#more or less quarter baked thoughts. I’ll need to come back to it when I get a few seconds free time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

serenailith · 1 year

Text

i’m lying just to keep you here

for @dreamlingbingo

Square: c1, loud sex Rating: e Word Count: 6108 Ship(s): dream of the endless/hob gadling Warnings: none Additional Tags: alternate universe - human, alternate universe - university, friends to lovers, though they take the long way ‘round because they’re kinda idiots, heartbreak, anal sex, squint-and-you-miss-it semi-public sex, blowjobs, not actually unrequited love, requited unrequited love, fake/pretend relationship Summary:

It is less Hob convincing Morpheus that this was a good idea and more Morpheus's inability to say 'no' to Hob. Of course, life has a way of making sure that bites Morpheus in the arse.

Link: on ao3 masterlist

“Please pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Morpheus blinks stupidly for a moment then cocks his head. Hob stands before him with a pleading look on his face. Morpheus opens his mouth to respond, closes it, then tries again.

“Why would you need me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

“My parents are coming to visit this weekend. I lied to them, saying I had a boyfriend just so they’d stop pestering me about dating someone. And Valentine’s Day is in a few weeks, so I know they’ll be worse if they knew the truth.”

“Your entire family knows we’re only friends.”

“Ah, but the best relationships begin with friendships.”

“Hob…”

“Please, Morpheus. I promise it’ll be the only time I ask this of you.” Hob clasps his hands in front of his chest beseechingly. “Please.”

Morpheus sighs and avoids Hob’s gaze. They’re friends—best friends, and have been since they were twelve—but this is a lot to ask of him. Hob can’t know how monumental this request is. But… Hob has always been there for Morpheus. There’s never been a time that he’s turned Morpheus away. The least Morpheus can do is help him this once.

“No cute nicknames for each other,” he warns. “They are nauseating.”

Hob chuckles and sticks out a hand. “Okay, deal. But, er, what about honey-butt?”

Morpheus snorts then dissolves into laughter. “Call me that,” he says once he’s calmed, “and your parents finding out we are not actually dating will be the least of your worries.”

“I’ll find something,” Hob promises with an appraising look.

Morpheus has no doubts about that. Hob is nothing if not imaginative, hopeful, and stubborn. Hob squeezes Morpheus’s hand before turning, calling out a goodbye as he sprints away. Morpheus watches him go then closes his door.

Maybe this won’t be so bad, a voice in the back of his mind says, and he scoffs. It’s going to be just as bad as he fears. There’s no way around that fact. He’ll end up looking foolish. But just think, you can pretend it’s real.

And that’s what will hurt the most.

True to Hob’s word, he arrives outside Morpheus’s room bright and early Saturday morning, parents in tow. Robert Sr. claps a hand to Morpheus’s shoulder, despite knowing full well that Morpheus doesn’t like being touched, while Elizabeth beams brightly and passes over a small box. Inside, Morpheus knows, are baked goods he will eat a quarter of before Hob takes the rest. He sets the box on his desk then turns back to his best friend’s parents.

Elizabeth tuts quietly and brushes a piece of lint from her son’s shoulder. Her hazel eyes pin Morpheus in place when she looks at him once more. “Morpheus, dear, tell us the truth. Are you really dating Robbie?”

Hob rolls his eyes before shooting Morpheus a Look. One that says Please for the love of all that’s holy, go along with this, or I might just lose my mind. Morpheus bites back a smile and nods.

“I am.”

“When did this happen?” she asks, frowning—Morpheus can see the disappointment in her eye. He only hopes she approves of the ‘relationship’. It would make life difficult if Elizabeth Gadling supported the friendship but not Hob and Morpheus dating.

Why is he even entertaining these thoughts? They aren’t dating. Morpheus knows this. He needs to remember it, or things are going to get uncomfortable.

“It wasn’t too long ago, Mum,” says Hob with a grimace. “It just… happened. Now can we go get breakfast?”

Morpheus takes pity on his friend, crossing his arms over his chest. Hunching in on himself, he weaves a tale of how he and Hob had been studying one night when Hob had looked at Morpheus and asked if he’d want to go out to dinner. Of course Morpheus had hesitated: What if it ruined the friendship? But Hob had been so adamant about nothing changing, not really: “All that will be different,” Morpheus claims he said, “is I get to kiss you whenever I want.”

“How sweet,” Elizabeth gushes before she allows her son to usher the group from Morpheus’s room.

Breakfast is a boisterous affair. Hob chats with his parents about his schooling, about how things are at home. Elizabeth carefully avoids asking Morpheus about his family, everyone but his older sister. Thana is never a sore subject, and he will talk about her as often as anyone will allow.

Morpheus barely manages to not jolt in surprise when a warm hand wraps around his; he glances at Hob from the corner of his eye, but Hob doesn’t look back. Instead, he continues eating with one hand and chatting as if there is nothing unusual about holding his best friend’s hand in front of his parents.

Thankfully, none of the Gadlings expect Morpheus to stay with them all day. He makes an excuse to leave, apologising for the mountain of schoolwork he has yet to do. He’s just turned to walk away when Hob pulls him back; Morpheus stares blankly when lips brush against his. Hob grins and releases him.

“I’ll come by when it’s dinner.”

“O—okay.”

Morpheus walks away awkwardly. His mouth burns with the gentle pressure of Hob’s kiss, and his skin prickles with the ghost of Hob’s touch. I am in trouble. He waits until he gets back to his room before closing the door, leaning against the wood, and letting out a heavy sigh. He truly is in trouble. So much trouble.

This was such an awful idea. He should never have gone along with Hob’s half-baked plan.

Morpheus can admit, only in the deepest stretch of night, that he has been in love with Hob since they were fourteen and he was clambering through Hob’s window after yet another disastrous dinner at home. Hob had always vowed to pull Morpheus away from the home life he was subjected to. Morpheus had always wanted Hob to do exactly that.

It was a dream never to come to fruition. Hob would never rescue Morpheus, but uni would. Morpheus struck out on his own—or, rather, not on his own but with Hob. They had no classes together, and they didn’t share a room. But they always made time for a weekly lunch, and more often than not, Hob could be found sat at the desk, head pillowed on his arms as he slept off hours of studying.

It was no wonder, really, that Morpheus would develop feelings for Hob. He had been a constant in Morpheus’s life for too long. Morpheus will never act on them, not honestly. This facade is as close as he will ever get to knowing Hob’s affection.

Hob’s parents leave shortly before sundown, and Hob slumps as soon as their car is out of sight.

“You’ve no idea how you’ve saved me, mate.”

Morpheus shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets. “You have done enough for me over the years.”

“Film marathon?”

Morpheus only nods. His skin already prickles with the imagined heat of Hob’s body so near as they sit on the bed, side-by-side with their arms pressed together, as Morpheus’s laptop plays whatever film Hob has chosen.

He never lets Morpheus choose, not since he put on a documentary about galaxies. Hob had fallen asleep with his head on Morpheus’s shoulder and his hand on Morpheus’s thigh. Morpheus, for his part, had stayed as still as possible for as long as possible if only to enjoy what would never truly be his.

Lucienne stares at Morpheus the next morning over the table in the dining hall. “You’re bothered by something.”

“I am fine,” he protests.

He doesn’t know why he’s lying to her. She is as close to him as Hob is. In different ways, of course. Lucienne knows of his love for Hob, the dreams he has of one day Hob knowing and loving him back. She knows things that Morpheus could never tell Hob if he doesn’t want to ruin their friendship.

“It has to do with Hob, doesn’t it?”

“Luce—”

“Morpheus… What did you do this time?”

Morpheus opens his mouth to argue, but there’s no point. So he admits to the scheme and how it’s already hurting to pretend something he’s wanted for so long. Lucienne sets her spoon down and reaches across the table to hold his hand.

“You are one of my dearest friends, you know this, right?” At his nod, she squeezes his hand and frowns. “I say this with love: This is perhaps the stupidest thing you have ever done.”

“I don’t think—”

“I do. I absolutely do believe you are an utter fool for going along with this. It is breaking your heart, despite your saying otherwise.”

“Hob would never hurt me.”

“Hob doesn’t know he’s doing it, does he? He thinks this is a way of placating his family, but he doesn’t know you wish it was real. But he is absolutely hurting you.” She sighs and pushes her glasses up her nose. “I think you should put an end to this before you get hurt beyond repair.”

“I will follow through on my promise,” he all but growls as he yanks his hand away.

“I’m sorry, Morpheus, but… I can’t watch you destroy yourself just to make him happy. When will you ever put yourself first?”

She rises to her feet and strides away without waiting for an answer. Morpheus lays his spoon flat on the table, burying his face in his hands, and draws in a shaky breath. Lucienne has never walked away from him. Not like this. Not with such disappointment and disapproval in her eyes. She has always understood, even when she scolded him for being a pushover when it came to Hob.

Thankfully, Hob has decided that their charade should continue on campus though his family is nowhere near. “Easier to stay in character whenever they come around,” he says as he hefts his bag further onto his shoulder, “if we’re never really out.”

In character. Right. Morpheus wishes he could stop forgetting it’s just a game of make-believe.

So Morpheus does his damnedest to not preen whenever Hob holds his hand or presses a warm kiss to his cheek or pulls him in for an embrace that lasts a beat too long to be platonic. There is no stopping the skip of his heart and the fire in his blood with each touch, and he can’t control his dreams of which Hob has taken control. What were once idle musings, innocent ‘what ifs’, have now become things of want. Morpheus always wakes himself, but just once, he aches to allow himself to dream of what being with Hob might feel like.

“So where’s Lucienne been?” Hob asks as he drives them back to the house he rents with three classmates.

“We are… at odds with one another,” Morpheus admits, his heart sinking in his chest at the reminder.

It’s been nearly a week since she walked away from Morpheus that morning, and there’s been no contact since. She doesn’t even look in his direction anymore.

“Thought you two were close?”

“The same could be said about us.”

Hob huffs out a laugh and glances at Morpheus. “Trying to say you and I could be on the outs just as easily?”

No, never. I love you too much. “I have my doubts.”

Every light in the house is on by the time Hob parks, and people spill out through the front door, milling around in the freezing late-January air. Hob shakes his head with a snort of amusement, then he and Morpheus exit the car. They shove their way through the partygoers until they’re in the warmth of inside. Hob gestures toward the kitchen, disappearing when Morpheus nods an acknowledgement. He weaves around clusters of fellow students dancing, gyrating and bouncing on the balls of their feet; liquid sloshes from cups held in aloft, and Morpheus doesn’t manage to dodge a splash in time. The whisky drips down his right arm, and the young woman squeaks out an apology.

He ignores her and finds a place off to the side to stand. Hob will find him in this crowd. Hob always does.

“I just… I don’t get it,” Marcus slurs almost two hours later, waving his cup of beer around. “Hobsie has never dated anyone since unie started, and now he’s dating you?”

John snorts and nods vigorously. “Yeah. What makes you so special?”

“Just because you’re his friend,” Marcus adds, and if Morpheus didn’t know better, he’d say Marcus is pouting. That Marcus is jealous.

Morpheus swallows thickly, acid rising his blood. His cheeks burn, and he blinks rapidly. It would do no good for them to realise how they have affected him so. They need not know they’ve voiced doubts that should not exist. If Hob’s friends doubt the validity of the relationship, it’s only a matter of time before others do, too.

He shoves himself between John and Lyle, storms across the room.

Hob’s eyes widen when Morpheus cups his cheeks and tugs him in for a hard kiss. The first kiss Morpheus has ever initiated, and it’s out of spite. Hob exhales sharply, whisky-stained breath ghosting across Morpheus’ heated cheeks, as Morpheus drags his tongue along the seam of his lips. Are you sure? is spoken in the hesitation.

I am certain, Morpheus replies just as silently in the way he tilts his head.

Someone cheers while another whistles, the shrill sound cutting through the music. Hob wraps an arm around Morpheus’s shoulders and somehow deepens the kiss further. Morpheus’s stomach clenches. His knees could give out at any minute. He never would have imagined Hob as such a skilled kisser; certainly none of the chaste kisses prior to now indicated as much.

“C’mon,” Hob murmurs in Morpheus’s ear, “let’s get away from the audience.”

Morpheus lets Hob link their fingers together, lets him steer them toward the stairs amid catcalls and more whistles. People clap hands to shoulders and give winks and bright smiles as the couple passes.

None of them know how fake this is.

How Morpheus doesn’t want it to be fake anymore.

As soon as his bedroom door is shut and locked behind them, Hob seems to lose all confidence. He scratches at his brow then tugs at his left earlobe. Morpheus bites back a smile and passes him to sit on the bed. Hob hesitates, stands completely still, then moves toward Morpheus.

“Might as well make it seem more real, right?” he whispers before his lips crash to Morpheus’s again.

Morpheus closes his eyes as another crack runs through his heart. He keeps forgetting this is an act. That Hob doesn’t truly care for him like that. It’s only a beneficial agreement to get Hob’s family to back off. Morpheus pulls back, forcing a smile.

“If we want to make it seem real,” he whispers, lips brushing Hob’s, “we might as well give them something to gossip about.”

Hob’s brows furrow, mouth opening, but Morpheus moans aloud. Hob rears back, watches as Morpheus whines his name, as he crawls across the bed to smack at the wall. Intelligent young man he is, Hob catches on quickly and joins Morpheus at the head of the mattress. Morpheus wants it to be real, hearing Hob groaning like this, and he lets out a rumbled moan that echoes in the sudden quiet.

Music no longer filters through the floor, the door. They are listening, Morpheus thinks even as he opens his mouth. Out spills a litany of pleas; desire and want make themselves known in each word. Hob smacks the wall with his fist as he moans out a ‘You feel amazing’.

Morpheus’s entire world narrows to this—the tightening in his gut as his gaze runs along Hob’s body, the tenting of Hob’s joggers, the lust in Hob’s eyes most likely mirroring his own. It may be fake, this agreement, but Morpheus’s lust is overwhelmingly real. He reaches for Hob, hand clutching at his T-shirt, and yanks his best friend toward him.

Music blares from the speakers once more, drowning out the low groan that escape Hob’s lips.

Morpheus doesn’t know who leans in first, but it feels like no time has passed before Hob is sprawled, naked and straining beneath him. Morpheus’s hands make quick work of shucking his own shirt, his trousers, his boxer-briefs until he can straddle Hob’s hips with nothing between them. The heated point of contact spurs on the fire in his blood.

Morpheus knew of Hob’s thighs, his belly slightly soft but still so muscular, and the soft curls covering his chest. He knew of that—too many years in each other’s lives—but it’s nothing compared to what his clothes have kept hidden. He leans down to kiss Hob, gasping at the pressure against his cock, then slides along his best friend’s body until his mouth hovers over Hob’s dick.

“Do you want this?” he murmurs as he presses his forehead to Hob’s hip. “Hob… Tell me to stop.”

Hob reaches with one shaking hand to card his fingers through Morpheus’s hair. “Don’t. Please, don’t stop.”

Morpheus carefully takes Hob into his mouth, slowly draws him in further, until his nose brushes the thatch of hair at the base. Hob’s hips jerk, but he stills as Morpheus adjusts to the weight on his tongue. The strain of his jaw. The taste of skin and precum and everything Hob. He pulls back until just the tip rests between his lips, and he looks up at Hob through his lashes.

His friend’s head is dropped back against the pillows, hands spread to his sides and clutching at the bedsheets, and sweat glistens already on his bare skin. Morpheus hums in approval before swallowing Hob down once more.

One of Hob’s hands finds a home in Morpheus’s hair moments later. Morpheus lets him tug and push, guide him in a rhythm that pleases Hob. Saliva drips from the corners of his lips as Hob fucks into his mouth with such gentleness that Morpheus could cry. Somehow, Hob knows just how deep he can go without choking Morpheus, and isn’t that enough to spark a goddamn inferno in Morpheus’s chest?

“L—love, stop.”

Morpheus immediately does as asked, massaging at his jaw as he meets Hob’s eye. Hob reaches for him, and Morpheus goes willingly. Straddles Hob’s hips once more. Hob mumbles out an apology, an excuse of being too close already. Without speaking, Morpheus leans to the side and opens the drawer to the nightstand, pulls out the bottle of lube he knows is there. Once it’s in hand, he presses it to Hob’s chest and swallows harshly.

“Fuck me.”

The words are crass, inelegant, and they draw a groan from deep in Hob’s throat. “Oh, this must be a dream,” he says even as he fumbles for the lube. “This is a dream, isn’t it?”

You dream of this? The question doesn’t fall from Morpheus’s lips. Instead, he ducks his head to kiss Hob and allows the other man to pull him closer. Morpheus plants one hand against the wall, the other on Hob’s chest, as Hob slides a finger between his arsecheeks. A gasp stutters free when Hob’s fingertip catches on his hole; Hob smiles up at him, an interesting little curve of his lips and softened eyes full of something too close to wonder and love, and presses inward.

Morpheus doesn’t do this often. He hasn’t done this in over a year, and even then, it wasn’t like this. It was never right with Cori. There was just enough care that Morpheus wouldn’t be injured while Cori fucked him with fervour, but it didn’t feel as natural as it does now. Morpheus knows it isn’t real, it never will be.

At least he’ll have this memory when it ends. He isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse.

By the time he sinks onto Hob’s cock, inching himself slowly down until he’s fuller than he has ever been, Morpheus is nearly sobbing with want. He rolls his hips and digs his fingernails into the expanse of Hob’s chest as he loses track of everything but this.

He has never allowed himself to imagine what Hob looks like completely nude, but he gets to see it now. He gets to feel every inch of his best friend and the trembling between his thighs. He learns what Hob’s kisses taste like and what he sounds like with that first glide of their bodies.

The noiess Hob makes are more beautiful now. His moans and gasps are because of Morpheus, for Morpheus. Morpheus rolls his hips again, stealing the moan that splits the air between them, and does it again. Hot hands grip his waist, and Morpheus follows where Hob leads, rises and falls with his touch.

He has wanted this for so long. His eyes burn, tears building but not falling.

“Oh, God,” Hob moans as Morpheus moves more quickly, more insistently. “Fuck, this is—You are better than any dream, love.”

Morpheus would be his dream if Hob let him be.

“So are you,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss Hob again. His head spins with each thrust, each stroke of their tongues, each breath lingering between them. “Don’t stop. Please, I beg of you.”

“Never, my dream, never.”

The tear slips free before Morpheus can stop it. He sits upright as Hob’s hips snap up, as he buries himself even deeper. Pressing his palms to Hob’s shoulders, Morpheus rises until just the tip remains inside of him, stares down at Hob for a second. Dark brown eyes meet his, and brows furrow in concern—Morpheus will always be able to read those expressions so clearly. Before Hob can say anything and ruin the illusion, Morpheus lowers himself swiftly and forces away any words Hob might have had.

Hob pushes up onto one elbow, an arm wrapping around Morpheus’s shoulders, and plants his feet against the mattress. Morpheus keens with the change in angle, the forceful thrusts as Hob’s cock slides across his prostate. His nails dig into Hob’s skin as he lets himself be fucked until all he can think of is Hob, Hob, Hob.

Hob’s name is the sweetest thing on his lips when he comes.

As he stares down at Hob, body rocking as his best friend chases his own release, Morpheus’s only regret is that he can never make the look in Hob’s eyes last forever.

Morpheus leaves Hob’s room the next morning with a breaking heart and knowledge he can never come back from.

Though the act is meant to be of the two of them as a couple for Valentine’s Day two days after the party, Morpheus expects nothing for the day in question. What he gets, however, is a bouquet of cloth flowers, a box of chocolates, and an invitation for their first date. Hob sits far too close as his fingers lace with Morpheus’s; if anyone doubts the relationship now, no one speaks of it. Morpheus accepts the invitation as eagerly as possible, though he seeks out Lucienne as soon as Hob has disappeared off to class.

“You were right,” he says once he finds her in the library.

“Oh?”

“I should have listened to you. It was… It is such a foolish idea that I could do this for Hob without being hurt in the process.”

She finally looks away from her book, and whatever she sees on his face has her full attention. She pushes aside her notepad and pen, clasping her hands together before her. “Oh, Morpheus. What happened?”

“I made a grievous mistake,” he manages to utter. “I thought I would be fine.”

“But you aren’t.”

He squeezes his eyes closed against the burning, but the tears slip free. “I am not.”

“End this, Morpheus. Tell Hob you can no longer do as he wants.”

“I cannot break a promise. I never have before.”

“Morpheus…”

“You said you cannot watch me destroy myself. Please do not make me go through this alone.”

“How much longer?” she asks after a long moment, and Morpheus lets out a trembling breath. “When will this farce end?”

“We agreed it would happen sometime after today.”

“One week, Morpheus. For your sake, do not let it drag on longer.”

Morpheus readily agrees. Lucienne has always been pragmatic and so human. So knowledgeable. She’s right.

He doesn’t tell her about the date Hob has planned.

The date goes better than Morpheus expected. They go to dinner at a rather upscale restaurant; Morpheus pointedly doesn’t ask how Hob earned enough money to pay for such extravagance—or why he’s gone for something so… much. After, they go for a stroll through the city park, bundled up tightly in their coats and leaning into each other’s warmth.

Hob is the consummate gentleman the entire time, even walks Morpheus to his door at the end of the night. Morpheus shifts awkwardly as they stand in the corridor before Hob takes all chances from him: He leans forward and kisses Morpheus softly, tentatively, as if seeking permission. Morpheus gives it willingly, far more eagerly than he had accepted the date. His hand fumbles for the doorknob, but it finally twists beneath his palm, and they stumble over the threshold.

Hob manages to close the door behind him, apologising into the kiss when it slams into its frame. Morpheus doesn’t give a damn. He only nips at Hob’s lower lip and lets his hands roam. Thankfully, they both know the layout of the room, have had it memorised since Morpheus moved in, so it’s no hardship to find his bed without looking.

There are no tears this time, though there is a sharper, more violent kind of pain that curls deep in Morpheus’s chest. It digs its claws in more securely, scratching idly as his cum stripes across Hob’s belly. You’re beautiful. The beast snarls and sinks its teeth into his soul. Be mine. There is no dislodging the creature that eats through the cracks in his heart.

Hob comes with a bitten off “Fuck, Dream of mine,” and Morpheus feels the last of himself being devoured.

Unfortunately, ‘breaking up’ with Hob turns out to be impossible. The first time he tries at the end of the week, he ends up bare-arsed leaning over a desk as Hob fucks him quick and dirty. The second time, another week has passed, and he has Hob on his knees and is fucking into his best friend’s mouth almost viciously.

The third time… The third time damn near kills him, and it isn’t even him who does it.

“We should end this,” Hob says suddenly, as if they aren’t holding hands while having a pleasant stroll across campus to enjoy the rare warmth. “I mean… Valentine’s Day is over, right?”

“R—right.”

Hob shrugs and stares at the bare branches of the trees lining the paths. He doesn’t speak for a long minute. Even if he had, Morpheus would never have heard him. Not for the thundering in his ears and the beast screaming in his chest. Hob sighs and nudges Morpheus with his shoulder.

“No point in continuing the charade. So now we can go back to how things used to be.”

“What will you tell your family?” Morpheus chokes out; he’s oddly proud of how steady his voice remains.

“I’ll figure something out, I always do.” After a short pause, Hob speaks again, voice lower, “Thank you. For, er, going along with it.”

Morpheus carefully disentangles his fingers from Hob’s and steps away. Both come to a stop in the middle of the pavement, Hob with furrowed brow and Morpheus with shattering heart. Forcing a smile, Morpheus does the only thing he can: He turns and walks away.

Hob doesn’t call after him.

The ‘relationship’ is over. The friendship is over, and it’s all because he couldnt’ say no to Hob. If he had, if he’d just told Hob to find someone—anyone—else, Morpheus wouldn’t be losing the best friend he’s ever had. He wouldn’t know what it’s like to fall asleep beside Hob or to have Hob so damn deep inside of him, he can almost drink the love that doesn’t exist. He would be clueless as to what Hob’s release tastes like and what it feels like to open up for wandering, persistent fingers and a dick that fits so well.

To Morpheus’s surprise, Hob doesn’t try to find him over the next week. Then again, it isn’t as if Morpheus is off searching for Hob, though. He spends the hours between classes in the library with Lucienne or locked in his room. It’s easier this way. At least if he’s alone, he can’t be reminded of Hob or the incredibly poorly-conceived farce to convince the Gadlings that Hob needed no help in finding a partner. Morpheus doesn’t have to see Hob’s friends, he doesn’t risk running into his former best friend at all.

Former. How devastatingly lonesome a word can be. Morpheus thought that if he and Hob were to ever end their friendship, it would be over a mistake that Morpheus made. That Morpheus would be the one to walk away. That’s exactly what happened.

It isn’t satisfying to be right.

The friendship is truly over, Morpheus thinks, when it’s been over a month and there has been no sign of Hob, no word from him. They know each other’s schedules, the routines, so Morpheus is well aware of the fact that Hob is going out of his way to avoid Morpheus. The only reason he would do that is if Hob wanted nothing more to do with Morpheus.

The beast has grown larger, more violent, especially in the night. Though he’s washed his bedsheets dozens of times, he can almost smell Hob in the threads. The ghost of a memory brings with it the sounds Hob made that night, every time they touched and came together and found pieces of themselves mixed in the other. The creature has devoured Morpheus’s heart. Now it feeds off his soul, the love he yearns to share with Hob but never can.

Matthew, an audacious and quite persistent American student, somehow convinces Lucienne and Morpheus to come with him to dinner to “celebrate the end of exams”. Rather, he convinces Lucienne who convinces Morpheus. After the support she’s given him since the debacle with Hob, the least Morpheus can do is go along with her plans.

She admits, as she walks with Morpheus to Matthew’s room, that the American has grown on her.

“He’s… brash and crass, sometimes, but he could be worse.”

“Do you have feelings for him?” Morpheus asks, frowning when her peal of laughter rings out.

“Of course not. I don’t dislike him, but there is nothing there. Worry not, Morpheus, you would be the first to know if I harboured any feelings toward someone.”

For as bold as Matthew is, his driving is the complete opposite. He drives carefully, as if Morpheus and Lucienne are precious cargo, and Morpheus relaxes further into his seat the longer they go without an accident.

The diner is nearly empty when they walk in. Morpheus looks around—ignores Professor Dee sat at the counter with a cup of coffee—only to freeze when his gaze lands on the back corner. Matthew’s large hand shoves at his shoulder until he stumbles forward a step.

“Good luck,” Lucienne whispers as she and Matthew move to a booth off to the side.

‘Good luck’?

No.

But it’s too late. Hob has seen him. Morpheus can’t walk away now; it would look too much like running. So he straightens his spine and weaves his way around the tables until he reaches the booth in which Hob sits.

“Hello, Hob.”

“We need to talk.”

Morpheus glances over his shoulder. Lucienne watches closely. Matthew gives him a thumbs-up and a bright, encouraging smile. It hardly does the trick, but Morpheus appreciates the gesture. He sits across from Hob.

“I fucked things up, didn’t I.”

It isn’t a question, but Morpheus answers anyway: “No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Morpheus.” Hob shakes his head and stares at the tabletop. “I should never have asked you to pretend to be my boyfriend. I should have known it would only ruin our friendship.”

“It wasn’t—it wasn’t that.”

Hob’s gaze leaps to Morpheus’s face. Heat lives in the brown, and his lips are pressed into a tight line. “Then what was it? Because from where I’m sat—”

“We slept together.” Hob falls silent, and Morpheus swallows against the lump in his throat. The tears in his eyes. “We slept together, which was not what I planned.”

“You wanted it, too.”

“Hob. I am not accusing you of taking advantage of me.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying it became too real for me,” Morpheus admits in a rush.

