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mikkomacko · 3 years

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Sweet As Honey 18

Hello everyone! Here she is! Thank you all so much for being so patient with me and this chapter. I hope it lives up to the hype and the wait lol. I'd also like to say that I will still be writing and finishing this series as well as my other in progress ones. However, I'm currently feeling like I'm not that interested in Harry right now and I feel like it's mostly all the drama and everything going on with him right now so updates will be slow. Also I've changed my theme to a Marvel x One Direction theme because I've decided to take one of my Bucky Barnes plot and actually publish it. I'll still post Harry because of course I love him but he won't be the main focus of this blog anymore.

Thanks for waiting and reading. Hope you enjoy the chapter! X

Harry's good under pressure. At least looking from the outside in, he is. It's a skills he's picked up from boxing. Always pretend you know what's going on. No surprises, no shocks. If he's in a fight and his opponent is stronger or faster than he originally thought, he doesn't show it. Acting like it was expected, like he planned it rattles others and helps him maintain his grace.

He keeps that same approach when it comes to interviews.

Liam meets him outside the gym, waving with a bright smile that Harry just smiles at, shocked to find his trainer in the parking garage rather than the ring.

"What's going on mate?" Harry greets, trying to step around him to get to the stairs but Liam halts him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Gotta reporter here who wants to chat with you about recovering from your concussion and reaching the finals."

His tone is laced with hesitance, lips pursed in suppressed grimace and Harry doesn't blame him. Liam knows how much Harry hates interviews. They're his least favorite part of the job. He's here to box and get paid, to provide for his family, not to tell the world every detail of his life.

"Oh," Harry mumbles, shrugging and stepping up to the door. "Alright. Only for a few minutes though, wanna get home a little early today."

If Liam is surprised by Harry's ease he doesn't show it. "Got something going on?"

Harry follows Liam inside, nodding to Mark at the front desk. "Y/n has just been exhausted lately and Arlo can't spend a second alone without screaming bloody murder. Just want to be there to make sure she's resting and Arlo's not being a pest."

"He's your son, of course he's being in a pest."

The comment leaves too much pride in Harry's chest for him to even care that Liam just insisted he himself is a pest. Besides, Harry knows he's clingy and a little too attached but that's just how his relationship with y/n is, and they love it.

In his private locker room,Harry finds the reporter, a young girl who can't be too far out of undergrad with dark hair and a bright red lips. She's sat on the bench, a notepad on her thigh and her phone resting next to it.

"Hello Mr. Styles." She greets, shaking his hand when he approaches her. "I'm Rebecca Weese."

Harry takes a seat next to her, nodding. "Nice to meet you. I don't have a lot of time today but I can answer a few of your questions if we can make it quick." He smiles guiltily, hoping to not come off as rude.

She nods, immediately glancing down at her notepad and crossing some things out. Harry assumes they're questions she's decided aren't important enough. "Is it ok if I record this? Just sound of course."

Again, he nods, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie as he waits for her to begin. Tapping at her phone, she places it between them to catch both voices and then scans her notes again.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but you've only been boxing for a few years, right?"

Harry shrugs. "I trained a lot when I was teenager, worked under Ted until he decided to bring me up to the pros. Was about 20 I think when that happened." He tries to stay vague, knowing he can't tell the public that his "training" was an illegal boxing ring.

"Five-Six years is a short amount of time to be included in a tournament like this one. Most contenders are well into their careers before being qualified to participate. What do you think has been the main factor in your success?"

Routine question, and he's got a routine answer. "I was fortunate enough to figure out early on that boxing is what I wanted to do and I think that helped out a lot. I also got a very good team behind me. My trainer, manager, my wife, they're all the main factors in my success. I'm very grateful to have them."

Rebecca smiles a bit, jotting down a few words. "Does your wife work in the industry?"

It's her casual tone, as if she were a friend just wanting to hear him brag about his lover that has him answering so honestly.

"No she works in design but I met her early in my career and she's always supported me. Takes care of me after bad matches and whatnot, always comes to my fights even if it means being on her feet for hours. Which isn't exactly her favorite thing at the moment with the baby-"

Harry stops, eyes widening a bit at what he's just revealed. Part of him wishes desperately that Rebecca didn't hear him but he knows that's impossible.

"I didn't know you're a father," she says kindly, sensing his panic. "Do you want to talk about it more or should I scratch that part?"

He doesn't know what makes him say it. A year ago he'd have fled the room if he were questioned about his family. Harry likes to keep them separate, to keep his kids away from his boxing. It's possibly a small part of him that's conditioned to keep his work a secret from his family even if he doesn't have to. But Rebecca's offer to drop the whole topic is what breaks him.

"S'ok," he says "I've got a son that's about a year old and another on the way."

Her eyes light up, beaming at him and he grins shyly but somehow proudly at the same time. "That's awesome. Congrats. I know your son's young but does he have any part in your career? Influence maybe?"

"He doesn't watch any of my fights or anything. Too young to be around violence like that but he does affect my fighting in a way. I used to go into boxing with just the mentality that I'm doing something I love, but now I've got the added success. A win means more support for my family and I want them to always have what they need so I've got sort of an edge there."

"Like having something to fight for?" She confirms, and Harry nods immediately.

"Yeah. I'd do anything for them and I think that makes me a bit dangerous in the ring."

No matter what, he'll always be fighting for them. Everything he does is for y/n and his boys.

The house smalls of tomato sauce and pasta when Harry walks in, mouth instantly watering and stomach rumbling. He had a light breakfast this morning before going to the gym and now that's he burnt off all that energy he reckons he could eat a horse. Dropping his keys on the table in the entryway, toeing off his sneakers, and dropping his gym bag to the floor, Harry makes a beeline for the kitchen. He's so caught up in wanting to eat he doesn't notice the TV playing a Disney movie or the two figures sprawled out on the couch until one of them is calling for him.

"Daddy!" Arlo's head pops up over the cushions, dimples sunk into his cheeks and eyes bright. Harry immediately changes course, coming up behind the couch and meeting Arlo's outstretched arms.

"'Ello bug," Harry greets, smacking a kiss to his cheek. Arlo coos happily, curling up against Harry's shoulder. Y/n is watching them with a small smile, a hand resting easily over the stretched fabric of his tee-shirt she's wearing. "And hello darling." He leans over the back of the couch to press a crooked kiss to her lips.

"Hi baby," she sits up, smiling dreamily at him. "How was the gym?"

Harry shrugs, adjusting Arlo on his hip. "Was good. I had an interview today about finals and....stuff." Her eyebrow quirks up at his hesitancy to continue.

"What stuff?"

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Harry drops his gaze to Arlo. "You, Arlo, the baby." She doesn't respond immediately and he knows it’s because she’s trying to analyze him. He's fairly private about his family, especially his children and the only reason he'd informed the world of Arlo was to get people off his back about leaving y/n, so he knows she's probably confused by his ease with talking about the new baby.

"How'd it go?" She asks, pushing herself up from the couch with a hand on her belly. Without hesitation Harry reaches out to place his free hand over hers, moving her with him towards the kitchen. "Where are we going?"

"M'starving darling," he says and his stomach grumbles in agreement, making Arlo gurgling back and nudge his foot into Harry's tummy. "But interview went well. Announced the pregnancy."

"You did?" She questions, perching herself on the counter stool with wide eyes. "Seems a bit early compared to Arlo's announcement."

Managing as best he can with one free hand, Harry retrieves a bowl from the cabinet and serves himself a heaping mountain of spaghetti. "Just came out if m'being honest," he shrugs, settling into the stool next to her with Arlo still glued to his lap. "'sides it's different this time. He was my first baby and I was scared."

He doesn't realize that she's fallen silent until he's slurping back noodles and she doesn't scold him. Curiously, Harry rotates just enough to look at her. Y/n is staring at him, eyes big and moony when he mumbles a suspicious "wha'?"

"You were scared?"

Swallowing down his food, he nods. Her intent gaze brings a blush to his cheeks and he has to drop his eyes to peer down at Arlo. "Y-yeah. Didn't know if he'd like me as his dad, ya know?"

Harry's never said those words out loud, now that he's come to think of it. Whenever something's pertained to Arlo, Harry was always the positive reinforcement, the one reassuring y/n about them stepping into parenthood. He never really told her how much it scared him because he didn't want to scare her.

"I-I didn't know that," she mumbles. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugs, lifting his gaze from Arlo to y/n. "Because I wanted to be a good dad. Ya know, like the kind that can kill spiders and scare aware bad dreams.....Just wanted to be strong I guess."

He doesn't say it, but he knows she's picked up the fear he won't acknowledge. He doesn't want to be his dad. His father was great but the sad thing is, everything great about him was brought out by alcohol. Des needed that poison to combat his own fears and insecurities, and Harry doesn't want to be like that too. He doesn't want to leave his kids the same way he was left.

"Being scared doesn't make you weak Harry."

She leans over to press a tender kiss to his jaw, belly brushing against his side, and he thinks about those words for the remainder of the day.

Crouched down, Harry steers the shopping cart with one hand and guides Arlo along with the other one. By the way he's trudging along, Harry knows Arlo is getting tired of walking. It's good for him to practice though, so Harry leads him along for another few minutes before scooping him up in one arm.

"Did so well bug." Harry compliments, pecking Arlo's cheek. The toddler curls up into his chest, yawning. It's a bit difficult steering the cart with one hand but Harry manages, steadily making his way up and down each aisle. He gets baby cereal for Arlo, a couple bags of puffy hot Cheetos to stash in the cabinets, and he's stocking up on y/n's latest craving (spaghetti-o's and meatballs) when a familiar face rounds the corner.

Zayn is pushing a cart filled groceries, eyes scanning up and down the shelves and Harry curses under his breath. The last person he wants to see right now is Zayn. Last time they had a run in he said something that bothered y/n and Harry never wants anything to bother his girl.

In an attempt to hide, Harry pulls his hood up over his head, shrinking into his pullover and craning his neck to not make eye contact with his old friend. Grabbing a few cans of the fake pasta y/n is living off of, Harry sets them in the cart and quickly walks down the aisle. A man who looks a few years older than Harry moves towards him, stepping around Zayn and in front of Harry's cart.

"Excuse me," the man stops him, gaze dropping to the boy against his chest for half a second before regretfully meeting Harry's eyes. "m'so sorry to bother, didn't notice the little one-"

"It's fine." Harry cuts off, glancing at Zayn to make sure his back is still to them. It is and Harry relaxes a bit at that, but his curiosity grows. "How can I help you sir?"

The man smiles, grateful. "I just wanted to tell you that m'son and I are big fans and we're excited for your fight this weekend."

Harry knows he has fans, he's run into a few around the city but they're usually teens and kids that want an autograph. He's never had a grown man approach him about his career and it's odd. Flattering, but odd.

"Thanks man. I really appreciate your support." Harry says sincerely, smiling. The man nods in response, taking a step away from Harry. He moves to leave but stops last minute, turning back to Harry.

"Congrats on the baby news too." He says quickly, almost shy or embarrassed. Before Harry can even thank him, the man is rushing out a "have a good day" and then he's moving down the aisle.

Confused, Harry stands there for a moment trying to figure out what happened. He knew announcing the new baby would bring more attention to him in the media and he's not surprised that that man, who's clearly a fan, had already heard it. He is surprised that the man seemed almost scared to admit to Harry that he knows.

"Harry?"

Fuck.

He looks up, meeting the golden eyes that could only belong to Zayn. Harry doesn't even bother trying to smile at his old friend as he stands in front of Harry's cart. A lady maneuvers around them, murmuring a soft "excuse me sir." Harry scoots his cart over, smiling apologetically.

"How have you been man?"

Harry's gaze returns to it's impassive expression, glancing over Zayn's too-bright presence. "I've been good." Harry responds, moving Arlo to his other arm when he starts to lose feeling in his fingers. The movement draws Arlo out of his nap-like state, the toddler now noticing Zayn standing in front of them. Immediately his face scrunches into a look of annoyance.

If Zayn notices, he must not care because he smiles at Arlo, teeth dazzling. "That's good to hear. Congratulations on the baby, by the way! Saw the article up front. S'amazing!"

Article? Harry lips are just starting to form his question when his phone rings, the tune specific to y/n. "Sorry, gotta take this." Harry says in Zayn's direction, digging into his pocket and retrieving his phone. He hits answer before Zayn can even respond.

"Hi darling."

Harry wiggles Arlo into the basket. "Hi H. You still at the store?"

He pushes the cart down the aisle, not caring that he's left his old friend hanging. "Yeah I am. What's up"

The sound of a running faucet comes through the speaker. "Forgot to add yogurt bites to the list. Arlo ate the last of 'em last night and ya know how he is if he doesn't have any before bed."

Harry snorts, steering towards the baby food aisle. Arlo has fallen in love with yogurt bites and they've become his snack before bed. Harry thinks he shouldn't be having them every night and he'd tried to tell Arlo that two nights ago, but Arlo is a stubborn thing. He screamed his head off, ignored Harry's attempts at giving him fresh fruit instead, and then only calmed down after y/n nursed him.

"I'll grab 'em darling. No worries." He assures, tossing a couple bags of the bites into the cart. "Anything else?"

"Do we still have the old flower vases from our wedding in the garage?" She asks.

"Umm, I think so. You expecting flowers from a secret lover or something?" Harry jokes, eyes catching on a pack of bibs hanging in the aisle.

"Not unless you've got a trick up your sleeve Styles." She retorts.

He tosses a pack into the basket. "Buy you a whole flower shop if that's what ya want darling." Arlo grumbles from the baby seat of the cart, tiny fingers coming up to play with the rings on Harry's fingers that are locked around the steering bar.

"Don't worry about that, we've got enough flowers." Y/n laughs and he can hear her moving around the house. "Three bouquets just arrived with congratulations cards."

"What?"

"Guess the baby announcement was well accepted." She says. "We're getting lots of flowers for it."

Pushing towards the checkout, Harry frowns in confusion. "Got stopped by a fan today for the same thing. Can't believe it's such a big deal."

"Well you're more known now than when we were having Arlo." She reasons, and Harry hums his agreement. He passes the self checkouts, freezing when he spots numerous copies of his face on the ends of the aisle.

"Holy shit," he breathes, not even thinking about the innocent ears before him. Y/n gasps through the phone, scolding him for his language. "Sorry darling, s'just I'm bloody plastered all over the grocery store."

He reads over the cover of the sports magazine. It's got a big photo of him in the ring, gloves held up to his chin and jaw tight around his mouth guard. Next to it is a photo of him and y/n leaving a big fight awhile back. She's got her head down, hand snug in his as he leads her along. And written in bold yellows is "Harry Styles Expecting Baby #2 As He Prepares for Biggest Fight Yet!"

"They put me on the front page." He tells her, not bothering to flip open the article before he's quickly moving away from the display. "Why would they do that?"

When he did that interview, he thought it'd be a small, breezy section in the magazine. If he had known he'd be getting stopped in the grocery store and flowers sent to his house he wouldn't have said anything. As previously mentioned, he's a private guy, so having this detail projected in a way he wasn't warned about makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"It's alright Harry," y/n says reassuringly, knowing that he's become anxious at the publicity. "No harm done. It's just flowers bub and as long as we've got those vases in the garage, everyone will survive."

He chuckle weakly at her joke, picking an aisle so he can quickly checkout and go home. "Don't go digging around for them by yourself, don't need ya falling and getting hurt. I'll help ya when I get home."

"Aw my hero." She coos, and he knows she's teasing but it still makes him blush. God he loves her.

"Those bloody things are making my nose itch." Harry grumbles, aggressively rubbing the palm of his hand into his burning nostrils. He glares at the bouquet of peonies on the dresser, a gift from y/n's co-workers, and moves towards the bed.

Y/n is propped up against the headboard, a pair of his pajama bottoms on her legs but her shirt has been abandoned on the carpet by the bed. Arlo is attached to her hip, mouth latched to her nipple and she's stroking through his soft hair while he breastfeeds. Harry's heart throbs in his chest, warmed by the sight of his wife coddling their baby, and he's so fucking in love with her he's anxious to get Arlo into bed so he can have his way with her.

"I can't just throw them out, H." She sighs, pulling her gaze from the television to his pouty face. He huffs, running the damp towel in his hand through his hair one last time before haphazardly tossing it towards the closet. Kneeing his way up the bed, he curls into y/n's side and smiles when she tucks her arm around him.

