#before showing them old and gray laughing together and then buried next to each other. like ok. bwahh?
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been rewatching a ton of spongebob recently (via reaction videos but nonetheless) and one thing thats stood out to me is how fucking aroace spongebob is. like its actually crazy.
like i cant think of a single time (in the first four seasons ive seen again at least) where he was shown or even implied to be attracted to literally anybody, even when the other people around him are. i mean like the valentines day episode shows him giving valentines to everyone and no one's (not even sandy's, The Girl's) really read as romantic. the plot of the episode literally revolves around his extravegant gift to PATRICK being delayed and how patrick gets so upset over spongebob's perceived lack of a gift that he literally goes insane.
and in any bit where spongebob's even remotely like letting out hearts or ACTING like someone in love, its always humorously towards a non-person, like the krusty krab or something. he genuinely reads as so aroace and its actually fucking awesome
#like its nothing CRAZY. but it is cool that in the one of the most popular cartoons of all time the main guy has literally zero interest#in romance. not even as a bit. its very cool#also ive honestly started seeing him and patrick as a qpr like genuinely 😭 the vday episode but also like the one ep where#spongebobs like ''we were supposed to be best friends forever!'' and it shows the history of their friendship#before showing them old and gray laughing together and then buried next to each other. like ok. bwahh?#even in the musical dude they have the super cute bff song that feels almost romantic but Not#and one of the big conflicts is literally them being split up and they sing a whole dramatic ballad about#how much they miss the other LIKE? im actually being so real about this#serena.txt
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tell me something girl (are you happy in this modern world) // tom “iceman” kazansky
summary: after thirty years of marriage, heather kazansky reflects on the time she spent and the love she shared with tom as she prepares to write her eulogy and say goodbye to her husband.
pairing: tom kazansky x wife!oc (named heather)
warnings: canon character death (Tom) and mentions of gooses death from the original movie, depictions of grief, mentions of mental health and medication,
authors note: this is the fic I firmly believe I was put on this earth to write. I wanted to do so much more with it, but honestly would have ended up with like 16k words or something like that.
April 2022, Miramar, California.
“is that the admirals wife?”
“jake, shut the fuck up.”
heather kazasnky had never thought of herself as an impressive woman. she always found herself timid, shy and a little anxious. it wasn’t until the first offshoots of gray started to sprout in her hair, and she’d watched all three of her children grow up that she truly thought sh had done something impressive with her life.
she sat alone at a table in the corner of the hard deck, oblivious to the wandering eyes of her husbands trainees as her slender fingers navigated the keyboard of her MacBook.
“heather?”
she started at the voice, cheeks marred with the flush of someone who had just been sobbing as she turned to look at the speaker.
“peter,” she hummed. “it’s good to see you, maverick.”
heather got to her feet, pulling the other pilot in for a tight hug. “nice to see you too, heather. how are you doing.”
“the best I can. the kids are supposed to be coming up tonight to help with the funerals.”
there were always going to be two funerals. the first was the formal military funeral, where her husband would be buried in the same cemetery as nick bradshaw, and the other was more like a reception, something more human and less structured. for the people who knew him not as admiral kazansky, but as tom.
“I miss him, mav. the house feels strange without him in it. I’ve spent so long being heather kazansky, I don’t know how to go back to being just heather.”
maverick shook his head, taking a seat next to her. “you’re still you, heather. you’re still a mother to three incredible kids, and grandmother to two.”
“with another on the way.” she coughed, somehow managing a smile. “joshua’s new girlfriend is expecting. he told tom before he died.”
“congratulations, heather. how are the kids doing?”
“as well as can be expected. as usual, mitchell is the glue holding us together. cassie’s a wreck. she always was her father’s daughter. and for it to happen so soon after she had jamie just seems cruel. tom was going to retire, did you know that? he was ready to put his papers in, we were going to go to greece. it was finally us time again. he gave so much of himself to this country, and I was so excited to finally have him back.”
pete rested a hand on heathers shoulder, squeezing it through the fur of her cardigan. she was strong despite her age, still well built and sturdy, face marred with laugh lines but not a single telltale old woman wrinkle. “I’m so sorry, heather.”
“thank you.”
she turned back to her laptop, showing the other pilot what she was doing. “I’m gathering pictures for the reception. but most of them are of me. tom always had his fucking camera with him. I should have let the kids do this part. all I’m doing is making myself cry.”
she cast her eyes back to her laptop screen, resisting the urge to reach out and run her finger over the photo, soaking in the good memories as they came flooding back. in the picture, she and tom stood on one side of the kitchen counter, laughing with each other as they cut gingerbread cookies.
it had been their first christmas together.
“oh my god,” maverick laughed. “is that iceman in a cable knit?”
“he was so nervous about meeting my dad for the first time. I had to talk him out of wearing his dress whites.”
December 1985, Richmond, Virginia.
they had been together for six months, give or take the few weeks his team had spent deployed in the gulf, and nothing had intimidated tom kazansky more than meeting his girlfriends father. he had wanted to wear his navy dress whites in an attempt to make a good impression before heather had laughed and made him change into jeans and a sweater before they left the apartment.
even then, he had changed sweaters four times before setting on the white cable knit he was currently wearing.
iceman knew how stressed his girl got during the holidays. her family could bring out the worst in her, and they were both highly strung when they walked in the door.
now, she was off to the side with her sister, cradling a mug of hot coco in her hands as she watched him with a smile, chuckling as he dropped a cup of flour down the front of his jeans.
“you really like him, don’t you?”
heather looked back at her sister, who raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of her hot chocolate.
“I do. I really do, abigail. he makes me feel like I’m worth loving, if that makes sense. everything with tom is just so…easy.”
abigail frowned. “he’s a lieutenant, isn’t he? that means he’s going to be deployed a lot. are you sure you can handle that?”
heather sighed, taking a sip of her drink. “we’re trying. he was out in the gulf for a few weeks in september, and we got through it.”
“he’s barely taken his eyes off you since you got here. and when he looks at you, I don’t see anything other than pure, unfiltered love. I bet he’s got a polaroid of you in his cockpit.”
heather laughed, a warm and giddy feeling in her chest. it was clear how much her family loved iceman, and how quickly they were welcoming him into the fold.
“you know I’m losing him for two months in the new year. he’s off to california, got into some fancy fighter jet training program.”
“you can still go see him, right?”
“yeah, I’ve got a few vacation days saved u- oh fuck.” heather cursed, thrusting her mug into abigail’s arms as she saw what her boyfriend was doing. “give me one second, I’ve gotta stop him from screwing up the gingerbread.”
she pushed up the sleeves of her jacquard sweater, socks skidding across the kitchen tiles as she loosely knotted her hair behind her head.
“kaz, sweetie, give me the rolling pin. you’ve gotta knead the dough.” she smiles softly, putting herself between the pilot and the counter.
one of tom’s flour coated hands came to rest as her waist, his chin on the top of her head as she watched her dip her hands into the bowl of flour, and proceed to knead the gingerbread dough by hand. her lovers hands came to rest over hers, his lips soft and warm against her skin as they kneaded the gingerbread dough together.
“see, you don’t always know everything, lieutenant.” she hummed giddily, running her thumb over his wrist.
“yeah, but I know I love you, and that’s all I need.” Tom laughed, gently using his finger to guide her head towards his and placing a soft kiss on her lips.
April 2022, Miramar, California.
heather paused, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "i loved that man so much, pete."
the hard deck was getting busier, off-duty pilots and seamen flooding in from the base at miramar as shifts changed for the day. heather knew all about the dagger squad and the hazy series of events that brought pete mitchell back to the academy, often having to speak for her husband in meetings once his first cancer operation had left him unable to speak for himself.
"auntie heather!" a familiar face looked over from the pool table. bradley bradshaw was a spitting image of his father, right down to the way that his moustache was trimmed.
for heather, it sometimes felt like seeing a ghost.
"brad!" she perked up, waving him over to the table. "how are you?"
when she first came to visit her husband at miramar, somethign about carole bradshaw had pulled heather in. she hadn't known the bradshaw's long, but by the time that goose's accident happened, she felt like she had known that family her whole life.
she did what she could to help carole out afterwards, especially when it came to raising bradley, but as rooster got older and time flew by, it was so easy for carole and heather to fall out of touch.
"you look just like your dad." she hummed, hugging the pilot. "it's like seeing nick again."
bradley nodded solemnly. "i was sorry to hear about admiral kazansky."
"thank you. it had been a long time coming, but there's no way to properly prepare to lose the man you love."
rooster gestures to the group behind him, the mismatched group of people coming to meet him at the table. “aunt heather, I’d like you to meet the dagger squad: jake, natasha, robert, reuben and javy. we knew the admiral well.”
“hi.” heather said weakly, introducing herself. “I’m heather, the admirals wife. or, widow, I guess. I’m still not used to saying that.”
“are you getting ready for the funeral?” jake asked, promptly getting jabbed in the rib cage by natasha.
“what hangman means to say is: we all respected your husband very much, and we would be honoured to help you plan his memorial service.” phoenix corrected, taking heathers hand between both of her own.
“thank you for the offer, natasha.” heather smiled. “bradley, I want to show you something.”
she sat back in front of her laptop, using the touchscreen to pull up a video taken the first summer she came to visit miramar. she had timed the visit to coincide with her birthday, a small selfish part of her unable to fathom spending her birthday without tom.
bradley pulled up a chair next to the table, watching as the screen crackled to life, the date stamp in the corner reading june of 1986. they were inside the o bar, the video opening with heather resting her head on tom’s shoulder, then panning over to the massive birthday cake and sparklers set in front of her. carole bradshaw sat on one side of her, and charlie blackwood was at the head of the table, sitting next to maverick.
“is that my mom?” Bradley smiled fondly. “she looks so full of life.”
“she was.” heather laughed. “and you might remember charlie, she was one of mavericks many lovers.”
“hey!” pete scoffed. “things just didn’t work out.”
“she was always too good for you, pete.” heather laughed, pointing to another space on the screen. the group was singing happy birthday, supported by a rockabilly piano backing track. “bradley, there’s your dad.”
goose was sitting in front of the grand piano, a toothpick hanging between his teeth as he hammered away at the ivory keys, aviator glasses over his eyes.
“happy birthday dear heather, happy birthday to you.”
the camera panned back to heather and tom as she blew out the cake candles. tom pulled her in to a soft kiss while the rest of the table cheered, and then the video cut to black.
“mitchell has been digitizing all of this stuff for us. I caught tom watching our wedding videos before he died.”
“remember when slider and wolfman got absolutely shitfaced at your wedding and tripped down the reception stairs?” maverick laughed to himself “did anybody ever get that on video?”
heather shook her head, a bright smile on her tear stained face as she hunted through the original wedding folder. “I’ve got you one better.”
September 1987, Monterrey, California.
mrs. heather kazansky. she could get used to that.
she was sitting with her sister and tom’s parents, the former two who were conversing with each other in polish. she twirled her wedding band on her finger, face flushed and spirits high as she looked on at her husband.
tom was with maverick and slider, the group of aviators dressed in their best white uniforms, beer bottles lifted high as they drunkenly hollered the words to an old rod stewart song.
“and I know your name is rita, because your perfume smells sweeter.”
abigail was filming, zooming the camera lens in on heather as she asked: “are you sure you don’t wanna back out now? till death do you part, you’re bound to this dumbass now.”
heather laughed, playfully smacking at the camera. “yes, I’m sure!”
“stay with me, come on stay with me!”
sliders voice was three decibels louder than everybody else, and he was also significantly drunker. one of the bridesmaids had her eyes on him, and there wasn’t a doubt in anybody’s mind that ron kerner would have somebody in his bed that night.
iceman’s face was flushed, his arm thrown around maverick as they rocked on their feet, skin sweaty and hair mussed.
but in the midst of all this chaos, he still managed to look over at his new wife, blowing her the softest kiss. she smiled, catching the kiss in her hands and pressing it to her heart, a moment her sister was able to capture frame for frame on digital video.
tom had watched the video hundreds of times as he sat alone in his office, struggling to come to terms with the fact that he’d be leaving not just the love of his life, but his three beautiful children as well.
April 2022. Miramar, California.
“that’s the kind of love that people only dream about.” natasha smiled softly. “you’re lucky you got to spend as much time with him as you did. most couples don’t make it as long as you guys did.”
heather smiled shakily, reaching for her drink. she’d left the sprite so long that the ice had half melted, condensation dripping down the glass.
“he was so good with the kids, you know. I was on and off depressed for a while after joshua was born. my mental health had never been perfect and I was on a low dose anti-anxiety medication for a long time. but after Josh was born, everything just got so much harder and I could barley get out of bed in the mornings. tom would take the kids to school, make their lunches. he was teaching full time at top gun by then, so he took a few days off to stay with me, make me feel like myself again.”
“he was a good man.” robert smiled, rubbing her shoulder.
“yeah, he was.” heather bit her bottom lip, pulling a photo up on her laptop that had the dagger squad letting out a chorus of ‘awe’s’
the picture was taken in 1989. tom was dressed in a gray waffle knit shirt, a pair of pit viper sunglasses on his forehead as he held a smiling baby in his arms. mitchell’s wide eyes looked up at his dad, his tiny fingers wrapped around in of tom’s larger ones.
his name was mitchell ronald kazansky, because tom had made a lame bet with maverick and slider (that he lost) and had to name his firstborn after both of them (because he was a fucking idiot at times, but she loved him anyways).
the boys were both easy children, but cassandra? she was a daddy’s girl through and through, and tom would have moved heaven and earth for his little girl. whatever cassie wanted, she often got, well into adulthood even. she was the spitting image of her father, from her honey blonde hair right down to the birthmark on the underside of her jaw.
when tom walked her down the aisle at her wedding three years ago, he cried all the way to the altar. but not half as much as he sobbed when he held his granddaughter for the first time, cancer-stricken and barely able to speak, but still brimming with joy as he held jamie to his chest.
“he lead a good life. one he was proud of. he used his last words to tell me as much.” heather choked out, overwhelmed by emotions. “I just wish we’d had more time.”
pete placed his hand over hers, squeezing it reassuringly as natasha rubbed her back, and rooster gently squeezed her shoulder.
there was still so much love that heather kazansky still had to give.
still so much love that she was surrounded by.
and maybe that was tom’s way, even from the grave, to tell her that everything would still be alright.
TAGS:
@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @sidcrosbyspuck @twinkodium @sidcrosbyspuck @oconso @thatsdemko @lorarri
#top gun x reader#top gun imagine#tom iceman kazansky x reader#tom kazansky x reader#top gun fanfic#tom kazansky#tom iceman kazansky imagine#top gun (1986)#top gun fanfiction#iceman x reader
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Betrayed: Chapter Five
Summary: Everybody thought Steve’s sister had passed away decades ago. But when you show up at the facility and try to attack Bucky, there are questions to be answered.
Word count: 4.2k
Masterlist
All Writings Masterlist
Warning: A bit of violence, talks of grays anatomy with no spoilers, blood draws, a hint of PTSD and torture
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CHAPTER FIVE- McDreamy
The morning after the gala, almost everybody was hung-over. It was the late morning hours before anybody even thought about getting up. They didn’t drink that often so it hit everybody pretty rough in the morning. Everybody except Y/N, Bucky, and Steve who never drank that much anyway.
Y/N and Bucky were down in the medical bay together. Y/N was having Bucky draw vials of her blood, wanting to have some on stand-by in case it was needed. She was sitting up on the medical bed, her left arm outstretched to Bucky who sat in a chair next to her, wiping her arm with an alcohol wipe. This was his third attempt at trying to take her blood, the first two unsuccessful.
“You know, if you miss my vein again I might have to rethink this friendship. I’m not a pin cushion.” Y/N smiled, a small chuckle passing her lips as she watched him clean her arm.
Bucky grins, laughing a little, “It’s not as easy as it looks, Doll. You have cold skin and tiny veins.” He picked up the new needle, his brow furrowing as he focused. He pushed the needle in, once again missing. He drew it out and looked at her, “So about our friendship.” He discarded the needle into a red bin.
Y/N almost laughed as he missed the vein again, but just a small chuckle passed her lips, “C’mon, Bucky. It can’t be that hard. Let me try.” She demanded with a smile, holding her hand out for the next needle. Bucky smiled and handed it to her. Y/N looked down at her arm for a moment, poking around on her skin before inserting the needle. The tube it was connected to started filling with her blood. She quickly connected the vial to the other end of the tube, watching it fill up before grinning up at Bucky, “See, not that hard.”
Bucky watched her, shaking his head as he laughed when she got the vein, “Now how did you learn to do that?” He questioned, replacing the now full vial with another empty one.
“Oh, Grey’s Anatomy. Netflix is great.” Y/N said, smiling at him.
Bucky nodded, having no idea what that show was. He didn’t watch too much tv. He mostly watched old movies, “Is that what you and Wanda are always laughing at?” He asked, smiling as he waited to replace the vial.
Y/N nodded, “It’s great. It’s funny, sad, tense… It makes a great show. Wanda likes McDreamy.” She said, smiling.
“Oh, McDreamy.” Bucky said with a laugh at the name. He couldn’t imagine a show where they have a doctor called ‘McDreamy’, “And what do you think of this McDreamy?” He questioned curiously, replacing the vial and looked at Y/N’s face.
Y/N shrugged, “He’s cute. Neurosurgeon, dark hair, dreamy blue eyes.” She said, examining his facial features, sensing a small amount of jealousy from him, “But to me he is egotistical, and seems to lie a lot. It’s a deal breaker.” She bit her bottom lip for a moment before continuing, “I’ve seen dreamier.” She concluded, her eyes still watching him.
Bucky smiled, removing the last vial. He removed the needle from Y/N’s arm, discarding it in the red bin. He then pulled out a small red bandaid, placing it over the puncture spot, “There, all done.” He smiled at her.
Just as they finished, Steve walked in looking at the two of them confused, “What are you guys doing down here?” He asked, walking towards them. He was wondering if they were having a ‘moment’, which he was glad to interrupt.
Y/N looked at her brother and smiled, moving to her feet, “Wanda told me that it would be a good idea to keep some of my blood in the storage in case anything happens. I think it’s a good idea too.” She said, “But nobody was up, and you were out training, so Bucky offered to help.”
“That’s very.. friendly of him,” Steve said, looking from Y/N to Bucky, then back to his sister. He wondered what was going on between the two of them. When she arrived, all she wanted to do was kill Bucky, stay as far away from him as possible. But now it was like the two of them were best friends again, inseparable. “I think Wanda was looking for you, Y/N. She wanted to go grab some lunch.”
Y/N smiled, “Lunch, yum.” She said, before turning to Bucky, “Thanks for helping me, see you two later.” She said, smiling to both before exiting to go find Wanda.
Steve smiled before turning his attention back to Bucky, “Did I interrupt another moment?” He questioned, eyebrows raised.
Bucky looked at Steve for a moment, standing from the chair. He folded his arms, “I was just helping her draw blood, is there an issue?” He questioned. He knew Steve always had suspicions about him and his sister being closer than friends. He couldn’t understand why he was so bitter about it when they were younger.
“I’m just wondering if you two are more than friends.” Steve replied, stepping closer to Bucky. His arms folded also, standing tall.
“We are just friends, Steve.” Bucky said sternly, “Is there a problem with that?”
Steve clenched his jaw, then relaxed a little, “There’s no problem with being friends with Y/N, Bucky. She just got back. I know how you feel about her, but she’s just getting back to herself. I don’t know if she needs more than a friend right now.” He said, looking to Bucky, wanting him to understand what he was saying.
Bucky nodded slowly, his brow pulled together in frustration, “You know I would never force Y/N into anything, or make her uncomfortable. It took months for her to look at me like I wasn’t her enemy, even longer to talk to me.” He said through his clenched jaw, “Have you stopped to think I’m the only one who knows what it feels like to go through what she has?” He paused, before continuing, “I’m just trying to be there for her, Steve, in whatever capacity she needs me.”
Steve was silent for a moment, before nodding, “You’re right. You understand Y/N’s trauma better than anybody. I just… Don’t push her, Bucky. We just got her back.”
Bucky nodded, “I won’t.” He promised and with that, the conversation ended. Bucky put the vial’s of Y/N’s blood into storage before exiting the medical bay. He meant what he said. He would never push Y/N into anything she wasn’t ready for. He wanted to be there in whatever way she needed whether it be a friend or more than a friend. But he would wait for Y/N as long as he had to.
--
“I heard there was a moment.” Wanda said across from Y/N as they were sitting and eating lunch. They sat outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun while eating their sandwiches and chips.
Y/N looked at Wanda confused, “Moment? Well, there’s lots of moments in a day. Which one are we talking about?” She asks, taking another bite out of her sandwich.
Wanda looked at Y/N with a ‘do-you-think-I’m-dumb’ look, “A you and Bucky moment.” She clarified, “Last night. At the gala.” She spelled it out for her friend.
Y/N chewed slowly, trying to think of what she was going to tell Wanda. Of course she still had feelings for Bucky. She always had and they never went away, just got buried deep down for a while, “Oh, that moment.” Y/N finally said, placing her sandwich back on its plate, “I think it was the wine. And the dress. And his suit.” She said as an excuse.
“Oh, yeah, the dress.” Wanda said, “It definitely wasn’t the fact you two still have feelings for each other.” She picked up a chip from her plate and threw it at Y/N, landing it in her hair, “I can see in your mind. You can’t lie to me. Now tell me the truth.”
Y/N picked the chip out of her hair, looking at Wanda, “I don’t know what it was, Wanda. He’s never stopped being there for me even when I hated him. He was patient with me, kind when I was nothing like that to him.” She sighed, leaning her elbow on the table so she could cup her cheek in her palm, “I may have flirted back a little and we maybe almost.. kissed… but then Thor showed up. Moment ruined.”
Wanda listened to the story, nodding her head as she took another bite. She swallowed then tilted her head at Y/N, “Did you wish Thor didn’t show up?” She asked curiously with a smile.
“I… I don’t know. I wanted the moment. It was like the date we never went on.” Y/N said, poking at her sandwich, “But I just started accepting him again, giving him a chance. I’ve started to actually talk to him again, and even though he’s everything I remember him being and I do have feelings for him, part of me is still worried I can’t trust him.” She admitted.
“Give it time, Y/N.” Wanda said with a smile, “He will wait for you.” She said, knowing what she said was true. Bucky was easy to read especially when it came to Y/N, she was constantly on his mind. Wanda didn’t even have to use her powers to know that, “So were there any other moments during the blood drawing?” She nodded towards the red bandaid still on Y/N’s arm.
Y/N laughed, “No, no moments I promise.” She said smiling, “Although, I had to puncture my own vein because he couldn’t get it. Said it was due to all the Grey’s Anatomy we watch. He wasn’t amused when I told him about McDreamy, maybe even a little jealous.” She chuckles, picking her sandwich back up to take another bite.
Wanda laughs, “Of course he’s jealous! McDreamy is….” She smiled, wiggling her eyebrows at Y/N, “Dreamy.” They said together with a laugh.
--
It had been two weeks since the gala. Y/N had started hearing the whispers again in her head, but they were soft. She told Wanda as promised, who said she would also keep an eye on them. Y/N hadn’t been sleeping too well since the whispers started again. Her memories seemed to be creeping back to her through her dreams. She remembered more about the other red eyes. She started to fear them less, remembering more about who they were.
Y/N had also been spending more time Bucky since the gala. Everyday they found time to be alone to talk to each other. The moments they shared together were Bucky’s highlights of his days. They would often walk around the outside of the facility, talking and laughing. Keeping his promise to Steve, Bucky wasn’t making any moves towards Y/N. He would wait for her to make her moves before making his own.
“So did you ever get those sunflowers I had Bex buy?” Bucky questioned as he walked with Y/N, smiling as he watched her movements. He would always have his sister buy sunflowers for Y/N while he was on deployment. It was evening and starting to get a little cold. He wondered if she would want to head inside soon, but knew they wouldn’t have much time to be alone indoors.
Y/N smiled and nodded, “I did, thank you. They were always sitting on my desk when I came back from a class. She even drew little hearts on the cards for you.” She chuckles at the memory, remembering how Bex was always pushing Bucky closer to Y/N. Bex loved the idea of having her best friend hopefully someday become her sister.
Bucky smiled, “Yeah, she was always making me look good.” He said, looking down at the grass as he walked. It hurt him to think about what his sister must’ve thought happened to him, but he knew Bex only thought of him as a hero since the official story was presumed killed/missing in action. Bucky had noticed that over the past two weeks since the gala Y/N had become a little more quiet as if she was lost in her head, “Have you been doing okay?” He asks, “You’ve seemed a little off.”
Y/N looked at him for a moment, then down at the grass as they continued walking. She hadn’t told Bucky about the whispers or the dreams. She bit her lip, still looking down, “I..” She began, “I’ve been remembering some things lately, from before. It’s like my brain is forcing my dreams to remind me.” She said softly.
Bucky looked at her concerned, noting that she was keeping her eyes on the grass as they walked, “I know what that feels like. I still have nightmares about the things I’ve done. They’re haunting.” He said with a sigh.
Y/N nodded, remembering her dreams. They were intense. She was remembering more about the other red-eyes like her. She remembered what they looked like, and which one the whispers belonged to. He had dark black hair that covered his eyes slightly and was always wearing a smirk. He looked pure evil to her. Y/N debated discussing more on the topic, feeling like she needed to get it off her chest. As they approached a bench, Y/N sat down, picking at her fingers as she focused still on the ground.
Bucky sat down to the left of Y/N, watching her pick at her fingers. Whatever she was remembering was obviously bugging her. He waited in silence for a moment before speaking, “You can talk to me about it, if you’d like. It can stay between us.” He promised. He wanted her to open up to him so he could help take the burden off of Y/N, not allow her to go through this alone.
Y/N sat silently for a moment longer, listening to his words. She was debating whether she could trust him with the information, the painful memories, “I’ve been remembering more of the other two like me.” She finally said softly, her eyes still on the ground. The dreams flashed through her head as she remembered them. Y/N was screaming in the memories, being held still by another man with red eyes, but he had blonde hair and had scars across his face. Alexei. She remembered as she was held, the one with darker eyes would approach her with that smirk on his face, tsking at her and saying her name as he got closer and closer to her. She remembered his name too, Dimitri. Y/N broke the silence again, “One of them was a shorter man, blonde hair. He had scars across his face, Alexei. He was the second made. The other had dark hair. Dimitri… He was the first of us and also in charge of keeping us in line when there wasn’t a mission.” She said softly, her eyes staring at the grass as if she was in a trance like she was locked in the past, “Dimitri had taken out his chip long ago, I remember his scar behind his ear, same as mine.” She gestured towards behind her left ear. Y/N looked at Bucky for a moment, noting the concern on his face before returning her gaze to the grass, “Dimitri had plans for us three. He wanted to take over the Hydra facility, be king. But he needed Alexei and I on his side to do that.” She paused for a minute again, “Alexei got in line easily with Dimitri, it didn’t take much. They were murderers in their past life and got along well, especially after Dimitri removed Alexei’s chip. But me, it took a little more convincing to make me complicit.” She said so soft it was almost a whisper, “Dimitri would have Alexei hold me still when we were all stuck together. He would say the good in me was holding me back from greatness, wanting me to comply with his plan. He was the one that gave me these scars.” She said, her hand tracing along one of the scars on her arm, the shape was of a bite, “The venom doesn’t kill us, but it does cause nasty hallucinations. It was his way of trying to get me to comply, to give into his plan. I killed a few Hydra guards in some of my hallucinations. I think that’s what hinted to Hydra of what Dimitri was doing, why they locked us away. The chips wouldn’t work when I was in these hallucinations. He’s the one I hear in my head.”
Bucky listened to her closely, his brow pulled together in worry and anger as he listened. He finally had names though, Alexei and Dimitri. Obviously Russian. He had lifted his right hand to touch Y/N’s back comfortingly. He had remembered seeing her in the hallway in the towel, noticing all the scars in the shapes of bites running up her legs until they disappeared under the towel and along her collar bones. It made his inside burn with rage. The thought of another man not only touching her, but hurting her gave him anger he didn’t know existed. His left vibranium hand was clenched in a fist, but his right hand remained soft on Y/N’s back, “I’ll never let them hurt you again.” He said, keeping the anger out of his voice, “I promise.” He swore, knowing this was a promise he would die to keep. Y/N was worth everything to him, and he would gladly give himself up to protect her if that was his only option.
“Thank you,” Y/N said softly, tearing her stare from the grass to meet his gaze. She could see the anger behind his eyes at the story, but she also saw the concern he felt for her, “They’re memories I rather not remember. I wanted to keep them buried down, but it’s nice to not have the burden on my own. He’s been whispering to me lately." She paused, "He whispers less when I’m around you, I don’t think he likes you.” Y/N said softly.
Bucky nodded, “They’ll eat you alive if you don’t let them out. You’re not alone,” He said, moving his right hand from her back to gently sweep the blonde hair away from Y/N’s face, “I’m always here, whenever you need me. I’ll keep your secrets.” He promised with a small smile. As much rage as he was feeling, it melted away when Y/N looked at him. He felt butterflies in his stomach. He felt warm around her, “If he starts whispering to you again, just come find me. I’ll scare him away.” Bucky promised with a crooked smile, the tips of his fingers still touching her face.
Y/N finally smiled a little bit, lifting her hand to touch his. She threaded his fingers through his, pulling his hand down onto her lap. She kept her fingers intertwined with his, looking down at their hands. Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, blinking her eyes tiredly. It’d been a few days since she had a good nights sleep on account of the nightmares forcing her to remember things from her past, “I think it’s about time for bed.” She said softly, though not making any movements to head inside.
Bucky smiled as Y/N took his hand, letting her fingers lace through his own. Her touch calmed him. He was losing himself in her touch. His grin widened as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Bucky wanted to be frozen in this moment with Y/N. He would happily be in this moment forever, just Y/N and himself. He stroked her hand with his thumb gently. He couldn’t deny he was falling deeper and deeper in love with her. Every time Y/N touched him, it took everything to resist the urge to pull her closer to him. Bucky smiled a little hearing her talk, knowing their moment was coming to an end again, “It is pretty late.” He replied, continuing to stroke her hand with his thumb.
Y/N sighed, forcing herself to stand and pulling Bucky by his hand with her. She kept grip of his hand, smiling at him gently, “Walk me?” She asks, her eyes locked with his.
Bucky grinned down at her, “It’d be my pleasure, doll.” He said. They kept their hands intertwined as they walked towards the doors into the facility, releasing each other before they stepped through the door. Bucky again walked Y/N to her room, not entering. He knew Wanda was probably in there asleep by now. He looked down at Y/N who had paused at the door before opening it. She had turned to face him, staring up at him. He smiled down at her, lifting his right hand to touch her face again, “Goodnight, Y/N.” He said softly to her.
Y/N smiled at his touch, leaning her face into his hand slightly. His touch made her skin crawl. It was like she was a magnet to him, not wanting to separate from his touch, “Goodnight, Bucky.” She whispered back. She stayed still for a moment, not wanting to leave his touch, but then slowly slid through the door to her own room, shutting it behind her. Y/N looked at Wanda who was sound asleep. Being as quiet as possible, Y/N changed into a tank top and sweats, crawling into her own bed and quickly falling asleep.
Bucky watched Y/N disappear into her room, standing there for a moment. He wished he could follow her in and stay close to her. He tore his eyes away from the closed door, walking down the hallway to his own room and shutting the door behind him. He wondered how long it would be until he could end the night with a kiss instead of just a ‘goodnight’.
--
“Is this real life? Is this just fantasy?”
Y/N woke up with a jolt, breathing deeply as she could hear Dimitri’s voice in her head. She lifted her hand, rubbing the side of her head at his singing.
“I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy. Because I’m easy come, easy go, little high, little low.”
The voice practically screamed the song through Y/N’s head, causing her to get up and leave the room as to not disturb Wanda. She rubs the side of her head with both hands tiredly, “Is this what we are doing now? Singing?” She growled out softly to the voice in her head. She wasn’t scared of the voice anymore since she remembered him. It just made her anger grow when he was inside her head.
“Mamaaa… Just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s dead..”
Y/N winced at his singing. It was off key and very bad. It was practically torture as he screamed the song in her head dramatically. She made her way down the hall, pausing outside Bucky’s door. She debated if she should go in or not as Dimitri was yelling the Galileo part of the song in her head. She touched the doorknob before deciding against it, not wanting to disturb him just for the off key singing in her head.
Y/N could feel her frustration rise as she made her way outside of the facility, her bare feet touching the cool grass. She felt as though she could scream. Dimitri wouldn’t stop singing. She gripped the sides of her head, “For the love of god, stop, Dimitri!” She growled out. To her surprise, the singing in her head stopped and she let out a sigh of relief.
“I was trying to get you outside.” The voice whispered in her head softly with a chuckle.
Y/N froze at his words, looking around slowly through the darkness. She saw a figure laying on the grass. She approached slowly, trying to discern who it was. Once she saw it was Clint laying on the grass knocked out, she got closer and leaned down, “Clint?” She whispered, shoving his arm slightly trying to wake him. He must've been out on a nightly jog. She was about to speak his name again when a hand wrapped around her throat, pulling her up onto her feet and turning her to face similar red eyes. She looked at the man in the darkness, staring at his red eyes. He had blonde hair, scars across his face. She grabs onto his arm that held her neck, trying to force him to let her go. The next word passed her lips with a growl, her red eyes staring angrily at the man in front of her with his hand around her throat.
“Alexei...”
---------
TAGLIST: @vicmc624 @the-ayo-lit @daddysfavoritesexkitten @springsoulofengland @tcc-gizmachine @taina-eny @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @vivien-1211
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barns x reader#captain america x reader#steve rogers x reader#marvel#marvel imagine#marvelfanfiction#marvel fanfiction#avengers x reader#bucky banres imagine#bucky x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x y/n#marvelfanfic
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together || a. barber
Summary: You and Andy spend your Valentine’s Day together, basking in the glow of each other.
Warnings: none, just fluff :)
Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader
Word Count: 1.7k
Note: I wrote this for @drabblewithfrannybarnes @chrissquares and @amythedvdhoarder 's Hoelentine’s fic swap! This is a gift for the extremely deserving @trashywritestrash !
The blinding sunlight peeked through the translucent white curtains and brought life into the room. The warm glow on your skin roused you, and your eyes fluttered open to look at the man beside you who was radiating such an ethereal energy that he was almost glowing. The golden light shone on his bare chest and highlighted the few grays in his beard and hair. The rhythmic rising of his chest up and down as he breathed was rather calming, and the faintest creases showed at the corners of his eyes, evidence of many years of laughter.
