#trying desperately to hold onto some semblance of humanity while knowing if would always fit like a shirt two sizes too small | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

Photo

Somebody Sweet to Talk To ❁︎ 𝐒𝐈𝐗

Pairing: Harry Osborn x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 4k

Gif credit

Summary & Warnings || Series Masterlist

𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝐈'𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎ ・・・・・ ❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎

Harry groaned while trying to get up from the bed. He didn’t have any broken ribs, but everything hurt to the point where painkillers didn’t even grant him sleep. It wasn’t the worst beating he had received, it wouldn’t even enter the top 10, but he was only human so it was normal for it to hurt like a bitch.

’The silver lining is he won’t react like this on Saturday,’ Harry thought bitterly as he looked at himself in the mirror to start the oh so familiar damage recount. The busted lip was the only thing he wouldn’t be able to hide — Peter would believe him if he said he had fallen on the front steps of his house, but you wouldn’t. You were more observant, and a medic in training.

On Saturday he changed his outfit more times he would ever be comfortable by admitting. Harry needed to impress people that night, two people that preferred his best friend over him. Dressing like Peter usually did wasn’t an option, his male best friend sucked at color coordination and he wore hoodies most of the time.

His father would wear dark grey, that was why Harry didn’t even consider a suit in that color. He settled on all blue. He looked fine, or at least he thought he did. Checking the time, he smoothed imaginary wrinkles on the jacket and left the house.

You were freaking out, pacing from left to right in front of your bed. Pepper followed the movements with her eyes, trying not to laugh. You were too mortified for something as simple as dinner, all thanks to Peter. Your best friend entered your bedroom that morning to warn you of how difficult Norman Osborn was to please and extended the reminder of not being a good idea to date Harry.

Of course dating Harry wasn’t a good idea. Dating wasn’t a good idea, actually — Harry was more than fine. And boy was he f i n e. Shaking your head and reminding yourself that thirsting over your fake boyfriend wasn’t a good idea either you halted your pacing to look at Pepper.

Pepper tilted her head, waiting for the question filling your semblance. The inquiry never came, it couldn’t; how could it when it embarrassed you tremendously?

You needed to impress Norman. For Harry’s sake? Debatable. You were prideful, and impressing a man as difficult as he would stroke your ego. Desperate for some kind of positive reaction to your existence, you would do anything to achieve it. Asking Pepper how to do it would mean getting teased, Tony would tell you to be yourself even if that was the entire problem, and Bucky would tease you while repeating Tony’s comment. Could Gwen have helped? You supposed the blonde would be open to at least try with how nice she was, but you didn’t really know her.

Your dad was still visiting, and you were tempted to ask him until you remembered he didn’t care for that. Fuck, your only option was Harry himself. Not for the first time that week, you found yourself in need of his comfort and reassurance — the most dangerous thing you had ever felt. You should’ve stopped it at that moment, tell him you couldn’t do it anymore.

Three Saturdays now you had been through that and the three times your conclusion had been the same. A stupid pattern that needed to be broken yet you didn’t dare to even touch.

“Do I look presentable?” you found yourself asking to not make Pepper think the question would be deeper.

Pepper smiled brightly. “You look great.”

The doorbell resonated throughout the compound. Harry was five minutes earlier from the time he said he would pick you up, as you expected. ’You can get through this,’ you told yourself inwardly as Pepper for some reason escorted you into the elevator, ’it’s just dinner with a strict rich man and his hot son who you’re supposedly dating.’

Oh god, you wouldn’t make it past the appetizers. Harry looked finer than ever, with his busted lip and all, he definitely knew blue was his color and took advantage of it. His eyes taking in your appearance made you nervous, so nervous you almost asked if you should change your outfit or hairdo.

“You look beautiful.” The way he said it, through a breath and looking into your eyes... he was getting good at acting.

Okay, the appetizers had been a very long term goal. You were gone, completely gone. You would’ve yelled at him at that moment to stop tormenting you so much if you hadn’t swallowed an anxiolytic earlier.

“You look handsome,” you tried to smile without giggling. It was weird, the sound that left your throat, but he didn’t tease you. No one around you did, they only exchanged looks.

Harry didn’t continue staring like guys did in the movies, he asked if you were ready to go and when you said yes, he rushed to open the door for you.

Buckling up, you considered faking feeling unwell. As he slipped into the car and his cologne mixed with his aftershave swirled around the air, you threw the idea out of the window and allowed yourself to look at him some more before tearing your eyes away from the side of his face.

He didn’t drag the drive despite his nervousness. The two of you would be punctually there, looking dapper, and inwardly begging for things to go smoothly enough.

His gulp as he opened the front door didn’t go unnoticed by you. Squeezing his hand, you encouraged him to get inside. Both of you did so in politely slow strides, greeted by a maid who took your coat and guided you to the living room.

Norman Osborn stood up, watching you like a hawk. Harry’s eyes were on the right hand that had hit him multiple times as it enveloped the one that had only given him security and shook it; the gesture was curt and firm but not strong enough to bruise. His father’s expression was neutral, eyes critically taking both your appearances in — he seemed pleased with your attires, a tight-lipped smile confirmed it.

Conversation flowed easily due to the nature of meeting new people as dinner took place.

“I must ask, my dear,” Norman said, looking at you. “Why choose someone like my son when you’re surrounded by people like you?”

Feeling the young man tense beside you, you patted the back of his hand under the table. “Well, sir: your son is smart, charming, and interesting. Geniuses aren’t always too approachable and when they are there’s not much to be said or done around or with them, if I may be honest. Harry might not be a genius, but he’s brilliant and knowledgeable on many things which I find necessary in an acquaintance.”

Both men were clearly not expecting such an answer. Norman stared at you to look for signs of a lie and when he found none, he hummed. Harry was trying to calm down, his breathing was getting too shaky to be healthy — the young man didn’t think you had been honest, but oh how he desperately wanted you to have been. The fact that you were defending him from his father was worth more than you would ever know.

Like Harry had expected, Norman treated you with respect and empathy. His father was impressed by you. He couldn’t blame him, it seemed like finally, they could agree on something and the young man enjoyed knowing the reason of their agreement was a pair of expressive eyes and such a kind heart.

A relieved sigh slid past his lips as soon as he got into the car. He hadn’t intended for you to realize, why would he? Grateful for your lack of inquiries, he waited for you to buckle up before pulling onto the street and away from his house.

Now that you had seemingly impressed Norman freaking Osborn you knew getting out of the fake relationship thing would be harder. You understood now, after having heard the changes in the older man’s tone when directed toward his son, why Harry had been so tense since you parked in front of his gigantic house. You also understood why Peter had warned you, but you couldn’t help but wonder if your fake boyfriend had always been treated so coldly.

