#slept for an obscene amount of time i have GOT to get a normal sleep schedule.

[suenitos]

goodmoringin

#slept for an obscene amount of time i have GOT to get a normal sleep schedule. #viva mexico

[jawllines]

Sorry to be annoying but I asked awhile ago and I think tumblr ate my ask but did you ever do tattoo Harry blurb? I love them and I miss them:( I’ve looked through your tags and there isn’t any on there if you have posted one

I CAN POST ONE I WROTE A WHILE AGO RIGHT NOW :D I DONT THINK I POSTED HERE BUT LET ME KNOW HERE YOU GO PET 

i.

“Baby -- baby, c’mon!”

It was rare that Harry ever woke Y/N with more than kisses and cuddles. Maybe an abrupt shoulder shake if the both of them slept through their alarms (and, considering that they are the only ones with the key to open up their own respective stores, they never typically arrived late facing happy employees -- or in Y/N’s case, employee -- Niall, in particular, was always more of a grump in that situation than Riktor even), but even that still managed to be tender, and soft. He always treated her so delicately, as if she were made up of porcelain in the morning and it was imperative to speak in a low, soothing voice with careful touches or she might shatter. And she really didn’t think it was because she was an absolute terror to wake up -- Y/N did quite well, even as early as 5 AM she was still in somewhat of a pleasant mood, certainly nothing to be fearful of -- she thinks he’s just gentle in the morning. He’s gentle all the time, but for some reason or another, he’s extra soft with her then.

They had both had a bit of a busy day, so by the time that they made it back to Y/N’s flat (Harry said he liked it there best because it smelled like her, and -- well, he softens her up and calls her Darling when he wants them to go over there, so it’s hard to say no), both of them were ready for bed. Neither of them could barely keep their eyes open as they scarfed down the burgers they’d picked up on the way home, and once they’d finished and brushed their teeth, they toppled into each other on the mattress. Y/N would reckon they both fell asleep before their heads had even hit the pillow -- she doesn’t even remember crawling beneath the blankets.

Apparently she had though, because now as her brain tunes in with the world around her and she realizes that the distorted voice that had begun to prod her dreams was actually a grumpy, dry throat Harry, she’s cuddling herself closer in the covers. This only makes him grumble at her more, “You’re such a blanket hog,” he whines and Y/N finally blinks her eyes open, being greeted with Harry’s disgruntled, pouted face illuminated by the sunlight beginning to slip through the blinds, “I’ve been trying to unravel it for like ten minutes, but you’re all wrapped up! I’m cold.”

Y/N smiles sleepily at him, not understanding the gravity of the situation entirely as she begins to un-burrito herself from the covers, “G’morning, beautiful,” she murmurs as she does so, finally disentangling from the blankets and while she was a little less warm, Harry was quick to wiggle in beneath them, “Sorry.”

“Don’ be sweet when m’tryin’ to be angry with you,” she puckers her lips at him dramatically, and though he sighs, he leans in and presses their mouths together softly, “Your kisses aren’t g’na sweeten me up, m’still grumpy, blanket hog.”

She can only hum as she cuddles closer to him, “Sorry,” she repeated, this time adding, “Like to swaddle myself like a lil’ baby. Reckon you weren’t holdin’ me well enough last night.”

An offended gasp leaves through his lips soundly, enough that it startles her, but his arms worm around her waist and draw her closer to his body, “Brat,” he grumbled, dipping his nose into her throat, “I held you so well and you just wiggled right out of my arms and took all the covers with you.”

“Like a worm -- I wiggled out like a worm or somethin’,” she tried to sit up but his arms tightened around her, “This worm has to pee though and she’ll soak the bed if she isn’t allowed.”

His arm loosens around her, “This worm sounds like she’s a sleepy sort of delusional that requires about two hours more of rest.”

Y/N stumbles toward the bathroom in her room, “Noooooooo,” she whines, frowning at nobody, not bothering to swing the door shut before she plops on the cold toilet seat to relieve herself, “We’re supposed to go get hot chocolate, no more sleep.”

“Baby, it’s 6 AM and I’ve been up the last 30 minutes freezing my bits off!” He calls back to her and she giggles some, her eyes trying to accommodate to the bright white lights of the bathroom, “Sleep just a bit more and we’ll get the hot chocolate when we wake up next.”

She waits until she flushes and washes her hands to respond to him, and though she knows that she is definitely going to crawl back in bed and fall asleep, she stands at the foot of it with her hands in fists at her hips. He had let his eyes flutter closed by then but she thinks he could feel her eyeballing him, so he looks up past the mountain of blankets now covering him so she could only see his eyes and his nose, “What’re you doing?”

“You’re telling me, you don’t wanna go at 6 AM, three hours before the kiosk even opens to get hot chocolate with me? You must really hate me, don’t you?”

He huffs a sharp breath through his nose which is how he usually laughs in the morning, when he can’t muster up the strength to have a proper giggle, “Absolutely loathe you, baby doll, but could you please come back to bed so I can loathe you in the warmth?”

It takes little persuading -- as she said, she knew she was just going to crawl right back in beside him -- and instead of relying too heavily on the blankets to provide her warmth (like wrapping up half of it around her so she was cocooned entirely. . .this is what she normally does, and she would say that’s probably why Harry almost never has any of the covers in the morning), she relies on him. Picks up his arm so that she can fit herself underneath it and lies her cheek on his chest, “Your pits better not be smelly.”

“I make no promises.”

.                             .                         .

“I love your hair.”

“Stop it, Sweetheart, I’m g’na start blushing.”

They had slept for four more hours rather than the two Harry had originally suggested, but that always happens with them. Y/N would say that they are just too content cuddled up with one another that they milk it for all it’s worth. If one of them wakes up before the other, then they just settle their head back down and close their eyes again. Unless they had somewhere to be, of course, but Harry had a free Saturday (no clients schedule, even though Saturday’s could often be some of his heaviest days) and he’d elected to spend it with her -- whether they were awake or asleep didn’t much mater, they just liked to be near each other.

When they finally did wake up, they lazily got dressed into about thirty layers so they wouldn’t freeze outside. The weather had grown frigid quite quickly this November, and neither of them stood the cold very well, but there was a park lined with little pop-up kiosks with hot chocolate, sweets, little holiday goodies, and an obscene amount of knitted blankets (it was a clever marketing tactic, Y/N thought -- everyone is more willing to spend money on a blanket when they’re freezing cold - she and Harry had certainly fallen for it today). Y/N bought them shoe warmers to keep their toes at least not numb, and Harry lets her borrow a pair of his gloves because she keeps forgetting to buy some of her own. They both have hats fitted over their heads too, and since Harry’s let his hair grow out, his curls stick out from beneath the pumpkin orange print and Y/N can’t stop staring at it. She’s always loved his hair, she told him as much one of the first nights they’d sat on her bookstore’s floor and talked about just a bit of everything. Back when she barely realized she had a crush on him. . . .when she didn’t know that in just a little time, she would be over the moon.

And she’ll never forget that people used to make him feel like shit about his hair, so she maybe overcompensates by telling him every time she has thought about loving it. Which means today, in the span of a short three hours they’d been awake, Y/N had complimented his hair about twenty different times. If she was running her fingers through it, fixing his beanie, or just staring at him, she let him know just how much she adored his curls.

“I hate to tell you this, Button, but your cheeks are already red as apples,” she shifted the paper cup of hot chocolate from her hand closest to him to the other, so she could reach up and tuck them behind his ear, that had reddened from the cold, “The air has you more bashful than I ever could.”

“Not true,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he knocks closer to her ear, “I always blush when you go down on me.”

“God,” Y/N shakes her head, “You’re too much, d’ya know that?”

He laughs, nudging her with the cold tip of his nose, “You want the peppermint bark? We’re coming up on the seller.”

“Of course, I want peppermint bark,” she reaches for her wallet, “I’m stocking us up for the next hundred years or so.”

Harry slows for a moment, sliding his gloved hand into her own and squeezing, “Hey,” he begins, his voice soft, somewhat reflective and it brings her attention to him at her side, “Y’know when -- you remember how you said you just get random flushes of love for me and s’a whole lot and you just don’t know what to do with it?”

Y/N nods, “Yeah, like every waking minute practically. Why?”

He smiles shyly, “I’m having one of those moments.”

“For the peppermint bark?” She teases, but his brows furrow and he swats her shoulder playfully, “Hey!”

“I’m trying to be sweet on you, and you’re still going on about this bloody chocolate,” he rubs the arm that he swats, even though Y/N has so many layers on plus the blanket that she bought wrapped around her, that he made no real contact with her body.

Y/N pulls him in for a hug, narrowly avoiding a child running past them as she does so, “Oh, you know m’only kidding. I love you too, Bug, more than words can describe and ten times more than the chocolate I reckon. . .well, unless it’s made really well this year.”

“I’ll leave you here, blanket hog.”

#blurbs #Anonymous

[too-gay-for-marvel]

maybe i should complain

Word Count: 1601

Warnings: none

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

People in Bucky’s apartment complex had a habit of complaining. The young married couple on the third floor complained about the walk-up, even though there was an elevator they could use if they just waited a few extra minutes. The college girls in 13B complained about the smell of weed coming from 13D. The college boys in 13D complained about the nonstop laughter coming from 13B. The old lady directly below Bucky complained about his late night pacing. The neighbour to his left complained about the people complaining.

But you never complained about anything.

In fact, he never really heard anything from you, ever.

Not that he saw you very often in the first place. He came home and weird hours and when he was home, he slept. Or he tried to. Sometimes he tried to. He never slept. But he was home when he should have been sleeping, and you never made any sound. You probably lived like a normal person.

He knew who you were, though. People in the building talked about you. The single father across the hall would mention how you made him dinner some nights and would babysit whenever he needed. The wannabe models two floors down said you bought them a fruit basket. The kids in the apartment above him would talk nonstop about you reading to them or making them cookies.

As neighbours, he expected to see you at some point. He just didn’t think it would be in the middle of the night.

Another long mission completed and all he wanted was to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling for a few hours. In fact, he didn’t even think he was going to change out of his clothes; he needed to wash his bedsheets, anyway.

He fiddled with his key for too long, at one point just giving up and letting his head fall against the door. It was too late, and he was too tired, and he wasn’t ready to be alone. But he needed to get inside and feed Alpine.

The lock slid back at the same time he heard a door open. Instinct kicked in and he turned his head, eyes searching for the sound. But it was just you. You in your pyjama pants and your tank top and your hair pulled into a messy bun.

And even though he knew he was safe, his pulse skyrocketed.

You didn’t see him. You just padded across the hall with your bare feet and placed a note on the single father’s door. He saw your mouth pull the side as you rubbed your thumb against the tape. Only when it was truly stuck did you smile to yourself and turn around.

“Fuck,” you whisper shouted as soon as you finally saw him. Your hand flew to your chest and you literally stepped back. He wanted to laugh.

“I’m just-,” you stopped and pointed to the door. Your mouth opened and closed a few times before sighing and rolling your eyes.

“I get it,” he said quickly, even though he got a strange enjoyment from watching you flounder. It made his palm sweat when you closed your eyes and pursed your lips before running a hand over your hair.

“Good night,” you whispered, and without looking at him again you went back into your apartment.

Bucky saw you more often after that. He would put it down to his hours overlapping with yours. But he would not admit that he was trying to see you more. It was just a coincidence, and he would defend that until his dying breath.

You were always in pyjamas. Not once did he ever see you in anything but pyjamas. The outfit changed, obviously, but not by much. Sometimes you’d wear long sleeves, sometimes short, sometimes pants, sometimes socks. But always pyjamas.

One time he even found you in the lobby, conversing with the doorman. Still in pyjamas; boxers and a t-shirt. He didn’t know what you were saying, he didn’t care to. All he cared about was the way the muscles in your legs jumped when you would shift.

Not that he was staring. Bucky Barnes did not stare. He was an assassin, a soldier, a professional. There was no way he would be staring at his neighbour’s legs as she talked to the sweet old doorman. So he turned his eyes back down to the floor and decided to walk up to his apartment on the 9th floor.

Natasha and Sharon got the ball moving, though. He had invited them over so they could all just relax; it wasn’t the same trying to relax in the Tower. They made dinner - well, he and Sharon made dinner. Natasha wasn’t allowed to help - and sat on his tattered couch.

“You haven’t mentioned your other neighbour,” Natasha said after hearing Bucky lovingly complain about the chaos in his building.

“Do you even know her?” Sharon asked around a mouthful of stew.

“I see her around,” Bucky shrugged. He already knew he wasn’t going to like this conversation.

“She cute?” Sharon asked, ever the most normal of the group.

“Does it matter?”

“That’s a yes,” Natasha smirked.

“You talk to her?” Sharon continued. This was going to turn into an interrogation.

“Once or twice.”

“She nice?”

“Seems like it.”

“What does she do?”

“She have a boyfriend?”

“Have you-”

-the sound of something hitting the wall set them off. Blame it on their upbringing or their experiences, but they reacted… dangerously. Within a second of the sound, they had shot what amounted to around three clips of bullets into the wall. Screams rang through the air until their clips emptied.

And the screams stopped.

“Shit,” Sharon whispered.

“We killed her,” Natasha continued.

They froze. They had just emptied clips into the wall of an apartment building. Bucky had a neighbour on the other side of that wall. The neighbour that everyone loved. And they had just killed her.

A knock on the door made them jump and they almost shot again. Lucky for them whoever was at the door that they were empty. Then they started to worry.

“Go answer the door,” Natasha whisper shouted.

“I’m not answering it,” Bucky shot back.

“You have to, it’s your door,” Sharon insisted.

“What if it’s my neighbour?”

“We killed her.”

“Maybe it’s her ghost.”

“Just answer the damn door!” Sharon finally said as she pushed Bucky toward the door. His hand shook as he opened it, and they shook even more when he saw you standing there.

With the most furious look he had ever seen.

And your arms crossed over your chest.

And your dress covered in plaster and dust.

Wait.

“Are you delusional?” You demanded. It was rhetorical.

“You’re not in pyjamas,” Bucky whispered, his eyes still glued to the formal attire that was so foreign to him.

“Seriously?” You asked, your eyes squinting in disbelief. “You shoot through my wall and the only thing you notice is that I’m not wearing pyjamas?”

“We were just…” He didn’t know how to continue. Nothing would make sense. Nothing would explain why their first instinct had been to shoot at the noise.

But then you let your shoulders fall, and that furious expression disappeared. You kept your arms crossed, but he noticed the muscles in your arms relax and the blood return to your knuckles.

“I get it,” you said softly. He doubted you did. “I’m still filing a complaint, though,” you said as you pointed at him.

“That’s fair,” he said, completely defeated. He wasn’t ready to get kicked out of another apartment.

He heard rushed whispering behind him and he turned to look at Sharon and Natasha. They were plotting. Natasha was making obscene gestures that he knew you could see. But Sharon was pointing at you with her eyes and giving him a look that said to be brave. Or else.

“How about you, uh,” Bucky started before he had turned back to face you, “don’t file a complaint.”

“You shot through my wall,” you said, even though it was more than obvious. He could still smell the gunpowder.

“I know,” he said as he ran a hand through his hair, “but you shouldn’t file.”

“And just why not?” You asked as you cocked your hip ever so slightly. The slit in your dress was actually really long.

“I think we can work it out,” he shrugged. “Maybe over dinner?”

He could hear Natasha and Sharon giggling behind him. And he saw the way the corner of your mouth ticked up ever so slightly. If he hadn’t been a trained killer he would have missed it. But he didn’t.

“You’re trying to buy my silence?” You asked as you raised a brow.

“Is it working?”

“Only if I choose the restaurant,” you said, finally smiling a half-smile that made his stomach drop in the best way.

“It’s only fair,” Bucky replied. “I did shoot through your wall.”

“And I’ll hold you to it,” you said as you made your way to your own apartment. “Good night,” you said before shutting your door.

“That was lame,” Natasha said immediately after Bucky turned around.

“I hope you saved up,” Sharon said around another mouthful of what was probably cold stew. “She’s picking an expensive restaurant.”

“How do you know?” He asked as he sat back down on the couch. Both Sharon and Natasha just pointed to the wall.

And how you could see through the new hole and directly into your apartment.

He was going to be seeing you in pyjamas a lot more often.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine

[softlass27]

So today I got a little wistful thinking about travel – or the lack thereof these days – and since airports are one of my favourite types of places, this random little ficlet was born.

AO3 link here

Manchester Airport is hushed and near-empty in the early hours of the morning, only a few flights scheduled for this time.

“All checked in,” Robert comes over to where Aaron’s waiting with a yawn. “I don’t have to go through to departures for a while yet.”

His hair is flat against his forehead, and Aaron can’t resist pushing it up gently. “Wanna sit?”

Robert nods, grabbing the handle of his carry on suitcase and steering them to a row of seats near the window. They settle themselves down and Aaron passes Robert the tea he’d bought while he waited for Robert to check in.

“Ta.” Robert takes a sip. “Ugh, that’s a bad brew.”

Aaron hums and slurps a mouthful of his own drink – a strong black coffee to make sure he'll be awake enough for the drive home he’ll have to make soon.

They sit in sleepy silence, gazing out the window at planes taking off and landing on the runways, the lights blinking in the pitch-black sky.

Aaron’s gaze drifts to Robert. His cheek still has the indents that the car seatbelt had made while he’d slept during their journey to the airport. He reaches out to rub at them with his thumb and Robert tips his head into it, before taking hold of Aaron’s hand and pressing brief kiss to his palm.

“Where d’you think that one’s going, then?” He gestures to a plane taking off in front of them, too far away for them to make out the logo in the darkness.

“Bet it’s somewhere hot, lucky bastards,” Aaron grumbles, shuffling his head further down into the collar of his puffy jacket. The bitter cold of this early February morning is making him so utterly done with winter. “God, I’m so cold. And so tired.”

“Hey, I told you you didn’t have to drop me off. I could’ve gotten a taxi.”

“Don’t be daft.”

Robert gives this annoying little smile, like he knew that’s exactly what Aaron was going to say, and God, Aaron misses him. He hasn’t even gone yet, he’s still sitting right here next to him, and Aaron already misses him so much, because apparently he’s that kind of sap these days. It’s sad, really.

He leans into him and Robert doesn’t hesitate to pull him closer, wrapping a long arm around Aaron’s shoulders and tucking him in the crook of his neck.

They stay like that for the next twenty minutes or so, watching people in neon vests run around on the tarmac outside, hauling luggage and prepping runways. In that time, Robert manages to drift off to sleep again, soft snores ringing in Aaron’s ears. Aaron slides his arm in the opening of Robert’s expensive wool coat, the one he always wears when he’s hoping to impress whoever he’s meeting.

And Aaron knows he’s keen to impress these prospective French clients; if he secures this contract it’ll bring in a huge amount of profit to the haulage. Aaron had spent hours sitting up with Robert, going over his pitch and presentation over and over again until it was as perfect as they could get it. He’d even given Robert a few French phrases to impress them with… though he’d advised him to double-check the pronunciation online before trying them out. Aaron’s wasn’t exactly spot on.

He snuggles further into Robert, stroking his stomach through his jumper and soaking up the natural warmth his husband always seems to carry with him, whatever the weather. Takes in the feel of his body, the smell of his aftershave, the sound of his breathing. Makes the most of him while he can.

It’s just a few days, not even a week, but he’s not looking forward to facing an empty bed tonight. Maybe he’ll let Seb come in with him for a little sleepover, and get his cuddles from Robert’s tiny clone.

As the first rays of sunrise start to peak through the sky, Aaron checks the time on his phone and nudges Robert awake. All that gets him is a shake of Robert’s head as he buries his face into Aaron’s shoulder out of habit.

“Robert.”

“Ugh, nooo.”

