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harrysweasleys · 4 years

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yellow sundress // f.w

summary: fred spots you at bill and fleur’s wedding and can’t keep you off his mind.

warnings: none

word count: 3.2k

a/n: let’s all pretend there’s no war and the wedding doesn’t end horribly, shall we? (for my own sanity, of course) :) xx enjoy!

—

Fred was happy for his brother, really. Bill was always the most mature of the Weasley clan — well, according to Molly, anyways. Always boasting about how Bill had his life in order and how he’d go on to do great things. So, although Fred grew up feeling slightly envious of his big brother, today he was happy. Happy for him and happy that there was finally something for the family to celebrate.

He had found himself rather excited the morning of the wedding. Him and George had spent the night at the burrow — Molly’s orders — so they could prepare and set up the tent bright and early. Arrangements for the wedding had been made very last minute indeed, so the panic and rush was still happening hours before the happy couple were to say ‘I do.’

The early morning grass was still wet with dew drops, shimmering like little diamonds under the hazy sunshine. The field was quiet except for the occasional caw of a bird or the screech of an insect.

Though sunny, it wasn’t overly warm. Fred found it just comfortable to wear a long sleeved shirt under his waistcoat, preventing goosebumps from rising on his skin every time the morning breeze rolled around. There wasn’t much heavy lifting to be done, thanks to magic, so Fred found himself sitting back with his brothers, only ever occasionally giving a lazy flick of his wand to pitch in.

“So, no date?” Ron walked up to Fred, crossing his arms across his chest and giving his brother a small smirk as they finished pinning the tent into the ground.

Fred scoffed, “Coming from you?”

Ron rolled his eyes, “You’re older than me, you need to get a move on. Maybe you’re next,” he joked, motioning his hands to the wedding preparations.

Fred fought the urge to smack him across the back of the head, “You hilarious little git.”

Ron’s laughter echoed in Fred’s ears, a taunting reminder that he indeed did not have someone in his life. Someone that he could have on his arm right now, someone that he could end up dancing the night away with. Although Fred teased Ron about his bad luck with women, he knew his little brother fancied Hermione, and she felt the same way back. It was only a matter of time before the two ran off into the sunset together, really.

Fred scoffed at the thought of his youngest brother getting married before him.

The tent was up and ready in no time, a few of the distant Weasley cousins and some old school friends of Bill’s already underneath it, setting up tables and chairs so that there was room for people to sit.

Molly called his name from inside the house, her head sticking out of the kitchen window and her arms waving wildly; a clear sign to Fred that he should rush over.

“What is it?” he asked as he entered through the doorway, ducking his head to avoid hitting one of the wooden beams hanging low by the kitchen entrance. A beam that he had whacked his heads so many times on when he was growing up that he was surprised his Boggart didn’t turn into it when he was still in school.

“Carry these out!” Molly huffed, shoving multiple large trays of goods into his arms, her hair sticking out all over the place and her apron stained with icing and different kinds of sauces.

Fred agreed, walking ever so slowly out of the house and placing the heavy, unbalanced trays on the closest table he could find, not wishing to spill anything and unleash his mother’s wrath so early in the day. He let out a long sigh as he looked around at the ongoing preparations, the sun now higher in the sky and making it easier to do things under the bright light.

Too occupied with watching over everything, he hadn’t noticed a body approach him and stand by his side.

“Fred Weasley, as I live and breathe,” a soft voice caught Fred out of his daze, blinking his eyes to refocus as he looked down to face the person who had nearly startled him.

You were standing there, hair tied back loosely and a bright smile on your face. You were wearing a light yellow sundress, a cardigan sitting on your shoulders as you held onto a small clutch purse. Though Fred didn’t know his perfumes, he could smell a sweet mixture of honey and rose coming from your direction. A smell that Fred, up until this point, never considered to be beautiful. But as he looked down at you, your expectant eyes awaiting an answer, Fred found that everything about you was beautiful.

“Do we know each other?” Fred asked lamely, internally rolling his eyes at himself. He had a feeling that if he had seen you before, he wouldn’t have forgotten.

Your smile changed from soft to amused, “I see I didn’t make a lasting impression,” Fred felt his own lips turn downwards into a frown as you let out a small giggle, “We went to Hogwarts together.”

He scanned you up and down trying to find anything that could spark recognition, but he failed, “Were we in the same year?”

You shook your head, “I was below you. The year below you, I mean. Not — I — you know what I meant. I’m Y/N.”

Fred felt a smile take over his face as you looked down to the ground, “It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N.”

“Technically, we’ve met before,” you pointed out, a sly grin on your lips, “I was also there when the goblet of fire ejected you as an old man. Classic, really.”

Rubbing the back of his neck and laughing sheepishly, Fred cursed his younger self for acting like such a fool, “Not one of my brightest moments, I must admit.”

You let out a bubbly laugh and Fred swore he lost his breath.

“I found it amusing. Never dull, you two.”

A sense of pride buzzed in Fred’s chest, glad that he could make some amusing memories for you. Glad that you even remembered him. How Fred never noticed you while at school, he’ll never be able to answer.

“Well,” you adjusted your cardigan around yourself and gave him a little wave, “I’ll see you later. I’ve got to go help Fleur.”

Before he could bid you bye, you scurried off into the house. He heard you and Molly greet each other before the sound of your footsteps rushing up the stairs echoed throughout the house and through the open window.

A grin was still on Fred’s face long after you were gone. What it was about you, he didn’t know. But he couldn’t remember ever being so intrigued by a person before after such a short encounter. You had completely captivated him in the two minute conversation that was shared. Fred, who had made it this long without being in a serious relationship or committing to anyone, suddenly had an overwhelming urge to get to know you better.

—

Silent conversations bled throughout the seated crowd, everyone chatting quietly with the people around them as they awaited the ceremony to begin. Half of the people were familiar, but the other half were Fleur’s invites. People that none of the Weasley family had ever met — people who, as they scanned their surroundings, clearly still weren’t overly fond about having a wedding outside an old house in the middle of a field.

Old school friends gathered left and right, greeting each other and reminiscing about fond memories. Memories that, in this moment, felt so distant and gone. As if school was ages ago instead of only a year and a bit. A lot had changed over the course of twelve months

Without really knowing he was doing it, Fred’s bored eyes scanned the crowd, looking out for the familiar yellow dress. He had already greeted everyone that figured there was no point in getting up to talk if the ceremony was minutes away from starting.

“Looking for someone?” George poked him on the shoulder, a crooked smirk on his face. He couldn’t give a proper one — the bandage wrapped tightly around his head prevented him from doing so.

“Do you remember an Y/N when we were at Hogwarts?” Fred asked, eyes turning to his twin.

George nodded, “Yeah. Wasn’t she friends with Ginny and Luna?”

“Blimey, I need a better memory,” Fred frowned. He had never raked through his brain more than in the last hour, trying to find any sort of scrap, but had very little success.

“Why?” George wiggled his eyebrows, “Someone looking for her?”

Fred rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, not answering his brother. Not that he had the chance, really, as the scent of honey and rose filled his senses once again, your bright yellow dress catching his attention from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t even noticed the empty chair next to him, but as you took your seat there, he was thankful that it had been empty.

“Oh, hey,” you smiled, removing your cardigan and placing it on the back of your chair, “Were you saving this seat? Sorry, there’s nowhere else.”

“No,” Fred muttered quickly, “You can sit here.”

George let out a low chuckle and Fred imagined himself turning around and whacking him across the head. But, fortunately for George, the very image stayed in his mind.

The ceremony began shortly after, but Fred couldn’t focus much. Only when you nudged him in the side and told him to stand for Fleur’s entrance did he notice how zoned out he really was.

His cheeks and ears felt warm but he was lucky you didn’t notice, a wide grin on your face and your eyes slightly watery as you watched Fleur walk down the aisle, an equally happy Bill watching her every movement with such love in his eyes, even Fred couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming emotions.

They said their ‘I do’s’ and the ceremony came to a close an hour later, everyone clapping loudly.

You disappeared into the crowd and Fred made his way to the reception tent, finding his table and sitting with the rest of his siblings. The atmosphere was calm, soothing, and the music gave a pleasant echo of fun. Having not been to many weddings before — or any, really — Fred didn’t know what to expect. He thought it would be loud, chaotic, and people would be toppling over each other on the dance floor.

That, however, was not the case.

As the afternoon turned to early evening, a few couples had come and gone from the dance floor, a few meals had been eaten, and the music playlist continued to produce a good enough array of songs for Fred not to become overly bored. Molly had strongly suggested playing Celestina Warbeck and was still bitter that Fleur rejected her upfront, but she seemed to be enjoying the evening as she moved to the music on the dance floor alongside her husband.

“You gonna ask Hermione to dance?” George nudged Ron in the side, Fred chuckling at his younger brother’s clear discomfort.

Ron’s cheeks flared pink, “Blood hell, no. She’s with Krum.”

The three of them looked over to the centre of the tent where, in fact, Hermione was laughing and dancing with the Bulgarian seeker. The one that Fred had listened to Ron whine about for hours on end in his sixth year.

“Come on, Ronniekins. You could out dance him,” Fred smirked, teasing him.

Giving him the best glare he could muster, Ron grumbled, “Hope she steps on his big feet.”

Fred let out a small laugh and turned back to face the dance floor, his eyes immediately finding you. He tried telling himself it was due to your dress, but that was only because he didn’t want to admit how beautiful he found you. How he currently wanted nothing more than to rush over there and ask you to dance.

Odd, Fred thought, I’ve never wanted to dance with anyone.

“What about you Freddie?” Ron turned the attention away from him, “I see you eyeing her. Just go ask her to dance or I’ll go do it for you and I reckon I’d make it way more bloody awkward.”

Trying his best to act nonchalant, Fred grumbled, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” George’s eyes sparkled with mischief and as much as Fred usually liked that, he didn’t like it so much right now, “Then you wont mind if I go talk to her—”

“Sit down, you git,” he snapped quietly, eyes darting away from where you were standing and chatting with Luna before he glared daggers at his two sniggering brothers, “Both of you need to shut it.”

“Just go,” George said, taking a sip of firewhisky, “Someone’ll snatch your spot.”

Fred took a deep breath and stood up, wishing to get away from his idiotic family. His heart was racing against his rib cage, uneasiness and nerves spreading throughout his entire body as he slowly walked towards the floor. He stopped to look at anything and everything along the way, stalling the interaction as much as possible. Asking Angelina to the ball had been casual — he never really fancied her the way one should fancy a date. It was more of a friendly thing. But as he looked over at you, your contagious laughter reaching his ears and your cheeks slightly pink, he realized that this was so very different. So very nauseating.

“Fred,” you smiled up at him, catching Fred off guard. He hadn’t even noticed that he walked up to you, but as he heard George muttering behind him, he realized his twin probably gave him a good shove in your general direction.

“Hi,” he smiled down at you, “Hello, Luna.” He greeted your friend, who gave him a dreamy wave before stalking off through the crowd with a smile on her face.

“She’s had a lot of gigglewater,” you informed him, “Told me about seven times that she thought I looked like Pygmy puff.”

Fred found himself laughing, “I don’t think you look like one. I don’t remember Pygmy puffs being so stunning — and I’d know, Ginny had one of those little rats.”

Your eyes widened and your smiled faltered just a tad, “You think I’m stunning?”

“Yeah,” Fred suppressed his nerves the best that he could, “I actually wanted to ask if you wanted to dance.”

He saw you take a deep breath, placing your glass down on the nearest table before holding out your hand, “I’d love to.”

Your hand was warm as it laced in with his, a sudden wave of confidence flowing over him at the contact.

He led you out to the dance floor, your body close to his as you linked your arms behind his neck, his hands holding your waist. He felt his breath stutter as your fingers grazed the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, his lips curling up into a satisfied smile.

“Do you know how to dance?” you asked, looking down at your feet as you actively avoided stepping on his feet, the two of you slowly beginning to sway to the music.

“Nope,” Fred grinned, “Winging it.”

You chuckled, tossing a loose strand of hair out of your face before gazing back up at him, “Apologies in advance if I step on your feet—”

Right as you said that, Fred felt the tip of your shoe dig into the top of his foot. Your eyes shot wide open and you stepped back, tensing up.

“I am so sorry!”

Fred removed a hand from your waist and pressed it over his heart, “You wounded me, woman.”

Guilt left your face and you broke into another fit of giggles, stepping close to him once again, your hands finding their spot at the back of his neck as you muttered another apology. Fred couldn’t remember ever dancing like this with anyone before. Though you two were currently only friends — if even that — he felt like your movements were intimate, close, and he wanted to continue dancing with you until the sun was gone and rising back up again.

“You’re such a dork,” you laughed, resting your head against his chest. He was tall enough that you could do so without leaning over. Fred hoped to Godric that you couldn’t hear how violently his heart was beating.

“I’ve been told,” he chuckled, the vibrations causing you to pull away and smile up at him.

He stared down into your eyes, his own face falling into a serious trance. As cliche as it was, he felt as if the two of you were alone. That the wedding had died down and the dance floor was meant for you and you alone. That no one could ruin this little moment. He could smell your intoxicating perfume and it was rendering his mind slightly blank.

Fred Weasley didn’t fall for anyone in one day. Especially someone that he had never met before. But here he was, the only thing on his mind being that he wanted to dance the night and morning away with you. That he wanted to take you to dinner. To bring you to the shop.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, a tone of inquisition in your voice as you peered up at him.

“You,” he replied, stopping in his step completely when he heard himself, “I — that came off awfully weird.”

“It came off awfully sweet,” you stopped dancing with him, smiling brightly, “For someone who doesn’t remember me, you sure seem to be warming up rather quickly. I’m not complaining, though.”

Fred had never been happier for his boldness than in this exact moment.

“Coffee?” you asked, beginning to move to the music once more, Fred following in your step. He found himself stumbling over his feet just a bit, but he played it off well enough that he was certain you hadn’t even noticed.

“I like coffee but it’s a little late now,” he smirked to himself, knowing what you meant but deciding to tease you just a tad.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes playfully, “Oi, you know what I meant.”

He chuckled, cheeks hurting from how much smiling he had done this evening, “Of course I do. But here, let me ask. Y/N, would you accompany me to dinner and coffee tomorrow night?”

You pretended to ponder, the tips of your ears slightly redder than they were a few seconds ago, “I would need to check my schedule but I believe I’m free.”

“Good,” Fred grinned, heart doing a summersault in his chest as you beamed up at him, your body pressed against his as the two of you continued to get lost in each other.

Luckily for Fred, you were too busy focused on him to notice Ron and George shooting thumbs up your way, their knowing grins taunting Fred from across the dance floor. But, as Fred looked down at you, he thought he didn’t really care.

After all, Fred Weasley has a date.

—

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#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley one shots #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fics #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert

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nctsjiho · 3 years

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Always Together

warnings: the slightest bit of angst and some lore (this isn’t a warning really, but I’m not ready to change the layout for my writings so here ya go)

era: end of March 2021

❀ Taeyong makes sure that JiHo knows NCT is always there for her

There was a silent knock on the door before it opened with a creak. Taeyong opened the door to the youngest’s dorm room noticing how her back was turned to him. Headphones resting on her head, one of the speakers somewhat moved back so it wasn’t fully covering her right ear. This made him believe the girl had indeed heard him walk in, yet decided not to acknowledge him.

“What are you doing?” Taeyong started carefully. “Playing a game.” Her answer was short and her focus stayed on her computer. The leader tried not to sigh and approached the girl a bit more. “Is it fun?” This time he only got a hum as response.

Kneeling down on the floor and resting his elbows on the desk, Taeyong took his place next to JiHo who had still decided not to look at him. He stared at her, hoping that maybe - just maybe - whatever façade JiHo was putting up would break. When that didn’t happen Taeyong sighed and stood up again. “You’re constantly gone and whenever you get back to the dorm you’re just behind your computer playing games. I know times are a bit tough right now but the least you could do is say hello to us and eat with us whenever you’re home. We’re all worried sick over you.” Somewhere during his scolding, Taeyong noticed how the clicking of the mouse and keyboard had stopped. JiHo let out a breath finally looking up at Taeyong, but she still didn’t say anything yet. “JiHo, I only know what the manager has told us about the situation and I’m not asking for any more information, I’m just asking for you to talk to us and hang out with us like usual. We barely see each other even when we live together and visit the same building everyday.”

There was something in JiHo’s eyes. Something Taeyong wasn’t really familiar with, but it didn’t look like a good thing. For some reason the young girl seemed so helpless and lost, but there was nothing Taeyong could do as one of their managers had told them not to meddle with the situation.

JiHo pushed herself up from her desk chair and walked over to her bed where she sat crossed legged on top of it. Taeyong followed her and sat on the edge of the bed facing her. “JiHo-” “I know and I’m sorry, but oppa…” She wasn’t looking at him rather just staring off to somewhere in her room, but her eyes were completely unfocused. ”It’s not that easy. I hear you guys laughing together in the other room and hanging out, but the thought of joining you guys just doesn’t feel right. I do want to hang out, but there’s just too much on my mind that I can’t get rid of no matter what. I feel like it would be unfair to you guys if I’d join, because I can’t be like I usually am. I would just ruin the mood.” She explained. It evoked this heart-wrenching feeling in the boy’s chest and he was at a loss for words.

Both of the NCT members sat in silence as they thought of what to say next. The silence felt so suffocating that Taeyong didn’t even want to breath too loudly as that might be too distracting. He knew JiHo was having a hard time with what was going on right now, even if he only knew a minimal amount of information.

Just about a week or two earlier one of NCT’s managers had come up to the members who were in the practise room at the time. He had explained to the boys that there were some problems with JiHo’s contract not only with the contract she signed to be in NCT, but also for her being in SM in general. It wasn’t a surprise that it caught the boys completely of guard and got them worried sick about JiHo. Luckily the manager had told them that it wasn’t because the higher-ups in SM wanted to get rid of the female member. It was almost shocking, since after how NCT 2020′s promotions went some were almost sure SM had something against JiHo. Rather than it being an SM thing they found out it was one of their previous managers - the manager in question had been fired since the truth came out - that had communicated misinformation about JiHo to the higher-ups and sadly, even though it wasn’t JiHo’s fault, she now had to suffer the consequences.

The whole explanation was kind of vague and made the boys more confused. They were nevertheless instructed not to ask any further questions and not to ask JiHo about it either. More so, they weren’t allowed to talk about JiHo on any social media, live streams, group and or personal schedules.

This had sparked more questions than the manager was able to answer, but Taeyong still vividly remembered Johnny’s question. “If we’re not allowed to talk about her, wouldn’t fans get more worried? You’re telling us JiHo’s going to be fine, so if she is, why aren’t we allowed to talk about her?” The manager had lowered his head and sighed in a defeated manner. “I’m sorry boys, I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know too much about it either. I-” “Wait. Is it possible that JiHo isn’t going to be fine?” Jungwoo asked with a worried tone, his voice almost a whisper. The leader knew what the question implied, JiHo possibly having to leave NCT and probably SM as well, but that wasn’t something he wanted himself or any of the other members to think about.

Taeyong noticed how their manager’s expression dropped for a second before he composed himself, trying to come up with a good answer. The leader was first however, trying to keep the boys’ hopes high. “Let’s not think like that okay?” He patted Jungwoo on the back a few times and sent a hopeful smile towards his fellow members. “JiHo is going through a hard time right now, we should be there and support her and we can’t do that while being sad right? So let’s stay positive.” The members all agreed, though hesitantly.

JiHo noticed how the older boy had completely spaced out which made her frown. “Taeyong oppa.” His head snapped to look at the girl. “I’ll be okay. Let’s just wait until this is all over.” She said. The light touch of JiHo’s fingers on the back of his hand sent a shiver through Taeyong’s spine. “It’ll be over soon. Right?” Her voice barely, over a whisper, made his heart feel heavy.

He wished he knew how much longer JiHo had to attend these meetings, sometimes a handful a day, until the situation was cleared up. He whished he knew what was going on during those meetings which had her leaving the meeting rooms looking completely drained. He whished that she would open up and tell her how she felt, but it was possible she wasn’t allowed to talk about that to them either. There was this thin line between the secrecy of the situation and JiHo’s toxic habit of keeping all her feelings and hardships to herself. The line was so thin and blurred that it became a grey area, which didn’t allow him to bring it up.

Taeyong switched his hand with JiHo’s which made it so he was gripping hers, he noticed how her hands were slightly trembling. The trembling was something Johnny had noticed during her debut stage 3 years ago. The tall boy had told Taeyong, Yuta, Doyoung and Taeil about it after noticing it happening more often when she was either extremely nervous or stressed. They always found it hard to tell how JiHo was actually feeling since she could hide it so well in her face and eyes, but the trembling hands were a dead give away that something was up. That’s how they notice something’s wrong, occasionally even before JiHo does herself.

Giving her hand a little squeeze he made eye contact with the girl. He nodded as a response to her previous question before speaking up. “Whatever happens we’ll always be NCT, we’ll always be together. Don’t forget that.” He whispered and noticed as JiHo blinked away a tear which then rolled down her right cheek.

Taeyong reached out with his free hand, his thumb wiping away the tear and the trail it had left behind on her face. His hand then reached up to her hair which he pushed behind her ear. “We need you more than you think we do.” He smiled which JiHo tried to mimic, but her lips ended up pressing together in a thin line trying her best to keep herself together. “You don’t oppa.” “No we do, who else will keep Dream in check huh? Who else will keep us from being complete idiots without that smart brain of yours? Who else will keep Yuta from exposing us for something embarrassing?” A flood of moments pertaining to those examples came to JiHo’s mind which had her laughing a little.

“Who’s going to comfort Doyoung when we are all teasing him? Or who’s going to fly over to China just to support a WayV member who’s having personal schedules? Who-” “Okay! I get it.” JiHo giggled trying to stop Taeyong from continuing. Seeing JiHo laugh made the leader feel a sense of pride and happiness. “Fine, but the point is that we really do need you. And whatever is happening behind the scenes, whenever it comes to it we’re all ready to fight for you, but you need to be ready to fight for yourself as well.” JiHo’s smile disappeared but she gave the boy a firm nod as a promise that she was ready to do everything she needed to do when worst comes to worst. They exchanged a look which spoke more than a thousand words before Taeyong stood up and excused himself from JiHo’s room.

#jiho.writings #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct taeyong imagines #nct 127 scenarios #nct angst #nct fluff #nct female member #nct extra member #nct additional member #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

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peters-starks · 3 years

Text

Preview

okay so this is a preview for a new fic, the name is still in question i’ll put the one’s im considering at the end and if anyone has a favourite they can let me know or suggest one ahaha this is going to be a slow burn especially the first chapter as i want to build up y/n meeting the avengers and their backstory up until they meet Peter.

Enhanced!Reader x Peter Parker

Rough Synopsis: You have the ability to control water and Bruce Banner found you at an orphanage at the age of 9 and took you in to help teach you control and to use your abilities to help heal. That’s the start of how you became a young avenger and meet a certain brown eyed spiderling.

You didn’t remember much of the early years of your life, and for that you were sometimes grateful. The time you spent with your found family, your real family, were the memories that flooded your mind when you occasionally delve back into your own past, maybe it was by choice, to repress the past, but it’s what motivated you to be who you are today.

