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justreadingfics · 4 years

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It’s a Deal (Chapter 11)

Chapter Summary: Bucky is ready for commitment.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: fluff. Bucky is so smitten.

A/N: It’s been 84 years, but I hope you have fun! Thank you, @lesqui, for reading it over and helping me out with English and everything. The link to my masterlist, where you can find the other chapters, is on my description. Feedback is highly appreciated.

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Placing your hands on each side of your hips, you smirk at the popped-up screen in your office. Another project you just nailed. Ever since the promotion, your productivity has increased tenfold and you feel as motivated as ever, your creativity on a top level. Also, the last few weeks, after you decided you needed some time alone, you did set more focus on yourself and your own projects. Work being one of them.

It’s weird to say the least… you’ve been busier than ever and yet, it seems like you actually have much more time to yourself now. You’ve been reading books you’ve bought but never really got to read them, eating ice-cream at 3am as you watch The Return of the King for the millionth time, your drawers are finally organized and so is your precious DVD collection. You got to explore a great number of parks and spots you’ve never been before, even living in New York for so long. You’ve been going out a lot and catching up with friends and family.

It was a good decision. You remember in your relationship with Eddie there were always obstacles for you to hang out with people outside the small inner circle of you as a couple. Sometimes the obstacles were subtle, and not always brought solely by Eddie, but also by you who let yourself get involved in that dynamic. You had no idea how much you missed people that were yours only, and not yours and Eddie’s.

It’s been great to be single. Really, really single for the first time in your adult life. No boyfriends or fiancées, no booty-calls or deals. Completely single… A title and state of mind you didn’t really get to enjoy in the first months of being broken up, being too heartbroken to even think of everything you could do with your life then.

Deciding to be alone for a while…It was a great and reasonable decision.

You have to admit something to yourself, though.

Sometimes you just wanna throw “great” and “reasonable” out of the window. Because you do miss him… A lot.

Finding out how he’s changed his mind and predisposition towards your relationship has messed quite a bit with your mind… and heart. You weren’t expecting that at all and now you don’t really know what to do with the chaos that’s bringing upon your feelings. And what’s making it even messier is the other guy who also changed his mind and predisposition towards your relationship… you weren’t expecting that either… however, that particular change of heart hasn’t been making your own heart jump each time you think of it…

Squeaky little yells and an animated chattering sound of female voices catch your attention to outside your office. Your previous smirk turns into a smile while you shake your head to yourself. That type of commotion only ensues when a certain someone drops by the Tech Department.

With a wave of your hand, you shut down the screen you’ve been working on, before moving towards the sound. What you come to find a few stops outside your office, at the Department’s common area, is a little circle of your female coworkers around a Super Soldier. He’s always a hit among your coworkers, but today it seems like they’re even in a bigger frenzy, fussing around something that he seems to be holding in his arms. You attempt to catch an eye of it, but the bodies in front of you make it quite hard.

He spots you as you approach them and opens a huge grin at your sight.

You smile back at him just as widely and after you come closer and some of the girls make room, your eyes widen and a small little gasp slips out of you when you finally find out what the fuss is all about. They are all cooing and marveling at a beautiful cat on Bucky’s arms, white as snow on a mountain peak, standing there like royalty, staring back like they’re nothing but proud of being where they are.

“Hey,” Bucky greets, prompting your eyes to focus back on him.

“Hi, there,” you answer back while your gaze carries an amused question mark at him.

He lifts a hard drive with his free hand to your vision field, “We collected this last mission, it’s some alien stuff,” he offers you the drive, keeping his eyes on yours.

As you gaze at each other, you reach for the little device. His fingers brush against yours and that’s precisely when the chattering around both of you becomes nothing but a distant and vague noise that barely reaches your senses… until a loud clear of throat sound stands out.

“Alright, girls, let’s get back to our desks and let these two, ahm… work,” Camilla, your closest friend there, gives you a pointed look and a discrete curve curls the corner of her lips as she leads the group - which looks far from happy about it - away.

When your gaze meets Bucky again, he’s got that shit-eating grin of his that tells you the little interaction between you and your friend didn’t quite skip from his attention.

You bite your lip and are about to say something when he beats you to it, “Sorry, I had to bring her with me.” He looks down at the cat on his arm and gives it a gentle shake, grinning down at her while she looks up at him before her incredibly blue eyes shut in what looks like sheer contentment, “This little girl right here started whining at the door when I was leaving… she just can’t leave my side anymore.” Bucky shrugs and ticks his tongue, before winking at you.

You chuckle, finding the surprising scene before you nothing less than adorable. The fact that you enjoy being in the presence of his charm again doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you say nothing about it, “It’s ok, of course. I love cats. What’s her name?”

“Y/N, this is Alpine. Alpine this is Y/N,” he introduces you two with pride lacing his voice.

“Oh, hello, Alp-” your attempt of petting the cat comes to an abrupt halt with you withdrawing your hand at the loud hiss the animal aims at you.

Your eyes snap at Bucky to see his jaw dropping and his eyes widening with a mix of shock and fluster, “Fucking Christ,” he gasps, before looking down at the cat who now licks its paws absentmindedly, “What the hell, missy? Apologize. Apologize now,” he scolds, gaining absolutely no reaction in response.

He scoffs, looking back at you with incredulous lifted eyebrows.

You laugh, mainly at his attempt of making Alpine apologize, “Don’t worry…” You wave him off, “How did that happen, though? I don’t remember you having a cat.” You narrow your eyes just when your head tilts.

He bites his lower lip before an almost cringing smile forms on his lips, “Oh well…”

A FEW WEEKS BEFORE…

“Weren’t the Skrulls, like, actually good guys?” Bucky frowns, shoving one of his post-missions Oreos in his mouth and crossing his ankles over the spaceship’s dash.

“Every bunch has its bad apple, I guess,” from the pilot’s seat Natasha shrugs, eyeing the apple in question from over her shoulder.

“You’ll regret this,” threatens the prisoner, who’s actually a Skrull slaver named Gragnon and has his hands and feet securely tied up, stuck on a sit at the back of the ship. Still, he tries to get up and advance towards the front, but a shield of red mist surges in front of him, making him fall back on the chair again with a growl.

Wanda, the third member of the party on that mission, smirks from her seat right behind Nat’s.

Nat rolls her eyes, “What a douche… Talos has been leading a search for him for years now, he’d be thankful we’re taking him to them. Feet off the dash, please.”

Bucky quickly obeys, pulling down his legs to the floor as Wanda snickers.

“In fact… we should thank the success of this mission to a certain someone, who came up with a device to break alien codes.” The cheeky smile on Wanda’s face as she started speaking only fades so she can shoot a glare back at the prisoner, who’s now revolved by a red mist dome.

“Damn right.” A dreamy little curl pulls Bucky’s lips as he swings on his seat and passes the bag of Oreos to Wanda.

“Jesus,” Nat scoffs, setting the ship on autopilot, before swirling her chair to see both Bucky and Wanda, “Could you ever imagine this could be possible? That this guy would someday be that smitten over someone?” she questions Wanda.

“Not in a million years. I don’t know Y/N that well, but I bow to her.” Wanda mimics the gesture before shoving a cookie in her mouth.

Bucky doesn’t even drop the dreaminess of his smile. He is smitten… completely… utterly… and fuck if that doesn’t feel damn good. He always thought that kind of feeling would be a pain in the ass, boring and painful. It is not. He feels like singing, dancing, hugging every human being and alien he comes across. Fuck, he would hug the Gragnon dude if it didn’t mean to get a kick in the ass from Natasha. It’s been ages that he doesn’t really get high on anything, but that feeling… he’s definitely hooked on it. There’s not a doubt inside him anymore and he’s in love with being in love with you.

“So, spill it,” Nat crosses her legs, swinging on her chair “You really went to her place and poured your heart out to her? Right after her ex proposed to her?” She questions, “What did she say?”

“Well, first she thought I was kidding and laughed her ass off…” He shakes his head with the same dreamy little smile on his lips, “Then, when she realized I was not, she started crying and, of course, so did I.” He shrugs, ignoring when Nat and Wanda exchange looks, “She wasn’t expecting that from me at all, and, we can’t really blame her can we?”

“Definitely not.”

“Nope.”

Bucky chuckles at the unison response from her friends before leaning over and snatching the bag of cookies from Wanda, before giving them the details of his talk with you, having their undivided attention. “And she said she needs some time alone, being single, I mean, to sort her feelings out… Also, it seems like she doesn’t think I can’t deal with the kind of commitment that being in love requires,” he says with a mouthful.

“Oh, honey…” Nat tilts her head.

He notices the sympathy on hers and Wanda’s expressions and waves his hand to brush her worries off, “No, no. None of that. All in all, it went pretty well. As much as I wished it would be different, I think her decision is fair. At least she didn’t say yes to the jackass with the ring,” he huffs, “I wasn’t really expecting her to throw herself in my arms. At least, not just yet.” He smirks.

“What?” Natasha shoots a look at Wanda before turning to him, “You’re not stepping aside?”

Bucky snorts at the question, “Are you kidding me? The first broad I ever fall in love with and you think I’ll leave the path free for that short little clown who thinks ten years matter?” He lets out an exaggeratedly loud laugh, “I’ve lived more than one hundred of them. Ten years mean nothing to me, and soon enough she’ll realize it doesn’t have to mean much to her, either.” A small smile rises on his face, “Of course she can have the time for herself she wants, find out what’s like being single. She deserves that. And she can think and figure out all she needs… have her fun... It’s all good…” He nods, “But in the meanwhile? I’ll be around romancing the shit out of that woman,” he states, right before tossing another cookie in his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Wanda addresses Natasha, with both eyebrows high on her forehead.

“I know…” Nat answers with an equally dumbfounded look on her face, before turning to Bucky, “Listen,” she sighs and tilts her head, “I hate to be such a killjoy here, but… I get you’re in love, and I know this is new and exciting for you.” She’s smiling before her lips tighten, “Having said that… I think she might have a point about you not being ready for commitment Bucky, you never wanted that. I’m gonna be honest here, I’m the one who set what you two had up because I thought it wouldn’t lead to this…” She waves all around him, “Feelings, I mean… and I would hate myself if you two ended up hurt because of it.” She focuses an apprehensive gaze on him while Wanda also rests her attention on him, looking like she agrees with her friend.

Bucky takes a good look between the two of them before putting into words the answer that’s so clear on his head now, “I know it may sound weird and uncharacteristic of me. Trust me, I know that.” He nods at Natasha, taking a moment to silently communicate with her in the way that has been always so easy for the two of them, “You’re right, I’ve never wanted that. Settling down to just one person, commit to a long term relationship…But with her,” he sighs and the corner of his lips curl up without further notice, “I want her and I want all of that with her, the whole package. I’m ready. I’m not afraid. I think the reason I didn’t want all of that before is because I hadn’t met her yet. That’s it. Simple as that. I know it’s not going to be easy, but to hell with easy. I want her. And I want her hard.”

Wanda already has a huge grin on her face when a satisfied little smirk twists Nat’s lips, “That’s what Amanda said.”

Bucky’s eyes widen before he squints at her, “What’ve you been up to?”

Nat puts on a nonchalant face and reaches forward to grab a cookie from the package. She takes a bite and shrugs, “Poor girl… needed some comfort after being let down by your buddy down there.”

Bucky lets out an outraged scoff and throws a cookie on her way, from which she dodges easily as she laughs, “I bet you were of great help in consoling her… Jesus… Amanda and you? The world isn’t ready.” He shakes his head.

Natasha sports a smug smile on her face when she nods her agreement, “You’re not wrong.”

“Alright, as much as I want to hear all about this Amanda girl, we’re getting close to the Skrull base now and we need you to land us, Nat,” Wanda nods towards the dash.

“Copy that,” Natasha makes a military salute at her, before shifting her seat and taking control of the ship again.

“And as for you,” Wanda turns to Bucky, “I don’t need to read what’s on your mind to know you’re telling us the truth. You’re ready for commitment,” she offers him a soft smile, which he reciprocates, “And if you really wanna show her that, I may have an idea.” Her smile turns into a devious little smirk and that’s enough to pique Bucky’s interest.

~~~

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Bucky asks, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks alongside Wanda through the busy sidewalks of Manhattan, “I mean… I know I said yes, but it is one hell of a commitment, what if it’s not for me?”

“Don’t worry, Bucky,” she smiles, “We’re just gonna take a look around, feel the vibe, and then see what happens. You don’t have to decide anything just yet,” she assures, wrapping an arm around his elbow as he looks down at her, “I just think it’s a good idea for you to get to know a bit more of this sudden inclination to commit…to experiment, I guess,” Wanda shrugs, “Besides, a dear friend of mine runs the shelter and the girl knows her stuff. If she feels like you’re not ready, she won’t allow you to get out of there with one of her babies.”

Bucky lets out a laugh. Feeling a little lighter about the subject, he places his hand over the one Wanda has wrapped around his arm, “Alright… I’m not opposed to the idea of having a dog, I guess. I always loved Labradors…” he frowns, “I would have to switch apartments, though…”

“Look at you.” Wanda nudges her shoulder on him, “Already making plans for your child…”

“Child…” Bucky can’t help but snort. He had agreed to Wanda’s idea of going to an animal shelter because he thought it would be a good way to show you he’s ready for commitment and, like he said, he’s always been fond of dogs and he’s sure if he ends up taking one home he’ll treat them well. But he also never understood how some people could be so attached to an animal to the point of considering them a child, or family…“I don’t know… I’m definitely not taking a pet home today. I agree with you, I shouldn’t decide anything just yet.”

As they walk past a small alleyway, Wanda halts, forcing him to stop with her.

“What?” Bucky frowns down at her.

“Shhh,” she brings a finger to her lips, staring towards the alleyway, “Listen.”

That’s when Bucky’s enhanced hearing catches the thin and shaky little sound coming through the trash cans.

“Come on,” Wanda pulls him to the alley and towards the cans.

What they find behind one of the containers, among all the filth around is a ball of white fur. Curled up and shaking just like the meows they heard seconds ago. A cat, a young adult white cat looks up and a pair of baby blue eyes meets Bucky’s and he just can’t look away from the plea on them and it’s just when something clicks inside his chest.

“Oh, no, look,” Wanda points at the tail, that has an evident injury on it, but when she leans down to examine it further, the animal flinches and rushes towards Bucky’s legs, letting out another trembling and weak meow. Bucky freezes as it starts climbing up his calves.

Given the poor coordination on their back little legs – probably from the damage on the tail- it can go much higher, but keeps trying. After the initial surprise, Bucky can’t help but to smile at the little fighter, who seems to reach out at him for protection. Next thing he knows, he’s leaning down and picks it up with all the caution he can muster.

“Hello, little lady… what happened there, huh?” He coos, nodding towards the small injury, which looks like a bite, having the cat meowing while bumping and rubbing the head against his chest.

“Is it a female?” Wanda tilts her head, an amused and questioning expression on her face.

Bucky smirks, not taking his eyes away from the animal, who is now quiet and seems much calmer, but digging her little claws on Bucky’s shirt, “I know a beautiful lady when I see one. Don’t I, gorgeous?”

A purring sound comes out of the now contented animal, the small injury on her tail apparently not being a problem anymore while she climbs higher and practically hugs Bucky with her little paws, whose fur is smudged by dirt, making his heart take a flip in his chest. Damn his heart nowadays…

“Aww, Bucky…” Wanda smiles, placing her hand over her heart, “What are we going to do? Should we take her to the shelter?” Wanda offers, with a bit of tentativeness on her voice.

Bucky’s eyes widen largely, before they snap to her friend. A protective tightness laces his hold on Alpine, who lets out another weak meow. Shit… Alpine? When the hell did he even come up with a name? Fuck if he knows, all he knows he’s done for and can’t possibly think of parting from that white furry little thing, who seems to have gone through a lot in her life already and probably has never met with human kindness before.

He doesn’t need to say anything as understanding falls upon Wanda’s face. He would even guess there’s a bit of pride adorning the smile on her lips now, “Alright, alright… we do need to take Alpine to the vet, though, Mr. I’m not gonna take a pet home today.” She winks.

~~~

PRESENT DAY…

“Oh well…” Bucky scratches the back of his neck while you keep your beautiful interested eyes on him, “I found this beauty on the street… she had an injured tail, poor thing… probably bitten by a dog. But she’s fine now, aren’t you, sweetie?” He coos, putting on the new tone of voice that belongs to Alpine now and loving the sound of your chuckle, “You know… I’m fully committed to taking care of her. I’m a cat dad now.” He says, putting some effort to highlight the word “committed”.

“I can see that…” you comment, nodding with a glimmer of fondness in your gaze at where Alpine is cuddled against him with eyes closed, completely relaxed.

Bucky looks down and smiles. That one is too cute for her own good, but he’s definitely having a talk with her later, for hissing at you like that, like he hadn’t given her a lecture about good behavior and how incredible you were before they left home.

“So, it’s been a while, huh? How’re you doing?” He asks softly, boring his eyes on you and holding back every ounce of him to not pull you to his arms and shower you with all the intense love he’s gathering in his chest at your sight in front of him. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have spent those long weeks apart from you, but he met with missions and an Alpine in the way. Also, as much as he’s resolved to show you he’s the one for you, he understands you needed time for yourself. But, hell, he missed you so much.

“Oh, I’m good, I’m good… pretty good,” you ramble, brushing a finger behind your ear, that thing you do when you become a bit self-conscious, which happens often when he places his gaze so intently on you.

He can’t help but smile, his chest impossibly swelled with his feelings for you, because that woman who becomes all flustered with his attention is the same woman who whined to suck his dick while shitfaced after a party. Damn, he’s so in love with you.

“That’s great...Are you free tonight?” He asks, smoothly, “Wanda and Sam will make hamburgers, they’re one hell of a team in the kitchen, you’ll be welcome to come if you want to.”

“Oh… I…” You falter.

“I’m not trying anything, I promise,” He’s quick to add with a chuckle and raises his free hand up, noticing the trepidation in your voice. “Everyone’s gonna be there. We’re just gonna eat and hangout.” He shrugs.

“Oh… no, it’s not that, it’s just…” You tighten your lips “I’ve got plans.” Something Bucky guesses to be disappointment or something like that sweeps into your voice. As for him, he holds his breath, bracing himself for the news that you’re going out with that douche of an ex, “I’m gonna meet some friends from college tonight. I got a reservation for us for dinner and then we’re gonna go dance…”

Bucky lets out a breath and the smile that grows in his face is wide when he says, “Oh, alright. That sounds like fun.” Really, really fun, especially if that jackass isn’t involved. He’s not disappointed. Far from it.

You smile back at him, matching his mood. It doesn’t slip from his attention that you seem a bit surprised by his reaction at you declining an invitation from him in favor to hang out with your friends, but he says nothing of it.

“Yeah… I’ve been getting reacquainted with them lately,” you say, excitement plastered on the little curve of your lips and the glint in your eyes, “It’s been fun. I’d love to get to know Wanda and Sam’s talent in the kitchen, though….Maybe some other time?” You offer.

“Sounds perfect, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment brings the effect he was aiming for when you promptly does that thing with your finger on your ear again, but it was also noticed by the other girl in the room and currently in his arm, who seems to wake up from her comfort slumber against his chest to hiss at you again.

You look at each other in widened eyes.

“What the hell,” Bucky scolds down at the cat, glancing at you briefly, catching your now amused expression, before addressing Alpine again in a whispery voice, “We’re gonna have a talk back home, young lady.”

~~~

“What a number you put out there, huh?” His voice is gentle despite the reprimanding intention in his words while Bucky crouches and fills her little plate with the special food the vet recommended.

With her crystal-clear eyes glued on the plate, Alpine doesn’t really acknowledge his half attempt of admonishing her before digging in.

Bucky chuckles, “She’s cute, isn’t she? But so are you,” He scratches the back of her ear and she stops eating for a moment to brush her head against his hand, “You don’t have to be jealous, doll. You’re so cute, you’re my girl, too, you know?” he coos, still petting her, “But you gotta help me out there buddy. Ok? She’s really special and I know you’ll love her, too.”

Alpine lets out a weak meow before getting back to her plate and Bucky swears to God he sometimes wonders if the cat is some sort of shapeshifter in disguise, understanding every little thing he says.

Letting her out to eat, he stands up, “Hey, Friday,” he calls.

“Yes, Bucky?”

“Could you search for a table reservation in the name of Y/N Y/L/N tonight? I need the address of the place.”

A small silence ensues before the A.I speaks again, “Isn’t it a bit creepy?”

He sighs, placing his hands on his hips, “Friday… babe…” He smiles at the giggles that resound in his kitchen, before bringing a hand to his heart, “I’m in love, ok? I’m not gonna ruin her night…If anything, I’m just going to make her night out with her friends more… interesting.”

“Alright, you know I can’t say no to you,” the A.I concedes, “You can find the address in your phone’s map. Good luck, handsome.”

“Thanks, babe,” Bucky grins, before turning to Alpine, who’s now about done with her food, sprawled on the floor busy with cleaning out her paws, “And you?” He calls, catching her attention before he points at her, “You’ll have burgers with your aunt Wanda. I have plans for tonight.”

~~~

To be continued...

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fanfiction #it's a deal

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2652 Warnings: none

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 3 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

The past few days have been exactly what you wanted a month ago, peacefully silent, yet somehow it doesn’t feel right. You were able to finish your paper in record time, fully concentrating on your work but part of you missed the incessant music from next door.

There was an odd comfort knowing Bucky was home playing, and with the knowledge of his musical talent you now wanted to hear what he would come up with. Getting to know him briefly was… well, it was something. It could have gone a lot better if you didn’t stick your foot in your mouth.

Bringing up the music related noise was one thing but how you ever managed to bring up the noise of his “nighttime activities” made you wish you could have vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. You had done your best to avoid Bucky ever since, rushing out of or into your apartment as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure how you could ever face him again but you couldn’t deny that a small part wanted to.

Facing your shared wall you imagined where Bucky might be, picturing him on his couch, lounging across the cushions of the soft leather as he leisurely plucks away at the guitar strings, sounding out a melody. Or was he more focused, sitting upright and gliding his dexterous fingers across his keyboard? Was he at his computer editing his melodies? Was he thinking of you?

The silence was deafening. With your palm pressed against the wall you began to lean in with your ear, hoping you could hear anything. With a slight gasp you jumped back, there was noise but not any coming from next door. Your phone buzzed against the coffee table, with Steve’s face illuminating the screen.

“Hey Steve!”

“Guess who I saw going into Sweetgreen?” The strain in his voice clued you in to the right guess, Lillian. “Yup, and she wasn’t alone … yeah she’s still with Jason, for now,” he muttered under his breath, expecting her to cheat again.

“I’m sorry Steve. You know you deserve better than her, right? I know you know this.”

Steve sighed heavily. Even though he knew what you were saying was right, seeing his ex still hurt a lot.

“Thanks Y/N, I do know that, doesn’t mean I’m going to torture myself though and go in there so is it cool if I pick us up something else? I’m in the mood for carbs.”

Chuckling at Steve’s admission you couldn’t help but agree, salads were great and all but all this Bucky stress you’ve put on yourself definitely makes you crave heavier foods.

“Tacos?”

“Mmmm, yes tacos! Extra guac please Rogers!”

You set your table in preparation for Steve to come over with food, remembering to throw your wallet on the table to give him money. The last time he came over you had forgotten, being so caught up in reliving the terrible memory of your interaction with Bucky. Steve might have been right, if he handled talking to Bucky maybe you wouldn’t be so worried about running into him.

“Sam tells me you guys spoke,” Steve said, digging a tortilla chip into the container of guacamole.

You chewed quickly to swallow the bite you had taken. “Why do you always ask me a question mid-chew?” you joked. “But yes, we did speak and…” your voice lifted with anticipation as Steve’s eyes widened, waiting for you to continue. “He gave me the number for Elena Rodriguez. She’s head of the social work department and…”

“Oh my god Y/N please just tell me!” Steve begged.

“I set up an interview with her next week!”

Steve’s eyes crinkled with his excited smile though it faded shortly after as you nervously mused about fitting the internship into your schedule.

“One step at a time,” Steve offered with a small laugh.

He’s right. One step at a time. You didn’t even go on the interview yet, you might not even be hired for it; the thought of which worries you even more, but you remind yourself to breathe and take things as they come.

The elevator ascends slowly, filled with your eager coworkers looking to join the rush home. As it lets off on the ground floor, everyone dashes to the heavy glass doors as you leisurely stroll to the security desk.

Mr. Lee had a big smile on his face as he seemed to be in the middle of telling Steve a story. Slowly you approached the desk, seeing Steve smiling down at something in his hands.

“That’s what I said but Howard was ahead of his time. A comic book movie…” Mr. Lee chuckled. “It didn’t work in ’47 but it sure would be a hit now.”

“Oh, what’s this?” you asked.

Steve held up a sealed copy of a comic book, Kid Colt, which you were unfamiliar with.

Leaning over the desk towards you Mr. Lee spoke, “Tony found that for me in his father’s things. That’s how Howard and I met. He wanted to make a movie outta this. Stark Pictures. He never did though, the whole thing became a big tax write off.”

“I didn’t know you knew Howard Stark.”

“Oh yeah,” Mr. Lee boasted humbly, “Since I was seventeen. He was a good man. You know he was so proud to finally be a father. He worked a lot, probably more than he should have but he had Maria and the nannies bring little Tony over to the office. Tony Stank I’d call him. Oh boy, you could smell those diapers from a mile away it was so bad.”

Hearing Mr. Lee talk about the head of your company so freely like this made you laugh. It also made Tony Stark seem a bit more human. As far as you knew he was a workaholic who may or may not be seeing Pepper Potts. You’ve caught the way she looks at him though, with an extra twinkle in her eye or how she hesitates for the smallest moment to gather herself before going into his office.

“Tony Stank, that’s amazing,” you laughed, wondering if Pepper has ever heard this story before. “Well, have a good night Mr. Lee!”

Steve came around to the front of the desk standing tall, filling out his blue uniform with his broad stature. It was unfair how he could pig out on food with you and not show any sign of it. Meanwhile, your stomach has been rumbling all day from last night’s dinner.

“I’m on the late shift today,” he frowned.

“Poor Stevie,” you joked, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye. “Not that my night will be any better, I’ve got a shit ton of laundry to do.”

“Enjoy the sweaty laundromat then.”

“Oh I will,” you said sarcastically.

The steady hum of the running washing machines drowned out the sound of the newscast coming from a small TV mounted on the wall. It’s muggier inside than out, and even with the door open you can’t escape the permeating smell of cheap soap and mildew.

The wash cycle is nearly over so you move from the metal chair you had been uncomfortably sitting on, listening to music to pass the time, and lazily stroll over to the machine that is spinning your clothes. Quarters jingle in your pocket as you walk, ready to be placed in the dryer as you wait some more. You hate laundry day.

It’s crowded too, with all the chairs taken and other people leaning against the wall. A few kids were running around screaming, not helping their tired mother who looked too exhausted to even reprimand them as she folded all their clothes.

No one looked happy to be there, not even the attendants who had to apologize to the screaming man who didn’t understand why he couldn’t use one of their reserved machines. It was a cut throat world on laundry night, with other patrons fighting to stake claim for the next free machine.

A loud buzz lets you know your clothes are done, you wheel a basket over and open the door. The shadow of the clearly impatient person waiting for your machine blocks the dull light from the fluorescents above so you hope to grab everything quickly without dropping anything on the dirty linoleum floor.

“It’s all yours– oh.” Your mouth hung open, not expecting to see Bucky standing beside you. “H-hey.”

“Hey Y/N. Didn’t want to startle you,” he sheepishly said. “Uhmmm, is this free?” Bucky gestured to the obviously open machine.

You nodded quickly. Not knowing what else to say you stared awkwardly at the basket of damp clothes and said, “I’m gonna dry these.” Smooth.

Turning around you let out a deep breath and worried over what would happen next. It would be extremely rude to ignore Bucky and continue to listen to music. He hasn’t done anything wrong to you, not this week at least, but you were too scared to risk saying something stupid, again.

It would take at least a half hour for your clothes to dry so you put on a brave face and decided to walk back towards Bucky. Dressed in casual black shorts and a white t-shirt, his smooth, toned arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against a support column, squinting to read the poorly transcribed closed captioning on the TV.

“Hey neighbor,” you said, offering a small friendly wave as he turned his head.

Bucky smiled, standing upright as he turned to face you completely to greet you back. He looked genuinely happy to see you, which made you feel even worse for how you left things.

“I’m sorry if I made things weird the other day. I didn’t mean to,” you blurted out before your brain gave any thought to see if this was a good idea.

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, the gaze of his ocean blue eyes staring right through you. “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a cavalier air.

“So how’s the music coming along?” You were truly curious, having not heard any sound.

“It’s not bothering you, right?” Bucky winked.

“No, not at all,” you smiled softly. “Are you still working on that one piece?”

