replaced quickly by a fond smile as he lets out a quick breath of slightly dubious laughter and moves to gently tap her on the shoulder.

Slowly, slowly, her eyes blink open.

Another tiny laugh. "You fell asleep for a second there, love," says Fred softly, hand moving to touch her hair, and he's so bloody endeared by her it hurts. Voice a mere mumble like he’s afraid of speaking too loud, he says, "Reckon we should turn in for the night, yeah? You and me both."

There's silence as she exhales, leaning into his touch almost unconsciously as her eyes close and her shoulders slump. "I'm really tired," she tells him quietly, nose wrinkling a little as her mouth stretches open in a yawn. (Good grief, Fred's heart aches.) He scoots forward a little into her, gathering her into his lap where she almost automatically curls up, head on his shoulder and her lips just barely grazing the side of his neck.

Fred can't even remember what he'd been agonizing over just moments before. All his fluttering heart cares about at the moment is his sleepy girlfriend, who's shifting a little in his lap to get herself more comfortable, mumbling something inaudible in her half-asleep state. He has to physically suppress himself from throwing his head back and laughing out loud, because something about the situation he's in is making him feel oddly euphoric. He only has to think about if for a few moments before he realizes why: it's because of how adorable she's being. And Fred’s heart might be melting in his chest—should he be concerned?

"I'm gonna carry you up to your dorm, okay?" says Fred, tone just loud enough to make himself heard but quiet and soft enough so as to not jar her awake. He feels her nod a little against his shoulder. Carefully, he gets to his feet, one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back the way a groom would carry his bride. (The thought crosses Fred's head very briefly and just like that he's smiling goofily to himself.)

And the moment is romantic and intimate in a quiet, calming way, until Fred makes the big mistake of murmuring, "I'll fix up your homework and bring it to you so you can work on it tomorrow" and [Y/N] quite literally freezes in his arms. Her entire body goes rigid.

"Homework. Oh, crap." Fully awake now, she lifts her head off of his shoulder, looks back at her pile of homework still on the ground, and then, her panicked eyes meeting his, she says, "Oh, no. No. I can't—I've got to get it done now, Fred."

An incredulous sound tumbles past his lips. "I could've sworn you were asleep two seconds ago.”

She sighs, squeezing her eyes shut for a few seconds before peeling them open again. Fred notes that the bags under them look even more pronounced up close; something that has him frowning at her. “Put me down, please? I really have to get that essay done."

He huffs, shakes his head, and starts walking towards the staircase leading to the girls' dormitory. "What—" [Y/N] yelps, looking up at him with an expression that suggests he’s admitted to strangling a rabbit. "Fred, I said put me down—"

"And let you work yourself to death? No can do, love." Fred looks down at her, lips pressed together in a sorry smile as he shakes his head. He lifts his gaze back away from her as he begins climbing up the steps, trying not to jostle [Y/N] too much in his arms. His tone sing-song, he says, “You need to rest. The essay can wait."

[Y/N] opens her mouth to predictably retaliate, but Fred stops halfway up the staircase and presses a kiss to her lips, effectively cutting her off. At first she’s stiff, but it only takes her a few seconds to relax and melt into him.

When Fred pulls away with one last peck to the lips, he smiles down at her, eyes twinkling. “Have I changed your mind with my superior snogging skills?”

Unable to help herself, she lets out an exasperated laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. But even then her gaze lingers on her homework, still on the floor in front of the fireplace—totally not yet finished—

“But I’ve only got a few pages left to go,” she says in one last stroke of adamancy.

”And what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you stay up all night without getting enough sleep?” They’ve reached the top of the staircase now, and Fred is fumbling with the doorknob of her dorm room, trying to open it with one hand without having to set her down.

“But Freddy.”

Fred pauses trying to open the door, lips unconsciously twitching up into an incredulous grin as he raises his eyebrows at her. Of course she had to use his one big weakness against him—he loves when she calls him Freddy. Or perhaps love is a severe understatement, because he always goes all putty in her hands whenever she sings it into his ear or shouts it at him from all the way across the hallways.

But Fred isn’t having it, not this time. “But [Y/N],” he mimics her tone, still grinning, and the voice in his heart tells him to peck her lips again, so he does. “I'm telling you, love, you need sleep. And besides, we’re already here—once I get this door open—aha!”

The door clicks open and reveals behind it the dark seventh year girls’ dorm room. Fred peers inside, unsure as he steps a single hesitant foot through the door, and then he withdraws back into the landing. “Suppose I'll have to drop you off here,” tuts Fred. “Can’t really barge into an all-girls dorm room in the middle of the night—even when I’m with you. Mum would have my head.” Gingerly, he sets her down on the ground, making sure she’s standing up completely before he takes his hands away. Grinning, he holds his palm out towards her and says, “That’ll be twenty galleons.”

”I didn’t even ask for—“

“A kiss, then.”

And her incomplete homework is still lingering in her head, bothering her—she really does need to have that done at least before breakfast tomorrow—but Fred is standing in front of her with the same playful smile that [Y/N] has never learned to resist so she sighs and stands on her tip-toes, places her hand on the back of his neck, and pulls him in for a kiss.

Fred is smiling—she can feel it against her lips. Eventually she starts smiling too, unable to help herself. When she pulls away, Fred cups her cheeks in his hand and pecks her forehead—and then her nose, and her cheeks, and her eyelids, and then she’s laughing, saying, “What are you doing?”

Fred lands another kiss to the tip of her nose, then drops his hands back to his sides. “You look far too lovely for someone in dire need of sleep.”

At the mention of sleep, a yawn tears its way out of her throat. Fred has to restrain himself from doubling over and sobbing because Merlin’s beard was that adorable.

”Fine,” [Y/N] says through yet another yawn, hand coming up to rub at her eyes. “Fine. Maybe I am tired.”

Fred gasps far too dramatically. “Who ever could have guessed?”

[Y/N] may be sleepy, but she still has enough strength within her to reach out and shove him lightly by the shoulder. Fred is as theatrical as always; he clutches the spot where she’d touched him as though he’s been fatally wounded.

She rolls her eyes, smiling. Another yawn. Fred drops his act and shoves his hands into his pockets, expression somber as he looks at her, eyes dancing over her own tired ones. “Go get some sleep, alright?”

She purses her lips, shoulders slumping in defeat as she nods. “Okay. Suppose I’ll just try to finish it as fast as I can tomorrow.” And then, voice going soft, she says, “Thanks, Fred.”

Fred is so goddamned endeared.

“And. Um.”

”Yes?”

“Sorry about being so bloody cranky. I'm—“ she pauses, eyes darting away for a moment as she gestures wildly to nothing in particular.

Fred raises his eyebrows.

“On my period,” she mutters. “Have I made it awkward? I'm sorry. I just didn’t want you to think you’d done something wrong for me to be acting.. you know.”

Fred’s brows have risen so far up his forehead he’s surprised they haven’t disappeared into his hair. His mouth has fallen open a little in surprise; whatever he’d been expecting her to say, it certainly hadn’t been that. But part of him is relieved at the knowledge that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“So that’s why you’ve been acting like someone pissed in your tea,” says Fred teasingly. She rolls her eyes again—another yawn; the largest one so far, actually. He can’t help the fond laugh that tears its way out of his heart and past his lips. Reaching out, he places a hand on the back of her head and kisses her forehead. “Sweet dreams, love.”

She wraps her arms around his middle and nods into his chest, and Fred’s heart melts. “You too, Freddy.”

—

The next morning, [Y/N] wakes up to a mysteriously completed set of History of Magic homework and a bag of Honeydukes' chocolates on her bedside table.

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter oneshots #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #fred weasley #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley oneshots #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #george weasley #weasley twins

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cotton-tails · 3 years

Text

They talk that night, after the celebratory ‘we-survived’ party, after the kids go to bed. They find their old spot up on the roof; where they would sneak up to as children when they needed to get away from it all, and they talk all night, until the sun peeks over the horizon and they can barely keep their eyes open anymore.

It takes some adjusting, but life somewhat settles down after that.

It’s still weird though.

He loves having Della back, but there’s one teeny-tiny thing that bothers him.

The kids.

She’s their mother. Of course she is, and she deserves to be their mother, and do all the things a mother should be able to do for her children.

And he hates himself for the way he’s feeling.

That first night, she’d told him he can step back now. She’s ready to take over, to raise the kids the way she’d been wanting to all these years.

And he knows she should. God knows she’s fought hard enough.

The only thing is, he’d spent the past ten years raising them himself. He’d given up everything for the boys. He’d fought tooth and nail to keep them safe, fed, clothed and happy. Even at the expense of his own wellbeing. There were some particularly rough months were he’d barely eat one meal a day, and some days where he’d lived off caffeine and caffeine alone. But they never went without. Not once.

Even when they’d moved back to the mansion, and he’d entrusted their safety to Scrooge (after some mishaps and a lot of careful negotiating with his uncle), Donald was still the one they looked to, the one they couldn’t wait to tell all their stories of their adventures to.

And he always, always, had the final say in everything they did.

Now that final say falls to Della.

So, the question now is; just who is Donald Duck without all that?

He briefly considers going back to college, getting his masters and actually going into a career he enjoyed rather than one that was convenient. Then considers the cost and what would happen if he asked Scrooge for help. That thought gets a half-fond snort and then gets shut down almost as quickly as it formed. The idea of re-joining the navy goes the same direction. He’s got enough trauma from his first stint.

The answer comes when the kids are off adventuring with Scrooge; Della opting to stay behind for some quality time with her twin. They end up in their old rooms, pulling dust sheets off old furniture and digging through old boxes of belongings that have sat, untouched, for over ten years. They’d opted for their own rooms once they’d gotten a little older, but had never moved further than across the hall.

The morning is spent darting between rooms as they rediscovered photographs, knick-knacks and some shameful fashion choices on both sides. When it goes quiet for a little too long, Della investigates to find Donald kneeling on the floor, staring down into a box. She sits down next to him and peers inside, eyebrows raising almost impossibly high when she sees what had silenced her brother.

“Is that what I think it is?” she whispers, snapping Donald out of his stupor.

He swallows thickly and nods, reaching down and scooping up the neatly folded material. It’s a little musty, and well worn, but even folded, both twins knew exactly what it was.

“The original Duck Avenger suit,�� Della says, her voice full of awe as she pulls it from his slack hands and unfolds it. “Wow, I remember seeing this for the first time when you ended up on the news.” She snorts. “I spat my tea all over Uncle Scrooge.”

“Bet he loved that,” Donald smiles. “Still impressed no one figured out that it was me.”

“I did.”

Donald playfully shoves her. “You don’t count.”

“Rude,” Della tries to glare, but her grin wins out and gives her away. “Thank god you’re not running around in this flimsy thing anymore.”

“Hmmm,” Donald hums, not quite agreeing.

Somehow, Della knows exactly what his hum means.

“No,” she says, her smile dimming as she turns to him and sees the speculative expression on his face. “I really hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

Donald obviously hesitates a second too long.

“Are you kidding?!” Della squeaks, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him round to face her. “Don, please tell me you’re not considering this?”

“I-” Donald starts, then falters at her hard gaze.

Because he is one hundred percent considering.

“Could be fun,” he murmurs, breaking eye contact.

“You could get hurt,” Della reasons.

Donald just levels her with a dry look. He really wasn’t actually expecting Della; self-proclaimed queen of running headfirst into the most dangerous situations she could find, to be actually arguing against the idea. Maybe her stint in space really had made her a little more sensible.

She opens her mouth to retort, then thinks better of it. “Fair point.” She sighs, sagging. “I just… I just don’t like you running around with no one watching your back again.”

He stays silent, mind running a hundred miles an hour.

It’s a crazy idea. She’s right on that point. It’s absolutely insane to even consider.

But Donald can’t help but think back to the eight years he’d spent leaping around as Duckburg’s only vigilante. And yeah, he got himself a bit hurt. He was sixteen when he started. Sixteen and awkward and with some of the worst luck in the world. But he persisted and eventually became a hero.

“You could?”

Della blinks. “I could what?”

“You could watch my back,” he clarifies.

“I’m not gonna be the sidekick in this little fantasy,” Della retorts with a pout that reminds Donald so much of them as kids that he has to hold back a snort.

“Since when were you against grand adventures and insane ideas?” he asks; cause yeah, Della might have yelled at him when she had first found out, but ultimately, she’d never stopped him.

(Actually, she’d tried once, when he’d ended up sneaking back in through her window, barely seventeen and bleeding out on the floor. She had attempted to ground him. It lasted about three days and she’d threatened to out him to Scrooge when he’d gone back out. She’s all for a bit of risk, but not at the expense of her twin brother’s life.)

(She never told Scrooge. She’s about 98% sure he still doesn’t know.)

“Since that insane idea that got me stuck on the moon?” She shoots back. The awkward silence that blankets them is palpable; they’d talked about it, sure, but it’s still something of a tetchy subject at the best of times. “Look,” she sighs eventually, “you know what’s out there, this family has a whole list of sworn enemies, and that’s just the one’s we know of. You’ll be fighting alone, and… I… That stupid suit isn’t gonna give you any protection.”

Donald takes her hand, shuffling a little closer and holds her gaze with determined eyes. “Look, ever since you came back, I’ve been lost.”

Della looks somewhat defensive, but Donald cuts her off before she can speak her mind.

“You want to be a parent, and I’m not going to deny you that,” he sighs, “but I dropped everything for those kids. My life, my career… my sanity,” he adds with a wry grin, “all I’ve known for the past ten years is making sure they’re safe and happy. It was hard enough letting Scrooge look after them occasionally. I’ve completely lost who I am without them, and… I don’t know, maybe it’s crazy, and maybe it won’t come to anything, but I think I’ll regret it if I don’t try!”

Della is quiet. Too quiet, and for a moment Donald thinks he’s said something completely wrong and she’s just going to yell at him. Then her face changes, a small smile pulling at the corner of her beak and he feels the knots in his stomach loosen just that little bit.

“We gonna need to upgrade that ridiculous costume of yours.”

Donald grins. It’s not a glowing endorsement, but it’s a start.

“I know a guy.”

#Donald Duck #Della Duck #Ducktales 2017 #DT17 #drabble that got away from me a bit #probably a bit OOC #not even remotely beta'd #like #I just typed #and posted #PK #duck avenger #ducktales #This would probably make no sense in the new timeline #just a fun thought #my stuff

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you-are-my-neverland · 3 years

Photo

“That’s a shame,” Professor Laurier said. “If I may give you a word of advice, Ms. Beaulieu, I would say that you need to figure out what you want, not what you think you need to.”

- F I V E

[ a/n: and we’re officially on november 20th, 2/3rds of the way through with national novel writing month twenty twenty. this novel remains unnamed, but my word count is, as of the 20th, 43.5k, which is a bit insane. i attempted to actually make this post nice to look at. we’ll see what happens ]

songs i one hour looped to.

sleep thru ur alarms by lontalius

it’s not love by lontalius

wings by birdy

grace by lewis capaldi

nym by phlux

praying by kesha

girls by girl in red

writing thoughts.

i’m really proud to have kept up my average so far, especially since the middle is usually really lagging. i wrote almost four more chapters and half of it is literally just like pages of prose, thoughts, character introspection, and generally filler dives into the mind, but while i am a bit frustrated that it feels like this wip is really dragging it’s feet, i have been enjoying myself immensely. right now, it’s really just setting the stage and starting to build the bones of bare character dynamics/relationships that will all develop later on - necessary (i mean probably not 40k worth, but yeah...) but lengthy.

as excited as i am to get to some action, like even just the first teeny tiny start of the mountain, i am having a lot of fun fleshing out my characters. i feel like i’m really getting to know them (and also finding out that i am projecting onto ophelia and eden hard lol, geez). of course, i have a really large cast for this wip that will be of varying importance throughout at least this book, but that also is a bit messy, because i’m trying to weave them all together and make sure they get set up for later arcs.

on that note, i still want to call this wip these violent ends, but considering it’s technically the first of a trilogy idk how that would work out...i’m really attached to that title though lol.

anyways, here are some favorite lines - tried to pick some out, might like chapter six a bit too much..

some favorite lines.

three.

“So I’m throwing a fucking party,” Thaleia added. “And we’re all going to have so much fucking fun.”

four.