"Stroke my hair too?" He mumbles, peering up with puppy eyes and she giggles before threading her fingers through his hair too. Arlo gurgles around a mouthful, bright green eyes opening to look at Harry. He worries for a moment that Arlo is going to get fussy and kick him away, but the toddler just blinks at him sleepily.

"Tha's ma boy." He coos fondly, squirming a hand over to pat Arlo's full tummy. Y/n giggles and continues to stroke his hair, Harry watching Arlo slowly be soothed to sleep. "Lemme get him to bed darling."

Grunting, he pushes himself up from the mattress and too his feet. Y/n transfers Arlo to his awaiting arms, swiping at the milk that dribbled out of his snoring lips and onto her skin. Harry leans down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Wanna have a shag when I get back?"

A shocked laugh bursts out of her, Harry's face lighting up at the sound as his heart swells. He was trying to be a bit silly, not enough to have her eyes crinkling like that, but he's happy she finds him funny.

"Sure baby." She breathes, still grinning. His stomach flutters, excitement bubbling in his belly and he nods quickly before moving across the room.

Arlo stays cuddled into Harry's neck as he flicks on the nightlight in the nursery and adjusts the blankets in the crib. Theo watched Harry from his bed in the corner, sleepy puppy eyes following his every move. He lays Arlo down, gently shushing him when he store and tucks Bunny into his side. With a peck to his head and a quiet "good night bug," Harry partially shuts the bedroom door and rushes back into the bedroom.

Y/n has already kicked off her bottoms, leaving her naked on their sheets and Harry groans as he works to catch up with her. His shirt is playfully tossed at y/n's grinning face, Harry laughing as he wiggles out of his sweats. Naked as the day he was born, Harry jumps onto his knees at the bottom of the bed.

A laugh bubbles out of y/n when the whole bed shakes under his weight, clearly amused at how excited he is. She must be just as excited though because she quickly leans forward to cup his face, attaching their lips and bringing him back down to the pillows with her.

"Wanna be on top," he mutters into her mouth, ghosting his hand down her tummy and tickling his thumb over her clit. "f'that's ok?"

"Mmm," she hums, happily "too tired to top anyway."

Harry seals their lips together again, using his knees to spread her thighs a bit further apart for him. Her palms smooth down his sides and around to his back, a breathy moan interrupting their kiss courtesy of his fingers. Harry utilizes the chance to break away and snag a pillow from his side of the bed, urging her hips up by tapping the fluffy thing against her side. She lifts, and he settles it under her lower back and bum to prop her up. Luckily for him, he's had a lot of practice getting around a baby bump for a shag.

Settling between her thighs, Harry giggles when she wraps her legs around his hips and tugs him closer. His body hovers over hers, love-sick smiles a breath away from meeting each other, and he drags his fingers through her folds, groaning at how slick she's become.

"Don't even have to try anymore do I?" He teases with a wolfish smile, capturing her lips just as she rolls her eyes. Giggling, he leaves soft kisses across her cheek, heading towards the base of her jaw.

"S'the baby's fault honestly." She argues, her fingers disappearing into the damp locks sticking to the back of his neck.

He hums, smirking against her skin. "Is it?"

With a small tug she's pulling him back up to her mouth. "Yeah. Gets me revved up all the bloody time. I don't know what you're putting in there mister but it's exhausting."

Harry laughs quietly, nipping at her bottom lip. "Don't worry baby, I'm gonna take care of ya. S'my problem after all, isn't it?"

Y/n nods, biting back a grin as Harry grips his cock with the fingers that had previously been fondling her. Chest to chest, Harry smiles at the feeling of their stomachs pressed together as he guides the head of him into her slit.

The sigh that puffs out of her chest sends a zip of pleasure up his spine, as if she'd been partial without him and the pure relief of just having him in her is all she could ever want. Harry hums appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in how warm and gooey she is for him. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to have her this desperate for him and his touch.

"Oh it's so good darling," he mumbles to her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He pulls his hips back, breath stuttering when he easily slips forward again.

Y/n moans softly, dropping one hand to the small of his back as if guiding him. "So so good H." She confirms in a whisper, her voice tickling his ear and he squirms with a small laugh at the sensation.

Harry's soft with his movements, cautious of the baby between them and the one sleeping down the hall. Even the kisses he places on her jaw and lips are tender, small brushes between their confirmations that he "feels so good" inside her and she was "made for being wrapped me huh?" And Harry thinks nothing ever been truer. Her arms were made to hold him, her hands were made for pulling him closer and closer, and her heart was made to completely consume his.

Y/n reaches her high before him, rolling her hips up to try and quicken his but he maintains his sensual thrusts, stroking her temple as she trembles and gasps, clinging to him in every way possible. There's something about how quick she falls apart for him when she's pregnant and how utterly earth shattering it is for her, that it completely obliterates any sense of stamina Harry's ever had. He couldn't care less when he follows shortly after, grinding down into her heat as his cock twitches and buries deep in her walls. She's the one stroking his temple this time, and he knows she's watching his eyes scrunch shut and his gaping mouth curl into a breathy laugh as he comes.

Maybe it's the lingering anxiety that washed over him at the grocery store, but when y/n kisses him and gently nudges him off of her so she can go pee, Harry's desperate as he grips her hand and pouts, practically begging when he asks "can I get back in ya after? Just to fall asleep darling?"

Of course she nods, brushing sweaty curls from his forehead to soothe him and just like that he already feels lighter. He never has to sorry with her, because they were made for loving each other.

"Oh fuck!"

"Would you stop being so loud! It's 8 in the morning!"

"Can't help it, darling."

Harry tightens his hold around y/n's thighs, dipping his tongue back into her slit and groaning loudly despite the warning she's already given him this morning. She tugs on his hair scoldingly, drawing a pained hiss out of him. Harry brings his teeth up to her clit, nibbling in retaliation. A pained hiss of her own leaves her lips, cut off by a soft moan as he soothes his tongue over the spot.

Grinding her hips up into his mouth, Harry can't help but push his own into the mattress and a deep groan escapes him as he does so. Huffing, y/n scolds him again for being too loud when they've got a sleeping child one room over.

"Stop yelling at me so I can make you cum." He purrs, lips brushing over her clit. Their eyes meet over the curves and dips of her body, Harry smirking when she raises a prodding eyebrow at him. He kisses her thigh just once, lapping his tongue through her slit and he's just reaching her most sensitive spot when the beginning stirs of Arlo waking up break through the baby monitor.

Simultaneous groans leave both their mouths, this time of frustration. Harry pouts, knocking his forehead on y/n's hip bone and shaking his head.

"I told you Styles." Y/n teases, stroking through his hair for a second. He can't even think of a rebuttal before Arlo is calling out softly for her, and she's pushing up from the bed to get dressed.

"Take care of that while I take care of this." She calls as she disappears through the door, snickering softly and leaving him there desperate for her. But then again, when is he not desperate for her?

Hey man, hope I'm not being a bother. I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink Friday or something?

-Z

Harry stares at the message, wondering why Zayn would sign it when the Instagram handle is clearly him. He also wonders why the hell Zayn is trying to hang out with him now.

It's a sunny day, the air outside relatively warm for March so Harry slipped a sweater on Arlo and brought him out to the backyard to play. They're sat in the grass, Arlo between his legs as they teach Theo to play fetch. Arlo's gotten good at tossing the chew toy himself, so Harry used the free time to start clearing out the congratulations messages he's received on Instagram.

"What's the matter H?"

Harry locks his phone, tilting his head up and squinting into the sun as y/n stands over them. She's got a bowl of puffy hot Cheetos in her hand, cradling them as if they were a precious gem as she settles into the grass with them.

"Nothing," he mumbles, pecking her temple when she leans into his side. "just got a weird text from Zayn. He wants to hang out."

Crunching through a chip, she hums. "Did you know he lives here?"

She lifts up a Cheeto, offering it to him. Harry gladly takes it between his teeth, pulling it from her fingertips and crunching down on the puffy chip. Swallowing, he shakes his head.

"Ran into him at the store once around Valentine's Day," she says, eyes watching Arlo dig his stubby fingers into the dry grass. "Was trying to talk to me about you I think but your son threw a fit and I was too busy to care honestly."

"Really?" Harry asks, perking up at the idea of Arlo throwing a tantrum to keep people away from y/n. That's the only time he'll agree with such actions. "Taught him well then haven't I?"

Rolling her eyes, she elbows him. "If you're son grows up to be rude I'm going to kick your ass Harry Styles."

Laughing, he steals a chip from her, locking his phone and dropping it to the grass. Arlo, interested in the device, crawls over to pick it up.

"Wouldn't expect anything less darling." He says, reaching over to swipe his phone to the camera so Arlo can snap random pictures.

"What are you going to do about Zayn then?"

"Suppose I should see what he wants, yeah?"

Y/n shrugs but Harry can read the look on her face easily. She's always silently encouraged him to face things that need mending or fixing, and his past with Zayn is one of those things.

"S'done then," he laughs, pinching her side affectionately. "I'll figure out why he's so obsessed with me."

She laughs, throwing her head back and scrunching her nose in the way makes him want to stare at her forever. "Think it's that one he's obsessed with. Look how cute he is."

Harry follows her line of sight, smile growing at the sight of Arlo making faces at himself in Harry's camera.

So bloody cute.

"Are we gonna be besties? I think we're gonna be besties." Niall states, swinging an arm around y/n's shoulders. He's on his third beer of the night already and Harry hasn't even made it to the ring yet. Y/n just laughs, continuing to maneuver tape around Harry's fingers but he's not as kind.

Casting a glare at the Irish man, Harry calls out to Gemma. "Get your leprechaun off of my girl before I use him to warm up."

Niall isn't really phased by the words, only pouting softly at Harry's steel gaze but Gemma is quick to rush over and pull Niall up from the couch by his hand.

"Come on babe, let's go find our seats." She coos to him, sending Harry an apologetic smile. He waits for her and Niall to turn their backs before chuckling softly. Y/n pinches at his wrist.

"Be nice to Niall. I really like him."

"Oh you really like him, huh?" Harry huffs, nudging his knee against hers. She rolls her eyes, giggling when he slips his free hand around her waist and pulls her into his lap. "Please tell me how much you really like Niall darling." He requests, shoving his face in her neck and playfully biting at her throat and shoulder. Just as he'd expected, she giggles and squirms, Harry having to wrap her up in a bear hug to keep her from sliding right off his thigh.

"Harry! Stop!"

He laughs with her, moving up to bite at the apples of her cheeks and her nose, growling as if he were a rabid beast. His freshly taped knuckles ache under the tightness of the wrap as he grips her flailing legs but he ignores it in favor of listening to her laugh.

"I like you more! I swear!" She shouts between laughs, wiggling a hand free and gripping the back of his neck. Pleased with her words, Harry pants out a laugh before sealing his mouth to hers.

"Tha's good because I like you more than Niall too." He mumbles into her lips.

"You like me more than you like everyone." She chuckles, stroking her thumb along his jawline. Harry's eyes shine with delight, proud that she knows her place in his heart, but he still teases.

"Mmm almost darling. Quite like my son, ya know that?"

She rolls her eyes but looks at him fondly, pinching the meat of his cheek. "Cute," she murmurs, "now go get ready for your fight baby. Want everyone to see my husband's gonna be the national champion."

Her words bring a rush of blood to his cheeks (and his cock if he's being honest), but he nudges her onto the couch next to him. "Just need two more wins." He whispers in her ear, pecking her temple.

Just two more wins.

There's good fights and there's bad fights. Everyone knows that. But not everyone knows that there's good wins and bad wins. Harry's experienced a few of those bad ones. Wins that he probably shouldn't have gotten because he certain his opponent had landed more punches and the judges miscounted. Or it was clear the other fighter wasn't into it and let him win.

Harry thinks tonight is his worst win ever.

The fight had been good. Trinsky, tonight's opponent from New Jersey, was short and stocky but strong. Harry was quicker than him though so they'd gone back and forth for a few rounds. Nothing two rough, just enough punches to have bright red welts on his torso and an ache in his jaw.

He fought through it though, fueled by the sounds of y/n and Niall cheering for him. Win this fight and he's onto the championship match. So he went at it with all he had left, charging Trinsky just as the man knocked his fist into Harry's temple.

It felt like a lightning bolt of pain zapped through his brain, shaking his core and causing his feet to stumble. Trinsky slid to the right as Harry crashed into the ropes, blinking furiously as the room around him spun. He was still in a daze as his body moved on its own, quick enough to uppercut his left fist into Trinsky's chin. The man crumbled to the mat, out cold, and Harry's dizzy head brought him down as well.

There's cheering and an announcement of his name, declaring Harry the winner but he can't seem to focus on it. Trinsky is being moved from the ring by his team, Harry falling to his bum on the mat as he rips at the velcro of his gloves with his teeth.

The room is coming back into focus, someone is calling him from the side of the ring but he doesn't recognize the voice so it goes ignored. He gets his hands free, rubbing his fingers into the tender spot on his head and wincing. He needs to take some Advil and ice it.

Harry climbs to his feet, a bit disoriented as he ducks under the ropes to leave. He knows he's got a team here somewhere but his mind can't seem to recognize what they look like or how to find them.

"Man, what are you doing?"

He turns, confused to find two men watching him like he's grown a second head. Harry feels like he knows the warm brown eyes of the taller man but he's not sure from where. Smiling uncomfortably, he motions behind him.

"I n-need ice or something." He says, excusing himself with a shrug and turning back to the locker room. He doesn't like the way his stomach twists or how his chest is telling him he knows those men when he couldn't even tell you there names right now. His heart thunders in his chest, panic seeping in and he's desperate to find something or someone that'll just help him out.

"Harry baby," she says calmly, a hand rubbing up his bare back comfortingly. "you okay?"

Y/n appears at his side, head tilted so she can meet his nervous gaze. Almost immediately he latches onto her hand, shaking his head. Her eyebrows crease, lips frowning as she reaches to cup his cheek.

"What's going on H? What's the matter?"

"M'head hurts," he answers immediately. "I-I think I forgot my team."

A trembling breath leaves his lips, tears stinging behind his eyes when he sees the concern on his wife's face. She brushes her thumb over his temple, the one she knows got hit the hardest, and then brushes a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead to place a tender kiss there.

"Let's get you to the locker room babe."

He follows like a lost puppy, trailing behind her through the back hallway and into his locker room. Y/n closes the door behind him before anyone else can enter, twisting the lock. Harry sits in the closest chair, fiddling with the tape on his fingers as he tries to calm down.

"Do you want to talk to me bub?" Y/n asks quietly, pulling up a seat directly in front of him. He nods, lifting his gaze from his hands to her face.

"I don't know what happened. It's like I got hit in the head and everything got shook up." He explains, frowning. He hates the way this feels. Hates that his body is screaming at him to just remember but his brain refuses to accept the message. "I know them, I know I do but s'like their names and stuff are just gone."

Y/n inhales sharply, biting nervously at her bottom lip. Harry's not even sure what to say and that makes him feel so much worse. He doesn't even feel like he has a concussion, not really. Everything else is still there, still in the forefront of his mind. His wife, his boys, Anne and Gemma. And he faintly remembers sitting at bars with one of the men from his team, remembers crashing on his couch late at night. But the soul of those memories are gone.

"I'm gonna get you some painkillers and water okay babe? Then we'll figure out what to do."

He nods, smiling wetly when she kisses his forehead. Watching her move around the room to gather water and whatnot, Harry wills himself to just think. He knows these men, he's just gotta focus on it. A memory stands out, one of the three of them in a car on a road trip. His trainer is driving, his manager in the passenger seat and he knows this is a trip for a match. A recent match too because he remembers saying goodbye to Arlo and y/n, kissing her swollen belly before he went.

Y/n returns to him with a bottle of water and a couple pills, watching him cautiously as he squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to just think. Recalling conversations from the car, remembering the screen in the front of the vehicle that reads Connected to Liam's iPhone. Liam. Almost instantly Nick's name floods his brain again and he feels his whole body tremble with relief.

Harry takes the medicine, gulping it down and slumping into his seat. "Nick and Liam," he finally murmurs, voice thick. "I couldn't remember darling. They were right in front of me and I couldn't remember their fucking names."

