#there for the last six months like someone constantly picking at a wound | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

engagemachine · 3 years

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"You're so gentle," she tells me. They all say it. I hear it from my patients every time I take their arm to wrap the blood pressure cuff around it, or when I place my stethoscope on their belly, or when I rub circles into their back when I've helped them sit up on the side of the bed for the first time in three days. Sometimes they cry, because it's the first tender touch they've felt since they've been in the hospital. It's very humbling and at the same time very concerning -- why has no one else offered this tenderness to you? Why am I always the first?

But I don't feel gentle. Not when a pair of ribs are cracking beneath my hands as I'm doing chest compressions on a Covid patient who's stopped breathing--the second time I've administered CPR on a Covid patient in two days. I don't feel gentle when I'm wrestling with a patient and begging for them to keep their oxygen mask on. When I have to hold them down and hold them still so my coworker can draw a blood sample. I don't feel gentle when I'm inserting a nasogastric tube down someone's nose, then throat, and into their belly while they're gagging around the tube and their arms are flailing. And I don't feel gentle when I'm washing a sacral wound with bleach and they're crying because it hurts. I don't feel gentle when I have to shout, beg, and plead for patients to listen, when I tell patients they're going to die if they don't keep their oxygen mask on. I don't feel gentle when I have to place a patient in restraints, or when I call a family member and tell them that their loved one's condition hasn't improved. I don't feel gentle when a patient tells me they can't breathe, they can't breathe, I can't breathe, and I'm yelling for coworkers to call the doctor while I'm cycling through different oxygen masks and trying to administer medication to slow their respirations and calm their anxiety.

I'm writing this because I feel like I've been living a little bit behind a veneer on here, although I know deep down that's not really true; I have always wanted my blog to feel like a positive space for anyone and everyone, including myself. I come here to have fun and destress and that's why you usually don't see me reblogging content having to do with politics or global news. I think it's possible to create a healthy space where one does talk about those things and spreads awareness for important causes, but for me, Tumblr is where I come when I need to escape the harsh realities of real life. This is my platform where I can indulge in my fictional proclivities and interests, where I can appreciate art, photography, beautiful writing, my favorite films, music, and cute animals. That's what this space is about. I also have loved meeting new people and getting to know my readers and making new friends and chatting about my stories. That's why I'm here and I thank you all so, so much for indulging me in my passions and for encouraging my writing the way that you have: it has helped me weather the current storm of stress I am feeling in more ways than I could possibly convey.

But I have to be very honest with you all about how much I've been struggling lately, as I feel like I'm reaching a breaking point and I'm somewhat at a loss for how to handle it.

Since September of last year, I've been on an accelerated track to finish the degree I'm working towards, which is a Bachelor of Science in Nursing. I've been a nurse for four years, but I graduated from a two-year nursing program versus a four-year program because I wanted to get into the field earlier than some of my peers, which has been great. Anyway, my school counselor/mentor and I agreed that I could obtain my BSN in a year if I really pushed myself. The program I'm in is self-paced, which has been both a blessing and a curse. Most of my classes I have finished in about three to four weeks. Other classes, like biochemistry, took substantially longer, about seven or eight weeks, if I remember correctly. All of the classes have relied on my ability to self-teach, as there are no scheduled lectures to attend, only assigned readings and videos to watch, if you choose to do so. Fast forward to the end of May, when I went to visit some family, and, upon my return home, really started to lose some of my motivation to complete my classes. I was meant to finish my program in August (this month) but agreed with my mentor that I would take a short break and put my last three classes on hold so that I could resume the program in September. I've enjoyed approximately a month off from school, but "enjoyed" is a term I use loosely here as I was also picking up extra shifts at work because we've been so short staffed and losing nurses left and right.

Which brings me to the main cause of my stress. This pandemic has completely changed the landscape for how I administer care to my patients, and the stress of the care itself has been so utterly overwhelming at times I can hardly bear it. I broke down in tears at work on Sunday morning, shortly after 4:30 am, right there at the the nurse's station, and was sobbing so hard that my supervisor had to pull me away so that I could have some privacy. I wish I could tell you that I sobbed harder than I have in a long time--but I had sobbed at work with that same intensity just four weeks prior, only, I had been alone at the time. It's becoming a trend--I either cry at work or I cry at home--because the stress of this job has become unbearable.

I wish--I desperately wish--I could convey to you the seriousness of Covid. I think so much of the world has already decided to move on from it because they're so tired of having to deal with it and, quite simply, are ready to return to normal. I don't even know what normal is anymore and when--or if--we'll ever be able to return to it. And that has caused me a fair amount of stress and anxiety in and of itself. I miss traveling so much and I don't know when I'll be able to do it again. I haven't seen one of my best friends since the fall of 2018 for this reason, which kills me.

I've seen so much death. Transferred so many patients to the PCU and ICU. Frantically chased patients' oxygen saturation, trying to keep them from circling the drain. Being responsible for six or seven human lives at one time is a stress you cannot fathom unless you have done it yourself. I have cried with a patient, a young woman, who had lost her husband to Covid only hours before in the ER, a young woman who was now faced with battling Covid herself but also planning the funeral of her high school sweetheart from her hospital bed. I have wheeled a patient to the ICU so that he could say one final goodbye to his wife--married for over 50 years--before they pulled the plug and removed her from the ventilator. I have raced down the hallway with my patient on BIPAP, pushing his bed to the ICU and praying that he doesn't stop breathing on the way there. I've had to console crying family members over the phone who are worried about their loved ones, not to mention my crying coworkers who are as overwhelmed as I am. These are just a handful of experiences from the past month alone. There are so many more.

The discomfort of my job has become secondary. I expect, now, to be wearing an N95 for a full twelve or thirteen-hour shift because there isn't time to take it off. Not having a chance to pee or go to the bathroom during that time. Not drinking any water until I'm in my car and taking off my mask and finally taking a deep breath.

On a more personal note, I am continuing to lose weight and it's so discouraging. In high school I used to wear a size 2 or 4. Now, depending on the brand, I wear a double 00. My hair is falling out because of my stress. I haven't slept during the night in... I don't even know how long. I'm constantly tired. Exhaustion hits me like a great tidal wave and I am powerless to stop it. I expect now to crash during the middle of the day on my couch, only to wake up at 11pm and be wide awake for the rest of the night, and, if not wide awake, then in an out of nightmares and sleep paralysis. I have thought about leaving my job, but the idea of job hunting during a pandemic, and while I'm in school... it just makes me feel even more stressed.

I need a break, but it feels like there's nowhere to go to escape. I fantasize about some great adventure, going somewhere I've never been, but I also really miss my family and I'm scared to go home to visit.

This post doesn't really have a conclusive ending. I'm just exhausted and overwhelmed. Any prayers/thoughts would be greatly appreciated.

#text

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Drop off Point | SPN Brothers

Warnings; language, anger, arguing

There was no place like home, but the thing was, that you didn’t have one. Each day, you went from motel room to motel room, sometimes you would even sleep in the back of the impala, whist your brothers sat in the front, somehow gaining rest in those uncomfortable, upright positions.

Dad was gone, and left you primarily in Dean’s custody, and with having Sam back, he managed to get your brother to cut you some slack. Dean was a wreck without John, he was desperate to discover your father’s whereabouts, and his decisions made you feel as though you were not as desperate to find where he had gone.

Being a Winchester came with plenty of perks, you got to see so many places in a short span of time, it made it feel as though the world was underneath your fingertip. However, having the attributes of being a teenager, and a girl, didn’t mix well with your suggestions or desires to hunt for the parent that had raised you.

And that left you here, cruising in the backseat of Dean’s beloved vehicle, taking the turns to reach Bobby’s. The elder of your brother had said he needed to stock up on supplies, such as dead man’s blood and so on, in case he picked up on any monsters on his journey.

But the travel was not just his, you and Sam were there too. He had even gone to nab Samuel from his escape, and drag him into the putridness of this life once more, all for the man that spawned you all.

“Hey kid.” Bobby stepped down from his porch, his shoes crinkling upon the gravel. He greeted the boys with hugs, and a set smile occupied his face as he looked at you, it almost screamed relief. “I got everything you boys need, come on.”

The lot of you trailed after the elder hunter, who adjusted his baseball cap as he escorted the three of you into the main room, the devil’s trap brandishing the floor, and scurried piles of books taking up the rest of the space.

“Cool, you got the good stuff.” Dean clapped his hands together as he dug through the small arsenal, dragging out a small blade.

“That there was smelted with dead man’s blood, it’ll murder those suckers straight away.” Bobby spoke, watching as Dean pocketed some items. Sam dropped a bag on the floor, a guilty, disobedient dog expression clouding his face.

It wasn’t any bag, it belonged to you. The satchel contained a few articles of clothing that were clean and a couple of books that you had nabbed from libraries that you had passed through. “Why’d you bring that in?” You asked suspiciously, having an inkling of a feeling as to the reason.

“Sorry.” Sam muttered, he had truly missed you whilst he had been away, and he hated the idea of being subdued into saying goodbye. But this wasn’t his complete choice, your other sibling had entirely taken control of the decision.

“You’re staying here (Y/N/N), at least until we find dad.” Dean admitted, coming to walk closer to you to strangle you in an embrace, however, you were keen to take a step back, denying his request.

“This is ridiculous.” You scoffed, face red from hurt and anger. He had no right to swerve you from the path that you were hellbent on, it was not up to him. “I want to go with you!”

Perhaps it was a peculiar ambition, but in this life, family was everything. It was the code that you had been raised to, and you’d be damned if you were to insult it by giving it nothing but disregard. If it were you that were missing, everyone would be searching, Dean would send everyone out to enquire and look, no matter their gender or age.

And just because you were his sister, he thought that he could put his foot down. It never changed, he was continuously overprotective, it felt as though you were consistently travelling in a cage, a child lock on in the back seats of Baby, rather than being giving a sense of free will. Instead there was no freedom, only constricting bars that kept you in the line of sight and knowledge of your brothers.

“Well too bad sweetheart, you’re staying put here under Bobby’s supervision.” He retorted sufficiently pressing the sole of his shoe upon the wooden flooring on this matter. Dean wised not to argue, but it was where his conspiring opinion ended up taking the pair of you, Bobby scratched his head agitatedly, understanding the reasons for Dean’s red anger, however it was inevitable that one day, you’d be old enough to make your own decisions, and no doubt you would go head first into these dangerous situations. It was how he could tell how related you were to your brothers, even if you had a different mother from the infamous sons of John Winchester.

“Screw you Dean! You’re supposed to be the one looking after me, and here you are, loading me off to someone else. I hate you so much right now.” The words couldn’t be restrained, they tumbled out, and currently you couldn’t care less. Anger was taking the driver’s seat, and it was veering into a crash, one that Sam could see without his ‘psychic’ abilities.

“Don’t say that (Y/N).” Another order, how Dean like. It was such a typical trait that he reverberated from his chest, as though he was constantly the one in charge. The way he bossed people about was far too familiar, and it repulsed you. He was acting as another man in your life, the one that dragged the lot of you around like dogs, pulling on the leashes to keep you all in line.

“You’re not dad, so stop trying to be him!” Dean could only freeze upon receiving your words, as you heavily breathed, wound up from the spitting of conflicting interests. Another instant spewing of hurtful comments were attempting to be catapulted from the void of your mouth, but Sam hissed as he came to stand in front of you, clearly disappointed in your behaviour.

“You know (Y/N), I told Dean that he should give you a chance, although you deserve a life better than we got. Not because it could raise our chances and hopes of finding dad, but because it was what you wanted. But I’ve changed my mind, and I think you should stay here a while, until you are grown up enough to be on the road with us.”

His scolding made you bow your head down, almost ashamed of yourself, before you glanced at the trio of men in the room one last time, grabbing your man and escalating upstairs to a spare room. Sam gulped, knowing that he had silenced the poison in the blood you all shared, however he could only hope that you would understand why he was so inclined to get involved.

It caused him pain, knowing that you, his baby sister wanted to be neck deep in this chaotic life, when he had wanted out. The logic of it didn’t feel right, it only showed as evidence that you too had been brought up loved, yet in a toxic childhood. The inclination, the loyalty you had for fighting was a flaw, it was not something that hunters wanted to do, but instead rather something that they had to.

Sam sighed as he put the phone down in his lap, Dean was in the driver’s seat, his jaw clenched. “No answer?” He asked expectedly, to which the eldest received an affirmative nod. It was frustrating to know that this all uprose from them wanting to keep her safe.

“Bobby said that she’s okay.” Sam spoke in the music of the air con. “She’s actually getting pretty good at combat, hell it’s been six months. Her head is on straight, she knows that she’s good at what she’s doing. But-“

“She still refuses to speak to us.” Dean completed his sentence, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. His knuckles grew white from the pressure he held onto the remote with, his tongue clicking as he pushed away the guilt. That was only permitted recognition when he was alone, he’d never admit to anyone that he may have made a bad decision, all because his sister was alive and breathing, (Y/N) was okay, even if she refused contact with them.

“We should see her Dean.” Sam stated. He had wanted to for so long, he hated how absent the backseat was, and how there seemed to be a lack of the scent of female deodorant.

“Next stop, Bobby’s.”

#spn imagine #spn x reader #spn x Y/N #spn x you #spn fanfiction #spn one shot #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #supernatural x winchester reader #dean winchester imagines #dean x reader #winchester x reader #supernatural #imagines #spn reader insert #spn requests

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doitwritenow · 3 years

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And They Don’t Miss The Ground

Reposting this for organizations sake; I, uh, saw the prompt about the snap wiping out everyone, including Thanos, (barring Stephen and Tony) from @ironstrangeprompts (#976) and.... things happened...

Here’s a link to the prompt. And here’s my ramble!

<><><>

“We aren’t going back to Earth.”

Tony’s hands freeze atop the cold metal of the ship’s engine. It never seems to warm up under his hands--not as he works with it, not as he clings to it. Tony isn’t surprised. He hasn’t any warmth to give.

He turns, feeling his expression slide into something cold and dark. The damaged ship lights flash across the tall form standing in the broken doorway, and for a moment the shadows make its limbs seem clawed and disproportionate. Skeletal. It looks like the monster Tony know it is.

“Where were you?” Tony demands. He’s on his feet, and he doesn’t remember standing. He presses a hand to his side. Even after two months, his abdomen still aches where Thanos had impaled him, though the wound is long since healed.

The figure, the sorcerer, steps into the space. Strange looks awful--haggard and malnourished and somehow still glowing with that sense of knowing that had drawn Tony to him once, but now just makes him sick. Strange’s whole form is soaked in ash. He tracks it in from the barren land outside into the meticulously cleaned threshold of Tony’s ship, Tony’s lair. It feels like an invasion.

“Not far,” Strange says. He rests against the wall, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Not far? It’s been two months, wizard!”

Two months. Two months of dark anger and frozen loneliness, two months of being the last creature left alive. Two months of that hope Tony had tried so hard to coax dwindling to nothing--two months of slowly realizing that Strange hadn’t been lying. It truly is the whole universe, gone. The unlucky fifty percent didn’t happen to be everyone on Titan except the two of them, no. The two of them are all that’s left.

Tony still wakes up clawing at the ash he can feel on hands every single morning. He still wakes up praying this was all a cruel joke, a twisted reality. And he’s still wrong. Every single time.

This is the world he lives in, now.

The world this wizard chose.

“You were productive,” Strange says. He looks under his brows at the spaceship, stitched together under Tony’s hands for the last eight weeks.

“Yeah, I was,” Tony spits. “And where were you?”

“I told you.” Strange just looks at him, face impassive. Tony used to be certain there was a soul underneath there somewhere, after he’d seen it shining in sorrow and empathy. Now he isn’t sure. “I wasn’t far.”

That familiar, desperate rage curls through Tony’s throat. He jerks forward. His hands curl into fists, one of them still coated in nanotech. “You left me alone, Strange.”

Strange turns to face him fully--and Tony can see, then, the waxy burn scar that creeps around his left eye. “We both know I had to.”

He’s right--but Tony’s sick and tired of hearing about what he had to do. He’s sick of dreaming about those impossible eyes flickering to him as Strange offers the end of the world to Thanos on a silver platter. He’s sick of remembering the way Strange had knelt and watched Quill and Nebula and (Peter Peter Peter--) dissolve into nothingness, repeating “there was no other way” like that made any difference.

Tony had waited for Strange to disappear, too. Waited for there to be some fairness in the universe, some justice. But Strange hadn’t. He’d knelt there, solid and real and alive, and looked at Tony like he knew what was about to happen.

He’d let Tony take the shot. But he hadn’t let Tony finish the job, drawing one last handful of the ash that was all that remained of his Cloak through his fingers, and disappearing in a flash of orange magic. And he hadn’t come back.

He’d been gone, all the days when Tony needed to kill him. All the days when Tony needed him alive.

Tony should kill him now and complete his transition into the monster he can feel building beneath his skin.

Should kill him now and be truly and completely alone.

Tony turns away, shoulders falling. He twins his hands around the ship’s controls again, feeling the way the newly repaired engines purr at his commands. “I should leave you here,” he says.

Strange doesn’t answer. Tony wonders if he agrees.

There’s no one else in the universe.

Tony should leave and return to Earth to scavenge what little hope he can. Because he might be clinging to the dregs of his spirit, might be coughing up ash, but there’s one thing that the end of the world can’t strip from Tony Stark. It can’t take the fundamental in his ribs. He’s going to fix this. There’s no question in his soul, no question in his future--he’s going to fix this, or he’s going to die trying.

And there’s no one else in the universe.

“I’m taking off tomorrow morning,” Tony says, his voice flat and resigned. “Be on the ship if you want. See if I care.”

Then he turns on his heel and leaves to check the engines.

-----

Stephen only lets his form crumple when Stark has gone.

When the man’s footsteps are far enough away that Stephen’s constantly ringing ears can no longer pick him out, he finally sinks down against the side of the wall and buries his head beneath his arms. It’s so much warmer in here. Stephen swears he can sense the air touched by Stark’s body heat. Stephen’s even starting to shiver again, which is remarkable.

When Stark is gone, he tucks his shaking hands into his hair and lets the Count spill from his lips again. It isn’t pride that keeps him upright around Stark. It’s self-preservation, pure and simple and animalistic. If Stephen looks dangerous, looks like he might be some sort of threat, Stark is less likely to kill him. If Stephen offers some sort of use to the man, Stark is less likely to kill him.

Not that he shouldn’t.

But the universe isn’t about justice, anymore. Stephen doesn’t get the luxury of being killed by Tony Stark, of being redeemed. He has to save the universe.

He always has to save the universe.

Stephen sits and waits, listens for the next Scene. He prepares his lines, letting them assemble in his mind beneath the Count. The hours slip by to the deafening ringing in his ears. Slowly, the numbness starts to fade from his extremities, warmth sliding through his veins like fire.

It hurts. It hurts, and so it feels wonderful. Stephen sighs, clenching his fists tight to shock the pain intense enough he can feel it in his shoulders.

Then he lifts his head and looks around the ship. He’s left ashy footprints where he walked--after two months alone in Titan’s sands, he practically wears the stuff. He’s still alone--

Of course you are. There’s no one else, remember?

--and so he Counts out loud. He’s up to five million, one hundred and fifty-six thousand, seven hundred thirty-six, now, after two months. He has an infinite distance left to go. An infinite number of lives he took. They ring in his ears, even still.

Stephen stumbles a circuit around the room of the ship. This is the largest area, and it will do well for what he needs. Stephen picks out five relatively evenly spaced areas of flat metal. He scrapes some of the ash off his hand, then disconnectedly pats himself down until he finds the scabbed cut on his thigh were he’d sliced himself falling down one of Titan’s ravines. Digging his fingernails beneath the scab, he slicks his hand with blood.

Then he starts to write.

He’s on the fifth sigil when the voice shocks through his concentration. “What are you doing?” Stark’s furious tone demands.

The Count pauses itself in Stephen’s mind, and he buries thoughts and anticipation and frozen, frozen fear beneath the practiced lines of the Scene. “Blood runes,” Stephen says simply.

Footsteps tell Stephen Stark has stalked closer to him. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“They’re wards,” Stephen explains. “They complete an aura of protection. The strongest there is.”

“What do they have to protect against? You killed everything in the universe, remember?”

Stephen doesn’t flinch. “The energy of the creatures who died remains. It will manifest, when there’s no life around to absorb it. Much of what forms will be vengeful, built on the fear and anger of the last moments of the universe.”

“So they want to kill you.”