Bucky asked which one and you hummed the tune. Closing your eyes you missed the way his own lit up in delight hearing you repeat his melody.

“I know I complained about the noise but honestly it was so beautiful,” your voice lightened and he felt the weight of emotion even through the simple way you described it. “Maybe that’s why I couldn’t focus.”

Bucky adjusted his weight, needing to ground himself after your words made him feel as light as air. His music meant so much to him, working tirelessly to bring to life the sound he envisioned in his mind, to know that the unfinished piece had such an effect already made his heart swell with pride.

He developed his music like a chef crafting a recipe. Each instrument was a different ingredient, carefully selected notes were gathered on the counter, waiting to come together in a symphonic skillet. The flavors of music combine, heating up together the piano is covered in the spice of an electric guitar, with the drumming rhythm simmering beneath the surface as the sound of strings are poured generously over the top.

In the end the dish is a delicious feast for the ears but here you were, happily devouring the unfinished ingredient in its raw form.

“Yeah…” his voice came out breathless. Catching himself Bucky cleared his throat. “It’s actually for an upcoming video game. I can’t say which, but it’s part of an emotional scene when the main character finds his family is gone.”

“I can sense the depth of it.”

“That’s not even the best part,” he explained as his face grew with a wide smile. Bucky became lost in describing the emotion of the violins that would come in. “They’re the voice of the character and when he’s lost everything I have them coming in, crying out in pain. It’s sharp and strong, and beautifully tragic.”

Listening to Bucky describe his music resonated in your soul. You saw the complete love and passion he had for it and once again you felt terrible about asking him to stop.

“I’d love to hear it, if that’s okay.”

You looked at him with hopeful eyes, and Bucky smiled, nodding before he spoke his answer. He couldn’t wait for you to hear everything together.

You passed the time by getting to know each other a little more. Bucky has a younger sibling named Rebecca who moved west to work as an avian veterinarian in a bird sanctuary.

“My parents are lost without them around,” Bucky joked. “Do you know how hard it is to try to explain how to use Skype to them over the phone?”

“Oh believe me, I know. Somehow my mom always calls at the worst time to have me explain the most basic function on her phone that she already knows because we’ve gone over it a million times but…” You threw your hands up as Bucky joined in with your laughter.

When your clothes were dry Bucky gave you some space to fold them alone which you appreciated, not wanting to showcase your intimate items in front of him. He was still a stranger, sort of, but you were glad you were getting to know him.

Checking the time you realized it was on the late side and you still needed to shower before bed. Your clothes were packed neatly into a laundry bag, well most of them were at least. One sock managed to get eaten by the dryer to your dismay, and you hoped its pair was somewhere on your floor having fallen out as you prepped the laundry.

Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you gripped the bottle of detergent with your other hand and walked towards Bucky.

“Hey,” you called out to Bucky who lifted his head from his phone. “I’ve got a few things to do tonight still so can I take a rain check on hearing your music?”

“Yeah, of course.” Bucky did his best to mask his disappointment but he understood. He noticed the slump of your shoulders, balancing the laundry bag high on one side and letting your other limb hang low with the weight of the heavy bottle.

“Do you want me to carry that back?” he asked.

“Oh, no it’s okay, I can manage.”

The apartment was only two blocks away, two long blocks but still, you didn’t want to inconvenience Bucky even though judging by the curve of his biceps it wouldn’t be a problem.

Bucky walked with you to the front of the laundromat as you smiled and said goodnight.

“Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered, watching as you walked down the sidewalk until he could no longer see you in the crowd.

The words stayed on his lips like they were always meant to be there and Bucky has a brief flash of a life he’s never thought about.

A warm bed, made even warmer by the figure curled against him. His breath syncs with theirs and he’s at peace. His heart beats to the rhythm of love and his lips purse together to plant a soft lingering kiss on their forehead. A smile secures itself on his face because he’s truly happy; surrounded by the comforting feeling knowing that when he wakes up that person, his love, will be by his side.

The machine buzzes at the end of its cycle dragging Bucky back to a reality that has him gasping for breath. He steps outside for a minute for air, needing to clear his mind of the vision that seemed so real it scared him; for better or worse he can’t quite say.

PART 5

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

809 notes · View notes

dalgonachan · 3 years

Text

Latibule

pairing: Seungkwan x reader, ft. 95z as a troublesome trio genre: high school au, angst, fluff warnings: none prompt: every day is a new beginning, but today just seems to be too tough to face count: 3632 a/n: i feel like my new writing pattern is updating on the members’ birthdays. this one has been sitting in my drafts for like a year and i was having second thoughts about posting it but alas here it is. happy birthday to best boi boo seungkwan 🥳🎈

Standing in a shower cubicle, as you feel your hair and body dripping wet, definitely counts as one of the most awkward moments in your entire life. Most especially when you’re waiting for everyone to leave the locker room. Forgetting to bring your towel with you was a completely dumb move because you just ran in and took a shower without even thinking of the consequences of being unprepared. Although, first come first serve basis has become a tradition during gym class and you don't want to run out of stalls and wait. Even worse, having to share with someone too generous would be an unpleasant experience. So here you were waiting for everyone to leave so that you can dash out of the cubicle and grab your towel from the lockers.

Maybe I could just wear my swimsuit, go out, and take my towel—no. You thought to yourself, quickly dismissing the thought with a shake of your head. That is just disgusting.

There are around four or five more people left. Silently, you whisper to the air about how much you wish for them to leave so you can be alone right now. Not long after, you hear the locker room door close, followed by a sudden stillness. You carefully open your stall's door, hoping it doesn't creak, and peek outside to check if there's still anyone left.

Nobody's here. But me. Good.

Without hesitation, you immediately exit the stall and manage not to slip while running. You slam the locker door open as soon as you’re inches away from it, then grab your towel and start drying off. You’re not even close to dry when you change back into your uniform and shoes, but for now, you really don't care. You’re running late for math class thanks to your stupidity.

Your footsteps and ragged breathing echo in the empty hallway. You slow down and start searching for your locker. Upon instantly catching sight of it, you sprint for it and nearly slam against it. You twist the knob to put in the code, however, it doesn't open and you try again. A few more attempts to open it are made, but none succeed.

"Come on! Work!" You plead, twisting the knob one last time.

Finally, you give up and kick your busted locker in anger. Being awfully late for math class is as bad as lacking the needed requirements, but together they're simply distressing.

You turn around and walk down the hall, dragging your feet lethargically. Your backpack seems to weigh heavier than it is... or was gravity also conspiring against you, trying to get your body to drop to the floor? As usual, you shrug it off and try your best to go on.

I'll just get to class and hope that this day doesn't completely go downhill.

Eventually, you reach your destination. Hesitantly, your hand reaches for the door knob, but getting caught standing outside any longer could give you a formal warning. You decide to walk in as casually as possible. For certain, you’ve failed to act normally because your movements become stiff with everyone's eyes on you. Barely reaching your chair, the teacher calls you out.

"(L/n)! You're late," her harsh tone is startling and you freeze.

"My apologies, Miss Kang," you timidly respond.

"I hope you have your materials with you." She taps the attendance chart on her desk. "Don't forget to register."

The attendance chart is where students write in, of course, their attendance. However, that isn't all. Listed above their names is a row of all the requirements needed in class. If they have the specified material, a check mark is put below it, beside their name. Lucky for you, you have none so the space beside your name is left blank.

Miss Kang checks the chart and gives you a look after reading your entry. With her eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, and hands on her hips, it's obvious that she's cross. You lower your head in shame as you feel everybody staring in silence, watching the scene before them unfold.

This must be so interesting for them. Spitefulness drips off your thoughts like venom. (Y/n) (L/n), the pupil who came to class tardy and incomplete, is sent to detention by the math teacher.

You take off the embarrassingly enormous detention tag hanging around your neck and place it in the plastic basket right next to Miss Joo's desk. She doesn't even look up from her computer as she points to your seat—fifth to the right, third to the back. Making your way to the chair, you take a gander at all the other students in the detention room. Some were familiar faces, some others you didn't know at all. Yoon Jeonghan, Choi Seungcheol, and Hong Jisoo, a group of known troublemakers in your school, huddled at the back while palavering about what most likely is their next evil scheme. You get into your seat, pull out a pad paper and pen, then carelessly drop your bag onto the floor.

Miss Kang sent you to detention to write a two thousand word essay about why one should always be prepared and early for class. Could there possibly be a punishment much worse than this? Honestly, it doesn't take long to fill up half of the paper since you were simply stating all the corrections to the mistakes you've recently committed. Just as you’re about to move on to the next page, something slobbery hits your nape followed by an eruption of laughter. You don't even have to turn your head to know who shot that spitball, but still do it to send a death glare their way. Jeonghan shrugs as if he knows nothing, meanwhile the other two are too busy laughing their heads off. If only.

Returning your attention to the paper, you force yourself to ignore them. The pen glides smoothly across the sheet as your thoughts fluidly flow out... but not for long. Another spitball comes your way, but this time it lands on the paper. You can tell they used so much saliva on this one because it created one hell of an ugly blotch on the essay that it actually ruined the ink. So much for effort.

This time, there is no room for mercy. Obviously, Miss Joo doesn't care, so you push your chair out of the desk, letting it screech across the floor, and stomp over to the three boys. The other students in the room watch closely, anticipating the drama about to happen. With arms crossed and eyebrows arched, you shoot them with the most painful glare you can make.

"I'm sorry, but what is your problem?!" You could almost yell at them, but you don't want to get into any more trouble. You’re going up until only this far.

"Nothing. We were just messing around," Jeonghan smugly replies.

You fight the temptation to rip his mouth off his face, but the urge to do so can still be heard in the way you speak.

"Nothing? Oh, sure! I totally believe you, as if you three..." You point an accusing finger at each of them, "...weren't spewing spitballs in my direction!"

The whole room is filled with silence and old Miss Joo is still as deaf as ever.

"We weren't aiming at you," Jisoo defends, leaning forward.

"We were trying to get it to the trash can over there!" Seungcheol points with his thumb, but you don't turn around to look.

"I'm not falling for that and you idiots should know that. Oh, but I guess idiots like you don't really understand anything at all." You feel the tone in your voice getting angrier by the second.

"Fine, fine. We're sorry, okay?" Jeonghan says, but the smirk on his face is still evident.

You squint your eyes and tap your foot impatiently on the floor.

"Right, guys?" Jeonghan glances over at his accomplices.

"Sure," Seungcheol says.

"Sorry," Jisoo mumbles.

"You better be. Just quit bothering me." Turn on your heel, you walk away.

Thankfully, you get to reprimand the three of them for their stupidity. Even so, you can hear them whispering behind your back. Returning to your chair, the tension is thick as you feel everyone's eyes on you. Once you sit down, their gazes divert elsewhere because Miss Joo announces it's time for lunch.

The high school cafeteria is filled with boisterous students, making it almost impossible to move around. You carefully weave through the winding crowd, in search of Seungkwan, your boyfriend, while tightly clutching the lunch tray close to your body. Your eyes sharpen upon nearing each table, trying to identify the people seated down.

The crowd begins to thin when you catch sight of him. He's by himself at the table, staring straight at you with a faint smile on his visage, then you notice he hasn't touched his food yet. Obviously, someone's been waiting. You grin widely, approaching the table he reserved for. Fortunately, lunch time is the most forgiving part of a school day. It's also a good thing because you get to spend time together.

"Took you long enough," Seungkwan comments as you arrive.

"I got stuck in the crowd and I had a hard time searching for you because of that," You respond, still standing in front of the table.

"I noticed," he says with a smirk.

"You could've called me!" I grumble.

"It was fun watching you get lost," he says with a chuckle. "Now sit down already! I want to eat!"

"Alright, alright," You say, placing the tray down and settling into the chair.

In the blink of an eye, a football crash lands on the table, knocking out your lunch and hitting you in the face. Food splatters you from head to toe in less than a second before the whole tray falls on your lap. You lose hearing for a while, your ears ringing. The pain on your face throbs mercilessly.

You look up, vision blurry, still dazed from the hit. Your eyes make out the empty space in front and before you can assume he's left, you feel him tugging you out of your seat. The other students simply look at what all the commotion is about. Turning to the direction where the football came from, your vision clears to see Jeonghan, Jisoo, and Seungcheol with guilt-stricken faces. Unsurprising.

"I should've expected those jerks to have done it again," You mutter.

Grabbing your bag, you stand up from the table and burst out of the cafeteria doors in frustration. This day has been pushing your buttons and you've had just about enough. Perhaps, even, too much. And those three just had to add up with the disasters of today.

"(Y/n)! Wait!" You hear Seungkwan yell.

Not wanting him to catch up, you quicken pace. Hot tears streak down your cheeks as you continue to run away. His constant pleas for you to stop being rendered useless by ignorance, however, he still manages to catch up with you. His hand seizes your wrist, but you yank it from his clutch and push him away.

"(Y/n)!" He calls again, stopping in his tracks.

You don't look back and proceed further on through the corridors, not knowing where to take yourself.

History class helps tone down your emotions, distracting you from the reminder that this day is cursed. The quiz temporarily brings your thoughts to concentrate on the task at hand except for the irritatingly scratchy uniform the clinic let you borrow. Just as how your luck ran out today, so does the ink of your pen. Not to mention, writing an essay to a question which isn't even second to the last of the whole paper. Fingers scrambling through the contents of your pencil case, you realise that this is the last pen.

"Hey," you whisper, attempting to get your seatmate's attention.

No response.

"Hey," you say a little bit louder, worried that she didn't hear you at first.

Her head merely turns to the side, sending a glare your way. Before you can ask, she goes back to answering the paper.

"I need to borrow a pen," you persist.

She leans her head to the other side, letting her hair fall over her face to block you from view.

"Please, I'm still not done," you beg, glancing at the clock. Just a few more minutes and the quiz was going to end.

"I really need to bo—"

"(L/n)!" Mr. Ho's voice booms from behind and you flinch.

He snatches the paper from beneath your arm and shoots an angry look. All you could do was sink into the chair in humiliation since you had no idea how to defend yourself. To him and everyone else in this room, it did look like you were trying to cheat. Therefore, you’re sent to detention for the second time this day.

Mr. Ho's class was the last, so technically dismissal comes next. Right now, as you sit in the same seat during the previous detention session, the bell is all you have to wait for. At least the trio didn't get into any trouble this time or you'd be spending the last period with them. Sleep gets the best of you and you’re consciously aware that you were snoozing off, although decide to let it come. You are really exhausted after all you've experienced.

A crackle of thunder jolts you awake from a dream. Your eyes snap open and see the lack of people in the detention room... which means you're alone.

Wait, what time is it? You lean over to check the clock and it's FIFTEEN MINUTES PAST DISMISSAL TIME?! WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY BOTHER TO WAKE ME UP? Hoisting the bag onto your shoulders, you hurry out of the room and scurry the hallways. Only a few students are left, but they have varsity training or cheerleading practice, anything to keep them busy and give them an excuse to stay late in school.

The rain pounds on you when you exit the doors of the school. From head to toe, you are once again sullied. Well, this has officially ruined the whole day. Unstoppable tears, you've been holding in all this time, flow out of your eyes.

Without re-evaluating your thoughts, you run away from the school and hurry home. The cold wind stings your skin and the reoccurring flashes of lightning blind your vision. Hurried steps splash large puddles on the pavement, drenching yourself even more. You really didn't care about anything anymore, so enduring the bad weather didn't matter at all.

Sooner than you could have expected, you reach the bus stop. You don't take long to go sit under the shed because you’re just absolutely done. Panting and soaking wet, you lean against the cold glass pane. You don’t even notice Seungkwan, who seems to be in shock at your condition, come in.

"You're soaking wet! Why didn’t you wait for me?" He asks sitting beside you.

"I'm just having the most terrible day of my life and I don't want to talk about it!" You didn't expect to yell and you bet Seungkwan didn't too because his eyes widened flabbergastingly.

A fresh set of tears begins to pour down again. By then you knew you've made another error you'd immediately regret. Seungkwan’s face is rewritten all over with worry as he reaches for you, but you push his hand and scoot away, then wrap your arms around yourself. He decides to leave it alone for the time being, allowing you to sit with your emotions. Soon, the bus arrived and he stood up, hand outstretched to you.

“Let’s get home.”

You shut the door and click the locks in place. Slamming your back against it, you slide down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest and sobbing. Hopefully, after you give vent to all this exasperation, you'll eventually tire out and go to sleep. The saltiness of your tears blends with sweat, hair sticking to your face.

"(Y/n)?" Seungkwan’s voice is muffled behind the door.

You suck in a breath and stay quiet. He still hasn’t left after dropping you off at your house out of concern.

"Open the door, please?" He gently knocks. "I just want to talk for a little bit. Maybe it will make you feel better."

"Go home, Seungkwan. I'm fine." I know I can lie better than this, but why didn't I?

"No, let me in and we'll talk about it. You can't carry all your problems alone," he says causing you to stiffen.

Reluctantly, you sigh and get up from the ground. Your eyes meet Seungkwan’s lush brown irises the second the door opens. He comes in and engulfs you into a delicate embrace, rubbing your back and kissing your cheek. That's when you let it all out completely.

You cry onto his shoulder uncontrollably, but he tightens his hold on you. Now that you think of it, you feel like a bunch of lumber being chained together to keep from falling apart.

"(Y/n), what's wrong? Did they do something to you again?" He pulls away, his eyes scanning your face worriedly.

You tug him back, shaking your head. As much as it's embarrassing to know that you've already stained his shirt with tears, the crying doesn't stop. For a while, you're standing in the middle of the room, cradled in each other's arms and not letting go. Soon, the sadness turns into sniffles and you’ve calmed down a bit.

"Are you ready to talk about it now?" The tone of his voice by your ear is so timid, his breath barely grazing the skin.

"I don't know how to say it without making a racket," you reply.

"Just say what you have to." He smiles at you lovingly, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers together.

You inhale deeply then sigh.

"Today has been very... horrible. First, I forgot to bring my towel to my shower stall, so I had to wait for everyone to leave. Second, my locker got jammed. Not only was I late, but I also didn't have the materials for math class. Third, I got sent to detention for that and then Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and Jisoo had to ruin the essay I was writing. FYI, that was a punishment from Miss Kang!" You pause to catch your breath before continuing again.

"Because of that, I got mad at them. Oh! And because they shot a spitball at me, too! Fast forward to lunch, they take their petty revenge on me and thanks to them, I had to borrow an itchy uniform from the infirmary! Then here comes History where my last pen died while I was taking a quiz! And I thought it was such a good idea to borrow a pen from my seatmate, but instead, I get myself caught. Mr. Ho sends me to detention again and I fall asleep, then wake up fifteen minutes after dismissal time. Guess what? We aren't even at the best part yet!" You throw your hands up in the air in utter frustration.

"That does sound like a rough day," Seungkwan opines.

"Oh, believe me, it is," You say, rolling your eyes.

"So, what's the best part?" He shuffles closer.

"I forgot to wait for you, so I ran back in the pouring rain." You finish, shutting down the whole story.

Seungkwan stands up, and with your hand in his, you do too. He moves his palms to cup your cheeks and tilts your head to meet his eyes. The warmth of his touch makes you close your eyes and hum in content, further calming down. Before you could open your eyes again, his lips meet yours and you kiss back. When he pulls away, you grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him more passionately than a while ago. If this is the only good you can get from this extremely horrible day, you’re taking every single bit of it while it lasts.

"Whoa," He gasps just as you part.

"I'm sorry, I kinda got carried away," you shyly apologise, sheepishly scratching the back of your head.

"It's alright," he says before reading the time on the clock. "You know what, after all, you've been through today, I think you deserve some rest."

You haven't had the chance to say otherwise when suddenly he’s dragging you by the arm and you let out a squeal.

"Kwannie! I still need to do my science homework!"

"For science? Nice try, but you don't have science tomorrow," he chuckles.

You puff your cheeks and glare at him.

"You look adorable when you do that, not terrifying. Now go to sleep."

"But Seung—"

"Sleep."

"Kwan—"

"You need to sleep."

You groan in defeat.

"Fine, but only if you sleep with me." You point a finger at him. Seungkwan thinks for a while before he nods in agreement.

"Hooray!" You move over and let him lay down beside you.

"What made me do this?" He asks while getting in.

"Your love for me, duh. Now, goodnight, darling," you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Goodnight to you, too. I love you," He says, pecking your nose.

You tuck into your blankets then close your eyes.

"I love you, too. And thank you for comforting me earlier,"

"You're welcome. You needed it," He replies, standing up to turn off the lights.

When he comes back to the bed, he wraps you in yet another tender embrace. You snuggle into him and bury your face into his chest, to which he responds to with a giggle.

If this is how my day ends, then I'm positively sure tomorrow is going to be a new day.

46 notes · View notes

pleasancies · 3 years

Text

Interrogation

wordcount : 2k+

content / warning : interrogation, lady whump, defiant whumpee, fighting, gore, no-holds barred beatdown, choking, finger injury, death tw, self harm tw

Need to write something that connects the event between tragedy at brineward and first shot. It ends up quite long so I had to reworked some things and split it into two. Anyway, special feature of this story : a whumpee so defiant she tried to rip whumper's apart with words. Tagging @summer-of-whump

***

Previous Chapter

Avis ran to the open field. There was no one. Most of the guard are somewhere inside, making sure the experiments and researchers are safe or far outside the gate, chasing off Mary's group. They all left, letting The Thing to do whatever it please to them. Avis head towards the second building near her. Couldn't make it obvious she was bait.

A loud crack surprised her. A piece of rubble falling. The Thing was on to her. She did her job. She hoped her friends would run the opposite way instead of following. They have to. For the data they went through all this trouble to steal and especially Sherman and Emmet.

They argued for too long. She should have been alarmed at how silent Sherman was. Nausea pooled into her gut as she remember the way he crumpled into James hands. Their leader hasn't even took off his cover. From bad to worse. Emmet watched it all unfold. They shouldn't have bring him here. Her heart sank to her ankles, leaving a heavy trail of cold that knotted her insides.

Distract. Her objective now is occupy The Thing's attention until her friends are away. The outer wall's greenery was still crawling on top of her cover. As Avis entered the second building, she dumped it on the door. Not like she's going to climb out of here anyway. The second building was built different. It wasn't a hallway, more like a vast room people usually held conferences in. Weaponry research department. Faint smell of blood floating in the air. Avis run with her left hand holding on to the wall. She hunkered down a little. It was getting harder to gather the strength to put her foot forward.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor. It was walled off to several sections. A giant box of vacuum metal fill in the space on the far end. Cables everywhere. Rows of tables filled with typewriters and office supplies. Avis made a mental list of her inventory. A single gun, two bullets left. And a dozen of pens she just picked up. There's also the bayonet and her one remaining grenade. She overheard a sob.

Someone have been hiding under one of the desk. She approached it. The choked sobs turned to begging.

"No, no, please don't kill me!"

It was a girl. Her face was wet with tears. Her dress crumpled and ripped at the edges. She was relatively young, and the color of her clothes suggest she was still a student.

"Are you alone in here?"

The student didn't even look at her. She hid her face when Avis tap her shoulder.

"Look, someone's going to tore through this room and I'm not sure he could distinguish friend from foe. You have two choices. Leave, or stay so I could use you as a meatshield."

The girl dashed to the doorway. There was a scream. It was a good few minutes before The Thing burst through the door. He was still red, but his arms were already healed from burns. The last explosion had burned his upper lip, showing teeth. His right leg, Avis noticed, were completely skinless, save for the green worms eating at his flesh.

The Thing was chewing something. Bits of meat fell from his mouth. He spat. A wet slop of hair, bones and shredded fabric. Avis took a step back, a horrifying realization dawned in on her.

He lunged at her. She swung a chair to his face. She dashed to the other end of the room, bringing another chair with her. He caught up to her by a single jump. Avis crouched holding the legs of the chair above her head. It hit him square in the middle. While he curled up on the floor from pain, she run away leaving her last grenade. The impact threw her down the stairs. Heat rippled on her back. The sound deafened her. Avis failed to stand, still reeling from the explosion. She turned around, looking at the hubris. The Thing emerged from the fire.

He grabbed her by arms, slamming her across the room. Avis could feel the tendons of her shoulder ripping. Her head hits concrete. Suddenly the world was upside down. Her stomach lurched. Pain exploded throughout her side, making her breath shallow as she gasped for air.

Her hands scrambled to her pockets. Pens, bayonet, guns. Her fingers trembled too much to firmly hold anything. The Thing loomed above Avis. She clenched her teeth, bringing out her last remaining strength to draw her bayonet.

What followed was a desperate scuffle of two dying soldiers. Avis dig her finger in skinless flesh as The Thing swing her by the hair. He ate three of fingers. She spit on his eyes and screamed to his ears. When her bayonet was stuck on his shoulders, she pulled out the pens and pierced it to his neck until he couldn't heal anymore. The Thing fell on her, and his blood wash over her face like a gush of hot water.

Avis grunted as she pushed away his corpse. She glanced up. Sharp eyes boring in on her. Guns aiming for her head.

***

"Your friends have failed," The middle-aged man pulled away from his chair. "We found them in the woods. They couldn't run very far because one of them is dying. Mold poisoning is it?"

Avis clenched her fist. It fucking hurt. Three hours in the car and they didn't even put a bandage on her mutilated fingers. Just some very tight binds to stop the bleeding. The handcuffs clinked on the desk, grazing the scuffles on her wrists even when she flinched. The blinding pain subsumed her senses. She's going to regret it for the long term, enforcing bad habits during stress. But it was good for now, a way to recenter herself from the whirlwind of emotions.

"You're lying, Inspector Barnes. Your statements doesn't add up."

"Care to explain it to the man we found vomiting blood outside of the gate?"

Inspector Barnes crossed his arms. He's standing over her like an inescapable presence. Intimidation tactics, Avis remind herself. She can't trust whatever this man said. No matter how much it makes sense.

It's good her friends made it past the gate but-

No! She shouldn't. Not until Avis saw her team in prison slacks herself. Her handcuffs clatters against the desk. Blood dripping out through her knuckles.

Avis scoffed, "I'm not talking. Maybe I would if I see them captured, but it's only a maybe."

"Are you deaf? One of them is dying. The mold was eating them from the inside out. The doctors are keeping them alive as we speak, but they're not authorized to give them any cure until you give me what I need."

What does he mean by 'them'? Did he not know Sherman's the one hurt? Or is everyone infected?

Stop. No speculating. Assume everything's a lie until there's definite proof. Avis straightened her back. All of the injuries she sustained are screaming now. Her face hard, she doesn't want to let it show.

"That's illegal. You're forbidden to withhold treatment for bioweapons. Heh, you haven't even read my rights yet."

"Young lady, nothing can protect you the moment you decided to join Heretics. Letters of the law be damned, you're enemies of the State. You're. Not. Getting. Out. Of. Here."

Inspector Barnes slammed his hands on the desk, the same time he get his last words. Avis jumped, despite herself.

He's trying to rattle me.

"Forced disappearance? I knew a few of my friends who died that way. It's expected. I still think you're bluffing. Give me a picture of my friends sitting in a cell then I'd believe you."

Inspector Barnes sit back again. He run his fingers through his hair. "You're stubborn, no, cruel is more like it. Your goal for chaos is all that you had in mind. Even that intern girl..."

Avis felt bile rising to the throat. She gulped down the bitter spit saliva that's pooling in her mouth. Barnes tilt his head, his expression slightly amused.

"What's this? A sign of conscience?"

"No. I let her run so she doesn't end up as collateral damage. Guess she's unlucky. That Thing fucking ate her."

"The Dog, Fenrir, you mean. You told her to run so she could be a distraction for Fenrir when you wait."

"You're twisting my words."

"I saw the camera footage. He ate her alive. You threatened her, lead a teenage girl to her death who couldn't think straight because terrorists are raiding her workplace!"

Barnes spoke, his voice thick with emotion. It was almost a whisper at first, but rapidly rising and rising until he was practically screaming. The Inspector kicked the desk, slamming it at Avis midsection. Avis crumpled to the side. Her ribs explode with pain. It took everything not to heave on her prison garb.

"What's this? A sign of conscience?" She laughed, and the resulting pain led to a coughing fit that only serves to aggravate the pain she felt in a vicious cycle.

But more importantly, she was subsumed with spite. Barnes was part of the police force. How many people have he obliterated without remorse? Hypocrisy, to demand her begging and crying for forgiveness.

He kicked her to the head. Another blow struck her face. Avis tried to fight him off but her hands were tied. Barnes grabbed a clump of her hair. He dragged her so she'd meet his eyes. Wrath contorted his face.

"You're letting your friends die."

A spit land right between his eyes. Avis grinned, revealing two elongated fangs. She smelled blood and it's everywhere in the room. Not hers nor from Barnes. She glowered at him.

"I don't believe you. Not one bit. But I do wonder why this intern bitch is so important for you."

"My job is protect people like her from you."

