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theskywaslookingback · 3 years

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hands

“Somehow I thought the place would have been smaller,” Martin says, bag slung over his shoulder as he looks up at the cottage. “It’s nicer than I would have given Daisy credit for.”

Jon hums, pulling his bag out of the boot of the car they’d borrowed from Basira and letting the lid fall shut with a heavy thunk. The cottage sits nestled at the base of a large hill, surrounded by lush green grass and the last vestiges of summer flowers. Far off in the distance a couple of cows graze lazily, just small dark shapes in the dying sunlight. Bugs hum in the air around them. It’s small and quiet, just the kind of place Jon thinks Daisy might have liked, actually.

The cottage itself is stone painted a stark white, with dark blue, peeling shutters closed tight to the windows. One of the shutters lies broken on the ground, and the glass it had been protecting is spider-webbed with cracks. Two terra cotta flower pots sit on either side of the front door, both empty. There was no evidence that a welcome mat had ever been laid between them. To the left of the door was a box filled with what had once been firewood but was now damp with mist and rot. Jon shuddered to think about creatures they might find lurking in the bottom of that box.

“Charming,” Jon says, the corner of his mouth turned down in distaste. He finds the key in a false rock on the right side of the cottage, just where Basira had said it would be, and lets them inside.

It’s clear from the moment they step inside that Daisy had not visited this particular safe house in quite some time. The air inside the cottage is thick and unpleasantly cold, smelling of dust and age. Dust motes catch in the dim light of the bulb as Jon turns on the light, and he’s displeased to see cobwebs sitting stubbornly in the corners of the room. The wood floor looks old and worn, scratchy looking area rugs dotted along like haphazard patchwork quilt. Jon loathes to take his shoes off.

“Well,” Martin says from behind him, crowding in close, “at least the electric is working.”

Jon shoots a withering glare over his shoulder and steps inside, letting Martin close the door behind them. He drops his bag next to the uncomfortable mound of fabric that someone generous might have once called a settee and goes to check on the rest of the place.

Jon checks the taps in the kitchen and is relieved to find the water running. There’s an expired box of Tetley’s in the pantry that will have to make do until they can make their way down to the village to do a proper bit of shopping, and a couple cans of peaches that might be passable as dinner or breakfast if he can convince Martin to eat them.

He can hear Martin moving about in the sitting room, the creak of the windows and shutters as Martin pushes them open to get the place aired out a bit. “Might be a bit chilly with the windows open,” Jon says.

“There’s a radiator,” Martin replies, “I’ll see about getting it on.”

“Right.”

The hall light flickers when he turns it on, but it gives him enough light to see by. The cottage itself has only four rooms - kitchen, sitting room, one bedroom, and one bath - and Jon can’t bring himself to be surprised that the only bed appears to be a full size. He checks the dresser drawers and finds them empty, thankfully, no nesting mice or other visitors.

The bed is a utilitarian thing. One pillow, though he’s frankly surprised it even has that, white sheets with tight tucked corners, and a navy blue duvet. Jon pulls it off the bed to shake off the dust and sneezes, his eyes watering. He opens the single window with a little difficulty, having to stand on his tip-toes to get it all the way open, and unlocks the shutters. Night has settled quickly over the little valley, but the moon is bright and nearly full, pouring silver light into the room.

When Jon makes his way back into the sitting room Martin is crouched in front of the radiator and frowning, the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up to show the light brown skin of his forearm. He has a birthmark on his left arm, nestled next to the crease where his arm bends, a dark spot like a smudge of dirt that Jon wants to press his mouth to.

Jon clears his throat, the tips of his ears burning a little. “Any luck?”

Martin jerks a little, swinging his head up to look at him. Jon feels his mouth go a little dry at the sight if he’s honest. Martin’s dark hair sweeping over his forehead, those sleeves rolled back on those thick arms. He likes the look of Martin at work, those calm dark eyes fixed on a problem that Jon knows he’ll find a solution for. Martin sweeps his eyes over Jon, head to toe, before looking back at the radiator. “I don’t know what Daisy did to this thing, but I think it’s well and truly dead.”

“Did you try plugging it in?”

Martin gives Jon a glare worthy of one of his own and Jon feels his lips turn up into a grin without his permission. “It’s a gas radiator, Jon.” He sighs, “Hopefully the gas is just turned off and it’ll be an easy fix, but we’ll be stuck without it tonight.”

“That’s...not ideal.”

Martin hums in agreement.

Silence settles between them, a not unwelcome weight that Jon’s been getting used to the last few days. “Tea?” Jon asks after a moment for lack of anything more helpful to do.

“That would be lovely, actually. Did you find some?”

“Daisy had some in the pantry, it’s likely ancient, but--”

“Tea is tea.”

Jon wrinkles his nose but doesn’t outwardly disagree.

“I’ll just get some things put away then,” Martin says, picking his bag back up off the floor. “Do you want me to take yours?”

“Leave it. I’ll get it later.”

“Alright.”

Jon finds Daisy’s kettle under the sink and starts to wash it out when he hears Martin say something from down the hall. He turns off the water. “What?”

Martin appears in the entry, biting his lip. “There’s er, there’s only one bed.”

Jon furrows his eyebrows. “I’m aware. I saw the bedroom, Martin.”

“Yeah it’s just--“ Martin trails off, his cheeks flushing. “How are...how are we going to sleep?”

Jon remembers the two days they’d spent in his flat, sleeping in the same bed, their hands tangled together even when sleeping because the thought of being separated was too much to bear. But that had been right after Jon had walked Martin out of the Lonely, so he supposes those were extenuating circumstances, Martin needing an anchor to find himself again. It should be a relief that Martin feels safe enough to want a little distance again, but mostly it just sets off a dull ache in his chest.

Jon feels a sharp pain in his jaw and realizes he’s been clenching his teeth and makes an effort to relax, though his shoulders feel pinned next to his ears. Jon goes back to washing out the kettle, filling it with cool water to boil. He avoids Martin’s eyes and says, “I think there might be some spare linens in the closet. I can take the couch.”

Martin shifts, the old wood floor creaking under his foot. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look very comfortable.”

Jon shrugs. “I’ve slept on worse, when I do manage to sleep. It’ll be fine Martin.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Jon says with a finality he doesn’t feel.

He finds a couple of mugs in the cupboard that he rinses out before filling with water and letting the tea bags steep. He brings the mugs back into the sitting room and sets Martin’s down on the table. He takes a sip of his own and grimaces. It’s vile, but far from the worst tea he’s ever had so he makes himself drink it.

Martin appears a minute later from the bedroom and takes his tea with a grateful little thanks before taking a sip and making a face.

“Tea is tea.” Jon mumbles.

“I’m not sure this still qualifies.” Martin says but drinks it anyway.

They drink the rest of their tea in silence. Martin volunteers to do the washing up while Jon gets his own things put away.

Martin has left him half the dresser for his clothes and made a space for him on the bathroom counter. It feels almost too intimate, their toothbrushes resting side by side, their clothes in the same drawer. Jon tries desperately not to think about it as he changes his clothes for bed and rifles through the little linen closet for a set of sheets.

He finds a set of dark gray sheets and a threadbare red throw blanket that he drags back out into the sitting room. The settee is as uncomfortable as it is ugly, hardly more than a couple of boulders masquerading as a sofa; Although, Jon has spent many a night sleeping on the floor or bent over his desk at the Archives, so maybe he has no real right to complain.

Martin turns off the kitchen light and waits awkwardly for him to finish, hovering around the edges like he wants to say something but doesn’t have the words. “Are you going to be warm enough?” He finally asks, eyes locked onto the throw blanket. The fabric is almost sheer in spots from wear and dotted with holes along one edge.

The chill is almost impossible to ignore, but Jon just shrugs, a jerky up and down motion of his shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, if you’re--“ Martin bites his lip, “Okay. Good night, Jon.”

“Good night, Martin.”

Martin disappears into the bedroom, turning the hall light off, and Jon lets out a shaky breath when he shuts the door behind him with an audible click.

Moonlight seeps in through the open windows, the chirp of crickets ringing along the countryside, a chill settling across the fields as if to prove winter will be along soon. Even in his long sleeve and trackie bottoms, two pairs of socks pulled up over his feet, Jon shivers. He keeps staring at the ceiling, tracing along crisscrossing cracks with his eyes. He kicks his feet and wraps the blanket further up his shoulder and tries to relax. The walls creak and shudder, old pipes groaning and settling inside the wall. Jon throws an arm over his eyes and tries not to think about it. He’s almost asleep when he hears the floorboards start to creak, the soft padding of footsteps coming from the hall.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice is soft, a little strained and raspy like he’s anxious, “Are you still awake?”

Jon sits up, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. “Yes, I’m still awake.”

“Oh,” Martin says. Jon can’t quite see him, can just make out the shape of him, long legs and broad shoulders. His arms wrapped around himself like he can’t keep warm. “It’s...it’s cold, isn’t it.”

“Yes.”

“Might--” Martin clears his throat, “Might be easier if we slept together, yeah? Until we get the heating back up.”

“Are you--” Jon pauses, picking at a loose thread on the blanket, “Would you be okay with that?”

“Would I?” Martin blurts, “I, uh, would you? Be okay with that?”

“Of course. We shared before.”

“Yeah we…” Martin takes a step further into the room. The edges of him blur just a bit, and what Jon can make out of his face looks exhausted. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t, it--” Jon chokes on his own honestly, the lump of it hard and solid in his throat, “It’s okay when it’s you.”

Martin’s mouth drops open into a little ‘o’, a shocked exhale of breath coming from him.

Jon immediately wants to take it back. It’s too much, Jon knows, he’s always been too much at exactly the wrong time. He curls his fists into the blanket pooled at his waist, fighting back the sharp wave of panic that ‘this is it, this time he’s ruined it for good’.

“Okay,” Martin says softly, his lips turning up into a small smile that’s both soft and a little sad, “come on then, maybe we can still get a few hours in before sunrise.”

Jon swallows hard. The panic sits there in his chest, silent and waiting. “Okay,” He chokes out, “alright, let me just--” He gets up and takes the blanket with him, just to have something to do with his hands and follows Martin into the bedroom.

It’s just as cold in here as the rest of the house, but the way Jon’s fingers are trembling has nothing to do with the cold. He picks the side closer to the window, if only so he has something to stare at when he can’t sleep. Martin curls up next to him. The bed is so much smaller than his own back in London. Martin has to draw his legs up just to fit on the mattress, too tall and wide for the little bed. Jon fits just fine, but he’s a little worried about rolling off the mattress during the night. They’re perched precariously, sharing the same pillow, Martin’s warm breath at the back of Jon’s neck.

Eventually Martin sighs. “Here,” He says, shuffling a little behind Jon, “Can I--?” He hovers his hand over Jon’s waist.

It doesn’t-- it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just that the bed is too small for two grown men, despite one being below average height, and it’s cold besides. That doesn’t stop Jon’s heart from beating hard and loud in his chest though, as he slowly nods.

Martin’s hands are large and strong and lovely. Jon’s breath catches when Martin’s arm curls around his waist and he’s pulled back against Martin’s chest. He can feel Martin’s heart beating against his back, thudding almost as loud and hard as his own. Martin’s fingers settle over his stomach, splaying out. Jon thinks his hand could almost cover it completely and it sets off another round of shivering in him that has nothing at all to do with the cold.

“Alright?” Martin whispers.

“Yes.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m-- it’s cold, Martin.”

Martin hums thoughtfully and lets go of Jon for just a moment, long enough to pull the duvet up higher around them before settling his hand back against Jon’s stomach. Jon curls his own hands in front of his face and grabs the blanket so hard his knuckles ache.

“Night, Jon.”

“Good night, Martin.”

Jon is sure there’s no way he could fall asleep like that, pressed so close to Martin that he can feel the warmth of him all along his body, but eventually he does.

[READ THE REST ON AO3]

#fic #my fic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #these are the ways that i love you

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ptergwen · 3 years

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ok how about a blurb where tom takes his best friend the reader to set and while on breaks they always hang out together, one time one of his castmates comes to the reader with tom trying to pull them away because his castmate is about to spill to the reader about his crush on her??

the thing

w/c: 1.1k

a/n: pretend the world is normal and it’s the summer cuz that’s when they usually shoot spidey 😭

you’ve been staying with tom at his atlanta house while he films the third installment of spider-man. classes are out for the summer, and home is boring when he’s not there. tom’s solution was that you travel across the world for a change of scenery. he always jumps at the opportunity to bring along any of his people.

his go to is usually harry, but only because the others are busy. that would include you. tom could never ask you to drop out of university to watch him film something. with spider-man filming starting in the early summer, you’re able to be here for most of it and not miss out on your own life.

you made a few visits to the far from home set in london, and tom has invited you to hang out with the cast before. like tom, you became the closet with zendaya and jacob. they’re just as psyched you’ll be around for a while as he is.

some days, you stay back and chill until tom gets off. he’ll burst through the door out of breath and raving about how there’s an easter egg in this scene or guess who comes back? then, you remind him about all the nda’s he signed so he’ll shut up. it’s also so he doesn’t spoil too much for you.

he says you’re his better half and collapses next to you on the couch for cuddles. he’s sweaty nearly every time, yet you find yourself biting back grins as he lays all over you.

on tom’s free days, you do whatever you want together. you might binge your shared tv shows and order food. he might take you out to a few places he knows, show you around a bit. zendaya and jacob might meet up with you two for dinner, a movie, anything fun that doesn’t require much effort.

tom thought the summer he filmed far from home was the best of his life. this one is so much better. it’s all because you’re here. he gets to come home to you each night, unwind with the person who’s mastered helping him do so. tom plans on telling you that and another thing soon.

there are days tom brings you to set, too. you’ll get to watch him work, which makes him want to do even better. the hugs and compliments you shower him in after boost his confidence insanely high. you also spend a good amount of time in his trailer. together, of course. it makes all the waiting around a lot more bearable for tom.

zendaya is currently hanging with you and tom in his trailer. they just finished shooting a scene. she’s posting one of her signature face zoom instagram stories while you take a long sip of water. tom is in the bathroom after drinking too much water and being stuck in his suit all day.

“everybody keeps asking for an mj selfie,” zendaya sighs lightheartedly, rewatching her short video. “this is what they get. i don’t care.” you snicker at her and cap your bottle of water. she presses post without another thought. “they’re making you guys be so... secretive this time,” you observe with a curious smile.

“‘cuz there are so many rumors and shit everywhere.” z looks up when the sink in tom’s bathroom turns on. “some of us read our contracts.” she glances over in his direction, lips pressed together. you’re trying not to laugh at how tom does the exact opposite as her. “he’s almost told me the entire plot, like, maybe twenty times.”

moving to sit cross cross in her chair, zendaya lets out a breath. “mhm. i wouldn’t expect anything less.” you nod to say that’s fair and uncap your water again. she lets you take a drink before posing her next question. there’s a more serious tone to her voice this time. “did tom talk to you about that thing yet?”

you gulp down the rest of your water, eyebrows knitted together. “no. there’s a thing?”

zendaya doesn’t spill secrets ever, especially not those her close friend’s confide in her about. tom went to her when he realized he has feelings for you. he needed to tell someone that wasn’t you, and she’s good at this stuff. he’d decided he would confess to you before you have to leave. you’re going in a couple of weeks.

she doesn’t want tom to run out of time, so she’ll help him out. he won’t mind too much, will he?

you both fall silent as tom comes out of the bathroom. z gives him a smile that he feels like he should be in on, but has no clue what it’s for. you’re looking him over with the thought that he has something to tell you running through your mind.

“what are we talking about?” tom looks between you two, slowly shutting the door behind him. he naturally takes the spot next to you on his bed. “you, actually,” zendaya chirps and gestures to you. “don’t you have some, uh, news for y/n?” he squints at her, wracking his brain. on high alert, you sit up straighter.

“the thing,” z vaguely hints at it, widening her eyes at him. tom tilts his head to the side. “the thing... what thing?” surely, it can’t be that thing. she wouldn’t bring it up without asking him first. you laugh out an awkward “um.” he turns to towards you, voice getting lower.

“genuinely, i have no idea what she’s on about.” you’re not fully convinced, your eyes landing on a frustrated zendaya. “man,” she huffs, dropping her hand to her side. tom stares at her dumbly. his body is still facing yours. “alright, i’ll say it. tom told me the other day that he-“ it finally hits him. the thing is his crush on you.

“ahem,” tom loudly clears his throat, which gets z to stop talking. she’s not impressed. “hm. we’ll have that conversation another time,” he says sharply and looks over at you. you’re already looking at him, worry crossing your features. he’s never kept a secret from you. this must be pretty big.

groaning, zendaya plants her feet on the ground. “there is no other time! let me finish.” she holds out a hand to get your attention. “y/n, tom likes-“ this time, he shoots up from the bed and over to zendaya. he takes her by the arm, gritting his teeth as he leads her to the door.

“nah, what the hell?” she demands while tom brings her down the stairs. you watch on in utter confusion. this is strange behavior even for tom. “jon needs you, um, on set,” he fake explains and opens up the door. “huh? he said i’m done for today.” zendaya makes a move for the stairs, so tom shuts the door in her face.

“rewrites!” tom calls through the closed door, hearing her grumble something he can’t make out. you’re waiting at the top of the stairs when tom turns around. he winces and offers a smile, a pained one. you tap your fingers against the wall.

“let’s have that conversation.”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #spiderman #marvel #peter parker fluff

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

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Ill and Alone- Prompt Fill

cw food mention, nausea mention, fever, anxiety, the concept of not feeling bad enough to merit comfort, depression, isolation

Hi! I am still accepting bingo prompts! The crossed out prompts are already written, the starred ones are ones that I have gotten, but not posted yet! Let me know which character you want and if you prefer writing on a drawing! Bingo sheet by the wonderful @celosiaa

Jon wakes up to Martin leaving before dawn. Walks him to the door, hands him breakfast and a thermos of tea. Goes back to bed, the sticky exhaustion nipping at his heals, at the back of his skull. Inserted in the grit in the corner of his eyes.

He wakes up to an empty bed, Martin’s side of the room looking sad and empty, usual trinkets of their cohabitation lacking. No prescription on the nightstand, no glasses, no poetry book, no neatly folded outfit set out for the morning, closet looking empty.

The room is bathed in the grey light of early morning. Jon goes back to sleep.

He wakes up properly at nine. He makes tea, staring at the faded sticky note that Martin had written precisely how both he and Jon respectively take their tea. Jon remembers by this point. It’s been years since he Needed to look at the note, but he still looks at it because… well… it’s Martin’s writing. Instructions written with care and precision, with a little heart and a smily face. He doesn’t trace the writing, he isn’t that pathetic, and he doesn’t want the paper to disintegrate any faster than it already is… but he wants to.

Martin will be back in a couple days. He shouldn’t be this clingy… But the flat already feels empty and cold. Jon shivers, holding his tea close to his chest, and resisting the temptation to make a second cup for Martin.

Jon teaches his classes. He eats lunch in his office. A sandwich that tastes like chalk and fills his mouth with cement. He grades a few papers. He teaches another class. He rides the tube home. He falls asleep on the couch. He wakes up on the couch. The flat cold around him, the cushions stiff and frozen against his slight and hurting frame. Joints stiff against the chill.

He thinks about making dinner, or even just reheating some leftovers, but he doesn't. He texts Martin. 'Love you, hope the volunteer training is going well.'

He falls asleep. Heavy and aching and so tired.

He wakes up on the cold couch to a buzz from his phone. 'Going well, just finished up for the night. Love you!'

It's dark now, but not late. Daylight doesn't last long in the grey of winter in London. Jon shivers. He thinks again about dinner, and how Martin would want him to eat, but he just wants a warm shower and to go to bed.

He considers his cane, but doesn't feel it worth the effort. It is out of his way, and he would just like to get this over with.

Jon hates sitting in the shower, but he hates baths more, and his hurting limbs won't keep him up any longer.

Jon wakes up in a cold sweat. Salt on his lips, saltwater on his lashes. The flat is cold. Cold like his dreams. Panic on his breath as the Lonely dreams still hold him in their vice. He wraps his arms around his chest. He tries to rub his own back despite aching muscles, trying to make his own boney hands sooth him like Martin can. He shakes and he cries silently.

He checks his phone, the low brightness still stinging his eyes, and smears the numbers of the time beyond recognition, but he makes out no new messages.

He pushes himself out of bed on aching legs, and shaking arms, pulling on one of Martin's sweaters and stopping by the loo.

He makes tea. And tries to take comfort because it is almost as good as when Martin makes it.

Jon goes back to bed.

It's morning and Jon's head hurts. His head hurts and his arms hurt and his legs hurt and his back hurts.

He almost pushes himself up to get ready for work, but he remembers it is Saturday.

Jon rolls over to Martin's side of the bed. Placing himself in the divot where Martin would be, if he were not out of town.

Jon texts Martin. 'Morning, have a nice day, love you.'

Jon dozes.

He should make breakfast. But he isn't hungry, and he doesn't want to move. Even if his small frame isn't holding heat, even under the thick covers of their bed. He wants the weighted blanket. He wants the heated blanket, but those live in the closet. Those are for bad nights. Mostly of the time He and Martin under the thick duvet is enough.

But it isn't night and it isn't that bad, is it? And even so, that is more effort that he thinks he can spare.

He texts Martin.

Meaningless texts with the mundanities that are beyond him. Little messages about missing him, about making tea, about reading. None of them lies, but cutting out the dragging exhaustion that has given way to a dragging fever.

And Martin texts back.

Jon bundled in the heated blanket and Martin's jumper on the couch. Dosing off to the Archers. He still hates that show, but it's easier to hate something for the content than admitting he feels too shitty to even enjoy the documentaries he has been saving for the weekend.