Ophelia opened it to find Sebastian methodically lacing up his tennis shoes, which looked too ordinary to be real against the soft white of his clothing, as if a medieval peasant had walked into a Nike shop and simply selected a pair of sleek shoes that matched.

“I love your dress, by the way,” the other girl added. “Red looks good on you.” “You, too,” Ophelia said, and then flushed, correcting, “I mean your dress looks good on you. It’s very pretty.”

five.

Ophelia hadn’t thought that he was the type to like to disappear, but then she had thought about it more, at a night when she’d missed home a little too much, and realized that not everyone wanted to disappear in the same way, that not everyone was like her brother to a T.

They had been six or seven or eight when the Red Revolution had started, and like their parents remembered how it had started in waves, they had been raised in a changing world and tumultuous times. She remembered the air raids, the practice lockdowns and the sheets that had come in the mail, demonstrating what to do in an emergency, or if they had to suddenly evacuate. Wanted posters, with constantly changing pictures. Missing posters—and those had been the worst. Ophelia remembered one coming in of a little girl her age, with pigtails and gap teeth. She couldn’t recall much from that period before eight—a few scattered memories of the Revolution, Des and Tian and her, but more emotions attached to events, short in her mind—but she remembered that girl on the missing person’s poster. They’d found her body a week later.

Ophelia blinked, at a loss for words. “I do belong with my brother,” she said, finally. “There’s no situation where I wouldn’t actively choose to be with my brother.” “And does your brother, Sebastian, was it, feel the same way?”

six.

But Vincent was dirt poor and used to empty cabinets and red numbers on unopened bills, so he had stopped worrying about why his mother had left and died in the first place—all that mattered was that he was alone, now. He couldn’t hide the aura that surrounded him, that showed itself in his old clothes and his broken shoes and his undernourished body, in the bloodshot eyes and the slight tremble of his eyes and the smell of smoke that accompanied him wherever he went.

Well, his teachers back home probably thought his life would not amount to anything more than dying early as a drug addict, and Vincent wanting to do something more than that was seen as just daydreaming. It was funny, how they told kids like him they could be anything and then turned tail and said that they were shooting too high by wanting to ever get out of that town or their poverty line lifestyles. He was getting out of that town. He would never live at the poverty line again.

“No,” Asriel cut in. His voice was calm and smooth as glass. “What was the government doing that was so wrong that some Mages felt the need to overthrow it in the first place?”

Happiness and warmth gave Vincent as much power as the other side to the coin, the wrath and the chaos that came after the smile, or the laugh. For Asriel, he thought smiling might be a bit of a death sentence, because when Asriel smiled, it gave the impression that he had given something up, taken down a bit of his walls, in order to do so, and that was dangerous.

Even if their ghosts didn’t remain, the memories mired in the streets he walked daily held him with bony fingers, reminding him of the pasts so many people had lived. Pieces of soul left behind, ghostly forms that stayed behind on scraps of emotion: vengefulness, anger, sadness, and regret; nobody died without one of them left behind. For all the brave stories Sebastian had read about soldiers or people who had died ready for it, embraced it with open arms, he had yet to meet a ghost that had been ready to leave.

They told him to hate the ghosts, and so by sheer power of will, Sebastian loved them instead.

taglist > @semblanche

if you think this wip is cool and would like sporadic updates, express your interest explicitly, please!

#writers on tumblr #my writing #writing #nanowrimo 2020 #nano 2020 #wip: nano 2020 #11.20/21.2020 #also my spotify was getting hacked but i think i fixed it lol #okay maybe i write vincent & asriel and go a bit crazy #then five pages of sebastian thinking about death because why not #we love siblings who have an unhealthy codependency on each other lol #:D i love that canva edit lowkey

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keelywolfe · 5 years

Text

Drabble: Biting Commentary (baon)

Summary: There were much worse ways to be woken from a nap.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Sexual Content, Lemony Goodness, A Little Angst, Aftercare

Notes: Hrm, how to warn for this one.There's sexual content, aftercare, a little angst, a lot of love. I think that covers it? Nothing that I am supposed to be writing is working this weekend, blerg, so I wrote this short. There is lemony goodness which I know not everyone who reads 'baon' enjoys, so beware.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

Read it Here!

~~*~~

There were definitely worse ways of being woken from a nap than fingertips trailing up his vertebrae, fondling the sensitive cartilage between them. The buttery-softness of gloves against his bones made Stretch shiver helplessly, even as he resurfaced from the soothing depths of sleep.

“edge?” Stretch asked, sleepily.

“Who else?” Rich with amusement, and okay, it was a slightly rhetorical question. It was a pretty fair guess that no one else was going to be sneaking into their bedroom to feel him up.

Give Edge credit for being a sly bastard, though, because Stretch had been bundled up in the comforter when he’d fallen asleep and now he was bare bones on the sheets. Not worth worrying about that little magic trick, Stretch only arched his spine as those clever fingers slid down, sighing, “feels good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Those words were considerably lower than the last time Edge spoke and Stretch squirmed at the touch of warm breath on the small of his back. The tongue that followed shouldn’t have been a surprise, but Stretch was still not quite awake. He hummed in appreciation as that soft, wet touch slid downward, tracing each vertebra as he made his way lower.

“oh, babe,” he moaned, his pelvis jerking as it tried happily to follow. A pair of gloved hands took firm hold of hips, pinning them gently in place as Edge’s mouth moved over him.

Stretch spread his legs wide at nudge between his femurs and the bed creaked as Edge settled between them. His mouth was hot, avidly sliding over bone and magic was swirling in in his pelvis, agitated and unformed.

“That’s it, love,” Edge crooned, “that’s it, give me—” The words trailed off as his magic settled on a cock and he felt Edge pause.

Okay, yeah, not what he’d intended, all things considered. He’d kind of anticipated getting fucked, which was a little harder with the wrong equipment.

“sorry, gimme a sec,” Stretch groaned, then gasped as Edge did the exact opposite. His mouth was hot against him, his tongue curling around the shaft and Stretch could only whimper. The hands on his pelvis kept him from moving even as he strained against them, trying to wriggle loose.

Words of pleading were hovering on his tongue, bitten back with the desperate effort as Edge shifted, moving to lay next to him. He pulled Stretch onto his side, spooning up behind him and there was the hot press of his cock between Stretch’s femurs, sliding to graze against his own. Okay, this was, this was different, it felt strange but good, sort of like frottage with Edge’s gloved hand reaching around to slip between Stretch’s legs, pressing their shafts together.

“You don’t have to let me fuck you every time,” Edge breathed against the side of his skull, the words bordering on a groan.

“i know,” Stretch mumbled, because great, now Edge wanted to chat? “like it when you fuck me.”

“Mmm, yes, but I like this, too.” Sharp teeth grazed his scapula, scraping carefully and Stretch reached back with a flailing hand, caught hold of Edge’s pelvis and gripped desperately. He needed to hold something, fingers digging in the curve of his iliac crest as Edge moved against him. Hips slowly rocking as he dragged his cock along Stretch’s pubic bone and the underside of his own dick, blunt pressure against him that made him grind back, trying for more.

Edge shifted behind him, his free hand slipping beneath Stretch’s head. Fingertips on his jaw urged him to turn, straining to meet Edge’s mouth with his own. An awkward press of mouths that smeared magic between them and Stretch couldn’t focus, he couldn’t. He was losing himself to the pleasure of it, to Edge moving harder against him, the low grunts he made every time he drove his hips forward, sliding them together and Stretch reached down, knocking Edge's hand out of the way to wrap long fingers around them both tightly.

That pressure, the feel of Edge sliding against him; it was enough. He came with a long, low groan, wet heat falling over his gripping fingers. That slickness doubled as Edge shuddered with him, teeth grazing his shoulder again and that bright spot of sudden pain only sent a hot pulse through him. He pushed back against it instinctively, relished that tiny hurt and it drew out the pleasure like a blade.

It left him a trembling, sweaty mess against the sheets, twitching with little aftershocks like static electricity. He registered Edge moving away from him distantly, murmured a faint protest. It didn’t help, but he wasn’t gone long.

“Hold still,” Edge said. Not quite brusque, almost shaken, and Stretch blurrily obeyed. A wet cloth rubbed against his scapula and he winced. It stung, and when he turned his head to look, the washcloth had slight traces of crimson on it, shades darker than Edge’s magic.

Huh.

He kept still as Edge cleaned the little wound. Small, but deep enough to draw a couple beads of marrow. Not any worse than he’d gotten tripping over his own feet, few days and it would be gone. A reckless use of healing magic and it would vanish in seconds. Not a big deal.

It was just a damn shame that Stretch could almost smell the guilt in the air and it was not fitting in well with the spicy-sweet scent of their mingled magic that was still heavy around them. Enjoying the afterglow was gonna have to be put on hold for reassurances, yep.

The hands at his shoulder fell away as Stretch rolled over to sit against the headboard. Edge stayed kneeling, the damp washcloth still in his hands and his eye lights slid away from Stretch’s, focused on the shoulder where he wasn’t even damn well bleeding anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Edge said quietly. That closed off expression did not suit him when he was still bare, his joints still faintly glowing.

“it’s a scrape.”

“I should have been more careful.”

“it’s a scrape,” Stretch said impatiently, because fuck it all anyway with overprotective bullshit. But no, for all that they’d done together, all the sex they’d had, Edge hadn’t been very experienced when they’d started, he knew that. For the first time in ages that innocent uncertainty was in his eye lights. “look, it felt good at the time. don’t apologize for making me feel good.”

“I don’t like hurting you.” Forced out, gratingly rough.

Ah, and there it was, friends and neighbors. Edge, who didn’t quite trust himself as much as Stretch did, who wore gloves constantly to keep his sharp fingertips protected. Afraid of hurting what he cared about, and he usually kept that fear well hidden, even from Stretch.

That he was allowing it to be seen, giving Stretch a glimpse at his vulnerability, made the deep love in his soul swell, and fuck but he loved Edge so, so much.

“then it’s a good thing you really, really didn’t. okay?” Gently, Stretch cupped Edge’s face in his hands, “listen. it’s weird, maybe, but sometimes a little pain can feel good. you made me feel so good, baby love. don’t make me feel bad for liking it.”

“That’s not fair,” Edge groaned, but he didn’t resist when Stretch leaned in and took a kiss, soothingly gentle.

“c’mere,” Stretch murmured and Edge let himself be drawn down, settling into Stretch’s arms. With the skill of long naptime experience, Stretch managed to pinch the blanket between two toes, pulling it up from the foot of the bed to cover them. He waited until Edge was snuggled against him, his skull tucked against Stretch’s rib cage, close to his soul, before he asked, “you okay?”

“I’m not the one hurt.”

Yeah, you are. “not an answer, babe.”

A hesitation and that was a relief, meant that Edge was actually considering the question, then softly, “Yes. I’m okay.”

Good to hear but Stretch planned on keeping an eye on him anyway, just in case the answer changed. Later, he’d give healing that little scrape a shot; his healing magic didn’t always work so well when he used it on himself, but it was worth a try. Blue could’ve done it in two seconds and there was a scenario that was going to happen the tenth of never. Asking his brother to heal his sex wounds was right up there with trying for a threesome with Jerry in the great bucket list of things he never wanted to do.

The idea alone made him grimace internally, why did his thoughts do these things to him? Better to focus on Edge drowsing in his arms, on his nature warmth that seemed to fill the blankets, better than any heater, and Stretch sighed, snuggling in close.

A teeny external wound coupled with a tiny internal one, but in his experience, a good nap was a cure for both.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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attina-the-responsible · 4 years

Text

Waking Nightmare ~*~ [Coral]

In which Andrina goes to Attina in the hospital...[takes place: March 11]

@andrina-the-amazingsupergenius

[tw: miscarriage, child death, thoughts of death, all the things that go along]

ANDRINA: Andrina had missed the first two calls.

She hadn’t been looking at her phone. She’d been ensconced in her Andrina-things-- earbuds in her ears and Spotify playing while she watched a javascript tutorial put on mute, with subtitles, 1.5 speed because they were always just so slow. The tutorial wasn’t Important or even that Interesting except to her. It was the center of Andrina’s universe at the moment. It was King of Planet Andrina. And until she figured out what bug was in her code, she was glued here, strapped in, completely immobilized.

So she missed a call.

So she missed another call.

The third call she only caught because she desperately needed M&Ms, and so she looked toward the half-eaten bag on her desk, which was right by her phone, at precisely the time it began to buzz. Maybe this was fate or something, except that Andy didn’t believe in fate unless it came in the form of cruel lessons from crueler gods.

She actually ignored the third call too, because it was a number she didn’t know. Haha, talk about cruel lessons from crueler gods.

So it was the fourth call she didn’t dismiss, and only because she saw it was the same number that had called three times. She picked it up with a plan to mouth off at the spammer (No, I do NOT want to renew my insurance policy that I definitely don’t even have, you underpaid phone minion!) but the soft, sad voice of a nurse greeted her instead. Attina’s name passed through her like some kind of glitch. Her fingers twitched on her knees.

“She’s what?” Andy’s voice echoed in the dark of Planet Andrina, as all her glowing stars-- in the shapes and colours of M&Ms-- went out one by one.

She glitched again. “What?” But then the phone call ended. She was left with her whats. Her huhs. A memory of an unfinished text conversation. Andy revisited that thread now, as if she could convince herself she’d just forgotten to answer Attina, because lol, space-brained Andrina, always so inconsiderate and unreliable. But instead it was Tiny who never answered, which meant the phone conversation was real, and she was really in the hospital.

Andrina scrambled out of her seat, abandoning her laptop. She scoured for clean socks and did not find any. She scoured for shoes, cursing over and over at herself before she found her left boot shoved under her bed. Then Andrina was out the door-- a wild comet burning its path toward the hospital-- except that she had to turn the fuck around at the bottom of the Suites because she’d forgotten her fucking phone and she had to go up again, tears filling her eyes the longer she had to wait in the fucking elevator.

By the time she got to the hospital, Andrina was hyperaware of everything that had slowed her down, from the car in front of the Uber, to the cruel red light, the only stupid fucking traffic light in all of Swynlake, that wouldn’t switch to green-- but there was no bigger obstacle than Andrina herself.

Three missed calls. She’d missed three whole calls.

In the end, she had to wait anyway. Andy rushing didn’t actually matter, and it never did, and didn’t she know that? How many times had the Tritons been to the hospital? Why the hell were they always in the hospital? She chewed her nails until they bled while waiting for her family to get their shit together too.

When the nurse came to get her though, she was still alone. Andy’s whole heart seized in her chest and she wanted to swipe the nurse away, like she’d swiped the third call away. Sorry, no one’s home.

But she had to pick up.

Andy followed the nurse quietly. The beeping in the rooms echoed around her. Her boots clomped against the tile, making Andy wince. The nurse opened Attina’s door for her, and she stepped in as quietly as she could, in case her sister was sleeping.

She wasn’t. She was staring ahead, lost in the gowns and sheets.

Andrina went straight to her side, reaching out to clutch at Attina’s arm. “Tiny, oh my god,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m so sorry. Everyone’s-- everyone is on their way, okay?”

ATTINA: Time stopped.

Or, maybe, time had never started again. Attina had left the Underworld, but that molasses-time had clung to her, like it was just waiting to snap her back. She felt heavy. She felt light. Full and empty. Those contradictions had started in the Underworld and hadn’t stopped. She was hot and cold—her fingers freezing as they pressed against her biceps, clinging, as if she had given all their warmth to Amelia. Maybe they’d never be warm again.

Maybe it was just blood loss from surgery.

Maybe she’d always feel like this. She would live her whole life waiting for the moment she dived back down into the Underworld, with Panic and Amelia. Maybe, her whole life would be waiting. Maybe, her whole life would not be a life at all.

Maybe she was already a ghost.

These maybes floated haphazardly through her brain, bumping against each other gently. They all contradicted each other, but somehow existed together in harmony, like the discordant notes of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring.

Her brain was full of the wailing of violin strings like babes—

She didn’t even notice when Andrina came into the room. Didn’t even feel her at first. Eventually, she blinked, slowly, as if she had just woken peacefully from a dream.

Yes, she was in the hospital. That was right.