The words tumble between them. Hob sighs and picks at the corner of his napkin. Morpheus sits awkwardly, waiting for some sort of response. Eventually, Hob blows out a breath.

“It was real to me, too.”

“Then why did you—?”

“Because I knew you were trying to end it,” Hob snaps, and Morpheus rears back. This is a side to his best friend he’s rarely seen before, and never aimed at him. “Shit, sorry. Not… I just—I wanted nothing more than to make it real, to not have it be pretend anymore, but I knew you were trying to find the right time to give me the boot.”

“I thought it was nothing to you. That I was only hurting myself for your happiness.”

“Oh, love.”

Hob reaches across the table with one hand, and Morpheus hesitates. Can this actually be real? Or is this a dream he’s meant to wake from, to suffer through only to find himself alone in bed with only the monster in his chest for company?

But no, Hob is smiling something tender, hopeful, and Morpheus‘s heart jolts beneath his ribs. He knows that smile, though it’s never quite been aimed at him like this. Not so soft.

He takes Hob’s hand, face heating at the loud “Fuck yes!” that comes from behind him. He can hear Lucienne hissing something—most likely an admonishment—but Hob’s laughter distracts him. Hob clears his throat as all amusement fades.

“I… I guess I should have talked to you instead of making assumptions.”

“I could have done the same,” Morpheus counters.

“So now that’s out of the way, should we invite Lucienne and her friend over?”

“Why would we do that?”

“Because they brought you to me.”

Hob gestures before Morpheus can respond. This was all orchestrated by Hob? It makes a certain amount of sense. It would have been too much of an unbelievable coincidence for Hob to just be in the same place that Matthew and Lucienne would bring Morpheus. But why?

If Hob is telling the truth—if it was as real to him as it ever was for Morpheus—then…

Morpheus blinks back tears and squeezes Hob’s hand.

The beast yowls in protest, but it’s devoured by the warmth Hob has always provided.

The quartet are unceremoniously ushered from the diner at half-eleven. Matthew and Lucienne go to his car, while Morpheus follows Hob to his. The drive back to the dormitories is quiet, though Hob never releases Morpheus’s hand. Once they arrive, Morpheus leads Hob through the corridors to his room.

“I’m sorry it took such a mess to get us here,” Hob says with a wry smile, and Morpheus shakes his head.

“When have you ever taken the easy route?”

“Would you want to go on another date?”

Morpheus chews on his lower lip, nods. What a ridiculous question. Of course he wants another date. He wants more than one; he wants a lifetime’s worth.

“Pick me up Friday after Psychology?”

“Got it.” Hob leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to Morpheus’s lips. “Goodnight, my dream.”

Morpheus watches him disappear around the corner before opening his door. Closing it behind him feels a lot like closing a book on an unfinished chapter. Something doesn’t feel right about how they’ve left it.

He yanks open the door once more only to collide with Hob. He cradles Hob’s cheeks with shaking hands and meets his gaze.

“Do you mean it? Am I really your dream?”

“You are,” Hob manages before Morpheus is dropping a hand to his T-shirt, fisting the collar and tugging Hob inside.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #dream of the endless x hob gadling #dreamling #human!au #university au #my writing #dreamling bingo

28 notes · View notes

stuckybarton · 3 years

Text

Red Velvet Cake

Summary: Behind the sweet smile and angelic personality was a spitfire when someone dared destroy her little bakery in the heart of New York. Steve finds that out the hard way when his girlfriend's bakery becomes collateral damage in a small fight in New York. Warning: Profanities. Mild Violence. (Two Loud Slaps to be specific). Grammar Errors. Not Beta’d. Characters: Unnamed Female Character x Steve Rogers Words: 1,775 A/N: I don’t know, I just thought of this idea and thought why not. Masterlist

You had never thought your life would become this wild, but you've gone with the flow. Who would have ever thought that finally starting this bakery in the heart of New York. It was tough, with just a handful of employees, would bring you into so much chaos in your once peaceful life.

Meeting the Avengers had been a wild ride with a smooth beginning for you. First meeting Sam, a man that was looking for a quick snack post-work out. A man with a soft smile and quick quips that brought a smile on everyone's faces every single time he would come to visit. Then eventually, he came not alone, but with two of his best friend and your life changed ever since.

Bucky Barnes was the mellow of the trio, preferring to stay in the background while Sam would try his hardest to flirt with you and push his other friend with you. But he always had this charm on him that had a few of your female employees swooning just by the simply nickname of Doll he would throw at them.

But Sam's other friend had all his attention on you just as much as you had your entire attention on him. The dame that always spoiled him with sweets and made him enjoy morning runs more now that your bakery become their daily stop after.

It started out with the flirtation, at least that was what Steve believed it to be. Having been used to Sam's daily flirtation, you got so immune to it that it had become easier to hide the warmth in your cheeks or the heart eyes that Sam and Bucky were once quick to point out when Steve wasn't looking. Eventually it ended with him finally asking you out for lunch and the rest, as they say was history between the two of you.

Eventually, it had brought you into the circle of what was his team. The Avengers. Starting with one Tony Stark that had visited your bakery one fair morning and brought everything in your bakery long before the trio would come for their visit. It was an eventful day for you, that much you could admit. Everyone had the rest of the day to themselves and gave you time to spend with Steve, as annoyed as he was to not be able to have his usual treats. You made him your special apple pie as compensation, much to his enjoyment.

Then it was the rest of the team, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, and Vision. Visiting after getting a taste of your pastries that Tony Stark had generously provided for the team. Now like the trio, you now have another trio you can call as your regulars. Then there was Clint Barton, Thor, and Dr. Bruce Banner that eventually came to visit after everyone had egged them on and they would come for a few pastries and coffee, but not as much as the rest of the bunch. You were alright with that, being able to meet Steve's team and knowing each and every single one of them were good people in their own little way was enough for you.

Weeks turned into months, and months now turned to almost two years. Your life at the bakery was filled with ups and downs just as much as your relationship with one Steve Rogers. The constant fear you had when he was on a mission, uncertain whether he would come back alive or not. Then there was the more often than not times that you were too consumed with the bustling number of customers than you only had time to give him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before helping out on the cashier. It had once been a fight between the two of you because of your line of work, but you would constantly compromise. He was out saving the world while you were living the dream you had always wanted for yourself with baking. Instead of his apartment in Brooklyn, Steve was now living with you, in the humble little apartment you had above the bakery. Your little piece of heaven.

This life you had created with Steve was something you had never thought you'd have for yourself but you were enjoying it immensely. You would want nothing more in your life. Until things had gone horribly bad and you want nothing more than to kill Steven Grant Rogers and the rest of the Avengers.

Y/N was going to kill him. That much Steve had known while they continued on with the debriefing. A quarter of New York City was wiped clean by the attack of the alien overlord attempting their luck on the planet. As much as Tony had assured that they could stay in the tower while repairs were being made, He was still uncertain with what you would be feeling because of it.

Nothing hurts him more than seeing you sad or disappointed.

"What's the ETA on the repair?" he inquired as soon as the meeting was done.

"More or less two weeks. We've had our team assure Y/N that her employees would be paid full for the two weeks while we are doing repairs." Tony explained. "Last time I heard she barely spoke a word while she helped her employees with cleaning up."

Steve could only sigh, annoyance peaking through his mind. It was worst than he thought.

"Mister Stark, Ms. Y/L/N is on her way to the meeting room." F.R.I.D.A.Y announced.

Before the A.I could finish with the announcement, the sudden slam of the door had everyone's head turn, every single one ready for another fight. But the sight of the innocent Y/N looking displeased brought everyone to a slight calm. There was still a problem, but this was better than another alien attack.

"Babe-"

The resounding slap had everyone else wincing. So much for the Super Serum. Everyone could see the red imprint on Steve's face and your shaky hand responsible for the said mark on the Captain's face.

"Your fucking shield destroyed the ramekins." you snapped, Steve could practically see you shaking from where you stood in front of him.

You were nothing, compared to him, a Super Soldier. But just the sight of you, fuming to the nose made everyone believe that you can easily take him on. This was a genuine surprise for Steve. He had seen so much side of his girlfriend of nearly two years. Through many stages of emotional turmoil, happiness, sadness, annoyance, dysphoria, and that godforsaken puppy dog eyes that he could never say no to. But this, the sight of you angry, genuinely furious was the last thing he would have ever thought to see from you.

"Everyone has a long day, Y/N." Tony approached and the glare than now focused on her made it very well known that his presence and his response was the biggest mistake he has ever made in the moment. "Why don--"

Tony wasn't able to finish his sentence as he gets to experience the same slap handed to him by you. Without the Super Soldier Serum, the sound of the slap resounded even louder than the former. Everyone was left in a mix of shock and the need to hold in their laughter at the shock look than now lingered on Tony's face as he rubbed his red cheek.

"As for you," you snapped pointing your finger right into Tony. "You're going to pay for both the fuckin bakery and my apartment upstairs. Of all the places Stark, you just had to throw the alien on my newly renovated bathroom."

Tony could only nod.

"Your people also need to talk to my employees, some of them are injured because a big fucking green dickhead thought it would be nice to throw alien matters into the basement like basketballs through the hoops." you snapped side-glancing towards the guilty Bruce Banner that refused to make any eye contact with you. "You're covered for their hospital bills, therapy, and two weeks of their supposed shift."

Tony gaped nodding.

"Jesus, why the fuck does it always have to be New York, better yet, why the hell does it have to be in the US? There are so many fucking countries in this world." You ranted turning your attention back to Steve that now broke into a small smile at your outburst. "You're not off the hook. We're staying here, but you're sleeping on the coach until further notice."

What smile he had now comes falling from his face. Blinking, this was a dangerous situation. Far more dangerous than his earlier encounter with the aliens only hours ago. But all he could do was nod, not knowing if any protest from him would result in a worst punishment.

"Sam," you turned to the man that now looked scared to be your focus. "Can you show me to the kitchen? I'll try making everyone someone to eat. God knows you're all starving." you request, all signs of anger now slowly dissolving from your features.

Steve didn't know what scared him more at this point, your anger or how quick you were able to recover from said anger. As Sam escorted you out of the meeting room, the rest of the team also made their way out to help you in whatever you may need in the kitchen. It now left Steve and Tony alone, practically still feeling the aftermath of your slap.

"Having second thought about proposing, Lover Boy?" Tony finally broke the awkward silence.

Taking a deep breath, the first chuckle all day finally escaped his lips.

No, he was far from having second thoughts. The engagement ring hidden in his locker room made it evident to him what he was about to do on their 2nd anniversary. It would take some convincing on your part after what happened. But you loved him enough to forgive him for what happened, since technically it wasn't really his fault why the bakery was ruined.

"The proposal is still a go, Tony." he responds finally leaving the meeting room to making his way to the kitchen, already hard at work with cooking what he assumed was spaghetti and meatballs and his favourite red velvet cake.

"Steve's not having any cake right?" Nat asked as soon as she caught sight of him.

"You know what, Romanoff--"

"Not even a fucking crumb." Your response even with you facing away from him had everyone roaring in laughter and Steve rolling his eyes even with the smile on his lips growing bigger at the situations.

The things he has to endure for love.

#steve rogers one-shot #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x unnamed female character

262 notes · View notes

iam93percentstardust · 3 years

Note

hey alle, so for the prompts i'd love some cute and funny winteriron with bucky wanting to impress tony with his cooking, but tony being a very picky eater. which leads to a lot of frustration on bucky's side, and obliviousness on what is even going on from tony's. if you feel like it. thank you! <3

Here it is! The long-awaited His Girl FRIDAY remix! I hope you love this as much as I do!

As always, everything I write is on ao3 too

The first time Bucky left food in Tony’s workshop and come back to find it untouched, he’d figured it was a fluke. Tony had probably been caught up in a zone—like Steve had warned him about when Bucky had decided he was going to woo Tony with food—and hadn’t noticed the food was even there.

The second time, he made sure to catch Tony’s attention as he was dropping off the plate—lasagna because Natalia had said Tony’s mother was Italian and Bucky made a pretty decent lasagna if he did say so. Tony had glanced at him and then at the plate before turning away with a slightly bewildered frown. Bucky had taken the frown to mean that no one else had ever bothered before to take care of Tony, which was a fact that had just about broken his heart, and left the plate there. He’d gone back later that night to find the lasagna untouched. That had been a little harder to explain away, but he’d eventually decided that maybe Tony was one of those food snobs who only liked Italian food made by actual Italians.

The third time he made oatmeal with a little bit of honey and cream, perfect for someone with as much of a sweet tooth as Tony had, and brought it into the workshop for Tony, who had spent the entire night working on new arrows for Clint.

“Tony?” he called softly, not wanting to startle him. Tony was uncomfortable enough with all the new people moving into the tower after everything with SHIELD and Hydra; being Hydra’s pet assassin, he didn’t want to make it worse by sneaking up on him. “I brought you some breakfast.”

Tony popped up from underneath a table, visibly brightening. “Oh good,” he said cheerfully, making grabby hands at the bowl. “I was just starting to get hungry.” His hair was mussed, two perfect rings of black smeared around his eyes, likely where the goggles currently perched on top of his head had been resting earlier.

Bucky smiled at the adorable display and held out the bowl. Tony eagerly grabbed it, only to blink at it as soon as he saw what was in it.

“Oatmeal?” he asked delicately.

“I thought you’d appreciate having something a little more delicate after not eating for a while,” Bucky explained.

“…Oh.” After another awkward moment, Tony said carefully, “Thanks.”

Satisfied, Bucky left him to his work. This time—this time—Tony would eat it all and then he’d see what an amazing cook Bucky was and how he would absolutely be able to provide for Tony and then he’d swoon into Bucky’s arms and demand that Bucky take him right there.

Okay maybe not right there—the workshop didn’t seem like the best location for amorous activities—but that was why they called it a fantasy, right?

Too bad Tony punctured that fantasy like a balloon.

Bucky went back downstairs long to pick up the bowl after Tony had come up to the common areas, yawning widely and telling everyone he was heading to bed for the next twenty-four hours so don’t bother him unless New York was on fire. It had been a bit of a disappointment that he’d just nodded at Bucky without saying anything about the breakfast or about his everlasting feelings for him, but not nearly as much of a disappointment to walk into the workshop to find the bowl as untouched as all the other meals he’d so painstakingly prepared.

“I don’t get it,” he whined to Sam later that day. “I’m a good cook.”

Sam gave him an unimpressed look. “Are you sure? It’s been, what, seventy years since the last time you made anything. Maybe you’re not as good as you used to be.”

Bucky gasped dramatically. “You take that back!”

“No. You promised me you’d offer dating advice with Natasha and instead you’re sitting here mooning over Tony’s ass again so I’ll say whatever I like about your cooking.”

“Sorry,” he muttered guiltily. Sam was right. He had promised that. Or, rather, Steve had promised advice and Bucky had taken one look at him still pining over Peggy and feeling weird about his current interest being Peggy’s niece (a valid way to feel) and declared him hopeless before telling Sam that he would help him out instead. After all, he remembered Natalia from the years she’d spent training with him during her childhood. Who else would be more qualified to teach Sam how to woo her? Well, besides Clint obviously, but he was taking some personal time away from the team.

“She likes the ballet,” he said. “She wanted to be a ballerina when she was younger, said they were as graceful as any Widow only they didn’t have to kill.”

“And you’re sure that won’t just make her sad?” Sam asked dubiously.

Bucky glared at him. “I might not like you very much—” Sam rolled his eyes—"But I like Natalia a whole lot. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Take her to the ballet and take Steve and Sharon while you’re at it. A double date will help her feel less trapped and maybe Steve will stop moping and ask Sharon out.”

“It’s a little weird, you know.”

“Sure, but he kissed Peggy once and it’s not like he’s ever gonna go back to the war and live out the rest of his time there, so he might as well move on.”

Sam laughed. “Guess that’s true.” He sighed, smile fading away. “I don’t know why Tony’s ignoring your meals. Sorry about that though. It sucks.”

“If I may,” JARVIS cut in. Both of them jumped, though Bucky would deny to his dying day that he yelped. Sam, on the other hand, shrieked like a kid and Bucky reminded himself to go back and access the audio footage so he would have blackmail.

“Sorry, JARVIS,” he apologized. “Keep forgetting you’re up there. Didn’t exactly have AI back during the war.”

“Or even in other houses,” Sam added.

“My apologies,” JARVIS said, and he’ll be damned if JARVIS didn’t sound extremely apologetic. It was incredible, really, how much life Tony imbued in his creations. “I only wanted to offer my advice about Sergeant Barnes’ attempts at wooing Sir.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asked. “Go right ahead. Can’t be any worse than any of the other advice I’ve gotten.” Seriously, Clint had even suggested truth serum, like that wasn’t the worst idea ever suggested.

“Sir is an extremely picky eater,” JARVIS explained. “He does not enjoy cooked tomatoes, ricotta cheese, or the texture of oatmeal.”

…All of which had been in at least one of the meals he’d prepared for Tony.

“Fuck.”

JARVIS wryly said, “Indeed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“You requested that I remain inactive on your floor while you were recovering. But you’re in Sergeant Wilson’s quarters at the moment so I may share my expertise.”

He had said that, hadn’t he? It had been in the early days when he was still having trouble remembering what he’d said moments earlier, but he had a vague recollection of being overwhelmed by the idea of constant monitoring and asking if JARVIS could be turned off.

“Wow, way to go, Barnes,” Sam commented, hiding a grin behind his hand.

“Fuck,” he said again, more emphatically. “Best tool at my disposal and I’m not even using it. JARVIS, I bet you could tell me all sorts of things about Tony.”

He got the impression that if the AI could sniff, he would have. “I would not dare to air Sir’s ‘dirty laundry’ so to speak.”

“No, no,” Bucky said, waving his metal hand. The hand made a concerning grinding sound and he frowned. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d probably need to ask someone to take a look at it. Sam was capable of performing basic maintenance, and Bucky trusted him not to sabotage the arm, but anything worse and he’d have to go ask Tony about it.

“Not what I meant,” he continued. “Just that you could tell me what Tony likes and doesn’t like. Uh, how do I turn you back on in my floor?”

“Your request is sufficient,” JARVIS said.

“Great. I’ll meet you up there in a bit. We’re gonna make something so incredible Tony will have to fall in love with me.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Sam said, kicking his feet up onto the newly vacated spot on the couch now that Bucky was standing. “I’m going to see if I can find reasonably priced tickets to the ballet.”

Bucky blinked. “I think you’re gonna have worse luck than me.”

Sam threw a shoe at him.

On JARVIS’ advice, he baked blueberry muffins because those were apparently Tony’s favorite fruit. Bucky didn’t really understand it. Frankly, he thought blueberries were almost as bad as bananas—nasty, taste-changing fruit that they were—but if Tony loved them, then he would be willing to have them in his kitchen for as long as it took to bake the muffins. Fortunately, he was just as good a baker as he was a cook, so it was a breeze to whip up a delicious batch that had him grateful he couldn’t get salmonella from the mix.

Unfortunately, Tony hated the muffins. Or that’s what Bucky gathered when he went to pick the plate up, hoping that it would be empty for the first time, and found it just as untouched as everything else had been.

“What the fuck, JARVIS?” he complained. “You said he liked blueberries.”

“I don’t know, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS said, sounding as baffled as Bucky felt. “Sir has always appreciated them.”

That, Bucky reflected later that night, was possibly to be expected. For all that JARVIS had the inhuman ability to remember literally everything he’d ever seen or heard, he was still just a program. He couldn’t necessarily extrapolate about preferences or tastes. For all either of them knew, Tony did like blueberries but didn’t like muffins or something. It didn’t really explain why JARVIS knew that Tony didn’t like cooked tomatoes, but maybe that could be explained by Tony mentioning it out loud and the other stuff, JARVIS had had to figure out on his own.

He sat up in bed, thinking about it. Maybe that was it: Tony didn’t like muffins. But there had to be other recipes out there that used blueberries that Tony would like. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d come across a blueberry cupcake with brown butter frosting recipe earlier that day. And Bucky didn’t know anyone who could say no to his brown butter. He was incredible at it, and that was being modest. Just the other day, Thor had declared the brown butter sauce he’d made for their chicken to be worthy of an Asgardian feast. Thor was a god. He probably knew things like that.

“JARVIS, you up?” he asked into the dark room.

“Always, Sergeant Barnes.”

“You don’t gotta keep callin’ me that. Bucky’s my name. I’d rather answer to that.”

“Very well, Bucky.”

“Could you pull up some other recipes with blueberries in the flavor profile please? Filter out anything that has something Tony doesn’t like and recipes similar enough to each other that they could be repeats, uh, let’s say anything with a higher than 85% similarity.”

When JARVIS was finished compiling his list, there was a lot less than what Bucky had hoped for, but it was still something he could work with. He looked through the list: cupcakes, pancakes, cookies, more than a few salads, something called a Panzanella. He starred the ones he thought would catch Tony’s interest the most, putting the others aside to possibly try later down the road. Content with his plan, he laid back down, falling asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

None of it worked. Despite his supposed love for blueberries, Tony continued to turn away everything Bucky made for him. So he branched out, trying other foods that JARVIS said Tony was fond of. Nothing came back with more than a couple bites taken out of it and Tony had taken to giving him worried looks every time he appeared at the workshop door with another plate. Bucky was starting to lose hope that he was ever going to woo Tony with food and that was… not great.

Traditional dates were pretty close to impossible. Despite his rapid recovery in the tower, going outside was still too frightening with the crowds of New York, the inability to pick out threats around him, and the lack of sightlines all driving Bucky back inside and to the highest floors of the tower where he could look out over everything.

And as for anything else, well, Bucky was an ex-brainwashed assassin with no money to his name and only half the social skills he used to have (Sam said he had more than he thought but arguing with Sam wasn’t like trying to get someone to like him). He didn’t have much else to offer other than making food and giving Tony a project to work on. The first wasn’t going well and the second made Bucky feel too much like he was taking advantage of Tony to use more than once or twice.

Disheartened, he made his way up to Natalia’s floor to ask her for advice. She and Tony got along almost as well as she got along with Clint. Maybe she would have insights that JARVIS wasn’t able to offer. As he neared her room, though, he realized that she wasn’t alone.

“—to kill me,” someone—Tony, Bucky realized almost immediately—was saying. He stiffened. Who was trying to kill Tony? Bucky would kill them first! Was murder a good way to woo Tony?

“котенок,” Natalia said patiently, “he’s not trying to kill you.”

“You don’t know that!” Tony exclaimed wildly. He sounded like he was pacing. “He could be! He keeps bringing me things everyone knows I won’t eat.”

And now Natalia sounded amused as she said, “Antoshka, I don’t think he’d be trying to feed you if he wanted to kill you. It’s more likely an honest mistake.”

“It could be poison.”

“It’s not poison.”

“You don’t know that. You haven’t tried any of it.”

“It’s not poison because that’s more my style than it is James’.”

Oh, they were talking about him. Tony thought Bucky was trying to kill him. “Fuck,” he said mournfully, leaning up against the wall. No wonder Tony wouldn’t touch any of the food he made for him.

“Well, I don’t see why else he’s bringing me food!” Tony said.

“Really? Not a single reason?”

“It’s food I won’t eat! He clearly doesn’t like me or he’d be bringing me actual food I like.”

“Does he know why you won’t eat it?”

“No, but why does that matter?”

“Tony, darling, have you ever once informed him that you have a sensory processing disorder and you won’t eat a lot of cooked foods because you can’t handle the texture?”

Bucky straightened back up. Tony has a what? He’d never even heard of that before. Why didn’t JARVIS say something? He thought back to when he’d been building the list of blueberry foods and how he’d wondered if JARVIS didn’t necessarily know about the pattern for Tony’s likes and dislikes in his food. Maybe JARVIS hadn’t known about Tony’s disorder, so he hadn’t known to tell Bucky about it. That made the most amount of sense to him though he couldn’t imagine why Tony had never told his AI about his disorder.

“Why would I tell him that?” Tony asks, sounding confused.

He could just picture Natalia shaking her head as she said, “Oh, Antoshka.”

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Armed with his new knowledge, Bucky crept away from the door, already planning out new meals to bring to Tony.

That very night, he went downstairs with a bowl of salad. It had nuts to provide a small amount of protein, though he’d also put some baked chicken in a Tupperware as well, in case that was something Tony could eat. Tony’s music was playing at a manageable volume by the time he got to the workshop, likely because he was drafting plans for some sort of irrigation system, rather than any sort of consideration for Bucky.

Tony caught sight of him before he got the doors open. Bucky watched as his face fell for a moment before he plastered on a bright, fake smile. Hydra’s programming was still too ingrained in him to do anything as obvious as wince, but he still felt a twinge of shame. Why hadn’t he thought to ask Tony what he would like to eat instead of relying on his own preferences?

“Uh,” he said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. In his other hand, he held up the Tupperware with the salad bowl on top of it. “I brought you some dinner. It’s just a salad, but I included some baked chicken on the side if you want that. I hope it’s something you like.”

Tony blinked at him. “What?”

“I—okay, I’m just gonna come right out and say it. I overheard you and Natalia earlier. I didn’t know you couldn’t eat anything I was making for you. I wasn’t trying to poison you or anything, just thought you might like some food since you’re down here all the time. Sorry for, you know, eavesdropping and making you think I didn’t like you.”

A cautious smile spread across Tony’s face. “You could have asked JARVIS,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I did, but I guess he didn’t know you don’t like cooked foods.”

“What?” Tony cocked his head to the side. “No, he should know that.” He spun around in his chair, waving the glowing blue drafts of the irrigation system aside in favor of pulling up JARVIS’ bright golden code. It was a beautiful display, and Bucky found himself moving closer, mesmerized by the sight. He had no idea JARVIS’ code was so complex.

“J, buddy, what happened to your code?” Tony murmured. He reached out a hand, groping for Bucky’s shirt to tug him closer. “Gimme food.”

“So you like salad?” Bucky asked, relieved that he’d finally found something.

“And baked chicken,” Tony added. “But it has to be baked. Otherwise, the texture’s too rubbery for me.”

“I can do that,” he promised. “Do you like breading or marinade with the baked chicken?”

“Marinade, yes. Breading, no.”

“Okay. I’ll remember that.”

Tony paused in tearing through JARVIS’ code to give him a small, genuine smile that made Bucky’s heart light up. He returned the smile, which grew bigger when Tony’s gaze darted down to his lips, snagging there as though caught by the sight. He knew he had a nice mouth; he’d been told that plenty of times back in the forties.

“I have another confession to make,” he said once Tony’s attention returned to the code.

“Uh-huh,” Tony said distractedly.

“I was—”

“There you are!” Tony exclaimed. “J, who made those changes to lines 894 through 1036 in your code?”

JARVIS immediately said, “The last time those lines were accessed was in 2008 by Obadiah Stane.”

Tony’s face fell. “Oh.”

It took Bucky a moment remember who Obadiah Stane was. He’d appeared in one of Bucky’s mission files as the Winter Soldier. Back during the nineties, following Tony’s parents deaths, Tony had been planning on shutting down SI’s weapons manufacturing division. Hydra, who’d been buying black market weapons from Stane for years by that time, had ordered the Winter Soldier to assassinate Tony to give Stane complete control of the company. But before he’d been able to complete his mission, Stane had convinced Tony to see “reason” and Bucky had been put back in cryo. That unfulfilled mission had been one of the reasons he’d been so hesitant to move into the tower before his programming had been completely removed. Steve had tried to push for the move anyway, but before either of them could successfully argue the point, Tony had put out a call to the world’s top experts on brainwashing and three whirlwind weeks later, Bucky’s mind was programming-free. And just like that, without even meeting the guy, Bucky had developed a crush on one Tony Stark.

“Sorry, doll,” he said, dropping a hand to Tony’s shoulder and squeezing it gently.