While you were busy memorizing his every feature, the hand that wrapped around you subconsciously pulled you closer, burying your face in his neck. He still smelled of his cologne even after he showered last night. You smiled softly against his neck when you realized that even in his sleep, his subconscious knew that he wanted you close.
Hours passed and the sun rose in the sky, brightening the room further. It was a Sunday, and Andy had the weekend off. He knew he wanted to spend the day with his girl on Valentine’s Day. When the birds stopped chirping and the streets became busy with a Sunday morning buzz, Andy stirred. Lifting your head from his neck, his eyelids fluttered open to reveal his gorgeous blue eyes.
Resting a hand on the side of his cheek and softly scratching his beard, you took a moment to admire him further as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and blinked to adjust to the light.
“Morning, honey,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep. “How did you sleep?”
His hands moved to rest on your hips. “You know I always sleep perfectly next to you,” you hummed. He huffed out a small laugh, before pulling you back into his chest.
“Y’know what day it is?” He teased.
“Of course I do, it’s National Organ Donor Day,” you smirked, lifting your head off his chest.
He chuckled, “Very funny, Y/N.” He pushed you off his chest playfully.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! It’s Valentine’s Day,” you laughed.
“Oh really?” He said, words dripping in sarcasm. Leaning down, he brought his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, only parting when air became insufficient.
You groaned, though the dazed smile on your face contradicted you. “We should probably get out of bed. It’s almost ten thirty,” you gestured towards the alarm clock on the bedside table.
“Right. Wouldn’t wanna waste such a special day. We’ve gotta give thanks to the organ donors of America.”
The day continued as normal. Andy believed that spoiling his girl and showing her an abundance of affection shouldn’t be a one day a year thing. You and Andy ran a few errands and did a few things around the house, and in the late afternoon you slumped onto your couch after helping Andy carry the grocery bags through the door.
Finding your exhaustion quite amusing, Andy chuckled. “If you’re tired, you can go have a nap, honey.”
You let out a noise in between a whine and a groan. “No, it’s Valentine’s Day and I want to spend it together. Besides, we’ve got that reservation-”
“Forget the reservation,” Andy professed. Feeling the couch dip with his weight, you felt his large hand rub soothingly up and down your back. “I’m happy wherever you are. And it’ll be way better if you aren’t exhausted. Go sleep, I’ll make dinner.”
“Ngh, are you sure?” You asked him softly, to which he nodded his head solemnly.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead before you got up and threw yourself into your bed, falling asleep almost immediately.
In the kitchen, Andy was busy trying to boil pasta, cook chicken, cut vegetables and make sauce all at once, all while trying to be quiet as to not wake you from your peaceful slumber. Of course he succeeded, because it was Andy.
An hour and a half later, Andy scribbled on a bright green sticky note and placed it right on the screen of your phone so that you couldn’t miss it when you checked the time. Taking a moment to admire your sleeping state before creeping back out of the room, Andy couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. What if you said no? What would he do without you? It was so unhealthy to live for another person other than yourself, it was unhealthy to be so obsessed with someone else’s love that you wanted to be in their immediate vicinity at all times, and it was unhealthy to give your entire self solely to someone else. Andy knew it was unhealthy, and before you he reminded himself of that every day. But then you came along, with your glowing smile and radiance, and Andy couldn’t help but follow you like a lost puppy and bend his morals to fit you into his life completely.
It wasn’t like you did it on purpose. It wasn’t like you pranced into Andy’s life, took his whole heart in your hands, and forced him to trust you with it. No, he did that willingly. Who wouldn’t, though? You were anything but malicious with his soul. You guarded his heart like it belonged to the best man in the universe. Which to you, it did.
Andy was the person who you wanted to shield from everything wrong and harmful in the world. Together, the two of you could create a little opaque protective bubble in which you could dwell in together, blocking out the rest of the world and the world not bothering you. Loving Andy was not a decision you made, but it was one you were thankful for nonetheless.
The ringing of your alarm sounded, pulling you from your sleep. Stretching momentarily, you picked up your phone and aggressively tapped it to get it to stop ringing. When it didn’t, you opened up your eyes and after they adjusted to the light, you were met with the presence of a neon sticky note on your screen. You recognized Andy’s cursive:
Put something nice on, and come out when you’re ready.
You had to admit that you were curious, but you rolled out of bed and ruffled through your closet. After some indecisiveness, you settled on an outfit that you knew was Andy;s favorite. You put your hair up neatly and put any makeup you wished to wear on. It wasn’t long until you were ready, and when you were you opened your bedroom door and your ears were met with the soft hum of classical music. Walking down the hallway, you could tell that the house was dimly light, likely by candles.
You finally stood before Andy at the kitchen table, who was pouring a glass of wine for you and placing it next to your plate. It was filled with all sorts of foods, and your mouth watered at the display. Andy gestured for you to sit, so you did so. He had changed since earlier, he now wore his usual slacks and a dress shirt, but no tie this time.
“Andy,” you breathed. “You didn’t have to do all of this!” You gawked as you looked around. Grabbing your hands from across the table, Andy assured you that he did, that he needs to show you how much he loves you.
“Andy, you show me that every day. It’s laced in the little things you do like a drug.”
“And you’re addicted?” He asked smugly.
“And I’m addicted,” you confirmed.
Andy took a deep breath as his mind wandered to the small velvet box in his back pocket. Looking at you, he realized that he wanted to do this now. Grabbing your hand, he led you to the back door.
“Andy, where are we going?” You laughed.
“You’ll see.”
Sliding open the back door, Andy led you out and shut it again. He let go of your hand when you spun around to take in the scene. Strings of lights were strung across the yard, illuminating the area. They created a box around you. You looked up towards the sky. The stars were almost clear tonight, the city’s pollution making them harder to see, but they were still as clear as always.
Looking back down, you saw the man who held your heart in his hands, now holding a velvet box. Your breath caught in your throat and you let out a sob, hands flying up to cover your mouth.
“Andy…” you choked out. He only let out a shaky breath.
“Y/N,” he began before he cleared his throat. “God, I pretty much recite speeches for a living and now I’m blanking on everything I practiced. Alright, I’m going to wing it,” he announced and you laughed with watery eyes.
“Y/N, darling, love of my life, it’s quite a ridiculous notion that someone would follow another person to the ends of the earth, but here we are. I would travel anywhere just to keep you within my reach. I want to be able to call you Mrs. Barber, to wear your wedding band and for you to wear this ring. I want to grow and have a family with you and grow old with you. You’re like my air. I need you. And I know you don’t need me, because you’re the most independent woman I know, but even thinking about you makes my chest hurt. So please, Y/N, before this kills me, will you marry me?”
“Yes, Andy! Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot! I love you, I love you, I love you!” You gushed, hurling yourself into his arms. Burying his face in your neck, his beard felt scratchy against your skin. You could feel the hot tears on his cheeks, as you were sure he could feel yours.
And the two of you stayed like that for a while. Just holding on to each other. You relished in the confirmation of your everlasting bond and the next step you’d be taking together. But really, you two just revelled in the notion of feeling so safe in your lover’s arms, knowing you’d protect each other from the world. Together.
TAGLIST:
@ilovemarvel-andcats
my other taglist members have been deactivated :(
#happyhoelentinesday2021#happyhoelentine’schallenge2021#andy barber#andy barber x reader#defending jacob#chris evans x reader#chris evans x you#chris evans x y/n#andy barber x you#andy barber x y/n#cevans x reader#cevans x you#cevans x y/n
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Stay Stay Stay (Bruce Banner x Reader)
NOTE: Originally posted on my ao3, supposedly_archer, on December 2nd, 2020. Both the summary and A/N are copied & pasted
Summary: Bruce watched as a name was written on his wrist, slowly and painfully. His soul mark had left his skin red, raw, and itchy. He sat there for the longest time, reading the name etched on his skin over and over. Y/N.
A/N: This is kinda messy ngl, but I had a lot of fun writing it!!!
Warnings: Age gap, little bit of angst
Word Count: 1,692
Tags: @9zoria9, @thebookbakery
Gender Neutral Reader
Bruce hadn’t expected to meet his soulmate at a coffee shop.
To be honest he hadn’t expected to meet his soulmate at all.
He was working on one of his P.h.D’s when his soulmate’s name first appeared on his arm. Writing a paper on some subject he can’t even remember now when he felt a sharp, burning pain on the inside of his right wrist. It caused him to drop his pen on the floor and clutch his wrist with his opposite hand tightly.
Bruce watched as a name was written on his wrist, slowly and painfully. His soul mark had left his skin red, raw, and itchy. He sat there for the longest time, reading the name etched on his skin over and over. Y/N.
He knew that soulmates sometimes appeared later in life when their soulmate was born. But it normally happened when people were children, not when they were adults. The latest he had ever seen someone get their soul mark was in middle school.
For years, Bruce chose to ignore his soul mark. Covering up the name with long-sleeved shirts and wristwatches. It wasn’t unheard of for someone to not have a soul mark. And especially after the Hulk showed up in his life, he did his best to ignore it.
Whoever they were, wherever they were in the world, Bruce didn’t want them to get hurt. So, he hid away his soul mark from everyone. To protect them.
Only Tony knew, but of course Tony knows everything. “You do realize that you’re gonna have to face the music one day.” He had said to him one day out of the blue. Bruce had had his nose buried in an old SHIELD file.
Bruce looked up at Tony quizzically. “What do you mean, face the music?” Tony sighs and gestures with the spoon he was using to eat a cup of yogurt.
“Your soulmate. Those things work in mysterious ways, Bruce. You’re gonna meet them one day, and then what? It’s not like you can hide away from them.” Tony takes a final bite of his yogurt, and Bruce sighs.
“I’ll deal with it when I get there.” He mumbles, focusing his eyes back on the file.
Tony sighs. “It might be sooner than you think green bean.” He throws the now empty yogurt cup at Bruce’s head. It hits him gently on the forehead and drops to the floor. Bruce looks up and glares at him. Tony shrugs his shoulders, turning on his heel to exit the lab.
“Asshole,” Bruce grumbles under his breath, but Tony’s words had stuck with him. Fate always had a funny way of bringing soulmates together, no matter the circumstance.
Bruce looks down at his wrist, where his watchband covers the name Y/N. He takes off the watch and places it to the side. He runs his thumb over the black inscription repeatedly.
Over the years he had wondered what his soulmate was doing. Were they in school? Were they learning to drive? Were they thinking about him? Bruce knew exactly how old they were, he had been counting the days and years since his mark was first etched into his skin, even if he wasn’t doing it on purpose.
***
You quickly tie your apron behind your back as you exit the break room and walk into the main part of the cafe. You take your position behind the cash register, where a long line of customers is waiting.
You give the first patron your best customer service smile and apologize to him. You take his order and hand it off to the coworker that’s just appeared at your side. The next two and a half hours is a whirlwind of orders and customers as you try to keep up with the demand.
There’s eventually a lull of patrons and you lean against the counter and sigh. You glance at the watch on your wrist, but then you remember that the strap had broken suddenly last night, and you either needed to get it fixed or replaced.
Instead of gazing at the clockface as you normally do during work, you instead gaze at your soul mark. You had read it about a billion times during your life, even though it was an incredibly simple name. Bruce.
You had always imagined how you meet Bruce, your soulmate. A walk in the park, or a sudden run-in on the subway. But, you didn’t have any time to focus on that right now. You still had to finish school and find a decent paying job that wasn’t dealing with middle-aged mothers with bad haircuts.
You’re snapped out of your thoughts at the bell that signals a new customer. You smile at her as she makes her way to the counter. You take her order and hand it off to Bradley, one of your coworkers. The rest of your shift consists of the same ordeal. Taking orders and trying not to scream out loud.
After what felt like 3 days, you’re just about to untie your apron and take refuge in the break room when you hear the bell. You almost want to run off and pretend like you’re about to be sick, but something in the back of your head tells you to stay.
You smile at the man who’s just walked in. He has curly dark hair that’s graying at the sides and is dressed like he’s about to give a lecture at your college. He makes his way up to the counter and quickly looks up at the menu that hangs above and behind you before beginning his order.
It would’ve just been another order you’d immediately once the customer, but it was 6 coffees and 10 different types of pastries. You raised your eyebrows at him once he’s finished rattling off his order, and he lets out a mix of a sigh and laugh.
Your eyes meet for a moment, and you feel a sudden electrical zap in your wrist. You grab at it and by the way the man reacts you know he just had the same experience. You’re both rubbing at your wrists when you realize that it’s the wrist that has your soul mark written on it.
You lock eyes with the man and after an impromptu staring contest his eyes flick to your nametag where they stay focused. Your heart’s beating wildly in your chest and you look to the man’s, Bruce’s, wrist, but he has a watch on.
Everything that happened afterward was a mess of awkward introductions and trying to focus on whatever the hell he had just ordered. It was a blur of rushing to the break room to rip off your apron and rushing back out to where Bruce was now holding his numerous coffees and pastries.
It was a blur of exchanging numbers and trying your best to make plans to meet up at a better time. It was a blur of awkward goodbyes and Bruce almost dropping his box of pastries when he tripped on a crack in the sidewalk.
The next time Bruce saw you was more planned out, you met in a different cafe on a Friday that you both had off. Bruce had been taken aback by how easy it was to talk to you. It was like he had known you his whole life instead of just one week.
You had found yourself thinking the same thing. You had never been the most outgoing or charismatic person, but with Bruce, the conversation flowed naturally and it felt like you were in your own little window of time with him.
***
It didn’t feel like it had been a full year since you’d met your soulmate when you were laying on your couch in Bruce’s arms, back pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around you snuggly. To be honest, it felt like somewhere between a minute and an eternity.
You look up at him and smile, pressing a light kiss right underneath his chin. Bruce honest to God giggles at your show of affection, and you giggle back as you turn so your chests are pressed together and you can look him in the eye.
“Hi,” you whisper to him.
Bruce whispers back, “hi.” He lays a hand on the small of your back and begins tracing random patterns with his index finger.
“I love you,” you say to him, scanning his face. He smiles and places his other hand on your back.
“I love you too,” Bruce whispers back.
You sit in comfortable silence, basking in each other’s presence. You focus on Bruce’s heartbeat that you can feel beneath you and how your breathing has synchronized with his.
“Will you stay with me?” You ask Bruce quietly, breaking the silence. He quirks his head to the side, confused by your sudden question.
“I can stay the night if you want me to, angel, but I have work in the morn-“
You cut him off, “no. I mean like.” You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from Bruce’s face when you pause. “I mean like, forever.” Your last word is barely above a whisper, but Bruce can hear it loud and clear.
“If this is some marriage proposal, you know I can’t-“ he stops and begins to sit up, pulling away from you.
You sit up as well so you’re no longer touching and shake your head vigorously. “No, no, no. It’s not a marriage proposal, Bruce. Just, just a promise. A promise that you’ll stay with me.” You finally look up at Bruce, who has his brows furrowed tightly together, looking at you intensely.
After a beat of silence where all you can hear is your own heartbeat, he takes your hand in his and places his thumb on his name that’s inscribed on your wrist. “Of course I’ll stay with you, Y/N. I’ll stay as long as you'll let me.” You notice that his voice cracks at the end.
“Does that include forever?” You ask him quietly.
Bruce smiles at you and squeezes your hand tightly. “It includes forever, angel.”
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a spook-tacular day
matthew gray gubler x fem!reader
request: having a lazy day with Matthew, like y’all wake up at noon and lay in bed together. just giggling and talking about anything and everything. Matthew keeps sneaking little kisses. once y’all decide to get out of bed you make breakfast together and it ends in a messy food fight and burnt food so y’all just order some breakfast from a diner and cuddle on the couch all day!!
FLUFF!!!
in which halloween in quarantine isn’t all bad, being stuck with the world’s goofiest boyfriend
warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, a small injury
The feeling of warmth that surrounded you when you woke up was just phenomenal. You usually did wake up pretty warm, but with your boyfriend pressed against your back, and his arms wrapped around you tightly, you were cozier than usual.
You were semi-dressed from the night before, so, carefully unraveling yourself from Matthew’s arms, you made your way out of the bed and to the bathroom to relieve yourself, before putting on some comfy pyjama bottoms. It was when you tried to sneak back into bed, did his eyes slowly begin to open.
“Morning, mop head,” you giggled as you referred to the fluffy mess of hair on his head. He just grumbled incoherently, his arms reaching out to you like a child wanting to be lifted. When you were close enough, he pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you, before rolling over to he could lay on you, with his head buried in your neck and pressing small butterfly kisses. His clingy-ness and childlike behaviour only made you laugh, “come on now, you have to get up eventually.”
“Don’t wanna,” he pouted, tightening his arms around you, “I just want to stay in bed forever with my goddess of a girlfriend. Why is that so difficult?”
You laughed, wiggling in his hold to mess with him, “because said girlfriend wants food.”
“Don’t you have a stash of emergency oreos in your nightstand? Just eat them,” he whined, nuzzling his face further into your neck. You only laughed more as his scruffy stubble rubbed against your skin, and you could feel his lips against your neck curve into a grin.
“Can’t have oreos for breakfast, Gube, that is a new quarantine low that I refuse to hit,” you smiled, moving to run your hand through his hair and play with it. He whined again, “but I wanna stay in bed. Cuddling, playing with my hair, tickling, teasing...”
“Matthew!” You squealed as his hands moved to tickle your sides, and he grinned mischievously, now straddling you as he tickled you mercilessly and laughed as you squealed and squirmed and begged, “stop, pl-please! Ah, oh my god! You are so on the sofa tonight!”
That quickly grabbed his attention his hands stilling as he stole a kiss, before he raised his brows, “is that so?”
You gulped as you smiled cutely up at him, feeling his hands lightly press against your sides, the threat of him tickling you again still looming, “uh. No, not really. I love you too much to kick you out of bed.”
He narrowed his eyes at you playfully, but his smile began to grow as he hummed, leaning down to steal another kiss, “right answer, pretty girl.”
You leaned up and pecked his lips, before quickly shoving Matthew off of you and sprinting to the door while giggling. You heard him grunt, before laughing, “oh that's it. It’s on! It is on like Donkey Kong!”
You had to hold back your laughter as you ran around the house to evade him, before settling on a good hiding place. You could hear his footsteps running around, but since you had the head start, you had lost him already. Making your way to his office, you gently shut the door behind you before ducking to hide under his desk. You held your breath in anticipation when you heard his footsteps get closer.
“Since when did tag become hide and seek?” He called out, grinning like a fool in love. Matthew opened the door to his office, and he had to bite back a laugh when he saw toes peeking out from under his desk.
“Baby? Where are you hiding? You should know I'm gonna find you. I’m the master at hide and seek,” he said, before moving into the office and closing the door, “I know you’re in here.”
You could feel your adrenaline racing as you bit your lip, trying to breath as quietly as you could. You wondered what your boyfriend you do when he found you, and your mind began to wander...
“Boo!” Matthew’s face popped up from above the desk, making you scream and jump, which resulted in you bashing your head against the desk.
“Oh shit!” He quickly climbed off of the desk and sank onto his knees to pull you out from under the desk, concern lacing his features. You clutched where you hit your head, but he pulled your hands away and parted your hair as he frowned, “show me where you hit. How badly does it hurt?”
You winced slightly as he tenderly touched your head, before snorting a laugh. He mistook this for tears, and almost started crying himself, “shit, Y/N I'm so sorry, I didn't think you’d hurt yourself.”
You covered your mouth as you began to laugh, and he pulled away from you quickly to confirm that you were indeed, laughing your ass off. “I can’t believe I bonked my head against the desk like that,” you laughed, and Matthew huffed and shook his head, before his own smile began to grow, “you are a klutz alright.”
You gasped and whacked his arm, “hey, you're the one who scared me.”
He pouted and rubbed his arm, “well you’re the one who shoved me and ran away.”
“Well you're the one who started tickling me.”
“..... Okay you got me there.”
You giggled as he grinned, before he wrapped his arms around you to lift you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he carried you downstairs. He had changed, from wearing just his boxers, to an old worn Charlie Brown T-shirt and maroon shorts.
“Hey look, we’re matching,” you smiled, pointing at your Snoopy t-shirt. Well. It was Matthew’s t-shirt, technically. He grinned, kissing your nose as he walked into the kitchen, “awesome. And we did it unintentionally, too.”
You hummed and nodded, with a stupid smile on your face, as he sat you down on the kitchen counter. He tried to move to the fridge, but you had your ankles locked together so he couldn’t get far. He chuckled as you pulled him back closer to you, wrapping his arms around you, “I thought you were hungry?”
“I want a hug. Hug first, then food,” you mumbled as you shut your eyes and rested your head against his shoulder. You couldn't help yourself, he was just so huggable. He was your home, and you took so much comfort in his touch.
“How does French toast sound?” He whispered as he rubbed your back, making you sigh happily, “how does French kissing sound?”
He snorted a laugh, looking down at you with a goofy grin, “sounds like you wanna eat me for breakfast.”
“Oh, absolutely Mr. Gubler,” you retorted, making him laugh as he finally moved over to the fridge, taking out the different things to make breakfast. You watched him move the the cupboards next, and you hopped off of the counter to start making coffee. You felt something pat your head, so you frowned and turned around, thinking Matthew was patting your head. When you looked to him, he was stood behind you, with a mischievous grin and a bag of flour in his hand.
“I didn’t think we needed flour for French toast?” You asked, and he giggled, “probably not.”
And then it dawned on you. You touched your head, gasping when you saw your hand was white, “Matthew! You little gremlin.”
“If anything, you're the little gremlin. I’m a big gremlin,” he grinned, making you scoff, “oh yeah? Could little gremlins do this?”
You grabbed an egg, and granted, you had to jump a little, but you cracked it over his head. His jaw dropped, and there was a moment of silence as you both just stared at each other. Then you both moved. He started throwing the flour at you, while you broke as many eggs over him as you could. After squeals and giggles, from the both of you, he had tackled you to the ground, where you both lay in a floury eggy mess, laughing your asses off.
“I can't wait to do this with kids someday,” he hummed, smiling happily at the thought. You scoffed, “yeah right. There’s no way we can have a food fight with our future babies, cause then they’ll think it’s okay to throw food, and we’ll be living in a food-coated nightmare.”
“This is why you’ll be the responsible parent, and I will not,” he kissed your forehead, before grimacing as you laughed at seeing his lips coated with flour. He wiped his mouth, before standing up and pulling you up to stand, “why don’t you go shower? I’ll tidy this up and order us some food.”
“Hmm, I would stay and help, but since you’re the little shit who started this whole food fight, I’ll leave you at it,” you pecked his lips, before moving around the mess and upstairs to the shower. He joined you after ten minutes, and soon enough, you were both cuddled up on the sofa, eating French toast at 2pm, and watching halloween movies in the ugliest matching Halloween sweaters Matthew could find.
“I love you so much, you colossal dork,” you mumbled, smiling as you watched your boyfriend massage your feet. He sighed over dramatically, “the things I do for you, and what do I get in return? Insulted!”
You laughed, “dork is an endearing term. You’re my dork.”
He grinned widely, crawling up to kiss you lightly, “and you’re mine.”
#mgg#mgg fluff#mgg fanfiction#MGG angst#Matthew Gray Gubler#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fluff#fluff#angst#Matthew gray Gubler fluff#fanfic#fanfiction
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fantasy world loki x asgardian! reader (pt 2.)
summary: with an attack on Asgard and each fighting for their people, the two become separated, constantly thinking of their other half
word count: 4.2k
warnings: angst, gore
part 1
Loki’s night with Zolanari fortunately didn’t last long. In fact, their time was cut so short that they didn’t even make it to the bedroom. It wasn’t long till a guard abruptly approached him in the empty halls, the mans footsteps echoing with urgency.
“Prince Loki,” the guard bowed out of breath, “The Allfather requests your immediate presence,”
Loki looked behind him, only a few feet from his door, “Can’t it wait?”
The guard swallowed and shook his head, beads of sweat forming on his hairline, “There’s been an attack,”
Loki’s face hardened as he let go of Zolanari. Now, if he listened, he could hear the distant sounds of feet running, a scream here and there.
He could only think of one person in that moment.
“Very well,” Loki nodded, “Go to your station,”
As the guard began to sprint down the halls, Loki followed, casting his armor upon him.
“Loki!”
He turned to Zolanari as he continued to walk backwards.
There’s no time to lose he thought. Her. I must get to her.
“Where will I go!”
Her golden dress was bunched together in her hands, reflecting the colors of the golden walls. He thought of the future bodies that will lay on these grounds in the morning, the families that will be separated and the lives he will have to take tonight.
The jewels that hung from her body, the innocence in her eyes. Nothing but a life of happy memories that shaped her, made her the woman she is today.
He could never love her he realized.
“Hide in my room, go fight with the others, I don’t care,”
“So you are leaving me?” she cried.
Loki shook his head and turned around once more, “I cant be there for you Z. We’re warriors, not children,”
He was sure that she spoke something after him, a blurb of obscenities that would diminish his ego, a jab on how Thor is the better brother. All words from her mouth had turned into white noise. He couldn’t care to look back, see which fate she had decided. He could only think of her.
Did she run for the gardens he wondered, the one place they would seek shelter when they were younger. Maybe Frigga had seen her, taken her in with the royals because even his own mother knows how deeply he cares. He didn’t dare think of the latter option that was running through his head.
This hadn’t been the first time Asgard had been attacked. One of the many attempts of other nations trying to control the nine realms.
Each time, the two friends have found solace in each other, always side by side if the attack ever reached their area. It’s different now, he ponders.
With age and responsibilities, he’s expected to fight rather then hide. Protect instead of cower. He still remembers when they were little and he would become frightened at the dangers of power shifting.
She would reach into her pocket, the silent rustle creating the only sound in the dimly lit room. In her hand was a golden pendant, a necklace she would hold out to him.
“My mom once told me this gives you eternal safety. The power from the warriors before who wore this around their necks and fought in decade long battles,”
Loki reached out towards her and wrapped the pendant around his hand, softly stroking the engraved designs, “Do you really believe in that?” he whispered.
She kept her eyes trained on the necklace, noticing the gentleness in his touch. She shrugged, “I believed in my mom,”
A foolish night he thought. A waste of time in his remaining days on Asgard.
If he would of just stayed back in the comfort of his own room, the fireplace lit, the distant sounds of the ball from below, none of this would be happening. She would’ve already been with him, their bodies resting in-front of one another’s as they practiced magic together, warmly lit by the fire. Her assured safety would’ve been sealed, a promise that would ease his worries.
As he appeared closer to the throne room, voices grew louder as Asgardian’s were ushered by guards down the halls, couples clutched to one another, children’s cries being silenced by their mothers arms.
His eyes scanned the crowd frantically, a wildness behind them. He couldn’t miss her, he began to think. He’d notice her from a mile away, in a crowd of thousands. She just had that special spark to her.
Even tonight during the ball, in a room that is suffocating to all senses, he had seen her. Dressed in the same uniform he’d witness her bear everyday, the same hair she tucked away under gray fabrics, he noticed her the minute she walked through those grand doors.
He had seen her every single day. Same clothes, same attitude, same smile. And not once did he grow tired of her. It was the one thing in his life he was sure of he realized.
He bet that no one even noticed the small gold earrings that hung around her frame at the ball tonight. A small action of defiance, a small gesture of luxury, and a whole lot of her.
As his eyes frantically searched the crowd, a familiar face appeared in his vision, bringing him back to reality.
“Nan!”
The old woman stopped abruptly and turned towards the source. Loki had been a big part of her life just as much as Y/N, considering the two were never seen without the other. He remembered for his birthday once, when Asgard was at war and too busy to celebrate, Nan requested Loki’s favorite food from the kitchen staff, bringing the two for a picnic at the cliff side.
“Loki!” her face was tense, her frail gray hairs falling wildly out of her bun. A young girl was clutched to her side as tears streamed down her face.
He rushed towards the pair and held onto the woman before him. Even despite Nan’s constant appearance around the palace, always bent over, scrubbing another corner, the woman was quite old and always needing assistance according to Y/N, “Are you alright? Where’s Y/N?”
She sighed heavily, looking behind her and holding the little girl closer, “I saw her for a brief moment. She was with all the other maids I - I don’t know where...” she shook her head, furious tears running down her face. Looking down to the girl below her she caught her breath, “She lost her parents, I -”
“It’s okay,” Loki interrupted in a soft tone, quickly guiding Nan and the girl towards the throne room, “Come with me you’ll be okay,”
The closer they got, the more the screams grew. The more bodies he imagined to be buried tomorrow. The little girls whimpers grew louder as Nan’s footsteps began too slow.
“Loki?” Nan softly cried. He looked towards her, sorrow and regret settled upon her face. In her hands, she nervously played with small gold earrings.
Her earrings.
“I don’t know where she went,”
Loki clenched his jaw and turned away, the grip on his staff tightening.
“I’ll find her.”
****
Her heart continued to pound ever since the blast.
One second she was serving Frigga her drink, the next she was wrapped around her frame, ducked under a table.
Blood continued to drip from her hairline, a sure few rocks digging in her skin.
“What were they?” Aldis huffed, one of her dear friends. She thought of how they used to play tag in these same halls together. Now they were running for their lives, five more killers now on their tail.
Y/N grabbed onto the shirt of another maid, quickly turning her around, “This way,” she nodded.
She guessed there was about eight of them now, running in a tight knit group. Two girls she recognized from the kitchen, the man next to her Odin’s tailor. The guards had told them there wasn’t enough room in the hideouts for staff. And Odin dragged Frigga away before she could take Y/N’s hand.
They were on their own.
“I don’t know,” Y/N panted. “I didn’t get a good lo-”
Out of nowhere, an arrow wizzed past her, landing into the golden beam in front of them. They all screeched to a halt, only a few daring to look back.
Rounding the corner were five hideous beasts, all heavily armed with weapons that swung with each stomp. Dark blood painted the surfaces of the artillery, deep scars littering the skins of the animals in front of them. They showed no sign of stopping.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
It’s alright, Y/N thought, building up her courage. Loki trained me for this. All those early mornings, sneaking away from the palace. He always wanted her to be his equal.
Well this was her chance.
“Okay go, go, go!” she exclaimed, gathering the group in-front of her and pushing them forward.
Reaching into her pocket, she quickly pulled out her key, the ‘L’ engraved on it still showing,“In here,” she whispered.
As they all scrambled inside, she tried to push down the fear rising to her throat, booming footsteps growing closer and closer. But it was the ear defining screech of metal against wall that made her want to cry in her mom’s arms.
When the last of them had gotten inside and Y/N still hadn't seeked safety, Aldis stood up slowly, “Y/N...”
There were tears on her face as she looked to the side, her hands clutched to the door.
“Now’s not the time to be a hero Y/N,” Aldis cried.
She laughed sadly, smiling at her dear friend.
Blue, Y/N thought.
She had blue eyes.
“Someone has to lock the door Aldis,”
Someone has to lead them away.
“Locking the door won't matte-”
She closed the door before she could hear her one last time. She’d never been very good at goodbyes.
Aldis was right, locking the door wouldn’t matter. The beast that rounded the corner held a five foot hammer while the one that came after had blood smeared on its chest. Still didn’t stop her from chucking the key over the terrace below them, letting it fall into the unknown.
She breathed deeply, sticking her chest out, not daring to let her voice waver, “You want Asgardian blood?” she shouted, bringing the beasts to a stop, “Come get it!”
One of the beasts slowly stepped forward, snarling its hideous teeth as it grumbled out in an unknown language. Y/N studied them all carefully as another smiled.
“He says,” it growled, voice deep and distorted, “Where are your friends?”
The rest smiled in unison, blood dripping from their mouths as they did so, littering the floors she had just scrubbed this morning.
She swallowed deeply, digging her nails into the palm of her hand. Could that be Nan’s blood she wondered. Loki’s even? Had they found safety in the rooms she could not enter, or are they just as lost as she.
A small part of her screamed that they were still alive, that she must continue to fight for the one’s she loves. Her whole life, all she has known, was to protect Loki. Many times she’d questioned if her love for him would be any different if he wasn’t all she’s known.
In this moment now, with her life on the line, she decides it wouldn’t be.
What’s protecting him one more time?
“You want them?” she growled, “You’ll have to catch me,”
****
It had been three hours since the attack, his father describing the creatures as ancient beasts. For what they lacked in brains, they made up for in calvary. Thousands of them swarmed around Asgard, all broken into clusters attacking the main east and west wing.
He had lost his helmet hours ago, the horns probably shattered by the shear size of the weapons they were dealing with. Blood stained his knives as his energy depleted, his magic becoming less and less prevalent.
Each room they entered, each hall they fought in, he would whisper her name, unlock every door. Some doors led to a few helpless Asgardian’s, other were a beast in hiding.
None of them were her.
Grunting, he pulled a dagger out of the monsters chest, wiping the blood on his leather. Checking his surroundings, he saw one of the soldiers opening a door at the end of the hallway. With a steady face he shook his head towards Loki.
The pit in his stomach only grew.
Looking around at the soldiers in-front of him, he thought about how many of them had lovers waiting. If they too, were thinking the same self destructing thoughts he was. Here Loki was, putting his own problems ahead of their own, a narcissistic plea for the safety of another.
He was sure they weren’t as special as his own. None of them had that same spark.
His thoughts were cut short when the sound of bells rang. Once, twice, three times. If one was lucky, they would look to the skies and see the darkened purple vessel gearing away, far from the carnage they left behind.
He heard the sounds of metal clanging to the floor, the sighs of relief from the warriors left. Some were heavily injured, one woman with a deep gash in her side, being tended to by another soldier. At this point he would return to the throne room, discuss with his father the next course of action and if Asgard would engage in war or meet halfway.
In this moment though, he couldn’t seem to care less about what happened, of what his father had to say, of how many Asgardian’s were slaughtered. Across the courtyard he saw a family slowly crawling out a door, a child sound asleep in its mothers arms. The sun had just started to rise as the man held his wife in his embrace, her body shaking with cries. Through her tears she looked ahead towards Loki, darkness behind her eyes, flashes of the night before more visible then the stars above.
He promised to hold Y/N once he found her. Even longer than the man infront of him. He promised he would take all her fears away.
With a quick nod of assurance towards the woman, he turned on his heel and headed down the halls, retracing his steps towards her.
He walked past multiple beasts, all strewn across the golden floors, pools of blood painting them red. It dawned on him who would be scrubbing these floors the next few days, a constant reminder of the fear they all must of ran from.
He needed to remember to fake a sickness that week .
As he ran down the grand stairs below him, he caught sight of blonde hair.
“Aldis!”
The woman snapped her head towards Loki, the group around her stopping. His steps became even faster as he reached the bottom, desperately grabbing onto the woman’s shoulders. The sight of him made her cry again, already stained tears littering her cheeks.