The machine beep, beep, beeped, reminding her that she was alive. She was alive but Amelia was dead. It didn’t make any sense. When she finally turned to look at Andrina, she imagined all her facial features upside down. Her mouth on her forehead, her eyes on her chin. She tried to will it into existence, these things that did not make sense, because it would mean she was dreaming and she would wake up from this.

But Andrina’s face stayed pretty in its worry, her brow puckered just so, her skin pale.

“They don’t need to do that,” she said, her own voice calm and detached. She reached up a hand and placed it on her sister’s. “I’m alright. No need to worry.”

ANDRINA: Attina barely looked at her.

Well. She looked at Andrina, but didn’t look-look at her. Her sister wasn’t there. Her sister-- the creases by her eyes when she’d squint, the scrunch of her nose, the pull of her lips-- her open-mouthed laugh, her expressive eyebrows, her most tender smiles-- all these things were gone. They looked washed away, the way the ocean could wash away castles in the sand, or fill up even the deepest moats with water. Her eyes simply glassed over, like there was nothing there for Attina to see.

It was-- freaky. Andrina’s fear grabbed her, and she nearly impulse knock-knocked on Attina’s head in the world’s most inappropriate knee-jerk reaction to sister-zombification. Knock-knock, who’s there? She could parrot like a five-year-old. And maybe she would have if Attina had just broken a leg falling off a ladder in an attempt to get an antique lamp from a too-high shelf.

But if Andy knock-knocked her sister, she was pretty sure Attina would shatter in front of her.

Though maybe-- maybe she’d already shattered. And this wasn’t a game of jenga, or London Bridges, but a game of clean-up. Here, Andy, take all of Attina’s pieces and put them back together again, in the right order. And don’t fuck up.

Andrina was unqualified for this task. She was never part of clean-up duty. What did Andy know of fixing things? She only made messes.

And so her heart was weakly beating in her chest. She resisted the urge to check over her shoulder frantically. She swallowed inappropriate joke after inappropriate joke. Just hold her hand, Andrina, said her most responsible Andrina-voice, which was, actually, Attina’s voice. Andrina gripped her sister’s hand tighter.

God, what would happen if Attina was gone forever?

Focus, Andy.

“Tiny,” she uttered. And that’s what her voice was: teeny-tiny.”Tiny, what...of course they’re coming. Of course we...we should all be together right now, yeah? You don’t have to worry about...being strong or-- the big sister. I’ll be the big sister!” Andrina said it and it felt like volunteering for Russian Roulette. Still, she smiled. God, what the fuck, why was she smiling? This was so fucked up.

“I mean-- I mean, we’ll...all be your big sister. It’s okay. We’ll take care of you and get through this.”

ATTINA: Tiny, Andrina said.

Yes, tiny, Attina thought. Amelia had been so tiny. Small and cool to the touch. She had felt more like a baby doll than anything real. The kind of toy that Attina used to play with, wishing for a baby of her own. A real one.

Amelia didn’t feel real. None of this felt real.

Except for the frantic look in Andrina’s eyes. It activated Attina’s oldest instinct.

The oldest sister instinct, that is.

It was an easier instinct to activate than any other, because it was who Attina was. She was not a fiancée. She was not a mother. Those things had, perhaps, fit her for a little while, but to the universe, they were hats that she could take on and off. Being the oldest sister was branded into her skin. It would have to be cut from her very soul. Being a fiancée, being a mother—that had been playing pretend.

“You don’t need to take care of me,” Attina told her, her voice soft. “I’ll be alright. I don’t want anyone to worry.”

She meant it—she didn’t want anyone to worry. For the first time in her life, the idea of having all of her family crowd around her felt suffocating. This room was small and sterile and the place she’d held her daughter for the first and last time, all at once. She did not need their faces associated with such a memory. She felt as if the walls would close in on them all and crumble. She’d lose them all at once.

“They say I am healing at an exponential rate and I’ll be able to go home tomorrow if it continues.”

ANDRINA: What else was she supposed to say?

Andy didn’t know. She had been taking big-sister lessons all her life, of course. They were thrust on her the way that most things were thrust on Andy. And she hadn’t minded too much when she was younger and the pros of being a big sister were big, bright, and bold. Her five little sisters were her minions, with sparkling eyes, begging to be let in on Andy’s latest scheme. She always had a playmate when she needed one...a sister to bitch to if another sister was too annoying...someone to be her guinea pig when she got to cooking up her next greatest experiment. With all those different roles for her sisters to play, it wasn’t a burden to be the shoulder to cry on when the crying happened. Fair trade, y’know? She could be that big sister-- if it meant she got to be the cool big sister the rest of the time.

Along the way though, the problems got bigger than Andrina’s adventures. And now, Andrina didn’t fit her sisters anymore. Her sisters didn’t fit her.

They couldn’t drive her literal getaway car.

They couldn’t conduct the research she needed, all those illegal how-tos.

And Andrina could not find the words to help a sister who was raped or another sister who had lost a child. Like the rest of her life, Andrina had dropped out when the lessons had gotten too hard. So here she was: big sister shoes so big she was tripping over them.

And look, she wanted to help. She did. She hated herself for the stretch of silence, feeling every second like another barb. One sea anemone…two sea anemone...three sea anemone…

Andrina cleared her throat. “I...I mean. That’s good,” she said. This felt like the wrong thing to say. What did it matter that Tiny was healing when her baby never would? Andy wanted to take it back. “Shit. I mean. I just mean that I’m glad you’re physically okay. But also it’s okay to not be okay in other ways. And if there’s anything we can do, you should ask, okay?”

She scooted a little forward, covering Attina’s hand with her other hand so she clasped her with both. “Just. Tell us-- me-- what to do.”

ATTINA: Attina thought it was good too. She nodded a little. Being in the hospital was not good. Not good. Not good. Going home was good. Good. Good. The idea of another nurse’s hands on her made her skin crawl. She wanted Sebastian. Her bed. To fall asleep and wake up realizing this was all a terrible dream, Amelia’s little feet kick, kick, kicking at her bladder to wake her up; Panic there, kissing behind her ear.

There was a small, small part of her that believed this. Believed that this was all a very, very bad dream. Maybe even a Swynlake dream. Everyone thrust into their worst nightmare. Maybe to teach them some lesson—though, to Attina those alternate realities always just seemed unnecessarily cruel.

However, in her worst nightmares, her sisters were not there. Her sisters, in her worst nightmare, would be dead too.

Which meant this was real. It was real and Amelia was dead. Panic was dead. Attina, too, was dead.

“I would like to go home,” Attina said, her voice hollow. “My home. I need—I need to start packing things up. Should I sell the house? Panic didn’t want it anyway.” She turned from her sister, reaching for her phone, so that she could begin to make a to do list. “What should I do with his things, do you think?” She paused to look up at Andrina, blinking at her.

ANDRINA: This wasn’t what Andy meant. She wanted to take it back. Just kidding, don’t tell me what to do, if what you need me to do is tell you what to do. How was that fair? Andrina was not the responsible sister and she could not make big, adult decisions about houses and husbands and deceased...husbands-- was he deceased? What had even happened? Andrina didn’t know and she didn’t want to ask because she didn’t actually want to know. What she knew was that Attina was found practically dead in the woods.

What she knew was that it was probably Panic’s fault.

If Panic was dead, good. If he had just abandoned her-- he better stay away. If, insert-third-option-here (the world’s shittiest, most dark and twisted break up ever?) and Panic was around, she’d literally exorcise his creepy, disgusting ass back to the Underworld before he could say Attina’s name. That revenge felt better to think about than the rest. Sweet Neptune, she could not be the shoulder for Attina to cry over for Panic. For Amelia, yes. For Amelia, always. Even Andy’s heart squeezed, thinking of her niece dying.

But not for that monster.

Andy had to suck these feelings down, keep her questions to herself-- she would let someone better equipped ask them when Daddy and her sisters arrived. (Should she have called Panic? Maybe, but, fuck no, especially with Attina asking about selling the house.)

Andy took another breath. “I um. I don’t know, Tiny. I guess it’s something for the to-do list.” A beat, and Andy’s eyes skittered nervously to the door. Where the hell was her family? “Maybe you should sleep more, don’t you think? You need to rest. It will help you go home sooner, if you rest.”

ATTINA: Sleep.

Such a strange thought. The last time Attina had gone to sleep, it had been in Panic’s arms, however many days ago. The last time she had shut her eyes and lost conscious, she woke up in a hospital bed with her fiancé trapped in unimaginable, never ending torture and their daughter dead. Dead. Dead.

Maybe in the darkness she could forget.

In the moment, she knew this wasn’t a dream. Not even a Swynlake scenario. A mother knows these things. It would be the last mother-instinct that Attina would ever have, but it was as true and strong as any. Her daughter was dead. She would never know the color of her eyes. There would be no pictures. She would exist, only, in Attina’s memory. Her skin as beautiful and soft and cool as an ocean’s pearl.

If Attina closed her eyes, maybe she could preserve that picture, like soaking it in chemicals, to draw out the color and lines.

If she closed her eyes, it wouldn’t bring her daughter back, but maybe it would help.

“Alright,” Attina said, nodding mechanically. She lay back down into the pillow, looking over at Andrina. Her hand, which had not long ago, held her daughter, now reaching for her sister.

“Stay, please,” she murmured, her eyes already fluttering shut.

#bdrpandrina #coral #waking nightmare #a dumb name kinda but fitting #:((((((

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mrswhozeewhatsis · 5 years

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A Woman of Letters (Getting a Feel for Sam Winchester) - Chapter 10

Summary: You’ve just opened an occult bookstore in Lebanon, Kansas, when you fall for a tall, handsome customer…literally. You soon find out that there’s more to the world than you ever suspected, including you. Discovering your heritage puts you directly in a witch’s crosshairs, though, so the Winchesters offer to take you in and teach you how to protect yourself. As you discover your own family history with the supernatural and your own hidden talents, you can’t help but wish a certain brother was as excited about your interest as you are.

Total length: 43 chapters, 70,247 words - Read on AO3 - Series masterlist

Chapter word count: 3044 words

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Canon-level angst and violence

Sam

Sam woke up alone in Y/N’s bed, reached over to the empty side of the bed, and felt cold sheets. He looked at the clock on the nightstand and realized he had slept later than he usually did. In fact, it was barely still morning. Sitting up, he realized he had slept better than he had in ages. As he went through his morning routine, he tried not to think about how nice it was to have Y/N curled up with him. It had been a long time since he’d shared a bed with a woman, even just for sleep. His mind drifted back… Amelia. Sam shook his head to try to clear those thoughts before they took hold. At least Amelia got out alive. She’s happy with Don, now. That’s better than most of his romantic partners. Sam purposely changed his thoughts since the head shaking had obviously failed.

After Sam was dressed he headed to the kitchen to look for food. He stopped short just inside the door when he saw Dean and Y/N hugging. Sam felt frozen until he saw them break apart, and then he was able to force his feet to move him over to the coffee pot. While he was getting his coffee, he heard Dean say something quietly to Y/N, then Dean’s heavy footfalls as he left the room. Sam sighed.

“I guess he’s still pissed at me, huh?” Sam turned to Y/N, who was leaning against the counter.

“Yeah. It was kind of a low blow, but he’ll get past it. I mean, I’ve only known him a day, but I can already tell he loves you more than he’s mad at you.” Sam felt Y/N’s words strike his heart. It had been a low blow, and he knew it. There weren’t many things Dean couldn’t find a way to joke about, but Lisa was definitely one of them. Dean had forgiven Sam for a lot over the years, though each time had been harder than the last. Sam wondered if maybe this would be the time Dean just didn’t. Sure, this was minor compared to the myriad of ways Sam had let Dean down in the past, but it could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Sam sighed.

“We’ll see, I guess.”

Y/N moved towards the door. “We’re going to head to my apartment to grab some things I’ll need. Do you want to come along, or…?” Sam’s eyes flew to Y/N’s.

“Your apartment? Really?” Y/N nodded and shrugged.

“Dean says he’s got a plan. I didn’t ask about it.”

“I’m definitely coming. You’ll need both of us if something’s waiting for you.” Sam followed Y/N to the garage, where Dean was already in the car. Sam got in the back, leaving Y/N in the front. “Dean, what’s the plan? Head over there with hex bags and guns at the ready and shoot anything with red hair?” As Dean pulled the car out of the garage, he shook his head slowly, then pulled out his phone. Sam sighed. Obviously Dean was still pissed. He just hoped Dean got over it if things went pear-shaped.

“Crowley? I heard a rumor your mother’s got the hots for my brother. It must run in the family. I know, I know, after she’s dead we go back to trying to kill each other. Meet us at the bar. See you in ten.” Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket and pulled the Impala out onto the main road. Sam watched Y/N’s face and almost chuckled. The look of incredulity was hilarious.

“Do you have the King of Hell on speed dial?” Although she seemed surprised, there was also a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. Dean flushed a little pink and then smirked at her. Sam watched the flirtation and wondered why he suddenly wanted to deck his brother.

“How does the song go? ‘I got friends in low places,’ right?” Dean chuckled as Y/N laughed and Sam glowered at the two of them.

“Why does the fact that the King of Hell has a cell phone surprise me? I guess I always figured there’d be magical ways of doing things like that if magic existed.” Sam was still feeling grumpy, so let Dean answer the question.

“There are, but a summoning spell takes time. Demons make phone calls using blood, but really, burner phone is just easier. If you know who you’re calling is going to pick up, it’s not worth the bloodshed, quite frankly.” Y/N shook her head in amazement.

“I have so much to learn.” Sam felt his chest get tight at the thought of Y/N having to learn anything, and sighed. The car pulled into the parking lot of the bar, and the three of them got out and walked in, finding a booth near the back. Sam made sure he sat next to Y/N, keeping her safe on the inside, while Dean went up to the bar and ordered beers for all of them. As Dean was setting down the glasses, Crowley appeared behind him.

“Hello, boys. And girl.” Dean jumped, then turned to Crowley and grimaced. Y/N tried to stifle a giggle, but failed.

“What the hell, Crowley? I thought I was past people popping up behind me like that when Cas lost his wings!” Dean sighed and slid into the booth. Crowley slid in next to him.

“Just trying to keep you on your toes. If you’re going to go up against my mother, I need you sharp. Now, tell me, why is the newest member of your little club joining us for such a high-level discussion?” Crowley turned to Y/N with a charming smile that made Sam gag. “Not that I mind being in the presence of a beautiful woman, mind you, I just know how overprotective Moose and Squirrel can be about their girlfriends.” Sam felt Y/N stiffen and put his hand on her hand to calm her. He turned to Crowley and hoped he was giving him the bitchiest of all bitch faces.

“Never mind her, Crowley. Just tell us what you know about what Rowena’s got planned,” Sam barked. Dean smirked as a waitress brought over a large, fruity drink with about four or five skewered pieces of fruit and a teeny, tiny umbrella sticking out of the top. She set the drink in front of Crowley, and he stared at it for a long moment. Sam heard Y/N work to stifle another giggle.

“I see you remembered, Dean. You make me all warm where my bathing suit goes.” Crowley rolled his eyes and took a sip of the drink from the straw with a shrug. “What I know about Rowena’s plans is very little. I was able to intercede this afternoon because I travel faster than she does. I’ve had demons watching her, but she didn’t show her hand until it was almost too late.” Crowley looked at Y/N with what almost looked like sympathy, but Sam knew better. “I’m sorry about your shop. I do hope you had insurance.” Y/N nodded and smiled at Crowley, which put Sam on edge.

“I want to thank you for saving my life, even if you couldn’t save my shop,” Y/N said, quietly. Crowley’s eyes widened in surprise and he smiled at Y/N.

“Finally! Someone who understands the value of gratitude! Keep her around, boys. She can teach you lunkheads a thing or two.” Sam huffed angrily and glared at Crowley. Crowley kept his eyes coolly on Sam, as if egging him into starting something. Dean waved a hand to interrupt the stare down.