He grades some. Not much. And he makes tea.

He thinks again about the leftovers in the refrigerator, but he doesn't have the energy to eat them. Lacks the appetite.

Jon falls asleep on the couch. Tea cooling on the coffee table. Papers spread around him in uneven heaps.

Jon texts Martin. And Martin texts back.

Only the buzz of the phone keeping him from sinking deeper into misery.

Jon texts him whenever he is awake to do so, and Martin texts back during his breaks.

Jon's head hurts. He is shivering despite the heated blanket that is tight around him. Woken from another nightmare by his own gasping breath. The Stranger this time.

He calls Tim.

"Jon? Everything okay?"

Still gasping from the phantom hands rubbing him down, fighting the nausea that comes with that particular brand of terror, of that trauma of his invaded personal space. And the desperation that someone come and save him from his cold and empty flat and end this lonely weekend.

"Jon, are you alright? Where are you, do you need your inhaler?"

Jon probably does, but he fights for breath for a minute and he's more or less okay.

"I'm home. It's fine, sorry for calling." He feels foolish for being needy, and more foolish still because he's fighting back tears now. Tears over nothing at all. Just the fever. Just the dreams. Martin will be home tomorrow, and Jon will probably be feeling better by then, and if not, it's probably mostly exhaustion anyways. He's been having a hard time getting restful sleep.

"Hey, hey, hey Jon. It's okay to call. Are you alright? Do you need someone to come over?" Tim isn't angry. It still surprises Jon that there is no bite to his voice. No snipping, not sarcasm, not annoyance. Just... warmth, caring.

"Just a little under the weather. I'm okay. Sorry for bothering you... Had a dream... and just... Sorry it's foolish. I'm alright." Jon shivers, and hoping he doesn't sound too soggy over the phone. He aches. Stupid joints. Stupid immune system. Gives out the minute Martin leaves. Which... good. He guesses… at least Martin isn't losing sleep over him this time. He hates that Martin doesn't sleep when caring for Jon. He Hates it. He hates stealing sleep for him, even if this is the mundane way of doing it, he still has cost Martin too much over the years.

"I'm gonna come over, okay? It's not a bother, it's not an inconvenience, I had been planning to give you a visit anyhow, I've been too busy to drop by in a while and I want to see you because you are my friend, and if I make you soup as well, hey we both get dinner out of it. I promise I Want to. Sasha still has work, so I don't have any company tonight anyhow. No plans. Nothing."

"Not been hungry." That's all Jon has the energy to argue.

"Feeling queasy, or just the usual fever nonsense?" Tim asks. He sounds too cheerful for this.

"Nightmare queasy now, but mostly just... fever probably."

"Oof. One of those nightmares? Yikes. Well, that kind usually passes in a bit, then we can make you some Spicy Stoker Sick-day Soup. This Is to my benefit. Sasha isn't a big fan, and Martin isn't either. It's a good excuse to make some good comfort food."

Jon almost smiles. "'kay."

Tim must guess he's falling asleep again. "Get some rest. I'll be there soon with some soup stuff and meds. Don't worry about letting me in, I have a key, remember?"

Jon falls asleep on the couch.

He wakes up to tea being set in front of him.

Jon groans and rubs at his eyes.

"I know I've said it before, but that note in the kitchen is fucking adorable! I mean... a little sad that it took you that long to learn how to make yourself tea, but still fucking precious that the note still has a place of honor. Not to mention, it's good reference for when I want to make you the perfect comfort cup of tea!" Tim smiles at him.

And it isn't the same as with Martin, but it still warms him up. At least a little.

"Hey bud, how are you feeling?"

Jon tiredly rock his hand in a so-so motion.

"Mind if I take your temperature before you drink that tea?"

Jon turns his attention inward to see if what remains of the Eye wants to be helpful today. "38.6."

"That... I can't tell if that is handy or inconvenient. In any case, not bad but not great. You okay if I start the soup? You can either get some more rest of join me in the kitchen and we can watch some Buzzfeed on my laptop?"

Jon nods. He gathers his blanket and his tea, and limps to the kitchen.

Tim sucks in his breath at Jon's clearly stiff movements, and rushes to plug the blanket back in before Jon can move to do so.

"You. Are not gonna help, okay? You can help by drinking your tea, and some water and then getting back to the couch and using me as a pillow and eating a little something."

Jon opens his mouth to argue, but sees the steel in Tim's glare. Nothing unkind, but still solid resistance. He nods.

Jon falls asleep on Tim. On the couch. Empty bowls stacked next to Tim's laptop, cord plugged in next to Jon's blanket.

Tim stays the next afternoon until Martin gets home. Marin scolding Jon for not telling him he was ill. Martin thanking Tim for coming. Martin wrinkling his nose at the soup.

Martin's prescription and glasses, and clothes and book back in their proper places. Martin in Martin's divot in the mattress, Jon smooshed against Martin, still a shade too warm, but much better than earlier.

Jon falls asleep in Martin's arms.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #jonathan sims #tim stoker #timothy stoker #martin blackwood #jontim #fever #cw nausea #cw anxiety #cw isolation #cw depression #cw food #fic #my writing #my fic #my words #my art

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pl-panda · 4 years

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To Marry a Vigilante: Part 3

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The dinner was an interesting affair. Everyone was gathered around a large table that could easily fit several more people. Marinette was sitting between Damian and her mother; on the opposite, Tim, Stephanie, and Cass took the seats. She was glad that they were all people she knew well enough. It was overwhelming. Before, Christmas was always just her and her parents. Occasionally, Nona came too. And there was this one time when she was five when her great-uncle visited. This was much too crowded.

Damian gently squeezed her hand, reassuring her that it was alright. She ate some, but the nerves made her lose appetite quickly. She was in Gotham. Celebrating Christmas with her husband’s family. Husband… She was going to have a panic attack. She wasn’t ready.

“Habibti. It’s okay. Everyone here’s a friend.” Damian whispered into her ear, seeing she was spiraling. “Nobody is going to judge us on anything.”

“But I didn’t make any gifts for the Kents. And I didn’t know your eldest brother had a daughter! And I’m a total klutz. I will probably knock over the tree and it will fall and set the house on fire and you will end up homeless or someone will get hurt and then your family will hate me and the Kents will hate me and I…” she kept whispering faster and faster until she was finally starting to feel the need to breathe or pass out. The jury was still out.

Seeing her daughter’s panic, Sabine also grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Honey, let’s go get some fresh air.” She said loud enough for people close to them to hear before leading Marinette outside. Nobody batted an eye when the pair passed them.

Once the two were in the back garden, Mari felt her legs give up under her and if not for her mother, she would have probably collapsed. The woman held her tight and led the girl toward the bench, which was luckily not covered in snow.

“I’m so sorry, Maman. I don’t know… I just felt so overwhelmed. There were all these people and I was really meeting my husband’s family and friends for the first time and I guess I was not prepared for all this…” She was speaking fast.

“Don’t worry sweetie. I understand. Did I tell you how, when I met your Nona for the first time, I accidentally flipped her over my shoulder and pinned her to the ground?” Sabine asked, smiling understandingly at her daughter.

“No! Really?”

“Yes. Well, in my defense, she surprised me with a gun that shot candies.”

Marinette couldn’t help but giggle at that. It did seem like something her Mémé would do.

“She was shocked at first and I was afraid I hurt her. Instead, after that, she decided that I was apparently worthy of dating her boy and gave us her approval.”

“So… the moral of this story is that I should flip Talia over for them to accept me?” Mari asked with a cheeky grin.

“That too, sweetie. I can even lend you something from my bag if you want a more… permanent effect.”

“Maman!”

“Fine…” Sabine grumbled goodheartedly. “You don’t need to worry about fitting in or how they will perceive you. I’ve seen how that boy looks at you and I approve.” She smiled. “That’s all that should matter.”

“Thank you maman. I’m glad you’re here.” She hugged her mother as the two sat together on the bench, enjoying the evening chill until the cold became irritating instead of refreshing.

-------

When the two returned, the dinner was nearing the end. Marinette noted seven burning holes on the ceiling but didn’t comment. There was also a plate on fire next to Jason that he seemed adamant not to acknowledge. Also, Mar’i and Jon were levitating above the table and playing rock paper scissors, except they used the props. Silently, Marinette walked to take a seat next to Damian. Her mother went over to talk a bit with Bruce about something.

“Um… Why is Jason’s plate on fire?” She asked, very much confused.

“Tt. He wanted a souffle on fire.”

“We’re already at desserts?” The girl asked, surprised. In the corner of her eye, she saw Cass staring at Tim and Stephanie with a strange gaze. It wasn’t hostile, but rather, she couldn’t really name the emotions present.

“Yes. I saved you some maracons. You love the strawberry ones, right?”

“You made me prefer lemon ones.” She smiled. “The subtle sourness really brings out the sweetness.”

“Of course it does Angel.” He smiled. “Sadly, we sit next to Brown, who will devour anything with sugar in it.”

A devious grin appeared on Mari’s face. “Really now?” She reached over into her purse to pull a small box where she kept the power-up cookies for her Kwami. “Tikki… will you mind if I give her a burnt-red one? You know which…”

For a moment, it looked like the Kwami wanted to protest, but then the small goddess noticed the plate of cookies was empty. “Go for it, Marinette. It won’t hurt her.”

“Stephanie! I’ve got a spare macaron I can share,” she smiled at the blonde girl.

“Gimme!” She almost leaped like a gremlin, her eyes in a slight daze.

“Uh-oh. She is experiencing a sugar rush. I think she ate the whole plate herself,” Tim spoke from his seat, eyes slightly worried.

Mari handed over the macaron and watched as Steph ate it. It took only a moment for her face to flush red and tears to appear in her eyes. “Water!” She said with a hoarse throat. Tim handed her a glass, but when she downed it, the burning only increased.

“Oh no! I forgot to warn you! It was made with ground hot pepper instead of flour… silly me!” Mari said, keeping the cute smile on. “I would advise milk.”

When Stephanie ran to the kitchen, followed by Tim laughing and Cass and Damian smiling, the older boy turned to Marinette. “You are devious.”

“She shouldn’t have eaten so many cookies,” the girl shrugged. After that, she actually started to enjoy the evening. It might have started a prank war later on, but for now, she was safe.

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After dinner, the crowd moved to a large living room where adults took seats on the couches or chairs while most kids and teens sat on the fluffy carpet. Alfred was walking around and handing the wine glasses to adults and hot chocolate to the youngsters. Clark opted for hot chocolate as well, which earned him a round of teasing.

Since everyone was staying the night, there was no need for designated drivers. When Tim and Stephanie tried to get their hands on alcohol, Alfred slapped their hands. More laughter followed.

Marinette sat there, cuddled into one armchair with Damian, observing everything and looking cute.

“...I’m just saying, Bruce. You could smile a bit more in costume too. It wouldn’t kill you.” Clark finished a short speech.

“Work and homelife should stay separate,” Tim spoke up from his spot on the floor.

“Which doesn’t stop you from smiling. You’re not a Buckingham Palace guard.” Lois pointed out.

“To be frank, you could smile a bit more often, B.” Dick supported the enemy.

“It would be bad for the image,” Bruce mumbled. “If anyone saw Batman smile, it would ruin my years of hard work.”

“Diana disagrees.” Kor’i smiled. “She actually said once that ‘a smiling bat looks pretty handsome’.”

“I’ve seen a smiling bat!” Mar’i shouted from her spot on Jon’s knees, the two of them acting like nice siblings. It secretly irked Damian, but he wouldn’t ever voice that thought. “There was a cartoon!”

“That’s nice, sweetie.” Sabine couldn’t help but rub it into Bruce some more. “Did he also have a cape, like Bruce?”

“Yes! And he walked on two legs!”

“See? I think your image doesn’t need to suffer.” Tom joined his wife. His English wasn’t that good, but he could get by. “Maybe you could get a cartoon about Batman? Ladybug had her own movie and a song dedicated to her.”

“Ladybug?” Jonathan asked. Marinette immediately tensed at the mention of her superhero name. She definitely did not want to reveal herself to everyone here. It’s not that she didn’t trust any of them, since all of them knew about Batman and co., but she felt uneasy. The fewer people knew, the better.

“Parisian superheroine.” Sabine clarified.

“We sure didn’t hear about her back in Smallville.” Martha insisted, smiling. “Then again, we don’t really keep with the news from the old world.”

“There was this terrorist in Paris that used magic to turn people into temporary villains. He was finally defeated recently. I think you’ve seen all the ladybug decorations.” Tim explained in broad terms.

“Ah! Right. I was wondering about the ladybugs…”

Damian noted that his beloved was tense and decided that it was a moment good as any other to spring up the surprise. He shifted slightly, signaling that he wanted to get up. Marinette, who was still holding her cup, immediately sprung onto her feet. She thought he maybe wanted to leave somewhere or speak with his father alone.

Instead, Damian hit the side of his hot chocolate cup with a spoon three times, gathering everyone’s attention.

“Tt. I wanted to say a few words. This will be important so shut up you lot.” He cleared his throat before continuing in a mostly emotionless voice that most people associated with his ‘Ice Prince’ persona. “Marinette. When I first met you, it was not from our own free will. The bitch that is my mother forced our hand and tied us together. But we got to know each other out of our own free will. Nobody forced me…” His head snapped toward Dick. “Tt. Don’t you dare, Grayson.” Seeing his brother raise his hands in a surrender gesture, he carried on. “Nobody forced me to come to Paris. Definitely, nobody forced you to actually accept my courting. To this day, I am left wondering why an Angel as you would actually agree to go out with me, but here we are.”

The people watched with rapt attention. Marinette just stood there, unable to voice a coherent thought. She had no idea what was happening, but a deep red blush had made its way onto her face when he praised her.

“You were so full of passion and joy and it reminded me a bit of Jon, but without the irritating factors.”

“Hey!” The boy protested. A murderous glare from Damian shut him up quickly.

“As I was saying, you were perfect in my eyes. I was taken away by your kindness. There are no words to describe my feelings.” His tone was still emotionless and monotonous, but Marinette could see that he was doing his best to actually see this through. “I can say without a doubt that I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

All air was suddenly sucked from Mari’s lungs when he fell on one knee and pulled out a small black box. Inside was probably the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. There were three flowers on a golden band. In the center of each, there was a shining diamond, surrounded by smaller stones. The petals were made from pink stones that she suspected were also diamonds. Were there even pink diamonds? All in all, it looked beyond words.

“Will you do me that honor and become my wife?” When he finally asked, she could feel the world spinning. This was… this was better than in any of her daydreams. And not only because instead of Adrien there was Damian.

The words died in her throat. She had to sit down to not faint. “Yes…” She whispered weakly, so only Damian could hear. The boy smiled brightly (a rare sight to be sure) and put the ring on her finger.

Her gaze fell on the band he had on his own hand. It was silver with a large black stone in the center of the band, surrounded by eight diamonds. The Black Cat Miraculous she realized.

An applaud arose from several places in the room, but some of the guests were confused.

“Aren’t you two too young to get married?” Johnathan asked, scratching his head.

“Tt. Technically, we are already married where I come from. This is for my wife’s content and nothing else.”

“Married?!” The old farmer asked, scandalized.

“Tt. That’s what I said. Now can someone please get my Angel some water? I think she is about to faint.”

“Um… I would also be very interested in the story…” Clark joined his father. He wasn’t exactly that much scandalized, but confusion was clear on his face.

“I promise I will explain everything. I think we should give the two some breathing space…” Bruce proposed hesitantly.

“I will help get Mari to her room. I think she has had enough excitement for today,” Tom offered.

“I am also turning in for the night, Father. I trust that between you and Miss Cheng they will get a full story. Sans the private parts of course.” He glared at him.

“I will make sure of that.” Sabine quickly cut any protests.

“Good. Good night everyone. And Merry Christmas or whatever.” With that, he left, wanting to catch up with Tom and Marinette.

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Masterlist // Next

#fanfiction #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #tiger miraculous #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #maridami #fluff #arranged marriage AU #batman #BatFam #damienette #Damian Wayne #Damian al Ghul #marinette x damian #class salt

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blushingwithafever · 4 years

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TMAHC week day 3: sickfic || misunderstanding || overwhelmed

I finished this at around 7 am so apologies if there’s any errors, I’ll fix them later on

Set sometime while Martin is still sleeping at the Institute

To be completely honest, Jon had no idea how he made it to work in one peice this morning.

Actually, it could be counted as afternoon now since it was around half past twelve when he stumbles into the Institute, but he still made it, and that’s all that counts.

He’d slept through the multiple alarms he had set, which was unusual for him since he’s normally not the deepest sleeper— the drop of a pen was enough to wake him with a start these days. A pulsing pain within his skull eventually drew him out of the comforting darkness of sleep as it throbbed in time with the annoying beep of his alarm. He wanted nothing more than to let sleep take him away again, away from the pain, but he knew he had to get up and head out.

Suck it up, you’re fine. It’s not even that bad. You’re just being dramatic, he grit his teeth as his exasperated grandmother’s voice rung out in his aching head.

“Let’s get on with it then” Jon muttered while he scrubbed a hand down his slightly flushed face.

The day only seemed to get worse the more it dragged on.

He was already late, which of course Tim just had to make snide comments on, it was making the pounding headache turn into feeling like a jackhammer across his temples. It was bad enough that he was shambling down the hall like a drunkard, having to hold onto the wall for support every few steps, but he almost let out a frustrated groan when he heard Tim’s footsteps follow him.

He has neither have the time or the energy for this.

He wants to be left alone, is that so much to ask?

His office.

All he has to do was reach his office and he could find some peace, he was so desperate already that he flung open the door and slammed it after his entrance, nearly toppling over afterwards and wincing hard. He hadn’t actually meant for the door to slam shut as hard as it did, but the damage was done and he was regretting it. He had to lean back against the door as he rubbed at his temples with both hands, the loud slam made the pain 10x worse.

At least he was alone now. Alone in the quiet darkness, that seemed to help slightly after a couple of minutes.

The next three and a half hours are an agonizing blur of statement readings and recordings. A deep ache had made itself at home in his bones and his small frame is wracked with chills that switches to a sweltering heat in the blink of an eye. His free hand reaching up unconsciously to jam two fingers into his temple again for the umpteenth time, this time frowning when he notices the heat and sweat on his brow.

He isn’t sure if his throat feels sore from all the reading without anything to drink or if it’s just a little added bonus to his illness— but the coughs he produces after clearing his throat are answer enough.

Lucky him.

He’ll finish this statement, it’s getting a bit hard to focus anyway, and then lie down in the cot for a quick 10 minute power nap.

It’s worked in the past so why wouldn’t it now?

He remembers the old bottle of paracetamol in his desk before getting up, knowing that he should probably take something before heading over to the storage room, but his face falls upon finding it empty without so much as a rattle. Well... so much for that.

—————

Martin quietly shuffles around the Institute after hours; making sure everything’s locked up tight, washing up in the restroom, fixing himself dinner and a cuppa, and settling down by watching the telly in the break room before heading to bed on the cot that Jon lent him for the time being. It’s been his nightly routine since Jane Prentiss trapped him.

There’s no one else here to his knowledge, even Jon’s office is dark and empty, so he doesn’t expect company until at least 6 or 7 am.

Jon usually got here the earliest but today he threw a bit of curve ball at them by arriving at 12:30 pm while looking quite disheveled, almost like he’d just rolled out of bed.

He really didn’t look good, and Martin wanted to press on the matter, but he’d promised to do the lunch run today so it would have to wait. By the time he returned, Tim made sure to let everyone know that ‘boss’ was in a mood. Martin went to check on him but decided against it when he felt the locked handle and heard Jon’s strained voice while he read aloud. He’d just check in before Jon goes home then.

He must have missed him.

But if Jon’s well enough to leave then he must be fine, maybe he was just exhausted after a few nights of restless sleep— Martin now knows the feeling.

He almost falls asleep in one of the wooden chairs as the show he was attempting to watch drags on. Turning off the boring show, he makes his way to the restroom one last time to change into sweats and a tee.

The silence of the Institute after hours is probably something he’ll never get used to. There’s just something eerie to it, like it’s too quiet, too calm.

A noise cuts through the silence, effectively spooking him, that’s coming from further down the corridor ahead of him. He’s not sure he wants to continue after that but he thinks it sounded like a moan of pain, there’s a beat of hesitation before his curiosity and concern win out as he continues to silently press on.

The door to the storage room is ajar so he makes his way over with caution until he can peer inside. What he sees isn’t what he was expecting. Jon’s on the cot, curled in on himself and shaking like a leaf while the blanket is hanging off the edge onto the floor. Martin’s quick to enter, concern overtaking caution as he hurries his way over.

“Jon?” Martin starts softly as to not cause more harm than good, “I thought you went home.”

He doesn’t like that Jon barely stirs at the intrusion, but instead he focuses on taking in more of the sight before him. Jon’s face looks too drawn and pale, a high flush on his cheeks, sweat making his shirt cling to his skin, and the ragged breathing that had a slight wheeze on the end— he looks a right mess. Before he even realizes it, he’s reaching a hand out to brush against Jon’s forehead.

He expects Jon to startle when he touches him, but the only response he gets is another moan that gets choked off as the poor man’s voice cracks painfully.

“Oh, Jon” Martin coos while brushing sweaty bangs out of the way, “that’s a pretty nasty fever you’ve got.”

Jon really doesn’t want to wake up and he wants to open his eyes even less with the spinning sensation he’d felt earlier when he woke. He registers a warm hand brushing his hair and chances cracking one eye open. It’s so gentle, working out the tangles and smoothing his sweat soaked curls, he almost falls back asleep before the person says something he can’t make out.