Tony sighed frustratedly. “Every time I think I’ve taken care of everything Obie fucked up, I find something else he’s done. He was probably hoping I’d starve to death or something without anyone making food to my exacting specifications, that asshole.”

“He sounds pretty terrible,” Bucky agreed.

“J, are you able to access the last backup on those lines to restore them?” Tony asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, let’s get those fixed, and uh—”

“And we’ll go out for dinner,” Bucky interrupted.

“Huh?” Tony asked, turning to look at him.

“Seems I owe you an apology and I figure taking you out for dinner is a little nicer than a salad. ‘Sides, if I take you out, I’ll have a better understanding of what you like to eat.”

“Careful there, Buckaroo, or I’ll start thinking this is supposed to be a date.”

Bucky would probably never know what possessed him to firmly say, “Yeah, that’s exactly what it’s supposed to be.” He certainly hadn’t planned to. He really had been planning on their dinner being a way to figure out what Tony liked so he could make it himself and continue with his wooing process from there, hopefully slowly easing Tony into believing that Bucky really did like him and wasn’t trying to poison him.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t supposed to come out like that.”

Tony stared at him, then abruptly said, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That this is supposed to be a date.”

He could deny it and go back to his original plan. He’d probably even be able to pull off a lie like that. But there was a hopeful look in Tony’s eyes that stopped him from denying anything.

“You didn’t even know that I liked you until five minutes ago,” he pointed out cautiously.

Tony scoffed. “What, like you’ve never liked someone who hated you.”

“Uh, no. I’ve never done that.”

“Really?”

“Never.”

“Huh.”

“Are you… are you saying that you do like me?” Bucky asked.

“Well, yeah. You never mind that half of my engineering babble goes over your head and you bring me food even if you didn’t know it wasn’t something I could eat and you’re really fucking gorgeous when you’ve showered and your hair isn’t falling in greasy clumps around your face.”

“Look who’s talking,” Bucky said amusedly, reaching out to run his fingers through Tony’s hair, matted down with machine oil. Even filthy, he could feel how soft it would be when it was clean. Tony leaned into his hand, humming happily.

“So is that a yes on this being a date, Bucky babe?” Tony asked. “Cause I’ll be honest, I’m not usually left hanging.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding. “It’s a date.”

Tony grinned and turned his head just enough to kiss the inside of Bucky’s wrist, making Bucky shiver. “Let me get cleaned up.”

“You want me to join you?”

Tony winked at him. “Next time, honey.”

#winteriron #alle writes #alle answers #if you like please reblog

134 notes · View notes

thewritingginger · 3 years

Note

More Daddy AU please 🥺 the rest of the boys deserve it. Plus imagine telling Luke he's going to be a godparent, that'd be the cutest little moment I just can't-

Undateables React: Baby?!?

I have to say I’m so glad you mentioned something for Luke cuz idk how long it would’ve taken me, if I even did one for him, cuz he baby himself lol

So here's our other boys! I admit IDK how well or satisfying these are considering I don’t know them too too well.

bUt I hope they are still enjoyable 😅

Fandom: Obey Me! Pairing(s): Undateables Word count: 1,070 words Warning(s): Pregnancy

Enjoy ~

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

Diavolo:

YAAAASSSS!!!

But really, he just laughs triumphantly when you tell him

Is happy about having an heir but is slightly worried for you

“This wasn’t planned and I want to make sure you’re happy.”

Buys you anything and everything that you wish for or need

Late night talks about your future child

When you’d ask what he wants the baby to be he would just respond with “As long as it’s part of you, I don’t mind either way.”

But you know what he wants

And to his pleasure, You and Diavolo have a baby Boy!

The moment he’s out Diavolo turns into Rafiki from the lion king

So proud of the work you had done

Praises you till you have to shut him up

After you’ve gone to bed he spends his first real night as a father holding his son, whispering praise and sentiments of love

You wake up many mornings to see your little one resting gently on his big tiddies chest

Barbatos :

Was a bit taken aback

Not that you being pregnant is bad news just unexpected

Tells Diavolo as soon as you let him

“I have to report this to Lord Diavolo, I wouldn’t want him to think I'm just being careless and negligible with my work because I’m taking care of you.”

Once he informs Diavolo of your condition, he wastes not time in developing a schedule for himself that not only allowed him to sufficiently do his duties with Diavolo but also make time for you and your care

In your later months he waits on you, hand and foot (literally! Helps you put your shoes on every morning)

Has tea with you each day (only herbal or ones w/no caffeine in them obviously) with cakes and sandwiches (or anything you’re craving)

You and Barbatos have a baby Girl!

Doesn’t show it but is SO excited

Very reserved about it but you know he adores taking his little girl into work with him when you’re too busy to watch her

You walked into the kitchen one day to pick her up and over heard him talking to your daughter as he was making up lunch

“Do you want papa to make you something special for lunch?”

He coos to your child more often than he’d admit to

Not that he doesn’t want others to think he doesn’t love his daughter, just he has a professional image to uphold that doesn’t stop Diavolo from saying anything tho lol

Simeon:

The Angel hugs you feeling elated but couldn't help but feel a bit guilty

Worried that you may be upset with him because this child wasn’t planned and you weren’t married (not that he’d force you but did ask if that’d make you feel more comfortable and secure)

Once you explained that although you were nervous, you were glad it was with him he relaxed a bit

“I will make you and this child the happiest people in all the 3 worlds!”

In actuality you being pregnant didn’t really change your relationship that much

Simeon was always a gentleman and very caring

Open doors, pulls out your chair, all that jazz

But you did notice a slight change in the way he looked at you

Not a loving gaze cuz he always had that it was more of a mixture of deep thought and bliss

When you’d ask him why he was looking at you he just responded with “It’s just you’re gifting me something I’ll never be able to repay you for.” He says it as if that wont melt your fucking heart

You and Simeon have a baby Girl!

Is very torn.

He thought you were the love of his life and the only girl he needs but… now there's her

Of course he still loves you but… her!

Always watches over her. While she plays. While she eats. Especially while she sleeps.

“Baby, you have to come to bed.” “I will, just 5 more minutes.”

Wonders what he did to be so blessed

Luke:

GoDfaThEr?!? PrEgNanT?!? BaBy?!?

“Who? When? How?... wait don’t tell me how.”

Poor babe is very confuzzled

Regardless of the father, angel or demon, this little dog is very protective of you and your unborn child

Will bake you any treats you want

Luke is the proud godfather to a baby Girl!

Stressed even more

“GUH! I’ll make sure no one touches her!”

Mighty Chihuahua Activated!

As she got older he would teach her about angelic work, what rules to follow and about the angel Michael while he watched her

He also made sure he did things like bake and play cuz he’s ‘fun too!’

As she got older he was still watchful but backed off when she asked him to poor guy sulked the first time it happened

Solomon:

You tell him when you’re on a study date

You couldn’t help it, it just came out

When you told him he seemed taken aback then started laughing, less like Diavolo, and more so like you said a joke

But realized you were being serious when you didn’t laugh along

“Wait you’re serious? I put a spawn in you?”

After talking for a bit it was fine

He actually took the news quite well, you’d think you just told him about the weather or something

“What’s there to worry about. No going back now, what's the worst that’ll happen.”

Took care of you during the pregnancy

Made you tonics for nausea or any other symptoms that are causing you discomfort

You and Solomon have a baby Boy

You already expected this but he is sorta the “cool dad” so to speak

Super chill but don’t get it twisted he’ll still throw down for his kid

The moment you recognize signs of magic in your little boy Solomon jumps on that in a heartbeat

You had to have a very serious conversation with him about that

“If I let you teach him you better keep him safe. And NO explosive or reactatory spells.” “Don’t worry about a thing baby. I understand.” you didn’t buy he’ll follow your rules and... you’d be right smh

One day when your son was about 6 you see a cloud of smoke coming from under a door. When you opened it you saw Solomon and your son, hair sticking up, covered in soot. Yeah Solomon knew he was in for a ‘talk’ rip

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

Thank you again for reading and requesting :)

We stan baby daddy AUs lol

I hope to keep slowly getting my millions of wips done. I am in school and the quarter is ending in the next month so yeah

Till next post my loves :3

💛 ~

#obey me!#shall we date #shall we date obey me #diavolo #diavolo x reader #barbatos #barbatos x reader #simeon #simeon x reader #luke #luke x reader #solomon #solomon x reader #pregnancy au #fluff #headcanon #reaction headcanon #request

311 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Text

Day 7: Free Day / AUs - Lies

To her left was Jade, and to her right was Crowley. Something was definitely wrong with this picture.

Awkward “family” dinner time~

jnjadaafiabasd I was not built to do timed prompts... Everything felt rushed or not fully proofread, but I tried my best with what little time I had! 🎉 This last week was a bit of a struggle, but I’m proud of myself for pulling through in the end!

A flurry of footsteps reverberated through the Crowley household. Raven hurtled down a stairwell and practically threw herself at the front door, flinging it open. Beyond the door, a masked man and his suitcases awaited.

“Uncle!! You’re back!!” she cried breathily—tired from the dash from the attic to the front porch.

“Hohoh.” Crowley lowered the golden key in his hand. “You’ve beaten me to the punch, it seems.”

“It helps when I’ve got a big window to spy from.” Raven grimaced as talons wove themselves into her hair and raked along her scalp. Her head was left a mess, hair sticking up at odd angles. “How was your trip?”

“There will be plenty of time for stories—you do so love those, don’t you? Just give me a moment to get settled back and have a bite first, little black bird.”

“Okay!” Raven chirped. She eagerly reached for a suitcase. “Here, I’ll he—”

“Please, allow me.”

Her fingers met only air, for the suitcase was snatched up before she could make contact. The other was claimed just as quickly, ending up in the hands of a slimy, smiling eel.

“... Jade Leech-kun.”

“Headmaster.” Jade lowered his head in mock deference. “It is a pleasure to have you back with us. I do hope your conference fared well.”

Crowley’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “You’ll not hear a single peep from me!”

“My, my. You’ve entrusted me with handling your home and your niece in your absence, but not with casual conversation? Truly, I am hurt.”

(Raven shot Jade a warning look, but it went ignored.)

“Leave my bags, and leave us be. Your services are no longer required,” the headmaster crowed. He dug into his pockets and produced a (wrinkled) checkbook and gold-plated fountain pen. “Name your price.”

“I believe that is a value that would be best negotiated with Azul—but worry not, I am not personally interested in your madol.”

... That’s obviously a sketchy thing to say, especially for Octavinelle. They always collect what they’re owed, Raven noted. What does he have up his sleeve now?

Jade’s shoulders suddenly sagged, and a sad smile made its way onto his face. “It is a shame, though... to be chased out before I was able to share my cooking with our esteemed headmaster. It brings a tear to my eye.”

Crowley’s ears perked up—while Raven’s stomach sank.

“Cooking, you say?”

“U-Uncle, don’t fall for it...! He’s baiting you!!” Raven hissed, tugging harshly on his cape.

“I had plans to prepare an extravagant feast, too,” Jade continued, “to welcome you home. A hearty wild game stew, garnished with garden herbs. Fresh baked bread, with a thick crust, perfect for mopping up excess stew. Braised duck in a bright citrus sauce, so succulent and tender that the meat falls off at the bone. Mint gelée on the side—”

“I’m listening...” Crowley’s beady eyes narrowed with vague suspicion. “And just how much would this hypothetical feast cost me?”

“Don’t listen to him, Uncle!!”

“Fufu. There is no need to concern yourself with such trivial matters. Consider it a gift from myself to you.”

“UNCLE!!” Raven screeched—but her frantic calls no longer reached him.

The headmaster was far gone, lured to the water’s edge by a siren’s song. Plastering a wide grin on his face, Crowley spread his arms.

“Jade Leech-kun, why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Raven slowly lowered her face into her hands.

To her left was Jade, and to her right was Crowley. Something was definitely wrong with this picture.

Raven glared into her platter of food, refusing to look at either of them. She poked at a slab of meat with her fork, watching the shine of fat dance. Did that glisten belong to a tasteless poison, or to a savory glaze?

Well, the other meals he prepared were safe. This should be fine too... right? Raven carefully inserted a corner into her mouth and tore off a chunk.

Crowley let out a delighted laugh from his seat. “Delicious! Simply delicious!! You’ve outdone yourself with this meal.”

“I am glad to hear that you enjoy it, headmaster.” Jade was handling his silverware a little too deftly for Raven’s liking, driving a knife into his steak with the skill and precision of a predator digging its teeth into vital arteries. And still, that polite smile remained.

She stared—and it did not go unnoticed.

While the headmaster continued to gush, Jade lifted his eyes to meet Raven’s. His smile turned decidedly less kind for a few moments, taunting her. How easily he had infiltrated the home and gotten her guardian wrapped around his finger. It was maddening.

“Miss Raven, you haven’t touched your food,” Jade pointed out.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I am merely advising that you look after your own health and wellbeing,” Jade insisted. “And to think you were so eager to consume my cooking when it was just the two of us...”

“Sh-Shut up...!! I... I can’t help that I’m not used to unwanted guests at the table!”

“Now, now, Raven-kun!” Crowley waved his fork at his niece. “Jade Leech-kun has provided a number of useful services during my absence. We should be more grateful to to have such a helpful young man with us!”

“Do I need to remind you that this same ‘helpful’ young man also ‘helped’ Azul enslave over 200 students?”

“That was then, this is now!”

... You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Yes, I do believe the headmaster is correct. Let us leave the past in the past.”

“As soon as you leave, I’ll gladly purge the events of last week from my mind.” Raven turned to Crowley. “Uncle! I’m no longer a child. The next time you need to leave, you needn’t call for a babysitter—I can take care of myself!”

“Hmm...” The headmaster glanced helplessly between his half-eaten dinner and his niece’s pleasing eyes. “We shall see what comes, given the circumstances.”

Raven sighed—still not fully satisfied with the answer, but unable to wean anything better out of him.

She jabbed her fork into a cherry tomato and chomped down hard on it. Her fangs pierced the red skin, sending some juice squirting onto her cheek. Raven wiped at it with a napkin, then continued to angrily munch on the tomato to vent her frustration.

The clinking of silverware filled the dining room. The air, stiff as stale bread. Crowley coughed—attempting to alleviate the tense atmosphere, but to little success.

“So,” the headmaster began, “did anything interesting happen while I was at the conference?”

“... We argued a lot,” Raven replied flatly. She tactfully left out several details, knowing that she would turn as red as the cherry tomato if she elaborated.

“I did learn quite a few interesting facts during my stay.”

Crowley glanced up from his plate, arching an eyebrow at the eel. “Such as...?”

“Oh, a great many things. For example, how a glittering object catches Miss Raven’s eye, the messiness of her quarters, her midnight musings, the odd manner in which she sleeps...”

Crowley (who had been peacefully inhaling his dinner up until that point) almost choked on a piece of bread. “E-EXCUSE ME?! I don’t recall granting you permission to enter the attic—”

“Wait, you didn’t?” Raven’s brows furrowed. “Then why...”

... Oh.

Another lie.

All along, it had been a lie.

Crowley’s panic, Raven’s confusion—neither seemed to faze Jade. He simply smiled, as collected as ever. Like he had planned this all along, she realized.

“I’m afraid that Miss Raven allowed me in of her own accord. Fufu. I am pleased that she has grown to trust my presence within her private quarters.”

“Is this true, Raven-kun?!”

“Er...” She shrunk back into her seat, wishing she could vanish into her feathered shawl. “I-It was an honest mistake... I didn’t mean to...”

“You know better than that, young lady!!” Crowley chided. “How many times must I warn you to keep shady characters out of your room?!”

“But Jade said--”

“Headmaster, you cannot blame her entirely,” the eel cut in smoothly. “Part of the fault lies with me, as well.”

He’s... confessing? That’s weird.

“I had to deliver her meal, since she refused to eat at the dining room table. Once I saw the state that the attic was in, I sought to return in the subsequent days to assist with cleaning it up. There were also times when I came to check in on Miss Raven, as she has a habit of staying up late into the night. They were all measures I took to ensure her health and comfort, at the cost of breaking a rule--and for that, I must apologize.”

“Oh?” Crowley rested his chin in a taloned hand. “Rule breaking aside, I must commend you for taking action. Putting others’ wellbeing above your own... Perhaps I initially misjudged your character, Jade Leech-kun!”

“I live to serve.”

“How very admirable of you! Yes, yes,” Crowley nodded enthusiastically, “I can rely on such a responsible youth to look after you in the future, Raven-kun!”

“H-Huh? No, no!! He’s definitely still every bit as shady as you thought he was!!” she protested, leaping to her feet and thrusting an accusing finger at Jade. “He’s just lying again...!! He always lies!!”

“Oya, Miss Raven... It’s not healthy for you to become so worked up.” Jade hid his mouth behind his hand--no doubt that his teeth would otherwise be on full display in a cruel grin. “Here, have some more mashed potatoes--I’ve infused them with garlic. This should help temper your blood pressure.”

“I don’t want your stupid mashed potatoes...!!”

Oblivious to the tension in the room, Crowley lifted his glass up and laughed. “Hohoh! It’s nice to see Raven-kun socializing with her peers.”

#twst #Dire Crowley #Jade Leech #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #disney twisted wonderland #twst oc week #Raven Crowley #my art

84 notes · View notes

ihearthes · 3 years

Photo

Quarantine Christmas Part 2

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Smut Word Count: 2768 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

Part 1

December 24, 2020

“Smith!” he bellows way too early and cheerfully as he pounds on my bedroom door. “Happy Christmas Eve! Come on! Let’s go for a jog.”

“Arrrrggggghhhhh,” I growl. “No.”

“If you hike the Hastain Trail with me, I’ll spring for coffee afterwards.”

“Go away, Styles.” Drawing the pillow over my head, I try to block out the sound of his voice.

“Fresh air will be good for you.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Not on your life. I hate hiking alone.”

“Fine!” Throwing the covers off, I don my newly cleaned leggings, sports bra, and a t-shirt before opening the door and marching past him in my tennis shoes. “Bully,” I accuse.

“You’re mad that I’m forcing you to take care of yourself?” Although he sounds offended, that smirk is back.

“Whatevs, Styles. Let’s go.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

He sets off at a brisk pace, and I trail behind him slightly. After all, I’m still waking up.

“Keep up, Smith!”

Just to be ornery, I slow my stride, taking my time examining the plants next to the path. When I next glance up, Harry is a solid quarter mile ahead of me, and I contemplate turning back, finding a picnic table and taking a nap on it until he’s done.

But no. That’s not to be, as he turns and jogs back to me, keeping his legs pumping as he moves backwards.

“You’re going to trip on something,” I caution.

He grins. “You care about me!”

My eyes roll so far back into my head that I swear I can see my own brain. “No. But I care about Glenne, and she would be mighty upset if I had a part in damaging you.”

“Mhm.” The smirk is back, and as hard as I try to keep a sour look on my face, it’s challenging. “Where was Christmas supposed to be?” His question is casual, but it causes me to flinch.

“Indiana,” I snap off the word like one would a twig on a dying tree. Immediately, I feel guilty. “Sorry.” My mumble is quiet, but loud enough for him to hear and nod in silent acceptance. “You don’t deserve rudeness. What about you? London?”

“Holmes Chapel. With my mum, my sister, and her boyfriend.”

“Ah. Is it cold there this year?”

“Fairly mild. And Indiana?”

“Cold, cold, cold. Maybe even snow still on the ground.”

“Yeah. Christmas in Los Angeles is quite different.” Harry gestures around the trail, and I smile.

“Definitely.”

“What are your favorite traditions?”

By the time we loop back around to the start of the trail, we’ve exhausted the topic, and I realize my mood has improved tremendously.

“Thank you, Harry.” The words are soft, and I try to insert as much authenticity as I can into them.

I have the pleasure of watching his eyes soften as he observes me over the top of the car. “Coffee next! And a trip to the grocery!”

“Grocery? You’re cooking?”

“WE are baking and then cooking.”

“Really?”

“Yep. We’re going to create a mashup of our traditions.”

“No fucking way!” I exclaim, excited at the prospect. Sitting up, I search for a piece of paper and a pen. “I didn’t bring my purse, Styles. Give me your phone.”

“My phone?” Confused, he gazes at me while at a stoplight.

“I need to write down the ingredients we need to buy. Let’s see. We can’t make some of the cookies we each like because I don’t know if Glenne has cookie cutters in the right shapes. So how about some ginger biscuits?”

When he nods, I gesture for his phone. “Come on, Styles. I need to look up recipes and make sure we get the right ingredients.”

Reluctantly, he unlocks his phone, handing it to me. “No snooping,” he warns, shaking his finger in my direction.

“Puuuuuuullllllleeeeeasssse. As if.” Using his browser, I search for a recipe for the ginger biscuits for him as well as one for thumbprint jam cookies, copying the ingredients into his Notes app.

“Now, for dinner,” he begins, and my fingers pause as I wait for his next words. “Mum used to do a roast, but I don’t eat meat anymore. Just fish. And your family always does turkey. How do we compromise on a protein?”

“Scallops? Salmon? Both delicious and something I would consider fancy enough for a holiday meal.”

“Excellent!” Harry declares. “And can we agree on brussel sprouts and yams?”

My whole being is excited at the prospect of this meal with Harry. Suddenly there’s a silver lining to spending my favorite holiday away from my family.

As he turns off the engine, I rest my hand on his wrist until he twists to look at me. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You already said that.” He rolls his eyes, but the crinkles send a different message.

Less than 30 minutes later, we’re back in the car with the trunk full of groceries, including prosecco. After stopping for the promised coffee, we return to Glenne and Jeffrey’s house, unloading the food.

“Mind if I take a shower before we start?” I ask, looking down at my clothing. “I feel dusty still from the trail.”

“Let’s both shower --” He stalls at my shocked expression “-- in separate bathrooms, Smith. Then let’s see who can put together the worst Christmas outfit from whatever we can find in the guest bedroom where we’re each sleeping.”

A grin crosses my face. “Oh, you’re going down, Styles!” Rushing out of the room, I’m confident that my ears are playing tricks on me because I think he responds with “I would love to go down on you.” He must have said something completely different, and I shake my head to clear the thought.

When I emerge later, I’m wearing my grey sweatpants which I’ve pinned garland to along with one of my green hoodies and a giant wreath draped around my neck like a necklace by a red ribbon. Arriving in the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Harry wearing a skirt of wrapping paper over his also-grey sweatpants, along with a variety of bows stuck to his Green Bay Packers hoodie.

He shrugs, “Apparently they use that guest bedroom for storing wrapping paper.”

I laugh as I pluck one of the bows off his hoodie and place it on my chest after removing the wreath.

“You win,” I concede. “I’m surprised there’s so much Christmas stuff in their house.”

“Eh. The Azoff family celebrates everything.”

“Lucky us, then.”

Side by side, we create the dough first for the ginger biscuits and then for the thumbprint cookies. After he slides the first pans into the oven, Harry crosses his arms. “Scrabble while we wait for them to bake?”

“Oh, it’s on!” I agree, and we settle at the dining room table to play the game.

“Fine. You win,” Harry pouts over an hour later as I play my final letter which manages to be on a triple word score tile.

“Woo hoo!” Stuffing one of the ginger biscuits in my mouth, I chew thoughtfully. “These are pretty good. I might make them again next year.”

“Same for these,” Harry grins as he chews on one of the thumbprint cookies. Crossing his arms on the table in front of him, he leans toward me. “Now how about you tell me exactly why you turned down my account when Glenne offered it to you?”

Shock courses through my body, and I freeze, knowing my face is likely turning into a candy cane red.

“She told you?”

“Of course she told me! I had specifically asked for you, so I was a bit heartbroken when she told me that you refused.”

His word choice makes me raise an eyebrow. “Heartbroken?”

“Devastated? Wrecked? Disappointed? Take your pick, Smith.”

Swallowing, I make eye contact with him. “I’ll tell you why I turned down our account if you’ll tell me why you call me Smith.”

His tongue darts out and wets his lips as his green eyes bore into me. “Because you remind me of a Granny Smith apple.” Confusion must sweep across my face, as he continues talking. “You’re tart at first, but you can be sweetened. I’ve witnessed it in the past as well as just the last two days.” His face colors, but he continues speaking anyway. “Plus I suspect you’re incredibly juicy, and I would love a sample.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Had Harry Styles just made a very obvious overture? Yes. Yes, he had. My eyes float over his face, searching for any indication that he’s lying, but the sincerity is striking.

First I look at my entwined hands, and then I decide to show the same courage he has exhibited. “I turned down your account because I couldn’t possibly work for you when I’m this attracted to you. It’s bad form to want to --” I can’t decide on the appropriate word, so I settle for “-- jump your client.”

The smirk is back, and it’s followed by an uproarious laugh. “This is too rich! To think that we could have been having some sort of relationship all this time is mind-numbing.” Rising, he holds out his hand. “How about we consummate our mutual attraction?”

“In the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve?”

“You got a better idea of how to spend our time?”

“Swimming?” I tease.

“Smith?”

“Yeah?”

“Take my hand.”

His words and tone make it clear that he’s interested in moving forward with this. My own body’s response is in sync with his. Gently, I place my hand in his as I rise from the table. Twisting his body, he also shifts his hand, leading me in the direction of…where? A bedroom seems too rushed. Not that my hormones would agree.

But no. We walk down the two steps into the living room where he turns on the Christmas tree lights before settling on the couch and tugging my arm so that I join him. “Oh, wait.” Rising, he approaches the sound system, and soon the strains of Christmas music fill the space. Returning to my side, he settles with his arm around me.

“Smith…” His words are a whisper, and I rotate my head in his direction as he brushes his finger over my cheek. When our lips meet, I swear I can hear the angels sing. His mouth is soft and tender, and I twine my fingers through the hand draped over my shoulder as I open wide to allow him to enter. Our tongues tangle in heat and dampness that also seems to pool between my legs. He tastes of the lemon curd thumbprints we had jointly made, and I relish the flavor, wanting more.

Shifting closer to him, I tilt my head to provide greater access, and his hand drifts to my sweatpants. Withdrawing from me, he examines our clothes. “Mind if I remove this garland?”

“Not at all,” I purr. “As long as I can get rid of these bows.” The wrapping paper skirt had already been ruined when we sat down for the Scrabble game.

Rather than unpinning the garland, though, he hooks his thumbs into my waistband and draws the sweatpants over my hips. “Up, Smith.” I lift my bum as he removes my bottoms, leaving me in my panties.

In return, I inch his hoodie up his chest and off, tossing it over my shoulder, heedless of the bows that seem to desire to stay attached to the musician. Can’t say I blame them.

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs before capturing my lips again.

When we come up for air, my hands have managed to roam his chest, tweaking his nipple and wrenching a moan from his mouth. For his part, his hand has drifted over the small piece of cloth separating my treasure from full access. His thumb rubs a pattern over the fabric, and soon I’m panting.

“Fuck,” I mutter as we separate.

“Yes please” is his cheeky reply.

“Dork,” I indict.

“Mhm. Take off that hoodie. Please.”

Willingly, I oblige. Before the material has hit the floor, he’s capturing my nipple in his mouth, and I throw my head back as fire stokes through my body from my tits to my core. “Shit,” I proclaim.

His fingers return to the scrap of cloth covering my center. As his thumb teases my clit through the silk, a finger slips underneath and into me. Without thought, I cry out, my lower body rising from the bed to get closer to heaven.

“Been a while?” His voice is rough, sounding like sandpaper as he dislodges from my breast.

“Too long,” I pant, “but you’ve always had the power to bring me to the brink just with a look.”

“I see,” he smirks, and normally I would want to smack him, but this time, I find it endearing.

“I want --” I gesture to his sweats, and he grins.

“If I refuse?”