“Rob, come on. You should probably start makin’ tracks, you’ve gotta get all those little 100ml bottles of yours through security. What is there, shampoo, conditioner, moisturiser, hand cream, spare hand cream – ”

Robert scowls and elbows him into shutting up, but he does open his eyes and sit up, scrubbing at his face with his hand. He looks impossibly soft, like he always does in the morning, and Aaron is hit by another wave of longing. Shit.

He goes to chuck away their styrofoam cups while Robert shuffles through his bag and checks he has his passport, before standing up to stretch his arms over his head. The loud groan he lets out as he does so is obscene, really, Aaron would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so into it.

They wander towards the entrance to the departures lounge, where a few other travellers are also making their way through, stopping to say goodbye to any loved ones who’ve accompanied them. Robert pulls them to one side so they’re not in anyone’s way, and pulls Aaron into a tight hug.

“See you on Friday,” he says into Aaron’s neck, pressing his mouth to the skin there.

Aaron shivers and nods. “Travel safe, and don’t drink too much champagne with those French blokes.”

“Without you?” Robert grins as he leans back enough to look Aaron in the eye. “Never.”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “I’ve told you, I don’t like it.”

“Lies,” Robert chuckles. “Give Seb a massive hug from me when you get home, yeah?”

They’d left Seb with Victoria, who’d stayed over at theirs to get him up and ready for nursery that morning. Aaron would be back in plenty of time to pick him up at lunchtime.

“Course I will.”

“I’ll be heading to the hotel to freshen up and get changed before the first meeting, so I’ll have time to give you a ring.”

“I know.”

“And I’ll call you later tonight, try and catch Seb’s bedtime – ”

“I know, Rob,” Aaron’s laughing now. “C’mere.”

He pushes up on his tip toes to press a soft kiss to the side of Robert’s mouth, pulling away only to tilt his head and kiss him again, harder this time. Robert deepens it, parting Aaron’s lips with his tongue and bringing his hands up to cup Aaron’s jaw, thumbs stroking through stubble.

It’s a little more PDA than they’d normally indulge in, but fuck it, the airport is nearly dead, it’s not like there are many people around to see. They eventually part, resting their foreheads together.

“I love you,” Aaron says, brushing his nose along Robert’s cheek.

“Love you, too.” Robert squeezes his waist.

“Bring me back some macarons.”

“Will do.”

“You should get going, then.”

“Mm-hm… ”

He doesn’t move, though, keeps holding onto Aaron and Aaron lets him. They stay like that for a little while longer, and Aaron wonders when he became such a soft lad.

“Okay.” He eventually takes a step back. “You need to go, otherwise you might actually miss your flight and we’ll have gotten up at arse o’clock for nothin’.”

Robert rolls his eyes but nods, grabbing his suitcase and showing his passport and boarding pass to the guard. He’s quickly allowed through, and Aaron watches as he makes his way down the long corridor towards the security checks. Just before he rounds the corner, he stops and turns to Aaron, tilting his head as he gives him a small wave.

Aaron takes a hand out of his pocket to wave back, and keeps his eyes on him until he’s out of sight. And then it’s just him, standing in the quiet airport, feeling a little bereft and wondering how bad the traffic will be on the drive home.

****

Seb begs to come along with him to pick Robert up on Friday afternoon. He’d already been slightly devastated that he couldn’t go to the airport to drop Robert off, obsessed as he is with aeroplanes these days. He also insists, for some reason, that they need to bring Robert a welcome home balloon. Where he’s gotten that idea, Aaron has no clue, but he can’t bring himself to say no.

So here he stands in the airport, one hand holding Seb’s smaller one, and the other grasping the string of a bright blue balloon. They’d killed some time by watching the hustle and bustle outside, Seb pointing with delight at every plane he saw on the runway, but as soon as Robert’s flight landed, they took their place in among the small crowd of people waiting at the arrival’s gate, Seb swinging his arm back and forth impatiently.

After about fifteen minutes, passengers finally begin to trickle out one by one and Seb’s immediately bouncing on his toes, craning his neck to get a better view.

Eventually Robert appears, coming up just behind a small group of students, eyes already darting around the crowd.

“Daddy!” And Seb’s off, dropping Aaron’s hand and dashing forwards as fast as little legs can carry him.

Aaron sees Robert’s eyes light up instantly, and he’s dropping his suitcase to scoop Seb up in his arms.

“Mate, I didn’t know you were picking me up!” He grips Seb tightly and presses his face to his neck to blow a raspberry there. “You miss me?”

“Loads.” Seb wraps his arms around Robert’s neck, squirming excitedly in his grip. Robert awkwardly leans down to pick up his suitcase and move them out of the path of a disgruntled-looking elderly couple, heading in Aaron’s direction with a smile.

“Hey you,” he says, giving him a light kiss.

“Hiya.” Aaron knows he’s grinning like an idiot.

“What’s with the balloon?”

“S’for you!” Seb explains, grasping Robert’s collar.

“It’s a welcome home balloon. Apparently.” Aaron smirks and holds it out. “His idea.”

“Blue. You like blue,” Seb adds.

“You’re right, blue is my favourite colour,” Robert says, letting Aaron take his suitcase so he can swap it for the balloon. “Thanks bud, I love it.”

“Home?” Aaron asks.

“God yes, I’m knackered. And starving. Can we get some chips or something from the Woolie?”

“Yes,” Seb replies before Aaron has a chance, as if it’s up to him.

“And then,” Robert adds, bouncing Seb lightly in his arm. “I can show you all the presents I got you.”

Seb grins toothily and snuggles down on Robert's shoulder.

“Got some stuff for you, too,” Robert murmurs to Aaron as they start walking in the direction of the exit.

“Did you get the – ”

“Yes, I got your macarons. Two boxes, because I'm a good husband.”

Aaron’s helpless to stop the warm feeling that spreads in his chest, the one that’s been missing since the last time he stood in this airport. Sure, they’ve texted and spoken every day, but it doesn’t compare to actually having Robert here by his side.

Nothing beats having him home.

#my writing #robron #robron fic #idk i'm feeling soft

[muse539]

Here We Lie in the Shadows

Chapter Three: BLT’s

Read on ao3!

....

Bellamy startled awake at the sound of a car horn being held for just slightly too long.

“Oh, fuck you too, buddy!” Clarke swore.

The bridge over the Mississippi River into St. Louis was busy, even so early in the morning.

“What time is it?” Bellamy asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sky was dark.

“A little past two. I pulled over at a rest stop for a while to sleep.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows creased. “You could have woken me up, I would have driven.”

Clarke waved a hand dismissively, and began to merge off of the highway, the iconic arch to their right.

“I thought we were going to drive straight to LA?”

Clarke followed signs for the convention center, the smaller streets dark and quiet.

“I’m hoping Echo thinks that too. We’re better off driving only at night, and I have a friend who I’d like to talk to while we’re here.”

Eventually, Clarke pulled off of the street and into the parking garage next to a small hotel. Grabbing their meagre belongings and printing a ticket that promised parking would be entirely too expensive, they went inside.

The hotel was modest, but nice, and the man occupying the desk eyed them dubiously, no doubt surprised to see people coming in so late. Or early.

“We’d like a room, please.”

The man eyed them up and down. Bellamy could imagine they both looked worse for wear, in practically stolen clothes and only having slept for a few hours in a car. All after almost being blown up.

Bellamy was sure they looked the epitome of perfection and grace. Not. Internally, he snorted.

Regardless, the man turned to his computer and pulled up the available rooms. “One room or two?” he asked.

“Just one, thank you. One bed.” Clarke’s voice was polite, but her eyes suggested an intense impatience.

Bellamy’s eyes widened slightly before he remembered to school his expression. Clarke paid the man in cash, and within a few minutes, they had their keys and were making their way to the elevators.

Once they were inside and the doors rolled closed, Bellamy turned to Clarke. “Why did you-”

“Shhhh.”

Bellamy shut up and followed Clarke when the doors opened. It was only once they were inside their room - with the single bed - that Clarke turned to Bellamy.

“The wait staff at Arcadia thought you were waiting for your wife. If Echo did her homework, she knows that. It’s as easy of a cover to maintain as any. We’re certainly not related.”

This time, Bellamy snorted externally. Clarke’s lips lifted in a small smile. “Okay, fine. You take the bed then, you’ve barely slept.”

Clarke laughed then. “Bellamy, I think we’re mature enough to share the bed. You’re not scared of your wife, are you?”

That tore a laugh out of him. “No, I suppose not.” They smiled at each other. “Seriously though, go to sleep. I want to shower anyway.”

Shrugging, Clarke turned to the bed and opened her duffle bag. Bellamy slipped into the bathroom.

---

Clarke was asleep by the time Bellamy finished his shower. He’d forgotten to pack his razor, which was upsetting to him. He’d never had much luck pulling off facial hair, but he supposed it would make him look different. Maybe different enough to throw off their presumed tail.

Bellamy was musing over this as he made his way to the small desk in the room. Since Clarke was asleep, now was the perfect time to work on his Michelin reports.

Let’s give Arcadia that third star.

---

Clarke always rose with the sun, no matter how little sleep she’d gotten. Once, at Miller’s suggestion, she’d gotten drunk the night before, to see if she'd sleep later. In the end, she’d actually woken up earlier than normal.

It was a curse.

Clarke rolled over and saw that the other side of the bed was made, Bellamy sitting at the little table by the window. The curtains were open, and he was watching the sun rise.

Clarke was decidedly not admiring his profile.

“Did you sleep at all?” He was in his pajamas, but they didn’t look slept in.

“Hmm?” Bellamy turned to her, blinking slowly. “Ah, no. I wasn’t tired. I am hungry though. Breakfast?”

Clarke rose onto her forearms. Bellamy’s eyes briefly traced the way her hair flowed down her back. “Sure. We can order room service.”

Bellamy grunted like the idea offended him personally. Which it did. “Room service? Oh no, no. We’re in St. Louis! There are so many great options here, we’re not ordering room service.”

Clarke’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. Great. I’m stuck with a foodie with no regard for his own safety. “Bellamy. Have you forgotten that there are people, at the very least, Echo, likely following us? And that those people blew up a restaurant the last time we were at one?”

He scoffed. “Of course I remember, Princess . We’ll keep it low profile. Obviously.”

If the NSA has taught her anything, it’s when to pick her battles. Bellamy’s posture told Clarke all she needed to know: he was not budging. She sighed. “Fine.”

“Great!”

---

They passed multiple restaurants while they walked before finding one that didn’t offend Bellamy’s apparently delicate sensibilities. Clarke made sure to let him know that she thought he was being ridiculous.

“Hey!” he laughed, her jibes were nothing compared to Octavia’s. “I don’t know when I’m ever going to get to be in St. Louis again, I want to enjoy it.”

They (meaning Bellamy) settled on a restaurant called BLT’s. Not the sandwich, no no, but rather “Breakfast, Lunch, and Tacos.”

“It’s such an interesting concept!” Bellamy was practically buzzing with excitement, curls jumping with each quick turn of his head; Clarke was barely holding back laughter. Bellamy ordered a chorizo and egg taco, as well as a sunrise taco, while Clarke ordered a veggie scramble.

“Come on, Clarke. Not even a taco? It’s in the name!”

“So is the word breakfast, Bellamy.” He scoffed.

When the food arrived, Bellamy pulled out some of his papers from the backpack he carried.

“What are you doing?” Clarke asked.

“Grading.” Bellamy pushed a paper towards her. It appeared to be a history report written by a student that didn’t understand punctuation.

“Yikes.”

“You have no idea.”

Of course, what Clarke didn’t know was that Bellamy had a small notebook open under the table, and while he appeared to be reading his student’s papers, he was actually writing a critique on the tacos.

The chorizo has a good amount of spice, but the taco itself is a little dry, despite the pepper jack cheese. What the taco could really use is a small amount of salsa…

When they finished eating, and Bellamy gave the offending paper he showed to Clarke a C-, they walked back to the hotel.

When their door closed, Clarke pulled out her phone. It was a burner that Harper gave her before they left Chicago. She dialed a number and held it up to her ear, holding out a finger before Bellamy could ask what she was doing.

Thankfully, he picked up. “Hello?”

“Murphy, are you in town?”

“Clarke? What the shit, Griffin, I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks now!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m on the run, you know how it is.”

“I do know how it is, which is why you should have picked up your fucking phone!”

“Lay off Murphy. Are you in town or not?”

“You’re in St. Louis? Why?”

“Murphy.”

“Fuck you. No, I’m not in St. Louis. I’m in Oklahoma City on an assignment. At the sister branch.”

“Well, I need to talk to you.”

“And I need to talk to you. When can you get here?”

Clarke scoffed. “Get there? Murphy, I’m on the run, with a civilian no less. I don’t have time to be making detours!”

“You have time for this one. Get here.” He hung up.

“That absolute bastard.”

Bellamy blinked at her, wide eyed. “Who was that?”

“John Murphy, another NSA operative. He’s a friend.”

“Some friend.”

Clarke shrugged.

Looking like he was about to poke a bear, Bellamy asked, “Clarke, why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“The NSA.”

Clarke regarded him for a moment. He had sat down in the chair he’d occupied that morning, Clarke had perched on the end of the bed. His eyes were kind, and he seemed sincere, even if Clarke suspected he was hiding something. Not that she had any proof, but she can’t imagine why else he would have so easily gone along with playing her husband. That alone was far from normal behavior. But, she had no reason to hide at this point. He already knew too much for an apparent civilian, knowing her tragic backstory wouldn’t make him any more dangerous.

“My father was murdered when I was 14, and they never found the killer.”

Bellamy grew quiet, dark eyes widening.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be an artist, but when Dad got killed, I just wanted to figure out who did it. The case is long cold now - it’s been over 10 years - but while I can’t help my Dad, I can help other people. Stop other tragedies from happening. The government is so corrupt. I figure, by inserting myself into that narrative, I can help make things a little better.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.” His gruff voice was gentle.

She smiled weakly. “It’s okay.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Clarke cleared her throat. “Well, we shouldn’t drive during daylight hours, and we also shouldn’t wander around the city. So, I don’t know about you, but I’m going back to sleep.”

In the end, they traded off taking naps until early evening. By then. Bellamy’s stomach was making some truly obscene noises.

“I’ll go to the corner store and get us some food.”

“Bellamy, we really shouldn’t be going out - even this morning was a mistake.”

He huffed. “Well, I’m not going to eat fast food. So unless you’d like me to eat you, Princess, I’m going to get something from the corner store.” Bellamy flushed scarlet when his brain caught up with his words. He hoped Clarke didn’t notice.

She noticed. But, feeling gracious, she elected to ignore it. “It’s still a bad idea. With Echo tailing us-”

“Echo’s been tailing you, not me. She maybe got a glimpse of me in the restaurant, but I looked different. She’s not going to notice me.”

Clarke looked as though she was in pain, but she sighed. “Okay. Be quick, alright? If you’re not back in half an hour, I’m going to assume you were compromised, and I will leave without you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“See you in half an hour then.”

---

Echo watched as the man traveling with Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake, walked into the corner store. He had a two day old scruff, but that did little to disguise the large man loping through the streets of St. Louis.

Echo could confront him, and demand that he take her back to Clarke, but Echo suspected that this man may be strong willed. She didn’t believe he would go easily, but he didn’t need to. Echo was content, for now, to keep following them, keeping her distance.

---

Bellamy made it back to the hotel room with time to spare, weighed down with multiple bags of food. He didn’t like that he was being forced to live on convenience foods, but, he reminded himself, even this was a step up from what he and Octavia had to eat as children. Namely, that he had anything to eat at all.

Clarke had already packed their bags by the time he returned, the sun slowly setting over the city. “It’s time to go,” she said, thrusting his bag into his arms. They made their way towards the parking garage.

Before setting out, Clarke opened the trunk and pulled out a license plate. She then swapped it with the plate that was already on the car.

“I suppose that’s better than grand theft auto.”

Clarke snorted. “That’s for the next town. For now, the plates are fine.”

Bellamy wasn’t sure if she was kidding. Clarke’s eyes said that she wasn’t.

And they were off.

As they turned onto the highway, Bellamy spoke. “Why did you save me?”

The when and where went without saying.

Clarke was quiet for a moment. “Would you have rather I left you?”

“You might not be in this mess if you had.”

Clarke was silent, waiting for an answer. She had wondered herself. It was true that things might not have gotten so crazy had she left Bellamy, but she also likely wouldn’t have deciphered Octavia’s note as quickly without him. And it was… nice. To have the company.

Eventually, Bellamy sighed. “No, I don’t wish you had left me. I probably would have died if you did.” Echo would have thought Bellamy was Agent Blake regardless of if he left with Clarke that night. “But, still, why did you? You were upset when you realized I wasn’t Agent Blake, but you had me come with you anyway.”

Again, Clarke was quiet. Bellamy counted to twenty before she said, “I’m tired of the death.”

What she didn’t say was that Clarke has likely condemned Bellamy to death anyway. He’s right, Echo probably would have killed him if I left him behind, but now he’s involved. Now Echo will kill him, if we get caught.

They were mostly quiet for the rest of the drive, Bellamy dosing until he saw Clarke’s eyes begin to droop. He insisted on driving the rest of the way.

They rolled up to a motel on the outskirts of Oklahoma City at 4 am. Paying in cash, they again got a room with one bed.

Clarke glanced at Bellamy. “Get some sleep.”

“Why?” Bellamy asked.

“It’s best to be as rested as possible when dealing with John Murphy.”

#writing #bellarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #echo #john murphy #the 100 #tw swearing #here we lie in the shadows

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #14)

(cw: drug withdrawal, vomiting) <-Previous ----------

01/02/88  1:34 PM

Hey.

Can’t believe I’m still going to all the effort of writing this dramatic, emotional crap down while you’re not even here to be uncomfortable about it with me. This is so unnatural. But I keep coming back to it, so…

Showering felt good. I wasn’t too happy about smelling like Fix-it’s bath products, but clearing away the grime was therapeutic in its own small way, especially since my skin was smooth and intact again. No dirt, no blood, no wounds, no outward evidence that anything had happened to me at all. 

The feeling of cleanliness was tragically short-lived, however. I’d barely finished drying off before my skin clammed up and my body felt wrapped up in a hot, wet blanket. Boost withdrawal had snuck up on me, hiding behind other, much bigger stressors. Fix-it would soon regret lending me his disturbingly comfortable, silky, immaculately free-of-his-cousin’s-sweat pajamas.

I was in for a long night.

When I left the bathroom, I found Fix-it sitting on the couch next to a folded-up blanket and some pillows, looking thoughtful or troubled or something inexplicably annoying. He straightened up the second he saw me, and gave a wobbly sort of smile. “Did it do ya good to get clean?” he asked, painfully awkwardly.

I just grimaced, waist-deep in withdrawal, not loving the irony in his question.

I sat next to him, leaned my head back, and put a cold, wet hand towel that I’d nicked from the bathroom over my face. It relaxed me a bit, but relaxing wasn’t much of an improvement. My idle mind had no safe path to wander, no distraction other than my climbing fever. So I resorted to focusing on that, and let myself sink like a rock into that post-Boost depression. I needed a hit so badly. I just imagined that sweet electric rush dissolving the withdrawal, blowing away the fog over my senses, charging me back up with fierce courage so I could get back out there and face the arcade. Thinking about a remedy only made me feel sicker, but I didn’t care. More sickness meant more distractions from… other things. 

I was in for a really long night.

It wasn’t until Fix-it said “Mavy..?” that I realized he had been talking. Silently asking the Devs why he was still trying to have a conversation with me, I replied with a grunt.

Assumedly repeating himself, he said carefully, “I just wanted to say thank you… You know, for… trusting me.”

I figured he was kind of putting words in my mouth, but whatever. I was willingly staying in his home, so he wasn’t completely wrong. But I knew he really meant trusting him with… well, everything written on my body. To that, I did not know what to say. I lifted the corner of the cloth on my face to peer at him. He was giving me those earnest eyes again, the ones that his binary may as well tumble out of. I could almost feel the bags under my eyes getting heavier. It felt like anything I could have said would only have made me worse off.