“Wha’d say?” It comes out a lot less elegant than he wants it to but whoever it is seems to get the point.

“I asked how you were feeling.” Martin is as patient as a ever while he watches Jon’s eyes blink blearily up at him as of trying to process what’s going on and what’d he just said.

“M’tin” recognition flashes in glassy eyes when he sees that Martin isn’t in his usual clothes anymore. “S’rry, I’ll get up. Jus’ needa sec.”

“No, no you’re fine there” Martin’s hands hover over Jon should he need to push him back down but Jon’s arms give out before then, “stay right here. You’re alright. I’d like to get a read on that fever and a bottle of water for you.”

“But your cot—”

“Don’t worry about it, plus it’s really yours and you need it more than me. Now, can you stay here for me? I’ll just be a second.”

Martin’s satisfied with the small nod he receives and bolts out to the break room for the first aid kit and a bottle of water from the fridge. Jon’s still in the same spot when he returns to his side.

He must really feel poorly if he’s accepting help so easily, Martin bites his lip while shifting through the kit, looking for everything he needs.

It’s a good thing he always checks the kit to make sure it’s well stocked with whatever the crew might need. He holds out the thermometer and waits for Jon to open his mouth far enough to slip it in. He’s already shaking a few tablets out of the bottle of paracetamol before the device beeps.

39.6

Martin tsks softly, helping Jon sit up before depositing two tablets and the bottle of water into his shaky hands. He doesn’t even complain when Martin helps lift the bottle to his lips.

The quick interaction seems to take what little energy Jon had left out of him as he slumps bonelessly against Martin, head pillowed on his chest. He’s never seen Jon like this before, and of course that’s concerning, but at least he doesn’t have to suffer alone through it.

“Stay” Jon whispers hoarsely against Martin before an even quieter, “please.”

“I’ll be here.” Martin shifts slightly to run a hand through Jon’s hair, gently coaxing him to sleep. He holds back a chuckle when he watches Jon try to fight against closing his droopy eyes.

Martin stays with him for the rest of the night and doesn’t dare move his body except for the hand that’s playing with Jon’s hair, even though the heat of the fever penetrates his shirt and leaves him a bit uncomfortable and sweaty— it’s well worth it.

#tmahcweek #tma #tma fic #jon tma #jonathan sims #sick!jon #martin blackwood #martin tma #whump fic #whump #h/c #hurt/comfort #tma martin #tma jon #jonmartin #bazz types #sickfic

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

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Bare My Soul {Jon Snow x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3865 Summary: You couldn’t have picked a more unfortunate time to tell Jon Snow how you feel.

The people of Winterfell were a lot like the place that they inhabited. They were tough, they were a bit weathered, they held strong against whatever came against them. It was a great place to be raised, in your opinion. There was nowhere better, and no one under whom you would want to be a ward of than Eddard Stark. Living under his rule was better than anything you could have imagined if you had stayed in King’s Landing with your mother, where your father Arthur Dayne had served the former King. You might have been raised a Princess, but you were not the petty sort. That was more so for the likes of the girl who was like a sister to you, Sansa. There was another reason why you liked to be here so much, and that reason had a name - Jon Snow.

He had been one of the first to comfort you when you had been exiled from your home and brought here to live in an entirely new environment. It had taken you a while to thrive under these new circumstances, and he had been with you through each step. You initially depended on Theon, a fellow ward, but he had an easier time coming to terms with everything, and instantly became like a brother to Robb Stark. For you, things were slower. Harder. But those first few years taught you to be thankful for what you had, to rise above any of the negative thoughts, to accept challenges head on because there were very often amazing rewards. Such as an amazing family full of brothers and sisters - and Jon, who you always set apart from the rest.

You’d had a crush on him since you first saw him, with his thick black curls always just a touch too long. He was rather shy, quiet, and was treated different from everyone else. Perhaps he saw the same thing in you and why you two became such kindred spirits. Being about the same age, you had the same lessons together in everything - horse back riding, reading, writing, self-defense. The latter of which only because Ned didn’t believe that you should be learning to sword fight as a lady. But that was fine, because you grew up believing that you would always have your big brothers and Ned there to protect you.

Becoming a teenager was not an easy thing, whether a male or a female. You were lucky to have Catelyn Stark to walk you through your feelings and your changes, but you weren’t expecting just how big these things were! The things that you felt when you looked upon Jon almost seemed ... sacrilegious. So you kept yourself busy as much as you can, employing your time with things like needlework and sewing. It was meticulous but dreary work, but at least it kept your mind off of Jon, and what he could be doing right now. Once in a while, you would sneak a peek out your window and see him and Robb working on their sword skills, clashing against one another without actually attempting to cause any pain. It was a surprisingly nice day for Winterfell, and they were just wearing tunics with arms exposed.

His biceps were all that you could think about for three days, which confused you because who gets all swoony over biceps? You couldn’t even ask Catelyn about it because she would disapprove immediately of any feelings for people within the castle. Curiously, the thoughts evolved to those of his leg muscles, which were quite toned as far as you could tell. You hadn’t seen him wear anything less than pants so you could only assume.

During dinner time, you gazed over in his direction more times than you had wanted to, only to be pulled out of it by Arya nudging you to get to the bread. At least she could always be counted on to bring you back to reality. You passed over the basket of bread, taking a small amount for yourself, then allowed your eyes to return to where you were looking before. To your surprise, you met his dark ones which were situated right on you. At the exact same moment, you both turned away, missing the blush that appeared on each other’s cheeks.

You thought that after being a teenager, you would get used to change, but now that you grew older, and were past the age that most women of your standing would be getting married, things were getting more and more confusing. You searched for something that would stay the same, and the only thing that appeared to be like that was Jon. Reliable, stoic, moody old Jon Snow.

He had the same routine for over a decade now, and you knew it off by heart. He would take walks at the same time, fight with Robb at the same time, eat at the same time, snack at the same time, visit the horses at the same time, even take his direwolf Ghost out at the same time each day. There were a few times when he deviated, and your paths crossed, which you hoped for each and every time you woke up in the morning.

Today, though, as you rose up from your bed, with the thin morning light coming in through your slotted window, you felt a change was coming. The King was coming to Winterfell, and with him, the Lannisters. You narrowly escaped being picked to be Joffrey’s betrothed and a future Queen, and you were forever grateful to Ned for that. He had pointed out to his friend, the King, that you were just the daughter of a knight, not one of a Lord or a high-ranking noble. This had lead to the decision that Sansa was to be a contender.

You dressed quickly into your best dress for the occasion. It wasn’t everyday that you were going to meet the King and his Queen. The gown that you had chosen was of a light blue color, high-necked with ruching all around. The fabric of the sleeves was lighter, just about see through to show off your shoulders. It was a special gift from Catelyn for your last birthday, as you needed a new gown to show off how you have become a woman. It was accentuated with a white belt that matched the snow that often fell on this place. Your hair was styled upwards, with many pins keeping it up. A couple of splashes of cold water on the face to bring out a natural flush was all that you needed, and you were ready to descend and wait with your family for the King to come.

As you left your chamber, you came face to face with Jon. His hair was pushed back out of his face and held with a bit of wax, styled nicely for the occasion. “Heading down?” He asked. You nodded, closing your door behind you, as a lady’s room should only be seen by her and her chambermaids.

“You look nice, Jon,” You said, taking in the fur coat, and his dark and sparkling eyes. It wasn’t the first time that you had complimented him and it was unlikely to be the last.

“You do too, y/n.” He said, a small smile playing at his lips. “Shall we go down together?”

“I’d like that,” You nodded. It would be improper for you to hold hands, or even to link arms, so you had to settle for walking by his side. Everyone else must already be lined up outside for there was not a soul to be seen inside of the castle. The staff must be working on the feast that would be served tonight, for even they could not be found. “I suppose we’re going to have to be kissing the rear of the King and Queen the whole time they’re here, aren’t we?” You said, making a joke. You were at least comfortable doing that, since you had been doing it since you were a child. Jon let out a surprised chuckle, clearly not expecting that.

“I suppose we are,” He said. “Just don’t let Dad hear you say that.”

“Or Catelyn.” You said with a shudder.

You might have been taken in as one of the Starks but you noticed that Jon had not. The word ‘Bastard’ had been thrown around a lot, and when you found out what it meant, you couldn’t understand how it was an insult. More than once you had witnessed Catelyn being rude to Jon, and had asked her why, but she never gave you a good answer. It just made Jon all the more endearing.

“Definitely not,” He agreed. “The dress - it’s very nice.”

“Thank you,” You said, smoothing down the front of it. You didn’t have any more time to talk, for you reached the front gates, and went to your respective positions. You were beside Theon as the Ward, while Jon hung even further back. You kept looking his way though, because he did look good today. And you could have sworn that he was looking right back at you. Your cheeks stayed pink, not because of the cold water from earlier, nor because of the chill in the air.

You had a bit too much wine during dinner. You felt the eyes of Cersei on you more than once, and felt an almost jealousy coming off of her. You had asked Catelyn about it when you had a moment alone, and your motherly figure assured you that it was because she took a dislike to any beautiful young woman who might catch her husband’s eye. You shuddered at the thought of the King thinking that you were beautiful, or trying to seduce you. “I may just go on a stroll before bed, I’m feeling a bit warm,” You told her. She nodded, and sent you on your way.

On one of the open walkways that looked out at the courtyard, you paused as you thought you saw some drunk nobles stumbling back home. It was hilarious to watch so you leaned against the short wall and watched.

“It’s getting a little cold,” Jon Snow’s voice said after a couple of minutes. He joined you, standing a short distance away and leaned over to watch as well.

“I’m still feeling a bit warm,” You admitted. “I might have had a little too much wine,” You finished this with a giggle, further proving your point.

“I was watching,” He said with a chuckle of his own. “You seemed to be uneasy. Are you alright?”

“You know what - I’m not great!” You announced, turning to face him. “I was hoping that this visit would be smooth sailing, but Joffrey seemed like a -”

“Keep your voice down,” Jon whispered, but you carried on.

“-a not very nice boy, the King does not act at all proper, and the Queen dearest was staring at me, no, more like, glaring at me! And do you know why she was staring at me? Because she saw me as a threat to her husband. How outrageous is that?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s outrageous,” Jon said, but you continued on before he could say too much more.

“As if I would ever want to sit on the lap of that man, like the loose women do. Oh yes My King, the smell of roasted mutton does suit you very well! Oh no my King, that tunic doesn’t make you look like a wild boar at all!”

Jon quickly put his hand over your mouth, and dragged you back to the stone wall, out of the ear shot of anyone who might be listening below. “Keep your voice down! You could be killed for saying some of those things!”

“Let them kill me then. Show them that I am owned by...” You noticed at that moment just how close to you Jon was, and that his hand was still lingering quite close to your mouth. It made you feel even warmer, having him near. Your eyes were on his, steam from both of your breaths meshing together in the small space between you two. “No one,” You said, a lot softer than before. “Jon? I - I might be a little drunk from the wine, but there’s something I want to tell you.”

“I have to tell you something too,” He said with a short sigh. But he didn’t move back. You were against the wall, feeling the cold stones against the thin fabric of your dress. Your hair was coming undone from the style that you had put it in, and thin tendrils were descending towards your shoulders.

“I want to say it first,” You said. Jon lowered his hand from where it was and nodded. But he was ready to cover your mouth once more if you said anything bad about the King and his family, no matter how warranted it was. “I’ll never belong to anyone, Jon Snow,” You breathed heavily. “Unless it is you who would have me.”

Jon studied you for a second. You couldn’t read his eyes. You were starting to grow light headed and rested even more against the back wall, nervous for his reaction.

“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight, perhaps we should speak in the morrow.”

“Don’t you dare do that,” You said, pushing him away from you now. Being close to him didn’t seem like it was as good an idea as it had before. “I’ve been in love with you since I was a child. Since I can remember. And if you don’t feel the same way, then that is fine, I can accept that. I hope that you find someone who makes you happy. But don’t you dare tell me that I’m lying. Or that I’m only saying it because I had too much to drink. If anything, the wine gave me the courage!”

Jon took your push quite easily, barely taking two steps back. He still remained quiet, as stoic as ever. It was lucky that you had learned how to wait for him. He had to rub his two brain cells together before coming up with what to say. You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Well? Either break my heart or make it whole, I do not much care wish, as long as you say something.”

That was a lie, you did care. You cared very much. But you needed an answer. Your heart was beating so quickly in your chest, you could feel it throughout your whole body.

“I love you, y/n Dayne,” Jon Snow told you. That was all that you needed. The alcohol did the rest. You closed the distance, throwing your arms around his fur-lined shoulders and kissed him with all of your might. It was a bit hard, a little messy, tasted like leftover dinner and wine but it was an amazing kiss nonetheless. One that you had dreamt about on more than one occasion. A warmth spread from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. Jon’s arms went around your waist, hugging you close. When you finally had to breathe, you stepped back, your eyes wide and awestruck at what had just happened.

“You love me! Then we must tell your father, Jon. Perhaps he may let us wed! He tried to make matches for me in the past but I refused them all because the only person that I could picture being with is you. If he’s in a good mood, he may just say yes!”

“I cannot wed,” Jon said, the happiness that he had been feeling slid off of his face. You’ve never seen him look more sorrowful in all of your life. You took hold of his hand and squeezed it.

“If it’s because you’re a bastard, you know that I don’t care. And neither does your father. We might get some opposition from Catelyn but if it really all that bad, we can run away! Take different names! Live as if we are a married couple. The Gods would surely forgive us.”

“I didn’t come here to tell you that I love you,” Jon said, turning away. “I wish that you said nothing.”

“How can you be so cruel?” Now it was your turn to have your happiness disappear. “That’s the most heartless thing that I have heard you say. Were you just lying to me now? Mocking my feelings?”

“No!” Jon said, squeezing your hand. “I could never lie to you. You know me too well. You were always able to catch me.”

“And don’t you forget it,” You said, pointing your finger at him. You saw in his eyes that he was telling the truth. He felt the same way that you did. “So why can’t we get married? Why do you wish that I had said nothing?”

Jon let go of you, and ran his fingers through his hair, the wax melting away and the curls parting beneath his touch. He looked at you once more than looked away. He couldn’t say it to your face, which made you realize that whatever it was.. it was terrible. “Just tell me, Jon. Just tell me now,” You whispered.

“I’m going up north, to the wall. I’ve pledged myself to the Knight’s Watch. I’m leaving as soon as soon as I’m able.” Jon told you, still facing away.

You stared. And you stared. And you stared.

All of those good feelings that you had dissipated entirely. Now you felt cold. You felt raw. You felt as if you had been skinned and then salted.

“You were going to leave without telling me how you feel?” You asked, feeling glued to the floor. You couldn’t walk away from this conversation as much as you would like to. It had sobered you up quickly. “No - you have gotten better at lying, Jon Snow,” You whipped your hand away from his as quickly as possible, hiding it behind your back so he could not snatch it again. “Because I can’t see it in your eyes, but you cannot possibly love me. If you did, you wouldn’t bear the thought of leaving me, because that’s how I feel about you. I would have followed you anywhere, you know that, but you are going somewhere that I cannot go.”

Jon opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. The hallway was filled with a heavy silence until you broke it again. You shook your head at him, and walked backwards. “I wish I never cared for you, I wish I never met you.”

And with that, you tuned on your heel and went to your bedroom, locking the door behind you with a chair so that no one could possibly come in. You threw off your silly, frivilous gown and let it lie on the bed without you hanging it up properly. You crawled under the covers with it still there, and let your tears guide you to sleep.

Until the day that Jon left, you didn’t say a word to him. You refused to be in his presence unless it was absolutely necessary. And the worst part was - people had started to notice. Sansa had even left her ‘Joffrey’ mind-state to ask you if you and Jon had gotten into a fight, and if she should tell her mother.

“No - he’s leaving soon, and then things will get better,” You assured her, though you were not too sure of that yourself. Jon did sometimes linger near a doorway while you were in the room, such as in the library when you took your lessons with the maester, but otherwise, it was hard to spot him anywhere. He kept to himself, packing his things and preparing for his journey.

When he was about to set off, you were in your room, watching from the window. He was packing up the horse that he was taking, with the youngest Lannister going with him - Tyrion. He looked up and caught your eye, but you turned away and ducked against your wall so he could not see your tears. Despite the best efforts of the maids, your gown was in wrinkles on the bed. May Catelyn forgive you for this for you would never forgive yourself if you did not.

Using your sewing scissors, you cut the high neck off of the gown, knowing you could fix the hem later. With it flying between your fingers, you ran out of your room and descended down the stairs, nearly tripping over the stupid long skirt that you were wearing. You rushed out into the courtyard to see Jon getting onto the horse, slipping his feet into the stirrups.

“Wait!” You called out, hair flowing loose behind you since you had not intended to leave your bedchamber today. Jon steadied the horse but did not hop off. He had those sad eyes again, the look he’d had since you two had talked in the hallway. You approached slower this time, not wanting to startle the horse, and lifted up the fabric for him to take. “Please - don’t forget about me.”

Jon did take it, running the fabric through his fingers. He lifted it to his face and took a deep breath of it - it smelled of you still. “I never could, y/n,” He said your name tenderly.

The rest of his company grew restless to the point where he was tutted at. “If we want to make good time, we must leave now,” Tyrion said from inside of his carriage.

You pleaded with Jon through eyes alone, begging for him not to go. It wasn’t too late for him to change his mind, he could get off of his horse, he could stay here with you...

But he didn’t. Instead, he tied the piece of fabric around his wrist. “It’s for the best, y/n,” He said, turning his horse around so he could no longer see you. Evading you, more like.

“For whom?” You asked. You were given no answer in return, just the sound of the horse neighing as it trotted it’s way towards the gate and away from you. You stood there until he was out of sight, and then an hour more, willing it with all of your heart that he would turn back and you would see him galloping his way back towards you.

But nay. Night came along and the weather became frosty, forcing you inside, forcing you to change the way you thought of your life for if the man who claimed he loved you ran away ... well, you had a lot of thinking to do.

#Jon Snow #Jon Snow x reader #Jon Snow oneshot #Game of Thrones #Game of Thrones oneshot #GOT #GOT oneshot #request #oneshot #one shot #oneshots #one shots #jons

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stilesssolo · 4 years

Note

Number 2 or 3 in Fluff in the WTWTA universe pretty please?? I love that story so much 😭❤️

Someone else requested 2 so I’ll do 3! 😊

3. “Have you seen my hoodie?” “Noo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

Spring in the Vale has a definitive chill to it, but it’s still absolutely beautiful.

It’s always been one of Jon’s favorite times to hike the Eyrie. Everything is fresh and soft and green, the skies crisp and blue, the air like it only is after the harshness of winter has faded.

The biggest problem with spring in the Vale is that the snow is melting, and Ghost somehow always finds a way to bathe in mud.

Thank the gods they’re at a campsite right now with running water. Jon thinks this is probably the third bath he’s given Ghost all weekend, rinsing mud from his paws and belly before he’s allowed anywhere near the tents.

Most of the dirt has been cleaned from Ghost’s snowy fur, but the process of washing his dog left Jon’s shirt soaked, and the chill in the air has even him shivering. Finally, he finishes, and lets Ghost free, laughing as he makes a beeline for Dany, who had graciously offered to cook dinner while he cleaned up his dog.

“Hi, boy!” Dany says, falling to her knees to ruffle Ghost’s ears, and Jon’s laugh becomes an affectionate smile instead, heart thumping as he watches his girlfriend smother his dog in kisses.

He really should have known, as soon as he saw how much Dany and Ghost loved each other, that she was the one. His dog is never wrong about people, even if Jon likes to second guess himself and how deserving he is of happiness.

“Dinner’s almost done,” Dany says, looking up at him, her eyes shining with happiness. This is the second long hike they’ve been on this year so far— Dany’s new ability to use her vacation time truly is a blessing— and still, there’s nothing more beautiful, Jon thinks, than the way she radiates happiness when it’s just her and him and Ghost out exploring the world.

“Great,” he says, dropping a kiss on her cheek as he passes her to get to the car. “I’m just goin’ to change quickly. I’m freezin’ with the breeze.”

Dany laughs as he opens the back of the car, pulling his bag out from underneath the raised platform that takes up most of his backseat and trunk for camping trips. “You? Cold?” she teases, and Jon rolls his eyes.

“Aye, when my shirt is soaked through,” he says, pulling it off, tugging on a new, blissfully dry long sleeve. Still, the wind has a bit of a chill to it, so he looks for his pullover as well.

“You’re one to talk anyways,” he says, grinning at her. “You’ve been wearin’ a coat this entire trip.”

Dany rolls her eyes, stirring their supper again. “Yes, but I’m from the south. I’m not immune to the cold, like you tough northerners.” He can hear the sarcasm in her voice, her eyes sparkling when he meets them, looking up from his bag.

The breeze picks up, and Jon shivers again, his sweatshirt still nowhere to be found. “Hey, Dany?” he calls, digging through his clothes once again. “Have you seen my hoodie?”

There’s a long pause, his girlfriend suddenly completely immersed in her cooking duties. “Noo,” she finally answers, but it doesn’t sound convincing.

Jon’s eyes flick up, and it’s then that he notices the deep green hood peeking out above the collar of her coat.

He bites back a smile, trying not to laugh. “You’re wearin’ it, aren’t you?”

Dany’s expression immediately grows sheepish. “Uh. Maybe,” she says, and now he can’t help it; he chuckles. Closing the back of the car, he walks over to her, wrapping his arms around her.