“Wait,” he breathed as you made a motion to open the door to get into The Compound. His hand found yours, fingers fitting between yours like they had been made to do just that.

You looked up. “Do you need anything?”

Leaning in, he nodded. You nodded back in agreement, a little too effusively for the occasion, taking the advantage your high heels were giving you to be the one pressing your lips to his. The hand he had flush to his side crawled up your arm to slide and hold your head as it was placed on your nape while your free one rested on his chest lightly.

The sweet kiss would’ve been that even if his tongue didn’t taste of the dessert you had just eaten. There was no rush, no public around you to convince, not even an interruption this time. The warmth of his hand penetrated your entire being, there wasn’t a single part of yours that wasn’t content under his touch and kiss — even your brain that most of the time entered in an alert state was calm, and you wondered, as both yours and his eyes fluttered open and mouths separated in slow motion, if that was how being happy felt like.

The living room was full— as full as it could be when half the team was out on a mission at least— snacks filled the entire table between the two main couches. Peter had expected to see a face marked by tears, not a shy wave. Tony asked how had it gone and you said fine in such a natural tone that Peter saw his entire life pass in front of his eyes.

Throughout the night Harry and you exchanged text messages until you told him to get some sleep. It was new to you, as much as you always stayed up until 3 or 4 am, you had never done it while texting someone. Talking with him was easy, like spotting an infection; and stoping was as hard as diagnosing hepatitis without blood tests.

The intellectual stimulation you got from him was different than the one any of your teammates gave you, different than how you felt while solving puzzles or working in the laboratory. Not more real, just more meaningful because you didn’t expect that from him — you thought it would be unbearable to fake being Harry Osborn’s girlfriend, that he would be boring and snobbish, hollow and arrogant; boy, had you been wrong.

❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎ ・・・・・ ❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎

He watched you take the path toward the laboratory one afternoon and sighed before walking toward his friends. Ignoring their glances, he took his tablet out and continued digitally designing his new apartment. After his father met his —unknowingly to Norman fake— girlfriend, he urged Harry to get an apartment so he could have more privacy with you. A surprisingly nice thought that would save him from many stressful situations, and an excuse to spend more time with you while decorating it. He had already told you, he did so on Monday as soon as he saw you — when he asked you to help him you were doubtful at first which made his heart drop.

“Shouldn’t your best friend help you with that?” you had asked, not lifting your eyes from your notes.

He had scoffed, “have you seen Peter’s room? No, thank you.” His comment had made you chuckle and he saw you nod in agreement.

It had been his idea to design it digitally first and only fix details once physically putting everything in place. He would’ve liked you to be beside him while doing it, but you had a job to put attention to so the agreement was that you would give your input and help in your free time.

Interior designing was more difficult than one would think. The solution of calling an expert to keep himself from second-guessing every single one of his choices was too tempting but he wouldn’t give in, not when you would stand behind him, forearms on the edge of the back of the couch as you stared at the screen from on top of his shoulder. Your breath would tickle his neck lightly, sending chills down his spine.

“That couch has too many cushions,” you told him lowly to not disturb anyone around you.

He craned his neck to look at you, “it looks comfortable.”

“Ten cushions for a couch are excessive, Harry.”

“You have eight pillows on your bed.”

“Bed, not sofa.”

“You’re telling me I should have eight pillows on my bed for when you stay over instead of on the couch? Because if you are, I can do both.”

“When did I—,“ you stuttered, fighting the heat daring to crawl up your neck at his words. “Just don’t even dare complaining when you can’t sit down comfortably on that thing.”

Harry got impatient, however, and halfway through the designing project decided to hire a designer. You found it hilarious and said you knew he would do that as you walked toward The Compound, lips pursed to keep your laugh at bay.

So what if he had only endured three days designing an apartment before giving up? It was hard! And he didn’t want to feel uncomfortable at his own place! When he defended himself by saying that, you put a hand on his shoulder and told him in a soft sigh that you found the time he lost funny and not his desire of feeling at home.

Harry didn’t know what home was or how it felt, but he had his suspicions that it was more than a place.

❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎ ・・・・・ ❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎

It was a Sunday evening, 3:00-ish pm, your throat was sore from the concert you and Harry had attended the night before. The concert was the reason for the congressional meeting taking place in your room, you needed help and you needed it urgently.

When Harry had picked you up for the concert you had been fine, comfortable like you felt around him now even if mere four weeks had passed from the day you started speaking and faking the relationship, but as the event progressed and you realized how much he avoided staring at you, you came to the conclusion that your feelings were more one-sided than you had assumed. So you needed to know what a crush really was in order to find how to get rid of it.

Peter would be useless at it, and your mentors couldn’t know you were still in distress over liking Harry. Gwen was an expert on relationships, she was good with people and everyone always asked her for advice — she was nice enough to listen.

Your online investigation had been encouraging, a crush lasted four months according to it, you were a week away from finishing the first one which meant the torture wouldn’t last more than the wait for your most anticipated movie of the year.

Gwen giggled at your question, prompting you to frown. “A crush is when you like someone you don’t know,” she eventually explained as her giggles subsided. “You find them attractive, and become a little obsessive over them.”

“Scientifically speaking,” you stated your case, “a crush lasts around four months. It sounds quite excruciating if you ask me, but what I really want to know is how do people get rid of them.”

“You have a crush on someone?”

“No, no,” you shook your head. “It’s for scientific purposes.”

“According to your scientific studies,” Gwen conceded, knowing where the conversation was going, “what is a crush? Because I think my definition is wrong then.”

“Well,” you stood up from the couch, “you find someone attractive, and charming even though they are not naturally, and want to be around them, and feel a deep need of defending them, and wish you could give them a little bit of what they unknowingly and selflessly give you in return... you miss them when they’re not around, and find yourself entertaining the ridiculously childish idea that you are finally safe while experiencing utter fear of being rejected by them because it would mean losing them,” your voice turned softer as the list progressed, eyes twinkling. You cleared your throat to ease the lump forming there and winced at the burning sensation its irritated state brought. “Or at least that’s what I read.”

Gwen swallowed loudly to give her verdict. “You’re in love with Harry.”

“Who’s talking about Harry?” You blurted a screech with eyes open wide.

Gwen stood up from your bed, walking toward you and taking both your hands. “There’s nothing wrong with it, it might be too soon for some people, but it’s okay.”

You shook your head frantically. “I’m not—“ you couldn’t say it, saying it would mean having considered it being true. It couldn’t be true, you couldn’t have skipped so many steps because of a tall endearing asshole. “I’m not talking about anyone I know.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“He’s handsome, we all know that. But I’m talking about something different, and even if I wasn’t—“ fuck, you didn’t know how to excuse yourself now.