After a sufficiently weird pause, I figured out what to say.

“Do you have a bucket?”

“...Beg pardon?”

“So I don’t puke on your floor.”

“Oh!”

He sprung up like a popcorn kernel, disappeared for a second, and returned with a gross-looking utility bucket, probably the only dirty thing I’d seen in his apartment thus far. It had definitely been used for paint at some point, of all things. Then, seemingly trying to top his personal best record for stupid questions, he asked if I was nauseous. I didn’t dignify it with a response. After that, he just insisted on brewing me some tea that I can’t remember the name of, because it would, as he put it, soothe my “tummy” and help me sleep.

I told him that if he said “tummy” again, I might miss the bucket.

While the tea steeped, we had some minor disagreements about the sleeping arrangement. He wanted to take the couch while I slept in his bed, but I was having none of that. The final verdict was that he’d take the bed, I’d take the couch, and if I somehow needed something that I couldn’t get myself, I could wake him up.

The tea was counterproductive. When I went to drink it, the mug didn’t even make it to my lips. I took one whiff of the scent -- not a bad one, but a scent nonetheless -- and my stomach lurched. I retched into the bucket not a moment later. Fix-it sprung up and practically started whining like an anxious dog. At the same time, though, he looked like he was fighting the urge to sympathy vomit. We had agreed on lights out just a moment ago, but he insisted that he must stay up with me for just a little while longer.

I groaned into the bucket in my lap, “To do what, read me a bedtime story?”

“...Well--”

“No.”

He gave up after that. At long last, he turned in for the night. He got me a glass of water, turned off the lights, and pretended to close the door behind him when he went into his room -- he left it cracked, for some reason I’d no doubt disagree with.

Once the lights were off, it really stood out to me just how wrong it felt spending the night inside Niceland again, after all these years. It was obscenely quiet, the only thing close to white noise being Wreck-it’s distant snoring. The windows didn’t need any blackout shutters like they would in your game, what with our game’s permanent night setting, but the cold, dim light from the cabinet’s screen around the corner was just enough to cast faint window-shaped squares on the floor. For most, it all probably would have been ideal for sleeping. But for me, it was too rigid. Too manufactured, sterile, too clean-cut. I needed mess. I needed a raw, wild, pass-out-drunk mess. Old pilled blankets, misshapen cushions, stained pillows, creaky springs in a mattress way too small for two sprites. If nothing else, I needed the stars. But you can’t see them from the windows of Niceland.

I thought of the places I wished I could be, threw up again, and began my really, really long night.

Most of the night felt like some kind of time loop, just the same awful crap for Devs know how many hours. Throwing up, washing out the bucket, sipping water, refilling water, refreshing the cold towel, burning up, shivering, throwing the blanket, bundling up in the blanket, throwing up again. Startling flashes of memory still kept me from drifting off, but it wasn’t just the fireworks anymore. There was also barking. There was that freak’s grating, screeching abuse. There was the garbled, distorted sound of metal splitting. Worst of all, the feeling of fading into sleep almost felt like fading into near-death again, kicking up that terrified, tooth-and-claw refusal to die. In those cases, I’d wake up screaming.

Freaked the hell out of Fix-it every time.

Something else happened that night. I have no idea what time it was. There was nothing left in me to throw up anymore. My teeth were chattering, but my sweat had still soaked well into the couch. I’d tossed away the warm and damp pillows in favor of resting my burning cheek against the cool cushion beneath. I was just trying desperately to creep past the obstacles between me and anything resembling rest. That’s when things got a little… let’s say “creative.”

I tried to fool myself into thinking I was somewhere more conducive to a good night’s sleep, and it worked. If I really thought about it, I could smell chips, popcorn, and Burger Time grease in the cushion under my head. I could make the upholstery feel frayed and slack. In my feverish delirium, I could even change the room around me. I could picture the walls pulled closer, and an impressive amount of junk for such a small space, all of which I knew by heart. There would be a stereo across from me, a kitchen counter down past my feet, half-full soda cans close to my head, empty six-pack rings hanging on the door handle, a jumpsuit thrown over the corner of the couch, and above me, a rack of meticulously polished trophies. As long as I kept my eyes closed, I was in your trailer. 

For those fleeting moments, everything felt normal again. It was as if nothing ever changed.

I heard your bed creak, and your footsteps shortly after. You paused close to me for a second before continuing into the kitchen. Jars rattled when you opened the fridge, a cupboard creaked as you looked for a glass that was actually clean, and I heard you pour something -- could only have been soda, in the middle of the night, you spectacular trainwreck. Then you crossed back to me, set your glass on a surface that shouldn’t have been there, and stopped moving. You just went quiet. So much that I thought you must have been plotting a way to mess with me in my sleep. I welcomed it, too. I couldn’t wait to catch you in the act and tackle you to the floor.

Then I heard, soft as a mouse, “Mavy?”

The illusion dissipated the moment Fix-it spoke. Reality struck again, landing a critical hit on that miserable withdrawal depression. It wasn’t you. It was just Fix-it, who had apparently come to get me a new glass of water. Part of me wanted to spring up and deck him, but I stayed perfectly still and silent. I didn’t want to encourage him to keep talking to me. In all honesty, I felt too heavy and lifeless to do anything at all.

“Mavy?” he said again. “Are you awake?”

Another stupid question. I just imagined that he wasn’t there, in hopes that it would come true. But, much to my regret, I heard him sit on the coffee table again. I could feel him looking at me. He was silent long enough for me to think that he had come out just to watch me sleep, like an absolute creepazoid. But just as I was bucking up the moxie to tell him to buzz off, he spoke again.

“Mavy… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or-- or tried to pressure you, or…” 

The first of many long pauses. 

“...I never should have doubted you. You’re worth so… so much more than anyone gives you credit for, and… I’ve known that since day one. Somewhere in this mayhem, I… just... lost sight of that. I know you won’t listen to how sorry I am… but I promise you, Mavy, it won’t happen again. Families support each other… and… this little family of two is all we’ve got. And I know…”

A long pause.

“...I know that you don’t… want a family. But, darn it, Mavy, you need a family, now more than ever. It… It hurts so much watching all this happen to someone I care about. I’m trying so hard to help you, but I just…”

Another pause, exceptionally long this time. For a minute, I wondered if he had left without me noticing, but sure enough, he spoke again. This time, his voice trembled. He’d started crying.

“I… don’t know… how to be the family you need. It... seems like everything I try just… pushes you away even more. I’m not asking you to forgive me, even after all these years, I just… I wish… I wish we could just talk about it. I wish we could just start over and… be better.”

He sniffed, and fell silent again for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was even quieter.

“You know, for all the trouble you two got into, I… I just loved seeing how happy he made you. I may not know how to be what you need, but… sure seemed like he did. No one else could make you laugh quite like him. ...I miss that laugh.”

Pause.

Then, by some miracle, I managed not to jump when he squeezed my hand. It was disgusting. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, so it was full skin-on-skin contact, and my hand was slimy with sweat, and for the Devs’ sake, Fix-it, I was asleep, as far as he knew. What kind of creep touches someone while they’re sleeping? Yeah, it was just my hand, but it’s the principle of the matter. I did not consent to that contact, and I would not have, even if he asked me. The whole idea of it pissed me off so much.

It didn’t make sense to me, then, why I didn’t pull away.

Maybe I was paralyzed with subconscious rage. Maybe I was too sick and depressed to move. Maybe I really, really didn’t want him to know I’d heard all that. Or, maybe pulling away would have conveyed a message that I didn’t want to send, one I didn’t think he fully deserved at the time.

Probably the rage.

Whatever my reason, he held my hand long enough to test me. Not even my gross, soggy palms deterred him. The binary in my hand was starting to really ache by the time he went on.

“You don’t deserve a broken heart, Mavy. I wish I could do more. I wish I could just… wave my hammer and bring him back for you. I’m so--... I’m so sorry I can’t give you that. There are some things I just… can’t fix.”

I heard him take a deep, slow breath, and it sounded like he rubbed his face with his free hand. For another few moments, I felt him watching me.

“Dream of something nice for me,” he finally muttered, and gave my hand one final squeeze before letting go. He stood, and, despite the fact that I was burning up, draped the blanket over my shoulders like some sappy cliché. Then he went the whole nine yards.

“Love you, cuz. Hope you know that.”

With that, he left me be. I waited until I heard his door creak and his duvet rustle to throw the blanket off and wipe my hand all over the couch. There was barely any mind power left in me to process what had just happened, but I suppose I ought to have thanked him for it -- it took my mind off of the things keeping me awake, and I eventually fell asleep, lost in uncomfortable thought.

I wasn’t angry, really, or even annoyed. I didn’t want to run away or chew him out. I just took bets with myself over how much longer it would be ‘til he realized he was wasting his time on me.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #fix it felix #make it mavis #turbo #original character #homesick

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Blow By Blow ch.1 (baon)

Summary: Set the day after ‘With Brotherly LV’. Jeff is having his first day working at the Embassy, Stretch is having a bad anxiety day, Red is having a bad text day, and Edge is just having a day.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, LV Issues, Brother issues

Notes: My timeline is getting a little wonky due to a few drabble sets and shorts. So this chapter directly follows With Brotherly LV

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

For once, Edge was not surprised that Stretch got up with him on a weekday morning. After last night, he likely wanted to keep Edge close as long as he could, had crept into his arms the moment Edge returned to their bed, heedless of the drying sweat still on his bones.

They'd slept restlessly in each others arms and in a rare indulgence, Edge used the snooze function on his alarm, skipping his morning run to stay buried in the blankets, and Stretch’s arms, for a little longer.

But the morning eventually needed to be faced. He’d left Stretch sleeping while he showered only to find the bed empty when he came back. When he went downstairs after dressing, Stretch was in the kitchen, sagged down on the counter in front of the brewing coffee pot with his head resting on his folded arms. Even the ducks on his bathrobe seemed somewhat wilted, the fabric drooping from the haphazardly tied belt. “It would be more comfortable for you to sleep our bed,” Edge pointed out. “mmph.” Edge couldn’t tell if that was agreement or a general statement about the day. He patted the back of Stretch’s skull then reached past it for the coffee carafe, pouring out two mugs. In the one cheerfully painted with the chemical formula for caffeine, he added enough creamer and sugar to bring it to a muddy consistency, leaving it on the counter and taking his own black coffee back to the table. There was enough time to skim the newspaper before he needed to leave. He took a sip of coffee, relying on the Beanery’s special roast to enhance the morning, because stars knew what he said next wasn’t about to. “Would you rather I come pick you up after work tomorrow to see Alphys or do you want to take the bus and meet me at the Embassy?” “i dunno.” It was muffled into Stretch’s arms to the point of being almost indecipherable and Stretch turned his head to the side to add, “the bus, i guess. no point in you coming home just to go right back.” Except for the fact that Stretch was very nervous about the upcoming appointment and sitting alone for the long bus ride was not likely to help. Saying that wouldn’t end well, though, and Edge only said, mildly, “I don’t mind. If you want to think about it, let me know what you decide tonight. "sounds good." Stretch's tone made it clear that he thought it was anything but good. He finally straightened with a groan and reached for the still steaming cup. His contended sigh at that first mouthful of coffee broke off as he turned and Edge frowned as Stretch did an actual spit take, coughing the sip he'd taken back into his cup. "Are you all right?" Edge asked, rising from his chair in concern. Skeletons didn't really have a gag reflex, he knew it personally and not simply because he was one. Stretch was staring at him, his mouth open and finally he recovered enough to say, "um, you've got something…?" He gestured vaguely at his face. Edge plucked a napkin from the holder and wiped at his mouth. "Better?" "um, no, uh...babe, what the fuck?" His voice rose shrilly as he stumbled forward with one hand reaching out, hesitating before it touched. "The problem isn’t on your face, it is your face! did red hit you last night?" Orange was starting to bleed into his pale eye lights, a visible sign of his anger rising. Edge could only stare at him in bewildered surprise. "Of course not, my brother wouldn't hit me." Not with his hands, at any rate. "yeah, okay." Stretch scrabbled his phone out of his robe pocket. A couple quick taps and he handed it over in selfie mode. What it showed made Stretch’s reaction seem far more reasonable. Edge traced a gloved fingertip down the side of his face with resigned dismay. There was an ugly bruise around his right socket, leaving a crow's wing of swelling darkness down the side of his face all the way to his jawline. Ah. One of those attacks must have caught him hard enough to bruise. He hadn't even noticed. Edge shook his head and handed the phone back. “I was using one of the private exercise rooms, I didn’t even notice I’d done this.” Not quite a lie. From the thinly veiled skepticism in Stretch’s look, he believed exactly none of that, “how the fuck do you not notice getting half your face smacked off?” He blew out a sharp breath, letting it go. “okay, okay. have a seat, babe, i'll heal it a little for you." Edge resisted the pressure of the hand on his shoulder urging him towards a chair. "I'm already running late, you can do it tonight." Stretch only looked at him in disbelief. "uh, yeah, no, you are not going in to work like that. are you fucking kidding me? my phone will be blowing up in two seconds and i don't have time to explain to the whole town we don't flirt that way.” He pointed firmly at a chair. “sit!” Edge sat. The electric surge in the air as Stretch called up his magic so close to him prickled along Edge’s bones. In the past, that would have been a warning, a threat, but his soul knew that magic, the touch of it even sweeter than the scent. Cool fingertips rested against his cheekbone, soothing the bruise even as they warmed. Edge closed his sockets against the rising green glow, sighing as that gentle warmth grew, spreading across his skull. He hadn't even noticed it hurting until the pain leached away, dulling to a barely noticeable throb. When he opened his sockets again Stretch was looking down at him, dissatisfied. "welp, that's the best i can do for right now. would have been better if i’d caught it right after. It's harder to heal shit once it settles in.” “I appreciate the effort.” Edge caught his withdrawing hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. But Stretch was not to be cajoled out of his irritation. He tugged his hand free, flopping down to sit in the opposite chair. “wasn’t only for you but yeah. i’ll try a little more when you get home, but i don’t want to overdo it or it’ll only make it worse. put some ice on it at work, might help.” "I will." Edge said with infinite patience. It was nerves, and Stretch was going to be jittery and snappish until he heard what Alphys had to say about his tests. “I do need to get going.” “uh huh,” Stretch emptied his desecrated coffee into the sink and poured another cup, doctoring it with obscene amounts of cream and sugar. Normally, his moans of appreciation would follow his first sip, but this time he leaned against the counter and said, “anyone asks, tell ‘em the other guy looks worse.” “Thank you for the advice,” Edge said dryly, “but no one is going to ask.” His allowances for Stretch’s anxiety did not mean he was willing to leave without a kiss. Edge stood, prowling over to Stretch and braced his hands against the counter on either side of his husband, caging him in. Stretch only smirked, taking an exasperatingly long sip of his coffee, and saying nearly into the cup. “you need something?” “I do.” Edge let his voice drop to a teasing growl, watched the faint shiver that came from it. “And you can either give it to me or I’m going to take it.” That lazy smirk widened. “ooh, threats. think you’ve already been playing a little too rough, babe.” But he set his coffee aside, his cup-warmed hands gentle on Edge’s healing bruises as he ducked his head and offered a kiss. Edge lingered too-long on that coffee-sweetened mouth, sighing as he drew away. He looked into that beloved face and said sternly, “Behave yourself today.” That earned him an agreeable enough hum, until he started out the door and Stretch called after him, “i will if you do.” That was either a promise or a threat, and Edge could only hope the universe didn’t attempt to make good on it either way.

~~*~~]

His first stop of the day was only a short drive from their house. Edge pulled into the driveway, absently noticing the well-manicured flower beds and making a note to ask what the orange-tipped blossoms were. He knocked briskly on the door and instead of Blue, Jeff answered, already dressed in a shirt and tie that Edge knew were probably fresh from the iron. Jeff wouldn’t know it, but he’d personally pushed through an advance on Jeff’s salary to allow for him to buy some new clothes, and if they were more off the rack than Edge preferred for himself, he well understood how difficult it was to break free from years of frugality. “Hey, what’s up? I was going to ride in with Blue— holy shit, are you okay?” Jeff’s amicable greeting screeched to a halt, blue eyes widening as he caught sight of his Edge’s face. "I'm fine,” Edge waved away his second dose of concern this morning. “Stretch healed the worst of it." “It looked worse?" Jeff asked doubtfully at the same time Blue wandered into the living room and began, “Oh, hello, Edge, I—what in the world happened!” Edge sighed. This had the makings of a very long day. He waited patiently as Blue ran out, the kitchen door rocking on its hinges, barely slowing by the time Blue bustled back through it with a disposable ice pack. He twisted it briskly to activate it, gesturing for Edge to kneel down. Arguing would probably take longer than simply accepting the fussing and with some bemusement, Edge crouched. Suddenly, Stretch’s tendency to grudgingly accept his brother’s coddling made more sense. He hissed at the cold against his skull, pressed gently to the bruising. “This is a several hours old, why didn’t you call me?” Blue fussed, his eye lights stark with disapproval. “I didn’t notice it,” Edge sighed, tipping his skull obediently to allow Blue to inspected it. “Your brother healed some of it this morning.” “I can tell, I can still feel his magic signature. There’s no point in me trying more, he did the best that could be done.” There was a certain warm pride in his voice and Edge wished Stretch was here to hear it. He never believed he was as skilled a healer as Blue. “Keep the ice on it and if Papy isn’t up to trying again tonight, I can,” Blue added. “Now, can I assume you’ve come to steal my roommate away?” “I have,” Edge agreed, glancing at Jeff who was standing awkwardly, trying to both watch and not. “There are a few things we needed to go over this morning and my drive in is all the time I can spare.” Blue only nodded. He understood very well how important Edge’s work was. He took Edge’s hand, settling it pointedly over the ice pack to hold it against his skull and bustled back to the kitchen. The lunch bag he returned with was sleek and professional, and Edge watched with amusement as he handed it to Jeff, rambling about the contents; food and medicine, reminders for Jeff to call if he felt ill or needed any help. That Jeff accepted it all patiently, even happily, was only another indicator of what Edge already knew. That beneath the cheap tie and crisply ironed shirt lay the soft green of a compassionate soul. Edge allowed Blue to fuss a moment longer, then broke in, “We do need to be going.” “Yes, yes,” Blue agreed absently. “But if you need anything—” “I’ll call,” Jeff said with a hint of amusement. “It’s only for half a day.” “I’ll look out for him,” Edge threw in. He supposed he deserved the look Blue gave him, his starry eye lights lingering pointedly on the ice pack. It took another minute to detangle Blue’s apron strings enough to get back to the car and Edge nearly sighed in relief as he closed his door, tossing the ice pack on the center console. Jeff was close behind, already buckling his seatbelt. He fidgeted as Edge started the car, for a moment almost absurdly reminiscent of Stretch as he toyed with his tie. “Do I look okay for my first day?” “You look fine.” His nervousness was almost endearing, though Edge did take a hand off the wheel long enough to stop him from wrinkling the tie any further. “Jeff, forgive me for overstepping, but if you ever wanted to wear a skirt, no one at the Embassy would think anything of it.” That stopped his fidgeting completely, but discomfort was not the hoped-for replacement. “How did you…never mind. Of course you do. Um, thank you? Sometimes I just…like it…but…I don’t think I could.” Edge only nodded understandingly. “I’m aware that the Human community can be strange about these things if it isn’t for, say, a thrift store competition. I simply wanted you to know that tasteful clothes are acceptable whether you feel the day is one for trousers or a skirt. Monsters aren’t going to question your choices, your gender, or your sexuality.” The discomfort didn’t ease and Edge let it go at that. He’d said his piece and Jeff’s choices after were his own. But making Jeff uncomfortable when he was already nervous had not been his intention and he regretted not waiting to bring it up. Thus far, his entire morning had been less than a success story. A subject change was in order. “How has it been living with Blue?” That seemed to be the right approach. Jeff brightened visibly. “Great, actually. Blue is really nice and he’s a really good cook…not that you aren’t a good cook!” Jeff added hurriedly, as though Edge would be offended if Jeff admitted to liking anyone else’s cuisine. “I’m very familiar with Blue’s skills and I agree, he is a good cook.” His preferences were for more homey meals, filling recipes of soups and pot pies whereas Edge preferred something with spice. Stretch never complained about either of their offerings, but then, it wasn’t a competition. At least it wasn’t to Edge. Jeff seemed relieved that he hadn’t taken offense, but his expression was still clouded. “Stretch was a little…odd, when I said I was moving in. He’s not mad, is he?” “Not at all.” Concerned was a more appropriate term. The day they’d learned about Jeff and Blue’s plan, Stretch had been near-manic in his worry, pacing the living room for hours broken only by occasional outbursts. “you know how blue is!” Stretch said during one of them. “babe, if you’re a mama bear, blue is a general waging war with soup and pillows! i’d ask him to see a therapist except first he’d have to admit something was wrong.” He’d flopped down on the sofa then, curling up against Edge’s side in a silent plea for an embrace that Edge was glad to offer. “at least i always admitted i was fucked up.” His attempts at comforting Stretch had been flawed by his own worries. It would either be good for them both or the worst idea possible, but they were both adults who could make their own choices. Only time would tell. Today was definitely not the time to admit his concerns and Edge only said, “I’m glad to hear it’s working out. I did want to tell you that your car will be delivered tonight. “My…car?” Most of Edge’s attention was on the road, but he spared a glance at Jeff because nothing was going to make him miss the conflicting emotions that clouded his face. It was better even than when Edge gave him the Ipad. Humans were sometimes difficult for him to read, but Jeff was as clear as the windshield in front of him. Confusion, outrage, shame, and beneath it all was what Edge wanted to see in him; one quiet spot of hope. “Transportation is part of your employment package.” Luckily Jeff wasn’t as adept at catching him in a lie as Stretch. “It won’t be a car like mine, I’m afraid, luxuries need to be purchased with your own salary, but—“ He trailed off as Jeff’s breath hitched, directing his gaze back to the road to give him time to get himself under control. The music from the radio was a counterpoint to those little sniffles, but soon enough Jeff managed, roughly, “Any car would be fine.” “Dependable rather than flashy is probably best, anyway. I’m sure Stretch will coax you into chauffeuring from time to time.” Possibly. Stretch could be very prickly about asking for rides. And Edge trusted Jeff, hard-earned over the course of the last year, but he couldn’t keep from saying, “Be careful with him in the car. Make sure he does up his seatbelt. Please. If you think the ability to teleport would help in case of an accident, you’d be wrong, their shortcuts don’t defer momentum and—“ and in bad accident, it would do little more than delay death. True, yes, but the words refused to come. Jeff didn’t tease or mock, only offered a lopsided smile, crossed his finger over his heart the same way Stretch did. “Promise.” Edge nodded, accepting that. The rest of the ride was quiet and it was only as he parked that Edge’s phone chimed with a text message. He took the time to walk inside, Jeff at his side with his lunch bag in hand, before he opened it, frowning at the message from his brother. hey, boss, why the fuck am i getting poison pen pal texts from your liability? Well, it seemed Stretch hadn't been so willing to let it go, after all. He texted back, I’ll talk to him. sure but answer the question Edge ignored that for the moment as they walked up to the security desk, already reaching for his badge. The guard began greeting them automatically, “Good morning…oh!” He sat up straight as he caught sight of Edge’s face, eyes going wide as he scrambled for his radio, “Did the protestors get through the barrier again?!” “No,” Edge sighed. Jeff was digging for his own badge with far more than the required amount of attention. “I’m fine.” “But—“ “It wasn’t the protestors!” Edge snapped, swiping his badge with unnecessary force. He stepped quickly into the elevator and held it until Jeff joined him. “Public relations is on the second floor, all the way to the right.” Jeff nodded and his earlier nervousness was still there, but mostly quelled beneath determination. “Got it.” The door opened and as Jeff stepped out, Edge said, softly, “You’ll do fine.” That wide, hopeful smile disappeared behind the closing elevator door. Edge got off on his own floor a moment later, walking towards his office with unseemly haste. No one was in the hallways, but Janice was at her desk, looking up from her computer with a cheery, “Good…gracious! What happened!?” Edge sighed.