“I’m sorry, alright?” Dany laughs, but she doesn’t sound the least bit remorseful. “But I was cold, and it’s really soft, and it smells like you—”

Jon kisses her, effectively silencing her. Dany wearing his clothing is probably the last thing he’ll ever complain about.

“It’s fine, love,” he tells her, and her eyes get soft. “I guess for once you’ll have to keep me warm.”

Dany laughs, the sound like sunshine, and she turns in his arms and pulls him tightly against her chest.

“That,” she says, “I think I can handle.”

#where the wild things are #drabbles #my writing #asks #answered #anonymous

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shiftytracts · 3 years

Text

Stop Wanting More, part 2 of 2 (T/M/A fic)

In which season-four Jon tries to quiet his hunger for live statements by gorging himself on paper ones, and Daisy tells him what she used to do when she got shaky between hunts. Part one here.

Content warnings for this half:

Nausea, and brief descriptions of prior vomiting

Vague discussion of Daisy’s passive suicidality

Animal cruelty and death: Daisy talks about hunting rats for sport

—

“Statement of Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner, regarding—”

“Shhhh! You’ll wake the tape recorder.” Her hand clapped over his mouth so hard his teeth buzzed like mugs in a cupboard. He did his best to say Ouch. The salt on her palm made his inner lips itch. Daisy sighed: “Too late; I can hear it hissing.”

At once the cushions began to lurch again, and his stomach contents with them. On her way past him off the couch Daisy managed both to step on his trouser leg and elbow him in the sacrum. Chills curled up in the shadows of heat she’d left on his forehead, stomach, legs. Her way back into her prior position went smoother, though. She even remembered how tightly to press his belly with hers. Why did returned warmth always make him shiver?

“Alright—skip the spiel. Just Ask.”

“What did you used to do when—” Daisy cut him off with a hollow laugh, which Jon seconded. As soon as he’d begun to speak the tape recorder clicked back on, as he’d suspected it would.

“Whatever; just do it.”

“You won’t be too self-conscious?”

She shrugged. “Won’t matter; I’ll be compelled.”

Jon bit down the wave of remorse and resentment her words stirred inside him. She’d agreed to this—cajoled him into it, even. He could examine those feelings later, when she’d gone to bed. When he was alone, and warm, and.

Unbidden into his head came the passage from Tristram Shandy about the “beds of justice.” He’d never read it before, having got through hardly ten pages of that book, and wondered now for half a second how Beholding could have thought this would help, until there thundered across his mind the words, I write one half full,—and t’other fasting;—or write it all full,—and correct it fasting;—or write it fasting; and Jon swallowed, as if that would make it stop. Less than a second later he could feel his stomach trying to expand around it.

Last week he’d tried reading an encyclopedia—vore-ing it, cover to cover. No good; he quit a third of the way in, when it bored him so much he caught himself fantasizing about its giving him a paper cut he’d have to get up to attend to. Eating fear-free trivia was like trying to fill up on tic tacs. Only when stuffed could he even feel it going down.

He told himself if he didn’t Ask her for her story now he’d only spoil his dinner with more useless facts.

“What did you used to do when you got shaky between hunts?”

“I hunted rats around my flat,” Daisy said at once, in the expressionless way of compulsion. In a voice more like her own, she went on, “Not inside, not at first, just—around the dumpsters. First my building’s, and then some nights the whole block. However long it took before I got too slow to enjoy chasing.

“Then one night I thought I saw one dart past in the corridor. So I left out bait for it, half hoping it’d attract more rats into the building. It worked; I found three in there that week.”

“What do you mean bait?”

Again her first sentence emerged as though she were reading it off a list. “Leftovers, mostly. Wasn’t hard—I didn’t have much appetite for” (in one-handed air quotes, with a huff of laughter) “'people food,’ anyway. I’d just make sure to leave a few bites unfinished, and stick them under the mat at the top of the stairs. Sandwich crusts usually, nothing gross. When I got Chinese takeaway I’d use the cabbage they put in the box.”

To make air quotes Daisy’d had to fish her hand out from under the blanket. Now she returned it to its slot on the side of his gut where hip gave way to bloat. Jon almost wished she hadn’t; he feared the reminder might weigh him down. He felt giddy and light, like if he stood and walked, hell, ran, it might not hurt his legs and chest. Like if he flapped his hands instead of wringing them he’d bump the ceiling. For Daisy to comfort his body he’d have to remember he had one.

“How did you catch them? It does—uh.” Whichever Watcher department took charge of compulsion seemed to know his question ended here, because Daisy responded before Jon could finish his follow-up sentence. (It doesn’t sound like you laid traps, he’d meant to say.)

“By the tail. I ran after them and stepped on their tails and then.” She paused for an entire second and closed her eyes tight, but by the time Jon realized what this meant she’d already concluded: “I snapped their spines with my shoe.”

That was all she said, but not all he learnt about it. The Eye let him—made him hear the crunch. For an instant it shared with him the satisfaction Daisy’d felt at the finality of that sound. It had been a sore spot for her, a then-recent wound, how many monsters didn’t die when you broke their necks.

Then her satisfaction left him, and he felt intensely sick.

“Stop—don’t say any more—I’m sorry Daisy, I didn’t—”

She snarled a sigh. “Yeah, I know. Guess I should’ve told you not to ask about that part.”

“Oh. No, it’s. I'm alright, I just meant, it looked like you… didn’t want to tell me that.”

“No I didn’t,” Daisy concurred, in a tone so flat he wondered whether he’d somehow compelled it.

“Is there anything else you don’t—er. What other questions about this would you prefer I didn’t ask.”

She shrugged. “Everything else is fair game.”

“Okay,” Jon said, wishing that answer reassured him more. “You don’t—need a minute, or?”

Again she shrugged. “Yeah, alright. You look like you might, anyway. How’s your gut feeling.”

It took him a moment to realize she meant his actual gut, not like. When he did he answered without thinking: “Not bad? Ignorable, mostly, but. That in itself is.” He looked down at his fingertips for some loose skin to peel. “I’m… stronger, now, already, my. My limbs feel like.”

Daisy nodded. “Like they could carry you without having to think about it.”

“Quite,” Jon agreed, though he wished as soon as the word left his mouth that he’d picked a different one. Something that sounded less like he wanted to talk about the phenomenon’s downside, its sinister implications. He very much did not.

“The rats, did you… eat them?”

“Ew, Jon,” she replied, like it was obvious. “Not literally, no. Didn’t have to. You don’t literally eat statements either, yeah? I just killed them and it… fed me.”

“But didn’t satisfy you,” Jon suggested.

“No. They didn’t make me less hungry, just made it easier to sleep. And they made my belly swell up like yours.” (She patted his; he huffed in pretended offense.) “That’s why I only did it after I’d gone home for the night: it made me slow. I’d know I’d had enough to go to bed when I couldn’t run after them anymore. When I tried to go without—I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. Soon as I stopped thinking about it, they’d fly open. Or at least, it never felt like I slept. Guess I must’ve done, though, ‘cause sometimes I’d find myself chewing on the bedding.” Daisy shook her head, with a sigh interpretable also as a laugh. “Think I’ve started doing that again. I keep finding holes in Basira’s sleeping bag.”

“Not yours, though?” Jon knew she and Basira slept with the edges of their two sleeping bags zipped together. (A frankenbag, Daisy called it.)

Daisy grinned: “No. Hers is a better texture.”

“Thought you said you didn’t remember doing it.”

“I don’t, but mine looks like it’d be grosser to have in your mouth.”

In reality, Jon had never seen her sleeping bag up close, but now Beholding showed him what it looked like. Once kelly green but now faded grayish, like a pond; the fabric was all over pills. It smelled like wood smoke, Ritz crackers, and the lone sock one finds at the bottom of every suitcase.

“That’s fair,” Jon allowed, hoping the strain in his voice would sound to her like a laugh. Somehow this piece of information, about the godforsaken sleeping bag, had brought his stomachache back way above the “ignorable” waterline. The nauseating smell, maybe? He tried to steady himself with a deep breath, but, well.

“You look sick.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“You’re not subtle, Jon,” she scoffed; “you gasp and writhe.”

Jon tried to shrug, tried to laugh. “I’m fine. It’s just… a lot. I’m alright, I’ve just never.” What, been this full? Compelled an eldritch snack after having already eaten his weight in paper? As if that weren’t obvious. He drew in breath to speak, but still hadn’t thought of an end to his sentence. Then he felt Daisy’s hands—both of them—start to dig shallow trenches, one up each of his sick sides. His breath came out in a shaky sigh.

“That help?”

“Yeah.”

Each time they reached his ribs—or, in the left side’s case, the place where his ninth and tenth ribs used to be—her hands turned back, in a slight arc so that they made narrow ovals, each a little closer to his stomach’s center than the last. Until they met in the middle, then worked their way slowly back out to his sides.

“Could you… keep doing that while I hear the rest of your.”

Her laugh had an edge to it that miiiight have been contempt? But she said, “Sure. What do you still want to know?”

“Uh.” He pretended to have to think about it. “Why don’t you hunt rats now?”

“I don’t want to kill things just because they’re weaker than me.” Daisy’s hands had frozen in place while she spoke these words; now they resumed. She sighed, but Jon wasn’t sure at what. “Rats are fine, they don’t need to die.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re fine,” Jon scoffed; “pretty sure they serve the Corruption. They spread hantavirus, ratbite fever, lymphocytic”—he paused to swallow a wave of nausea, hoping it was the ugliness of these facts and not their sheer bulk that sickened him. He hoped also that she’d assume his voice had caught on the pronunciation, rather than. He cleared his throat and continued: “Lymphocytic choriomeningitis, and leptospirosis. And the plague, of course, though not without help from.”

Daisy groaned, her teeth bared to the canines. Jon could feel her fingers curl into fists, though thankfully none of his skin got trapped between her nails and palms. “That’s exactly the kind of judgment I’m trying not to make anymore. They’re—they’re also good, okay? Rats. Had a friend with a rat once, when I was a kid.” For an instant Jon wondered if she meant Calvin Benchley. Then the Eye told him she did. “You can teach them tricks. Like dogs. His knew how to fetch, roll over, go through mazes to find treats. And they’re affectionate, friendly. The tails are weird, but—they have sweet eyes.”

A huff of laughter tumbled out of Jon’s nose. “All animals have sweet eyes. That’s a pretty low bar.”

“Don't flatter yourself.”

The Ceaseless Watcher seemed to side with her on this, showing him the eyes of lemurs, flies, goats, anglerfish (the regular kind).

“Either way, I hardly think that outweighs the plague.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Daisy insisted, still sounding querulous. She’d retracted her hands now, and held them balled together close to her chest—like Jon himself did when he felt too shy to stim outright. If they hadn’t been talking about rats the attitude probably wouldn’t’ve struck him as rat-like, but.

“It doesn’t always need to matter which one of those things is more important,” she went on. “It feels like it does, but—sometimes that’s just a habit we get into. Some things just are, okay? I like not having to think about it anymore.”

“Right, that makes sense, we can….”

“Besides. I didn’t care about any of that when I was hunting them. The diseases or whether they’re part of the Filth or whatever. I just knew they were gross, and that people were scared of them. That’s the main reason I killed monsters, too.”

“What if you just… caught them and let them go?”

“Monsters?”

“No, rats.”

“I don’t want a substitute, Jon. I’m alright going cold turkey.”

“But it’s not cold turkey, it’s—no turkey.”

Daisy looked at him for the first time in what felt like a while, and smiled, but furrowed her eyebrows. “Just what do you think ‘cold turkey’ means?”

“I know there’s no actual turkey,” Jon sighed, trying to ignore the Eye’s barrage of suggestions for where the phrase might have originated. God, his stomach hurt. He missed having her hands there to rub away some of this nausea and ache. Wondered what he could say to bring them back. Doing it himself at a time like this would’ve felt so. “I just mean, withdrawal is—different. It can kill you, but you’re still abstaining from something that people in general don’t need to live.”

“Aaaand you think people in general need the Hunt.”

“Of course not. I know you know what I’m getting at,” Jon persisted. “You’re talking about starvation—which, unless for some reason the Fears are too sentimental to throw their old husks away, means it will kill you. Not just—‘can.’”

“Maybe. Probably, yeah. If some monster doesn’t come around to kick me off the wagon first. I’ve told you that before, though.”

“…Okay. Yes, you have, that’s. Yes. So then—?”

“What?”

“Why are you giving me a statement!?”

“To commiserate,” Daisy recited first, in the flat tone of compulsion—and then, “Shhh!”

“Tape recorder’s already on.”

“Yeah but Basira’s out there; she might—be asleep. It’s not a statement,” said Daisy. “Just a story.”

As usual Jon let himself fall into the trap. Was it a statement? By Institute standards, maybe not; he wasn’t sure it counted as a supernatural encounter, except from the rats’ perspective. And most of the fear in it was the rats’, too. He supposed you could call it an encounter with her own changing nature? Statement of Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner, regarding her supernatural hunger and how she.

“But why would you feed me a story when the answer you come to at the end of it is that it’s better to starve?”

This time he didn’t mean to compel her—was sure he’d phrased it indirectly enough not to. But Jon was surer yet Daisy wouldn’t have given the answer she did except under compulsion:

“Because I felt sorry for you.” Then she winced, bared her teeth, shook her head; Jon wondered if she’d felt that one. It seemed like people usually didn’t—just heard themselves speak words they hadn’t meant to, and surmised what had happened from that. But maybe after so many in a row she’d begun to feel the static.

“For what? Why?”

“For feeling evil. Because it reminded me of me.” In her own voice: “Think maybe I wanted it off my chest, too.”

So, what? The moral high ground was alright for her, but he was too weak for it? Or, or not, what, spiritually advanced enough to walk that plane? Because he hadn’t been conscious for his six-month limbo between life and death, like she’d been in the coffin?

“But you resist, so—? Why wouldn’t you think I should starve too?” On the ocean floor of his stomach something evil emerged from its hole. “Hhh—wait, don’t answer that, I’m—”

Too late. “Because eating the statements doesn’t hurt anything. The ones already written down—just recording them, it’s harmless. And you can’t give me bad dreams anymore, so—ugh.” Jon opened his eyes to find Daisy clawing at her temples. She shook her head, to the extent she could without knocking into his. “I told you I'm trying not to do that anymore.”

I’m not ready, Jon had meant to say. But seeing how little she liked having answered, he wished he could claim it was for her sake he’d tried to stop her.

He still wasn’t ready to hear or think or talk about this, really. The top half of his belly seared with such pain he couldn’t think straight; lower down it squirmed. He felt perilously sick. His whole body wanted so badly to curl into a ball that his legs wouldn’t quit twitching against Daisy’s. He pressed his elbows into his sides, while his hands hovered, pathetically he was sure, just over the top and center of a stomach he feared would pounce if he dared touch it.

But he felt like owed her some proof he’d been listening. “Do…?”

“Judge people. Decide what’s right for them.”

“I see,” Jon lied; that was all he could manage for now. In truth he needed a break before he could even parse what she had said.

“Turns out I can’t lie to myself under compulsion either. I didn’t think that was the reason?—thought I was just not judging you.”

“I think”—he pushed himself back from her, sure for a second that he was about to be sick. It passed, but his breath caught on it as on panic, so he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.

Especially not since Daisy too shot upright, her nails loudly scraping the cushion behind her as she hurled herself against it. “Shit—turn around—not on the couch—”

“I’m okay, it’s.” He did turn around, just to ease her mind, but the motion required had quite the opposite effect on him. Jon heard the sounds of ragged breath and whimpering, then recognized his own voice behind them.

Daisy’s hands came to perch one on the back of his shoulder, the other on his side between rib and pelvis. “Don’t worry about it, just get it out. We’ll clean it up later—just like last time, remember?” The fingertips of the hand on his side twitched back and forth at his stomach’s very outer edge.

“N—o, I.” He swallowed. “I think I’m alright.” Tried opening his eyes. Nope, not ready. His breath shuddered again. Daisy’s hands vanished from his shoulder and side; he heard the flapping sound of a blanket being shaken out, then felt it flutter and settle on top of him. Must’ve got dislodged when he rolled over, though he was warm enough now he hadn’t noticed. Dimly he recognized this as a victory.

Her hand moved to stroke his back; she kept saying Shhh, but not in the harsh way she had earlier. “You, uh.” Again Jon swallowed, though what ailed him was a lack of spit rather than excess of it. “You weren’t nearly this nice last time.”

“What?” The hand on his back stilled. “I was too! I tied your hair back for you! I let you ruin my jumper by wiping your pukey mouth on it! I sat with you, on the cold hard floor, in front of the toilet, and let you babble all your egghead theories to me about vomit and the Corruption, even though I’d been sick not two days before, and could barely stand the smell even without you philosophizing about it—”

“No, I meant—the time before, when you. Never mind.”

“Oh—when I had to clean it up?” Jon nodded, hoping she’d be able to tell that from the back of his head. “Yeah, well. Guess I like you better now.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Me neither.” And yet she scooted closer to him, hooking her chin over his shoulder. Her hand came to rest on his belly again, its heel in the hollow at the edge of his pelvis. “This okay? You alright with touch right now?”

In response Jon felt around for her hand. When he found it he slotted his fingers between hers, pulled her hand to a sicker-feeling place a few inches higher up, and left his there on top of it.

“Right,” Daisy laughed—“my mistake.” She dragged their combined hands very gently back and forth across the place he’d brought them to. “This where you’re feeling yuckiest?”

His breath caught again, but with surprise and relief this time. With his free hand Jon covered his eyes, willing himself not to think about how ridiculous he must seem to her right now. “That’s, er. That’s perfect, yes.”

“Sure.”

“Though actually—do you think—maybe a slightly… longer stroke?”

Again she laughed. Her hand went limp under his. “Backseat driver. Alright, show me how it’s done.”

It took him a minute to determine that himself. He tried pulling her hand back and forth past his navel, but that grated against something sharp inside. Supposed he couldn’t consult the Oracle for this. Up and down, maybe? Yes, that would do. Or a circle perhaps. Anti-clock—? No, clockwise, definitely. Much better.

Once they’d got that sorted out, Jon said, “I wonder if… you’d let me Ask. One more question.”

“Seriously? I can feel how stuffed you are; how could you possibly want more? Five minutes ago you nearly puked.”

“I’m just—curious, alright? I won’t be sick, I promise.”

“Fine.”

“Did you ever… throw them up?”

“I didn’t eat them, Jon. Told you that already.”

“Alright, poor choice of words. Did you ever—” he tried to think how best to phrase it. “When you threw up regular… people food. Did something of the rats ever come up with it?”

“Yeah. I only got sick once in the time I was doing it, but, I think so, yeah. Thought I was just really out of it at the time though. They didn’t make me sick, I don’t think—just another stomach bug, like the one I gave you. One of those bugs where everything has to come out? And it came on me in the middle of the night, so the last thing I’d”—a pause to sigh; her hand slipped out of his, presumably to make air quotes, but then took it again before he could think of somewhere else to put it—“‘eaten’ was the rats. Not as many as usual; I was already feeling slow that evening. But, yeah. They… it wasn’t their actual bodies, though, okay? I thought I was just dry heaving at first—you know when you’re hanging over the toilet bowl because you know you’re gonna be sick—”

Jon squirmed, fighting a temptation to cover his ears. “Yes, thank you, I’m familiar with—”

“—but you can’t get anything solid up yet, you just retch and drool and cough into the bowl. Well it started then, and then, some of it got mixed up with my sandwich. It was like I… felt their fear, like I—became them, for a second. Each one of them.”

She’d been right; it was too much. God, please don’t make him be the rat! Jon bit his lip ducked his head to his chest curled his toes bent his knees, anything, trying to barricade the doors against the onslaught of information. He pressed his and Daisy’s combined hands hard into the place where his stomach jutted forth from ribs for fear if he didn’t try to equalize the pressure inside from without he might burst like a sheep in clover and flood this whole room in half-ruminated text, a cloud of serifed letters scuttling heinously all over himself and Daisy like half-formed spiders.

“I don’t know how I knew that’s what it was,” Daisy went on. “It wasn’t like I saw the scene again, or heard the crunch, or felt the. Anything like that. I just—was the rat. I was prey. Just for a second. And knew that I—me, as in.” Again her hand slipped out of his. “The Hunter, was about to kill me. And… then it faded and I was me again until the next one.”

Her hand returned to the dome at the top of his gut where he’d last set it, but its ghosts on his palm and between his fingers remained cold. She brushed the hand up and down his belly, airily—oblivious to how its muscles clenched and undulated. Jon panted and forced himself to focus on her hand and nothing else. How it bumped and shuddered when his stomach’s shape morphed under it. How at the end of his every exhale her touch became so light it tickled. This was the present Daisy, and the present Jon. Here on this couch in the Institute basement. Both thin, her bony ilium pressed closer to his sacroiliac joint than was quite comfortable. Warm, except up one leg where the blanket let in a draft.

The one who’d tried to prey on him was long gone. If anything he was the one feeding on her, now. And they just laid on the couch together, massaging her horrors into more comfortable shapes inside him.

“That enough?”

Jon grunted an incredulous huff. “Too much,” he admitted, unable to keep the strain out of his voice. “You were right—I, uh. Didn’t know stomachaches came this size.”

Her laugh sounded affectionate. The lines up and down his stomach morphed into circles around it. “Ha—look how much higher your belly comes up on this side. That must be where your ribs were.”

“Yes, I’ve. Noticed that before, thanks.”

“Think you’ll keep it all down?”

“Hope so.”

“Good luck. Wouldn’t want you to have to relive the rats again.”

Oh, god.

“The less said about it the—better I’ll feel, I think.”

“Well that’s a change,” Daisy mused, patting his stomach as though in summation. “I should get to bed. Be alright on your own?”

