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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 8 months

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This Dark Thing That Sleeps In Me - a Magnus Archives AU, Chapter Eleven

This is a DARK AU; it is not a kid-fic, though Jon is young. Bittersweet ending ahead.

Spoilers for the whole show, though this is very much an alternate universe.

There was no good choice to make. There was only the right one.

AO3

Incredible fanart by @iiiumihottie!

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He woke, and knew today had to be the day for one simple reason. He couldn’t put this off. If he waited, if he came to love these people more than he already had, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Sacrificing good people to save the rest was not… something he wanted to do. Yet it was something he had to do, wasn’t it? He did. This went beyond mere choice.

He was certain Annabelle had been right. No one else could do what he needed to do; and if only two out of three were being reborn right now, there was a strong chance he couldn’t come back and fix it later.

The genius of making Martin immortal now came clear. Even if Jon had, for some reason, chosen to wait until Tim and Sasha naturally died, letting them live what life they had, it wouldn’t happen with Martin. There was no way to do this without sacrificing Martin. Jonah, somehow, had planned for Jon to come. “He’s horrible,” Jon whispered.

Annabelle Two emphatically nodded.

Speaking of, Martin knocked on the door.

Jon was still sleep-mussed. “Come in.”

Martin peeked. “Hey.” And he did not laugh at the overlarge nightgown Jon wore, and Jon was grateful for that. “The funeral is today. It got moved up. We’re going to have to go.”

“Of course.” Jon rose, feeling a million years old, and looked at him. Really looked.

Martin looked young. He looked fine. But he wasn’t, was he? How many friends had he already said goodbye to? And all so Jonah would have this chain, wrapped around Jon’s heart.

It hurt. All of this hurt.

Deep down, his quiet, past self raged.

It was back up to the outfit place, and this time, all black. Everyone was wearing black; there were plenty of people there, finding things, some just grabbing any old clothes off a rack, others choosing carefully. Martin said nothing. He was already in black; he waited while Jon browsed, waited with a distant look.

People talked about sacrificing to the pyre , whatever that meant.

Mike showed up, followed by Tim and Sasha, and all four of them hugged. Jon didn’t interrupt. This was a precious thing, a beautiful thing. All three of them fussed over Martin, adjusting his jacket, standing very close. Letting Martin adjust their clothes, too.

They’d all die. They were all going to die.

Jon was not okay.

Eventually, a bell rang, deep, like a gong, and they all filed out. Jon obediently trotted with them. They were going to the top of the tower, the very, very top, and it meant so many stairs.

The weather was cold today, and rainy. Cloudy. No one seemed to care; the entirety of the tower’s occupants seemed to be here, all together, and he was amazed at how big it was. From the ground, the tower-top had seemed like a needle. Actually up here, it was huge, and oval-shaped. There was enough space for everyone atop this place.

“Be careful,” Martin said to him.

On a whim, Jon hugged him.

Martin froze. “Hey… it’s okay, kid,” he said.

It was not okay. “I’m sorry you lost your friend. Annabelle Two is sorry, too.”

The spider under his ear moved, gesturing or something.

Martin stared. Went dead pale. “Annabelle?” he whispered.

“Annabelle Two,” Jon corrected.

“Whoa, hey!” said Mike, and caught Martin as he staggered backward, nearly falling over. “Tim! Seat.”

Tim rushed over with a chair, and Sasha joined them. Martin stared at Jon. No—at Jon’s ear. Then he turned and pressed his face to Sasha, holding her tight, and crying again. Maybe he thought Annabelle had been reborn as a spider. Maybe he just missed her. Jon didn't know.

They gathered around him. No one was watching. It was a perfect moment. He could slip downstairs. He could—

Not yet, came his past self. Be seen, first. Jon wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, so he just wandered slowly across the roof, being seen.

People startled. Some of them peered, very close and confused, but he just nodded at them, trying to seem as grown-up as he could. He was pretty sure he had one stop he had to make, One place he had to be seen: near Anabelle’s coffin, where Jonah was.

Jonah stood at the peak of this oval-shaped tower-top, in glorious blacks with a fur ruff and purple tips, with gleaming rings on his fingers and more silver around his neck and on his head. An enormous fire burned next to him, crackling, the most colorful thing in view. Jonah stood there with all the bored calm in the world, as if he hadn’t been the one to kill her. Stood there, looking at everybody, with something harsh in his glittering eyes as if he was seeking for more betrayal.

Or whatever he considered betrayal.

And he had no right to be that way when he was the one who’d betrayed.

(How did Jon know that? What did that even mean?)

Jon swallowed and stepped into view.

Jonah raised his eyebrows. “There you are, Jon.”

“Hello, sir,” said Jon. “I’m afraid of you, but you said not to look away, so… so I’m here.”

And that, clearly, was the right thing to say. Jonah’s eyes lidded. “Well, now—unexpected wisdom from one so young.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Jonah sighed. “She has put me in quite a bind, Jon. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.”

“Sir?”

“With anyone else, I would her foolishness as simply being wrong. As judging the situation poorly, betting on the wrong horse. But with Annabelle... she was never wrong. So. Why did she even choose to talk to you, and tell you about supply issues that don’t exist, when surely she must have known how it would end?”

Be careful, whispered everything in Jon’s gut. “Sir, if I knew that, I’d be a lot happier,” said Jon fervently and truthfully. “I don’t like questions with no answer.” Because he didn’t know why it had to be him. Why he’d made some crown and given it away. Why someone else who’d died before it all started couldn’t be the one.

Jonah looked fascinated. “We share that trait. Perhaps we shall discover the answers together, Jon. What do you make of that?”

And Jon said, “As long as you don’t blow up my head, sir, you can do whatever you want.”

Jonah laughed. It was a terrible sound in the middle of communal grief, and many conversations stopped as people stared his way. Jon hunched.

Jonah smiled. “I need to know, Jon. I need to know why you’re here. You’re very lucky.”

“I am?”

“Yes. I will hardly kill you as long as I don’t know.” He reached and squeezed Jon’s shoulder, then loosened again. “If you are very good, I will even tell you what I learn.”

Jon swallowed. “Answers?”

“To anything you ask. Anything at all.”

Such a promise. Jon knew he’d do it, too; there was a voyeuristic quality to it, feeding Jon answers, feeding that hunger they shared.

If Jon just did that, just let Jonah do that, no one would have to die. No, he then told himself. That’s a child’s reasoning. He knew it wasn’t true.

Jonah smiled. “I have answers to almost everything—very nearly—and most certainly anything a fourteen-year-old can conjure up.” His look was fond. Indulgent.

Jon swallowed again. He seemed to be producing a lot of saliva, as if hungry. “I’d like answers,” he whispered.

“Imagine that,” said Jonah. “And I never grow tired of questions. Never. I think we can make good use of the next few years, hm?”

Jon knew he meant it. And he also knew it was a bribe. As if Jonah knew, somehow, that giving Jon a book would shut him up.

To keep you from acting.

Jon swallowed again. “Yes, please.” He kept his breathing slow. He’d learned, long ago when dealing with Amherst and Prentiss and Carnegie, that the appearance of submission was often enough to persuade.

“I feel your hunger,” said Jonah, patting his shoulder, and finally turned away. “I will see to it you are satisfied.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jon, and somehow made himself stand still while Jonah began talking to other people.

One by one, people came up to them, said some words over Annabelle’s coffin, and tossed something into the enormous fire. It became a whole thing. Everyone required an individual response from Jonah; everyone required a minute at the coffin. Everyone required a moment at the flame.

No one was looking at Jon anymore.

Jon did not want Martin to die. He did not want Sasha to fall, limp and eye-dulled, dead. He did not want to consider Mike sad at one of these funerals, maybe making it rain. He did not want to think about Tim dying like Carnegie, alone in a chair when he turned thirty.

There was no good choice to make. There was only the right one.

He would do it. This had to end. Carefully, he wandered away. No one looked at him. Not even Jonah watched him go. Jon checked carefully, but no one saw as he slipped away down the stairs.

He knew he had little time. Establishing his presence upstairs had taken much of what he had, but it had been necessary. He was sure. He hurried to the floor below the roof—the one he knew was Jonah’s—and pulled his special key from his collar.

It made sense that it had been sent to him now. It all made sense. Jonah’s door unlocked, and Jon hurried inside.

Annabelle Two immediately took point. She crawled down his arm, waved to get his attention, and gestured.

He followed her instructions; followed where she directed. Past enormous and empty living rooms. Past ridiculously appointed bedrooms, with beds like pools. Past the enormous dining space, with one lone place-setting at the head of an gigantic table. Into a library, and here, he faltered. He could just… grab a book. Stuff it in his jacket. No one would know—

Annabelle Two hissed.

He jumped.

She made the no motion.

Jon sighed. “Really?”

She gestured.

With regret, Jon hurried on.

Finally, she brought him to a strange hall. It lacked clothes and furniture. Instead, it was some sort of showcase. Wallpapered in yellow, it had plinths topped with glass cloches, and under each one, something spun—something glowing with power, some object suspended in green, misty swirls and will.

A man was waiting for him here.

Jon froze. He’d never seen the man who stood here before in his life, but he knew. He knew who it was.

“Hello, Jon,” said Oliver, the Will of the End, who stood ensconced in dark smoke instead of clothes, whose eyes glowed a solid, dark red.

Jon stared.

The spider gestured.

“Yes,” said Oliver.

The spider gestured.

“No,” said Oliver.

“What?” said Jon.

Oliver sighed. He looked so weary , now that Jon had a moment to adjust to all the spookiness. The man looked like he hadn’t slept in a year.

“Are you okay?” said Jon.

Oliver’s face twitched. “So he’s kind.”

The spider gestured.

“That makes this harder,” said Oliver.

“I… I’m sorry, but if you’re not here to stop me, I have to hurry,” said Jon.

“You do, and I’m here to make sure you know how. Did she tell you how to break the crown?”

Jon gasped. “How did you… no, she didn’t.”

“Thanks a lot, Annabelle,” Oliver said drily.

Jon could swear the spider laughed at him.

“What… what do I have to do?” said Jon.

“Take the crown to the top of the tower and throw it off.”

Jon had a strangely clear, separated moment, like one of those memories from his life past. He could almost see it. Almost see that the crown was tied to him in some specific way—something about the way it had been handed over, about misplaced trust, about… about…

It was gone. He couldn’t hold onto it. But he could hold on to this: his whole life led to this moment, to the choice, which he had to make, and it would be terrible to do. For one moment, he was bitterly angry. Wound up, manipulated. Betrayed.

Then he was himself again, and afraid, and unsure he could. “Jonah will kill me,” he whispered.

“Maybe. Unfortunately, it’s the only way.”

It just didn’t seem fair. “If I do this, they’ll all die.”

Oliver sighed. “Yes. I’m sorry—but Jon, it’s only death. We’ll finally be free. Even I will be.”

“You want to die?”

The mist swirled, hiding more of him, but not hiding his face. “I’m tired, Jon. I know that probably makes no sense to you.”

“But… but Martin,” Jon whispered.

“Yes. Probably everyone in the tower.”

Jon shook. “Is it a sacrifice to the End?”

“No. It’s cutting the End off so we can be free.”

He felt sick. “This isn’t like a story.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry, Jon. I wish there were another way, but as it is, it’s taking everything everyone has to keep Jonah from just killing you already. The likelihood of him doing it will increase the older you get. This really is the only time you can help us. Save us all, Jonathan Sims. We need you. Please.”

Jon knew he was right. He knew—felt—that somehow, his past self had known about this, too. It was too much to understand. “Does Jonah know you want to be free?”

“Yes. He doesn’t care. He’s terrified of death, and if I die, so will he.”

“But he’s its Heart.”

“And he’s still terrified of it,” said Oliver, and stepped aside to gesture at one of the cloches.

There it was. The crown. Second from the last, on Jon’s right. Floating. Jon felt it like a gear in his chest. He ached, like it had been twisted right out of him, whole and unblemished. Ached, as if it was his heart, floating in that cloche.

“You’re not afraid to die,” said Oliver. “I can tell.”

“I’ve never been afraid to die,” said Jon.

“That’s how,” said Oliver. “That’s how you got through this without being Aligned. You’re not afraid of anything.”

“Sure I am. And I don’t want to hurt anyone,” said Jon. “Am I really saving the world?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t there another way?”

“Not that I know of. Jon, you’re almost out of time. Please hurry.”

It wasn’t fair. It was, in fact, horrible. But what choice was there? He believed Annabelle was right; the world would end if he didn’t do this. Everyone would die. Everyone. If he did do it, the world could continue; population could grow again (and he desperately hoped the resources would be there).

But if he did this, Martin would die, too.

No good ending. Only the right one.

He lifted the cloche—carefully—and took the crown.

It felt so good in his hand. Heavier than it looked, a thick gold band, inset with black stones, and warmer than he’d expected. It fit his grip as if made for it.

“Thank you, Jon,” said Oliver, the Will of the End, and he sounded so sincere.

Jon looked up.

Oliver’s eyes were shiny. “Thank you.”

It was a vulnerability Jon didn’t know how to handle, and he fled. He left, because to stay any longer was to invite disaster. He left, because he could almost understand Oliver’s tiredness, and the full impact of what Oliver had asked him to do. He left, and he tucked the crown into his shirt. It hid neatly beneath his vest, trapped against his thin waist. No one would see it there.

He made his way back up to the death party—back to Annabelle’s funeral—and realized that when Jonah killed him, he wouldn’t get the chance to read the book he’d gotten from Gertrude.

Well. Maybe he would learn things after he died. There was only one way to find out, after all.

chapter twelve

#rusty quill big bang #rusty quill big bang 2023 #rqbb2023 #tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #magpod #magnuspod #tma au #the magnus archives au #tma spoilers #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #jonah magnus #annabelle cane #tim stoker #this dark thing that sleeps in me

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eddieslittleslutmuffin · 7 months

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To Die For—Vamp!Eddie one shot

Pairing: Eddie x black!oc

wc: 500

a/n: hiii it’s been quite a min since I posted here, it’s Aug 8th 2023, but by the time you see this it’ll be Oct 1st. I thought I’d get back into Eddie by doing a 15-20 min sprint. After I procrastinated for 2 hrs of course. This is a raw piece, it has bare minimum editing, there really isn’t meant to be plot but if y’all really like it or I change my mind I may expand on it. Ao3 will probably see this first. Anywho, enjoy, and as always reblogs and comments are strongly recommended 🎃🧡

⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️

Somehow Cheryl got sucked into going to Eleven’s halloween party, something about her big childlike eyes made it hard for her to say no. That and El wouldn't stop begging, and nagging about it. She stood at the entrance of Joy’s Californian home, drinks in hand, and an expression on her face that read she'd rather be anywhere but here. That is until, “Sinclair, didn’t expect to see you here.” Eddie Munson snaked a tattooed arm around her shoulder, Eddie has never been one for personal space amongst ‘friends’, he got a whiff of the older Sinclair sibling’s perfume, he pulled away before he got too excited, and did something he regretted. He cleared his throat, grabbed Chyrel by the wrist, and pulled her towards the kitchen. People were scattered everywhere, they spilled into all parts of the house, ‘I doubt this is what Joyce and Hopper meant when they told them to have fun while they were away.’ She grimaced to herself, Eddie handed her a red solo, and she drank from it without hesitation knowing she could trust him.

“Why are you shocked?” She asked him, her hip leaning against the counter, Eddie eyed her, it's been quite a while since he's seen her, since he—

“I just never took you for a party, ya Know I imagine you somewhere under the covers reading scary books.”

“Imagined, me?” She asked playfully, Cheryl took a step forward, it was no secret that they crushed on each other, but with recent events, neither of them had time to explore much more than friends.

“C.mon now, you know I think about you Cher.” Eddie cooed, his hand coming out to reach for her chin, the way he said her name in combination with his cold hands sent a shiver down her spine, and right between her thighs. Suddenly she couldn't think, at least not the way she wanted to, her mind taking her back to the heated kiss they shared last summer when they thought they were going to die.

“You have a funny way of showing it.” She sassed, Eddie closed the gap between them, his other hand coming around her waist, her scent engulfing him more intensely than before. ‘This is a dangerous game you're playing Eddie,’ he fought himself, but she was so close to him, and he couldn't take that for granted this time.

“I’m sorry, would you like me to try harder?” His lips curled slightly into a smirk, his eyes shown with mirth, Cheryls eye’s darted to his lips, she didn't even answer, she met him half way in a long over do kiss. His lips, too cold for California weather, but at this moment she didn't give a damn. The world is no longer ending, it's Halloween, and the love of her life is standing right in front of her. The two of them stood in the midst of a dancing frenzy, lips intertwined, and not a care in the world.

“I need more Cheryl.” He begged, the hunger rising from the pit of his stomach, no longer seeing, or thinking straight he knew exactly what he had such a desperate taste for.

#eddie munson x black!oc #eddie munson x sinclair!reader #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson one shot #spooktober

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stranger-marauders · 2 years

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shattered

eleven: the visit

chapter summary: Kate deals with some unfinished business on the way back to Nancy's house.

chapter warnings: language, grief, parent loss

word count: 3.1k

series masterlist | masterlist

KATE HAD ASKED Steve if they could stop somewhere else in the graveyard before they went back to Nancy's house.

Steve couldn't think of one time since he'd been buried that Kate had gone back to her father's grave. He wasn't going to fight her on the ask: he couldn't say no to such a thing, even if it seemed like a bad time. Kate wanted to see her dad, and he would never fight her on something like that.

Whenever he'd pulled close to the gravesite in question, Kate barely waited for him to put the car in park before she jumped out of the car, walking swiftly to her destination. Steve didn't dare follow her, but only watched from the car with the kids crammed in the backseat.

He didn't take his eyes off of her for a moment, barely even to think. Even though Kate had dumped him months before, Steve still didn't have any intentions of putting her in harm's way, especially not when he could help it. About a year and a half before, Steve had promised Kate's father that he would keep her safe, no matter what. Of course, Kate had no idea that the conversation had even taken place, and Steve intended for it to remain that way. After Hopper had died, he didn't intend on backing off of his promise, especially now that they were dealing with an interdimensional murderer. He wouldn't let anything happen to Kate, even if it meant he would lose his own life trying to protect hers.

Even though Max was currently wedged in between Dustin and Lucas, that didn't stop all three of them from switching their gazes between Kate and Steve, the three kids exchanging glances as they took it all in. Dustin finally cleared his throat, not even trying to catch Steve's eye. "Is she—?"

"Yeah." Steve didn't dare move his gaze from her, watching as she walked over to his tombstone, her hands in her jacket pockets (her dad's jacket pockets, to be exact).

At first, none of the kids spoke again, almost as if they didn't want to test the waters. Normally if one of them brought Kate up, they would get yelled at. They didn't know what they would be facing if they asked questions about her right now.

"Do you think she'll ever be the same again?"

Steve shook his head, still watching her closely. "No, but that–that's okay. It's not... It's not like she's dead, okay?"

None of the kids wanted to answer that question. How could they? While, yes, physically that was Katherine Michelle Hopper that they had been with, she wasn't Kate. The girl that they had now was much more empty than the one they had known before, more on edge. The Kate they'd grown to love over the years had changed, and that was something they'd have to get used to.