A silent tear trails down his cheek, Harry sniffling as y/n wipes it away with a tender touch he's only felt from her. "Its ok Harry. We'll figure out what happened. At least you remember now baby." She tried to comfort, but Harry's heart still aches.

"What if-" he peers up at her through wet eyelashes. "what if it had been you? Or Arlo? Or all three of you? What if I-"

He can't even finish the thought before he's shaking his head, more tears slipping down his cheeks and jaw. What would he have done if he'd looked at y/n and not remembered her name? Not remembered the beautiful son they created? Or the one she's growing now?

"It wasn't Harry," she stays sternly, cutting into his spiralling thoughts. "it wasn't and even if it did happen, it wouldn't change a thing. You're not getting rid of us."

Trying to smile, he nods and takes a deep breath. He trusts her, more than anyone, and he's never known someone that fights as much as she does. He knows, no matter what, that she'll always have his back.

#sweet as honey #harry styles #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #one direction #harry styles au #dad harry #boxer harry #cute #smut #daddy harry styles #sweet as honey talk

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manicmarsupial · 3 years

Text

Button

You know, I don't think I'll ever have coherent thoughts when it comes to story writing. I literally barf out ideas. So, yeah...enjoy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hosea had managed to trap the strange little thief in his satchel. He desperately wanted to examine the curious oddity he had captured, but a crowded saloon was not the best place. He kept one hand securely over the flap of his bag, preventing the tiny creature from escaping until he’d finished eating.

Hand firmly on his satchel, Hosea left the saloon and mounted up on his horse, trotting to outside the town. Based on how much he could feel the little thing fighting against his hand, he decides not to risk his fingers and puts a thick glove over his hand before gently grabbing the tiny creature.

It could be mistaken for a human…except for the obvious size difference and a long tail. The little thing is squirming, trying to scratch and bite the gloved fingers holding its waist. Hosea changes his grip to a light fist, stopping the flailing arms. He extends a finger toward the tiny creature, who tries to snap at the digit.

“Now that’s not very hospitable of you,” he smiles at its attempt to be fierce.

He can feel it wriggle against his fingers as his other hand moves closer. He carefully runs his finger through the tuft of hair on the creature’s head. The tiny thing looks startled.

“There now, I’m not so bad,” Hosea smiles, keeping his voice soft.

A normal speaking volume might hurt the tiny ears. There were folk tales about races of miniature people, but he never thought he’d ever see one, let alone have one in his hand. The tales called them ‘borrowers’ he recalls. This one, however is not slowing in its struggles.

“Oh, come now. Surely a fearsome creature like yourself isn’t afraid of a frail old man?” he gives a toothy grin.

The borrower takes one look and flails harder, managing to squeeze out of Hosea’s grasp. It pounces off the top of the fingers, only to be grabbed around the waist.

‘Stupid,’ Hosea scolds himself mentally.

‘It probably doesn’t speak English.’

“Slippery little thing, ain’t ya?” he chuckles as the borrower leaps away from his hands, trying at times to clamber up his sleeve.

Eventually he catches the tiny creature, grasping its tail gently between his gloved fingers.

“Shh, little one. I won’t hurt you,” he whispers soothingly, trying to calm them down.

The borrower completely ignores him and tries to swing around, biting and clawing at his leather glove.

Hosea hums in thought, then calls over Silver Dollar. He digs through the saddle bag with his free hand and retrieves a bowl. He holds it just below the flailing borrower, noting with sadness how its eyes widen in horror as it stops attacking his hand and begins trying to jump away.

“It’s alright, you’re going to be safe,” he soothes, placing the borrower into the bowl.

It makes a few unsuccessful attempts to scrabble up the steep edges before curling up at the bottom of the bowl staring at Hosea with wide, terrified eyes.

“There, you can move a little more now,” he places the bowl on the ground, and crouches down, getting a proper look.

It’s absolutely adorable with its tail and oversized ears. Hosea’s stomach makes a grumble, and he rubs his hand over the offending noisemaker.

“I should eat something, you think so?” he smiles as he stands up.

Satisfied his little acquisition can’t escape, Hosea busies himself concocting a mixture of berries and herbs for the borrower, while he can use the rest for dressing. Once he’s satisfied with the mix, he turns to see the tiny creature readying to pounce.

“Don’t even try it,” he laughs, sitting down next to the bowl.

The borrower disregards him entirely and launches itself out of the bowl, to Hosea’s surprise.

He catches it before it lands using the spoon already in his hand. The tiny creature tightens its grip as Hosea bring them closer to his face.

“Now now, don’t be naughty,” he wags his finger at them before dropping them back into the bowl.

Hosea feels sorry for the little wonder, even as he hands them some of the mix, the borrower’s eyes widen. It glances warily at the food, then back to him. Hosea chews his bottom lip in thought.

“Eat,” he gestures to his mouth, hoping it would understand.

The borrower cowers in fear.

“You’re tricky to talk to, ain’t ya?” he smiles.

He runs his tongue over his dry lips. Even his reassuring tone would have gotten past the language barrier, unless…

Hosea extends one hand slightly behind the borrower, the little creature intently watching his face. Hosea snaps his fingers behind the borrower.

It doesn’t react at all. Not even an ear twitch.

“Huh, that explains a bit,” he sighs.

Making sure the borrower is paying attention to him, he takes some of the mix and eats a little of it, then points between the borrower and their portion. He sits back a little, trying not to scare them. It sniffs the mixture tentatively and takes a handful of it. It brings the stuff close to its mouth and looks up at Hosea with a questioning expression.

Hosea nods and smiles, trying not to show his teeth. The borrower eyes him warily as it nibbles the food. Hosea slowly takes off his hat and places it on the ground, then uses his gloves to line it. He cautiously puts his hand in front of the borrower, who flinches back.

He waits patiently and the borrower eventually places a tiny hand on Hosea’s palm before looking up at the man for reassurance. Hosea nods, letting the borrower climb onto his hand. He carefully transfers the small creature to his hat, letting it slide down to make itself comfortable.

Hosea sets up a small camp, glancing at his new acquisition occasionally. It’s watching him with wide curious eyes.

A soft tapping sound prompts Hosea to look at the borrower, now standing on the brim of his hat. It gestures to Hosea’s hand, then does the ‘come here’ motion. Hosea places his hand carefully in front of the creature, who climbs on hesitantly. It fiddles with the cuff of his shirt and taps the button fervently, looking up at Hosea. After making sure he’s watching, the borrower points at themselves, then the button, repeating this sequence several times.

“Button? Is that your name?” Hosea asks.

The little borrower nods happily.

“Well, I’m glad to meet you.”

Button looks startled and leaps off Hosea’s hand.

“What’s wrong? Did something scare you?” Hosea instinctively moves a hand closer to his gun belt.

Button seems to ponder this, then hops forward a little. They put a front paw in the dirt, then drag it along. Hosea realizes Button is drawing. His joints protest as he leans closer to get a better look. Button’s drawing, he realizes, is of a mouth. Button points to the mouth, then to Hosea. Next, they point into the mouth, then at themselves, looking with a horrified expression back up at Hosea, who realizes Button thinks he wants to eat them.

Hosea shakes his head and draws a cross through the mouth. He thinks for a few seconds, then draws in the dirt. Button watches in confusion, squeaking in fright as Hosea’s hand appears beside them. They cautiously climb onto his palm, bracing as Hosea slowly lifts them up. He points at his little drawing and points to Button. Button points to themselves with a questioning expression. Hosea nods, adding a picture of a button next to the drawing of the borrower.

Hosea was quite proud of himself, and that was saying something. He’d made the strange little creature trust him. Not completely, but they weren’t running away or trying to bite him. For someone who prided himself on being an eloquent silver-tongued conman, he was admittedly out of his depth when he discovered the tiny creature had no hearing. However, Button had proved to be quite an artist and fairly intelligent, managing to communicate their name to him.

Currently the borrower was curled up in his hat, soundly sleeping, its tail coiled in front of their nose. Deciding to turn in, carefully moves his hat under his tent, trying not to wake Button, before going to sleep on his own bedroll.

Button wakes up trembling from a nightmare. It’s no secret that humans are cruel, the green scarves especially. Button alone, has had many bad experiences, but this human has been nice, which was incredibly confusing. The man, though surprised, was patient and understanding. It struck Button as highly unusual, even by the standard of their own family. But human or borrower, this man was being nice.

Button, now wide awake, peeks over the brim of the man’s hat, studying the human in the dim moonlight. The lines on the face aren’t as pronounced while he sleeps, and the moonlight seems to make his white hair shine. Around the man’s waist, Button can see a brown belt, with two metal things. They don’t know what the things are, except for the fact fire erupts, then death and destruction is delivered. Button’s only knowledge that these things are loud is the rattling shake when the fire erupts.

Many green scarves have these things, and do not hesitate to deliver death. This man, however, has a scarf, but red, and only went to reach for the metal death-bringer when Button was afraid. But he didn’t bring it out when he realized it was him Button was scared of.

Pondering for a moment, Button clambers up to sit on the man’s chest, finding the slow breathing soothing. The man’s red scarf sets him aside from the other death-bringer carriers, and he’s alone rather than with a group. Button slides down to curl up under the man’s red scarf, a reminder this man is not a cruel green scarf. The slight, constant tremor of the man’s pulse lulls Button to sleep.

The slight discomfort under his Adam’s apple startles Hosea awake. A life on the run has honed his reflexes to respond to anything that could remotely be life threatening, in this case, pressure on his windpipe. Though, as he opens his eyes, expecting to see someone throttling him, there’s nobody there. Curious, he glances down at where the pressure is. He almost laughs in relief when he sees Button’s tail swishing slightly from under his scarf. Grinning to himself, Hosea carefully reaches for a book, letting his new friend sleep.

Hosea had read a few chapters when he felt Button move, the little paws almost tickling his neck. When their head pops out from under the scarf, the poor thing still looks frightened of him.

“Hello Button,” he gives a smile, slowly moving one hand closer.

Button remains wary, even as Hosea extends a finger. A look of surprise spreads over Button’s face as Hosea gently strokes them behind the ear. The old conman is pleasantly surprised when, as he goes to take his hand away, Button wraps their arms around his fingers and pulls it back to near their ear. Hosea resumes stroking, chuckling as the borrower leans into his touch.

Hosea was a bit concerned. He’d been nothing but nice to Button, yet the borrower kept casting wary glances. He can’t take the suspense. He gently taps Button on the shoulder, giving them a little scritch behind the ear. Hosea uses his free hand to gesture to his face, imitating Button’s expression, then points to Button. Button alternates between looking at Hosea, then off into the distance.

Suddenly jumping away from of Hosea, Button starts drawing in the dirt. First, two borrowers, one with a button logo. Hosea points to the other one and gives Button a questioning look. Button taps their chin in thought, then holds two hands out as fists, then wraps the fingers of one hand around the fist if the other, before putting both hands to their chest with a content expression. Given the context, Button probably means friend. Hosea nods in understanding.

Button takes a while to draw out the story. They finish drawing a hat on one human character, before giving Hosea a startled look, then bolting off into the undergrowth.

Hosea feels a sad ache deep in his heart. Taking a breath to compose himself, he grabs his magnifying glass and studies Button’s story. It appears Button and a friend were caught by a human and tortured. Hosea nearly drops his magnifying glass when he finds out this human ate Button’s friend while Button saw it all.

Pattering footsteps make Hosea look up. Button has returned with an armful of leaves. They take one to the drawing of the eating human, placing the bright green leaf around the neck of the drawing like a scarf.

Hosea unsheathes his knife and stabs the image of the O’Driscoll, startling Button to jump in fright to avoid the blade. Hosea scoops up the borrower, holding them against his chest, finger curled around them protectively.

He immediately realizes it was a stupid thing to do. Part of him wants to be selfish and keep Button with him, but he doesn’t want the borrower to feel trapped. Curiously, Button doesn’t seem to be fighting. Their tiny hands and feet are light enough to only tickle his palms, and he can feel the tail swishing lightly. Hosea opens his hands slightly, trying not to frighten Button. Button, however, upon poking their head out from between Hosea’s fingers, is grinning broadly despite narrowly avoiding a knife blade then being swept up into a giant’s hands.

#hey look i can write #I'm still on an RDR2 G/t kick #that won't end any time soon #RDR2 G/t #Red Dead Redemption 2 #g/t #giant tiny #Hosea Matthews #is the best giant #pry that headcanon from my cold dead fingers #he'd use little people to rob other humans #but he'd spoil them too

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

Text

COSMIC - S3:E3; Chapter Three, The Case Of The Missing Lifeguard - [Pt. 5]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘌𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘉𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘋&𝘋. 𝘋𝘶��𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦.

⚠️: Castle Byers scene. Meaning lots of angst, self destructive thinking, and misguided self punishing

📝: Started making it... had a break down [fr tho]... ¯\_( ツ)_/¯ bon appetite! 👩‍🍳 [edit: told ya 💀]

🔑: underlined and bold means they're talking in Russian

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Warm rain spits from the angry blanket of clouds, falling through the sky and drenching Mike and Lucas to the bone despite their rain gear. Mud splashed up onto their ankles and drenching their socks as their bikes skid up the Byers driveway. Without a thought, they throw their bikes into the ground before racing up onto Will's porch.

It had taken far longer than they cared to admit to decide to go and find Will. To make things right.

Mike was realizing far too late just how right Will was. He didn't even recognize himself anymore. El had become such an important piece of his life, but he hadnt realized until now just how much he let his feelings screw up all the wonderful things he had in his life to begin with. He missed how things used to be. With the party. With Y/n.

With Will.

All the anger he feels towards himself is channeled into his fist banging on Will's front door.

"Will!" He cries. "Will, I'm sorry, man, alright? I was being a total asshole. I've been a total asshole. Please, can you just come outside and we'll talk?"

No answer but the thundering clouds rolling over their heads. He pounds on the door again.

"Will!"

Lucas hurries to the window, cupping his palms against the glass and peering inside. He knocks on the window, doing his best to peer around the curtains and furniture obscuring his sight.

"Hey, Will! Come on, man! We're sorry!" He knocks again, growing nervous. "Will!"

||𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

'Sorry, man. Curfew,'

'For the last time, Will! No!'

-'What, so I should be locked up all day, too?'

-'Maybe!'

Huffing, I throw the wrinkling comic book into the old mattress. Nothing was working. Nothing was enough to distract me. I was too angry.

I looked down at the withered cover of the comic book I had just thrown, my chest sinking further. Dustin's X-MEN 134, he gave it to me after that night at the hospital.

Thinking about it now, I can't even remember the last time all seven of us hung out as a party. I don't count Dustin's welcome home. Mike and El couldn't be bothered to pretend to care, and Lucas and Max kept ganging up on Dustin. Dustin was understandably upset and not wanting anything to do with us, leaving just me and Y/n. And now, not even her.

How did everything get so messed up?

What was I doing wrong?

I looked around the walls of Castle Byers, a lump forming in my throat. Everywhere I looked, I was painfully reminded of the truth.

My friends don't want me anymore.

I keep telling myself that's bullshit, but the more I do the more it feels like a lie.

They're moving on without me.

Friends don't just forget you, I reasoned. They don't just abandon you.

Then why were they doing just that?

Maybe they weren't my real friends. Friend's don't do what they did.

Everything hurts. I've been telling myself I'm fine, that I'm overreacting but I don't think I am anymore. I'm just tired. I'm tried of feeling like this. I'm tired of being pushed aside, especially when I need them most.

They didn't use to be like this, I tell myself. But somehow that just hurts more.

I had people that cared about me, who were willing to risk their lives to save me. Twice.

And now they don't give me a second thought.

I was shaking now, but I don't think it's from the rain. The storm had finally reached me, seeping through the walls and dampening my clothes and hair.

Another painful realization hits me; Castle Byers looked just like it had the night I built it with Jonathan.

Even though this night was so much like the night Castle Byers was constructed, it couldn't feel more different. More unfamiliar.

My teary eyes find my first D&D manual, propped up against the wooden walls, soaked and forgotten like me. I'm painfully reminded of the night all this started.

I remember it as clear as if it were yesterday, and yet it feels light-years away.

'Something is coming. Something hungry for blood.'

《•••》

"What is it?" I ask, edging further off my seat.

This time it's Dustin who cuts in, "What if it's the Demogorgon?"

Oh, great, I think, throwing myself back in my seat with an anxious huff. We're not ready to face a Demogorgon!