"And you failed. I heard the girl screaming for her dear life. I even heard her bones cracking and her flesh ripping from the seams, I could have took my chance and killed that dog, but I can't pass the opportunity to see her be taken apart piece by piece. Isn't that what you do here everyday? What makes her different?"

Avis looked for a spark of recognition between his eyes.

"Ah, she's family?"

He throw her, head first into the floor. Her vision blurred and for a second she can't figure out which way is up or down. Suddenly one of his knee are on her chest, and his hands wrapped around her throat.

She couldn't breathe. Her field of sight rapidly shrinking. Her strength quickly fading. Her body struggled on reflex, torn shoulder squirming with her torn up hands. She have to do something. She could die. Her friends, what about them?

Barnes released her. He stood over her. His breathing hard.

"I don't care if you're dead, Avis. I wish I could get away for caving your head on this table. You're selfish. People die because you want to be exempt from the rules. But the scientist behind that glass over there want you alive. My only consolation is he could do much worse that I can ever hope to inflict in a lifetime."

Avis couldn't bring herself to fake a grin. Instead her hands shakily rises up to point him with her half-eaten middle finger. "Doesn't matter. That intern bitch is still dog's slop and you can never bury her into the ground."

She closed her eyes, barely registering that the chain on her cuffs were split. She think of her friends, perhaps dying in agony over the mold. Barnes might have lied, she told herself. Cops always lie. And even with her friends dead, she still have to do this. Keeping her mouth shut. Holding out until someone save her. Be it Death or another Heretic. They might not be related but she's not going to die betraying her family. She has to be fierce, she has to be cruel, she has to��

Avis fell unconcious on the interrogation room floor. Beyond the glass across her stood an balding man. He spoke to his two interns, "Our project's not over yet."

Next Chapter

#summerofwhump20 #summer of whump #defiant whumpee #lady whump #interrogation #fighting #injury whump #death cw #self harm tw #no holds barred beat down #beating #choking #gore warning

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nataliedanovelist · 3 years

Text

GF - How A Star Is Born ch.IX

Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. I hope y’all like it!

ch.VIII - ch.X

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel never thought the day would come when Grunkle Ford would ask her to go down to Earth. Sure, she was allowed to go visit as long as she was hidden and back at Olympus at a certain time, but she never thought she would be standing before her father-figure and be asked to specifically go down to Earth, but here she was.

“I… I want you to check on Stanley.” Grunkle Ford asked solemnly. “And Mason, too, for that matter. See if they’re alright.”

“Um… okay.” Mabel was a bit unsure if she dared believe his instructions. “You want me to go down there and pay them a visit?”

“No.” Grunkle Ford said. “I’m sorry, but no. I want to project yourself onto the art of Thebes and see if they’re alright. Bill says Stanley isn’t… with him, but he is very busy thanks to a small war in the Middle East. Do not make yourself known, simply see if they’re both okay.”

Mabel smiled slyly at him. “You want me to spy on our mortal family members?”

Grunkle Ford sighed and nodded. “Yes.”

“YES!” Mabel cheered and punched the air. “Finally, a chance to use my sneaky peaky spy skills!” And she ran out of the temple, tripping and breaking a vase along the way.

And so Mabel went down to Earth, traveling from statue to statue, painting to painting, floor art to floor art, all throughout Thebes. She had never been to the Big Olive and was excited to see the new place and to find Dipper and Stan’s home.

It was well into the night at this point. The stars twinkled and the night air was warm and soothing. Mabel thought he heard a familiar voice filled with laughter, and she looked down the street and grinned widely from the stem of a birdbath. She was ecstatic to see her brother on a date with a beautiful young lady; she decided to follow them and listen carefully. This was also good reassurance that Stan was okay; Dipper wouldn’t have left his side otherwise.

“Wow, what a day.” Dipper sighed. “Dinner by the ocean, that play… oh boy, I thought I had problems.”

Pacifica and Dipper both laughed, but one was having to force it more than the other. Slowly, steadily, Pacifica could feel herself becoming distracted. She had to focus. Her freedom was on the line. Still, as much of a nerd Wonderboy may be, able to tell the measurement of an item by glancing at it and solve impossible equations in his head in a second, he was actually a really nice guy. Getting tired of pretending, she decided to try a bit harder to find Dipper’s weakness so this whole thing could end.

Walking down some steps, Pacifica faked a trip at the last step. Dipper caught her swiftly and Pacifica winced. “Ugh, I think I stepped funny, landed on my ankle wrong.”

“Ouch,” Dipper sympathized. While he may have super god-like strength, that didn’t mean he never twisted an ankle or bent a wrist wrong, a small pain but no damage or hardly an injury. “Here, we can sit for a sec.” And he scooped her up gently and carried her to sit on the edge of a giant water fountain, the same water fountain Mabel was projecting herself into the heart of the small wall, eagerly hoping her twin would at least get a kiss.

“Oh. Thanks.” Pacifica was a bit taken back by his extra effort in manners, but quickly reminded herself that with strength like his picking up a girl was nothing. So she moved on with her plan. “So, do you have any issues with weak ankles?”

“Hm? Oh. No, not really.” Dipper chuckled.

Pacifica giggled alongside him and sat closer. “Really? No trick knee?” She asked slyly. “No bad shoulder?”

Dipper was blushing heavily, a bit uncomfortable with the praise and trying to remain humble as he gave an honest answer. “No, I’m… I’m pretty healthy…” And his smile dropped at remembering that the same couldn’t be said for Stan.

Pacifica rolled her eyes, ready to give up on her quest. Bill would just have to find some other way to kill him. She then noticed how down Dipper appeared, much more so than he had been all night, and before she realized what she was doing, she asked, “Hey, you okay?” Pacifica instantly bit her lip. Why did she say that? And why did she actually care?

Dipper looked at her with heavy eyes and sighed tiredly. “It’s Stan. He’s… He’s not well.”

Pacifica softened a little. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Dipper looked up at the stars to make it easier to talk. “It’s just… he… I dunno. I was raised in an orphanage until I was twelve and went looking for him. Stan’s looked after me ever since, and… and he feels like family. I’ve never had one, and… it sometimes feels like he’s all I got.” Dipper was being very careful not to talk about the fact that he had a family waiting for him, but after only talking to Mabel here and there for so long, having never met them in the flesh or been at home, it sometimes felt like Stan was truly the only one there for him.

Pacifica scoffed and stood up to make some distance. “Family isn’t that great.”

Dipper blinked and stood to follow her down the street. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno, people just make such a big deal over families or whatever.” Pacifica complained. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. They’re just a bunch of people who would turn their backs on you just as quickly as anyone else.”

Dipper was a bit taken back by the harshness of her tone, but he shook it off to try to comfort someone who was clearly hurt. “That’s not true. Some families, sure, maybe. But not all families are like that.”

Pacifica gave him a sharp look. “How would you know?”

Dipper was a bit hurt by that, but it only made him more determined to change her mind. He took her hand as they were at the doorstep of his home, and he said firmly, “My family might be really small, and kinda broken, but it’s still an amazing family. We look after each other. We care for one another. And… And you could be a part of that.” Dipper bit his lip. Why did he say that? And why did he actually mean it?

It was Pacifica’s turn to be dumbstruck. She shook her clear to try to clear it and said, “I gotta go. Goodnight, hero.” And she kissed his hand, let go, and hurried down the street.

Dipper’s mouth was open so wide a fly nearly threw in, but luckily he coughed it out before he accidentally swallowed it. He brought his lucky hand up shakingly to smile at it, swearing he would never use it for anything ever again. Okay, maybe for one thing.

Mabel, meanwhile, knew that Pacifica liked Dipper and hurried after her, ready to perform a musical number to convince her to admit it and follow her heart and say she was in love, but as Pacifica hurried into the outdoor museum full of art, Mabel felt a chill go down her spine. She stopped at a brick wall-art of the sun and hid herself behind a bush, remembering her grunkle’s orders to stay hidden, just in case.

A small pyramid glowed yellow and with a small poof the triangle with a black toga appeared, smiling (as much as one can without a mouth) at Pacifica. Mabel stared, a little confused; this must be Grunkle Ford’s friend, the one Uncle Fiddleford didn’t seem to like very much. Instantly she could understand why Uncle Fiddleford didn’t like him, but so far Bill hasn’t done anything to learn Mabel’s dislike, so she kept an open-mind and listened.

“Hey-o, Llama, so whatcha got?”

“Nothing.” Pacifica said coldly, her arms crossed.

“Nothing?” Bill repeated.

“Nothing. No weak spot, no bad nerves, no tricks. Nothing. He has no weaknesses.”

Bill growled in his throat, floating back and forth in a pacing kind of way, his black hands behind his back. “No! Everybody’s got a weakness! We just gotta find it!” The demon stopped as he looked at a statue of a couple in love. “Maybe… Ugh, if only Sixer wasn’t so overprotective of Shooting Star. We could use her as bait.”

Pacifica snorted. “Yeah, good luck getting your hands on her.”

“But maybe…” Bill held his… well, he doesn’t have a chin, but he did put a hand to the front of his body in that type of manner. “... there’s someone we can get our hands on.”

“What?” Pacifica asked, not seeming bored for the first time in this entire conversation. “You mean Stan? I guess… Dipper did say he was like family.”

Bill cackled. “Oh, if only he knew.” The triangle gasped and punched his hand with the side of his fist in thought. “Hey! We can use that! Great work, Blondie. Now c’mon, we got a whole galaxy to conquer!” And he swooped himself and Pacifica away in a burst of blue fire.

Mabel had both hands over her mouth to keep herself quiet. She had so many questions and was confused on a few things, but she did know this: Bill wanted to hurt Dipper. Bill wanted to take over the galaxy. And he was lying to Grunkle Ford.

Without another thought, Mabel dashed as fast as she could for home. She accidentally gave herself such bad tunnel vision out of fear and desperation that she didn’t hesitate until she was at the entrance of her shared temple with her great-uncle. The young lady peered his office to find him hunched over his work, finding it hard to concentrate with the fate of his brother on his mind. Mabel didn’t know much about Bill, despite being a fellow god, but she did know that Ford considered him a friend, so this would be difficult news to deliver.

Mabel gently knocked on the column beside her to alert her guardian of her entrance. He turned and smiled genuinely at her. “Mabel, I’m happy to see you’re home safe. How… How is Stanley?”

Mabel winced; she had completely forgotten to check on her long-distance uncle in the excitement of her brother’s date and the harsh discovery. “Grunkle Ford, I need to tell you something.”

Immediately Ford feared the worst. It was too late. He would never see Stan again, and it was all his fault. Mabel sat on the desk and took his six-fingered hands. He bit his lip and braced himself as Mabel looked down, trying to find her words. After a moment or two that nearly killed the immortal god, the young muse asked carefully, “Bill… Is he your friend?”

Ford felt the wind being kicked out of him from the shock. He could have cried, he was so relieved, but instead he laughed and nodded. “Yes! Yes, my dear, Bill is an old friend of mine. If it wasn’t for him, the world would still be in complete chaos. My leadership position, and really the existence of you and your brother, is all thanks to him. He helped me save the world.” He praised.

Mabel looked even more nervous; Ford had hoped that this answer would assure any worry she had, but clearly this wasn’t the case. Before the god could ask what was wrong, the muse said quietly, “I think he only helped you save it so he could have it someday.”

Ford blinked like a confused owl at her. “What… What are you talking about?”

“I… I think… no, I’m sure that…”

“STANFOOOOOOOOORD!”

Mabel and Ford turned to the direction of the call and ran for the exit of their temple. They watched Fiddleford use his super speed to dash to them, pale and stuttering with fear. “HONEY FOGELIN’, SALT-LICKIN’ SKULLDUGGERY! OH, WE’RE IN TROUBLE! OH!”

“Fiddleford, buddy, calm down.” Ford gripped him by the shoulders to give him a chance to breathe and adjust his small glasses. “What’s the matter?”

“We’ve got an army o’ monsters that are practically at our gates!” Fiddleford informed. “There’s only a few minutes until Olympus is overrun!”

“What?! Alert the other gods! Prepare for a counter attack! Go, go!”

“Gone, babe.” Fiddleford said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes and ran as fast as possible as he blew his trumpet loudly throughout Olympus.

“Mabel, sweetie, I want you to go keep an eye on your brother.”

“But…”

Ford whistled loudly and the giant goat, Gompers, came trotting toward. Ford lifted her like a child and ignored her kicking and squirming. “Grunkle Ford!”

“I’m not asking!” Ford growled and gave her a firm look. “I can’t lose you! I just can’t! Now I’m ordering you to go check on M-... on Dipper. Now go!” And he smacked Gompers to make him gallop off the mountain and down to the mortal world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Just a few minutes after Dipper arrived back home, thinking about his amazing date with Pacifica, he decided to check on Stan. After making sure he was nowhere else in the luxurious house, Dipper gently knocked on his teacher’s bedroom door. “Stan? You okay?”

Praying the old man was at least wearing a toga, he carefully opened the door, but was a little surprised to find the bed empty. After a quick look around the lavish bedroom, Dipper concluded that Stan wasn’t here. He closed the door and turned away, wondering if Stan had gone outside for some fresh air, but was suddenly greeted by a high-pitched laughter and the lit torches made of stone were now blue. Dipper looked all over and was startled to find a huge golden triangle with one eye staring at him.

“Hey there, kid, name’s Bill, big guy of the Underworld, nice to meet you.” Bill said, a smooth-fast talker like a chariot salesman.

“Uh, hi.” Dipper greeted with a small, hesitant wave. There was no way the Ruler of the Underworld, the most mysterious god of them all, would be paying him a visit unless it was important or he wanted something.

“So, listen, Pinetree,” Bill said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and floating alongside him, walking like they were old friends catching up. “I’m an old friend of your great-uncle, Stanford. He’s a fun guy, great god, you’re a lot like him, you know that? Anyway, so, as a friend of the family, I need a favor from you.”

Dipper wasn’t sure what to make of this. This was his first time meeting a god apart from Mabel, and now to be needed by one was a bit confusing. Why now? Was it possible he was on his way to becoming a true hero? Was he almost a god again? Was this a test? He smiled nervously and shrugged. “Uh, sure, what do you need?”

“Oh, boy, look at this guy! A real trooper he is! You’re alright, Sixer Jr!” Bill laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Now, I would be eternally grateful if you took a day off from this hero gig. I mean, c’mon, monsters, natural disasters…”

All hope that this visit was a good thing died. Dipper scowled and shook his head, shoving Bill’s hand off his shoulder. There was one reason and one reason only someone would want him to stop being a hero, even if it was only for a short time. “No way…”

“Not so fast,” Bill said coolly and he locked his own fingers cunningly. “Cuz I have something that might change your mind.” And he snapped his fingers.

Out of thin air an old man appeared in chains, on his knees. “Stan!” Dipper gasped.

“Dipper, what the h-...” And more chains covered his mouth.

Dipper ran for his teacher but Stan was gone before the young hero could help. “Let him go!” He dove for Bill, but only fell through him, like the demon was made of mist.

“Here’s the deal: you give up your strength for the next twenty-four hours,” And Bill snapped his fingers again and Stan reappeared, gagged and trapped. “And Knucklehead here is as free as a bird and safe, we dance, we kiss, we schmooze, we go home happy. Whatcha say, c’mon?”

Dipper stared at Stan, who was shaking his head. The young man looked away and then back at Bill. “People are gonna get hurt, aren’t they?”

“Nah,” Bill dragged, flicking his wrists downward and then instantly shrugging with his hands behind his back. “I mean, maybe, there’s a possibility, it happens cuz, y’know, life sucks. So what?” The triangle joined Stan and cupped his face teasingly. “Isn’t your great uncle more important than they are?”

Dipper opened his mouth to order him to stop, but his jaw fell and his voice was stolen from him. Bill smiled excitingly and asked, “Oo, struck a nerve, did I?” He laughed maliciously. “You seriously didn’t know he’s Sixer’s brother?! Oh, man! This is sad! Ever wondered why he had a grudge against Fordsie? Ever wondered why he even gave a worthless orphan the time of day to begin with? It’s cuz he only barely cared cuz you’re blood. Duh.”

“You’re lying.” Dipper said firmly. “Stan, he’s making it up, isn’t he?” He begged, his brown eyes on Stan, the same eyes that matched his own. “Because… you would have told me if it’s true… wouldn’t you?”

Stan looked away.

“Daw, don’t blame him, kid. It’s not his fault you didn’t inherit Mr. Lightning Bolt’s brains. Now, c’mon, you really wanna lose another pwecious famwy member?”

“OKAY!” Dipper yelled to get Bill to fall silent. There was a moment of pause and Stan stared at his nephew. “Okay… okay… But you gotta swear Stan won’t get hurt.”

“Fine, whatever. Stan won’t get hurt.” Bill said and walked towards the birthmarked hero, leaving Stan alone for a moment. “Otherwise you’ll get your strength right back, fine print, blah blah blah. It’s a deal?” And he held out a hand encased in blue fire.

Dipper hesitated, looking down at it, and that made Bill a little irritated, a dangerous game to play. Bill withdrew his hand. “Y’know I really don’t have time to bat this around, I got places to be, people to see, I need an answer, like, now. Going once, going twice…”

"It's a deal!" And Dipper ceased Bill's hand.

At once, the demon's thumb sharpened, cutting into Dipper's hand and seemed to be sucking the strength out of him. The young man sagged and Stan fought harder than ever to break free, but it was too late. Bill let Dipper go and he fell to his knees like a puppet with his strings cut off. One could say Dipper should have made sure he agreed to only give away his "god-like" strength, rather simply "strength," for this loophole left Dipper far weaker than any man, arguably weaker than an infant.

Bill cackled as he held his three-sided body and wiggled his legs in joy. "Thanks for the favor, Pinetree! Now if you'll excuse me, there's an entire cosmos out there with my name on it! Oh! Right, can't forget." Bill snapped his fingers and Stan was set free from his chains. "The guy ashamed to be your family is all yours, hero."

He instantly ran to Dipper's hunched-over body and rubbed his back. "Easy, buddy boy, I got you. It's okay."

Dipper swatted his hands away and groaned from the effort. "Stan… why… why didn't you say…"

Stan was hurt, but pushed it aside to focus on how hurt his nephew was. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I… I wanted to. Believe me, kid, I wanted to, but… I couldn't."

"Oh, and one more thing. Lil'Llama, thanks for the info." Bill sneered, curling a finger from the shadows to himself, and his slave emerged with her head down in shame. "A deal's a deal, you're free to go."

Dipper stared, heartbroken more so than ever. "Pacifica?"

"Hey, that's the blonde damsel from the river." Stan growled. "Tramp. C'mon, Dipper, let's get you to…"

"Don't." Dipper snapped as he steadily got to his own feet. "I… I can take care of myself…"

Stan withdrew his hand and took a step back, letting Dipper hold himself up by leaning on a column, catching his breath. The proud uncle bit his lip and was distracted from his misery and shame when a big bang could be heard outside.