“Where’s Y/N? Did you see her? Is she okay?”
Aldis shook her head, shaky breaths as she held onto his arms for dear life, “She -“ the woman’s voice betrayed her, breaths too shallow as she squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head furiously as if to rid her plagued mind of the bloodshed, “She closed the door I… I couldn’t stop her,”
He pulled himself out of her hold, stepping back. What does she mean? Where are the simple answers he was hoping for?
She made it into safety with the royals, she took us to the gardens in your secret hideout, she is completely and utterly safe.
Where were those answers, that blanket of reassurance?
“Where is she?” he asked again, his voice lower and dangerously quiet. Never before has his heart beat so fast, not in battles not even around her presence. He was sure if adrenaline wasn’t coursing through his veins he’d be panicking, out of breath and gasping for air.
Aldis pointed to the right, “We came from there,” she spoke, leading Loki immediately to stalking towards that path. It felt like he was walking to his death, years of bad karma finally cycling back to the beginning.
It was a long corridor, filled with countless rooms and places to hide. He remembered telling her to run here if she was ever in trouble, the secret bookshelf hideout being behind one of these doors. Infront of him was a long arrow, wedged into the gold of the pillars ahead of him. Maybe there wasn’t enough time he thought.
“Y/N!” he called out, turning the corner into another hallway.
He thought back to all the times before this moment, when life had seemed just as hopeless and he was overwhelmed by all the thoughts in his head. This was worse, he knew that now. Still, she would go to him with hope in her eyes.
When Thor was gifted Mjolnir, when Odin would scold him for every mistake made, when Frigga’s magic wouldn’t click, she would approach him with care. A small hand to his face, the happiest of endings behind her eyes.
“You can only go up from here,” she would whisper.
Eyes closed, revealing in her presence, the tenderness between her actions. He swore he could never love anyone more. She felt like home, something otherworldly to Asgard, unknown to the family of his own.
“So much faith,” he would mutter into her embrace, her skin soft, her hold desperate, “Why?”
He knew he was all she had. Despite Nan, despite the few friends she had made, all her life she was met with misfortune. A deceased mother, a missing father. Her best friend was the God of Mischief, a title that was apart of the gray areas that distinguished good from bad. And yet, all the good in her was settled in his heart, a promise, a reassurance that he too, was home.
“Glorious purpose,” she’d say, smiling bright, “You get to choose what that will be,”
Turning another corner, he began to call out to her once more, his words suddenly caught in his throat at the sight before him.
The relief came as soon as the dread.
Finally, he had found her. After countless hours of searching, countless stabs to another's chest, undying wishes to return, he had found her, intact, but still not the same.
He knew, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to shake the image ahead of him. Five beasts, all three times her size laid strewn about the hallway, blood pouring from the corners of their mouth, weapons scattered feet ahead of them. Laying in the center was her, the center of their universe, of his.
Her hair had fallen out of its hold, blood soaking it down in place. The bottom of her dress was torn to shreds, visible claw marks the culprit of the carnage before him. It took all the strength he had to not vomit at the sight of the arrow lodged in her side.
He dropped his staff in a frenzy, legs stumbling towards her unconscious body as he moved at what felt like an agonizing pace.
“Y/N...” he muttered, dropping to his knees as he carefully brought her body to rest in his lap. Hands shaking, tears threatening to fall, it felt like his heart was beginning to collapse.
A limp body, skin turning pale, he weakly shook her shoulders, hands rubbing at her blood stained cheeks, “Y/N,” he cried, “Y/N wake up. Please my love wa-”
Suddenly, her hands shot up, desperately clinging to his forearm as shallow breaths followed, her nails digging into his leather.
Blood was caught in her throat, making it hard to breathe as she tried to bring Loki closer. It didn’t matter she was dying, it didn’t matter how much pain stung at her body. He was here, she was in his arms. She was home.
“Loki,” she whimpered quietly.
Despite it all, he laughed. Laughed tears of joy, laughed that she was still alive, revealed in the chance that there was still hope. There was always hope when it came to her.
“Come on,” he muttered, trying his best to be gentle, speak softly as to not scare her further, make this night even worse than it already has been. She was always there for him.
Now was his chance.
As he gathered her in his arms, slowly lifting her to not let the arrow sink any further, she cried out in pain, hands squeezing into his arms even harder.
“No,” she sobbed as he placed her down once more. A mix between coughs and cries ensued, blood beginning to spill out the corners of her mouth. He was beginning to see stars, the walls closing in at an alarming rate as he couldn’t help but think this was all his fault. So helpless, needing a sense of relief and comfort that he could not provide. It was heartbreak in its realest form, a gut wrenching hole in his chest.
“It hurts,” she cried weakly, gasping for air, “It hurts Loki, please,”
He sighed shakily, holding onto her tighter. He couldn’t lose her, didn’t dare to think about the person he would become if he couldn’t see her everyday, hear her voice, feel her touch. Reaching towards her hand he continued to ignore the blood stained palms, his other hand holding her face, “Y/N...”
Thumb stroking the sides of her face, fingers combing through her hair, a desperate attempt at comfort, “Love look at me,”
With all her strength she willed her eyes open, relieved to see anything but the beasts she fought. Loki looked wrecked, brows furrowed in concern as blood spilled from the cut rested in his brow. His hair had fallen from the bun she had put it in hours before, framing his face to let the tears that have fallen shine.
He was so beautiful she thought.
“I need to get you help,” he cried, trying his best to put on a brave face, “I need...”
Choking on his words, he couldn’t help but sob, bringing his face into the crook of her neck, clinging onto whatever life she had left in her. So many things, he thought, some many things he needed.
A long warm bath, calm waters to wash away the hours of bloodshed, the comfort of his own room, his silk sheets enveloping him whole. He needed her to smile once more, to laugh so sweetly that his ears buzzed and his heart soared. He needed her to be okay.
“Please Y/N,” he muttered, putting himself together. Remembering, he quickly reached into her dress pocket, searching till he pulled out what he was looking for.
Her gold necklace.
He reached out, placing the necklace on top of her heart as her hand quickly followed, resting on top of his, “Please,”
She sighed heavily, blinking the tears away as she slung her arm around his neck, bunching his green shirt into her’s. Looking at him one last time she recognized the creased lines upon his face, situated at the corners of his mouth for that smile that was only for her. The beauty mark above his brow, the one she would poke at whenever he was mad. And his eyes.
She smiled, “They’re blue,” she whispered.
Unaware to if he heard her or not, she squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the agonizing flow of pain. Quickly, and without warning, Loki lifted her into his arms, her cries muffled by his armor she hid herself in.
She tried to stifle the pain, the shoots of electricity that numbed her body with each step he took. There was no way of her distinguishing how fast he was moving, what time of day it was. How far gone she had become. All of her senses were heightened and dulled at the same time, a murky sea of overwhelming emotions that she couldn’t navigate.
She had seen him one last time. Heard his laugh and felt his hands upon her face. That was enough for her to let go.
One last time, she willed herself to speak, clearly and with more conviction. She needed him to hear her one last time, remember her as strong.
“I used your magic,” she said, eyes still closed, head buried into his neck, “Did you see?”
He bit down on his lip, drawing blood as he stifled a cry. Of course he noticed. It was the first thing he saw when he turned the corner, multiple green daggers scattered across the floor. If he wasn’t so distraught, heart set on saving her, he would’ve been proud, the numerous bodies that had surrounded her a testament to her strength.
She didn’t hear what he said after. Couldn’t if she tried. She hoped that he was proud of her, that Nan was safe and her friends had made it out alive. She held onto that feeling, that surge of hope, wishing that it would carry into the next life.
****
do you guys want a final part 3?? also did I do the taglist right lol
tag list: @strawberryizuku @imagining-harrypotter @uhohmando @lareinedususpense @generationallyfluid @lokistan @chipster-21 @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @jessyballet @just-a-wandering-star
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A fall from grace
Summary: The story of how Simeon’s wings change from a pure white to a corrupted black.
Pairing: Simeon x gn!reader
Word Count: 4636
Warnings: Angst. Briefly mentioned suggestive themes.
A/N: This is my first Obey Me piece. I’ve had this head canon in my head for a while and decided to finally write it down. I hope I did the characters justice.
Thanks to @newfriendjen for beta reading.
Simeon is looking at his reflection in the bathroom connected to his room. The room is slightly bigger than his old room, Diavolo had insisted Simeon accept the new arrangements and who was he to tell the Demon Prince no?
He wonders if Lilith had felt this way when she had fallen for a human. If she felt this empty and hollow feeling, the isolating despair of falling for someone she shouldn’t have. They say that love is this beautiful and warm emotion, people have sold their soul for the chance to feel love’s warmth once in their lives. If so, why on earth did Simeon end up feelings so cold and alone? Why did he instead feel bitterness and rage when he thought of love, when he thought of you?
* *
One year ago
When Simeon was told he would be part of an exchange program in Devildom, he wasn’t sure how he felt. He knew how he should feel, honored that he had been selected, but slightly worried about how things would pan out especially with Lucifer. Before the war, they were extremely close, but then he chose to stand against Lucifer and his brothers.
Luke was sent with him and Simeon was thankful for it because instead of sitting around overthinking everything, he could focus on helping Luke. That was until he saw you and then nothing made sense. He wasn’t sure what the feeling in his chest was, he’d never felt anything like it before, like butterflies fluttering against his ribcage. Or how his heart started thumping into those same ribs when you scrunched up your nose as you smiled at him.
* *
10 months ago
Everything was going exceptionally well for the exchange program and Simeon was thankful for that. Luke wasn’t in love with being around the demons and acted somewhat like a puppy dog, but other than that, Simeon had no complaints. Other than when you came around and his calm demeanor seemed to vanish. He was a confident angel, not arrogant or prideful, but confident yet something about you, just some random human, had his stomach in knots and words tripping over each other.
If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it which he was grateful for. You would just patiently wait for him to eventually get the words out, smiling with the purest look in your eyes. Eventually the word jumble stopped and he stopped being so nervous but that butterfly sensation never left.
Though he starts to experience something else he hadn’t before when he sees the brothers gathered around you, Mammon loudly proclaiming you were his human, which left Simeon perturbed. He felt this odd, almost tense feeling when one of them would put their hand on you or their arm around your waist, their touch lingering for longer than the composed angel cared for it to.
* *
9 months ago
“Thank you for inviting me!” You smiled up at him and he felt that fluttering sensation in his chest get stronger.
He’d been in Devildom for a while yet there were still areas that he hadn’t explored. The two of you were walking towards the eastern side, unsure of what exactly was out there. If it wasn’t for the camera in his hands, he wouldn’t have been able to stop them from shaking.
“Thank you for joining me, Y/N.”
“I couldn’t pass up a date with you, Simeon.” You teased, that’s what he called it when he asked you, ‘a little date’ but hearing the word come out of your mouth made it feel heavy on his tongue.
Things were relatively relaxing, the two of you walking down the sidewalk. You pointed at what looked like a park and started posing for pictures. Simeon laughed, snapping each pose with precision after you told him to make sure to get your good side, but he didn’t think you had a bad side.
“Simeon, look!” You grabbed his hand, pulling him behind you and that’s when he swore everyone around could hear his heart trying to burst through his chest. His mouth went dry and even if he had tried, no words would’ve left his mouth. Your hand felt warm in his, like it just fit in place, easily molding to the shape of his own hand.
What he wasn’t expecting was the empty feeling that came when you dropped his hand, having arrived at the small stand you had pointed out. The way his hand suddenly felt like it was missing something, no he hadn’t planned on that. Or how you looked back at him with a twinkle in your eye when you held up a chain with a small stone on it next to his face, beaming that it matched his eyes so you had to buy it. No, he hadn’t expected that.
Now I’ll always remember our little day together! You had proudly told him as you headed back towards your respective houses. He didn’t like the way he felt when you opened the door of the House of Lamentation waving goodbye or how he could hear Mammon yelling about his human going off without him. No, he didn’t like that at all.
**
Luke jumped up and down, eager to see all the pictures that Simeon told him he would take. Luke didn’t like Devildom or being around demons, but he liked you and if you were in the pictures, he could ignore the background.
“Luke, how do I ask this a question?”
“Huh?”
“You said someone could ask it a question and it would search for the answer.” He pointed at his D.D.D.
“OH!” Luke laughed, Simeon was good at many things and was a great teacher when the moment called for it, but he was completely helpless when it came to technology. He could make phone calls fine, but he used the ‘hunt and peck’ method when it came to typing, Luke couldn’t stand how Simeon would hold the phone in one hand and use his index finger to tap each letter on the screen, drove him crazy.
After Luke had explained it, three times for good measure, Simeon was confident that he could manage this task. He pulled up the internet, trying to search the way he had been feeling, wondering if maybe it was some side effect of being in Devildom as opposed to the Celestial Realm.
A crush? There’s no way. He shook his head in disbelief. Clearly, he had messed up somehow, typed the wrong words or something, right? But he kept reading, continued to read the same thing just a few different ways and came up with the only conclusion though it didn’t seem logical to him: he was falling for you.
He tossed the phone on his bed, walking into the bathroom, flaring out his wings. He felt odd keeping them away through the day, in the Celestial Realm everyone kept theirs out. His eyes stopped, widening as he saw a gray feather sticking out painfully in the sea of pure white. He plucked it, looking at it before thinking maybe it was just some effect of the air in Devildom. He’d have to ask Satan if he knew anything about that later.
* *
7 months ago
The two of you had only gotten closer as the days passed, spending most of his free time in your presence which you didn’t mind at all. It had started when you asked him if he could help you study, Luke had been bragging about how he helped him and Simeon was thrilled. The two of you started by sitting across from one another and eventually you could be found sitting shoulder to shoulder.
Soon it wasn’t just his days that were filled with you, but his nights too. You had asked him over to House of Lamentations to watch a film and it ended up being an almost daily thing, each taking turns on picking the movie. Then it happened, completely by accident, he had fallen asleep sitting up against the wall and when he did wake up at some ungodly hour, you were sleeping peacefully leaning against him. He had tried to move carefully so that you’d remain asleep, unbothered by his movements, but you woke almost immediately, as if the lack of his body against yours sent off some internal alarm.
“Simeon?” Sleep coated your words, eyes barely opened, Simeon always thought you looked lovely, but this was different, this was a sight not everyone saw and he was thankful he had gotten to.
“Yes, dear?”
You grabbed at him, moving somewhat sluggish from your half-sleepy state, “stay.”
It was then that he understood why ‘a crush’ kept coming up when he searched the things he felt. He no longer cared about rules or regulations, what angels should or shouldn’t do, how they should act, because in that moment the only thing he cared about was fulfilling your demand. He climbed back into your bed, wrapping an arm around you and he felt an ache in his chest when you rolled over in his arms, burying your face into his chest.
The next morning had been awkward. Mammon was the one who found the two of you and Simeon quickly learned that Mammon yelled regardless of the time of day. That commotion brought Satan and Asmo to your room both complaining about Mammon’s yelling. Eventually Beel and Levi showed up when they realized no one else was in the dining room. As everyone started to talk over each other, voices getting louder and harder to ignore, Lucifer showed up bringing some semblance of order to the room.
You had gotten mad, completely pissed at the brothers’ behavior and how you had been woken up by someone screaming, how they had embarrassed you in front of your guest. You mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ to Simeon, who had just been sitting there, he knew his mediation skills might work on one or two demons at a time, but not six. When everyone finally left, Mammon made it a point to make it known he was staying right outside your door until you came out, Simeon gave you a small smile.
He was on his way out when Asmo gave him a knowing expression, winking at the angel. Simeon walked by ignoring him because right now all he felt was shame. It seemed he had put you in an awkward position and he hated that, he never wanted to do that. All he had wanted was to fulfill what you had wanted from him the night before. It wasn’t until Lucifer’s gaze landed on him, that he truly felt sick. He didn’t have to say anything to Simeon for him to know what Lucifer was thinking, what his expression was saying: Lilith.
* *
5 months ago
Simeon had found more, slightly darker gray feathers invading his wings each night and the fact Satan couldn’t seem to find anything about it bothered him. Although angels don’t typically stay in Devildom, so he wasn’t too surprised. He wanted to ask Luke, but Luke would fret and report it to Michael and Simeon really didn’t want anyone to worry.
He had a feeling that it might be related to his feelings for you, but he didn’t want it to be true, so he hoped maybe if he could deny it for a little longer, another reason would appear. It didn’t, in fact it only got worse.
You had found him, brows knitted together in the library, face full of concentration. You had plopped down on his lap which frightened him before he processed that it was you. Your smile erased away the worry lines that were stretched across his forehead, your presence acting as a comforting agent, relaxing him almost instantly.
“Can we hang out in Purgatory Hall tonight?”
“Any particular reason?” He smiled at you, the fluttering sensation filled his chest when you lean your head against his shoulder.
“Luke said he was trying out new recipes.” You teased, “and you’ll be there.”
His heart swelled in his chest, a warm feeling coursed through him and it wasn’t like anything he had ever felt before. He had always known that emotions, feelings, were complex, but what he didn’t understand was how one simple human could cause so many emotions in him.
**
“Simeon, you have some…“ you tried to point to where the icing was on his lips, the right corner, but he kept missing it. Luke had made cupcakes and you managed to convince him to have one before bed.
“Did I get it?” The look on his face was completely innocent and you found it adorable, but no he didn’t get it.
You pushed up on your tiptoes, crashing your lips into his before your tongue flicked against his lips, wiping the icing away. He froze under your actions, mostly confused but afraid that if he moved, he’d realize it was just some dream.
When he doesn’t pull away, you press forward a little and then the blood returns to his brain and he realizes what’s happening. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as his lips started to move with yours. You swallowed a moan that escaped his lips when your tongue brushed up against him, deepening the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
Several moments later, when you pulled away, Simeon was breathless, heart racing like stallions in an open field, pounding into his rib cage, threatening to crack them open. He watched you turn away, tucking you head down by your shoulder. He placed a hand on your cheek, pulling your attention back to him and he gave you a smile. Stepping forward, he placed a light kiss on your forehead.
For someone with wings, this was the first time he felt like he was floating. As he made his way up the stairs, he finally accepted the search results, finally understood the answers he had gotten. And it was something that he couldn’t wait to see if you shared those same feelings.
Though the world came crashing down around him when he flared out his wings, shiny obsidian speckled throughout the upper parts of his wings, just under the arch. Simeon was intelligent, he knew what all the signs pointed to, that the blackened feathers were some symbol of his feelings for you, a direct correlation. But feelings aren’t always logical, emotions aren’t always rational and Simeon, with all of his book smarts, knowledge he’s acquired through the years, it all gets completely ignored. Because Simeon was in love and love makes anyone, even an angel, do irrational things.
* *
3 months ago
Simeon knew better but ignoring the issue was better than dealing with it if it meant you didn’t know. He didn’t want you to know, to worry or blame yourself. He could handle it and he hadn’t found any new black feathers recently. Surely that meant something positive, right?
The two of you are sitting on his bed, he’s sitting up against the pillows while you’re between his legs, back on his chest, reading. He loved listening to your voice, he especially enjoyed you reading his own works. Somehow those words felt different, held a new meaning when you said them. You tilted your head back and looked up at Simeon who leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.
You turned further into his chest, repositioning yourself to straddle his lap as his hand trailed down your sides, gripping your hips. You had kissed him before, he had kissed you several times since the first one you shared two months ago, but this kiss is more heated, an almost aggressive kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him open-mouthed as your tongues brushed against each other’s, his fingers dug into your waist. A soft groan filled the empty space around you as you grind your lap against his, your fingers tangled into the back of his hair, tugging slightly.
His lips traveled down your neck, teeth gently nipped at the exposed skin. Each kiss, nip, mark made by either of you was careful and had purpose, symbolically claiming each other for all to know. Your hands slid underneath his shirt, palms spread over his bare chest, he sucked air in quickly through clenched teeth. He toyed with the edges of your shirt before you nod, he pulled it over your head, taking you in.
Piece by piece, clothing was stripped off, tossed onto the floor. Simeon had a hand on your cheek, looking down at you with the sweetest expression anyone ever had. You raised a hand, covering his, a small smile on your face.
��Are you sure, Simeon?”
He leaned down, catching your lips with his, leaving a chaste kiss. “I’ve never been so sure of anything.”
* *
2 months ago
Simeon sat on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, a heavy weight sat in his chest. He hadn’t left his room in almost a week, after three of those days he finally crawled out of bed and made it to the floor. A very worried Luke paced outside of the room and Solomon even offered his assistance, asking if there was any kind of potion he could make for the distraught angel. But no one received an answer, the door remained shut until Beel asked Luke what was bothering while the two made desserts and the younger angel, who wore his heart on his sleeve, blurted out his worries and then Beel turned to his eldest brother.
Lucifer had already felt something like this could happen, that it would happen. There was something about you that drew in everyone, like a moth to a flame. There was a danger that seemed to affect those who hovered too closely to you, those who weren’t paying attention to how close they, the moth, were getting to you, the flame, and much like a flame, you didn’t fully understand the damage you could do.
Lucifer knocked out of proper protocol even though he knew he’d just end up walking in since Simeon wasn’t going to answer. While he wasn’t sure what he was going to find when he opened the door, what he did see, what he stumbled into was far from anything he could’ve expected.
Feathers. There were feathers everywhere, scattered throughout the room, similar to how Hollywood portrays the aftermath of a pillow fight. Various shades of gray and black feathers covered the bed, chairs, desk, a few light and airy down feathers floated through the air as Lucifer walked further into the room.
A broken Simeon looked up, but his eyes never met Lucifer’s, how could they? Simeon was filled with shame, regret, maybe even a little remorse. There was a time when Simeon felt that he had done the right thing, standing against Lucifer, but now he questions himself. Without Lucifer, Simeon doubted Diavolo could’ve pulled off the exchange program, that part of Michael’s approval had been due to Lucifer’s involvement. That if things had been different, if Lucifer was still in his original home, the Celestial Realm, then Simeon wouldn’t feel this way. He knew it was wrong to think that, to put his own feelings in front of another’s, but selfishness was a new emotion to the angel and he was starting to see the appeal.
When he extended his wings out, he didn’t have to see Lucifer’s face to know the prideful demon was in shock, his eyes were probably just ever so slightly widened, mouth in a straight line only to prevent it from dropping open. His wings resembled what could be described as molting, bare patches through the wings where the ends where uneven, very few feathers left were white, they were mostly black now. There were raw patches where Simeon had over-plucked the black feathers in an emotional rage, thinking if they were removed, maybe white ones would return, but they didn’t. Every feather, whether plucked or shed, was the color of coal, the opposite of the once snowy colored ones.
Lucifer immediately jumped into his fix-it mode, going down the list in his head on possible ways to fix this, but Simeon just shook him head, this couldn’t be fixed by paying off some witch like with Mammon’s debt or locking someone in the attic like with Belphie’s defiant attitude. It’s not until Lucifer suggested getting you when his voice is no longer the only one filling the space around the two of them, he looked at Simeon a bit confused as he learned why the angel no longer wished to see you.
**
Two weeks had passed since you and Simeon found yourself tangled in each other’s arms, spending the late hours of the night learning the contours of each other’s bodies, expressing the deep feelings felt for the other. Or at least that’s what Simeon had thought.
It was just a Tuesday when Simeon’s already fragile world fell apart, crumbling around him while he stood frozen as he tried rounding the corner of the hallway. It had been your voice that peaked his attention, had his heart beating a little faster, your paths hadn’t been crossing much since that night and he just wanted to assure you that his feelings hadn’t changed. But it looked like yours had.
Your back had been pressed flush against the wall, your voice just as breathless as it had been for him just weeks ago. Mammon’s forearm was pressed against the wall by the side of your head, he leaned closer to you, your faces almost touching. Simeon hadn’t known who started the exchange, how you, his little lamb, ended up in such a state, but he did see you press into the greedy demon, your lips touching into his first.
There was a pang in his chest, but he didn’t know what it meant, he felt jealousy before, but this was different, this was painful. He watched a flustered Mammon try to form sentences, ending up sputtering out the question ‘what about Simeon?’
“I think I only liked his innocence.” Your words stung him, tears pooled in his eyes and he tried blinking as hard as he could to try to see your expression. But all you did was shrug, “he doesn’t mean anything.”
Mammon started to loudly boast about how no one could compare to THE Mammon and was only silenced when you once again pulled him into your lips. Simeon wanted to leave, he’d seen more than enough, but it was like he was stuck in a trace, the only thing that pulled him out was the click of the abandoned classroom’s door after you had pulled Mammon in the room, by his tie, the demon kicking the door shut with his heel.
He had gone back to Purgatory Hall, ignoring Luke and Solomon as they tried to ask what was wrong. He shut his bedroom door and proceeded to destroy it. Books were yanked off the shelves, chairs flung across the room and it was then that he knew what the feeling was that rooted itself in his chest, that made the burning sensation as it flowed through his veins, it was wrath.
* *
One month ago
“I can’t believe it’s already time to go back.” Luke said, the words seemed positive, but all those around could tell the young angel was a little sad to be leaving. Despite his initial distaste for the demon brothers, he did manage to establish a decent relationship with the demon of gluttony.
“The time really just flew by.” You said, Mammon’s arm snaked around your waist, Simeon didn’t know if it was a protective gesture or territorial one, not that he really cared much anymore.
After Simeon had stumbled upon you and Mammon entangled with one another, the two of you didn’t really see each other. You never directly told him things were over, that your feelings for him had gone, he figured it out when you ignored his calls, stopped meeting him in the library. The final blow was when he walked up to Asmo and Solomon, stopping just as he heard Asmo complaining about you and Mammon and your late-night extracurriculars. Asmo gave him a comforting hug, but Simeon didn’t really return it, excusing himself to Purgatory Hall.
“Are you sure you can’t go back with me, Simeon?” Luke asked, tightly clinging to the other angel’s white cape.
Simeon smiled, but it wasn’t his old smile that was filled with love and understanding, this was just muscle movement on his part. He wasn’t sure how to tell Luke that he wouldn’t be going back, that he didn’t belong there anymore. It was selfish, but he knew Michael would know how to tell him, Luke treated Michael’s word like it was gospel.
He didn’t have a chance to answer before your voice ripped through the room, getting caught in the tension that stood between the two of you.
“Why aren’t you going back?”
Simeon used to be able to read your expressions, to almost feel your emotions, but now he knew you even less than he had when he first met you. He used to be an open book when it came to you, telling you whatever you wanted to know about him, but now he didn’t want you to know anything.
“I need him to tie up some loose ends with the program is all.” Diavolo stepped in, diplomatic as ever. He had heard from Lucifer about Simeon’s situation. The two didn’t know each other too well, he knew the look on Simeon’s face very well, it was eerily similar to the expression Lucifer had on his face when he first met him.
You were the last one to leave, each brother giving you a long goodbye filled with one or two of their favorite memories with you. Mammon acted like he didn’t care that much that you were leaving, but everyone knew better. Simeon had stayed through all of that to be polite, he didn’t offer you any farewell, but when he turned to leave you reached out, grabbing hold of his wrist.
You had asked him to wish you well and maybe you honestly didn’t mean anything bad by it, but it still hurt Simeon. Your words still had Lucifer and Diavolo share a look between them as Simeon just turned and walked away from you without a word. You tried grabbing out for his cape but your fingers just barely brushed the bottom of it and when you went to turn away something caught your attention. A black feather fell from underneath the cape, slowly falling before landing where the angel was once standing.
* *
Present day
Simeon stares into the mirror, a full pair of wings that looked like they were dipped in black ink are behind him. There was once a time in Simeon’s life where he loved having his wings out, where he hated the idea of having them hidden, wanting to show off the pure white pair. But now, he never wanted to see his wings again, he hated them.
He brings his hand up, slamming it into the glass, breaking it, cracks splinter across the smooth surface. His reflection now looks fractured and he snorts at how accurate that was, how fitting the image looks for a fallen angel.
Lucifer often tells him that he knows how he feels, for Simeon to not forget that he too was an angel once. But Simeon tells him that he couldn’t possibly understand how he feels; Lucifer fell with honor, he fell because of his love for his sister whereas Simeon fell for nothing.
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Last Voyage
Summary: Emma surprises Killian with an old fashioned voyage with his old crew then Killian has a surprise for Emma
*cough cough*
“You alright?”
“Fine love. Just needed to clear my throat.”
Killian and Emma were walking along the beach in the early morning slowly making their way to the docks.
“We’re almost there.”
“What’s with all the secrecy love?”
Emma smiles up at him there was a shine in her eyes, “You’ll see.”
They made their way down the pier where the Jolly Roger was docked.
“Do you wish to have another one of our private adventures aboard the Jolly Roger? If that’s all you could have just said Swan.”
“Not this time.”
They made their way into the deck where they were greeted by some familiar faces.
“Welcome aboard Captain.”
Before them stood Henry, Hope, Smee and some of his old crew.
Killian smiled while also furrowing his brow. Turning to his wife for answers.
“I thought you might wish to have a day at sea. Re-live your glory days.”
“My glory days started the day I met you Swan.” Picking up her hand and placing a kiss on the back of it. “Will you be joining me, love?”
“No,” she whispered, “not this time. I have somethings to take care of.”
He turned to Henry and Hope. He approached them with open arms.
“Then it’s looks like we’ll be having all the fun. Don’t worry love I’ll have them back before Sundown and we will eagerly enrapture you with our tales of our adventurous day.”
Henry looked down before meeting his eyes, “Actually we promised mom we’d help her with her stuff today. Maybe tonight we can play dice. I might just beat you this time.”
“Oh then perhaps I should give Dave a call. Show him what a pirates life was like.”
Henry shifted clearing his throat before saying, “Uh Grandpa is taking care of the sheriff office while we are helping mom today. Sorry but you stuck with your old crew for today.”
Killian nodded at Henry before turning his attention to his daughter. She had the same shine in her eyes as her mother, biting her lip, looking anywhere but at him.
“What’s wrong lass?”
She inhaled a deep breath before speaking, “Nothing Papa. I’ll just miss you.”
He cupped his daughters face, “Don’t worry, my little cygnet. I’ll be home tonight.”
She nodded embracing him. She burrows her face in his chest breathing him in. “I love you Papa.”
Killian squeezes his daughter not sure what has her so distraught, “I love you to my little cygnet. From your first breath far beyond my last.”
Hope let go heading to the gang plank quickly, without another glance to her father.
Henry approached the man that’s been a mentor, a father figure to him. Wrapping him in his arms, “Good bye Killian.”
Letting go he followed his sister down the gang plank waiting for his mother at the bottom.
Killian turned to see the love of his life standing there. She took slow step towards him her eyes never leaving his. Reaching up held his face, her eyes scanned every inch.
“What’s wrong Emma?”
She’s hooked her head offering him a smile, “Nothing. It just. . . sometimes I can’t believe that blacksmith I tied to a tree that said I need him alive would be so right.”
Killian chuckled, “Aye. Sometimes I can’t believe I forgot about that damned bar wench that kissed the hell out of me.”
She smiled, leaning up catch his lips in a soft kiss. Pulling away she rested her forehead against his, “I love you Killian. Thank you for everything.”
“I love you too Emma. Forever and always.”
Her hands slid down his cheeks to his neck over his shoulders down his arm grasping his hook and hand. Her eyes never leaving his, she started backing away holding onto his hand until she was to far away to hold on any more. Letting her hand fall she turned making her way off the ship. Henry reaches out his hand to help her off the last step intertwining her arm with him.
“When did you become such a gentleman?”
“I’m always a gentleman mom. I learned from the best.”
They made their way up the pier. They say and watched as the ship set sail. Her Captain on the quarter deck waving to his family before turning to wheel where he belonged.
As they stood watching Hope couldn’t hold in her emotions anymore. A sob escaped her lips, as tears started pouring out her eyes. “He should be home. We should be with him.”
Emma embraces her daughter, “That’s never how he wanted to go.”
“But he was fine. He was walking and knew who we were.”
“He also thought Grandpa was alive. He didn’t see us. He probably saw you as the little girl who would ask him to close the window so Peter Pan couldn’t get her. He probably saw me as the ten year old boy he helped rescue from Neverland.”
Emma pulled away looking at her children who have grown into adults that stood before her now.
“Yes but he is so proud of the people you have become. He was so happy to be a father and be apart of this family. He loves you both so much.”
Hope let out another sob as Henry wrapped an arm around her, letting one lone tear slide down his cheek.
“Besides it’s for the best he didn’t see me as I am now. A wrinkly old crown with gray straw for hair,” Emma let out a breathy laugh.
Henry shook his head, “He saw you as you actually are. He always has. The beautiful Savior.”
Emma smiled at her son, “Come on let’s go home.”
Later Emma was going through some things in their room. Remembering all the good times they’ve shared in this house. The wonderful life he shared with her.
She opened his night stand finding the copy of Treasure Island she gave him.
“This is ridiculous. This person obviously had no idea what they were bloody talking about,” Killian muttered.
Emma rolled over, “Babe Go to bed.”
“This book is an atrocity love.”
“Then stop reading it.”
“Why would I do that when they just started the mutiny?”
She laughed to herself. She would always try showing him how this realm reviews pirates with movies and books. Every time he would get riled up but any time she suggested to turn it off or throw the book out he would refuse having to see how it ends.
The next thing she pulled out was a familiar black scarf.
“So now you’re a gentleman?”
“Giants can smell blood. And I’m always a gentleman.” Hook said before putting liquid on her hand.
“Ah! Ow! What is that?”
“Rum and a bloody waste of it.”
He gently wrapped her hand with the soft material tying it off with his mouth. Her fingers lightly brushing against his cheek.
Emma sighed remembering the spark she felt. Wondering not for the first time how much more time they would’ve had if she trusted him. If they came back together. How different their adventures would’ve been.
Something shiny caught her eye and she reached in and pulled out the last item in the drawer.
It was one of his hooks.
Killian kicked open their bedroom door while his lips fused to her. Her legs wrapped around his hips her latched around his neck.
Coming up for air Emma whispers, “Never do that again.”
“I’ll never leave your side even if the gods try to rip us a apart,” he promised before capturing her lips again.
Falling onto the bed they began divesting each other of their clothing. Killian reaches to take off his hook. Emma reaches her hand up, only in her bra and underwear, looking at him through her eyelashes.
“Leave it on.”
Killian groans, “You little minx.”
Emma sighed. As the memory fades away. So many nights, and some days, filled with passion. Both of them always willing to show the other how much they love them. Always up to meet a challenge.
Moving to put the items back in their respective places the book falls from her lap and clatters to the floor. Emma places the scarf and hook back before reaching down picking up the book. When she lifts it a note falls from its pages. Placing the book on the bed she once again reaches down and grabs the fallen piece of paper.