Beside me, Y/n draws in an equally anxious breath.

"Oh, Jesus, we're so screwed if it's the Demogorgon." Dustin rambles on.

"It's not the Demogorgon." Lucas says, assuring us all.

《•••》

My eyes trail to one of my favorite drawings; Will The Wise and Y/C/N. The one I had made when Y/n was first constructing her character. The one that hung in my room for so long, always cheering me up. The one that gave my mom the idea to help me communicate my now memories.

The one that Y/n always threatened to steal for her room as often and as recently as her last visit. The memory of her warm touch lingering on my cheeks burned as bright as the blush raging over me that night so long ago.

'Wait a minute... Did you guys hear that?'

《•••》

The anticipated silence in the basement left by Mike grew louder as he leaned in.

"Boom..." His voice grows louder. "Boom," Louder.

"BOOM!" Mike bellows, slamming his hands against the flat surface, rattling the table and all its contents.

The sudden noise was enough to make me and my friends jump, as was the sudden hand grabbing for my own.

All the more startled, I look down to see Y/n's hand grasping my arm like a lifeline. I feel my skin flush, my cheeks surely reddened as I catch her eye. She looked flustered, smiling a small smile before retracting her hand and returning to the game, unknowingly leaving me in a dizzying blush.

•••

"Will, your action!"

"Fireball!" I cry, throwing the dice to the board with a satisfying rattle.

"FOURTEEN!"

My friends erupt into cheers, all around me as we celebrate together.

"BOOM!"

"Direct hit!" Mike cries, beaming proudly at me across the table. "Will the Wise's fireball hits the Thessalhydra!"

Our excited shouts fill the basement, each and every one of us victorious. My smile can't get any wider when I feel Y/n's hands grip my shoulder and begin shaking me excitedly. We both laugh, feeling on top of the world with our cheering friends by our side.

《•••》

Pained, I look away only to find the proof right in front of my eyes. My three favorite pictures; all of them, my friends and me — happy — staring back up at me.

Our photo from the science fair, encased in the popsicle frame Mike had made bearing all of our characters' names along the side. I brought it here, I brought all my favorite pictures here, to Castle Byers — to my safe place — cause that's where I knew I would need their comfort the most.

But as I look at them now, all I feel is bitterness and pain. I'm reminded of just how much everything has changed.

The science fair was a reminder of the good thing I had before that night. Before everything started.

Y/n and me, at the Snow Ball. My arm wrapped around her, the two of us grinning nervously. It wasn't just the night Y/n and I had first kissed, it was also the first night I felt like the Party had gotten bigger. All of us, Max and El included had been happy. Everyone was laughing and getting along, the happiest we had ever been — the strongest. But now I see it was really the beginning of the end.

It had been coming for so long and I didn't even see it.

And Halloween. Last Halloween, everything had been perfect. For just one. Single. Stupid. Moment.

Shakily, I pick up the photo Jonathan had taken of all of us in our costumes. We were all smiling.

We were all happy.

'Who you gonna call?'

《•••》

I beam as I see my friends pulling up, looking just as excited as I felt.

"Ghostbusters!" I finish, watching as they look me over, happily surprised.

"Hey, Spengler!"

"Egon! Looking sharp!" Y/n grinned, pulling me into a quick hug.

"Janine!" I beam. "Venkman!"

《•••》

As I look at it now, my eyes and throat stinging as Mike's voice echoes louder than ever in my mind.

'I mean, what did you think, really?'

What was I thinking?

'That we were just gonna sit in my basement all day, playing games for the rest of our lives?'

How could I have been so naive?

'it's not my fault you can't move on!'

How could I have been so... so...

"Stupid." I tell myself, my voice splitting in my throat. "So stupid!"

My hands trembling violently with rage and my own sobs, I tear the photo in two.

I was stupid. Stupid to believe I was as big of a priority to them as they were to me.

I rip the drawing off the walls, tearing it to pieces.

Stupid to ever think they'd still cared about me.

I rip and tear and crumple up every meaningful piece of them in an act of defiance.

They won't care. I think bitterly. They won't miss these, they probably won't even notice. Not like I would have.

I grab my bat.

How could I be so fucking stupid?!

Why was I hanging on to all this stuff anyway? Why was I clinging so tightly to something that was already gone?

Because I've been stupid. I'm just some stupid kid that won't grow up.

I storm out of the tent.

I'm just some stupid kid who can't grow up. They made that perfectly clear.

I stand in the pouring rain now, heart thundering in my chest as I stare at the piece of my childhood I couldn't let go of.

So. Stupid.

And I start swinging.

I swing and I swing, with an anger and frustration I've never felt so intensely until now. It's been building my whole life and I didn't realize it. Every swing is simultaneously the best and the worst I've ever felt. Every slur I've heard from my dad, from Troy, is channeled into the bat. Every ounce of frustration and fear I felt since I came back from the Upside Down that nobody understood. Every laugh, every jeer, every single moment I've felt alone is channeled into the destruction of the one place on this earth I ever felt safe.

But it holds up and in the back of my mind, I hear Jonathan again.

'And it took so long cause you were so bad at hammering'

And I start kicking, and I start ripping the walls apart until it's a crumpled heap and I stop.

The sight of Castle Byers in ruins breaks me even harder.

I didn't want it gone, but I did it anyway. That part of me that was angry at myself, told me to keep going. Cause that's what I deserved for believing things could stay the same even though deep down I knew that wasn't true.

I finally stop when I see the castle in ruins.

Exhausted, I collapse to the ground beside the wreckage.

As I sob, stewing in the pain and overwhelming grief I felt I was drowning in, the rain pours heavily over me, soaking me to the bone.

Just as it had the night it had been built.

And now, Castle Byers was gone.

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

When blue meets yellow in the west.

8:41 pm. It was almost time.

The yellow and blue clock hands were illuminated by a flash of lightning, streaking through the mall's skylight. Starcourt had long since closed, and the real activity was just beginning.

Stationed at the loading docks near the back, standing under the worst storm Hawkins had seen in years were two guards. They watched through the downpour as the scheduled truck backed its way under the concrete cover.

And perched on the roof, just out of sight sat Dustin, Steve, and Robin, scouting from under their rain slickers.

"Look for Imperial Panda and Kauffman Shoes," she reminds them.

Steve wipes away at the rain dripping into his eyes, squinting even further to get a clear picture Dustin already has.

A man in a bright yellow raincoat emerges from a hidden side door, a trolley cart full of packages marked with a familiar insignia.

"They're with that whistling guy!" Dustin says suddenly, motioning out from behind the only pair of binoculars.

"What do you think's in there?" Steve wonders, eyeing the Lynx logo on the back of their many yellow jackets.

"Guns? Bombs?"

"Chemical weapons?" Robin tries.

"Whatever it is," Dustin says, now cautiously studying the heavily armed guards. He had to admit to himself, they really weren't trying very hard not to be obvious. "they're armed to the teeth."

"Great," comes Steve's sarcastic voice, once again rubbing at his eyes, silently wishing he had brought a coat with a hood. "That's great."

A soft clink that would have been obnoxiously loud had it not been for the noise of the storm brings their attention to another guard. Having pressed a glowing button on a small control panel, two large metal doors swung open to reveal another room.

"Hey!" Robin says, squinting through the rain as she tries to get a glimpse without the binoculars. "What's in there?"

"It's just more boxes,"

"Let me check it out," Steve says, grabbing for the binoculars.

Huffing, Dustin fought to keep his grip on the binoculars. "No, I'm still looking!"

"Lemme see it!"

"Hang on!"

Steve's grip had loosened with the slick of rain, sending the binoculars knocking into the cement. The issue had already been forgotten when they saw the guards' attention had been stolen. Simultaneously, the three of them dove to the ground in a panic.

The guards began to pace, grip on their firearms tightening as they gaze out into the night. Seeing nothing but empty roofs and angry skies above them, they unknowingly miss the trio huddled against the roof wall.

Just out of sight to the right of Dustin, Steve and Robin sat panting as they try to calm their racing hearts. Way too close a call. And neither of them had realized what they had done until their eyes landed on their entertained hands. Just as quickly as they notice, they break apart, embarrassed.

Down below, the guards were now on high alert. One of them, unable to shake the feeling of being watched, stalked into the rain with his eyes deadset on an open spot on the roof. He was certain he heard the noise come from that direction.

"Stay here!" He orders to the other. "Watch the door!"

Reluctantly, his partner complies and inches back towards the doors.

When he finally reaches the top of the stairwell, he hesitates only a moment before he throws the roof door open, gun cocked.

But he was met only with steady claps of thunder and an empty roof.

Had he been wrong?

Or had he just missed whoever had been here?

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Clothes drenched, their shoes sloshing underneath their feet like sponges, Steve, Robin, and Dustin slip out from the shadows and make their way throughout the back halls behind the scenes of Starcourt.

"Well, I think we sound your Russians," Robin quips.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Black Trans Travel Fund:

For The Gworls:

"The Black Trans Travel Fund is a grassroots, Black Trans led Collective, providing Black Transgender Women with financial and material resources needed to remove barriers to self-determining and accessing safer travel options"

Trans Women Of Color Collective Fund

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Founded by a Black transgender woman and a Black nonbinary person, For The Gworls raises money to help provide funds for rent and gender affirming surgeries for Black transgender people across the country."

Taglist:

@dickkwad @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa @miscellaneoustoasts @happyandlonely-blog @peeperparkour @ba-responds @bibliophilesquared @blogforhoes @witch-of-all-things-soft @shawkneecaps @whothefuckstolemykeds @daughter-of-the-stars11 @stranger-things4 @kpopanimegirl @nightbu-g @lozzybowe @gizmofishersupremacy @spiderbitch69420

❥ Let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist! ❥

#cosmic #cosmic 3 #will byers x reader #will byers x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things 3 #the case of the missing lifeguard #3x03

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snarkwrites · 3 years

Photo

Title: snowbound pt 1 of 2/3

Theme: snow

Fandom / Character(s):Ben Solo/Kylo Ren x Earth!FemaleReader.

Warnings: First up. I preface with two strong warnings.. I am not a medical professional in any capacity. Second, I am only kind of a casual Star Wars fan, so Idk how things work in their universe as compared to here on Earth. The actual warnings here are blood!tw and injury!tw. Again, I remind you. I am neither a veteran star wars fan nor a medical professional. So, some things may be entirely wrong. And Ben Solo is most likely written totally OOC as he is not a character I am used to writing, by any stretch although i love him with my whole heart... Anyway... The warnings are: Blood!TW, Injury!TW, OOC fandom character and a strong dose of hurt comfort / fluff in the next parts I kind of hope i get to do for this. This part is so long because I was using it to sort of set things in motion..

Word Count: 2k. Listen, I was setting things up and got carried away, rip me.

Listen... You all just don’t fucking understand how much I love Kylo/Ben... I know, I know, he’s a bad guy. Anyway, this is me doing something I’ve literally been dying to do, a scenario in which Ben somehow winds up Earthbound just in time for the holidays...This is my daily entry for my bb @champbucks over on the @12daysofchristmas challenge blog...

OH YEAH.. for the sake of a timeline here.. This part takes place around the end of November/beginning of December. Part two will take place two and a half weeks later and part three will take part a day or so, maybe two, after part two. Trust me, this needed to be said.

Also, again.. I made the banner for this. Don’t steal or repost.

TAGGING:

So, here’s the thing.. There really isn’t anyone on my Star Wars masterlist and like... I haven’t really written anything Star Wars related... Until now. So, if you want to be tagged in my star wars stuff, click the little link below or send me an ask/dm on my main and I’ll happily add you.

@champbucks and @12daysofchristmas

[ about my writing | masterlist | multifandom tag doc ]

“What the hell?”

The boom from outside had the windows to my grandma’s old cabin rattling and I quickly sat up just in time to look out the window at the head of my bed to see a bright flash of blue as it disappeared beyond the treeline across the road.

,, Curiosity killed the cat, remember?” my brain nagged at me the whole time I was slipping on the jeans I’d worn earlier in the day. That nagging only grew as I slipped on my warmest boots and by the time I had my daddy’s old shotgun loaded and I was heading out the door, I wasn’t entirely sure if going over to see what the hell was going on in the woods across from my house was a good idea or not.

I mean yeah, the odds were that some idiot kids were racing around Deadman’s curve and one crashed.. Or a drunk trying to drive home on an icy road hit black ice and lost control… At the thoughts of what probably happened, I stopped in the middle of the road and felt my back pocket.

As soon as my fingers grazed the cool weight of my cell phone, I took a deep breath and started to walk towards the woods on the other side of the little country road.

My eyes were adjusting to the semi darkness, so when the wrecked craft came into view just a few feet into the trees, I had to stop and really stare at it, rubbing my eyes.

“What the fuck?” the words left my mouth in a soft gasp as all the breath left my body. I knew exactly what I had to be looking at by now… And rather than turn and walk away, back to my grandma’s cabin, I kept moving closer. Pushing through bushes and trees and overgrown weeds and dead grass as I made my way towards the clearing to get a better look.

I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, because everybody knows there’s a damn good reason we have a military base on the outskirts of our little town and we all know they’re not testing weather balloons out there.. I knew that if this were a military thing, there would most likely be a cover-up.

So I did what anybody would and I pulled out my camera, recording the crash site and taking a few pictures of the craft as I walked around it slowly.

I froze completely when I heard a wounded groan.

Now, I’d assumed that whoever crashed whatever this… Thing.. Was… they’d gotten the hell out of dodge as soon as the crash was over.

,,Or they were dead on contact because the impact was really hard.’’ my brain finished. I glanced all around the clearing that the craft crashed in the middle of. Everything was silent. Almost deathly silent, as if something had come along and sucked up all the sounds and background noise. I shivered and hugged myself, swearing under my breath about not having the presence of mind to stop for a jacket or grab my first aid kit on my way over here...

A scream died on my lips when I felt a strong grip wrap around my ankle as soon as I stepped closer to the wrecked craft, bending down to peer inside, my phone out and ready to call for emergency services.

When I looked down, after I dove away as quickly as possible, of course, I swallowed hard and tried to find words.

“Help.”

As he said it, I got the distinct feeling that this was not a word he enjoyed saying, not at all.

I could only nod and when my brain finally felt it had enough time to process what was going on, it kicked into overdrive.

“Can you pull yourself out?” I finally managed to ask the question.

“Trapped.” the word came on the heels of words that were totally unfamiliar to me, yet somehow I knew instinctively that this guy had to be swearing up a storm and in immense pain.

I guess tonight’s one of the few reasons I’m glad I went into the medical field instead of becoming a horror novelist or a starving artist like I used to want to when I was a kid. Tonight my years of school and training and the experience I’d gotten thus far as an intern at the hospital in town was all going to come in handy.

Because the lack of military vehicles or police by now only meant one thing to me.

The military either didn’t know yet so this gave me a chance to finally do something about the way they were polluting the water supply and making people sick or… Nobody knew about this.

Laughing softly at the thought that I might’ve stumbled onto an alien crash landing, I bent lower, peering into the smashed window and I dug around in my jeans pocket until I found my dad’s old pocket knife.

“I’m gonna.. I’ll try to cut you out, okay?” I muttered. He grunted, a light pained scowl playing at gorgeous and full lips.

I leaned inside a little, swearing as I felt shards of glass.. Or whatever the material was on the windows, digging into my hand..As soon as I got a good look, I realized that he wasn’t trapped by a harness or belt of any kind.

He was trapped because when the craft he was inside made impact, the damn thing basically folded like a soda can. I winced. Drawing a few sharp and shaky breaths, the fog from their warmth lingering in the air as I tried to stop and think.

I should be calling EMTS. I should be leaving him here because everything I’ve ever learned about accidents of any kind clearly predicates that if someone is hurt and you don’t know how fucking bad, you don’t move them.

But here’s the problem with that knowledge and my current situation… If I didn’t do something, then either that military installation was going to get away with the shit they’ve been doing the past few years since they mysteriously popped up on the outskirts, show up to finish this guy off in the time it took me to get help on the way… And then they might just do me in also because I had evidence and proof that they were up to something shady out there... Or… They’d find him and take him back to the base and do God only knew what to him.