~~*~~

TBC

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[e1ana]

leisure writing :)

recently by brain has been all AHHHHHHDHHBSGDVJHS BCHJNNH and its really negatively impacted my writing, especially for my fics :( 

i’ve decided to go on a short hiatus for them for a bit to let my brain catch up. i’ve just been writing random stuff and letting it go in a n y direction to give my brain  break and i think??? this might??? be the best?????? decision ive ever made????? my brain just feels so un-fried. its awesome. 

so far it seems to be taking the shape of a YoI fic? idk. I just finished the show for the second time and i absolutely love it! I guess by brain’s been wired on Yuri!!! for a bit now so i’m not surprised at the direction its headed.

i’m still letting it go in any direction though, and i’m not sure if im going to put it up in a03 (i might if i decide i like it, but im not working on it with the intent of uploading it.)

so yeah. here’s the first bit of that. i though i’d upload it on here just bc i can and idk what else to do with it. hope you enjoy :) rating is teen bc of some cursing but thats it

(korkad means stupid in swedish)

Rain.

It wasn’t a loud sound - just the gentle pitter-patter of it against a window can paint a room in a quiet, soothing blanket of white noise. Viktor Nikiforov buries himself further in his comforter. Mid April drizzles really were something else. 

Begrudgingly, VIktor pulls himself from his bed. He looks out of his beside window to find a sunset that perfectly matched with the serene morning rain. 

He yawns and stretches, a soft grumble coming from his lips. He stands up and walks to his kitchen. Every morning is practically the same - wake up, debate going back to sleep, brush teeth/expensive and extensive skincare, eat, and go straight to the rink. Getting up at 7 am might sound overkill, but the lax speed of Viktor’s early morning routine needs extra breathing room.

He drags a hand full of some kind of sweet smelling lotion down his face, massaging it in with the melting pot of other creams and serums. The concoction is thick on his face, though not totally unpleasant. Viktor feels a bit more invigorated now, the cold water startling him up. Nevertheless, he starts the coffee machine. He swings his legs as he sits atop the counter and scrolls through his instagram. A sharp pinch on the cheek startled him from his trance.

“I told you to stop sitting on the counter, korkad. Nobody wants to cook on your ass juice.”

Ah, the overlooked step to the routine - cope with an insufferable roomate at ‘too early’ am.

“Good morning, Chris. I hope you slept well.”

Maybe insufferable wasn’t the right word for Chris normally, but his unrivalled snark and Viktor’s early morning sluggishness were not a fantastic mix. Chris grabs him by the sweatshirt and nearly yanks him off of the marble tabletop. He makes a show of wiping the area where Viktors butt once was. Finally, the sweet sound of gurgling and spluttering signifies the end of the coffee maker’s cycle. 

Viktor pours in a fairly reasonable amount of sweetened cream, the dark brown going caramel colored and scented. He takes a long gulp, downing half the mug in one go. He looks up at Chris, who is now leaning against counter one on arm and glaring. He offers a smile at the glowering man.

“Okay, now you can be a sassy bitch.”

Chris rolls up the towel and flicks it at Viktor’s butt, drawing an undignified squeak from the slightly shorter man. He snorts a laugh, but thankfully gives Viktor his space for the rest of the morning. 

He finishes the rest of his coffee quickly, the caffeine already buzzing through his brain. He checks his watch - nearly time to leave. He packs a few protein bars and water bottles along with his sweets and shirt. He calls out to Chris before grabbing his keys and locking the door. 

He pulls his sweatshirt hood a little tighter around his face, slipping into his freezing cold car. He clicked on the heat, despising how long it took for the damn thing to heat up. 

The drive to the rink was slow today. He wasn’t in any rush, and the slow rain hitting the metal roof of his car made for a nice serenade. He watched the outside pass by slowly, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel absentmindedly. 

When he pulled up to the rink, he noticed two things. One, it was bustling with activity. Usually, the place looked practically deserted at nine in the morning. The swarms of people and clicking cameras were an odd sight. 

Two, a man stands outside of the rink, wringing his wrists. He bites his lips and looks impossibly nervous. He blinks a couple of times before waving his hands frantically at one of the reporters. Viktor can’t help but laugh out loud in the solitude of his car. He pulls into the driveway, eyeing the dark haired man the whole time.

He’s vaguely familiar - Viktor’s sure he’s seen those blue framed glasses sitting on some side bench at some competition somewhere. He isn’t unattractive either. His black hair and brown eyes contrast with the pale skin of his babyish face. It gives him a look of purity. It’s a nice look. Admittedly, it’s aided by the ample blush on his cheeks and the way he rocks from foot to foot nervously. It’s a very cute habit, Viktor’s always thought.

Victor steps out of his car. Maybe he slams his car door a little louder than normal to make some of the reporters turn their heads, maybe he doesn’t. Regardless, they’re hounding on him in seconds, asking about this jump and that score. He answers all of their questions with a blinding smile, hoping that his glance towards the man goes unnoticed. Well, rather, where the man was. The glass door swings violently and Viktor catches his bag disappearing around a corner.

It takes longer than Viktor would've liked to get rid of the reporters and slip into the rink. His tight routine is now skewed fifteen minutes late. He stretches quickly and laces up his skates as quickly as possible to increase his time on the ice. 

He approaches the entrance gate, one foot already on the ice when something whirrs by him. His gaze is captured by none other than the man who was stood outside. 

Immediately, Viktor becomes enraptured with him. All he's doing is skating around the perimeter of the rink. Somehow, though, the swinging strides of his legs and the way his arms lift ever so slightly from the elbows when he glides paint him in the picture of grace. Viktor can’t help but stare as he completes another circle. Finally, when the man passes him a third time, he turns to look at Viktor. The grey haired man’s cheeks heat up under his unsettled gaze.

“Do you need some-”

Red creeps up the neck of the other man, his eyes widening when he realized who he’s talking to. He spins back around and pushes off even faster than before. 

Viktor steps onto the ice, heart pounding. Fuck. Fuuuck. He internally moans at the increasing awkwardness in the air. Damn his annoying fame and prestige! Here he was, embarrassing himself in front of someone he vaguely remembered who could potentially be important and was definitely attractive. Embarrassing himself just by existing. 

Whatever. He flicks his ankle out, starting a slow circle around the rink. If an onlooker glaneed over, it might look like the other man was chasing him. Though it was practically the other way around, Viktor considered. 

Eventually, Viktor felt warm enough to do some actual exercises. A few combination spins, a few brackets. Nothing obscene. He starts his program once he feels his joints ease into the jumps. 

The feeling isn't the same as the first time he did the program. Victory - it was the theme of his piece. Clearly, it’d gotten him where he wanted the first few times. The thrill of first place was incredible. It inspired him so much, the feeling of winning pushing forth his every movement. It had felt so overwhelmingly good. Now, after his fifth medal, the program didn’t mean much. His publicist had pushed him to do the same program every year, if not with a few major improvements each time.

Regardless of how many new spins or complicated jumps he added, the piece was tired. He was bored of this. There was simply no other way to put it. Even as he landed the perfectly executed triple axle that had been worked into his program, Viktor felt his heart sag.

He ran through the program a few more times, each with decreasing vigor. He didn’t even notice the man skate by him (albeit with a wide berth) and exit the rink. Drenched in sweat and disappointment, Viktor literally laid down on the ice. Maybe it wasn’t the most professional move in the book, but the freezing cold felt good on his hot skin. He hummed and got back to his feet, skating one last cool down lap before exiting and sliding on his blade covers.

He took a cold shower. Unusual, but the weight of the day didn't seem like it could just be melted away. He closed his eyes, letting the freezing water run down his body. It soothes is aching muscles and bones. Technically, the hot alternative would be better at melting away the lactic acid in his muscles. He could have a long soak in the tub when he got home, though - the temporary relief of cold water was more than satisfactory for now. 

He stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his hips. The cool air inside of the building almost felt warm in contrast to Viktor’s cold skin. He pulled on a new shirt and pants.

Viktor was surprised to see the other man slinging his bag over his shoulder. He didn’t appear to see the higher ranking skater, ad he sidled to the door without a second glance. Before he stepped out, though, he turned and froze. 

“I… uh…” he paused and looked up, searching for the right words. “I wanted to thank you for earlier. You know. With the reporters. So, uh. Thanks.”

Before Viktor could pipe back with a cheery ‘no problem’ or ‘the pleasure's all mine, tell me your name and let me take you for a drink in my very expensive sports car,’ the man was gone. Viktor followed suit as fast as he could, but there was no catching the man now. Gone, forever.

#e1ana's fic #my writing #ah my brain #yoi fanfic #victuuri #viktor and chris are besties and flirt ode #and thats on period #original concept #yuri on ice #ok im done tagging now >:)

[spamela-hamderson]

Another kiss, and you’ll be mine

For @matan4il <3

Tags: Fluff, Smut, The smallest hint of angst

(AO3)

He remembers the first time they’d spent a night together. Remembers watching the pale blue tint of Robert’s skin against the hotel sheets, remembers the breathy little snores that puffed out of Robert’s sleep slack mouth. It’d taken him a long time to fall asleep that night, even though he was exhausted from the drive and from the reason they were there in the first place. He’d been too excited for the chance to soak up every inch of this new Robert; his face relaxed and honest, freshly washed hair drying flat against his head. His fingers had twitched with the sudden need to smooth Robert’s fringe away from his eyes, but he couldn’t risk him waking up to that. So he’d stayed as still as he could and stared like a creep instead, losing himself in the fantasy of another life in a way he was too careful to do when Robert was awake. Taken in every dark freckle, every shift behind his lids. Just in case he never got to have that again.

It’d been a lot easier to convince himself that this was just sex when all they had was a sneaky hour at a time of kissing-fucking-fighting-laughing against the nearest—hidden—uncomfortable surface. Two hours if they were lucky, before Robert had to run back home to keep his already broken promises to Chrissie. But under that duvet? With Robert’s clammy toes seeking his out and Aaron’s heart annoyingly melty with the newly gained knowledge that he mumbled in his sleep?

He’d known then, hadn’t he? For sure. This was something else. Something much more. This was it.

The blood had rushed to his ears and he’d felt the heavy thump thump thump thump of his heart right between his eyes. It was meant to be easy, this. Just a bit of fun with the poncey git; a distraction from the dead-end his life had come to. Only, he’d gone and fucked it all up, as usual. Feeling way too much, all at once. And now he was fantasising about stroking the man’s hair, for god’s sake. Acting like he had any right to a normal life when he was just another messed up, self-destructive thug who pushed people away and felt sorry for himself. He had nothing real to offer. Wasn’t sure he was real sometimes.

But maybe that didn’t matter. In this in-between place, where he was Robert’s and Robert wasn’t his, he could play pretend to his heart’s content and get to share in this insane life for a little while. What was a little heartbreak, anyway? Nothing he couldn’t handle. It was a small price to pay for feeling like he was exactly where he belonged when they were alone together.

~~~

“‘ron? Wait,”

He’d been close to sleep when he heard it. Felt his cheeks heat up, bit his lip against the smile that threatened to spill over. It could be anything, really. Robert could’ve just been waking up.

But maybe… did he dream about him too?

You see, sometimes he thought Robert might feel the same. When he was feeling brave, when he’d just had a whole hour of Robert smiling at him like he was something good, or–

You’ll make me think I fell for a quitter.

He’d said that. Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t blown Aaron away, out of nowhere.

So yeah.

Sometimes he thought he might get to keep whatever this was. Maybe this wasn’t just sex for Robert either. Maybe the best he’ll ever get won’t be one night in a hotel room. Robert wasn’t married yet. Anything could happen. Maybe - just maybe - this time he’d be enough.

~~~

It’s late.

He’s dipping in and out of consciousness, stroking the slick softness of Robert’s inner thigh and toying with the coarse hair there that kept getting caught under his ring. He could feel Robert’s sweat drying fast, a wave of goosebumps coming up in its wake. Robert insisted on turning any room they slept in into an icebox. Not that Aaron could complain too much when he made up for it by laying his post-sex warm body on top of him, knee curled up around his hip and shoulders pressing Aaron back into the mattress; His very own human blanket against the biting cold.

Aaron’s usually very aware of the years that have passed since those early months of confusion and chaos. Grateful that they’d moved away from all of that and grown closer. He still thinks back fondly of all their firsts, sure he does, but he wouldn’t give up what they have now for anything.

Something about tonight shrinks those years into nothing, though, and Aaron misses him. Suddenly. Desperately. Even when he’s right here, pressed so close his scent is almost suffocating and Aaron can really only see about 6 inches of blue-lit skin in front of him. His heart stutters in his chest, and for a quick second, he can’t quite figure out how to get his breath back.

It’s why he thinks the gasp comes from him. Until he feels Robert push his head insistently against his cheek, that is.

“Wha’s that for?” he whines, eyes shut and deeply annoyed frown in place.

Is he talking in his sleep again? But then he gets out of his head enough to register the tight grip he has on Robert’s inner thigh. Shit. He must’ve pulled at his hair by accident or something.

“Shh, sorry. Go back to sleep,” he says, smoothing over him with his voice and his palm.

He hopes he doesn’t, though. In fact, he’s quite glad he isn’t up on his own anymore, and he’s not ready for Robert to leave him alone again. Aaron’s well aware of how needy he’s being but he can’t handle tonight, doesn’t want to remember feeling so lost and unsure about Robert’s feelings for him. He just has to give Robert a reason to stay up with him.

Aaron slides his hand down under Robert’s arse with more purpose this time, “Or we could…” leaves the suggestion unspoken with his fingers casually cupping Robert’s balls.

“Wha–, again? Ha! Can’t get enough of me, I see.” He’s moved off of Aaron a little so he can wiggle his eyebrows at him like the absolute embarrassment that he is, eyes still barely open. Aaron’s definitely not charmed by it, no. Nor does he want to dwell on why that just makes his dick fill up faster.

“You talk too much for someone who’s just woken up.”

“And you are insatiable,” Robert purrs into Aaron’s neck, sounding pleased and beyond proud of the effect he has on him after all these years.

“Don’t think you’re actually complaining, mate.” Aaron suspects he might not be paying attention anymore, with the way he’s starting to pant hot and wet into his shoulder. That’s probably Aaron’s fault, though. He’s been rubbing his fingers between those cheeks, dipping them into his fucked out hole every few passes and enjoying the helpless little sounds coming from Robert as he pushes back into his hand in vain. Except the movement is dragging Robert’s heavy cock along Aaron’s and now he’s the one frantically pressing him closer and grinding up against him.

“Fuck.” Four years and he still feels thoroughly shaken up by him, rock hard from seconds of this. Robert tries to line them up better, gets a fist ‘round their cocks, rubs over the top and down the shaft, causing an obscene amount of pre-come to drip. He moves on instinct, chasing that feeling; the high of touching, pushing, stroking, breathing each other in. His erratic rhythm briefly slips when Aaron pulls his leg up higher and shoves his own greedy fingers in, firm, unrelenting. “S’good, Aaron, feels– Aaron, I–” Aaron catches his lips with his own. He knows he’s probably still feeling sore from earlier, knows how wild Robert gets at that little extra bit of hurt as Aaron rubs his wide fingers up into him and tugs at his rim, and he wants to give him something else to focus on. Wants this moment to last as long as it can.

Robert’s too exhausted to kiss. Instead, he tongues at his mouth, licking in and breathing hot all over. There’s not a hint of finesse. It’s sloppy and too wet and everything Aaron needs now, god, it makes his cock pulse so hard he’s feeling it in his toes.