Unfolding it she is greeted with Killian hand writing.
‘Dearest Swan,
I’m sorry. I never wished to leave and now I have no choice in the matter. It seems to be a cruel joke. To be sent back to you by the gods themselves only to have my mind unravel while I’m still with you. I know I don’t have much time left. And I plan to cherish every moment with you I can.
When I do go, all I wish is to be at your side. For the last thing I hold is our family in my arms. The last thing I touch be your face. The last thing I taste be you lips. The last thing I see is the love in your eyes for me. If I am to drawn my last breath I wish it is your kiss that steals it.
And when I am gone. I will keep my promise I made all those years ago. I will move on but I promise you no heaven the gods can provide will compare to the life I have lived with you.
You are the love on my life. The mother of my children. My wife. My savior. My true love.
However long we are apart that will never change. My love will stay with you and I hope give you comfort in your time of need. And when it is your time I can only hope that the gods will once again reunite us.
Until then I ask that every day you live. Hug our children and give them an extra squeeze for me.
With all my love. Yours from the end of the realms and time.
Killian’
Tears fell freely from her eyes. They were never sure if Killian knew what was happening to him. Now she had proof that he did.
A noise pulled her from her thoughts. Still clutching the note to her chest she made her way downstairs. Sharp knocking was coming from her front door.
She opened it to find a pair of blue eye that she engraved into her memory.
“Killian.”
He bent down wrapping her in his arms, burying his face in her neck.
“Sorry ma’am I know you weren’t expecting us so soon but he insisted on turning around and coming home,” Smee explained his signature hat in his hands.
“That’s alright. Thank you for bringing him home.”
Smee nodded, closing the door as he left.
“Why did you send me away love?”
“I thought you’d like to be at sea when the time came.”
Killian finally lifted his head, his gaze burning into her, “Don’t you know Swan all I have ever wanted was to be with you.”
Emma gave him a sad smile, “I do now.”
They made their way up to their bed laying down curling up together one last time. They not sure how long they laid there just enjoying their time together.
Killian reaches up brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “I think it’s time love.”
Emma nodded scooting closer.
“I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“You aren’t,” she said with a shaky breath her lip quivering, “You will always be with me. And I’ll follow you shortly.”
She leaned up capturing his lips once last time. She pulls away resting her forehead against his.
“I love you Emma Swan,” he whispered.
She watched as the deep blue eyes that looked last all her walls that have always saw her closed for the last time.
A tear fell from her eye landing on his cheek sliding down his face.
“I love you Killian Jones.”
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The Scheme
🌛Zelda Spellman x fem! reader
—Word count: 1.9k
— Triggers: Mention of murder and burning in a non-violent context
— Summary: We have part 2 to The Set Up! You and Zelda spend a blissful day together since kissing the night before, and make the most of being together before the mortuary fills with life- and typical Spellman scheming- again!
You were on Cloud-fucking-9.
The previous evening, you and Zelda had kissed. It had been truly extraordinary, even better than the few times you had allowed your mind to indulge in that kind of imagery concerning her. You had never felt that good with anyone before; well, minding that you had neither felt for anyone like that of which you had been trying to cover for the astonishing woman.
She currently lay in the grass next to you, cheek resting tentatively on your belly, as you both just watched each other in comfortable silence. Gosh, kissing Zelda had felt SO good that it had been hard to stop at just one. Like now. Her stunningly bright and beautiful green eyes were boring into yours, but you really couldn’t tell if she was trying to send you a signal or was just unwittingly that gorgeous on the daily. Probably the latter. You also had to remind yourself that, EVEN though you two already lived under the same roof, you would take things one step at a time together. The last 24 hours with Zelda had been like a dream, and the Spellman mortuary had a new air to it now that you knew where you stood.
That morning, you had woken just before dawn (which was much earlier than you preferred), likely still on a high from the feel of Zelda’s lips. Rather than lay there attempting to force yourself back to sleep, you rose from your pillow. Perhaps it was your always-lingering insecurity pulling some strings, but it suddenly seemed desperately important to you- then and there at 4:56am- that you find a way of proving to Zelda that she hadn’t made the wrong choice opening up to you the night before. Just one more bonus of Hilda’s disappearance that weekend being that the kitchen was inevitably free, within a few minutes you had decided to make a spot of breakfast to share. You would never admit it out loud, but you were also buzzing to showcase your culinary ability; of which had been somewhat hindered by the unspoken acknowledgement that Hilda was the kitchen witch of the house.
With that, you were out of bed and clothed in a black turtleneck and mom jeans, as you put the finishing touches on a French braid: all by 5:15. THe next two hours flew by as you whipped up black coffee, almond cake, black sausage, eggs, salmon, bagels, mushroom, and tomato. You were just laying out bloody-fleshed plums and yoghurt when you heard gentle footsteps on the landing above you. Smiling softly, you stopped to admire as the woman padded down the stairs, wrapped in a silky black robe and wiping bits of sleep from her eyes. She stopped dead as she spotted the food on the table, hand still raised to her eye.
“Surprise...?” you peeped.
Zelda’s hand flopped to her side as she tilted her head adorably, treating you to a giddy smile. And you were hopeless to try not to smile right back. That there was enough to have made the last two hours worth it. “
“What’s all this, y/n?”
“I, uh... breakfast?”
Zelda couldn’t help smiling a little more at the cute way you had made it seem like a question. “I see that,” she laughed, “but why?”
You forced an expression of mock pain onto your face.
“I am hurt, Spellman, hurt! Does there have to be a reason?”
All she did was raise her eyebrows in disbelief. You supposed it was probably best to build any chance you had together on honesty.
“Okay, FINE. I just... wanted to show you that last night wasn’t a mistake, in case you were having any doubts.”
Zelda trotted, cat-like, down from her post against the railing, and came to rest just half a metre in front of you.
“Why, there was absolutely nothing of the sort. I hardly slept a wink all night; your lips have something of a memorable feel to them, if I am honest.”
And this time, it was her that closed the space between you, snaking her arms around your waist to pull you closer. One long peck later, the bubblegum-pink shade of your cheeks matched hers in perfect unison, as if in competition.
Breakfast was sweet and long, spent thigh to thigh next to each other, chatting about all the things you had been too afraid to ask each other until that point.
The rest of the day was passed laying next to one another in the winter sunshine, beneath an age-old willow tree. After what felt like just minutes since you had arrived (but had really been hours), you pointed to the sky with the hand that wasn’t clasping Zelda’s.
“Look, the sun!”
You received a lazy “hmmm” in response. Twisting to face her on your left, you couldn’t fight your sigh of content. The High Priestess was laying with her eyes closed in utter bliss, the final rays of Sunday’s sunshine dancing across those glorious lashes.
“It’s setting, Zelda. Everyone will be back soon.” you murmured to her. It was as if you had thrown a bucket of ice over her. Cloud 9 disappeared with the snapping open of her eyes. The soft expression that had occupied her visage all day visibly hardened into her more familiar, stoic one. She leapt to her feet, snatching up the open novel beside her and swinging out her hand to you with force. Time and Space closed in around you the moment you took it, and, the next thing you knew, the two of you were outside the mortuary once more.
You turned to her sharply.
“What was that about?” you demanded. Standing silent for a moment, Zelda’s ears visibly pricked. After a few more moments, she seemed appeased, and swivelled to you. Her shoulders were tense, and you took note of her fingernails digging into her palm.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I just... I am enthused about where you and I are headed, y/n, and I’m terrified that others may not share my enthusiasm. I want to enjoy things as they are at present for a while longer, before having to think about who needs to be involved in our business.”
It was understandable, you supposed, and admittedly: there was a certain appeal to keeping things 007-style, like that fantastic mortal film. You relaxed a bit, and instantly felt awful for raising your voice at her.
You reached for the woman’s shoulder.
“You’re right, Zelds. I understand.”
She looked unconvinced.
“Are you sure? You have every right to want to murder me right now, if you so wished. Although, only if you were to bury me in the Cain pit...” she added as an afterthought.
You had to giggle at that one.
“You’re safe for now, Zelda,” you teased, “now, come on! I need to find a good hiding spot for scaring the BANSHEES out of them when they get back!”
Hilda, Sabrina, and Ambrose literally stomped their feet in sheer disappointment when they arrived back at the house and hadn’t caught the pair of you locked in some form of intimate embrace.
“Aw man! What will I tell my friends?! I had Roz totally excited about y/n finally getting some action... Like, she seriously admitted that she had this big crush on her when she first met her; whiiiiich definitely earned a few looks from Harvey, to say the least. The take-away from it all is that we now know exactly how fragile that guy’s ego is, YIKES, is all I can say.”
All the while, Ambrose was muttering a consistent string of “fuck”s under his breath, and Hilda was deciding whether to scald Sabrina’s ass to Hades and back.
“Sabrina!” her aunt admonished in disbelief, “how could you be so careless?! If any of this gets back to your aunt Zelda, we should consider ourselves excommunicated from her presence for good!”
All of them fought a cringe. Sabrina looked a bit sheepish.
Hilda turned to Ambrose.
“And what about you, mister? What’s with the constant profanities?”
Ambrose took a step back from his aunt, nobody was sure whether consciously or not. “Erm...hm. Yes. Well. I-” his sputtering was resembling a car trying to start up. Ambrose’s eyes suddenly seemed unable to reach past the witches’ knees.
“-um. Damn. Hecate, yes, I have... just lost a particularly large sum of money to one Dorian Gray.”
Hilda’s eyes were ready to pop out of her head. “I was so unequivocally certain that our plan would work! Now where I am supposed to come up with $1000?!”
He was a little manic. The only one of the three who seemed somewhat happy about Ambrose’s situation was Sabrina, sticking a finger at him. “HA! Now that makes what I did so much better!”
Her plum-coloured lips parted with glee, and without warning, her and her travel bag had disappeared. Ambrose made a furious mental note to pour formaldehyde in her evening tea for leaving him here alone. When he had finally built up the courage to look his otherwise cheery aunt in the eyes again, a flash of fear struck him at the murderous look in hers. A low growl exited her throat.
“Well,” she snapped, “I suppose there will be no more silly little attempts on our part to play Cupid.”
As quickly as it had started, her anger dissipated, and was replaced by a certain sadness. Her mouth raised just a fraction, into a tired little smile.
“ ’just thought that Zelds could do with something nice for once. We failed. It didn’t work.”
With that, she picked up her carpet bag and shuffled off up the stairs. Ambrose watched her go, now a lone silhouette in the entrance of their home.
Or so he thought. You waited until Ambrose had moodily trudged down to the embalming room before emerging from your spot in the broom closet. Sniffling a little from all the dust- those things hadn’t been flown for years, SO old fashioned- you felt a mix of emotion at what you had just heard. You hadn’t intended on becoming an audience to some type of scheme, and especially not one of which involved you.
At first, there was embarrassment. You hadn’t realised that your feelings were apparently so obvious! Paired with the fact that Zelda’s must have been too in order to warrant such a matchmaking scheme; along with that you had truly thought that you had done a superb job at keeping it all under wraps, you were left feeling a bit stupid. But then came the funny side of it all, imagining Hilda, Ambrose, and Sabrina sneaking about like the Pink Panther and holding secret meetings about your love life. And finally came the warmth, the realisation of exactly how much the Spellmans had grown to care for you- so much that they trusted you to love Zelda as much as they did.
The whole situation was entirely too much of an opportunity to just leave alone. Grinning with total delight and schemes cooking of your own, you rematerialised in Zelda’s study at the Academy. The loud CRACK that accompanied that particular piece of magic made the woman flinch. Her brow crinkled at the sight of you in front of her great oaken desk. She was a little taken aback, and (it delighted you even more) flustered to see you there.
“Y/n?”
“Zelda. I NEED to tell you what I just heard!”
A game was now afoot.
And your opponents weren’t finished yet either.
#zelda spellman#zelda spellman x reader#caos#Sabrina#lgbt#fanfic#hilda spellman#sabrina spellman#ambrose spellman#chilling adventures of sabrina#miranda otto#caos imagine#wlw#caos fanfiction#your pov
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you’re the one that brings the sun; chapter 5/6
chapter 1, 2, 3, 4
warnings: swearing
word count: 2,757
notes: okay so this update took a while because I’ve been busy with school and writers block has been kicking my ass, but I think it’s worth it :)))
---
It was established in August that at least once a month, Alex will receive a phone call informing him to be at Julie’s house in ten minutes for a mandatory slumber party. It’s endearing sure, but he would like some sort of warning other than Luke calling him and saying that if he doesn’t show up as soon as possible, he’ll paint his drumsticks neon green. So that’s how Alex ends up sitting cross legged on Julie’s bed, putting Reggie’s hair into a bunch of tiny braids and watching The Princess Diaries for what’s probably the hundredth time.
“Lilly is definitely a lesbian,” Flynn says through a mouthful of popcorn.
Alex hums in agreement and Julie nods. “If only this movie weren’t made in 2001,” Julie says mournfully.
“Y’know I always thought that Joe was gay,” Alex admits. “Up until he dances with the queen.”
Reggie attempts to look up at Alex, earning an offended squeak from the latter. “Really?”
“Yes, now will you please stay still, I only have one more left.”
“Ok but there is no way Mia’s mom is straight!” Flynn says.
Julie seems to mull it over for a bit. “She does live in an old fire station. And artists are never straight.”
“Yea, like Willie!” Luke pipes up, sitting up from his position hanging halfway off the bed. “Willie’s not straight.”
“We should start a betting pool on how long it takes for Luke to bring up Willie,” Alex mumbles, his cheeks flushing pink. He ties off Reggie’s final braid and pats his head approvingly. “You look like a real princess.”
“Do I?” Reggie grins up at him with a bit of a twinkle in his eye and Alex chuckles.
“No subject changing,” Luke protests. “How’s Willie doing?”
“Still a pining idiot,” Flynn answers with a cheeky smile.
“I’m trying to watch the movie.” Alex shoves at Luke’s face and slides down off the bed to sit on the floor beside Reggie.
“You’ve seen this movie a million times,” Luke points out. He leans down so his head is hanging off the edge of the bed and smirks mischievously at Alex, who is pointedly refusing to look at him. “Aleeeex,” Luke whines. “Don’t be a buzzkill.”
“Alice, please,” Flynn says. Alex shoots her a look seeping with betrayal and Flynn raises their hands defensively. “I haven’t seen Carrie in a few days!” They protest. “I need drama.”
“Drama?” Alex asks. “Or blackmail material?”
Flynn shrugs, which only serves to cement what Alex was thinking. “Yea, nope. It’s not like anything has even happened since-” He cuts himself off, realizing his mistake and preparing for the onslaught of questions.
“Since!?” Luke cries. “Since what?!” He grabs Alex’s face roughly and looks at him with wide eyes. “Since what, Alex?”
“Nothing!” Alex squeaks, wrenching himself from Luke’s grasp. “Nothing! It was- let go of my fanny pack! Julie stop filming!!!” Alex swats at Luke’s hands and attempts to leap forward to grab Julie’s phone, but ultimately fails.
“I’ll let go if you tell me,” Luke teases in a sing song voice, his grin only growing the more Alex fights.
“Fine! If you just- sorry Reg the puppy-dog eyes only work on Luke and Bobby.” Reggie sighs in disappointment and Alex finally manages to get Luke off of him, huffing angrily and brushing nonexistent dust from his hoodie. “You’re a barbarian,” he mutters.
“Well?”
Alex responds to Julie’s prompting with a long-suffering sigh. “You have to promise not to make fun of me,” he says. They don’t promise. The movie is long forgotten as Alex’s friends gather around him, looking all too fascinated by his latest embarrassment. “He well… don’t laugh, ok. He wore a crop top last week and I tripped on my own feet and scraped up my knees.”
Flynn raises an eyebrow. “Nuh uh, there’s more, spill.”
Alex groans, burying his face in his hands. “They got all worried and started putting bandaids on my knees and I almost fainted. Then- please don’t make me say this,” Alex pleads, looking to Julie as if she’s his last hope. She shakes her head. “When they finished lecturing me I just looked at him and said ‘nice shirt’ and ran off. Nice shirt??? What is wrong with me?”
“Wait a minute,” Julie says, gesturing for Alex to pause. “You just… ran off? Where?”
Alex doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll paint your drumsticks if you don’t tell us,” Luke threatens. The difficulty is that Alex doesn’t doubt him one bit, and knows that Julie has a healthy supply of paint in a drawer just a few feet away from Luke.
Alex mumbles something under his breath and Reggie pokes him.
“Sorry what was that? Speak up.”
“Orange, I’ll paint them the ugliest shade of orange ever.”
“I went and hid in my closet!” Alex blurts. “For like an hour. I am never going to live that down.”
“That’s… incredibly ironic,” Julie laughs.
“I’m telling that story at your wedding.”
“Reginald, don’t even think about it!” Alex kicks Reggie lightly and raises his hand to flip off the other three, who are all dying of laughter. “I hate all of you. I need new friends.”
“Good luck with that.” Flynn pats Alex’s head; he can practically hear their stupid smirk.
“Fuck off.”
“No.”
---
Alex wakes up with his foot in Luke’s face, one arm thrown over Julie, his face in Reggie’s neck, and a very giggly Flynn perched on the end of the bed taking pictures. He sits up and murmurs sleepily, squinting in the oddly hazy room.
It’s gray and gloomy outside, quite fitting for mid-November, but far from Alex’s ideal weather. He’s always been partial to spring, when it’s not too hot and not too cold and not always cloudy and sad.
Flynn hops off the bed and onto Julie’s chair, where she spins a couple times before turning her phone to show Alex. “This is gonna be my new lockscreen,” they giggle. Alex stares at the photo, baffled as to how his arm was bent like that.
Breakfast is heaps of pancakes and fresh coffee (bless you, Ray) that for a moment, Alex considers just dumping over his head. Julie is curled around Luke for warmth throughout the whole morning and Flynn makes a point to gag at least once every 5 minutes. Alex knows she’s happy for them though, they finally got their act together a little over a week ago and at least this is better than the pining. Alex doesn’t say that though, because it will only get him a lecture on how he is not one to talk about pining.
Alex almost thanks a god he doesn’t believe in anymore when the rain outside doesn’t seem to make any moves into thunderstorm territory. Willie hates thunderstorms. He stays cocooned in a blanket until noon, but eventually Tía Victoria shoos them all out, claiming that Julie will never finish her homework with them all glued to her.
Alex is sopping wet when he finally arrives at his dorm, sadly no car can go right up to the entrance of the dorms. The first thing Alex notices when he walks in is the candles, and the second thing is the haphazardly thrown together fort in the middle of the room, which he narrowly avoids tripping over. “Willie?” He asks, lifting what he assumes to be the entrance and raising an eyebrow at Willie, who is grinning at him and shining a flashlight in his face.
“Ok, get that out of my eyes.” Alex clamps a hand over the light and Willie sticks his tongue out. “Did the power go out?” Alex asks, worry etching over his face. He can’t have all their food being ruined, with Alex living off his coffee shop job and Willie off of the occasional commission and odd check from his eccentric uncle.
Willie shakes their head. “Nope.”
“So why the… candles?”
“It’s fun!” Willie pulls Alex into the fort, stumbling back and just barely evading them toppling over each other into a quite compromising position. Willie presses his back against the couch and pats the space next to him. “It’s like you’re a little kid again.”
“Luke used to love making forts,” Alex admits. “We would move all the furniture in his living room and make the absolute worst blanket forts you can imagine. Like seriously, it’s no wonder none of us went into architecture.”
“Really? I can totally see you as an architect”
“That’s…”
“I’m joking, hotdog,” Willie giggles, bumping their shoulder together. He has a tendency to raise his eyebrows when he’s amused; Alex finds it all too endearing. Accompanied with the way their eyes crinkle when the laugh and the soft candlelight leaking through the thin blankets and draping over his features, Alex thinks he’s having trouble breathing.
“I was drawing you, y’know,” Willie says softly after a few minutes of silence.
“Hmm?”
“The day we went stargazing, I was drawing you. You’re- you’re a good muse.”
“Oh.” Alex’s stomach flutters. “I uh… thank you.” He gives Willie a hesitant smile before turning to focus on the flickering light. His breath feels weighted, like every exhale means something, but he can’t quite pinpoint what. There’s a light breeze whistling through the crack in the door and Alex closes his eyes for a moment, pretending that it’s wrapping around him and holding him close. Alex didn’t get much affection as a child; his parents had always been very stiff. Sure, they loved him, but they weren’t that good at showing it aside from a rough shoulder squeeze and tight smiles so full of expectations. When he came out, even the snippets of affection faded; no more of his mother fixing his hair or giving him a quick kiss on the forehead when he was sick. Two months after his coming out, they just… kicked him out. He came home to find his belongings shoved carelessly into a trash bag or two and that was that. Luke more than made up for the lack of physical affection, but Alex knows that there will always be something missing.
Wide awake, Alex lets his head fall onto Willie’s shoulder. This time with care and attention, hesitancy. He hears Willie suck in a sharp breath but then the tension melts from their shoulders and fizzles into nothingness. For a moment, there is nothing but them and the pattering of rain against the windows.
“Lets go for a drive.”
Alex looks up expecting Willie’s usual carefree and impish grin, but he’s taken aback by his wistful expression and something bursts in Alex’s chest. Something that may be instinct and may be just an overwhelming surge of emotion.
“Okay.” His voice is barely a whisper, a single wisp of smoke snaking from a blown out candle.
The air is damp and the rain is coming down hard; Alex reaches a cautious hand out beyond the awning and winces at the downpour. But Willie is wiggling his stupid eyebrows in the way that makes Alex’s face heat and he can’t say no as Willie drags him through the wet grass, shrieking with laughter and going slower than necessary to relish in the water pouring down from the sky in torrents. They’re soaked to the bone and breathless, overflowing with mirth, by the time they reach Alex’s car and clamber into the seats. Right after a brief argument about who’s driving of course. (“You will not be touching my steering wheel with your grimy paint hands, William.” “Says you.”) So Alex is driving.
Willie has their hands pressed to the window, breath fogging up the glass and sending them into a fit of giggles every time. Alex switches on the radio and there’s a song playing that he recognizes but couldn’t sing along to; something soft and low, like lilting waves. Willie knows it though. And they’re singing. Oh. They’re singing. Alex almost has to pull the car to a stop and put his head in his hands because Willie never told him he could sing.
Willie’s voice is low and slightly raspy, but not in a bad way. Alex knows he’s heard this song before, but he’s 100% certain that this is his first time really hearing it. And it’s beautiful. Or maybe it’s just Willie. It’s probably just Willie.
Alex brings the car to a slow stop in the parking lot of an odd gas station that always seems to be closed. He doesn’t turn it off though, because he would rather die than have Willie stop singing. He leans his head back and breathes, certain he’s inhaling Willie’s voice. Willie’s voice which is like sparks on his skin, like smoke that crowds his lungs and opens his soul for the very first time. He feels a sense of mourning when the song stops and something else comes on, something peppier and sickeningly sweet. He switches the radio off.
“I didn’t know you could sing.” Alex isn’t even looking at them; he’s fiddling nervously with the strap of his fanny pack.
Willie smirks proudly. “You learn something new every day.”
“Yea.”
Willie traces a heart in the fog on the window and lets it sit there. Then he unbuckles his seat belt and pokes Alex’s shoulder. “Hey ‘Lex, come on.”
“No.” Alex shakes his head vigorously. “No. We’re already soaking wet and-”
“Hot dog.”
And damn it, the nickname may be so incredibly stupid but Alex has such a weird soft spot for it. He groans dramatically, making a point to wring out his hair, which is already mostly dry at this point. “You’re the worst. What if it starts thundering?”
Willie shrugs. “I have my noise cancelling headphones. And you can-” they cut themself off.
“I can what?”
“Nothing,” Willie squeaks. “Please. Please.”
So Alex climbs reluctantly from the car and stands in the parking lot looking far from amused. “You owe me.”
Willie laughs loudly, grabbing both of Alex’s hands and spinning him in an aimless circle, pulling them both into a dance to music that’s only in his head. They twirl Alex around several times, and Alex is certain that he’s going to actually fall over and faint. Willie raises his face to the sky and squints, letting the rain soak him without care. Alex is in awe and how open and free Willie is, like nothing can ever go wrong and if it does they’ll always be flying. He doesn’t realized they’ve stopped dancing until Willie turns to him with a curious expression. Their eyes rake over his face and Alex realizes he’s staring. But for once, he doesn’t look away. And for the first time, he sees the corner of Willie’s mouth quirk up and their eyes flick to his lips and even linger there for a brief second.
The rain doesn’t seem to have plans to stop anytime soon, and they’re both shivering and wet and Willie’s hair is dangling in front of his face. Alex reaches out and tucks it behind his ear, both of them holding a breath, waiting. It’s right there, right in front of him, and Alex is inches from just grasping it and clutching it to his chest. Willie takes a step forward so their faces are just inches from each other and Alex can feel their breath against his cheeks. He exhales shakily and raises one hand to cup Willie’s cheek, his touch feather light and afraid. Willie leans into the contact and grins upwards, their nose wrinkling fondly. He gives a silent nod and for the first time in years, Alex takes the plunge.
Their first kiss is soft and slow and Willie tastes like rain and green tea. Alex smiles against their lips, a breathy laugh escaping his own. He’d think this is a dream, but no section of his imagination could conjure something even a fragment as magical as this. They’re in the middle of a parking lot, cold and wet, and yet Alex feels the warmest he ever has. Alex is hesitant to pull away, but he does, just barely. Their foreheads stay resting against each other, like breaking apart would break them. Then it comes crashing into him. Alex just kissed Willie. He just kissed Willie. And Willie kissed him back! Holy shit!
“Wowza.” Wowza? What the fuck Alex?
Willie breaks into joyous laughter, throwing his head back and clutching Alex’s shoulders. And Alex laughs with him; he buries his face in the crook of Willie’s neck, his heart full to bursting. Wowza indeed.
---
notes: ...I did say I was thinking about a Willex rain kiss. I actually wrote like half of chapter 6 a while ago so I might be able to post it tomorrow.
chapter 6
taglist: @thatsanewflavor @spookiest-sapphic @dovesgrangers @julie-n-phantoms @frostknyte @thegaylink @nervousmiracletrash @crummycassidy @fairygclds @reallyintrospectivepeople @madsmax-37 @swamp-acad @kat-maybe-not @sunsetcurve123 @lookingthroughmirrors @queer-fandom-enby @over-under-through1 @willex-n-waffles @caliibee @stars-soph @herequeerandcantdrinkbeer @nickalicious @andwhenwepart @maizsnex @fanofthepod @heademptynothoughts @thunderstorm-symphony @julieandthephantomsandme @i-spit-on-fire
#jatp#julie and the phantoms#jatp fic#willex#willex fic#ytotbts#you're the one that brings the sun#willow writes#willie jatp#willie nolastname#willie wilbur williamson#alex mercer#julie molina#reggie peters#luke patterson#flynn jatp#flynn nolastname
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I’m not sure if you have something planned for this already but wouldn’t it be the height of irony if Tooley got monched on by a starved Chris when he forgot to drug him? Just opens the door and whoops! He eaten!
CW: Whumper death, drunkenness, some dehumanization, blood drinking, bit of gore, vampirism, some very light catholicism
-
New York City, 1936
KING EDWARD VIII ABDICATES THRONE
British Monarch to Wed American Socialite Wallis Simpson
Tooley kicks at the sodden, half-frozen newspaper stuck to his shoe, grunting with the effort it takes to dislodge it. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his thick woolen coat, and he ignores the envious stares of others whose threadbare outfits are patched, whose gloves are little more than rags wrapped around their not-quite-frostbitten fingers.
Instead, he pulls his scarf up higher, tucks his chin beneath its knitted warmth, and finally manages to send the scrap of paper with its water-stained black-and-white image of a stern-faced soon-to-be ex-king and his Baltimore lover into the street, where it sticks in a puddle and soaks clean through.
The old-timers say a heavy rain is coming, citing their aching joints and bones. It's been a wet winter already, and the absolute last thing New York needs is more rain.
Tooley plans to be holed up in his nice warm little house for the whole of it. He's sold three paintings in a month, and he can spend the next few weeks on the next one until his hands want to drop right off his wrists without having to distract himself with petty concerns like money.
The liquor bubbles warm inside him, and even with the frigid air he's broken a sweat along his back, trickling to his waistband, almost a tickle. He stumbles a little, catches himself, coughs out a laugh as the cold air burns deep into his lungs. It can't penetrate the hazy heat of the drink, though.
Mel's always has the best whiskey, and Tooley has the green these days to pay for the very best indeed. He's spent what might be a whole month's pay - if he weren't the luckiest artist in New York - in a single night.
You might say he's made a deal with the devil.
He pulls the brim of his fedora down, shielding his brow from the bit of freezing moisture speckling his cheeks. He struggles not to giggle like a child.
"Got a bit to spare for a hungry man?" A rasping voice calls out from an alley as he passes. "Help me feed my family, sir? I'm out of work, sir! Got three little ones with hungry bellies!"
Tooley ignores him.
There are crowds like that everywhere these days, always pressing for help, for a little something more and more and more. Men out of work, men in bread lines, women with tired faces and sad children. He's had just about enough of it.
They're calling it a depression, and he finds the term apt enough, considering it seems the whole country's been tumbled into a hole and can't find its way out.
He'd take his muse to Europe and paint there if it weren't for the echoing tension that bleeds over across the sea. Every nation he's idolized for their arts is trying to posture at each other. Rattling sabers while the people sigh heavily and keep washing their laundry, like always.
Tooley was a child when the Great War tore his own family apart - losing an older half-brother to the pointless trenches, a father to the mustard gas that ate his lungs to pieces, a mother to her desperate, sharp grief at her husband and stepson's loss.
The War had rendered him alone in the world before he was even twenty, though he'd been too young to hardly understand it and it had had nothing to do with him.
Wars were for rich men to send poor men to fight in, and Tooley is hoping to have enough wealth to maybe just float right past a new one, if the rumors beginning to swirl came true and Europe is going to erupt. Surely, though, no one would let a second war as horrible as the last happen.
Surely not.
Still, even so, he can simply disappear if they try to call him up to fight. He has no one left to lose, after all. No one to fight for, no one to care for. No one but his pretty little model, all locked away, his to keep.
Tooley takes a sharp left and the streets begin to change from the harsher gray of the city proper into neighborhoods, houses crammed tightly together. It's not the best part of town - Tooley's parents weren't the wealthiest, and he doesn't live like a gentleman, he's got no need to, it's not how he thinks a proper artist should live anyway. Have to keep up the image of the nearly-starving creative genius, after all.
There are still lights in some windows, despite the late hour. Tooley isn't the only one drunk at midnight and still moving.
It's a mile or so from the start of his street to where his house is nestled between two others, close enough he could reach out his kitchen window and touch the brick of the home next door. He smiles a little. His nose aches with the cold at the tip of it, but that's nothing to worry himself over.
He's home.
It takes him four tries to unlock his front door, the key jabbing into wood and brass too far to one side or the other. He laughs, breath puffing white clouds into the air, his ears burning with the cold where his hat doesn't quite cover them.
Good thing he's not with a woman, tonight, if his aim's so bad with just his hands.
The thought makes him laugh harder, nearly a guffaw, loud enough that he's sure he's woken a neighbor or two. It's not the first time.
Finally, the key slides home and the lock clicks and Tooley moves inside. The house is chilled in the entryroom, but as he slides his coat and fedora off to leave them on the coat rack and moves into the kitchen, towards the back, he can feel the warmth slowly trickling from the ticking radiators along the walls.
He's due for a coal delivery in the next couple of days, and boy, he's going to need it with the weather the way it's been.
Tooley heads for his perfect little secret, the vampire held in the backroom, once a sort of servant's bedroom for some family that had owned the home even before his own parents did. It's his studio, now, and the place where the little vampire boy is kept.
He unlocks that door, too. A key, a deadbolt, a little sliding lock at the top for added safety.
"Here, kitty kitty kitty," He slurs, and laughs again, delighted at his own little joke.
There's a scrape and a rustle, and Tooley steps back to let the vampire boy move forward, out of the freezing unheated room - Tooley only turns the radiator on in there when he himself is working, it's not like dead things care about being warm after all - and into the kitchen proper, with its little two-person table.
The boy is looking dirty - he's due for a bath, long overdue honestly. Good things he doesn't sweat enough to stink.
His hair hangs lank in his eyes, closer to dark copper than the new-penny shine Tooley prefers. There are smudges along his cheeks, marring his perfect freckles. He's draped in a sweater patched badly where his elbows have worn holes right through, pants that are tied with a rope since Tooley sure isn't going to waste money on a belt for a corpse.
"Is, did, did you, um, did you bring me food?" The vampire boy looks up at him, eyes glinting a little in the dimness, that unsettling cat-like glow-in-the-dark effect. His little fangs flash, too. "I'm... I'm, I'm hungry, Tooley."
"I know you are, bloodsucker."
"It's, it's been, um, it's been weeks, Tooley-"
"I know, I know. Shut your trap." Tooley ruffles his hair, then pulls his hand back with a grimace as he remembers how dirty and greasy it's gotten, walking away to go to the sink and wash his hands. "We'll get t'that. I met with someone very important at th' bar tonight, and first things first, you and I are going to celebrate."
The boy moves slowly, staying half-crouched - he's been hit before, when Tooley didn't want him to stand all the way up. He settles himself against the wall, head tilted to the side. His cheekbones cut sharp angles in his face, edging down to his narrow chin.
Those big green eyes follow Tooley everywhere he goes.
"Celebrate what?" He asks, and Tooley wonders just how old the ridiculous little thing is. He'd said early aughts, hadn't he, on when he was turned? So he'd be, what, in his forties really?
Funny.
Was he locked up during the Great War?
He's still a pretty teenager, but he's probably closing in on fifty. Tooley's twenty-some years younger and looks infinitely older, in his own estimation.
Tooley should look into vampirism, seems an excellent way to hold onto your looks, doesn't it? He wonders if the boy knows how to turn him. They could make beautiful work forever...
Hm.
Something to ruminate over when he's hungover in the morning.
"New commission. I'm taking a few weeks off, give us both a break, but I've got the basic details. I'll pick up a broad, get her all set up for modeling, we'll make us a mint, sweetheart." He moves to the counter, picking up the half-full bottle of gin he keeps there, taking a swig and grimacing, coughing. There's a rattle in his lungs these days he doesn't like much.
"You'll, you'll kill her?" The vampire watches him. He looks hungry, with all those sharp lines emphasized, as though he were a painting himself still in progress, with the outline still written in graphite showing through the colors. He's pale, painted in wash, not yet turned to vivid velvet intensity with oils.