“Er.” No, no, no, god please no, not alone yet with all these? “Yes, alright. I should be fine.”

She laughed again. “I’ll stay til you fall asleep.”

(For Daisy’s take on “the time before,” when she had to clean up his vomit, see Abyss of Possibilities; to view the drawing in less-bad resolution, see this post)

#stuffing #hunger kink #nausea #stomachache #a shifty tract #nonsearchable tma tag #me: writes a story about eating information #also me: god why is this so LONG why did i have to go off on so many TANGENTS #uhhhhhhh hm let's think

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

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SALT & SNOW - CHAPTER 3

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader

Summary: Ned returns to Winterfell from the Vale for a short visit with his family, while Y/N gets some disappointing news about her’s ... and just generally has a bad time. Hope yall like fluff.

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For a time, Y/N felt guilty for how quickly the days began to pass and how she lost track of them. She always wrote to her mother and didn’t miss a letter, but sometimes the septa had to remind her, and sometimes she was so eager to write about what she was doing, she forgot to inquire after her family. She’d make it up by sending a lovely embroidery she was proud of, or a quick painting of some part in Winterfell she thought the boys would find interesting. They especially liked the ruined towers and horses, so she did her best to oblige them.

In the morning Lady Stark would give her a smile at breakfast, asking after her lessons like her mother did. Lord Stark was very different from her father and uncle, but he’d help her up on her horse if he was passing by, and he’d pat her head like they did. Even Brandon would have his moments of chivalry with her - between his immature japes - and of course, Lyanna and Benjen were her near constant companions. For as many days as she spent with just Lyanna, they were just as many days with Benjen joining them.

It was difficult to feel homesick in such happy circumstances, but Y/N would still feel it, especially at night when she’d awaken suddenly, hearing the wind hit against the window. She’d creep out of bed and open it, letting just a little cold air in, and her heart felt heavy when she smelled no salt in it, nor did she hear any waves in the distance. In the first weeks, that was enough to make a few tears run down her cheeks as she laid down to sleep.

She hadn’t cried from homesickness in some time, nor had she seen her family. It felt like it had been a very long time.

At dinner one evening, Y/N asked, “Lady Stark, how long has it been since I came to Winterfell?”

“It’s been nearly a year, perhaps a moon more.” Lady Stark said. She was still pale, but now Y/N was used to it. She often rested during the day, but always came to dinner. “Poor dear, you must want to see your family.”

“I do, but I’m happy to be here!” Y/N said quickly. “I love being at Winterfell.”

Lady Stark smiled. She patted Y/N’s cheek, and although the girl felt she was getting a bit old for that, the warm hand was comforting. “I do, too.”

“Couldn’t Y/N’s mother and father come to the feast this year?” Lyanna asked.

Lord Stark spoke like a man who had never lowered his voice for anything. “They will, don’t you girls worry about that. There’s someone else coming, though, someone you all will be very interested to see.”

Lady Stark grinned, and that got Brandon and Benjen’s attention. Brandon leaned in his seat impatiently. “Who?”

“Ned is coming home!” Lady Stark said, and immediately had to hush the outcry of happiness from the children and the teenager around her. She clapped her hands sharply. “Listen! He is only visiting, sweetlings, but he will stay for a fortnight. I asked Lord Arryn for it especially, since he is getting older, and will have to learn to travel during —”

Lyanna burst out. “He’s staying a whole fortnight?”

“Is he coming with some Vale knights? They have to show us how they fight in the South.” Brandon’s eyes had that fire Y/N noticed whenever he was sparring. He used real steel now. “I hope Lord Arryn taught Ned some interesting tricks.”

“Is the Baratheon boy coming too?” Benjen asked.

Her children clamored over one another. Lady Stark clapped again and sighed. “Enough! You can ask your questions when Ned gets here. If the gods are willing, he’ll be here a few days before the feast. I want you all to pray for his safe journey.”

Y/N, Lyanna and Benjen nodded obediently at this — neither of them neglected to visit the godswood each morning, even if Lyanna often yawned and fidgeted during the prayers — but Brandon decided to redirect his chattering to his father. Lately they were often together, and Y/N began to notice how much they resembled each other. Brandon wouldn’t stop growing, either, she overheard the maids sigh over how often they had to alter his clothing. He certainly ate like he was growing overnight.

Y/N felt much the same, even if much time had passed, although she did notice she could look over Benjen’s head now. Lyanna was still just a little taller, as usual, but the maids were also letting out their dresses … just not as often as Brandon’s tunics and trousers. Lyanna had begun to steal some of his old ones and roll up the pants legs to fit better, although her mother had become less patient with her blatant disregard of dresses.

They had gotten word from Jon Arryn when Ned left the Vale, and another one the day after he passed the Bloody Gate. A third raven was sent when he was within a day’s ride of Winterfell, and Lyanna was determined to stand vigil by the gate, as if she’d miss him completely if she wasn’t there to greet him. Benjen eventually got tired of the waiting, but it was easy for Y/N to wait patiently with her friend. She brought embroidery with her.

Lyanna leaned on Y/N as she looked down at the work. “Isn’t it boring? Doing the same thing again and again?”

“There isn’t much else for us to do. Don’t you ride to the same places on your horse?”

“It’s not the same thing at all!” Lyanna was aghast. “Well, it looks pretty. How do you know what a whale looks like?”

“My father showed me pictures in books, and they’re on my uncle’s maps. I’ve seen sharks and krakens, too.” Y/N would have embroidered those, but her uncle said krakens were cursed things, and a dainty, threaded shark didn’t match it’s fearsome reputation. Lyanna was going to say more, but both their heads snapped up as they heard the racket of horses and men.

“He’s here! He’s here!” She sprung up from the crate they were sitting on. Y/N shoved her work in her reticule and ran alongside her, although a Winterfell guard politely asked the girls to stand away from the gate while the horses came in.

Y/N expected a carriage and looked for one, but Lyanna pointed to one of the men on a horse — no, that wasn’t a grown man, but he wasn’t a boy, either. Y/N blinked once, then twice, and it was the soft grey eyes that hit her first. The rest of Ned followed behind that recognition. She couldn’t believe she had almost forgotten what he looked like, and that thought startled her. How could she forget those eyes?

He rode away from the small column and dismounted. Lyanna swung her arms around him at once. “Brother! You’re home!”

Ned was smiling, and it was such a good thing to see, but even better was how happy Lyanna was. Y/N’s heart swelled at the sight, knowing she missed Ned the most out of anyone, but then his grey eyes found hers. Y/N shivered, but not from the chill. She felt shy, which was silly, they’d met before, but …

Y/N looked down at her shoes and clasped her hands. She heard him step closer, and when she glanced up, those grey eyes were the first thing she saw.

She hastily looked elsewhere.

That’s how she noticed Benjen and Brandon heading toward them, looking just as excited as Lyanna. She knew Brandon had especially been wanting to see his brother again, maybe more than Lyanna. Y/N made room for them as the siblings made a little half-circle around their brother. It struck her how alike they all looked. They had their differences and little arguments, but they always protected one another.

Just like a pack.

“What are you doing?” Brandon asked her suddenly. Before Y/N could answer, the lordling took her hand and gently pulled her into the circle. “Ned, Y/N’s been living with us. You knew that, right? I almost wish they sent Lyanna to Whitetide.”

He didn’t have time to dodge the slap Lyanna gave the back of his head. Y/N watched Ned’s smile grow to a grin, and the sight of it made her stomach flip so much worse. It was best to stick to his eyes, or better, look at someone else. She was so distracted she hadn’t noticed that Brandon still had the light grip on her hand, even after Lyanna had hit him, and she carefully slipped out of it.

To Lyanna’s annoyance, Brandon was always taking Ned with him to go riding or practice in the training yard. As she and Y/N would cross the yard to etiquette lessons or worse - dancing - Lyanna would have a palpable impatience as she tried to get through the hours. Once they were finished, she’d sprint out to join her brothers, calling for Y/N to catch up. Sometimes it was annoying, but Y/N could understand. She was antsy to see her parents and Willam, and maybe even little Rickard, if they decided to bring him.

Y/N had a feeling Lyanna was going to change into riding clothes and saddle up her favorite horse, and once she was on a horse … Well, Y/N absolutely wasn’t going to gallop off with the speed and ferocity Lyanna was used to.

She hadn’t even stepped outside for more than a few moments before she heard someone trying to catch up to her. She turned as Lady Stark caught up with her, her breathing a little more than strained. Y/N was worried about the color of her face, pale in spite of her quick gait. She had a letter in her hand.

“Y/N, sweetling,” She called, stopping to catch her breath. Y/N wasted no time in walking to her so Lady Stark didn’t have to go any further. Before the young girl could ask if she was alright, Lady Stark continued with some difficulty. “I’m so sorry, dear, I just received word from Whitetide. Your parents cannot come to the feast.”

Y/N forgot about Lady Stark’s pallor. She blinked. “What?”

“Your brothers and uncle are abed with terrible colds, and your parents are worried about bringing the sickness here. It wouldn’t be safe with the feast and my - my own health,” Lady Stark explained. “As soon as your brothers are feeling better, they can come here to see you.”

Y/N couldn’t remember Willam ever being sick, and she herself had only had a handful of colds in her life. Her uncle said the sea air was the best for one’s body. How could he be ill, too? Worry began to form in her stomach, especially with Lady Stark’s obvious fatigue right in front of her. “Are you ill too, Lady Stark? Are you going to have to leave?”

Why was she surprised by the questions? She must have noticed. “I am well enough to greet our guests and eat a few courses. It’s nothing you need worry about, Y/N. Why don’t you write a letter to your brothers and wish them well?”

Baby Rickon can’t read yet, and Willam is so stubborn about his letters. Y/N didn’t argue, though. She’d write to her mother and ask if they were going to be alright, as well as her uncle. She had these awful, anxious feelings biting at her stomach and pulling at her heart.

“They will recover quickly, I’m sure of it.” Lady Stark patted Y/N on the hair, and for once, the gesture bothered her. She felt like she wasn’t being told everything, like she was a child - she was nearly a woman (well, she would be once she flowered). Still, for all the time she spent at Winterfell, she felt she couldn’t possibly overstep her bounds like that.

So, she simply said, “I’ll go to the godswood and pray for their health.”

Lady Stark beamed in approval. She put the letter in her sleeve, excused herself, and slowly walked back into the keep. Y/N watched her go, recalling the straight, elegant poise the woman used to walk with. She decided to pray for Lady Stark, too.

“You don’t have to go to the feast if you aren’t feeling well.” Lyanna insisted. “I’ll stay with you.”

It was a sweet thing to say, because Y/N knew Lyanna had been looking forward to the event as much as her. As much as she wanted to stay in their shared room and sigh over the absence of her family, it wouldn’t do any good, and Lyanna would just be a bundle of energy, urging her every few minutes if she felt better and wanting to distract her. Here at the party, Y/N could glide along the feast hall, avoiding conversation easily, while Lyanna jumped to whatever took her attention. Expecting a she-wolf to be still was asking too much.

Y/N assured her friend, “Your mother has been making us practice our manners and courtesies for occasions like this. Besides, I think I smelled chocolate in the kitchen.”

“I did, too!” Lyanna grinned. “I haven’t had chocolate in so long! I wonder if they made it into a cake or a drink! Father said we’d have to wait and see. Oh, let me braid your hair. It’ll be easier.”

Y/N handed her the brush and sat patiently while Lyanna chattered about the different banners she saw at the gates. In the past year Lyanna had become very adept at styling braids, considering how often she tied her hair back for riding. When she was finished, Y/N helped lace up her gown, and turned around so Lyanna could do the same for her. It was a familiar routine now, and they walked to the feast hall with linked arms.

Y/N sat on the dais with the Starks, an honored place, and by now she was used to how her seafoam and white dress stuck out amongst the Starks’ shades of grey, white and black. Only Lyanna and her mother afforded splashes of pretty blues. From Y/N’s seat, she could gaze over the entire hall. It used to be uncomfortable to have guests glance at the clearly odd one out, but by now most knew her and her situation. More pressing to Y/N’s attention was the seat Ned occupied, usually reserved for Benjen.

The youngest Stark had no problem giving up his seat, Lord Stark was humored by his children all trying to shuffle their seats to talk to Ned. Brandon just had to lean forward or back to yell, so finally Lady Stark told her children to stop shouting over each other and go mingle with the guests.

Y/N wanted to talk to Ned, but it seemed everyone did. She kept trying to meet his grey eyes, and the few times she succeeded, she couldn’t look for long without becoming bashful. I feel so foolish. I should be more direct like Lyanna, but what would I even say? He must have seen so many amazing things at the Vale, I want to know what it was like ...

Worse than her stupid thoughts was the loneliness that kept biting at her. Anytime she heard a young boy laugh, she turned, expecting Willam. Northern men drinking and arguing reminded her of her father and uncle, and the women gliding around with long, trailing hair was similar to her mother. Even now, she had no one to speak with. Ned, Brandon and Benjen were wandering off with the other lordlings, and Lyanna was chatting away with the Ryswell sisters.

Y/N figured she may as well join that conversation. Lyanna eagerly pulled her into the circle. “Barbrey, you’ve met Y/N, haven’t you?”

“Several months ago, but I didn’t have my sister with me.” Barbrey was a tall and pretty girl, three years older than them. Back then and now, she spoke to Y/N and Lyanna like equals. It helped she and Lyanna shared a love of riding, and Lyanna could talk over adults about that subject. She glanced to her younger sister. “Well, say hello.”

Her sister was slighter and paler, with dark hair that looked very soft. She was almost hiding behind Bethany. “Um. It’s good to meet you. My name is Lady Bethany.”

“It’s good to meet you. My name is Lady Y/N of House Caspian.” Y/N said, and Lyanna bowed with her. Instantly, Lyanna asked, “Do you ride, Bethany?”

“Oh, some… Barbrey’s been teaching me.”

“She’s getting there.” Barbrey smiled. She had honey-brown hair that was tied back, and dark eyes that Y/N rather liked. They wore simple dark red and brown gowns that were lightly trimmed with fur. Bethany was pointedly looking at Y/N’s own gown, decorating in swimming rays instead of galloping horses, and she shyly smiled when Y/N held up the sleeve so she could look closer.

“The white silk is so pretty,” She said softly. “When it’s with the green like that, it makes me think of a spring day.”

“Thank you, that is a pretty thing to say,” Y/N beamed. “I especially like how it matches the pearl my father —”

Her fingers froze as she touched her braid. The familiar, round pearl wasn’t there.

Bethany gave Y/N a questioning look, but Y/N didn’t notice. Her heart seized in her chest and panic spread through every inch of her body. Air left her lungs, and she released a very steady breath, desperately willing away the tears that instantly sprang to her eyes.

Barbrey and Lyanna had been discussing stallions the entire time, and weren’t paying the other two any mind. Bethany asked, “Um … Lady Y/N, are you well …?”

“I…” No. My pearl is gone. My pearl is gone. The pearl my father gave me, the silver strings aren’t even there — Did it fall? Did it break?

Y/N swallowed her racing thoughts and her words. She realized she had a death grip on her braid, and she lowered her hand. Instead, she gripped the sides of her skirts and attempted a curtsy. “Excuse me, I … I feel too warm.”

She quickly turned away from Bethany’s big, concerned eyes. Y/N tapped Lyanna on the shoulder. “I’m stepping out for a moment. It’s too hot.”

“Truly? But —”

Y/N swept past her.

Did Lyanna braid it into my hair? She must have, she always does, I showed her how to carefully tie the silver strings. She’d never be careless — we were talking, but she wasn’t that distracted — what if it’s on the dais? Or our room? Or … gods, what if it fell in the snow?

Y/N’s heart froze as she recalled how badly Lyanna wanted to walk through the open courtyard, even though Y/N warned her about dirtying their gowns. No, not the snow. Anything but that. Finding a pearl in the stone feast hall or our bedroom can be done, but an entire snowy courtyard at night …

She tried to fight the tears springing to her eyes, but as she replayed her memories, she couldn’t recall touching her braid or looking at it. All she could think about was the vast courtyard, and how quickly she and Lyanna ran through it. It was stupid, she should have secured the pearl before they left the bedroom, or better, not run at all. She never wore it while riding, she always carefully tucked it away at bedtime — she couldn’t lose it. She just couldn’t.

The tears were warm and she rubbed at her eyes, trying to stop them, but she couldn’t keep her sobs down. She retreated to an empty hall with large, lonely windows. It was completely dark out. It may not have been snowing, but servants and horses and men were moving through the courtyard from now to morning. Her pearl would be trampled on and buried.

It was bad enough she couldn’t hear the waves anymore, or chase after Willam or listen to her Uncle’s stories or sit with her parents by the hearth and fall asleep on her mother’s lap as they talked.

Y/N took in a deep breath, trying to just stop and decide what to do, but her thoughts were racing and fighting each other, none of them helpful. Her pounding heart froze all over again when she heard someone behind her.

“I’m fine,” Y/N blubbered before they could say anything, or before she even knew who it was. She looked up from her long sleeves and blinked several times, trying to see through her tears.

Two hands touched her shoulders, and she could feel their warmth through her silk gown. It would have made her flinch away if it wasn’t Ned standing before her. She blinked again, and before any more tears could run to her chin and drop on the floor, Ned wiped at her cheeks with the sleeve of his grey and black tunic.

“Lyanna said you hurried away. Did something happen?” He asked quietly. Y/N almost had to strain to hear him over her heart hammering in her chest and the blood rushing in her ears.

She wanted to tell him, but where could she start? It was all a jumble in her head. She felt lonely, angry, hopeless and foolish all at once. It should have been icing on the cake to have Ned find her like this, crying like a child over a lost bauble, but …

He was truly worried, and he carefully wiped the other side of her face. Y/N felt just a little better. She sniffled. “I lost my pearl.”

“The one you always wear?”

She nodded. “M-my father gave it to me. I … I don’t know where it could be. I thought about the courtyard, but it’s big, and has so much snow and mud, I can’t …”

The tears threatened to come again, and she clenched her eyes tight. The hand that remained on her shoulder squeezed her gently. What could he do? What could anyone do? Y/N hated the thought of everyone stopping everything to look for the pearl, though she’d gladly crawl through mud for it.

“I could find it myself,” Y/N said suddenly. “If I had a torch … I-I just need a torch and I’ll go looking…”

“There’s no need for that.” Ned shook his head. His hair was longer than she remembered, but it was the Northern way. She was glad the Eyrie didn’t change that. “I’ll take you back to your room, maybe it slipped out of your hair while you dressed.”

Y/N deflated. “I don’t think it’s there.”

“It doesn’t hurt to look. While you do that, I’ll ask the servants to look around the feast hall.”

“What about the courtyard?”

Ned glanced aside as he considered something, then said, “Search around your chambers and see if it’s there. I’ll worry about what’s outside.”

“But…” Y/N tried to argue, but she was tired, and she could only resist so much. She wanted to hope. She allowed Ned to hook his arm in her’s and escort her back to her room. She could hear distant revelry as they walked, and she asked, “Aren’t you missing the feast? Won’t your father look for you?”

“Well …” Ned smiled bashfully. “I’m afraid he challenged Lord Umber to a drinking contest.”

“Oh.” Y/N recalled Lord Umber and his staggering height. “Oh dear.”

“Benjen will keep Brandon from joining, hopefully.” Ned stopped at her bedroom door and opened it, making a point not to look inside. “After you look, get some rest, Y/N. You shouldn’t fret.”

She was well beyond fretting. Y/N said, “If I end up finding it here, I’ll come and tell you. I don’t want the servants looking on my behalf, I … Maybe, I can help them look tomorrow? Or, I can do it myself… I don’t want to impose, it’s my mistake …”

As she trailed off, Ned gave her another one of those small smiles. He touched her shoulder again, and she appreciated the touch all over again. “If you do find it, you can come find me, but if not, you ought to sleep.”

Y/N wished him a goodnight, shut the door, and took a deep breath before tearing into the room. She pulled up the fur rugs, searched around the hearth, looked under the bed, around the vanity, into all the drawers, under the fur blankets, in her trunk … By the time she finished, she was sweating and muttering unladylike things as she pulled open her gown’s delicate lacings.

Y/N slipped into bed with her hair a mess and her heart still hammering painfully. She felt like there was a hole in her heart without the pearl, which was a silly and stupid thing to think of, but she kept feeling it. As she closed her eyes and touched her messy braid, she willed herself to sleep, just sleep. Silent tears fell on her pillow as she drifted off slowly.

She dreamed about warm sand between her toes, seagulls circling above her head, and a tall boy in a grey tunic pulling at her arm. At some point, the dream was interrupted by Lyanna’s voice, but that quickly faded. When she returned to that beach, it was night time, and all she could hear was waves crashing hard against the docks. This time, she was alone.

Y/N rolled onto her side and opened her bleary eyes to the window in front of her. The sky was lightening, but the sun wasn’t yet up. She so rarely woke up this early, but her sleep had been restless. She closed her eyes and snuggled back under the furs.

Tap tap. There was the noise again.

Again? When did I hear it the first time? Y/N sat up slightly, scanning the room with a little worry. Embers were crackling quietly in the hearth, almost extinguished, and Lyanna was snoozing softly beside her. There was no wind hitting the window, nor was there a bird outside of it …

Tap tap.

The door. Y/N hesitated, then pushed off the fur blanket and carefully slipped out of bed. She shivered as she pattered her way to the door. The servants didn’t knock if they were just stepping in to stoke the hearth. She carefully unlatched the door, opened it just a few inches, then threw it open once she saw the visitor.