Kate, however, hesitated to get too close to the gravestone. Her eyes immediately glazed over whenever she read "JAMES HOPPER" on the slab of stone, making her stomach twist into knots. Reading his death date over and over again made it more finalizing for her, more like he was actually gone. She hated the feeling. She couldn't describe it to anyone else, partially because no one else would understand. She couldn't explain it, but somehow, she could still feel him. Maybe it was because there was never a body, never anything definite to put six feet underground and never see again but an empty casket, but none of it had felt... real the way it was supposed to.

She remembered the day of the funeral.

It hadn't been much. Kate had dealt with most of the plans, but she had made it as much of a non-deal as she possibly could. That would've been what he wanted. The town, however, had made a big deal out of celebrating her father's life accordingly: he'd died a hero. It couldn't be as simple as she wanted it to be, but she could live with that.

Kate had asked Flo to contact the people needed to make arrangements for both the veteran's and police officer services, mostly because she didn't think she could get through that phone call. The department had helped a lot in general, anyway, since her father's death. Each officer and their family had brought her food (mostly casseroles, but she didn't mind), offered their support, and Flo had even offered her a place to stay. Kate had been flattered, but as her father would have done, she didn't want to make too much of a fuss.

She just wanted it to be over.

She'd worn the same dress she'd worn to Will's funeral, his fake one. She'd almost laughed at the thought. She'd wished this was a fake funeral, too. It's not like there had been a body to bury, or anything left of him, for that matter. As much as she'd wished her father wasn't dead, that he was still out there somewhere, it was almost worse than him being gone. If he wasn't actually dead, that would mean he could be with the Russians, stuck in the Upside Down... she'd never see him again, that's for sure.

"You ready?"

Kate had turned around from finishing her makeup, finding Steve standing in the doorway of his bathroom. Her voice had been brittle, her eyes swelling with tears. "You want me to answer that honestly?"

He grimaced, walking over to her and putting his arms around her. He looked at her in the mirror, holding in tight. "You know, he'd be proud of you. Doing all this stuff for him."

Kate wiped the tear that had started to trickle down her face before it had been too obvious. "I mean, would he? He did this with his parents and his daughter, and I just..."

"Hey," he said, pulling her chin up to look at her. "He's proud of you. I promise."

She nodded, wiping underneath her eyes again. "I just... I miss him."

Steve sighed. "Me too."

The funeral itself hadn't been too long.

It had been mostly uniform: the police had done their thing, the military theirs, and the pastor from one of the churches in Hawkins spoke. Kate had known that a religious figure wouldn't have been Hopper's preference on who would talk about him at his funeral, as it definitely would've been her, but she hadn't been able to do it. She hadn't had enough time to prepare herself for something like that.

Instead, they had buried an empty casket, a sad attempt at any type of closure for his death.

She had barely been aware of what was going on around her until she had been handed a folded flag. She'd almost felt like she'd been drinking with how imperceptive she'd been. The only other time her attention had been snagged was whenever guns were fired off in the distance, saluting the fallen man.

Kate had only been able to breathe again once it was finally over, when everyone had finally gone home. When the empty casket had been put six feet under, never to be seen again, just like her father.

She thought about that day as she traced her fingers along the edge of the stone, almost like she needed to touch his headstone for it to feel real. She took a shaky breath, not wanting to start sobbing.

"I–I'm sorry... that I don't come more often," she said softly, her voice brittle. "That I haven't come, I mean. I promise, I'll come around more often from now on, okay? I just... I just couldn't be here today and not... come say hey, or something."

Kate felt so stupid. It wasn't like her father could hear her, or at least she didn't think he could. She tried not to think about religion too much, even though she, technically speaking, had been raised a Christian (her father didn't care much for religion, either, but Diane was a devout Protestant). Knowing that there were other dimensions out there certainly could make someone believe that there being a God was possible, but after all the bad things that had happened to her and the people she loved, she didn't like to think that there was some higher power that could fix it all.

"God, Dad, I'm so sorry," she said, a couple of tears finally slipping out and her voice cracking. "Sometimes, I... it still feels like you're here." She hesitated. "I–I should've gone with you. I can't do this shit without you." She took a breath to steady herself. "It should've been me. I wish it would've been me. I–I'm so sorry."

She placed her hand on the gravestone, almost as if it would help support her. If anything, it just solidified the fact that he was gone, making her heart break even more. She hated the thought that he couldn't hear her. Jim Hopper was dead and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Ellie's in trouble. If you can, p–please just... watch out for her, okay? I don't know where she is. I–I'm trying my best to help find her. Everything would be so much easier if you were just—" Her voice cracked again, stopping her from going on as more tears streamed down her face. If you were just here. She took her hand off the headstone, taking a step back. "I love you, Dad. I'm sorry I didn't say it enough before..." Before you died. "Just know we miss you. I miss you." She paused, wiping under her eyes then the rest of her face so she didn't look like she was crying. "I'll see you around."

When Kate finally got back into the car, the kids nor Steve knew what to say.

"You okay?" Steve finally said whenever they'd pulled out of the cemetery.

"Fine," she said, her voice brittle.

While none of the four said another word to her, nor exchanged another word until they got back to the Wheelers' house, they, especially Steve, knew she was far from fine.

Nancy and Robin had beaten them back to the Wheeler residence.

They had both already come up with a system where everyone could take turns sleeping, making sure that Max wouldn't be made a victim in the middle of the night. Whenever they'd all finally decided to go to sleep, Steve had volunteered for the first shift, and Kate had volunteered to take the second. She was slightly annoyed that Steve had beaten her to it with the first shift, partially because she knew she wouldn't be able to fall asleep until much, much later anyway.

Once everyone had finally fallen asleep, Kate had gotten herself situated with her Walkman and The Prince of Tides in another corner of the basement. She didn't even think about Steve still being awake until he sat down next to her. She pulled the headphone off of her ear that was on his side, closing her finger inside of her book as to not lose her page. "Can I help you?"

"I didn't say anything."

"You obviously want to say something."

He sighed softly, averting his eyes from her for a moment. "Are you... okay? I mean, seriously."

She opened her book back up as she sighed. She wasn't doing this right now. Not with him. "Steve, I already told you, I'm fine—"

"I mean it, Kathy." He looked to the Walkman that she'd yet to pause. "Which tape are you listening to?"

She shrugged, still not looking up from her book. "I don't know. I made it the summer before junior year, I think."

"So it's one of the ones you listen to when you're upset about something?"

She turned to him sharply, almost like he'd said something offensive. Whenever his expression didn't change, however, the one that showed he hadn't meant it in a negative way, she softened. "No."

"Hey," he said, touching her arm. Whenever she met his gaze for only a second, breaking away again whenever her eyes glazed over, he readjusted himself to get a better look at her. "Hey, hey. Don't do that. You can talk to me, okay?"

She took a shaky breath, nodding once. "Y–Yeah, okay."

"What's going on?"

She sighed, finally putting her bookmark in her book and setting it down next to her. "All of this... I don't know, it just makes me miss my dad."

Steve didn't know what to say, but only frowned in response.

"I know it's stupid—"

"What the hell're you talking about? That–That's not stupid at all," he said, trying to reassure her. "I miss your dad and he wasn't even my dad. I miss El, too."

She sighed, her voice almost breaking. "I'm so worried about her, Steve."

"I know."

"I don't know where she is, what's going on with her. I–I tried calling them again, but the line's still busy. I... I'm so scared of what they're gonna do to her." She shook her head, laughing hollowly as tears slipped down her face. "God, my dad would be so pissed at me right now. I should've been there, I should've known something was wrong before—"

"Hey, hey, hey, you can't do that to yourself, okay?" he said, trying to stop her from making herself even more upset. "It's not your fault. I... She's gonna be okay. If she's anything like you, I'm sure wherever she is, she's just fine."

Kate looked back up to Steve, moving her hand closer to his. "That's the thing. She's not like me. She's so much stronger than me, and I just..." She sighed, wiping underneath her eyes again. "I'm not... right. I'm not the same person I was last time I was here. I haven't been for a while."

"Kathy..."

"I'm not, okay? I–I... I'm not." She twisted the cord of her headphones, closing her eyes for a moment as if she were trying to piece together words to say. "Sometimes I think a part of me died that night, too, you know?"

Steve hesitated, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. "I think you're allowed to feel that way."

Kate still held his hand, scooting in closer to him. "Then why do I feel so goddamn guilty all the time?"

Steve shrugged, putting his arm around her. Whenever she didn't shake him off, only leaning into him, he pulled her closer to him. "Because you're you."

"Yeah, well, I hate me."

Yeah, well, I love you, Steve wanted to say, but he couldn't. He didn't want Kate to tell him she didn't feel the same about him anymore, that things between them were over for good. He couldn't deal with that right now. Not when she was finally opening up about things to him, not when she wasn't shutting him out anymore. For now, this would do. "I think everyone in this room would kill you if they heard you say that."

"Does that include you?"

"If you want it to."

She gave a sad smile, one Steve could barely make out. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"It's a deal, then. He readjusted his arm on her shoulder, just to make sure she was more comfortable. "You talk about Kathy like that ever again, you're dead, Hopper. Got it?"

She stifled a sad laugh. "You're such a dork, you know that?"

"Says you. I'm sure you already know the words to that new Queen song. The one that came out last week?"

Her eyebrows furrowed together. "'Princes of the Universe?'"

"Yeah, that one," Steve said, chuckling. "I never understood how the hell you do that so fast."

She shrugged slightly, leaning on his shoulder. "I have serious issues, that's why."

"Yeah, well, it's cute." Steve wanted to punch himself. "I—you know, funny. Cute in a funny way."

Kate's lips quirked slightly upward for a moment. She liked it whenever he got flustered like that. "And I thought you were supposed to be good at talking to girls now?"

He shrugged, chuckling. "It's all an act, okay? I still suck."

She hummed a laugh. "It's okay. All those girls are stupid, anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Steve turned to look at her again, making her pick her head up off his shoulder. When he got a better look at her, he moved his hand to her cheek to wipe away the tear that still sat on her face. "You've got a..." He trailed off whenever he met her eyes. God, did he miss looking into those eyes. Whenever he wiped the tear away with his thumb, his hand lingered and rested on her jaw.

For a moment, Kate thought Steve was going to kiss her. When their faces got close, their lips almost touching, she quickly pulled away whenever she heard something thump from the corner of the room. Steve pulled himself off the floor, moving to get a better look at the kids. She finally paused her Walkman, cutting "Heat of the Moment" off, standing up as she pulled the headphones off her ears.

She gave Steve a concerned look whenever he turned back to her, making a face of discontent. "What?"

"It's nothing," he whispered so softly Kate could barely hear him. When he walked back over to her, he put a hand on her arm. "Henderson finally fell to the floor. Nothing to worry about, okay? Promise."

She nodded, visibly relaxing with his words.

Neither of them knew if they should bring up the kiss that almost happened between them, but they both only hoped that the other would.

next chapter

taglist:

@thatsonezesty13 @cece5298 @thepowerstoner @alovelytardis @coolchick333 @stand-tall-pineapple @littlet-holmes @guichu @cinderellacauseshebroke @blackbirddaredevil23 @mads-weasley @ilovemarauders @pearlstiare @liableperfections @khaylin27 @girlwiththerubyslippers @cyarikaaa

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x hopper!reader #stranger things 4 #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington series #steve harrington stranger things

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panthera-tigris-venenata · 9 months

Note

💡- What’s a idea you’ve enjoyed but never/couldn’t write?

🍤 - Who do you mostly write for (going “[someone] would enjoy this!” when writing)

💿 - Which character is most likely to have a terrible sleep schedule?

🔔 - What compliment meant the most to you regarding your writing? (offline or online)

🏳️ - Favorite way you have described something in your works

🔗 - What has been your favorite dynamic to write for? (romantic or platonic)

🥫 - What’s a scene you’ve really enjoyed working on?

💡 What's an idea you've enjoyed but never wrote//couldn't write?

Sea Three going on the Isle of the Doomed!

I mean. I did write it. Kinda. But there were more people and AU background and I'd like to write it again, thank you.

They'd go looking for CJ when she vanished, still, because it's a good motivation. However, I can't figure out a good trap for Gil, so I'm stuck.

Also Anthony doing Harriet's hair. I think it'd be neat.

💿 - Which character is most likely to have a terrible sleep schedule?

All three Hooks, Uma, probably Mal.

There is a bet going on about whether the Facilier sisters are sleeping at all.

Carlos while living in Hell Hall for reasons called "Cruella is crazy and time is fake."

Ben if someone didn't force him to stop working and/or studying at eleven in the evening at most.

Audrey sticks to her sleep schedule religiously to pretend she has everything under control and Fairy Godmother gives Jane lights out at ten o'clock sharp.

🔔 - What compliment meant the most to you regarding your writing? (offline or online)

Let me just:

And about every single comment @dragoneyes618 ever wrote me ✨

Unrelated to Descendants, someone once told me „I wouldn't be afraid to offer this to a publishing house.“ (We then met once and they said they loved my stories and it was the sweetest thing ever) (it was an original story, just to be clear.)

🏳️ - Favorite way you have described something in your works

...I don't think I'm describing stuff all that much?

I think this scene is neat, though, and I apologize for the length:

It only takes one visit to her room for her to get all she needs, her hands doing their tasks completely on autopilot. Unsteered.

Take the dagger, CJ, tuck it to your belt. Then the other one. And another. Don’t forget your sabres. The boxers, for when you feel like you want to punch something – you do want punch something, don’t you? Someone? Their bones cracking under your knuckles, their hot blood splattering all over you?

You do know that a few cracked faces won’t miraculously heal broken reality, don‘t you?

…Yes, that goes for skulls and spines too.

CJ’s own skull throbs violently, she wants to go to Harriet and make her tell her that everything will be okay, even if it’s a lie.

Somehow, explosives find a way to her bag.

Oh, who is she kidding? She knows full well how they got there, and she knows how she wants to use them, too. Her fingers just itch to zap the lighter and throw the gotten-on-black grenades with all her might.

Watch the world burn.

But not yet.

She knows who has to pay first. Who else should it be than the king that condemned her siblings to death for the mere crime of being born?

The atrocities afterwards do not count.

Old king or new king, CJ doesn‘t care anyway.

The old king and his family, the woman who set up the shimmering Barrier of CJ’s childhood prison and her siblings’s mausoleum, all the people who turned a blind eye to the Isle for the last two decades.

The entire royal council, yeah, sure, why not.

Go big or go home.

CJ laughs hysterically as she walks through the front gate of Auradon Prep, straight to the Castle Beast.

I'm also obsessed with this fic (claudine/huma) a normal amount.

Plus, for some reason, the mental image from this fic brings me so much joy: Ginny and Maddy sitting together on the floor, Ginny playing with her own hair while Maddy plays with her doll, raking her nails through its hair. They're so cute, your honour.

🔗 - What has been your favorite dynamic to write for? (romantic or platonic)

Harry Hook/Uma

Harriet & Harry & CJ

Harriet Hook/Anthony Tremaine/Ginny Gothel

Claudine Frollo & the pirate crews. Particularly Harry and Uma. No I will not shut up about them. It can be your problem.

✨ What's a scene you've really enjoyed working on?

Probably every single Hook siblings reunion scene. Which I wrote a normal amount of.

#disney descendants #ask

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chaoticevilbean · 3 years

Text

Another Star Wars AU, TBN*

*To-Be-Named

I love time travel. A lot. So here is a time-travel au, with the CW trio.

Somehow, perhaps by touching a Sith artifact, perhaps by the Force deciding they should, perhaps from some sort of weird ritual the locals were performing that the trio didn't know about, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Anakin, Rex, and Cody travel aback in time.

[Please keep in mind that Canon Timeline has died tragically in a fire, and I am but the weeping widow with an inheritance.]

Due to whatever happened, they all also end up (technically) deaging. They still have their memories and their knowledge and skills, just stuck in smaller bodies. They can think and act like adults, but they also have to struggle a bit more to implement Older Skills in Younger Bodies.

Ahsoka is 2. She's nubby. She's emotional. She's tired and sore from her deaging.

She wakes up in someone's office. She's in a spinny chair, a big one with leather padding. It's kind-of chilly in the room.

She's not thinking, because all her brain is putting together is that she's still tired. She grabs the jacket off the back of the chair and pulls it over herself. She goes back to sleep.

Rex and Cody wake up together.

They are their actual age, which is to say they're both about eleven.

They find themselves on Mandalore. In the more wild areas.

(let me believe that there are parts of the planet that aren't covered in city)

(also, this is the Mandalore in the cartoons)

They find a teen trying to wake them both up. Rex has absolutely no clue what's going on. Cody has a vague idea, because this girl looks very similar to a picture he once saw...

Obi-Wan does not fare as well. He is 3.

He wakes up in someone's arms. He's just as tired and sore as the other three. However, he's also got more awareness because he's in someone's arms.

He looks up to see who's carrying him.

He looks around at the people walking with them.

He starts crying. He cannot help this, as he is suddenly flooded with Emotions, and he is Smol. Smol = harder to handle Emotions.

Because Qui-Gon is walking right next to him, tapping away on a holopad as they go. Dooku is on his other side, on a comm call where both parties sound very tired.

And Obi-Wan is being held... by Obi-Wan.

So, yeah, not that great for a suddenly Smol Obi.

Now, Anakin is 8, so he's better off in that perspective.

But he wakes up on some remote planet without anyone around. He just was in the middle of a group, so he ends up kinda panicking.

Then he hears something coming towards him, and he panics more.

He's Tiny! He's Smol! He's massively at a disadvantage against attacks! He can't fight off whatever is on a planet like this!

It's Mace (and Depa).

Anakin, however, doesn't realize this. He has gone Feral.

Back to the beginning

Jango Fett has been very busy w/Important Mand'alor Paperwork all day. He finally has time to go and relax a little, and he makes it all the way down to the exit before he realizes:

It is really cold outside. He is not in armor bc he was planning to only do paperwork today (though he still has many weapons). When one plans to stay in the same room for almost the entire day, one does not wear normal garb.

That said, he has no protection from the cold. He forgot his jacket upstairs. He rushes back up to his office.

He distinctly remembers that he left the jacket on the back of his chair, not on the seat.

He also is wondering what that lump is.

He arms himself, grabs some of his "emergency" armor plating, and walks over to the chair.

He lifts his jacket up, expecting a bomb or some paperwork that fell off the desk, or something logical.

He does not expect to find a tiny Togruta child clinging onto the fabric, whining as they're woken up by his yanking of the jacket.

Jango's brain stutters for a moment, then he kicks into action.

First things first, he wraps the jacket around the Togruta. They thankfully stay asleep. Then he turns up the heat, because he knows the office has gotten colder in the twenty minutes or so he's been gone, and Togruta are from warm temperate zones.

He decides to call, in this order, a guard who can help him watch the Togruta (they did break in, after all), a medic to check the Togruta’s health, and the first person he can find in his contacts that might know an adult Togruta.

Next group

Rex and Cody manage to get the teen to stop fussing over them for long enough to ask for her name.

Her, clearly lying, but that’s understandable: My name is Ine.

Cody, who knows exactly who this is now: Oh, kriff. You’re Duchess Satine, aren’t you? Kriff.

Rex: Wait, Satine? As in the General’s Satine?

Satine, now very suspicious and reaching for her stunner: I think you need proper medical attention.

Cody, looking down at their eleven-year-old selves: Yeah, I think so, too.

They agree on one thing, at least.