"'Course. You think any of my models would stay alive anywhere near you?" He laughs at the very idea, missing the vampire's little flinch as he turns away. He pulls a loaf of bread from the breadbox, already starting to stale but that's all right, he's going to toast it over the stove anyway. The world swims around him from the liquor, and he catches the counter with one hand to keep himself upright.
The feeling brings another laugh out of him.
The little vampire smiles faintly in echo of it. He has to work to get the stove to gas, narrowing his eyes as it struggles, sputters, before finally a little flame flares up. Just enough to give off a little heat for the toast.
"Fuck. Drank too much. Or not enough." He laughs again, and pulls a knife from the knifeblock, the sharp serrated thin blade best for slicing through the heavy sourdough he buys from a woman down the block. Bit of toast, pat of salted butter, that'll get him through to morning when he can head down for eggs and bacon at Paulie's diner.
Maybe he'll even buy some extra for the hungry men who hound around the doors. He can be a philanthropist.
As he slices, the knife slips off the stale, hard crust and cuts right through the back of his hand, a long line immediately welling with bright red blood. He groans, irritated, and sets the knife down, turning to run cold water over it as the pain flares bright, but slightly muted from his drunkenness.
There's a rustle behind him, and Tooley's mind only belatedly begins to allow alarm to trickle through the warm fuzz of the gin and whiskey. He slowly turns around.
Where the vampire boy had been curled against the wall, a bundle of skinny bones and too-big clothes, there's... nothing.
Tooley glances to one side and sees the boy crouched on the floor by the edge of the lower cabinets, his hands pressed into the ground. He moved five feet in less than a second.
His eyes are flared, wide and with pupils burying the iris in black. He clicks, softly, tongue against teeth in an inhuman way.
Click-click-click-click.
click-click-click.
How'd he move so fast?
"Shit," Tooley whispers. "When's the last time I fed you?"
The vampire doesn't answer, only stares, unblinking, muscles tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. He clicks again.
His lips pull back from his teeth and those fangs that seem so cute and little on every other day suddenly look long, like daggers, dripping a shimmering venom to the ground.
Tooley tries not to blink, too, but his eyes dry and dry and dry and eventually he can't help it. His eyes close, a fraction of a second, and flare open right away.
Not fast enough.
The vampire leaps and Tooley grunts at the impact of the small bony body against his own, his lower back smacking into the line of the counter with a flash of pain. The bread and knife both clatter to the ground.
Panic comes, but it doesn't help. He's still groping to get at another knife when the vampire's fingernails dig into his scalp, grip into his hair and jerk his head to the side to bare his throat.
"Hungry," The vampire boy hisses. "Hungry, Tooley. Hungry."
"I-I know, just, just don't blow your wig, gimmee a minute, I can get you something, just hold on-" Tooley's voice is thin from the harsh angle his neck is being held at, and he swallows, seeing in a bleary haze the way the vampire's huge eyes are focused on the movement of his adam's apple, the bob of his throat.
Can he see the blood pulsing there?
He puts his hands up against the vampire's chest to try and push him off, but it's like pushing against rock. He thinks about painting the vampire as a kind of young Prometheus for a dandy from Boston, tied naked to a rock to be pecked at by eagles, and wonders if the mythological man ever tried to push the rock itself, and if it failed as miserably for him as it does for Tooley now.
"There's blood in the shed out back, just let me go and I'll grab it for you." He pitches his voice soothing and slightly patronizing, like speaking to a whining dog. "Okay, kitten? Just two minutes and you'll be fed, right as rain."
The vampire pauses, hesitates, and Tooley feels his hands working at Tooley's hair and one shoulder, like a cat kneading into your lap before they settle. His little stray. His breathing starts to ease, his heart to slow down, the first rush of panic subsiding.
The world still spins a little, but the rush of adrenaline is settling things into something more solid, wiping away the liquor.
"I'll put you back in your room and go get it for you, it's right outside, good and cold," Tooley coos, and realizes too late it isn't what he should have said.
"There's blood right here, and and and, and, and it's living," The vampire boy says, eyes wide and inhuman, and he's absolutely gorgeous. "Your, your, yours is hot."
Tooley would paint him like this, all feral instinct overwriting the living corpse of an anonymous Irish immigrant who died dozens of years ago. A metaphor, maybe, for the way some of the children who come here lose all their European culture and get boorishly American, and-
The vampire bites down, and all thoughts of art and culture flee from Tooley's mind.
The liquor holds off the pain so long the venom hits before he even feels the way those sharp teeth have breached his skin. He goes limp, dropping in a heap to the floor. He thinks he hits his head on the loaf of bread before it knocks into the floor.
They feel about the same level of hardness.
The knife is right next to his head, lying there, shining in the yellowed lamplight, with its carved wooden handle.
All he has to do is move his hand a few inches to reach it.
Just a few inches.
He tries, desperately, to tell his fingers where to go.
The vampire sucks hard at the wound in his neck, pulling blood from his veins like a man drinking an egg cream after a long hot day's work, and Tooley groans. He can feel the press and pull without the pain, and it's the strangest thing he's ever felt. Stranger than those he's gone to bed with.
The venom makes his limbs feel like stones, weighed down to motionless. He struggles even to swallow saliva, to take a deep breath. His heart never races again with panic. He isn't able to feel it any longer.
Those sharp little fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, the weight of the vampire settled on him, straddling him. A little flirty thought - at least buy me dinner first - makes its way across his mind, barely coherent, slow as molasses.
The vampire starts up his soft rumble, the vibration filtering in through into Tooley's body. It seems like it makes him feel even more frozen, heavy as the ocean and weightless at once.
His eyes are on the ceiling, and he realizes how long it's been since anyone cleaned the corners where cobwebs have grown and grown. They need swept away.
Funny how he never noticed before. Too busy with his art.
There's a moment where Tooley is surprised to look down at himself, as if he's floating somewhere near the ceiling staring down at his own open eyes. When he needed not to blink, he couldn't stop himself, but now the body he is looking at just stares and stares and stares, unseeing, unblinking, unbreathing-
Oh.
As soon as the realization hits, Tooley's awareness of himself as a body he can observe is gone.
There is darkness, and then a point of terrible final light. He feels the grasping of bloodied hands.
And he's gone.
The vampire drinks until the blood stops pumping, until the heart beneath his kneading hand is still. Then a rough tongue laps at the wounds, finding the last few droplets there that still sing with life.
The vampire pulls back, skin flush with life, no longer white as snow. His freckles stand out, scattered like constellations of stars over his skin. The dead man beneath him has all the paleness he had before, they are switched, swapped death for life.
He wipes the blood from around his mouth and looks slowly upwards, breathing in deep gulps he doesn't need but which feel so, so good.
He moves to the stove, to turn it off, but he doesn't quite turn it off all the way. An odd smell fills his nose and the vampire's nostrils wrinkle, but he doesn't know what the scent is, and he simply pulls Tooley's coat on before he leaves, door unlocked.
A few minutes later, a man with his hands over a barrel fire looks up to see a redheaded teenager in a woolen coat far too large for him move under a streetlamp, pausing to look up at it as if surprised by how bright its light is.
He blinks, and the man squints.
The young man's mouth is open, as if scenting the air by letting it roll over his tongue. Before the man can quite understand what he is looking at, the boy's mouth closes and he turns to look at the man. As his eyes shift from being lit by the lamp to draped in shadow, though...
They glow.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," The man whispers, crossing himself hurriedly. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, b-be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil-"
The boy looks right at him, head tilted. The flames of the barrel flicker, hissing a little when raindrops start to fall. His lips pull back from his teeth and there are an animal's fangs there, plain as day.
The man feels pure horror at the sight of a demon walking free and unfettered in New York City. He grabs at the cross he wears around his neck and holds it out, his voice trembling. "May G-God... rebuke him, we humbly pray-"
"I, I, I hope that works for you," The boy says, and his voice is soft, and there's almost a lilt of the old country there that the man recognizes, not quite his own but not far off. "It never d-did for, um, for me. Don't worry. I'm... I'm full. You're, you're, you're in no danger from me. When, when, when, when... when did you come here? To this place?"
The man swallows around a lump in his throat, and yet he finds himself compelled to answer honestly. "Two years past, give or take. Came with m'wife and baby girl."
"From where?"
"... Kerry," He says, against his will. He can't seem to hold back the words. "And my wife grew up in County Cork."
The boy smiles, and his horrid teeth disappear when his lips press together. He looks for all the world like any other young man, a bit skinny perhaps and in need of a good meal or three, but no danger to anyone.
But the man has seen the demon that he is, and he finds himself grateful for the fire between them and the cross still in his hand, the shield of St. Michael and the cloak of Christ Himself.
"My, my, my, my parents were from County Cork," The demon boy says, lightly. His lilt is slightly stronger. "Wonder if we're cousins, your your wife and I. Maybe so. Stay home, um, after dark. Don't, don't, don't work when the sun is, um, is down."
The boy turns and walks away.
The man realizes with a start that in the midst of a chilly December night, the boy's feet are utterly bare. He steps over ice like he could walk on water.
There was blood smeared on the back of his coat.
The man flinches as he hears a sudden boom, close enough that he feels it in his chest as well as hearing the sound. A moment later a woman runs by shouting that a house has caught flame, to call for help.
The man looks back at the way the boy went.
He's gone.
-
@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump
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maybe them meeting their daughters girlfriend, or their sons friends thinking veronicas hot when they go to their house, idk you pick
(I didn't edit this. Sorry for the mistakes)
“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Archie asks as she follows Veronica around the kitchen he remodeled last summer with his own hands to distract himself from the imminent fact that his baby girl would be going to college and he was fast approaching his midlife crisis. Freddie mocked him and therefore he was punished into painting cabinets under Veronica’s ruthless quality inspection.
Veronica opens one food container her favorite caterer just dropped with some fancy-looking salad, and a smile grows on her face. There are several more filling the kitchen island.
“Because we want to have family time with our children and friends, enjoying homemade food.” She opens the next container with beet hummus, and she quietly adds, “and I don’t cook but we can always pretend.”
Snorting a laugh, Archie wraps his arms around her middle from behind and presses a kiss to her cheek. “You’re the best organizing and bossing people around, the Veronica Lodge brand. Besides, I’ll be manning the grill so we can count that as homemade.”
“You seem to forget I’m an excellent mixologist. One does not own a bar without learning a few tricks.” Veronica turns around in Archie’s arms, her eyebrow kinking up.
Archie leans closer to her, provoking a smile on her beautiful face, “We also swore we wouldn’t tell our kids about your entire business history and I wouldn’t tell a thing about my vigilante days.”
She giggles and makes a shushing gesture by placing a finger over her lips, before she rises on tiptoes to give him a kiss. It’s funny how after decades together, after a long marriage and children, she’s still fond of playing with his ears when she kisses him. Veronica’s nails rake the short hairs of the back of his head – where she claimed to have spotted a few gray hairs just last week.
Kissing his wife is certainly one of his favorite things – and it must be good for his blood pressure because it soothes him and has kept him sane for years. No one could blame him when he hums in delight from deep within his chest but of course they will anyway.
“Ew, Daddy, we have guests,” Audrey quips when she enters the kitchen, hand in hand with a slightly taller girl with red hair who is smiling in amusement.
“Shush, Addie. Just like you, I have the right to kiss my beloved. Even more so after more than thirty years.” Veronica pecks Archie’s lips once more to make her point.
Audrey chuckles and turns to her girlfriend. “So, BB, are your moms as disgusting as these ancient creeps?”
Bella Blossom might be Cheryl’s kid but she was raised by Toni as well, so instead of making a snide remark, her eyes widen and she stares at her girlfriend’s parents not knowing what to say.
“Watch it,” Archie warns with a lopsided grin and winks at the girls. “We’re happy you can join us for lunch today, Bella.” He walks past them, dropping a kiss atop Audrey’s hair, making her giggle.
“Thank you, Mr. Andrews.”
Oh, how he dislikes being Mr. Andrews. Is there anything else that can make him feel older? Only the way his knee hurts when he hits the gym and he doesn’t warm up.
As he makes his way outside to the backyard deck, Archie hears Audrey teasing Veronica about her home-cooked meal. It’s a running joke in the family how each time the kids had a bake sale, Veronica spent more money buying pastries than the school made selling them.
Burgers are almost done when Cheryl and Toni arrive. This time he’s not lucky and gets a few of those Cheryl Blossom’s snarky remarks while Toni makes damage control because Bella seems upset to see her mumsy being insufferable.
“I sometimes wonder what you did in your past life to have this kind of karma,” Jughead comments before taking a sip of his beer. “Lodges, Blossoms…”
“Bears,” Munroe jests but Archie doesn’t pay much attention to his friends when he spots three of Freddie’s friends looking at his wife too intensely for his taste.
It’s a known fact Veronica was deemed the hot mom years ago when Audrey started high school, and even before that when she was teaching and she was the hot teacher. She always tells him he can’t complain because the same thing happened to him – well, tough luck, because he hasn’t noticed other people lusting after him.
He hands the spatula and grill fork to Jughead so he can take care of the barbecue without thinking. Fortunately, Munroe decides to help instead when he sees the panic etched on the writer’s face.
“Hey, guys,” Archie greets the teenage boys huddled in a corner, with a smile that makes his face hurt. He’s never been good at pretending. “Do you want a beer?” An easy test to fail for a group of fifteen-year-olds. And they are boys, so they hesitate before one of them makes the right choice by meekly shaking his head.
With a humorless laugh, Archie smacks the shoulders of two of them, with much more force than needed. “Good choice. But you must be thirsty. Were you thinking about having a drink?” He tries, this time looking at his wife pointedly. But again, these teenage kids won’t take a hint.
Veronica is serving a cocktail and chatting with Cheryl. When she feels his gaze on her, she winks at Archie and makes a simple gesture to beckon him.
Just then Freddie returns to his friends, holding a bowl of sweet potato chips and baba ganoush – because this kid might be a carbon copy of Archie’s dad but he definitely has Veronica’s sense of style and palate.
“Kid, your friends are thirsty,” Archie says without preamble and because this is Veronica Lodge’s son, he knows it will take Freddie less than a second to pick up what he means. One look shot at the bar, the tilt of his head, an arched eyebrow and… “You should be a good host.”
Freddie has a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll get you something, and then I can tell you how in my family as a rite of passage in our family you must fight a bear–”
“Freddie–” Archie’s eyes widen. Veronica hates that story. She absolutely loathes it to the point Jughead enjoyed irking her by giving teddy bears to the children for their first birthdays. “Don’t”
“Why not? I thought you’d like for them to know you fought a bear, were in the army, worked as a firefighter, and in construction so you basically know how to kill them and make them disappear in hundreds of ways and no one would find them.” Then he turns sharply and stares at his friends. “Also, I advise you to stop looking at my mother because let’s face it, you think you’re good-looking but you’re not. She’s smarter than the three of you put together. Richer than everyone else in town. And with beauty only good genes I inherited can give.” He sighs. “So, unless you fought a bear, is there anything that makes you stand out in this place?”
“Dude,” one of Freddie’s friends mutters. It feels like this talk was a bit harsh, but Freddie also hated when Audrey’s friends flirted with Veronica.
“I know! Sad. I go to therapy because living under my parents’ shadow is unbearable,” Freddie replies, which is a lie. This boy is a Lodge in the body of an Andrews – and it’s scary.
When Archie makes his way to Veronica, he immediately wraps an arm around her and pulls her close to bury his nose in her hair.
“What?” she laughs at his childish gesture.
“Our children scare me,” Archie confesses.
“You realized it just now?” Veronica leans against his side, enjoying his hold on her.
“No, but I hate having more proof.”
She chuckles and soon cackles when he tells her what happened.
“Think about this, at least Freddie didn’t lock me in the supplies closet at school like Audrey did when her classmates ogled you on her eighth-grade talent show.”
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Old Guard hc #135
Warnings: Temporary Major Character Death, Alcoholism, Depression
AN: @sunshineandchemistry wanted hurt inspired by Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) by The Decemberists.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
They have a plan.
They’re supposed to stop healing together. They’re supposed to retire from the action and live out the rest of their days in Malta. They’re supposed to have decades to prepare for the inevitable day. They’re supposed to go together.
Not-not like this.
Joe stares down at his own body. A puddle of blood has formed around it, bright red and barely deep enough to splash if someone were to step in it. His light blue shirt, now a deep maroon, is sticking to his chest and his fingers itch to pull the fabric away before it can dry. His eyes, open and glazed, he wanted to see the stars before this death, pierce through him in a way his reflection never has.
This feels like a joke.
He’s bled ten times more than this and was back in the fight a minute later. When his leg got blown off, he was walking not an hour later. So why the hell is the hole in his chest, barely an inch wide and four inches deep, not closing? This is nothing but a scratch in the long list of injuries his body has sustained.
When he first woke up, he had laughed. He just got killed by a purse-snatcher. A purse-snatcher. They weren’t even smart enough to burglar a house; how the guy got the jump on him was a goddamn mystery, not to mention insulting and mortifying. Booker was never going to let him live this down.
It was only after he sat up and patted his chest, still chuckling to himself at the sheer absurdity of the situation, that he realized something was wrong. That he was wrong.
His hands, normally a warm brown, like wheat just before the summer harvest, were gray and pale, every inch of life snuffed out of them. Joe had stared at them, flipping them over and over, flexing and shaking his fingers to stimulate fresh blood flow, but no matter how much he moved them, how many times he blinked, they remained the same. Cool brown and utterly wrong.
That wasn’t even the worst part.
No, the worst part, the worst fucking part, was when he stood up, ready to shake off this awful day in the comfort of Nicky’s arms, dinner be damned, they’ll just eat another sandwich, and his body remained on the floor, still and bleeding and-and separate.
He freaked out.
He immediately laid back in his body, lining his arms and legs with the body on the floor first, before sitting up. When that didn’t work, he tried picking his body up to drag back home, only his hands had passed through his own arms and chest, like he was nothing more than a cheap light show.
It was then that it sunk in, with his hands buried in his sternum and his own lifeless eyes staring back at him.
He was dead.
He was dead and he wasn’t coming back.
—
Nicky hasn’t eaten in days, not since he shared the small sandwich with Joe.
“Just a snack!” Joe pleaded, batting his eyelashes with a wide grin. He looked ridiculous, like one of those Bratz dolls that once lined every shelf in the toy section at the supermarket. Nicky was more annoyed than charmed as Joe continued to beg; he was blocking the TV and his voice was getting progressively pitchier the longer Nicky continued to ignore him in favor of watching National Treasure.
Nicky gave in, of course he gave in, if only to get Joe to shut up now that he was reaching dog whistle levels. He went to the kitchen, Joe right on his heels and made the fastest sandwich in history, a ham and cheese sandwich on one slice of bread. After folding it in half, he stuffed as much of the sandwich into his mouth and handed over the rest to Joe. It wasn’t much, barely bigger than the bite-sized sandwiches that are usually out on the buffet tables, but it was better than nothing. He almost choked when he saw the wounded expression on his husband’s face. Joe took the half-sandwich with a pout and spent the next fifteen minutes nibbling on it, savoring each bite like it was the best thing he’s ever eaten. It was cute and charming and Nicky kissed him when he finished, swatting his ass as they broke apart because dinner wasn’t going to get itself.
He should have made a regular sandwich.
He should have just cooked with what they had in the pantry.
He should have gone with Joe.
His stomach twists and Nicky cries.
—
Nicky’s not living. He eats, he sleeps and sometimes he even goes out for a walk, but he’s not living, he’s functioning and that’s enough for Andy and Booker.
They don’t talk much to him; then again, no one talks much these days. It became glaringly obvious early on who initiated the conversations, who had the loudest voice, who kept the discussion flowing from one point to the next.
He doesn’t blame them; they were engulfed in their own grief too, both fresh and scarred.
They’ve become the liquor store’s best customers; between the three of them, they easily put away six bottles of hard liquor every night. It’s the only time they’re together, late at night into the early morning, drinking with a desperate fervency to get lost in their own memories of better times.
“The widow club,” Booker joked one night, mouth curled into a snarl.
“I never wanted to be part of this fucking club,” Nicky spat, taking an aggressive sip from his bottle. It was whiskey that night; it tasted like shit, it always tasted like shit, and Nicky didn’t care. It made him warm and muddled his thoughts and while he was drunk, he could forget, could ignore how empty everything was.
There was a moment of silence and then Andy laughed, sharp and vicious as she raised her bottle to clink with his, “Cheers to fucking that!”
During the day, Nicky sleeps. A lot.
Nicky sleeps, because if he sleeps, he can dream. In his dreams, Joe is still with him, leading him through the world with both hands and promising to never leave his side. In his dreams, Joe is bright and warm, kissing him like he never left, loving him like they had all the time in the world. In his dreams, he can savor the weight of Joe’s loving gaze, anchoring him in this sea of madness.
Most days, he wakes up around three in the afternoon. He stares at the ceiling until his stomach grumbles, and only when the pain becomes unbearable does he get up to get something to eat.
Sometimes, the stupid wind chimes will wake him up before three and those days are always the worst. Joe had loved those wind chimes; he would run his fingers through them every morning just to hear them sing, laughing as the house filled with its tinkling sound.
Nicky hates those fucking wind chimes.
He hates how every time he hears them, he thinks that it’s Joe, gently pushing one tube into another, creating a new song only for their ears. He hates how he turns his head with a sleepy smile towards the chimes, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue, only to be splashed with the bitter reality that he’s alone, has been alone for awhile now.
Nicky hates those wind chimes and he wishes he could melt it down into something useful, something quiet, but it was Joe’s and Nicky can’t. He can’t destroy something that Joe loved so dearly.
But God does Nicky loathe them. They weren’t even under a vent and they still made noise.
Other times, the birds will wake him up. They never had this many birds before Joe, but after, Nicky sometimes wakes up to five birds on his windowsill, chirping and chirping and chirping. They’re loud and they arch up into nothing and Nicky hates them almost as much as the wind chimes because Joe would have loved them. Joe would’ve sat in front of the windowsill for hours, sketching and observing the birds, swallows, or were they sparrows, tossing them little seeds to keep them there longer. Hell, Joe would have set up a bird feeder to accommodate their many visitors. To Nicky, those birds are just another reminder that Joe’s gone and he wishes that they would just leave this house of grief alone.
So Nicky sleeps and he drinks, because if he does, he doesn’t have to live in a world that’s constantly screaming Joe’s name.
He’s not living.
It’s not really functioning either.
—
It works.
It works.
Joe gasps back to life and he’s in the quiet comfort of Nicky’s arms, just like he wanted that stupid day and everyday since. The weight of his arms, solid and warm across Joe’s chest, it’s enough to make him burst into tears.
“I missed you,” Nicky sobs, pulling him into a tight hug and Joe can’t wrap his arms around Nicky fast enough. He clings to his husband, taking in the twin scents of Irish Spring and cheap cologne, a combination he never thought he would miss; it smells like home.
“I was always there,” Joe whispers, “The birds, the chimes, the damn towel on the floor. I never left.” I never left you.
They’re both shaking apart in each other’s arms, but for the first time in months, it’s ok. It’s ok.
Nicky laughs, it’s choked and brittle, but it’s the first time he’s laughed since that day, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world to Joe’s ears right now. “I hated all those things.”
“I know,” Joe confesses, pulling back just enough to look at Nicky. He wipes away the snot and tears with the back of his hand. Nicky stares at him through red-rimmed eyes, a new kind of desperation shining in them that Joe knows are reflecting from his own. “But it got you out of bed, out of the house, and so I never stopped.”
They have a plan.
They’re going to stop healing together. They’re going to retire from the action and they’re going to live the rest of their days in Malta.
They’re not straying away from it this time.
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As The World Caves In ~ Fred Weasley
Masterlists
Requests are CLOSED.
Notes - I’m sorry in advance. I got the idea whilst listening to the song and I just had to write it. For the best experience I recommend listening to the song as you read it. But yeah I’m sorry. :)
Warnings - Angst, grief, end of the world scenario.
Word count - 1.2k.
Harry Potter tag list - @idont-knowrn @weasleysflowr @angelinathebook @msmimimerton @durmstrange @kashishwrites @wandsandwheezes @protect-remus @vivianweasley @willowbleedsonpaper @inglorious-imagines @bucky-j-barnes @kamosweasley @shadowsinger11 @adorably-sweet-hufflepuff @exspectare @lovenonymously @wonderful-writer @booksmusicteaandanimals
Twins tag list - @whiz-bangs78 @kpopgirlbtssvt
His hand ran along her arm soothingly. She could feel his slightly calloused fingertips brush along her upper arm every so often, and she tried to focus on that - or at the very least on him in his entirety. The way his chest rose and fell as he breathed. The way his other arm kept subtly tightening around her waist every time she shifted in her position laying against him. Just him. Though that was hard when the realisation of that night was all that swirled around her mind, like a track on loop.
It was their final night alive.
Neither of them had spoken about it all day, they couldn’t. They had the best breakfast that Fred had cooked in years and spent the day just with each other, doing seemingly normal things; dancing to music in the kitchen, watching the muggle television in their living room, making love in their bedroom. It seemed normal. But it was far from it. She could feel the heavy atmosphere that pressed against them the whole day. She felt almost claustrophobic underneath the grief and terror, but she couldn’t have a better person to spend the day with. It was him. It was always going to be him. Fred Weasley - her soulmate.
Before she knew it her eyes, which were already red from previous tears, were brimming with the wet substance again, and she turned to bury her face into Fred’s shirt to keep him from seeing. It was all just hurting a bit too much. She was never going to laugh with him again, or dance with him again, or cuddle with him again. They would never do anything together ever again. She was meant to be with him until they were old and gray, but instead all they got was a quick wedding that they had performed a week before the world caved in so they would be united at last.
She had always pictured a wedding with Fred to be huge and extravagant. All of his family would go and George would be his best man. They would probably have it at the Weasley’s house, like they did with Bill’s, and then they would spend the next night at a new house that they had bought to move into. They’d dance the night away, happy and loved in each other’s arms, knowing they were soulmates forever. But instead they only had George and the minister there in the dark gray room. She had worn a dress and Fred wore a shirt, as they signed the paper in the cold room and kissed each other in the rain once they got outside. There was no family. No dancing. Barely any happiness.
“What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” Fred murmured into her hair as his fingertips continued to drag along her arm.
She couldn’t help but smile softly at the question. Pretending everything was normal did help her, and Fred making the effort to pretend as well made her feel loved. He had always tried to make her feel comfortable and safe, and the end of the world wasn’t going to change that.
“Can you make pancakes again?” She muttered into his shirt, inhaling his scent once she had finished speaking to try and keep herself calm and grounded.
“Of course, love. Anything for you.” Fred pressed a kiss against her temple and held her a little closer. “We need to go and get milk, though.”
“I’ll go to the shop in the morning.” She told him, and looked up to meet his eyes - which she could see were tearful like her own.
A crease formed in between his eyebrows and she watched as his bottom lip trembled, causing the tears to slide past her waterline and trickle down her cheeks to see him in as much emotional pain as she was in. Fred lifted a hand to cup the side of her face, an action that had her head leaning into it as her eyes closed. His hand was warm, and once again she tried to focus on the feeling of that instead of the impending doom closing in on them.
“I love you,” Fred whispered as he gently wiped her tears away with his thumb. “I’ve never loved anybody more than I’ve loved you. Thank you for being here. You mean everything to me.”
That alone was enough to make her eyes open as her lip trembled as well, more tears forming. “I love you too. Freddie.” She whispered. “I always have and I always will.” Her throat was suddenly thick and she had to take in a deep breath as the urge to weep was strong. Though when Fred pressed his lips against hers she focused on that instead.
She put every ounce of love she had for him into the one soft kiss. Her body leaned up a little towards him to get closer once his hand had moved to her waist, keeping her close. Her body was warm against his as the tearful kiss progressed a little, feeling all of the love he put into it too. What a perfect last kiss.
Once she had slowly pulled away she met the familiar warm brown eyes of her husband and smiled as much as she could, getting a small one from him in return. It almost hurt to smile, but at least they could manage one final smile for each other.
“We should probably go to sleep.” Fred murmured, his thumb gently stroking her cheek again.
They had spoken the day before about it, and decided it would be better to fall asleep before everything happened. That way they wouldn’t see, hear, or feel anything. They would just be at peace together.
“Okay.” She whispered back, and nodded a little. “Goodnight, Freddie.”
“Goodnight love.” Fred left a lingering kiss against her forehead, before his arms encircled around her waist and held her close as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, holding onto him just as tight.
Though neither of them slept. She couldn’t sleep. In an odd way it was like she was a child unable to fall asleep on Christmas, waiting for Father Christmas to show up and give her a stocking. Only they were waiting for the end of the world instead.
In the time they spent in agonising silence, she soaked up everything about him. How perfectly she fit into his warm embrace and how safe it made her feel. How his heart thumped in his chest along with hers. How much she loved him. She had tried to believe in heaven, in the final weeks of the earth. She wanted to believe that they would wake up together in heaven, happy and healthy. Not in fear anymore. That was the only thing that was keeping her going. Hope that they would see each other again.
They were still awake when the sirens started. The loud indicator of the end of time made her whimper and press herself further into him, shoulders shaking as the tears fell quickly.
“I’ve got you.” Fred told her, his hold tightening as he pressed his face into her hair. “I’ve got you, angel. I love you.”
“I love you too.” She muttered through a quiet sob and gripped onto his shirt, just as the whistling of something falling started outside.
#amber’s writing#fred weasley#fred weasley fic#fred weasley angst#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley oneshot#fred weasley one shot#fred weasley x y/n#fred weasley x you#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x oc
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and it’s just around the corner
fandom: stardew valley
pairing: sebastian/player (female)
summary: She’s a fool – she tries to tell herself. There’s nothing she can offer Sebastian that would make him stay in this village he so obviously loathes. She’s just dumb enough to have fallen for the man she cannot even bring herself to ask to love her back.
rating: explicit // word count: 25k // AO3
She cannot remember the farm per say, just the proof that she’s been there once: a dusty, yellowed photo of herself, smiling in a pink sundress under the shade of a gigantic oak, 4 years old and beaming. She can vaguely bring back the savour of cranberry jam on her tongue, the authentic, slightly sour taste that only meant home-made. She thinks they had a gray cat, and she can feel the smell of gasoline in her nose, from the long car ride there as a child. That’s all she remembers about her grandparents’ old farm; and anything of that lifestyle is completely lost upon her, or her memories of her grandpa. They haven’t been crazily close either: she was busy pursuing her education too far away to allow proper visits, and the phone signal failed the old man too much to allow even constant communication. When he died, they buried him in the city, next to his wife, and everything about the way he lived his life became hazy and forgotten in the lives of the living.
Which is probably why it is so hard to comprehend what she’s reading now, in her cubicle at work, defeated under her 16th time this month of overwork. Her grandpa was known for being eccentric, which is why she expected to see a card with hey, we all die in the end! or something written on it, and not the dreams of her childhood offered on a plate to her. She stares at the paper, reads and rereads it for 7 times before she’s convinced it’s actually real.
She’s touched at the care in his words, at the oozing affection on that piece of paper. It’s something that she didn’t know she was missing until now. A care sent across generations, to reach her – and when she feels like she needs it most. She doesn’t know if she should scream or cry or laugh.
She looks around: there are only a couple of other workers left in the office at the moment, in the late hours of the night. There’s delivery food all across the others’ empty desks, and a few of the girls switched their shoes, from heels to sneakers. And yet, as she stops, the clanking on the keyboard never ends around her, and the neon light remain buzzing above her, the static noise of her real life nightmare. The sigh coming from a co-worker several seats away is deafening in her ears. As she’s writing her resignation letter, for her boss to find on his desk at the first hour in the morning, she can’t help but notice how her vision shakes, how she can’t quite straighten her back under the pain of hours and hours of being hunched at a desk.
It’s not even the irony of it all, dying in a storm of unfair overworking while those above her wallow in money, that upsets her more. But rather, the way in which she cannot have any satisfaction out of it anymore. As a graduate, she thought she’d find happiness in a corporate job that pays well, but now the comfort of money means nothing when she doesn’t have the time to even spend it, and she can’t even recall what her hobbies are, let alone when’s the last time she did anything else but work, do house chores and sleep.
She cannot recall the last time she met up with some friends, visited new places or ordered online something else but a new pair of heels or a new shirt for work. Gods, now that she hit the brake on her wreck of a life, she can’t stop noticing how pathetic she’s been.
Her hands tremble as she signs the paper, as she tosses her meagre office belongings into her bag, as she pushes the elevator button. She’s already overthinking the decision, but it’s already made and she can only worry about what’s to be done next now. She’s 100% sure she’s not made for this, she has zero knowledge of how to take care of a farm and she still screams when she sees a spider in her apartment. But she’s tired, there’s a tiredness that never seems to let loose, and no matter how much she sleeps on Sundays, she wakes up feeling like she has her hands and feet tied. Even if to only rest for a while, and the whole ordeal would still have been worth it.
Sleep doesn’t come easily to her that night. She reads the letter over and over again, she measures the weight of the keys in her palms, she tries to put puzzle pieces together, from old photos she brings up from hidden boxes. Nothing tells her she made the right decision, though in her old photos, everyone looks so happy while on the farm. Maybe she didn’t even truly get to the end of her patience, just a bad day, maybe she still could have taken it for a while. After all, it’s not like she had that bad of a life. But then, it’s not like it was that good either. And once she started thinking of it, the idea of change became hauntingly tempting. The potential in this new place is infinite, and so, so terrifying.
But a change nonetheless.
She spends the next couple of weeks in a frenzy: selling most of her belongings, keeping only the strictly necessary. She keeps the pictures, of course. A few books, only those that she read during university and she felt like they changed her life, though she hasn’t revisited those stories since. Maybe she’ll finally have the time to, now. She sells or donates all her office clothes, expensive shirts and bags – all gone, because they remind her of some kind of work she never wants to do again in her life.
When she stops to count what’s left, looking at her near-empty apartment, two suitcases and a backpack put aside, she’s overwhelmed at how pointlessly she lived her life up until this point. She has nothing to show for all the efforts she’s made, and she can feel the skin all over her body itch with the realisation, itch for something else to do.
She doesn’t look back, as she’s returning the keys of her rented apartment. She has been paying expensively for the chance to live on her own in the big city, and there’s nothing but bitterness towards that idea anyway. She waits in the bus station with music playing at the highest volume, drowning out an incoming panic attack – as she’s struggling to count up to 10, reassure herself that she’s a grown fucking adult and that she can do something as easy as just moving someplace new.