“Ned!” Y/N at least had the state of mind to whisper, although it was still too loud. The older boy gestured for her to lower her voice, so she did. “What are you doing?”

Ned didn’t say anything, he just held out his hand. Even in the almost darkness, Y/N could make out a perfectly white, glittering object.

“Oh!” She threw her hands to her mouth, then quickly held the pearl. It was as cold as ice, and Ned’s hands were no warmer. She just noticed he was trembling. “Where did you —? How? Wait, how late is it?”

“Y-You mentioned th-the courtyard.” Ned sniffled. She stepped closer to him, over the threshold, and saw he had a thick cloak thrown over his clothes.

Y/N squinted, her eyes adjusting to the dark, and she reached for him. She grabbed hold of his arm, and from there, she took his hand. It seemed colder than the pearl, and she shivered. “Ned, you’re almost frozen!”

“I’m not that cold,” He mumbled, squeezing her hand and obviously relishing in the warmth. Their fingers entwined, and his body shook of its own volition. Y/N wanted to pull away, he was far too cold, but she held there for a few moments.

“Thank you so much. I… I can’t begin to thank you,” She said, trying to keep up the whispering, but the relief was too much. She clutched the pearl tight as she untangled from Ned’s hand and wrapped her arms around his chest. He was sixteen now, and far taller, so he bent down awkwardly to meet her. When he did, Y/N pressed her lips to his cold cheek. Ned shivered and jerked instantly.

He’s really in a terrible state! Y/N couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t have been out all night in that cold, could he? She pulled away and said, “You need to find a hearth, a blazing one, right away! Your blood is going to turn to ice!”

She couldn’t believe the soft laugh that came from him. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he warmed himself before finding her, or waited until the morning. What an irresponsible thing to do! Y/N impatiently pushed him. “Right now! You’ll catch your death!”

“F-frozen blood or death, which is it?” Ned teased, but he allowed himself to be pushed away. The slightest light was beginning to come in from the many windows that dotted the walls, and Y/N saw how his face was flushed pink, especially his nose and ears. His long hair was a mess in all directions too, just like his siblings after a long day of training or riding. She sighed.

“You Starks really are a bunch of wolves.”

“You seem to like it here,” Ned said, his voice raising above a whisper, yet still gentle. It was always so gentle. “Even if it’s a strange place for a ray.”

“It is different, but I do love Winterfell. And… ” Y/N searched for her words. She was still so sleepy, and so happy and grateful. She looked at the precious pearl in her hand, the silver strands strung through it glittering in what little light there was. “And you found the little piece of ocean I brought. I can’t thank you enough for that, Ned.”

His whole face looked dangerously red, and as adorable as his next sniffle was, Y/N thought of her ill brothers and grew worried. She gently pushed at him again, directing him to the opposite end of the hall. “Go back to your room! Change out of those clothes and get some sleep!”

He finally heeded her. They traded quick good nights (or rather, good mornings) and she watched him shuffle down the hall for just a few moments before returning to the open doorway. Y/N was pleased that Lyanna hadn’t stirred at all, and was mindful of the door’s creak as she closed it.

Her steps were light and a smile was stuck on her face. She could twirl around the room and start her morning routine, but no, she really ought to get a few more hours of sleep. Y/N climbed into bed and finally released her pearl from her iron grip. It had all but one of its silver strings, but she didn’t mind at all. Y/N gave it a kiss before setting it in an overturned seashell on her bedside table. The dreams were shorter this time, but they were full of Whitetide and her family.

At breakfast, Y/N and Lyanna were only joined by Benjen and Lady Stark. She thought just Ned would be absent, but apparently the drinking competition went a little too far. Neither Lord Stark nor his oldest son were terribly victorious, and Lady Stark had plenty to say on the subject as she irritably hacked through the sausage on her plate. Y/N glanced over at Lyanna, who was stabbing innocent slices of pork.

Lyanna asked, “Mother, could I ride with Barbrey and Bethany today? They’re leaving tomorrow.”

Lady Stark considered it. She seemed weary, as she often did. “Very well, but your usual lessons will continue the day after tomorrow. Y/N, will you be riding, too?”

Lyanna looked to her expectantly, but Y/N hedged. “Um … I’m still not feeling well from yesterday…”

“You did leave the feast early.” Lyanna frowned. “I tried to wake you last night, but you were fast asleep. Are you sick?”

“I had a stomachache.” The lie came easily. Ned must have not told anyone what he was doing, which Y/N was grateful for. “It still hurts a little, I don’t think I should ride.”

“Indeed not.” Lady Stark said. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice before, sweetling. I’ll have the maester brew you a peppermint and ginger tea, that always soothes me.”

Y/N nodded, trying not to grimace at the thought of the tea. “Thank you, Lady Stark.”

Having successfully escaped a terrifying riding session, Y/N decided to spend her time in one of the private sitting rooms meant only for the Starks and certain guests. She often retreated here when Winterfell became too bustling and full of strangers, and its large window had lighting that was perfect for sketching. She sat at the windowsill, watching the servants and guards go about their business below. There were about a dozen washerwomen cleaning, all sizes of buckets around them, all sorts of children and dogs running around them. Y/N studied the scene and began to sketch.

Lady Stark and the septa were further away at the hearth, stitching and talking quietly. She had been doing this often, staying indoors by the warmth of the fire, even when there were guests to check up on and entertain. Lord Stark and Brandon did most of that now, even if they could be … not the most diplomatic.

The door opened, but Y/N was too focused on her drawing to look up. She stayed at her task until she saw someone move in her peripheral vision, someone who … sniffled.

Y/N quickly looked up. “Oh, you’re finally awake.”

Ned smiled bashfully. His nose was still a bit red, and he had obvious circles under her eyes, and Y/N felt bad all over again. She set her sketchbook aside and patted the spot next to her on the window seat. Ned hesitated for a moment, then took it.

“It’s not that late,” He said, but then he looked out the window and blinked at the sky. “Or perhaps it is.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think Brandon is still abed.”

“He’s awake, and as sour as a wet cat.” Ned grinned. “Take my advice and whisper around him today.”

Y/N smiled and put her sketchbook back in her lap. Ned glanced over her shoulder, and while people watching her draw usually made her nervous, this wasn’t so bad. She really only shared her drawings with Lyanna and Benjen, but she felt Ned would like them, too. He watched her draw the tufts of fur on the dogs, the folds of the washerwoman’s clothes as they bent over their work, and the little sudsy bubbles in the buckets. She added little details, like flowers around their feet and a cat sitting up on one of the boxes.

They sat in a peaceful, easy silence. Ned fit in with the coziness of the room, and he seemed to enjoy it. He really did look tired, and even before last night, he’d been dragged around by his father and older brother and all the guests for days. A thought occurred to Y/N.

“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?” She asked.

“I am.”

He didn’t seem happy about it, either. Y/N dated her drawing, then flipped to a new page. Several pages had been removed already, drawings she’d sent to her family to show them things she liked about Winterfell. An idea came to her, and before she could stop herself, she asked, “Could I write to you when you go back to the Eyrie?”

Ned blinked, and Y/N quickly added, “Only if I can. If you want to. Um, I write to my parents, and … sometimes I send them drawings…”

She tugged at her long sleeve and glanced away to the window.

“You would want to write to me?”

Y/N fiddled with her pencil. “I’d like to. I don’t get to see you as often, and um, the Vale is so far… I know you have the Baratheon lord, and Lord Arryn, and everyone in court, but …”

“I’d like you to — to write to me, and send whatever fancies you,” Ned said, stumbling and talking a little too quick. He hesitated again, trying to think about his words before speaking again. “The Eyrie is a great place, but I miss Winterfell.”

Y/N smiled, and now it was Ned’s turn to fiddle with his sleeve and look at the window, or his shoes, or anywhere else. Her eyes turned to the fire, where Lady Stark was staring right at her. It startled the both of them.

Lady Stark quickly caught the needle that fell from her hand. She tilted her head and raised her voice so they could hear her across the room. “What are you two plotting over there?”

“Could Y/N write to me?” “Could I write to Ned?”

They both stopped, fumbled their words, waiting for the other to speak first, but neither would budge. Lady Stark arched her eyebrows.

“Do you mean… when Ned returns to the Eyrie?” Before either could answer, Lady Stark quickly said, “Yes, yes you may! Y/N, you can draw those darling pictures you send to your parents.”

Y/N blushed from embarrassment. It felt a little silly when she said it that way, but she was glad Lady Stark agreed so easily. She looked delighted, in fact, and was much more animated than she had been recently. Ned’s cheeks were getting as red as his nose, and Y/N was glad she wasn’t the only one feeling a little embarrassed.

Y/N thought that she’d mention Lyanna could write more too, or the other two boys, as they rarely did, usually only adding a few words of encouragement to the end of Lord Stark’s letters. But she didn’t. Lady Stark instead turned to the septa, whispering something, forgetting her needlework entirely. The needle and thread fell to the floor.

There was an odd silence between Y/N and Ned now, neither of them sure of what to say. So, Y/N turned to the front of her sketchbook. “Um, do you want to see what I’ve drawn already? It’s mostly buildings and trees, but there’s some animals …”

Ned nodded, and even if he was just being polite, Y/N was glad. She felt like she’d improved quite a bit, so she started at the beginning and chatted about each piece. After several minutes, the comfort of the room returned, and it didn’t take long for them to lean against each other as Y/N turned the pages.

#game of thrones x reader #ned stark x reader #game of thrones #ned stark #salt & snow #libra fics

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mschrisaholic · 4 years

Note

Hey love your stuff! I was wondering if you could do a Tom Holland imagine - idk like angst they have an argument over something maybe like they have a new baby and he not helping enough instead maybe going out. though it’s sad there is a happy ending like fluff. Thanks 😊 P.S your imagines really good, talent is amazing!

I’m tired.

TOM HOLLAND X READER

Tom’s not there for you and your new born son. You’re tired of being on your own most of the time.

(Kinda sad at the beginning, but definitely a happy ending!)

P.S.~

Thank you for the request!! I’m more than happy to take any requests haha.

English is not my first language, so please do forgive me if I make any mistakes, which I am so sure that there are some in my writing;)) Enjoy~~

My Masterlist

👆🏻my other works on Chris Evans & Tom Holland

Feel free to send me requests on Chris Evans or Tom Holland!!!

You were asleep on the couch with William, the 3-month old son of you and Tom in your arms, waiting for Tom to have dinner with you two after his meeting with the directors for his next Spider-man movie. You woke up when your son jolted, crying.

“Hey, hey, baby. Mommy’s here.” You rocked him back and forth to comfort him.

“Oh god, it’s 8 already. Poor Will must be hungry, right?” You talked to William with your baby voice, giving him a nose boop and he stopped crying slightly.

You stood from the couch and made a small groan once you felt the pain from you back and mostly from your shoulder. It must be because of how long you’ve held William in your arms. You’ve got the pain for weeks, considering that you’re the only one who’s held William here and there and got all the chores done.

You barely remembered when you fell asleep, all you knew was that you were watching Spider-Man: Homecoming with William. You play films of Tom whenever Tom’s out. You wanted to show him how great his dad is and be more familiar with Tom as he’s not always here. Playing the movies and listening to Tom’s voice from them make you feel he is here for you and let you feel less lonely.

You were getting ready to breastfeed William when you heard the sound of key clinging right outside the door, so you walked there instead.

“Daddy’s home!” You talked to William in your baby voice again and Willie giggled.

“Y/n, Will.” Tom entered the house and greeted you with kisses on your foreheads.

“I miss you so much, babe. You have no idea how tired I was. Could you hold Will when I go preparing to feed him? And then we can have dinner, I’ve got your favorite for tonight!” You said with a wide smile as you handed Willie to Tom and he took him hesitantly.

“Uh, love.” He said which made you stop you way to the island of the kitchen and turned around.

“I gotta go. I just come back to get my clothes changed as I sweat a lot from the fitting and I’m gonna have dinner with the cast. There’s something minor about the script that Jon wants us to talk about…"Tom said with an apologetic look.

You didn’t really know what to say, all you could do was just standing there and froze. You got everything planned for the night to be honest, you prepared sushi and other foods that Tom likes. You even took William’s nap time to bake some cookies, thinking that would lighten up Tom’s busy day. You’re thinking to have a chill night cuddling with Tom and William in his arms on the couch, watching whatever shows that are on the TV. But this plan was just like any other plans that you’ve made nights before, got cancelled with whatever plans that Tom got in advanced.

“Can’t it be discussed tomorrow?” You tried your best not to sound harsh, but you’re tired, really tired. You’re happy to see Tom being busy cause that means he’s one step closer to what he always wants, becoming an influential star. But meanwhile, you’re tired of waiting for Tom to be back till midnight, taking care of William on your own. You didn’t really have the chance to tell Tom about the pain on your back and shoulders. You literally didn’t know how long you could stand with the pain, physically and mentally. You just wanted him to be with you and William more.

“I don’t think so… I got meeting for my next project tomorrow, remember?” Tom said with much more sadness in his voice as he patted William’s back.

All you could do was nodding your head. You stared at the floor, figuring out what to say next. Suddenly, William burst out crying, just like he could tell Tom was leaving. Tom was startled to William’s sudden crying and rocked him back and forth, trying to comfort him.

“You better hurry up then.” You took William from Tom and kept your eyes on your poor little son, just because you wanted to hide those tears from Tom. You knew he’s feeling guilty and making him feel more guilty was the last thing you wanted to do.

“Love…”

“Just go and get changed. We’ll be fine.” You forced a smile to him.

“Say goodbye to daddy!” You waved William’s little chubby arm at Tom and he sighed.

“If you’re tired, don’t stay up to wait for me. I love you, y/n.” He pecked you on your lips and so did you.

“I love you, Tom. I’ll be waiting for you, as always.”

You breastfed Will as Tom headed upstairs to get changed. When he left, you didn’t bother to say goodbye to him as you knew you would break down crying, which was what you’re doing. You tried so hard not to let the tears drop down on Will’s cheeks. You’re always positive but not now anymore. Why couldn’t you just be a supportive wife for Tom and take good care of William when he’s working so hard for your little family?

When William finished his meal, it’s time for yours. You walked to the kitchen still having William in your arm, took out the sushi and cookies you’ve prepared. However, you didn’t feel like eating them anymore. You ditched them all in the trash can, tears brimming in your eyes. They’re supposed to be the dinner for you and Tom, but now you just didn’t wanna eat anything.

After putting William to sleep, you laid yourself down on the couch with the baby monitor in your hand. It’s just half past nine, which meant Tom’s not gonna be here any sooner. A familiar key clinging sound surprised you, you wanna stand up right away but your back was killing you, you could only sit and stand up slowly.

“Tom? Aren’t you supposed to be in the dinner meeting?”

Not till Tom could answer you, there’s a crying sound coming from the baby monitor.

“I’ll go get it, you stay here and rest, love.” Tom said and he headed upstairs to take care of William.

You looked at his back and got tears rolling down on your face. They’re happy tears this time. This was the life that you’ve waited for weeks, Tom was here to help you look after William while you could take a rest on the couch.

Tom got William with him when he was back downstairs. He held the dirty diaper in his free hand and threw it in the garbage can in the kitchen, where you’ve just got rid of the food that you’re prepared.

“Tom?” Tom sat down on the couch with you and you wanted to take William from Tom. However, you couldn’t help but frowned a bit when stretched out you arms. Tom noticed it and he shook his head.

“Once I left the house and got in the taxi, all I can think about is your sad face. You’ve tried so hard to hide your emotions from me and I’m so stupid to not notice it earlier.”

“You must be so disappointed in me. I’m always out and not helping enough…” Tom stared right at you eyes and both of you got tears brimming in your eyes.

“I’m not disappointed, Tom. I’m proud of you. You’re so talented, you’ve worked so hard and I’ve never blamed you. I just maybe, sometime, wish that you could squeeze more time for William, for me. I’m tired, tired of being all alone. I wanna have a life with you. Right now, seeing you holding William completes my life.” You felt much relieved once you told Tom what has bothered you for weeks.

“I know. I’m sorry, love. I promise, you and William will always be my 1st priority. Whenever you got plans for a chill night, you tell me and don’t you dare throwing away sushi and cookies that you made again. Will and I are the ones who are supposed to eat it. Oh, not you, little buddy, you gotta wait till you grow up. You could only got the milk from mommy now, which must be so nice.” You chuckled and smacked slightly on the biceps that he’s built up for Spider-man. Both of you helped each other wipe away the tears on your cheeks.

“You haven’t had dinner, right?” You said as you stood up from the couch, but then you realized it’s a huge mistake.

“Love, I’ve got your back! Ah hahaha, I literally mean it! I know you’re having trouble with your back and shoulders from holding Will for a long time. I did research on my way back. By research, I mean asking Mum.” He gently pulled you down on the couch and continued,

“I got some painkillers for you and you’re gonna take a day off from being a mum tomorrow. I’m gonna do everything, making meals, baking cookies, and all the chores. Well, there’s a thing that only you could do.”

“I know,” you knew what he meant of course,

“But how about your meeting tomorrow?”

“My wife is sick so I’m sick. Homesick.” He pouted like a kid, literally a grownup version of William.

“Idiot!” You said and wrapped your arms around Tom’s waist, giving William a peck on his cute, chubby cheek.

“Your idiot.”

#tom holland angst #tom holland x reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagines #tom holland fluff #tom holland #dad! tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot

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mismerccray · 5 years

Text

Ultimatum

Sorry for the wait. This fic was a labor of love....and writing it kinda broke my heart. Enjoy the fic!

Warning: ANGST AND VIOLENCE

A woman can only take so much shit before it hits the fan. It kinda seems like other women know this... and even smart men are stupid. Which is probably how we got here.

Tonight is date night. Not a normal one. This is our anniversary. Bruce and I have officially been married for five years. Five blissful years of love, amazing sex, and family. Granted, the public has only known of us being together for six months and married a year. But they don’t get the juicy bits. They may get Bruce Wayne, the socialite, but they don’t get Bruce the Man. Just me. Hell, the public tried their hardest to break us up and to break me down. Calling me a gold digger and saying that for Bruce to date me, a black woman, was a tragedy for Gotham? Weak sauce. Talia Al Ghul even tried to get between us. Hoe got back handed. Things were smooth sailing after that.

Well, at least I thought that at the beginning of the night. All the boys were out when we got home. Dick and Tim were with their perspective Titans. Jason was hanging out with the Outlaws and Damian is having a sleepover with Jon Kent. Bruce even made sure to inform the league not to bother him unless it’s an Omega level issue. Perfect for some Anniversary sex in the champagne room right?

It would have been, if it weren’t for Selina Kyle’s scrawny ass laying naked on my bed.

We walked into our room after a wonderful evening out at dinner and a play, and here's this bitch. I was actually so shocked and angry, I went quiet. Bruce began gaping like a fish before he actually found his words. She was just as shocked to see us together for some reason. She quickly grabbed her silken red robe from behind her and covered herself. Throughout all of this, I wasn’t paying attention to anything except how badly I wanted to beat her ass.

So that’s what I did, or at least wanted to do. I took off my earrings and red bottoms, before they actually became bloody shoes, launching myself at her. Training with Bruce is a regular occurrence, in case of surprise kidnappings of course, so getting in a few properly placed punches and kicks isn’t difficult. I managed to break the bitch’s nose before he managed to pull me back.

He set me down in a far corner of the room, trying to hold my arms down. Looking around him, I see her running to the bathroom, holding her bloodied broken nose and cleaning it with a white linen towel. The wedding gift from my late GrandDad. That does it.

I began thrashing around until I managed to slip out of his grasp. I charge my way into the bathroom, when Bruce catches up and tries to pull me out of the room. "Selina, go! I'll talk to you later".

Record Scratch.

The Fuck?!

That, made me stop moving. I turned into a full figured sack of chocolate dead weight in his arms until he was forced to let go. Selina crawled past, escaping through our opened window. I no longer cared about causing her pain or making her suffer for ruining the towels. I have to get this situation straight.

"...I'm sorry, I must've heard you wrong. Did you just tell that skinny hoe, who was just laying butt ass naked on our bed waiting for you, that you'd talk to her later?! Oh HELL no. Bruce, normally, I am of the opinion that I cannot choose your friends for you. But this "Friend" of yours, Is my one exception." I growled while turning in his arms, glaring up at him.

Bruce looks bewildered for a moment. Then this jackass turns into a stone wall. "Y/N, I won't shut out Selina. Tonight was too far, but she is still a good friend to me. I won't just drop her, because you don't approve of her." I raise an eyebrow at him and turn into the bathroom. I lightly wet my hair and begin putting in two strand twists. I don't speak a word to him, but I can feel the chill in the air that replaced the warmth between us.

I finish my hair and pull on a bonnet. I turn and walk past Bruce, bumping into his side. "Well then, I suppose you have a decision to make. Either she goes, or I go. She is a hard limit for me and you know it. You defended her, protected her. So you know what? I'm just gonna sleep somewhere else. I don't want to sleep next to a man I no longer know or trust to have my back." I stated without emotion. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I simply got some night clothes and clothes for the next day.

As I set up the guest room for myself, I silently wept into my hands. Sometimes. Being married to him is unbearable. I love him, but when she comes around, I feel like he'd rather be married to her. I took deep breaths. Well, at least I still have my apartment in DC….

#batman x reader #batman #bruce wayne x black!reader #Batman Angst #batman x Black!reader

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batmanie · 4 years

Text

You better watch out

“A pony?”

“A what now?”

“Maybe a saddle for your pony?”

The list of ridiculous ideas coming off the top of Hatter's empty head seemed to have no end and Professor Crane, patient as he was, by now was running out of his will to bear with it any longer.

“For the love of god, I don't have any ponies, Jervis!”