He stood outside his home and his mouth was open as the sky was an unnatural sea of colors and the ocean was raging with waves that seemed to make everything it touched weird. Bushes were coming to life and eating ghosts. Old women were being turned into furniture. Men were going delusional and eating their togas. Stan cringed at the weirdness, and it only got worse when some big goblin-looking monster with Eight Ball eyes was bringing havoc to Thebes.

~~~~~~~~~~

The planets aligning created a weak spot in the dimension, and in the depths of the sea, Bill peered down and could practically see his old minions in the Nightmare Realm. “My friends!” He called, pointing a finger at the weak spot and tearing a whole in space-time. “We finally have a new home, boys! But one guy stands in our way. An obnoxious poindexter with six fingers. So, since I’ve given you guys a stable home, whatcha gonna do about it?”

“DESTROY HIM!”

“Good answer.”

And so, when Fiddleford was disturbed from his nightly slumber on a low cloud outside of Olympus, he screamed and ran as fast as he could to alter his friend and the leader of the gods. Huge monsters scaled the mountain. Flying eyeballs flew like bats and screeched, turning fighting gods into stone and flying them away.

With Mabel gone and no longer terrified for her safety, Ford stood on a tall cloud just inside the gates of his home and shot down bolts of lightning with his golden crossbow. The monsters were sturdy, and while the attacks did slow them down, the battle was not looking good for the gods. Ford caught his breath and was very disturbed when a giant gray-blue loaf of bread with arms and legs but no face broke down the gates.

“What’s our status?!” Ford asked his best friend.

“Everyone’s bein’ turned t’stone!” Fiddleford yelled as an eyebat shined a beam down at him. “Even me!”

“NO!” Ford threw his last bolt at the eyebat, but it swerved out of the way and scooped up Fiddleford’s frozen body.

Ford looked left and right, waiting for an idea to come to him, but he was too clouded with anxiety and worry that he failed to notice the huge, now three-dimensional demon behind him. “Fordsie, I’m home.” A shrill voice sang.

“Bill?” Ford breathed, his eyes narrowing in anger and he shook with rage. He should have listened to Mabel and knew he was behind this. He growled like an angry bulldog and tried to throw a punch, but with a lift of a finger Bill had total control over Ford’s body and made him float lifelessly in front of him.

“Well well, looks like you truly are as dumb as you look. Tell me, did you really think such a powerful being would ever be friends with a six-fingered monster?” Bill laughed evilly and moved two arms close, creating lava and ice to work together to encase Ford in a stony prison. “This dimension is mine, Sixer, and it’s all thanks to you.” He said as Ford climbed and crawled to try to escape, but was steadily being encased, like quicksand. “Now all I need to do is make sure those brats stay out of my way.”

“NO! NO!” Ford screamed. “NOT MY KIDS, YOU CA-...” And he was completely covered.

“I’m the one giving orders now, Freak.” Bill sneered and sat in his new throne the eyebats had made for him, made entirely out of gods and goddesses. “And I think I’m gonna like it here.”

#GF #gravity falls #gravity falls au #gift #fanfiction

19 notes · View notes

smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Cross My Heart - CH.08

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x Reader; Chuck Shurley x Reader

Summary: After opening up a letter, the life as she knows it, changes forever. Her husband hires Dean Winchester to protect her but is Dean really who he said he was? And is her husband really worried about her safety?

Warnings: Angst

WC: 2096

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Y/N, bathroom! Now! Lock yourself in!”

Dean jumps out of bed, grabs his gun and throws his phone towards her. She takes the phone, holds on to it tight.

“Go, go, go! If I don’t return, call the police!”

With that, Dean runs out of the room, and she dashes behind him. Dean doesn’t go to the front door though, instead he runs to the kitchen. The cabin has only one door as far as she can remember but she also remembers seeing a trap door on the ground in the kitchen. She saw it many times, always wanted to ask Dean what’s that about, wanted to tease him, ask him if it leads to some crazy sex dungeon. The right time for a morbid joke never came because of the kidnapping news and then she was seriously afraid that there was indeed a fucking crazy sex dungeon down there.

Y/N’s about to open the bathroom door and go in when another window smashed and she staggers a little, feeling a burning pain on her calf. She isn’t stopping though, yanks the bathroom door open and goes in. She hears a bullet hitting the bathroom door before she closes it. She locks it quickly as soon as she’s in.

The room is pitch black and although she can’t see a damn thing, she doesn’t turn on the light switch, she likes to keep it that way. Who knows what would happen if the light would reveal her hideout. She could never forgive herself for being so careless. Her calf stings a little but she didn’t dare look. Instead she sits in a corner, pulls her knees up to her chest, and waits.

Her fingers thumbs over Dean’s phone to look at the clock. It’s 3.07am. How long should she wait until she can call the police? Dean hasn’t told her. Is there a handbook to go by? One that says: Have you been fake-kidnapped and now someone tries to kill you and your bodyguard rushes out to catch that fucker and tells you that you should call the police? If you’re in that situation, please wait xxx minutes before calling the police.

Ugh.

This is just so fucking surreal.

She hopes Dean’s okay? Who knows how many there are of them and there’s only one of him! And besides, she doesn’t even know where they are, wouldn’t be able to tell the police their coordinates. Dean just told her once that if she should call the police, she should hit the home button three times before making a call so they would be able to track the phone.

After a long while, she thumbs over his phone again, sees that it’s 3.12am.

It has only been five fucking minutes but it feels like a fucking lifetime.

Y/N groans out and places her forehead on her knees.

Suddenly she feels like it gets harder for her to breathe. There’s an unsettling inside of her stomach, and her heart begins to thumb out of her chest. She feels hot, her mouth feels awfully dry and she has troubles swallowing.

Oh my god.

She’s going to die. Maybe Dean’s already dead! Dead, because he’s protecting her and it’s all her fault!

Her feelings overwhelm her and she starts to cry silently. She’s full on sobbing when she hears footsteps on the outside. It’s only faint because the bathroom is well isolated.

She stops crying immediately, tries to be quiet and she listens to the dull steps walking around the cabin.

There’s rattling on the doorknob and she can’t do anything else than stare towards the source of the sound.

“Y/N, open up! It’s me.”

Oh, thank god.

She scrambles to the door and unlocks it, but she crawls back right after, fearing that it might not be Dean after all. Or worse, what if the shooter is holding him at gunpoint? She probably just really made the dumbest of moves by opening up for the shooter.

Someone comes in, locks the door behind them and switches on the light. She breathes relief when she notices the presence of just one other person.

The sudden brightness of the room blinds her and she squints her eyes close before blinking them open again to see Dean.

Oh god, it’s him. His face has deep creases, sweat beads on his forehead.

“You okay?” Dean kneels in front of her.

Her breathing is still ragged, and her heart hasn’t stopped thumping. She shakes her head, unable to say anything. She tries, though. Tries to open up her mouth and to bring fucking something past her lips, but she couldn’t. Her hands go up and she scrambles at Dean’s bare chest before she breaks down again.

“Shit, Y/N,” Dean whispers, sits himself down, leans his back against the tile wall, and pulls her into his lap, “You’re having a panic attack. Breathe, just breathe. I’m here now.” He holds her close to his chest, strokes her head, her back and she lets his heartbeat lull her to safety, “Breathe with me, can you do that, huh?”

Still unable to answer, she nods. Dean’s taking deep breaths, his chest heaving visibly and she tries to do the same. Soon, their breathing sync, and after a while her breathing begins to steady, her heart rate begins to slow down, but she’s still crying.

She sniffs before she looks up to him.

Dean places a kiss on her forehead, “You okay?”

She nods and tries to get off his lap but he holds her close. Her hands brushes away her tears and Dean’s hand comes up too, thumbing at her cheeks when he looks her in her eyes.

He turns his head down after a while, notices the blood on the bathroom floor, “Shit, you’re bleeding!”

Before she could see it for herself, Dean scoops her up and sits her on the closed toilet lid to inspect her calf.

“Fuck,” Dean curses, “It only grazed you. Thank god,”

Dean extends his hand to retrieve the first aid kit from out of the sink cupboard next to him, and begins to clean the wound.

She squints her eyes at the sting of the spray of disinfectant.

“Shhhh,” Dean hushes, “I’m almost done.”

While she watches him work on her calf, she thinks about what just happened. She didn’t ask Dean him yet, and was not able to talk until now. So she decides to ask him, “Did you see who it was?”

“No, I didn’t. He wore a mask.” He answers short, mind still focusing on her wound.

“But did you get him? Should we call the police?”

Dean tenses visibly, and she wonders if she said something wrong?

“I almost got him, we wrestled but then he got away, ran into the forest. I chased him but the forest is thick and I fucking lost him.” His hand tightens around her calf and she senses that the tension and the grumpiness comes from the shooter getting away.

“But what does this mean? Someone put a hitman on us?”

He starts to place things back into the first aid kit and closed the lid loudly with a sigh, “I don’t fucking know, honestly. One moment I’m supposed to be protecting you and the next I get shot at.”

Dean’s angry, she can tell but she can also tell that he’s trying his damn best not to completely let the anger eat him up and stay calm. She guesses that it’s maybe because he needs to keep her calm.

“I’m sorry,” She lowers her head, tries to avoid looking at Dean, “It’s all because of me.”

“Hey,” His voice is deep and loud, it makes all the hair on her back stand up. He places his hand on the back of her neck, draws her close while he presses his forehead on hers, “None of this is your fault, okay? I won’t let you think that.” He looks at her intensely, trying to read her, “Understand?”

Dean waits until she nods and with a kiss to her forehead, he stands back up, washing the blood from his hands and she watches him. Watches the tense in his face, sees that he’s biting at the inside of his cheeks before he clenches his jaw.

“What is it?” She asks him, knowing that there’s something that’s bothering him.

“I don’t know,” Dean finishes washing his hand and then he splashes some cold water into his face before drying it off with a cloth, “It seems weird to me that there’s a hitman out for us when we’re two States from where the threats are coming from. I know my job, I know it well. A hit man who dares to cross Statelines is hard to get and they don’t come cheap.”

She frowns, “What are you trying to say?”

“Why do they want to hurt you when they didn’t even get to kidnap you? Why would they go out of their way and hire a hitman and pay so much money? It makes fucking zero sense!”

Oh.

Dean’s right, but still.

“Maybe they just want to kill you and kidnap me?” She says, trying to bring some sense into it.

He scoffs, “But then again, why would they go through all the trouble without being super sure that there’s a reward in the end? If you’re dead they won’t get anything. Unless,”

Dean opens his mouth to say something more but then he closes it again, shaking his head.

Y/N stands up now, tries to walk to him in the tiny space. She grits her teeth at the momentarily pain, which prompts Dean to rush to her and places a hand on her hips to help her steady herself.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” She hisses, “Unless what?” It’s the question she wants answered.

“Forget it,” Dean mumbles, but he doesn’t look her in the eye.

“I won’t? What is it, tell me!”

“Fine!” Dean growls, “What if Chuck’s behind all this? What if he’s the one who wants you dead?”

She frowns, the crease between her eyebrows and forehead deepens, “No.”

Dean doesn’t say a thing, instead he looks at her and raises one eyebrow.

“No, Dean, Chuck wouldn’t do that. He said he doesn’t love me anymore, yes, but he also said that he still cares about me.”

Chuck would never. Or would he? She honestly doesn’t know.

“And you believe him?”

“I don’t know!”

Dean hits his fist against the door, making her jump and then he gets loud, “It’s just seems fucking convenience that he shows up here and after he leaves, we get fucking shot at! We’ve been so fucking careful! Nobody knew that you’re here except for him!”

“I don’t fucking know alright? I don’t know anything anymore!”

When she thinks about it, Dean’s explanation makes perfect sense. But also she doesn’t want him to be right either.

What does Chuck have to gain from her death? Why would he have hired Dean if he wanted her dead? He had many chances doing that himself. But also, Chuck wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty.

“Why did Chuck hire you when he wanted me dead?” She mutters.

“I don’t know,” Dean sits down on the toilet lid and she takes a step closer, is limping a little, which again, prompts Dean to hold out his hand to steady her.

She stands between his open thighs, places her hands on his shoulders, waves one of them around his neck and Dean wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer before he looks up at her with worry in his eyes, his chin resting on her stomach, “I don’t know, maybe he just wants to keep up the facade of a loving husband. He’s all over the news, he has to make people believe that he tries everything to find you.”

What Dean just said makes sense. And she hates that maybe he’s right. But she refuses to believe that Chuck’s all bad.

Instead of saying anything more to that, she asks him, “What should we do now?”

“We pack, I’ll bring you somewhere safe.”

“Will you tell Chuck?”

“Not yet.” He says and he stands up, “I don’t trust him.”

Dean walks out first, gun drawn, and she waits. Only walking out when he calls for her that it’s secure.

They pack their things in a hurry, and in under ten minutes, she finds herself on Dean’s motorcycle, clinging onto his waist, letting him carry her into the night.

CH.09

#cross my heart #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #bodyguard!dean #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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elialys · 4 years

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Ten x Rose - A Leap of Faith

Dear @lastbluetardis, let’s try this again, shall we? ^^’ As I’ve told you last weekend, I had a much bigger story cooking for you as part of the @dwsecretsanta exchange. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it, but it’s done now, so I hope you’ll enjoy it!

This takes place right at the end of The Satan Pit. It’s almost 6,000 words long, and it’s also sliiiiightly smutty :p

[READ IT ON AO3]

A Leap of Faith

“Oh, the stuff of legend.”

Any other day and Rose might have rolled her eyes at this melodramatic description of their duo, far from thinking so highly of herself. She smiles back at the Doctor instead and lets him have this moment; it is clear from the way he looks at her that he believes her to be exactly as he says.

As soon as he pulls the right lever between them, the Time rotor comes to life.

“Where d’you send her?” Rose can’t help but ask, glancing away from the rotor to look up at him, expecting to find him staring at the screen, the way he usually is when standing by the console.

When she meets his gaze dead on, a shiver runs down her spine.

“Home,” he says simply, his voice lower than usual.

Rose makes a face at these words. She hasn’t showered in what feels like days, although no more than twenty-four hours can have gone by since they landed on Krop Tor; she supposes spending a good portion of that time running away from murderous Oods or crawling through maintenance tunnels would make anyone feel grimy. Not to mention the exhaustion settling down upon her.

That’s one of the many feelings she’s become rather familiar with since she started traveling with the Doctor, that ‘I almost died and now I’m a bit tired’ heaviness in every one of her muscles and bones.

“D’you really feel up for an evening with Mum?” she asks him with a bit of a frown, because she sure isn’t. As much as she’d worried about never seeing her Mum again only hours ago, simply being back on the TARDIS has put those fears to rest.

Quieting down her fears about nearly losing the Doctor is not as easy, even with him standing right there next to her, their bodies so close, their arms are almost touching.

“Blimey, no,” the Doctor answers with a glower, a tad too emphatically – although she can’t blame him. Jackie hadn’t been at her friendliest during their last visit, which had involved consoling her daughter about Mickey’s decision to stay in the parallel universe. “We’re merely orbiting around good old planet Earth,” he adds. “After the day we’ve had, I figured a quiet night away from anything resembling a black hole would be rather nice.”

There was a time when Rose would have dashed from the console to pull the door open and take a look outside, never tiring from seeing the Earth from this point of view – and that time might have been as recently as yesterday.

She’s reluctant to move at the moment, just as reluctant as the Doctor is to look away from her, apparently. They rarely do ‘still’ and ‘quiet’ to this degree, and whenever these moments present themselves, as they ought to on occasions, he’s always been keen to put an end to them as quickly as possible.

As Rose stares back at him and more seconds pass slowly, almost sluggishly, the potent energy that comes with their most recent ‘I’ve almost lost you’ scare pulses between them, embedding them both with a pull that feels almost magnetic.

Rose blames that pull for soon finding herself in his arms again, her forehead pressed to his shoulder, his embrace as strong as it’s been every other time he’s hugged her today.

She doesn’t mind this mutual clinginess, all too happy to reciprocate, even if her feet don’t leave the ground, this time; there is no laughter either, only the tight hold of his arms around her, her fingers clenching the fabric of his jacket, revelling in that tangible proof that he is here.

He puts an end to the moment by making a…peculiar noise, causing her to frown against him.

“Did you just…sniff me?”

“Well,” he says, not yet moving away. “You’re giving off some very strong smells. As anyone would after running for their life while trapped in close quarters.”

In another words, she reeks.

“Yeah?” she asks with a scoff, before sniffing him even more obnoxiously in retaliation. “You smell just like my grandpa used to, and I don’t mean it as a compliment either.”

“Sulphur does give out quite a pungent odour, doesn’t it?” he notes, unfazed. “It was bad, all the way down that Pit. I don’t think you would have been able to keep that blue purée down for very long if you’d been there.”

They both tense at these words. Somehow, this involuntary stiffness sets him into motion again, finally pulling away to peer at her, his hands on her upper arms. “You should shower. And sleep.”

She gives a short shake of her head. “There’s no way ’m gonna be able to sleep.”

“You look tired,” he counters.

“I feel it, too,” she admits. “Still won’t make that sleeping thing any easier.” When he simply carries on looking at her, she shrugs a little. “I just…I know we’re safe, orbiting the Earth and all that, but it’s like my brain’s not completely caught up with that yet, and…it still thinks there’s a black hole above us, you know?”

He stares at her for another long, stretching second, and she can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

“I may be able to help with that,” he tells her, his chipper tone contrasting with the grave look on his face. “Give me…thirty minutes to do some tinkering, then meet me in the media room, eh? I’ll even let you put me through another one of those twentieth-century romantic movies you enjoy so much.”

Rose’s curiosity is piqued, but she’s long ago learnt it would be pointless to ask. “Okay,” she agrees with another small frown and a shrug.

“Brilliant!” the Doctor beams at her, before springing out of the room.

Rose does take a shower, washing away the layers of grime and fear still clinging to her skin. As much as she tries not to think back on the events of the day, her brain refuses to comply, a mixture of anxiety and guilt twisting at her gut whenever she recalls those twenty minutes spent on that rocket, forcefully strapped to a seat while the planet the Doctor was trapped on got sucked into the black hole.

In her rush to get back to him as quickly as possible, she doesn’t even dry her hair, not doing anything beyond swiftly putting on some pyjamas. After nearly two years of companionship, this is far from being the first time they do this.

Her heart’s never beaten quite as fast as it does as she enters the room, though, finding him sitting on the couch, one of his long arms draped over the back of it, fingers drumming at it; whatever thoughts he’s lost into, they can’t be any better than hers, his expression even more solemn than it’d been in the control room, his specs giving him a particularly stern look.

He’s changed since they were last together, and she supposes he must have showered, too. He’s not bothered with a suit jacket, only wearing a white shirt and a blue tie, the light colour contrasting with the dark fabric of the couch, making his limbs look impossibly long.

There is no logic to the rush of anticipation and relief that sweeps through her as she takes him in. She’d known he’d be right there, waiting for her, and yet, she cannot help the small sigh that escapes her at the sight of him, the sound enough to pull him out of his thoughts, turning his head to look at her.

Or stare, really.

The way her insides dip at the intensity of his gaze is far from being unpleasant, nor is it entirely new.

“What do you want?” he asks her quietly, and her brain must be very tired, because he cannot possibly mean what she thinks he means.

“What?” she hears herself asking, sounding oddly breathless.

He frowns the smallest of frowns, before tilting his head toward the large screen on the other side of the room. “Film selection,” he says. “What would you like to watch?”

Rose looks away as she scolds herself for letting her mind go anywhere near there. She forces herself to move, too, hoping it will help put an end to the heavy statics crackling between them, well aware that the tingles at the back of her neck are caused by his relentless staring.

“Dunno,” she answers at last, grabbing one of the blankets she likes to wraps herself in when she watches the telly. “Anything with Hugh Grant in it will do, I guess.”

He scowls as she pops down onto the other end of the couch. “Is he that British bloke with the puppy eyes and the ridiculous head of hair?”

She gives him a look, unable not to stare pointedly at his lush head of hair.

He doesn’t see it, too busy staring at the uncharacteristically large space between them, frowning as he meets her eyes again. Rose scoots closer to him before he can ask what is up with her – because in all honesty, she’s not entirely sure what is up with her at all.

They have done this many times before, snuggling on the couch watching a film, and while she’s always been very much aware of his body in situations like this one (how could she not?), it just feels…different, this time, as if the events of the day have made her even more responsive to his proximity.

Like she just cannot get enough proofs that he is here.

Obviously, that excessive need to touch him translates into her trying to stay as far away from him as possible, not entirely sure how much she can trust herself around him tonight.

She’s always liked him more than as a friend, even back when he was gruffier and less prone to hugging, but lately, she’s been finding it hard not to cross that line between friendship and more. He’s been sending her mixed signals, too, and she has no idea how he would react to her doing as much as putting a toe on that line – although she suspects ‘bolting’ would be a probable outcome.

He’s not bolting tonight, quite happy to let her snuggle up against his side. While he would typically keep his arm above the blanket, said arm actually disappears under the blanket this time, getting a much more secured hold on her waist.

This need for proximity obviously isn’t one sided.

With her nose once again pressed to his shoulder, she breathes in the clean scents from his shirt. There is no trace of sulphur left, just laundry detergent and…him, feeling herself relaxing at these familiar smells, just as comforted by the feel of his body against hers.

“Look up,” he eventually tells her, his voice still lower than usual.

She does, lifting her head to look at him, meeting his slightly-augmented eyes through his lenses. A small smile tugs at his lips as he tilts his head, indicating the ceiling. “Up up,” he clarifies.

She’s tempted to ignore his directive for a moment, more than happy to carry on drinking in his features instead, as always a bit too affected by things like the dash of freckles across his cheekbones.

Rose does look up, eventually, seeing nothing but the smooth expanse of coral overhead; there is a characteristic noise beside her, the Doctor’s free hand now pointing toward the ceiling, his sonic flaring.

“Made a couple of modifications, hold on.” He changes the setting on his device, then tries again.

Overhead, the coral begins to change, shimmering brightly, before it seems to disappear altogether, until Rose finds herself staring at planet Earth, suspended into space.

“It’s not a window, not like it was on their base,” he says. “It’s just a projection, but I suppose it will do, considering I came up with this in seven and a half minutes. Looks real enough.”

‘Real enough’ doesn’t cover it.

Rose watches, as mesmerized as ever by the many nuances of colours that make up her home planet, from the various shades of its oceans and landscapes, to its amalgam of shifting white clouds.

“See,” he speaks again. “No more black hole.”

His voice is low as he says those words, his tone dragging Rose’s eyes back to him, not entirely surprised to find him staring at her, oblivious to the beauty above. He looks so confident about their safety…she wishes she could tell him how she feels – which is not entirely soothed, at the moment.

She can fend for herself well enough, as proven today, and she knows he’ll always do his best to get her out of harm’s way, but this is beyond the point.

The valiant child, who will die in battle so very soon.

Rose shudders at the memory of that…voice. Close as they are, the tremors echo through him, and the Doctor frowns in concern, his brow creasing in question. She shakes her head, unable to share her fears with him, remembering the way he’d dismissed those words less than an hour ago.

She lowers her head instead, back to pressing her nose to his shoulder. “What…was it?” she cannot help but ask in a half-whisper.

He’s quiet for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” he admits, and there is no more false-bravado in his voice, no quick dismissal either.

Rose swallows hard, seeing herself as she’d been in that rocket, faced with that…thing possessing Toby, using the bolt gun to shatter the front screen before unfastening Toby’s belt, watching him getting sucked into space.

“I killed him,” she says against his shoulder, her voice thick. “Toby,” she adds. “When he…changed again. I didn’t even hesitate, I just…killed him.”

The Doctor moves slightly, and she looks up, meeting his eyes. “Whatever took possession of him on that planet…that’s what killed him,” he tells her, quietly. “He probably died the moment his body became a vessel for that creature’s mind. What you did was prevent that mind from escaping and hurting a lot more people. Just as I knew you would.”

She stares up at him. “And what if I hadn’t?”

“Nonsensical,” he replies at once with a small glower. “Rose Tyler, not saving the day? What a ludicrous concept.”

She finds herself smiling softly against his shoulder, even as she shakes her head. “You’ve got way too much faith in me.”

His own smile fades at her words, replaced by an expression that is once again too solemn, back to staring at her with an intensity and stillness she’s not quite used to, causing her toes to curl under her.

Her breath actually gets caught in her throat when he brings a hand up to her face, his thumb slowly tracing the line of her jaw.

“You’ve heard me praise humans before,” he speaks quietly. “For their resilience, and their curiosity, for their insatiable urge to go further. Yet humans are inexorably flawed. That resilience of theirs often turns into recklessness, and their curiosity leads them to open doors that should never be opened in the first place, until they find themselves scrambling for their lives. And it’s not that you don’t get reckless, we both know that’s a silly notion. But you’ve never been big on the scrambling.”

Rose lets out a small scoff into the fabric of his shirt. “Should’ve seen me in those maintenance tunnels, trying to escape the Oods. ‘Scrambling’ was definitely a big part of my day.”

He’s stopped the tracing of her jaw, all five of his fingertips now pressed lightly upon the side of her face, his skin cool in contrast with hers. “So maybe you do scramble from time to time,” he concedes. “But I don’t think I’m wrong in assuming you’re the one who got the crew to focus long enough so you could all escape?”

She’s quiet for a moment, her lips grazing his shoulder. “Maybe I helped a bit,” she admits, rather meekly.

“And from everything I’ve gathered, when I realised the creature’s mind was on that rocket with you and I destroyed the energy field that kept the planet from getting sucked into that black hole, you’re the one who figured it out and took action.”

Rose doesn’t say anything at all this time, simply looking back at him. His fingers have moved to cup her face, and her skin burns under the coolness of his palm.

He leans forward, then, until his lips are brushing her forehead. “Sounds to me like I’ve got just the right amount of faith in you,” he tells her quietly.

Most of the tension she still held in her body seems to leave her, and she finds herself slumping against him, her eyes closing. He responds to her movements, shifting just enough so that she rests more comfortably against his side and part of his chest, her head tucked under his chin while he buries his nose in her hair.

Under her ear, his heartbeats are slow and even; strong, and alive.

“Go to sleep,” he whispers in her hair, obviously aware that she’s already halfway there.

“You gonna get bored…” she breathes out sleepily.

“Naaah,” he says in a whispered version of his familiar, chipper tone. “I’ll have Hugh to keep me company.”

She lets out a small, rumbly chuckle as he uses his free hand to point the remote at the telly.

“Doctor?” she murmurs.

“Mm?”

But she’s already gone.

…

When she emerges, the telly is still playing, although the volume is too low for her to be able to decipher any dialogue. Even with her eyes closed, it doesn’t take her long to realise the Doctor is asleep against her, his breathing deep, his heartbeat even slower than before; there is an unmistakable heaviness to the arm wrapped around her waist, too, his hand resting limply upon her thigh.

While this is definitely not the first time she’s fallen asleep against him, he’s never actually slept with her before.

She’s tempted to move to take a better look at him in this unusual, vulnerable state, but from the feel of it, his face appears to be mostly buried in her hair, and she has no doubt any excessive movement will instantly wake up him up.

Still, she cannot quite resist the urge to touch him.

Her hand finds his under the blanket, her fingertips grazing the top of it, lightly tracing his knuckles, before following the sinuous path of the veins beneath his skin.

She hears the change in his heartbeats before anything else, speeding up slightly. A couple seconds later, he sighs deeply into her hair, before his arm actually moves, slowly tightening his hold to pin her more firmly to him. That does not stop her from carrying on with the slow exploration of his hand.

“Didn’t think you did naps,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

He lets out another gust of air in her hair, like a scoff. “Attenuating circumstances,” he replies, his voice low and rumbly. “Body’s still recuperating. Those are more like bouts of regenerative coma than naps, to be honest. Not my first one today either.”

Her hand has stopped moving upon his. “Regenerative coma?”

“Ah,” he says, his face moving a little, soon feeling his breath upon her forehead. “Took a bit of a fall down that Pit. There was some kind of air cushion in place to absorb most of the shock, but I suspect I fell at least a good hundred meters.”

“That’s…insane, even for you,” she speaks quietly, her throat closing up.

She feels him shrug.

“You were up on the planet’s surface, I was down in that Pit,” he says simply. “Had no way of getting back to you, or even communicating with you. The only way onward was…downward. Way, way down, as it turned out.”

“How did you know, though?” she asks. “That you’d find what you were looking for?”

“I didn’t,” he admits. “Call it…a leap of faith, I suppose.”

Sounds to me like I’ve got just the right amount of faith in you.

She hears his words, even as her hand leaves the warmth that has gathered under the blanket, coming up to splay her fingers over the side of his neck, the heat of her skin slowly seeping into his, soon feeling the echoes of the beats still thumping under her ear. Inside her chest, her own heart squeezes at this added realisation of just how close she’d come to losing him today.

The fact that they both made it out alive is nothing short of a miracle.

This is far from being their first embrace today – she’s honestly losing count, not to mention the unknown amount of time she’s just spent sleeping against him. And yet, the slow, almost rhythmic feel of his breath upon her forehead soon causes shivers to run down her spine, the small tremors spreading through her entire body, another reaction he’s close enough to feel.

Any other day, and this would have been his cue to release her and put some much needed distance between them.

He doesn’t.

When her fingers begin to move again, slowly going up around his neck to curl into the hair at the back of his head, he lets her, feeling the shivers she’s creating under his skin. Not only is he letting her do this, he’s also joining in.

Cool fingers are slipping under the fabric of her top, his palm running slowly over her stomach, causing her muscles to twitch as her whole body shudders again, her heart speeding up inside her chest. His pinkie finger is trailing the hem of her pyjamas bottoms, now, not quite daring to pass that threshold, but the simple fact that his hand is right there, touching her, is enough to cause her insides to clench.

She tilts her head back, needing to look at him, meeting his eyes behind his lenses. Although he appears calm, that intensity in his gaze is stronger than it’s been at any point tonight.

“Doctor…” she says quietly, almost breathing out his name.

She wants to tell him…how terrified she was through it all. How the only reason why she took charge the way she did out there is because she kept hearing his voice in her head, telling her she knew what to do. How ultimately, she’d had to survive, because how would she help him if she died?