Gwen gripped your hands tightly. “Breathe,” she cooed gently. “You’re shaking from head to toe.”

“I can’t be in love, Gwen!” You exploded, breath getting harsher every second. “I’m supposed to be a lone wolf, and have thousands of cats, and spend the next few years practicing science before killing myself at exactly 27!”

Slender arms wrapped around your neck, soothing sounds filling your ears as you whimpered. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“But there’s a lot wrong with me,” you lamented on her shoulder.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, don’t say that.”

There was. Your weight, and height, and mental health issues, and past, and how selective you were even though you didn’t deserve what your high standards called for. You went on and on about it, another symptom of your psychiatric issues for sure, crying on the shoulder of the woman you had envied for years.

Gwen felt bad for even telling Harry you were not good for each other, and she felt even worse for having been somewhat right although not in the way she had assumed. It didn’t matter to her anymore if you or Harry had issues or how many, and although she was scared either of you would end up being hurt, she wanted to help — she liked seeing you two together.

“If you don’t want to be in love, why did you start dating him?”

“I didn’t expect to fall for someone I didn’t know well. I didn’t even expect to ever fall in love.” You sniffed, sitting down on the bed once Gwen let you go.

“Does he know?” You shook your head to answer her inquiry. “Why?”

Looking down at your shoes, you confessed, “I’ve always thought he was into you.”

“He wouldn’t be dating you if he was! You’re his first serious relationship,” Gwen tried to remind you, “he opens doors for you, cooks with and for you, walks under the rain to relax you, follows your advice, hugs you when you cry, he knows what makes you feel worse or better, drives you to far away cinemas... he looks at you in a way no one will ever look at me.”

“Peter looks at you in a way no one will ever look at me,” you mumbled. The comment wasn’t halfhearted, but you didn’t care about that anymore.

Gwen hummed. “It’s not the same, you’re Harry’s light. He’s distant to all of us still, you know? And maybe he will always be, with you he’s different — he looks happy with you. And...” she stopped herself for a moment to look for the correct words to not offend you, “and I don’t know if you feel happy, I hope you do, but you look relaxed and comfortable with him. I had never heard you cackle until you started dating him.”

“It’s not real.” You couldn’t keep quiet anymore, it was eating you alive.

“You don’t believe me?”

“My relationship with Harry is not real,” you clarified, avoiding Gwen’s face in shame. “I used to have a crush on Peter, a real one that came and went until Harry and his monotone voice spoke about medicine like talking about the fucking weather and suddenly everything I could process were spicy cologne, full lips, and cherries.”

“You wanted Peter to know how it felt,” she asserted. You hummed, even more ashamed now. “Is your ex-crush on him why you stay at school until he’s finished?”

“Will you tell him?” You asked, wearily.

“No.”

“Tony forced me to keep an eye on him. I wasn’t planning on getting a master’s degree in molecular and cellular biology but it was the easiest way to find a balance between babysitting as I inwardly call it, studying, and working. Subsequently, the crush came back by how much time I spent staring at you two. I think I just felt lonely.” You scoffed at the realization. “Talk about being pathetic.”

Gwen didn’t find it was pathetic. She didn’t think Tony had been considerate enough by putting you undercover like that either. “All of that doesn’t change anything Harry and you do or feel.”

“Only on Harry’s behalf.” You hated how your voice broke, a crack that had nothing to do with your tired throat and everything with the approaching heartbreak.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

You stayed silent for a moment, trying to find a way of explaining yourself. Gwen was looking at you so patiently, as if you were worth her time when you had insulted her in your head so many times for something that wasn’t her fault.

“When I...” you started speaking, swallowing harshly, “when everything happened with Quentin... I did it. I asked him how he felt about me, and now I know his answer wasn’t real. Anyone can lie at any moment and—“ you moved your hand in a motion that didn’t really mean anything. “And I don’t think Harry would lie, but I don’t want to hear his rejection.”

Saying it took a huge weight off your shoulders and drilled a hole in your chest at the same time.

Gwen encouraged you to continue speaking about it if you wanted, and you did. You told her all those things no one knew about your relationship with Quentin, you thought she’d understand. Gwen did understand, and listened, and consoled you, she was just that kind. You couldn’t believe you had once thought she was anything but.

“I’ve always wanted to be like you,” you confessed. As you said it, it dawned on you that you had mixed your jealousy toward her with the admiration you felt. “I don’t know how you do it, but you’re always so nice and look so pretty and everyone seems to love you... and you want to do amazing things for other people which is so awesome!”

Gwen granted you a smile, one of those pretty ones only she could carry. “It takes time to be nice, and it’s difficult sometimes,” she said softly, “beauty is subjective, and you already do amazing things for people, I like that about you. Peter does amazing things for people, Harry wants to save the planet — everyone around us does it in different ways. All of those things you don’t like about yourself are not flaws,” she assured you, taking your hand and squeezing it, “they make you special, whoever thinks of those things as a burden isn’t worth your time or efforts.”

You squeezed her hand back. “But everyone will think they’re a burden, and I’m scared of being alone but I hate saying it,” you rasped a lament.

She rested her head on your arm like you often did against Bucky’s to be comfortable. “You have me, I promise.”

You believed her. Maybe because you wanted to cling to the idea that you could have a friend, but mostly because she hadn’t given you a reason not to do it.

#ssttt #harry osborn x reader #harry osborn x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size fanfiction #plus size series #harry osborn series #fake dating au #harry osborn #marvel x reader #marvel x plus size reader #marvel series

71 notes · View notes

chronictonsillitis · 5 years

Text

If I Could Do It All Again (I Shouldn't Still Want This) Chapter 5

“Madi! Where is she?”

“I don’t know; why would I have seen her?” She went to shove him again and he clasped a hand around each of her wrists, pulling her into his chest.

“She saw you! She’s here but she said she took something and I can’t find her and she needs me!” She struggled against him, angry tears falling, but he held tight. Slowly she went limp, her struggles giving way to sobs, and he released her wrists, one hand coming up to stroke through her hair.

“We’ll find her, okay, Clarke? I’ll help you find her.” His voice was gentle, reassuring. “Just breathe.”

**** Clarke gets a concerning call, Madi is nowhere to be found, and an uneasy detente is formed. (Ao3) or

If there was one thing (and if Clarke was honest there were actually many, many things) Clarke hated about college, it was assignments that were due on weekends. Like yes, she could do them ahead of time and still go out at night, but who did the professors think she was? A good student?

She was four questions into a nine question problem set for physics and she was already regretting so many of her life choices. Her frosh had gone out already, begging her to come with them, but she had had to decline. And while logically, she should blame herself for fucking around throughout her shift the day before instead of doing her work like she’d intended, but wasn’t it that much easier to blame her teacher for making it due at 9 AM on a Sunday? It was honest to god cruelty, Clarke decided.