The short man, wrapped with an old, stinking blanket and sitting nonchalantly on the top of a dinner table, stroke his own chin with a gloved hand and pondered another suggestion. As he cocked his head, trying to gaze at Jonathan from a different angle, the hat slid to the side revealing white bandages on his forehead. Jervis held his hat in place and continued staring. Meanwhile, Professor Crane tried to get back to reading. He could really use some silence, but no...

“How about a cake?” His guest continued guessing. “You love cakes. You always ask if I have one when I offer you tea.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes, he only kept requesting cake to avoid yet another pointless tea party with Mad Hatter.

“No, thank you. I don't want a cake,” he barked out at the offer.

Jervis made a disappointed sound and let his body fall back on the table.

“You're a hard man to please, Jonathan Crane!” he sighed dramatically.

So far Tetch's presence was far from pleasing – the man was nothing but trouble with his Alice-obsessed behavior, childish games, his stupid tea and a total lack of respect for Jon's personal space. Hatter was not even supposed to be here and Jonathan was starting to regret his latest decisions.

All that Scarecrow wanted for Christmas had been getting out of Gotham before Joker would have burnt it to the ground, as he had done every past year. He had packed his chemicals and hit the road to find himself a quiet shelter in some abandoned countryside cottage far from the city – where he could have worked on his next big scheme in peace.

He had been on his way when, out of the blue, Mad Hatter had popped up in front of his pickup truck's hood like a goddamned reindeer that had escaped Santa's sleigh. Jonathan had hit the breaks but with the nasty, melting snow on the road, it hadn't been enough to stop the moving car.

He hadn't even felt that much sorry for Jervis when he had hit him – it had been this little idiot's own fault after all. Yet, Jonathan had decided not to leave the unconscious and bruised Hatter on the street to be run over. He had packed him onto the backseat and drove on.

Now, both of them were trapped by a raging hailstorm – stuck in the wooden cabin far from civilization. They had a fireplace and blankets to keep them warm and the food supplies Jonathan had wisely taken with him from Gotham. It wouldn't have been so bad, had Jervis stopped mumbling his nonsense for more than five freaking minutes!

“Eureka!” Hatter shouted out and lifted himself back up with a rapid move. “I know what you want! A new hat! Wouldn't that be a perfect gift?!”

Tired of this one-sided conversation Jonathan didn't care to answer.

Jervis did not take the hint. “No? Then how about a bunny?” he kept going. “I like bunnies – they are so fluffy and soft and...”

“Will you shut your mouth for a moment?! I'm trying to read!”

“But Jonathan...” Hatter gave him the look of a mother scolding a naughty child. “I have to give you something, it's Christmas and you're...”

At this moment Crane knew he had reached his limit, he shut the book in his hand with an exaggerated 'thump', rose from his armchair and walked to the table, leaning dangerously close to Mad Hatter.

“You want to know what I want for Christmas? Fine, I'll tell you,” he slurred with a cold fury. “I want to be left ALONE, and you just have to spoil that for me, don't you?”

This sudden display of negative emotions hushed Hatter for a good two minutes. The man lowered his eyes avoiding Scarecrow's angry gaze, then cleared his throat. Jonathan moved away, sensing that this time the message had gotten through.

“Very well,” Jervis said calmly and pulled his hat down so it almost covered his eyes. He jumped off the table and walked across the room passing Jonathan by. “Have a Merry Christmas,” he added as he opened the door.

Chilling wind swept into the room, blowing in snowflakes and cold air. Jonathan shivered but he didn't say a word when Mad Hatter disappeared in the storm.

Finally alone, Crane got back to his armchair and his book. He got what he wanted and the sweet silence of the small cottage was the best reward he could have imagined. And just when he started to relax, he heard a loud sound coming from outside – a sound that filled him with dread.

His book fell to the floor as he sprung up from his seat and rushed out into the cold, to confirm his suspicion. He was just in time to see his pickup truck driving off into the blizzard with Jervis by the wheel.

“Son of a...”

Scarecrow didn't finish, his curses were lost to the raging wind and Hatter was already gone – with him, Jon's only hope to get back to Gotham this year.

***

The weather was frightful but Jervis had no other choice but to drive back to the city and let his dear Scarecrow be alone for a while – just as he had asked for.

“You better watch out, you better not cry...” He sang along to the radio, smiling brightly.

Oh, how he loved Christmas! It was a pity he couldn't spend it with Jon but what kind of Christmas would it be, if he didn't make his friend a little bit happier?

#batman #btas #Batman animated series #DC comics #scarecrow #Jonathan Crane #mad hatter #madhatter #Jervis Tetch #batman villains #christmas #Batman Rogues #batman fanfiction #My Story #temarcia

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valentines-in-london · 5 years

Text

I Need Fire (Part 18)

Authors Note: Please I encourage you to listen to Send Her My Love by Journey while reading the beginning of this chapter followed by Faithfully by Journey, both songs were huge inspirations for this chapter! I hope this chapter makes up for the last few!! As always any and all feedback is more than welcome<3 Word Count: 3,898 Warnings: a bit of angst and fluff Taglist: @freddiessmallnipples @triplehaitches @samanthadegaro @lauravic @oh-well1 @la-sorciere-fleur @anxious-diabetic @xdeath-soulx @fanofnightz If you’d like to be added please let me know!

Previous Chapter // Master List // Next Chapter

Chapter 18 December 23rd

One week, seven days, one hundred and sixty eight hours, ten thousand and eighty minutes. That’s how long Tommy had been gone. Rayne had tried everything to find out where he was, to no avail, so either he really was MIA or people were covering up for him. She was sure Doc was covering up for him, he claimed to have no idea when she called. Nikki was out of his mind on drugs but claimed to have no idea. It was frustrating and she was close to giving up. Rayne had fallen asleep outside on the back patio night after night on one of the lounge chairs. She would wrap herself in an oversized blanket and the brisk cool California air and the sound of waves swirled around her lulling her to sleep.

She’d been spending a lot of time outside for the past week, she felt such emptiness when she stayed in the house. So she would choose the chill of the outside world, than the emptiness of the home she lived in. It hurt too much to see the Christmas tree and the decorations around the house that they had put up when they first got back. Rayne hadn’t even turned on any of the Christmas lights all month, which usually symbolized such joy for her. To top it all off she wasn't even sure if her Christmas plans were still happening. She and Tommy talked about hosting Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas dinner with his family at their new home. She'd went out and bought all the food one day after work that week, she just hoped she had someone to feed it to.

There was some good news however, Rayne had gone to the doctor for a follow up and he said she was healing very well. She could go back to taking baths and more strenuous exercise. Rayne had gone to a kickboxing class every day since the check up. It was practically therapy going to the classes, which is why she always loved kick boxing. Her doctor also told her she could resume normal sexual activity which she did everything she could to not let out a laugh at that statement. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. But tonight she was going to go out and have fun. Journey was playing a show at the Forum and she was always in love with Steve Perry’s voice. Tommy and her had planned to go but since he was MIA she wasn’t going to miss out.

Rayne stood in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom. She wore a ripped up black denim skirt, black stockings, a leopard print top with her signature leather jacket and boots. Jo had always given her shit for liking Journey, saying that they were “corporate rock” whatever the hell that meant. And she knew she might look a bit out of place but she didn’t care. With a few tweaks to her hair and makeup Rayne was ready to head over to LA for the night.

When she got to the Forum, Rayne made her way through the sea of people tailgating. She always loved the atmosphere of the tailgate, the energy was always buzzing with excitement of fans before they saw a band they loved. Rayne headed to a bar down the street to grab a quick drink before show time. Of course since a show was in town was bar was booming. Rayne made her way to the bar sliding in to order a whisky neat. Once she paid for her drink she found a vacant space against a pillar. It was at that moment that she saw Doc sitting in a booth with a guy Rayne did not recognize. Doc locked eyes with her and waved her over.

“Hey Rayne, didn’t expect seeing you here.” Doc smiled up at her. As soon as she approached the table she could feel the other man's eyes on her.

“Yeah, I am going to the Journey show tonight and figured I’d grab a drink beforehand.” She replied looking over to the man in the booth, he was awfully handsome. Rayne extended her hand to him. “Hi by the way, I’m Rayne.”

The man took her hand and flashed a million dollar smile. “I’m Jon, nice to meet you Rayne.”

“Take a seat Rayne.” Doc offered.

“Oh I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not, please sit.” Doc encouraged and Rayne took a seat across from Doc and next to Jon. “Jon’s a new signing of mine and his band is about to do some press and shows over in Japan so we made a stop in LA, he’s from the east coast. Which you’re from also right Rayne?”

“Yeah I’m from Jersey.”

“No shit so am I.” Jon smiled turning in the booth to face her.

“Really? Huh, small world.” Rayne chuckled. She was about to ask him where in New Jersey he grew up but Doc quickly spoke up.

“Is Tommy with you?” Doc interjected. Snapping Rayne out of whatever was going on with her and Jon.

“No.” Rayne sighed. “He’s still no where to be found. I kinda thought you might have been covering for him.”

“I’m not, I honestly have no idea.” Doc said honestly. Rayne shook her head, how could Doc not even know where he was? Rayne simply finished her glass of whisky before pushing it to the center of the table.

“Well it was good seeing you, I’m going to head back I want to catch Bryan Adams, he’s opening and I’ve heard good things.” Rayne smiled pushing herself out of the booth. “It was nice meeting you Jon, good luck with everything.”

“Bye.” Jon said softly watching as Rayne made her way through the crowd of people and out of the bar.

What she had heard was true Bryan Adams. He definitely wasn’t as hard rocking as what Rayne usually liked but his lyrics were amazing and his energy as a solo artist was great. You could tell that he was still learning about himself on stage and commanding a large crowd, but he had incredible potential. Once he had left the stage Rayne walked up to the concession stands to grab a beer, not her favorite but it would do. When she returned to her aisle seat the lights went down and the crowd erupted.

When Journey came on she was transfixed, they were just absolutely incredible musicians and Steve Perry’s voice soared throughout the arena.

Early on in the set the keyboard notes of one of Rayne’s favorite songs off the new record started emitting an excited squeal from her.

It's been so long Since I've seen her face You say she's doing fine

Rayne sang along to the words loving hearing the crowd sing the words back to the band. She hoped one day that would be what Motley Crue received every night on stage. They had been the opener for the tour with Ozzy and the crowds knew some of their more popular songs but she knew one day they’d be the headliner and the crowd would drown them out during every song.

I still recall A sad cafe How it hurt so bad to see her cry I didn't want to say good-bye

There was something about the way Steve sung the lyrics that night, it went straight to her heart. She felt the tears start to sting, it all just hit too close to home.

Send her my love, memories remain Send her my love, roses never fade Send her my love

The same hotel, the same old room I'm on the road again She needed so much more Than I could give

Rayne almost jumped out of her skin when she felt someone grab her hand. She turned ready to punch whoever it was that thought they could grab her. But was shocked as hell to see Tommy standing sheepishly next to her.

We knew our love could not pretend Broken hearts can always mend

Half of her was elated, and the other half was seething. Did he seriously think he could just show back up and be affectionate? Rayne unlaced their fingers and watched as Tommy silently mouthed, “I’m sorry.” She didn’t respond, simply turned her attention to the stage and the electrifying band on it.

The last song before the encore that night was Faithfully, and honestly the lyrics and song were completely too much for Rayne, halfway through the song she pushed past Tommy and began climbing the stairs up to the concourse. Rayne kept her head down, her hands furiously wiping tears away from her cheeks.

“Rayne! Rayne wait!” She nearly stilled at the sound of Tommy’s voice but kept moving through the arena. She was forced to stop walking when Tommy grabbed her hand and spun her towards him. “Rayne, hear me out.”

“What’s there to hear Tommy?” Rayne raised her voice. “You bail on me for a week and then you just fucking show up here and act like everything is okay?”

Slipping her hand out of his grasp Rayne turned on her heel and walked towards one of the arena doors. The crisp December air was a welcome feeling against her hot skin. “Rayne! I’m not trying to act like everything is okay. Just, talk to me!”

“I’m going home.” Rayne said as she reached her car. “So if you want to talk, that’s where I’ll be. If you can even remember how to get there.”

Tommy opened the passenger side door and slipped into the seat causing Rayne to lean down inside the car looking at him in shock, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m going home with you.” Tommy said simply. Rayne sighed getting behind the wheel.

“I’m not saying a word until we get home. You just fucked with me seeing a band I really love.” Rayne said pointedly at Tommy turning the key in the ignition and cranking up the volume on her cassette player. Malibu wasn’t extremely close to Los Angeles and Rayne was seething behind the wheel. Eventually they pulled into the driveway and Rayne turned the car off and silently walked into her home with Tommy falling behind her. Rayne put her bag down on the kitchen counter and turned to Tommy, “You wanted to talk. So talk.”

“Rayne, I’m sorry. I completely reacted the wrong way. I should never have left that day, and I should’ve come back before tonight. I just, I didn’t know what to do, or what to say.” Tommy admitted. “So I’ll start with the beginning.”

Rayne crossed her arms and was all ears.

“When you told me about the baby, everything in my brain started to misfire. It was a lot to take in, I was excited to think we were pregnant, and then to hear that we lost the baby was heartbreaking. And then it was earth shattering to hear that you thought you had to bear the grief on your own to not hurt me.” Tommy’s words were coming out rapid fire, Rayne knew he was nervous. “I could only imagine what you were going through. And it made complete sense why you pulled away. But on top of all of that, I was still hurt.”

“You shouted at me Tommy.” Rayne said sadly. “You have never raised your voice to me the entire time we’ve been together.”

“I regret that as much as disappearing. I never should have done that, there’s no excuse for that. No matter how angry or hurt I was feeling, I should never have raised my voice. That’s not me.”

Rayne heavily sighed and looked down to the floor. “Where do we go from here?”

“We talk about how we’re feeling. What happened is no small thing baby. And this is the first time either of us have been able to talk about it with a cool head.”

“You hurt me Tommy. Do you remember what you said to me before you walked out?” Rayne couldn’t even look at him.

“I-I’m sorry I don’t.” Tommy said sadly.

“You said ‘it looks like you failed at that too,’ and you know that cuts me to the bone. When we talked about a family I told you my biggest fear would be that I would fail them. And I was already beating myself up about doing exactly that. So for you to say that to me…” Rayne began to get choked up. “It broke my heart Tommy.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Even in anger that is below the belt.” Tommy apologized. “How can we fix this? I know we can get through this as long as we’re together.”

Rayne looked up at Tommy with tears in her eyes, “Just get over here and hold me.”

Tommy let out a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding and rushed toward Rayne and tightly wrapped his arms around her, lifting her ever so slightly off the ground. Rayne wrapped her hands around Tommy’s neck burying her face in his hair, breathing in his scent. Tommy whispered in her ear, “I missed you so much baby. I love you. I love you so much.”

Smiling softly Rayne began to cry. It felt so good simply to have his arms wrapped around her. It was the first time since the accident that they had really touched or showed any physical affection to the other. “I’m so sorry Tommy.”

“What? Baby you have nothing to be sorry for.” Tommy pulled his head back in order to look at Rayne. Rayne just nodded her head.

“I do, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have. And I’m so sorry I was caught up with the craziness of life and completely unaware of the fact that I was pregnant. If I’d have know I’d have been more cautious.”

“No, baby. No. Do not apologize for any of that. You had no idea, and I think for anyone, not actively trying, that is probably normal to not know. Maybe we just have to trust in that everything does happen for a reason.” Tommy said softly, gently caressing Rayne’s face. “You are perfect, and you’re going to be a great mom, when the time is right. And I’m here for you Rayne, truly, I am here.”

Smiling softly at his words Rayne leaned in a kissed his lips tentatively. "I've been an emotional wreck for weeks Tommy. Just because you and I are alright it doesn't change that fact."

"I'm here for you baby, no matter what. My only ask is don't hide what you're going through from me. If you're hit with a wave of sadness I want you to come to me for support okay?" Rayne nodded her head. "I'll always be here to support you baby."

Rayne knew he was telling the truth. She knew he would support her through not only the emotions that may come up but also through life in general. Happy that they put that on the table Rayne asked another question that had been bugging her all week. “Where exactly did you go anyway?”

“I crashed at Mick’s house much to his dismay.” Tommy gave a light chuckle.

“Oh I’m sure he absolutely loved that.”

“I got a lot of shit thrown at me all week.” Tommy nodded. “So am I forgiven?”

“Am I forgiven?” Rayne asked for herself.

“There’s nothing to forgive baby.” Tommy kissed her.

“Ditto.” Rayne smiled. “Can we go to bed now? I’m exhausted.”

Holding his hand out for her to take Rayne gladly did and allowed Tommy to lead her upstairs to bed. Tommy took off his shirt as Rayne walked into the bathroom to take her makeup off and wash her face. Rayne looked at herself in the mirror to see she looked like a hot mess, mascara stains had run down her cheeks from her tears. “Jeeze Tommy, you could’ve told me I looked insane.”

“You don’t look insane, you look beautiful.” Tommy spoke from the bedroom. Rayne popped her head out of the bathroom to look at him.

“I love you babe, but I look like a crazy person.” Rayne chuckled taking a makeup wipe to her face and walking back into the bathroom. After washing her face, moisturizing her skin and pulling her hair up in a pony tail Rayne padded into the bedroom. She opened one of her drawers and grabbed an oversized t-shirt. She walked over to the bed, throwing the t-shirt on the mattress and began to undress. Of course Tommy rolled over on his side to admire his girlfriend.

“You are truly the most beautiful woman in the world.” Tommy said softly just before Rayne took off her bra, she playfully threw it at him. Grabbing it from the air Tommy smiled, “What? It’s true!”

Slipping her t-shirt over her head Rayne placed her clothes in the laundry basket. When she walked back to the bed Tommy threw the comforter and sheets down for Rayne to slip under. Rayne turned off the light next to the bed and slipped under the sheets, immediately Tommy wrapped his arms around Rayne pulling her close. He was home, not only in his physical home, Rayne was also his home. “It’s good to be home.”

“It’s good to have you home. Goodnight Tommy.” Rayne gave Tommy’s arm a squeeze.

“Goodnight baby.”

The next day Rayne woke up to the smell of something cooking in the kitchen. She rolled over to wake Tommy up only to be greeted with cold sheets. She sat up in bed rubbing the sleep from her eyes before pushing the covers off her to go downstairs. What she saw in the kitchen shocked her. Tommy was standing over the stove cooking, actually cooking. "What are you making?"

Startled Tommy turned to look at Rayne. "Well you're always feeding me so I wanted to treat you to some french toast."

"Tommy it smells amazing." Rayne said appreciatively taking a deep breath in. "Since when do you cook?"

"I mean, I wouldn't consider following the receipe anything special but my mom taught me a few things in the kitchen." He grinned shyly. "And besides I know you're going to be cooking a lot today, which I'll also gladly help with. But I figured one thing you didn't have to worry about would be helpful. Now sit down."

Rayne smiled at the gentle command and took a seat at the kitchen table watching Tommy work his magic. The food did really smell amazing and she hadn't eaten french toast in forever. "So everything is still going as planned for tonight and tomorrow?"

"Yeah. My mom is so excited to see you and the house and have your cooking." Tommy said enthusiastically while bringing a plate over setting it in front of Rayne. He then quickly returned back with a cup of coffee.

"Well I'm glad I did my shopping this week. I didn't know what would be happening, what with everything that was happening." Rayne teased Tommy, he took it well. "Anyway I hope you like seafood because there's going to be lots of it tonight."

Rayne's grandmother had passed down many Italian traditions to her, one of the ones the older woman was most passionate about was the Christmas Eve meal of the seven fishes. She had never really had the opportunity to do it on her own because it was usually just her and Jo, and Jo wasn't much a fan of seafood.

"I love me some seafood and anything that you cook. You know my mother is going to be flying around trying to help you right?"

“And I will gladly welcome the help.” Rayne took a sip of her coffee. “Also I’m just saying, if your cooking for other things is as good as your French toast, I’m gonna have to go to have to work harder at kickboxing class. Because food this good will make me fat.”

Tommy laughed and took a bite of French toast for himself. “I’m glad you like it. You always cook so much for me, I figured it was only right to return the favor.”

Rayne simply tapped her index finger against her pursed lips and Tommy happily pushed his chair back and leaned over the table to kiss Rayne’s lips. She tasted like maple syrup and cinnamon she was sugar and spice incarnate. When Tommy pulled away from her lips he couldn’t help how his heart soared. She was his person, she was his forever. He stood up straight and started to make his way up the stairs. Rayne called after him playfully, “Tommy where are you going?”

“Just, stay. Right there.” Tommy said enthusiastically as he disappeared into their bedroom. Shrugging her shoulders Rayne took one last bite of French toast before pushing the dish away from her and grabbing a strawberry to nibble on. Rayne heard him shuffling around before he rushed back down the steps until he stood tall in front of Rayne.

“Tommy, what are y…” she couldn’t even finish her sentence Tommy was down on one knee.

“Rayne Sykes, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my whole life. You make me so happy, and if you’ll allow me I’ll spend my entire life trying to make you as happy as you make me. Everything good that has happened to me and all the good that is yet to come, it all means nothing unless you are right next to me to experience for it. I wanted to propose at the perfect moment, I wanted everything to be perfect. But what I was blind to was that every moment with you is perfection.” Tommy spoke with a heartfelt passion and pulled out a red velvet box opening it to reveal a sparkling diamond ring. Rayne gasped when she saw it. “Rayne Sykes, will you marry me?”