She wants to tell him how heartsick she felt when she realised she’d been drugged and forced away from Krop Tor, forced to leave him on his own, all the way down that Pit.

“I know,” he tells her thickly, his eyes full with the same fears and relief.

He’s leaning forward, then, his shortened breath following the bridge of her nose, until his forehead is resting against hers, his subsequent exhales pooling upon her lips, which tingle in anticipation. As seconds pass, she wonders if he’s fighting that urge to go on again, that urge to just give in, and take another leap of faith.

Rose encourages him, giving his hair the slightest of tugs, taking that leap with him.

When he kisses her, he does it slowly…so slowly…yet every brush of his lips, each small shift of his body, is bursting with barely contained longing, his fingers getting entangled in her hair to try bringing her closer. Shivering in bemusement, relief and swelling desire, Rose follows his cues, unwilling to do anything that might make him change his mind.

She cannot keep herself from aching for more, though, her conscious self not exactly in charge anymore as more seconds tick on and he carries on kissing her almost in reverence; the next time their mouths part for air, she keeps hers open as she pulls his face back to hers, gliding the tip of her tongue over his lower lip.

His response is immediate and eager, not opposed to this at all, judging by the way he shifts his entire hold on her to pull her onto his lap with a low noise. She finds herself straddling him almost clumsily, wrapping her arms around his neck while he circles her waist tightly, the blanket crumpled against her lower back. There is nothing chaste in the way they seek one another, then, Rose using the entire length of her body to press him firmly to the back of the couch, their faces so close that the frame of his glasses digs into her flesh.

She doesn’t really care if they damage the bloody things, or if she ends up with a black eye, too engrossed in the sturdy, shivering feel of him, pressed so tightly to her, intoxicated by the languid meeting of their tongues. When she begins rolling her hips into him, slowly yet steadily, he gasps into her mouth, before completely shifting their positions again.

Her stomach drops as she falls backward, the Doctor following along, entrapped between her limbs, until her back hits the couch. Her entire body flushes with heat as he mirrors her previous moves, all rolling hips and growing pressure; trapped as he is between her legs, his movements are rather limited, but he makes do, creating a kind of friction that is a little too pleasant, soon drawing a hoarse sound out of her, her body caring very little about how many layers of clothes still separate them.

Her rational mind chooses this moment to resurface, something nudging at it. Her curiosity quickly getting the best of her, she forces her lips away from his, reopening her eyes to look at their surroundings.

Technically, they still are on the couch they were on moments ago. It doesn’t look anything like it did when they first sat on it, though, its surface area having somehow tripled, if not quadrupled, so that it now resembles a king-size bed.

“What the hell happened to the couch?” she finds herself asking, her voice breathless and low.

There is a pause, his brain apparently needing a moment to refocus and form words. His hair is a tousled mess, his glasses adorably askew, his eyes glazed over.

“You know the TARDIS,” he eventually replies, his respiratory bypass system obviously operational; despite his dazed tone, he doesn’t sound nearly as affected as she does – although she’s feeling how affected he is getting alright. “She likes making things bigger.”

This could have been awkward, the two of them back to talking for the first time since they started snogging rather intensely; it could have put an end to the moment, broken the mood, reminded him that this should absolutely, definitely not be happening.

It doesn’t feel awkward.

Different, for sure, but ultimately, it’s all still very…chummy.

(Except for the dry humping, maybe)

Rose reaches up to pull the specs off his face, tossing them aside without much care. “Looks like your TARDIS got some competition,” she points out as she lifts her hips off the couch, purposefully pressing herself to that hardening bulge.

He lets out a small groan as he buries his face in the crook of her neck, and she cannot decide if that sound is caused by what she just did, or if he’s lamenting her terrible attempt at salacious humour.

That thought fizzles away as her breath gets caught in her throat. With his head out of the way, the projection overhead has come into full view again, having somehow forgotten about that window into space he created above them.

This glimpse into such a familiar part of their cosmos makes her head spins, even as it tethers her, comforted in her awareness that they are as far from Krop Tor as they can be right now.

Nothing tethers her quite as successfully as his lips upon her throat, though…his lips, and his tongue, and the graze of his teeth, one of his hands back under her top, travelling upward with one clear destination in mind, unable to focus on anything but the feel of him and the jolts of pleasure he’s sparking in her.

Despite the heat nothing short of radiating from her, his fingers remain cooler than any human’s, causing her nipple to harden the instant his hand starts trailing the sensitive skin of her breast. Her pleasure stirs low as he cups it fully, caressing, massaging, teasing…his tongue having discovered a particularly erogenous zone below her ear, and she cannot do anything but cling to him, her nails raking at his scalp and clothes.

The next time he lifts himself up and meets her gaze, it doesn’t feel that chummy anymore, his pupils dilated, his cheeks slightly flushed from having been pinned to her warm skin, the look in his eyes enough to cause another tug, deep within her.

She wants to reciprocate some of the attention, but the moment she tries getting a hand between them, he grabs at it gently yet firmly, pulling it back out with a small shake of his head. As soon as he releases her wrist, he begins undoing the buttons of her pyjama top.

He takes his time, too, well aware of what this is doing to her. When the last one comes undone, he’s just as slow in revealing her heaving breasts, pulling the fabric aside, one half at a time.

The darkening look on his face is not what she expected.

Rose’s confusion only worsens when his fingers begin tracing something upon her sternum.

“What is it?” she asks quietly, the angle making it impossible for her to see what he’s seeing.

“You’re bruising,” he says, before raising his eyes to look at her. “Looks like a belt mark.”

Rose swallows hard. “Oh, yeah,” she breathes out. “Shot off the front screen of that rocket with a bolt gun, created a vacuum to suck…whatever that was out. I guess that belt saved my life.”

When the Doctor lowers his head, Rose buries her fingers in his hair, his lips grazing her bruised skin, his gestures even slower than they were moments ago. Her caress becomes a twist when wet heat entraps one of her nipples, and pleasure trickles down the length of her, pooling between her legs, where she aches to be touched, her hips rising off the bed as she seeks friction.

He soon recaptures her lips in a languid kiss, one of her legs having slipped between his to pin him more firmly to her. He doesn’t indulge in that friction she’s encouraging, one of his hands moving instead, disappearing inside her pyjama bottoms.

Although he remains slow, there is no hesitation in the way he touches her, his fingers gliding through her folds, and the feel of how much she’s responded to him is enough to cause him to groan into her mouth. She echoes that sound when he uses his slick fingers to work on her, and that contrast between cool skin and heat is a sensation she cannot get enough of, adding to the tendrils of pleasure spreading all the way from her core to her toes.

The way he touches her goes beyond longing, beyond yearning.

He’s…worshiping her, drawing out her pleasure, swallowing each of her gasps and moans as they rise out of her, and when she becomes unable to kiss him, too wrapped up in her swelling pleasure, he simply brings his face back to the crook of her neck, his tongue easily finding that spot again.

Pinned as she is beneath him, both of them still nearly fully dressed, Rose is burning up, beads of perspiration beginning to leather her skin, most of it immediately absorbed by the fabric of her pyjamas. She craves for the cool feel of him, getting rather fed up with all these clothes on him, as everywhere she tries clinging to him, she’s met with fabric instead of skin.

She slips a hand between them to grab at his wrist in a halting gesture, and he stops almost at once, her other hand back in his hair, tugging to bring his face back to hers. She cups his cheek as he does, finding his skin uncharacteristically warm under her fingertips, having absorbed some of her heat.

“Please…” she whispers against his lips, her insides pulsing and clenching with need, blood rushing in her ears and where his fingers remain. “I want to feel you…” She releases his wrist to press her hand against the length of him through his trousers, causing him to let out his loudest moan yet.

He doesn’t stop her this time when she begins to unfasten his belt and unbutton his trousers, helping her along instead, his boxers just as swiftly discarded. Within moments, her pyjamas are pulled down her legs. When he begins to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, Rose pulls on his tie and brings him back down, their foreheads once more pressed together, and she shakes her head, loosely encasing his hips, with just enough pressure to initiate contact.

The feel of her seems to break any kind of control he had left, one of his arms supporting his weight while the other one slips beneath her to pull her flush against him, his hips rolling, causing him to slide upon her, both shuddering at the sensation.

“Doctor…” she gasps almost in supplication, twisting his hair in her fist.

There’s no more hesitation, the next shifts of his body all directed towards one goal, and her nails dig into his scalp when he enters her in one long thrust. Whatever discomfort she feels is small compared to having him inside of her, filling her so completely, and the way he keeps his face pressed to hers makes her feel like he’s attempting to fuse himself to her.

He doesn’t remain still for long, quite unable to; judging by the uneven way he begins to move upon her, she doubts he will last long, his body trembling against hers. It doesn’t matter, her pleasure already building back up with every thrust of his hips, one of her hands having disappeared under his shirt, relishing the feel of his cool skin, while the other one clutches at his backside, encouraging him all the while driving him deeper inside of her, his breath anything but cold against her face.

As her climax nears, Rose reopens her eyes, and gets lost into space, the stars and the Earth expending high above, certain that gravity will find her, and send her both soaring and plummeting towards the ground.

His fingers in her hair tether her back to him, dragging her heavy gaze away from this piece of universe he’s created just for her, meeting his eyes as she refocuses on him, pressing her fingertips upon the stars on his cheeks.

And as her name falls from his lips like a prayer, Rose lets herself be pulled into his infinite.

#ten x rose #ficandchips #doctor who #dwsecretsanta #lastbluetardis #fic of mine #RELUCTANT fic of mine i may add #my brain is an asshole #i shall keep on fighting

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popliar · 5 years

Text

namseok fic links pt 2

more namseok fic links! for namseok_week on twt

this post includes a ton of namseok+others ot3 links too!

usual disclaimer: I bookmark so many things and sometimes I don’t remember why… but these are all readable and worth a click imo!

part 1 namseok links is here | other fic links here

Hoseok/Namjoon

Strike A Pose - hope_and_hardship Hoseok/Namjoon. "Hoseok and Namjoon are Instagram models who are both just starting to make a name for themselves. It turns out they have a lot in common. The trouble is they don’t like each other very much." 10,500 words.

Happy Friendship Time - almostblue (fictionalaspect) Hoseok/Namjoon. "Namjoon takes a deep breath. "I thought--that you'd maybe--and we don't have to stay here, we could go out, sometimes--there's this really pretty park I've been meaning to go to, and this great restaurant I think you'd really like--"

"Oh," Hoseok says, and tries to ignore the flipping sensation in his chest. "Oh. You want to like. Have a standing…" Date, he thinks. No, wait, don't say date. "...Happy Friendship time?"

Namjoon presses his lips together, looking like he's trying not to laugh. "Yes," he says earnestly. "Yes. I would really like that."

"Well, damn," Hoseok says, all of his feelings swimming around in his chest, like he's a goddamn living fishbowl or something. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea. "Awesome. Sure. Let's get it."" 11,700 words.

when the moon rises - niveuos Hoseok/Namjoon. "Namjoon, self proclaimed human disaster, makes out with Hoseok, his Super Cool best friend, while they're drunk at a college party. Oh, and Hoseok is also probably the love of his life, so he's pretty sure he's just basically ruined absolutely everything between them. (Spoiler alert: he hasn't.)" lots of pining and misunderstanding! 22,000 words.

no one's got me quite like you - morsku Jimin/Yoongi, Hoseok/Namjoon. "Hoseok's had a bad luck streak in his relationships and Yoongi has always been there to pick him up, dust him off and send him towards new disappointments. Except this time, Hoseok accidentally finds the love of his life, no one around Yoongi is single anymore and the tables get completely turned when Jimin barges into Yoongi's life like he owned the place." 13,100 words.

in the heart of the light - jesspava Hoseok/Namjoon. "Hoseok doesn’t hide the way pain crosses his face. “You’re going to cite our non-fraternization policy at me, aren’t you?” he says. “Yessir.” “God,” he laughs, bitter. “I hate how well I know you.” (military AU inspired by descendants of the sun)" 13,100 words.

The Prince's Wingmen - smiles Seokjin/Yoongi, Hoseok/Namjoon. "It had been assumed that the fuss and borderline-intrusive interest in the crown prince's nuptials would eventually subside once he and his groom were married. This, of course, did not happen, and so the task fell to the royal biographer Kim Jisoo to interview, collect, and in all ways assemble the story of how Namjoon met and fell in love with Hoseok. As Prince Namjoon's closest friends, Yoongi and Seokjin have a lot to say about their role in the happy couple's pairing. And a lot more to say about each other." 23,400 words.

under the blazing sun - bananas Hoseok/Namjoon. "That night, as he lay in his rickety bed, thin sheet barely covering his sweat-soaked body and his defenses suddenly all but non-existent, all Namjoon saw when he closed his eyes was Hoseok's radiant smile, glowing like the sun, and he thought to himself, he wouldn’t mind letting the light from this sun blind him. or namjoon has photophobia and hoseok is the sun" surfer hobi. 20,200 words.

miscommunifection - KingOfHearts709 Hoseok/Namjoon. "“And... I just want...” Namjoon freezes, why does this sound so serious? Why is Hoseok playing with his hands? “...be my boyfriend.” OR Namjoon gets an ear infection, and admittedly, context clues aren't always the best to rely on." 3800 words.

told you with a smile - pardon Hoseok/Namjoon. "Namjoon can be evasive. Hoseok figures out why." 1000 words.

Secret Santa's Who's Who - emerald_bard Hoseok/Namjoon. "FROM: Kim Taehyung TO: Kim Namjoon Your participation in this year's Secret Santa drawing is mandatory. I need an even number of particpants. And you can't say NO! You owe me too many favors." office au. 4900 words.

Bring Me Back Down to Earth - Katuize Hoseok/Namjoon. "Sometimes Namjoon needs someone to get him out of his head. When he needs someone, he goes to Hoseok." caregiving, hurt/comfort. 1100 words.

we will fly well - Miralana Hoseok/Namjoon. "Namjoon and Hoseok just want to have a nice dinner and maybe fuck somewhere where their children can't interrupt them every five seconds. (They just hope that Seokjin doesn't accidently microwave them while they're gone.)" hot and funny and sweet. 4600 words.

Pink in the Night - updownandsideways Hoseok/Namjoon. "Maybe there's a few perks to being stuck at the kids' table every christmas party after all." 7400 words.

Like The Moon To The Sun - AttesTaetion (BTS) Hoseok/Namjoon. "“Joonie.” It’s said softly. Gently and sweetly. Hoseok is speaking to him the way Namjoon typically speaks to the little animals he comes across during his walks in the park. In a way that’s meant to soothe them. To let them know that he doesn’t mean any harm. Because he cares for them. Because they’re cute and small and he thinks they’re adorable. Basically, Namjoon has a bad day and Hoseok is there to take care of him." 5800 words.

yesterday, today, tomorrow - tsukishirohana Hoseok/Namjoon. "Namjoon breaks up with Seokjin. He tries to put himself back together." the first 2/3 of this are about namjoon trying to get over jin and it's sad esp if you ship namjin. but the last chapter is namseok sweetness! 61,300 words.

a house made of cards (and us inside) - agustxxx, honeyboyyoongi Hoseok/Namjoon. "Being the generally fearful person that Hoseok is, most people would think that when faced with a grim reaper, Hoseok would run the other way screaming, which is fair. But then again, most people don’t know that Hoseok’s boyfriend is the King of Hell." 10,700 words.

Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi

Little Admirer - gusgiis (rravii) Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "Looking back out into the sea, Hoseok spots a glint of purple hair and a grin spreads on his lips. "Our admirer is here." Hoseok remarks, making Yoongi smile as well." Hoseok is a demon, Yoongi is a witch and Namjoon is a siren. Cute! 9500 words.

whoever’s got you got gold - wildlikeawolfpack Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "hoseok (very much human) meets yoongi and namjoon (far from human). he offers them his blood and his hands to hold." 7700 words.

want oceans to part, overcome in a war of hearts - morelenmir Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "Yoongi enters the little house with a clatter, blinking through raindrops in his eyes at the figure in front of the cast-iron stove. "Seok-ah," he calls, wrestling with the buttons of his yellow raincoat and the plastic bags digging into his fingers. "I need a hand--" His voice whips away into nothingness. The groceries hit the floor, eggs cracking open inside the bags. Namjoon stares up at him from where he kneels, firewood still in his hands. Yoongi takes a faltering step forward, fingers opening and closing on empty air. Namjoon smiles. "I'm home."" fantasy au. 2300 words.

Poly rapline au - runchrandom “Poly rapline au where namjoon is trying to get dressed but he left his jeans on the washing line the night before and has to make a dash outside in his boxers and shirt & hears a whistle from an upstairs apartment balcony where he can see boyfriend sope drinking coffee & watching”

Space, I Guess That's What I Choose - DefaltManifesto Yoongi/Hoseok/Namjoon. "Yoongi doesn’t purr. He never has. It’s in the movies as a sign of the ultimate love and devotion, something everyone knows is bullshit but all it does is remind him that he’ll always be alone. The truth is, Omegas purr for all sorts of reasons. It’s a way to self-soothe the doctors say. He’s not sure what came first with him – the depression or the lack of purring, but the psychiatrist says it doesn’t matter. The anti-depressants he’ll start taking won’t let him anyways. His mother cries as he takes the slip from the psychiatrist. “It’s fine,” he says on the way home. “I’m not any good at soothing myself anyways.” Her hands turn white as they grip the steering wheel. “That’s not the point.”" follows canon timeline quite closely. 8700 words.

your body calls me - momentsinlove Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "just really soft rapline with hoseok and namjoon taking care of yoongi" 2600 words.

shawty you can get blazed - marienadine Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "Namjoon knows it’s going to be one of those nights the second Yoongi crawls into Hoseok’s lap." 2000 words.

we never sleep (we never try) - psikeval Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "There’s a joyful sort of fluttering in her throat, like something bubbling up and aching with how happy it makes her feel. Just this, the two of them waiting here for her, in love with each other and with her. Never stops feeling like a miracle." yoonji and her 2 bfs. very porny. 4100 words.

Bound Together - landofpromise (BTS) Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "“How is everything? How are you and Hoseok handling final year?” “Ah, it’s going okay,” Namjoon says, then supplies, “Hoseok has a boyfriend.” “Oh, that’s why you’re acting like this,” his mom smiles solemnly. There's a reason that Namjoon doesn't feel jealous about that.” 7800 words.

Logical Thinking - Only_A_Fangirl Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "“What’s the favor you wanted?” Namjoon asks.“Right,” Hoseok says. “So, I drank a little bit yesterday, and I got this really good idea. And then I sobered up and the idea was still good, so… here I am.”“What is it?” Yoongi asks.Hoseok takes a deep breath, looks at Yoongi pointedly for a few seconds, “Let me suck your dick.”" a huge novel of porn and feelings, i respect this so much!!! 135,100 words.

So You're Still Thinking Of Me - emlisy Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "The classic ‘who in your otp is scared of spiders and who begrudgingly removes them’ that grew a mind of it's own and turned into long term boyfriends yoonseok slowly falling in love with their kindhearted neighbor Namjoon." 35,200 words.

Someone to Save Me; Someone to Love Me - eightninetwo Namjoon/Hoseok/Yoongi. "Two's company, three's a party— Namjoon's just looking for a new companion, but he ends up with a whole lot more." the one where he adopts a dog! 17,100 words.

In my eyes, in my heart, you are there - sassy_ninja Hoseok/Yoongi/Namjoon. "Hoseok starts off with everything and ends up with nothing. He starts off alone and ends up with a family. He starts off scared and he ends up braver (I mean he's still scared of spiders, but that's what boyfriends are for aren't they?) Or Yoongi offers the homeless guy outside his apartment block a warm place to stay in the middle of a Seoul winter and he ends up with Jung Hoseok." 6600 words.

You were holding on to make a point - bambambams (phanjessmagoria) Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "When he exited the bathroom, sweatpants slung low on his hips, Hoseok's shirt had been removed, Yoongi's lips closed around his collarbone. Namjoon stopped short, smirking, more amused that Yoongi had waited until he was absent to start anything. He was like that, Namjoon had found—enough of a brat, even though he was the oldest of the three of them—but he knew the agreement that they had, too. He wasn't supposed to touch or kiss or lick or bite or anything until they were all together. It wasn't that Namjoon was jealous. None of them were—they, and their relationship, had evolved beyond that. It was simply that the three of them had agreed to always be just that—the three of them. Yoongi hated being left out and had been the one to propose that particular stipulation for their relationship. So, really. He should have known better." 7600 words.

how, or when, or from where - moonsuns Namjoon/Yoongi/Hoseok. "Stop calling it my quest,” Namjoon whines, and Hoseok laughs. “You’re the one that said it first.” “I was drunk.” “Well, the bad thing about going out with people, is that you can’t take back the stupid shit you said when you were drunk. Especially when they’re way less drunk than you.” Or, after Namjoon almost dies, he decides to go on a quest to live his best life, and takes Yoongi and Hoseok along for the ride." 28,100 words.

Lonely Night - realface Namjoon/Yoongi/Hoseok. "It starts, as most things in Namjoon’s life does these days, with a tweet." 2400 words.

Can’t Look Back, Can’t Look Too Far Ahead - teenuviel1227 Yoongi/Hoseok/Namjoon. "It started as directorial help for their sex tape--but what’s a couple to do when their bestfriend is the best at directing? Or Namjoon helps Sobi film a sex tape and gets caught up in the action too." 2700 words.

I Guess That's A Yes - rravii Hoseok/Yoongi/Namjoon. "Hoseok is 19 when he ruins his first relationship by falling for someone else and eventually cheating with them. Hoseok is 22 when he falls for someone else again while in a committed relationship, but this time, he doesn't ruin it." 13,300 words.

Different - rravii Hoseok/Yoongi/Namjoon. ""Come home with me." Based off of the INU/Prologue/Run MVs loosely." 4000 words.

Coming Home - busan_brat Hoseok/Namjoon, Hoseok/Yoongi. "For Namjoon and Yoongi, home isn't a place. It's a person." Overwritten prose, underwritten everything else, but I'm into the pairings. 21,200 words.

and this is my one rapline ot3:

Simple Maths Hoseok/Namjoon/Yoongi. "Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi go on a holiday, share a bed, get drunk, and fall in love - not in that order." 6500 words.

Hoseok/Jimin/Namjoon

thought i'd ask you just the same - pearl_o Hoseok/Jimin/Namjoon. "Like so many things, it's Jimin's fault. Or to Jimin's credit, maybe, is more fair, though that might just be Namjoon getting hung up on semantics." 1800 words.

i'd be lying if i said (i wanna be your friend) - raviolijouster Hoseok/Jimin/Namjoon. "Hoseok’s head tilts to the side, a bright smile on his face. Namjoon turns to see a corresponding smile on Jimin’s face. This is a bit much, he thinks." cute! 19,700 words.

so show me, i'll show you - marienadine Hoseok/Jimin/Namjoon. "He’s not special like Namjoon and Hoseok. If they’re stars, Jimin is a cold little moon. He only shines when he’s reflecting someone else’s light." 2100 words.

Smile At Me Like You're Dying To Say - Zee Namjoon/Hoseok/Jimin. "Namjoon has been sitting on his ass and pining for Hoseok and not making a move for six months when Park Jimin shows up, does the opposite of all that, and ruins Namjoon’s chances forever. Or at least, that’s what Namjoon predicts will happen." 5200 words.

Goodnight Kisses - joonphases Hoseok/Namjoon/Jimin. "Hoseok is tired, grouchy, and touch-starved. Namjoon and Jimin are waiting for him at home, ready to remind him how much he means to them." 2400 words.

Hoseok/Jungkook/Namjoon

body & soul - rapmonied Hoseok/Jungkook/Namjoon. "Jungkook and Namjoon have been dating for almost two years. Emotionally, Jungkook has never felt more elated with someone. Namjoon’s all praise, and kissing and holding and talking and listening. Jungkook and Namjoon’s hearts were definitely in sync. Physically, however, there was a different story. Namjoon was gentle and soft and Jungkook sometimes likes to be held down and treated roughly. Enter Jung Hoseok." 10,600 words.

2/2/3 - cobbleles Hoseok/Namjoon/Jungkook. "There is plenty of fish in the sea, two and two and three. Or: Hoseok wants to see other people and Namjoon agrees. Prompt - Secret Relationship." 9900 words.

namkookhope au by jellyfishes Namjoon/Hoseok/Jungkook. "NAMKOOKHOPE AU 💕 jungkook is looking for something casual, he signs up to tinder & meets namjoon. he’s in an open relationship and not looking for anything srs. so it’s fine if he starts sleeping w his dance teacher jhope too, right? what could go wrong?"

Speed - topbun (TrappingLightningBugs) Jungkook/Hoseok/Namjoon. "When the force assigns him to go undercover to bust the head of a gang, Jungkook thinks he can handle it. But, when he meets drug-dealer Hoseok and street-racer Namjoon, who have an arrangement where they exchange speed for sex, they drag him in deeper than he ever intended to go. Deeper than he might ever be able to come back from." 38,600 words.

Hoseok/Namjoon/Seokjin

With sudden fall, it trails a thunderous ruin - monbon Hoseok/Namjoon/Seokjin preslash. "Seokjin attempts to protect his crown from two usurpers." bake sale dads! 5300 words.

Something Brewing Between Us Three - merryofsoul Hoseok/Namjoon/Seokjin. "Hoseok leans his body into Namjoon’s with a soft sigh as they watch Seokjin walk out, but perks up a little when Seokjin stops in the doorway and turns back. “It’s bean a pleasure,” Seokjin calls, and then starts laughing at himself as he leaves the cafe. Namjoon and Hoseok stand in shock for a few seconds before Namjoon says, “Oh my god.” or; Namjoon and Hoseok work in a coffee shop, and a cute customer starts to flirt with them." 11,700 words.

Can't Spell We Without W(you and you) - gbyesummer (shouldshy) Hoseok/Namjoon/Seokjin. "“We’re going out tonight,” Namjoon says. “You should come with.” Hoseok sits up and narrows his eyes. “I don’t think Jin would appreciate me being invited on your date without asking him first.” “It’s not... like a date-date. It's a friend-date." or: Hoseok loves that they’re a close group of seven, but seven is six plus himself, and six is an even number. He's the seventh in a group with three (well, two and one almost-couple) couples. He’s a seventh wheel." I LOVE. 12,900 words.

Hoseok/Namjoon/Taehyung

i want it? i got it - brightlight Hoseok/Namjoon/Taehyung. "“And what if I was asking? What if I asked what you want?” Taehyung enjoyed the way this put-together, successful man seemed to be shy at this, the way he looked flustered. Namjoon swallowed, looking at him. “I want you to meet my husband.” Hoseok and Namjoon live comfortably, and now Taehyung does too." 6000 words.

time to bring this ship into the shore - sugarlizard Hoseok/Namjoon/Taehyung. "“Hoseok hyung,” Taehyung says dramatically. “You know that you’re totally the one that got away for our Namjoonie, right?”" eh. 6900 words.

come closer - pardon Hoseok/Namjoon/Taehyung. "Namjoon tries so hard to be strong, like he thinks he’s responsible for holding everything together. He’s so painfully introspective sometimes, it makes Hoseok want to tear his hair out and plant comforting kisses on any bit of his face he can get to at the same time. Every time it's too much Hoseok and Taehyung are there, with soft assurances and gentle reminders that they’re there to help – that they want to help." 4700 words.

lay your head on summer's freckled knees - pearl_o Hoseok/Namjoon/Taehyung. "Taehyung can never find the right words to describe their situation. Hoseok and Namjoon aren't Taehyung's boyfriends, but they always have room for him when he needs it." 4900 words.

pour yourself onto my heart - toxicmew Taehyung/Namjoon/Hoseok. "Taehyung's always been a bit weak for cats but it's worth mentioning he's even weaker for the hot piece of ass knocking on his window looking for his." 10,400 words.

More...

hold me tight - hobipd Jungkook/Hoseok/Yoongi/Namjoon. "Anyway, the thing Jeongguk likes... It might sound a bit strange for a 19-year-old boy, to be into something like this. This being BDSM. Bondage in particular." 15,000 words.

Steals and Deals - idyllic_hummingbird Hoseok/Namjoon/Seokjin/Yoongi. "Boyfriends Namjoon and Yoongi sometimes commit petty crimes to get by. When Yoongi hears about a rich CEO going out of town, he convinces his boyfriend that an attempted heist couldn't hurt. Little do they know that the CEO's son, Seokjin, was given housesitting duties, and brought his boyfriend along for company. or, namgi are terrible burglars and 2seok are amused about it." 13,000 words.

Just a little bit (is what you need) - pacajins Yoongi/Hoseok/Namjoon/Seokjin. "When you spend so much time with someone, living together and doing everything with one another, some things are probably inevitable. Like taking care of each other's needs and making sure the frustration doesn't interfere with work." 3000 words.

#fanfiction #bts #kpop #fic links #namseok #94 line means one percent distance

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jarienn972 · 6 years

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Only a Little Superstitious - Chapter 19

Slowly trying to get caught up and update a few of my WIPs. I posted this most recent chapter on both FF.net and AO3 yesterday, but I didn’t have time to upload to Tumblr until tonight.

This chapter picks up a few minutes after Killian and Emma escape from the hospital before Kronk could locate them but now questions remain about whether this was their best decision and if they’re still staying ahead of the surprisingly resourceful Nehemiah Kronk.

From the beginning: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Despite Emma's suggestion that a motel would be the best place for them to hide out for the night, Grandmother Bending Willow would hear nothing of it, insisting that Emma and the still ailing Killian return to her home. Emma wisely came to the realization that it was pointless to argue with the elder woman and graciously accepted the offer, secretly thankful for the assistance Grandmother could provide to Killian as well. The pirate dozed most of the way to the mobile home park while Emma kept an anxious watch behind them, worried Kronk might be right on their tail. Thankfully, as Carlos made the last turn into the trailer park, there was no one following.

Once they arrived at Grandmother's house, it was no easy feat to get Killian from the vehicle into the home, especially since this time, he could barely stand by himself, let alone walk. Carlos and Joseph finally agreed that the easiest way would be to shift Killian from the SUV seat into the wheelchair that Tim had allowed them to borrow, then lift chair and all through the doorway - which they knew from the challenges the paramedics had encountered with the gurney a few days ago was going to be a rather tight fit. It was an awkward process for Carlos and Joseph and a jarring ordeal for Killian, but somehow, they managed to get the wounded man inside and settled into Grandmother's recliner. She had her living room all prepared with pillows, sheets, and blankets waiting so they wouldn't have to struggle trying to get all the way back to the guest bedroom. An additional stack of bedding graced the sofa as well so Emma could remain close to Killian without them both fighting the narrow confines of the bedroom either.

Emma didn't even know why she'd been surprised to discover the huge pot of soup simmering on the stove for lunch. All she knew was that it smelled amazing and she was beyond grateful. However horrible the circumstances had been that had brought them to Arizona, Emma would be forever thankful for the gracious twist of fate that had introduced these amazing people into their lives.

Grandmother kept the lunch conversation light, sensing Emma's tension as the younger woman seemed distant. Emma kept a watchful eye on Killian as she ate her soup, his shaky hand losing some of the broth as he brought the spoon to his mouth. He was already frustrated enough with his own condition that she tried to allow him this dignity of feeding himself - even if he only managed a few spoonfuls before pushing the bowl away and dropping the spoon onto the tray resting across his lap. He hadn't really eaten much in the past few days (with the exception of a few sips of broth the previous evening and two or three bites of something resembling runny oatmeal that morning) so no one had really expected Killian to have much of an appetite.

After lunch, Grandmother insisted that everyone give Killian some peace and quiet and allow him some rest. So, while she stacked the lunch dishes in the sink to wash later, Emma got her husband comfortable, draping one of the brightly colored wool blankets over his legs and giving him a quick, almost chaste kiss on the lips. Killian returned a faint, exhausted smile as he closed his eyes, sleep ready to overtake him any moment.