Obi-Wan is crying. Loudly, uncontrollably, w/too many Emotions to even care that he’s supposed to be an adult rn.

Other Obi-Wan is very uncomfortable, bc he doesn’t know how to handle children too well.

They found this kid unconscious in the middle of a ruined, abandoned town.

Obi-Wan was meant to hold this kid while Qui-Gon did research and Master Dooku tried to convince the Council that it was entirely necessary to bring the kid back to Coruscant. Granted, they can still give the child to the locals at any time before they make it back to their ship, but apparently the Force is Being Loud.

The Force was Being Loud when it told Master Dooku to come along.

The Force was Being Loud when it led them to that town.

Qui-Gon and Dooku have argued fifteen and a half times on this mission, and an additional six times on the flight here. Obi-Wan is trying to mediate but also doesn’t want to overstep. The Force is Being Loud, sure, but the kid is also Force-sensitive so it might be something off that.

He didn’t argue with holding the kid bc he thought that it was better than being caught between the Masters.

Holding a crying child and trying to get two adults to stop arguing bc they can’t decide how to comfort the kid is not better.

Obi-Wan keeps walking past them to the ship with this baby. He does what he’s seen some crechemasters do to the younglings. The kid eventually calms a little, and he belatedly realizes that both Masters are still behind him, not with him.

Anakin is panakin.

He is currently in a state of Feralness. His instincts have kicked into overdrive, full-on Survival Mode.

Depa and Mace do not know this. All they know is that there was suddenly an extremely powerful Force presence that started fading quickly (bc Anakin started shielding).

They burst into sight of Anakin and are suddenly attacked by all four feet and some of Feral Force Child.

It’s all they can do for a good minute or so to avoid losing their fingers, eyes, or untorn clothes.

Mace puts a few things together very quickly.

This planet is uninhabited by any sapient life. Therefore, this child is utterly alone. This child also is clearly strong in the Force, and knows how to hide their presence, for whatever reasons. Mace is a Jedi, and therefore is bound by certain duties.

He decides it is his Duty to get this kid back to Coruscant safely.

Back to the beginning

Ahsoka wakes up to find a familiar face looking down at her. She’s still tired, but not as much. She’s very aware of her size, and does a few quick observations.

She does not fully know who Jango Fett is. She does know that some clones run off bc they hate war and weren’t given a choice an- no. Not going down that path yet.

Ahsoka assumes, semi-incorrectly, that she was shrunk or deaged and somehow found by a rogue clone.

She knows it’s a rogue clone bc they’ve got weird armor.

So she does the logical thing and tries to comfort this clone bc he looks really worried and kinda panicked. She stands up on the spinny chair and tries to balance and he practically lunges to help her and she can’t help but giggle, but it comes out in a bunch of chirps instead.

The clone picks her up and looks really awkward so she pats his face bc that’s the best she can do bc she doesn’t want to disprove the fact she’s two yet.

For all she knows, this rogue clone has no idea she’s actually a Commander in the GAR.

He doesn’t, but for different reasons than she thinks.

Rex and Cody go with Satine to the city. They have introduced themselves and said that they were separated from their aliit. They don't know where said aliit is.

Satine is highly suspicious by this point, bc these two kids recognized her with only part of her name, and they were alone, and they speak Basic with Mando'a thrown in.

Basically, she thinks that they're children of people like Death Watch, but she's too young to know that Death Watch isn't really into children.

Rex and Cody get checked over by a medic, but also start trying to get access to some working comms. They are refused on account of being suspicious children (which makes them a little upset bc they're not children)(Well, they are, but not those types of children)

They have not yet figured out that they are in the past, bc Cody and Rex only know that General Kenobi talks about Duchess Satine, and they know about Padme Amidala from General Skywalker, so clearly this Duchess is really young and the General simply viewed her as someone he wants to protect.

They are very very very wrong.

Obi-Wan manages to calm himself somewhat now that it's just him and... him.

He is three, and he knows roughly what's happening, so he knows he should probably act like a 3yo.

Unfortunately, he has very little understanding of how child ages work. 3 is smart enough to go up the stairs and communicate with adults, but def. not old enough to speak sentences that are 15 words long with at least 2 5-syllable words.

Fortunately, his older (younger?) self doesn't know children either.

So when this 3yo starts telling him that he needs to leave the two Masters on the planet and head to Tatooine really fast, Obi-Wan is more concerned about the idea than the strangeness of "this is a 3yo suggesting this".

Obi-Wan is really good at convincing people. Including himself. He manages to get Padawan Kenobi to leave supplies where the ship is supposed to be and head towards Tatooine.

He says that the Masters will be fine, they know how to survive, and they need to be alone together in order to work through all the tension. Plus, it gives them plenty of time to talk to the Council.

Toddler Kenobi also tells himself that he'll take the blow and say he used a mind-trick.

Padawan Kenobi doesn't believe him yet, but Toddler Kenobi smiles like a very smug adult and says "you'll get there eventually". What he truly means is up in the air.

Anakin, since waking up, knows much less than everyone else. Which is saying something.

He knows he's Smol. He knows he's Alone. He knows Someone has come and they are Strangers.

One thing about Anakin's instincts is that they are very much Survival Based. He was Feral when he joined the Jedi, only he had to hold those instincts back for most of his life bc of being a slave.

A slave cannot bite someone who approaches and Vibes Wrong.

By the time he felt okay with being Feral Out Loud, he also felt safe enough that he didn't need to activate his Survival Mode.

What I'm trying to say is that Anakin does not realize how strong his Feral Instincts are. He has absolutely no control over them rn.

When Mace decides to Help this child, this child is trying to Maul them.

Mace makes a small ruckus to draw Anakin's attention to him so Depa can move back. Depa pulls out her saber now that she won't hit the kid. The kid notices Purple and Bright and Lightsaber.

Lorge Jedi Mind says this is Good. Safe. Jedi.

Smol Feral Brain says this is Dangerous. Mean.

Anakin freezes on sight and just starts tracking Depa's saber. She does one of those things where a snake or something is focused and the person waves the fire or the food slowly to make sure the wolf is watching it and usually they toss the thing away so the snake follows it.

Mace instead takes this opportunity to wrap Anakin in his cloak. And Depa's cloak. And the spare ones in their bags.

Feral Child is not happy with this. Feral Child is also unable to scratch or Maul or do things other than bite and snarl.

Depa carries Feral Child while Mace comms the Temple and they walk back to their ship.

The Temple is having a field day.

First, one of their Shadows reports that a well-known bounty hunter got an emergency message from a pal of theirs that said Jango Fett needs help learning Togruta childcare.

Then they get a call from Dooku, which is not the mission report they wanted.

Yoda: Mission report, you have?

Dooku: Of a sort. We successfully spoke with the locals, then went to investigate a rather large disturbance.

Mundi: A disturbance?

Dooku: We found the source to be a Force-sensitive child.

Mundi: So you are here to ask for more time on the planet?

Dooku:...

Yoda: Bring the child back, you wish to?

Dooku, unapologetic: He is of an acceptable age to be admitted into the Temple, and no other beings were around at the time to entertain the idea of there being guardians.

The Council is sighing and muttering bc this is a Disaster Lineage (and they haven't even met the other two yet). Their call is interrupted by the sound of crying and Dooku saying the child's woken up.

Then there's another Shadow who sends a message saying a set of twins that seem like Death Watch were found by the heir of Clan Kryze.

Finally, to top everything off, they get a call from Mace Windu and Depa Billaba. Two very dignified, not-at-all chaotic Jedi from a perfectly respectable lineage.

Yeah, most of the Council and the Order itself forgets that Yoda had a hand in raising Windu. Yoda "Feral Grandpa" who throws children at every problem. Grandson isn't doing too well? Throw a child his way. Other grandchild is struggling to cope with grief? Throw another child their way. Oh, there's a war going on and newest grandchild is angry a lot? Here's a child!

The entire lineage has a soft spot for children.

Anyways...

Mace: Our mission was a success. We found the artifact and both specimens.

Koth: How long until your return?

Mace:...

Yoda: Found a child, you did?

Gallia: Master Yoda, that's a rather illogical guess. Once is unusual, twice is-

Mace: Oh, did Qui-Gon find a child as well?

Yoda, smugly: Bringing the child back, are you?

Depa, from the background, after a rather loud snarl is heard: We do not bite things, young one.

*more snarling*

Mace: We have no reason to believe he was not alone.

Tiin: *deep sighing*

Mundi: *mild confusion noises*

Koon, eagerly: Please send photos of this youngling. For the archives, of course.

Mace, nodding sagely: Of course.

*extremely loud yowl* *sounds of Mace turning*

Mace: DEPA!

Depa: He nearly bit off my finger!

Mace: That doesn’t mean you pinch him!

Depa: What else am I supposed to do?!

*sudden exclamation filled solely of Mando’a, Huttese and Twi’leki curses*

Mace: So, I don’t know if he speaks Basic, but Master Che should be able to talk him through a check-up.

Yeah, several Council members are experiencing headaches now. Normally, they would have some empathy for Mace and his own stress-induced migraines. They currently do not.

Right after that call, Dooku calls back to say that Obi-Wan has left without them.

Mundi: He left the child with you, right?

Dooku:

Mundi: He left the child with you, right?

Obi-Wan did not leave himself with the Masters. Obi-Wan has listened to Mini-Obi and is off on some wild space adventure to a criminal-run planet.

The toddler won’t stop staring at him. He asks for a name. The kid says to call him Ben.

OW: Is that your name?

“Ben”: It is a name I am called :)

OW: That isn’t what I meant.

“Ben”: I know :)

Ben also keeps staring at OW’s lightsaber. OW decides to make sure the kid doesn’t start playing with it when he isn’t looking.

MEANWHILE

Ahsoka has figured out that she was really very oh-so wrong. She’s on Mandalore. As in, the Mandalore that is under Jango Fett. Bc she’s with Jango Fett. He’s holding her hand bc she was nervous about the strange looking medic (who was just wearing armor, but not clone armor and civies don’t wear armor.)

Ahsoka knows very little about Jango Fett. Clone Buir, Mandalorian leader, tried to kill Master Kenobi. Also dead.

He asks how she got in. She shrugs. She is too small to fight back so she can’t let him know anything. Whatever everything is right now. But also, he doesn’t seem mean or evil or anything.

Oh yeah. Skyguy said that Mandos love children. That's why the clones were so protective of her, even with Skyguy on her side of the argument.

She decides to use this to her advantage. She can probably get herself a comm, and enough time to call the Temple. If she can convince them she at least knows a Jedi, then they can come get her and she'll work from there.

ELSEWHERE

Rex and Cody are getting really upset. This Duchess is really nice, but she's acting really weird and keeps insisting she's not actually called Duchess. No one will give them a comm, they keep getting weird looks for speaking Mando'a even though they're on Mandalore, and Satine's father keeps mentioning a Fett. Maybe Boba's set a bad example again.

Rex starts to fall asleep, to his chagrin. He's too bored, sitting and getting some abnormally extensive check-up. Cody is fine, but he's used to the calm that is General Kenobi. Rex usually has a Togruta teen in the vents and a Human that is never where he's supposed to be.

Rex does, in fact, fall asleep. His "twin" starts glaring when a doctor goes to wake him up. Cody makes it clear that his brother is like Cat: once asleep, you do not wake.

Satine is giggling, but trying not to let the others hear. Cody does. Cody looks at her. They have a stare-off.

Cody goes back to glaring at the doctors. He will not admit to any emotions besides Protect™.

BACK TO

Obi-Wan and Ben have made it to Tatooine.

#star wars #star wars fic #another star wars au #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #kote fett #cody fett #rex fett #cody #rex #ahsoka tano #disaster lineage #mace windu #depa billaba #jango fett #duchess satine #time travel #deaging

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songmingisthighs · 3 years

Text

Hooked

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

ch. lxiii - weeping

<< previous | masterlist | next >>

??? × reader, ateez × reader

A freshman hookup rekindled into something new. With an incentive, of course. But what would happen if your 'relationship' led you somewhere you never thought would happen to you ?

It took Seonghwa a while to work up his courage and knock at your door. True, he was the one who contacted you first but truth to be told, he wasn't thinking when he chatted you up. But he had already said that he was coming so he had to do it.

You called out from inside with a shaky voice, very noticeable to Seonghwa. Before he walked in, he took a deep breath to calm his mind and stabilize himself. When he felt he was ready, he opened the door and peeked in.

"Hi (Y/N)," he greeted. You were sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, initially staring at your bed before snapping your head to look at Seonghwa. From your bed, you forced a smile at him. The use of your name was rather... hurtful but you couldn't complain after what you've done. Yeosang's words kept replaying in your head nonstop

"Hey, Hwa, I'm sorry," you said, your gaze dropped to your intertwined hands on your lap.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow at you and walked towards your bed after closing the door behind him. He took a seat by your side, rather awkwardly if he had to admit.

"Why are you saying sorry for?" he asked. He had an idea as to why you said sorry. But to him, it wasn't that important at the moment, he was honestly just glad that you were unscathed.

You couldn't look at Seonghwa directly, the shame and fear were eating you alive and it made you uncomfortable. You wanted to tell him how you felt, how sorry you are, and what drove you to wordlessly disappear like you did.

But you don't know how to start.

So you sat silently as tears began to drop from your eyes.

Seeing this, Seonghwa's heart broke and he immediately enveloped you in a hug. "Honey, why are you crying? Did I said something wrong?" he asked as he started to rub your arms, chuckling slightly. You couldn't let any words out, you could only let out pitiful sobs as you bury your face in his chest, your arms slowly wrapped themselves around his slim waist.

Due to the uncomfortable position, Seonghwa slowly leaned back onto the headboard with you so you could be snug in his arms.

As per usual, Seonghwa's arms felt like home, you felt completely protected and cared for. Which was annoying since you were supposed to be at odds with them all.

You both stayed in that position, completely disregarding everything else. As you sobbed, Seonghwa kept rubbing your back soothingly. sure, you both liked the silence and the calmness of the situation. But there were just a lot of things left unsaid and the both of you realized that there were things that you needed to talk about.

"We really do miss you, you know?" Seonghwa said, breaking the silence. You looked up through your tears to see him smiling softly at you. One of his hands reached forward to wipe the tears off your cheeks, "We were really useless without you, you know?" he told you with a pout. You couldn't help but giggle at him, "Yeah? I was miserable too, you know? I couldn't tell any of you guys where I was and I had to hide at Haknyeon's apartment that he shared with his roommates," you told him.

Just as you were about to get comfortable again, Seonghwa pulled you back slightly to look at your face. He had his eyebrows furrowed whilst looking at you with a weird expression.

"You weren't with your parents?" he asked. It was your turn to be confused. You furrowed your eyebrows back at him, "Well, yeah, I couldn't stay at home," you told him.

It was true. You were tormented knowing that Sunhee, Jinhee, and Gaho knew about things going on at the frat. So much so that it made you paranoid.

In the end, you turned to the one person you knew could protect you, your cousin Haknyeon. Sadly, he had recently moved in with three other men in a nearby apartment which his other seven friends were staying on different floors. The plus side was you had sure security and you were never lonely.

"Why couldn't you stay at- did your parents knew that you were staying somewhere else?" he asked.

Confused at the sudden change of tone in his voice, you sat up and turn to face him with crossed legs, "No, they don't know. Why are you making a big deal out of this? It's not like Haknyeon and his friends are bad guys," you tried to reason with him.

But at the mention of 'guys', Seonghwa's eyes bulged out and he immediately sat up straight, "Guys?? His roommates are guys??" he asked in disbelief.

A bad feeling crept up in you and you suddenly felt like you don't wanna say anything anymore. But you know you had to answer him if you don't want the situation to become worse.

"How many people were there?" he asked. His once soft expression turned hard, his jaw clenching and his fists balled up. "There were three roommates in his apartment, so there were five of us," "Was Haknyeon always there with you?" "N-no, there were times when Haknyeon had to go out to deal with things and his roommates stayed behind, at least two of them were always around,"

You were being honest, so you didn't have to feel nervous. But somehow you do. With how Seonghwa was staring at you, your brain was blaring the danger alarm.

As his fists unclench and his gaze faltered to a softer one, you began to relax slightly. Seonghwa let out a sigh as he looked to the side, seemingly thinking about something.

But then something flashed in his eyes, it was as if he made a sudden realization.

"What did you meant by 'three in his apartment'? Why did you have to specify that there were three roommates in HIS apartment?" he pressed.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You didn't even realize that you said that. With the way he asked the question, you just knew that the conversation was not going to end well.

"What I meant... Was... That... Uh..." your voice turned softer as you tried to think about the perfect way to explain to him. But the intensity of his stare messed your brain up, "Haknyeon's other friends also lived in that apartment on different floors, so sometimes all twelve of us hung out together,"

At the mention of the actual number of guys there, Seonghwa jumped off the bed to stand towering over you with his hands on his waist, "So eleven!? There were eleven men around you in which three were always with you during the night!?" he exclaimed.

"W-well, if you put it like that-"

"How else am I supposed to put it, (Y/N)!? You LEFT us for whatever reason there were only to go to an apartment with more guys?? What the fuck, (Y/N)!?" he spat out.

His insinuation that you were out whoring yourself hurt. It hurt so much.

As you tried to speak, your voice cracked, "Y-you think I re-really went out to other guys?" you asked, obviously brokenhearted at the insinuation.

If Seonghwa realized how much you were hurt because of his words, he definitely didn't show it. He let out an exasperated and sharp sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, "I don't know what to think, okay? But Yeosang made a good point earlier; you DID leave us with no explanation and without telling anyone, and now you told me you were staying with other guys? How am I supposed to think!?"

Tears began to drop from your eyes once again, "Hwa, I was with my cousin," your voice was so small, that you were sure Seonghwa couldn't hear you.

Especially with how emotional he got.

"We're not mere options, (Y/N). The fact that I had to tell you that is just infuriating, you know!? We were worried sick about you, and where were you? Having fun with your cousin and his guy friends," he stopped himself when he felt like he was getting overwhelmed. He took a couple of deep breaths with closed eyes, trying to not blow up. As best as he could at least.

After calming himself down, he spoke up again, "I know we were never official, but we told you we loved you and we were genuine about it. If options were what you were looking for, you're with the wrong guys. You're free to make your own choices, but don't play with someone's feelings if you were never sure to begin with," he said before turning around and leave the room.

Feeling hopeless, you broke down and cried out. Tears streamed down your face like a waterfall as your breath became uneven. Your head pounded from the overwhelming emotion and lack of oxygen that tried to enter your lungs through your pitiful sobs.

You tried your best to not cry too loud by covering your mouth and folding yourself into a fetal position on the bed.

The boys really hated you. They all think you were just playing with them and that you left to pursue something more. You considered Yeosang's and Seonghwa's words, how you didn't even try to communicate with them. For whatever reason you had, you just HAD to make a choice alone. A choice that affected nine people.

Maybe it was best to really leave them.

They deserved someone better than you, someone, who would be able to be there with them and be honest and open. Someone who wouldn't just bring shit to them. That someone could've been you, but maybe you hurt them too much to the point that it was all too late.

So you grab your phone from the nightstand after sitting up to dial a number.

The call connected and the person at the other line picked up almost immediately.

"Hello? Yeah, it's me. I-I know it's late and I-I h-have no right to bother you again after everything, but do you think you can help me?"