Your natural parents were out the picture, not that they were ever in it from what you could tell. At age five you found yourself in ‘Little Lambs Orphanage’ in Burma. The orphanage was run down and small, you and nine other children residing there and being cared for by the three older woman who tried their best to provide for you all with the little funds they had. Your room was towards the back of the building and you shared it with another girl only a year older than you, called Thida, who quickly became your best friend, if not your sister.

After a year of living there, at the age of six, you confirmed your suspicions that you weren’t like the other children at Little Lambs, or the other children anywhere for that matter. The older kids were never that kind to you, believing you were different due to your weird accent that was unlike all of theirs, and just for the fact they could feel in control when picking on you. One day you snapped, you shouted at them as they pushed Thida and the tap in the kitchen exploded. Water sprayed everywhere and yet still somehow managed to miss you and Thida, like a small protective bubble had surrounded you both. You knew from then you didn’t belong here.

Thida and you kept your abilities between the two of you after that, she believed your mother was an alien and that is why she dropped you at the orphanage, because you were too young to be taken into space. You clung to that idea, that you were not unwanted but simply could not have been cared for by your mysterious alien mother. You’d take glasses of water to your shared room and swirl the water around above your heads, until you eventually lost focus and it usually soaked the both of you.

That was until Thida got sick. You sat by her bedside most days and made up stories about the adventurous of your alien family to distract her from her fever and the ache in her chest as she coughed up different colours onto her hands. The women who ran the orphanage cared for her all they could, but they did not have the money to get her a doctor and so relied on remedies and bed rest until she ran too hot to touch.

Eventually, you managed to learn a way to connect to the liquid in Thida’s lungs and siphon it out, easing her discomfort for a few hours, but it was no permanent solution. You cared for her throughout most of the days, believing if she did die it would be to your own lack of ability to make her better. This haunted you most days leaving you glued to her side until one of the woman burst into the room and told you she had found a doctor who would help Thida, and you suddenly felt like you could breathe again.

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

“What are you doing?” the panicked voice of a man startled your actions and the fluid you were focusing on dropped, covering the side of Thida’s pillow and barely missing her face. Thida coughed loudly, wheezing as she now felt her lungs could fill with more oxygen and you quickly placed the damp cloth you had kept next to you onto her forehead. After stroking her wet hair out of her face, you finally turned to see who had startled you.

A tall man stood in the doorframe, his thick eyebrows knitted together as he was still holding onto the handle of the door in shock, eyes trained onto your crouched figure. You remained still and simply held eye contact with him, trying your best to stare him down and assert whatever dominance a 9 year old could over a fully grown man. You realised early on that the abilities you possessed made you different, and people were afraid and different.

“How did you do that?” He finally released the door handle and starting cautiously approaching you, crouching down as he reached the end of the bed to reach your eye level although he was still a few inches higher than you.

“Do what?” The man chuckled slightly as you spoke so nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just walk in on a child performing what seemed to be medical miracles. You shifted slightly to make yourself seem taller and now he was closer you could see the man in more detail. His hair was thick and dark brown however a few greys were scattered across it, and he seemed tired, exhausted even, but his eyes held a curious spark, you couldn’t tell if that unsettled you or not yet.

“Well it seemed like you were siphoning the liquid out of your friend’s lungs, correct me if I’m wrong?” his head tilted slightly as he spoke and you saw him glance toward Thida who was barely awake as she laid mumbling slightly in her bed.

“Are you the doctor they promised would help her?” Your voice held an accusatory tone as your fingers twitched and rested onto Thida’s arm as a form of comfort at which she sighed in content at.

“I am going to help as much as I can, I’m Bruce Banner” His tone was comforting as he stood and began to examine Thida under your close watch after you nodded giving him permission to work on her. You noticed how gentle he was with her, more gentle than the average person you came across, especially for a man that seemed so large.

“You’ve done a good job so far…”

“y/n”

“well, y/n, you’ve done well so far, most of the liquid in her lungs has gone, but her fever is still bad but I’m afraid I think the infection has well…” Bruce trailed off and rubbed his hands over his face causing your breath to catch in your throat. “I’m afraid it’s not good news”

Your hands began to shake as you felt your chest heave slightly at the thought of losing the person closest to you. The bucket of water sat beside you froze and shattered causing Bruce to stumble back slightly as shards of ice seemed to explode across the room.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- I don’t know how that happened” Your breathing was ragged as you spoke, the panic of the whole situation finally settling in as this stranger not only knew of your ability but also couldn’t save your best friend.

“It’s okay, I know what it’s like when bad things happen when you lose control of your emotions” His smile was sympathetic as your bottom lip wobbled, tears building in your eyes. “I’ll do everything I can for your friend and I can teach you how to help care for her, but you seem to be doing a great job of that on your own” His large hand encased your shoulder in a comforting pat and you nodded appreciatively.

Over the next week, Bruce would come by twice a day to check on Thida and provide her with the medicine he could get hold of as well as teaching you how to care for her in his absence. He also helped you with focus when it came to your abilities, meaning you could hold control over liquids for longer and help retain more of the fluid in Thida’s lungs. With Bruce and your joint efforts, she was more comfortable, but her health wasn’t improving and you both knew that Bruce had got here too late, the infection from the mucus in her lungs becoming too far gone that the anti-biotics could barely fight it.

When the week was over you arrived back to your room from dinner to find Thida gone and Bruce sat on her bed with his head in his hands. You don’t remember much after that, other than Bruce carrying you out the building as it filled with rushing water. Your home of 9 years was destroyed that day due to your own outburst.

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

Let me know if you guy’s would like to read more i am fuelled by validation and also i am stuck on a name for the series, it’s going to be a kind of best friends to lovers fic with angst and i was thinking of a water themed name for obvious reasons, these are ones i have so far:

- Into the deep

- At the water’s edge

- drowning in you

also would anyone want me to start a tag list? not sure how to do it but i can try and figure it out ahaha

#peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #marvel imagine #marvel x reader

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dem-obscure-imagines · 4 years

Text

Snowflake

Jack Frost x Reader

Prompt: Hi there! I saw you wrote for Jack Frost and was hoping to request a Jack Frost x reader imagine for Soulmate au the one where you and your soulmate have matching marks and the marks glow when you’re near your soulmate.

Note: LOVE THIS CONCEPTTTTT. I was scrolling through requests and this one REALLY spoke to me. Haven’t written for Jack in a while, but I love the boy. And, as always, you know I love a good soulmate au.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1.9k

You were proud of your soulmark. You really were. How could you not be? After all, it represented not only your future, but the person you were destined to spend the rest of your life with, whoever that was. It also happened to be in a really cool shape: a gorgeous snowflake etched into your wrist. You found yourself staring at it a lot, sketching it in the corners of your papers for school, sketching it on everything, really.

It only made sense that winter became your aesthetic. You had sweaters and sweaters covered in snowflakes, you had snowflake earrings, snowflake rings, snowflake necklaces and notebooks and pencil toppers. You loved winter and the coziness the cold season brought. You loved bundling up in cute scarves and boots and jackets and hats, you loved drinking hot cocoa and decking the house out in decorations and going ice skating with friends.

It was your freshman year in college and you still hadn’t found whoever your snowflake was supposed to lead you to, and once the snow started falling, you couldn’t help but hope that maybe, this was the year it was supposed to happen. This was the winter that would matter.

You were on your way back to the freshman housing from the university library the first time you felt what you called a spark. A cold gust of wind blew past you and when it did, you felt your mark jolt. You stopped in your tracks, snow gently falling all around you. You heart was racing and you stood there frozen, unfamiliar with the feeling that had just coursed through you all at once, intense and sudden.

Curious, you pulled up your sleeve to look down at your snowflake. Flickers of light shimmered before fading away to nothing. You looked around, but the courtyard was empty. There was no one even near you, and no one had been a few seconds earlier.

Weird.

You walked the rest of the way home, flinching at every noise, looking around for people at ever turn, and checking your wrist every once in a while just to be sure. The further you walked, you were sure you had imagined it, and yet, nothing that vivid could possibly be a figment of your imagination. Right?

Classes continued, new layers of snow came down every few days, covering the campus in its sparkling beauty. The window of your dorm room was covered in a thick layer of ice, thoroughly frosted and cold to the touch. You’d look at it sometimes while laying on your bed, tracing your soulmark with the tip of your finger absently. Your heart raced when you thought of the moment you’d finally felt something, only for it to slip away just as quickly.

Maybe it was a glitch in the system, you reasoned. But…maybe it wasn’t…

***

About a week later, you were out walking the campus with some friends. It was the weekend, and you were out to grab a bite to eat. After lunch, the three of you went outside to fool around in the snow. Together, you started assembling a snowman, packing the snow together and rolling three giant snowballs to form his body.

Once you had him built and stuck some sticks in his sides to be arms, you bent down and packed a snowball in your hands, a mischievous grin slowly stretching across your face. Then, you straightened up and threw it at your closest friend, making her giggle before racing to make her own. In seconds, a snowball fight broke out.

While you were playing around in the snow, you felt the feeling again and you froze, standing completely still as the now-familiar chill pulsed in your wrist. A snowball exploded across your chest, your friends laughing before they realized something was wrong.

You rolled up your sleeve to look at your mark, and this time, instead of disappearing flickers of light, the entire mark was lit, but faintly. You gasped, staring at it for a long time, your heart racing. Finally, you remembered to look around. As it was a weekend, there were a lot of people roaming around, but none of them seemed to be affected in the way you were, and when you looked back down at the mark, the light had gone out.

“H-holy shit…” You whispered, heart still racing and fingers trembling.

“Do you want to look around?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. The three of you wandered around campus, monitoring your wrist like it was a GPS, but no matter how far you looked, it didn’t light up again. Weird, you decided. A little deflated, you returned to your dorm and took off your jacket and gloves and climbed up onto your bed, getting out some homework to work on before Monday reared its ugly head.

You put in your earbuds and started grinding through your Stats homework, and then when you were done, you pulled out a sketchbook and started drawing snowflakes. When you finally looked up at your window, there was a snowflake traced there. The same one that was on your wrist, tingling ever so slightly, little pinpricks of light dancing around the mark like pixie dust.

Your heart raced. Your room was on the fourth floor. There was no way someone could just…be outside your window tracing that there. Something didn’t quite…line up. It was really starting to freak you out a little.

Maybe…maybe your soulmate was a ghost…

***

You endured another week of classes, the occasional tingling on your wrist, but aside from that, nothing weird had happened that pertained to the snowflake permanently etched into your skin. You did, however, find yourself dreaming about it almost every single night.

When Friday finally rolled around, instead of going to a party with some friends, you grabbed your ice skates (you’d found them at a thrift store a few years back and they’d served you well) and headed to the little ice rink they’d set up in one of the courtyards of campus. There were a few people there, the traffic was pretty low, as it usually was on Friday nights when people were out partying. It was a more popular place on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. But no, you liked to go to this place on Friday nights, especially when there was a lot on your mind, and boy, was there ever.

You skated around for a while in the cold, snow falling gently all around. The sun set and one by one, the stars started to appear. As they did, and the streetlights came on, slowly, the people who were there skating started to leave until finally, you were the only one left circling around the rink.

Eventually, after a few more lonely laps, you stopped in the middle of the rink and just stared up at the sky, at the big fluffy snowflakes drifting down, and at the bright full moon shining down on you.

And in that quiet moment, you felt another patch of tingles on your wrist. You gasped and your breath fogged up in front of you in a puff of steam that floated up into the chilly night air. Moving carefully, you reached for your sleeve and tugged it higher, so you could see the mark. The light escalated from starry little dots to the full mark glowing faintly at first. You looked around you into the emptiness surrounding you and then back down at the mark, which was steadily growing brighter.

“H-hello?” You called out shakily, looking for some sign of someone there, but there was no one. The campus was empty this late at night when everyone else was inside in the warmth. Quieter, you asked, “Are you there?”

You did not expect a reply, but you did get one. It was faint, a wintry whisper, his voice deeper than you expected, shaking like he was as nervous as you felt. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

You immediately slipped and fell back onto the ice, sitting there in shock. You stared into the air in front of you, where you’d heard the voice. His voice. It was impossible and you knew that, and yet, your mark was glowing brighter than it ever had before.

“Who are you?” You asked, blinking up at the empty space before adding, “Where are you?”

The voice gasped. “Y-you can hear me?!” He sounded surprised. Before you could reply, he popped into existence right in front of you, crouched down so he was on your level. “C-can…” He paused, looking down before looking right into your eyes with his icy blue eyes. “Can you see me?”

“Now I can.” Your voice shook. You laughed in disbelief. He did too.

He reached forward with his hand, his wrist glowing as brightly as yours was. He was tentative, as if he wouldn’t be able to touch you, like his hand would go right through yours, but you reached up and pressed your hand against his. Your wrists were shining as bright as LEDs, blinding almost. His hand was large and cold, his skin as pale as the snow falling around you, his hair so blonde it was white.

His fingers intertwined with yours and he let out a long breath, staring at you. He smiled slowly, tears welling in those blue, blue eyes. “I’m Jack. Frost.” He introduced, your hand still tightly in his.

“(Y/N) (L/N).” You laughed, shaking your head. This was not happening. “Why did I have a feeling you would say that?”

He chuckled and shrugged. “I’ve been told I look like a Jack Frost.”

You laughed at that, admiring him for a long time before he finally helped you up off of the ice. You wobbled on nervous legs, but he held you steady.

“Woah, easy there…” He whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Your arms wound around his shoulders. The height boost your skates gave you made you about eye level with him. “How long have you been…around here?”

“The last few weeks…” He admitted. “I was flying by and…well,” he motioned to his wrist, “something finally felt different.” He paused, looking down. “I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I’ve been looking everywhere. And then you had classes and I—”

“It’s okay.” You shook your head, a hand reaching up to touch his cheek. He melted against your touch, leaning into the warmth of your palm. “You’re here now.”

“I’m here now.” He repeated, nodding. Tears welled up in his eyes once again and he inhaled a shaking breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Sorry I took so long.” You apologized.

“Don’t be sorry.” He shook his head. His expression softened, his eyes locked on your lips for a moment before he started leaning in. You met him halfway, relishing in the cold but pleasant feeling, tingles running from your mark up your arm and then down your spine. This was right. This was how it was meant to be. When you pulled apart, he finally whispered, “You were worth every minute.”

#jack frost #jack frost x reader #jack frost imagine #rise of the guardians #rise of the guardians imagine #rotg #rotg imagine

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mxpseudonym · 4 years

Text

Good Pets Take Care

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Reader

Gender Expression: Gender Neutral!

Summary: Alfie’s happy to see you use your safe word.

Length: 929 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Not unsafe for work, but sexual themes so let’s just say 18+, exercising consent

A/N: I am soft. I am soft for soft doms. Tentative title?

In the wee hours of a Sunday morning in Camden Town, you and Alfie walked Cyril with your coats buttoned to the neck and the newly risen sun washing over you. The air was crisp, which made Alfie's impromptu stop to the rum distillery and the upstairs bakery very welcome.

"Gotta make my sweet something sweet, don't I?" He asked, ignoring your eye roll at how silly he could be.

"I'll accept the sweet buns, but leave those cliche words at the door, please."

"Never," Alfie promised and kissed your temple.

Even in the morning's softness, being in Alfie's office still sent a spark through you. The thought of Alfie taking you wherever he needed, and the memories of him doing just that, led to you looking at him through your eyelashes while playing with his buttons.

"Are we really all alone, Mr. Solomons?"

Alfie was a pure gentleman in the way he made sure to manhandle you as you like. He was surprisingly nimble in the way he undressed your bottom half, giving you sultry caresses and breathing hot, unholy words in your ears. You were glad that Cyril obediently waited outside of the door because you were bent over Alfie's brand new desk in no time.

His large hands were warm as they slid down your thigh, hooking his fingers underneath to bring your knee up for better access. You heard him spit, lubing himself up before pushing into you.

The old building's creeks were overshadowed by the panting and moaning coming from the gangster's office. The occasional screech of the desk moving against the floor blended with the sound of skin against skin. You heard these first as you felt yourself losing the ability to stay fully present.

You became very aware of your surroundings, mostly how cold you actually were. The sweat building on your skin left you halfway to shivering in the drafty office. Your hips were stiff, not helped by your strained tiptoe position due to Alfie's new desk being higher than his old one. This didn't feel sensual at all. You were uncomfortable.

"How's that, treacle?" Alfie grunted in your ear before taking it between his teeth. "Taking me well, aren't ya?"

"Mm, I-" you started. Your words ended in a whimper of surprise as Alfie's hand skimmed your throat, wrapping itself around firmly, but not too much yet. There was no way you would come anywhere near getting lost in pleasure. The sensual feeling was gone, and you were wondering when this would be over instead.

"Alfie,"

"Hmm," he hummed while kissing your neck and shoulders. His thrusts were getting stronger. You gulped down the shyness you felt and went for it.

"Alfie, whiskey."

You had to commend the burly man for stopping mid-stroke. His hands fell to either side of you on the desk. You could feel him catching his breath as his chest pressed into your back.

"Whiskey?"

"Whiskey." You nodded, confirming your decision.

Alfie pulled out of you slowly. You lowered your knee, shaking it a bit to loosen it. His underpants were up again, concealing the state of his cock, no doubt not wanting to influence you.

"You alright, love? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Alfie looked you over carefully.

"No, I," you paused. You suddenly felt self-conscious about your judgment. "I just wanted to stop. I’m cold.”

"That's a perfectly good reason, ain't it, treacle?" Alfie looked at you with an encouragement that made your heart warm. "Let's get dressed, eh?"

You pulled yourselves together before Alfie asked if you were okay being touched at the moment. You were more than happy to consent to cuddles from the brawny man, and no sooner were his arms around you.

"I'm sorry I stopped you from finishing," you mumbled, the heat rising in your face. Couldn't you have held out? Alfie stood you in front of him, his hands on your shoulders and his blue eyes leveling with yours.

"Listen to me," Alfie cupped your face with both hands, "That separation from everything around you so you can just carry on? You don't need to do that for me. I don't want you to do that for me. If you don't want it, tell me to fuck off. Put those hands away if you know what's good for you, Solomons," He mocked, making you laugh. "I mean it, treacle. Any reason is a good reason if you want to stop me, alright?"

"Okay, okay." You nodded.

"I'm very proud of you, y/n. Proud that you were looking out for yourself, and proud that you trust me, right?" Alfie gave you a knowing look then kissed your cheeks. He quickly moved to pepper your whole face with caresses until you laughed more.

"Please, I understand!"

"Happy to hear it. Because good pets take care of themselves, don't they?" He raised an eyebrow, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks once more as you nodded. Being good for Alfie didn't stop in the bedroom, and you were happy to be reminded of that. "And when you're ready, I'll take care of you like the good pet you are, won't I? And you'll get an excellent reward for today."

"Thank you, Alfie."

You accepted more caresses and promised to talk more about why you stopped when you got home. Until then, with documents safely stashed inside Alfie's coat, you were all on your way to get flour with your eyes still rolling at Alfie's little cliches.

"Come on, Cyril, got to keep y/n feed and hooked on me."

"Always, Mr. Solomons."

#Alfie Solomons Imagine #Alfie Solomons x reader #Alfie Solomons Smut #Peaky Blinders Imagine #tw sex #tw smut #TW consent #alfie solomons fluff

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heisnameless · 4 years

Text

Watermelon Seeds

Clyde x Reader

Warnings: It’s.. filth. Smut. I’m never looking at watermelon the same again. Breeding kink. Dirty talk. Cunnilingus. But at least it’s fluffy for a second.

Summary: It’s watermelon season, which can only mean one thing; you get plenty of seeds.

Word Count: 1,579

You coughed as you swallowed a watermelon seed, frowning in distaste at the awkward feeling before reaching for a glass of water. Clyde notices, placing the knife down as he stepped away from the watermelon he was cutting up. coming over to place his hand on your back. “Are ya’ alright, darlin’?”

You had been helping him, taking pieces and placing it into a bowl and occasionally taking bites, spitting out seeds as you went. “Think I swallowed a seed or two.”

He rubs your back as you drink from the glass easing the discomfort. “Ya’ know what they say ‘bout swallowin’ them seeds.”

His words made you look up at him in slight confusion, brows pinching together as you waited for him to explain. After a beat of no explanation, you ask as you turn to face him fully. “What do they say, baby?”

Clyde’s eyes shift slightly before he points a finger right at your stomach. There’s a slight tinge of red on his cheeks that makes you smile. “Them seeds is how ya’ grow a watermelon in ya’ tummy right there. End up wit’ a baby.”

Settling your glass of water back onto the counter, you catch a hand on his shirt, pulling him against you until your chests touch and his hand flattens against your stomach. You pout as you tilt your head back, kissing his chin. “Don’t think that’s the seed I want.”

“Y/N,” he breathes out, metal hand settling at your waist and pulling you against him as gently as he could despite your previous reassurances that he wouldn’t and couldn’t ever harm you, “are ya’ implyin’ that ya’ want me ta’ put a baby in ya’?”

Grinning sheepishly, you nod your head, finger running up his chest to scruff up his beard. Before you could even speak, he was lifting you up, carrying you through the house and to the bed room, laying you down as he kissed you. Your body wraps around his, pulling him down. Clothes were being tugged off in an instant, thrown to the floor as he presses sloppy kisses to your neck.

Noticing how clothed he still was, you reached down, pulling his shirt up and over his head. “C’mon, baby, I want you.”

“Ya’ want me?” He mumbles into your neck as your fingers worked at his jeans, even as he ground against you. You arch underneath him, legs parting as you felt his dick press right against you. To answer his overly stubborn question, you slide a hand into his jeans once they were properly undone, feeling him through his boxers, stroking him. He pushed into the warmth of your palm, grinding as he licked and bit at your throat, leaving behind faint marks that would be visible the next day. Even as you palm him through his jeans, your other hand pushed at the waistband, pushed them away and he reached down to assist.

But then he’s gone, settling on his knees between your legs and yanking you to the edge of the bed as he pulls at the waistband of your own jeans with his one hand. He must’ve taken the other one off somewhere between the kitchen and the loss of clothes, but you were too lost in him.

“Gon’ get me a taste a’ this sweet pussy.” He mutters, nose pressing against the fabric of your underwear before he pulls those down too, then he dives right in without second thought. His tongue dips into your cunt and you mewl, fingers in his hair a second later. Your thighs lock around his head, keeping him right there as he brings a finger up, sliding it in with ease.

“Got the best fucking tongue, Jesus Christ, right there, baby.” Your head digs back into the bed, fingers locked into hair as his mouth sucks on your clit and your back arches. You gasp, lips parting as your heel digs into the space between his shoulder blades. He knows your cunt like the back of his hand, knows how to work you open just right and make you come apart within seconds if you two needed a quickie in the backroom of the bar. When he slides in another finger and sucks particularly hard on your clit, you’re seeing stars as you cum, crying out his name.

“Clyde, fuck, yes!” Your thighs close tighter around his head, shaking as he works you through your high before he slowly pulls his fingers out and presses a gentle kiss to your cunt once your body relaxed into the bed more.

“Prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.” He mutters, hand running along your thigh before he rises to his feet and kicks his boxers off. When he bends again, he slides a hand under your waist, lifts you higher up the bed before tucking a hand under your thigh and placing it around his hip. His arm presses into the bed beside your head as he looks down at you, breathing out, needing one last spark of approval. “Ya’ want a baby?”

Your back arches as you meet his eye, feeling his dick pressing right against your entrance as you shift your leg to pull him closer with a nod. “Want a baby, Clyde.”

It was all he needed to hear before he slid into you, filling you full and stretching you better than your fingers or any toy ever could. You clung to him as he pushed in to the very hilt and stopped, let his head rest against your shoulder. Then, he pulled out and thrust back into you, so slowly, so teasingly that your hips lift to meet each of his thrusts.

“Give it to me, please.” You aren’t opposed to begging when it comes to this man or his dick, you’ve become accustomed to it when he gets like this in particular.

“How ya’ want it?” He’s still going slow, pressing small kisses to your exposed throat as he presses in and stops, stilling his hips all together. It takes you a moment before you realize he’s waiting for an answer.

“Want it good and hard.” Your fingers stroke down his back, running through his hair as you nod. He makes a noise into the curve of your neck and shifts, palm sliding around your waist before settling in the center of your back. Then, he draws his hips back and slams back into you without another word, nose still tucked against your throat. He stops again, rests against you as he kisses your collarbone this time.

“Wanna just stay inside a’ ya’ all day, do nothin’ but fuck this little pussy a’ yers.” He mumbles as he shifts his hips, draws out and pushes back in real slow again. This time, though, he sets a pace, keeps moving until he’s fucking you into the mattress and his fingers are digging harshly into your skin.

“Fuck, do it. Stay right here, keep fucking me so good. So fucking good.” You moan out as your eyes close, both legs now locked tight around his hips to keep him from going anywhere.

“Put that right seed in ya’.” He mutters as he sits up on his knees, wanting to watch as your tits bounced as he split you open and made your body rock up the bed. His thrusts quickened, pressing in deep as his hand rests on your abdomen, arm pressing into the bed again. “Gon’ fuck it into ya’ over an’ over again.”

“Yeah? Gonna put all your cum in me? Make me your cumbucket, just for you. I’ll be good and take every bit of it.” You gasped at the way he fucked into you and hit the perfect angle that made your body arch in response.

“Mine, ya’ all mine.” He dips down again, claiming your lips in a kiss as your mewl underneath him, body pressing up against his. Your hips press into the bed, allowing for a deeper thrust that makes the both of you cry out. His hand presses into your hip, keeping you in that position, just to feel it over and over. Then, as you clench around his dick, his brows pinch together slightly. “Ya’ gon’ cum, baby? Gon’ cum all o’er m’dick? Wanna watch ya’ touch yerself.”

You nod, not hesitating to work a hand between the two of you and down to your swollen clit, fingertips brushing it. “Gonna fucking cum, Clyde. C’mon, wanna feel you. Wanna fill me real good? Clyde, fuck!”

Then, you’re cumming and clenching around him as your body curls and your eyes close. His hips stutter, working you through it as your fingertips slowly ease off your clit, the high leaving you satisfied, but not quite pleased enough because it isn’t what you want. Clyde knows what you want and he gives it to you as he gives one last thrust of his hips, balls drawing up as he pressed flush against you. You felt him twitch inside of you as he came, spilling every drop of his seed as deep as it would go.

Clyde collapsed right on top of you, shifting his weight just enough so he didn’t squish you as he pulled you against his chest. He stayed like this for a while, even when his cum began to seep out around his cock that was still seated fully inside of you, he didn’t move or speak, until finally, he mumbled. “Wonder how that watermelon’s doin’.”

#clyde logan fluff #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan smut #clyde logan x reader smut #clyde logan/reader smut #clyde logan x reader fluff #clyde logan/reader fluff #clyde logan fanfiction #logan lucky #adam driver #adam driver fanfiction #clyde logan/reader

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patchofsunlight · 3 years

Text

Stand You | Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Bakugou insists he can’t stand stupid Y/N, even while he changes his entire routine to fit her in it.

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: if this doesn’t show up on tags for the fifth time i will simply give up on it, cursing, bakugou is a lil bitch but he’s also a softie, there’s a nosebleed at one point but nothing concerning tbh, aizawa and recovery girl find young love amusing, shouto is baby

Y/N wasn’t sure of exactly when she started thinking of Bakugou Katsuki as a friend. Maybe it had been during their first year, after the first time he allowed her to join his study group alongside Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and Mina; or maybe it had been a bit later, when she hugged him tight in the middle of a crowd, almost as if she could squeeze the pain being kidnapped by the League of Villains had brought him, and he let her — while All Might fought his last battle and all of Japan feared for its future, Bakugou let her hold him.

She was deeply aware of the fact he tolerated her at best, as he made that abundantly clear every chance he got. He didn’t exactly hate her presence, but she was on thin fucking ice, and, even though Y/N knew this, she still managed to somehow develop a crush on the angry ash blond, like the stupid idiot she was.

It was ridiculous, to be honest, especially considering how there was no way he would ever feel the same. She would go as far as saying he didn’t even know her name — “Stupid,” he called her (how enchanting!) —, so, yeah, there was absolutely no possibility of her feelings being reciprocated in any way, and the dumb hug they shared was nothing but a coincidence. He was a bit shaken, a bit shocked, and those few warm minutes didn’t really mean anything.

Y/N didn’t mind. She was okay being Bakugou’s friend, satisfied with study group meetings and the occasional sparring. That way, at least, she could be sort of close to him, and that was pretty much enough.

Katsuki wasn’t sure of exactly when he had stopped thinking of Y/N L/N as another stupid extra. Maybe it had been when he found himself walking a little slower while she accompanied him towards class, or maybe it had been a bit earlier, when she hugged him tight in the middle of a crowd, almost as if she could squeeze the pain being kidnapped by the League of Villains had brought him, and he let her — while All Might fought his last battle and all of Japan feared for its future, Bakugou let her hold him.

He didn’t particularly like her. She talked too much, too fast, too loud; she insisted on walking him to and from the dorms everyday; and she was weak, stupid, useless. To be completely fair, Bakugou would say he despised her.

And yet, he found himself around her way more often than necessary.

“Hey, Bakugou, wait up! Let’s walk together!”

He groaned loudly at the sound of her voice, having been hopelessly hoping she wouldn’t be able to catch up.

“Fuck, no. Get out of my way, Stupid!”

He slowed down nonetheless, soon walking by her side. Her smile was bright and excited as she kept on blabbering about something Kirishima had done when they were paired up on training that day.

He couldn’t fucking stand her.

“— and then he threw me off the training mat so easily! Who taught him how to do that? I wanna do that!”

“I don’t give a fuck, Stupid.”

“— but I won the second time we sparred, so I guess we’re even. It was fun.”

Y/N never seemed bothered by his harsh words. In fact, she usually either ignored them altogether, unfaltering and patient, or laughed and added some opinion of her own to his rage. It was maddening — she couldn’t take a hint.

Moments like this were common, almost routine. If Bakugou didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the girl had taken quite a liking to him. It was an obvious conclusion, considering she was always around him in some way or another, trying to spark up friendly conversation and letting him know how her day went.

(It was so, so calming to have her here like this. He would never admit it, but hearing Y/N’s endless rants brought him a sense of security he had never really felt before. She talked too much, that was for sure, yet he didn’t really care. It was okay if it was her.)

He couldn’t fucking stand her.

“Come on, try again. We’ve gone through this already.”

“I can’t, Bakugou. I—I’m sorry.”

The ash blond sighed, running a hand through his hair. The bite to his tone had disappeared after a couple of hours, red gaze intensely attentive to the frustrated tears gathering in the girl’s eyes. Every other student had gone back to their dorms, and the librarian seemed very intent on shooting the duo angry looks as if to tell them to hurry up and leave already, finally allowing their long afternoon shift to end.

“Yes, you can. I know you can. Try again, you’re almost fucking there.”

Katsuki had never been good at positive reinforcement. He was better at screaming and cursing and insulting, and, yes, he had tried that with Y/N a thousand times before, but he could see how hard she was trying. He noticed how disappointed and tired she was, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be anything less than what he recognized as incredibly soft. He was glad they were the only ones in the library — he wouldn’t know how to explain himself if anyone saw him like this, watching this random girl who he refused to call a friend mess up her homework in various different ways, talking quietly to stop her from crying.

“We don’t have all fucking day, Stupid. You can do this, go on.”

Yeah, definitely not good at positive reinforcement.

“Okay,” she inhaled deeply, pencil moving slowly through the paper, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

There was a slight crease between her brows as she worked, and Bakugou felt the sudden urge to rub it away, which he rejected immediately. That was ridiculous! There was no reason for things like this to plague his mind — L/N Y/N was an idiot, and he didn’t deliberately think about her in any way, form, or universe. She wasn’t worthy of his thoughts.

“Is this it?”

His attention immediately returned to the equations and messy notes on her notebook while he looked it over, a surprised glint taking his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s basically it. It could be better, but you got it right.”

“I did?”

“You did. I told you you could do it, Stupid.”

Katsuki choked on his own air when the girl jumped towards his place on the table, hugging him tightly by the neck while spouting a great variety of thank you’s and praise, disrupting the angry librarian. Bakugou could feel his cheeks heat up under the worker’s glare, both with irritation born from their silent attitude and from the weird warmth growing in his chest at Y/N’s attention.

It was the first time she hugged him since the kidnapping accident, and it felt different. It wasn’t a comfort hug like last time, no — it was almost like she had been so happy she couldn’t stop herself from touching him, and that thought alone was enough to send sirens flaring inside his head. Every single inch where her skin touched his seemed to tingle, a calming sensation flowing through his body.

He instantly decided he hated the feeling, pushing her off harshly but still a tad more carefully than he would’ve if it was anyone else.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, no need to freak out. Let’s just get done with this already and go back to the dorms.”

She smiled widely as she picked her things up, shoving them inside her backpack and patiently waiting for him to do the same. Strangely, the explosion boy couldn’t find it in himself to meet her eyes, avoiding the light blush he feared would coat his features when he saw her staring at him like that, with that pretty — no, not pretty, no, he didn’t think she was pretty in anyway — with that stupid smile on her face.

“I’m glad we can walk back together,” the girl declared cheerfully the moment they left the big and lonely library, strolling through the empty path side by side, the sun nowhere to be seen. “It’s late already.”

“Whatever,” he groaned back, refusing to look at her yet still maintaining a pace he was sure she could keep up with.

He couldn’t fucking stand her.

Bakugou felt hyper-aware of every movement beside him. For a few days now, his heart would pump a bit faster whenever she smiled, and his skin would crawl with what he could only describe as the craving to have her hold him again.

It made him weak, and he wouldn’t have it. Bakugou Katsuki was a lot of things, but he refused to be weak.

Specially because of someone like Stupid.

“What grade did you guys get on last week’s math test?”

They always sat next to each other during lunch. It wouldn’t be that bad if it wasn’t for how her knee touched his ever so softly, her body too close for comfort because of Kaminari’s presence on her other side, pressing onto her enthusiastically each time he spoke. Kirishima had asked her once if she wanted him to exchange places with the electric boy, but she simply laughed it off — Kaminari’s manners were endearing, in a way. For some reason, those words gave Katsuki the urge to break Kaminari’s nose.

“I got an 87,” Y/N declared, delight dripping from her words while she played with the food on her plate.

“Y/N!” Mina’s smile was so big it almost didn’t fit on her face. “That’s almost 30 marks higher than you got on our last test!”

“I know!” Bakugou scowled at her excitement before she turned her head to look at him, a sunny grin directed entirely to him, stealing all the air from his lungs. “Bakugou is an amazing tutor!”

“Damn right I am,” he managed to rasp out, clearing his throat loudly before shoving a bunch of spicy noodles in his mouth. Kirishima and Sero exchanged a look.

He would never admit it, the raw pride that consumed his chest at her happiness. He knew how hard she had worked for that test, and was glad to see it went even better than she expected.

“Maybe now you could tutor me, Y/N,” Kaminari wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing a laugh to escape the girl’s lips while she turned away from Katsuki to stare at him.

“I would love to, but I’m pretty sure I would make your grades even worse.”

“Hey,” Bakugou barked angrily, fighting off the blush creeping up his ears, “don’t sell yourself short, Stupid. You’re not that much of a dumbass.”

A heavy silence fell down on the group, surprised stares pointed to the ash blond. He could feel his stomach twist in anger at the unwanted attention, yet something about the way her smile widened at his words caused his irritation to decrease exponentially.

“What are you idiots staring at?” he lashed out despite the calm settling inside his heart at the sight of her, rolling his eyes at the bunch of morons he called his friends.

“No, nothing,” Kaminari’s voice was high-pitched in obvious lying that brought out snickers from everyone else on the table but Bakugou himself. “Nothing.”

“It better be nothing, Dunce Face, or I’ll kill you.”

“Of course,” Kirishima bit down on his lip to contain his laughter, “don’t worry about it, Bakubro.”

The day went by slowly and way more often than not Bakugou found himself stealing glances towards where he knew Y/N’s seat was. There was a weird whispering in the back of his head, reminding him of how her arms felt around him when they hugged in the library the week before, reminding him of the warmth that invaded his skin and implanted itself in his brain, reminding him of how bright her smiles were and how nice her laughter sounded.

Oh, there was something wrong. Did she have some sort of secondary quirk guilty of making him feel like this? Never before had he ever given her much thought, even though he had to admit his mind wandered to her sometimes and he did try to somehow be nicer to her, but it wasn’t because he cared for her or anything, right? Of course not! He just thought she wouldn’t be able to take his usual self and he didn’t want to deal with her crying or whatever. It wasn’t because he cared about what she thought of him, hell no! Bakugou didn’t waste his time worrying about others, that wasn’t like him at all.

Bakugou Katsuki didn’t think about L/N Y/N, he didn’t, he wouldn’t.

The ash blond forced his gaze away from her once more, trying to make sense of what should’ve been neat notes instead of the mess of scribbles staring right back at him. He snarled to himself, immediately considering his disorganization as entirely her fault. How dare she play with him like this? How dare she think herself worthy of his time like this?

He couldn’t stand her.

And yet, less than two hours later, there he was, listening to her rant about this one movie she desperately wanted to watch while they walked beside each other after class. It would be so easy for Bakugou to pick up his pace and leave her alone, but his body refused to obey his mind’s wishes, and so he kept himself slow enough for her to stay with him.

He couldn’t fucking stand her.

His whole body was sore, barely able to move his arms after overusing his quirk all evening. Bakugou knew he shouldn’t push himself this hard, but he refused to falter, refused to stay behind and risk being weak again. He needed to get stronger, smarter, and, for better or for worse, that involved long training hours.

The path back to the dorms was strangely lonely without a certain girl keeping him company — not that Katsuki minded, he obviously didn’t. Some loneliness was very much appreciated after the last couple of weeks, which were filled with study group sessions and stupid walks.

He sighed heavily when the 2-A dorm finally came into his range of vision, causing his tired figure to relax. He was almost there — he would soon be able to eat something, take a nice shower, and then fall straight into bed. He would soon be able to rest, and that was the only thing in his mind.

The ash blond kicked his shoes away the moment he reached the door, tossing them aside without a second thought.

He would’ve liked to say he bee-lined to the kitchen.

He didn’t.

“Stupid, what the fuck are you doing?”

Y/N looked up from the common room coffee table, startled by the sudden interruption. She studied him for a second before answering, “I’m just looking over some homework. Why? Did something happen?”

He grunted in distaste, unable to stop himself from sitting down next to her on the couch. Every single one of his muscles felt like it was on fire from overexertion.

“It’s fucking late. Didn’t we study yesterday? Did you even have dinner yet?”

She tensed slightly at his angry questions, returning her stare towards the papers in front of them. “Yeah, but I just thought it’d be good to go over everything once more. I’ll just eat some crackers for dinner, it’s fine,” she shrugged nonchalantly, missing the way his eyebrows furrowed at her words, “where were you anyway?”

Katsuki simply rolled his eyes, arms crossed. “It’s none of your fucking business, Stupid. And you can’t have crackers for dinner, that’s not a proper meal.”

“What are you gonna do about it, Bakugou? Will you cook me dinner?” Her tone was teasing, joking, but he stood up immediately, snatching all the papers and notes from her and walking to the kitchen without a second of hesitation. “Hey, what the fuck!”

“Come with me already, you dumbass,” he snarled angrily, a tint of red covering his cheeks, “what do you want to eat?”

Her voice suddenly went soft, “Bakugou, I was kidding. You don’t need to get me dinner, I can just heat up some ramen or—”

“Shut the fuck up, Stupid. I was already going to cook dinner for myself anyway.”

He wasn’t, actually. He planned on eating leftovers from lunch, but he knew there wouldn’t be enough leftovers for both of them, and it was good to prepare some lunch for the next day, anyway. It wasn’t like he was doing it for her, of course not! It was just… Mutually beneficial. Yeah, it was mutually beneficial, not—not special treatment. He didn’t care about Stupid, he didn’t.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked nervously, face flushed from bashfulness and hands fidgety. Katsuki shook his head, ignoring the twitching pain on his forearms as he stirred the pot.

“Just sit down and wait.”

“Are you sure?” Y/N bit her lower lip with furrowed brows. “You seem tired, I don’t want you to do everything by yourself.”

An angry remark sat on the top of his tongue, but the ash blond hesitated. Well, if she helped with the simpler things this would be done faster, and he could go back to his room and rest earlier. Besides, the idea of cooking and spending time with Y/N in the kitchen caused some type of warmth to take over his chest — a warmth that wasn’t exactly insufferable.

It felt strangely soothing, hearing her hum while slicing vegetables and waiting for the noodles to cook through. It felt even more strangely soothing to sit before her on the kitchen table, staring anxiously while she took the first bite of his food. The worst, however, was the way her smile brightened up the room when she started rambling about how good it tasted and how much of a good cook he was and how he now had to cook for her more often. He disagreed loudly, the tip of his ears burning with embarrassment, saying he didn’t cook for her — he cooked for him, and she just happened to be there too. She cackled, and his heart seemed to burn.

He couldn’t fucking stand her.

Seventeen minutes. Y/N was seventeen minutes late.

Had she forgotten about it? God, she was the one who brought it up in the first place, and now she was the one making him wait. Katsuki felt incredibly stupid sitting in his dorm floor, a bunch of her favorite snacks neatly organized next to the nightstand and pillows on the ground for them to sit on. It was supposed to be a study date or whatever, even though he repeatedly refused to call it that (“it’s not a date, Stupid, it’s just one of our homework sessions like always!”).

They had been spending a lot of time together between studying at the library, walking to the dorms, and cooking and eating dinner, and Bakugou had to admit he didn’t absolutely hate it. Don’t get him wrong, Y/N was still annoying and stupid and insufferable but—but something about her made him come back every single time, ignoring the knowing looks from his friends and the snickers from his classmates.

Despite his anger, a bit of worry started to blossom inside the boy’s chest. Stupid Y/N (and he hated how affectionate the mean nickname sounded to himself at this point) was rarely late — he had been seeing her after school hours enough to know. The girl was always on time and, when she wasn’t, she made sure to let others know why.

There was no text from her, though, and it made his fingers twitch uncomfortably with the urge to make a phone call and check if everything was alright.

Not that he cared if she was alright or not, because he didn’t. She was just—just some girl who decided to invade his life with no permission whatsoever and then stayed. He didn’t care about her.

And yet—

“Hello?”

“IcyHot? What are you doing with Y/N’s phone? Where the fuck is she?”

Bakugou couldn’t muster any reason for why Todoroki would’ve been the one to pick up the call instead of her. They weren’t even friends! Yes, they knew each other and he was vaguely aware of the fact the two had sparring sessions every once in a while, but not enough so for Todoroki to feel comfortable using her phone or for Y/N to bail on their study date.

“Oh, Bakugou,” Shouto’s tone was as casual as always, almost as if this was a common occurrence (which it wasn’t), “hey. Y/N is with Recovery Girl right now. She got into a fight, but she is okay, just a few cuts and bruises. I was the one to stop the fight, so Aizawa asked me to wait around while she gets checked up on. Do you want me to tell her anything?”

Bakugou had been out the door when he heard the words “Recovery Girl”, speed walking to the nurse’s office while Todoroki rambled. He could feel his heart picking up its pace. Why would Y/N get into a fight? God, this wasn’t like her, and the prospect of someone purposely picking a fight with her filled him with the most raw type of anger possible.

“What the fuck did she get into a fight for?” he voiced his concerns, and he was pretty sure Todoroki just shrugged.

“These two boys were saying things about—”

“Todoroki? Who are you talking to?”

“Miss L/N, I’m still not done with you—”

Katsuki furrowed his brows at the commotion heard from the other end. He could easily recognize her voice, even though it sounded raspy and tired, but the next bit of conversation was too muffled for him to understand. The future hero could already see Recovery Girl’s office a few meters away, and it made him walk a bit faster.

“Give me the phone, Todoroki.”

“Miss L/N, you are still bleeding—”

The door opened violently. Y/N met Bakugou’s glare and felt a bad shiver go down her spine.

Shit, they were supposed to have that study date today. God, did he come all the way over there just to scold her?

Heavy silence fell over the small group of people. Aizawa and Recovery Girl exchanged a quick look, the small lady’s arm still extended towards the girl in a failed attempt to grab her and drag her back to the hospital bed, even though she was definitely not as hurt as they made her out to be. Yes, she had a bunch of nasty bruises after throwing hands with two random guys from the year above her, and, yes, her nose hadn’t stopped bleeding yet, but she was mainly okay. Todoroki had gotten there pretty quickly and stopped her from making things worse, so she was fine.

“What the fuck did you do, Stupid?”

Yeah, he definitely went all the way there to scold her.

“Uh. Now, that’s a good question!” She consciously chose to ignore the smirk on Aizawa’s face, pulling her phone from Todoroki’s grip a bit more violently than necessary. “You see, I’m sorry for my tardiness, I know we had plans, we still can—”

“I asked you what the fuck you did, Stupid. I’m waiting for my answer.”

“Miss L/N picked a fight with two third years after hearing them talk about one of her colleagues in public. Thankfully, Mr. Todoroki intervened,” their teacher cut in, crossing his arms and staring as the girl cleaned up a stray drop of blood on her lips with the back of her hand. “She’ll be getting a written warning and will hopefully stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, frowning when Recovery Girl started fussing over her again, sticking band-aids all over the small cuts on her face. Y/N had refused to accept Recovery Girl’s quirk treatment, aware that she was very busy and that it wasn’t necessary for the school nurse to tire herself out for just a few bruises. She was so intent on glaring at her elders that she didn’t notice the worry swimming in Bakugou’s red gaze.

“Good. Can you two get her back to the dorms?”

“Yes, I—”

“Fuck off, IcyHot, I’m taking her back by myself. Find something to freeze or whatever.”

Katsuki grabbed her by the arm, dragging her out of Recovery Girl’s office without a second’s worth of hesitation. He wouldn’t even look at her, fuming the whole way to the dorms. Still, he walked slow enough for her to not struggle to keep up.