Before they were allowed to begin discussing the day's events and plotting the next step, Grandmother ushered Emma and Carlos out of the house, intending to inspect Killian's bandages without an audience and without disrupting him. Of course, that wasn't her only motivation as she hovered above her patient.

"There is no need to keep secrets," Grandmother stated as she pressed the back of her hand to Killian's forehead, noting the warmth of his skin. "Does Emma know that the fever and tremors are returning?" She tapped a bony index finger against his hand.

"I've not said anything, but I would assume she suspects it," Killian replied. "I didn't wish to worry her more than necessary but had she asked, I would have blamed the fever on the stress of relocating from the hospital room and the tremors would easily be explained with the same."

"The symptoms may be manageable now, but you should be honest," she chided him. "For now – sleep. When you wake, should you need it, I'll prepare something for the pain - and then you should tell your wife that the potion is wearing off. We will have to keep a close watch on your symptoms, but I will remain hopeful that the progress will be slower this time."

"Aye – this time…," Killian grumbled, although the grin that crossed his face as he tried hard not to chuckle betrayed him. He winced at the discomfort in his chest from the tiny guffaw that escaped.

Grandmother's dark eyes smiled back at him, but she was all business. "Rest," she ordered. "I'll be nearby should you need assistance."

Outside of the cozy, yellow mobile home, Emma took a minuscule sip from a bottle of water as she and Carlos strolled down Grandmother's street to the park's picnic area at the end of the cul-de-sac. She stepped up on the bench and levered herself up to sit on the table top while Carlos chose to remain standing, although he leaned his weight against the light pole. While the picnic area was out in the open, it was rarely utilized so it offered some semblance of privacy, allowing them to speak freely without fear of prying eyes.

"Okay," Emma began, absentmindedly tapping her boot heel against the withering pine bench. "Now that we can discuss this, you said earlier that you found the cavern with the portal symbol?"

"I sure did," Carlos replied with a smile. "Look – I took some photos of the glyphs on the cave walls." He pulled his phone out of his pant pocket and opened up the device's photo gallery. "They're not exactly perfect because of the light in there, but here – you can see that swirly one and it looks exactly like the one on the dagger's handle…"

Emma swiped through the photographs in the phone's memory, eyes wide with hope now that they could definitively match the symbols. This cavern had to be the spot where they could activate the portal. "So, I guess my next questions should be – where exactly is this cave and how do we get to it?"

"It's up in the Superstition Mountains, on the northwestern edge of Lost Dutchman State Park," Carlos replied as he fished a rolled paper tube out of his jacket's interior pocket. "It's just a few miles from that way station where I found the two of you."

"That was some pretty rough terrain," Emma recalled.

"I'm not gonna lie, it is," Carlos responded as he unfurled a detailed map of the Tonto National Forest across the top of the picnic table. Emma shifted her position to get a better look at the image, recognizing it as being nearly identical to the one she'd seen on the desk in the tiny Ranger way station cabin. Carlos stabbed his index finger onto an area that was near the center of the map. "This is where the way station is located…" He then tapped his finger on the map again to indicate another place. "This here is where the cavern is located," he explained as he then drew his fingertip along a dotted line that indicated the border of the state park. "This area here encompasses Lost Dutchman State Park so as you can see, the cave is in a fairly desolate, remote location."

His finger slid across the map's surface about an inch and a half to a thin, dark line that Emma assumed indicated a road. "This is the service road that heads into that part of the park. We can take it to here…" He traced the road with his fingertip to a spot where it intersected a faint dashed line. "This is as far as we can go by car. We'll have to hike the rest of the way and it's about two and a half miles. I made it from the road to the cave in about an hour, but obviously, it won't be as easy with your husband in tow."

"Yeah, I don't imagine that the trail is gonna be wheelchair accessible…," she deadpanned, still unsure of that aspect of their plan.

"I have something we can use for transport, but no matter what, it will still slow us down and obviously, we're under a time crunch here."

Emma sighed as she leaned forward, resting her elbows atop her knees as her hands cupped her jaw. "We've got one day left in the Blood Moon window – assuming that timeline can be believed. Plus, the potion is gonna start wearing off soon – if it hasn't already… We don't know how long it might be until Killian is completely incapacitated again."

"I know, but we're going to have to wait until first light," Carlos said, much to Emma's chagrin, but he continued with his reasoning. "By the time we'd get supplies together and get up there, it would be getting dark when we reached the cave. I don't want to be up there in the dark."

"Me either," Emma reluctantly agreed. "This trek is going to be difficult enough as it is, but you're sure you have a way for us to safely transport Killian?"

"Yes, I'm sure, but we're also going to have to watch the weather. There's a cold front moving in overnight that's supposed to spawn scattered thunderstorms and I can say for a fact that they're far more likely to flare up over those mountains than here in the Valley. Rain and the mud it would create would definitely hamper our progress, and if we do get thunderstorms, it probably won't be safe to go out there at all. Grandmother would tell you that no Navajo wants to take any chances with lightning."

"Well, there's one advantage to the possibility of thunderstorms – they possess an abundance of magical energy that I can draw from. I'll need every bit I can muster to repair that dagger and to then open up the portal with it. I just hope that Grandmother was right when she said that those mountains contain remnants of hidden magic too."

"I've never had reason to doubt her," Carlos chuckled. "If she says there's magic up there, it's there."

"Alright, then let's start getting a list together of what we'll need for tomorrow."

With one brief call to directory assistance, Nehemiah Kronk had a contact phone number for the National Park Service local field office in Scottsdale as well as a street address. He pondered his options for a few minutes, finally deciding that his best first approach would be to call the office. Certainly, they would have some way of forwarding a call or at least a method to leave a message for Ranger C. Littlecreek.

Dialing the number, Kronk silently cursed the automated answering system as he never knew which combination of prompts would lead him to an actual human – assuming any really did. Most of the prompts sounded like redirects to pre-recorded, informational blurbs such as park hours, rules, and regulations. But, after suffering through the lengthy messages, he at last heard a prompt asking him to press the 9 button if he needed additional assistance. Perhaps this would get him in contact with an actual person.

"Parks Service, Scottsdale office," came the woman's voice on the other end of the phone line. "How may I direct your call?"

"Ah, hello Miss," Kronk pretended to stumble with his words as he replied to the female voice. "I'm really hoping you might be able to provide a little help… I was out hiking a few days ago out at Lost Dutchman Park and had a bit of an accident... Ranger Littlecreek was such a huge assistance to me and I wanted to give proper thanks."

"Well, Ranger Littlecreek isn't in the office, but if you'd like, I'll be happy to connect you to his voicemail. If he's within range of a tower, the call connects to his cell phone, otherwise it will go straight to his voicemail."

"That would be lovely. Thank you so much!" Kronk replied, trying to keep his fake tone sounding pleasant and gracious as he was now one giant step closer to locating the Sheriff and the pirate.

"I hate to repeat myself here, but are you absolutely certain that there's a way to get Killian up to that cavern?" Emma asked as she stared at Carlos' map, trying to imagine the terrain they were to encounter tomorrow. When they'd been so unceremoniously dropped out of the portal, Killian had at least been able to walk.

"Trust me – I've got that covered," Carlos assured her. "It won't be graceful, and it probably won't be very comfortable, but it'll do the job."

"I suppose you're the wilderness expert around here, so I guess I'll have to believe that."

"I promise you, it's less of a stretch than me believing that Captain Hook is actually sleeping in Grandmother's recliner," he retorted.

"Touché," Emma laughed, preparing to ask another question when Carlos' phone began to ring, its blaring musical ringtone catching them both by surprise. He yanked the phone out of his pocket to silence it, glancing at the display screen as he did.

"It's a forwarded call from the field office," he explained as he squelched the sound. "Don't recognize the caller though. I'll let it roll to voicemail."

"No, it's okay," Emma replied. "It's probably important if they're forwarding it to you on your day off."

"Okay, okay... Excuse me a moment then…," he apologized as he took a few steps away from the picnic table while answering the call. "Ranger Littlecreek here. What can I do for you?"

"Ranger Littlecreek," a deep, masculine voice repeated his name in his ear. "I believe you may be able to assist me…" There was a momentary pause before the voice continued. "Where is Sheriff Emma?"

Stunned at the mention of Emma's name, Carlos fell silent before asking for clarification. "Sheriff Emma? Who is this?"

"My name is Nehemiah Kronk. If you know the Sheriff as well as I believe you do, you should already know who I am."

"Unfortunately, I do," Carlos growled, now taking a defensive posture while his brain tried to process how Kronk might have learned his identity and phone number. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want to know where the Sheriff is. Since she had a package delivered to your address, I'm well aware that you are in contact with her and I need to speak to her."

"And what makes you think that I'll give you that information?" Carlos asked, his raised voice garnering Emma's attention. "As a sworn officer of the law, I'll be damned if I'll give you any information about the Sheriff's whereabouts!"

At the loudly mentioned title Sheriff, Emma realized who Carlos was speaking to. She had no inkling as to how Kronk had managed to get Carlos' number, but this was her battle. "Give me the phone," she ordered as Carlos vehemently shook his head No. "Please – just give me the phone. I know it's Kronk." Carlos frowned as he begrudgingly relinquished the phone to Emma, passing the device to her with a look that seemed to warn her against talking to this man, but Carlos also wasn't about to argue with her either.

"Hello, Kronk," Emma greeted him, trying to disguise the trace of fear in her voice with irritation. "What the hell do you want? I know you've been looking all over greater Phoenix for us, but this city has gotten a bit bigger than it was in your time…"

"So, you know who I really am?" Kronk responded, unfazed that Emma would have learned of his history. "Then you should know that you have something I need, Sheriff." His tone clearly mocked her irritability. "I intend to track you down to recover my property."

"Good luck with that," she scoffed. "If you had any idea where we were, you wouldn't be wasting your time calling. I don't know what you want from us, but we'll be long gone from here long before you find us…"

"I just want to get home, too," Kronk insisted. "And you have something I need to do that."

"The dagger won't help you travel back in time," she stated as Carlos' ears perked up with mention of the weapon. Did Kronk know that the dagger had been in the package somehow?

"Do you really think that's what I want to do?" Kronk laughed into her ear. "Why would I want to go back to that backward time? And the dagger itself is useless right now - which is why I left it back in your quaint little town. Unless it's whole, it isn't any good to either of us."

Kronk's words had the cogs churning inside her mind. They'd already established that it had to have been the dagger – specifically Killian's blood activating the dagger's magic – that opened the portal. Kronk had left it behind intentionally because it was broken. And it was broken because the tip snapped off when it struck Killian's spine. In an instant, it all fit - Kronk was after the missing piece of the blade and there was no way in hell she was going to hand it over.

"You still have no idea where to find us," she responded as she at last was able to put the missing piece of motive into place.

"I may not know your exact location, but I know who you are with, so it's only a matter of time until I find you both," Kronk insisted, exuding more confidence than he really should've had.

"Goodbye, Kronk," she spat as she disconnected the call, her hand trembling as she returned the phone to its owner.

"You okay?" Carlos asked her, fully understanding her unease with the call and of course, the caller.

"You think there's any chance that he knows where we are?" she wondered.

"That's pretty unlikely," Carlos assured her. "It was a forwarded call from the field office so he doesn't actually have my cell phone number and no one there is going to give out my personal information like that number or my address. Even if he happened to stumble upon it, he's not going to learn anything about Grandmother, so you're safe here. There are only a handful of people who know we're here and I trust every single one of them."

"Alright – you've made me feel a little better," she replied with a ghost of a smile on her lips. "But honestly, I would feel a whole lot better right now if we got out of the open."

"I'm sure he has absolutely no idea where to find you," he insisted, hoping to convince her that they were safe. "It's probably far more dangerous to risk Grandmother's wrath if we wake your husband too soon." He'd meant that statement to lighten the mood, but he couldn't say that he was any less concerned about the situation himself. He almost wanted to suggest making the trek up to the mountain tonight, but thankfully, common sense prevailed as he knew they still had preparations to make. He was determined to see his friends make it home, but they had to do this the right way, and at the moment, getting Grandmother's counsel was a necessity.

Tagging my story followers @killian-whump and @hookaroo for the latest chapter and yes, ladies, there will be more whump coming very soon!

#cs ff #cs fan fiction #cs fan fic #captain swan ff #only a little superstitious

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anxiouslyfred · 6 years

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Doctor Anxiety

Summary: Before Accepting Anxiety, Logan comes down with a cold and when Virgil discovers it becomes a rather frantic side trying to look after him.

Triggers: Sickness, Panic (Or at least I think that’s how some of my descriptions came across as

Tags: @awesomelissawho, @fandersfic-virgil

5 sneezes in the last hour had come from the living room and Virgil could no longer ignore them. It might just be nothing, as he’d hoped when he heard the first one, just some extra dust of pollen having managed to get into the mindscape but now it was concerning.

Even if Roman was going to threaten him again for being in the communal spaces he had to know the others were okay, and possibly do some dusting just in case that was what caused them to sneeze so much. Patton might be trying to include Anxiety more in the meals the other sides had together but he could tell that Logan and Roman just put up with it for the fatherly trait, but even so sneezing that loudly couldn’t be ignored anymore.

Appearing in the living room however immediately had Virgil’s worries increasing, because Logan was curled into the armchair the others usually avoided in favour of the sofa, sniffling. His nose was red and it looks like the logical side was shivering ever so slightly even as he hunched over Thomas’s diary and 5 post it notes that Anxiety presumed were appointments or plans Thomas had made.

“AHHH-CHOO!” Logan sneezing again made Anxiety jumped into action instead of scanning over the other side, snatching the diary and everythings else from the other trait.

“No more working while you’re ill.” Virgil insisted when Logan immediately scrambled to take them back glaring at the hands now holding his work.

Logan scowled, still focused on the diary. “I’ve told you already, Roman, I need to get this done.”

“Not Roman, and not going to listen to anything that leaves you working. You’re sick, Logic.” Virgil pointed out, sinking out even as he spoke, rushing to put the diary in Logan’s room, more chucking it through the door than anything else while grabbing the blankets he had collected in his room to take back to the living room.

Logic was standing by the time Anxiety returned, blowing his nose but a determined glint in them before he found what seemed to be a blanket heap herding him back to the sofa. “I have work to do, Patton, I don’t need any blanket.”

“Seriously, if Patton let you get away without a blanket when you’re sick, then I need to have a word with Dad about how bad illness can become. Now lie down.” Virgil demanded, still full of frantic energy and making up anything could that might make the other side feel better.

“Anxiety, I need...” Logan tried to protest, pushing the blankets to the floor and making to stand until Anxiety wrapped one tightly around his legs.

“You need to rest, Logic. You need warmth and rest and Liquid.” Virgil almost cheered the last word, having been trying to work out what he always wanted most when feeling unwell. Knowing what to get next didn’t however stop the anxious trait from having to keep fighting Logan to get the blankets wrapped around him. “That’s what you need, something to drink. Stay here, stay warm I’ll get you some juice. You like orange in the mornings so I’ll get that one.”

Logan could only blink and try to hold back a sneeze as Anxiety tore away from him into the kitchen. They might have been getting along a little better since their debate but this amount of fussing was far more than he’d expected, especially since neither Patton nor Roman had been particularly bothered after he insisted on working through it.

“You decided to take a rest then Logan?” Patton asked coming down the stairs with the blanket he’d tried giving to Logan earlier.

Before Logic could reply however Anxiety was back in the room. “Juice, you need to stay hydrated right, so juice. Oh, I forgot to bring the tissues over. Take the damn drink, Logic so I can fetch them.” Virgil ranted, only just registering Morality as he rushed past the fatherly side. “Morality, why didn’t you force him to take a break, Logic can’t keep working if he’s sick. Why did you let him try to.”

“Because it didn’t seem that bad, Kiddo. It’s just a cold.” Patton blinked, almost feeling like he’d walked into a hurricane as Anxiety dashed to fetch tissues as soon as Logan had taken the glass from his hands.

“How can we be sure of that? He keeps sneezing and was shivering and looks like his nose is blocked and he has bags under his eyes like he hasn’t been sleeping and he’s LOGIC! I’m the one whose trait makes it normal to struggle with sleep but he shouldn’t look tired, self care is like, Logan’s favourite thing to talk about and oh my god! It really is dusty on these shelves. I’ll get to cleaning that right now.” Virgil’s words were spilling from him almost as quickly as he was thinking them, so once there were tissues within arms reach of Logan he was back in the kitchen getting cloths and cleaning supplies to start getting rid of any dust there was around.

Logan let out another sneeze before glancing at Morality, hoping he might be able to help. “I’m being forced into resting by Anxiety it appears. Would you mind fetching the diary so I can keep working on Thomas’s sched...”

“NO! You need to rest, Logan, no more working until you’re better.” Anxiety commanded once more, glaring fiercely, almost more scary than when he was trying to stop them from letting Thomas do something potentially dangerous.

Patton began to frown a little. “Anxiety, are you okay? This really is just a cold, nothing to get so worked up over.”

“Why are you asking me this? Logic is sick, we need to look after him. What else do you need? Food, would food help?” Virgil brushed the concern off, watching Logan closely as though he could get worse any moment even while asking his questions.

“Can you just breathe for a moment Kiddo? He’s going to be okay, it’s just a small cold.” Patton attempted to sooth, though Logan coughing almost immediately halted any calming impact he could have had.

Virgil’s eyes immediately went to the glass of juice which Logan had drunk half of already. “Do you need more juice, Logan? Or something soft to eat? What about toast?”

“Soup is better for unwell people, Thunder Tornado.” Roman’s voice came from in front of the TV to announce he’d just popped up.

“Soup! I’ll get soup then, Keep Logic resting you two.” Virgil nodded, hurrying back into the kitchen now the two other sides were there to look after Logan.

In the living room however Roman just stared at where Anxiety had been stood. “Okay, why is he so worked up?”

“He’s looking after Logan, isn’t it so sweet?” Patton grinned, realising how much Anxiety must care to be this upset about Logan’s illness.

“I don’t need looking after though. I was perfectly fine just working through it the same as I always do for colds.” Logan muttered, pouting towards the door, but not making a move out of his blankets in case it summoned the Anxious side from the kitchen once more.

Morality frowned at the response. “Now, Logan, he’s just trying to look after you. There’s nothing wrong with being worried about each other.”

“There is when he immediately went frantic as soon as he saw I was sneezing. I was perfectly fine working on the scheduled before he stole it from me.” Logan insisted, crossing his arms and hunching into the blanket.

“Does he actually know how to look after us when we’re sick though? Anxiety literally never left his room except for videos until after your debate.” Roman sceptically asked, trying to shove some of the many blankets closer to Logan so he could sit on the sofa since Patton had taken the chair.

“Ah.” Logan nodded, his thoughts fairly clouded by the cold but Roman’s words helping him understand a little more. “Perhaps one of you two should actually help him learn how then, since he is completely focused on looking after me however he can work out to do so and quite frantic about it.”

“I will. I’ll helped our hurricane healer.” Roman declared, standing up once more to head into the kitchen until Virgil appeared in the doorway holding a bowl of soup.

Virgil just blinked, glaring lightly at the movement before looking around the living room and back to the tray in his hands. “Is there a cushion or big book or something that Logan can have on his lap to keep this on so it can’t spill on him as easily? Scold burns can happen too easily.”

A click of Roman’s fingers had a cushioned tray set over Logan’s legs even as Patton moved to help the ill side into a more seated position. “Anxiety, would you mind if I aided you in looking after our logical side? Between a Dark Knight and a Prince we should have him feeling better in no time.” Roman offered easily, though didn’t move to take the food from Virgil at all as he headed over to Logan.

“How...How can we do that properly? Will medicine work? Where would we even find it in the mindscape?” Anxiety asked, worry shining through his eyes as the one thing he always wanted but had never been able to get when he’d been sick suddenly jumped into his mind.

“Easy, Batman, we simply fetch it from Thomas’s memories, but we need to let him eat first.” Roman instructed, before glancing over Anxiety. “While Logic eats however, why don’t you take a few deep breaths and try to calm down a little. All this hurried activity around him might make Logan take longer to heal.”

Virgil sucking in a breath, nodding. “Sure, I guess I can do that.”

#virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #sickness #fred writes

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joshslater · 3 years

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Unexpected Haircut pt. 2.5

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"Now, try this on," he says and hands me a cream white sweatshirt with a big Lonsdale logo across the chest. I do as he says and replaces the tight T-shirt with the looser sweatshirt. It's barely on before his dick is in me again, slowly massaging my prostrate. The chastity device is back on, and my dick is painfully struggling inside it, leaking precum like crazy. Too bad, since I'm now half-wearing some Puma joggers. He wants to make sure all of the clothes fit before I leave, as he still has all the receipts. And apparently he wants to have sex with me in every single piece of my new wardrobe. "We must test them under realistic conditions," he said which made me blush. And test we did. He put on a cock ring and we've gone from room to room, doing different positions on different furniture, swapping out one piece of clothing at a time. I don't know why I'm surprised by his stamina. He owns several gyms and looks like it.

"I think this is the last one," and hands over a pair of glossy adidas shorts, light blue with dark blue stripes. As I put them on he carefully removes his cock ring. "Let's finish in bed. You ride me as hard as you can, keeping the shorts on as far up as you can." He lies down comfortably on the bed, naked except for a T-shirt, with his arms behind his head. He closes his eyes. I climb into the bed, straddles him, lowers my shorts a bit, and carefully inserts his dick into my now well-loosened hole. His faint smile grows into more of a proper smile. I want him to enjoy this. I don't know if that means I want him to last as long as possible or to squeeze out another load from his as quickly as possible. I start to lift and lower myself on his dick, and find the right angle to rock back and forth that feels the most like what he had been doing for the past however long it's been. Once I find that I try to match the frequency that he seemed to keep for most of the time. I'm hoping he has shown me, inadvertently or on purpose, what is best for him.

I can feel a slight squirm below me, and continue just the same. Then there is a moan, and I know for sure I'm doing things right. He hasn't let anything slip out during the entire evening. I would like to speed up, but know that no matter what I do I will not come again tonight, not while in the cage, so I keep doing the same. It goes on for what probably feels like much longer than it actually is, until I hear the best sound I've ever heard. A deep squeal over and over, as I feel him pumping cum into me. Then we both remain still for a moment, me sitting with his dick up in me. Then he opens his eyes, looks at me, and asks "Do you want to watch me shower?"

He has a rather large bathroom directly adjacent to his bedroom. As I climb off him he tells me to pull up my shorts and "keep it in", meaning his cum. He athletically jumps out of bed. I do as he said and follow him into the bathroom, where he directs me to sit on the floor, looking into the shower. With slow and deliberate motions he steps into the shower and turns on the water. The water makes his white T-shirt cling to his body, and reveals his pecs and abs through the fabric. He isn't posing exactly, but he certainly isn't just taking a shower either. It's like a porn movie playing out right in front of me. I sit cross-legged on the bathroom floor, trying my best to keep his seed in my ass while my dick continues to strain the cage. He is taking off the T-shirt and slowly and deliberately lather himself with soap, taking care to not miss anything. The legs, the ass, almost masturbating when cleaning the foreskin, the front, the armpits. It's the sexiest thing I've ever witnessed. He rinses thoroughly, picks a bottle of shampoo, and thoroughly lathers his hair while the water streams down the rest of his body. His movements are exaggerated, clearly putting on a show for me. Finally he lets the water clear out the foam from his hair. He makes a few flexing poses in the water before turning it off. He then takes just as much care with a large, fluffy bath towel to dry himself.

"The shower is all yours. Try the green bottle. I'll prepare your room." he says and leaves me just as horny as this morning, despite hours of fucking.

I strip, step into the shower and turn on the water. He has one of those really wide showerheads up high, creating something more like rain than a normal shower. The warm water feels fantastic on my sore, exhausted body, and it makes a completely new sensation on my head. I lose track of time as I just stand there soaking while what we just did flashes through my mind. The green bottle, I recall as my gaze is unfocused on the rack of hair and body products. The "refreshing and revitalizing menthol, eucalyptus and tea tree" soap lingers and tickles, like a chemical reaction with the skin, and makes it even more sensitive to the impact of the rainfall. I'm again lost in thought for I don't know how many minutes before I reluctantly turn off the water, dry myself with another towel. With neither Lonsdale shirt, adidas shorts, nor socks obviously ruined, I put them all back on and go look for Chris.

I find him in the guest bedroom. He has just finished collecting all my new clothes from all over the place and put them in a pile on the sofa in the room. He is back in jeans and shirt. "We have so much to do tomorrow, I think it is best we go to bed now. You look so good in that. You should sleep in it. See if you like it."

After he left I'm considering what he said. On the one hand it felt really wrong to sleep wearing clothes, especially these ones I'd just had sex in. On the other this was his weekend to control, so why not try it? Was it his weekend to control? I decide to try it anyway and exhausted I immediately fall asleep.

His footsteps outside the door wake me up.

"Breakfast's ready in the kitchen. You're ready?" he says and leaves without waiting for an answer? A bit sleep drunk I wonder why he would think I'm ready, until I realize the bedside lamp is still lit and I'm lying on top of the bed wearing socks, shorts, and a sweatshirt. I step out of bed and immediately feel sore in places unfamiliar to me.

In the kitchen Chris is sitting on a barstool by a small kitchen table, already eating from a bowl. He is dressed much more relaxed than yesterday, T-shirt and shorts. He motions for me to take a seat at another barstool with a similar bowl in front of it. As I get closer I see it is full of fruits and stuff, but I can see from his already started bowl that there is yogurt below.

We eat in silence until he finishes his bowl. Then he then lays out his plans for the day. We'll start with some cardio, because he does every day. As he says it I feel the soreness from yesterday a little extra. After cardio he has an outdoor surprise for me, and then back at his place to relax and have a soft evening at home.

"Sounds great," I say without actually having any details on any of the things he talked about. I swallow the last spoonful of yogurt.

"Ok, let's go."

"Like this?" Just as I say it I realize that the shorts and sweatshirt I'm wearing are perfectly fine gym clothes, as are basically everything in my new wardrobe.

"Add shoes perhaps," he says and winks at me, and puts both our bowls and spoons in the dishwasher.

I put on my new Air Max TN and he some adidas running shoes, and we exit the building.

"Ok, keep up with me," he says and dashes off. I do my best to keep up, but cardio isn't my thing. Sure, I spend all my day walking and carrying stuff, so I'm not a couch potato, but it's walking, not running. It only takes a few blocks before my breathing is getting loud. There is a park to our right, and he leads me in there and stops by the first bench.

"Take a seat," he says with an effortless voice. I sit down, and he right next to me. He grabs my arm and puts a finger on my wrist to feel my pulse. He concentrates on his oversized, black wristwatch. "Ok, let's sit here for a few minutes."

I realize I'm checking him out. Again. He looks so relaxed, watching the pedestrians outside the park. He grabs my arm and checks my pulse a second time. "Ok, let's make a slow jog around the park and then back home." We don't share the definition of "slow jog" and I'm tasting blood all the way around the park and back to his place, but at least I'm not worried about killing myself.

When we step in through his front door my legs tremble. I have no idea how we can do anything more today. "Go upstairs and swap into the grey Nike tracksuit," he tells me. I kick off my shoes and wobble up the stairs to do as told. I keep the socks on, but replace the shirt and shorts. I would normally shower, but whatever I sweated during the sprint dried up during the jog.

Back down the stairs I see that Chris has changed into something quite different from what I've seen him in before. He's wearing a black hoodie, black Nike joggers, and the same running shoes. In his hands he is holding one of those radio-controlled anal vibrators, and a tube of lube. "Ready for a different game?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." "Your shoes first."

My shoes are still warm from the run. Then I drop the joggers, bend forward, and I can feel the vibrator slide in easily, right up to my prostate. Once outside again he says "Let's try it" and rubbed my head at the same time as I could feel a quick vibration in my ass. It's sent a shudder of pleasure through my body. Fuck that felt good.

"Ok, I'll explain what we are going to do. I'm going to give you small tasks, and you have to do them without giving away when I zap you. Ok?" "Yep." We exit his place, and only a few buildings down the street he stops and hands me a tenner. "I want to you go into Saeed's over there and act suspicious by the beer fridge. Once I buzz you pick a can of lager, pay, and come out with it." "Suspicious?" "Well, loitering. Shouldn't be hard."

With that, I walk across the street into the small supermarket. I don't really know what acting suspicious would look like, so I walk slowly down the aisles picking up stuff, looking at them, and putting them back as if I'm not really interested in any of them. I also try to keep out of sight from Saeed or whoever is at the checkout counter. It's not that big of a place, so I'm soon a the back by the fridges, and it doesn't take many minutes to look through all the brands of beer and soda in there. Still no signal, so I do the same as I did with the shelves. Open fridges, pick up cans to look at them and then put them back.