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wellpresseddaisy · 2 years

Text

Ringing the Changes

Narcissa, daughter of the House of Black, has had enough. No longer will she sit idly by and allow the house of her birth to be dragged through the muck.

"Sirius Orion Black, how dare you." Narcissa's angry, cut-crystal toned sliced across the noise of the Great Hall.

Sirius froze, years of experience with That Tone pinning him in place. And it looked like Sprout had let her in, even though she'd finished NEWTs two years before. Traitor.

"Pads, what is going on?" James muttered next to him.

"I am one thousand percent fucked, Prongs." He tried to speak without moving his mouth. Better Cissa didn't see him try to say anything.

At least most hadn't yet shown up for breakfast. And he and the others had claimed the far end of the table, nearest the doors. Rather regretted that now, though. Probably would have regretted her stalking the length of the Hall more.

"I have never been more ashamed of you than I am right now, cousin." And there she was, a vision of fury on the other side of the table. Sirius gulped.

"Good morning, Cissa." His voice squeaked.

"Good morning my foot. I had seventeen owls this morning decrying your conduct yesterday. Seventeen! All before breakfast."

Yesterday. The lake. Snivellus. Oh, yes, he was fucked, wasn't he? Cissa had always had a bizarre affection for the twerp. And Lulu seemed to think him the lobster's dress shirt.

"With me. Now." The order had him scrambling away from the table to trot behind her, Jamie's confused question strangling into silence at Cissa's "I'll be speaking to your parents later, Mr. Potter."

Despite his greater height, he had to scuttle to keep up with her. Narcissa stalked down a corridor, paused, and nodded to herself. The nearest door opened at a flick of her hand, practically embedding the handle in the stone wall with the force of her magic. Sirius swallowed. Why had he let Jamie go so far?

His parents wouldn't care, but Cissa had some strange ideas about besmirching the name of Black. And the power to enforce her edicts. Especially once she married that puffed-up popinjay.

"I would like to know," Cissa began, pacing the length of the room. "Precisely what you thought you were doing yesterday?"

"Er...well...you see…" Sirius fell silent. "We were bored?"

It sounded hollow now. Yesterday boredom needed that outlet, watching Jamie bait Snivellus. Now, though, facing someone asking him to account for his behavior, he couldn't feel the same elation.

"You were bored." Narcissa repeated. "I see."

She fell silent for some minutes while Sirius squirmed under her steady gaze.

"Do you know, cousin, what you've done?"

"Er...baited a prat?"

She took a deep breath in...wrong answer, then.

"In the last five years, you have destroyed your reputation. You were meant to lead, Sirius, and instead you hide behind Potter." She practically spat Jamie's surname. "You watch his cruelty with glee and egg him on, the jester to his court. You are known, now, as a follower. A weakling. Too hesitant, too soft to do anything other than cower at the hem of his robes. It's destroying you. Where is the cousin who loved music? Who loved to learn? Who lead?"

"Well, Jamie…" he stopped short. Jamie never liked him playing different instruments, never liked all his books everywhere, never liked that languages came as easily to him as breathing, never liked his manners or his accent...was Cissa somehow right? Had he made himself into something acceptable to Jamie...to Gryffindor, just to spite his mother? "I...I didn't realize."

His world crashed sideways. He'd rebuilt himself once, at eleven, with Jamie's views and Jamie's politics and Jamie's hatreds taken as his own. Could he do it again? He didn't even know himself, who he really was...did he?

"You know, Sirius, some wonder that you and Potter haven't yet planned your Marking."

"What?" His own voice sounded faint and far away over the pounding in his ears.

"Well, you've spent years targeting muggleborn and half-blood students. You've pushed some of them straight to the Dark Lord's side, since it seems safer than being around you."

His knees buckled. He heard the crack of them off the floor, but he had to work too hard to breathe to care. His breath came in gasps, one too many shocks stealing it from his lungs. He never knew. He never knew because he hadn't cared.

And a Black was meant to care. He was one step below a Founder's Line Heir, socially, and not one of them had been seen in generations. He was supposed to lead, to show others the correct way.

They were a guardian house and he'd hurt and humiliated instead, and all to spite one woman. He ought to have stepped between Jamie and his targets, stopped, at the very least, the worst of his excesses. Ought to have stopped himself, too. He'd learned that at Grandfather's side--riding the bounds, talking to the tenant farmers, meeting their concerns--in a smaller way before he took his place in the wider world.

And he'd muffed it. Royally. And would Jamie even accept him if he changed? If he went 'all posh' again? He'd only just got back into everyone's good graces.

"You can still put things right, cousin." Cissa started again. "You can be the savior of our family instead of the ruin. But you have to be willing to work for it."

She knelt on the floor next to him, supporting his head against her shoulder. She ran her fingers through his hair as she spoke.

"It won't be easy, Sirius. You may have your heart broken by those you now trust. You may not be wholly successful. But just trying, just taking a first step, will show the outside world who you wish to be."

"I...I almost killed Snape...last Fall." The admission fell from his lips. "How do I come back from that? I'm meant to lead a Guardian House and I almost killed someone because Jamie hates him. Jamie saved him. For...for Remus more than anyone. That's what he said."

"Why would Mr. Lupin be involved?"

"He's a werewolf. I told Snape how to get into where he was on the full moon. Jamie yanked him out at the last minute. Don't know why we didn't even get detention." He felt dazed, soul-bruised and aching from the hard truths of his conduct.

"I see." Cissa managed after several very quiet minutes. "The first step is an apology. First a personal one, then a more general one in the Great Hall at the evening meal. We'll go now. Severus is in with McGonagall and Evans. You'll speak to grandfather about making amends to both Lupin and Severus. There isn't an easy path and I'm trying very hard not to smack you."

"Cissa...why…"

"I may wed Lucius Malfoy in a few months, but I will always be a daughter of House Black. That House has primacy over Malfoy in my contract. I would like to know it's headed by someone with integrity and honor. Despite your... extracurricular activities, I believe you may yet be that person. Perhaps. You have the potential, at least, if you'll do the work to get there."

Sirius let her tug him up and automatically gave her his arm.

"If you have a son he won't be my heir."

"My son will be fit for House Malfoy, not House Black. I'm a selfish woman, Sirius, and I want a bolt hole if it all goes to hell, as it likely will. Lucius' politics are...not precisely my own. You fit my needs perfectly. And...grandfather sent this, if I felt you deserved it."

She turned toward him and held out a ring box. Sirius ghosted reverent fingers over the old, rich leather.

"Is it…"

"Open it, cousin, and see."

His hands shook and his mouth went dry, but he opened the box. The Heir Ring of House Black shone up at him, the silver band and onyx stone gleaming dully in the dim light. He took it out...he felt the magic of it, soft and somehow aware.

"After all I told you. After all you know of me?" He looked down into her face, trying to read her.

"I will shout at you later, once I'm calm enough that I won't flay you alive." Her tone remained even. "I think, however, that you should try. You must see if the Black Family will accept you as a potential leader. That will answer my questions."

Merlin but his cousin terrified him. Ready to murder him for what he'd done and still sounding like she'd been invited for tea.

He slipped it onto his finger and felt home for the first time in years. The Black magic swirled around him, judging him, yes, but also welcoming him. It saw his heart, the good and the bad and his willingness to try again, and accepted him as heir. Home. Home thrummed in his veins. It was hot chocolate after skating on a cold, cold day and sitting at the hearth of a roaring fire and the smell of the fields on a summer morning and the faint tang of furniture polish and the flowers grandmother placed in the hall every morning, hope and sanctuary and citadel all rolled into one perfect moment.

He knew what to do.

"I'm going to apologize, properly. And...and I'm going to write grandfather about a promising scholar he ought to sponsor. No. I'm going to ask McGonagall if I can use her Floo. He'll never believe me if I promise a letter."

"Are you certain?" Narcissa allowed him to lead her from the room. "It could change everything."

"Maybe it's time for a change, Cissa." He'd never been more sure of himself than in that moment.

#sirius black #narcissa black #house of black #sirius is going to change so many things #textpost

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indiee19 · 3 years

Text

Do Me A Favour

Alex Turner x reader

Summary: You and Alex break up, and you both think back on the night. Also, it's partially inspired by Do Me A Favour.

warnings: light swearing

word count: 2.6k

-Request from wattpad

A/N: I cried while writing this

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ ✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You looked down at the ground as you shut the trunk of your car, and you looked up at Alex for the last time that you would probably ever see him. He looked down as soon as you tried to make eye contact, couldn't do it, knew that it would only make things worse. You sighed and looked back down, walking over to the drivers side of the car, your Converse shoes untied.

Alex turned around and began to walk into his house, opening the door and turning around in the doorway, forcing a smile at you, and you forced one back, starting the car and pulling out of the driveway. As soon as you reached the end of the driveway, you burst into tears, letting out all the emotions that had built up inside of you over the last two days.

You felt awful for everything that had happened between you and Alex, thought that it was all your fault. But, it wasn't your fault, nor was it his. To be honest, it wasn't like you didn't see it coming, it had been inevitable for a while. And it all started with a small argument that you and Alex had had a few months ago, and then that was just the beginning of the end of yours and Alex's relationship.

But you thought that you and him could talk things out like you both always could, and up until two days ago you had, even though talking hardly worked. And two days ago was when everything came crashing down, and neither you or Alex could handle it anymore.

"Will you just calm down for a moment, love?" Alex said calmly. Another argument had happened, you don't know how, but the calm conversation you and Alex were having somehow got heated.

He had stayed out late with the guys again and you had no problem with that, but what got you upset was the fact that he didn't even tell you where he was until he had gotten home at two o'clock in the morning. You were worried sick whenever he didn't come home at eleven when he normally did and you had called him multiple times to which he never answered nor did he call you back. "Calm, Alex, clam? How the hell can I be calm whenever you were out until two o'clock in the goddamn morning? And you didn't even tell me where the hell you were," you said, raising your voice slightly at him.

Alex sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Of course," he said to himself. "It's all about me going out with the rest of the guys, isn't it?" he said aloud. You scoffed. "No, Alex it isn't. It's just the fact that you didn't even text me to let me know where you were. I was worried sick," you explained, raising your voice even more.

"God, love, I'm a fucking adult, I can go out whenever I want to," Alex said.

"I know, Alex, but can I not be worried about you?" you asked, on the verge of yelling at him.

"Jesus christ, love. Yes, of course you can, but you need to just stop worrying so much. What are you going to do when I go back on tour, call and text me every five minutes?" Alex replied. You tried to figure out what to say to that and even opened your mouth, but you quickly closed it. "No, Alex, I won't do that. I just want to make sure that you're okay ... and that..." you said, deciding at the very last minute that you wouldn't finish your sentence.

"That what? Make sure that I'm not cheating on you?" he said loudly. "Do you really think that I would do that to you?"

"Well, there has been rumors and pictures of you with girls being very comfy with each other," you said, saying the last part in almost a whisper.

"God, love, they're just some of my friends, I promise. And I mean, I have a life apart from fucking you," Alex said. As the last few words slipped out of his mouth he instantly regretted it. You were speechless, couldn't possibly believe that he had said that to your face. "Love, I-I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean it," Alex said, stuttering and and stumbling over his own words.

"You know what, Alex, forget it," you scoffed, walking away from him, going into the hallway, walking towards yours and Alex's bedroom. "Love, please listen to me," Alex said, following you to the bedroom.

You didn't say a word, just opened the bedroom door and tried to shut the door to stop him from getting inside the room, but he made it into the room with you. "Love, please, I'm sorry," he said, reaching for your forearm, and grabbing it for a moment but you quickly pulled it away. "Just leave me the fuck alone, Alex," you snapped. Alex's expression changed quickly from sorrow to anger and frustration.

"Well, be a bitch then," Alex said, annoyed with the fact the you wouldn't listen to him whatsoever. And that was it, what he called you just snapped you and you yelled at him. "You know what, fuck off, Alex." Tears welled up in your eyes. You'd had fights before, but you always talked them out and nothing ever ended with the words 'bitch' and 'fuck off.'

You wanted to apologize, but in that moment, you couldn't handle what he called you, so you yelled at him again, "Actually, you know what, perhaps 'fuck off' might be too kind," you said.

"Yeah, well if it's too kind then maybe we should break up," Alex said. You froze, not knowing what to do or what to say - and neither did Alex. It seemed as if he just said it in the heat of the moment - and he did. "Well, then maybe we should," you said, tears rolling down your cheeks. Then Alex froze, hadn't expected you to actually say that, and you never thought that you would say that either.

You inhaled and exhaled deeply. "I-I'll get a few things and go to my friends house, then I'll get the rest of my things later," you said after a very long moment of silence. "O-Okay, love," Alex said quietly, walking away to leave you alone, shutting the door behind him. As soon as he walked out and the door closed, you immediately burst into tears, and your mascara ran down your face.

It was a few minutes before you finally stopped crying at began to pack a bag with enough clothes for a one night stay at your friends, figuring that you'd come back in the morning - you didn't, but you also didn't know that yet. Once you packed your bag, you walked towards the door, turning around and looking at what was now once yours and Alex's bedroom, and then you walked downstairs, leaving. And Alex didn't tell you goodbye, more than likely in the guest room - alone and sad.

You left and went to your friends house. And as soon as you got there and reached the front door and knocked on it, you started to cry again and soon, your friend came to the door, seeing you in such an awful state. "Oh god, sweetie, what happened?" she asked, pulling inside and in for a hug.

"W-we broke up. Alex and I aren't together anymore," you said, your voice low and hard to understand because of your crying. your friend was used to this, used to you crying over him ever since you two started fighting, but nothing ever happened, you always went back home and cuddled up to him after a few hours, but now you couldn't do that anymore.

You and Alex had both made a mistake that you would regret later

And now, here you were, in your car, crying. You had no idea what to do and you felt like a piece of you was missing and you hated it. You just wanted everything to go back to normal, you wanted to be back with Alex, but everything between you and him was over, out the window if you will.

Your eyes were all red and it would be easy for anyone to tell if your had cried. As you cried more, tears fell onto the steering wheel. And was it only then when you began to wonder how Alex was, how he was coping, what he was doing. You let your mind wander, trying to think of a way that could have prevented this all from happening.

You tried to think of something but every time your mind just went back to the fact that you and Alex had stopped talking, and as much as you hated to admit it, it was true. You figured that you two stopped talking because Alex was always working, always away on tour or at the studio, and you knew that he couldn't help it and that it was his job, but that didn't mean that you didn't want to spend time with him, and that was more than likely the cause for the arguments, the staying over at friends places after said arguments, and the most heart wrenching thing ever - the break up that happened between you and Alex.

More tears ran down your cheeks and you came to a halt at a stop light, bringing your hands up to wipe them away. You wanted all the pain and sorrow to go away and you wanted to turn the car around and go back to Alex, to cry to him and fall asleep in his arms, but you knew that wasn't an option. In fact, all the things that you wanted to do right now weren't options since they all involved going back to him.

You still loved him, goddammit. You hated that, and you knew that you shouldn't, but you two had been together for what felt like an entire lifetime now and what could you do, so many years of your life was with him. So many birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, everything. You inhaled and exhaled deeply, closing your eyes for just a moment. Though, a car honking snapped you out of it, and you noticed that the light was green and you quickly moved.

You had no idea where you were going now, had thought about going to your old apartment that you had never sold even though you always meant to and you were now grateful for that. So you turned right heading towards it. And then, it hit you. Neither you or Alex had told either of your family that you had broken up. How would you tell them? Your family loved him and his loved you, you had no idea how to break the news to them. And as you thought about it more and more, you eventually arrived at your old apartment.

You had moved in with Alex about two years ago - two years into your relationship, and you just left your apartment. You'd always meant to sell it, but never had the time to and now, now it came in handy. You left a couch and bed here, meaning to sell those too but once again, you never did.

You stopped the car and took the key out of the ignition and got out, getting a few things from the trunk, planning are getting more things later on in the morning and then you walked inside the apartment. Walking to your door, unlocking it with your key. And as soon as the door opened, you broke down again, feeling alone. You quickly walked inside and dropped your things, walking towards the couch and you laid down on it.

You were in despair and sorrow and you didn't know what to do. You still loved him, but you didn't know if he still felt the same.

Alex watched as you shut the trunk of your car, looking down at the ground when you tried to look him in the eyes and then you got in the drivers seat. Alex walked to the door, turning around in the doorframe, forcing a smile and you did the same. And then you drove off and he watched as your car turned and disappeared around the bend and then he went inside.

The cold waft of air hit him immediately and he felt lonely. He walked around the house, trying not to remember all the time he spent with you in here. He wished that he could've stopped this all, made everything okay and wished that you and him could just go on with your relationship like normal, but that wasn't an option.

He hated himself for calling you a bitch and wished that he would've bit his tongue and wished that he would've listened to you instead of ignored you. He felt awful for starting the beginning of the end. Then he remembered another moment when he almost lost you that happened a month before.

As Alex walked through the door, you immediately got up from your seat in the family room and walked over to him, wanting an explanation. He'd, once again, gone out with his mates and never told you and to make it all worse, he'd have to leave in the morning for two weeks and promised to spend this entire evening with you - but, of course, that didn't happen.

"Oh, hey, sweetheart, is something wrong?" Alex asked, completely clueless.

"Uh, yeah actually, there is..." you said. "Can you please explain to me where you were because if I'm not mistaken, you promised that you would spend the entire day with me before you went away for two weeks."

He breathed in deeply and his eyes grew wider. "Oh, shit, love, I'm so sorry I forgot. I promise I'll make it up to you," he said, leaning in to kiss you. He kissed you lightly. "No you won't, Al. You never do anymore," you mumbled against his lips and he heard you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, pulling away from you.

"Well, you haven't really made anything up to me for the past month even though you say that you will," you said. "I mean, you haven't really done anything for me, actually," you added.

"W-What the 'ell are you trying to say?" Alex asked, confused. "Are you trying to say that I'm an awful boyfriend?"

You shook your head no. He asked you once again and you shook head again. This argument was stupid and you both knew that, but you and Alex just couldn't help but argue.

And soon, the argument escalated and somehow ended up with you both yelling and soon you left and went to your friends house, but you did come back a few hours later. Once again, it was the beginning of the end.

Alex pushed that memory away and went to what was once yours and his shared room and he changed out of his jeans into a pair of sweatpants and then he laid down. The bed felt large and empty, and even though he knew that you weren't there, he still felt around the bed for you, tears welling up in his eyes when he let the fact that you weren't here sink in.

He let a few tears run down his face and he curled up into a ball, crying. He missed you more than you could've ever imagined, and he still loved you and wanted you back just as much as you loved him and wanted him back.

But, the end was officially here and nothing could ever change that.

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astro-rain · 3 years

Text

delicate; b.barnes

chapter eleven - “there’s a reason behind everything”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n endure an event of stressful affliction, followed by something... entrancing.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

It had been a few days. There hadn't been any more headaches or vomiting. He was glad that Y/N faced no more impediments after that. However, he can't say the same for himself.

The thrashing was violent, his limbs wrenching, muscles tensing. The sheet beneath him was damp from cold sweat. He hadn't had a nightmare this bad in a while.

Ghastly memories assaulted him, ripping him from reality and forcing him back into agony, torture, and trauma. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, but he wasn't sure if that was in the nightmare or real life. The lines of reality and dreamscape faded. He couldn't tell if he was awake, and panic metastasized throughout his body.