Rayne was genuinely shocked. She knew Tommy had wanted to propose to her the night of the accident, but she didn’t expect him to choose this moment to do it. His words were beautiful and from the heart, everything Tommy did was from the heart. She didn’t know what she did to deserve the man kneeling in front of her but she would be happy to be his forever, and she would be happy to have him forever. Rayne began to frantically nod her head smiling wide before she happily replied, “Yes.”

Tommy took the ring out of the box and slipped it onto Rayne’s ring finger before standing up smiling down at her. Rayne stood up and onto her tippy toes to bring her lips to Tommy’s. Pulling away she looked down at the sparkling ring on her finger which the diamond itself was large but the band was also completely adorned with smaller diamonds. It was just completely stunning. “Do you like it?”

“Tommy it’s beautiful.” Rayne exclaimed breathlessly before meeting his gaze and giggling. “Holy shit, did we just get engaged?”

“We’re engaged baby.” Tommy smiled leaning in to kiss Rayne once more.

It was not how Rayne expected the day to begin, but it was a welcomed surprise. She knew she had to shower and get ready for the day and Tommy’s family but right now she wanted to stay in this little bubble that was just the two of them as long as she possibly could.

Take me to the next chapter....

---

Did I make up for making you all suffer the last few chapters? It’s not the end of angst in this story but for now we’ll live in the bubble of happiness. Did you listen to the songs while reading? What did you think? Any favorite parts of this chapter? Anything you’d like to see moving forward? Let me know!

#I NEED FIRE #The Dirt #the dirt fanfic #the dirt imagine #motley crue fanfic #motley crue imagine #Tommy Lee #tommy lee x oc #tommy lee fanfic #tommy lee imagine #engagement #couple #christmas #concert #fanfic #fan fiction #Original Work #original story #My Story

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cactibarber · 5 years

Link

Chapter 2 of my TMA x MBMBAM crack fic is up! (Chapter 1) Thanks so much to everyone who’s read it so far!

---

Justin cleared his throat and began. “Well, we were thinking about going on vacation, so we were waiting until we had some free time-“

“Not that we work hard,” Travis interrupted. “Not like you guys with your files and- are those tape recorders?”

“And we then we all got sick for like two weeks, so we figured we needed a break,” Justin finished. “So we wanted to go to Europe-“

“Gotta get out of the states, you know. It’s uhhh not great right now,” Griffin said. “And-“

“And we decided on London. You know, to- tae sae Bahg Baen,” Justin said, in what Jon guessed was an atrocious attempt at a Scottish accent. The voice didn’t go unnoticed, however, as the two brothers pounced immediately.

“No, no, no it’s Boig Boin-“

“Bae Baen-“

“Beyblades? Are you talking about fucking Beyblades, Travis?”

Jon rubbed his temples and resisted the urge to shout down the hall for Martin- hell, maybe Daisy or Basira could help scare them into giving a proper statement. He had to admit, he was a bit confused with what was going on- usually when people gave a statement, it was in a more listenable way, getting rid of all the feelings (and trauma) that clouded the statement. But these brothers sat in front of him, seemingly rambling about some thing that had happened to them, and they didn’t seem to care at all.

Jon attempted to focus back in to the conversation. The brothers seemed to be arguing about whether the Dick Van Dyke accent from Mary Poppins counted as a real English accent.

“-and the whole movie takes place in London, Griffin, so what I don’t know why you would think that it didn’t count-”

“Oh, just because the movie takes place in London, huh Travis? So if I started talking about ‘puttin it on the barbie’ in Niu Yawk-”

“Gross, Griffin, what are you putting on the barbie?”

“Yeah, c’mon Griff.”

“Gentlemen,” Jon said firmly, a faint crackle of compulsion in his voice. The McElroys sat up straight, as if shocked by lightning. “Please. Continue.”

Justin’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he started speaking again. “Well, the point is that we ended up taking a trip to London town-”

“Something no-one but our dad says,” Griffin muttered under his breath.

“-and we were out at one of the pubs here, having some drinks after our flight landed.”

“It ended up just being us three, since our wives decided to stay in the states because of all the traveling we’ve been doing recently. My wife, Teresa, in particular-”

Jon stubbornly ignored the chorus of “My wife” that erupted around the room. Justin’s face was beet red from trying not to laugh at his own joke, while Griffin looked at him, stonefaced and shrugging. Jon was surprised that his compulsion seemed to be wearing off almost immediately. At this point, he was wondering if he was going to be more hungry after this statement than he was before it.

“Anyway it’s just us in London right now. So we were in a bar-”

“Pub-”

“And we were leaving around 1 AM? We were pretty, uhh, out of it-” “Drunk- we don’t have to leave a good impression on this guy, Justin, we’re just telling him about how we saw Daz,” Griffin corrected.

“I’m getting to it,” Justin said, glaring at Griffin. He turned to Jon, holding his hands out in a “see-what-I’m-dealing-with” position. “Daz is, well, I mean, I’m getting to it.”

“We were leaving the pub-bar, and we were slightly stumbling to the street. Not like falling down drunk, but definitely tripping every few steps drunk,” Justin continued. “Travis was the worst off since he tried to drink a cocktail with a pie slice on top of it-”

“It was definitely worth it,” Travis said, pulling out his phone. “Let me show you a picture-”

“And when we were outside of the bar-pub, we heard someone ask if we had a cigarette.”

“Was he in the alley?” Jon asked, startled. This story was starting to sound shockingly familiar. If the angler-fish was active again, then it mean that the Stranger had already recovered from their attempted Unknowing.

“Yeah!” Griffin chimed in. “He was leaning against the wall like a gangster from the 60s. Have you seen Grease? Because he looked like-”

“Griffin, I swear to god, if you are going to say that Daz looks like John Travolta from Grease,” Justin exasperatedly interrupted. “Then I will be forced to-”

“I meant his posture, Juice,” Griffin said, rolling his eyes. “Y’know, one leg up like a fuckin’ cool guy.”

“Yeah, that’s what makes someone cool, Griff,” Travis laughed. “One leg up means a fuckin’ cooooool guy.”

Justin raised his voice over Griffin and Travis’ laughter. “The guy in the alley was in the shadows at first, so we couldn’t see him. None of us had any little, uh, smoke sticks on us, so we said no and were about to walk away.”

Griffin and Travis erupted into another round of laughter at Justin’s choice of words. When he was sure all three of them were distracted, Jon allowed himself a little smile.

“But the guy didn’t give up,” Justin continued, getting a little solemn. “He stepped a little out of the shadows and we were able to see him a little more clearly.”

“He looked like a normal dude at first. Like anyone you would see on the street,” Travis said, picking up where his brother had left off. “But as he kept getting closer, he felt, ummm, I guess off is the best way to put it?”

Griffin let out a bark of laughter. “Really, Trav? Is that the best you, a New York Times best-selling author can do?” Griffin put on a voice that Jon guessed was one crafted and honed over many years with a singular purpose of annoying his brothers. “Oh yeah, man he felt like, off I guess? I dunno, I haven’t learned anything past o in the alphabet.”

Justin burst into laughter as Travis pouted. “You describe him then, Griffin! Sorry I wasn’t trying to be all poetic and shit like in one of your cutscenes-”

“Hey, my cutscenes aren’t just poetic. They’re masterpieces in literature.”

Travis rolled his eyes at that and flipped Griffin off, which Griffin responded to by sticking his tongue out. Jon Saw™ a brief flash of hours upon hours of family dinners, many of which had gone the same way, and felt the chill in the back of his spine start to dissipate.

“I’ll give it a crack, though,” Griffin said. “I thought it was pretty clear why he looked off. He was too smooth.”

Jon took a bit longer than it should have to process that statement. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I guess specifically his face was too smooth,” Griffin explained. “Like it would have been as if he did one of those Korean face mask treatments, but every day, since he was a baby.”

“How would you even put one of those on a baby?” Justin mused, leaning back in his chair.

“I bet you’d have to cut one of them up,” Travis answered. “Unless-”

“Unless-” Justin and Griffin answered back, almost immediately. Jon felt like he was watching a play at this point.

“Unless that’s our next business idea for when we get back! Baby face masks!” The three of them laughed heartily, only stopping to chant in unison, “TM TM TM.”

“But that’s what I meant!” Griffin said, trying to get back on track. “His nose was slightly crooked, but his skin was so smooth, it looked like it was merging back into his face. His mouth was stretched out until it was like the width of his face, and, it wasn’t like it was in the wrong place, it looked like it was supposed to be there. He had these black spots all over his face, but they didn’t look like birthmarks or anything, it was like those parts of his face were, I don’t know, sunken, but still, they were so smooth. Everything about his face was so rubbery and plasticky, I mean it was like-”

“Like he wasn’t a real person,” Jon finished. There was a silence in the office that hadn’t been there since the McElroys had walked in.

“Yeah,” Justin said, breaking the awkwardness.

“How did you know he was, what was the phrase you used, a video game monster?” Jon asked curiously.

“Well, we do this Youtube series called Monster Factory,” Justin explained. “And by me, I mean me and Griffin, because Travis is too busy trying to get into Supernatural or whatever-”

“It’s going to happen!”

“And one of the monsters we made was based off of late great character actor Dennis Farina.”

“Who-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Griffin said hurriedly. “I didn’t know who he was either, and I was in the video with him.”

“Well we took a facescan of Dennis Farina in some golf game and we really messed him up. I mean like, really rogered him right up. Actually,” Justin pulled out his phone and showed Jon a picture of a video game character mid-golf swing that did look “real rogered up”.

“So when he came up to us and asked us for a cigarette again, we got a better look at him in the light. His hair stood out too- it was all blocky instead of smooth like his skin. Like it was low-res,” Griffin said.

“And everyone knows, your hair doesn’t look like your skin,” Travis told Jon, in a faux-educational voice.

“And,” Griffin said pointedly, “his head was moving.”

“Moving?”

“Like he was- like he was breathing through his head. It was pulsing, like really slowly, but I definitely saw it.” Griffin shuddered. “Honestly- one of the top ten grossest things I’ve ever seen.”

“What about what happened today with the bugs and Slime-” Justin asked.

“Top ten means that there are other events on there,” Griffin said. “The use of the number ten instead of-”

“How did you get away?” Jon interrupted. This didn’t sound too much like the anglerfish since it could move around, but it still gave off hints of the Stranger. And if it was-

Travis muttered something under his breath, and Griffin elbowed his side. “I said, I yartzed on him,” Travis said reluctlantly, as Griffin stifled some laughter.

Jon shook his head slightly, as if trying to dislodge some rocks from his ear. “I’m sorry?”

“I yartzed! I threw up on his shoes, and we kind of just ran. We would’ve paid him for his shoes-”

“You would’ve,” Justin said, crossing his arms.

“But we were all kinda drunk, and he was really, really creepy. Y’know. Off.”

Jon sat up a little straighter, running a hand through his hair. “You… threw up. On the shoes of something that you don’t even think was human.”

“I mean, we didn’t say that yet,” Griffin said, jumping in. “Butttttt yeah. That’s pretty much what happened.”

“Things were pretty buckwild that night,” Justin said brightly. “But I mean that’s nothing compared to what happened earlier today.”

“Today- what do you mean today?” Jon said, confused. “Did something else happen?”

The McElroys looked at each other, each mentally telling the other to speak. Travis lost, sighing and saying, “Yeah, we saw another one of them today. And-and that’s why we’re here! Because-”

“Well, we want to stop seeing them, for one,” Griffin said. “But also, if this is some sort of weird nightmare hell realm pattern thing, where we keep seeing them, there’s one character we reallly, really don’t want to run into.”

Jon gripped the table, as he Saw™. “The Final Pam.”

#tma #the magnus archives #mbmbam #monster factory #sabs stuff #this one's got #daz #i can only write this #late at night #when my brain is loose enough #hopefully yall like this chapter!#i am stubbornly ignoring tma 160 #except for the first five minutes #mcelroys #griffin mcelroy #justin mcelroy #travis mcelroy #jonathan sims

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trashcanmarvelfan · 5 years

Text

Best. Job. Ever. (Tom Holland x Reader) 2/?

Summary: Reader gets a job on the set of Spider-Man: Far from Home for the 3 weeks they are shooting in New York City as what she thinks is a production assistant, but a twist of fate has her reassigned as Tom Holland’s personal assistant. As she & Tom grow close during filming, will their budding friendship turn to more or will they go their separate ways after filming concludes?

Warnings: Language, but that’s pretty much it? This is basically a PG-13 rom-com.

Word Count: 1860 for chapter 2.

Author’s Note: As this was written WAY before Spider-Man: Far from Home was released (actually before Avengers: Endgame was as well) I’ve kept plot details and which scene was being shot on what day extremely vague. Also, I’m American but tried to write Tom as British as possible, although I do think he’d try to stay(ish) in character and use as much American slang as he could while he’s still playing Peter.

Requests are always open!

Cross-posted at AO3.

The next morning, Y/N woke up before her alarm, so she got ready early and headed downstairs to get her and Tom each a coffee before going back up to their floor. She knocked on Tom’s door and was looking at her phone when the door swung open.

“Good morning, Tom, are you--” Y/N’s eyes widened as she looked up.

Tom stood before her in nothing but a towel, a toothbrush sticking out the side of his mouth.

Holy shit, he’s practically naked, she thought, feeling her face heating up . “I’m-- I’m sorry, apparently I’m early, I’ll come back--”

Tom yanked the toothbrush out of his mouth. “No, no, come in, it’s fine.” He stepped out of the doorway and ushered Y/N inside, gesturing to the armchair in the corner. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a few moments.” He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Y/N had seen Tom shirtless on screen before, but nothing compared to seeing his chiseled abs in person. Mmmph.

She mentally shook her head before placing Tom’s coffee on the dresser and sitting and taking a sip of her own, letting the warmth of the coffee calm her. Get it together, Y/N. You're here to do a job, not moon over your celebrity crush.

A couple of minutes later the door opened and Tom stepped out, fully dressed this time in a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a blue plaid button-down shirt. “So sorry about that. I was up late studying my lines so I got a bit of a late start this morning.”

Y/N checked the time as she stood. “It's ok, we have a couple of minutes to get downstairs.”

Tom hurried to drink his coffee then grabbed a hat and his sunglasses so he wouldn't be recognized, and he & Y/N made their way downstairs to the hotel lobby.

As soon as they stepped off the elevator, Y/N's phone buzzed with a text. “Perfect timing. The driver's here.”

They exited the hotel to find a nondescript newer model black town car waiting for them.

“Mr. Holland, Miss Y/L/N,” the driver greeted, shaking their hands briefly. “My name is James, and I'll be your driver to and from set while you're in town.” He stepped over to the car and opened the door for them.

“Ladies first,” Tom insisted, gesturing to the car.

Y/N slid into the back seat, Tom following behind her. They buckled in while James settled himself in the driver's seat.

“Okay,” James said once he had buckled in and eased the car into traffic, “we’ll have you at your destination in just a bit.”

Tom pulled out his phone and started scrolling through it, so Y/N took advantage of the silence to look out of the window. A few seconds later, her phone buzzed with a notification.

Instagram: tomholland2013 just posted a photo.

She glanced over at Tom, who had just put his phone away. She tapped on the notification and Tom’s Instagram popped up.

It was a selfie that he had obviously just taken, with the caption “On my way to set. Can’t wait for you all to see the finished product! #spidermanfarfromhome”.

She grinned over at Tom, who had been watching her. “You’re really good about keeping your fans in the loop.”

“You follow my Insta?” he asked with a smile.

“Yeah, I have for a while. I follow a lot of the Avengers cast.” Y/N shrugged, like it was no big deal.

Tom pulled his phone back out. “What’s your username? I’ll follow you back.”

Y/N gave him her Instagram username and sure enough, a few seconds later she received another notification.

Instagram: tomholland2013 is now following you on Instagram.

“I'm going to have to screenshot this momentous occasion so I can post it to my Insta,” Y/N joked.

Tom laughed. “I can do you one better. How about a selfie together?”

Y/N grinned and shook her head. “Nah, I'm not really going to post it. I wouldn't take advantage of your celebrity status just to gain a few Instagram followers.”

“Well how about just for us then?” Tom leaned closer to Y/N-- or at least as close as his seatbelt would allow him-- and pulled out his phone once again.

Y/N leaned in as well and smiled as Tom snapped a selfie of them together.

He texted it to Y/N and she saved it to her phone.

“All right, folks, we're here,” came James’ voice.

Y/N looked out the window. Sure enough, they had arrived at the set.

James stopped the car, got out, and opened the door for them, Tom sliding out first and Y/N following suit.

“Ok, so I just got the detailed schedule for today and it looks like it’s going to be pretty tight. You’ve got just enough time for hair, makeup, and wardrobe if you go right now. Filming is scheduled to run from 8:30 till noon when everyone will break for lunch for an hour, then it's back to filming until 5 pm.” Y/N looked at Tom. “Do you need anything right now? Coffee? Tea? Food?”

“Actually I'd love a croissant from the craft table if you wouldn't mind fetching me one,” Tom replied somewhat sheepishly. “ I could smell them when we walked in.”

Y/N nodded. “I'll go grab one and meet you in hair & makeup.”

“Thanks so much, Y/N.”

Y/N walked over to the craft table and grabbed a croissant for Tom as well as a muffin for herself and headed back to the hair and makeup room.

“Oh, darling, you’re a lifesaver,” Tom said, taking a bite of the still-warm croissant.

Y/N laughed. “It was no problem. Do you need anything else?”

Tom shook his head. “No, nothing else at the moment, thanks.”

“Um, ok then… I guess I’ll see you on set? I feel kinda weird just hovering while you’re trying to get ready.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Tom replied. “I’m almost done here anyway.”

His stylist dusted some sort of translucent powder on Tom’s face then finished taming his wild curls into Peter’s signature hairstyle. “Ok, you’re all set,” she said.

Tom hopped up. “Shall we?” he asked Y/N.

They made their way to wardrobe, where the wardrobe supervisor took a look at Tom, handed him a t-shirt to change into, then declared him ready for filming.

Tom unbuttoned his own shirt and took it off before carefully pulling the t-shirt over his head. “Ok, all set,” he said.

They then headed to set, stopping every so often for Tom to say hello to someone, including Jacob Batalon, who played Ned.

They finally made it to the set proper, where the director, Jon Watts, was wrapping up a conversation with a lighting tech. “Ok, fantastic. Thanks Josh.” He turned to Tom and Y/N. “Tom, my man! How's it going?”

Tom gave him a fist-bump/bro hug combination. “Jon, great to see you.” He gestured towards Y/N. “This is Y/N. She's my P.A. for the rest of the shoot.”

Jon shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Y/N replied.

Jon clapped his hands together. “Ok, let's get this show on the road! Places people!”

Y/N silenced her cell phone as everyone scrambled to get into their places and Jon called for quiet.

“And… action!”

Y/N watched in fascination as Tom seamlessly transitioned into Peter Parker. She had literally only known Tom a couple of days, but she could see how much of himself he put into the character.

They repeated the scene a few times from different angles, Tom and Jacob clowning around between takes.

Finally Jon called “cut” and broke for lunch.

Tom walked over to Y/N. “What did you think?”

“That was fantastic,” Y/N replied. “I can tell you really put thought into your portrayal of Peter.” She held out two bottles of water. “Oh, here. I thought you might be thirsty, but I didn't know if chilled or room temperature water was best.”

“Wow, thank you so much.” Tom reached for the room temperature bottle of water and took a swig. “Shall we get some lunch?”

“Oh, I figured you would want me to go pick you up something,” Y/N replied questioningly.

“We’ve only an hour, so there’s not a whole lot of time to actually go out. Lunch is usually catered in,” Tom explained.

“Well in that case, sure. Lead the way.”

Y/N and Tom hung out with Jacob and some of the crew during lunch, Tom introducing Y/N to everyone. Most of the crew had been together during the entire film shoot, some having also previously worked on Spider-man: Homecoming.

After lunch, a few more scenes were shot, and finally the set wrapped for the day.

Y/N waited near the entrance to the set and checked her email while Tom changed back into his button-down.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Y/N replied. “James is waiting out front.”

They made their way to where James was picking them up and had a comfortably quiet ride back to the hotel. They thanked James and headed through the hotel lobby to the elevators.

After they stepped onto the elevator and hit the button for their floor Tom asked, “so what are you planning on doing this evening?”

“Oh, probably just catching up on some reading,” Y/N replied. “You?”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, I was thinking about dinner?”

“Oh, yeah, ok. I can go back out to get you something once we get back to the hotel if you want to go back to your room and relax--”

Tom shook his head. “Actually I was thinking about the two of us having dinner, together. Even though last night was technically a meeting I really enjoyed your company. I eat alone so often that it’s nice to have some someone to chat with, y’know?”

Y/N felt bad for Tom. She couldn’t imagine having your every move scrutinized just because of who you were and not really being able to go out and enjoy life for fear of being mobbed. She thought a second. “Um, sure. Ok.”

“How does Italian sound? I know this fantastic restaurant not far from here. And don’t worry, it’s nothing overly fancy.”

“Italian sounds great.”

The elevator doors opened and Y/N and Tom stepped out into the hall, Tom turning towards Y/N with a grin. “I’ll come ‘round at say, 7?”

“Ok, 7 it is.”

“Fantastic. See you soon then.”

“See ya.”

Y/N watched Tom walk towards his room before heading to hers. As soon as she was in she pinched herself. Yep, this is real . She was actually going to dinner with Tom Holland! As friends, of course, but still… She sent Laura a quick text: Going out to dinner with Tom. More later! She plugged her phone in to charge before gathering the things she needed in order to shower and get ready.

Tagging: @thoughstofaredhead & @greenarrowhead

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #Tom Holland fanfic #Tom Holland RPF #Tom holland fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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