He feels Robert start to rut against him, his strokes turning more insistent, little ah ah ahs pushed out against his cheek, and knows he’s nearing the edge. Aaron’s not ready though, and he doesn’t want to be left behind. It’s stupid, yeah, but he really can’t bear the thought of Robert getting off and falling asleep again, leaving him alone with the thoughts he’s been trying to ignore. It’s too late, though. Robert spills himself over his knuckles. Biting down on Aaron’s lip on reflex before licking over it in distracted apology while Aaron slips his fingers out of him and pets his bum with regret. He moves to look down at Aaron, giddy, satisfied smile in place, right up until it freezes and turns confused instead. Something of Aaron’s quiet dread must’ve bled through on his face and in the way he holds on tighter because Robert suddenly looks more awake than he’s been this entire time.

“Hey. Hey, come on, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, just stay with me.” It rushes out of him, urgent, and that’s just great, isn’t it? He sounds like a right nutter. Robert seems to agree as well, going by the look on his face.

“Yeah, ’course. Where else would I be, you idiot?” He’s laughing at him but he’s doing it in that soft way of his, so Aaron doesn’t feel too embarrassed. He’s trying not to, at least.

“Right. Where were we?” Robert barely gets the words out before he’s got Aaron thrusting up into the fist wrapped around his cock. He pins him down by sitting on his knees and sets a maddeningly steady pace, stubbornly not giving in to Aaron’s pleas for him to go faster, slower, and all Aaron can do is hold on for the ride as he’s shoved quite rudely over the edge.

He blinks his eyes open and all he sees is Robert, looking straight at him as he licks their come off his fingers. He’s spent, it shouldn’t be so mind-numbingly hot. But he lets out a tortured little groan anyway, as he feels himself give a final twitch.

He might have gotten a little carried away with watching pink mouth slide against wet skin, his own falling open in helpless echo, so he doesn’t really register it getting closer until he feels hot breath on his lips. And then Robert’s kissing him, feeding come into his mouth, dominating him with that bitter saltiness. All Aaron knows to do then is pull him down the whole way and take.

~~~

It takes him a while to gather his wits after that. He’s probably staring up at Robert with a come-stupid smile, but he can’t quite muster the energy to rearrange his face into something half decent. Robert smiles at him, thumbs fondly at his kiss-sore lips, before bending down for one more kiss, two more, a nibble, like he can’t keep away.

“There,” Robert pats him on the cheek, condescending pout on in full force. God, what now? “Stop thinking so much. No need to stress your brain out for no reason.”

What a twat. “Ugh, get lost.” He pushes him off, still somewhat shaky from the orgasm, and turns onto his side before Robert can catch his scowl slipping. He really doesn’t need the encouragement.

“No, Aaron, I can’t, or you’ll be sad again,” Robert declares, overly dramatic, overly irritating, as he pulls Aaron backwards onto their bed, and dives in to plant damp kisses all over his face. “Robert, nonono, stop!” He’s in tears because Robert’s jammed his fingers into his sides and he’s relentless. There’s no way he’s going down without a fight now. They tussle in bed for a minute more, until Robert accidentally slaps him hard in the nose with an errant, flailing arm and nearly ends up on the floor trying to escape Aaron’s vengeful kick.

He pulls him towards the middle of the bed, keeps pulling until Robert gets the hint and lays over him again (honestly, fuck this icebox room), and rolls his eyes at Robert’s grumblings about how he could have really hurt his back, Aaron. “Yes, alright, time for bed, grandad.”

12:30 am, the bedside alarm reads. Yeah, it’s time for bed.

“Happy Valentine’s, Mr Dingle.”

Robert snores in response.

~~~

“Y’know, this would’ve been a lot more romantic if you’d just stayed in bed like you were supposed to.” Robert’s trying to make them some ricotta pancakes, except he’d forgotten to make the strawberry glaze last night, and now he’s going to have to do that while making sure the pancakes don’t burn. And Aaron’s been no help whatsoever, sitting on the countertop with his foot wandering up Robert’s leg every ten seconds. He’s thisclose to turning the heat off and dragging him back upstairs, except he knows that’s been Aaron’s plan all along and he’s not giving in to it, damn it. He’s waited long enough for this.

“Tch. You were takin’ too long.” His voice is all sleep rough, eyes still slowly blinking away the night, as the beginnings of a pout take form on his lips. God, he’s so–

No. Focus, Sugden.

He moves a couple more steps to the left and continues mashing the strawberries. Let’s see him try his seduction tactics from all the way over there. He sneaks a glance at Aaron then, sees him sulk at the new distance between them. But at least he isn’t moving to rectify it. Good. Now he can concentrate on making this the best Valentine’s day breakfast Aaron has ever had.

~~~

“Ey, could you pass me the cheese? It’s behind…” Robert realises his mistake too late, as Aaron slowly slides off the countertop in a way that pulls his T-shirt taut over his chest, grabs the packet of ricotta behind him, and makes his way over to where Robert’s been innocently mixing the wet ingredients. All the while maintaining intense eye contact.

“Here you go.”

“Uh, thanks.” He sounds like he’s had sand with his morning coffee.

Aaron hops back on again, this time, much closer to Robert. He leans back on his arms a little, dropping his eyes down to Robert’s mouth before skimming them back up. “Don’t mention it.”

Ok, that’s it. He’s spent too much time and money having David order this particular brand of ricotta that’s supposed to be out-of-this-world, creamy according to suzy_bakes:)_52. He’s not having Aaron sabotage his plans with his face. “If you’re trying to distract me from my pancakes, it won’t work. They’re going to be perfect, so help me!” Aaron looks… alarmed. Which is fair, considering how shrill his voice got at the end there. “I’m not trying to keep you from your pancakes, you muppet.”

Oh. Then why was he… oh.

“What?” Aaron wants to know, smile already stretching in response to Robert’s.

He remembers how Aaron was last Valentine’s day, of course he does. It had been the best night in a long while.

It’s just. He’d been too nervous to appreciate the looks, then. So he’d shied away from every heated stare instead. Made desperate excuses to himself for every flirty grin he got. Timid in a way he’d never been before, even as his heart stubbornly lit up with new hope. He wasn’t going to overstep.

His friendship with Aaron hadn’t been new, no, but it’d been confusing. It had grown out of everything else they felt for each other, and he hadn’t known how to be one without being all of it. He’d tried though, had to, to stay in Aaron’s life. And Aaron—as usual—had refused to be helpful in any way, giving away soft words and softer smiles like he was done holding them in. Like he was allowed to.

He doesn’t want to think about that anymore. Not when he gets to bask in this now. He sets his bowl down and moves to stand between Aaron’s legs. The pancakes can wait. “Do you like seeing me in the kitchen, is that it? Maybe I should nick a chef’s hat from the pub next time. Work it into our bedroom repertoire.”

“Alright,” Aaron squints up at him in disgust, even as his hands slide under his shirt to pull him in closer, “you don’t have to get all weird about it.”

“Right, I’m the weird one here.”

“Always.” But then he breaks into a smile so unbearably tender, Robert’s finding it hard to take offence. He’d be more embarrassed if he wasn’t so selfish. No one’s ever been this for him, before. Known every part of him. Fought with every part of him, and still looked at him like he was something amazing. The way he feels when Aaron looks at him like that—He never wants to lose it again. He won’t.

“Don’t worry so much about today, Rob. We’ll make it perfect for us. Just like we did last year.”

Except better. Because this time, Robert gets to trade aimless kisses with Aaron, and think about maybe bringing this over to the couch to turn into a proper make-out session since Liv’s still out with Jacob. Only, he’s interrupted by a cheeky slap on the bum and Aaron pulling back with a self-satisfied smirk. “You can get back to work now. Wouldn’t want to come between you and your precious pancakes.”

“Our precious pancakes,” Robert corrects, just to see him snort.

Then he turns back to the bowl because these eggs aren’t going to beat themselves. And if he flexes his arms a little, folding the ricotta in, well. Aaron’s not going to complain, is he?

#robron secret valentine 19 #robron #robron fic #'twas meee #this was really stressfull hahaha #😭 #*mine: fic

[robronsecretvalentine]

Another kiss, and you’ll be mine

@matan4il , Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope you have a wonderful day –S.V.💘

Another kiss, and you’ll be mine

Tags: Fluff, Smut

He remembers the first time they’d spent a night together. Remembers watching the pale blue tint of Robert’s skin against the hotel sheets, remembers the breathy little snores that puffed out of Robert’s sleep slack mouth. It’d taken him a long time to fall asleep that night, even though he was exhausted from the drive and from the reason they were there in the first place. He’d been too excited for the chance to soak up every inch of this new Robert; his face relaxed and honest, freshly washed hair drying flat against his head. His fingers had twitched with the sudden need to smooth Robert’s fringe away from his eyes, but he couldn’t risk him waking up to that. So he’d stayed as still as he could and stared like a creep instead, losing himself in the fantasy of another life in a way he was too careful to do when Robert was awake. Taken in every dark freckle, every shift behind his lids. Just in case he never got to have that again...

It’d been a lot easier to convince himself that this was just sex when all they had was a sneaky hour at a time of kissing-fucking-fighting-laughing against the nearest—hidden—uncomfortable surface. Two hours if they were lucky, before Robert had to run back home to keep his already broken promises to Chrissie. But under that duvet? With Robert’s clammy toes seeking his out and Aaron’s heart annoyingly melty with the newly gained knowledge that he mumbled in his sleep?

He’d known then, hadn’t he? For sure. This was something else. Something much more. This was it.

The blood had rushed to his ears and he’d felt the heavy thump thump thump thump of his heart right between his eyes. It was meant to be easy, this. Just a bit of fun with the poncey git; a distraction from the dead-end his life had come to. Only, he’d gone and fucked it all up, as usual. Feeling way too much, all at once. And now he was fantasising about stroking the man’s hair, for god’s sake. Acting like he had any right to a normal life when he was just another messed up, self-destructive thug who pushed people away and felt sorry for himself. He had nothing real to offer. Wasn’t sure he was real sometimes.

But maybe that didn’t matter. In this in-between place, where he was Robert’s and Robert wasn’t his, he could play pretend to his heart’s content and get to share in this insane life for a little while. What was a little heartbreak, anyway? Nothing he couldn’t handle. It was a small price to pay for feeling like he was exactly where he belonged when they were alone together.

~~~

“‘ron? Wait,”

He’d been close to sleep when he heard it. Felt his cheeks heat up, bit his lip against the smile that threatened to spill over. It could be anything, really. Robert could’ve just been waking up.

But maybe… did he dream about him too?

You see, sometimes he thought Robert might feel the same. When he was feeling brave, when he’d just had a whole hour of Robert smiling at him like he was something good, or–

You’ll make me think I fell for a quitter.

He’d said that. Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t blown Aaron away, out of nowhere.

So yeah.

Sometimes he thought he might get to keep whatever this was. Maybe this wasn’t just sex for Robert either. Maybe the best he’ll ever get won’t be one night in a hotel room. Robert wasn’t married yet. Anything could happen. Maybe - just maybe - this time he’d be enough.

~~~

It’s late.

He’s dipping in and out of consciousness, stroking the slick softness of Robert’s inner thigh and toying with the coarse hair there that kept getting caught under his ring. He could feel Robert’s sweat drying fast, a wave of goosebumps coming up in its wake. Robert insisted on turning any room they slept in into an icebox. Not that Aaron could complain too much when he made up for it by laying his post-sex warm body on top of him, knee curled up around his hip and shoulders pressing Aaron back into the mattress; His very own human blanket against the biting cold.

Aaron’s usually very aware of the years that have passed since those early months of confusion and chaos. Grateful that they’d moved away from all of that and grown closer. He still thinks back fondly of all their firsts, sure he does, but he wouldn’t give up what they have now for anything.

Something about tonight shrinks those years into nothing, though, and Aaron misses him. Suddenly. Desperately. Even when he’s right here, pressed so close his scent is almost suffocating and Aaron can really only see about 6 inches of blue-lit skin in front of him. His heart stutters in his chest, and for a quick second, he can’t quite figure out how to get his breath back.

It’s why he thinks the gasp comes from him. Until he feels Robert push his head insistently against his cheek, that is.

“Wha’s that for?” he whines, eyes shut and deeply annoyed frown in place.

Is he talking in his sleep again? But then he gets out of his head enough to register the tight grip he has on Robert’s inner thigh. Shit. He must’ve pulled at his hair by accident or something.

“Shh, sorry. Go back to sleep,” he says, smoothing over him with his voice and his palm.

He hopes he doesn’t, though. In fact, he’s quite glad he isn’t up on his own anymore, and he’s not ready for Robert to leave him alone again. Aaron’s well aware of how needy he’s being but he can’t handle tonight, doesn’t want to remember feeling so lost and unsure about Robert’s feelings for him. He just has to give Robert a reason to stay up with him.

Aaron slides his hand down under Robert’s arse with more purpose this time, “Or we could…” leaves the suggestion unspoken with his fingers casually cupping Robert’s balls.

“Wha–, again? Ha! Can’t get enough of me, I see.” He’s moved off of Aaron a little so he can wiggle his eyebrows at him like the absolute embarrassment that he is, eyes still barely open. Aaron’s definitely not charmed by it, no. Nor does he want to dwell on why that just makes his dick fill up faster.

“You talk too much for someone who’s just woken up.”

“And you are insatiable,” Robert purrs into Aaron’s neck, sounding pleased and beyond proud of the effect he has on him after all these years.

“Don’t think you’re actually complaining, mate.” Aaron suspects he might not be paying attention anymore, with the way he’s starting to pant hot and wet into his shoulder. That’s probably Aaron’s fault, though. He’s been rubbing his fingers between those cheeks, dipping them into his fucked out hole every few passes and enjoying the helpless little sounds coming from Robert as he pushes back into his hand in vain. Except the movement is dragging Robert’s heavy cock along Aaron’s and now he’s the one frantically pressing him closer and grinding up against him.

“Fuck.” Four years and he still feels thoroughly shaken up by him, rock hard from seconds of this. Robert tries to line them up better, gets a fist ‘round their cocks, rubs over the top and down the shaft, causing an obscene amount of pre-come to drip. He moves on instinct, chasing that feeling; the high of touching, pushing, stroking, breathing each other in. His erratic rhythm briefly slips when Aaron pulls his leg up higher and shoves his own greedy fingers in, firm, unrelenting. “S’good, Aaron, feels– Aaron, I–” Aaron catches his lips with his own. He knows he’s probably still feeling sore from earlier, knows how wild Robert gets at that little extra bit of hurt as Aaron rubs his wide fingers up into him and tugs at his rim, and he wants to give him something else to focus on. Wants this moment to last as long as it can.

Robert’s too exhausted to kiss. Instead, he tongues at his mouth, licking in and breathing hot all over. There’s not a hint of finesse. It’s sloppy and too wet and everything Aaron needs now, god, it makes his cock pulse so hard he’s feeling it in his toes.

He feels Robert start to rut against him, his strokes turning more insistent, little ah ah ahs pushed out against his cheek, and knows he’s nearing the edge. Aaron’s not ready though, and he doesn’t want to be left behind. It’s stupid, yeah, but he really can’t bear the thought of Robert getting off and falling asleep again, leaving him alone with the thoughts he’s been trying to ignore. It’s too late, though. Robert spills himself over his knuckles. Biting down on Aaron’s lip on reflex before licking over it in distracted apology while Aaron slips his fingers out of him and pets his bum with regret. He moves to look down at Aaron, giddy, satisfied smile in place, right up until it freezes and turns confused instead. Something of Aaron’s quiet dread must’ve bled through on his face and in the way he holds on tighter because Robert suddenly looks more awake than he’s been this entire time.

“Hey. Hey, come on, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, just stay with me.” It rushes out of him, urgent, and that’s just great, isn’t it? He sounds like a right nutter. Robert seems to agree as well, going by the look on his face.

“Yeah, ’course. Where else would I be, you idiot?” He’s laughing at him but he’s doing it in that soft way of his, so Aaron doesn’t feel too embarrassed. He’s trying not to, at least.

“Right. Where were we?” Robert barely gets the words out before he’s got Aaron thrusting up into the fist wrapped around his cock. He pins him down by sitting on his knees and sets a maddeningly  steady pace, stubbornly not giving in to Aaron’s pleas for him to go faster, slower, and all Aaron can do is hold on for the ride as he’s shoved quite rudely over the edge.

He blinks his eyes open and all he sees is Robert, looking straight at him as he licks their come off his fingers. He’s spent, it shouldn’t be so mind-numbingly hot. But he lets out a tortured little groan anyway, as he feels himself give a final twitch.

He might have gotten a little carried away with watching pink mouth slide against wet skin, his own falling open in helpless echo, so he doesn’t really register it getting closer until he feels hot breath on his lips. And then Robert’s kissing him, feeding come into his mouth, dominating him with that bitter saltiness. All Aaron knows to do then is pull him down the whole way and take.

~~~

It takes him a while to gather his wits after that. He’s probably staring up at Robert with a come-stupid smile, but he can’t quite muster the energy to rearrange his face into something half decent. Robert smiles at him, thumbs fondly at his kiss-sore lips, before bending down for one more kiss, two more, a nibble, like he can’t keep away.

“There,” Robert pats him on the cheek, condescending pout on in full force. God, what now? “Stop thinking so much. No need to stress your brain out for no reason.”

What a twat. “Ugh, get lost.” He pushes him off, still somewhat shaky from the orgasm, and turns onto his side before Robert can catch his scowl slipping. He really doesn’t need the encouragement.

“No, Aaron, I can’t, or you’ll be sad again,” Robert declares, overly dramatic, overly irritating, as he pulls Aaron backwards onto their bed, and dives in to plant damp kisses all over his face. “Robert, nonono, stop!” He’s in tears because Robert’s jammed his fingers into his sides and he’s relentless. There’s no way he’s going down without a fight now. They tussle in bed for a minute more, until Robert accidentally slaps him hard in the nose with an errant, flailing arm and nearly ends up on the floor trying to escape Aaron’s vengeful kick.

He pulls him towards the middle of the bed, keeps pulling until Robert gets the hint and lays over him again (honestly, fuck this icebox room), and rolls his eyes at Robert’s grumblings about how he could have really hurt his back, Aaron. “Yes, alright, time for bed, grandad.”

12:30 am, the bedside alarm reads. Yeah, it’s time for bed.

“Happy Valentine’s, Mr Dingle.”

Robert snores in response.

~~~

“Y’know, this would’ve been a lot more romantic if you’d just stayed in bed like you were supposed to.” Robert’s trying to make them some ricotta pancakes, except he’d forgotten to make the strawberry glaze last night, and now he’s going to have to do that while making sure the pancakes don’t burn. And Aaron’s been no help whatsoever, sitting on the countertop with his foot wandering up Robert’s leg every ten seconds. He’s this close to turning the heat off and dragging him back upstairs, except he knows that’s been Aaron’s plan all along and he’s not giving in to it, damn it. He’s waited long enough for this.

“Tch. You were takin’ too long.” His voice is all sleep rough, eyes still slowly blinking away the night, as the beginnings of a pout take form on his lips. God, he’s so–

No. Focus, Sugden.

He moves a couple more steps to the left and continues mashing the strawberries. Let’s see him try his seduction tactics from all the way over there. He sneaks a glance at Aaron then, sees him sulk at the new distance between them. But at least he isn’t moving to rectify it. Good. Now he can concentrate on making this the best Valentine’s day breakfast Aaron has ever had.

~~~

“Ey, could you pass me the cheese? It’s behind…” Robert realises his mistake too late, as Aaron slowly slides off the countertop in a way that pulls his T-shirt taut over his chest, grabs the packet of ricotta behind him, and makes his way over to where Robert’s been innocently mixing the wet ingredients. All the while maintaining intense eye contact.

“Here you go.”

“Uh, thanks.” He sounds like he’s had sand with his morning coffee.

Aaron hops back on again, this time, much closer to Robert. He leans back on his arms a little, dropping his eyes down to Robert’s mouth before skimming them back up. “Don’t mention it.”