“Then my treasure box can close pretty quickly if I don’t have something in my hands.”

Harry laughs. “Fair enough.” Shucking his sweatpants over his hips, I find that he’d chosen not to wear underpants as his cock springs upwards into my waiting hand.

“Shit. I need lubricant.” I complain.

We gaze at each other, the lust clear. Jumping up from the sofa, we race together to Glenne and Jeffrey’s bathroom. I scour the lower cabinets while Harry throws open the linen closet. “Got it!” he announces, holding the bottle over his head.

“Thank God!” My relief is real. Grabbing the bottle from him, I find I can’t move. Now what? Where do we go? We can’t very well do the deed in their bed.

Grabbing my hand, Harry once more takes the lead, and we end up in his guest bedroom. I gesture at the bed, and he strips off the duvet before lying down on his back. Crawling onto the mattress, I settle between his thighs, tilting the bottle of lube and squeezing a fair amount into my hand. Relaxed, I hold my hand over his cock, allowing droplets to fall. His eyes plead with me, and I grin at him.

“Impatient, Styles?”

“Desperate for you, Smith.”

With that pronouncement, I wrap both hands around his length, allowing my fingers to glide gently along his shaft. One hand falls underneath where I can tickle his balls playfully. When his hips start bucking, I withdraw from him completely -- albeit slowly with a final few long strokes.

His eyes fly open, and he pats the bed next to him, so I lie there.

“Smith…”

“Shhhh. Hush, Styles.”

Miraculously he doesn’t say anything, but he does reach out and shift aside the fabric over my vagina before he delves a finger inside. I know I’m wet. Hell, I can feel the dampness.

His finger teases me, and I writhe under his attention.

“Fuck, Styles. I’m gonna…”

“Do it!” he orders, and my lower body creates a bridge as my hips rise into the air while my thighs tremble in ecstasy.

As I land back onto the bed and earth itself from my recent visit to heaven, Harry carefully removes my panties and throws them over his shoulder.

“Condom?” He inquires.

“IUD. You clean?”

“Yep. Got tested not long ago. You?”

“Fuck me, Styles. We deserve this.”

“Indeed,” he grins just before he plunges into me, and I cry out at the feel of his length inside me, filling me and touching every part of me.

“Shit.” My breaths come in short spurts as he pumps into me. I can’t seem to catch my breath as my second orgasm starts building. “Shift to the left, Styles.”

“You got it, Smith. Can you scratch at my back?”

“You bet.”

The communication is nice as we guide each other to what pleases us the most. As much as I want to take our time, it’s not nearly long enough before I feel my insides begin to clench in a familiar way.

“Fuck, Styles. I’m coming!”

“Me too, Smith! Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!” He stretches the word into multiple syllables as I feel his seed squirting into my womb, stopped only by my birth control. His fingers reach between our bodies as he manipulates my clit until I see stars and arch my lower body to become closer to him.

Collapsing on top of me, his breathing is as uneven as my own.

“Merry Christmas, Smith,” he murmurs while we’re still joined.

“Merry Christmas, Styles,” I reply, hugging his body tightly to mine. No telling if we have a future, but this holiday is going to be one for the books.

A/N: This short story is dedicated to those who aren’t able to join family this Christmas due to the Coronavirus. Be safe. Be healthy. Make the best of the situation. Sending you BIG HUGS!

#harry styles #original writing #my writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles reader insert #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction

118 notes · View notes

fatefulfaerie · 3 years

Text

Unspoken

Fic-art trade with @kitycatinahipsterhatt. You drew two pictures so here is 2,000 words!

It’s a long set up before what you actually asked for happens but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

There was once a time when the princess loathed when the knight chosen by the sword that seals the darkness would accompany her. She would hate the subtle sound of his boots treading behind her, she would begrudge the way his stoic stare would fill her with discomfort, even when she couldn’t see it.

But, most of all, she detested the sight of the ornate sword strapped to his back, the constant reminder to Zelda that he was perfect, that the champions were perfect, that the kingdom was perfect and when they all looked at her to be the same, they saw only a disappointment.

Zelda had learned since then that the eyes that wore on her, that degraded her and belittled her and objectified her and weaponized her had in fact done the exact same to Link. The only difference is that he internalized it, resorting to a superficial quietude while she externalized it all, taking her frustration and anger out at everyone who didn’t deserve it, including herself.

Once she learned how much in common she actually had with her knight attendant, how wrong she was that they couldn’t be more different, she began to look at their time together much differently. In fact, she had come so far as to absolutely love when the knight chosen by the sword that seals the darkness accompanied her.

Close friends to the princess knew that she had accumulated a great amount of feelings for her companion, and that these feelings became more and more of a romantic nature by each passing day.

She loved his blue gaze and how it had started to soften around her, she loved the sound of his approached footsteps, and she loved every single part of him, even the sword strapped to him, the way he yielded it with such conviction, such purpose, such strength. Although she felt guilty for it and wished he could be free from it, he was strapped to the sword much like she was trapped to the kingdom’s expectations, and she loved that it had brought them together.

However, there were days every once in a while when Zelda had a temporary knight attendant in her company, the King insisting upon Link being given a day off. It always seemed like Link wished to object, and Zelda was starting to believe that the reason why was because he may be in love with her too.

Nonetheless, it was these dull, Link-less days where her heart thumped normally and her excitement was quiet. She spoke little with her temporary knight attendant and her thoughts ran rampant with thoughts of Link.

At the end of this one day in particular, she followed her instincts to the stables, her path lit by the moon’s light. She knew how much Link loved his horse and she knew his restlessness. If given a day off, there was no way he wouldn’t go for a ride.

And, surely enough, he was right where Zelda thought he would be, the princess blushing and smiling adoringly at the sight.

Link was sitting on the hay-strewn ground with his legs crossed criss cross honey sauce, spoiling his horse with apples as he pet her mane with an endearing smile.

Zelda stepped forward with an unspoken invitation she would later regret detecting, her footsteps making a noise that alerted Link immediately.

His head had popped up and yet he didn’t move in the slightest. His lips parted as he gazed at her transcendent figure, outlined by the light of the moon. She truly was a vision he felt undeserving of, but before he could revel in his love for her any longer, he remembered his protocol.

He quickly hastened to a kneel, bowing his head.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” he said, remaining in his respectful reverence of the royalty before him. “I was not expecting you. Do you have need of my assistance?”

“Not at all,” Zelda replied. “I didn’t mean to surprise you, I just…”

She shrugged her shoulders in what was probably the most elegant way possible, her hands clasped before her and the movement slow.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” she continued. “It was…strange, not having you around I mean.”

“Was my replacement not suitable?”

“Oh, he was,” Zelda responded. “I just—“

Zelda stopped herself, walking forward and placing her hands on Link’s biceps.

“For goodness sake Link, stand up,” she said as she prompted him up to standing, which he complied to. “You don’t have to bow to me,” Zelda said, shaking her head as she rescinded her hands.

“Protocol says otherwise,” Link said with a slight smirk. Zelda put her hands on her hips.

“Well I’m the princess and I say that you are never allowed to kneel to me again,” Zelda said. “And you be sure to remember that.”

“How could I forget an official order from the princess?” Link asked as he picked up the bag of apples from the ground. “But if you don’t mind, I’m pretty sure that not bowing to the King is a punishable offense, so I’ll keep doing that. Apple?”

Link had offered one of the red-colored fruits forward and Zelda giggled and how his mind worked. Another thing she loved. His chaos.

Yet, however flattered she was, she shook her head.

“No thank you,” she said politely. “I don’t like apples.”

Link squinted his eyes, pausing for a moment as he studied Zelda.

“You’re actually serious,” he said. “How is that possible?”

“The kitchens always prepare them baked,” Zelda said. “I never liked the consistency or the taste.”

“That means your kitchens don’t know what they’re doing,” Link said as he put the apple he offered pack in the bag, tying the canvas bag secure.

“On the contrary,” Zelda said defensively. “They prepare plenty of good meals.”

Link almost laughed.

“Baked apples are a peasant recipe,” he explained. “When people had to make something good out of having almost nothing.” Link offered his hand. “Luckily you’ve run into someone who knows how to do it properly.”

Zelda took Link’s hand slowly, with a daring glint in her green eyes and a pink blush streaking her cheeks.

Link led her to just outside the stables, where a cooking pot sat. Two small stools stood next each other and Link politely guided Zelda to sit on one of them before Link sat next to her. Brushing shoulders, their hearts warmed.

“Your kitchens probably prepare these in those large furnaces,” Link explained as he coated an apple with goat butter, letting the water in the lit cooking pot simmer. “Rookie mistake. It dries out all the flavor.”

Link tossed in the first apple, readying the second.

“Thank you for doing this,” Zelda said, expressing her gratitude, “and on your day off, too.”

Link shook his head.

“I don’t consider spending time with you as work, Your Highness,” Link said. “Your company is frankly a pleasure.” He tossed the second apple in as Zelda considered for the millionth time if her feelings matched his.

She theorized upon it in the comfortable silence that followed, bracing her arms against her thighs.

Link eventually served the hot-buttered apple using a pot lid as a plate. He cut up the first apple and arranged them like a blooming flower around the second, which he put a thick slab on goat butter on that started to melt almost immediately. Zelda was already amused by how carefully he prepared it, but when he took a small white flower that was growing near his feet and used it to decorate the plate, Zelda could think of nothing else but her assumption that he perhaps was in love with her too.

Link offered the plate forward and Zelda found herself enjoying the carefully-prepared apple immensely. In fact, with the both of them sharing the plate, the dish was gone quickly, Zelda’s opinions of apples officially swayed.

“That was marvelous, Link,” Zelda said as she set aside the pot lid, soon thereafter smiling naturally at Link, whose gaze was as warm and soft as hers. “I’d thank you again if I didn’t already know you would humbly try and reject my gratitude.”

“It really was no trouble, Your Highness,” Link said. “I would do anything for you, even on my days off.”

Zelda studied him with scanning eyes, trying to figure out as he stared at her whether or not the coloration of his cheeks was from the heat of the fire or from an infatuation with her.

Her Highness felt an impulse overcome her and, with a courage she would later regret, she aimed her lips for his.

Yet, Link immediately backed away from the threat of her kiss, going to far as to scramble to standing up to get away from the possibility, panting away his anxiety.

Zelda was completely embarrassed and overwhelmingly saddened that the prospect of her kiss was so abhorrent. Little did she know that Link was preparing himself to spout probably the biggest lie of his life.

“I’m sorry, I…” Link stammered, shaking his head. “I…I don’t feel that way, I apologize if I led you to believe that I—“

“No,” Zelda interrupted loudly, standing up as well. Her embarrassment eroding within her and making her feel sick. “No, it…it was my error. Please think nothing of it. That’s an order.”

Link knew he wouldn’t be able to follow that one. His regret ached within him and his blue eyes melted with concern for the girl whose heart he just broke, he inhaled to correct his lie with a step forward, yet Zelda interrupted again.

“I should go,” she said, backing away. “I…I’m sorry, really, I…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Link reached for her as she ran back to the castle, deciding against calling after her as he closed his eyes shut with a heavy sigh.

He sat on one of the stools, burying his face in his hands. The fire beneath the pot lid crackled chaotically like the regret in his heart.

——————————————————————————————————

Zelda couldn’t sleep, her embarrassment and her guilt keeping her up. Her mind endlessly thought of more and more apologies she owed for her childish and frivolous impulsiveness and pretty soon, she found herself heading to his chambers to voice them. Despite her heartbreak, she felt horribly guilty for his discomfort.

Being the knight attendant to the princess, his quarters were rather close. Zelda walked down the hallway of her own quarters in her white nightgown, about the make a left turn to where his quarters where before a voice stopped her at the corner.

“I panicked, okay?” she heard Link say. Zelda immediately glued herself to the wall, listening and yet out of sight. “It happened so fast. I wasn’t expecting her to do that. My instincts pulled me away, and it’s probably for the best.”

“You would rather break her heart than anger the King?” Another voice asked, likely another knight. “That’s some pretty big commitment to your job. I thought you said you loved her.” Zelda eyes widened. “Not two days ago you said—”

“I know what I said,” Link interrupted, “and I do love her. It hurt so much to break her heart, but I…I just…I mean look at it this way. Some rumor gets out that we are having an affair and even if we’re not everything falls apart. I may even be decommissioned and…and I wouldn’t be able to protect her anymore. Acting on our feelings just increases our chances of that. We have to focus on the calamity. Besides, the kingdom already sees her as a failure. I can’t add to that.”

“You say that now but you two are not going to last that long without banging it out, I can tell.”

Link’s face went red immediately, and so did Zelda’s.

Link’s fellow knight chuckled.

“You said yourself that she is the love of your life,” the knight continued. “Jokes aside, I know you won’t be able to hide that. Your duty to the King and to the sword is important and I get that. It’s important to me too. But there are things that are more important, and I think you already know that.”

There was a bout of silence, Zelda waiting for more words to hang her hopes on, to swell her heart and to color her cheeks as they already had.

“No matter what happens, keeping it in is going to hurt you two more than anything,” the knight continued. “But hey, what do I know?”

“More than me, somehow.”

The knight gave small laugh.

“Get some rest, Link,” the knight said. “And don’t worry about this too much. Love is a blessing. Treat it like a curse and that’s all it will be.”

And with that, Zelda heard footsteps, the knight obviously leaving Link to his thoughts and ruminations. Zelda held her breath as the knight turned the corner, keeping quiet and still as she pressed against the wall. Luckily, it worked, a knight in silver armor passing her without so much as a glance. Zelda attributed it to the helmet, that offered very little peripheral vision. If the knight did see her, he would have followed protocol and bowed to his princess.

Zelda, relaxed by the knight being out of sight, was still resolved to see Link. Thinking she would converse with him where he was still standing by his door, she turned the corner without looking. Haphazardly, she ran right into the blue-eyed knight that was coming to speak with her in her chambers.

They winced in pain and complaint and annoyance before looking up and seeing the other, eyes changing immediately to emotions of an arresting and paralyzing realization, that Zelda was within earshot of that conversation and that Link now knew that. They panted heavily in anticipation as their eyes changed again, to a connection of unabashed love.

Link and Zelda both surged into each other, securing their lips into a deep kiss that came straight from their hearts, and thus had endless fuel. Zelda hands were entrenched in his hair and, as they continued, her fingers had pulled off completely the band that secured his ponytail. Link had one hand on her cheek and the other around her waist, holding her in such a way that it was apparent he never wanted to let go.

He spun her around amidst the kiss, slowly peeling his lips from hers as he set her back down. They opened their eyes to each other and smiled and the wordless, mutual acceptance of their love.

Later that night, Zelda went to sleep soundly with Link’s kiss goodnight still faint on her lips.

#zelink #zelda #link #botw #breath of the wild #tloz #the legend of zelda

111 notes · View notes

katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Okayyyy here comes the next chapter ! Number .... lemme look. Okay, number six! 🥳🥳🥳

And yes, my thoughts as usual will be a messy, very Everlark-biased and full of typos. Letsss gooooo 🥰🥰🥰

Is this the first time Katniss and Peeta have been to their floor or is this just the most opportune time to explain and introduce the Tribute Center living quarters?

Also why are they called tributes anyway? That word suddenly seems weird to me after nine years... 🤔🤔🤔

“I've ridden the elevator a couple of times in the Justice Building back in District 12. Once to receive the medal for my father's death and then yesterday to say my final goodbyes to my friends and family” .... 😶😶 so only good memories and connotations to elevators then, huh?

“The walls of this elevator are made of crystal so that you can watch the people on the ground floor shrink to ants as you shoot up into the air.” My mind is just imagining the elevator in Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone’s Spider-Man movies 🤗.

“It's exhilarating and I'm tempted to ask Effie Trinket if we can ride it again, but somehow that seems childish” this is so cute and innocent omg. Katniss, like I said in my last chapter blog, still has some childlike innocence left in her 🥺🥺🥺. I’m a sad.

Also excuse the unnecessary extra gif use but 🤭🤭🤭

Oh wow, so Haymitch hasn’t been around since they were on the train? No wonder neither Katniss nor Peeta fled they could trust him for basically the entirety of the first book. 😐😐😐

You know it’s bad when Effie being around feels like a blessing to Katniss. Girl has more restraint than me, I’d have ripped off this woman’s janky wig by now without remorse. 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

Effie acts like they’re her purebred show dogs. I know I know how is this news, that’s a blatant fact. The movies really softened her up tho for the general audience. And I bleed the movies and books together more than I should 😔😔😔

Well at least she’s made herself useful, trying to get Everlark sponsors ... even if it’s ultimately to benefit herself above anyone else .... 😤

Effie calling Twelve barbaric while she’s preparing them for the slaughter isn’t even ironic it’s like literally just brainless. Johanna probably had the nickname floating around for a lot of people before she officially knighted Katniss with it 😭

“Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district.” Is this how they refer to Twelve? So basically if a district makes a better item, it’s a more worthy one in the Capitol’s eyes? So essentially, if District Eight made like diamonds or pearls or whatever then it would be more worthy? So are the districts assigned their numbers (one, two, three, four, etc) based on their order of importance to the Capitol’s lifestyle? I always thought it was based on their distance in relation to the Capitol? Okay so I didn’t really pay much attention to these facts previously when I read these books ok look away I’m an idiot

Omg 😭😭😭😭 Effie is such an idiot. But the coal turns to pearls thing is my favorite line from her only because it serves as the cutest inside joke when Peeta makes a callback to it in Catching Fire and Finnick is just like “why are these two teenagers so stupid who did I ally with? 🥵😳🥵😳🥵”

“I wonder if the people she's been plugging us to all day either know or care.” After reading Songbirds and Snakes, I’m sure they don’t have a clue, boo. 😑😑😑😑 although not everyone was an idiot back then ... maybe Snow is putting lead in the drinking water?

“But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary.” I know she’s trying to help and I know we say this kind of thing today, but considering this is two kids she’s well aware will be heading into a death match this is just bad wording I know surprise surprise 🙄🙄🙄😬😬😬😬

“Although lacking in many departments, Effie Trinket has a certain determination I have to admire.” Katniss really does see the best in people. What’s sad, y’all, is I think Katniss unconsciously really tries to like people and that’s why she has her guard up so high. Because the softer you are, the easier people will step all over you. Terrible phrasing here, Samantha, I’m so sorry to any of my readers ... okay now that sounded arrogant, implying I have readers 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤣😅🤣😅🤣😅

“My quarters are larger than our entire house back home.” Omg? I mean, yes, I knew this already obviously no duh but like also. Just the fact that three people live in a space smaller than a bedroom and bathroom arena is saddy sad sad. Also do they have indoor plumbing in the Seam or is their backyards just full of—okay, I’ll see myself out. 😶🤭😅🙃

“The shower alone has a panel with more than a hundred options you can choose regulating water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and massaging sponges.” I’m just imagining a Spongebob scene ngl.

I’m sorry there’s so many gifs this time around it’s probably taking us out of the reading headspace I’ll never do it again 😩😩😩😩 I talk like I have a class of people listening to me 🤭🤭🤭

“Instead of struggling with the knots in my wet hair, I merely place my hand on a box that sends a current through my scalp, untangling, parting, and drying my hair almost instantly” I need this someone invent this NOW my brush is yanking out my hair 😔😩

“I program the closet for an outfit to my taste.” ‘Yes, Alexa, I’d like a hunting jacket, some boots and a green shirt. Yes, it can be brown.’

“You need only whisper a type of food from a gigantic menu into a mouthpiece and it appears, hot and steamy, before you in less than a minute.” I like this idea because it means that Peeta could order hot choccy to comfort Katniss after her nightmares in Catching Fire from the comfort of her their own bed. 🤗🤗🤗 also I want this for myself. The bad people are giving my greedy self ideas look away everyone 😬

“I walk around the room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there's a knock on the door.” 🤢🤢🤢🤢 Of everything you could have chosen, child, this is what you decided on? Someone help my girl and her rotten tastebuds now.

“Effie's calling me to dinner. Good. I'm starving.” Baby, you were just eating. She’s so nutritionally messed up. 😔😔😔

Katniss trying wine 🥳🥳🥳 she’s so funny, trying to find a way to improve the taste 😅. She’ll make a good taste tester for her baker husband one day.

Hahahaha Katniss not liking the feeling and judging Haymitch for always being tipsy. Also this is sad because she ends up addicted to morphling later one which is far worse than a little wine.

I’m glad to know Baked Alaska survived the apocalypse 😅🥳

Katniss just constantly trying to decipher the recipe of every meal and how to recreate it reads cute on a surface level but it’s actually so tragic because everything to this girl is based around food. Like even more than is typically noticed. They really should have given a hint at this in the first movie. Good thing she marries a man who can always keep her full.

I’m just forever side-eyeing you, Gare Bear.

That’s Gary Ross for the confused kids in the back.

Why does Katniss yelling mid-sentence, “oh! I know you!” add to her innocence? 🥺 it’s because she was overwhelmed by all the food and new luxuries she’d never even been able to imagine ... and also this is pre her first games so she’s still got some childhood left in her 😩😔

I wonder how Lavinia felt seeing Katniss volunteer and knowing she’d be her Avox? I wonder if she, like Cinna, somehow volunteered to be her Avox?

I mean ... talk about convenient placement that this specific girl was assigned to Katniss’ district—oh wait, y’all, I just caught myself. She’s from Twelve. She was assigned to Twelve’s tributes because she’s from there, duh. I’m such an airhead omg just call me Effie.

Don’t you actually dare.

“When I look back, the four adults are watching me like hawks.” Meanwhile, Peeta is just like 😬😬😬 eating his dinner.

Actually, ngl, this could be such a reach and it probably is but like maybe Peeta sensed a confrontation coming and, because of his implied upbringing, he naturally becomes silent or makes himself invisible when trouble starts looking like it’s gonna arise. 🥺🥺🥺 I don’t know why I say these things I’m just hurting my own feelings but ya know the drill. I thought it so I said it.

Why is Effie yelling at Katniss for saying she knows the Avox girl like omg overreaction much? And I know, the sky is blue 🙄🙄🙄 she’s prejudiced against basically everyone, I know, I know

Rip her wig off, Katty Deen 🤗🤗🤗

Oh I stupidly forgot that Avoxes are supposedly known by everyone to be traitors or criminals. So I suppose this isn’t Effie’s worst offense but I’m keeping a tally anyways

Katniss is blaming her stuttering on the wine but my girl just has social anxiety 😔😔😔

Peeta coming in with a save 😭😭😭 he’s already trying saving his girl 🤧

Alsoooo the unspoken friendship, the covering for the other and teaming up against the adults, is still riding high and going strong here 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 look away, y’all, the shipper comments are coming in strong

Also why is this the first real interaction with Peeta in this chapter yet? My baby needs more page-time 🤭🤭🤭

“Delly Cartwright is a pasty-faced, lumpy girl with yellowish hair who looks about as much like our server as a beetle does a butterfly.” Now why did Katniss just tear Delly to shreds for no reason at all 😭😭😭 this was a surprise assault on the poor girl 🙃🙃🙃🙃

“She may also be the friendliest person on the planet - she smiles constantly at everybody in school, even me.” Okay not to tie absolutely everything back to Peeta ... but to tie absolutely everything back to Peeta ... this description of poor, sweet Delly is actually indicative of Peeta’s character? Since Delly, we find out in Mockingjay, is Peeta’s childhood best friend, her personality being this sunny, kind, good-natured person tells us Peeta has always probably been somewhat like her and perhaps not as much like the other town kids Katniss implies to be stuck up or snooty. Maybe Katniss is just shady and deflects onto others 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️.

Also the fact that she gives this like ... mean description of Delly but saw Peeta as popular, even though surely Delly and Peeta spent time at school together, implies further that Katniss did indeed harbor a secret crush on Peeta even before the reaping. A very mild comparison of his on her though, of course 😅😅😅

“It must be the hair” “something about the eyes too” their piggybacking on the other’s comments really is just chiefs kiss 😘🤗🥰🤧 FYI I know the saying is chefs kiss but I made the typo once a long time ago and decided to add it forever to my brand 🤗🙃🥳

Also though this Everlark interaction is reminiscent of when two kids get caught by their teacher goofing off in class and covering for each other 🥰 only it’s a lot more deadly stakes

“A few of the other couples make a nice impression, but none of them can hold a candle to us.” She’s so modest 🤧🤧🤧 her narration here and during the Tribute Parade just has the vibes of ... well .... sorry in advance

Haymitch’s comment “Just the perfect touch of rebellion. Very nice” leads me to think he and Cinna and maybe Portia were always in cahoots about the rebellion even before Katniss and Peeta came along and well ... lit their match on fire 🥁🤗🤣🤭

Katniss is like “rebellion??? Rebellion where??? What’s that you old people speak of???” And yet, girlfriend goes out to the woods and hunts illegally every day of her life 🤣🤣🤣🤣.

“But when I remember the other couples, standing stiffly apart, never touching or acknowledging each other, as if their fellow tribute did not exist” too lazy too look it up but there’s a quote from Ballad about Lucy Gray and Jessup being distinguished by their visible friendship too that set them apart from the other tributes.

Either Suzanne thought of drawing a nice parallel showing what a failed Everlark attempt looks like, because I firmly stand by the fact that without their real feelings behind their act, even Katniss’ unconscious ones, they wouldn’t have pulled it off, or Suzzie just reused her own content. I prefer the former but I think it’s probably the latter 🤭🤭🤭

“Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk." I know Haymitch is being facetious here but this quote reminded me of the fact that the movies would have hit differently if they’d cast actual sixteen year olds in the roles.

“When we get to my door, he leans against the frame, not blocking my entrance exactly but insisting I pay attention to him.” This is such a flirty, high school boy pose, you cannot convince me otherwise 😭😭😭

Also I definitely feel like Peeta is getting more and more confident here because he’s oblivious to Katniss’ inner monologue as much as she is his actually we all are his sadly and he probably thinks she’s starting to like him 🤧🤧🤧

“So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." 🤣 He honestly cracks me up idk why this line isn’t even special or that great. He’s just so ... subtly nosy / funny. Which brings me to that quote from Mockingjay where Katniss talks about his sense of humor because it’s one of the things she loves most about him 😭😭😭

But he’s like, “I can keep a secret, Katniss, tell me who that tongueless chick is to you 😬”

Katniss stop talking about debts, friends cover for the other all the time 🙄🙄 I know it’s in her character stop yelling at a fish for swimming that’s not a real phrase I know that too

Okay first of all, they’re about to share a secret 🥰🥰🥰🥰. My shipper goggles are on tight and obstructing my vision. I know this and am proud 😬🥳🤗

And secondly, “Maybe sharing a confidence will actually make him believe I see him as a friend.” Hey, butthead, you two are already friends. She doesn’t even recognize that the girl who constantly sits with her, talks to her, eats with her and trades with her is her friend either though, I’m shocked she calls Gale her friend

Does Peeta get to know Cinna too? I don’t think so but it’s mentioned now a couple times in this chapter alone that Peeta has interacted with Cinna. Katniss never interacts or has a conversation with Portia.... then again, is that even surprising? Katniss isn’t ... what you would call ... social. Hashtag relatable.

Awww, they’re communicating so effectively together 🥰😭🤧🥳

Also rooftops belong to Everlark only 😍😊😉 I mean, seriously, Katniss never goes up on a rooftop with anyone else. Besides Haymitch in the first movie but we ignore.

“Electricity in District 12 comes and goes, usually we only have it a few hours a day.” Earlier she said the Seam didn’t often have electricity, in particular, so either she’s not specifying her section of the district anymore or Suzanne is backtracking.