“Back to the matter at hand, you two. If we’re going to try to take Rowena out, we have to know where she’s going to be, and we have to find something that can kill her. Right now, Y/N needs supplies from her place, so we have to figure Rowena’s got her place staked out. As for weapons, we have bullets with witch-killing brew in them for distance shooting and Molotov cocktails of the stuff for close attacks. I say, we try to kill Rowena at Y/N’s apartment. We go in, pack up as much stuff as we can, and when Rowena comes after us, we take her out. If we kill her, then Y/N goes back to her life. If we don’t kill her, then we’ll have everything she’ll need for an extended stay with us while we find something else that can kill her.” Sam listened to Dean’s plan and had to admit it wasn’t all that bad.

Crowley’s eyes nearly bugged out. “You’re going to risk this beautiful young woman’s life by trying to take out Rowena whilst getting supplies? Are you joking?” Sam looked at Y/N and wondered if maybe Crowley was right. He started listing in his head everything she might need, and what other ways there were to obtain them. He felt his face flush at the thought of buying her bras and panties, and found himself shifting in his seat as his mind wandered inappropriately until Dean interrupted his train of thought.

“Look, she needs clothes, she needs personal items, and I’m sure there are other things in her apartment that she’ll want that aren’t replaceable. If what we have works, Rowena’s dead, Y/N gets to go back to her life, and everyone’s happy. If it doesn’t work, then we have a start on finding something that will work, and Y/N has what she needs for an extended stay with us. Two birds with one stone. ” The table got quiet while everyone took a long pull from their respective drinks.

“Look, it’s either this, or she borrows clothes from us,” Sam replied sarcastically. Crowley rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise.

“If that’s your solution, Moose, it’s no wonder your relationships all end in the cemetery. They’d rather die than put up with you.” Crowley turned to Y/N and gave her a smarmy smile that made Sam cringe. “Darling, if you ever get tired of Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber here, I’d gladly keep you safe, and in a manner to which a lovely thing like yourself should be accustomed. Just because you have a 300-year old witch on your tail doesn’t mean you need to live in a hole in the ground that barely has indoor plumbing. You deserve satin sheets and chocolates on your pillow.” Sam groaned inwardly, but tried to keep his cool on the outside.

Y/N smiled and squeezed Sam’s hand. “Thank you for the offer, Crowley, but I’m fine where I am.”

Sam admired her ability to hide the nervousness she had to be feeling right now. “Crowley, just tell us. Will you help us or not?” Sam glared at Crowley and realized he was now almost crushing Y/N’s hand. He forced himself to relax his hand while he waited for Crowley’s answer.

“I can get her in and out unnoticed. We pop in, she packs, we pop out, and nobody would be the wiser. Then, once she’s out of the line of fire, you two idiots can go after Rowena on your own time.” Crowley had taken Y/N’s refusal better than Sam expected, still giving her admiring looks and smiling sweetly. Sam stopped himself from squeezing Y/N’s hand any harder.

“If you can pop her in and out, you can pop all of us in and out, Crowley.” Sam glared at the demon in front of him while Dean backed him up.

“Sam’s right. We’re not letting her out of our sight until we’re sure she’s safe. I don’t care if you saved her life yesterday, I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Either we all go, or none of us go,” Dean said. Crowley pretended to be offended by Dean’s remark.

“Dean, you wound me.” Crowley shrugged and nodded his head, though. “But, I see your point. Fine, I’ll pop us in, you three pack whatever you can, and I’ll pop us back out. If we run into interference, though, you idiots better shoot first and ask questions later.” Crowley sighed deeply and overdramatically, then took a long pull from his drink. Sam looked over at Y/N to gauge her reaction to this plan. He never expected what came next.

“Crowley, thank you for everything you’re doing for me. I know you don’t have to, and you’re putting yourself on the line for me, so I want you to know that I appreciate it. And if there’s something I can do in return, let me know, and I’ll do the best I can.” Sam and Dean both jumped and started talking over each other. Crowley waved a hand and both men lost their voices, opening and closing their mouths like guppies. Sam felt panic wash over him, and he clutched at Y/N’s hand.

“What I’m sure you’re overgrown protectors are trying to say is that making such an offer to the King of Hell is never a good idea. Now, I like you, so not asking you to seal that particular agreement with a kiss pains me greatly, but I won’t. Not that it wouldn’t be fun making Moose watch. I appreciate the sentiment, though, and will someday hold you to it. In the meantime, let’s get this show on the road. I have an underworld to run.” Crowley waved his hand again and both Winchesters groaned as their voices returned. “Let’s take this outside, shall we?” Sam took a deep breath, and pushed away his worry over what Crowley might ask Y/N to do in the future. Now was not the time.

On the walk out of the bar to the parking lot, Y/N gave Sam and Dean a quick rundown of her apartment, and where they could find bags they could use for packing. By the time they were outside, they had a plan for getting as much as possible packed up as quickly as possible. When they got to the Impala, Dean handed a big bottle with a rag sticking out of the top to Sam, and then put a similar bottle into an interior pocket of his coat. When he slammed the lid of the trunk shut, Crowley snapped his fingers, and the four of them found themselves inside Y/N’s apartment.

Sam took a quick look around and wished he could spend more time looking over her things. Today was not the day, though. The plan was set in motion, and Sam grabbed bags from closets, handing them to Y/N and Dean, and then following Y/N as she grabbed items and handed them to him to pack. Dean cleaned out the bathroom, then joined them in the bedroom to pack clothes. Sam took a bag and went through the living room, grabbing pictures and photo albums and anything else that looked important. In less than ten minutes, they were done, and as Crowley raised his hand to snap his fingers, the front door banged open and a man with blood dripping down his cheeks growled at them. Crowley snapped his fingers, and he and Y/N disappeared. Sam looked around the room in shock, seeing the same flash of anger and shock on Dean’s face. What the hell?

The cursed man was advancing on the brothers, and Dean quickly shot him in the head. The man’s head flew back while he took a step back, but he didn’t fall. As he straightened out to take another step closer, Sam and Dean both put two more bullets in his brain. After standing there with a dazed look on his face for a long moment, the man finally fell. Sam did some quick math in his head to calculate the number of witch-killing bullets they had left, but didn’t get to finish before he saw Rowena’s wild red hair turning the corner as she entered the apartment. Sam started firing at Rowena while Dean pulled out his witch bomb and lit the fuse. Sam fired one, two, three, four times, and Rowena simply raised a hand, making the bullets stop just in front of her and then fall to the ground. Dean, seeing that throwing something directly at Rowena wouldn’t work, instead threw his bomb at her feet, reciting the incantation as he threw. Rowena was obscured from view by a cloud of flame and smoke. Sam held his breath while the smoke cleared, and then let it out as he saw Rowena still standing there. She looked slightly green, and was taking heaving breaths, but she was still standing. Sam felt fear rising up in his chest as he fully realized he was about to die. Rowena was standing in the doorway of the apartment, and if there was another exit, he wasn’t aware of it. Even if there was a fire escape somewhere, Rowena could throw a curse before they’d get out the window.

Sam watched Rowena raise a hand to him and Dean, and just as she began to speak, he blinked, and he and Dean were standing in the bar’s parking lot next to the Impala, Y/N, and Crowley.

“Is she dead,” Crowley asked with a smug smile on his face while Sam and Dean caught their breath.

Sam huffed, glaring daggers at Crowley. “No. She stopped the bullets before they hit her, and the witch bomb only slowed her down for a moment.” Sam watched as Dean straightened up and his face hardened in anger.

“What the hell was that all about, Crowley? Another second and we would have been witch food!” Dean took a step toward Crowley, and Crowley held up a hand, stopping Dean in his tracks. Sam suddenly saw the family resemblance between Crowley and his mother and frowned deeply.

“I figured you’d want to take a crack at Rowena, but with the lovely Y/N safely far away. I brought her to safety, then got you. Would you rather I left her with you?” Crowley had a subtle smirk on his face while he looked back and forth between the brothers. Sam felt bile rising up in his throat.

“Call me when you figure out how to kill the bitch.” Crowley snapped his fingers one more time and disappeared.

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erinevrly · 5 years

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❝ well, i cried for you so long, my river of 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 ran dry. && i tried to be so STRONG, but grew weaker as time went by. you know your love left a mark on me, i don't think it will fade away. i'll sit here and wait 'til you come 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 'cause i'm a fool for you, anyway. ❞ ─┈ ღ

// @thornrosed

soft, voile curtains flutter in the light morning breeze that filters in through an open window. charming noises of birds chirping outside and quiet snoring fill the air, mingling with the faintest whispers of the radio ( that they haven’t turned off since yesterday ) and creating something incredibly beautiful and precious — the sound of pure happiness and home and FAMILY. a fond albeit bashful smile creeps onto the young woman’s angelic features, sunlight dancing on and warming up her porcelain skin. ocean eyes alight with excitement as they drift across the tangled sheets and find her husband’s face. no storms raging in her heart, just a sweet combination of peace with a hint of contentment. memories of the night before flood her mind and color her cheeks pink — memories of his strong arms wrapped around her, inked skin illuminated by nothing but moonlight pressed so tightly against her own, memories of their bodies moving together, writhing to a slow and tender rhythm that only they could hear, memories of all the sweet words and praises she drank up straight from his tongue. familiar warmth coils deep within her chest and stains her skin on her neck with a vibrant flush, butterflies fluttering in her belly.

“good morning. happy first anniversary, strawberry babe,” the curly-haired model whispers, despite knowing just how much axl hates being woken up before noon. she’s always been the impatient one and this morning is no different. she’s simply unable to wait any longer ( mostly because their daughter — or so they think, they’re not sure yet, they’ve decided that it should be a surprise — is no longer asleep and is instead abusing her bladder, tormenting it with rather uncomfortable and relentless kicks of her teeny tiny feet that oddly enough put a dazzling smile on the brunette’s lips ). resting her hand on top of her round bump to let their baby rose know that she’s not alone, erin tenderly caresses her own skin with the pads of her fingers. her heart misses a beat and soars into the air the second she feels another kick, this time right beneath her palm. “good morning to you too, little human,” she whispers, happiness dripping from her voice and swirling in the warm breeze that’s filled their bedroom. it’s definitely not how she thought they’d be celebrating their first anniversary ( they’re not back in Fiji like they were supposed to be, sipping on sweet drinks and sunbathing by the pool, dancing like there’s no tomorrow and building sandcastles ) but there are no regrets in her heart — what she has in this room is way better and more beautiful than any exotic island. her DREAMS have all come true, in the end.

it might not be the perfect timing and it obviously isn’t ( not when axl’s leaving on a tour in a week, leaving the two of them behind because there are millions waiting for him all around the world ) but it makes erin wonder — will there ever be one? does such thing even exist? the right time to slow down and start a family? and if not now, then when exactly? this baby is nothing but a miracle, an ANGEL who’s saved not only their marriage but their lives too even if neither of them had planned this. they weren’t she wasn’t trying for another, by the end of december they were just letting their frustrations out as horrible as it sounds and saying goodbye, thinking their separation was inevitable but still desperately holding on. it just kind of happened and yet she wouldn’t change anything, no matter how challenging the future might be.

a year ago, erin was heartbroken to say the least. there’s still an unpleasant and dull aching, deep inside of her chest whenever she thinks about that night and how terrifying every second of it was. and yet here and now, she’s happier than she’s ever been in her life. it’s unbelievable and absolutely insane how many things can happen during twelve months, how her days with axl suddenly resemble a fairytale, a disney movie. she’s thankful for every second, never taking anything for granted again. “axy baxxy.” a muffled chuckle slips past petal-colored lips. dainty fingers leaving her swollen belly and sliding along the curves of her husband’s eyebrows, tracing down the perfect slope of his nose and tapping his chin — her touch so delicate that barely even there. leaning in to drop soft kisses all over his smooth cheek, erin affectionately brushes his fiery bangs out of his forehead. the smile that embellishes her features is broad and filled with sincerity. adorable laughter bubbles up in her chest and spills out her throat, cascading like the waterfalls across their bedroom. “come on, sleepyhead. you don’t want to miss our anniversary breakfast, do you?” her small hand finds its way towards axl’s head, softly tangling his orangey locks between her fingers. her lips gently brush against his temple. “should we give dada five more minutes? just because his girls love him so much? i think, we will.” he’s never been an early bird and erin doesn’t have the heart to just drag him out of bed.

after a quick trip to the bathroom, the dark-haired model goes downstairs and straight to the kitchen. she has a brilliant idea. last month, axl bought her a great cookbook with all kinds of recipes and pictures in it, and what’s a better day to try one of them out than today? her mind’s already been set on a goal — baking them an anniversary cake. it’s definitely not how normal couples celebrate such events but since when are they considered a normal couple? it only takes her about fifteen minutes to turn the room into a complete mess ( and that would be putting it nicely — it looks like a warzone ). the large, marble countertop is dusted over with countless layers of flour, empty boxes, pans, pots, bits of eggshell, splattered with droplets of milk. and so is erin’s favorite red silk nightgown and her skin, stained with all kinds of different ingredients and food coloring. she looks ridiculous but with madonna on the radio, everything seems fun. she’s in a great mood today, grateful for everything she has. “i’m crazy for you. you’ll feel it in my kiss… i’m crazy for you, crazy for you, crazy for you,” erin hums under her breath, swaying her hips to the music while brushing her dark curls out of her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing the vanilla-scented cake mix across her forehead. taking a package of fresh strawberries out of the fridge, that’s when she finally hears axl’s laughter and turns around to face him with the biggest grin of them all. how long he’s been standing there will forever remain a mystery. “happy first anniversary, baby!” he graces her with a smile that can only be described as blinding — too bright for this world and her heart to handle, adorned with adorable dimples. his eyes seem to be sparkling with the gentlest and warmest tinge of green. oxygen escapes erin’s lungs, plump lips parting in awe, leaving her looking like a lovesick teenage girl. “wanna help us with the cake?”

#thornrosed #happy everose day <3 bc i love you and i really like celebrating even these small things #our babies got married on this day 29 years ago and thats so wild i cant even wrap my head around it where did the time go omgosh #this is just a teeny tiny something i made not so long ago bc i really needed some cute fluff and voila ... this thing was born #its definitely NOT the mona lisa of all my replies or things ive posted but its kinda cute so im sharing it with you today :')))#only hit 'read more' if you want to be smacked with the most unrealistic thing ever written #tw: its so not canon that it can only be erins dream or something #or some crazy au bc wow it really is this insane but hopefully youll still enjoy this little thing #edits.#short drabble i guess?#some of my replies are longer than this #anniversary.#verse: 1991 au.#???#☆┆ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇss﹐ᴡᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴄᴀɴ ғɪɴᴅ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ.┆( otp. )

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unpeumacabre · 5 years

Text

Tony Stark Has Many Problems

“Ah, my friends!" Thor booms, and it's a strangely-familiar sound amid the slick noises emanating from Loki's (very pert) bottom. "My brother and I could hear your lovers' quarrel from our positions here. Would you care to join us?"

Tony and Steve have been dating for a while, but one little problem - they haven't had sex. It's making Tony very frustrated - he's never been this sexually inactive in his life - frustrated enough to take his anger out on Steve. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for them, Thor and Loki, recently reconciled and newly intimate, are more than happy to share their expertise with Steve and Tony.

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Steve/Tony, Thor/Loki (but mainly steve/tony centric)

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr messes up the formatting)

Count: 7k

Tony Stark has many problems.

Dum-E's gotten smart enough to figure out how to brew a cup of coffee, but not smart enough to realise that bringing a hot, steaming cup of coffee to Tony's worktable when he's holding a blowtorch, and spilling said cup of coffee all over Tony's lap, isn't usually the way coffee is served. Clint needs new arrows but this time he wants arrows that play Taylor Swift music when they explode - God only knows why - and Tony is having a really hard time trying to pick a song of hers that doesn't make him puke at the first teeny-boppy chord. Loki has recently taken up residence in his tower - his tower, goddammnit! - and hasn't caused any mischief in the past two days; in fact, he's even helped Tony out of a sticky situation on the battlefield, and things are getting so unreal right now, and oh, Pepper isn't answering his calls because he forgot to vet her speech for the Stark Industries annual ball even though she sent him twenty emails to remind him about her speech, and he really needs chocolate but Thor ate the last Kit-Kat yesterday, and Jarvis - that asshole - conveniently forgets to add chocolate to his grocery list, there's nothing wrong with his weight, goddamnit -

Oh, right, where was he?