,, but he might be an alien…” my brain gave me the gentle reminder and the counter argument arose almost immediately, ,, he can’t be. He looks like I do. He looks human. I can’t just turn my back and leave the guy… If he is military and they do realize what’s happened, he’s as good as dead… And I cannot live with someone’s blood on my hands.”

And with that thought, I proceeded to try and figure out the safest way I could to go about breaking years of protocol that had been drilled into my brain.

I started with the obvious. I leaned in, my body brushing against him as I raised my hand, pressing my fingers to his neck, feeling for the jugular so I could attempt to see if his pulse was steady.

He groaned quietly and I explained in a hushed tone, trying to keep him calm, “I’m trying to take your pulse… to make sure it’s okay to move you if I can get you loose. Because we’re gonna have to get you out of here somehow.”

He merely nodded. I almost asked if he spoke the same language as me, but that was a later question. I was still operating under the assumption that I was working with a very small time frame, either way.

Because even if the military didn’t know what happened out here, they would soon.. Because this just felt like something they would be aware of or become aware of. And I wasn’t going to let them get their hands on the guy, especially when he was injured and far too weak to fight them off.

Or so I thought…

,, where the hell am I? What happened? Need to.. Get out of here. Get back to the others.”

I heard it so clearly that for a second or so, I thought he might’ve actually spoken. I answered quietly, “You’re in Montana. Apparently, you crashed whatever the hell this thing is. If you’ll be still and stay calm sir, I’m trying to get you out of here. We have to hurry. If those damn military guys realize what happened and come down, we’re both probably fucked.” and continued checking him over.

I dreaded what I was about to have to try and do, because if there was any internal injury, I was about to make it worse. The goal, I decided mentally, was to move him as carefully but as quickly as possible.

He gritted his teeth and gave another long and wounded grunt as he seemed to pick up on my rush and started trying to maneuver his legs free from the part holding them in place.

“Okay, whoa. Easy, sir. Stop moving, damn it!” I said frantically, eyes widening as they settled on the dark depths of his eyes.

He glared at me, speaking in a calm but firm tone. “I have to get out of here.”

“And if you’ll go about this carefully, like I said before, you might actually live through this. I don’t know if you’ve been injured internally or not. I won’t know how severe your injuries are until I’m back at my cabin. I’m hoping that since you’re vocal enough to be an entire stubborn ass right now, that you’re really not seriously injured.” I snapped back because he’d snapped at me just seconds before.

He eyed me, almost wary. Almost as if he weren’t entirely sure whether to trust me. But I stared him down, firmly as I could. He managed to get his legs free and clear of the way they’d been pinned somehow and if I hadn’t thought the guy might be strong as an ox when he grabbed my ankle before, I now knew that fact beyond a shadow of doubt.

Oh, he grunted and groaned and growled in pain the entire time, but he seemed to be entirely too stubborn for his own good, too hell bent on getting himself out.

Once he was slowly pulling himself through the busted glass and lying on the snow, I cleared my throat. He winced and gritted his teeth as he pulled himself to a sitting position in the snow. The form fitting black garment he wore on his upper body was shredded in a place or two from the way he’d pulled himself through the window of the wreckage.

“Do you think you can walk? Because we need to figure something out.” I asked the question as I worked on keeping calm. But I was in a bit of a panic see, because internal injuries are difficult to spot and often, they go unnoticed until the person injured either dies or suffers massive complications. And I knew that me, moving him as little as I had and then him freeing himself from the wreckage somehow and all that movement… It was tempting fate, in my own opinion, but I was that determined not to let all this be covered up or to have this man’s blood on my hands.

He looked as if he were going to attempt it and I stood, holding my hands out to him to at least try to help him. But after the second or third attempt, the fight or flight response within me kicked in and I was… Growing impatient to get him indoors and both of us hidden away somewhere safely.

“I’ve got an ATV up at the cabin. It’s literally just across the road at the top of the hill… I need you to stay here and stay hidden. Are we clear?” I didn’t mean to bark it at him like an order, I guess I just assumed at the time that if he were a soldier who worked that base, he was used to it.

He bit his lip and eyed me.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” that firm tone, I won’t even begin to go into the effect it had on me, but I was the one who wasn’t injured and didn’t possibly have the US Armed Forces about to pop up at any second, so I had to act as if nothing he did or said had any sort of effect on me at all.

And god was it ever hard!

“Which one of us crashed a fucking piece of government property and is injured, sir?” my hand dragged through damp hair and tugged a little as I tapped my boot against the crunchy snow covered forest floor.

“ The ship is mine.” he corrected. I eyed him with a brow raised.

“Whatever you say. Either way, arguing semantics with you is not getting either of us to my cabin.”

The searing pain that shot through my palm as I rubbed it against my jeans had me grimacing, but I tried to ignore it. He stared me down, head tilted slightly.

“Alright. I’m going now.” I turned on my heels and I bolted up the hillside, hurrying so fast across the slippery pavement separating me from my cabin that I nearly slipped a time or two and I finally got to the shed that I’d parked the ATV under after riding it along the creekbank earlier to look for fallen trees I could use as firewood.

The keys were still in the ignition. I jumped on and fired it up, biting back a pained whimper as I curled my hand around the handlebar and that only put more pressure on the wound that I didn’t even realize I’d gotten trying to help the man out.

I shoved out the pain and focused on getting back across the road as quickly as possible. And in the back of my mind, yes.. I did find it more than a little odd that nobody had come down. The neighbors a mile away from me have to have heard… Then I remembered that Herb and Isla were out of town, in Kentucky with their oldest daughter and her family for the holidays.

,, c’mon lady luck, don’t fail me now.” the thought came and went and I took a shortcut through the treeline that I knew would put me straight in front of the crash site. Now I just had to hope to God that the guy was okay and he hadn’t left the scene.

Right as the crashed ship came into view, I spotted him trying yet again to use the wreckage to pull himself to his feet and I rushed over.

“You’re a stubborn one.”

“Trying to..” he took a few heavy breaths and grumbled before continuing, “Get back home.”

“And you can do that.. The second you’re at least partially healed, sir. I’m gonna…” I trailed off, awkwardly positioning myself against his side so that he could use me as a crutch and lean on me to get to the ATV so I could take him back to my place, “Lean on me.”

But the guy was an actual fucking giant.

And normally, in a non life or death situation, I’d have been absolutely mesmerized by… Pretty much everything about him. But tonight, I was too focused. Too intent on getting both of us to safety.

,, daddy always told me curiosity killed the cat. Now look what I’m smack in the middle of.” I thought to myself, grunting a little as he leaned into me heavily, my arm around his lower back and his arm around my shoulders as he clumsily tried to make his way to the ATV.

Once I got on and he managed to get himself on behind me, I took off. “Might wanna cover your face.”

And a minute or so later, as I parked the ATV right at my porch steps to make it a little easier to get him inside, he eyed me warily again, this time questioning, “Why are you doing this? Don’t you know who I was?”

“What do you mean was?” I asked the question, all the worst possible scenarios flashing through my mind. And that adrenaline surge from earlier that I had yet to come down from? A little more panicked.

He muttered something and shrugged, putting a shoulder around me again as he grunted and managed to get himself standing.

The light overhead on my porch caught on his bloodied pants leg and I grimaced. “Well, pretty sure that’s a broken leg.”

I kicked open the front door with my foot and helped him into my living room, letting him sink down onto the couch. After I got him all settled in, I rushed around my pantry gathering up my medical supplies that I kept on hand.

And I wandered back into the living room, taking a seat on the handmade heavy wooden coffee table in front of my old plaid couch. “You’re gonna have to… Take off the shirt..”

He eyed me, this curious gleam in his eyes that quickly vanished when I firmly repeated myself.

His eyes caught on my palm and he eyed my own smaller wound, then fixed his eyes on me. “You’re dripping blood on the floor.”

“And I’ll worry about that as soon as I’m totally certain that aside from a possibly broken leg and a few cuts and bruises, you’re fine.” I insisted, a firm tone of my own as I started to tug the ripped fabric up and over his body. I grimaced at the older scars and bit my lip as I surveyed the bruises already starting to form against pale skin. “Are you in any pain at all when you breathe?”

Bear in mind here. I am still only just an intern. So I haven’t actually had to deal with a whole lot in the way of injuries. The most I’m currently allowed to do is make rounds and do consults, checking in on patients to let their actual physician know what they might need or how they might be feeling on that particular day.

So this was all trial by fire for me.

One glance at his well muscled body had me definitely continuing to think that he was one of the guys from the military base and I made a mental note to maybe NOT turn down Carrie if she offered to set me up with one of the guys her fiance knew in the future as I had been doing.

He cleared his throat.

“A little.”

“Most likely dealing with a bruised rib or two. I’ll wrap those for now.. I’ll call in a favor with Dr.Albertson in the morning...I don’t think he’ll tell anybody.”

The man nodded, agreeing.

I went back to cleaning and patching the wounds I could patch and then I turned my attention to his leg.

“I’m going to have to cut your pants leg…”

“Or I could take off my pants.”

I eyed him as soon as he said it because truth be told, not only did he have me flustered in saying it, but also, I couldn’t entirely tell if he were being helpful at last, or if he were being a flirt.

As if to prove he was serious, he rose up slightly, unfastening the black pants he wore, working them down his hips and I have literally NEVER… ever.. Turned away and tried to still catch a peek as I did in that moment.

“Christ. You could’ve given me a second to turn.”

“Why?” he tapped my shoulder as he asked the question and I turned around.

My breath caught in my throat and I quickly had to refocus myself. Because if I thought taking his shirt off was a bit of a distraction… Then him sitting there pantsless was.. A bit more.

I bit my lip and my eyes settled on the lower portion of his leg. The swelling was bad. The leg was definitely broken. I sighed and clucked my tongue, shaking my head.

“I’m gonna have to call in that favor with the old man now. Because this can’t wait to be looked at. And I need to be sure you’ve got no internal injuries.” I stood abruptly, nearly doing so fast enough that I almost landed on top of the guy.

He eyed me and I pulled back and away from him, raising to a full stand. Walking quickly into my kitchen and sliding the pocket door closed behind me.

“Hey, doc? I know it’s late, but if you get this, can you please swing by my grandma’s cabin on your way home tonight? I need your help. And I need someone who can be trusted to stay quiet on what you’re gonna see.”

I’d just walked back into the living room when my cell phone rang in my hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’d rather explain when you get here, doc.”

“I’m on my way now. Just grabbing my equipment.”

“Thank you, doc.”

“I always told you and I promised your grandma when you were knee high to a grasshopper. If you ever need me, kid, I’ll be there.”

I hung up and sank back down onto the coffee table, letting a deep breath escape my mouth. The adrenaline was starting to wear off finally and all I could do now was… Process everything. Try to figure out just how far up the proverbial creek I might’ve gotten myself.

The man shattered the silence in the room by clearing his throat and reaching out. I eyed him, a brow raised.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re not going to do something about your hand, I’m going to.”

“It’s fine. It’s a little scrape.”

“There’s blood caked on it.”

Something in the look he gave me had me extending my hand. It almost felt as if I wasn’t in control of myself, though I didn’t realize this until much later…

His larger hand gripped mine carefully, holding it on bare legs.

“You still haven’t put any pants on, what the hell..”

“If you called that person and they’re going to come and examine me, doesn’t make sense to.” he didn’t look up as he answered, instead, focusing on swiping the cloth that I’d gotten as a spare in case I needed a clean one for his wounds. When the light overhead caused something in the wound to glisten, I tried to yank my hand free in a hurry, but that sensation was back in my mind and his grip on my wrist tightened to a point where I couldn’t move.

“Be still.”

That firm tone again, honestly, fuck him for it.

“Fine. But I feel like I should remind you, I am a medical professional. I could get this looked at when Doc arrives.”

“Well, I’m doing it now.” he stated calmly, as if I had no say in the matter. And when I opened my mouth to argue, to insist I could just wait the ten minutes it would take Doc to get to my cabin, nothing came out.

He gave me this smug look as he took my tweezers and worked them into the cut, making me bite my lip and take a few deep breaths.

When he finally got the shard free, I pulled my hand back, cradling it against me.

He eyed me, amused it seemed.

“I’ll clean it out and wrap it now, thanks.” I mumbled in a softer tone, giving him a small smile and thanking him.

Now, we just had to wait on Doc to arrive...

#12daysofchristmas #12 days of christmas #ben solo fanfiction #ben solo fanfic #ben solo imagine #ben solo imagines #trapped on earth au #my writing; ben solo #my fics; ben solo #my moodboards; ben solo

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authorkimberlygrey · 5 years

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I write Flight Rising stuff now I guess?

So I joined FR last year, played for about two weeks and got bored because I need some sort of goal or story to keep my attention and I was working on my novel Ascendant. Then this year @prayforelves started playing so I dusted off my account and joined her. Then she started making her own story for her dragons and again I followed in her footsteps.

I’m still coming up with my main conflict and the majority of the world building and plot points but I did write a couple of character origins for my favorite Pearlcatcher father-and-son duo.

This first one is for my probably-MC BogDrowned

They tell him that his father is beautiful, that his mother is powerful. They croon that he will unite their greatness and bring it forth in countless generations. They whisper that though his father is a light dragon, he will be shadow, he will bring power and prestige to their clan, to their god.

Beside him, his siblings chirp eager replies. He joins and his voice makes the whisperers quiet. For a moment, he thinks that perhaps he has done something wrong, then warmth wraps around the shell of his world.

They tell him his voice is beautiful, the most beautiful they have ever heard. They tell him he will be Magnificent. He sings to them that he can’t wait.

The world grows small and cramped, he presses against the walls and feels them buckle. The voices are singing encouragement, and he sings determination in return. Light floods his eyes and the world grows ten million times in size with one single crack.

“I’m here!” he sings, “I’m here! Look at me, aren’t I beautiful as you said?” He must be, for his scales shine, blacks and browns and greens. The same colors as the beautiful, beautiful world around him. He puffs his chest forward and looks up to see the singers at last.

They are speaking to a towering white dragon, though they are all towering to him. His lip curls, surely this dragon is ugly. Blisteringly bright, and not at all like the world around them.

“Ah,” says one of them, “that’s that I suppose.” This one is colored with bright greens and pinks. Ugly he thinks, surely this is what ugly looks like.

“Don’t worry,” says another, “you get some like this in every batch, its no reflection on you.” Her scales are glittering and bright, is she ugly too?

“Too bad about that voice though,” says a third. This one is colored in purples and blues.

“He will use it to sing praises to the Shadowbinder,” the final speaker is looming over him, nudging him with his polished muzzle. Colored blue and red. It is striking it is bright, surely this is an ugly dragon.

“Aren’t I beautiful?” he asks, even as the ancient dragon nudges him away from the shattered remnants of his tiny, dark world.

The ancient dragon doesn’t answer, only herds him to a small gathering of other hatchlings. Their colors are dull, or mismatched. One has a wing that hangs oddly from her side. They, he realizes, are not beautiful. He is not beautiful.

He casts a glance back at his tiny shattered world and wishes he could go back. Back to the dark where the beauty of his colors did not matter, only the beauty of his voice. He wishes that he’d never come into the light, into this massive world that somehow, manages to be smaller than the one he came from.

***

They do not call him beautiful at the temple. They call him singer, they call him tithe, they call him servant. Here, at least, his colors do not matter, only his voice. They do not want him to speak, only to sing with his beautiful voice. Songs of shadows and praise for their mistress.

So he sings. He sings of her beauty, of the shining of her luminous eyes, of the strength of her wings. He lifts his beautiful voice from his ugly throat and sings praise to the goddess that is so so beautiful.

He sings day and night, his voice echoing over the river, over the clouded scrying pool, over the shadows and the moon. The nameless priests stop on their endless patrols and sacrifices to hear him sing and they call his voice beautiful.

It tastes bitter, it tastes like mockery and derision though he knows they don’t mean it that way.

***

Once, his father comes to the temple. Even the highest priests scrape and bow to be visited by these shining beautiful dragons. Whose eyes glint with health and life, whose colors swirl in mesmerizing patterns, whose scales are polished and cleaned with pride.

They call his father healer. They call him a servant of Light. They call him beautiful.

It burns in the back of his throat like acid, more bitter than anything else he has tasted.

His father, he learns, was a Light dragon who, for one reason or another, left his clan. No one can agree if it was a trade of pedigrees or if he was captured in a raid, or if he was outcast. No one cares though, because Zephyr is beautiful and powerful, and his healing has saved countless lives.