Stephen finishes the rune with a flick of his wrist. “Yes.”

Stark doesn’t dispute that they should. “But they aren’t a danger to me.”

“That’s correct,” Stephen says. His voice is empty. “With water and elbow work, these runes can be scratched away without issue, and you’ll be rid of me.”

Stark inhales--a shuddering breath of rage that makes Stephen’s shoulders tense instinctually. “I don’t let magic do my dirty work, Strange,” he hisses. “I don’t load the gun and hand it off to someone else. I don’t give the Stone away and let someone else snap.”

He scoffs, and its full of enough disgust that Stephen almost thinks he’s back in the cold of Titan again. “Do whatever you want,” Stark says. He turns, already stretched to his breaking point in Stephen’s presence.

Stephen waits for the last line. The end of the Scene.

“Finish your runes. Live, if that’s what you want.”

Stark’s words echo even after he’s gone.

Stephen looks after him for a long, long moment, trying to swallow down the bitter disappointment that Stark didn’t just kill him.

----

#look this fills me with UNIMAGINABLE inspiration #love it #fanfic #ironstrange #ironstrange fanfic #prompt #prompt fill #infinity war #tony stark #stephen strange #fanworkstuff

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wishfullyeternal · 3 years

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Remus Lupin- Changes in Blood

Words- 1274

Warnings- Graphic Descriptions of Gore, Violence, Self Harm, Neglect

*If you are suffering from anything of the above please exercise caution when reading this*

Holding Harry, trying desperately not to let him go, watching his best friend die, right in front of him.

Remus shouldn't be surprised, he's seen many people die right in front of him. It's the same every time, the single second of bliss before they turn into a shell of themselves, their souls already departed for the afterlife. He found comfort in their deaths, pondering their afterlife and how they would spend it. Randomly he would find himself imagining Sirius as his infamous dog form, running through the forbidden forest without a single care in the world.

He remembered so much, many call it a blessing but most of the time it was a curse to him. He remembered the pain of turning before Snape's potions, he remembers the crying and fights of his parents, deciding what to do with him for that month. One time he was locked in his room, another locked in the basement. One time he was even locked in a dog cage. That was the worst one, so many cuts were strewn upon his body and most of them left tangible scars that he would rub his fingers against, an agonizing memory following suit.

"Get in the cage Remus, it will help keep you safe" Remus couldn't understand, he was only seven. He hated himself and hated the pain that came with turning, the ways his bones would snap and form into lanky and horrible grotesque features. Fur began to cover his body, concealing his new scars for once, yet bringing a whole new host of problems. He was becoming feral, wanting the taste of blood in his mouth, and stopping at nothing to incite violence. He was a monster in his eyes, and everyone elses'. He wasn't someone plagued by a disease, he wasn't human, he was only a monster, and only a monster he would stay. The cage wasn't abnormally small and housed him quite comfortably if he were to curl up, much like a large dog, perhaps a Doberman, or a German Shepard. However, once he changed, it was a completely different story. His parents left him downstairs in the basement, leaving him in a corner to scream and cry.

"Mommy! Daddy! It hurts so bad! Please, please come back..." He kept saying things to try and comfort himself, knowing that nothing would come of it. Yet when he screamed for the last time before he turned, he couldn't help but feel anger and resentment towards his parents. In his adult life, he knew what they did was wrong, but he was just a kid. He was only five feet tall and hadn't even grown hair on his face.

His bones were beginning to stretch and twirl into places that they were never supposed to go. Fur beginning to cover his body, sprouting like grass on a rainy spring day. He was sweating from the energy taken to become this monster, and gasped at the teeth that began to grow, overtaking his canines and making them double the length, digging into the flesh of his gums and causing him to wince in pain. Claws began to form at his fingertips, and his eyes were pinned, his pupils the size of the head of a needle. They were a stark yellow, much different from the warm light brown they were before. He couldn't think straight and was pummeled with thoughts of blood and clawing at flesh. Wanting to feel the stringy muscles between his claws and seeing blood cover his hands. Wanting to feel the veins beneath his fingers, and struggling to contain the bloodlust that consumed him. He wanted to feel the warmness, the tackiness, and stickiness of the blood. He yearned for the metallic tang the air had when blood was shed, and couldn't help but put a sharp claw to his arm, lightly scratching it and watching tiny droplets form at the cut. He put his finger to the cut and wiped the blood onto his fingertips, watching as the blood traveled through the tiny grooves that made his fingerprint. He smeared it across his other finger and yearned for more.

"Fuck," He whispered, a new word that he accidentally had learned from his parents, pulling at his new fur. A headache began to ring through his head, constantly banging with the beat of his heart. The way the pain would radiate slowly, starting with the beginning of the beat, peaking, and then slowly decaying at the start of the next beat. Never-ending and never more painful than turning, yet it still managed to bring him to scratch at his face, desperately wanting to distract himself from the pain, even if it meant giving himself more pain. He had accidentally scratched too hard, and blood began to ooze from the wound, flowing through the wrinkles in his skin, and ending up down his neck and staining his already stretched shirt.

My birthday is March 10th

I am seven

I like books and candy

I like chocolate frogs and love my Mommy and my Daddy

He said this to himself over and over again, rocking back and forth, and wiping the blood off his face.

He's now thirty-six, and still has the scar from that night. Barely visible, faded through the years, and covered by a couple of other deeper scars in the same area, both from different changes. Every night, he holds a stillness in his heart that will never move. He watched the moon rise and fall in the sky, illuminating the soft glow of starkly off-grey concrete that covered the outside of 12 Grimmauld Place. His breath is uneasy, and he can almost taste the tension he created in himself, because he knows he's going to turn soon, the full moon almost upon him in a few day's time. Yet he didn't take the potion, and he didn't restrain himself. Remus Lupin simply stayed, sat down onto the creased leather couch, running his hand through his hair, and lightly tracing the scars across his body, a nervous habit he picked up.

Remus Lupin misses Sirius Black.

Remus Lupin doesn't take the potion because he knows that his mind would be filled with memories of Sirius, of Padfoot.

Remus remembers how distinct Sirius's footprints were as a dog. Toes slightly turned out, claws lightly dragging onto the ground, and the print of his paw, Remus memorized the look of his pawprint.

Remus doesn't take the potion because thinking of blood and violence is so much better than thinking of Padfoot.

Watching the scene replay again and again in his head, the rolling back of his beloved friend's eyes as he passes into the veil.

Remus didn't get to say goodbye, he was holding James back.

No, not James, Harry...

Remus regularly made that mistake, especially when he was Harry's professor.

Yet here he was, crying silently at the idea that he could never tell Padfoot that he loved him, that he was in love with him. Making sure to inflict pain upon himself because god that is so much better than thinking about him.

Remus couldn't even look at dogs anymore, and one time, far after the death of Sirius, Harry and Remus were speaking. In the background, a dog barked and for the slightest second Remus perked up, pondering the idea that his old friend may not be dead. His eyebrows raised and eyes wide, looking widely for the source of the sound.

He would end up looking at the ground for the rest of the conversation. Until he found somewhere he could be alone and ponder the thought of his friend.

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romeoandjulietyouwish · 3 years

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I’ve Been Looking for the Sunshine

For @baloobird (@friendly-neighborhood-exchange)

Rating: G

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Ben Parker

Summary: Eleven years after the death of his parents and two years after the death of his uncle, Peter finds comfort in Tony Stark.

Prompt: Peter has a rough day at school so Tony picks him up early and finds a way to cheer him up.

Tag List: @justrepostandlove @gasplaughgasp @canonismybitch @shadedrose01 @baloobird @whatisawilltolive @a-liddell-alice @you-know-i-larb-you-3000 @hold-our-destiny @lyssismagical @spideygirl2003 @make-the-stars-stay @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed @iron-loyalty Read on ao3

Richard Parker was twenty four years old when his wife handed him a pregnancy test with a pink plus sign on it. He felt his face break into a wide grin and he scooped her into his arms with a laugh.

He was twenty five years old when he held his baby boy for the first time and he fell instantly in love. Up until he held his son in his arms, he had been nervous that he would be a terrible father and that he had no idea what he was doing. But looking down at little Peter, Richard knew that he’s mess up a thousand times, he would never be the perfect father, but as long as Peter knew he was safe and loved, it didn’t matter.

When a baby is born, there’s a few days before it really seems like they’ve gained consciousness. Richard got to witness that moment. He leaned over Peter’s crib and saw his boy looking back up at him. Peter’s face broke into a wide, gummy smile and blinked happily up at his dad. Richard was honest enough to say he cried and immediately called Mary into the room.

“Mom and I will just be gone for a few days, okay?” Richard asked. Peter nodded. “Remember to be good for Uncle Ben and Aunt May.” Another nod. “Good boy,” Richard patted Peter’s cheek affectionately. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Peter frowned, “Promise?”

Richard smiled, “I promise.” He pulled Peter into a hug, pressing a kiss to his son’s curly mess of hair. When Peter pulled back, Richard did as well. He pressed another kiss to Peter’s forehead. “I love you, buddy. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

Ben Parker was twenty six years old when he got a phone call telling him his brother and his sister-in-law had died in a plane crash. He was twenty six when he became the legal guardian of his nephew, Peter.

It was no surprise to May or Ben that Richard and Mary’s death hit Peter hard. But with a child suddenly being put into their care, they couldn’t afford to put Peter through any sort of grief counseling. Many nights a week, Ben would sit with Peter in his bed, trying desperately to get the kid to fall asleep. Often times only for Peter to wake up in the middle of the night asking for his parents through thick curtains of tears.

When Ben was thirty three, Peter turned thirteen and Ben realized that he had now been Peter’s guardian longer than Richard had been his dad.

When Peter was fifteen years old, he watched his uncle die. He watched rain spread the blood down the pavement, making the wound almost look clean. But Peter knew better. He held his uncle’s hand while he died, ambulance sirens roaring from blocks away.

With his last moments, Ben reached a hand up to Peter’s cheek and said painfully, “You’re going to be okay, kid.”

Peter clutched Ben’s hand to his cheek. He wanted so desperately to apologize, to thank him, to say anything, but Peter couldn’t find the will in him to make more than a strangled sound as he desperately hugged his uncle.

Ben was gone before the ambulance even reached them.

Peter is seventeen years old and he doesn’t know if he can manage to pull himself out of his bed.

But he hears May moving in the kitchen and if she can do it, so can he. She was the one that really knew them, not Peter. So with a heavy sigh, Peter sits up and pulls open his blinds. The sky is covered with a thick layer of clouds. Good, Peter thinks, he doesn’t know if he could have handled sunshine today. Peter takes his time getting ready for school, fog weighing heavily on his mind.

When he makes his way into the kitchen for some breakfast, May stops where she’s pouring herself a glass of water and envelops Peter into a hug. On days like today, Peter wishes he hadn’t had his growth spurt so he would fit perfectly into her arms. But he settles for just putting his head on her shoulder. When they pull apart, May gives him a sad look.

“You sure you want to go to school today?” May asks.

“Yeah,” Peter shrugs her worries off. “It’ll be good to get out of the apartment.”

“Okay, baby.”

Peter walks slowly to school, barely making it to first period in time. Both Ned and MJ give him supportive smiles as he sits down. The first part of the day passes like a blur, Peter couldn’t say a single thing that happened to him. He knew that Ned was constantly a pillar at his side, squeezing his hand occasionally. And for all her snark, MJ was taking care of him too. It didn’t escape his notice that she was taking notes for him in all of their classes.

That is until Peter finds himself alone in the hallway, Ned and MJ having split off to their respective classes, leaving Peter to find his on his own. He just ducks his head and keeps walking, muscle memory taking him to his next class. Out of nowhere, someone shoves him and slams him up against the lockers, keeping him there with their forearm.

Flash looks at him with a smirk, “What’s wrong with you, Penis?”

Peter sighs, “You ask me that every day. What do you want to make fun of me for this time?” Peter asks, his voice almost dead pan. “I’m scrawny? I’m smart? I’m ace? Pick your poison.”

Flash looks at him in confusion, but before the bully can say anything, Peter shoves Flash off of him, using just enough of his super strength to make him stumble. With that Peter walks down the now empty hall. But before he can get very far, someone grabs on to his backpack, yanking him backwards.

Peter lets out a noise of surprise as suddenly a fist collides with his cheek. Normally, Peter’s spider-sense would warn him of something like that, but not in this moment. The punch impacts Peter more than he expected and he goes crashing back into the lockers. Some sick part of Peter’s mind tells him that he deserves it.

Peter sees the second punch coming and dodges out of the way. At this point, Peter is far too mentally exhausted to deal with any more of Flash’s shit so he jumps to his feet and runs straight out the front doors of the school.

He thinks about calling May, but Peter decides against it and instead plops down on the cold stairs. The sting of the punch is already fading back into the dull numbness he’s been feeling all day. Peter doesn’t know how long he sits on the steps of the school. No one approaches him and no one passing on the street spares him a passing glance.

The cloud breaks after a little bit, allowing the sun to pass over the city. Peter sags a bit further, of course the sky is taunting him. But he is pulled from his thoughts only moments later when a sleek black car rolls up in front of Midtown and from the driver’s side steps out Tony Stark. He gives Peter a wave and beckons him over.

Peter goes eagerly and sits in the passenger seat, shoving his backpack by his feet. “What are you doing here?” Peter asks once Tony is sitting back down.

“May called, said you were probably having a rough day and she wanted me to pick you up early.”

“Oh.” Peter pulls his feet up onto the seat and tucks his knees to his chest. He glances over at Tony and sees an expression of pity and concern on his face. “She told you what today is, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, kid.” Tony reaches over and squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Peter shakes his head and looks out the window, “All I want to do is not exist.”

Tony sighs, “I understand the feeling, kiddo. But I’m afraid that’s not possible with our current technology. Would you settle for some ice cream and maybe a movie or two?”

“Cookie dough?” Peter asks quietly, glancing back at Tony.

Tony smiles, “What other flavor is there?” A faint smile crossed Peter’s lips.

Once they get to the tower and up to the living room, Tony lovingly forces Peter to sit on the couch while he goes and gets the ice cream from the freezer. Peter immediately tugs the softest blanket into his lap and toes off his shoes. When Tony sits down beside Peter, the boy instantly curls into his mentor’s side, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder and his knees against Tony’s stomach. Six months ago Peter never would have fathomed being this openly affectionate with Tony, but now Peter couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Tony wraps his arms around the boy’s shoulders and hugs him closer.

As Peter takes his first bite of ice cream, he suddenly feels just a little bit better. The cold ice cream starts to clear some of the fog from his mind.

While Peter eats, Tony picks a movie. It’s something animated, light and not too deep. Perfect. It doesn’t escape Peter’s notice that Tony has the volume just low enough that if Peter wanted to say something he could.

While the opening credits roll, Tony reaches up and begins to run his fingers through Peter’s hair. Peter preens into the touch and sags further into Tony’s side. Peter says nothing for a while, but it’s clear that he’s clearly thinking deeply about something.

“Tony?” Peter asks softly when the movie’s almost over.

“Mmhm?”

“Do you think my parents are mad at me?”

Tony frowns and rubs his arm, “Why would you think that, buddy?”

Peter shugs, “Because I don’t remember them. They died eleven years ago and all I could do today was try to remember them. I only know what they look like because May shows me pictures sometimes, but I don’t remember the sounds of their voices and I don’t remember anything we did together, I-I don’t even remember the last thing they said to me. I-”

Peter cuts himself off with a sob that tears Tony’s heart in two. Tony immediately sits up and crushes Peter to his chest. Peter clings to his mentor just as tightly, sobbing into his shirt. “I’ve got you, bambino.” Tony gently runs his fingers through Peter’s hair, rocking him slightly back and forth. Tony whispers words of comfort to the boy.

After a few minutes, Peter lifts his head, wipes his nose on his sleeve and murmurs, “Sorry.”

“Hey,” Tony squeezes his shoulder, “you never need to be sorry for crying, okay?” Peter nods shakily and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Can I tell you something?” Peter nods. “I don’t remember much about my mother either. I have a few memories, but I know that my mother would never be upset with me for not remembering. I think she’d be happy that I’m moving on with my life. I didn’t know your parents, or your uncle, but I know that if I were to die, I wouldn’t be upset about people forgetting me. I’d be happy that they kept living.” Tony gives Peter a sad smile.

“Listen, kid, when someone passes, the last thing they want is for the people who love them to stay in their sadness forever. I bet that your parents and your uncle are so proud of the person you’ve become.” Tony squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “It’s okay to be sad and it’s okay to still feel grief over their deaths, but it’s also okay to keep living. Because the people who’re gone aren’t really ever gone, right?” Peter nods tearfully and tucks himself back into Tony’s arms.

Tony leans back, pulling the kid to rest more on his chest. “It’s going to be okay, bambino, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

Richard, Mary, and Ben are gone. They’re gone but they’ve never stopped loving their son and their nephew. They’ve watched Peter grow up and start to change the world around him. And though they wish they could be there with him to hug him and tell him it’ll be alright, they know that in time they’ll all be together again. And while they wait for him, they’re content to know that Tony Stark is taking good care of him.

#my fic #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #irondad fic #spiderson #spiderson fic

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melwilson · 3 years

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do it again - clay spenser x reader

To say you were surprised when Clay showed up at your door was an understatement. He was dressed casually in a black tee shirt and blue jeans. A nervous look covered his face, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His eyes scanned the length of your body and you were suddenly self conscious of the shorts and sweatshirt that you had chosen to wear that day. It had been a minute since the last time you two had seen each other. It was a right person, wrong time type of situation that left you both empty and alone. That was almost six months ago. Since then the two of you had only spoken a few times when he was leaving for deployment. In complete honesty, you missed Clay, but you wanted the timing to be right. You wanted to be able to support him fully while he was serving. When you first met, you were finishing school, trying to move out of your parents house, in the process of getting a job. Life was...busy, too busy for a relationship. Now, things had finally began to settle down allowing you catch a breath and take a break.

“Clay, hi.” Your voice was soft as you greeted the seal. Your familiar smile caused Clay’s heart to skip a beat as he sent you a soft smile back. “You, uh, you wanna come in?”

He nodded and you opened the door a little wider allowing him to step inside. His eyes raked over your apartment. The dark blue pillows complimented the light gray couch in the middle of the living room. Your computer and a notebook sat on the glass coffee table next to a cold cup of tea. You had always gotten too caught up in work to eat, something that Clay was constantly reminding you of. He followed you into the kitchen where he sat down at the island, taking the bottle of water you handed to him.

“So, what’s the latest with Clay Spenser?” you asked tugging on your hoodie strings. It was a habit you had when you were nervous or anxious.

“Nothing much. I got about three months off before my next deployment, thought I’d come see my favorite girl.” The light blush covering your cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by the blonde. “What about you? How’s your family? How’s work?”

You sighed hopping onto the granite counter top. “I’ve been doing alright. Work is good, keeping me busy though...but at least I’m not bored.” Clay let out a soft laugh, nodding for you to continue. “My family is doing good too. They ask about you from time to time.” Your family had loved Clay and your mom was almost positive he was going to put a ring on your finger one day, but you guys never made anything official.

“I miss seeing them.”

“They miss seeing you. You should come over for dinner sometime. They’d love to have you there.” You had missed Clay more than anyone, except maybe your mom. You swore she would drop your dad in a heartbeat for Clay’s baby blue eyes. You watched as Clay remained silent, his hands rubbing the material of his jeans. “What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“There’s nothing wrong, Y/n.”

You shook your head, knowing that the blonde was lying. “Clay, you don’t have to lie to me. You’re doing that thing with your hands and biting your lip which you only do when you’re nervous.” You made your way over to the other side of the counter, sitting down next to the seal. “You can talk to me.”

The blonde sighed. The last week had been tough and the last thing he wanted was to be a burden. “I- um, I kinda need a place to stay...until I can get back on my feet. You’re the only person here that I could think of. I’d ask one of my teammates but they all have families. Living with my dad is not an option and neither is living in a crappy apartment 30 minutes away from base. I understand if-“

You placed a hand on Clay’s shoulders grabbing his attention. “You can stay here for as long as you need to.” You had a spare bedroom and if you needed a place to stay, you knew Clay would be the first to offer up his home. “Let’s get you settled in, yeah?” The blonde followed you down the hall to the room across from yours. It was simple and clean, just like Clay liked it. A flatscreen sat ontop of the dresser across from the bed. “Everything is empty. There’s towels, soap...pretty much anything you could possibly need in the bathroom and closet.”

“Thank you for doing this, Y/n.”