Feeling her phone vibrate, she sighed and tossed her book back onto the foot of the bed. Rolling back into her pillows, Clarke picked up the phone.

“What’s up, Madi? Having a good time yet?” The line was silent for a beat and Clarke sat up, worried. “Madi?”

“Clarke,” Madi slurred. “I have five percent.”

Clarke furrowed her eyebrows, confused. “Of what?”

“Of phone. I’m drunk.”

“Are you okay? Where are you?”

Madi hummed for a second. “Not sure. You said to have fun so I got drunk but then I felt bad and they said I should take a… I should take… something. A word, you know? So I did but now I can’t find anybody.”

Clarke clutched the phone tighter. “Take what, Madi? What did you take?”

The younger girl huffed. “You know what. Those things, you know? That people take. I’m so tired, you know? But I just need a phone charger.”

“Madi, where are you? I’m going to come get you, alright?” Clarke was already rushing about her room, shoving her arms into her jacket while holding her phone against her ear with her shoulder.

“Can’t remember, too tired. Maybe I need a human charger, get it? I'm gonna... I gotta take another one.”

Clarke stopped, her eyes wide. “Madi, don’t take anything. Where are you?”

Madi sighed. “You don’t get it, Mom. It’s all cool. No worries.”

Clarke was getting more desperate. “Please, Madi, don’t!”

She groaned. “I’m so fine, Clarke. Hey, have you ever seen a boy drink out a shoe before? That one you and Rae were talking about, the hot one with all the hair, he did it and it looked gross but I was—”

Her voice cut off and then phone beeped, indicating the call had been dropped. She tried to call her back but each time it went straight to voicemail. Clarke was frantic. She had no idea what Madi could have taken, but she had been talking about Bellamy shooting the boot at a rugby party, Clarke was sure.

Not bothering to even lace her shoes, Clarke rushed down campus to the rugby apartment, her heart sitting high in her throat and she struggled to maintain some semblance of calm.

Bursting through the door, Clarke searched the crowd. She saw his face and immediately was in front of him, shoving him back with two hands planted firmly on his chest.

“Where is she?”

Clarke’s voice was wild, tears spiking in the corners of her eyes. Bellamy looked at her in shock. “What— who, Clarke?”

“Madi! Where is she?”

“I don’t know; why would I have seen her?” She went to shove him again and he clasped a hand around each of her wrists, pulling her into his chest.

“We’ll find her, okay, Clarke? I’ll help you find her.” His voice was gentle, reassuring. “Just breathe.”

Bellamy pulled back and took out his phone, typing quickly. “I’ll ask the group chat if anyones seen her. She’s the dark haired frosh, right?”

Clarke nodded, swiping her fists across her eyes to wipe away the tears, trying to regain her composure. She pulled in a deep stuttering breath, eyes closing, and then let it out slowly, smoothly. “We should check the bedrooms and bathrooms. If she felt sick she probably wouldn’t have stayed in the main party.”

Bellamy nodded gently, his eyes searching across her face. He reached for her again, but she drew back, arms clasping around herself protectively. His hand dropped limply in the air.

“Clarke—“ A sharp ringtone cut him off.

Bellamy slid his phone out of his pocket and answered it, his eyes still lingering on Clarke.

“Are you sure?” He asked. His face grew less tense and Clarke felt her heart jump.

“Alright, thanks dude, we’ll be right up.” Closing the phone, he smiled at Clarke and nodded at her silent question.

“Where is she?” She asked, her voice high.

Bellamy chuckled and started towards the stairs, gesturing for Clarke to follow. “Not quite sure how she got there, but one of the guys found her in their bathtub on the fourth floor. He says she was asleep but seems fine.”

Clarke pushed past him, bounding up the stairs. At the top, one of the rugby players saw her wild eyes and wordlessly pointed to a door with a sheepish expression.

Clarke glared. “If anything is wrong with her, you guys are dead.”

She burst through the door. Madi was lying in the bathtub with her feet up, looking disheveled but in one piece. Clarke threw herself to the ground next to the tub and frantically grabbed at Madi’s wrist, searching for a pulse. She squeezed her eyes shut, counting in her head.

A small hand came up and patted her gently on the cheek. Clarke’s eyes flew open and Madi smiled back at her crookedly. “Hey, Clarke, you came out!”

Clarke let out a short laugh, choking down tears. “Just for your, Mads.”

She felt Bellamy’s presence arrive at the door, but she didn’t acknowledge him, all her energy focused on the girl in front of her. “I’m gonna take you home, but I need to know what you took, Madi.”

Madi looked confused. “Took what?”

Clarke let out an exasperated sigh. “What you took. On the phone you said you took something. Was it a pill? Do you know who gave it to you?”

“I didn’t take any pills. No pills here. No drugs for me, just booze and fun.”

“But you said you took something,” Clarke said insistently. “You told me someone told you to take something and that you did and then your phone died.”

“Oh! Right.” Madi’s eyes lit up. She laughed and patted Clarke on the cheek again, while Clarke tried desperately not to get frustrated with her.

“So? Do you remember what they told you to take?”

“Yeah, dummy.” Madi laughed again. “I was all drunk and tired so they told me I should take a nap.”

“A nap?” Clarke repeated, her voice flat. Madi nodded, and behind them Bellamy let out an involuntary chuckle. Clarke deflated, pressing one hand to her forehead as all the tension drained from her body like a balloon with a leak. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

****

Bellamy had always been protective to a fault.

Their first year, when they were all living together, Clarke had been getting these coughing fits. She still didn’t know had brought them on, but sometimes she’d just start coughing and coughing until she couldn’t breathe, and wouldn’t be able to stop for a while. Bronchospasms, the doctor called them.

One night while Clarke and Raven and the boys were hanging out in the common room drinking, Clarke had felt one coming on, so she’d retreated to her room. It was a worse one than normal, and she was on her knees on the floor when Bellamy had burst in.

Are you okay? Are you throwing up? He’d asked, his voice and eyes wild with concern, standing over her, hands fluttering.

The fit let up just as he asked it, and Clarke had stood with a withering glare. There were few things she disliked more than being accused of a sloppy drunk, after a bad experience with some moonshine at a Unity Day party in high school. Do you see any puke, dumbass?

He'd sputtered and hovered and offered excuses, but Raven had come in and pushed him out, rolling her eyes and telling him she’d deal with it. Her and Clarke had sat on Clarke’s bed, their backs against the wall.

You just coughing? Raven had asked. Clarke nodded. Idiot.

Now Clarke had an inhaler. Clarke wasn’t sure, but she thought that was the first time Bellamy had been in her room.

He lingered now, in the doorway, as Clarke pulled off her jacket. “You okay?”