He learns that his father is considered one of the most beautiful in the clan, even without his healing powers. His scales shine in the darkness, whites and golds and blue-greens that swirl over his shoulders and wings. The delicate grey of his paws. He is beauty incarnate.

He looks at his father and he looks at his own muddy colors and he wonders, how could something so ugly come from someone so beautiful? He sees the way the other priests look at him and wonder the same thing.

He is a stain on his father’s legacy and it tastes bitter on the back of this throat. How dare he seek to make someone like Zephyr lesser? How dare he be born so ugly.

His father speaks to the priests and they show him the newest arrival, who is sickly and weak even to the temple. The hatchling is ugly. With a dull purple coat and random patches of brilliant orange that give the impression that someone has thrown up on her.

Zephyr heals her anyway. Touches her ugly scales with his beautiful ones and speaks to her gently.

He is surprised to learn that his father’s voice is nothing special. It is not ugly, nothing about Zephyr could be ugly, but it isn’t as beautiful as his own voice.

His father glances at him once, and his beautiful yellow eyes, smiling down at the hatchling he has healed, dim with disappointment.

Then he leaves.

That night, when he raises his voice to sing of the Shadowbinder’s beauty, his voice has a bitter, mocking edge to it. How beautiful is his goddess, more beautiful than the sun and the light, more beautiful than the glittering ice and the raging storms.

How beautiful. He laughs. So beautiful. He mocks with derision. As if beauty means anything. Why should it? Here in the darkness where no one can see clearly anyway.

He laughs himself sick and sobs himself sicker. He rakes his claws over ancient trees, twisted and gnarled. Lashes his tail and disturbs the scrying mirror, muddled and murky. There is no beauty here.

“Do not destroy the temple,” the head priest says, she doesn’t admonish the anger, only the expression of it in the temple.

He flies over the walls and unleashes his anger beyond them. His roars shake the trees, send animals fleeing and flying away from him. His claws tear through plant and rock and the water churns around him.

When his anger is spent, he collapses in the shallow water and can’t bring himself to move. His eyes close.

…...No….that is not a proper end at all…..

His eyes open and he stares into the face of his goddess. She is not beautiful. She is horrifying. He has spent his years singing of the shine in her eyes, the glittering sleekness of her scales, the delicate colors of her mighty wings.

Her eyes shine like the eyes of long-dead things. Glassy and milky and somehow, staring right through him.

Her scales glitter wetly, melting down her body. Thick and viscous, creeping through the water. Dead fish float up in its wake.

Her wings are torn and limp at her sides. Her colors are muddy and muted: murky purple, dull green, muddy brown and watery black.

She laughs at his horror. It is rasping and rattling, as though it might shake her entire, melting, rotting body apart to make such a sound. “....so surprised to see me…..am I not beautiful, my son?”

He dares not reply because the only possible answer is No.

She shakes her head. “Such foolishness….that my children have fallen to….such pointless vanity….Not you though….little ugly thing…..” She laughs again. It sounds more like a death rattle. She looms over him, the sickly shadows that melt off of her skin swirl around his paws. “I could use someone like you.”

He wakes to water in his nose, in his mouth, in his lungs. He coughs and chokes for hours, for days, it seems. When he can finally breathe again, he opens his eyes to find the world changed. The shadows remain as deep and dark as always, perhaps even darker, but he sees what they hide as though it is right in front of his muzzle.

He doesn't see the world as though it is daylight, he sees the darkness and the shadows as he always has, but they do not hide things from him anymore. They easily offer up their secrets to him and him alone.

“What--” he begins, and then stops, touching his throat with horror. His voice, his beautiful voice is as raspy and rattling as Hers had been. “What did you do to me?” he asks with his creaking, rattling, rasping voice. It sounds like claws against stone, like trees creaking in the night wind, like the death rattle of prey and foes.

It is not beautiful. Nothing about him is beautiful now.

“A gift,” the shadows snicker in a rasping voice. “For my most devoted worshiper.”

He doesn’t return to the temple. His goddess isn’t there, in the pale shadow of beauty. She lives in the bog where he drowned, She lives in the black tears that drip from his eyes, in the gnarled, twisted branches of the trees, in the deepest, darkest shadows.

She gives him her gift and she slips back into the shadows to see what he will do with it.

He finds a bird with golden feathers and slaughters it. Cleans its skull and wears its beautiful golden feathers around his head and laughs at the idea of his father’s beauty. It is an ugly sound, but he is an ugly dragon, so at last, it fits.

#Flight rising #FR #FR lore #Flight rising Lore #Flight Rising art #Eugenics Dragon Hell #Dark #angst #This is why I can't have nice things #I make them angsty #Sorry people who follow me for writing advice #This is my new hyperfixation TM #or at least until I get unstuck with Ascendant #which might be awhile #rip

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miraculouskpop · 5 years

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MKP Series | Ladybug and Wolf

Chapter VI: BY THE POWER OF RAAAAH

The two newly appointed heroes ended their pointless bickering a few minutes ago. It seemed like nothing had changed much, and the night sky appeared calm as ever. However, energy lurched inside their bones for something... more, something to stimulate their profound senses. Like, beating up villains! Well, there's suppose to be villains...

Wolf crinkled his nose, "Something smells funny." He said, growing rather tense.

"What do you mean?"

"Fools!" What was that?! The two looked up...

A wild Suga appears! ♦

Ladybug raised an eyebrow, "Well, that was quick." She stated.

A stranger hovered above the city with a sinister cackle. He seemed cloaked in blue bed sheets as he continued to screech in amusement, "My name is Suga Night! I will destroy everyone who stands in the way of my sleep! Because of your insolent rudeness, everyone will suffer...!" The shining moonlight gradually grew darker as the young man grew intensely brighter. Citizens from the active streets below noticed the stranger from above, and hysteria followed rapidly. Damn it! Already?! What are they suppose to do? It's not like they exactly know how to use their powers...

Amber! There's no time to waste. People are immediately in danger and it's up to both of you to stop it!

Gee, it would be convenient if I knew what to do! "Wolf!" Ladybug shouted to the stranger, "We have to-"

"Yeah, I got it already. Defeat the guy, and uh, save people. My furball already sprouted it. Let's go!" Gee, didn't have to sound like a know-it-all... Ladybug shook her head as she jumped off the roof following the teenager. She can hear the screams of innocent civilians running for theirs lives, and others, well, decided to Snapchat the entire scenario. This Suga Night, or whatever, didn't seem that intimidating, "What is this?" Ladybug scoffed at this so-called, "villain" or whatever. It looks like a freaking dude in bedsheets attacking people with pillows...

"This will certainly be a piece of cake." Wolf snickered.

"Fools! Do not underestimate my sleeping abilities. I will annihilate anyone who stand in my way!" Suddenly, the ground began to quiver and crumble, and a huge teddybear burst from the intersection! Screams of terror from many caused Suga Night to laugh, "Now sleep!" Hands thrusted out from his cloaked bedsheets, ghostly shadows shot out to capture the people, and thud! Dozens fell to the ground motionless. "Gather them, my teddy!" The ten foot teddybear appeared rather frightening with its broken button eyes and torn stitches opened its mouth and sucked up all the unconscious humans into its stomach.

...Uh...

"This is going to be a lot harder than we thought..." Ladybug sweatdropped.

"Well, practice makes perfection, right? Let's test this little boy out with our stuff!" Before Wolf prepared to take off, Ladybug snatched him by the arm. "Hang on pup, it's not so simple. We gotta find a weak spot." There must be something that could hinder Suga Night. If she remembers correctly, Tikki did mention akumas and objects... But what exactly?

"How are we going to find his weak spot if we don't immediately attack him?!" Wolf ripped his arm away from Ladybug and snarled, "Don't get in my way!" He bared his sharp fangs with his topaz eyes searing into her soul.

"Hey! We're suppose to work together!" Ladybug snapped.

"Not gonna happened with a slow poke like you!" And Wolf lunged at the bedsheet man. "Take this!" Wolf tried to strike at Suga Night, but the bedsheet man suddenly disappeared. "Huh?" Wolf blinked, and then found himself flown against a wall, crashing through the bricks with a high pitch yelp. Police cars were at every corner with men trembling with their guns at the bedsheet man. Ladybug chewed her lip as she tried to think of something to stop this brewing chaos. She needed to think of something, and fast, or else this would be one big mess they may not be able to handle...

Can I even handle this? Her first night, and people already getting eaten and her partner being a pissy lone wolf (no pun intended). Is she even cut out for the job?

It's okay. You can do this.

Ladybug released a sigh. She can do this.

Akuma plus object means something, right? "What would be special...?" It can't be the teddybear, and... Totally not the bedsheets. It has to relate to his sleep, right? Ladybug peered at Suge Night and noticed something.

Headphones.

It seemed to glow an eerie purple color with dark aura surrounding it. "That's it..." Ladybug grinned. That must be his weak spot! Ladybug glanced over her shoulder to find Wolf still residing in the broken bricks, and sighed. She leaped over to the building with ease before resting beside him, "Wolf, are you alright?" She can see Wolf with clarity now. Platinum blond bangs covering his dark grey mask as he eyes remained scrunched, moaning in what seems to be agony. The heroine propped Wolf in sitting position and pulled his hoodie back, allowing his silver tufts for wolf ears to twitch freely.

"Wow, are these actually real?" Ladybug couldn't help her curiosity, and snagged one of his ears.

"Ouch!" Wolf cried out. He proceeded to smack her hand away, "They're sensitive! Don't touch them." He glared.

"Geeze, sorry." Ladybug shrugged, "You alright?"

"Yeah. That crash took a lot out of me, though." He grumbled.

"Well, you deserved it for not listening..."

"Whatever."

Ladybug shook her head, "We don't have time for this! There are more innocent people getting swallowed up by a giant teddybear and Suga Night is terrorizing the entire town! I've found out he's wearing headphones that's been akumatized. I think that's what's possessing him to be evil. We gotta get those headphones away from him."

"But how? He's not the weakest if I must say..." Wolf groaned as he carefully stood. Ladybug frowned, "Honestly, I'm not sure. What all powers do you have?"

"...I uh, I dunno yet."

"Are you freaking kidding me?!" Ladybug laughed. Great! Just great! Now everyone will probably die and the entire world will be taken over by a freaking dude cloaked in bedsheets! "Hey! I don't see you knowing anything! Why don't you just ask your kwami whatever?" Ugh, dealing with an annoying, sassy wolf boy who thinks he's oh so powerful just because he got freaking non-human powers. Like, give her a break...

"Fine." Ladybug rolled her eyes in annoyance.

Tikki, what powers do I have?

Lucky Charm's a start. Use your yo-yo.

Ladybug blinked, "... Huh, okay then." She said.

"What did it say?" Wolf seemed awfully curious when Ladybug pulled out her yo-yo.

"Lucky Charm!" Ladybug tossed her yo-yo into the air with vigorous energy and a spark of colorful red flashed into... An ipod? The floating object plopped into her hand, and the duo simply stared at it. "What am I suppose to do with this?" Ladybug asked. An explosion rattled their ears and the heroes looked up. "Oh boy... This is definitely not good." Wolf muttered.

Suga Night's teddybear grew five feet taller than before with helicopters surrounding the villain. "You'll never take me alive you fools! You'll all go into deep sleep...!"

"Wolf, let's put aside our differences and not argue. This is serious, so follow my lead, okay?"

The wolf boy grumbled somewhat, but eventually he nodded with a pout. Ladybug hopped through the rubble and managed her way on top of a roof outskirt, "Hey Suga Night!" Ladybug began to wave in front of the cloaked young man, "I have something important for you!" The girl held out the ipod, and the young paused in his destructrion. "My... Ipod...?" Everything seemed to pause, as if time went eeriely still. Uh, was this a good idea?

And then, then male became absolutely enraged.

"SO YOU'RE THE ONE WHO TOOK IT!? HYYAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!!!!" The ground shooked, cracked, and sunken into a massive hole as Suga Night did a kamehameha to another level. "I'LL END YOUR LIFE!" Ladybug dodged Suga Night's abrupt attack with a squeak, nearly getting obliterated within the process. She continued to dodge the man's attacks with diligent effort as she tossed the ipod to Wolf, "Distract him!" She yelled. Suga Night flew towards Wolf with lightening speed, and even Wolf himself found it difficult to avoid the attacks.

"What?! I'll get killed!" Wolf backflipped a few times, surprising himself that he was able to do so easily. He didn't have much time to dwell on his surprising moves when getting blasted with razor sharp pillows, however. It was getting too close for comfort, and incredibly deadly for any confidence. Ladybug was distracting that huge creepy teddy with helicopters flopping around with their loud ass wings and people are still being stupid recording with their phones while knowingly threatening their safety...

"YOU CAN RUN BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE!" Suga Night is getting closer. If he gets captured, then that's it for him.

"Aerial whirlwind!" A huge blast of air blew the poor angry man back a good amount of feet. Wolf seemed stunned at what happened, realizing it was his power that did such thing.

Woah.

"Hey bug! Are you still playing cat dog?" As soon Suga Night hit the ground he came back faster than ever.

"I have an idea! Trust me!" Ladybug swung across the freakishly large teddybear's legs a few times, by the end tightening her yo-yo string around it. The teddybear made its move towards her, but with swift ease Ladybug swooped under its legs, "Wolf! Toss the ipod to me!" The wolf boy immediately did so, and Ladybug caught it with ease. Suga Night flew toward the ladybug in fury, "I'll destroy you for even considering stealing my stuff!" He hissed.

"Not if you're held down, you're not!" The heroine pushed the stumbling bear to its knees, watching the fall from its tangled net. "Wha-?" The humongous bear eventually fell on top of Suga Night's body, restricting him from any movement. "Curse you!" He tried to move, but it was useless. Ladybug's yo-yo unraveled itself, and the girl swooped up her weapon before returning to the culprit.

"I'll be taking that." Ladybug snatched the headphones from Suga Night's grasp, "No!" He exclaimed. So this must be the reason behind this evil drama...

"Yup." Ladybug ripped the headphones apart and observed the dark energy fading away. However, a dark purple butterfly ejected out of the headphones with strong evilness following it. It felt tangible and potent, and Ladybug somehow knew what to do... "It's time to de-evilize!" Words fell out of her mouth before Ladybug truly understood what happened, and her ladybug yo-yo opened its wings. With a few twirls, Ladybug swung her yo-yo towards the dark butterfly, watching it capture the insect and slowly purify. Ladybug held the yo-yo close and release the insect filled with purity and lightness, "Bye bye little butterfly." She smiled.

The evil Suga Night was no more, and merely returned to a simple young man with pajamas and a bed cover, "Ugh.... What happened...?" The male groaned.

"Let's just say... You were really upset with lack of sleeping music." Ladybug chuckled.

"Ladybug!" Wolf skid to a stop when finding Ladybug and Suga Night at a standstill. "How are you not dead yet?"

"It's called being smart. Think creative, you get a variety of results." They did it... They defeated their first villain! Well, to be honest, she did, but that's another story...

"Yeah, but... What are we going to do about all this?" Wolf pointed at the devastation that nearly wiped out the center of Seoul.

Ladybug's grin grew cocky, "Don't worry bro, I got this. Miraculous Ladybug!" She tossed her yo-yo into the air, and magic happened. All the chaos, the devastation that destroyed nearly half of the city disappeared, as if none of the disasters ever occurred. The humans that once resided in the belly of the stuffed animal returned to normal, almost in a daze.

"Hey! They saved us!"

"They did?!"

"How was it possible?"

Ladybug became flustered over the attention. Wolf on the other hand was swimming in selfies from attractive girls.

Guess saving the day wasn't too bad.

Or rather, saving the Suga night.

#ml #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous kpop #miraculers #kpop #idols #au #fanfiction #fiction #exo #bts #blackpink #twice #f(x)#chapter six

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overdrivels · 7 years

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Could I request something with the good old-fashioned 'we have to share a bed because there's only one and no one told us beforehand' trope? With either Hanzo or McCree; you can decide which. (Like one of them and the reader get assigned to the same mission and have to stay a hotel or safehouse or something, idk.)

It’s Snow Problem

I am 9000% convinced that Hanzo would take the stupid floor if there wasn’t some really good reason behind it (like the floor was lava). So I mashed up two tropes: one bed + we’re going to freeze to death unless we share body heat.