Tony Stark has many problems, yes, but his new relationship with Steve isn't one of them. The fact that he's actually started dating the star-spangled, pinnacle-of-human-achievement, Spandex-wearing Captain America hadn't quite sunk in until after Steve had asked him out to lunch at the new diner down the road, and he'd looked down and seen that little burn mark on Steve's thumb, and felt a warm sensation flare in his chest. Because Steve'd told everyone he'd gotten it from fighting the Doombots that morning, but Tony alone knew he'd really gotten it from accidentally sticking his hand in the microwave when it hadn't been switched on. The memory had reminded him that, behind the facade of stoic patriotism and stern-faced Mama-bearism that Steve Rogers wears, he really is just Steve , a dork of the highest degree, who still thinks Jarvis is an actual human being hiding somewhere on one of the ninety-three floors of Stark Tower.

So yes, Tony can hardly believe that Steve is his, really his. It still has somewhat of a dreamlike quality about it, him and his childhood idol, holding hands on a picnic mat under the stars, watching Pretty Woman on Netflix while Steve respectfully gushes about how beautiful Julia Roberts is, kissing desperately in Steve's room while Clint and Thor play Mario Kart in the living room next door -

Okay, maybe there is one teeny-tiny, miniscule, quark-sized problem. And the problem is that Steve is absolutely not down for anything involving him, Tony, a bed and possibly fruit-flavoured condoms (well, a man can always dream). Sure, they'd kissed a couple of times, and maybe even engaged in some heavy petting where Tony had gotten to touch one marvellously-shaped pec before Steve had broken off stammering and red-faced, unable to look him in the eye and sporting an impressive bulge that had Tony drooling. But of course, Tony is all about respect - how proud Pepper would be of him now, if she'd only answer his calls - and he'd mournfully backed off every time Steve had called the festivities to a halt and gone off to spend a suspiciously long time in the bathroom.

Tony thinks sadly of the steamy dream he'd had last night - Steve on his lap, hands down each others' pants, and stroking each other to completion. If his younger self were here now, he'd be laughing his head off at how fucking tame Tony has become. Fifty Shades of Grey has nothing on his college days, but now he's with Steve, quite possibly the love of his life, and even the thought of a quick handjob between the sheets is arousing as hell to Tony.

Tony thinks the problem between them's because Steve's still a virgin. Hell, he knows it's because Steve's a virgin - no girl had wanted to put their hands on the skinny, asthmatic twig that had been Steven Rogers in the good ole pre-world war days, and once he'd become the gold standard for male attractiveness, being a war hero and propaganda tool hadn't exactly left much time for him to indulge. And now, in this new world where sex isn't as big a taboo as it used to be and with everyone speaking practically a foreign language, it's made Steve even more wary of carnal relations.

Yeah, Tony understands, and he's heartbroken for Steve, really he is, thinking about all the times someone'd rejected him just because they could curl their whole hand around his wrist and have their fingers meet, and about how Steve sometimes comes back after a solo jaunt about Brooklyn and just needs to lie down in Tony's lap for a while.

Unfortunately, he's also suffering from the worst case of blue balls in the entire American history. No, scratch that, the entire history of humankind, and animalkind, the entire history of the universe . Hell, he'd gone out and seen a pair of squirrels in flagrante delicto on a nearby tree branch, and he'd been so frustrated he'd pulled on his suit and taken out a whole fleet of robots in the training room.

The two sides of him - the one that's all sappy and pussywhipped and wants to worship and adore the very ground Steve walks on, versus the side making him make a bonfire out of all the Avengers' porn mags (except Natasha, because he actually values his life, despite what everyone says, and he doesn't even know if she has porn mags. Do girls read porn?) - are in huge conflict, and it's driving him crazy. Crazy enough that he's taken to avoiding spars with Steve, because if he has to endure one more chokehold with Steve's very hard, very manly body pressed against the entirety of his back, he will possibly fly to Latveria himself and offer himself as a sacrifice to Doom. Which is not a very welcoming thought, and Tony is sorry he even thought about it.

And of course avoiding Steve never works, because they know each other so well. Instead, Steve has started following him around Stark Tower and hiding outside his workshop to give him heart attacks at one am, with his goddamn baby blue puppy eyes. He doesn't even need to say anything, and already Tony feels guilty.

That's why Steve manages to corner him when he's dragged himself out of his workshop at - surprise! - a perfectly respectable hour to scrounge up some dinner, holding a plate of mac and cheese and touching Tony’s bicep with a gentle enough touch that makes Tony want to scream.

"Tony?" he says, and his eyes are very blue. "Can I talk to you?"

Tony knows he's lost the moment Steve opens his mouth, but he feels the telltale itch in his left ball - the one he gets when he hasn't experienced a release in many days - and suddenly he's resigned to the conversation that will follow. He sighs, and grabs the plate from Steve. At least he won't be hungry later during the inevitable argument, he tells himself, sadly.

He keeps walking to the kitchen anyway, hoping to get a cup of coffee, and slowing down to keep Steve at his side as a concession. Steve looks at him, his eyes crinkling, and oh no, that's not a good crinkle, it's a bad crinkle, and it usually means he's sad about something, and this time it isn't Tony's left ball that twinges, it's somewhere in his chest.

"Tony, you've been avoiding me," Steve says, directly, without preamble, because that's just the kind of guy he is. "At first I thought you were injured, y'know, because you only avoided me when we were supposed to spar, but then I realised you're not doing the same for Clint and Thor and Natasha and uh, I just wanted to ask..." He trails off, and Tony stops. He feels his heart in his mouth (and the macaroni too, but that's a different matter altogether) as he looks into Steve's eyes, and sees them bad-crinkle even further.

"Is something wrong?" Steve finally asks, and holy shit, he must've just bathed, because there's a strand of blond hair so dark it looks almost brown, escaped from his perfectly groomed fringe, and hanging over his eyes. It's adorable, and yep, Tony is totally whipped, because he automatically lifts a hand to brush it away, and immediately Steve's expression softens.

But he's still waiting for an answer.

Tony sighs. Best to get it over with, then. He fidgets with the spoon and can't meet Steve's eyes as he says, "Well, it's not something wrong , per se... Just, y'know, I'm just feeling a little... a little sick. Yeah, that's right. Feeling a little... under the weather. I think it was something Dum-E gave me, that salad he served me the other day didn't look very fresh..."

God, he's such a chicken, and when did he become such a bad liar, because Steve looks totally unconvinced. He steps closer and lays a hand on Tony's forehead instead, and that was such a bad idea, he should've said he'd gotten food poisoning instead, because now he can smell Steve's scent, the smell of fresh pine trees from his deodorant and underneath, that musky smell that is, uniquely, Steve's. Hasn't he read somewhere that if you liked a person's smell, you were compatible, because you had the same kind of olfactory receptors, or something? He tries not to think about it, and focus instead on not spontaneously combusting or ejaculating in his pants or something equally embarrassing.

Thankfully, Steve steps away after a harrowing few seconds, frowning. "You don't feel like you have a temperature, though," he murmurs, and there's so much concern in his voice that, suddenly, Tony feels irrationally annoyed. He's being such a mother hen, God , and usually Tony finds it adorable, but this time he's in a mood, a sexually-deprived, pissed-off mood, and he just wants to hole himself up in his room with twenty boxes of tissues and his Cockyboys lifetime subscription. And meanwhile he has this actual hunk of man-meat all to himself, but he can't touch him - the gods are truly evil. Tony wonders if switching to Norse pagan faith would give him better luck, seeing as how he's currently housing two deities of said faith under his roof, at great personal and financial cost.

His patience finally snaps when Steve produces a thermometer out of absolutely nowhere , and tries to stick it in his mouth. Angrily, he pushes him away, and tries to make excuses for running up to his room, but Steve is having none of it, and really Tony can't be blamed for finally yelling: "I'M ANGRY BECAUSE WE HAVEN'T HAD SEX, OKAY?? Now will you stop bothering me and let me go upstairs so I can jerk off over the one porn mag I have left?"

It's almost worth it for the comical expression of shock on Steve's face, his plump, beautiful lips in a perfect 'o', the one strand of hair once again escaping his fringe to hang over his eyes. Then of course his mouth snaps shut and pinches into an unhappy line, his eyes bad-crinkle even further, and Tony wants to hit himself. God, he's the worst person ever , isn't he? Yelling at Steve when all he'd been trying to do was make sure Tony's okay, taking out his frustration on Steve and bringing up the one thing he knows will hit his boyfriend the hardest. A low blow it was, and Tony immediately regrets ever opening his mouth. This is why people aren't supposed to talk to him when he hasn't had his caffeine, dammit!

He grabs Steve's biceps and, for the first time, doesn't focus on how they feel like the goddamn rock of Gibraltar under this hands. "Look, I didn't mean that," he babbles, frantically trying to erase the past few minutes. If he doesn't remember it, it means it doesn't exist, right? "I just meant, uh, I've been really tired recently and I haven't been able to -"

"To indulge yourself?" Steve interrupts him, and his voice is strangely steady. In surprise, Tony lets go of his biceps, and, finding nothing to do with his hands, lets them fall limply to his sides. Steve is staring down at the ground now, his face expressionless, but Tony knows him - he knows he's thinking.

"I'm just... I'm just afraid," he finally whispers, so soft that Tony hardly hears it.

"Sorry?" Tony says. He can't believe his ears.

Steve finally looks up, and his eyes are burning with anger and frustration and hell, is it inappropriate for Tony to be having an erection right now? Because his dick has taken the train to Bonerland and it sure as hell didn't buy a return ticket. Just imagining that intensity focused on him, in the throes of passion, Steve's strong hands pinning him down as he pounds his ass to high heaven -

"I said, I'm just afraid of sex! With you!" Steve says, and it hits Tony that he's yelling, his face blotchy with anger and his fists balled at his side. "It's easy for you, isn't it, you've done it a thousand times, how could I possibly compare? The farthest I've ever gotten is kissing - with you , I might add - and I'm just a virgin with hardly any experience, how would I know anything about how to please you, and after a while you're going to get bored of me because I don't know how to fuck you properly, and then you'll leave me and I'll just - ugh! " Breaking off with the most eloquent, disgusted exhalation of fury Tony has ever heard, Steve turns on his heel and stomps angrily down the hall towards the kitchen.

Tony stands stock still for a few seconds, his mind rapidly whirring through the deluge of words, before it finally clicks and it all falls into place.

Steve's scared , scared of having sex with Tony, because he thinks he's not good enough, with all Tony's experience, never mind that Tony's had sex a thousand times before, sure, but he can count the number of times he's made love on one hand. Steve isn't going to be a nameless fuck to him, Tony knows he's special , and he curses himself as he realises it's his fault for not making absolutely sure Steve knows it too.

He turns and runs down the hall to the kitchen, where Steve has already disappeared behind the door, pushing it open and fully intending on explaining himself to Steve, when the scene before him makes him stand absolutely still again, for the second time in minutes.

Because there's Thor, and there's Loki, and a whole lot of naked skin, and they're fucking against his kitchen counter .

A voice in his brain reminds him that this is hardly sanitary, but he brushes it aside in favour of looking at Steve, who's also standing there in shock, his hand gripping the table as if he can hardly stand upright.

"Ah, my friends!" Thor booms, and it's a strangely-familiar sound amid the slick noises emanating from Loki's (very pert) bottom. "My brother and I could hear your lovers' quarrel from our positions here. Would you care to join us?"

---

Tony can't move his limbs. Although he's seen a good many bodies in his lifetime - and with many of them belonging to the sexiest stars of his generation and the next - there's just something different about watching Thor and Loki going at it. For one, they're brothers - adopted , Loki always insists, but it never seems to make a difference to the way they treat each other - which adds an illicit touch to the whole affair that makes it just that tad bit more arousing. And for another, it's just unfair the way some people seem to get all the luck. Even though Loki's an evil son of a bitch, there's hardly a blemish on his soft skin, and the smooth lines of his back flex as he writhes and undulates sinuously under Thor's body. He's bent over with his hands braced on the counter, neck thrown back, and Thor pauses in his movements to lean forward and issue a sharp bite to the back of his neck that leaves a bright red mark against the pale skin. In response to that, Loki utters a high, unabashed keen that sends a thrill up Tony's spine, and Steve's too, from the way he shudders next to Tony.

You'd think he'd be embarrassed, but no, the smug smile he gives Tony while he glances at him under his lashes, speaks otherwise.

"Ah, yes, the noble - ah! - Captain, and the - uhh , Thor, harder - and the man of iron," he says, the breathless moans punctuating his sentences. "Quite a spate of good weather we've been having - ohh, Thor, don't stop , fuck, right there - don't you think?" and yes, he's an absolutely evil piece of shit, because it's been raining and thundering like an Indian monsoon every single day the past two days since Loki had joined them, and now Tony thinks he knows why.

Thor grips Loki's hips and adjusts him, his cock driving into him in a way that makes Loki squeal and lift his arm to curl around Thor's head and dig into his hair. Tony can now see his cock, and he's really going at it, driving it like a piston into Loki's bottom, and why can't he look away?

Steve has been standing silent and stock-still for the past few moments, but now he rouses himself and lets go of the table. "But - but - you're brothers! " he cries, his eyelashes fluttering, and Tony has to swoon a little at that. What, he's only a man, a very mortal man, with a very aching hard-on in his tight work pants and surely there's no harm no foul if he just slips his hand down to cup himself for a bit -

"Yes, Loki and I are brothers - "

" Adopted - " Loki sighs, like an afterthought, and Thor gives him a particularly athletic thrust as if to shut him up.

" - but that far from diminishes the love we feel for each other!" Thor booms, again - he only has one default way of speaking. "Actually, we have you my shield brothers to thank for helping us rediscover our love for each other. It was only when Loki came to Midgard last week to greet us that we discovered our passion for each other was beyond that of brotherly love. Loki, say thank you," and he slips an arm under Loki's chest and heaves him upright so he's facing the two of them, and Tony can see the blissed-out expression on his face and his very long, pale, slim cock bouncing with every thrust.

"Thank you, " Loki breathes, his eyes half-shut, the words like a prayer, but Tony swears that he's looking straight into Tony's eyes, and there's a little half-smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. Yup, he's definitely the devil. A devil, actually, seeing as how they've met the actual, literal devil - but really, Mephisto isn't the one Tony wants to be thinking about, right now.

Instead, he moves closer to Steve and grips his elbow, right as Steve says, his face a little green: "You mean last week when Loki unlocked all the zoo enclosure gates and let the animals out into Central Park - when you two disappeared halfway through the fight - you mean you were - "

"Yes!" Thor rumbles, an ecstatic smile lighting up his face, and really, it's not like Tony's never noticed that, objectively, Thor is probably the most attractive member of the team. Because nothing can hold a candle to Steve, his Steve, but this is really doing a number on Tony's poor battered underserved libido, all that rippling golden muscle and the way his hand is moving over Loki's skin, pinching at his nipples and leaving pink trails where his nails have cut into the flesh.

"And we couldn't help overhearing your argument from just now - " Loki butts in, one hand now gripping Thor's hand and guiding it up to clamp around his throat in a parody of the intimate touch Thor often exclusively confers on his brother. Now, his voice sounds a little bit choked, and a lot breathier , but still he continues. "And we were wondering if we couldn't offer some, ah, assistance ."

"Assistance?!" Steve says loudly, and yes, he is turning green, but Tony chances a peek downwards, and it appears that even though Steve is uncomfortable with the whole situation, certain... parts of his anatomy... don't seem as uncomfortable.

"Yes! My brother and myself, having recently discovered the wonders of carnal pleasure in each others' bodies, are of course enthusiastic for the rest of our beloved team members to find the same! Especially for such beloved shield brothers as the two of you, Friend Anthony and Steven," Thor exclaims, with a series of vigorous thrusts that make Loki go "oof - oof - oof - Thor, there, fuck - "

Tony finally rouses himself out of his reverie at these words, feeling that he has to at least try to look after Steve - even though the words leave him shivering with unadulterated lust, especially after the deep growl that rumbles through Thor's chest as he drills deep into Loki and holds himself there. He grips Steve's elbow tighter and attempts to smile without letting on how frazzled he is.