“Anything for you, Clay.”

The first two weeks of Clay staying with you was spent with you tiptoeing around each other. You both wanted to give the other space, not be a bother. Clay spent a lot of time trying to figure out your routine. You woke up between nine and ten every morning, made yourself a cup of coffee, watched the news, before making breakfast for both Clay and yourself if he wasn’t gone. You’d start your work day around eleven, answering emails. You were a travel nurse recruiter which required you to be on the phone almost 24/7. When Clay left, you were on the phone and when he got back you were on the phone. He admired you for being such a hard worker. You just wanted to make the lives of your travel nurses easier.

After the first couple of weeks, you two became more comfortable around each other.

“How was work?” Clay asked, shutting your front door. He noticed that your computer was shut and your eyes were glued to whatever Netflix show was playing on the TV.

“Exhausting,” you sighed. “What about you?”

“Have you eaten?” You rolled your eyes giving Clay your answer. “Y/n, if you’re going to overwork yourself, you have to at least promise me that you’ll eat.” He walked over to you placing a kiss on your forehead. “What do you want to eat? I’ll go pick you something up.”

“I’m alright, Clay.”

“Burgers it is. C’mon. You’re coming with me.” The blonde grabbed your hands pulling you to your feet. A small smile tugged at your lips. Clay was so kind and his love for people was so great. Despite everything that had happened to him, his heart was still so full. Slipping on your shoes, you let Clay drag you to the car your fingers intertwined with his. Even after you had gotten into the car, his hand found yours. You were kinda surprised. Over the past few weeks neither of you had engaged in physical contact, not knowing where the line crossed. However, you didn’t mind. In fact, you couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t love the way Clay’s hand felt in yours.

The burger joint in downtown Virginia Beach was pretty busy, but the wait allowed you to take in the beauty around you. You hadn’t left your apartment much lately and it wasn’t until now that you realized you needed to get out more. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky a fast canvas of pinks, oranges, and blues. The sight nearly took your breath away. As more and more people crowded the downtown area, Clay had made his way behind you, his front pressed against your back. His arms hung over your shoulders, your hands playing with his as you waited for your names to be called.

“Thank you for getting me out of the house. I needed that,” you said softly sliding into the passenger seat. You had decided to stay and eat outside of the burger shack instead of taking it back to the apartment. The two of you talked about everything you could think of, from family to high school memories.

“You’re welcome,” Clay replied. “Um, hey, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“My dad is on his book tour and he’s stopping here tomorrow night. He wants me to go, but I- I can’t go alone.” You knew how broken Clay’s relationship was with his dad. His family had always been a touchy subject.

“I’ll be there.”

You hadn’t met Clay’s dad until that day. The amazing Ashland Spenser didn’t seem to be all that amazing. The intro that was given portrayed the former seal as someone to be worshipped. No wonder all the guys gave Clay a hard time.

“Well, who do we have here?” Ash asked, extending his hand to you. “Clay didn’t tell me had a girlfriend.”

“Oh..we’re not dating. I’m Y/n, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.” You shook the older man’s hand gently, sending him a small smile. Clay was quick to wrap his arm around your waist, tugging you into his side.

“She’s a beauty, son. Thanks for coming out tonight. Dinner soon?” Clay nodded and Ash offered him a pat on the back before excusing himself.

The blonde was quiet most of the way home. He had given you the keys to drive, so you knew that he just needed sometime to think. After you had gotten to the apartment, he silently made his way to his room and shut the door. You respected that Clay needed his space. He hadn’t seen his father in months and you knew it probably opened up old wounds. Ones that Clay thought he would have to stitch up on his own. It was over an hour later when you heard the door to Clay’s room open. You were busy over the stove cooking Clay’s favorite meal in hopes that it would cheer him up.

“It smells good in here,” the blonde complimented, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. The action made your heart skip a beat as you relished in Clay’s warmth.

“I’d hope so. I made it for you.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know,” you said cheekily turning around in Clay’s arms.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “And the guys call me cocky.”

“You do come off as very self-obsorbed,” you said, as a matter of factly. Clay let out a soft laugh before letting his eyes settle on yours. “You alright?”

He knew you were referring to his dad. “Yeah, I just- seeing my dad leave just reminds me that he didn’t even try to mend things when I was younger. Now, it feels forced...like he’s doing it because it looks good.”

“I’m sorry that you have to go through that, Clay.”

“Don’t apologize for something you can’t control. I’m better of without him. Besides, I’ve got everything I need right here.” The blonde squeezed your waist, tugging you closer. You two were so close that you could see the specks of greens laced in Clay’s blue eyes. You raised your head slightly, your lips brushing over the blondes. Your breath hitched in your throat as Clay’s fanned out over your face. “I- um, I’m gonna kiss you now,” Clay informed, his voice deeper than normal.

Before you could get out a reply, Clay’s lips were pressed against yours. Your lips moved together in sync, your head hazy, the feeling of Clay’s body pressed against yours clouding your mind. His hands ran the length of your torso before they settled underneath your shirt, fingers digging into your hips. You let out a groan as he pulled away, pulling his face to yours again. He laughed against your lips, placing a few pecks on the swollen skin before resting his forehead on yours. Yours eyes fluttered shut as he trailed a few kisses down your neck before meeting your lips again.

“What the hell?” Your voice was shaky as you spoke.

“What?”

“You just kissed me,” you replied.

“And I will do it again,” Clay shot back quickly, a smug smile playing on his lips.

“Please do.”

And he did.

••••

taglist! @lotsoflovefromlea @tvseriesimagine @dilangleywritesfanfic

if you were tagged it’s because i was looking for seal team fics and you guys were all that i could find! i figured i would share the love. i hope you all enjoyed this!!

#clay spenser #seal team #seal team cbs #jason hayes #ray perry #sonny quinn #max theriot

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

26 + 70 please! I'm loving these!

Anonymous asked: 89 + 70 to ease ur boredom?

26. Massage Fic + 70. Locked in a Room + 89. First Time

from fanfiction trope mash-up prompts here

some VERY OLD prompt fills I never got around to finishing! im talking like 3 years old. better late than never? this fic has a similar conceit to this one I posted last year, but it’s not like newt and hermann aren’t probably quarantining themselves constantly after lab accidents LMAO. sexy/not SFW stuff under cut

—————————————————————————————

“Mandatory isolation,” Newton says. “This blows.”

Hermann says nothing, choosing instead to aggressively turn a page in his book. He’s already said plenty to Newton on the subject, and he doesn’t imagine anything he has to say now will provide any new insights, or indeed even be moderately politer. Newton has—really, really—royally screwed things up this time. More than anything he has before. Hermann finds his anger over it all to be quite righteous, really. “Hm,” he hums instead. He turns another page.

“One whole week,” Newton says. “Locked in, nothing to do…”

Hermann grits his teeth. Truthfully, the book is for show, and for the excuse to ignore Newton, but it’s very hard to pretend to concentrate on it when Newton won’t stop talking to him. It’s especially irritating considering Newton is saying absolutely nothing of value. Then again, when is he ever? “Is there something you’re trying to say to me?” Hermann says.

Newton shakes his head. He’s playing with one of the little stress toys he keeps in his desk (a large foam strawberry), squeezing it over and over. “Oh, nothing. Just trying to make small talk.”

One whole week, locked inside the laboratory after one stupid little mistake meant Newton’s scalpel slipped where it shouldn’t have on his kaiju sample. One whole week of bloody self-isolation to make sure they don’t…infect the Shatterdome with anything they might’ve picked up in the resulting explosion. Not even a day in and Newton is already acting up. Kaiju withdrawal, perhaps, having been explicitly forbidden from working on any new samples until their containment passes. Squeeze. Squeeze. Hermann flips another page in his book. Newton clears his throat. “I know you’re not actually reading that,” he says.

“Aren’t I?” Hermann says.

Newton tosses the foam strawberry in the air with one hand and catches it with the other. “Tell me one thing that’s happened so far in it. Actually—tell me the title.”

“The title,” Hermann says, “is—”

“And no peeking,” Newton says.

This stumps Hermann. He slams the cover shut and makes to chuck the whole thing at Newton’s head, but decides better of it. He could get written up for workplace violence or some rubbish of that sort. Plus, without access to medical until the end of the week, Hermann would be the one who had to tend to any resulting wounds. Not worth it. “Fine,” he says. “I’m not reading it. Are you pleased, now that you have my undivided attention?”

Squeeze. “I guess,” Newton says. He smiles at Hermann. “Want me to suck your dick?”

This the last thing Hermann expects to hear. He startles; he blushes; he stammers; he nearly falls off his chair. Surely he must’ve misheard Newton—or, if he didn’t, surely Newton is teasing him. Newton has never done anything of that sort to Hermann before. Nor has he ever offered. It’s simply not how their relationship works. “I,” he says. “What?”

“Do you want a blowjob?” Newton says. So Hermann didn’t imagine it. “I just thought, since we’re both stuck here and bored as shit, may as well have some fun. People tell me I’m pretty good at it.”

“Good at—what?” Hermann says.

“At sucking dick,” Newton says. “Obviously.”

Hermann wonders what the appropriate response here is. Certainly he would like nothing more than to take Newton up on the offer and forget all his annoyances for a few wonderful minutes, or rather, to take his annoyances out on Newton’s never-ceasing mouth. If Newton’s offer is serious, Hermann is sure such an acceptance would be welcome. If Newton is not serious—if he means it as a joke—it could only lead to humiliation for Hermann. Something for Newton to hold over his head for the rest of the week. Hermann really thought Newton would suck him off? But the temptation of getting Newton’s mouth on him is too much for Hermann to resist, and he really is quite bored: he nods, shyly, and legs his legs part open an inch.

Newton grins.

He tosses his stress toy to his desk and gets down on his knees in front of Hermann with an admirable speed. Not saying a word, he settles his hand on Hermann’s thigh, then creeps his fingers along Hermann’s right inseam. “I bet it’ll make you feel better,” he says. “It’s gonna make me feel better. When’s the last time someone blew you, Hermann?” He fixes his eyes on the vee of Hermann’s parted legs, where the fabric of his trousers is tightening none-too-subtly at the mere notion of what Newton is offering. Hermann makes a weak show of closing them. He swallows a few times.

“I don’t, ah—I don’t remember.” Newton’s wandering fingers stop just before where Hermann wants them most, then skip over to the left side. “A few months. Years. Newton, I must—must ask—why are you…?”

Newton shrugs, and begins rubbing circles across Hermann’s inner thigh. “I’ve been thinking about how to get you to stop being pissed at me all day, and honestly, this seemed like it would work. Pretend it’s an apology or something. Man, Hermann, you’re tense.”

“You have no one to thank for that but yourself,” Hermann says. He shuts his eyes with a groan when Newton squeezes his left thigh like it’s his bloody stress toy. “By Jove, Newton, that feels marvelous.”

“Tense,” Newton says. “I told you. You don’t need a blowjob, dude, you need a goddamn massage.” He braces a hand on each of Hermann’s thighs and begins to work them over—clumsily, since (for all his skills in human biology) Newton is hardly a masseuse, but far better than anything Hermann could do all the same. Hermann sinks lower in his seat and muffles another embarrassing noise behind his hand. “Luckily, though,” Newton says, “I’m gonna give you both, because I’m an awesome lab partner. Let me know if something starts to hurt.”

Newton begins to focus his efforts on Hermann’s left leg, avoiding his knee at first, and then tentatively working his fingers over it as well. Hermann wonders if Newton can feel the scar tissue beneath his fingertips, or if Hermann’s trousers are acting as buffer enough for it. Hermann begins to sag in his chair. He feels positively boneless. He also feels that if Newton does not move those fingers (or, better yet, and as promised, his mouth) to his rapidly-stiffening prick soon, he’ll positively burst. “You enjoying yourself?” Newton says.

“Mm,” Hermann says. “Though, Newton—I don’t mean to be impolite, as I’m awfully grateful for this, but…”

Newton laughs, and with a final parting squeeze to Hermann’s leg, moves those lovely fingers to Hermann’s belt buckle and fly instead. “I got you, man.”

Hermann opens his eyes (not fancying missing this) and watches with bated breath as Newton draws down his trousers to settle comfortably at Hermann’s knees. He nearly blushes at the sight of his white boxer briefs, not just for their plainness, but for how badly they hide how wet his prickhead is already. Newton must feel Hermann’s eyes on him; he shoots Hermann a wink, and, not breaking eye contact, leans forward to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Hermann through his briefs.

Immediately Hermann clamps a hand down over his mouth to keep from shouting. He feels Newton laugh again, a vibration that thrums in the pit of Hermann’s stomach, and he pushes his hips eagerly up towards Newton’s mouth. Newton darts his tongue out this time, dampening the fabric of Hermann’s briefs further. Then he tucks their elastic waistband down below Hermann’s prick. “I didn’t expect it to look like this,” he says, and grazes his thumb idly across the head. He pulls it away sticky, and Hermann whimpers.

He moves his hand from his mouth long enough to say, “Have—have you thought about it often, then?” He means it teasingly—to regain some ground from Newton, some sliver of self-respect—but his voice trembles, and Newton’s grin returns with a certain lasciviousness to it that it’d not held before, and Hermann knows he’s merely given Newton more ammunition. He licks Hermann’s precum off his thumb. Hermann shivers.

“Oh, sure,” Newton says. “I jerk off thinking about your dick all the time.” He flicks his tongue over Hermann and makes a satisfied little noise, his eyelashes fluttering. He leaves another sucking kiss further down Hermann’s prick. Then another back up at the top. His fingers (Hermann notices vaguely, as if through a heavy fog) have begun rubbing soothingly at Hermann’s left hip. Hermann can only take so much: when Newton finally gets his whole mouth on him, two pink lips circling just under his head, Hermann grips blindly at Newton’s hair and comes down Newton’s throat with a muffled grunt. He feels Newton choke, but swallow it all down.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, when he finally finds himself able to speak. “I ought—ought to have warned you.”

But Newton merely wipes his smug little mouth on the cuff of his sleeve and waves Hermann off. “I’m just that awesome, huh?” he says. He gently tucks Hermann back into his briefs, then does up his trousers. “It’s cool. It was pretty hot, actually.” Once he finishes looping Hermann’s belt, he stands and stretches his arms above his head with a groan. “Hey, you want some coffee?”

“Coffee?” Hermann says, dizzily.

“Yeah, I was gonna brew a pot,” Newton says. “Get the taste out of my mouth and everything.”

Hermann blinks at him. Newton’s rather thrown him for a loop. Aren’t these sorts of things meant to be reciprocated? Hermann didn’t mean to assume—but he really was looking forward to the chance to, er, give Newton a similar favor. Very much looking forward to it. “That’s it, then?” he says.

“We have six days to go, dude,” Newton says. “No need to rush anything, right? We can work on your,” he smirks, “endurance after lunch.”

“Oh,” Hermann says. He considers it. “Coffee would be nice, then.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #robotsnchicks #Anonymous #not sfw////

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lamptracker · 3 years

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FIC: This Seat Taken? (Seo Changbin/Female Reader)

Literally the only reason I got this done was because I broke my toe and have an abundance of sitting-around time. So... yay, I suppose.

Onward.

Title: This Seat Taken?

Pairing: Seo Changbin (Stray Kids)/Female Reader

Summary: The reader finds herself falling in love with her best friend Changbin.

Warnings: A few potty words but other than that, not much really.

Author’s Note(s): This takes place in a world where A. There have only ever been eight members of Stray Kids (we do not talk about the AT&T of people) and B. Minho’s cats live in the dorms with them.

Which brings up two questions: Why don’t Minho’s cats live in the dorms? And have they fixed that stupid curtain yet??

As per tradition I tag @jisungiesbunnie I keep bringing this up in the Discord lol

The very last thing you wanted was to be part of a cliche.

They were everywhere. The “enemies to lovers.” The old standby “oh my God, they were roommates.” The good old fashioned “best friends to lovers.”

You wanted absolutely no part of it.

So why were you in danger of falling prey to “best friends to lovers”?

And moreover, why were you falling hopelessly in love with Seo Changbin?

You met Seo Changbin at a very vulnerable time in your life.

You were sixteen years old, and it was your first day at your new high school. You knew absolutely nobody. And since you were the new kid in school, there wasn’t a soul that wanted anything to do with you. Nobody wanted to sit near you in class. Even the teachers didn’t call on you, which was super unfortunate since you totally knew the answer in your math class. That wouldn’t have stung so much if the kid she called on had gotten it right.

So, at lunch, you found a table in the far corner, nobody around for what seemed like miles. This is as good a spot as any, you thought as you settled in.

You were partway through your cheese sandwich when you suddenly heard a deep voice say, “This seat taken?”

You looked up to find… a boy. He was short - not much taller than you were - but he had a lean yet muscular build and kind eyes.

“I don’t suppose so,” you muttered quietly.

The boy sat across the table from you. “I don’t recognize you,” he said. “Are you new?”

You nodded.

“Ah! Okay. Well, my name is Changbin, Seo Changbin?”

“(y/n),” you replied. “You’re the first person all day that’s actually said more than five words to me. And those five words have usually been get out of my way.”

Changbin scoffed. “That’s terrible. Look, some of these people can be real jerks, I-”

“Hey, Changbin! What’re you doing talking to that loser?”

The voice belonged to a boy who was in your social studies class, one who’d shoved you out of the way in the hallway to get to the lunchroom first.

“She’s not a loser, she’s just new. And she seems really nice. So if you can’t be nice to her, just go sit down.”

The boy rolled his eyes as he walked away.

“Thank you,” you said shyly.

“No problem.” Changbin flashed you a lopsided grin; you couldn’t help giggling in response.

“I have a really hard time making friends,” you admitted. “And my family moves around for my dad’s job, that doesn’t help.”

“Well, I am honored to be your friend. I mean, if you’ll let me.”

You smiled warmly at him. “Of course.”

The two of you were thick as thieves after that. It wasn’t long before you were over at each others’ houses all the time - it got to the point where your mom was picking up Changbin’s favorites at the store - and texting each other constantly. You didn’t let a day go by without at least texting each other once.

Even when you graduated from high school and went your separate ways - you went off to college, studying communications and mass marketing; he auditioned for a new K-Pop group that was forming - you made sure to talk every day.

You were there for each other when times were good - when you got accepted to your dream school, when Changbin was selected for Stray Kids. And when times were bad - Changbin was really down when Minho was eliminated, you’d had to have knee surgery right after you graduated college, and let’s not forget every failed girlfriend he’d had and every failed boyfriend you’d racked up.

He helped you find your job, too. You were six months out of college and still hadn’t found a job yet.

“I’m starting to think I majored in the wrong thing,” you lamented to Changbin over coffee one afternoon. “I loved my studies, but I just can’t seem to land even an interview. I thought communications was a growing industry, but…”

“I’m so sorry,” Changbin replied. “Let me see what I can do.”

“What you can do?” you echoed. “What can you do?”

“Give me a week,” he assured you. Shrugging, you turned back to your coffee.

“My mom wants me to join a temp agency,” you said. “If you can’t find something for me by this time next week, I’m going to.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Two days later, you’d gotten a call from an administrative assistant at JYPE. Your resume came across their desk, see, and looking over your credentials they thought you’d be perfect for a job that just opened up. Well, have you ever heard of the new group, Stray Kids? You’d be their assistant, pretty much. JYPE would book appearances and organize tours; you would be responsible for booking flights and hotels and meal reservations and whatnot. You would also live in the dorm with them - you’d get your own room, of course, far away from the rest of the guys (they’re all nice but Chan snores, a lot of them are talkers and Minho curses in his sleep). You might be asked to do a little light housekeeping, maybe cook on occas-

“I’ll take it!” you exclaimed.

The assistant laughed. “You don’t even know how much we’re paying you.”

“Don’t care,” you replied. “I’ve been jobless for half a year, and I have student loans. I’ll take it.”

Later that afternoon, you were enjoying a cup of coffee at your favorite shop, looking over the email from JYPE detailing your contract.

“This seat taken?”

“Seo Changbin! You did it, you son of a bitch.”

“Did what?” Changbin sat across from you and took a sip of his coffee, thoroughly confused.

You chuckled. “JYPE called me today. I’m going to be Stray Kids’ official assistant. I’ll be booking flights and hotels for appearances and the tour, I’ll be living with you guys and-”

“What!” Changbin rose from his seat and ran around to your side of the table, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “That’s amazing! I thought they’d just get you a job in the office or answering fanmail or something, I wasn’t expecting that!” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Okay, um. Fair bit of warning about the guys’ sleeping habits, uh-”

“They told me about a couple. Uh… Chan snores and Minho swears in his sleep.”