The only reason why I never picked up this trope was because I would personally pick the floor. I’m very used to sleeping on hard surfaces, so the floor would be my preferred sleeping place unless there was, like I said before, lava.

“Da-damn, t-the–the he-h-heat’s n, not working eith-either?”

You literally could not stop your teeth from chattering or your fingers from trembling as you desperately messed around with the dial on the very, very outdated radiator. Didn’t this cabin have some sort of code to follow? You can’t be sure if the dial isn’t turning because it’s frozen or if you just couldn’t put enough strength into your frozen digits.

“There’s n-no hot water.”

Behind you, Hanzo steps out from the bathroom, barely able to contain the shaking in his voice. His heavy coat was positively encrusted with white, glittering ice decorated his hair, the dying rays of the sun catching them and lighting them up obnoxiously. It showed no sign of melting anytime soon. His face was red with windburn—you’re sure you didn’t look any better—and his breath hung around him like a ghostly veil.

It’d be a miracle if neither of you managed to catch a cold or worse.

You curse your luck and at Winston who sent you both here to Yukon on this mission to investigate rumors about Talon activity. Something about a hidden laboratory deep in the icy tundra of the Yukon. The two of you almost got caved in when you entered the space—it seemed to have been a final defense mechanism for Talon’s abandoned bases.

In hindsight, you really should’ve asked Mei to switch with you when she was assigned to go the Bahamas. Mei looked absolutely miserable when she was asked to go. You have no doubt she has the same thoughts as you at this moment. She never really did like showing off her skin.

It wasn’t as though you were both entirely unprepared–extra set of clothes, self-activating heat packs (courtesy of Genji), blankets, and other supplies that would’ve proven useful in the situation.

That is, if those supplies were drenched in the brief swim they took down some slushy body of water. In your defense, the footing was bad and in both your defenses, neither of you could afford to jump into the fast-moving waters. Luckily, Hanzo had managed to pin it to fallen tree with a well-aimed arrow. Retrieving it proved a little more harrowing than expected: you both nearly fell in when the tree partially gives out, leaving your pants and boots soaked. Luckily, the journey back to the cabin was a short one, saving you both from the possibility freezing your limbs. But not short enough to avoid the storm that is currently raging outside.

You cross the room to look out the window—it’s almost completely frosted over. The telltale ‘squish’ of your boots remind you of just how uncomfortable wet socks are and that they need to come off along with any other clothes that you have on.

“The-the generator’s out-outside. Sh-shit.”

It doesn’t look like the storm is going to let up anytime soon either. Going out there may be the equivalent of suicide. The lingering cold that roots itself firmly into your bones remind you of just how unforgiving the weather can be. The fireplace itself is empty, all the wood being outside. It’s probably all wet anyway.

“There’s no signal,” Hanzo announces, setting his communicator down on the table. You politely ignore how he nearly knocks it to the ground with the way his fingers shake.

“Looks-looks like we-we’ll have to wea-we-weather this one out. God damn it all.”

No electricity, no heat, no communications, no hot water–no people in sight of your tiny cabin window, it’s practically a repeat of the Omnic Crisis, just with less shit burning to the ground. If you both want to survive the night, there were some things you had to handle first. Namely, getting out of these clothes that are no longer doing anything to contain your body heat. A bulb of dread and anxiety drops into your stomach, swimming around for a brief moment.

You take a quick glance at Hanzo who seems preoccupied with checking his bow with whatever little light is left. In a few minutes, you’ll be lucky to see your hands in front of your own faces. It’s a small comfort that he won’t be able to see you (but your traitorous mind wonders what he would think if he did see). You shake your head to cast away those thoughts, droplets of cold water flinging everywhere. First thing’s first.

You take a breath for courage, and begin to tearing off your soaked gloves with your teeth, your other hand too clumsy to be of much help. You almost gag, the taste of melted snow and worn plastic fills your mouth.

Your attempts to undress must’ve attracted Hanzo’s attention. He sounds positively scandalized when he hisses, “What are you doing?”

“We need–we need to get out of these clothes.”

You could sense Hanzo opening his mouth to protest and immediately cut him off before he has a chance to lecture you on dignity. “You’ll fr-freeze, Hanzo. There’s no heat, no hot water, we’re—we’re soaked. Take whatever no-n-notions you have about modesty and shove–shove ‘em; we need to stay alive.” That’s what you’re doing at the moment, anyway.

At his skeptical silence, you add, “I’ll turn around, so no need to worry–I can’t see very well in the dark, anyway.” The wind rattles the windows as though adding to your point.

Little did you know, Hanzo had been specially trained to function in the dark without the need to enhancements or fancy goggles like a certain arachnid. Assassinations didn’t usually take place in broad daylight, after all. Every movement, every twitch of your muscles was easily captured in his eyes. It is beyond distracting, but he’d never let you know that.

Despite his silence, you know that Hanzo understands the sense you are making when you also hear the rustle of clothes behind you. Satisfied with his compliance (and that you won’t have to report to anyone that someone died because they refused to take of their clothes), you continued your own disrobing.

Each particle of clothing hit the hardwood floors with a loud, wet slap, and you can feel the floor jump at the impact, almost mocking you both. The tension is almost palpable, making the act of removing your clothes even more difficult with the extra water and snow caked onto it. With each piece of clothing you lose, you shiver violently at the air that assaults you. But you clench your teeth and press on. You have your own skin to save. The greatest relief comes when you take off your socks—there’s no worse feeling outside of pain that compares to the skin-crawling squish of wet socks—even though the wooden floors are cold as all hell.

“They–they should’ve sent M-M-Mei on this mission,” you say jokingly as you wring out your shirt. “She would’ve loved this. Probably would’ve been better prepared, too.”

You only receive icy silence, your attempt at a livening the atmosphere dies as it comes out of your mouth. Hanzo seems very single-minded in his unclothing. You slap an unsteady hand to your forehead. That thought was dirty. He’s your comrade-in-arms, not a pin-up. Calm down.

Normally, your thoughts didn’t travel down this route–sure, he is attractive, but not enough to distract you. Maybe the cold’s hindering your mental facilities. That must be it.

You strip down to your underwear and, to your infinite irritation, even those were soaked somehow. You’re going to put in a complaint with Winston about his new snow and water-proof gear. You tug at your underwear, grimacing at the wetness.

‘To hell with it’, you decided as you reluctantly pulled those off, too. You glanced quickly back at Hanzo as you did, hoping that he wouldn’t see.

It’s so dark you could barely even see him.

Actually, you don’t even see the archer anywhere. You whip your head around, trying to catch sight of his outline. Where did he–?

“Here.”

You’re hit by something soft and blissfully dry. It’s a large towel, musty from disuse, but welcome, nonetheless.

“Thank–thank you.”

He grunts, and there’s the sound of him putting on his own towel. You first wring your hair through it, the icy water dripping down your bare back is far from comfortable, before you wrap it around yourself in a very pathetic attempt to get warm. It barely does its job, and you feel a little less exposed to the elements. Now that you’re no longer in danger of freezing to death via an icy cage of fabric, there are other matters to attend to.

You cast a forlorn glance at the silhouette of the duffel bag, wondering if anything survived the brief dunk in the water. You decide it’s worth a shot, and try to open it. You hiss at the stinging cold. The bag is freezing still from having been dropped into the slushy water. Next time, you’re going to take a drone and you’re going to cold-proof it so it can carry your stuff. Brilliant.

You hold the towel closed as you rummage through the contents of the bag—wet clothes, wet bags, wet and ice-encrusted everything except—

“Yes!” You pull out a thick stick, and before Hanzo could even stop you, you twist and snap it, immediately flooding the room with a warm yellow light (and accidentally blinding yourself).

Hanzo hisses like a disgruntled cat, snatching the emergency light stick from your hands as you begin to rub your eyes free of the afterimages.

When you’re finally able to open them without seeing strange colors, you had to fight to keep your mouth closed. Hanzo is completely shirtless save a towel around his midsection, covering up his stomach and upper thighs. The muscles previously hidden by the thick layers of protective gear and winter wear now exposed to the nippy air. You drop your gaze so you’re not tempted to stare—you’ve seen other sculpted men before, but the fact that it’s Hanzo makes this different somehow. Though, something seems off about him.

You keep your gaze to the floor, his legs. You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks on you, and rubbed your eyes to be sure. (It stung more than you would’ve liked.)

“You–you have legs? Human…legs?”

Behind him, what you thought were prostheses seemed to now be just empty casings, lying neatly on the ground. He glares at you but quickly turns away, arms crossed over his chest, the light making the dragons on his arm seem more ominous than usual. You’re not sure because the light itself isn’t strong enough for you to tell, but you could swear that there is a tinge of pink on his chest and cheeks.

However, his biting voice immediately drives your thoughts away from that. “Is that a problem?” The condensation from his mouth circles him like dragons. The imagery is almost frightful.

“N-no, no!” you stammer, “I just, I just thought that…y-you know what, never mind.”

You turn your back and kneel down, returning to rummaging through the contents of the wet bag, trying find something useful and to distract yourself from the awkwardness of a topic that shouldn’t be discussed. A series of shivers run down your spine at the contact. Damn, you really should’ve switched with Mei—but then she’d be stuck in this situation, and she’s not exactly comfortable with being nude, especially in the presence of others (but logically, she’d probably be the most unlikely person to be caught in this sort of situation in the first place).

You chance upon a medium size container and you immediately brighten when you realize what it is.

“Hey, Hanzo, look when I found!” You hold up the thermos, kept airtight and thus uncontaminated by the cold. Perhaps it’s a little too tight, and you struggle to get it open while using your elbows to squeeze the towel against your body.

“Allow me.”

Hanzo gently snatches it from your trembling fingers, kneeling down to meet you at eye level. You couldn’t help but watch as the light illuminates his muscles undulating as he attempts to do what you could not, and highlights the sharp angle of his face and his nose, the fullness of his lips—you had to look away. The cold must be making you delirious.

“Here.”

He’s already poured a cup for you. Even at this distance, he refused to look at you, eyes stubbornly averting your general direction. You pluck it from his hands with a quiet, “Thanks”. A close look at the contents revealed it to be more of a golden broth that the chef insisted you both take with you. The steam that rises from it is a wonderful reminder that the broth is very warm—perfect for this situation.

From the corner of your eye, you see Hanzo put his hands together and mutter a quick “いっただきます” before raising the steaming bowl to his lips and taking a hearty sip. You did the same and almost gagged at the taste.

It is somewhat metallic—strong hints of ginseng, ginger, and other flavors that you couldn’t quite place. It undoubtedly warms you, the stark contrast sends a harsh shiver down your body, skin raising with gooseflesh. Your teeth tingles from the heat, and your stomach feels a ton heavy like molten lava just made its home there. You didn’t really realize it before, but you seem to have been getting used to the cold.

You take another large, but difficult gulp; the broth leaves behind a bitter yet soothing aftertaste (you don’t think you’d drink it a second time outside of a life or death situation). You’re going to have a word with the chef when you get back to Gibraltar. You don’t know if Hanzo disliked the taste, but he didn’t comment, so neither did you. You weren’t exactly in the best position to complain about warm sustenance in the middle of a blizzard, after all.

You both ate in silence, the occasional slurp breaking it.

It probably wouldn’t be long before the other Overwatch agents noticed your disappearances—Winston had insisted on updates every six hours, and the last communications either of you had with the scientist was early this morning right before you and Hanzo went to scope the Talon lab. Since the communicator isn’t working, you wondered how long it’d take before anyone back at base realizes that you’re both stranded here.

Stupid technology, even after so many years of advancement, it still can’t send a signal in the middle of a snowstorm?

Hanzo gets up from his kneeling position, having finished his portion of soup. You’re still having some difficulty drinking it without holding your breath. Though, by the time you are done, Hanzo’s returned. He hands you some clothes hangers from the closet, now that you can both see in the dark to not stab yourself with one accidentally (unfortunate as it may be, it’s happened before).

“We should hang up our clothes so they may dry.”

You take a look at your sodden pile. “Oh, right, th-thank.” You set down your cup and take your chilly clothes into your arms and the offered hangers before stepping into the bathroom. As a side thought, you twist a knob on the sink and unsurprisingly, get nothing. You sigh. It was worth a shot.

You see that Hanzo was one step ahead of you, his clothes are already hanging neatly from the shower curtain. You wonder when he had the chance to do so without you hearing. You shake your head, it must’ve been when you were too preoccupied with stripping. Though, as you’re hanging your clothes, something else catches your eye.

A white, long rectangle of cloth hangs innocently off the railing, water dripping from it rhythmically. Wait, you recognized this. It was a…loincloth? You keep your mouth shut, teeth clenched to the point that they couldn’t even chatter. This is not a good point of conversation. Not at all. You’re sure that if you speak a word of this to anyone, you’d somehow receive an arrow to the head. Several, if Hanzo was angry enough.

So you quietly hang up your clothes, readjust your towel, and back out of the room. You sincerely hope that Hanzo does not realize you’ve seen his choice of undergarments (but to be fair, he hung them up first), you’re not sure you could ever erase the image from your mind.

Luckily for you, he doesn’t seem to even be thinking such things, instead, he’s standing there awkwardly, staring at the bed with open apprehension. Strange.

“What’s wrong?”

He continues looking at the bed, the corner of his mouth turned downward in distaste. You also squint at it like the answer would manifest itself if you stared hard enough. Was it monsters? Bed bugs?

You blink slowly at him, then at the bed.

It hits you like a freight train. It’s a problem neither of you realized when you first entered the cabin, too preoccupied with trying to get out of the storm and its non-existence comforts.

There’s only one bed.

It’s not that small, but it’s barely enough to fit the two of you, it seems. Inwardly, you groan. You’re sure that you’d never hear the end of this if any of the other Overwatch members find out.

“I will ta-take the floor,” Hanzo says briskly, already trying to establish his new place of rest by sitting down. You had to wince sympathetically when he gave a full body shiver—you could even see the goosebumps from where you stand. Not even his pride is going to be enough to keep him warm at night. His self-loathing and hate, perhaps, but again—thoughts you really shouldn’t entertain.

“You’ll freeze to death down there,” you protest, lifting up the covers. They were thick, and seem like they’d be great at keeping you warm. Unfortunately enough, there’s only one of them. “Not like there are any other blankets, either.”

He does not respond. You crawl into the bed first, biting back a gasp when your body meets the cold mattress. You position yourself as close to the wall as possible without actually touching it, leaving ample space for the archer.

When you turn, you see he still hasn’t moved from his spot, and you sigh. “Come on, Hanzo. It’s just for one night.” Hopefully. “There’s nothing for-for you to sleep on. Just—just get up here. I’ll just stay o-over on this side.”

You could feel his hesitation, so you turn again to face the wall laying down onto the pillow to give him so privacy (or the illusion of detachment)—the pillow, too, is freezing and your wet hair pressing against your skin made it even worse. You really couldn’t wait to get back to base. Maybe trade stories with Mei when she undoubtedly returns with sunburn.

“If you insist,” he says quietly, reluctantly. You take that as your cue to press yourself even further from ‘his’ side of the bed.

Slowly, you could hear Hanzo get up and take a few tentative steps toward the bed. You could hear his ribbon pulling free, and you could almost see his hair coming free of its confines, spilling over his shoulders stiffly. The mattress dips underneath his weight as he crawls in carefully, laying as far away as the blankets would allow. You have to hold onto your end tightly to keep them from slipping off and getting stolen by your new bedmate. You both lay there, back to back. If you even turn just little bit, your skin would be pressed against his own–you could imagine it just sticking to each other. Your back tingles at the proximity, and you try hard not to focus on the fact that you could feel his presence right behind you.

The chattering in your teeth is slowly subsiding, the warmth of two bodies underneath the covers chases away the cold that haunts you both. The metronome of your dripping clothes is the only thing that fills the silence accompanied by the howl of the wind. You could feel Hanzo’s breathing more than you could hear it—the blanket dips and rises with each breath.

When you finally regain some semblance of consciousness, you notice that it’s hot—almost too hot and you’re sweating all over, but at the same time, it was chilly. Your eyes could barely open, aching and somewhat swollen. It must’ve been the wind and ice yesterday, you reasoned. The next thing that comes is that you’re painfully aware of more skin to skin contact than you remember going to bed with.