Still, the scenarios roll in her mind, unperturbed, and she almost throws up thrice before she reaches her destination – and then she almost throws up again, as she’s watching the bus pull away, leaving her alone in the middle of nowhere. The sun is bright, but too bright and her clothes are sticking to her skin, even if it’s barely early spring, and the air is fresh. A fairy-tale start to her new adventure, and yet she feels like crying right then and there, a fain headache booming at her temples from all the anxiety she had to push away.
She’s already exhausted and it’s barely noon. She starts pulling at her suitcases, though the road makes it a tricky and tiring job. Then, just as she’s ready to take her first break, a hand grabs the handle, and she stares up in the face of a kindly looking old man.
Mayor Lewis; she still remembers the face, as he is the kind of person who probably always looked the same. They’ve last seen each other at her grandfather’s funeral, so there’s a bit of awkwardness hanging between the two of them, as she’s allowing him to help her with her luggage.
A redheaded woman is waiting for them in her truck, a bit of a distance away, and she helps them with her stuff. It’s easy to make conversation when friendly people are pushing it forward, and they seem way too enthusiastic about her presence. They don’t even comment about her sneakers, totally unfit for most of the roads in the town, or her outfit, that would rip or get dirty the second she’d encounter a field.
She already has a room prepared at Lewis’ place, there’s no way her old house can offer her proper living conditions just yet. That’s not a jab directed at her, rather at the passing of time and the overgrown state of her courtyard. But there’s nothing mean behind their comments, and they’re even offering all the help they can.
She’s trying to come up with a list of things that she might need, but Robin is already writing one of her own.
“She’s our architect,” Lewis whispers, winking at her in secrecy.
It’s weird and scary and she doesn’t know how to feel about it. Back in the city, she could have crumbled on the sidewalk and nobody would have cared. Here, it seems everyone jumps at the chance to do just that, help and care, and she’s terrified out of her skin. Her thanks are muffled by the weird knot in her throat. When balancing things out in her head, there’s nothing she can give them in equal measures.
The key in her hand feels foreign, but yet it’s that thing that grounds her to the moment, doesn’t let her slip away in that part of her brain that makes her forget things even happened. The house is, of course, a disaster, though someone had the good thinking of covering the furniture. The place is small, and it needs a good dusting, maybe even a new coat of paint. Robin, by her side, is still doing her job.
“Is there anything you want in particular?”
“No, not really. I don’t think so?”
She’s lost and overwhelmed. She’d like to just sit somewhere and start unpacking, maybe go and switch all of her things again actually, because there’s no way she can fit in with these people. But Lewis’ arm is around her shoulder, urging her back the way they came, promising her his special vegetable mix and green tea.
Once finally out of his sight, and comfortably settled in his extra bedroom, she squeezes a pillow close to her chest, hiding her face in it, and starts crying. She sobs – for the grandparents she didn’t properly appreciate while alive, that still left her with so much. For the chance that not many have to switch things around. For the state in which the farm is, and the immense effort she’ll have to put in building it back together. For the pain in her arms, the burn so unfamiliar that it must be only the sign of something new. She’s overwhelmed and scared, and hours pass before she finally falls asleep,
The next morning, she refuses even the breakfast, and immediately heads towards her place, luggage in tow. Mayor Lewis promised he’ll solve the problem of electricity and water running back to the place, so at least she can forget the administrative part.
She greets everyone she passes by, because otherwise the staring just gets too unbearable, and though they’re curious, they also remain polite too. But her courtyard and house are truly disastrous. She’s glad it’s still so early in the year, so the weeds didn’t grow yet on the path towards her door, so at least she can focus on dusting off the room, polishing the floor. She unpacks with nostalgic music blasting from her phone: plates in one drawer, her clothes in the other two. She builds herself a nightstand out of all the books she brought with her, and she washes the curtains by hand, letting them dry out in the sun.
She goes to the town for bedsheets and even more cleaning products, buys a basil plant for the windowsill. The place is small, smaller even than her city apartment, and she has nothing of her own to properly decorate it with, give it a specific charm, so she allows herself to get lost between the small isles of the store, and pick whatever piques her fancy. But this is fine, she thinks. This is, after all, the true definition of a new start.
She watches the sun set from her porch – she thinks she’d like an armchair for the place, it’d make a lovely reading pace if it’s not rainy, and there’s a soft lull from the TV inside, where the weather prognosis for the next day rattles on.
She finds grandpa’s old gardening books, and she starts reading them. She cleans up a small portion of the land, plants some seeds she picked based on Pierre’s recommendations. Gathers wood from the end of the forest that runs almost up to her house, practices splitting it in smaller branches, that she can carry and gather in the small tool shed, for the winter.
During the first night that it rains, she opens her door to a stray, lost dog. She hugs him close to her all through the night, as he whimpers and warms up – and in the morning she names him Max, and buys him dog food and a colourful bowl. She stops feeling so alone, so lost, a purpose forming, even though she can’t quite name it.
When too many days pass with her cooped only at her place, letters and requests for visits start pouring in her mailbox. Sometimes mayor Lewis comes pick her himself, walking around the town with her, stopping to present her to any villager they encounter. She feels like a circus freak being paraded around like this, but she smiles, wonders if Max is getting bored at home or if she could walk through the forest in search of some fruits.
***
Then, when the weather prognosis tells of many sunny days in a row, Robin shows up at her doorsteps, can of paint in one hand, brushes in the other – and her son behind her, to help her out.
She watches him, fiddling on the spot, looking like he certainly doesn’t want to be here and she smiles. Well, that’s at least a feeling that she can relate to, even when in her bed after a tiring day, she still sometimes yearns for everything that this place is not. Max helps. In this case as well, as he runs to the door and immediately jumps on him.
“Max, no!” she chides, though he settles calmly on panting up at the man for pats. Luckily, he hasn’t slammed him to the ground, as he tends to do with her, but that’s still no proper way of greeting strangers. “I’m so sorry…”
“Sebastian,” he says. “There’s no problem, really.” He’s scratching the dog between his ears, absentmindedly looking in through the door, at the small place she now calls home. There’s nothing much in there, but she finds herself growing protective over it anyway, at his gaze.
Max, the traitor, is now cuddled down at his feet. From the side, Robin laughs.
Her and Sebastian move the furniture, as Robin tapes newspaper on the wooden floor. She prepares fresh lemonade for her visitors and helpers before they start painting, and she takes a short break just to water her crops. They do the work in silence, mostly, just her phone turned on to fill up the space – and without mayor Lewis’ fast mouth, she isn’t certain what she could possibly talk about. From time to time, Robin asks Sebastian something – regarding his sister, or some things she asked him about before, which sounds a lot like nagging so she prefers to stay out of it.
She thanks them many, many times before they leave for the day. Especially since it was the weekend, and she’s sure they just threw away a perfectly free day on helping her put together her house. She just feels more and more indebted towards all these people. Even if Sebastian didn’t look her way even once.
***
She starts going to the local library, borrowing books and learning more and more things about the farm. She accepts the quests from the bulletin board, and in exchange she asks for fishing tips or some town history. She starts taking evening walks, with Max, picking up acorns. She gets stronger and better at all the farm work. She places various orders, starting to gather syrup from the trees near her house – and one lazy day, she makes jam, that she then sells.
She starts counting the money, making plans for the farm. She buys two chickens, and the one day when no one in the town sees her, it is because she struggled all the time to build a fence so that they won’t step all over crops and no fox would reach them during the night.
***
Everyone is friendly, showing up at her door with gifts for her new move: a handmade mug from Leah, a beautiful seashell from Elliot, an actual functional first aid kit from Harvey. She suspects the mayor’s doing behind all these kindness acts, and yet it’s with a reverent kind of gestures that she finds a place for all of them in her small house. She starts adding some kind of adjectives to this cast of characters that enter her life.
But with Sebastian, something’s different. She doesn’t know what makes her notice him again; that something that made him stand out from the mass of people she met in the past few weeks. Maybe it’s not even just one single thing, but a mix: like how he is the son of the kindest lady, paler than the farmers or football players, how he doesn’t want to stand out at all, how she has to go out of her way to find him, instead of the other way around.
Most of all, it’s the desperation she can feel off of him. There’s a force in him that cannot make peace with how things are for him at the moment – and it’s the familiarity of it that pulls her in, lets her gaze linger on him for a bit longer, makes her ask about him while smiling in the most innocent way, sipping tea in Robin’s office.
***
They’re not that different; she’s easy to fit in the village life, mostly because she’s so pliable for others, knowing the memory of her grandpa is attached to her as well. She sometimes feels like the older residents of the town look through her, instead of directly at her, and see the ghost of someone else they used to know. And the days pass, things fall together, and yet in her chest, there’s a clock ticking away, counting down the time spent here, because if she was looking for something like belonging, it seems this town buried it away with her grandpa, and things don’t seem that different from how they used to be. She just has dirtier nails now, and some decaying make-up skills.
So she never visits without a purpose, doesn’t get too friendly with most of them. She spends days in a row on her farm, ploughing the land, watering the plants, feeding the animals. Task upon task, she goes through all of them, grateful for how it’s silencing her mind, giving her the time and space to breathe. If she finishes early, she likes to go fishing, the breeze nice against her sun-warmed face, especially as the dusk approaches.
It’s the simplicity of life that lulls her into wanting something more, eventually, tentatively. She visits Robin, as she’s closing the store, so they can share some fresh-picked fruits while watching the sun set. She meets up with the mayor for chess during Sundays, stories of two best friends half a century ago embedded in every sigh, and she wins every time and that’s how she knows he just lets her. When she passes by to drop something for the museum, she spends the remaining afternoon in the library, browsing the collection, reading for the children fresh out of classes that ask her to do so.
But if anyone in Pelican Town would be asked, they wouldn’t be able to tell people that much about their newest villager. In truth, even for those closest to her, there’s an aura of mystery: whatever her life was before, she doesn’t go into details. Whatever and for however long she might remain in their lives, she doesn’t say.
To Sebastian, that’s what makes it easy. He doesn’t expect her to tell him anything, since she’s not pressing her curiosities either. Probably why she opens so willingly, why she creates a routine around his. She always stops at the edge of the river, where she knows she’ll find him in the evenings. They never talk for long, or of important things – but she thinks, the magic is in staring together at the same scenery, feeling much of the same things. After the third time, she asks for a cigarette from him, and she winks at him when he looks just a tiny bit surprised.
This is how it begins. The rest she almost doesn’t even notice.
***
She remembers the Egg festival; she’s sure she took part in one of the hunts back when she was little, though the details are foggy in her mind. She doesn’t remember any of the villagers, but she’s been a very shy child, and not even the promise of bunny chocolates was enough to persuade her back then.
Still, she worked for so long in a corporation, at this point the spirit of competition is embedded into her. She wakes up early, and she wears one of her dresses from before, even if she has to match it with grandpa’s old jeans jacket. She even puts on make-up, manages to water her plants as well before she’s walking towards the town.
She officially meets Maru and Demetrius, as they’ve been so busy during her past visits. Marnie clasps her in-between her arms, exclaims how pretty she is when not trying to imitate her house’s looks, and loudly kisses both her cheeks. Gus waves at her, and keeps presenting various plates to her, and by the time she can excuse herself, she’s glad she hasn’t eaten any breakfast. Jas and Vincent come at her yelling tag! and she spends the next half an hour running around, followed by the sometimes annoyed, sometimes happy smiles of the other villagers.
She buys strawberry seeds, more on a whim, because she was craving for some, and gets herself a cute bunny plush, since she’d had trouble sleeping, and she’s sure Max would appreciate her hugging a non-living thing more. She feels like she fits more, now, that she’s surrounded by everyone else, and she realizes that she knows them all, that they know her back – and there’s no outright hostility.
She greets Sebastian, and meets his friends. She compliments Abigail’s hair, Sam compliments her instead. He’s friendly and outgoing, compared to the other two in his group, but she notices Sebastian’s fleeting smile at the toy in her arms, so she straightens her back even more.
As soon as mayor Lewis starts his announcement, Abigail immediately seems more excited, especially since she is presented as the winner for the past decade. However, by the time the day ends, Pelican Town has a new Egg Hunt winner.
The straw hat doesn’t fit her outfit, and it’s not quite yet a necessary accessory, but she’s beaming at every villager that comes to congratulate her, even if she’s already so old and she shouldn’t be so happy about beating a few 10 year olds. Even Abigail is a good sports and promises she will beat her next year.
Next year – she wonders if she’ll even be around for that long. Her saved-up money is slowly trickling down, as she keeps buying things that she needs, and she has no idea yet how much profit she’ll be able to make at harvest time. She feels better knowing her doubts don’t show to others.
She walks part of her way home with Robin and her family. Maru is happily telling her something about her research, though it goes over her head and she doesn’t understand much of what’s going on. Demetrius and Robin walk several steps ahead, arms linked, and it’s a sweet sight to see, that they can be so close even after so many years.
Then, before she takes her turn to her farm, after everyone else said their goodbyes, Sebastian looks up at her.
“It suits you,” he says, so low she almost misses it, nodding his head at her hat. She blushes under the street lamp, but he’s already turned his back on her and he can’t see, so she can go on her own way and pretend it never happened.
***
She starts going to the mines, even if everyone tells her she better not. But she needs better tools, more resources and something to do on rainy days, so she goes anyway. She comes out late into the night, dirtier than she’s ever been, spider cobwebs stuck in her hair, but her backpack heavy.
The next morning, she struggles packing some presents for Robin and Lewis, for all the help they’ve showered her in ever since she moved. She doesn’t have much to offer, some syrup and a jar of jam, a few eggs. But as she’s going into town, there are three presents that she’s carefully carrying around in her bag.
She stops by Lewis first, sits on his stairs with a steaming mug of coffee between her hands, as he waters his small garden – and they chat about the weather, the fishing days that Lewis has programmed, their favourite Stardrop meal. The days get warmer and warmer, as they’re slowly rolling towards summer, and she’s feeling peaceful, listening to the mayor’s chatter, his grunts as he digs around, his yelling when she offers to help him around.
She drops by Clint to let him examine some of the stuff she found underground, and by the time she reaches Robin’s place, the older woman is taking her lunch break. She’s exclaiming happily at the gift, and invites her to stay for lunch. She helps her with the plates, and while Robin goes to gather the rest of her family, she sends her to get Sebastian.
She has to breathe deep, count to 10, before she has the courage to knock at his door. There’s the sound of something tumbling to the floor, and she winces; more shuffling, and the door finally opens to reveal a somewhat sleepy looking Sebastian. It looks like he hasn’t brushed his hair yet, as it sticks out in odd directions, and in his own space, he’s wearing some old, washed-out t-shirt that is several sizes too large, and sweats. She stares at him, entirely endeared, but also deeply aware that there’s a line she has just crossed by seeing him like this – and she’s not sure she was allowed to.
“Hi,” she says, at the same time he says “Shit”, closing the door on her. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to come up with a proper way to reach to this, but her mind coming up blank.
Eventually, she lamely says “Robin said lunch’s ready,” before she leaves for the kitchen again. Demetrius is already seated at the table, looking up at his wife like she hung up the sun on the sky. Maru refuses to show up, as she’s too invested in her research, but there’s the slam of a door from downstairs, and Sebastian eventually shows up, just as his step-father takes his first bite from his plate of spaghetti. Their guest has not yet picked up her fork.
Sebastian is now wearing actual jeans, and his hair looks a bit more tamed. He sits next to her, and the four of them eat in relative silence, though she’s obsessively thinking of her knee, against Sebastian’s, under the table and she wants to fucking swear at herself, for acting like a fucking cowardly high-schooler.
“So, why did you move to Pelican Town?” Demetrius asks her, in the end. She notices him wincing immediately after the dull thud from under the table, and she imagines that was Robin kicking him from asking a question that no one had dared poise to her until now.
She finishes chewing the food in her mouth, swallowing a bit more painful.
“I needed a change,” she says eventually, entirely too vague.
“From? You should tell Sebastian about your city experience, because he’s obsessed with leaving the town.”
There’s a disapproving tone in his voice that makes her wince, but her head snaps up at Sebastian, who looks both entirely annoyed and disappointed. She’d like to press her finger to the frown now so obvious on his forehead.
“Really?” she mumbles lamely instead. Sebastian’s now looking at her, and although across the table his parents are bickering with each other in low whispers, he doesn’t break the eye contact. He just nods at her question, grabs another bite of food – the words won’t make it any better.
She always thought that the people in this town are happy to live here, heck even she’s trying to understand the charm of the place and why her grandpa never left it. She always thought that if there is someone to leave it, that’d be her, in an example of another of her life’s failures. But here’s Sebastian, burning with a yearning for a city just as hers to leave it was.
He takes her back home, assuring her that his lunch break is long enough to allow him to do that. They’re walking side by side in companionable silence. Sebastian, unlike his father, doesn’t ask her anything, so when they reach her property, she hands him her last package.
“Can I?” he asks, a hand already tugging at the ribbon, and she smiles at him. Inside, there’s an assortment of minerals: quartz, obsidians. She’s found them during her time in the mines, and the only thing she somewhat remembers from her dialogue with Maru is that her brother loves this stuff.
“What’s this for?” he says, voice a little chocked, laughing at the end, embarrassed and overwhelmed.
“Thanks for that day,” she says. Then, more unsure… “And good luck for the future?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She’s already turned around on her feet, a hand up in the air in goodbye.
The next morning, even if Sebastian never eats breakfast, he makes toast and eats it with strawberry jam, from a jar cutely decorated in stickers, where in cursive, their newest villager wrote for Robin and family <3.
***
She goes to JojaMart to buy an electric kettle; she can’t quite yet afford to get her kitchen built in, so she’s been eating at the Stardrop Saloon or lived on oatmeal and salads. But the mornings are dreadful with instant coffee and cold tap water, so she’s finally investing in something to make her life a bit better. This lifestyle reminds her of being a student in the dorms, and it’s not something she thought she’ll ever return to.
Sam looks around for his managers, and when there’s none around, he stops next to her and they chat by the vegetable stall. She’s frowning at the price, way higher than what they can find in the town and what she sells her own products for.
“Capitalism,” Sam says brightly, tugging at his employee lanyard, and she laughs at him.
“Oh, trust me, I know all about that.”
He wiggles his eyebrows at her, which makes her snort. Shane, his co-worker, turns to stare at them, but he’s not telling them on, so she moves one step closer to him.
“I’ve worked in customer care for Joja Corporation.”
Sam mimics throwing up, turning serious again only when she’s elbowing his side. She’s painfully aware of all the cameras in the store, after all this time away from anything of the sorts.
“But for real, you’re way better in Pelican Town,” he says, even if she’s not yet quite convinced.
But he doesn’t continue pressing the matter. Instead, Sam invites her the next Friday for an evening at the Saloon, where him, Sebastian and Abigail are supposed to play live a few of their songs. She clasps her hands together, and agrees immediately. She used to love this kind of thing: but it’s been so long since she allowed herself to take an evening off, both in her life back in the city, and the life here.
***
She’s already a regular, so Emily nowadays greets her with a hug. Though this time she whistles suggestively at her outfit. Since it’s supposed to be a more special night, she chose a low cut blouse to go with skinny jeans, and she’s no more a formless body buried under work clothes. The only make-up is a very dark lipstick. Her… friends, she supposes, are already on the side, tuning their instruments. Sam grins at her, waving her at the table Gus saved up for them, where he ordered pizza for everyone.
They’re not playing for a long time, maybe half an hour, but by the end, everyone is loudly clapping at their performance. She’s the only one whooping, and Sam is loudly laughing at her embarrassed grin afterwards, runs to fall into her waiting arms and twirls her around in the air, feet not touching the floor.
“Who knew our biggest fan would be you?” he says, helping her pat her hair pack into place.
“I did. I mean, your band has Abigail.”
The girl in questions frowns a bit at her, suspicious that it’s less of a compliment than she tried to make it, turns on her feet as she moves to the music box, tosses a coin in and picks a song. It takes a few seconds for her choice to start loudly booming in the saloon, but as soon as she does, she moves to grab at Sebastian’s arm, dragging him to the dancefloor, though he looks like he’s a lamb taken to sacrifice.
Sam laughs at the two of them, then turns back to his new friend.
“Do you think these two will ever hook up?”
She chokes on the slice of pizza that she’s eating, punching at her chest so she can breathe again. Someone slides in the chair next to her to the table, a hand slapping her hard on the back until she can breathe properly again. Then, frowning, she turns towards the newcomer, because she can’t bear looking at Sebastian and Abigail, together, dancing. She doesn’t think she can look at them without imagining them doing exactly what Sam asked her about, and it’s a shaming thought that she burns down. Shane, the one sitting next to her now, has already picked a slice of his own from their order, and nodded in greetings at Sam.
Sam leaves to talk with Penny, spending enough time as it is in Shane’s company, so Shane moves even closer to her, so he can be heard over the loud music. He’s a bit of an asshole, as he’s looking nowhere else but at her cleavage and the skin she’s showing with her choice of clothes. He’s not even trying to hide it, licking his lips, speaking without even trying to lift his eyes.
“Didn’t know the sunshine and the emo buy are hiding such a beauty between themselves,” he says, snaking an arm around her waist, shoving the second pint of beer he arrived with in her direction. He already smells like the stuff though, which means he’s at least tipsy, if not outright drunk yet. There’s offense in the way he said those nicknames, horrible on their own as well, but she’s sitting between the wall and his body and he’s a man showing interest in her, clearly going out of his way to make it obvious.
She takes several big gulps from her beer, and then turns towards him, smiling. He can’t tell it is strained.
“Well, I’m here now,” she says, and the hand around her squeezes in response. She lets him talk, mostly shit about the town, then shit about himself, and she keeps drinking and drinking, glass after glass of alcohol, because then at least she doesn’t have to reply. In the dark, they must look pretty cosy to the others, because no one else returns to the table – and by the time she remembers she is supposed to have friends around, and looks around for them, her vision is unfocused and she can’t make out the shapes and figures all around.
But she can notice the slightly grown stubble on Shane, how he’s now so, so close to her, his lips brushing against her ear each time he tells her something. She feels like she’s about to suffocate. But he tells her about how beautiful she is, how hard he makes her – and he guides her hand to his pants, where she indeed can feel her effect, and it’s a surge of pleasure and power. She squeezes him through his pants, and he groans in her ear. Her nipples perk up. And then his lips move closer, to her neck, where his tongue is lapping at her skin, sucking against the space. She feels hot all over, in a way that she doesn’t know if she likes or not. His other hand is now fondling with her breasts through her blouse, and she gasps – which only makes him to go at it harder. His mouth finds her, his tongue moving against hers immediately. She’s lost in time, doesn’t know for how long he does it – her body becoming lighter and lighter with each swipe of his saliva against her lips.
Then, a cough from behind Shane. She snaps out of her daze, looks up. Makes eye contact with Sebastian, which feels as effective as a cold shower to her fogged mind. She yanks Shane’s hands off her, but he’s unbothered, turns to look at Sebastian with something like disgust and boredom.
“Can we help you?” Shane says. She hates how the word we sounds from his mouth.
Sebastian doesn’t bother to even look at the drunk guy, instead addressing her only.
“Do you want to go home? The others left already, but it’s getting pretty late…” He stops to stare at Shane, and she wordlessly nods at him. He starts moving instantly, shoving Shane away so he can grab her wrist and help her out of her chair. She needs a few seconds to stabilize herself on her feet, stop the dizzying headache that hit her at the sudden movement.
“Come on, man, what do you think you’re doing?” Shane asks, though he also has troubles standing on his own feet. He makes do with leaning against the table, doing his best to look as menacing as possible.
In his arms, she shudders at the sound of his voice, clutches her fingers around Sebastian’s leather jacket. He doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t want to touch her either, so he just stands still.
“She’s coming with me,” is all he says, and when he starts towards the door, she follows silently. He offers her jacket, which he picked up earlier, before checking on her, and she hangs her head even lower in shame. The cold, outside air is quickly sobering her up, and she really can’t believe she lost herself, just as if she were a college freshman. She burns with embarrassment.
Once out, Sebastian moves a bit away from her, offering her space, though he always extends an arm in her direction when she stumbles on both existent and imaginary obstacles. The silence now is excruciating.
“Say something,” she croaks, her throat hurting from all the alcohol.
“Are you okay?”
His voice is soft, and he stops, looks at her for the first time since the start of all this situation. She knows she probably looks like a mess, lipstick smeared all around her mouth, clothes hanging awkwardly, but his eyes just search hers. She suddenly feels like crying. He must see it too, because he’s moving closer to her.
“Can I-” he tries, sighs, moves a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can I touch you?”
She nods, but he doesn’t move.
“I’ll need verbal confirmation.”
“Yes.”
She’s outright staring at him now, as he makes his way to her, cups her face in between his hands. His fingers are cold against her flushed skin, but it grounds her to the moment. Sebastian’s eyes are moving now, across her face: stop at her jaw, her neck, where Shane sucked painful love bites against her skin, visible even only in the light coming from the street lamps. He hesitates before moving his gaze downwards, where similar marks were left by his fingers against her tits. She feels like used goods, even if there is no judgement from Sebastian.
“Did you want that?” he asks again, sounding deadly serious, so she’s trying to think equally as seriously about his question. It’s hard, her thoughts all jumbled up, a soft kind of edge to everything going on in her head.
“I don’t know,” she answers finally, her head pressing more firmly against his palm. Sebastian’s thumbs are now moving softly against her jaw, and she wants to purr, just like a cat, maybe hang on to him for more of his warmth.
“God,” he says, and it sounds like a swearword. He unglues himself from her, extends an arm that she gracefully takes as they continue on the road to her house. He doesn’t say anything more until they arrive on her porch, though he looks like he’s thinking very hard. She’d like to press her finger to the frown on his forehead.
Max is happily snoring on the warm ground, and she lets go of Sebastian to run the short distance to her dog. She goes on her knees, grabs Max’s head in her hands and coos at him like she would to a baby, talks lovesick nonsense to the dog, pats him all over.
Her voice sounds fucking cute, Sebastian thinks, but instead he fishes something from the pockets of his jacket, bends down so he can press it in her palms. She immediately turns to look at him, eyes big and questioning.
“Take those in the morning, okay? You’ll need them,” is all he says, raising a hand and waving it in a goodbye.
***
Sebastian is right. She wakes two hours later, empties all the contents of her stomach, tears burning at her eyes, and when she wakes again, she thanks all the gods that outside it is raining, because she only gets up to get a glass of water and swallow the pills. Her head is killing her, and her heart aches in embarrassment at the way she acted. She hangs between screaming out in frustration at her own self and complaining about being hangover the whole day, hating herself so, so very much.
She still shoots Sebastian a text, thanking him for taking care of her, in so many ways, the night before. He leaves her on read.
For the next week, she busies herself with work on the farm. She makes another batch of jam jars, which she sends to Lewis for selling. She plants a new tree sapling, harvests strawberries, even builds an ugly-looking scarecrow out of an old broom. She cuts down wood, saves up stacks of it for when she’ll eventually afford Robin’s services. She goes in the mines, once or twice.
Then one of Lewis’ invitations is waiting in her mailbox, for another festival. Spring is coming to an end, already a sweeter, warmer breeze in the air, so the whole town is to celebrate the exact thing.
***
But Pelican Town is a small place, and so it never forgets gossip too easily. On that evening, enough pairs of eyes saw her fumbling in the dark with Shane, and so enough pairs of eyes are now watching her suspiciously as she greets the mayor. She’s wearing some city dress again, though more modest, and ribbons in her hair. She’s forcing herself to smile at everyone she encounters, trying not to seem so affected by the outright cold shoulder.
Sam still greets her, though, grabbing her in his arms.
“Oh, handsome!” she says, and laughs when he’s looking around, to check if anyone else heard her. But he is wearing a suit, his hair is gelled down and he smells like his mother. His eyes are searching hers though, and she thinks Sebastian might have said something to his friend. But thankfully Sam mentions nothing.
She looks behind him, at Sebastian, dressed in a costume as well. Her heart starts beating faster in her chest; his hair is pushed back, and his forehead is now uncovered. He sits relaxed, his hands in his pockets, like he doesn’t really want to be there and she hasn’t seen someone look that heartbreakingly gorgeous.
“You too,” she says. Sebastian raises an eyebrow at her. “Look good, I mean,” she clarifies, and she clears her throat before the awkwardness chokes her.
It’s a big understatement, but it’s the best she can do right now. There’s a small smile that she gets in reply. On the other side of the field, by Robin’s side, Abigail, Penny and Maru look absolutely stunning in their festival dresses, with the flower crowns on top of their heads. They’re laughing at one of Abigail’s stories, and they’re just beautiful and young and entirely enrapturing. She wonders if she didn’t fuck it up so badly earlier, she would have been invited to be one of them.
This time around, there’s not as much mingling with the people as earlier in the season; people are a bit warier, though she supposes she deserves it. She’s busy setting down a mat under a blossoming tree, preparing some kind of picnic and viewing spot at the same time.
“You look beautiful,” she hears from behind her, and she turns around to find Shane. A bit behind him, Marnie is engaged in a conversation with the mayor, and by his side, there’s Jas, who immediately shoves her sandals away so she can step on her mat and sit next to her.
She offers her tea and strawberries, places her own hat on top of the child’s head to protect her from the sun, who squeals in delight that she can show off the winning prize of the egg hunt. Then, she turns back to Shane:
“Is she your daughter?”
“Gods, no. She’s my goddaughter.”
She sighs, relieved a bit. In the morning, Shane looks just scruffy, some kind of sober, but his face is still red and puffy, sign of alcoholism. She knows Jas lives with him and Marnie, and it can’t be a good environment for a child, but she’s heard the rumours that he’s not that much at home anyway. She’s worrying for the young girl, but she also trusts Marnie to handle the subject, not really her place to say anything anyway.
Shane moves closer, his hand grabbing the end of the scarf she’s wearing around her neck, tugging so it comes undone between his fingers. She gasps, palm gluing to the skin there, reaching out for him.
“Give it back,” she all but growls it out, eyes frantically looking around, hoping no one is actually looking their way, since everyone is focused on preparing for the dance.
“I did that, right?” he asks, finally stopping, and she takes back her scarf, hangs her head low, so that her hair can cover her movement, as she ties it back in place.
“Yes, you fucking asshole,” she spits, but doesn’t move away from him.
“I was honest, you know. About you looking beautiful. Then and now too.”
“Thank you,” she says, and stays in place even as Shane gets closer to her. He’s also dressed up, wearing an actual shirt and everything, his jaw freshly shaven. He even looks somewhat attractive, and just like last time, she’s grateful for the attention. Back in Zuzu City, no one bothers with any kind of dating, no one bothers to notice someone else at all – no sweet lies, no prelude, just a dick and a cunt. So this feels new and flattering at the same time.
She sits down on her mat, reluctantly serves Shane too with some of her freshly picked strawberries. Jas moved over to Vincent and Jodi, her hands carefully holding on to the hat that’s still a bit too big for her, so it’s only the two of them in this corner. The music can’t start soon enough, because she can feel stray eyes looking to them.
The dance starts, and she watches, transfixed as the pairs walk towards each other, meeting in the middle in an embrace. Almost immediately the dresses flutter in the air, twirling. There’s an admiring exclamation from somewhere in the crowd, Jas happily clapping along to the rhythm. She looks at Sam, all but drinking up Penny’s laughing face. She looks at Abigail, tightly holding on to Sebastian’s shoulders. She looks at her friends dancing with the girls they have a crush on, and something in her chest rips apart.
“Hey,” Shane says. “Wanna get out of here?”
She nods wordlessly, and he takes her hand. No one looks at them, as they discreetly make their way behind everyone else. Once out the field, Shane breaks into a run through the woods. They stop in a clearing, both breathing hard from their run, and Shane grins at her, before straightening his back, walking purposefully her way and deciding to kiss her. It’s hard and rough, much like he’s been handling her until now too, but she still moans.
His hands are already moving at pulling his belt apart, and he takes her hands and moves them towards his dick.
“Come on, play with it,” he whispers breathlessly, as he’s pulling apart her scarf for a second time today, mouth finding the tender skin, reinforcing the fading marks. She’s feeling needy herself, she’d like him to shove down her panties and eat her out, but she makes do with moving her legs one against the other, seeking some kind of friction, as her hands are moving from his tip towards his balls, slower at the beginning, and faster once he starts grunting in her ear, pumping into her hands.
Then, he grabs at her hair, and she has to bite her tongue to stop from yelping.
“On your knees,” he says, already pushing his weight on her shoulders, and more or less willingly, she gets to the ground. The uneven dirt hurts her skin, and yet she has to ignore it, because Shane is already guiding his dick with his hands towards her lips. She forces herself to open her mouth, hopes he’ll better get down to do the same thing for her.
Her mouth is warm, and she’s fucking good at what she’s doing, sucking hard and taking him all in, like a good bitch, even if tears are forming at the corner of her eyes and her throat is burning. He pulls out, just to slam, hard, back inside her wet, welcoming hole – and in just three shoves, he comes undone, half coming in her mouth, half out just so he can have his fantasy of his cum leaking on her face.
Her dress is stained, and almost all her arousal is out of her. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, presses a palm against the painful strain in her jaw. Shane hurries to put his now flailing dick back inside his pants, and he’s not helping her back up.
“Gotta go,” he says, and he’s patting down his pants, where she held onto and left some creasing.
“What?” she asks, suddenly annoyed. “What about me?”
“Solve it yourself, princess.”
He starts walking away. She screams after him.
“Oh, fuck you!”
“My pleasure, next time!” he shouts back, but he doesn’t stop, as he’s making his way back towards the festival.
She shoves the middle finger up in the air, stomping her feet at the same time, shrieking.
“You fucking asshole!”
He chuckles at her tantrum, but he’s spent and satisfied, while she’s there frustrated and fucked over, so he’s not bothering to take her too seriously.
There’s no way she can go back there without everyone else figuring out exactly what she’s been up to. Of course, Shane looks no different than his usual, maybe he’s even surrounded by some post-orgasm glow, but there’s some bleeding from one of her knees, his now dry cum on the front of her dress, and her hair is nothing but a mess. She can’t believe how fucking stupid she can be, and how she fell again in the same old game of “I give you some attention, you give me some sex” that she’s been playing for ages now. It seems like habits don’t change, no matter if she’s in Zuzu City or Pelican Town.
And for what? Just because she felt lonely and jealous, because she felt like no matter how much she’ll try, she’ll never be anything but a passing fancy to these people that know each other inside out?
She makes her way towards her farm stomping her feet, swearing at Shane and mumbling curses all the way. Once back, she draws herself a hot bath and, in the tub, finally somewhere safe, she touches herself, moans out into the air a name she doesn’t dare to even say out loud, and thinks of someone who never even looked at her in any way to indicate she might want her too.
So, she must make do with fucking Shane?
But as she succumbs to her orgasm, moving lower into the water, maybe she can just order a dildo online and leave it at that.