“Are you mad?”

He snickered humorlessly, “of course I am, Stupid. How the fuck did you get yourself into this? And you fucking left me waiting, too, you idiot.”

Usually, Y/N didn’t care about his harsh words. Y/N didn’t mind his angry remarks. This time, however, she felt tired, and she had just gotten into a fight because of him, so she refused to take it. She had tried so hard to get close to him, to make him like her. The girl could feel tears gathering in her eyes from fury and sadness — how stupid was she to actually believe he would ever like her, be it as a friend or more? She should’ve known better. Dinner and studying and walking together meant nothing to him. She was just a bother, and she should’ve noticed earlier.

Y/N halted, pulling her arm away from his hand with rage and deception coating her every feature, “shut the fuck up, Bakugou. I don’t have to give you any explanations, you piece of shit. If you’re so pissed about it, why don’t you just leave me alone, huh? I’m done keeping up with your bullshit. I always try to be a good friend to you and you just keep doing this! You keep pushing me away and treating me like an idiot, and I deserve more than that!”

The explosion boy had a crease on his forehead, a cold feeling going through his body. The angry look in her eyes was something he didn’t recognize, and suddenly she felt so unreachable, so far away. He quickly decided he hated it.

Why did he hate it, though? They had nothing to do with each other. They were barely friends. Wasn’t this what he wanted? He couldn’t fucking stand her, he didn’t care about her. This was what he had wanted for months now — for her to tell him to leave, for her to not stand him too. Why did it feel so wrong, then? Why did he feel the urge to collect her in his arms like she loved to do with him? Why did he just want to hold her and tell her he was worried and that he couldn’t wait to spend more time with her, that he couldn’t wait for their stupid study date? And, yeah, it could be a date if she wanted it to. God, he’d accept any name or title she gave their meetings if only they could go on forever.

How long had this been going on? When did she make him so attached to her? Why hadn’t he noticed it before?

“Fuck you, Bakugou,” she muttered, slightly out of breath after her short outburst, face dark with frustration, “those idiots were talking about you and about how you should be a villain or whatever, and I got mad. That’s how I fucking got myself into this, because I care about you. Thanks for caring, asshole.”

The girl turned to walk away, and panic bloomed in the boy’s chest. He didn’t know why exactly, but he knew he couldn’t let her leave. He couldn’t let her leave him, couldn’t let her think he didn’t care, because he was just now seeing he did — so, so much. Of course he cared about her and all her silly manners that made their way into his heart and stayed there, on the edge of conditioning him to feel better whenever she was around. Of course he cared about her and the study dates and the sparring sessions and all the stories she loved to tell, of course he fucking did. Of course.

Katsuki was quick to grab her arm again, pulling her so close to him their chests bumped. Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion.

“Bakugou, what the fuck are you—”

“I like you. I really—I really do,” he shook his head, trying to gather his own feelings. “A lot. I was worried. I’m sorry.”

Y/N blinked.

“You were worried? About me?”

“Yes,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking away to hide his blushed cheeks, which didn’t go unnoticed by her attentive eyes. A smile played on the corners of her mouth, and Y/N let herself enjoy the rapid bumping of her heart, the flustered sight of the one boy she had fallen for. Flustered because of her. She could feel a rush of confidence building inside her chest. “I guess… I guess I care about you, too. Even if you’re absolutely insufferable,” he added clumsily, causing her smile to widen considerably, “I can’t fucking stand you, to be honest. You annoy me to no end.”

“Now do I?” she took a step closer, so close that he could feel her breath on his face and it made his head spin. “You don’t seem very annoyed to me, Bakugou.”

“Katsuki,” he corrected thoughtlessly, feeling his face warm up even more when he took notice of his own words.

“Right,” Y/N nodded, smirk on her face, “Katsuki, then.”

He opened his mouth to make a mean remark that would push her away enough to give him space to breathe, but he was suddenly interrupted by her lips on his. Before he could register it, she was gone, speed walking back to the dorms. After a few shocked seconds, he started running after her, calling her name angrily and trying to conceal the dark red on his face, neck, and ears.

“Hey, come back here, Stupid! What the fuck was that?”

Bakugou couldn’t have ignored the way his heart fluttered at the sound of her laugh even if he tried, a lazy smile taking over his lips immediately.

“I can’t stand you either, Katsuki.”

“Oh, shut up.”

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #bakugou katsuki #mha x reader #mha

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 3 years

Text

Together, We’re Just Better Off

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is my “new look” bingo square fill for @starkerfestivals January event - I love the look of Tom in a nice suit & just kind of went from there! Word Count: ~4.7K Warnings: This is strictly NSFW (there be smut ahead, y’all!) Summary:

For this year's Parker Tech silent auction, Peter decides to get a custom suit made - the result is a randy Tony and porn without much plot.

Read on AO3 here.

Tony was in trouble.

There was no other way to describe the feeling in his chest when Peter walked down the stairs after two hours of secretive getting ready for the annual Parker Tech silent auction.

Standing on the last stair, Peter looked – obscenely sexy. The brand new, custom made, charcoal colored suit hugged every line of his husband’s body in a way that shouldn’t be legal. The cut of the pants made his slim legs look miles long, the snug fit of the jacket tapering off just right at the cusp of narrow hips. Adding the slightest dash of color, Peter paired the grey suit with a dark green button up, the top two buttons undone – the slightest flash of smooth chest the penultimate addition to the entire outfit.

The dark color of the shirt brought out Peter’s eyes, and when he looked up, the most confident facial expression sat on blush painted cheeks. It took Tony a second to remember to breath, their eyes meeting with a spark of electricity that felt tangible in the few feet of space between them. The need to eat Peter alive sat low in Tony’s belly, the muscles in his legs loading up in desperate preparation to pounce – the tantalizing idea of Peter under him in that very second almost enough to beat out the rest of his higher brain function.

Shaking his head, a millisecond before he acted on his animal instinct, Tony brought himself back from the cusp of ruining Peter’s tailored made suit – but only just barely. His fist clenched tight at his side, the delicate throb of his half-hard cock against the seam of his own suit pants just enough stimulus to keep him grounded.

Instead of pouncing, Tony took measured steps towards Peter – the space between them narrowing down to inches. When finally within touching distance, Tony reached out to rest his hands on Peter’s hip, the soft fabric of the delicious suit as lovely as the aesthetic it portrayed. Gripping slightly, Tony tugged until they were pressed flush together, Peter’s chest warm and firm against his own.

“If you had any idea what I wanted to do to you right now, Pete.” Tony whispered, his lips pressing against Peter’s ear, breath brushing against the smooth skin there. “It shouldn’t be possible – you looking this fucking good. How am I supposed to focus tonight? Or get anything done?” He peppered kisses down Peter’s jaw and neck as he spoke, goosebumps following in his wake.

“I’ll have Obie following me around all night, desperately attempting to get my attention – but I won’t be able to focus. Not when I’ll be able to look across the room and see your ass so delightfully encased in pants that are so sinful; so fucking distracting, Peter – even now.” Tony drew back then, his lips finally finding Peter’s for a softly teasing kiss – “who do you think you are?”

The chuckle against his lips made the heat in Tony’s belly burn a little hotter – Peter knew the exact effect he was having, the knowledge of being not only attractive, but dangerously so, giving the younger man a sort of fuel that stoked a different kind of fire. Already the smartest person in the room, Peter armed with anything extraneous at all was frighteningly perilous. His aura spoke of curiosity and excitement, a cocktail of things that always proved interesting for Tony – especially in such a public setting.

Peter drew away after a minute, there kisses settling down to just the barest press of lip on lip. “I know exactly who I am, Tony Parker – your husband, the very one who will be teasing you to within an inch of your life while we play nice. The one who, when we can finally sneak away from our own event, will let you strip me down, piece by piece, until there’s bare canvas for you to do whatever you wish with.”

Kissing his forehead, Peter let his lips rest there, each gust of warm air making Tony’s skin tingle. “That’s who I am.”

Tony let a groan fall from his lips, every one of Peter’s words caressing his skin with liquid fire, only to settle in the depths of his belly where the boiling pit of heat was steadily gaining height – the prospect of combustion a real threat.

He grabbed one of Peter’s hands where they took up residence on Tony’s shoulders, his fingers tight on a pale wrist. Bringing it down between them, Tony brushed Peter’s knuckles against the already insistent bulge there – both men sucking in a breath at first contact. “You’re going to kill me. Death by unresolved want.”

Peter wiggled his hand until he could turn it around, his palm all of the sudden pressing hotly against Tony’s cock. “Just be good, Tony. I’ll let you have what we both want.”

Letting their lips touch ever so slightly, Peter gave Tony one more squeeze before pulling away, the space between them once again huge – every inch feeling like a million miles apart.

Tony felt Peter’s eyes roam over him, the rich chocolate of them almost entirely taken over by blown pupils, making his stare dark and inviting. Every inch was taken in, from the fine Italian leather shoes on his feet to the purposefully done bed-head hairdo at the top of his head. The gaze made him stand a little straighter, Tony’s cheeks reddening with a flush he couldn’t push down.

“You look pretty damn good yourself. Love the all black on you.” Peter seemed to want to take a step back into his orbit but thought better of it – his hands slipped into tight pockets, feet shifting, instead. “Getting through the night might be a challenge for us both.”

And it was – if the leering stares and hidden touches were anything to go by. Having gone into business together as equal partners after their first year of marriage, both Tony and Peter were in high demand; everyone wanted to speak with the brains behind the operation. Tony spearheaded the design elements, while Peter manufactured and created all of the brilliance that came from Tony’s ideas – which usually meant both were detained in their own conversations throughout a good majority of every event.

Yet, for some reason, the space between them seemed even bigger than usual. Tony’s fingers ached to press against Peter’s lower back, his skin burning with need. When he couldn’t see Peter in any direction, Tony’s brain wandered to the perfect rendition of Peter’s silhouette in his thoughts – the visual so very distracting. So distracting in fact, Tony found himself unable to really follow any of the conversations he attempted to be immersed in. In all ways, Peter owned him; his entire body so wrapped up it was impossible to focus.

Any time he could, Tony circled back to Peter, their bodies pressing tightly against each other each time he felt the need to approach. Though the encounters were always brief before one of them got swept away by someone else needing to talk to them about some sort of bull shit, Tony felt able to catch his breath and refocus – as if Peter’s touch was his grounding force, a simple moment of contact just enough to refresh him for the minutes to come.

Despite the dynamic tension between them growing with every second, the event went off pretty swimmingly. Most of the things up for auction were donated by people within the crowd (who would unsurprisingly bid on their own junk, just because they could). The alcohol flowed nicely, each guest spending most of the evening with never-ending champagne in their hands and the slightest bit of rose tint on their cheeks from the constant drinking. Items sold, speeches were made, and money was collected – a through and through success.

When neither could stand it any longer, Tony made a couple of excuses before grabbing Peter and making a hasty exit. Warm fingers slid into the gaps of his own, Peter squeezing the digits in an attempt to make the touch a little closer – anything to make the connection between them more solid.

In leaving early, Tony decided to leave the Audi with the parking attendants, the two of them stumbling home hand-in-hand – the crisp, cool night air dulling the fire building between them down just enough to actually get back to the penthouse without any public indecency charges. It pushed the control of their patience, letting their hands and the occasional brush of their sides be the only point of contact until they got into the bedroom; but when Peter started to strip without a word being said, Tony knew it was worth it.

Shrugging out of his suit jacket, Tony sat at the edge of their bed, his fingers distractedly undoing the buttons of his shirt – his hazel eyes laser focused on Peter’s movements. As each piece of gorgeously tailored clothing hit the floor, Tony’s anticipation and want skyrocketed, his cock hard as nails before Peter’s pants were completely undone – the fly just barely down enough to reveal the answering bulge of want.

Tony managed to get his shirt off before attempting to get off the bed and reach for Peter. His husband shut down the move pretty quickly, however, his brows quirking as he spoke. “Mm, I don’t think so. Just sit there, Tones – watch me.”

Unable to do anything other than what was asked of him, Tony quickly shed his shoes and socks, pants following along a few seconds later. Down to just his boxer-briefs, Tony let himself lean back and watch the rest of the reveal – his plan of attack starting to culminate with each new inch of bare skin on display. His fingers itched to touch; the feeling of what Tony knew to be completely smooth skin something he felt starving for.

Before he could fathom it, Tony found himself with a lapful of Peter Parker, his husband now completely naked – the strong thighs straddling him squeezing as calloused hands moved to grip slim hips. Too distracted by pale skin, he wasn’t quite ready for the real thing so suddenly thrust upon him. Tony’s cock throbbed with want as Peter settled firmly on his legs, his cock nestled so nicely against the crease of Peter’s ass.

Wrapping his arms around Peter’s hips, Tony pressed up and forward, his lips seeking out the warm expanse of flesh. He nestled his nose in the slope of Peter’s clavicle, tongue peeking out to trace the sharp bone. As he worked his mouth along traps and up the length of Peter’s neck, Tony let his hands trail along hard planes of muscle, the tips of his fingers tracing the light dusting of hair coating Peter’s pale skin.

Peter worked his hips teasing over Tony’s cock as he let his husband take his fill – the slide of his boxer-briefs against an over-sensitive cock drawing long moans from Tony’s chest each time he let himself come up for air. The motion was hypnotizing, the tease of Peter’s warm hole like a siren calling his name.

Not willing to wait any longer, Tony grabbed under Peter’s thighs, hefting him up enough to turn and switch their positions – Peter’s legs splayed open wide when he hit the bed, the space there quickly occupied by the length of Tony’s body. Before getting comfortable in the warm press of their bodies against each other, Tony wiggled out of his boxer-briefs until they were finally skin to skin, both parties stark naked and eager for what was to come next.

For a while, the only sounds in the room were panted breaths and the slick suction of lip against lip or lip against skin. Tony trailed his tongue from the small divot between Peter’s collar bones, down along rippling six pack abs until he reached his destination – an excited cock pressing against his chin upon arrival. He let the tip of his tongue fall into the crevice of a deep belly button before finally peeking out to lick across the purpling tip of Peter’s already leaking cock. The bitter saltiness of pre-cum made his mouth water, Tony’s lips opening just enough to suck and tongue up the leakage.

Strong fingers found their way into Tony’s hair, Peter’s hips rising in hopes of getting more of his length inside the wet warmth of a talented mouth. Reaching up, Tony gripped Peter’s hand, his fingers signaling the other man to grab on a little tighter. With a sudden burst of energy, Tony opened wide, taking the entire length of Peter’s cock into his mouth, only stopping when the tip hit the back of his throat. After the initial reflex to gag passed, his throat relaxed enough for Tony to comfortably start bobbing his head.

“Fuck, Tony – you always surprise me with that move,” Peter panted out, his fingers loosening and tightening rhythmically in Tony’s hair with every move and bob of his head. “You suck my cock so well, baby.”

As if he were highlighting his words, Peter let his hips come up off the bed, the move pressing his cock even further down Tony’s throat. Giving no sign of resistance, Tony tried to relax further, his hands that were grasping Peter’s hips tightly slipped down until both ass cheeks fit within the palm of his hands – his fingers gripping until Peter caught the drift and started to thrust.

It started out gradually, Peter moving into his mouth with the smallest of thrusts. Tightening his mouth around the rigid length, Tony brought his eyes up, the honey hazel of his stare meeting chocolate brown of Peter’s. The silent conversation that took place spoke volumes, and within minutes, Peter was recklessly pressing his cock in and out of the depth of Tony’s throat – the gags and moans of their push and pull echoing around the otherwise silent room. Hearing it made the heat in Tony’s belly simmer hotter, his cock hard and sticky against his own stomach.

With every intention to get Peter off before the fun really began, Tony redoubled his efforts – the rawness of his throat making it easy to take thrust after thrust. His own hips pressed down against the mattress, the slightest bit of friction just enough to keep Tony from going completely crazy because of the heart rushing arousal continuously pulsing through him. His body felt like it was on fire – the throb and growth of Peter’s cock in his mouth the biggest catalyst to the coursing desire.

By the time Peter’s fingers were tightening in his hair, Tony’s mouth was red and abused, spit dripping down his chin and neck readily – any sort of residual embarrassment gone; Tony’s only thought revolving around making his husband cum as soon as possible. With every second that past, Peter’s huffs of breath got a little quicker, the pitch reaching a new height the closer to orgasm he got.

“Jesus, fuck – I’m going to come, Tony. I can’t – I can’t…” Peter babbled, his hips stuttering in their thrusts, the fingers in Tony’s hair tight, each strand so close to being yanked out by the root. His final gurgle brought a sound from Tony’s chest, the noise spit slick and muddled. With a final thrust, Peter fell apart, his loud shout like the sweetest music.

Letting him settle, Tony kept his mouth around Peter until his husband was pulling away, his spent cock pulsing from the oversensitivity. He shifted away then, Tony sitting up slightly to pull in several deep breaths, his jaw tight and tired from being open and extended for so long. The lactic acid already starting to accumulate there was worth it, Peter’s fucked-out look sending a whole new wave to Tony’s center.

“You should turn over,” Tony mumbled as his hand tapped at Peter’s hip – the man already moving to oblige before all the words were out of his mouth. Peter looked so damn good that way – his weight equally distributed between forearms and knees, pert ass spread and on display. With no hesitation at all, Tony pressed his nose to Peter’s crease, his lungs drawing in a deep breath – the scent and sensation forcing his eyes closed. Here soon, Tony would be buried deep within that delicate heat. His cock would be encased so perfectly, like every inch of Peter was made for him, not just his beautiful brain and intricate personality.

He caught Peter looking back over his shoulder, glazed eyes taking in every one of Tony’s movements. A soft smile graced his lips, the laziness of post-orgasm making him that much more beautiful.

“Hurry, Tones – I can’t wait to feel you inside of me.” Thrusting his hips back, Peter spread his legs a little wider, the soft pink of his hole enticing; the view upping the ante.

Impatient to once again exist within Peter’s tight heat, Tony dragged the bedside table drawer open, his fingers hastily wrapping around the half-used bottle of lube. He settled back between Peter’s legs, the bottle resting against his knee while he used both hands to spread pert cheeks. His tongue darted out, the tip brushing against the furled muscle.

Peter shouted out a moan, the slick heat of Tony’s tongue causing him to press his hips back, the move a desperate attempt to get more of him; tongue, teeth, fingers – whatever Tony wanted to give.

The earlier thought of eating Peter alive came back tenfold, each pass of his tongue bringing the musky taste of his husband’s most private place to the forefront of his attention. It felt good to consume Peter’s very essence. There were so many ways Tony’s couldn’t possess every inch of him that times like this were fucking intoxicating; every inch of Peter’s body called out to him, Tony’s touches an irresistible stimulus that neither wanted to ever give up. If he couldn’t have him all the time, Tony would cherish the hell out of the times he could.

Fumbling blindly for the bottle of lube, Tony lapped at Peter’s hole distractedly, his hands working hard to get the tube open and the slick on his fingers. The lube was cold on his molten skin – runny liquid warming up quickly up contact. It felt absurd to give up his mouth’s position, the tightness of Peter’s hole around his eager tongue delicious but never enough. Yet, the desperate urge to finally be buried inside spurred Tony into action – he shifted slightly then, the tip of his index finger joining Tony’s tongue in deep exploration.

Slowly, like he was trying to remember every ripple and crevice, Tony ran his finger around Peter’s rim, his tongue following in swift pursuit. He did that a couple of times, feeling with a certain kind of awe, as Peter loosen under his ministrations. Little by little, the tip of his finger slipped inside, Tony only stopping when the webbing of his finger hindered his movement.

Intimacy with Peter, despite how many times they came together in that very way, always felt like a brand-new experience. In his rapture, Peter would make a new noise, or tighten in a spot that Tony couldn’t remember being affected by. It shouldn’t have surprised him then, when Peter pressed back into the sensation, the greedy muscle of his ass pulling Tony in further – anatomical limitation be damned. Groaning, Tony finally shifted his face away, his lungs burning from the lack of oxygen consumption – when he was focused on the delicacy that was Peter’s ass, oxygen was the furthest from his mind.

The shift in position gave Tony a little more leverage. Within a few thrusts, Tony found Peter’s prostate, the tip of his finger running teasingly over the spot before withdrawing in hopes of repeating the process all over again. He moved into the teasing rhythm, the flutter of Peter’s hole a few minutes later the only thing reminding him to add another.

Little by little, Tony felt Peter relax around him – his cock was thick and full again, the length hard and dragging against the sheet below them. Each thrust forward or spread of his fingers to the side drew a loud huff from one of them, both men making enough noise to make it hard to decipher where one sound ended and the other began.

Three fingers deep and both reaching incoherency, Peter seemed to be just cognizant enough to push them towards the next step – his hand reached back, gripping on to Tony’s forearm. “That’s enough – I need you in me. I can’t wait, anymore.”

Letting a groan fall from his throat, Tony nodded – the capacity to form words leaving him in an instant. He forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths, his entire body was on fire and every minute shift felt like a sharp tilt to the universe – Tony already so far off his own axis.

Tony sat up on his heels after pulling his fingers from Peter’s heat, his hands shaking slightly as he opened the lube again. He poured the cool slick directly on his cock – the sudden change in stimulus calming him down, bringing him back to Earth’s surface where he could actually focus on finally sliding home.

His hand wrapped around himself, Tony gripping his cock as lightly as he could while spreading the lube around, each touch like a cattle prod to the heat so close to overwhelming him.

“How do you want me?” Tony thought to ask, his hand falling by his side to stop himself from stroking the throbbing length.

Without answering, Peter turned until he was sitting, his hands wrapping around Tony’s chest. In a quick move, Tony was on his back, the wetness of pre-cum and lube collected on the sheets rubbing against his bare skin. The feeling of it made his skin pebble, the rush of arousal getting to be too much.

Peter grinned down at him – his muscled legs bracketed Tony’s hips, a steady hand reaching behind himself to grip Tony tightly. Strong fingers wrapped around his cock, the electric pulse of Peter touching him magnifying the effect of sweet contact to his neglected sex. Another low moan sounded from his chest, the sight of Peter over him and the touch of his husband’s skin driving him up the fucking wall.

“Pete, please – “ Tony started to moan just seconds before Peter gripped him tightly.

Shifting, Peter moved until Tony was lined up perfectly, the loosened heat of Peter’s rim teasing him with little twitches and enticing heat. One small move and Tony would be buried in delicious tightness, Peter’s warm walls welcoming him home like a solider home from battle.

He couldn’t recall who finally made the shift, the initial connection too good to really give two shits about rational thought – all Tony could think about in that moment was the swift slide of his cock into Peter’s depth; the heat and affectionate feeling all consuming. He shouted Peter’s name as they fit together – each inch inside like another step to the most gratuitous pleasure. Gripping Peter’s hips tightly, Tony slammed his eyes shut – his stomach clenching.

“Fuck – don’t move. I-I – I need a minute.” Tony forced a harsh breath from his lungs, the grip of his fingers tightening with every ounce of fight needed to keep from falling over the edge.

Tony tried to keep his breathing level, the heat in his belly cooling down as his heart slowed – though he wasn’t going to last long, he felt in control enough to actually enjoy whatever happened next.