"Can I help you?" the cashier asks me from the other end of the aisle. He's in his fifties and looks middle eastern. "No, I'm fine," I answer, and continue to aimlessly eye the cans. "What are you looking for?" He is still keeping his distance. "Just a beer." "Buy one or not, but do it now." I'm not sure what it is I'm hearing in his voice. It's something unsettling and unfamiliar. Is it anxiety? Fear? I don't know what to say or do, so I just continue to stare through the glass door of the fridge. "Leave. I want you to leave," he continues. At that moment I can feel the tingle of the radio-controlled bullet in my ass spreading its vibrations through my body. My locked dick helplessly strains against its confines. I'm a confused mixture of emotions. I'm horny as fuck again, surprisingly, but I'm also feeling bad for having caused Saeed or whoever his distress. "I'll have this one," I say, grabbing a cold Heineken from the fridge in front of me. He doesn't see me, I realize. He sees a skinhead in a grey sweatshirt and joggers trying to nick some beer cans from him. "£1.49," he says, remaining in place, looking at me. I walk up to him and hand him the tenner I had stuffed into my pocket. He grabs it and walks over to the register to bring my change.

"What the fuck was that?" I ask Chris when I'm out of the store. "It was embarrassing. I think I scared him." "We have work to do then. Open the can and have a sip."

Next up is a string of clothing stores, a book store, and some other small shops where Chris has me sip my Heineken until I'm asked to leave. Instead of having the vibrator as any cue, Chris is just buzzing that whenever he feels like. Sometimes it's when I drink from the can, sometimes when someone notices me, sometimes I can't figure out at all why he pressed the button. When we walked through a sports store together he buzzed whenever we looked at clothes he approved of. With the can long since empty and more of a prop he tells me to bin it and we enter the lobby of a small hotel that looks upscale.

"Tell the staff you need to piss and ask where the loo is," Chris directs me. I walk up to the check-in counter and halfway through the sentence I get a shock of vibrations on full blast so my voice shifts noticeably. I must look like a lunatic or drunk. Despite this I'm directed to the bathroom by the stone-faced manager. At the urinal, just as I'm about to bring out my dick I remember I'm locked and decide to use one of the stalls instead, in case someone else enters. But then I realize I can't sit down because I might lose the vibrator. Standing there with the cage in hand I'm afraid I might dribble all over the joggers, and wet stains would show really well on the light grey fabric, so I lower them all the way to my ankles before I start pissing.

"You took your time," Chris remarked as I met him in the lobby on my way out. "Yeah, I'm still getting used to the cage." "Ready for lunch?" I first thought that would be a bit early, and I don't have a watch or my phone with me, so I haven't been checking the time. When I glance at the wall clock in the lobby I see to my surprise it's already well past noon. "Yeah, I'm actually a bit hungry," I realize.

We walk a couple of blocks while Chris explains that he and his father would always have a walk on Saturdays to a chippy near where he grew up, so the first thing he would always do when he moved somewhere was to try out all the local chippy shops to find the one that resembled his memory the best. "So is this one the one you like best?" I ask as he stops us outside an ordinary-looking fish and chips shop. "Nah. This one is good." He orders two fried haddocks with chips and two beers. Then all throughout the meal he pushes the vibrator button every time I attempt to drink. The first time I dribbled some beer on the front of my sweatshirt. The second time I spit out some on my chips, but the rest of them I was ready for.

"I'm a board-licensed massage therapist," he says once we are back at his place. "Would you like a thorough full body massage?" What kind of stupid question is that. Of course I would like one. "It can be quite the experience," he warns and brags at the same time. He tells me to get naked, except for the socks. He brings out a foldable massage table from a closet and sets it up in the middle of the upper living room, and tells me to lie down on it. He studies me for a moment. "I want to use some oils. I want you to glisten like an oiled-up porn star. Can I shave you?" I feel dumb for thinking that he already did shave me, only to too slowly realize he means all the body. "Yes," I answer, still without not entirely having thought it through. But once already answered I couldn't really think of any good reason not to.

"You just relax. Close your eyes if you want," he says and leaves the room. I decide to do as he says and shut my eyes. He comes back a few minutes later and puts down a tray next to me. He grabs my right arm and moves it up over my head. He wipes my armpit with a damp towel and I can feel shaving cream being applied. Is he using a brush? Somehow I don't want to look, content just feeling it. Then I feel the razor gliding across the skin. Then another wipe with the towel. Despite moving slowly and deliberately it's over in a blink, like he has practiced this a lot of times. Then the same on the other side. Move the arm, wipe, brush, shave, wipe.

His hand moves across my front, and I can feel him rubbing the trail below my belly button, but he doesn't wipe or brush or shave. Instead he picks something from the tray and then there is the click of the lock of the dick cage. Again, a few deliberate movements and my dick is free. Wipe. Brush. This time he is taking a lot of care with the razor, whatever type it is. I really don't want to look now, but somehow I feel like if someone were to hold a razor blade against my dick I want it to be Chris. I can feel him expertly moving up and down the shaft, around the groin, and working on the ballsack while stretching it. I'm having a 90-degree hardon all throughout. I'm a bit surprised given yesterday, but then again he has been teasing me all day.

After he wiped all the area he continues to wipe down the right leg, all the way down to the sock that he scrunches down to my ankle. I'm having a flash of indecision. Would I want shaved legs, but then it hits me how silly it would be to draw the line there, and not when he shaved my head or my nuts. He works on the legs with the same slow efficiency as the rest of the body. Wipe, brush, and then with long strokes he shaves the legs.

Once both legs are done he returns to the tray and I feel something poured on my chest and warmth slowly spreading from it. The smell of locker room eucalyptus confirms some sort of athletic cream is in the mix. He quickly works the liquid all over my upper body, across the chest, to the neck, down the arms, and in my armpits. He takes some more and massages it all over my dick and balls. It's not Bengay, but still quite the sensation, as if I hadn't had a lot of them recently. He continues down each leg.

"Let us wait for that to work a bit. Flip over." "What?" I open my eyes and almost feel disoriented looking up at Chris. He's wearing a skin-tight white top that shows off his muscles just as well as naked. I'm already fully erect, but I can see from his smirk that he knows what I'm thinking. Almost reluctantly I flip over and put my face into the hole in the padded table. "Hey, I forgot about this," he says and pulls out the vibrator with a rude slurp sound.

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ccorneliast · 7 years

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the real thing - a carrison fanfiction

Rating: T Summary: Carrie and Harrison dance in France. Set in 1977. Based off of the new carrison pictures. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from our imagination and we’re not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). A/N: this is for @leiasreys, who asked for something based on those wonderful new pics. also, to the anons who requested it!

On AO3

I hope you like it and don’t forget to tell me your thoughts on it!

“Miss Fisher?” he repeats, louder this time. “Do you?”

The first time Carrie and Harrison were together in France was in 1977. The party was in full swing when they arrived, hand in hand. If Carrie’s memory wasn’t failing, that had been one of the first times (if not the first) where they actually held hands in a public setting. It felt amazing, for a lack of a better word.

“Harrison, Carrie, look to the left!” a man carrying a huge camera shouted. “To the left, big smiles!”

Harrison immediately stiffened and crossed his arms in front of him. Carrie’s hand travelled up to his bicep, lacing her arm through his.

“To the left!” the man insisted.

Harrison obliged, but Carrie didn’t. Her gaze was glued to her date for the night, the impossibly grumpy but oh-so-dashing co-star. He did look insanely attractive in his black suit and white shirt. She’d picked her black dress by chance, not knowing they’d be matching for the whole night, and she couldn’t have been happier that she’d done so. The pictures look incredible.

Sensing him getting tenser by the minute and the ease and carefree mood from a few hours prior dissipating faster than sand in a sandstorm, Carrie tugged on his sleeve and forced his gaze on hers:

“You’re barking up…” she whispers, smiling sweetly.

“The wrong tree!” his mouth metamorphoses into a wide grin.

It’s a sort of game they play. Out of all the games in their repertoire: cat and mouse in between takes, holding their breath the longest while kissing, hide and seek (that their hearts played every day), this was by far the silliest. They didn’t play it often, it was merely a way of alleviating unwanted strain. Yes, they finished each other’s sentences, but not in a cheesy, couple-y way. When they did it, the choice of sayings was never by chance, their voices always a specific tone and in sync. It was a coping mechanism sometimes too. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after all these months.

“Drastic times…” He offers, his arm languidly brushing her torso.

“Ask for drastic measures?”

He laughs and locks his hand in hers. “Call.”

“Ugh, you’re right.” She feigns hurt and defeat, cracking another lazy smile from his lips. “Alright hotshot, my turn.” She scours her mind for a saying she hasn’t used up already as he leads them towards the bar.

“Hit the…” she says, a little too loudly.

“Hold on, baby.” He says. Wait, what did he say?

He turns to the bartender and asks for a glass of scotch. “And the lady?” a thick French accent echoes.

“Oh, I don’t drink.” She replies. Harrison laughs.

“Come on,” his shoulder nudges her, inciting her have a drink. “My treat.”

She blushes at the thought of Harrison Ford buying her a drink. God, I’m hopeless. “Alright, a glass of wine, please.”

Harrison looks pleased enough, turning around to lean back against the bar counter. She takes a tiny tentative step to the right, stepping in front of him. He chuckles at her sudden demure posture and brings a warm hand to her cheek. She smiles, leaning into the warmth. Then, his other hand lands on her waist, gripping it just a little too hard. This gesture forces him closer to her, their faces only inches apart. She closes her eyes, leaning in ever-so-slightly. He leans in too. The room is filled to the brim with noise and chattering and music, but suddenly she loses all notion of English, French and musical notes. He’s the only word she really needs.

“Mister, your drinks.” The bartender declares. Damn.

Harrison clears his throat and pretends like they weren’t about to start making out in public: “Thank you.” He hands her her drink, stepping away from her somewhat.

“Could you please repeat?” He asks, his voice firm.

“Huh?” her look is of pure confusion.

“It’s your turn.” He waves with his hand towards her.

“Oh,” she exhales, taking a sip of her wine. “Hit the…” Carrie repeats.

He pretends to ponder her question for a second before answering: “Hit the hay!”

She furrows her brow and shoots back: “Hit the sack!��

“No one says “Hit the sack”, Carrie!” Harrison teases.

“Well, no one says “Hit the hay” either, Mr. Ford.” She playfully punches his arm and takes another gulp of her wine. She’ll be tipsy in no time.

“Agree to-“ she cuts him off.

“Agree to disagree!” he laughs as he realizes her silliness. She laughs right along with him.

“Come on kid, whatcha say you take this old man for a spin out there on the dance floor?” He sets their drinks down without waiting for her reply and their fingers intertwine. Guess that “baby” was a one-time thing then.

And to the dance floor they go.

She smiles so tenderly as his hands travel the length of her bare arms, locking them on her hips. Like clockwork, her hands wrap around his neck, her fingers dancing in between his brown locks. The song changes to a more upbeat tune thankfully, taking the pressure off of them to slow dance in the middle of all these strangers.

The tempo speeds up and Harrison twirls Carrie around, her little black dress swaying along with her movements. She’s only holding his hand at this point, but he tugs her back into his chest, so close, his hand resting on her back. She holds on to him. His other hand finds hers. He grips it tightly. Their faces regain their previous status of being mere inches apart. Their noses brush, softly.

Then: “A penny for your-“ he whispers, so close to her lips.

“Your thoughts.” Her heart practically jumps out of her body.

“No, not to complete. To answer.” His lips curve into a charming smile just for her. Just for me.

“Oh,” she stiffens in his embrace. I’m in love with you and I want you to take me right here on the dance floor, in a foreign country where we don’t know anyone. Instead, she murmurs: “I’m so happy.”

His hand works its way further around her, their bodies completely glued to each other’s.

“Carrie,” his nose nudges hers, compelling her to look straight into his eyes. Oh, so blue. “Kid, I- I, hum,” he tries.

Then, like a chant inside her mind: What? What, what, what?

“You’re it, kid.” He manages to spit out. “You’re the one I want.”

Wait a second… Does he mean that… He actually likes me?

“Wait, you actually like me?” she shakes her head, her hair cascading down her back. “I’m so confused.”

“Nothin’ to be confused for.” He sets her hand free only to graze his thumb along her bottom lip. “You know me inside out. And even though we’re together most days, I still want one more second with you.”

She shakes her head at the unbelievable words he’s speaking. It’s too much, too perfect, too good to be true.

“Let me get this straight,” her voice is smooth, like honey. “You… love me?” he suppresses a shy laugh, but nods. “You love me?”

“Yes, you.” This time he laughs, a whole, wonderful laugh.

“That’s,” she starts, still disbelieving. “Well, that’s really good.” She laughs along with him. “That’s really really good!” she laughs harder and he does so too. And they stand there, laughing their eyes out, as a flash goes off in their direction. Now, that’s a picture I’ll hang up in the living room.

“This is it, huh?” she giggles.

“You betcha,” his hand cradles the back of her head. “The real thing, the whole shebang.”

His warm fingers press against the smooth skin of her neck, propelling her forward. Her lips travel half the way to his, hovering there for a second. She savors this victory and she already knows how it’ll taste: sweet.

He holds her close to him, his lips pressing against hers softly. It’s an innocent kiss, a loving kiss. He makes sure to thrust every ounce of loving he has stored in him into this one kiss, channeling all the missed opportunities and all the passion he feels for her in this one lock of lips.

So, when the man asks her again, so many years later: “Do you take this man to be your wedded husband?” Carrie nods. Then, she winks at his groom: “It takes two to tango.”

#carrison #carrie fisher #harrison ford #carrison trash #carrison fanfiction #rpf #tita writes

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vmheadquarters · 7 years

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What Goes Around... (Part 27a)

This is PART 27a of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-seven different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :) You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 27a is written by @cheshirecatstrut

[Part 26]

PART I: REUNION

VERONICA

“Oh SHIT,” Veronica whispers, meeting her father’s gaze. “Wei’s in on it with them!”

She takes off speed-walking towards the lying SOB, who’s wandered away from the group—to do what, she’s not sure, maybe berate him until he cries, because how DARE HE? But Dad grabs her arm.

“You can’t,” he warns. “Wei doesn’t know we know, and right now, that’s our only advantage. He’s the one who called these cops—we might be witnessing a cover-up right now, not an investigation.”

She reverses direction, but he doesn’t let go…instead, he draws her away from the crowd. “Veronica, you can’t tell Logan either, he’s still set to transmit. If ALL the background chatter in Wei’s earpiece falls silent, the guy’s bound to get suspicious.”

V nods reluctant agreement. Logan’s currently holding Lydia so Norris can cuff her, while discussing antidote-formulating techniques with Mac (using analogies to Powerpuff Girls). “So when Wei mentioned he killed a cop…do you think he meant LEO?”

“Honey…” Keith sighs. “I’m sorry, but we have to assume that’s true. This whole situation is much graver than we realized. We can’t trust the information Wei gave us, except the part about a corrupt Neptune PD, and we have very little other data. We need the help of more reliable authorities.”

“And what would motivate reliable authorities to work with us?” She frowns as a Neptune deputy wanders past. “The enemy’s taken charge already--I’m sure they’re erasing leads as we speak.”

“Can you trust me?” Keith gives her the patient look she dreads, unconsciously checking his shoulder holster.

She crosses her arms. “I already hate this plan.”

Gently, he untucks her hand, places the remote in it, and curls her fingers around. “I’m armed, I’ve got my wits about me, and we still have the element of surprise. Plus, Norris Clayton hasn’t left; and whatever his faults, aggression-wise, I’m sure that young man isn’t crooked. He’ll help me put Wei, Jeff and Lydia in jail where they belong. You and Logan should take the antidote back to Wallace, then get him to a hospital.”

He’s right, Veronica knows he’s right, but that doesn’t make leaving him behind easier. Flinging her arms around his neck, she murmurs, “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, honey,” he says. “And don’t worry so much. No lowlife’s managed to best me yet.”

“Not for lack of trying,” she reminds him, but manages a smile. “I’m a grown-up now, though, and a full Mars Investigations partner. Tough moments like this one come with the territory.”

She kisses him on the cheek, turns, and strides confidently to Dick’s SUV. Makes a point of not looking back.

KEITH

“When COULDN’T you handle the tough moments?” Keith murmurs, watching her retreat. “With aplomb, even?”

He pats his gun once more for luck as Logan’s ‘What’s wrong?’ is abruptly silenced—darling daughter’s no doubt filling her boyfriend in via Morse code. A moment later, Dick Casablancas’ SUV squeals away… en route, full speed, to save another underdog.

Keith’s never completely trusted the Echolls kid, despite his Navy-facilitated turnaround; he’s got a better soul than Aaron, but fronts with the same practiced smarm. Logan would undoubtedly take a bullet for Veronica, though…and tonight, that’s company Keith wants his only child keeping.

A quick look around verifies Breitski’s across the lot, discussing ways to keep this fiasco out of the news with an apparently-crooked deputy. He’s got his back turned, so Keith pops the hood on his Camry, saws the alternator belt almost in half with a pocket knife, and quickly plants a tracker. Then he closes up, and goes hunting for Norris Clayton.

The over-competent former juvenile delinquent is easy to spot. Not only does he tower above everybody else on scene, he’s the only guy doing his job. A morose Jeff and a stridently-yelling Lydia are cuffed in the back of his cruiser already, and he’s doggedly filling out paperwork.

“Got a minute?” Keith asks, gesturing with his head to beckon Clayton away from the perps. To his credit, the kid doesn’t hesitate. Just tosses his clipboard into the driver’s seat and obligingly saunters closer.

“Problem?” Norris asks, with typical bluntness. Faintly, Keith smiles.

“You could say that,” he agrees, rueful. “Breitski’s dirty on a Federal scale, and so are most of your co-workers. He plans to run off with your bickering perps under pretense of booking them, and you’re the only person I can trust to help stop him.”

“What do you need me to do?” Clayton asks, watching as Breitski pats his pal on the shoulder and approaches.

“Just follow my lead,” Keith says. “And make whatever face is your version of a bland smile.”

“Mr. Mars,” Breitski calls, adjusting his fedora as he approaches—Keith should have known he was a jerk from the start, wearing a hat like that. “I need a favor. Can I commandeer your car to take the Van Vliets to San Diego? The Sheriff’s too busy to arrange transport, and you live close enough to call a cab.”

“Sure,” Keith says easily, handing over his keys. “Anything to help the course of justice run smooth. Just have someone drop it at Mars Investigations when you’re done?”

“You bet!” Wei winks and grins—Keith half-expects a tongue-click and finger-gun. “And please, convey my thanks to your daughter, will you? This case has been a bear. Without her assistance, no way could we have caught these masterminds.”

“Veronica’s impressive,” Keith agrees, allowing his hand to be shaken. “I’m biased, of course, but many impartial sources agree.”

Wei transfers the suddenly-subdued Jeff and Lydia into the Camry, takes off with a finger-to-hat-brim salute. Keith waits until they’re out of sight, listening with a faint head shake to Lydia shrieking because Liam Fitpatrick tried to murder her. Wei tells her Liam’s been handled, and she should be glad she’s not in jail.

Then Keith pulls a bug tracker from the pocket of his overcoat, checks to make sure it’s working, and gestures for Norris to join him in the patrol car.

“Follow that dot.” He suctions the tracker to the dash and points at the interactive map. “And stay far enough back Breitski can’t spot us—he may be unethical, but he’s no fool.”

“You want to tell me what, exactly, this Federal conspiracy is?” Norris asks, once they’re driving through the dark a half mile behind Wei. “Or wait, let me guess…it involves that new drug making people pink and violent. It’s been pouring out of Orange County lately. A minor Fitzpatrick died all popsicle-colored in lockup, about two weeks ago. I was warned off asking for details.”

“Good instincts,” Keith says. “Apparently this substance makes people strong and fast, but it’s also highly toxic—the one victim I’ve seen is in bad shape. Brietski’s wearing an earbud he’s not aware is transmitting, and it sounds like a coup against Liam Fitzpatrick, the mastermind, is in progress.”

Clayton nods, impassive as always--Keith frowns and focuses on eavesdropping as Wei answers a call. “Yes, I hear you, the alarm’s going off soon. Keep your fucking pants on. I’ll head right over, as soon as Jeff and Lydia are squared away.”

“Are you sure Fitzpatrick’s in charge?” Clayton asks, interrupting Keith’s mental run-down of possible alarms. “Because I realize back in the Van Lowe days, he had some sway with the Neptune PD. But the Irish mob is on the downswing lately, influence-wise. And I got the impression, based on the vehemence with which I was chased off, that someone rich and powerful is pulling strings.”

Keith holds up a hand for silence as Wei’s earbud picks up the sound of an engine, coughing and seizing. Winces, hoping his Camry doesn’t throw a rod. “Something’s wrong,” Wei says, accompanied by a grinding noise as the car stalls. “Shit, shit, shit, I need to hitch a ride.”

“Who in their right mind would pick us up?” Lydia screeches, her voice making Keith wince. “We’re both handcuffed, I’m covered in gasoline, and my shoes exploded along with the warehouse!”

“Good point,” Wei says, and follows up calmly with two gunshots. Keith gasps and grabs the dash for balance. “Guess you’ve both outlived your usefulness. Consider that your pension.”

“I think Breitski just shot Jeff and Lydia,” Keith tells Clayton, who kicks on the sirens and floors it in response. He reports a possible homicide over the radio as they surge full speed up a hill.

Just past the crest, their headlights splash over a male figure, braced in a two-handed gun stance mid-road, sidearm aimed. Clayton--spurred, maybe by the simmering aggression that once earned him a stint in juvie--speeds up in response, and Keith braces grimly for impact. But Breitski just shoots, creating a spiderweb of cracks in the bulletproof windshield, then JUMPS, higher than the most sought-after NBA draft-pick could manage. And lands on the hood of the cruiser with a thud.

Norris goes into a skid, tagging the Camry’s bumper as he slides by; his muttered “Holy…” is interrupted by a fist smashing through the windshield. Bloody fingers grab the jagged edge, yanking the whole rectangle loose, and the half-shattered sheet flies off into the night. Breitski reaches back in, catching Clayton by the shirtfront while he fumbles for his gun, and hauls him out, too.

Keith lunges for the wheel, manages to turn the car and stomp the brakes before they crash into roadside woods. Watches, horrified, as Breitski hurls Clayton against a pine trunk. Keith’s only ally slides bonelessly to the ground, and stays there, prone.

He opens the door to run for it, but is lifted out before he can…hoisted full-arm’s-length by Breitski, who’s standing on the hood. He dangles, held by the lapels of his coat; the blue-and-red emergency lights strobe Breitski’s face as he smiles.

“Not all the super soldiers are pink and dumb, I’m afraid,” he says, and gives Keith an admonishing shake. “The secondary formula’s for a specific purpose--it’s designed to be IN-effective, and eventually terminal. Now, I need you to nap while I jury-rig your alternator belt—a battered cop car won’t blend on the road to the winery. Say goodnight, Gracie.”

His other fist swings up, fast as regrets, catching Keith square in the temple. Shortly after which, everything goes black.

STORYLINE 2: WEEVIL WALLACE

Weevil loves his bike a lot—it’s a guilty, rebel-youth pleasure he thought he’d never enjoy again--but road-trip monotony is a bitch.

He’s been driving through the dark for half an hour; Fennel’s groans have subsided ominously into silence, broken only by the engine’s growl. Today’s already featured ten hours under car hoods, a fight about visitation with his soon-to-be-ex, and of course, the usual Mars nonsense. He’d pay a grand for one of those sugar-bomb Starbucks coffees right now, some pumpkin spice seasonal bullshit, followed by a couple stiff drinks. But instead he’ll be napping in the CDC waiting room, and roll home just in time to open the shop.

Faintly, at the horizon, he spots red-blue strobes flashing, and curses under his breath—if a cop’s burning to pull someone over, a pink guy duct taped to a biker will make his night. But there’s only one road, and Fennel needs help, so Weevil clenches his teeth Veronica-style and keeps on going.

As he approaches, it becomes obvious something’s wrong; the car’s slewed sideways blocking traffic, windshield shattered ten feet away, driver door hanging open. There’s blood splattered on the hood. Something ugly went down, and Weevil wants no part of it—he’s tightening his fingers on the gas when he realizes fleeing’s impossible.

Norris Clayton, Veronica’s deputy friend, is crawling slowly along the asphalt towards the radio, bleeding from the back of the head. His face turns sideways, slo-mo, to watch hopefully as Weevil slows. “Nav…ro,” he manages, barely audible over the bike’s idle. Then, gathering himself to try harder, “VerONica.”

“I can’t help you, man,” Weevil calls, frustrated. “I can barely dismount unless you cut me loose. I’m duct-taped to Fennel, here, and he ain’t doing so hot.”

“Yeah, he’s…pink,” Norris observes, managing to sit up and fish in his pocket. Locates a switchblade, which he holds out. “This big enough to saw through?”

Wallace rouses, babbles something incomprehensible, and Norris adds, “Veronica found the antidote. She’s on her way back to the winery now…might already be there.”

Shit. “She couldn’t call?” Weevil asks, rhetorically, putting the bike in park as close to Clayton as possible. He lifts with his legs to hoist himself off, Fennel dangling limply. Accepting the knife with a smirk, he adds, “You know, other than the uniform, you haven’t changed much.”

Twisting sideways painfully, he begins to saw at the tape--Norris crawls behind him to brace Wallace. “Learned to control my temper,” Norris says, and Weevil can just see him gingerly prodding the back of his skull. “Fucker threw me against a TREE. Breitski—he’s on something strong. Haven’t seen Keith since I woke up, either…odds are good he’s a hostage.”

Weevil cuts the last of the tape, and between them they get Wallace prone on the roadside. The guy looks bad, head thrashing, foaming at the mouth. The sideways glance Clayton flashes says he agrees.

“Can you stand up?” Weevil asks. “Get yourself in the passenger seat? I can lift Fennel into the back, he’s a little dude, but you gotta weigh like two hundred pounds.”

Clayton braces his hand on the fender and pushes upright…tumbles sideways, catches himself. “Dizzy,” he says, rueful. “I’ve got a bitch of a concussion, but I’ll live. Put him in the car and go hide your bike. We’ll discuss how deep the shit drowning us is on the way to Van Vliet’s.”

“It’s a LAKE, man,” Weevil warns, but obligingly hoists Wallace. “I’m actually disappointed for once you can’t fight. Tonight, those fists of fury of yours would come in handy.”

VERONICA

“Well, if this was Gilligan’s Island, we could solve the whole problem with extract of coconut,” Mac is saying, buckling her seatbelt as V climbs into the SUV. “But since it’s REALITY, there’s actual science involved in producing a cure.”

“If this was Gilligan’s Island,” Logan drawls, fishing for keys, “the events of the day would be an amusing misunderstanding, thanks to Gilligan falling in a vat of papaya juice. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure Wallace…” he frowns as he notices V’s expression. “Hey, pumpkin, what’s wr…”

She slaps a palm over his mouth, gestures for Mac to hand over the iPad she ripped off from the winery. Pulls up the word processor and types, “Wei’s dirty, and he’s listening to everything you say. Your stupid earbud’s set to transmit.”

Logan’s eyes widen in understanding. “Wow,” he improvises, smacking his lips like they’ve been kissing. “We’ve only been apart two minutes. I guess it really is true what they say about danger being an aphrodisiac.”

Mac gestures for the tablet, and says as she types, “Your fault, for running around with no shirt all day, acting brawny and heroic. Although please, next time? Have some respect for my innocent eyes and take it outside.”

She hands the pad back, and V and Logan cluster together to read. “What should we do? We can’t trust the Neptune PD to help, and Wallace needs that antidote ASAP.”

Veronica types, “Dad and your new boyfriend Norris will handle Wei. We’re making tracks for the winery, and trying to breathe through stress.”

Logan winks, starts the engine, and says, “I could really go for an In-and-Out burger, you two game? Mac, do their fries pass muster in vegetarian circles?”

He pulls out onto the highway heading back towards Van Vliet’s. Mac’s reply--“I’ve been cheating death all evening. I’m willing to ignore a little lard,”--is interrupted by the chime of Logan’s cell.

Pulling it out of his pocket, he registers the unknown sender and lifts his brows at Veronica. She shakes her head, pointing at her earbud; frowns as Wei says something about an alarm going off. A dig through her bag confirms she’s also received an unknown call, so she holds up a finger and retrieves the message.

“Veronica?” Leo D’Amato’s voice filters thinly through, poor connection with a side of mechanical beeping. “Listen, I hate to leave important stuff on voicemail, but I keep calling down your list, and the only person I can reach is Dick. I just need you to know Brietski’s in with the drug runners—and I’m sure of this, he shot me in what would have been my heart if I hadn’t ducked. Also, the shenanigans at the Van Vliet’s are a bigger deal than I thought, when I sent you to dig for the missing safe. I’ve just had a visit from some pissed-off military brass. So just…contact Bob Dillen at the San Diego PD if you need rescuing, he’s definitely honest. And stay away from the winery--not to mention anyone lurking there who might be…pink.”

No can do, Detective, she thinks, hanging up. I owe a dose of antidote to my best friend. But I’m glad you’re not dead because I failed to smell a rat.

Logan smirks as the sound of Brietski’s car stalling is conveyed by the earbud, mouths “Sabotage?” at Veronica. She grins— Dad likely frayed the alternator belt—then jerks in shock as gunshots ring out.

“What the fuck?” Logan mutters over the squealing, skidding, and shattering glass. “Which road did they take? Do you think they’re behind us?”

“You guys, what’s happening?” Mac asks from the back seat. “I’m not wearing an earbud, there weren’t enough in my bag! You guys!”

Veronica grabs Logan’s forearm, fingernails digging in, as Wei’s speech to Keith is followed by a wet thud.

“Oh shit,” Mac says, pressing fingertips to her lips. “DID WEI DO SOMETHING TO KEITH?”

A frantic head shake from Veronica makes Mac realize she shouldn’t have yelled, but it’s too late. A stream of curses erupt from Breitski, followed by, “Very sneaky, Veronica Mars, switching me to transmit. No more spying, though, or you might hear something you REALLY won’t like.”

His earbud emits a loud squeal, consistent with being crushed, goes silent. A second later there’s another squeal, no doubt Keith’s unit. Veronica closes her eyes.

“What do you want me to do?” Logan asks, voice low and reassuring. “Keep heading towards the winery, or turn around and search?”

“You know what? I can track Keith’s cell.” Mac reaches down and fumbles in her bag of equipment; pulls out an electronic module and rapidly types. It lights up, processing, and she says, “They’re on the PCH, not this road. It will take us longer to backtrack and locate the accident than it will to meet them there. Wei must be headed back to Van Vliet’s, right?”

Clenching her jaw, Veronica opens her eyes and nods. Logan entwines their fingers, then floors the gas.

It’s a thirty-minute drive, but they make it in seventeen. Logan cuts up the service road, which runs twenty feet in the direction V DIDN’T walk this morning, right past the bird-infested clearing.

“That’s where they dropped me.” She shakes her head as they pass at her navigational failure. “There’s the bike Ruby supposedly rode in pursuit.”

“Ruby’s full of it.” Mac peers out the darkened window. “Leaving aside the impossibility of keeping pace, that’s a kid’s bicycle. She’d never fit. My guess is, it’s Katie’s, from before the accident that left her paralyzed.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Ruby to drive you here herself,” Logan says. “Or to hide in the back of the truck and attempt rescue, since that would earn my gratitude. Hate to break it to you, babe, but she wants me BAD.”

“Thanks for the news flash.” Veronica elbows him as they pass the guest house, grateful for the attempt to keep her spirits up. Watches him wince as the still-smoking remains of his beloved BMW hove into view. Then frowns, because it looks like the front planters have been smashed, and the door’s…ripped off its hinges? “Jesus, what HAPPENED while we were at the warehouse?”

They pile out of the car, but Logan holds up a hand to halt his companions’ progress. Kneels to study the ground. “Bare feet and motorcycle tracks. Feet head through there,” he points at the hole where the door used to be, “tracks go around to the side. Anybody notice a Harley carrying a naked passenger, at any point in the proceedings?”

Veronica lifts her brows and he grins, standing. Wipes dirt, futilely, off the grungy knees of his jeans. “Military survival training,” he explains, with a faint smile. “Don’t look so surprised. I can built a yurt out of sticks, too, if need be.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She bats her lashes and beckons to Mac, who’s standing on crushed snapdragons, examining a shattered picture window. “The only biker I know who would turn up to help me is Weevil, but I don’t remember calling him. And surely if Dad had, he would have said so?”