“Hyunjin and Jisung talk in their sleep,” Changbin added. “Felix always has to be hugging someone or something. Seungmin always, just, screams right as he falls asleep. Jeongin’s a sleepwalker, that’s super fun. We had to put like four locks on the door, we lock every other one because he just goes down the line and thinks he’s unlocking all of them. And-”

“You talk in your sleep too,” you finished. “Most of the time you’re looking for something or you’re lost, but I have definitely heard you do it.”

Changbin looked slightly wounded. “I was going to say I don’t think I do anything, but… okay, I guess.”

You laughed. “Hey, um, thanks. For helping me out. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He squeezed your shoulder again before sliding out of the booth.

Some people who fall hopelessly in love with their best friend will tell you they can’t pinpoint the exact reason why they fell in love.

You can, though.

It was a year after you first moved into the dorm… and it was all Lee Minho’s fault.

You were going through the bedrooms, gathering up laundry.

“Just once,” you muttered to yourself, “if these morons could get their underpants in the vicinity of the hamper, I’d be happy.”

“They’re not mine.”

You jumped, nearly bonking the top of your head on the top bunk of one of the beds. “Damn it, Minho, you scared the crap out of me.”

Minho chuckled quietly. “Sorry. How’s it going?”

“Peachy. I’m so glad I went to college so I could clean up after a bunch of overgrown children.”

“Oh, come on. We’re not that bad, are we?”

You laughed. “No. I’m just… I guess I’m grouchy today, that’s all. Didn’t sleep well last night. I actually really do like this job, I’m grateful that Changbin helped me get it.”

Minho nodded slightly. “He's going out again tonight?”

“Yep. This girl he met at the grocery store, Ha-Rin? That might be right, I’m not sure. I can’t keep track anymore.”

“Wow,” Minho said. “He’s been really unlucky in the girls department lately, hasn’t he?”

“He really has, I don’t get it.”

“Do you think… do you think they’re jealous of you?”

You shrugged. “It’s possible. I’m a girl who lives with him and has been friends with him for years. Plus I am a snack.” You made a passing motion over your body. “Who wouldn’t be jealous of this?”

Minho laughed loudly. “I might be out of line here, and feel free to punch me for it, but… but do you ever get jealous of them?”

You wrinkled your nose in confusion. “What?”

“I mean, you guys have been friends since you were sixteen. You’ve never wondered what it was like to date him?”

You scoffed. “No! Absolutely not. He’s my best friend, that would be so weird. Like dating my brother or something, gross.”

Minho laughed again, raising his hands in a sort-of defensive gesture. “Okay! Sorry I brought it up.”

But that night, you had a weird dream. You were at your senior prom (in real life, you and Changbin had skipped it to have a Marvel movie marathon). You were wearing a beautiful royal blue dress, with sequins - not too many, just enough to make it classy.

You were slow dancing with… someone. You couldn’t tell who. It was dark, and your arms were wrapped around their neck, your head nestled on their shoulder; their arms were wrapped firmly around your waist.

“Close your eyes,” a soft, yet vaguely familiar voice whispered.

You did; the person holding you unwrapped one arm from your waist, tipped your chin up, and gently pressed their lips to yours. You quickly melted into the kiss, pressing yourself closer to them as the kiss deepened slightly.

The other person pulled away slowly; you opened your eyes…

...and found yourself staring at none other than Changbin.

You sat up with a start, and you were a side sleeper, so you nearly fell out of bed.

“God damn you, Minho,” you muttered as you pulled the blanket over your head. “I can’t tell him. I can never tell him. I don’t want to lose his friendship.”

So you made two solemn vows: You vowed to punch Lee Minho in the face the next time you saw him, and you vowed never to tell Changbin how you felt about him.

You settled for giving Minho a dirty look over breakfast the next morning. As for the other thing, well...

Every time Changbin had a new girlfriend, your heart dropped ever-so-slightly in your chest. And always twice: Once, when he’d first start dating her; and once, when she broke up with him.

It was practically identical every single time: He would meet a girl. He would rush into the living room, a big smile plastered on his face, and exclaim: “I met the most amazing girl!” He would list off her qualities - pretty, smart, funny, ordered the same obscure thing from the Thai place that he liked, etc. They’d start dating. He’d come home after their third date and proclaim: “I think she might be The One, y’know? She’s - oh, wipe that look off your face, Lee Minho; I mean it this time.” Things would go really well for a brief amount of time. The longest was five months; the shortest, two weeks.

And when it inevitably went south, that was practically identical every single time as well. He’d trudge through the door, kick off his shoes, slump down on the couch, and say: “Okay, Minho, you can say I told you so now.”

Minho would always refrain, to his credit, except for when Changbin and Ha-Rin (the grocery store girl) broke up; he did not like Ha-Rin. That was a really long story. But let’s just say if cats think you’re evil, so will Minho; and his cats absolutely hated Ha-Rin. (Especially Dori, and Dori loves everybody.)

Anyway, after giving Minho the chance to gloat (which, as previously mentioned, he only did once), Changbin would give you a Look™ and you would follow him into your room. The other guys knew not to bother you in there, so it was a safe place. He’d slump down onto the bed and smile sadly at you while patting the space next to him.

“This seat taken?” you’d ask, mimicking one of his favorite lines. He would shake his head ever-so-slightly. And you’d sit, and open your arms, and he’d fall into them, sobbing all the while.

Sometimes, he would tell you why they broke up with him. They were all terrible reasons, too: Just wanted to see what it was like to date an Idol. Wanted to make their ex jealous. Needed a date to this work/school/family thing. Just trying to get closer to Chan (twice), Hyunjin (four times), Jeongin (three times), Minho’s cats (once; that girl was weird). In at least one case, it was because of you. (That was why he and Ha-Rin broke up; he never told you that was why, but she did. Seems she made him choose between her or being friends with you and he picked you. Of course, you’d never tell him you knew.)

And every single time, your heart shattered right along with his, because you knew that you would never do this to him. So why didn’t he know that?

Those feelings only solidified the night you got dumped.

You had been dating Daeshim for roughly eight months or so. You’d met at the grocery store, and were immediately drawn to him. In hindsight, you admittedly pulled a Changbin: You fell for him, hard and fast. The two of you were practically inseparable. You’d kissed on the third date, he said “I love you” after a month, you were already making plans for you future house (try to find something within a few miles of the dorms), your wedding (he didn’t bat an eye when you said that instead of bridesmaids, you wanted your eight roommates to stand up with you), even your kids’ names (Nabi for a girl, Yu-jun for a boy). He not only wasn’t jealous of the fact that you lived with eight men, he embraced it. “They were here before I was,” he’d said, “so why would that bother me?”

Daeshim was your person.

Until… he wasn’t.

The guys were all at the studio, practicing choreography for their upcoming music video, so you were home alone. Perfect environment for wallowing.

You were on the couch, curled up in a giant blanket, sobbing so hard that at one point you were afraid you’d cry your brain right out of your nose. You were a hot mess - your hair was disheveled, your eyes and nose were red and puffy, your face was wet with tears and sweat and God knows what else. You did not look cute.

And, naturally, that was the moment Changbin came home.

“Oh, no, hey,” he said softly. “Did something happen with you and Daeshim?”

You nodded hastily.

“Want me to make the other guys go away for a bit?”

You shook your head. “They’re okay.”

“Well… do you want to go to your room? We can talk there.”

You sniffled as you reached for the box of tissues. “Okay.”

Changbin helped you off the couch and gingerly led you to your room as the other guys came spilling into the living room. Felix started to ask what was going on, but Changbin just shook his head and silently mouthed I’ll tell you later.

Changbin carefully helped you onto the bed. Reversing the roles slightly, you smiled sadly at him and patted the seat next to you.

Changbin couldn’t help but smile a small smile as he said, “This seat taken?” You shook your head; he settled down next to you. “Okay, what’s going on?”

You opened your mouth to tell him what had happened, but a loud sob came out instead.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Changbin soothed as he wrapped his arms around you. “Take your time, tell me when you’re ready.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your head in his chest as a fresh wave of tears came. Changbin said nothing, just held you as you cried, occasionally rubbing soothing circles over your back.

Finally, you sat up and took a deep breath. “He cheated on me.”

Changbin raised an eyebrow. “He did what now?”

“I caught him,” you explained. “I went to the coffee shop down the street to get a drink and one of those croissants with the chocolate in the middle, you know? And I did a little work while I was there, too, figured it’d be nice to get out for a bit. Anyway, I walked out to come home and… and I saw them.”

“Oh, no.”

Just when you thought you had no tears left, an altogether new supply started welling up in your eyes. “He met someone at work,” you said. “They were put on a project together, they got to talking, one thing led to another. He says he loves me but he loved them too and he couldn’t choose. So… you know… I chose for him.”

“And this person still wants to date him?”

“Went back to the cafe to get my laptop charger, saw them kissing when I came back out.”

“Ugh. Wow, (y/n), I’m so sorry.”

You snorted as you tightened your grip around his waist, resting your head on his chest again. “Usually this is the other way around, I’m the one consoling you after a breakup. Must be nice for you to have the situation reversed for a switch.”

“Actually, it kills me to see you like this. You don’t deserve that, I mean nobody does, but especially you. You are amazing, you know that? You’re sweet, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, you’re completely hilarious. You’ve done two things that I thought were impossible, you can out-drink Jisung and you can out-weird Seungmin. And, do you even know how pretty you are? Daeshim fucked up, and royally at that. Any guy would be so lucky to have you.”

You couldn’t help but smile through your tears at his words. But, you knew they were just that: words. He didn’t really feel that way about you. He was just trying to make you feel better.

Or was he?

Nonetheless, he only liked you as a friend, as far as you knew, and he was just helping lift your spirits.

He was successful at that, but he was even more successful at making you fall even deeper in love with him. The feelings you thought you’d gotten rid of when you and Daeshim started dating not only resurfaced, but intensified.

You sighed deeply, finally allowing yourself to relax in Changbin’s arms. His grip was firm but not too tight, just enough to make you feel safe and protected. He didn’t say anything else, he just allowed you to relax; occasionally he’d give you a gentle squeeze. Before too long, you were dozing.

It was only slightly weird that it was one of the best nights of sleep you’d ever had.

You woke up late the next morning, alone, but there was a glass of juice and two muffins on the bedside table. Had to go to practice, the handwritten note under the glass read. Sorry I couldn’t be here to have breakfast with you, so I figured I’d at least feed you. They’re blueberry muffins, Felix baked them fresh this morning. Take the day off if you need to, I’ll explain everything if JYP asks. Please call if you need anything.

Love, Binnie

You smiled softly to yourself as you bit into one of the muffins. Changbin was so sweet, and wanted to make sure you were taken care of. Just like a good friend should.

You scoffed slightly. Friend. That was all he’d ever be. Better get used to it...

Not long after you and Daeshim broke up, Changbin started dating this girl he’d met… somewhere. You didn’t know. Or, honestly, care. But her name was Min Jee, and she was way different from the other girls he's dated. She was pretty for sure, but she was funny and sweet and everything Changbin had been looking for. (And Minho’s cats? Adored her.)

Plus, she didn’t seem to be threatened by you in the slightest, so that was a definite plus.

You tried so hard to be happy for them. You even went out for coffee with Min Jee a few times, just the two of you, while the guys were practicing. That whole funny and sweet thing was no act - she really was that nice and that hilarious. She was touched that you wanted to be your friend, and you could have been her best friend, except for the fact that you guys had one thing in common: You were both madly in love with her boyfriend.

Two months into their relationship, the dynamic changed.

“You’re home early,” you said as Changbin gently closed the door behind him. “I didn’t expect you back until later, how’s Min Jee?”

“We broke up.” Changbin hung his keys by the door and started into the kitchen.

You sighed. “Oh, Binnie, again? I am so sorry this keeps happening to you.”

Changbin shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. If it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be, you know?”

For some reason - to this day, you have no idea why - but for some reason, this was the moment you finally snapped.

“You know, you go out with a lot of girls,” you started. “You always fall for them really quickly, and really hard. And you always end up single again after a few weeks. And it - you know what, Changbin? It breaks my heart, it really does. I thought Min Jee was different, but looks like I was wrong, you know? It absolutely breaks my heart to see this happen to you over and over and over again, because you deserve so much better than that. You deserve someone that truly loves you for who you are, not just because you’re an idol. You deserve someone who cares about you, who’s there for you when things are rough, who just… who loves you with every fiber of her being. I can almost guarantee that there’s not a single girl out there who can be even a fraction of those things, who can even come close to loving you as much as I do.”

Changbin’s eyes grew wide as your rant came to a close. He just stared at you for a moment, jaw slack, not saying a word…

...and that was the moment when your brain realized what your mouth had done.

Oh, no.

You know that thing you were never ever ever EVER going to tell him? That thing you were going to take to the grave with you?

Yeah, you just realized your greatest fear: You opened your mouth, and out it went.

Look, brain, you said to yourself. You can beat me up in a minute, okay? For now, though…

“I have to get out of here,” you said. You turned around and ran out the door, not even bothering to pull it closed behind you. You ran out the front door of the dorms, down the street, to the park just at the end of the block. You didn’t stop running until you reached the small pond near the back of the park - not too many people knew about this pond. It was small and clean and had a bench off to one side of it, facing the water.

Changbin found it one day, not long after he’d moved into the dorms. It was the perfect place to go to catch a breath of fresh air. He brought you here not long after you’d moved in; the two of you came here often to talk about things you didn’t want the other guys to overhear.

You slumped down on the bench, buried your head in your hands, and started sobbing.

Do your worst, brain, you said. I deserve it.

Of course you do, moron. How could you say that? How could you tell him you love him? There is no possible way he loves you back, you know that, right? You’re probably responsible for him being dumped so many times anyway, they’re all jealous of you. Even Min Jee, she didn’t REALLY like you. She was pretending, for his sake. He just hasn’t figured that out yet. You know what you just did, right? You ruined any chance of a romantic relationship with him, and not only that you’ve completely ruined your friendship. You are such a…

“This seat taken?”

You didn’t answer, instead you kept sobbing quietly into your hands. You thought that maybe if you ignored him, didn’t acknowledge his presence, he’d just… go away.

Weight settling onto the other end of the short bench told you that he did not just go away.

You heard Changbin heave a deep sigh before he started speaking. “Min Jee didn’t break up with me. I broke up with her. Uh, it was the most insane thing that set it off, too. Um, she was telling me all about her day. She always tells me all about her day. And she was telling me about her day, like she always does, and I caught myself thinking: Wow, I really do not care about this even a little bit.” Changbin chuckled quietly to himself before continuing. “I didn’t want to hear about her day. You know whose day I really wanted to hear about? Yours. Min Jee and I were together for two months and I was already tired of hearing about her day. I’ve talked to you every day since we were 16, and I never get tired of hearing about yours. Not even after you started living with us, and I got to see you every day. And I got to thinking: I have dated a lot of girls. But I think about them, even the ones I thought I loved, and I realize something: not one of them would have my back when things would be bad. When my anxiety is too high, none of them would have helped. When I felt like I had a bad performance, they’d just shrug and talk about themselves. Sure, they were pretty, and funny, and smart. But none of them cared about me the same way you do. Not even Min Jee.”

You raised your head, gently wiping your nose. “What are you trying to say, Changbin?”

Changbin gently grasped one of your hands in both of his. “I’m trying to say… I’m definitely saying that I love you too.”

Another tear slipped out of your eye as you stared at him. You tried to wrap your head around the ridiculousness of this situation:

Seo Changbin, the boy you loved and was sure did not love you back, just told you he loved you back.

Take THAT, brain.

“Um… really?” was all you could manage.

Changbin smiled softly at you; your heart fluttered in your chest. “Really. And you… you really love me?”

“Yes.” You were taken aback a bit by how quickly and effortlessly you answered the question.

Changbin’s grip on your hand tightened ever-so-slightly. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, almost shyly.

“I’d really like that.”

He let go of your hand and cupped your cheeks in his hands, carefully wiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. He leaned in, licking his lips slightly before pressing them to yours.

You had dreamed of kissing him before. But even your dreams couldn’t have prepared you for the real thing, how wonderful and warm and sweet it was.

His lips were smooth and dry against yours; they parted slightly as one of his hands moved down to your waist. His other hand stayed cupped against your cheek, thumb lightly brushing your cheekbone. As the kiss deepened, you could feel him pour every emotion he’d been repressing - love, mostly, but also a sense of tenderness and longing - into it.

Changbin broke the kiss, pulling back from you; he was smiling softly and looking at you as if you were the only other person on Earth.

Not even Daeshim had looked at you like that.

“Uh… wow,” you breathed.

“Yeah,” he replied, “wow.”

You smiled back at him, resting a hand on his knee, and you leaned in to kiss him again when a sudden stiff breeze rustled through the surrounding trees. You shivered involuntarily.

“Cold?” he asked.

You nodded. “Can we go home?”

“Sure.” He stood first, gently pulling you to a standing position. You walked back to the dorms, hand-in-hand; before you left the park, he asked: “So, how was your day?”

You grinned as you told him all about your day. And he was smiling the entire time.

When the two of you got back to the dorms, it sure looked like you were alone. Changbin settled down on the couch; smiling up at you, he patted his lap.

“This seat taken?” you asked, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Changbin just raised an eyebrow as he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you into his lap. He lightly tickled your sides as you laughed, trying to settle into his lap but squirming instead.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be nice,” he said, gently kissing your cheek. “I’m so glad I finally get to hold you this way.”

“Me too.”

“You really weren’t going to say anything?”

“Were you?”

“Fair point, I guess… didn’t want to mess up the friendship either, huh?”

“You are correct, sir.”

A short pause, then: “Only one of them broke up with me because of you, you know.”

“Ha-Rin, yeah. She told me. That was totally unfair of her to make you choose.”

“She told you? She swore me to secrecy and then she told you?”

“Wanted to make me feel guilty, I suppose.” You shrugged. “Didn’t work, I hated her guts. I was never happy to see you get dumped, except when Ha-Rin dumped you.”

“Yeah, that was the only time Minho said I told you so, too.” Changbin chuckled, shaking his head. “You know what, though? None of that matters anymore, now that I’ve got you.”

You hummed happily, leaning back slightly in his arms. “You’re right. But I am dying to know what that one girl was thinking.”

“Which one?”

“Dating you to get closer to the cats?”

Changbin laughed. “Some things, you just never find out.” He nuzzled the side of your neck. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too, Binnie.” You turned your head, letting his lips connect with yours. Just as the kiss was starting to deepen, you heard the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

You turned your head away… and there were Changbin’s seven band members, all arms crossed, staring down at you.

Changbin grinned sheepishly at them as you waved and said, “Hey, fellas.” Chan started to open his mouth, but you cut him off. “Since I know you guys, and I’m reasonably sure you guys had money riding on this situation, I’ll just settle the main bet and the prop bets. I told him first, extremely by accident but it was me. He broke up with Min Jee because he felt the same way, but that happened before I told him, not because of it. He kissed me first, and… that should settle it, right?”

“Pay up, suckers.” Jeongin held out a hand as the other guys groaned and reached for their wallets.

“How did you know he was going to break it off with Min Jee but (y/n) would be the one to say it first?!” Jisung grumbled.

“I didn’t, I just guessed.” Jeongin shrugged. “Your money, sir?”

“Go buy yourself something nice,” Jisung said. “Anyway, now that that’s out of the way…I’m really happy for you guys, I really am. Even if you did cost me 20,000 won.”

The rest of the guys nodded in agreement, a few offering their congratulations.

“Look, we’ll leave you two kids alone, if that’s what you want?” Chan said, almost awkwardly.

“Nah, you guys have the living room.” You climbed out of Changbin’s lap, offering him your hand; he took it and you helped him stand. “We’ll just go make out in my room.”

Changbin laughed as you led him down the hallway. “Awfully presumptuous, aren’t we?”

“Look, I know what I want.” You pulled your door shut behind you. “And right now, I want to kiss you.”

Changbin smiled as you sat down on your bed. “This seat taken?”

“Just get down here.” You pulled the front of his shirt; he fell onto the bed, hovering over you.

“God, you’re amazing.” He leaned down, closing the gap between your mouths.

You cannot believe you were just never going to tell him how you felt. But now, as his hand slid up to your stomach, you are more than happy you did.

Was that a cliche? Of course it was. But a cliche was making you blissfully happy, so you didn’t seem to mind it so much.

#stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #seo changbin #seo changbin fanfiction #changbin fanfic #changbin #i think i can squeeze eight more tags in here

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distinctlywhumpthing · 3 years

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Chapter 1

WC: 5233

Post-apocalyptic drama: A woman wakes up with no memory after an apocalyptic storm devastates the country. With everyone starting over and finding a new way of life, she is assigned to lead one of the rebuilding programs. The agriculture-based neighborhood is running smoothly until a stranger shows up, the first outsider in over a year.

CW: stranger, unconscious, blood, amnesia, referencing past head injury

I cradle my warm mug closer and survey the room, still feeling far from sleep. I went to bed early, too early, when the sky darkened prematurely because of the rainstorm. The weather pulled my focus away from work to watch the wind wrestle with the trees at the edge of the yard, testing the strength of their branches, threatening to splinter them to pieces. When the rain started, steadily pouring down in constant streams of water without any distinction between drops, the view was obstructed. Now the rain will fall for days and with the wind, we’re all confined to our houses, so I had gone up to bed since I’d have no shortage of time to finish work tomorrow. Everyone says the rain changed after the Storm, but this is all I can remember, anyway.

The rain is still thundering down onto the roof. I don’t even know what woke me—it’s impossible to hear any of the normal creaks and aches of the house breathing on its own over the weather. I came downstairs to make tea, more for the ritual than the tea itself, something I do almost nightly. The methodical steps are enough of a reset that I fall asleep before my tea is cool enough for a full sip. Tonight, it’s less comforting. Adrenaline still courses through my veins from startling awake. There is no reason to feel shaken. I must have had an unsettling dream that I can’t remember. The thought of lying down in the dark and facing emptiness makes my pulse speed up again. I focus on inhaling and exhaling smoothly, commanding my heart to slow down to a regular rhythm, filling my lungs with the aroma of the chamomile blossoms bobbing to the surface in the strainer. I make my way across the open living space toward the stairs, allowing myself to stall by inspecting the way everything looks different from last night when there were visible stars and a moon.

The house—my house—looks almost exactly like it did the day I arrived. I run my hand along the back of the creased, brown leather sofa in the middle of the room. It’s worn more on the right side, across from the ring on the coffee table and beside the lamp. It faces a bookcase of hardcovers standing in dignified lines despite the scuffs on the spines and the dogeared pages hidden from view. The warm wood of the built-in shelves meets the slated fireplace, the focal point of the whole floor. There’s no television, so whoever lived here must have read instead. I’ve tried thumbing through the pages of the books to fill my free time but can never seem to get through more than a few lines. There’s the solid oak dining table anchoring the back of the room in front of the picture windows with chairs for eight, another mark of the previous owners.

I’ve never once had a personal guest but the house hasn’t felt empty, despite its size and living alone. Even now, on a stormy night, despite every line and angle extended, making it seem endless, it doesn’t feel jarringly vacant. Darkness swallows the corners of the room and deepens the shadows under the furniture but instead of making me rush for the light switch, I want to let my eyes dance over the impossible-to-see details. I have them all memorized anyway, so it doesn’t matter if it’s too dark to see. I let my eyes trace the silhouettes of the space once more time before forcing myself to climb back up to bed.

My foot is on the first step when I see it. Almost obscured by the staircase, a shadow passes in front of the window at the back of the house. I freeze. I can barely see anything through the rain but I know something is out there. My heart is sprinting in my chest as I move back into the room. I don’t want to imagine the emergency that would have a neighbor coming to me through this weather. The figure passes by the last window in the room on the way to the back door of the garage but pauses. I hold my breath, wondering if they can see me through the rain into the dark house. My eyes trace over the shape of their shoulders, inclined head, and clenched fists. They stagger a few steps forward before collapsing onto the grass. Before I have time to think, I react.

I drop the scalding tea, which pours down my leg as it falls, mug saved by the thick, wool area rug. I don’t even register the heat against my skin as I sprint across the house to run out the back door of the garage. The rain and wind rush to beat against me as I step outside. I blink furiously to see through the sheets of water. It’s immediately like I’ve been submerged. Everyone is right that it rains harder now, which is why the Program advises against going outside during any bad weather. This is more like a hurricane hitting away from the coast. We’ll spend the few days after picking up debris, branches and clearing fallen trees. Luckily, it’s not freezing rain like we had all winter. Pools swell around my bare feet with each running step I take through the sodden lawn, splattering mud up from the ground. I reach my destination after a few strides and mentally thank my frequent runs for my speed.

Whoever it is, lies facedown in the grass so I grab a shoulder to roll the person over. He’s out cold, with mud from the wet ground covering half his face. I fight the urge to pause and identify him because somehow it is raining even harder. I’m almost certain he isn’t one of my neighbors. I crouch down, grab both of his arms and do my best to roll him onto my back so that I can half-drag him across the lawn. It's easier than I expected. Maybe the wet grass is helping his limp legs slide behind me. We make it to the back door and I pause for a moment as reality hits me. I’m about to bring an unconscious stranger into my house. There’s no telling where he came from or why he is here. I try to remember the instructions Inspectors have told me about handling trespassers.

Something moves on my back and I realize the stranger has turned his head. I’ve been standing here, half-carrying him. It would be irresponsible to try to walk to anyone else’s house in this weather, especially dragging someone. I clench my teeth and pull him up the two steps into the garage and through the hallway. I manage to almost gracefully deposit him on the sofa, leaving streaks of mud across the wood floors. My feet nearly slide out from under me as I run back to lock the doors. For good measure, I close all the curtains before turning on the floor lamp beside the couch.

I start to look him over for injuries, checking his head first. I don’t see or feel anything under his dark hair. I use my sleeve to wipe away some of the mud on his face. He has symmetrical features, rough, dark stubble, and light-brown skin. I am noticing the long, dark lashes on his closed eyelids when he exhales a sigh. I jump, feeling my face grow hot. I direct my attention away from his face and wind up cursing myself for not noticing his torn pant leg earlier. I pull back the shredded fabric and suck in a breath. He has a long, deep gash, caked with mud that is still bleeding. I fly upstairs to find the medical bag and some towels.

My mind is spinning but somehow, my hands are steady. I clean the wound and apply pressure to stop the bleeding. The minutes pass quickly. The counting gives me something to focus on aside from wondering what happened to cause this. I match my breaths to the rhythm and feel more centered. My fingers have no problem managing the needle holder and I lose myself in the steady progress of suturing. I’m nearly finished when the stranger sighs again. I pause to look at his face and notice a subtle upturn at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t wake up but my pulse quickens anyway. I look back down and try to focus. I could lose my job for not following protocol by bringing him into my house, but it only seems responsible to give him first-aid so he doesn’t bleed out. I can turn him in when he wakes up.

After I finish the stitches, I disinfect it again, apply antibiotic ointment, and tape a sterile gauze bandage over the wound. I clean up all the rain, mud, and blood that we tracked into the house as best as I can, constantly checking to see if the stranger has moved. He sleeps quietly, breathing steadily and looking peaceful. I pick up the mug I dropped earlier and soak up the tea from the carpet. My clothes are still wet so I rush upstairs to change but skip taking a shower, more afraid of the stranger disappearing without an explanation than of any other possibility. Back downstairs, I make myself a replacement cup of tea and settle into the armchair to wait.

I distract myself by thinking about the fields, hoping as usual that the trenches we dug around them for this kind of weather, will be deep enough. We’ve never had a problem before but I can’t help but worry, after all, it is our food source. We are fairly self-sufficient at this point, almost one year in and I don’t want that to change. The Programs started six months after the Storm. They still don’t know how much of the population was lost during the Storm or in the aftermath. Sometimes I hear my neighbors debating it while they work, with guesses ranging from seventy to ninety percent lost, but no one knows for sure. I was in the hospital but others were in shelters, waiting, while plans were made to organize people into homes and communities. Anyone highly skilled was employed as a Programmer. Geologists, engineers, and other specialists identified areas with enough undamaged houses and clear land to use productively. They wrote a Program for each location based on what they would be able to do to survive. Then it was a simple matter of assigning survivors to the empty houses to fill all of the jobs required to make the Program viable.

Programmers said the fact that I was unattached would help me be a more objective leader. It’s a ridiculous assessment of my situation and there were plenty of others who were also solo, but I didn’t argue. I was pretty objective until tonight’s lapse in judgment. The rest of the residents keep their distance, maybe because I’m here to enforce the rules, or maybe because I’m not fun. I follow all of the checklists and read through the Program details, keeping myself busy. I woke up after the Storm half-wrapped in plaster with no memory of anything. The first few days are a blur of pain from the head injury. Soon enough, it became less dramatic, the amnesia was a fact then and a fact now. I faced it alone and learned quickly not to fight it. I can’t remember anything, no reason to get emotional or philosophical about it. Everyone said I was lucky to have made it to the hospital, most people who were outside in the Storm were never seen again. They guessed I had been injured during the earthquakes, but it was all conjecture.

I tried not to listen to the hospital staff’s speculations about what my life was like, or what I was like. They thought they were being helpful and might spark some memory. I would tune them out and spend hours memorizing the hospital room. It’s so clear in my memories, even more so than the house, which I’ve been living in twice as long. The way the corners of the room met to support the flat, smooth ceiling. The exact number of tiles in the ceiling, thirty, and the number of small lights blinking down, six. The texture of the hospital bedding against my skin, scratchy and worn into a strange kind of soft. Comforting but unyielding, built to last. Everything was cream or beige, blending like coffee with too much milk. I can remember the way the colors progressively deepened as the daylight faded through the single window.

I spent the first few weeks, once I could get out of the hospital bed, getting sick every time I had physical therapy. I pushed myself too hard and too fast they said. The doctors still congratulated me on healing quickly, despite my memory not returning. There were many discussions about patience and time, that I would be surprised to wake up one day with memories flooding back. Despite weeks in the hospital and eventually recovering enough physically to run five kilometers with no headache, I still hadn’t remembered anything. The doctors assured me it was completely normal. I needed more time, they repeated, moving into a Program would help me recover through purpose and routine.

Our Program area is twenty-five square miles, with the residential street at one corner. The whole area was high enough to escape the floods and surrounded by thick forests that protected it from whatever else the Storm had tried to toss this way. From what we can tell, there were only minor earthquakes here, most of the damage was from wind and water. We made house repairs first, thirty of us total, boarding up the odd broken window or patching a roof leak. Then we started the long process of carving out fields for food and some animals, raised a barn, and built a few sheds. The first small harvests were fairly successful and have continued to improve, despite no one having any farming experience beyond growing kitchen herbs, but it’s all thanks to the Program materials. I handle the delegation and training, but I don’t think I am a necessity here. Anyone can read an instruction manual and everyone works hard for the neighborhood. It could probably run as smoothly without me.

—

I jerk awake, sitting upright. My breath is fast and cold sweat clings to the back of my neck. I try to focus on my surroundings. I must have fallen asleep in the armchair while I was watching—my eyes fall on the empty couch, the wool blanket crumpled at the bottom. I jump to my feet and knock a book off the side table. It lands with a thud on the wood floor and I’m startled all over again. I exhale slowly, trying to settle myself, and massage my temples with my fingertips.

“Headache?” a soft, almost musical voice says behind me.

I whip around to see the stranger standing behind the island, a mug of steaming something in his hand. I don’t answer and instead, take in the changes from last night. His face is clean and shaven. The rough stubble I saw last night is now a smooth shadow over his jaw. His dark brown hair is messy but in an effortlessly perfect way. He’s wearing a clean grey shirt and dark jeans that must be from one of the extra bedrooms upstairs. He looks like a completely different person than the one I dragged out of the mud in the middle of the night.

“Coffee? Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He tilts his cup toward the French press sitting on the stove but must be referring to whatever process facilitated his clean appearance. I swallow my irritation at myself for falling asleep and not being alert to watch him. He’s staring at me with a strange expression on his face. I avert my gaze, looking down.

“How’s your leg?” I ask, walking around the island to see that he is keeping weight off of it.

“Alright, thanks to you. The stitches are perfect—don’t worry, I didn’t get them wet,” he says quickly, smiling like he thinks he’s placating me.

I furrow my eyebrows.

He bites his lip and turns away to take out a second mug.

“Who are you?” I blurt at his back.

He sets the French press down and I watch the remaining coffee slosh around inside of it. His shoulders round forward as he looks into the cup he’s poured. I’m about to repeat myself when he inhales and turns.

He’s wearing a soft smile on his face. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself, I’m Elias,” he says, holding the coffee out.

I stare at it.

“You are…?” He tilts his head, studying me.

I ignore his question, irritated at his calmness. “Where did you come from? Do you realize you’ve trespassed into a Program area?”

Elias seems to give up trying to goad me with caffeine and sets the mug on the island. “Right, well, when the rainstorm started yesterday, I was in the woods and a tree fell. My leg got hurt but I managed to start walking through the rain to find shelter and wound up here. I had no idea I was so close to a neighborhood…” he says a little too innocently. He runs his hand through his hair, not meeting my eyes anymore.

I start to do some math in my head. I know for a fact that the closest town ruins are at least twenty miles away and none of the other neighborhoods between were salvageable. Unless he was living in some half-crushed house in one of the still-flooded neighborhoods, that means almost five hours of walking at a good pace. In the rain, through the forest, on an injured leg, it would take probably twice that. He must be lying. No one would make it here that quickly under those conditions.

I try not to make my skepticism obvious as I ask, “Why were you in the woods?”

“I got lost…” he barely seems convinced himself and it almost sounds like he’s posing it as a question.

I nod, keeping my face neutral. I’ve heard enough. He seems perfectly fine now, so I can turn him in now. I march over to the front door, tug it open, and step onto the front porch. A wall of rain greets me. I can’t even see the front yard. Elias limps up behind me. I can feel his warmth a few inches away as I stare down the rain.

“Look, I know what it sounds like, but I promise I’m not a scavenger.”

After the Storm, not everyone wanted to join a Program. The Program calls the people who roam the deserted towns and destroyed cities, scavengers. Sometimes they work with the Programmers if they find a good haul. More often than not, they operate by their own rules and are dangerous. Luckily, we are so remote that we have never had any find us.

“I’m not here to steal anything. Please—”

I spin around.

Elias is closer than I thought and I’m practically in his arms as he leans in the doorway. I meet his gaze and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes are an intense green-gold color, full of light and smoldering. He must be looking straight into my soul. Something flutters there under his consideration. Despite the intrusion, I relax, forgetting my earlier distrust. He smells like pine and soap. It’s so familiar, it must be the scent of the soap in my bathroom. It takes more than a minute for me to catch my original train of thought.

I mean to be demanding but my voice comes out as a breathy whisper, “You need to tell me why you’re here.”

Elias doesn't answer. He’s searching my eyes one at a time, left to right, and back again, looking for something. Eventually, he breaks away and starts limping back toward the kitchen, leaving me alone in front of the open door.

I shiver as the cold air surrounds me and shake my head to dispel the strange feelings. My hands numbly close and lock the door before I follow him back into the house.

At the island, he picks up his cup of coffee and looks back at me. “As I said, I was lost in the woods and my leg got hurt when a tree fell. I could hardly see in the rain so I was just stumbling around looking for shelter. Then, I woke up here,” he repeats with more confidence this time, his voice smooth and even.

“If you’re not a scavenger, why aren’t you assigned to a Program?”

“I managed to stay sheltered for a while in the city,” he offers, shrugging.

I suppose this could be true. The neighborhood Programs were not compulsory but it seems strange that he would have been on his own for so long. It doesn’t exactly seem safe to be a lone wolf when there are gangs of scavengers roaming around.

I sigh and run my hand through my hair, brushing it off my face, and realize there is still mud in it from last night. “I can’t turn you in until it stops raining, so I guess you’ll just have to stay here.” If he is surprised or upset by this, he doesn’t show it. I leave him in the kitchen and head upstairs.

—

Closed in my bedroom, I keep ruminating on Elias’s story. He doesn’t have the look of the scavengers I’ve seen warnings about in the Program. Maybe he left another Program, which isn’t a big deal unless he got into trouble first. Despite these other possibilities, I’m unable to see him as a threat. Something is nagging me about him or this whole situation. Likely, the fact that until now, I’ve never once broken the rules of the Program. I shake my head. It was stupid to bring him to the house. I should have followed protocol. As I stand under the shower, I find myself continuing to rationalize his presence and even excusing his improbable story. This is ridiculous. I don’t know why I am so obsessively curious and willing to ignore my better judgment because of some feelings.

We are lucky that most of the infrastructure for water and power could be repaired or was undamaged during the Storm. Something about special engineering that preserved the systems. They don’t go into a lot of detail in the Program literature about it, but I’m too grateful to care. Not only is life easier, but it’s also the only reason I am not dead since there wouldn’t have been much of a hospital to save me without running water and electricity. Fuel is the biggest problem now. Most of the underground storage traditionally used was damaged or flooded. In theory, electric cars would still be a possibility, but the roads are in no condition to drive. The Programmers have spent a lot of resources clearing routes. The first few months they had to deliver our supplies in huge off-road military vehicles, which significantly dented their fuel reserves. Even after a year of working to clear roads, journeys take hours with endless detours because of flooding, sinkholes, or other debris.

I walk out of the bathroom and sit on the edge of my bed wrapped in a towel. The blankets are still thrown to the side from when I got up so quickly last night. After I change into leggings and a soft, knit sweater, I make the bed. I take the time to tuck in the corners and smooth the blankets so they lie flat with no wrinkles. I sit back down and work my long, dark hair into two thick French braids. They fall most of the way down my back, definitely too long, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to cut it. I have to start the second braid over again because I’m so distracted thinking about the man downstairs. I look over at the little chrome alarm clock next to my bed and realize how little sleep I got last night and I still have to refigure the schedules due to the rain. I decide to accept Elias’s offer of coffee in the hopes that I can get some work done before I’m dead on my feet. Maybe I can get also the truth out of him and figure out how he ended up here.

Downstairs, I find Elias bustling in the kitchen. He’s humming to himself softly and beating eggs in a bowl while garlic sizzles in a frying pan on the stove. His movements are graceful and intuitive as he moves through the space. One hand absently pushes around the fragrant garlic while the other scans the spice drawer, fingertip sliding over each jar before finding what he’s looking for. He moves on to chopping after plucking some fresh herbs out of the mason jars next to the sink. The knife almost sounds musical on the wooden cutting board before he slides everything into the bowl and cradles it in the crook of his arm to stir it all together. He transfers the mixture into the frying pan and sprinkles in salt and pepper, every step with so much intention it’s almost choreographed.

It’s been longer than I want to admit before he turns around, to get a sip of his coffee, and notices me watching.

He smiles and then furrows his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

I blink and rub my eyes which must be watering from staring for so long.

Elias smiles at me again. “How about that coffee now?”

“I—” I look away and clear my throat, decide on nodding instead.

Elias turns to pour from a full pot. He limps to the fridge and adds a splash of milk out of the glass carafe, then holds it out to me. My fingers brush against his when I take the mug and my heart skitters.

“I should get to work,” I say quickly, turning away and taking my coffee to the dining table. I drop into one of the chairs with my back to him and grab my tablet from across the table where I normally sit. I stifle a sigh as I sip the coffee, better than I usually make. I labor to lose myself in reworking schedules and timetables for the entire neighborhood, factoring in the delay due to the rain.

As I am finishing the log updates I will send to the Programmers, Elias starts setting the other end of the table.

“Breakfast is ready, whenever you’re finished,” he says, sitting down.

I nod without looking up. I would like to pretend I have important things to do and won’t drop everything because he cooked for us but I can’t. He’s made omelets with tomatoes, mushrooms, and greens. It smells incredible and looks about a thousand times better than the plain scrambled eggs I’ve been overcooking every day. I swear my stomach audibly growls.

I snap the tablet closed. “I’ve finished anyway,” I say, trying to sound casual as I slide into the next chair over where he’s set a place for me.

“Bon appétit,” he says. He rests his chin in his hand and waits for me to start.

I take a bite, trying to downplay my excitement. I swear under my breath. It tastes even better than it looks with a perfect, soft texture.

“Thank you,” I murmur into my next bite. I can see him grinning as I peek at him through my eyelashes. His expression could be smug but instead, it’s much softer.

He watches me for a few more bites before he picks up his fork. “My pleasure. It’s been a while since I’ve had fresh eggs and herbs to cook with. Are they from this neighborhood?”

It seems like he’s just curious, so I answer. “Yes, we have a few acres of farmland and animals. The chickens are everyone’s favorites. The herbs are actually from my garden behind the garage.”