You couldn’t move without feeling the sensation of peeling skin. The threat of a painful extraction is almost as cringe-worthy as what you image to be Hanzo’s reaction to waking up in this sort of position. At least by some miracle, both your towels are intact, left in the place you both had them when you went to sleep.

But to make matters worse rather than better, Hanzo fills the space between your chin and collarbone with his face, curling into a ball and pressing himself against you as though you two would suddenly click into place. One arm is curled around your back, and the other is trapped between both your bodies, drawing you impossibly close. It vaguely reminded you of a child seeking their parent’s comfort or, if your mind dares go into that territory, two lov—no, no. Don’t go there, thoughts.

However, your thoughts are quickly drowned out when Hanzo noses his way into your neck, his lips skim against your clavicle and you jump at the sensation. ‘It’s okay,’ you told yourself as your heart begins to race like mad. He is just sleeping. He doesn’t know what he’s doing; it’s an accident. As if to prove you wrong, he continues to press his lips there and mumble unintelligibly. You tried to squirm away, the ticklish sensation combined with the close proximity was too much to bear, biting down the need to start laughing or shoving him out of the bed.

Apparently displeased with your struggles, he tucks his chin in, and almost sprawls himself against you, pressing you down onto you back and lying on top. The sudden motion makes you hiss—you were right, the feeling of peeling skin really hurts. But you have little time to dwell on it when his weight is almost suffocating you. Your new position is arguably less ticklish, but no less awkward. You shift, trying to get comfortable, but his weight pins you down firmly.

“Oh, com’on, Hanzo,” you whisper. You’re surprised he still hasn’t woken up—what sort of ninja is he anyway?

You try another half-hearted struggle, but huff and give up when it doesn’t seem like you’re making any headway, too tired to bother. Might as well let the archer do his thing—there isn’t much you could do anyway outside of bucking his straight off the bed and giving him a very rude awakening (that may or may not result in him attacking you in a blind panic).

Vaguely, you notice it’s still dark, and the screams of the wind from hours before have now died down to become whispers. It seems like the storm has calmed down, sufficient for a signal to get through and for help to come. It’s too bad you’re stuck under a couple hundred pounds of sleeping muscle. You smile to yourself and look down blearily at the archer.

He seems so comfortable, hair splayed out messily around him, legs intertwined with yours so intimately that you’re sure that he’s going to die of embarrassment when he wakes up. You sigh, closing your eyes and willing yourself to go back to sleep. You could deal with this later. The beating of his heart against your chest, his steady breaths, and warmth makes that easy.

The next time you awaken, there’s the distinct sound of chatter, a lack of a body, and a hand to your forehead. It’s large and comfortable, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat that seems to have clogged your throat and nose.

“’nzo?”

You whine when the hand jerks back, exposing your forehead to the chilly morning (was it still morning?) air.

“—ne moment. You’re awake?”

You make a noise of affirmation in the back of your throat—it hurts and it feels like something’s stabbing the insides, you realize. You bury yourself deeper beneath the covers, feeling like you haven’t slept a wink. Your body aches, and your head hurts—it must be the result of having your hair still wet while you slept in such cold weather. That sounds logical.

A few more words were exchanged between Hanzo and whomever he was talking to before, it sounds somewhat heated and pressing, but you weren’t paying attention, sleep beckoning you like a siren’s call that you had no strength to resist.

“Stay awake. You’ve caught a cold,” Hanzo says softly but sternly when he notices you trying to doze off again.

Through your haze, you don’t really understand the severity of his words, but you nod anyway, if only to have him leave you alone so you may return to sleep sooner. You could hear him rummaging through bags, cursing firmly and searching more frantically when he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for.

You’re tempted to laugh at him, but right now, you’re just too tired to do much but try to follow his order. You blink at his back—it’s clothed. Maybe his shirt has dried? What about your own clothes then?

“Apologizes, but there is no medicine,” he says suddenly. Your leg jerks, your whole body jolting to temporary wakefulness. It looks like despite your best attempt, you ended up dozing off after all. “I have contacted the others, they will be here in several hours.”

“S’okay,” you mumble. You just wanted to sleep some more, and it’s too cold to do some comfortably. “Hey, Hanzo. Do me a favor?”

“Yes?”

“Get in here, it’s cold.”

For the record, I rather like the ginseng chicken soups my mother makes. It just doesn’t taste very good in the first few sips.

#anon #ask #this is 4k+ of words whyyy #I feel that Hanzo is a really light sleeper but when he's really comfortable with someone he sleeps like a LOG #I don't know why this is so long #I'm so sorry #hanzo x reader #reader #Goddamnit why did I even make this title a pun #please understand that I literally cannot keep track of myself when writing really long fics #I am now done with requests and now I need to sleep again #sorry it took so long #my writing

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infinitehours · 5 years

Text

Chapter 2

The Story and Song of the Haunted Mansion is an audiobook much like a campfire story. It’s short, it’s sweet, and it’s not meant to have in-depth discussions or thorough characterizations. Karen and Mike were caricatures of the typical hero/heroine of the time; Mike is clearly the braver one. I hope…no one would mind if I edit the reason why Karen was so much more frightened just a little bit…

And for those of you who wondered why I made the house on Tom Sawyer’s road instead of Liberty Square or New Orleans Square, you get your answer here…

Trigger warnings: ghosts, death concepts/discussions, murder, suicide, abuse, blood, lots of scary stuff (horror), implied sexual abuse, cursing (damn and hell), drug abuse, attempted rape (never completed; in a later chapter).

~~~~

Table of Contents Link

Ch 2: Come On In (And Make Yourself at Home)

One Autumn night, not long ago, two teenagers were walking home from a date…

“I hate it when strangers are right.”

Karen tried to peer at Mike through the thick sheets of rain that seemed to endlessly descend upon them. “What do you mean?”

“That girl. Whatsherface; Nell. She all but told us it was going to rain tonight.”

“Maybe. But she wasn’t terribly clear about that, was she?”

Even though both held their own jackets above their heads, she could still feel cold water creeping down her back.

“I can’t even see the way back to the road. Can you?”

“There’s a sign up ahead!”

“Where?”

“Up there!”

The two of them trudged on, practically swimming at this point. The lightning bolt that flashed against the sky, with the thunder not far behind, was worrisome; they weren’t anywhere near town.

The sign that she saw, that she had pointed out before, was even more worrisome: it was old, with decaying letters, but it was more than enough to tell them exactly where they were.

Tom Sawyer’s Road Ahead. Thunder Mountain beyond. [Impossible to read] Mansion.

Whatever that was before the word “Mansion” was scratched off and replaced with “Haunted”.

They were on Tom Sawyer’s Road.

“Did you mean to lead us in this direction?” Karen said, worried.

“Sort of. I was aiming for it; didn’t think we’d actually find it, though. That lady said it was faster, and I really don’t want to be out in this much longer, do you?”

Mr. Vance’s words came to the forefront of her mind. “You actually trust that she was telling us the truth?”

“Well...at the very least it’s a path better covered by trees…Less chance of getting electrocuted.”

She gave a wry smile, which was probably lost on him in the horrible downpour. It was lucky she could even see him at all.

They smacked through the road a while longer, slick and muddy, their jackets doing nothing to keep their legs from getting drenched.

“Oh good. Hey, Karen there’s a building up ahead. I think we should get out of this for a while….”

The first thing she saw when he said that were the lights. Pinkish, bluish, and greenish hues all encircling the outline of a very fine brick house, standing tall and proud against the rain. It was a very old, very large, and very fancy looking building that spoke of rich extravagance in a bygone era where being in a wealthy family line was the very height of social status; the true American aristocracy.

The towering spires and glass enclosure on the side marked it as being different from the other debilitated rubble of the house they had previously passed on their way here. Different, too, in the notion of how…colorful the lights shining on the house looked. There was no accounting for why there should be a spectrum of colors fixated on this particular house; the lightning certainly wouldn’t have made it look that way.

She opened her mouth to protest, wanting to mention how odd it was to see a house so clearly from so far away when they couldn’t even each other standing five feet apart, but he was already sliding down the slope to the gates and she felt compelled to follow along.

The gate itself was almost as extravagant as the building. Iron wrought, with swirling twisted metal the likes of which you might find on old embroidery. It slowly swung open the very moment Mike’s fingers touched it.

There was a small cemetery out front. She’d visited a few old houses in her life and none of them ever had cemeteries in the front yard. She would have thought it would be off-putting to any guests invited over. Stained with age and crooked, they stood lonely against the bleakness of the dark sky, save for one. One of them had a fresh red rose that was so vibrant it could be seen even through the tears of rain.

“I don’t think we should be here, Mike…” Karen said, eyeing the grave with the bust of a woman whom she swore had just been looking at her.

“I don’t think we have much of a choice. We can barely go through that muck of a road, never mind find our way back to town.”

She could hear him rattling a door handle. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get the front door open. No one lives here... we can wait inside until the storm’s over.”

Karen slowly backed away in disbelief, the prickly beginnings of goosebumps dancing over her skin.

She knew very little about architecture, she would admit, but the house in front of her was not the same as the one she saw from afar.

“It looks…different up close, doesn’t it?”

“Huh? I guess? What do you mean?”

“Before, it looked like a brown brick building. With a glass room.” She swallowed thickly. “…This is a white building, and the glass room is gone. It looks more like an old Southern Plantation home. With white pillars….”

“Pillars? What pillars?”

“The four giant ones. Right there! You’re staring right at one!”

“I’m sorry, Karen, I don’t see any pillars…”

“Stop playing around! You’d have to notice them, they’re right in fr-“

‘Don’t trust your eyes’

She shrieked and spun around, unceremoniously ending up on the ground of slick cobblestones in the process.

“What’s wrong? What happened?!”

“Someone just grabbed me! Someone just grabbed me just now! They grabbed me and whispered…and whispered…”

Even as she spoke, trying to get her breath in the storm, she felt unsure. Like the house’s changing architecture, there’s was something about the place that was…missing.

‘Missing’…yes, that was the word. ‘Missing’ was the most apt description her mind could scramble for her; looking around in the rain for the source of the voice was like looking at a jigsaw puzzle with several pieces missing. She felt compelled to sit there, her hands wrapping around a little piece of something stuck in the ground. Something that she felt she ought to grab….a ring…?

“I don’t see anyone. And I don’t think there’s anybody here but us. The storm must be getting to you. Come on, let’s go inside.”

“Not me. I'm not going in that old house! I'd rather stay out here and get wet.”

“And electrocuted?”

As if to respond, lightning streaked across the sky, and the immediate thunder made it seem too close for comfort.

“Alright.” She said, forcing herself to get off the ground, “But we leave the door open. This place gives me the creeps.”

Someone had grabbed her. She was certain of it. To be sure, perhaps she had a bit of an active imagination sometimes, but she couldn’t have imagined the unnaturally cold hands that had clutched her arms, or the eerie sensation of hot breath against her ear. Like the house’s changing features, both were too real to simply wave away as part of her imagination.

We really shouldn’t be here.

It was that thought that lingered as the two of them ventured inside, the door barely holding any resistance against them. It was uncomfortable how the giant pillars (real or imagined) felt like a gaping maw as if the house itself were ready to eat her alive.

“Well I'll be... this house is still full of furniture.” Mike said as he went to light a candelabra.

And indeed there was furniture! A few chairs, a writing desk cluttered with papers and strange objects, a marble bust, a couch in front of an intricate fireplace, and a round oil painting framed by curtains.

The inside was no warmer than the maelstrom kicking around outside, and there was something in the air….a dreadful feeling, like a suffocation, that clung to the items around them. She felt the feeling cadence as she went to trace a finger down the decorated wood of a nearby chair; not a single speck of dust upon it.

“It’s as though someone still lives here…” She muttered, half to herself, turning to look at the reassuring sight of the open front door and the pattering sounds of rain just beyond it.

“Heh. You know all the rumors they say about these old buildings up here? Spectral people, strange lights, ‘don’t ever get lost in those woods or else’? If I remember correctly, one of these houses was the site of a bunch of suicides-”

“Knock it off, Mike! This place is creepy enough without you reminding me of all that.”

She tried to distract herself. Her fingers wrapped around the ring she had found outside. Old, yet not rusted. And with a generous diamond at its peak. It felt important somehow, as though she was meant to keep it for another time. She pocketed it.

“Hey Karen, come check some of this stuff out! A few of these documents say they’re from 1865!”

She could hardly hear him. Her gaze was transfixed on the painting in its prominent place above the fire.

It was an old painting of a young man. His well fitted suit suggested an air of aristocracy about him, and his dark hair and sharply defined chin would have given him a very menacing look if it weren’t for his mouth. There was a faint smile on his mouth, so out of place with the rest of the portrait that it had to have been added by the artist out of complete irony. It was a striking portrait, for the beautiful blue eyes seem to stare directly at her, as though to peer into her very soul…

…And the portrait man was suddenly not smiling.

Or young.

She watched, unable to look away, as the man in the portrait began to seemingly age. Skin growing withered, hair growing gray, clothes fraying, until she was no longer staring at a man but a skeleton. A skeleton that seemed to leer at her as she backed away, slowly, fully intending to run out the door when thunder crashed quite abruptly.

And she was on the floor. Again.

“Are you…are you okay?” Mike helped her up.

“Yeah...” She said glumly.

“You think we should break up? You know, since my presence seems to make your knees buckle all the time?” She could hear him snicker a little behind her.

“Stop laughing! It isn’t funny,” She glanced back at the portrait, but sure enough it had reverted to its original state. That painted smile looking like it was mocking her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Yet he seemed to keep going; his laughter never quieting down. She spun her head to give him a piece of her mind, but his pale face said it all.

He wasn’t responsible for the lingering, deep voice whose laughter currently echoed around them.

‘Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmmm’

“Who’s there?” Mike demanded, eyeing the suspicious looking marble bust.

“Mike, look!”

The door to the next room inexplicably lay open, and in its inky darkness, in the center of the room, stood the shadow of a very tall figure. It stood, unmoving, unbreathing, and though she could not see its face she could not help but be sure it was staring right at them.

‘When hinges creak in doorless chambers, And strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls; Whenever candlelights flicker where the air is deathly still - That is the time when ghosts are present, Practicing their terror with ghoulish delight!’

The voice was low and deep, speaking with the gravity of having all the time in the world.

“How is he doing that?” Mike said as the voice seemed to flit from one side of the room to the next.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts…” She muttered, trying desperately to reassure herself. But her mind was firmly recalling all of the strange happenings that only she seemed to notice, and the lingering chill on the back of her spine made her voice falter even as she spoke.

‘No such thing, hmm?’

Her stomach dropped as the voice chuckled darkly.

‘Well then…’

With a bang, the couch was thrown back by an invisible force, giving them a clear view of the fireplace as it erupted into roaring purple and green flames. The lightning flashed, as though on cue, as the room flared up in the two dancing colors.

‘Welcome, foolish mortals, to the world’s most Haunted Mansion. I am your host.

Your... ghost host.’

#chapter 2

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unto-myself-together · 7 years

Text

OF STORIES AND SONGS: A HAUNTED MANSION FANFIC CH 2

And for those of you who wondered why I made the house on Tom Sawyer’s road instead of Liberty Square or New Orleans Square, you get your answer here…

~~~~

Table of Contents:

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,

Chapter 6 , Chapter 7

Ch 2: Come On In (And Make Yourself at Home)

One Autumn night, not long ago, two teenagers were walking home from a date…

“I hate it when strangers are right.”

Karen tried to peer at Mike through the thick sheets of rain that seemed to endlessly descend upon them. “What do you mean?”

“That girl. Whatsherface; Nell. She all but told us it was going to rain tonight.”

“Maybe. But she wasn’t terribly clear about that, was she?”

Even though both held their own jackets above their heads, she could still feel cold water creeping down her back.

“I can’t even see the way back to the road. Can you?”

“There’s a sign up ahead!”

“Where?”

“Up there!”

The two of them trudged on, practically swimming at this point. The lightning bolt that flashed against the sky, with the thunder not far behind, was worrisome; they weren’t anywhere near town.

The sign that she saw, that she had pointed out before, was even more worrisome: it was old, with decaying letters, but it was more than enough to tell them exactly where they were.

Tom Sawyer’s Road Ahead. Thunder Mountain beyond. [Impossible to read] Mansion.

It was scratched off and replaced with “Haunted”.