The soft brush of fingers along the length of his face had Tony finally looking up, hazel meeting brown in a soft glance. “You’re beautiful like this. Fighting for control – steps away from your most vulnerable.” Peter started to roll his hips as he spoke, the soft caresses to Tony’s cheek a gorgeous juxtaposition to the delectable grind. “I can’t wait to watch you come undone, Tony. Hear you shout my name and fall apart because of me.”

Tony couldn’t help the slur of fucks dropping from his mouth, Peter in complete control of his pleasure. Wanting to thrust up didn’t matter, not when Peter moved his hips the way he was – each roll and lift calculated – the timing and pressure instigated to tease every ounce of pleasure from Tony that he could.

One particular slam down must’ve felt good – Peter moaned loudly, then doubled his efforts. The slap of skin on skin overtook the entire room; each thrust heard, felt, seen, and remembered – the entire sensory experience latching on to the little shards of control Tony was death-gripping, the small chips turning quickly into large cracks ready to break apart at any minute.

Unable to stop himself any longer, Tony gripped Peter’s hips tighter, his own lifting in time with Peter’s rolling thrusts. Each press up caught Peter’s prostate on the upstroke, Tony completely overwhelmed by the tight squeeze around him as he pulled out, only to wind-up and press back inside impatiently. It was too much – both Peter and Tony babbling mindlessly, the pace now random, completely out of stride to the rhythmic fucking taking place just moments before.

“Cum – please, Pete. I’m so close and want to feel you lose it around me.” Tony was practically begging, his skin gleaming with sweat, the muscles just under the surface burning, exertion and overstimulation a tantalizing pleasure-pain that felt SO good.

The jump over the edge never ceased to be anything short of amazing. Tony felt Peter clamp down around him, his cock pulsing between them untouched – shot after shot of warm, pearly cum landing on Tony’s chest, each pulse like a spot of lightning caressing his skin. The squeeze was too much, all of the stimulus coming together in a glorious culmination of orgasm, and Peter, and heat – a glorious cocktail of little deaths.

When Tony finally came back to, Peter was slumped over on his chest, the evidence of his husband’s orgasm now smeared over Peter’s abs and the hairy expanse of Tony’s belly. The feeling of being marked made the satisfied thrum of happiness in the back of his mind pulse a little harder – his heart beating in time with the contentment coursing through him.

Soft lips pressed against his after a while, Peter’s fingers gripping his cheeks lightly.

“That was amazing.” Peter’s voice was gruff, his throat scratchy from moaning and shouting out his pleasure.

Tony turned his head, leaning his forehead against Peter’s cheek. His own fingers made soft paths up and then back down his husband’s back, the sweaty skin cooling quickly in the aftermath. Soon, they’d need to shift and clean up – the many memories of waking up glued together enough of a reminder that ignoring their mess wasn’t really an option. Until then, he’d soak up the closeness, Peter’s post-sex clinginess one of Tony’s favorite parts of the process.

“You’re amazing,” Tony finally mumbled, the capacity to form sentences and understandable words finally coming back to him. “And that suit, Pete – I’ll have that first look of you in it stuck in my mind for the rest of my days.”

Peter chuckled against his neck, the two of them now separated, Tony lying flat on the bed with his warm bundle of a husband tucked tightly against his side. The bask of afterglow enveloped them both – their jumble of limbs a beautiful thing.

“It had the desired effect, then,” Peter said, his lips moving against their spot on Tony’s neck. “I’m thinking about adopting the look – something new, you know?”

Turning his head, Tony pressed a kiss to Peter’s hair, a soft smile on his face. “I guess I better get used to getting nothing done, then.” He thought about all the distraction coming his way – all the clothes ripping sex they would have. Grin growing, Tony settled further into the mattress, sleepy and content with the newest change of events.

#starker #starkerfestivalsevents #bobbie writes #together we're just better off #Peter Parker/Tony Stark #they take peter's name y'all #i was emotional about that decision

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 3 years

Note

113 with Hiccup and characters of your choice!

THIS TURNED OUT SO LONG! Well, a lot longer than a simple drabble is supposed to be. I might actually end up putting this one on Ao3.

I have not edited this one at all, so it might be really rough. :’D

I hope you enjoy! <3

Prompt 113: “Are you high?”

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"Are you high?" This question is asked by one very angry and very disappointed Stoick Haddock to his son, Hiccup, as they stand in the kitchen of an apartment owned by the Thorstons.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut stand by the door, both silent and their gazes downcast. Though Hiccup is the one most likely to get a lecture, if that is all he'll get, they look as guilty as he does.

Astrid is here, too, but she stands outside of the kitchen. And though she's the one Stoick is probably tge least angry with, she still looks troubled.

She's the reason Stoick is here. After the chain of text messages back and forth with her boyfriend suddenly stopped, she had a troubling hunch and so she'd called his father and told him where to go. Clearly, her hunch was right and she feels terrible for it.

It's not like she wanted to tattle on him, but she couldn't, in good conscience, let him do this to himself.

The saddest part is without a doubt that he's finally back on his feet again.

"Hiccup, I asked you a question." Stoick's rumbling voice is raising and Hiccup shuffles away from him uncomfortably.

"No? I mean, I guess, a little?" He shrugs nervously. Okay, he's been coming down from it. If Astrid and his father had come just a little bit later, they wouldn't have even caught him.

His father's nostrils flare as Hiccup confirming Astrid's fears makes his temper spark. A fist comes down heavily on the kitchen counter and everyone present but Gobber jumps.

"You're 18, Hiccup! 18 and so much smarter than this! Why, in Odin's name, did you think this was a good idea?! Getting high on painkillers how-... You're better than this!" Stoick has always been the kind of parent to maybe raise his voice, but shout and scream, he would never do. That he's yelling now, it's telling of his anger.

"I felt like I had no other choice!" But Hiccup surprises his friends by raising his voice right back at him, not afraid to speak his defense.

Stoick steps back as if taken aback.

"No other- How many times?! How many times have you come here to get high with these two?!" He points an accusatory finger at the twins, who shy away from it.

"Oh, don't act like I do this all the time!" Hiccup shouts, as if he makes a habit of it to disappear for hours without telling anyone where he's going.

Okay, maybe it happens occasionally, but he's rarely alone when he does! He wasn't alone now, was he?!

"How many times, Hiccup?!"

Maybe it's because he's coming down from his high, he honestly doesn't know anything about this, or maybe it's because of his father's accusations, but Hiccup's eyes are wet. He refuses to let them fall in front of him, however, no matter how much the lump in his throat burns.

Is this what his father thinks of him? Does he really think so lowly of him that he catches him redhanded once and immediately assumes this is a regular thing?

Well, if he must know...

"Once. Today. Because I was desperate for a break from my leg." Hiccup's answer is honest and a tear does escape. Because the amount of distrust his own dad apparently has for him hurts and it hurts a lot.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut shuffle uncomfortably on their spot, it was their idea to invite Hiccup over and let him enjoy a slightly higher dosage of his pain medicine. Because Hiccup has been confined to his home for days now, unable to meet with Toothless, barely capable of even leaving his bed without his stump screaming for most of the day. And as Stoick has to leave home for work, it means that Hiccup is often left to fend for himself, left to deal with the pain by himself.

All of their friends know. They've been over many times during these bad bad pain days. They've forced him to accept their help when Hiccup, prideful as he is, would rather suffer than burden anyone with his troubles. They've listened to his frustrations with Stoick as he continuously misunderstands the amount of pain his son faces on days like these

"It better not happen again." After a few beats of silence, that is Stoick's response, spoken in a hard tone. Seemingly not even listening to Hiccup coming clean that he was so desperate to be rid of the hurt that he risked his health and his life by taking a higher dosage.

Turning away from Stoick, Hiccup crosses his arms and once again loses the will to argue with him about that.

Astrid takes a peek inside the kitchen at her boyfriend, having been too uncomfortable to before. She has been just as stubborn. Though she has a better idea than Stoick of Hiccup's plight, their text messages have been mostly consisting of her telling him that he should continue to try to make his dad understand.

And then Hiccup told her of the suggestion the twins have made and she tried and tried to talk him out of it when the messages ended and she knew where her boyfriend must be and what he must be doing.

The saddest part is that his plan obviously worked, he's on his feet again.

"Stoick," Gobber has been silent this entire time, but with a brief reprieve in the argument, he decides to speak up.

"You know that I don't step into your arguments unless I need to and I think I may need to." The man hobbles forward, coming to stand between father and son.

"Gobber, now's not the time." Stoick sighs, the last thing he needs is his old friend butting into matters as serious as this.

"Then when will be the time? When Hiccup solves his leg problem on his own by becoming an addict? I think it might be a little too late by then." But his old friend brings up a good point, as he usually does.

With Stoick's silence remaining, he seems to be waiting on the other to elaborate.

"Now this may come as a bit of a surprise, but I know a thing or two about having a stump." Gobber reminds him, waving his prosthetic arm to bring attention to it.

"And I can tell you that, if our Hiccup here is in as much pain as he says he's in, so much that he would get high just to be rid of it, maybe this isn't normal phantom pain he's dealing with." He continues, wrapping his good arm around the teen to pull him close.

Though Hiccup appreciates his other father-figure coming to his rescue on this, he's not sure how this can be fixed.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Stoick asks.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I usually go to a doctor when I know something is wrong. So I suggest you take this lad to see one and you do it quickly. Preferably before he has to resort to such measures again." Though Gobber must certainly not be okay with what Hiccup has done, he understands his intention, at least. And then he turns to him to address him next.

Ruffnut, Tuffnut, and Astrid remain forgotten in the background as this conversation continues.

"Hiccup, son, I know you well enough to know that you didn't do something as foolish as this without feeling like you absolutely had to. Am I right?" Gobber asks Hiccup, who glances at him momentarily before nodding.

He's still angry, but it lightens just a tad upon hearing him validate his suffering.

"And am I right to guess that you will never do such a thing again if your father finally hears you and helps you get this checked out?" Gobber asks and Hiccup gazes back at him for longer than a mere moment this time.

"Yeah, of course! All I want is for this pain to be dealt with! I want it gone so badly." Dropping his arms, Hiccup pushes himself up from the kitchen counter. They can all hear the desperation in his voice and it must be enough that someone as stubborn as him is willing to take a risk such as this for the sake of pain relief.

Stoick sighs and rubs his forehead.

Okay, so maybe he has judged a little too quickly.

"Fine, I'm calling our doctor tomorrow, maybe he can recommend us someone." He finally, finally, concedes.

"About time." Hiccup mutters, looking away again. Either Stoick hasn't heard him or he chooses to ignore this.

"First things first, we're going home."

"I'm not going home."

Surprised by this, everyone stares at Hiccup.

"I'm going to call Fishlegs, see if he and his parents mind me crashing at his place for the night." It would seem like he has already decided, judging by his tone of voice. He doesn't want to bring the twins any more in trouble than they already are for giving him their space while their mother is out. And Astrid, well...

"I can ask my parents..." She wants to suggest, but her words quickly trail when Hiccup looks away from her.

Though she meant well, he is clearly not happy with her right now.

So Fishlegs it is then.

Stoick would rather take Hiccup back home with him, but it seems like Hiccup's mind is made up and it is probably for the best that he doesn't push him any further.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow." And with those words, Stoick is off. He passes his son, who doesn't even look at him, doesn't even tell him goodbye back, and leaves.

Gobber pats Hiccup's shoulder with a heavy hand.

"I'll talk to you later, okay, lad?" He tells him and Hiccup nods.

"Okay," To him, Hiccup does respond. It would seem like neither Astrid nor Stoick are in Hiccup's good books at the moment.

Gobber leaves with Stoick, the one who has driven him here, and leaves Hiccup with Ruff and Tuff.

Silence returns and it is awkward in the kitchen.

"Hey, uh, you can stay here if you want," Ruffnut suggests.

"Yeah, we have food and Netflix and games. We can ask our mom." Tuff attempts to make the offer better, but Hiccup shakes his head.

"That's very nice of you guys, but you've already done way too much for me. I'm just going to call Fishlegs and see if he or his parents mind." Hiccup tells them as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket.

"Thank you, seriously." He thanks them, coming to stand in front of them.

"Hey, we're always here for you," Ruffnut tells him and captures him in a hug.

"You can count on us for anything, H." Tuffnut joins in and Hiccup returns it, wrapping on arm around each of them.

So maybe neither of the three have made the wisest decision to suggest this plan and then go through with that plan. Hiccup will admit to it later, but for the moment, he's just happy to have the pain in his stump gone for the first time in days.

He pulls away from them, smiling, and then walks out of the kitchen with his eyes on his phone as he searches for Fishlegs in his list of contacts.

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burnt-ghost-toast · 4 years

Text

Hyperion Halloween

Angel & Reader // Handsome Jack x Reader

How trick-or-treating with your husband, Jack, and daughter, Angel aboard Helios would go:

It’s the start of October, during the early construction period of Helios, when you start making plans for Halloween

There are other families on Helios, not many, but enough to spark interest in your idea. You know that a lot of the children on board have never been trick-or-treating before—some due to their home planets making it too dangerous to attempt, others having been too young or their parents too busy to escort them—so this would be a fun, new experience for many, not just Angel.

You know that Angel has never been trick-or-treating since, up until pretty recently, Jack has kept her under lock and key; her Siren powers making her a target and Jack wanting to do everything in his power to keep her out of the public eye

That said, you also know that Angel deserves better than to be locked away in a room with little in the way of entertainment, but every time you tried to talk to Jack about it you lost your courage

The topic of Halloween doesn’t come up until a week after you already received approval for your plans

In preparation for a meeting with your VP, you had spent the day running around Helios prepping the new loader bot prototypes for a demonstration. A couple of parts had gotten misplaced, which was a common occurrence during these early stages of Helios’ construction, and you had found yourself bustling around that big ‘H’ looking for replacement pieces and MacGyvering the rest. Fortunately, the demonstration had gone off without a hitch, and while there were still improvements to be made, your frantic morning activities were finally finished.

You were now splayed out over the sofa with your legs resting in Jack’s lap, focused on the feeling of your husband massaging your sore muscles. While one hand busied itself typing out responses to emails, the other made its way from your calf to your bare thigh, then back down the length of your leg before trailing back up again occasionally—and brazenly—moving higher than your thigh.

While some of this messaging was more for his benefit than yours, you couldn’t say you minded much as his nimble fingers worked out the knots that had formed throughout the day. You melted into his touch and the comfortable silence between you, but it was soon interrupted.

“Hey, honey, why did I get an email from that idiot in your department asking if I wanted to dress up as one of the three Musketeers with him for Halloween?” Jack asked, moving his tablet away from his face so he could direct his attention to you.

You felt yourself flush. Dammit Kylen.

You and Jack argue about whether or not Angel should be allowed to go trick-or-treating with the other kids

“Jack, could we at least talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about? I just don’t think we should be teaching our daughter that it’s okay to take candy from strangers. Not to mention what I’d have to do if any of those idiots saw her tattoos.” Jack spoke, moving back to focus on his typing and assuming the conversation was over.

It was not, and you fought for Angel’s right to live her life. She’d have her whole life to worry about her powers, but these few moments of childlike wonder and excitement were far and few, and she deserved to experience the best of what the world had to offer

Jack reluctantly agrees to you taking Angel trick-or-treating

Jack places a chaste kiss to your cheek, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against your neck.

“Okay,” his breath tickles your skin, “but I think I’m going to sit this one out.” His fingers graze the hem of your Hyperion shorts before making their way back down the muscle, “no offense,” he kisses your neck, “but if Kyle tries to talk to me again,” another kiss, “I’m going to strangle him.” His kisses were more insistent now and you laugh as strands of his hair tickle you.

With your Halloween plans in order, the two of you enjoy each other's company for a bit longer before telling Angel the good news

Angel spends her free time looking up everything there is to know about Halloween

The three of you carve pumpkins together. It becomes Angel’s favorite activity, and, for a child, she’s pretty good at it. Jack, however, is terrible and needs your help more than once to get his carving to look right

Angel starts carving into every fruit, vegetable, and squash she can get her little hands on

“Angel, stop playing with your food.” Jack scolds.

“I’m not playing with it, I’m making a jack-o-lantern!” She exclaims, happily cutting a smile into her apple.

——

“Sweetie, please eat your carrots.”

“But mooom,” she whines, drawing out the o, “I can’t eat Garrett the Carrot Cyclops.”

It’s a time™, but she’s your baby girl, and neither of you can bring yourselves to stop her

Angel decides to dress up as a princess space witch, and no, she can’t settle for “just one.” And aren’t you the one who told her to never settle and that she can do anything she puts her mind to? Or are you a liar, mommy? 👁👄👁

The choice is yours, and your daughter knows how to play her cards, so all hail the princess space witch!

You get her a princess-y witch dress with long sleeves and gloves to hide her tattoos. Underneath her puff skirt she’s wearing striped leggings and the cutest pair of black shoes that can definitely be repurposed for future holiday parties

To top the look off she has a black cape with silver star and moon prints, and you have to admit, this costume is better than anything you did as a child

You go as an astronaut, repurposing an old Hyperion spacesuit, and Angel gives you a tiara so you can be a space queen

Jack decides to go trick-or-treating after seeing all the fun you and Angel have planning

You and Angel had finished putting together your Halloween costumes and were playing in her room when Jack got in. He feels a pang of jealousy at seeing all the fun the two of you are having without him. Angel giggles and ‘cast spells’ on her stuffed animals. After casting a spell to ensure the loyalty of her new subjects, she turns her interest to Jack, who is leaning against the doorframe.

“Bippity boo, I cast a love spell on you!” Angel wiggles her fingers up at her father, retreating to her bed quickly to avoid being in range of the spell.

Jack clutches at his heart letting out a dramatic gasp. “Oh, no! My legs.. can’t... stop them.” His movements are robotic as he pretends to struggle against the love spell, but once you are in his reach, he swiftly throws his arms around your waist and shoulders. Jack covers your face in kisses. Wet, sloppy kisses.

You squirm in his arms, but your bubbling laugher only encourages him to kiss you more.

Once the kisses subside, Angel voices what she’s just noticed, “where’s your costume, daddy?”

And still high off the excitement of having the two of you bright-eyed and smiling at him, because of him, he agrees to go. Why kill the magic?

He’s wearing a cowboy outfit, and pinned to his vest sits a cheap, plastic sheriff’s badge that says ‘space cowboy.’ You don’t really know what that means, but sure! Semi-space themed family!

He looks good in the whole getup… really good 😳

In fact, Jack looks delicious 👀😏 in that cowboy hat and vest, and the smug bastard knows it

Angel loves the look. She's got her space parents from different time periods, a magic wand, and a bag ready to fill up with candy

Plenty of people agree to hand out candy because, despite what some think, not everyone on this space station is a cutthroat dick looking to destroy everyone else

People have decorated their doors and some parents are hosting parties later in the night

Angel is having a blast, and when co-workers seem to be getting too friendly Jack glares at them until they hand your daughter another piece of candy and say goodbye

Kylen bounds over with his son, the two of them dressed as musketeers. It seems they never got that update from Jack -- oops, totally an accident, Kylie Kylen

Kylen thinks nothing of it and, being the extra™ parent he is, hands out a bunch of candy bars and other large treats

The kids go hog. wild.

Kylen won Halloween and Angel goes nuts showing off the amazing treats he gave her

You have her thank him, then do the same

Jack pouts, crossing his arms, “They’re not that good”

A few apartments later, the two of you call it a wrap and take a tired Angel home

After tucking Angel into bed you see Jack on his laptop, glasses slipping down his nose as he busies himself

You sit next to him on the sofa and see that he’s ordering jumbo candy for Angel. Dork.

#fanfic #borderlands holiday bash #borderlands #handsome jack x reader #handsome jack #angel & reader #angel #angel the siren #x reader #happy halloween

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 7

<- Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 ->

Summary: I gave myself a stomach ache writing this one 🙃

2,961 words

Thirty-two days. Nine surgeries. Twenty blood transfusions.

Sometimes it seemed like just yesterday when everything was going right—you and Frederick were so happy together, his books were selling, your career was flourishing, and he had just asked you to marry him. Sometimes, it felt like a lifetime ago. A state of being so foreign, you wondered if it had even been real, or if you were remembering someone else’s life.

Seasons turned. Cherry blossoms were starting to bloom in the parks around Maryland, and each gust of cool wind carried with it their sweet pink fragrance. The spring air vibrated and sang with life renewed. But where you were headed, the air was stagnant, beige, and sterile.

As the automatic sliding glass doors drew you into the hospital, away from the sun, a piece of your heart withered like a flower. It sank deeper when you considered how the unhappy hours you whiled away in those sterile halls were nothing compared to what Frederick had to endure. He didn’t have the luxury of being able to leave.

Physically, he was beginning to show signs of real improvement. The pneumonia had completely cleared up, and he was starting to receive permanent transplants from the cutting-edge, lab-grown skin created from his own cells. Most of his body was still wrapped up in gauze, but a few places had only received second-degree burns, and those patches were almost back to normal. For the first time since the attack, his odds of not dying were higher than his odds of dying.

Mentally was a different story. His moods grew progressively more sour. With none of his true nemeses at hand to take out his bitterness on, that burden fell upon his nurses, doctors, and upon you—and it was beginning to weigh heavily. At first you didn’t want to see the rift that was forming, even as he cut your visiting hours short in an angry huff, and had fewer and fewer kind words for you. You shoved every fear and frustration into a box at the back of your mind so you could keep smiling. He was just in pain, you kept telling yourself. He just needed time.

You held onto the hope that as he got better, your relationship would return to what it had been before. But he was getting better, and the rift grew wider.

“We’ll still want to wait at least six months to do the procedure, until your infection risk has dropped to baseline levels for a healthy adult, but we’re putting you on the transplant waiting list now,” the doctor explained. She was one of his regular surgeons who had been with him since day one. She wore a white lab coat over blue scrubs, and hid behind a clipboard as she spoke. You liked the that she needed to use the file as a shield—it made her relatable. Always friendly, and clearly a skilled surgeon, but uncomfortable with the heavy emotional talking to patients, especially to Dr. Frederick Chilton, who was always in a bad mood, and always ready with a scathing remark.

But today he had nothing to say. No critique on the hospital’s competence. No casual observations with hidden barbs. Just a silent nod of acknowledgment before turning his head to gaze out the window at the fresh spring flowers, framed by the sea of fake ones you had bought.

Francis Dolarhyde, the Red Dragon, had bitten Frederick’s mouth with such extreme ferocity there was not enough connective muscle left to reconstruct new lips from Frederick’s own tissue. The only option for him to look normal again would be a face transplant—donated facial muscle, skin, and hair from a cadaver—although the doctor explained that the procedure was risky. After taking the transplant, Frederick would be put on immunosurpressant drugs for the rest of his life to prevent rejection, which meant every flu season, or even a coworker with a cold, could turn deadly without careful precaution. But to Frederick, it was worth the risk. He couldn’t bear spending his life being stared at. He couldn’t even stand you looking at the black hole that was his face.

Yet what the doctor explained about the procedure added weight after weight to Frederick’s chest until he felt crushed by despair.