"Uh, thanks for the offer, Point Break, but I think we'll figure it out ourselves - " he says, already ready to drag Steve out of the room where they can go and finish their argument, but to his absolute surprise, Steve rips his arm out of Tony's grip and turns to face him. His eyes are burning again, but this time with a determined expression that tells Tony that he's already made up his mind.

"I want to do it, Tony," he says, decisively. "I want to... I want to learn how to pleasure you."

Tony's eyes widen. "I can do that," he offers weakly. "I know you have your insecurities, but really - "

That was totally the wrong thing to say, and Steve's eyes narrow stubbornly. Instead, he turns away from Tony and strides over to Loki and Thor, who have paused in their lovemaking to look at the two of them. Loki has a speculative gleam in his eye that bodes no good, but still, Tony follows Steve helplessly, caught in his orbit. He only just remembers to set down the macaroni plate, with a tremor in his hands that he quickly stills.

"Tell me what to do," Steve says, and the purposeful lilt to his voice makes Tony adjust himself again. God, he's using his Captain America voice , as if he doesn't know that that drives Tony absolutely crazy - except, well, he probably doesn't.

Thor and Loki exchange glances, then Thor places a hand in the small of Loki's back and bends him over. He takes Steve's hand and places it right there , where Thor's fat cock is half thrust in, the rim of Loki's hole is stretched taut around the expanse of Thor's dark, almost-purple cock. It's obscene, and possibly the most arousing thing Tony has ever seen.

"Can you feel that?" Thor whispers, and the reverence in his voice is startling. Steve nods sharply, panting in quick, short breaths, his eyes half-closed as if he's trying to block out what's happening. Almost involuntarily, his fingers gently caress the stretched rim of Loki's hole, where lube is glistening on the wrinkled skin.

Thor presses down on Steve's hand, and Steve gasps as his finger slips in with a wet pop. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, as he watches Loki's hole clench and ripple around the unexpected intrusion. That same low growl rumbles through Thor's chest again, just when Loki lets out a hiss of shock that ends in a high-pitched whimper.

"That's right," Thor murmurs. "Finger him. Feel him open under you. Get him wet and open and ready to take your cock. If you press there - " Thor's finger slips in and guides Steve to below his cock, where he presses and makes Loki convulse with the stimulation to his prostate. If Tony was a woman, he'd be creaming his pants right now - as it stands, he really needs to wash his boxers already.

For a long moment, there's only the sound of Thor's cock, and the two fingers, squelching around inside Loki's hole, and the pants issuing from Loki's mouth as he swivels his hips in a desperate plea for more stimulation. Then Steve speaks, his voice breathless and rough with lust: "Is that - is that how you start? Is that it?"

Loki bangs his hand against the table in frustration, finally finding his tongue. "Thor, you imbecile, you skipped foreplay," he snaps, bitingly. "Pull out, pull out, show him from the start."

Thor rolls his eyes, clearly used to Loki being a demanding little bitch, and unceremoniously pulls out. Tony isn't sure what's worse, the unabashed fucking of earlier, or seeing Thor's cock flushed and leaking, and the swollen rim of Loki's hole. And is that beard burn around the swell of Loki's buttocks - ?

With his other arm, Thor pulls Loki up again, the other hand on his hip steadying Loki as his legs threaten to give out. He regards Steve thoughtfully for a few minutes, then gestures to Loki's nipples.

"First, you have to arouse him, bring him pleasure so he will writhe and crave your touch," Thor advises, when Steve looks puzzled. "Touch him at his erogenous zones. Stroke him across his neck, his nipples, his belly, the area above his cock, where he likes it the most - but of course Anthony will have his own preferences."

Steve lifts his hand hesitantly and touches Loki's chest gently, right in the centre of his cleavage, his fingers trailing feather-light over the almost-translucent skin. Loki, already on the edge of orgasm and high-strung from Thor's cock, twists and shakes in agitation. He tilts his head, helplessly seeking, his mouth moving and mouthing soundless words. Thor drops his head and answers with a tender kiss, breathing softly across Loki's lips and mouthing absently over his cheekbones.

Although there is the delicious vision of the two gods' cocks dripping below their legs, and the scratches marking the expanse of Loki's chest, Tony cannot tear his eyes away from the sight of Thor and Loki kissing. The movement of Loki's head had seemed so unconscious, without artifice, a desperate wish for contact, and Thor's kiss so tender and intimate that it makes Tony's chest twist. One glance at Steve's face tells him that Steve feels the same, his fingers frozen and unmoving, his eyes full of desire and wanting and trained on Loki's tongue licking at Thor's half-open lips.

A surge of boldness flows through Tony, and he steps closer, next to Steve, and cups one side of Steve's face with his hand. Steve turns to look at him, and although he is much taller than Tony, somehow the warm glow in his eyes makes Tony feel like the greater one. He pulls Steve down and they kiss, lips moving quietly over each other. Steve whispers something against his lips, and the soft caress of his breath across Tony's skin feels unbearably close. Tony pulls away and, with one swift, suddenly-brave movement, pulls his wifebeater over his head and bares his chest to Steve.

Suddenly, he's glad he bathed yesterday.

Steve's fingers settle on his chest, over the blue glow of the reactor. Tony tenses, wondering if perhaps he's made a mistake - if Steve feels repulsion at the inhumane - thing - he's made himself into - but then Steve leans down, and presses his lips to the scarred skin surrounding the reactor. Tony can't feel any sensation from the nerveless skin, but as Steve lifts his head, eyes sparkling, and says "I didn't expect it to be warm - "

Tony pulls him up and lunges for his mouth. Perhaps it's less of a kiss, more of a desperate, sloppy, desire-filled devouring, but Tony feels an unaccountable warmth filling his body, right down to his fingertips and the tips of his toes as Steve keeps his hand steady on his chest, his anchor. He digs his fingers into the soft golden hair at the base of Steve's skull, and strokes frantically through the fine strands, pulling Steve's body flush against his as if by doing so, he could swallow Steve into himself and possess him fully, underneath his skin and in his heart where he's already wormed himself in.

A soft laugh beside them reminds Tony, suddenly, that they have an audience, and simultaneously, he and Steve turn their heads to regard Loki and Thor. There is a new line of bruises along Loki's jawline, outlining the smirk that pulls Loki's mouth to one side.

"Why don't you take his pants off?" he asks, his voice a bored affectation but belying the sharp, keen interest in his eyes, as Thor carelessly kneads the swell of this buttocks between his large hands and watches them, his pupils dilated. "You do know how the basic biology works, don’t you, Captain?"

Steve flushes a bright red, and for a moment Tony panicks and wonders if Loki's words had been too much, perhaps he's scared Steve off with his brazenness and callous words - but then Steve turns back to Tony, and, miracles of miracles, he starts furiously working at Tony's buttons. Tony could almost weep for joy. A little bitter that he hadn't thought to try taunting at first - but maybe it wouldn't have worked, coming from him - Tony's fingers move automatically to his jeans and help Steve. When the jeans finally come off, and Steve yanks them off his legs, he groans involuntarily, his cock springing out, red and throbbing from the pressure of having been confined in his tight-ass jeans.

"What now?" Steve says, defiantly, the flush still high on his cheekbones, and Loki lifts a dainty eyebrow, as though unimpressed by his bravado. He glances over his shoulder at Thor, levelling the same disinterested look at his partner, and Thor smiles lazily, his eyes hooded. With a violent movement, Thor pushes Loki down onto the counter and holds him there with a strong hand at the base of his spine. Loki arches his back and thrashes a bit, but it looks futile, and he's clearly enjoying it, so Tony just rolls his eyes.

Thor reaches down and picks up a bottle of lube from under the counter, and Tony makes a strangled noise, because that's his emergency kitchen lube, and it's mint-flavoured too, and it's half-empty, goddammnit, it hadn't been like that the last time he'd used it , clearly some people have been very, very busy. He squeezes a generous helping onto Steve's outstretched hands, and his own large, thick fingers, and places them on top of Loki's buttocks. Steve mimicks the action, and his fingers are warm against Tony's skin.

"What I showed you before," Thor murmurs, gesturing a rude gesture with two fingers liberally coated in lube, "do it to Friend Anthony. One finger." And with that, he trails his finger down Loki's crack, a soft caress, and probes in slowly. Loki wiggles his bum, clearly impatient, but Thor stills him with a heavy hand on his hip.

Tony watches as Steve's Adam's apple bobs, as he swallows, and he looks down at Tony's hole with such trepidation that Tony feels slightly offended. So he strengthens his hold on Steve's cheek, forces him to look into Tony's eyes.

"Hey," he whispers, "It's alright. It's just me, okay? Little ole Tony Stark. I want you, any way you'll have me. Any way you want. You can take it slow." At his words, Steve's jaw clenches, and he nods, like he's made up his mind. He smears the lube all over his fingers, makes sure they're thoroughly covered, then places his fingers on Tony's hole and pushes.

Tony gasps. It's been such a long time since he'd been penetrated, he'd almost forgotten how painful - and how pleasureable - it could be. It does feel a little clinical, like he's getting a doctor's examination, with the cautious but determined way Steve's spelunking around, but one look at the adorable furrow between Steve's brows, and Tony's unbelieveably turned on, beyond anything he's ever felt before. The simple knowledge that Steve's pushing beyond his boundaries, beyond what he'd initially been comfortable, just for Tony ... the thought makes Tony want to curl up into a ball and squeal like a girl. Except he'd probably take someone's eye out with his dick, which is already hard enough to hammer nails.

"Does it feel good?" Steve breathes. "I'm trying to find the - the prostate - but I can't really, um..."

"It feels good," Tony slurs. He's going out of his mind, but hell, this is possibly the best way to go. He envisions the headlines: CAPTAIN'S COCK CRUSHES CEO. STARK SACRIFICES HIS ASS FOR AMERICA. "A little bit lower, yeah, yeah, lower... uh, not there... ah!" He jerks as Steve brushes his fingers over the spot, sending a warm thrum of liquid pleasure through him and his cock spitting out drops of pre-cum over his stomach as it bobs.

And all the while, Steve keeps relentlessly at it, his touch starting to feel a little less like Tony's last prostate exam - conducted by Bruce, and hadn't it been awkward . Steve's always been a fast learner, even before the serum, from what Tony's heard, and of course now he has the serum coursing through his blood he's practically a genius, because he's found a way of massaging just so in a way that makes Tony utter a very undignified screech, and clutch tight at the base of his cock so he doesn't spill prematurely. Because that would just be the cherry on the cake, wouldn't it.

When he can finally open his eyes, he realises Steve is staring at him with a rapt expression, awe and lust warring in his big baby blues, and Tony fucking blushes , yeah he does, like a goddamn virgin. Because this is turning him on like you wouldn't believe, being despoiled by his hero, being taken apart slowly by Steve , with his hesitant but sure finger pressing at his prostate, and his other hand stroking up and down Tony's side like he needs to keep touching Tony.

"Can I add another?" Steve whispers, his voice tender, and Tony nods, once, tight, not trusting his voice. Steve draws his finger out and presses back in without giving Tony a chance to recover, just the way he likes it. Tony gasps, because now Steve's scissoring, all on his own, and Tony feels almost proud of him, except that he's too busy trying not to die of a heart attack because of Steve's fingers rubbing against his walls and massaging him persistently. Sue him, he's old, and he has a goddamn heart problem. In fact, if he didn't have the arc reactor in, Tony's sure he would have expired of a heart attack ages ago, because now Steve is breathing fast as he looks down at his fingers and Tony's hole tight around them - pained, short, sharp pants of breath as if he's not getting enough oxygen, and it's the most adorable thing ever.

Steve starts moving his fingers in and out, slowly at first, then faster as he gets more sure of himself, fucking Tony on his fingers. And Tony can't help the whimpers coming out of his mouth, because it feels too good, can't help the involuntary swivels of his hips as he tries to grind down on Steve's fingers. But Steve gives a nervous little laugh, and pulls away - Tony thinks he's been scared off, and looks at him, but he sees a hint of a smug smirk around the edges of Steve's mouth, and he can't help it, he laughs a little too, because under the whole goody-two-shoes exterior Steve's actually a little bit of a little shit. And a fucking tease too, apparently.

Tony feels himself loosening, and he knows he's ready. He wants it, wants Steve's cock, so he lifts his foot and strokes one sinful, long stroke over the bulge in Steve's pants. With his toes, he deftly pulls the zipper down and dips inside, caressing the hot flesh within with his foot. Steve's mouth drops open, and his eyes shut, eyelashes sweeping over his cheekbones like a benediction. And hell yes, Tony does feel blessed, thank you very much.

"You going to give it to me, big boy?" Tony breathes. "Gonna give me your big fat cock? Gonna press me down into the sheets and fuck me rough and hard? Can't wait for it. Can't wait to take your cock." And bingo, he'd guessed dirty talk would press Steve's buttons, because Steve is tearing at his button and shoving his jeans down feverishly like he can't wait to get naked. Tony gives a triumphant smile and a mental high-five to himself.

A moan next to his ear reminds him, all of a sudden, that they're not alone. He turns his head and sees Loki's bright green eyes a few centimetres away from him, his pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat, pink tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as Thor fists him vigorously with his hand. Tony cranes his neck to see because, wow, Thor has really big hands, and when he pulls them out Tony can see the slick glisten from the lube, and the way Loki's hole clings to Thor's hands like he's not willing to let go.

Loki lifts a hand and lays it on Tony's cheek, his mouth curling into a mischievous smile. He thumbs at the corner of Tony's mouth, wipes some of his saliva away, and leans closer.

"You and I are much alike, Tony Stark," he purrs, the rich timbre of his voice like silk. "What say you we taunt the boys a bit, hmm?"

Tony's up for anything, he is, and he returns Loki's grin with one of his own. He's not expecting, however, for Loki to grip his chin withh superhuman strength, and yank him into a deep kiss that involves a lot, a lot, a lot of tongue. Loki moans into his mouth, and God, that sounds a lot sexier that it usually does, muffled by his own lips, and Tony gives back as good as he gets, nipping at the corner of Loki's mouth and tangling his tongue with Loki's.

They're ripped apart from each other suddenly, Loki keening a high, unsatisfied keen, and Tony blinking disorientedly. He looks up and sees Thor's hands fisted in Loki's hair, pulling him backwards and forcing his back to curve into a sleek, sinuous arch that pulls his skin taut. Immediately, Thor bends forward and captures Loki's mouth, swallowing his whine in an angry, vicious kiss. Tony can't look away.

Until Steve curls his arms under Tony's buttocks, and lifts him bodily from the kitchen counter.

Tony yelps, and looks at Steve accusingly, a stinging rejoinder ready, but the words die on his lips as he sees the look on Steve's face. His eyes are dark, blown with lust, but more than anything, with possessive anger and intensity that makes Tony shiver uncontrolledly. There's no more shy virgin in Steve now, that's for sure, especially when he wrenches Tony close and presses them together in a full body caress, pressing their lips together in a greedy kiss. He mutters words into Tony's mouth - mine, mine, mine - and Tony answers mindlessly - yours - and he only vaguely registers being carried up the stairs like he weighs nothing more than a feather, and then finally, into Steve's bedroom.

Steve lays him out on the bed and rips off his own shirt, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, but it only serves to make him look like a man in a L'Oreal commercial. Really, his looks should be illegal, it's criminally unfair that he looks the way he does, all fair, freckled Irish skin across his shoulders, the deep vee of his hipbones, the dusting of golden hair on his chest and happy trail leading down to Happyland. As he approaches, Tony grips his deltoid wonderingly, feeling how the muscle stretches and flexes under his hungry, questing fingers.

Suddenly, Steve stops, and Tony sees a strange vulnerability in his face.

"Is it the... is it the muscles?" he asks, haltingly. “Is it the muscles that you - ?” And suddenly, Tony remembers - remembers the boy he'd seen in Howard's memorabilia pictures, Steven Grant Rogers before the serum, a scrawny, weak-looking thing - but still effortlessly, ethereally beautiful to Tony, even if everyone'd been too fool to notice at the time. Vehemently, Tony shakes his head, trembling with the strength of his emotion.