He nods, taking a sip of coffee.

“Have you seen any other Programs?” I ask.

I hope it doesn’t seem like an obvious effort to reveal his true motives but I’ve always wondered about other Programs. I imagine groups can do anything locally available, so there must be a lot of possibilities. The Programs are independent and self-sustaining. We consume everything we produce. I’ve always thought that the Programmers seem to get very little out of the whole arrangement.

Elias shakes his head and swallows his bite of food. “Nothing up close. This is the first time I’ve been into a neighborhood…” He looks up at me.

I keep my face neutral.

“I’ve seen a lot of mobile teams though,” he adds.

“Mobile teams?”

The Program literature I have is specific only to this neighborhood. There is some general information that must go to all the Programs but there isn’t very much about the overall scheme or how it is managed.

“They set up a camp for a project and move on once they finish. I’ve seen teams working on clearing the roads, sorting through factories, or siphoning gas in parking garages,” he explains.

I nod and wonder if these teams ever wind up having to fight off scavengers. I hesitate to ask about scavengers since a few hours ago I accused him of being one.

Elias changes the subject. “So, what did you do before the Storm?”

I swallow and my palms start to sweat.

It’s an innocent question, one my neighbors have often discussed but this is exactly why I avoid socializing and keep my relationships strictly professional. It seems impossible to lie. I don’t want to but I’m not sure how to explain that there was no “before the Storm” for me. My life is this job, it’s all I have. After sixteen months, I haven’t even remembered my own name. I chew on my lip, trying to gather the courage to tell him something I have never told anyone.

Before I collect myself, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, that’s a really personal question. I didn’t mean to pry.” I look up and find him smiling gently at me, his eyes full. “I’m grateful that you brought me in last night and are letting me stay.”

I blink at him. “Oh, it’s okay…”

Elias stands and stacks my empty plate on top of his, then takes my mug. “Let me get you a refill.”

“I can clean up, you should stay off your leg,” I say, standing and trying to take the dishes from him.

“No, no,” he insists, stepping out of my reach, “it’s the least I can do.”

I still follow him to the kitchen to get the coffee so he doesn’t have to walk back to the table. He refills my mug and hands it to me, smiling, his eyes still full in a way that makes my pulse feel loud behind my ears. I mumble thanks and retreat to the dining table to pretend to work.

TBC

#writing #post apocalyptic fiction #h/c #angst #whump #wait who's the caretaker?#post-apocalypse #post-apocalyptic #amnesia #memory loss #original writing #creative writing #oc #ocs #wip

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unsaidholland · 3 years

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‘tis the damn season | s. holland

i hope y’all enjoy 4.9k words of sam holland missing his first girlfriend and having a brief second chance with her :)

warnings: none!

sam had met y/n in high school. he went to an all-boys school, but y/n went to its sister school, and though they didn’t see each other often, there was always something there between the two of them. from the awkward school dances to their shared graduation, whenever the two saw each other, they couldn’t help but feel some sort of attachment. their friends were no stranger to it either. sam was constantly teased over not asking her out or not making a move, to which he would counter with, “how do you even know she likes me?”

after their graduation, sam had worked up the courage to ask her out, and they dated for just a few months, only calling it off once sam found out he was to work at the ski resort in france. at the time, they thought letting go was easier than trying to make it work, but it left them continually wondering what would’ve happened if they had just stayed together.

sam had come back to london with a new girlfriend, not that y/n minded. the two kept in touch, but it was usually long conversations that occurred once every few months, but there was no bad blood between the two. sam’s new relationship had taken off, and again, only ended once he was set to work in scotland, finding a good culinary opportunity there. letting go was always easier than trying to make it work.

sam spent some of his nights in edinburgh wondering what would’ve happened if he had never let go of his first real girlfriend. maybe they would still be together, or maybe they would’ve ended up hating each other. the alternate timelines swam around sam’s thoughts, but the one thing that stayed was the memory of her watching him walk away towards his gate when he left kingston the first time. he thought about the tears rolling down her cheeks and the way she couldn’t bear to let go.

sometimes sam wondered what she was doing, but if it really bugged him, he knew he could’ve just asked, after all, there were no ill feelings between them. he always wondered how she knew him so well. she could read his expression like a book, and just like an appraiser, y/n was able to tell when he was faking a smile.

broken from his thoughts by the phone ringing, sam looked at his phone screen to see an incoming facetime call from his mum. he answered it, and his screen suddenly showed nikki’s face, a smile gracing her cheeks, happy to see her second oldest child.

“hi darling!” she cheerfully said, and her joy radiated through the phone, making sam smile as well.

“hi mum! how’re you?” the conversation started off with them catching up, mostly nikki asking sam about how work has been, and then he talked about how well he played golf the other day against his boss, knowing that his father wasn’t out of earshot.

“you’re coming home for christmas, yeah?” she asked, just before they were to bid each other their goodbyes.

“yup, i’m off on the twentieth, so i fly in that afternoon. i can make a roast dinner for us on the 24th, is granny tess making pies?” nikki nodded, and sam nodded along with her. they quickly said their goodbyes, seeing at how late it had become, and all sam could think about after they had hung up, was being back in his hometown with y/n just a few miles away.

•••

sam had stepped off the plane and went to check-in and grab his bags from the carousel. the airport was busy, filled with people flying home to their family or leaving with their loved ones to go on holiday. he had flown in two days early, wanting to surprise his parents, and was waiting for harry and tom to land. their flights landed thirty minutes apart, but because sam’s flight was ahead of schedule, that thirty minutes turned into forty-three minutes, though he didn’t mind the slightly longer wait.

sam went to the nearest cafe and bought himself a butter croissant and a small coffee. though it was already four in the afternoon, he was feeling quite tired and needed a quick pick me up. it also killed more time than expected seeing as the line was so long.

it wasn’t long until he reunited with his twin and his older brother. the three of them shared a long hug in the middle of the waiting area, gaining some soft smiles from bystanders. harry called their mum and asked them where they had parked, and soon enough the three boys were reunited with their family at last.

“i thought you weren’t coming in until sunday?” nikki exclaimed, arms thrown around sam. he could’ve sworn she was tearing up a little, but he brushed it off knowing that if he brought it up she was going to cry some more.

“i wanted to surprise you guys!”

“i haven’t cleaned your room yet!” nikki quickly remembered. upon sam’s departure, his room quickly turned into another storage space, where one would find small storage boxes of summer clothes from each of the residing members.

“it’s fine mum, i’ll clean it when we get home,” sam said, and with that, they quickly packed all the suitcases into the car and drove to the holland household. the car ride was filled with stories that tom and harry were telling from being on set and the six of them catching up together for the first time in what felt like forever. there was truly no other place sam would rather be, but for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about the girl he dated the summer after high school graduation. he couldn’t stop thinking about the first kiss the two of them shared and the way her lips felt against his - so soft and tasting of vanilla frosting from the cupcake she had just eaten.

sam’s mind continued to drift far from the conversation and closer to the girl who sat at home with her family, to the girl who sam hoped longed for him as much as he longed for her. somehow, whenever he thought of her and what could’ve happened, it always led him back to kingston. maybe he’d have stayed if they didn’t break up.

•••

that night after dinner, sam went to drive tom and harry to their house. it was late in the evening, but the roads were still busy. the thin layer of snow that laid on people’s front lawns reflected the lights of the cars that passed him.

sam was sure that harry could feel him reminiscing and focusing on what could of been, but harry didn’t mention anything and neither did tom. after dropping his brothers off and helping them bring their stuff inside, sam left to drive home, but found himself taking the long way. something pulled him to go to his old school. he parked between the church and the school building and thought back to when he asked y/n out on the football field after leaving the graduation ceremony. his parents were ringing him asking where he was, and he heard your phone go off too, but in that moment all that mattered was you two.

the holidays always seemed to remind him of y/n. ever since he moved to scotland, coming back to kingston was like picking a scab and causing that wound to never heal. he always felt cold whenever he thought of her, cold from the pain that they had brought each other all those years ago. how that pain had never healed was unbeknownst to him, but it always brought him back to the street between the methodist and the school.

as sam drove home, he for some reason couldn’t stop thinking about the day he left for france. they weren’t together, but she was still there to say her goodbyes. it was one of the last times he had seen her, but sam couldn’t stop thinking about how he walked over to the gate and looked over his shoulder only to see her still standing there and watching as he left her. the image of her standing still as everyone else in the airport kept moving around her was burned into sam’s brain and was something he could never forget.

the memories of y/n and sam driving around the countryside were the only things flowing through his mind. he thought of how they had had countless picnics at the fields they were allowed to, and how that summer was practically perfect. sure he followed up his relationship with y/n for one with ciara that lasted for almost four years, but the short-lived relationship was filled with nothing but passion that was turned on high, the idea of it being a summer fling had fueled it, but the slow burn was also something he had missed.

ciara and sam had always had something between them, that was evident in france, but it was different. sam couldn’t put his finger on it, and the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if she was a replacement for someone who was long gone or if she was genuinely someone he had quickly fallen in love with.

•••

as christmas eve rolled around, sam found himself busy with food prep. and when dinner rolled around, and he was busy with his family. he had an urge to text her, but the fact that he was consistently busy kept him from doing so. when his family decided to watch a movie in the living room, he found the time to text her. his fingers tapped on the screen, finding her contact and opening their last conversation, but then sam paused. what was he supposed to even say? he leaned forward so his forearms were resting on the edge of the kitchen island, the feel of the granite cooling down his skin.

while sam’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard, figuring out what he wanted to say, harry was walking into the kitchen in search of another beer. sam was so focused on the task at hand that he didn’t even hear his brother come in until he said, “what’re you doing?”

sam’s head shot up in the direction of where harry was standing, by the fridge.

“mate you scared me,” sam said, knowingly avoiding the question harry had asked. harry raised an eyebrow at him, but sam knew that harry had a feeling something was going on all due to the fact that they were twins.

“so, what’re you doing?” harry asked again in search for an answer. sam thought between telling a white lie or just telling harry the truth. it wasn’t groundbreaking that he wanted to text someone who he hadn’t seen in more than four years, right? sam was about to lie when harry snatched sam’s phone right out of his hands.

“hey!”

“why are you texting y/n?” they practically said in sync. sam couldn’t form a coherent sentence to explain this. he kept opening his mouth, but then closing it seconds afterwards, his brain not being able to form a sentence. harry’s jaw dropped when he made the connections. “you wanna see her again. i knew you still had feelings for her!”

“keep your voice down you idiot!” sam scolded the younger of the two, trying to cover harry’s mouth with his hand just in case he would say something else that he wasn’t ready to share with the family. “yes i want to meet up with her, but,” sam paused. but what? what was supposed to come after that? “i don’t know. is this stupid?” sam asked, mostly to himself, but also directed at harry.

harry just looked at his twin brother baffled. sam knew that y/n was the last person he should’ve been thinking about, not because she did anything wrong, but because she was someone who he was with when he was seventeen. a lot has changed, but how come his feelings stayed the same?

“there are so many girls you could’ve wanted to text. literally anyone. maggie, ella, haley, ciara, but why y/n?” harry asked. sam knew he wasn’t supposed to answer that question, that harry had asked it to only feed his thoughts, but his brain quickly scrambled for an answer.

“home just reminds me of her is all,” sam mumbled. it was the only thing he could think of, but it wasn’t a lie. being at home in kingston always reminded him of the summer nights he spent sneaking y/n in and out of his house, and driving to the nearest mcdonald’s at two a.m. when it seemed like they were the only people awake. well, them and the drive-thru workers, but it still felt like they were the only ones there. kingston always reminded him of the days they would stroll through london with no plan, and how they always took the train home absolutely knackered with their feet so sore from how far they walked, but he wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.

“mhm, sure.” as soon as harry spoke, a whoosh sound came from sam’s phone, and he had only realized that harry texted her.

“mate what the fuck!” sam exclaimed, immediately reaching over to grab his phone back, eyes scrambling to read the words his idiot twin brother had sent.

“thank me later,” was all harry said before he went back into the living room to continue watching elf with his family.

i’m back in town for christmas, do you wanna hang out this weekend for old times sake?

sam sighed knowing he couldn’t take anything back, but damn did he want to.

•••

y/n was sat on the couch with her family asleep upstairs in their rooms. she was the only one awake on christmas eve, mostly because she had fallen into the habit of sleeping late. whenever she had to work, her shifts were always later in the day, which meant she got home later and would always fall asleep around two a.m.

her christmas dinner wasn’t anything extravagant. she and her family never did anything big for christmas, or for the holidays in general, but they just used the holiday to spend time with one another, even though it usually ended with them just sat around a tv with dinner plates on their laps as they watched and ate. y/n enjoyed the simple things, and dinner and a movie were exactly what she needed and prepared herself for. it wasn’t until how the grinch stole christmas finished when she received sam’s text. it was maybe ten pm when she saw it, but her brain spent the hour following it just processing what was happening.

i’m back in town for christmas, do you wanna hang out this weekend for old times sake? the words floated around her brain over and over again as she tried to process the situation. she hadn’t seen him in years, and they only talked every few months, but their conversations were typically just a “how are you?” and an, “i’m doing well!” and never anything more than that. she wanted more though. she wouldn’t be lying if she said she didn’t miss him, but y/n just blamed that on how reminiscent she always was.

what was she supposed to say to the boy she dated when she was seventeen? maybe it would be nice to feel like she was seventeen again, even if it was just for a few days. would there be any feelings attached? she couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances of it.

“what the fuck is my life,” she groaned as she threw her head back onto the back of the couch. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, right?

pick me up at two am, saturday morning, just like old times :) she replied with, hoping that she wasn’t biting off more than she could chew. maybe they’d go back to the old mcdonald’s drive-thru that they used to frequent, or maybe they would go down that backroad that sam first took her on right after he got his license.

y/n’s mind then drifted to the last time she saw him, to her standing in the middle of the airport watching sam walk away from her. she felt the same hurt that she felt that day, and somehow she knew she would feel it once again once the weekend was over, but she wanted to feel that thrill once more, the thrill of being seventeen and in love.

•••

the evening of the twenty-fifth was filled with joy for the hollands, but for sam it was riddled with nerves. in just a few hours he would be driving around with y/n, someone he hadn’t seen since he had left her standing in that airport however many years ago.

he immediately started wondering what was going to happen when they hung out. whatever ended up happening, he was going back to scotland, that wasn’t going to change, but what if y/n asked sam to stay? what would happen then? the first time sam left, he wanted her to ask him to stay. he didn’t say anything because he knew he had to go, but how different would things be if she had asked him to stay? sam knew that this time would be different, but it would end the exact same way it did the first time.

sam knew that y/n would always remind him of home, that wouldn’t change. she would always remind him of being home, of his firsts. she’d always remind him of his first kiss, his first time, his first drink, and his first party. y/n would always remind him of the all-boys school he and harry went to and how she was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. granted, they were fourteen when they met, but he knew his feelings weren’t just infatuation. y/n made him feel different. he had always felt different towards her, and maybe it was just the constant thought of what could’ve been, but regardless, sam had a second chance, a second chance of calling her babe, even if it was just for the weekend.

one a.m. had quickly rolled around, and before sam knew it he was getting ready to go pick her up. after putting on a heather grey hoodie he was sure he had stolen from tom, and a pair of black jeans, he went downstairs and grabbed his coat, making sure he had everything he needed.

the drive to y/n’s house didn’t take as long as he had given himself, but he also needed time to mentally prepare before he let her know he was there. after turning down every street he could turn down in her neighbourhood just to kill time, sam found himself parked outside of her family’s house and sending a text letting her know he was out front. just seconds later, she had come out from the side door of the house wearing a black, puffy winter jacket, and a pair of black joggers. her jacket was unzipped to reveal a university sweater, and sam quickly noticed it was the one she dreamt of going to, but didn’t get into.

“hey, you!” she said once she got into the car. they shared an awkward hug, each of them leaning over the centre console, and sam kicked himself for not getting out of the car to greet her.

“hi there darling,” sam greeted her, the pet name rolling off the tongue as if it was supposed to. he knew he shouldn’t have called her that, but he couldn’t help himself.

“where are we going mr. holland?” she asked after buckling herself in. sam looked over at her and swore she was an angel. she was glowing in the moonlight, and even though they were around each other for less than a minute, sam could feel that there was still something there.

“you’ll see,” was all he said before he put the car in drive and headed down the street to the old mcdonald’s drive-thru they used to go to. he had the night planned out, and luckily for him, he had remembered to get gas before going over to her place. they were going to drive around like old times, and if he played his cards right, then maybe they would end up watching the sunrise sitting on the roof of his house, just like they used to.

they spent the whole car ride catching up, talking about ex’s, but then they reached a point where they felt like they both were seventeen again, and sam could tell by the way she seemed more carefree.

after ordering their food and driving around for a bit, sam decided the rooftop was going to be the best place to talk. they were sat next to each other, the roof tiles covered with a blanket. sam and y/n shared a blue blanket that laid across their legs, the mcdonald’s bag sat in between them. it was silent for a bit as they looked out at the stars. sam couldn’t stop thinking about how small their town felt, how nothing seemed to matter except him and y/n. was this what he wanted? for nothing to matter except for the two of them?

“do you ever think of what would’ve happened if you had stayed?” y/n asked, breaking the silence. sam took a minute to think. of course he did, but where was this conversation going to lead them.?

“mhm, but what i come up with always changes,” sam admitted knowing that she wouldn’t have brought it up if she didn’t think about it herself. part of him hoped that she was going to ask him to stay, but he knew she wasn’t planning on it. he reached over and grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers together. y/n’s hand was so cold, but she’d always been a cold person sam remembered. “what happens in your alternate universe?” sam asked, wondering if her hypotheticals aligned with his.

sam looked over at y/n only to see her deep in thought. he recognized that look anywhere. her eyebrows were furrowed and she was biting on her bottom lip. sam always wondered why she did that when she was thinking deeply, but never asked why.

“i guess i just always imagined that if you had stayed we would’ve lasted longer, or maybe we would’ve still been together,” she mumbled. sam just nodded not finding the words to say, what was he even supposed to say to that? he knew that she was right, they would’ve lasted longer if he didn’t leave, but he couldn’t change that it happened.

“for whatever it’s worth, i’m sorry i left.” he would always be sorry for leaving, that’s something that had never left. the guilt of leaving y/n in the airport always made itself known, and sam didn’t know how to fix it. he knew the weekend was going to end with him leaving again, that’s something he couldn’t change, but he hoped the guilt wouldn’t grow.

“i know,” y/n whispered, barely audible for him to hear. sam could tell that this was hurting her from the way she was trying to close herself off by bringing her knees up to her chest. maybe he had reopened a wound that hadn’t healed by asking to hang out with y/n, maybe he was breaking his own heart by wanting to see her again, but the road not taken was so appealing.

“i just wish you would’ve stayed,” she whispered. those six words made sam feel like someone had stomped on his heart and shattered it, but there was nothing he could do to change the past.

“i’m leaving on january second, so we have until then,” he stated, hoping that they would make the most of those few days that they had left together. sam watched as she processed it, then glancing down to where their hands were connected. he let go to put his arms around her and pull her into a hug, the black jacket compressing under the pressure of his arms. “what do you say?” he asked, then kissing her cheek. there were unsaid feelings still lingering between them, and sam knew from the way that y/n stole glances at him while they were in the car that she still felt something for him.

y/n smiled and nodded her head, but sam knew that this was only going to hurt more by the time he had to leave. he knew that nothing was going to change, nothing was going to get better. she wasn’t going to ask him to stay, she didn’t the first time, and sam knew that there was too much on the line for her to ask him to stay this time around.

they stayed on the roof for a few hours longer, waiting for the sunrise. all sam and y/n did was just talk, but with the way y/n laid on his lap, sam could feel that she also was hanging onto the moment as much as she could, that she was grasping onto it for dear life.

as the sun rose, y/n sat up and tilted her head so it was resting on his shoulder. sam’s arm came up to wrap around her shoulders, bringing her closer to his body. the orange and yellow colours of the sun melted and dissolved the dark night sky, and if sam thought that y/n was glowing in the moonlight before, he definitely thought she was glowing now with the way the sun cast a warm glow onto her skin. sure it was five in the morning in the dead of winter, but he hadn’t felt this warm in a long time.

once the sun had finished rising and was above the horizon, they began the climb back down to the ground. as they climbed down, sam looked into the kitchen window only to see two pairs of eyes staring back at him, one of them being tessa’s, and the other being harry. y/n sheepishly waved at him, a wave that felt like they had been caught doing something wrong. sam nodded at his brother who only returned a smirk in his direction, to which sam rolled his eyes at. they got back into the car, and sam found himself taking the long way back to y/n’s place, not wanting the night to end just because the sun had come up.

as they pulled up to y/n’s house, sam bid her an innocent kiss goodbye, the feeling of her soft, slightly chapped lips against his lips, also slightly chapped from the cold, sent sparks through his body.