Ok, that’s it. He’s spent too much time and money having David order this particular brand of ricotta that’s supposed to be out-of-this-world, creamyaccording to suzy_bakes:)_52. He’s not having Aaron sabotage his plans with his– his face. “If you’re trying to distract me from my pancakes, it won’t work. They’re going to be perfect, so help me!” Aaron looks… alarmed. Which is fair, considering how shrill his voice got at the end there. “I’m not trying to keep you from your pancakes, you muppet.”

Oh. Then why was he… oh.

“What?” Aaron wants to know, smile already stretching in response to Robert’s.

He remembers how Aaron was last Valentine’s day, of course he does. It had been the best night in a long while.

It’s just. He’d been too nervous to appreciate the looks, then. So he’d shied away from every heated stare instead. Made desperate excuses to himself for every flirty grin he got. Timid in a way he’d never been before, even as his heart stubbornly lit up with new hope. He wasn’t going to overstep.

His friendship with Aaron hadn’t been new, no, but it’d been confusing. It had grown out of everything else they felt for each other, and he hadn’t known how to be one without being all of it. He’d tried though, had to, to stay in Aaron’s life. And Aaron—as usual—had refused to be helpful in any way, giving away soft words and softer smiles like he was done holding them in. Like he was allowedto.

He doesn’t want to think about that anymore. Not when he gets to bask in this now. He sets his bowl down and moves to stand between Aaron’s legs. The pancakes can wait. “Do you like seeing me in the kitchen, is that it? Maybe I should nick a chef’s hat from the pub next time. Work it into our bedroom repertoire.”

“Alright,” Aaron squints up at him in disgust, even as his hands slide under his shirt to pull him in closer, “you don’t have to get all weird about it.”

“Right, I’m the weird one here.”

“Always.” But then he breaks into a smile so unbearably tender, Robert’s finding it hard to take offence. He’d be more embarrassed if he wasn’t so selfish. No one’s ever been this for him, before. Known every part of him. Fought with every part of him, and still looked at him like he was something amazing. The way he feels when Aaron looks at him like that—He never wants to lose it again. He won’t.

“Don’t worry so much about today, Rob. We’ll make it perfect for us. Just like we did last year.”

Except better. Because this time, Robert gets to trade aimless kisses with Aaron, and think about maybe bringing this over to the couch to turn into a proper make-out session since Liv’s still out with Jacob. Only, he’s interrupted by a cheeky slap on the bum and Aaron pulling back with a self-satisfied smirk. “You can get back to work now. Wouldn’t want to come between you and your precious pancakes.”

“Our precious pancakes,” Robert corrects, just to see him snort.

Then he turns back to the bowl because these eggs aren’t going to beat themselves. And if he flexes his arms a little, folding the ricotta in, well. Aaron’s not going to complain, is he?

#matan4il #robron #robron secret valentine #robronsecretvalentine #fanfiction #robron fanfiction

[umbrahighpriestofgiratina]

Heroes After All Chapter 3

And here's Chapter 3! Sorry it took a few months, haha, I needed to update Rude Awakening first. But anyway, here's a chapter where our protagonists discover they've got a long hill to climb: Chapter 3: Freaks 

As Aaron entered the barracks, he looked around to find the other kids bunched together, being directed by an Aura guardian with scruffy blonde hair and dark skin. "Alright kids, single file line while I sort you into your dorms, and no funny business! I've got enough bullshit to deal with." Aaron quickly complied, disappearing within the crowd. The mass grew smaller and smaller as more and more kids were sorted. Finally it was Aaron's turn. The Aura Guardian - who Aaron assumed was Vince - looked him over oddly before thumbing to a nearby room. "M8." Aaron's eyes drifted over to a room labeled M8. Silently wondering why he didn't get one of the higher-up rooms, he quickly headed towards it. Inside he found a pale. black-haired boy staring off into space and grumbling, a Scyther observing him. "Hello?" said Aaron. The boy looked over. "What do YOU want?" he said. The Scyther took notice and chittered, pacing the flat a scythe on his knee. The boy noticed and sighed. "Sorry..." "It's... All right?" said Aaron. "Are we gonna live together now?" "Yeah duh. We aren't the only ones though." "Not the only ones...?" "Boo!" Aaron yelped and whipped around. Behind him was a girl with maroon hair and decently dark skin, in particularly ragged clothing. Her teeth seemed unusually sharp, and she was giving him a manic look. "Ha! Got you good!" She also had the strangest accent Aaron had ever heard. What could ever- "In case you're wondering," said the boy. "Callie was raised by Necrozma cultists." "For Necrozma!" Callie said in response. A small, gray and black salamander-like Pokemon skittered up her body to her shoulder and gave a hissy chuckle. "Anyway," said the other boy, "I'm Louis. "The Scyther's Rook, the Salandit is Munchkin." "I'm Aaron!" said Aaron. Nice to meet you all!" "Just be glad you haven't met the other two residents of this dorm yet," said Louis. "Other two?" At that point there was a roar, and a girl with wild hair and broken glasses leaped at Aaron. Aaron yelped and leaped out of the way, and was faced with the girl and a Pawniard that was waving its blades wildly in no particular direction. "You're in my territory," said the girl. "Atta! Stabby! He's just the new kid!" said Louis. Atta looked Aaron over and snarled. "You live." Stabby moved his blades in an "I'm watching you" motion. Aaron gulped. "Anyway!" said Callie to Aaron. "Do you have a Pokemon?" "Me?" said Aaron. "I don't... Always wanted one but could never make friends with one..." "Mabye they just don't like your personality," said Louis. "You're one to talk," said Atta. "H-Hey!" said Louis. "I have Rook, don't I?" The Scyther gave a buzzy sigh. "Okay!" said Callie, pointing. "Your bunk is over there." Aaron looked over to a ragged old bed, and lay down in it to get some rest, which translated to staring upward as his roommates bickered. So much for making friends. -------------- It was mealtime in what Aaron assumed to be a mess hall. Bored-looking Aura Guardians served food of varying quality to the hungry children and Pokemon, who quickly moved to their seats. Aaron moved to sit with his bunkmates and their Pokemon, only to see they were a ways off from the others. "What's going on?" said Aaron, blinking. "People don't like sitting next to us," said Louis, Rook chittering in confirmation. "Except her!" said Callie. "Her...?" said Aaron, looking over. A black-haired girl approached the table, looking around nervously, before sitting down with the group. A Gligar followed shortly after. "Hey guys..." "Hi!" said Aaron. The girl blinked. "You're new." The Gligar snickered. "I'm Aaron, and yep I'm new!" "...I'm Eve. Guess I'm not the new kid at the freak table anymore." "Huh? Why are we freaks?" "It's a long story, but seems you've already been marked as one by association," said Louis. "Also what happened with you and Polly." "Huh? I can't be a freak! I was always a freak at home! I came here to not be a freak!" "Tough luck," said Atta. "Kids are cruel," said Callie, shrugging as Munchkin snuck bits of food. Aaron groaned, and the Gligar chuckled at him further."Cut it out, Iuroidea," said Eve to the Gligar. Iuroidea reluctantly stopped. "Now what do I do?" said Aaron. "Do what we do. Survive." said Louis. "Or join Necrozma!" said Callie. "You don't really need to convert every new person, Callie," said Eve. Callie tilted her head. "I... Don't?" "This is the tenth time I've told you this." Callie just stared. Her eyes glazed over. A whip from Munchkin's tail snapped her back to reality. "Isn't this food great?" she said. Aaron looked at his plate and then Callie's. His had decent-looking vegetables and potatoes, but hers... What even was that? ~Don't question it,~ said a voice in Aaron's head. Aaron blinked, then looked over to Eve. She winked. Right, Aaron thought. Everyone has powers here. I'm at least not alone in that sense. Though... "Uh..." said Aaron. "Weird question, what powers do you guys have?" In response, Louis held up a ball of orange Aura. Callie wove wisps of Spectral Obscura through her fingers. Atta snarled and conjured Dark Obscuric claws. Eve sent a telepathic message of ~You already know.~ "Right," said Aaron. My powers are more like Louis', here, watch..." He started charging a ball of Aura between his palms. He focused on it, containing it. Then the power suddenly swelled. The sphere swelled. Aaron couldn't contain it any longer. BAM! Aaron was knocked to the ground. His food was sent flying. Everyone stared. Everyone then laughed. "Well, if you weren't with us in the freak club before you certainly are now," said Louis. Aaron just lay there panting. -------------------- That night, Aaron lay in his bed, listening to the others in his bunk. Lewis muttered obscenities in his sleep. Callie muttered incantations to Necrozma. Atta simply snarled. Their Pokemon seemed to be the only ones who slept normally. Aaron thought to himself. His first day here... Hadn't gone so well. Polly had humiliated him, her Metagross had refused to help, he was immediately lumped with the "freak" kids, and he humiliated himself again trying to bond with them. Was the entire time going to be like this? No. He couldn't let that happen. He'd find a way to improve things. He just needed to figure out a way how. ~~~~ In the forest, light dappled in the trees as a Riolu approached a Lucario. "Hey mom," said the Riolu. "Hello, son," said the Lucario. "Today you're going to learn how to hunt." Riolu rubbed his paws together awkwardly. "That means I have to... Kill, right?" "Yes. It is what we must do to survive. However... Your Auric abilities will make it painful to bring harm to another without training. So getting practice in this early is essential." Riolu nodded and looked around. "So... What do I have to do?" "There is a Buneary denning further into these bushes. You must kill it and bring it back to me." Riolu looked over hesitantly to the bushes in question and headed in. ------------ It was quiet except for the rustling leaves. Riolu could sense life with the feelers on the sides of his head, and it drew him further in. Eventually, he reached a burrow nestled in the fallen foliage, and he stood and waited. Eventually a Buneary poked their head out, sniffing the air with their small, moist nose. They slowly, cautiously crept out and looked around. That's when Riolu lunged with a Force Palm. The Buneary gave a yell and tried to dodge, but the Force Palm managed to connect, causing them to fall over. Riolu recoiled from the empathic feedback, but pounced on the Buneary as they screamed, attempting to bite their throat. The Buneary suddenly gave a kick with their powerful legs and flipped the grappling Pokemon over so the Buneary was on top. Instinctively, Riolu tried to kick the Buneary's side. Suddenly, Riolu's leg erupted into flame as he kicked the Buneary's torso with a sickening crack. The Buneary was sent flying with a pained scream before crashing, and trying to crawl and limp away. Riolu recovered from the empathetic shock and wondering what it was he'd even done before dashing over and giving a Force Palm straight to the Buneary's neck. He recoiled. The Buneary fell limp. Riolu gasped and panted, clutching his body from the amount of feedback aches he felt. It was a while before he had recovered enough to slowly drag the Buneary out of the bushes. --------------- Eventually Riolu managed to drag the dead Buneary out to his mother. She smiled. "Good job! Excellent you got it on your first try." "Thanks... Now what do I do with it?" "Shouldn't it be obvious? You eat it." Riolu stared down at the dead Buneary. Then at his mother. Then at the dead Buneary. Then at his mother. Then at the dead Buneary. Before finally digging in. It was... Good. Better than the dry scraps he usually got, or even his mother's milk. He had blood all over his face but he was enjoying it. His father approached. "Oh hey, I see you got one!" "I did," said Riolu, looking up from his meal. Seeing them both, he was reminded of something. "Mom, Dad? When I was kicking that Buneary to kill it, my leg caught on fire! But it didn't hurt at all! What does that mean?" His mother's eyes widened. Ginji gave a beaky bird grin. "Well then! You learned one of my moves!" "...I... Did?" "Pokemon can learn moves passed down from their parents," said his mother. "Even if they're of different species." "Yes! And you got my Blaze Kick!" said Ginji. "...Huh, wow," said Riolu. "Guess I'll do it again sometime!" He then resumed digging into the Buneary while his parents conversed. "Should he use that move around the pack?" said his mother. "He'll be alright." said Ginji. "If anyone gives him trouble they'll have to deal with me." "You can't intimidate them forever." "...I know. But I'll do whatever it takes to protect you both." Eventually Riolu finished his meal and joined his parents, who headed back to the pack. -------------- Riolu sat by himself, poking at rocks. It's usually what he had to do when his parents weren't immediately available - all the other Riolu avoided him for some reason. Every time he tried interacting with them they'd just move away or mutter something about their parents not letting them. Or both. His ears perked up. Was that his mom? He headed over, clambering over a few rocks and pushing through a few bushes to get there. When he found his mother, however, he saw she was facing another Lucario - an old, scarred individual most of the rest of the pack knew to stay away from. "You! You've been a burden for as long as this pack's existed! You hunt less, you keep watch less, you train less!" Hey! That wasn't true. Riolu checked, his mom did all those more than everyone else! "And now you're cavorting with your birdbrain mate and your freak offspring!" His dad wasn't a birdbrain. He wasn't a freak. ...Was he? "Your overgrown pile of feathers you call a mate can't protect you two forever! Someday judgement's gonna come down! Hell, it may very well be from me! Ha!" That does it. Riolu's leg erupted into flame. He rushed forward and began kicking the old, scarred Lucario in the legs as he howled in agony. His mother quickly grabbed him and started running away as the old, scarred Lucario yelled after them clutching his leg. "Freak! Freak! Freak!" --------------- "And you what?" said Ginji, in a forest clearing with his family a bit later. "I... I used your move... I just didn't want him to hurt you and mom..." "That bag of bones? He's too old and lame to do anything but make threats. If I was aware he was harassing your mom I would have busted him in short order, so you should have gotten me." "Dear," said Riolu's mom, "You really don't have to deal with every member of the pack who-" "Yes I do!" said Ginji. "I care about you two! You're the only family I have after what happened to my Trainer!" He paused, panted heavily. "I... I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself..." "...Dad? Thank you." "Thank you for everything Ginji." Ginji paused. Then carefully pulled the other two into a hug. ------------ The old, scarred Lucario was limping back to the rest of the pack. "Oh, just wait until the alphas hear about this!" he said. "That damn bird will be history!" It was then he noticed a distinct glow in his Aura senses, but couldn't ascertain its exact location. "Eh? Who's that?" His Aura feelers flared as he tried to pinpoint the source. It was then he realized the source was right on top of him. Claws and teeth dug in, rending limbs in spurts of blood. Fire burnt into flesh, loosening it from bone. The old Lucario screamed. *** Gruesome. Also! I should note here some of the fic's characters are inspired by those from the We Are All Pokemon Trainers community, and these characters have been loosely based on some of those from said community, with the gracious permission of their owners. While these characters themselves are mine they are still close enough to cameos I ought to credit the ones I based them on. In order of debut: -Vince, based on Vierr by @zinnia-apologist -Louis and Rook, based on Lucius and Bishop by Herbert40k -Atta, based on Jetta by Pres_Stalkeyes -Eve and Irodea, based on Lillith and Sasorina by @darkershining Callie and Munchkin are also based on things but not from WAAPT. I presume people will kill me when they figure out who.

#pokemon #fanfiction #sir aaron #lucario #yangverse #waapt

[lifeisnebulous]

5/26/22

I slept like complete shit last night. I really wish I knew a trick to sleep soundly through the night. I don’t really have issues falling asleep but actually sleeping through the night is impossible. I feel like my body would be doing so much better if I was able to get rejuvenating rest. Anyways, I did the project I was sent out here to do for the first half of the day. Then I took the guys out for lunch. We went to a BBQ place and ordered a truly obscene amount of food. I am literally still full from lunch. It was supposed to be a BBQ place that won several awards but it was just okay. After that we were going to do another project in the afternoon but the materials didn’t arrive at the store so I came back to the hotel. I was uncomfortably full so I just hung out in bed waiting for some of the food to digest. After that I went to the gym and tried to do some leg exercises but I just was feeling it. I did a little but not nearly as much as I would normally do. I have been putting on more and more weight since I stopped doing cardio. I really want to get back to doing cardio but my lower back and hip are telling me I’m not ready for that. Pretty soon I am going to have to start cutting portion sizes down dramatically.

After that I came back to the room and got caught up on some work, watched some news, and then just watched TV and played video games. I looked up a breakfast place to eat tomorrow and some sight seeing things I could check out. It is nice traveling and getting to see new things but it’s kind of lame doing it by yourself in my opinion. My flight isn’t until later so I’ll try and do something. I’m thinking I’d at least like to go see the Great Salt Lake.

I’m keep debating about continuing this journal. I’m sure it will be good for me and it will be interesting to look back on and reflect on different times in my life but part of me feels like I just don’t have anything to say. And I ALWAYS feel like the things I want to try and talk about come out wrong on here. I need to find better ways, if I’m going to keep doing this, to capture my thoughts and feelings more accurately.

And part of me feels like I do this for Jamie. I don’t know if she is even reading this. And part of me feels like if I’m doing this for her it is unhealthy. That was not the original reason I started writing this but it feels like it is now. And it’s in my head the whole time I write on here that I’m doing it for her to read. So instead of really journaling it’s more like writing her letters every day. There is a part of me that would be okay with that if that’s what this was about. But there’s another part that’s not. I know she knows all of this already. It’s weird referring to her as “her/she/etc” instead of just saying you. You know that I can’t do this. I can’t write to you every night because it’s not healthy for me. I have to keep you tucked away and separate from my every day life. Of course I think about you constantly but I can’t let them be more than fleeting thoughts. I always find it weird in a way that I have to live a life with you and without you at the same time. You are always going to exist and be a part of me but I have to compartmentalize you.

Anyways, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I may delete this one and start again and make the next one completely anonymous. I hate that I have to run away from you.

[odinsonnn]

christmas lights (thor x reader)

You and Thor spend your first Christmas as a couple together.

Word Count: 2064

Warnings: toothrotting thor cuteness

A/N: thor is cute and one of my irls gave me an adorable idea abt thor getting excited cuz snow in NYC is a lot more than they get in asgard so yay, here we go !!! some nice thor fluff !!!!! thanks ashley if :) you ever read this, ilu bunches & this is dedicated to you because i love you five-ever and thor is almost as cute as you are

Thor Odinson had experienced more things in life than you could possibly imagine.

He had encountered Bilgesnipe, fought wars all across the Nine Realms, battled the Chitauri, dealt with his absolute twat of a younger brother for over a millennium, and grown up as literal royalty. He’d lead armies, traveled across the galaxy, and killed scores of men.

Yet somehow, the snowfall in New York City never ceased to amaze him.

You knew he’d seen it before — he’d told you of the light snow they received in Asgard, the heaps of it in Jötunheimr, his few encounters with the substance on Midgard… but every time he’d looked out of the window since the first snowfall of the season, he got this small smile on his face, eyes twinkling. The first time he’d seen it, you’d both just woken up from a night of deep slumber, cuddled together under your comforter. As soon as you drowsily took note of the white flakes falling to the ground, you dragged him to the window. His blue eyes were fixed to the scene in front of him, and a smile played at the corners of his lips.

“(Y/N),” he spoke in his usual low voice, “I think I quite enjoy your Midgardian winters.”

You just laughed and pulled him to the bathroom so you could both brush your teeth.

That Christmas morning, you were slowly pulled from your deep sleep, body encompassed in warmth. The bedsheets that surrounded your form were heavy and rather thick (some name brand you’d never even heard of, thanks to Tony), and you could feel the steady rise and fall of Thor’s shirtless chest under your head. That was how you normally slept — your boyfriend on his back, your head upon his chest with one of his arms wrapped around you, the other out to the side. You liked having his heartbeat to lull you to sleep, and he liked the reassurance that you were right there with him.

“Good morning, my love,” he murmured as you batted your eyes open and yawned. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” you joked, smiling when he chuckled at your ill attempt at humour.

You moved to get up, but Thor huffed out a sigh and pulled you back down to him.

“Just a while longer, my love. I quite enjoy having you here with me.”

You had to fight the smile away from your face.

“Yeah, okay, okay. Five more minutes. Dork.”

He chose not to comment at your insult and instead sighed in content when your head found its usual place on his torso.

When you felt his breathing begin to slow, you laughed, knowing he was most definitely prepared to fall asleep again in this position. You poked his chest a few times, laughing once again when he grumbled something under his breath and used his free hand to swat your prodding finger away.