***
On the first summer days, she takes up fishing. She buys a bottle of mead, because she’s heard from mayor Lewis that’s the favourite drink of their local fishermen, and she goes down the beach to beg.
She wants to learn fishing, she says. Just a couple of lessons, whenever he can leave his store and he’s willing to – she really just wants some new hobbies. It’s dreadfully awful to have only three functional TV channels, and only a dozens of books. Even Max is just a dog, and there’s a limitation to what he is capable of. Willy is funny and wise in the way only old men who love the sea can be, but he’s patient in his explanations – and sure enough, very soon, she catches her first fish.
She takes a picture of it on her phone, proud of her achievement. She sends it to Sam, to boast a bit and to annoy him, because he’s currently stuck at his part-time job. Then she goes shell hunting, because she’s too giddy to do any actual work. The villagers recently rebuilt the small bridge on the beach, and it’s lovely to get to take a walk like this. She wants her house to have the same fresh feeling, so she visits Robin for an upgrade.
And she knows she’s paying for the work, but with Robin, she feels like she’s asking for a favour, so she must give something back. And because she feels guilty, for having thought so angrily and jealously about Sebastian and his life, she wants to say sorry in a way, even if he has no way of knowing why she’s doing it in the first place.
Robin’s outside the house, just having come back from an exercise class at Caroline’s. She greets her visitor just a bit more strained than usual, and well – there’s no doubt that if there’s a gossip mill in the town, that’s probably the weekly gathering of middle-aged wives.
The farmer sighs, agrees to wait in the house while Robin takes a shower, before they can discuss about work.
“Is Sebastian home?” she asks, and the older woman makes a dismissive sign with her hand, which means she can go and check for herself.
The door to his room is slightly open, and he actually asks her to come in when she knocks. She greets him from the doorway, suddenly shy when he speaks, suddenly guilty that she’s interrupting him. She sits down on the couch, starts by watching him work, and then eventually she gets distracted by the posters on his walls, and the huge book collection he is showcasing on his shelves. It’s work that she’s familiar with, the stuff she liked to read before, when she used to have time for her hobbies, about worlds that she could escape to only by reading about them in books, featuring magic and dragons and robots.
He doesn’t seem to mind her looking around, as long as she’s quiet. Then, he eventually finishes, and sighs, stretching out his arms.
“Sorry about that, had to finish what I was working on.”
“Ah,” she nods. “And what is that?”
“I do freelance programming,” he answers. “I just want to save up enough to move from here. You know, if I’d gone to college, I’d probably be making six figures right now… but I just don’t want to be part of that corporate rat race, you know?”
“As a rat,” she says, a smile already on her face, “I totally agree with you.”
He looks at her; this is the first hint he gets – of something more about her. He’s heard from Sam, of course, about her actual job in the city, but it’s different to know it from her, to know he has her trust, to hear the defeat behind her voice, even as she tries to hide it with humour.
Then the moment is broken, the ping from his IM breaking the companionable silence between them. Normally, he’d have to explain to people why he is not in the mood to meet up with others, his introversion something out of a freak show with the villagers, but she just nods at him in understanding.
But the next interruption is almost brutal, Robin returning to pass on Abigail’s message, so filled with dismissal at his work, and indifference at his preferences. The easy air about him, as he was talking about a work he clearly loves and his dreams, is now entirely stifled – and instead he, defeated, just accepts all of this, even if he complains. She’d like to press her finger to the frown on his forehead.
This situation makes her blood boil, though: because she’s been in his exact spot. She’s had people look down at her choices for as long as she’s decided to walk her path, out there in the city – and now that she knows what it’s like not to, she can’t take to be the witness to it happening in front of her. Of course, some people will always have something to say, but it should be different with those considered friends – considered family, no?
From the kitchen upstairs, Robin is calling out her name – now, suddenly, she doesn’t really want to go, especially when she knows her presence is soon to be replaced by someone else’s. So, she acts daringly. She touches his arm, as she raises to go:
“You know, I think you’re doing an amazing job, especially considering your conditions. And trust me, it really is better than being a clog in the corporate system, and your work is important, even if it’s important for you only.”
As soon as she came, she’s gone and he loses his chance of asking for more. She left behind another sloppily packed present on his desk, a piece of quartz inside. He gets up, moves to put it up on his shelves – and shit, he wonders if she noticed the other stuff she’s given him, up there.
***
So Robin starts coming around with her carpenter tools, sometimes so early in the morning that she’s welcoming her still in her Disney pyjamas. They drink instant coffee, warm this time – and they discuss recipes that she’d like to try in her new kitchen, or the kind of animals she’ll grow in the barn. She learns that Robin loves goat cheese, and she shares that she absolutely hates peppers. She asks about Sebastian and Maru’s childhoods, she tells of her grandpa’s favourite magic trick.
The sound of Robin’s hammer accompanies her through her motions, as she’s ploughing the land for the summer crops. She didn’t really understand how lonely she has been all these months, just going through what she has to do. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, even if just for a few stolen minutes.
Sebastian drops by during his breaks sometimes, to bring his mother’s lunch, and both women nag at him so much that he ends up eating with them, Max nestled at his feet under the table.
Once, she walks back with him towards the town; she needs to drop by Pierre’s, to order some kitchen utensils – and by Lewis’ house, to leave him a note with info on her next batch of syrup and honey, that she sells for some good prices. He strains himself to walk in a pace that matches hers, even if he just wants to hurry home and take a nap.
She noticed, how tired he looks lately: hair more dishevelled, the slight stubble on his chin, the dark under his eyes. She knows, from Robin, that he spent even more time than usual in his room, refusing to meet even Abigail or Sam. She’d like to press her palm on his forehead, check for any signs of sickness.
“Are you working a lot these days?” she asks, fumbling with the edge of her t-shirt, feeling shy and worried that she might be overstepping.
“Had a tight deadline, but it’s over now.”
He pushes the hair out of his eyes with his hand, pats the pockets of his jeans with the other. He takes out his cigarettes, and then swears.
“Shit, do you have a lighter?”
In fact, she does. Sometimes, when she goes to the mines, her flashlight flickers and dies out, so she started the habit of carrying candles on her expeditions, and always a lighter in her pocket. She offers the fire; she has to stand on her tiptoes and he has to bend down to make it work.
Sebastian looks at her; she’s determinedly staring at the ground. They’re so close that even in the summer heat, she can feel his breathe on her cheek. Once the cigarette is lit, she almost scrambles away, pressing her palms to her cheeks, complaining about the hot weather.
She starts walking faster, afraid of what she might do if Sebastian looks into her face. There’s a small smile on his face that she can’t notice.
***
Pierre’s store is more of a general hangout spot for his daughter, though – Maru is eating her lunch with Abigail in a corner, and she waves at the two of them as she turns towards the counter. Of course, Pierre convinces her to buy several types of flower seeds – and she walks around the town with those in her arms. She thinks she might actually be his best customer. Or easiest, which in his case, it is one and the same thing.
That’s how she meets Evelyn: in the town square, taking care of the flowers. In truth, she never stopped to think about who maintains the town, and now she seems to have her answer. There are many people around; Penny with the kids, playing in the water fountain. Mayor Lewis and Harvey discussing in front of the clinic, Gus sticking a request on the board.
But the old lady spots her shopping, and sits her down on a bench, where she lectures her on the proper way to take care of them.
Then, the tone shifts – and the older woman asks her about the animals she’s growing (they’re well), how she finds Pelican Town (nice) and what’s her favourite flower (hyacinth).
“You know,” she laughs. “I almost married your grandpa.”
She sputters, unsure how to take this wild what-if she’s presented with. Of course, if Evelyn would have ended as his wife, she wouldn’t be here at all. And still, her curiosity gets the best of her.
“What happened?”
“Oh, George – that’s my husband, dear – bought an old farm here in town and moved one day. The next thing you know, everyone was smitten with the new farmer, me included. And by then, your grandpa was already in the army.”
And when he returned from the army, he returned with a wife – that’s a story that she knows. Grandpa met her grandmother at one of the dance evenings organized for young soldiers, and if the story she was told as a child is to be believed, he danced with no one else that night, the next and all the other ones that followed.
“How was he like?”
Sometimes, when it comes to someone you love, it’s hard to consider them from another point of view than the one you were always familiar with. He has always been just her grandfather to her, yet Evelyn here has seen him growing, becoming all those things to all those many people: son, neighbour, husband, father.
“He always worked hard, stirred trouble wherever he went and loved this town like no other,” she says, a faint smile on her face, lost in memories.
That sounds like the old man alright.
“Th-thank you, Evelyn.” Her voice sounds a little chocked. Just a little.
“Psssh, please. Call me Granny.”
The old man takes her hand, squeezes her fingers in hers – and pats her butt when she gets up to go home.
***
“Hey, mom,” she says, pressing the phone closer to her ear. It’s the first phone call she’s making from the landline, and there are jitters all over her skin. She hates that she has to stay still, glued to one spot the length of the phone’s cable. Her brain goes in override.
“Darling!” her mother exclaims from the other side. There’s some shifting, the sound of a door closing, then a sigh. “How are you? How’s Pelican Town?”
She tries not to sniffle outright, tries not to cry that she wants her mother when she’s a fucking grown-up adult, but that really is how she feels. It was all okay, the construction almost to an end, her crops growing beautifully – and then Max gnawed at her only good pair of shoes, and the thing sent her into a spiral of self-pity. She really has no idea what on earth she is doing here.
Instead, she asks: “Did you like living here?”
She is grandpa’s only living child. After her older brother’s death, she simply packed her stuff and moved to a shitty dorm in city, got married in two months and had her almost immediately after. Nowadays, her father is drowning in alcohol and her mother is drowning in work – and she wonders if the first coping mechanism may be more useful than the latter, though her last experience seems to point to a no.
“No,” her mother says. “But depends on what you’re chasing, or what you’re running away from. So, do you like living there?”
She tugs at the phone cord, shifts on spot, looks at Max sleeping a few feet away.
“M-maybe? I don’t know.”
“That’s not a no,” her mother says, ending the call immediately afterwards.
She sits on the same spot, with the tone dead in the background for a very long time, just staring out the window at the setting sun.
***
With the new barn built, she visits Marnie about filling it with the appropriate animals. She’d like a sheep, just because she thinks knitting would be a useful hobby to pick up by winter. Maybe a goat, so she can make cheese and thank Robin properly for all the overtime work she put in finishing her house so early.
Jas is out with Vincent, but before discussing the price of the animal, Marnie hands her the straw hat and her picnic mat. She burns as she takes those from her, not knowing what to say. It’s been two weeks since she ran from the town’s celebration, and even now, she burns with the shame of that day. She starts looking around.
“He’s not-”
“At work, dear,” she says, and finally she starts calculating and writing down something at her desk.
“So you know.”
“Everyone knows,” she says and sounds forcefully cheerful, although she must understand what weight her words have, because the farmer is slouching in a chair, head hanging in her hands.
“There’s nothing going on,” she wails, looking up at Marnie, begging her to believe her – even if she’s just a stranger, asking for a bias against her own blood relative.
“Nothing going on anymore?” Marnie corrects, moves to pat her on the shoulder, signalling at the same time for the young woman to follow her. She nods her head, defeated, and Marnie has to wonder what exactly did this hard-working farmer see in her drunk nephew. She feels relieved to know that she put an end to it. Maybe exactly because she got involved with her good for nothing boy that she feels a bit more forgiving towards her.
She talks her in getting another chicken too, as an apology for having fucked around with her nephew. She doesn’t have the heart to correct this motherly woman that it was, in fact, the other way around. But either way, she’s forgotten.
She knows that because the next day, Penny calls her and asks her to spend the day together with the kids on the beach. She shouldn’t be that surprised to see Sam there too.
***
She asks everyone she gets along with over, after the house expansion is finished. She spent most morning just preparing various recipes, to fit everyone’s taste. Penny arrives first, dropping an apple pie on her kitchen counter and moving around the house to admire Robin’s work. She’s been thinking of doing something about her trailer-living situation for a while.
Abigail and Maru arrive together, with a plate of Robin’s spaghetti. Her and Demetrius decided it’s better to skip the evening, seeing how everyone else there is the same age as their children. She learns that Abigail is supposed to start her second year of university in autumn, and that Maru is going to do her master’s in astrophysics.
She whistles appreciatively, makes fun of her literature degree on the way. The two then huddle together in a corner of the porch, feeding Max stray bits of food and cooing at him when his tail starts wagging.
Sam and Sebastian arrive the last, each carrying a board game in their hands. It’s smart thinking on their side, because she’s not sure what she would have entertained her guests with otherwise. They huddle around the table, filling up plates with at least five different food recipes, passing iced tea and lemonade around. Abigail has this perfect skill of being able to imitate Lewis’ announcement voice perfectly, which in turn makes Sam snort his drink out of his noise. It makes everyone else lose it, and afterwards there’s no awkwardness hanging between them.
Penny helps Sam clean up in the kitchen, and they’re gone for way longer than necessary, though everyone else at the table is polite enough not to comment on it. Abigail and Maru, sitting one across the other, keep looking at each other while the other is not looking, and Abigail might be eating so much chocolate cake that she risks getting sick.
Sebastian sits next to her, smiling softly at a story that Penny is telling, from their time together in high-school. She should, technically, feel left out of the loop, but each time she mentions someone unknown, or a habit they used to have as a teenage group, Sebastian leans over closer to her, and whispers explanations into her ear. His voice, low and smooth, makes her feel like she’s melting down her chair.
Sam and Sebastian go out for a smoke, and she’s following them too, asking for a cigarette from Sebastian, letting her lighter pass around in a circle. The sun has already set, and there’s only the soft buzzing sound of her lamp in the air. The boys are talking about their rehearsal schedule, ask her over sometime, which she happily agrees to.
“Hey,” Sam says, kicking at her leg with his shoe. “Are you single?”
“What the fuck?!”
Sam raises his hands in the air, talking with his cigarette between his teeth. “Don’t shoot the messenger!”
She was ready to punch his elbow, but is now lowering her arm, frowning at him. Behind Sam, Sebastian continue smoking, refusing to get himself involved in this mess.
“Whose messenger?” she asks, though there’s a teasing edge in her voice, clearly proving that she doesn’t believe anything else but his own curiosity brought him to this rudeness.
“Look man – uhm, woman I guess, we’re all friends here, no judgement zone.”
“You just laughed at Maru for liking math two minutes ago!” she points out, this time her kicking his leg.
“You can just not answer the question,” Sam says, pacifying, turning towards Sebastian to offer him his lighter, as he’s already on his second cigarette.
“No, it’s fine.” She feels embarrassed for causing a scene, when it’s not even such a big deal. “I am single.”
She starts walking a bit away, making it seem like she’s inspecting the shrub just next to the stairs.
“So no Shane?” this time it’s Sebastian asking, which is surprising because she did not expect him to care.
“No Shane,” she confirms, her voice a bit weaker than she intended it to be.
Sam punches the air in a victorious movement, grinning at her.
“Thank God, that guy’s a fucking asshole.”
He shivers a bit in the cold night air, wearing only a t-shirt, and with a goodbye thrown over his shoulder, he goes back inside. Sebastian moves his hand in the air a bit, gesturing to his unfinished smoke, but she’s still not making a move to go back.
“But him and Penny… totally a thing, right?”
“Totally,” Sebastian says, and they both burst out laughing.
***
When Abigail phoned to tell her about Luau, she actually mostly whined that summer festivals are the most boring ones, because everyone is so busy tending to crops and making the most out of the long days. The farmer herself was actually taking a break, at the height of the summer heat, with a glass of iced water, but counting down the minutes before she’d be back in the garden, pulling out the weeds and gathering ripened fruits.
She still gets invited to Luau with everyone else; somewhat of a temporary, potentially forever fixture to their group. There’s a gaping hole opening in her stomach when she thinks of this, anxiety bubbling all inside her body making her feel sick. She feels like something terrible surely must happen soon, considering how much joy she gets from all these people.
She has sent some stuff to mayor Lewis, to add to the potluck soup: fresh tomato, some mushrooms, basil. But still, the thing looks completely inedible.
“Are we trying to kill the governor?” she asks, as she’s carefully looking at the bowl in her hands.
Sebastian laughs, turning his upside down in the sand. She’d really like to do the same thing.
“It’s tradition!” Maru explains, frowning at her brother.
“Are we choosing governors based on the quality of their stomach?” she tries again, this time sniffing at the stuff. Its consistency looks absolutely… gluey.
Sam joins the laughter this time, and Sebastian pats Maru’s shoulder in some attempt at an excuse. Abigail is the only one who actually eats the stuff, though her face turns somewhat pale as soon as she is done. The governor looks like he is perfectly fine, and even praises their soup, which makes everyone visibly relax.
***
Maru’s birthday was a solitary thing; just another ordinary working day, celebrated only with chocolate cake in the evening with the entire family. Robin builds her another bookshelf, Demetrius and Sebastian get the money for a new telescope. No other guests are invited, though random gifts still find their way to her mailbox: a stray astrology book, a new case for her glasses.
Sam’s not that different, though they all heard the rumours that immediately after his shift, he visited the museum, and spent a very, very long time there. They meet on Friday night at the Saloon though, so that the band can play and the others can cheer. They’re spectacular, as usual, and when doing something they love, all three of them look younger than she has ever seen them.
Penny is at her side, an arm looped around her waist, and they’re both swaying their bodies on the rhythm of the music. Sam winks in their direction, though the redhead pretends she doesn’t see it.
***
On one of their river discussions, Sebastian mentions frogs to her once; something she’s been terrified of for as long as she remembers. But there’s just such a soft smile on his face, and his voice is so calm: and as such, she thinks to give it a try. Which is exactly why he finds her one day, as he goes to visit Sam, by the river bank, on all fours, staring into the water.
She yelps when he hears him calling out to her, fluttering her arms in the air in a panic. It’s that movement that makes her stumble forward in the water. She doesn’t know how to swim, but the water is low enough to not be a problem, but as she gets up, sitting on her ass in the middle of the river, she scowls at him.
“I hate you,” she says.
He smiles, and with the sun at his back, it’s the most beautiful sight she’s seen. He offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully, trying to remain as dignified as possible, considering that her clothes are now stuck to her body and there might be some mud on her butt.
“What were you doing?” he asks, and she immediately reddens under his attention.
She mumbles her answer; she’s a terrible liar, so she doesn’t even try. This time, Sebastian actually laughs at her, and she crosses her hands at her chest, both indignant and cold.
“I hate you,” she says again, this time accentuating each of her words. But there’s no fire behind it, so he ignores her remarks. Instead, he unzips his hoodie and, slowly, places it on her shoulders.
“But-” she starts, already moving to remove it, give it back, refuse the help, her natural instinct kicking in. He hasn’t stepped back, and having him so close, she notices the subtle smell of his aftershave, the dark marks under his eyes. She wants to get on her tiptoe and let her fingers run through his hair, so soft from up this close. Then he speaks, the magic breaking, and she moves her eyes down to her shoes, shy all of the sudden.
“Sam’s living real close, so it’s really no problem.”
He’s trying very hard not to move his eyes away from hers, face burning red with embarrassment – and only then does she realize she’s wearing a white shirt, and she’s wet –
“Oh,” she says, lamely, moving her arms through the sleeves and zipping it up. “I… I’ll wash it and bring it back to you.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he says, before awkwardly saying his goodbyes. Sam will chew him out for being late, and Abigail will frown at him for not letting them know about this ahead of time.
But their new farmer will stand by the river bank for a long time still, looking down at the water, even when Vincent passes her by and laughs at the wet pool that dripped at her feet.
***
She likes taking the mountain path, especially during hot summer days: less people to stop and chat with under the sun, more shade from the trees, chances to see a wild bunny or a squirrel, maybe picking up some wild fruit. She learnt to enjoy these things, that felt like such a chore back in the day, when she was simply a child helping out her relatives. Maybe because, from start to finish, in everything she does for her farm, she leaves a part of herself in there.
She’s as familiar with Robin’s garden as she is with her own, and that’s why it takes her brain a bit to catch up with what she is seeing.
She didn’t even expect to see Sebastian at all, and especially not like… this. Sprawled under his motorcycle, the picture perfect of her dream boy from high-school. It’s then when it dawns on her that she might have some other reasons too, for visiting Robin today, for picking the mountain path, for going to the mines so often, even if she’ll never admit it to anyone else.
For a second, she hates him so much for having been so kind to her, for having taken care of her, for his beautiful smiles and his unending understanding. For having made her like him so much, when this recluse and silent man seems to dislike everything that she is starting to like lately.
She crushes the feeling coming up in her chest; the despair and the need to go and run as far away from him, before they make eye contact, before her beating heart goes into override.
Sebastian heard her approaching footstep though, and as he’s coming up, t-shirt clinging to his chest, she closes her eyes. God help her not to jump this man right here and now.
“Hey you,” he says, the corner of his lips lifting up a bit seeing her.
She waves, taking a deep breath as she approaches him, taking a seat on the outside bench. He picks up the tool that he needed, and goes back to work. She stays put right where she is, watching him.
“You know, it’s fascinating to watch someone do something I know nothing about,” she laughs, thinking of her useless literature degree as well, her dirt stained nails and her dead-end job back in the city, so opposed to his programming skills and the coppery smell of his motorcycle.
“That’s how I feel when you talk about farm upgrades with mom,” he says, and then asking her for another tool – it’s the round one with a yellow handle.
She shifts closer; he gets out from under the metal labyrinth of his bike enough to nod at her in thanks when she hands it to him. But he understands her feeling better than he manages to put it into words, especially since he’s been an outcast in the village for so long; heck he’s not sure anyone else but her even accepts what he’s working, let alone understand it.
But if there’s someone who can get it, it’s certainly the city girl who gave up everything to become a farmer. Much as he wants to drop everything here just for a shot at the big city. It’s the same strangling hope in his voice, that she’s detected the first time they met, when he talks about his short escapades.
He gets up, wiping his hands on a dirty old rag. There’s a dark stain on his cheek that makes him so incredibly cute, and yet the contrast couldn’t be more obvious with his muscles.
“You could come with me next time,” he says, and he purposefully looks at her, digging out her reactions.
She blushes, all red, prettily and opens her mouth to say something, closes it again. Then, with a bit too much eagerness, that makes her seem just a bit too desperate to do the right thing, she says:
“I’d love to.”
“Great,” he says, and this time it’s a full smile that he graces her with.
They move to enter the house now, the sun setting at their back, and he holds the door open for her. She has to squeeze by him, so close that she can feel the smell of oil mingled with his sweat, and the always present soft aroma of soap.
Robin is in the kitchen, preparing hot chocolate for everyone; Abigail is over too, in Maru’s room, the two’s laughter loud enough to be heard from downstairs. Demetrius is in his office, researching something in one of his biology tomes.
She immediately moves to help Robin; now familiar with the layout of her kitchen, with everyone’s favourite mug. His mother yells at Sebastian to go and take a shower before even daring to enter her kitchen, which is exactly the reason why he moves closer to her instead, loudly kissing her cheek.
Robin shrieks, hitting him with the spoon she’s holding in her hand. Their guest watches the scene with a soft smile; she likes it when there’s no bitterness between the two, which is something that comes way easier when no one else in their family is around.
She presents Robin with her first goat cheese; it’s experimental yet, really I have no idea if it’s any good, but she gathers her in her arms anyway, thanking her from the bottom of her heart. She carefully places it in her fridge.
And while Robin goes to Demetrius’ office, forcing a break out of this man as they plan to drink their hot chocolate together, she’s tasked to bringing up the girls’. She knocks, but it still doesn’t feel like sufficient incessant to stop whatever they were doing, because when she opens the door, Maru’s in Abigail arms, having a somewhat lost look on her face. Abigail’s lipstick is all over Maru’s neck, and smeared around her lips, and both their mouths are pulsing red with the pressure of shared kisses.
She blushes under their eyes, hates to have interrupted what she just did. It’s worse than if they were having sex, because the tension in the air is so thick she can choke on it.
“R-Robin said-” she tries, but she’s so embarrassed that she just leaves the tray on the desk, and all but bolts down the stairs.
Shit, she thinks.
“Shit,” she exclaims out loud as well. She’s so wind up she doesn’t hear the footsteps following her, and she almost screams when Abigail’s hand comes down her shoulder.
“Hey, look, let’s be chill about it and keep it a secret, yeah?”
“Of course,” she nods her head. “And I’m really sorry…”
“Our fault for being daring enough not to lock the door. But in our defence, we didn’t think that would happen,” Abigail says, winking at the other woman, before moving upstairs, probably to calm down her lover.
The theme of her life is that she is a big, stupid, idiotic fool. She’s been jealous for months on a relationship that didn’t even exist, and now she feels guilty and embarrassed all over again for what she did when overcome by those emotions. She stands in the middle of the hallway, hating herself so much that she would burst into flames if she had magical powers.
Sebastian finds her eventually, grounds her back to reality with a soft touch against her elbow and a soft call of her name. She startles like she’s been shot, almost jumping out of her skin, before things start refocusing around her. Sebastian, after his shower, smells like pine and mint, and he’s wearing shorts.
“Come on,” he says, slowly guiding her back to the kitchen, where their drink probably went cold already. At the back of his leg, Sebastian has a tattoo: a man lying face down, ten swords hanging above his body.
“That’s cool,” she nods her head at the design, sipping from her hot chocolate.
“Thanks. Sweet sixteen present, teenage rebellion and everything.”
“I ran away from home when I was sixteen,” she says, and Sebastian rises his eyebrows, clearly sceptical.
“For real!” she laughs. “I came here, to gramps.”
“Can’t remember you ever being up here,” he says, but now he’s curious.
“Well, of course, he called my mom the second I entered the house, and next morning she came to pick me up, but still.”
Sebastian snorts at her story, and she’s beaming at him with the largest smile possible, having gotten such a reaction out of him. It seems like it’s so easy for her to rile him up, or to get him involved enough in what she’s doing that he can’t filter his reactions anymore.
He walks her home that evening; she insisted he didn’t need to go through the trouble, since she’s out even later all the time, but Robin pushed, especially since Abigail was to sleep over, so she didn’t need Sebastian to walk her home.
In the end, she had company on the way home.
“Sorry for the trouble,” she says. Sebastian is smoking again, and only shakes his head. They continue their conversation from earlier, about how they used to be as kids and teenagers, periods in time that feels very far-away. Then she tells him of her past job, how she used to want to kill herself every time she entered the building, how there was no more city around her, and just the clutch of overwork and need for money.
She breathes easier here, she says. She hasn’t seen the stars in years, she adds.
She’s looking up at the sky, but Sebastian is looking at her.
She’s seemed lost on that first day, overwhelmed as she looked around at her inherited plot of land, and he’s given her two weeks maximum to survive in there. And here she is, rounding on six months, looking like she’s always belonged.
She hands him his sweater, thanks him again, in that sweet voice that matches her face, but not her personality when she’s swearing. He wishes the road between their houses was longer, longer than to Zuzu City, so long that they could have the entire night at their disposal.
***
“You’re late,” she says, from where she sits on the pier, her feet just a few centimetres above the water surface.
She’s barefoot, and she’s wearing a thin and short dress, and showing so much skin that Sebastian is a bit distracted at first. Technically, they haven’t set a meeting time, but he is indeed the last of the villagers to arrive on the beach for the dance of the moonlight jellies. By now, the others are also grouped together, leaving her alone.
She pats the space next to her. He sits down, yawning.
“Sorry, I was up until 3am reading a new book.”
She lights up then, shoots question after question at him: about his favourite authors and books, hints at the volumes he knows she’s seen on his shelf. They decide to buddy read a book together, and the next day he finds her favourite novel in his mailbox, he sends his instead. His are in pristine condition, while hers are underlined all over, notes scrambled over the margins that he spends a lot of time trying to decipher, corners dog-eared. The first few are a hit and miss, then slowly, as they go through the volumes, writing long texts and handwritten note with their thoughts on it or calling each other late into the night, they start to figure each other’s state, collections growing on each side.
On Penny’s birthday, no one can find the young woman almost the entire day. For that matter, they had the same problem with Sam too.
On Abigail’s birthday, she knocks on the farmer’s door in the middle of the night. The other woman is sleepy, bleary eyed, and she knows that something serious is going on because Abigail doesn’t even make fun of her pyjamas. She opens the door, wordlessly. Makes some tea, as Abigail plops on the rug on the floor, nuzzling Max.
She passes her a steaming cup of tea, sits in front of her in much the same manner.
“What happened?”
It takes Abigail a long time to reply, and when she does, she stumbles over words.
“I-I came out to my parents. Let’s say they didn’t take it too well. Sebastian lives with M-Maru so it didn’t feel like the smartest move, and Sam’s mother already has enough things to worry about. I had no-nowhere else to go.”
She shouldn’t be this surprised when the farmer leans closer, wrapping her arms around her, squeezing her close. Abigail reaches up her hands, tugs at the pyjama top and starts sobbing. There’s a large wet mark on the other woman’s shoulder when she is done, though she doesn’t seem to notice it as she’s running around her house, pulling out a rolled up mattress and building a make-shift bed in the middle of the room. She’s gentle as she moves Abigail to her bedroom, helps her in bed, petting at her hair, and chanting it’ll be okay over and over again.
Abigail’s already asleep when she moves to the kitchen, scrolling through her contacts list. It takes a few seconds before the person at the other end picks up, and Sebastian’s voice sounds muffled. She imagines him for a second, face half-hidden in his pillow, dishevelled hair. Then:
“It’s Abbie.”
The next day, Sam and Sebastian show up on her doorstep at 6am with chocolate cake, and they barely even greet her before moving inside, slamming open the door to the room where Abigail’s sleeping, essentially waking her up. But they also jump on the bed, squeezing themselves in the small space, peppering her face with kisses, even as she screams at them to stop, that they’re gross. But she’s laughing.
Over breakfast (eggs and salad and chocolate cake), they discuss what they should do next. There’s enough space here for two people, and it makes most sense to have Abigail live here for a while, until things calm down a bit.
“Did,” Abigail starts, unsure, playing with a tissue, “Maru tell your parents?”
“Yeah,” Sebastian says, and he feels like he really needs a smoke.
“I guess it went well.”
Abigail ends with a laugh that resounds dry and bitter in the room. Sam’s leaning towards her, holding her hand.
“Your parents will come around,” he says. “They just need to get over the initial shock.”
Except Abigail, everyone else nods. It’s hard to imagine Pierre staying mad at anyone, let alone his own daughter. But Pelican Town is a small enough place that such a thing might take a long time to forgive in the eyes of others. After the guys leave that first day, Abigail spends the entire day in bed. The next one, she joins her host for coffee, asks about the pumpkin patches.
When the Stardew Valley Fair rolls around, she helps the farmer fill Robin’s truck with her products. The older woman hugs Abigail that day like she’s a long-lost daughter, which makes her cry all over again.
***
The Fair itself is nice; the trees around had already started to turn orange, and it gives the place a really cosy atmosphere. Almost everyone in town buys something from her stall, and Marnie even comments that she fits right in. She enters Lewis’ competition with her pumpkins, but she loses to Shane’s chickens, which is a totally deserved win on his side, though she hates to admit.
Abigail makes up with her family that day, because the second she steps in town, her mother drops a crane of jars, swears, and runs up to her baby girl to hug the life out of her, cry and apologize. Pierre is sniffling at his stall, next to her – and she passes him her handkerchief.
Then, because Abigail is Abigail, she kisses Maru in front of everyone. George whistles, loudly and everyone laughs, which ends any discussion on the topic. With this scene, the farmer thinks she has just fallen a bit in love with the man herself.
Shane approaches her, to boast his win.
“Congrats,” she says, though she is pointedly not looking at the bow pinned to his chest. Jas has already been over, stopping everyone and showing it off.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, and she’s glad the stall stands between them, because she knows he would have liked to be much closer than this.
“Glad you took the hint.”
“Is the freak gang that entertaining, little girl?”
There he goes again, with his horrible nicknames and that shit-eating grin. She hopes he’d choke on all the bullshit he’s spewing, some day.
“Yes.”
She sounds firm, serious and soft at the same time. There’s a small smile on her lips as well, and probably it’s that combination that makes Shane realize she’s entirely truthful. So, he laughs. For sure, he must find her stupid and foolish, and yet she only feels relieved as he watches him walk away, shaking his head like he’s disappointed.
As evening approaches, Sebastian stops by her stall. It’s almost empty now, most of her products sold earlier in the day. He sits next to her, smoking, looking at Sam winning the big prize at darts for Penny. She all but swoons.
Sebastian gets up, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.
“Do you want to walk around?”
She nods, he helps her up. She asks Pierre to watch over the rest of her stuff, and when they move from stall to stall, her and Sebastian are so close that their shoulder almost touch, though none moves to put more space between them. She keeps stealing glances at him, as he explains to her about his favourite stalls, and how it used to look like back in his childhood.
They eat Gus’ famous burgers, and her heart almost stops beating when he leans closer, pressing a tissue to the corner of her mouth. He starts by looking her in the eye, but then her own eyes drop to the flutter of his eyelids, the curve of his nose, eventually settling on the plumpness of his lips – and his gaze follows suit, tracing the same path on her face. They sit in silence, staring at each other, until Gus’ boisterous laugh makes them both startle.
She mumbles her thanks, looking at her plate, too afraid to look at Sebastian.
They play darts too, though she only manages to hit the target only once, and only on its furthest ring.
“Sam rigged this game, didn’t he?” she asks, which makes him smile.
Sebastian pays for his turn, raises his eyebrows at her when she’s expectantly watching him. He throws the first dart while still looking at her, and it hits bull’s eye. She screams in delight, clapping her hands together.
He moves his hand to the back of his head, embarrassed at her reaction, even if he so desperately wanted it in the first place. He asks her if she wants any of the prizes, but she shakes her head. As cheesy as it might be, for her it’s enough that she can enjoy the fair, and that she can do it alongside him.
***
When she counts her savings the next day, it’s not as much as she would have liked. So she starts going to the mine again, because she can sell well everything that she finds in there, and for a couple of weeks, it works out just fine. Until it doesn’t anymore.
She knows the place is old, but the crack of the stair giving way under her weight was not an expected problem. The lurking animals and the unmapped areas, sure. But not the wooden step of the stairs.
It takes her by surprise, and she doesn’t have fast enough reflexes to find another footing, so she falls all the distance to the ground. She lands on her side, and there’s a terrible crack in the shoulder that makes getting up so, so painful afterwards. She’s bleeding heavily from one of her knees as well, and several bruises are already blooming on her legs and arms.
Her flashlight also went out on impact, so at first she is disoriented, her head booming with the sound of her fall. Then she gets scared, her heartbeat in her throat, and before she can even think more of her wounds, she forces herself to count up to 100, as slowly as she can, bringing her breathing back to normal, forcing her body to refuse the incoming panic attack just yet.