“But here there would be no shortage. Ever.” I’ve had two power outages recently so clearly the Capitol isn’t based on us currently today then 😐😐 I’m just joking ok

“I asked Cinna why they let us up here. Weren't they worried that some of the tributes might decide to jump right over the side?” .... boyfriend, where does your mind go sometimes? Peeta’s darker than we realize, y’all 🤭🤭🙃🙃

“He holds out his hand into seemingly empty space. There's a sharp zap and he jerks it back” between this and Catching Fire, Peeta is addicted to getting shocked by forcefields 🤧🤧🤧

“I wonder if we're supposed to be up here now, so late and alone.” If this was a romantic drama or comedy, that line would have meant something a lot more fun 😒😔😬😉😏

“On the other side of the dome, they've built a garden with flower beds and potted trees.” Is this meant to resemble Snow’s grandmother’s garden???? Like he had them put a garden there to like ... put a piece of his Grandma’am in the games? Idk this made zero sense it was a stupid thought

Two people in a garden at night, with wind chimes, sounds romantic in any other context. 🥺🥺

Ummm does everyone in the entire district know Katniss and her father used to hunt together?

Oh nevermind, Lavinia is not from District Twelve. My bad, guys. I should go up and edit my previous thoughts but that’s a lot of work. 😅😅😅

Katniss, stop being so hard on yourself. You and Gale were kids. 😣😣

Ummm, Katniss for a girl always complimenting Peeta’s storyteller, you’re pretty good at painting a picture yourself...

Peeta noticing she’s shivering 🥰🥺

He gives her ... his jacket 😭😭😭😭 such a romantic troupe Samantha, get over it there’s literally children dying

Oh wow, Lavinia was from the Capitol originally. Hmm, it is sus now that she got District Twelve this particular year.

But also 🤧🤧🤧 “he secures a button at my neck.”

His hands .... are .... often .... at her .... neck .... 😶😬 .... look away, y’all

Oh wow, Katniss is over here thinking, “who’d leave the Capitol if they were from here???” And Peeta’s like instantly, loudly, without hesitating, “well I would 🙋🏼‍♂️”

Hot take, y’all ready? Peeta was a bigger rebel than Katniss from the start. At least internally.

Awww, Peeta is so jealous 😭😭😭😭 and kind of nosy 🤭🤭🤭

Katniss : “me and Gale are not related” Peeta : “😬🙃😭😩😶”

“I'd set out to tell her I was sorry about dinner. [...] my apology runs much deeper. [...] I let the Capitol kill the boy and mutilate her without lifting a finger. Just like I was watching the Games.” I feel like this is actually a good comparison though, because of you grew up in a society where you have to watch kids die, your whole entire life you’ve watched it in a glorified television show, you would be really desensitized to it...

“You don't forget the face of the person who was your last hope.” Here she’s talking about Lavinia but it applies to Peeta too. Katniss was Lavinia’s last hope and she feels like she let her down but Peeta was her last hope once and he came through. And, as she said in chapter one, she’ll never forget him for it. And for other things too. Later on. 😏

Of course my last bullet point was focused on Everlark 🤣 is anyone surprised you shouldn’t be we all knew who this post was written by right? 😅

And once again, if too made through this marathon, congratulations 🥳🥳🥳🥳 maybe next chapter I’ll talk less not likely though so don’t count on it 😅

#thgagain #not even gonna reread this so it’s for sure littered with typos 🥳🥰😅🤭😬🙃😭🤗😏😶

42 notes · View notes

tatooedlaura-blog · 3 years

Text

Little Gems

Hi all ... it’s been awhile ... but i just can’t leave Mulder and Scully alone for long ...

Sorry about that ... the kid has a new baking business she’s running out of our kitchen (she’s 16, btw) ... we COVID-quarantine finished our basement ... I rewrote my entire third novel ... I’ve had things to do :)

Love and hug and enjoy ...

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

Little Gems

It was the look that made her stumble on her words, stutter through two syllables, hesitate on the third before rallying to pull herself back to the courtroom. Face flaming hot in an instant, she hid her clenched fists below the wooden barrier and carried on, trooper that she was.

His look.

In the middle of her sentence, she’d looked at him, the quickest of glances to see his encouraging lip twitch or the barest of nods … instead, she’d gotten popping jaw muscle, flaring nostril, and furrowed brow. She’d done her stumble because, without thought to present day for half a second, she’d rewound the past two minutes in her head. What the hell had she done to deserve that pointedly angry look?

For the next 43 minutes, she steamed slowly while her demeanor revealed nothing, back to calm, cool, collected, cadence smooth, sentence structure sound. Finally free, she moved past Mulder, dodging the crowd in the hall and slipping through his fingers as he reached for her arm, elbow, to turn her, yell at her for not saying some theory or other of his that would have gotten the case thrown out but allowed Mulder the righteous indignation of his truth.

“Hang on.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

&&&&&&&&

Continuing through the crowd at a pace not meant for five o’clock on a Thursday afternoon near a Metro station, she didn’t care that he’d driven her there. She didn’t care that her ring of keys was in his pocket. She didn’t care that her stomach needed food, her brain needed a drink, her sweet tooth needed several dozen peanut M&Ms. She did care that she had approximately $10 in her pocket, which was more than enough to get her home and she had no room for anymore cares at the moment.

She always knew that house key tucked and forgotten behind her badge would come in handy.

She would be seeing his ass tomorrow and not a moment sooner.

Mulder, on the other hand, stood there watching her storm away. Not quite sure why she was so angry with herself over a few misspoken words but the set of her shoulders and the way she threw out the ‘see you tomorrow’ told him if he did indeed see or talk to her before tomorrow, he’d possibly and probably walk away with one less appendage, be it finger or more important things.

Watching her until she disappeared into the Metro Station, he noted it contained a Blue Line so, knowing she’d get home via either Foggy Bottom or Rosslyn station, he let her go, knowing she had a key behind her badge and her emergency cash behind that.

His mind wouldn’t let it go, however. She’d been good. Damn good. Until her stumble, which, for reasons unknown to him, had made her angry. She had hesitated on two words, taken a quarter second deeper inhale than usual before she gathered and continued. He highly doubted anyone but himself had noticed but given it was Scully, she probably imagined she’d screwed everything up completely.

He chewed on this as he returned to his car, unhurried because, regardless of if he ran or crawled, he’d still be stuck in some kind of traffic between here and there.

&&&&&&&&

Scully, for her part, hated the crowds in the Metro, disliked strangers pressed this close to her, shuffled together with the unwashed masses of society, tourist and native alike, all collectively tired from their day and frustrated same as she with the swaying train and the endless wait to put on comfortable clothing and take a deep breath.

And it afforded her time to analyze Mulder’s look.

Which is exactly what she did not need at this point in time.

&&&&&&&&&&

Both moved several times during the evening to pick up the phone, find out what the other was thinking but in the end, Mulder fell asleep on his couch, worried about her, and Scully fell asleep on hers, angry at him.

&&&&&&&&&&

He honestly thought the next day would be okay. She would have spent the evening picking apart her testimony and should have, logically, arrived at the conclusion that she’d done nothing to hinder anything. He would be telling her that today when she walked in, deciding at 5:42am, while shaving, that a little reassurance would be an appropriate thing.

She walked in still irritated but hiding it … not so very well ... but well enough to return his greeting and nod when he told her she’d done fine the day before and not to sweat the stumble.

Her mug got set no so gently down on the edge of the desk , tea splashing out the sides.

All right.

Plan B.

Waiting until she’d wiped up the carnage of her very own personal DC Tea Party, he handed her her keys from the day before, “come on. We’re taking the day off.”

With a sigh, “we can’t.”

“After your stellar week with Kersh and Skinner, you deserve diamonds and ice cream. Come on.”

Fuck it. It was Friday. Why not follow? God know, she could just as easily be irritated with him outside as she could be in the confines of the basement.

&&&&&&&&&

“Are you kidding?”

“When is the last time you touristed DC? I mean, like, looked around and went to stuff and stared at it and read the little signs and learned something from what you read on those little signs?”

Another sigh, “it’s been awhile.”

“Then come on.” They walked over to the Mall, then Mulder tuned them to the Museum of Natural History.

Seeing the building and the crowd, “Mulder, it’s going to be packed in there.”

“Not where we’re going.” Up the steps, weaving through throngs in shorts and gym shoes, flipflops and sunglasses, they stood out like a tandem sore thumb, leather heels and barely there hose, Trinity tie knot and tartan pattern socks.

They drew more than a few stares. Thank God he’d left his suit jack behind.

Once they’d dropped the donation fee and flashed badges for guns, he led her past the dinosaur bones and then up to the second floor. Even though she wasn’t exactly happy, she had to ask, “um, you realize you passed the T-Rex, right?”

“He’s not going anywhere, Scully. I’ll see him on the way out.”

She hadn’t been to the second floor since, well, she wasn’t even sure what was on the second floor or if she’d ever been there at all, to be honest. Mulder turned her when they got out of the elevator and before she knew it, she was in a quiet area, glass cases surround her, a few people milling but the majority still downstairs with the bones and fossils.

“There’s nothing like the gem room in the morning.”

She fell in love as she took her first good look around. Minerals and elements and crystals along the walls, lights dimmed in spots, a sign for the Hope Diamond beckoning. Looking up at him, “how long has this been here?”

He laughed, quietly of course, because the area felt akin to a church or other place where silence and low murmurs were preferred over screaming children and echoing chaos, “the building, since around 1910, but the contents,” pretending to do some heavy math, using all his fingers and some of hers just for fun, “longer than that.”

Her crank meter dropped like a rock but some remained, “one day I’ll find you funny.”

Taking her elbow and feeling happy she didn’t jerk away from him, he led her towards the wall, “first, I’m going to take you on a tour of the blue section.”

“Are we dispensing with scientific names today? Will it be the green shiny ones and the square yellow ones and the ones that look like table salt but will kill you instantly if you ever tried to put them on a piece of corn on the cob?”

“One day, I’ll find you funny as well.”

They wandered in somewhat comfortable silence, sharing the oft-comment of ‘this one’s pretty’, ‘this one’s three trillion years old’ …

“Three billion, Mulder.”

“Once you get above a couple million, it’s all just really damn old and doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Are you sure you passed your science classes in high school?”

“Cute girls helped me cheat.”

She didn’t doubt it.

&&&&&&&&

Round about an hour later, while looking intently at the diamonds, Scully finally had to ask, her anger drained away, an empty hole left behind waiting to be filled with some kind of explanation. Standing beside him, hand resting lightly on the edge of the case, she asked in a soft voice, “why did you get angry at me yesterday while I was on the stand?”

What?!

“What?!”

“Right before I humiliated myself by not being able to say the word ‘epiglotal’, I looked at you and you were pissed at me.”

What?!

“God, Scully, no. No. I wasn’t mad at you at all. You were doing great.” He was leaning into her at this point, the intensity radiating off him enough to send world leaders to their knees in fear and her cheeks to warm at his proximity, “I wasn’t mad at you at all, I swear.”

Still quiet, “then what were you mad about?”

Talking at the glass but catching her reflection beside him, he felt like an idiot but didn’t think this was the time to attempt a lie, “um, the little shit paralegal behind me was whispering to his buddy about things he could imagine doing to you if he could get you alone in the closet in the hall for a few minutes.” She stayed silent as he stood there, feeling his stupidity growing in leaps and bounds, until he had to do something. Moving his hand closer, he reached out until he found her pinkie, hooking it with his momentarily, “I didn’t mean for you to see that. I’m sorry I messed things up.”

Sliding her hand out from him a second later, she moved it to his back, running fingers along the indent of his spine, up and down, down and up, stopping to palm his side before letting her arm dangle between them, “it’s okay. I’m just glad you weren’t irritated with me. I should have asked you sooner, I guess, instead of letting things fester in my head.”

Her touch sent his skin buzzing, his hand always on her back, but hers rarely on his, and he knew she felt his quick breath in but both ignored that for now, “just to let you know, I’d have throttled him had we not been sitting in front of that many lawyers and the judge.”

She finally smiled, the left side of her mouth turning up, “I’d have liked to have seen that.”

Going for broke, he moved his hand to her elbow, then slid it down, working his fingers into hers, as he leaned in a second time, a little bit closer, a little bit quieter, “jealousy is an ugly thing, Scully, let me tell you.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” Finally, finally, finally meeting his reflection, “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

Now warm from head to toe, “since I’ve already showed you the diamonds, how about I go get you that ice cream now?”

“In a few minutes.” Wrapping her free arm around the one holding her hand, she whispered over to him, “I kind of like it here.”

#msr #xfiles fanfic #x-files fanfic #no mama scully but peanut M&Ms so that's something #i miss the smithsonian and dc and travel #diamonds and ice cream #i think i like it here too #My writing

73 notes · View notes

jackest-jack · 3 years

Note

I would very much like to hear about your spooky scary Sirens, pretty please 🥺

AJKSJAKISJAJAJF Ok so I almost had a heart attack when I saw you were following me because YOU’RE SO COOL so thank you

I already wrote about my spooky scary sirens over here, and they have pictures and I would be willing to write a short thing with them later but for right now I’m gonna pick a different thing and blab about it.

The most fleshed out and cohesive thing I have is the vampire band nerd slasheresque story with a police chase followup as well as a separate zombie apocalypse thing, so ig I’ll go with that. More under cut and warning for like a lot of gore and death and angst. I’m also only doing the first part of that because this is taking a long ass time

I came up with this in junior high, and I was in band, and I noticed that each instrument section had different personalities sort of, so I made characters around that and put them in a horror plot where they all die horribly, because what else are you gonna do? This is gonna be a plot rundown and it might get real long. (It is no longer a rundown. Its just unedited word vomit.)

anyways a bunch of friends, who I’m just gonna call by their instrument names, go camping in the woods for a couple weeks. They all take one car and set up in the middle of fuckin nowhere.

Clarinets a vampire pretending to be a high schooler for kicks, because she was 15 when she turned 5 years ago and got dragged away to the magic underworld (basically a series of safehouses and towns for the supernatural) and she wants a letterman goddamnit.

She gets adopted into a friendgroup despite her best efforts, and gets dragged along on the camping trip in the small car and close quarters with a buddy system and she hasn’t eaten anything substantial in like two months and its proving to be a problem when she starts thinking of her friends as snacks instead of people.

one night, percussionist gets up to go on a 3 am lake walk. But, the buddy system. So he takes Clarinet, who never seems to sleep anyways, with him.

They’re on the edge of a lake littered with huge old chunks of driftwood, looking out over the water, when Percussionist steps on something sharp. It went straight through his sandal and he pulls it out without much trouble, but “that nail looks kind of rusty and I’m Pretty Sure I’m bleeding a little bit, oh I hope I don’t need a shot-“

she falls on him like a cat on a wounded songbird. She has enough of her mind left to cover his mouth and stop the screams as he slowly loses blood.

He tries to fight back. He does. he jams the nail deep into her throat and twists away, but she catches his wrist and slams him backward, a sharp stick going through his stomach, sticking him bloody at the base of an old driftwood branch still attached to its old tree.

She stops draining just before he dies. And she waits, and waits, and waits. Finally, hours later, the corpse takes a deep gasp and its eyes fly open. It begins the excruciating process of pulling itself off the tree.

his wound is closed less than a minute later.

he comes to and sees her sobbing on the ground, bloody streaks under her eyes from where she tried to wipe away her tears with hands soaked from putting pressure on his stomach in a feeble attempt to save him.

“Vampires, huh?” He says, half joking, half looking for an explanation.

—-—

they’re sitting around a small campfire, and Clarinet tells him that he’s a vampire, he needs blood, he cant go back to camp or he will eat his friends. She leaves to find him something substantial before he loses it.

back at the original camp, its around sunrise. Flute notices a small trail of smoke not far off, realizes that Percussionist is missing, and gets French Horn to help him look for their idiot friend (and maybe put out a small fire.)

They make it about 3/4th of the way to the smoke when flute trips on a tree root and scrapes his knee. About a mile away, Percussionists head perks up.

He distantly realizes that he just left the campfire that he’s supposed to stay at, but he can‘t seem to care. The hunger doesn’t gnaw at him or hollow him out. Its not like looking for a fix either. Its an itch in his whole body, a near unavoidable function of his being. The hunt is as natural as a cough, a spasm of muscles to take away the awful itch.

He moves faster than he ever could before, and just to see if he can, he jumps up and begins running across the branches of trees. Its slower, but sneakier; his prey won’t see him coming.

Finally, he reaches them. He jumps on the smaller one, sending it crashing to the ground. It’s blood is what brought him here. He sinks his hollow teeth into its neck and begins feeding.

There is a scream and a crash as the taller one runs away. Thats ok. He only needs one.

———

French horn, for her part, is freaking the fuck out. The sun had just peaked over the horizon and orange light was streaming through the trees when everything went to shit.

The pale thing had fallen on Flute, and the noise he made… she was almost certain he was dead now.

She kept running. If she could make it back to camp, then maybe she could get help, or maybe leave before the rest of them died too.

She charges through a thicket, sharp thorns scraping and tearing every inch of her as she shoves her way through. She shuts her eyes as she goes, to avoid the thorns poking them out.

When she comes out the other side, she feels her gut sink.

She doesn’t recognize the trees or bushes around her. She doesn’t see a path.

She’s lost.

She wants to break down, to scream and cry the injustice to the heavens, to kick and punch and fight the thing that killed her friend, to sit down and rest and have a moment to breathe, to be home-

She picks a direction and runs.

———

Percussionist stops draining Flute just before he‘s dead, following the instinct that drove him to where he is.

He wants to be horrified. He does, really. But he was so hungry, and the itch is still there, waiting beneath his skin to pounce on him again. But for now, its gone, and he can think clearly. He can move without the instinct tainting his every twitch.

He turns to look at the person he drained and sees-

He sees his friend. And it hits him all at once.

He killed a person, a person he knew, a person he cared for, and he had been powerless to stop it. He didn’t even know- he didn’t realize- he would never have done it if he-

but he knew he would have. Even if he knew. He would’ve killed Flute, and he hates himself for that.

So he sits by the body of his dead friend, maybe in solace, maybe because some instinctive tick tells him to. He doesn’t want to know. He refuses to.

When Flute sat up and gasped, Percussionist could‘ve sworn he had a heart attack (even without a functioning heart.)

To Flutes credit, he made it through Percussionists halting and confused explanation before letting himself ask about the smell.

”what smell?” Percussionist asked, and lifted his nose to the air.

He got his answer. The smell of blood, salty and sweet and with a coppery tinge to it drifted through the air, leaving a hunger and odd comfort sitting in his gut. It reminded him of smelling baking cookies from the kitchen as a kid.

A leaf crunched, and he snapped out of his trance. Flute had stood up and broken into a run, faster than any human could’ve gone. After the person that had been with him.

After his friend.

Percussionist sprinted after him.

——

He had the chance to notice how fast he was really going, now that he could think through the hunger. He practically flew through the forest, leaping over a fallen log half his size that blocked his way. He ducked and dodged branches that threatened to slash his face, and if he were running for something else he may have threw his head back and laughed.

As it was, he was following the occasional red flash of a windbreaker that he could barely keep up with without being hit by a tree.

He could heal now right? Did he really even need to be worried about being hit by trees?

He let one slap his face just to test, and he felt the stinging pain all across his face as a deep cut opened across his nose and eyes. He faltered as his vision went red with blood. A second later, it was gone, and he could see again. ….And he‘d lost flute. Great.

He sniffed the air, remembering how he’d been able to smell the blood, and tried to look for his friend.

He could smell the whole forest. Sap and pine and rotting leaves, rotten flesh and mushrooms and a skunk miles and miles off, the sweet sting of honey and dew and campfire smoke, and over it all, the most lovely smell-

Well, looks like he couldn’t find him that way. He thought for a moment, and groaned. He could just follow French Horn and get to her first!

He began running again.

———

Clarinet had just made it back to the campsite, a live deer kicking around over her shoulder. She would’ve killed it, but she couldn’t quite figure out how without losing any of its blood, and since she drained and seriously injured Percussionist he would need a lot of blood-

and the campfire had a suspicious lack of vampires around it. Great. She could only hope that no one had cut themselves-

She stopped as the scent of blood hit her nose. She cursed and took off running, dropping the deer as she did.

——

French Horn thought she was going to die when she heard a bush rustle and snap behind her. She had stopped for a rest, thinking she was safe (if very lost). She was braced for her death when Percussionist crashed through the bushes.

”Oh, good, you’re still alive. We need to go like right now.”

Before she could protest, he grabbed her wrist and began pulling her away. With his very cold, very pale hand.

”Wait. Was it you?” She said, planting her feet.

”Yes.” his voice was solemn, and his eyes downcast. “But unless you want Flute to get you, we need to go”

She tore her wrist out of his grasp.

“Flutes dead. Flute’s dead and you killed him!”

And Flute hit her from the side. He sank his teeth deep into her neck, but only for a moment. Then he pulled back, looking horrified and ran away.

French Horn stands up dazedly. “That was…”

”Yeah.”

she lifts a hand to her bleeding neck where the bite is still gushing blood.

A rustle of trees comes from the side, and Clarinet skids to a stop in front of them. She takes in the situation and drops to her knees, tearing loose a piece of her shirt and holding it to the holes in French Horn’s neck.

”Wheres the third?”

French horn points to the copse of trees he disappeared into.

”I think we might actually be jinxed.” A pause, then “That was supposed to be a joke. Go after him. He’s heading towards the camp, and chances are he won’t be able to stop himself a second time.”

Percussionist nods, and then stops. “How do I get there?”

”just run straight! GO!”

and he does.

———

Clarinet gently explains to French Horn that vampires are real, and that she is one. When asked why she isn’t bloodthirsty, Clarinet answers that she has a lot of blood left in her still, and that she’s not all the way changed, and that the change will, in her words, “Stink. Its kind of the worst thing you’ll have to go through, and it’ll take way longer since you have blood, and you may not notice at first.“

French Horn pursed her lips. “Theres no way to stop it?”

Clarinet shook her head.

”Okay. Okay, shouln’t we help Percussionist?”

Clarinet swore. “You won’t be much help in the state you’re in, but I can drop you off by the camp. Pack our things and be ready to go.”

Clarinet scooped French Horn up and took off into the woods.

———

Percussionist got there just as Tuba was ripping Flute off of his neck.

Despite Flute being the smallest out of all of them, and Tuba being the strongest, he was struggling to keep the scrabbling, biting Flute away.

So, Percussionist did the only logical thing and full body tackled Flute, trying to hold him down. It worked, sort of. Long enough for Tuba to start running. Long enough for Sax and Trombone to see what the ruckus was.

Flute burst out of Percussionists grip, grabbed Trombone and ran.

Sax sprinted after them, and percussionist was left in the dust, standing dumbstruck as they all dashed off. He snapped out of it when Trumpet pressed an axe to his shoulder and told him to not move.

———

Flute knows this: he is very hungry. He also knows that blood tastes very good.

His last two meals escaped. He thinks he let the first go, but he can’t seem to remember why. The second was ripped away from him by someone like him, which was rather rude.

But this one won’t get away. He is far to hungry to let that happen.

He feeds as he runs, draining the squirming thing dry, pinning its flailing limbs against his chest. It stops wailing eventually.

He slows as he becomes able to think clearly again. He holds the body in his arms and revels in the fact he is no longer hungry. Then, he looks at the thing he drained.

And it’s his friend. He feels his stomach drop, and a hollow pit grow in his chest. His friend is dead, and it’s his fault. He tells himself there’s nothing to do but run, so he does.

Really, though, he just doesn’t want to see what she’ll become.

———

“What did you do to them.” Said Trumpet, each word slow and dangerous. She lifted the axe off his shoulder, and he felt relief before he realized she was lining up to take off his head.

He may be able to heal, but he did not want to see how far that ability stretched. Not like this, at least.

He swallowed his fear and asked, ”What makes you think I did something?“

She barked out a harsh laugh. “You go missing in the middle of the night with Clarinet, who still isn’t back. Flute and French Horn go to look for you and have mysteriously disappeared. Tuba came running from this direction, bleeding like a stuck pig. And here I find you, in the center of it all.”

Ah. He was fucked. Time to implement the worst plan ever, considering how fast Trumpet was.

”that’s- that sure is some pretty overwhelming evidence that I did something. I swear I didn’t, though but I know you won’t believe me so I’m just gonna RUN!”

He ducked under the axe she swung at his head, and took off running into the trees. He glanced behind him to see her struggling to keep up, and grinned. He was actually getting away with his head, and beating Trumpet in a footrace for once-

He turned back around just in time to see the tree that crumpled his skull.

———

He wished he could say he didn’t feel every excruciating twitch of his skull righting itself as he laid there. As it was, it was painful enough he was functionally passed out.

Which is why he was surprised to see trumpet dragging him by his feet deep into the woods.

Not half as surprised as trumpet, who dropped his feet and swore when he sat up and gasped.

”What the hell? You were dead! that killed you!” She yelled.

Percussionist was still reeling from how much growing his skull back sucked, and latched on to the first thing he noticed.

”Did you steal my shoes?”

”what are you?” She asked in a tone that was decidedly horrified.

He fiddled with a piece of grass somewhere to his left. “A vampire, as of yesterday. Really though, why do you have my shoes?”

“Not important. What do you mean as of yesterday?”

”Last night, really. Me and Clarinet-“

”Clarinet and I.” She said.

”Whatever. We went on a walk and turns out she’s always been a vampire, and then she did the vampire thing, and now I’m a vampire, and things have just been spiraling from there-”

”That explains a lot, actually. Who else is a vampire?”

Percussionist, feeling slightly more alive, realized they weren’t by the camp anymore.

”Where are we? Why do you have my shoes, and why are you so calm about this?”

”oh.” She said. “I may have made an action plan for something like this. You know, in case of murderers, or if supernatural stuff was real.”

”thats cool. Why steal my shoes?“

”I was framing you for murder.”

an awkward silence settled over them.

”We should get back to camp. Stop more people from getting vampired and all.”

”Yeah. Lets do that.“

———

Sax skidded to a stop in front of Trombones body. She was limp, and pale, and by all accounts dead. He whipped out his phone to call anyone, anyone at all, and pitched it into a tree when it read no service.

He sat, and he cried by his best friend, who always made the shittiest puns, who was the worst at sports, who thought anything with soulmates was stupid but still read all the stuff he suggested her. Who was dead.

He was still crying when she sat up and latched onto his neck, draining him dry.

———

French Horn and Clarinet ran across Tuba, who was holding gauze to his neck where he had been bit. French Horn was starting to feel slightly feverish, but otherwise okay.

”Guys! Are you okay? The weirdest thing just happened.” He said.

”We need to leave.” Said Clarinet. “Now.”

”No argument here. Have you guys seen Flute? He was with you last time I saw him.“

French Horn and Clarinet shared a look.

“I’ll go find him. You two pack. we leave before dusk.”

They watched as she disappeared into the leaves.

”Whats going on?” Asked tuba, a hint of worry in his voice.

French Horn took a deep breath in before saying “Vampires are real.”

Tuba burst out laughing.

“Oh. You’re serious.” He said as he hefted a tent into the back of the van.

”you don’t believe me.”

“How could I? I haven’t seen any proof that they exist.”

She threw a bag of trash in the van with more force than nessecary.

“What attacked you then?”

At this he paused. “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a vampire.”

———

Percussionist and Trumpet made it to where Trombone was crying over Sax, the late afternoon sun reflecting off of their now pale skin.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. He’ll be alright.”

Trombone looked up at him and snarled, all teeth and rage, and Percussionist jumped back.

”He’ll end up like me, won’t he.”

Percussionist nodded.

”I don’t know what world you’re living in, but this isn’t fucking alright!”

Trumpet walked over and knelt in front of Trombone. She held out her hand, and Trombone scrambled away.

”I don’t believe you would hurt me. Not right now. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

”so what?” She scoffed. “I still did it. Should I just go on existing as whatever I am now? Just kill people so I can live?”