His arms were strapped down - yes, two of them. He couldn't tell if the other was metal or not; the only thing he could register was that he had zero control. He was exposed and helpless and right back where he was before. He had never gotten out. Hydra still had their chains around his neck, choking the humanity out of him, and violating his autonomy to make a monster out of a man.

He felt like a caged animal. All there existed was terror; he needed to get out and he didn't care if he had to cut off a body part to do it. He jerked his body and pulled his arms as hard as he could. He thrashed and thrashed, desperately trying to somehow find a way out of this hell. He tried to scream but his lungs were frozen, cracked and collapsed from the ice that they defiled him with.

Every nerve in his body was ignited, screeching to try to escape. The only coherent thought in his head was "get out." Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get—

The top of his head suddenly burned, pain radiating out in beats, like a heart rate. It was then when he realized he was awake. It was then when he realized he had flung himself up, causing his head to collide with the wooden slats of the top bunk. It was also at this point when he heard her voice.

"Bucky!" her voice shook intensely, worry bubbling from the back of her throat. "Oh my god."

Faintly, the fear in her voice registered somewhere in the back of Bucky's brain, but this had no effect on his entirely overstimulated nervous system. His reaction was visceral; he flinched hard, jolting away from Y/N and falling off the side of the bed. The floor was cold; he could feel it in his hand and knees as he knelt on all fours (all threes?) trying to catch his breath.

Y/N hurried around the bed and immediately dropped to the floor in front of him. Her hands were quivering in front of her, completely unsure of how he would react to being touched.

His eyes were glued to the floor beneath him, but in his peripheral he could see Y/N's legs. Suddenly, she knelt on her hands, trying to be as non-threatening as she could.

"Buck," she whispered. "It was a nightmare. It was just a nightmare. You're here, and you're just fine."

"Fuck," he whispered. His body was on fire; he wished it'd just calm down.

"Your hand's on the floor. What does the floor feel like?" she asked, in an attempt to detour his attention.

"Cold," he strained.

"Cold, yeah," she said. "Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"It's because it's made of stone. Stone has a high thermal conductivity, which means it allows heat to flow through it quickly. The heat from your skin goes right into it and flows through really fast."

He pivoted his wrist slightly, smoothing the skin on his hand over the stone, feeling the cold, and thinking about what Y/N said.

She smiled slightly. "There's a reason behind everything, you know. An explanation."

"Even for this?" he asked, referencing the panic.

"Especially for this. What are you feeling right now?"

"Can't breathe."

"Yep. Okay, that's normal, too. That's your nervous system. It's really riled up right now because you're stressed. See, your body has a natural response to stress called the fight or flight response. It's supposed to be used in the wild to run from a predator or something, and you can imagine how engaging and intense that would be on your body," her voice was calm and steady. "The only thing is, your body is going through those same functions and feelings when you're not out running from a lion or something, trying to fight for your life. Instead, you're here. You're sitting on the floor and you're here with me. You're not in any immediate danger. We're fine."

He nodded, still looking down, still trying to compose himself. He couldn't look her in the eyes once he realized his face was wet from tears. He was acutely embarrassed. Be that as it may, she was helping. What she said made sense. It helped to understand just what his body was doing rather than simply trying to survive through it.

Suddenly, directly where his eyes were cast, a drop of crimson appeared on the floor; it dripped down from him. It was then when he registered the sharp ache in his nose and the warm, wet feeling around it. Blood.

"Bucky, there's- blood, are you okay?" The calm in her voice was muffled by worry.

"Y-Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. It's just my nose..."

"What can I do?"

"Can you just... keep talking?"

"Yes," she breathed, the calm returning with infinite softness. "So, there are a few divisions of the nervous system. First, you have the central nervous system and the peripheral nervous system. Then, from the peripheral, you have the somatic and autonomic systems. And then from autonomic, you have the sympathetic and parasympathetic systems. Those are what you're feelin' right now. Your sympathetic is what gets you ramped up - you know, increases in heart rate, breathing, sweating. And then your parasympathetic is what calms you down, so slowing your heart rate and breathing and so on. Your sympathetic activated the fight or flight response, and your parasympathetic is trying to rein you back in... I hope that makes sense."

"It does."

"You know the hormone that gets released during all this?"

"Adrenaline's the only one I can think of."

"There you go!" she smiled. "It comes from the adrenal glands."

"Can I get those removed, then?"

"Unfortunately not. Do you still have your tonsils?"

"Nah, got those taken out forever ago."

"Appendix?"

"I think I still have that one?"

She laughed. "Well that's good. The appendix is sorta kinda part of the lymphatic system."

"The what?"

"Er- immune system I mean."

"Never knew that," he commented.

"There's a reason behind everything, you know," she quoted herself endearingly.

"An explanation," he said, completing the sentiment and finally looking up.

Upon seeing his face, Y/N tried to hide her shock and concern, but he noticed. The apprehension was clear. He didn't want to be pitied; he wished he would've just suffered through this alone in a hole or something.

"There you are," she whispered.

Her voice was so gentle that his chest almost cramped, and then his entire body softened. Never mind. He'd much rather stay.

"Here I am."

She reached forward, ever so delicately, and smoothed the pads of her thumbs along his cheeks, effectively wiping away the tears. Effectively removing the physical aftermath of his pain.

She gave a strained smile. Why did he feel bad?

"Stay here," she instructed before getting up.

He'd do nothing but comply.

She came back with a damp white cloth, returning to her kneeling position in front of him.

"Here," she breathed, putting the cloth up to his nose.

He reached up to grab it, but her hand pulled away.

"I got it," she reassured.

He wasn't about to allow her to clean up his mess. This was pathetic enough as it was; he was pathetic enough as he was. She didn't need to tend to him out of obligation.

He insisted. "No, it's okay. I can do it."

"Bucky, let me help. Please."

"You don't have to. Seriously, it's fine."

"I know I don't have to - I want to. I want to help. Please just let me help."

He found he wasn't very good at saying no to her. He nodded silently, closed his eyes, and leaned his head forward. She got to work, gently dabbing the cloth to his blood stained skin, blotting the red, erasing the damage.

"You know," she said, a slight inflection in her voice as a result of her concentration. "I think you accidentally hit yourself in your sleep. I think that's why you're bleeding. 'Cause your head hit the top bunk, not your face."

"I'm really that talented, huh?"

She snickered. "Very. I don't know if I could manage such a feat."

"No, if you had nightmares, you'd probably just know exactly what each one meant and adjust your subconscious so you weren't afraid anymore."

She leaned back, an amused but shocked expression on her face, eyebrows raised, head tilted. Then she laughed.

"Look at you. Came for my neck with that one."

"I was just joking-"

"I know," she chuckled, leaning back in to continue her diligent work, "don't worry. I thought it was funny... even though it was wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Bucky, I wish I had that much control. I know the brain, but I can't work with mine that well. I'm only good at working with other people's."

He smirked. "Nah, I still think you could."

"Well, you have too much faith in me."

He couldn't think of a response to that. He had become decently distracted by the warmth radiating from her. She was so close. He thought back to what she said about heat conductivity, and briefly wondered how fast her warmth might transfer to him. What would happen if he just... opened his eyes-

Big mistake. He nearly drowned in the color, the depth all consuming. He hadn't noticed her movements stopped. She held the cloth at her chest, waiting. There were mere inches between them.

"Hi," she whispered, the ends of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.

He didn't think his body had ever been so still. He returned the smile all the same.

"Hi."

"What are you thinkin'?"

He could see every detail on her face. It made him equal amounts nervous and giddy. He never really thought about the number of eyelashes an average person had, but he became suddenly interested in counting each one of hers.

"I don't... I don't know..."

"You don't know? Well, it looks like there's at least a couple of hefty thoughts swirlin' around in there."

He did have a thought. Well, more of a question. What would happen if he glanced at her lips? What would happen if he just leaned in?

"Yeah... yeah, there may be a few."

When she didn't respond, her eyes bore into him, and dear lord, he felt bare. Eye contact is a dangerous, dangerous thing. But lovely. Oh, so lovely. And then that thing started to happen again: when time got lazy and the world felt slow. The room was without a sound. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat and maybe some of hers, too. It's as if they were in a trance.

Then, that thought returned. What would happen if he just leaned in? Rationally, he knew he shouldn't try to find the answer to that question. Nonetheless, curiosity beckoned him. Had the space between them become smaller? He couldn't tell. Not even an inch of their skin was touching the other, but every sensation and perception was so overwhelming, he thought his brain might fizzle out.

She was just so, so close. He was frozen, and never wanted to move again. She was so close, until suddenly she wasn't. Until suddenly, the trance stopped, time caught up, and the world began to move once more. Until suddenly, Y/N's serene smile disappeared, and she leaned back, awkwardly clearing her throat.

"Does your nose hurt? I can see if I can come up with a makeshift icepack or something."

"Uh, no. No, it's fine. I don't even feel it..."

He wondered which feeling he was denying.

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie

168 notes · View notes

doyumacy · 3 years

Text

FALLOUT |LH| ELEVEN

*gif not mine

PAIRING: donghyuck x reader bodyguard!donghyuck

WARNINGS: mentions of jaemin taeyong. swearing, unprotected sex (fingering, nipple play)

WORD COUNT: 3,2K

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

the next chapter is the last one !!

“If you’re calling to keep telling me how stupid and idiot I am, then I suggest you hang up. I don’t care what you have to say,” you spoke when you picked Taeyong’s call.

When you told him the news, you didn’t expect for him to react the way he did. He got furious, and you could swear to yourself you had never seen him that furious. You knew he didn’t like Donghyuck, but you never thought he hated him. No. Despise him.

He was deeply upset about losing you. Losing the love of his life to that asshole. Taeyong watched you with tearful eyes and left your house. Now he had to become the heartless villain because if he couldn’t be happy with you, then one could.

“Don’t worry, you made it very clear your lovelife isn’t none of my business,” He muttered.

“Exactly,” you snapped.

“I just called because my mother wants to see you, but I can tell her you’re busy.”

“Oh…” you sighed. “I uhm… tell her I can meet her for lunch tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

And with that, he hung up.

“Your mother isn’t in town,” Jaemin furrowed, looking at Taeyong.

“I know.”

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re being like this?” Jaemin questioned.

“What do you mean?” Taeyong unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat on his chair.

“All weird. You should be happy for her.”

Taeyong rolled his eyes. “And who did she end up with.”

“Donghyuck loves her, yeah, I mean, I don’t exactly support his past but he wants to change and is paying for what he did,” Jaemin shrugged.

“Donghyuck is an asshole,” Taeyong darted his eyes to him.

“But she loves him.”

Taeyong huffed, placing both hands on his desk. Jaemin tilted his head, confused. “Are you perhaps jealous?”

“Why would I be?” Taeyong let his head rest in his hand.

“You tell me.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Jaemin. Go home.”

“Am I?” Jaemin glared at him.

“Fuck off,” Taeyong snorted.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?" Jaemin narrowed his eyes sometimes with slight head tilt

"Yes." Taeyong massaged his temples. "But I guess it doesn't fucking matter now."

"Why you never told her?" Jaemin's voice softened and sat in front of him.

"Because I'm an idiot," Taeyong shook his head in hesitation. "And now she's high off her ass on feelings for him."

Jaemin sighed. "There are plenty of women out there, Tae. Maybe she wasn't for you."

"Yeah." Taeyong stroked his cheek, still head resting in his palm. "Whatever."

After Jaemin left, Taeyong decided to go for a ride and somehow ended up in where your father was hiding. It was one of his warehouses anyways. He parked his car and got off of it. He walked up the stairs and opened the door and found your father sitting on the couch, reading a book.

"Isn't a bit late for visits?" Your father queried, eyes still on the book.

"Your daughter's gonna get married," Taeyong closed the door behind him.

"Congratulations I guess?" He smarted.

Taeyong sighed frustrated. "That wedding can't happen."

"Well, in case you don't recall I don't have the best relationship with her."

"I need to play it by ear something," Taeyong placed his hands on his hips, walking around the room.

"Why do you even care?" Your father glanced at him and then he furrowed.

Taeyong stayed quiet and looked at him. "Now I get why you have me here. This is a passionate revenge.”

Taeyong cocked an eyebrow, looking at him. "You want me to get rid of him, don't you?" Your father inquired.

"That wasn't the plan, but I don't dislike what you said at all." Taeyong sat in front of him.

"I would gladly kill him," Your father smirked. "That son of a bitch ruined my plans. If I didn't get my happy ending then neither does he."

"You know," your father placed the book on the table and continued speaking, "Yuta and I's plan was great, and Haechan or whatever his name is, he simply couldn't keep his hands to himself and fucked up everything.”

“Please don’t remind me you tried to murder her because I still want to rip your head off,” Taeyong snapped.

Your father laughed. “And what's your plan, pretty boy? Killing him and then making her fall in love with you?”

“I wouldn't mind that at all,” Taeyong tilted his head.

“If she never fell in love with you, what makes you think she will after losing his beloved boyfriend?” Your father smarted.

“Because this time I am not a teenager, I am a man,” Taeyong smirked. “A man who is willing to be with her in her grief.”

“You’re pretty messed up, kid.”

“Wanna talk about messed up?” Taeyong raised an eyebrow.

Your father shook his head. “So, do you have something in mind or do you want me to think of something?”

“I have something planned.” Taeyong smiled.

You were waiting for Taeyong's mom outside her favorite restaurant. You frowned when you realized she was late. She was never late for anywhere.

You sighed and got up from the table determined to leave, when Taeyong appeared in front of you. You weren't happy to see him, which was weird. If it had been another occasion, you would be very glad to see him and have lunch together. But not now. You were furious with him.

"You're leaving already?" He asked, looking at you.

You nodded. "I guess your mother couldn't come."

Taeyong pressed his lips together. "I lied to you, she's not even in town."

"Then I better go," you grabbed your bag and walked beside him to leave the restaurant. He grabbed your arm, making you turn back to face him.

You yanked yourself free and hissed. “I don’t wanna argue with you again, Taeyong. I’m leaving.”

"Just... listen to me, please?" His eyes darted yours. "Please."

You let out a resigned sigh. "Fine."

You both sat, him in front of you. "I'm sorry for the way I talked to you. I just... I don't think he's the best for you. I wan-" You opened your mouth but he waved a hand to shoo you. "Let me finish, please."

You bobbed your head. "You know I love you and after what happened, I just want you to be okay. You love Donghyuck, I get it. Still, I don't like him but I'm not gonna lose my friend because of it. You're more important than what I think. So I'm sorry."

You let out a wistful sigh. "I really thought I would never speak to you again. Your words hurt me."

"I know," Taeyong reached out by taking his hand in yours. "And I hate myself so much because of it. I'm sorry."

You nodded and grinned. "Okay."

He cocked his head cutely. "Yes?"

"Yes," you giggled. "Don't do that face. It's impossible to say no to it."

"I know," he winked at you.

And Taeyong smiled to himself. His plan had just begun.

(...)

"Hyuck - fuck," You gasped, fingers tightening in Donghyuck's hair. He only sucked harder, pressing marks into your neck, your fingers continuing appreciating Donghyuck's new gains.

Donghyuck had been training for the past few months and new gains meant the definition in his arms, stomach, thighs and chest. You liked it, God, you liked it. You liked it so much.

He slowly made his way to your nipples where he wet them, biting roughly just to hear you gasp, before blowing on them.

Your shirt essentially torn off, thanks to Donghyuck. You moaned, fingers finding your boyfriend's waist and squeezing.

You gasped as Donghyuck bit down hard on your right boob, before dropping his head right smack in the middle of your chest, breathing heavily as he went to grip your thighs.

"(Y/N)" He was out of breath, moving his hands up to squeeze your waist.

"Hyuck, don't do that" You whined, but still hummed as Donghyuck pressed a kiss from where he rested, right on your sternum.

Donghyuck's lips curved into a smirk, "Do what, love? I love your boobs. They're beautiful." He sounded affected, but smug.

You didn't respond, so Donghyuck took it as encouragement, scraping his teeth over to suck on a nipple, drawing low moans out of you. While one hand dropped down to cup your clothed sex, the other kept squeezing, playing with the other boob. You hissed and bit your lip. “Stop teasing.”

“I’m just taking my time, love.” Donghyuck pressed kisses on your stomach and his hands went to your thighs, stroking them.

You sighed, impatience.

Lips still touching your skin, he dragged his mouth over to bite your right thigh. You choked, hands suddenly coming to grip Donghyuck's hair.

You needed him inside him. Now.

You fumbled with his pants, unzipping them shakily.

"Hey- fuck, love, wait," Donghyuck mumbled, but lifted his hips obediently when you whined about it. He happily squirmed out of his own pants and boxers when you decided to return the favour.

Your hand was pressed into his hard cock. Right. You were too horny to even wait till you got to the bedroom.

He couldn't blame you, honestly. When you got home after having lunch with Taeyong, you saw Donghyuck working out. You got horny and interrupted his workout session by pushing to the couch without a second thought. And after a steamy make out session, there you were, beneath him.

Without a second thought, he licked his fingers and shoved two up your dripping cunt, eager to start. All the while, you cooed and ran your hands up and down his arms. Donghyuck went back to kissing your chest, gasping all the while.

He had the decency to twist his fingers, quickly finding your sweet spot. You gasped, throwing your head back, feeling dizzy with pleasure.

“Donghyuck,” you gasped, “Hyuck- please.” Lucky for you, Donghyuck seemed just as affected, flushed and panting as he added a third finger, thrusting a little faster just to hear you whimper.

Through the haze, you fumbled with the elastic of Donghyuck's boxers, pulling them down hastily and as best as he could with three fingers stuffed up your pussy. You didn’t even get them all the way down. You needed him inside you, told him so.

Donghyuck gasped, “You’re not ready yet.”

“I don’t care,” You moaned, tugging on his wrist with one hand and squeezing the head of Donghyuck¡s dick with the other, “Need you inside, baby.”

“Fuck, fuck, okay, hold on-” Donghyuck muttered, eyelashes fluttering at the friction.

You kissed his chest, just once, before Donghyuck aligning himself with your entrance, lowering himself down quickly even though it hurt. But as he had learned, you liked that little bit of pain.

They moaned in unison as you began to move, impatient already. Donghyuck's hands flew to your waist, gasping.

“Hey, woah, fuck- love,” he groaned, trying to stop himself from fucking into you as he slowed his hips to a slow grind, throwing his head back teasingly. “Gonna come if you keep doing that,” he warned, eyes fluttering in pleasure.

You laughed breathlessly, "Then come, baby. I'll just make you come again, and again, and again." Donghyuck gasped, digging his fingers into your waist. You hoped he left bruises, hoped he wrecked you.

Donghyuck dug his heels into the couch and thrusted up into you. You moaned enthusiastically.

Donghyuck smirked and kissed you, before thrusting up just to hear you moan.

His gaze turned darker, nails digging into your waist.

"Ah- Hyuck," You arched your back when you felt him going deeper. "Fuck fuck fuck. I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me, love," Donghyuck hissed, kissing your neck.

With one more thrust, something snapped inside you and you were coming hard, molten pleasure flooding every inch of your body, pussy fluttering around Donghyuck's cock as he came too, thrusting mindlessly to prolong both your orgasms.

Donghyuck groaned. "Fuck, you're so hot, love." You felt your eyes roll back into your head when he got the angle just right.