The donated tissue had to be a very close match, or his antibodies would reject the new lips. Unlike receiving a heart or a kidney, his new skin had to be an aesthetic match as well. It could not be from too old a donor, or the skin would lack the proper elasticity. And, unfortunately, most organ donors were not comfortable donating external organs—it ruins the open-casket wake.

So, he could be waiting on a match for a very long time.

You thanked the clipboard-wielding doctor when Frederick remained sulking, not bothering to look up as she left. He adjusted himself slightly to follow a flash of movement—a bird—out the window, and winced as it tugged his unyielding scar tissue. Something tore under his armpit, but he didn’t yelp in pain—he was used to this level of it by now—but his eyes watered.

“At least you can sit up a little bit now. That’s great, isn’t it?” you said in an attempt to cheer him up.

He scoffed, and made no immediate reply.

Years, was all he kept thinking. It could take up to three years to find a match, possibly longer, the doctor said.

“Up to three years or longer,” he growled sarcastically. “She does realize that means nothing? It means any time, or never.”

“I know...”

“But thank god at least I can sit,” he spat bitterly. “A little.”

You were taken aback by his sharp rebuke and fell silent, a cavernous gulf between you though you sat right beside his bed. As you recovered from the sting, however, his words made you smile. He had always been churlish, but recently all of the spirit had been eroded away from his petty attitudes, leaving him defeated and mean. It was nice to hear his churlishness take on a spark of sarcastic sass.

“Don’t lose hope, darling,” you said in an overly-sweet patronizing cadence. “One day you’ll have enough movement back to flip her off.”

He paused, eyes flicking over to you curiously. You had been downtrodden for weeks, too, and he hadn’t expected a joke. He chuckled appreciatively. You wished the good moments lasted longer these days.

It wasn’t as though his life had ended, even if his full cosmetic recovery would take a little longer than he hoped, and even if he was bedridden for several more months. It was that sharp mind and wit that made you fall in love with him, and he still had that. He could keep you entertained for hours discussing some arcane piece of trivia or sharing lurid gossip. Since he was cut off from his normal sources of scuttlebutt, you kept him updated on all the latest rumors you’d learned over dinner with Jack Crawford—about the shitstorm he’d brought down on himself at the FBI when Will Graham went rogue, how Alana and her wife fled the country (but you heard they might be in Cuba), Freddie Lounds being sued again. He always enjoyed hearing about other people’s misfortunes, but today it just made him jealous that you’d been spending time with Jack.

“You have both recently lost a spouse. What comfort you must take in each other,” he insinuated.

“I haven’t lost you, Frederick.”

You went into that sentence thinking you were convincing him that you loved him, but as it closed, you realized you were desperate to convince yourself he wasn’t gone. The more you tried to hold him close, the more you felt him pulling away, and felt a creeping dread that even if he got better, you would lose him. Everything you tried to say to reassure him only made him feel worse, and you wondered if it was your fault. Someone more capable, more empathetic, would know the right things to say. You were a failure. He deserved more.

His professional life, too, hadn’t ended. His injury would barely be a bump in the road to his writing career if he wasn’t so stubborn and prideful. The publisher offered to send a ghostwriter to finish The Dragon Slayer, for which they greedily anticipated a significant boost in sales, considering the author’s headline-making personal involvement in the Red Dragon’s end. Frederick, however, refused to be interviewed by “some insipid amateur.” He claimed they would not understand the nuances of psychology required, and stood firm on the grounds of “artistic integrity,” but the truth was, he did not want anybody else to see him.

His face had not made it into the papers, despite several attempts by Freddie Lounds to sneak into the hospital with a hidden camera, and he did not want any more of the world than absolutely necessary to know the extent of what the Dragon had done to him. He did not want to see the shock in the writer’s eyes at seeing his disgusting lipless teeth. He did not want a stranger to see him inevitably start drooling the longer he spoke—and he hated repeating himself to people who could not understand his impaired diction.

No. Publishing The Dragon Slayer would have to wait, though the possibility of another author beating him to the punch bothered him nearly as much as his missing lips. After an entire month recuperating, he thought he would at least be able to type again, but he could barely move his gauze-mittened fingers.

The world had not forgotten him, evidenced by the occasional fan-mail the publisher forwarded to him. You would bring them in and read them—a lot of get-well-soons, and entreaties to hear his side of the Francis Dolarhyde story. A lot of them were from professionals and students in the psychiatric field, pointing out errors or suggesting contradictory theories. Those were the most fun to read, because Frederick would come alive with indignation, debating with the letter as if its sender could hear him, sometimes making you send a response, seething with superiority as he dictated.

In those brief moments, it was like having the old Frederick back. Then a nurse would come in and need to run a test, or feed him, or something else that embarrassed him back into his shell of anger. Or he would grow too animated and rip one of his grafts, and his zeal for argument would end precipitously with a scream, and a surgeon.

As you shuffled a handful of addressed envelopes and started reading through the latest batch of strangers wishing him a healthy recovery, you were struck by a thought.

“Why haven’t I met your family?”

The wind caught in his throat. His scabbed-over nostrils flared before he answered, “I doubt that is what the letter reads.”

“They never visit, even when… even when you could have died. My parents even flew in that first week, when they heard. They helped me with the flowers. Why do your fans send more condolences than your family?”

Gritting ones teeth does not come easily when ones teeth are constantly bared by default, but Frederick grit his teeth. “My mother is old. She can hardly be expected to travel.”

A plausible answer, but not the full story. His discomfort with the subject only spurred your curiosity. All the time you’d been together, you had simply accepted Frederick as an individual, with no need for a childhood backstory or a group of others sharing his features and last name to complete him. You’d gathered, in snippets, that their relationship was not the best, and were satisfied to leave it alone. But he nearly died. The nurse who asked you about his next of kin looked so confused when you had no one you could contact, and it made you feel foolish for never having asked.

“It’s just, we’re going to be married.”

“So?” he said, a hard, mocking edge to his voice.

“So, if I’m going to be part of your family, isn’t it weird that I’ve never met them?”

Instead of answering directly, he snarled, “Look somewhere else.”

“I wasn’t staring!”

“Look. Somewhere. Else.”

You huffed, and sat back in your uncomfortable plastic chair whose unpadded seat bruised your butt after countless hours, crossing your arms. The box full of anger was overstuffed. You shoved its contents down like clothing in a suitcase to squeeze one more sting of hurt inside, but it began to overflow. “I swear I don’t stare at your face any more than I used to,” you muttered aloud what was supposed to remain a thought, “but now every interaction needs to be a carefully calculated balance between not looking at you enough to feel gawked at, and not not-looking enough to make you feel like I’m averting my eyes from your horrible face.” At the word “horrible,” you wiggled your fingers and wavered your voice the way the vampire running a children’s haunted house would say the word “spooky.”

“I am sorry my suffering is so inconvenient for you,” he said in clipped, cold syllables, and you knew you’d pushed him too far.

“I’m just saying, you know I don’t care about your face. You’re acting the same way as when you got shot, and you got over that. You know I still think you’re beautiful. Can’t you give me some credit and just stop freaking out?”

Being stuck in a hospital bed with limited range of motion, he had few resources with which to express anger, but his chest rose and fell and his breath hissed like steam through his nose. “You...” he seethed. “You never care about the pain I suffer, do you? You, in your fantasy world where you accept my injuries and make it all better—you have no idea what it is like to be violated. To have your body ripped apart! It is not a thing one ‘gets over.’ Beautiful? That is rich coming from one who would not know how to tuck in a shirt without my guidance. It must be lovely in whatever quaint children’s storybook your mind inhabits, but in the real world, appearance matters. It matters to me. Your fetish does not stop every sane individual from seeing ugliness. You believe I should be delighted to have a partner who calls ugliness beauty and trivializes my grief? I should have had you analyzed years ago—my judgment was compromised by my relationship with you. I could not see. Your attachment increases with my physical deterioration. You prefer me broken.”

“That… that isn’t true! How dare—”

“You could barely tolerate me before Abel Gideon took my kidney. I was shot in the face and suddenly you professed your love. What shall it be this time? Ah, yes—marriage. You must be elated.” He rolled the words over his tongue in that distinctively upper-class way that was almost musical, yet bone-cuttingly brutal.

“Stop. This had nothing to do with it—you proposed to me!”

His eyes had been flashing with energy behind the bandages as you argued, but all the anger in them vanished like a message written in steam on a bathroom mirror. They took on a dull, blank glaze.

“Then I take it back,” he said. You wished you believed he meant the accusation. His head shifted toward you, but his dull stare seemed to look right through you to the door. “The engagement is over.”

Your throat dried up. “You don’t mean that,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I will not be with one who gains pleasure from my mutilation. Get out of my room. There are some amputees over in the rehabilitation ward; go explore your fetishes elsewhere.”

He couldn’t be serious, and yet there was no hint of sarcasm or hyperbole in his flat tone. He meant it. You were surprised to find that you weren’t sad. Your hands began trembling uncontrollably, the tiny convulsions working their way from your extremities to your shoulders, tightly clenching in your gut, but it wasn’t sadness. The overfilled box tore open at the seams, exploding its pressurized contents, and weeks of frustration shattered against the walls and cascaded out over the floor.

“Fine!” you stood up from the hated plastic chair so sharply it scraped across the laminate floor and tipped over backward. “I can’t put up with a second more of this, anyway! I can’t keep walking on eggshells waiting for you to snap—if this is the way it’s going to be from now on, then marrying you would be a nightmare.”

If you had seen him flinch as if your words had physically wounded him, then you might have stopped shouting. A surge of pity might have overwhelmed you, and you might have broken down sobbing. He might not have been able to go through with it, then. Seeing you blubbering with heavy, hot tears rolling down your face, he might have said he was sorry, like he wished he could have said if only he were not so much like his father.

But you were too angry to look at him, and you didn’t see him flinch.

So a moment later when your back was in the doorway, instead of I’m sorry, he said, “Keep the ring. Sell it, and get a new apartment. Do not come back.”

“Fuck you!”

#Frederick Chilton x reader #frederick chilton #Raúl Esparza #hannibal #angst #my writing #and now as a reward I finally get to read beccabarba's Chilton fic :D

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lemonietrinket · 4 years

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Cosiest Place on Earth ||| Kun x Reader

Summary: Where Kun is relaxing in peace, and a certain someone decides its a prime time to ‘annoy’ him Genres: Sickly sweet fluff, plus some humour Warnings: Tiny bit of scary but it’s not actually anything scary (if that make sense) Word count: 1259 Song: Heart Flutter - W24 AN: an edit of an old piece revamped to—hopefully—a much higher standard. reading the original wasnt.... painful but it wasnt exactly fun either :/ im so sorry guys for subjecting you to my writing back then

gender neutral reader

~~~

The night was oddly still, a starless sky beckoning darkness across the thin face of the moon, an icy wind trickling through the smallest gap in the window behind a set of closed curtains, encouraging them to breathe in the shadows. Despite this, Kun was soaking up the peace.

He loved his groupmates, he really did. They were extremely talented, funny and, on the whole, easy to get along with people. They were annoying sometimes yes, but they mostly did as they were told, and after hearing from other leaders at the award shows, he realised he could have had it a whole lot worse. However, the thing they were best at was reminding him of how precious some true quiet really was.

And so, as soon as they all became preoccupied with some new racing game he hadn’t been paying enough attention to remember the name of, he leapt at the chance. Cut to now, and Kun was curled up in his bed, buried neatly under three blankets to combat the cold that had defeated the radiator. He had shuffled himself into the corner of his bed, as close to the hushed lamp as he could get without the bulb blinding him from the gap in the very top of the shade, and bundled the covers beneath his feet to keep in as much warmth as possible. Book in hand, his eyes trickled across the page, occasionally having to jump back as soon as he caught his thoughts scattering.

He wasn’t used to the silence and it showed. As much as he relished in a small period of it, he couldn’t ignore the gnaw of unprovoked concern. His life and the ones of those around him were so hectic that as soon as that chaos stopped it felt like something had gone wrong.

He had been about to sigh when a creak from the door stopped him mid breath. Leaning to get a clearer look, hands slipping the bookmark between the pages as he went, he felt his eyes widen as an abnormal fear etched itself inside his stomach.

Between the gap approached a figure from the dark. It had pointed head and disproportionately long arms, with strangely hackled shoulders and no face to speak of. It approached so uneasily, and Kun was already glancing at the window so as to be ready if he needed to make an escape, until the creature’s foot reached the light’s boundary.

He recognised that leg.

“Y/N…!” he groaned, flopping back into the cushions behind his back and shoving his book to the side.

You came to a halt proudly in the light, staring at him confusedly from where you’d tightened the hood of your stolen jumper around your face. “What?”

“You scared me, love…!”

“Huh?” You looked down at the layers you had put on to try and fight the cold before turning back to take in just how dark the rest of the room. You couldn’t help but giggle as you continued to make your way to your boyfriend, “Oh, I’m sorry…!”

He scoffed, watching as you came to the side of the bed. “Pssh, no you’re not.”

“I am!” you whined, beginning to clamber across the mattress. Your destination? The cosiest place on earth.

Kun shook his head as he carefully began to lift the blankets up for you to join, chuckling as you finally reached him and immediately burrowed into his side while he tucked the blankets around you. “Cold?”

“Nope, wearing hoodies like this is just part of my new fashion statement,” you sassed, waiting for him to wrap his arm around you before you linked your cold legs with his, much to his dismay.

He yelped at the contact, kicking the blankets around your feet even more. “You are so lucky that I’m such a good boyfriend.”

You just laughed, nestling your nose further into his neck and releasing your hands from your sweater paws. Unfortunately for him they weren’t much warmer, and he practically shrieked as you clutched at his jumped beneath the covers.

“Jesus, Y/N—!”

“Are you though?” you slyly enquired. “A good boyfriend?”

“You think I’m not?”

You hummed. “Well, last time I checked good boyfriends can tell the difference between a cryptid and the best thing that has ever happened to them.”

His laughter was soft and rich, and it thrummed by your ear—immediately coaxing your smile into a full blown grin. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, huh?” he murmured, gentle hand easing your hood open and off to free your hair from its confines, just so he could ease it between his fingertips. “You’d better keep it down when you say that, I don’t think it would end well if the other’s found out.”

You snickered, pressing a chaste kiss to his neck before settling back down again. Kun knew you could hear how his heart skipped a beat at you and how precious you were, and he didn’t care a single bit. Pulling the covers further up so you would be warm enough, he traced his thumb across your temple, smiling as your eyes closed happily. The two of you dipped into a momentary quiet—not an uncommon occurrence between the two of you, as comfortable silence really was its own blessing—but it wasn’t long before you spoke up coyly.

“Kun?”

“Yes, love?”

“Would you still love me if I was a cryptid?”

His love-swarmed gaze didn’t change. “Of course I would,” he said, “but please don’t go out there and get yourself turned into one. And if you are one, well… you better tell me if you are, yeah?”

You chuckled, though he noticed the ease of tiredness in your voice. “I would tell you, baby, and I’m not, I promise.”

“Sounds like something a cryptid would say,” he whispered, smile simpering upon his lips at your sleepy one. You were too adorable for him to fully comprehend in words. “Would you like some music?”

You hummed a no, and so he reached for his book from where he had discarded it by his thigh, careful to not disturb you. “I’ll read again, if that’s ok?”

He had expected a little backlash perhaps, since it would mean you wouldn’t be able to have a hand stroking your arm—the shock, the horror! Kun had to admit, then, that he was surprised when you managed to work up the rest of your energy to ask, “Read to me?”

Opening the book as best he could with one hand and placing the bookmark on the bedside table, his heart swelled at your words.

“Of course,” he replied, planting a kiss to your crown, before he turned back to the paper, words much clearer to him now.

“Hundreds of fireflies drifted over the pool of water held back by the sluice gate, their hot glow reflected in the water like a shower of sparks. I closed my eyes and steeped myself in that long-ago darkness. I heard the wind with unusual clarity. A light breeze swept past me, leaving strangely brilliant trails in the dark. I opened my eyes to find the darkness of the summer night a few degrees deeper than it had been. I twisted open the lid of the jar and took out the firefly...”

With the warmth long seeped throughout your body, cradled in the arms of the man you knew would love you through thick and thin, it wasn’t long before the words dissipated into the air, as his tender voice lulled you into sleep.

~~~

an: book excerpt is in italics and is not mine! its from a book called Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami that i really recommend you read, if you are ok with very strong themes. i studied it for my english literature coursework and i didnt hate it once! even through all that rereading and stuff so.. yeah :))

if you enjoy please leave a comment or reblog with hashtags or drop something in my asks i dont mind sksksk they really help me keep want to write!

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averykedavra · 4 years

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Our Bodies Made of Stardust

(Hey y’all! This is my story for @sleepless-in-starbucks‘s A Meter of Space challenge! Go check them out, they’re wonderful! You can find this story on Ao3 here!)

Summary: Every atom in your body was once inside a star that exploded. Moreover, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than did those in your right hand. We are all, literally, star children, and our bodies made of stardust. -Laurence M. Krauss

When Logan was six, he broke his arm trying to touch the stars. When Logan was eighteen, he finally did.

This is the story of the time in between.

Ships: platonic or romantic Logince, can be read as either

Warnings: kind of spoilers for the newest episode? Maybe? Crying, discussions of insecurities and self-esteem issues, anxiety, divorce, some mentions of death and murder in a very joking fashion, injury and broken bones, falling from a large height, sympathetic Remus and Deceit although they’re not there for very long.

Word count: 10488

Logan broke his arm when he was six years old. He’d just received his first globe, discovered the joys of subtraction, and firmly believed that Santa Claus was real but just sent all the presents through the mail instead of by reindeer. Reindeers couldn’t fly, everyone knew that. They didn’t have wings or rockets or anything. And Santa wouldn’t want to travel in a sleigh all night, either. It would get cold! He should use a car like Logan’s family, or maybe a bicycle.

Logan had seen a movie where a bicycle flew. He tried to make his own bicycle fly but it only fell over and broke on the end. He probably had the wrong kind. When he asked his parents for a flying bicycle, they did the little laugh-look at each other and didn’t give him one.

The laugh-look came when Logan asked why countries existed or why dogs didn’t have to attend school or why the color orange was orange but the color purple wasn’t grape. It was a glance between his mom and dad, usually accompanied by stifled chuckles or a “You’ll understand when you’re older.” Logan quickly tired of the laugh-look, so he learned to keep his questions to himself.

He wrote them down in a notebook with a cartoon dog on the front. It used to be Patton’s, but Patton let him have it when he asked. Patton didn’t have questions like Logan did. Logan had almost a hundred questions in the notebook. He’d counted one afternoon. Counting was one of his favorite things to do.

Once he wrote a question, he would let it sit for a while and see if anyone would write the answer. If no one did, and no one usually did, he would try to answer the question himself. This involved lots of humming, tilting the notebook around to see the question from different angles, and occasionally, an experiment.

Most questions didn’t merit experiments. Logan figured them out on their own or they turned out boring. Only a few questions bothered him so much that he decided to answer them by any means necessary.

On this particular night, he wanted to know if he could touch the stars.

Logan knew stars came out at night. He knew they twinkled. He didn’t know what twinkling was, but it was in the song, so it must be true.

His mom showed him the stars once, after a long boring party full of big cotton-covered people that smelled like old cheese. He was exhausted when they arrived home. It was way past bedtime. But he remembered his mom holding him up as they walked to the house and tilting his head to the sky.

“Look,” she’d said. “The stars are out.”

There had to be at least five. No, ten. Everywhere Logan looked, he saw more. They covered the sky like splashes of paint or Patton’s freckles or holes in a piece of paper. They felt very far away and close enough to touch.

He’d reached out his fingers to see if he could touch them, could feel them between his fingers and understand what they really were. Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are. But his fingers only met crisp, starless air.

He needed to go higher.

That’s what Logan figured out one day in the middle of kindergarten class. If he wanted to touch the stars, he needed to climb up to the sky and reach them.

The highest thing around was the big tree in Logan’s backyard. It had a lot of branches and a large trunk and a little treehouse his dad made especially for him. Logan kept lots of books in there. He spent many afternoons curled up in his favorite onesie, reading.

Logan could easily climb to the treehouse and see if he could touch some stars. He wasn’t allowed to be outside at night, but it was okay because this was an experiment. Experiments were learning, and learning was important. Logan’s kindergarten teacher said he should always be learning. He liked his parents, but his teacher was smart and wore big dangly glasses and sometimes gave them jam tarts. So he decided to follow her rules instead.

It was really late when he snuck out. His mom and dad were watching grownup stuff on TV so he walked out the back door. The backyard was dark like someone put sunglasses over the world. Logan touched his face to make sure he hadn’t put on sunglasses accidentally. He was, thankfully, sunglasses-free. Taking very careful steps so he wouldn’t kick a rock or a night animal, Logan shuffled across the grass to the tree.

He couldn’t see the ladder very much, so it took him a few tries to grab it. The rope dug into his hands as he scaled the trunk and pulled himself through the hole in the treehouse floor. He had left a flashlight in the treehouse just in case, but it could scare the stars away. They might think it was the sun and leave early. In the dark, Logan scooted to the treehouse window and leaned outside.

He was so high up. The usual view of his house and the driveway and the neighbors’ pool was covered in black. Some houses down the road had their lights on. He tried to pick out Patton’s house, but all he could see were little window squares floating in the air.

Logan looked up and saw the stars.

They were even better up here—spattered and splattered and straight from Logan’s books. Big ones, small ones, close together and far apart.

Carefully, so he wouldn’t frighten them, Logan reached a hand as high as he could.

His fingers met nothing.

He stretched further. He leaned out on his tippy-toes and tried to scrape the sky. Nothing sparked. Nothing became solid and heavy in his hand. The stars remained resolutely out of reach.

Logan could have decided they didn’t want him to touch them. He could have climbed back down the tree and went back to bed and gone to sleep. But he wasn’t tired at all! And he wanted to touch them. He wanted to climb into the middle of the stars and let them swim around him like a river. He wanted to have them on every side, flipping like fish, drifting like bubbles, fizzing like fireworks, breathless and weightless and perfect.

He could climb just a little higher.

The window ledge was firm beneath Logan’s feet. He pulled himself upright and shuffled along, holding tight to the treehouse roof. He placed a sneaker on a nearby branch and began to climb.

Logan’s eyes were on the stars, shining behind the branches, just out of reach.

His eyes should have been on his feet.

Or perhaps the ground, more than twenty feet away.

The roof slipped from his fingers. His sneakers lost their grip. And Logan woke up on the ground.

His arm burned. His eyes were filled with tears he didn’t remember crying. It hurt. Did he touch a star after all? Did it bite him, burn him, hurt him? That wasn’t very nice. It hurt so much. He tried to move, but he couldn’t. He didn’t think he had a body anymore. Why did everything hurt?

Someone was yelling. Was it Logan? No, it was his parents, who were running outside. They were checking him over, bundling him up, he was crying and couldn’t stop, he couldn’t remember why he was crying, he couldn’t remember where he was or why it hurt so much, his arm was on fire, why wouldn’t they make it stop—

Logan got a blue cast on his arm, after his parents drove him to the hospital in the backseat of their car. It felt heavy and chalky. He didn’t like it, especially when he learned it was his good arm. He couldn’t write any more questions until it stopped burning. Logan cried again when he heard that.