They had just finished putting Madi to bed, leaving the surprisingly only mildly drunk frosh in the capable hands of the designated sober sitter.

She sent him a sharp glance. “I’m fine. I could’ve gotten her back just fine on my own.”

Bellamy gave her a small smile. “I’m sure you could’ve. But it’s okay to let people help sometimes.”

“I’m fine with help from other people, but I don’t need it from you,” she spit back, wrenching her off her shoes with more power than necessary. One of them hit the wall with a thump, and Clarke stared at it in confusion, her anger draining away. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Thank you for helping, I don’t know if I would’ve found her without you.”

She turned away from him, not wanting him to see her face. Whether from exhaustion or stress, she felt tears start to build up behind her eyes. Bellamy stepped further into the room, timidly, as if trying not to spook an animal. “You don’t have to be okay, Clarke.”

She clenched her eyes tight. “I’m fine. It was just a lot, with the whole mystery drug thing that ended up to be a fucking nap and the not knowing how to find her.”

He was right behind her now, and she could feel the body heat radiating off of him. He’d always run warm, she remembered unwillingly. “Was it—“ He started gently, “It it worse because of your mom?”

Her heart jumped hard into her throat. She’d forgotten just how much he knew about her, about her life and her family. Of fucking course she’d told him about her mother’s drug problem. What didn’t she tell him? “Clarke?”

She shrugged, still not turning towards him. “Can we not do this please?”

“Do what?” Bellamy asked softly. He reached out for her elbow but she shook him off. “Clarke—“

He watched, his eyebrows furrowed, as Clarke moved away. “We’re not friends anymore, Bellamy.” She threw her hands in the air and spun towards him exasperatedly. “We haven’t been friends for a while.”

“I know that,” he said softly. “But maybe we could be.” His eyes were too intense for his tone, and Clarke looked away. Bellamy cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting. He shoved them into his pockets. “Anyways, you don’t have to decide now.”

He made his way out and stopped in the doorway. His hair was haloed in the yellow light of the hallway, so much brighter than the twinkle lights in Clarke's room. She tried not to notice how beautiful he was. “See you around, Clarke.”

“Yeah,” she breathed. Bellamy smiled at her, and left.

Clarke groaned and threw herself backwards onto her bed. She landed hard on her forgotten book, and the paper of her problem set crinkled under her. She groaned again. Jesus Christ, she thought. Get your fucking life together, Clarke.

#bellarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #the 100 #bellarke fic #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 fic

23 notes · View notes

limitedrevolverworks · 6 years

Text

[>>>]

You always found the word ‘oxymoron’ rather funny for reasons so quaint they shouldn’t warrant an explanation, but never like now has the full brunt of its significance made itself manifest. ‘A commodity that provokes an inconvenience’ definitely fits the bill, but the worst part, the punch that puts any hint of a smile K.O., is the realization that the moron in question is you. You’re the idiot for thinking how stupidly troublesome it is to have a driving license, a car, and your son’s school at barely fifteen minutes from his cram school. But you can’t really help it: now more than ever, you envy the humanoid sardines who have to press against each other every morning in an attempt to reach their destination while hopefully keeping their bone structure from becoming flatter than a paper. It would make things easier, relatively speaking.

You wouldn’t have to sit alone inside such a minuscule, intimate space with the sole company of your serene-looking son and the fresh knowledge that he’s the ringleader of a middle school gang, for example.

It’s been five minutes now. Exactly zero words have left either of your mouths, and at least one of them seems contraried by the fact that the other is curved into the hint of a smile that looks at a time peaceful and absolutely bereft of any guilt. It drives you nuts, to put it bluntly. And not just in a ‘I’m absolutely pissed by your attitude, you impudent son of mine’ sense. There’s plenty of that too, make no mistake, but the fact of the matter is that you honestly, genuinely feel as if you’re about to lose your wits and see them scatter about like light particles that turn normal clothes into a frillier version of themselves.

You can’t make sense of it. Of the truth you’ve been too blind to see. Of your son’s true colors. What really tugs at your heartstrings though, it’s that you weren’t ready. You, who spent your adolescence kicking monster tail by shouting flower names and erupting lasers from your heels. Miss Himawari Sonomura VonVermillion. You’re married to someone who barely fits any of the criteria that define a human being, and you’re having a harder time coming to terms with your apparent failure as a mother.

Ah. Yeah, that must be it. This isn’t a problem you can solve by yelling at the top of your lungs (as much as you feel like doing that) and punching it really, really hard. There’s no stuffy manual detailing the laws and rules that dictate how to properly face this challenge, either. You’re at a loss. No, let’s be fully honest here: you feel like it’s entirely your fault. The kid’s still his father’s son. You just thought you could overwhelm that truth, but you really ended up blinding yourself with a misguided sense of justice. Can’t blame the clouds if they feel like raining every once in a while, right?

It’s not that easy unfortunately, or you wouldn’t be waiting for the red light to turn green with your forehead buried onto the steering wheel. The main problem, paradoxically enough, is that you love your son. Of course you do, dimwit! Despite it all, Kyouya’s still Kyouya, not some terrible monster whose sole desire is to turn people into vegetables. Besides, you already tore that one apart almost two decades ago. Also, if it’s monsters we’re talking about, you already crossed the line by becoming the bride of their chief, so these moral quandaries shouldn’t even be such a big issue for you in the first place. But they are. They are and it hurts, because want it or not, you had expectations that were betrayed, worries that came to fruition, and an inability to realize it until it was too late. If it even is anyway. You don’t know. You may be a qualified lawyer, but in this moment, you feel like the most ignorant person on the face of Earth, and even viler than that. Like, almost as much as your husband. And that’s really damn vile.

Green light. There’s still about fifteen minutes to share together before reaching the cram school, where your beloved Valdios will likely settle the issue with some enthusiastic praises for your son, a bemused shake of his head in your general direction, and infernal teleportation to avoid the unavoidable punch you’ll attempt to throw towards his face. Your hands are sweaty rags tightly wrapped around the steering wheel, and you’re pretty sure that your teeth at this point are more ground dust than solid bone. You’re not exactly in the best condition to hold a delicate conversation, or any kind of conversation for that matter. It should be fine to leave things hanging, then. There’s no use in trying to solve a problem when you haven’t been able to think of a solution, or even to fully grasp the problem itself to begin with. Right? Right. R-i-g-h-t. Ri...ght...

Oh, hell no it ain’t right.

Come on, woman, remember who you are. Those fists of yours have met more chins than they’ve been caressed in their life up until now. The worst hellspawns still fear you, and rightly so. You were---no, you are a flame that burns brighter than the sun it dauntlessly faces. Are you going to back down now that your kid needs you the most, only because your adversary is your own stupid self? Hah, as if! Swallow it down, that venomous lump in your throat, and speak out loudly. You can’t, you won’t let it stifle the depth of your love if it’s the last thing you do.