Donghyuck's pupils were blown wide, mouth kissed red with a slight sheen of sweat over his whole body. He looked delicious, and made you want even more despite having you both climaxed.

You two had to take a break, panting as you came down from their highs. Donghyuck pulled himself out of you, wincing as it slowly slipped out, rubbing against your oversensitive walls. You cooed softly and reached up to kiss him. Donghyuck smiled softly and lay next to you, eyes half closed, clearly tired.

Your eyes then quickly found the hickeys on your chest and stomach. Particularly your chest. Though they were recent, they were already turning a deep red, and no doubt would turn purple overnight. Donghyuck grinned, proudly. His hand reached out to run it over your crotch.

You, seemingly oblivious, was startled to attention at his touch, and looked down. Your eyes immediately widened, and you gasped, smacking his hand away.

“Oh, my fucking God.” You whined. "You gave me hickeys in my pussy!"

"It's technically not your pussy," he shrugged.

“You’re feral. I have a feral fiancé. I can’t believe… this.” You growled.

Pouting, Donghyuck pulled your hands away and kissed your neck softly.

“Don’t. You look good. You look like you’re mine.” You rolled your eyes fondly, turning your head to bite his lip, prompting a sweet smile from him.

“I’m gonna have a hard time covering these up,” you murmured, pulling him closer to you.

“Don’t.” Donghyuck repeated, laughing airily at your groan. He was a nightmare. "Plus, it's not like someone is going to see them besides me."

“You say so…”

Donghyuck tilted his head to the side, eyes darting to you. “Excuse me?”

You laughed. “I’m kidding, babe.”

He groaned and got on top of you. “I’m gonna show you who you belong to.”

“Another round?” You giggled, clamping your thighs on his waist and locked your ankles. “Why are you always so horny?”

“Because you’re so hot,” he smirked and kissed you. “And you made me mad.”

“I was joking!”

“Too bad.” Without any warning, he pulled away and flipped you over. You cried out in surprise. "Keep your ass down."

"Make me." You smirked.

"Oh love, I am gonna make you eat those words.” Donghyuck slightly spanked you.

(...)

You were in your office when the office phone rang; it was your assistant telling you Taeyong was outside. You told her to let him in. You stood up and fixed your skirt. Taeyong opened the door behind him and smiled at you, greeting you. “Hey you.”

“Hey,” you smirked. He walked to you and kissed your cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“I just had lunch with a friend a couple of blocks away and thought of visiting you,” he explained.

“Oh,” you nodded.

“Are you busy? If you are I can leave,” Taeyong looked at you.

“I’m not,” you assured him. “Take a seat, you want something to drink?”

“I’m okay,” he sat on the leather couch and unbuttoned his suit jacket. “How are you?”

You sat next to him, propping your elbows on the outside back. “I’m great. Hyuck’s getting removed the electronic tracking anklet this weekend.”

He slowly nodded. “Are you guys going somewhere to celebrate it?”

“We’re going somewhere but I still don’t know,” you giggled. “Donghyuck planned something and he refuses to tell me where we’re going.”

“Great, that’s great,” he smiled forcibly. “I hope you guys have a great time.”

“Thank you,” you beamed. “I was also thinking you, Jaemin, Lena and I should go somewhere. It’s been ages since we traveled together.”

Taeyong cocked his head cutely. “Where should we go then?”

“The mountains? I don’t know,” you pouted. “Some places where we can have fun but also stay away from everyone.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” he smiled. “You should invite Donghyuck.”

“Are you gonna be okay with it?” You questioned. “I know you don't like him and I don't want it to be awkward for both of you.”

“I’ll be okay, don't worry,” he shook his head and gave you a comforting smile.

“Fantastic!” You clapped your hands together, smiling.

Taeyong tilted his head, looking at you. He noticed that your skin looked more rosy and shiny. Almost like glowing. “You look… different.”

You frowned. “Different? How so?”

“I don’t know, but you do look different.”

“Maybe it’s because I got a trim yesterday,” you shrugged.

“Yeah… maybe.”

Taeyong shook his head. “So, when would the trip be?”

“Maybe in 3 weeks?”

“Yeah, I’ll clean my schedule.”

(...)

You snuggled up to your boyfriend, watching the bonfire that burned in the pit before you on the beach. And right now, there was no place you’d rather be than in his arms, lost in the beat of a nearby boombox and the hypnotic glow of the fire.

“What are you thinking about?” he whispered in your ear as the fire began to die down. You looked at Donghyuck, with a relaxed smile on your face.

“Just how wonderful tonight is. Being in your arms,” you sighed, softly. “I don’t want it to end.”

“It doesn’t have to,” he said, as he took your left hand in his, and slipped something on your finger. “Marry me?” he asked while you looked down and saw the silver diamond band he placed on your hand.

You turned around to face him. “Wait, are you serious?”

Donghyuck laughed at this. “No,” he said. “I keep fake engagement rings in my pocket just to fuck with people.” He never could control his sarcasm. “Peel back the diamonds, and that’s pure white chocolate.”

“I’m serious, smartass,” you said, playfully punching him in the shoulder.

“So am I,” he replied. “About the proposal, I mean. Not the chocolate.”

“I thought you proposed before..."

"I did, but I didn't have a ring back then," he smiled. "So? Will you marry me?"

"Yes, of course!" you said, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug that sent both of you off of the log Donghyuck was perched on. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Lee Donghyuck,” you whispered in between soft kisses placed on his even softer lips.

He smirked and kissed you back. “Let’s not wait,” you whispered.

“Wait for what?”

“To get married,” you said, louder, as you sat back down on the log. “I never wanted the big wedding anyway. All I want is to be yours. Forever.”

“I guess we could go down to the courthouse tomorrow,” your fiancé pondered.

"We could do that. I don't mind," he beamed. "But we need witnesses and we don't know one here."

You giggled. "My friends will be upset if they are not my witnesses."

#donghyuck imagine #donghyuck smut #nct donghyuck #donghyuck x reader #nct haechan #haechan imagine #haechan smut #haechan x reader #nct smut #nct 127 haechan #taeyong smut #taeyong imagine #taeyong x reader

155 notes · View notes

cyberwolfwrites-fanfiction · 3 years

Text

quiet day

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30435417

words: 4,462

summary:

In which Peter has his quiet days and some bad days.

And meets some people on those days.

(Might become more than a one-shot in the future.)

Peter sighed in relief as the car door shut behind him, muting the sound of the rain and hundreds of teenagers rushing out of the school. The post-school day rush usually didn't bother him anymore, but he'd woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. He'd been up all night finishing his English essay after a particularly rough patrol, and he'd woken up nearly an hour before his alarm was due to ring because of the couple two floors down fighting.

It wasn't just the sleep deprivation that had him all out of sorts, either. Living with little to no sleep was the life of a high school student (and a friendly neighbourhood superhero), and was relatively easy to deal with. However, Mr and Mrs Fights-A-Lot's loud disagreement had set the mood for Peter's day—loud and intense.

Ever since the spider bite, there were days where his senses seemed to be dialled up to eleven (more so than they already were, that was). Every little noise would just seem just a bit too loud, just a bit too grating on his ears, the usual smells of New York would make his stomach churn, the sun would just seem a little too bright and the clinical-like lights at school just a little too intense. The day, most often than not, ended up with him curling up in a ball of misery with a migraine.

Today was no different despite the rainy day. Rainy days usually calmed him. They meant curling up in Ben’s old chair with Ben’s old blanket, with Ben’s special hot chocolate (the secret was a small scoop of vanilla or chocolate ice cream), and movie marathons with May (since Ben was gone). Recently, the rain typically meant a reprieve from the loud sounds and smells of New York, but today all it managed to do was make every bad smell, every clinical-like light in school, and every sound seem so much worse and grating against his senses.

“Hey, Happy,” Peter mumbled after crawling into the car. He curled up on the leather seat and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the blackout windows, which blissfully blocked out most of the grey-filtered light from outside.

“Hey,” Happy greeted him. He’d become much more friendly with Peter ever since they (meaning Peter and Tony) started to have lab days together at the Tower and Happy ended up driving Peter to and from school at least three days a week. “Don’t forget your seatbelt.”

Peter fumbled with the seatbelt as Happy pulled away from the school before curling back up in a ball and huddling into his hoodie.

As Happy’s car was modified by Tony, that meant that the windows were tinted, it was sound-proofed, and it somehow managed to smell like fresh, cool air. All of this was bliss to Peter’s oversensitive senses, and by the time they reached the Tower, Peter had managed to drift into a light sleep.

"Kid, you mind if I drop you off out front?" Peter startled at the sound of Happy’s voice and his migraine came back full-force. "Boss needs me to pick up some things for him."

"S'fine," Peter mumbled groggily, having to force the words out as he tried to gather his bearings. He slung his bag over his shoulder and reluctantly dragged himself out of the car and into the cold downpour outside. He shivered and pulled up his hood, but it was no use—it was raining cats and dogs outside and he was already soaked through the moment he stepped out of the car. Due to this, Peter didn't bother rushing into the Tower, simply not able to muster up the energy to do anything other than shuffle to the door.

It opened at his presence and shut behind him, gaining the attention of some of the staff. One of the desk clerks—the one Peter could never get along with—glared at the puddle of water he was trailing in and made a rude comment under her breath that he could hear clearly despite his migraine. Peter would have apologized for the mess but he couldn't form the words; it felt like they were lodged in the cotton-like feeling that had taken residence in his mouth. Instead, he just self-consciously tugged his wet hoodie sleeves over his hands and headed to an elevator tucked away in a corner of the room. It was one of the only ones that had access to Tony's personal labs, the Avengers's old floors, and the penthouse.

Like the front doors, it opened at his presence, but only because Friday gave him access. As far as Peter was aware, only Tony, Ms Potts, Happy, May, Colonel Rhodes (who Peter had yet to properly meet), and himself had access to this elevator. It had drawn him some odd looks when he first started hanging out with Tony, but now no one gave him a second look.

"Hello, Peter," Friday greeted him once the doors slid shut behind him. Peter closed his eyes and leaned against the cool metal doors, trying to ignore how the walls threatened to crowd around him.

"Hi," Peter managed to force out. His voice was quiet and strained, even to his own ears. It felt like he was being strangled.

"Where would you like to go, Peter? The penthouse, perhaps?" Friday suggested with a tinge of worry in her synthetic Irish-lilted voice. While not as warm or curious as Karen was, Friday was still kind and caring in her own way, even if her voice tended to sound reserved at times. She really only spoke openly to those Tony was on good terms with, and Peter could still remember the cold yet snarky comment she made to Senator Ross when he kept hounding Tony for something about the New Accords.

"Mhm," Peter hummed as a response, thankful that Friday was intelligent enough to not need verbal commands, which meant that he didn’t have to force more words out of his mouth. He tugged at the wet sleeves of his sweatshirt again in an attempt to self-soothe the anxious feeling creeping up inside of him. The hoodie was big on him even though it had belonged to Tony when the man was his age. Peter wondered if Tony had gotten it in a few sizes too large to bring him comfort from being away from home and attending college where everyone was older than him.

The thought made him feel marginally better.

It didn’t take long for the elevator to reach the penthouse and Peter clenched his eyes shut as the lights automatically turned on, hissing out a pained breath. Without having to ask, Friday automatically dimmed the lights for him. Instead of forcing himself to speak, Peter rested his fingertips against his lips before pushing his hand down, signing “Thank you” to Friday since it would’ve been rude not to say anything since she thoughtfully dimmed the lights for him.

“You are welcome, Peter,” Friday said, her voice much quieter than earlier. She had no doubt picked up on the fact that his senses were overwhelmed and he felt gratitude well up in him. “Would you like me to inform Boss of your arrival?”

Peter just shook his head and stumbled in the direction of the living room. He dropped his backpack and shivered slightly before his eyes fell on one of Tony’s hoodies laying on the back of the couch. After a few moments of deliberation (in which he determined whether it was worth the effort of making his heavy limbs move to pull off his wet hoodie), Peter just stumbled over to an armchair and pulled a throw blanket over himself. It smelled like Tony—coffee, motor oil, and a faint whiff of no-doubt expensive cologne—and it had Peter relaxing marginally, the behind his eyes almost seeming to dull at the face of the scent he’d started to associate with home and safety. He cuddled into the warmth of the throw, not able to bring himself to care that he was getting it and the armchair wet, and allowed his eyes to drift shut.

Only to be startled awake after what felt like five minutes. Peter couldn’t help the frustrated whine from leaving his throat, and to his horror, he felt his eyes prick with tears. He was so freaking tired and frustrated and he had a migraine and his senses felt wrung-out and he was so exhausted and every time he tried to sleep, someone woke him up! First, it was the couple from a few doors down, then it was Happy (not that Peter blamed him, the man had only been doing his job), and now it was whoever was talking extremely loudly.

When the voices became louder, Peter huddled into his blanket and sank further into the chair, hoping that it would swallow him up and make the voices stop. He clenched his eyes shut at the pounding in his skull and wished that whoever was entering the penthouse would shut up.

“Why are the lights so dim?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“Fri?” That was Tony. Something in Peter eased at the sound of the man’s voice but his eyes continued to burn and his throat tightened.

“I believe Mr Parker is dealing with a ‘code eleven’, Boss,” Friday informed Tony, her voice as hushed as it had been earlier.

There was a pause and then Tony rounded the corner. “Pete?” Tony asked as he spotted him curled up on the chair. Peter wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t. It was like his voice had been stolen like he was Ariel from The Little Mermaid and he swallowed against the tightness in his throat as he peered up at Tony with stinging eyes.

“Intense day, bud?” Tony asked him, his voice hushed.

Peter’s jaw wobbled as he worked it open and closed, trying to form the words to tell Tony he was fine. Tony didn’t have to worry about him, it was only a little headache, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He wanted to let Tony know that he was fine, that he was just being silly, and that they should go down to the lab like they were supposed to do. They had a project due in a week for his internship—it had been made legit a few months ago—because they were already so behind. Last week, a wrench had slipped out of Tony’s hands and had clattered against the metal table, and to Peter’s enhanced senses, it had sounded like a gunshot. He had frozen, his mind flashing back to Ben, and he’d freaked out. They hadn’t gotten anything done for the rest of the day because Peter had been a baby and cried.

God, he was pathetic. Tony probably hated him, it was his fault that he would get in trouble for not turning in the project. Ms Potts was a real stickler for that since Tony spent so much time messing around with him in the lab. He couldn’t even make his vocal cords work to apologize.

Some of his inner turmoil must have been visible on his face because Tony crouched down and cupped the side of his neck with a warm hand and said, "No, don't apologise. You don't need to say anything, Pete. You're allowed to have bad days. Okay, bud? I'm not mad. If you’re upset about the project, don’t worry, I can move the date back."

Peter curled in on himself at Tony’s words—so understanding and nonjudgemental—and suddenly everything seemed so much more intense. The sounds of the Tower exploded in his eardrums, the whirring of machines, the ticking of clocks, and the buzzing of the lights sounding like crackling thunder. The minimal lights in the room burned his retinas and he clenched his eyes shut, which only made the discomfort of his damp clothes more apparent. His wet jeans grated against his skin and he felt like his sweatshirt, which clung to him, was suffocating him. He threw the throw blanket off him, nearly ripping it in the process, hoping that it would lessen the suffocating feeling.

His exhale shuddered, not really a sob but nearly there, and his hands clamped over his ears to try and muffle the suddenly intense sounds. Tony muttered something that Peter couldn’t decipher as he moved into the chair beside him—the armchair he was in was massive, almost as if it had been made for the Hulk, and there was plenty of space for Tony to sit next to him—and he choked out a sound as Tony’s warm, calloused hand tightened on his neck for a moment before he was being pulled into the man’s side. Peter’s curled into the warmth that was Tony, his fingers grabbing ahold of the threadbare fabric of his old band tee—the man must have been in the lab before he came up to the penthouse, otherwise he’d be dressed in office clothes—and he tried to stop the whine that was building in his throat.

One of Tony’s hands carded through his wet, messy curls before a set of headphones slid over his ears, blocking nearly every little intense sound from Peter’s ears. The relief from his most troublesome sense made it feel as if he blacked out for a moment and it took him a moment to realize that he was trembling. His fingers tightened in Tony’s shirt and his shoulders shuddered in a mixture of relief and the cold feeling in his skin and the anxious, panicky feelings that had been running through his veins like adrenaline for what felt like days.

Tony’s thumb rubbed against the corner of his jaw in a soothing motion and slowly as the panicky feeling drained from him, he loosened the tight hold he had of Tony’s shirt and the furrows between his brows smoothed. His fingers loosened their tight grip on Tony’s threadbare shirt, lying flat against his chest to feel the man’s steady heartbeat.

Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud.

Tony’s chest lifted and fell against Peter’s hands as he inhaled and exhaled, seeming almost exaggerated. Instinctively, Peter began to sync his breathing with Tony’s. When his parents had first died, and when Skip happened, May and Ben had taken him to a child therapist. He had been prone to panic attacks and one of the ways his therapist taught him to calm himself was to sync his breathing with someone else’s. And so, feeling the expanding and contracting of Tony’s lungs beneath his hands, Peter’s own unsteady breathing began to level out.

After a few more minutes of feeling Tony’s soothing heartbeat and matching his breathing, Peter reluctantly leaned away from him and slid the headphones off one ear.

“Stai bene?” Tony murmured. Are you okay? Peter translated easily. He swallowed and tried to speak but the words still caught in his throat. Tony’s thumb brushed against the corner of his jaw again, and understanding that Tony didn’t need him to speak, Peter just nodded. He tugged at his sweatshirt sleeves and made a slight face as the damp fabric dragged against his cold and numb skin. Tony noticed. “Your clothes are wet,” he said with a frown, rubbing a hand against his arm in an attempt to warm him up. “Aren’t you cold?”

Peter sniffled slightly and he looked up when a sweatshirt—a red threadbare MIT one—moved into his vision. He started at the sight of who he recognized to be Colonel Rhodes, otherwise known as War Machine—or did he go by Iron Patriot?—or, most importantly, Tony’s best friend. The man wasn’t wearing his War Machine armour and he wasn’t wearing a military uniform, instead, he was in a long-sleeved thermal shirt and a pair of jeans, which were encased by the man’s leg braces, but Peter could easily recognize him from the pictures Tony had around the penthouse.

“Here,” the man said in a gentle voice. Peter blinked at him and realized that the unfamiliar voice he’d heard belonged to him, and now that he thought about it, he was probably who Tony asked to get his soundproof headphones as he was pretty sure they had been in his bedroom. His jaw worked slightly, he wanted to say thanks, but Tony did it for him.

“Thanks, Rhodey,” he said, clapping the man on the shoulder when he stood. Tony then turned to Peter, who slid his soundproof headphones around his neck. “Why don’t you go shower and change, bud? Those wet clothes don’t look comfortable.”

Realizing that Tony was giving him out, at least for a little while to gather himself in private, Peter did as he instructed, taking the sweatshirt from his hands and heading down the hall to the room that was designated as his. His shoulders met his ears as he felt eyes on him and he felt embarrassed for the event Colonel Rhodes just witnessed. Pathetic, his mind whispered. He tried to shove the thought away.

“What’s a ‘code eleven’?” Colonel Rhodes asked when his door closed behind him. Peter could hear the concerned words easily and he stilled, wondering what Tony’s response would be.