“i’ll see you tonight?” he asked, and she let out a hum of agreement before saying ‘goodbye,’ and walking up to her front door and sneaking back into her house.

on the drive back to his house, sam knew that harry would be waiting for him with questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. he knew that harry would be sitting at the kitchen table, his tea in one hand, and his phone in the other, waiting for sam to come back just so he could interrogate him, and boy did he interrogate him.

as soon as sam opened the door to the house, harry immediately called out, “so how was your date?” sam shut the door behind him and took off his shoes and coat before he walked into the kitchen where harry was sitting just as he predicted, with a cup of tea in one hand and his phone in the other.

“it wasn’t a date, but it was very nice, thank you for asking,” sam stated.

“yeah yeah, whatever. what are you going to do when you have to leave again?” harry was looking at sam with an all-knowing look on his face, but even a blind person could see how this was ending, and it wasn’t going to end well.

“i’ll get there when i get there.” sam didn’t care that this was going to hurt him much more than when he left for france, but he didn’t care because the second chance he had with her was far more exhilarating than just wondering what would’ve happened. sam sat down in the chair beside harry, leaning down to pet tessa who was sitting by his feet.

“you’re only going to hurt yourself,” harry said, a tone of concern tinting his voice. their family was always honest with one another, but harry and sam were always honest on a different level. their honesty usually came in a form of protection, and sam knew that harry was just trying to protect him, but he didn’t care if he was going to get hurt, it was all worth it to him.

“‘tis the damn season,” sam shrugged. the eight days they had left with each other was all sam needed, even if she didn’t ask him to stay this time around.

anything and everything taglist: @hollanderfangirl @hxrryhxlland @ohmy-moonlightx @musicalkeys @notsosmexy @writertoo18 @icyhollands @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh

#sam holland #sam holland x reader #sam holland x y/n #sam holland x you #sam holland fic #sam holland imagine #sam holland imagines #sam holland fluff #sam holland angst

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aphroditestummyrolls · 3 years

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Tagged by: @rhubarbdreams @cactusdragon517 @morallygreywaren and @ceraunos (I’m so sorry this took so long! Thank you for thinking of me, it is so flattering <3)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

This was SO FUN. It was so nice to go through my old stories... I’m really proud of my writing. That’s something I never thought I’d say, and it’s something I’ve decided I’m going to do unabashedly from now on. <3 Happy almost April, everyone!

Gaining Heart (Spartacus)

The days following the defeat of Glaber had been a flurry of activity.

Agron found himself not only leading on field of battle, but leading organization and defensive strategy. Those fucking Romans had moved into the temple as if it was their own home, claiming all that they saw— but they had also brought much of their own. Food, wine, supplies— it was a gift from the fucking gods, and needed proper inventory.

Agron knew not how to do that. Nasir and Naevia were invaluable, cleaning each chamber of any evidence of battle, cataloguing lists and categorizing everything from barrels of grain to rolls of bandages.

Tangles and Roots (The Old Guard)

He was covering Andy.

The hangar was dark, shadowed by the last of the night while dawn crept up over the skyline outside. The plane was set to land any minute now, and Nicky’s eyes flicked from corner to corner, finger on the trigger of his gun and his jaw grinding hard. He could swear he saw shapes moving along the roof— the banks of high windows above them left eerie patches of weak blue light, flickering with little flashes of darkness.

It was probably just birds. He was out of practice— they had done nothing but sit around in the six months since Merrick, trying to heal the deep wounds left in their minds… and bodies, in Andy’s case.

Nicky swallowed, stepping that much closer to his friend’s side as they took their places in the shadows.

Still Awake? (The Old Guard)

He pretended to sleep. His eyes were closed, and his muscles were stiff, tying themselves into knots where he laid in his cot between Andy’s empty bedroll and Joe and Nicky’s snuggled up bodies. Booker refused to be comfortable— he refused to rest. The day had been rough, and the fighting had left a bone deep ache inside him, even while the physical wounds had healed.

All the Time in the World (The Old Guard)

The first time Nicolo and Yusuf bathed together, it was by the river— he wasn’t sure which river. It had probably changed names and countries a hundred times by now. All he remembered was that, by the time they heard the steady rush of water and cleared the brush and trees to the bank, he was half mad with annoyance.

If that man made one more grumbled complaint— one more clearly telegraphed grimace— about the supposed smell of him, Nicoló might have to break their truce and run the bastard through.

Kissed by an Angel (The Old Guard)

Nicky felt his lips flicker into a private smile, setting the pot on the stove to simmer and turning to look out the window into the garden. Joe’s garden.

He was humming to himself— Nicky couldn’t quite hear it, but he could tell by the set of the other man’s jaw under his beard and the purse of his lips as he concentrated. The weeds wouldn’t rip themselves, the overgrown shrubs wouldn’t miraculously be already pruned and waiting for them.

They were finally back in Valletta. Finally home.

Patron Saint of Satisfaction (The Old Guard)

It had been a long, long few weeks.

Joe’s shoulders were tense and knotted, and his whole body still ached from the train ride he and Nicky had taken all that day. There was a stifling, choked sensation in his gut that would rise in waves, up his throat to the tip of his tongue until he was ready to scream. The whole way to their safehouse, he brushed shoulders with his lover— practically leaning on him— and let himself take refuge in the feeling of Nicky’s warm hand entwining their fingers.

Waking Dreams (The Old Guard)

At first, they could’ve been anywhere for all Joe knew.

There was nothing in the world but Nicky— his scent, his body, his quiet sleeping breaths. Joe felt himself hover on the edge of sleep and wakefulness, the familiar thrum of pleasure making up the backdrop of his thoughts.

He nuzzled into his Nico’s neck, pressing sloppy, half asleep kisses to the back of his neck.

Here There Be Monsters (The Old Guard)

The morning had been blustery and hot. The scent of ozone made the sea air thick as it blew through his hair where they all stood, crowded around the lower deck. They all squinted against the bright sunshine, but Joe knew better than to trust the blue sky.

”If I’m getting in, I’ve gotta do it soon—“ he spoke up, cutting into some conversation that he hadn’t been listening to, “There’s a storm coming in from the East.”

Nile— still so young, so far from the American Midwest, and in her first field season— raised an eyebrow at him from behind her sunglasses.

He smiled at her bemused look, shooting his gaze over to Andy. Andy smirked, huffing a laugh. “If anybody knows, Joe knows.”

In Loving Memory (The Old Guard)

The wind whipped up off the water, cold and salty despite the way the sun beat down on them. It was alright, honestly— refreshing after all those stuffy hours in the car.

These immortals were highly resistant to normal modes of transport. Like a plane— a real passenger plane, not a Russian cargo plane full of drugs. It was all cars and boats and trains, low to the ground, literally under the radar.

Nile understood why. She didn’t want to end up strapped down to a lab table like the one they escaped all those months ago. She’d just rather take a nice plane from the closest airport to Provence and get to Valletta in a matter of hours, rather than drive through three countries and all the way down the Italian boot, just to bribe a fishing boat.

Feed My Soul (The Old Guard)

Malta looked good on Nicolò.

Joe leaned on the railing of their balcony, looking down into their old, old walled garden where his Nico shuffled around in the herbs. He was looking for something particular, the bridge of his nose scrunching as he peered at the mess of overgrown pots.

Joe beamed, the familiar, all-encompassing warmth of loving that man filling him up and making him feel expansive and bright. There was a cathedral ceiling in his chest, airy and golden with the light of dawn through its tall, jeweled windows. There was a house of worship where his heart should be, and he traced the lines of the other man’s body like he was devoting a painting to him.

Sono Qui (The Old Guard)

Andy left Booker on the beach.

She felt his gaze follow her, but couldn’t bring herself to look back.

It wasn’t as if they had never separated before— as if the four of them had been constantly attached from the time they finally found the Frenchman, even after months and months of dreaming and searching. There were plenty of times where they spent months, or sometimes years apart. They took breaks from each other, they traveled. Just a year ago, Andy had declared that she needed a break— was that last year of being alone the thing that led Booker to betray them? Maybe they should’ve stayed together. She never should have left him. She understood how it felt to be alone in the world… to lose someone so precious that life loses its color.

Andy had left Booker plenty of times. It wasn’t something she liked to think about now, but she had… She had assumed he was handling it like her. Somber and drunk, wishing for some type of release. They’d talked about it enough times. But not like this.

Brother of My Heart (The Old Guard)

Joe clenched his hands on the steering wheel, flexing his fingers to feel the stretch in the tendons, even though any injuries from the fighting had long since healed.

While driving away from the ruins of Merrick’s car, the adrenaline was still rushing in his veins, and all his self control was devoted to staying reasonably within the speed limit. The last thing they needed was to get stopped by some bobby cop while covered in blood and dust, with a bullet through Andy’s stomach.

Right now, they needed to blend in. So, Joe didn’t press the gas pedal into the floor.

Care and Feeding (The Old Guard)

Nile couldn’t ever remember liking the cold.

Even at home in Chicago. Sure, her memories of warm Christmas masses, bright lights on the tree, and gently falling snow outside the kitchen window made her throat dry with that familiar, wistful grief. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to seeing pine trees or twinkle lights without thinking of her mom’s mac n cheese, or how early her brother would wake her up on Christmas morning.

But loving Christmas, and loving snow? Those were two completely different things.

Going Underground (Star Wars)

Poe wasn’t sure what it was like when they broke through the atmosphere into Yavin IV. He didn’t watch through the Falcon’s wide front window as the familiar jungles passed by in a blur of green underneath them, and he couldn’t pick out the roof of home from the surrounding grasses as they came in for a landing.

The first thing he saw as he came to, bleary and aching, was Finn. They’d fallen asleep right where they were, pressed shoulder to shoulder at the holochess table, Poe’s head on Finn’s shoulder. It took him a sluggish moment to recall why his hand had its own throbbing pulse, and why Finn’s soft, dark skin was pockmarked with strange cuts, glistening with bacta.

The second thing he saw, swallowing against the rush of memories filling his fuzzy mind, must have been a hallucination.

STAR WARS VIII: The Battle of the Force (Star Wars)

“General, I don’t know how much longer we can hold ‘em off—”

Poe’s voice crackled from the shoddy reception, nearly engulfed by the constant bombardment in the background.

“Commander, the Resistance depends on taking down this dreadnought.” Leia kept her voice steady and strong “Stand your ground.”

Beyond What We Can See (Star Wars)

If he was being honest with himself, he supposed that he’d been feeling the Force his whole life. He’d always just brushed it off as basic intuition— he thought everybody felt this way. It wasn’t until he started seeing the way the Force was treated in the First Order—as a myth, a fearful, distant thing—that he realized how much he needed to keep his head down. Even though he only felt it in small ways, he was different. He buried the feelings, tried to ignore the nagging dread that said that he didn’t belong there in his platoon. That none of them did.

But that wasn’t something he was allowed to feel. The Force wasn’t supposed to be something any of the troops knew firsthand.

Like She Always Did (Star Wars)

The first time she left was barely a memory. More of a dream. He didn’t remember the fight they had, but he knew in hindsight that they must’ve had it for much longer than the tail end that he saw. Maybe it was what got his little feet out of bed in the first place. Daddy’s eyes were rimmed with red and Mama was pacing out her anger into the sitting room rug. Poe’s eyes were wide as he watched from the threshold to the hall, his little hand gripping onto the pillow that he’d tugged along with him from his room.

Love Will Help You Heal (Star Wars)

Every inch of him throbbed, the last dregs of whatever the interrogation droid had injected him with still pumping through his bloodstream. He was so tired. How long had it even been? Getting captured on Jakku felt like a hazy dream, as if it was weeks ago.

No one was coming for him. He knew that much—he’d probably be mad if they endangered the resources to try—but he couldn’t help but wish anyway. Death seemed so close, like a cold hand on his shoulder, by his side in the recirculated air of the Star Destroyer.

He wished they’d just hurry up. His drug-addled, sleep deprived mind didn’t know if he was asking for rescue or death. Maybe they were the same thing now.

Dying a martyr. At least it suited the image—Poe Dameron, Poster Boy of the Resistance.

Ghosts of Future and Past (MCU/Captain America)

His head was throbbing. His back ached. Everything in him pulsed with agony like he’d been hit by a train.

A train. Bucky.

“Bucky is alive.”

He could feel the winter cold at the memory, his eyes snapping open as the past few moments came flooding back to him.

There had been another Steve. Even without the mask, he’d looked just like him. It must have been Loki playing tricks again, it had to be.

Sweet as Honey, Gold Like the Sun (Stranger Things)

Steve was drifting after high school graduation. He drifted right out of the halls of Hawkins High and into a desk job at his dad’s office. If he was being honest, he’d been drifting since the Gate closed— maybe even since Nancy broke it off.

He wasn’t mad. She was his best friend. He and Jonathan were even friends now. No, he hadn’t been mad for a long time— but he was lost. The kids were going to high school. Dustin would be getting his license one of these days, and Steve’s last function to his little gaggle of brats would become all but useless.

The idea of not serving a purpose left the bitter tang of anxiety in his throat. Once the kids didn’t need him— and Joyce and Hopper and even Nancy— Steve would be left behind. Again.

Okay... Some of these may have been more than just what is considered “Opening Lines”, but I can’t just leave something feeling unfinished, and I’m a little tipsy, which means I am bending the rules <3

**EDIT** i forgot to look for patterns and pick my favorite! I mean, I think all storytelling/creative expression (anything from developing a recipe to composing a painting to writing a story) follows a distinct formula. And the best way to establish the story is by starting it with the most important element front and center— I almost always start with my main character. A thought or a feeling, a situation or a sensation. They’re the focal point from which everything ripples out. Those first ripples (the 2nd, 3rd or 4th lines) are usually about building the setting. It’s an equation that works so well for me, and though I sometimes shake it up by adding immediate dialogue or flipping the positions of setting and main character, it has served me well ❤️ i think my favorite has to be Brother of My Heart. It’s the first really, immediately big story Ive ever had. So many comments, so much warmth, so many kind people— it grew my confidence and helped me make friends. It reminds me of how truly wonderful fandom can be, even just with the first few lines.

I’m going to continue to bend the rules by not tagging anyone immediately-- it’s giving me weird anxiety levels, so I’m gonna wait and do it later maybe. If, in the meantime, you see this and want to do it, write me down as the one who tagged you! <3 Feel frrrreeeeeeee!

#spartacus #the old guard #star wars #fanfiction #writing #writing by ME #<3 thank you friends #for thinking of me #it was really nice of you

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bnhabadass · 4 years

Text

This is a collaboration with the bnharem server for Angst April. This was incredibly fun to participate in even though it hurt writing. Make sure to check out everyone else’s pieces which you can find here.

Pairing: Tokoyami x Reader Warning: Angst

You always thought that if you were to get dumped it would be in person, over coffee, at a cafe on a sunny day in late spring. Well maybe it wouldn’t be that scene exactly, but you were sure that you would be able to look into your lover’s eyes one last time before bidding them farewell forever.

A text message. It was a measly six word text message that broke your heart into a million shards which blew away with a gust of thick wind.

I think we should break up.

You were confused. You thought that your relationship was going well, especially considering that you went to different schools and how busy he was with his hero work. Third year students are already busy as it is, and what he has told you about his hero training seems so rigorous and taxing. Even with all of that you managed to find time to see each other and to go on dates at least once every other week. It was a healthy relationship, and you weren’t ready to give that up just yet.

Why do you say that?

You waited for a response. You checked your phone constantly, threw it against the couch cushions when you had no notifications, and practically ripped out strands of your hair as a pit of anxiety formed in your stomach. You tried to distract yourself by turning on the TV, but the first bit of news that popped up was a case that Hawks’ agency dealt with earlier in the week, and of course he was the headliner.

“Where are we going?”

“Just wait. It’s only going to be a few more minutes.”

You held your boyfriend’s hand as you walked under the bright moonlit sky together. The trees cast shadows down onto your skin. It was breezy out and you pinched the sides of your sweater together with your free hand.

Your boyfriend had told you the truth, and it was only a couple more minutes before you had arrived at your destination.

“I know that it has been a while since we were able to see each other,” he said, “what with me having hero work and all. So I thought why not make the most of the time we do have together.”

You gasped and couldn’t hold back a smile as you saw the picnic laid out before you. A blanket was spread on the grass and candle holders with red candles inside illuminated the picnic basket in the center.

“Fumikage, you never fail to impress me.” You kissed the top of his beak and gently guided him over to the spread he had made for you.

You tried to forget the memory. You smacked the side of your head in an attempt to make it go away, but no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stop thinking about the small smiles that he would give only for you. And your head started to hurt.

You tried calling one of your friends but she didn’t pick up. You needed something to distract yourself, something to pass the time. You took a long shower where you planned on letting all that pent up emotion loose, but it refused to come out. You sat in the shower for an hour feeling the hot water beating down on your upper back. Your toe nails scraped against the bottom of the tub as you counted the seconds that went by.

Why can’t I cry? My boyfriend broke up with me, so why am I not upset?

That isn’t entirely true. You were furious. How could a year and a half of laughing and taking late night jogs and cooking meals with each other end with just the tap of a finger? You weren’t ready for it to end. You didn’t think you would ever be ready for it to end.

When you turned off the water and slid the shower curtain open, you relaxed slightly as you saw the heat emanating from your bare arms. As you cooled down, you could finally take a deep breath.

It was late. The full moon cascaded through your bedroom window, lighting the room in an almost magical way. However you could only feel a tightening in your stomach, as the moon reminded you of him.

Checking your phone for the umteenth time that night, you realized that it had died while you were in the shower. He could have responded while you were away and you would have no idea. What if he tried to call you? What if he decided that it was wrong to break things off with you and you weren’t there to answer?

Your trembling hands desperately fiddled with the plug by your bedside. How could you have let this happen? How could you have let it die? How could you have let your relationship die on your watch?

Tears clouded your vision as you waited for your phone to regain it’s battery. Just one percent. All you need is one percent to see if he responded, to see why your boyfriend left you.

Your face lit up as soon as your phone did, having regained the smallest bit of charge. You waited for a notification. You refreshed your messages, left dozens of little finger prints across your screen which were sure to cause an oil build up, but that was the least of your concern.

Nothing. There was nothing. No notification or anything. No text from your boyfriend giving an explanation for why he was leaving you. Nothing except the message you sent earlier which he had left on read.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just answer your simple question? Did he not think you deserve an answer? Your throat began to ache as your eyes welled with more tears, but you refused to let them fall. Not yet at least. Not until you had a good reason to cry.

You gripped the towel that was sliding down your body and hoisted it back up. You took a shaky breath in and prepared yourself to call your boyfriend. You waited a moment to hear the ringing on the other line before putting the phone up to your ear. There was a chance that he would not answer, but you knew you needed to try.

“Hello,” you heard after a few moments.

“Hi.” Your voice broke into the speaker, and you cursed yourself for letting any cracks slip through.

“(Y/n) it’s two in the morning.”

“I know it’s two am. I know that, but I need you.” Your voice had turned into a soft whimper as the tears you tried so hard to hold back were inching their way in big globs down your face.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot go to you anymore. You know that.” His voice was cold. It cut like a sharp blade and the wound it left was deep.

Your breathing became rapid. “Can,” you started. “Can you just tell me why? Can you please just tell me why you think we should break up?” Your face grew hot as you struggled to come up with what to say to him next. “Because I thought we were doing so well, a-and I really just need to know.”

You heard an audible sigh on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to date you anymore. I don’t think I love you the same way I used to.”

There was silence on both ends of the line. How could he say that when not even a week before he told you that you were the only person in his life who mattered this much to him? How could he pretend like none of what he told you over the last year and a half mattered?

Your face pinched in as you tried to create the most quiet sobs you could. You didn’t want him to hear how much pain you were in at that moment.

A minute went by before he spoke next. A minute of you quietly wiping away soft yet harsh tears that couldn’t seem to stop spilling out of you. “Are you alright?” He asked.

What did that mean, are you alright? “You’re an asshole, Fumikage” you managed to softly spit out before hanging up and releasing the loudest sob. Your head hit your pillow and you held on for dear life as it slowly started to dampen. The towel slipped past your chest and started to drag down but you didn’t care. You let it fall to the floor as you cried out.