"Steve," he says, instead of all the words he wants to say, and that's enough. Steve comes to him, wraps him up in his arms, and slides home. He thrusts deep into Tony, into his core, until Tony can't tell where he ends and where Steve begins. Steve laves kisses over his jaw, his neck, the tender inside of his wrist, until Tony knows he'll have to wear a turtleneck with long sleeves tomorrow. Somehow, the thought excites him, knowing that only he will know the bruises underneath the fabric exist, knowing that he's been marked by Steve, that he's Steve's .

He can feel his climax approaching, almost a distant afterthought, because he's so focussed on the feeling of Steve, around him, inside him. But then Steve grips his cock with a steady hand and starts working him, and Tony tries to hold on, he really does - but he's not released in a long while, and all too quickly it's over. He spurts, long white strands of cum, all over Steve's hand and his abdomen and Tony's own stomach. Steve gasps at the feeling of Tony clenching around him, in the throes of his orgasms, and it's not long before he follows, a mass of hot, sticky fluid filling Tony's insides.

It's the best feeling Tony's had for a long time, all of it. His head's in the clouds, he feels like he's floating on air, and also Steve's cum dripping out of him is possibly the only thing he wants to feel for the rest of his life. He realises Steve feels the same when he feels Steve probing at his poor overstimulated hole, and although he hisses at the sensation, his hips involuntarily jerk towards Steve's fingers.

"Next time," Steve says, distractedly, like he's not even aware of his words, "I'll buy you a plug. So you can keep my cum in you all day, and whenever I look at you, talk to you, kiss you, I'll know you're full of me. Inside you."

Tony sits bolt upright. "You..." he manages, because where did that come from?? But Steve is looking at him now, fondly, that familiar one-sided smirk curving his lips, and really, the thought of being plugged up like that, full to the brim with Steve's cum, and not being able to do anything about it... Well, it turns him on, and his cock gives one valiant twitch. He lies back down.

They lie there in contented silence for a while, Steve humming an unfamiliar tune, and combing his fingers through the sparse curls above Tony's cock. There's so much Tony wants to say, but at the same time, he can't bring himself to say it. Steve looks at him, their eyes meet, and Tony opens his mouth.

"You think they're still going down there? We're going to have to eat breakfast on those countertops tomorrow, y'know," is what comes out instead, and Steve laughs, a quiet, exasperated laugh. Happy and satiated, Tony closes his eyes, wraps his arms around his Steve, and goes to sleep.

His left ball doesn't itch anymore.

---

Precisely at that moment, downstairs:

Loki draws pictures on the countertop with his and Thor's mingled cum. He traces the outline of Mjolnir, remembers the time last week he'd stretched Thor out and made him sit on the hammer for two hours, loose and wet and wanting, and thinks, we'll have to try that again sometime . Thor is slumped over him, watching him trace his little pictures on the countertop with an affectionate look in his eye, one hand carding absent-mindedly through his hair. It's a bit sticky, and uncomfortable, but Loki decides magnanimously that he'll allow Thor this liberty, just this once.

"That was a good thing we did there," Thor rumbles, in his usual self-satisfied manner. Loki rolls his eyes, but quietly, because he's still feeling generous. With both of Thor's fists up his arse, he orgasmed twice, and he's still floating on the cloud of endorphins, so he supposes he should be thankful to Thor, at least...

In fact, he's still feeling a little randy. His cock is beginning to harden again, where it lies against his thigh, and he knows Thor isn't finished with him yet. Thor's not known for being a fertility god for nothing, he isn't.

"You didn't tell me Tony Stark was quite so good-looking," he sighs, affecting a dreamy air. He feels the air pressure around him drop, the distant roar of thunder outside the windows, and smiles a secret smile. Yes, he knows how to rile Thor up, like no one else can - no one knows his brother like he does. That mortal woman can't even compare. Pity she and Thor used to date, because from the things he's heard of her, he thinks he and her might have gotten on, if it weren't for her unfortunate romantic past with his brother. After all, he is something of a scientist, as is she, but daring to touch his Thor isn't a transgression he forgives easily. He can't count how many past lovers of Thor's he's vanquished, and not only that, how many of these past lovers Thor himself had willingly left, just for Loki. No one can take his place at his brother's side, just as he's unwilling to give up this place he's rightfully earned.

As Thor roughly yanks his buttocks apart and settles between his knees, Loki sighs a satisfied sigh, and turns around to gaze languidly at his brother. There's a twinkle in his brother's eyes that signals that he knows he's being played, knows it, and enjoys it, just like how he'd wrested the truth of his past lovers' 'mysterious' disappearances from Loki and simply laughed the matter off before. How can the puny mortal Tony Stark even hope to compare?

Yes, there is no one but Thor for Loki, and no one but Loki for Thor, thinks Loki hazily, as he buries his face in his arms and loses himself to the wicked pleasures of Thor's tongue.

#stony #thorki #steve rogers #tony stark #loki #thor #mcu #captain america #iron man #thunderfrost #upm works #upm

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h-styles-babes · 7 years

Text

No Control | Chapter Fifteen

Summary:

Micky Bennett: college student, loyal friend, aspiring nurse, One Direction fan, Harry Styles enthusiast. Her best friend, Trevor, wins tickets to a show in New Jersey with meet and greet passes. Micky expects a quick photo op with the boys and a great night at the concert with her best friend. What she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

To read previous chapters, you can go here.

*Please feel free to reblog and send feedback. It’s much appreciated :)*

*Gif is not mine.*

WARNING: Teeny tiny bit of smut (But, like, cute smut.)

FIFTEEN

Harry startles a little bit when my dad tells him to put his bag in my room. Tommy’s staying the night, since he’s had a bit too much to drink to drive back to Manchester. I rest a reassuring hand on Harry’s back to tell him it really is okay and my parents aren’t trying to test him or anything.

We all stay up for a bit longer, chatting in our living room, slowly sipping on the rest of the wine from dinner. At around ten, Georgie heads home, giving everyone quick head kisses in farewell, including Harry. She tells me to text her in the morning to possibly make plans before heading out. The rest of us linger for only about half an hour more, everyone yawning between sentences. I’m convinced I’m still suffering a bit from jet lag, and it looks like Harry is too, so I say goodnight to my family and pull Harry with me upstairs.

“Your parents are really okay with me sleeping in the same room as you?” he asks once I close the door behind us. I’m already searching through my drawers for something to wear to bed, since I know Harry’s going to make my bed like a heater tonight.

“Well, they already suspected we were sleeping together, and Georgie and her big mouth basically confirmed it at dinner. And we’re adults; they can’t really tell me what to do anymore. Even when I was younger, they’d let my boyfriend sleep over in my room. They don’t think it’s a big deal,” I assure with a shrug. I finally find a tank top that would do and set it out as I pull my jumper over my head. When I look back, Harry is pulling his shirt off and folding it to place it back in his bag.

“How many boyfriends have you had?” Harry asks, sounding merely curious. It’s not anything we’ve shared before, and I briefly wonder if he’ll share some of his past relationships with me in return.

I purse my lips and pull my shirt over my head before answering. “I had one for a few months while I was in secondary. He only came around a few times, but we hung out a lot. Tommy was away at uni while I was dating this one, but they met once, and the guy never came around again. Tommy pulled the same shit he pulled tonight, but a sixteen year old boy is a little less keen on my brother being a twat than you were.” I roll my eyes at the memory and shimmy out of my shorts.

“Then I had one while I was in sixth form. He lasted a little longer. Dated him for a little over a year.”

“Did he not meet Tommy?” Harry asks, pulling off his jeans.

I chuckle and begin to plait my hair, something I like to do to try to prevent it becoming a mess while I sleep. “He was one of Tommy’s best mates. Still is, actually. He’s a couple years younger than Tom, though. There’s only a three year difference between us.”

“How’d that work out?” Harry asks, one eyebrow raised. He walks over and helps me finish off my plait, letting us look at each other in the mirror of my vanity.

“When we first got together, Tommy wasn’t too happy, obviously, but Kellan’s a good guy. Where Tommy’s crass and a bit of a slag, Kellan’s nearly too polite. Treated me like a was a fine piece of China, which Tommy obviously picked up on, so a few months in he was fine. Even when I started having my doubts about the relationship, Tom encouraged me to keep at it because he thought we were good together.” Harry holds out his hand over my shoulder, and I place my hair tie in his open palm.

“So why didn’t it last? Aside from you moving to America?”

I catch Harry’s eyes in the mirror and smirk. “He treated me like a fine piece of China.”

Harry bites at his lip and nods. “I see.” He brushes his hands over the bare skin of my shoulders as we continue to stand before the mirror.

“Yeah. Even when I tried to explain to him that I wanted more and I wouldn’t break, he refused. Told me men were made to care for and love women, not hit them. Which is obviously true in any other setting, but he didn’t get that I needed it to really get off. Needless to say, our sex life was pretty lackluster for me. I broke up with him five or six months before I left.”

“No boyfriends in the states?” He wraps his arms around my waist now, propping his chin on my shoulder.

“I’ve had my fair share of flings over the years, but nothing serious. I always figured a relationship would be pointless since I plan on moving back here after graduation, anyway.”

“I thought you were still undecided?”

I huff out a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s just the excuse I’m giving myself. I don’t know. I’ve been busy recently. Not much time for eating and sleeping, much less keeping a boyfriend.”

Harry turns his head and presses a kiss to my neck with a hum that raises goosebumps on my skin. “You’ll figure it out, love. There’s someone out there perfect for you.” He turns back and catches my eye in the mirror, so many emotions swimming in his own. I can tell what he’s not saying aloud, and it warms and breaks my heart simultaneously, because there’s nothing we can do about it. We’re from two different worlds that happened to intersect by coincidence, and we’ve taken advantage of it. It’s all got to drift apart eventually, though. It always does.

Taking a deep breath, I unwrap Harry’s arms from my waist and tug him along. “Come on, let’s get some sleep. Mum’ll have us up pretty early for brekky.”

“Did you just say ‘brekky?’ Haven’t heard that one in awhile,” he teases, lightening the previously somber mood.

“I’ve heard the word ‘gobsmacked’ come out of your mouth. You have no room to talk.”

“Fair.”

As promised, my mum has us up early the next morning with the smell of French toast and the clinking of dishes in the kitchen. Harry’s spooned against me, one arm under my neck and the other thrown over my waist, keeping my body pressed into his. I lost my shirt at some point in the night—most likely from the heat that Harry produces in his sleep—and his hand is gripping my breast. I can feel his erection pressed against my bum under the sheet, and I’d normally take it upon myself to wake him with a morning blowie, but the chances of my brother barging in within the next few minutes is too high.

So, instead, I turn in Harry’s arms so we’re face to face, and he makes an annoyed huffing sound in his sleep at the movement. I stifle a chuckle and reach up to pet against his cheek, brushing his hair back from his face. He looks to content and peaceful in his sleep, and I just want to take a photo to commemorate this moment, so I reach over to grab my phone and make sure my sound and flash are off before snapping a few. His lips are slightly parted and pouty, so I take to pressing mine lightly against them, trying to rouse him from sleep. I let my fingers trail over his sides and around to his muscular back as I coo his name.

“Harry,” I murmur, not wanting to really startle him. He doesn’t react, so I press harder kisses against his mouth before calling, “Harry,” a little louder. I feel his arms flex slightly around me and he makes a little huffing noise. “We’ve got to get up, bub. Mum’s making breakfast and I don’t want Tommy walking in on us half naked.”

I scratch my nails up and down his back lightly. He groans at me, but I can see his lids fluttering as he prepares to open them. I press one more lingering kiss to his lips, and he responds by slightly puckering them to participate. His arms fully wrap around me, pulling my body against his. His eyes are still closed, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Harry Edward, I know you’re awake.”

His smile widens and his eyes peek open to look at me. He’s still a bit bleary from just waking up, but he seems pretty alert and the risk of him falling back to sleep has diminished.

“Like that,” he mumbles, his voice rough from disuse and absolutely delicious.

“Me calling you Harry Edward?” I guess.

He nods, nuzzling our noses together. “Like my name on your lips.” He reaches out to press a few more kisses against my lips that turn into a light, slow make out session. His hands caress along the skin of my back and smooth down my sides to rest on my hips. Without much warning, he moves us so he’s on his back and I’m straddling him, our naked chests pressed together. I feel him tug at the hair tie at the end of my plait and then run his fingers through it, undoing it. “So fucking beautiful, Mick.” His lips press back up to mine, his tongue massaging against my own and he laces his hands into the hair at the base of my head. I’ve got my own hands tucked into his hair, rubbing gently at his scalp.

Harry’s hard between my legs, hips gently rutting against me, like he’s trying to stop himself from moving but is losing that battle. Every time his hips lift, he rubs just right against my clit, making me mewl into our kisses. I can’t help it when I start rolling my hips against his to get more friction.

“Let me have you, angel,” he begs in a hushed tone, lips still brushing against mine as he speaks. “We’ll be quiet.”

I don’t verbally agree, but I lift up and shimmy my way out of my panties, no longer bothered by the fact that there are other people in the house. I can tell by his tone and the serene quality to his voice that this isn’t going to be one of our usual dirty couplings. We’re both still sleepy and warm from being in bed, and his face has little sleep lines pressed into it. While I’m still wildly turned on by Harry, I’m more invested in the feeling I get when gazing at him so vulnerable like this than any type of arousal. I want him like he is in this moment—content and lazy and bare.

Harry moves me onto my back and gets rid of his boxers before settling between my legs, hips flush together. He presses wet little kisses along my chest as he reaches down to run his fingers between my folds and humming at the moisture he finds there already. His lips are back on mine as I feel his head press to my entrance and hesitate only a moment before fully entering me. He presses his hips heavy to mine, making sure he’s as deep as he can go, making me whimper.

Our chests remain pressed together, only his hips moving as he slowly thrusts into me. I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle slightly so he bumps into my G spot every time he enters. My arms are locked tight around his shoulders, nails dragging along his skin. He’s going to have red welts when we’re finished, but neither of us can care.

The atmosphere is something I’ve never experienced before. The air is heavy around us and the only sounds are our panted breaths and the occasional moans and whimpers we draw out of each other. This time with Harry is more intense than anything we’ve done together, even though other time’s he’s made my legs shake and made me to beg for him to let me cum. This moment is heavy with emotion that we haven’t really even acknowledged is there, and it makes my chest feel tight. We’re no longer fucking each other or sleeping together—we’re actually making love when no words can be said to express it.

The way I feel around Harry is something I’d never be able to express to anyone. From the first moment our eyes met, something inside me just clicked. I didn’t really acknowledge it at the time, because I was pretty sure it was just some sort of silly thing I was making myself feel because I was finally meeting the one person who I’d been pretty enthralled with for the past five years. But, looking back on it, I can recognize that instant comfort and calm feeling that washed over me when I saw him and when he had his arm around me. Something about him felt so familiar and it was like my body knew it had no reason to be nervous about meeting him. The first time we spent time together, it was like I’d known him my whole life, both of us so easily falling into a dynamic that neither of us cold explain. There should be no reason for how simply things worked out for us, but here we were, only a week later and being so content.

Harry presses his face into my shoulder, teeth lightly biting into the skin at the curve of my neck as a moan bubbles up. He pulls back and licks the sting away with his tongue before rearing back to look at me. His eyes are heavy and his raspberry lips are parted, brows furrowed in his pleasure. He snakes his arms from under my shoulders to around my waist. He sits back on his heels and brings me with him, pushing us chest to chest. I use my leverage on the bed to roll my hips against him.

“So gorgeous, Mick,” he whispers, eyes locked on mine. He moves his right arm up to push my hair behind my ear and then cup the back of my neck, keeping my head up from where it’s starting to lull. I feel my arousal building in my belly, well on my way to falling apart around him. “God, I can never get enough of you.”

“You have me, Harry,” I promise breathlessly. Anyway he wants me, he can have me.

Harry’s hand on my waist coaxes me to move my hips faster, both of us needing a bit more push to finally fall over together.

“I need you to cum for me, sweetheart,” he nearly pleads, words tight with his effort to hold back. “Want to watch you cum on me, Mick. Please, princess.”

My orgasm is already sneaking up on me, the pleasure suddenly skyrocketing with his words. The last little push I need, however, is Harry snaking his hand between us, even though there’s not a lot of room, and pressing his thumb to my clit, rubbing slow circles to match our pace.

“Oh, God,” I whine, dropping my head to Harry’s shoulder.