“Alright, small one,” he conceded, and you pouted at the teasing nickname.

You pulled away from the heat of his chest, and the lack of warmth assaulted you instantly. Grumbling, you dragged yourself out of bed, suddenly unexcited at the prospect of leaving Thor’s warm embrace and the absurdly high temperature of your bedroom.

Still pouting, you asked him, “Why the hell are you so warm?”

He just laughed at you.

It took you a moment to realize that he hadn’t yet gotten out of bed, and instead had shifted so that his back was against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed over his chest. You rolled your eyes but turned to face him with a smile edging its way onto your face.

“Whatcha doin’?” you asked, and he chuckled at you again.

His smile was wide and warm, and his eyes twinkled.

“Come here, my love,” he spoke, holding his hand out to you.

Eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you cautiously stepped forwards and set your hand in his, giggling when he pulled you to help you onto the bed. Soon enough, you were straddling his lap, fingers idly tracing patterns on his arm.

“What’s up, Thor?”

His hand moved to your face, and he cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“I love you, my queen,” he mumbled, his voice low and gravelly. “I love you more than you will ever know.”

You leant forward to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

Heart thrumming, you uttered a soft, “I love you too, my king. Merry Christmas.”

He kissed your forehead, arms going around your waist to pull you closer to him. Your chest was now pressed against his, forehead settled in the spot just above his nose. You looped your arms around his neck, and your eyes held steady contact with his. While a smile was playing on your lips, a smirk found its way onto his face, and you scrunched your eyebrows again, shrieking out a giggle when his head ducked down to press a gentle kiss to your jaw.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving light kisses as he went, and he stopped at your collarbone, his breath tickling your sensitive skin.

He tilted his head up to look you in the eye, his own blue orbs bright with laughter.

“Come, (Y/N). The others shall be angry at our late arrival to the Commons.”

“As you wish, Thor,” you joked, pulling yourself from his lap and hopping from the bed. He followed you this time, his hand finding its usual spot at the small of your back.

He was walking with you to bathroom when he stilled, hand not leaving your fabric-covered skin. You turned to face him, about to ask what he wanted this time, but the words never left your mouth.

He was standing there at the floor-to-ceiling windows, smiling as his bright blue eyes took in the scene in front of him — Midtown Manhattan, covered in a thick blanket of snow, lights coming in from every which way due to the cars and buildings decorating the city.

“Thor?” you asked, and you grinned when his hand blindly found yours, fingers interlacing.

“Midgard truly is a wonderful place.”

You shook your head bemusedly and pulled him to the bathroom with you.

After brushing your teeth and a not-so-quick shower (of which maybe, kinda, sorta, potentially included an obscene amount of making out), you dressed in one of Thor’s sweaters and a pair of pajama pants, and he threw on a cotton tee and sweatpants. You were downstairs just a few minutes later, making your way into the Commons with everyone else.

“Morning, guys,” you chirped, going to grab a cup of coffee for yourself and tea for Thor, while your boyfriend collected a variety of breakfast foods. Your friends began their usual teasing about your lateness.

“Something hold you up?” Nat said with a smirk, eyeing you over the rim of her mug.

“Thor was being a doofus and didn’t wanna get out of bed,” you sighed. “He’s a man-child. I’m in love with a man-child.”

“Aren’t we all in love with man-children?” Tony asked. He then turned to face Steve, face stoic and serious, which you felt meant nothing good, and your suspicions were confirmed as correct within five seconds; “Steven Grant Rogers, will you marry me?”

Steve punched Tony in the arm, causing the man to grimace in pain.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

Another punch.

“You’ll get back to me on it?”

Steve’s fist was only halfway to Tony’s arm when he held his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, it’s a no this time. I’ll try again next week.”

Steve sighed and shook his head.

“I don’t think I’m the man-child here, Tony.”

“Mm, agree to disagree.”

You laughed at their immature conversation, but Thor’s booming laughter overpowered your own.

“You Midgardians are quite interesting,” he mused, and you smiled at his amusement.

He brought you an overwhelming amount of food just a few seconds later — a grand stack of pancakes, some toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, and much more. Considering how little you ate in comparison to him, he tended to load food onto your plate, let you consume what you wanted, and finish the pile that remained. It was quite a system.

You made your way through as much food as you could while periodically sipping on your hot coffee. Thor’s eyes were trained on you as he drank his own beverage. He’d taken to Midgardian herbal teas a few months prior; hibiscus and ginger were his two favourites, but you’d prepared him some peppermint (in the holiday spirit).

You noticed his eyes on you as you were finishing up, and you ducked your head to avoid his gaze.

“Why are you staring, Thor?” you asked, laughing nervously.

“Ah, I cannot help it, (Y/N),” he mumbled. “Your beauty is… captivating.”

You rolled your eyes, kicking his shin. “You’re cute.”

Thor frowned at you, leaning closer as to nudge you with his nose, then press a kiss to your cheek. His stubble tickled you, and you smiled at the sensation.

“I speak with sincerity, my love. I truly believe you are the most beautiful being I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter. In all the Nine Realms.”

You smiled wider and slid the plate closer to him. You then proceeded to take a sip from your coffee once more in an attempt to hide the smile that continued to spread across your face.

“Can we open presents now?” Clint asked, voice rising above everyone else’s.

“I think I found another man-child,” you said under your breath, and Thor’s low chuckle made your heart beat ever harder. “C’mon, we should all go to the living room. I want presents too.”

You took your near-empty coffee mug and Thor’s tea, ensuring the god would follow you to the couches across the commons. Everyone slowly picked up their belongings, trudging to follow you. You found a place on your favourite loveseat, and Thor soon sat next to you. You handed him his mug and allowed yourself to settle into his side, his warmth once again comforting you.

You looked up at him and had to refrain from laughter; there was a bit of pancake in his beard, and he was engaged in conversation with Steve about one thing or another. The light was hitting him just right, making his eyes shine like you’d never seen before.

You tugged at his shirt, and he looked down at you a few seconds later, cocking his head to the side.

“Yes, my love?”

You smiled and moved to pick the crumbs from his beard.

“Merry Christmas, Thor.”

He beamed back at you.

“Merry Christmas to you as well, (Y/N).”

He finished his breakfast at a remarkable pace and set the plate on the coffee table in front of you. As soon as he did so, you tugged on his shirt again, and he knew what you wanted before you had a chance to speak.

He moved to a position where his back was against the armrest of the loveseat, legs extending to the other side; you settled with your back against his chest, and his legs were on either side of you.

Thor smiled against your neck, pressing a kiss there with a sigh.

“I spoil you far too much, my darling. I cater to your every whim. Life as a queen would suit you.”

His arms encircled your waist, and you drew circles on his forearm with your fingertip.

“Maybe someday, Thor.”

He nodded in agreement.

“Mm, I agree. I’d like you to myself for just a while longer.” He chucked before continuing, “Asgard can do without, for the time being. I shall make you my queen when the time is right.”

The nonchalance with which he talked about the subject — about marriage — made your stomach flip in an odd mix of nerves and excitement. His queen. Queen of Asgard. The thought made your head spin.

“Good,” you sighed. “When the time is right.”

Clint cheered when Bruce and Tony finally entered the room, discussing plans for an upgrade to Steve’s suit.

“Time to open gifts!” he demanded, causing you and your boyfriend to laugh at his antics.

You turned to look at Thor, and your eyes met.

“I love you, Thor,” you said.

“I love you too, my darling.”

It was, in a word, the best Christmas ever.

#thor #thor odinson #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #thor fluff #thor x reader fluff #thor imagine #thor odinson imagine #thor oneshot #thor odinson oneshot #ragnarok #thor ragnarok #the dark world #thor the dark world #avengers x reader fluff #xmas fluff

[itdans]

read on ao3.

After three hours by a damp roadside, following a long afternoon hiding from a storm, Keith had been happy to accept any help. Just before he could seriously consider bringing in their lions, they’d been able to get in touch with a local towing service and garage. They’d been dragged through a town center that consisted of a single road and a grand total of fifteen buildings, only to find that they’d need at least another day before their car was ready to go. According to the soft spoken mechanic with a harelip, they were short on supplies because they didn’t get a lot of business to begin with. Keith believed it. He was a little surprised that their town had a name to begin with.  

But she’d been able to give them a ride to the closest motel, a quiet, rundown place with only two cars in its parking lot.

“Hm.”

Shiro made a noise, low in his throat. He’d just gotten off the phone with his mothers, filling them in. It was a conversation Keith only caught snippets off, but he found himself worrying now. He’d never been particularly picky about where he stayed, but this was supposed to be their vacation, a chance to choose where they slept, even if it was on a threadbare budget. Shiro moved across the room, taking in the beaten air conditioning box. Its LED display was cracked, but beside a couple of wires duct taped together was a jerry rigged power switch.

Shiro’s face was pointedly blank as he turned it on. It sputtered and coughed before finally emitting a thread of cool air to try and disperse the humidity that followed summer rain. It sounded a little like it was dying.

“It’s bad, but we can work something out. Maybe get a different room?”

“Keith, relax.” Shiro said gently, moving to lean into his space, nudging him with his shoulder, just a little. “It’s no shack, but the company makes up for it.”

Keith couldn’t help but smile.

This wasn’t the plan, but to hell with the plan. Things somehow seemed a whole lot better when he could still feel Shiro’s lips on his own, and his whole body buzzed with electric anticipation. They’d both been running, pulling each other in two different directions. Shiro could only look back to a time he’d lost and Keith charging forward, promising himself that he’d left the past behind. Now, they were still, finding a gentle equilibrium in one space with two hearts.

Being trapped in the middle of nowhere never felt so right.

Outside, the rain tapered off, replaced by the last of the day’s heat as the sun slowly set. For the first time that day, Keith was able to peel off his damp socks, kicking his ruined sneakers to the side. He’d sloshed every time the mechanic had talked to them. After a shared glance, he and Shiro dropped their shoes outside the door, hoping they’d dry before someone decided to steal them.

Being stuck through the storm had been both squishier and less boring than Keith would’ve thought, but it still felt like he’d been waiting years for the chance to finally get out of everything soggy.

“Was the floor damp before I took of my shoes or…?” He asked, and Shiro snorted, running  hand through his hair. Uncombed and damp, all he did was make it stand in odd angles. Keith was kind of terribly charmed.

“I’m going to wash this off. I think I have ten layers of mud between my toes.” Shiro announced, heading to the bathroom, and he looked so genuinely appalled by it that Keith had to laugh. And things were good. Things were great. He heard the shower go off, and started sorting through his things, grateful that at least their bags had survived the storm. A bath wouldn’t be too bad either, he thought. It might be cleaner to spend the night in their sleeping bags. Keith was debating the merits of it when the door squeaked open, and Shiro walked out in nothing but a towel wrapped high on his waist, smelling faintly like cheap hotel soap.

Keith stared open mouthed before he finally caught himself and looked away, furiously blushing. It wasn’t the first time that they’d seen each other like this, years in the Garrison had stripped them of modesty and close quarters in the Castle was the same. Something had shifted, some tiny change that had then changed everything. A line had been crossed and suddenly, they both felt it. The air between them crackled with tension and Shiro immediately retreated.

When he returned, he was dressed and Keith was already waiting in warm clothes, poised on the edge between restless and excited. “I was thinking we could get something to eat?” He offered, an escape from things that seemed too overwhelming. After waiting so long for this, Keith couldn’t believe that he now felt it was all too fast. Shiro nodded gratefully and they stepped out together.

The storm had passed as quickly as it came, clouds rolling back to reveal a lazy blue mid-summer sky. The air was heavy and sticky, and the ground was still damp, but that didn’t seem to stop the people from the town from enjoying the early evening. They strolled slowly through the town, close enough that elbows bumped and fingertips brushed, testing out the new boundaries between them with an almost giddy excitement.

“They’ve got vendors set up on the street. Looks like we can get something to eat there.” Shiro gestured and Keith was immediately distracted by the smell of cooking meats and fried everything.

There were more tiny stalls set up than there were buildings on the main street, but seemingly out of the ground, people crept up, bringing life to the beaten patch of land. Even with the threat of another downpour hanging over their heads, they moved like they were racing against the sun. Keith knew they’d been gone for a while, but he was pretty sure people didn’t normally do that on a whim.

“You boys come down for the Summer festival?” One of the vendors called out, giving them a less than subtle once-over. Shiro caught Keith’s eye, his right hand casually slipping into his front pocket.

“The festival. Right.” That was a word for it at least. Shiro’s smile was crooked, but Keith thought he was still easily the most interesting thing on the field. “Mostly the smell of frying meat dragged us outta hiding.”

“I think you’re in the right place.” The vendor drawled, pointing at the grill he’d began to set up, and Shiro leaned over in curiosity. His stomach rumbled so loudly that even Keith had to laugh.

“They’ve got tacos!” Shiro sounded like he might have been in love. After two years in space eating jiggly green goo and who knew what else, Keith realized there were still things he missed. “I think I’m gonna get like twelve. I’ll bet I can eat more than you.”

“Then go do it.” Keith grinned. “I’m going to go see what else they have.”

“If they have anything on a stick, I want you to save me some.” Shiro said, his face utterly serious.

“No way, get your own.” He teased, but Shiro grabbed him by the shoulders and looked deeply into Keith’s eyes.

“I am going to eat your meat.”

“Oh my god.” Keith smacked his chest hard and escaped to the sound of laughter. Shiro watched him go, openly enjoying the view.

It hadn’t sunk in yet, not really. Shiro couldn’t believe he was here, with Keith in every way that mattered, but at the same time, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Who would be here with him, if not his best friend? There was a longing in his chest, made dull with satisfaction, but Shiro pretended he didn’t see the jagged edges that lurked just beneath the surface. Fate so rarely worked in his favor, and Shiro didn’t want to admit he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

For now, he could bury his concern in spiced meat and heartburn.

All around them, the festival was coming to life. Game booths galore popped up as soon as the food had been set. There were horse rides from sleepy old mares, and a merry go round that probably should’ve been put out to pasture. An entire tent had been dedicated just to Bingo.

They really knew how to party, Shiro thought dryly.

The vendor came back with a truly obscene amount of tacos. Shiro almost had nothing to regret. “If you boys stick around, there’ll be fireworks tonight.”

There it was. Like he was someone’s eternal source of schadenfreude. Shiro could feel the corners of his smile sharpening into something cruel and cutting, like bits of glass were buried inside his mouth, and he could laugh through them.

“Isn’t that lucky,” He spat, and the vendor never noticed.

And that was fine. That was fine.

It wasn’t a problem. Shiro wouldn’t let it be. If he could deal with three hours of sleep a night with Keith less than an arm’s length away, if he could handle living in his mothers’ house and pretending that he was sane and normal for a goddamn week, he could handle a backwater light show. Blam blam blam wasn’t pow pow pow.

Things were finally looking up in a big way. Shiro wasn’t going to sabotage himself. When he left the stall, purchases in a paper bag, he was almost sure he could prove it. Except Keith wasn’t alone.

Shiro sauntered over to his friend, smile plastered across his face. He’d been able to forget what a mess he was for only a few hours, he should have known better than to let down his guard. He thought once he put some distance between him and the home that didn’t fit, it would get better, and for a few days, it had. Keith had helped him feel like he was normal again but it took something so small to remind him that he was just playing at being okay.

“So you’re just passing though?” The blond man next to Keith asked, leaning in a little too closely though Keith didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes, we’re on a trip.”

“We’re a small town, but we’ve got some things to offer folks if they give us the time. We’ve got some pretty impressive sights, actually.  If you’d like, I can show you around?”

Maybe it wasn’t fine.

Shiro swallowed down the feeling like he needed to grab Keith and run. He wasn’t going to have a break down in public like this, not after things had been going so well, but he hadn’t counted on a sudden frustrated flare of jealousy. It was stupid and irrational, he knew that immediately, but it didn’t stop the twist of unhappiness of having some random stranger try to hit on Keith in the middle of their first almost date.

“Sorry to interrupt, but can I borrow you?” Shiro said evenly, but the guy didn’t get the hint.

“Give us a minute, buddy. We’re just getting to know each other.”

Shiro scowled, the tension in his shoulders sharpening like the bite of a knife. Keith still beat him to the punch. Keith had a way of doing that.

“No, we’re not.” He said, eyes narrowed into slits, angling himself forward, just enough to put himself between Shiro and whatever was making things difficult. He didn’t care whether it was clueless jerks or speeding bullets, and Shiro was almost bowled over by a warm rush of affection. It was just as strong as the shame that came with it.

With pointed intent that was impossible to miss, Keith wrapped his arm around Shiro’s and pulled.

“Hey…” Keith started, and Shiro knew him well enough to read the discomfort in his tone. Shiro could still feel the stranger staring. He grit his teeth and dragged Keith forward instead, because in that moment, it seemed better than hearing whatever Keith had to say.

“Look at this, ring toss. I haven’t seen this in… years.”

“Shiro, that guy’s not a problem.”

Shiro could feel his expression grow brittle around the edges, but he sold his smile for all it was worth. “I know.” Did he know?

“What’s wrong?”

Keith’s question was laced with worry, but Shiro brushed it aside. “Nothing’s wrong.” He said more sharply than he meant and kept pulling Keith down the street. “I just want to play a game or something. That’s what you do at a fair, right?”

“I don’t know.” Keith watched him warily as they stopped in front of one of the booths. “I thought you were hungry.”

“What, are you afraid I’m going to beat you? You’re not scared, are you?” Shiro mocked lightly, gesturing to the ring toss. “Or how about the Test of Strength. You might have done a lot of training this past year, but I still think you’ve got a way to go.” He flexed, fixed Keith with a challenging grin.

His dare was as forced as his smile, but Keith just gave him a strange look and Shiro was glad he didn’t ask any more questions. He paid the vendor of the Test of Strength and hefted the hammer, showing off for Keith before slamming it down on the pad. The bell at the top dinged and Shiro whooped in victory, giving his friend a wink. “See? I told you. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Congrats, kid, you win a prize,” the vendor replied, waving her hand blandly at the rack of pinned toys. Shiro beamed despite himself, until Keith’s new friend showed up. Keith had to wait his turn on the mallet.

“Not bad. Hey Lex, let me get a shot at that. Show these folks how it’s really done out here.” The smile he sent Keith was all teeth, and it looked like he’d forgotten Shiro existed at all. Shiro got some satisfaction out of seeing Keith react in no way at all. He still gave up the mallet and took a step back, and when blondy took a swing, he sent the metal bit skyward. It hit the bell at the end of the pole with a sharp ting.

But a few seconds slower than Shiro had.

“Funny. We were doing fine without you.” Shiro said, in a tone pitched to carry.

He was rewarded with a dry scowl as the blond rounded on him, looking him up and down in a way that felt distinctly territorial. “It sure looked like your friend was bored.”

And Shiro bristled.

“I don’t know why you’re not getting the hint-”

Behind them, the quick, clear ding of a bell sounded, followed by a hollow thud, and they both turned to see Keith dusting his hands off, the bell at the very top knocked clear off.

“How’d you do that?” The farm boy breathed, utterly surprised.

Keith fixed him with a stern stare, and replied without a hint of humor, “I’m an alien.”

Shiro was completely charmed. He burst out laughing, as the blonde sputtered. Keith ignored them both, choosing a small, cheap stuffed dog as his prize.

“Can we eat now?” Keith sounded bored and Shiro slung a possessive around him, leaving the farm boy behind. As soon as they were out of earshot, Keith’s scowl deepened. “You’re acting weird. I don’t need you picking fights with people, it’s stupid.”

Shiro deflated a little, hunching his shoulders before trying to salvage the evening. “It was all in good fun, it wasn’t anything serious. Just forget about it, let’s have fun, okay? If you’re hungry, let’s go back and get some of those tacos plus I saw some fried dough. It’s been ages since I’ve had any of that.”