”Actually,“ Percussionist said, “we can live off of different types of blood.”

Trumpet looked back and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shut up you twatwaffle, can’t you see this is a delicate moment?”

”just figured it would be some good information to have.“ he said.

“Are you seriously telling me my angst fest was for nothing?” She asked.

Percussionist leaned against a tree. “Oh, don‘t worry.” He said. “Theres still plenty of angst about the immortality.”

“Sax did always say he wanted to be sixteen forever.”

Trumpet rolled her eyes. “Lets go home.”

Trombone reached out to take Trumpets hand, and Sax shot up and clamped his jaws around her throat. Trombone grabbed Trumpets wrist and pulled her away as Percussionist peeled Sax away.

”Let him.“ choked out Trumpet. “I‘ll be one of you either way.”

”Absolutely not!” Said Percussionist. “Trombone, go find literally anything else with blood.” Sax kicked and snarled in his grip. “Hurry! I’m not sure how much longer I can hold him.”

———

“Flute!” Yelled Clarinet. She had been looking for him for an hour now, and still couldn’t find him.

She was walking along an old trail that went out of use years ago when she almost tripped over him. He was curled up in the shade of a tree, hiding away in a hollow.

“What do you want.”

”I want to take you home.” She said.

he laughed. “Something like me doesn’t deserve a home. I killed people, and I knew there was another way, but I did it anyway. Just leave me here to rot.”

She remembered when she’d been like this. She had forgotten to eat, had slipped up. Its not a hard thing to do. When you’re a vampire, you brain tricks you into feeling fine by your old standards until you‘re so hungry you can’t stop it.

She believed it was all her fault, though. The only way someone had gotten through to her was something they had called twisting the knife. She had always called it shitty.

She sighed. “I wanted to say sorry.”

He poked his head out a little, peering up at her. “You didn’t do anything.”

”But I did.” She said. “I drained percussionist dry last night, and then I left him to find you. I watched while you attacked your friends, and now, I’m giving you a chance to fix the harm we caused. What will you do with it?”

”You made me like this?” He asked.

”Yes.”

he lunged at her face, fingers clawing for her eyes. She turned around and ran for the campsite, making sure he was behind her, and praying that he would forgive her for the stunt she just pulled.

———

The campsite was packed, and Percussionist and Trombone had made a game of who could catch the best songbird for Sax. Sax was less murderously inclined, though it was hard to tell if it was because the blood he had consumed or trumpets growing nonhumanness.

After the third or fourth time of watching Sax suck down a bird or squirrel like a juice box, Tuba was forced to admit that maybe vampires were a little real.

(He noticed his neck wound had already scabbed over and was halfway gone. He was afraid to ask if he was becoming one.)

The sun was slipping behind the tops of the trees when Clarinet charged out of the forest, leapt over the van, And yelled “Flutes trying to kill me!”

Flute burst into the clearing and lunged at Clarinet. Percussionist stepped in the way.

”What happened?“

”She did this in purpose! She said she dropped you in the woods to kill us!”

Percussionists blinked. “No she didn’t. She told me to stay where I was while she got something for me to eat.”

he stopped yelling. Now, he just looked confused. “But she turned you.”

”Yeah? It was an accident. She obviously regretted it.”

Percussionist backed off, and Flute looked at clarinet.

”why did you say all that then?”

“You were’t gonna come with me if I didn’t. Besides, you were spiraling and this was the easiest way to stop that.”

”Sounds like the shittiest way to stop it, too.” Scoffed Tuba.

She sighed. “Yeah. It was.”

”Hey,” asked sax. “Are any of us still human? I know me, Percussionist, and Trombone aren’t-“

”Percussionist, Trombone, and I.” Said Trumpet.

”-And I saw you two jump over my van, but whats up with the rest of you?”

”Basically,” said Clarinet, “anyone who was bit is or will become a vampire, depending on how much blood they had left in them after the bite. Was there anyone who wasn’t bit?”

everyone was silent as they all glanced at each other, looking for anyone who could say yes. It quickly became awkward, and was broken by Clarinet muttering “Fuck.” quietly under her breath.

”Who all, um, died today?”

Flute, Sax, and Trombone slowly raised their hands. Clarinet squinted at Percussionist, which prompted him to say “What? I died last night.”

French Horn yelled “past twenty four hours, dingus.”

He rolled his eyes and raised his hand.

”Alright. You three,” -she made a sweeping gesture towards the three with their hands down- “Are going to have the worst couple weeks of your life. Take a few days off of everything. Don’t go to the hospital. Stay isolated. Call me when the pain’s mostly over.”

Tuba’s lips pursed. “What, exactly, is going to happen to us?”

”The way it was explained to me was that your body slowly cannibalizes itself. It sucks.”

”hm.” He said. He looked very troubled.

They got in the van and drove through the night.

For now, they rest. A short break, before they have to figure out the rest of their lives.

#Not a super satisfying ending I know #Not the best writing I could’ve done either #I’m already planning out a sequel for how things go that will get into the nitty gritty of their character #And hopefully give them real names #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A PLOT SUMMARY WHAT WHENT WRONG #(It started out as a kiss how did it end up like this)#Its still basically the bulletpoints version of this story with some banter mixed in #I did actually have a concrete well thought out(ish) plan #Then the characters (mostly trumpet and tuba) said “no thanks we’re too cool for your shit/to much of a himbo” respectively #And honestly? They’re right #Please keep in mind I made this when I was like 12-13 and havent developed it much since then but I love em all the same #I could be persuaded to attempt to draw them #Or at least picrew them #Anyways that took way too long thank you for sitting through this with me #Writing #my writing #oc #ocs #my ocs #writeblr #Bandpires

19 notes · View notes

corvus--rex · 3 years

Text

Long ago I had a writer's fever dream where I thought "What if Keith had a twin? And what if that twin was on the Kerberos mission..." So I decided to rewrite VLD from the beginning with these things in mind. This one's pretty well given up on as of right now. I realized that I needed to figure out how to fit people in and never quite got there. Anyway, here's the first ~1.3k words of Double Threat (working title). (also, for the record, I don't actually ship Keith & Matt, but ocs are always fair game ;) )

}~{~}~{

“Why you? Why does it have to be you? If anything – and I mean anything – happened…I…I don’t know what I’d do. Not after…” Keith began his rant angry, furious even. But then the walls began to crumble like they always did around his brother, and the truth began to slip out.

Finlay stopped. He sighed, turning around. They’d gone over this so many times. Despite their both still being cadets at the Galaxy Garrison, despite both of them having unmatched scores in their classes and flight training, it was Finlay who was chosen in the new mentorship program. It was Finlay who had been selected for the opportunity to go along on the Kerberos Mission as a co-pilot, to have the experience of real space flight. They both knew why. Not that it made sense to anyone but Commander Iverson.

Keith and Finlay, despite being identical twins, despite having nearly identical scores, weren’t viewed the same way by some of the Garrison’s faculty. The brothers stuck together, backing each other up in everything. But James Griffin had gone out of his way to harass Keith one day, and Keith snapped, getting into a fistfight with the other boy. Ever since then, Iverson had decided that Keith was trouble, even though the class full of witnesses all said the same thing: that Griffin had purposely goaded Keith into that fight.

“I know. But I’ll be with Shiro, and Sam. And Matt. We’ll be fine.” Finlay huffed a laugh. “If anything, you’ll have the tougher job. Keeping Katie in line.”

Keith cracked a smile, albeit a small one. His brother considered that a win.

“Of course,” he said with a knowing smirk, “That also means I won’t be around to give you someone to hide behind whenever your crush is around.”

Keith’s smile hardened into a glare at his twin. “Fuck.”

“Sorry,” Finlay said, smirk still in place, “Looks like you’re just gonna have to deal with McClain all on your own for a few months.”

“Kill me now.”

The smirk widened into a grin. “Nope. Either suffer, get over it, or y’know…just fucking tell him.”

“Never gonna happen,” Keith said, but his immediate stress had been relieved.

“You say that now, dear brother, but you are way the fuck too gay to keep it to yourself without me.”

“You’re just as gay as I am.”

Finlay slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Oh, well aware. How else would I know?”

Keith snorted. “Yeah, about that. How areyou planning on dealing with being out in space? With Matt? In such close quarters?”

“Fuck you,” Finlay spat without malice, shoving his brother, who only laughed.

_~*~_~*~_~*~_

Keith raced along the desert, the memory unbidden, but not unwelcome. He was getting them back. Both of them. Finlay and Shiro. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to manage it with just his hoverbike and not knowing what kind of shape they were in, but he was doing it. Whatever the hell else was going on, he was getting them back.

Taking out the guards was easy. Taking out the Garrison scientists was even easier. Just as Keith was working on releasing the restraints around Finlay’s wrists, his twin began to wake. Keith’s efforts became hurried, nearly frantic, in his attempt to free his brother. The instant one wrist is free, Finlay rolled, pushing Keith’s hands away so he could free himself.

“Shiro took most of the impact,” he managed weakly, “He needs more help than I do.”

Keith had only just gotten Shiro free and his weight supported when a hand was on his shoulder. One of the hazmat-suited scientists was awake. It took Keith a second to recognize him through the suit.

“Adam?”

“Let me help.”

Keith didn’t think, only reacted. “Ok. What now?”

“Nope. No no no no no,” said a familiar voice from the entranceway.

Keith froze, not having heard that voice in six months. He felt more than heard Finlay’s rough chuckle behind him. What the actual fuck was Lance McClain doing there? Not that it mattered, they didn’t have time for that. Adam took charge, leading them and the other two Garrison cadets that looked like they’d been following Lance out and over to one of the Garrison vehicles.

“Keith! I need you to take point! Get us the fuck out of here!” Adam yelled, ushering everyone but Finlay into the truck.

Finlay followed Keith to the hoverbike, climbing on behind his twin. He was still weak from the crash, and whatever it is that the Garrison techs did to him, but held on with what strength he had left.

“Finn, you good to ride?” Keith asked, flipping the power switch.

Finlay nodded against his back, knowing his voice wouldn’t be heard over the roar of the engine.

“Hold on.”

Keith took off, feeling more secure than he had in months. He led Adam through the desert, knowing that the ace pilot could keep up with him, even in something like a Garrison truck. They lost the rest of the Garrison pursuit, but Keith didn’t trust them. He took off again, making a turn he knew would make the trip longer, but it was less likely that they’d be followed.

Coming over the crest of a hill, the cabin that had belonged to their father came into view. Keith felt it when Finlay gasped against his back.

“It’s still there,” he said softly.

The hoverbike had slowed down, the engine nowhere near as loud as it had been. Keith heard his brother’s astonished whisper.

“Yeah. It is.”

Adam and the others were still unloading both themselves and the still unconscious Shiro from the Garrison truck when the Kogane twins entered the cabin. Finlay was surprised to see that it looked lived in and turned to face Keith. For his part, Keith was looking more at the floor than his twin.

“I, um, I kind of got kicked out of the Garrison,” he admitted, “You went missing, and they tried to claim that it was pilot error. I knew it was bullshit and I tried to fight it, but Iverson just called it ‘disciplinary issues’ and got me booted. He tried to say that I wasn’t thinking clearly and that I was trying to see things that weren’t there. I never believed it was pilot error. I’ve been out here listening to the Garrison’s radio chatter; that’s how I knew where to find you.”

Finlay was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but still found the strength to pull his brother into a tight hug. “I knew you’d never give up. Too fuckin’ stubborn for it.”

Keith returned his twin’s hold. “So are you.”

Their moment was interrupted by the sound of conversation and what they knew was Shiro’s unconscious body being dragged across the compacted sand and dirt. The rest of the group stumbled inside, Adam and Lance carrying Shiro.

}~{~}~{

From a later scene that wasn't even half-baked:

“Go away,” Pidge snapped, “I’m close, I know I am.”

She tried to throw off the hand on her shoulder, but it held on, squeezing once. “We’ll find him.”

That voice used to throw her off, never knowing if it was Keith or Finn. But after months in space together, she learned the differences between the twins. Sighing out a combination of stress, exhaustion, and frustration, she let her hands fall from the keyboard and slumped into her chair.

“Every time I think I'm getting somewhere, it always leads to a dead end. I’m getting frustrated, Finn. The only thing that keeps me going is that I know Matt and Dad are still out there somewhere. I have to find them. I'm going to find them.”

~*~*~*~

Links to the rest of the series:

1 | 2 | 3* | 4 | 5* | 6* | 7 | 8 | 9* | 10 | 11 | 12* | 13 | 14 | 15* | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19*

#my writing #abandoned wips #klance #lance mcclain #keith kogane #vld #voltron #keith x lance

11 notes · View notes

eurydicees · 3 years

Note

tamakyoharu post-canon comfort/cuddling after a long day of work? >w>;;

gonna be honest, i totally forgot that my requests are open and so i saw this ask and was just like? this isn’t a question but i agree? tamakyoharu cuddling. good stuff right there. anyways then i remembered i’m supposed to be writing things, i hope you enjoy <3

just hold me, tonight

summary: after a long day of studying for the bar exam, haruhi comes home. tamaki and kyoya are waiting for her.

pairings: tamaki suoh/kyoya ootori/haruhi fujioka

words: 1191

warnings: none

Haruhi loves her work. Being a lawyer has been her dream since she was young, since she knew what it was like to have a dream. But wanting to be a lawyer also comes with things like this: staying up until 3am studying for class. Pulling all-nighters while preparing for the bar. Breaking down at Tamaki after remembering that the second phase of the bar is three days of essays. Hiding in Kyoya’s arms and trying to forget that the pass rate is 15%, and less than a quarter of lawyers are not men.

She loves her work; she loves learning about the law and she loves learning about all of the ways she can help people in unfair trials about unfair business practices— she tries not to sound too pointed when she talks to Kyoya about worker’s rights— and all of the ways that the country turns. She likes thinking that her mother did this, too— studied and cried and fought for her place in graduate school and won.

That doesn’t make it any less hard.

Haruhi has been at the school library for three hours now, pouring over a series of official documents detailing SCOJ 2007 No. 30. She knew the basics of the case, in theory, but that didn’t make it make sense. That just made it factual. The two, she knows, are very different.

“We’re closing the library in a moment,” someone says, breaking into her thoughts. Haruhi looks up from the document she’s been reading to find one of the librarians frowning at her. “Go home, Fujioka. You’ve been here for hours.”

Haruhi sighs. “I’ll head out in a second. Thank you.”

The librarian— who has spent many a long night watching Haruhi study at the big desk by the window— just nods, then walks away. Haruhi puts the documents back into their binders and folders, stacking them neatly on the to-be-shelved cart nearby. She always feels bad for not putting them away herself, but tonight, all of her limbs feel heavy and she doesn’t have the energy to even try.

It’s a long journey back to the apartment she shares with Tamaki and Kyoya. It always feels twice as long at night, too, when she’s bone-tired and hungry and feeling defeated. She’s doing well— more than well— in all of her classes, and she knows that she can afford to go home and sleep, but she also thinks that maybe if she stops running now, she’ll never start again. Being in school is like that, Haruhi thinks, running towards your goal, faster and faster and faster, until you trip and break yourself open.

Unlocking the door to the apartment, Haruhi steps inside to the smell of vanilla. Someone is baking something, and Haruhi just begs the gods that it’s not Kyoya. Tamaki might be a decent baker, but Kyoya couldn’t make cereal without messing it up— he puts the milk in first and it makes both Tamaki and Haruhi want to kick him out of the apartment.

Haruhi closes the door behind her, calling out, “I’m home!”

She doesn’t get any answers back, and she tries so, so hard not to feel disappointed by that. She’s always been independent, always been someone who didn’t need to rely on other people for comfort. But in the few years since she joined the host club, since she fell just the littlest bit in love with Tamaki and Kyoya, she’s gotten to rely on other people in a way her younger self would have hated.

“Haruhi!” Tamaki yells— there’s a thump and the sound of someone scrambling off of a chair and down the hallway. “We’ve been waiting forev— are you okay?”

At the sight of him, Haruhi’s eyes crinkle up in the way that she does when she’s about to cry; and maybe she’s just feeling extra emotional because of the sleep-deprivation; or maybe it’s just the way that Tamaki is smiling at her, like she’s the only star in the sky; or maybe it’s the way that Kyoya appears behind Tamaki, having walked out of the home office much slower and more refined, but with that fond smile that conveys Tamaki’s same excitement; or maybe— maybe it doesn’t matter.

She just opens her arms out, biting down hard on her bottom lip, finding some grounding pain to prevent the tears from spilling over her eyes, and asks wordlessly for a hug.

“Hey,” Tamaki murmurs, moving closer. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m okay,” Haruhi says, words muffled by the way she’s pressing her face into his chest. One of the buttons on his shirt is imprinting itself onto her forehead, but she couldn’t care less— she can feel his heartbeat in her throat, and the way that he holds her makes her feel safer than she has in years. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Kyoya has come up to them too, and Tamaki steps away so that Kyoya can hug her. Kyoya puts his arms around her waist, lifting her up and spinning around to carry her towards the couch. She laughs as he carries her, lifting her feet up so that she doesn’t get caught on the stairs, until he deposits her on the couch and then flops down with her.

He’s loose and careless like this, sitting next to Haruhi, shifting her head onto his lap so that he can play with her hair. There’s something sad in his eyes— not disappointment, like she might have expected of him a few years ago, but empathy. Kyoya knows what it’s like to burn out.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” Kyoya says, tugging at a strand of hair.

Tamaki follows them into the living room, his footsteps near soundless— but Haruhi would recognize the sound of him even if he were a ghost, a noiseless phantom. He sits down on the floor next to the couch, arm over her stomach, fingers twisting the edge of her shirt. She’s settled between the two of them, Tamaki on one side, Kyoya at the other.

“I really am okay,” Haruhi says, squeezing her eyes shut. She can feel them best like this; Kyoya’s hands in her hair, Tamaki’s head against her waist. “I’m just exhausted.”

“Work is hard,” Tamaki agrees. He sits up straight, taking Haruhi’s right hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, to the back of her hand, to the heel of her palm, to her wrist. “But you’re getting through it. You’re strong.”

Haruhi swallows down any self-deprecating protest. She is getting through it. Tamaki presses his lips again to the place where palm meets wrist, and she sighs. Work is hard. Only 15% of her class is going to pass the bar on the first try. She doesn’t know if she’ll be one of them. She needs to keep studying, keep working, keep hurting.

But for now, she’s just going to enjoy this moment: Kyoya leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead, Tamaki shifting to rest his head against her stomach, the three of them breathing in tandem. Her boys, she knows, are with her.

#i've never written tamakyoharu before this was fun #my writing #ask #ohshc #tamakyoharu #tamakyoharu fanfic #tamaki suoh #haruhi fujioka #kyoya ootori #ouran high school host club #ohshc fanfiction

48 notes · View notes

lovely-necromancy · 3 years

Text

A Cure for Insomnia CH 11

“Did I meet your friends last night?” Kirby asked as he unwrapped his crunchwrap in the driver's seat.

“uuh...kinda? Like Toby was with me when I gave you the Surge but you sorta just ran off with it.” you pause as you sip a bit of your Baja Blast. “Like a fucking gremlin.”

Kirby lets out a snort and lettuce drops from his mouth. He tries to hide his messy eating behind his hand. Failing miserably, you can't help but laugh at your friend.

“Wha' bout the other two? Kieth said you ditched 'em.” For a man who was trying to cover up his mouth he sure had the audacity to try and talk with his mouth full.

“They're Toby's roommates, I haven't talked to them too much.” he nods as you speak.

“Well I promise I'll be more...together,” he makes a sort of questioning sound as he debates if that was the word he was looking for. He can't really think of anything else so he settles for 'together'. “next weekend. They are coming right?”

After a brief pause he gets his mind back in place, “This weekend, picnic's this weekend.” You chuckle.

“Toby said they'd stop by. Don't think any are really people people.”

“People people?”

“Yup” not going to let Kirby rile you up as he often tries. Not that he could with his current brain power. Sleep haze still has him in it's hold despite being “up” for about an hour now.

Out of everyone in your friend group Kirby is probably the one you're closest to. Along with being a fellow Ace he's an ambivert and you two just instantly clicked over dumb D grade monster movies. He jokes you guys must be long lost siblings. Well he only started the sibling thing because multiple Hornets or other members of the committee kept thinking you guys were dating. Since then Kirby takes to purposefully calling you some variation of sibling when he shows any type of affection. It seems even just being referenced to being in a relationship squicks him out. You don't mind though you'd always wanted an older brother and Kirby is the exact type you would've wished for. The funny dork who was super easy to get along with.

Even when he steals your nachos...like he is now.

“I'm starting to understand the Cain Instinct.” you say looking him dead in the eyes. He lets out a roar of laughter and reminds you he bought “breakfast”.

“Dad tax and all that.”

“You're not my dad! Ugly ass doodoo head.”

“Is that what that kid said? I don't think that's right.” another thing you share is constantly referencing vines or tiktok sounds.

This of course led to an argument of what the kid actually said in the vine. Both of you were determined to get home and look it up to prove the other wrong.

After your breakfast Kirby started the truck as you put all the trash into the Taco Bell bag. You switch on his stereo much to his chagrin. Kirby got a CD stuck in the radio and now the only thing he can listen to is a meme mix tape he made back in high school. It was funny the first two months for him and now he prays that the novelty will ware off on you soon.

Though it has been a few weeks since he last drove you anywhere, and what can he say Discord is always a bop.

Kirby drops you off without much fanfare, you both agree to seeing each other next week at the picnic. Is it ironic that you want to call out for him to get some more sleep? Like you are the one who's been up since five AM and it's now eleven. But you have a medical condition, Kirby is just over worked and stressed beyond Hell and back.

Getting inside you have nothing really planned for today and while you could start heading out to thrifts to find something formal for Jo's recital you really don't feel like it. Productivity wise you've already had a pretty busy weekend so no one can really judge you for taking it easy and just merging with the couch for the rest of it. Even you, you can be so tough on yourself sometimes.

British Bake Off is just the thing you need to enjoy the rest of your weekend. A calming low stress but funny baking show. Just turn your brain off and lose yourself in the soothing monotone of the judges. It's nearly six in the evening when you finally shake off your lazy day haze.

Getting up, bakers still baking, you start making a simple dinner. Fried egg on toast sounds good. Also a good balance to your supreme nacho breakfast from this morning. Dressing one slice of toast in butter and the other with butter, a little mayo, and a dash of Tabasco before placing the egg on it. You head back to eat and continue watching the competition. Your meal fills you and gives the energy you need to continue “leisureing”.

After an hour you get up and wash the dishes from earlier. And while you have no energy to actually play any of your video games right now you do want to log in for your dailies.

A quick trip to your bedroom has you grabbing your laptop before returning back to the comfort of your living room. Couch calling you to it's cozy embrace. You half pay attention to what you're doing as you set up your laptop, muscles running on muscle memory more than any conscious effort on your part. You hadn't even noticed your hands flickering across the board and logging into your email.

By the time you do realize you aren't on your game's site you see you have a new email. It's from Barclay.

'Coming to ask for my help?' you think a little too smug that you'd been right about the cooking being too much for the man.

However, that wasn't what he was messaging you about. It seems he and Leo had been talking and the old man mentioned what your plans for cooking were.

Shortie,

Leo says you're making forager's pie for the picnic. Seasons ripe for ramps and mushrooms. You in for a little adventure through new unexplored territory?

...I'm hunting some lobster mushrooms, could use a hand or two Will share the bounty. ~Barclay sent 12:04 PM

An olive branch in hopes you weren't too sore about his rejection from earlier this week. The message and sentiment is lost on you since you got over that Thursday.

The idea of new terrain makes you a bit uneasy, however lobster mushrooms were pretty good and forage finds were really rare. Barclay grew up in these woods he probably knew what he was doing, not to mention he could easily know where to find ramps. Their flavor would really up your pie game. It's settled you're in for a forage date with big foot as your guide.

Am in Big Feet. When are we going? Sent 7:20 PM

Like with most things a waiting game began, down sides to living in a radio quiet community people weren't as attached to electronics because of the limited capabilities. But now that you know Barclay is emailing you, you can check your phone more often. Shutting down your laptop you close it before sliding it under your coffee table as you slide down the couch getting comfy.

It was two hours before Barclay got back to you.

Fantastic! Does Tuesday work? ~Barclay sent 9:42 PM

Barclay must be in a rush to get those mushrooms. You'd been thinking Thursday or Friday at the latest for the freshest mushrooms. Maybe he didn't need them for the picnic but a personal project. From what Jake has told you Barclay often falls into spells of testing out new ideas with the strangest of ingredients. With varying results but mainly positive ones.

Yea sure. Meet at the lodge after my shift? Sent 9:50 PM

Perfect see you then. ~Barclay sent 9:52 PM

Oki Sent 9:52 PM

Now that that has been settled you are free to continue your chill Sunday. Losing yourself to the lulling voices of the judges you hardly notice as you drift off. Warm in your throw blanket cocoon and cozy on the plush of your couch.

You jolt up right panting after being woken up by a loud bang. Or at least you thought you'd heard a bang, Sometimes auditory hallucinations came to you in your sleep no matter how well rested you were. The room around you is dark as the light from your TV is dimmed with Netflix's 'Are you still watching?' pop up mocking you for your marathon.

Without thinking you hit 'yes' and the bake off resumes. With the brightness restored you can see your living room and hallway are completely undisturbed. An auditory hallucination must have pulled you out of sleep. Nothing more, after all your stalker wouldn't get sloppy now, it's only been three weeks.

'That you know of.' seems to whisper and embed itself in your mind.

Shaking off the worrying thought you look at your phone to see it's now quarter till one. You are hungry and don't feel like cooking. Thankfully you have emergency white castles and fries in your freezer for this exact need. Getting up you go to the kitchen to microwave your food. Popping the fries in first you decide to head to the bathroom before that becomes a problem for you.

Before you go down the hallway you do end up grabbing the bat next to the bookshelf. The whisper from earlier clearly hasn't done much to settle your nerves after your rude awakening. Protection in hand you have a little less anxiety about walking down the dark hallway. You'd have to look into installing one of those cheap wall lamps from Home Depot to help you out in situations like this. Either that or a night light in your bathroom, you can probably get the night light done quicker. Maybe Leo sells them, you'll have to check next week.

You made it back to the kitchen after your bathroom break without any surprises, real or imaginary, jumping out at you. Replacing the fries inside your microwave with sliders, you snack on a few while you wait for the rest of your meal.

It's probably paranoia but you can't blame yourself for it as you continue to keep an ear out for any sound of abnormal movement within your home, as you eat and have the bake show low enough to catch the sounds of another person. None come, and you finish your food without incident. You're willing to chalk the noise up to a hallucination and your paranoia as valid but not necessary in this moment. Without much more thought you place your empty plate on the coffee table and curl back up in your throw blanket. Just like before you don't catch yourself as you fall asleep. This time you don't wake up until your phone alarm goes off for you to start your week and head to work.

The week has been much less dramatic than last week had been. But then again it is only Tuesday and you literally have gay brunch this Sunday. There will definitely be some sort of theatrics this week. Whether they come from homosexuals or your stalker is up to God.

Then later today you'll be going foraging with Barclay. And while that isn't anything dramatic it will be an adventure and, you hope, really fun! Your excitement has been tangible all day and you couldn't hold yourself back from focusing only on the clock in the shop all day. Even giddier than normal for the strike of five. With the energy rushing through you it amped up your tics but thankfully you hadn't hurt yourself in your excitement.

Even Nate is beginning to playfully tease you about your “date” with Barclay.

Great he must've been talking to Little Jo. What is it with this family and wanting you to date the lodge owner? Do you just look like the lead in a Hallmark Christmas movie that moved to a small town in order to feel the joy of the holidays? You could definitely get into the role but you don't think Barclay would be the main love interest for you.