“You can get your friends to write their names on it,” his dad suggested. But he only had Patton.

On the way home, his parents asked over and over why he did that. Logan didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t explain the lure of the stars that still sparkled outside the car window as they drove down empty streets. He was tired and sore and wanted to go home and sleep.

His last thought was wondering whether he did really touch a star. He didn’t remember falling…maybe…

Logan wished he could remember what the star felt like.

The car rounded a bend, and Logan was fast asleep, cheek pressed to the window. The stars lit his way home, and for that night and many afterwards, they filled his dreams.

----o----

Logan was eleven years old when he made his second real friend.

He didn’t mean for it to happen. In fact, it was the last thing on his mind. The only thing he cared about was that he couldn’t go stargazing.

This was the clearest night all week. He’d checked the weather maps and confirmed the overcast skies of the past weeks would finally disappear. He could spend the night in the backyard, stargazing.

But of course Patton invited him to a sleepover that night, and Logan couldn’t say no because Patton seemed so excited about the idea. He gushed about it for days. It didn’t even sound that bad. Patton promised to have lots of jam tarts and popcorn and a few terrible movies Logan could make fun of. Roman was coming too, and Logan didn’t like him much, but Janus was coming too and Janus was at least interesting to talk to. He did swear a lot, though.

Still. Stars.

Eventually, Logan devised a plan. He knew Patton’s house like his own. Once everyone was asleep, he could sneak out and catch a glimpse of the stars.

The flaw in that plan was that Patton and the others would not fall asleep.

Their conversation wasn’t even important—it was an extended debate about the merits of different Disney movies. By ten o’clock, Logan was irritated. By eleven, he was annoyed. By midnight, he was seriously considering suffocating the three of them to make them stop talking. Every time Logan thought the conversation had finally died, someone would ask “Who else is awake?” and the process would begin again. Honestly. Sleepovers weren’t called ‘talk-overs’, were they?

Finally, as the clock neared one, the living room fell silent. Patton snored softly in his blue puppy-patterned sleeping back. Janus snored less softly, splayed on a pile of sofa cushions. Roman was across the room from Logan. All he could see was a red lump and two socks.

Carefully, Logan shifted his blanket off and rolled to the edge of his air mattress. Every move caused a creaking, rushing noise as air left the mattress. Logan wished he hadn’t won the Rock Paper Scissors tournament for the mattress. Fortunately, nobody seemed to stir.

Putting on his glasses, Logan got to his feet and tiptoed down the hall. Patton’s moms were upstairs and all the lights were off, leaving the house a maze of dark hallways and sharp bends. But Logan remembered the route well. One window carefully opened, a few jumps and handholds, and Logan was balanced on the roof.

Patton showed him the way up maybe three years ago. Logan had never been a fan of high places and didn’t want to get hurt, but over time, he grew more confident. It was high up, sure, but the edge only sloped at a forty-five degree angle and friction kept him from slipping.

Logan sat on the side of the roof, placed his hands on the shingles, and leaned back so his weight fell on the roof behind him. His legs curled up to his chest.

The stars were beautiful. Barely a hint of blue was left in the sky, leaving only smoky darkness and the stars crossing it in familiar patterns. The moon hung in the east, a few wayward trees etched below it. Silhouettes of houses ringed the horizon, along with streetlights and headlights and city lights and nightlights. They were stronger than the stars by far, and if Logan made the mistake of glancing at them, he would have to wait for his eyes to adjust again. Still, it was fun watching stars fade back into view, one and two and more and more. The sky teemed with them, almost shivering, all the stars Logan could not quite make out shifting like mirages. A whole universe, beyond his eyes and his reach.

“Didn’t take you for the climbing type.”

Logan inhaled sharply. Balanced on the roof behind him, wearing red and white pajamas and a serious bedhead, was Roman.

“What are you doing here?” Logan growled. He felt exposed, caught staring up at the sky in a Sherlock t-shirt and pajama pants.

“Followed you,” Roman said with a yawn. “Can I sit next to you?”

His eyes were curious, but Logan spotted no trace of judgement. Perhaps he was too sleepy to make fun. Logan shrugged. “I suppose, if you wish.”

Roman beamed and walked over. Two or three times he wobbled, waving his arms to maintain balance, and Logan wanted to reach out and steady him. He stopped himself. Roman was a jerk! A chowderhead! Someone who thought Star Wars was better than Star Trek! He was not to be trusted, even if he did look different in pajamas and messy hair and a strangely sincere smile.

Roman sat down next to Logan. There was a good amount of space between them, but Logan was used to an empty roof and an empty sky. The freedom of open air was different with someone next to him.

“Go on,” Roman said. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

If he didn’t want to interrupt, he wouldn’t have walked out here. Logan didn’t say that. Instead, he pointedly ignored Roman and stared at the sky again. The stars glimmered, magnificent celestial bodies of gas and fire, but Logan couldn’t focus. Roman was too close, too warm, too alive, blinding him to the stars even more than the streetlights.

He was humming, too. When You Wish Upon a Star. Very funny. Logan pressed his knees closer to his heart and tried to tune Roman out.

He’d almost managed when:

“Why did you sneak out?”

Logan sighed. Maybe if he ignored the question, Roman would leave him alone.

Roman did not take the hint. He kept staring at Logan, waiting for him to respond. Getting no answer, he began to prod.

“Specs? M.C. Escher? White and Nerdy? Rankenstein?”

“What?” Logan snapped.

“I’m just curious!” Roman said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’s, like, really late, and you were the one complaining that we all needed to get to bed or we’d be super tired in the morning. So.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have to explain anything to you, Roman. Please leave me alone.”

“Sorry,” Roman mumbled. “Like I said. I’m just curious.”

Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or the softness in Roman’s voice, or Logan’s understanding of being so curious you couldn’t help it.

But something made him sigh, adjust his glasses, and say “It is a clear night and I wanted to observe the stars.”

Roman didn’t laugh, just tilted his head and asked “Why?”

“I think you’ll find my statement is self-explanatory,” Logan said stiffly.

“No, why go through all this trouble?” Roman leaned forward, elbows on his knees. ”Can’t you see the stars another night?”

Logan thought through his words before speaking. “It hasn’t been this clear for a while,” he said. “Due to light pollution, I can’t usually see as many stars as I would like.” Logan leaned back and rested his head on the shingles. Lying there, all he could see were stars. He still felt Roman’s presence acutely, but it was a little easier to get lost.

“You love stars, huh?”

“Yes,” Logan admitted. “I find them…satisfactory.”

“Why?” Roman asked again.

Logan tried his best to glare at him. Roman seemed to get the message, because he immediately backtracked. “I mean, that’s cool! Stars are really neat. I’m just—I’m curious why you like them so much.”

The magic words again. “I’m curious.” Roman asked a question and Logan could provide an answer. Did Roman know the effect of that statement, or was he oblivious to it? Knowing Roman’s figurative track record with intelligence, Logan believed it was most likely the latter. Nevertheless, it worked.

“I don’t know exactly,” Logan began. “I’ve always found them fascinating, ever since I was young. They appear small in the night sky, but in reality they are many times the size of our planet. Some of them are billions of light-years away from us. Some are white dwarfs or red dwarfs, and sometimes they explode as supernovas and their remains form new stars out of the stardust. Sometimes they collapse into blackholes.”

Logan was getting excited now. He only talked about space with Patton, who was nice but didn’t really get it.

“…and the stars have planets circling them, and they form galaxies and supergalaxies and clusters. We don’t know how many stars are in the universe, because the universe is huge and always growing. They’re above everything, on an entirely different scale than us. Everything on Earth doesn’t matter to them. You could get lost in the universe and never find your way back. A star could suck you in and burn you up without noticing. Stars are massive and important and wonderful. But we only see them as tiny pinpricks on Earth.”

Logan swallowed. On any other night he would stop there, but sleep deprivation and the crispness of the night air in his lungs kept him going.

“I want to be an astronomer one day. Maybe even an astronaut. I want to travel up there until I’m surrounded by stars. I want to…I want to touch them. Swim in them. That’s illogical and impossible, but it’s what I want.” Logan bit his lip. “It’s foolish, I know. Stars are just balls of gas. I don’t know why I feel so strongly about them.”

Roman was silent for a few seconds.

“I think I get it,” he finally said. “It’s like how I feel about stories. I love telling them, writing them, reading them…it’s my passion. Stars are your passion. It makes sense.”

“Huh.” The beginning of a smile formed on Logan’s face. “Thank you, Roman.”

“No problem, Rocketman.”

Logan looked up at the stars again. Infinite, ever-changing, dancing around each other to a tune only they could hear.

Roman was humming again. See the Light from Tangled. Logan smiled wider.

“There are stories about stars,” Logan murmured. “Constellations, they’re called.”

Roman smiled. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me one.” Roman shifted closer. “Please?”

Logan looked at Roman. The stars were reflected in his eyes. His smile was brighter than a supernova. He drowned out every star in the sky, because stars were cold and distant and Roman was right here.

Roman was a planet, Logan decided, revolving around the same Sun. Maybe his orbit was different than Logan’s, and maybe he was a little big and bright and full of hot air. But he was another person. Another planet. Another—another friend.

Maybe. Just maybe.

“There was hero,” Logan said, “and his name was Perseus…”

----o----

Logan was fourteen and spending his first two weeks away from home.

He’d never went to summer camps, preferring time to himself in the school-free months. He found himself loathe to part with his many books, his microscope, his charts of the Periodic Table, or even the obnoxiously high-pitched bird that woke him up every morning. It reminded of a friend Logan would not name whose name began with an R and ended with OMAN.

That was irrelevant.

The point of the matter was that home had always been safe. So every time Roman invited him to the yearly beach trip, Logan politely declined.

This year, however, he had just graduated middle school and hadn’t gotten into the science program he wanted for high school, and he’d discovered that boys were supposed to kiss girls now but he couldn’t really imagine wanting to kiss anyone, especially not girls, and his parents’ frequent “discussions” they had when they thought Logan couldn’t hear were getting louder and uglier.

When Roman extended the invitation again—a formality at this point, since he always refused—Logan surprised everyone, including himself, by saying “That sounds interesting. If you don’t mind, I will come with you.”

Nobody asked why he’d suddenly changed his mind about beach trips. Virgil did give Logan a look, but Logan knew Virgil wouldn’t tell. In fact, he hadn’t changed his mind at all. The ocean terrified him ever since he read an article about how much of the seafloor remained unexplored. As for sand, Logan’s opinions matched Anakin Skywalker’s. Sand was course, rough, irritating, and it got everywhere. But his parents were all those things and passive aggressive. It was a lesser of two evils.

Despite the location being the hellscape known as a beach, Logan found himself counting down the days. He packed his suitcase twice, making sure he had extra books to keep him entertained if his companions or the evil beach grew too tiresome. When the day finally arrived, he loaded his bags into Roman’s station wagon and they drove towards the shore.

It was simultaneously the best and worst vacation Logan had ever had.

Everything smelled like fish and salt. He got sand in unmentionable places. He broke his glasses playing ping-pong against Virgil and had to tape them up. Roman called him Harry Potter for a week after that. He also got a nasty sunburn, Janus was stung by a jellyfish, and Remus replaced every toothpaste in the hotel rooms with shaving cream. Patton ran after a stray dog, got lost, and ended up at an ice cream parlor. Sometimes Logan would be woken at six o’clock in the morning by the cawing of seagulls, the pounding of the surf, and Roman singing In the Heights at the top of his lungs.

But there was Patton. Virgil. Roman. Janus. Even Remus, in his own way. Patton made them pancakes every morning and lemonade every afternoon. Virgil cleaned the rooms and kept their beds made. Roman and Remus staged karaoke nights where even Logan ended up singing, although if confronted, he would deny it. Janus calmed Virgil down after he broke Patton’s phone case. They were strange, silly, and sometimes their edges grated on each other. But they fit like pieces of the same puzzle.

Logan was so lucky to have them.

He told them so, stretched on a rainbow towel, watching Roman and Remus build a sandcastle with five turrets and a moat. It was a lazy, sunbaked afternoon, and Logan was too languid to worry about sharing his feelings. It seemed to go over well, anyway. Virgil smirked fondly as only he could, Janus rolled his eyes, Remus jovially flipped Logan off, and Patton practically squealed.

“You’re cool too,” Roman called, sand on his nose. “And just remember you wouldn’t even know Virgil or Remus if it weren’t for me.”

“I wouldn’t know any of you if it weren’t for Patton,” Logan fired back.

“I deserve some of the credit.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Logan chucked a pile of sand at him and returned to reading ‘The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.’

Things were peaceful. Even the arguments, which Logan admitted he participated in a fair amount of, were playful and easily resolved and nothing like the fighting he heard at home.

On those nights, when the yelling shook the floorboards, he just looked at the stars and imagined flying far away from planet Earth on a comet. He could find a new planet and make a new city of just him and his friends. Every day could be like the beach vacation, minus all the sand and Roman’s poor overworked dad who’d given up shepherding them by day three.

But that was just a foolish dream, and it, like the vacation, couldn’t last forever.

Logan found the end of the trip growing steadily nearer. Everyone packed their suitcases, Remus and Janus had an argument over whose sock was whose, and Patton found a baseball cap that seemed to belong to none of them. It was left dangling from the hotel chandelier in the lobby.

The night before they left, Logan couldn’t sleep.

As far as he could tell, there wasn’t a concrete cause of his insomnia. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to wake up and have to go home.

After a few hours of tossing and turning, Logan crept out of bed to get a glass of milk from the refrigerator. Across the room, Virgil was still awake, but was staring at his phone and barely acknowledged Logan as he walked past.

Logan was sipping his milk, leaning against the counter, and contemplating the merits of diving into the sea and becoming a mermaid, when he heard footsteps.

Roman staggered through the doorway, rubbing his eyes and yawning. It took him a second to notice Logan.

“Oh! Hey!” Roman smiled, already looking more awake. “Lo! Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” Logan agreed.

“Well, you wanna join me?” Roman slid on his shoes and pulled a red letterman’s jacket over his pajamas. His t-shirt read ‘Fairest of Them All’ and his pajama pants were hot pink. Together with the jacket, Roman’s tousled hair, and his neon sneakers with no socks, it was a very interesting look.

“I’m going for a walk on the beach,” Roman explained, taking Logan’s glass of milk from his hand and downing half of it. “I can’t sleep, so why not?”

Logan frowned. “If you can’t sleep, you shouldn’t be engaging in more activity. You should do something relaxing that requires little cognition, like—”

“But I wanna.” Roman pouted. “Whatever. It’s your loss anyway if you don’t wanna come. It’ll be awesome. And it’s our last chance to do it until next summer.”

“No.” Logan finished his milk and placed the glass on the counter. “You may do as you like, but I will not participate. Good night, Roman.”

Roman’s smile grew mischievous. “But the stars are really clear tonight.”

“That won’t work,” Logan said, but already he was picturing a clear sky over the ocean. He hadn’t stargazed since before the trip, it couldn’t hurt—

“C’mon,” Roman pleaded. “You know you want to.”

Logan held out for a second longer before sighing in defeat.

“Where’s my jacket?”

The stars were spectacular. This far from most buildings, the light pollution was less of an issue and more stars popped into view than Logan had ever seen. They covered the sky, filling every inch of it, so many that he couldn’t pick out his usual constellations. What he could see was a thicker band of stars in the middle. An arm of the Milky Way Galaxy.

The waves curled against the beach, pounding rhythmically and tossing white foam into the air. The bubbles glowed with dim phosphorescence. A few sandpipers skittered along the edge, dabbing into the skeins of shallow water that blossomed in the wake of the waves. Other than them, it was just Roman, Logan, the sand, the sea, and the sky.

Roman grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him towards the waves.

“My shoes will get wet,” Logan complained.

“So?”

Logan huffed but allowed himself to be dragged into the ocean. Waves lapped at his ankles, sand skidding and sinking under the influence of the tides. Roman stared out at the ocean. Logan stared up at the sky. Neither could find the spot where the two met—one became the other somewhere distant, far out to sea.

Roman sighed. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Me neither.”

The low glow of phosphorescence danced over Roman’s face. “Do you know why I couldn’t sleep?”

Logan watched him for a second. “No.”

“I just couldn’t stop thinking.”

Roman ran a hand through his hair. After another pause, Logan asked, “About what?”

“Life. Stuff. I don’t know.” Roman waved a hand at the water, as if the answer lay in the waves. “We’re going to high school soon.”

Logan suddenly realized this conversation was becoming About Emotions. Normally, he would back out or dial Patton. But he was standing in the ocean, a million stars surrounding him, more awake than he’d ever been.

“We are,” he agreed. “How do you feel about that?”

Roman bit his lip. After a few seconds, he burst out, “I’m scared.”

“Scared about what?”

“Everything. Nothing. I don’t know!” Roman sighed in exasperation. “I just…everything’s changing now. Virgil’s going to art school, Remus is trying an alternative school, I’ve been auditioning at theaters around town, and I don’t want us to drift apart, y’know? We’re…” Roman swallowed. “I don’t know what I’d be without you guys.”

“You would still be Roman,” Logan said. “Whether or not our friend group stays together—and I am inclined to believe it shall—you would still accomplish great things and continue to be yourself.”

Roman shrugged. “Would I, though?”

Logan shivered as a wave soaked his socks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m not….” Roman’s face screwed up. “I’m not…like you guys.”

Logan kept his voice measured. “How so?”

“You’re all…wonderful, and smart, and talented, and kind, and I’m…”

“All those things and more.”

“Yeah,” Roman said unconvincingly.

Logan watched the waves fall, in and out, up and down.

“How else do you feel?” he asked.

“Like, right now?”

“About high school. About yourself.” Logan, after a moment of hesitation, reached out and touched Roman lightly on the back. “About everything.”

Roman laughed. “You sure you want to open that can of worms?”

Logan just nodded.

Roman took a deep breath and let it out.

“Sometimes,” Roman mumbled, “sometimes I just feel like I’m invisible. Like I’m helpless. Falling into a black hole with no way out. I’ve got a future I don’t understand, grades that are mediocre at best, and friends I’m terrified will leave me at a moment’s notice. I’m just—” Roman spread his hands out and tried to laugh. “Yeah. I guess. It’s—it’s kind of stupid.”

Logan shook his head. “It’s not stupid.”

Roman let out a breath.

This was not Logan’s area of expertise. He was not well-suited to comforting people like Patton or being quietly supportive like Virgil or even cutting to the heart of the matter like Janus. He did not know how to make Roman feel better.

So he started with what he knew.

“Black holes are created when a star collapses in on itself,” Logan began. “There are estimated to be at least several thousand, one in the center of our own galaxy. They are holes in spacetime itself. Nothing can escape their extreme gravitational pull. Certainly not a human.”

Roman chuckled softly. “That supposed to make me feel better, Specs?”

Logan swallowed. Maybe this was a mistake, but there was no going back. “Black holes have been photographed only once by humans. For a long time, their existence was only speculated at. Light is sucked into it and disappears. It is, to the human eye, invisible.”

Roman shifted under Logan’s hand.

“Although they are invisible, they are massively important.” Logan looked up at the stars once more. “Their gravitational fields keep galaxies together. They alter the paths of stars. They’re like glue that binds the universe together. They shape the form and layout of every portion of the sky. Without them…” Logan raised a hand to the sky. “The entire universe would fall apart.”

Roman’s eyes were wide and glassy.

“I…” Logan tugged at his sleeve, flushing. “I apologize, I am not good with these situations—”

“Logan,” Roman breathed. A smile grew on his face. “That was…you were perfect. That was perfect.” He placed a hand over Logan’s. “Thank you.”

Logan smiled back. “That is what friends do, correct? Help each other?”

Roman beamed. “Absolutely correct, you Iron Giant Nerd.”

“How dare you.”

“Insulting things is how I show my love.” Roman frowned slightly. “Hey, Specs?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you never come on vacation with us before?” Roman shifted, glancing away. “I always thought you…didn’t like us or something. Didn’t like me.”

“Oh!” Logan shook his head. “No, I just don’t like sand.”

“You don’t like—”

“Sand.” Logan nodded. “It’s coarse and rough and irritating, and it gets everywhere.”

Roman, to Logan’s satisfaction, burst out laughing.

----o----

It was Logan’s sixteenth birthday. He was sitting on a slightly damp bench in the park, counting the cars that passed. Four minivans, seven pickup trucks, and three red cars—although one might have been brown, it was hard to tell in the dark. Logan spotted a “punch buggy” and instinctively winced, but Roman or Remus didn’t punch him. They couldn’t. They had no idea where he was.

Logan shivered, pulling his coat tighter around him. Winter’s approach already showed in the thinning foliage and crisper winds, and the sign advertising pumpkin spice lattes across the street. The café’s door was open and inviting, but Logan possessed no money for a drink and he doubted the owners would take kindly to a loiterer.

His phone vibrated for perhaps the fiftieth time that night. Logan pulled it out—there were a few new texts added to the unbroken wall from Patton and Roman. Virgil and Janus had sent far fewer messages, but the concern was palpable.

As Logan watched, several more texts slid onto the screen. They were looking for him, apparently. Of course they were. His brief text of “I’m fine” twenty minutes ago seemed not to have sufficed.

Logan sighed. He didn’t want to worry them. They were only confused and concerned, and although they could technically be blamed for the situation, Logan knew they had only acted out of the goodness of their hearts. A surprise party was a sweet idea. Virgil had loved his. It wasn’t their fault that Logan wasn’t in the mood.

However, every time Logan thought of returning to explain the situation, or even sending another text, his windpipe choked up and he had to take deep breaths and tap rhythms on the bench until he steadied.

It was a cold night, an ugly night, a dark and lonely night. It was the worst birthday Logan had ever had, and at his eighth birthday party someone threw up on the cake.

Logan put his phone away and rubbed his hands together. A shame he hadn’t thought to grab some gloves on the way out.

He was contemplating entering the café across the street—even if they kicked him out, a moment of warmth would be wonderful—when he heard his name.

At first, Logan thought he imagined it. It was a distant yell. But he heard it again and again. Someone was calling for him, and based off the increase in volume, they were getting closer.

As discreetly as possible, Logan glanced around to find the source.

“Logan!”

Oh.

Oh, Newton, why did it have to be him?

Roman was walking down the street, hands cupped around his mouth.

“Logan!”

Logan let loose several choice swear words. Could he hide in time? Movement would just alert Roman to his presence.

Before Logan could cover himself in leaves and pretend to be a misshapen, foulmouthed bush, Roman stopped walking.

Maybe he got something stuck in his shoe, Logan thought desperately. He couldn’t see in the dark to confirm whether Roman had actually seen him. Maybe he hadn’t.

“Logan?”

Logan deployed several more swear words.

“Hey!” Roman waved, running across the street. Logan opened his mouth to lecture him for jaywalking, but he couldn’t form the words. His hands tapped at the bench, not in a relaxing 4-7-8 rhythm but a scattered jazz percussion. He probably looked terrible. He had been crying, after all. Had he cried? He didn’t remember. The trip from Patton’s house to the park bench was a blur. Perhaps he had jaywalked just like Roman.

Roman was walking up to him now, looking absurdly relieved. Logan clenched his fists and took a few deep breaths. The bundle of nerves in his stomach didn’t settle.