“Do you have anything to say to your mother, Kyouya?”

“Absolutely nothing, mom!”

Goood at least throw me a bone here, kiddo! You ain’t making it easy for your mother, you know!?

Alright, alright, deep breath and then go for take two. Also watch OUT FOR THAT RED LIGHT... good job, you barely avoided breaking the law at the cost of nearly strangulating yourself and your son with the seatbelts. Sounds like the perfect opportunity to try again.

“R-right. So you have no idea what me and your teacher might have talked about?”

“Mmh, I wonder...?”

Look at him. Tilting his head and smiling that cutely, with his rosy cheeks and hair redder than yours. He would look like such an angel if it weren’t for the fact that he’s blatantly hiding the most devilish of intentions. It’s almost scary how sincere he looks, as if he really believes there’s nothing his mother dearest should be worrying about. ‘Almost’ because he’s still a long ways from the achieving the top in the VanVermillion school of mellifluous nonchalance.

Not for a lack of trying though, looks like.

“Kyouya.” Your voice is a disappointed whisper as you tilt your head to shoot a sideway glance at your son. That and rowdy screaming are the only two tones you feel capable of holding at present, so you really just decided to go with the one with less chances to attract the attention of the other cars.

“Yes, mom?”

“Have you been up to no good?” Such a simple question, and yet it feels like it took all your energies to tear it out of your throat. But you force yourself to do so, and to turn your head to witness your son staring back at you with the same sweet face as ever. His clean, prompt answer takes even more out of you.

“Not at all. In fact, mom, as of late I’ve been performing nothing but good deeds!”

He’s too far gone. There goes the pure and pristine image of your son, floating away from your desperate grasp. Goodbye, old hag... ahahaha...

NOOO! Come back, my precious, fragile flower! Too far! Too late! Your fingers are grasping nothing but the solid emptiness of the steering wheel. Huh? Hey, welcome back to reality, now press that pedal. It’s turned green in a while, already, and the cars behind are growing noisily restless.

“Goo---what’s so good about bullying?!” Calm down, don’t lose your cool! You can still save it, so lower your voice, you former delinquent! Just because you don’t want him to follow in the same footsteps as you doesn’t make you any less of a hypocrite!

“Nothing, of course. That’s why I’ve taken matters into my own hands, so to speak.”

“What, by becoming a bully yourself?”

You have to wonder what’s so funny that’s making him laugh behind the hand he uses to cover his mouth. You swear you can see your bewildered face reflected in his shiny, painted nails, however.

“Is that what Miss Takemoto told you, mom? You grown-ups really like misunderstandings, don’t you? No, I’ve never bullied anybody. I hate people like that, just like you... but, see, bullies right? They usually target loners, even though they’re the loneliest people of all. So I’ve taken away their reason to bully, simple as that!”

The grinding of gears inside your head sounds like rusted metal brushing against sandpaper and is half as efficient in your present state, but you think you’re starting to see some semblance of the greater picture as envisioned by your clearly amused son. At least you hope, because anymore confusion at this point would knock you out for real.

“By... making up a group?“

“Yes, exactly!” Aww, he seems so proud of your understanding. You’re not entirely sure whether the clapping is there to ridicule or praise you, though. “Bullying pretty much means ‘Give me attention!’, so by giving them the sense of cohesiveness and belonging of a group, they don’t have to seek attention anymore, since they’re already giving it to each other. It wasn’t easy at first, but it turns out that being able to lift the teacher’s desk with the auxiliary use of some magical power can be a pretty convincing display to support one’s offer. Isn’t it brilliant, mom?”

“Huuh...” Wonder whose parent’s vocabulary he learned the most from... Sure, the way he puts it does sound a lot less dire than how the teacher put it, to the point where you find yourself subconsciously nodding but... “W-wait, that’s not all I’ve heard. The teacher also said that you guys extort text answers from other students! What’s so magnanimous about that?”

“Oh, that...” Far from seeing him taken aback, it’s his shrug that counters your failed offensive with impressive skill. “Some students find the answer sheets by themselves. The deed has already been done, so me and the others just make sure that everyone else can reap the benefits by politely asking these people to relinquish the goods and spread them among their classmates. Nobody has to suffer low grades like this! It’s... what do they call it... ah, yes! A necessary evil! Adults do much worse than that, so surely you can overlook that much, no?”

Can you? It’s not like you can see anything with clarity right now. Might be because of the hand plastered against your face, or the silhouettes of your husband and son’s faces levitating on the windshield while they chant ‘You can overlook that much? Can’t you? Can’t you~?’ You actually do shoot a glance at your son’s extremely self-satisfied face just to ensure he didn’t actually shoot a minor curse in your general direction - better make a point to interrogate your husband just in case. Last thing you need is to learn he’s been giving your children lessons in the dark arts behind your back - you’ve been adamant about that ‘til this day, but you can bet that the edict will grow even stricter following what must have been the most tiring conversation you’ve had in years. And you’ve had lots of them, really: par of the course when you married a man who cannot quite understand the ethical conundrum involved with turning the postman into a hedhehog-shaped monster because he put a couple more publicity ads in your mailbox than desired.

You glance at the clock on the dashboard: around five minutes and you’ll have reached your destination. Five minutes you could fill with reprimands, perhaps even a slap, or, why not, words of praise for this eloquent brat who took one page too many from his father’s book and haphazardly mingled them with some from your own.

None of that ensues. You merely reach for your son’s head and, without looking him in the eye, brush the hop of his head with slow, immeasurable gentleness.

“Okay then. We’ll talk more about this later. Be sure to behave at the cram school.”

Lest you’d have to receive a phone call from a teacher telling you about your son set everyone straight by beating them up while dressed in a cutesy purple outfit dripping with magical photons.

#A Magical Hell Called Family #wordy seeds

3 notes · View notes

ericsonclan · 3 years

Text

Someone To Lean On

Summary: Louis wakes up from a nightmare and finds an unlikely friend to talk with.

Word Count: 3006

Read on AO3:

Thunder cracked across the sky as rain began to pour heavily down onto the earth. The school was dark and dreary and the courtyard felt ominous as Louis stood amongst his friends. All of them were in a circle around Marlon who held a gun directly at Clementine. The blond’s hand was shaking and blood lay splattered on his face as his eyes shot back and forth at everyone. He was slowly spiraling out of control while he tried so desperately to hold onto any semblance of leadership. He and Clementine were in a heated argument, both of them trying to gain control of the situation.