“The kid has bad days,” Tony told him in a soft voice. “He’s been stressed recently and he’s got sensitive senses, so a bright light or a loud noise probably triggered a sensory overload. He’s probably been dealing with it all day.” There was a beat of silence, an exasperated sigh, and Peter had a mental image of Tony running a hand down his face. “He’ll be fine after some rest and quiet.”

The tightness in Peter’s throat had diminished when Tony calmed him earlier, but it tightened again and his eyes pricked with tears at how understanding the man was. He’d easily guessed what was wrong, what had most likely set him off, and knew how to calm him down. He swallowed thickly and stopped listening as their conversation turned to other things.

Peter’s shower was longer than it usually was. He stood in the dark—the bright lights and the buzzing sounds of the lightbulbs were still too much for his eyes and ears, even dimmed—and allowed himself to cry. He knew that the tightness and the emotions wouldn’t just go away and that Tony wouldn’t comment on the redness of his eyes when he got out. Colonel Rhodes seemed too polite to comment on it, either.

Instead of pulling on one of his own hoodies or another shirt, Peter tugged on the hoodie Colonel Rhodes had grabbed for him, the one that he’d debated on wearing earlier. It smelled like Tony’s cologne and dryer sheets, and Peter figured that Tony had probably only worn it for a few minutes before taking it off. The comforting smell threatened to make tears prick in his eyes again but he’d all but cried himself out in the shower, so he just pulled the sleeves over his hands.

When he tugged on a pair of sweatpants and some socks, Peter just stood in his bedroom, debating on what he should do. Tony and Colonel Rhodes were talking in the other room, and knowing that Tony had been eager for his friend’s visit, he debated on whether or not he should bother them. But Tony had wanted him to meet Colonel Rhodes, that was part of the reason he was here today, and so he grabbed his soundproof headphones just in case and shuffled out of the room quietly.

They didn’t hear him walking down the hall—Peter had had a lot of practice being stealthy so he didn’t wake up Aunt May after patrol—and so he had a few minutes to watch the two men interact. They were talking about something inconsequential, simply chatting amongst themselves about something. Peter caught Ms Potts’s name, so they might’ve been talking about the company or how Ms Potts was. Tony was smiling that warm, happy smile he got when he was alone and not in public, and the sight of it made the tight feeling in Peter’s chest lighten. Tony was here, he was happy. A dark thought threatened to cross his mind, about how he was a burden and that Tony didn’t want him here, but Peter shoved it away. He was tired of the bad thoughts already. Tired of everything, really, but especially at the depressing thoughts. He was here because Tony wanted him here and that was what mattered.

“Hey, kid.” Tony happened to glance at the hallway and spotted him. He had a slight, reassuring but concerned smile and his eyes scanned Peter, looking as if he was looking for a hidden injury. Peter gave Tony an awkward quirk of his lips and he tugged at his hoodie sleeves nervously when Colonel Rhodes looked at him.

Peter waved slightly and Colonel Rhodes smiled, seeming a little amused. Tony urged him further into the room.

“How about a proper introduction?” Tony said rhetorically. “Peter, this is my best friend Rhodey, otherwise known at War Machine, so try not to fanboy too hard.” Peter rolled his eyes slightly even if he was fanboying on the inside, now that he could think clearly. War Machine~! Tony turned to Rhodey, throwing an arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Rhodey, this is The Kid.”

There were capital letters, Peter could hear it. Colonel Rhodes could, too, if the amused smile on his face was anything to go by.

Colonel Rhodes held his hand out for a handshake, which Peter took. “It’s nice to meet you, Peter, Tony’s told me a lot about you,” he said. Peter glanced at Tony in surprise. He’s told Colonel Rhodes about him? Peter opened his mouth to say something, but the words got caught in his throat. He still couldn’t talk. He didn’t really want to, either.

"Speechless, are we?” Tony teased lightly, though the glint of concern in his eyes told Peter that he understood. He’d had his own quiet days before. “Alright, kiddie, so I was thinking that we could have a movie day today,” Tony said, changing the subject. “Rhodey and I were thinking about the new Harry Potter movie and pizza, you in?”

Peter grinned and made a thumbs up. He’d been wanting to watch Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them since it came out.

Tony grinned back and ruffled his head. “Good, go take a seat. I’ll get the popcorn. You too, Rhodes.”

Peter followed Colonel Rhodes into the living room, curling up in his usual spot on the couch. There was a slightly awkward silence before Colonel Rhodes shifted in his seat, turning to face him.

“You’re good for him, you know,” Colonel Rhodes said. Peter looked at him with furrowed brows and the man elaborated. “Tony. He was a mess after Germany, I was afraid that he’d go back to drinking.” Peter frowned slightly; he knew of Tony’s past, it had come up often enough in the news and in magazines when he was younger and he’d been an avid Tony Stark fan even before the man became Iron Man, but he couldn’t imagine Tony turning to alcohol. The man barely drank around him, maybe a beer or two during movie nights, but there was no expensive, fancy liquor anywhere in the penthouse. Colonel Rhodes caught his expression and he smiled somewhat sadly. “I don’t like the thought, either. I was kind of surprised when he told me that he was taking a break from hard liquor, but then he told me about you and I understood.”

Peter was confused. What did he mean?

“Tony’s never really been one for big responsibilities,” Colonel Rhodes told him. “He’s good at his work, brilliant at it, but it was more of a chore at times than not. The first big thing that he felt responsible for was Iron Man, he felt he had a duty to protect after all of the lives he’d taken.” Peter was slightly conflicted. He could understand the duty to protect, he’d become Spider-Man for that very purpose, but he disagreed that Tony had been the one to kill all those people with his weapons. His name might have been on them, but he hadn’t been the one to fire them, to target all of those people. Colonel Rhodes gave him an understanding smile; he no doubt agreed with Peter’s thoughts.

“Then came Pepper and the Avengers, but you saw how that last one turned out. Helping me with my braces distracted him for a while, but I was afraid of what would happen when I was doing fine on my own. Then he surprised me by starting to talk about you. Eventually, he’d be mentioning you in all of our phone calls; ‘I’ve got this intern, he’s brilliant,’ or ‘The kid’s coming over today, we’re making a robot,’ or ‘Peter came up with a good way to stop your braces from locking up after standing for too long.’” Colonel Rhodes rapped his knuckles against his braces and said, “Thanks for that, by the way, they haven’t locked up since Tony upgraded them.”

Peter’s neck burned at the sincere thanks and he smiled shyly. Colonel Rhodes became serious again. “The whole point of this thing is that you’re good for him, Peter. He’s as sober as he’s ever been, healthy as he’s ever been, has been sleeping through the nights, and he’s not having as many three-day lab benders as he used to have. So thank you, Peter.”

Peter swallowed thickly. “H-He’s helped me, too,” he managed to say around the tightness in his throat. The only thing that belied Colonel Rhodes’s surprise at him talking was a single blink.

“You’ve been through more than the average teenager, haven’t you?” Colonel Rhodes said with keen eyes. Peter nodded and the man smiled slightly. “Well, then I’m glad that you’ve helped each other.”

In the kitchen, the popcorn stopped popping and the microwave beeped. Tony came out seconds later and raised an eyebrow at the two of them. “What were you two talking about?” Tony said suspiciously.

“I was just talking to Peter about my leg braces,” Colonel Rhodes said, scooting over to give Tony room to sit. Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly as if calling his friend’s bluff but sat down, giving them each of their snacks.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road. Friday, can you play Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?”

As the opening scenes of the movie played, Peter and Colonel Rhodes exchanged a look of understanding. Peter still didn’t feel well, he was still tired and felt wrung-out, but knowing that he’d helped Tony more than he thought made him feel better. He leaned against the man and stole a handful of popcorn, smiling slightly at Tony’s playful indignant squawk.

This one-shot took me a ridiculous amount of time to write! I got the idea like two weeks ago, started writing it like two weeks ago, and ended up only adding a few hundred words each day, sometimes only like thirty or so. I'm happy I got it done, and while I don't particularly like the ending, I like the whole feel of this.

Here are some scenes that I cut out but couldn't bring myself to completely delete:

"Tony cares about you in a way that I knew he was afraid to feel—Has he told you about Howard?” Colonel Rhodes asked. Peter frowned slightly at the mention of Howard. Tony hadn’t explicitly told Peter what his father had been like, only a few mentions here and there, but Peter knew how to use context clues and how to extrapolate data, so he nodded. “Well, he likes to say that he doesn’t like children, that he’s not good with them, but he ‘s afraid of turning out like his father.”

Peter balked at the thought. Tony wasn’t like Howard!

“Exactly,” Colonel Rhodes said with another look of understanding. “Tony’s afraid of turning out like his dad so he tried to stay away from children, but somehow, he got attached to you. You’re making him happy, happier than I thought he’d ever be after everything that happened."

Tony was murmuring soothing words to him, some in English but most in Italian. The man had taken to speaking to him in Italian ever since he heard Peter talking to May in the language. Peter had first learned the language when he’d moved in with May and Ben; it had been a way for them to distract him from the grief and he’d gotten over his selective mutism—this was a common thing for him, the not speaking, not being able to speak—by learning it.

“Starai bene, mimmo,” Tony was murmuring. You’ll be alright, baby.

The whine Peter desperately tried to hold onto was pulled from his throat at the phrase. It was something May always said to him when he was sad or upset, but it felt different coming from Tony. May was kind of obligated to care for him—not that it made her comfort any less comforting or appreciated—but Tony was Tony.

A tear fell down the bridge of his nose. "He said I killed Ben," Peter said in a soft, quiet voice, "and that he died to get away from me. And my parents, too. And that-that May left for her conference or training seminar or whatever it is to get away from me. Everyone I love dies or leaves me, Tony, I don't want you to go, too."

"Oh. Quiet day, baby?" Tony asked softly, the pet name May usually used seeming to slip out.

#peter parker #tony stark #iron man #spiderman #colonel rhodes #rhodey #whump fic #peter parker whump #irondad #spider son #sensory overload

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txemrn · 3 years

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Happy (belated) Mother's Day! Book: TNA Warning: THIS IS PURE SELF-INDULGENCE! I decided to take some time and a) make Sam Dalton lovely and b) not kill off a certain handsome king; but fair warning, this is filled with fluffity-fluff-fluff with smidges of angst; discussion of infertility and maternal loss Song Inspiration: "We Thought You'd Be Here" by Wes King A/N: This is part of the Schuyler-Dalton Chronicles (Check out "Once... Always..." the mini-series that started it all); the characters belong to Pixelberry; I stole a quote from one of the greatest Christmas movies of all time 🎄; I am not perfect: I take full responsibility for all of my spelling and grammatical mistakes; I'm hoping you can ignore them and enjoy the story! 💗

Before the brilliant rays of the Sunday morning sun could greet the New York City skyline, Brynn stares aimlessly at the vaulted ceiling of the master suite. Although she physically craves rest, the clattering commotion of her congested thoughts keep her restless and exhausted.

Frustrated with her inability to calm her nerves, she quietly crawls out of bed, being careful not to disturb her peacefully sleeping husband. She retrieves his discarded pinstripe button-up shirt from the floor, and wraps it around her exposed body. After snatching her phone from the nightstand, she tip-toes cautiously across the wooden floor to the ensuite bathroom.

Staring at her abdomen in the mirror, the all-too-familiar excitement laced with sheer dread latches heavily onto her heart. Her breathing labors, loudly thundering in her ears; a sour uneasiness pours through her nerves, settling on her queasy stomach. She tenderly cradles her belly. Her fingers brush across the flattened contours of her healthy physique until they rest curiously on two tiny, flesh-colored scars: the remnants of a pregnancy that simply wasn't meant to be.

"Are you there, little one?" She whispers hopefully. She endearingly hugs her tummy once more fighting back tears from the painful emptiness she has felt many times before.

But, maybe this time was different.

Brynn turns to her digital calendar to ensure that this wasn't in vain, that there was a reason she was doing this today of all days.

She clicks her tongue on the side of her mouth. "The first day… that was the third," she mumbles to herself, "which makes today... one, two, three, ah! Four days late."

She fills a crystal tumbler with water before locking herself into their opulent water closet. Taking one last massive swallow of the room temperature fluid, she tears into the bright pink box. Without giving it another thought, she tosses the printed directions and plastic wrappers into the wastebasket as she places the apparatus between her legs. She knows the routine; this is far from her first pregnancy test.

Before Sam and Brynn married four years ago, the discussion of having more children created much discord between the couple. Entering his forties, Sam was satisfied with having just his twin boys, Mickey and Mason. They were growing older with flourishing social and academic schedules; keeping up with them alone was challenging. Sam's line of work wasn't slowing down anytime soon, especially with the couple's meditated decision to buy out their shares from Dalton Enterprises to start their own company projected during their first year of marriage.

Brynn was still youthful, ending her twenties by becoming a Dalton with her childhood dreams still intact: getting married and starting a family. She adored Sam's boys, quickly and naturally claiming them as her own; but, a large part of her desire was to become a mom biologically, to carry a child created by her and her beloved.

After experiencing a tragic ectopic pregnancy early in their relationship that almost cost Brynn's life, Sam's heart softened to the idea of having another child. He saw the depth of Brynn's broken heart; he felt the depth of his own humanity, facing the possibility of losing the love of his life. Again.

Somehow having the last word about the size of their family didn't matter to Sam anymore. Conceiving would be difficult, but they agreed to cherish the journey together, whether the family expanded or not.

The shattering of crystal startles Sam awake. With one eye peeking open, he inspects the empty disheveled sheets on Brynn's side of the bed.

"Brynn?" he gruffly calls out as he reaches for his eyeglasses on his nightstand. Listening fervently into the silence, he hears a muffled whimper. Throwing on a pair of heather-gray sweatpants, he investigates the tinkering of something sharp being scraped on the floor from the bathroom.

"Babe?"

'"I'm fine--" her voice is dampened by the door. And her tears.

"Brynn baby," he softly knocks. Opening the door to the small area, he reveals his kneeling wife with shards of glass splayed all over the floor. On closer inspection, she's attempting to clean up the mess with her bare hands. "Oh my God--"

"I'm sorry. I'm such a klutz. I-I-I know it was your favorite--" she stutters through her sniffles.

"Baby!" he grabs her wrists, forcing her to drop the broken pieces. "Stop-stop-stop. You're bleeding."

"I'm fine--"

"Come here." Sam grips his wife's arm snuggly, pulling her into a stand before tucking her petite body into an embrace. Pressing his lips against her hairline, he reaches down with his arm, lifting her body into a cradle-hold against his chest.

Sitting her on the sink, he quickly inspects her feet, ensuring no glass had blindly infiltrated her skin.

"I'm sorry--" she silently offers, wiping away the wetness in her eyes.

'Stop," he brushes a wisp of her hair behind her ear. He leans closely towards her, desperately wanting to dive into her stormy blues; but, her eyes stay trained on her hands.

Sam takes her injured hands in his palms, and gingerly rinses them in the sink. After allowing the water to run clear, he finally breaks the pained silenced.

"Was it negative?"

"I-I just needed a sip of water to take some Tylenol, and-and--"

"Baby," he coddles her face, making her look at him. "Did you--did you think that you--? That we were--?"

Brynn drops her head as rivers from her eyes roll down her cheeks. Sam delicately wraps her in a tight hold, peppering her sweetly with kisses.

"I thought for certain," she sniffles. "I was so shocked when nothing popped up on the test that I dropped the tumbler." She sarcastically chuckles through the sadness to herself. "And I thought it would be so sweet to find out today--today of all days. It sounded like a fairy tale, but it's now turning out more like a nightmare." She buries her face into Sam's shoulder as he tightens his arms around her body.

"I think it’s time that we--” Sam lets out a sigh, “--make an appointment--"

"No." She breaks from his hold, turning to leave the room.

"Brynn."

She angrily twirls around to face her husband. "And what, Sam? We've made appointments. What could they possibly tell me that we don't already know?"

"Okay-okay-okay--" Sam stifles the budding fire. “Forget that I mentioned it.” He reaches for his wife, pulling her back assuredly against his chest. "Please don’t cry,” he whispers into her ear, his hands rubbing her back intimately. “I am your husband, your confident. I am in your corner. Always will be." He looks down, lifting her chin attentively to his eyes, a subtle smirk growing across his face. "You want the moon?"

Brynn chuckles through her sobs resting her hands on his bare chest.

Sam presses his lips to her forehead. "Just say the word," he quietly teases. He nibbles across her cheek, his voice becoming lower, huskier, "and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down--"

Brynn meets Sam's lips in a tender kiss. She slips her arms around his neck, tugging him in closely as their mouths entwine as one.

Pulling back to dance in his sultry chocolate eyes, Brynn casually twirls the wavy locks in the back of Sam's head.

"You are my moon, Samuel."

Sam presses his forehead to hers. "I love you. We'll work through this." Looking back into each other's eyes, he begins to trace small circles on her back.

"We always do," Brynn playfully kisses his nose. "I love you, too."

"Let's head back to bed," he suggests, holding Brynn tightly, escorting her backwards to the bed. "I have a feeling that two eleven-year-old stars in our galaxy have a special surprise for you later this morning."

*****

"Happy Mother's Day, Mom!"

Brynn pops one eye open to a brightly sunlit room, only to be met with two pairs of doting brown eyes crowding her weary face. She lets out a guttural yawn.

"Mmm… thank you, boys." Brynn turns over, pulling the down comforter over her head.

"The subject is still sleeping, but moving, Dr. Dalton!" Mason playfully speaks into his watch. "I think we have a heartbeat!"

"Can't be too sure, Mr. President," Mickey dramatically grabs Mason's arm, keeping in character. "I'm afraid we're going to have to shock her. Or amputate."

Brynn squeezes her eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep as she hides her snickers. She loves listening to the boys play, using their vivid and clever imaginations. Even though they were getting older and 'too cool' for some things, she's pleased to see their dreaming hasn't stopped.

"Charge to fourteen zillion. And-- clear!"

All of a sudden, the boys ambush Brynn, tickling her feet and pinching at her sides.

"No-no-no! Ah!" She yelps, her words caught up into her laughter. "You turkeys!" She breathes heavily as she inadvertently kicks her feet wildly.

"Stop--ohmygod--Sam! Please!" she beckons between snickers, "I can't breathe--"

"Very fine work, doctor!" Mason cackles.

"Thank you, Mr. President!" Mickey mimics his brother, continuing to jovially attack their stepmother with tickles.

"ENOUGH!" Brynn screams. She grabs Mickey by the arm, pulling him into her lap, and starts plastering sloppy kisses all over his face.

"Gross! Mom! No!" he screams in agony, all the while Brynn giggles with each goofy kiss.

"Eww!" sputters Mason as he starts to crawl off the bed.

"Oh, no you don't, mister!" Brynn grabs him by the ankle, gathering him in an embrace as she plants tender kisses on his cheeks.

After a few more minutes of laughter and slathering of kisses, Brynn feels the struggle dissipate in her arms, the boys now cuddling tightly to her body. She rests her cheeks on the tops of their heads, eliciting a gentle, satisfactory moan. Soaking in the moment, Brynn realizes the truth: she is a mom. She already has everything she has ever wanted wrapped up in two beautiful bouncing balls of energy.

As the boys share the plot of the game they were playing, she secretly savors the scent of their warm brandy curls, cherishing the soft texture of their waves against her skin.