Honestly he'd probably be the one all the viewers cheered for but you'd personally go for the puppy dog partner that has a scarred past. You have a type and your type is emotionally wounded and needing of love. That thought had made you chuckle as you and Nate closed up the store for the day.

Nate kept looking over at you throughout the day, and when he heard you giggle to yourself at closing he couldn't help the fond smile that came over his features. He could feel how his brows lifted themselves from their normally furrowed or downward tilt. He'd have let you leave early had it not been for the new procedures Big Jo had set. It's not often that your excitement shows so visibly. It's not often that the Cowell family has seen you happy like this.

But Nate understands it's not the crush that Little Jo seems to think it is, it's something more bittersweet. It's the excitement that comes from finally waning off of being isolated for so long. And boy does Nate understand that feeling. If he had to guess Nate would say you've been alone for most of your life even if you don't act like it. You need these little hangouts with your friends. So he does his fastest close yet. You both are out the door by five after and he bids you goodnight as you head to your respective cars.

With the close tonight being so quick you made it to the lodge and parked in the half full lot just before five thirty. Getting out of your car you noticed a familiar duo sitting on the stoop of the lodge.

'Something's wrong.' is the only thought you have as you walk towards the lodge.

“Hey stranger.” the brunette looks up to you at your greeting.

In this light you can just catch the slight movement of his pupils in his dark eyes as they widen in surprise.

“oh...hey?” he seems confused to see you here. Must not be used to living in a small town yet. He'll learn soon enough that you run into everyone all the time here. Sometimes multiple times a week as it would seem.

“You good?” motioning towards the hand on the back of his neck.

“Yea, fucking Bri-an Mrrow thought I needed this.” Toby moves his hand to show an ice pack that you assume he's been holding to the back of his neck.

“Heat sickness?”

“Nah, the RV's AC busted. I can probably fix it by the end of the week.” you nod.

That makes sense, after all CIPA affects thermal regulation, at least from a basic skim. You really need to get on that deep dive to make sure you're prepared for irregular injury prevention with Toby. Speaking of, the boy in front of you is just sitting here with Connor, why? Even if he's here to get a room at the lodge why didn't he just go in? Connor is a service dog after all not like anyone could turn him away. So why was Toby just sitting out here, especially if Brian thought he needed an ice pack to the neck to keep cool?

As if the universe heard your question and decided to give you an answer, Aubrey opened the door and poked her head out.

“Thanks for letting me put up Dr. Harris Bonkers. I'll keep him in my room during your stay.” Oh that makes sense Aubrey's rabbit normally has the run of the lodge. Even if Connor's a service dog and well trained Dr. Bonkers is still a prey animal with a weak heart. Seeing Connor may have stressed the poor rabbit out, if not nearly given him a heart attack.

Her russet eyes land on you when she opens the door wider to, you assume, let Toby and Connor in. They widen and Aubrey rushes in to hug you before stopping short as if remembering you don't appreciate physical contact.

“Hey YN! I didn't know you were coming over.” She says a little awkwardly mid pose for a hug.

You won't be saving her from the situation. With a smile, that she can't see, you nod.

“Barclay's taking me foraging today.”

Aubrey nods while lowering her arms and takes a few steps back so you and Toby can enter the lodge. The large foyer of the wooden chalet always looks bigger thanks to the deep red tones in it's color palette. From the dark cherry stained wood to the red rugs and table liners. Always feels a lot warmer too, but in a homey sense not the overbearing swelter of heat sense. You can't wait to see what it's like in the winter. Probably so cozy and welcoming with a fire roaring and the murmur of residents and tourist mingling over the winter festivities. There's a swell in your chest at the thought...it seems nice, you hope you're right.

'Hope you see it.' is the dark whisper that taints your thoughts.

You notice Brian and Tim are over at the counter talking to Barclay who is nodding along sympathetically to the trio's plight. He catches your eye and motions for you to wait. You'd been planning to, after all he's currently working.

Turning to Toby you see he looks a bit paler than normal, which should be a difficult feat. Aubrey had left you both, though you aren't sure if she'll be coming back with her girlfriend Dani in a moment or not. You decide to lead Toby over to the obnoxiously plush couch in the den.

It's not like the lodge is off limits to those who aren't guests, and seeing as most of it's workers live here their friends frequently come around thus using the amenities. After sitting on the couch Toby grabs at Connor's ears and starts shaking them. He isn't being rough with them despite the jerky movements and Connor seems to lean into the pet.

Just from what you can gather it seems like Toby has some pretty bad social anxiety. You really aren't sure of what you could do to help. He calmed down at the movie night with a distraction...oh that reminds you, you fell asleep on him. Figuratively and literally.

“I'm sorry for falling asleep on you.” probably not the most tactful or elegant way of bringing this up.

Toby takes a minute to register you words. Not taking his eyes off Connor or ceasing his movements he says, “Eh.” as he gives a muted shrug and continues, “Your friend...Kirby...gave you a ride right?” He said Kirby's name like a question. You'd have to formally introduce the two at some point. Probably this weekend.

“Yea, he's sorry about being a weirdo Saturday, said he'd be more “present” this weekend.”

Toby doesn't say anything more and you let a silence fall over you two. It isn't awkward, at least to you, and you're content to just sit and wait for a while. However, it doesn't take long before Tim, Brian, and Barclay are all entering the den.

“Knew they'd be here,” Barclay says to the other two, “Sorry 'bout the wait YN, Jake's comin' down to give these guys a tour an' set them up. We'll leave when he gets down.” you nod and give the other two a muted wave 'hello'.

It isn't long before Jake is sliding down the banister and leading the group out of the room before Barclay can get on to him about his juvenile behavior. Sighing at the twenty-three year old's antics Barclay turns to you and looks at what you're wearing. Hiking boots and jeans, perfect but one thing is missing.

“C'mon let's go get duct taped.”

“Duct taped?”

“Yup, keeps ticks from climbing up you.”

So you make your way to his office where he sticks duct tape, sticky side up, around each ankle and just above and below your knees. All while explaining how if a tick started to try and climb up you the tape would make them stick and stay there. You'd end up with less ticks on your torso and hopefully none at all.

In no time the two of your were in the forest two baskets in hand and hunting for your immobile prey. The ramps were super easy to find and the first you knocked off the hunt list. Barlcay said they grow in the same area every year, knowing this you may have to come and grab some the next time they're in season. You can already taste how good your forager's pie tastes with the new earthy tones. Actual mushrooms were much harder to find, aside from the lobster mushrooms you were really only looking for some hedgehog mushrooms. They aren't rare or extremely difficult to find but you two aren't having any luck.

Barclay suggested a spot just past a little pond, and while you didn't find mushrooms you did find some Black Raspberry bushes. Not one to let ingredients go to waste Barclay starts picking some, and you grab some too. Maybe baking an easy Black Raspberry cobbler will be your consolation prize. Though Barclay isn't as placated as you are with the unexpected find. The man is still on the hunt for his lobster mushrooms. So you continue scouring the path and a little bit off it in search.

“We should head back, it's dark.” you state plainly after a few hours of searching and remaining mushroom less.

Barclay agrees, but makes the comment that he'll probably come out again in a day or two.

“If I find any I'll still give you some or helping out today.”

“It's fine I've got my treasures right here.” You shrug it off, because while you are a bit disappointed, you still have ramps and the opportunity to make cobbler. It's not all bad. Barclay on the other hand, you know, will not be letting this go so you expect he'll hand you a container of mushrooms sometime in the coming month if not this weekend.

Getting back to the lodge Barclay helps you cut off the duct tape and disposes of it and the hitch hikers you picked up. He sends you off to shower and check for stragglers before he would allow you to go home. Thankfully you had the foresight to bring a change of clothes and after retrieving them from your trunk you do as you're told.

Barclay was right you hadn't had a single tick on you and you feel much better after a shower. Getting out you already smell the alluring aroma of Barclay's kitchen. You must have taken a bit longer than you intended if he was already done with his own shower and already cooking for the lodge. Heading downstairs with your duffle bag in tow, you are stopped by Dani at the door.

You haven't seen her in a bit so the two of you catch up and have a chat. After a bit Aubrey comes in with a Tupperware container of grilled salmon and veggies over rice.

“Oh I see, you were a diversion.” you said looking at Dani as you take the container. Dani gives a sheepish smile before running off to the dinning room, and after sending you a coy smile of her own Aubrey follows after.

You know you're more than welcome to join them, but you really don't have the battery for that and just want to decompress at home.

“Thank you!” you call out into the lodge, only leaving after hearing the distant chuckles drifting through the hall.

Opening the door you run right into someone. Looking up you see Toby, but he isn't wearing a mask. Instead he's wearing a large bandage on his face to cover the hole. In his hands is a box of similar bandages. Guess if they're staying for a bit he'll need them around the others.

Should you mention the others wouldn't say anything? That this whole place was like Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, but for the misfits or the weird and disowned? You aren't really sure it's your place. And you aren't really sure you're comfortable with how comfortable you've gotten with Toby. You're probably crossing some boundary by over analyzing him so much. And he doesn't even know you're doing it.

Toby knocks you out of your head when he backs away and gives you space to exit the lodge.

“Get home safe.” it falls out of his mouth so easily.

You've noticed he has a habit of saying that...why? There you go over analyzing him, you need to stop. Shaking yourself from your thoughts this time you look at Toby with a smile.

“I will...I think you'll like it here.” when you're in your car you want to slam your head on the steering wheel but Toby is still watching. Why did you say that, you're so weird.

#ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby #ticcitoby #creepypasta fanfic #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright #timothy wright x brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #brian thomas #masky x you #masky

7 notes · View notes

percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-12)

Word count: 5.4K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Feels, pining, fluff ;)

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: I am so excited to see what you think of this chapter! I haven’t made a secret of the fact that this is one of my absolute favorite chapters. I had a lot of fun writing it <3

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23. You are a goddess. I love you <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

Sam regretted it the moment he stepped into the bar. The lights were dim, the music was hip and it was too full of people. What was more, a lot of those faces seemed familiar. Maybe he had seen them around the campus?

Sam found a corner booth, away from the bar counter and the pool table. It was isolated and about as quiet as any table was going to get. He drew out his phone and texted Jody.

“I’m here. Where are you?”

Sighing, he locked the screen on his phone. Sam was beyond exhausted. He had stayed up the night, driven for close to twelve hours in total to and fro from LA, and went cut to cut with one of the fiercest attorneys he had ever met. At least, James was out for good. The look on his face at the sight of Sam had been worth everything. Sam had been so scared that he wouldn’t be able to get the kid out. Now that he had, all he wanted to do was fall in bed and not wake up till Sunday.

Even as that thought took shape, he knew he was lying to himself. More than anything, he wanted to find Y/N and thank her for her help last night, let her know how the hearing went. If someone at Acton Gris had helped him, he would have taken them along for the hearing because the effort deserved it. A part of him had wanted to ask Y/N. She would be allowed, since she was a law student accompanying the attorney, but Sam didn’t think he could handle being in her presence for so long. Besides, she’d had classes in the morning. Either way, she deserved to know the verdict. He had contemplated emailing her, then thought better of it. Maybe he would drop by at the library to see if it was her shift. It was only 12. The library would be open for at least two more hours.

He banished the thought as quickly as it appeared, though, physically shaking his head. He needed to factor in the consideration that she probably didn’t want to keep running into him all the time.

His phone pinged. It was Jody letting him know that Alex was yet to get home from some party of her own and that she would be late, if she came at all.

Fantastic. Simply fantastic.

He should have just gone to bed. Being in bars at midnight? He was too old for this. It had been Jody’s idea to begin with! She was the one who had made plans for the weekend and was standing him up now.

“Professor Winchester?”

Sam groaned internally before seeing who had called him. It was a glimmeringly clad freshman from his class.

Could the evening get any worse? He had to run into his students.

“Ohmygosh! I can’t believe you’re here,” gushed the girl. Sam vaguely remembered that her name was Staten.

The other girl whose name Sam didn’t know at all nodded vigorously. “You’re so cool!”

Both of them were bright eyed and obviously tipsy. That was a combination for trouble if Sam had ever seen one.

He got up. “Nice to see you ladies,” he said sliding out of the booth. “I’m going to step out for just a second. Y’all have fun.”

“Mr. Winchester,” one of them called, but Sam was out the back door. Few years of teaching had taught him enough in that department. During his early days, years ago, when he first started as a visiting faculty, he would insist that the class call him by his first name. He had been ignorant about how it came across and only after a couple of students had made a pass at him had he grown wary and stuck to being addressed by his last name. It never got less weird, having people address him as ‘Mr. Winchester,’ but he was used to it now.

Stepping outside, Sam breathed in the cold air, wondering again what the hell he was doing here.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Jody.

She picked up on the second ring. “I’m so sorry, Sam!” She apologised profusely. “Alex’s tyre gave out and she’s stranded a couple miles out.”

“Shit. Do you want me to pick her up?”

“No, it’s alright,” she reassured. “She’ll feel awful about you driving out to get her. I’m heading out now. Please just wait a little longer. I feel horrible about keeping you waiting, especially since it was my idea.”

He looked at the watch. It was quarter past twelve. “Jody…” he sighed.

“Okay, wait for just fifteen more minutes,” she bargained. “If I’m not there by then, you can go home and I’ll owe you drinks for the rest of the year.”

“Rest of your life, and we have a deal,” Sam smiled despite himself. “Okay. Fifteen minutes.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” She said, clearly amused. “That’s how you become a good lawyer. Okay, Fine.”

Sam laughed.

“You know I love you, Winchester.”

“I know you do!”

Sam put the phone back in his pocket. He wouldn’t have known what to do with his life if Jody hadn’t stepped in and taught him how to look after another person who was solely dependent on him. She was the best friend and mentor he could have asked for.

He slid back inside the bar, determined to avoid any and each student he saw. Especially the drunk ones. Luck was on his side. The whole freshman gang had moved to the pool table, removed from the main area. This late he would have expected the crowd to thin out, but hoards of people were on the dance floor moving their bodies to the rhythm of the song. Taking advantage of the crowd, Sam went over to the bar counter.

“Jack. Neat!” He asked the woman behind the counter. She had long dark hair and a mischievous smile.

“Coming right up, handsome!” She winked.

Sam smiled awkwardly as she slid the glass.

“Hey, Mister! Repeat this one!”

Sam’s head snapped in the direction of the voice. It was loud and bossy and Y/N’s.

“Y/N?” The bartender in front of him squinted at the girl two benches from him, clearly surprised.

Sam would have moved sooner, but he was awestruck at the sight of her. Y/N was wearing a silky, satiny top that was cut low and clung to her body like a second skin over tight jeans and heeled boots. Her hair cascaded over her bare shoulders like a nymph’s. Sam’s throat went dry.

The bartender rushed over to her. “Christ, Y/N!” she said. “What’re you doing here?”

Y/N looked at her with wide, surprised eyes. “Pam! OH MY GOD, PAM! It’s you!

“Yes, I work here,” the bartender, whose name was apparently Pam, said. “Rob, how much has she had to drink?”

The guy shrugged. “One vodka, three tequillas. I don’t know about before.”

“Y/N?” Pam patted Y/N’s face. “Are you by yourself?”

“Kinda!” Y/N giggled, tossing her hair back in a smooth flip. Sam’s heartbeat spiked at the sight. He absolutely couldn’t wrench his eyes away.

Y/N bent over the counter, then jerked her thumb at the freshman gang and whispered conspiratorially. “I’m with those guys over there, but I don’t think they care if I wander off. Can I tell you a secret? Most of them are douchebags anyway.”

“Rob!” Pam barked. “Do we have a standby? Rinny? Or just anyone else?”

“It’s just us tonight.”

“Well, fuck!” Pam swore.

“Y/N, honey,” she tried to get Y/N to listen to her, but Y/N was already trying to sit up on the bar, blowing kisses at Pam. “You’re the best, Pam. Just the absolute best and I love how much you love my cookies.”

“Everyone loves your cookies, honey, but you need to get down.”

“Okay… Okay,” Y/N winked. She slipped as she tried to get down from the counter. Reflexively Sam moved, catching her before she crashed to the ground.

“I got you, don’t worry,” he said in a low voice only to her and she looked up at him with wide confused eyes.

“Hey, get your hands off of her, Mister.” Pam hissed, looking scarily angry. “I said, let go of her. Right now.”

Sam did so immediately, but Y/N didn’t let go of his shirt. “I know her,” he tried to explain to Pam, who looked like she was on the verge of calling the bouncers.

“Yeah, that’s right, you know her,” Pam grimaced. “Very believable.”

“I swear, I know her,” Sam said, wildly trying to explain. “Her name’s Y/N Y/L/N. She’s a law student at the university. First year, hails from Kansas and feels insanely cold.” Sam started spewing random facts he could think of. “Her favourite book is To kill a mockingbird. She bakes amazing muffins-”

She likes her coffee with very little milk, is scared of ducks and has a birthmark in the middle of her lower back. She likes listening to classical music and waking up early…

Meanwhile, Y/N was still looking at him in wonderment, shushing herself.

“How do you know all that about her?” Pam looked at him with suspicion and mingled curiosity.

“I’m her-” it hurt to say- “ her friend.”

She still didn’t look completely convinced.

“Y/N?” Pam asked the girl in Sam’s arms. “You know this man?”

Don’t be that far gone, Sam prayed internally. Please don’t be that far gone.

“Pfftt,” Y/N scoffed, with such force that she lost her footing again. “It’s Sam! I’d sooner forget myself than not know him! What sort of dumb question is this?”

Sam.

She had said his name. It had caressed her lips. Was it even possible to be jealous of your own name?

Pam raised her eyebrows.

“Look,” she said, “I can’t leave my shift to drop her home and no one I can call will be up this late. Y/N clearly knows you. Do you think you can drop her home?”

“I-I don’t know where she stays!”

Pam quickly wrote down an address. “It’s just a couple blocks away. I’m going to call her cell in a while, so you better not try anything funny.”

Sam wanted to roll his eyes, but he was too terrified at the prospect of being left alone with Y/N. He glanced around to see a couple of looks coming their way.

“Yeah, I’ll take her,” he said finally. “The hangover will hit her hard in a while, it’s better that she’s home then. Trust me, I know.”

Pam took one look from his face to Y/N wrapped around his torso. “Thanks, man.”

He nodded and then slowly guided Y/N out. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

“You know where I live?” She asked, tilting her head to one side.

“I do now.” Fortunately or unfortunately it was right next to Sam’s street.

He adjusted her so that she was tucked under his side. Her fingers were still boldly clutching at his undershirt, sending shocks of sensation throughout his body.

“This way, c’mon,” He guided her forward.

“Stop pushing me. I. Can’t. Walk. Any. Faster!” She whined. “These shoes suck.”

“Okay, let’s just sit for a while.” He slowly steered her to a bench on the street. It wasn’t right outside the bar, hence, out of clear view. Sam lowered her onto the bench and she promptly pulled her feet up, trying to slide the zipper on her shoes. They honestly looked like a death trap of sorts. The zipper stuck out adamantly as she yanked at it with all her might.

Hands trembling, he caught hold of hers. “Wait. Let me.”

Slowly, with a steadier hand, Sam dragged down the zippers on both her shoes- carefully, to not touch her skin- freeing her feet. She drew into herself, massaging the reddened skin on the arch and the back of her heel.

“Stupid Meg,” she muttered. “Shouldn’t have let her put me in these.”

She massaged her toes. “It hurts.”

“Will you let me take a look at it?” He asked hesitantly. Y/N twisted her body and put both her feet straight into his lap.

“Here! Look all you want.”

Her hair was fluttering lightly in the wind and despite the chill, she wasn’t reaching for the leather jacket. Looking at her was like looking at the sun. He wanted to, but couldn’t, because it hurt at the same time. The satin of her blouse was kissing her soft skin in all the right places.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Y/N teased collusively. She scooted closer, almost sitting completely in his lap now. “Can I tell you a secret? I think about it, too.”

Sam pushed her away lightly and God it hurt to do it, but she wasn’t in her senses right now. Sober, she wouldn’t have wanted any of this.

“We should get you home!” He said in a tight voice.

“No!” She was adamant. “Why are you in such a hurry to get away from me?”

Oh the irony. “You were the one who left me, Y/N.”

Y/N not having heard a word of it was scooting closer to him again. She laid her head on his shoulder, and snaked her arms around his waist. Sam stilled, not even daring to breathe.

“Let’s just stay here forever. You and me.” She laughed all of a sudden. “This is literally the best dream I’ve ever had. I can actually feel you.” She hugged him tighter to prove her point. “See?”

“Is this what your dreams are made up of?”

“The good ones, yeah,” she sighed tiredly. “But mostly they’re just bad and I’m cold and there’s so much water, Sam. There was so much water.”

Suddenly she started shivering and Sam pulled the jacket over her shoulders.

She looked up with tears in her eyes. “Sam, the water! And there’s so much glass. It hurts.”

A deep pain and grief that he hadn’t felt in years threatened to swallow Sam whole. “Oh, baby,” he said, at last throwing his arms around her. “It’s not real. It happened a long time ago.”

“I can’t breathe. There’s too much water.” Her words were slow and slurred. Despite that, the picture she painted was horrifying.

The memories all flashed before his eyes like it had happened yesterday. But he refused to go under. Not now.

Sam allowed himself to comfort her and be comforted by her. In this one thing, they were together. He held her as close as he had dreamed for years, yet not truly believing that this was actually happening. She smelled just the same, and the way her body curved into his hadn’t changed at all.

Sam held her like that for an immeasurable time. It felt both like an eternity and mere seconds all at once. A crazed traveller wouldn’t be more desperate for an Oasis than Sam felt for her touch. And knowing that this would end soon, that these were stolen moments made it heaven and hell at the same time.

“Y/N,” he tried again. “We need to get you home.” I need to get you home.

She didn’t reply.

“Are you asleep?”

“Yes!” She muttered and in spite everything Sam had to stifle a laugh.

She had no footwear on, after getting herself out of those insane shoes. Sam removed his flip flops and slid them under her feet. They were way too big, but it was better than nothing.

“Up you come.” He hoisted her slowly to her feet.

“Whoa!” She said, “everything is spinning so fast.”

“Just hold on to me. The spinning will go away.” He guided her slowly. “This way now.”

Her grasp on his shoulder slipped, pulling his shirt down with him.

“Oooohhh fancy,” she snickered, trying to touch the thin chain around his neck.

Sam fixed his shirt with the other hand so it wasn’t visible. She didn’t need to know.

It must look absurd, the two of them walking down the street. Sam, barefoot, carrying a pair of her heels in one hand and holding her by the waist with the other. Meanwhile, Y/N was humming lightly to herself, giggling at silly things, slipping and sliding in his flip flops.

At long last, they reached the address that Pam had given. Sam knew the building, he walked past it everyday to get home. The building had a solid, high compound wall, covered in vines. Keeping a tight hold on Y/N, he pushed the wrought iron gate. It creaked as it opened, leaving Sam staring at a beautiful front yard. There was curving shrubbery around the small circular garden and a mermaid shaped fountain flowing water in a circular basin with seating around it.

“Hahahaaa Judgy Judy isn’t too pleased with us,” Y/N told him sagely. “She hates people who drink even more than people who turn up late.”

“Why did you drink anyway?” He asked. “You don’t even like doing it.”

Y/N broke off, stumbling into the path. She glared at him. “Oh, so it’s okay for you to go out on dates with other people but it’s not okay for me to drink?”

That’s what she thought? That he had been in the bar for a date? Was that why she had drank?

Sam’s mind was reeling. If what she was saying was true, it meant that it mattered to her what Sam did or didn’t do with his life. Unless she still cared.

“You really think I would do that?” Abruptly, he was angry. If she cared enough to be mad with him, why had she left him to begin with?

Y/N had already moved on from the conversation. She was staring up at the mermaid’s face.

“Sam? You remember that time we went to the fair and rode the ferris wheel?”

He did remember. “You fainted immediately after.”

“Yeah, this feels exactly like that…” Y/N staggered on the spot and Sam rushed to catch her. The minute his hands found her arm, she threw up spectacularly on the front of his shirt, retching till there wasn’t anything left. Then, she promptly passed out in his arms.

He stood there for a second, looking about him, but no help was going to arrive at 2 in the night.

This was bad, very very bad. He had hoped to drop her home and then go back to his own place to wallow about how unfair the world was. What was he supposed to do now?

He had no clue if she stayed by herself. He couldn’t just leave her by herself when she was sick.

Slowly, he led her to the seating around the fountain. She laid down on it, groaning lightly.

Sam removed his shirt, bundled it up and using some of the water from the fountain, wiped the puke from his jeans and Y/N’s feet along with his flip flops. Then he bent down and swooped her in his arms, carrying her inside the building. Getting into the lift and to her apartment was easy enough. Wrestling the key out of the purse and then unlocking the door all the while supporting her wasn’t so much.

It was pretty clear to Sam that there was no one else in the apartment when he entered. All that noise would have brought someone out by now. He barely looked at the living room, before laying Y/N down on the sofa there. There was a kitchenette to the right side. Sam poured a glass of water, added a spoon of sugar and a pinch of salt after looking through the jars. He walked back to where Y/N was curled up on the sofa and coaxed her to drink it.

She made a face, refusing to take a sip.

“Trust me, you’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“No.”

She was so stubborn sometimes. “Please? For me?”

“For you?” Her expression was guileless, it was almost his undoing, but Sam pushed on. “Yes, for me.”

She took the glass from him and downed it in one go, distaste clear on her expression.

The phone started ringing right when she put the glass down. Sam had to fish it from her purse. The caller ID read ‘Pamela Barnes.’

“Here,” Sam handed the phone to Y/N. “It’s for you.”

“Hello!” She sang. “Yeah, yeah… I’m home…”

Sam didn’t hang around for the rest of the conversation. He returned the glass to the kitchen and made more of the Sugar-salt solution in a bottle.

Y/N was idly playing with a lock of her hair.

“Can we go to bed now? Please?” She mumbled drowsily.

“You,” Sam stressed “are going to bed. Which one is your room?”

Sleepily, she pointed towards the door next to the kitchenette. He lifted her once more in his arm, thinking how bizarre all of this was as he walked towards the room. It felt nothing short of euphoric to hold her like this, like he was on some sort of wild once in a lifetime adventure, even if touching her like this used to be normal for him once upon a time. He gently laid her down on the bed. She stretched out on the sheets immediately, a smile on her lips.

He could have stared and stared. Sam decided to take one long look at her, memorising the exact color of her hair, the fullness of her lips and the rhythm of her breaths. Just as he turned to leave, Y/N’s hand shot out to grab the hem of his T-shirt.

“Why? Why did it happen to us?” She said, her face drawn in lines of anguish. “We were good people. You still are. Then, why?”

Sam took a deep breath. “Because life isn’t fair. You of all people should know that by this point. And I’ve hardly been a good person since.”

“Shhhhh….” She put a finger to her lip. “You’re the best, Sam. You always have been.”

“Then why did you leave me? Why couldn’t you trust me enough to stay? Have enough faith in me to know that I could make it okay for us? I loved you more than anything, Y/N. And you left me anyway.” He knew full well that she wouldn’t remember a thing in the morning, she was barely even listening now. So how did it matter what he said?

“Don’t go,” she moaned.

“Y/N… you know I can’t stay.”

“Please… Nothing’s right when you’re not here.”

In an odd twisted way, it was the truth. Nothing was right when she wasn’t with him.

“Please, Sam,” she sighed. “Don’t leave me. Promise me.”

He gave in. How could he not? “I promise,” he said finally. “I’ll stay tonight.”

She smiled contentedly and her breathing evened out soon after.