Louis’ ears buzzed and the world seemed to fade away save from the sounds of Rosie’s angry barking and the rain that drenched his coat. Louis’ heart jumped to his throat as Clementine turned to him for aid, her eyes desperate as they searched his. He wanted to move forward but his feet wouldn’t allow him. His heart was petrified at the thought of standing in between his friend and the girl he’d grown fond of in such a short time.

The arguing quickly escalated and Louis felt himself grow overwhelmed. His legs began to work once more, carrying Louis forward. His hands held up in surrender and as a sign of pacifism, Louis stepped in front of the gun. Marlon quickly moved the gun a few inches away from him.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, man,” Marlon’s voice wavered as his eyes held a look of shock and grief at his best friend’s betrayal.

“C’mon dude, just drop the gun.” Louis pleaded as he looked at the person he viewed as a brother. “This is how adults do things, not us.” His words seemed to sow a small seed of doubt in Marlon’s mind but not enough for him to drop the gun. Aasim spoke up and began to move forward, then Omar. Louis felt compelled to follow them and slowly approached his best friend who looked frightened as more joined in.

“You don’t get it. You don’t understand at all, do you?” Marlon looked like a cornered animal. “I’m trying to protect you!” He held out the gun and swung it wildly at his friends. “All of you!” Marlon’s voice boomed as the sky cracked with thunder and Rosie’s barks grew louder. The rain poured harshly down on the kids who were in shock of what was transpiring before them. “Every fucking one of you!” Marlon moved the gun around and the others shuffled back, trying to deescalate the situation.

Marlon’s gun continued to move until it landed on Louis. The blond’s eyes shone with fear and heartbreak at what was transpiring until suddenly a shot rang out and a bullet flew through Marlon’s head. Copious amounts of blood poured from his skull as Louis desperately reached out and caught him. His eyes shook with horror at the sight before traveling up to see himself standing there with the gun still in his hands. His double’s eyes locked with Louis.

“What? I aimed for the head.” He spoke simply as if it was the most basic knowledge in the world. As if he hadn’t just taken a human life. Louis shook his head and looked back down to see his hands were empty and covered in blood. They were so red; it felt as though the blood would never wash free no matter how much rain fell from the sky. Louis felt his panic rise. He backstepped only to slip on the wet ground and land harshly.

Louis jolted up with a sharp gasp. His mind wasn’t registering anything around him in that moment as his heart raced. It felt like he couldn’t breathe. His heart ached so deeply that it would’ve been nearly impossible for him to tell that it was still working if not for the sound of it pounding in his ears. After a few seconds of shaky terror, Louis was able to start to piece together the facts. It had been a dream.

His eyes scanned his surroundings to find that he was in his and Clementine’s room. A soft mumble made him glance down to see that Clementine was still fast asleep. A small part of Louis wanted to reach out and wake up his girlfriend. She had always told him that he could if he ever had any bad thoughts or nightmares, but this was different. He couldn’t talk to her about this, not when it revolved around a night that changed everything.

AJ had been the one to put a bullet into Marlon’s head and while Louis had forgiven Clementine and AJ for the death of his best friend, that night still hurt him deeply. That night still appeared in the world of dreams and haunted and plagued his heart. It seemed as though the forgiveness shared between Louis and Clementine was all that they could ever offer each other when it came to that subject. It was a night that was rarely brought up and Louis had preferred it that way.

His eyes focused on his girlfriend for a moment longer before he looked at the window. Based on the faint shimmer of light he guessed it was around five in the morning which meant no one would really be awake besides Omar who should be up on the watchtower. That was fine with Louis; he didn’t really feel like talking with any of them about that night either. All of their experiences had been so different on the matter, their views and their feelings about it and Marlon all varied as well. Louis didn’t want to bother with navigating a minefield with any of his friends on this subject. So he’d just sneak off and find a quiet spot to think.

Carefully getting up, Louis slipped past Clementine and sat on the edge of the bed. Quietly he began to get his boots on before he shuffled his coat onto his shoulders. Louis was nearly done with preparing to leave when he heard Clementine mumble in her sleep once more, her hands wandering around for him blindly in bed. After a few seconds of searching, however, Clementine fell back asleep. Louis cracked a small smile at that but it soon faded as he tiptoed forward so as to not wake up Clementine or AJ. His hand gently turned the doorknob and the door squeaked lightly as Louis slid into the hallway.

Once he was sure he had successfully closed the door Louis walked down the hall. His footsteps were quiet and slow as his mind continued to spiral round the events of the dream. It had all felt so real: the blood on his hands, the weight of catching his best friend’s body. The imagery frightened him but what scared him more was the image of him standing there with a gun. The gun that had taken away the life of someone he viewed as a brother. The memory of it disturbed Louis greatly and while he tried his best to shake it off as he made his way to the courtyard he couldn’t.

Louis’ eyes focused on the ground as he strolled outside, not bothering to look up at Omar who had given a friendly wave. Louis continued forward, completely lost in the realm of his thoughts when suddenly something nudged his hand. Glancing down, Louis saw the warm, happy face of Rosie. The pitbull’s happiness soon faded though when she noticed Louis’ sad expression.

“Hey, Rosie,” Louis gave the pitbull some loving headscratches which she readily took while giving content pants. “Did you help keep the school safe overnight?”

Louis’ question was met with a proud bark and he chuckled softly. “Good girl. I can always count on you, Rosie,”

Rosie wagged her stub tail and studied Louis’ face. His expression concerned the dog who quickly began to lick his fingers to let him know that she was there. Louis continued to laugh lightly before he strolled forward. His eyes wandered around the still dim courtyard. He didn’t want to be here, not after that dream. But where else could he go? Louis pondered that thought when all of a sudden Rosie headbutteed his hand to get his attention. The pitbull began to mosey over towards the greenhouse before pausing and looking back at Louis. A softness returned to Louis’ eyes when he saw what Rosie was trying to do.

“You sure are smart, Rosie. Okay, lead the way,” Louis instructed and Rosie happily barked then pitter pattered forward towards the greenhouse. After a few minutes the pair was standing before the door. Without waiting another second Louis pulled open the greenhouse door and held it for Rosie who happily strolled in.

“How about we start out this day right with some snacks,” Louis’ usual bright smile returned to his face as an attempt to reassure Rosie he was fine. The pitbull didn’t really buy it but also wasn’t about to turn down free food. The two walked alongside each other before they realized that nothing really seemed to fit their mood for eating.

“Alright, this was a bust, but how about we check out the garden?” Louis smiled down at Rosie who barked in agreement. With that confirmation Louis led the way and the two of them soon entered the garden. Immediately Louis spotted some carrots that were ripe for picking. Jogging over he leaned over and yanked out two carrots. Rosie sniffed the air curiously as she wandered over to her friend.