“To be fair,” Mac contributes, “there’s a lot you don’t remember. And Weevil definitely drives a Harley. Maybe he went in through the patio?”

They check, but the French doors are locked; through the glass, Veronica can see someone’s stuffed a chair under the knob. A quick circuit of the house shows all other doors in the same condition, and nobody’s visible through the windows. “It’s like they prepared for a siege,” she says, thoughtfully. “But someone had the brute force to break in anyway.”

“In which case, either they hid, or were taken,” Logan says grimly. “We’ll have to enter through the front and search.”

“I’m calling Dick.” Mac pulls out her cell, listens, groans. “No joy. You wouldn’t happen to have anything resembling weaponry in that bag, would you?”

Silently, Veronica hands over the taser, then loads Jeff’s golden gun. She offers it to Logan, because he’s actually not terrified of firearms, but he waves it away—then steps in front, to precede her through the broken door.

There’s debris in the hall, mostly splintered wood; the coat closet stands open. Frowning, Logan indicates bloody footprints and says, “They were planning to wait in the library, right? Because it looks like whoever made these came from, then went back to, that room.”

“Could there be another Pink Hulk?” Veronica wonders, studying the prints as they pass. “That would explain the discrepancy in size and aggression between the guy that initially chased us and poor Wallace. These feet are big--and if he took off his shoes before getting in the coffin, I’d guess he chose to be there.” She taps her chin with one finger, thinking. “But if there ARE two of them, where was this guy…altered? The barn’s only got one pod, and Wallace was in it all day.”

“Could be more hidden somewhere else.” Logan follows the trail, alert and focused in a way that’s…really smoking hot, though this is not the time to dwell. Pushes the library door open and scouts before beckoning them in.

“Or someone took Hulk One out in order to pinkify Wallace,” Mac says, holding the door. “He theoretically could have wandered around smashing stuff all day.”

“The floor’s been cleaned.” Logan points at a black-stained towel on the rug. “But that was used to wipe up grease, not blood. And footprints criss-cross the room, like Harvey the Rabbit was searching.”

“Why do I smell urine?” Veronica wrinkles her nose. “And why is there a crushed bouquet of flowers on the desk?”

“The phone lines are out,” Mac announces, setting down the handset. “We’re completely cut off. And frankly, I think whatever went down here is long ov…”

A howl in the distance interrupts her mid-sentence; Logan cocks a brow. “You were saying?”

“Jesus, is something rabid out there?” Veronica wonders, shivering. “It sounds like a coyote only…whinier.”

“Maybe we should try the barn,” Logan suggests, taking her hand. “If the phone lines in the house aren’t working, and our friends managed to escape, they’d look for another landline. Shit, that reminds me—I got a call while we were driving.”

Veronica waves him off before he can pull out his cell. “It was Leo,” she says. “I gave him a list of emergency contacts, you two are numbers one and three. Apparently, the military’s at the hospital asking questions--he’s the cop Wei tried to murder.”

Logan tilts his face up to the ceiling. “If I get court-martialed for meddling in top-secret business, I’m gonna be pissed,” he mutters, before leading the way out to Dick’s car.

They drive in silence to the barn, where Logan repeats his kneel-inspect-frown routine and Veronica frets. Eventually, he finishes Grizzly Adams-ing and saunters back to report.

“Motorcycle tracks and large-vehicle treads lead that way.” He points down the service road in the direction of Neptune. “Looks like Weevil left, and whoever dropped you off here gave chase. Size-twelve Vans prints and very small butch boots head towards the woods,” he points in the opposite direction. “My guess is, Dick and a woman. I got him unicorn Vans as a gag Christmas gift, and he wears them twenty-four-seven.”

“Well, at least Dick can tell us where Wallace went,” Veronica says. “I hope. What’s the status on Dad?”

Mac pulls the tracker from her messenger bag. “Stationary. Same direction as our unicorn-loving friend. But question, before we follow…if the woman’s Ruby, can we trust her? Just exactly whose side is she on?”

“Logan’s.” Veronica smirks, poking his side, and he rolls his eyes. “As long as we’re in this guy’s studly company, we’re safe as houses.”

“Did you just suggest using me as a honeypot?” Logan drapes an arm around her shoulders. “So much for romance.”

She grins. “I’ll bet Ruby would be MORE than glad to romance you silly.”

The shriek comes from closer this time, off to their left among the trees. “RONKAAAAAAA!”

“Did that coyote call my NAME?” V disentangles from Logan’s embrace; her hand clenches around the butt of the gun, sending a tingling sensation up her arm. “Could that be WALLACE? Did he lose it and go fully pink, trash the house? Are his feet just way bigger than I remember?”

They all stare at each other, appalled, as this possibility sinks in. Then, in tandem, they turn and run straight towards the screams.

DICK

“Okay, Rubes.” Dick surveys the cell-tower cement house with all the disfavor his euphoric state allows. “If I was a phone that didn’t need a code to dial out, here’s where I’d be--this place HAS to have a switchboard or some shit inside. But that fence is, like, super-tall and topped with razor wire. So basically, we’re hosed.”

“Really, Dick?” Ruby performs an eye roll so massive he’s surprised it doesn’t hurt. “Could you BE more of a wuss? I thought you were some kind of surfing badass.”

“Chhh-yeah,” he scoffs, as she hands him her bag, then goes up the fence like monkey. “This bod’s a finely-tuned machine. ‘S why I don’t want abdominal scars.”

“But scars have MYSTIQUE.” Ruby does some hardcore, upper-fence handstand that makes him suspect she’s taking Pole Cardio with Madison, then vaults lightly over. She lands, rolls, and pops up dusting her hands. “I’ll bet LOGAN’S got TONS of scars.”

“Logan’s got everything ladies want,” Dick calls after her, as she opens the cabin door and disappears inside. “He’s been pulling any girl he smiled at since we were like twelve. I think it’s cause he acts all vulnerable and shit. Turns the wahines into jell-AY.”

She emerges with a pair of bolt cutters, chops the chain in half. “Everybody’s vulnerable, Dick,” she says, swinging the gate wide. “If pressure’s applied to the right spot.”

He follows her into the darkened room, gawking at wall-to-wall machinery performing functions he can’t name. This place has got power at least—lights are blinking and flashing on various gauges—but he sees nothing that looks remotely like a telephone.

Ruby goes to study a wall of…whatever, arms crossed; Dick wanders, trailing a finger through the dust on a table. Something knocks lightly against his leg as he passes and he bends to find a cardboard tube stashed beneath.

“Check it out,” he calls, setting down her purse, as well as his wig, gun and the wine bottle he found again, lying abandoned on the path. Removes the tube’s cap, and unrolls the blueprints inside. Spreading them out on the tabletop, he squints through the dim light to read. “Dude, CALLED it! Those tunnels DO go farther than we thought. It’s like an ant colony down there, all over the freaking property.”

Reaching past his shoulder, Ruby taps a small square upper-left. “We’re here,” she says. “And a branch of catacombs leads straight down from this location. So somewhere in this room, there’s another secret door.”

She rushes off to look; but Dick figures he’s not smart enough, even post-Super-Dope, to solve that particular puzzle, so he keeps studying the map. “Wonder what this room’s for?” he muses, tracing a round underground chamber drawn to scale with the main house. “My guess is, housing whatever they’re shipping, ‘cause it looks huge.”

“Aha!” Ruby crows, as her efforts to shift a red lever cause groaning and creaking. Dick moves to help. Slowly, a section of computer swings aside to reveal stone steps, going down.

“Rubster strikes again.” He high-fives her, grinning at her flushed excitement, then moves to gather his shit.

She rolls her eyes again, just as theatrically, and rummages in her bag. Produces one of those ecologically-conscious grocery sacks, green and labeled ‘Whole Foods’, holds it out. “It can be your man-purse,” she says, with a smirk. “Your murse.”

“You know, you have a LOT of gear and skills for a karaoke impresario, or whatever it is you do for cash,” he observes, filling and shouldering the murse nonetheless. “It’s kinda hot, but I’m also slightly intimidated.”

“Join the club,” she breezes, donning her own bag, and leads the way, practically skipping, down the stairs.

Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion of our round robin! Check back next Saturday for the second half of Part 27 also written by @cheshirecatstrut!

#veronica mars #vm fanfic #vmhq round robin #vmhq campfire tale

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promisedangel · 7 years

Text

Fresh Meat- Chapter 36

First

Remember to vote for my next project! Confinement might actually change to the events of this chapter, rather than the previous.

Chapter 36- Turmoil

Chara groaned before they opened their eyes. A dim, red light surrounded them. They gasped before they sat up. Once they did, they felt dizzy and grumbled as they rubbed their eyes. They heard a gasp to their left. The voice spoke through tears, “Chara!” Chara turned their head to see Asriel charge towards them. Chara hesitated before Asriel hugged them tightly and sobbed, “Thank goodness!” Chara, still groggy, spoke in confusion, “What… happened?” Asriel let go and attempted to wipe away his tears, “M-Mr. Gaster took you and he took a lot of your blood! You’ve been asleep for a whole day!” He wept through his words, “We were so scared you wouldn’t wake up.” “Where are Mother and Father?” Asriel froze for a second, Chara had to call their attention before Asriel pulled away and shuffled with his fingers, “Um…. They’re okay… but… um…” Chara raised an eyebrow, “What happened?” Asriel lowered his gaze, “I… I don’t wanna talk about it.” Chara glared at Asriel, they stressed their words, “What. Happened?” Asriel whined, “The whole underground is attacking us…” Chara sat for a moment before they spoke, “How?!” “From what mom and dad told me, Mr. Gaster went to New Home when we rescued you and told everybody that we kept you hidden. Everyone’s mad at us!” Chara mused dryly, “You are technically hoarding the only food in the underground.” “But you’re not food!” Asriel sat, curled into a ball next to the bed and held his locket, “Not… to me.”

The two heard loud growls of a monster through the closed door. Asriel shot up and panicked, “Oh no! They’re back again!” He ran to the door, “I gotta go help! Stay here!” Chara nodded before they stood from their bed, “I can help-“ Immediately Chara held their head, still dizzy. They sat back down on the bed as they saw Asriel slam the door behind them. Chara head Asriel let loose a battle cry before fire roared to life and a monster screamed. Chara sat for a minute to fully wake, all they could hear were distant cries from many different monsters: “You traitors!” “Stop hoarding it!” “Give the human to Dr. Gaster!” “You’ll be dust for this!” Chara finally stood, their gaze swept the room. No weapons to be found. They bit their lip; this would be difficult. They went to the door and opened it a crack. They saw Asriel in front of the stairs, chucking fireballs out the door, which was now on the floor. He constantly turned his head down the stairs, only for a moment before he continued. Constant noises of thrashes, fire, gnawing, and continued accusations echoed from both the door and the stairs. Chara smirked before they dashed out the door and passed Asriel, ducking under his fire. Asriel saw Chara and panicked, distracted from the battle, “Chara?!”

Chara ignored him and ran to the kitchen. They eyed the shelf where the knives were kept and climbed on top of the kitchen counter. They heard wood break in the main hallway, and Toriel call Asriel’s name in panic. They reached the top shelf and grabbed the first knife they could get their hands on; one shorter and thinner than the knife they’d become accustomed to. They then heard fire roar to life just inside the living room, and a monster screeched as it was hit. Chara jumped down from the counter and stood against the wall. They inched to the kitchen’s entrance, their knife closer to the door. They peaked out to see Asriel and Toriel fight two monsters in the living room; a cat-like monster and a large froggit. The cat monster, while on top of the table, immediately noticed Chara as they peeked out from the kitchen. Its eyes locked onto Chara before it turned and pounced. Chara stood ready to fight it, their knife brandished in front of them and a determined expression. Before the cat could land, a large fireball knocked it into the far wall. It landed on the floor with a thud before it groaned and dispersed into dust. Toriel huffed before she turned to the froggit that Asriel had been distracting. Said froggit noticed Chara soon after. Its gaze locked onto the human before its long tongue shot from its mouth towards Chara. Before anyone could react, it reached Chara. The froggit’s spit stuck to Chara’s sweater upon impact. Chara barely had time to scream before the frog’s tongue snapped back to its mouth like a bungee cord, Chara in tow. Its eyes pressed into its head, swallowing Chara whole. Toriel cried out in panic, “Chara! No!” The froggit turned to leave before it hunched over and whined. Asriel and Toriel quickly took action and began to attack the froggit. The froggit screeched in pain as they attacked, but bellowed over and clawed at its belly. It cried out before a knife pierced its hide from inside. It cried out as the knife continued to make a hole within the froggit’s belly. Before the hole could be made complete, the froggit screeched in pain and dispersed into dust. Chara landed on the floor coated in bile and leftover stomach acid. They gasped for air before they coughed, their knife still in their clutches. Asriel and Toriel dashed to Chara’s side. Toriel spoke, “Asriel, take Chara back to your room and help them get out of those clothes.” Chara coughed, “I can stil-“ Toriel interrupted with a stern voice, “No, Chara. We will discuss this later. Stay in that room. Both of you.” Asriel nodded, “Okay, mom.”

Asriel helped Chara up, before he cringed slightly at Chara’s liquid coating, “Ewww.” Chara said nothing as they watched Toriel dash out the door. More sounds of fighting ensued from beyond the door as Chara and Asriel passed by. The staircase railing was now broken, but only a few bars. The two went into their room before Asriel locked the door. He sighed in relief, “That was really scary. That froggit ate you!” Chara went to the drawers, “Keep an eye on the door. Do not look.” Asriel turned his gaze towards the door and whined, “Chara, I’m serious! You can’t do that!” Chara mused as they undressed, “I cannot help?” Asriel blushed and stumbled over his words, “Well- I mean…. I-I guess so…” He shook his head, his voice firm, “But, you saw what just happened!” He curled in on himself before he started to sob, “Mom and dad have held them off all night; they won’t stop. We’d be dead by now if the Royal Guard turned against us.” “The Royal Guard is still protecting you?” “Not… a lot of them. Only a bunch of them, I don’t know how many.” Asriel sobbed further, “Why is this happening?” Chara chose to stay silent until they were fully clothed again. They approached Asriel, but before they could say anything, Asriel latched onto them and sobbed into their chest. He spoke through his sobs, “I’m scared, Chara. Aren’t you?” Chara sighed, “You crybaby.” Asriel continued to cry as Chara slowly reciprocated the hug. They bit their lip but stood firm with their fists tight. They sighed; they refused to cry.

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A few minutes went by before Toriel gently knocked on the door to Asriel and Chara’s room, “Asriel, Chara? May I come in? It is alright now. The guards have it handled for now.” Asriel opened the door before Toriel slipped in and closed the door behind her. Chara could now clearly see her fur was disheveled, some of her clothes were in tatters, and bags swelled under her eyes. She turned her gaze to Chara immediately with worry, “Did it hurt you? Where are the clothes you were wearing?” Chara spoke calmly, “Asriel already took care of them-” Toriel swept Chara into her arms before she began to sob, “Please, my child, do not be so rash again. We almost lost you.” Chara spoke calmly, “I grabbed a knife. I am okay.” Toriel loosened her hug, “And what if next time the knife escapes your grasp?! What then, Chara?!” Chara reeled back slightly before they frowned and closed in on themselves lightly. Toriel sighed and wiped her tears, “I am sorry, I should not take the stress of this situation out on you. But please, for your own safety, you cannot step outside this room.” Chara complained, “But I can-“ “This is not negotiable, Chara! You nearly died today, and next time the monster might kill you before it decides to eat you.” She kneeled down, her voice more somber, “Please, let us protect you.”

Chara was silent for a few seconds before they spoke, “Tell me what is happening.” Toriel nodded and relaxed both in voice and posture, “After we rescued you, monsters started to attack us when we entered the path home from the Core. Some of the Royal Guard helped us and told us that instead of taking you, Gaster went to New Home and spoke of us as traitors to the people. He told them we hid you, and that we refused to give you to him. They… did not appreciate this. A small sect of the guard did not believe his words, and they still help us.” “How many?” Toriel frowned, “At most…. Twelve, but most of them are occupied at the castle to prevent monsters from coming up the stairs. We only have three helping us over here.” Asriel chimed in, “But we disabled the elevator! So only monsters that can climb really well and fly can get to us this way!” Chara crossed their arms, “What about Gaster?” Toriel shook her head, “I have not seen him since we rescued you,” Asriel winced, “Oh no, that’s right! He could teleport here anytime and take you!” Chara raised an eyebrow, “Then why hasn’t he done it by now?” Toriel mused, “To be honest, none of us knew he could teleport until he teleported into the throne room with you.” Chara gave a light smirk, “Maybe he doesn’t want them to know.” “That would work to our advantage.” Toriel paused and sighed, “Now that we have time to relax, why don’t I make you something to eat? You must be famished after sleeping for nearly an entire day.” Asriel frowned, “I hope dad can join us.” Toriel gave a small smile, “I am sure he will.” Toriel exited the room, the door closed behind her. Chara walked over to their bed and flopped onto it, “I’m stuck here.” Asriel walked over, “We’re… all stuck here.” He tried to give a determined gaze, “But…. I’m sure we can make this work! We can still be happy here!” His gaze quickly faded, “Mom and dad…. They just need some rest.”

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Asgore climbed the stairs, his armor slightly scuffed and his cape in tatters. He paused at the sight of the railing partially broken and the door broken, leaned on its frame. He called out, “Tori? Is everything alright?” She called from the living room, “For now, Gorey.” The door to Asriel and Chara’s room creaked open. Asriel popped his head out and beamed, “Dad!” Asriel rushed out of the room and hugged Asgore tightly as Toriel stood at the entrance to the living room. Asgore gave a chuckle, “It has only been a day, Asriel.” Asriel turned his head up towards Asgore, “But I was so worried about you!” Asgore tussled Asriel’s hair, “And I was worried for all of you, but we all survived.” He turned his gaze towards Asriel and Chara’s room, “Including you, Chara.” Chara peaked from the room, Toriel beckoned them, “It is alright for now, Chara.” Chara walked out the door and was slow to approach Asgore with a frown. Asgore kneeled down to them and hugged them. He spoke, “I was worried for you.” Chara’s voice cracked slightly, their face hidden, “I’m fine.” Asriel huffed, “No, you’re not!” Asgore spoke in worry, “What happened?” Toriel sighed, “Chara nearly died; they wanted to help us fight, but a froggit mid-way into its transformation swallowed them whole.” She covered her mouth, her words cracked, “If Chara hadn’t grabbed that knife….” Asgore turned his gaze to Chara in horror, but quickly to relief, “Thank goodness.” Toriel frowned, “Gorey! We cannot reward this behavior! The next time could be fatal!” Asgore grimaced, “I suppose you are right, but we should at least allow them to keep a weapon with them just in case.” Chara nodded with a calm expression, “I could agree with that.” Toriel went to interject, but mused, “Well… I suppose that would be agreeable.” She frowned, “But not a step outside your room until we say so, understood?” Chara nodded silently. Toriel gave a light smile, “Now then, why don’t we eat?” Asgore let go of Chara and stood, “I’ll prepare some tea.” Chara tapped Asgore’s side before he continued, “Can… we have the one you gave me… my first day here?” He smiled, “Of course, Chara.”

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In the middle of New Home, Gaster stood at a station of the Royal Guard; one close to the castle. As much as he desired to work on the substitute, the populous looked to him to command the attack on the palace. He was stuck. One of the guards rushed to him, reports in hand, “Sir!” Gaster raised a brow as the guard stopped to kneel before him, reports outstretched him his hands, “I have compiled the latest reports as you’ve asked.” Gaster took the papers and looked them over with a sigh, “Most of these deaths are civilians, correct?” The guard sighed, “Unfortunately, yes. We can’t stop those who want vigilante justice, but we may be able to organize more waves of attacks to sate those who want to volunteer.” Gaster continued to read over the reports, “That may not work; the halls of the castle were purposefully built narrow, which gives a chance to make our numbers effectively useless. The number of deaths already reflects this. Additionally, there is always the risk of the human being killed or devoured in these attacks. Especially from civilians who try to climb on the high walkway to the castle.” The guard sighed, “Yeah, we can’t guarantee everyone would try to take the human away from them instead of eating it.” Gaster gave back the reports, “This will not work. Perhaps we need a different approach. To prevent the death of the human and any more monsters…” The guard mused, “Well, we’re pretty much at a stalemate already… we could attempt to use that to our advantage?” Gaster smirked, “A house arrest?” The guard nodded, “Yes, sir. We wouldn’t be able to enter, and we could spread our forces to ensure they won’t exit and to deter any monster who would try to sneak into the castle.” Gaster chuckled darkly, “This may be our best chance. The Dreemurrs will not risk harming the human, and each day they will grow weaker. Go. Set this plan into motion.” The guard bowed, barking a “Yes, Sir!” before he ran off.

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Asriel waited in his bed until he was sure Chara was asleep. He held his throat lightly, his jaw clamped shut. He had waited long enough. He stepped off his bed before he carefully exited the room. He then held his mouth and rushed to the kitchen. Toriel saw him as he ran past and accompanied him. Asriel leaned over the sink and finally allowed himself to open his jaw. Immediately, his dinner of snails spilled forth into the sink. He coughed as Toriel gently rubbed his back and gingerly shushed, “It is alright. Let it out.” Asriel sobbed, “Why does this keep happening? Why can’t I keep it down anymore?” He held his stomach with one hand, “It hurts so much!” Toriel tried to smile, but could only manage an unnerved one with Asriel’s back turned, “We will find some way to fix this, perhaps-“ Asriel cried, “Don’t say the snails are bad again!” Toriel jumped slightly and lowered her voice, “Asriel, do not wake Chara. You wanted to keep this secret from them.” Asriel nodded, “I’m sorry… but it can’t be the snails. You, dad, and Chara would be sick too…” They heard steps from the living room; Asgore entered the kitchen with a frown. He said nothing as he hugged Asriel tightly. Asriel replied in kind and sobbed into his chest, “I’m scared. I don’t wanna hurt Chara…” Toriel sighed, “If you are afraid of that… we could move them into another room.” Asriel pulled away from Asgore, “But… but they can’t be alone! What if Mr. Gaster comes and takes them? We wouldn’t know until we wake up!” Toriel sighed, “Asriel, please keep your voice down.” Asriel whined, “Sorry…” Asgore mused, “He does make a point. We can no longer leave Chara alone. We have no other choice, with this place in constant strife.” Toriel’s eyes widened, “This… place… Gorey, you helped me think of a solution!” Asgore raised an eyebrow, “What is it?” Toriel grimaced, “I’d… hate to suggest this, but if these attacks continue with such ferocity… we might have no choice but to flee.” Asriel lowered his head, “But… where would we go?” Toriel scratched her head, “Somewhere away from New Home, a place where most of monsterkind is far from.” Asgore spoke simply, “You speak of Home?” Toriel nodded, “It would be a rough journey, but I am sure we can make it work. I am sure the Riverperson would aid us. And there are plenty of areas to grow a new garden in Home. Many snails may be found there as well….” A voice echoed from the living room, “And how do we escape here?” Toriel gasped, “Chara!” Chara entered the kitchen as Asriel whined, “Oh no… how long have you been up?” Chara approached, “The entire time. I could hear you from our room.” Asriel hugged himself, “I… I didn’t want you to worry about me…” Chara crossed their arms, “We will deal with it later, what about escaping this place?” Toriel smiled, “I am sure we can escape through the elevator to the Core.” Asriel raised an eyebrow, “But, I thought you broke it?” Toriel shook her head lightly, “I merely disabled it. I should be able to fix it quickly.” Asgore smiled, “It is a wonderful plan, but we will need time to pack a few things.” Toriel agreed, “A few days. We will be free of this trouble in a few days.” Toriel turned to Asriel and Chara, “Now, off to bed with you two.”

#predatortale #undertale #undertale predator au #undertale au #chara #asriel dreemurr #asgore dreemurr #toriel dreemurr #Gaster #wd gaster #Chapter 36 #fanfic #fanfiction #Undertale Fresh Meat

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vvildern · 7 years

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Part one - untitled story

I woke up in the morning to the strangest feeling. A feeling of absolute and utter emptiness. In a lurch of pure panic, I reached over to feel the other side of the bed: empty. Irrational fear flooded through my veins as I leapt out of bed and tore out of the bedroom, nearly forgetting to check the time on my phone before stumbling about in the dark looking for the light switch. 1:20am it said. He should be home. With a flick of the living room switch, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. He was passed out on the couch, with his DS laying on his stomach. He must have fallen asleep in the middle of playing. But at least he was home. The feeling still lingered though, as I knelt down to kiss his forehead. With a sleepy mumble, he opened his eyes and pulled me into an awkward-but-loving hug. “Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s go to bed.” I ruffled his hair, and he grunted his agreement as he rolled off the couch and I helped him shuffle back to the bedroom. The next morning I had work at seven, so I felt like the walking dead getting ready for work after my moment of terror had kept me awake for another hour or so earlier. Once I had gone through my morning routine, and was ready to head out the door, the feeling hit me again. Emptiness. As though the world had gone silent, and all that could be heard was my own heartbeat, and the birds beginning to wake outside. I ran back to the bedroom to give him one more kiss goodbye, silently reassuring myself that he was still there before I left. Usually there’s a decent amount of traffic in the morning, especially around 6:45 am on a Monday morning. But I hadn’t seen a single car on the road, and none were in the parking lot when I pulled up. The strange feeling grew stronger with every breath as I got out of my car, and went inside. As soon as I opened the doors, the feeling nearly overwhelmed me as I saw the empty little Starbucks kiosk in our small town grocery store. My morning coworker was nowhere to be found. Hoping that she was upstairs, or maybe in the back room, I clocked in as usual, and donned my green apron. The store was completely silent. I had never noticed the sound of the air ducts before. The steady whooshing sound seemed to drown out everything else for what felt like a stretch of eternity as I waited for someone to appear. Anyone. Watching the clock, I waited until 7:30. Still, not a single person had walked through the doors, my coworker was MIA, and I hadn’t seen a single cashier, or anyone from the other departments. I was terrified. But, like a brave (or possibly stupid) soldier, I left my post in search of human life. After searching the entire store, from top to bottom, I had determined that not a single person was present, and it was officially time to panic. I had never run through that store so fast in my life as I rushed to my locker and dug through my pockets for my phone. Immediately, I saw that he had texted me. “Are you at work safe? I woke up with the strangest feeling and wanted to make sure. I love you.” The message read. I dialed his number. “Hello?” He answered, sounding groggy as usual. I was amazed he was even awake. “Dar, I’m really freaking out. There’s nobody here!” my voice was shaky, and high pitched with fear. I wasn’t even sure why I was afraid; I hadn’t seen anything scary, and there were no zombies anywhere that I knew of. But what if I just hadn’t seen one? What if there was something really bad going on? “What? What do you mean there’s no one there?” He was confused, but sounded like he was waking up. “I mean no one. At all. I’ve searched the whole store, and the roads were empty on my way here. There’s no customers, no employees, and no one outside driving by or walking on the streets.” The words came out in a rush, and my mind was racing, trying to understand. “You should come home. We should check it out together.” Now he was beginning to sound concerned. “Something doesn’t seem right. My mom hasn’t been responding to my texts either. And you know her.” “Okay, I’ll be home as soon as I can. I hope this isn’t some sort of joke, and I get in trouble for leaving work.” Suddenly I wonder if I should clock out or not. “If no one is there, maybe you just didn’t realize that the store was closed for the day or something. Either way I don’t want you there alone.” Dar reasoned. I knew he was probably right. “Okay, I’ll be home soon.” After hanging up I dashed to my car, fumbling with my keys as my eyes darted all around looking for signs of people, or danger. Still nothing. Seagulls and crows were hopping around the parking lot as usual, and I saw a familiar stray dog crossing the street not far away, but that was all. Once I had gotten in my car, started it and sped out of the parking lot, I turned on my radio and amped up the volume. I could still hear the hum of the air ducts in the empty store, and wanted to drown it out. About halfway home, I noticed that there had been no commercial breaks. No radio talkshow people chatting about concert tickets every fifteen minutes. I turned off the radio. What the hell was going on? Pulling into my driveway, I saw my dog running around the front yard, and Dar was sitting on the porch. A wave of relief washed over me as I jumped out of my car and fell into his comforting embrace. “You okay baby? You seem really shaken up,” He asked, rubbing my back. I just shook my head, and sighed. “I don’t know why I’m so frightened, but it was really eery and disturbing going into work and expecting people to be there that were nowhere to be found.” I whistled for the dog, and we all went inside. “I’ve tried calling my mom and my sister, and even my little brothers. No one’s been picking up. Maybe you should try calling home too,” Dar suggested as I collapsed onto the couch in a daze. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” reaching for my phone, I dialed the numbers and crossed my fingers. After an hour of calling every family member and friend we knew, a sort of shock had settled over the two of us. No one had picked up. No one had called back. So we both started calling every phone number we could find - even people we didn’t know. Dar got out the phone book, and we called random numbers. Nothing. It was starting to sink in. “I think… we’re alone.” He whispered. “Yeah,” my mind was starting to go blank, not knowing what to think at this point. “Let’s wait for a while, and see if anyone calls back. Meanwhile, I guess I’ll make some breakfast.” Dar was trying hard to sound confident, but I could hear the tension in his voice. If he could do it, so could I. “That’s a good idea. I’ll start some hot water for tea.”

We spent the rest of the day waiting. But no one called. If we had TV, we would have checked the news, but instead had to settle for looking online. As I was curled on the couch, anxiously sipping tea while attempting to refresh my Facebook feed repeatedly, Dar suddenly stood up and set his phone down. “We should go out.” He said simply. “What do you mean? Like, go shopping?” I asked, the idea not computing or connecting through my brainfog of shock. “No, we should go for a drive and see if we can find anyone. Let’s drive through town, and maybe the next one over, and see if we can find anyone - or anything.” Dar explained, looking for his shoes. Panic welled up in me again, but I fought it down. “What if there is something bad out there? What if there’re aliens, or it’s some kind of military experiment?” Obviously I had been reading too much science fiction, but Dar paused when I mentioned aliens. He was terrified of that idea, I knew. I probably shouldn’t have struck that low, but I really didn’t want to go out there. “We aren’t going to figure out anything by sitting around here all day,” He said, hesitation evident now as he had trouble tying his laces. “If you want, I can go and you can stay here.” “No! No, I don’t want you going out alone, and I sure as hell don’t want to be left alone. I’ll go with you.” The thought appalled me, but I knew he would go with or without me, so I grabbed my shoes and jacket. “Maybe we should drive out to my mom’s house to check on them too,” I offered, hoping I sounded supportive. “If my mom lived closer, I’d say we should check there too. Four hours is a little too far away to be driving when we don’t know what’s going on just yet though,” Dar sounded worried, and I felt bad suggesting seeing my family, when he couldn’t check up on his. “I’m sorry. We should keep trying to call them.” Feeling guilty, I put a leash on the dog, and we walked out the door.

#writing #part 1 #soft apocalypse #daydream story #I haven't written in a long time #and kinda rushed through this #cuz iv've been wanting to write it for so long #i just wanted to get it written out #there's more coming eventually though #maybe tomorrow #long post #text post #creative writing #story #constructive criticism #would be very welcome #let me know what you think

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