My boys. The thought of a life without them terrifies her; though her heart longs to create and deliver a baby with Sam, she would never trade this unexpected, ready-made motherhood she inherited by becoming a Dalton. In her eyes, her family is already perfectly whole. She hopes that with time, her desire for a baby will be silenced.

"Boys?" Sam calls from the kitchen. "Where are my sous chefs? This fruit isn't going cut itself."

"Uh-oh," Mason lowers his voice, "we better go, Dr. Dalton."

"Roger that, Mr. President!" salutes Mickey before turning his attention to Brynn. "Stay right here, Mom. Mother's day is just getting started!"

"I hope it's fluffy with maple syrup on top!" Brynn singsongs as the boys bounce off of the bed. She gleefully tucks herself back under the weighted comforter, glowing from the beautiful moment she shared with her sons.

Moments later, the boys barrel around the corner, this time with Sam in tow, balancing a lap desk with an immaculate breakfast spread; but keeping with tradition, the spread is for everyone. Brynn refuses to eat in bed alone.

The delightful aroma of the feast teases their stepmom's senses, and she quickly steals a strawberry slice. She instantly starts dividing up the pancakes, the grilled sausage and scrambled eggs as all the Daltons climb into bed.

"Mickey, do you want some of this--" she stops mid-sentence, her attention being stolen. Her eyes focus on a white satin jewelry box, tied with a pale pink bow.

"What is this?" She curiously lifts up the box while Mickey and Mason beam with excitement.

"It's a new kind of tradition," Mason coyly answers.

Brynn, clearly touched by the gesture, turns to her husband who's relaxing on his elbow. "Did you know about this?" she whispers. "No gifts--"

Sam raises his hands in defense. "They really wanted to do this. They did this all on their own. Saved up their allowances--"

"Uncle Robin took us to the mall and helped us pick everything out," explains a humbled Mickey. "Can she open it now, Dad?"

"She's the mama," he chuckles, swiping a kiss against the back of her hand.

Brynn meticulously unties the bow and unfastens the delicate pieces of wrapping paper, revealing a simple white box. She takes a moment to soak up her sons' excitement, who are intently watching her.

Biting her bottom lip, she opens the lid, revealing a stunning, white gold charm bracelet, already hosting several ornate charms. Brynn's mouth falls open in shock while her eyes well with tears. Taking it as their cue, the boys crawl into her lap.

"You said you always wanted one growing up--"

"Yeah," interrupts Mickey, "so we thought we could make you a mom charm bracelet."

Taking a few breaths to find the right words, Brynn distraughtly looks to a grinning, elated Sam. She looks back to the boys before fixing her eyes back onto the thoughtful piece of jewelry.

"Here, Mom," Mason takes the chain, and loops it around her wrists to clasp it. "We've been practicing,'' he smiles.

"You're doing it wrong, Mase," whispers a slightly irritated Mickey.

"I am not," Mason huskily rebuttals.

"You are, too."

"Am not!"

Brynn pulls her wrist away as the twins begin to stick their tongues out at each other.

"Guys! C'mon--" chastises Sam as he takes over,, clasping the bracelet to his wife’s arm. "Don't ruin the moment."

"Sorry, Mom," the boys simultaneously apologize, giving Brynn heartfelt looks of remorse.

After squeezing them tightly and thanking them for the very thoughtful gift, Brynn continues to admire the charms they picked. Two identical charms in the shape of a boy silhouette and a tourmaline birthstone catch her attention first.

"'Michael Aaron' and 'Mason Alexander'." A large smile plants securely on her mouth as her fingers trace over the etching of their names.

She tinkers through a few more charms, including a soccer ball, a microscope and a stand mixer. She stops at a simple silver heart with the inscription 'November 18.'

"I thought this was a mom charm bracelet," Brynn jests. "Why is our wedding anniversary on here?"

"Because that's when you officially became our mom."

Unable to control her tears, Brynn pulls them onto her lap, rubbing their backs before caressing their heads in her hands. Sam leans over, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips again and again.

This is all she ever wanted; this was her childhood dream. This is her family.

The four Daltons quickly ate breakfast in bed, laughing at the irregular shapes of the pancakes and the random eggshell in the midst of their scramble.

"Well," Brynn finishes first, "in the spirit of new traditions, I'd like to start a new one now, too. But we have to clean up and get dressed."

"Really?" squeals Mickey.

"Cool! What is it?" inquires Mason.

Brynn shakes her head. "It's a surprise." She hands the boys their empty plates, giving them a knowing wink. They both eagerly grab the dishes, and hurry to clean up the kitchen.

"Should I be worried?" Brynn flashes a sweet smile to an inquisitive Sam.

"Trust me, baby."

***

"Happy Mother's Day, Mrs. Brynn--"

"Oh, Mr. Carter!" Brynn collects a stunning bouquet of lavender tulips from Dalton's longtime driver. She takes a quick sniff of their sweet fragrance, wrapping an arm around endearingly around the older man's neck. "These are lovely! Thank you so much!"

He graciously nods, adjusting his hat with a sweet smile.

"So, the farmer's market?"

"Yes sir--"

"And I have the second address pulled up and ready to go."

"Perfect. Thank you for doing this."

***

Brynn and Sam walk hand-in-hand through the aisles of vendors, the boys remaining close. She has a destination in mind, but Brynn refuses to rush such a lovely sunny Spring day with her special guys.

They make a pit stop to try a few samples of freshly cut mango and dragon fruit. The twins sweetly plead a case for a smore with homemade marshmallows and tempered chocolate.

They finally stumble upon a florist with a delectable selection of gorgeous bulbs and gathered creations.

"We're here, boys," Brynn announces with a big smile.

"You wanted flowers?" Mickey wrinkled up his nose, sharing a confused look with his brother.

"Well," Brynn squats next to her sons, "sorta. I want you two to pick out the biggest, most beautiful bouquet."

"'Biggest'?" echoes Mason. "And 'most beautiful'?"

"Yes," Brynn giggles, "I want the biggest and the most beautiful. When you're finished," she holds up her crossbody purse, "my treat."

Sam gingerly grabs hold of Brynn's elbow, holding her back from the flower search.

"You're up to something," his eyes darken, staring into her stormy grays. A corner of his mouth curls waiting for an answer.

Brynn captures his bottom lip in a tender tug. "Trust me," she whispers, pulling his lips back into hers. His hands naturally find the curves of her rear, massaging her lovingly. "C'mon," Brynn grabs Sam's hand, her fingers intimately lacing with his.

The twins did not disappoint. With the help of the florist, Mickey, true to form, picked out a beautiful bouquet of red, white and blue wildflowers, homage to his favorite football team. Mason was charmed by the long-stemmed sunflowers. He has a stunning arrangement of orange and yellow flowers amongst a cloud of babies' breath.

"Guys, these are absolutely perfect!" A glimmer and sparkle grow in Brynn's eyes as she investigates the colors and smells. "You two did wonderful!"

"Happy Mother's Day!" Proud of their work, Mickey and Mason offer their bouquets to Brynn, but she quickly waves them away.

"Hold them for me, please. We have one more stop to make."

***

Carter picks up the Daltons, and quickly takes a detour, leaving the city. The car remains silent from conversation; the gallop of the wheels plodding against the rubber road lull the boys into a nap. Brynn rests her head against Sam's broad chest. His strong arm wraps tightly around her shoulders, his cheek basking amongst her vibrant almond waves.

"Excuse me? Mr. And Mrs. Dalton? We're here."

Carter kindly opens the door for the family to exit to their new endeavor in the country. There is a brisk chill in the air, but nothing the bold sunshine couldn't cure. Instead of the familiar sounds of people shouting and horns honking, they were surrounded by birds chirping, grass whistling, and leaves gently clapping.

"Where are we, Mom?" whispers a nervous Mickey, the first to file out of the car.

Brynn bends over, kissing his head. "You'll see, baby. You'll see. Did you grab your flowers?"

Mickey nods, handing the other bouquet to Mason.

Sam climbs out of the car, instantly aware of his surroundings. "Um, sweetie," he motions with his finger for her to come closer. "You think they're ready for this?"

"They've been ready for this. Trust me." She touches her hand to his downcast face, offering a tender smile. "How about the boys and I go on ahead?"

Sam soaks in the nature around him as a sweet breeze lingers on his face. Grabbing Brynn's hand, he kisses it delicately before letting go with a squeeze. "Okay."

"C'mon, boys," she reaches out, taking the boys by the hand, "we've got someone to talk to."

They enter the iron gates, walking respectfully on the stony pavement. They wind around on the path, trees gracefully blooming above their heads. They finally come to a fork in their venture.

"Okay, you two," Brynn walks in front of them only to kneel down to stop them. "Do you know where we are?"

"A cemetary?"

"That's right, Mase--"

"So, there are dead people buried underneath us?" Mickey cautiously asks. “Cool.”

"They are buried here," explains Brynn, "but we aren't walking on top of them. Their bodies are marked by those big rocks with writings on them--"

"Headstones!"

"That's right, Mase. They're called headstones."

"Why did you want to bring us to a cemetery for Mother's day?" questions Mickey. "That seems weird."

Brynn chuckles pulling him into a tight embrace. "Cemeteries are a beautiful place to communicate with those who have already passed. Sometimes on special days, like birthdays or anniversaries--”

“Or Christmas!” interjects Mickey.

“‘Or Christmas,’ that’s right.” Brynn stands. “Those days can be sad and lonely for those of us still alive on earth because we miss them so much.” She begins to draw closer to a plot with a large white granite headstone. “Spending time with them where they are buried is a way to remember them and to show them that we still love them.”

“Do they, um, talk back?” nervously asks Mason.

Brynn smiles sweetly at her stepson, hugging him tighter as they continue their saunter. “I’d like to think so, but not in the way we expect them to. Like sometimes, it might be a familiar fragrance, or a familiar song. Something to remind us that they are looking down, watching us, loving us.” Brynn nods in the direction of the breathtaking, large stone. “Go ahead.”

The boys cautiously step towards the monument, laying their flowers on top of the glistening stone.

“Caroline Austin Dalton--” Mason reads out loud, tracing the etching carefully with his fingers.

“That’s mama, right, Mase?”

“I think so, Mick.” The brothers endearingly hold each other’s hands as their eyes focus on her name. Mason’s eyes begin to well with tears first. “I can barely remember her--”

“Me, too.” Mickey quickly turns to Brynn, motioning for her to come closer. “What do we say to her? You’re our Mom--”

“--and she is your mom, just in a different way.”

“How do we talk to her?” shrugs Mickey.

“How do you talk to me?” Brynn smiles warmly, pushing a curl out of Mickey’s face. “Just talk. Talk about your day. Your favorite food. Your soccer game on Thursday.”

The boys raise their eyebrows at each other before returning their gaze back to Brynn.

“Here. Let me show you.” Brynn crawls onto her knees, facing the memorial. She clears her throat. “Caroline? Your boys picked out the most beautiful flowers for you.” Brynn grabs Mason’s hand. “You’d be so proud of them. Mason here is a straight-A student. Loves science, and is quite the little baker.” Brynn wraps an arm around Mickey. “And your first born here loves to play sports, and has a very vivid imagination.”

Brynn clears her throat. “It’s now your turn,” she gently rubs their backs. “Don’t worry; if she is anything like me, she’s dying to have you talk to her. Go ahead.”

Mason steps forward, placing a sincere hand on the headstone. “That’s Brynn, Mama--”

“And she’s a really great Mom,” chimes in Mickey, “she was originally our nanny--”

Brynn slowly backs away, allowing the twins to talk. She casually glances to the side, and notices a man out of the corner of her eye, taking swig from a flask: her husband.

Brynn casually walks up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She kisses the exposed skin of his chest, her lips crawling up his neck to his stiff chin.

“Please don’t be mad at me for this.”

Sam chuckles, avoiding eye-contact. “Some warning would’ve been nice--”

“So you could stop me?”

“Touché.” Sam takes another sip of bourbon, drifting back into a silent watch over the boys.

Brynn tightens her embrace around her husband. Breathing a sigh of satisfaction, she listens to the sweet bursts of giggles amongst the conversation being held by the twins in the distance.

Sam grips tightly to Brynn’s body, his mouth attempting to form words. “They haven’t been here since--” he swallows thickly, “since that day. I always wanted to keep her memory alive and bring them here, I just...” his voice begins to wander.

“Sam?”

“Hrmm?” he glances back down into Brynn’s sparkly blue eyes.

“You’re allowed to miss her, too--”

“Brynn... I--”

“It’s okay, baby--”

Sam caresses Brynn’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I love you--”

“That’s not what this is about,” she kisses his hand away from her face.

Sam clings tightly to his wife, rubbing his hands up and down her back. Painful tears that he had been holding back for over nine years spill down his cheeks as the floodgates of emotions wash over his body. “You truly are the best thing that has happened to this family,” he purrs in between sniffles.

After a few minutes of holding each other tenderly, Sam joins the boys at the graveside. Sharing sweet memories amongst each other, Mickey and Mason find solace in their father’s lap.

Brynn discovers a nearby bench to watch and wait. Humbled and satisfied by the day that had started so terribly, she smiles brightly as her beautiful family spends time, savoring the precious stories of the past.

A sudden gust of wind barrels across Brynn's face. Drying the rushing rivers from her cheeks, her hair dances carefree in the tumbling breeze. Her eyes flutter close as she lays her hands on her abdomen.

"It's okay, little one," she sweetly hums, "but if you like laughing, and if you like living... and if you like dancing and dreaming," Brynn cradles her abdomen tightly, "we'll be waiting."

The afternoon sun seeks refuge into darkness; the street begins to illuminate with the buzzing of lamps and lightning bugs. The laughter dies down and the conversation quietly stops. Sam slowly rounds up the boys, guiding them back to Brynn.

“I think we’re ready to head back,” Sam suggests, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Anymore surprises?” he chuckles, pecking his lips to hers.

The corners of her mouth curve. “You three go on ahead,” she playfully pats Sam’s rear. “I’ll be right behind you guys.”

Sam raises an eyebrow before nodding his head. Placing his hands on each boy's shoulder, they walk towards the car where Carter is dutifully waiting for them.

Brynn approaches Caroline’s tombstone, graciously sitting next to it. She casually traces over her name, imagining how excited she must’ve been the first time she signed her name 'Mrs. Dalton'--just like her. Brynn finally rests her hand on the cold stone, tears of joy recollecting in her eyes.

”You gave me everything I could’ve possibly wanted,” a sob hitches in her throat. “Thank you for making me a mom. It was never supposed to be like this,” she chuckles to herself. She looks over her shoulder, watching Sam load up their sons into the car. “God, it’s so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. I promise I'll take care of them--"

“Brynn?” Sam calls out from the distance. “Ready, baby?”

“--all three of them.”

***

"Goodnight, boys. We love you," Sam whispers to the boys as he closes their bedroom door.

Brynn's eyes twinkle at her handsome husband, his gaze falling deeply on hers. She effortlessly takes his hand, draping it around her shoulders, pressing her tired cheek against his chest. Kissing the top of her head, he escorts her to their room, switching off lamps along the way.

"I've got one more surprise for you," Sam growls as he shuts their door.

"Mmm…" Brynn begins to tug at his waistband. "I love these kind of surprises," her mouth gently presses into the side of his neck, her teeth gingerly nipping at his pulse point.

"Baby," Sam chuckles, his wandering fingers combing through her golden waves. "I, um--" he clears his throat, "I actually do have something I want to talk with you about."

"Oh?" Brynn suddenly cups her hand over her mouth. "Oh!" she sighs, "I know, I know. I probably should've at least told you about my plan of going out to Caroline's grave--"

"Baby, I--"

"It just made sense in my mind at the time," she interrupts. "I don't want our boys forgetting they have two mothers that love them very much--"

Sam raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin growing.

"What? Is it about the tumbler? I swear, I'll replace--"

"Brynn baby?" Sam takes ahold of both of her hands. "I love you," he places a sweet peck on her lips, "but shut up--" they start laughing at his words before he continues. "--now, come with me."

She follows him into the bathroom where he hands her a bottle of water.

"Wh--what's this about?" she furrows her brow.

"I was taking out the trash this morning after breakfast, and noticed your test--"

"Sam--"

"Your test, baby," he steps closer to her, holding it in his hands. "The box says it expired two years ago. I know you stockpile these things and keep them hidden." Brynn crosses her arms as her neck flushed with embarrassment. "Isn't there supposed to be some kind of line on it to show that the test is still okay to take?"

"A control line, yes. What's your point?"

"Brynn," his eyes pierce into hers, "yours doesn't have one." A playful grin crawls across his face. "And-and-and according to Google, you need one for the test to be even considered valid."

Brynn looks at the test, and realizes it's completely blank from any and all lines. She appreciates her husband's passion and agrees this is peculiar, but the point he is trying to make sounds way too good to be true. This isn't a movie or a fairy tale. And those lines fade after a test has been performed. Or do they?

"Brynn? Did you hear me?"

Brynn nods her head, biting her lip in deep thought. She wants to feel his excitement, but she can't be let down, not even just one more time. It had been the absolute perfect day with the absolute perfect family to where she is mom. Can she just end Mother's day feeling, well, like a mom?

"C'mon," he steals her water, popping the cap. "I bought a new test today while we were at the market--one that wasn't expired. Let's try again."

"Sam, no," she refuses to take the water back. "Besides, it's best to take it first thing in the morning--"

"So, what you're saying is that you want me to wake you up in a few hours to pee--"

"No, I'm saying let's drop it." Growing irritated, Brynn brushes past her husband and back into the bedroom.

Sam drags his fingers down his face. He follows suit, chasing after her. He reaches for her shoulder, but she dodges his touch.

"Brynn baby--"

"No--"

"Answer me this then," he bites back, "why did you take a test in the first place?"

Brynn freezes for a moment, staring at the ground. She doesn't want to argue, and she knows that her husband's questions come from a good place. They had always been open with one another; why not now?

"I thought I was." Brynn crosses her arms, blinking away tears.

Sam sits on the bed in front of her, looking tenderly at his bride. He grazes his finger tips up and down her hips until she finally looks down at him, drying her eyes.

"You might be, baby," he whispers, smiling into her gaze. "That was one test, one test that I'm pretty sure was bad."

Brynn casually combs Sam's waves back with her fingers, curling around his ear. Sam presses his nose to forearm, inhaling deeply the remnants of her floral perfume.

"For me?" Sam grazes his lips up her arm, finally resting them on her bare abdomen.

Touching his chin, Brynn tenderly nods.

***

Sam sits on the side of the garden tub, his elbows resting on his nervously bouncing knees.

After what seems like an eternity, Brynn emerges from the closet bathroom. Uncontrollable tears drench her red, blotchy face.

"Sam--?" her voice panics, her body shaking as she reaches for Sam.

Without missing a beat, he lovingly captures her in his arms. His hands intimately stroke her back as she sobs into his chest.

"Shh... baby. It's okay." Sam presses his lips into her hair, holding her close. "It’s going to be okay--"

"Sam--?" Brynn pulls away from Sam's chest, offering him the test as she cups her mouth.

Sam inquisitively takes the test from Brynn. And his eyes widen, shaking his head in disbelief. And he smiles.

“Happy Mother’s day, baby.”

*****

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#the nanny affair #m!sam dalton #m!sam x mc #mickey and mason #choices tna #tna fanfic #mother's day

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