“Lo?”

It took Logan two tries to speak. His voice was raspy. “Yeah?”

“Can I sit next to you?”

Logan shrugged, staring at his knees. In the corner of his eye he saw Roman sit down, keeping several inches between them. Logan appreciated that.

“Are you okay?” Roman asked. His voice was quiet, like Logan was a rabbit he was afraid to frighten. Logan did not appreciate that. “Are you hurt? Cold?”

“I’m not hurt,” Logan said. “I am a little cold.”

If Roman noticed Logan’s dodging of the first question, he didn’t comment.

“Can I touch you?” he asked instead.

Logan thought about it and shook his head.

“Okay. That’s okay. Thanks for telling me.” Roman took out his phone. “I’m going to tell Patton I found you—”

“Don’t,” Logan croaked, hating how upset he sounded. “Don’t call Patton.”

“Lo…” Roman looked confused, but the softness didn’t go away. “He’s really worried. We all are. Pat and Virge are at Pat’s house, and Jan and Rem are looking around the city. I need to tell them you’re okay.”

“I know.” Logan shook his head. “Just…a few minutes. Please?”

Roman watched him and slowly put his phone away.

“Thank you,” Logan whispered.

“No problem, Specs.” Roman leaned back on the bench, tucking his hands behind his head, staring at the iron-dark clouds. “You wanna talk about it?”

Logan rubbed at his jeans. “Not really, no.”

“Fair,” Roman agreed. “Do you want me to talk?”

“Do what you like.”

“Cool.” Roman nodded. “Cool. Um…did you know that wombats poop squares?”

Logan couldn’t help but give him an incredulous look.

“Sorry. Remus is rubbing off on me.” Roman sighed, eyes still trained on the sky. “Hey, there’s a star out.”

Out of habit, Logan looked up. “N-no there isn’t.”

“Look.” Roman pointed at a spot on the horizon. “Star.”

“Th-that’s a planet.” Logan swallowed. His voice was already growing stronger. “Venus, I think.”

“Oh.” Roman’s face fell.

“There won’t be any stars tonight,” Logan mumbled. “It’s too cloudy. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, you don’t control the weather. And I bet there’s at least one!” Roman scanned the sky and pointed. “There!”

Logan looked. “Roman, that’s moving.”

“So…?”

“It’s a satellite.”

“Hmph.” Roman pouted. “What about that?”

“Airplane.”

“That?”

“Another airplane.”

“That?”

Logan squinted. “That is a patch of empty sky. I do not see what you see.”

Roman squealed loudly. “There! I found one!”

Logan peered between the clouds. A small pinpoint of light greeted him. It didn’t move, blink, or fade away.

“Fine.” Logan rolled his eyes. “There is one star.”

“There sure is!” Roman clapped his hands. “Now we make a wish, right?”

“Wishing on a star is a preposterous and pointless venture,” Logan snapped. “You cannot affect the course of events by simply ‘wishing.’ Anyway, it would be more logical to wish on a multitude of stars instead of the presence of a singular star, since the former is more rare. This is just…” Logan waved a hand. “A stupid empty sky.”

Roman didn’t respond. Logan folded his arms and returned to staring a figurative hole in his jeans.

“But they’re still there, right?”

Logan blinked. “What?”

“The stars.” Roman’s tongue poked out of his mouth, like it always did when he was concentrating. “You told me that. The stars are there no matter if we see them or not. They’re omnipresent. Behind those clouds is the whole flipping universe. Right?”

Logan nodded slowly.

“So the sky isn’t empty!” Roman smiled triumphantly. “And when you see one star, you know there are trillions out of sight. They’re never gone, just out of reach.”

Logan chuckled softly. “Mary Poppins Returns?”

“I changed a few words! And it’s a good sentiment!”

Logan huffed and rolled his eyes. “Prep.”

“Nerd.”

The smile on Logan’s face quickly faltered. Roman had made him laugh, yes. But the sick, seething mass in his stomach refused to go away. Already anger rose like bile in his throat. If Roman didn’t leave soon, Logan would snap at him again, and he refused to hurt his best friend.

Roman’s face darkened with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Logan curled his shoulders inward. “I apologize for ruining your party. It was a kind gesture.”

“It’s alright, Lo.” Roman’s voice was soft again. “Nobody’s mad. We’re just worried about you. It was out-of-character for you to just run off like that. I just…” He sighed. “We want to know why you’re upset. Did we overstep a boundary? I know our dear Puffball can be a bit exuberant at times, and I know I’m also overwhelming in large quantities, so—”

“No!” Logan shook his head. “No, none of you did anything wrong. Please don’t—no.”

Roman still looked sheepish. Or was he concerned? Affectionate? Logan’s limited skills in parsing human emotions were almost nil due to the late hour and the stress of the previous incident. The ugliness climbed up his throat, ready to lash out, to strike at Roman who just wanted to help. Who hunted him down because he cared about him. Because he was worried.

Because they were friends.

Logan looked up at the sky, at the star that looked like it was alone, but it wasn’t.

“My parents finalized their divorce two weeks ago.”

Roman exhaled sharply. “I—didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell anyone, so that makes sense.” Logan kept watching the star as he continued. It was easier to talk to the universe than Roman. “I can’t say I didn’t see it coming, and I do wholeheartedly believe my parents will be better off separated. However, I will miss my father, as he is moving to another state and will be less present in my life than before. I shall also miss…the possibility of convincing myself that their relationship could be repaired. Or that they would choose to attempt that.”

Logan pressed his lips together to stop the tears. “Due to the circumstances, I did not feel up for celebration, so I did not have a birthday party. It would have felt…odd…celebrating at such a time, especially when I find myself unable to enjoy the frivolities of such an experience.” Logan ran a hand over his face. “It doesn’t feel like my birthday at all.”

“And we sprung a party on you anyway,” Roman finished, eyes wide. “You must have felt so pressured—Lo, I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not your fault.” Logan scrubbed at his eyes, but the burning sensation didn’t recede. “I was not in a good position emotionally. I overreacted.”

“Still.” Roman sighed and gave Logan a half-smile. “Thanks for telling me. I appreciate it.”

“It was no trouble,” Logan said. “Actually…it feels rather relieving to talk about the situation.” Indeed, it was like a weight had been lifted from his stomach. The nauseating hurt was still there, but lesser, kept in check. Acknowledging it had somehow robbed it of its power.

“Talking to people helps. Who’d have thought.” Roman laughed and gently shoved Logan’s shoulder. “I’m always here to listen, okay?”

“Okay.” Logan took a deep breath and steadied himself. “Um…you can call Patton now.”

“You sure?”

“I—” Logan nodded. “Yes. I still don’t feel like a party, but we could watch a movie. It would be a shame to waste all those snacks.”

“What movie?” asked Roman.

“Big Hero Six, what else?” Logan bit his lip. “And…maybe Frozen? I know it’s your favorite. Think of it as…a thank you.”

Roman gave him a smile brighter than the Milky Way and dialed Patton’s number.

----o----

Logan was eighteen years old and under heavy assault from the devious creatures known as mosquitoes.

He wanted to single-handedly eviscerate every one of the nasty blood-sucking insects. He understood the natural balance all ecosystems maintained and the importance of every animal within it. But were mosquitoes really necessary? Did the environment really benefit from the presence of blood-thirsty vampiric six-legged suckers that attacked Logan’s exposed skin like the Catholic Church attacking the scientific notion that the Earth revolved around the Sun?

If mosquitoes hadn’t existed, the vacation might have been perfect. If blisters didn’t exist, it would definitely be perfect.

As things were, it was still the best vacation of Logan’s life.

They were all eighteen. Logan had graduated top of class. Janus was second. Roman and the others had just graduated.

Logan had gotten into his first choice college and planned to major in astronomy and minor in chemical engineering. Roman was headed to theatre school and Virgil had decided to take a gap year and go backpacking in Switzerland “’cause why not.” Patton was studying vet care at a community college, and Janus had somehow landed a spot on a prestigious abroad program. He vehemently denied all accusations of cheating, blackmail, or using connections with the “Intellectual Mafia I know there is one, stop laughing.” And Remus, to everyone’s surprise, turned out to have a stable income in freelance writing, art commissions, and a semi-popular YouTube channel. He had already bought an apartment and planned to work from home.

In a few short weeks, they would go their separate ways. So in addition to the annual beach trip, they organized an early-August camping expedition. Pitching a few tents on their campsite, they hiked and explored the surrounding terrain with no adult supervision.

“Technically, we’re all adults,” Logan pointed out.

“Mentally? No. Emotionally? Also no.”

“Janus, I swear to Brendan Urie I will feed you to the first bear we see.”

Fortunately for Janus, on the first day, they did not see a bear. They saw three caterpillars, one deceased, and a newt. They also discovered some strange spotted mushrooms that Logan dissuaded Remus from eating, and a large raccoon hole that Janus tried to push Virgil into, saying that “you belong with your kind.” Virgil got his revenge by shoving Janus into the lake near their campsite. That backfired, since the water turned out to be lovely and they all ended up wading.

That first night, they started a fire and lay around it, roasting marshmallows and exchanging ridiculous ghost stories. As the night wore on, the fire died, sparks spitting into the sky and embers fading. Nobody wanted to return to the tents yet, so Patton dragged out the sleeping bags and they lay outside. It was quiet, save for the humming of crickets, the rustling of leaves, and the occasional yelp when a mosquito struck.

Finally the fire was out. The last of the smoke curled into the sky.

Logan shifted on his pillow and watched the woods around him. The trees framed an open spot of sky above the clearing. As his eyes adjusted from the blinding glare of the fire, he saw them. And he was powerless to stop the huge smile that spread over his face.

Stars. More stars than he had ever witnessed. There was more space with stars than without them. They splashed across the sky, white and milky and glowing, a thick band clearly denoting the Milky Way. They looked almost like clouds, if Logan didn’t look closely, masses of bright pinpricks. It was impossible to focus on just one. The sky was full, huge, and deep.

Logan felt he was drowning in space, the ground falling away from him. He felt he might lift off and float into the vast sky until the stars were all he could see.

Logan carefully gripped a handful of grass. He didn’t want to float away. He would rather stay on Earth, with his friends and a dying campfire.

“Are you guys seeing this?” Roman whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Yep!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like I could miss it.”

“Logan?” Roman teased. “Did you die of shock?”

Logan tried to wrench himself from his bottomless state. All he could manage was a breathy, “Stars.”

“Yeah.” Roman laughed. “Bet you’re enjoying them more than all of us combined.”

Logan flushed. “I—I just find them fascinating.”

“Oh, you still like stars?” Patton asked. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course he does.” Janus' eye roll was audible. “It’s not like he’s an astronomy major or anything.”

“He’s got stars on his ceiling,” Remus added sleepily.

Logan flushed deeper. “I—I put those there when I was little!”

“They’re…like, correct down to the centimeter.”

“I appreciate scientific accuracy!”

“How do you know they’re correct?” Virgil asked suspiciously. “Come to think of it, how do you know he has stars on his ceiling?”

“Reasons.”

They fell silent. Remus began to snore loudly. Roman shifted around a few times and whispered “Logan?”

“Yes, Roman?”

Roman paused. “Tell a story.”

“A ghost story?”

“No, a star story.”

Logan bit his lip. “A star story?”

“What’s a star story?” Patton asked.

“Stories about constellations.” Roman chuckled. “Logan used to tell them all the time when we were younger. He was obsessed with them.”

Virgil snickered, and Logan’s face burned. He hadn’t told a constellation myth for years. Why would Roman bring them up now?

“Tell us a story!” Patton pleaded. “Lo, please, that sounds so cool!”

Logan frowned and rolled over so he was facing away from them. “I don’t tell those stories anymore, they’re too childish.”

“Childish?” Roman sputtered.

“Yes. Goodnight.”

“Specs,” Roman whispered.

Logan ignored him.

“Spock. Hugo Cabret. Be More Ill.”

Logan pulled his sleeping bag tighter around him. “Logan.” Roman sighed. “Please? I—I liked them. A lot.”

“Tell them yourself, then.”

“That’s not the same,” Roman protested. “You get all excited about it! And you pretend you’re not excited, but I can see you smiling, and it’s really sweet!”

Logan flipped Roman off.

“Hey!”

“Kiddo, watch your language,” Patton warned. “And Roman, if Lo doesn’t want to, you can’t make him.”

Roman huffed. “Fine. I’ll tell them myself. Whatever.”

“Go ahead, kiddo!”

“Alright.” Roman sighed. “So there’s this guy, right? His father is the sea god, Pluto, or whatever, and his mom is Medea.”

Logan clenched his jaw. He knew that Roman knew the actual myth. Roman was trying to bait him. Well, it wouldn’t work.

“And this guy’s name was Bellor-phon. He fought in the Trojan War as a kid but after he was kidnapped by a king, he got attacked by a manticore…”

Logan tried to cover his ears. Roman’s tone was lilting and teasing and itched at Logan’s cheeks.

“…So Hermes gave him a waterproof umbrella and some sweet shades, and he flew off to get the head of Cassiopeia—”

“Medusa,” Logan muttered.

“Hmm?” Roman’s voice oozed triumph. “What was that, Specs?”

Logan sighed and rolled back over. There was nothing for it now. “Perseus went to find the severed head of Medusa. Cassiopeia is the name of his mother-and-law.”

“Oh really?” Roman asked dramatically. “Well, shucks, I didn’t realize! Guess I’ll, I don’t know, need some help telling the story.”

“If you’re going to theater school,” Janus pointed out, “shouldn’t you be better at acting?”

Virgil snorted.

Roman, for once, ignored the slight. “Lo? Please? Tell the story? Please? They’re the best!”

“Fine,” Logan grumbled. “Let’s just get this over with.”

But despite himself, hearing Roman’s cheer as he settled in to tell the story, Logan smiled. It was alright. He was hidden by the darkness. Roman wouldn’t realize how much it meant to Logan to hear those compliments, to learn that Roman still remembered and liked his stories, years later.

“There was a woman, and her name was Medusa…”

----o----

Logan was eighteen and lost.

In fairness, Roman swore that they weren’t actually lost. But Logan had only his word for it, since the trail and surrounding woods were completely surrounded in night. Roman held the only flashlight, its beam lighting up desaturated corners of the landscape. Logan followed close behind, stumbling over roots and resisting the urge to grab Roman’s hand to make sure he wasn’t left behind.

“Only a little further!” Roman assured him for the third time.

Logan would have snapped back, but a stick cracked somewhere in the distance, and his voice died. He wished he hadn’t left his flashlight at the campsite. He wished he hadn’t let Roman take him hiking on the last night of the trip. Any animal, bird, beast or bear could be inches from Logan’s nose and he wouldn’t know. Logan shuddered and sped up until he was almost tripping over Roman’s heels.

“Almost there,” Roman said.

“Shh!”

“What, am I ruining the sanctity and serenity of the night hike?” Roman laughed. “I thought you were the one who said this was stupid.”

“I said it was illogical, and I stand by that.” Logan tripped over yet another root. “I do not understand why you insisted on this. Why not bring Remus or Janus? They seem more inclined to dangerous, pointless midnight hikes.”

“You’ll see,” Roman said in an infuriatingly sing-song voice. “And it’s not dangerous.”

“Lower your voice,” Logan hissed.

“Why?”

“Bears.”

“If there are any bears, the guide said to make loud noises and scare them off.”

“I would much rather avoid all possible attention from things that might eat us.”

“You’re starting to sound like Virgil.” Roman steadied Logan as his foot slipped on a dip in the path. “No harm will come to you, Nerdy Wolverine. On my honor.”

Despite knowing that Roman couldn’t ensure such a promise, and that harm had already come to Logan in the form of several stubbed toes, Logan stayed silent. He was still unconvinced that bears were not lurking in the near vicinity.

But Roman did stay quiet after that, save for a few more “Almost there”s. Logan could hear the forest now, rustling and crackling. He could smell the rich earth and taste the languid humidity curling in the warm August air. He felt simultaneously marooned in a wild wood and stuck in a small space, accompanied by only his feet, Roman, and the flashlight bouncing merrily along. Logan tried to catch a glimpse of the stars, but the moment he took his eyes off the path, he almost stumbled into a ravine.

Then Roman’s flashlight illuminated something other than rocks and bushes. The path widened in front of them, sloping down to a grassy area. Beyond that was water, ink-black and glassy.

“The lake?” Logan asked.

“Yep!” Roman made some expansive gesture that Logan couldn’t see, which sent the flashlight beam careening wildly over the grass. “Welcome!”

“Why the lake?” Logan eyed it warily. “Are you going to drown me?”

“Of course not!” Roman exclaimed. “This is not a murder mission.”

“Come to think of it, you did lure me away from the group, at night, with no means of contacting them—”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Roman insisted. “You couldn’t help me with my homework if you died.”

“Roman, we’re going to different colleges.”

“So?”

“Roman, you’re studying acting.”

“They have a language requirement! I have to take a Spanish course and I will be asking for verb conjugations at three in the morning.”

“Roman, you’ve spoken Spanish since age four.”

“I’m still gonna.” Roman’s voice softened. “’Cause I want an excuse to text you.”

Logan smiled. “You could have just asked. You don’t have to think of an excuse.”

Logan couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Roman smile back.

“So what are we doing here?” Logan finally asked. “It’s a lovely view, though granted, I can barely see any of it.”

What he could see was the texture. There was no color, no light, but the different strokes of black betrayed the outline of the lake. Scrubby, slapdash shadows for the trees, smooth watercolors formed the lake, but the sky was one massive stroke with no variations. Logan could spot a few stars, but the flashlight blocked him from seeing any more.

“Why, haven’t you figured it out?” Roman stuck his flashlight under his chin, forming craggy shadows around his eyes and nose. “We’re here to investigate the legendary, fearsome lake monster! Several years ago, a young boy disappeared in the lake on this date exactly—”

Logan just stared at him. Roman sighed and dropped the act and the flashlight, sending the beam skittering across the lake. “You’re no fun. Take off your shoes.”

Logan spluttered. “What? Why?”

Roman pulled off his own shoes and tossed them on the grass. “You don’t want them to get wet, do you?”

“Get wet?” Logan repeated. “What in the name of Aristotle are we doing?”

“We’re wading,” said Roman as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“In the lake?”

“Well, what else would we be wading in?”

Logan felt he had missed some crucial information that would help this conversation make an iota of sense. “And why, exactly, are we going wading at midnight?”

Roman looked into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“No, not in the slightest!”

“Well then.” Roman shrugged. “Too bad, ‘cause you’re gonna have to.”

Logan folded his arms.

“We’re not leaving until you take off your shoes.” Roman folded his arms too. “Let’s go.”

“I could leave without you,” Logan suggested.

Roman pointed to the flashlight in his hand. “No, you couldn’t. Shoes off.”

Sighing loudly, Logan untied his shoes and took off his socks. The grass was soft under his feet, blades tickling between his toes.

“Come on!” Roman grabbed his hand and pulled him down to the lake. Logan stumbled after him. The water hit his ankles, cold and clear. Mud squelched beneath his feet as they came to a stop roughly two feet from the shore.

Roman turned the flashlight off. “Look at me.”

Logan did.

Roman was barely visible, but as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see the sweep of Roman’s hair and the arch of his nose. His mouth was set in a fond, teasing, expectant grin.

“Don’t move, Logan.”

Logan didn’t.

They were still holding hands. Logan’s feet were cold, but his cheeks and hand and chest were on fire.

“Now.” Roman smiled wider. “Look up.”

Logan did.

It was the stars again. They exploded into sight, bursting through the sky, dipping in waves to scrape against the tallest trees before soaring up in clusters and bands and constellations. They seemed to cover more area than the sky, bleeding into the surrounding forest and the lake.

As the water stilled, Logan realized why.

He could see the stars’ reflections.

A mirror image of the stars filled the lake, pinpoints strewn about. Only a few small ripples disturbed the surface, so Logan could pick out constellations. Then he looked at the sky again and there were more stars, new ones glimmering into view every second, and they couldn’t all reach the lake but the ones that did surrounded him, water full of stardust, lapping at his legs, gently splashing the shore.

In the distance the lake and sky met, stars touching stars, with no join line. One bled into another, a continuation of the same universe.

“You’re going to be an astronomer,” Roman whispered next to him. “You’re going to see the stars for yourself one day. Send probes up there and look around and see them. But that’ll take a while, and I thought for now, you could settle for this.” Roman squeezed Logan’s hand. “I remember you wanted to touch the stars, when you were little. You wanted to—”

“—to have them surround me,” Logan finished, voice weak with awe. “You did that. You made that happen.”

“So…” Hesitance crept into Roman’s voice. “You like it?”

Logan turned to face him, even though his eyes were wide and glassy and he was beaming. “Roman,” he breathed. “I can touch them. They’re everywhere, Ro.”

“Yeah, Specs.” Roman smiled. “Yeah.”

Logan reached down and skimmed the water with his hands. The stars wavered beneath his palms, but he could touch them.

So that’s what they felt like. Cold water and silvery droplets and the space between the lake and the sky. Cold and clear and crisp. He could feel them. He could touch them. They surrounded him on all sides, a river. He swam in stars.

“I—”

Logan straightened, leaned forward, and hugged Roman as tightly as he could. Roman froze with surprise but soon hugged him back. Logan’s vision blurred and he realized tears were slipping down his face and splashing into the lake to join the stars.

“I’ll miss you,” Logan choked out. He’d wanted to say ‘I love you’ or ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Thank you’ or a million other things. But from the way Roman squeezed him tighter, he knew Roman understood.

“I’m not that far away,” Roman promised. “I’ll see the same stars and everything.”

Logan smiled, resting his head on Roman’s shoulder, watching the stars spin. “Roman—thank you.”

“Thank you,” Roman countered.

“I’m sorry for—” Logan sighed softly. “All the arguing.”

“I’m sorry too.” Roman chuckled. “Though it was pretty fun.”

“It was.” Logan closed his eyes. “I—I love you,” he finally managed to say.

“Oh,” Roman said softly.

“Was that okay?” Logan flushed. “I apologize if I misread the situation—”

“No, no.” Roman brushed Logan’s hair off his forehead. “I love you too, Specs.”

“Oh.” Logan somehow smiled wider. “Good.”

“Fantastic.”

They stood there for a long time, arms wrapped around each other, their warmth countering the chill of the lake, tasting every inch of the moment and enjoying every last drop of stardust. Tomorrow they would drive back home in a station wagon filled with their best friends, and have to part ways. In a month they would be in their own colleges, with new roommates and new classes and new lives. They would text. They would call. They would send each other pictures at three in the morning, hair mussed and smiling. And when Logan felt lonely, he would look at the sky.

Roman wasn’t a planet, he’d figured out. He was a star. He had to be.

And Logan knew some stars came in pairs. They circled around each other at the center of their system, weaving in and out, keeping the other in place. Some were so close they appeared to be one star in the night sky. But they didn’t crash into each other, didn’t burn out, didn’t move away. They stayed in their own perfect rhythm.

They had different orbits, but they were in the same system. The same galaxy. They danced together in the universe. They stood together in a lake in the mountains on a small planet called Earth.

Above and around them, the stars shone on.

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