“Or you could tell me what’s going on because you know I’m not good at guessing.” Keith stopped and fixed him with a steady stare. “None of this is like you. You were fine when we left the motel and all of a sudden, you’re aggressive and hypercompetitive. I thought you were the one saying we should just relax on this trip and not worry about the things that go wrong. Did I do something?”

“I-” Damnit, it wasn’t ever fair when Keith picked up on his lessons so easily. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It wasn’t about that guy and it’s definitely not about you either. It’s me, I just, I didn’t want to ruin things by having one of my stupid problems.”

Keith’s expression softened, and he leaned more heavily against Shiro, turning into his sleeve until he could nudge him. He didn’t push. He never did. Never asked for more than Shiro was willing to give, never expected thanks for staying, and that hurt in a way Shiro couldn’t prepare for. Keith deserved so much more. Keith deserved a life where he wasn’t afraid everyone would leave. He was amazing, and Shiro didn’t think he told him enough.

“There are going to be fireworks tonight.” Shiro said, but the words felt like they were caught in his throat. No explanation could soften the blow to his pride, and he suspected he’d already said too much. Then Keith just nodded, giving his metal arm a gentle tug.

“Let’s get out of here.” Keith tugged on his hand as he spoke, guiding Shiro through the field, back towards  their motel. Shiro let him take two steps, before pressing himself against Keith’s back, embracing him from behind. He buried his face in Keith’s hair, inhaling deeply like he could feel tension coursing through his veins. Shiro didn’t care who saw.

The way Keith held on told him he really didn’t mind.

“How about fried dough on our way out?”

Shiro breathed out a laugh. “Deal.”

They gathered up their fried treasures and headed back to the motel, barricading themselves in the tiny room and turning the ancient TV up loud enough to drown out the sound of explosions. Keith didn’t judge his weaknesses, deep down Shiro knew he wouldn’t, but it didn’t make them any easier to admit. He’d been so much stronger once, now he was sick to his stomach at thought of harmless fireworks, trying to overcompensate to prove he was okay. But he wasn’t okay, he wasn’t ever going to be the same again.

Somehow, that didn’t seem as overwhelming when Keith was by his side. He didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than what he was. It was going to take a long time to be able to accept how he’d change and be comfortable with his new vulnerabilities, but he didn’t have to do it alone.

“Here.” Keith murmured, almost out of nowhere, and out of his pocket he pulled out a tiny squished stuffed dog, one ear higher than the other, it’s little black eyes sweet, if a little lopsided. “Got it for you while you were busy being a dick.”

Shiro cooed, more sincerely than he’d intended and stroked along its fuzzy snout. “You remembered.”

“It seemed important to you.” Keith shrugged. Shiro felt it more than saw, but Keith didn’t relax all the way afterwards. Shiro moved his new companion to Keith’s lap, so it was staring up at both of them.

“I don’t think I want a real dog yet,” he confessed at length. “I think I like the idea of one. The idea of coming back, but it’s- not just different, it’s jarring like.”

“Like you expect the sky to be a different color?” Keith ventured. Shiro cracked a smile.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Keith was quiet for a long while, absently petting the stuffed dog’s brow like it could react in any way. “You could still get a dog. Just because things are different, doesn’t mean everything has to be.”

“I wouldn’t want everything to be different.” Shiro said. “I want you with me. That feels right… That feels real.”

They stuffed themselves with tacos and fried dough before curling up beside each other. When the first firework burst and Shiro tensed, Keith just turned the old rerun of I Love Lucy up even higher and pulled Shiro in tighter without a word.

Yeah, they could do this together.

Sleep wouldn’t come easy. Maybe it was the smell of lingering smoke or the phantom crackle of explosions that’d long ended, but even with a real bed beneath him, Shiro struggled to rest. Keith didn’t say anything, his breathing giving away his awareness, but he kept Shiro tucked against his side as the last of the festival’s celebrations petered out.

In the morning, they would collect their car and get back out on the road. Too many delays had cut their trip short, and they wouldn't be able to go as far as they hoped, but Shiro found he didn’t mind that too much. He’d already found the best part of his trip. Keith was still by his side.

#sheith #voltron #shiro #keith #sheithpositivityweek #new chapter is up! #please check this out

[theclaravoyant]

Hello! Happy pride! If you're still taking prompt, maybe skimmons: Jemma taking care of a delirious with fever Daisy?

AN ~ sappy hurt/comforty sick!fic fluff, coming right up! hope you like it :)

Read on AO3 (~1000wd)

-

It was a noise from the kitchen that first alerted her: drawers being pulled in and out, the rattle of spoons, the kettle boiling. Jemma scowled and marched into the kitchen, ready with a firm word and a sharp finger to send Daisy scampering back to bed, but what she found shocked the gritty determination right out of her for a second.

Daisy was assembling a veritable tower of marshmallows, on top of a hot chocolate.

“Hey, babe,” Daisy greeted, her words a little slurred and her eyes far too wide for it to be entirely natural. “Look what I made.”

For breakfast. At two o’clock in the afternoon. While barely awake, and sweating, and with nothing in her stomach and too much in her head. It was a recipe for disaster. Jemma’s internal alarm bells screamed, you are not drinking that, even as she struggled to morph her face into something that mimicked Daisy’s.

“Aww, sweetie,” she crooned, “it’s beautiful! Why don’t you leave it on the bench and take a bucket back to bed, and I’ll bring it in in a moment, okay?”

Daisy pouted, but obeyed, and took the “bucket” – which was actually just a large cooking bowl – back to her room. The bed was appealing. Her body felt strange and heavy and being able to take her weight off her own feet was such a mercy, even if her head still felt clogged and her skin like it was burning. She didn’t like the look of the bucket, either, or what that meant for her health prospects over the next twenty-four hours.

To make matters worse, when Jemma followed Daisy a few minutes later, it was not with the hot-chocolate monstrosity she had created, but rather, a cool wet flannel, and a mug full of… warm water? Daisy gagged.

“What’s that?” she demanded.

“Lemon and honey.”

“What about my drink?” And maybe it was the fever talking, or the fact that she’d slept twice as long as usual, but Daisy felt like stamping her foot.

“I’ll put your drink in the fridge. You can have it later. But if you’ve got what I think you’ve got, that pile of milk and sugar is just going to make you vomit marshallows for the next day and a half, and nobody needs that.”

Daisy whined in protest, but she had to agree with Jemma on that one. She shut her eyes. She was sick, and she couldn’t even have an obscene amount of sugar to make herself feel better. Rude. But at least she had Jemma, who softened at this revelation and came to sit on the bed beside her. Jemma stroked Daisy’s hair gently, humming in sympathy at the cold sweat on her brow, and the blotches of redness and paleness that discoloured her face.

“Do you want anything else?” Jemma asked.

“No,” Daisy replied stubbornly.

“Your laptop?”

“No.”

“Do you want to put a movie on?”

“No.” Daisy curled up. Jemma sighed.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Daisy opened one eye, just a crack. Jemma was watching her patiently. She rolled onto her back to get a better angle.

“You’d stay with these stupid germs for me?”

“It’s probably the flu,” Jemma pointed out. “And some of us got vaccinated.”“Yeah, well some of us were busy having an existential crisis, so…”

“Ibuprofen?”

“Mm.”

Always prepared, Jemma dug out a box of ibuprofen she had stashed at some point in the top drawer of their bedside table. She held it out with the mug of lemon water and waited for Daisy to drag herself into position that vaguely resembled sitting.

“That should do something for the fever,” she pointed out hopefully. Daisy flashed her an uncomfortable smile, and she added: “I can get you some regular water if you want.”

“Nah, ‘s okay. I’ll try this lemon thing. Alright, here goes.”

She took a swig of it, and though she pulled a face, did not reject it.

“Okay. That’s not half bad,” she admitted. “You can really – you can really taste the folk remedy. Does this have any scientific rigour to it or like…”

Jemma shrugged.

“The lemon has vitamin C in it, honey is sweet and has some antibiotic properties, and of course water is always good. It can’t hurt. That’s why it’s a Simmons family tradition.”

“Fair enough.” Daisy took another sip and then a longer, more drawn-out draught, then handed the mug back to Jemma and shuffled back down into her lying down, semi-curled position. Jemma smiled down at the mug, pensive. Daisy brushed the side of her leg with a finger.

“Hey, don’t leave,” she murmured. “Stay with me? Being sick is way less boring and annoying when I’m with you.”

“Okay,” Jemma agreed. “But out here in the real world, it’s cold, so I’m going to need to get under those covers.”

They shuffled around a little so that Jemma got under the covers and Daisy had no more than a sheet over her in most places. Jemma had her knees bent up in front of her, propping up a book that she held open with one hand and read, while stroking Daisy’s hair. After a while, the ibuprofen (and miracle lemon water, probably) began to take their effect and Daisy felt the world creep a few steps back toward normal. She breathed easier into Jemma’s gentle rhythm.

“’m glad I have you,” she mumbled. “You look after me. All the time.”

“Well, somebody has to.”

Jemma’s lips quirked up into a smile, but Daisy didn’t take the bait. She had, apparently, finally settled back into sleep, with a soft smile on her face that Jemma found herself mimicking. Daisy’s words had been surprisingly profound –at least, for someone so delirious with fever that she wouldn’t have been able to name the time or day - and they settled close and warm to Jemma’s heart. They spoke to the truth of a Daisy who had been looked after by so few people in her life; who had struggled through so much alone that responding to sickness with a tower of marshmallows was a luxury she had not often been able to take. It was to this Daisy that Jemma murmured her true answer:

“It’s my pleasure.”

#skimmons #bioquake #aosfemslash #aospositivitynet #aosficnet2 #happy pride! #clara's fic tag #prompt me stuff #Anonymous

[kaleipelekai-blog]

“Tragedy is sewn into your soul, darling, no matter how bright your halo glows, or how high your wings take you, you will always, eventually, fall.” 

trigger warnings: death mention, self harm, suicidal thoughts, near death experiences.

when kalei was ten years old, she thought she had it all figured out. she had her hot wheels, a seemingly unending stock of cheetos, and the greatest family ever. when she was ten years old, she was happy. there was never a time when she didn’t have a smile on her face, never a time where she wasn’t laughing. she had friends all over the islands of hawaii, and wherever she went, she knew everyone by name, just as they knew her. she can remember walking hand in hand with kelani to get shave ice; chasing kai through the streets whilst getting yelled at by shop keepers; kicking a soccer ball on the beach with alana. when kalei was ten years old, she thought she had it all figured out. stay with your ohana, and happiness will follow.

because ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.

when kalei was thirteen, she definitely did not have everything figured out. the friends that she’d had began to turn on her, and instead of complimenting her outfits, they would point out what they didn’t like. they wouldn’t use her name anymore; instead, she was the freak. she was the loser. it was social murder, and she’d wished that the police could have arrested them on that charge. when she was thirteen years old, she started to hurt herself. it started out small, little nicks and scratches in unnoticeable places. as the months progressed, she got worse. she began to welcome the pain, began to welcome the awful names they would call her. freak, loser, accident. freak, loser, accident. freak, loser, accident. she can remember kelani constantly asking if she was okay; kai’s constantly worried expression, despite his easy smile; alana offering a shoulder to cry on. when kalei was thirteen years old, she definitely did not have it all figured out– but she knew one thing for certain: stay with your ohana, and they will provide happiness.

because ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.

when kalei was fifteen, she was sent away. not alone, of course– never alone. kelani, kai, and alana were sent packing just the same. off to school, they’d been told. a great, big school that could offer so many new opportunities. walt disney academy. kalei, eager for a new adventure, was full to the brim with excitement. she’d never left hawaii before. when kalei was fifteen, she was given an opportunity to start fresh. so she did. there was never a time that she wasn’t smiling, wasn’t laughing. she excelled in all of her classes, so much so that she’d been asked to help tutor her peers, to which she’d gladly agreed. what she hadn’t been expecting, though, was to be taken advantage of. before she knew it, she was doing ten different homework assignments at once, rather than showing someone else how to do them. the stress caught up quickly, to the point where she was lucky if she’d managed to catch a mere forty-five minutes of sleep. she can remember kai getting angry with her after discovering the obscene amount of work she was dealing with; kelani showing up with hot tea and fluffy blankets in hope of helping her sleep; alana chastising the kids who’d left kalei to do all of their work. when kalei was fifteen years old, she was sent away, and it was not as pleasant as she’d hoped it would be. but she still had her ohana, and with her ohana always came happiness.

because ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.

when kalei was seventeen, the glitch began. she’d been walking in the halls when her entire body had seized up, her vision going black. it had only lasted for what had seemed to be a second, and kalei had started to question if it had even happened to begin with. perhaps it had been a side effect of sleep deprivation. it happened again exactly a week later. and then again the week after, and then after another three days. pretty soon, they grew more and more frequent, enough to where they’d started to frighten her. when kalei was seventeen years old, she remembered all the names they used to call her. freak, loser, accident. and for the first time in four years, she’d begun to believe them again. she told no one about these “glitches”, harboring the secret inside so deep that it wounded her soul. she remembers her family following their normal routines– kai, joking around with ben and jack; kelani flourishing as the social butterfly she was; alana getting named captain of the girls soccer team. and where was kalei? hiding within herself once again, keeping secrets, and falling behind. how could she begin to compare to her amazing, lovable siblings? there was just no way. but they were her ohana.

and ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.

when kalei was eighteen, she fell off of a roof. it had been raining – pouring – to be more precise. she’d slipped. and the worst part? she’d accepted the fall. she’d wanted to die. wanted to put an end to the ongoing glitch that was slowly tearing her apart. wanted to put an end to the growing self hatred. to put an end to the lingering darkness that had possessed her so many times before. when kalei was eighteen years old, she lived. the price of alien genes– indestructibility. she was the equivalent of a living diamond. she kept that a secret, too. to this day, she’s almost positive that the only person who knows about that fateful tumble is the one and only troy banner. she can remember when her family began to detach from each other. everyone had found their niche’s, fitting into the puzzle perfectly. and then there was kalei, who felt like the extra piece that doesn’t fit into any slot. the castaway. when kalei was eighteen, she fell off of a roof, and somewhere along the way, she’d lost herself, and not even her ohana could bring her back from that.

for the first time in her life, she felt as though her family had forgotten her.

when kalei was nineteen, her brother disappeared. he hadn’t even left a note– not a single trace of him was left behind, and kalei had been confused. she’d been angry, and hurt, and sad. she’d felt abandoned. months after his own disappearance, kelani was gone. and then so was kalei. she’d told alana that she had to leave– she had to go anywhere but WDA. she was heartbroken, and tired, and a change of scenery was her form of therapy. so she left. she’d traveled to italy, to england, to africa, and then, she’d found her way back home. when kalei was nineteen, she found herself again. it was as if standing on the familiar shores of the beach by her house had clicked everything into place. she was kaleidoscope pelekai. she had a seemingly endless stock of cheetos, and the greatest family anyone could ask for. she was an artist, a fighter, and a survivor. when kalei pelekai was nineteen, her anger melted away and she forgave her ohana.

because ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.

when kalei pelekai was twenty, she came back. she was a new person– a better version of herself. her smile was back– her real smile. her laughter wasn’t forced. her eyes reflected the happiness she felt. she remained at the school for a short time, before leaving again. she’d made her amends with people, and that was that. she traveled a little more, ending up in spots like amsterdam, and the bahamas. when kalei was twenty, she enjoyed life. she lived it to the fullest, and never regretted a moment of it. she ate what she wanted, slept with who she pleased, and most importantly, loved herself the whole way through it. when kalei pelekai was twenty, she came back. she came back from what had seemed to be a hopeless pit of despair and rage. she’d made it over the ledge, and it was only an uphill climb from there. with the help of her parents, her aunts and uncles, and alana, anything was possibly. they were her ohana.

and ohana means family, and family means that no one gets left behind or forgotten.

now, at twenty-one, kalei was in africa. why? she hadn’t known what she was going to do when her plane had landed in kenya, but she had quickly found her calling. less than a week after landing, kalei had taken to bringing clean water to poor villages. she’d helped organizations build homes for people who needed them, painted murals to raise money for the projects, and interacted with the village children. the entire experience had opened kalei pelekai’s heart to a whole world of new possibilities.

she hadn’t expected the phone call. hadn’t expected to click the home button on her 7 to see ‘ missed call from alexander kaligaris ‘. his voicemail had sounded so calm. so normal. maybe he just wanted to talk? of course– they hadn’t seen each other in a while. probably just a friendly conversation. she’d nearly dropped her phone when he’d told her the real reason behind him calling.

without thinking, kalei pulled out her laptop and booked the first flight out to buena vista, and had been tucked away in the plane by three am. the place ride took fifteen hours total, having to make two stops along the way to switch flights. by the time she’d gotten to the town she’d practically grown up in, she was exhausted. her hair was a rat’s nest, and the bags under her eyes were more prominent than they had been in months. she hadn’t bothered to go to anika’s yet. no– she’d taken her suitcase straight to the hospital, and walked up to the front desk, eyeing the grief stricken, tired faces of people she’d known for as long as she could remember.

“i– my name is- is kalei pelekai. i’m a family member of alana kawena, and i was called to…” she couldn’t finish her sentence. it was as if her throat was made of sandpaper, every breath like swallowing a mouthful of gravel. the woman at the front desk eyed the twenty-one year old with a sympathetic look, causing the contents of kalei’s stomach to churn. her heart was pounding hard enough that it actually began to hurt.

“miss pelekai, if..if you would follow me, please.”

the woman grabbed a stack of papers, gesturing for kalei to follow her. she led the girl down towards the morgue. every step felt slower and slower, as if she were wading through molasses. the world around her began to slow down as well. she could hear each individual tick of the clock on the wall as she passed, could see each individual imperfection in the walls. her hands trembled as they approached the door, and kalei squared her shoulders. it could always been someone else. someone who looks similar to her cousin. that could be it. yes, that had to be it. she’d go in, and it wouldn’t be alana, and everything would be okay. she would spend a few days with anika, and then she’d be off again.

“would you like anyone to go in with you, miss pelekai?”

“no, no– i can do it myself.”

and then she opened the doors, stepping into the room. a chill dripped down her spine as she took in the body bags, yet another doctor ushering her in. her heart slowed in her chest as she approached the correct body bag, the gloved-doctor glancing at kalei to ask if she was ready, to which she nodded, even if it had been a lie.

she wasn’t ready. she would never be ready.

no, she didn’t want to do this. no, no, no–

and then the bag was unzipped, and kalei took in the bruised, lifeless face of her sister-figure.

just like that, everything stopped. a feeling of numbness spread from her chest to her fingertips, all her nerve endings going dull. she felt nothing. she felt e v e r y t h i n g. was she even breathing? kalei didn’t know. she didn’t care.

a flood of emotions that she hadn’t felt in what felt like years came flooding back all at once, every piece of her soul fracturing into shards beneath this crushing weight that came from nowhere. and then she was crying.

the tears flooded from her chocolate hues as she stared and stared and stared at her sister’s lifeless figure, as if she were expecting alana to jump up and shout ‘surprise!’ where was ashton kutcher at a time like this?

this wasn’t an episode of punk’d, though. this was real life. real life.

she didn’t know when she’d started screaming, but the sound that had escaped from her lips was almost inhuman.

she screamed

and screamed

and s c r e a m e d.

a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and dragged her from the morgue – who’s arms, she didn’t know. she didn’t care – and yet kalei still screamed. she screamed until her voice cracked, and then she sobbed. for how long, she didn’t know.

it had been years since she’d felt a sadness this crushing. years since she’d actually felt alone.

because she was alone.

kai was gone. where? she didn’t know.

kelani? the same.

alana? alana was dead.

and kalei was alone. for her ohana had been claimed by death and personal demons.

she had been left behind to deal with the aftermath.

she had been left behind.

#im s o r r y #✦ ━ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒ ˢʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵃᵗᵉ; ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᶠʳᵃⁱᵈ || self para. #death mention tw #self harm tw #near death experience tw #suicidal thoughts tw