Slowly, Sam disentangled his t-shirt from his grip.

In the bathroom, he washed his bundled up shirt, cleaning it completely, then used it to wash off whatever was left on his jeans and t-shirt. Thankfully, Y/N’s clothes hadn’t been spoilt and didn’t need any cleaning. The apartment had a beautiful balcony that overlooked the garden below. He hung his shirt on the railing to dry it in the breeze.

Sam checked on Y/N once more under the guise of placing the water bottle next to her bed. She was splayed wildly now. The straps of her blouse had slid further down her arm, revealing the tops of her breasts. He looked away. As lightly as he could, Sam freed the covers from beneath her and drew them over her, tucking her comfortably underneath them. Then he made his way to the living room sofa, closing Y/N’s bedroom door after her.

The sofa was much too small to accommodate him, but Sam managed to lie on his back, legs folded and body wedged between the two armrests. After a while of twisting and turning, he rested his head on one armrest and threw his legs over the other, staring at the apartment walls and decorations. Most of it was too delicate, like the filigree on the curtains and the carved screens dividing part of the kitchenette from the rest of the living room. That certainly wasn’t Y/N’s taste. Either it came with the apartment or her room mate had put it there. There were some things, however, that were distinctly Y/N- the flowers and plants in the balcony, the solid wood coffee stand and the classy oven. The little China decorating the kitchen bar must’ve been her grandmothers. Nothing… absolutely nothing in the house proved that he had ever played a part in her life. Sam decidedly curbed the disappointment and bitterness he felt.

So, she had moved on from him. Hadn’t the past month taught him as much?

A month ago he wouldn’t have believed that he’d end up a room away from a very drunk Y/N. So close, yet so far. He closed his eyes, recalling how it felt to have her arms around his waist, feel the press of her body against his as he lifted her in his arms. He could live out the rest of his life holding onto those memories, even if it never happened again, even if she never remembered it…

“Who the fuck are you?”

Sam’s eyes snapped open. A girl was standing over him with a ferocious expression.

He sat up groggily, disoriented about his surroundings. Who was this girl?

“I asked who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”

Sam groaned, blinking his eyes in the still dark room. “I’m Sam. I helped Y/N home last night.”

“Where’s she? Is she okay?”

The shift in her tone was sudden, from angry to concerned.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Sam yawned. “She just had too much to drink.”

“And how do you know her?”

“I’m her- “ It physically ached to not say it. “I’m her… friend.”

The girl, who Sam assumed was her roommate, Meg, raised an eyebrow. “Friend, huh? How come she’s never talked about you before?”

Because she doesn’t care anymore.

Suddenly Sam was very tired. “Look, I’ve known her since a long time. We lost touch a while ago. I met her at college.”

Meg didn’t seem very convinced. She harrumphed and crossed her arms.

“I’m going to head out, now that you’re back,” he said, standing up and straightening his back. It was completely screwed. He walked over to the balcony and retrieved his now dried shirt. Meg eyed it dubiously.

“You didn’t try anything with her, did you?”

Again, the irony of someone else being concerned that he of all people would try to harm Y/N twisted his mouth into a bitter smirk.

“Look, mister…” Meg started and Sam put his hands up. He was too exhausted to hold this argument.

“I just put her to bed. That’s all,” he said. “Heads up, she has terrible hangovers. You might want to keep the bathroom accessible and the Advil ready.”

With that he stalked out of the room.

It wasn’t a long walk to his home from there, barely even five minutes, but Sam’s head was buzzing with thoughts. Last night everything had been so hurried and he was the only one who could have helped her out. But what now?

He and Y/N had barely started talking. He still didn’t know what was going on in her head. Last night had changed all of that, at least for him. If it had been hard to not think about her before, it was damn well impossible now. She was consuming his every thought, shadowing every emotion. What if she remembered everything she had said last night? What if she’d actually meant those things?

“Don’t go”

“Please… Nothing’s right when you’re not here.”

“Please, Sam, Don’t leave me. Promise me.”

Each time his name had fallen off her lips, it was like she was resurrecting his long dead heartbeat. He wanted to dare, he wanted to hope and believe that there was some chance.

But what if she didn’t remember anything at all? Sam knew that he would die inside if that happened. It was one thing to not feel hope, and another altogether to kill it with one's own hands.

His mind was a cacophony of noises and emotions all warring against each other as he reached his house. On the door steps, sat a solitary figure, waiting for him.

“Jody?”

The sky was just starting to lighten. What was she doing here?

He frowned at her, wondering what on earth could have brought her here this early in the morning. She stared back evenly; there was none of the usual warmth in her eyes, instead they were full of distrust and disappointment.

“Jody, is everything okay?”

“You tell me, Winchester,” she said, coming to stand right next to him, her stature severe.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“Really?” She spat. “Don’t you think you’ve been acting differently? At first I thought, being by yourself was getting to you.”

“Jody, I seriously don’t understand.”

“Fine I’ll cut to the chase. Where were you last night?”

It was the last thing Sam had expected. He couldn't tell her the truth. Where would he even start with the truth? “I was-”

She raised her hand and Sam flinched at the hostile expression on her face. “Save it, Sam. I know exactly what you were doing last night. I saw you sitting on the bench outside the bar with that girl.”

Sam jerked upright.

“I’ve known you for years, Sam. Years. I taught you everything I knew. I’ve never been prouder of any student I’ve had and this is what you do with all that trust? This is how you abuse your power?”

Her words rang louder than they should have in Sam’s ears. “Jody-”

“Don’t even try to make excuses. At first, when I saw her in your office, I didn’t think anything of it. Sure, she looked close to tears, but a lot of freshmen are always anxious. But then I saw you in the library with her. The way you looked at Y/N? That’s not how a teacher looks at their student!” Jody looked disgusted. “And tonight? Y/N was clearly drunk, for Christ’s sake! How can you possibly justify the way you were holding her?”

“Because she’s my WIFE!” He shouted, breathing hard, feeling the heat coming off of his face. “I married her and I love her!”

It was beyond cathartic to finally say those words out loud. Up until this point Sam hadn’t realised that since he had seen Y/N in his class, those very words had been strangling him, poisoning him. Now that he had finally said them, the strength in his legs gave away. He sat down on the steps with a thud.

Jody’s face had gone very white. “Sam…”

“Tonight was nothing more than me helping a girl who needed it. Nothing more than that,” he said through gritted teeth, blinking rapidly at the wetness on his lashes. “You know I respect you, Jody, but even you don’t get to tell me if I can hold my own wife.”

She sat down next to him, now at a complete loss of words. “Is this the same girl…?”

Sam nodded, unable to form words.

“Sam, I’m so sorry,” she said, drawing him close. “I didn’t know. You should have said something.”

“Said what?” He said through a thick throat, angry with himself for showing weakness now when he had held it together for so long. “That my wife who walked out on me years ago because she didn't trust me to save our marriage is suddenly back? As my student after six years? Is that what I should have declared when I didn’t even know if she wanted to see my face? Is that what I should’ve said?”

“Oh, you sweet boy. I’m so sorry,” Jody ran her hands over his shoulders. “Sorry that you’ve been suffering and sorry that I doubted you at all. You don’t need to say anything now. C’mere.”

Firmly she drew him towards her and threw her arms around his neck. Sam hugged back, closing his eyes tightly so that the tears rolled over into the cotton of her shirt.

“Shhhh…” she said. “It’s going to be alright.”

Sam didn’t know if there was any truth in her words, but he allowed himself to be comforted, allowed himself to draw some warmth from his oldest friend here. Allowed himself to start healing.

**************************

A/N 2: *Wiggles eyebrows* Who all saw it coming? ;)

PLEASE let me know what you think of this story?

If you want be tagged, you can send me an ask or add yourself to the taglist here.

Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

GIF Credit (It wouldn’t let me put it before the cut :/)

ALLU taglist

@feelmyroarrrr @gabavaldman @im-a-light-child @cosicas-cuquis @bllyjianne @hoboal87 @i-is-for-inspiring @daughterleftbehind @wackiekebab @mylovelydame21 @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @superbadassnatural @bellastellaluna @babypink224221 @badlittlehabit99 @anathewierdo @sams-bubblegum-bitch @damn-it-now-im-obsessed @fandomoverdose666 @superstarmarvel @atc74 @aiofheavenandhell @rebel-author-chick @death-unbecomes-you @cookiechipdough @kbl1313 @linki-locks11 @miss-nerd95 @sunflowers-n-rocknroll @stoneyggirl @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader fluff #lawyer!Sam x reader #professor!Sam x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #allu 12 #allu part 12 #anawritesspn #Ana writes ALLU #anawrites #q

124 notes · View notes

kitkat1003 · 3 years

Text

For the Love of, and Full of Hope

Wakko isn’t book smart, or social smart, not by any means, but even he isn’t dumb enough not to know that his family is worn thin. Threadbare and dying. They need more.

So he goes to get it.

Or: A 12 year old spends a year getting a single hay penny. Wonder what happened there.

Warnings: Death, Violence

Edit: this is part of a series, here is the Ao3 link

@asilcorner here

The decision to leave isn’t an easy one, and he can tell Yakko wants to argue. Of anyone in their family, Yakko is the one least likely to mention a want, but Wakko can tell that there’s one on the tip of his tongue.

I don’t want you to go.

If Yakko said that, Wakko would stay, because Yakko works so hard, Yakko deserves his wants. But Wakko knows, and Yakko knows, that they both want Dot to be alive far more than Yakko doesn’t want him to leave. So he thanks the world that train fare is practically free and buys himself a ticket.

“Why do you have to go?” Dot asks, the night before he leaves. He’s resting right next to her, and her voice sounds hoarse. Tight. Weak. The reason he’s going, to make her better, cements in further.

“We need money,” He tells her, honest. “Besides, the ticket’s already paid for. It’d be a shame to waste it now,” he shrugs, smiling despite the ever present ache, from starvation and exhaustion and the chill.

“I wish I could go with you,” She whispers, and he sighs.

“I wish you could too,” Because if she could, he wouldn’t need to leave in the first place.

The next day is joyously morose affair. He leaves with the hopes of everyone on his shoulders. Yakko hugs him tight, and Wakko can feel Yakko’s hands tremble against Wakko’s back, balled up in fistfuls of his sweater.

“Stay safe,” It’s phrased more like a plead than a simple farewell, and Wakko would like to be able to make promises, but...

“I’ll try,” he says, and he means it.

“See you in a year, sis,” He ruffles Dot’s hair, and she smacks at his hands, but she’s smiling.

“Not a day late or early,” She orders, and he grins.

“You got it.”

And the train departs, and Wakko sits all by himself as the place he knew as his home for all his life gets smaller and smaller as he gets farther and farther away.

He lets himself cry when it disappears, because he’s young, and alone, and afraid. But he has to do this. He has to try. Dot and Yakko need him.

It’s not hard to fall asleep. Compared to the abandoned orphanage they live in, the train seats are far more comfortable.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up a town over, and the train offers hot food, but he declines. He doesn’t have the money for it, even though his stomach screams for food. He nibbles on the jerky Yakko bought for him before he left. Wakko knows just how long he can not eat for before his body rebels against him-earlier than most people. Yakko says he has what one would call a ‘Chronic illness.’ All Wakko knows is that it makes him more of a deadweight for Yakko to carry, because despite Yakko trying to be slick, he could see at home that his older brother was giving him bigger servings while Yakko got less.

Hopefully, now that Wakko is gone, Yakko can actually eat like a normal person. With how Yakko is, though, Wakko expects he’ll take that extra food and give it all to Dot.

People come off and on the train at every random stop, but Wakko’s ticket is for a long ways away. Five towns over. He’s heard stories there, about how there are always jobs open. He’s going to do them all. He’ll work himself down to the bone, and come back with a fortune, and Dot will get better and everyone will be happy.

Days pass. He gets up, on occasion, to stretch his legs, because the last thing he needs are his muscles atrophying because he couldn’t be bothered to move. He loses his seat once or twice, but he is very adept at annoying people into moving, so he never loses it for long. He makes the piece of jerky last, so that even on the last night before he gets off of the train he still has a quarter of a piece left. It’s easy to not be hungry when you don’t move much. That must be why Dot hardly has an appetite.

He’s asleep when he reaches his destination, practically thrown from the train by a conductor who holds no pity for a half starved child. This town is prosperous, due to it’s industrious mining community. He can see the ‘Help Wanted’ signs plastered on certain storefronts, and tries to figure out what to do.

Yakko had told him that under no circumstances was he to even think about going into the mines. The mines are where people go to die, and Yakko told him it was better if Wakko came home empty handed than not at all.

They’d had the conversation far away from the house, where Dot couldn’t hear. She was already near bedridden most days, looking half dead. She didn’t need to hear about how dire things were, when part of the reason things were that is because she was so sick. It isn’t her fault, but she wouldn’t see it that way.

He tries first, at the bakery. He’s young, spry, and wiling to do whatever they need him to. He’s made to be the janitor, because he doesn’t know how to bake and they don’t need anyone to learn. When things go in the oven, he clears the work space, sweeps the floor of the spilt flour, wipes down trays, cleans dishes. It’s not easy work, but Wakko would like to say he works well.

He does not, in fact, work well.

It was probably a bad choice to pick a place filled with food for his first job when he’s been half starved for most of his life, but it seemed a good option at the time. He can’t help but try and sample some of the goods, so hungry it hurts, and the owner of the bakery doesn’t have time for charity cases.

He gets caught on his third day, and after getting yelled at so loud that his hands shake and his ears ring, he’s unceremoniously thrown out, sliding across cobblestone so hard his skin scrapes and he’s glad that black fur doesn’t show off blood well. Three day’s pay is a pittance, but it’s enough to get him some food for the night. He sleeps outside, in an alley, by the dumpsters.

The next day he goes to the general store. It doesn’t sell food more so than it sells equipment. A lot of its sales comes from supplying the mining sector with its equipment, and the rest is from the random items the townspeople need.

Wakko is a stocker. It suits him fine. He’s always been almost abnormally strong for his age, and he works hard not to mess this up. It’s a nice routine, though his brain gets ever so slightly bored. He’s someone who craves unpredictability, who loves chaos. The doldrum does very little for him, mentally, but he shoves it down and keeps working. He takes a breath every moment even though the cold air makes his lungs wince and puts his personality on the shelf and works and works and works.

He manages well for about four months.

And then, one night, he gets cornered in an alley.

“Hey, kid,” There are three men surrounding him, tall and lean. Men is a strong word-they’re teenagers, older than Yakko but nowhere near and adult. “Heard you’re the new stocker at the general store,” Wakko has no idea why this guy cares, but he just nods, because it seems polite.

The response he receives is having his sweater be grabbed before he is slammed into the wall, head knocking against stone.

“You think you can step in on my job while I’m out of town? Huh?” He shakes Wakko, as if Wakko can reply when he’s still dazed from having his head knocked around. “I own that job. I can come and go as I please, and make money when I want. That’s how it works here.”

And Wakko hates that. Hates the cavalier that this teen holds, to be able to come and go as he pleases, to always have a job waiting for him. Has this guy ever had to wonder if his sibling was going to survive the night? Has he ever even gone hungry?

It’s the same entitlement Plotz has, and it brings out a fire Wakko didn’t know he had.

“It said help wanted,” he responds, shrugging nonchalantly. “Not my fault that you were gone.”

That is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Wakko has never been good with his words, and that’s why Yakko always did the talking. He gets a fist to his jaw, dropping to the ground.

“What a smartmouth,” The leader sneers. “Why don’t we teach this kid a lesson?”

“Well, I’ve never been to school before,” Wakko wheezes, grinning like nothing’s wrong, and he gets a kick to his ribs for that.

He should really stop trying to be Yakko.

“Shut up,” One of the teens say, and he does.

It doesn’t stop them.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When he goes to work the next day, he has a black eye he can’t see out of and a limp. Black fur doesn’t show off bruises, but he’s pretty sure one of his fingers is broken with how purple it is. He shows up to work anyway.

When he does, the owner looks over him appraisingly.

“I see you met the town boys,” He says. “The leader is the mayor’s son,” Wakko frowns-of course he is.

Wakko gets to work, but the owner follows him.

“I thought he was staying out of town for another week, figured I’d fire you then,” Wakko freezes, holding three boxes of pickaxes. “But I can’t have the mayor down my neck. Find somewhere else to work.”

And Wakko isn’t vindictive, not by any means, but he feels a little too good when he says “Okay,” and lets the pickaxes all drop to the floor, hearing the crash and running out before the owner can catch him.

From there, he goes through jobs like they’re candy. He trips at the candlemaker’s and nearly burns the whole place down. Tries the printing press, but he can’t really read well, so he can’t tell if there’s any errors, and makes too many mistakes. Works at a family farm, but one of the animals kicks him into the fence and the family says that it’s a sign that this isn’t his place to work.

No wonder this town has so many help wanted signs , if these are the guys hiring.

His favorite job of the bunch is the inn, because they let him sleep in a spare room so long as he cleans it before he goes to work, and it doesn’t count towards his paycheck. However, the mayor’s kid comes in one day, sees him, says something to the owner, and Wakko is back on the streets again.

He wants to break down and cry and go home. He’s trying so hard, he’s doing what he’s supposed to. It’s been eight months and he never has more than enough to buy dinner because he can’t save when he’s losing jobs a couple months in.

He needs something stable. Something no one would fire him from.

He looks toward the mines.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He remembers the promise he made to Yakko, to not work there. Knows he shouldn’t. But he’s out of jobs, and he’s out of options.

He promised, but Yakko’s broken promises too. When Dot first got sick, Wakko was nearly in tears with worry. That’s his little sister, why can’t she play? Why does she keep coughing? What’s wrong with her?

“It’s just a cold,” Yakko had said. “She’ll get better soon. Promise.”

But she hadn’t, and that’s why he’s here, so if Yakko can lie to make Wakko feel better than Wakko can break a promise too, to make sure that when he comes home he’ll have something to give. Because, as much as it would break Yakko’s heart if Wakko never came back, Wakko would rather that happen then come back with nothing and watch Dot wither away.

He goes to the mines, and puts on a hard hat, and gets to work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The mines are a grueling place, and Wakko understands very quickly why Yakko never wanted him to work in such an environment. Half of the time he has to stop and cough, because every breath is coal ash in his lungs, every time he moves he feels like he’s going to drop dead. Lunch time is fifteen minutes and he doesn’t have anywhere to prepare a lunch so typically he buys some salted meats or preserved vegetables the night before and sticks it in his sweater pocket so he doesn’t starve to death. He supposes the upside to having been poor all your life is that you’re good at eating quickly.

You never know when the food you have could be taken away.

They get coal, and then they lug it to the minecarts to be taken out of the mine. Rinse and repeat. He doesn’t even have time to be zany when he’s so exhausted, so he’s just as dead eyed as the rest of the toons and men around him.

Every once in a while, there will be a rumble from above, and the whole cave will shake, and they will all freeze and hold their breath, because one wrong move could mean collapse.

One of the older men asks him, one day, “Why are you here, son?” in the soft, kind way that brings back a far faded memory, more a feeling, of a warm crackling fire, and someone large and familiar holding him, of feeling safe and full.

“I need the money,” he responds, and the older man’s eyes go soft and sympathetic.

“Don’t we all, son,” He tells him, patting him on the shoulder, and Wakko half smiles, because kindness is rare like gold and he’s dreaming of diamonds. “Don’t we all.”

Three months in, and he’s gotten the hang of it. Nearly made three hay pennies, because the older man, who asks him to just call him Sir, tells him about the safer tunnels, directs him to the areas least likely to collapse. He takes Wakko under his wing, and if he finds something exemplary, he lets Wakko take the credit for it.

Sir is here because he sends the money back home to his grandkids. His daughter’s husband ran out on them, and she’s getting ill from the stress and work.

“Don’t have much left in this world,” He says, heaving the pickaxe down against stone. He teaches Wakko how to hit it just right, and Wakko copies his movements and wonders if this is what it’s like to have a father who is more than a few years older than you. “But I ain’t losing them.”

“Yeah,” Wakko agrees, thinking of the small shack that is his home, five towns away, with the two people there that are his entire world, that he’s spending his days suffering and working for.

It’s nice, though, to have company. Sir listens to Wakko’s crazy antics, claps when Wakko has the energy to sing him a song during lunch, and says “you remind me of my grandkids” one day, and Wakko doesn’t want to admit how happy that makes him.

Four months in, and Wakko is venturing into an older tunnel, with a bunch of experienced miners. That’s the only reason Sir says that Wakko could come with, because he knows this is Wakko’s last month and a big pay off from a new mine would be really helpful.

They get to work, and an hour or so in the ever familiar, paralyzing rumble from above starts. Only this time, the floor starts to shake, and the ceiling cracks, and rocks start to fall from above as the whole mineshaft collapses. Wakko is jumping out of the way of debris, letting his pickaxe drop as he moves towards somewhere safe, so focused on the different falling pieces and the people running around him he misses the rock falling above him.

“Kid!” He hears Sir shout, and he’s slammed into by denim overalls and flesh and bone and hits the floor. There’s the sound of a crack, and then he feels, hears, sees nothing at all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wakko wakes up to the feeling of something on top of him, covered in dust and soot and something wet and sticky. He blinks out the dizziness and realizes the thing on top of him is someone, someone he recognizes.

“Sir?” he says, asks, hopes. Carefully, he crawls out from under the man, and looks around.

The cave is dark, and he hears groans from the other men, but he looks back at Sir, and shakes him. A slab of stone falls to the floor with a loud thud, from Sir’s back, and neck.

Something is dripping from Sir’s mouth. It looks suspiciously like blood, but Wakko won’t think it is, no.

“Sir?” he tries again, and he shakes him harder. The older man drops, limp, laying face first on the ground.

Wakko. Stares.

“Is that the kid?” One of the other men says.

“Sounds like it. The old man must have got on top of him to save him from the rocks.”

“Poor guy,” The first one says. “Hey, kid, c’mere,” Wakko stands, on trembling legs, and walks toward the sound of the voices.

A hand rests on his shoulder, and he flinches, and the hand disappears.

“Hey, it’s just me, kid,” He hears. “The old man told us about you. There’s been a cave in,” As if that wasn’t obvious. “We’re seasoned, so they’ll look for us. They don’t always for the newer guys.”

“Okay,” Wakko says, instead of anything else, because he can feel the wet and sticky on his cheek and it isn’t his blood, and he can’t turn around because if he does he’ll be facing it.

He can’t. He just can’t

A hand leads him to a spot to sit, and Wakko does.

Time slips through his fingertips, and all Wakko can do is wait and breathe.

They consider making a fire, but it would waste their oxygen. The find a miraculously non broken flashlight, and Wakko can finally see. The cave is about half the size it was before it collapsed. There’s a pile of rocks at the entrance, and some of the men take their pickaxes and try to hit it, but it makes the walls shake so they stop. Wakko walks around the room, and stays away from one area.

He misses Sir.

A day passes. He nibbles on the old, near moldy piece of jerky he has, offering it to the other men. They rebuff him.

“You look like skin and bones, kid,” One of the guys says. “This isn’t our first cave in,” Wakko wonders when he became their kid, but he supposes it could be worse.

It’s two days and they’re running out of air. Wakko wheezes in thin, shallow breaths through chapped lips, and tries not to cry because he’s dehydrated enough. He doesn’t want to die. He has Dot and Yakko to go home to, he can’t leave them now.

Eventually, he just starts humming, because the silence hurts and he doesn’t want to think anymore. Isn’t this whole movie supposed to be a musical? Maybe it hasn’t started yet.

“There's always tomorrow,” It comes out wispy and small, like a a breath, but it sounds unbearably loud, in the small space, “For dreams to come true. Believe in your dreams, come what may,” His voice cracks on the final word, and he coughs, but the men are all staring at him, a tiny shrimp of a kid way in over his head, singing because there’s nothing else he can think to do.

“There's always tomorrow,” He mumbles out the words, barely keeping up the tune, because he’s so tired. “With so much to do,”

“And so little time in a day,” One of the men finishes the line with him, and Wakko blinks.

It seems that one joining in spurs on the others, because one by one they’re all singing too.

“We all pretend the rainbow has an end,” Wakko sees some of the miners leaning on each other. A couple of them have broken a bone of some sort, but that’s all forgotten in the ever thinning air, singing because what else is there to do, in times of despair.

“And you’ll be there, my friend, some day,” Wakko’s eyes flick to Sir, the still body looking pale and the blood dried on the ground, and he forces himself not to cry again.

“There’s always tomorrow, for dreams to come true,” Wakko leans his head back against the stone, coughing a little. There’s thudding in his ears, he thinks his heartbeat, growing ever louder.

“Tomorrow is not far away...,” They trail off, and then there’s a crack, from the wall behind him. He jumps, stumbling back from the wall, and he can see light peeking through the rock wall.

Standing was a bad idea. His legs shake, weak, and while he can see the light as he hears men from the other side calling for him there’s darkness at the edges of his vision, and before the the wall breaks he starts to fall and everything goes black to the sound of the men shouting for someone to catch him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up at the local hospital. The mine is paying for the stay, so he gets to eat. He’s given 10 hay pennies for his trouble-the three he’d already made were lost in the collapse, but he doesn’t care too much because he lost far more important things there, too-, with the incentive not to take legal action against the mining company. As if he could. He asks around, asks if Sir’s family will be getting anything.

“Likely not,” One of the men from the cave says. “He didn’t have enough tenure for that, and his family lives far enough away and are poor enough that the mine won’t bother.”

“Do you know where he lives?” He asks, and he finds out.

He places 9 hay pennies into the envelope. He is not good at writing, but he knows how to write ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘he was a good man’, and ‘he protected me’, and the sentences hardly make sense with how his hands shake but that doesn’t matter. He has one of the older men write out the address and sends it off.

It’s not enough, he thinks. But it’s something.

He tries to go back to work for a little more money, but every time he looks into the yawning pit of the entrance to the mines he can’t breathe and he thinks of the sticky and wet and red that stained his fur until he washed it off two days later.

He knows how to get it out of his clothes, too. Now. He knows now.

He didn’t think he would ever need to know, but the past year has been full of learning experiences, he’s sure.

A week and a half later, he walks out of town to that same train, and like the end of a circle heads back to where he started, sitting on that same seat. The taste of jerky as he chews makes him want to vomit, too familiar, too entrenched in memory to be anything other than unpleasant.

He comes home, and when he arrives he sees the smiling faces of his family and town, and they don’t need the depressing tale of cruelty and hardship, so he smiles and dances on aching feet and sings about silly jobs that seem more fun than difficult and shows off his earnings and lets himself feel hope because even if it hurt it was enough, because Dot is going to be happy and healthy.

Later, when he is playing a mournful tune on a makeshift harp, he wonders if there was even a point to trying. If he should have stayed, should have just taken his time with his sister before she was gone, because regardless of everything that happened he’s right where he started. Except, someone is dead and he’s the reason, and his lungs ache and will spend months to get close to normal and he has to pretend because he can’t let Yakko know he lied, and he was beaten and his youth has been stolen and Dot is still dying anyway.

He’s tired of the cyclical, he needs change, and he looks up the stars and searches for something, anything, to make the hurt worth something.

The Wishing Star gives him a reply to his song, like beams of light through the rocks, like hope in the center of a blackhole of despair that refuses to be swallowed whole, and when Wakko makes the homestretch he asks for the people to get what they deserve, what is fair, what is right, and hopes the mother miles away with two kids and no father or grandfather gets something, too.

#animaniacs #wakko's wish #yakko wakko and dot #wakko warner #yakko warner #dot warner #kitkat1003 #Listen its medieval times do you think people were nice to kids #i will pepper in the fact that wakko nearly vaguely remembers their parents #i will create a side character and kill him off because I think it'd funny to be mean #haha

48 notes · View notes