“I loved you. I loved you, I loved you, I loved you.”

The sun was beating down on the calm streets. Most of the people out and about had no idea that there was a bank robbery close by. Tokoyami had swooped down from his perch on the roof of a near-by building, waiting for his mentor to meet him.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was right by some cafe, a cute little shop known for its pastries. Sitting outside the cafe, he spotted someone who he hadn’t seen in a very long time.

You sat at a small metal table, sipping at your cappuccino. Your eyes were glued to the pages of a book, barely ripping them away in order to take a sip of your drink. You looked calm, much more so than the last time he heard your voice.

He felt so guilty. That night, he wanted nothing more than to go to your house and hold you as you sobbed. Not a day went by without him thinking about how much he misses holding his princess of darkness in his arms.

“Nice work, Tsukuyomi,” he heard Hawks from behind him. “The police finished taking my statement. I’m ready to fly back whenever you are.”

Tokoyami didn’t bother looking over at his mentor. Instead, he kept staring at your eyes as they concentrated on the story unfolding in front of you.

Hawks looked at what his trainee was staring at. He recognized you from somewhere. He wasn’t sure where, but then he remembered the picture that Tokoyami showed him a few months before. He spoke about you like nothing else mattered. He had never seen the dark boy smile until he said your name. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He looked down at his cloak, scared that if he stared for much longer you would notice.

Hawks looked at him, a warning expression lacing his face. “How long has it been? Four months?”

“Three months and seventeen days.” He looked back up at you, your eyes still trained on your book.

Hawks turned around and readied his wings for take off. “Remember what I told you. Hero work is dangerous. It’s better if you don’t get your loved ones involved.” With that, he took off, but Tokoyami stayed behind.

He wanted to approach you. He wanted to say something, to apologize for everything he did that hurt you, to tell you that he is still very much in love with you and that he wishes he could hold you again.

Your eyes flickered up from the page and he darted behind a tree as to not be seen. When he peeked his head out, he saw that you were now talking to someone. You had set your book aside as you spoke to another young man, one who was clearly attempting to make you laugh with a poor excuse for a joke. Even so, you laughed. And Tokoyami was fuming.

He wanted to push that man out of the way and kiss you like his life depended on it. “Stay away from my girlfriend,” he would say before dipping you down for seconds. He wanted to do that so bad, but he didn’t. He had a feeling, seeing you laugh, that this was the first time in a very long time that you were truly happy.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #tokoyami fukimage #tokoyami x reader #bnha tokoyami #mha tokoyami #angst #angst april #bnharem #bnharem collab

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shadowhuntertrash · 3 years

Text

High Notes

I own nothing

Chapter Six

The day went by quickly and Thomas didn’t have much time to ponder the almost kiss he had with Alastair or the girl's from the coffee shop’s words until dinner that night. Lucie and Cordelia had gone and had an early dinner with Alastair and the other boys had decided to have a late dinner and go ahead and knock the rest of their rehearsal out.

James and Christopher were in a deep discussion about dress rehearsal they had tomorrow and Thomas found himself, once again, under the scrutinizing gaze of Matthew. Thomas moved the fry around on his plate, his hamburger long forgotten. He was too anxious to eat anyway. “Who started it?” Matthew asked in a quiet voice. Thomas raised an eyebrow, “Math I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about.” He said innocently shrugging, Matthew just glared.

“Stop it, we both know you do.” They held eye contact for a minute and Thomas was reminded vaguely of a dominance match between dogs. Thomas gave up with a huff and looked back down at his fries again. “I honestly don’t know. I had a panic attack and then we were just walking and then it just kind of… happened. Lord, that sounds dull.” Matthew smirked at him and Thomas groans, burying his head in his hands. Matthew laughs softly and James looks over at them. “What are we talking about?” James asked, propping his chin on Matthew’s shoulder so he could see Thomas.

Thomas had sat in this booth first, Matthew had sat next to Thomas and then James, the social anxiety impersonation he is, sat next to Matthew instead of sitting in the booth with Christopher. Which led to Thomas, Matthew, and James being squished together and Christopher propping his legs up in his practically empty booth.

They had to sit in the back because most places they go they get noticed by fans and won’t get any peace. It was a habit now (for their band and Alastair and the girls) to ask for a spot in the back or off in a corner somewhere when they went out to eat.

“We’re talking about Thomas and Alastair almost kissing.” Matthew said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Christopher choked on his drink and James looked at Thomas with wide eyes. “When did that happen!” Christopher said when he had stopped choking. Thomas was sure he resembled a tomato at this point.

He hit Matthew, who was still laughing hysterically, in the arm and slumped further in his seat, hating his height more than anything at the moment. “When we found them, they were about to kiss and then we stumbled upon them and they didn’t.” Matthew frowned and slumped against James. “What a bunch of cock blocks we are.” Matthew said as if it were him that didn’t get to kiss someone he wanted to.

Thomas found himself laughing at Matthew’s forlorn expression and James’s still too wide eyes. “Nothing really happened. We were just walking and talking. We were actually trying to find you guys because I told Matthew twenty minutes and then I realized I was late because I didn’t have my phone on. Sorry about that Math, I know you worry. So I was trying to-”

Matthew cut him off with a raised hand. “Stop rambling it’s okay. I was just picking and James was just a little shocked.” Matthew finished with a shape jab to James’ ribs which seemed to snap James out of his daze. James nodded enthusiastically before looking at Matthew with a wide smile. “Oh my god otp Matthew OTP!” Matthew and Christopher burst out laughing and Thomas slumped impossibly further in his chair. Why did they always have to pick on him?

Matthew dropped his hand on Thoams’ shoulder and Thomas looked at him. Matthew was looking at him with a look that was strictly reserved for James, Thomas, and Christopher. A soft look that was often off putting since he was constantly annoyed or making a joke out of everything and anything.

“You know Tommy we only pick on you because it’s easy with how embarrassed you get. We love you and as much as I dislike Alastair I think you two would be good for each other. Plus,” He added a wink that made Thomas blush before he even heard the next part. “I think you could teach him some well needed manners.” Thomas laughed softly and gave Mattew a pointed look.

“You really shouldn’t make fun of my pining, saying as it is not nearly as bad as yours was.” Matthew put his hand to his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me Thomas. Anyhow even if that was accurate,” He turned to James and stuck his tongue out boyishly. “Which it wasn’t,” He turned back to Thomas who was smiling at his friends. “It isn’t my fault you’re too nice and didn’t pick on me when you had the chance.” Thomas rolled his eyes.

It was common knowledge that Thomas was nice, it was why the fans had dubbed him the ‘Kind One’ or ‘Gentle Giant’ as some others called him. He hated that one thought, gentle giant made him sound dull. They had dubbed Matthew as the ‘Sexy One’, James the ‘Mysterious One’, and Christopher, well Christopher was his own category.

Thomas pushed Matthew playfully and Matthew fell back dramatically accidentally falling on James, causing him to fall out of the seat. “Jesus Math, be careful.” James said taking Matthew’s outstretched hand and getting back to his feet, Matthew was too busy laughing to listen to him.

Thomas sat back watching them, his brothers by all means but blood, and smiled. How did he get so lucky?

When it was time to go back to the hotel rooms, which they were staying in when they weren’t on the road, they all split ways smiling and wishing each other goodnight. Thomas followed Christopher to their room. There were two beds so Thomas knew he could stand staying with Christopher.

Thomas showered as soon as they got to the hotel. Some people thought it was weird but Thomas showered twice a day and washed his hair at least once a day. Matthew always picked on it but Thomas just shrugged it off he didn’t feel clean if he didn’t wash his hair.

Thomas took his time feeling the hot water wash off the stress of the day. As soon as he had got to the quiet hotel room the fans from the diner’s words came back to him. He knew he would spend too much time thinking about this.

He got out of the shower about 40 minutes later and ran his towel through his hair shaking it out. He flopped gracelessly on the bed and groaned. Christopher was fast asleep on the bed next to him, the sound he was making strongly reminded Thomas of a lawnmower.

Thomas grabbed his phone, turned the brightness down, as he began feeling the beginning of a headache, and read the texts he had received.

Matthew Unfairchild:

Sleep well dream of your knight in shining armor <3

Thomas scoffed and replied,

Tommy:

We all know I’m more into Prince Charming. <3

He opened a text from Lucie and smiled at her picture. It was a picture from the first time they went to Disney World. No one else would go with her, Cordelia didn’t like it because she couldn’t stand the lines and decided it was no more magical than Six Flags. James and Matthew had claimed too manly (however it turned out they went two months before without telling anyone), and Christopher, bless his soul, wouldn’t stop going on and on about the mechanisms in the rides and that just made everyone untrustworthy of the shaky rides.

So Thomas had gone with her and they had stayed for two days, riding rides and meeting characters. The picture that made her profile was of her in front of Cinderella’s castle with a bunch of fireworks going off in the background. She was mid jump and a look of pure happiness plastered on her face, she had an ice cream cone in her hand however the ice cream was mid fall.

It was Thomas’ all time favorite picture of her and he was quietly proud of his photography skills. Lucie’s parents, Tessa and Will, had taken one look at the picture and demanded it be framed and hung on the wall of their house. Thomas was proud of that too.

Luce <33:

Matthew told me what happened. I'm so mad at myself. You two were finally gonna kiss and I messed it up I’m so sorry Tommy.

Thomas laughed and shook his head. It seemed everyone was rooting for them and Thomas was quietly pleased. Thomas just hoped he wasn’t going off of false hope.

Tommy:

It’s fine sweetie don’t worry about it. I wasn’t thinking anyway.

Thomas checked his other text to find pictures of Barbara’s engagement ring and a video of her telling our parents about her engagement. Thomas smiled slightly and watched the video with the volume on low knowing exactly how his mom would react. He did however have to turn it up when he couldn’t hear the video over Christopher’s snoring.

He watched as Barbara casually, without words, held up her engagement ring for them to see. Sophie’s hands automatically came up to cover her mouth as her eyes started watering dangerously. Gideon however stared at it not comprehending yet. “He did not!” Sophie all but screamed. He listened as Barbara and Oliver started laughing.

Gideon’s mouth fell open slightly, understanding brightening his eyes. He walked over quickly and hugged her, Sophie joining quickly. The video ended then and Thomas sent his sister a text.

Tommy:

Aww! They’re so proud! I’m proud of you. It was about time Oliver took the next step! Love you tons miss you more!

Thomas opened the last unread message and furrowed his eyebrows, it was an unknown number. Thomas opened it and felt a smile stretching across his face.

Unknown Number:

Hey I asked Lucie for your number hope you don’t mind.

Unknown Number:

It’s Alastair btw lol

Thomas let out a happy sound that immediately made him blush even though Christopher wasn’t awake to hear it. Thomas took a few calming breaths cursing himself for acting like a little girl with a crush.

Tommy:

Oh hey I don’t mind sorry for responding late

Thomas stared down at the message, that was cool right? Not too eager, not too pushy. Thomas sighed roughly and put his phone on the nightstand by their beds. Thomas closed his eyes and replayed the events of the day, the practicing, the boys trying to convince him to sing at a concert, the girls words which were still ringing in his ears much to his dismay, and Alastair.

Daring Alastair with his stupid dyed hair and his face that lights up constantly. Thomas shook his head as if he could physically fling the thoughts from his head. He got up knowing he wasn’t going to be able to sleep yet. Christopher was making sure of that. Thomas knew in the back of his mind that he was probably going to end up in James and Matthew’s room.

Thomas got up and picked up his guitar. It had been a long day and he had written a song but he didn’t want to play it for anyone yet. It was deeper than his normal ones, it was more just words he needed out of his head. Thomas huffs loudly the girls words playing on repeat in his head, he could tell he was getting a migraine but he bit back the pain and started strumming.

I don't know why I just feel I'm better off

Stayin' in the same room I was born in

I look outside and see a whole world better off

Without me in it tryin' to transform it

You are out of my mind, oh

You aren't seein' my side, oh

You waste all this time tryin' to get to me

But you are out of my mind, yeah

Listen, I know

This one's a contradiction because of how happy it sounds

But the lyrics are so down

It's okay though

Because it represents, wait, better yet it is

Who I feel I am right now

You are out of my mind, oh

You aren't seein' my side, oh

You waste all this time tryin' to get to me

But you are out of my mind

Heard you say, "Not today"

Tore the curtains down, windows open, now make a sound

Heard your voice, "there's no choice"

Tore the curtains down, windows open, now make a noise

Oh, don't you test me, no

Just because I play the piano

Doesn't mean I, I'm not willin' to take you down

I'm sorry

I'm, I'm out of my mind, oh

I'm not seein' things right, oh

I waste all this time tryin' to run from you

But I'm, I'm out of my mind

Heard you say, "Not today"

Tore the curtains down, windows open, now make a sound

Heard your voice, "there's no choice"

Tore the curtains down, windows open, now make a noise

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, yeah, oh

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

You are out of my mind

You aren't seein' my side

You waste all this time tryin' to get to me

But you are out of my mind

Heard you say, "Not today"

Tore the curtains down, windows open, now make a sound

Heard your voice, "there's no choice"

Tore the curtains down, windows open, now make a noise

Thomas sighed and sat his guitar down rubbing his forehead with one hand. He got migraines when he had stressful days, which in all honesty were more often than not. Maybe he could ask Matthew for migraine medicine, he was sure to have some.

Thomas got up and jot down a message telling Christopher where he went in case he woke up, which wasn’t likely but he didn’t want to risk it. He put some sunglasses on because the yellow lighting in the halls made his head worse and walked down to James and Matthew’s room which was only three doors down.

Everyone knew where the others were sleeping in case of emergency or if they just wanted to hang out.

Thomas was about to knock when he heard some noises coming from inside. He furrowed his eyebrows wondering the hell they could be doing to make that racket. He could hear the bed hitting the wall and realization dawned on him. Crap.

Thomas whined softly knowing that he couldn’t get Matthew’s medicine now. He blushed furiously and walked away from their door quickly trying to erase the noises he had just heard. He sighed and shook his head stopping for a moment when a sharp wave of pain hit him and he stumbled slightly.

Thomas put his hand on the wall and walked slowly to Lucie and Cordelia’s room slowly, waiting for the room to stop spinning. He cursed when he stood in front of the door. He knocked sharply not wanting to be too loud in case they were asleep. He stood there for a few minutes before he turned to head back to his room deciding to wait it out.

The door opened as Thomas took his second step. Thomas let out a noise of relief. “Lucie-” He started softly before realizing that it wasn’t Lucie standing there, it wasn’t Cordelia either. It was Alasatiar.

Thomas looked at him for a while trying to wrap his head around why Alastair was there before slowly realizing that this wasn’t the girls room it was Alastair’s. Thomas groaned loudly and stumbled slightly. Alastair’s eyes, normally playful and joyous, were now darkening; he was practically scowling and Thomas shrunk away.

“Lightwood please don’t tell me you’re wasted.” Alastair said glaring Thomas shook his head and promptly sat down when the room spun too fast. Thomas let out an exasperated laugh. Alastair was now looking at him with concern, all annoyance gone. “Lightwood what’s wrong with you?” He said squatting down so he was eye level with Thomas.

Thomas looked at him in confusion before shrugging trying to ignore the pounding in his head. He hadn’t meant to be here and it was quite embarrassing to be a stumbling, collapsing mess in front of someone he cared so much to impress or at least not embarrass himself in front of. Alastair’s eyes narrowed, not a glare, but a look that said stop lying.

“Thomas you all but collapsed in front of me and you’re saying there’s nothing wrong?” Thomas let out a small noise. “James and Matthew are shagging.” Alastair’s eyebrows shot up. That was obviously not what he was expecting, Thomas laughed. “And this affects you and I how?” I close my eyes, the pain radiating and pulsing in my head.

“I needed his medicine.” I explain quietly trying to show him he needed to be quiet. He seemed to take the message because the next time he spoke it was significantly quieter. “Thomas what medicine?” Thomas furrowed his brows trying to think of the name giving up quickly when that just made the pain in his head worse. He really really hated migraines.

“Thomas,” Alastair said, now kneeling in front of Thomas. He looked slightly desperate and Thomas took a moment to appreciate that he had never seen Alastair look like that before. “Thomas come on what medicine.” I pat his shoulder and stand up shakily. “It’s alright I actually meant to go to Lucie’s room.”

Alasatir gave him a serious look and took his hand gently leading him inside the cold hotel room. “Thomas just come here and what medicine do you need?” Thomas didn’t even try to fight him, knowing Alastair was too stubborn to let him go easily. He was attempting to ignore the fact that his head was steadily getting worse and how his stomach was flipping dangerously. “Migraine.” Thomas said simply, answering Alastair’s question as best he could. Alastair looked at him wearily.

“Is that what’s going on? You have a migraine?” Thomas nodded and that was all it took to push him overboard. Thomas gasped and stood up quickly stumbling to the bathroom and barely making it in time to empty out his stomach in the toilet. He felt a hand on his back and soothing words but the burn in his throat and throbbing in his head was all he could think about.

“Thomas, I’m going to go get some medicine okay? Do you want me to stay or are you going to be okay for a minute?” Thomas just groaned in response and continued emptying his stomach contents. He honestly didn’t believe he had much in his stomach because he hadn’t eaten much that day but he was being proven wrong.

He felt the hand leave his back and he threw up a little more before sitting back and resting his back on the bathtub. Thomas groaned in embarrassment when he realized that not only had he accidentally come to Alastair’s room, collapsed in front of him, and was dragged into his room, but he had also thrown up in front of him.

Thomas didn’t get much time to ponder that thought because Alastair came back with pills and water. His face was calm but his eyes were slightly panicked. Thomas wondered if he was the only one who could see it or if Alastair just showed it obviously.

Thomas took the water gratefully and drank it quickly, onl stopping when Alastair put a hand on his and carefully lowered it, taking the glass with it. “I brought you some medicine too. It’s not migraine medicine but it should help a little.” Thomas nodded, head still throbbing and took the small pills Alastair had offered him. He threw them back easily and swallowed them dry, taking the drink back from Alastair’s frozen hand.

Alastair was watching him with a dark look in his eyes, something Thomas couldn’t place but he knew it wasn’t bad. Not the kind of look Alastair had when he thought Thomas was drunk. Thomas shuddered and finished the water. Alastair helped him up and put his arm around Thomas’ waist to keep him steady.

Thomas flopped on the bed, not unlike he had earlier that night and sighed. His stomach didn’t feel as bad but his head was still pounding. Alastair sighed and sat up against the headboard, holding his arm out, inviting Thomas closer.

Thomas didn’t have to be told twice. He all but collapsed on Alastair’s lap. Thomas hummed contentedly as Alastair ran his fingers through his hair. Thomas grunted when he couldn’t find a comfortable position with his sunglasses off. Alastair gently tugged his glasses off and Thomas groaned as a new wave of pain hit him when his eyes saw the light. Alastair quickly blocked the light with his hand and leaned over to turn off the lamp.

The room was plunged into darkness and Thomas just cuddled deeper into Alastair’s lap. He could vaguely remember that this wasn’t his room and he shouldn’t be doing this but need to sleep, most likely due to the pills, was overwaying his ability to freak out properly. When Alastair started humming he couldn’t keep himself aware of much anymore.

One thing Thomas was aware of was the fact that Alastair’s fingers felt good in his hair. Thomas wondered what it felt like to run his fingers through Alastair’s hair. To bring his face closer. To kiss him.

There were so many things he wanted to do and a massive inability to do any of it. Thomas was decidedly ready to tell Alastair how he felt. If he were any more awake he might have even done it right then, but he knew he was far too gone to do it.

Thomas listened to Alastair’s quiet humming and decided that he would tell him over a song. Thomas shifted slightly so his head was resting more on Alastair’s thigh and smiled tiredly. “Alastair?” The man in question made a noise in place of an answer. “I’m going to sing my song.” He realized too late that that probably made no sense whatsoever but it seemed Alastair understood because he beamed at Thomas and ruffled his hair slightly. “I’m glad. I love hearing you sing. I’m proud of you for deciding to do it.”

Thomas hummed non-committedly. “Only for you.” He mumbled before his eyes slipped closed against his will and his mind gave way to dreams. He could have sworn right before he fell asleep that he felt someone kiss his head, but he chalked it up to sleep and want.

#thomas and alastair #thomastair #thomas x alastair #fanfiction #tlh #the last hours #high notes #other tags im too lazy for

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