No one knows she’s in the mine right now, so technically even if they were to notice her disappearance, it will take a while until they find her. And it was already dark outside, judging from the last time she looked at her watch, which makes searching for her unsafe until at least tomorrow morning. She can’t just stay here and wait for someone to find her, even if that is all that she truly wants to do.
She winces when she finally raises to her feet. She’s unstable and everything hurts, but she’s most worried about her arm. She tried to pick up her discarded flashlight, but the movement hurt so much she left out an agonized wail.
Tears start biting at her eyes when she bumps into the stairs, after fumbling through the dark for it. She tries not to think of all the steps until the surface, and then her walk back home – and instead tries to take it one step at a time. She can support her weight only on one arm, and her legs hurt each time she raises them, the skin at her knee ripping open a bit more with each move of her leg up. She takes it one at a time, stops often to breathe deeply, give some part of her body some respite. She struggles even more when she finally gets to the broken stair, and she has to cover twice the distance.
When she eventually collapses on the ground at the entrance to the cave, she can smell the fresh night air, and she can hear the rustling of the leaves, and she starts crying. Somewhere down there, where the mine caved in, trapping workers under the stones and dirt and in unending hallways, is the body of her uncle. Of course, she could have easily shared the same fate today, if she would have been a bit higher, if she would have fallen on one of the sharp stones littering the lower floors instead.
She forces herself, again, to just breathe. But even as she makes herself stand up and walk the long way home, her mind is drifting further and further away, the pain now more dulled at the edge.
That’s why she doesn’t catches when someone calls out her name, doesn’t realize she’s not alone anymore until said person catches her arm to make her stop. Unfortunately, it is her hurt arm, and she shrieks, tears pooling at her eyes, as she’s stumbling away.
Sebastian stares at her, mouth agape, looking like he’s just seen a ghost. He moves his eyes over her body, taking in her state, though he’s unsure in some spots, if the stains on her clothes are blood or dirt.
“Shit, you need to see a doctor,” he says, moving closer again, but she flinches upon his approach.
He passes a frustrated hand through his hair. Dumbly, she wonders what he is doing out here, by the river, in the middle of the night.
“Can I touch you?” he asks. He’s still keeping his distance, though he’s looking at her in a strange way, like she’ll fall off her feet at any moment. Although she nods, this time more aware, more in tune with her surrounding, this time around he approaches more slowly, careful with his movements.
She leans onto him, sighing in relief.
“This will hurt,” he says, and before she has time to think about it, he gathers her in his arms, head at the crook of his neck, her good arm around his shoulder, as he starts carrying her. She just whimpers pathetically, at his chest, blushing furiously and trying not to overthink the gesture, or her weight, or the fact that they’re stopping in front of Harvey’s clinic at fuck knows what time.
Harvey answers on the second knock, looks at the state she’s in and simply mumbles I need my coffee, allowing them inside. Sebastian is still carrying her the flights of stairs up, before finally setting her down on a bed. He’s breathing hard by now, but he’s not complaining. In the light, she can see how wild and panicked his eyes are, how deep his frown is as he searches her body for wounds.
Now that they can see, her shoulder is at a weird angle.
“I’ll have to set it back,” Harvey says, sipping loudly from a fresh cup of coffee, sitting on a chair next to her bed. He looks up at Sebastian, checks the time on his wrist watch. “You can go if you want to.”
“I’ll stay,” he replies almost immediately, making her shiver on the bed, a movement that both men catch. “If that’s okay with you.”
She nods, pleading with Harvey to let him stay, to which he agrees. His job is not made any more difficult, since Sebastian looks perfectly healthy, the weird sleep schedule aside. She doesn’t notice when Sebastian moves, shifts so he can sit next to her on the bed, wrapping his fingers around hers.
Harvey descends like a shadow above her, snapping her bones back in place. She squeezes Sebastian’s hand in her good one, so hard that his bones crack, her fingers digging in his skin until they draw blood. But she only inhales sharply, letting out a string of soft curses, teeth grinding together in pain. When she looks at them, she feels only betrayed, because they both clearly knew what was to come, and did their best to make it as fast as possible.
Harvey hands her a glass of water and some painkillers, and only then does she realize she’s still holding onto Sebastian’s hand. She lets go slowly, smiling at him, patting his hand in silent thanks, though Sebastian cannot smile back at her.
“So what happened?” Harvey asks, moving on to cutting open the leg of her pants, cleaning up the cuts, disinfecting her wounds.
She speaks, evenly, though her panic shows through in some parts, and Sebastian rubs calming circles on her back with his palm. She leans into his touch, swaying in place, eyes fluttering closed, opening them again at a slower and slower pace.
“You should sleep here tonight, so I can monitor your condition,” Harvey says, and Sebastian rises, helping her lay down on the bed, covering her with the blanket, as she’s already fallen asleep.
The two men move downstairs in silence. The clock on the wall shows 4 a.m.
***
She wakes to Granny knitting on a chair next to her bed. It’s such an odd image that it takes her a while to recall all the events of the night before. Then, she startles upright.
“Easy, darling, all’s good,” Granny says, though she didn’t even look up at the younger woman.
She learns that Marnie visited her farm earlier, feeding her animals. Abigail took Max to her place, Penny came by with pie. And Sebastian is downstairs, on his 3rd coffee of the day, not having gone home since he first dropped her at the clinic.
Granny smiles to herself when the patient looks longingly at the door, her skin on fire.
***
Harvey keeps her for one more night, though she is feeling alright, and she insists so to everyone coming around to check on her. She thought Robin will pick her up, something that she agreed to after much pestering from the woman, but instead the one waiting for her in front of the clinic, leaning on Robin’s truck, is Sebastian.
“Mom had something come up,” he says, moving to get her backpack, filled with the stuff from the mine and some clothes that Abigail picked for her. He opens the truck’s door for her.
“I could have just walked,” she says, though her leg is still stiff.
He shuts the door on her, and until he joins her in, she has time to mull over what exactly she wants to say.
“Thank you,” she beings. “For everything and I’m sorry.”
She fidgets on the spot, as he starts the engine and begins driving.
“Why are you apologizing?” his voice is soft, the corner of his mouth tilted up just the tiniest bit.
“For all the trouble?”
It sounds more like a question,
“You know I’d gladly be troubled for you.”
She does not know that, in fact. She turns to look out the window, at the stretch of trees on the road to her farm, and she wonders when she became such a person to others.
When they arrive, she invites him in, but he politely refuses. She needs to rest. But he does walk back to the car, fiddling with the gloves compartment, coming back with something in his arms. He presents it to her, carefully wrapped, and watches attentively as she opens it, catching her reaction.
In her hands, she has the first volume of what she knows is Sebastian’s favourite comic.
Abigail will tell her, later on, that before he came to pick her up, he drove all the way to Zuzu City so he could pick a copy for her. So on an autumn rainy day, she makes herself a cup of tea, and curls in her bed, opening the book.
She takes her sweet time, searching every detail in the art, rewriting particular quotes in her journal. Then her thoughts fly without her even wanting to, to a particular someone she’d like to have next to her, to explain her favourite parts. She’d like to have him by her side more than that though, as she wakes and works, a person that makes it so much easier for her to just be.
She’s a fool – she tries to tell herself, hugging the book close to her chest. There’s nothing she can offer Sebastian that would make him stay in this village he so obviously loathes. She’s just dumb enough to have fallen for the man she cannot even bring herself to ask to love her back. But the image is now stuck on a loop in her mind: stray sun rays filtering through the curtain, and Sebastian in the door frame, with her mug of coffee in his hands, offering it to her as she wakes.
She tortures herself with thoughts like this afterwards, whenever she finds a moment of respite in her work, as she hurries to sell the last of her crops, to preserve the mushrooms, fill the sill with grains for the animals and the storage outside with wood.
***
The first time she gets out of her property after the accident is to attend a dinner on Robin’s birthday. In the town here, it’s not a big deal, so she feels particularly honoured to have the older woman invite her.
However, Robin sends Sebastian to pick her up. She’s on the porch, bundled up in her favourite sweater and a shawl, petting Max, when he pulls up in her courtyard on his motorcycle. He’s wearing a leather jacket, and as he moves to get her helmet, she’s only staring at the way his muscles are straining under the material.
He helps her put it on, clasping it under her chin, his fingers lingering on her skin, and they stare in each other’s eyes for a few long seconds. Then, he holds out a hand, helping her get up, and guides her arms around his waist.
She’s basically glued to his back, and she wonders if he can hear how loudly her heart is beating. He tightens his hold against her arms, signalling that she should hold on tighter, and she does, even though she closes her eyes to will the embarrassment away.
Robin welcomes her with an enthusiastic hug, and she’s delighted to see Abigail has been invited as well, and she’s now sitting next to Maru at the table, discussing something with Demetrius. She’s sent her present in the mail earlier this day, more goat cheese and a few quartz pieces, and the redhead thanks her happily.
When she passes Sebastian on the hallway, she stops for a few seconds to thank him for the ride, warmly clasping his hand in hers. Then just as quickly she lets go, joins everyone else in the kitchen.
Most of the conversation is just the parents dotting on the newly formed couple, though there is a passing comment of the pumpkin soup currently served being Sebastian’s favourite food, so she makes a note to ask the recipe from Robin the next day. There’s an anecdote about how Demetrius and Robin first met, though it makes both their children cringe at how young and lovesick they still sound recalling it. Abigail talks about her studies, Maru continues, though their degrees are vastly different.
The farmer turns to look at Sebastian.
“What about your work?”
The conversation stills, a bit awkward. No one ever asks what Sebastian is doing, since freelancing is such a grey area in their mind – though they fail to see that almost everyone in this town is the goddamn owner of their own work.
“Well,” he starts, playing with the food on his plate. “Actually I’ve got a promotion recently and a really big project coming up.”
She clasps her hands together, beaming up at him.
“That’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
Everyone at the table nods politely, Robin even congratulation her son. But he thinks of her question, and lately the answer seems to be no, because each of his successes brings him closer to leaving Pelican Town, and he’s not sure he wants to anymore.
***
By the end of the evening, everyone is more or less tipsy, made soft by the drink and the warmth of the house. Robin insists that she should sleep over, afraid to let her return home this late. She almost puts Sebastian and Maru in one room, but the daughter refuses so vehemently, that Sebastian instead just tells her he’ll take the couch. Their mother stares for a long time after both of her children, as each turns to their guest, and instead decides to retire for the night, together with Demetrius.
That’s how she ends up sitting on Sebastian’s bed, as he’s searching for a towel and some clothes for her.
“Maru is leaving next spring for a research program,” he explains. “That’s why-”
“She wants to make the most out of it,” she continues.
“Yeah.”
He understands the feeling; it’s why he’s more often than not out of his house these days, afraid that one day he’ll have to root himself out of this place, and he will leave many things behind to regret. And many people he will miss.
He throws the clothes in her direction, points her to the direction of the bathroom.
She’s feeling more awake after the shower, and she’s drying her hair with a towel as she enters his room again. She wears one of his hoodies, but on her it looks almost like a dress, coming down halfway to her knees, sleeves rolled several times over. The sweatpants are equally as large.
“I like your socks,” she says, wiggling her toes, an ugly, green gooey face dancing with the movement.
She’s way too freakin cute, Sebastian thinks, though he only smiles at her as he passes her to go and take a shower. When he returns, she’s snuggled in his bed, a comic book in hands, the sequel to the present he’s given her before. She doesn’t hear him come in until he plops on the couch, and then she looks up at him, cheeks immediately flushing.
“Aren’t you cold?”
He’s wearing a tank top, loose enough around the chest area that she can see his collarbones. She knows she’s staring, yet she can’t tear her eyes away from the skin of his arms, or the taut stretch of his top against his chest. When eventually, finally, she moves her gaze up to his face, he’s smirking, clearly having caught her in the act.
“I never get cold,” he replies, shrugging, though he tenses the muscles on his arm, and her gaze immediately snaps back there.
He’s outright laughing right now, which makes her turn her back to him, pulling the blanket over her entire body and mumble an embarrassed good night.
But she has a very, very hard time falling asleep.
***
“I don’t wanna go,” she whines at Sam, pulling at his clothes, dragging him away from the maze.
He just laughs, tugging her harder instead. His little brother scared her as soon as she arrived for Spirit’s Eve, and since then she refused to leave his side, on edge all the time.
The town is decorated in skulls and supersized spiders, and Abigail took to walking around with a witch hat on and a sword in her hands, which everyone agreed was cool but also relatively worrisome.
She swears, loudly, clinging even closer to Sam’s arm, when Sebastian joins them, carrying two glasses of punch. He chuckles, but still passes one of them to her.
“You don’t celebrate Spirit’s Eve in the city?”
“Well,” she says, taking a large gulp of her drink. “There it’s more about getting shit-faced in a club, and less about your heart going for a run when you turn the corner of the street.”
“Amen, sister,” Sam yells, grabbing her glass and downing it all in one go.
“Hey!” She punches his shoulder.
“It made you laugh though!” he says, leaving so he can get her a refill, and well, he’s not wrong, because now she feels way more at ease than before.
Sebastian shifts closer to her, for which she is grateful.
“Is it really that bad?”
“I just hate jump scares,” she whines, again. “And I’m sure the maze is filled with them.”
“You know you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, right? We can just sit on a bench and watch the skeletons.”
“We?”
He’s pressing his palm to his neck. “Well I’ve cleared the maze every year, so.”
So they sit, together.
***
Back in the city, she can never tell when it will snow anyway – but here in town, the air is crisp and cold for days before. Robin shows up one early winter morning, and helps her isolate the house as much as possible, around the windows and the doors, so that no cold seeps in, so that all the warmth stays. She might need to renovate the house next year, but for now, it will have to be enough.
Robin sips at the coffee she’s been offered, and pretends not to see Sebastian’s books sprawled all around the farmer’s house, on the kitchen counter, on the bed, next to the TV. She also equally doesn’t comment on one of Sebastian’s jackets hanging on the back of the chair that the young girl is currently occupying. Robin takes another sip, and smiles in her cup.
Back in the city, when it snows, it never piles; part car fumes, part all the people walking around doing their business. But here in the town, when she wakes up one morning, all she can see around her house is a wide expanse of whiteness. Max runs past her, jumps into the snow, comes back in so wet but so happy, that she doesn’t mind having to towel him near the fire from the fireplace.
But she’s left with too much time on her hands; she watches Queen of Sauce almost obsessively, following along in her own kitchen, surprised when her food is actually good. She starts knitting, phoning Granny each time she stumbles through a row. She reads, almost obsessively. And she does go to the mines, but for shorter periods now, scared of not repeating her injury, even if the Adventurer’s Guild repaired the broken stairs.
Then Sam calls her over one day and welcomes her to the world of DnD, him and Sebastian more or less forcing everyone else to start a new campaign with them. It’s the happiest she’s seen them both, so she tries to keep up with the characters, stops to ask about plot holes. They explain things in tandem, finishing each other’s sentences, for almost an entire hour, because you see, this race can’t have this magical power. Sam pulls out his guide, passing it around so that everyone can look up the kind of character they want to create.
That first evening together, that’s all they do in fact: filling stat sheets, searching reference pictures on the internet. And they eat Jodi’s delicious snacks, gossip a bit about Marnie and mayor Lewis’ affair, that the whole town knows about but somehow only the two of them missed this detail.
They turn it into a weekly meeting, rotating their meeting place through all their houses, sometimes the Stardrop Saloon in the days when they know it’ll be more empty and calm. They fight imaginary battles, Sam’s voice guiding them through cities and enemies and friends, saving each other’s asses and forging alliances. It’s the best fun she’s had since arriving in the town, though if anyone were to tell her this a year ago, she would have laughed directly into their faces.
They break the tradition only once, when instead they decide to go ice-skating. Each winter, if the temperatures are low enough, the lake freezes, making it a perfect rink. To be fair, it’s her favourite sport – probably only sport that she’s so excited to do, that she jumps on the spot as she waits for her turn to lend a pair of skates.
She’s looking a bit ridiculous, wearing 3 different layers and one of her grandpa’s padded vests, a beanie on top of her head. Sebastian finds her just really cute. She skates around holding one of Maru’s hands, Abigail the other – because she’s the only one who doesn’t really know how to do it.
Then Sam starts a game of tag with Jas. So they start chasing each other around, yelling when they’re caught only to start again. Penny almost trips, but Sam’s catches her hand and stabilizes her, even if he’s it now. Abigail and Maru skate around holding hands, working more like one person than two separate ones, though Abigail lets go only when it’s her turn to chase someone; and she’s fast as a flash, her turn over in under a minute.
She touches the farmer’s back, and she’s left in the middle of the frozen lake, trying to think who to go after. Her intention is to go after Vincent, his voice shrill with happiness when he realizes he has to run away from her, but her skates catch in the ice.
She only has time to gasp out a swearword, preparing to fall flat on her face. But there’s an arm around her waist, though the angle is awkward and her weight too heavy, so both of them fall to the ground.
She blinks, trying to make sense of the new position. She didn’t hit the cold ice, instead Sebastian’s body cushioned her fall. She’s on top of him, hands on either side of his head, and she’s staring into his eyes. She’s so close that she can feel his chest heaving.
“You good?” he asks, a hand moving to settle around her waist.
It snaps her out of it. “Shit, I’m the one who should be asking that.”
She’s trying to get up, though she’s embarrassed and fumbling, and her first movement just positions her ass on Sebastian’s thighs and crotch area. He shudders, inhaling loudly – and she can feel him stir under her.
“Oh,” is all that she can say, eyes blown wide catching his. Though there’s something more there: curiosity, and a growing interest.
“You guys okay?!” Sam’s voice is distant to her ears, though she waves a hand in the air, to both show that they’re okay and ask for a break from their game. Sebastian says nothing, looking up at her like a man found guilty of murder, face flushed, though he hasn’t moved his hand from her waist.
She grinds her hips, pushing harder against Sebastian’s body, watching in fascination as he’s squeezing his eyes shut, a frown on his forehead.
“Stop,” he says, sounding wound up and chocked.
So she does, rolling from on top of him, pulling herself to her feet, smiling when offering him a hand up. Though he’s not smiling back, he takes her hand.
***
“Happy birthday!” she shouts, when Sebastian opens the door to his bedroom, holding up her present to him.
Behind him, music plays loudly, and she can see Sam and Abigail arguing about who gets the last slice of pizza. She’s the last to arrive, but that’s also partially because outside there’s a real blizzard. Penny comes to hug her in greeting, and she high-fives Sam. Most of the time, they just drink and joke around, chatting about random things, his oldest friends telling tales of Sebastian.
After a couple of hours, Sebastian catches her eyes, motions towards the outside. Sam has given up smoking, being more of a social smoker, just like her. But since he got together with Penny, a fact to which they finally admitted after merciless teasing from Abigail, he quit.
They stop in the hallway, putting on their coats – and she hands him the present again, though he hasn’t noticed her coming up with it.
“You might find useful what’s in here.”
So he opens it to find a matching hat and scarf, in a dark navy. They’re clearly handmade, and handmade by her he suspects – and he’s touched by the time and care she had to put in her gift. Nestled between the material, there’s also a frozen tear.
“God, I-I love this. Thank you.”
She beams at him, obviously relieved. He puts the frozen tear carefully in the pocket of his jacket. She helps him with the scarf and the beanie, her hands lingering on his shoulder for a second afterwards, admiring him.
Outside, in the courtyard corner where they’re smoking, there’s a snowman. Sebastian almost feels like kicking it when she mentions in passing that it’s cute.
“I built a snowgoon but Demetrius made me get rid of it, yet Maru’s cute little snowman still stands…”
He didn’t mean to sound this bitter. She shifts, coming in closer, taking his empty hand in hers.
“If I just disappeared, would it even matter?”
He means it like a rhetorical question, just for himself – but she’s strengthening her grip on him, forcing him to look at her. She wants him to understand that she’s entirely serious.
“It would matter to me.”
***
It’s drizzling, a mix of snow and rain, weather suddenly warming up. On the beach, anyway, snow never piles up, and when Sebastian turns around, he finds her standing a few feet away, staring out into the sea. She is drenched, shivering lightly with each gust of wind, and now that her concentration has been snapped by his movement, she’s staring at him instead.
He gestures her closer, and she stops by his side. Now, closer, he can see that she’s shivering more violently than he initially though, and she’s certainly not dressed properly for the weather.
“What are you doing out here?” he asks, softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. She closes her eyes, head leaning toward his touch, and he finds himself cupping her cheek without thinking too much about it.
“What are you doing out here?” she counters, blinking up at him.
Maybe it’s the absolutely pathetic state that both of them are into that makes him answer honestly to the question. Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s her.
“Looking out at the bleak horizon… It makes me feel like it’s worthwhile to keep pushing on.”
He shrugs, trying not to look as serious as his statement. Lately, he’s been having more reasons to believe that same thing, but old habits die hard, and there’s a particular calmness in being somewhere where no one else is. Or, he thinks, looking down at her, almost no one.
“I just like the sea,” she says, and any awkwardness that he still felt dissipates with her admission. The water is raging, stirred on by the storm, crashing violently against the pier, and they stand in silence, his hands carefully petting her hair, pulling her closer when she shivers again.
“Fuck, do you want to catch your death?”
He undresses quickly, placing his jacket over her shoulders. It doesn’t make much of a difference, but it’s more waterproof than what she’s wearing, and also carrying his warmth. He pops open the umbrella he’s carrying, and with an arm around her shoulder, pulls her to his chest.
“You know,” he starts, his palm rubbing circles on her back. “I would normally feel anxious doing this with anyone. But somehow, you’re the exception.”
Her head turns, chin resting on his chest so she can look up at him.
“I want to kiss you,” she says, and Sebastian chokes on whatever he wanted to say before. “Can I?”
She’s on her tiptoes now, her lips so close to his that their breathes are mingling, yet she’s giving him the choice of covering the remaining distance. Which he does, hungrily, almost desperate for it, both hands cupping her cheeks as their mouths clash. The umbrella falls into the water, and yet they don’t care enough to notice it.
They stop for a moment, coming up for air, and then they’re back at it, and despite the fire growing at the pit of her stomach, the kiss is languid, exploring, tongue pressing against tongue. Slight movement, a change in their position to deepen the kiss, her fingers now playing in the hair at the nape of his neck, his hands at her waist.
He kisses her like he never kissed somebody else, and went hungry for it all this time. His fingers move under her sweater, and the sudden cold touch makes her break apart. His touch turns comforting, pressing against her skin, and she sighs. Their foreheads meet.
“Fuck, I wanted to do that for so long,” he breathes and she laughs.
“We are two idiots, right?”
“Big idiots,” he nods, and she takes his hand in hers, starts pulling him in the direction of her house.
***
She starts the fire in the house, as he’s slowly undressing layer after layer. In the bathroom, the bathtub is filled with hot water, waiting for him. He’s down to a t-shirt and his boxers when he cups her elbow in his hand.
“Join me?” he asks, voice a bit strained, but firm.
She can only nod, dazed, not trusting that this is not just a dream, afraid that speaking will ruin the moment. He sits down on the edge of the tub, gesturing for her to come closer. She’s standing in front of him, and he’s gentle in guiding her out of her clothes, letting them drop to the floor. He strays from his purpose sometime, to press a kiss against her hip, or at the tip of her fingertips.
When she eventually ends up stark naked, his eyes are hungry, but his touch not, as he guides her inside the hot tub. She sighs in pleasure, closing her eyes. She opens them again when she hears the rustling of clothes, to watch him undress. He’s a bit slow, a bit shy, joining her inside the tub. The water almost spills over. She tries not to think of his cock, the precum leaking. She tries to ignore the uncomfortable heat growing between her legs.
She helps him shampoo his hair, he washes her back. They go off track from time to time, kissing lazingly for a long time, his hands massaging her breasts, her teeth grazing his neck. Until she moans, a loud sound. Until he gasps, her name caught between his lips.
Then, with ease, he helps her out. They share one, large towel, huddling together until they reach her bedroom, giggling like children. They’re almost to the bed when he stops, looks at her.
“We don’t have to do anything.”
He’s a liar, because his cock is pulsing with want and she can feel him against her hip. She pouts.
“But I want you.”
He kisses her pout away, pushes at her shoulder until she falls to the bed with a yelp, hands wrapping against him, taking him down with her. She’s laughing, pleased with having him on top of her, when his mouth moves downwards on her body, kissing against her collarbones, sucking at the skin, biting at the skin, until there’s a dark mark behind. He throws her a pleased grin, moving lower yet again.
Sebastian takes one of her nipples in his mouth, a hand moving up to tease the other. Her hands immediately wrap in his hair and she gasps. He pulls at the sensitive area, with his teeth and his fingers, licking it better immediately afterwards, and she writhes under him. He kisses his path downwards, though his lips kiss at her hips, he bites at her thighs, always circling around where she most wants him.
“Seb,” she whines. “Please.”
He stops his ministrations to look at her, frowning and pouting, hair dishevelled against her pillows, her body flushed all over, his marks so obvious against her skin. He feels himself growing at the sight, though he smirks at her.
“Please what?”
She blushes.
“Please eat me out?”
It sounds like a plead and a question and a prayer and a command all at once, and he’s on her in the blink of an eye, tongue lapping at her folds. Her back arches, but his hands are keeping her in place – and he maintains a constant, slow rhythm.
Until he doesn’t, one of his fingers entering her in full, with ease. Sebastian chuckles.
“You’re so wet, baby.”
Her walls squeeze at the nickname. He adds another finger; watches, transfixed, as it disappears inside with the same ease. He starts pumping them inside her, and the sound of her wet pussy taking it all in is so hot, that he groans.
Buried down in her to the knuckles, he opens his fingers apart. She moans, pushing down, searching for more, more, more. He scissors her, spreading her wide – and his head moves lower yet again, lips kissing against her clit at first.
Then, he adds a third finger. He can feel her stiffen under him, so he pulls her clit in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, just as he starts pumping his fingers inside her. Now her hands are holding on to her sheets, and she’s mumbling some curses, halfway lost to her pleasure, moans louder and louder as he speeds up.
He raises his head just for a second, to chuckle against her heated pussy.
“Come, baby.”
So she does, and he continue pumping inside of her, letting her ride her orgasm. She still sighs when he pulls out his fingers, immediately missing the feeling of being filled up with him. He moves to pepper her face with kisses, petting at her now sweated forehead.
“You did so well, baby.”
He’s teasing her, knowing how much she likes the nickname. So instead she looks down between their bodies, his cock against his navel, leaking – and looking like the most beautiful dick she has ever seen in her life. It’s not the biggest one she’s seen, but he’s thick and she’s never wanted to taste something more than the cum that’d spill out of it.
Still staring, she moves her hands to grab it, her fingers dancing over it, starting with his leaking tip, spreading his precum all over his length, before stopping with a slight squeeze at its base. Sebastian shivers over her, eyes closed, mouth open in an unspoken prayer, because he’s not sure even god can help him now.
Holding his dick in her hands, she helps him adjust at her entrance. At first, he teases against her cunt, pressing his cock between her folds, rocking his hips back and forth as they both moan in tandem. She’s already dripping over the sheets again.
He grabs at her hand, fingers entwined.
“You ready?”
“For that dick? Born ready,” she says, chuckling, but not moving her eyes away from where he’s starting to push inside her.
“Fuuck,” he says, just as she moans, only the tip in. The stretch is painful, but so fucking delicious and she’s a blabbering mess begging for more, pulling him closer with her free arm. He slams inside her, forcing the rest of his length inside in one go, and she swears. He kisses at her eyebrows, at the tip of her nose, apologizing softly.
“Tell me when to move again,” he says, and true to his words, he seems content to just kiss her, tongue at her neck, words whispered and lost in her hair, but making her shiver nonetheless just because there’s the hot breath so close to her skin. She’s trying to adjust to his entirety of him inside her, not hurtful but not entirely comfortable just yet either, and his mouth now licking at her hypersensitive nipple seems to slowly do the trick.
“Move,” she says, and he does.
He’s slow at first, almost frustratingly so, pulling out almost entirely, before slowly filling her up again. She moans, drawn out sounds, with each movement – and she almost doesn’t notice when the speed picks up, when she starts moving her hips to meet his actions. They’re a mess of grunts and moans, gasps and swears – and he squeezes so hard at her hip when she comes again, the orgasm washing over her with an intensity that it’s almost blinding, that she’s sure he’ll leave bruises.
Sebastian looks like a man in pain, inside her as she’s coming back to herself after the orgasm. She kisses his cheek, hands rubbing against his chest muscles.
“Do you want to cum all over me?”
He almost trips with the haste that he’s pulling out of her. She’s waiting, on her back, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Sebastian rises on his knees – it’s embarrassing that he only needs two more pumps to come. Most of it falls on her tits and neck, though she’s happily licking every bit that she can reach with her tongue, swallowing it all like a good girl.
“Fuck,” Sebastian says, falling next to her on the bed. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
She beams at him, getting closer. They kiss for a while, bored and tired and messy, teeth clanking together, tongue at the corner of the mouth. There’s a string of saliva between their lips when they separate.
She gets up, goes to the toilet, returns all cleaned up, before coming back to the warmth of the bed, dragging the covers over both of them. Sure, the sheets are dirty, but that’s a problem for her future self, because right now, all she wants to do is snuggle at Sebastian’s back, an arm draped over his waist. So that’s what she does.
***
When they wake, they fuck on the kitchen counter, the angle hitting her just right. Truthfully, half of her butt is in the air, her legs wrapped around Sebastian’s torso, as he snaps his hips up in her, deeper and deeper each time. She’s never been so glad she doesn’t have neighbours in her entire life. Maybe because it’s been so long on her part, or because Sebastian is really just that good, she’s loud – and she loves to feel him stirring inside her, with each of her moans and praises.
“So good,” she gasps, fingers digging almost painfully in his back, and he proves his point by ramming into her, ripping a sob of pleasure out of her.
He’s wearing a condom this time around, so there is no mess to clean up, and they drink their coffee afterwards – talking about this and that, not even skimming the topic of what they’re doing, or why.
He kisses her goodbye though.
And on Winter Star, while she’s getting ready for the feast with everyone else, Sebastian comes by. He welcomes him warmly, and he sits on the side of her bed, watching her finish her make-up and doing her hair, and though he doesn’t move, she keeps catching his eyes in the mirror, looking at her every movement hungrily.
“We’re not fucking after all this effort I just put in,” she says, pointedly plucking her lips and applying a bright, red lipstick.
“I want to take you out on a date,” he says, ignoring her childish theatrics, but shaking his head with a soft smile.
“Sure.”
She tries to sound nonchalant, but her heart is beating in her chest. As much as she’d like to have him bend her over the table and take her like a bitch in heat, she’d much prefer him being her boyfriend while he does so.
“Good, let’s go then.”
“Now?” she yelps, when he grabs her hand and walks her towards the entrance.
“Now,” he says. He helps her putting on her beret, she straightens the scarf around his neck. “I’ve already called Sam and told him we won’t make it to the feast.”
“You did? What did he say?”
“To have condoms on me,” Sebastian says, face serious, which is why it makes her snort.
“And?” she’s wiggling her eyebrows at him. “Do you?”
He slaps her butt as she’s getting out instead of a reply. She turns at him, the slightest darkness in her eyes.
They go for a ride, promise not forgotten. They drive for a long time, and when they finally reach their destination, he tells her to keep her eyes closed, keeps his palms against her eyes as he guides her steps.
When he moves his hands away, she gasps. Spread ahead of her, the lights of Zuzu City against the usual darkness of the night. Sebastian moves next to her, grabs her hand in his.
“I come here when I want to get away from everything and just… think.”
He’s been doing this a lot lately, ever since she came to the valley, became his friend. Torn between his dreams of the city and the familiarity of home, he came here often thinking about what he should do.
He’s fumbling with his cigarettes, before eventually lightning one. Leaning against his motorcycle, she’s still looking out at the landscape in front of them.
“It gives such a strange, sad feeling…”
She’s almost saying it to herself. She doesn’t understand why he is showing this to her, and she can only think of how much he wants to be a part of those lights shining in the distance. She knows, if he is to walk that path, there’s nothing she will do to stop him.
Sebastian gets close to her, slings an arm around her shoulder. His gaze is still fixed to the city out in the distance, but when he speaks, it’s all just for her.
“The city used to draw me in… but now I’m finding myself happier at home in the valley.”
Her head snaps up so fast that it almost hurts. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything, afraid she’s overstepping, afraid she actually misunderstands whatever is going on, afraid to hope too much.
He turns to her, knuckles slowly caressing her cheek.
“You’re the only one I ever brought to this place. You know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”
She shakes her head; wants to hear it. He leans down, pulling her close with his other arm, covering her sound of surprise with his mouth, kissing her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to his kisses; he’s a passionate but patient kisser, drawing out the movements for as long as possible, biting and licking at her lips, smiling smugly and lazily at her when he is done.
“I want us to be together. For real.”
She jumps in his arms, the move making him stumble a bit, but they’re not falling. She looks in his eyes, the gaze as touching and passionate as it’s ever been.
“I love you, Sebastian.”
“Wha-”
But she kisses him.
***
She’s obsessed with saying those three words. Now that she has the right to say it, it blooms out of her at his every gesture. She says it out loud without embarrassment or care as to whoever else can hear it. She says it as good morning and as good bye. She says it when he stays the night, and when he asks her over to play a new game together. She says it in front of Maru and mayor Lewis. She says it when he comes inside of her. She says it when he lets her borrow his sweater. She says it when he calls her in the evening after work.
It makes him dizzy with how wanted she makes him feel.
It’s the middle of the night and they’re waiting, alongside everyone else from the city, for the clock to strike exactly 12, and the fireworks to blast into the sky. She’s holding onto his arm, chatting happily with Sam about a cover song they’re planning. Her weight, next to him, is something new to get used to – but she’s always fitting herself right there with so much ease, that it seems almost natural.
The countdown begins, mayor Lewis’ voice booming across the square. At 8, she joins in. At 3, he does too. The fireworks blast with a loud noise, and she squeezes herself closer to him, her eyes to the colouring sky, her lips to his ear.
“Make a wish, babe.”
She closes her eyes, thinking of everything she wants in the upcoming year. He looks at her.
“So, what did you wish for?” he asks.
She tugs at his jacket, kisses him.
“You.”
#stardew valley#stardew sebastian#sdv sebastian#sebastian x farmer#sdv farmer#sdv fanfic#i think this is the first part and i might do a 2nd one with them being domestic pieces of fluff#i'm so tired i 'm so glad this fic is DONE#hope you enjoy ~#my writing
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