“Here ya go, Rose,” Louis offered the carrot which Rosie immediately snatched up. The pitbull held the carrot in her mouth and wandered over to a shady spot in the garden. Circling around three times, Rosie quickly settled down before her eyes wandered over and landed on Louis. It was obvious by the look in the pitbull’s eyes that she wanted Louis to join her.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Louis strolled over and dramatically brushed back his coat before sitting beside Rosie. “Cheers!” Louis pretended to clink his carrot with Rosie’s before the two happily munched away. The world around them was quiet except for the loud crunches of carrots being consumed and the unnatural groans of walkers that roamed outside the walls of Ericson. After Rosie had finished off her snack her head instantly moved over and rested on Louis’ knee. That small gesture made Louis’ heart feel calmer and he began to pet the top of the pitbull’s head while he ate.

“I had a nightmare last night,” Louis began to speak, knowing full well that Rosie wouldn’t be able to understand him. But he also knew that she would listen to him nonetheless. Rosie’s eyes looked up at Louis while he continued on. “It was about that night, the night that Marlon-” Louis’ voice caught in his throat and he roughly cleared it and started to eat again.

After a few seconds Louis decided to continue. “It felt so real and I know it wasn’t but... It just got me thinking about that night all over again. It’s still hard to believe that it really happened.” Louis took a deep breath to try and wash out the rough, raw feeling in his throat. Stuffing the rest of the carrot in his mouth, he brushed his hands together.

He immediately started to pet Rosie again. “Didn’t really feel like talking with anyone but I’m glad I ran into you,” He smiled softly down at the pitbull who leaned her head more onto Louis’ leg. Louis’ smile remained and he let his mind wander once more as time slipped by. The rhythmic motion of petting Rosie centered Louis and made his heart calm. A quick look down at Rosie made it obvious that she was benefiting from this situation too.

But even with all the comfort Rosie brought to Louis he still couldn’t shake the guilty feeling he had gotten from the dream. He wasn’t really sure if anything could make it go away. Louis thought about it some more as he looked over at the pitbull then over at the greenhouse. His eyes studied it for a few moments when suddenly his mind was struck with an idea.

“Hey, Rosie, wanna visit Marlon for a few minutes?” Louis’ question was met with a happy bark and Rosie immediately got up as Louis did. The pair made their way back over to the greenhouse where Louis began to pick a small bouquet of yellow and purple flowers. After he was satisfied with his selection Louis led the way out of the greenhouse and over to the graveyard.

The happy pitter patter of Rosie’s paws disappeared as they reached their destination and the pitbull’s head was low as she slowly moved forward and lay down beside the grave. Louis’ eyes locked onto the gravemarker with his best friend’s name upon it. Gently he placed down the flowers onto the grave, causing Rosie to give a small, sad whimper.

“I know, girl. I miss him too,” Louis tried to give a smile over to the pitbull but his sadness was too great. His eyes quickly returned back to the gravemarker as his mind spun with countless things to say yet none of them felt right. They were all words he had said before, words which held an array of emotions that he had already felt and was still feeling to this day. Louis continued to stare at the grave while Rosie looked sad and made soft whimpering sounds. After a minute Louis spoke up.

“The school is safe. Everyone is doing okay too.” Louis kicked some dirt on the ground and tried to think of what to say next. “I've kept my promise, Rosie is in good hands. She even got a special snack today thanks to me,”

Rosie barked at those words and her tail wagged lightly.

“But don’t tell Ruby. Y'know how uptight she can get about things,” Louis joked and smiled at the gravemarker before his face fell. “Hey, Mar, wherever you are I just want to say I’m sorry. For all the shit that went down and that,” Louis took a shaky breath, “And that I wasn’t any help.”

Louis knew his best friend would disagree with him there and tell him to stop spouting bullshit that wasn’t true but Louis couldn’t help but feel like he would be apologizing for a very long time. His eyes focused on the name carved into the gravemarker. “I guess I just wanted to let you know that I still love you and care about you even… even if you’re not here with me.”

Louis felt tears prick his eyes and brushed them away quickly. Rosie stood up and began to lick Louis’ hand again before her snout touched it to show that she was still there for him. He smiled down at the pitbull and scratched her ears before a tired yawn escaped his lips.

Rosie’s head tilted to the side and studied her friend for a moment before she started walking back to the dorm. Her eyes looked back at Louis as she barked impatiently. Louis already knew what Rosie wanted. She always could tell when Louis needed to rest; she had learned well from always being alongside Marlon and now she made sure that Louis was okay.

“Alright, I guess we can go rest for a bit,” Louis’ eyes looked up at the sky and saw that it was lighter out. The next person for watch duty was sure to be walking out of the dorms soon. With a quick goodbye to Marlon’s grave, Louis walked alongside Rosie.

The two were nearly at the door when Clementine strolled out. Her eyes lit up when she saw Louis, a bright, warm smile pulling on the corners of her lips until she saw how tired he looked.

“What are you doing up, Lou? Your chores don’t start for a couple more hours.” Clementine walked up and gently took her boyfriend’s hand in her own.

“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to hang out with my best bud, Rosie,” Louis motioned over to the pitbull who was happily panting beside him. “We’re gonna head back to the room though. So you don’t have to worry,” Louis reassured his girlfriend but it was clear that she was still concerned.

“Okay, well, Rosie, make sure Louis gets some sleep,” Clementine instructed the pitbull who barked proudly in response. Clementine smiled at Rosie then gave Louis a quick kiss. “I have to go and let Omar free from watch duty. See you in a little bit?”

“Yeah,” Louis smiled and waved at his girlfriend who walked off in the direction of the watchtower. He gave a deep sigh then opened the door and began to walk down the hallway towards Clementine’s room. He and Rosie quickly slipped into the room where AJ was still peacefully sleeping, his Disco Broccoli toy held close to his chest as he drooled. Louis immediately kicked off his shoes and stripped off his coat, tossing it over the railing of the bunk bed before slipping under the covers.

“Come on, Rosie,” Louis patted the bed and the pitbull hopped up, circling around three times before curling up beside Louis. Louis began to pat Rosie again who was already starting to fall asleep. He watched the dog for a minute before he felt his eyelids begin to droop, his heart at peace and his mind free from the nightmare.

Although it wasn’t who he expected to turn to, Louis was glad he’d spent time with Rosie. It was comforting to have someone who understood his feelings on the matter and who would always listen. Rosie had been the perfect resident of Ericson for Louis to turn to. She had been a shoulder to lean on and for that Louis was eternally grateful. As his eyes drifted closed, Louis soon felt sleep wash over him; he was hopeful the nightmare wouldn’t return.

#twdg #twdg louis #twdg marlon #twdg clementine #twdg rosie #clouis #louis marlon brotp #louis rosie brotp #fanfic

4 notes · View notes