“Hey, look at me,” he demands softly, gently tugging on the hair he has in his grip to bring me back around.

I’m squinting at him as my orgasm begins to roll over me, stopping my hips as I feel my walls clamp down on him. Harry uses his arm to keep me going, making me squeal, even though my legs are pretty useless at this point.

“That’s it, Mick. So beautiful like this, baby. So—” his words are cut off by his own moan, his hips flexing as I feel him pulse inside me, filling me with his cum. He presses his lips to mine, quietening our sounds as he comes down from his orgasm.

We stay entwined like this as our breathing evens, sharing kisses and letting our hands roam our sticky skin. My heart feels so full that it may burst at how much I’m feeling for this man who just sort of dropped into my life unexpectedly. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d ever have him or that he’d be so much more amazing than I already thought he was, but here he is, astounding me the more I get to know him.

“I don’t think I can let you go,” he mumbles into my skin, so low I almost don’t hear him.

“Then don’t,” I beg quietly. “I don’t want to let you go, either.”

He raises my head from where he had it rested on my shoulder and looks at me to tenderly, cupping my cheek with his hand. I nuzzle into it as he says, “We’ll figure something out, Micky. I promise.”

For the rest of the day, Harry and I wander around my hometown, and Georgie joins us for a few hours before lunch. I take him by the playgrounds that I played in when I was growing up, as well as some spots that Georgie and I frequented in our free time over the years. It’s a nice enough day with minimal cloud cover, so I keep it comfy and casual with a black AC/DC shirt I bummed off of Harry and a pair of skinny jeans and an old pair of floral patterned Vans that I found in the back of my closet. Harry teases me again about stealing all his clothes, but I brush him off with a kiss to the cheek and a comment that they look better on my anyway.

We spend our day hanging out freely around my town, not at all afraid of being caught on film by anyone for it to be plastered on the internet. I don’t even see anyone give Harry more than a passing glance as we meander through some shoppes and pass through a little bakery for lunch to pick up some sandwiches and coffee, which sets off a tangent from Harry about how he used to live in a bakery, which garners some teasing looks from Georgie and me.

That night, Dad grills steaks, since the weather stayed nice enough to be out there, and Mum puts together a salad and some bread as sides. Tommy joins us again, since he doesn’t have to be back in Manchester for his shift until ten. Dinner’s much more calm tonight, Tommy keeping his mouth shut unless he’s asked a question, and Mum, Dad, and Harry talking about music. When Harry tells them he grew up listening to the music they lived through, it starts us on a whole discussion about how music has evolved and how they miss the sounds of the classic rock era.

When cleaning up for dinner, I tell Mum and Dad that Harry’s invited me out to Holmes Chapel and London for a few days, but I’ll be back in Wilmslow for a couple before I fly back to America. Mum gives me a pointed look when I mention meeting Harry’s family tomorrow, and Dad just wishes me safe travels and a good time in London. Harry and Tommy are somewhere else in the house, which is a little unnerving, since I don’t know if they’re together and Tommy isn’t the best at keeping his thoughts to himself.

I’m done with the dishes, and I’m about to head up to my room to figure out what to pack for my trip, but I hear Tommy’s voice coming from the dining room. Mum and Dad have already gone out to the back patio to enjoy a glass of wine and watch the sun go down, so it’s just the boys and me in the house. I tuck myself into a corner while I listen to what they’re talking about.

“I know I came on a little strong yesterday, mate,” I hear Tommy begin. “But she’s my little sister, ya know? I get that she’s an adult and can handle herself perfectly fine, but I’m always gonna see her as the little girl I grew up with. I just get a little protective sometimes.”

“It’s fine, man. I get it, honestly,” Harry responds. “Got a sister of my own. She’s older, but I’m still protective.”

Tommy sighs. “You’re also…ya know, you. My sister’s too good of a person and too special to get caught up with someone who’s gonna drag her around for a couple of weeks, make her really care about him, and then drop her when he’s got a better offer. Especially considering you’re someone she’s looked up to for years. I don’t want to see her hurt when you leave to go back on tour and forget she even existed beyond whatever she’s offering you sexually.”

I want to get mad at my brother for even suggesting the only thing Harry’s getting out of this is sexual favors from me, when I know there’s something emotional happening underneath, but I know how it looks to an outsider. I’d be ripped to shreds in seconds if Harry’s fans ever thought we were anything more than casual friends. Hell, they could be for all I know. I haven’t looked at my Twitter much since those pictures of us in New York surfaced.

“Tommy, I appreciate your concern, but your sister isn’t just some…conquest to me,” Harry argues, sounding a bit appalled at my brother’s suggestion. “I like Micky, like, a lot, and I care about her. I care about her a lot more than I thought I’d care about someone after only knowing them a week. I’m trying to get as much out of this time with her as I can. I’d never stick around if she didn’t want me here. Your sister is a lot more to me than a body to keep my bed warm. She’s beautiful, inside and out, and I’d be a twat not to see that.”

SIXTEEN

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #one direction #No Control #smut smut smut #harry styles smut

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sending-the-message · 7 years

Text

The Unicorn by Ilunibi

There’s little else in this great big world that can make a little girl in the ‘90s more excited than goddamn stickers. Glittery Lisa Frank nonsense by the roll, bought in needlessly pricey gift sets that peppered the caps of the pink aisles, princesses and My Little Ponies; hell, I used to get excited about the stickers that came on the fruit my mom brought home, or the foil stars my kindergarten teacher stuck to my spelling tests. I was a goddamn ferocious sticker collecting machine, and nothing made me or my friends more needlessly excited than badly printed cartoon characters on shitty adhesive paper.

Nothing.

In fact, the pecking order of my childhood group of friends was usually decided by who had the largest, most unique, most vibrant collection on the whole block, in the same way that some of the boys used their trading cards. She who had the newest set of rainbow dalmatians and sparkling pink horses was essentially the alpha female, and the more glitter and holographic film we had to show off, the better. We’d pile together in our living rooms with shoe boxes of treasures and try in vain to compete with the reigning champion in the neighborhood: my cousin, Rebecca.

Rebecca was different than the rest of us. She wasn’t a resident of that impoverished corner of town, but she was a frequent visitor. My aunt and uncle had barreled their way out of the slums through a combination of hard work and luck (which they’d never admit to), so Rebecca had a lot more at her disposal than a bunch of first and second graders who scrounged together their allowance to buy a couple of sheets of stickers from the drug store. No, she was the cool, older kid with literal boxes of untouched sheets and rolls of Disney characters and multicolored unicorns and cute puppies and fuzzy kittens. And, while she wasn’t in any way mean or unkind to us, she was an absolute scrooge with her collection. I suppose I would be too if the situation were reversed.

We could marvel at her recent acquisitions, but we couldn’t actually touch. Trading with her was like talking to a brick wall, because she was more there to gloat than to take part in our mad scramble. Occasionally, if the wind blew in exactly the right way and the sun was aligned properly with the planets, she’d bestow upon us a gift from her hoard, though I could never peg whether it was goodwill or showing off. It doesn’t matter. She gave me a rainbow shark for my birthday and I still have it stuck in my drawer of sentimental junk.

Additionally, she was very particular about her stickers. I can’t think of time when, at the end of our sessions, she didn’t comb the entire room just to make sure that everything was in its place. I’m not sure how an eight-year-old girl manages to memorize exactly how many sheets of identical Casey and Caymus stickers she has, but it never failed that she would always notice if something was missing. Sometimes, things got mixed up and we’d have to sort through our own piles to find the errant stickers, and sometimes we’d spend half an hour looking under furniture until we found where it fluttered to. She was anal about it.

Which is why it shocked me when she left for the day and I discovered she’d forgotten one.

It was a regular day of our swap meeting, sitting beneath the picture window of my mom’s living room, the only anomaly being that Rebecca seemed more than a little under the weather. The other girls who could make it wrapped up early because their moms needed them home from lunch, but Rebecca lingered until well into the evening until her parents finally picked her up. She counted out her sheets, we spent way too long looking for a missing dragon she’d got from a fifty cent machine, and once she was satisfied with her inventory, she packed up everything and left.

Only, as soon as she was out the door, I noticed something sitting where she had just been. It was on white wax paper and was the size of a Skittle, but it was a fluorescent yellow that caught my eye immediately. I dove on it out of curiosity and a weird sense of first-grade desperation. I didn’t care that, technically, it was stealing. I just cared that Rebecca had somehow missed one of her treasured stickers--probably because she was too sick to notice or care--and I could add it to my own collection.

It wasn’t anything impressive: a yellow circle with the tiny, awkward silhouette of a unicorn on it. In any other situation, I’d think it was the dullest thing I could ever cram into my pile, but it was Rebecca’s. That made it special.

As I shuffled it into my shoe box of wonders, I justified it to myself by repeating the mantra that, if it meant that much to her, she would have noticed it was gone regardless of how ill she felt. Maybe it wasn’t even her who dropped it. Maybe it was Cathy or Ashley or a girl from a previous get-together, and I know all of my friends wouldn’t mind if I kept something as insignificant as a teeny, tiny, pinkie-nail sized sticker with a poorly drawn unicorn on it. If they did bring it up, I’d just give them one of my gold stars or weird, bug-eyed smileys from the doctor’s office. In my mind, it’d balance itself out.

Predictably, after half an hour of gloating to my stuffed animals, I did what any kid would: I completely forgot about it. That unicorn sticker was lost in the fog of dressing up a Beanie Baby in doll clothes so he could have a lovely night out at Pride Rock with his girlfriend, bootleg Hello Kitty. By the time my mom forced me to take a bath and ordered me into bed, the unicorn sticker was barely a blip on the radar, at least until Rebecca finally called me out on my theft.

Or, normally that’s how it would go, except for the fact that I barely could sleep that night. I was plagued with nightmare after nightmare, waking up to stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, feeling like something was glaring at me. I’d always doze off again, but the dreams would go on like a sick, twisted clip show: finding Rebecca eating my neighborhood friends alive in the kitchen, watching my dog get slowly crushed by a car, drowning in the river beside my house. And it just went on and on.

And on. And on.

For days.

To say my mother was concerned by my night terrors was an understatement, but less of one than to say I was scared when I realized she would react to smells and glimpses of something dark that seemed to ooze around in our peripheral vision. You see, as the days marched on, the nightmares seemed to persist in small, strange ways once I woke up. I’d catch a whiff of vinegar and sulfur out of nowhere and watch, horrified, as my mother’s nostrils would flare and her brows would furrow in confusion. I’d see strange shadows slink around the wall, always bolting out of sight if I looked to them and, eventually, I’d watch my mom whip her head around to seek out the culprit, too.

It took almost a week for me to put two and two together, my house gradually becoming more and more unwelcoming and my sleep becoming less and less restful. I probably would have never figured it out if I hadn’t knocked over my box of stickers while staggering tiredly across my room. Amidst tears of frustration and kid-friendly curses that wouldn’t get me grounded, I started putting everything back into place and stumbled across that goddamned unicorn.

It was just as boring as I remembered it, lemon yellow with a awkward silhouette like some kind of girly Batman logo. I stared at it, it stared back, and then I got a whiff of something sour that was so strong that my eyes watered. I blinked and looked down, only to see a blank yellow circle staring back from my palm.

I screamed. I was too young to really register how crazy it sounded and too trusting in the idea that my mom would believe me, and she opted to chalk it up to sleep deprivation. She practically manhandled me to force a Benadryl down my throat, telling me it was for my own good, that I needed a nap, that she’d find a way to get me to the doctor within the next couple of days.

I fought valiantly, but was out like a light within a few minutes.

And I awoke in a nightmare, huddled in my bed, the floor stretching for miles and miles and the walls climbing up to the stratosphere. The only source of light was an ethereal ball of what looked like fire but, somehow, less substantial. It ebbed and flowed and glowed and the shadows seemed to dance with its erratic undulations, twisting and squirming like snakes and monsters. Some of them seemed to have faces, but they burned away in the light.

Fire or no, it was cold. I huddled beneath my blanket, breath creating clouds in the air as I stared, transfixed, at this strange ball of energy. Something dark began to grow inside of it, a shadow that wouldn’t melt, and as it expanded, the orange light grew brighter and more golden, almost radiant. I squeaked and tried to run as I saw four spindly legs, a long and crooked neck, and a jagged horn, but my body was paralyzed when it let out a horrifying scream.

Have you ever heard a horse when it’s angry? It’s petrifying. Terrifying enough, actually, that it was the basis for a dinosaur roar in many films. Loud enough that it makes your ears pop and your head throb. I clapped my hands over my ears and felt blood pool in my palms as it grew louder and louder and louder and louder. I screamed back and it drowned me out, one voice becoming two becoming three.

Though there was only one solitary creature standing in front of me, one twisted and deranged unicorn that jittered unnaturally and bent at weird angles, its voice came from everywhere. In its screams, I began to hear whispers, then words.

Threats.

Threats spoken in languages a six-year-old shouldn’t know, yet somehow I understood. Threats of what would become of me and my family, and lists of everything it knew I cared about. It detailed what it would do to everyone from my favorite toy to my family dog to my best friend to my long-dead grandmother who it shrieked, triumphantly, it could reach even though I would never see her again. I saw flashes of white walls and cups of medicine and a woman, with hair and eyes and skin like me, hanging listlessly from a pipe by her bedsheets with a toppled chair beneath her feet.

“This is what happens,” it told me. “This is what will happen. This is what I am. I am your worst nightmare.”

The screaming only stopped when I felt a horrible pain. I awoke on the floor in my room--my real room--with my mother at the bedroom door, pale-faced and hoarse. My face was sticky and warm, my left eye wouldn’t open. As I tried to push myself up, my mom screeched in a way that would have put the unicorn to shame.

She got me to the doctor that day.

The official story was that I’d fallen out of bed, and maybe I had. Cracked my head on the nightstand and nearly gouged my eye out, but caught my brow instead. They gave me a little clamp because it was too swollen for stitches and, as per usual, a sticker to help me feel better. I stared at it on the ride home, knowing what it was that I had to do.

When the weekend rolled around and we had our little trading party, Rebecca came to gloat, as always. The neighborhood girls clamored around her most recent additions, like a whole new set of glow-in-the-dark aliens and a few sheets of Disney heroines. They ooh-ed and aah-ed and thankfully paid no attention to my bruised and battered face as I sat there, fist clenched around that fucking unicorn as I struggled to force a smile. I couldn’t help but notice how much more alive and refreshed and energized Rebecca was as she flittered around, grinning and happy.

Not like she was when she made me scour the living room for that goddamn dragon sticker the day I found the unicorn.

She had done it on purpose, hadn’t she? She’d left that thing in my house trying to get away from it and look what it had done. Anger was my fuel as I waited for her to turn her back, grabbed a box of her stickers, and chucked the unicorn in. I shook it for good measure, so the tiny thing would settle somewhere in the bottom where she would probably miss it.

And she did. Somehow, despite every odd against me, she missed it. When she left for the evening, she only did a quick check for anything that could have fallen, packed her boxes under her arm, and left with a cheerful wave. I couldn’t even feel remorse as I watched her go; in my mind, it was justified. In my mind, I was playing tit-for-tat. If she was willing to throw her little cousin under the bus, then maybe little cousin had every right to dish it right back at her.

I slept very soundly that night, and the night after that, and the night after that. A miracle, my mother called it, though I knew the truth. I still know the truth.

And I think Rebecca does, too.

I visit her sometimes, out at the ward. She’s not very responsive and more than a little prone to falling asleep mid-visit, but sometimes when she looks at me, there’s a glint of hate and fear and disgust that I can catch in her eye, and envy and spite hidden deep in her voice. It’s like she wants to tell me that I should be in her place, that it should have been me whose childhood was robbed from her.

She wants to tell me, but she can’t. She won’t. She’ll never admit what she did, because she wants me to feel like she is the victim in all of this, that she never once tried to sacrifice me to whatever the fuck that unicorn really is. She doesn’t want to admit that I won.

Or maybe, just maybe, she’s guilty. She knows what she did and I’m a constant reminder of it, the only family member who ever visits and the only one who stays to talk. Maybe she hates me because I remind her of what a monster she is, perhaps even worse than the unicorn ever could be.

And maybe? Maybe that’s the worst nightmare of all.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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